The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Sarcasm?” He wrinkled his brow.

  “Not at all, Jack.” I picked up our lunch debris and tossed it in the recycle bin. I was smiling when I headed out the door. I had a flickering thought about Ramona’s bit of intel on Serena’s crumbling marriage. Her silver-haired husband had seemed truly caring in front of the television cameras. But I knew firsthand how the camera can deceive and distort.

  From a work point of view, the day had been a write-off so far. My third workshop was scheduled that night and was oddly enough entitled The Fine Art of Saying No. I knew that “no” was the biggest time-saver of all. And it could save a lot of regret. I thought back to my conversation at the library. Was Ramona, like me, filled with regret for failing to help Mona live a normal life as a kid?

  I was deep in thought when the phone startled me.

  “Mona! I am so glad to hear from you. Where are you? Let me—”

  “Forget that, Charlotte. I’m not telling you where I am. We’ve been all through this.”

  “Sorry. Forgot myself. It’s good to hear from you. I’ve been worried.”

  “That I’m a homicidal maniac?”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute.” I didn’t think that Mona could be systematically killing off people, partly because she sure didn’t seem the type, but mainly because Pepper, who was, after all, a detective, insisted that Mona had airtight alibis.

  She said, “Well I believe it.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I have dissociative identity disorder.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’ve been researching that. You know, multiple personalities. They struggle to get control? Trauma can bring it on.”

  There was no doubt in my mind that Mona had suffered trauma, but this seemed extreme. “But, Mona—”

  “Listen to me. I actually found a yoga mat that I think belongs—I should say belonged—to Tiffanee in my apartment. I don’t own a yoga mat. I’ve never done yoga in my life. It wasn’t here earlier. I didn’t bring it in. And I found a silk scarf and a pair of green leather gloves here. They’re not mine. So how did they get there? And where is my missing stuff?”

  “Well, that’s—” I was struggling to find answers to these questions. Was Mona getting more delusional?

  “One or more of my other personalities is doing the killing. I have no memory of it, but that’s what happens. The person has no memory of the alter-ego actions. But that would still be me. Underneath.” I heard her voice crack.

  “Mona, I am sure that’s not the case. Let’s talk to someone about it. I think you’ll be very relieved if—”

  “What if—?”

  I waited.

  And waited.

  “What if what, Mona?”

  “Three people are dead! Three! And one of them was completely innocent. What if I can’t stop until I kill them all?” Her voice rose, cracked, and trailed off.

  I decided I’d better get back to Dr. Partridge on this one. In the meantime, I wanted to keep Mona from freaking out. “You’ve been damaged by that pack of bullies and now you’re reacting. You’re not the bad guy here, Mona. We don’t even know if anyone has been murdered.”

  “Glad someone thinks so.”

  “I’m not your only supporter, you know.”

  I heard a soft sniff. “That’s news to me.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Like who else is my supporter?”

  “Pepper. She says she was with you when Tiffanee was killed. Even if your so-called alter egos were killing, you would have to be physically present for them to do it. Pepper says that’s impossible.”

  “Don’t you think my alters could find a way to fool the police? It’s not like that’s never been done before.”

  I thought about that. The 911 center was a busy place. I assumed that people must be coming and going, taking breaks, that kind of thing. Could we be absolutely certain that Mona hadn’t managed to leave the area without anyone noticing? I had to follow up on this or make sure that Pepper did. I said, “And Ramona is another supporter. I saw her in the library today. She said if you need her, she’ll be there for you and she’ll do a better job this time. She wishes she had found a way to put an end to it when you were a kid at the playground.”

  Silence.

  I blurted, “And I’m here for you too, Mona. I realize that I should have stood up for you. I should have found a way to make them stop.”

  While Mona was blowing her nose, I kept talking. “Jack Reilly too. He said he’d be willing to help.”

  “That’s weird, Charlotte,” Mona said with a bizarre high-pitched laugh.

  “Why?”

  “Because you and Ramona and Jack were practically the only people who ever did try to help me. I never forgot that. You’re not the problem.”

  “Margaret and Sally helped you,” I said. “Pepper too.”

  “And I appreciated that then and now. But Pepper’s a cop. If she has to arrest me, she will. Maybe that’s the best thing. Do you know who the first victim was?”

  I hesitated. “Bethann Reynolds.”

  “Exactly. She was another victim of bullying. She also managed to get her life together and recently started to fight back about injustice. It’s ironic that I would have killed her by mistake, thinking she was Serena.”

  I said, “But—”

  “But nothing. She looked a bit like Serena, same height, blond hair, not as classy a hairdo, but she was bundled up with a scarf because of the blowing wind. There was that yellow Hummer parked on the street and she was crossing right by it. That’s all it took for me to kill her. I think the best thing would be for Pepper to stop me before I kill again.”

  “Let me repeat: Pepper says you couldn’t have killed Bethann.”

  “Right, like no one’s ever been mistaken about the time of a death. It doesn’t take long to hit somebody with a car.”

  “Oh.”

  Could Pepper have been mistaken about the time? And what if this wacky idea was true? I sure didn’t want Mona out there killing anyone else.

  “Let us help. Tell me where you are. Or at least meet up with me and talk things through.”

  “Not happening. It’s too late for me, Charlotte. Way too late. You won’t find me.”

  “Mona! Wait!” I stood staring at the receiver and listening to the dial tone.

  I left a message for Pepper, knowing she wouldn’t call me back.

  I popped into Kristee’s Kandees immediately after that. I felt the need for some extra black-and-white fudge. Some for bribes, peace offerings, whatever. One for a thank-you to Ramona. She had done a lot to help set up and promote my workshops.

  Some of the fudge was for me. It felt quite urgent, getting my mitts on it.

  Kristee wasn’t faking any sorrow over the latest death. Once again, she was practically gleeful. “Jasmin?” she said. “I suppose she’ll rot in hell with the others. How about I toss in an extra piece to celebrate, Charlotte?”

  Of course, I didn’t want to turn down an extra piece. I said, “Not everyone feels that way, Kristee. Mona Pringle was probably the person most victimized and yet she’s practically distraught.”

  “I find that hard to believe. Does she think she’s killing them in her sleep or something? Whoa. You should see your face. She does?”

  “Of course she doesn’t.” I backpedaled at some speed. “But she is upset, and she has been since Serena came back.”

  “Not surprised. That Serena’s all ‘oh, can we be friends? I truly regret. I want to make amends, reconnect.’ Blah-blah-blah. My fat fanny she wants to make amends. She’s up to something. She’s all about herself. Too bad no one’s bumped her off yet.”

  “She called you too?”

  “Yeah and I told her where she could shove her so-called amends. You want these gift wrapped, Charlotte?”

  Minutes later, after another tirade or two, I fled Kristee’s. I opened one of the gift-wrapped boxes and ate three pieces at the f
irst red light.

  Luck seemed to be with me and after a few extremely deceitful phone calls to find out when he left the hospital, I tracked Dr. Partridge to the parking lot of Woodbridge General. I’d headed out there, as he hadn’t returned my calls asking about dissociative identity disorder. That bit of luck didn’t last long, as Dr. Partridge spotted me and actually sprinted to his vehicle, a sensible black Subaru. As I stood there, openmouthed, he got into the car and accelerated out of the lot.

  “Yeah, sure, Dr. Partridge, thanks a lot,” I muttered as I drove away from the hospital with his elegantly wrapped package of black-and-white fudge still on the seat. The police (aka Pepper) had also failed to return my calls. Something bizarre was going on. It obviously had to do with all the bullying that Serena and her coven had done as teenagers. Three people had died and they were all connected. Bethann looked like Serena, but she’d also been bullied. There seemed to me to be a limited cast of characters. So, moving on: Either the deaths were random or they weren’t. There wasn’t much chance they were random. So, the hit-and-run driver was either Mona or it wasn’t. If it was Mona, it was either her normal self or one of her alters. Whatever the situation, I needed to find her and keep her (or them) from hurting anyone else. If it wasn’t Mona, I had to discover who was behind these crimes and stop them before someone else was killed. So, by process of elimination: If it wasn’t Mona, it must have been Serena. If it was Serena, what the hell was she up to? She had contacted Mona and Kristee and even Bella’s cousin. Had that contact been intended to upset them? Control them? Kristee was furious. Mona seemed beyond distraught and into the deranged zone. Not good in any case. Who knew what Tiffanee’s or Jasmin’s state of mind had been or even if Serena had been in touch with them. We’d never been friends or even friendly. I hadn’t seen them since I’d returned to Woodbridge. It wasn’t like I could just walk into one of their homes and ask the grieving families the tough questions. As for Bethann, I hadn’t known her at all. Couldn’t just walk in there either. No. I needed a plan. Well. Two plans.

  You don’t have to be connected all the time.

  Our electronic time-savers can waste as much time as they save and distract you from your priorities. Learn when to unplug for better concentration, relaxation, or efficiency.

  11

  The phone was ringing when I opened my door. Lilith’s voice greeted me. “Guess you were wrong,” she said cheerfully. “I am happy to say that, because I hated the idea of someone being cruel to the residents at Riverview or any vulnerable people. I felt murderous.”

  I shivered as she spoke. Several times in the past couple of days, I had felt murderous toward Serena too, not a feeling I liked living with. My second line started beeping as Lilith talked. BLOCKED NUMBER. It was probably Mona, but I let it go to message. I needed to know what Lilith had learned about Serena. I was pretty sure Mona would call back.

  She continued, “I talked to everyone I knew. Made up a story about Serena doing something at our college and wanting to know what kind of person she was. The weird thing was that everyone likes her. She is kind and considerate and, anyway, she’s never alone with a resident.”

  “So far,” I muttered.

  “Never. It’s their policy. No volunteers are ever alone with the residents. It’s to protect everyone. All I can say is if she wanted to make some poor soul miserable, she picked the wrong place.”

  “What about staff? They can be vulnerable too. To blackmail or rumors. Whispering campaigns. False accusations. That’s her style.”

  “No sign of it. Honestly, Charlotte. Maybe she did change.”

  “My mother likes to say ‘and maybe pigs can fly.’”

  “I don’t know what else to tell you.” Even Lilith was having trouble staying loyal to me on this one. Such was the power of Serena. At last she added, “I’ll keep an open mind. I know people aren’t always what they seem. Gotta go. I have a bunch of papers due and I have to call Seth after that. I’ll see you tomorrow at Hannah’s. That’s a quick and fun project. Good luck with your workshop tonight.”

  “Mmm,” I said absently. I had an idea of who might know what I should do about the Serena situation, and there was possibly a way I could ask that wouldn’t compromise his ethics.

  The evening workshop on “just say no” went quite well considering my state of mind. I kept hearing a small voice in my head, trilling, “Just say no to murder.” And, of course, I couldn’t get Mona out of my mind.

  The group was divided neatly into harried moms and women who could probably scale Mount Everest on a weekend and create the corporate five-year plan on the Monday after. There were two men, one in his twenties, and one in that uncharted territory between sixty and seventy.

  Almost everyone raised their hands when I asked who felt guilty saying no. The younger man just shrugged. I suggested that people were better off feeling guilty than carrying a lifetime of regret. We all shared stories of the things we’d said yes to and regretted.

  The class favorite was the wife whose mother-in-law insisted on having a key to her daughter-in-law’s home and who let herself in without warning any time of the day or evening. On one excursion, she reorganized the daughter-in-law’s lingerie drawer. We all gasped at that.

  “What can I do? I tell her no and she just doesn’t listen.”

  Of course, this was much more of a boundary issue than a time-management one, but we were all in agreement. A line needed to be drawn in the sand. Most people were in favor of changing the locks.

  “Easy for them,” the young wife said. “You can’t say no to your kids or your bosses or your dogs, but you think I can just do that? This woman is a family member.”

  We role-played that one. The younger man enjoyed playing the part of the mother-in-law. At the end of a number of scenarios, we’d reached a plan that would allow the mother-in-law from hell to save face, and for privacy to be restored. I sure hoped that husband would be on board. Of course, the doors would be rekeyed after an expression of thanks for all the help, and the request to knock and not use the key. Time would tell.

  “Let me know,” I said, as we moved on to the neighbor who borrowed and never returned, the school committee’s endless request for baked goods, and the boss who didn’t believe in weekends.

  By the end, everyone had a couple of practiced comments and strategies to avoid yes. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.” “I’d love to but I have no time left.” And just plain no.

  Everyone said that they’d let me know how it worked out. In the case of the boss from hell, there were three offers of help with a job search to find a better place to work.

  “I’m living proof that you can ditch a lucrative career and find happiness being your own boss. Less money, more happiness. That frequently comes from saying no.”

  This group apparently hadn’t seen my multiple arrests on television, so they took me seriously. I was glad they hadn’t managed their time well enough to catch the local news on a regular basis.

  After we all departed from the library, most of us still chuckling, I tried Pepper’s cell and home phones with no luck. Mona’s dissociative identity disorder was the subject. Of course, they weren’t the first messages I’d left Pepper on that subject.

  I thought it might be worth trying Haley again, just to warn her. Of course, there was no answer at her home either. I had no idea how to track her down. With an office cleaning business, she and Randy could be anywhere. As it was after hours, they’d be out somewhere working hard. The question was, were they in danger from Mona? I didn’t want to believe it, but I had to consider that it could be the truth. I had no choice but to take action. And I didn’t have much choice about what.

  What the hell. I tried dialing 911 once again. I figured Mona wasn’t there. I hoped for her friend Brian.

  A male voice answered.

  “Brian?” I said.

  “Nine-one-one,” he repeated. “We don’t do first names here.”

  “Mona always did
. Is that you, Brian? Because if it is I need to talk to you about her.”

  “This line is for emergencies.”

  “Come on, Brian. It is an emergency, for Mona. I think you must have figured that out.”

  He gasped. “Have you seen her?”

  “No and I need to find her. Can I meet with you?”

  “I’m off at eleven.”

  “Sure. Where can we connect?”

  “Not much is open at that time around here, but there’s Al’s All Night. Right by the station. I’ll be there by ten after.”

  “That sounds fine. I’ll see you at Al’s then. I’m buying.”

  I trotted the reluctant pooches out for their walk, trotted them back in again, and hit the computer. I spent the time well doing as much research as I could into dissociative identity disorder. It’s a controversial diagnosis at best, but, if you bought into it, could result from trauma. Mona was right, if she did have more than one personality vying for her head space, she would have no memories of that person’s activities.

  Jack was snoring softly on the sofa. Even Mona’s tale of her multiple personalities hadn’t kept him awake. I left the sleeping dogs and Jack and headed out into the blustery night. I wanted to be curled up on the sofa with Jack, wearing my frog pajamas and pink fluffy slippers. I sure hoped that my meeting with Brian would pay off. I drove down Long March Road toward downtown and the police station. Al’s All Night was the only pink neon-lit spark in the gloomy swirl of snow. I pushed open the door and inhaled the aroma of coffee and fries and hamburgers. Two uniformed police officers who must have just finished a shift were starting on coffees. One of them spotted me and gave the other one an elbow in the ribs. His friend turned and I recognized that smart young cop Dean Oliver. He nodded and gave me the slightest of grins. What can I say? We have a complicated relationship. I waved back and hesitated. Dean owed me. Could I fill him in on this situation with Mona? Would that be a betrayal of Pepper? Or an unfair and useless burden on him? I am not at my best at this time of night, so I found myself dithering. Before I could make up my mind about the right thing to do, the door opened and Brian blew in along with a gust of wind and a puff of snow.