by Ritter Ames
"Hi, honey. I get to interview Wayne Gretzky in New York tonight while he's in town for some benefit. Can you believe it? Buzz was supposed to, but the boss thought it'd be better if a former hockey player, namely yours truly, interviewed the hockey legend. Is that awesome, or what? WHZE has connections with a TV and sound crew to tape the interview, too. If I do this right my ugly mug may show up on ESPN!"
Tears spilled from Kate's eyes.
"Anyway, I won't be home tonight. I'm really sorry. I figure you're probably still a little stressed about last night, but hey," his voice turned gruff for a moment, and he cleared his throat. "The cops seem to be focusing their attention away from you, right? I talked to Gil at lunch, and he told me the paper's police beat reporter said the state guy pulled in the family members again. Wish I could be home with you, though, but the boss has business in the City tomorrow morning, and I gotta wait until the corporate jet returns to Vermont. Tell the girls I'm sorry about missing their soccer game tomorrow, but I'll bring something back for them—for you too. Love you, babe."
The click at the end of his words sounded to Kate like a steel door slamming shut on her marriage. If he loved her so much, why hadn't he tried to reach her on her cell phone?
*
Kate wandered sightlessly through the house. When her fingers twisted nubby fabric she realized she stood by the sofa in the living room and had no recollection of walking there. She sank into its comfy embrace, conscious thought slipping away. Minutes passed, maybe hours. She had no idea how much time elapsed, or what her jumbled ruminations were all about until two blond heads popped up in front of her.
"What's for supper?" Suzanne asked.
"We're hungry," Sam added.
Better than a clock, the lengthening shadows outside the window marked time long past the regular McKenzie dinnertime. Kate sighed, took a second to get her bearings, then forced her way back into mom-mode and asked, "Your room's all clean?"
"Perfect!" the girls chorused.
"Even under the bed and in the closet?"
Sam gave a calculated nod, as Suzanne's shoulders shifted infinitesimally.
What to do, what to do. Forget it.
"Terrific. Want to go for pizza at Hazey Pie?"
She took their screams as assent and ushered them toward the van, driving in silence while the twins chattered nonstop behind her.
The aroma of spicy sauces assaulted the senses even before the girls wrestled open the heavy oak door. Waiting to be seated, Kate scanned for Louie, and the twins played hopscotch on the tiled floor.
"Is Louie on duty tonight?" she asked the high school-aged hostess. Their booth sat near the front window. Sam and Suze were handed coloring menus and individual quad-packs of crayons. The pair attacked the pages, each wanting to be the first to complete her artistic masterpiece.
"Sorry, no. He had to go out of town for a few days." The teenager smiled, and turned to leave.
"Just one second." Kate stopped her. "By any chance is the person working who took phone orders last night?"
The hostess wrinkled her forehead. "Let's see, that was Pete and Ellie. Ellie's here, but Pete called in sick."
"Could I talk to her?"
The girl took a step back and looked at the order area behind the counter. "She's super busy."
"Well, could you ask her a question for me?" Kate heard desperation creep into her voice. The hostess apparently detected the anxiety, too, because she nodded and said, "Sure. What do you need to know?"
"A mistaken pizza order came to our house last night. I just wondered who placed the order."
Smiling ruefully, the girl said, "Happens all the time. People give the wrong address or a bunch of teenagers playing pranks."
"I'd like to find out whatever I can, though," Kate prodded. "I live at 223 Chestnut Circle."
With a shrug, the girl said, "No problem. I'll ask. A server will be by to take your drink order in a minute."
The hostess returned just as they slipped straws in their sodas. Her look made it clear the answer wasn't the one Kate wanted.
"Sorry, but Ellie said it was Pete. They talked about it for a second with Louie. He came back steamed from going out on a no-sale. She remembers Pete saying he'd thought he remembered a woman placed the order, but it was busy so anything's possible."
"Mommy, can I have an ink pen?" Sam was already tired of her crayons.
"Me too," Suzanne mimicked.
"Thank you," Kate said to the hostess, and grabbed her purse to search for additional drawing options.
Their segregated pizza, half artichoke hearts and sun-dried tomatoes and half pepperoni, arrived perfect. The girls dug into their spicier end with such zeal they stayed oblivious to their mother's somber mood.
Why were the two people she needed unavailable? Coincidence, or calculated? She longed to drag out a pad and pencil and scratch her thoughts and concerns onto paper but didn't want to explain to the girls. When none of the pepperoni side was left, Kate requested a carryout box for her half, minus the one piece she'd taken a single bite from, and paid the bill.
They saw the phone message light pulse frenetically as they arrived back home.
"Hi, hon," Keith's excited voice came through the speaker. "Thought I'd catch you now, but here's the update. Everything went great! Met up with some New Jersey Devils I know, too, and we're all going to get together tonight. I'm staying at the Metropolitan, room 447. Tell the girls I love 'em. Love you, too. Bye."
Kate called Directory Assistance for the number of the Metropolitan Hotel.
"Keith McKenzie's room, please," she said.
After four rings, the hotel's automated voice mail came on. She didn't leave a message.
"Don't even worry about this," she muttered to herself, "He's just spending some hockey-catch-up time with his Devils friends—not some demon home-wrecker."
"What mommy?" Suze asked.
Kate started. "Oh, nothing, sweetie."
"Okay." Her daughter smiled, then grabbed her Barbie off one of the kitchen chairs and skipped from the room. Kate wished reassurance came as easily for adults.
*
Once the girls were asleep and the house quiet, Kate documented the questions rolling around in her mind. Danny and Sophia were top of her list at the moment.
Consider:
1) Why is Danny implicating everyone in the murder—is he really trying to be helpful, or diverting suspicion from himself?
2) Why didn't Sophia say something about knowing Keith when we met at Amelia's? For that matter, why didn't Keith tell me Sophia had the hots for him ten years ago?
She stopped for a moment and thought over the last entry. Was her earlier doomsday outlook due to lack of sleep and not having either of her most supportive allies around to talk to? Normally she took her problems and concerns to Keith or Jane. Should she try to talk everything over with Meg?
Kate sighed. Their friendship was too new to have the heavyweight foundation needed to unload this kind of personal baggage, but she knew the relationship might never advance any further unless she forced herself to let down her guard and allow Meg to really come into her world. Her neighbor had certainly done her part these past few months, always inviting Kate to activities, introducing her to anyone and everyone in town, and being a generally great person. She sighed again.
It wasn't that she didn't want to be friends, but her history whenever she took the chance to open up to people made her more than a little wary. Keith always teased about her reserve, but after having moved constantly during childhood—and having found herself in much the same program after becoming Mrs. Keith McKenzie, pro NHL goalie-wife—an attitude of caution in regard to personal relationships had become standard operating procedure. Couple that with certain toxic hockey wives. Well…trust is a precious commodity. She'd always been a worrier, she had to be with the lackadaisical way her parents had approached life, and things had gotten worse after the girls were born. She'd ended up in various therapy programs, b
ut the therapist in Pittsburgh was the best and had been the one to convince Kate to write as many detailed notes as she needed to get all of the never ending tasks and troubling thoughts out of her brain.
Funny how hard it was to escape the patterns created in childhood. Sure, all the family moving had honed her organizational skills at an early age, but the practice made it more difficult to be flexible. Each change gave her new things to stay concerned about, problems she was often still too immature to worry over—but that hadn't stopped her.
Friendships were a wild card she finally decided to forgo almost completely. Just as she thought she'd made a real friend in her new school, found a confidant—whoosh! Another day, another protest to hook her parents, and Kate found herself in another new apartment in another new town where her mother and father heeded a new calling.
Wait a minute.
Enough anger coursed through her veins from the current circumstances, she didn't need to dredge up kid-years ire, too. Her parents had a mission, and she'd just been trapped in the jet stream they'd created.
That's all, and that's history. She snapped her rubber band. Nothing positive came by revisiting the past, especially to keep from dealing with the present.
The question on the table was could she, and should she, open up to Meg?
Letting fate provide the final vote, she walked into the darkened living room and peered through the curtains of the front window. All the lights were out next door. Okay, question answered. Kate suddenly felt six years old again—and very, very cold. Moving to the kitchen, she pulled the cocoa from the pantry.
Funny how nothing the hockey wives ever said shook her nearly as much as this lost phone connection with her motherin-law. Well, that and her husband's unplanned business trip accompanying an old flame.
She took her cocoa to the table, then penned her next two questions. The first was more than a little scary, but abject fear of the second made her stomach roil.
3) Is Sophia setting me up for the murder to cover up her own crime, or to try another attempt at Keith?
4) Has Keith seen Sophia since we've moved to Hazelton? Is he having an
She stopped short of writing the last word. Affair. Okay, she'd let the word slip into her thoughts, but an affair? Had she missed any signs? Sure, Keith came home at erratic times, but Kate knew how social he was, and he always told her who'd held him up to talk. No pattern of missing hours or nights, or any inconsistencies to point toward infidelity. He never smelled of strange perfume, and his shirt collars always came home lipstick-free. Kate paid the credit card bills and tracked down any dubious charges, but should she expect a credit card trail if they met at Sophia's or put the expenses on a corporate card? After all, they were presumably staying in the same hotel that very night. Moreover, what about Sophia's husband?
Who was the man who gave her the "White" to tack on after the hyphen?
Kate chewed her lower lip. She'd let fatigue and paranoia take control tonight. Nothing more. No way was her husband cheating on her.
In a bold move, she crossed out question number four and scribbled five more, almost as if each addition further reduced the likelihood of the struck sentence.
4) Has Keith seen Sophia since we've moved to Hazelton? Is he having an 4) Who picked the lily of the valley for the vase in the kitchen? Amelia, Danny, or Mrs. Baxter?
5) If questioned, will the pizza order clerk remember anything about the person (or voice) who placed the order delivered to our house some time after 7:00 p.m. on Thurs. night? Probably a long shot.
6) Who can tell me what Thomas is up to? Does his business need a transfusion of cash? Does Meg know anything about him?
7) Mrs. Baxter was a childhood friend of Amelia's. How well did the transition work out when it became an employer/employee relationship?
8) What are Danny's plans for the future? Does he see himself as heir apparent to the Nethercutt Empire? What is the Nethercutt Empire?
Jane might be the best lead on the last question. Maybe number seven as well. While Kate was only at the Nethercutt mansion the one day with Amelia and Mrs. Baxter, the women's attitudes toward one another had seemed strictly professional. No word or deed between the two on the day of the murder even whispered of a childhood bond, which had probably included dolls and pretend tea parties. However, through a succession of marriages, Amelia had been gone a good many years. Any friendship that survived such an absence would have a tough time staying on steady terms. And Amelia liked being in charge, regardless of any adolescent adventures the pair might have shared.
As an adult mistress of the manor, Amelia's manner likely sent a "keeping you in your place" message to anyone in her employ. Besides, how nostalgic can one be with a former friend when their places shifted from girlhood confidants to servant and mistress?
Mrs. Baxter's house also puzzled Kate, the frou-frou front room in sharp contrast to the stainless steel coffee carafe. Yet equally at odds were the woman's décor and design employed in the Nethercutt kitchen—all work, no frills. If the kitchen in her cottage resembled Amelia's, that could tell the tale. Or, had she taken the carafe from the Nethercutt's? Had she removed anything else from the mansion?
9) Sneak by Mrs. B.'s cottage and peek in the kitchen window.
Kate smiled. She'd need some kind of backup excuse in case she got caught, but another side trip to Mrs. Baxter's place was definitely in order.
She paused. Even as she wrote each letter, she wished the ink would disappear from the page.
10) What was the value of the items Sophia took with the display case? And if she'd assumed those items belonged to her, could she have been the one pilfering valuables before Amelia's death—using the justification they were hers anyway?
11) Has anyone entered our house through the back door since Tiffany unlocked it and ran outside last night?
12) Do I dare call the police and ask them to look for fingerprints in my laundry room?
She already knew the answer to the last question. There was no possible way of getting official help unless she gave the police everything, and she couldn't do that, so number eleven was a non-starter as well. Getting the police to help answer either question would not only get her further entangled as a possible suspect but likely implicate Meg.
Kate closed the casebook. It was late. Maybe if she went to sleep her mind would work out all the puzzles and have everything solved by the time she woke in the morning.
"Sure. And maybe I'll figure out a way to clone myself, too."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saturday, April 10th – To-do
Girls' soccer game—home field (thank goodness)
Plan what to say to Keith.
Pick up Jane and George this evening.
Work on Book Nook presentation.
Don't worry—really.
*
Lists of tasks and worries woke Kate before the alarm went off Saturday morning. Dawn was just a promise in the sky when she plopped onto the rattan loveseat on her front porch, warm in her tightly wrapped robe and bunny slippers, and holding a cream-filled cup of coffee. The comforting weight of her casebook lay in her lap. The sun rose in golden ribbons over the Green Mountains, glittering light mixing with the peaks' blue-green swaths and eventually pulling the sky awake to a clear, crisp blue. White pine, sturdy hemlock, and balsam trees created a darkened, shadowy palette. This solitude was what she needed. Nothing beat a bright new morning to ignite a person's determination toward solving a problem, she decided. Or two, or twenty.
Even a few minutes of solitude is priceless.
It could be a game-changer, she knew, offering new solutions and possibilities to hold stress at bay. She had no revelations but felt better capable of tackling the day ahead.
An hour later, she had the girls up, fed, and bullied into soccer uniforms, getting them out the door earlier than usual. She marveled at the smiling faces of her twins, and knew the extra time that morning made all the difference. Those few precious minutes,
not having to rush like most Saturdays, added calm to her troubled soul and kept the girls from arguing their way past teeth-brushing to van loading. She was nearly out the door when the telephone rang. It was Keith, no doubt in her mind, but she had no intention of talking to him until his return. This was too big to discuss over the phone. She turned off her cell before he tried that communication avenue.
At the curb in her housecoat, Meg slipped envelopes into the mailbox and raised the flag. She waved down the van. "Just wanted to tell you I put the package in the safe deposit box yesterday."
The girls were already immersed in an argument over which sister was better at imitating Rock Star Barbie. Kate didn't worry about being overheard. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help. I'll figure out a way to get the, uh, package back to…um…where it belongs as soon as possible."
"Don't be too quick. You may need to give the thing to the police if you find anything else. Any ideas about who put it in—" Meg glanced into the backseat, then held up a hand to shield her mouth from the twins and whispered "—in your house yet?"
Kate checked the mirror. The argument had moved on to who kicked a ball the farthest. From experience, she knew this exchange could last for hours with neither girl noticing anything going on around her. She turned back to Meg and briefly related her ideas about the firecracker incident and pizza delivery.
"I can't believe Louie would be involved. I've known the kid forever." Meg chewed her lower lip for a moment. "The boys must've been getting out of the bath when he stopped by. But I definitely wouldn't have been concerned."
"Yeah, I figure I'll be able to eliminate my suspicions as soon as I talk to him," Kate said. "It's just his out-of-town trip right after the incident that gives me reservations."
