by Ritter Ames
"Those firecrackers." Meg stared off toward Kate's house, as if she had laser vision through the Victorian's blue siding and into the wooded area beyond. "I figured they were set off by some teen with too much time on his hands, but you're right about a perfect distraction if someone wanted everyone away from your house."
"Mommmmeeee, can we get a slushie on the way?" Suze pleaded.
"Yeah, Mom, we're thirsty," Sam added.
"Not before the soccer game. Water bottles are in the back cooler," Kate called over her shoulder. "Gotta go," she said to her neighbor.
"Sure." Meg smiled. Then her green eyes took on a surprised look. "Hey, where's Keith?"
Kate's backbone stiffened. "We'll talk later."
*
"Are you crazy?" Meg slammed both palms onto the McKenzie breakfast table, jostling the steaming cups of coffee. "What could possibly make you think Keith might be having an affair? Especially with Sophia."
Kate fought to hold back tears that threatened whenever she thought about this very question. Her mental turmoil had staged a continuing battle during less intense moments of the girls' soccer game—which they won—and throughout the drive home. The coach had whisked away all comers for a hotdog party in his backyard, and the twins had hardly noticed Kate beg off as they joined giggling teammates in the coach's huge Suburban.
Now, across the table from Meg, she finally voiced the worries she'd been vacillating over all day. Mounting circumstantial evidence pointed decisively, at least in her opinion, toward potential marital woes.
"Did I tell you how Keith and I met?"
"Yeah." Meg gave a sideways shake of her head, like she wasn't sure she understood the question. "You were coordinating a big shot corporate event at a Vancouver Canucks game for a group of Portland executives. You each looked into the other's eyes, and bam! I love that story."
Kate smiled, in spite of herself. They had shaken hands and knew immediately from the first touch. Her right hand tingled even now at the thought. "Yes, I think we could've powered all of Vancouver."
Her love for hockey began in an instant, and their courtship was just as quick. Three months later she was Mrs. Keith McKenzie, her wedding a last extravaganza planned as an events coordinator, and she relocated to the Canadian Pacific.
"What I didn't tell you was the underhanded ways some of the hockey wives helped their husbands' careers by shoving a wedge into other players' families with gossip and innuendo. Most of the couples were really nice. But for a few…the competition extended past the ice." She stood and paced. "I know the same thing happens in the corporate world."
"At newspapers, too."
Kate stopped at the coffee counter to gather her thoughts before continuing. "There was always a small clique of snippy wives who built tension between couples, saying things in whispers that just stayed in your mind. That's what happened to Keith and me, anyway. Nights we argued caused friction and little sleep. Travel days when I stayed behind heightened the tension and ultimately led to him not having his mind on the game during crucial plays. Any mistakes Keith made allowed other husbands to step in and increase their own worth with the team."
Meg scooped up the mugs and joined her at the coffeepot. "That would be ingenious if the plan wasn't pure evil."
"Got it in one, friend." Kate sighed and followed Meg back toward the table but only to set down her cup. "It's not an easy life. When other couples broke up, we vowed to double our efforts. After the girls were born things got better—then worse."
She walked over and replayed Keith's first phone message, where he'd repeatedly said "boss" instead of naming Sophia. Kate still hadn't listened to the message from that morning, the one she'd raced from the house to avoid, so the women heard it for the first time together.
"Hi, honey. Me again. I keep missing you all. Well, I'll be home tonight. Tell the girls I love 'em and hope they win today. I—"
Keith's conversation halted as a double knock came over the speaker.
"Oops, that's the door. Gotta go. Love you and the girls. Take care."
Tandem beeps signaled the message's end. Kate moaned, "That was probably Sophia," and burst into tears.
"Oh, honey," Meg wrapped arms around Kate, and rubbed her back as she sobbed. "Don't let this be the evil wives all over again. Keith loves you."
Kate pulled away and grabbed a napkin to dab the corners of her eyes. "Easy to say, but…" After a couple of deep breaths, she finished, "You have to admit the evidence looks pretty daunting."
"Girl, you are jumping to ludicrous conclusions." Meg wrapped an arm around Kate's shoulders. "I've known Sophia peripherally for years. Yes, she's a piranha, I'll give you that, but Keith loves you. The proof is in his eyes every time he's near you."
"Then why keep it secret he had a fling with Sophia before we were married?" Kate felt heat rise in her face. "And that she owns the radio station?"
"Well, technically, neither of those things is true," Meg said, not meeting Kate's eyes.
"What do you mean? What haven't you told me?"
Meg shrugged. "Only the little things I remember and a few conversations through the years." She looked at Kate and shrugged again. "Okay, gossip. Everyone loved seeing the witch get her comeuppance. Sophia was after Keith like Jane said. However, if the phone line hadn't gone dead your dear motherin-law likely would have told you Sophia got nowhere. Keith was nice, took her out a couple of times, but their fling fizzled—it never sizzled."
"Which brings us back to my original question. Why did you and Keith and everyone but my motherin-law keep this from me?"
"I didn't think about saying anything," Meg replied. Kate glared and she rushed on, "Hey, it was ten years ago, for heaven's sake. I've had two kids and very little sleep in the meantime. As far as why your husband kept mum, you said it yourself—men are chicken. Keith is no different. Didn't you make a list of all this last night? That's how you work, right?"
"Yeah…" She sighed, pulling her notebook from the counter. "I'm jumping to conclusions, I'll admit it. Everything rational I've already told myself is true, and I'm letting my irrational side take control today."
"You're human. Cut yourself a break."
Kate smiled. Yes, this is what friends were for. She filed the thought away as a reminder to goad her the next time doubts kept her from searching out a friendly ear. Trust. "You're right. Thanks."
"My pleasure," Meg said, before her grin wavered a bit. "Besides, I know what husbands are like when they cheat. Keith doesn't show the real signs."
"You can't mean Gil?"
"Years ago." Meg nodded. "With a young hussy reporter who thought he'd hoist her up the success ladder." She offered a crooked smile. "And believe it or not, it actually made our marriage stronger."
"You're okay?" Kate reached out and took her neighbor's hand, but Meg pulled free and scooped up the notepad.
"Ancient history. I was tied up with babies and missed all the red flags. We'll talk about it some other day. In the meantime, we need to plan your next move. Where should we start?"
Her friend's brisk, no-nonsense attitude was the perfect tonic, and Kate smiled despite herself as she watched her neighbor's red corkscrew curls bend over the long list. For all her own organizational skills, Kate recognized her need for someone to give the old rah-rah during down times. And she'd certainly hit basement level lately. "Well, I'm not sure how to handle the first question, and I'll need to wait until Keith gets back for the second and fourth—"
"Which we now agree are moot." Meg raised an eyebrow and grinned.
"Definitely moot," she concurred, smiling. "The biggest concern is still whoever is setting me up. If we figure out that missing link, we can presume a good probability we've found a tie to the murder or the murderer."
"Whom we want to identify but carefully avoid."
"Hey, I'm not a girl waving a death wish," Kate said. "I only want to keep my hide out of jail."
Running a pink fingernail down the list, Meg divvied up the rest. "Okay
, you need to maintain a handle on Danny. He might let something slip and tell whether Sophia is setting you up."
"But I thought we'd struck off the affair angle?"
"Don't confuse one issue with another." Meg looked up from the list. "Sophia is a mean, mean bitch. Always has been, always will be. If she killed Amelia, she'll find a fall guy, and what more perfect pawn than the wife of the guy who didn't fall for her charms years ago?"
"I am glad you know everyone around Hazelton." Kate took a sip of her cooled coffee, her earlier anxiety reaching an equally mild temperature.
Meg shot her a mischievous grin, those dancing freckles standing out more than usual. "Oh, not everyone, but experience tells me who to detour around and who fuels the gossip chains. Sophia meets both criteria. Which brings me to numbers six and seven regarding Thomas's current activities and Amelia's relationship with her domestic help. Mother can likely provide information in those areas. The bridge group is scheduled to play at her house this afternoon, and she asked me to come over to help serve refreshments. What Mother can't contribute, the other nosy biddies she plays with probably can."
"You're terrible."
"Ain't I though?" Meg's grin turned wicked.
Kate took the list and planned her own next move. "So, if I can connect with Danny, I might find out about the gardening procedures around the mansion. Discover who picked the deadly blooms."
"Try charming his father, too. William Nethercutt is a committed ladies' man."
"Really? I had him pegged as a staid tax attorney."
"You pegged right, as far as the tax attorney goes. Except that staid is far from a valid description. Married at least six times in the last twenty years, with no less than five times as many girlfriends during the same period. He also keeps a hand in his ex-wives' lives."
"Danny mentioned his parents still get together for dinner."
"And likely much, much more." Meg wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
"You're kidding." Kate smiled and shook her head. "How does he have time to make a living?"
"His law partners wonder the same thing."
"How do you know all of this?" Kate asked, amazed at the breadth of small town gossip. "No one ever tells me such intimate information."
Meg shrugged. "You haven't lived here your whole life. Mark is on a ball team with one of the partners' sons. The father never makes the games, but the mother does and has no ethical dilemma over spilling what should be confidential information. While our sons miss fly balls, we mothers get entertained by the law office soap opera."
"Remind me never to use his firm," Kate said.
"This is Hazelton. Very little remains secret."
"Except who killed Amelia Nethercutt—"
"The police are working on it."
"—and who's trying to set me up," Kate finished.
"Yeah." Meg took a final sip of coffee. "But we're going to get to the bottom of that. Mark my words. I need to get home and round up my men for some weekend chores, but I'll call if I learn anything. Don't forget to do the same."
"I promise. Thanks for all your help."
Meg crinkled her nose and waved her hand to imply indifference, as she headed for the back door.
"It's one thing to have a plan of action," Kate muttered as she shot the dead bolt home. "It's quite another to actually have a clue about where to begin."
Facts, fantasies, options, and opinions cluttered her overworked mind. Employing the same methods as she would approach a disorganized room seemed the best answer. She needed to quantify the brain clutter.
It seemed logical to assume Amelia discovered her belongings in the antique store, as reported by the garden club, and the guilty party murdered her in an effort to keep from being unmasked as a thief and possibly disinherited. Yet, why use a stolen treasure box to incriminate Kate? According to what Meg gleaned from Hyacinth and the girls, Amelia already discovered the thefts before Kate was even hired. So, the murderer/thief either hadn't known Amelia knew, or decided to try pointing to Kate as a thief and peripherally tie her to the murder after the fact. Or, someone besides the murderer/thief killed Amelia and, afraid of being tarred for both crimes, roped Kate into the circle of guilt. Too many possibilities.
The big picture was clear; time to state her needs. Unfortunately, the major ones simply mirrored her goals.
"But my minor needs definitely revolve around Danny," she said, marking a big star at his section of her pad. She tapped the pencil point on the page and let her mind relax to see if an inkling of an idea emerged. "Nothing that doesn't seem contrived or ridiculous."
The business line rang.
"Stacked in Your Favor, this is Kate."
"Ms. McKenzie." A deep voice elegantly enunciated her name. "I am Charles Webster Walker, attorney to the late Amelia Nethercutt."
A sinking sensation hit Kate's stomach. Had they already discovered the box was missing? "Y-yes." She took a deep breath and tried again. "What can I d-do for you, Mr. Walker?"
"A sticky situation is developing, and I hope you can help us in the resolution," he continued.
He knows.
How could she prove she hadn't taken it? And Meg. Would they arrest Meg, too? Why had she let Meg take the damned thing?
Kate suddenly realized she'd missed the lawyer's words. "I'm sorry, but would you repeat what you just said?"
"An inventory, Ms. McKenzie. That's what we're looking for," Walker explained. "Until we get an accurate inventory of all the collections, Amelia Nethercutt's estate cannot be settled. A specified requirement of the will, and making it imperative to have an inventory in hand within the next sixty days."
"Inventory the whole house?" Kate heard the incredulity in her voice.
Walker apparently heard it as well. "We realize this is a colossal undertaking. While we would prefer a complete price for the entire job, we understand if you must charge an hourly rate to accommodate your crew."
My crew? Kate hoped Meg had nothing to do for the next two months. Wait a minute. What was she thinking? After the last few days she would be crazy to actually consider this. Was she nuts?
"Look, Mr. Walker, the offer is flattering, but I—"
"Please, Ms. McKenzie, meet with us before you say no." The sound of papers rustled through the receiver. "You're already familiar with many of the collections."
That's an understatement!
"The most efficient plan calls for you to supervise the cataloguing process."
"But, the short time frame and the sheer number of items—"
"We'll provide whatever you need," Walker promised. "I'll even send over one of my law clerks and a laptop computer to assist with the data processing."
It would be a great way to sneak the box back in the house.
"Come to the heir meeting today and let us discuss the situation, Ms. McKenzie." There was a new note of pleading in the lawyer's voice.
"I suppose I could," Kate replied. "But the police—"
"Have been dealt with, and I'm assured you are cleared of any suspicion." His voice rang with finality. "We're in agreement then. Wonderful. Does your schedule have any available openings this afternoon? Say two o'clock?"
"You don't want to give me any time to think about it, do you?"
Walker chuckled. "I confess that was part of my reasoning. Though, more importantly, we need to get the wheels turning to avoid a delayed settlement of the estate."
Did she dare dig for a little more information? "I assumed a Nethercutt Trust was created to minimize taxes."
"Yes, one would expect such an instrument to be in place," Walker mused. "The Nethercutts were nothing if not, shall we say, particular about their things and the future of those items."
Okay, no real information, but I didn't exactly voice it as a question… She reminded herself to try another approach at a later date.
Kate looked at the clock. She still needed to pick up the twins and get hold of Meg. "I'm not sure I can make it by two. Could we meet
later today, or sometime Monday?"
"How about four this afternoon?"
The man was not going to give up.
"One more concern. I understand Sophia Nethercutt-White is out of town at the moment. Shouldn't we wait for her to attend?"
"I spoke with her from the plane a half hour ago, just before the pilot landed," Walker replied briskly. "She's…she's interested, shall we say, in getting this situation rectified so the conditions of the will can be met."
Shall we say.
The front door opened, and Keith called, "Hey, honey, I'm home."
"Yes, I think I can handle four," she told Walker, and replaced the receiver as Keith's exuberant face lit up the kitchen. She crossed her arms, her pent-up anger surging once more to the surface.
"Did you get my message?" He rushed over and wrapped her in a hug, oblivious to his wife's body language. "ESPN! Can you believe it?"
She pushed out of her husband's embrace. "Why didn't you tell me about your history with Sophia Nethercutt-White?"
"How did you find out?" He tried to take her hand, but she slapped his away. "It really wasn't anything, Katie, and besides, we're talking years ago. We dated a couple of times. We parted friends."
"What kind of friends?" She crossed her arms again. "Sophia isn't known as a forgiving sort. She doesn't seem the type who readily hires ex-lovers to work at her radio station."
"First, we were never lovers." His eyebrows came dangerously close to meeting. "Second, I don't work for Sophia. Her husband signed my contract."
"Then explain why you told me you were going to New York with, I quote…" She raised her hands and crooked two pairs of fingers in the air for emphasis. "…'The boss,' and Eileen informed me you jetted off with Sophia? When I put two and two together, it adds up to Sophia being your boss."
"Well, technically—"
Kate slammed her hand on the counter. "Don't give me semantics, damn it! You tried to mislead me. Why?"
"I wasn't being intentionally misleading, I just, uh…" His gaze circled the room, as if rescue could come from thin air.
"Did you want to hurt me?" She took a deep breath and held it.
"Don't be ridiculous, honey." Keith stepped forward to hug her again, but she sidestepped out of reach. "I didn't mention any of this because I didn't want to hurt you."
