Organized for Murder

by Ritter Ames

  "That's nice," Kate said. "Sort of a continuing tribute to his mother."

  His face darkened and he shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

  As the teen shifted from foot to foot, Kate wished she had more time to pump him. He seemed almost ready to say something, just as Walker called from the parlor. "Ms. McKenzie…Oh, there you are."

  "We're coming, Mr. Walker." Kate stepped across the wide, marbled hall. "Danny was telling me about the plants that are grown here."

  "Yes, Miss Amelia was a renowned horticulturalist," Walker said. "The greenhouse and its contents are already taken care of separately in a codicil she recently added to the old will. The greenhouse is self-contained, so there is no need for an inventory before everything goes to the Hazelton Garden Club."

  Kate heard a gasp. Thomas, sitting on a chair by the window, turned pale. "A new codicil?"

  Danny spoke up in a strangled voice, "You…you mean the plants…they'll all go outside the family?"

  "The structure as well," Walker said, before turning officious again. "That's a bit of letting the cat out of the bag at this point, though there shouldn't be much concern. The monetary value will be small compared to everything else. Once she made that small change, however, Amelia decided to make more, which led to my drawing up the new will. In the meantime, Ms. McKenzie, what kind of hourly fee do you require, or would you prefer to provide a price on the entire job?"

  "I don't think—"

  "We cannot possibly give you a price at this time," Meg cut in, pulling Kate down onto the settee beside her. "We need to regroup at the office, plan what resources are required. Why don't we send you a complete proposal on Monday morning?"

  "Yes, yes," Walker nodded. "A proposal early Monday would be most efficient. Then you can begin in the afternoon. We can't get this project started soon enough."

  "Uh—" Kate began.

  "Absolutely," Meg spoke over her.

  *

  Kate followed the action out her kitchen's bay window as her husband and children competed one-on-one with Meg's all-male bunch on the Berman's improvised back patio/basketball court. Gathering dusk settled over the group and automatic lights came on around the neighborhood. She wondered about people and relationships. Gil had the trustworthy, fair good looks of a television news anchor that seemed wasted with a print news career. Meg always appeared an auburn willow beside him, completing the picture of a golden couple. Now knowing about the affair, Kate marveled at her friend's steadfastness, wishing for more information but not comfortable enough to ask. Across the table, a pencil to her smiling lips, the redhead watched her three men join forces to take the lead. Kate sighed.

  Meg turned an emerald gaze her direction. "What's wrong?"

  "Oh, nothing, just…everything…"

  "Don't get your stomach all knotted up over this job." Meg's smile grew as she tapped her pencil eraser on the paper before her. "How many times will you be able to work with big-moneyed lawyers who say 'Damn the cost'?"

  "That's not exactly what he said."

  "Pretty much. Anytime they offer you their employees as help, say they need something big done in the next sixty days, and are ready to accept any price, they're basically saying money is no object."

  "When did he say he would accept any price?"

  "When we said 'the cost proposal would be sent Monday morning,' and he said 'good,' we could start the same afternoon."

  "I don't think he meant—"

  Meg raised a hand. "Trust me, he did."

  Kate shook her head. "You're probably right, but we can't do this job. The more I think over everything, the more I realize we need to use our bid to get us into the house one more time, then leave and never go back."

  "Think of the college money you can set aside for the girls," Meg coaxed. "The vacation you can take to, say, Disney World. Would you be able to swing a summer trip if you don't do the job?"

  "We'll be lucky to finish the inventory before school starts in fall. The only way we can accomplish the job in sixty days is if we spend the following six months recuperating. Forget leaving town this summer."

  "Okay, a winter vacation instead. Christmas in San Diego. Think of escaping the cold and snow."

  "As pleasant as that sounds," Kate said wistfully, "my family wouldn't buy it. They're diehard snow bunnies." She sighed. "And to be honest, I kind of like the Ye Olde Christmas Card look of Vermont during the holidays."

  Meg threw her hands in the air. "You're going to argue with everything I say, aren't you?"

  "It's simply too much for two people. The money would be wonderful, yes, but we'll be working twelve-hour days. Are you ready for that?"

  "Even with Walker's law clerk?"

  "We need more help than just data entry. We could probably use a museum curator on staff, too, but one who specializes in everything." Kate poured herself another cup of coffee. "Besides, I'm not comfortable having a law professional with us on a job we're taking as a means to return stolen property. Even if we didn't steal anything."

  "I hate when you're realistic."

  "I'm always realistic. Does that mean you always hate me?"

  "You know what I mean."

  They were startled by the doorbell chime.

  "Who could that be?" Kate headed for the front, checking as she did to be sure the fathers' and kids' basketball game was still casualty free.

  "You're obviously more in tune with doing the job than you want to believe," Meg called. "And itching to get back to this bid without any interruptions."

  Her friend's optimism made her grin as she opened the door, but the happiness faded instantly as she recognized the visitor. Lean as a leopard and just as deadly, Valerie James, local decorating diva and Kate's ascribed business enemy, stood tall in leather boots and a jacket that cost more than Keith's last paycheck.

  "Hello, Valerie." She forced a nice tone. As much as Kate disliked the woman, she appreciated having a steady babysitter in Tiffany. "I didn't see you walk up."

  "My little Miata was swallowed behind your behemoth on wheels." Valerie pointed toward the driveway. "Since your van was outside, I knew you were home. Though, how you can stand driving such a clumsy thing—"

  It seemed best to ignore the remark. "What can I do for you?"

  "You can start, darling, by inviting me in," Valerie replied, the bored drawl adding a silent "of course" to her words.

  Kate stepped aside. "Meg and I were just having coffee in the kitchen."

  "Going over your bid, I suppose." Valerie's heels rang on the entry's parquet floor.

  Shocked to silence, Kate followed. They were in the kitchen before she could ask, "How did you learn about our Nethercutt bid?"

  "I told you there are no secrets in Hazelton," Meg said, frowning. "What business is it of yours, Valerie?"

  With an elegant shrug, the designer replied, "I came to offer my services. During a phone call this evening with Sophia, I discovered, Kate, that you might be in over your head." She gave a half-grin. "I'm redoing the White mansion's master suite while Sophia's husband is convalescing in the hospital due to some geriatric malady." Then she waved her hand, much the way Sophia had done earlier that day. "The room's going to be truly stunning. Anyway, we were discussing the finishing touches, and she suggested I get with you and offer my services in inventorying the Nethercutt collections. I might be interested in some pieces for my more wealthy clients. I'm getting new referrals every day. Working on the inventory will put me right in the thick of it, you might say."

  "You might say." Kate echoed.

  "Great idea, Valerie. What would you want for an hourly rate?" A tiny wink from the redhead warned Kate to play along.

  The decorator quoted a rate several levels higher than the pair had previously discussed. Meg nodded and jotted the number down on her pad. A few small details later Valerie swept out of the door, reminding Kate for all the world of a fur-less Cruella De Vil on her way to view Dalmatian hides.

  "Okay." She confronted Meg. "I did
n't ask while she was here, but now I have to. Have you lost your mind?"

  A smug expression filled her friend's face. "Think about it. Sophia doesn't want us. For help she suggests someone who anyone in town knows you would say no to. I agree with your reasoning about the proffered law clerk, but we do need at least one more body. Accepting Valerie may first seem like lunacy, but think for a minute, and those crazy pieces fit perfectly in our favor. Best of all, we'll be calling Sophia's bluff."

  "As in keep your enemy near so she can't attack without warning?"

  "Exactly. We get the assistance we need, and Sophia's scheme loses its momentum. Valerie will likely show up late every day, and give us time to slip anything that shows up, like the box, back into the mansion. She can't help herself from dropping information she thinks makes her look important. We'll gain valuable 'intel' we wouldn't learn otherwise. Plus, we know what to charge for an hourly rate that would be the absolute top limit."

  "No kidding. But we aren't going to really bid her figure are we?"

  "Yes, we are." Meg's nod was decisive. "If Walker wants us to do the job as badly as I think he does, he'll pay. And I absolutely will not work for a penny less than Valerie."

  Kate pulled her ear, thoughtful. "At least with her help we'll be able to work six or eight-hour days."

  "And she'll be able to tell us the real names of some of that stuff. During our little excursion today I had no idea what a lot of those things were called."

  "Yes. It's hard to record an inventory when you keep writing 'funny looking whatsit.'"

  "Glad you agree."

  "Still," Kate said, moving back to take her seat to finish compiling the bid page. "Recognizing an enemy spy is all well and good, but I hope we don't soon find ourselves with knives in our backs."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sunday, April 11 –First Tasks

  1) Meet George and Jane for breakfast.

  2) Make sure twins have activities for church service.

  3) Turn on chicken cassoulet in crock pot before leaving

  *

  "And then George cha-cha'd right into the table with the punch bowl, knocking kiwi-strawberry-passion fruit all over us and everyone else within ten feet!" Jane McKenzie said, joining with the entire table as they laughed at the unexpected antics of Keith's usually sedate, pipe-smoking father. George, unlit pipe to his lips, chuckled right along, a granddaughter at each side.

  The McKenzie clan circled around a huge corner table at The Maple Inn, a favorite local B&B known for Vermont country breakfasts. Kate almost moaned with her first bite of blueberry pancakes. Forget commercial air-fresheners, this place could make a mint bottling the syrup fragrance.

  Despite arriving back late the night before, the elder McKenzies appeared relaxed and refreshed. George looked patrician-comfortable in his Sunday suit and tie, his salt-and-pepper mustache twitching in a half-smile with every remark. Jane, twinkling cornflower blue eyes adding sparkle to her words, seemed fresh as ever, not one un-dyed brunette hair out of place.

  The plane's nighttime landing, coupled with the long round trip to Burlington International Airport, came too late for the girls. Keith ran solo the previous evening to pick up his parents, leaving with instructions from Kate to ask if the group could get together before church for breakfast. Agreement was unanimous.

  Everyone seemed as relaxed as the cruise couple. While stories unfolded of warm Caribbean waves and bright island sun, a bevy of packages made a steady entrance out of Jane's capacious handbag, and now both girls wore rainbow-hued coral necklaces around their collars. Kate fingered the pretty, batik-print notebook her motherin-law chose especially for her, wondering how she'd gotten so lucky. Most women didn't count their in-laws as friends and supporters. She looked at the shark-tooth key ring they'd given Keith and the stack of matching tie-dyed Tshirts beside her own purse and sighed, content. No useless trinkets for Jane McKenzie; she bought souvenirs worth carting home.

  Kate hoped to find some time after church to get Jane alone to discuss Amelia's murder and the later developments. The big question was what to ask first. Coming out of her reverie, she noticed her tomboy twin's once pristine white shirt bore evidence of pancakes. "Oh, Sam, you have maple syrup on your sleeve."

  Jane whipped the napkin off her lap and dipped it in a water glass, reaching out to her granddaughter. "Here, dear, give me your hand."

  "Well, if I eat one more bite I'm going to burst." Keith signaled for the bill. "I love this place, but I'll be running off this breakfast all week."

  Margaret Newton, owner and expert meal-planner for the B&B, caught Keith's gesture and worked her way through the crowded room of satisfied customers. "Everything all right at this table?"

  "Wonderful, Margaret," Keith replied, his words seconded by everyone's nodding heads. "We need to pay our check, though. Reverend Parker does like his congregation to show up on time."

  "I hope this member can stay awake during the sermon." George held out a hand as Margaret withdrew her pad.

  "Dad, I'll get it." Keith rose from his chair.

  "Nonsense." George snatched the paper from the inn owner's hand, and smiled to cover the bad manners. "I haven't had to pay for a meal all week."

  "That's not exactly right," Keith argued.

  "Sure it is. The cruise ship had tables ready for us twenty-four hours a day." George counted money from his wallet and pushed a handful Margaret's way, then turned to Jane. "You about ready to go, Mother?"

  "Yes, dear."

  Kate smiled as Keith gave up after the usual fight. She turned to the girls. "Go wash your sticky fingers and meet us at the van."

  "We want to ride with Grandpa and Grandma," Suzanne said. Samantha backed her up with a long, "Please."

  "We'd love to drive these darlings in our car," Jane assured. "We've missed having the little gigglers around."

  The girls responded in typical giggly fashion, getting their sticky fingers all over Jane's red wool suit as they hugged her before racing to the bathroom.

  "I'm sorry—" Kate started.

  "Pshaw." Jane waved a hand. "Not every grandmother has tangible evidence of her granddaughters' love. I'll be the envy of the senior's class this morning."

  After gathering jackets and belongings, the adults made their way to the front, chatting with acquaintances along the way. The girls met them at the door, their reflections haloed in the windows by the brisk Vermont sunshine.

  "That was the best idea," Jane said. George handed his key ring to Sam, and the girls raced to the La Sabre.

  "Well, thanks again, Dad," Keith said. Kate nodded and smiled.

  George fingered his pipe. "Need to do this more often. Girls will be grown up and driving before we know it. Won't have time to sit down and eat with us old geezers."

  "Oh, don't remind me." Kate used a hand to shield the sun from her eyes as she watched her daughters unlock the Buick and climb into the backseat. "Some days I wish they were older. Maybe they would listen to what I say. Then I think about them driving and going off on their own, and I just cringe."

  "That's natural," Jane said. "But don't go getting your hopes up. I think teenagers are worse at listening than first-graders."

  "Gee, thanks."

  Kate relished the quiet ride to church with her husband. Neither had anything to say, but the silence remained comfortable, not strained. Given her silly worries of the previous few days, she chastised herself again over her fears. She took Keith's right hand, and he shot her a grin as the van entered the church parking lot.

  Somehow everyone stayed awake through the sermon, though Jane had to give George a couple of nudges. A full stomach seemed to agree with the twins, too, and they sat quietly in the pew sharing a coloring book and crayons.

  All seemed suddenly right in the world, at least for the moment. Kate closed her eyes for the final prayer.

  On the drive home the van resumed its regular twin-tone noise level, and Kate contemplated what vegetable dish to add to the chicken
cassoulet that should be nearing completion in the crock pot. Until the fight broke out in the back.

  "I found it." Sam said.

  "You gotta share," Suze returned hotly. When Kate turned around, she added, "Right, Mommy?"

  "Share what?" Kate worried Suze had already broken her necklace and wanted to wrangle her sister's as a replacement. But no, both girls still sported the coral chokers. She looked down at Sam's hands. Her heart sank. She saw the piece of highly carved ivory. "Sam, give that to me."

  "Can't I keep it, Mommy? See, it's a pretty fan." The child opened the ivory ends to release a hand-painted silk scene.

  Kate had already intuited what the item was and where it belonged, but this absolutely confirmed her fears. The fragile piece, part of an expensive collection, belonged in the bamboo case on the back wall of Amelia Nethercutt's lavender guestroom.

  *

  "Keith, what are we going to do?" Kate asked, after sending the girls to wash for lunch. She no longer had the imagination to think about complementary side dishes and just lifted the crock server, placing the cassoulet in the middle of the table.

  "Want me to heat up these rolls?" He held up a package from the counter.

  "Huh? That's not what I meant."

  "I know. You were talking about the fan." Without waiting for a decision on the bread, he filled a baking sheet and started the toaster oven. "Let's get through lunch. We can decide later what to do about everything else."

  Kate distributed the plates, and handed the necessary silverware to the girls as they bounced into the room. "I don't think I have an appetite anymore."

  "Why, Mom?" Sam asked, peering over the tabletop to see the crock's creamy contents. "Did lunch burn?"

  "Your mother's a wonderful cook, Sam," Keith replied, lowering his voice to phony, authoritative mode. "She would never burn our food."

  The twins giggled. "Yes, she has," they chorused.

  "Never!" He moved in a menacing, Frankenstein style. "Treasonous words cannot be said in this house. You must be punished."