Organized for Murder

by Ritter Ames

  Kate barely kept her mind on the prices, almost as antsy as the girls had been earlier, eager to start on her own scavenger quest of information. She had just slid her debit card through the reader when Suze cried, "Hey, look. There's Louie."

  Indeed, at that moment their pizza delivery guy grabbed his change and exited the cigarette register. As Louie hit the automatic door, Danny bounced away from the window and walked over, putting his arm around the older teen's shoulders. The pair disappeared into the night, and with their departure Kate lost another opportunity to talk to Danny.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  STACKED IN YOUR FAVOR

  KATE MCKENZIE, PRES.

  TO DO FOR Thurs., April 15th

  Words to Stay On-Track:

  "Entrepreneurs are simply those who understand that there is little difference between obstacle and opportunity, and are able to turn both to their advantage."

  — Victor Kiam —

  Goals for the Day:

  1)Work on final invoicing, since job at Amelia's is shut down by order of state police.

  2)Presentation tonight at Saree's. Talk about making choices. Discuss how running late is a CHOICE, forgetting appointments is a CHOICE, wise time & resource managing is a CHOICE. Take family schedule calendar. Explain how each person is assigned a color, and appointments for each person are written on the calendar in the designated color so we can quickly spot who does what and when. (Also great reminder for bill paying—give bills their own color.) Suggest hanging in high-traffic area, like the kitchen or near the door everyone leaves by.

  *

  "Sure you're going to be okay alone?" Keith asked, the girls already in the Jeep and his golf clubs standing ready by the front door.

  The radio station planned to devote the entire morning drive hour to cover the latest crime spree in Hazelton. Scheduled experts would discuss how the violence trend continued widening ever farther from the urban areas toward rural locales like Vermont—something Kate knew wouldn't thrill town leaders. But with baseball season beginning, and hockey and basketball hurtling toward playoffs, the evening sports coverage remained set to continue without interruption. To that end, Keith was the man up to provide color for a special Thursday night fundraising baseball game in Burlington between some of the Oakland A's and their Minor League team, the Vermont Lake Monsters, to support the children's wing of a Burlington hospital.

  Pre-game, he and his station manager planned to add their own bit of color to their golf games. "I can call Jimmy and cancel."

  "No." Kate waved a hand. "Go on. Meg and I have plenty to catch up on today even if we are no longer gainfully employed."

  He walked over and circled her in his arms. "Not what I meant. Being close to a murdered—"

  "Stop." Kate cut the sharpness of her response with a soft jab to his chest. "I'm perfectly fine about all of this, but I don't need anything resurrecting the memory." She pushed away. "Now go, before the girls decide to try driving themselves to school."

  Keith scooped the cell phone out of the kitchen charger as he headed for the door. "If you think you're okay—but call if you need me later. Oh, and remember I'm staying over in Burlington tonight, and you'll have to pick up the twins after school."

  "I will. Drive carefully. There's a chance of rain tomorrow, and the drive back might be slick."

  He pulled her close and gave her a long kiss goodbye. "I may have had the reputation for being a little reckless on hockey ice, babe, but never on asphalt."

  Kate followed him out the front door and waved to the girls as the red Jeep circled the cul-de-sac and disappeared onto the main road. The telephone rang as she locked the door.

  "Hello."

  "I saw everyone leave," Meg said. "Want me to come over and help you prepare our invoice or anything? I'll bring donuts and the newspaper. Gil made an early run this morning."

  "Any new info?" Kate asked, smiling at the proprietary way all small towns want to learn everything about their own—good or bad. Especially the bad.

  "Only new thing I noticed was about the rumors regarding Sophia's alleged involvement in some less than savory business dealings subsequent to the court ruling her husband incapable of handling his own financial affairs."

  "He's not in for health problems, he's—"

  "Ga-ga," Meg replied. "Put a fresh pot of coffee on, and I'll be over with donuts."

  "Interesting. So Sophia truly was in charge."

  As the coffee brewed Kate scooped up breakfast dishes and added them to the dishwasher. She wiped off the maple syrup bottle and replaced it in the refrigerator, then took a wet cloth to the sticky area left on the table. A load of laundry churned rhythmically in the washer by the time Meg walked through the back door.

  "I bring the most important of the basic food groups," Meg said, raising the flat box high above her head as if in offer to the carb-deity. "My men swarmed over these sweets like locusts, but I managed to keep two back before they devoured everything."

  "My family had waffles with too much syrup, so both our offspring should be crashing right around first recess," Kate replied. "The girls originally wanted a new sugary cereal they had to have last night, but once they pulled out the prize they decided their dad's breakfast looked better."

  Meg lowered the box with a flourish, and it landed gracefully in the middle of the table. "Then our work is done, my sister. Let us eat."

  Kate laughed and set the coffeepot on a trivet. She pulled pads and pens from the drawer under the telephone.

  "What are those for?"

  "I've been thinking. We may not be able to work at the mansion anymore—nor do I want to," she quickly added as Meg displayed an alarmed expression. "But we do possess a pretty good knowledge of Amelia's eccentric taste and—"

  "You do, anyway."

  Kate shook her head. "And you, too. Your total hours in there nearly match mine, and you can't tell me you haven't absorbed more than a little of the crazy-quilt logic the couple used to buy what struck their fancy. Plus, you've seen enough in the rooms to be able to notice things which may belong in the Nethercutts' various collections."

  "I'm not getting where you're going with this." Meg picked up a plump donut and bit into the glazed curve.

  "I propose we go on a scavenger hunt today." When Meg raised a quizzical eyebrow, she hastened to add, "Check out area antique stores and malls for anything that might have belonged to Amelia and Daniel. Try to find out who brought the pieces in for sale and maybe discover who was stealing her stuff."

  "Oh! What mother and the gossipy hens talked about at the garden club luncheon." Meg dropped her donut and almost knocked over a cup in her excitement. "I'd forgotten Amelia's mission."

  "Well, we haven't exactly had the time to take it on while doing the inventory, but now we do have the opportunity and should recognize things that may have made Amelia's collector heart go pitter-patter. We know enough to be dangerous, anyway, to someone trying to keep his or her sticky-fingered crimes a secret."

  "Speaking of sticky." Meg popped the last bite into her mouth and wiped her fingers on a napkin. "We could be placing ourselves in a sticky situation, and uncover enough to get in more hot water."

  Kate tore her donut in half and offered a piece to her friend. "I can't believe Meg Berman is suddenly getting super-security-minded. You've acted all along as if you're ready to launch into anything."

  Meg snapped up the proffered fried dough and grinned. "Hey, I'm not turning cautious. I simply like to play devil's advocate once in a while. Speaking of Satan, you don't suppose the whole theft problem died yesterday with Sophia?"

  "Maybe, but I've been thinking long and hard on this and every part of me wants to say no. I mean, yes. Sophia was swiping anything she could from the mansion, but was always out in the open about it, and she repeatedly claimed the items were willed to her. The thefts in question, however, began before Amelia died, and disappeared stealthily. Completely out of character for Sophia."

  "True, but if s
he needed money for shady dealings—"

  "We don't know she's short on funds, just that shady business rumors are flying. But if the woman needed cash, why not mortgage a property or sell something to put a lot of bucks in her bank account?" Kate took a sip of coffee to wash down the sugar overload, then walked to the counter and pulled her casebook from her purse, flipping a few pages before she answered. "Nope. According to what your mother said, Amelia found her stuff up for sale in an antique shop. Whether it was consignment or not, a Vermont antique shop isn't the best way to get top price or fast cash. With her connections she would have hit Sotherby's or Christie's for a more lucrative and timely payday."

  "Connections in New York might offer the means. Remember she had to stay until Saturday on business when she and Keith flew there. Maybe the extra day was to arrange transport or something."

  "Or something," Kate mused. "As much as I would love to say Sophia framed me, I can't make myself believe she was the thief."

  "So, do you think it's Bill or Thomas?"

  Kate shrugged. "No idea. The only thing to do is visit some shops and ask who brought in the goods."

  "Any hints about starting places?"

  "I wanted to ask Mrs. Baxter, but I called the phone number she gave me, and it's been disconnected. Apparently, she's moved out of her cottage, and I have no idea where. I guess I could try the attorney's office. They need an address to send a final check, or do you think Bill might be worth pumping for information?"

  "I have a better idea." Meg pulled keys from her jeans pocket. "We go with the theme of your original thoughts and take to the highways and byways, my friend. Wander through every antique store we can find, and see what information gets unearthed. That's how Amelia discovered the scheme. Maybe we'll discover the schemer."

  "Good idea. Any particular starting point in mind?"

  "Bennington boasts a good concentration of antique emporiums located in and around the city limits. Close enough for the thief to get there easily, and far enough from Hazelton to make him or her complacent about the risk of getting caught. Come on, I'll drive, and you can ride shotgun."

  "Shotgun, Meg, really? I think I prefer to be navigator."

  "Yeah." Meg grinned. "But the other sounds much more exciting."

  *

  The best part about her neighbor's adventure idea was getting to travel over several of the state's picturesque covered bridges. Kate loved the gentle wap-wap-wap sound tires made crossing the wooden floors, and the way the sunlight and leaf shadows danced in and out of the lattice-worked openings above the car. She sent up a wish with every crossing, her own personal superstition for blessing.

  When the many shops in Bennington proper failed to provide a lead, the women hit the perimeter roads, finally heading north on Route 67A. It was at one of the three bridges off Route 67A, the one across Silk Road, where her wish came true.

  The dark red barn sat off at the side of the road, surrounded by majestic hemlocks and various evergreens. Fallen cones lay scattered across the season's new grass, along with the short dark leaves that gave the hemlock branches their flat appearance. A crushed gravel drive and small parking lot completed the scene, with a rustic sign, Ursula's Antiques, swinging in the breeze. The loft held linens and bed things, sheet music, and antique camping and fishing gear. The lower level displayed kitchen and household items, books and tools, jewelry and music boxes—and one glorious puzzle box. Kate gasped. It was the same ebony and ivory inlaid puzzle box planted in Kate's house the night of Amelia's murder and returned to the mansion just days ago.

  Meg picked it up, her mouth set in a firm line as she turned the box over. They nodded in silent agreement.

  "A lovely little box," cooed Ursula, a white-haired pixie who rose from a needle-pointed chair behind a teak eighteenth-century secretary. "At least one-hundred-fifty years old. Asian. We just received it from a new vendor."

  Kate took the box from Meg and shook it. Nothing. Whatever had been inside was gone. She wanted to learn the secret, for her own peace of mind if nothing else. "Can you show me how it opens?"

  "Certainly." Ursula pulled open a thin drawer and extracted a hat pin. "Quite simple once the trick is revealed." She pushed the pin's point into an almost invisible hole near one seam. Instantly, the top sprang up, revealing the empty interior.

  "How interesting," Meg said. "This came from a new vendor, you say?"

  "Yes." Ursula smiled. "I can't wait to meet her."

  Kate's heart sank, and knew from looking at Meg's face that her friend felt the same disappointment. "You've never met this person? This woman?"

  Ursula shook her head. "I've only talked to her by phone. She sent the box by post, with an address to mail the check."

  "Do you have an address?"

  "Yes…" Ursula frowned. "Is there a particular reason you're interested in this vendor?"

  Obviously we'll never make it as spies. Kate looked at Meg and received a shrug, taking that as agreement to go ahead and tell all. "You see, Miss, er, Ursula, we believe this item was stolen from an estate we've been working for. Various things disappeared over the past few months. You can see why we're interested in the person who sent the box."

  "Stolen? My heavens." Ursula fluttered back to her chair and picked up a manila folder to fan her rapidly reddening face. "She said her name was Miss Wilson, and she had such a cultured voice. Of course, from what you say I assume her name is likely an alias, but I certainly had no reason to think so at the time or believe the item stolen."

  "You said you have her address."

  "Oh, yes." Ursula dropped her improvised fan and pulled a Rolodex closer. After picking through an almost endless stream of cards, she pulled out one. "A post office box in Wilmington."

  The town just east of Bennington. Another let down.

  *

  They wound through the picturesque roads back to Hazelton, both women unusually quiet. Meg's jaw was set and her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. Kate wished they could check out more places, but the end of the school day was fast approaching with kids to retrieve. Additionally, she needed time to steel herself for the Book Nook organizing seminar in a few hours.

  "This thing at Saree's tonight could do great things for your business," Meg said, as if reading Kate's mind.

  "I just wish it were some other night. With Keith out of town, Tiffany is babysitting the girls."

  "Well, at least there's no risk of any more surreptitious gifts appearing this time." Meg slowed as they approached a narrow, uncovered bridge.

  "How do you figure?"

  "You heard what Ursula said." Meg flashed a surprised look. "With Sophia dead, the theft problem is gone. Obviously, she was the one trying to pin everything on you."

  "Hmm. You think she killed Amelia to cover her thefts?"

  "I know you figured a whole 'why she didn't do it' scenario earlier, but the thief was a woman with a cultured voice. Plus, the death mask was at her murder and points toward her being the thief. She could have realized she would be caught and killed herself, sending you the text message to attempt one last try at framing you, using the mask to make things even more complicated."

  "Not unless she was able to fatally stab herself, yet wipe her fingerprints off the knife before she died, and pose her body on the sofa after her own death. With those facts proven by the crime scene and forensics pros, it's highly likely the mask was placed after death."

  "Posed after her death?"

  Kate nodded. "The CSI guy told Johnson during my interrogation. The body was moved after death, and the mask had to be positioned after death as well. While the possibility exists that Sophia could have been the thief, I'm convinced the murderer brought it in, planning to use the mask as another attempt to implicate me in murder. The only thing that saved me was Valerie running hard at my heels."

  After chewing on her lower lip, Meg suggested, "What about Sophia as the thief and an unknown someone else the murderer of both women? The murderer spo
tted the mask in Sophia's house and put it on the dead body as a sick gag—murder victim and a death mask."

  "Entirely possible, but we can't prove motive or opportunity, and until we do it's going to be difficult figuring out who the murderer is. Motives for Amelia's death could have been the will or her bossiness." Kate fished the casebook out of her purse. "Sophia was no sweetheart, but we don't have any idea how her life affected anyone else's. She and Bill had their fights, Danny avoided her, and every time we've seen Sophia and Thomas together they seemed unperturbed by each other. While notable in its lack of competitive atmosphere, hers and Thomas's non-hostile relationship doesn't give us any motive toward her murder. As far as money goes, she's married. Any money in her estate would likely go to her husband."

  She flipped pages in the notebook, checking facts and ideas. After a few minutes, she closed it with a snap. "Nothing here to suggest any new direction, and nothing neatly connects. Something is missing. The person trying to make me look guilty may be the thief or the murderer, but…"

  "What are you thinking?"

  Kate gave a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry. I'm seeing conspiracy where there isn't any. You know, working through the puzzle again and again makes me put pieces together whether they fit or not. But the silly thinking does make a kind of picture appear."

  "Quit apologizing, and tell me what you're trying not to say."

  "Probably the craziest thing you've ever heard."

  "Try me."

  Taking a deep breath, she said, "What if the woman on the phone with the cultured voice was Valerie?"

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Staying Organized in the Car

  1) Use over-the-seat organizers on front seatbacks. Besides providing invaluable storage space for kids' stuff like iPods and books, the roomy pockets hold maps, umbrellas, and snacks for lengthy road trips—or just long errand days.