by Cindy Sample
He snorted then his eyes met mine. “We're not talking taxes here, are we?”
I shook my head.
“So this Dimitri guy is dead?”
I nodded.
“Tell me you didn't find him?”
What could I say? In the words of our fearless leader, I have a knack.
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* * *
NINE
* * * *
By eight o'clock that evening, I discovered that while I have a knack for finding dead bodies, I do not have a knack for designing costumes, particularly costumes that involve the design and construction of fake antlers. Mangled wire hangers littered the family room floor. Discarded pieces of misshapen brown felt were stacked in a raggedy pile at my feet. On top of the pile rested Pumpkin, the Halloween-hued kitten my ex had given the kids. The jury is still out as to which of the two creates more headaches for me. The cat, or my ex.
A flash of blinding headlights illuminated the room. It was too late and too cold for anyone to be out selling magazine subscriptions. Her highness must be making a house call. For once, I was pleased at my mother's predilection for unannounced visits. If anyone could design reindeer headwear, she could.
The front door creaked open. Number 23 on my to-do list. Buy some WD 40. The sound of my mother's trilling laugh was off-putting. She never trilled alone. The deep voice resonating from the entry immediately confirmed my suspicions. So did the knots that formed in my stomach. Mother had arrived with her boyfriend, Tall, Bald, and Homely. And Crabby. And Suspicious. His negative traits could fill an entire chapter.
I still couldn't figure out what my classy mother saw in the man. He wasn't anything like my sweet, perpetually cheerful father, the wonderful man who had died too soon, leaving behind a young widow to raise two children alone. I wished my brother didn't live 2,500 miles away in Hawaii. He'd have Bradford out of my curly hair and out of my mother's life in no time.
Bradford and Mother sauntered into the family room holding hands. Pumpkin took one look at the happy couple and dashed out of the room. Smart cat.
My mother's face glowed and she looked a decade younger than her sixty-two years. As I studied her smiling visage, my stomach slowly unclenched. Was my dislike for Bradford really due to the way he tormented me during the murder investigation? Or did memories of my beloved father keep me from accepting their relationship?
Or something darker? Could I be envious that her relationship with her detective lasted far longer than my relationship with my detective? I pushed those somber thoughts aside for another day when I would have sufficient time to lie on a couch and let a Jungian therapist solve my maternal issues.
I untangled my legs and stood up. Ouch. My thighs ached from sitting cross-legged on the carpet. “What brings you here so late?”
“We have some important news—what on earth are you making?” She bent over and picked up one of the jagged-edged scraps, dangling it from her fingertips.
“The students in Ben's class are supposed to dress up like reindeer,” I replied, “at least from the head up. You're going to the concert tomorrow night, aren't you?”
“Of course. You know I wouldn't miss one of my grandchildren's performances.” She grabbed a hanger, a piece of fabric and the stapler. Within seconds, sturdy brown felt antlers appeared out of nowhere. Barbara Bingham, the Houdini of home-made magic and childhood memories.
“There you go.” She handed the felt masterpiece into my less than capable hands then joined Bradford, who stood leaning against the doorway.
“Can I get either of you anything?” I forced a smile at the grim-faced former detective. Even though he was retired, he probably maintained his contacts within the sheriff's department. He could be a useful ally if Dimitri's death was officially declared a murder and I officially became a murder suspect. Again.
Bradford shook his head but my mother smiled. “We have some wonderful news to share with you and we brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”
“News?” For a minute I was puzzled then I grinned in relief. “Oh, you must mean I'm off the hook. Not a suspect in Dimitri's murder. That is an excellent reason to celebrate. Thanks, Bradford. I don't think I could survive another murder investigation.”
He snorted. “I don't think the sheriff's department can survive another murder investigation if you're involved. But that's their problem.”
Mother's arched brows joined together as she directed one of her royal-highness looks his way.
His face reddened. “Sorry.”
“This has nothing to do with the murder, dear,” she replied.
“So what's the big news?” And why were her hands flailing in the air like a novice orchestra conductor?
Oh, crap. The lights in my ceiling fixture illuminated something shiny on her left hand. To be specific, the fourth finger of her left hand. I grabbed my elegant mother by her elegant wrist and zeroed in on the two carat diamond blinding me with perfectly cut prisms of light.
If the diamond had been residing on any other hand, I would have been mesmerized by the beauty and simplicity of the emerald cut setting. Instead, my jaw dropped to my knees and I fell into the sofa cushions. “But, you barely know each other,” I said.
Awkward seconds passed as I tried to eke out my congratulations but I just couldn't do it. The creak of the front door brought the arrival of my kids and an end to my silent agony. The babble of my two garrulous children, who had attended a holiday party at one of the neighbors, grew stronger as they approached the family room. “Is Grandmother here? Her car is in the driveway.”
Ben catapulted into the room ahead of his sister. He immediately raced to the big man's side. “Hey, Detective Bradford, what's up?”
Bradford's face lit up at the sight of my young son. They bumped knuckles mano a mano.
“Did you bring it?” Ben squealed as he bounced up and down. Bradford reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny brass object. He handed it to Ben. My son's eyes grew wide when he realized he held an official sheriff's department badge in his hand. He wrapped his arms around the detective thanking him profusely. Since Bradford is almost six foot six that meant Ben was hugging the detective's tree trunk-sized thighs. Bradford's smile was a sight to behold. What happened to the crotchety detective I was acquainted with? And when had these two become bosom buddies?
Jenna ambled into the room. Her eyes zeroed in like a laser beam at the large diamond glittering on her grandmother's finger.
“Wow, nice rock. Way to go, Bradford.”
“Isn't it lovely?” Mother said. “Robert has such excellent taste.” She smiled at her darling granddaughter. At least one family member appreciated precious gemstones.
“Hey, can I be in the wedding?” Jenna asked.
Wedding? I had barely absorbed the news that my mother was engaged. My brain hadn't processed the fact that an engagement normally led to an official ceremony.
“Of course, you can be in the wedding,” Mother responded. “In fact I want all three of you to participate in the ceremony. Why don't we go into the kitchen and discuss some of the details. Ben, you come too. I brought some of your favorite cookies.”
The three of them disappeared leaving Bradford and me alone in sullen silence.
Bradford eyed me warily. He must have realized I wouldn't be thrilled to have him become a member of our close-knit family. My stomach clenched when I realized the detective would soon become my stepfather.
“Um...congratulations,” I mumbled.
He pointed to the sofa. “Laurel, sit down. I need to discuss something with you.”
I reluctantly moved, sitting as far from Bradford as possible, not easy considering that the over-sized detective took up half the sofa. Years of service with the sheriff's department had etched deep Shar-Pei lines in his face. I could not understand the attraction he held for my mother. She, on the other hand, was obviously a catch for him.
“I realize you're...not pleased with our news, but you need to kno
w how much I care for your mother. I've never met anyone as intelligent, gracious and thoughtful as Barbara. And for some strange reason, she's in love with me, hard as it is to believe.” He smiled ruefully. “For either you or me.”
His smile seemed sincere and so did his sentiment.
I shook my finger at him. “You better treat her the way she deserves. Otherwise you'll have me to contend with.”
“Trust me, I know. You're as relentless as a pit bull.”
“Uh, thanks.” Was he complimenting or criticizing me?
“It's going to take tenacity and teamwork to get you through the coming weeks.”
I sighed in agreement. “This wedding is going to be difficult for me.”
“I'm not talking about the wedding. Guess whose shoe was officially declared a murder weapon?”
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* * *
TEN
* * * *
So much for a quiet Friday evening. My heart rate ratcheted up to Mach 1 levels as the detective's comment sank in. Bradford's revelation put my mother's announcement in perspective. A wedding is a joyous occasion. Involvement in a murder? Not so much.
As my heart rate slowed back down, the wheels in my brain churned faster.
“Okay, I know my broken heel was found in Dimitri's mouth, but that didn't necessarily mean my shoe killed him. How did the lab guys figure out how he was killed? Did someone whack him with the sole?”
Bradford shifted uncomfortably on the cushions. My sofa wasn't built for men his size. Neither was my mother's dainty Chippendale furniture. Did their impending marriage mean that a pair of matching Lazy Boys was in her future?
Focus, Laurel.
“The shoe with the missing heel wasn't the weapon. It was your other shoe,” he said. “The base of the heel still showed microscopic traces of blood on it which the crime scene guys identified as the victim's. And the shape of the heel matched the size of the wound. According to the Medical Examiner, Dimitri may not have died immediately from the impact. He could have walked away and later lost consciousness as pressure from the trauma built in his brain.”
“So someone might have hit him in the studio. Then he could have walked out to the parking lot, not realizing how severe his injury was?”
Bradford lifted his bushy eyebrows. “Excellent deductive reasoning. Or is there something you need to share with the authorities?”
I held up my hands in protest. “Not me. I know nothing. So the person who assaulted Dimitri might not have intended to kill him. Do you think it was an accident?”
“I don't think anything. I'm retired, remember?” He sighed and glanced in the direction of the kitchen, where we could hear Mom and the kids giggling. “Your mother was worried about you being a suspect yet again, so she asked me to ferret out whatever information I could get from Hunter.”
I slumped back into the sofa cushions. Bradford's news was not improving my mood.
“Since your shoe appears to be the murder weapon, you are unfortunately a person of interest.” He paused a moment in thought. “I have to ask, was there any reason why you wanted to hurt this guy?”
“Of course not. I barely knew him. Our only actual contact came that day when I collided with him and Anya during my lesson. Dimitri yelled some Russian obscenities at me and called me a klutzsky. That's not a reason to murder someone and he's certainly not the first person to tell me I'm a klutz.”
Bradford's shoulders shook; he appeared to be biting back laughter. Wise move. I gnawed on my thumbnail. Where were Mother and the kids with those cookies? If I didn't have something edible to chew on while I worried about this latest revelation, my few remaining fingernails would be history.
Our mother-daughter telepathic communication appeared to be in working order. Jenna walked in to the family room bearing a plate of iced snickerdoodle cookies. The scent of cinnamon and sugar provided a well needed lift for my flagging spirits. My mother carried three crystal flutes brimming with champagne on an embossed silver tray—since it came from my kitchen, it was a cheap aluminum tray. Ben handled the heavy lifting. A cookie in each hand.
Mother smiled at Bradford and me. “You two seem to be bonding.”
“Bonding over bodies,” I replied without thinking.
Ben's intermittent bionic hearing kicked in. “Bodies?” he squealed. “Dead ones?”
Jenna dropped the plate of cookies on my glass-topped coffee table. The china plate hit the table with a clunk, sliding across the slick glass before landing on the floor. Snickerdoodles splattered everywhere.
“Jenna!” I bent down, scooping up crumbled cookies and chunks of vanilla icing before our kitty appeared in search of dessert.
With her arms crossed over her chest, my daughter shot me a look that would have scared a lesser woman. “Mom, are you involved in another murder?”
My opinion of my future stepfather elevated a few notches when he jumped into the fray in an attempt to calm my infuriated daughter. He unfurled his massive body from the sofa and put an arm around her shoulders. “Jenna, you have nothing to worry about. Your mom happened to be at the dance studio when someone got hurt and later died. It's merely a coincidence.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Okay, if you say so. But you know how she is. Before you know it, Mom will think she has to find out who done it, and some crazy dude will be chasing after her and trying to kill her. Again.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she dropped to her knees and started rounding up the scattered cookies. “Sorry, Mom,” she mumbled as she stood, apologetic but still fearful. I could see it in her eyes and in the tenseness of her body.
“It's okay, honey.” I brushed my lips against her pale cheek and held her close to me. “Your reaction is completely understandable. Like Bradford said, I unfortunately happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wearing the wrong shoes.”
“Huh?”
“Believe it or not, one of my dance shoes was the murder weapon.”
She stared at me in disbelief. “Promise you'll stay out of trouble.”
I nodded, expecting another lecture but she merely tilted her head. “Otherwise Grandmother and I will have to ground you.”
Her comment brought a round of laughter. I grabbed one of the flutes from the tray and offered a toast to the happy couple. After a few sips of excellent champagne, I started to mellow. Maybe Bradford wasn't such a terrible person after all. Perhaps we just got off to a bad start when he investigated me.
Ben stayed glued to the retired detective's side, playing with his shiny gold official sheriff's badge. My mother watched the two males, her eyes shining with love.
She obviously cared deeply for the man. My daughter appeared to respect him. It wouldn't hurt to have a former detective on my team.
Especially when a shoe-stealing murderer lurked out there.
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* * *
ELEVEN
* * * *
Saturday morning I awoke with a hammer pounding in my head and a blender churning in my stomach. When would I learn that my body couldn't handle the intoxicating bubbles of champagne? Even if I only drank one or two glasses.
Or was it three?
After a breakfast consisting of coffee, toast and four aspirin, Ben and I took off for our usual Saturday whirlwind of domestic chores, including the purchase of a new pair of shoes for him. My son didn't need to advertise our pathetic financial condition by standing on stage wearing dingy gray frayed sneakers.
Our shopping trip was a huge success and by 5:30 Ben was dressed for the performance in a red cotton shirt, beige cords, and his new black Nikes, decorated with glow in the dark reflectors. I almost talked him into a forest green vest dotted with reindeer but he refused on the grounds it might incriminate him as a dork.
Mrs. Saddlebeck, Ben's second grade teacher, had requested that parents drop the students off an hour before the seven o'clock performance. During the brief ten-minute drive to his scho
ol, Ben serenaded me with every verse of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Twice.
The corridors of the elementary school bustled with children. The younger girls dressed in holiday attire. Ruby, emerald and sapphire velvet dresses trimmed with lace and ribbons, over white tights and shiny black patent leather shoes.
The older girls sported pastel colored T-shirts, a significant number bearing the likeness of Justin Bieber, worn over short black skirts. Even ten-year-olds have discovered that black is slimming.
Ben and I strolled into his classroom, hand in hand. Bedlam was too tame of a word to describe the noise emanating from the room. Mrs. Saddlebeck, whose smile appeared freeze-dried on her face, seemed oblivious to the antlers flying over the scratched oak desks. Ben raced into the room, his own homemade head-gear poised for flight.
Before he could propel his antlers across the room, I grabbed his arm and brought him to a halt. “Stop right there, young man. I have too much time and material invested in your costume. Find something constructive to do.”
Ben crossed his eyes at me then plopped the antlers back on his head where they belonged, at least for the next two hours. He sauntered to the back of the room where a couple of girls, one tall, one small, were chatting and giggling. The tall girl with the pixie cut waving her hand at me was Kristy, the tow-headed daughter of Detective Hunter.
I waved back wondering if Kristy's father was in the vicinity, or if her grandparents had brought her to this event. The widowed detective tried to attend as many school functions as possible, but the life of a homicide investigator didn't allow much time for extracurricular activities.
Particularly extracurricular activities that involved dating. As a single mom, I agree that kids come first. I only wished he could have found time to include me in his life. Or at least explain why he stopped calling. Our children didn't object to us dating. Kristy liked me and Ben thought Detective Hunter was one awesome dude.
Ben's mom thought he was too.
I left the classroom and walked into the gym, determined not to demean myself by looking around for Tom Hunter. Halfway up the bleacher steps, my neck started to prickle. As if someone was staring at me. I looked to the left and then to the right. There he sat. Two rows up.
