by Dee Ernst
Denzel was still scribbling. “Was it locked this morning?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. I come early to let my cat out. Biscuit. She sleeps here during the summer to kill off the rabbits and ground hogs.” She sniffed. “She bolted out the minute I opened the gate, and this is what I found.” Emma’s lip started trembling. “They tore up my blueberries. And look at my Louise Odier!” She burst into tears.
Carol put her arms around Emma, looked over the sobbing woman’s head and said, “Louise Odier is the name of a rose, not a person.”
Starsky nodded wisely.
By now, a small crowd Stared into Emma’s garden. Carol frowned and made shooing motions, and they backed away, except, of course, for Mary Rose, who shouldered her way in to stand beside me.
“Do you think she can put this back to right by Sunday?” Mary Rose asked.
I looked at her, disgusted. “Really? The poor woman had someone break into her beloved garden, tear all sorts of things up out of the ground, and you’re worried about Open House Day?”
Mary Rose shrugged. “We could all help. I mean, I know she was trying to put a pond in there by the lilacs, and we probably couldn’t get that done, but the rest…”
I shook my head and stepped away. There had been lots of digging around the bushes, and there was a pile of puddingstone and some piping lying on the ground. I didn’t know much about the pond project, but I imagined that Emma had put a lot of time and energy into it. Boot found the whole mess irresistible and was nosing around happily.
Aggie Martin came into the garden, Rita right behind.
“Emma, is everything okay?” Aggie asked.
Aggie was average height with dark hair and glasses. Rita was taller, with very straight hair and the kind of boobs that started conversations. They were both in their early sixties, both schoolteachers in Bergen County, and both said they had known each other since college. They both wore jeans, winter and summer, and vintage T-shirts. Both looked concerned, and as they gazed around the garden, shocked.
“This is terrible,” Rita said. “What happened?”
Emma flew at Rita, her hands slashing like tiny claws. Luckily, Carol already had her arms around Emma, and she pulled Emma back before any eyes got scratched out.
“You know perfectly well what happened!” Emma screeched. “You did this! You’ve ruined my garden! I could kill you both for this!”
Denzel quickly suggested we move out of the garden and into the house. Carol, her arm still around Emma, left the garden, Denzel right behind. Hutch corralled Aggie and Rita and lead them out. Starsky walked around to look at the torn up blueberry bushes. I went over to grab Boot’s leash.
Boot had been digging. She had quite a hole started. And there was something in the hole that did not look like it had anything to do with building a pond. Instead, it looked like one of those skeleton hands you buy in the party store for Halloween, to scare the pants off little children.
“Officer…” I called faintly.
He came over. “Can I help you with something?” he asked politely.
I pulled Boot away from the lilac bushes.
He followed my stare. Then he got closer, dropped to one knee, and looked carefully.
“Is that...” I asked, backing away slowly.
He nodded. “Yes, I think it is.”
“Do you think it’s attached to something?”
He turned and looked at me, rolled his eyes, and spoke into his walkie-talkie. I kept backing away, pulling Boot with me, until I was out of Emma’s garden. Boot whined softly and gazed up at me.
“Bad dog,” I told her.
Chapter 2
I didn’t get back home until almost noon.
I texted Caitlyn, my older daughter, telling her where I was, and that the police weren’t going to let me go quite yet. I texted the nursing home where my mother was living to tell them I wouldn’t be there for my weekly visit. When I finally did climb the steps of my porch, it looked like Nemo had not only been found, but his entire family was hanging out for a party.
“This looks great,” I called, fighting my way through a curtain of fake seaweed.
Founders’ Day weekend was the pride and passion of Mt. Abrams. People built floats for the parade. Sure, there were marching bands, and we even had bagpipers and a juggler, but the residents built elaborate floats, all working in extreme secrecy, each float-building team hoping to take home the top prize. Yes, there were trophies. Of course there were. And they were coveted by all.
My own daughters, thank God, did not allow their competitive natures to be influenced by dreams of the Best Large Area Float trophy, or the Best Theme Float trophy, of even Best Decorated Bike trophy. No, they always set their sights to win Best Decorated House.
I know. Decorated House? How do you decorate a house for Founders’ Day? Well you can go with the Founders’ Day Theme (this year, Underwater Wonderland), or you can go traditional, with hanging paper lanterns and candles and balloons. Then there’s the ever-popular live action, where Mt. Abrams finest talents danced, sang, or otherwise worked their ways into the hearts of many, all for the sake of, yes, another trophy.
My daughters neither danced nor sang. They had been, for the past two weeks, painting fish on large pieces of cardboard, fabricating fake seaweed from crepe paper and shredded fabric, and even found fishnets to string across the porch. They compiled a playlist of ocean-related music, from “Under The Sea” to “Octopus’ Garden” to play during the critical judgment hour, and were still working on their special-effects lighting. Cait, by the way, was twenty-four, and had not walked away without a first place trophy in over fifteen years. Expectations were high. The effort had been huge. The results were spectacular.
Which is what I came home to.
Caitlyn stuck her head out of the kitchen. “You found another body? What is this, a habit now?”
In all fairness, when Doug Mitchell’s body had been discovered earlier in the year, there had been four of us. So I did not, technically, find it myself.
I glared at Cait. “It’s Boot’s fault. She was digging in the wrong place.”
Tessa came running to me, peanut butter all over her mouth. “Is Detective Sam on the case?”
Caitlyn had probably figured out that Detective Sam Kinali and I were more than just casual acquaintances. Tessa probably figured it out as well, but chose to ignore the possibilities and just looked at him as the nice policeman who occasionally stopped by and took us out for ice cream. Well, her out for ice cream. I still had fifteen pounds to lose, so I had fat-free–sugar-free frozen yogurt, which was not the same as ice cream. At all.
“No, baby,” I said giving her a hug, then wiping peanut butter off my shirt. “Somebody else came. Sam was probably busy solving some other crime.”
“Will this effect the judging?” Caitlyn asked, worried.
Entrants in the House Decoration Competition had to have the entries done by one in the afternoon, and the decorations had to stay in place all weekend. Judges, whose identities were kept secret due to the unfortunate Earl Calhoun Bribery Scandal of 2005, could walk by at any time, so day and night viewing had to be considered. Our house would look better at night, provided the strobe lights and the fans going at the same time didn’t short-circuit the house’s sketchy electrical system.
I collapsed on the couch, and Boot crawled into my lap. I felt a bit skived out, considering where her paws and nose had recently been. “I’m sure,” I said, pushing Boot firmly away, “the judges will come by. You know how serious this is taken. Nobody is going to let a little thing like a decomposed body delay Founders’ Day.”
“Okay,” Cait said, sinking into a chair. “Daddy will be here at seven.”
Their father, my ex-husband of almost five years, never missed Founders’ Day. He came by Friday evening to help the girls with the house. He sat with us to watch the parade, and came back Sunday to walk the girls through Open House Day. For the past few years, Founders’ Da
y had been the only time Marc and I saw each other. Last spring, when Cait applied to a fellowship in France that would take her away for two years and Tessa threw a bit of a tantrum about it, he and I found each other alone in the same room for the first time in a very long time. That was when he had kissed me and told me that he still loved me, and that he missed me. You’d think that since I was still madly in love with Marc, it would have been a fairly thrilling moment in my life. However, I had just told him I was going on a date. My first date since the divorce. And that was the moment he chose to tell me all this? You can see why I was suspicious of his intent.
That date was with a smart, funny, and sexy police detective named Sam Kinali. Sam and I had recently, oh, how should I put this? Taken our relationship to the next level. Yes, that would be a good way to put it. We had started bonking each other like teenagers. Now it could have been all those feel-good endorphins racing through my body, or maybe it was that first flush of excitement and anticipation in a relationship that I hadn’t felt in over twenty years, but being with Sam made the whole still-in-love-with-Marc thing fade a bit into the background.
Sam would be here at six. Marc at seven. Hmmm…
“And I invited Kyle over for dinner,” Cait said, trying to look nonchalant.
Kyle was Kyle Lieberman, who had been her best friend in grade school, a gawky, nerdy boy who had recently graduated Wharton with an MBA and now looked every inch the buff, successful financial wizard. He and Cait had reconnected a few months ago, and although Cait and I shared a don’t ask, don’t tell policy about the men in our lives, clearly Kyle was starting to be something more than just the kid from third grade.
“We’ve got plenty,” I said. Founders’ Friday night dinner had become a tradition. I’d started the pulled pork in two separate Crock-Pots at seven that morning, and Caitlyn and I had made a huge bowl of potato salad that was now resting in the fridge. Coleslaw was a last-minute fix.
Pretty much all of my friends in Mt. Abrams walked their kids up to the dance at seven-thirty, then came to my porch for something to eat, and of course, drink. I wasn’t directly on the lake, but from my yard you could easily see across the street to the clubhouse and the beach. It was a perfect spot for all things Founders’ Day—the Friday night dance, the parade, and the Saturday night fireworks over the lake.
Tessa was bouncing on the couch, something normally not tolerated, but after all, it was Founders’ Day weekend, and a lot of things slid by. “Jerome is going to be my partner tomorrow for fishing,” she said.
I looked at her. “What about your daddy? He’s going to be so upset.”
She shrugged. “He can catch his own fish. Jerome and I are going for a ten incher.”
Lake Abrams was stocked every spring, and by late summer, the fish were practically jumping out of the water and into rowboats as they came by. Years ago, Marc and I had bought a canoe, and it was still over in the boathouse. I sometimes took it out at dusk and just sat in the middle of the water, watching the sunset. Cait confessed she and her friends used to take it out to get stoned, which was actually pretty smart if you were going to break the law. This was the first year Tessa could take it out by herself, providing there was somebody with her.
Cait smiled. “Is Jerome your boyfriend then?”
Tessa made an elaborate show of rolling her eyes in complete disinterest. “Of course not. We’ve just known each other forever.” That was true. But then, she had known all of her friends in Mt. Abrams forever.
So Tessa was, obviously, still mad at her father. She had counted on him to stop Cait from going away, and when he failed, she decided to blame him for the situation rather than Cait. I could see her reasoning, of course. It was much easier to stay angry with someone you saw twice a week than at someone you lived with.
Boot lifted her head and wagged her stump of tail, and Shelly Goodwin came through the door.
Shelly was my best friend in Mt. Abrams. She was five years younger than I, a pretty woman with carefully dyed reddish hair that fell to her shoulders and a body that looked like a floorboard, long and flat. My hair was carefully dyed also, but for necessity rather than vanity. Left on it’s own, my dark, wavy hair would take on the color and texture of a very used Brillo pad.
“Ellie, honey, are you okay? My God, it looks like CSI down there. The whole street is blocked off; there are cars and vans everywhere, and they’ve set up a tent in the middle of Emma’s garden. Mary Rose is apoplectic, because three of her houses on the tour are right there on Davis. I’m worried for her health.” Shelly stopped talking long enough to grab Tessa in a hug. “The porch looks amazing. You guys are so going to win this year!”
Tessa grinned. “Want to hear the music?”
Shelly nodded. “Go ahead. But I’ll stay here with your mom, okay? I’ll still be able to hear it, right?”
Tessa nodded and vanished on to the porch. Shelly sat down next to me as “Yellow Submarine” blasted through the open window.
“Is Sam in on this?” Shelly asked.
I shook my head. “No. Another detective came. Before I left, they were starting to dig up the body.”
Cait crouched down next to me. “So it was a body? Like, a whole person was buried there?”
“I think so,” I said.
“Did they know how long it had been there?” Shelly asked.
I shook my head again. “No. But it had to be from, like, way before that house burned down, right? Who used to live there?”
“The Mallecks,” Shelly said. “She was a doll. He was an asshole. They were living there when I moved in, and that was twenty years ago.”
“I didn’t know them at all. When did the house burn down?” I asked.
“2001. So, what, fourteen years ago? The year after Walt Malleck left,” Shelly said.
“What do you mean, left?” Cait asked.
“Left Paula. She said he was sleeping with some young girl, and that the two of them ran off without a word,” Shelly said. A funny look crossed her face. “Unless he never left at all.”
Cait lowered her voice. “Dum-da-DUM.”
I patted Shelly’s hand. “Calm down, girlfriend. That body is most likely a hundred years old, probably some faithful retainer, buried by one of the original Abrams.”
“Well, maybe we can ask Paula herself,” Shelly said. “Both her kids are still sort of around, and they come for Founders’ Day, and Paula is usually with them. They hang out with somebody down on Blackburn.”
“What are you going to ask her? Hey, Paula, do you know who put that body under your lilacs?” Cait grinned at her warped sense of humor.
“I can be discreet,” Shelly said. “This is really going to put a damper of Founders’ Day.”
“I don’t know,” Cait said. “Founders’ Day can use a little shaking up. And I bet there’s going to be lots of press around, and all sorts of people are going to want to come out here and check out little old Mt. Abrams. We’ll be famous.”
Shelly sighed. “At least that will make Mary Rose happy.” She looked sideways at me. “Did you invite Sam over for the evening?” she asked.
I nodded.
“And, is Marc going to be here?”
I nodded again.
“Can I watch?”
I swatted her with the back of my hand. “I may charge you extra for the floor show.”
She grinned happily. “I’ll bring cash.”
Chapter 3
Because the front of my porch had been transformed into a Deep Sea Wonderland, the tables and chairs were set up in the side yard. As I lived in one of the larger Victorians that Josiah Abrams had originally built for his children, I not only had lots of square footage inside the house, but I had a lawn and garden space on the outside. Well, I use the term garden loosely. Marc had planted all sorts of things, and Cait tried to keep them alive. My entry into the Garden Club earlier that spring had been a preemptive move in case Cait left, as she was the only thing that stood between green, flourishi
ng plants and a desert wasteland.
But I digress. To the left of my house was the drive and detached garage. On the right side was a beautiful maple that provided constant shade in the summer and bags of red leaves in the fall. That was where we set up shop. Cait and I moved the kitchen table out, as well as a few folding tables and pretty much every chair in the house. The food would be set up on the small side porch, and people could spread themselves out wherever they could find space.
Kyle Lieberman came by at about four with a keg of beer and lots of ice. He’d been an awkward kid back in elementary school, all knees and elbows, the classic geek who always got picked last for dodge ball. He and Cait reconnected, and although I didn’t ask many questions, I knew what was happening from a mile away. He was smitten. Well, of course he was. Cait had grown into a gorgeous redhead with brains and a sense of humor and a fierce loyalty to those she loved. He’d grown into a tall, good-looking guy with a shiny new MBA from Wharton and a high-paying job in finance. He was considerate and funny, and also still a little shy and awkward, which just added to his general adorableness.
Too bad Cait might be going off to France for two years.
I made coleslaw and took the buns for the pulled pork out of the freezer. I managed to not eat any of the chocolate chip cookies I had bought at Costco. I set out two pitchers of tea to steep in a beam of sunlight, went upstairs to shower and change, and came back down just in time to take the pork butts out of the Crock-Pots to cool and shred. I could hear Tessa on the porch singing along with “Three Little Fishes.” Cait and Lyle were in the yard, drinking beer and gazing into each other’s eyes. I poured myself a glass of wine. Time to start the festivities.
“Mom,” Tessa called. “Detective Sam is here.”
I grabbed my wine glass, struggled through the seaweed, and met Sam on the front walk.
He was gazing at the house, shaking his head in amazement. “Is this what you people really do here?” he asked.
I gave him a kiss. “Yes. Every year. Didn’t you believe me when I explained it to you?”
