The Stepchild

by Joanne Fluke

  He saw the flashing lights through the trees as he raced toward the edge of the woods, breaking through the bushes like a crazed animal. It was raining now and he brushed his arm across his forehead, bursting into the clearing. Then he saw her, poised on the tracks like a living statue, rooted there behind the wooden warning arms and the clanging signals.

  “Kathi!” he shouted, his voice a shocked croak. “Kathi! Run! The train’s coming! Run!”

  Even as he started to run toward her, he knew that he couldn’t reach her in time. The train was approaching too fast. The whistle sounded a piercing squeal, and a sweet high voice carried over the shrill blast.

  “Baver!” she called out, holding the tiger up toward David. “Don’t worry, Baver, the Tiger’s with me. I’m going home now . . . home to our Mommy and Daddy”

  There was the rending of metal against metal as the train’s brakes squealed. Then a small thud as Kathi’s body lifted into the air. It was chillingly graceful, an aerial ballet setting her free to fly.

  David was not aware of moving. Somehow he found himself standing protectively over Kathi’s body and watching numbly as the engineer felt for a pulse. A heavy glance passed between the two men. They both knew it was useless. Kathi’s neck was twisted at an impossible angle.

  “Christ!” the engineer muttered. “She must have been crazy! I know she saw me. She just stood there, waiting for the train to hit her!”

  David nodded slowly, and the engineer turned to face him. “Did you know her?” he asked, still shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

  “Yes,” David answered. His voice came out in a strained sob. He had known her . . . known her for years.

  “Christ!” the engineer repeated. “It was the craziest thing, mister. Right before the train hit her, I could’ve sworn she had a smile on her face.”

  David could not speak past the lump in his throat. She looked so small and defenseless lying there on the cold ground. He started to struggle out of his coat, trying to protect her even in death. The day was growing colder, and there was a chill wind blowing.

  Then he stopped, squaring his shoulders. With fingers that were numb, he turned up his shirt collar to shield himself from the rising wind and picked up the Tiger lying beside her. The Tiger that she had given him so long ago. His sister, Sheri . . . his beloved, Kathi. There was nothing he could do for her now. It had all been done so long ago, he had almost forgotten. She was gone, and he had no one . . . no one but the Tiger.

  CHAPTER 32

  They were huddled together at the funeral. Harry had an awful feeling of inevitability about everything that had happened. Kathi Ellison, as everyone knew her, had been living on borrowed time. She had really died in the same accident that had killed her mother, nearly twenty years ago. Now the words would be spoken to lay her to final rest.

  Doug was sobbing openly, Vivian’s arm around him in a protective gesture. Their life was not over. No one knew. All the records had been altered, and this was Kathi, their daughter, whom they had come to bury today. Doug would be elected now. There was no question about it in Harry’s mind. The sympathy vote would ensure that.

  Sally had refused to come to the funeral, and Doug and Vivian had not urged her too strongly. Curiously enough, Sally seemed to feel that Kathi’s death was her doing. It had been a shock for her, the poor dear. Doug had given her a week off, in the hope that she could come to grips with Kathi’s death. It seemed as if the elderly housekeeper would never be herself again, with her grief-stricken cries and frantic mumblings.

  * * *

  David was in his room at home in Swanville, lying motionless on his bed . . . thinking . . . remembering. Pressed to his ear was the battered Tiger, comforting still. David was not sure, but he thought he could hear a faint whisper.

  A romantic seven-day cruise is the perfect start to bakery owner Hannah Swensen’s marriage. However, with a murder mystery heating up in Lake Eden, Minnesota, it seems the newlywed’s homecoming won’t be as sweet as she anticipated . . .

  After an extravagant honeymoon, Hannah’s eager to settle down in Lake Eden and turn domestic daydreams into reality. But when her mother’s neighbor is discovered murdered in the condo downstairs, reality becomes a nightmarish investigation. Victoria Bascomb, once a renowned stage actress, was active in the theater community during her brief appearance in town . . . and made throngs of enemies along the way. Did a random intruder murder the woman as police claim, or was a deadlier scheme at play? As Hannah peels through countless suspects and some new troubles of her own, solving this crime—and living to tell about it—might prove trickier than mixing up the ultimate banana cream pie . . .

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  Joanne Fluke’s newest Hannah Swensen mystery

  BANANA CREAM PIE MURDER

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  CHAPTER 1

  Delores Swensen typed THE END and gave a smile of satisfaction as she leaned back in her desk chair. She’d finished the manuscript for her newest Regency romance novel. She was just about to get up and open the bottle of Perrier Jouet she’d been saving for this occasion when she heard a loud crack and she fell to the floor backwards.

  For one stunned moment, she stared up at the ceiling in her office in disbelief, unable to move or make a sound. She blinked several times and moved her head tentatively. Nothing hurt. She was still alive. But what had happened? And why had she fallen over backwards?

  When the obvious solution occurred to her, Delores started to giggle. The loud crack had sounded when the cushioned seat of her desk chair had sheared off from its base. It was something Doc had warned her would happen someday if she didn’t get around to replacing it. And she hadn’t. And it had. And here she was on her back, her body effectively swaddled by soft, stuffed leather, barely able to move a muscle.

  As she realized that she was in the same position as a turtle flipped over on its back, Delores began to laugh even harder. It was a good thing no one was here to see her! She must look ridiculous. That meant she had to figure out some way to get up before Doc came home. If he saw her like this, she’d never hear the end of it. And she wouldn’t put it past him to take a photo of her stuck in the chair, on her back, and show it to everyone at the hospital.

  Unsure of exactly how to extricate herself, Delores braced her hands on the cushioned arms of the chair and pushed. This didn’t work the way she’d thought it, but it did work. Instead of moving her body backwards, her action pushed the chair forward. The part of her body that Doc referred to as her gluteus maximus was now several inches away from the seat of the chair, far enough for her to bend her legs, hook her heels on the edge of the chair seat and push it even farther away.

  She was getting there! Delores pushed with her heels again and the chair slid several more inches away. By repeating this motion and squirming on her back at the same time, she somehow managed to free herself from her cushioned prison and roll over on hands and knees. She got to her feet by grasping the edge of her desk and pulling herself upright. When she was in a standing position, Delores gave a sigh of relief and promised herself that she’d buy a new desk chair in the morning.

  Now that she was on her feet again and none the worse for wear, she decided that celebratory champagne was a necessity. She took the prized bottle from the dorm refrigerator Doc had insisted she install in her office, and opened it with a soft pop. Loud pops were for movie scenes. She’d learned to remove the cork slowly so that not even a drop would escape.

  Delores set the open bottle on the desk and went to close the window. She liked fresh air and she always opened it when she worked in the office. She was about to close it when she heard a blood-curdling scream from the floor below.

  For a moment Delores just stood there, a shocked expression on her face. Then she glanced at the clock and realized it was a few minutes past eight in the evening. The scream must have come from
one of Tori’s acting students.

  The luxury condo immediately below the penthouse Doc had given her as a wedding present was owned by Victoria Bascomb, Mayor Bascomb’s sister. Tori, as she preferred to be called, had been a famous Broadway actress. She’d recently retired and moved to Lake Eden to be closer to the only family she had left, her brother Richard, and his wife Stephanie. Unable to completely divorce herself from the life she loved, Tori had volunteered to direct their local theater group, to teach drama at Jordan High, and to give private acting lessons to any Lake Edenite who aspired to take the theater world by storm. If not the richest, Tori Bascomb was undeniably the most famous person in town. Just yesterday, Tori had told Delores that she had won the lifetime achievement award from STAG, the Stage and Theater Actors Guild and she would receive her award, a gold statuette that resembled a male deer, at a nationally televised award ceremony soon.

  Delores gave a little laugh. How silly she’d been to forget that Tori gave acting lessons in her home studio! The scream she’d heard was obviously part of an acting lesson. Smiling a bit at her foolishness, Delores reached out again, intending to close and lock the window, but a loud cry made her pause in mid-motion.

  “No!” a female voice screamed. “Don’t! Please don’t!”

  Whoever the aspiring actress was, she was very good! Delores began to push the window closed when she heard a sound unlike any other. A gunshot. That was a gunshot! She was sure of it!

  The gunshot was followed by a second gunshot, and then a crash from the floor below. Something was wrong! No acting student could be that realistic. This was really happening!

  Delores didn’t think. She just reacted. She raced for the doorway that led to the back stairway that had been used by hotel employees before the Albion Hotel had been converted into luxury condos. The old stairway had been completely refurbished and accessible exclusively to the penthouse residents.

  When Delores arrived at the landing of the floor below, she unlocked the door and rushed out into the narrow lobby that separated the two condos on the floor below the penthouse. She raced to Tori’s door and only then did the need for caution cross her mind.

  Delores stood there, the key Tori had given her in her hand, and listened. All was quiet inside Tori’s condo, no sounds at all. If what she’d heard had been an acting lesson, Tori should be speaking to the would-be actress, critiquing the scene she’d just performed.

  As Delores continued to listen for sounds, she considered her options. She’d look very foolish if she unlocked the door and stepped inside to find that Tori and her student were perfectly fine. On the other hand, she could be walking into danger if what she’d heard was a real murder and the intruder was still there. If she called the police before she went in, they’d advise her to wait until they got there. But what if someone needed immediate medical attention?

  Delores hesitated for another moment or two and then she decided to knock. She might feel foolish if Tori came to the door and said that everything was fine, but it couldn’t hurt to check. She raised her hand and knocked sharply three times.

  There was no answer and she heard no rushing footfalls as the intruder hurried to a hiding place. There were no sounds from inside at all. Delores hesitated for another moment and then she made a decision. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed the emergency number for the Winnetka County Sheriff ’s Station.

  “Sheriff ’s station. Detective Kingston speaking.”

  Delores took a deep breath. She’d been hoping to contact her son-in-law, Bill Todd, but instead she’d gotten Mike. He was a by-the-book cop and he’d tell her to stay outside the door and wait for him to get there.

  “Mike. It’s Delores,” she said, thinking fast. “Stay on the line, will you, please? I heard a sound from Tori Bascomb’s condo and I’m going in to make sure everything’s all right.”

  “Delores. I want you to wait until . . .”

  Delores unlocked the door with one hand and pushed it open. Then, holding the phone away from her ear so she wouldn’t hear Mike’s objections, she glanced around Tori’s living room. Nothing was out of place, no overturned chairs, no strangers lurking in corners, no sign of anything unusual. But the scream she’d heard hadn’t come from the living room. It had come from the room directly below her office and that was the room that Tori had converted into her acting studio.

  Delores moved toward the studio silently, holding the phone in her left hand. It was still sputtering and squawking, but she ignored it. As she prepared to open the door, she spotted a piece of artwork on a table in the hallway. It was made of a heavy metal, probably silver, and it resembled a thin but curvaceous lady holding her arms aloft. Delores grabbed it. It was just as heavy as it looked and it would serve as a weapon if the occasion warranted.

  The door to the studio was slightly open and Delores peeked in. The focus of the room was the U-shaped couch facing a low platform handcrafted of cherry wood. The platform was one step high and ran the length of the opposite wall, forming a stage for Tori’s would-be actors and actresses. The couch served as Tori’s throne. It was where she sat to observe her students. Delores had sat there one afternoon and she knew it was made of baby-soft, butterscotch-colored leather. A fur throw was draped over the back of the couch. Delores hadn’t asked Tori which particular animals had given their lives to create the fur throw, but she suspected that it had been very expensive and was probably made from Russian sable.

  The scene that presented itself did not look threatening, so Delores stepped into the studio. The indirect lighting that covered the ceiling bathed the studio in a soft glow. Delores glanced at the round coffee table in front of the couch and drew in her breath sharply. A bottle of champagne was nestled in a silver wine bucket next to the table and a crystal flute filled with champagne sat on the table next to a distinctive bakery box that Delores immediately recognized. It was a bakery box from The Cookie Jar, the bakery and coffee shop that her eldest daughter owned. The lid was open and Delores could tell that it contained one of Hannah’s Banana Cream Pies. It was Tori’s favorite pie and she’d told Delores that she often served it when she had guests.

  The flute filled with champagne was interesting. Clouds of tiny bubbles were rising to the surface and that meant it had been poured quite recently. Delores knew, through personal experience, that the bubbles slowed and eventually stopped as time passed.

  Two crystal dessert plates were stacked on the coffee table, along with two silver dessert forks. It was obvious that Tori had been expecting a guest.

  Delores set the phone down on the couch and stared at the coffee table. The puzzle it presented was similar to the homework that her daughters had brought home from kindergarten, a photo-copied sheet of paper with a picture drawn in detail. The caption had been What is wrong with this picture? Something was wrong with Tori’s coffee table. What was it?

  The answer occurred to Delores almost immediately. Tori had set out two dessert plates and two dessert forks, but only one flute of champagne. That was a puzzling omission. Delores knew that Tori loved champagne and judging by the label that was peeking out of the ice bucket, this was very good champagne. Did this mean that Tori was imbibing, but her anticipated guest was not? Or had Tori filled her own champagne glass and carried it away to drink someplace else in the condo? And that question was followed by an even more important question. Where was Tori?

  Delores was dimly aware that hissing and crackling sounds were coming from her phone. Mike was still talking to her, but his words were undecipherable, muffled by the fact she’d placed her cell phone down on the cushions of the couch. Delores ignored it and glanced around the studio again. Her gaze reached the floor near the back of the couch and halted, focusing on that area. The white plush wall-to-wall carpet looked wet. Something had been spilled there.

  Delores moved toward the wet carpet. She rounded the corner of the couch and stopped, reaching out to steady herself as she saw a sight that she knew would h
aunt her dreams for years to come. Tori was sprawled on the rug, a sticky red stain on one of the beautiful silk caftans she wore on evenings that she worked at home.

  The stain on the caftan glistened in the light from the tiny bulbs in the ceiling. Delores shuddered as she saw the crystal champagne flute tipped on its side on the floor, its expensive contents now permanently embedded in the plush white fibers. Thank goodness the blood hadn’t gotten on the carpet! That could have permanently ruined it. She’d have to give Tori the name of a good carpet cleaning firm so that they could remove the champagne stain.

  “Ohhhh!” Delores gave a cry that ended in a sob. Tori wouldn’t need the name of a carpet cleaner. Tori would never need anything again. Tori was dead! Her friend was dead!

  Tears began to fall from her eyes, but Delores couldn’t seem to look away. Her friend’s eyes seemed fixed on the ceiling and her mouth was slightly open, as if she were protesting the cruel twist of fate that had befallen her.

  “It’s okay, Delores. We’re here.”

  The sound of a calm male voice released Delores from her horrid fixation and she managed to turn to face the sound. It was Mike, and he had brought Lonnie with him. They had both come to help her. She wanted to thank them, but she couldn’t seem to find the words.

  “Lonnie’s going to take you back upstairs and stay with you until Michelle comes.”

  “Michelle’s still here?” Delores recovered enough to ask about her youngest daughter. “I thought she was going back to college tonight.”

  “She was, but she decided to stay until Hannah and Ross get back. I’ll be up later to take your statement.”