"Not a prob," Merry said. "Joey's got an interview with Candy at eleven, so maybe after that?" The bell on the front door tinkled as a young woman with three small children walked in. "Well, looks like my day's starting without me, Caro. Swing by around noon, okay?" She stood and smiled. "Good morning, y'all! I got that new Ruth Rendell book that you asked about." And she was off and running.
I drove back to my house, conscious of its emptiness. Trixie was a good companion, as long as she had food in her belly and most of my pillow to snuggle on; we were both missing Greg, though. I glanced at my watch and mentally calculated the time difference. If it was ten o'clock here, it would be four in the afternoon there, prime time for professional schmoozing at Oxford. I sighed. After this jaunt, I'd insist on going with him.
Only my house wasn't empty when I arrived.
Beatrice Lemon sat at my kitchen table, a mug in front of her and one sitting across the table. For me, I surmised. Or for Trixie. That little traitor was sitting on my intruder's lap, nose tucked under her tail and snoozing peacefully away.
"Beatrice," I began carefully, "would you mind telling me just how you got in my house?" I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter, noting the nearness of the knife block. If needed, I could grab one and defend my domicile.
"Please, sit down," Bea invited with a little wave of her hand. As if she was the hostess.
I sat. It seemed the best to do in a situation such as this. At least I knew the coffee would be decent. The company was another matter altogether.
"I'd appreciate an answer, Beatrice, if it's all the same to you." My voice was steady, the tone casual. My mind, however, was scrambling as I tried to settle on how to get this woman out of my home.
"You really should keep your back door locked," Bea said conversationally. "There's no telling who might come along and do you harm." She sipped her coffee and smiled. "And little missy here was very happy to have some company." She gave Trixie a little scratch between the ears; the dachshund snuggled deeper into Bea's lap.
"Do you need a ride to your shop?" I figured if I mentioned her business she might snap out of whatever psychosis she was currently in. "I'd be more than happy to drive you there. In fact," I said with a heartiness I certainly wasn't feeling, "I was going that way anyway. Merry's cousin interviewed for the baker's position at Candy's, and I wanted to see how he did." I didn't mention that the interview wasn't for another hour.
"That's very nice of you to offer, Caro." Bea still sounded a bit more placid than normal, and it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps she'd had some help.
"Bea," I asked, my tone as bland as I could make it, "did you take something this morning? Something to help you feel better, not so stressed?"
"Just a pill my doctor gave me, that's all."
I was willing to bet that it was something more than a prescription that she'd taken. Not that I was cognizant of the symptoms, I hasten to add. I tried again.
"Have you eaten anything this morning? Besides coffee, I mean." Although coffee was a complete food group unto itself in my house, not everyone felt that way about the restorative brew.
"Oh, I had one of those delicious brownies that my neighbor, old Mrs. Dukowski, made. Or was it three?" She giggled. "You know, those were the best brownies I've had in a long time. Even better than Mick's." And with that, she clapped her hand over her mouth as if she'd divulged a state secret.
Brilliant. With the advent of medicinal marijuana, the Mrs. Dukowski had discovered—or rediscovered—goodies from the sixties and seventies. And if I didn't know better, Miss Beatrice Lemon was as high as the proverbial kite.
Something else was bothering me. I hadn't seen a vehicle parked outside, either in the driveway or on the street. How in the world had she gotten here?
"Bea, where is your car?" I watched over the rim of my coffee mug. A sly look appeared in her eyes, and I groaned inwardly. This conversation was bouncing all over the place, and I had a sneaking suspicion that I would not appreciate the answer, assuming Bea could track with me.
She waggled a thumb at me. "You know that saying, 'gas, grass, or…'"
"That's enough, Bea." I stood up and grabbed my bag. "I think you need a little lie-down. Why don't I run you home, okay?"
She giggled hysterically as if I'd just told the funniest joke. "Can we take your sweet little doggie with us?" She scooped Trixie up and planted a loud kiss on her muzzle. Trixie was not amused; she gave a startled yip and nearly turned herself into a pretzel trying to jump off Bea's lap.
"Why don't we leave her here, okay? She's not such a good passenger." I gently extracted the wriggling dachshund from Bea's grasp and set her on the kitchen floor. Trixie took off like a shot, tail standing straight up with indignation.
"If you say so, Caro." Bea was on her feet now, the same silly grin on her face. "Let's get this show on the road." It came out slightly slurred, and her eyes were taking on a glassy appearance; I could tell she was on her way to la-la land but quick. Doctored brownies, in addition to sleeping tablets, were not a good mix.
I managed to get her into the passenger's seat with only a minor entanglement with the seat belt. By the time I pulled up in front of her dilapidated bungalow, Beatrice Lemon was out like a light.
* * *
"You should have seen her, Merry!" I exclaimed later. I'd dashed over to her house as soon as I'd spotted the Mini Cooper in the driveway. Trixie was still in hiding somewhere under the pillows on my bed. "She was floating somewhere in the stratosphere, silly giggles and all. I was afraid to leave her alone." I ran my hands through my hair, giving it a pseudo-punk look. "And poor Trixie! Bea had her scared nearly to death."
Merry smiled. "We'll let her sleep it off and check on her later. She'll be absolutely humiliated when she realizes what happened."
I snorted. "And someone needs to let Mrs. Dukowski know that she shouldn't be sharing her medicinals with the neighborhood." I glanced at my wristwatch. "Do you have time for a drink before dinner? I could use the company."
Merry shrugged. "Sure. I've got a bottle of something dry and white from a publicity agent, someone whose client was absolutely begging for shelf space at the shop."
"That sounds fabulous. Yours or mine?"
We spent the rest of the evening drinking a marvelous Pinot Grigio and dining on an impromptu dinner of grilled lemon pepper chicken, roasted veggies, and rice pilaf (my contribution—love the instant rice packages courtesy of the local supermarket). We sat and talked about Joey's interview with Candy—"he was amazing," Merry glowed—and her bookstore's upcoming "Meet the Author" night.
"Have you met Gia Hollingsworth, Caro?" Merry sipped at her after-dinner coffee, one leg slung over the edge of a red Adirondack chair. I hear she's really cool to hang out with."
I nodded. "We met at last year's Malice Domestic. I happened to be on the same panel with her, discussing the strong female protagonists in our books." I shifted in my chair, a twin to Merry's. "She's down to earth, a real woman's woman, if you know what I mean."
Merry lifted one eyebrow. "As in 'she's been through it all' type of thing?"
"Yes," I said. "She's got a brilliant story herself. Writing came relatively late in her life, if you count the early thirties as late." As I was inching ever closer to that mark myself, it didn't sound late at all to me. "She worked in her parents' antique store, got bored, moved to New York, and decided to write about an antique store owner who solves historical mysteries." I shrugged. "Makes perfect sense to me. She has her resources right at her fingertips."
Merry stood up, stretching her arms over her head. "Just one more day of inventory, thank goodness. My back feels like it's permanently bent over."
I felt a twinge of guilt. "Would you like me to help out tomorrow? We could get it done in half the time." And I could do a bit a snooping on my own books, see just how many were selling.
"That'd be lovely, Caro. Joey's got a working second interview with Candy tomorrow, so maybe we could do lunch there, c
heck out his efforts. In the meantime, don't you think we should swing by Bea's and see how she's doing?"
I'd actually forgotten about Beatrice Lemon, what with the wine and food and conversation. I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do this evening was to confront someone who'd made a fool of themselves at my house. Then again…
"You know what, Merry? She never told me why she came to my house to begin with." I stood up as well, gathering my plate and wine glass. "Maybe she's sober enough to tell me now."
Merry laughed. "I think she'll be so embarrassed she'll spend most of our visit apologizing. And yes, I'll say something to her about taking goodies from her pothead neighbors." She shook her head in amusement. "Remember when we just had to worry about kids doing goofy things like that?"
"It's certainly a whole new world," I said drily.
* * *
"I can't imagine what came over me," said Bea. She sat on an armchair, perched on the edge as if to take sudden flight. "I don't remember too much of what I did either, which is absolutely mortifying." Her face reddened as she glanced at me. "I hope I didn't do something idiotic, Caro. I just needed to tell you something." Her forehead wrinkled in concentration. "I'll have to think on it, since right now I don't know what it was. Sorry." Her smile was tentative and rueful.
"Not to worry, not to worry," I assured her in my heartiest manner. "It'll come back to you; important things usually do."
"That's just it." Bea sat looking at her hands. "I can't even tell you if it was it important or not. There was just something in the back of mind, something I wanted to share…" Her voice trailed off.
"Well, don't worry about it tonight, Bea." Merry's voice was kind. "You just have a good night's sleep, and I'll give you a call tomorrow, okay?"
Bea nodded, a woeful expression on her face. "And no more sleeping pills for me. Those threw me for a loop."
Throw in a dose of marijuana, and you've got one doozy of a day, I thought. Aloud I said, "Do you need us to get someone to watch your store? Maybe a relative?"
Bea shook her head, then grimaced and grabbed her forehead. "Gosh, I'm still so dizzy. No, there's just me. If you wouldn't mind making sure it's all locked up tight, I'd sure appreciate it." She smiled. "Seneca Meadows will just have to survive without second-hand clothes and furniture for a day or two."
Leaving her with assurances that yes, indeed, we'd go right over and check on the store, Merry and I got back into the Mini and drove off into the evening.
Springtime evenings in upper New York State can be on the balmy side, warm moist air sliding in from the coast to blanket the countryside. This evening was no exception, and we lowered the car's windows and let the breeze blow through our hair. I was still in the throes of an extended honeymoon with my adopted country and town, and I breathed in the smells of a New York spring with contentment. I let my mind wander on its own, eyes closed as Merry navigated the quiet streets of Seneca Meadows. Sometimes doing absolutely nothing for a moment or two is the best restorative around.
I should have known that it couldn't last.
CHAPTER TEN
Merry slipped Victoria the Mini Cooper neatly in between a behemoth truck and a van, parallel parking with an assurance that I'd never had with my own sedan. Maybe it's time for a new car, I wondered idly as she switched off the engine. Maybe something smaller and more reliable, not so dependent on fossil fuels. I'd have to run that by my dear spouse when he returned.
Seneca Meadows has never been one for nightlife, but there were still a few businesses open at this hour: the hardware store, the dry cleaners, and—of course—Candy's Sweets and Treats. The rest of the main street was dark, the glass fronts reflecting the shimmer from the street lamps standing sentinel up and down the neatly arranged sidewalks. Second Time's the Charm, Bea's store, was dark as well, which was to be expected. Still, something besides the evening breeze gave me a chill as we approached the front door and cupped our hands against the glass for a peek inside.
"It looks okay," Merry began and then she stopped, frozen in place as she stared at something near the middle of the store. "Caro! Do you see that?"
"What is it I'm supposed to be seeing…" I broke off as my eyes finally adjusted to the gloom inside the store. "Good grief!" I could hardly believe my eyes: three life-like mannequins were seated around a table, each with a teacup in front of them. I could swear that their eyes glittered with something besides reflected light. "What an odd set up for a second hand shop," I murmured, attempting to keep both my heart rate and voice under control.
"I agree," Merry said. She shook her head ruefully. "Nearly scared me to death, I can tell you that. Let's go 'round the back and check on the delivery door, make sure it's locked up tight. We don't want those creepy mannequins taking a stroll around Seneca Meadows," she added with an impish grin.
I gave her shoulder a friendly push. "You go first, oh great leader." I was only halfway kidding.
I followed Merry around the side of the building and through a short alley that ended at a paved parking area. This was bordered by a rather dilapidated storage shed, its three steel doors marked with the names of Bea's store and two other businesses, and a neatly laid out flower bed, the myriad blooms closed against the evening chill. Interesting touch, I thought, remembering the rundown condition of the yard at Bea's house. Wonder who's responsible for that little spot of hominess.
I followed Merry up to the store's back door and nearly ran smack dab into her as she stopped suddenly, her hand on the doorknob.
"What is it?" I hissed, my pulse quickening as that earlier chill began to move its prickling way across my scalp and down my spine. I shivered in the warm night air, imagining the mannequins marching zombie-like toward us.
"It's not locked, Caro," Merry hissed back. "What should we do?"
Do? What I wanted to do was to get as far away from the store as possible, leaving the heroics to the Seneca Meadows boys—and gals—in blue. I grabbed Merry's elbow and tugged.
"Let's get out of here, Merry," I said urgently. "Let's get back in the car and call the police, okay?" That sounded entirely sensible to me, but Merry, bless her ever-adventurous heart, had another plan.
"No way, chica!" She sounded excited. "What if we catch whoever's in there, maybe nab the killer ourselves?" She jerked her arm from my grasp. "C'mon, Caro! I'm going in."
And without further ado, she did just that. I groaned under my breath and followed her; I couldn't let her face the killer mannequins or whoever it was by herself, could I? Besides, I could use a replenished store of kudos with the SMPD, not to mention some help with my latest book's plot.
"Where should we go first?" I was staying right on her heels, unwilling to have even a few inches between us. "Doesn't she have some sort of office in here?"
"Yeah," Merry whispered. "It's back there, just past the toy section."
"Well, I vote we check there first," I said. "Actually, I vote we stop and give Officer Scott a call before we do anything else." My heart was hammering in my chest, and I was beginning to feel quite breathless. Was it even possible to have a heart attack at my age?
"Don't be a sissy, Caro," Merry said as she veered through the racks of pants and shirts. "It's probably nothing anyway, just Bea forgetting to lock up."
A loud crash sounded from the back of the store, causing both of us to jump. Merry spun around, a flying elbow cracking against my nose. I teetered on my feet, one arm flailing to keep my balance. Unfortunately, I managed to whack Merry across her forehead, my wedding rings opening a gash over one eyebrow. Somehow we made it to the back door without further injury, Merry scrabbling for her keys with one hand and the other holding her head.
We sat in the Mini Cooper, breathing heavily and attending to our bleeding faces: my nose was doing a great imitation of a faucet, blood streaming down and dripping from my chin, and Merry's forehead was a bloody mess. That thought, with an unintended British twist on the verbiage, made me giggle, and in just a few moments we were b
oth laughing hysterically. When a tap sounded on the driver's window, we screamed in unison, laughter turning to fright in a split second.
"We had a call about unauthorized persons at a local business, a possible break-in in progress." A disgruntled Officer Scott stood beside Merry's car, arms folded across his chest. "I don't suppose you two know anything about this, do you?" His eyes slid past her to me. "Why am I not surprised to see you here, Mrs. B?"
"I have no idea what you mean," I said, my voice muffled beneath the wad of tissue I was holding against the injured feature. I sounded stuffy, my poor nose clogged with clotting blood. In addition, I was beginning to feel slightly sick to my stomach; the sight of blood tends to do this to me, and it was visible in abundance on Merry's forehead.
He shook his head. "I'm sure you don't. Now," he added, "what can you tell me about this, ah, situation?"
Merry and I looked at one another. I shrugged.
"We went by Beatrice Lemon's house to check on her, to make sure that she was okay." I began to giggle again, recalling Bea's outrageous behavior on the cocktail of sleeping pills and pot.
Merry poked me in the side with her elbow. "What Caro's trying to say, officer, is that we did a welfare check on a dear friend. She asked us to check on her business, to make sure that all was as it should be."
"And was it?" Officer Scott's arms were now akimbo, his face impassive. I couldn't tell if he was buying our story or not.
"Well," I began, returning Merry's elbow jab with one of my own. "The back door was unlocked, and when we went inside to make sure that no one was in there…" I got no further.
"When you went inside? Mrs. B, how often do I have to remind you that you are not a member of the police department?" The arms were now waving in the air, a sure indication of his ire. "You two ladies"—had I detected a slight emphasis on the word?—"need to go back home and take care of those wounds." He peered closer at Merry's forehead. "You might need stitches there. Want me to call the paramedics for you?"
When the Cat's Away Page 8
