Midnight Snacks are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Then, around one a.m., she surfaced. The sight of Aunt Ginny wandering around the front foyer sent a shot of adrenaline through me and I was instantly awake. She’d changed out of her nightgown and was now wearing a lilac pantsuit. She stopped in the foyer, looked into the library for a few seconds, then turned the handle on the front door and went outside.

  I stayed quietly behind her as she made her way down the steps, around the sidewalk, and across the street to Nell Belanger’s white clapboard farmhouse with red shutters. First, she opened the mailbox, then she weeded the garden. She moved a ceramic rabbit statue and repositioned it under an azalea bush. Then, I watched in amazement as she looked under the welcome mat, picked up a key, and let herself into the house.

  I followed her to the kitchen, where she proceeded to make herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on pumpernickel bread in the dark. Aunt Ginny seemed normal except for an eerie, drugged-like quality to her eyes. Every once in awhile, she’d mutter something unintelligible, like someone was with her.

  Nell appeared in the kitchen wearing a long flannel nightgown, her gray hair up in pink curlers and a Louisville Slugger she called “The Enforcer” hefted over her shoulder. She took one look at Aunt Ginny, furrowed her eyebrows, and cocked her head to the side.

  I whispered, “She’s sleepwalking.”

  Nell put the bat down and whispered back, “More like sleep ransacking.”

  We continued to watch Aunt Ginny, who calmly ate half a sandwich, put nothing away, then poked holes in the rest of the pieces of bread.

  “I’m so sorry, Nell, I’ll repay whatever she damages.”

  Nell was, thankfully, more amused than irritated. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had plenty of Ginny’s goodies over the years. No harm done.”

  We made space in the hallway as Aunt Ginny came through. She made her way into the living room and toward the coffee table, where she picked up a painted donkey statue that doubled as a lighter and walked out the door.

  Nell gasped. “I just brought that home from Argentina.”

  “I’ll get it back to you, I promise.”

  I followed Aunt Ginny back down the street and over to Mr. Murillo’s house. She was really covering some ground. She felt around the ground like she was looking for something. Then she knocked twice on the newel post and a little door opened to reveal a house key. She let herself into the house and I prayed that Mr. and Mrs. Murillo didn’t sleep in the nude.

  Aunt Ginny did a lap around the living room. First, she straightened a couple pictures, then she tilted a couple of others. She paused for a moment and cocked her head to the side, like she was listening to someone. To which she replied, “Squirrels.” Then she scooped up a handful of chocolates from a crystal candy dish, ate the candy, then pocketed the dish. I quickly scrawled an apology to the Murillos, promising to explain everything later.

  On her way out she paused, then unscrewed the light bulb from the porch light, stuck it in a pot of mums, and quietly shut the door.

  She turned and headed back for home, stopping long enough to take Mr. Winston’s ugly little garden gnome and throw it behind the boxwood. She let herself back into the house like it was just a normal day and she’d been out to lunch. I squeezed in behind her before she turned off the porch light, locked the door, and headed down the hall.

  Where has she been keeping all this stuff ? How did I not know what she’d been up to? She hasn’t had much appetite in the mornings, but I thought she was just tired of the Paleo diet I’d forced her to do with me. I can’t believe she hasn’t gotten sick from all the midnight snacking.

  I followed Aunt Ginny into the kitchen. She opened the door to the storage room and went inside. The room was full of shelves stocked with canned goods and jars of homemade preserves. It was also the room that hid the servants’ stairs that I used to go up to the third floor. She went to the far corner and lifted a trapdoor.

  I sucked in a sharp breath, and she froze for a moment. Then she placed the pilfered items in the hole. After closing the trap, she left the little room and I watched her go to her bedroom and shut the door.

  I turned on the light and went over to the trapdoor. How did I not know that was there? I lifted up the door and sure enough, there was her stash of loot. In addition to what she had just deposited, there was Mrs. Sheinberg’s rooster pot holder, Mrs. Pritchard’s Porky and Petunia salt and pepper shaker set, Mr. Winston’s TV Guide, Mrs. Colazzo’s glass frog figurines, and my copper sauce pan. There was also a hairbrush and a set of false teeth.

  Ok, I don’t even want to know where she got that. Oh, Aunt Ginny. This will not go well in the morning. What am I going to do with you?

  Chapter 13

  “I hardly think the blue flashing lights are necessary.” I let Amber in for the second day in a row, this time to receive a confession.

  “It’s standard operating procedure when working a crime scene.” Her police radio crackled and she turned the volume down.

  I led her to the kitchen, where Aunt Ginny sat hang-dogging over a cup of coffee. Figaro perched on the edge of the table like a buzzard, in between Aunt Ginny and Amber, knowing he’s not allowed up there, as if he were saying You’ll have to go through me first. I reached for a can of tuna and his resolve evaporated like summer rain on blacktop, and he abandoned Aunt Ginny in favor of filling his stomach.

  Amber sat down and took off her police-issue sunglasses. “Hello, Mrs. Frankowski.”

  Aunt Ginny stared at her coffee cup. “Hi.”

  “You want to tell me what happened?”

  “Well, apparently I’ve gone crazy and been robbing the neighbors in my sleep.”

  The corner of Amber’s mouth twitched briefly, but she got it under control. “Do you remember anything about the past few nights?”

  “No. I took my sleeping pill and my anxiety medication and went to bed early. I don’t even remember dreaming.”

  “What medications are you taking?”

  I handed Amber Aunt Ginny’s pills. “Her doctor prescribed them a few days ago because she was riled up more than usual with the house remodel.”

  Aunt Ginny gave me a sour look. “What do you mean more than usual?”

  Amber turned to me with mock innocence. “What do you mean by that, Ms. McAllister?” She lifted her eyebrows ever so subtly in challenge.

  “I think that’s rather obvious.”

  Amber smiled, “Have you ever been sleepwalking before, Mrs. Frankowski?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “We have a doctor’s appointment today to discuss Aunt Ginny’s … side effects,” I said.

  We were interrupted by Georgina bringing the Nelsons through on an unsanctioned house tour. “And this is the kitchen, completely updated with new cabinets and granite countertops. You’ll have to excuse the color, I think there was a mix-up at the paint store.” She pointed to the spot reserved for the new range. “And that is where … something goes. A stove, I think. Anyhoo.” And then, as if noticing us for the first time, “Oh, and look, the local law enforcement busting up a neighborhood crime ring.”

  Aunt Ginny leapt to her feet with her fists balled. I grabbed her elbow and dragged her right back down again. “Uh-uh.”

  Aunt Ginny grunted. The Nelsons didn’t notice. They were far more interested in scowling at my copper light fixtures. Mrs. Nelson sniffed as her lip curled up on one side and she looked around the room with practiced distaste. Mr. Nelson pointed at the new refrigerator. “But these aren’t period fixtures at all. I thought this was an authentic Victorian manor house.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from responding, No, I’m sorry, this house is a replica we bought off of reproductions.com last month. “The kitchen has been updated, and isn’t part of the house tour.”

  Georgina picked up a dish towel and draped it over my espresso machine, then breezed them through the door. “Look at our seventeenth-century sideboard that has a place of honor in the period dining room.”

  Amb
er waited for the Nelsons to clear the kitchen. “Can you show me where the items were found?”

  I gestured to the servants’ staircase. “This way to the lair.”

  I showed her the trapdoor. Amber smiled and shook her head slightly before pulling out her cell phone to snap a couple pictures. “What was this used for … originally?”

  Aunt Ginny leaned against a shelf covered in jars full of green beans and peaches. “It’s a liquor hidey-hole.”

  I looked down into the compartment again. “A what?”

  “From the days of Prohibition. My grandfather made it to hide his whiskey and gin.”

  Amber scrawled some notes in her flip book. “Well, how about that. So, the only item unaccounted for is the diamond bracelet.”

  “I really think that’s an unrelated issue,” I said. “I’m sure it will turn up on its own.”

  “Let’s give it a few days. By then I’ll have to follow up with the victim.”

  Aunt Ginny grunted.

  “I’m having my handyman install a motion sensor in the foyer just in case there are lingering effects from the medication.”

  Aunt Ginny grunted again.

  Amber slapped her flip book shut. “Okay. And you’re going to return all the items to the neighbors today, you said?”

  “As soon as my guests check out later this morning, although I don’t know who the dentures belong to.”

  Amber opened her flip book and reviewed her notes. “Solomon Sheinberg reported the teeth disappeared out of the glass he keeps on his bedside table while he sleeps. Mrs. Sheinberg insisted he imagined the whole thing, and he probably left them at the library.”

  “Why would he take them out at the library?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Well, I’ll make sure everything is returned and I’ll explain the bizarre circumstances. I doubt anyone will want to press charges when they understand what happened.”

  Aunt Ginny sighed and left the room.

  “Poor thing. Looks like her life has been turned upside down since you crashed here,” Amber said.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I bristled.

  “Face it, McAllister, drama follows you wherever you go. You must be doing something to cause it.”

  “Why don’t you just stick to police work and stop trying to psychoanalyze me.”

  “Truth hurts, don’t it. Just so you know, I’ll be following up with the neighbors. If you don’t return those items today, you’ll be an accessory after the fact.”

  I slammed the door behind Amber, and my cell phone buzzed. It was Tim.

  “Hey you.”

  “Hey, gorgeous. What are you up to?”

  “Involved in a crime, giving a statement to the police, the usual.”

  He laughed. “Well, this I have to hear. How about dinner Tuesday night?”

  “Sure, that sounds great.”

  After I hung up with Tim, Aunt Ginny returned and handed me a bag full of her ill-gotten plunder. Her shoulders heaved in a deep sigh. “I’m going to go handcuff myself to the bed now.”

  “See, you’re already making jokes about it,” I encouraged. “You need me to get Amber’s handcuffs?”

  From over her shoulder she called, “No, I have some.”

  Oh man. I’ll have to check on that later. I pulled up my britches, metaphorically speaking, and set out for a long morning apologizing to the neighbors. I wonder if Mrs. Sheinberg has any of that pie left, to go with this crow?

  Chapter 14

  “They’re calling her the Snack Bandit.” I tossed yesterday’s issue of the Cape May Star into the kitchen trash and dumped a pile of coffee grounds on top of it. Sawyer had come over for some coffee and commiseration. It’s like tea and sympathy but with gluten-free cinnamon buns.

  Sawyer shook her head and picked up her mug. “I can’t believe it’s on the front page. It was just a few neighbors. How’d the reporter even find out?”

  “Someone must have called them. I just can’t figure out who. Everyone was so understanding when I returned their trinkets. Mr. Winston didn’t even realize Aunt Ginny had been asleep the whole time. He thought she was flirting with him.”

  “Phew-ee.” Sawyer breathed out. “She’ll be madder than a hornet if she finds out it’s public knowledge.”

  “Why do you think I’m hiding the paper.”

  “What did the doctor say?”

  “Apparently, it’s not uncommon for people to sleepwalk under the influence of these particular drugs, and Aunt Ginny was taking two of them.”

  “But with this level of competence? I mean getting dressed? Making sandwiches?”

  “Dr. Weingarten said people have been known to shave, drive to work, even go shopping. The part of your mind that is supposed to stop you from moving when you’re dreaming doesn’t kick in, so you act out your dreams. Anything you can do awake, you can do while sleepwalking, you just don’t have the best judgment.”

  “So, Aunt Ginny dreams about eating, and robbing the neighbors?”

  “When she’s on drugs she does.”

  “That must have been humiliating for her, poor dear.”

  “She was so embarrassed. But the office was very supportive. Her new nurse held her hand and stayed by her side for the entire visit. That helped a lot.”

  “How’d she do last night without the sleeping pills?”

  “She had a good night. I took her to see Dr. Melinda for some alternative medicine Saturday afternoon. She gave her some antianxiety spray made from essential oils, and some valerian to help her sleep without the side effect of terrorizing the neighborhood.”

  The front door opened and shut. We heard a flop as Figaro greeted Aunt Ginny. “Get up, you crazy fool, it’s me.”

  Sawyer and I exchanged nervous looks, but our wonder was quickly replaced with another emotion, shock. Aunt Ginny came around the corner sporting a bright new purple hairdo. Sawyer, who has zero poker face, sat with her mouth hanging open wide enough to stuff a navel orange in it.

  Aunt Ginny threw her pocketbook down on the island, took a coffee mug out of the cabinet and slammed it shut. Then poured herself a cup of coffee. She yanked open a drawer and extracted a tiny bottle of very non-Paleo Irish whiskey and poured it into her coffee.

  “Sooo … How’d the hair appointment go?” Hey, I may as well ask. For all I know purple is what she was going for.

  Aunt Ginny threw me a look of scorn and irritation.

  Okay, I guess not. “Sawyer, close your mouth.”

  Sawyer’s mouth snapped shut.

  “I’m a laughingstock.” Aunt Ginny took a large gulp of coffee.

  Sawyer cocked her head to one side and asked, “Beeeecause of the haaair?”

  Aunt Ginny’s hand flew up to her purple ’do. “Meh! That’s another disaster. Last time I get my hair done at Vo-Tech Beauty School. Some of those students need to drop out.”

  My eyes cut to the trash can and the buried newspaper. “What then?”

  “It’s all over town that I robbed the neighbors while sleepwalking.”

  “No.” Sawyer and I did our best to feign surprise.

  “Do you know they’re calling me the Goody Bandit?”

  I said, “No,” while Sawyer the Quick said, “Snack Bandit.”

  I gave Sawyer a pointed look and she blushed. Aunt Ginny looked from one of us to the other and took a slug of her coffee.

  The doorbell rang and there was another flop from the front foyer.

  “That cat is going to give himself brain damage one of these days.” Aunt Ginny sighed.

  I answered the door to find Officer Amber on my front porch, flanked by two other officers. Two police cruisers were pulled up to the curb with their blue lights flashing. Mrs. Pritchard and Nell were next to my mailbox, cataloging every move.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Amber.

  “I don’t want any problems, McAllister. I’m just here to do my job.”

  “What are you talking about?”

>   Aunt Ginny and Sawyer came out from the kitchen. Georgina came halfway down the stairs, followed by Smitty with a drill in his hands.

  “Poppy, what’s going on?” Georgina asked.

  Amber pushed past me to Aunt Ginny. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Frankowski.”

  I was beginning to get very angry. “You’d better not be here for the reason I think you’re here.”

  “Stand down, McAllister.”

  Sawyer could sense what was coming and started to cry.

  Amber took out a pair of handcuffs and faced Aunt Ginny. “I have to place you under arrest for the murder of Brody Brandt.”

  The room was silent. Georgina rolled her eyes. “Well, that figures.”

  The blood drained from Aunt Ginny’s face and she fainted.

  I was stunned. How could this be happening? I was furious, and confused, and only had one thought. “Who is Brody Brandt?”

  Chapter 15

  Amber sat behind a brown metal desk in the processing room of the Cape May County Police Department. Officers milled about, some were at similar desks in the same olive-drab room, working on their respective computers. A boy of about twenty with greasy-looking black hair that hung in his eyes sat in front of one of the officers. He was wearing holey jeans and a dirty Metallica T-shirt and had one wrist handcuffed to a metal bench. He looked anything but repentant for his crime. He gave me a fight-the-power raised fist. I returned the same.

  Amber sighed. “Brody Brandt won the prestigious Cape May County Humanitarian Award last summer for his work with at-risk youths. You could have read about him in the paper if you would get your head out of your butt long enough to care about anyone other than yourself.”

  “I didn’t live here last summer, and stories about your local tractor-pulls and pie-eatin’ contests don’t exactly make the front page of the Washington Post.”

  Amber rolled her eyes with adept precision. “His secretary stated that she was dropping off some contracts at his home this morning, and found him lying dead in his bed. According to the crime lab, he was bludgeoned with something akin to a baseball bat. Officers on the scene reported no signs of a breakin, but the kitchen floor was covered with M&M’s and the counter was littered with open takeout containers. It’s her MO, McAllister.”