Midnight Snacks are Murder

by Libby Klein

  I took a step backward.

  “I’ll make good on that promise. You tell that piece of—”

  “You do know that Mr. Brandt is already dead, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Someone killed him. That’s why I’m here. To ask Erika if she knows anything that could help me find out what happened.” Like maybe her hostile father hit him over the head with a hockey stick.

  Jonathan’s eyes darted around the yard. I wondered if he was assessing whether or not there were any witnesses about, so I took another step back.

  “Are you with the police?”

  “Well, no. Not exactly.”

  “So, you are with the Teen Center.”

  “Teen Center … ish. Why did you file a restraining order against Mr. Brandt?”

  His ham fist clenched at his side. “Because he attacked my daughter. He was supposed to be helping those kids. He told Erika he could help her get into a good college, but it was all lies. He’s using that Teen Center as a front to play out his sick fantasies. My poor baby barely got away from him before he forced himself on her!”

  “Okay.” I held my hands up in surrender. “Look, I’m just here to learn the truth. Nothing more.”

  He unclenched his fist, but his glower could still wither a cactus.

  “Did you report Mr. Brandt to the police?”

  “Oh, I wanted to, believe me. But my baby girl cried and begged me not to. She didn’t want to go through more questioning with an investigation. I finally agreed that I would handle it without the police, but Erika is never allowed to go anywhere near that place again. I don’t care if he’s dead or not. I don’t trust any of you people.”

  “I understand. I don’t blame you. Do you think I could talk to Erika sometime? To ask her if she knows anyone else who may have experienced the same problem with Brody.”

  “No! Absolutely not. I don’t want you harassing her. She needs to put this whole ugly ordeal behind her and move on with her life. Just leave!”

  He stepped back into the house and started to close the door.

  I sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. “One more thing, Mr. Lynch?”

  “What?”

  “Where were you Monday night to Tuesday morning? You know, just in case I’m asked.”

  “It’s none of your business, but I was flying in from Chicago. I have the boarding pass to prove it. Now I mean it. Stay away from us.”

  The door slammed shut.

  Well, that could have gone better. He did seem surprised when I told him Brody was dead. Of course, that could have been practiced. That boarding pass would be a good alibi, if it exists. I wonder if a hockey stick does the same damage as a baseball bat if you hit someone over the head with it?

  I walked back down the sidewalk to my car. I felt weird. The skin prickled on my neck. I looked back at the house and the upstairs curtain fluttered. For a moment, I thought I saw someone in the window, then they were gone. Maybe it was just my imagination.

  Something about Mr. Lynch gave me the creeps. I got in my car and locked the door. How far would a father go to protect his daughter? Maybe Aunt Ginny’s story in the paper gave him just the chance he needed.

  Chapter 21

  The sound of birds singing poured from my alarm clock and my eyes creaked open. I barely slept last night. I couldn’t get Brody Brandt off my mind. Was he a hero, an embezzler, or a pervert? Who was this guy? I’d fallen asleep around four a.m. only to be shocked awake by the sound of Figaro wandering the halls and singing the song of his peoples. I threw a pillow at him to silence his moaning merrroooooow merrroooooow, but that only made him double his efforts.

  Long past were the days of luxury where I could stay in bed till noon. I had too much going on right now. I crawled out of bed and tried a yoga flow. I dozed off for a minute or two in child’s pose and abandoned the rest of the routine. I’ll try again tonight. I showered and dressed and put on my makeup, just one layer today. I was too tired to try to impress anyone.

  Downstairs I found Figaro curled up asleep in a sunbeam on the back of a chair in the front parlor. I leaned down and loudly sang, “‘Swing low, sweet chariot. Coming for to carry me home.’” Which everyone knows is the cat equivalent to the midnight wails of merrroooooow merrroooooow.

  Fig opened one disinterested eye, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

  “Little punk.”

  “Who is?” Aunt Ginny breezed into the room wearing yellow chiffon and carrying a spray mister for her plants.

  “Pavarotti here woke me up in the middle of the night.”

  Figaro stood, stretched, turned in a circle, and lay down in exactly the same position he’d started in.

  Aunt Ginny misted her plants. “I think he misses you. You’ve been gone every morning, baking for the coffee shop. Shouldn’t you be there now?”

  “Not till this afternoon. I made enough to stretch two days. I have some work to do here on my laptop.”

  Smitty came through the room, followed by Georgina arguing about the electrical panel. Georgina was wearing overalls, a T-shirt, a hardhat, and a brand-new pair of construction-boot-stilettos.

  “What the—?”

  Smitty faced me, pink and breathless. “Oh, she’s helping now. Yeah. Gonna supervise my installing a couple of outlets so … You know … It’s a peach!”

  Georgina hollered from across the room, “Get the lead out, Squatty! You’re on the clock!”

  Smitty’s eyes bugged out, and he blew a raspberry.

  Aunt Ginny was in a poke-the-bear kind of mood. “Well, you’d better go. You are on the clock, so …”

  I mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  Smitty grunted and followed Georgina out.

  Aunt Ginny cackled devilishly to herself. “Ahhh, that was fun.”

  We went to the kitchen together for coffee and gluten-free maple pecan muffins that I nuked from the freezer. I called Amber to tell her about Jonathan Lynch’s threat to kill Brody.

  “I’m telling you, Amber, he was furious. If anyone has a motive to kill, it’s a father whose daughter was molested.”

  “Why are you getting involved? This is an official police investigation, and you don’t know what you’re doing. Anything you mess up is punishable as obstruction. And you can believe I’ll make sure you pay dearly.” Amber hung up before I could give my customary smart-aleck reply.

  “I wish she’d get the stick out of her butt.”

  Aunt Ginny poured each of us a second cup of coffee. “Some people have a hard time forgiving, even when they weren’t intentionally wronged.”

  “I guess you’re right. I didn’t even get a chance to tell her about Frank Ribbett.”

  Smitty came around the corner looking over his shoulder. “I think I lost her.”

  “You know, it’s a small house. You didn’t disappear into a parking garage.”

  Aunt Ginny ignored us both. “Frank who?”

  “Ribbett. Like a frog. He’s Kylie’s boyfriend. I can’t find him on the Internet.”

  Smitty took a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator. “That’s because his name is Trippett. Frank Trippett. He works at Gleason’s Garage over on Joplin in Rio Grande.”

  Aunt Ginny wrote the name down on a steno pad. “How did you know that?”

  “It’s where I take my truck for servicing.”

  “Well,” I asked, “is he a nice guy? Could he be violent?”

  Smitty shrugged. “I don’t know. He can work wonders with a crankshaft.”

  “Squirrelly! Are you taking a break?” Georgina strutted in from the dining room.

  Smitty put the orange juice back in the fridge. “Speaking of crankshafts.”

  Georgina had both her hands on her hips. “What are we paying you for?”

  Smitty followed Georgina out, his head hanging low like a scolded child.

  Aunt Ginny and I both laughed in the face of his misfortune.

  I looked up the number to Gleason’s Garage and called
.

  The phone rang several times before a gruff voice picked up. “Jimmy, so help me God, if this is you calling to harass me one more time about your piece of—”

  I quickly interrupted. “I’m sorry, this is not Jimmy. I’m looking for Frank Trippett. Is he in?”

  “Frank’s off today, but he’ll be in tomorrow at nine, unless he has a hangover, in which case he’ll be in at eleven.” Then a pause. “He’ll probably be in at eleven.” I made a note to visit him after twelve.

  Sawyer called down from the front foyer. “Helloooo.”

  “We’re in the kitchen.”

  Sawyer was gorgeous in tight white jeans, a wine-colored cashmere cowl-neck, and tan riding boots. Her supermodel good looks made me feel more schlubby the moment she floated into the kitchen. But then I was too tired to grouse this morning about what God had given me and Betty Crocker had perfected, so I moved on to acceptance faster than usual.

  “Look what I found on the Internet.” Sawyer handed me a printout. “Brody’s obituary.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Evoy’s Funeral Home don’t mess around. Look at what I have circled.”

  “Brody Brandt is survived by a daughter, Christina Brandt, who lives in West Cape May and attends Atlantic Community College.”

  Aunt Ginny handed Sawyer a cup of coffee and sat at the banquette with us. “A daughter means an ex is somewhere in the picture.”

  “An ex always makes a good suspect,” Sawyer said.

  “You think she’ll talk to us?” Aunt Ginny asked.

  I googled Christina Brandt. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  I picked up my cell and called the number. After a couple rings a woman answered.

  “Junebug Consignments, Liz speaking.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought this was a residence.”

  “It is. I run a consignment shop out of the first floor. Who are you looking for?”

  “Is Christina home?”

  “Not yet, but I expect her anytime. Who should I say is calling?”

  “Poppy McAllister. Would it be okay if I stop by the consignment shop today?”

  “Sure, that’s always okay. What are you looking for? Furs, furniture, or false eyelashes—I’ve got it all.”

  “Well, I run a bed-and-breakfast in Cape May, so I’m always on the lookout for quality antiques.”

  “Great. I’ll get some pieces ready for you to look at when you get here.”

  We hung up, and I told Aunt Ginny and Sawyer, “Looks like I’m going to visit the daughter today. Do you want to tag along?”

  “Oh, I can’t.” Sawyer frowned. “Julian called out sick and I have to get to the bookstore to open it.”

  “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. What’s going on with you?”

  “I’m real busy right now in the bookstore. I’ll try to get some time to hang out this weekend, okay?”

  “All right.” I wasn’t convinced.

  “What about you, Aunt Ginny? Want to come with?”

  Smitty and Georgina bickered their way through the kitchen, picking up two muffins on the way to the back porch.

  “How soon can we leave?”

  Chapter 22

  I handed Aunt Ginny my phone with the maps open and pulled away from the curb. “Here, you navigate.”

  “Are you sure I should be going with you? What if they find out I’m the prime suspect?”

  “I say we don’t mention that.”

  “Oh, that’s a good idea. Turn left up here.”

  “So how are you doing with all this?”

  “I’ve had better days. Nurse Tracy called this morning. Take the next right.”

  “What did she want?”

  “Just to see how I was doing.”

  “Did she say anything about the police or the investigation?”

  “Not a word, and I didn’t bring it up. Too humiliating. Turn down that block there.”

  “Are you sleeping better?”

  “I think so. That Rescue spray the witch doctor gave me is helping with my nerves.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Mostly bourbon. I think I need a new bottle of it.”

  “Already? That was supposed to be a two-month supply.”

  “Are you home all day with Smitty and Georgina?”

  “Okay, point taken.”

  “Over on the right. Yep, we’re here.”

  “This isn’t the consignment shop. It’s Jingles ice cream parlor.”

  Aunt Ginny opened her car door. “I know. I want a milkshake before we go over there.”

  “Give me those directions!”

  I waited for Aunt Ginny to come back with her peanut butter milkshake. She gave me a cocky smile full of false teeth, and we took off for Junebug Consignments, again. I drove along to the sound of her slurping. I’m pretty sure she was rubbing it in that I didn’t have one.

  Junebug Consignments was half junk-shop, half priceless antiques. An assortment of both littered the front porch and lawn. A big orange sign in the window announced SALE. I knew right away I had made a horrible mistake. Aunt Ginny’s eyes were the size of half dollars, and I could see them spinning with cartoon spirals.

  “Ooooooh. I’ll just look around while you interrogate the witness.”

  “Maybe you should just wait here, Aunt Ginny.”

  The car door slammed shut and she was on the loose.

  “Don’t buy anything!”

  “Can’t hear you!”

  A slender brunette in bright red glasses waved to me from the front porch. “Are you Poppy?”

  “Yes, it’s nice to meet you … Liz?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Are you Christina’s roommate?”

  Liz giggled. “No, I’m her mother.”

  “You are not. You look like you’re in your twenties.”

  “Well, thank you. I was really young when I had her. Come on, why don’t I show you around.”

  Liz’s first floor was bursting like ripe snap peas, with two hundred years of history and charm. We walked room to room for about forty-five minutes, looking at the different pieces. She had a beautiful Eastlake carved walnut dresser with attached mirror that would be perfect for my Emperor Suite. I was asking about the price when Aunt Ginny popped her head in, carrying a gilded birdcage filled with plastic ivy.

  “How much for this?”

  “That’s twenty-five,” Liz answered.

  Aunt Ginny disappeared like vapor in the wind.

  “Um, Liz, I’m not just here to buy antiques.”

  “But you are going to buy some?”

  “Yes. You can write up the two pieces here and I’ll have my handyman come pick them up later.”

  “Oh good. Then what else can I do for you?”

  “Well, I know it’s not my place, but I heard about Christina’s father’s passing and I wanted to say that I’m so sorry.”

  Liz gave me an appraising look. “Are you a reporter or something?”

  “No. I told you the truth on the phone. I run a bed-and-breakfast. I also bake gluten-free pastries for a coffee shop in Cape May.”

  Liz’s eyes lit up. “You do? I have celiac disease.”

  “I have Hashimoto’s.”

  “What is that?”

  “It’s a lot like celiac, only the thyroid is destroyed along with the digestive system.”

  “Aww. Going gluten-free was really hard for me. But now I have the hang of it. I made some gluten-free donuts this morning. You want to try them and give me your opinion?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Aunt Ginny popped in with a stuffed bobcat. “How much is this?”

  “That’s thirty-six, but I’ll knock off five if you get it with the birdcage.”

  “Sweet.” Aunt Ginny vanished again.

  Liz led me into the kitchen, where we had coffee and her homemade chocolate-frosted donuts.

  “These are delicious. I’m going to have to buy me a donut pan to make them for
the espresso bar.”

  “So, how did you know my ex?”

  “To be honest, I’ve never met him. But I recently befriended some of the kids in his Teen Center, and I told them I’d try to find out what happened. Could I offer you some muffins or cookies in exchange for a little information?”

  “Throw in a gluten-free chocolate cake and you have a deal.”

  Aunt Ginny popped in with a bronze statue of a horse and carriage. “What is this?”

  “It’s a clock. See the face there. The rider’s crop moves up and down when you plug it in.”

  “How much?”

  “That’s fifty-two.”

  “Hmm, I’ll think about it.”

  Aunt Ginny disappeared behind a bookcase.

  Liz topped off my coffee and poured herself another cup. “This is a real shock for both of us. Christina came home from work and went straight up to her room again today. She’s still refusing to come down to talk to anyone.”

  “Were Christina and her father close?”

  Liz sighed and shook her head. “She had a difficult relationship with her father. I got pregnant with her in high school, when Brody and I were young and stupid. He wasn’t ready to be a father. He was absent for most of her life and I raised Christina by myself. Then Brody showed up one day and said he’d gotten his life together and wanted to have a relationship with her. By then she was a bitter teenager.” Liz shrugged. “He had just started paying back child support a few months ago. He said he’d come into some money from an investment that had paid off. Christina’s an adult now, but Brody said she could use the money for college tuition or a new car. She won’t touch it. I’ve been holding it in a savings account for her.”

  “Did Brody have life insurance?”

  “Not much. He’d just started putting money into a policy a couple of years ago as part of his newfound fiscal responsibility.”

  “Who’s the beneficiary?”

  “Christina. She’s all the family he has.”

  “I met some of the kids down at the Teen Center and it sounds like Brody was a real inspiration to them. He was their mentor.”

  “Well, whatever you do, don’t mention the Teen Center to Christina. She hates that place.”

  “Oh, how come?”

  “She resented Brody starting the youth program. She said her father didn’t have the time of day for her while she was growing up, but here he was bending over backwards for these kids he doesn’t even know.”