Moving Is Murder

by Sara Rosett

  By the time I fed Livvy and got her to bed, Mitch had shown the police the garage and tracked down a number for Joe. Mitch dropped into our favorite overstuffed chair and propped his feet up on the double ottoman.

  “Was anything stolen?” I called from the kitchen. Mitch had walked around the garage, telling Joe what he saw.

  “Right now, the only things he could say for sure were a cordless drill and a socket set. The police said they’ve had a lot of break-ins lately. Burglars like detached garages. Rex probably scared them away before they got much.”

  “Do you realize we’ve moved into a neighborhood with garage break-ins and possibly, a drug house?” I said as I filled my extra-large cup with water. “Not to mention practically your whole squadron right on our doorstep.” Ice cubes crackled as I dropped them in the water. “Someone went through everything. That would take time.” I snapped the lid into place and guzzled the cool water while I walked to the living room. I plunked down on the ottoman and untied my shoes. “Did you tell the police I saw someone drive away without lights last night?”

  Mitch nodded and took a drink of my water. “They’ll call you if they need anything else. But I don’t think we’ll hear from them. I got the impression that it was no big deal.”

  “Yeah, I read an article in the paper last week. Detached garages are easy targets. Oh. With all the commotion, I almost forgot. I think Jeff is a suspect.” I summarized what Abby had told me on our walk.

  “That’s stupid. Jeff can’t be involved,” Mitch said, dismissively.

  I pushed the straw around the cup. “You really think so?”

  Mitch studied me for a long moment. “No. I know it. You don’t go through all the”—he paused, amended what he was about to say with a glance at Livvy’s door—“crap at the Academy for years and not get to know someone. I know Jeff and he couldn’t have done anything to hurt Cass.”

  I kicked off my shoes and said, “But don’t you think it’s—” I broke off when I looked at his face. It had a tight, angry look.

  “You think he did it, don’t you? How can you doubt him?”

  “How can I not? Everything says he could have done it. He’s experienced with bees and could probably handle wasps, he was smoking, there were probably wasps at the squad, and he was alone right before Cass left the squad. He had time to trap some wasps in a cup and put it in her van. She didn’t lock it.”

  “I can’t believe this. You really think he did it?” Mitch stood up and paced the edge of the oriental rug.

  “I don’t want to believe it. I hope he didn’t. How can you be so sure he didn’t?”

  “Because he’s my friend and at times like this you don’t doubt your friends. You support them.” Mitch stalked off to the bathroom. I collapsed back onto the ottoman. Oh, man. I hadn’t expected Mitch to be so defensive. A few minutes later I heard the shower.

  When the water stopped flowing, I got up and walked down the hall. Mitch had left the bathroom door open a slit. I pushed the door open another inch and humid air oozed into the hall. Mitch, his towel wrapped around his waist, jerked the shower curtain into place.

  “Mitch, you know I like Jeff. I don’t want to think these things about him.”

  I couldn’t see his face, but his stiff shoulders relaxed. “I know.”

  We settled into an uneasy truce. We didn’t talk about Jeff, or really anything else for the rest of the night. The silence between us seemed like a tangible thickness. It weighed us down and separated us into our own quiet worlds.

  “Ellie, where’s the baby Tylenol?”

  “What?” I pushed myself up on one elbow and rubbed the sleep out of the corners of my eyes.

  “Where’s the Tylenol?” Mitch repeated. His question penetrated my fuzzy brain. Livvy. Mitch was holding her, rubbing her back. I had fed her at two A.M. and she had gone right back to sleep. In fact, she’d been sleeping, except for a few sneezes. When I heard her crying a few minutes ago I had shaken Mitch’s shoulder and said, “Your turn.” I must have dropped right back to sleep. A hard, deep sleep because I felt like I had been sleeping for two hours instead of ten minutes.

  I stumbled into the hall bathroom, our only bathroom. Most of the older homes in this area only had one bath unless someone had updated the house and added another. I opened the medicine cabinet and looked through it by the glow of the nightlight.

  Mitch came in with Livvy and I felt her forehead. It was warm and her big blue eyes shined. I resumed my search through the medicine cabinet, wide awake now. If Mitch said she had a fever, I knew she did. I was the worry wart. He was the relax-don’t-worry-about-it one in our family.

  “I know we had some before we moved. But I don’t remember unpacking it,” I said. “I’d better go to the store and get some Tylenol. It might help.”

  Mitch nodded and went back to doing the baby bounce, a springy step to keep Livvy from crying. I yanked on jeans and a sweatshirt because it would be cool. Then I brushed my hair and left with one side flattened against my head and wrinkle marks from my pillow across my cheek.

  I tossed my sleek black Kate Spade purse wallet into the Cherokee and backed out of our driveway. At least I had a doctor’s appointment for Livvy in the morning. We could find out what she had and get her some medicine if she needed it. I paused, trying to remember which grocery stores were open twenty-four hours. To the right was Rim Rock Road, a quick route downtown. Something would be open there, but I didn’t really want to go downtown at almost three in the morning. To the left was Birch, the next main street that led to a small shopping center with a Copeland’s grocery store, but I didn’t know if it stayed open all night.

  A movement down Nineteenth caught my eye. A white car without lights eased out of the driveway next to Joe’s house. I waited until it was at the corner and then I turned left and followed it. At Birch, I turned left just as the car had done. Well, it was the same direction as Copeland’s, I reasoned with myself. I’d just see where it was going for a little way.

  I cruised through the eerie, still streets. Widely spaced streetlights flickered over the car. At Sixteenth, I followed the white car into the large parking lot.

  Copeland’s squatted at one end of the strip mall, with LaMont’s, a department store, at the other. In between were a string of smaller shops, a pack and mail place, a beauty shop, a Chinese restaurant, a barbershop, and a dog groomer. The white car parked under a street light at the farthest end of the lot. I slid into one of the open slots in the front row and watched the car in my rearview mirror.

  A woman got out of the car. She slipped a green apron over her head, wrapped the strings around her slender waist, and tied them at her back as she walked inside the store.

  Automatically, I hooked the long strap of the purse wallet over my shoulder while I stared at the advertised specials posted on the bright windows. It couldn’t have been her. Could it? I saw my eyebrows in the rearview mirror drawn together in a frown. It looked like Friona. But the bored newlywed I had talked to at the squadron barbeque wouldn’t be working at Copeland’s. All the employees wore green aprons. At the squadron, Friona had looked like a model with her long willowy body, and her sullen expression showed she was clearly bored. I couldn’t picture her working nights at a grocery store.

  I roamed up and down three aisles of glossy industrial-size floor tiles until I found the children’s medicine. I bought two packages and checked out without seeing anyone who looked like Friona.

  “Your receipt,” the checker called. I turned back, took the receipt, and caught a glimpse of a trim, dark-haired young woman walking to the customer service center, where you could buy stamps or lottery tickets. She looked like Friona. She didn’t notice me. I’d have to ask Abby where Friona lived. It was too strange. I could picture Friona working in an upscale trendy restaurant as a hostess, but at ordinary Copeland’s? At three in the morning? No way.

  An Everything in Its Place Tip for an

  Organized Move

  Garage Sol
ution

  Invest in heavy-duty plastic shelves for the garage. You can set up and break down these shelves quickly without any tools, so you can arrange items in your garage as soon as you unpack them. Then, when it’s time to move again, your storage solutions will go with you.

  Chapter

  Ten

  North west Family Health was carved into the side of one of the hills that formed Black Rock Hill, the name of the neighborhood that had grown up over the large rock outcroppings that rimmed the southern side of Vernon. With its basement submerged in the rock, the rest of the red brick building stair-stepped up the hill.

  I saw an open slot in the parking lot and twisted the steering wheel to slide into it, but a black Mustang cut me off. It barely squeaked past my front bumper and whipped into the opening. The Mustang had vanity plates that read AFPILOT. A short man hopped out of the car and trotted past me as I made another circuit of the lot. That’s how pilots get a reputation for being arrogant, I groused. Finally, I found an empty slot and parked.

  I filled out the paperwork and found Urgent Care in the basement. The lack of windows and dim lighting gave the waiting area a gloomy atmosphere. After checking in at the counter shared between Urgent Care and Lab/X-ray, I sat down on one of the cheap, streamlined couches. There were three clinics on this floor and they shared the same waiting area. I vacantly looked across at the Family Practice area as I rocked Livvy’s blanket-covered car seat with my toe. Livvy was worn out. She had slept fitfully, either on Mitch’s shoulder or mine, until five in the morning. Then she had slept in her bed from sheer exhaustion.

  I watched the clock creep around from 10:15 to 10:30. This approach to health care was different from the base hospital, where we had been seen before moving to Vernon. At the base hospital the idea, as far as I could tell, was move patients in and out as quickly as possible. I’d never had to wait long. In fact, the appointment desk usually told you to arrive fifteen minutes early, so they could get your vital signs and get your paperwork done. Livvy was sleeping, so I’d give them a few more minutes before I checked on our appointment.

  A man brushed past the car seat and dropped onto the far end of the couch across from me, the guy who’d beat me to the first parking space. He picked up a magazine, flicked through it, tossed it back on the table, then rattled a newspaper as he scanned the headlines. He lobbed the paper onto the table and leaned back against the cushions, one foot bouncing up and down. He looked familiar. I went through faces I’d met recently, trying to place him. Watching him made me feel more tired. I must have looked like I was moving underwater compared to his fidgety energy. After he checked his watch, he jiggled his change. I was still rocking the car seat with my toe. My eyes drooped as I focused on the rhythmic movement of the car seat.

  “Nick Town,” snapped a voice beside me and I nearly fell off the couch. The man seated across from me jumped up and followed the nurse through the door marked Lab/X-ray. The door on the other side of the counter opened and a nurse called Livvy’s name. I followed the nurse through a maze of twisting corridors to a small examining room. I felt like I needed bread crumbs to sprinkle behind me.

  After a few minutes, Dr. Stig arrived. The nurse’s initial poking and prodding had awoken Livvy and she didn’t like the doctor’s exam much better.

  “Looks like she has an ear infection.” Dr. Stig whipped out a pad and scrawled a prescription. He was young with fair hair and pale skin. He wasn’t wearing a white coat, just khakis and a knit shirt. He looked like he was ready to hit the golf course.

  He handed me the slip of paper. “Here’s an antibiotic for her. Bring her in next week for a recheck. Everyone should be getting more sleep in a day or two.” He smiled and told me to give her Tylenol for the pain and was out the door before I could get Livvy back in her car seat.

  With the help of a nurse, I found my way back to the waiting area, where I scheduled an appointment for the next Friday. As I signed my check for my copayment, a nurse hurried over from behind the stacks of medical records and said to the nurse who was waiting for my check, “Go on. I’ll finish this. There he is.” The newly arrived nurse, whose name tag read YVONNE, made shooing motions with her hands. The other nurse giggled, flicked her blond ponytail, and went to the other end of the counter.

  I waited for my receipt, bouncing the handle of the car seat in the crook of my elbow. The fidgety man from the waiting room came out the door and pulled out his wallet. He wasn’t one of our new neighbors.

  Ponytail smiled and leaned over the counter. He shifted down to a lower gear and took quite a bit of time to hand over his money and get his appointment card.

  “Good to see you again. Are the shots helping?” Ponytail held on to the appointment card, turning it over and over in her hands.

  “Yeah, they seem to.” He smiled, pulled out his keys, and flicked them back and forth.

  “Have you been flying lately?” Ponytail asked, reluctantly handing over the card. I took my card, too, and looked at the man again. His car keys glittered in the low light. Then I had it. I’d met him on the way to the car at the barbeque. He had been talking to Mitch.

  I’d missed his reply to Ponytail’s question.

  “See you next week,” he said and jogged up the stairs.

  Ponytail dropped his file in a bin. “Isn’t he cute?”

  “Too short for me.” Yvonne, who was probably close to six feet tall, tossed Livvy’s paperwork into the same bin.

  “I thought you only saw dependents from the base,” I said. Mitch might rather see a doctor off-base. But as soon as I asked the question I knew the answer. No way would the Air Force allow civilians to treat pilots. The Air Force would be out of the loop.

  “Yes, just dependents. Unless we get a special referral from the base for something they don’t handle. Usually specialty things,” Yvonne replied. Nick must have been referred off-base for something, like the time Mitch pulled a ligament in his foot and had to see a physical therapist. But Nick looked healthy as a horse, a jittery thoroughbred racehorse.

  I set the car seat on the table and scooted into the plastic booth with a sigh. My few hours of sleep were running out and I felt like I could put my head down on the table and sleep for hours. Mitch set down the tray with our sub sandwiches and drinks. The restaurant, Robin Hood’s, in the Base Exchange was almost deserted. One-thirty was late for lunch around the base; most people ate at eleven-thirty, since they started work at seven-thirty. As we ate, I filled Mitch in on the doctor’s visit and my trip to the base pharmacy.

  Then he opened a shopping bag I hadn’t noticed and pulled out a kid-size tennis racket. “I went shopping while I waited.”

  “Mitch, she won’t play tennis for years. She’s got to walk first.”

  “She can work on her grip.”

  Mitch can be almost as stubborn as I can, so I changed the subject. “So how’s mission planning going?” I asked. Mitch had a flight the next day.

  “We finished this morning. We’re lead in a two-ship.” He meant he was flying the lead plane. I could tell he was glad to have a flight. The work in the safety office was fine with him, but he’d fly every day if he could. Of course, everyone else in the squad felt the same way.

  “Anything else going on?”

  “Detectives from OSI are talking to everyone about Cass and the barbeque.”

  “Really?” Our truce held, mostly because we didn’t talk about Jeff’s possible involvement in Cass’s death. I phrased my next questions carefully. “So they do think someone put the wasps there intentionally?”

  “Who knows what they think? They’re asking questions, not answering them.”

  “Did they talk to you?” I asked.

  Mitch nodded. “Well, what did they ask about?” I prodded. Men can be so big-picture. I wanted the details and Mitch thought he’d covered everything with his blanket statement.

  “About the barbeque. Who was in the parking lot, which was probably just about everyone. Did anyone dislike Ca
ss?”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I couldn’t tell them much. We’ve only been here a few weeks.”

  “Did you tell them about the argument Jeff and Cass had?”

  “They already knew. I told them it was no big deal. Why are you so interested?” He wadded up his napkin and threw it on the tray. His eyes challenged me.

  I sipped my Diet Coke. “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I guess because I found Cass and I found the wasps. I feel a little guilty, too, about washing and vacuuming the van. What if I destroyed evidence?” I set my cup back down and pushed my plate away. “I don’t want whoever did this to get away with it.” And most of all, I knew Jeff was a suspect and I’d started the whole thing, but I kept silent about that issue. I felt miserable. I hated being so guarded and careful in what I said to Mitch, but I didn’t say anything. I knew how the whole conversation would go. I knew Mitch would defend Jeff and be hurt that I suspected Jeff.

  “Ellie.” Mitch hunched over the table, gripped my hand. “I know finding her was awful, but you’re not responsible for making sure her killer doesn’t get away with it, even if you did wash and vacuum the van. You were trying to help Joe. The police and the medical examiner thought it was a natural death, otherwise they’d have checked the van out better. You shouldn’t feel guilty. If it weren’t for you, there’d be a person out there who got away with murder.” Mitch squeezed my hand, then said, “That worries me. Keep your distance from this thing, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said and smiled, but inside I knew it was a halfhearted promise.

  Mitch studied my face without saying anything and then stood to carry the tray to the trash bin. That’s the problem with being close to your husband. He knows when you’re lying. But he knows how hardheaded I am, too, so I guess he decided not to try to press any more promises out of me. At least, not right then, anyway.

  I hooked my elbow through Livvy’s car seat handle, tucked my wallet purse into the diaper bag, and slung it over my shoulder. As I walked down the narrow aisle of tables, I noticed a familiar face from the squadron’s orderly room, Airman Tessa Jones. Mitch was talking to a friend in the restaurant line, so I paused and said, “Tessa, how are you?”