Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery)

by Austin, Terri L.

“Call Mills and tell him to let me in, please.”

  “Why should I?” she asked.

  “First of all, I’m doing this on your behalf.” When she remained silent, I continued. “Remember that favor you owe me? The one of my choosing? Call Mills and get me in.” I stabbed the end button with my thumb.

  Three minutes later, she phoned back with the code and strict instructions not to humiliate her. Again.

  The rain had picked back up and when I stuck my arm out to punch the keypad, I retracted a sopping wet sleeve. My drenched hand was slick on the old school handle as I rolled up my window. Slowly, the gates parted and I drove the wide, tree-lined streets, making sure to brake over the speed bumps.

  Judge Keeler’s home was at least a seven thousand square foot beauty, sitting far back on the property. Every light on the lower floor blazed.

  I grabbed the gray purse and jumped out of the car, running as fast as I could—not so fast considering I ran on wet brick in borrowed heels—to the front door. It was already open. Mills and Julia stood united, a pair of dark shadows with the light behind them.

  Mills stepped back. “Come in, Rosalyn. What a night to be out.”

  I wiped my feet on the mat before stepping into the gray and white marbled foyer. A curving staircase swept up to the right and a short hallway branched off to the left.

  “I apologize for stopping in unannounced. Please forgive me.”

  “No problem at all. Let me take your coat,” he said.

  He lifted it from me and I glanced at Julia. Her posture was so brittle, if I poked her in the arm she might shatter like glass. Although she was dressed casually in tight khakis, a toffee colored sweater, and brown riding boots, she looked as regal as a princess getting ready to hit the royal stables. I wondered at people who carried themselves with an air of elegance. Was it innate or affected? Either way, Julia had it in spades. Even looking as tense and frightened as she did now.

  “Your mother said you had some questions about the condos we looked at. Why don’t you step into my office and I’ll be happy to answer them.” She extended her arm toward the hallway.

  “Thank you, Julia. Sorry to put you out like this.”

  I walked past her down the short passageway to the room she indicated on the right. She shut the wood paneled door behind us and before I had time to take stock of her office, she whipped around, her face a mask of anger. “How dare you? How dare you put everything I’ve worked for in jeopardy,” she hissed, keeping her voice barely above a whisper.

  “That’s not why I’m here, Julia. But if you don’t tell me everything right now, I’ll march straight to Mills and let him know who you really are, all about your past, and the grand larceny charge.”

  She pressed one hand to her hip and the other to her cheek as she paced the floor. The room was small, the desk a real Chippendale or a fantastic knockoff. A Chinese porcelain bowl sat on a low table near a bookshelf covered with framed pictures of Julia and Judge Keeler at various events.

  “I guess I don’t have a choice.” She stopped at the far wall and spun to face me, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso.

  “Did you kill Delia?” I watched her face closely.

  She looked shocked by my question. “God, no. Delia learned about…Shawna, but I could never stab her. It was too horrible, finding out she was dead.”

  “But a relief at the same time?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did she learn the truth?” I asked.

  She arched a pale brow. “How did you?”

  “I’m not sparring with you tonight.”

  She sighed and dropped her arms. “I don’t know. She just did. She never actually threatened to do anything with the information. But she knew every detail about my horrible past.”

  “Does Charlotte Ashby know David was having an affair with Delia?” I asked, switching gears.

  Her mouth dropped a notch and she blinked rapidly. “What?”

  So…no, then. Damn. If Charlotte didn’t know about David’s affair, then she had no motive to kill Delia.

  “David was having an affair with her?” she asked.

  I brushed aside her question. “Your purse was stolen at the country club fundraiser. Tell me about it.”

  Her expression went blank for a moment. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  I ran a hand over my tired eyes. “Just answer them, okay? The purse.”

  “The club had a fashion show charity event. I was on stage during the rehearsal and when I returned backstage, my purse was gone.”

  “Including your phone?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Phone, wallet, everything.”

  “And you didn’t report it?”

  “No. Mills thought it was a bad idea, and after some thought, I did, too. A week later, someone found it in the ladies’ room.”

  “What about your e-key?”

  Julia pressed her lips together. “I’m supposed to report it if it’s out of my possession.”

  I plopped myself down in the guest chair and crossed my legs. I was tired of wearing heels. “Why didn’t you just track your cell?”

  “I didn’t have an app and I always left the GPS off. I didn’t want to report the e-key stolen because someone might look into my background and find out I lied on my realtor’s application.” She flailed her hands. “So when my bag showed up, I didn’t ask too many questions.”

  “Who do you suspect?”

  She strode toward the window behind the desk and looked out over the side yard. “I don’t know.”

  “Julia. Someone used your e-key to make a duplicate of Delia’s key. That’s how they got into her house on the night of the murder. Who knew she was moving into the condo?”

  “Everyone. It wasn’t a state secret.” She turned and faced me. “So her death was my fault? If I’d said something earlier…”

  “Who was backstage during the fashion show rehearsal?” She knew more than she was letting on. “Just spit it out already.”

  She nibbled her lower lip for a minute. Finally, she glanced up. “Molly Mathers.”

  Chapter 28

  I sat stunned, like someone sucker punched me. “Molly?”

  “I saw her wandering around, but I have no proof that she stole my purse.”

  Molly couldn’t have killed Delia. She was in her therapy session that night. But of course she knew I wouldn’t check. Her doctor couldn’t legally reveal anything about his patients. Damn. I leapt from the chair and strode out of the room and back down the hall.

  Julia ran after me. “Rose, remember what we talked about?”

  I didn’t bother to answer her as I grabbed my coat from the antique coat rack and shrugged it on before walking back out into the driving rain.

  I hopped in the car, cranked up the heat, and flipped on the windshield wipers. Then I called Molly.

  I couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—believe that she killed Delia. Stabbed Delia. She was just a kid. I’d forged a connection with Molly. I wasn’t wrong about her. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Andre anything until I talked to her myself.

  “Hello?” she answered. Molly’s voice sounded strange, distant.

  “It’s Rose. I need to talk to you.”

  “My dad was arrested.” There was no inflection in her tone whatsoever. She sounded almost robotic.

  “Where’s your mom?”

  “She’s asleep.”

  Every hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “Molly, honey, where’s Mason?”

  “He gone. He hasn’t been home since you saw him selling again.”

  Something in her tone reminded me of a lost little girl. Not like Charlotte Ashby’s childish voice. Molly was in shock and she sounded so alone.

  “Molly
,” I took a deep breath and braced myself for an answer I didn’t want to hear. “Did you kill Delia?

  Her laughter was a broken bell that clanked instead of rang, but she didn’t answer.

  “I’m coming over,” I said. When she didn’t respond, I hit end and stuck the phone back in my purse.

  I knew Annabelle hadn’t been well today, but I wondered if she were really ill, would Molly even be able to call for help? She seemed shocky and out of it. Why the hell had my mother left them?

  I flipped on my lights and headed out to the Mathers’ house. As I drove the highway, the rain became heavier, making my visibility low. I slowed the car to thirty-five miles an hour, my wipers making a squeaky screech every couple of seconds.

  Once I got onto the back county roads, things were even worse. The heavy rain pelted my car. With no street lights, the darkened, rutted roads were treacherous. I drove through several areas of deep water, sending my car hydroplaning.

  But when I got to the White Oak Bridge, the creek bed was so swollen, it rose up over the bridge itself. I knew it wasn’t safe to drive through standing water. Especially on a bridge. But it was either that or get out and swim through it. I braked as I crossed, praying that I wouldn’t get stranded or worse. I felt the car drifting a bit and tapped my foot on the gas pedal.

  Somehow, I made it to the other side without my car stalling. I took the rest of the way at a painfully slow pace. When I saw the barn around the curve in the road, my heart slowed down a bit. I hadn’t realized how tense my muscles were until I relaxed them.

  Driving up the road to the Mathers’ house, the outdoor lights blazed through the arches in the portico. I almost cried with relief.

  I circled the fountain and parked near the front door. Grabbing the gray purse, I used it as a makeshift umbrella as I ran to the house. I jabbed the doorbell several times and stared up at the darkened windows on the second floor. When no one answered, I tried the knocker. Still no one came. Finally, I just tried the knob.

  The door swung inward and I stepped into the dim foyer. “Hello?” I called.

  The only sounds I heard were the pounding rain and the tick of a grandfather clock. Other than that, the house was completely silent.

  Making my way up the wide staircase, I walked to Molly’s room. No music blared this time. I opened the door and saw her sitting on the bed with her arms spread out in front of her. She wasn’t cutting now, but she had been. Her skin bore the evidence of it. Fresh, red wounds formed geometric patterns, but I didn’t spy a razor nearby.

  “Molly?” I said softly.

  She blinked and glanced up at me. The room was gloomy, lit only by the small table lamp next to the bed. “Rose. What are you doing here? My dad was arrested.”

  “Yeah, you told me, remember? We spoke on the phone?”

  She shook her head.

  I stepped closer. “Where’s Annabelle? She needs to be with you now.”

  Tilting her head to the side, she smiled. “Shhhh. She’s sleeping.”

  Something was off. Goose bumps broke out along my skin. “Which room is it, Molly? Take me to Annabelle.”

  “She won’t wake up. Not this time.”

  With my heart slamming against my chest, I spun and fled the room. Then I ran down the hallway, opening every door, flipping on every light. When I didn’t find her, I retraced my steps and ran the other way. I finally found Annabelle in the third room on the opposite wing. She lay on the canopied bed, fully dressed. She wasn’t breathing.

  I felt for a pulse. Nothing. And her skin was cold to the touch.

  I dug my phone from my purse and called 911. I told them she was dead and gave them the address, told them White Oak Bridge had flooded. When the dispatcher kept asking me questions like who was I and if I knew for certain Annabelle was deceased, I hung up.

  I stood next to the bed for a moment, staring at the white, Battenburg lace bedspread, tears blurring my vision. My cell rang, and although I was tempted to ignore it, it was Axton.

  Before I could talk, he spoke first. “Thallium.”

  “What?”

  “Thallium is a metal, used in window making, mining, stuff like that. But it matches your description of Annabelle’s symptoms. The hair loss, the jaundiced look, the nausea, and vomiting blood.”

  I forced myself to glance at her. Her ashen skin held a yellow cast. Enormous bald patches exposed her scalp.

  “She’s dead, Axton.”

  “What?”

  “I’m at the Mathers’ house right now. She’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Rose. Do you need me there?”

  “No, the roads are dangerous. I’ve called 911. She was poisoned? How?

  “It’s tasteless, odorless. It can take a while to kill you if it’s given in small doses. Used to be, you could find this stuff in herbicides and rat poison. But they banned it in the mid-seventies. You said she was losing her hair. That suggests weeks of being poisoned. A little bit at a time. A higher dose would have just killed her outright.”

  My stomach heaved. I remembered seeing old containers in the barn. Barrels of what could be herbicide. Only one person could have poisoned her. Even if Annabelle died, Martin would never get any of her money. It was tied up in a trust for the kids. Mason had been in rehab for weeks and was too scattered to plan a slow death.

  That left Molly.

  “Thanks, Ax.” I hit the end button on my phone and walked numbly out of the room and back to her.

  With her mother out of the way, Molly could use the trust fund to take care of herself and Mason. Get as far away from Huntingford as possible. But had she killed Delia as well?

  Molly was in the same position as when I’d found her. “Annabelle’s dead,” I said.

  She nodded.

  I cast my eyes around the room and they landed on her canvas tennis shoes next to the bed. I walked closer and noticed sawdust stuck to crevices in the rubber toe.

  “Why, Molly? There had to be a better way to break free.”

  “I needed money to take care of Mason, but I couldn’t do that without the trust. And I couldn’t leave him by himself. I had to help him.” Her eyes were glazed and unfocused.

  I sat down on the bed and clung to the footboard with both hands.

  “She killed Delia Cummings, you know,” Molly said.

  “What?”

  “Annabelle. She stole Julia Baxter’s purse. I was supposed to be in the charity fashion show, but my arms were bandaged because I couldn’t stop cutting.” She held them out for me to see. “They had a sleeveless dress for me to wear. Annabelle told them I wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t participate.”

  She gazed down at her arms. “My mother told me in that quiet, sweet voice of hers how much of a disappointment I was. That if she’d had other children, they wouldn’t have turned out like me or Mason.” Tears began coursing down her face. “So I went backstage to look at the dress I was supposed to wear and I saw her take Julia’s bag. I didn’t say anything.”

  This girl, this young girl who reminded me so much of myself, was a murderer. And yet, I felt nothing but compassion for her. Fresh, hot tears stung the backs of my eyes. Molly was in such pain. She thought eliminating the source of it would make things better. She was too young and naïve to realize that she’d just ruined her entire life. Letting go of the footboard, I reached out and held her hand.

  “Is that when you gave her the thallium?”

  She nodded. “I just wanted her to go away.” With her free hand, Molly rubbed at her nose. “I learned in Chemistry class that thallium used to be the poisoner’s poison. That’s what they called it. And we had some in the barn, in the utility locker. I wore a mask and gloves and replaced the medicine in her caplets with the old rat poison.”

  “But how do you know Annabelle kille
d Delia?”

  I believed it was true. All the reasons I’d used for Charlotte Ashby applied to Annabelle Mathers. The miscarriages, the jealousy over Delia’s pregnancy. I had the right reasons, but the wrong suspect.

  “Delia called the house and she and my dad would talk for hours. My mom knew. Annabelle knew and she stayed with him. She retaliated by withholding money. Annabelle gave him an allowance, as if he were a child instead of her husband. Her money was the only thing that kept him around. But even that’s running out.” She glanced around the room, taking in the landscape painted in oils and the antique furniture.

  “She always played the victim. Poor Annabelle. Look at her fucked up kids, look at her cheating husband. Poor, poor Annabelle. It made me sick. She liked that everyone felt sorry for her. He’d leave for the weekend and she’d cry and cry. Mason fell for her bullshit, but not me. I read about these people in Taiwan. They’re professional mourners. You pay them to cry on demand. That was Annabelle.”

  She took a deep breath and pulled her hand from mine. “I heard her leave that night. The night Delia died. And I watched for her to come back.”

  “What happened next, Molly?”

  She sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes. “She didn’t come into the house. Instead, she ran out to the barn with a duffle bag. She used to forbid us from going to the barn. Like it was some sacred place because her grandfather built it. The next day, I found the bag hidden in the loft.” She choked back a cry. “It was filled with her clothes. Her leather gloves were stiff with blood. And she’d used one of Mason’s knives.”

  When Molly began sobbing, I pulled her into my arms and stroked her hair. The convulsions wracked her thin body and it took some time before they subsided.

  “I overheard Julia on the day of the fashion show,” she said. “She told Judge Keeler that if she lost her e-key, she could lose her license. She was too scared to report it missing and Mills said it would turn up. I know how those keys work. My friend’s mom sold their house after the divorce. Annabelle used the e-key to get into Delia’s house.”

  “What do you think pushed her over the edge?” I asked. “Delia’s pregnancy?”