by Mary Maxwell
Book Club Killer
Mary Maxwell
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
© 2015 Mary Maxwell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recorded or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
Chapter 1
“Have you ever thought about killing anyone?” Sonja asked with a chilling smile. “I mean, if you could actually get away with it?”
The inquiry was so startling that I nearly dropped the dozen eggs in my hand. I’d stopped by Wegman’s for a few last-minute items. I was hosting the monthly book club for the first time the next afternoon. I was the newest member of the group, and wanted to pull out all the stops to impress the other women. Since my Triple Chocolate Almond Treasures had won top honors at our county cooking contest three years in a row, I decided they’d be a smart choice. But as I gazed at my friend’s mischievous blue eyes, making gooey bonbons was suddenly the last thing on my mind.
“Have you?” she said again. “Not in a real bloody way or anything.”
I’d only known Sonja for a couple of months. We met when I joined The Baker Street Book Babes. I wasn’t wild about the name of the club, but I loved reading and it was fun getting together with the other women once a month.
“Maybe just a spoonful of cyanide in their tea,” added Sonja. “Or a tiny push down a big flight of stairs.”
I carefully put the carton of eggs in my shopping cart. “This is a joke, right?”
“That depends.” One corner of her mouth lifted to form a wicked smile. “If the person I have in mind behaves herself, maybe I’ll skip the idea altogether.”
“There’s nothing funny about murder, Sonja.”
She adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder. “Just play along, Jana. Like it’s a childhood game or something.”
I fixed my eyes on her innocent smile. Was she serious? Did she have real-life skeletons in her closet? And was the glint in her eye due to homicidal tendencies instead of everyday happiness?
“Well?” she demanded impatiently. “It’s a simple question. Have you ever thought about—”
“Who did you have in mind?” I interrupted, not wanting to hear her utter the last part of her question again.
Sonja heaved a feathery sigh. “Rosemary Swanson,” she said as her eyes narrowed into a malicious scowl. “I don’t think she fits into our book club.”
“What on earth did she ever do to you? I mean, how did she make you so angry that you’d want to kill her?”
A frothy laugh was Sonja’s reply. “Oh, lighten up a little, Jana! I’m just kidding; you know I’d never hurt a fly.”
I forced the frown on my face into a smile. “Well, how was I supposed to know? You seemed so…” I thought about the most appropriate way to describe the blood-curdling expression that had accompanied Sonja’s baffling remark. “Well, you seemed pretty believable,” I continued. “As if you could actually imagine killing Rosemary.”
Sonja pushed her voluminous blonde bangs from her eyes. “I could imagine it,” she said. “But I’d never dream of actually doing something so horrible!”
“Then why did you mention it?”
“Because of the book she picked for this month’s club meeting.”
“The Female Man?”
“Yes!” Sonja blurted. “Who on earth wants to read some complicated science fiction thing?”
“I think she’s trying to challenge us by introducing new authors and genres,” I offered, hoping to diffuse the angry glare in Sonja’s eyes. “It’s easy to get stuck in a rut if you read the same kind of book every month”
“Well, that’s a load of horse poop!” she hissed. “What’s wrong with a juicy murder mystery? Or maybe Charlotte’s Web? I joined the book club for relaxation and camaraderie with other women, not to be tortured with obscure fantasy novels.”
I agreed with Sonja, but didn’t really mind being introduced to unfamiliar books and authors. This was my second month in the group, so I’d already trudged through both of Rosemary’s suggestions—a Russian novelist’s debut work written in haiku and the feminist science fiction novel written by Joanna Russ. I wasn’t going to rush out and read anything else by those two authors, but I’d enjoyed being exposed to something new.
“Maybe your suggestion will be selected for our next book,” I offered, trying to nudge the conversation in a more upbeat direction.
“I doubt it,” Sonja said. “I somehow think she’s blackmailing everyone else into voting for the book she wants us to read. I swear that if anyone deserves a knife in their back, it’s Rosemary Swanson.”
I smiled and waited for her gloomy rant to end, but her phone buzzed loudly in her pocket. She reached for the droning device, glanced at the screen and rolled her eyes.
“It’s Rosemary,” she muttered. “Probably calling to gloat about her oldest son’s newest academic achievement.”
“Go ahead,” I said, hoping that would be my chance to continue shopping. “Please tell her hi for me.”
Sonja shook her head and silenced the phone with one tap to the screen. “I saw her this morning at the drug store. She can just leave a message and I’ll call her back later.”
“Okay, sure.” I glanced at my watch. “Oh, wow! It’s almost five-thirty, and I still have a couple of stops after this. I should get going so I can get dinner on the table by seven.”
With a forlorn nod of her head, Sonja gave me a little hug. “Brian’s in Miami this week,” she said. “I’ll probably go buy another frozen Weight Watchers for tonight.”
As she drifted away toward the frozen food aisles, I called out and invited her to join us for dinner. My husband and our two sons were always up for spur-of-the-moment guests, but Sonja declined.
“That’s okay,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve been craving a spicy chicken slider all day. It’s five points, but I feel like splurging.”
Like many of my friends, Sonja was on a permanent diet roller coaster. She’d pledge her loyalty to one new fad program for a month or two, lose a few pounds and then yoyo back above her starting weight with an uncontrollable binge with my two best friends, Ben and Jerry.
“Oh, well,” she muttered. “I’ll see you tomorrow at book club.”
“Have a nice night!” I called after her.
She replied with a halfhearted wave and a cheerless shrug.
Chapter 2
After Sonja disappeared around the corner in search of her all-white-meat patty on a soft mini-bun, I checked my shopping list. I’d scribbled it so quickly right before leaving work that I could only make out the first few entries: Eggs. Bittersweet chocolate. Heavy cream. Napkins. Paper plates. The last item was either Ground Beef or Greasy Beets. I groaned, made a mental note to write more slowly next time and headed for the Express Checkout at the front of the store. I knew my preparations for the book club meeting didn’t involve ground beef or greasy beets, so I figured that I had everything I needed.
As I reached the cash registers, I heard a voice from over my shoulder.
“Jana?”
I turned to find Eve Walker grinning at me with her flawlessly bleached teeth, perky blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. Eve was the book club’s most alluring member. She was gorgeous. Her husband was a multimillionaire. And her three children were always well-mannered, tidy and considerate. On days when my two boys were unruly or the household budget didn�
�t stretch as far as it needed, I was more than a little jealous of Eve’s good fortune. Luckily, those moments of envy were few and far between.
“Hey, there!” I said brightly. “I just saw Sonja. If the other three girls were here, we could do book club in the bakery section!”
Eve raised one eyebrow. “Not me,” she said. “I’m on a carb-free diet. And it’s absolutely slicing the weight right off!”
I took a quick glance, but she looked exactly the same to me. “Well, it’s really working,” I told her anyway. “You look amazing!”
“I know,” she said, lifting her chin slightly. “I’m the same weight I was when I was sixteen.”
I kept the smile plastered on my face, quickly calculating how much heavier I was than twenty years before.
“But enough about me,” Eve said. “How are you?”
“I’m great, thanks. What about you? Besides the fabulous weight loss?”
Her grin widened. “I’m doing so well,” she gushed. “Trevor just got another promotion at work. Josh made varsity basketball. And little Brady pooped in the big potty this morning for the first time ever!”
My stomach jiggled slightly at the last entry on her list. “That’s fantastic!” I offered. “Three more gold star days for the Walkers!”
“I know, right?” Eve shrugged. “I stopped here for a sec to get Brady something special to celebrate his big achievement.”
I glanced at the basket dangling from her arm: baking soda, vinegar, a stainless steel bowl and two rolls of extra thirsty paper towels. When she noticed the baffled look on my face, Eve reached out and patted my arm.
“Brady just loves making vinegar volcanoes,” she said. “But the last one left a permanent stain on the new carpeting in the billiard room, so I’m buying extra rolls of towels just in case.”
Brady was nearly three. And, although that seemed a little young for such a science experiment to me, Eve and her husband believed in giving their sons whatever they wanted. Of course, they could afford to satisfy any whim their two perfect boys could ever desire.
“Doesn’t that sound like fun?” I said. “Especially if you’ve got extra paper towels handy!”
Eve smiled again with her dazzling choppers. “Well, I hate to be rude,” she said. “But we’re taking Josh to Café Metro to celebrate his big news!”
“Wow! That’s a fancy way to celebrate. Have a wonderful evening.”
“Oh, we always do,” Eve said. “I’ll see you at book club tomorrow afternoon.”
“Definitely,” I told her. “I’m a little nervous since this is my first time hosting, but I hope it’ll be a good meeting for everyone.”
Eve rolled her eyes. “Don’t you worry,” she said. “I know that everyone thinks my first time as host couldn’t be surpassed, but you can always try!”
I wasn’t a member when Eve welcomed the group into her posh mansion for book club, but I’d heard about the event often enough that I knew it involved waiters in tuxedos, a four-course dinner and a chamber orchestra playing compositions inspired by that month’s book.
“Well, it was nice seeing you,” I said as the line for six items or less inched forward.
“See you tomorrow,” Eve offered before she aimed her shopping cart at the next aisle.
After finishing at Wegman’s and stopping to buy KFC for dinner, I headed home. My husband was in the kitchen when I pushed through the door.
“Hey there, beautiful!” Ben gave me a quick kiss. “How was your day?”
“It was really good, sweetie. How about yours?”
“Busy,” he answered. “It was one of those ‘good news, bad news’ kind of Fridays.”
I put the shopping bags on the counter. “I know that tone,” I said. “What’s the bad news?”
“Don’t you want to hear the good news first?”
I smiled and shrugged off my coat. “Of course! What is it?”
“I want to show you this first,” Ben told me, pulling a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. “I got it so we could celebrate!”
“Wow! Then it must be really good news!”
He smiled proudly. “It is,” he said. “We signed a letter of agreement to acquire a new company today.”
“Another manufacturer?”
Ben nodded. “They make a really great line of flooring products.”
“Congratulations, honey!” I gestured at the champagne. “Let’s open that bad boy and raise a glass to your success!”
“There’s more news,” he said. “Guess who’s leading the transition team?”
The answer was on his face: a proud grin and wiggling eyebrows.
“Oh, that’s amazing!” I said. “I know you’ve been working really hard for that to happen.”
He carefully uncorked the bubbly and filled two crystal flutes.
“Here you go, love.” He handed one to me and raised the other for a toast. “I couldn’t have done it without your patience and support.”
When his smile drooped a little, I knew there was a catch to the celebratory announcement.
“So?” I said after sampling the chilled champagne. “What’s the bad news?”
“My boss suggested that I invite Mr. Truscott to dinner here tomorrow night,” my husband announced. “He’s the owner of the company we’re buying, and I guess he sort of hinted that he wanted to get to know our transition team this weekend rather than wait for Monday.”
“Tomorrow night?” I felt a slab of anxiety pushing against my chest. “But I have book club tomorrow afternoon. How can I possibly do that and fix a nice dinner for your group?”
“I’ve already got that covered,” Ben said confidently. “I’m having dinner catered by the new restaurant down on Olive Street.”
“Really?” I sighed with relief.
Ben nodded. “You bet, sweetheart. I know how hard you’re working to put on a big spread for your book club. I figured you’d like the thought of someone else cooking for my office dinner.”
“You are too good to me,” I said, looping my arms around my husband’s neck. “I’m the luckiest girl in the whole world.”
“There’s more,” he said. “I also asked the restaurant to send two of their best servers and one bartender to handle everything. They’ll do it all—fix the drinks, prepare the food, serve our guests, clean up the kitchen. You won’t even have to lift a finger!”
I pressed my lips to his for a lingering kiss. “Now, that’s what I call the best possible news!” I exclaimed cheerfully. “You should’ve started with that little tidbit, hon!”
Chapter 3
Late the next morning, as I scurried around the house with a feather duster and vacuum, I heard a knock on the front door.
“Can somebody get that?” I called.
When there was no response, I glanced into the backyard where I saw Ben and our two boys working in the garden.
Another earsplitting knock echoed through the empty house, so I put down the cleaning supplies and hurried to the foyer. A quick look through the peephole revealed a man wearing sunglasses and a bright red cap emblazoned with the logo for the Olive Street Café.
“Morning, ma’am,” he said after I opened the door. “I have something for your dinner party tonight.”
He was holding an unmarked brown paper bag, a stack of carryout menus from the restaurant and a bouquet of fresh flowers in a sleek glass vase.
“Are you from the café?” I asked.
The man nodded. “The rest of the things you ordered are coming later on the delivery van,” he explained. “When our chef realized they’d forgotten the spinach dip, I volunteered to drive it over separately.”
I was so distracted by preparations for the book club that I didn’t think twice about the man’s reason for appearing at our door. I’d never seen him before, but that didn’t seem unusual. Ben and I had ordered from Olive Street two or three times since they opened, and a different person always delivered the food.
“Thank you so much,�
�� I said, holding the door open wide. “Do you mind bringing those inside for me?”
He smiled, stepped into the house and then followed me wordlessly to the kitchen.
“The counter by the sink is perfect,” I said, gesturing across the room. “When will the rest of the things be delivered?”
The man put the bag, menus and flowers on the counter. “I really don’t know,” he said. “When I get back to the restaurant, I can ask someone to call you.”
I started to reach for my purse so I could give him a tip, but then remembered that I’d left it in the bedroom.
“Can you give me a sec?” I asked.
He smiled and I went down the hallway toward our bedroom. But when I returned a minute later, he was gone and the front door was closed.
“That’s strange,” I whispered to myself. “A delivery guy who doesn’t expect a tip.”
I brushed off the odd episode and went back to dusting. An hour later, when the house passed inspection and my husband had taken the boys to a movie, I arranged the snacks and sweets on the kitchen table and headed for the shower.
As I stood beneath the torrent of hot water, I ran through the checklist in my mind. Beverages? Check! Snacks and sweets? Check! Extra bottle of pinot grigio for Eve and Dora? Check! Small plates for the—
The doorbell rang before I could finish. Baxter, our Golden Retriever, greeted the chime with a chorus of deafening barks.
“Somebody’s early!” I said, turning off the shower and reaching for my robe. “I’ll bet it’s Rosemary. She always arrives before anyone else to stakeout the most comfortable place to sit.”
After slipping into the robe and twisting a towel around my hair, I raced into the hallway and toward the front of the house. When I reached the foyer, Baxter was wagging his tail and staring at the door.
“Good boy,” I said, patting his head and opening the door. “It’s our friend Rosemary!”
“Hi, gorgeous!” she said, leaning down and cheerfully tousling Baxter’s floppy ears. “And hello to you, too, Jana!” She giggled lightly and gave me a quick hug. “Am I the first one here?”
