by Mary Maxwell
“Good question. If he’s not borrowing my car to go to some job he claims he has, then he’s upstairs in our guest bedroom whispering on his phone.”
“Where’s he working?”
“I don’t know,” Sonja answered. “But I’m beginning to suspect that it’s something shady. I’d feel a little bit better if he could at least rent a car and stop using mine. I don’t want to be implicated in some random criminal stunt.”
“Why would you say that?” A flash of memory from Saturday afternoon appeared in my mind: Sonja’s brother in the Olive Street Café cap delivering the poisoned spinach dip.
She pressed her lips into a frown. “Just the way he’s being so secretive,” she told me. “If I ask him a question, he tells me I’m being nosy. If I offer to help, he tells me to mind my own business.” She sipped her coffee and patted her mouth with a napkin. “When he was fifteen, Warren got in with a bad bunch of guys. He was behind the wheel of a stolen car when they robbed a convenience store. I think it was just a lark in his mind, like they weren’t really committing a crime. But he ended up in juvie, and it’s been downhill since then.”
I reached over and took her hand. “I’m so sorry, Sonja. I had no idea.”
She looked up and smiled. “I know,” she said. “That’s why I almost never talk about him. Warren used to be such a sweet kid, but now he’s lost in some kind of…” Her voice cracked and tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Jana. On one hand, I love him because he’s my brother. But I also know that we can’t have a relationship if he’s getting involved with shady characters again.”
“Is that what you suspect?”
She nodded. “I don’t know what, but I think so.”
I took a deep breath and squeezed her hand. “I need to tell you something, okay?”
She fixed her eyes on my face, nodding silently.
“Your brother came to my house yesterday,” I said. “He was delivering for Olive Street Café.”
Sonja blinked in confusion. “What do you mean ‘delivering’?”
“Food,” I said. “To be more precise, it was a container of spinach dip. You see, Ben had invited some people for a dinner party last night to discuss a business deal he’s been working on. Since he knew I was hosting our book club, he decided to have Olive Street Café cater the dinner. But then his plans changed at the last minute, and we didn’t have anyone over to dinner.”
Sonja frowned. “What’s that got to do with my brother?’
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not being very clear. I think I’m a little flustered after seeing him just now.”
“I don’t understand, Jana.” Her voice was jittery and louder, like the conversation was making her anxious. “What are you talking about?”
“As I was running around the house yesterday getting ready for book club,” I explained, “your brother came to our door and said he was delivering something from Olive Street Café. He said it was part of the catered meal for Ben’s business dinner.”
Sonja heaved a sigh. “I thought you just told me that was canceled.”
“It was,” I said. “But I didn’t know it at that moment. Ben had taken the boys to a movie. He knew that I was kind of nervous since it was my first time hosting our club, so he figured it would be a good idea if the three of them were out of sight for a few hours. And so I was tearing around the house doing some last-minute cleaning when the doorbell rang.”
“And it was my brother?” asked Sonja.
“Yes, with a delivery from the café.”
“Okay,” she said. “So maybe that’s the job he told me about.”
“Maybe, but there’s a catch.”
Sonja smirked. “And what’s that?” she said sharply. “If Warren was involved, anything’s possible.”
I squared my shoulders and took a quick breath. I felt a swirl of dread in my stomach as I prepared to deliver the rest of the news.
“The police suspect that Rosemary was poisoned,” I said. “And there’s a possibility that the toxic substance was in the dip that your brother delivered to my house.”
Chapter 9
Sonja’s mouth fell open and she slammed one hand down on the kitchen table.
“I knew he was doing something wrong,” she cried. “I could just see it in his eyes.”
Her reaction was so swift and forceful that I was momentarily speechless. She held up her hand and stared at the palm as it instantly turned a deep shade of red.
“Warren has made one bad choice after the next his whole life,” she said. “When he suddenly showed up on our doorstep a few days ago, I should’ve turned him away. But I just couldn’t do it.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I know a lot of people would say I’m being a fool,” she continued. “But he’s my brother; he’s family. And we were raised to believe that blood is thicker than water.”
I kept my gaze on her face as she winced at the avalanche of emotions racing through her mind. While I certainly appreciated what she was saying about the strength of family ties, I also felt the urge to ask more questions. She bristled at the first one, but then her shoulders seemed to loosen and her breathing became more relaxed.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Did your brother tell you that he was working at the café?”
Sonja shook her head. “No,” she said. “Warren told me that a buddy introduced him to someone who hired him for a quick delivery of some type. When you told me that he came to your house yesterday, I just assumed that was the job he’d mentioned.”
“Maybe he met the owners through his friend,” I speculated. “Or one of the managers.”
“I suppose…” Her eyes drifted away from mine, focusing on her cup of coffee for a long moment. “Should I ask him?” she asked. “I can call right now and see if he’ll tell me.”
“About working at the café?”
She nodded. “Yeah, or whatever else you think would be helpful. I’m just so unhinged by what you just told me.”
“That’s understandable. I couldn’t believe it when he walked up behind you just now. I mean, I’d never seen him before Saturday, and then here he is two days later in your house.”
She got up from the table, walked to the counter and retrieved her phone.
“I’m going to call him.” She scowled at the screen and dialed his number. “I love my brother, but I cannot have him staying with us if he’s—” She held up one finger, listening intently. “Voicemail,” she whispered. “Let me leave a…yeah, uh…Warren? It’s me. Can you please call me as soon as you get this? I want to ask you a real quick question.” She finished the message and walked back to the table. “Who knows if he’ll even tell me the truth?” she muttered rhetorically. “But I can at least ask him, right?”
“We could also call the café,” I suggested.
“What for?” Sonja asked.
“To see if he’s working there.”
She shook her head firmly. “No, please don’t. He’s pretty tightly wound, Jana. The littlest thing can make him go off, and I won’t want to aggravate him. If we did call and he found out about it, I know he’d be mad. Things will go more smoothly if I ask him directly.”
“What if I called the café?” I said. “In that case, he can’t blame you.”
She looked up, pressing her lips together as she considered the question.
“Let me just talk to him first, okay?”
I nodded. “If you think that’s best,” I said.
“I do. I know my brother, and I know he’d be really unhappy if he thought I was asking other people about his business.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. Sonja studied her manicure, nonchalantly picking at one cuticle and biting her lower lip. When I glanced at the clock on the microwave, I pushed my chair back from the table.
“The other girls and I are going to pay our respects to Rosemary’s husband,” I said quietly. “Do you want to come with?”
She frowned. “Do you think I should?”
; “It’s up to you,” I answered. “It’s going to be very difficult; their wedding anniversary is next month. From what I’ve heard, her husband is handling it fairly well, but it’s got to be so devastating. And I really think it’s the right thing to do. We’ve all known Rosemary and Ed for years. Offering to help around the house with cooking or cleaning or whatever is the least we can do.”
“Should we disturb him now?” she said. “I mean, it just happened and…” Her breath caught in her throat. “Yes, I want to go,” she said. “Can you give me a sec? I should wash my face and put on some lipstick.”
“We’re meeting at the Starbucks on Steadman,” I told her. “I’ll send a text so they know you’re joining.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Sonja said. “Where would I be without you?”
“Ditto,” I said. “This is what friends are for. Now, get a move on so we can be there by three.”
Chapter 10
My husband was standing in front of the stove wearing his GIVE THE CHEF A BEER apron when I came through the door that night around six.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
I dropped my purse on the counter, gave him a quick kiss and plopped into a chair. “It was harder than I thought it would be,” I said. “Ed just sat in a chair the whole time with this shell-shocked look on his face.”
Ben poured a glass of wine and brought it to me. “Here, hon. The boys already ate, so I’m making chicken piccata and a salad for dinner.”
I sipped the wine and felt its warmth traveling through me. The first time Ben and I went on a dinner date we both ordered chicken piccata. It had become our favorite meal whenever comfort food was required.
“That’s so sweet,” I said, putting my feet up on another chair. “How did I ever get so lucky?”
He winked. “I could ask the same question, hon.”
While he went back to work on dinner, we talked about the two hours the book club group spent with Rosemary’s husband. Dora volunteered to bring meals over for the next two weeks. Susie and I offered to take care of laundry and cleaning. And Sonja said she could walk the two Golden Retrievers that Rosemary and Ed had rescued the previous year. Eve called me as I arrived, sputtering an over-complicated excuse about why she wouldn’t be joining us. I wasn’t surprised; she’d been acting a bit odd since hearing the news about Rosemary, so I figured maybe it was resuscitating memories of her sister’s recent death.
“And what about Ed and Rosemary’s parents?” asked Ben. “Are they here already?”
“Her father and mother drove in last night,” I answered. “Ed’s dad passed away a couple of years ago, so his mom is flying in tomorrow morning. It was the first flight she could get from Montana.”
Ben nodded. “That’ll help a lot,” he said. “Having family and friends around at a time like this is really important.”
We shared a comforting glance. The past twenty-four hours had been impossibly chaotic and stressful. It felt reassuring to be in our kitchen together with the boys upstairs playing in their room and a delicious dinner filling the air with mouthwatering aromas.
“How are you doing?” Ben said, refilling my wine glass. “You look pretty stressed, babe.”
I shrugged. “I’m still numb. I just can’t even believe it happened, you know?”
“Absolutely. Especially in such a strange and unexpected way. It’s one thing when somebody’s in their seventies or eighties and they’ve lived a long life. But Rosemary was—what? Maybe thirty or so? That’s just way too young.”
“And it wasn’t from natural causes,” I said, shaking my head. “I just can’t believe that she was poisoned.”
“Have you heard anything more from the detective?”
“No, but I left a message for him earlier,” I answered. “There was something I needed to tell him about Sonja’s brother.”
“Her brother?” Ben said. “I didn’t even know she had one.”
“She doesn’t talk about him very much. He’s basically the black sheep of her family, so I think she’s pretty much written him off.”
“What were you going to tell the detective about him?”
“That I actually met him today,” I said. “Or maybe I should say that I met him again.”
Ben frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Sonja’s brother was the guy that delivered the spinach dip yesterday,” I told him. “From Olive Street Café. And, if you do the math, then…” I paused, giving Ben a chance to connect the dots.
“Then her brother was involved in poisoning Rosemary?”
“I don’t know if we can go that far at this point,” I said. “But it’s certainly suspicious, don’t you think?”
Ben nodded. “Very suspicious,” he said. “And I’ve been thinking about that a lot actually.”
“The dip?”
“Remember I told you that Brock Truscott had claimed to be getting threats?”
I nodded.
“Well, I talked to Hal this afternoon. He’s on the acquisition team from our office.” He paused and I nodded again. “Anyway, Hal told me that Truscott’s pretty sure his soon-to-be ex-wife was behind the anonymous notes he’d received.”
“Oh, come on,” I moaned. “That’s such a cliché.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s also true.”
“How do you know that?”
“Hal saw one of the notes,” my husband answered. “I guess they were in the Hamptons a couple of weeks ago for some charity polo thing. Truscott got pretty sauced, they got to talking and he actually showed one of the threats to Hal and a couple of the other guys.”
“And you’re being serious?”
Ben nodded. “Completely,” he said. “Hal’s a straight up guy; he’d never lie about something like that, no matter how much he can’t stand Truscott.”
“Truscott’s wife is so angry about the divorce that she’s going to kill him?” I sipped my wine and ran the concept through my mind. “After she writes a bunch of death threats?”
Ben shrugged. “I’m not making this stuff up, babe,” he explained. “I’m just reporting what I heard from Hal.”
“What’s her name?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “Maybe Lizzie Borden.” When I didn’t smile, he tried again. “Or the Wicked Witch of the West.” He chuckled, but I didn’t join in. “She is, after all, from California.”
“This isn’t funny, Ben!” The retort was out of my mouth before I knew it. “My friend is dead! And it happened here in our home!”
He put down the spatula and crossed the room. “I’m sorry, honey.” Kneeling at my feet, he gently cupped my chin in one hand. “That was in really bad taste. I was just trying to make you smile.”
“I don’t feel like smiling,” I said softly. “We’re suddenly smack dab in the middle of a completely bizarre nightmare, and I just want things to be back to normal again.”
Ben leaned forward and kissed my hands. “I think it’s going to take a while,” he said. “You’ve had a really bad shock, Jana. And you’ve lost a good friend. You need to give yourself time to grieve. And just forget about how it happened or why it happened.”
“But I don’t think I can,” I protested. “If someone dies in an accident or…” I felt tears welling in my eyes. “Or they get really sick,” I went on. “That’s something I can understand. But this sort of...” I stopped to dry my cheeks with the napkin Ben gave me. “It was premeditated,” I said. “Someone planned this, Ben. They got the poison. They put it in the dip. They had it delivered to our house. And they made it look like it was coming from Olive Street Café. Don’t you see what I’m saying?”
He nodded. “Truscott’s wife,” he agreed. “She wasn’t just making idle threats. She really wanted to kill him.”
Another torrent of tears dampened my face. I squeezed my husband’s hands and he was going to offer more words of comfort when the smoke detector on the ceiling began bleating its alarm.
“Oh, crap!” Ben jumped to his f
eet and rushed toward the smoking pan on the stovetop. “I forgot to turn down the flame!”
While he attended to the scorched chicken, I drank my wine and thought about the day. I remembered Rosemary’s husband, sitting in his chair with a blank expression. I reflected on the other book club members as they offered tender words of sympathy and pitched in to help around the house. And I thought about Eve’s breathy message when she called to tell me that she wouldn’t be joining us that afternoon. Everything was swirling through my mind as Ben returned to my side.
“Jana?” he said softly. “Dinner’s almost ready. Do you want another glass of wine before I bring it over?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay,” I told him. “I just want something to eat and then about a million hours wrapped in your arms.”
He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead. “That can be arranged,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you need to get through this, hon.”
Chapter 11
The next morning, I called the office, told my boss what had happened and asked if I could work from home for a couple of days. Since I’d been enjoying a particularly successful run lately—signing new clients and increasing orders with several existing accounts—Liz instantly agreed. “We’ll be fine here,” she’d assured me. “If I have questions, I’ll send you a text, okay? Just take care of yourself, Jana. Let me know if you need anything.”
After talking to my boss, I dialed Detective Ford. When he answered and heard my voice, he launched into an exhaustive explanation of why he hadn’t yet returned my call from the day before.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “I get that you’re busy. But I need to talk to you about Rosemary.”
“Can it wait until this afternoon?” he asked. “I caught another new case and need to examine the crime scene. A couple of our guys are out sick with some bug, so I’m doing double duty. I was just walking out the door when you called.”
I detected something indifferent in his voice, but figured maybe it was fatigue and nerves on my part. I agreed to meet him at the police station later in the day, and started to briefly describe what I’d learned about Sonja’s brother when the line went dead.
