by Ginny Aiken
With the silk and satin lasso of her kindness and friendship is how. Gussie is awesome.
When she'd finished, Gussie rolled her wheelchair to my side. "Why don't you and your dad come over for supper tonight? That way you can look at the rooms and take measurements, and we can talk colors and furniture."
"Sounds good. What time would you like us?"
"Hey!" Bella cried. "I thought I was coming for dinner."
Gussie reached out and patted her friend's plump hand. "Of course you are. I just figured the more the merrier."
'All right," Bella said, her million-dollar smile as potent as ever. "Maybe we can talk Haley into some sleuthing while we're at it."
"We'll do no such thing," Gussie countered. "It's a better idea if we join in prayer and ask the Lord to watch over everyone involved."
Another trap I hadn't foreseen.
Oh well. I was committed now, and I really did need the job. I'd just have to find a way to escape the prayer stuff.
Later that afternoon as I packed my paint chips, my tape measure, and my camera, Midas went into a barking frenzy. I went downstairs, even though I hadn't heard the doorbell over his greeting. He was better than a burglar alarm. Unfortunately, he was a lousy guard dog. All he wanted was to play with the new arrival.
Through the front window, I saw the police cruiser in the driveway. No one sat inside today, so whoever drove it was already at the door.
"Detective Tsu," I said a moment later. "You mean you still have more questions?"
"Of course, but that's not why I'm here. Yesterday at the dojo you asked if I had any news. I received the autopsy report late last night, and it will be made public today. I've come as a courtesy to let you know the results."
"Thank goodness! For a while there, I was afraid you guys were going to pin the crime on me just because I somehow touched the rock that killed Marge. My hand probably landed on it when I fainted."
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm afraid that's not the case, Ms. Farrell. The autopsy came back with no additional cause for Mrs. Norwalk's death. She died from the blow to the back of her head. And the rock had bits of brain material on it."
My gag reflex kicked in. I fisted my hands at my sides. I counted my breaths ... long, measured, controlled. "I suppose your visit also means they found no other fingerprints on the stone."
She gave me a slow nod.
A chill ran through me. "You have considered the possibility of a gloved killer, haven't you?"
The cop shrugged.
"Look, Ms. Tsu, do you really think I'd be so stupid as to draw attention to Marge's body if I'd killed her? Do you think I'd have stayed around after I'd done it?"
"I've spent ten years on the force, Ms. Farrell. I've learned that anything's possible, and even more so, likely."
"Well, I didn't kill Marge. And you'd better do a better job of finding the person who did, because I'm not going to sit around and let you hang it on me."
There. I'd told her what I'd said to Tyler the day before. Why didn't I feel any better?
Maybe Ms. Tsu's non-response had something to do with it.
Midas pranced up to the detective and slurped her arm with a sloppy, doggy kiss. Benedict Arnold had nothing on my dog.
A smile-a real one-brightened the cop's face. She really is a beautiful woman, and evidently, a dog lover too. Too bad she's such a lousy detective. Abetter one would know I couldn't have hurt Marge, or anyone else, for that matter.
"You're a big, beautiful boy, aren't you?" Ms. Tsu said.
Midas's bliss knew no bounds when she scratched the sweet spot behind his left ear. His tail thwacked the door frame in a jackhammer beat.
"How old is he?"
"He turned four in March."
Ms. Tsu murmured more sweet nothings in my turncoat dog's ear. "Mine died last November. I still miss her."
"You had a golden?"
The detective arched a brow. "You know, Ms. Farrell, cops are people too."
I blushed hot and hard.
She went on. "My job's not easy, and I don't get many thanks. Just remember, I didn't have to come and tell you anything. I just did what I would have wanted had I been in your shoes."
I sighed. "There's no excuse for my rudeness. I'm sorry. The last two days have been tough. I appreciate your consideration, even though I can assure you you're on the wrong track. I didn't kill Marge Norwalk, and I'm afraid you're wasting precious time on me while evidence ... clues ... whatever gets damaged."
"I'm very good at what I do," she countered.
I thought back to yesterday's Tai Chi lesson. The woman had exceptional concentration, and her controlled movements revealed a great deal of strength.
I forced a smile. "No doubt you are. Was there anything else?"
"You do realize you can't leave town without police approval, don't you?"
"I hadn't given it a thought. First, I have no plans to go anywhere, and second, I have no reason to think that way."
"We shall see, Ms. Farrell. We shall see."
As she went toward the patrol car, I called out, "I'll bet you're one of Tyler's teacher's-pet black belts."
She turned, and her eyes zeroed in on mine. Then she laughed. "I could get to like you. And I think Tyler meant it as a warning when he told me that after yesterday's class. He knows I'd have a hard time arresting a potential friend. Let's hope his faith in you isn't misplaced."
My jaw nearly hit the floor.
There was no reading this woman. But I didn't need a novel to learn how much trouble I was in. I had to talk to Tyler about Detective Tsu.
I savored another bit of dinner. "Gussie, the turkey tenderloins are incredible. You're the best cook I know."
"That's why I worm an invitation out of her every chance I get," Bella said, her plate piled high with turkey, broccoli and carrot salad, and rice pilaf. "It's a blessing she's also the most generous person I know."
Tom gave his wife a tender look. "I'm the luckiest man around."
Gussie looked down. "Thanks. You're too flattering."
To help the woman who'd bailed me out that morning, I said, "Tell me what exactly you and Tom want to change in these two rooms. I've rarely seen a home as nice or as charming as yours."
"It is nice," Gussie answered, "but after all these years, the upholstery shows a lot of wear, and I'm pretty tired of the same things day in and day out. I'd love to have something new and fresh to look forward to every morning."
Uninvited, the words of one of my mother's favorite hymns trickled through my mind. It spoke about God's mercies and how they were new every morning. I sighed. It'd been a long time since I'd last felt those mercies. Marge's murder didn't seem to fit in with them either.
Determined to stay focused, I looked around the room and asked, "Does this layout work with your wheelchair?"
"The dining room's fine," Gussie answered. "But the living room feels like a minefield. I don't think lining the furniture up against the walls was the answer."
I groaned. "That's my number one pet peeve."
"Hey, I have the solution to that problem," Bella said. "The best way to watch my new large-screen TV is in bed, so I went down to the store and bought myself a couple of mattresses. I had a friend nail together a platform in the middle of the room so we could plunk the mattresses on it, and then I bought some funky faux-fur stuff to cover the whole thing. Now I have perfect living room furniture. Everyone can lie down and still have the best seat in the house."
The idea made my teeth hurt.
Dad scratched his chin and gave a thoughtful, "Hmm..." He then added, "It sounds quite sybaritic, Bella. Somewhat along the Greco-Roman Empire line."
"Nope, Pastor Hale. I bought the mattresses new. I'm sure they've nothing to do with parasites. I know all about parasites. My vet told me all about them when Bali H'ai had that urping problem. It turned out to be hairballs."
Every time Bella mentioned her noxious long-haired cat, I fought my laughter. Anyone who asked about
the name got the standard answer. "Ever see South Pacific? Bali H'ai's exotic, isn't it? Well, so 's she."
Since I couldn't stand the thought of sitting in on Dad's lecture on Sybaris, the Greeks, the Romans, the fall of the various empires, and Bella's beast, I rooted through my backpack purse until I felt the camera.
"I'm going to take pictures so I know what we have to work with," I told Gussie. "That way I won't have to rely on my memory or bug you every time I want to check on something."
Gussie waved me toward the living room. "Do you mind if I follow? I've never had an interior designer do a room for me, and I'm curious to see how you do what you do. I'm a little excited too."
Glad for the chance to entertain Gussie, I grabbed the wheelchair handles and guided her toward the living room. "I'd never do a thing without your input. A good designer only interprets what the client likes and wants."
"Oh, we're going to have so much fun!"
Behind us, a chair scraped the floor. "Hey, wait for me!" Bella cried. "I want in on the fun too. Besides, I brought Haley a present."
I paused. "A present?"
Bella nodded her shaggy pink head. "Wait'll you get a load of this. It's the best on the market."
Uh-oh.
"See?" Bella asked, a small silver canister in her hand. 'After Penny told us a bunch of stupid lies about you, the cops, and the murder, I got to thinking that you could find yourself in a barrel of trouble. I had to make sure you could protect yourself against the killer."
Gussie pressed the control button for the wheelchair motor and rolled to Bella's side. "That was a nice gesture, Bella, whatever that is. But Haley can take excellent care of herself. She's a martial arts expert."
"Really?" Bella's cup of excitement did indeed runneth over. "Can you show me how to break a stack of bricks with one chop?"
"Um ... it takes a lot of practice to do something like that, and I'm not a teacher."
Bella considered my words. She shrugged. "Eh. True enough. How about you show me how to kick some jerk in the chin, then? I'm an old lady, and I don't want a purse snatcher to get away with my stuff."
Somehow, the image of roly-poly Bella kickboxing failed to gel. How do I get myself into this kind of mess all the time? "That's another thing you'd be better off learning from a real teacher. I'll give you the number for Tyler Colby's dojo, and he can teach you any martial arts move you want to learn."
"Dough-joe, dough-joe! Is that cool or what?"
I'd never seen Bella so animated. I had a funny feeling she'd swap bike shorts for a gi before too long.
'Anyway," she said after a few more rounds of the mangled chant, "here's your super-duper, giant-sized, extra-strength can of mace. The boy behind the counter said it was the best kind. He even showed me how to use it."
Gussie looked at me just as I looked at her. Bella with a can of mace was scary.
I held out a hand. "I'll take it, Bella. And thank you for thinking of me."
"You're welcome, honey. But you gotta let me help when you go sniff out the killer."
"I already said I'm not doing anything like that."
As if she hadn't heard me, and maybe she hadn't, since she was riveted by the can of mace, Bella added, "Here. Let me show you how easy this is."
"That's all right, I can read the instructions-"
"See the little thingy here? That's the trigger. But you have to be very careful. It's mega-sensitive."
At that moment a gray streak flew across the room. It gave an inhuman shriek before it landed at Bella's feet. Startled, she tottered and nearly trampled her maniacal cat.
"Bali H'ai, you naughty girl. Why'd you leave your little bag-house? I told you I'd give you liver treats if you waited for me in there."
The cat puffed up and nipped Bella's ankle.
I couldn't blame Bali H'ai. If Bella offered me liver in exchange for good behavior, I might decide to bite her too.
But that feline nibble had its consequences.
That mega-sensitive button on the canister?
It was sensitive, all right. Lucky for us, Bella either was given the wrong thing or had gotten confused. It wasn't mace she sprayed. She got us with pepper spray instead.
The burn of a red-hot steel rod ground into my eyes.
If you have to get hit with self-defense spray, then you're a whole lot better off if it's the pepper spray kind that gets you. Sure, you'll feel as if someone stuck you on a barbecue spit because they want to serve you up for Sunday dinner, but this effect lasts only about twenty minutes, and the worst that can happen is that you might rub your eyes and make them sting even more.
Mace, on the other hand, not only makes your eyes burn and slam shut but also makes you disoriented, restricts your breathing, causes uncontrolled coughing, and even brings on temporary blindness. All these spiffy results last about a half hour, sometimes more. And that "sometimes more" is the key. There's that controversy about those random arrest cases where the perp dies.
Mace is nasty, and I was forever indebted to the kid who sold Bella pepper spray rather than mace.
Which isn't to say that pepper spray isn't a bear of a beast to fight off. I'd taken the time to learn all about self-defense. Unfortunately, I did it too late to help myself four years ago. Nowadays, I have a can of each in my bag.
When Bali H'ai and Bella demonstrated how easy the canister was to use, I hit the ground like everyone else, eyes streaming, face burning.
"Don't rub your eyes," I cried. I sobbed and rubbed with all I had.
Oh, you'll rub, no matter how well you know you shouldn't.
"I can't help it," Bella wailed, rubbing with a vengeance.
I crawled toward relief. It was hard, since every couple of inches I had to stop and rub some more. I aimed for the kitchen sink to rinse my face, hands, and eyes. I hoped I'd find enough kitchen towels to soak and share with Bella's other victims. Bella too. I didn't want her to suffer.
I'm not sure how I made it to the sink. But I did, and I also opened the back door to air the house.
Moments later I handed out wet towels. "Here. Use them and head out. Be careful!"
The improvement didn't last once I was back in the living room, but I grabbed Gussie's wheelchair and, between swipes at my enraged eyes and gentle shoves to the chair, we reached the front door.
"Bella is something else," I muttered.
Gussie gave a teary chuckle. "She always has been. That's why she's such fun to have around."
"This is fun?"
"No, of course not." Gussie's wet towel muffled her voice. "Sometimes her fun goes wild. Today's one of those times."
"I'll say." The cool evening air did wonders for my stinging cheeks. "Can you imagine her 'helping' the cops?"
"It boggles the mind, doesn't it?"
I patted Gussie's shoulder. "And then some."
Now that I could see again, I noticed the others had come around to the front garden. They too were on the way to recovery. "If you don't mind, I'm going to open the windows. We need to air the house if you want to sleep tonight."
Gussie smiled in spite of her red nose and swollen eyes. "Go ahead. I'm fine. Besides, everyone needs a little shakeup now and then."
"A little shake-up..." I shook my head, not sure I needed any more shake-up, with all that had happened in the last few days. I ran from room to room and opened the many windows.
A short while later, after Bella's efforts on my behalf had amused the neighbors, Dad and I went home. The evening was classic Pacific Northwest: cool, breezy, enjoyable. Wilmont being as small as Seattle is huge, we'd walked to the Stoker home, and now I was glad. The exercise did wonders to soothe my ruffled nerves, especially after the pepper-spray attack.
"Oh, for goodness' sake," Dad grumbled as we approached the driveway to the manse. "Why can't that girl understand? How many times do I have to tell her she shouldn't drop the newspaper in the lawn because most of the time it's wet in our part of the world and leftover rain ruins newspapers?"
Dad's battle of wills with the determined teen, a newer member of his church's youth group, made me smile. In my opinion, the odds in this war are on the girl. Something about the twinkle in her eye and the dry newspaper on our back step clued me in.
Dad too, even though he'll never admit it. He loves to tease Sandy Appleton as much as she loves to tease him. The size of her tip on collection day at the end of every month proves it.
"I'll get it, Dad. Just go on in."
He grinned. "Thanks. I'll go around back."
I laughed. He'll never say a word about the dry paper in the recycling bin tomorrow morning, and neither will I. It was a nutty deal, but Sandy has made a terrific turnaround since she's taken up the paper route. Her school's truancy officer reports that she hasn't missed a single day of class, and her grandmother Ina, a member of the missionary society, says the rough crowd hasn't been around for a while.
Dad's visits to Ina and Sandy, apple muffins in hand, have become weekly events. So has Sandy's presence in church on Sundays.
I don't get it, but if Sandy buys the God deal, what can I say?
I bent and gathered the soggy wad of paper and, without meaning to, noticed the headlines. Marge's murder led the day's news. A crime of that magnitude didn't often happen in Wilmont. Then a line from the article jumped out at me-"Be- cause such a vast fortune is involved, the police have a strong suspect, and the lead investigator assures this reporter that an arrest is imminent."
The pepper spray had nothing on this for inciting an extreme physical response. Every part of me froze. Except for my knees. They seemed to melt. It took all my energy to walk to the porch. I'd barely reached it when the front door opened and Dad came out, newspaper in hand.
"Honey ... ?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
Dad's whispered prayer and his comforting arm reached me at the same time. The arm I could accept; the prayer ... well, let's just say I wanted no part of a God who had left me high and dry again.
We walked into the cozy living room, and as I sat in Mom's rocker, the phone rang. Dad picked it up. After a greeting and a couple of additional words, he held it out. "Sounds official."
