The Big Chili

by Julia Buckley

  They frowned at me. “Let’s think it over and talk again later,” my mother said, her favorite stalling tactic. “You know, your brother thinks you should stay here, too.”

  You win this round, family. “Well, I’ll need to kick you out of your kitchen again tonight, because I have a business to run, and I have a delivery tomorrow.”

  “No problem,” my dad said. “I have some accounts to look over, and Mom has a sewing project, don’t you?”

  “Yes, indeedy,” my mother agreed. “I’m making a quilt for Serafina. It will have the Italian flag in the center. It’s going to be beautiful.”

  “I’m sure it will, Mom.” She was clever at the sewing machine, too. She had endless creative outlets. “And I think I’m next in line for a quilt. Cam got one for his last birthday, remember?”

  “Sure, honey. How about if I make one with little Labradors on it?”

  “Awesome.” I slipped Mick a piece of meatball where he sat under the table. He took it softly, without baring any teeth, and ate silently. Mick could be stealthy when needed.

  We soon left the table and my mother gave Mick some leftovers in his bowl. The secret to getting lots of food, Mick had learned, was to be patient and adorable.

  My mother and I cleaned up the kitchen, and I prepared another quiche Lorraine casserole for the Sullivans, who had become renowned in their Scouting circle for their baked contributions. While I worked, I thought of Cam and Fina. I wondered what it had been like when he first looked her up—just the sister of a friend that he met in Rome. Had it been love at first sight? Had Cam felt some sort of lightning flashing inside him? And if so, how lucky that the feeling had been mutual. Aye, there was the rub. The feeling had to be mutual. I stirred my batter with extra vigor and then spooned it into the dish.

  By the time I was finished with everything, it was quite dark outside. I started packing up the food, and my father loomed up behind me. “Hey, Li.”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Not to get all protective on you, but how about if you deliver that one in the morning? You can come in late to the office. I’ll cover for you with the boss,” he joked.

  I hadn’t been looking forward to making the delivery, even with a companion. My paranoia worsened in the darkness. “Okay,” I said. “Provided this fits in your fridge.”

  It did.

  Once again we gathered in their cozy living room to watch a movie. This time it was Zorro. I knew that my parents enjoyed having me back home again, and a part of me enjoyed it, too. I decided to count on Parker to solve things soon, so that my visit ended while we all still enjoyed one another’s company and before I became a rather burdensome guest. I sat with Mick’s head in my lap and admired Catherine Zeta-Jones’s perfect beauty.

  “That Antonio Banderas reminds me of Angelo,” my mother said. “So handsome.”

  “Not a name to be discussed in this house,” my father said with a rare burst of emotion.

  I sighed, finding a certain irony in the fact that my brother and I, who had grown up with a mutual fascination for Italian culture, had both found Italian loves. His was so popular that my mother was making her a quilt. Mine was so disliked that my father couldn’t even bear to hear him mentioned.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING I drove the casserole out to the Sullivans’ house. Mike was in the front yard raking leaves, and he waved at me when I drove up. His dark hair had grown a bit long, and it blew into his face in a strong gust of autumn air. He wore only blue jeans and a Notre Dame sweatshirt, and he looked a bit chilled.

  I walked toward him, leaving Mick in the car. He seemed happy to stay there; Mick didn’t always like cold air.

  “Hey, Lilah,” Mike called to me, leaning on his rake. “Looks like you’re going to enhance our reputation once again.”

  “I’d like to think so,” I said, smiling.

  He tossed the rake aside and took the pan from me. “Let me put this inside and get your envelope,” he said. He darted up his stairs and disappeared into his house; a large Dracula still graced the front door, despite the November date.

  I glanced down the sidewalk and saw someone walking a dog. I looked away, then looked back. The dog looked familiar, as did the walker. . . . I realized with a start that it was Shelby Jansen, my little teenage friend. I waved at her, surprised, and she jogged toward me with her canine companion.

  It was a beautiful dog, a long-haired German shepherd with a remarkably handsome face; his snout was mostly black, but his fur was a mixture of black, buff, and cream. He was panting; he seemed to be smiling at me. I knelt to pet him, and I heard Mick whining his disapproval in the car. Mick was a gentleman, though—he didn’t cause a barking scene the way some dogs might have done.

  “Who’s this guy, Shelby?” I asked.

  “Isn’t this funny that I saw you?” she gushed at me. “This is Apollo, Mr. Dixon’s dog.”

  “Oh? And how do you happen to be walking him?”

  “Oh—it’s something we do through our animal club at school. The one I told you about? We volunteer as dog walkers for people who work. We take turns—us kids and Miss Grandy.”

  “So how did you end up walking here?”

  She shrugged. “This is where Mr. Dixon lives.” She pointed at the blue house where Alice Dixon had lived—the house Hank had inherited.

  I looked at the house through narrowed eyes. “Hank lives here? I mean, he moved back in? I thought he was going to sell the place.”

  She shrugged again. “This is where he told me to come, and he left the key and money and stuff. But, I mean . . . the house looks lived-in. By a guy. It has guy stuff around. I mean, it’s his house now, right? So why wouldn’t he live in it?”

  Sure, why not? Maybe he was just going to live here temporarily until he and Tammy moved into the big, gorgeous place they’d purchased. But then why wasn’t he staying at Tammy’s?

  “Lilah?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I said Apollo really likes you!”

  I smiled, massaging Apollo’s beautiful neck scruff. “I like him, too. But my dog is getting jealous, so I’d better stop.”

  I stood up, still admiring Apollo’s beauty. Mike Sullivan came back out of his house and walked toward us. “Hey, Apollo,” he said. “And who are you?” he added brightly, looking at Shelby.

  “I’m from the Animal Protection Club at Pine Haven High School,” Shelby said. “We walk animals as a service to the community. If you have a pet you want walked, you can contact Miss Grandy through the high school number.”

  “No, thanks,” Mike said with a smile. “We just have a hamster. But it’s nice to see Apollo back in town.” He squatted down and did what I had just done; Apollo looked regal and took it as his due.

  “I should get going,” Shelby said. “I have a mile-long circuit I like to make with him, and I’m seeing a movie later with Jake.”

  “Have a nice time,” I said. Mike and I watched her walk down the sidewalk, and then Mike produced an envelope for me.

  “Here you go,” he said. “Thanks, as usual.”

  “Sure.” I tucked it into the travel purse that I had slung crosswise over my shoulder. My mother had made it on her sewing machine—a brown-and-orange autumnal bag with a little zip top. “Hey, Mike—can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I was talking to some ladies at the church—and to Pet Grandy—and they both suggested that Alice Dixon had been seen with some other man while she was married to Hank. Did you ever see her with someone?”

  Mike had three reactions to this, all of them surprising. He turned quite red in the face, and his perpetual smile disappeared. Then he turned abruptly and went to retrieve his rake. When he came back, his face had returned to its normal joviality, but by then I had figured it out.

  “It was you?”

 
; “No. Why would you think that?”

  “Because you basically just said as much with your body language.”

  We stared at each other for a moment; a big burst of wind came along and sent my braid flying into my face. I pushed it back and looked into Mike’s eyes, which were guilty.

  He sighed. “We weren’t having an affair, so don’t jump to that conclusion.”

  “Okay.”

  “The fact is—sometimes we just wanted to gripe about our spouses. So we had dinner a couple of times. It was no big deal—just neighbors having dinner.” His face turned red again. Mike was a terrible liar.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets; it seemed to have grown a couple of degrees colder outside. “I get why you were attracted to her. She was pretty and stylish.”

  “Like I said, it didn’t go further than dinner.”

  But that didn’t mean that Mike hadn’t wanted it to. “I understand.”

  “And I would appreciate if you didn’t say anything to my wife.”

  “Of course not. Why would I do that?”

  “Well, why did you want to know at all?” Mike asked, his smile disappearing again.

  I pulled some more hair out of my eyes; the wind was persistent. “I’ve recently been threatened—possibly by the person who did these poisonings.”

  “Oh God. I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Lilah.”

  “It’s okay—it’s just that I thought there might be some connection between this mystery man and whoever killed Alice.”

  Mike held up a hand. “Whoa. First of all, I don’t know if I’m even the guy your friends are talking about. I admit I had dinner with her, but only a couple of times.”

  “I get that.”

  “But Alice was just kind of a sounding board. Someone to talk to. To be honest with you, it was nice to get out and just be away from home—and yes, with someone other than my wife. No, don’t look at me that way—I mean that Maura is the only person I ever get to socialize with. I don’t really have guy friends I’m still in touch with, or women friends, either. And neither did Alice. We talked about that when we were out. How we were both essentially in these little islands of our marriages, and we had no other connection to the outside world. It’s like we had lost touch with a part of ourselves.”

  “Huh.” Mike, too, had to brush some hair out of his eyes. I realized then that Mike was a good-looking man. Acorn-brown hair, ruddy, slightly freckled skin, straight white teeth, and a perpetually smiling face—a lot of women would find that charming.

  “But I had nothing to do with Alice’s death. I was shocked and saddened, just like everyone else.” He met my gaze with an earnest expression.

  I thanked him for the money and the information and went back to my car, where Mick seemed to be pouting on the passenger seat. He might just have been cold; he was scrunching up into the upholstery.

  “Sorry, bud—that took longer than I thought. Let me get the heat on for you.” I turned on the motor and the heat, and Mick seemed to thaw by degrees.

  I petted his head. “I’m guessing you were a little jealous about the Apollo thing.”

  Mick nodded.

  “He’s a handsome dog, but he’s no Mick Drake. That’s you, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever given you a last name. It sounds kind of weird: Mick Drake.” I smiled at him and he seemed to smile back. I even got a glimpse of some doggie teeth.

  I pulled back into traffic and realized that I’d reached another dead end. Mike Sullivan did not have the look of a murderer, despite his guilt at having been caught out. Then again, he had been very serious about the fact that he didn’t want me to tell his wife. What if Alice Dixon had decided she wanted to tell Maura about the dates she’d had with Mike? How far might Mike Sullivan have gone to protect the little “island” that was his marriage?

  When I got home I ran up to my room and dialed Jenny’s house. “Hello?” she said brightly.

  “Jen,” I said.

  “Well, hello, stranger! I feel like we haven’t talked in ages!”

  “I know. Let’s go out next week. This week I’m booked.”

  “Me, too,” she admitted. “How boring our lives are now.”

  “Hey, listen. I wonder if I could have your sister Mariette’s number. I have a question for Henry.”

  “For Henry?”

  “Yeah. I saw him on Halloween, and he gave us some information about the person who might have vandalized my house. I have some . . . follow-up questions, I guess.”

  She laughed. “You sound like a cop. Maybe that’s your real calling.”

  “Hardly. I’m far too cowardly.”

  “No, you’re not. Why are you so down on yourself lately?” I said nothing, so she sighed and said, “Okay, here’s Mariette and Jim’s number.”

  I wrote it down, then said, “Thanks, Jenny. We’ll go out next week, for sure. Let’s not let our workaholism talk us out of it.”

  “No way. See you, Li.”

  I hung up, then dialed Henry’s parents’ number. “Hello?” It was Jim, Henry’s dad.

  “Hi, Jim. It’s Lilah Drake, Jenny’s friend?”

  “Oh yes—Lilah. You came to our Christmas party last year with that amazing Crock-Pot dish. Did you ever give Mariette that recipe?”

  “I did. Hasn’t she made it?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, sounding indignant. I laughed.

  “Hey, this sounds weird, but I have a question for your son.”

  “For Henry-bear?”

  I heard some giggling in the background, so I guessed that this name pleased Henry for some reason.

  “Yeah—I saw him at Halloween and he told me something that might actually help the police with something they’re investigating. I just wanted to ask him a couple more questions.”

  “This sounds intriguing!” Jim boomed in my ear. “Let me lift up this little bear so he can sit on the counter and talk to you.” More giggling. “Henry, do you know someone named Zila?”

  Henry laughed harder. “It’s Lilah!” he yelled.

  Male bonding sure was loud. I waited while they goofed around some more, and finally Henry was on the line.

  “Hey, Hen. It’s Lilah.”

  “I know,” Henry said, impatient.

  “Remember on Halloween, when you said that one person smelled like markers?”

  “Yeah. He was dressed up as a holy person that lives alone in a castle.”

  “And why do you say ‘he’? Are you sure it was a man?”

  “Yeah. He was big and tall. At least the parts that I could see. And he walked like a man. And it’s men who commit crimes, not ladies.”

  “No? What about Poison Ivy and Catwoman and Harley Quinn?”

  Henry groaned. “Those are just Batman enemies. It’s not like in real life.”

  “No, huh? Anything else you can think of about that monk guy?”

  “Nope. Just that he was walking fast.”

  Yes, of course he was. And he managed to get away right under our noses.

  “Thanks for your help, Henry. Are you and your dad making lunch?”

  “Yeah. We’re making sandwiches. My mom is doing her homework, which is boring.”

  “But it will make her smarter. She wants to keep up with you, because you’re so smart now, at six years old—imagine how smart you’ll be when you’re twenty!”

  “Yeah,” Henry agreed.

  “Well, go make your sandwiches, and I’ll talk to you soon, Sir Henry.”

  “Say hi to your dog,” Henry piped, and then his father swooped him away and called a good-bye to me before hanging up the phone.

  A man, Henry had said. So could it have been Mike Sullivan, who might have been on the verge of an affair with Alice? Or perhaps Hank Dixon, her estranged husband, who might have had more of a motive than anyone knew?<
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  Or perhaps it wasn’t linked to Alice’s marriage at all. As ever, Alice’s murder was a true mystery, and any clear reason why someone would be so cruel, and take such a risk, was beyond me.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I had gained a little confidence from my solo delivery (even though I knew my police officer had followed me from a distance), and I was starting to feel that my father had been right, and that the graffiti on my house had been a weird Halloween prank, probably perpetrated by a stranger. My late grandmother had always said that one could adapt to anything if given enough time. At the time she had been talking about old age, to which she felt she had adapted well (although she’d advised me not to get old myself). Now, though, I applied her idea to my night of fear, and the fact that the more time and distance I put between me and the event in question, the less real it seemed. The offending message had long since been cleaned away, and my pretty house awaited Mick’s and my return.

  I talked about this with my parents that evening, and my mother agreed—in a way. “Why don’t we say that we’ll move you back in one week? That way Dad and I get to spend some more time with you, but you’ll have a set date to go back to your cozy home.”

  We both knew that this was just my mom putting off the inevitable, which was her specialty. She had talked me into a year of commuting to college so that she didn’t have to watch me go off to school. She had convinced Cam that he would save money after college if he lived at home for a year. In both cases she had been attempting to stave off our unavoidable departures—but in her defense, when the time came, she didn’t go back on her word. She’d cheerfully accompanied us both to our new residences, providing plentiful linens and extra furniture.

  So I went along with my mother’s plan: one more week, and then I would return home.

  * * *

  I HAD NO deliveries the next day, so my evening was free. My mother asked if I’d go with her to the church, which hosted a homeless shelter evening once a month (taking turns with other churches in the area). My mother, while not a constant volunteer, did commit to the hosting-the-homeless setup evenings because she believed in the goodness of it, and she was a firm proponent of the “there but for the Grace of God” mentality.