The Big Chili

by Julia Buckley

  “That smells amazing,” Parker said, coming up behind me.

  “Would you be willing to taste it for me?” I asked. “It’s a new recipe.” I turned to see such a hungry look on his face that I felt a burst of pity. “Did you eat at all while you worked on this case?”

  Parker shrugged. “It feels like I haven’t eaten real food in years.”

  I sighed. “Sit down.” I pushed him back to his stool and we both grinned a little. Clearly we already felt nostalgic about the stool. I went to the counter and scooped out some of the golden-brown apple casserole. “I’ll let it cool for a minute. I don’t want you burning your tongue on hot apples.”

  “No. I need my tongue intact,” Parker said with a solemn expression.

  “Yes, you do.” I smiled at him, and his azure eyes seemed to glow like an actual light source in my kitchen. “Oh, your eyes, Jay.”

  “Remember the night I came here—the night of the vandalism—and you were wearing that—outfit?”

  “Yes. Catwoman.”

  “That—I’ve been thinking about it a lot, Lilah. It was—flattering.”

  “Oh my.”

  With a smug smile, he leaned his elbows back on the breakfast bar and bumped the bottle of Angelo’s Gourmet syrup. He picked it up, read it, and glared. “This guy. His name keeps popping up. But I really wish it hadn’t come up in conjunction with yours.”

  “We were over a year ago. Why does it matter?”

  “I don’t know.” He scowled as he set the bottle down.

  I scooped some vanilla ice cream onto his apple cobbler and handed him the bowl. “Angelo’s ingredients are good, and his Gourmet line is worth the money. Taste this.”

  He took a bite and rolled his eyes. “Okay, it’s good.”

  “It’s more than good, isn’t it?”

  “It’s your gift, not his ingredients. But I don’t just want to date you for your cooking. Although I would like you to cook for me sometimes. I’m a lonely bachelor with no culinary skills.”

  I sidled up to him. “You want to date me, Parker?”

  He was almost finished. He’d taken about four huge bites. “I do,” he said. He ate the last bite, put his dish down, and pulled me against him. Now his kisses tasted like apples and cinnamon.

  I said, “Mmm,” against his mouth and he growled a little. I put an inch between us and said, “Everyone kept asking me if I was dating you. I told them I barely knew you; I don’t know why they all drew that conclusion.”

  “They probably noticed the way I look at you,” Parker said. “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

  “You always looked angry. Or disapproving. Or irritated.”

  He laughed. “You’re a provocative person.”

  “I can be very provocative,” I said, and he kissed me some more.

  I pulled away with a new thought, though Parker’s arms were locked behind my back. “Let’s say Hank isn’t guilty. Which, frankly, I hope he is not. You officially have to remove my protecting officer, right?”

  Parker nodded. “Yes. Tonight at midnight that protection ends.”

  “Ah.”

  He kissed me, gently this time, and stood up. “Which is why I have to go.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I need to get home and grab some sleep. Because your protection ends at midnight, and your new assignment begins. Me.”

  “What? You’re going to sit out there in a car?”

  “Yup.”

  Now I wrapped my arms around him. “You can just guard me in here. I have a pull-out couch.”

  His eyebrows rose. Then he shook his head. “I don’t want to rush things.”

  “Who said—”

  “I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about me. I don’t have a lot of self-control where you’re concerned.”

  That made me laugh right out loud. “Really? You could have fooled me, Parker. Just yesterday I gave myself a lecture, saying that it was clearly never going to happen with you. You were just too cold and distant.”

  Parker gave me that stern look of his, with the addition of an ironic smile. “I was neither of those things.”

  “It felt that way.”

  “I was investigating a murder, Lilah. Maybe I still am.”

  He was in cop mode again, sexy and solemn. I lifted his right hand and kissed it. “Let me pack you some food, then.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I thought I would toss and turn all night, worrying over Parker out in his car. To my surprise, I slept soundly and woke feeling refreshed. I looked out the window on Saturday morning and saw that his black Ford was already gone—he was probably at work. He had assured me he would be back, though.

  I went downstairs with Mick and let him into the backyard. I checked my answering machine, which was empty, and let Mick back in for his breakfast, which he ate while I enjoyed the last of my apple cobbler (I had packed most of it for Parker). I tried not to think about Hank Dixon sitting in a jail cell, or Tammy Trent weeping in her office, surrounded by sympathetic animals. It didn’t seem right; even as the angry ex-husband Hank hadn’t struck me as a man with a motive. After all, he’d moved on, gotten engaged, bought a house.

  Unless he had needed money? My father said Hank had gone over the asking price of four hundred thousand dollars. Had he needed Alice’s life insurance bequest in order to do that?

  I thought about it, running dish water into my sink. No. Even the money motive seemed too much like a plot from an episode of Dateline.

  But assuming that Hank was not guilty, who else had a motive? Tammy, of course. Pet Grandy. Mike Sullivan?

  Parker had said that there was evidence in Hank Dixon’s house. If it had been planted there, then by whom?

  I turned to Mick, who wore his wise expression as he sat in front of the refrigerator. “Mick, who would be able to get into Hank Dixon’s house to leave evidence? Tammy, of course, because she had the key.”

  Mick nodded.

  “And the Sullivans live right there, so there’s a chance that at some point or other, Hank gave a key to one of them to do some house-sitting. One can’t overlook the fact that the houses are contiguous, and there was a link between the Dixons and the Sullivans. A link Mike Sullivan does not want anyone to know about.”

  I thought about this, washing my bowl and staring at the suds. Mike Sullivan did have a valid motive, assuming that he’d kill to save his marriage. But would he kill? Freckled, friendly Mike? When I had spoken to him on the lawn, the only thing his face had reflected had been regret. Was I terrible at reading faces? After all, I hadn’t seen Angelo’s betrayal until it had become embarrassingly obvious, nor had I clearly seen how much Parker liked me until Parker had yanked me against him and kissed me.

  I smiled at the bowl in my hands. It was a beautiful bowl, blue as the grotto Serafina had told me about. I wondered if I could go there with Parker. The thought took my breath away: the two of us in a boat on an azure sea, Parker in a bright white shirt that exposed his suntanned arms, his warm hand in mine as we entered the cave where the light sparkled like sapphires or emeralds.

  I sighed. “Oh, Mick. I’ve got it bad. But how could I run off to Italy with a handsome man and leave you behind? I would need someone to watch you, and not just anyone because you’re my special—”

  I dropped the bowl, and it broke. “Oh my God,” I said. Mick edged closer to me. “Oh God.” A dog walker. A dog walker would have access to the house—as Shelby did to Hank Dixon’s. He had probably given her the key. But what had Shelby said? That she shared the duty with other students, and with Miss Grandy.

  My legs felt rubbery as I headed for my phone and dialed Pet’s number. It rang twice, and then Pet’s cheerful voice answered. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Pet, it’s Lilah.” My voice sounded strange to me, but Pet didn’t seem to notice.


  “Hi, Lilah! What can I do for you on this bright Saturday morning?” She didn’t seem to know about the arrest. Perhaps no one did. Perhaps it hadn’t yet reached the papers or the news. Or perhaps that was why she was cheerful?

  “Pet, I was planning a trip for the spring, and I was looking for a dog watcher. Are you the moderator of that group at the high school?”

  I held my breath.

  Pet laughed. “No, you want my sister. She’s the animal lover, even more than I am. She devotes a lot of hours to that club, and the kids learn a lot from her.”

  “Which sister?”

  “Harmonia. Our dog whisperer. Hang on, I’ll get her.”

  “Uh, no—I’ll talk to her in person when I get a chance. I have to run to work—thanks, Pet.”

  I hung up before she could ask more. I sat down at my breakfast nook and Mick slid his big head into my hands. I petted him and worked it through. Harmonia also had access to Hank Dixon’s house. But did Harmonia have a motive? It was ridiculous. How would Harmonia even get access to cyanide? Serafina had said that one either needed to possess it or have access to it through one’s job—oh dear. I looked into Mick’s honest face. Harmonia’s boyfriend, the one Alice Dixon had teased her about, was a pharmacist at Rite-Aid. A pharmacist. Had the police, I wondered, already explored this connection?

  But back to a motive. Why would Harmonia want to poison Pet’s chili? Did she want to frame her sister? Or had she wanted to protect Pet by removing Alice and all her threats? Had Harmonia been trying to maintain the happy family dynamic? The three sisters and their platonic priest friend? The fun and happy evenings spent together, endangered by a jealous woman? What had Harmonia said to me at the homeless shelter? It’s nice to have everything back the way it was. I had thought she meant the way it was before all of the tragedy. But perhaps she had meant something else—as in, the way it was before Alice ruined everything?

  Or could it have been about animal rights? If Shelby and Jake had been fighting with Alice Dixon about Apollo, Harmonia would have been right there to hear it. And—“Oh no,” I said to Mick, who looked truly worried now.

  In the picture on the wall at the Grandy house, Harmonia had been the one pulling the sled the other way. Harmonia was the stubborn sister, the rebel, the renegade. She was also the youngest—pampered and loved. In the other photo, she had been holding a little black dog, and yet I had seen no sign of the dog at their house.

  I picked up the phone again; this time I called Shelby. “Hello?” said a woman’s voice.

  “Rachel? This is Lilah Drake. I wonder if Shelby is there?”

  “Oh, she’s still sleeping, if you can believe it. These teens—”

  “Yes, I see,” I interrupted. “Well, I wonder if you can tell me—she had spoken to me about a little dog that once bit Alice Dixon, and the dog had to be sent away because Alice was calling for it to be put down.”

  “Oh, you mean Harmonia Grandy’s dog? Titan? Such a funny name, because he was a tiny little miniature schnauzer. Yes, Shelby got all worked up over that story. I’m afraid Harmonia did rile up the kids sometimes, telling her tales of animal injustice.”

  “Huh. Yes, that would appeal to a teenager’s righteous indignation. Well, that answers my question—thanks.”

  “Sure thing, Lilah. Have a great weekend.”

  “You, too.” I hung up. Harmonia. But perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps, suddenly, all signs pointed to Harmonia because I was just asking questions that pointed to her. It didn’t feel that way, though. I waited until I had taken my shower to see how strongly I still felt. I looked in the mirror and saw the suspicion in my own eyes. I returned to my kitchen and dialed Jay Parker.

  “Parker,” he answered.

  “Jay.”

  “Hey, there. Did you sleep well?” His voice was soft and sexy, and it briefly distracted me from the huge accusation that lingered in my thoughts.

  “I’m great, at least in the love department. I have a new boyfriend.”

  “Yeah? Is he a good guy?”

  “He’s wonderful. Very handsome and sexy.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Jay.”

  “What? Is something wrong?”

  “I think it’s Harmonia.”

  “What? You think what is Harmonia? You mean that Grandy sister?”

  “I think she did it. Killed Alice Dixon. Killed Bert. Planted evidence in Hank’s house. She had the key because she walked his dog. Did you know that?”

  “No.” I could hear him typing on his keyboard—perhaps the very things I was telling him. “What else?”

  “A year or so ago, Harmonia’s little dog bit Alice Dixon. Alice was infuriated and demanded that the dog be put down. Somehow Harmonia snuck it out of town so that Alice couldn’t follow through on the threat.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Apparently Harmonia’s crazy about animal rights. And on the night of Alice’s death, Harmonia found out that Alice was going to debark her husband’s dog.”

  “Do what?”

  “Slice his vocal cords so he couldn’t bark anymore.”

  Parker typed more rapidly.

  “And Alice had been threatening to report Father Schmidt to the archdiocese. The Grandys all love him—he’s like a benevolent uncle to them all—and they have these happy weekend gatherings all the time. Alice was jealous of them, and the grapevine says that when Alice felt hurt or jealous, she looked to hurt people.”

  “How do you—”

  “And Alice Dixon openly insulted Harmonia, said she was too old to have a boyfriend. I think—if Harmonia hated her, it could have been building for a long time. Oh, and Harmonia’s boyfriend is a pharmacist. At Rite-Aid. I don’t know if you investigated—”

  “How did I not see this?” Parker hissed.

  “Listen, you’ve been working so hard that you’re half-dead, and besides you probably did see it and it would have come to you today, the way it did to me while I was doing the dishes, and—AGH!” I screamed in his ear.

  “What is it? Lilah?”

  Harmonia Grandy stood at my back door, smiling at me through the window. She looked utterly different from when she was flanked by her sisters. Larger, somehow, and stronger. More like an individual; her eyes were determined beneath her smile. I held up a finger to indicate that I’d be with her in a moment and turned away so that she wouldn’t see my lips when I said, “Harmonia is at my door. She’s at my door, Jay.”

  “Don’t panic. And don’t let her in. Just make an excuse. I’ll be there in minutes.” He hung up in my ear. I was alone. Harmonia was tapping again, tapping, tapping on the window even though I’d already acknowledged her. It was frightening.

  I moved to the door and spoke through the glass. “Hi, Harmonia. I’m just on my way out—I’ll have to catch you later.” I grabbed my jacket off a hook on my pantry door and pointed at it.

  “I just need a second,” Harmonia said, still smiling.

  My hands shook. “I don’t even have a second. My dog is sick, and I’m taking him to Dr. Trent. That was her on the phone. So.” I grabbed Mick’s leash and clipped it onto to him. “So I’m sorry I can’t see you, but my dog is dying.”

  I couldn’t even keep track of the lies that flowed out of my mouth; I was facing a murderer and I’d gone absolutely limp with fear. Never mind the fact that Mick stood smiling at Harmonia, obviously at his most hale and hearty.

  Harmonia’s smile disappeared, but she remained at the window. “I need to talk with you, Lilah,” she said, her voice muffled by the glass in my storm window.

  Then another face appeared beside her. Ellie. Oh no. My dear friend Ellie Parker, whose son was currently racing here to save our lives.

  “Hi, Lilah,” Ellie said, waving at me and then, in her polite way, introducing herself to Harmonia as they stood on my back stoop
together. She either had the worst or the best timing—I couldn’t decide.

  “Lilah, may we come in?” Ellie said, sending me a curious glance through the window.

  “Ellie, my dog is sick. Will you come to the vet with me? I’ll meet you at the front. See you later, Harmonia.”

  Ellie’s face registered surprise, then awareness, as she realized I did not want to admit the woman who stood with her on the stoop. She had just sent me a knowing glance when Harmonia’s large hands wrapped around her throat. Ellie’s eyes bulged in surprise and her own arthritic hands flew up to try to stop the pressure that Harmonia was exerting.

  “Let me in, or I’ll strangle her,” Harmonia said. Oh, those shovel-like hands of Harmonia’s! Damn heredity and her giant of a father.

  I opened the door and pushed on the screen so that Harmonia could shove Ellie in. I shut the door but left it unlocked. Ellie, gasping, went to my sink and filled a glass with water, then drank it, looking at me with wide eyes.

  “Harmonia, I’ve already called the police,” I said. “I told them what you did and why, and they’re on the way.”

  Her face was pale, her eyes measuring. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You’re just desperate, because you didn’t expect me to show up here. And I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t called Pet. Why did you want to know that? What made you even care if I was the moderator of the Animal Protection Club?”

  If I kept her talking, nothing scary would happen. Parker would get here and hold a gun on Harmonia and take her out of my house.

  “Because Shelby told me that you sometimes walked Hank Dixon’s dog. Which meant you had access to his house and could plant the evidence that they used to arrest him.”

  Ellie gasped, then gulped some more water. Mick moved closer to me.

  “What I’d like to know,” I said, “is why you wrote on my house. Why you threatened me. I’m not your enemy, Harmonia. I never have been.”

  She said nothing.

  “I assume that was you? Dressed as a monk? I’m sure I can get the police to ask around to see if you were wearing that particular costume that night.”