Stayin' Alive

by Julie Mulhern

  In a perfect world, murderers would look like Snidely Whiplash and behave in ways that announced their intentions. In the real world, murderers hid behind banal facades and cloaked their intentions. Which meant Joan might be a killer. Or Gordon.

  “I keep returning to why. Why Phyllis and Bobbi? Did they share a secret?”

  “You tell me. What did they have in common?”

  “Both married. Same country club, although Phyllis didn’t use it much. She was busy working. Bobbi played tennis and a bit of golf. Both in the Junior League. I’m not sure about book or dinner clubs.”

  “Dinner clubs?”

  “A group of couples rotate hosting dinners at their homes.”

  “Were you and Henry in a dinner club?”

  “Two. One of them dropped me after his murder.” Thirteen at dinner is unlucky. We hope you understand. “I’m hosting a dinner for the club that stood by me next month.”

  “What else?”

  “I don’t know. What did Ted Ivens tell you?”

  “He was on the golf course when his wife died and can’t imagine who’d want to hurt her.” Anarchy’s tone said Ted wasn’t entirely believable.

  “Joan said their marriage was troubled. They lived off Bobbi’s trust. What happens to the money now that Bobbi’s dead?”

  “Ivens didn’t mention a trust. We’ll look into that.”

  I rested my head on the chair back and sighed. “I’m so tired of finding bodies.”

  “I bet.”

  “And bad things come in threes. I can’t help but worry someone else will die.”

  Anarchy stood and pulled me from my chair. His arms wrapped around me, and his lips brushed the top of my head. “I’ll keep you and Grace safe. I promise.”

  I believed him.

  I tilted my head and looked into his eyes. A woman could drown in those eyes.

  Anarchy leaned closer.

  “Ellison!” Karma’s voice drifted through the screen door.

  “We cannot catch a break.” The frustration in Anarchy’s voice made me giggle—a nervous giggle.

  “Patio.” I tugged against Anarchy’s hold, but he held me tight.

  Karma appeared as a silhouette in the light from the kitchen and stopped short. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were busy.”

  “It’s fine. What do you need?”

  “I have to go home. I know I said I’d stay, but there’s a problem at the firm. I feel just awful about this.”

  “Karma, it’s fine. You came for the party, and having you here has been a joy.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed the gala for anything.”

  “If you have to go, what can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. They’re buying me a ticket in San Francisco. I’ll pick it up at the gate. Packing is easy.”

  “You’ll need a ride to the airport. When is your flight?”

  “Two hours.”

  “So soon? I’ll take you.”

  “When I called and told Dad, he offered.”

  “Grace just left. She’ll want to say goodbye.”

  “I saw her as she walked out the front door. We’ve said our goodbyes.”

  “And Aunt Sis?”

  “I’ll see Sis soon. She promised to visit.”

  “I hate that you’re leaving,”

  She stepped onto the patio. “Me, too. You could visit me in San Francisco. You could both come.”

  Anarchy tensed. His arms dropped to his sides, and he stepped back. Away from me.

  The inches that separated us felt like a chasm.

  I looked up into his face. All the warmth and humor had fled. An unfamiliar coldness emanated from his skin.

  I blinked. Who was this stranger? “Anarchy?”

  “What?” The coldness touched his voice too.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine. I should go.” He strode across the patio and into the house, leaving Karma and me staring after him.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  The sting of a rejection I didn’t understand made my eyes water and my throat tighten. “No idea.”

  I slept poorly.

  What was wrong with Anarchy? What was so awful about going to San Francisco together? Libba once observed Anarchy was secretive about his past. Was there an ex-wife in California? Children? I slugged my pillow. Was he embarrassed to introduce me to his family?

  Grrr.

  Max’s growl was a welcome distraction from my thoughts’ circular path. I brushed aside the questions getting me nowhere and joined Max at the window. “What’s wrong?”

  Max planted his paws on the sill and peered at the front yard.

  I followed his example (sans paws).

  The street was quiet except for—I squinted—someone or something was digging up my freshly planted pansies.

  I jammed my arms in my bathrobe and tied the belt. “You stay here.”

  Grrr. Bad plan. He’d chase away the evildoer.

  “I don’t need a dog fight rousing the neighbors. Besides, this is my chance to clear your name.” I slipped through the doorway to the hall and closed the door behind me, leaving Max locked in my bedroom.

  Woof. You need me.

  “I can handle a dog.”

  Woof. I doubt it.

  Even if I didn’t catch the beast, if I got a good look at him, I’d direct Marian and Margaret to the right owner.

  I descended the steps to the dark foyer and tiptoed toward the front door.

  A sound stopped me.

  A sound in the living room.

  What was going on? Was Grace up to something? She was supposed to be in bed.

  I tiptoed into the living room and flipped on the lights.

  Oh. Dear. Lord.

  I clapped my hands to my eyes and kept them there.

  Too late. Some things, once seen, can’t be unseen.

  Like your aunt and her beau having sex on your couch.

  I stumbled backward, tripped, and thudded to the rug.

  A shoe. I’d tripped on Gordon’s shoe. My fingers closed around the vamp, and I hurled the oxford at the naked people staring at me from over the top of the couch.

  The shoe hit the couch and fell to the floor.

  I crab-walked backward and got tangled in Aunt Sis’s kaftan.

  I threw that too. It sailed harmlessly toward them.

  I scuttled away.

  “Ellison! Wait!”

  Not bloody likely.

  I reached the front hall, struggled to my feet, and yanked open the front door. I’d made the wrong choice. I should have ignored the noise and caught the dog. I’d catch the dog now.

  I stepped into night-cooled air, took a single deep breath, and raced down the driveway.

  A yellow Labrador looked up from digging and grinned.

  This was a problem I could handle. “Come here.” I held out my hand. If only I’d brought a dog treat.

  The dog’s grin widened, and its tail wagged hard enough to jingle the tags hanging from its collar.

  “You’ve caused a bunch of trouble,” I cooed.

  The tail wagged faster.

  “Ellison?” Aunt Sis’s voice carried from the house. “What are you doing?”

  Much as I wanted to scold Aunt Sis with Mother-like fury—Grace might have walked in on them—I needed her help. “There’s a dog in my pansies. Would you please bring me a treat?” I returned my attention to the dog. “Would you like a treat?”

  Its tail wagged like crazy.

  The weight of Max’s disapproving stare settled on my shoulders. Was I rewarding an interloper? I offered an apologetic wave to the dog in my bedroom window. “Aunt Sis will bring you a biscuit.” I reached for the Labrador’s collar, but it danced backward. “A yummy biscuit.”

  Wag, wag, wag.

  Again, I reached for the collar.

  Again, the dog danced out of reach. To Fido, this was an amusing game.

  The dog shifted his gaze to the front of the house.
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  Footsteps tapped on the pavement. A man’s footsteps. Aunt Sis had sent Gordon.

  Heat rose to my cheeks. Wait. Why was I embarrassed? I straightened my spine—metaphorically. Gordon and Sis should be red-faced. Not me. They were the ones who’d had sex on my couch.

  The couch that was going to the upholsterers first thing in the morning.

  But that was tomorrow’s problem. Right now, I needed a look at the dog’s tags. With its attention focused on Gordon, I crept closer.

  Closer.

  I lunged, and the dog jumped out of the way.

  “Oomph.” Face planting in the lawn knocked the breath clean out of me.

  Gordon ran to my side. “Are you okay?”

  “Catch the dog.”

  Gordon held out a Milkbone, and the dog eyed him warily.

  “Come on, buddy. Take it.”

  The dog danced on his paws, suspecting a trick.

  I pushed onto my elbows, then my knees. “Let me try.”

  “Who’s your friend?” Gordon relinquished the biscuit.

  “No idea, but Max has taken the blame for his hobby.” I lightened my tone. “Who’s a good boy?” Not Gordon.

  Wag, wag, wag.

  “What’s your plan once you catch him?”

  “I’ll read his tags.”

  Now that I was on eye level with the lab, his dance steps slowed. He eyed the biscuit and whined softly.

  “It’s yours. Come here and let me pet you.”

  The dog inched closer.

  “C’mon, buddy.”

  Another inch.

  Gordon lunged, missed the dog, and knocked me into the muddy pansy bed.

  “Get.” I pushed. “Off.” I shoved. “Me.”

  We were hopelessly tangled.

  Gordon pushed onto one arm and caught a handful of my breast.

  My body reacted. My knee rose, fast and hard and accurate.

  “Aaaah!” Gordon clutched his groin and collapsed on top of me.

  For a full five seconds, neither of us moved.

  One thing was certain, if Aunt Sis did end up with Gordon, awkward holiday dinners were a given.

  “I’m getting up.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

  Gordon rose onto his knees and for a half-second I imagined his hands sliding around my neck. I scissored my legs, and he fell again.

  “Oomph.” The man weighed a ton, and his arms and legs weren’t working in concert. He caught my robe’s belt and tugged as he flailed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Wrong with me? I tightened my hand into a fist and pounded his shoulder. “Let go! Get off!”

  “Ellison?” There was no mistaking the nasal tone of my across-the-street neighbor Marian Dixon.

  Gordon and I both froze.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  It was official. I was in hell.

  “I saw a commotion out here and called the police.”

  Definitely in hell.

  “I spotted a Labrador digging up my pansies.” That didn’t explain why Gordon Thayer was lying on top of me. Not even close. “Get off.”

  A siren pierced the night’s quiet.

  Gordon stumbled to his feet, taking the belt to my robe with him.

  “What Labrador?” asked Marian.

  The dog was gone.

  “A yellow one.” I clasped my robe together and brushed soil from my face.

  “That’s right,” said Gordon. “Yellow.”

  Marian made a show of looking at her naked wrist. “Do you know what time it is?”

  Gordon glanced at his watch. “It’s one.”

  “A bit late for you to be at Ellison’s.”

  “I was dropping off Ellison’s aunt when she spotted the dog. I was helping her catch it.”

  Marian’s gaze was disbelieving. “Helping her?”

  “We got tangled.”

  Marian smirked. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

  She thought Gordon and I—my mind refused to go there.

  A police car screeched to a stop at the curb. “Everything okay, Mrs. Russell?”

  I was covered in damp soil and crushed grass, and my robe was askew. I reached up and pulled a destroyed pansy from my hair. “Peachy.”

  “Is this man bothering you?”

  “He’s a family friend.”

  The officer regarded Gordon, who’d missed a button on his shirt—it hung wonky on him. A jagged cut near his temple trickled blood. And he held my robe’s tie in his fist as if he meant to strangle me with it.

  The officer shook his head. “We’ll wait with you till Detective Jones arrives.”

  “He’s coming here? Now? Tonight?” Marian’s hands rose to her curler-covered head, and she scurried back to her house.

  “What’s going on?” Gordon demanded.

  I raked my fingers through my hair and found a second pansy. “The dispatcher alerts Anarchy whenever there’s a disturbance at my house.”

  “This happens often?”

  “Not this.” I’d never before been tackled by my aunt’s sex partner. “But disturbances? All the time.” I scowled at Gordon. “Why did you do that?”

  “I thought I could catch him.”

  I’d been inches away from the dog’s collar. He’d interfered, made an embarrassing situation a million times worse, and allowed the dog to escape. My scowl deepened.

  “I’m sorry.” An olive branch.

  “Coffee?” My version of an olive branch.

  “Decaf?”

  Was he serious?

  A car screeched to a halt at the curb, and Anarchy jumped out and ran to me. His hands closed around my upper arms, and he peered into my face. “Are you hurt?” Anarchy might have a terrible secret. But he cared. I saw real concern in his eyes.

  “I’m fine. This—” I nodded toward the man responsible for this nightmare “—is Gordon Thayer.”

  The two men sized each other up, then Anarchy jerked his chin toward the house. “Let’s take this inside.”

  I thanked the officers who’d raced to my rescue, and we walked up the drive.

  Aunt Sis met us at the door. Too bad she hadn’t used the time Gordon and I spent rolling in the dirt to fix her hair. It was Brigitte Bardot sex-kitten mussed. The hair coupled with smudged makeup and a wrinkled kaftan were the equivalent of an I-got-lucky sandwich board.

  Anarchy waited till I closed the front door. “What the hell?”

  “It’s all a misunderstanding.”

  Aunt Sis went to Gordon’s side, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  “I’ll make coffee.” My go-to response for misunderstandings, disasters, murder, and finding my aunt having sex.

  Anarchy stopped me with a look. “No coffee. Why did I get a call that you were being strangled in your front yard?”

  “Marian Dixon has a vivid imagination?” I suggested.

  No one even smiled.

  Anarchy shifted his gaze to Gordon. “So you’re Gordon Thayer.”

  “Guilty.” Maybe not the best choice of words.

  “The man who fathered Bobbi Ivens’ baby?”

  “Whoa!” Gordon held up his hands and spread his fingers. “That wasn’t me.”

  “Bobbi Ivens was pregnant. She told people the baby was yours.”

  Aunt Sis looked up at Gordon with an appalled expression on her face.

  “She might have been pregnant, but the child wasn’t mine.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I had a vasectomy ten years ago.”

  Awkward holiday dinners became exponentially more awkward.

  “You were seeing her?” asked Anarchy.

  Gordon cut his gaze toward Aunt Sis. “Not exactly.”

  “Then why did she think you were the father?” The words slipped, unbidden, through my lips.

  Gordon offered my aunt an apologetic grimace. “Key party.”

  Yet another thing I didn’t need to know about Aunt Sis’s beau. If Aunt Sis and Gor
don stayed together, I was definitely skipping holiday dinners.

  Chapter Ten

  I’d had the good sense to leave a note for Aggie—please make a Bundt cake—before I went to bed, and I descended the stairs to the delicious smell of baking cinnamon.

  Aggie wore a ruffled apron over a spring green kaftan dotted with daffodils and daisies. Her hair sproinged with extra vigor, and she hummed “I’m in the Mood for Love” as she wiped the countertop.

  I cleared my throat.

  She turned and offered me a brilliant smile. “Coffee?”

  “Please.” I oozed onto a stool.

  “You had an exciting night.”

  Max, who refused to look at me, sighed dramatically. Things went sideways because I’d locked him in a bedroom. Given the chance, he’d have taught that trespassing Labrador a lesson.

  “You heard?”

  “Your aunt was up early.”

  I’d bet good money my aunt left out part of the story.

  Aggie poured coffee into a mug, then put the mug and a small pitcher of cream in front of me.

  I grabbed hold of the mug. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ve never seen her look so happy.”

  “She’s in love.” So in love she’d forgiven Gordon’s key party with a wave of her hand. “Where is she?”

  “She met Mr. Thayer for breakfast.”

  “Hmph.” I suspected Aunt Sis was avoiding me. I hoped Gordon was.

  “Who’s the cake for?” asked Aggie.

  “Ted Ivens.”

  “You found his wife’s body.” Her free hand lifted to her throat, her other hand crumpling the used paper towel into a ball. “The woman at the club.”

  “Yes.”

  “So awful.”

  “Terrible.” I sipped my coffee. Perfect. As usual. I winked my thanks at Mr. Coffee.

  Ding dong.

  Aggie tossed the paper towel into the trash. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Hmmm. Be right back.” She disappeared into the hallway.

  You look tired, fussed Mr. Coffee.

  “Another cup and I’ll be fine.”

  That kerfuffle last night—he shook his gingham head—you don’t need stress like that.

  I lifted my mug in agreement. “Amen.” I finished the rest of my coffee, rose from my stool, and went to the most even-tempered, dependable man I knew.

  The door swung open as I poured, and Anarchy followed Aggie into the kitchen.