by Maggie King
“Then Skype it is.” Trudy looked around the room. “Is seven on Wednesday okay with everyone?”
A chorus of yeses indicated agreement. “And you’ll send us those articles, Hazel?” Eileen asked.
“I will. And let’s make sure we all have each other’s Skype handles.”
A sound like wind chimes alerted Trudy that she had a new e-mail. “It’s Mary Anne. She’s passing on the group investigation. She’s sorry about Nina’s sister, but says investigating her death is way too scary.”
“Smart woman, that Mary Anne.”
No one disagreed with me.
FIVE
“SHALL WE DISCUSS our books?” I looked around at the group. “I guess we’ll have to be quick about it.”
Trudy kicked off the discussion with a spirited account of a tale set in ancient Mesopotamia that she’d read on her Kindle. A detective modeled on the likes of Dashiell Hammet’s Sam Spade or Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer is hired to find Abel, the brother done in by his brother Cain, recounted in the Book of Genesis.
“Of course, back in those days the detective had to use a stylus and clay tablet to take notes.” Trudy passed around a picture of those items that she’d printed from the Internet.
As a librarian, Trudy had a love of books and knew how to draw listeners in and make them want to read whatever she described. We all took note of Genesis One: Abel is Missing by Martin Lorin.
“It’s self-published, so you’ll need to buy it online.” When Trudy saw Sarah’s sour expression she rushed to add, “They might have print copies.” Sarah held a dim view of reading devices.
Lucy asked, “So why did Cain kill Abel?”
Eileen explained. “Envy. Cain took some of his harvest to the Lord. Abel offered his fattest lamb. The Lord preferred the lamb. Cain took great offense and killed his brother. Classic story.” Apparently, some of us were more up on our Old Testament than others.
“Who could blame the Lord? I’d prefer a nice plump lamb any day over wheat.” Sarah fairly spat the word wheat.
“Not me, I’m a vegetarian.” Eileen proclaimed.
“There must be more to it than envy,” I said. “Something that Adam and Eve did. They probably weren’t good parents.”
“I bet the eviction from the Garden of Eden took their focus off their children.” Trudy fiddled with the silver barrette that held back her long white hair and exposed the rose tattoo that decorated her neck. I knew that she kept the tattoo hidden from her anti-tat library director.
“Some will do anything for parental approval.” Lucy fanned herself with her book.
I heard an edge in Eileen’s voice when she said, “If you read the OT you’ll see that it’s like I said: Cain didn’t like the Lord preferring Abel’s offering to his.”
We went back and forth on the Cain and Abel story, the archetype of sibling rivalry, digressing into other takes on brothers killing brothers. John Steinbeck retold the Cain and Abel story in his enduring epic, East of Eden, naming his characters Caleb and Aaron.
“But the Caleb character didn’t kill the Aaron character,” I said.
“But Caleb’s jealousy caused Aaron’s death, indirectly,” Eileen explained. “The two had so many conflicts that Aaron up and joined the military and got killed.”
“East of Eden . . . that’s pretty long, isn’t it?”
In one voice, the rest of us assured Lucy that East of Eden may be long but it was a page turner. “Steinbeck knew how to hold the reader’s interest,” I said, adding, “The movie’s interesting as well, especially if you’re a James Dean fan. But it doesn’t come close to the book.”
Sarah asked, “How about what we were talking about before—sisters killing sisters?”
“I’ve come this close to killing mine.” Trudy said, holding her thumb and index finger a quarter inch apart. We laughed in rueful understanding of the ambivalent feelings some of us shared about our female siblings.
“My sister won’t eat anything I cook,” Sarah said, sounding nettled. “She’s never even tried my cooking.”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. A glance at the others told me they were doing the same thing, thinking that Sarah’s sister was lucky. Sarah wasn’t known for her cooking, but that didn’t keep her out of the kitchen. When book group met at her house, we had to rev up our diplomatic skills.
Trudy tapped the screen of her iPhone. “There was that movie, Chicago.”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “That woman who was serving time for murdering both her husband and her sister when she found them in bed together.”
“Doing the ‘spread eagle’,” Trudy read from her phone display. We all hooted at that one. “And don’t forget What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?”
“I don’t think anybody was killed in the Baby Jane one,” Sarah said.
“But they tried,” Eileen said. “Those sisters tried to kill each other.”
Carlene Arness and I had started the Murder on Tour group ten years before. It differed from other groups in that we each read a book of our choosing based on a travel theme, and then discussed our book along with each other’s choices.
Carlene’s death in 2005 and the ensuing investigation dampened our enthusiasm for murder mysteries and actually drove some members away. We reformed as a film group, first with Sarah, Trudy, Lucy, and myself. Eileen and Phyllis soon followed. We kept the travel theme. But it didn’t work out: different opinions on what to watch, interruptions, talking, whispering, eating, distractions, short attention spans, cell phones.
So we returned to reading mysteries, settling on time periods prior to the twentieth century. Maybe we thought they were less violent. They weren’t, but they were at a remove from contemporary stories. Trudy and Eileen had unearthed a treasure trove of online databases for readers that covered the ancient world and traveled through the centuries to the present day. We would pick a theme for the month and then meet biweekly, which didn’t give us much time to read an entire book, but we didn’t have a problem with that. We never gave away the endings, so we could discuss our book in progress. Plus, we liked to socialize, so more frequent meetings suited us.
Eileen brought us back to our primary purpose. “Okay, this is a book group. Let’s hear what the rest of us read. Hazel?”
This month’s theme was the ancient world and I raved about Silver Pigs by Lindsay Davis, the first of Ms. Davis’s historical series set in Rome and Britannia in AD 70. I planned to continue reading the series on my own.
“I’m so glad you read the first book of a series this time,” Sarah said. I was known for starting a series at any point, a practice that infuriated the other members.
“It doesn’t mean I’m changing my ways.”
I heard the floor creaking overhead. Vince chose to hole up in his den during book group but Morris periodically showed up to make his rounds. Morris was shy but curious, so he kept track of any goings on in his territory. Hands reached out to be sniffed and the cat obliged, getting a pat here and there.
“I read The Germanicus Mosaic by Rosemary Rowe.” Lucy went on to summarize the plot and setting of the story set in Roman Britain. “I enjoyed it. And”—Lucy winked at me—”it’s the first in this series.”
“Did you post your review on Goodreads yet?” Trudy asked. We enjoyed Lucy’s reviews on the social cataloguing site for readers.
“Not yet, but I will.”
Sarah and Eileen hadn’t finished their stories, both set in ancient Greece. While they offered general descriptions, I excused myself to get the refreshments together.
I cut the brownies into small portions. Thankfully, everyone in this group could eat walnuts. With allergies so rampant, finding brownies with nuts in bakeries and grocery stories posed such a challenge that I’d taken to baking my favorite dessert. As a plus, Eileen’s brand of vegetarianism allowed for milk and eggs so I didn’t have to alter the recipe to satisfy her requirements.
As I opened the refrigerator and took out a plate of frui
t, the others wandered in from the family room, talking in high spirits. I caught something about Matthew McConaughey, but in what context—acting, looks, six-pack abs?
When Eileen saw me lifting the lever of an old-fashioned metal ice tray to release the cubes she exclaimed, “I love it! So retro.” Eileen had pulled her long brown curls back into a ponytail secured by a rubber band. Her slenderness made her appear younger than her fifty-three years.
I said, “I bought a couple of these trays on eBay. They go with my vintage Formica tops.” I refreshed the water and iced tea with the ice cubes.
“Oh, are you a holdout on granite tops? Me, too.”
“They look great but I won’t be bullied in having them. I guess House Hunters won’t put my kitchen on their show—unless they want to redo my counters.” I referred to the popular HGTV show that seemed to require the homes they showcased to have granite tops in the kitchen; bathrooms, too.
•••
The group stayed for another half hour, enjoying the refreshments.
When everyone had left, I gave Vince the all-clear. He came downstairs with Morris in tow. We brought Olive inside, checking first to be sure she was dry and not bearing a rodent gift. The cat passed muster and we let her in the house.
Vince asked, “How did the group go?”
“Oh, we talked about fratricide and sororicide.” We both laughed. “Want some brownies?”
At his “Sure” I took the depleted plate down to the family room.
“So tell me more about book group. And I hope you ditched the idea of investigating.” Vince bit into his brownie. “These are pretty good.”
I smiled. “Thanks. And, to answer your question, we didn’t ditch the idea. They were most intrigued.”
Vince harrumphed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
I told him about the group’s tentative assignments and our plan to meet by Skype on Wednesday for updates. I went on to the Cain and Abel discussion and the parallels we’d noted with Vince’s true crime account involving sisters.
“Well, there’s definitely a sisterly aspect to Rox’s murder.”
“How could someone kill their blood relative? I mean, I could see a spouse—”
At Vince’s look, I laughed. “Oh, not you. You’re one of the good guys. And you don’t have enough money to make killing you worthwhile.”
“Thank God for small favors. So, anything else you care to tell me about your discussion?”
I thought. “No, I pretty much covered it. Unless you want to hear about stories set in the ancient world.”
“I’ll pass.” Vince waved his hand. “Want to split that last brownie?”
“Sure.”
•••
“Okay, Ms. Rose, you can get dressed. We’ll be in touch once the radiologist reads your pictures.”
I hoped my breasts forgave me for allowing a relentlessly cheerful stranger to flatten and compress them. I’d heard talk of a new and improved mammogram procedure, but it remained a distant dream.
I walked down the hall to my second appointment, an annual physical. The previous week I’d had blood drawn, and my doctor reviewed the report. I came away with a clean bill of health that put the odious mammogram out of my mind. Deciding that I deserved to treat myself I headed for Brio’s Tuscan Grille at Stony Point Fashion Park and enjoyed a grilled salmon salad.
At home I found Vince sitting on the screened-in porch, bookended by Olive and Morris. They hoped for a sample of his potato salad and didn’t take their eyes off the mayonnaise-laden mound of spuds. I kissed Vince, pet both felines, and ran down my medically-oriented morning. After getting a modicum of sympathy over the mammogram ordeal I said, “Well, I’m going to call Nina now and ask her to meet me at Joe’s tomorrow.” Vince rolled his eyes but said nothing.
After leaving a message on Nina’s cell phone, I turned to the task of scanning the folder of Rox-related articles. Midway through the process, I got a call from Nina.
Without preamble, she asked, “So, are you going to do it?”
“Um, I’m not ready to commit just yet. I have some questions. Let’s meet tomorrow for breakfast.” Nina sighed but agreed. Not wanting a replay of the Panera episode, I suggested Joe’s Inn in Bon Air at eight o’clock.
I finished my scanning project and sent the documents to the book group, including a note that Nina and I planned to meet at Joe’s the next day. Then I composed an e-mail to my sister Ruth, asking about the medical history of the newly discovered relatives. She almost immediately responded that she didn’t have any information. I spent the rest of the day outlining my next story about a group of women who form a secret Facebook dating group. They arrange a cruise of the Greek Islands and have romantic adventures.
Sometimes I got very jealous of my characters.
SIX
THE NEXT MORNING I set off on foot for my meeting with Nina. Richmond’s summers could be insufferably hot and steamy, but the weather was usually bearable early in the day. Oak trees canopied my neighborhood, providing welcome shade. Along the way I met many dogs. I found it amusing that I could greet many of the dogs by name but I seldom managed to learn, or remember, their owners’ names.
Vince and I lived in Bon Air, a 19th century resort area frequented by the wealthy that had been annexed by Richmond. Bon Air meant “good air” and carried more panache than the mundane Richmond. The air quality has certainly deteriorated since the 19th century but was still a hundred times better than in Los Angeles, where I’d lived for many years.
A part of Bon Air is designated a National Historic District, boasting a number of Victorian homes. But the house styles of our neighborhood reflected the 1960s building boom—split levels, ranch styles, Cape Cods, and the occasional Colonial Revival.
In twenty minutes I arrived at Joe’s Inn, on the dot of eight o’clock. My mother would have been proud—she’d instilled in me the virtue of punctuality. Joe’s was known for serving up unpretentious food at reasonable prices. As my father would have said, “Good plain food and plenty of it!”
Vince stood by the door but we made no signs of recognition. According to plan, he’d follow me into the restaurant and keep an eye on our booth from a discreet distance. I really thought I’d be fine at Joe’s Inn but, as Vince pointed out, Nina was a suspect, so we couldn’t be too careful.
The host took me to Nina, sitting in a wooden booth against the wall. She looked lost in thought as she stirred her coffee. She’d pulled her hair back and secured it with a white plastic barrette. Her colorful madras plaid shirt drained her makeup-free face of color, accentuating the shadows under her eyes.
“Thanks for coming, Hazel.” A tepid smile appeared briefly. I gave my coffee order to the server. “Let’s order now, so we can talk.”
When I heard a voice with a Brooklyn accent say, “Yes, coffee, please,” I knew Vince was sitting a few booths behind me.
I’d worked up an appetite from the walk, so I chose the Greek omelet and wheat toast. Nina opted for white toast. Once the server left, I waited a couple of beats before saying, “And now, if you’re up to it, tell me what happened the night your sister was killed.”
Nina sighed and began her tale. Apparently, the Moonshine Inn near the Westover Hills section of Richmond had been Rox’s favorite watering hole. Brad had called his wife and they’d gotten into an argument over her drinking. As often happened when the newlyweds argued, Rox called her sister to come and pick her up.
“When I got to Moonshine’s parking lot, Rox was nowhere in sight. I was annoyed but figured she didn’t know which end was up. I only hoped she hadn’t forgotten about me and tried to drive herself home. She already had two DUIs.
“The parking lot was crowded so I had to park towards the back of the lot. I got out of the car, not knowing if I should go into the bar or look for Rox’s SUV. I sure didn’t want to go inside. Have you ever been in the Moonshine Inn?”
I shook my head. I didn’t frequent bars and I’m sure I wouldn’
t pick the Moonshine, even if I did: the clientele ran to the rough side. “Why would Rox have gone to a place like that, and so often? It’s not a place I’d expect to find a professional woman.”
“I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want to be recognized. It was quite an issue with her and Brad. Maybe she wanted a place where she could just drink and not worry about running into someone she knew, especially someone from the Hamlin Group.” If that was her intention, she’d made a good choice with the Moonshine.
Nina went on. “I took my pocket flashlight and started to look around the lot as I walked towards the bar. That’s when I saw Brad. He’d just been in the bar and Rox wasn’t there. We looked for her SUV together.”
Now her voice caught. “And we found it—parked alongside a chain link fence by a dumpster. Rox was lying on the ground by the driver’s door. Blood everywhere.” Nina’s voice caught again and tears began streaming down her face. “No pulse.”
I rooted through my purse for tissues and pulled out a couple that I passed to Nina. I grabbed her hand and said, “Take a rest, Nina. There’s no rush.”
Nina wiped her face and said, “No. I need to get moving on this. So I went to Florida for a while after the funeral and stayed with a friend. When I came back I got involved in the playwriting class. All that time I kept hoping the police would solve the case. But they haven’t accomplished a thing. Not a frigging thing. Something has to be done.”
She blew her nose and resumed. “Back then, that night, Brad called 911. It had only been thirty-five minutes, forty-five tops, since Rox had called me.”
“I’m sorry. Did you see anyone else in the parking lot?”
“No. No one.”
The waitperson set our plates before us. As we buttered our toast I said, “You said the lot was crowded?”
“Yes, with cars, but everyone was either inside the Moonshine or in one of the other places nearby. There’s another bar and a restaurant.” Nina sipped her coffee and nibbled her toast.
“Oh, wait, I’m forgetting about that guy with the baseball cap.” Nina suddenly sounded coy. “I saw him when I got out of my car and turned on my flashlight. He walked towards me and we made brief eye contact. He had glasses and dark hair, longish. Baseball cap. Something happened, like his knee maybe buckled. He got into the car next to mine. I didn’t notice the driver—remember, I was focused on Rox. Then I saw Brad. I forgot about the guy until later.
