That stopped her—for half a second. “Myrtle Bridewell has called me three times.”
“Myrtle Bridewell should stop eavesdropping.”
“Did you discuss sex?”
“Libba discussed sex. I listened.”
Was that grinding sound I heard Mother’s teeth?
“Libba didn’t just discuss sex. Libba discussed your having sex.”
“Strictly speaking, Libba discussed me not having sex.”
“Don’t play games with me.”
“Look on the bright side, Mother. I made it through the whole day without finding a body.”
“Don’t jinx yourself. And this is not a joke. If you ever want a decent man to be interested in you, you can’t discuss intimate details in public.”
“I didn’t.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “And Anarchy is a decent man. He’s escorting me to the gala.”
Twenty seconds of silence ensued.
“Mother?”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” Mother hung up on me.
“That went well.”
Aggie comforted me with a fresh cup of coffee and a half-apologetic smile. Like Mother, she preferred Hunter.
With a few minutes to kill before I was due at Winnie’s, I took my coffee and Aggie’s notes to the family room, settled into my desk chair, and read. John Wilson had represented some horrible people—robbers, murderers, rapists, and con men who’d swindled little old ladies out of their life savings.
Because of Debbie, I read the notes on the rapist first. Despite the victim’s testimony, the defendant had received a judgment of acquittal. “Aggie,” I called. “What’s the difference between an acquittal and a judgment of acquittal?”
She appeared in the doorway. “An acquittal comes from a jury. A judgment of acquittal is a procedural device where the judge takes the case out of the jury’s hands. He decides the prosecutor hasn’t made their case.”
“This defendant—” I tapped my finger on Aggie’s notes “—would be happy with his defense attorney and the judge?”
“Absolutely. Any other questions?”
“Not right now.”
She left me with her notes.
I pushed the rape case aside and reached for the armed robber who’d been sentenced to ten years. Had Aggie heard back from Hunter? Was ten years reasonable?
I finished my coffee and pulled the notes on the murderer to the center of the desk. He’d been charged with murder in the second degree and he too had been sentenced to ten years.
Suddenly the armed robber’s sentence didn’t seem all that reasonable.
“More?” Aggie had returned, and (bless her) she held the coffeepot.
“Please.” I held out my mug.
“Have you found anything?”
“Maybe.”
“The robber and murderer were each sentenced to ten years.”
“That hardly seems fair. Ten years for murder?”
“I know.” I sipped my coffee and thought. Something niggled at the edge of my brain. If I chased the thought, it would hide. I glanced at my watch. “I’d better get going or I’ll be late.” I left the notes on the desk and went to Winnie’s.
I parked at the curb and listened to the rain on the Mercedes’ roof. What I wouldn’t give for a sunny, warm spring day—this relentless rain was depressing.
When Lois pulled into the driveway, I unfurled my umbrella and climbed out of the car.
I met her and Winnie at the front door where Lois fumbled with the house keys.
“Hurry,” Winnie snapped. “I’m getting wet.”
“We’re all getting wet, Mom.” Lois’ voice had an about-to-break quality.
“Give me the keys.” Winnie held out her hand.
“Fine.” Lois dropped them into her mother’s open palm.
Winnie had the door open in seconds. She hurried inside. “Beezie, Mommy’s home.”
Lois and I followed her into the house. “Where’s Beezie?” she whispered.
“I haven’t seen him since yesterday.” A small lie—I hadn’t actually seen Beezie, only heard his demon’s cry.
“Beezie!” Winnie called.
Meow! The cat ran down the front stairs and launched itself at Winnie.
She caught him mid-leap and cradled him in her arms like a baby. “Mommy’s home now.”
“I need coffee,” said Lois. “Mom, why don’t you and Ellison sit down in the living room while I make us something warm?”
Winnie nodded and led me to the living room door. “Such a mess. It will take me days to get the house back in order.” She turned on her heel, crossed the hall, and peered into Lark’s study. “This room is even worse.” Her eyes scanned the chaos. “It looks as if someone’s been into my husband’s journals.” She nodded at the emptied bookshelves.
“His journals?”
“He kept notes on every case ever argued in his courtroom. He was a fine judge.” She dropped a kiss on Beezie’s head. “A better judge than husband.”
The bitterness in Winnie’s voice suggested she knew about Lark’s affair, but I asked anyway. “Did you know about Marigold?”
“I suspected. That girl—” she shook her head “—I gave her a chance, and she seduced my husband.”
“How did you find out?”
Winnie’s answering smile held a malicious edge. “I found the condoms. It’s not as if Lark needed King Cobras. Maybe Baronet Cobras, and that was when he was—”
“Mom!” A red-faced Lois stood in the foyer. “Ellison, how do you take your coffee?”
“With cream. Thank you.”
Lois turned away.
“Lois.”
She looked over her shoulder with a questioning look on her face.
“I brought your mother’s purse back here from the hospital. But yesterday, when I was feeding Beezie, I didn’t see it. Did you move it?”
She frowned. “Mom’s purse?”
“Yes.”
“A cognac Coach bucket bag?”
“Yes,” said Winnie.
“It’s sitting on the kitchen counter.”
I was a hundred percent sure I hadn’t taken that purse to the kitchen. I’d wanted my hands free in case Beezie attacked. “I think we should take the Sweet’N Low out of your bag, Winnie.”
“Why?”
I glanced at Lois. “It’s possible your coffee was poisoned with it.”
Winnies forehead creased. “Are you saying I poisoned my own coffee?”
The thought had crossed my mind. “Not on purpose.”
Her eyes searched my face. “You really think it could’ve been the sweetener?”
“You didn’t touch your soup, and we both had coffee with cream. The Sweet’N Low is the only possibility.”
Lois stared at us, her eyebrows so high they kissed her hairline. “How would someone know Mom carried Sweet’N Low in her purse?”
“It’s possible someone saw her take some out of her bag when she was out.”
“Or put it in,” said Winnie.
“What do you mean?” asked Lois.
Winnie flushed slightly. “Sometimes, when I have coffee in a place with Sweet’N Low, I take a few packets.”
“You steal sugar substitute?” Daughters-judging-mothers—the tone was always the same.
“It’s not stealing.” Mothers-telling-daughters-they-had-no-business-judging—that tone was also always the same. “Not all restaurants have it on the table.”
“So—” Lois rubbed her eyes “—if someone wasn’t picky about when you took the poison, putting a packet in your purse would eventually kill you.”
Winnie went pale.
“Let’s get you a chair.” I led Winnie to one of the seats in front of Lark’s desk.
“If I hadn’t
been at the hospital when I used that packet…”
“I’ll grab the bag.” Lois dashed out of the room.
Winnie leaned back in her chair. “This whole week has been a nightmare.”
Having your husband murdered was no picnic. “What can you tell me about Marigold?”
“You don’t think she put the poison in my purse?”
“I think it’s a possibility.” Lark was another possibility. One I didn’t mention.
“What do you want to know?”
“Why was she murdered in such a gruesome way?”
“You don’t think I killed her?”
“You were locked in the attic when she died. I was with you. I’m positive you didn’t kill her.”
Winnie relaxed in her chair.
Of course, Winnie could have had an accomplice.
“Marigold wasn’t her real name.”
Imagine that. “Oh?”
“Her real name was Janice Young.”
“And she went by Marigold Applebottom instead?”
Winnie shrugged.
“Here’s the purse.” Lois stood in the doorway and held up Winnie’s handbag. “I checked. There’s no Sweet’N Low in it.” The brick red rising from her neck suggested she’d found the King Cobras.
“You went through my purse?” Winnie sounded outraged.
“Focus, Winnie. Someone tried to kill you. And they’ve removed the evidence.”
My logic stole the remaining color from Winnie’s already wan cheeks.
“We need to hire security,” said Lois.
“Security?” Winnie shook her head. “No.”
“Mom, someone killed Dad. They tried to kill you. We’re hiring security.”
“LJ can look out for us.”
Lois snorted. “LJ? Security? He can’t even handle connecting flights. He’s stuck in Chicago.”
“What do you think, Ellison?” Winnie asked.
“Given the three murders—”
“Three?” Lois’s eyebrows were back up by her hairline.
“Marigold, your father, and John Wilson.”
“John Wilson is dead?” Winnie’s voice shook.
“Yes. The police think it’s related to a case.”
Winnie forgot about the cat in her lap and gripped the arms of the chair. “Which case?”
Meow. Beezie disapproved of anything that stopped Winnie from stroking his fur.
“I don’t know the details, but it involves Tony Bilardo and Nick DiGiovanni.”
“The mobster?” Lois’s voice squeaked.
Winnie ran her hand down Beezie’s back.
“Have the police made an arrest?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s it,” said Lois. “We are absolutely hiring security. Right away. Who should I call?” She looked at me.
“We don’t need security.”
“We do. And either we hire some, or we get on a plane for Charlottesville this afternoon.”
“Fine,” Winnie ceded. “Hire security.”
“Who do I call?”
“I have a friend who’s a detective. I can ask him.”
“Would you? Please?” Lois glanced at the phone. “Would you call right away?”
I picked up the receiver and dialed.
“KCPD.”
“May I please speak with Detective Anarchy Jones?”
“One moment, please. I’ll connect you.”
I listened to dreadful canned music until Anarchy picked up. “Anarchy, it’s Ellison calling.”
“Hi.” His tone was warm.
I caught myself smiling in response. “I’m at the Flournoys’ with Winnie and her daughter. Lois thinks Winnie needs security. We were hoping you’d be able to recommend someone.”
“Hold on, there’s a card in my desk.” The sounds of rummaging carried through the phone line. “Found it. Marvin Hancock at Tall Oaks Security. Do you have a pen?”
It was my turn to rummage. I laid hands on a pen and notepad. “Ready.”
He gave me the number, and I jotted it down.
“Any luck locating Nick DiGiovanni?”
“Not yet. He’s disappeared.”
The niggling thought at the edge of my brain stuck out a long, bony finger and poked me. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Never mind. Thanks for the number. I’ll share it with Lois.”
“Are you free for dinner tonight?”
There it was again. That smile that came from nowhere. “I am. Why don’t you come by the house? We can eat there. I have something to tell you.”
“About the case?”
“Yes.” He needed to know Winnie’s purse had mysteriously reappeared.
“I’ll call you later. Be careful.”
“Always.”
I hung up the phone and handed Lois the information.
“Thank you.” She turned to her mother. “We’re going to do everything possible to keep you safe.”
Winnie mumbled something in response. Something that sounded like all the security in the world won’t do any good.
Fourteen
I went home, looked over Aggie’s notes, and offered Max a run.
With the air of one doing me a tremendous favor, he peered out the back door. Seeing the dripping skies, he refused to set a paw outside.
“Fine,” I told him. “But the weather’s not getting any better.”
He huffed and settled into his favorite spot in the kitchen.
“I’m going upstairs to paint.”
He lifted his brows but didn’t move.
I changed my clothes and climbed the stairs to the attic.
As usual, the application of color and texture to canvas calmed my mind.
The painting on my easel—an arrangement of pink peonies—represented what spring should be—sunlight and air scented with flowers in full bloom. I ignored the cold, wet reality outside my window and painted until the light, such as it was, faded.
When my brushes were clean, I headed for the kitchen. “Whatever you’re cooking smells heavenly.”
Aggie stood at the sink washing vegetables. “There’s a roast in the oven.” She dried her hands on the apron covering her kaftan. “Did you review the rest of the cases?”
“Not yet. I’ll go through them tonight.”
The back door swung open and Grace burst into the house. Rain streaked her face and droplets of water fell from her slicker to Aggie’s spotless floor. “Mom!”
“What?”
“I have something amazing for you.” She dug in her pocket and handed me a folded piece of paper. “Here.”
A check.
For ten thousand dollars.
“How?”
“Jennifer helped me with my math, and I told her about the gala, and she said she loved museums and whipped out her check book.”
“This is incredible, Grace. Thank you.”
She grinned. “It might get Granna off your back.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I heard at school.”
Mother had a lot to answer for.
“Well this—” I waved the check “—is awesome. I should go thank Jennifer.”
“I bet she’d like that.”
Brnng, Brnng.
Aggie wiped her hands again and picked up the phone. “Russell residence.” She listened. “One moment, I’ll see if she’s available.”
“Who is it?” I whispered.
“Your mother,” she whispered back.
I took a deep breath then accepted the phone. “Hello, Mother.”
“Have you raised any money today?”
I smiled at Grace. “Ten thousand dollars and—” a fabulous, raise-all-the-money-
and-then-some idea landed in my brain, a gift from above “—I can raise the rest.”
“How?”
“I’m still working on the details.”
“You’re sure you can raise the rest of the money?”
“I think so.”
“If you need my help, I’m here.” If I raised a million dollars, she would forgive me for discussing S-E-X at the club. “I ran into Hunter today.”
“Oh?”
“He doesn’t have a date for the gala.”
“I’m sure he won’t have any trouble finding one.”
“He could escort you.”
“I already have an escort.”
“It’s not fair to him. He won’t know a soul.” We both knew that wasn’t her real objection.
“He’ll know Karma.”
“Karma’s coming?”
Karma was my slightly scandalous half-sister. “She made a generous donation.”
Mother sighed. She liked Karma—she really did—but she didn’t embrace the circumstances of Karma’s birth.
“Listen, Mother, I need to thank the most recent donor. I’ll let you know if I need help with the big idea.”
We hung up, and I slid on my floral trench.
“You’re going like that?” Grace wrinkled her nose at my painting clothes.
“Too casual?”
“Yes.” Grace had the daughter-judging-mother tone down pat.
“Fine.” I ran upstairs, changed back into the navy outfit, and returned to the kitchen. “Better?”
“Much.”
I grabbed an umbrella and braved the dripping twilight. The grass beneath my feet was slippery, and I balanced my desire to get out of the rain with the desire not to fall on my hiney. Going slow won.
When I finally rang Jennifer’s doorbell, I was more damp than dry.
Jennifer opened the door wearing a peasant skirt, loose top, and moccasins. “Oh, good gracious, you’re soaked. Come in.” She waved me inside.
I stood in the foyer and dripped on Jennifer’s hardwood floors. “I came to thank you—” my nose twitched. What was that smell? Jennifer was cooking something awful. “I came to thank you for your donation. It was—” my eyes watered. Seriously, what was that smell? “Jennifer, is something burning?”
She sniffed the air. “Oh, golly!”
I ran after her to the kitchen where a pan on the stove held flames that reached for the ceiling.
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