“Me, too.” She slowly stirred her tea. Without looking up, she said, “What you said about your mother’s death. Do you really think someone killed her?”
Estelle pondered the question, not sure how much she should trust Irene. “You and I both know how cautious Mother was about those stairs. The fact that she fell just seems suspicious. Too coincidental. Everyone says I’m just not accepting her death. That I’m looking for someone to blame.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. But only because I still find it hard to believe that she would have gotten that close to the edge of the stairs on her own. I’m going to say the right things and do the right things. But between us, I still think there’s a killer out there, and I won’t stop looking until he’s caught.”
Clover padded her way across the hardwood floor and jumped into Estelle’s lap. She looked into the cat’s forlorn eyes. “You were there, weren’t you, pretty girl? I wish you could tell me what happened.” She leaned down and brushed her cheek across Clover’s soft head and closed her eyes, picturing her mother.
Irene sat quietly. She cleared her throat. “Can I make you a sandwich or something?”
“That sounds wonderful. I’ll be up in my room. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I have a big day tomorrow.”
Irene stood and wiped up a drop that had spilled on the table. “Really?”
“Yes. I’m having lunch with Blake.”
“I’ll make you some extra special tea. Guaranteed to help you sleep.”
“Thanks.” Clover jumped to the floor, and Estelle slowly climbed the back stairs to her bedroom.
She emerged from the dressing area, her hair dry, her face washed. Dressed in her pink and gray flannel pajamas, she looked young and vulnerable. The tray of food Irene had left her lay on the foot of the bed. A vase with a red rose added a sweet touch. She switched on the bed lamp and snuggled in under the covers. The aroma of the tea relaxed her senses while the hot brew warmed her insides. After taking a few bites of the chicken salad sandwich, she felt better.
Her thoughts turned to Howard Collier and what he had said about her uncle. She wondered if she should go see him at the hospital. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture his face. She had only gotten a quick glimpse of the man. Would he resemble her mother? Would their mannerisms be the same? After all, they were twins.
She tried to open her eyes, but they protested. She managed to sit up for just a minute and glanced over at the nightstand. There behind a cloth napkin was her mother’s bottle of sleeping pills. After putting the tray on the floor, she lay her head on the pillow. Sleep pulled her deeper and deeper into its grasp. And then, she was out.
Chapter 21
Staring at the clock on the nightstand, Estelle wished time could slow down. “I promise I’ll call you as soon as I get back,” she said and ended the call with Russell. She dreaded her lunch date with Blake, but she was ready to get it over with. This will be the last time I have to see him. He’ll be gone, and I can be with Russell.
But, she had one thing to do first.
Irene was in the kitchen putting away the dishes when Estelle stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. “I need to ask you about last night.”
Irene jumped, obviously startled. “What do you mean?”
“Did you put sleeping pills in my tea?” She tried to soften the edge in her voice but knew it still sounded sharp.
Irene set a plate on the shelf and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Yes ma’am. One pill. You said you needed to get a good night’s sleep. I was trying to help.”
She seemed sincere. Estelle’s arms dropped to her sides. “I appreciate your wanting to help, but you should have asked me first.”
Leaning back against the counter, Irene seemed contrite. “I used to do the same thing for your mother. She didn’t like to admit she sometimes needed pills to sleep, so she would drop a hint. I would put one in her coffee or tea.”
“Well, I’m not my mother. Please don’t do that again.” She turned and walked down the hall to the parlor to wait for Blake. Why does everyone think they have to protect me? I can look out for myself, she thought.
Irene followed her out. “Are you excited to see Mr. Whitman today? I really hope you two get back together. He’s such a handsome man.”
That seems awfully forward, Estelle thought. No wonder Mother kept Irene at arm’s length. “Yes,” was all she managed to say.
BLAKE LOOKED QUITE dashing when he arrived. He wore dark blue slacks, a white button-down shirt, and an argyle sweater vest under his long wool coat and matching scarf. She could imagine him standing in front of his shiny new car with a jacket thrown over his shoulder, holding a pair of driving gloves. Once again, his put-together look just made her feel shabby.
When he leaned down to kiss her, she turned her cheek to avoid his lips.
“Let’s go,” she said, opening the front door herself.
They had lunch at a cafe overlooking the narrow river that ran through the south part of town. The last time they had eaten there, fall leaves had painted a brilliant, colorful picture, the perfect backdrop for their budding courtship. Today, the trees were bare, the grass brown. The cold, dreary weather matched her mood. She avoided eye contact as they made small talk. Surely, Blake must be getting the message, she thought. Do I look like someone about to accept a marriage proposal?
After the server removed their plates, Blake reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring box. Estelle felt her insides turn over.
“Estelle, you know how I feel about you. I should never have let you go. I loved you then and I love you now.” He opened the box. Instead of the ring he had given her before, this one had a diamond twice the size. “Give me another chance. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving my love.” His voice held less passion than before. It was almost as though he had rehearsed this moment and was simply going through the motions.
She looked down at her hands, wringing them in her lap. “Blake, it’s no use. I don’t love you anymore. I’m sorry.”
He grabbed the box and put it in his pocket. Without saying a word, he signed the credit card receipt and stood up. Estelle followed him outside to the car, searching to find the right words.
“Blake, I just—”
He held up his hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”
She looked at his face. She wasn’t sure if she saw sorrow or anger.
He didn’t bother to walk around to open her door, so she got in and waited. Standing next to the car, she saw him typing a message into his cell phone. He got in and returned the phone to his jacket pocket. As he did, she caught a quick glimpse of the screen. All it said was, “Plan B.”
Chapter 22
The more Russell thought about Estelle’s being out with another guy, the more antsy he became. He finally decided to drive into town and wait at her house. He grabbed Maggie’s leash. “Let’s go for a ride, girl.”
The dog danced around like she’d just won a trip to the all-you-can-eat steak shack.
Unfortunately, someone wasn’t as excited to see them when they arrived at Estelle’s house. The reception they received at the back door was even chillier than the wind blowing through town that Friday afternoon.
“Mr. Sinclair. What are you doing here?” Irene stood in the doorway blocking the entrance. She turned a sour expression to Maggie.
“Hello to you, too, Irene. Aren’t you going to invite us in?”
“Miss Fitzhugh is not here. I will tell her that you stopped by.” She started to close the door.
“If it’s okay, I’ll just wait here.” He stepped around her into the kitchen. “I want to be here when Estelle gets back.”
“Oh, I see. So you must know that she is out with Mr. Whitman.”
“Yes, for the last time.” He rubbed his hands together to shake off the cold.
Standing like a sentinel next to the door, she held up her chin and asked, “What do you mean?”
“She
’s breaking up with him. Didn’t she tell you? She’s with me now.” He caught himself strutting a bit as he climbed the back stairs. Snickering at the muddy paw prints on the kitchen floor, he led Maggie up the stairs. “I’ll be waiting in the sitting room if you need me.”
“Mr. Sinclair—”
He stopped about halfway up and looked back. “Please, call me Russell.”
“That is somewhat presumptuous of you. Miss Fitzhugh always has her guests wait in the parlor.”
“I’d rather wait up here where there’s a television.” He was anxious to return the letters to their former hiding spot. “Oh, and would you mind bringing me some coffee? It’s mighty cold out today. And a bowl of water for Maggie. I’d really appreciate it.”
“Certainly.” Her forced smile told him she was not happy with how pushy he was being.
Maggie turned bloodhound and busied herself sniffing every nook and cranny of the room.
He went straight to Carolyn’s sitting room and found the fake book on the shelf. He took it to the desk and pulled the envelopes out of his jacket pocket. Sitting at Carolyn’s desk, he couldn’t help but wonder what she had found out that caused her to force Blake Whitman out of Estelle’s life. Staring at the envelopes, his curiosity got the better of him. Just a quick peek, he thought.
Just as he pulled the papers out of the envelope, Irene came in with the coffee and bowl of water. Maggie sloshed it up, half spilling out on the floor.
“This should make you feel better,” Irene said. “Drink up.”
“Thanks. Would you mind closing the door behind you? It’s a little drafty in here.” He took several big gulps and then turned his attention to the investigator’s report. He couldn’t believe what he was reading.
It outlined years’ worth of cons, mostly against unsuspecting wealthy women. Only one had ever pressed charges, but he had managed to beat the rap in the end. Probably those other women were too embarrassed to admit he had taken advantage of them, Russell thought.
What really disturbed him was a hand-written notation at the end of the report. Someone—most likely Carolyn—had written ‘$100,000.’ She must have paid him off to disappear. So that’s how he could afford a brand new Porsche.
By the time he finished reading, Russell was fuming. How could Estelle have fallen for such a blood-sucking leech? Whatever Carolyn did to run him off was a good thing. He had to tell someone. Maggie seemed uninterested. He called Deena.
She answered on the first ring. “Hey, what’s up?”
“So I read the report on Blake Whitman.”
“You what? Where are you?”
“I’m at Estelle’s waiting for her to get back from dumping that creep. You’re not going to believe what a scumbag he is. Apparently, he makes a living conning rich women out of their money. He must have seen Estelle as a colossal payday.” Hearing a shuffling noise in the hallway, he turned his head toward the door.
“That explains why Carolyn ran him off.”
“She didn’t run him off, she paid him off—$100,000, to be exact.”
“That’s incredible! Good for her.”
Russell stared at the open door. “I really wish she would hurry up and get back. I don’t trust that guy.”
“You don’t actually think he’s dangerous, do you?”
“I don’t know what to think. But if he had been at the party, I’d be pretty suspicious of him right about now.” He folded up the report and stuffed it back in the envelope. Thinking he heard the creaking noise again, he put his finger in his good ear and gave it a shake.
“Hey, do you mind if I call you later?” Deena asked. “I’m trying to get to the antique mall before the weather gets worse.”
“No problem. I’ll talk to you later.”
Just as he ended the call, Irene appeared in the doorway.
“I thought you might need a refill.” She smiled and walked over to pour more coffee. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”
Maggie sniffed at her feet and growled.
“She’s probably smelling the cat. Don’t take it personally.” He patted the dog’s head.
When she left, Russell got up. He put the envelopes in the hollow book and placed it on the shelf. As he turned back to the desk, his head began to spin and his stomach felt queasy. He sat down and took several more swigs of coffee. Was he getting another migraine? What was happening? His head felt like a bowling ball, his neck like rubber. The last thing he saw before his head hit the desk was Irene walking into the room wearing a bright red wig.
Chapter 23
Deena was ready for a day of normal. No funerals or knives or lies. Just normal. She wanted to work on her booth and to find some vintage decorations to go with her display in the den. She would be going back at work on Monday and wanted to make the most of the day. It was just two weeks before the big family get-together, and she was starting to get nervous.
The temperature had dropped overnight. She dug through the back of her closet to find the scarf and glove set she had bought on sale at the end of the season last year. These will be perfect she thought as she looked in the mirror. The bruise on her forehead had finally faded and her mood was lighter. She opened the patio door to let Hurley inside. He looked festive in his red and green snowflake sweater. “Good boy,” she said and tossed him a treat.
Janet had the front window of the antique mall filled with a kitschy holiday display. A silver aluminum tree with a rotating light was the centerpiece. She put it out every year but never sold it, despite the numerous offers she had received.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Janet said when Deena walked through the door. “Did your ears itch? I was just talking about you.”
“Nothing bad, I hope.”
“No. A woman named Marie James called me earlier today about renting a booth space. Said she knew you.”
“The beauty of living in a small town,” Deena said, unwrapping the scarf from her neck.
“What do you think of her? You know I’m picky about who I let sell here.”
Deena hesitated. Everyone deserves a second chance, she thought. If I don’t stick up for her, then I’m a hypocrite. “I think she’ll be fine. Is her sister going to be on the contract, too?”
“I’m not sure. She’s coming up here in a few minutes to talk about the details.”
Great. Just the person I didn’t need to see today. “I’m going to check on my booth. I’ll talk to you later.” She strolled back to her booth, browsing other vendors’ spaces along the way. She stopped to look at a pair of angel figurines. Too pricey, she thought, and set them back down.
Her shelves had several empty spots where items had been purchased. Thank goodness, she thought. Someone finally had bought her carnival glass punch bowl set. She heard the bell on the front door and peeked down the aisle. Sure enough, there was Marie. Deena ducked back into her booth, wishing she could disappear.
After several minutes, Deena heard someone walking down the aisle toward her booth.
“Mrs. Sharpe. Janet just told me you were here.” Marie dropped her gaze to the floor. “Thank you for vouching for me.”
“You’re welcome. I hope this will be a new start for you.” Deena moved about picking up items to dust, trying to look busy.
“Did Miss Estelle tell you about the deal we made?” Her mood brightened. “I am going to sell some of her things in my new booth.”
“Really?” Deena was surprised.
“Yes. She is going to let me keep half the money for each item and the other half is going to the animal shelter. I can’t wait to get set up. I won’t have to sell at the flea market anymore.”
“That’s great. I’m glad the money will be going for a good cause.” Deena smiled at the thought of Estelle’s generosity and capacity for forgiveness. Then she thought about Russell. "I thought you were working at the Fitzhugh house today.”
“I was, but when I got there, Miss Irene told me to take the day off. She said not to come back until Monday.
You don’t think she wants Miss Estelle to fire me, do you?” Her voice began to quiver.
Deena motioned for her to move further into the booth. “I doubt it,” she said in a low voice. “Besides, it’s not really her decision.”
Marie nodded and blinked back the tears that had threatened to appear.
Deena glanced down the aisle to make sure there was no one around. “There’s one last question that has been bothering me.”
“Is it that knife? I swear I didn’t take it.”
“No. I believe you. But there was another time you didn’t tell the truth.”
Marie stared wide eyed. “What do you mean?”
“You made a list of people you saw milling around the kitchen the night of the Christmas party. Remember?” Marie nodded. “You wrote that you saw Estelle’s boyfriend in the kitchen that night. But Russell was never in the kitchen. Why did you make that up?”
“No, no! I didn’t lie! It was not that boyfriend—it was her other boyfriend. The tall one.”
Deena cocked her head in surprise. “You mean, Blake Whitman?”
“Whitman. That’s it. I couldn’t remember his name.” She clasped her hands and shook them in earnest.
“Marie, are you sure? Mr. Whitman wasn’t at the party. Not invited, anyway.”
“Yes. I’m positive. I remember wondering why he was so late. I’m telling you the truth!”
Deena took a step back. “What was he doing when you saw him?”
“I was getting a tray to carry into the dining room. We were hurrying to serve the dinner plates. He came in through the back door and was talking to Miss Irene.”
“Did you see him in the dining room?”
“No, but I was not paying much attention to the people inside. Miss Wendy was yelling at us to hurry, hurry.”
Deena stared at the girl. A knot gripped her stomach and her pulse raced as she took in this new information. Blake Whitman was only interested in Estelle’s money. He was at the house the night of Carolyn’s death. He came in through the kitchen where the chef’s knife was. He did it. He killed Carolyn Fitzhugh!
Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set Page 31
