The Novel Art of Murder

by V. M. Burns

  Market Street Mysteries wasn’t on the same level as big-box stores, but business was steady and that was enough to keep the lights on. My staff consisted of my grandmother, Nana Jo, who refused to accept a salary; Dawson, who rented the studio apartment above my garage and received a small salary, which he more than earned by providing baked goods; and my twin nephews, Christopher and Zaq, when they were on break from college, which thankfully, would be in a few days.

  Dawson, Nana Jo, and I worked steadily for the remainder of the afternoon. When my older sister, Jenna, walked in, I looked at the time and realized we’d been working nonstop for four hours. It was time to close shop and it wasn’t until I sat down that I realized how tired I was.

  “You owe me big-time.” I glared at my sister, who stared innocently and fluttered her eyelashes.

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and swiped until I came to the selfies I’d snapped before I gave up and delegated the task to my sales consultant.

  Jenna looked at the pictures and tried to keep from laughing but failed and eventually gave up and laughed long and hard.

  Nana Jo and Dawson looked over her shoulder. Nana Jo had seen the originals but still laughed at the shots as much as Dawson and Jenna.

  “Great. Laugh, but I won’t be alone in those pink concoctions. Just remember that.” I pointed at my sister.

  “Your mother is crazy if she thinks I’m wearing any of these clown dresses.” Jenna handed back my cell phone. It was always your mother when Mom was being demanding or irritating.

  “I don’t understand how she thinks she’s going to plan a wedding in three weeks.” I hoisted myself out of the chair and went to the back and got the broom. After sitting for just a few minutes, my joints felt tired. I knew if I continued sitting, I’d never get the store cleaned and ready for tomorrow.

  Christmas was just three weeks away, and my mother was getting married on Christmas Eve. I tried not to stress out about all of the things that needed to happen in the next three weeks. Bubble-gum-pink-piñata-gone-with-the-wind-mermaid dresses were just the tip of the iceberg. Unlike most brides, who spent over a year planning the perfect wedding, my mother told us just two weeks ago she was getting married on Christmas Eve. Thinking about everything that needed to happen made me want to scream. I must have looked like a crazy woman.

  “Don’t worry about cleaning, Mrs. W. We’ll take care of that.” Dawson took the broom from my hands and held out a chair.

  I stared. “Who’s we?”

  The bell that chimed whenever someone entered the store jingled and Jillian Clark and Emma Lee entered the store.

  “Hello, Mrs. Washington,” both girls said.

  Emma Lee gave Jenna a hug. “We knew you’d be tired after wedding shopping.” She took off her coat and placed it over the bar at the back of the store.

  Emma was a petite southern belle with long, dark hair and almond-shaped eyes that showcased her Asian heritage. Emma was a student at MISU and was dating my nephew Zaq. At about five feet and one hundred pounds, Emma was often dwarfed by my nephew’s six-feet frame. When the two were together, he towered over her, but the two didn’t seem to notice or care.

  “We would have been here earlier, but I had a rehearsal.” Jillian placed her coat on the bar next to Emma’s and went to the back to get a duster.

  Dawson followed her and I couldn’t help but smile. He and Jillian were a couple, and he followed her so they could have a few moments alone.

  Jillian was the granddaughter of one of Nana Jo’s friends, Dorothy Clark. She had a tall, slender body and walked with the grace that only a ballerina possessed. She had dark eyes and dark, frizzy hair, which she’d tried to tame by braiding and pinning to her head tonight. However, several curly tendrils refused to be contained and created lovely curls on the sides of her head.

  When Jillian and Dawson returned, she was wearing an apron and proceeded to dust. “Now, you better go upstairs and get dressed or you’ll be late for the party.”

  I looked at my watch. “You’re right.”

  “Shake a leg.” Nana Jo hurried to the steps. For a woman in her seventies, who was a couple inches under six feet and well over two hundred fifty pounds, my grandmother was still pretty spry. It probably had something to do with her yoga and aikido classes. She was a brown belt.

  I followed at a slower pace. This was the first opportunity any of us, my mother included, had had to meet Harold’s family. I knew she was nervous and, despite the humiliation she planned for me in a pink bridesmaid gown, I wanted to make a good impression.

  I showered and dressed in a vintage print A-line-high-waist dress. The top was navy with three-quarter-length sleeves and a scoop neck, while the skirt had a bold navy and white floral imprint. Since I’d started writing historic British cozy mysteries, I’d found myself drawn to clothes from the late 1930s and early 1940s, the period I wrote about. The dress had a vintage feel, without being too kitschy. I had a pair of navy heels that matched the outfit perfectly. The dinner was only a few blocks away, which was the only reason I dared wear the shoes in the middle of winter in Michigan. Plus, Frank promised to make sure the sidewalk from my store to his restaurant was not only free of ice and snow but was well salted.

  When I came out to the main living space, Jenna and her husband, Tony, were sitting at the large dining room table with their sons, Christopher and Zaq. The twins were dressed in dark jeans with white shirts and jackets. Despite the fact that the twins were dressed in similar items of clothing, their personal style showed through, distinguishing each boy. Christopher was serious with a preppy style, while Zaq was the techie and tended to be nerdier in the way he dressed. Tonight, that was obvious from the tweed jacket and bow tie Zaq wore. Christopher looked dapper with a solid-color suit jacket and tie. Only when I got close enough to hug him and took a good look at the tie, did I realize what I had initially mistaken for a paisley print was actually a skull and crossbones.

  I hugged my nephew. “Nice tie.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Sammy.” Christopher bent down to hug me.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Jenna said.

  Tony shook his head. He was a man of few words.

  I looked around. “Where’s Dawson?”

  Jenna tore a page from a catalog.

  “What are you doing?” I walked over and picked up the page.

  “You’ll thank me.” She smiled and ripped another page from the catalog I’d just recognized was one of my favorite stores.

  “Not likely. I just got that catalog today and I haven’t even had a chance to look at it.” I picked up the other pages she’d ripped out and scattered across the table. “What are these?”

  “Potential bridesmaid dresses.” She smiled. “I’m not wearing that pink crap you tried on today.” She cocked her head to the side and looked at another picture but must have decided against it and flipped to the next page. “Besides, we don’t have time to get any of those dresses altered and delivered in three weeks. We’re going to order nice dresses or suits that we won’t be ashamed to be seen in public with and can wear for more than a few hours.”

  I picked up the pages again. “I’m sold, but how are you going to convince your mother?”

  “Simple. I’ll just tell her I saw it in a fancy magazine and it’s the latest thing for the twenty-first century.” She folded the pulled pages and put them in her purse. “The boys will need interview suits, so they’ll be fine.” She looked at her sons.

  Nana Jo came out of her bedroom dressed in a royal-blue pantsuit with rhinestones around the neck and cuffs. Her statuesque build and auburn hair looked stunning.

  The boys whistled. “Looking good, Nana Jo.”

  “Thank you. Thank you.” She twirled. “Now, let’s go so we can get this party started before your mother has a cow. She’s texted me at least four times, reminding me not to be late.”

  I realized I’d left my cell phone in the bedroom and hurried to get i
t. Sure enough, I had several messages from Mom too.

  We bundled up for the short walk down the street. Dawson looked as though he’d rather have a root canal but helped Jillian with her coat.

  “Dawson, can I talk to you for a minute?” I stood back to allow the others to pass. “You all go on ahead. We’ll catch up.”

  Jillian smiled and hurried downstairs with the others. Dawson lingered back, head down.

  “Is anything bothering you?” I asked.

  He shook his head but avoided looking at me.

  I waited. Years as an English teacher in public schools taught me the power of silence and it didn’t fail me this time either.

  “I just feel awkward. I mean, this is a family dinner and I’m not family. You’ve all been really kind to me, but I was thinking your mom might not want me there.”

  I suspected this was the problem. Leon and I had never been blessed with children, but, in the months since Dawson moved into the garage loft, I’d come to view him as the son I’d never had. He’d never known his mother and his father was, last I heard, in prison. When Alex Alexander wasn’t in jail, he was an abusive alcoholic. I prayed for the right words to say. I looked at Snickers and Oreo, who’d been fed, let out to take care of business, and were waiting for me to leave and drop their dog treats on the floor, a ritual whenever I left. “Family is about more than blood and shared DNA.” I picked up Snickers. “I’ve had this dog since she was six weeks old. She’s fourteen and has a bad heart, but she’s still my baby. If anyone tried to hurt her, I’d . . .” I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat. “I don’t know what I’d do, but she’s my baby.” I looked up. “I may not have given birth to you, but I’ve come to look at you like a son. I care about you just as much as I care about Christopher and Zaq.” I looked at Dawson and saw his eyes fill with tears. “We consider you a part of our family. Families aren’t finite. When Jenna married Tony, he became a part of our family. When my mother marries Harold, our family will expand again, and each time someone special enters one of our lives, we expand and make room in our hearts. My mom invited you because she looks upon you as family. I can’t force you to come, but you are welcome.”

  Tears streamed down his face, and I reached up and hugged him. We stood that way for several minutes until Snickers squirmed her way up and started to lick away Dawson’s tears. He made the mistake of laughing. When he opened his mouth, she stuck her tongue in.

  “Eww, plagh, ick. She got me.” He tried to wipe the dog kiss out of his mouth.

  I put Snickers down and reached in my purse for the bottle of Listerine spray I kept for just such situations as this.

  He sprayed his tongue and Snickers made a deliberate maneuver to sit with her back to Dawson. He laughed. “I think I hurt her feelings.” He picked her up and gave her a hug, careful to keep his mouth well out of reach of her tongue.

  For several seconds, she turned her head and refused his friendly overtures. Eventually, he found the right spot on her stomach and scratched while she closed her eyes and leaned back against his chest.

  “Do you two need a moment alone?” Jillian joked from the top of the stairs.

  Dawson put Snickers down and gave Oreo, who had been waiting patiently by the biscuit jar, a pat. He then reached into the jar and pulled out a couple of dog biscuits and tossed them down for the poodles. I picked up the remote and turned on the jazz station so they would have something to listen to while we were out, and we all made our exits while they were distracted with treats.

  North Harbor Café was just down the street from my bookstore and the cold December night meant we wouldn’t linger to look in store windows along the way. Frank’s restaurant had a reputation for good food and drinks and business had been doing very well since he’d opened. The crowds standing and waiting for seats was a testament to its popularity with the locals.

  We waved at the hostess as we passed on our way to the back of the restaurant and walked up the stairs. I glanced back at the looks we received from some of those waiting. While the upstairs of my building had long ago been converted into a loft apartment, Frank’s restaurant was not. One day, he planned to open the upstairs up for dining, but for now, it was closed off and only opened for private parties.

  The rumble from a multitude of conversations and televisions mingled with laughter and the clang of plates and glasses followed us through the restaurant and wafted up the stairs. As we climbed, the noise from below grew fainter. The first-floor ceiling was high, so we had to climb quite a few steps to make it to the second floor. I’d accounted for the walk in heels from my store but had neglected to account for the trek up Mount Everest. In tennis shoes or flats, I could have made the climb like a pro. In three-inch heels it was an adventure. At the top of the stairs, I stopped to get my breath. I expected to be assaulted by the same noise level I’d encountered on the first floor. However, the silence hit me like a ton of bricks. The contrast between the noisy lower level and the funerary silence upstairs was jarring, and I felt disoriented. I looked around to get my bearings and reorient myself.

  There were less than twenty people milling around. After less than a minute, it was clear there were two distinct camps. The Robertsons huddled on one side of the room. The Hamilton clan was on the other.

  Dawson leaned close and whispered a quote from The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, one of my favorite movies, in my ear, “You’ll find more cheer in a graveyard.”

  Frank Patterson walked up to me and handed me a glass of champagne and kissed me on the cheek. “I think you’re going to need this.”

  I made eye contact with Jenna and looked the question, What’s going on? She shrugged and inclined her head toward Nana Jo.

  I walked over to my grandmother. Nana Jo was certainly no wallflower and could talk to anyone about anything. I was shocked she hadn’t extended an olive branch and crossed the chasm that separated the two families. “What’s going on?”

  She sipped her champagne. “I used to believe I could talk to anyone, but those tight-lipped, hoity-toity aristocratic wannabes can kiss my grits.” She tossed back the champagne and sauntered over to the drink table and picked up another glass.

  I was so shocked I didn’t hear Emma’s approach until she spoke. “Boy, you guys missed the sparks. I thought Nana Jo was going to drop-kick Harold’s sister in-law.” She inclined her head slightly, and we glanced in that direction.

  A middle-aged woman with dark eyes and dark hair in a black suit, with a matching fur coat and more jewelry than I’d seen on one person, stood near the window. She looked as though she was afraid to touch anything. Next to her stood a short, bald man with glasses. He was one of those nondescript men who blended in with their environment so well people never noticed them.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much jewelry before,” Dawson said.

  “Check out the fur coat,” Jillian whispered.

  “Full-length sable.” Emma nodded knowingly. “My great-aunt Vivian Anne has one. Although if I didn’t know better, I’d say this one is fake.”

  “She probably needs it to cover up that stick up her—”

  “Nana Jo!” I turned and stared at my grandmother, who merely shrugged. “What on earth happened?”

  There was silence for several minutes and then Nana Jo reluctantly explained. “I waltzed over to the Ice-Princess over there and held out my hand and introduced myself.” She took a sip of her champagne.

  I waited for the rest.

  “Frosty looks down her nose, sniffs, and refuses to shake my hand.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  Emma and Nana Jo both nodded.

  I stared openmouthed. “Maybe she . . .”

  “Maybe she’s deaf, dumb, blind and was raised in a barn?” Nana Jo added.

  I shook my head. “I can’t think of any good reason for bad manners.”

  “There are no excuses for bad manners.” Nana Jo finished her champagne and exchanged her empty glass for mine and took a s
ip. “She looked down at me like Mr. Darcy looked at Mr. Collins in that movie you like to watch.”

  “Pride and Prejudice,” Emma, Jillian, and I all said together.

  “Whatever.” Nana Jo sipped my champagne. “I was madder than a wet hen and about to give that stuck-up ninny a piece of my mind when Harold and Grace strolled over. Harold was so excited and wanted to introduce Grace to his sister-in-law, Margaret.” She stared daggers at Margaret across the room. “That uppity witch had the nerve to sneer at Grace as though she’d just pooped on her best shoes.”

  I was shocked by bad manners and poor breeding until I learned she’d snubbed my mom. “Really?” I could feel my eye start to twitch.

  Jenna and the others had joined the group while Nana Jo was talking.

  Jenna nodded. “That’s not all. So, Harold introduces Mom and Margaret stares down and says, ‘I thought you worked here,’ as though Mom was a servant or something.”

  I raised an eyebrow, cocked my head to the side, and stared openly at the enemy. It was one thing for Jenna and me to mock our mother. We were entitled, but how dare this pretentious upstart think she was going to do anything to ruin my mother’s happiness.

  “Who’s the man?” I asked.

  “What man?” Nana Jo didn’t even bother to look. “The marshmallow is Harold’s brother, Oscar.”

  I turned to Frank. “Would you get me another glass of champagne, please.”

  He looked warily at me.

  My brother-in-law, Tony, patted him on the back. “I’ve seen that look before. When a Hamilton woman gives you the look Sam just gave you, it’s best to walk away. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Just walk away.”

  Frank started to speak, but Tony shook his head. “It’s best not to know. Plausible deniability.”

  Frank nodded knowingly. Christopher and Zaq nodded and the four men walked away.

  I glanced at my mom, who was standing near the center of the room. She looked as though she would burst into tears at any moment. Harold too looked as though he would weep. He petted and attended to my mother.