I peeked around the porch to see if Curtis was still outside. I didn’t want to have to make more small talk. The coast was clear, so I trekked over to Beverly’s. A path ran between our two houses, leading from the street to the golf course behind our properties. However, our backyards did not back up to beautiful, manicured greens. Behind us was what golfers referred to as OB—out of bounds. The area was wooded and overgrown. A ball hit that far out of the fairway would be nearly impossible to find. However, locals who owned their own golf carts would make their way down the path between our houses to the street as a shortcut home.
One such cart rambled my direction as I crossed the yard. The whining of the engine and clanging of the clubs brought back memories of good times with my grandfather. When I was big enough to reach the pedals, he would let me drive him around the course while he played a round.
The driver was wearing a hooded parka, not your typical golf attire. Golfers were as bad as hunters. As long as they could find their ball, even in the snow, they would head to the course and shoot a round. The man’s cheeks were red and his breath came out of his mouth in small clouds. He nodded and smiled as he stopped for me to cross in front.
“Did you have a good round?” I asked. I had heard my grandfather ask the same thing many times before.
“Just fair. This cold air ain’t good for my joints, but I managed.” Luckily, he drove on before giving me a full medical report about his prostate and spleen.
The cart must have scared Cricket because she had disappeared by the time I got to Beverly’s.
I rang the doorbell and waited, anxious to get a better look inside the house. Yesterday, it was hard to see due to the mass of people sitting and standing in every nook and cranny.
“Hello again,” Beverly said. She looked more relaxed than she had earlier in the day.
“I just wanted to return the plate you brought over and to see how you were doing.”
“Come on in. Excuse the mess.”
I followed her through the front room to the den. Although the outside of the house was traditional Pueblo style with a stucco façade and curved tile roof, the inside screamed for help. The furniture looked like it had been brought back from the Old World by someone’s Scottish ancestors. A large Oriental rug, a velvet brocade sofa, plaid Queen Anne chairs, and dark mahogany tables filled the space. The window was flanked by heavy drapes in another plaid pattern. A large marble statue of a greyhound stood next to the fireplace. The sofa pillows and lampshades depicted vintage golfers swinging clubs. To make matters worse, a big screen TV filled one entire wall.
“Oh my,” slipped from my lips as I tried to uncross my eyes from all the competing patterns.
Beverly sighed. “It’s horrible, I know. Harold wanted his den to look like the clubhouses at the British Open golf courses in Scotland.”
I met her eyes with an unspoken question.
“I know what you’re thinking. Why did I let him have his way? As he always reminded me, he made the money, so this was his palace. Plus, he said I owed him.”
Owed him for what? Not killing him for making you live in this Willy Wonka funhouse? Not only was Harold without even a thimbleful of taste, he was apparently a chauvinist. No wonder he and Beverly hadn’t gotten along. I dug deep, trying to find something nice to say. “That’s a lovely picture of the two of you,” I said, motioning to a photograph on the mantel.
Beverly picked up the portrait and slammed it face down. “I hated that picture. Harold made me dress like an old schoolmarm. I only kept it in here because it’s one of the few decent pictures I have of Harold. Can you believe I had to use that mug shot from the church directory for his obituary picture? Disgraceful.”
“Those tend to be pretty lifeless,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m a photographer, I should know.”
I studied the picture of Harold. It was obvious that Penelope got her good looks from her mother. He had a thin, Salvador Dali mustache that turned up at the corners like something you’d see on a circus ringmaster. I set the picture down and noticed his beady eyes seemed to follow me.
Beverly reached into the pocket of her floral muumuu and pulled out a slender black cigarette holder. She stuck it in her mouth and fiddled with the crumpled cigarette. Then she whipped it from her mouth, holding it between her fingers. “What do you think?” she asked, staring into the distance and striking a pose. “Do I look like one of those movie stars from the forties?”
“Do you want to look like a movie star from the forties?”
“Oh yes! It’s always been my dream.” She reached under her dress and began wrestling with her undergarments. “This darn girdle!” It was bad enough to see her paper-white legs, but she also wasn’t wearing a bra.
I looked down at my own chest, wondering if I’d just glimpsed my own future. I gave my chest a silent pep talk. Stay up there, girls. You can do it.
Beverly smoothed out her dress and returned the cigarette to her pocket. Her eyes suddenly brightened. “Did you say you were a photographer? I thought you were a party planner. That’s what everyone has been saying anyway.”
“I was, but not by choice. I had planned to open my own photo studio when my fiancé and I moved to Maycroft after college. My first fiancé, that is.” Yep, two-time loser. I’m sure that’s what she was thinking. “After he...died, I couldn’t afford it. Our wedding planner gave me a job as her assistant, and I eventually bought the business from her. I’ve decided to go back to what I’m really passionate about—photography.”
“Oh, I think that’s wonderful, Wendy dear! Your grandmother would be so pleased. Say, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you take some pictures of me? If something ever happens, I want to have a stunning picture to go in the newspaper. No frumpy church picture for me.”
“I’d be happy to.”
“I’ll have it enlarged and hang it right over the mantel. In fact, you’ve inspired me to get rid of every bit of furniture in this room and start from scratch. I want everything out of here, starting with that.” She spun around and pointed to two brackets above the fireplace. She gasped. “It’s gone!” She staggered as though she might faint.
“What’s gone?”
“The golf club! Harold’s lucky hole-in-one golf club!”
I stepped forward to read an engraved gold plaque on the wall above the mantel. It read: Harold Attwood. Hole-in-one. April 29, 2013. Cascada Falls Golf Club.
Beverly slumped down onto the sofa. “What on earth could have happened to it? I swear it was here.”
“Are you sure? Could you have given it to someone? Dale, maybe?”
“No. It was here. If I had given it to someone, I would have remembered, right?”
Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door. It opened and someone called out, “Mother, are you home?” The woman I’d seen the day before came into the den trailed by her husband.
Beverly gave her daughter a warm hug. “Come on in, sweetheart.” She barely acknowledged Dale. “I want you to meet my neighbor, Wendy Fairmont. She’s Dorothy’s granddaughter. Her boyfriend jilted her, so now she’s moving in next door.”
I let the jilting comment go. No use kicking an old lady while she’s down.
“Hi, I’m Penelope Pratt and this is my husband, Dale.”
I nodded to Dale. “We met yesterday.”
Beverly continued to hold on to her daughter’s arm. “Have either of you seen your father’s golf club?” She pointed to the empty brackets above the fireplace.
“Oh no. Where is it?” Penelope asked.
“I don’t know. I just noticed that it was gone.”
Penelope tilted her head the way I had seen Beverly do earlier. “Maybe the cleaning service moved it. I’m sure it will turn up.” She pulled off her coat and scarf. “So what are you two up to?”
“I have the best news,” Beverly said and her face lit up. “Wendy is going to help me redecorate my house.”
“What? No, I’m not a decorator.” I took
a step back.
“Oh, but you have a really good eye for design,” she said and pinched my cheek as though I were five.
Penelope tilted her head. “Redecorate? But I thought—”
“Now, Beverly,” Dale said, easing up next to his mother-in-law, “we talked about this, remember? I know it’s been a stressful week, but surely you remember the decision you made.”
Beverly threw back her shoulders. “I didn’t make that decision, you did. You two are trying to railroad me into selling this house. Well, I’m not going to do it! Not yet anyway. I may be old, but I can make my own decisions.” Her voice rose along with the color in her cheeks. She pulled the cigarette out and stuck it in her mouth.
Penelope’s eyes popped. “Mother! What are you doing? You don’t smoke.”
“Maybe I want to start,” Beverly said. “You can’t stop me. Where’s a match?”
“Now, Beverly,” Dale said, “perhaps you should lie down.”
“Lie down? Do you think I’m a child who needs a nap? The only lying going on around here is you two trying to tell me I’m crazy!” She took the unlit cigarette out of the holder and ground it into a small potted plant sitting on the coffee table.
“Maybe we should talk about this in private,” Penelope said, darting her eyes between Beverly and me.
The polite thing to do would have been to excuse myself and leave. But how often do you get a front row seat to Days of Our Lives?
Dale and Penelope stared at me. Dale’s nostrils flared and his mustache twitched.
The freak show was apparently over. “I guess I should be going,” I said and started toward the door.
Beverly grabbed my arm with more strength than I had imagined she could muster. “You’ll stay right here!” She turned to Penelope and Dale, throwing her head back and sticking out her chin. “It’s bad enough you’re trying to kick me out of my own home, but you’ll not be kicking out my guests as well.” She pulled me down onto the sofa next to her.
My mouth gaped. This was the second time in one day I’d been caught in the middle of one of Beverly’s feuds. Maybe Curtis was right. Perhaps this woman was trouble.
At last, Dale spoke. “Penelope, can I see you in the other room?” They headed toward the kitchen.
Beverly patted my arm the way Gran used to do. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, dear. I guess when you lose your husband, people think they know what’s best for you.”
I knew I should leave before Penelope and Dale returned. I mean, if tension could fly, this place would be an airport. “Look,” I said, putting my hand on Beverly’s. “Family stuff can be hard, believe me. You just need to talk to them and make sure they know how you feel. Remember, I’m right next door if you need anything.”
Beverly stroked my cheek with the back of her fingers. “Your grandmother was so proud of you. I know she loved your brother, too, but you were her shining light.”
Smiling, I stood up to leave just as Dale walked back into the room.
“I see you’re leaving,” he said with a bit of hope in his voice. “Let me walk you out.”
I followed him to the door. As I stepped onto the porch, he leaned over and whispered, “You may not realize this, but Mother has dementia. She can’t make any important decisions. She hasn’t accepted it yet, but we are selling the house and she’s coming to live with us. I hope you understand.”
I nodded and walked quickly across the yard toward my house. Dementia? She seemed perfectly sane to me. Okay, maybe not perfectly. Sure, she was a little eccentric and emotional, but who wouldn’t be at a time like this? Still, I had no desire to get caught up in their family drama. It’s not like I didn’t have enough of my own.
Served me right for being nosy. This was one of those days where I should have just stayed inside. Sometimes the world was just too peopley.
Cricket was waiting for me on the porch. I needed to pick up some cat food while I was at the supermarket. “What do you think, Cricket? Is Beverly losing it, or is her family overreacting?” And just like that, Cricket jumped off the porch and stood facing Beverly’s house. She hissed as though ready to attack.
I wasn’t sure if I should be amused or freaked out by the cat’s reaction. Had she heard something I didn’t? Did she know something I didn’t?
That’s ridiculous. After all, she was just a cat and had no idea what was going on next door. One thing I knew for sure, though. Sesame Street hadn’t adequately prepared me for the people in my neighborhood.
Chapter 4
It seemed the Welcome Wagon was determined to drive straight through the middle of my house. It’s not that I was ungrateful, but I wasn’t ready to flip on the personality switch and shoot out rays of sunshine just yet. I needed some time to settle in without worrying about learning the names of new people or hearing about how I should avoid the guy down the road who rarely wore pants. It’s times like these I was glad my thoughts didn’t appear in little bubbles above my head.
So far, I had gotten visits from three neighbors armed with casseroles, two with desserts, and one with a copy of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead. When I got back from the supermarket, I found a potted plant with a note on my doorstep. Friendly neighbors were one thing, but c’mon, people. I suspected they were just being nosy, like me. They probably wanted to get a look at the new loser on the block.
As I puttered around, my mind kept turning to Beverly. How was I going to get out of helping with her house without hurting her feelings? It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help, but Dale seemed pretty sure she wouldn’t be living there much longer. Perhaps if she actually was senile, she would forget the conversation altogether and I’d be off the hook. I would lay low and see if anything happened. It wasn’t like I didn’t have plenty to do, like look for an affordable studio space. I needed to work on advertising and make contact with local businesses and schools. I needed to get the word out that there was a new photographer in town and she meant business. And needed business.
My stomach churned at the thought of all the work that lay ahead. For now, I just wanted to relax in my new house and forget about everything else. Unlike Beverly’s Spanish-style stucco, Gran’s house—now my house—was more like a cabin in the woods surrounded by tall pines. It was dark and dated. I wanted to lighten everything up, starting with the knotty pine paneling. Re-painting was cheap; the other fixes would be more pricey. I had pinned lots of ideas online already but knew the house renovation would have to take a back seat to setting up my studio. That was fine. I wasn’t in a hurry. I had the rest of my life, right?
It had been quite a day. The cable company wouldn’t be out until the morning, so I decided to curl up with a new book. I had just finished the prologue when the doorbell rang. Seriously, what’s with these people?
To my surprise, it was a friendly face. “Jake.”
He smiled. Those dimples again. “I thought I’d stop by to see if you needed anything.”
My stomach fluttered at the sight of his muscles bulging beneath his thermal shirt. “As a matter of fact, I do.” I stepped aside as he walked in, followed by a gray furball. “Cricket!”
I was too late. She raced into the den.
“Looks like she’s found new lodging for the night,” Jake said. “That’s what happens when you leave food on the porch.” He walked into the den where the cat was curled up comfortably on the back of the sofa. “Wow, I love your stuff. The place has a cooler vibe already.” He walked over to get a closer look at the photograph hanging over the sofa. “Did you take this? It’s great.”
“I took that picture of the falls when I was in high school. It’s traveled with me ever since.”
We shared an awkward moment standing shoulder to shoulder, staring at the photograph.
Jake broke the silence. “What do you need my help with?”
“Oh. It’s the buffet in the dining room. I want to move it to the guest room to use as a credenza. It was Gran’s. I should have asked the movers for their help.”
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“No problem.” He walked into the dining room and ran his hand across the heavy oak surface. “You know, I got to know your grandmother pretty well over the last few years, especially since your grandfather died. I’m not surprised she passed so soon after he did. She was really devoted to him.”
A knot gripped my throat. “Did you come over to the house much?”
“Yeah, we all did after he died. The other neighbors and I. We helped with little tasks and errands. Mowed the grass in summer. Brought firewood. Things like that.”
Suddenly I felt guilty for my annoyance at my “nosy” neighbors. “That’s really nice of you...and everyone.”
“This is a great town, but you know that.”
“I’ve been gone more than fifteen years. Things may have changed. I didn’t keep in touch with any of my old friends.”
“Really? Why not?”
This was territory I wasn’t ready to cover. I shrugged my shoulders.
“I see. You don’t want to talk about it.”
I smiled. “Were you this smart in high school?”
Jake laughed and grabbed the dolly standing in the corner of the room. “Let’s get this sucker moved.”
We had to take out all the drawers, and then we still had trouble getting the piece down the narrow hallway. Luckily, we finally moved it into place.
“It’s Miller Time,” I said. “Want a beer? I went to the store earlier. They should be cold enough by now.”
“Sure.”
We sat in the den. Cricket sat on the back of my chair. “Even your neighborhood cats are friendly.”
“I don’t know what it is about that cat. She’s special. Doesn’t seem afraid of anyone or anything.”
I thought about her earlier behavior when she hissed at Beverly’s house but decided not to say anything. I was comfortable and surprisingly happy.
Jake settled back on the sofa and stretched out his legs. He looked like he belonged there. He swirled the beer around in the bottle. “So, tell me about your plans. Do you have a job yet?”
Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3 Page 3
