Murder Most Sweet

by Laura Jensen Walker

  Another knock.

  “Aaarrgh!” I hit save, slammed my laptop shut, and stalked to the back door. “What?” I snarled, flinging it open. “Did you not see the sign?”

  Tavish stood there holding a pastry bag. “Sorry,” he said, contrite. “I thought you could use some sustenance before you begin your writing day.”

  “I began an hour ago.”

  “Right. I, ah, didn’t realize you were a morning person.” He sent me a lazy smile. “Particularly after last night.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry.” I sighed and moved toward him. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I thought you were my mom. I was right in the middle of an important scene.”

  “No apologies necessary, except from me. I should know better.” He handed me the bag, planted a quick peck on my forehead, and gently pushed me back inside. “Now get back to work, Theodora St. John. I’ll ring you later.”

  A distinctive sound reached my ears—Mom’s sliding-glass door opening—before I could make a quick getaway. I groaned inwardly.

  “Why good morning, Tavish,” Mom trilled as she approached. “What a lovely surprise to see you still here. I thought you’d be on your way back to New York already.”

  “Not yet.” He turned to face my mother. “Actually, we mustn’t disturb Teddie, as she’s on deadline and writers get quite cranky when they’re in deadline mode, as I can personally attest. Best leave her to it.” Tavish linked his arm with Mom’s and steered her away. “May I take you to breakfast?”

  I’d known there was a reason I liked that man.

  * * *

  Seven hours later I closed my laptop and stretched, satisfied that I had created enough red herrings to throw my readers off the scent of the actual killer. And I’d more than doubled my daily word count. Another few days at this pace and I should be caught up.

  Gracie ran up to me, wagging her tail. Finally, you’re off that stupid ’puter! Can we go play now, Mom, please? My dog angled her creamy head at me and fastened her dark eyes on mine, indicating I could use some fresh air too.

  “All right, Gracie-girl. Give me time to shower and change and then we’ll go.” I headed to the bathroom, where I shucked off my sleepwear and took a quick shower. Ten minutes later, my hair still wet from the shower, we were on our jog to the park as we passed Joanne LaPoint, two houses over, deadheading her roses. “Hey, Joanne, how’s that new grandbaby?”

  She beamed. “Most beautiful baby ever.” She pulled out her phone. “I have pictures—”

  Gracie strained at the leash, refusing to stop. “Sorry”—I tossed her a regretful smile—“I’ll have to see them on the way back. Gracie’s on a mission.”

  Joanne grinned and waved me on.

  At the park, Gracie and I did a couple of laps around the perimeter, and then I pulled out her favorite toy. Unclipping her leash, I threw the ratty tennis ball as far across the park as I could. She zoomed after it and raced back to me moments later, proudly dropping the ball at my feet.

  “Good girl.” I picked up the ball and stretched my arm back, preparing to throw it again. Gracie tensed, ready to run. Then I faked flinging the tennis ball. Gracie ran in the direction I had supposedly hurled it, then pulled up short, examining the ground around her. She ran a few feet and stopped, turning her head from side to side, searching for her beloved ball.

  I whistled and held up the faded felt-covered orb. Glimpsing the yellow from across the park, Gracie sprinted back. She sat upright on the grass before me, panting and never taking her eyes off the ball. I raised my hand and threw with all my might. Gracie raced after the yellow sphere.

  “Dogs sure do love their balls, don’t they?” a familiar voice said behind me.

  I turned to see Barbara Christensen, accompanied by town gossip Wilma Sorensen, smiling at me.

  “They sure do.”

  “Robert used to love coming to the park with Duke and playing fetch,” Barbara said wistfully, brushing away a tear.

  “I remember that,” I said gently. “Duke was such a sweet, beautiful dog. He sure loved his dad.”

  “Robert was Duke’s person,” Barbara said simply, lifting her shoulders. “When he died, Duke’s heart broke. That big, soft, golden heart of his couldn’t bear to go on beating without his person. Duke’s heart gave out a week later.”

  My eyes filled. “I remember.”

  Gracie returned with the tennis ball and dropped it at my feet, wagging her tail.

  Barbara reached down and patted Gracie’s head. “Good girl. You’re smart as well as beautiful.”

  Wilma smoothed down her gray perm and cleared her throat. “Word around town is they caught the man who murdered that stalker lady.” She pursed her lips in a satisfied smirk. “What did I say? It’s almost always the husband. That’s why I—and everyone else in town—thought that famous author killed his fiancée. They may not have been married, but they were awfully close to it, seein’ as how they were engaged and all.”

  “Actually, Wilma,” I said sweetly, “don’t you remember? We talked about this before. Tavish and Kristi had recently broken off their engagement.”

  Wilma’s wrinkled face flushed. Then she cast me a knowing glance. “Ah, that explains why his fancy rental car was parked at your house all night last night.” Her eyes gleamed with malice. “You want to be careful there, Teddie. A man doesn’t need to buy the cow if he’s already getting the milk for free.”

  “Wilma!” Barbara said.

  “That’s okay, Barb, Tavish and I were just saying last night how much we love milk—both straight and in our tea. That’s how they drink their hot tea in England, you know.” Tilting my head, I sent her gray-haired companion an appraising look. “Calcium is good for you. Wilma, you might want to start adding more milk to your diet. At your age you can’t be too careful about brittle bones.” Clipping on Gracie’s leash, I winked at Barbara as we left. Barb gave me a discreet thumbs-up behind Wilma’s back.

  Gracie and I ended our play date at the Corner Bookstore, where Char gave my Eskie a bowl of water and her favorite peanut-butter dog biscuits behind the front counter. Then my fellow Musketeer sat down across from me with a gleam in her eye. “Okay, now, spill. I want all the details of last night.”

  “All?”

  “There’s no need to get graphic, but as your best friend, I think I’m entitled to know the basics.” She fixed me with a knowing gaze. “Did you and Tavish spend the night together?”

  My eyes darted around the bookstore.

  “Don’t worry, there’s no one here except Fred Matson, and he’s snoozing in sci-fi at the other end of the store.”

  “Well … in that case … Tavish didn’t leave until about five this morning, so I guess that means we spent the night together.”

  Her eyes widened. Then Char broke into a huge smile and hugged me. “Good for you! It’s about time you had some romance in your life. Nothing wrong with a little fling—you’re both consenting adults. And it’s not like you need to worry about getting pregnant.”

  “That would be what they call a miracle.”

  She sighed. “Sometimes I envy you your early menopause— it makes things so much easier.”

  I flapped my scarf against my face. “Tell me that again once you get your first hot flash.” Then I leaned into my friend and whispered in her ear, “We didn’t sleep together.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Nope.”

  Her face fell. “Well, crap. I thought for sure I sensed heat between you.”

  “You did. We’re just keeping the flame down low and taking things slow.” Fred Matson appeared from behind the sci-fi bookshelf and began shuffling our way. “Can we change the subject now, please?”

  “Okay, but just tell me one thing,” Char whispered as Fred approached. “Did you at least kiss?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  * * *

  Sharon and Jim invited a few of us—including my mother—to dinner at the Lake House that night to mark the end of the
murders and a return to normalcy in Lake Potawatomi. “Be sure and dress up,” Sharon instructed when she called. “This is a celebration.”

  As Adele sang in the background, I stood in front of my closet, trying to decide what to wear. Unlike my mother, I am not a clotheshorse. Formfitting designer clothes from high-end stores have never appealed to me. I prefer my simple boho style—or hippie chic, as some call it. I just call it comfortable. Most of my clothing comes from thrift stores or quirky shops off the beaten track. I love color, however, as evidenced by the rainbow of scarves hanging from my repurposed coatrack.

  I pulled out the green batik dress I’d worn the first time Tavish and I had dinner—a dinner I’d thought was simply two colleagues getting together to talk writing. I thought back to last night. We were definitely more than colleagues now. We had spent the entire night talking about so many things—after giving up trying to solve the Harley-versus-Annabelle break-in puzzle. We’d talked about families, childhoods, our beloved canine children, travel, art, and of course, writing. Tavish shared that he had been playing around with an idea for a quieter, more introspective standalone novel, but his agent had advised him against it because it would not fit with his blood series “brand” and his readers would not accept it.

  “So write it under a pseudonym,” I suggested. “That’s what J. K. Rowling did after Harry Potter.” That led into a twenty-minute discussion of Harry Potter, with both of us admitting we wished we had come up with the brilliant idea of a boy wizard and the magical world of Hogwarts.

  “Teddie?” my mother’s voice called out from the kitchen. “Where are you?”

  “In my bedroom,” I yelled. I really need to get that key back.

  Mom appeared in the doorway moments later, pink cheeked and with windblown hair, her arms full of shopping bags from Nordstrom’s and other chichi clothing stores.

  “Someone’s had a busy day,” I said.

  “You can say that again.” She dropped the bags on the floor and sank onto my bed, removing her shoes and rubbing her feet. “It was fabulous! Such fun. Tavish and I spent the day shopping on Michigan Avenue.”

  I turned and stared at her. “Say that again? You did what?”

  “Spent the day in Chicago with Tavish Bentley, shopping.” She grinned and started rummaging through the bags. “Just wait until you see what we got you.”

  We?

  “While we were having breakfast at Andersen’s, Tavish said he had to run to Chicago for a business appointment.” Mom continued searching through her shopping bags. “I happened to mention I’d been planning to do a little shopping in the Windy City today, so he offered to take me with him. He said it would be a good chance for us to get to know each other. Although”—she jutted her chin toward me—“I think what he was really trying to do was keep me out of your hair while you wrote. Tavish explained that authors need concentrated writing time free of distractions.”

  If I’d had a brick wall in my room, I would have banged my head against it. I’ve only been saying that for years, Mother. But then again I’m not male, nor do I have an English accent.

  “Ah, here it is.” Mom pulled out a flat narrow box and handed it to me with an expectant gleam in her eye.

  “What is this?”

  “Open it and find out.”

  I removed the lid and parted the tissue paper to reveal a rectangle of turquoise silk. As I lifted the silk from the box, the light caught the iridescent scarf, spotlighting shimmering shades of turquoise swirling from light to dark. “It’s beautiful,” I breathed. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Read the card.”

  For the first time I noticed an envelope at the bottom of the box. I opened it and pulled out a card penned in beautiful calligraphy. This is to replace the scarf my ex stole. I couldn’t find one with pom-poms, but I hope this will be a suitable substitute. I think it will look lovely against your dark curls.—Tavish

  Raising my head from the note, I saw my mother grinning broadly and extending another bag to me. A large one. I held up my hands, palms out. “That’s too much. I can’t accept that from Tavish.”

  “I know. That’s what I told him. This one’s from me.” Mom studied her French manicure. “Don’t worry, it’s not from Barneys or Bloomie’s. I know you wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those stores.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I found it in a little Indian boutique on a side street. Tavish spotted the store and suggested we give it a try.”

  Were pigs flying overhead? Opening the bag, I pulled out a coral-colored flowing maxi dress detailed with exquisite turquoise embroidery at the bodice and hem. Am I in an alternative universe or what? Did my mother really just buy me the best dress ever? I stared at her, words failing me.

  Who are you and what have you done with my mother?

  “Well?” she said, uncertainly. “Do you like it or not? If you don’t like it, you can always exchange it—although you’re the one who will have to go back to that store.” She wrinkled her nose. “Too much incense and strange smells for me.”

  “I love it.” I held the cotton dress up against me before the mirror. “It’s so me.”

  “That’s exactly what Tavish said.” Mom added casually, “I thought it might go well with the turquoise scarf he got you.”

  I wound the silky scarf around my neck, letting the ends fall against the coral cotton. “It’s perfect,” I said softly. “Thank you, Mom.” Attempting to maintain the tenuous, unfamiliar mother-daughter clothes connection, I asked, “What are you going to wear tonight?”

  “Oh, I’m not going.” She began collecting her bags. “I’m too exhausted. I’m going to take a long bubble bath and curl up with a glass of Pinot Noir and Her Blood Weeps.” As she slipped her shoes back on and stood up, Mom caught sight of herself in the mirror and yelped. “My goodness, I’m a fright.” She smoothed her hair. “Why didn’t you tell me my hair was a mess?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When I arrived at the Lake House an hour later, everyone was drinking wine and noshing on appetizers in the living room. Tavish’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Wow.” He strode over and kissed me on the cheek. “You look gorgeous.”

  Melanie did a double take from across the room.

  “Thank you.” I lowered my voice. “And thank you so much for the gorgeous scarf. I absolutely love it.”

  “It goes perfectly with that dress—I thought it might.”

  “Thanks for that too—for steering my mom to a shop she wouldn’t normally be caught dead in.” I grinned at him. “I still can’t believe you took my mother shopping—you deserve a medal.”

  “Actually, I had a good time. Your mom’s not so bad.” He chuckled. “Although she does give new meaning to the words ‘Shop till you drop.’”

  Char and Brady approached. “Whoa, Ted,” Brady said. “You look really hot.”

  “Careful,” Tavish teased, putting his arm around me.

  Melanie materialized next to Tavish in her ubiquitous black, her eyes inscrutable behind her Harry Potter glasses. “You two are together?”

  Brady’s eyes sought Char, who lifted her shoulders and shrugged.

  Before Tavish or I could confirm or deny, a beaming Sharon appeared at my elbow with a tray of appetizers. “I take full credit,” she said. “I’m the one who introduced them. The minute I met Tavish, I knew he and Teddie would be perfect together. They have so much in common.”

  Yes, I realized, we do.

  Jim, Sharon’s other half, winked at me and handed me a glass of wine. He raised his glass. “Well then, here’s to Teddie and Tavish.”

  Everyone raised their glass except Melanie, who was busy shoving a stuffed mushroom into her mouth. She chugged her wine and choked. Her hand flew to her chest, and she got a panicked expression as she continued choking.

  “Are you okay?” Tavish rushed to his young assistant’s side and slapped her on the back.

  Her face turned red and she coughed.

  “Raise your a
rms,” Jim ordered.

  Brady strode over to Melanie, but Char beat him to it. She quickly stepped behind the choking girl, wrapped her arms beneath her chest, crossed them tightly, and executed a swift Heimlich thrust. The mushroom flew out of Melanie’s mouth and slid across the hardwood floor. She gasped and coughed, eyes streaming.

  Tavish led her over to an easy chair, Brady following close behind. Jim snagged a glass of water from the table and rushed it over to his guest.

  “Someone isn’t happy about her boss’s new relationship,” Char said to me sotto voce.

  “Ya got that right. I think someone may have a little crush.”

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you,” Sharon said quietly. “You asked me to grill Melanie, so I plied her with cookies and coffee and asked about her job. Then I got her talking about Tavish’s ex-wife and Kristi. That’s when I realized Melanie has a little crush on Tavish.”

  Jim motioned for his wife.

  “We’ll talk later. I still need to tell you about Tavish’s ex-wife,” Sharon whispered. She hurried over to the men around Melanie, leaving me alone with Char.

  “Well, someone is certainly smitten.” My best friend grinned at me.

  “Is it that obvious? I was trying to be discreet.”

  “You can forget that noise. Besides, I was talking about Tavish.”

  His head angled in our direction.

  Had he heard? We rejoined the group.

  “How are you doing, Melanie?” Char asked.

  “Fine—thanks to you. How did you learn to do that?”

  “First-aid training—I’m a small business owner and my boyfriend’s a cop.” Char winked at Brady. “He says it’s always good to be prepared in case of an emergency.”

  “Well, then thanks to both of you for coming to my rescue.” Melanie turned to Sharon with a wry smile. “I hope you don’t mind if I skip the rest of the stuffed mushrooms.”

  Everyone laughed.