A Killer Read (15 page)

“I did read something about it in the paper. How is Molly taking it? She was always a bit fragile, you know.”

Molly, fragile?
Lizzie would never have used that descriptive for her. She wondered how well Nathaniel knew Molly. She’d not given it much thought before. There was a lot she didn’t know about her neighbors and their relationships, even though she was a hometown girl. Of course, Nathaniel could be thinking every Southern gal was still of the genteel ilk.

“Molly seems to be fine, although she’s a bit disturbed that the dead man had been in her house just a couple of hours before. He wanted to use the phone and had just wandered into the house. She didn’t even know him. Frank Telford was his name. Does that ring a bell, by any chance?”

“There is something familiar about it. But a lot of things sound familiar. Doesn’t mean they are. You know how it is at this age… but, of course, you wouldn’t. You’re such a young lady.”

Lizzie laughed. “Nice of you to say that. Sometimes I feel anything but. Depending on how my day went at work, of course. Can I freshen your drink?”

“No thank you, my dear. I know you have to get ready to go out, and I have a dinner to fix.” Nathaniel finished his remaining bit of wine and pushed himself slowly out of the chair. “I’ll just leave the rest of the figs here, if I may?”

“Why thank you, Nathaniel. You know they won’t last long.” She followed him to the door.

“By the way, I bought several flats of yellow and white chrysanthemums at Clifford’s Home Hardware today. I know it’s getting on in the season, but I thought they’d make a nice autumn trim right across the front of the house, that is, if you like mums?”

“Of course I do. It should look great. I’m lucky to have a resident gardener on the premises,” she said.

“Was a time I could do a lot more than that.” He gave her a wink and left.

L
izzie closed the car windows and sang through a series of vocal exercises on her way to choir. She liked to do her own, even though the first ten minutes of every rehearsal was always warm-up time.

She noticed right away that Lucille Miller wasn’t there. She felt a bit relieved, not wanting to be quizzed about Bob and the book club again. She greeted some of the others, then pulled out her score for the Raminsh piece. She loved the first soprano line, which, as usual, was mainly the tune but crossed over the second sopranos at one point, ending with the soprano solo above them all.

It was easy to get lost in the music, to concentrate totally on the score, striving to stay in pitch. Lizzie loved the start-and-stop routine of rehearsals, the demands on the brain to set aside all other works and learn this new combination of notes and words, usually learned not in the order they were written, and the eventual coming together of the parts. She tried to find time in her day for half-hour practice sessions, but this past week in particular, she’d found it difficult to do. She knew that would have to change if she wanted to get up to speed before the concert. Their director, Stanton Giles, had high expectations of the group of amateurs under his guidance, but they were lucky to have him and Lizzie wanted to make the most of it.

At break, one of the tenors, Tim LaBelle, who owned the bakery near the school, shuffled over to Lizzie, coffee in hand.

“That’s a nasty business, the murder happening right outside Molly Mathews’s home. I hear the gun used belonged to Molly. I can’t imagine someone so kind and concerned being involved in something like that.”

“What? Where did you hear about the gun?”

“Why, it was in this week’s issue of the
Corners Colonist
.”

“Well, you know Molly, Tim, and you know she’s not involved except to be so unlucky as to have her gun stolen, well, her late husband’s gun, and to have the murder take place on the street outside her house.”

Tim nodded. “I was certain it was something like that. Nobody in his or her right mind would think poorly of Molly. I was sort of surprised to see the story.”

Lizzie bet it was the doing of Officer Amber Craig, trying to stir up matters and maybe even get a confession. She grunted, too mad at Officer Craig to say anything more.

“You know,” he continued, “the name Telford sort of sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. I wonder if he did some work in Ashton Corners at some point.”

“Do you think you might have met him?”

“I don’t know, seems unlikely, though. At least, I’d hope I would have remembered his name, if that was the case.” He shook his head. “No, I really can’t say for certain, Lizzie.”

They heard the accompanist play a short fanfare on the piano, their cue that break time had ended and everyone needed to be back in place. Stanton Giles took a few minutes to remind them that the choir would be singing at the church fundraiser in three weeks, a part of the Fall Fest Indoors. It was a thank-you to the church for allowing them to hold rehearsals in the hall.

“It’s all music we’ve sung over the past couple of years,”
he said, “so it shouldn’t take too much extra rehearsal time to refresh it. The pieces are being passed around as I speak.”

Lizzie thumbed through the well-worn copies, pleased to note some titles she counted among her favorites. They spent half an hour on two of them, then finished with the Rutter.

As she drove home, Lizzie found her thoughts wandering back to Frank Telford. She wondered who else in Ashton Corners might know the name. Maybe they were searching for information in the wrong town. Maybe the answers weren’t to be found in Stoney Mills after all. She made a mental note to spend some time at the offices of the
Ashton Corners Colonist
, the local weekly newspaper, as soon as possible, going through old files.

L
izzie eased her Mazda into one of the two remaining empty parking spaces in front of Scissors ’n Snips Hair Salon on Calvin Avenue Saturday morning. She was long past her monthly trim, and even though a missed appointment didn’t really show with her long hair, the bangs, which she was trying to grow out, needed to be kept shapely during the lengthy process. Each time she went in for a cut, she debated whether to continue the growing out or to hack them off at eyebrow length. And then she’d remember that she looked ten years younger with the bangs, which would be great when she hit the big four-O, but was not quite what she was going for now.

Her usual hairstylist, Amanda, had phoned in sick, so she sat through an hour of Patti-Lynn patter, as she thought of it. As she left her tip and paid the bill, Lizzie realized she’d had to say only about three sentences the entire time. She smiled and waved at Patti-Lynn as she left, thankful to be outside with only the noise of traffic around.

She went into the Winn-Dixie next door and bought some raspberry frozen yogurt that she’d been craving all week. A quick stop into Toby’s Pharmacy just down the street, and then she went into the Book Bin, Ashton Corners’s only independent bookstore. Jensey Pollard nodded at her, finishing up with a customer at the cash register before walking over.

“I have just the book for you, Lizzie. I know it’s one your mystery book club will be dying to read.” She deadpanned the line but then started laughing as she pulled a book from the New Arrivals shelf. “It’s
Chapter and Hearse
by Lorna Barrett, and any book club that has ‘cheese straws’ in its name should read this. It’s book number four in the series, but no reason you can’t start there.” She placed the book in Lizzie’s hands and waited.

Lizzie scanned the back cover. “If you recommend it, Jensey, then I’ll buy it. Now, can you suggest an author who might interest a sixteen-year-old who’s also a reluctant reader?”

Jensey crossed an arm over her chest, rested her other elbow on it and leaned her chin on her hand. Her short, curly black hair— Lizzie often wondered if it had been dyed— framed her heart-shaped face. Whenever Lizzie read that description in a makeover column, she always thought about Jensey. Today she wore a turquoise cropped sweater and necklace with a knee-length pencil skirt and black boots. Always stylish. “Umm, a challenge. I love these questions. A girl?”

“Yup. And she’s smart. Just not reading the right material that’ll get her hooked.”

Jensey walked over to the mystery section and ran her hands along the spines, stopping at Cleo Coyle. “This is your author. She’s got an independent woman who runs a coffee shop with her ex. The dialogue is snappy, and the plot’s just the right degree of complexity. And then there’s the coffee aspect— most teens I know inhale specialty coffee these days.”

“Thanks again. This’ll do nicely.” Lizzie chose the first book in the series,
On What Grounds
, scooped up the latest Avery Aames cheese shop mystery for herself as she walked past the New Arrivals display again and took her purchases to the front desk.

Jensey was cornered by a new customer entering the store, so Lizzie was served by her part-timer, a young girl she’d not met before, roughly around Andie’s age but without the face jewelry. Lizzie thanked her and, purchases tucked into her tote bag, walked to the door and glanced out the window. Her hand froze on the doorknob.

A couple stood across the street, under the Makin Realty awning, locked in a passionate embrace.
It looks like… no, it can’t be
. She waited, holding her breath. The couple pulled apart, and Lizzie gasped. Jacob Smith and some unknown but very attractive blonde, about five-foot-eight, dressed to kill in navy jeggings and a leopard cape.

Lizzie had to move away from the door as a couple entered the bookstore and when she looked back out, Jacob and the stranger were walking along the sidewalk, away from her. The woman had her arm wrapped behind Jacob, along his waist, and they were in deep conversation.

Lizzie remembered to wave to Jensey, then walked hurriedly to her car, looking back at Jacob and Madame X a couple of times until they disappeared around the corner. She unlocked the Mazda, slipped behind the wheel and sat, lost in thought. Who was the blonde? Certainly not a stranger to Jacob. What was his game? Should she tell Sally-Jo? No, probably best to ask Jacob if she got a chance. She’d hate to see her friend hurt. Again.

She glanced at her watch. Her next stop would be to see her mama. Since she’d be busy all day Sunday helping Molly with the party, she’d decided to switch her visiting day. But she had to go home first and deposit her frozen purchases. She’d stow all thoughts of Jacob out of her mind, as well.

Traffic was light for a Saturday and she made it home
quickly. Groceries put away, she ran upstairs to get changed. The cats were startled by her fast entrance, poised to take flight off her bed, but quickly settled back down to resume their naps. She explained her plans to them as she chose a fuchsia sweater set to go with black pants. Her mother loved bright colors, and she always tried to wear something cheerful for each visit.

It took less than fifteen minutes to reach Magnolia Manor, and Lizzie found her mama sitting in the sunroom by herself. All of the other residents had gone into the dining room for lunch. Lizzie had phoned ahead, and her mama’s lunch was brought out quickly once she’d settled herself.

Much to Lizzie’s delight, her mama seemed to be focusing today, listening to the chatter and nodding from time to time. The care staff at the Manor had decided that today, Evelyn Turner would wear a bright red cotton sweater set and taupe pants. Her thinning salt-and-pepper and auburn hair, pinned behind her ears by matching flower barrettes, looked freshly washed. Her face remained void of most of the wrinkle and lines a fifty-seven-year-old would sport, grim testimony of a mind that no longer worried. A tentative smile, as if she’d been practicing all morning, stayed on her face. She even asked for another helping of strawberry swirl ice cream for dessert.

After lunch, they went for a walk around the gardens. The flowing back lawn led to a pergola covered with lacy vines, affording shade to the padded patio furniture. Lizzie led her mama to the lounge swing, and they sat in companionable silence for quite a while.

When she noticed her mama’s eyelids drooping, she suggested they go back to her room. She helped her onto the bed, slipped off her shoes, covered her with a light afghan and quietly closed the door as she left. The receptionist promised to let the staff know that Evelyn was sleeping in her room. Lizzie left, feeling much more uplifted than she usually did after her visits.

Later that evening, Lizzie packed up the books that cluttered the kitchen table, checking the wall clock at the same time. Ten thirty. Time to head to bed, even though it was a Saturday night. Her cats would be pleased, anyway. She stashed the side plate with the remnants of her dinner, a field greens and cherry tomato salad, into the sink. It could wait till the morning’s dishes.

She’d closed the kitchen window earlier, when the sun had set and she’d felt a chilly autumn breeze blowing across her. That had called for a cup of hot herbal tea. She drank the remaining quarter cup of liquid, now cool but still tasty, and added that to the sink.