Band Room Bash (15 page)

“No one is going to sell the farm,” Daddy said and lifted an eyebrow at me, which meant he wanted me to apologize.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” I said obediently.

“Well, I should hope so.” She huffed to herself for a few minutes while we all ate in silence. Everyone except Abbie. She was eating very little. Worse than anything else, she wouldn’t look at me.

We were almost done eating when Charlie piped up. “Tommy might go to jail. And then I would go to a private boarding school to make sure I don’t end up as bad as him.”

Where in the world would Charlie get that idea? My mother-in-law?

Karen laughed. “You in private boarding school? They wouldn’t take you.”

“Tommy has love notes from a girl,” Sammie chimed in.

The tips of Tommy’s ears turned red. “This is so not fair. I have no privacy at all.”

Charlie crossed his eyes. “Tommy and Sherry sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s—”

“Charlie, stop it.” Max’s stern, green-eyed gaze was enough to make Charlie back off.

Ma tsk-tsked. “I think it’s amazing how much influence you have over those children, Trish. Charlie acts just like you did, all rough and ready to fight.” Her expression grew speculative. “Tommy, do you have a girlfriend?”

Tommy mumbled something and stuffed a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

Max tactfully changed the topic, and my mother dropped it for the moment, but I knew I’d hear more. After supper she began whipping through the dishes in her usual efficient manner. I cleaned the counters. Abbie was drying pots and still hadn’t spoken to me.

“So, is Tommy in love?” Ma asked. “I was a little worried about him. He hasn’t had any real interest in girls.”

“Ma!”

“Well, it’s not normal. Boys his age should be falling in love every week.” She grabbed the meat platter and sponged the grease from it. “Well, who is she? Someone I know?”

I sighed. “She’s Detective Scott’s daughter.”

Abbie pursed her lips and rubbed the lid of a pot so hard I thought she would break off the handle.

“Oh my,” my mother said. “And Tommy is a murder suspect? That’s got to be awkward.” “He’s not a murder suspect,” I said.

“That remains to be seen. How the family will live down a murder trial is beyond me.” Ma waved us toward the kitchen table. “Now you girls sit down and tell me exactly what’s going on with all these policemen. What does this Detective Scott want with Abbie?”

I didn’t know how much to say in front of my mother for fear that Abbie’s potential love life would be a topic of conversation for the whole world to hear at Doris’s Doughnuts. But on the other hand, if I didn’t tell my mother something, she would speculate with Gail and April May about it for weeks in public.

Abbie’s face looked like she’d been pickled.

“Okay, Ma. You gotta keep this quiet.” I might as well ask a cow not to chew its cud.

Ma was indignant. “I don’t gossip.”

I’m always amazed at how out of touch people are with themselves. But that wasn’t important right now. What really bothered me was the glare coming from Abbie’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to her.

My mother crossed her arms. “Just spit it out.”

“Corporal Fletcher is asking about Abbie because Detective Scott is interested in her. He wants me to help get the two of them together.”

“This is so humiliating.” Abbie put her head in her hands.

My mother frowned. “Now don’t you overreact. Nothing good ever comes from that. This Detective Scott, he’s the tall one with blond hair, right?”

I nodded, thinking how ironic it was for my mother to tell someone not to overreact.

He’s been coming into the store for years,” she said. “What is he? Not a just a deputy, right?”

“Nope,” I said. “He’s a sergeant.”

“He’s not married, is he?” Ma asked.

“No, he’s not. He’s divorced.”

Her breath hissed through her teeth. “How long ago?”

“About twelve years,” Abbie said.

“How do you know this?” Ma asked her.

“Because he’s been helping me with my books.”

“Then why in the world wouldn’t—”

“They’ve known each other a lot longer than that,” I said.

Abbie eyed me over her hands, and I knew I was in big trouble.

“I see.” My mother watched Abbie with a speculative gaze. “Well, I do know he’s a good law enforcement officer. After all, he listened to Trish’s advice during that whole Jim Bob Jenkins murder fiasco.”

“Ma, he didn’t listen—”

She waved her hands in a dismissive motion. “You’re too modest, Trish. You solved that murder. And now you’re going to solve this one.” She leaned toward me. “I heard tell that Connie Gilbert, the principal, the coach, and that band teacher fellow have all been at the sheriff’s office.”

Before I could say anything, Sammie ran into the kitchen and begged Ma to come play a game with her. My mother’s face brightened. She dried her hands and even left a wet pot in the drainer. Then she followed Sammie out of the room.

Abbie put her dish towel down and wouldn’t meet my gaze.

“Abs—”

“I have to go. I have a book to write.” She snatched up her purse and headed for the back door.

I followed. “I’m sorry.”

The door banged shut behind us.

She whirled around to face me, gravel crunching under her shoes. “Did you agree to help fix me up with Eric?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

“I can’t believe it. You know how I feel.”

“You’ve made it pretty clear.”

“Of all people, you should understand.” She looked like she might cry.

“I think I might understand better than you think.”

“You’re not acting like it.” Abbie opened her car door.

I took a deep breath. I was about to cross a line, risking my relationship with my best friend. “This is deeper than Detective Scott. Or your emotions.”

She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat.

“Don’t you see?” I said. “You’re becoming your grandmother.”

Abbie’s body stiffened, and she looked over her shoulder at me. “Did I just hear you right?”

“Yes, you did.” My voice grew stronger. “Don’t you remember? You said you’d never be like her, yet here you are, living by yourself, withdrawing from people, and walking away from a potential relationship with a guy because you have a grudge.”

“I. . .don’t. . .have. . .a. . .grudge.” She climbed into her car.

“Yes, I think you do. For some reason, you’re mad at him over something in the past. Has he apologized to you?”

“I won’t talk to him about it,” she whispered.

That confirmed my suspicions. “Did he try?”

“Yes.”

I dug the toe of my shoe into the gravel. “Abbie, I know you might never speak to me again, but you’ve got to let it go. At least forgive him. There’s a reason that’s in the Bible. It’s emotionally healthy. If you don’t date him because he’s not your type, that’s one thing. But not because of something in the distant past. Look what grudges did to your grandmother. Remember her funeral? Who was there?”

I waited for Abbie to say something, but she didn’t. She just jammed the key into the ignition.

“Call me when you’re ready to talk.” I turned around and walked slowly to the house, hoping she would call my name, but she didn’t. The car door slammed, the engine started, and she sped out of the driveway.

My eyes filled with tears. I hoped I hadn’t messed up my relationship with my best friend.

Chapter Fourteen

Saturday was cleaning day. Everyone pitched in for two hours to get the house in shape. Then Max took the kids out in the afternoon without me—something he started months ago after we realized that Karen was resentful of all the attention he paid to me.

As I swished my mop across the kitchen floor, I thought about my bad parting with Abbie the night before, and I hurt, like a lead-weighted fishhook was hanging from my heart. I kept wondering how I could have said things differently.

I’d tried to call her all morning, but she didn’t pick up, and I left five different messages. I was so distressed, I hadn’t even bothered to write the information my mother had given me about Georgia’s murder in my steno pad.

I was debating about driving to Abbie’s apartment and kicking in her door when the beep of my cell interrupted my thoughts. I dropped my mop and raced to get it, hoping it was her, but it wasn’t. It was Sherry.

My whole body slumped. I had assumed she wasn’t investigating anymore, because I hadn’t heard from her. So her calling me now either meant bad news—that is, her father was rampaging even after my great advice to him, or she had more new clues. That would mean that sooner or later her father would be rampaging again.

“Hi, Sherry,” I said.

“Did you know that Connie Gilbert is a suspect in Ms. Winters’ murder?” She wasted no time on nonessentials.

“Yes.” I dropped onto a kitchen chair.

“Well, Aunt Elissa is going to handle the costumes for the play. Ms. Bickford asked her to, and we’re going to pick up some things from Connie today. Aunt Elissa thought you might like to come.”

A distraction. That would be a better alternative than being arrested for bashing in Abbie’s front door. Besides, with Elissa along, I wouldn’t be responsible for Sherry’s being involved in the investigation. That meant I’d be free to gather all the clues I could. Not only that, but I wanted to get to know Elissa a little better.

Elissa drove her Mazda as though she were in a car chase on a reality cop show. The daredevil in me appreciated her skill. The mommy in me was scared to death.

Sherry must have sensed my emotions. She leaned forward from the tiny backseat and said, “Don’t worry. Aunt Elissa has had training driving cars. She used to be a cop, like Dad.”

Elissa was a cop? I glanced over at her.

“It’s true,” she said.

I didn’t have a chance to pursue my questions, like why she walked with a cane, because she roared up Nettie’s driveway and skidded to a stop, tires spitting gravel.

Sherry headed for the front door of the house, followed by Elissa. I walked more slowly, looking around. Nettie’s farm had changed since I’d been here last.

Contrary to what my mother believed, I did remember that she used to attend garden club meetings here. Even at that young age, I’d been impressed by the color-coordinated flower beds that Nettie had created. But now everything had changed. Weeds grew profusely in gardens that had once been tended with great care.

Elissa rang the bell. I joined her and Sherry on the front porch.

When Connie answered, she barely glanced at us. “Come in.” She held the door open.

The wide foyer led into a gloomy, wood-floored hallway that was lined with furniture. On the right side, a staircase disappeared into the darkened upstairs. The air was stuffy and smelled of mothballs, toast, and the floral perfume I’d smelled in Georgia’s classroom. It must be Connie’s scent.

“I’m sorry about your loss,” Elissa said to Connie once we were all inside.

Tears welled in her eyes. “It’s been horrible. Georgia and I didn’t always get along, but she. . .” She took a deep breath. “Well, I know you didn’t come to listen to me cry.”

“It’s okay.” Elissa patted her shoulder.

“I’m a suspect, you know.” More tears glistened in Connie’s eyes. “The police think I killed her.”

Connie’s tears might have been real, but in the dismal atmosphere of the Victorian farmhouse, I couldn’t tell.

She turned to Elissa. “Thank you for doing the costumes. I suppose I could just decide not to provide costumes for the play, but I won’t do that to the kids. Trish, I’ve lost one of the keys to my storage units. I’d really like to keep the one I have left. Would you like me to pay for a new lock?”

“I have a master,” I said. “We’ll use that.”

She turned to Sherry. “Would you please give me a hand getting some boxes from upstairs? I don’t want Trish carrying anything, and Elissa. . .” Connie glanced at Elissa’s cane.

“Funky leg makes things hard,” Elissa said. “Best to let the youngster do the carting.”

“I can do it, no problem,” Sherry responded eagerly.

Connie motioned toward a room to her right. “You two can wait in the parlor.”

I was hesitant to let Sherry go alone with Connie, but Elissa didn’t seem worried. While Sherry trailed Connie up the creaking wood staircase, I followed Elissa into the parlor, passing a long, narrow, marble-topped table in the hall, on top of which lay a bag from the drugstore.

Heavy red drapes hung on the tall parlor windows. Dark wood furniture and uncomfortable-looking velvet-covered sofas filled the room. In true Victorian fashion, ornate tables were covered with knickknacks.

Elissa turned a sharp eye to me. “I know what she’s doing.”

“Huh?”

“My niece.” Elissa began walking the perimeter of the room, eyeing everything. “She’s trying to solve this mystery. She’s worried about her boyfriend—your son. Corporal Fletcher told me.” Her lips curled into a small smile. “He thought I might handle that piece of information better than her father.”

Yea for Corporal Fletcher. I liked him better and better. The heaviness of responsibility for Sherry dropped from my shoulders. “Oh, I’m so glad. So you talked her out of it, right?”

Elissa laughed. “You’re joking, of course.”

“Well, I was hoping.”

“No, I wasn’t able to talk her out of it. Sherry comes by her stubbornness honestly. She’d continue even if we told her not to.”

“Don’t you think her investigating is dangerous?”

A flicker of concern passed over Elissa’s face. “Yes, it could be. That’s why I’m getting as involved as I can, especially with the play. I have a feeling things are going to get worse before they get better, and this way I can assure her father I’m taking care of her.” She glanced around the room then gave me a quick smile. “Now let’s get busy.”

“Busy?”

“Don’t be dense, Trish. Snoop.”

“Is that okay to do?” I asked

“She left us here, didn’t she? It’s not like she told us to close our eyes. Just don’t touch anything.”

With that, I began looking around. On the coffee table I noticed a newspaper from Charlottesville, Virginia.

“Look at this,” I pointed.

Elissa limped over to join me.

“This is where Connie used to live,” I said.

She stared at the paper. “Obituary section. Interesting.”

Most of the deceased were elderly people, but one notice caught my eye. A very nice-looking man, maybe in his thirties. Aaron Bryant.

“Remember that name,” Elissa murmured, pointing to the news photo.

Two thick books about antiques were piled on the other end of the table. I walked over to look at them. Peeking out from underneath the pile was a piece of paper on which I spotted a familiar fleur-de-lis.

I waved at it. “I’ve seen something like this before.”

Elissa shifted on her cane. “Oh, I recognize that. It’s a receipt from a chain of pawn shops in Baltimore.”

“I saw one of these on Marvin’s desk at school,” I said. Elissa met my gaze with a frown, but before we could look talk anymore, we heard Sherry’s voice, followed by footsteps on the stairs. She and Connie were on their way down. No more time to snoop.

Their hands were full of costumes in plastic cleaner bags.

“I’ll start carrying these out to the car,” Sherry said. Elissa nodded at her.

“Some of these costumes will need alterations,” Connie said. “When the time comes, I’ll need to show you how I do that without ruining the costumes. I have all the kids’ sizes on forms that I left on Marvin’s desk. I’ll get those for you.”

“That sounds good,” Elissa said. “But are you sure you’re up to it?” She nodded at the obituary on the table. “Have you lost more than one relative? That would be very painful.”

Connie reached over to pick up the paper, her eyes tearing up again. “Well, in a manner of speaking.” She swallowed. “Aaron and I were talking about getting engaged. It was a tragedy. He died the day before Georgia.”

An elderly woman walked into the room carrying the plastic shopping bag from the drug store. “Did you bring this?” she asked in my general direction.

“I did, Granny,” Connie said.

With gnarled hands, Nettie sifted through the bag. “I need my medicine.” She turned to Connie. “Did you bring my medicine?”

“Yes. It’s in there.”

The older woman began pulling out the contents and strewing them on the couch.

Connie caught Nettie’s arm. “Granny, we’ll get to all this in a minute. Wait until our company leaves, okay?”

Nettie held up a box. “What’s this? A watch? Did you get a new watch?”

“Yes,” Connie said.

“Why?” Nettie asked. “You had one.”

“Yes, but I broke it.” She took the bag from Nettie’s hand and replaced the items inside. “Where is it?” Nettie asked.

“I gave it to Aaron to get it fixed—” Connie’s voice broke, and she pressed her fingers against her eyes.

I felt so sorry for her I didn’t want to believe she was a murderer. “There are a lot of broken watches going around,” I said by way of distraction.

“What?” Connie glanced at me.

“Oh, Carla broke her watch, too. One of the links. A beautiful thing. Gold. Looked expensive.”

Nettie clapped her hands. “Carla. That’s Georgia’s friend. She comes a lot. We always have nice dinners.” She paused and looked around the room. “Where is Georgia?”

My heart ached for her.

“Granny, it’s time for your lunch.” Connie placed the watch back in the shopping bag then turned to us. “I’m sorry. I really can’t talk anymore.”

“We understand.” Elissa’s expression matched my feelings—sympathy mixed with suspicion.

Sherry still hadn’t come back, so we picked up the rest of the costumes to carry them outside.

Connie walked us to the door and murmured a quick good-bye as we stepped onto the porch. As the front door closed, Sherry walked around the corner of the house. She hurried over to me and took the costumes from my arms.

“Where were you?” Elissa asked.

“Checking out the gardens and stuff. Since Daddy implied poison, I was looking to see if there was anything suspicious. I didn’t touch anything, though.”

“And?” I asked.

“Well, there’s this huge garden shed back there with all sorts of things in it. Squealing hinges. . .I was afraid someone would hear me. The shelves are filled with bags and bottles and stuff. Rat poison, bug poison. You name it, it’s there.”

We all climbed into the car and Elissa turned the key, shifted into gear, and careened down the driveway. “There’s something with the boyfriend,” she said. “According to the article, he died very suddenly. Seems strange that two people in Connie’s life died without warning. It would be interesting to find out more about Aaron Bryant.”

“And what about the pawn shop?” I explained to Sherry about the receipts. “Marvin said something about pawning school instruments the other day. But that wouldn’t bring in a lot of money. Do you think Connie is pawning Nettie’s belongings? There are a lot of valuable things in that house. And there were books about antiques on the coffee table.”

Sherry had her head between the two front seats. “Maybe that’s why Connie killed Georgia. To take the stuff and sell it.”

Elissa glanced at her niece. “We don’t know that Connie killed Georgia.”

I frowned. “Besides, if Connie wanted money, she could have sold the whole farm. Georgia wanted to. Then Connie would have had half of everything. But she didn’t want to.”

“I’m going to make a few calls on Monday morning,” Elissa said. “We’re missing something here.”