Band Room Bash (5 page)

Chapter Four

I debated answering my cell phone at all. I love my mother, but I don’t always like talking to her. That’s because of the conversational arrows I have to evade. Still, she’d probably heard about the murder, and I didn’t want her to worry.

I pushed the button and jammed the phone against my ear. “Hi, Ma. Did Daddy pick up Charlie and Sammie after school?”

“Of course he did,” she said. “When we say we’ll babysit, we always do it. We don’t ignore things like some people do. I saw you drive right by the shop. I can’t believe you didn’t stop, and you haven’t called me. Once again, I’m the last to know that my daughter is involved in a crime.”

I sighed. “I’m not involved in a crime. I don’t even know if it really was a crime. Maybe it was an accident. Besides, I haven’t even talked to Max yet, so you aren’t left out.”

“Well, I’m your mother. And it was a crime. I heard it was murder. I nearly had a heart attack. One day you’re going to kill me. It’s just hard to believe that I actually carried you for nine months and you could be so insensitive. And the labor was the worst pain of my life. . . .”

I tuned her out and stared at the road ahead of me while she finished telling me in detail the agony she went through to have me and why I should feel guilty. I’d heard it all so many times I could have lectured myself.

“. . .as if your ignoring me isn’t enough, I also heard that someone is planning to bring a large housing development into Four Oaks. Can you imagine that? I mean—”

I nearly ran off the road. “What?”

“I knew you weren’t listening to me.” She clucked her tongue.

I hoped I wasn’t in for another lengthy discourse about how grateful I should be that I was born before she explained what she’d just said. To my relief, she was eager to share the little she knew.

“I found out today at the shop that someone is planning to bring a housing development to our town.”

Doris’s Doughnuts was the source of anything newsworthy in Four Oaks and the surrounding vicinity. Well, newsworthy was a misnomer. Gossip was a better word. Still, chances were that anything coming from my mother had at least a grain of truth in it. I was horrified.

“Can you imagine?” she asked. “After housing developments come shopping centers. Big ones. With hardware stores and fast-food places and. . .doughnut shops.” Her voice cracked, and I felt bad for her. She’d worked hard to build up her business.

I doubted anyone could really compete with my mother, but I wouldn’t bother to try to assure her. She’d just argue. “So you don’t know anything else? Like who would think of doing such a thing?” An influx of new people and the traffic and noise would destroy everything I loved about country living. Slowly the countryside would be eaten up by “progress.”

“We’ve seen it happening in counties closer to the city,” Ma said. “Why, the next thing you know, we could be the gambling capital of the East Coast. Look at what they tried to do in Gettysburg. A casino and slot machines. What were they thinking? Why, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Georgia Winters was killed by some mob stranger coming in and scouting out the land.”

I tried to picture guys in black suits crawling around Four Oaks looking for people to murder. “Come on, Ma. That’s a little bit dramatic.”

“You think so? April said that Georgia wanted to sell off her granny’s farm, and there you go. She lived there, you know. The perfect place for a casino. It’s all about commerce. Greed. Avarice.”

Avarice? My mother was developing quite a vocabulary, even if her word choices were redundant.

“What purpose would be served by the mob killing Georgia?”

“Why, to get the farm, of course.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t going to pursue it further right now. I’d reached my house, which is in a very small rural development. The only one in Four Oaks and the only one I wanted to see here—ever. I pulled into the driveway and punched the button on the garage door opener. “Well, we’ll see, I guess.”

“You mark my words,” my mother said. “It’s all about greediness. Selfishness.”

“Okay. Well, I’m home now. I need to go. I have to call Max.”

“Well, I hope you learned a lesson. I mean—”

“I did,” I agreed, even though I wasn’t exactly sure what lesson I was supposed to have learned except not to answer my cell phone when my mother called if I wanted to remain mellow.

“Well, good.”

“I’ll talk to you later. Tell Daddy hello.”

“This will just kill him,” she murmured as she hung up.

Whatever “this” was. And I doubted that anything would shake him up. My daddy was an unflappable kind of guy. He had to be to live with my mother. I hung up and then dialed Max as I pulled into the garage. I hoped he was already on his way home. I could get things ready quickly.

“Trish?” He answered on the third ring. “Baby, I’m so glad to hear from you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Maybe a tiny bit shaky, but okay.” His use of my favorite pet name always made me a little weak in the knees. A dangerous thing for someone in my condition, especially on top of feeling weird about finding Georgia. “How are you?” I got out of the SUV and went inside.

“Hectic,” he said. “Worried about you. Tommy told me everything. I’m sorry I couldn’t get the phone when you called. I was stuck in meetings.”

“I’m fine. Really.” In the kitchen, I tossed my purse on the table.

He sighed. “I can’t say I’m surprised this happened.”

My poor husband. He says living with me is like riding a roller coaster. He never knows what to expect next.

“Well, at least I didn’t sprain or break anything.” In the past, my habit of joining my kids in activities like Rollerblading had landed me in the hospital more than once.

He inhaled. “Don’t even say that. You’ve managed to stay out of the hospital for almost nine months. The next time you go there, I want it to be when the baby is born.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “I’m being really good. Are you on your way home?”

“Not yet.”

Well, that gave me a little more time to take a bath and put on my dress.

“So, Tommy told you everything, right?” I wondered if he’d told his father that Detective Scott had questioned him like a suspect.

“Everything?” Max asked quickly. “Like what?”

“Well, about us finding Georgia and all,” I said.

“Yes. Well, he said you two found Georgia behind the door. That must have been pretty traumatic for you. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, although it was a little bloodier than when I found Jim Bob.” I thought I heard Max groan. “Then Detective Scott questioned us. Both of us. Separately.”

“And a lot of other people,” Max said. “Tommy said just about everyone was pulled aside.”

“So that’s not unusual?” I asked.

“Not at all. You should remember that from last time you were. . .uh, involved in a murder.”

“I wasn’t involved. I just found the body.”

“Isn’t finding the body being involved?” he asked.

“Well, not like that. Like I committed a crime or something. But, whatever. This time was different. . .there were just more of us, including Tommy.” I opened the refrigerator to take out the steaks so I could marinate them.

“Well, he found the body with you. I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

Perhaps I was overreacting to Detective Scott’s attitude. Maybe he was just a protective father who wasn’t thrilled about his daughter liking a boy, and that’s what accounted for the hard looks he gave Tommy.

“I guess I’ll have to tell Charlie and Sammie about it,” I said. “Charlie will be ecstatic. You know how he likes gruesome things. I don’t know about Sammie.”

“Don’t be surprised if they’ve already heard about it. News travels fast.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m afraid of,” I said.

“No matter what, Sammie will be fine. It won’t be a reality to her. Don’t worry about it, though. We can talk to them later.”

“Okay. When will you be home?” I asked. “I’m just about to start dinner.”

His pause was long enough to tell me he wasn’t sure. “I’ve got one more meeting.” He paused again. “I don’t want to be insensitive. You said you’re okay, but you’ve been through a lot today. I could leave if you need me to.”

I slammed the refrigerator door shut on the steaks. As usual, he was being fair, but I could read between the lines. This meeting was important. Besides, I’d already told him I was fine. I couldn’t reverse myself and be traumatized. Yes, I wanted him to come home right now, but I didn’t “need” him to.

I decided to try a different tact. Whining. “The meeting is that important?”

“Yes, otherwise I would be home already. I worry about you.”

I felt guilty for making him feel bad, but that didn’t stop me from continuing. “Well, I had a nice dinner planned—”

“Do you think it can wait until tomorrow?” he asked. “Maybe you and the kids can go out.”

“The kids are with my mother,” I said. “And speaking of my mother, she told me that someone is planning to build a huge housing development in Four Oaks.”

Through the receiver, I heard voices in the background.

“Hang on a second,” Max said.

I waited and felt sorry for myself. Not only had I found a dead woman, but Four Oaks was threatened with an influx of strangers. And to top it off, I wanted time alone with my husband, but—

“Trish?”

“Is the meeting canceled?” I could always hope.

“Uh, no. In fact, I need to go right now. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I sighed. “Yes, I guess so.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you for understanding.”

“You’re welcome,” I murmured.

“I’ll be home as soon as possible. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I put the phone down and rested my chin in my hand.

The last month or so, Max seemed to be drifting away from me, spending more time at work and less time at home. Granted, we’d been married for almost seven years, but up until now, the romantic part of our marriage was perfect. At least as perfect as it could be with so many kids around and my pregnancy, which, I reminded myself, was a miracle. I’d been told I couldn’t have any more children.

But miracle pregnancy or not, this one was tougher on me than when I was carrying Sammie. I had pains where I hadn’t had pains before, and I fought exhaustion daily.

I shifted on the hard chair and glanced around my yellow and white kitchen. I needed a distraction from my self-pity, which was stupid and selfish. Things could be worse. At least I was alive, unlike poor Georgia. She’d never have the opportunity to feel sorry for herself again.

I controlled a shiver. Georgia’s lifeless body was the second I’d ever seen, and it disturbed me. Why would somebody kill her? What could a high school English teacher have done to bring out that kind of passion in someone? What motive could somebody possibly have to murder her? And why did I feel compelled to find answers? Part of it was my natural curiosity. I liked solving mysteries. But I suspected it was also stubbornness. Detective Scott didn’t want me involved, and one of my biggest faults was wanting to do the things I shouldn’t do. Maybe I was a bit like Sherry that way.

I glanced at the drawer where I’d stored the steno pads I’d bought months ago, then my gaze slid up to the counter above the drawer, where I’d left my Bible and the booklet from my women’s Bible study. That’s what I should be doing. We were studying the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Definitely a Bible study I needed.

I walked to the counter and opened the Bible study booklet. This week’s lesson was on love. The first item of discussion--Love is action, not always feeling. Good topic, but. . .I bit a fingernail in indecision. Bible study or clue notebook? I decided I was too keyed up to study. I’d feel better after I wrote down all my clues.

I whispered a quick “I’m sorry” to the Lord, put the booklet back on the counter, yanked a steno pad from the drawer, and carried it to the table. After retrieving a pen from my purse, as well as the receipt on which I’d written my clues earlier, I opened the notebook to the first blank page and bit the end of my pen. Although Georgia’s death could have been an accident, I doubted it. Not the way Detective Scott had spoken about the medical examiner to Corporal Fletcher.

From previous experience, I knew that clues are only as good as a sleuth’s observations. Things that didn’t seem important at first could gain great significance later. With that in mind, I set my pen to paper.

Section I. The Scene: Georgia dead in the band room behind the door. Wound on her head. Bassoon lying on the floor near her. Chairs knocked over. Music on the floor.

Who should be on my initial suspect list? Realistically, every person at the school at the time Georgia was killed—which was the reason Detective Scott had to follow up on everyone, including my son.

Another thing I knew from past experience was that everything hinged around the victim.

On the same page I wrote,
The Victim: Georgia Winters.

What had I heard about her today? Developed an attitude lately with her family. Lives with her granny. Might want to sell off the farm.