Moss Hysteria (26 page)

Because my morning had been disrupted and because we'd had a flood of funeral orders, I hadn't gone with Marco to canvass Rye's neighborhood, and had worked through my lunch hour instead. So when he got home, he filled me in as we ate turkey white bean chili at our new table.

“I found a neighbor willing to swear that Rye was at his son's soccer game that Friday evening at seven o'clock. He said Rye never misses a game and in fact helps coach the team. He told me he could get at least six other parents to verify that, too.”

“I don't understand why Rye didn't tell us that.”

“I wish I had an answer for you.”

“Then we're crossing him off the list?”

“I'll wait until the DNA tests come back from the wrench, but as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't make sense to focus on him now.”

“At least we've managed to narrow down our list to Mitzi, Jane, and Maynard.”

“And Theda.” Marco held up his hand as though to ward off my protest. “Abby, don't say it.”

Kitty reached up to pat my arm, wanting to be petted. “I wasn't going to,” I said glumly, stroking his soft silver fur. But once Marco saw Connor's article in the paper, he was going to see that I already had.

Tuesday

I woke up groggy; I hadn't slept well, and it wasn't Kitty who'd kept me awake. He had curled up with Seedy in her doggy bed and hadn't made a sound all night. It was the image of Theda in that cold, depressing jail cell that was responsible. I didn't care how much circumstantial evidence there was against her, there was just as much against Mitzi and
she
wasn't in jail. If I could only find the one conclusive piece to prove Mitzi was the killer.

“I see we're days from solving the case,” Marco said as I made my breakfast. He placed the newspaper on the counter, folded back to Connor's front-page story.

“Don't be angry. I was furious at the time and just let it all out.”

“To a newspaper reporter.”

“I shouldn't have given Connor a timeline, but I'm not sorry about the rest of it. The DA rushed to arrest someone and needs to be called out on it.”

“But now the real killer, if it isn't Theda, thinks we have proof that will close the case. Tactical error, Abby. You may have put us both in jeopardy.”

•   •   •

I met Marco at Down the Hatch after work. I hadn't had a chance to talk to him all day; once again we'd been jammed with orders. And now he was working the evening shift, which was why I was eating my dinner at the bar's counter and he was behind it. Fortunately it wasn't crowded. I had the end to myself.

“We've got to talk to Tom Burns privately,” I told him.

Marco had been mopping up a water ring with a towel but paused to look up curiously. “For what reason?”

“Because I'm certain Mitzi coached Tom on what to say. If we could wear him down I'll bet he'd tell us exactly what time she was with him that Friday evening.”

“With Sarah out of jail, we might not be able to get Tom to cooperate right now. He might be busy trying to patch his marriage.”

I took a drink of my light beer and sat the mug down with a thud. “We can at least give it the old college try. I'll do some research on him this evening and find out where he works. Maybe we can waylay him before he goes home. Did you get a chance to talk to Dave about Theda's incarceration?”

“For just a few minutes. The judge set the bail so ridiculously high, there's no way she can get out, so Dave is going to petition for a bond reduction hearing.”

I sank my chin on my hand. “That could take a week—or longer. Poor Theda. She must be a nervous wreck. I'll go see her tomorrow and let her know Kitty is doing fine. I'd stop on my way home, but I probably can't get into the jail this late.”

“Sunshine, after what you said in that newspaper article, you're not going anywhere this evening except straight home. Lock the doors and stay put.”

I saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Don't pretend this hasn't happened before, Abby. You find ways to get yourself into trouble. You're just lucky I haven't run out of ways to rescue you.”

“I'm trying to make light of it, Marco. I know I made a mistake and I promise I'll be careful.”

He leaned toward me to say quietly, “Good, because I'd be devastated if anything happened to you. You know I love you to distraction.”

I moved close enough for our lips to lock in a deep kiss.

“Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds,” Rafe said. “I've got a question for you, bro.”

As Marco turned away to talk to his brother, I couldn't help but smile at the sight of the two, their identical heads of dark wavy hair bent toward each other, as Rafe explained his dilemma and my husband solved it. Then Marco turned to me, his back against the counter, his arms crossed. “How did it go with Rosa today?”

“Strained. She isn't singing to the radio, and she makes only brief comments. Mostly she just works. And she sighs. A lot.”

“That has to be awkward.”

I stabbed my fork into the last bite of salad. “I don't know how to fix it.”

“You know what my opinion is.”

“I tried to have a heart-to-heart talk with her, but I couldn't think of a kind way to explain away what I'd said. She wanted to know how she was getting all the glory. What could I tell her?
You get it by being you, Rosa, the best at everything, the most talented, the golden girl of the flower shop, the rescuer
?”

“Yeah, I don't think that would do it.”

“Exactly. So there you have it.”

“On another topic”—Marco took my empty dish and set it aside—“are you ready to see your new living room?”

“Is today the big reveal? I completely forgot about it.”

“I know, and Jillian wanted to keep it that way. I let her in the house at lunchtime and then got shooed out so you and I can be
amazed
together. Her words, not mine.”

I pushed my beer mug away. “Now my stomach feels queasy.”

“Join the club.” Marco laid the towel on the counter. “I'll tell Rafe I'll be gone for half an hour. You might want to text your cousin to let her know we're on our way. Remind me to get my things out of your car when we get to the house.”

When we arrived home, Jillian was standing in the front window with a big smile on her face. Marco drove his new Prius into the garage first and then I pulled in beside him. While he collected his belongings from the Corvette, I put my arms on the yellow hood and gave it a hug.

Marco held up an envelope. “This was between the seats.”

“Those are Jane's photos. I forgot I put them there.”

I had to start making lists. I was forgetting a lot lately.

“I'll take a look at them later.” He put the envelope and his belongings into the Prius. Then, holding hands, we walked up to the inside door. “Take a deep breath,” Marco instructed, reaching for the doorknob.

I pulled his arm back. “What do we do if it's horrible?”

“We tell her what she's waiting to hear, that she did an
amazing
job, and tomorrow we sell the whole suite on Craigslist.”

“No, seriously, Marco. I've got a huge knot in my stomach.”

“What can we do, Sunshine? Hurt
her
feelings, too? Our only option will be to live with the furniture for a while, then sell it and buy something else. But then we can never, ever invite her over again.”

I thought it over. “That'll work.”

“Okay. Let's go in and face the music.”

Marco opened the door for me, but I made him go in first. He walked up the short hallway into the kitchen and peered around the corner, giving him a view of the living room and dining area.

“Well?” I whispered.

“Welcome to your new living room, Marco,” I heard Jillian chirp.

Marco stepped all the way in and stood there for a long moment looking around. And then he said, “You did an
amazing
job, Jillian.”

My stomach knotted in seven more places.

“W
here's Abby?” Jillian asked.

“She's right behind me,” Marco said. “Abby? Jillian is waiting.”

I braced myself for the shock, then called blithely, “I'm coming.” I walked around the corner, came face-to-face with my new living room, and couldn't prevent a gasp of surprise.

The room was completely transformed. Gone were the ugly tan sofa, plain white walls, worn side chairs, and old black recliner. In their place was a plump navy-and-white sofa in a geometric print accented with three bright yellow pillows, side chairs in a soft yellow accented by a solid navy pillow on one chair, a navy-and-white throw on the other, and walls in a soft dove gray. On the wall above the sofa was a large modern art print in bold colors of yellow, navy, orange, purple, red, and white. My primary colors!

The cocktail table was a clever modern design of silvery ash wood that slid apart in the center, providing storage inside. At the windows Jillian had hung side drapes in the pale yellow color of the chairs, with white fabric shades beneath that could be tilted open or closed. But what really set off the room was the area rug—a play of primary colors that interwove across a pale gray background.

It was contemporary; it was classy; it was bright and cheerful; it was me! And Marco hadn't been forgotten, either. In one corner sat his recliner, now reupholstered in supple navy leather. He headed straight for it, sitting down and lifting the footrest, sinking back into it with a happy sigh.

Jillian had nailed it, everything I'd dreamed my living room could be. I flopped onto my ultracomfy new sofa, picked up a pretty yellow pillow, and hugged it to my chest. I couldn't stop smiling.

Then reality hit.

“What do we owe for this?” Marco asked.

Jillian wrinkled her nose. “Do you really want to spoil the moment?”

“I really want to know how much we owe,” he answered, getting up.

“How about I come up with a payment plan tomorrow? For now, just enjoy it.” She checked the time on her phone then dropped it into her oversized purse. “I need to get home to put Harper to bed.”

I jumped up to give her a hug. “Thanks again, Jill. The room is absolutely beautiful. All the colors I wanted, all the soft fabrics—everything is perfect. You did it.”

“No, Abs.
We
did it.”

•   •   •

Once Marco had headed back to the bar, Jillian had gone home, and I'd grown tired of taking photos of my new living room and sending them to Lottie, Grace, Mom, and Nikki, I logged onto Marco's favorite search engine and got some background information on Tom Burns. I found out that Tom was the manager of our local grocery store, which would make it easy to catch him at work during the day. In fact, Marco could go see him before lunch tomorrow. We had to speed this investigation up.

As I sat at the computer, Kitty jumped onto my lap and curled up contentedly, so I decided to stay there and see what I could dig up on Mitzi's past. There was one interesting newspaper account of Mitzi being ejected from a dog show when she got into a fight with another dog owner after the owner claimed Mitzi sabotaged her grooming supplies. The accompanying photo showed a champion shih tzu with pink fur.

An older article reported that Mitzi had been kicked off her college cheerleading squad for shoving the head cheerleader into the bleachers before a game. The other cheerleader hadn't been hurt physically but had claimed mental duress. Apparently Mitzi had been harassing the girl for winning the position that Mitzi had coveted. Even back then she was a person you didn't want to anger. I saved the links to show Marco later.

Kitty didn't seem inclined to move, so I did a search on Maynard Dell next and found a news clipping from four years ago about a road rage incident. According to the report, after leaving a bar in a nearby town, Maynard had gotten into a dispute with another patron, followed the man in his car, and run him off the road, resulting in an injury serious enough to warrant hospitalization. Maynard had been sent to jail for six months and fired from his job with a heating/air-conditioning company. So much for his story about taking an early retirement.

I was just starting a search on Jane Singletary when someone rapped on the patio door. Kitty sprang off my lap and ran to the closed drapes, arching his back and hissing at whoever was on the other side of it, while Seedy ran for cover. I approached the door quietly and pulled back the drape just a fraction.

It was Mitzi again, nervously glancing around. But instead of one of her usual glitzy outfits, she was wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of camouflage pants with black sneakers, almost blending into the night. Even her blond hair was different, pulled severely off her face into a bun at the nape of her neck. Absent was her neck brace.

My stomach felt fluttery, a sign that something wasn't right. I flipped on the light and opened the drape wider. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you. Could you let me in? I hear noises.”

She seemed to hear a lot of noises. Picking up the metal bar for protection, I unlocked the sliding door. Before I could pull it back, Kitty began to make low growling sounds as though he wanted to attack Mitzi.

“Hold on,” I said, and lifted Kitty up. I took him into the guest bedroom and shut the door, then went back.

Mitzi stepped inside and eyed the piece of metal in my hand. “Marco's not here again?”

“He's due any second. Why do you always come to the back of the house?”

“Because it's faster to cut across our backyards. What did you think? That I wanted to rob you?”

I felt silly then and leaned the bar against the doorjamb, still within reach.

“I see you have Theda's cat, so obviously you've heard the news about her arrest. And now I can say I told you so.”

“Theda didn't kill Dirk.”

Mitzi eyed me gamely. “Then why was she arrested?”

“Because both Dirk's and Theda's DNA was on her shovel.”

“Well, see? Right there you know she did it.”

“Is that why you came over? To accuse Theda? It was her shovel, Mitzi. Why wouldn't her DNA be on it?”

Mitzi folded her arms across her bosom. “So what are you saying? That the killer put on gloves before using the shovel?”

“I
didn't
say that, but it's interesting that
you
did. There's never been anything in the news about the murder weapon.”

Her nostrils flared. “I can't believe it. You really think I killed Dirk.”

I couldn't deny it, so I said nothing.

“Well, I can prove I didn't.”

“How?”

“My gloves. You can test every pair I own for Dirk's DNA.
That'll
show you.” She opened the door and walked out into the night.

It was an illogical argument, but I let it go. She wasn't worth wasting my breath.

Kitty was meowing and scratching at the bedroom door, so I let him out and went back to the computer. I resumed my search on Jane but found only reports of Dirk's murder and mentions of a few school functions she'd chaired. Seedy had finally crawled from beneath the sofa and was now whining at the sliding door, so I got up to take her outside. I was just about to pull back the drape when someone rapped on the glass again. Seedy scrambled for safety, Kitty hissed, and I grabbed the bar.

It was Mitzi.

“Here you go,” she said, when I opened the drape. She dropped a pile of gloves on the patio in front of the door. “Have at it.” Then she turned and marched away.

Did Mitzi really think I was stupid enough to believe she'd provide me with a pair that had Dirk's DNA on them?

I got a broom and a paper grocery bag from the kitchen to put the gloves in, chased Kitty away from the door, then scooped up Seedy and took her outside with me. “Go do your business,” I said to her. As she hobbled off the patio and onto the lawn, I swept the gloves—three pairs of garden and one pair of black knit—into the paper bag.

When I looked around, Seedy was near our property line abutting the park still looking for the perfect spot. She was in the section of yard not well illuminated by my patio light, so I set the bag and broom inside, then walked to the edge of the patio to wait for her. I spotted something at our border with Theda's yard that appeared pink in the moonlight and went to investigate. I kicked it with my shoe and realized it was a pair of women's knit gloves.

Had Mitzi dropped them on her way to my house? But why would she have been walking so close to the pond? It was yet another odd behavior that made me uneasy.

I had just gone back to the house to get the paper bag and broom when my cell phone rang. Keeping one eye on Seedy, who was sniffing her way toward Theda's yard, I glanced at the phone's screen and saw Marco's name.

“I'm on my way home, Abby. I was looking at Jane's photos—”

“Hold on, Marco. Seedy's way down by the pond, and I need to go get her before she gets muddy. I'll be right back.” I left the phone on the dining room table so I could carry the broom, the bag, and probably Seedy, then stepped out onto the patio, calling, “Seedy, come here!”

She turned to look at me, then kept sniffing. Suddenly she paused, her big butterfly ears facing forward as she stared at the water. I strained to see what was causing her alarm, but Theda's yard was too dark to make out anything. Other than mine, Mitzi's was the only one with a back light on. She usually turned it on when she let Peanut out, but neither of them were anywhere to be seen.

“Come here,” I called, feeling suddenly anxious. “Come, Seedy. Good girl.”

When she started sniffing again, I ran back to the house, got the metal bar for protection, and started toward her. Seedy finally chose a location and squatted in her awkward, three-legged fashion. She was just turning to come back when she went on alert again, staring toward the pond with her ears forward.

“Come here now!” I called, snapping my fingers. I was still a good twenty feet away.

At a sudden rustling of the reeds, Seedy began to tremble, and the hairs on my neck rose. Holding the bar like a baseball bat, I cried, “Mitzi! If that's you, come out right now or I'll call the police.”

My heart almost stopped when a dark figure rose from the reeds. I could hear water dripping from soaked clothing. “Identify yourself!” I called.

The figure began to wade toward the bank
and
my cowering dog. If that was Mitzi, why wasn't she answering?

“Seedy, come here!” I clapped my hands, but she seemed frozen in place. I didn't know whether to run down and grab her or leave her and head for the house.

“Hey!” the figure called. A man's voice. I'd heard it before. Was it Rye's? “I need to talk to you.”

“Who are you?”

He stepped onto the bank, still only a dark shape. “Maynard Dell.”

It didn't sound like the voice I remembered. But Maynard had been drinking both times we'd interviewed him. “What do you want?” I shifted the metal bar into my right hand and inched closer to my dog, whispering for her to come, but she wouldn't take her gaze off the dark figure.

“Looks like the pump is out again.”

Trying not to betray my fear I said, “Why are
you
checking on it?”

“We think someone's been tampering with it. Have you seen anyone out here?”

The man was on my lawn now. Soon he'd be in the illuminated part of the yard. He was also getting closer to Seedy, who was crouched low, trembling all over.

But I was even closer still. “You didn't answer my question,” I called, then bent low to whisper, “Seedy, look! Treats!”

“A building inspector works all hours of the day. I just have a few questions.”

“I'll send Marco out. You can talk to him.”

“Sure. That's fine.”

With my heart thudding against my ribs, I ran to where Seedy sat, scooped her up, and made a dash for the house. With Seedy cradled in my left arm, the bar in my right hand, I crossed the patio and was almost to the door when I heard heavy boots hitting the ground behind me. He was after me!

I had to drop the bar to grab the handle and pull the door open, and then I tossed Seedy inside. Before I could follow, heavy hands clamped around my upper arms and yanked me away from the house.

As I screamed for help, struggling to twist out of his grasp, the man shook me hard. “Where is it? What did you do with it?” And then I recognized Maynard's voice.

With my arms pinned to my sides I was unable to fight, so I landed a hard kick to his shin, taking him by surprise. I twisted free and made a grab for the metal bar, but he was quicker, catching a fistful of my hair and jerking me back. As I screamed again and dug my short fingernails into the hand locked around my hair, he picked up the bar and flung it toward the pond, then wrenched me backward by the hair with so much force, my feet flew out from under me.