Moss Hysteria (5 page)

“Give Lisa the benefit of the doubt, Abby. She's a smart woman. She has to be curious about the names you gave her.”

“Were the detectives curious about anyone else when you were accused of murdering a clown? Or when they thought I killed my former professor?”

Marco stuck a french fry in ketchup and ate it, studying me. “You want to investigate, don't you?”

“I don't
want
to, Marco. I've got a lot on my plate, and so do you. I feel like we
have
to for Theda's sake. She's been so good to us, and I'd hate for her to be put through the wringer a second time.”

“Whoa. Back up. What second time?”

“Didn't I tell you what Grace told me?”

He leaned toward me. “Does this look like the face of someone in the know?”

I reached over and wiped a trace of ketchup off his upper lip. “It looks like the face of someone I love.”

He grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing my fingertips. “If you think that lets you off the hook, Mrs. S., you're wrong. Explain, please.”

“I don't really have much to tell. All Grace said was that Theda's first husband drowned in their swimming pool, and she found him.”

“That doesn't explain why she was a suspect.”

“Grace said something about a suspicion of foul play, but there was no evidence to charge her.”

“Ah, now we're getting somewhere. Lisa Wells probably did an Internet search and uncovered a newspaper account. Naturally that would raise her suspicions. It raises mine.”

“To the point where you would ignore other potential suspects? You know that's what'll happen, Marco.”

“Are you
that
sure of our neighbor's innocence? We've met her only about half a dozen times.”

“I trust my gut instinct, Marco. You know that. And how many times has it been wrong?”

Marco studied me as he finished off his beer. “So here's how this will go. I'll tell you to wait and see what happens with the police. You'll ignore my advice and begin your own investigation until you've collected enough proof to convince me to get involved. So let's skip to the chase. Who's on your suspect list? Just the three Theda mentioned?”

I smiled as I pulled out the small notebook I always carried in my purse. No argument this time! “Yes, just three people. Brandon Thorne, Rye Bishop, and Mitzi Kole.”

“Add Dirk's wife and Mitzi's husband to the list.”

“I should've thought of that. So how do you want to proceed?”

“I'll find out what day Brandon Thorne will be at Brandywine and set up an appointment. You make arrangements to go to Mitzi's book club meeting tonight and get Dirk's home address and phone number from the clubhouse directory so we can set up a meeting with his wife on Saturday if possible. I'll take care of Mr. Kole.”

“We're going furniture shopping Saturday—don't forget.”

“And meeting my mom for dinner. It'll be a busy day. What else?”

“We can interview Rye Bishop when he comes to look at our wood floor tomorrow.”

“Is something wrong with the floor?”

“Remember I pointed out how rippled it looks by the sliding glass door?”

“Right.”

He didn't remember.

“Rye said he'd stop by over the noon hour, so we can talk to him then.” I wrote everything down and then put my chin on my fist and gazed at my handsome hubby. “Thanks for making this easy, Marco.”

He reached across the table for my hand and traced a circle in my palm. “If you really want to thank me . . .” His low, sexy voice trailed off suggestively, sending shivers of delight up my spine.

“What do you have in mind?”

Gert, the waitress who'd worked at Down the Hatch since long before I was born, passed by, carrying two bowls of ice cream topped with strawberries and whipped cream. Marco looked at me and raised his eyebrow. “Let's just say it involves you and me and strawberries and whipped cream.”

“Yum. Dessert.”

He smiled playfully. “Yes . . . dessert.”

•   •   •

“Have more dessert, Abby. It's fat-free.”

All eight women laughed as Mitzi Kole tried to serve me a second helping of strawberry cheesecake with whipped cream on top. It was not the dessert either Marco or I had in mind, but as we were finishing dinner I'd remembered that the Brandywine Babes' Book Club was that evening. If I'd missed it, I'd have had to wait a week for another such opportunity.

Mitzi had been clearly disappointed that I'd come solo, but none of the others had seemed fazed. In fact, Marco would've been the only male in attendance, and that would have been awkward for both of us.

Now, at eight o'clock, I'd already consumed a handful of chocolate-covered strawberries, a sliver of strawberry pie, and a tiny square of strawberry-covered cheesecake. If I had to even look at another strawberry I would be ill. I hoped Marco would understand.

Who could have guessed tonight's dessert theme would be strawberries? It had been chosen to go along with their book selection for the month, an erotic novel that somehow involved them. After hearing their discussion, I was glad I hadn't read it. I might never have eaten those plump, juicy berries again.

We were seated in a living room decorated with a pair of bright white leather sofas accented with pink-and-white striped pillows, and two navy blue armchairs. The walls were bright white with one glossy navy accent wall. A pair of neon pink art deco floor lamps provided the only light.

Mitzi had even coordinated her outfit to match her décor, with tight-fitting navy slacks, a white V-neck sweater, huge pink chandelier earrings, a matching cuff bracelet, and high-heeled pink mules. Lottie would have felt right at home.

The other women wore casual but expensive clothing. I recognized some of the pieces from Windows on the Square's display mannequins. I was the only one underdressed, still wearing my white button-down shirt and blue jeans from work. The combination sounded dull, but under the yellow bib apron with the bright Bloomers logo on the front, it worked well.

The book discussion, when it finally got under way, was over in ten minutes, and then the gossip session began, most of it involving Dirk Singletary's death—exactly what I'd hoped for. What I wasn't prepared for were the jokes at his expense, with several of the women teasing Mitzi about having had a hand in his demise. Rather than taking offense, however, she joined in the laughter.

“Someone does you wrong,” said a woman named Carol, “give Mitzi a call.”

“Sheriff Kole on patrol,” said Dara, another member, pretending to aim a gun.

Mitzi put her finger to her cherry pink lips. “Sh-h-h! Abby might get a nasty impression of me.”

Carol put her hand to the side of her mouth and said in a stage whisper, “You mean like the nasty
impression
Dirk left on your new down comforter?”

The women tittered.

“You are so bad!” Mitzi squealed, and everyone hooted with laughter.

I leaned toward Ann, a young woman about my age who was seated beside me, and whispered, “Were Dirk and Mitzi having an affair?”

Ann shrugged and with a coy smile whispered back, “We have a
Don't ask, don't tell
policy here.” She reached for a chocolate-covered berry and popped it in her mouth, still grinning.

“Seriously, though, Mitz,” said a woman named Sarah, “what did Brandon's insurance agent tell you about your loss?”

Mitzi pulled an angry face. “He offered me a lousy ten thousand. Can you believe that? I told him he'd be hearing from my lawyer. Ten thousand, my ass!”

“I still can't believe that jeweler in Maraville sold off your jewelry the next day,” Dara said. “He had to know it was hot. A guy like Dirk comes in with expensive pieces three, four, five times, and Mr. Jeweler doesn't suspect something's wrong?”

“Maybe they were working together,” Carol said. “Maybe the jeweler was a fence.”

“Look out, Mr. Jeweler Man,” Sarah said in a sinister voice, “or you'll be the next one to go.”

“Yeah, don't go near the water, Mr. Jeweler Man,” another said.

“There's no way anyone's going to lure that jeweler down to the water,” said Dara. “He's way too shrewd.”

“I'll bet Mitzi could do it,” Carol said, and the others laughed.

“Yeah, Mitz. Show us how it's done,” Dara called.

“Like this,” Mitzi replied. She stood up with her back to us, hands on her hips, glanced over her shoulder to give us a provocative come-hither look, then sashayed toward the kitchen, stopping to beckon by crooking her finger. It was quite an act, and all the Bees laughed.

Ann leaned close to say quietly, “They're just kidding, you know.”

I gave her the same coy smile she'd used on me earlier. “Right.”

“H
ow was the meeting?” Marco asked. He was reading a manual on crime scene investigations, leaning against pillows propped up on the wicker headboard. Seedy, curled in her bed in a corner of the room, lifted her head to greet me with a tail wag.

“It was fascinating. A study in narcissism.”

“The book?”

“No, Mitzi Kole.” I walked over to scratch Seedy's head. “I think she killed Dirk.”

Marco put the book down. “Based on what?”

“The way she and her friends joked about his death. The hints they tossed out about Mitzi and Dirk having an affair. Her anger at him stealing her jewelry. And my gut feeling that she did it.”

“Not a lot of hard evidence there, Sunshine.”

“Not yet.” I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it into the laundry basket in our closet. “I need to question her without the other women present. Or you.”

“You don't want me there?”

“If you're there, Mitzi will play the vixen, and it'll be impossible to get serious answers from her. I saw her in action tonight.” I slipped out of my jeans and turned my back on him, twisting around to imitate Mitzi's come-hither look, finger crooking and all. “That's supposedly her way of luring a man to his doom. It's not going to be how she lures you to yours.”

Marco tossed back the covers and came after me, sweeping me up in his arms and carrying me to the bed. “You're the only one who's going to lure me to my doom, Fireball.”

Thursday

“Now that most of the boxes are unpacked,” I told Marco over breakfast the next morning, “I'm going to ask Jillian to come over and give me some decorating advice.”

He didn't say anything for a moment, possibly because hearing Jillian's name typically made his brain freeze. “I think we're capable of making those decisions.”

“We can make
decisions
, sure, but I want our house to look like a professional did it. I've always dreamed of having a beautiful home, Marco, and I really want it to be perfect. Our open house will be here before we know it.”

He rinsed his oatmeal bowl, stuck it in the dishwasher, then came to the table, where I was finishing my coffee, and put his arms around me. “You, me, and Seedy. It's already perfect, sweetheart. But I want you to be happy, so go ahead, call Jillian.”

I turned to smile up at him, putting my hands over his. “Thank you, Marco. I appreciate that.”

He leaned over and kissed me. “Just don't plan on me being here.”

I didn't blame him for feeling that way. My cousin Jillian wasn't the easiest person to be around. But she was an expert at pulling pieces together to make terrific outfits because of her background in fashion design. She had used that talent to turn an ordinary three-bedroom apartment into a showplace.

Unfortunately, as a child Jillian had been coddled by her parents because of her severe scoliosis. By the time she hit her teens, the scoliosis had been fixed but nothing could undo the spoiling. Even her husband, Claymore, was perfectly happy catering to her.

Two months ago, she'd had an adorable baby girl named Harper Abigail Lynne Osborne, whose initials by no coincidence spelled HALO. Harper was Jillian's little angel. Add to that a pampered Boston terrier she'd adopted the same time we'd taken Seedy into our family, and I could understand Marco's reasons for wanting to be scarce.

But rather than driving him away from his own home, I had a solution. “I've decided to hire Tara to babysit at Jillian's house so Jillian can come alone.”

“Last time you asked your niece to babysit, she refused, remember?”

“I'll bribe her. Don't worry, Marco. I'll make it work.”

“We'll see. If you're meeting in the evening, I'll probably be at the bar anyway.”

I glanced at my watch. “Speaking of that, it's time to go to work. Aren't you going to shave?”

“Seedy and I are staying home this morning. I want to get my exercise equipment out of the garage and installed downstairs. Down the Hatch doesn't open until eleven anyway, and Rafe said he'd cover the lunch hour for me.”

“That works. If I'm late getting home, you can show Rye Bishop the damaged floor.”

•   •   •

It wasn't Rye keeping my husband company when I returned home for lunch. It was Mitzi Kole. When I pulled into the driveway, the garage door was up, and Marco and Mitzi were inside, half of an elliptical machine on the floor nearby. Marco had on black workout pants and a T-shirt that showed off his well-muscled torso. Mitzi was wearing a white leather jacket and a short, tight navy skirt with high-heeled navy ankle boots. She was standing with one hip cocked, her back to me, and I saw her toss her mane of blond hair then reach out to lay her hand on Marco's biceps.

I gunned the motor with visions of running her down. But that was the old Abby. The new Abby was older and wiser and didn't want to spend her life in prison because some pathetic, oversexed older woman was flirting with her husband.

Both turned as I pulled to a stop a mere two yards away. Marco lifted his hand in greeting, and Mitzi opened her mouth in surprise. Clearly she hadn't been expecting me to come home in the middle of the day. That was undoubtedly the reason the red satin blouse under her jacket had a V-neck that opened almost to her waist, revealing that she wasn't wearing a bra.

I got out of the 'Vette and shut the door with a bang.

“Oh, here's Abby now,” Mitzi called. “Hi!” She waved as though delighted to see me. “You're just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“Perfect timing, then.” I stopped in front of her with a smile that said,
I know what you're up to.

Mitzi's own smile faltered. “As I was just telling Marco, I think the Bees gave you the wrong impression last night. I want to correct that.”

“I'll let you ladies talk,” Marco said. He lifted his eyebrows at me.

Mitzi turned to watch him carry the half-assembled machine through the door connecting our garage to the house and then turned back. “He's so cute.”

I smiled politely. “Thank you. What kind of impression do you think you left last night?”

“That I may have had something to do with Dirk's death.” She shrugged, palms up. “We joke a lot at book club. You'll see when you start coming to meetings regularly.”

Like that was going to happen. “No, I understood that everyone was joking.”

She fanned her face. “Whew! I don't want to get off on the wrong foot or anything. I mean, Dirk
was
a bastard, but that's no reason to kill him. Not that I
could
kill anyone.” She flexed her biceps as though I could see through leather. “Try these muscles. Try them!” She took my hand and placed it on her upper arm. “Would I have the strength to hold someone underwater? Not likely!”

Interesting. The newspaper article hadn't mentioned that Dirk had been held underwater. Yet since he was found in the pond, I couldn't say it wouldn't be a normal assumption for someone to make. But did Mitzi really believe I'd fall for her
His being a bastard is no reason to kill him
story?

To make it clear that I wasn't buying it, I said, “How awful that he robbed you of such valuable jewelry. Theda mentioned that one piece alone was worth twenty thousand dollars.”

“At least that much. All told, I lost over thirty thousand. And Brandon Thorne thinks I'll settle for ten grand? No frigging way. He's just as big a bastard as Dirk was. Do you know what I learned through all of this? Brandon doesn't vet his employees or even bond them. In this day and age, who doesn't do background checks?” She shook her head in disbelief.

Clever how she tried to divert the subject onto Thorne. “Are you absolutely sure Dirk was the one who took your jewelry?”

“Of course I'm sure. No one else was in my house that week but him.”

“Not even your husband?”

“Frank's home just on weekends. He travels for business. Dirk was there on that Tuesday to, um, patch some nail holes, and I discovered my jewelry missing on Wednesday. I know it happened that week because I'd worn them to dinner the previous Sunday evening.”

“Was Rye working with Dirk that day?”

“No, Rye didn't come with him.”

“That's rather unusual, isn't it? I thought they worked together.”

Mitzi twisted a lock of hair around her fingers and shrugged.

“Were you there while Dirk was working inside your house?”

“I had a hair appointment.”

“But you let him in.”

“Actually, he used the master key from the office. But that was common practice around Brandywine. When a worker needed access to someone's house, Dirk would let them in and stay around to supervise. Who would've dreamed there would be a reason to distrust Dirk?” She huffed angrily. “Of course, if Brandon Thorne had done a background check on Dirk, he never would've been employed.”

“How do you know?”

“Detective Wells told me when she was investigating my theft.”

“Was Dirk still there when you got home from your appointment?”

She waved her hand, flashing her long, polished fingernails. “Long gone.”

“Then how do you know Rye didn't come with him?”

“I asked. When I found my jewels missing, I wanted to know who had been in my house.”

“Whom did you ask?”

“Brandon Thorne's saleswoman, Connie. She, Rye, and Dirk share an office at the clubhouse. She knows their comings and goings by their appointment calendar.”

“So you called the police to report your missing jewelry, and I'm assuming they talked to Dirk.”

“For the third time. He'd already been questioned two months earlier when some of the other residents here were robbed. But Dirk swore he didn't take my jewelry and there wasn't any evidence to prove he did, so they had to let him go.”

“Wasn't there something in his records to indicate a criminal history? You mentioned that he wouldn't have been hired because of a background check.”

“All allegations, nothing ever proved.” Mitzi sighed morosely. “To think I trusted that bastard. And to think it could've been avoided if Brandon wasn't such a cheap ass.”

“Last night the women were talking about a Maraville jeweler. Was there evidence this jeweler was involved in the theft?”

“No. He claims he purchased my jewelry from someone matching Dirk's description.” She scowled. “Dirk was sly. He used a fake ID. And I'm positive he was behind the other thefts in the neighborhood for these reasons.” She enumerated on her fingers. “He had access to the homes that were robbed. He had excuses for being in the houses. He knew when people weren't home.”

“Sounds plausible.”

“That's what Detective Wells said, but she couldn't tie Dirk to the thefts. He didn't leave any fingerprints, and no one witnessed him taking anything.”

“I'm shocked that the jeweler didn't have security cameras.”

“Oh, he had them, but here's where Dirk was cunning. He wore baggy jeans, dirty white athletic shoes, and a gray hoodie with the hood pulled up and a black baseball cap underneath, just like Rye does. Detective Wells said she couldn't get a clear enough image of the man's face to make an ID. Rye was interviewed, but again, there was nothing to prove either one had taken the jewelry.”

“Could Rye be the thief?”

“How could he be? He wasn't in my house that week.”

“But he had access to the master key, too, didn't he?”

“It wasn't Rye,” she said firmly.

Mitzi wouldn't elaborate, so I asked, “How did Dirk get along with Rye?”

“Dirk was awful to him, just cruel, and for no apparent reason. Have you met Rye? He's a sweetheart.”

I looked at my watch, prompting Mitzi to do the same. “Actually, Rye's due here any minute.”

“And I need to run.” She wiggled her fingers. “Mani/pedi time.” She glanced at my short, bare fingernails and said, “My beauty salon could help you with those. Call La De Da and ask for Sonja. She's the best nail tech ever. She's my hairstylist, too.”

“I'll keep that in mind. And very quickly, where were you last Friday evening?”

She put a fingertip to her puffed-up lip, thinking. “Where was I? Oh, right! I was at La De Da. I gave myself a spa evening—total body and scalp massage, waxing, mani/pedi—the works. It was pure heaven.”

Why was she having a manicure and pedicure just a few days later?

As she started backing away, I said, “If you had to choose someone from the neighborhood with a strong reason to want Dirk dead, who would it be?”

She paused to nibble her lower lip. “Well, there was no love lost between Dirk and Brandon Thorne—that's for sure—or between Dirk and Rye, for that matter.”

“But you said Rye was a sweetheart.”