Moving Is Murder (34 page)
Authors: Sara Rosett
“What really set the whole thing in motion was the original landowner’s daughter, Isabelle Coombes. She said there was a prior easement that prevented
any
further development of the valley.”
Mitch took a bite of his waffle cone, wiped his mouth, and said, “Can you imagine the litigation if they found that easement? The original owner could sue Forever Wild for allowing development.”
“And people who’d bought lots and started to build would sue Forever Wild,” Abby chimed in.
“Not to mention that the legal dealings of Forever Wild and Tecmarc would be scrutinized and their sweet double ownership deal would be exposed,” I said.
“They owned the land so they profited from selling the lots and they also owned the company that held the easement, so they controlled the development,” Abby
summarized with wide eyes. “So
is
there another easement?”
I shook my head. “I talked to Debbie this morning. She works in the county offices and she’s been searching for the easement that Isabelle said her father put on the land. Turns out that there isn’t one. Her dad talked about it, but never did it.”
Abby nodded her head. “That would explain why it never showed up in the title searches for all the other real estate transactions in Wilde Creek Estates. Boy, I’m glad we couldn’t afford to live there. It’s crazy. Cass and Friona got in their way. Can they prove Diana killed Friona? Do they have anything else besides what she told you?” Abby asked.
I said, “There were traces of blood on Diana’s Swiss Army knife. It’s being tested to see if it was Friona’s blood.”
Jeff raised his eyebrows. “If she used it to kill Friona, why would she keep it?”
“And the EpiPen?” Abby added.
“I think the EpiPen slid down between the seats and she didn’t realize she hadn’t thrown it away. Brent says she trashed them on the way home from the barbeque in a Dumpster behind a dry cleaner off the highway. I don’t know why she kept the knife.”
“Arrogance?” Jeff speculated. “Maybe she thought she’d never get caught? No one had connected her to Cass’s death.”
Abby put down her mug. “Okay, now explain that strange phone call about the cup.”
“After we gave Diana the box she took a drink from a water bottle. On the way back from the travel office I remembered you said that Diana had a Coke at the barbeque.
But the drinks at the barbeque were served in clear plastic cups. I needed to know if you’d seen a cup with the words “Coke” on it or if you’d seen her drinking from a clear cup and assumed it was a Coke because of the dark color of the drink.”
“It was a red and white cup with Coke printed on it, just like I told you. But why does it matter?”
“Because that was the kind of cup that I found the wasps in. Diana told me she only drank water and green tea. You must have seen her before she went to get the wasps and put them in Cass’s van.” I ran my fork through the raspberry drizzle on the edge of my plate. “But I knew it wouldn’t be enough for Thistle wait. And I knew those papers were going to disappear. I was kicking myself for giving them back to her that day. I had to do something.”
I felt Mitch shift and I knew he was giving me that disapproving look. But what was done was done and I couldn’t change it. I didn’t want to rehash what we’d been over too many times already, so I said. “Look at Livvy.” She cooed and clutched a rattle. “She couldn’t do that a few weeks ago,” I said. Now she completed the motions with ease. I looked at Mitch. “She’s growing and changing every day.” I nudged the butterfly toy suspended from her car seat handle. It jingled and Livvy’s gaze fastened on it. “I know I’m kind of a control freak. I’m beginning to realize I can’t control everything, put it in a box and label it.”
The tension in Mitch’s face eased and he squeezed my hand. “Kind of a control freak?” he asked, grinning.
“Okay, I’m a huge control freak,” I allowed. We stacked our plates and mugs in the center of the table as Gwen and Zoë walked in the café. Mitch buckled Livvy into her car seat while I went to talk to Gwen.
“Go pick out which kind of cookie you want,” Gwen said. Zoë scampered to the front of the café and planted her nose on the glass display case.
“How are you?” I asked as Gwen set her expensive leather purse down and unwound her red scarf.
“We’re as okay as we can be when our life is falling apart. I told Steven. Everything.” Her eyes were puffy. “The medical examiner said Colin died from an aneurysm.” She fiddled with her scarf, adjusted it on the chair. “Steven’s gone.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. He said he was going away to think and he’d be back. Then he left. It was awful. He was so quiet. He wasn’t even angry. Just hurt.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to keep things as normal as I can for Zoë.” She sighed. “I told her Steven’s on a trip.”
“He said he would be back.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
Mitch met us in the aisle. I told Gwen to call me if she needed anything and tossed a blanket over Livvy’s car seat to protect her on the short walk home. We pushed out through the glass door into the brisk air and swirling snowflakes.
“Oh, Livvy’s first snowfall,” Abby said. Jeff and Abby took the lead. I linked arms with Mitch and we strolled behind them, or actually lurched along, overbalanced by the car seat.
We waved to Abby and Jeff and turned onto our street. “Well, now we can get back to a normal life,” Mitch said. “No more chasing down leads and questioning possible suspects.” I agreed and we paced along. It was good to have our easy, companionable silence back.
“You know that I didn’t want to suspect Jeff,” I said finally.
“I know.”
“We’re different. You supported him by believing he didn’t do it. I supported him by proving he didn’t do it.”
Mitch sighed with exasperation. “Some way to show your support.” His tone went from playful to serious. “You gave me a scare.”
“I know. I was scared myself.”
At the top of our driveway, I paused, picturing next spring when the flower bed that lined the house would blaze with white tulips and red poppies. I’d planted them this morning despite my sore knee. It had been good working in the ground, turning over the thick, moist clumps of dirt. The poppies were for Cass. She loved flowers and these poppies even reminded me of her. They were bright and showy with leggy stems and flamboyant blooms, but within the beauty lurked dangerous seeds.
Rex trotted around the side of the house, his mouth open in his doggie grin, tongue lolling off to the side. A frayed tether rope attached to his collar trailed behind him.
“You were talking about change tonight, but some things stay the same.” Mitch wound the frayed rope around his hand. “We can be pretty sure you won’t have to worry about stumbling across a murder again.”
I almost agreed, but then a strange, almost dark, feeling assailed me. Mitch hadn’t realized I’d stopped at the foot of the steps. He called for Rex, opened the door, and flicked on the kitchen light, creating a glowing rectangle in the night. I shook off the strange feeling and hurried home through the swirling flakes.
Organized Move
On moving day itself remove everything from your home you don’t want packed and sent on the moving van. A safe place to stash items is the trunk of your car. Don’t forget:
- Packed suitcases
- Travel documents
- Moving paperwork
Otherwise, you may find your toothbrush and jammies boxed and loaded on the moving van!
Writing a book is an intensely solitary pursuit interspersed with periods of collaboration, so I must thank many people who helped get this book onto the bookshelves. A big thank you to Faith Hamlin, Rebecca Friedman, and Katherine Darling for loving
Moving Is Murder
and being persistent. Kudos to my wonderful editor, Michaela Hamilton. Thank you for making a dream come true. My cybersisters (and cyber-brothers) from the Internet Chapter of Sisters in Crime supported and encouraged me as only other writers can. Mark Berman, Steven Kerry Brown, Dr. P. D. Lyle, Mel Savoie, Mary V. Welk, and Sharon Wildwind graciously helped with research. Any mistakes are mine, not theirs. First readers, John and Edwyna Honderich, Trish Carruth, and Emilie Davis gave great suggestions. Thanks to Mom for those Saturday trips to the library and to Grandad for giving me my first thesaurus. Look what you started! And last but certainly not least, thanks to Glenn for endless support and encouragement and to Lauren and Jonathan for supplying me with ideas, hugs, and smiles.
| AAFES—Army and Air Force Exchange Service, organization that operates Base Exchanges |
| AFB—Air Force Base |
| AR—Air Refueling |
| BDU—Battle Dress Uniform, camouflage |
| Blues—Uniform of light blue shirt and dark blue pants |
| Boldface—Portions of text in Air Force publications set in bold type, information that is mandatory to know |
| BX—Base Exchange, small department store on-base |
| Check ride—Flight test pilots must pass annually to maintain flying currency |
| Currency—Flight status; all tests and requirements are met and pilot is allowed to fly sorties |
| DNIF—Duty Not Including Flying; military member is ill but can perform duties except for flying |
| DV—Distinguished Visitor |
| HQ—Headquarters |
| IP—Instructor pilot |
| IRC—Instrument Review Course |
| Lodging—Motel on-base (previously know as Billeting) |
| O Club—Officers’ Club |
| OSI—Office of Special Investigations |
| PA—Public Affairs |
| PCS—Permanent Change of Station (PSCing means moving) |
| Pubs—Air Force publications about aircraft (flight manuals) |
| Regs—Regulations (rules) |
| Shopette—Convenience store on-base |
| Sim—Flight simulator |
| Sortie—A flight |
| Squad—Squadron |
| SWA—Southwest Asia |
| TDY—Temporary Duty (a short trip) |
| UAE—United Arab Emirates |
Turn the page for a sneak preview of
Sara Rosett’s new Mom Zone mystery
available in Kensington hardcover in April 2007!
A
fter a quick lunch with Mitch I drove home, pushing the speed limit to reach our house before Livvy went to sleep in the Cherokee. Once she was asleep, even if it was for five minutes, that was it, no more naps for that day. I turned onto our street and crept through the scattering of pickups, vans, and cars in front of the Wilsons’s house. Our neighborhood of arts and crafts bungalows from the ‘20s and ‘30s had plenty of charm and character. Gorgeous maple and pine trees towered over the homes, each with its own special touches, but modern conveniences like dishwashers and garage door openers were in short supply. The Wilsons had tackled a complete modernization and had a different set of contractors and work crews clogging the street every day. I edged past an oversized shiny pickup, an ancient blue van with a mountain landscape painted on the side, a van
labeled “Buzzard Electric,” and a dented Ford Tempo. Finally, I pulled into the driveway in front of our basement garage.
Despite the inconveniences, I loved our house. Its honey colored brick looked cozy even on this cold day and the graceful Tudor-inspired lines and the leaded glass gave it a uniqueness that we’d never find in modern tract housing or in base housing, either. Our house sat on a corner lot. The lot sloped down at the rear of the property and the builder had taken advantage of the drop. He’d burrowed into the slope to create a two-car attached garage at the basement level.
With Livvy’s head tucked under my chin to shelter her from the frigid wind that made my eyes water, I crunched through the snow and ice that rimmed our driveway. Inside, I peeled her out of her snowsuit like I was peeling a banana and changed her diaper.
“Dogs. Woof, woof,” she said, her face serious as I carried her to bed. She held her eyes wide open to keep them from shutting.
“Yes. There were some very loud dogs today at the vet.” I snuggled her in bed, positioned Pink Girl on the night stand, sang a lullaby, and tip-toed into the hall. I left the answering machine blinking “three” and went to get Rex, our mutt, a mix of lab and rottweiler, out of his kennel in the Cherokee. Since we didn’t have another of suburbia’s staples, a completely fenced backyard, I put him on his long tether in the backyard. He galloped through the snow, dug his nose into the powder, and flung it into the air while I dragged the kennel inside and put it in the kitchen.
I shut the kitchen door and stood still trying to absorb the warmth of the kitchen. I worked my boots off and padded across the golden oak floorboards to turn
up the heat another notch. Then I hit Play on the answering machine and scrounged in the pantry for hot chocolate packets.
A languid voice stated, “Hello, Ellie. This is Clarissa Bedford. You said to call you about a consultation. Next week, either Tuesday or Friday morning works for me.” I heard a trace of an accent in the message that I hadn’t noticed in person. Southern? Or more of a Southwest drawl? I’ll have to ask her where she was from. The machine stated the date and time, then beeped.
“Ellie. Jill. Call me. It’s urgent.” I smiled as I pulled out the cocoa and marshmallows. The staccato commands from the squadron commander’s wife couldn’t have been more different from Clarissa’s slower, deeper voice.
I picked up the phone and dialed Jill’s number, but my cell phone trilled, so I hung up the kitchen phone and dug my cell phone out from under a sippy cup in my purse.
“Ellie. Where are you?” Abby, my best friend, sounded breathless and shaken.
“I’m at home.”
“I just got a busy signal,” she said sharply.
“Hey, can’t I listen to my messages? I was returning a phone call.” The wonders of technology. Now when someone is too impatient to wait for the phone not to be busy they can call my cell phone.
“Sorry,” Abby rushed on, “Jill’s trying to find you. You remember that form, the one we filled out at the Spouse Coffee? With all the info? Penny never filled one out. They don’t know who to call.”
“Slow down. What’s going on?” I was used to Abby’s scattered conversations, but I felt a finger of cold that had nothing to do with the weather trace itself along
my neck. Her trembling voice held a note of fear. Something was not right.
“I’m doing this all wrong.” Abby took a deep breath. “Penny’s dead.”