Murder in the Milk Case (3 page)

I licked my fingers. “Not that I know of.” In my stomach, coffee met chocolate in what could only be called a pitched battle. “Look, Ma, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s too gruesome. My stomach feels queasy.”

“Of course it does. I’d be worried if it didn’t. Finding someone you know like that would be enough to make a normal person throw up.”

I swallowed hard and ignored the implication that I wasn’t normal.

“But you know what they say. This, too, shall pass. Besides, it could be worse, you know. It could have been—”

“I have to go,” I said, before she explained in great detail what was worse than finding Jim Bob Jenkins with a knife in him. Something like being arrested for his murder, for instance? “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

I hung up but didn’t move. The last of the uneaten chocolate sat in the torn wrapper in front of me. I couldn’t finish it while the rest laughed viciously at me from my stomach. That was an unexpected reaction to my favorite bad habit.

My new side-by-side stainless steel refrigerator kicked on, and I looked toward it. The metal gleamed. I swallowed, reminded of the steel doors of the refrigerated units in morgues that I’d seen on television. I never paid close attention to the details when the shows aired. I wished I had. Where was the body from the dairy case right now? Had it begun to decay already? Was it stretched out on some cold, metal examining table with a masked and goggled doctor standing over it with a whirring—

“Mommy, how long before dead bodies smell?”

I choked on a mouthful of coffee and almost wrenched my neck turning around. Had Sammie already heard about her mother’s exploits at the grocery store before I could tell her myself? Relief flooded through me when I saw that my precious youngest daughter held an elaborately decorated shoebox with our deceased hamster’s name spelled out in purple glitter on the top.

“We can wait to bury Hammie tomorrow, but he might smell by then. Charlie says that soon the body will puff all up and turn black. Then beetles and flies—”

“We’ll do it tonight after Daddy gets home,” I said quickly, trying not to think about her description, which was all too real for me. “Did you wash your hands?”

“Uh-huh.” She met my gaze. “It’s okay if we wait.”

I studied her face suspiciously. Was that hope in her eyes? Did she want to see the body puffed up and, well. . . Using all my self-control, I smiled. “We’ll have the funeral tonight.” I pulled her close to me while I avoided the box. I didn’t feel like touching another dead body, even through cardboard.

“Okay.” She sighed.

“Charlie can be a little gruesome,” I said.

She nodded, her little mouth pursed, brows drawn into a frown. “Yeah, Charlie sees dead people.”

I know from expert opinion—mine—that the challenge of following childhood conversational twists is the leading cause of brain-cell loss in mothers. Not to mention dealing with the issues said conversations reveal.

“Charlie—sees—what?” The slowness of my speech was an outward indication of the sluggishness of my mind. Had I just heard my sweet, Christian-school-educated daughter say what I thought she said about her Christian-school-educated brother?

Sam pulled away and put her empty hand on her mouth. “Oops. I shouldn’t have told you.”

Charlie has yet to learn that telling his younger sister anything is tantamount to sending a taped advertisement to the local radio station. Or telling his grandmother.

He had arrived home a couple of minutes ago. I glanced toward the doorway that led to the family room where he was watching television, his favorite activity after arguing. Dead people? I had to do something about this, but before I could think, the kitchen door flew open, banging against the yellow wall. Tommy, my seventeen-year-old stepson breezed in, followed by my stepdaughter, Karen.

Tommy grinned with a look so reminiscent of his father that I automatically smiled. “Way cool, Mom! You’re a celebrity!”

Karen crossed her arms and stared at me, saying nothing. That wasn’t surprising, given she was a moody fifteen-year-old, using up her daily store of friendly conversation on the telephone with Julie Snyder, Lee Ann’s daughter.

Sam watched everyone with bright eyes, distracted from planning Hammie’s funeral. I was sure her active mind was already mulling over all the possible reasons for her mother’s sudden notoriety. She slipped a chubby hand into mine and put her mouth next to my ear. “Mommy, what is he talking about?”

Before I could answer, the back door opened again and in walked Max. His black hair, graying slightly at his temples, ruffled from the wind, gave him the casual appearance of a wealthy man just in from yachting—something his mother implied he’d do on a regular basis if it weren’t for me. As far as she was concerned, I was too much of a redneck and too young to be a good wife for Max.

He put a small plastic bag on the counter.

Sammie ran to him. “Daddy! We’re going to have a funeral!”

“Dad, did you hear the cool news about Mom?” Tommy said.

Karen just stared at all of us in turn with her mouth quirked in a slight sneer.

Max fielded the questions and a physical assault on his knees by Sammie with his usual aplomb.

“That’s why I’m home early.” He picked Sammie up and hugged her.

“What about Mommy?” she asked.

“Your mommy is the best,” Max said, kissing Sammie’s cheek.

“Dad, did you hear about the—” Tommy began.

“I heard.” Max looked at me. “Did you start dinner yet, honey?”

“You mean you want to eat tonight?” I joked while I tried to remember what was in the freezer.

Tommy’s body vibrated with the energy only teenage boys emanate. “Yeah, but did you—”

“Why don’t all of you decide what kind of pizza you’d like, call in the order, and go pick it up?” Over Sammie’s head, Max put his finger to his lips. Tommy’s eyes widened, and he nodded. Max wanted to wait to tell Sammie about her mother’s misadventures. He kissed Sam’s cheek and put her down. Then he pulled out his wallet and handed Tommy some twenties. “Let’s talk about everything when you get home. Oh, and grab Charlie, too. He’s probably watching television.”

“I don’t want to go,” Karen grumbled.

Max fixed her with a level stare. “Go anyway.”

As the kids trooped from the kitchen, I met Max’s gaze. He closed the distance between us before I could blink, reached for my hands, and lifted me to my feet, enclosing me in a hug. The lingering crisp scent of the aftershave he’d put on that morning smelled good. For a moment, I tried to forget everything but the feel of his body against mine and his arms wrapped tightly around me.

“There is something to be said for the old days when a man could lock his wife away for safekeeping,” he murmured in my hair.

“Very funny,” I said into his shirt.

“I brought you something.” He backed up, smiled, and went back to the counter for the bag, pulled out a little box, and handed it to me with a kiss. “I was saving this for Easter, but I know this was a hard day, so I want you to have it now.”

I opened the box and found a tiny gold cross on a braided gold chain. “Oh, Max, it’s beautiful.” I blinked back tears.

“It’s to remind you of our first date.”

We had our first date after church on Easter Sunday.

“Thank you, honey,” I whispered. I pulled the delicate necklace from the box, thinking how much I didn’t deserve the gift.

He helped me put it on. I turned around so he could see it. Then I looked up at him.

Worry creased the brows above his green eyes. “I sent all the kids away so we could talk. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” I tried to ignore the feeling of apprehension in my stomach. Now that Jim Bob was dead, did I really have to say anything? Perhaps the past could stay in the past. I wrapped my arms around Max again and lifted my face. He kissed me, an activity that I usually enjoy more than just about anything else in the world. I almost succeeded in forgetting my day until I heard a gagging sound.

“Eeeww. Come on, you guys. Stop it.”

Max and I reluctantly parted lips and turned. Charlie stood framed in the kitchen doorway, red hair stuck out at odd angles, and he had a fierce scowl on his face.

He stalked over to stand in front of us. “Why didn’t you tell me about the grocery store? Mike just told me on the phone. This is important.”

Max knelt in front of Charlie. “We’re not going to talk about it right now. Go with your brother and sisters and pick up the pizza. We’ll discuss it later.”

“But, Dad—”

Max stood. “Please.”

Charlie’s cheeks puffed up with all the words he wanted to say. Then he whirled on his heels and left the room.

My husband watched the doorway until he heard the front door slam. “Good. They’re gone.” He turned to me and studied my face. “You want to tell me about today?”

“Not really. I don’t feel like talking about it.” I had a feeling Max wanted to do more than listen. He probably had a few things he wanted to say, as well. I braced myself for his comments, which would be something along the line of “Why can’t you stay out of trouble for one week?”

He shook his head. “You’re sure? It’s not like you not to talk.”

How well he knew me—but I kept my lips zipped and nodded.

He sighed. “Of all the people in Four Oaks, why were you the one to find a body? In the milk case of all places?”

I’d been right. I stuck my chin in the air. “I didn’t do it on purpose. And don’t remind me of the milk case. I’ll never be able to look at dairy products the same again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I crossed my arms. “Well, at least I didn’t get hurt. It’s not as bad as when I tried to hog-tie that calf to prove I could, and then it kicked me. Or when I sprained my wrist skateboarding with Charlie, or the time I went rock climbing with Tommy and got stuck. Or. . .”

“Trish, honey,” Max said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t remind me. I worry about you as much as I worry about the kids.”

I sighed in exasperation. “This isn’t the same. It was someone else who got hurt.” I paused. “Well, killed.”

“You found him,” he said.

“So you keep reminding me. Don’t worry. It’s over.” I hoped.

He rubbed his temple. “Well, at least your part in this should be over, except that you might have to eventually go to trial or something to testify about what you saw. You should like that.” He grinned slightly. He knows how much I enjoy drama and yelling.

But this time, I wasn’t excited. I glanced at the floor. “Well, a trial could be fun.” As long as I was a witness and not the accused.

He put his hands on my arms. “Baby, are you okay? You’re not acting right.”

“Yes.” I wasn’t quite truthful. Even the use of my pet name wasn’t enough to make me feel better.

“Trish?” His concern was so evident in his furrowed forehead that I hugged him.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered in his ear. “It’ll be okay. All’s well that ends well. That’s what my mother says.”

“I hope so.” He pulled me close. “I really, really hope so.”

I did, too.

Chapter Three

I woke to light shining brightly through the white miniblinds on the windows. Max’s side of the bed was empty. I looked at the clock. Eight in the morning. I never sleep that late.

I flung myself from the bed and ran to the bathroom. My stomach felt queasy. I hoped it was nerves and not the stomach bug from the store employees. I brushed my teeth and jerked on my fuzzy purple robe and matching slippers. Then I yanked the bedroom door open and hurled myself down the hallway—straight into Max.

He grabbed my shoulders to keep me from bouncing backwards. “Hey! Take it easy.”

“Why did you let me oversleep?” I gasped, frantically trying to get loose. “What about the children?”

“All taken care of,” he said.

“Breakfast?” I stopped struggling, breathing heavily.

Max loosened his grip. “Fixed and finished.”

“Car pool?” My heartbeat slowed.

“Took care of it. Honey, relax. Everything’s under control. You needed the sleep.”

I took a deep breath and tried to think of all the things I knew I had to remember. “Four Oaks Self-Storage?”

“We both took the morning off. I told you, everything’s under control.” He rubbed his hands up and down my arms. “You want something to eat?” He linked my arm in his and walked me downstairs to the kitchen.

“Okay.” I wouldn’t argue, although I didn’t feel like eating. But I did want to read the paper. I wanted to see if my picture was in there and to make sure nothing had been said to incriminate me.

He went to the refrigerator. “Eggs?”

“No, thanks.” I looked around for the newspaper. “My stomach feels weird this morning. How about toast and jelly?”

A note lay on the table next to the cordless phone. Abbie and George called and Grandmom got a letter from Uncle Russ were written in different scrawls.

I held it up. “What’s all this?”

“Phone calls. Russ wrote his first letter from boot camp.”

My little brother, in the Navy now. And inaccessible for weeks.

Max grabbed the bread from the bread box. “Abbie said she’s coming over this afternoon. She’s bringing coffee cake from your mother’s shop.”

My mother’s coffee cake was famous, just like her doughnuts, and for good reason. And my heart warmed with pleasure at the thought of visiting with my best friend.

Max put bread in the toaster. “You sure this is all you want?”

“Yep.” The morning paper lay folded on the chair where Max had been sitting. I reached over, grabbed it, and shook it open.

“I wish you wouldn’t read that right now.” Max was getting jelly from the refrigerator.

“I want to see if my name’s in the paper,” I mumbled.

The paper didn’t have a picture of me, but there was a lengthy article about Jim Bob’s murder. I had just begun to scan that when Max snatched it out from under me and placed my food on the table. I hadn’t even seen him coming.

“Hey, you pushy man.” I tried to grab it back.

“Pushy and overprotective. That’s me.” He grinned as he folded it and tucked it under his arm. “Maybe I am, but would you mind eating first? And would you consider reining in your inquisitive mind and just leaving the whole mess behind you?”

If only he knew I couldn’t. But before I could accuse him of chronic bossiness, as well as chauvinism, the phone rang.

I grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Mrs. C? This is Shirl.”

Shirl managed the office at Four Oaks Self-Storage. She’s so good at her job she never calls us at home unless something has happened.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“That gate program isn’t working again. People can’t use their codes to get in. That kid Kevin who works on the weekends was having trouble, too.”

I glanced at my husband, who still held the paper under his arm. “You need to talk to Max.”

Smiling inwardly, I shoved the phone into Max’s hand. “It’s Shirl.” Then I snatched the paper from him.

As I smoothed it on the table, his voice rumbled in the background. I heard him say, “Just leave the gate open for now. I need to buy a new program anyway. Thank you for calling. Listen, I’ve got another call beeping in.”

The article didn’t say any more than I already knew. That was good as far as I was concerned.

The sound of Max’s voice stopped. He put the phone on the table. I looked up. He was staring at me with a frown.

“What?” I asked.

“That was Eric Scott. He needs to talk to you.”

I felt my heart sink to my toes, but I couldn’t avoid Max’s gaze. “What does he want?”

“For you to go to the sheriff’s office for an interview.” Max crossed his arms. “In an hour.”

I glanced at the clock, feeling the weight of shame press in on me. I might not be guilty of anything as heinous as murder, but I was certainly guilty of keeping secrets.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Max murmured as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Me, too, and guilt made me irritable. I folded the paper and slapped it on the table. “I didn’t find Jim Bob in the milk case on purpose.”

“I know that, honey,” Max said.

“And I didn’t do it to embarrass your mother.” Her kind didn’t shop at the Shopper’s Super Saver. Fortunately, my hoity-toity in-laws had just come back from a cruise the night before. Now they were in Florida and weren’t likely to hear by phone about how their hayseed daughter-in-law was in trouble again, until at least after brunch when their equally hoity-toity friends would have finished the morning paper—I hoped.

He took a couple of deep breaths. “I could care less what my mother thinks. I’m worried about you. You’re so impetuous I don’t know what you’re going to do next.”

Technically that was true, but I didn’t want to admit it. “So then, it’s not a big problem, right?”

“Your impulsiveness or the murder?” he asked.

“The murder,” I grumbled. “I understand exactly how you feel about the other issue.”

He walked over and kissed my forehead. “No, I don’t think you do. One of the reasons I love you so much is your impulsive nature. For a control freak like me, it’s a breath of fresh air. However, it’s also frightening, especially now when there’s a dead body involved.”

“But finding Jim Bob Jenkins wasn’t anything impulsive on my part,” I said. “I didn’t put him there.”

“I know, I know. I just wish you weren’t involved in all this.” Max sighed again. “Your toast is cold. I’ll make you more while you get ready to go. Then I’ll drive you down there. You can eat on the way. I hope this is the last we hear about Jim Bob’s murder except in the news.

I did, too. But, as my mother would say, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

Once again I was shown to an interview room, but Corporal Fletcher was nowhere in sight. As I sat down, Detective Scott arrived, alone. He sat near me, at the corner of my side of the table.

“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Cunningham.” He pulled a pen and notebook from his pocket.

“You can call me Trish,” I said.

He nodded and met my gaze with a slight smile. “Okay, Trish. How are you today?”

“Fine.” I resisted the urge to twist my hands together in my lap.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “A drink?”

“No, thank you.” I just wanted to get this over with.

“I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if I may.” He tapped his pen on the table. “How well did you know Jim Bob Jenkins?”

I shrugged, glancing at the detective, then away. “He was the pharmacist at the store. His deceased wife used to be in the garden club with my mother.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

“So, how well did you know him?” Detective Scott’s body was taut.

I shrugged again. “Like I said, he was the pharmacist at the store. I mean, how well do you get to know someone like that? Of course I did hear things from my mother about his wife. She died suddenly.”

He nodded and leaned toward me. “Did you have contact with him recently?”

I ground my teeth for just a second, knowing Frank had told on me. Perhaps avoidance would work. “I know what’s going on. You’re wondering if I’ve forgotten to tell you anything else.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

“Yes. Like, did you have any contact with Jim Bob recently?” Detective Scott’s eyes bore into mine.

He wasn’t going to let this go. I finally heaved a sigh. “Oh, all right. Obviously, Dudley Do-It-All-Right already talked to you. He’s the biggest pain in the whole world. I thought maybe he’d changed, but no. Not at all.” I put my elbows on the table. “I went to school with him, you know.”

The detective’s eyes had widened. “Dudley Do-It-All-Right?”

“Yes. Frank Gaines. We called him that in school after that perfect Canadian Mountie guy. Frank always thought he was so above everyone, and he’s a tattletale of the worst kind. I beat him up in first grade. And then in third and sixth. He’s had it in for me ever since.”

“I see.” Detective Scott coughed and shifted in his chair. “Let’s get back to my question. Did you have contact with Jim Bob Jenkins lately?”

I glanced down at the table. The detective wasn’t going to let me out of this. “Yes,” I mumbled, rubbing my fingers on my knees.

“Where?” he asked.

“At the pharmacy.” I met Detective Scott’s gaze. “Jim Bob messed up Sammie’s prescription. When I discovered the mistake, I was furious. He could kill her by being careless like that.”

“And what did you say to him?” The detective’s tone was mild, but his eyes were sharp, watching me like a bird of prey.

“I told him I was going to report him and get his license taken away.”

“Mmm.” He kept staring at me. “And then what happened?”

“We had a fight.” I absolutely did not want to tell Detective Scott about my deep, dark secret.

“Can you tell me about that fight?” he asked.

I glanced at the table again. “Well, we sort of worked it all out after that.”

“Worked it out?”

“He, uh, stopped arguing.”

“He stopped arguing,” Detective Scott repeated, his eyes narrowed.

“Yes. And Frank butted in and offered me a discount on my purchases. It was like he was protecting Jim Bob or something.” I met Detective Scott’s eyes defiantly. I refused to say anything about Jim Bob’s threats until I knew if they had basis in fact.

“Is that all?” the detective asked.

“Well, I don’t remember what I bought that day or anything.” I crossed my arms. “Except that I should own stock in the store because I’m there so much. However, after this, I—”

“Anything else you remember? Anything you want to tell me?”

I shook my head.

Detective Scott stared at me for a moment more, then shut his notebook, tucked it in his pocket, and stood.

“Well, that will be all for today. Thank you, Trish.”

I felt off balance because he’d given up too easily. As I picked up my purse, I wondered why. He opened the door for me. As I walked out to the hall, I felt his eyes on my back.

“Trish?” he said behind me.

I turned. “Yes?”

“Is this yours?” He held my cell phone in his hand.

I glanced into my purse. No phone. “Yes.”

As I took it from him, he met my eyes with a slight smile and assessing gaze. “I’ll be in touch.”

I involuntarily shivered. That sounded a great deal like a threat.