It's a Wonderful Knife (5 page)

“Hold your breath while I spray, Lynette. You don't want to be a flat-haired angel,” one mother said.

“Sweetie, I convinced Ms. Fellows that you didn't have to know ballet for the Sugarplum Fairy—you can
tap dance instead. Won't that talent scout from Hollywood be impressed?” another one asked.

A little while later, I walked back into the kitchen to do a last-minute check on everything and to make sure that the ham was getting hot.

But I paused in midcrutch. Something—or rather, someone—was lying on the floor, facedown, with my knife sticking out of her back. Blood was on the back of her white blouse, staining it a bright crimson.

Liz Fellows!

I didn't have to check her pulse to know that she was dead.

I felt the room starting to spin, but I didn't dare fall. Been there, done that. Had the cast to prove it.

I heard screaming, then more screaming. High-pitched. Annoying. Loud.

Why wouldn't that woman shut up?

That's when I realized that woman was me. And I just couldn't stop.

P
astor Fritz was the first through the door, followed by Darlene, Ty, and then Bob.

Ty immediately went over to Liz, knelt on one knee, and checked for a pulse. Standing, he shook his head and then radioed for an ambulance. He also radioed for Hal Manning, the owner of the Happy Repose Funeral Home and our resident coroner, and the last member of the Sandy Harbor Sheriff's Department, Lou Rutledge, since Vern McCoy was already on the scene, keeping the crowd out of the kitchen.

“Bob, would you go to the other door and keep people out, please?”

“Absolutely, Ty.”

Pulling over a chair, Ty guided me to its seat. He took my crutches as I collapsed with a sigh. I glanced at poor Liz and quickly looked away.

“Who would want to kill Liz?” I asked. “She didn't have a mean bone in her body.”

No one answered.

Ty instructed the pastor and Darlene to move away “from the body,” and they moved behind the stainless
steel island, right by the ham—the ham that I'd been slicing.

There was a commotion outside the kitchen, and Deputy McCoy's raised voice echoed throughout the room. “Go back to the auditions, everyone. Please.”

Ty turned to Pastor Fritz and Darlene. “On second thought, would you two mind going back to the church and telling everyone to sit and wait for further instructions from me? Don't say anything more just yet.”

“Certainly, Deputy Brisco. Whatever we can do to help,” said Darlene, wide-eyed. She turned and just about ran to get out of the kitchen. I could relate to that.

Pastor Fritz lagged behind. “I'd like to say a short prayer for Liz first, if that's okay.”

“Sure. Go right ahead, pastor,” Ty said, shifting on his feet.

We all bowed our heads and Pastor Fritz made a big sweep of his arms and clasped his hands together. “God bless our sister, Elizabeth Fellows, and welcome her into heaven, for she was a kind and loving person. Amen.”

“Amen,” Ty and I said in unison.

“Someone didn't think she was a kind and loving person, Pastor Fritz,” I pointed out.

“Then they didn't know Liz like I did. She was a savior to the church office. So organized. So helpful. She was putting our bookkeeping records into the computer on a spreadsheet. Amazing. She could do anything. And what attention to detail! She kept ahead on the ordering, and she jumped at the chance to direct the Christmas pageant.” He thought for a moment.
“Now who's going to direct the pageant? Maybe we should cancel it. . . .”

“Don't cancel the pageant. I'll direct it,” I heard myself saying.

What? Like I didn't have enough to do these days?

My heart beat wildly in my chest at the thought of taking on more things, but I couldn't let the kids down.

I took a deep breath. “The kids will be crushed if the pageant is canceled. Besides, it's a Sandy Harbor tradition. I'll do it. I'll fit it in my schedule somehow . . . some way.”

Pastor Fritz nodded solemnly. “Thanks for volunteering, Trixie. The Sandy Harbor residents appreciate it, and the Sandy Harbor Community Church appreciates it.” He looked at the body of Liz on the floor and shook his head. “Maybe now is not the right time to discuss it, but I'm glad we got it settled. Let me join Darlene in talking to everyone.”

I just sat stupefied for a while. “What just happened?” I finally asked Ty.

“Looks like you're the new pageant director.” He grinned. “I distinctly heard you volunteer.”

Just then, Hal Manning walked in. “That's quite a knife in her back,” he said, bending over the body. “Anyone take pictures yet?”

“My equipment is in my car. I wanted to preserve the crime scene, so I didn't leave to get it,” Ty said.

“Now would be a good time,” Hal said.

Ty hurried out the back door.

“Hal, that's my knife,” I said. “I was slicing that ham over there.” I pointed to the table. “I left the knife on
the table when I went to the ladies' room. When I came back, I saw . . . I saw . . . Liz like that.” Tears flooded my yes. “It's all my fault.”

“It's not your fault. Unless you stabbed her. Did you?”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“Then it's not your fault, Trixie. Don't ever think it was.”

“Do you mind if I leave?” I asked. “I'm just going to hobble into the church and get out of here.”

“Sure. Go ahead. But don't go far. Ty will probably want to take your statement later.”

It was going to be a long night because Ty typed about three words a minute. Maybe he'd let me just type it up to save us both time.

Until then, I had a pageant to run and tons of food ready to put out—just as soon as the crime scene was cleared.

It wasn't as if I was being callous, but I had to feed these people somewhere . . . somehow. Didn't I? It seemed horrible moving everything to the back of the church—maybe the children's room—but it seemed even more awful moving Liz out and then eating where she was killed.

Maybe ACB had an idea as to what could be done. Or maybe Pastor Fritz and Darlene might have one.

But this volunteer might talk about pageant auditions just to distract everyone. I didn't have a clue what to say or what to do first, though.

All I could picture was Liz lying on the
black-and-white linoleum floor, covered in her own blood, with my carving knife sticking out of her back.

•   •   •

Pastor Fritz was leading everyone in a prayer for Liz.

Afterward, there were numerous questions, but the pastor said that Deputy Ty Brisco would address everyone later.

It seemed like I was having an out-of-body experience. I was sitting in a pew and listening and watching everyone, but I couldn't believe that we were talking about the pageant with Liz lying dead in the room across the hall.

But like ACB said, there were a lot of kids there who were excited to audition for the either fictitious or real talent scout. We might as well talk about it—rather than talk about Liz in front of the kids.

As I looked around at all the hopefuls who wanted to be in the pageant, I wanted to split. Then I remembered what ACB had said earlier: Anyone who tried out could be in it.

It wasn't as if this was Broadway, no matter what the backstage mothers and fathers thought. If little Junior or Juniorette couldn't sing or dance or act, he or she had to be the butt end of a camel!

Or didn't we care about talent?

I whispered to Antoinette Chloe, “Is this a variety show? Is it a play?”

“It's both, from what I can tell.”

“Did Liz have any notes?” I asked hopefully.

“She has—had—a laptop. It's somewhere around here.” ACB looked around in the pews and found it.

Thank goodness.
I'd have to look at her plans thoroughly later, when I got home.

I stood when I heard Pastor Fritz introduce me. “I'm the new pageant director because . . . uh . . . Liz is no longer able to do it. For you who don't know me, my name is Trixie Matkowski, and I'm also catering the auditions and the practices, and then the Christmas Eve community dinner. However, as you can see, I have a broken leg, and other people have stepped in to help me. So I thought I should help out with the pageant.” I gave ACB a pointed look and motioned for her to come so I could talk to her.

I whispered, “Ask Vern to let me know when I can let everyone out of this room.” The kids and their parents didn't need to see Liz in a body bag being transported to the Happy Repose Funeral Home in Hal Manning's hearse.

ACB flip-flopped out of the church, and I answered questions.

Finally Vern opened the side door and gave me the thumbs-up sign.

“I am canceling auditions for today. Please return Tuesday at the same time. By then, I should be organized. However, before you go, please take out a piece of paper and write down your name, address, and at least two phone numbers where you can be reached. Also, list your children's names and what they'd like to be in the pageant. Antoinette Chloe will collect them on your way out. Thank you, and I'll see you Tuesday at six o'clock.”

I figured that we could refrigerate the food and bring it back out for Tuesday.

Sitting on a chair that ACB brought me with my leg stretched out, lost in thought, I probably discouraged the backstage mothers from approaching me.

Finally the church was empty, with the exception of ACB and me. She sat down and showed me a stack of papers. “That's all of them. I think that the parents figured that Liz passed away—maybe from a heart attack or stroke—but they don't know that she was murdered.”

I nodded. “I figure that we can put the food away and serve it Tuesday. It'll be fine.”

“We'll take care of it as soon as everyone is done in the kitchen.”

“What are they doing in there?” I was getting tired—or maybe I was just adrenaline dumping.

ACB looked off in the distance. “They're taking pictures and measuring things, but I think they are getting ready to move Liz.”

“Do you know much about her?” I asked.

“Not really. Just what I'd heard about the rose decapitation, and she quit the Garden Club after that. Liz is fairly new to the area. Maybe three years now. She came to Sandy Harbor about the same time you did. She lives alone in that really cute cottage on Daffodil Street. I'm sure you've noticed it. It's buttercup yellow and surrounded by a white picket fence. In the summer the whole yard is loaded with flowers. For Christmas, she has white icicle lights hanging from the eaves.”

“I love that house! And Liz is quite the gardener. I wonder why she never came to the Silver Bullet.”

ACB shrugged. “Probably because she didn't drive much. She frequented my place because she could walk to it.”

Just then Ty Brisco entered the church. “Where's everyone? I was going to start interviewing people about Liz Fellows.”

“I sent them all home. It's not right being in the middle of a crime scene, especially for the kids,” I said.

“Good idea, but I wanted to ask if anyone saw anything strange or saw anyone leave the room at the time of Liz's murder.”

“We have everyone's name and contact information for you. And you know this town: In about an hour, everyone in Sandy Harbor will have heard about Liz, and anyone who might have seen anything strange is bound to come forward.”

“Yeah.” Ty looked at me. “Sorry you had to see that.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I'm glad it was me and not a little kid.”

He put his hand on my shoulder as if to comfort me. It helped. “What about all the food?” he asked quietly.

“As soon as you'll allow us into the kitchen, Antoinette Chloe and I will wrap it all up and put it in the fridge.”

“You can come in now. Hal Manning cleaned up the couple of spots of blood from the floor. Everyone is gone. I'll help you, and we'll get out of here faster.”

“Come to think of it, where are Bob and Ray?” I asked.

“They are sitting in the van now. When you discovered Liz, Bob took Ray out of the kitchen and plopped him in the van with a couple of U2 CDs.”

“Good idea.”

“I'll go get them,” Ty said. “We could use their help in packing up everything.”

“No. Leave them. The three of us can handle it. It won't take long. But let's get moving. Pastor Fritz is waiting to lock up.”

I pointed to Liz's things. “Ty, these are some of Liz's personal things—like her coat, purse, and tote bag. Would you like me to pack them up for you? Maybe they'll help you find her next of kin.”

Ty nodded. “Thanks. That'd be great.”

I should have mentioned Liz's laptop, but I wanted it. Liz had notes on the laptop for the pageant; I had seen her checking it. And maybe it might have clues on it as to who the murderer could be. I intended on seeing what I could find. It would only be stored in a locker at the sheriff's department until they got around to finding tech experts anyway.

Ty helped me out of the chair and handed me my crutches. I took a deep breath, but that was a mistake. My ribs protested.

ACB, bless her heart, was rolling up Liz's coat and stuffing it into her tote bag. She tossed Liz's purse over her shoulder and winked at me.

I knew exactly what she was up to. She was going to
walk out with Liz's purse and laptop, hoping that Ty wouldn't notice.

That's my friend!

Back at the Big House, we could check out Liz's purse and her computer. Maybe it would give us a clue as to who had a grudge against her.

I had a stake in trying to find out what happened to Liz. After all, my carving knife was the murder weapon, but Ty would order me to mind my own business and leave the investigating to him, a trained professional.

Yeah, right.
He worked within the confines of his job title and the law.

ACB and I had no such problem. We both were in the food business. I owned the Silver Bullet, eleven cottages, and a big farmhouse. ACB owned a restaurant in town and had an old Victorian house in a historic part of the village where Victorians were the staple. But ACB's house was more than a “painted lady,” as ornately painted Victorians were called. ACB's house was a painted lady on an LSD trip.

We went to work, wrapping the ham, salads, and whatnot. We put everything we needed to in the industrial fridge. I avoided looking at the area where I'd found Liz, and soon we were done and out of there.

Tuesday's catering would be a snap.

I hobbled out to the van. Bob and Ray jumped out to open the front door for me and help me into the passenger's side.

Ty, ACB, and Ray climbed into the backseat. Bob
started up the van, and we drove away into the darkness, back to the Big House.

We barely talked on the ride home, each of us lost in thought. But ACB hated silence, and asked, “How long did Liz work in the church office?”