Lethal Lasagna (3 page)

“What made you decide to observe my class?” Brandon cupped his coffee between his palms.

Being a Christian it is my duty to answer as honestly as I can, at moments like this I’d rather not answer at all. What did I really know about Brandon Harvest—besides the fact that he’s easy on the eyes? He could be the killer. “I’m an old friend of Mitzi Douglas.”

Sadness entered his caramel eyes. “She was a very talented writer and a good friend. Still that doesn’t tell me why you joined a creative writing class.”

Mitzi had never told me her professor was her friend. She’d not told me about Brandon at all. If I’d been the one to meet him first, I felt sure I’d have told her what a hunk he is, and she would have said, ‘step into the twentieth century Claire, men are no longer hunks. They’re hotties.’

I’m not sure if it was the melancholy sensation I’d just walked into or what, but I answered. “I plan on finding Mitzi’s murderer.”

His brows drew together, and he ran a hand through his thick looking hair. “You think you will find him in my class?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Right now, I’m just going where she went and doing some of the things she did.” I took a careful sip of my hot tea. The aroma of lemon and honey filled my senses.

“Ah.” He focused on his drink.

I waited. Nothing more came from his lips. He simply stared into the dark liquid in his cup. That was it just ‘ah’? Where were the questions? The comments? Anything at all would be better than his silence. Maybe he thinks I’m a crazed woman. If so, what did I have to lose by confessing? “The police think I did it.”

His head came up and serious light brown eyes studied me. “I doubt that is true.”

I felt the heat rush into my face. Had I actually said those words aloud?

“You don’t look much like a killer to me.”

Yep, I’d said them. “Thanks but if the killer looked like a murderer I’m sure the police would have caught him by now.”

A warm chuckled greeted my ears. His laugh enough to send my heartbeats into overtime. Not since Frank, had a man brought my senses to life like this. I found myself joining his laughter.

He continued to smile when he asked, “So, if you are the main suspect what’s kept them from arresting you?”

The question sobered me up. “I’m the one who found Mitzi. She was laying on the floor beside a pan that had lasagna in it. When I saw her, I pushed the pan away and left my fingerprints. I gave them the details when they arrived. So, on one point they believe me, because I’d told them I’d touched the pan, but on the other hand they aren’t sure because mine are the only prints at the scene that aren’t Mitzi’s.” I stirred my tea.

Fresh tears filled my eyes as I relived those moments of finding her. Tears I was determined not to let fall. I took a deep breath and slowly released it before looking across at Brandon.

He sat his cup down and reached across the table. His warm hand engulfed mine. “She was more than a friend wasn’t she?”

I nodded. “We weren’t sisters by birth but we were as close as any blood sisters could ever be.” His palm scratched mine. I wondered what Brandon did that would create calluses on his hands. Editing papers surely hadn’t created the rough skin.

“Then I am doubly sorry for your loss.” His voice sounded sincere and strong. He squeezed my hand and then released it.

I missed the warmth immediately. “Thank you.” I picked up my teacup and traced the blue china design that decorated the sides.

As if talking to himself, Brandon said. “I wonder how far the police have gotten in their investigation.” He took a drink from his cup before looking at me.

Where was my willpower? “They know now that she was poisoned.” I offered then gulped the now lukewarm tea. The flavor of honey teased my tongue.

He sat his cup down slowly. “Poisoning?” Brandon’s voice sounded so low and soft I questioned whether or not I’d heard him right.

I nodded.

He studied the wall behind me for several long moments. “Claire, how would you feel if I offered to help you find Mitzi’s murderer?”

Excitement raced through my veins. How would I feel? My first instinct was to squeal with happiness. I’d love to get to know this man better. My second reaction was to say no. Again, I had to ask myself, what did I know about him? My third thought was, I hope he can’t read what I’m thinking by the expressions on my face.

As if he knew the turmoil my thoughts were going through, Brandon offered, “Mitzi was a friend of mine, too.” He paused. It seemed to me he was debating what to say next. Then he spoke again. “The creative writing class is a three month course. We cover whatever genres the students wish to write. A little over a month ago, we covered poisons for the mystery writers. I can’t help but think that maybe something I said had something to do with Mitzi’s death. More than ever, I’d like to help catch her murderer.”I met his sorrow-filled gaze and made the decision that it would be nice to have someone to discuss things with. Since this is all new to me, Brandon would probably have a better insight on how to go about finding a killer. He was a writer after all.

“Ok, I guess the first thing we need to know is who the mystery writers are in your class. And do you think we should tell the police what you just told me?” I leaned forward.

Brandon sighed and seemed to relax. “I’m not sure who the mystery writers are.”

“How can you not know?”

He leaned and met me halfway across the table. It was then I realized just how small the café’s tables were. I watched his mouth as he said, “When the course began I asked the class collectively who wrote what.” I must have frowned because he continued. “You know I said something like, ‘do we have any children’s authors?’ And so on. As each group raised their hands I wrote ‘yes’ beside that genre on my paper.”

“I see. So you created assignments for those genres and then had the class write collectively for each?” The words came out in a whisper. I ignored the breathiness of my answer, telling myself it was the quiet tone and not the man across the table.

He nodded.

How were we going to find out who the mystery writers were in his class?

Brandon smiled. “Looks like you have to attend my class again.”

“Why?” Excitement soared into my chest. Did he really want me there? Stop it Claire. This is about Mitzi not you. Besides, I had planned on going anyway but why did he feel I had to attend?

In whispered tones he answered. “Because Monday I’m going to ask everyone what they write again, and you can write down their answers.”

I scooted back in my seat. The distance helped me deny him this task. “Sorry Professor, but that’s not happening.”

A startled look crossed his face. He reacted as if I’d just slapped him, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Look, just have everyone write down on a piece of paper what they write. We’ll still get our answer.”

“So, while I’m pumping my students for answers what will you be doing?”

“I’ll be there but as a student. I’m not sure I want everyone to know why I’m really attending this class. If we don’t come across any suspects, we’ll need to turn the list over to the detective. He’ll want to know about the contest.”

“That makes sense. I’ll take care of getting a record of my students to him and telling him about the final exam, not contest. What’s your next step?” He asked.

“Sunday morning I’m going to go to her church.”

A grin broadened on his face. “You seriously expect to find the killer attending her church?”

When he said it like that, it did sound a little ridiculous. But it was possible. “I don’t know but it is one of the few places Mitzi socialized.”

The smile slipped from his lips and eyes. “I suppose so.”

Once more, I wondered how well he knew Mitzi. Had they dated? Or were they just friends like he said? If there had been romantic sparks, why hadn’t Mitzi told me about them?

Later that evening, I finished grilling my cheese sandwich and carried it to the table. At the same time, the microwave dinged announcing the bowl of tomato soup was done. I placed both on a large dining tray and headed to the living room. My favorite game show had just come on.

While the contestants introduced themselves I thought about Brandon Harvest. I hate to admit it, but it disturbs me that Mitzi and Brandon might have been closer than just friends.

Just before leaving the college, he’d offered me a class list of names, which I snatched up and tucked into my purse. Now what was I going to do with it? I couldn’t just call them all up and ask if they’d killed my best friend. That would just be tacky.

Warm buttery cheese teased my taste buds. On the television, a woman wearing a bright green top and the nametag that read “Florence” had just spun the wheel and landed on the three hundred dollar marker.

The category was “Thing,” and there were three words to fill in. I sipped at the hot soup as Florence asked for an M and got one. Then she did something I hate, she asked to buy a vowel. The crazy woman chose a U, which wasn’t in the puzzle.

It was the next contestant’s turn. He was a middle-aged man with a bald spot in the middle of his scalp. It reflected the light each time he bent over to spin the wheel. The thought he should do something about that crossed my mind as he spun the wheel and landed on the five hundred marker. He chose an S and got three of them. Then he asked for a vowel. Again I groaned.

This time the request was for an A, which he didn’t get. The game continued. Slowly I made out the words Single Stem Rose. The player who got it had a total of three hundred dollars. He could have continued guessing at the consonants and gotten more money but he was too anxious.

“Dumber than mud,” I grumbled, picking up the dinner tray and heading back to the kitchen during the commercial. Normally I would pick up the phone and call Mitzi but not tonight, not ever again. My gaze moved to the phone on the wall.

There were a number of women friends I could call. Gloria Fielding’s name came to mind, but I felt a twang of guilt. Mitzi was the one I shared these silly calls with. To call someone else was like saying Mitzi no longer mattered. It was betraying our friendship. I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t.

I hurried back to the living room and forced myself to become absorbed in the game show but Mitzi stayed on my mind.

TITLE

When my phone rang, the face of the alarm clock proclaimed the time to be eight AM.

“Hello?” I fairly growled into the phone. I wanted to scream. Didn’t whoever was on the other end of the line know that it was Saturday morning? My day to sleep in?

“Mrs. Parker?”

The voice sounded familiar. I scooted up against the headboard of my bed. “Yes?”

“You’re late, Dear.”

Late? What was I late for? The woman was crazy.

“Mrs. Parker? Are you there?”

I really didn’t want to answer her. The desire to sleep overwhelmed me so much I slid back under the sheets and comforter. With them over my head, I answered. “Yes, I’m just trying to figure out what I’m late for.”

“Dear I don’t think you’re awake.”

“Well, then if this is a dream, I’m going to hang up.” I pulled the phone away.

Her voice screamed through the phone lines. “No! We need you here.”

“Where is here?” I grumbled, putting the phone back up to my ear.

A heavy sigh sounded. “Mrs. Parker, this is Mrs. Harvey from church. You volunteered to help out at the annual yard sale.”

“Oh, no!” I threw the covers off and fairly jumped out of bed. “I am so sorry. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

After a quick shower and an apology to Sprocket in which I promised to make our walk longer this evening, I hurried off to the church.

“What took you so long to get here?” My friend, Gloria Fielding, asked as I rushed to her side.

“I forgot. Well, I didn’t forget. I just didn’t remember it was this weekend.” I reminded myself of that guy on the old sitcom that couldn’t remember anything, well, not anything. He remembered some things but they didn’t really make sense. What was his name? Hummm...The show was Green Acres.

Gloria handed me a roll of masking tape and a black marker. “Mrs. Harvey is really upset.”

“Yeah, she called me.” Mr. Haney? No, he was the guy who charged Oliver for everything.

“She didn’t!” Gloria gasped. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stall her.”

Gloria is a sweet lady who loves everyone. She has olive colored eyes, red hair and a crooked smile. I’d have to say she is the closest friend I had next to Mitzi. This thought startled me. With Mitzi gone, I guess that made Gloria my new best friend. Tears filled my eyes.

“What’s wrong, honey? Did Mrs. Harvey hurt your feelings?”

“No.”

Gloria stared me in the eyes and whispered dramatically. “Are you sure? Cause if she did, I’ll hold her and you can punch.”

That one always made me laugh. “Thanks, I’m fine. Just a little weepy this week.”

“I’m glad you made it, Mrs. Parker. And in such a good mood, too.” Mrs. Harvey passed on by. Her gray hair stuck out in the back. I almost giggled. Amazed that my emotions were on a rollercoaster ride this morning, I shook my head. What was wrong with me?

“Ignore her, Claire. I think her skirts have been starched too much,” Gloria whispered.

I giggled. “That’s not nice, Gloria.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Gloria went back to marking dishes but a happy twinkle filled her eyes.

After several moments of her marking plates and me pricing cups, she asked. “What have you been up to lately?”

A smile touched my lips. “Well, yesterday I went to my first creative writing class.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“You have no idea.” I sighed, thinking of Brandon.

Gloria laid down her black marker. “Okay, give girl.”

Give girl? What were we teenagers? I almost laughed out loud. Only the expression on her face screamed she was very serious. “There’s nothing to ‘give’ I just enjoyed the lesson. That’s all.”

“Uh, huh, maybe I’ll take up creative writing next week.” Gloria loaded the dishes back into a half full cardboard box.

The thought of telling her no entered my mind. Gloria is fifty-five years old and she still has the cutest figure. And her eyes and red hair catch more attention from men than sticky strips catch flies.

Maybe reverse psychology would work on her. “Great. It meets Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons at one. Oh, and you don’t get class credit for the class, but you can attend as long as you wear a visitors badge.” I added the cups to her box.

“If you don’t get credit, why are you taking the class?” Gloria handed me a box of magazines to price. “Put twenty five cents on all of these, please.”

Busted, I thought. She pulled a pile of books toward herself. As she started marking, I answered. “I’m looking for Mitzi’s murderer.”

The unladylike snort that exploded from her nose turned more than just my head. Gloria slapped a hand over her mouth. “You’re joking,” She announced once she’d settled down.

Mrs. Harvey stomped by, calling over her shoulder. “Do I have to separate you two?” She continued on her route not giving us time to answer.

“That woman needs a ...”

“Don’t forget we are at church.” Gloria interrupted giggling.

“Church or no church, she has no right to talk to us like that. We are full grown women.” I continued to stare at the retreating woman’s back.

Gloria took the magazines I’d marked and began replacing them in their box. “Maybe so, but she is still a school teacher.”

My gaze moved to the new pile of used merchandise Gloria had placed in front of me. “She’s retired, Gloria. And I’m not in school, and neither are you.” Sometimes Gloria just frustrated the dickens out of me with all her positive, see-people-in-the–best-light attitude.

Gloria was bent over a box, but I could still hear her muffled voice. “Yes you are.”

It took me a few moments to realize she was talking about the creative writing class. “That doesn’t count.”

Her head popped up. “How does taking that class have anything to do with Mitzi’s death?”

Olive eyes studied my face intently. For a brief moment, we shared the pain of a lost friend. I couldn’t contain the sorrow in my voice when I answered. “Honestly, I don’t know that it will but I have to see if I can find what the police can’t.”

Gloria stood slowly. “They are working to find her murderer. You know that, right?”

“Yes, but I also know that because my fingerprints are on the pan, I’m their number one suspect, and I didn’t do it. So, if I can help them solve this mystery, I will.” I wish I felt as confident as I hoped I sounded.

She nodded her understanding, and then we each picked a full box of yard sale goods and headed for the front. Just before stepping out onto the grassy lawn, Gloria stopped in front of me. “If I can help, you’ll let me know?”

“Oh course.” Somehow we managed to hug around our heavy loads before departing to work opposite sides of the sale.

After putting out the marked items, I squatted down beside a box full of stuffed toys. If I were lucky, I’d find something Sprocket might like to cuddle with this winter. A half hidden teddy bear caught my attention. His medium sized body was covered with other discarded childhood favorites. Just as I reached to unearth the stuffed animal, my knees creaked and begged to be released from the locked position I now seemed to be in.

“Can I help you up?”

A large tanned hand was extended down to me. I recognized that voice. Without looking up, I knew Brandon Harvest stood over me blocking the sun. What else could I do but paste a smile on my face, look up and answer, “Yes, thank you.”

Heat enveloped my face as the joints in my legs popped and snapped. When I was standing securely, he released my hand and elbow. He seemed not to notice the sounds or the redness I am sure lit up my face like a fiery furnace.

“Is this the one you were after?” He pulled the teddy from the pile and held it up for my inspection.

“Yes, he is.” I busied myself inspecting the toy. What was he doing here? Had he come to the yard sale? Or was he stalking me? The thought of him being there to see me set the pulse in my neck to throbbing. Satisfied the stuffed animal didn’t have any weird eyes or noses that would choke Sprocket, I deemed him a worthy new play thing for my old dog. I hugged it close and looked to the handsome man beside me.

He was looking around at the people and the many tables, furniture, piles of clothes, and all the other items that littered the church lawn. “I’m a sucker for garage sales.”

So much for thinking he was there because of me.

“Not me.” The words were out of my mouth and there was no turning back.

He grinned and looked pointedly at the teddy bear in my arms. “Really? So what brings you here?”

“I’m working this sale. I go to church here and was drafted into it a couple of months ago.” Fresh heat filled my face, and the pulse beat harder in my neck. Could he see that?

The confession turned his grin into a gentle laugh. “I see. I’ve been drafted into a few things myself lately.”

“Nothing too bad,” I fished.

He noticed a box of books and knelt down to look through them. “Not really ...”

It was obvious after several long seconds he wasn’t going to elaborate. “That’s good.” I said.

Mrs. Harvey approached. “Claire, Ramona has arrived to relieve you.”

Brandon stood with several books in his hands.

“Thank you.” I tried to read the titles, but he wasn’t holding them at the right angle.

The older woman looked Brandon over, nodded once, and then turned to leave.

“Does this mean you’re free this afternoon?” He asked. His eyes searched my face.

“I have to go home and give Sprocket his new toy and take him for a long walk. After that, I might be. Why?” Had I just squeaked like a water toy? What was it about this man that left me so breathless? Maybe I should find a vitamin that would cure breathlessness when a handsome man was in my vicinity.

“Let’s get out of here, and then I’ll tell you.” He made a point of looking in Mrs. Harvey’s direction. She watched us as a librarian listens for noise. If she were any more intense, I’d have to peel her eyes off us, literally. Well, maybe not literally, but it was obvious she would have liked nothing more than to hear our total conversation.

I began to walk to the checkout desk. It felt good to have the handsome professor following close behind me.

As I paid fifty cents for the stuffed bear, he paid for his books, and I saw the titles. Aw, they were on wood crafting and writing. We walked to our cars in comfortable silence. Okay, to the onlooker it might have seemed contented. At least I hoped I looked relaxed. Inside I was excited to hear what he had to say and why he’d asked about my afternoon.

We stopped at my car.

“Remember I told you I’d been talked into a few things?” How could I have forgotten? That had been less than ten minutes ago.

At my nod he continued. “Well, one of those things takes place this afternoon and I was wondering if you’d mind coming with me?” Brandon studied the tip of his shoes, reminding me of an embarrassed schoolboy. Even that was attractive. I had to get a grip!

“Coming with you where?” My heart pounded in my chest. I attempted to open the car door and wished like the dickens I had one of those remote door keys. The way my hands were shaking I’d have all the paint scratched off around the keyhole before I ever got it inserted and unlocked.

“Promise not to laugh?”

Finally the key went into the door. With one little twist I was able to deposit my bear onto the front seat. Feeling mischievous I answered. “Nope.”

A twinkle entered his eyes. “Ok. I’ll just ask. Claire, would you go with me to the high school where my granddaughter is auctioning me off to the highest bidder for a date complete with a steak dinner?”

I couldn’t contain the laughter that spewed from my lips. He had to be kidding. “Brandon, you aren’t supposed to bring a date to these functions. You are the date!”

“Well, I have that part planned out, too.”

He grinned in such a way I’m sure my heart melted and pooled at his feet but I refused to look down. To do so would be to break eye contact, and the good Lord knows I couldn’t pull my gaze away from his if my life depended on it. “Do tell.” I prayed my voice didn’t sound as shaky to him as it did to me.

He leaned close to me. I could smell peppermint on his breath as he whispered. “Well, if you buy me, I won’t have to go out with some strange woman.”

“Who says I’m not strange? You barely know me and besides, do I look like I’m in the market for a man?” I’m not sure why I was fighting this idea. Maybe it was the confident way he acted as if I’d jump at a chance to go out with him.

I slipped inside my car and left him leaning forward. The desire to laugh hit me again. Brandon Harvest looked as if he’d never dreamed I’d refuse his offer to pay good money for him.

****

What was I doing?

With my car parked in front of the high school, I asked again, “Girl, what are you doing?” Saying the words out loud didn’t bring any answers.

I shouldn’t be here.

Yet, I was.

If the number of automobiles in the parking lot was any indication, this auction would be bringing in lots of money. I wondered what the funds would go toward. A young man held the door open for me as I entered the building.

High Schools have a smell about them that only mothers and gym teachers can appreciate. I followed the signs that read “auction this way,” until I came to a large room filled with all sorts of people but no chairs. A crude platform stood at the front of the room with a microphone stand.

“Hi, Mrs. Parker. Are you here for the auction?” A young voice promptly asked after I found a spot against the back wall.

I looked up at the teenager. What did she think I was here for? She stood several inches taller than me, her blonde hair had been confined into a ponytail, and she wore a blue and gold colored cheerleading outfit. A smile touched my lips as I recognized her as one of the teens from my church.

It
’
s amazing how quickly you forgave her silly question of earlier. I ignored that still small voice and answered the grinning cheerleader. “Yes. I thought I’d check it out.”

“Then you are going to need these.” She handed me a half sheet of paper and a ping-pong paddle with the number seventy-two on it.

“Thanks.” My eyes scanned the paper.

“You’re welcome. Would you mind filling out this so we’ll know who you are when you pick up your items?” She asked handing me another small slip of paper and a tiny pencil.