The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder (15 page)

I took the time to peer in all the cupboards and to get down on my knees with my digital camera to take shots of the shelves and their crowded contents.

As we said our good-byes, Hannah bit her lip. I’m used to that. There are often anxieties and second thoughts that surface after that contract’s signed. She said, “There are many things we don’t use often. I’d hate to get rid of them and then need them. Some have sentimental value. I have some of my mother’s cooking paraphernalia from back in the sixties.”

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll find a way for you to keep what’s loved and useful. As for the rest of it, if you choose a small kitchen and you don’t want any more cupboards, you have to be ruthless with the everyday items. You’ll be making the decisions, not me. And if there are utensils you use once a year, set them aside and we’ll find a place where you’re not tripping over them for the other three hundred and sixty-four days. We’ll take it item by item. Most of the items won’t have sentimental value. You won’t hate the process as much as you think and you’ll love the results.”

She managed a smile. I recognized that glimmer of hope.

I love this job.

As soon as I was back in the Miata, I left a message for Lilith Carisse and tried Mona again. No luck. And of course no answering machine picked up. I was home again soon enough, although the driving was slushy and miserable. Keep smiling, I told myself. No point in fussing about what you can’t change, like the weather. I was looking forward to my therapy-dog meeting.

I was surprised to find Pepper waiting for me in my driveway. She stepped out of the unmarked dark sedan that we called her detectivemobile. She wore a long black coat with a stylish cut and a flattering collar. Her new layered haircut suited her and her skin was glowing. Pepper was an excellent detective and she loved being a cop, even if she missed Little Nick during her shifts. Little Nick’s dad, “Nick the Stick” Monahan, for long, complicated reasons that gave me a headache, was taking leave to care for him.

I glanced at her feet. I was in the market for a new pair of winter dress boots now that the sales were on.

I waved and grinned. “Where did you get those great boots, Pepper? I—”

“We better talk inside,” she said grimly. “Over coffee.”

I felt my heart sink. I’d told Pepper about Mona’s outbursts. Had she been arrested? Or worse, had Pepper found proof that Mona was responsible for the hit-and-runs? Don’t jump to conclusions, I reminded myself. Pepper was still suffering from terrible headaches after her head injury the previous June. Or her mood might have to do with “Nick the Stick.” Her handsome and useless husband never failed to present a new challenge to Pepper, especially now that he was on suspension from the police force. Pepper’s official story was about Nick’s desire to be a stay-at-home dad. No one was buying that. Pepper was quiet on the way up, and the only sound was the clatter of our heels on the wooden stairs. The dogs greeted us with enthusiasm and joined Pepper on the sofa while I made the coffee. I found a stash of sugar cookies left over from the last batch my friend Rose Skipowski had made for me, and I put them on a plate.

When I arrived back bearing coffee and cookies, I noticed Sweet Marie and Truffle had burrowed in to cuddle Pepper, their faces resting on the thigh of her dark wool dress pants. She had a pained expression on her regal face. She’s not the type for pets.

“Don’t worry, I have an excellent lint brush,” I said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Dog hair on your thigh. I thought that’s why you have that expression.”

“If only.” Pepper picked up her cup of coffee. She takes it black, no sugar. So do I. “Here’s the thing—”

I blurted out, “I am worried about Mona. I’d like to talk to her. Did you get a chance to talk sense into her?”

Pepper can’t lie to me. We’ve been friends far too long. She scrunched up her face. I knew she was toying with a fib, and thought the better of it.

“So did you?”

“Yes, I did. That’s why I’m here.”

“You found her?”

“Found her? She’s not lost. What are you talking about?” As much as I felt I owed Mona some loyalty, two people were dead. And Mona was in a state. I wasn’t a cop, as people kept pointing out to me, but Pepper was.

I said, “There was another hit-and-run.”

“Of course, I know that. I’m investigating the hit-and-runs. What do you think detectives do here in Woodbridge?”

“Do you think Mona is behind the hit-and-runs?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Do you think someone is trying to set her up?”

Pepper wrinkled her nose. “What do you mean?”

“She’s getting prank calls. And she thinks someone is stealing her stuff and has left the items at what she calls the ‘death sites’ to implicate her.”

“That’s just nuts,” Pepper said. But her expression told me that had hit a chord.

“Did you find a scarf or gloves? That kind of thing at either location?”

I could tell that they had. “Have you sent those items to the lab? Do you think they could implicate—”

Pepper held up her hand. It was enough to silence me. All that natural authority. “You don’t have to stick your pointed little nose into this situation. We are on top of it.”

“I’m glad you’re on top of it, Pepper, and I never doubted that.” This wasn’t entirely true, but it should have been. I realize I have to stop trying to control everything.

“If it puts your mind to rest, Mona had nothing to do with that second death, and I doubt if she was involved with the first one either.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was talking to Mona right around the time that Bethann Reynolds died. It was just a fluke that I ran into her in the women’s restroom at the station. And she was working the night shift when Tiffanee was killed. Present and accounted for.”

“That’s a relief. But you understand, Pepper, the way she talked about them, I had no choice but to follow up.”

“God knows she had reason to hate that gang, but she didn’t do it. Can you accept that?”

“But the second victim was Tiffanee Dupont, one of her tormentors. What are the chances?”

“I am well aware of who it was. Mona didn’t do that.” Pepper got to her feet and headed toward the door.

“And do you think that the two cases are connected? Do you think that Bethann was killed because she looked so much like Serena? It was uncanny. I saw her on television.” I kept talking as Pepper bent to put on her snazzy boots.

“Charlotte, pull yourself together. Bethann Reynolds had a superficial resemblance, shoulder-length blond hair, that’s it. She wasn’t glamorous like Serena. In fact, if you think back, she was bullied at St. Jude’s too. Right now, we’re not seeing a connection.” She slipped into her elegant coat and buttoned it.

“But you know it can’t be a coincidence. They would have gone to school together. Isn’t that too weird?” I didn’t let her narrowed eyes get to me. Not after all those years. I said, “This is very scary. I was so worried about Haley yesterday that Jack and I went out to check on her.”

“Why would you think that it would be Haley?”

“Because she was one of the original bullies.”

“And you got it into your head that Mona had decided to knock them off one by one. Well, she didn’t, so move on.”

“Fine, but something is very wrong with Mona. She’s not at home, she won’t answer her home phone, her message machine doesn’t pick up, and she’s not at work although she’s supposed to be.”

Pepper left me with a parting shot as I walked her down the stairs to the front door. “Don’t contact Mona. Don’t go by her house. Don’t call her cell. Don’t call her workplace. If there’s any other Mona possibilities that I have failed to anticipate or articulate, don’t do them either.”

“Fine. I have plenty to do. And I know you have things well in hand.”

“Right. Let’s see. Have I forgotten anything? Oh yes. Hit-and-run victims. Don’t walk down their streets. Don’t pat their dogs. Don’t do anything that might make me forget that I am sworn to uphold the law.”

The dogs eyed me suspiciously. As Truffle and Sweet Marie are a bonded pair, I’d needed some kind of good plan to deal with separating them during the therapy-dog visits. I couldn’t leave Truffle alone in the apartment without a bit more trouble than usual. Luckily, Jack had agreed to have Truffle visit him at the shop, where there are endless buckets of dog treats as far as I can tell.

We dropped Truffle off quickly and made our way to Riverview Manor, a purpose-built facility near the river, in the rapidly gentrifying downtown sector. A few minutes ahead of schedule, we pulled up in the parking lot of Riverview Manor. Sweet Marie was adorable in her jaunty red scarf and the ID disc that announced I AM A WOODBRIDGE THERAPY DOG. She was still sulking over the bath and manicure, but she knew she looked good. Still, as it was once again snowing, I carried her until we reached the walkway. If she appreciated that, it wasn’t at all obvious.

At the door, once we signed in, a cluster of women in crayon-colored scrubs waited to welcome Sweet Marie. She took to them. She has learned over the years that ladies often have treats. Program director Bella Constantine was there as promised, arms outstretched, silver helmet of hair perfect. Tiny red-haired Candy Brinkerhoff stood smiling broadly behind her, happy doing her duty as the therapy-dog coordinator, integrating us into our first assignment.

Bella squealed, “So glad to meet you, Charlotte! We are so excited about having Truffle and Sweet Marie on board. I realize that you can only have one at a time, but I suppose you could alternate them.”

“Candy said you are in charge of a mild dementia unit?”

“Yes. Mostly Alzheimer’s patients.”

“Sweet Marie is a bit more cuddly and relaxed so I picked her to go first.”

I was glad that Candy was along to help me learn the ropes, as this was unlike any volunteer work I’d done before. She’d already given me some useful information about Alzheimer’s and its progress. Bella handed me a bit of homework: a sheet with instructions and advice to make visits go smoothly for the volunteer and the residents.

Once we were in the secure unit, Bella and Candy rigged up a small cart and blanket for Sweet Marie and pointed out the features of the unit. I was much more nervous than I expected to be. This was my first experience with any kind of dementia. Bella led the parade, exuding affection and competence. “Give it time. It may take a while for people to be able to see Sweet Marie. They may not react to you or me or the pooch today. Some people don’t like dogs so we’ll ask each person and take it from there.”

With Bella leading the way and introducing us, we made our way through the unit. Many of the residents were walking around, others sitting in chairs along the corridor. Some were watching old movies on a large-screen television. Others were wandering. Family members seemed to pop in and out, sitting with their loved ones. I saw a number of volunteers smiling and having a good time. The walls here were decorated with bright canvases, acrylic paintings of flowers and animals, plus abstracts in vibrant colors.