The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder (9 page)

I glanced at my To Do list. It was full of fun things, but I was sure that I wouldn’t be able to relax until I figured out how to handle this situation with Mona. It didn’t help that everyone seemed to be telling me to butt out. I tried calling her, with no luck. Mona must have been one of the few stubborn souls without an answering machine.

I checked the thermometer and decided that Woodbridge must have broken the record for cold on this day. I suited up: lined jeans, puffy white parka, and my only pair of warm no-nonsense boots. Lined gloves, a scarf, and my least favorite item of clothing: a hat. The dogs declined to accompany me.

Ten minutes later, I drove by the corner of Long March Road and Amsterdam and turned right. This was the site of the fatal accident with the woman who’d had the misfortune of looking like Serena Redding. I pulled in and sat there thinking. Someone had erected a small wooden cross on a snow-covered patch by the side of the road. Two teddy bears and at least a dozen bouquets of flowers were stacked around it. I got out of the Miata and walked over to them. The snow hadn’t been plowed on the sidewalk and it had drifted in front of the makeshift shrine. My feet were still dry, but the drifts soaked my jeans quickly. That didn’t seem important right at that moment. It seemed so sad, a person of my own age struck down because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I shivered.

A red-faced woman walking a large shaggy dog of no distinguishable type stopped and shook her head. The dog sat obediently beside her while she chatted with me. Her breath left frozen white trails in the air. “The guy just hit her and drove away.”

“Yes. It’s hard to believe. Terrible thing.”

“Did you know her, then?”

“I didn’t, but I heard about the accident on the news and I just wanted to”—not the best time for the truth, I decided—“pay my respects.”

“Bethann had her issues, but she was too young to die like that.”

“Bethann? I hadn’t even heard her name.”

She sniffed and nodded in the direction of the house. “She was the best of that bunch, Bethann Reynolds.”

I decided I didn’t want to hear what the neighbor thought of this Bethann, whom I didn’t even know, and her family. “Well, I’ll be off. Oh. Bethann Reynolds, did you say?”

“Yes. Did you know her after all?”

“Um, maybe. A long time ago. In high school. I have a vague memory of her. Quiet, kept to herself.”

“That’s her. Very pretty woman, but didn’t socialize. Just taught school and came home. No boyfriends that I ever saw. But she was no pushover. I heard she’d just won a lawsuit against a former employer. She told me she was tired of taking crap from people and she was going to take care of herself from that point on. She said people had better watch out. From now on it was just her and her cat. She liked her cat a lot. That’s why she was outside with all that blowing snow. Searching for the cat. It was an indoor cat. She’d had it declawed so you can imagine she was in a panic. Didn’t think it could look after itself.”

The huge shaggy dog whimpered.

“Brutus here was terrified of that cat. Weren’t you, boy? You know, I feel bad. I heard her calling for that cat and I didn’t come out to help. Maybe . . .”

“It’s not your fault,” I said automatically. She nodded, glad to be off the hook. But as I spoke memory fragments were flooding in. Back in high school Bethann Reynolds had been a tall, awkward, and painfully shy girl. She had been very pretty in a pale, anxious way. Did I just imagine she was always glancing over her shoulder? Getting away from high school improved all our looks a lot, in my opinion.

“My own dogs are not good with cats,” I said. “Where exactly did Bethann live?”

“You’re not one of those reporters, are you?” The dog growled. “Won’t give people a decent bit of privacy? Buzzards. Vultures, preying on the—”

“No. I’m not. I’m just an ordinary person.”

“You’d better not be lying.”

An echoing growl from the shaggy dog.

“It’s the truth. I hate those guys,” I said, as much to the dog as its owner.

She pointed two houses down to a white house with green shutters. Even from where we stood I could see that the draperies were tightly closed in every window.

“She lived alone with the cat?”

“The mother and one sister lived here too, although they come and go. The other sister lives in Poughkeepsie. They’re a bit flaky at the best of times. This is not the best of times, so I wouldn’t want to see anyone bothering them.”

“Don’t worry about that. Thank you.” I headed back to my car, snippets of memories continuing to pop into my mind. Unless I was mistaken, back in high school, Bethann Reynolds had been yet another target of Serena and her pals. Now she was dead. So many people had been targeted back then. Did this mean anything? Was it just a crazy coincidence? Life is full of them, but it seemed too close to my conversation with Mona. Of course, Mona would have no logical reason to harm Bethann. But was logic driving Mona?

I dropped in to CYCotics to see Jack. The shop opens at eleven on Sundays. I found no Jack, but one of the part-timers who did the bike repairs was on duty, doing spring bike tune-ups for optimistic Woodbridgers. I was surprised because I rarely see these part-time employees. However, this day customer sightings were even more rare. Jack had finished whatever he’d gone in to do and headed home for the day. By the time I trudged up my stairs, he was already settled in on the sofa. He’d taken the dogs out again and made another pot of coffee.

“Sit down. I’ll get you a cup. The news is bizarre again,” he said as he poured dark fragrant brew into our matching Organized for Success mugs.

“I need to change out of these horrible wet jeans first. And what do you mean?” I yawned as I headed to the bedroom to change and hang up my sodden jeans to dry. “More weird than usual?”

When I returned, Jack handed me a fresh mug and said, “Well, yeah. I think so. Two people killed in Woodbridge in two days. Even though we’ve dealt with some bad stuff in the past two years, that is still weird.”

I took a sip out of self-preservation. “Someone else was killed?”

“If you believe Todd Tyrell.”

“Not sure I do and don’t even suggest that I might be interested in watching WINY and ruining the rest of this day.”

Jack’s Y chromosome kicked in and he pressed the remote. Todd Tyrell, who seems to be permanently on the television screen, beamed out, his teeth gleaming like the sun on the fresh snow outside.

Sometime after two and before six? Who would be out at that time? Woodbridge’s few clubs are in the uptown and downtown areas, not in the suburbs. A horrible thought occurred to me. What about Haley? She was connected to this whole business. She’d said she worked nights in her husband’s cleaning business. What was his name? Oh, right, Randy. There were a lot of small businesses bordering the Ambleside Acres area, restaurants and offices mainly. Could she have been going from one cleaning job to another, not worrying about speeding vehicles in the middle of the night?

“Jack, what if it’s Haley?”

“Haley who?”

“What do you mean, ‘Haley who’? Haley McKee, now Brennan. What is wrong with you? Remember we were talking about Serena and her evil cabal? Haley was the one who asked me for forgiveness. We just had this talk at Sally’s last night, Jack. Weren’t you paying attention?”

He shrugged. “Don’t take it personally, Charlotte. Sometimes I tune out when you girls get into certain topics.”

“Anyway, Mona was talking about wanting to kill Serena Redding. Everyone thinks that Haley did a lot of Serena’s dirty work. Mona hates her too. It would make sense in a demented way. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Are.”

“Not anymore, I’m not.”

“Fine. I have to get dressed and go see for myself.”

“But they won’t let you see the body.”

“Of course I am not going to try to see the body. I meant go see if Haley’s all right.”

“Do you even know how to find her?”

“Luckily, I do. I have her address in my attendee file, for the follow-up questionnaire. And I have a perfectly good GPS system. Take that, buddy.”

“Huh.”

Call me crazy, but I thought it was the only thing to do. I just had to know. I put down my wonderful mug of coffee and headed to my room to get ready. I changed again and put on wool pants this time and a bulky charcoal sweater under my down vest. I had to find a dry hat and scarf. My sturdy and practical boots were still fine. Especially as I was wearing the socks that were good to minus thirty degrees.

As I emerged ready to go, Jack said, “Want me to come with you?”

I did want that. “Thanks. You might want to put a jacket on over that Hawaiian shirt. Just this once.” I smiled, but it didn’t stay on my face long. “Did you just mutter ‘bossy’? Did you?”

Haley’s address was in a rural area, outside Woodbridge proper, accessible through a network of back roads. A half hour after we set out, we were bouncing down a rough country road about an inch wider than my Miata, passing snow-covered fields, old farmhouses, the occasional new country home, and even a quick glimpse of one lonely junkyard filled with mountains of old cars. Even with the acres of sparkling snow, the naked trees seemed barren and lonely. I figured the drive would be prettier in the summer when the trees were leafed out and the farmer’s fields filled up.

The road had recently been plowed or we wouldn’t have had a chance in my low-slung car. We hurtled over one last hill and spotted the sign that said BRENNAN. The long driveway curved and twisted a quarter of a mile to a clearing before a small weathered cedar house, with a few new boards showing pale against the silvery walls, and a red metal roof giving it visual impact. The drive had also been well plowed and the long series of steps leading up to the door had been shoveled clean. A battered white van sported a graphic of a smiling red squirrel wielding a broom. OFFICE CLEANING SPECIALISTS was lettered below it. An even more dilapidated pickup with an attached plow was parked off to the side. You’d have to be able to dig yourself out to live out here, for sure.

As I knocked and stood shivering, I glanced around at the outbuildings—a lopsided garage and an even smaller version of the house, which I took to be a workshop, as there was power running to it. The ribbon of smoke from the chimney told us that someone was home. Not that they answered our repeated knocking. I was too cold to enjoy the scent of wood smoke.

Jack stood around as if it were a summer day, but I was stamping my feet to keep my toes from getting numb and asking out loud if those socks had been a rip-off. I was about to give up hope when the door finally opened. Haley stared blearily out at us. She was wearing the oversize men’s sweatshirt that said OFFICE CLEANING SPECIALISTS. Haley’s striped pajama bottoms rippled over her bare feet.

She actually looked better half-asleep and without her makeup, even though her face was a bit swollen, her eyes unfocused, and her hair tangled like the squirrel might have nested in it.

Now what? I had just wanted to know that she was alive. She obviously had not been killed, so I didn’t have much of a purpose there. Jack had even less.

She squinted at me nearsightedly. “Charlotte?”

“Haley,” I said, allowing a huge smile to escape. I can’t even describe the wave of relief that washed over me. I reached over and squeezed her rough hands.