Trying a different approach, I turned to yet another blank page and headed it
Facts
. Since Rosalie’s body had been dismembered, I could safely assume the killer had access to power tools or at least to some wicked saws. At his press conference, Sheriff Wiggins stated Rosalie had been killed by a blow to the head. Last, but not least, was the question of whether Rosalie had been seeing someone. And if so, who? Under
Facts
, I scribbled down,
Power tools, golf, possible lover.
I took a sip of tea and grimaced. Tepid chamomile tea left much to be desired. I focused on the word
golf
until the letters danced before my eyes. Brad Murphy was a ladies’ man. He and Rosalie spent an inordinate amount of time together. Off the course as well as on? I wondered.
I flipped back to my list of suspects and added Brad Murphy’s name. My list of possible suspects was growing. I now had three names. How hard could it be to whittle three down to one? Simply apply the process of elimination, and voilà!
But a single problem remained. Bill was on the list.
Chapter 27
I hummed to myself as I primped. Timing was everything. Just yesterday I had had my hair cut and the color—a nice ash blond—touched up. I even treated myself to a manicure. Something I almost never do. I chose a pretty rose pink nail polish, then went all out and had a pedicure, too.
Then later that day, Bill had called and asked me over. I felt like I was going to the prom. I had almost forgotten that excited, fluttery feeling. I took one last look in the mirror. My hair looked good—stylish and short, but not too short. I hinted to Jac, my hairdresser, that I might have a man in my life. Jac outdid himself, giving me a tousled look that he claimed was all the rage at a hair show in At lanta.
I gave myself a final once-over in the mirror and sucked in my stomach. I had decided to wear an almost-new pair of black Capris. Black is thinning, right? I could stand to lose a few, but no way that was about to happen in the next fifteen minutes. I promised myself I’d swear off M&M’s and eat more salmon. I’d give up chocolate-chip cookies and buy low-fat yogurt. Just don’t ask me to give up pizza. I admit it, I’m bad. Really bad.
Along with the Capris, I wore a soft sage green boat-neck sweater that Connie Sue said brought out the green of my eyes. I snapped a chunky silver bracelet around my wrist, and I was good to go.
I recognized Bill’s Ford pickup parked in the drive. I pulled in next to it and got out. Bill must have been watching for me because he opened the door before I had a chance to ring the bell.
“Kate!” he cried. “Don’t you look pretty tonight! Come in, come in.”
He stood aside as I entered the foyer and handed him a plate of lemon bars I had made especially for him. “I brought you a little something.”
“You shouldn’t have.” A smile spread across his face, forming cute little laugh lines at the corners of his baby blues. “But I’m glad you did. We can have these later over coffee.”
Sheriff Wiggins could stand to learn a thing or two from Bill Lewis on how to graciously accept a small gift. “I can’t wait to see this cradle you’ve told me so much about,” I gushed, hoping I didn’t sound as nervous as I felt.
“Soon as I set these down in the kitchen. Right this way.”
I trailed after him, trying to take in as much of the house as I could without seeming obvious. The dining room to my left was empty except for a card table and four chairs. Bill must have seen my frown.
“Don’t do much entertaining,” he explained, “except for a poker game now and then. I’m not much of a gambler.”
“Toss in some dice and score sheets, this room would be perfect for bunco.”
“Never played the game. Is it high stakes?”
“Hardly.” I laughed. “Bunco’s more about having a good time with friends. The dice only make it look serious.”
I caught a glimpse of the great room as we turned down a short hallway. This, too, was sparsely furnished with a leather sofa, La-Z-Boy recliner, and flat-screen TV. A glass-topped coffee table held a neat stack of books. No pictures on the walls, no knickknacks, no houseplants. Everything—walls, carpet, tile—neutral and safe. A home in dire need of a woman’s touch.
Bill deposited the lemon bars on the counter in the kitchen. “Just around the corner,” he said, motioning me to follow.
Swinging open a door, he flipped a switch and fluorescent light flooded what was formerly a three-car garage. Two of the bays had been converted into a workroom worthy of HGTV. Tools were displayed on the walls like prized family portraits, everything grouped and labeled. The room smelled of sawdust and varnish and was neat as a pin. Even the gunmetal gray floor looked as though it had been recently vacuumed.
“Don’t like to brag, but this place even has its own separate heating and cooling system.” He pointed to a contraption mounted in the ceiling. “You’re looking at the best dust-collection unit on the market today.”
“I’m impressed,” said she who can’t tell pliers from a wrench. Bill owned enough equipment to dismantle the
Queen Mary
and put it back together again.
“The cradle’s over here.” Bill led me to a sheet-draped object near one of the overhead doors. He whisked the covering off, and I caught my breath. He beamed ear to ear at my gasp of delight.
“It’s beautiful, Bill! Absolutely beautiful.” And that was no exaggeration. A row of intricate spindles wrapped around the ends and sides of a basket suspended from sturdy but graceful supports that bore a single delicately carved rose.
“It’s made from loblolly pine grown right here in South Carolina. I wanted the baby to feel close to its grandfather even though we’re eight hundred miles apart.”
Call me sentimental, but I felt a lump form in my throat. I knelt down and ran my hand over wood smoother than a newborn’s bottom. “I’m sure this will be a gift that’s cherished for generations.”
“I was going to use polyurethane for the finish, but after some research decided against it. I went with pure beeswax instead. It’s one hundred percent nontoxic biological wax.”
“That sounds like an environmentally friendly decision.” Chalk up more points for Bill Lewis. “I bet you don’t need a lecture on going green.”
“Reduce, reuse, recycle, right?”
“Right.” I traced the carved rose with the tip of my finger. “Do your son and his wife know whether the baby will be a boy or a girl?”
He shook his head. “Said they want to be surprised.”
“Boy or girl, he or she will be one lucky child to know they have a grandfather who loves it as much as you.”
Bill tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “My son said if it’s a girl, they’re going to name it after my wife, Margaret, and call her Maggie.”
I was about to reply when my cell phone jangled. “S’cuse me.” I rummaged through my handbag, which I had set on the floor while admiring the crib.
It was Diane. “Hey, Kate. What’s up?”
“Hey, Diane, can’t really talk now. I’ll call you back later.”
“Wait, don’t hang up. I wanted to let you know that new mystery you’ve been talking about just came into the library this afternoon.”
“Great.” I glanced at Bill out of the corner of my eye. He was carefully replacing the sheet over the cradle.
“Want me to set it aside for you?”
“Sure. Thanks, Diane. I’ll stop by to pick it up.” I snapped the phone shut and dropped it back into my purse. “Sorry for the interruption.”
“No problem. How about some coffee to go with those lemon bars you brought?”
The doorbell pealed as soon as we reached the kitchen.
“Be just a minute,” he said as he hurried off.
I heard a soft murmur of voices in the distance. Familiar-sounding voices. Gloria and Polly? Impossible! What would they be doing here at this hour? I waited until I heard Bill tell his callers he’d fetch something from his workshop, then decided to take a peek for myself.
Polly spotted me about the same time I spotted her. She waggled her fingers and grinned. “Thought that looked like your car out front.”
Gloria, dressed in her favorite polyester pantsuit and lots of gold chains, smiled, too, but her smile seemed forced. “Bill promised to donate an item to the Humane Society Auction. We thought we’d stop by to collect it.”
Bill returned from his workshop carrying a handsome pair of wooden candlesticks and presented them to Gloria. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Bill. They’re lovely.” She dug through her purse and pulled out a pad. “Let me give you a receipt. Remember, this is a tax-deductible donation.”
“I was planning to drop them off,” Bill said. “The auction’s still a month away.”
“No problem. We were in the neighborhood.” Gloria scribbled down the information, then handed him a receipt.
“Guess that’s it,” Polly chirped, giving me another of her finger waggles. “Bye, Kate. See you at bunco.”
Bill closed the door on his unexpected guests. “Now it’s my turn to apologize for the interruption. If memory serves, you take your coffee black.”
“Same as you—if memory serves.”
Bill turned on the coffeemaker and got out mugs while I peeled the plastic wrap from the lemon bars. We had just sat down to enjoy coffee and conversation when my blasted cell phone shrilled. I was tempted to turn it off without answering, but thought better of it when I saw Connie Sue’s name on the display.
“Hey, sugar. Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“Actually, Connie Sue, this isn’t a good time.” I stared out the window of the breakfast nook, but it was dark outside and all I could see was my own reflection in the glass.
“Since when are y’all too busy to spare a minute for a friend?”
I mouthed,
I’m sorry
to Bill. Bill, in return, gave me one of those unassuming smiles that had first attracted me to him.
“It’s just that I’m not home right now.”
“Anywhere interesting?”
“Bill invited me over to see the beautiful cradle he made for his son and daughter-in-law. They’re expecting their first baby this spring.”
“Promise you’ll call me the minute you step foot in the door. I need your chicken scaloppine recipe for the church potluck.”
“Promise.” I would have promised a kidney at this point. I turned off the phone, which I should have done an hour ago. “Sorry . . . again.”
“Seems to me, your friends are just looking out for you.” He took a sip of coffee, then smiled at me over the rim of his mug. “Can’t say as I blame them with everything going on around here.”
“Good coffee. Is it one of those special blends?” I said, taking a sip, but really trying to change the subject.
“No, just something I picked up at Wal-Mart.” Bill broke apart the lemon bar on his plate, but stared at it like a bug under a microscope. “The way news travels in Serenity Cove, I suppose you know Sheriff Wiggins dropped by to question me about Rosalie Brubaker.”
“No, I hadn’t heard, but I’m not surprised. I was at the Brubakers’ when Earl pointed a finger in your direction. The sheriff is just doing his job. No one in their right mind would believe you had anything to do with killing Rosalie.”
“Have to admit it shook me up. Haven’t gotten as much as a traffic ticket in the last twenty years. Next thing I know, the sheriff’s asking me about a murder. Even asked to see my woodworking shop. I told him to go right ahead. He seemed really interested in my tools, especially my saws.”
“Saws?” My voice sounded like a croak.
“Yeah, I’ve got a radial-arm saw, a table saw, and a band saw. I don’t know what he was expecting to find.”
I dearly wanted to ask Bill if the sheriff had spritzed chemicals on the saws to detect blood like they did on
CSI
. I bit my tongue instead.
Bill took a small bite of his lemon bar. “I admit Rosalie called me all the time. She was always after me to fix this or that. Complained all Earl did was putter with his orchids. Said things would never get done if she waited for him.”
“Don’t let it get you down, Bill. The sheriff seems like a competent man. He’ll get things sorted out. Earl probably pointed at you in order to draw attention away from himself.”
Bill looked relieved to have unburdened himself. “Thanks for listening, Kate. You’ve been a friend. I have to confess I nearly called tonight to cancel, but I’m glad I didn’t.”
“I’m glad, too.”
We talked a little more; then it was time for me to go. Bill walked me to the door and waved as I pulled out of the drive. I hadn’t gone more than half a block when I glanced into my rearview mirror and, for the first time, noticed headlights close behind me.
A little too close.
Chapter 28
Panic fluttered like a moth in the pit of my stomach. I had stayed at Bill’s longer than planned. And later. Traffic was nonexistent at this hour—not that it was ever heavy to begin with. Another of retirement’s perks. Everyone was home. Safe behind locked doors.
I turned right. So did the car behind me. Coincidence, I told myself.
I took a left. The car behind me did the same. Worry ratcheted up a notch. I drove with both hands on the wheel, at two o’clock and ten o’clock, just the way I had been taught, but seldom practiced. I kept one eye on the road, the other on the rearview mirror.
I turned off Oleander Avenue and onto Shady Lane. The other car did, too. It had followed me ever since I left Bill’s. Almost as if it had been . . . waiting.
A killer was loose.
The perils of a woman living alone sang in my head like a chorus of angry voices. Each second the notes seemed to gather urgency. Soon they would resound like the reprise from
Les Misérables
. I gave myself a lecture on coincidence. I demanded my fluttering stomach to quiet. I ordered my racing heart to slow. Neither stomach nor heart obeyed.
The true test to see if I was being followed was yet to come. My house sits in the center of a cul-de-sac with a vacant lot on either side. Normally I prize my privacy, but tonight I wished for neighbors. Neighbors with floodlights and barking dogs. In another minute, I’d turn off Shady Lane and into Loblolly Court. If the car behind turned as well, I was in deep doo-doo.