Smoked (The Alex Harris Mystery Series) (22 page)

“That is weird.”

“I never told John about him but the police have Maria’s computer and access to her accounts and there were hundreds of emails. I guess they’ll eventually get around to talking with him. Plus, her daughter brought over a disk Maria made with archived emails. I gave that to John, but not before I made a copy.”

“Sneaky devil.”

“And that’s about it. So,” I leaned forward, “what do you have for me?” Mary-Beth always had a great story about a former classmate. Okay, she always had gossip and I loved hearing it.

Mary-Beth shrugged. “I got nothing. Absolutely nothing. I haven’t heard a darned thing. You’re the most interesting person I know right now.”

“Mary-Beth, you really need to get a life.”

On a glorious November Saturday seven women descended on
Body Expressions
. Sloth had no idea what he was in for. Make that eight. As we all stood there in the parking lot arguing over who would go first a familiar car pulled up.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” my sister said turning toward the car. “Is that our mother, stick-in-the-mud Mable Harris?”

I turned and looked at the car and sure enough my mother had arrived no doubt with a bunch of stuff she had printed off the Internet about the perils of tattooing one’s body parts. Geesh.

“If she’s coming to take me to some senior home where they lock you up all day, you girls gotta fight her off while Francis and Theresa get me outta here,” Meme said through her pursed lips.

“I’m in. I’m in,” my mother sang out as she crossed the parking lot and came to stand with the group. “I’ve secretly always wanted a tattoo. I’m thinking about a small skull and crossbones.” My mother looked practically giddy.

“Who
are
you?” my sister asked.

“That’s my girl,” Meme said taking Mom’s arm. “I knew the real Mable would eventually come out again now that the kids are raised and gone.”

The kids had been raised and gone for quite some time now but maybe it just took some people longer to get their groove back.

“Okay. Everyone gather round,” I said using my best camp counselor voice. “A few things before we go in. First, his name is Seymour. Only certain people call him Sloth.” I eyed my grandmother. “And he’s an interesting guy. He’s a tattoo artist and he also custom designs rosary beads.”

“Oh, good. Because as soon as my husband sees my tattoo, I’m going to have to start praying… or packing. I’ll pick up some of those, too,” my sister said.

I gave her the evil eye. “Stop being so dramatic. The second thing is they’re fake.”

“What’s fake,” my mother asked.

“The tattoos.”

“But I want a real one.”

I lifted my leg and pulled up my jeans exposing my bare ankle. “See. It fades off after a few days. I had Seymour make me a bunch so I can put them on whenever I want.”

My mother brightened. “Maybe I can get several different ones made and change them up.”

“Ohhhh, I’m with you, Mable,” Marla gushed, “I’m with you. Variety is the spice of life. My husband is in for a treat.” Marla linked arms with my mother and headed for the door.

After we managed to make Sloth considerably richer than when we first arrived, Sam, Marla and I headed over to Millie’s to help with the remainder of her boxes while her mother and grandmother went over to Reuben’s house to put up the new bedroom drapes they had made.

“I can’t believe I don’t live here anymore,” Millie said looking around the living room.

“You’re on a new journey,” Marla said. “And if you’re as lucky as me, you’re in for one heck of a ride. And wait until Reuben sees your tattoo.”

Millie told Sloth her idea and within minutes he had sketched out two sets of skis crossed to represent how Millie and Reuben met. She was the only one who opted to get a real tattoo and had an appointment later in the week. Once Millie went through the process, both Sam and I wanted to rethink getting a real one. My mother ordered her skull and crossbones, Marla chose a flower and Meme convinced her gang to get tattoos with a bingo motif.

 I grabbed another box and carried it out to my car while my sister got a bunch of coats out of the front hall closet and Marla rolled up an area rug in Millie’s room. In no time at all we had everything packed up in four separate cars and headed over to Reuben’s.

Reuben Radford was a great guy and a perfect fit for Millie. He was about seven years older than she, he had a medium build and he had salt and pepper colored hair. He seemed to always be dressed in a suit, mostly because of working in a funeral home, and liked to liven the mood with bow ties. He was kind, intelligent, had a great sense of humor and loved Millie to bits.

Today he was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt and immediately came out of the house and took the box from me as I carried it up the walk.

“This is the last trip. Millie has officially moved in.” I took a look at the small house. It reminded me so much of my little house a few blocks away. I missed living there but I did love my new home with John.

“Come see what Judith and Gran did. You wouldn’t believe it was a boring old bachelor pad a week ago,” Reuben said.

I followed him inside. He was right. The house looked great. Millie and her mom and grandmother had done a terrific job. It wasn’t girly at all; it just seemed pulled together, lived in, and comfortable with the addition of drapes, some bright pillows and wall color.

Millie thanked us for our help and then Sam and I headed over to my parents’ while Marla left to do a bit of shopping. My mother was busy cutting up carrots for a stew when we walked in, while my grandmother sat at the table doing something on her laptop.

“It smells great in here. When’s dinner?” I asked while lifting the cover off the pot on the stove.

“Later. How did it go at Millie’s?” my mom asked.

I took a seat at the kitchen table next to Meme, and grabbed a cracker and a slice of cheese. “Our little Millie is all grown up.
Relationships are like pasta, they start off as mac and cheese and mature into Fettuccini Alfredo
. Winston—”

“Winston Churchill said that? Winston Churchill said relationships are like pasta, they start off as mac and cheese and mature into Fettuccini Alfredo? Really?” my sister asked while giving me her “mom” look.

I swallowed my cracker. “No. Don’t be silly. Winston Bardosky said that. He works the deli counter over at Krueger’s market. He’s always trying to sell me a big bowl of Fettuccini to go.

Meme cackled. “She got you there, kiddo. That was a good one, Alex.”

Meme and I did the high-five slap while my sister stewed. Even my mom laughed. Maybe the Mable of the short skirts and red lipstick had re-emerged.

“Is John going to make it over in time for dinner?” my mother asked.

“I called him from Millie’s. He’s hoping to get away for at least an hour.” I looked outside the kitchen window. Kendall and Henry were in the yard with Michael and my dad. Riley was chasing Henry, who currently held onto a ball for dear life. He stopped quickly, turned, and ran in the other direction with the dog at his heels.

“You should have gotten him a dog,” I said.

“Maybe when Scopes, you know, goes off to rat heaven.” My sister munched on a piece of celery that didn’t make it into the pot. I was glad to see she was doing better with her current living situation. I guess that comes with being a mom.

A few minutes later my dad and Michael came into the house with the kids followed by John, who looked extremely tired.

“Come sit down. Dinner will be ready soon.” I put my arm around his neck and placed a kiss on his cheek. “What’s going on? You don’t look so good.”

John reached for a cracker and played with it for a second before tossing it into his mouth. “It looks like Nena Connick was murdered.” He turned serious eyes to me. “And someone saw you fleeing the scene of the crime.”

The room went dead quiet for a few seconds and then everyone started yelling at once with Meme’s voice ringing above the others.

“You look here, young man, if you’re accusing my granddaughter of murder you can just take yourself out of this house right this minute and out of her life all together.” Meme was shaking and I placed a hand gently on my grandmother’s arm and gave her a smile.

“It’s okay, Meme. He’s wrong. He got it wrong. John, tell her. You made a mistake.”

“There was a positive ID,” my husband said to me.

“What do you mean? By whom? Who the hell gave you a positive ID that I killed Nena Connick?” Now I was shaking.

“Auntie, is Uncle John going to put you in jail?” Henry had come to my side and there were tears in his beautiful brown eyes. I grabbed him and wrapped my arms around his tiny body, more for me than him as I really needed a hug right now and I didn’t think I’d get one from John.

“Henry, why don’t you and Kendall go wash up for dinner? Grandma made us her wonderful stew with homemade biscuits,” my sister said. “And Auntie Alex will be right here when you get back.” This she said pointedly to my husband.

“Oh, the biscuits!” My mother ran to the stove and opened the oven. “They’re good.”

The biscuits being rescued, I turned my attention back to John. “Well? Who said I killed Nena Connick?”

“Calm down, everyone. No one said you killed her. They just saw you leaving the crime scene.”

“They did not. Who is this person?” I demanded.

“I want their address. I know people,” Meme piped up.

Meme’s outburst drew a smile from John. “I don’t think we need to order a hit on anyone, Meme. The coroner places the time of death sometime around Thursday evening. Your car was spotted.”

“My car was spotted and someone knew it belonged to me? How is that possible?”

“You happen to drive a car which is considered by some to be a hot rod.”

“Really?” this from my sister.

“I know,” I sighed. “Every time I take it in to get the oil changed, one of the service techs makes me an offer. But how does this relate to Nena Connick?”

“Her neighbor works in the service department of the Honda dealership in Stamford and he saw your car parked outside Nena’s. He’s been looking for a black Honda Civic of a certain age, so he took down your number with the intention of searching the database at work to see if you ever came in.”

“Oh.” What were the chances that my sixteen-year-old car would be in such demand? But as that was indeed where I took my car to be serviced, I figured I’d be getting a call with an offer. And considering I might soon be hauled off to jail, the extra money might come in handy for bail. Maybe I could even play the crime scene angle up and get extra for it, kind of like the Bonnie and Clyde car. Geesh.

“So, you were there?” John asked, bringing me out of musings.

“Of course I was there. I’m conducting an investigation, John, and Ellery wanted me to tell Nena to leave her father alone. I guess she’d made a commotion at the butcher shop earlier in the week and it was the last straw for Ellery. But I guarantee you, the woman was alive when I left her apartment. As a matter of fact,” I said, “she had just washed her hair. Maybe she was getting ready for some company or going out. Did you check into that?”

“Yes. We’re looking into everything. So far no one saw anything. Except your car.”

“So are you planning on arresting my daughter?” my father asked. “Because she owes me from our last card game and maybe I better collect now while I have my chance.”

“That’s not funny, Harry,” my mother said. “Come on, there’s too many of us, we’re going to eat in the other room.”

I followed everyone into my parents’ large dining room and took a seat next to Henry, who insisted on holding my hand. “So, Nena was killed on Thursday night right after I left?”

“A few of the neighbors heard loud country and western music around nine-thirty but nothing else. Do you remember seeing anything suspicious?”

“Besides someone checking out my car? No.”

“And if that woman was playing her music loud at nine-thirty, then I’m Alex’s alibi,” Meme said. “She was right here with us. Me and Francis were over here playing cards with Mable and then Alex came over. So don’t even think about taking her in.”

“Okay, Meme,” John said. “I’ll make sure to put that in my notes.”

Between Meme and Henry, there was no way John would be able to get me out of this house. I scooped a large portion of stew into my bowl and grabbed a biscuit. “She had the music on when I was there. I must have left by five-thirty and it wasn’t loud at all. It was just soft background music.” I thought back to Nena and how I knew she was in for a whole lot of heartache. Maybe after I left she realized Sergei was gone to her forever and she turned up the music, poured herself a drink and what, let in a killer? “By the way,” I asked, “you never said what killed her.”

John spread some butter on a biscuit and looked at me across the table. “Someone injected one of her veins with a very large dose of epinephrine.”

I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling while John slept soundly beside me. How had someone injected Nena with epinephrine? Was she drunk? Did they have to hold her down? John hadn’t divulged much more information after telling us what killed her, except to say that she had heart problems. Once he’d finished his stew he’d gone back to the station. Henry was afraid to let me go for fear I would be hauled off to prison so I brought him home with me once his mother promised to feed Scopes. He had a soccer game in the morning and I would take him to the park and meet up with the rest of the family.

I peeked over at John and then got out of bed. Our bedroom was on the front side of the house facing the road and light streamed in from the street lights. I quietly walked down the hall to where Henry slept. I went into his room and over to the bed. He was on his side, with his little foot poking out from the covers. He was such a great kid; kind, smart, and wild. Henry liked being in motion and all that running he had done in my parents’ backyard with Riley had clearly exhausted him. I covered his foot and walked over to the window, which he insisted be open a crack. Like me, Henry loved fresh air and always kept his bedroom window opened a bit whether it was winter or summer.