Fudge Brownies & Murder (7 page)

There was no sense toting the meals through the house. She set the cooler on the counter beside her. As she turned back to the living room, a set of glowing eyes in the shadows stared at her. She squealed and stumbled back against the door. The window glass rattled when the back of her head thumped it. She blinked as she held her hand against her chest. The dog-like form that the eyes belonged to didn't move…didn't make a sound. She took a step closer and could make out long grass sticking up around the canine's feet. Grass in a living room?

Slowly she advanced into the room, closer to the inert creature. Every muscle in her body vibrated with fear. She was in the middle of the tidy living room before she realized she was looking at a taxidermy mount of a coyote. Definitely not her idea of chic home decor. Not to mention, a stuffed predator would give her little dog Pogo anxiety attacks. Amy sighed out the breath she had been holding. The next breath she took caught in her throat again as a floorboard behind her groaned.

She spun around. Buck Bates stood in the hallway with a shotgun leveled at her head.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house," he slurred as the end of the gun's barrel traced circles in the air. His plaid boxer shorts sagged under his potbelly which made him look like he had consumed an inflated basketball for breakfast. The scruffy whiskers he had sported earlier in the week had turned into a thick beard speckled with gray.

Amy shook her head. She had been pretty close when surmising that Buck could've been taking a nap in the nude. Thin underwear wasn't much of a step up. So why was she committing to memory the image of a half-naked man who was old enough to be her father, not to mention far less appealing than her husband, instead of answering his question? Oh…maybe because she was too scared to formulate an answer. Then again, why was Buck asking who she was? He knew her. In fact, he called her by name whenever she stopped by his booth. "It's me…Amy. I work at Riverbend Bake Shop at the market. I bought a paddle spoon from you earlier this week. I talked to you again yesterday."

He narrowed his bloodshot eyes at her. The gun barrel wavered as if he was aiming for a hyper fly. "Aaaa…meeee…"

The prolonged word carried the scent of liquor across the room with it. Poor man. Falling down drunk on a Sunday afternoon. He was obviously in pain from losing his beloved wife. Amy nodded. "Yes. Amy. You said you haven't been eating well, so I brought out some casseroles for your freezer." She pointed at the cooler on the counter in the kitchen. "I'm not trying to rob you or anything. I didn't want to leave the food outside in case any animals got into it, and your door was unlocked. So I just came in to put the meals in the freezer. I was going to leave a note, but then I freaked out when I saw the coyote in your living room." She sucked in a massive breath. "And here we are now."

A flicker of recognition finally crossed his face. He leaned the gun against the wall beside him. "I'm sorry. I thought you were another of Esther Mae's relatives nosing around for money or flat out trying to steal my stuff. They're crawling out of every hole from here to Louisiana, thinking she was some kind of millionaire, and they're entitled to a chunk of her fortune."

"I'm sorry. That has to be very difficult to deal with."

He dropped onto the couch next to the coyote and absent mindedly petted its head. "I moved her up here to get away from the pond scum she calls family. Never could get her completely out of their grasp. They're all a bunch of low-life schemers who wouldn't know real work if it bit them in the ass. That's why they're all scrapping for money that Esther Mae didn't leave to them."

"Oh, dear. If they're showing up here to harass you, have you contacted the police? Maybe filing trespassing charges or a restraining order would help."

Buck ran his finger through his oily, long hair then pointed at the gun. "That's the only kind of law her family respects."

Amy glanced over her shoulder. Would one of the greedy in-laws barge through the unlocked door just like she did? The only one of Esther Mae's relatives whom she knew was Rayshelle, whose personality was composed of various shades of unpleasantness. What were her cousins, aunts, and uncles like? The thought made her shiver, even though she was still wearing her wool Red Riding Hood coat inside the warm house.

Buck yawned. It was time for her to make an exit. He needed to sleep off his cocktail binge, and she wanted to leave before she got stuck in the middle of a Hatfield and McCoy-style battle. "I'm going to put the meals in your freezer and then let you go take a nap or get back to whatever you were doing. The directions for heating the meals are taped on top of the pans."

He nodded once. "Thank you, young lady. That was a very kind thing for you to do. I'm sorry I scared you." His gaze drifted to the pink and tree limb-patterned recliner positioned on the other side of the wild dog then bounced back to her. "Don't worry about bringing out any more food. LeighAnne is taking good care of me, just like Esther Mae took care of her."

That evening, Amy sipped minty chamomile tea while she adjusted the color on the photographs she took of the freezer meals before she had delivered them to Buck. The blog was far more interesting, and time consuming, than she had anticipated. Random strangers from around the world were commenting on posts about the recipes she invented, but almost every evening was spent tinkering in photo editing programs, writing recipes, and responding to questions. It was exciting and strange all stirred together into a happy stew.

But the blog work was just a background to the thoughts that were bouncing around her brain. The purportedly sleep-inducing tea wasn't working at all to settle down her overactive mind. A homeopathic remedy fail. Or maybe it would work on people whose thoughts bubbled up at a normal pace. Ideas were foaming in her brain as though it was made of baking soda, and her blood was vinegar. An elementary school science experiment kind of thought process. Except most of the thoughts were clones of each other. She had almost been shot.
She
had almost been shot.
She had almost been shot!

Obviously Buck was grieving. Unexpectedly losing a spouse was horrible. Finding out she was murdered…devastating. Even the strongest person could give in and drown their sorrow in a bottle of whiskey given those circumstances. Walking into a house of a stranger, one she knew was extremely stressed, had been stupid on her part. Grief stricken, drunk, and armed was a combination that almost got her killed. What had been the fatal mix of circumstances that got Esther Mae killed?

Riding in the car was a good lesson on what the baby would see in its car seat—basically treetops and roofs. Pretty boring stuff, especially in the winter when there weren't even any leaves. Carla made a mental note to buy plenty of toys to hang from the car seat handle.

Since she wasn't able to be transported on the couch, Amy had insisted Carla recline the Mini's seat to stay in a similar position. Her best friend might not be a mom, but she had the fierce protectiveness of one. Not only wouldn't she allow Carla to sit up like a normal person, a distinction she felt far away from, but Amy was also driving as if she was taking a driver's education test. Slow and steady would eventually get them to the doctor's office, if both of them didn't die of boredom before then.

"But you need a baby shower, now that you're on bed rest, more than ever. You can't get out yourself and buy the things you need."

So the view wasn't entertaining, but Amy's typical overreaction was very amusing. With her best friend, everything was served with a dose of drama. Not that Amy was an annoying drama queen. She simply tended to get very excited about some things. Her current focus was on engineering a baby shower. It wasn't that Carla necessarily didn't want one. She just didn't feel it was mandatory, especially since her immobile state often made her resemble a walrus hanging out on shore. Or at least that's how she imagined she looked. Amy said she was glowing. Bruce said she was gorgeous.
Liars.
Spending twenty-three hours a day sprawled on the couch sporting a permanent case of bed head was not pretty in any way.

"We already have the crib ordered and car seat bought, along with a pile of unisex clothing. We made it without a wedding shower. We'll be fine without a baby shower. If there's something critical that we've overlooked, I'm sure you or Mom can get it."

Amy's fingers drummed the steering wheel. She was getting aggravated. "I don't know anything about babies. Beyond buying cute outfits, I'm lost. People who are already parents give great gifts to first time moms at showers. Things you don't even know you need but you won't be able to live without once you have them. Me shopping for a baby is the blind leading the blind. Besides, you and Shepler were both living on your own when you got married, so it wasn't bad setting up your household together. Neither of you have made babies before."

Well, that last part was true. She and Bruce had no idea what they were really getting into. Sure, they had read a bunch of books and even gone to parenting classes, but every baby was like a snowflake. Different. The books could tell her how to change a diaper like a professional but not how to expertly perform the task on a hungry, howling baby at 3:00 a.m. while sleep deprived. She had faced down knife-wielding mental patients in the emergency room, but nothing scared her more than becoming a mom. Actually, facing down strung out addicts, knowing that a baby was at home depending on her to be its momma, was her number one fear. A topic she'd been mulling over more and more. But if she brought that up, too, Amy's head might explode. They would talk later about career choices. For now, she decided to take it easy on Amy and her always overactive mind by sticking to one topic.

"My mom can help. It's been a while since I was a baby, so she may be a bit rusty, but she at least
has
experience. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to spend time with her first grandchild while showing me the mommy ropes."

Amy actually took her eyes off the road for a few seconds to give Carla a withering look that would've made a soap opera actress jealous of her emoting abilities. "I don't know anything about your mom. You hardly ever talk about her."

"That would be because I haven't seen her in the entire time you and I have been friends."

It seemed as though her life was full of fears that compounded every day. Would she go into labor too early? Would the baby have problems? What was labor going to be like? How painful, exactly, would it be? And…how would she and her mother get along after not seeing each other in almost ten years?

"She's been in New Zealand since before I met you. Living in a remote artists' colony making clay coffee mugs and bowls for her only income hasn't left her with a lot of extra money. Now that her first grandchild is almost here, she's scrounged up enough for plane tickets. Mom used to be like you before she and Dad divorced. She went from organizing fundraisers and hosting dinner parties to living off the grid on the other side of the world with a bunch of hippies so she could
find herself.
"

Carla shifted so that she was lying somewhat on her side. The baby kicked her in the ribs in retaliation for waking it up with the movement. She had been an adult and living on her own for years when her mother left on her spiritual journey. That didn't mean having her mother just walk out of her life didn't sting. Everybody in the family thought her mom was crazy, so by association, Carla had to be, too.

"That's the most you've ever told me about her," Amy said as the car rolled to a stop at an intersection. "I think it's very brave for her to reinvent herself after the divorce. I bet she's doing what she wants instead of what everybody else wants her to do now."

"True…and I do admire her for that. She used to be like me, very serious and…uptight. Now when I talk to her on the phone, it's almost like I'm talking to you. I have no idea who my own mother is now."

Amy laughed as she pulled into a parking space. Carla could see the
Expectant Mothers Only
sign through the windshield. She knew they were at the ob-gyn's office but had no idea why Amy was laughing. "What's so funny?"

"Your apprehension over seeing your mom has spooked your husband. He has no problems chasing after killers, but he asked me to go with him to the airport tomorrow to pick your mom up."

"He didn't tell me that!"

"It's okay. I don't mind. He said he thought she would be more comfortable having another woman to chat with on the ride home. Besides, I think your mom sounds great. I can't wait to meet her." She held out her arm so Carla could use it to pull herself up to a sitting position. "But right now, let's get you into the office and see how the baby is doing."

Carla had been laying on the couch for so long it felt like a major accomplishment when she was able to hoist herself to a standing position for one of the increasingly frequent bathroom breaks. Getting out of Amy's compact Mini was a near heroic feat. All of the leg muscles she had toned at the gym doing what was most likely millions of squats and lunges over the years had gone on maternity leave along with the rest of her once svelte body. With Amy's mother hen-style assistance, she finally made it into the waiting room to take her place next to all of the other baby-filled bellies in various stages of bulging.

In the chair beside her, Amy looked around as though she had landed on another planet. Bruce had been able to take her to all of the other appointments, but now he was busy with the new murder investigation, and she was banned from driving herself. So this was her friend's first visit to Prego Land. Carla tapped the back of Amy's hand, which had a death grip on the arm rest between them. "It's okay. If anybody goes into labor, this is the perfect place for it. Promise, you won't have to help."

Amy shook her head. "I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to do this," she whispered. "I'm afraid I'll be just like my mom. No child deserves to grow up like I did."