Authors: Erika Chase
“I’ve been a real grouse to be around, haven’t I?”
“People have noticed you’ve not been your usual self and we’ve been concerned.”
“I’ve even stopped talking to Claydon.”
Lizzie couldn’t hide her surprise.
“Oh yes. He’s in the front seat of his old Corvette. His ashes are. I keep the urn
there and most nights I’d go sit beside it and tell him about my day and what’s been
going on in Ashton Corners. But not lately. Maybe it’s time to give those ashes a
decent burial. Or scattering. What do you think? Scattered throughout that maze he
so enjoyed installing.” She looked at Lizzie. “I think he’d like to be there.”
Lizzie wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t known Claydon was still around.
Maybe a scattering would be cathartic for Molly. “I think that’s a fine idea.”
Chapter Twenty-one
And if I were right, what on earth was he up to? Well, whatever it was, he wouldn’t
get away with it.
FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES
—MARNE DAVIS KELLOGG
L
izzie pushed herself to run at peak speed the next morning. The weather was perfect
for a run; the wind had finally died down, the temperature pushed midfifties, and
a slow dawn promised sun for most of the day. She ran along Sidcup Street and marveled
at the Christmas decorations appearing in yards and along rooftops.
One house had a gathering of five deer in various sizes, sure to be covered in clear
lights at night. Next to it, and not to be outdone, a small wooden sleigh with Santa
as driver was being pulled along by one enormous reindeer. It looked slightly out
of place with the large elderberry flowering behind it. And not a hint of last Saturday’s
snowfall. The house across the street, a restored clapboard painted in a subtle shade
of sand and taupe, had an angel with trumpet in residence on the white front porch.
She ran a few blocks farther, then veered along Ulysses and over to Rosemont, looking
at the windows of the variety of small businesses on that block, just two streets
over from Main. She must remember to take a walk one night and just enjoy the lights
after dark. Maybe Mark would join her. Mark. She quickly refocused her thoughts.
She gave a chuckle as she turned onto her street and saw what the Beauchamps had done
to their front porch. The country-style house had a traditional porch railing running
across the front of it, and on that railing at the far right side sat an angel, halo
slightly askew, one knee drawn up, leaning against the corner post.
Lizzie chuckled as she continued down the block. The drapes were still drawn at Nathaniel’s,
she noticed as she slowed to a saunter to cool down. She headed along her driveway
and past her car, turned back to it, dropped down on one knee and peered under the
Mazda. Feeling slightly foolish, she went inside to be greeted by the cats.
They stayed close to her as she made a protein shake for breakfast, followed by an
espresso, and then headed to the shower. When she went into her bedroom to get dressed
for work, the cats had curled up on the bed, backs touching. She pulled on a purple
V-necked jersey T with three-quarter sleeves and khaki jeggings, decided on gold ballerina
flats, and added a green scarf. She turned back to her closet and pulled out her concert
outfit. The long black skirt looked just fine but she took it to hang on the shower
curtain railing for the day, hoping to eliminate any unseen wrinkles.
At school, she started her day in the classroom of a fourth-grade teacher, making
notes on two of her more challenging students. Things seemed to be improving, she
thought with some relief. She had two more classroom observations scheduled before
lunch.
When she settled at the table in the staff room, she checked her cell phone for any
messages. Bob Miller had left a message to call him. She excused herself and went
into the hall to make the call. Bob answered on the first ring.
“I’ve been hoping you’d get my message,” he said by way of a greeting. “I went to
check the county records this morning and no Derek Alton listed, so I asked my friend
to do a search of electricity records. That may take a day or so, unfortunately, ’cause
my contact has to do it on the QT, so to speak.”
“I was hoping you might have some good news,” Lizzie said, feeling let down.
“Well, girl, it just so happens that I might. And it’s my nosy sister, Lucille, who
may have the news. She called me today and said there was something familiar about
the picture of Alton that she saw in the paper and it’s been nagging at her. She’ll
get it eventually. She’s got a good memory, unfortunately; never forgets anything
you want her to forget.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. That could be promising. I guess I’ll see you at the reception
after the concert tomorrow night?”
“Yup. I know this’ll give Lucille enough material to keep her meddling for a long
time coming, though. Gotta go, girl. Break a leg, as they say.”
“Thanks, Bob.” She tucked her cell away and went back to eat her lunch.
Sally-Jo slid into the seat beside her and Lizzie shared the info from her phone call.
“What do you think about that?” Sally-Jo asked.
“Well, Lucille’s lived here all her life. I’m wondering if she recognized Derek and
maybe Ken Wicks was right after all. I wish we could think of another way of checking.”
“What can I do?”
“Let’s divide and conquer the staff room. Ask around and see if anyone recognized
Derek. If Ken did, surely there’s someone else, too. You take that half”—she pointed
to her right—“and I’ll go that direction and we’ll meet back in the middle.”
Sally-Jo finally smiled. “Good. It’s better to be doing something about it rather
than waiting for Officer Craig to pull out the cuffs.”
By the time the bell rang for afternoon classes, they’d spoken to everyone.
“No luck,” said Lizzie. “What about you?”
“Nada. They’re mainly in their twenties and thirties, though. They might not remember
him even if they saw him. Derek was what, in his late forties? We might have better
luck with some of the older staff members. Why don’t you try the admin staff and I’ll
keep any eye out for teachers?”
“Does my list include the vice principal?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Did I tell you what she wants me to wear for the school pageant next Friday?” Lizzie
asked in an appalled voice.
“Not yet . . . Spill.”
“An elf costume. As in, Santa’s helper.”
Sally-Jo burst out laughing. “Sorry. That’s just so not you but I see her point. It
is in keeping with the pageant.”
“Thanks, you’re sadly lacking in the moral support category. Oh well. She won’t put
it to rest so I guess I’d better just face her straight on. Have a good afternoon.”
“You, too. If we don’t talk before, I’m looking forward to your concert.”
Lizzie nodded her thanks as Sally-Jo took off down the hall at a brisk pace. And rounding
the corner from the other direction was none other than Vanda Striker. Lizzie squelched
her initial reaction to slide back into the staff room and maybe hide out in the restroom.
Instead, she waited.
“Do you have a minute, Vanda? I need to ask you something.”
Vanda smiled in anticipation. “Absolutely. Did you get your elf costume? Mrs. Farnshaw
told me she’d measured you and was almost finished sewing it.”
Lizzie steered her down the hall toward the office. She had Vanda’s room booked for
the next hour anyway.
“Yes, I’ve got it.”
Unfortunately
. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the murder of Derek Alton last week. Did
you hear about it?”
Vanda had turned an unhealthy shade of pale, or maybe it was the sunlight streaming
through the back door, Lizzie thought.
“Uh-huh, I did read something about it in the
Colonist
.” She turned to Lizzie. “That’s right, it happened at your house, didn’t it? What
a terrible thing for you to witness.”
“Yes, it was. So you’ll understand why I’m trying to find out if anyone knew Derek.
I’m wondering what he was doing in town.”
Vanda stopped and turned to Lizzie. “I thought he’d come to do a signing or some such
thing. Something to do with his book, anyway. Your book club, wasn’t it?”
“No. That was just tacked on because I happened to meet him at the Book Bin. I figure
he must have known someone in town and was here to visit them. The question is, who?
And Ken Wicks said he thought Derek looked familiar, that he might have lived here
at one time. Does that ring a bell? Did you recognize him?”
“How would I recognize him when I didn’t get to meet him?”
“I meant, his picture in the newspaper.”
“Those pictures are always so grainy, but no, I didn’t know Derek Alton. Sorry I can’t
help. I’ve got to run. Let me know if there are any snags with the pageant, you hear?”
Vanda strode down the hall a few feet then turned abruptly. “Did Derek Alton say what
his new book is about?”
“No. We didn’t get that far in our talks.”
Vanda appeared relieved. She nodded and walked off.
Now, what was that about . . . if anything?
* * *
L
izzie made it to the choir dress rehearsal early, hoping to find Lucille Miller and
help prime her memory. The rehearsal, like the concert, was being held in the St.
John’s Episcopal Church sanctuary. The risers had been set up in the nave while chairs
and music stands were arranged for the small string orchestra. There were a few fiddlers
already in their chairs, tuning their instruments. The harpist had yet to show.
Lizzie dropped her music bag on a pew and chatted with a couple of altos standing
in the aisle, since she couldn’t spot Lucille. The church felt chilly and she was
glad she’d worn her light fleece top. Lizzie heard Lucille before she saw her. That
laughter was unmistakable and it sounded like someone had just told a good joke. Lizzie
excused herself and joined Lucille at the back of the church, as she hung up her coat.
“You may want to keep that on awhile. It’s chilly in here,” Lizzie warned. “Can I
ask you something?”
Lucille spun around. “Lizzie, dear . . . just the person I was going to look for.
You first, then I have one for you.” She squeezed Lizzie’s arm.
Lizzie cringed inside, pretty sure she knew what Lucille’s question would be about.
Rather, whom. Oh well. “Bob said you might have recognized Derek Alton’s picture.
Has anything about him come to mind?”
Lucille shook her head. “No, and it’s not from lack of trying.” Lucille pushed a few
strands of her shoulder-length, silver-streaked blonde hair out of her eyes. She was
all in gray tonight—a light, flowing top down to her thighs and dark gray pants.
A very flattering look for her
, Lizzie couldn’t help but think.
“I’m sure I don’t know the name,” Lucille went on. “I’m pretty good with names. But
that face, I don’t know what it is, but there’s something. But maybe it’s that I saw
his picture in the paper a long time ago when he won the award and it stayed with
me. He’s a very good-looking man. Or was.”
Lizzie nodded, trying not to let her disappointment show.
“Now, tell me what’s going on with Bob and Molly. I know something’s up. Bob would
never agree to come to our concerts when I asked him, and now Molly asks, and he accepts.
Is there some hanky-panky going on?”
“I really don’t know, Lucille,” Lizzie tried to convince her. “Molly bought the ticket
for Bob as a Christmas gift. That I do know. She wanted to thank him for all the help
he’s been. That may be all there is to it. You’ll have to ask one of them.”
“And what is it with Molly these days? She’s wearing the most outlandish outfits around
town. What has gotten into that gray head of hers?”
Lizzie shrugged. “She’s just having a bit of fun.” Lizzie flashed a broad smile at
Lucille and started toward the front of the church.
“I usually am good with names and faces, you know,” Lucille tossed after her. “Although
I’d thought I’d seen Xenia Henshaw before, too, and turns out I was wrong.”
“Xenia Henshaw?” Lizzie stopped in her tracks. She went back to Lucille.
“That’s right. When she moved here, oh, about sixteen or so years ago, I was sure
she had lived here before. Had a husband, even. When I finally asked her about it,
she told me I was totally wrong, on both accounts.” Lucille shook her head and picked
up her music folder and water bottle, ready to go.
Lizzie wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, thanks anyway.”
Stanton Giles clapped his hands for attention and invited the singers to take their
places on the risers at the front of the church.
After two hours of less-than-stellar performing, Giles wrapped up the rehearsal with
a reminder that poor dress rehearsals meant great concerts. The soprano standing next
to Lizzie muttered under her breath that there was always a first time.
“Well, if Stanton feels that way, we should also,” Lizzie said.
The soprano shrugged. “Well, he may say that but he’s ticked off.”
“He’s frustrated, all right. But we’ve been through this before. It will be all right,”
Lizzie stressed. However, she left feeling down. Preconcert jitters, investigation
blues, it was really too much for one night.
Although she sang along with the practice CD in her car, Lizzie’s mind was on Xenia
Henshaw during the drive home. Was she hiding something? Like having lived here before?
And if so, had she also lied about not knowing Derek? And was there a connection to
his murder?
Chapter Twenty-two
It was a clear morning with the sun not yet high over the horizon . . . everywhere
around was an unbroken carpet of thick snow. The world looked very pure and white
and beautiful.”
THE ADVENTURE OF THE CHRISTMAS PUDDING
—AGATHA CHRISTIE
I
t took longer than usual for her computer to finishing loading, and Lizzie impatiently
tapped her fingers on the desk. She really should take the thing in for a cleaning
out of old files, or maybe she needed more memory. Whatever, she didn’t have the patience
to wait these days.
Finally, Google appeared and Lizzie tapped in Xenia Henshaw’s name. There were several
pages of hits, most of the items having to do with real estate listings. In one article,
Xenia had been name Business Woman of the Year in Ashton Corners. That was five years
ago. A short bio had been worked into the story but didn’t tell Lizzie anything about
her life prior to her moving to town.
She ran through each of the items, hoping to find some more information, but they
all said much the same thing. Either it was Xenia’s standard response or the info
was lifted from earlier postings. She found an obituary, obviously not the same person.
And a hopeful listing under “People” that promised a biography, too. When she clicked
on it, Lizzie was faced with fifteen small photos of Xenia Henshaw. She chose one
that opened onto a page featuring a short sales pitch about Xenia and at the bottom,
the promise of more.
She clicked on it and a more in-depth biography appeared, outlining her involvement
in the Chamber of Commerce, the FallFest committee, the First Baptist Church, and
various other civic pursuits. No mention of where she came from or what she’d done
before moving to Ashton Corners. The few tabs at the side linked directly to property
listings.
Totally frustrated, Lizzie clicked off the computer for the night, filled the cat’s
dry food dishes and headed to bed, where she was joined by Edam and Brie after a few
minutes. Her mind refused to shut down, though.
Two people thought they recognized Derek, one of them suggesting he’d actually lived
in town a long time ago. Xenia Henshaw also scored on the recognition scale. Did it
mean anything? She tried to be objective. Had she ever had that feeling about someone?
She thought not. She wished she could discuss it all with Mark.
Mark. Would he even bother showing up for the concert?
* * *
T
he Prius was back in Nathaniel’s driveway as Lizzie made her way home from her run
the next morning. It hadn’t been there when she’d left. Awfully early for a visit.
She was longing to go ring the bell, find out what was happening in his life these
days, but she couldn’t think of a good enough excuse.
She picked up the phone as soon as she got in and dialed Paige.
“Good morning, best friend in the entire world. I need to pick your brain,” Lizzie
said.
Paige laughed. “What’s left of it is yours. Why don’t you come over? We may be able
to find an oasis of calm in the chaos of my life. The girls are hyper since we put
the tree up last night, and Brad’s gone shopping.”
“Sounds ideal,” Lizzie laughed, thinking,
Not
. However, it had been a couple of weeks since she’d seen Paige’s daughters, one of
them her goddaughter, and she looked forward to it.
“I’m going to shower and have breakfast. How about a midmorning coffee in an hour
or so?”
“I look forward to it. Really. I do. A lot.” Paige rang off.
Lizzie flipped through the morning paper as she ate her hot oatmeal standing up at
the counter. She took a few minutes to comb both of the cats and then dashed upstairs
to take a shower. She was out the door just a little bit later than she’d promised
and was knocking on Paige’s door shortly after that.
Paige welcomed her with a hug and a mug of coffee. “It sounded like you needed this.
I know I do.”
“So you said.” Lizzie laughed as she hung her jacket in the hall closet and followed
Paige into the kitchen. She just managed to set her mug on the table before being
attacked by two small, blonde-haired girls, screeching and giggling as they each grabbed
onto a leg.
“Auntie Lizzie, our tree’s all ready for Santa,” yelled five-year-old Jenna.
“Yup. He’s coming tomorrow,” Cate said with all her three years of authority. She
tugged at Lizzie’s hand. “Come, see.”
“He’s not coming tomorrow,” Jenna said, shaking her finger at Cate. “He’s coming . . .
soon.”
Lizzie allowed herself to be pulled into the living room by Jenna while Cate rode
staunchly on her left foot. They all fell in a heap on the tan-colored Berber carpet
in front of the tree.
“Wow,” said Lizzie in appreciation. “It’s humongous. I’ll bet your daddy needed a
ladder to put that angel on top. Or did you do it, Cate?” She grabbed Cate and tussled
with her while Jenna leapt on her back.
Paige came in, clapping her hands for attention. “Y’all are worse than a house full
of boys. Now, let Auntie Lizzie get up and you girls go get dressed. Then you can
go and play in the basement until your daddy gets back.”
The girls looked at each other, giggled and gave Lizzie a final push backward before
running off up the stairs.
Lizzie lay where she’d landed, staring at the ceiling. “Nap time.”
Paige set both coffee mugs on the glass-topped coffee table. “Okay, I’ll be the shrink.
You be the patient. What’s on your mind, young lady?”
“I’m confused, doctor.”
“Nothing new. End of consultation. That will be two evenings of babysitting service,
please.”
“Yikes, your rates have skyrocketed.” Lizzie laughed, pushing herself up off the floor.
She flopped down on the couch with Paige. “But seriously, I am confused. One of the
teachers told me he thought Derek Alton had lived here a long time ago. And then last
night, Lucille Miller said his picture did look familiar. And also, she’d thought
the same thing about Xenia Henshaw when she moved here years ago.”
“Not so strange. Haven’t you ever thought you’ve seen someone before? Do you think
the two suspicions are related?”
“Well, the two situations are very similar. Is there a connection or is it coincidence?
Or, am I trying to force a connection in this? Xenia was interested in coming to the
book club and hearing Derek speak. She said it was because she liked his books. That’s
the only connection.”
“But something not sitting right?” Paige took a sip of her coffee.
Lizzie sighed. “I just don’t know. I guess I was hoping if I told you, you’d spot
the crux and say something most profound.”
“Sorry, no profundity here today. I do have some dirty dishes, though.”
Lizzie made a face. “You’re still planning on coming to the concert tonight?”
“Of course. The dishes will be washed by then. Besides, I wouldn’t miss it. Will it
be great?”
“It better. Last night was a bust.”
“Ah, bad rehearsal, good concert.”
Lizzie finished her coffee, had another and stayed a couple of hours longer, talking
to Paige. She left with a quick kiss for everyone. What if, she wondered, she just
confronted Xenia about her past? What would she say?
Lizzie turned left on Yancy and headed into town. She parked in front of the Corners
Realty but spotted the “closed” sign from the car. Odd, for a Saturday. She wanted
to talk face-to-face, not via voice mail, so she decided to leave it for another day.
The phone was ringing as she entered the house. She grabbed it on the final ring before
it went to the message.
“Is this Lizzie Turner?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes, this is she.”
“I was sorry to hear about the shooting at your house. I greatly admired Derek Alton’s
writing. Now, dear, I was just wondering if he talked to you about this new book he
was writing. If he mentioned any of the characters in it?”
“No, he didn’t. That would have been his topic for the book club meeting, but of course,
he never made it there.”
She couldn’t properly hear the murmured response. “Who is this?” Lizzie asked.
“Oh, just a reader. Thanks anyway.” She hung up.
Lizzie looked at the receiver a moment, as if to glean further information from it.
She shrugged her shoulders and hung up, then went in search of her vacuum cleaner.
She needed to get some serious housework done and leave enough time for her session
with Andie, and a light snack before the big event.