Read and Buried (2 page)

Chapter Two

God gives every bird his worm, but He does not throw it into the nest.

DEVICES AND DESIRES
—P. D. JAMES

T
he phone rang on Tuesday afternoon as Lizzie struggled to hang the mistletoe above
the doorway into the living room. She loved decorating for the holidays, even though
the mistletoe was proving to be a challenge. This new tape she was using promised
not to strip the paint when being removed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t strong enough
to hold the mistletoe in place. She’d give it one more try after taking the call.

Lizzie was smiling as she answered the phone but the smile disappeared at the sound
of Derek Alton’s voice.

“Lizzie, sweet lady, please do accept my apologies,” he began.

Lizzie didn’t answer, waiting for him to continue.

“I behaved abominably the other evening. And believe me, I paid for it the next day.
I must admit I soothed my ruffled ego with several more drinks after you left. But
you’re not to blame.”

Lizzie made a face.
What an egotist.
She still didn’t say anything. He waited another beat before continuing.

“I was way out of line and I truly do apologize. Now, let’s get back on track. Could
we have lunch together tomorrow and discuss the book club meeting?”

Lizzie wasn’t quite sure how to picture his face as he said this. With a leer? Eyebrows
raised in anticipation? Or a sincere smile? It didn’t really matter. “I’m afraid not,
Derek. I have to work tomorrow and won’t have time for a lunch break.” She crossed
her fingers. Just a little white lie.

He sighed deeply. “All right. I deserve that. So tell me, what do I need to know about
Thursday night?”

Lizzie quickly filled him in on the format for the evening. “And we’ve got a couple
of other readers who’d like to come. They got in touch with me after seeing mention
of the meeting on the Book Bin’s Facebook site.”

“Okay, the more the merrier. Now, what time is it and what’s the address? I know I
have that all written down somewhere but you’d better give it to me again.”

The doorbell rang and Lizzie glanced at the front door.
Saved by the bell.
Just the excuse she needed to cut the conversation short. “Sorry, Derek, there’s someone
at the door. We’ll talk later.”

She hung up and opened the door. Derek Alton stood facing her, cell phone in hand,
a big grin on his face.

“Hi. I’ve found my pen and paper. Now what was the address?”

Lizzie tried to control her irritation. She took a deep breath, “Are you certain you
need the address again?”

“Actually, I do not,” he said, sweeping into the hallway. He looked the role of the
confident author. Dark blue jeans, white shirt with the top two buttons open, dark
brown plaid sports jacket. All that was missing was a pipe. “I really would like to
know a bit more about the participants, though.”
That smile does look sincere
,
Lizzie thought.

He walked into the living room and surveyed the mixture of Rubbermaid containers on
the floor, all marked as Christmas decorations. He glanced at the ladder and the mistletoe
Lizzie had left perched on the top of it.

“Please, don’t let me keep you from what you were doing. I’m very good at lending
an eye to make sure things are on the level, so to speak.” He chuckled at his wit.

Lizzie suppressed a groan. She was damned if she’d let his intrusion ruin her plans
for the day. “This won’t take me but a minute. Why don’t you go sit down over by the
window and I’ll be right with you.” She grabbed a hammer and a small nail, tired of
trying to save the wall, and climbed the ladder.

“And what else have you been reading?” he asked. She couldn’t see him but it sounded
like he was walking around the room.

“Mainly mysteries—we are the Ashton Corners Mystery Readers and Cheese Straws Society,
after all. But we’re pleased to expand the parameters with your book.”

Alton laughed, obviously pleased with her comment. “How flattering. Now, tell me about
the people I’ll be speaking to. You mentioned a teacher.”

“Right. Sally-Jo Baker teaches third grade at Ashton Corners Elementary School, which
is also where I work. And—”

Alton interrupted her before she could continue. “You said she was new to town, if
I recall. From where?”

“Fort Myers, Florida. Why do you ask?” She twisted around to look at him.

“Curiosity, my dear Lizzie. It’s what keeps us writers going.” His laugh sounded mirthless.

“Of course, we do have others in the book club who are new to town.”

“So you mentioned. Quite a variety of people and tastes, it sounds like.” Alton continued
exploring the bookshelves across from where Lizzie stood.

“Yes. And speaking of tastes, we include refreshments in a big way. So eat a light
meal that night.”

“It’s a good thing you mentioned that.” Alton turned back and started over toward
her. “You see I have certain food allergies. I usually have only some tea or alcohol
if it’s available, and peppermint chocolate chip cookies that I bring so I won’t be
a problem to the hostess.”

Unsure how to respond, Lizzie turned back to her project and was about to give the
nail a final tap when a gunshot smashed her front window.

For a nanosecond she froze, then screamed and scrambled down the ladder, rushing over
to the fallen Alton, while attempting to stay out of the line of sight of the window.

“Derek, oh my God, Derek . . . how badly are you hurt?” She felt for a pulse at his
throat, trying to ignore the massive red splotch just below his left shoulder. “Oh
God, Derek, just lie still, I’ll get help. Don’t try to move.”

Her eyes flew around the room while her mind tried to ignore the obvious. No pulse.
She needed help.
Get going.

The front doorbell rang and someone pounded on the door. Nathaniel Creely called her
name.

“Nathaniel,” she shrieked. “Help, please.” She struggled to her feet and somehow made
it to the door and unlocked it.

Nathaniel, her eighty-year-old landlord and neighbor, shoved the door and grabbed
her by the shoulders. “What’s wrong? I heard a noise? It sounded like a gunshot. You’re
shaking. What happened?” Nathaniel’s face looked as white as his hair, his blue eyes
full of anxiety.

“In the living room.” She pointed and sat with a thud on the stairs. “It’s Derek Alton.
He’s been shot.”

Nathaniel went into the room, knelt down beside Alton and checked his pulse, then
reappeared at her side. He was already punching 911 into his cell phone. “Are you
hurt?” He patted her shoulder as she shook her head. “Hurry. Someone’s been shot,”
he told the operator, and then gave the address. “I don’t know if there’s a shooter
on the premises.” He looked at Lizzie, who shrugged and cast her eyes wildly around.
“I don’t know. Just hurry.” He closed his phone, ignoring instructions to stay on
the line, and took Lizzie by the hand.

“You’re coming to my place until the police arrive. You’ll be safe there.” He took
a good look in all directions after opening the door, then steered her across the
front lawn, over to his door. As her landlord, he lived in the main house and rented
out the two-bedroom side addition to Lizzie. The sound of sirens grew louder. “In
here. Now, just sit and try to relax.” He left the room but returned quickly with
a beige wool cardigan, too large for Lizzie but cozy and warm.

“Who is he, Lizzie? A friend?” Nathaniel asked.

Lizzie shook her head. “Not really. He’s a visiting author and he’s supposed to be
at our next book club meeting.”

She sat hugging her knees and didn’t even look out the window when the siren ended
in a whine as the police cruiser screeched into her driveway, followed instantly by
second and third sirens.

“I’ll attend to them. You just sit here,” Nathaniel told her, and he left.

It didn’t take long for police chief Mark Dreyfus to come rushing into the room. He
hesitated, then sat beside Lizzie and wrapped his arms around her. She felt like she’d
never stop shivering. He rubbed her left arm gently.

“I almost had a frigging heart attack when I got the call,” he whispered in her ear.
“Creely said you’re not hurt. Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded and felt some of the tension leaving her body. She longed for Mark to stay
like that, sitting there with her in his arms for the rest of the night. But that
wouldn’t happen. Maybe later. She still marveled that after all these years, she and
Mark Dreyfus were an item. After all those months of mooning about him in high school,
she the book nerd and he the captain of the football team, totally unaware of her
existence; then, meeting again, unfortunately at the scene of a murder a few months
earlier, and being swept up in the excitement of a new romance. And now, yet another
murder.

“What happened, Lizzie? Who is he?” Mark finally asked.

Lizzie took a deep breath to steady her voice. “His name is Derek Alton and he’s an
author who’s in town visiting. He was going to speak to the book club on Thursday.”

“Did you see who shot him?”

“No, I had my back to him when it happened. I didn’t see or hear anything other than
the window shattering.”

“Chief?” A female voice called at the door, followed by a loud knock.

Mark kissed Lizzie’s forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’m afraid I’ll have
to question you some more, but until then, you stay here and let Mr. Creely take care
of you.” He left. Bareheaded.
He must have forgotten his hat in the car.
What a crazy thing to notice, she thought.
I must be in shock
.

Chapter Three

The tension in Iris’ chest built up unbearably. By rights, the hooks on her bra ought
to snap.

DOG EAT DOG
—MARY COLLINS

L
izzie sat for a few minutes longer and fidgeted. “Oh my God, the cats. I totally forgot.
I have to go check on them. I’m worried they might have gotten out, with the police
in and out like that.”

“We’ll go over after.”

“No, Nathaniel, I have to do it now. I’m fine, really I am. I’ll just put them in
my bedroom and make sure the door is shut.” She hurried out before he could object
any further.

Lizzie heard Mark talking to Officer Amber Craig as she entered the front door of
Lizzie’s side of the house. She stopped abruptly for a few seconds after she entered
the living room, waiting until the room stopped swaying. Even though she avoided looking
at the spot, she could see Derek Alton’s body out of the corner of her eye. She took
a deep breath, pulled the sweater even tighter around her and faced the two police
officers.

“Lizzie, you should have stayed next door,” Mark said, but he stayed where he stood.

“Don’t come in any farther. This is a crime scene. We don’t want you contaminating
it.” Officer Craig barked out the order.

Lizzie glanced at Mark. She’d already contaminated it. It was her house, after all.
She shrugged and backed up a few paces.

“That’s Derek Alton, the writer, isn’t it?” Craig asked. “What’s he doing here?”

Lizzie felt Mark’s eyes on her as she answered. “He’s visiting in town.”

“No, I mean here, in your house.” Officer Craig glanced at the chief and then back
at Lizzie. “Was he a good friend of yours?”

“No. I met him just a few days ago. He was going to be our guest at the Ashton Corners
Mystery Readers and Cheese Straws Society this Thursday. He stopped by to find out
a bit more about each of the members. He said he wanted to make sure to tailor his
talk to each of them.” She took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn’t burst into tears.
It has to be shock.

“I see.”

Lizzie didn’t like the sound of that.

“And you were where, when the shot was fired?” Craig continued.

Lizzie glanced at Mark. He was watching her closely, his face unreadable. “Uh, he
dropped by unexpectedly. I’ve been putting up Christmas decorations.” Her hand did
a sweep of the room, exposing the fact that she’d been a bit slow at getting around
to it this year. Mark’s eyes stayed on the mistletoe. Lizzie swallowed hard. “I was
on the ladder, hanging the, uh, mistletoe. My back was to the window. I heard the
shot and Derek yelled out as he fell.” A sob escaped her and she looked at the body.
“He’s really dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

She looked at Mark. She thought she detected a slight sheen of perspiration on his
head. His dark chocolate eyes were unreadable. She took a deep breath.

“I came to get my cats. I have to make sure they’re safe.” She turned and started
toward the stairs.

Officer Craig was right behind her. “You can’t go up there alone.”

“Why? No one’s hiding there. It’s safe.”

“It’s not your safety I’m concerned about.”

Lizzie stopped partway up and turned to look at her. “What? You think I’m part of
this? Maybe going to destroy some evidence or something? Get serious.”

“I’m very serious. You’re not going up there alone.”

Lizzie looked at Mark, who had come up behind Officer Craig. “I don’t want my cats
getting out with all the doors opening and closing. Please, Mark.”

His face softened. “Can you take them next door? I’m afraid we’ll have to go through
your house.”

“What? Why? What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know at this stage of the investigation. But we have to be thorough. We don’t
usually get second chances with crime scenes.”

“But he was shot in the living room, not upstairs.”

“Is there something you don’t want us to see?” Officer Craig queried.

“Yes. My private life.” She looked directly at Mark. “Derek Alton was never upstairs
in my house; therefore, there’s nothing for you to investigate up there. It just feels
like such an invasion of privacy.”

Mark took a few moments before replying. “Go and find your cats, Lizzie. Officer Craig
will help you carry them next door.”

Lizzie straightened her shoulders and continued up the stairs. She heard Craig behind
her, grumbling under her breath. That brought a small smile to Lizzie’s face.

“Brie . . . Edam . . . come on kitties. Where are you?”

She checked in her bedroom. No cats on the bed. They weren’t obvious in the guest
room or in her office, either. She went back to her bedroom, with Officer Craig trailing
behind her, and kneeled beside the bed. Both cats stared back at her from their hiding
place under it. She spoke softly to them and slid partway under, snagging Brie and
handing her to Officer Craig. Then she moved around to the other side of the bed and
went through the same process to catch Edam.

“Hang on tightly,” she told Officer Craig, who grunted in return.

They walked slowly down the stairs, out the front door and over to Nathaniel’s. He
relieved Craig of her charge and she left immediately, brushing cat fur from her uniform
jacket, and muttering.

“You don’t mind the cats being here, do you?” Lizzie asked.

“Not in the slightest, my dear. In fact, I’ve put out a dish of water for them in
the kitchen and made sure all the doors and windows are shut.”

“Thank you, Nathaniel. I’ll go over again in a while and see if I can get their food
and cat cages. Oh boy, what a day. And poor Derek. Who would want to kill him?” Now
that the initial horror had passed, she still couldn’t quite get her head around what
had happened. She didn’t know the guy well but she did feel sad his life had ended
so brutally.

“Who indeed?” Molly Mathews announced as she stepped into the living room. “Oh, Lizzie
honey . . . what a terrible, terrible thing for you to go through. You’re sure you’re
okay? You weren’t injured in any way?”

Lizzie looked quickly at Nathaniel.

“I took the liberty of giving Molly a call,” he explained.

Molly walked over to Lizzie and wrapped her arms around her. Molly’s white woven cape
fell from her shoulders, revealing bold yellow and black silk Chinese lounging pajamas.

“I’m just fine, Molly,” Lizzie said, torn between giving in to the urge to cry now
that she was being coddled and keeping her eyes glued to Molly. “I just can’t believe
it, though.” She wasn’t sure if she meant the murder or Molly’s outfit.

“Nathaniel, how about making us all some sweet tea?” Molly suggested as she guided
Lizzie over to the couch. “Now, do you feel up to telling me what happened?”

Lizzie nodded as she sank back against the overstuffed cushions. She couldn’t tear
her eyes from Molly. This wasn’t the elegant, stylish Molly Mathews who had been a
rock in Lizzie’s somewhat turbulent growing-up years. True, she hadn’t seen her friend
in several weeks and that had been cause for concern. Molly seemed to have turned
in on herself over the past few weeks, retreating from the world and her friends as
she sorted through the aftermath of revelations about her deceased husband.

The Molly who had emerged was a transformation. Her shoulder-length gray hair had
been swept up in a haphazard bun on the top her of head. A number of black chopsticks
held it precariously in place.

“Are you okay?” Lizzie ventured, dying to know what had been going on in Molly’s life
all these weeks.

“Of course I am, honey. Can’t you see? I’ve had a reawakening, is what it is. Now
stop gawking and tell me what happened over at your house.”

Lizzie gulped. “It was just awful, Molly. I was hanging Christmas decorations and
had my back to Derek Alton, and then I heard a gunshot and glass breaking. I turned
as Derek yelled out but he was already collapsed on the floor bleeding.”

Molly patted her hand. “Just what was he doing at your place anyway?”

“He dropped in out of the blue. He said we could talk while I continued decorating.
I was hanging the mistletoe.”

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what Mark is thinking, isn’t it? Not who killed Derek,
but what was going on in my house? I don’t believe it.”

Molly sighed. “Mark’s a man, honey, and I’m certain he has strong feelings for you,
so of course, he’s likely to be a tad jealous. Especially since you’ve been out on
a date with Derek.”

Lizzie jumped up and started pacing. “It wasn’t a real date. Derek wanted to talk
about the book club, so sure, I had dinner with him.”

“It’s not me you have to convince.”

“And how did you know about it anyway?”

Molly sighed. “Lizzie, you should realize by now that nothing goes unnoticed in Ashton
Corners and also, that since I’m friends with the manager of the Shasta Room, I hear
all.”

Nathaniel appeared, carrying a tray of tall glasses and a plate of sugar cookies.
“This should help,” he said, setting it down on the coffee table. “I did detect a
decided chill in the air when you were being questioned, Lizzie. I think Molly is
right. As are you, my dear. Chief Dreyfus needs to focus on the murder, not the setting.”

“Oh boy,” Lizzie whispered as she sank back against the pillows on the couch.

“Indeed,” Nathaniel said, and he passed the cookies.