Read and Buried (4 page)

“Thorough man,” Bob said. The tone of his voice let on that he thought exactly the
opposite.

“Did he leave it at that?” Sally-Jo asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did he . . .”—she hesitated a moment—“make a pass or anything?”

Lizzie took a deep breath. “Well, he tried. But I let him know I wasn’t interested.”

“I bet he thought he’d give it another try,” Bob said under his breath.

Lizzie glanced sharply at him. “He hadn’t been at my place long, and he’d given no
indication of anything like that before he was shot. The only problem . . .”

“What is it, Lizzie?” Jacob demanded. It sounded like his courtroom voice to Lizzie,
although she’d never seen him in action.

“Well, you see, he just dropped in unannounced and I was decorating for Christmas
and he said to continue while we talked. And so I did. I hung the mistletoe and that’s
when the shot rang out.”

“Mistletoe?” Sally-Jo said in disbelief. “You hung mistletoe with that letch in the
room?”

Lizzie looked at her in surprise. “I wouldn’t say he was a letch. Okay, maybe he was.
And, had I known he would be shot and the police would make such a big deal about
the mistletoe . . . I would have waited until he left.” She let out a big sigh. “I
can’t believe he’s dead.”

Molly moved over beside Lizzie and put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s a big shock,
honey. Especially since you were right there. And don’t worry about Mark. He’ll realize
he’s being silly after he’s had time to think it over. I think you continued doing
what you were doing and that’s all there was to it. There’s nothing of significance
in it.”

Bob snorted. “That’s a very female reaction, Molly.”

Lizzie sat up straighter. “Well, we’re not here to discuss my actions. I’m wondering
what Derek was doing in Ashton Corners to start with and if that’s why he was killed.
And I’m going to the Book Bin tomorrow to ask Jensey Pollard if she knows.”

“Action . . . that’s a good remedy for everything,” Molly agreed. “What can I do?”

Lizzie looked a bit bleak. “I’m not sure at this point.”

Andie jumped into the fray. “Well, I’m going online tonight when I get home to find
out everything I can about Derek Alton. If he has any dark secrets that might have
gotten him killed, I’ll find them.”

Lizzie smiled her thanks.

“And I think I’ll just wander over next door right now and see if I can pick up any
details. I see they’ve got Ronny Biggs working the crime scene. He owes me, that boy
does. I gave him a job when I was chief and taught him a thing or two about crime
investigating when his own brother wouldn’t hire him.” Bob stood up. “Thank you kindly,
Nathaniel, for your hospitality. I’ll just head on home after that and give you a
call tomorrow, Lizzie.”

Lizzie nodded then said good-bye as the others decided to leave also, save Molly,
who took her time.

“Is everything all right with you, Molly?” Lizzie needed some reassurance about the
change in Molly.

“As right as rain. Are you sure you’re all right, honey?” she asked. “I sure wish
we’d just ambled on into the Christmas season without any dramatics. I’m right tired
of murder and suspicions.”

“And it’s just started, Molly. Who knows where this will all lead?”

Chapter Five

How the past can tyrannize, delimiting our scope of activity—the choices we make,
the things that happen to us, what we choose to do.

MCGARR AND THE
P
.
M
.
OF BELGRAVE SQUARE
—BARTHOLOMEW GILL

W
rong bed.
Lizzie cautiously opened an eye. Wrong curtains. Where am I? She bolted upright in
the bed, sending the cats leaping onto the floor. Nathaniel’s house. Yesterday’s murder.
It all came back in overwhelming detail.

She shivered and crawled back down under the covers. Brie and Edam joined her again
within seconds.

Derek Alton had died yesterday, in her house. She hated to think ill of the dead but
she’d not been impressed with him. He’d come across as egotistical and much more interested
in the adulation than in the writing process. She’d worried about that, just what
the book club would make of him, and since it had been her suggestion he be their
guest, she’d been troubled.

Not enough to kill him, though. Of course the police couldn’t think she was the killer.
She’d been in the same room and the shot had been fired from outside. The police.
She couldn’t even begin to know what went through Mark’s mind yesterday. He looked
none too pleased about Derek being in her house. Even less, that she’d been hanging
mistletoe at the time. Was he jealous? Or just being professional, trying not to let
his personal life interfere with the investigation of a murder?

No, he was not happy with her; that was certain. And if she were to reverse the roles,
she knew deep down that she’d be jealous, too. What had she been thinking, going out
to dinner with Derek? And Mark didn’t even know about that as yet. So, she’d made
her own bed, so to speak.

She hoped Mark would get over it and soon.

Now, the real question was, who would want to kill a visiting author? Surely no one
in Ashton Corners. She’d been born and raised here. It was a wonderful town, large
enough to provide all manner of arts, entertainment and outdoor activities but on
the cozy side so you’d always meet someone you knew when out doing errands. The town
itself had been part of the reason she’d returned after college and a year of working
in Huntsville. The other part was the need to be close by to her mama.

Derek Alton was a visitor. So, someone had been targeting him. Someone had followed
him to town. That had to be it.

She made herself get out of the warm, cozy bed, once again disturbing the cats, got
dressed quickly and went downstairs to find Nathaniel sitting at his kitchen table,
cup of coffee in hand, reading the
Birmingham News
.

His thinning white hair was in need of a cut, unusual for Nathaniel, since he normally
took such pride in his appearance. A true Southern gentleman was how Lizzie had once
described him to a friend.

He glanced up at her and smiled. “Good morning, Lizzie. I hope you slept well after
all that. And that the cats did as well. Please, help yourself to some coffee.”

Lizzie poured herself a mug and sat down across from Nathaniel. The round birch table
fit nicely into the large kitchen, about twice the size of her own. No surprise, since
his beloved wife, now deceased, had been a terrific cook. Two of the walls were decorated
with traditional country-style wallpaper in cream, yellow and brown, with the bottom
halves a pale green wainscoting. The remaining walls were covered in appliances and
dark mahogany cupboards. It still held the aroma of a woman’s touch although Charlaine
Creely had died long before Lizzie moved back to town.

“I had a good sleep in a comfortable bed, thank you. And the cats were pleased, also.
In fact, they’ve snuggled back in.”

“That’s good. Now, I baked us some fresh scones,” he said as he got up and went to
the oven to remove the baking.

“Smells delicious. Now I’ll regret not having gotten up earlier for a run. But that’s
not going to stop me from eating one.” She inhaled deeply as he placed a plate of
scones on the table in front of her.

He chuckled. “I’m glad you didn’t get up early. You needed a good rest after yesterday’s
turmoil. The police called earlier to say it’s okay to go into your house, so I put
in a call to Ford Guiger to come and replace the window. He should be here in a couple
of hours. As will Noreen, my housecleaner. She’ll tidy it right up.”

“Thank you, Nathaniel. Oh boy, I still can’t believe what happened yesterday. Is there
a story about it in the paper?”

“Yes, but not a very long one.” Nathaniel opened the paper to page four. “Birmingham
folks aren’t too concerned about an author dying, it seems. But it will be big news
when the
Ashton Corners Colonist
comes out on Thursday, I’ll bet.”

Lizzie read the story over quickly. “Just the facts. That’s good. And no mention of
it being my house nor the address. Also good. I’d hate to have gawkers passing by,
or worse yet, reporters.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“I have to go to school for a couple of meetings I’ve scheduled with some children
and their parents. Do you mind if the cats stay here until I get back?”

“No, that’s quite all right by me. I have an appointment early afternoon but I’ll
be here all morning so I’m happy to supervise the goings-on at your place, too.”

“That would be great. I appreciate it. I’d better get going, though, or I’ll be late
for my first appointment.” She snatched another scone to have as a snack.

* * *

N
othing stays a secret long in a town the size of Ashton Corners, Lizzie thought as
she ventured from the school staff room to the vice principal’s office. She’d already
been inundated with questions from several teachers wanting details of the shooting
and she’d been at school for only twenty minutes.

She gave them very little information, mainly because she didn’t have any. She let
her mind play with suggestions of what her next move should be while she set up for
her first appointment of the day. As a reading specialist with the Ashton Corners
School District, she was charged with assessing children who appeared to be reading
below their expected level, referred either by their teacher or by parents. Part of
her job also involved making recommendations to teachers as to programs and techniques,
and designing staff training sessions.

A third-grade boy, who, from what she could see, would be happier out on the playground
than sitting in a classroom, appeared for his second appointment in as many weeks,
along with his mama. Lizzie went over the test results with Mrs. Cline, trying to
emphasize her son Tory’s strong points, even though reading wasn’t one of them. Mrs.
Cline had her own ideas about how well her son should be doing, and Lizzie had to
remind herself that tact was the best way to deal with such single-mindedness. She
wondered if Mr. Cline might be more inclined, so to speak—she smiled at the thought—to
view his son with some sense and sensibility. She kept her smile in place as she saw
them out the door and then went to the staff room.

Lizzie realized she kept glancing at her watch, about three times in the past fifteen
minutes, and hoped it hadn’t been obvious to the two fifth-grade teachers seated across
from her. They’d been meeting through the lunch hour, going over Lizzie’s suggestion
for integrating a new reading program into their work plans at the start of the new
term. Finally, the meeting ended as the school bell rang. Lunch over.

Lizzie tried to avoid the few stragglers still in the staff room, anxious not to have
to answer any more questions about the murder. She made it out the door and beat a
hasty retreat to her car in the school parking lot. She liked most of the teachers
she worked with but, as in any small community, she sometimes felt as though they
were living in one another’s back pockets.

Her afternoon was clear until two thirty, when she had a meeting with the principal,
Herbert Slocam, and she planned to head home in the meantime. She remembered to switch
on her cell phone as she started her car. An instant buzzing alerted her there was
a message from Officer Craig, who wanted to know when she planned to bring her statement
into the station. Now was as good a time as any, she guessed.

As she pulled up to the station, she noticed that Mark’s black Jeep wasn’t in the
parking lot and breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to talk to him but not with
all his colleagues around. Officer Craig looked up from her computer screen as the
desk officer called over to her. She nodded to him, and Lizzie was told to go ahead.

“I thought you’d come by first thing in the morning,” Craig said without even a hello.

Lizzie bristled, as she often did when in her presence. “I wasn’t aware a time was
stated, by either of us.”

Craig glared at her and held out her hand. Lizzie pulled the handwritten statement
out of her tote. She really had meant to drop it off on the way to school but had
totally forgotten. No way she was about to let Officer Craig know that, though.

“Was there anything you wanted to add to it? Something that might have come to you
as you went about your business all day long?”

Lizzie bit back her instinctive retort. “No. There wasn’t a whole lot to tell in the
first place. So if that’s all, I’ll just go and let you get on with your work.”

“If you do happen to think of anything more, be sure you call.” It sounded like a
warning of some sort.

Lizzie nodded and left, glad to have it over and done with. She headed home and again
felt happiness and relief at being able to pull into her driveway. No police van or
cruiser blocked it. Better yet, a brand-new window had been installed in her living
room. All traces of yesterday’s violence had been eliminated from the outside. She
braced herself as she opened the front door, dreading the bloodstained carpet in the
living room.

Thank God for Nathaniel
. Lizzie smiled at the sight of a clean hardwood floor. The small area carpet, fortunately
one she hadn’t been overly fond of, had been removed and any traces cleaned away.
His cleaning lady must have come in just after she left him this morning.

She glanced at the mistletoe hanging right where she’d stuck it when the bullet had
been fired at Derek Alton. She sucked in her breath as her internal video of the scene
went into replay. How could such violence have happened here, in her house? Who had
known Derek was stopping by? Lizzie hadn’t. He’d taken her by surprise. But he must
have told someone, or else he had been trailed. A stalker?

And why would anyone want to kill him? He was a stranger in town. So had he really
been stalked all the way to Ashton Corners? She wanted some answers. Her house was
the crime scene, after all. And the location had not sat well with Mark Dreyfus. She
didn’t believe for an instant that Mark would let this color the way he viewed the
investigation. But, if she could maybe figure out who had killed Derek, it might put
her back in his good graces all the more quickly.

She walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone to dial Molly.

“Oh, Lizzie . . . thank you so much for calling. I’ve been wondering all morning how
you are. How are you?”

“As well as can be expected, I guess.” She felt better already just hearing the melodic
Southern lilt of Molly’s voice.

“Well, that was quite a shock you had yesterday. Quite a shock. Why don’t you just
come on over here for supper before the literacy class tonight? I’ll cook up some
of the Bourbon and brown sugar tenderloin you like so much.”

“Thanks, Molly. I’ll take you up on that.”

“Good. See you later then, honey. Come on over whenever you’re ready.”

Lizzie smiled as she replaced the receiver. That sounded like the old Molly she knew
and loved. And had missed. She glanced at the clock. Just enough time to collect her
cats from Nathaniel and get them settled back in before she had to return to school.

When Nathaniel didn’t answer the bell or her knocks, she let herself in with the key
he’d given her. She found some paper and a pen to leave him a note thanking him for
everything, and telling him she’d taken the cats home. Then she set out to find them.

They’d settled right back on the sofa bed they’d all slept on the night before, curled
around each other. They eyed her warily as she opened the cat cages. She scooped them
in and carried them home.

Edam cautiously toured the main floor, checking it out thoroughly, creeping toward
the spot in the living room and walking warily around it. Brie headed straight upstairs.
Lizzie filled their bowls with dry treats and went to look for Brie. She found her
curled up on her bed, obviously still exhausted from the change in routine.

She assured herself the house was secure, pausing as a sharp pang of panic shot through
her when she entered the living room. She could almost see Derek’s body on the floor,
the large bloodied spot on his back getting larger, the same terror gripping her.
She sat down on the arm of the settee and took a deep breath. It had happened. It
was over. She had to move on. Figuring out who the killer was would certainly help.

But for now, she had to get back to school.