Authors: Erika Chase
Chapter Six
She turned to give me a commiserating smile. “Men.
You can’t live with ’em and you can’t shoot ’em.”
POLISHED OFF
—LILA DARE
L
izzie glanced at the clock on her bedside table. She didn’t want to be late for tonight’s
literacy class but she wanted to find her new Iban stretch bracelet. She was certain
she’d placed it on the dresser before going back to work. She glanced down at Edam
and Brie, engaged in grooming each other on the floor. Had one of them chosen it as
a toy? She got down on her hands and knees and searched under the bed. Nothing. She
grabbed a flashlight and shone it under the dresser. Bingo. It had obviously been
played with and had slid to the back wall. Grabbing the long ruler she kept on hand
for fishing cat toys out from such a spot, she managed to retrieve the bracelet.
The ringing doorbell sent her scrambling to her feet and, with a final look at the
cats, now up on the bed in their favorite spots, she ran downstairs.
Mark had his back to her, looking out at the street, when she opened the door. She
had just enough time to close her open jaw before he turned around.
“I know you’ve got a class tonight but I have a few more questions for you,” he said,
stepping forward.
“Oh, sure. Come on in.” Lizzie closed the door behind him and followed him into the
living room, wincing as her memory clicked on an image of the body. “What is it you
want to know?”
No “Hello, how are you?”
Okay, she’d play it cool, too.
Mark sat on the green-striped settee and waited until she’d sat on the taupe wicker
chair in front of the window.
“I need to know, as close to verbatim as possible, what you and Derek Alton discussed
over dinner.” His face showed no sign of emotion, although Lizzie thought his voice
cracked a bit at the mention of dinner.
Taken totally by surprise that he knew about the dinner, Lizzie tried to gather her
thoughts before answering. “Well, we started off with the usual pleasantries—comments
about how he was finding Ashton Corners, the weather . . . the usual.”
She paused to study Mark. He held his pen and notebook but wasn’t writing. She shifted
uncomfortably. Time to make the intent of the dinner clear. “He’d asked me to dinner
to discuss the book club evening. However, he ended up doing most of the talking and
it was all about himself.”
Mark was staring at her, although he didn’t say a word. She felt disconcerted and
tried to pick up the train of her thoughts.
“And how long was the dinner?” Mark asked.
“A couple of hours, I’d guess. I didn’t really look at any clocks.” And Mark should
remember she disliked wearing a watch, she thought.
“And then?”
Do not squirm.
“I took a cab home.”
No way I’m telling any more details.
“So, he picked you up? You didn’t drive over to meet him?”
“He had a rental and he suggested we take a quick drive around town on the way to
eat, so I could point out some of the sights.”
“Humph,” was all Mark said. Lizzie didn’t like the sound of it.
“And that’s the reason he stopped by yesterday,” Lizzie continued quickly. “He realized
he’d been a bit of a bore and apologized and asked about the book club. I filled him
in some more about the members.”
She thought a moment. “I’m not sure if this matters, but when I mentioned we have
refreshments at our meetings, he said he always brings his own cookies with him because
of an allergy.” She took a deep breath. “And then he was shot.”
Mark stood abruptly. “Thanks. I can see myself out since you’ve got to get ready.
I’ll probably have some more questions soon.”
“Any clues? Any ideas who killed him?”
Mark shook his head.
“Any motives?”
“No.”
Lizzie continued sitting long after he left. He’d been so abrupt and businesslike.
How totally frustrating. And, he hadn’t even asked about the ending to the evening.
He probably imagined the worst. She leapt up and stalked upstairs. Men could be so
infuriating.
Chapter Seven
Waking is like rising from the dead. The slow climb out of sleep, shapes appearing
out of blackness, the alarm clock ringing like the last trump.
THE CROSSING PLACES
—ELLY GRIFFITHS
“W
ow, Miss,” said Sonny Dolman. “You’re like some kind of murder magnet.”
Jolene Racine favored him with a dirty look and jumped in. “That’s a really uncool
thing to say, Sonny. I’m sure she doesn’t go looking around for people who are about
to be murdered.”
Lizzie suppressed a smile. “You’ve nailed it, Jolene. Thank you. Now, if we could
just concentrate on the topic, which is three types of point of view. But first, we’ll
start with everyone reading out loud last week’s assignment. Who’d like to go first?”
Jolene’s hand shot up a fraction of a second before Sonny’s. Lizzie nodded at Jolene,
who opened her notebook to a page marked by a pink Post-it note and started reading.
Lizzie was impressed. Jolene had worked hard all term at the evening literacy classes
and her essay showed it. She had most of the grammar correct, it sounded like she
used proper punctuation and she’d obviously done some research to include in the original
short paragraph they’d been given to work from. She’d have no trouble with her GEDs,
Lizzie thought with satisfaction.
“Well done, Jolene. You’re up now, Sonny.”
Sonny sat up straighter in his comfy club chair. Since the classes were held in Molly
Mathews’s library, there were none of the classroom basics like desks and upright,
uncomfortable chairs. Lizzie thought back briefly to the first class she’d taught
in this room, two years ago. She’d originally been worried that the magnificence and
comfort of the room would be a distraction but she’d soon learned that most of her
students, all in their late teens, were focused on passing their GEDs and a little
thing like an awesome room wouldn’t deter them.
Sonny cleared his throat, looked at the other two students, flashed his fifties’
Grease
facsimile smile and read.
Lizzie hadn’t been quite sure what to expect. Sometimes Sonny turned in well-thought-out
papers; at other times the homework contained meandering thoughts that were all over
the map. Tonight, he was right on target. Lizzie smiled and thanked him; he beamed
and did a small bow to the others, then sat and slid back down to his slouchy position.
She listened to Melanie’s paper, which was consistent with the work she’d been doing
since joining the group six weeks before. Passable. Lizzie missed Stephanie being
in class but she was pleased that she’d wanted to keep up with the work at home. Lizzie
would drop off the new assignment tomorrow and go over her latest paper at the same
time.
Jolene interrupted her musings. “Isn’t it time for the break? I can’t wait to get
another look at Miz Molly. It’s been real weird, her not being around for the last
few weeks. Just leaving the juice and cookies out for us. Very
X-Files
, ya know? And tonight . . . did y’all see the geisha outfit she’s wearin’?”
“This is the first time I’ve ever seen her and you could have knocked me over,” Melanie
agreed. “She looks weird.”
“Not weird,” Jolene replied. “She’s doing her own thing.”
Lizzie glanced at the antique brass clock on the end table. “Of course. Take five,
everyone.” They dashed out of the room except for Jolene, who held back.
“Do you mind if I ask you about my book?” she asked, somewhat timidly for her.
Lizzie did a mental head slap. “Oh, Jolene. I’m so sorry. What with everything that’s
been going on, I haven’t had time. I’ll read it before you go on Christmas break,
though. I promise.”
Jolene grinned. “That’s okay. I thought it was something like that. Think I’ll get
myself a cookie and tea.”
Lizzie made a note in her agenda to read Jolene’s partially finished sci-fi manuscript
on the weekend. She’d been pleased when Jolene had asked for her comments. The least
she could do is be timely about giving them. She looked up as Sally-Jo entered the
room.
“Hey, Lizzie. I don’t know about your class but mine is sure hyper tonight,” Sally-Jo
said as she sank into a chair. “Got a minute?”
“Sure, what’s up?” asked Lizzie.
“I was just wondering how you’re feeling? I saw your car in the school parking lot
today and couldn’t believe you were at work, but I didn’t have a free moment to look
for you.”
“I had to go into work. Too many appointments to take a day off. And also, I’d just
sit around and brood if I stayed home. It seems sort of surreal now. But a bit freaky
when I walk into my living room.”
Sally-Jo sank into one of the cushy chairs across from Lizzie. “I’ll bet. You’d said
Derek just turned up out of the blue. Was he asking anything specific about us?”
Lizzie nodded. “He said he wanted to find out more about the members and see if he
could tailor his talk a bit better.”
“Did he ask our names or for any specifics?”
“I’d already told him our names and a bit about everyone when I first met him. Yesterday
he’d wanted some more details.”
“Like what?”
“Sally-Jo, what’s going on? Why are you asking me these things?”
She didn’t have a chance to answer. Jolene came bouncing back into the library followed
by Melanie and Sonny.
“Oops, sorry,” Jolene said as she spied Sally-Jo.
“No problem. I’d better get back to my class.” She gave Lizzie a small smile as she
left the room. Lizzie wondered what all that had been about.
The rest of the evening passed quickly and the students left with a new assignment
due the following Monday, which was the next time they would meet. The literacy group
met twice a week, Mondays and Wednesdays. Lizzie went looking for Sally-Jo, only to
find that she’d already left. Her classes were held in the sunroom, which was a 1980’s
addition to the grand old house. With the size of Molly’s house, the entire adult
literacy program could be hosted there, but the majority of students attended weekly
classes at the Community Center on Main Street. These were the overflow students,
with Lizzie and Sally-Jo volunteering to teach at the mansion. In fact, Molly Mathews
had volunteered her house as a location for many good causes over the years and her
generosity had earned her numerous awards in the community.
“Jacob came by a bit early and we had a nice visit in the kitchen,” Molly explained.
She straightened the obi wrapped around her waist. “He and Sally-Jo left as soon as
her students cleared out.”
Lizzie accepted the cup of hot tea and cinnamon pecan drop biscuit Molly offered her
and slid along the built-in banquette in the corner of the kitchen. “That’s a very
colorful outfit, Molly.” She wasn’t sure how much to say about it.
“Yes, isn’t it? The dark red cherry blossoms on the white background caught my eye
the minute I entered the store.” She did a slow twirl for Lizzie. “I’m quite happy
with it.”
“Umm. How did Sally-Jo seem to you tonight?”
Molly sat down across from Lizzie, her own tea in hand. The rather wide sleeves of
the silk Japanese kimono draped on the table as she sipped. “I didn’t really get a
chance to talk to her. Why do you ask?”
“Maybe it’s nothing. She just seemed sort of jittery and was asking me all sorts of
questions about Derek. Like if he’d asked about anyone specifically.”
“His death has shaken us all to some extent, even though we hadn’t yet met the man.
Anticipating meeting him brought us all a bit closer to the tragedy.” Molly absently
swept back a stray lock of her gray hair that had fallen across her forehead and dangled
in front of her left eye.
Lizzie watched the graceful movement and thought back to the many times Molly had
pulled Lizzie’s own dark brown hair back and into a ponytail. When Lizzie’s mama had
been unable to look after her properly, it was Molly who had hovered, stopping by
every day, making sure there were meals prepared, the laundry done and Lizzie not
lacking for anything.
“And had he?” Molly asked.
“Excuse me?” Lizzie tried to connect back with the train of conversation.
Molly took a sip before answering. “Had Derek asked about any of the book club members
in particular?”
“I’d told him a bit when I’d met him at the Book Bin, though we didn’t get around
to talking much about the book club the evening we went to dinner. The day he was
killed, he had come over to apologize and to ask some more about the members but we
got sidetracked into talking about cookies and then he was killed.”
“Cookies?”
“Yes. He has—had—an allergy, so he said he’d bring his own.”
Molly nodded absently. “So, when he stopped by yesterday, would you say he’d really
been thinking about us and wanted more details? Or was that merely a ploy to get into
your house?”
Lizzie gasped. “Don’t even think that when anyone else is around, just in case they
can read your mind.”
Molly chuckled. “You did say he made a pass at you the other night, right?”
“Well, yes. But I left right away. It didn’t get out of hand.”
“You could have been seen as a challenge to him. Maybe he was having another go.”
Lizzie stared at her before answering. “Do you really think that or are you just messing
around with possible plots?”
Molly leaned across the table and put her hand on Lizzie’s. “I wouldn’t blame him
at all for trying again, honey, but if that wasn’t on his mind, I guess he wanted
to give us a good show. Too bad we didn’t get to see it.”
Chapter Eight
I wasn’t sure who had told what lies to accomplish it.
THE PROFESSIONAL
—ROBERT B. PARKER
Y
esterday’s news was old news.
Thank God
. Lizzie had been cornered only a couple of times at school during the lunch hour
by curious teachers. But she’d been thankful to make an early escape after her final
afternoon appointment.
Back at her house, she tried to finish the Christmas decorating but found it impossible
to get enthusiastic when she actually stood in the living room. The cats, too, were
having problems adjusting, skulking into the room and sniffing madly at the site where
the body had been. Maybe it was a bit disrespectful, hanging festive décor so soon
after the murder. She decided to put it off a week and then give it another try. She
planned to put the tree itself up on December 17, something she’d done every year,
following the pattern set when she was a child. The tree would remain in its full
glory until the twelfth day of Christmas, January 6.
Usually she found this time of year and all the rituals exciting. Now, she found it
hard to stir up any enthusiasm.
Give it some time.
She nodded to herself and sank onto the settee facing the window. She wondered what
a white Christmas would feel like. They’d had the odd, light snowfall in late December
before but nothing deep and lasting. Maybe some year she’d take a trip at Christmas,
spend it up north. Maybe Lake Placid in New York, or even Canada, just outside Montreal
in the Laurentians. She’d read about some nice ski lodges up there. Who was she kidding?
She’d never go away at Christmas. She had Mama to visit, and Molly, too. And hopefully
this year, she’d do something with Mark. If he were even speaking to her.
She’d have to address that. But was it better to wait until Mark brought up the topic?
She didn’t want him to think she was reading too much into their relationship. How
did she really know how he felt? Maybe he hadn’t been upset about Derek being at her
place. Maybe he had been frustrated at having to deal with another murder, so soon.
That cheered her somewhat.
* * *
T
he next evening, Lizzie finished carrying the trays of food into Molly’s library and
waited until all the book club members were seated. It really was the perfect place
to hold the monthly meetings of the Ashton Corners Mystery Readers and Cheese Straws
Society. The floor-to-ceiling dark oak bookcases covered three walls, framing the
two internal doors, one going to the hall and the other to the powder room. The remaining
wall was covered in plush beige brocade drapes, which, when drawn, revealed double
French leaded-glass doors opening onto a stone patio. And beyond the patio, which
wrapped around the back and two sides of the house, there was an acre of green grass,
gardens and shrubbery.
Lizzie drew her attention back to those inside the room. She was pleased to see that
Stephanie Lowe had made the effort to attend although she had great difficulty in
settling her body, all nine-month-pregnant bulk of it, into a comfortable sitting
position. Her gaze settled on Jacob Smith.
“Where’s Sally-Jo?” she asked.
Jacob shook his head. “I’m not sure what’s up. She phoned just as I was getting ready
to leave and begged off. I think she’s starting to feel the pressure. I don’t think
she’s all too thrilled by the prospect of her family descending on her for Christmas.”
Lizzie frowned. She knew Sally-Jo wasn’t looking forward to the visit, mainly because
it meant her parents, sisters and their families but well-organized Sally-Jo always
had a plan of action. She’d have to call her later.
Andie Mason finished her walk around the perimeter of the room, looking behind the
curtains and staring out the windows for a few moments. She finally sat down, close
to Lizzie.
Lizzie just gave her head a slight shake.
What is that girl up to?
She looked at Molly, seated on the edge of one of the club chairs. Not a very flattering
style of dress she’d chosen for the evening. What was going on? “I guess we should
get started. Anyone like to lead the way?” Lizzie asked.
Molly waited a suitable amount of time in case anyone was dying to jump in. None of
them would dare. “Before I begin I wanted y’all to take a look at my outfit tonight.”
She stood and did a slow turn. Her eyes twinkled as she sat and explained.
“This dress was all the rage in England in the early nineteen twenties. I was so lucky
to track it down and even luckier to be able to buy it. These Egyptian prints on the
bodice were popular after the discovering of old King Tut’s tomb in Egypt. The dress
is entirely shapeless, more like a long box, but I thought it would add a little touch
of the world of Agatha Christie, about the time she published her first novel,
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
, in nineteen twenty. And that was a full twenty years before
Hercule Poirot’s Christmas
, my choice for this month, for obvious reasons. But I thought, as well, that it would
give y’all who haven’t yet read an Agatha Christie”—she paused for effect and gave
Bob a steady stare—“a suitable introduction.”
Bob stood and helped himself to a couple more cheese straws, sat back down and focused
on Molly. He eyed her top to toe but didn’t comment on her attire. “I tried, Molly.
I really tried. But it was so painful. So slow moving, just like I was strapped to
the back of that old tortoise, wandering in and out of sentences and paragraphs, and
then finally, reaching the end. Hallelujah. That’s my only comment.”
Molly’s face dropped about a mile. Andie’s head swiveled back and forth between the
two of them. Stephanie looked as shocked as Molly, while Jacob and Lizzie managed
to hide their smiles.
Lizzie tried to salvage the meeting. “Well, I thought it was plotted in true Christie
style and Poirot . . . well he’s my favorite of her sleuths. But you know, with this
book, I think she’s gone more over to the dark side. There’s more violence in it,
or is that just my imagination?”
“Very good, Lizzie,” Molly said with a big smile. “It’s true. I’d read that her brother-in-law
had said her books were lacking in luster or some such thing, utter hogwash if you
ask me, but she deliberately added more blood and violence to this one. Of course,
she kept that Christie magic in it, with the house party in the country.”
“And the double whammy of a locked room mystery, too,” Lizzie added.
Molly nodded.
Bob jumped back in. “Okay. I get it. You two really know your Christie and I’m mighty
impressed. And that’s quite the getup you’re wearing, Molly Mathews. But next month
is my turn and I’m suggesting we read
Sixkill
by Robert B. Parker. That’s the last Spenser book he wrote before he died.You’ll see
what I’m comparing Christie to, Molly. And if you don’t like the book or the style
of writing, I promise to not take your opinion personally. And, well, you did say
this here book club was supposed to broaden our reading horizons, didn’t you? This
will definitely broaden yours.”
All eyes were on Molly, awaiting her answer. She took a few moments, sighed and then
smiled. “You are so right, Bob. On all counts. Now, does anyone else have anything
to add about this month’s book?”
Stephanie held up her left hand tentatively; her right hand still held the knitting
she’d pulled out of her bag as soon as she’d sat down. She had almost finished the
baby blanket, this one in yellow and green. “Well, I . . . y’all know I’m trying to
widen my reading, too. I like her style, like having all the characters right there
so we meet them right close to the beginning and then you can try to figure it all
out knowing the murderer is one of them. But I sort of agree with Bob—it’s kind of
slow moving. But I did like it,” she added quickly. “And I’ve gotta say, you look
amazing.”
Molly nodded. “Why, thank you, Stephanie. Jacob?”
Jacob swallowed hard. He glanced from Bob to Molly. “I was never into mysteries growing
up and through school years but I’ve been enjoying them lately. So, I must admit I
haven’t read a lot of Agatha Christie. I like the settings. Those big British estates . . .
there’s a right gallant feel about them.”
“That’s it?”
He nodded. “I’ll stop while I’m ahead.” He grinned at Molly.
She shook her head but Lizzie could see a smile playing at the corners of her mouth
as she asked, “Would anyone like a refill of tea?”
Andie leapt out of her chair. “Let me get that for you.” She grabbed the pitcher and
walked around refilling glasses.
Jacob took a big swallow and said, “Has anyone heard anything more about the murder
inquiry?”
“They’re probably still trying to get all the background info on Alton,” Bob answered.
“Since he’s an out-of-towner, it’ll take a bit of desk work. And then, there’s his
hotel room to search, which they’ve surely already done. And his movements around
town to try and track down where he went when he was here.
“Did that officer you talked to over at my place tell you anything?” Lizzie asked.
“Well, he thought it looked like a hunting rifle had been used, seeing as the bullet
didn’t do any damage. Other than kill him, that is. Around here, that doesn’t narrow
down the search any, I’m afraid. Assuming this isn’t a random killing, someone knew
him and someone had it in for him. So we need to find out, who, besides you, Lizzie,
did he know in town?”
Lizzie shrugged. “Well, Jensey Pollard at the Book Bin introduced us but I don’t know
how well she knew him. She is a bookseller after all. It was natural he’d stop at
her store. And I hear she’d added to the store’s Facebook page a note about his talking
to the book club. I had emails from two people who wanted to join us tonight, had
he but lived. I didn’t get around to stopping by the store yesterday, but I will real
soon and I’ll ask her some more about him.”
She added after a slight pause, “Derek didn’t mention knowing anyone else in town,
when I was talking to him.”
“Andie, what did you find out about Derek Alton on the Internet?” Molly asked as she
chose a slice of Bourbon pound cake.
Andie replaced the plate on the hand-carved oak side table and sat down across from
Molly. “He’s on Facebook and has a website that talks mainly about his award-winning
book and lists the other books. You can click on each title and get reviews, covers,
the whole bit. Plus links to buy them. And lots of pictures of him at signings.”
“What about his personal life? A bio? Anything like that?” Lizzie asked.
“Well, in Wikipedia it says he’s taught creative writing at night school and at college,
but that’s about it. I didn’t see a location listed or a status—like if he’s married
or has kids or any of that stuff. He hadn’t even listed where he was born or went
to school. I guess I didn’t get too far into the articles. There were quite a few
on the Net. I’ll go back and look at those. Also, there were lots of Derek Altons
listed who weren’t our guy, so there’s a lot of weeding out to do.”
She took a bite of her pecan cookie. “Oh yeah, it said that he has some food allergies
and always brings his own cookies to events.”
“He told me that just before he was murdered,” Lizzie said, pausing a minute before
adding, “By the way, are you into exams yet?”
Andie focused her attention on the Judith Fields watercolor of a swamp lily hanging
on the wall behind Molly. “Well, yeah, sort of.”
“I could probably take a stab and say they’ll be starting in about a week and run
until school breaks for Christmas, right?”
“Uh-huh. That sort of sucks, you know.”
Lizzie shook her head. “Right. Well, I think you should give the Alton research a
pass for now and concentrate on your studies. I’ll do it.”
“I can do both, really I can.”
“I’m sure you can, but what if, for some reason, there’s a problem with one of your
marks? Your mama’s going to have my head.”
“And I won’t allow you to come to any more book club meetings, if that happens,” Molly
threw in for good measure, although Lizzie knew that she would never follow through
on that threat. “Besides, if Lizzie loses her head, we may have to abandon the club
anyway.”
Andie folded her arms across her chest and gave her own head a shake. Her black and
blue hair, cut blunt to chin level, swung around and her nose ring danced. “All right.
But just until I ace my tests. Then I’m back on the case.”
Lizzie smiled to herself. Some case. But at least she wouldn’t have Andie’s exam marks
on her conscience. “One thing does nag at me.”
“What’s that, Lizzie?” Jacob asked.
“Why now? What made this the right time to kill Derek Alton?”