Read and Buried (6 page)

Chapter Nine

I took a deep breath unwilling, though ready, to face the world with another murder
on our hands.

GRACE INTERRUPTED
—JULIE HYZY

F
ridays were usually good days. The end of the work week. Choir practice night. What’s
not to like?

The answer would be, this Friday, Lizzie thought to herself as she opened the front
door to Officer Amber Craig. How could an early morning visit from this woman be a
good start to a day?

“Are you leaving for school soon?” Officer Craig asked, without so much as a good
morning.

Lizzie’s first appointment was at ten with the vice principal but she felt the sudden
urge to get there early. “Yes.”

“This won’t take long.” Craig didn’t wait for an invitation but walked into the living
room while Lizzie got settled.

Lizzie glanced nervously out the window, thinking she’d sit in her comfy bucket chair
in front of it.
Nothing to worry about
. No one with a rifle in any case. Her eyes narrowed as she thought she saw a quick
movement at the end of the driveway, but the police cruiser blocked her view.
Stop being paranoid.
She decided to sit on the settee instead, though.

“What can I do for you, Officer?”

“Tell me all about your relationship with Derek Alton.”

Lizzie didn’t miss a beat. “There was no ‘relationship,’ as you put it. He was a visiting
author and would have spoken to our book club at last night’s meeting, had he not
been shot. But of course, you know that already. I’ve said it before.”

“Do you go out for a romantic dinner with all visiting authors?”

Lizzie tried to appear unbothered by the question. “It was a working dinner to discuss
the book club and help him focus his talk. It was
not
a romantic dinner.”

Craig pulled out her notebook. “According to Mr. Trent at the Shasta Room of the Jefferson
Hotel, Alton called ahead and asked for a “secluded table for two, with low lighting,
candlelight and a single rose.” Now, that sounds to me like someone thought of it
as a romantic dinner.” She cocked an eyebrow and stared at Lizzie, with a slight smirk
on her face.

Lizzie squared her shoulders. “You asked me about the dinner and I’m telling you,
to my mind, it wasn’t a romantic dinner. It was a working dinner.”

“So you say.”

“Yes.”

“And, did he try to kiss you during the dinner?”

Lizzie groaned inwardly. She’d bet Mr. Trent had been lurking and had told all. “Well,
yes, but I didn’t reciprocate.”

“Sounds like he planned the evening from start to finish, though. He picked you up?”

“He came early and we drove around a bit before going to dinner. I showed him some
landmarks in town on the way to the hotel.”

“Huh. Right. And after this unromantic dinner?”

“I took a cab home.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say he’d had too much to drink.”

“Sure. We’ll say that. So tell me, Ms. Turner, why you lied to the police.” Craig’s
voice was deceptively low.

“I didn’t lie.”

“You were asked about Derek Alton and you weren’t entirely forthcoming.”

“But I didn’t lie.” Lizzie shifted in her seat. “I just omitted telling you certain
things.”

Lizzie waited for Craig to say something, and when she didn’t, added, “For obvious
reasons.”

Officer Craig still didn’t comment. Lizzie kept her mouth shut. After a couple of
minutes of silence, Craig closed her notebook and stood.

“I’ll pass along the information to the chief. We’ll be in touch.”

Lizzie bristled. Craig seemed to be enjoying this. “I don’t like your tone of voice,
Officer Craig. You’re implying much more happened than did. It was a dinner. Period.
Nothing more. And besides, the chief already knows.”

“So tell me, did Mr. Alton take the hint when you hung the mistletoe?”

Lizzie exploded. “No. There was no hint, no message, no kiss under it. I already told
you, but in case you’ve forgotten, I was decorating the house when he stopped by.
Unexpectedly.”

“Right. That’s what you said. That’s all, for now.” Craig put her hat on and left.

Lizzie didn’t know whether to throw a pillow at the bookcase or a book out the door
at Officer Craig. She was so frustrated. She glanced out the window when she heard
Craig yelling. In a few moments, Andrea Mason stood up on the other side of the police
cruiser. Lizzie hurried to the door.

“And just what were you doing? Tampering with my car?” Craig shouted at Andie.

Andie sauntered past Officer Craig, toward Lizzie. “Nope. Nice seeing you again, Officer
Craig.”

Lizzie watched as Craig walked around her cruiser, checking it carefully. She got
into the front seat, pulled out her notebook and made an entry before driving away.

“What were you doing, Andie?” Lizzie asked as Andie joined her on the porch.

“I was just walking past on my way to school and I saw her car and she came marching
out the door so I ducked. Instinct, I guess.”

“Uh-huh. Now what were you really doing here?’

Andie looked around, up and down the street, and then answered. “I was just checking
out your car, actually.”

“My car?”

“Yeah. You park it out there in the open. Anyone could tamper with it.”

“What do you mean ‘tamper’?”

“Well, you know. Let the air out of the tires. Break a window. Plant a bomb under
it.”

“A bomb! Where did you get that idea? Who would want to kill me? Oh no . . . not your
theory about the killer thinking I got a look at him.”

“Or her.”

“Whatever. Your mind is working overtime here, Andie. It’s not going to happen. I’m
not in any danger.”

“How do you know?”

Lizzie had to think about that. “Well, the killer used a rifle or shotgun, so he—or
she—wasn’t up close. So how could the killer think I’d see him or her? It’s more likely
the person would have been seen by a neighbor.”

“But our killer might not be thinking straight.”

“Our killer, as you call him—”

“Or her—”

“—is probably trying to keep a low profile right now. Hoping not to attract the attention
of the police. Now, I think you should maybe put the Janet Evanovich books aside for
a while, say, for the duration of this investigation, and concentrate on your studies
instead.”

Andie made a face. “Hmm, I gotta head to school. Just promise me you’ll check under
your car before getting in each day.”

“Andie . . .”

“Promise me or I’ll quit book club.”

Lizzie sighed. “All right, I promise. Now, off to school and have a good day with
no more thoughts of killers and explosives.”

Andie grinned, stuck her earbuds into her ears and sauntered off.

Lizzie shook her head but glanced at her car before going back inside.

* * *

H
er appointment with the vice principal, Vanda Striker, was a no-brainer. They went
over a list of recommendations Lizzie had made for presentations she could include
in future professional development days for teachers. She was given a schedule, which
would allow her to share Striker’s office on a more regular basis. That would make
it much easier for her to slot in appointments with students and their parents. Lizzie
mentally cringed as Vanda went over the plans for the upcoming Christmas pageant,
for which Lizzie had been conscripted into the role of master of ceremonies. “It sounds
like a lively program you’ve got planned, Vanda, but I would really prefer not to
wear an elf outfit,” Lizzie said, trying not to sigh too loudly.

“Nonsense, Lizzie. We’ll all be in one costume or another. I just thought an elf would
be the most likely to emcee the afternoon, being Santa’s helper and all. One of the
first-grade mamas has volunteered to sew it, so you don’t even have to do that. Mrs.
Farnshaw will meet with you when she picks up her son after school today and take
your measurements. You are here all day, aren’t you?” Vanda asked, suddenly concerned.

Lizzie sighed. There was no escaping it. “Yes, I’m here. But I have a short meeting
with the principal at two thirty.”

“Oh, that’s no problem. He won’t mind waiting. This is important. I’ll just fix it
with him, don’t worry.”

Lizzie shrugged. She’d long ago learned the easiest way to deal with Vanda Striker
was to leave the worrying up to her.

* * *

L
izzie hung up her jacket in the entrance hall in the St. John’s Episcopal Church basement
and shivered. They were in the middle of a cold snap and the church hadn’t yet adjusted
its thermostat. Maybe she should keep the jacket with her. She left it where it hung,
hoping she’d warm up after a short while of singing.

Lucille Miller waved at her as she made her way over to the chairs, forming a semicircle
with the well-worn grand piano at the base of the seating plan. Lucille gave her a
big hug, surprising Lizzie. Not Lucille’s usual greeting.

“Don’t mind me,” Lucille said, squeezing Lizzie’s arm. “I’m just getting so wound
up about the concert. I can hardly wait. And to top it off, Bob actually has agreed
to come. I can’t imagine what’s gotten into the old coot but I’m surely happy about
it.”

Lizzie wasn’t about to tell Lucille that her brother was coming because Molly had
bought tickets for them both. Her early Christmas present to him, so he couldn’t very
well refuse. Lizzie wasn’t sure where Lucille stood when it came to Molly Mathews
and her brother. Not that there was anything going on. Not yet, anyway. Both Lizzie
and Sally-Jo were hopeful, though.

Lizzie was saved from further conversation when one of the tenors whisked Lucille
away, asking for her help in setting up the coffee urn. Lizzie sat and pulled her
music out, setting her water bottle on the floor beside her chair. She wanted a short
quiet time to relax before singing. She’d hoped to have it at home but as soon as
she’d pulled in the driveway after school, Nathaniel had appeared. He came bearing
gifts in the form of butter tarts, a new recipe for him, and Lizzie had invited him
in to share them along with a glass of wine.

Nathaniel had barely left when her phone rang and a frantic Sally-Jo had asked Lizzie
to track down Jacob and tell him she was being taken to the police station for questioning,
and to ask him to meet her there. Lizzie eventually got hold of him as he returned
to his office from court. She relayed Sally-Jo’s appeal and then debated going down
to the station herself, but she was reluctant to face Mark, and she did have to get
to choir.

So, here she was, trying to focus on Benjamin Britten and his wonderful
Ceremony of Carols
, while her mind raced through possible reasons for Sally-Jo to be taken into the
station, rather than being questioned at her own home. It could be nothing more than
an overzealous Officer Craig—highly likely. She was sure to hear all about it when
she got home from choir.

Stanton Giles called for quiet and then took them through the usual warm-up session.
Ten minutes of scales and tongue twisters followed by work on the Britten, starting
at the beginning movement, which was also the end one. As the evening progressed,
Lizzie was swept away by the music, as always, and after a reminder of their extra
rehearsal on Sunday night, she dashed home to check for messages from Sally-Jo.

Nothing. In fact, no messages at all. What was going on? She picked up the phone and
punched in Sally-Jo’s number. “Sally-Jo, it’s Lizzie. What happened at the police
station? I’m home from choir. Please call me soon.” She hung up and chewed her bottom
lip, wondering whether to worry or be annoyed. Sally-Jo should have realized how concerned
Lizzie would be.

Maybe that was it—Jacob had rescued Sally-Jo and they went out for dinner or a drink.
She could have taken the time to call and leave a message, though. That’s what cell
phones were for, after all.

Lizzie walked over to the cupboard above the kitchen counter and grabbed the jar of
almond butter. She snagged a spoon from the drawer on her way into the living room.
She avoided looking at the location of Derek’s final living breath and sat down on
the settee to think. What was happening with everyone?

First, Molly going into her couple of months of self-imposed solitude only to emerge
as a reincarnated Auntie Mame. Then Sally-Jo and her odd behavior. She really hadn’t
been herself for the past few days. No nightly phone calls; no hanging around the
staff room at lunch; nothing but the call asking Lizzie to find Jacob.

But Molly as Auntie Mame? Lizzie remembered how she’d loved that movie and persuaded
Molly to take her three times to see it when it had a week’s run at the Sunset Drive-In
Theatre. Of course, Lizzie would sit through just about anything in order to go to
the drive-in. Even all the older movies that were the specialty at the Sunset.

She had just plopped a second spoonful of almond butter into her mouth when the phone
rang.
Damn
. Hard to talk with a mouthful of almond butter.

“Yes?” At least she hoped that’s what it sounded like.

“Lizzie, is that you?” Jacob asked.

“Uh-huh. My mouth is full, sorry.”

“Okay. I’ll do the talking. I’m still here at the police station with Sally-Jo and
she’s not telling them, or me, anything. Maybe you could come down and talk to her.
I know it’s late but if she refuses to answer my questions, I can’t do anything for
her.”

Lizzie had rushed over to the fridge and grabbed some water from her Brita, as Jacob
talked. She took a gulp to clear her throat. “I’ll be right there. Why are they being
so tough on her? What do they think she knows?”

Jacob sighed. “I wish I knew. Maybe you can find out. I’ll try to convince the chief
to let you in to talk to her.”

Lizzie hesitated. Mark was questioning her. That sounded serious, and as much as she
wanted to help Sally-Jo, she was very aware of the fact that Mark had been avoiding
her. Which made it difficult to just waltz in as if everything was okay between them.
Which it should be because she hadn’t done anything wrong. Sort of.