Authors: Erika Chase
Chapter Thirteen
It had seemed like the right thing to do, but it wouldn’t be the first time her impulsiveness
had led her into trouble.
SKETCH ME IF YOU CAN
—SHARON PAPE
L
izzie pulled into the parking lot at Magnolia Manor and sat a minute, trying to clear
her brain of any thoughts of the shooting, before going inside to see her mama. Although
she often didn’t know if they were communicating, Lizzie thought that Evelyn Turner
could sense her moods. If Lizzie were uptight about anything, her mama would often
become more agitated as the visit progressed.
She’d been visiting her mama almost every Saturday or Sunday for the past twelve years.
And during that time, there were no major improvements in her condition. Evelyn had
slowly retired into a world of silence after her husband died in a car accident when
Lizzie was ten years old. The diagnosis was both psychological and medical, and at
one point, the care and safety provided at Magnolia Manor, an assisted-living facility,
seemed the only wise solution. Molly Mathews had been instrumental in finding the
ideal spot for her old friend and in easing Lizzie through the difficult decision.
Lizzie was grateful to be able to spend time with her mama and she refused to dwell
on the negatives. She took a deep breath, grabbed the small Christmas gift bag she’d
brought and locked the car behind her.
She found Evelyn in the sunroom at the far end of the hall. That was a good sign.
After hugging her, Lizzie put the gift bag on her lap, talking all the while about
the approaching holiday season. She then pulled the tissue paper out and unwrapped
a handblown glass cockatoo.
“This will look lovely on your tree, Mama. It reminds me of an ornament we had on
the Christmas tree when I was little. Do you remember it? I think it was white and
silver and red.” Lizzie held the ornament up to the window so that the sunlight seemed
to dance through it. After a moment, Evelyn reached for it, much to Lizzie’s delight.
Lizzie sat on the wicker love seat next to her mama and talked about the events of
the week, omitting those involving gunshots, while her mama continued to examine the
cockatoo. Evelyn eventually returned it to the gift bag and looked directly at Lizzie.
There was a moment when Lizzie was certain they connected, even though no words were
spoken. It warmed her heart. She went on with her recital of the events, adding plans
for the holiday season. She didn’t mention wanting Evelyn to spend Christmas Eve and
Day at her house, not until she had the approval of the medical staff at the Manor.
They moved to Evelyn’s room when other residents started filtering into the sunroom
to entertain their visitors. Lizzie read a few chapters from Jane Austen’s
Sense and Sensibility
before leaving when the dinner bell sounded.
She realized, as she glanced at the clock on her dashboard, that she had just enough
time to feed the cats before heading to Molly’s for supper and then on to the final
special rehearsal Musica Nobilis was holding before next Saturday’s concert.
The cats took their time in joining her in the kitchen, finally being roused by the
sound of dry cat food pouring into their bowls. Edam finished eating first and started
rubbing his head against Lizzie’s leg. The food had fueled Brie’s energy level and
she play-attacked Edam, eliciting an elongated hiss before they both ran off up the
stairs. Lizzie stood and turned the overhead light on in the kitchen. The timer in
the living room had already added light to that room. She tried phoning Molly but
it went to voice mail after one ring. She must be on the phone. Lizzie left a message
saying she was on her way. She grabbed her jacket and purse, locked the door behind
her and dashed to the car.
Molly answered the door on the second buzz, phone still at her ear. She pulled Lizzie
inside, glanced upward in annoyance and motioned Lizzie to take her jacket off and
go into the kitchen. Lizzie couldn’t even hazard a guess as to who was on the other
end of the line, but Molly didn’t seem able to a get a word in edgewise. She’d been
reduced to one-word responses.
The long, flowing, full sleeves of her gauzy V-necked overblouse floated through the
air to punctuate her exasperation. The powder blue palazzo pants and white beaded
sandals reminded Lizzie of an Art Deco painting she’d seen recently.
Lizzie poured them both a glass of Pinot Grigio, following Molly’s pantomime actions,
and then sat at the table watching the variety of expressions passing over her friend’s
face.
Finally, after about ten minutes, Molly was able to end the conversation and hang
up. “Oh Lord, that woman talks like no other,” she said taking a long sip of her wine.
“Dare I ask who?”
“Lucille Miller, that’s who. It seems Bob went and told her we went out to dinner
last night and you’d think we’d gone and moved in together. She was a bossy young
girl and she’s gotten even worse in her old age. And don’t you dare go telling her
I called her old. That would get me another hour-long phone call, I’m certain.”
Lizzie nodded and smiled. She could just visualize it.
“Now, dinner will be ready in”—Molly squinted at the oven clock—“ten minutes. I know
you’ve got to be out the door by seven for choir. So tell me, how was Evelyn today?”
“She seemed in a good mood. I’d brought her a Christmas ornament and she appeared
to be really pleased by it.”
“Hmm. She always did like Christmas, even as a girl. And you were a hard one to keep
from getting too excited before the big night. Which brings me to this Christmas.
I never like to assume, as you know, so I’m just confirming you’ll be here for Christmas
dinner? I thought we might invite Stephanie to join us if she’s still waiting to deliver
her baby.”
“Thanks, Molly.”
“What? You don’t sound that enthusiastic. Are you still thinking about bringing Evelyn
over to your place?”
Lizzie nodded.
“What does the manager at Magnolia Manor think of your plan?”
“I haven’t mentioned it to her yet.” Lizzie sighed.
“Hmm.” Molly paused. “Well, if you do, there’s no reason why she can’t come over here
for Christmas dinner, unless they think it would be too many changes in one weekend.
Anyway, we’ll deal with it.”
Lizzie smiled, feeling content. She’d missed sitting in Molly’s kitchen. She’d missed
talking to her for the past several weeks. She’d just plain missed Molly.
The oven timer went off and Molly set about pulling the meal out and serving it. “I
thought it was a good night for roast chicken and all the trimmings.”
“Oh yum. May I help?”
“You certainly may. Just put the plates in the oven for a minute or so to warm up
then bring them over here and I’ll just serve straight onto them. Save on the dish
washing. Now, have you had any theories about who would want to kill Derek?”
“Not a one. I stopped in at the bookstore yesterday morning to see if Jensey Pollard
knew anything about him but she said he just stopped by and announced himself. If
he was in town to visit someone, she doesn’t know whom.”
Molly dished out the food then sat across from Lizzie. “Well, I’d say it’s obvious
he came to see someone. Why else would anyone come to Ashton Corners? And I don’t
mean that in a derogatory way at all.”
Lizzie took her time savoring the moist mouthful of chicken she’d bit into before
answering. “Point taken. So the question still is, who? He arrived in town on Friday,
according to Jensey, so he had plenty of time to make contact. Did they meet? Quarrel?
And then did that person shoot him?”
“That phantom person would have to have been following Derek in order to know he’d
be at your place, I’d think.”
“Unless Derek told the person.”
“What happened with Sally-Jo? I heard she was brought into the police station for
questioning.”
Lizzie hesitated. “She admits to knowing him but says she hasn’t talked to him since
her college days. No, there’s got to be someone else here in town.”
Molly put her fork down. “Now, if Agatha Christie were writing this, there would be
an entire cast of people who had once known the deceased, and perhaps even conspired
to all kill him. That’s an interesting thought. Ashton Corners harboring several killers
all united in killing one man, Derek Alton. Shades of
Murder on the Orient Express
.”
Lizzie smiled. “How about if we were writing it? What would our next step be?”
“Well, I think the next step is trying to find the identity of this mystery person.
But how to do that?”
“I tried searching Derek on Google last night and Andie was right. There’s a lot of
information about Derek Alton the writer, but nothing personal. And no stories about
him prior to his book winning the prize. I thought I’d give George Havers a call tomorrow
and see if he knows if Derek had been in town for any events after his book came out.
That might have been when Derek and this mystery person first met. Although I’m sure
Mark has already asked George that same question.”
Molly finished the last of her chicken and served herself some more. She passed the
plate to Lizzie, who also took another piece. “Speaking of that young man,” Molly
said, “didn’t you two have a date last night? How did it go?”
“‘Had’ is the operative word. He called to cancel saying he was too busy with the
case. I’m sure that’s true but he didn’t sound too sorry about it.”
Molly leaned over and patted Lizzie’s arm. “You listen here, honey. Our dear police
chief is a man, and as such, his manly feathers have been ruffled. Some other male
has been sniffing around his territory, pardon the expression. But like any smart
man, and Mark certainly is that, in time he’ll come around to realizing just how foolish
he’s acting. And then you can think, but not say, ‘I told you so.’”
Chapter Fourteen
But were their overt reactions because of their dalliances, or were they inspired
by guilty consciences?
DEAD MEN DON’T LYE
—TIM MYERS
L
izzie went straight from Molly’s to the choir practice at St. John’s Episcopal Church,
arriving just as the warm-up was starting. She eased into her seat and tried to quickly
get into the mood for the practice. With the concert less than a week away, there
seemed to be so many loose ends, small bits that hadn’t been perfected, missed cues,
words not memorized. But then again, she felt like this every time and she was sure
most of her fellow choristers would agree.
Just think how the director must feel.
At the break, Lucille Miller cornered her in the women’s restroom. “Molly Mathews
is acting a bit strangely these days, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked without preamble.
Lizzie looked at Lucille in surprise. “No, I wouldn’t. What makes you think that?”
“Well, we had a long phone talk and she wasn’t very forthcoming. Short, clipped answers.
She was almost bordering on rude. Now that’s not the Molly Mathews I’ve known all
these years.”
“She did say something to me about you asking a lot of questions about Bob and her,
like you might think they were having a relationship or something.”
“Now, why would she say that? That’s downright silly.” She paused and peered over
the rim of her glasses, which had slid down the ridge of her nose. “Or is it? Are
they involved in some hanky-panky? Is she trying to cover it up?”
Lizzie tried not to smile. “That’s not a question for me to answer, Lucille. You should
ask Molly if you’re so concerned.”
“Of course I’m concerned. He’s my only brother. And he had such heartbreak with that
hussy he was married to. I don’t want it to happen again.”
“Molly’s hardly a hussy.”
“Aha . . . so there
is
something going on!”
Lizzie drew in her breath sharply. What a frustrating woman. “No. That’s not what
I’m saying and I think we shouldn’t pursue this any longer. You’ll just keep reading
things into my words. Molly, via the Ashton Corners Mystery Readers and Cheese Straws
Society, is trying to broaden Bob’s reading habits and he’s resisting. That’s all
I know.” She thrust around desperately, trying to come up with a new topic.
Fortunately, Lucille was derailed by a couple of choristers entering the room. Lizzie
ducked out and struck up a conversation with the accompanist, Tommy McCann, until
Stanton Giles called everyone back to their seats to resume.
Lizzie loved the extra rehearsals involved in concerts. There was an added excitement
in the air, a tension built on the fact that everyone was trying really hard to get
it right, now that they were into the final phase. Only one more practice, and that
was the dress rehearsal on Friday night, and then Saturday’s concert. She must remember
to check the condition of her long black skirt. She was pretty sure she’d tucked it
in the spare closet in clean condition but she’d better make certain. The black long-sleeved
jersey wrap top lay folded in her dresser. And her black pumps were used only for
concerts, so they were fine.
“Lizzie, I read about the murder that took place in your living room. Pretty scary
stuff. Are you coping all right?” Gaylene Pruitt, an alto and an assistant at the
school board office, asked as she made her way to her seat.
Lizzie nodded, wishing she hadn’t brought the topic into this joyous place. She tried
to shake it away and focus on Stanton. Page five of the Britten, “There Is No Rose,”
one of her favorite parts, his right arm counting . . . two, and three, and four.
Start singing.
The two hours passed quickly and Giles was pleased with how the concert was shaping
up. He even let them leave on time. They kidded one another about how Friday’s dress
rehearsal better be bad in that case. Artistic superstitions abound.
* * *
L
izzie felt good about getting right to her run the next morning, although she felt
entitled to take the short circuit. It was Monday, after all, and she did have to
get to work. She waved at the neighbor three doors down, as he walked to his car,
most likely on his way to the office. He’d left it parked on the street and did a
walk-around before getting in, probably checking for any dents or scratches. Maybe
she shouldn’t feel foolish about following Andie’s demands to check out her car before
getting in. After all, who knew when vandals might strike. She shook her head at the
thought. Not in Ashton Corners.
By the time she’d reached Nathaniel’s place, she was ready for a shower and an espresso.
She glanced at his door, wondering if he’d yell out an offer of freshly baked somethings,
but no such luck. Odd, he hadn’t made the early morning offerings in several days.
Oh well, so much better for her waistline.
She went through her morning routine quickly but was startled when she spotted the
time. It had flown when she hadn’t been paying attention. She downed her protein shake
breakfast, with a banana and almond butter chaser. The cats had abandoned her as soon
as their food disappeared into their stomachs. So much for her appeal. She found them
grooming on the bed and she quickly got dressed, choosing a long-sleeved black jersey
T, blue cashmere vest and charcoal skinny cords along with black shoe booties. The
drive into school was short, but it took her along winterberry-lined streets with
colorful winter azaleas—bright red, pink, white and lavender—blooming in many yards.
By the time she pulled into the parking lot, she felt in a good mood and walked to
the staff room with a smile on her face.
That good feeling started drifting away at the sight of Vanda Striker hurrying down
the hall toward her, waving a piece of paper in her hand.
“Lizzie, I’m glad you’re here. We have to talk. Do you have a few minutes right now?”
Might as well get whatever it was over with. “Yes, but not too long.”
“Good. Come to my office.”
Lizzie followed her down the hall, Vanda out in front by a few paces. When they were
both seated, Vanda shoved the paper across her desk at Lizzie. “This is the program
for the Christmas pageant. I just don’t have the time to proofread it and make sure
it’s all there. Can you take care of it?”
Lizzie sighed.
What next?
“Leave it with me, Vanda,” she said as she made her way to the door and escaped down
the hall.
She slid into the back of a second-grade teacher’s class just as the children were
pulling their readers out of their bags. Good timing. For the next half hour, Lizzie
observed and made notes about the children’s progress, as well as the teacher’s progress,
since the last time she’d done this. She felt heartened when she left the room at
the end of the class, enough so to give the teacher a small nod and smile. That elicited
a big smile in return.
Lizzie had an appointment scheduled with some parents for the next hour, in Vanda
Striker’s office. She made her way there slowly, hoping the office would be empty.
It was. She set her computer and notes on the desk then invited the parents to come
in and take a seat.
This meeting was one of the good things about her job. She delighted in giving them
good news, that their child was responding to the suggestions, that his reading abilities
had grown and that they would probably only get better. The parents left after thanking
her profusely, much relieved that all their efforts had paid off.
By the time the final bell rang for the school day, Lizzie was looking forward to
a couple of hours of quiet at home before heading to the literacy class after supper.
However, she remembered her question for George Havers and decided to stop at the
newspaper on her way home.
She parked a couple of spots over from the office on Main Street, on the opposite
side from the police station, which unfortunately sat right next door to the
Ashton Corners Colonist
office. She glanced at the station parking lot and saw Mark’s black Jeep parked in
his spot. None of the eight cruisers owned by the Ashton Corners Police Department
were there, though. It must be a busy day on the streets.
George was standing at the counter in the waiting room when Lizzie opened the door
to the newspaper office. A large smile spread over his face when he saw her, and he
walked around the end to give her a big hug.
“How’re things going, girl? It’s sure nice to see you again.” George had called to
make sure she was okay after the shooting but they hadn’t talked other than that in
a few months.
“I’m good, George. And that’s actually why I’m here.”
He shook his head but the smile was still on his face. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
Not after last time. Now, what information can I get for you?”
“That transparent, am I?” Lizzie smiled back. “I’m curious who Derek Alton might have
known in Ashton Corners. Why did he come here? Was there an event in town after he
won the Onyx award? Has Chief Dreyfus already asked you all this?”
“Whoa. Let’s take this one question at a time. Would you like some coffee?”
She shook her head.
“Hmm. Smart. Let’s go into my office.” He led the way in behind the counter and the
several empty desks, all with computers on them, to the back room, which ran the width
of the building. His office. He indicated the one straight-backed chair in the room
that didn’t have books or file folders cluttering it.
“Okay, starting at the end. The chief has asked me much the same thing so I just happen
to have the answers at the ready. Derek Alton had never been in Ashton Corners as
far as I can tell. There were no literary events, signings, or otherwise, so I know
of no person he’d be here visiting. I’m sorry I can’t give you more, but there’s nothing
in our files.”
“How about a Google question then? I searched the Internet and couldn’t find much
about his personal life. It’s like he just burst onto the scene with the winning of
the award. Have you read
Judgment
, by the way?”
“No. I should, though. That’s not so strange, you know. About the Internet. Considering
all this cyber technology was in its infancy at the time Alton became famous.”
“But I had searched for Molly’s husband, Claydon, on Google in the fall when we were
trying to find out if there was a connection between him and the murder of Frank Telford.
I found lots about him and he’s been dead a long time.”
“Ahh. The fickleness of the Internet. It’s only as good as the information that’s
available. Claydon Mathews was an influential businessman, a town leader, a philanthropist
and very wealthy. And that’s generated a lot of press and other stories about him,
most of which you can probably find on the Net.”
“And Derek Alton, although the winner of one writing award, went on to publish several
books that didn’t get a lot of attention, hence, fewer stories and I guess if he were
a private person, no interviews about his personal life. Right?” Lizzie ventured.
“That’s about it.”
“So any suggestions as to how to proceed?”
“Not if I want to stay on the good side of Chief Dreyfus.”
Lizzie pretended to pout. “Could be a story in it for you.”
George laughed, a deep, full sound from the bottom of his large belly. “Well done,
Lizzie. If I come up with any ideas, I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks.” Lizzie stood and they shared another hug.
On the drive home she thought back to how much help George had been when she was trying
to track down what had happened to her daddy. She’d wondered for a short while if
his car accident had been premeditated, and George, once a journalism protégé of Monroe
Turner, had been eager to help. She hoped that cooperation would continue.
She noticed a silver Prius parked in Nathaniel’s driveway as she pulled into her own.
As she let herself in through the front door, she realized she’d seen it several times
recently and idly wondered who it belonged to. The cats were waiting at the bottom
of the stairs. Obviously they’d finished all their dry food. At least they were back
to acting normal.
She filled their bowls and then sorted through the small stack of mail she’d liberated
from the mailbox on her way inside. A couple of Christmas cards. How wonderful. She’d
mailed her own last week, early for a change. Good thing, too. She slit the envelope
flaps, eager to know who the early birds were. Sally-Jo, not a surprise, and an old
college friend with the yearly letter. After getting caught up, she went into the
kitchen and starting thinking about supper.
She glanced at the clock. She’d actually have time to prepare a real meal. She was
rooting through the freezer in search of a chicken breast when the phone rang. A quick
look at caller ID showed it was Sally-Jo.
“Hi, girl. How are you doing?” Lizzie asked as she answered.
Sally-Jo sighed loudly enough that Lizzie could just picture her sagging shoulders.
“I’m not sure what to stress about more, the police and their questions or my family’s
upcoming visit. Can we just meet for a nice quiet supper somewhere before literacy
class tonight? I really need to get out of here.”
“Sure. I won’t suggest you come here because I can’t find one elusive piece of chicken,
so I am unlikely to find two.”
“You’d be busy cooking if we did that. I just want to sit and talk, okay?”
“Love to . . . How about Southside Jack’s in half an hour?” Lizzie suggested.
“Perfect. Till then.” She’d hung up before Lizzie could come out with a good-bye.
She hurried upstairs and freshened her lipstick and blush, then checked her tote to
make sure she had everything tucked in there for class. She eyed the computer and
wondered if she’d have time for another quick check of Derek Alton. Better not. She
knew she’d probably get caught up in it and didn’t want to keep Sally-Jo waiting.