The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder (34 page)

“Congratulations! You’ve taken the first step toward getting your procrastinating tendencies under control. Now let’s—”

Two hands shot up. “Who do you think is behind these hit-and-runs in Woodbridge?” a gray-haired woman wanted to know.

A smiling younger woman with tumbling brown curls said, “What did it feel like to narrowly escape death when your car went over the embankment?”

I managed a grin, and believe me, it wasn’t easy. “Let’s put off that discussion until later.”

Someone yelled. “Procrastinator!”

I faked a chuckle. “Priorities, not procrastination. Hey, there’s a slogan.” Before I lost control of the group, I launched into a discussion of what to do when you notice you’re procrastinating. “First thing. Try to catch yourself at the moment you decide to postpone something. What thoughts are in your head? Let’s experiment with, hmm, okay, income tax. That’s coming soon. Is everyone on top of that?”

That earned a few groans, a resounding no from most of the group, and one heartfelt, “That’s why I’m here!”

“What went through your mind when I mentioned it?”

“Too hard.”

“Too complicated.”

“Messy.”

“I hate that.”

“I don’t know where all the papers are.”

“I’m afraid of doing it wrong.”

“I don’t feel like it!”

“I hate numbers.”

“I hate forms.”

I nodded. “Excellent. Now each of you try to find one response that will help combat that thought. How about ‘I hate that’?”

Silence. Then the curly-haired smiling woman said, “It won’t last forever.”

I gave her the thumbs-up.

Someone shouted, “If you hate it, then get it over with.”

A small voice said, “Break it into steps.”

A nervous woman piped up, “Give yourself a reward for doing the first step.”

One of the few men suggested, “Get someone else to do it.”

That earned a round of applause.

We were on a roll and the rest of the evening went well. People shook my hand as they filed out. I packed up and was relieved to see Jack, leaning against his dung-colored Mini-Minor in the parking lot. He’d stationed himself there to keep an eye on my SUV and the library doors while waiting for me. He gave me a jaunty wave.

“Great,” I said, trying to smile. I had a horrible feeling that things were inching toward an inexorable disaster that I was powerless to prevent. I glanced back at the library. I’d be returning the next morning for my final time-management session. I needed to get some sleep, although that hadn’t come so easily lately.

“Nothing unusual,” he said, as I opened the door of my rental. “No red cars prowling. All quiet on the western front.”

“That reminds me, Jack. What are the chances that the same red car would survive all those attacks? Three hit-and-runs and running Haley off the road. If you hit people and hit cars, like Haley’s, wouldn’t you have broken glass or dented bumpers?”

Jack had been about to get into his Mini. “I guess you would,” he said. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that Mona drives a red car, which is missing along with her. If she or one of her so-called alters is behind all this, why hasn’t someone spotted that badly battered vehicle? And wouldn’t she be better off in a different-colored car?”

“I guess she would be.”

“You know what? If you were willing to kill a bunch of people, I bet you’d be willing to steal a car or two as well.”

“And?”

“And what if someone is trying to make it seem like it was Mona?”

“You mean someone like Serena?”

“Of course, Serena. Who else? She’s always been mean and cruel. I’m not falling for the so-called new her. Mona never was cruel. Why would she turn that way now? I don’t believe she tried to push me over that embankment.”

“But Mona claims she went after the victims. Some people find that suspicious.”

“Very funny. She is saying that she thinks one of her alters did it. I am beginning to wonder if Serena hasn’t planted that whacky idea in Mona’s head. She’d been a very powerful manipulator. Could she be using Mona as the scapegoat while she gets rid of the very people who know her horrible secrets?”

Jack said, “Wow. Either A, you’re losing it or B, this Serena is one magnificent villain.”

“My money’s on B. Magnificent villain.”

“You are prejudiced.”

“Maybe, but I’ve had trouble seeing Mona in this role because of the evidence, including evidence from Mona herself. But I know how all the school authorities were deceived by this smart, pretty girl. They let her get away with her reign of terror. She’s all grown-up now, but she’s had fourteen more years to practice messing with people’s minds while she’s torturing them.”

All the way home that night, I hoped that Mona would contact me. I worried about Haley too. She had survived an attempt on her life. Would she survive the next one? I wasn’t sure if Haley would get a rental as quickly as I had, but she would have to be very cautious. As soon as I was home I made a call to Haley to tell her not to drive anywhere, especially on those lonely roads.

Brie said, “She’s sleeping. The doctor gave her something to calm her and some pretty strong painkillers. She’s not going anywhere.”

“Brie, I am so sorry about your father.”

I could hear the catch in her voice. I waited. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t even get to say good-bye to him,” she added with a heart-wrenching sob. I felt my own eyes tear up. “She drove away before I could even see him. She wouldn’t let me come along for the ride.”

“Your mother had her reasons,” I said, not willing to remind Brie of her mother’s past behaviors. I wouldn’t have had Brie along for that ride either. “She loves you so much, Brie. At least you still have each other.”

“All I want is my dad,” Brie choked out, before hanging up.

Saturday morning started with twin shocks. When I picked up my home phone at seven thirty the next morning, Ramona said, “Disaster in the library. We have some broken water pipes on the second floor and we have to move a ton of books to save them. I’ve been here since two a.m. We’ll reschedule to next week if that works for you. I bet you can use a day off after what you’ve been through. And what did you think of—Oh, gotta go. Emergency! Talk later.”

Jack had once again walked the dogs and made coffee. I could have gotten used to all this nice treatment in the morning. But was it just a way to soften the blow of losing my home?

I accepted the coffee with a nod. Better not let all that bitterness spoil Saturday morning. Better to make a good plan for surviving it.

Jack settled on the sofa with the dogs, relaxed in his cargo shorts and bright orange-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt. He had the remote firmly gripped. He thought the library closing was a great idea. “You need a break. You’ve been through hell. We can go out for brunch. We can read and relax. Want to watch the news?”

Before I could say absolutely not, he clicked the remote. Todd Tyrell beamed his phony smile into my living room.

I gasped and even Jack was suitably quiet. “Who now?”

I watched wide-eyed as the WINY camera panned along a sparkling white stretch of the scenic drive just outside the north end of Woodbridge. The camera lingered over a crumbled railing and focused on a yellow Hummer being hauled out of the Hudson. I thought the camera captured the fate of that Hummer. That shot was replaced by a pair of divers disappearing beneath the icy waters.

Jack and I both shivered.

Todd must have felt the cold as well. He was dressed in a heavy overcoat and jauntily looped red woolen scarf, probably cashmere. Snowflakes rested on his gelled do. He was practically quivering, whether from excitement or the chilly air was hard to tell.

As a shot of the Hummer and Serena in happier days appeared, I jerked and spilled coffee on my white fluffy robe. “Serena?”

Jack turned to me. “That’s what he said.”

Todd burbled. “The former beauty queen is survived by her husband, billionaire entrepreneur Jerome Zeitz—the founder of
InZeitz.­com
, a commodity trading company, and other web-based enterprises—and their eighteen-month-old daughter, Tallulah.” He tilted his head as if he was flirting in a bar. “We go now to Sergeant Pepper Monahan. Detective, Serena Zeitz and three of her former classmates, and the husband of another one, have died this week. Was Serena Zeitz another victim of this vicious hit-and-run driver?” Before she could answer, he said, “And what are the Woodbridge Police doing to ensure more citizens are not massacred in this bloodbath?”

Pepper shot him a nasty glance.

I thought,
I’d be very careful not to get so much as a speeding ticket in this town after that, Mr. Todd Tyrell. You’ve made an enemy.

Pepper said, “We have put considerable resources into investigating these hit-and-runs and—”

Todd practically stuffed the mic into her mouth. “But are any of us safe? What about other people in that class? Charlotte Adams was also a classmate and she was nearly killed as well.”

From the look on her face, he wasn’t all that safe himself. “We do not believe any of these were random attacks. We are making progress and, yes, I believe the citizens of Woodbridge are safe.”

“Where are you exactly in trapping this killer?”

I rolled my eyes. Pepper managed not to. “You can count on us for a statement when the time is right.”

Once again, the screen filled with a shot of wet suit–clad divers in the cold, dark Hudson.

Jack said, “Huh. So Serena’s dead?”

“So it would seem. Why are we still seeing the divers?”

Todd said merrily, “Divers continue to search for the body of the brown-eyed, blond beauty who gave so much happiness back to her community. In a bizarre twist, Woodbridge Police are not offering any advice to citizens on keeping safe during this deadly vehicular rampage. Police are asking the public for information about other vehicles that may have been seen on the road near the accident. Anonymous witnesses report seeing a small red car leaving the scene.”

My heart clutched. Small red car? Again. Had I been wrong about Mona?

The scene shifted to a huge and opulent waterside home. A man left the house and climbed into a black hummer, the mate to Serena’s. Todd’s voiceover said, “Mr. Zeitz refused to comment to WINY about the circumstances of his wife’s death.”

I said, “I can’t believe they are going to chase a man and ask him how he feels about the fact that his wife has just been killed. How ghoulish is that? Even if she was the same miserable bully that put people through hell.”

Jack said, “Although, I have to say, that would be a horrible way to die. I wouldn’t wish that on her or anyone. Are you still sticking to your idea that she was the killer?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping she was behind these other deaths. Manipulating people, causing their accidents, hit-and-runs. But if she isn’t, it sure looks bad for Mona.”

“Charlotte, I know you care about Mona—”

“I feel responsible for her.”

“So do I, but hear me out. One of the things that stuck with me from my studies of philosophy—and by the way, that doesn’t mean you can start to bug me about finishing my PhD—one of the main things is to seek the truth. Not what you want to be true or what you believe to be true or what you have been told is true, but to do your best to find what is the truth. The best way you can know it.”

“I believe that . . .” I slumped back on the sofa.

“You want to believe that—”

“I believe that Mona was the victim. I saw that. You saw that. We all saw it and we didn’t do anything.”

“That may be true. It is true. I realize that. We could have done better and we should have done better. But even so, it may not be the whole truth. You have to consider all the facts, Charlotte.”

“I prefer the truth where Serena was bumping people off to prevent them—and maybe her new husband for all I know—from finding out what a vile, sadistic person was behind that so-called beauty queen exterior.”

“But now it doesn’t appear that way, does it?”

“No. Her husband seemed devastated. Not like he’d been living with the queen of mean.”

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t think Serena was the killer.”

“No. Wait! Unless Serena was trying to run someone down and the person managed to get away and in the ensuing chase, Serena lost control of her vehicle and got . . .” I almost said “got what was coming to her.” But even I didn’t believe that.