Banana Muffins & Mayhem (24 page)

Since Geri was still taking pictures, Amy decided to look around the room to see if she could find any more evidence. On the wall next to a desk, an elaborately carved frame held a corkboard covered with pictures and swatches of fabric. It was an inspiration board. She had seen them many times on television shows and websites. A printout of a real estate listing drew her attention. She instantly recognized the interior and exterior photos of the house. "Geri, I think we were wrong about the killer…"

"How rude of you to have a party in my own home and not invite me."

Amy spun around. Her hip slammed into the edge of the desk. The zap of pain heightened her sense of dread. And would add to her already plentiful collection of bruises. She glanced at Geri as the amateur locksmith calmly slipped her phone into her skirt pocket again. How were they going to explain what they were doing there?

"I thought I heard noises coming from your apartment when Amy and I were heading out to grab a late lunch." Geri said. She was as cool as an ice sculpture. "These door locks are so old, my key actually worked in yours. We just wanted to make sure there wasn't a burglar in here. I know you own a lot of very valuable things."

"Nice try." Charlotte glared at Geri as she reached behind herself and shoved the door shut. "Want to try again? This time with the truth."

Geri sighed. She took a few steps sideways, keeping her gaze locked on Charlotte as the interior designer moved closer. It was a game of cat and mouse. "We know Isaac killed Phoebe here. There's blood on your floor and the candle pedestals. The security camera at The Shamrock Bar recorded him hanging out there with her. The police will go easier on you for helping cover up the murder if you admit your part in it all."

Charlotte tilted her head to the side. She looked sort of like Pogo when Amy said something to him that he didn't understand. "Sorry. I'm not going to do that."

Amy had been slowly making her way around the desk as the two friends were locked in their stare down. Her fingers closed around a pearl-handled letter opener which had been lying near a stack of unopened mail. The other women seemed oblivious to her presence. Maybe she could make a break for it. But she wouldn't leave Geri alone with a killer.

"I think I understand why," Amy said. She straightened her spine and tried not to flinch when Charlotte's heartless glare settled on her. "What kind of mother would set up her son to take the fall for a murder she committed?"

The comment halted Charlotte's feline-like stalking of Geri. An evil grin spread over her face as she reversed direction and walked backward toward the breakfast bar. "Hold that thought." There was a metallic zing as she reached across the counter and pulled a large chef's knife out of the block. She pointed the tip of the blade at Amy. "I'm impressed. You can do more than come up with a recipe for tasty muffins."

"What? You killed her? Why?" Geri asked.

"Because Phoebe took her dream house then destroyed all of the wonderful, original details by modernizing it on her show," Amy answered.

Charlotte tipped her head back and laughed. Then her maniacal glee settled into a determined frown. "That was part of the reason. She took my retirement house by having her rich daddy outbid me. But the last straw was when she tried to take my son. I saw that look in Isaac's eyes. It was like watching a scene from
101 Dalmatians
. My son—blindly following Cruella like a lovesick puppy because she promised to rub his belly."

Ewww!
That analogy was wrong in so many ways—including the fact that the puppies didn't willingly go with the villainess in that movie. But moving on…there were still a lot of things that didn't make sense. "So you didn't have him lure Phoebe here so that you could kill her because of the house?"

"No. They came here to have sex. Isaac knew I was at the wrap-up party, and my apartment was closer than his to the bar. Unfortunately for Phoebe, I popped back home to pick up some fabric samples for a client I ran into at the party." Charlotte shook her head sadly. "My poor baby boy was so disappointed when he came out of the bathroom to find his date dead."

Still not making sense.
"I don't believe you
.
" Amy took a small step forward to add a bit of intimidation to her vocal challenge while still staying out of slashing range. The letter opener she had slid into the back of her waistband would lose in a sword fight with the kitchen knife. "I'm pretty sure Isaac has been the one attacking my husband and his business. If you two didn't plan out the murder, why was he wearing a Quantum Media shirt, which are only given to employees, when he went to the bar with Phoebe?"

Charlotte laughed. "That was a happy accident. He had gotten dirty trying to install wiring at your husband's business. Since it was after hours when he left, and he was running late for his date with Phoebe, he just grabbed a shirt from the stash he had discovered in a supply closet."

"But why has he been trying to kill me and Alex?"

"Not exactly kill. His intent was more to scare you and throw the police off track. Too bad you decided to go out to dinner instead of cooking the meal yourself a few days ago. Isaac had figured Alex would stay in that evening, so he set the timer to give your husband plenty of time to drive home. He meant to blow up your garage, not you." Her eyes flicked toward Geri then locked back onto Amy. "Geri told me about how good you were at figuring out who murdered the woman from the market this winter. So I reckoned if you were too busy trying to stay alive then you wouldn't have time to figure out we were involved."

Rather unbelievably, to even herself, Amy had become skilled at sniffing out murderers. But Charlotte was overlooking a very important point—Amy had survived all of the confrontations with the killers too. And it was two against one this time around. Had Geri sneaked a weapon for herself? Amy didn't know how much longer she could stall before they would be forced to fight or try to flee. Until then, she was going to get as many answers as possible though. "So how did Phoebe's panties end up inside Quantum?"

Charlotte sighed. "She was in such a hurry to get dressed when I walked in on her seducing my son, she neglected to put her underwear back on."

"So you had Isaac hide her panties while he was working on the security system."

Charlotte shrugged. "It worked like a charm to distract that clueless detective."

"If Isaac liked Phoebe, why was he helping you cover up the murder?"

"Since you've decided not to have children, you'll never know how strong the bond between a mother and child can be. He's such a good boy. Isaac does whatever I want."

Amy's vision tunneled, completely focused on Charlotte, whose words cut deeper than the knife she was brandishing ever could. A loud
bang
snapped Amy out of the tractor beam of hate.

"You selfish old hag!" Tommy screamed as she barreled at her sister. She lowered her head and tackled the startled interior designer. Charlotte's arm smacked the edge of the countertop. The knife cartwheeled into the air. It landed on the bar top then spun around in a lethal game of spin the bottle. Amy held her breath as it whirled to the edge of the counter. The two women slammed into the back side of the cabinets that formed the base of the breakfast bar. The knife dropped onto the kitchen floor. Out of reach of the murderess.

Amy called 9-1-1 as she and Geri helplessly watched the brawl. The fight was even more vicious than the one Amy had witnessed in the shoe store at the mall on Black Friday. Maybe all of the playful insults at the whine and wine evenings weren't just for fun. Chuck and Aubergine would probably be impressed with Tommy's fighting prowess.

"You've always had to get your way," Tommy yelled as she delivered a lightning fast series of punches to her sister's face. "Now you've destroyed Isaac's life too!"

"Should we try to stop them?" Geri asked as she twisted her hands together.

The sound of sirens cut above the grunts, snarls, and crashes as the wrestling match veered toward the living room area. Charlotte pushed Tommy, who landed on her butt on one end of the coffee table. The slender wood legs snapped. As the tchotchkes on it slid down the ramped surface, Tommy deftly reached over her shoulder, grabbed a thick hardcover book, and smacked it on the side of her sister's shoulder, propelling Charlotte backwards into an easy chair. The muscular pottery artist found her linebacker alter ego and plowed into Charlotte. The chair tipped backwards and landed with a loud thud. Amy shook her head. "The police will be here any minute. They can figure out how to separate them. I'm not getting in the middle of this fight."

It took four male officers to pull apart the feuding women. Since the most pressing need was to break up the fight, not learn who was good or bad, both sisters ended up in handcuffs. Even then, Tommy landed a solid kick to Charlotte's kneecap when one officer lost his grip on her arm. Both of the sisters' faces were bloodied and bruised. The battle had been brutal.

Shepler and Foster walked into the apartment as the enraged Tommy was being dragged to the other side of the living room, out of striking distance to her homicidal sister. He watched the struggle for a few seconds then turned his attention to Amy and his mother-in-law. For once, his expression was easy to read. He was not impressed. "So…which one of you thought it was a good idea to confront a killer?"

"We didn't come here to do that." Geri leveled her own exasperated look at her law-upholding son-in-law. "I thought I had spotted blood on the candle pedestals a few days ago. We came to see if it really was blood. I thought Charlotte was my friend. I didn't want to cause a ruckus accusing her son of murder if I was wrong. And I was. She's the one who killed Phoebe."

He ran his hand over his buzz-cut hair and then furiously scratched the back of his head. "Safety comes before politeness."

"Says the man who got shot knocking on a door." Geri took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

"Point taken."

Amy took a step forward to stand next to Geri. "Besides," she looked at Foster, who was conveniently ignoring them by examining a picture of the lethal mother and son duo. "We figured our ideas would be ignored again. So why say anything until we had solid facts to back us up?"

Shepler sighed. "At least you're both safe."

"And we solved two criminal cases that were related after all." Amy couldn't help herself. She was being vengeful, and she knew it. But she couldn't forget the pain and fear she had seen in Alex's eyes so often over the past few weeks. The rookie detective's mistakes had almost destroyed their lives. Her emotions were too raw and bruised to show any compassion for someone struggling against a steep learning curve. She looked at Shepler. "Can I go tell Alex it's over?"

"So she's going back to the narcotics division," Carla said as she broke a corner off of the hazelnut brownie. "Which is a good move on her part. I don't think the chief was going to keep her in homicide, no matter what. I can't remember ever seeing Bruce so disappointed in someone. He trained her to do better than what she did. Right up until they were called to the apartment after the fight, she insisted that she had no solid leads or suspects."

"I'm sorry that he's upset," Amy said. "I had to tell him about all of the things Foster refused to take into account for whatever reason."

"You and Alex were almost killed. You have every reason to criticize her methods. I guess she had a serious case of second-guessing herself to the point that she basically thought no clues or leads were pertinent, even though many of them were."

The new detective's icy-personality veneer had melted in Charlotte's apartment after the brawl as the connections between murdering mother and her blindly obliging accomplice of a son were explained. Foster began fidgeting more and more as Amy and Geri took turns explaining the puzzle they had solved. She flitted around the apartment looking at pictures and examining stylish knickknacks. When the tag team story came to a conclusion with a recount of the familial smackdown, the detective's pale face was mottled with red blotches. After another officer pulled a rifle out of a closet, Foster bolted out of the apartment. Shepler explained that because the gun was fitted with a silencer, the shot wasn't as loud as a firearm without one. Even if the gunshot had woken anybody up, they most likely had no idea what the sound was. That was why no gunshots were reported the morning that Quantum's motion detectors went off. Amy had watched Alex moving around his office the night she had been on the building's rooftop deck with Geri. It was a straight line from the corner of the roof to his office.

Amy looked out the breakfast nook window at the garage. She didn't have to wonder anymore whether someone had tampered with her beloved Mini or Alex's new, even bigger and burlier, black Jeep. On many days during the time the bomb had been set to detonate, he would've been home enjoying a dinner that Amy had made—just like Charlotte had pointed out. Cooking had changed her life for the better in so many ways, from winning contests to meeting people from around the world through her blog. It was a sour spoonful of irony that not cooking had almost killed them. Ever since Charlotte was arrested, Amy had been on a cooking marathon, which had produced a pile of new recipes. Too bad none of them would ever end up being demonstrated on a TV show. Nigel and Ginny admitted that they were only pretending to find new talent as a way of looking for the murderer because they hadn't had any confidence in Foster's skills either. The home improvement show was as dead as its former host.

"I'm just so happy that life is getting back to normal. Thanks for going with me to get my stitches removed."

"No problem." Carla ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass of iced coffee. "I think it was a sign from the universe that you insisted on having the doctor do it instead of letting me take them out for you."

"It's not that I don't trust you. Because you know I do." Carla had said she could remove the sutures with sterilized cuticle scissors and tweezers. Amy had no doubt that she could, but she had insisted on keeping the appointment with her doctor. "I didn't want the twenty-five-dollar charge for canceling an appointment at the last minute."