Cover Story (2 page)

Our appreciation of things is relative to our circumstances.

MOTOR CITY SHAKEDOWN
—D. E. JOHNSON

L
izzie looked around at the members of the Ashton Corners Mystery Readers and Cheese Straws Society seated around the large Martha Stewart table on Molly's patio on a humid Sunday afternoon. Sally-Jo Baker wore a yellow tank and brown Bermuda shorts, her auburn hair even shorter in the new pixie cut. She didn't look much older than some of the students in the evening literacy classes she and Lizzie taught.

Molly looked equally cool in a blue-and-white-striped cotton sundress that fell in soft folds to midcalf length. Andie Mason and Stephanie Lowe each wore cutoff jeans and white T-shirts, although Andie's had a black skull midcenter on the front of hers. The older male in the group, Bob Miller, had his usual plaid cotton shirt on but his jeans looked brand-new while Jacob Smith's green golf shirt with beige chinos looked straight out of a Nordstrom catalogue.

Molly waited until everyone had a glass of wine in their hands, and sixteen-year-old Andie, a glass of punch. She raised her glass. “I'd like to make a toast to our new season, the second year of the Ashton Corners Mystery Readers and Cheese Straws Society. May we enjoy many good books.”

“And no real murders,” Sally-Jo added.

Everyone nodded. “Cheers to a bloodless year,” Jacob said, clinking his glass against Sally-Jo's.

Lizzie caught Molly's eye and raised a glass to her. “How wonderful of you to host this, Molly. Not having a book club meeting all summer means we've missed the schmoozing. But having a planning party before we start up is a great idea.”

“Hear, hear . . . I second that,” Bob Miller cheered and finished off his wine. He walked over to the bottle sitting on the buffet table and poured himself a refill.

“I'm glad y'all think so,” Molly admitted. “And I've got a wonderful suggestion to start off our year,” Molly continued. She made sure she had everyone's attention, waiting until Andie looked up from playing with little Wendy, Stephanie's seven-month-old baby daughter.

“My dear old friend Teensy Coldicutt—you'll remember her, Bob—has just moved back to town and she's published a book. There's a mystery element to it so I asked Teensy to talk to us at the first meeting.”

“Sounds like a good start,” Bob agreed. “I haven't seen Teensy since high school days and she was a Perkins at that time. Pass the cheese straws please, Andie. That's a girl.”

“That's a girl? Really, Bob, you're starting to sound sexist in your old age,” Molly stated as Andie grinned.

“Old age? Might I remind you, young lady, that you are older than I?”

“Barely,” Molly said under her breath. “Wait . . . there's more. Since we no longer have a bookstore in town, I've offered to host a book launch for Teensy and also to set up a few signings. I'm hoping I can count on y'all to help with all these events.” She glanced around the circle of friends, pinning each of them with a look that spoke volumes.

Andie bolted upright in her chair. “Awesome. I could, like, sell the books.” Her short, spiky black hair had orange streaks illuminating it, a change from the usual blue or red she favored. She turned to her left and touched Stephanie on the arm. “Steph, we both could do it.”

Stephanie nodded. “Yeah, that would be fun. I'd have to see if Mrs. Sanchez could do some extra babysitting for me. She did say when I went back to work that she was fine for the shifts I'd got but not much else. I've been putting it off, finding someone else to do the other times if need be. Y'all have been so kind about watching her whenever I've needed someone. Well, most of you.” She grinned shyly at Bob and Jacob.

Bob turned beet red. “I haven't done that stuff for way too long, Stephanie. I'd be plumb afraid of dropping her or something like that.”

Stephanie laughed. “I'm just teasing you and Jacob. I wouldn't expect either of you to do any babysitting.”

Lizzie jumped in. “Besides, you'd have to arm wrestle the women at this table for a chance. I think Stephanie and Andie would make a fine bookselling team. And the rest of us can pitch in and help as needed.”

Bob made his way over to the small table that had been set up at the right end of the patio to hold the refreshments. “I'll take charge of moving the boxes. I assume that's how the books will be packaged. How's that? What's the title of this book anyway?”

“
The Winds of Desire
,” Molly replied.

“Am I correct in guessing it's not a police procedural?” Bob asked.

“You would be.”

“No big surprise there. Guess we'll all have to wait until November to sink our teeth into the Michael Connelly I've picked.”

Molly kept a straight face as she said, “The wait will be hard.”

Stephanie stood and walked over to the baby carrier she'd placed on the porch. She checked on baby Wendy, tucking the blanket under a tiny fist, and returned to the table.

“How will we get copies to read? Is it in the library?”

“No, it's not. It's just been printed and is sitting at the Riverwell Press warehouse out on Beaufort Road. I'll just give them a call tomorrow and order enough books for us and for the launch and have them delivered here. I'll let y'all know when they arrive and maybe you can stop by to pick up your copies.”

“How will you know how many books to order?” Andie asked, her eyes on a gray squirrel darting around the lawn.

“Excellent question, Andrea. I'll want to make the launch an invitation-only event so I'll have to come up with a guest list and then add extras in case people want to buy several copies. They'd make good gifts, don't you think—signed books by a local author? Let me just grab a calendar and we'll make some decisions.” Molly swept into the kitchen and Bob got up to refill everyone else's wineglasses.

“She's really excited about her friend moving back, isn't she?” Andie asked.

Bob sat back down. “She should be. They were inseparable, those gals, when they were real young. Thought they were something, they did. Not concerned about what the other girls thought of them, just banding together and having fun. There were five of them, thick as molasses.”

Molly reappeared carrying an Alabama Scenes wall calendar. “I heard that, Bob Miller. But you're right, we certainly were.”

“Tell us about them, Molly,” Sally-Jo suggested.

“Well, we met in the first grade and Teensy's name was Theodora Kathleen Perkins. That was, oh my, about sixty-seven years ago. As Bob said, there were five of us who used to chum around for the longest while until Rae-Sue Watson's daddy got himself a big promotion and they moved to Atlanta. But those first few years, we stuck like glue to each other. We even formed a secret society and chose our special names. The rule was, you had to use the first letter of your given name. So, Theodora became Teensy and that stuck from then on.”

“What was your name?” Lizzie asked, eager to hear more about her friend's childhood, something Molly rarely talked about.

“I chose Mopsy—you know, from the Beatrix Potter books. Susanna Quinn was Su-su. Joyce Blaney, Joyful—not very original but we let her keep it because that's what she wanted. And Rae-Sue became Racy.”

“So, did you have a secret handshake and things like that?” Andie asked.

Molly chuckled. “Honey, we had everything you could think of and it drove our folks mad. We called ourselves the Jitterbugs . . . you know, after the dance. Well, maybe you don't, being so young and all. We thought the dance was the cat's pajamas, an expression that is also from that era, even though we were way too young to go to dances. When we got into high school, we even had our own rating code for the boys, although none of us went steady or anything like that. We usually hung out in groups of girls and boys.” Molly paused, remembering.

“That sounds like so much fun,” Stephanie said, a wistful look on her face making her appear much younger than her nineteen years. “I didn't have myself many friends growing up.”

Molly leaned over and patted Stephanie's hand. “Well, I can tell y'all that Teensy's really excited and doesn't want to wait too long to have this launch even though I think in the fall we might get a better turnout.” She looked at the calendar she'd dropped on the table. “Do you think we could put it all together for the first Sunday in August? That's only two weeks away. Say, from two to four
P.M.
?”

Everyone nodded.

“Lizzie, you said you'd take on the publicity duties, maybe talk to George Havers at the
Colonist
and make sure we get a story in the paper before the event and that he has someone here covering it. That should get the whole town interested in the book. I'll gladly pay for an ad about the book.”

“Happy to. And I think it would make sense if we had some public events lined up at the same time, to make better use of the ad. How about a book signing at some stores and the library?”

“Excellent idea. Would you kindly take care of that, too?”

Lizzie nodded.

“Can I sell the book at the library event, too?” Andie asked.

“Certainly, if they're in agreement.” Molly looked around the table slowly, focusing on each of the members. “Bob, you agreed to take care of logistics. Jacob, how about you giving him a hand when it comes to moving all the boxes of books around?”

“Sure thing, Molly.”

“Then we're all agreed?” She looked around the table, and when they'd all nodded, added, “Then we're in the book-launching business. Now, if you think of any folks who should be on the invitation list for the launch, call me with their names tonight. I'll be making out a guest list and tomorrow I'll order the books.”

“I thought we had a dinner date tonight, Molly.” Bob sounded like his feelings were hurt.

“Of course we do. And then we'll do the list.” Molly beamed. “This is a group activity and we're all going to have ourselves so much fun. I can feel it.”

To say my stomach felt like it had jumped on a roller coaster and was doing a loop-de-loop was an understatement. Panic zipped through me.

CLOBBERED BY CAMEMBERT
—AVERY AAMES

L
izzie picked up the phone on the third ring. She'd just come inside from the driveway, where she was washing her car, and had rivulets of water running down her bare legs. Her denim shorts were soaked, the result of a renegade hose. Of course, her two Siamese cats, Edam and Brie, were quick to rub along her wet legs, leaving stray fur attached. She recognized Molly's voice immediately.

“I was just beginning to think no one wanted to talk to me today,” Molly said. “It took me three tries to finally reach Orwell Rivers over at Riverwell Press this morning. He didn't even have an answering machine. Said it was not working. How can he run a business like that? Anyway, I placed an order for one hundred fifty books and they'll be delivered in two days, on Wednesday morning.”

“That sounds like a lot of books, Molly.”

“Well, I got to thinking, I might as well get some extras in. I have room to store them in the garage and you never know when you'll be able to line up an impromptu signing or some event.”

Lizzie chuckled. “You're really getting into this. Maybe you should go into business.”

“You might be right. I've been thinking I need something extra in my life. And I always did have a good head for numbers. I just might give it some thought.”

That surprised Lizzie. She'd been kidding. It sounded like Molly was not. The only problem was, how many published authors were there in Ashton Corners? Not many, she was certain.

“Okay,” Lizzie said, “I'll do my bit and call George Havers this afternoon and line up an appointment to see him. Maybe he can send a reporter out to interview Teensy this week sometime. Do you think she'd be up for that?”

“I'd guarantee it. I'd like you to meet her, too. How about coming for dinner Wednesday night? You can pick up your copy of the book then. I'll just check if Teensy's available.”

“I'm good. Let me know if there's anything else I can do before then.”

“Thanks, honey. I'm starting to draw up lists now. You may hear from me real soon.”

• • •

L
izzie lifted the two bags of groceries into the trunk of her car, returned the cart to the front entrance of the Piggly Wiggly and drove slowly out of the lot, pointing the car toward Molly's. A quick call to Molly had confirmed that Teensy's book had been delivered on schedule, and although Lizzie would be having dinner at Molly's, she wanted to get her copy before that. She hoped to give it a quick scan before meeting Teensy.

She'd not had any luck making an appointment with George Havers at the
Ashton Corners Colonist
when she phoned. He was out of town for a few days but his wife had promised to pass on the message. So, she might as well concentrate on what she'd be promoting.

Lizzie parked in front of the huge triple garage that had been added in the midfifties. Molly's 2008 silver Audi coupe was parked farther along the circular drive. The 1964 Corvette that was the pride and joy of her now long-deceased husband, Claydon, a car that Molly had kept but never drove, took up a small portion of the garage. So Lizzie knew there was a lot of remaining space to store several boxes of books.

She went up to the front door of the stately antebellum mansion and rang the bell. After several minutes with no Molly answering, she walked around to the back of the house, taking a few minutes to enjoy the beauty of the backyard. The thick green maze beckoned from the edge of the lawn that surrounded the flagstone patio. She hadn't had a wander through it in quite some time, although it had long been an oasis of calm at the most turbulent times of Lizzie's life. She'd have to come do that real soon. She knocked on the back door, still looking at the yard and taking in deep breaths of the fragrant air. When she turned to glance through the back window, she gasped, then screamed Molly's name.

Molly lay crumpled facedown on the kitchen floor.
Heart attack
.

Lizzie's own heart was pumping as she tried the door handle and the door opened. Lizzie ran over to Molly, calling her name.

“Oh no. Let her be alive,” Lizzie whispered as she felt for a pulse and found one.

She grabbed the phone off the counter and dialed 911. The dispatcher took the details and told her to stay on the line but Lizzie hung up when she noticed the dark blotch of blood mixed in with the grey of Molly's hair. She phoned police chief Mark Dreyfus's cell phone and he answered on the third ring.

“I just found Molly unconscious on her kitchen floor,” she said breathlessly. “She may have had a heart attack. There's blood on the back of her head but I can't tell if she fell and hit something or what. I've just called 911.”

“I'm on my way. Stay on the line with me.”

Lizzie did as instructed and tried to keep calm and coherent, explaining to Mark how she'd found Molly. By the time she finished her story, the emergency sirens sounded like they'd race right through the house.

“I'm a block away,” Mark said. “You can hang up now. I'll be there in a minute.”

Lizzie opened the back door as the paramedics came around the corner of the house. She held the door open for them and stood back as they rushed over to Molly. Mark came in next. He squeezed Lizzie's arm and went over to take a look at Molly. After a quick glance around the room, he went back to Lizzie.

Lizzie folded her arms across her chest and started shaking. Mark pulled her into his arms and held her a few moments before easing her over to the bench at the banquette. They'd been dating for close to a year since meeting at another crime, in front of Molly's house, last fall. Even though she hadn't seen Mark since high school days, it hadn't taken long for her to fall under his spell again, despite the fact that he hadn't realized her feelings way back then.

Mark sat her down and went back to Molly. The young male paramedic checked vital signs and the female examined the wound. The male then slipped out the back door and grabbed the gurney they'd left outside. Together, they eased her onto it.

Molly groaned and Lizzie let out the breath she'd been holding.

“Will she be all right?” Lizzie asked.

“Better save that question for the doctors,” the male answered.

“I'd like to go to the hospital with her.”

“Sure,” the female said, tucking Molly in.

“I'm going to the hospital with Molly,” Lizzie told Mark when he returned.

“Okay. I'll be there shortly. Lizzie, it looks like Molly might have been hit over the head, but the house doesn't appear to have been ransacked. There's no sign of forced entry.”

“Somebody attacked her? Who? Why?” Lizzie felt sick.

“Hopefully Molly has those answers.”

Lizzie watched the gurney being wheeled out the door and grabbed her purse from the table. “I've got to go with Molly. See you later?”

Mark nodded and squeezed her hand. Lizzie followed the procession to the ambulance, her stomach tied in knots, and waited while they settled Molly inside before climbing in behind the paramedic. The second paramedic closed the doors and waited while an IV was set up and monitors were switched on. Then the siren erupted.
Please, God, let her be all right.

When they arrived at the hospital, Lizzie was told to stay in one of the waiting rooms and Molly was whisked down the hall. Lizzie started pacing, hoping to ease the ache and to clear her brain. What was this all about? Had she collapsed and hit her head? But Mark had thought she'd been struck. If that was the case, why had it happened? Why Molly? And, why had she mumbled something about books? Lizzie abruptly stopped and took a deep breath, trying to calm down and think.

Did she need to call someone? Bob would want to know. Teensy also, but she had no way of contacting her. Lizzie pulled her cell out of her purse and glanced down the hall in the direction the gurney had gone, hoping to catch sight of anyone who might have news. She punched in Bob's number and he answered on the first ring. Lizzie told him only that Molly had been hurt and was in the hospital. It sounded like he'd hung up as he was telling her he'd be right over.

The wait seemed interminable. Bob arrived and demanded information from the nurse behind the desk. When none was available, he growled and went to sit beside Lizzie.

“What happened?” he asked. His hair looked disheveled and he appeared as though he'd thrown a wrinkled cotton plaid shirt over a paint-stained white T-shirt. His jeans were well-worn and faded with ragged cuffs and a tear below the left knee.

Lizzie went through all the details again. As she finished, Mark strode through the automatic opening doors. He spoke to the nurse at the desk before joining Lizzie and Bob.

“Did they tell you anything?” Bob demanded.

Mark shook his head. “She's still in the treatment room. Lizzie, how are you doing?” He reached over and touched her arm.

Lizzie took a deep breath. “I think I'm going to burst if we don't hear something soon. Why did this happen, Mark?”

“I don't know. I've got a team processing the crime . . . uh, house. Any ideas, Bob?”

Bob continued to stare down the hallway. “You think she was attacked?” Mark nodded. “Was anything stolen?”

“Not that we could tell. Nothing disturbed in the rest of the house. Just the kitchen where the incident took place, and that was messy but not searched in any way.”

“Why do you think she was attacked?” Lizzie wanted to know.

“Because of the wound. Where she lay. She wasn't close by anything that could have done that damage. Several things, Lizzie.”

“Did you find any prints?” Bob asked.

“They're still checking but nothing so far. Whoever did this probably wore gloves.”

“They had to be looking for something,” Bob said. His voice sounded close to breaking. “No one would just beat up on Molly.”

“It's very lucky for Molly that you stopped by when you did,” Mark said to Lizzie.

“I hadn't planned on it. I just decided since I was out, I'd pick up my copy of Teensy Coldicutt's book.”

Mark looked puzzled.

Lizzie explained. “Our book club is reading it and copies delivered to Molly's house this morning. Molly mumbled something about books in the ambulance. Did you happen to notice them in the garage? There would have been several boxes because she's also throwing a book launch.”

“We didn't find anything like that.”

“I called Molly this morning and she said they'd been delivered.”

“We'll keep searching to see if we can find some way of identifying the perpetrators. The books may be somewhere around. I'm hoping Molly will have some answers when I'm able to talk to her. You know we'll do everything we can to figure this out,” Mark said.

“You'll post an officer at Molly's door?” Bob's question sounded more like a command.

“Of course,” Mark answered.

Lizzie swallowed hard. Bob nodded. They all stood abruptly as a green-clad doctor walked toward them.

“I'm Dr. Nasmith,” he said, looking at Mark. “You're here about Molly Mathews, Chief?”

“How is she?” Lizzie blurted out. “Will she be all right? Was she hit? Was it a heart attack?”

The doctor looked at her and then Mark, who nodded. “No. Her heart's just fine. It looks like she was struck from behind with a blunt object. We did a CT scan and there's no serious head injury. She should recover nicely but that's one hell of a headache she'll have tomorrow and a bit of bruising around the eyes to go with it. We stitched up the wound and we'll keep her in overnight in case of a concussion.”

“She couldn't have fallen and hit her head?” Mark asked.

The doctor seemed to consider it for a few moments. “It's unlikely. The size, the roundness and the location of the wound wouldn't fit that scenario. Not unless she fell backward and her head hit a hammer just lying there.”

“She was facedown,” Lizzie whispered.

“Exactly,” Mark said.

“Can we see her?” Bob asked.

“I'm going to have to ask her a few questions,” Mark said. “Is she up to that?”

Dr. Nasmith folded his arms across his chest. “Only for a few minutes. She needs rest and she's been medicated, so she may just fall asleep on you. We're moving her to a private room shortly but you can see her in the examining room.” They followed him to the end of the hall and into a large room with curtains dividing the beds.

Lizzie's heart was pumping in her chest. Her throat felt dry. She gasped when she saw her friend lying there, pale and with a large bandage around her head. “Molly,” she whispered. Molly's hair was flattened and clung to the sides of her face. Her eyes were closed and tubes snaked into her right forearm. An oxygen mask perched close to the headboard gadgets.

Bob stood stock-still. Lizzie could hear his breath coming in short rasps. Mark walked over to the bed and gently said her name. After a couple of seconds, Molly opened her eyes to half-mast. Mark held his hand out to keep Lizzie back.

“Molly, what happened at your place?” Mark asked.

Molly took her time answering. It came out in a hoarse whisper. “I'm not sure. Two big men. They barged into the kitchen. Guns. They had guns.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “They wanted the books.”

“Teensy's books?” Lizzie asked.

Molly opened her eyes. “Lizzie, you here, honey?”

Lizzie went over beside Mark and grabbed Molly's hand. “I'm here.”

Molly nodded then grimaced. “I said I didn't know what they were talking about.” She took a deep breath. “One of them hit me. That's the last I remember.”

A nurse appeared and told them they'd have to leave. Lizzie gave Molly's hand a squeeze and kissed her on the cheek. “I'll be back real soon to see you.”