Lethal Lasagna (7 page)

“You’ve been awful quiet.” He observed.

I offered a smile, knowing it was weak. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been very good company, have I?”

“Nope.” A smile touched his lips and a teasing light filled his eyes.

I laughed. His honesty was refreshing. Brandon Harvest didn’t give me the opportunity to wallow in my grief. For that I was grateful. “Come on, I’ll help you load the furniture.” I started to stand but his warm hand caught mine, and he gently tugged me back down.

“Dan Barton and a few of the men from church are on their way. We’ll get the rest of the stuff from the living room when they get here.”

“Bless their hearts. I’ll have to fix them all dinner sometime. Do you think they’ll mind grabbing the bed and dressers at the same time?”

Brandon smiled and nodded. “Sure we can do that. Speaking of food, do you still plan to attend the women’s meeting this evening at church?”

“I’d like to.” I’d forgotten all about the meeting. A glance at my watch told me it was almost lunchtime. If the men hurried, I could have the furniture in the storage building and start sorting the rest of the papers and packing the other stuff this afternoon. The weight of weariness bore down on my shoulders.

He nodded. “Good. I need to finish a couple of small projects this afternoon. After we finish up with this, how would you like to go grab some lunch?”

A lunch date. The thought thrilled me and refreshed my tired body. “I’d like that.” I stared into his eyes. They softened.

The sound of doors slamming drew our attention. Three men, including Dan, moved up the sidewalk toward us. I smiled at the trio. Dan was in his forties with blond hair and brown eyes. I’d say he was about five-ten.

His companions, Josh and Tony, looked to be his age or younger. I was happy to see those young men. They were brothers. With black hair and blue eyes, they looked to be twins.

Brandon stood and shook Dan’s hand. “I’m sure glad to see you boys.” His charming smile did things to my heart that shouldn’t happen to an older woman like me.

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“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” Lori Haywood asked me. The pastor’s wife slipped into a chair to my right.

“Never. But I do enjoy it.” I placed two wiggly eyes on my potato, and then drew two lines at the bottom and two on the sides to make a stick man. I was working on “American Potato Salad,” and the recipe was one of my favorites.

Lori laughed. “That is just too cute. Care if I steal the idea?”

I added an American flag die cut to the top of the page. “Not at all.”

“Thanks.” She pulled a sheet of brown card stock toward her, and I watched as she cut out the body and then began creating black spots on the paper. While she worked, I tried to figure out how to bring up the subject of Mitzi.

Mrs. Williams sat on my left. She smiled over at Lori and me. “Lori, do her pages remind you of someone’s?”

My eyes moved back to the layout and then to Lori’s serious face.

A sad smile touched her lips. “Mitzi’s.”

“Really? I didn’t know Mitzi made recipe scrap book pages.” I swung my head back and forth to look at the two women.

“She joined us last year.” Lori offered sadly. She picked up a pair of scissors and cut out the potato outline.

It became obvious that Lori didn’t plan on adding more information. There were so many things I didn’t know about my best friend. Never had I imagined she liked doing scrap booking, of any kind. I turned to Mrs. Williams. “What happened to her pages?”

“Oh, they went into the book.” She waved her hand in dismissal and acted as if this information should be public knowledge.

I worked silently for a few moments as I thought about the things I hadn’t shared with my friend. Mitzi scrap-booked, took a creative writing class with handsome instructors, and was in a Rose Hat Club that I’d never joined. I wondered how much more there had been to her that I didn’t know or realize. I tried to pull myself away from the depressing thoughts. “Do you two know of anyone who would want to hurt Mitzi?”

Mrs. Williams huffed. “That sweet little thing? As far as I know, everyone loved her.”

“It’s true. Here Mitzi was loved by one and all.” Lori agreed.

I wanted to agree, but knew it wasn’t true. Someone had hated Mitzi enough to murder her.

Mrs. Williams handed me a bowl of chocolate candy with peanuts. I scooped out a handful and then passed it on to Lori. When I looked up, I saw that Margery Bryant stood in front of our table. Her green eyes sparkled with joy. I wondered if the woman ever felt sad. I’d been introduced to her earlier, and her expression had been the same—full of joy and happiness expression. She was a chubby woman with red hair. Did the color come from the bottle or had she never turned grey? I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter, she just made me feel happy and welcome to be in the same circle as she.

“How’s it going, Claire?”

I held up the recipe page. “What do you think?”

She laughed. “I like it.” Her gaze moved to Lori’s paper piecing. “I see the potato man is a hit.”

Lori grinned. “It sure is.”

“Claire, when you come to a stopping point, would you mind having a cup of tea with me?” Margery asked.

I looked at the recipe page. “I think it’s finished.” I stood and stretched. “I’m ready for a break now, if you are.”

“Great.”

Margery led the way to the church’s cozy kitchen. I enjoyed this room best. Its decorations provided a country cottage theme. The counters were scattered with cookies, cupcakes, and all types of snack mixes. Tea and coffee pots lined another table against the far wall. A row of Tupperware glasses sat beside two different flavored teas.

I stopped and filled two glasses with ice from a bowl that sat close by. Margery smiled and visited with another woman I’d not had the pleasure of meeting yet.

“I think this one is a raspberry blend.” A teenager indicated the teapot with tiny pink roses painted on its sides. “And this one is Lemon Twist.”

I smiled at her. “Why thank you. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Claire Parker.” I poured raspberry tea into one of the glasses.

“I’m Olivia.” Her cheeks filled with a soft cherry hue. Freckles blanketed her nose under her green eyes. Light strands of strawberry blond hair framed a heart shaped face.

“It’s nice to meet you, Olivia.”

She dropped her voice down to a whisper and glanced around. “A rumor is going around that you are here looking for Ms. Douglas’s killer.” Olivia looked over her shoulder.

I laughed and prayed it didn’t sound phony. Then I leaned forward and whispered back to her, “I’m here because I wanted to see what Mitzi’s church was like. This cookbook sounded so fun that I decided to attend today.”

Her face lost some of its animation. “Oh, so you aren’t looking for her killer?”

The desire to lie and say no grew strong but I knew it wouldn’t be right. “Oh yes, I am looking for her murderer. But, it’s not a matter of looking here. Mitzi was my best friend and I feel close to her here, among her friends. Plus, with her death I realized I wanted to get back into crafts. This cookbook is a way for me to ease back into them.”

A new grin lit up her freckles. “Good. I don’t know who killed Ms. Douglas but I would love to help you find out.” She clapped her hands drawing attention to us.

It was as if the child hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “Thanks, Olivia. I’ll call on you if I come across something I could use your help with.” I added a teaspoon of sugar to my tea.

Margery chose that moment to join us. She picked up the yellow glass I’d filled with ice and poured lemon tea. “I see you’ve met my granddaughter, Olivia.”

I took a sip of the sweet tea and nodded.

“Run along, Olivia. Claire and I will catch up with you later.”

Olivia hugged her grandmother. “Okay, Nana. I’ll see you ladies later.” She winked in my direction and hurried off.

Margery laughed. “That child is always up to something.” She looked to me. “And, I think you know what it is this time.”

“Yes, I do.” We walked to a small round table in the corner of the room and sat down. “She wants to help me uncover Mitzi’s murderer.”

The smile dropped from Margery’s face. “I don’t want my granddaughter involved in that. It isn’t safe.” Her voice had turned waspish, and I knew then and there that sweet, loveable Mrs. Bryant wasn’t a woman to be crossed.

I set my glass down. “I agree. All I’m doing is asking a few questions. I’ll leave the real work to the police.”

She studied my face for several moments. Satisfied, she smiled, “I’m sorry. I get a little protective of my family.”

“That is totally understandable.” I took another sip of the cold liquid and savored the sweet fruitiness of the drink.

Margery sipped her tea, too, and then asked. “Have you ever thought about joining a Rose Hat Club? We recently lost one of our members and your name has been brought to the membership drive committee as a possible replacement.”

“Honestly, I haven’t but now that Mitzi is gone I think I’d like to make new friends. I know she loved her group.”

Margery’s face filled with sorrow. “Yes, it is hard to replace Mitzi. It’s a comfort to know that she loved us as much as we loved her.”

My heart ached. So this was Mitzi’s group and they wanted me to fill her hat so to speak. “What exactly are the requirements for joining the group?”

“It’s an undemanding group. Once a week we get together for an afternoon tea. We used to hold it at Mitzi’s, but now we have moved it to my house. Mostly we have a good time of dressing up in red and purples, and we go out to lunch once a month. Attend concerts, plays, craft shows, just all kinds of fun things together.”

I smiled, remembering all the times Mitzi had tried to get me to join in the fun. “I think I’d enjoy that.”

“Good.” She handed me a business card that read, MAD HATTERS. The rest of the information was Margery’s address, phone number and a cute saying that read. “Alice’s queen had nothing on me!”

“This is a cute card.” I ran my finger over the red embossed hat in the left hand corner.

“If you like us, I’ll tell you where you can get them made. We’re having our weekly tea Thursday morning at nine. Be sure and come a few minutes early, that way I can introduce you to the other ladies as they arrive.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m glad you’re interested in joining us. I’ll see you Thursday.”

Margery walk away. She was an interesting woman. My first impression was that nothing ruffled her feathers but then when I’d told her about Olivia’s hopes of helping me find Mitzi’s murderer, she’d turned into a ferocious mama bear. Had Mitzi brought out that emotion in Margery? And if so, would the grandmother be willing to kill to protect her family?

The tea no longer tasted sweet on my tongue.

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“You’ve been quiet this morning.” Brandon observed.

He sat on the floor of Mitzi’s bedroom watching me go though papers I’d found in the side dresser beside Mitzi’s bed. There were book marks, patterned note paper, cards from her son, and a few manuscript pages she’d jotted notes on.

“It’s just hard to go through her things. This just, seems so final.” A sob built in my throat, and my eyes began to sting.

He was at my side in seconds. His strong arms wrapped me up close to his chest, and the dam broke. I knew my tears were soaking his shirt, but I couldn’t stop the flow. Feelings of loss, loneliness, and deep sorrow drew on the fountain of tears that I poured upon him.

Then anger consumed me. Someone had taken the life of my best friend, and thus far, had gotten away with it. I gently pushed away from Brandon.

“Feeling better?” He asked, handing me a tissue.

How does one delicately blow one’s nose in front of the man she’s just drenched with tears? Plus, answer a stupid question without being sarcastic?

“Excuse me.” I sniffled and moved to Mitzi’s small bathroom. I turned on the overhead fan and blew my nose like a woman with a faulty drip.

Then I returned to the bedroom. Plastered on what I hoped was a sweet smile and said. “Much better, thank you.”

The man burst out laughing. I couldn’t believe him. Here I had cried all over his shirt, and he was laughing. I stared in wonder.

And then he snorted.

The shocked expression on his face sent me into giggles. His cheeks filled with red and his ears looked like scarlet lollipops. Anyone watching us would have thought we were insane as we both filled Mitzi’s house with laughter.

Just as she would have wanted.

The thought comforted me.

“What’s this?” Brandon asked, picking up the story I’d found in the drawer.

I scooped up the bookmarks and cards. “It’s a manuscript Mitzi was working on.” Should I toss them out or box them for Jake?

“No it isn’t.” His head was lowered, soft locks of brown hair begged to be touched. I wadded up a postcard and then focused on spreading it back out.

“It isn’t?”

He didn’t answer for several moments. “Nope, I’ve seen her handwriting and this isn’t it.” He held the paper up for me to study.

Why hadn’t I noticed that? Mitzi’s writing was more flowing, less blocky. “Then whose is this?”

He pulled it back toward him. “Do you think her son would mind if I hung on to this for a little while?”

“I’m sure Jake won’t care.”

While Brandon read, I finished cleaning out the drawer. Her date book sat off to the side. I picked it up put it in my purse. There wasn’t a lot left, and I really didn’t want to do anymore today. I glanced over at him. Black mascara marred his blue t-shirt from my cry fest earlier.

He looked up. His gaze met mine and he grinned. “Sorry. I got involved in this story. Whoever wrote it is good.”

“Mitzi good?”

Brandon scooted to the edge of the bed. “No, Mitzi had talent but she didn’t write mysteries. Her stories were more along the line of young adult.”

I sat down beside him. “That’s a part of her life I wasn’t involved in. Were her stories good?”

He folded the papers down the center and unfolded them again. “Her stories were sweet. She wrote about princesses and knights.” A soft laugh escaped him. “Only her princesses weren’t weak. She usually had the knight in jeopardy and in need of rescuing.” His eyes took on a far away look. Sorrow filled his face.

Was that the face of a man who’d lost a friend or the woman he loved? I didn’t want to focus on the thought that he might have loved Mitzi as a man loves a woman. I patted his knee. “How about you and I go get something to eat?”

He nodded and stood. “She really was a special lady, wasn’t she?”

“Yes she was.” I couldn’t contain the question that screamed through my mind as he led the way down the narrow hallway and to the front door. “Were you two romantically involved?”

Brandon turned with his hand on the doorknob. A soft smile touched his lips. “No, we were friends.”

I felt happy to know Mitzi and Brandon hadn’t been involved. It shouldn’t have been important to me, but it was. His words made my heart flutter, and the look on his face said he knew how I felt.

Embarrassed, I muttered, “Come, on. I’ll meet you at my house in ten minutes for a home cooked meal.” Then, I walked past him with my cheeks feeling as if someone held a heater too close to them.

“Right behind you.” Brandon pulled the door closed after us and locked it.

Ten minutes later, he pulled his pickup into the driveway behind me. Sprocket woofed a hello and stuck his head through the fence for a scratch behind the ears. I promised to take him on a walk first thing tomorrow morning and then hurried inside ahead of Brandon.

The scent of roast beef filled my senses as I entered the kitchen. My stomach growled and I smiled. What man could resist homemade roast beef?

“Wow, something smells really good in here.”

The old cliché the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach filtered through my mind as I tossed my pocketbook on the counter and grabbed an apron off the hook just inside the pantry door. “I put a roast in the crock pot earlier today. Have a seat at the table, and I’ll whip up some corn bread to go with our meal.”

“I see you baked, too.”

What? Who baked? Not me. I turned to see him pulling a pan of brownies toward him. Panic gripped my throat and cut off my air. “Wait. I didn’t bake brownies.” I hurried across the floor to the kitchen table.

He motioned toward an envelope. “Looks like someone left you a note.”

I scooped it off the table and ripped the paper open. A card slid out. Flowers decorated the paper in bright colors. Thinking of you was inscribed on the front. I opened it and read aloud. “Love, Mom.” Even if my mother were still alive, this isn’t her handwriting. The thought took me by surprise. Whose was it?

Brandon popped a brownie from the pan. “See, they’re from your mom.” He brought it to his lips.

I reached out and stopped him. “No, they aren’t. My mother died in a rafting accident when I was a child.”

He quirked an eyebrow at me.

I nodded. “I was raised by my grandparents, who are dead now, too.”

Brandon placed the treat back in the pan. “Why don’t you call the police?” He wiped his hands of crumbs.

Yes, I needed to call the police. How could someone have left brownies in my kitchen unless they’d been in the house? How had they gained access? My heart thumped with fear, and I silently thanked the Lord above for keeping me safe.

“Do you want me to do it?” Brandon asked, pulling me from my thoughts and prayers.

I pushed up from the chair I’d sat in, unawares. “No, I’ll do it.” My hand shook as I picked up the receiver.

Dispatch answered. “Detective Howard, please.”

His gruff voice barked through the lines. I glanced at Brandon, who frowned at the pan of brownies.

“Detective, this is Claire Parker. Would you come to my house, now please?” I explained about the pan of brownies and then hung up with his promise to be right over and his demand that I not touch anything. “He’s on his way.” I informed Brandon.

He looked up. “You know, I think I’ve lost my appetite for roast beef. What do you say I order a pizza?”

“I agree. The meat might be tainted also.” The thought that I’d need to clean out all the containers in my refrigerator rattled through my mind as I continued. “But I’ll order the pizza. This was supposed to be my thank you dinner for helping me at Mitzi’s.” I picked up the phone and ordered a large pizza with everything. Pizza might be tomorrow’s meal, too; I also ordered a two-liter of diet soda and one regular for Brandon.

Then, I moved to sit back down. My gaze wouldn’t stay off that plate of brownies. A chill ran down my spine. Even the thought of pizza turned my stomach.

It was an ordinary aluminum pan; anyone could have gotten it and baked the brownies. But, why lie and say they were from my mother? Why not just say, I made you brownies?

The answer hit me in the gut, taking my breath away. Because they are poisoned. Just like the lasagna that killed Mitzi. Someone wanted me dead, just like my best friend. But why?

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An hour later, sitting in my living room, I told Detective Howard—again—that I didn’t know who would want to poison me. I was truly tired of answering his questions. The detective had called in several other policemen who had dusted for fingerprints, trampled the flowers under my windowsills, and pretty much asked me so many questions my head had started to ache. Now, the only one left was Detective Howard, and he’d given us permission to move about the house as we pleased again, but he was still questioning me.

I could hear Brandon rummaging through the kitchen.

“Have you been asking questions about Mitzi’s case?” he asked. The officer jotted the answer on his pad of paper before I could answer him.

The man must think me stupid. “You know I have.” I answered.

“I suggest you stop.” He answered. “Leave Mitzi’s case to us. We’ll find her killer.”

He had my interest. I scooted to the edge of the couch and asked. “You have new leads?”

His steel blue eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I can’t give out that information, Ms. Parker.”

“Is there anything you can tell me? Like if the brownies are poisoned?” Bitterness laced my voice.

The detective stood. “That I can tell you but not before we get the results from the lab. Until then, stay out of this investigation, Ms. Parker.”

Yeah right. I arranged a smile on my face and showed him to the door.

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