Maid of Murder (24 page)

“India?” Bree asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I . . .” She’d caught me off guard, but even though it felt strangely like I was doing something wrong, I saw no reason to lie. “I want to talk to Kirk.”

She stepped closer. “He’s not here.”

“Do you know where he went?”

She shook her head. “I was just about to go across the street to the café to grab some dinner, why don’t you join me? We haven’t had much opportunity to get to know each other.”

I hesitated. I was still wary of her. If I was completely honest with myself, it was because she was the thinner, prettier best friend who had replaced me when Olivia and I went our separate ways after high school. Now, I feared that she would be taking Bobby, who was decidedly smitten with her, away from me too. But I wasn’t in high school anymore and should stop acting like I was. “I’d like that,” I said.

Bree and I walked downstairs to the coo of the dove. Maggie looked up from her computer screen. “You find him?”

“He wasn’t in his room,” I said.

“Do you want to leave a note for him?”

“No, no, that’s all right. I’m sure I will catch up with him sooner or later.” The last thing I wanted Kirk to know was that I was looking for him.

Maggie turned her beady stare on Bree. “I’ll need payment for your room tonight, Miss Butler.”

Bree’s beautiful face crumbled. “But the Blockens were going to pay for my room.”

Maggie’s face was hard. “Not anymore, they aren’t. You and Mr. Row will be paying. I have your bill right here.” Maggie slid a printout across the desk to Bree, who instantly paled when she saw the number. “But I don’t have that kind of money. That’s more than one of my paychecks.”

“If you can’t pay, I suggest that you start packing.”

Bree looked as if she was about to cry.

I patted her arm. “Come on, Bree, let’s go eat and sort it out.”

Bree folded the piece of paper and placed it in the large leather handbag looped over her arm. She followed me out the front door

Before the door completely shut behind us, Maggie called out. “And I don’t take out-of-state checks.”

Bree and I walked to Pioneer Roast, a small coffee house on the square, which also served soup and sandwiches. We sat at one of the metal tables outside of the shop underneath a gauzy yellow umbrella that barely shielded us from the sun. All the other sidewalk tables were empty as most of the customers had chosen to dine in the air conditioning.

The thin waiter who I recognized as a Martin student took our order. A veggie wrap, an old stand-by, for me. Bree selected a chef salad.

“I don’t know what to do. Olivia promised me when I agreed to help her with the wedding that her family would pay for everything.”

“Well, this turn of events was unexpected.” I felt the need to defend my childhood friend. “She couldn’t have known what her parents would do if the wedding was canceled.”

“You don’t know everything I did. I addressed all the invitations. I made all the decorations for the church and the centerpieces for the reception. I spent countless hours on this wedding, and for what?” Bree’s voice was high-pitched.

I frowned.

She gave me a sad smile. “I’m sorry; this has all been so horrible. I can’t believe this is even happening.”

“Maybe you can talk to her mother.”

But Bree wasn’t listening. “I don’t know where to stay. My flight doesn’t leave for two days,” She folded her paper napkin in a series of tiny triangles, unfolded it, and started again.

“Maybe you can stay with the Blockens,” I said, knowing full well that if I had been a nicer person, I would have invited her to stay with me. But truth be told, I wasn’t completely comfortable with Bree, and I already had an extra cat to deal with.

She shook her head, then looked at me. “Maybe Bobby will let me stay with him. He mentioned that he had a three-bedroom house.”

“Bobby?”

“He’s been so nice since I arrived. Don’t you think he’d want me to stay there? You’re his friend; you know him better than I do. What do you think he would say?”

Knowing Bobby, and how attractive he found Bree, I knew he’d say, yippee, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. “You’ll have to ask him yourself,” I said, hoping that she wouldn’t.

The food arrived, and I dove into the wrap. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Bree picked at her food. Not one bite reached her mouth.

I used the food’s arrival as an opportunity to change the subject. “Dr. Blocken said that they are missing an engagement photo of Olivia and Kirk. Have you seen it?”

Bree shook her head. “No, but it’ll show up. Everything has just been turned upside-down this week.”

That was the understatement of the century.

“I hope it does,” I said. I bit into my wrap and chewed thoughtfully, barely tasting it despite my hunger. “I keep wondering how Olivia got to Martin that morning.”

“Oh?” Bree said, pushing a tomato to the side of the plate with her fork.

“Dr. Blocken told me Olivia didn’t have car, and, according to campus security, there were no strange cars on campus that day. The only logical answer is someone drove her there and left campus before security noticed.”

Bree looked up from her salad, eyes level with mine. “Your brother could have picked her up.”

“He didn’t,” I said, putting down my wrap. The sun pounded on my back. I started to sweat. We should have eaten inside with the sane customers.

“Have you asked him?”

“Not in so many words,” I admitted. “But I know that he didn’t. He was on campus long before Olivia got there.”

“How do you know that he didn’t leave and come back later with her?”

“I checked with security. His car never left.”

Bree’s cell phone rang from deep in her purse. The bag was enormous, and she placed it on the table’s edge in order to root through it. At the same time I reached for my water glass, knocking against it and sending it tumbling. Her possessions flew every which way, scattering on the cement walk.

“I’m so sorry.” I jumped up to gather her things.

Bree instantly dropped down beside me. “It’s all right. I’ll get it.”

I picked up her cell phone, which was now silent. Surreptitiously, I checked the caller ID and recognized Bobby’s cell phone number. Then, I reached for her bag, noticing a glint of metal. Curious, I righted it, peered inside, and found myself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Here, give that to me.” She grabbed the bag, haphazardly threw her possessions in, then sat back down, her bag clutched to her chest as though she thought I’d steal it from her.

From the look on my face, she must have realized that I had seen the gun. “I need it for protection. I live alone,” she said defensively.

“I live alone too,” I said, “and I don’t pack heat.”

Was suburban Virginia so different from suburban Ohio that she really needs a gun to protect herself? I wondered.

“Is it legal?” I pushed what remained of my wrap to the far side of my plate. The sight of the gun had made me lose my appetite.

“Perfectly legal,” she said. “I have a license from Virginia to carry a concealed weapon.”

“But you’re in Ohio. Does that type of license cross state lines?” I honestly didn’t know.

“I don’t have to take this lecture from you.” She threw her napkin down on her uneaten salad.

I watched her go. My, some people were touchy. It wasn’t until she disappeared around the corner that I realized that she’d left without paying her half of the meal. I suddenly felt touchy, too.

I walked back to the Cookery to retrieve my car with a considerably lighter wallet, my mind on Bree and her gun. But when I saw my car, thoughts of Bree fled.

Someone had keyed the hood of my car. Killer’s SISTER was spelled out in letters a foot high. A chill ran through me, followed by fury so powerful that it made my teeth ache. Sure, it was an ugly car, and, sure, the keying didn’t depreciate its financial value, especially since I would probably have to pay a dealer to take it off my hands anyway. But this was a personal attack on me, and on my brother, which was worse than the vandalism. I knew of only one person who could have done something like this.

I stomped into the Cookery. I threw open the door so violently its leaded glass shook and threatened to break.

Maggie, writing in her ledger, looked up in shock. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Is he here? Is Kirk Row here?”

The doves were silent as if they feared their cooing would attract my wrath. Maggie silently pointed up the stairs. Her mouth opened, and she did not remind me to leave her beloved Cookery unharmed.

I took the stairs two at a time. At Kirk’s door, I pounded on it with all my might. He opened it almost at once.

“What are you do—” He stopped short when he saw the look on my face.

I forced my way into the room. “Did you key my car?”

Kirk folded his arms across his chest, his muscles bulged, and for the first time, I paused to consider the stupidity of my actions. Kirk may be a few inches shorter than I was, but he was at least forty pounds heavier and every ounce of that extra weight was pure muscle.

I moved back toward the door, but he was faster and blocked my way. Now, I’d done it. I’d trapped myself in a room with a man who could be—probably was—a murderer. My only salvation was my old high school bully downstairs, who, I had no doubt, would love to see me pounded into jelly. I had my cell phone in my shoulder bag, but I was afraid that any sudden movements would spur Kirk into action.

I noted the half-packed suitcase on the bed. I wonder if Maggie had given him the same ultimatum that she had given Bree.

“So what if I did. It’s the truth. Your sorry excuse for a brother killed my wife,” he spat.

“She wasn’t your wife yet.”

Kirk’s face fell as though I’d slapped him across the mouth. Slowly, he slumped onto the bed, holding his head in both of his hands. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs wracked his body.

I stood over him, like a judge. “Did you plant that scarf in my brother’s apartment?” I didn’t mention the engagement picture since it wasn’t discovered by Mains or his officers.

“No, I didn’t.” He wiped the tears from his eyes and stared at me, eyes glinting with anger. “He did it; he killed her. That’s the proof.”

He said it with such ferocity that I knew that he truly believed that Mark was guilty.

I squatted beside him, taking care not to touch him. I softened my voice. “Kirk, do you know how Olivia got to Martin that morning? Did you drive her?”

“No. I don’t have a car; her parents picked us up at the airport.” His voice became a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t even see her that day. The last time I saw her alive was when I left her at her parents’ house after the picnic. They insisted that she stay with them before the wedding instead of here at the inn with me. Olivia said it was easier to go along, rather than making a big deal out of it. I wished that I had insisted. Then she wouldn’t have gone to meet your brother. She would be my wife.”

He looked up again, directly into my eyes. His eyes were bloodshot. His tan cheeks were pale and drawn, giving him a startling cadaverous look. “I will hate the Fourth of July for the rest of my life.”

Looking into his haunted face, I believed him.

A few minutes later, I walked through the Cookery Inn’s entry once again. Maggie was still at her post behind the reception desk.

Something cold and wet suddenly splashed my bare shoulder. Instinctively, I put my hand up and came away with fingers dripping dove doo. I glared at the large dove on the chandelier. He looked back, and I could have sworn he had just a hint of a smile on his beak. All my sympathy for the abandoned doves evaporated. “Gross!”

Maggie grabbed a roll of paper towels from under her desk and hurried to my side. She thrust them at me. “Here. Hurry up and clean that up before it gets on the floor.”

As if the floor was my biggest concern. I cleaned myself up the best that I could. Through the window, I saw Bree climb into the driver’s side of the red compact parked in the circular drive.

“Bree has a car,” I said.

Maggie blinked, holding a paper towel in mid-air. Maggie followed my gaze and watched as Bree drove away.

Maggie shrugged. “She listed it as a rental at check-in. I always ask so that I know what vehicles should and should not be on my property.”

I thanked her and headed out the door.

Twenty minutes after I left The Cookery, I threw my keys and shoulder bag in my apartment’s entryway and bid them to sit. Templeton slept in the middle of my sheet-covered sofa, opening one eye before uttering a contented sigh and curling back up. Genius that I am, I deduced that Theodore was not on the premises. Undoubtedly, Ina shielded him from devilish Templeton by hand-feeding him boneless chicken breast.

The answering machine on my snub-nosed kitchen counter blinked incessantly and declared ten missed calls, a personal record. I assumed that at least seven of those messages were from my mother. I was not disappointed.

The first nine messages were either from Carmen or my mother. I skipped those. The tenth message was from Lew, who’d called only ten minutes before I walked in the door.

Curious, I dialed his number, which I’d now memorized.

“Thanks for calling back. I just got back from the jail. I told Mark about your parents’ decision about the bond.” Lew let that pronouncement hang in the air.

I sat in the rocking chair. “How did he take it?”

“As well as could be expected. Shocked mostly.”

“God,” I murmured in a half curse, half plea.

“I just spoke with your parents. They’re not budging.”

I clenched my jaw. “So much for all their talk about equal rights and the common man.”

“Your parents are wrong in this case. You know it, and so do I, but they’ve done a lot of good in this town for a lot of people. Heck, without them, all the Martin yuppies would have total control.”

“Yes, everyone should have equal opportunity to rot in jail.”