Moss Hysteria (17 page)

As I walked up the sidewalk heading toward Down the Hatch just before noon, I spotted Gert rushing out of the bar motioning for me to hurry.

“Come on, Abby,” she called, practically hopping up and down.

“What's going on?”

“Nothing if you hurry.” She linked her thin arm through mine and led me through the noisy, crowded bar, calling over her shoulder, “Didn't you get Marco's text?”

I patted my pocket. “I must have left my phone at Bloomers. Why?”

Gert stopped in front of Marco's closed office door, her small pruned face a mask of fury, and whispered, “Because your neighbor showed up here unannounced a little while ago, and we've got to do something about it.”

“Which neighbor?”

“Mitzi something or other. She burst in on Marco and began setting up a cozy little picnic for two right on top of his desk. Marco made up an excuse to get the heck out of there and told me to bring you down fast 'cause you weren't answering his text.”

I pushed past Gert, opened the door, and saw Ms.
Something or Other
leaning across Marco's desk, giving me a perfect view of her red leather miniskirt–clad derriere, bare legs, and red stilettos.

“I hope you found that bottle of bubbly you promised me,” Mitzi said, setting out another carton of food. “But I have to warn you, champagne makes me very,
very
”—she turned around, full cleavage in sight and a seductive pout on her face that instantly turned to openmouthed shock.

“Very what?” I asked.

M
itzi looked exceedingly guilty as she smoothed her red miniskirt down her thighs and straightened her skintight white V-neck top. Not a trace remained of the teary-eyed victim who'd attempted to play on my sympathies the day before.

“Abby!” she said with phony enthusiasm. “You made it after all. I was afraid my invitation got lost in cyberspace.”

“Gert?” I said to the woman behind me. “The door, please.”

Gert shut it quietly, leaving me alone with Mitzi. I walked around Marco's desk and stood facing her, my arms folded over my blouse. “I didn't receive an invitation.”

“Oh, well,” Mitzi said lightly. “That's the Internet for you.”

I stacked the plates she had put out and handed them to her. “I'm afraid we're going to have to decline your lunch, Mitzi.”

“But I went to all this trouble.”

I collected the plastic utensils and put them in the picnic basket. “An important development has come up in our investigation that we need to take care of right away.”

She stared at me with her big doe eyes as though having difficulty processing the news, so I continued with the packing.

“Does this mean you're close to finding the murderer?” she asked, placing the plates back into the basket.

“Yep.” I handed her a container of potato salad, pleased to see her blanch.

“So someone is going to be arrested soon?” she asked, trying to appear casually interested.

“Absolutely,” I said.

She closed the hamper, put the handles over her arm, and said with a pasted-on smile, “Well, maybe we can do this some other time.”

As she made for the door, I called, “I'll see you tonight. Seven o'clock, right?”

She paused, looked back as if she wanted to say something, then with a tight smile gave me a nod. She opened the door and nearly collided with Marco. With an uneasy smile, she sidestepped him and hurried away.

I followed her up the hallway and into the bar area. At the exact moment she entered it, Gert, standing behind the bar, shut off the music. As Mitzi passed her, Gert said to Rafe in a loud voice, “She may have snuck in on us, but she sure as heck ain't sneakin' out.”

Rafe and the two other bartenders, their arms folded, gave Mitzi steely glances. That caused all the customers to follow the direction of their gazes and part to let Mitzi through. No one spoke. The only sound was the clicking of her stiletto heels on the linoleum as she made her walk of shame, wobbling twice and nearly stumbling but keeping her head high and her eyes straight ahead. When she exited the building, the music went on, a cheer went up, people resumed their conversations, and Marco and I retreated to his office.

“I know what you're thinking,” Marco said, “but the bottle of champagne was my excuse to get out of there. And in my defense, she said you were on your way.”

I put my fingers over his lips. “It's okay, Marco.”

He took my hand and kissed my fingertips. “You know I wouldn't have let anything happen.”

“Of course I know that, and I'm proud of the way the three of us—you, me, and Gert—handled it. But don't you see now why Mitzi should be our number one suspect? She just showed the kind of underhanded deed she's capable of.”

“Seduction isn't the same as murder, Sunshine.”

“Are you kidding? If she had succeeded in seducing you, there'd be two more murders in New Chapel.”

We kissed, hugged, and then headed out the back door, where Marco had the car waiting in the alley. “I hope the delivery van doesn't beat us to the house,” I said.

“They'll wait. How did you get away from Bloomers? I thought you were too busy for lunch.”

“Rosa asked Lottie and Grace to come in early so they could finish the bridal shower arrangements before noon, which they didn't bother to let me know. And before you say anything, I know Rosa was being helpful. But I would've come in early, too, if she'd just informed me.”

“Then we all would've had to go in early.”

The car thing again. I sighed morosely as I buckled my seat belt.

“I still say you need to talk to Rosa. Tell her how things like that make you feel. You have to get these things off your chest, sweetheart.”

I folded my arms. “Really?”

“Absolutely. You don't do that enough.”

“Would you like me to start with you?”

Marco glanced at me for a moment. “Why don't I call Gert and put in an order for some food for you when we get back? I'll bet you're hungry.”

On our way to the house, Marco told me he'd contacted Jane Singletary about Dirk's photos. “She wasn't cooperative initially, but once she understood I was only interested in Dirk's photos, she warmed up. She said Dirk would've used his phone, which the detectives confiscated, to take them. However, all their photos back up to the cloud, so she could still access them through her iPad. She said if she finds any pictures from Brandywine, she'll let me know. I'm hoping that conversation opened the door for further dialogue because we still need to question her about other issues.

“I also called Maynard Dell's wife, who claimed she couldn't remember Maynard ever coming home late. When I inquired about her car, she said they'd sold her Buick because she can't drive anymore due to her cataracts.”

“That contradicts Maynard's statement.”

“Yep. She confirmed that Maynard uses the town's vehicle, which she appreciates because that allows them to park wherever they like, and since she has bad knees, that's a blessing. She was very talkative but in a nervous way. I want to set up a surveillance to see what Maynard's work habits are like, maybe take some photos. If they're what I suspect, my pictures might get him to cooperate even more.”

We drove into our garage and got out of the car just as the furniture van pulled up. The deliverymen unloaded the dining set and brought it in, but I barely had time to admire it because Mitzi's unexpected visit had shortened my lunch hour.

“I wish we had time to have lunch here,” I told Marco, “but I have a lot of funeral arrangements to do this afternoon.”

Yet who knew? Maybe when I got back,
those
arrangements would be finished, too.

•   •   •

My fears were unfounded; there were still tickets waiting on the spindle. Rosa and I worked steadily all afternoon until, by four o'clock, all the arrangements had been delivered and all the other orders that had come in during the day were done. That left me with time to check our stock and place overnight orders to replenish the basics. And once again, as I stood in the walk-in cooler making my list, I found myself working on my imaginary contest entry.

Curly willow, white Casablanca lilies—or had I decided on white dendrobium orchids? How about both? Most certainly centurion white delphinium and maybe some antherium, too.

Pleased with the image in my head, I decided to write my selections down on the off chance I would want to use them at some later date. I flipped my notebook to a new page and drew a sketch of my design, listing all the flowers and accent stems I'd need. When I finished, I stood in the workroom in front of the shelves containing a large assortment of containers and vases, trying to decide on a pot to compliment my design.

“What are you looking for?” Rosa asked, startling me.

“Um, just checking to see if I need to order anything.”

“Is that your list?” She pointed to my open notebook.

I hugged it to me and smiled. “Yep.” And then I walked away.

As soon as Rosa left the room, I tore out my design to tuck in my purse, away from any prying eyes. But that was silly; I wasn't going to enter the competition. I stuffed it inside the top desk drawer instead and shut it with a bang. There. Now it was off my mind. Subject closed.

•   •   •

Marco came home for supper at six o'clock, and as we enjoyed a garden salad, grilled chicken, and wild rice at our new table, he reported that his buddy Sergeant Reilly had been able to access information showing that the cell pings associated with Brandon Thorne's phone number had indeed come from a tower in South Haven, Michigan, close to Thorne's headquarters, on the Friday Dirk drowned.

“The odds are high that Thorne was in South Haven that Friday,” Marco said. “In addition to the fact that no one saw his car here that evening, there were no pings anywhere close to here, either. In fact, later that night, they came from a tower near his home address in Michigan.”

“What about Mitzi's allegations that Dirk tried to blackmail Brandon?”

“If the proof shows Thorne wasn't in the area, then her allegations are just that. She may have made them up anyway.”

“Are we crossing Brandon off the suspect list?”

“I'm still waiting to confirm that the e-mails he sent out that evening came from a server in that area, but I don't see any reason to keep him on.”

“Couldn't he have hired someone to kill Dirk?”

“He could have, but would that be likely? I think we need to focus on our remaining suspects for the time being and leave that as a secondary theory.”

“Then that leaves Mitzi Kole, Jane Singletary, Rye Bishop, and Maynard Dell.”

“With Rye, there's no evidence to tie him to the murder unless we can locate his large wrench for testing or if the DNA results on the shovel show his involvement. If we could find an alibi witness to say he was at home during the time period of Dirk's death, we could cross him off.”

“Are you actively looking for one?”

“I'll need to canvass his neighbors during a time they're most likely to be around, so it's on my schedule for Saturday. Tomorrow I'm going to run surveillance on Maynard. If you want to go, you'll need to take a late lunch hour.”

“Done. What about a meeting with Jane?”

“I'm waiting for her to phone me about the photos. If I don't hear anything, I'll give her a call.”

I put my chin on my palm. “And then there's Miss Spread the Blame Mitzi. I can't wait to see what happens at book club tonight. And tomorrow is my pedicure. I'm determined to get the truth from Mitzi's stylist.”

“You'll miss Reagan's book club.”

“Priorities, Marco.”

We clinked glasses at that and then I noticed the time. “I need to get ready. Book club starts in twenty minutes.”

As we carried our dishes to the sink, the doorbell rang, so I went to answer it.

“Hi, Abby,” said a woman I recognized as one of Mitzi's Bees. “I just wanted to let you know that club is canceled tonight.”

“That's too bad. I was looking forward to it. I hope Mitzi's all right.”

She gave me a polite smile. “Well, anyway, have a nice evening.”

“Thanks. I'll see you next week, then.”

“Um, sure.”

I watched her as she hurried up the sidewalk, and then I shut the door and leaned against it, waiting a moment before looking out the peephole. Just as I suspected, the woman glanced my way then darted up Mitzi's sidewalk and into her house.

“That was interesting,” I said to Marco, returning to the kitchen. “I think I just got expelled from the Bee hive.”

•   •   •

With my evening wide-open, I made a call to Mitzi's beauty salon and managed to reschedule my pedicure with her stylist for the last appointment of the day. When I went next door to ask Theda to watch Seedy for me later, she invited me in for a cup of tea. I could tell something was on her mind, so I got Seedy and brought her back with me.

We'd barely stepped into her front hall when Kitty jumped out at Seedy then ran off, his tail curved into a question mark. Seedy yipped and then hobbled off after him for a game of hide-and-seek.

“I love the way those two get along,” I said, sitting down at Theda's kitchen table. “You'd think they were raised together.”

Theda filled our cups with lemon mint tea, then sat down across from me. “Kitty is a special cat. I wish I could keep him. Sadly I go away for several months in the winter and have no way to take him with me. It's why I foster cats instead of owning them.

“But that's not why I invited you here, Abby. When they pulled Dirk's body out of the pond, Kitty's collar was clutched in his hand. Now I have to go back to the police station with my attorney tomorrow, and I'm concerned.”

I was so stunned I sat there for a minute before reason kicked in. “Wait a minute. How would they know it was Kitty's collar?”

“My name and contact information are on the ID tag.”

That would do it. “Did you know his collar was missing?”

Seedy chose that moment to stop by my chair and whine to be picked up. “Go play,” I said, but she ignored me and continued to paw my leg.

“Seedy, down,” Theda said with a snap of her fingers. Amazingly, Seedy trotted off. “Yes, Kitty lost it weeks ago. I used to let him sit in the backyard with a nylon rope attached to his collar, similar to what you do with Seedy's leash, so he could do a bit of roaming. He loves to sit down by the pond and watch the carp swim.