Tea-Totally Dead (10 page)

“… everything was going just fine. We each made lists of what property we wanted. Just the little stuff, you know. But when we got to the dogs, Daisy and Poppy…”

I wondered if Wayne would be scarred for life. I didn’t feel too hot myself, I realized suddenly. I was lightheaded. It was past lunch time and I couldn’t remember the last meal I’d eaten. Then I did remember. It had been last night’s buffet. Ugh.

“… two of the cutest little dachshunds you’ve ever seen,” Judy went on. “You’ve met them, haven’t you?”

“Who?” I asked.

“My dogs, Kate!”

“Yeah, yeah. Right,” I assured her. “Nice dogs.” Actually I had seen the pictures that Judy carried in her wallet at least a dozen times before I actually met the dachshunds. Poppy and Daisy. Judy ate, breathed and sneezed those dogs.

“Jeez, I raised them from puppies, you know,” she said indignantly. “Jerry never fed them or anything. And now the son of a bitch wants them!”

“Oh, dear,” I answered. My cat, C.C., strolled into the living room and stretched. I wondered if she’d heard the news about Judy’s dogs.

“I talked to an attorney about getting custody and she said there is no custody for pets,” Judy rattled on. “She said that technically the dogs are community property! Property! My little Poppy and Daisy.” C.C. jumped onto Wayne’s lap and yowled. Wayne didn’t move. C.C. sniffed his face curiously. Did she wonder what was wrong with Wayne? Or was she just hungry?

“Maybe you guys could agree to let the dogs decide,” I said absently. Wayne continued to stare straight ahead. At the box or through it, I couldn’t tell which. C.C. yowled into his face.

“How?” Judy asked, hope in her tone now. The tone woke me up. Why did I always try to solve other people’s problems? I had to learn to keep my mouth shut.

“Never mind,” I said quickly. “It was a stupid idea.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she said eagerly. “We could set it up so that Jerry and I come into the room at the same time and then see who Poppy and Daisy come to first.”

“But—” I began.

“Jeez, it’s brilliant, Kate,” Judy said. “Thanks.”

And then I was listening to the dial tone. I hung up the phone and sat watching as C.C. jumped off Wayne’s lap and tiptoed gracefully around his feet, sniffing.

Was Wayne going crazy? How long would he sit on the couch and stare like that? For another hour? Another day? Or would it be a lifetime?

My body began to shake. I pushed myself out of my comfy chair. I had to do something. Throw up, cry, scream. Something, anything. I strode into the living room, still shaking, and stood directly in front of Wayne, blocking his view of the box.

“Wayne, I’m scared,” I said.

- Seven -

Wayne didn’t react to my words. He just continued to stare past me, or maybe through me, at the gift box.

“Wayne, I said I’m scared!” I shouted finally. I rationalized that my shouting would be therapy for him. Shock therapy. Or would it just make things worse to divert him from his own pace, his own process?

“What?” he asked faintly. He pulled his head up slowly until his eyes looked into mine, seeing me now.

“You’re scaring the hell out of me,” I told him. “I don’t want you to go crazy.”

“Sorry,” he whispered as his gaze drifted back down to the box.

“Wayne!” I shouted again, not caring for the moment whether or not it was therapeutic for him, only that it was for me. “Talk to me!”

He shook his head violently as if to awaken himself, then brought his eyes back up to focus on my face.

“I’m not going crazy, Kate,” he announced brusquely. “At least not until I’ve found Mom’s killer.”

He glared then, a full-browed Skeritt glare. His back stiffened. His shoulders straightened. Gone was the vacancy of withdrawal. He looked determined now. And angry. I restrained myself from throwing my arms around him in celebration, not wanting to jinx the transformation.

“I’ll have to talk to everyone,” he said quietly, rising from the couch as he spoke. “Hear what they say. Watch their reactions. Find out who had access to poison.”

“Are we sure it was poison?” I asked cautiously.

“Ninety percent sure,” he replied, still glaring but alive now. Alive, intelligent, and leaping to conclusions. “Wish I knew what kind of poison we were looking for. Whoever the killer is must have found it here in Marin. Or else brought it with them from home.”

I nodded thoughtfully. I hadn’t thought about the access issue. Where did one find poison? Pictures of ant stakes, hemlock leaves, dripping syringes, castor beans, prescription bottles and bleach bottles flipped through my mind in rapid succession.

“Have to talk to Harmony and Clara for sure,” Wayne went on. “But first,” he added grimly, “my family. I’ll call the hotel.”

He strode across the entry hall to the phone and dialed. Before his finger punched the final number he turned to me.

“This’ll keep me sane,” he whispered in explanation.

I nodded my understanding.

“Okay?” he asked quietly.

“More than okay,” I assured him. My voice was trembling, but I didn’t care. “Much more,” I finished happily.

He turned back to the phone and punched the last number just as C.C. began to meow from the kitchen.

I took a deep breath and went to feed her. I realized how hungry I was while scooping out Baked Tuna and Sardines Fancy Feast. It smelled good to me, really good. I was wistfully imagining how a little bite would taste when Wayne hung up the phone.

“Lori says they’re all on their way downstairs for a late lunch,” he told me. He took his keys from his pocket and started toward the front door. “The Old Burl Cafe.”

“Good,” I said. “Let’s join them. I’m hungry enough to eat hotel food.”

He stopped in his tracks. “No, Kate,” he growled as he turned back to me. “Don’t want you getting hurt. I’m doing this alone.”

“Oh no, you’re not,” I snapped. Then I put my hands on my hips and glared. It wasn’t a Skeritt glare, but it was still powerful. Wayne squirmed in place. “This isn’t some kind of John Wayne western,” I went on. “I’m going with you.”

“But—”

“Do you think it would be any better for me to sit here waiting for you and worrying?” I demanded. I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Of course not. And anyway, if we go together, we’ll both be safe.”

“But—” he tried again.

“I’ll get my purse,” I told him.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered under his breath.

I gave him a big smile. “Aren’t you glad?” I asked.

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards for an instant, but only for an instant before he seemed to remember why he wasn’t smiling that day. His eyes looked stricken, and then he was glaring again.

I grabbed my purse and we headed out the front door.

The Old Burl Cafe stuck out from the bottom story of the Redwood Grove Inn like an open drawer. There wasn’t a living redwood in sight outside the cafe. And the wood grain inside the restaurant looked more like pine than redwood. But there was plenty of greenery. Potted ferns hung everywhere. A smiling hostess walked up to greet us.

“Lunch,” she inquired. “For two?”

“Kate, Wayne. Over here!” Lori called out before I could answer.

Three tables had been pushed together to accommodate the Skeritt family. The tables were covered with red-checked cloths whose cheeriness contrasted dramatically with most of the faces floating above them.

Bill was wearing his usual, vague smile. And Dru greeted us brightly as we sat down between her and Ace, but her face didn’t retain that brightness once she had spoken. Even Lori’s effort at her usual positive-thinking grin looked strained. The rest of the crew looked like survivors of a train wreck. Or maybe that makes them sound too happy.

I shot a friendly smile across the table at Ingrid. She whispered back a “hello,” the tail end of which was lost in a sniffle. Her eyes were swollen nearly shut. Mandy sat on Ingrid’s left, watching her grandmother with obvious concern in her chocolate-brown eyes. Trent sat on Ingrid’s right, ignoring everyone as he frowned down at the red-checked tablecloth. I turned to greet Ace and Eric on Wayne’s other side, but gave up the effort. Both of them were lost in thought, not happy thoughts either, judging by their expressions. Gail didn’t look any more unhappy than usual, though, as she studied us through her glasses.

The table was as quiet as a Zen retreat. And about as much fun. No one spoke a word until the waitress came. And even she seemed anxious, standing a good yard away to take our orders, and handing us our plates fifteen minutes later with the wariness of a novice zoo keeper feeding the bears. I had just bitten into my California BLT on whole wheat, hold the bacon—the California element presumably being the avocado—when Wayne broke the silence.

“I believe my mother was murdered,” he announced quietly.

Damn. I wished he had warned me. By the time I looked up from my sandwich, all the faces at the table seemed to be wearing the same expressions of open-mouthed surprise. Except for Gail, who stared as usual. Then the mouths began to move.

“Murdered?”

“It couldn’t be!”

“I thought it was her heart.”

“Someone killed Vesta?”

Gail was the first to react with coherence. She bent forward and scrutinized Wayne, a trace of a smile on her plain face.

“Very interesting,” she observed. “I wondered if you would allow yourself to consider the possibility. The rest of us are pretending everything is fine.”

“Oh, you’re just teasing,” said Dru. It wasn’t clear whether she was speaking to Wayne or to Gail. She giggled nervously. “Vesta had a heart condition. We all know that. Don’t we, dear?” she appealed to her husband.

Bill nodded graciously “There, you see,” she concluded brightly. “She had a heart attack.”

“Oh, Mother,” Gail protested. “Why must you always deny any—”

“My mother didn’t have a heart condition,” Wayne interrupted. He spoke slowly, his deep, quiet voice taking on the sound of absolute truth.

“Not any heart condition that you knew about, perhaps,” Trent suggested a few beats later.

Wayne scowled in his direction.

Trent ignored the scowl and continued in a resonant voice that rivaled Wayne’s for authority.

“You must realize that your mother was mentally unbalanced,” he said. “Have you asked yourself yet if she might have committed suicide?”

“My mother didn’t commit suicide,” Wayne growled.

Trent sighed and shook his head slowly. He turned to Gail for support.

“Isn’t it true that suicidal people often become manic immediately before they…” He paused tastefully. “Before they do away with themselves?”

Gail shrugged her shoulders. “It’s possible, but I—”

“Someone killed Vessie?” Ace asked wonderingly before Gail could finish her sentence. From the sound of his voice it appeared that Wayne’s words had only now seeped through to his consciousness. He looked around the table, staring at each of us in turn. I wondered what he was looking for.

Ace’s eyes came to Ingrid. She let out a long sob and buried her face in her handkerchief. He continued to stare as the big woman stood and dropped her napkin onto her untouched salad. She pushed her chair back. It crashed to the floor.

“Excuse me,” she whispered. Then she turned and ran awkwardly in the direction of the rest rooms.

Mandy jumped up and loped after her.

“Mama?” said Lori, her bracelets jangling as she rose and straightened her mother’s chair. She turned and glared at her father for a moment before following her mother and daughter out of the room.

And then miraculously, Bill spoke.

“I’ll have another beer,” he said to the waitress, who had appeared sometime during the commotion.

I looked into his face. His bland smile widened. I looked away with a shiver. Was he laughing at all of us?

“You know what?” Eric said into the ensuing silence. “I
thought
Aunt Vesta might have been murdered. I mean, this is totally awesome. We could figure it out and then—”

“Are you sure?” Ace broke in. At first I thought he was speaking to Eric, but then I saw that his eyes were on Wayne.

Wayne nodded his head slowly. Ace’s eyes creased into a glare.

“You know what else?” Eric said. “We could like—”

“This is all getting too silly,” Dru interrupted, her high voice shrill now. She laughed unconvincingly. “No one has been murdered—”

“But they have, Aunt Dru,” Eric insisted. His eyes glittered with excitement behind his glasses. “Don’t worry. It’s totally cool. We can do tests and take fingerprints and—”

“Be quiet, Eric,” Ace commanded in a stern voice.

Eric turned to his grandfather, apparently shocked by his tone of voice. I could see why. Ace was acting nothing like the amiable clown I had met last night.

“But—” Eric tried again.

“Quiet,” Ace repeated.

By the time Ingrid, Lori and Mandy returned from the rest room, the table was completely silent. Some of us were still eating. Some of us had never started. Wayne and Ace ignored their untouched sandwiches. And Dru, who had just moved a french fry from one side of her plate to the other, was now moving it back. But all of us were watching each other, staring directly or glancing furtively, but watching all the same. When Ingrid sat down, our eyes traveled to her blotchy, ravaged face. Mandy took her seat by her grandmother’s side and picked up a fork. Lori sat next to her daughter and frowned.