Sharpe Edge (Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series)
Author: Thomas, Lisa B.
Date: 2015-08-12

Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series

LISA B. THOMAS

Copyright

SHARPE EDGE

©Copyright 2015 Lisa B. Thomas

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

From the Author

More Works by Lisa B. Thomas

Acknowledgements

Prologue

September 27, 1940

The day Charles Brice had dreaded for nearly nine months was here, and all he could do now was pray. Lily sat next to him in the car with her eyes closed, taking deep breaths, and rolling rosary beads between her trembling fingers. A tarnished St. Christopher medal dangling from the rearview mirror kept time with the windshield wipers, desperately trying to keep the rain and evil spirits at bay. Third time’s the charm, he thought.

They made no telephone calls to alert friends or family of their trip to the hospital. They had not discussed baby names. The nursery lay untouched, as it had been for the past six years. Their expectations were low, their fears beyond measure as they pulled into the parking lot of St. Francis Hospital in Boston. A nurse pushing a wheelchair met them at the emergency room entrance and took Lily straight to the maternity ward. He stayed behind to fill out paperwork.

This ritual was all too familiar, which only added to his anxiety. The pregnancy had gone well, just as the two previous ones. Today, though, there were two lives at stake—the baby’s and Lily’s. He didn’t know if his wife could survive having a third stillborn baby.

Dear God, he prayed, let this baby live.

“Sir. Mr. Brice? You can go back to the waiting room now.” The clerk was used to seeing dazed, expectant fathers. He looked up from the desk and remembered where he was. Standing up, he tipped his head slightly as he thanked her, and several drops of water fell from the fedora he had completely forgotten to remove.

He made his way down the corridor to the family waiting room. Maybe it was the full moon or maybe it was chance, but the room was cluttered with excited families awaiting the birth of a new child. One expectant father took a long drag from his Camel cigarette and moved his hat and coat so Charles could sit down. Several children played with blocks and read picture books in the middle of the floor.

The men took turns pacing the room and then the hallway. When one man sat, another one stood. One by one, though, they were called from the waiting room to receive the good news. “It’s a boy” or “It’s a girl” led to handshakes and pats on the back. They passed around cigars and strutted proudly. Eventually, each man left to reunite with his wife and to meet his new little tax deduction.

This was the part where Charles lacked experience. In his case, a nurse would appear and say the doctor needed to speak to him. The first time was devastating. The second time was unreal. Today, he almost hoped the nurse would never call his name at all.

He leaned his head back against the gray-green wall and closed his eyes, trying to escape his present situation. Picturing the farm in Texas where he had grown up, he saw himself as a boy helping his father with the cows and the hogs. He fetched eggs from the coop for his mother and pitched hay for the horses. And at night, he lay in bed dreaming of a chance to get as far away as he could to live in the big city where his shoes would always be clean and his hands would never sting from the endless scrapes and cuts that come as part and parcel with a laborer’s life.

Now, at age 35, he had fulfilled his American dream, but all he could think of was that small quiet life back on the farm—a life that should include Lily and their child.

“Mr. Brice.” A tall nurse in a starched white uniform called his name. She recognized him and waited for him to look up. “Mr. Brice,” she said louder. He opened his eyes slowly, feeling dizzy and nauseous. When he looked at her, she was smiling. He walked into the hallway and got the news he had waited so long to hear. “It’s a girl.”

Dropping to his knees, he wept and thanked God over and over. He didn’t care who saw him. This was the day the Lord hath made.

After a few minutes, he dug into his pocket for a nickel and called Lily’s parents. He wiped the tears with his handkerchief. There would be time later to wire his mother and father back home in Texas. Waiting to be led to the maternity ward, the time seemed to creep by excruciatingly slow. He was anxious to see Lily and his new daughter. When the nurse returned, he charged out of the waiting room like a wild animal going after its prey. He walked past five other women in the large ward before coming to his wife. She was holding the smallest creature he had ever seen.

Lily looked like an angel. The expression on her face was beyond happy. She was fulfilled. He kissed her and stroked his daughter’s cheek with the back of his finger. Another woman on the ward screamed in pain, but he barely heard. This was the moment they had waited for, and nothing was going to spoil it.

“Isn’t she the most beautiful baby in the world?” Lily could not take her eyes off the little pink bundle. “Rose. Let’s call her Rose.”

“Perfect,” Charles said. “My two beautiful flowers, Lily and Rose.”

The same nurse who had brought him the good news came to take the baby back to the nursery for a bath. She told Charles he should go home to get some rest and that he could return for his wife and child in the morning. He kissed Lily and floated out the door.

When he arrived at the hospital the next morning, he was a new man. He entered as a father, not just a husband. When he checked in at the front desk, a look came over the clerk’s face as if Charles were a stranger or criminal. She whispered something to a young woman in a nun’s habit who asked him to follow her. She led him down the corridor past the waiting room and past the maternity ward. They rounded the corner and stopped at the office of Father Baker, the head of the hospital. She knocked on the door and entered.

“Mr. Brice, please come in and sit down.” The priest motioned to one of the leather chairs across from his desk. Charles knew this was not protocol and began breathing rapidly.

“What is it, Father? Has something happened?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Is it Lily? The baby?”

“There’s been an accident.” The old priest could not hide his despair. He had sat with hundreds of grieving families over the years. Whether it was a son lost in the war, a husband killed in an industrial accident, or a dying parent receiving last rites, he had always managed to keep his composure and his faith. However, even he had a hard time understanding this cruel act of fate. “You see, the nurse was giving the child a bath and somehow the tiny baby slipped from her hands and fell to the ground.” He watched the expression on Charles’ face. “I am sorry to have to tell you that the baby’s skull was cracked, and she died at once. Poor little thing never even cried.” He stood up and walked over to sit in the chair next to Charles. “I cannot tell you how sorry we all are.”

The dizziness and nausea from the previous day returned. He swallowed hard to keep the bile from drowning him. “Lily,” he managed to say. “Does she know?”

“Yes.”

“Take me to her, please.”

“Before I do, you need to know that she is in shock. The doctor has given her something to make her sleep. We think she should stay another day.”

Charles did not respond. He just stood by the door waiting. They had moved Lily to a private room. It was small and dark, the only light coming from a bedside lamp. He kneeled down next to her and touched her face. Had he not known she was asleep, he would have thought she were dead. He stroked her hair and as he did, he cursed God. This woman doesn’t deserve this.

He stood up, pushing past Father Baker and headed out of the building to the parking lot. “This cannot happen! I will not take my wife home to die of grief.”

He drove to the convent, blinking hard to keep back the flood of tears.

Sister Katherine opened the heavy oak door and looked at Charles. He slowly shook his head, and she knew the worst had happened. She showed him to a small room where he sat waiting, rocking back and forth, praying for a miracle. He and Lily had met with her just weeks earlier to finalize adoption papers just in case they found themselves in this situation again. The home for unwed mothers was now their best hope for piecing their lives back together.

Just days earlier, a teenaged girl had given birth to twins. She planned to give up both babies but changed her mind at the last minute and decided to keep the boy. Sister Katherine had numerous couples waiting for a baby, but Charles and Lily were at the top of the list.

Sister Amelia carried in the infant and set her in the bassinet along with a small bag of necessities. Charles thanked the nuns, and God, repeatedly as he looked down at the precious new life. As he drove away, they knew that the baby girl was in good hands.

The hospital clerk looked surprised when Charles walked in carrying the bassinet.  It was time for supper and a nurse was trying to wake Lily to eat. Her eyes fluttered open but then closed again as if to block out the reality of what had happened. Charles walked in quietly and asked the nurse to step outside. He set the basket beside the bed, leaned close to Lily’s face, and called her name. The baby began to stir and let out soft gurgling sounds.

“Rose?” Lily opened her eyes and looked blindly around the room. She did not even seem to see her husband.

“No, sweetheart. It’s me, Charles.” He took both of his wife’s hands in his. She looked up and focused her eyes on his.

“Charles,” she said, “I thought I heard a baby. I thought it was Rose.”

“You did hear a baby,” he said. “Rose has gone to heaven, but God has sent us another child.” He lifted up the tiny infant whose small cries grew louder. “Look at her, Lily. She’s beautiful.” Holding the baby just in front of his wife, he could see she was confused.

“Another baby?” she asked.

“I went to see Sister Katherine. This little darling needs a home. She needs a mother.” The baby puckered her lips and turned her head toward Lily. “She needs you.”

He picked up the bottle of formula and held his breath as he handed it to his wife. She slowly sat up and took the bottle. Somehow, Mother Nature intervened, as Lily instinctively knew she must comfort the crying child. Charles placed the infant in her arms, and Lily took over. She studied the little face and began gently rocking her.

“Thank you, God,” she whispered without looking up at Charles.

Charles began breathing easier as his wife’s face began to relax. “Should we call her Rose?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I want to name her Carolyn.”

His jaw dropped, not believing what he had just heard. “Carolyn? Are you certain?” he asked. “You want to name her after the nurse who—”

“Yes,” Lily said, looking up into his eyes. “I want her to know that we forgive her.”

Charles leaned down and kissed his wife’s forehead. Tears ran down his face as he thought about how lucky he was to have found such a loving woman. At that moment, he knew everything would be just fine.

Chapter One

Present Day

Staring at the plastic tubs filled with Christmas decorations in the attic made Deena Sharpe wonder how they could have multiplied like bunnies since last winter when she and Gary had stowed them after the holidays. She determined right then and there that this year she would finally cull the herd. But hadn’t she said the same thing last year?

Three cardboard boxes of her great aunt’s papers peeked out of the clutter, a reminder of her previous summer’s exploits as an amateur sleuth.

The Christmas wreaths—her pride and joy—winked at her from behind a stash of pre-lit garland. Every year she would fire up the glue gun and fashion new wreaths for the front door and fireplace and just about every other flat surface she could find in the house. Thank goodness for those removable sticky hooks.

Recently, she had spent hours searching Pinterest for new wreath designs to copy, always modifying them a bit to add her own flair. She might be lousy in the kitchen, but she was a beast when it came to crafting, a skill she had honed in her former life as a teacher. The Texas ranch-style house she and Gary bought nearly fifteen years earlier might look like any other in the suburbs on the outside, but she had an eye for décor and made sure the inside had a unique personality. It was a work in progress, as was she.

Only part of the attic had flooring, just enough to house the holiday decorations and some bins of old clothes. Stepping around an old plastic Santa, she grabbed the large box of last year’s wreaths with both hands and danced a pirouette back toward the attic opening. Forgetting to duck, she smacked face-first into a slanted wooden beam.

“Holy Don Quixote!” she yelled, trying not to curse. Luckily, she regained her footing before crashing through the floor and into the bedroom below. Once steady, she chastised herself for not waiting for Gary to get home from work to do this job for her. Unfortunately, he was afraid of heights, always making her stand at the bottom of the ladder when he put up Christmas lights along the roof, ready to catch him in case he fell. He would tease her and say, “If I’m coming down, I’m taking you with me.”

The bright stars blurring her vision lit the way down the ladder. She stumbled to the kitchen to get ice for her forehead. Just what I need the day before the Christmas party, she thought, and went to survey the damage in the bathroom mirror. No blood, but a blue-green bruise was already beginning to form.

She sat on the bed and picked up Hurley to quiet his barking. The small terrier mix had moved into her home and into her heart a few months earlier when she visited the animal shelter with her friend Sandra. The poor pup had been neglected and was missing the tip of one ear and a patch of fur on one hip. Deena had flipped for his black furry face the minute she saw him and named him Hurley after her favorite character from Lost. Having no children due to a hysterectomy at the age of thirty, she was delighted by this new-found, pseudo-motherhood, even buying him a winter sweater, designer collar, and doggy condo—despite Gary’s teasing. Hurley’s soulful eyes told her he was sympathetic to her pain.

Deena had just settled into her second career as a part-time reporter for the local Northeast Texas Tribune, and Hurley often served as a sounding board for her story ideas. Except for wanting to sleep on her pillow at night, he was the perfect companion.

“Let’s get back to work.” She tossed the now-warm ice pack into the bathroom sink. December had crept up quickly, and she wanted to get her house holiday-ready before getting too involved with work. She was hosting this year’s family gathering, a stressful affair that generally took her outside her comfort zone.

Besides her newspaper job, her booth at the Hidden Treasures Antique Mall took much of her time and attention. The small town of Maycroft was a great shopping destination just south of Dallas. She needed to make sure her booth was fully stocked to take advantage of the holiday season—as well as the pocketbooks of holiday shoppers.

The doorbell rang, and before she could get there, the FedEx truck was already pulling away. She shook the package, wondering which of her recent online purchases it might contain. A tendency to forget what she had bought made getting a delivery feel like Christmas morning. It was the new tartan plaid skirt she had ordered for the Fitzhugh Christmas party. Carolyn Brice Fitzhugh was hosting the shindig, and even Deena’s dressiest pants outfit would be too casual for Carolyn’s liking.

She tried on the skirt and looked in the full-length mirror on her closet door. The fit was perfect, not too tight but not too loose. She dug black boots out of the back of the closet and tried them on. Not bad for a fifty-something retired teacher, she thought. “What do you think?” Hurley rolled over to get a belly rub, a sure sign he approved.

The ever-darkening bruise on her forehead gave her a cartoonish look. Hopefully, she’d be able to cover it with make-up and a swoop of her brunette hair. A quick glance at her watch reminded her it was getting late. She wanted to get to the library to talk to Betty and go by the bookstore before Gary got home from work. If she could catch him before he got too comfortable, maybe he’d take her out to dinner.

She eyed the box of wreaths sitting on the floor by the kitchen table. Tempted to unpack them, she forced herself to close the lid. Decorating the house was a high priority, but not as high as making a good impression at the Fitzhugh party. She had a knack for mucking things up now and again. The last thing she wanted to do was commit a major faux pas in front of Maycroft’s upper crust.

* * *

Preparations for the party at Fitzhugh Manor were well underway. Caterers and florists streamed in and out the front door making it nearly impossible to keep the huge two-story Victorian house warm. The brutal summer heat had made way for a beautiful, cool fall. But it was the beginning of December, and cloudy skies and north winds brought the temperature way down. Coat-weather had finally arrived in northeast Texas.

Wendy Fairmont, Maycroft’s foremost party planner, ordered everyone around like a drill sergeant. “That’s only nine tables!” she yelled at the men from the rental store. “We have to fit eleven tables in this room. And don’t scratch the piano!” She looked in her notebook at the sketches of the table decorations. “Cindy, don’t forget that the red napkins go on the white tablecloths, and the white ones go on the red.”

“Got it,” Cindy said. “How does this table look with the poinsettias and candles?”

“Beautiful. But don’t forget the place cards. I’m going to see how the outside of the house is coming. Keep an eye on things in here.” Wendy walked out the front door to see if the holiday lighting was sufficient. She had designed an ivy swag to frame the front entrance, and the florist was having a hard time keeping it attached.

“This thing is heavy,” Jillian said. “I think we are going to have to drill in some anchors to keep it from falling.”

“Absolutely not! Carolyn will kill me if you damage her house. What if we put it between the columns instead? We can add another tree to the front porch.” Wendy was already dialing her assistant at the warehouse before the florist could answer.

Estelle Fitzhugh, Carolyn’s daughter and caregiver, ducked under the massive decoration as she walked out the front door. Wendy sensed her stress about everything being finished on time.

“You’re not supposed to be out here,” Wendy said as she saw the worried look on Estelle’s face. “You know you can trust me. We’ve pulled this off perfectly for five years in a row.”

“I know, and I do trust you. But mother is particularly anxious this year since she has increased the guest list by almost twenty people.”

Estelle looked nothing like her seventy-five-year-old mother except for the crocheted shawl she had draped around her shoulders. Her father had passed away nearly twenty years earlier, and she had spent most of her adulthood looking after her wheelchair-bound mother. And every year she told Wendy she worried that this year’s party might be her mother’s last.

“If you give me about two more hours, you won’t even recognize the place.” Wendy put her hands on the back of Estelle’s shoulders and gently pushed her up the steps to the front door. “Besides, I don’t want you to catch a cold standing out here. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Estelle stopped in the doorway. “Don’t forget the boxes for the book donations. Mother wants them right inside the front door.”

Wendy nodded. “The donation boxes are ready at the warehouse. They’re wrapped in silver foil paper with big red bows, just like we planned.” Estelle seemed appeased and went back into the house.

Wendy was used to dealing with nervous clients. It was a big part of the job. But her firm confidence always seemed to reassure them. Except for the groom’s grandmother falling into the reflection pool at the Holden/Brooks wedding, she was proud to say all of her events came off without a hitch. Still, she kept her fingers crossed when no one was looking.

* * *

The library was tomb-quiet except for the Mid-Counties Writer’s Club gathered in the reading room. A burst of laughter from the group greeted Deena as she came through the front door.

“Hey there,” Betty said as Deena walked up to the front counter with a stash of books under her arm. “I thought you’d be at the courthouse covering the big verdict that’s due in today.”

“Actually, that’s Sean’s beat. He covers crime. I cover politics.” Deena set three books on the counter to check in.

“Oh, I see. That’s why you wrote all those articles on the sheriff’s race. I still can’t believe Bob Lowry won again.”

Deena laughed. “He’s not such a bad guy. Just a bit of a hot head.”

“Speaking of heads, what did you do to yours?” The librarian squinted at Deena’s shiner.

“I ran into a beam in the attic looking for my Christmas wreaths.”

“If I didn’t know how madly in love you and Gary were, I’d be sending you to the Fitzhugh Women’s Shelter instead of the Fitzhugh Library.” Betty looked at the titles of the novels Deena had set on the counter. “Did you like any of these?”

“I only had time to read this one.” She pointed to a cozy mystery with a dog on the cover. “I seem to sleep much better now that I’m not teaching. I can only get through a few pages before I’m off to sleepy-land.”

“Do you want to check these other two back out?”

“Better not. Now that the holidays are here, I won’t have much time for reading. I’m still trying to finish the latest Stephen King. It’s got me sleeping with the lights on. Speaking of that, I was hoping you could help me out. Gary and I were invited to Carolyn Fitzhugh’s party tomorrow night, and I—”

“—was wondering if I knew her favorite book,” Betty said. “You are at least the tenth person to ask me that in the last week.”

Deena plunged her hands into the pockets of her new North Face jacket and sighed in disappointment. “I thought I was being so clever by asking you.”

Betty scanned the returned books and put them on the cart to be re-shelved. “Ever since the invitations went out saying that each guest was to bring a book for a library donation, everyone has been trying to figure out Carolyn’s favorites. They want to be in her good graces.”

“I get that. This is the first time we’ve been invited, and I hope it won’t be the last. Even though Gary and I have lived here over twenty years, the highbrows of Maycroft still see us as tourists. Luckily, Gary’s financial group handles a lot of their business. Also, I got a chance to meet the ‘Grand Dame of Maycroft’ last summer when I was working on my uncle’s murder case. For some reason, Carolyn seemed to like me.”

“And there’s Russell, of course,” Betty added.

“Russell? What does my brother have to do with it?”

“Rumor has it that he and Estelle Fitzhugh are seeing each other.”

Deena’s eyes widened as if seeing George Clooney ride in on a white horse. “What? You’re kidding?” She shook her head in amazement. She had a hard time picturing her laid-back brother dating a rich woman like Estelle Fitzhugh. “I’ll be calling him as soon as I get home.”

Betty laughed. “So what book were you thinking of buying for the party?”

“All I could come up with was Gone with the Wind.”

“Heavens no! Carolyn hates that book. She says Scarlet O’Hara is a silly twit.”

Deena grimaced. “So what do you suggest?”

“Carolyn gave me strict instructions not to help anyone. But since you are a friend, I’ll give you a hint. Here’s the book I bought to take.” Betty held up a brown paper bag and smiled. “It’s a memoir.”

“You aren’t going to take it out of the bag?”

“Nope. That would be cheating.” She slipped the package back under the desk. “Now you’d better get to the bookstore before they close. The party is tomorrow, and you don’t want to get stuck buying erotica.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Deena said and winked at her friend. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“By the way,” Betty called after her, “what book is Gary bringing?”

“Fifty Shades of Grey.”

Chapter Two

Russell Sinclair stood straight as a soldier facing his best friend Cliff. “How do I look?”

“Pretty good for an old country boy who doesn’t know the difference between champagne and Mountain Dew. I’ll bet the boys down at the VFW wouldn’t recognize you.” Cliff reached over to fix the knot on Russell’s tie. “I thought the only time I’d ever catch you wearing a monkey suit would be in your coffin.”

“Thanks,” Russell said as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He dabbed at a bloody spot on his chin where he had cut himself shaving. “This is why I don’t date. Way too much trouble.”

“Well, you’re dating now, and not just anyone. Estelle Fitzhugh is in line to be one of the richest women this side of the Trinity River before too long. Go big or go home, man.”

Russell pulled at his sleeves, wondering if one was longer than the other. “You know I don’t care about money. A man just gets lonely—not that you aren’t good company, of course.”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me.” Cliff walked over to sit on the corner of the bed. “Gail has only been gone a little over two years, and I miss her every day.”

Russell patted his friend on the shoulder.

Russell and Cliff had been friends since high school. When Russell couldn’t seem to get his bearings after returning home from the army, Cliff gave him a job in his appliance repair shop. Together, they had successfully run the business for thirty years. For the past fifteen years, they had lived next door to each other in the small, country town of Crossbow, about twenty miles from Maycroft.

“By the way,” Cliff asked, “what did your sister say when you told her about Estelle?”

“Actually, she heard it from someone in town. Called me yesterday. She was shocked at first, but then carried on like a lovesick teenager. Asked me a dozen questions. I reminded her that it was her idea in the first place and to mind her own business.”

Cliff chuckled. “That’ll never happen.”

“I know, but it’s just so much fun to drive her crazy.”

Russell was three years older than Deena, although she usually acted like a mother hen. Once they were grown and out of the house, their parents moved off to Hawaii. Even though they visited every year or so, Deena had been the one to take care of Russell, helping him over occasional rough patches. He suffered from bouts of depression and migraines, but she was always there for him. Gary had even turned down a job in Florida so she could stay close by. Although she said it was because she loved living in Maycroft, he knew it was so she could look after him.

He slipped on his dark blue suit coat and adjusted his sleeves again. Leaning toward the mirror, he tamped down a stubborn section of hair and threw away the piece of tissue stuck to his chin. “That’s it,” he said, turning back to Cliff. “That’s as good as it gets.” He picked up the book he had bought for the party.

Cliff stood up to face his friend. “I would offer one suggestion, Cinderella. How ‘bout you let me cut that price tag off your sleeve before you head off to the ball.”

* * *

Gary and Deena turned down the scenic, tree-lined road that led to the largest homes in Maycroft. Most of the estates’ residents would be at Carolyn’s party. A glow in the distance brightened the night sky above the Fitzhugh house. She wanted to tell Gary to drive faster but knew he’d just tell her to calm down.

Except for an occasional wedding or funeral, Deena had few opportunities to play dress up. Although she liked the casual lifestyle of living in a small North Texas town, it was fun now and again to wear fancy clothes and sparkly jewelry. Maycroft was the kind of place where men could wear cowboy boots just about anywhere, and young people even wore jeans to church. She drew the line at that, but she had gotten in the habit of wearing slacks more often than dresses or skirts.

“Any special instructions for me?” Gary pulled behind several other cars waiting in line for the valet.

“What do you mean?”

“You usually give me instructions like, don’t belch, don’t loosen your tie, don’t look up anyone’s skirt.”

“Seriously, you’re a grown man. You know how to behave in public.” She smiled and then added, “But don’t do any of those things.”

As they pulled up to the valet stand, one young man opened Deena’s door while another took Gary’s keys and gave him a receipt.

“Hey, Mrs. Sharpe. You look nice.”  Holding out his hand was one of Deena’s former journalism students.

“Hey, you. Making a little extra money for college, I see.”

“Yes ma’am. Just got finished with finals. Hoping to keep my 3.7 average.”

“Way to go! Keep up the good work.”

Deena made sure Gary had the books they had brought. Her palms were sweaty despite the cold evening wind. She looked around for Jordan, the photographer at the newspaper who often took pictures at social events. Not exactly paparazzi but close enough. He must have snapped a few shots before it got dark, she thought.

She squeezed Gary’s hand. “The place looks so beautiful. I feel like a princess.”

“Just don’t trip on your way up the steps.” Gary offered his arm. “Remember when you—”

“Yes, I remember. So much for being a princess.”

Irene, the housekeeper who had greeted Deena the first time she met Carolyn Fitzhugh, opened the door and took their coats, motioning for them to walk toward the candlelit ballroom where Carolyn was seated in her wheelchair. Estelle stood on duty behind her. Deena looked around for Russell but couldn’t find him.

“Wow,” Gary whispered as they waited behind several other couples to enter the room. “I had no idea how huge this place was. It looks even bigger than from the outside.”

Deena squeezed his hand and reached for her book. Her knees felt rubbery as she looked around for familiar faces and spotted Sandra and Ian. She watched as the couples ahead of them greeted the two Fitzhugh women.

Carolyn was the epitome of Southern grandeur. She wore a red velvet skirt with a black satin jacket. Across her shoulders was draped a heavy, white lace shawl that puddled in her lap. Although her blush was a little too bright, her ruby and diamond earrings glistened around her face and added a twinkle to her eyes.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe. I’m so glad you could come.” Carolyn reached out a gloved hand to Gary.

“Mrs. Fitzhugh, this is my husband, Gary.”

“So glad to meet you, Gary. Please call me Carolyn.”

“Nice to meet you, Carolyn.” Gary’s six-foot frame towered over her, so he bent down and nodded.

“Not only handsome, but a real gentleman,” Carolyn said as though greeting a beau. “What books have you brought me tonight?”

“I love a good murder mystery,” Gary said, “so I brought my favorite Sherlock Holmes.”

“Classic mystery. Excellent!” She motioned to one of the large donation boxes. “And you my dear? Let me guess. To Kill a Mockingbird or Gone with the Wind?”

“Neither, actually.” She took a deep breath. “It’s a new biography that just came out about Eleanor Roosevelt.” Her hands shook as she held it up.

Carolyn hesitated and then said, “Very nice. Looks like someone did her homework.” She gave Deena a little nod.

Deena let out a sigh of relief. At that moment, though, her eyes began to water and her nose tingled. “Thank-choo,” she said, sneezing all over her hostess. “Oh dear! I’m so sorry.” She felt her face flush and for a moment thought she might hyperventilate.

Estelle covered her mouth to camouflage a laugh.

Carolyn pulled out a lace hankie from under her voluminous shawl and dabbed at her cheek. “Don’t worry, my dear,” she said. “As I recall, I spat all over you the first time we met.”

Deena gave her a half-hearted smile and started down into a curtsy when Gary tugged on her arm to follow him. “What the heck, Deena Jo? You can never lecture me about my manners again.” He led her around the maze of tables toward Sandra who was laughing and motioning to them.

“You’re at our table,” she said, gasping for breath. “Classic entrance, Deena, really!”

“Ha-ha. Glad you enjoyed it.” She sat down, looking around at some of the other guests who had obviously witnessed her humiliation. “Now everyone will know me as ‘that woman who sneezed all over Carolyn.’”

“No, they won’t,” Sandra said. “They’ll know you as ‘that woman with the giant goose egg on her forehead who sneezed all over Carolyn!’” Deena winced and pulled at her hair.

“Don’t get too close if you’re coming down with something,” Gary said.

“I’m not! I’m perfectly fine. Or at least I was.” She reached up and touched the bulge on her forehead that had begun to throb.

“No worries,” Ian said, leaning across his wife. “These things can be rather stuffy. We could all use a good laugh.”

“Do you know many of these people?” Deena tried to look around without turning her head.

“Actually,” Ian said, “our law firm represents most of the people here.”

“I thought you were a public defender, watching out for the little guy.” Deena opened her napkin and spread it across her lap, her hands still quivering.

“He is,” Sandra said. “He does family law for his firm, and they assign him the pro bono cases for the county.” She took a sip of her iced tea and then reached for the sweetener.

Sandra Davis ran the Second Chance Thrift Shop that raised money for the local animal shelter. Born and raised in Maycroft, she was well known in town for her charity work.

“I’m surprised Carolyn’s not serving wine,” Deena whispered to Sandra.

“We’re in the Bible Belt, and most of the older fuddy-duddies still pretend not to drink. There will be champagne with dessert.”

A couple who appeared to be in their late seventies tottered up to the table. The gentleman nodded. “Hello. We are Edwin and Penelope Burrows. I believe we are your tablemates.”

Gary and Ian stood, and Gary pulled out the chair for Penelope. After introductions, Deena looked over her shoulder to see a flock of penguins swoop in delivering the first course. They moved quickly and precisely, like a scene right out of Hello Dolly.

Deena savored the spinach salad drizzled with mustard vinaigrette. “This is delish,” she said to Sandra. “Who is the caterer?”

“I think it’s Chef Jacques,” she said, using the French pronunciation. “He catered last year, too.”

The scent of sweet pine from wreaths and lighted trees filled the room. A tuxedoed gentleman tinkled out carols on the grand piano, adding to the cheery atmosphere. The large room took on a warm, cozy feel now that all the guests were seated and relaxed.

Penelope smiled and waved gregariously at several women around the room. “Now, what did you say your name was, young man?” She leaned toward Gary and put her hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze. “My, aren’t you the strong one,” she added with a flirty grin.

The smell of bourbon smacked his face. “Gary Sharpe,” he said politely, ignoring the second statement.

“You must be new around here. I don’t recall seeing you at any of our club functions.” She put her arm on the table and nudged him with her shoulder. “Are you married?”

Gary looked startled.

“Now Penelope, leave the poor man be. Can’t you see that his wife is sitting right next to him?” Edwin slathered a piece of sourdough bread with butter.

“Oh, fiddle sticks. You know I’m just having fun here with Barry.”

“It’s Gary,” Deena said, leaning over her husband toward the woman who was twenty years her elder. “And yes, he’s married. To me.”

Sandra interrupted. “Look, there’s Russell.”

Deena sat up and watched her brother take his seat between Carolyn and Estelle.

“He sure cleans up well,” Sandra said.

“Doesn’t he look handsome?” Deena hardly recognized him. Rarely did he wear anything other than Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts, even in the winter. She noticed his face was freshly shaven, making him look a little less like Jimmy Buffet than usual.

“Oh, my,” Penelope said, looking over at Russell. “Is he single?”

Gary put his hand on Deena’s leg to stop her from another embarrassing situation. Luckily, the waiters returned to collect the salad plates. A moment later, the entrée arrived. They dined on fennel-crusted prime rib and green beans with shallots. There was also a generous scoop of cheddar and garlic mashed potatoes. This was Texas, after all.

Edwin called over a waiter and semi-discreetly gave him a small wad of bills. A few minutes later, the waiter returned with a large glass for Penelope that he announced was “a Coke.” Clearly, it was Coke mixed with whiskey. Before long, Penelope became absorbed in her meal and her beverage and quit trying to play footsies with Gary.

“Estelle sure looks different from when I met her last summer,” Deena said to Sandra. “She’s practically glowing.”

“Maybe she and Russell are—”

“Ewww! Stop! That’s my brother you’re talking about.” Deena took a sip of tea then savored a bite of potatoes as she observed Estelle. She no longer had a sour, pinched-face look. Her light brown hair was out of its tight bun, falling just below her shoulders. Her pale skin had color, and her make-up showed off her pretty blue eyes. Although she was hardly a candidate for the next “Bachelorette,” she was pleasantly attractive. Russell looked somewhat uncomfortable sitting between the two Fitzhugh women, but Deena could sense an intimacy between him and Estelle that she found absolutely adorable.

Soon the table conversation turned to holiday plans. The pianist played seasonal favorites as guests finished off the main course.

Deena looked down at her satin blouse and tried to wipe off a spot of salad dressing. “By the way, are we still going to the flea market in Canton on Saturday?”

“I’m planning on it,” Sandra said. “My niece is watching the store for me so I can stock up on goodies.” She motioned to the head table. “Look, Carolyn is getting ready to make her speech.”

Waiters rushed around picking up dinner and bread plates. Carolyn tapped the side of her glass with her spoon, and the guests gave her their attention.

“I want to thank everyone for coming tonight and for your generous donations to the Fitzhugh Library.” She glared across the room. “Don’t think I won’t remember you still owe me a book, Walter,” she said, wagging a finger in his direction.

Everyone laughed.

“As you know, the library was built by my late husband, Donald, for the good citizens of Maycroft. Your generous donations help keep it running. And ladies, remember that we are decorating the library for the holidays on Thursday at ten o’clock sharp, so don’t be late. Someone will need to call Penelope to wake her up.”

More laughter followed.

“Now, for the most important part of the evening. This is where we serve you dessert and ask for more money. Gladys is here to talk about the Fitzhugh Women’s Shelter and Bernie will speak about the Fitzhugh Children’s Park. I expect everyone to pay attention and dig deep in your pockets. You all know how much I hate to talk about money, so if you will excuse me for now, I will return in a few minutes for the champagne toast.”

Estelle stood up, right on cue. Everyone clapped, and Estelle wheeled her mother out of the ballroom and closed the doors behind them.

Waiters returned with a fabulous chocolate truffle cheesecake along with coffee and champagne. Gladys stood next to the piano. Before she even started her pitch for the women’s shelter, men reached into their breast pockets for their checkbooks. Several women had brought sealed envelopes as though they were tithing at church. Deena looked at Gary, and he pulled out his checkbook. “How much?” he asked Deena in a whisper.

“How much?” she asked Sandra.

“You’re probably safe giving a hundred,” she whispered back.

“A hundred,” Deena said to Gary. “I hope that’s for both charities.”

After a few minutes, they all clapped for Gladys, and then Bernie walked over to take his turn. Deena looked across the room to see Russell pulling at his tie, looking quite unsettled.

“What happens next?” Deena whispered to Sandra who was pretending to listen to Bernie.

“Everyone will start milling around and gossiping while waiting in line for the powder room. Then Carolyn and Estelle will return. Carolyn will thank everyone again and we’ll all sing ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas.’” She turned back to face Bernie. Whispering over her shoulder, she added, “Also, everyone will guzzle down as much of Carolyn’s champagne as they can while waiting for their cars to be pulled around.”

After Bernie finally finished his spiel, there was a mass exodus for the ladies’ room. Most of the men just stood up to stretch their legs and to greet friends. Deena spoke to several people she knew, including Betty, and then headed over to find Russell.

“How are you doing, big brother?” Russell stood up and gave Deena a hug. “I can’t remember seeing you this dressed up since you were a groomsman in my wedding.”

“Oh, yeah. You made me wear a baby blue tux.”

“Give me a break. It was the Eighties.” She grinned and poked Russell in the arm. “So, tell me about you and Estelle.”

“She’s nice. I like her.”

“Details. I want details. Have you kissed her?”

Russell blushed. “Don’t you have someone else to bother right now? Where’s Gary? I’m sure he’s looking for you.”

“Russell has a girlfriend,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“We have only been seeing each other for about a month. You sure that constitutes boyfriend status?”

“A month is like five years at your age. You are definitely her boyfriend.”

Russell pulled at his tie again.

“I get it,” she said. “But don’t think I won’t be calling you. Should I set another place at Christmas dinner?” With that, she left to join Sandra in line for the ladies’ room.

Before long, the piano player banged out a spirited version of “Deck the Halls,” a signal for the guests to return to their seats. However, just as he got to the second fa-la-la, a shrill voice from the direction of the foyer rang out above the music. “M-o-t-h-e-r!”

Russell jumped from the table and ran to the foyer doors. Estelle stood at the top of the grand staircase. There was Carolyn Fitzhugh, laying spread eagle on the ground at the bottom of the stairs, tangled up in her wheelchair. Two small silver bells rolled around on the floor near her. Estelle raced down the steps and leaned over her mother. Doctors Roberts, Morton, Henley, and Wilson all rushed to her side.

“Call 9-1-1,” someone yelled as the guests began to crowd around.

“Stand back,” Dr. Roberts ordered. “Give her some air.” Russell had his arm around Estelle who was shaking and crying. Dr. Mortimer placed the stethoscope he always kept in his pocket on Carolyn’s chest. After a minute, he sat up and looked at his colleagues, shaking his head. “She’s gone.” A collective gasp seemed to take all the air out of the room.

Estelle let out another cry.

Just then, someone back in the ballroom yelled, “Happy New Year!” It was Penelope Burrows.

Chapter Three

From the time Deputy Trey Simms solved the 50-year-old missing person case last summer, he had been on Sheriff Lowry’s good side. The Perry County sheriff’s race was hotly contested in the November elections, but Lowry had won his fifth term by the width of a fingernail. Deena had covered the race for the Northeast Texas Tribune. Simms had brought in the youth vote and was now a minor celebrity in the area.

Trey Simms was also Carolyn Fitzhugh’s great nephew, which is why he was on security duty the night of the party. Not expecting any trouble, Trey had kept watch outside to make sure the guests’ cars were safe and that lookie-lookers driving past to admire the stately manor didn’t linger too long. His friend Ray was in charge of valet parking. They had spent the evening discussing family, football, and the holidays.

Maycroft, just southeast of Dallas, was a tourist town known as a mecca for antique shops, quaint little inns, and down-home cooking. The crime rate was low, but the population was growing as Dallas continued to burst its seams and spew commuters farther in all directions.

Most residents were Texas Rangers fans, but when it came to football, the town’s loyalties were more contentious. Of course, there were retired snowbirds who had flown south to enjoy their nest egg or open a little bed-and-breakfast. They brought their hometown team spirit with them. For the natives, though, there were just enough people who had family around Houston to create a solid rivalry between the Cowboys and Texans. Playoffs were right around the corner, and both teams were still in the hunt.

Trey had been one of the first people in the door when Carolyn was found on the floor of the foyer. He helped clear out the guests and waited in the house for the coroner to collect the body.  The Fitzhugh estate was just outside the Maycroft city limits, so it fell under the county’s jurisdiction. However, city police and fire departments also provided services to the area. Two other officers showed up with the EMT within minutes of the call.

After all the guests had left, an officer took pictures of the scene. The only “evidence” was Carolyn’s toppled wheelchair. Pending a preliminary report from the local coroner, Carolyn’s death was clearly an accident. She had apparently rolled too close to the edge of the stairs and had tumbled down to the bottom. But because there were no eyewitnesses, her body would be sent to the Medical Examiner’s office in Dallas for a final determination of cause of death.

When he left the house around midnight, Trey promised Estelle he would check with the coroner and stop by to see her in the afternoon.

As he drove up, Wendy was directing the clean-up of the house. She was visibly distraught and not her usual snappy self.

“Oh, I hadn’t expected more police here today,” she said when she saw Trey in his uniform. “An officer last night said it was okay to clear everything out today.” She reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair back in her messy ponytail.

“No problem,” he said. “I’m just here to see my Aunt Estelle.”

“I didn’t realize you were related. I’m sorry for your loss.” She motioned to the parlor. “Estelle is in there.”

Before going into the room, Trey stopped and looked around the foyer, remembering how different it was just hours earlier. Flowers, from lilies to roses to chrysanthemums, had arrived in a steady stream all morning and covered the entry tables. Wendy had placed some of the arrangements along the edge of the large staircase. The sweet smell of flowers mixed with pine from the Christmas decor would have been overwhelming had the front door not been open much of the morning.

Hearing a loud voice coming down the long corridor from the back of the house, Trey followed it to the kitchen. Irene was ordering around the catering staff who were not working fast enough for her liking. They would normally have finished cleaning up before leaving last night, but considering the circumstances, they agreed to return this morning to clean and remove all their equipment.

“What do you want?” Irene asked Trey when he appeared in the doorway.

“Just checking on things.” Her tone surprised him. Irene Harrison had worked for Carolyn more than fifteen years, and he had been around her at several family gatherings. He expected her to be upset but was surprised at her blatant anger. Even though he was only in his second year of law enforcement, he had witnessed the many different ways people dealt with grief. This must be hers, he thought, and backed his way out of the kitchen.

He knocked on the parlor door before entering. Estelle sat on the sofa with her mother’s black-and-white cat, Clover, in her lap. Several of Carolyn’s friends who had been at the party filled the adjacent chairs. Russell stood by one of the room’s large windows and seemed relieved to see Trey. He walked over and shook hands.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Russell said. Leaning in closer, he whispered, “I’m not used to all this social stuff. I really don’t know what to do.”

“Yes sir. I get it.” Trey glanced over Russell’s shoulder and saw the women staring at him. “I’m sure Estelle is just glad you’re here for her.” He walked over to the group. “Hello ladies. Aunt Estelle.” He tipped his Stetson hat politely.

“Please have a seat, Trey. Have you met Mrs. Burlington and Mrs. Smathers?”

“Nice to meet you.” He turned back to his aunt. “I need to go over some information with you in private, if that’s all right.”

Estelle nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Ladies, thank you so much for stopping by. It means a great deal to me. Please tell the other members of the Bluebonnet Club that I appreciate all the flowers and support.”

“That’s so kind of you.”

The women took turns hugging Estelle, and Clover began to hiss. Russell seemed to take their leaving as an opportunity to escape.

“Russell,” Estelle said as she extended her hand to him, “I’d like you to stay.”

The two women shot each other a disapproving glance. Trey wondered if they thought Russell wasn’t good enough for one of Maycroft’s finest families. They probably thought the same about him. He walked them out the front door.

The parlor was decorated in a style to match the Victorian exterior. A red velvet sofa and tapestry-covered chairs surrounded a dark rosewood table. One wall was lined with built-in bookcases that held an eclectic collection of art pieces. Calling it “art” was generous. Most of it was souvenir quality with a bit of gold plate thrown in. They were obviously gifts or pieces collected on Carolyn’s travels.

When he returned, Russell was sitting down and seemed more relaxed. Pulling a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, Trey turned to Estelle. “I have the preliminary report from the coroner. It shows that your mother died of a broken neck caused by the fall. She had trauma to her head, a broken arm, and multiple cuts and lacerations. Those injuries were all secondary to the broken neck. Without performing a full autopsy, they cannot determine if she possibly suffered a stroke or heart attack before the fall. The coroner did not find anything else noteworthy. He ruled it an accident.” He returned the paper to his pocket.

Tears glistened in Estelle’s eyes, but she kept her composure. “Is he going to perform a full autopsy?”

“That will be done up in Dallas, not here locally.”

“How long will it take? We need to make arrangements for the funeral.” She laid her hand protectively on the cat’s back.

“It’s hard to say just yet. The funeral home will help you keep in contact with the ME’s office.”

“Thank you for that information, but that’s not the main reason I wanted you to stop by today.” Estelle motioned toward the parlor doors, and Trey got up to close them.

“So what’s up, Aunt Estelle?”

“Trey,” she said sternly, “there is no way on God’s green earth that this was an accident.”

Her demeanor had turned so suddenly that Trey nearly missed the chair when he sat. This was a new side of his sweet, Southern aunt.

“Mother did not fall down that staircase. She was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Trey and Russell responded in unison.

“That’s right. Mother never went near the top of those stairs. She had no reason to. The only way she would have ended up at the bottom of those steps is if someone pushed her.” Her eyes began to well again, but she sniffed back the tears.

“Aunt Estelle,” Trey said gently, “I know this is a shock for you. Grief is—”

“Don’t give me that speech, Trey. I know what you’re thinking. But I also know my mother. You’ve got to believe me.” The look on her face told the whole story. She meant what she said.

“By the way,” she said turning to Russell, “did you get in touch with Deena?”

“Yeah. She should be here any minute.” Trey noticed some of the color had drained from the poor guy’s face.

Estelle sat back. “Good. I want her to hear this, too.”

There was a knock on the parlor door, and Wendy stuck in her head. “Estelle, do you want me to have the guys deliver these boxes of books to the library?”

“Yes, dear. Also, there are two large boxes of coats we collected at the Fall Fling that need to be taken to Sandra at the thrift shop. Would you mind having them deliver those also? They are in the second room on the right at the top of the stairs.” Hearing her own words made Estelle stop and think again about the sight of her helpless mother sprawled out on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. She shivered, stroking Clover to comfort them both.

Estelle looked back at Trey. “You know, Russell and I met at the Fall Fling. I was collecting coats for the Women’s Shelter. Along came this handsome man with the most beautiful blue wool jacket.”

“I gave him that jacket for his birthday,” Deena said, standing in the doorway.

“Oh, please come in.” As Estelle stood up to greet her, Clover leaped off her lap and onto the coffee table.

Deena hugged Estelle and stepped back. “I’m a-ller-gic!” The final syllable came out as a sneeze. “To cats,” she added.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.” Estelle reached over to pick up Clover. “What’s this?” She lifted up the cat to examine her belly.

Trey leaned closer. A few dark red spots dotted her white fur. “Looks like dried blood.”

Estelle sighed. “What have you gotten yourself into now?” She picked up her mother’s silver dinner bell from the table. After several loud shakes, Irene rushed in looking harried. “Would you please take Clover and see that she is cleaned up?”

Irene stomped out carrying the cat at arm’s length.

“Now, let’s get down to business,” Estelle said. “Thank you for coming over, Deena.”

“I have about an hour before I have to get back to the newspaper. I’m finishing up a piece on the County Commissioner’s court.”

Estelle looked straight at Deena. “I need your help. You have investigative experience. I believe my mother was murdered.” She hurried before Deena could interrupt. “Trey said there is going to be a full autopsy performed. I want them to check for poisons and any other evidence of foul play.”

Trey watched Deena’s reaction and could see the look of surprise on her face. He wanted to assuage Estelle’s suspicions. “Obviously, they will check for everything, but it seems clear that—”

“It doesn’t seem clear to me,” Estelle said. “I’m telling you, someone pushed Mother down those stairs.”

Trey looked at his watch. “I really need to get back to the office. Why don’t you all discuss this and call to fill me in later. For now, though, I would hold off speaking to anyone directly about this. Let’s just wait for the medical examiner’s report.” He walked over and patted his aunt on the shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.” As he walked out, he nodded toward the door so that Deena would follow.

“I’ll walk you out,” she said.

When he and Deena were on the front porch, Trey confided his concern. “I don’t like where this is going,” he said. “You know what’s going to happen if she starts crying ‘murder.’ She’s going to have everyone—including your newspaper—looking at her as the prime suspect.”

Deena shivered against the cold. “Why? Estelle would never have hurt her mother.”

“I agree. But you know what detectives always look for: means, opportunity, and motive. Some people might argue that Estelle had all three.”

“That’s crazy. What would be her motive?”

“Money, of course. You never know what goes on behind closed doors. Who knows what Aunt Carolyn’s will has in it.”

Deena’s teeth chattered. “But she’s going to want me to help her. What should I do?”

“Listen to her theories. Do some snooping around, but make sure it is all hush-hush. Stall. Maybe the medical examiner’s report will bring her back to her senses.”

Deena nodded in agreement.

Trey zipped his jacket. “Now get back inside before you freeze to death. We don’t want to have another dead body in this house.”

* * *

A commotion in the parlor caught Deena off guard. What disaster could have befallen in the short time she’d been out of the house?

Jacques, the head chef from the catering company, Wendy, and Irene were all speaking at once. It was a scene straight out of a reality TV show. Finally, Russell put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly, causing everyone to stop and stare. “What’s the problem?”

Wendy, hands on hips, looked to be at her wits’ end. “Chef Jacques claims one of the carving knives he used last evening is missing. He thinks it was stolen and wants to file a police report. I’m trying to assure him that it was probably just misplaced.”

Irene butted in. “I told him that it will take me a week just to put the kitchen back to the way it was before he and his staff invaded. I said I would let him know the minute it turns up.”

“But what you have not explained is the value of that knife,” Chef Jacques said. “It’s a Katzenbach carving knife worth nearly three-hundred dollars. This is a fine instrument. I used it to cut the prime rib. Did you see even one jagged edge on that meat? Did you see the uniformity of every slice?”

“Did you see how many of Mrs. Fitzhugh’s dishes you used?” Irene asked in her snarkiest tone.

That’s all it took for the arguing to resume. Russell motioned to Wendy. “Would you please ask the staff if they saw anyone in the kitchen last night who shouldn’t have been there? That’s probably what the police would do, if anything. Tell Chef Boy-ar-dee that you are investigating and will get back to him. That should buy a little time until it turns up. If he won’t agree to that, just tell Estelle and she can buy him another one of his over-priced cleavers.” Before letting her go, he added, “Also, can you see if someone can scrounge me up a beer?”

Wendy quickly moved the discussion into the hall and shut the doors behind her.

“Way to go, bro.” Deena smiled at Russell as he sat back down on the chair. She contemplated trying to talk to him alone to tell him the warning she had received from Trey, but she was anxious to find out what Estelle wanted her to do. Things were heating up, along with her curiosity. Her nose still tickled from cat fur, so she looked in her purse for a clean tissue, coming up empty. She didn’t dare ask for one, knowing Estelle would just ring that annoying bell again.

“I want to tell you both why I believe Mother’s death was not an accident.” She pulled on the edges of a delicate, crocheted handkerchief in her lap. “Mother and I had a routine—a system. Her bedroom suite is on one side of the hall, mine and two other rooms are on the opposite side. There is a back stairway next to the kitchen by the maid’s room. It has a motorized lift to the second floor. I can show it to you later after the kitchen clears out. Mother would always get out of her downstairs wheelchair in the kitchen, ride up the stairs, and then get in her upstairs wheelchair. She couldn’t possibly use the front staircase. In fact, it always made her nervous to get too close.”

“Are you saying that your mother was able to stand up by herself?” Deena noticed a few threads of the hankie lying loose in Estelle’s lap. She was obviously a bundle of nerves.

“Yes. She had use of her legs, but she was weak and could only manage a few steps. That’s why she always, always made sure someone was with her when she sat on the electric stair chair. One time it got stuck when she was home alone, and she had to sit there for over an hour. You can imagine how upset she was.”

Deena nodded, having seen the prickly side of Carolyn Fitzhugh the first time they met. She could picture the old woman spitting cactus needles by the time she was rescued.               Wendy knocked on the door and slipped in with a beer for Russell and hot tea for the ladies.

“Thanks,” Russell said, giving Wendy an appreciative smile.

Estelle ignored the tea as the pile of threads in her lap continued to grow. “As I said before, Mother’s routine was to ring a bell when she was ready to go on the stairs.”

Deena and Russell both looked down at the bell on the coffee table.

Estelle obviously knew what they were thinking. “Not that bell. Mother had loads of them all over the house. She always kept a few in her chair, too. When she would ring one, either Irene or I would help her. Since Irene was working with the staff last night, she was supposed to ring for me when she was ready to go back downstairs for the champagne toast. I had finished…um… powdering my nose and waited for the bell. After a few minutes, I went out into the hall, but Mother wasn’t there. I checked her room and then went down to the kitchen to see if she had gone on without me. Irene said she hadn’t.”

Tears began trickling down Estelle’s cheeks, and she pulled harder on what little fabric was left in her hands. Clearly, she was reliving the scene from the previous night. Deena looked over at Russell and gave him a pointed look. He set down the half-empty bottle and went to sit by Estelle, putting his arm across her shoulders.

“That’s when I hurried back up the kitchen stairs. Something made me walk to the end of the hallway to look down from the top of the staircase.” She turned and buried her face in Russell’s neck.

She seemed to be unraveling just like the handkerchief in her lap. Deena could see that Estelle’s sobbing triggered Russell’s protective instinct. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair, whispering words of comfort.

The scene brought tears to Deena’s eyes as well. She had hoped and prayed that her brother would one day find someone to love and grow old with. It looked like he finally had. That warm feeling she always got when finishing a romance novel washed over her. She was ready to declare that they would live happily ever after when another sneeze exploded from her mouth and startled everyone back to reality.

“Well,” Deena said, reaching for a napkin off the tea tray. “It sounds like we have some work to do. I think we need to start investigating, but we had better keep it quiet. We’ll have a better chance of catching the culprit if he—or she—doesn’t know we are suspicious.”

Estelle nodded in agreement.

Thank goodness, Deena thought. “You realize that the only mystery I have ever tried to solve was the death of my uncle, right?” As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted saying them. After what Trey said, the last thing she wanted was for Estelle to hire a private investigator or go to the sheriff.

“I know. I just feel like I can trust you—and Russell. Besides Trey, you are the closest to family I have right now.”

Deena looked at Russell to gauge his reaction. He had a sick look on his face. She wasn’t sure if he was thinking about Carolyn or the knot Estelle seemed to be tying around his ring finger. It was time to put on her super-sleuth façade. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm your mother? Did she have any enemies?”

Estelle stood up. The pile of loose threads fell to the floor. “Oh dear,” she said, staring down at them. “I hate to say it, but there were a few people who didn’t like her. Penelope Burrows, for one.” She walked over to the parlor doors and peeked out. She closed them again and sat in the chair next to Deena. “You see, Mother and Edwin Burrows were once engaged. Penelope did everything she could think of to split them up. It finally worked when my father came along. Still, Penelope was always jealous of Mother. When Father died, Edwin started visiting here often. Mother let it go on a while just to irritate Penelope.”

“That’s the couple who were at our table last night,” Deena said. “Penelope seemed sloshed to me. I never saw her leave the table, but I lost sight of her when I got up to use the ladies’ room. That was right before…” She let her words trail off rather than state the obvious.

“Who else might have had a grudge against her?” Russell asked as he leaned down and picked up the pile of loose threads.

“Ronald Gilbert. He owns the property next to us. About thirty acres. He bought it from my father years ago. What he didn’t realize was that my father kept the mineral rights to the property. Apparently, there’s a fortune in oil under all this land. Father didn’t want oil rigs in the backyard, so he refused to drill.” Estelle’s eyes twinkled a bit as she talked about her father’s cunning business sense. “Mr. Gilbert tried to buy the rights many times over the years, but Father refused to sell. He said he had plenty of money from his other land holdings and didn’t want to spoil the natural beauty around here. After he died, Mother refused to sell them as well.”

Russell stood up to stretch his legs and walked over to the large window and pushed back the heavy brocade drapes. Looking out at the landscape, he asked, “Why would that give him a reason to murder your mother?”

“Maybe he thought I would sell the house and move if she were gone. Maybe he thought I would just sell him the mineral rights.” Estelle looked at Deena. “I don’t know what his intentions might have been, but I do know he despised my family. You can just sense these things, you know?”

Deena shook her head. “I understand. I definitely think that puts him on the list of suspects. Was he at the party?”

“Yes, of course. You know, that’s how we do things in the South. We smile to your face, but talk about you behind your back. We always kept a pretense of hospitality with the Gilberts, bless their hearts.”

Deena pulled a small spiral from her purse to write down a few notes. “Russell, make sure you get that list of names from Wendy. We need to know who might have been snooping around last night.”

He shook his head his head in agreement.

Trey had asked her to stall Estelle so she wouldn’t take her suspicions to the authorities. But Deena was beginning to wonder if Estelle might be on to something. That left her stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Chapter Four

Except for a few houses, Butterfly Gardens, Deena and Gary’s subdivision, was in full holiday decoration mode. Those residents who refused to participate cited reasons of religion, resources, or just plain rancor. Deena loved holiday decor but didn’t go overboard like some of her neighbors. People in the suburbs were notoriously competitive. Whether it was whose child had the most goals at the youth soccer game or who could be first to bring food to the new neighbors, there seemed to be an invisible scorecard, and she and Gary were always somewhere near the bottom.

When she got home from the newspaper office, she had a booming headache and a runny nose. “Remind me to take an antihistamine the next time I go to Estelle’s,” she told Gary as he walked in the door from work. She sat at the kitchen table addressing Christmas cards.

“And hello to you, too.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “What’s up?”

“Hold on to your hat. This is big.” She waited as he pulled off his tie and sat down at the table. “Estelle thinks her mother was murdered.” She watched for his reaction.

“I’m not surprised.”

“You’re kidding! Why would you think that?”

Gary got up and walked toward the bedroom. “Because, who falls down their own stairs in the middle of a party with a house full of people? It’s a little too coincidental, don’t you think?”

Deena sat on the edge of the bed while Gary changed into jeans and a t-shirt. “Well, I guess. But to think she was murdered seems harder to believe.” Deena was stunned at Gary’s reaction. He was not the dramatic kind. “So who do you think is the likely culprit?”

“Estelle.” He walked past her to the kitchen.

“Estelle?” Gary’s lackadaisical attitude was beginning to annoy her. “How can you say something like that and be so calm? And what are you doing?”

“Making sandwiches for dinner. Want one?”

“Sure.” She plopped down at the table. “Trey told me privately to keep Estelle from talking about murder in public because it might make her end up looking guilty.”

“That makes sense.” Gary spread mustard on one side of the bread and mayonnaise on the other, using a different knife for each. It was no wonder he became an accountant. He was meticulous about everything he did. “She probably got tired of waiting for her mother to kick so she could start her own life. Russell may have had something to do with that.”

“What? You think Russell was—”

“No, I mean, being with him may have made her more anxious to get out from under her mother’s control. And don’t forget about the money she stands to inherit.” He brought the turkey and Swiss cheese sandwiches to the table. “I’m having a beer. What would you like?”

“I would like you to sit down and talk to me about this whole thing,” she said, glaring at him.

“Wine, it is.” He poured her a glass and joined her at the table. “This is the last of the Thanksgiving leftovers.”

She took a sip from her glass. “Let’s assume Estelle had a motive, opportunity, and…and…what’s the third thing?”

“Means,” Gary said with a mouthful of sandwich.

“Right, means. Why would she bring up murder in the first place? Why would she ask me to help her with the investigation?”

Gary choked on his sandwich and took a swig of beer to wash it down. “So now you are involved, too? You realize you are an ex-journalism teacher turned reporter, not private investigator.”

Picking up her sandwich, Deena’s tone turned sentimental.  “You should have seen Russell and Estelle together. They were so cute. She called us ‘family.’ How could I say no?” The wine warmed her insides.

Gary didn’t even try to argue. “What investigating do you plan to do?”

“Apparently, Penelope Burrows is Carolyn’s longtime enemy. You remember her from the party, right?”

“Oh, yes. I can still feel the bruise where she squeezed my thigh most of the night.”

“She and the ladies from the Bluebonnet Club are decorating the library for the holidays as one of their service projects tomorrow. I’m going to volunteer to help. Penelope will be there, so hopefully I can get some information from her.”

“Don’t you have to work at the paper tomorrow?”

“Lloyd said I could take some time off. I told him I had some personal business to take care of.” She ate a few bites of her sandwich and thought about the conversation at Estelle’s house. Then she told Gary about the argument over the missing knife.

“You asked me why I thought Estelle might have brought up murder in the first place if she’s guilty,” he said. “Simple. A good offense is the best defense. She goes on the attack before anyone else gets a jump on it first.”

“Do you honestly think she might have done it? If so, shouldn’t I say something to Russell?”

“I’m not saying she did or didn’t. There’s not enough evidence yet. However, she’s the most obvious early contender. The game has just started, though. It’s the first quarter, so a lot could happen.” He chugged the end of his beer. “I don’t think you should say anything to Russell at this point. You don’t want him to resent you for not taking his girlfriend’s side.”

“You’re right. I’d hate to put a wedge between us.” Gary was always so level headed. She, on the other hand, tended to be more reactive. “I’ll just stall like Trey said until the final autopsy report comes back.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “But I’m going to be keeping my eye on Estelle, for sure.” She thought about Carolyn’s brother, Glenn, and her discovery from the previous summer. “After all, we know of at least one bad apple in their family orchard already.”

Chapter Five

Finally something he could get into, Russell thought. He agreed to pick up Estelle and go with her to Mortimer’s Funeral Home to make preparations for Carolyn’s interment. It wasn’t that he was obsessed with death; he just thought it would be more interesting than hanging out in the parlor watching the parade of visitors dripping condolences all over Estelle.

Sitting across from Jeffrey Mortimer, Russell’s mind wandered while Estelle signed a stack of papers and talked about insurance. He wondered how a man could spend his whole life dealing with grief and death. When he saw Jeffrey’s Rolex watch peek out from under the sleeve of his black suit, he had his answer. His attention was brought back to the discussion when he heard the words “concrete burial vault.”

“I assume you want the premium model.” Jeffrey filled in the paperwork without even looking up at Estelle.

“Now wait a minute,” Russell said. “Let’s hear about this.” He saw a look of surprise on Estelle’s face. “Tell us about these vaults.”

Jeffrey reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a brochure. “There are three types. The basic vault only includes a single liner. You don’t want that. The standard vault has thicker walls to keep out water, insects, and any other elements. It’ll get the job done—for a while.”

Russell put on his reading glasses and leaned forward, trying to take in the brochure’s details. Before he could read much, Jeffrey turned the page.

“Now if you really want to protect your beloved mother for the longest time possible, this is what you want. The Premium Platinum Protection Vault. Not only does it contain the thickest walls possible, the liner is made with semi-precious materials to delay rust and erosion of the casket. You can even add photographs or emblems to the lid as a lasting memorial to your dear, sweet mother.” Jeffrey sat back and let out at long sigh, apparently satisfied with himself.

Russell imagined it was the same sound the man made after hanky panky with the little woman.

Estelle put her hand on Russell’s arm. “What do you think, darling?”

He cringed at the sappy term. “You see, I’m kind of an expert myself in underground containment. My buddy Cliff and I are building a bunker designed to last fifty years or more. Can yours do that?”

Caught off guard, Jeffrey cleared his throat to answer. “Fifty years is a long time, Mr. Sinclair. It’s hard to say.” He carefully refolded the brochure. “How about this. You come back in fifty years and dig up the vault. If there is a leak, I’ll give Miss Fitzhugh here a full refund.” He let out a hearty laugh, and Estelle smiled weakly.

Russell wasn’t laughing.

“Hmm. One more question. Does this vault do anything to keep the corpse from drying up like an old rotted prune and being eaten away by worms and maggots?”

“Russell!” Estelle turned to Jeffrey. “We’ll take the Premium model.”

“Fine.” He put the brochure back in the drawer and closed it with a definitive bang. “I’ll be back in a moment to take you to see the casket selections.” He strolled out of the room, victory oozing from every pore.

Estelle waited until Jeffrey was out of earshot. “What was that all about?”

Russell watched her face and neck turn red like Deena’s did when she was angry. Must be a girl thing, he thought. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like seeing people throw away money. I saw men—young men—buried on the battlefield with nothing more than a few handfuls of dirt. It doesn’t seem natural to lay down so much cash on something that goes into the ground and you never see again.”

“That ‘something’ you are referring to is my mother!” She stared at Russell and tightened her grip on the purse in her lap.

“That’s not what I meant.” He studied her face and realized he was out of line. This was their first fight, and it was his fault. “Look, it’s your mother, your money, your call. I don’t want to interfere.”

Her expression soften. “I’m so glad you’re here, Russell. I’m just on edge. I don’t know how I would have managed this without you.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek.

She’s got spunk, he thought. I like that. She’s not afraid to stand up for herself.

Jeffrey returned and asked the couple to follow him.

Russell stood and offered Estelle his arm. “Let’s go, dear, and pick us out the best kick-ass, heavy-duty, Cadillac coffin of all time!”

As they followed Jeffrey down the hall, Russell thought about how deep a hole he was digging, relationship-wise, that is. He also wondered how long it would last and how long it would be until Estelle unearthed his inner demons.

Chapter Six

Someone had to be the chairman of the Library Service Project, and this year the chore fell to Helen Burlington. She had a harder time than usual getting volunteers since Carolyn’s death had spread a pall over the event. About five years earlier, the elite club grew weary of serving the community. Some of the members had moved away or passed away—shirking their responsibilities. That’s when the group decided to bring in fresh blue blood.  The only women they trusted to carry on the mantel of town snobbery were their daughters and nieces. Unfortunately, not many had stayed around Maycroft. Besides that, the town’s Junior League held more prestige and offered more perks for the younger women.

Deena was running late—as usual. One of her worst habits was tardiness, which was ironic since she had spent twenty-nine years as a school teacher. If only her darn clothes dryer hadn’t stopped in the middle of a cycle, she would have been right on time. She had forgotten to pick up the dry cleaning, and now she had to choose a different outfit. Her pink Nordic sweater looked best with her gray slacks. Since they were still wet, she had to find a different sweater that would go with her navy pants, the only nice ones left in her closet. She tried on three before choosing a green cardigan. She dug around in her closet to find an acceptable pair of shoes. One of these days, she would get more organized.

As she drove the short distance to the library, she glanced in the car mirror at her forehead. The bruise had gotten darker. At least it matched her green sweater, she thought. More concerning, though, was the Bluebonnet Club. What if they didn’t want her to be there? What will she say to Penelope? Before she could think too hard, she was pulling into the parking lot.

From her car, she watched as Betty held open the door for Helen as she carried in a box of supplies. Maybe it was okay that she was fashionably late. Here goes nothing, she thought, and headed to the front door.

Expecting to find a flurry of activity inside, Deena was surprised to see just four women drinking coffee at a table covered with boxes of assorted decorations. She spotted Betty at the front desk and walked over.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” Betty said. “I thought you’d be at the newspaper office writing Carolyn’s obituary.”

“That’s Laurie’s beat. I write about politics, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. Are you here to help decorate?”

“I thought I would lend a hand if the Bluebonnets will have me.”

“They can use all the help they can get.” Betty walked Deena over to the table. “Ladies, this is Deena Sharpe. She is a friend of Estelle’s and was at the party Tuesday. She is volunteering to help with the decorating.”

“Bless your heart,” Helen said. “We were just discussing themes. Have a seat.”

Relieved, she pulled up a chair. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well,” Helen said, “we had chosen Santa’s Sleigh Ride as our theme, but somebody lost the sleigh.”

“I told you I didn’t lose it. I just can’t remember where I stored it.” Doris Smathers looked indignant and added another packet of sugar to her coffee.

“Regardless, we are all out of ideas.”

Deena thought about all the holiday themes in her classroom and the school library. “Let me see,” she said, getting up to peruse the decorations.

“Whatever it is, let’s make it simple,” Helen said. “I don’t want to be here all day. I need to get my hair done.”

Deena spotted a large cut-out of Santa Claus. “How about ‘St. Nick’s Story Time?’ We could use that wooden Santa and make a display of Christmas and Hanukkah books. We could make a little wreath for each table with a book in the center.”

“I love it,” Helen said. They all nodded in agreement.

“Me, too!” A shrill voice from behind her startled Deena as she turned around to see Penelope Burrows wearing a tacky snowman sweater and blinking earrings. “Grab your guns, ladies, and let’s knock this thing out.”

“Guns?” Deena asked.

“Glue guns, of course.”

Deena made a list of supplies they would need and sent Helen and Doris on their way to the craft store. She assigned Lynne and Roberta to help Betty start pulling the books they would put on display. That left her and Penelope to prepare the Santa background.

Deena smiled at Penelope as they unwrapped the large wooden panels. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Pardon me? I don’t believe we have ever met.”

“Don’t you remember? We met—” Deena stopped herself, thinking it might be better not to mention that they had been at the same table. “I’m Deena Sharpe.”

“Nice to meet you. Are you related to the Sharpes of Palm Springs?”

“I don’t believe so.” Deena pulled on the butcher paper wrapping.

“Hmm.” Penelope set down Santa’s head.

For the next few minutes, they worked in silence as Deena tried to think of something to say. She noticed that Penelope had applied heavy make-up to her face and neck, trying to cover up several deep scratches. She also had scratches on one of her hands. Deena was sure she would have remembered those abrasions from the party. After all, Penelope had been up close and personal with Gary. “Such a shame about Carolyn,” Deena said at last.

Penelope brushed dust off her dark wool slacks. “Time for a break.” Walking over to the table, she poured herself a cup of coffee and then pulled a prescription bottle out of her purse. Deena watched her gulp down the pills with her hot coffee.

“About Carolyn,” Deena said, “can you believe she fell down the stairs in her own house?”

“Crazy old witch. I’m not surprised by anything she did. You reap what you sow.”

“Oh, I thought you two were friends.” Deena faked the surprise in her voice.

“Couldn’t stand her. She was such a phony. Everyone thought she was so generous and thoughtful. I knew who she really was. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m glad the old cow is gone to that big grazing pasture in the sky.” She reached back in her purse, pulled out a small bottle of Jack Daniels, and poured a generous amount into her coffee. “Just a little something to get over the grief, if you know what I mean.” She winked at Deena and took a big swig from her cup. “Want some?”

“No thanks. I’m not really into day drinking.” Not wanting to appear shocked, Deena picked up her cell phone and opened her Pinterest app. She had pinned a small wreath that she thought would work perfectly for the centerpieces.

Lynne rolled a cart over with the books they had found. “This may be more than we need, but better safe than sorry. I’ll leave them on the cart until we decide where to put them.”

Deena thought of a new approach get the lowdown on Penelope. “Lynne, would you mind helping me move the Santa display into place?”

“As long as it’s not too heavy. My back’s been giving me trouble.” They walked to the far side of the library. Deena asked Lynne to carry Santa’s head and she carried the body. They set the pieces down and began scooting a table and chairs out of the way.

“Poor Carolyn,” Deena said, opening the conversation.

“Bless her heart. I’m really going to miss her. Such a tragic accident. And right there in her own home.” Lynne shook her head.

“I know.” Deena considered her words carefully. “You don’t think she might have been on some medication that made her disoriented, do you? Or maybe have had a drink?”

“Drink! Heavens, no. Carolyn was not that sort.” Lynne lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’ll let you in on a secret, though. Penelope Burrows is the biggest lush this side of the Mason Dixon.”

“No!” Deena tried to sound shocked.

“Yes, ma’am. Did you see her at the party? She was so drunk she couldn’t even walk. I watched her try to get up to go to the ladies’ room, but she was so soused that Edwin made her sit back down.”

“Oh, my.” Deena shook her head in disbelief. “Is it true that she and Carolyn were not best of friends?”

“That’s an understatement. You should have seen them at the Fall Fling. I thought for sure Penelope was going to start a cat fight. Luckily, Edwin broke it up. He was always sweet on Carolyn, you know.”

“Really?” Deena stood holding the display, ready to put it in place. “Did you notice those scratches on her hand and face? What do you think happened?”

“She said she tripped and fell into the Christmas tree on the front porch when she was leaving Carolyn’s. I didn’t see it, but it sounds like something she would do when she’s all liquored up.”

“You two aren’t gossiping about me, are you?” Penelope appeared again from nowhere.

“Of course not, dear. By the way, I just love that sweater,” Lynne said and smiled sweetly.

Penelope grinned and turned to Deena. “You know, honey, unless you want to ruin your reputation around here, you might want to take your hand off Santa’s crotch. Some people might get the wrong idea.”

Deena looked down to see how she was holding the display. “Oh, my,” she said again as her face and neck reddened. “Pardon me, Santa. Is that a candy cane in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Penelope howled, Lynne blushed, and Deena wished she had held her tongue.

By the time she was finally heading home, she had ruled out Penelope as a suspect. It seemed she had never left the table during the party. If she were drunk enough to take a tumble on the porch when leaving the party, she was definitely too drunk to have managed the stairs unnoticed.

Deena blew on her thumb where she had burned herself with the glue gun. For a bunch of snobby old gossips, the Bluebonnet gals were actually some hard workers. She couldn’t help but laugh thinking about how they teased each other. It reminded her that people are just people—even if they are rich.

Hopefully, Trey was right, and Carolyn’s death was just a tragic accident. Deena hated trying to find the worst in people instead of the best. Still, Estelle had a point. It didn’t seem likely that Carolyn would have just rolled too near the edge of the stairs. If Penelope’s jealousy weren’t a motive, maybe greed was the ugly hand of the killer. The reading of Carolyn’s will was scheduled for this evening. Maybe there would be new leads. Deena prayed none of them would point right back in the direction of her brother’s new girlfriend.

Chapter Seven

Without even looking at his cell phone, Russell knew the call was from Cliff just by the ringtone. As they pulled into the side driveway of Estelle’s house, Russell saw a sleek black Porsche parked at the curb and a man knocking on the door.

“Who is that?” He knew it was too early for Jim Redmond to be there about the will.

“Um…uh…just someone I know.” Estelle was out of the truck before he could put it in park.

He caught the phone call right before it went to voicemail. “Hey man, what’s up?”

“Are you with Estelle again? She’s got you on a short leash,” Cliff said.

“Nah. She just wanted me to help her with the funeral arrangements. Later, we are going to meet with the attorney about the will.” He watched as Estelle and the stranger went inside and closed the door behind them.

“Hey, don’t let that guy cheat her. You know how some of those lawyers can be.”

“I’m on it. So what’s up?”

“Just checking to see if we’re still going hunting on Saturday? It’s the last time we can shoot ducks ‘til after the holidays.”

“You bet. I need some guy time.” Russell hesitated. “Although, I will need to check with Estelle just to be sure.”

“She’s got you bagged and tagged, buddy. Call me later and let me know if the little woman gives you permission.”

“Yeah, will do.” Russell got out of his truck and looked back over at the shiny new Porsche. Not a car you see very often around these parts, he thought. Probably another family friend there to gush over Estelle. Amazing how many people come out of the woodwork when someone dies. Although Russell had a soft heart, he hated all the emotional stuff.

When he walked inside, Estelle was coming out of the parlor trailed by the tall, middle-aged man. He was dressed ready for a blizzard, wearing a wool scarf wrapped up to his chin, a heavy overcoat, and leather gloves. Russell could see Irene watching them from the kitchen.

Estelle stopped in the foyer. “Russell, this is Blake Whitman.” They shook hands. “Russell, would you mind waiting for me in the parlor while I show Mr. Whitman out?”

“No problem. Nice to meet you, Blake.” Russell walked off, relieved he didn’t have to sit through another visit. He could hear muffled voices outside the room and wondered how long Estelle would be occupied. Thinking about his dog being shut inside the house all morning, he checked his phone to see the time. He needed to get home to let Maggie outside. Debating whether to call Cliff back and ask him to do it, he decided he could use a break. After all, he would be back there that evening for the reading of the will.

When he opened the parlor door, his mouth dropped. Blake had his arms around Estelle, and they were locked lip-to-lip in a kiss. And not the friend-of-the-family kind either.

Estelle turned around when she heard Russell. Her face was flushed and her lipstick was smeared.

“Russell…” Her voice cracked as she tried to speak.

The three of them stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. Blake broke the silence. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said to Estelle and left the house.

“Who was that?” Russell had a feeling he knew but wanted to hear it from Estelle.

“He’s a friend—was a friend. He—I don’t want to talk about it. I’m exhausted. I’m going to go lie down.”

“But—”

“It’s none of your concern. I’m going up to my room.”

“Good. I need to go home and take care of Maggie.” Russell picked up his jacket and started for the door.

“Maggie? Who is she?” Estelle lifted her chin, staring at Russell indignantly.

“I told you before. Maggie is my dog.”

“You are coming back tonight for the reading of the will, aren’t you? Deena will be here.” She moved toward him, but he kept walking.

“Maybe.” Pulling the heavy front door behind him, Russell felt like an escaped prisoner. How had he let her get to him? Maybe she wasn’t the person he thought she was. She wasn’t being honest about that guy, and honesty was his number one priority in a relationship. That’s the main reason he was still single. He knew he had trust issues, and they ran deep.

He got in his pickup and sped off. They had only dated a month. It never occurred to him that she might be seeing someone else. He needed to talk to her so he could find out where he stood. Why had he let himself get in so deep? One thing he knew for sure: If she didn’t come clean about this Blake Whitman, they were finished.

* * *

These days it is unusual to have a formal reading of a person’s will. However, since multiple parties were involved, Jim Redmond agreed to do it the old-fashioned way this time. Estelle wanted Irene and Trey to be present since she knew her mother had named them as beneficiaries.

Irene had prepared coffee and a cream cheese pound cake covered with a light vanilla glaze. She had asked Marie James to come over to serve the guests.

Irene knew Marie could use the extra money. Her husband had a questionable reputation, and she had two children to support. Marie came to Carolyn’s three times a week to do laundry and perform house-cleaning chores. She also helped out on special occasions, like the Fitzhugh’s annual Christmas party.

When Deena rang the doorbell, Marie greeted her. She took Deena’s coat and showed her to the parlor.

“Hello. Jim Redmond.” The attorney stood up and reached out his hand to greet her.               Irene was sitting in one of the straight back chairs near the side wall. It was the first time Deena had seen her wearing anything other than her housekeeper’s uniform. She had her hair down and was actually quite attractive.

Neither Estelle nor Russell was there.

“Would you all care for some coffee?” Out of habit, Irene got up to serve the guests.

“Thanks, I’ll have some coffee. That cake looks delicious,” Deena added, knowing Irene had likely prepared it. “Is Russell here yet?”

“I don’t believe so, ma’am. He left earlier this afternoon and hasn’t returned.”

Deena added sweetener and cream to her coffee while Jim Redmond read over his legal papers. The atmosphere was tense. At last, Estelle came in looking somewhat more haggard than the day before and sat down on the sofa.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said. “I thought Russell would be here, but I suppose he couldn’t make it.” She looked at Deena.

“Maybe he’s running late.” She looked at her watch and wondered where her brother could be. Unless he were ill, he would have been here on time. “Should I call him?”

“No,” Estelle said flatly. “My nephew Trey was also supposed to be here, but he had to work. Let’s just get started.”

Mr. Redmond reached for his briefcase and pulled out another folder. “Before we get started, I want you to know that there are other persons named in the will. I will be sending each of them a certified letter in regards to the will’s contents.”

Estelle seemed to be distracted. When she realized Mr. Redmond was waiting for her to say something, she said, “That’s fine.” Deena wondered if she even knew what she had agreed to.

“I can read from the will verbatim or summarize the important parts. It is up to you two.” He looked at Estelle and Irene.

“A summary is fine with me,” Estelle said and looked at Irene who nodded in agreement. Deena reached over and took one of the strawberries garnishing the cake plate.

“We are here to read the Last Will and Testament of Mrs. Carolyn Fitzhugh. Before we discuss the disposition of her assets, I need to go over exactly what those assets are.” He cleared his throat and began reading. “One. The estate containing forty-six acres of land in the county of Perry, Texas, including the residence and other buildings on said property. Two. All of the furnishings and other personal property contained within and on said estate. Three.” He looked up at Estelle and Irene. “This is a long list, but I think it is important to review it for the record.”

“That’s fine.” Estelle clenched her hands in her lap. “Please continue.”

Bright lights illuminated the front window as a car drove up the long driveway. “That must be Russell.” Deena jumped up to meet her brother as the attorney continued reading.

When she opened the front door, Russell was getting out of his car. His breath formed a smoky fog as he walked up the steps. “You’re late.” Deena took his coat and handed it to Marie who had walked up behind her.

“I almost didn’t come,” he whispered, blowing on his hands to warm them. “Estelle and I had a fight today. I’ll tell you about it later.”

They walked in and Estelle patted the sofa indicating she wanted Russell to sit next to her. She seemed relieved.

“Mr. Redmond, I think I’d prefer you just let us read the rest of the list for ourselves,” Estelle said. “I didn’t expect this to be quite so tedious. Would that be all right with you, Irene?

“Yes ma’am.” She shot an annoyed look at Russell.

Deena noticed that it was not the straight back chair making Irene sit so upright. She looked uncomfortable in the situation.

“If both parties agree, I will move on to the disposition of the property.” He turned several pages of the document until he found the one he wanted. Clearing his throat again, he began reading. “I, Carolyn Rose Brice Fitzhugh, being of sound mind and body, etcetera…leave all of my assets and debts to my daughter Estelle Rose Fitzhugh to be settled and bound upon my death, with the following provisions.” He looked over the top of his glasses at Estelle. “There is some legal jargon here about the executor and probating the will.” He stopped and drank a sip from his coffee.

Deena wondered if it was thirst or a flair for the dramatics that made him stop.

“Article one. I bequeath $100,000 each to the Fitzhugh Public Library, the Fitzhugh Women’s Shelter, and the Fitzhugh Public Park in Maycroft, Texas. Article two. I bequeath $100,000 to my great-nephew Roy Glenn Simms, III—Trey—of Bingham, Texas. Article three. I bequeath $15,000 to my dear friend and employee Irene Harrison of Maycroft, Texas.”

Irene let out a gasp, and everyone turned her way. Deena couldn’t tell if she looked excited or disappointed.

Mr. Redmond continued. “Article four. I bequeath all property rights, including mineral rights, for the land designated as tract seven to Ronald Gilbert of Maycroft, Texas.”

It was Estelle’s turn to gasp. She looked at Deena and Russell, but then quickly regained her composure.

“Article five. I bequeath $50,000 to Barnabus Bigelow of Wolfshed, Texas.”

“Who?” Estelle looked confused.

“Barnabus Bigelow,” he repeated. “There is no relationship given.” He paused and drank another few sips of coffee. “That’s the gist of it. I have a very rough estimate of your inheritance, Miss Fitzhugh, based on last year’s tax return if you would like me to give it to you.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll meet with my accountant next week to sort all this out. Please, everyone, have some dessert.” She stood up and rang the bell. Marie entered promptly and began cutting the cake.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I think I’ll go to my room now,” Irene said.

“Oh, please stay, Irene. You are a guest this evening.”

Deena turned an ear toward the two women so she could better hear their conversation. They were close in age, although Irene was thinner and had darker brown hair that she usually wore pulled back in a bun.

“I know we haven’t talked about what’s going to happen now that Mother is gone, but I hope you know I want you to stay and continue working here,” Estelle said. “You have become an important part of the family. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” As she took a step forward, Irene took a step back.

“Thank you, Miss Fitzhugh,” she said stiffly. “I will let you know of my plans in the next few weeks.” Deena watched her leave the room. Estelle looked surprised by the response.

“Deena,” Russell said. “Come have some cake.”

She knew he was uncomfortable sitting alone with Mr. Redmond. Russell was quite congenial with people he knew, but shy and reserved with strangers.

After about fifteen minutes, Jim Redmond announced it was time to be getting back home. They all thanked him and Estelle walked him out.

“Whew. Survived another one.” Russell leaned back in his chair and relaxed.

“Are you okay? I’m worried that all this stress is going to bring on one of your migraines.”

“Me, too. So far it’s been okay.”

She set down her plate and reached for the cup Marie had refilled. “Wow. Estelle has more money than I thought. How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know. She—”

Estelle returned to the parlor and closed the doors behind her. She rushed over to sit next to Russell. “I’m so sorry.” She buried her head in his neck. “I should have told you the whole story.”

“It’s okay. As long as you tell me the truth, it’s okay.” He patted her on the back.

Deena felt awkward as the two began talking softly. She walked down the hall to the powder room to give them privacy. Staring in the gold mirror with little carved cherubs, she thought about the early days of her relationship with Gary. They would fight and make up, usually unable to remember what they had argued over in the first place. She missed the passion. Still, she thought as she looked at her gray roots in the mirror, she wouldn’t trade the relationship they had now for anything. Gary was her best friend and their love was deeper than mere passion.

After a few minutes, she walked back in and could see that whatever was wrong seemed to have been resolved. Russell had his arm draped across Estelle’s shoulders and she was nestled up next to him.

“Is everything okay with you two?” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. It was probably going to keep her awake, but she couldn’t resist the rich aroma.

“All’s well,” Russell said and gave her a nod.

“So who is the stranger your mother left money to?” Deena asked.

“I have no idea. I’ve never heard of him.” Russell picked up the folder of papers the attorney had left and handed it to Estelle. “Find the spelling of his name, and I’ll look him up on my phone.”

“Here it is.” She read out the letters.

Russell entered the information and began scrolling through the results.

Deena lowered her voice. “What about Irene? I couldn’t read her reaction. If someone just gave me $15,000, I’d at least smile.”

“Maybe she expected more. After all, she has worked for mother for almost twenty years. I should probably give her extra. But the way she spoke to me just now gave me the creeps.”

“Do you think she’ll stay on here? Does she have family? Where do they live?”

“Hold on, madam reporter. One question at a time. I don’t know if she’ll stay. I want her to… I think. She has family in Louisiana. That’s all I really know.”

“And Mr. Gilbert? Could he possibly have known the mineral rights for his property were in the will?”

Estelle shook her head. “I don’t know. If so, it might be a motive.”

“Your mother was full of surprises. I wish I had gotten to know her better.”

Russell put his phone back in his pocket. “Can’t find anything on the internet. You sure you have never heard of this guy?”

“Positive. With a name like ‘Barnabus Bigelow,’ I think I’d remember.”

Deena set down her cup. “So, I guess we need to find out who he is and if he belongs on the list of suspects.”

“Speaking of lists,” Estelle said, “I finally got one from the night of the party. Irene wasn’t helpful at all, so I told Wendy I would ask around myself.” She retrieved a folded paper from an ornate box sitting on the large bookshelf. “Marie was apparently the only one who paid any attention to what was going on that night. She wrote out this list of non-staff she remembered seeing in the kitchen.” Estelle handed it to Deena who read it aloud.

“Miss Carolyn’s friend with bushy eyebrows. Man with red hair. Miss Estelle’s boyfriend. ”

“Me?” He sounded startled. “I never left the ballroom. I barely got there in time for the party to start.”

“I remember,” Estelle said and gave him a wink.

“And Mr. Gilbert.” The name sent a chill down her spine. “He’s definitely a suspect now.”

“The friend with bushy eyebrows is Tilly George. She and Mother have been friends for years. She got here early to see if there was anything she could do to help. Mother asked her to look in on the kitchen staff so she would feel useful. I’m not worried about her at all.”

“What about the man with red hair?” Deena handed the list back to Estelle.

She shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone at the party with that description.” She put the list back in the box and returned it to the bookshelf. “By the way, Jeffrey Mortimer from the funeral home called. The Medical Examiner is releasing mother’s body on Monday, and the service is going to be next Thursday. Will you make sure they get the notice in the newspaper?”

“Of course,” Deena said. “By the way, did anyone ever find the missing butcher knife?”

“Not that I’ve heard. I’ll ask Irene tomorrow.”

Russell picked up the will. “I’m interested in this Bigelow fella. Maybe we should take a road trip and pay him a visit. He should be happy since he’s now $50,000 richer.”

“Money is the root of all evil,” Estelle said to Russell.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had much.”

Deena laughed at her brother. “Well, after what happened today, Penelope Burrows is off the list.” She gave a quick recap of her encounter at the library. “Right now, we should focus on Mr. Gilbert and the mystery heir.” She stood up and looked around for her coat. Luckily, instead of ringing the bell, Estelle went to get it herself.

Deena waited until Estelle was out of earshot. “Glad you two worked things out.”

“Me, too,” Russell whispered. “Only one problem. I’ve never really trusted rich people, and I’m not positive I can trust Estelle.”

Chapter Eight

Sitting in the office of Lloyd Pryor at the Northeast Texas Tribune used to intimidate Deena. Now that she had gotten to really know the editor-in-chief, she felt comfortable plopping down in one of several overstuffed chairs and discussing the latest story leads. The regional newspaper covered local news across three counties and published every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.

Besides a nose for news, she and her boss had something else in common. They were both teachers at heart. Lloyd was a seasoned journalist and did what he could to help bring along the younger members of his staff. He had worked for years in Baltimore but moved back to Texas ten years earlier so his wife could take care of her ailing parents.

The place was hopping on Friday in preparation for Saturday’s edition. She wanted to check in with Laurie to make sure she included the time and date of the funeral service in the feature she was writing on Carolyn. Lloyd had told Deena she could take a few weeks off to deal with personal business. Little in the way of local politics ever happened in early December anyway, especially with the state legislature out of session.

Lloyd huddled over a large cinnamon bear claw and steaming cup of brew. Sticking her head in the door, she asked, “So what’s news today?” She fully expected his usual quip of ‘Nothing. What’s news with you?’ But instead, Pryor motioned for her to come in. He had that look in his eye. It’s a glint that shrewd reporters get when they sense a story is in sniffing distance.

“I know you said you were helping out your brother and Estelle Fitzhugh for the next few weeks, but I get a sense there’s more to it. Are you going to spill the beans or make me beat it out of you?”

Her face flushed and her nose tickled. She had never been a very good liar. Too much of a conscience, probably. She shuffled her feet like a schoolgirl called out by the principal. It was no use. “It could be something or it could be nothing.”

“You think Carolyn Fitzhugh was murdered, don’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Deena’s jaw dropped, but she quickly snapped it shut. “No-o,” she answered feebly, drawing the word out to two syllables.

“But somebody does. Am I right?” Drops of dark coffee slid from his chin and made another casualty of his tie.

She took a seat in her favorite chair and searched for just the right words. Speaking slowly, like a judge giving complex instructions to a jury, she proceeded to answer. “Let’s just put it this way. If circumstances present themselves as such to reveal information that could be used to draw a conclusion that was formerly dismissed and therefore left unknown, then there could be a likelihood—”

“Cut the crap,” Lloyd said, dismissing her double-speak. “I trust you. And if this turns out to be a story, I expect you to include every juicy morsel. Deal?”

“Deal.” She smiled and left the office. Reprieved for now.

Laurie’s desk was too neat for a reporter. Feature writers were a different breed. They always got bylines and were often frustrated novelists. Deena gave her the information about Carolyn’s funeral.

“Got it,” Laurie said, and typed it into her story. “Do you know when the medical examiner will release the final report?”

“They have to wait for the toxicology results. I would expect it to take at least another week. Real-life autopsies are much slower than the ones on television.”

Deena headed over to her desk and thumbed through messages. Her cell phone rang. It was Sandra. At first, she couldn’t make out what her friend was saying. She must have been whispering so that customers in the thrift shop couldn’t hear her voice. “I’ll be right there.” Deena grabbed her purse and headed out the front door.

The Second Chance Thrift Shop was about two blocks away. Deena often shopped there in hopes of finding donated treasures to buy and sell. Even though Sandra was ten years younger than Deena, they shared many of the same interests and had become good friends.

Deena couldn’t imagine what was so urgent that made Sandra ask her to high tail it over. Although Sandra was the most superstitious person Deena had ever known, she wasn’t prone to drama. She generally kept a cool head and composed demeanor. Several cars were parked in front of the shop, confirming Deena’s suspicion that Sandra had customers inside.

She opened the door and heard the familiar jingle of the bells on the door. They were there to alert Sandra if customers came in while she was in the back storeroom. A woman was paying at the register. Deena recognized her as the mother of one of her former students. Not wanting to get into a conversation with her, Deena ducked behind a rack of women’s dresses, nearly stepping on another shopper. It was Marie.

“Mrs. Sharpe! I didn’t know you shopped here.”

Deena’s skill at stealth left something to be desired. “Yes. Actually, I shop for items for my antique booth.” She thumbed distractedly through the clothes in front of her.

“My sister and I sell merchandise at the flea market. We love to look here for anything collectible.”

“Well, isn’t that something.” Deena looked over at the register and saw Sandra waving at her from behind the counter. “It’s good to see you again, Marie.”

She hurried to the back of the shop and followed Sandra into the storeroom. They stopped next to one of several large cardboard boxes of clothing. “So what’s the big secret?”

Sandra motioned for her to come closer and pointed to the inside of one of the boxes. “Why do you suppose there is a bloody butcher knife inside a box of coats delivered here from Carolyn Fitzhugh’s house?”

Deena gasped and then covered her mouth. She had a strong feeling this was the missing knife from the party. Her mind raced. If this was indeed the knife Chef Jacques had used to slice the prime rib, of course it would have blood on it—cow’s blood, that is. But how would it have gotten into this box of clothes? She searched her brain to remember what had been said about the knife and the boxes.

“These must be the donated coats collected at the Fall Fling,” Deena said as she replayed the conversation in her head. “I was at Estelle’s house on Wednesday when Wendy Fairmont’s helpers were bringing them downstairs to deliver to you.”

“Okay, but what about the knife?”

“The caterers were there cleaning up, and Chef Jacques claimed his carving knife was missing. He said it was expensive and thought someone might have stolen it.”

“Whew. That’s a relief. Let me pull it out again to see if—”

“No, stop!” Sandra jumped back, putting her hand to her chest. Deena had not meant to sound so alarming. She thought about whether she should let her friend in on the mystery. Not seeing a way to avoid it, she tried to sound casual. “There’s the slightest possibility that Carolyn might have been…murdered.”

“What?” Sandra leaned her head toward Deena as if she hadn’t heard correctly.

“Don’t freak out, but we probably shouldn’t touch the knife just yet.”

“But I already touched it! I dropped it when I saw the dried blood. I tried to call Ian, but he’s in court. That’s when I called you.”

“First things first,” Deena said, trying to appear calm. “Get me a flashlight. I want to see if this is even the same knife. I might remember the brand name once I see it.”

Sandra took a quick glance in the store for shoppers. Seeing none, she grabbed a flashlight and handed it to Deena.

The tall wardrobe box was half empty. Sandra had already removed some of the bulky coats and jackets. Deena stood on her tiptoes and leaned over to read the name on the side of the knife. Squinting to see the small letters, she said, “Katz—”

“Cats? I want to see.” Sandra and Deena both jumped as Marie stood inside the doorway of the storeroom. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I was ready to check out and couldn’t find you. Did a cat have kittens in there?” She took a few steps toward them.

“Cats? No!” Deena said. “Not cats. Rats.”

“Rats? Yikes!” Marie quickly ran back into the store.

Sandra followed her. “Yes, rats. Big hairy rats. There goes one!” She pointed near Marie’s feet.

“You need an exterminator, quick!”

“You’re right. I’ll call an exterminator.” Sandra picked up the handful of items Marie had placed on the counter and escorted her to the door. “Here, take these. They’re on the house. The rat house.” Sandra opened the door and shooed her out, locking it behind her. She turned the “Open” sign around to “Closed.” Just to be safe, she made a quick tour around the shop to make sure there were no more customers.

“Okay. Spill the beans.” She crossed her arms and stared at Deena.

“It’s a Katzenbach. Same as Chef Jacques’.”

“Great. So you think Chef Jacques killed Carolyn?”

“No. Let’s go sit down and I’ll explain.” Deena swore Sandra to secrecy even though it wasn’t necessary. Her friend was not one to gossip like most women she knew. She told her about Estelle’s suspicions, Trey’s warning, Penelope Burrows, the missing knife, the mystery heir, and the list of suspects.

After listening patiently, Sandra asked the obvious question. “So do you think Carolyn was murdered?”

“At first I didn’t, but now that I’ve seen that knife, I’m beginning to wonder. That wasn’t steak juice on that knife. It looked like real blood.”

“That’s what I thought, too. So what should we do?”

“I think we should call Trey to see what he says. Maybe they can look for fingerprints and see whose blood it is. Maybe it’s Carolyn’s.”

“But she died of a broken neck. She wasn’t stabbed to death.”

“Estelle said the coroner’s report showed she had cuts. Don’t you think we should find out?”

Sandra looked back at the box. “I really wish I could talk to Ian first.”

“I understand, but I don’t want to sit here all day babysitting this knife while we wait for him to call you back. I trust Trey.”

They agreed to call him. Deena didn’t mention the knife on the phone, but told him she needed to discuss Estelle. He said he would come by as soon as he finished up a report he was working on for Sheriff Lowry.

“Why don’t we sort through this other box while we wait. I’ve got to pull out the men’s coats to sell in the shop. I’m taking the ladies’ and children’s coats over to the Women’s Shelter.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go slow, though, just in case there are any other surprises.” They began pulling out the garments one at a time.

“This is a gorgeous men’s Pendleton jacket,” Sandra said, holding it up to show Deena. “It’s covered in cat hair.” She slapped at the fabric to brush it off. “I should be able to get a pretty penny for it here in the shop.”

“Let me see that.” Deena looked at it closely. “Yep. That’s the jacket I bought Russell for his birthday. It’s probably dog hair, though, from Russell’s lab, Maggie. Otherwise, I’d be sneezing like crazy.”

“Do you want it back?”

“Heavens, no! I don’t know why I thought my brother would ever wear wool in Texas. Actually, it was a great investment since he met Estelle when he donated it.”

“Aww. That’s so sweet. Well, the money will go for a good cause. Lots of people abandon their pets in the winter, and the shelter has taken in quite a few more animals in the last two weeks.” She hung up the jacket and reached for another. “Did you hear something?” Sandra turned toward the back door. There was another rattling sound.

“Maybe it’s Trey.”

“That’s right.” She wrestled with the chain and padlock on the back door. Ian insisted she keep that door securely locked when she was in the shop. He also made her park in front of the store instead of the alley. She only used the back door when someone brought in a large donation or when she had to move in large pieces of furniture.

She finally pushed it open. Finding no one there, she stepped into the alley and caught just a glimpse of someone disappearing around the corner. Shutting it, she heard a loud knock coming from the front of the shop.

“I’ll get it.” Deena headed to the front and saw Trey looking in the front window.

“Thanks for coming,” she said as she let him into the shop. “Sandra, have you met Deputy Trey Simms?”

“Just briefly after the party.”

“Howdy-do,” he said and tipped his hat.

“We asked you here to show you something,” Deena said. “Follow me.” When they got to the box in the storeroom, she handed him the flashlight.

“What am I looking at?” He shined the light in the box.

Deena pointed and Trey focused the beam of light on the large knife.

“What’s this?”

“That is the missing carving knife from Estelle’s house.”

“I’m sorry if I sound dense, but what missing knife are you talking about?” Trey switched off the light, looking puzzled.

“Oh, I forgot you had already left when this happened.” Deena explained the drama of the missing knife and the boxes of coats taken from the house. She also told him the knife appeared to have blood on it.

“I see. So, you think this knife is somehow related to Aunt Carolyn’s death.”

“Don’t you think it’s suspicious that a big, bloody kitchen knife made its way upstairs inside a box right after Carolyn mysteriously died?”

“Sounds fishy to me,” Sandra said, nodding in agreement.

“First of all, no one has said her death was ‘mysterious’ besides you and Aunt Estelle. Let’s just take a look at this knife.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and lifted it out of the box. “Huh. It certainly looks like dried blood on the tip.” He eyed it carefully. “I’ll be right back.” He carried it out to his squad car and returned a few minutes later holding it in a plastic evidence bag.

“What do you think?” Deena asked. “Are you going to check it for prints and get a DNA profile on the blood?”

He looked at the bag and noticed just how sharp the blade appeared. “What exactly do you expect us to find on this knife?”

“My fingerprints.” Sandra raised her hand as if in school. “I picked it up before I realized what it was.”

Deena nodded. “I expect that you will find the killer’s fingerprints and Carolyn’s blood. Estelle said they found cuts on her mother’s body. Maybe the killer started to stab her then pushed her down the stairs instead. Knowing there was blood on the knife, he threw it in the box and then he…he…” She stopped, not knowing what should follow.

“In police work, we call that ‘going down a rabbit hole.’ We could go through a lot of ‘what if’ scenarios, but we don’t even know what we have. Remember, this isn’t even a real case, and if it becomes one, it won’t be mine. Sheriff Lowry will assign it to a different deputy, being that I’m a relative.”

“And an heir,” Deena added. “How does it feel to suddenly get a hundred thousand dollar pay day?”

Trey couldn’t help but grin. “Pretty good, actually.” Looking back at the knife, he said, “I’ll take this to the lab, and see if they can lift prints from it. They can do blood typing to see if it’s a match to Aunt Carolyn. After that, we’ll see what we’ve got.”

“Thanks, Trey. I won’t mention anything to Estelle until I hear back from you.”

“Remember what I told you. Just stall her for now. The medical examiner’s report should be out by the end of next week. And if it turns out there’s something to this knife, it means someone out there is not afraid to hurt people to get what he wants. I don’t want any of you getting hurt.” He headed to the front of the store.

His warning left Deena with a cold chill, even before he opened the front door.

Chapter Nine

Friday was date night at the Sharpe house, which meant dinner at Las Abuelas. Mexican food and margaritas were just what she needed. After helping Sandra deliver the coats to the shelter, Deena stopped by to check on her booth at the antique mall. As usual, it required cleaning and rearranging. She pulled a few items to take home and went searching in the dumpster for boxes. She wanted to make room for some holiday merchandise she had at the house. By the time she left, she was filthy— like she had rolled around on the floor of a laundromat. She wanted to shower and change clothes before Gary got home.

Although it was cold, the sun had been out all day and now cast a stunning orange glow behind the clouds. Hopefully, the weather would stay nice for tomorrow’s shopping trip to the flea market. An unfamiliar car parked in front of the house caught her off guard as she pulled around the corner of her street. She pressed the garage door opener and was equally surprised to see Gary’s car parked inside. He wasn’t due home from work for at least another hour.

He and an older man were sitting at the kitchen table. The gentleman was wearing a three-piece suit and even had a gold pocket watch on a chain. For a moment, she thought he might be dressed in costume for a production at the community playhouse.

“Deena, this is Ronald Gilbert. He wanted privacy to go over some financial matters, so we decided to work here at the house.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, taking off her jacket. “Are you Carolyn Fitzhugh’s neighbor?”

“Yes, that’s right. Have we met?” He raised a bushy gray eyebrow.

“Not exactly.” Deena could not believe a murder suspect was sitting in her own kitchen. She thought quickly about how to get the information she needed from him. “We were at Carolyn Fitzhugh’s party on Tuesday. Such a tragic accident.” She sat down at the table.

“Yes, tragic.” Deena’s presence seemed to make him uncomfortable.

“You were there, right? I think I saw you in the kitchen.”

“In the kitchen? Oh, you must have seen me going out to get Francine’s handbag from the car. She has a terrible habit of leaving it behind.”

“I see,” Deena said. “Back door guests are best.”

“I suppose.” He turned to Gary as if pleading for help.

She didn’t stop there. “I was at the reading of Mrs. Fitzhugh’s will and understand she gave you the mineral rights to your property.”

“I didn’t realize my personal finances were of concern to anyone else.” He looked over at Gary suspiciously.

“Deena’s brother is seeing Estelle Fitzhugh. You know how small towns are.” Gary glared at Deena then looked back at Mr. Gilbert. “I can assure you, anything we discuss here is strictly in confidence.”

“I would hope so.”

“I bet those mineral rights are worth a lot of money,” Deena said, knowing she was on shaky ground. “Did you know Carolyn was leaving them to you? I guess her death was a fortunate thing for you.”

He bristled at the remark. “That’s a strange thing for a Christian woman to say! Death is never fortunate, young lady. What church do you go to?”

“That’s none—”

“First Methodist,” Gary said and steeled his eyes on Deena.

“Hmm. Maybe you should consider joining us Baptists before your soul is forever clenched in the hands of Satan.”

Deena knew by Gary’s face that she better quit while she was ahead. She smiled politely and excused herself to get cleaned up before she got in more hot water.

What a coincidence that Mr. Gilbert was Gary’s client—at least for now—and also a possible suspect in Carolyn’s death. But Deena’s gut told her the man she just met was not a murderer. She wished she had been more courteous. Maybe she should go back out and turn on some Southern charm. Before long, she heard the front door close and knew she missed her chance to make up for her bad behavior.

When she came back out, Gary was sitting on the sofa watching SportsCenter. Before she could apologize to him, the doorbell rang.

Heading for the door, she asked, “What now? Will this day never end?”

It was Christy Ann from across the street. “Hi. I need to talk to you about something. I waited until your guest left.”

“Come on in where it’s warm. What can I do for you?”

“I only have a minute. I’m very busy you know. You see, your nose is broken.”

“Pardon me?” Deena instinctively reached for her face.

“Your nose is broken. On the Rudolph display in your yard. The red light is broken.”

“Oh.” Deena laughed. “Thanks for telling me. I noticed it yesterday. Gary said we have to buy a whole new light socket. We haven’t had time to fix it, but we’ll get to it this weekend.” She glanced back at Gary for confirmation.

“You know, the voting has already started for the Neighborhood Association holiday decorating contest. Cricket Lane came in second last year. Luckily, the Danforth’s moved, and I expect us to win this year. A Rudolph without a red nose does not speak well for any of us.”

“I know, Christy Ann. I said we’ll get to it this weekend—that’s tomorrow or Sunday. I’ve been really busy.”

Christy Ann tilted her head as if scolding a child. “Deena, you are retired. I, on the other hand, have three children to care for. When I came home on Monday from Tiaras and Tutus, I discovered a string of our icicle lights burned out. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Sherry Randall on June Bug Drive didn’t come over and sabotage them. Anyway, I drove to the store, bought new ones, and replaced the old ones myself within an hour.”

Deena felt her face redden but tried to keep her voice even. “Yes, I am retired from teaching, but I have a new job at the Tribune. You do read the newspaper, don’t you? Or are you too busy?”

Christy Ann put a hand on her hip and wagged her head. “I take my three children to dance, soccer, karate, piano, and Mommy and Me Yoga. I know busy.”

“Well, I also run a small business at the antique mall that keeps me very, very busy. And, if you must know, a close friend of mine just passed away on Tuesday. Carolyn Fitzhugh…maybe you’ve heard of her? I have been extremely busy helping her family with personal matters.” Deena flipped her hair, the international sign for ‘back off, man.’

“Tuesday? On Tuesday, I was at the community center with my three children. We were making care packages to send to orphans in Third World.”

Deanna frowned. “You do know that there’s not actually a country named ‘Third World,’ right?”

“Ladies, ladies. You made your point,” Gary said as he walked up behind them. “We’re all busy. I will personally take care of that task tomorrow, Christy Ann, so Rudolph can once again shine his light on this cozy little neighborhood.”

“Thank you,” she said curtly and turned to leave.

“Good,” Deena called after her. “I’ve got a ton of Christmas cards to finish addressing tonight.” She shut the door and turned around to see Gary standing right in front of her.

“Is there something bothering you, dear? You’re not going through the change again, are you?”

“Of course not,” she said, pushing him aside as she headed to the bedroom. “That happened twenty years ago when I had my hysterectomy.”

“Just making sure.”

Deena sat down on the corner of the bed and picked up Hurley. “I know I sound like a crazy person, but I just don’t know what to do.” She told Gary about the thrift store and the knife.

“What did Trey say about it?”

“He was skeptical that it was connected to Carolyn’s death. He told me just to keep stalling Estelle until the autopsy is released.”

“Are you sure you can trust him?”

“Gary! What are you saying?” Deena put Hurley back down on the floor and stared at him.

“I’m just saying that you all have made up a list of suspects for a crime that may or may not have happened, and several of those suspects are people in Carolyn’s will. Why didn’t you include Trey and that housekeeper—”

“Irene.”

“—Irene on the list? Wouldn’t they have a motive, too?”

“Are you just making fun of me now?” Deena felt hurt that Gary wasn’t being supportive.

“Not at all. But remember, Trey wasn’t totally honest with you last summer about your uncle’s murder. And he was at Carolyn’s house the night of the party. Not only that, but $100,000 is a fortune to a public servant.”

“You’re right, but I just don’t think he would kill his great-aunt for money.”

Gary sat next to Deena and put his arm around her. “Look, I’m just trying to show you how crazy things can get when you go looking for trouble. My main concern in all this is you. I don’t want you getting so frustrated and upset—especially if it turns out that this was just an unfortunate accident—which it probably was. Let Estelle go to the police if she wants. She’s not your responsibility.”

“I know, but Russell is. You know I’ve always watched out for him.”

“He’s a grown man. He will tell you if he wants your help. Besides, maybe someone working in the kitchen really did try to steal the knife. He—or she—could have cut himself on it when he took it upstairs to stash it. The movers could have taken the boxes out of the house before he went back to get it.”

Deena considered this theory. “I hadn’t thought of that. You could be right.”

Gary turned her face to his and kissed her. Deena knew this was his way of putting a period at the end of the conversation.

He was right. She would continue to keep her eyes and ears open, but not let it upset her. “I’m sorry about Mr. Gilbert.”

“Don’t worry. He’s not actually my client. I was helping out Lee Miller who’s on vacation. I calmed him down.”

Deena stood up and headed toward the bathroom. “Let me take a quick shower so we can get some dinner.”

“Sounds good. Are you and Sandra still going to Canton tomorrow?”

“Yes. We want to get some new holiday decorations and look for bargains to re-sell.”

“It will do you good to get your mind on something else. Now hurry up. There’s a frozen margarita down the road with your name on it.”

As the warm water washed over her, Deena couldn’t quite suppress the anxiety she felt. What if Trey did have something to do with Carolyn’s death and was trying to cover it up? As one of Carolyn’s only living relatives, he might have known she’d leave him something in her will. Why did he work last night instead of coming to Estelle’s for the reading? Maybe he felt guilty or was afraid of what his reaction might be.

She snapped the faucet off and grabbed a towel. These were just the kind of thoughts Gary had warned her about. Like Trey said, she was chasing rabbits. The same curiosity that made her a good journalist often got her into trouble. And unlike the curious cat with nine lives, she just had one.

Chapter Ten

Hunting was a mixed bag for Russell. Like many sportsmen, he loved the outdoors and the chance to commune with nature. Drinking beer, peeing in the woods, and hanging out with friends were as much a part of the experience as the actual sport.

Marshall Sinclair had taken his son out at an early age to practice shooting.  Russell remembered the first time he shot at birds instead of just a target. Amazingly, he got one and ran out to retrieve his prey. When he saw the mangled bird lying dead on the ground, he threw up. Thus began his love-hate relationship with hunting. Things got worse after he left the military.

Despite his ambivalence, Russell was fascinated with firearms and had amassed an impressive collection. Because he suffered from PTSD and took medication for his migraines that often left him disoriented, he didn’t feel comfortable around loaded weapons. He liked to say that “Guns don’t kill people, ammunition does,” and he had a strict rule of never keeping any ammo in the house.

“This is the life,” he said to Cliff as they drove out to the lake early Saturday morning. “I don’t need a girlfriend. I’ve got you and Maggie and my family. That’s all I need.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Cliff said as he steered his truck around a dead possum. “We ain’t getting any younger, and it’s nice to have someone to cuddle up with, if you know what I mean.”

Russell leaned his head back and stared out the window. Instead of the beauty of the tall pines, all he could see was Blake Whitman wrapped around Estelle like a bear devouring a meal.

Estelle.

What was it about this woman that seemed different? Special? It certainly wasn’t the money, although he could see how an outsider might think it was. Unlike the girls he had dated in his youth or the older women who were just looking for a husband, Estelle was more complex. Every time they talked, he learned something new about her. She was like a book, and each page brought new insight to the subject. She could be fun and feisty, serious and somber. Sure, she might be a bit clingy, but that wasn’t so bad.

Still, he couldn’t shake the picture of her with Blake. “Did I tell you I caught Estelle kissing another guy?”

“What? Are you kidding?” Cliff eyed his friend.

“Nope. After we got back from the funeral home, there was this guy at her house. I came out and there they were. She wouldn’t tell me what was going on, so I left.”

Cliff shook his head. “Two-timing—”

“Nah, it’s not like that. She told me about it later. Turns out she had been engaged to this guy until a few months before we met.”

“Engaged? And never told you?” He shook his head in wonder.

“She said he dumped her without much reason and left town. That day he showed up was the first time she’d seen him since he’d left.”

“So, what was the deal? Why did he come back?”

“Apparently, according to the guy, Estelle’s mother had run him off. Said he wasn’t good enough for her and threatened him if he didn’t leave. The Fitzhughs have a lot of power, you know. He told Estelle that he didn’t want to come between her and her mother, so he took off.”

Cliff rubbed the back of his neck and adjusted his cap. “So why did he show up now? And what are you going to do about it?”

“When he found out Mrs. Fitzhugh died, he came to see if Estelle would take him back. She said she was caught off guard and that’s why she let him kiss her.”

“What a coward. Probably came back for the money.”

“Maybe. I really like Estelle.”

“Enough to fight for her?”

Russell looked out at the pine trees lining the road. He had been struggling with that same question for the past two days. He had finally resigned himself to let Estelle choose who she wanted to be with. Turning to Cliff, he said, “I’m not a fighter anymore. Guess that makes me a coward, too.”

Chapter Eleven

Ironically, First Monday Trade Days in Canton isn’t actually on a Monday. It occurs on the weekend before the first Monday of every month. People come from all over the South to shop at one of the country’s most popular flea markets.

Deena and Sandra were like soldiers going into battle when they got out of the car Saturday morning to hit the booths. Like all serious shoppers, they came armed with large totes, bottles of water, and plenty of cash. They had a plan and were ready to attack.

They hit the Pavilions first. These indoor buildings housed mostly new gift items and crafts. Deena couldn’t resist getting Hurley a set of personalized dog bowls and Gary a George Strait t-shirt. She took pictures of several cute wreaths she wanted to try to make. Before long, it was time to head outside for the “good junk.” This is where Deena often found items to sell in her booth. It takes a good eye and deep digging to find the real treasures, but that’s what made it fun.

Sandra started down an aisle of mostly rusty barbed wire and tin that had been fashioned into yard art. Deena held back, trying to remove a rock that had found its way into her shoe. She finally managed to shake it loose when she heard Sandra. “Deena, come see this stuff.”

Sandra ooh-ed and aah-ed over a long table covered in vintage collectibles. Everything from porcelain figurines to art pottery to vintage jewelry cast a pretty light among the rust and dust around them. Several other shoppers perused the same items. On the back side of the booth were clothes, linens, and household goods. It was the pottery that caught Deena’s eye. “Look at this piece of Roseville.” She salivated as she held it up for inspection. “This pine cone design is rare and collectible.” The price was more than she wanted to pay but not outrageous. She set it back down and leaned in to get a closer look at several bakelite bangles.

“I love this old hand-mirror,” Sandra said. “Do you think it’s Victorian?”

Deena examined the piece. “I’d say it’s more Art Deco because of the shape. It’s really pretty and the price is about right.” She continued to inch toward the center of the table as some of the other shoppers moved on.

“This looks familiar,” Sandra said as she picked up a colorful vase with a distinctive Southwestern design. “Isn’t this like the pair of vases you bought last summer in my shop?”

“Looks like it.” Deena took the small vase and turned it around in her hands. “In fact, I gave one of them to Carolyn Fitzhugh when I first met her. The other one is still in the guest room in a box of glassware. I need to clean it and put in my booth to sell. Look at the price they have on it.” She showed it to Sandra. “I think it would be good to sell them as a pair. I should see if they’d knock a little off the price.”

Deena motioned to the booth’s vendors.

One of the young women walked over.

“Is this your best price on this vase?”

She turned around and called to the other girl behind her. “Marie, she’s asking about your stuff. Come help her.”

As if in one of those slow-motion scenes from a movie, Marie and Deena made eye contact, each taking a second to recognize the other.

Then it hit her. “Marie! It’s you. You said you sell at the flea market, but I didn’t know you meant Canton.”

Marie smiled but looked a little dazed.

She probably wasn’t expecting to see someone she knew, Deena thought.

“Hello,” Marie said at last, noticing Sandra there as well. “What do you need?”

“I was just wondering about this vase. I had a pair just like this, but I gave one to Mrs. Fitzhugh. I thought maybe I could get a deal on this one.”

“Um, uh…just a minute.” She went back to talk to the other woman. They whispered back and forth. Deena assumed they were discussing prices.

The other girl came back to the table. “The one you need to talk to is me,” she said stiffly. “All of these things in the booth—I mean on the table—are mine. You can have that vase for half price.”

“Wow! That’s very generous of you.” Deena reached in her pocket to get the money.

“These are some really nice pieces,” Sandra said, holding up a Lladro figurine of a woman and child. “Where do you find most of your merchandise?”

“I go to thrift stores and garage sales.” She took the money from Deena and handed her a bag and piece of newspaper to wrap around the vase.

“Are you and Marie related?” Deena asked, noticing that Marie had disappeared.

“She’s my sister.”

“Well, thanks. Tell her we said bye.” As Deena began to roll the vase in the newspaper, something caught her eye. On the side of it, camouflaged by the colorful design, was a small price tag that Deena recognized from Sandra’s thrift shop. She peeled it off with her fingernail and held it up to show Sandra as they walked on to the next space. “Look at this. Do you remember if you had three of these vases in the shop?”

“No way. I remember those coming in. Helen Burlington donated them. She said they were a gift from her daughter-in-law in Arizona and didn’t match her décor.”

They both stared at the tag.

“I honestly can’t remember if I removed the tag from the vase I gave Carolyn.” Deena looked back at the booth and saw Marie’s sister talking on her cell phone. Marie was nowhere in sight. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Only if you’re thinking that Marie has sticky fingers.” Sandra sounded downright angry. “She works for several well-to-do families in town. I wonder if they’ve noticed anything missing around the house.”

“What should we do?” Deena wrapped the vase.

“I think we should go confront the little thief and tell her we are on to her scheme.”

She considered the idea and put the package in her tote bag. “Here’s what I’m thinking. We talk to her, and tell her we will give her a chance to explain her side of the story to Estelle after Carolyn’s funeral. If we make a big deal about it now, it will be all over town and have the Bluebonnets in an uproar.”

“That’s true,” Sandra said. “We don’t want them all in a tizzy right before Carolyn’s funeral.”

Deena looked back at the booth. “She’s obviously hiding from us. Let’s walk down to the end of this aisle and then circle back. We can come up from behind her booth and do the ol’ surprise attack.” She put on her sunglasses, feeling like a private eye on her first stake-out.

Sandra led the way. They stopped occasionally to appear as though they were interested in the merchandise. Deena glanced over her shoulder to see if their target had reappeared.

“Watch it!” Sandra took a step back before Deena ran into her.

“Sorry. I was trying to see through the crowd. I can’t tell if she’s come back yet.”

“After we talk to Marie, I want to look at these barbed-wire Christmas trees again. Aren’t they adorable?”

Deena pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head so she could see. “I love these. Look, there are wreaths, too. I really like this Western decor. Right now, though, let’s just keep our eyes on the prize.”

They rounded the corner and walked slowly down the aisle, ducking behind other shoppers. As they came closer, they saw Marie slipped into the back of her booth through another vendor’s space.

“Look, there she is,” Deena said. “I love it when a plan comes together.” She clapped her hands in satisfaction.

They cut through the racks of clothes and swooped in right behind their prey. “Hello, Marie,” Sandra said.

The girl jumped, letting out a shrill cry. When she saw who it was, her face turned ashen and her eyes began to water.

“I guess you know why we’re here again,” Deena said as she pulled the vase out of her bag.

Marie stared at the ground. “I don’t suppose you want a refund, do you?”

“Let’s walk over to the concession area and talk a minute,” Sandra said. “It will be more private.”

They sat at a picnic table and set their bags on the ground. Deena showed Marie the price tag. “Can you explain why you have Carolyn Fitzhugh’s vase in your booth? Also, where did you get all those pricey things to sell?”

Marie began to sob. Deena instantly felt sorry for her. “I took them from Mrs. Fitzhugh’s house. I don’t want to go to jail! I have my kids to take care of.” Her crying became louder.

“It’s okay.” Deena pulled some tissues out of her bag.

“No, it’s not okay. Stealing is a crime.” Sandra glanced at Deena then glared at Marie.

Deena wondered if Sandra was doing the good cop/bad cop routine. She softened her voice. “Why, Marie? Why did you take these things?”

“I know it’s wrong.” She hung her head and blotted her eyes. “I just needed the money. I have so little and the people I work for have so much, especially Mrs. Fitzhugh. She had a big closet upstairs where she put all the gifts people brought her. Sometimes, I would just—”

Deena looked at Sandra as Marie’s crying started up again. “Look,” Sandra said sternly, “after Mrs. Fitzhugh’s funeral, you are going to tell Estelle about what you’ve done. We won’t say anything for now. She can decide what to do about it.”

Deena handed Marie another tissue. “We don’t want to upset Estelle with this right now. She has enough to handle.”

Marie looked up at the two women through red puffy eyes. “You’re not going to call the police?”

Sandra kept up her serious demeanor. “No. But I want you to box up anything that doesn’t belong to you and take it back home. Don’t sell another piece. You will return it all to Estelle next week.”

Marie breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes ma’am. Thank you, thank you. I will do just what you said.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Deena said. “It’s what you do about them that reveals your true character.” She patted Marie on the arm, and they got up to go their separate ways.

Deena and Sandra walked in silence back to the booth with barbed wire decorations. At last Sandra spoke. “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s what you do about them that reveals your true character.” She snickered. “Where did you get that? A fortune cookie?”

“You forget that I was a teacher for twenty-nine years. We say stuff like that in our sleep.”

“You have such a soft heart. I’m not sure you’re cut out to be a crime fighter,” she said, patting Deena’s shoulder.

“I know. I don’t want her to get fired from those families. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“You’re right. She actually reminds me of the stray dogs at the shelter—a little damaged but worth saving.”

Deena laughed and thought about Hurley. “Good point. After all, it’s not like she killed anybody.”

Chapter Twelve

After church on Sunday, Deena and Gary pulled out the rest of the holiday decorations from the attic. Luckily, he had replaced the reindeer socket on Saturday while she was in Canton. She had hoped to avoid another visit from Christy Ann Scrooge. Gary watched the Cowboy game while he hung ornaments on the tree. Deena worked on the barbed wire wreath she bought at the flea market. This one is going over the fireplace, she decided.

After cutting herself twice, she put on garden gloves to protect her hands as she glued on pinecones and poinsettias. She made a burlap bow to attach to one side. A sprig of bluebonnets completed the look.

“What do you think?” She held it up to show Gary.

“Nice,” he said, barely taking his eyes off the TV. “Bring it here and I’ll figure out how to hang it.”

The house was coming along nicely. She set out her ever-growing collection of Santa mugs on the buffet in the dining room. A glass cloche surrounded by vintage Hummel figurines gave a whimsical feel to the entry table. The empty boxes of decorations finally out-numbered the full ones.

“I’m thinking about donating some of these old ornaments and decorations to the thrift store. Do you care?”

“Looks nice,” he said. Obviously, his mind was on the game.

“Hmm. I’m going to dance naked in the front yard. Okay?”

“Fine. What?” He turned around this time.

“Just seeing if you were paying attention. Don’t forget to put out that ugly Dancing Tiki Santa,” Deena called from the kitchen. “Mom and Dad will expect to see it on the mantel.”

Deena’s parents would soon be flying in from Maui. This was the first time they would be back for a visit in two years. Gary’s sister, Nora, lived in Louisville with her husband and two children.  It was their turn to come to Texas for the holidays. The reality of hosting the big family gathering had begun to sink in, and Deena was trying to stay calm.

As she piddled around the living room rearranging displays into small vignettes, a crackling sound drew her attention toward the den. Gary was kneeled on the floor picking up shards of glass.

“Oops. I dropped one.” He held up a piece of a vintage mercury-glass icicle ornament.

“Just leave it. I’ll get the broom.”

As she swept up the tiny bits of glass, her mind returned to Marie and the flea market. She could still picture all those expensive collectibles sitting on that table. How could someone just steal from their boss and callously turn around and sell the stuff? Didn’t she have a conscience? Maybe we were too easy on her, Deena thought. She carried the dustpan to the kitchen trashcan and emptied the contents. Marie was at the party. And we caught her red-handed stealing from Carolyn.

Deena shook her head to clear her thoughts. That’s ridiculous. Just because she took a few things that didn’t belong to her doesn’t mean she had something to do with Carolyn’s death. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story.

Trying hard to refocus on her project, she re-counted the number of house guests she would be hosting for the umpteenth time, still unsure if Estelle would be there with Russell. “Gary, me, Russell, Mom, Dad—”

The doorbell rang. “Uh-oh. What now? Is Rudolph humping Christy Ann’s elves?” She glanced out the front window and saw Russell on the porch. She opened the door and said, “Look who’s here. I was just thinking about you.” She gave him a brotherly hug.

“Is the game still on?”

“Just starting the fourth quarter,” Gary yelled from the den. “Grab a beer and have a seat.”

Deena cleaned up the mess on the kitchen table, happy with the progress they had made. She sat on the couch next to Russell. “How’s it going?”

“Fine, I suppose. I just left Estelle’s and thought I’d stop by.”

Deena waited for a commercial to quiz him. “So, what’s up with you and Estelle?”

“Oh, the usual.” Deena noted a pinch of sarcasm. “Found out she was engaged and now I’m just waiting for her to choose between him and me. That’s all.”

Gary slammed down the footrest of his recliner and stared wide-eyed at Russell. “Are you kidding?”

“When did all this happen?” Deena asked, motioning for Gary to mute the television.

“Can we talk about it after the game? I’m all talked out for now and just want to relax a few minutes. I’m starting to get a headache.”

Deena instinctively stood up to get a pillow and throw blanket. She turned off the overhead light. “Lay back. Just take it easy,” she said. “We’ll talk later.”

Food always helped when Russell felt a migraine coming on. She went to make sandwiches. Staring inside the refrigerator, she breathed in the frosty cold. How could this be? Estelle had been engaged? Poor Russell. She took out what she needed and went about preparing the food. A few tears slipped down her cheek.

They ate and watched the game. Dallas kicked a last minute field goal to hold on for the win.

“Great game,” Russell said. “Thanks for letting me hang out.” He stood up to leave.

“Sit,” Deena ordered, and both Russell and Hurley obeyed. “Tell us what happened.”

He spent the next few minutes telling them about Blake Whitman and Estelle.

Deena could tell he was upset even though he was trying to play it cool.

“It’s tough, you know?” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t even know if I want a long-term relationship. How can I expect her to pick me if I don’t know where this is going? That’s what I told her. The ball is in her court now.”

Deena could tell her brother was worn out. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

“Nah, I need to get back to take care of Maggie. Thanks, though.”

She walked him to the door and patted his back. “It’ll work out. I’m sure of it.”

He offered up a weak smile.

After he left, Deena plopped down on the couch and pulled up the throw, hugging it to her chest. She ached for her brother. “What do you think?”

“It’s a tough one,” Gary said. “Either way, though, he’ll be okay.”

Deena leaned back and closed her eyes as Gary turned his attention to the next game. What would happen if they broke up? Would she and Estelle still be friends? She had considered telling Russell about finding the butcher knife at the thrift store and seeing Marie in Canton but felt the timing was bad. These thoughts meandered around her brain, and then suddenly they collided.

“Gary! I think I figured out who stole that knife!”

Chapter Thirteen

Sandra was excited to see what new donations had come in on Saturday when her niece was minding the store.  Hannah had reported that the shop was busy, so she did not have time to look through the new items that were brought in. Monday mornings were usually slow, so Sandra knew she would have time to sort through the sales receipts and bags of donations.

Trying to juggle her Starbucks latte and a bag of croissants, she finally managed to unlock the front door without dropping anything. The light in the storeroom had been left on. No big deal, she thought. She had failed to turn it off a number of times herself. Flipping on the switch by the front door brought the shop to life. She set down her purse and the pastry bag on the back counter.

It was colder than usual in the shop, but the aroma of coffee filled the air and gave it the homey feeling Sandra had worked so hard to foster. In order to compete with Maycroft’s numerous boutiques and antique stores, she kept her front window display filled with vintage and unusual finds. Since the shop first opened, she had gained a loyal following of shoppers who always stopped by when they were in town. She even created a Facebook page to tantalize customers.

Hannah had left everything neatly organized on the counter, including several post-it note messages with smiley faces. She looked through the receipts and ate a croissant, knowing it would not be long before the neighbors in the surrounding stores popped in to say hello.

Sure enough, the bell jingled on the front door and Aaron from the dog grooming salon stuck his head in. “Howdy. We missed you on Saturday. Find anything in Canton?”

“Hey, come on in. Yeah, I found some cool stuff.”

“Speaking of cool, it’s freezing in here.” He rubbed his hands together before helping himself to a pastry.

“I’ll fix it.” She walked back to adjust the thermostat in the storeroom. “What the—”

“What is it?” Aaron hurried to the back room.

“Oh, no! Someone broke in.” The back door lay partially open. The deadbolt had splintered the doorframe. “Hannah must have forgotten to fasten the chain.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Aaron said. “I’ll call the police.”

Looking around the storeroom, she realized someone had rummaged through the bags and boxes that were stacked by the wall. She knew there was no money in the store because Hannah had dropped off the cash box Saturday evening with Ian. Nothing else in the back room seemed disturbed. Although she had dealt with a few shoplifters in the past, this was her first break-in. She tried to keep her cool in front of Aaron, but her hands felt clammy and her chest was tight.

“They’re sending someone over now,” Aaron said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a little surprised is all. I wonder if any other shops were broken into?”

“If you’re okay here alone, I’ll walk around and check with the other owners. Maybe somebody saw something.”

“Thanks. Let me know what you find out.”

Sandra called Ian and left a message with his assistant. She didn’t want him to hear about the break-in from someone else. News traveled fast in Maycroft. As she walked down the aisles, nothing looked unusual or out of place. The glass case where she kept expensive items like jewelry and cameras was undisturbed. She flinched when she heard the bell on the front door jingle.

“Oh, Officer Nelson, it’s you.” Sandra was happy to see her.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. So, what’s going on?”

Cassidy Nelson was Maycroft’s first female police officer. She had been on the force nearly ten years now and had a reputation for being a caring public servant who could also be tough.

“Someone broke in the back door. I was just looking around to see what might be missing.” Officer Nelson followed Sandra to the storeroom.

“Looks like whoever did this used a crowbar. When did you last see the door locked?” She pulled out a small notepad.

“My niece worked for me on Saturday. She would have locked the door before she left at around six. I didn’t come in yesterday.” Sandra fidgeted nervously with her nails, not sure if she should touch anything.

“So have you noticed anything missing or damaged? What about the register?”

“It looks fine. I haven’t opened it yet. I don’t keep money in it overnight.”

“Go ahead and check to make sure it wasn’t jimmied open.”

Sandra did as instructed. It opened with no problems. “That glass case over there has the valuables in it. It wasn’t broken into either.”

“It could be that whoever broke in got cold feet and left. Or they may have heard something that scared them off. Was there anything disturbed at all?”

“Just these boxes and bags in the storeroom,” Sandra said, walking toward to the back.

Officer Nelson pulled out her flashlight and examined the door carefully. She stepped out into the alley to look around for anything out of the ordinary. Two cars were parked further down behind some of the other stores. Several large dumpsters sat full, ready to be emptied after a week’s usage. When she returned, Sandra was on the phone with Ian.

“I’ll call you back. I love you, too.” She ended the call and looked anxiously at Officer Nelson. “What do you think?”

“I think you got lucky. You need a better lock on that door. I don’t think I can lift any prints from what I’ve seen.” She closed the notebook and put it back into her pocket.

“Aaron from next door was checking with the other shop owners to see if they had any problems.”

“Good. I’ll be doing the same. Unfortunately, these kinds of break-ins happen in Maycroft. Luckily, though, we see fewer home burglaries than commercial. Is that your car parked out front?”

“Yes. My husband makes me use the front door instead of coming and going through the back alley.”

“That’s smart. Keep it up. I’ll let you know if something turns up.”

“Thanks.” The officer left just as Aaron returned.

Sandra motioned for him to come back to the storeroom. “What did you find out?” Her coffee was now cold, and she wanted to make a fresh cup.

“Three of the shops are closed on Mondays. I walked through the alley and everything seemed fine with all the back doors. None of the others said they noticed anything wrong. But George, the new guy who just opened the cigar shop, said he saw something late Saturday night.”

She almost spilled the water she was pouring into the coffee maker. “What did he see?”

“He said he came back around eleven because he had left his cell phone in the store. When he was driving off, he saw a car turn out of the alley. A dark sedan. Indistinct.  But he noticed the driver.  It was a woman with red hair. He is going to tell the police officer about it.”

“Maybe that was the burglar. Or, it could have been the person who scared off the burglar.”

Aaron headed to the front. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll check on you later.”

Sandra sat on her stool waiting for her coffee to brew. The store suddenly felt strange and foreign. Of all the nice shops in town, why would someone want to break into a thrift store? Why would they look through boxes of donated stuff before getting the valuables? This is the second time in less than a week the police have been here. Then the thought occurred to her. Maybe the two events were connected.

Chapter Fourteen

Her bedroom was exactly seventeen steps from end to end, Estelle noted as she paced back and forth waiting for Blake to arrive. Why had she agreed to see him tonight? It had been less than a week since her mother’s death, and she was still trying to cope with the reality of being alone. Ever since she could remember, she had been by her mother’s side. After she graduated from a small Baptist college with a degree in English Literature, she had moved back in with her parents. Her mother hoped she would find a husband in college, but Estelle was shy and kept to herself.

Throughout the years, she had gone on a number of dates with young men who were the sons or nephews of her mother’s friends, but no one captured her imagination the way the characters did in the books she read. After her father passed away, she found a sense of self-worth by caring for her mother. Sometimes she suspected that her mother could do well enough on her own but let Estelle dote on her just so she would have something to do. Estelle considered herself a modern-day Emily Dickinson and spent much of her time reading and writing poetry. Although her middle name was Rose, named after her mother, it seemed she had never quite bloomed.

Blake was the first man to show any real interest. They met at the bookstore, both looking through the mystery section. He had asked her to recommend a good book for him—an obvious pick-up line. He was tall with dark brown hair and strong features. She had blushed when he first spoke to her. His job as an “internet entrepreneur” gave him plenty of free time for courting. Their relationship had gone well the first few months, but then her mother began to question his intentions. That’s when he proposed. Estelle was overwhelmed, especially considering the fact that their romance had not progressed very far physically—they had barely reached second base. At least she thought that was second base. She had accepted, of course, and her mother was beside herself.

Two weeks later, Blake came to the house and broke off the engagement. He said he was leaving town and leaving her behind.  She cried for days, but finally resigned herself to the lonely life of a lovesick spinster. Not long after that, she met Russell.

Blake and Russell looked nothing alike. Russell was medium height, slim with a slight beer belly, and had sandy brown hair. He was older than Estelle by a few years but looked younger. He had laugh lines and a twinkle in his hazel eyes. Far from the Prince Charming she had often dreamed of, there was something about him that she found magnetic. As they spent more time together, the attraction grew.

The reflection in the mirror made her wonder how on earth she could have two men vying for her affection. Her skin was pale, her hair a mousy brown. Her figure was average, neither slim nor heavy. She had long since stopped worrying about fashion. Looking at her maroon cable-knit sweater and gray wool skirt, she wished she had taken time to buy some new clothes. A feature she did like about herself were her eyes. They were a grayish-blue, and someone had once described them as “mesmerizing.” She added a little more mascara and applied another splash of perfume.

A knock on the front door made her stomach flip. She had no idea what the night might bring or how she would feel about it. Tonight was about giving Blake a chance to explain himself and to figure out what her true feelings for him were. Now, she had her relationship with Russell for comparison.

Irene answered the door, and Estelle counted slowly to twenty before approaching the staircase, not wanting to appear too anxious. Irene and Blake were talking when she finally made her grand descent. They did not even notice her at first. That’s annoying, she thought. He missed my big entrance. When she got to the bottom step, Irene headed back down the hall to the kitchen and Blake turned around. He smiled and she felt her face flush.

“There you are,” he said, taking her hand. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You are more beautiful than ever.”

He held her coat while she put it on and led her to the driveway. His face beamed as he opened the car door. She slid onto the slippery seat. This must be that new-car smell people talk about, she thought. I’ve never seen so many gadgets on a dashboard before. What could they possibly all do?

He folded himself in through the small door opening and started the engine. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About my new car, of course! It’s a Porsche 911 with full leather interior and a four hundred and seventy-five horse power engine.” He caressed the steering wheel as he purred with delight. “It can go from zero to sixty in three point three seconds.”

“Umm, it smells nice.” By the look on his face, that was the wrong answer. Fastening her seatbelt, she struggled for something else to say. What was it they used to talk about? Books? No. As it turned out, Blake was not much of a reader.

He interrupted her thoughts. “There’s so much I have to say to you.”

What a relief. She waited.

“We’ll talk at the restaurant. Let’s just enjoy the Christmas lights as we drive.” He peeled off, something that was supposed to impress her.

Estelle looked out the window and thought about Russell. He always had some little tidbit to talk about and asked her interesting questions. One of her favorites had been, “Would you rather go into space or explore the bottom of the ocean?” Turns out he was a space guy while she was more fascinated by the sea. That led to a discussion of the movie Titanic, which led to a discussion of shipwrecks, which led to a decision to try scuba diving off the coast of Florida.

“We’re here,” Blake said, breaking her trance.

After opening her door, he polished the handle with the sleeve of his jacket. Estelle rolled her eyes and watched to see if he was going to give the car a kiss good-bye.

Hadley’s on the Square was an upscale restaurant that Blake had taken her to on their first date. The owners had converted a crumbling Victorian-style house into a chic eatery. The dining rooms were small and held only four or five tables each, making it the perfect place for an intimate dinner. Rich hardwood floors, architectural details, and period paintings made Estelle feel like Elizabeth Bennett out for a night in London with her Mr. Darcy.

After ordering wine, it was at last time to address the elephant in the room. “So, why did you leave?” She looked directly at him, knowing her heart and her future were at stake.

Blake reached across the table and held her hand with both of his. “My dear Estelle, as I told you, your mother came to me and said that she wanted me gone. She didn’t think I was good enough for you. That I couldn’t take care of you. I protested, of course, but finally realized it was no use.”

She resisted the urge to withdraw her hand. “But why didn’t you tell me the truth? Why didn’t you give me a chance to talk to Mother and make her understand?” This was the hardest part for Estelle. She felt like Blake had not fought hard enough for her.

“Darling, what if I had? I was not willing to put a wedge between you and your mother. I couldn’t do that to you or to her. I felt like I was in an impossible situation. I know I hurt you, but now we have the rest of our lives together. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

The waiter returned to pour more wine and take their order. Estelle stared at the menu without really seeing it. All she could think of was that day on the front porch when Blake had left her. At last, she ordered and excused herself to the powder room.

Locking the door behind her, she gazed into the elegant mirror. Could this be happening? The man she had pined for was back and wanted to marry her. That never happens—except in books and movies and books made into movies. She needed someone to talk to. She needed a friend. Then she thought about Russell. He was so easy to be around. He made her laugh. He made her happy.

On the one hand, she thought, Blake offered excitement. He talked about traveling and having great adventures. She stuck out her pointer finger on her left hand. On the other hand, Russell was a homebody who liked to read and cuddle by the fire. She stuck out a finger on her right hand. Blake is sweet, but so is Russell. She stuck out two more fingers. Russell says he likes my laugh and my sense of humor. Blake—

A tap on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Just a minute,” she called and proceeded to wash her hands. One last glance in the mirror set her resolve. She needed to know more about Blake and his feelings.

When she returned to the table, he was texting on his cell phone but quickly put it away.

“Business,” he said in the way of an apology as he pulled out her chair.

“Speaking of business, what exactly is it that you do? I mean, you said you were an internet entrepreneur, but what exactly does that mean?” She began picking at her salad.

“I am invested in a number of businesses, mostly companies that design and sell software applications. It’s all very boring, really, and I’d rather talk about us. I know you have been seeing someone since I’ve been gone, and I want you to know that it doesn’t matter. We don’t have to discuss it. You can end it with him, and we can announce our engagement right after your mother’s funeral.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. “I still have the ring you returned to me on that terrible day in September.”

Estelle caught her breath, staring at the diamond as it sparkled brilliantly off the candlelight. She kept her hands under the table, wrenching the cloth napkin in her lap.

Blake set the box down. “Think of it, Estelle. No more hiding our feelings. No more sneaking around behind your mother’s back. Although, I did enjoy our little game of Romeo and Juliet on the balcony. We can still do that from time-to-time after I move into your house.” He winked at her and finished off his wine.

She didn’t speak. She couldn’t take her eyes off the ring. A few months ago she would have been overjoyed and jumping at the chance to marry her Prince Charming.

The waiter brought their entrees. Estelle had little appetite, her stomach in knots, her head foggy from the wine. She poked at her food. There was a question she had wanted to ask him back when they first started seeing each other. She had been too afraid to ask it then. She mustered her courage to ask it now. “Why do you love me?”

Blake appeared startled. “Why? Because you’re you. You’re wonderful, of course.”

“But what specifically do you like about me?” She reached for her glass and took several big gulps to steady her nerves. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

“Estelle, you’re beautiful and sweet. What’s not to love?” He chuckled as though she were making a joke.

She decided to stop while she was ahead. I guess that’s a good enough answer, she thought. Her mind jumped from remembering the past to foreseeing the future. Something nagged at her. What was it? Then she remembered. “Did you say you want to move into my house? What about your business? Don’t you have your own home? Where exactly did you go when you left Maycroft?”

Blake cut his steak, more vigorously now, Estelle thought. Had she made him uncomfortable? He chewed slowly before answering. “You see, my business allows me to live anywhere I want. I just assumed you would want to stay here. I suppose we could move if you’d like. You name the place. London? Paris? How about Verona?” He smiled and reached out to touch her cheek.

She leaned back. “But where have you actually been staying the past three months?”

“Here and there.” He seemed annoyed. “Mostly New Orleans. It’s a great place to drown your sorrows.” He picked up the ring box, snapped it shut, and put it back in his coat pocket.

They ate in silence for a long while. Estelle was numb. She needed time to sort things out.

When they got back to the house, Estelle opened the front door and turned to face him. “This is where you broke my heart,” she said. “Where you said good-bye.”

He put his arms around her, and she let him kiss her. She wanted to see how it felt. After a moment, she pulled away. “I don’t want you to come to my mother’s funeral. After all that you’ve told me, I don’t think she would have wanted you there. You can call me on Friday.”

With that, she turned and went back into the house, closing the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs and walked down the long hall to her bedroom. She turned on the table lamp and sat on the settee by the window. The clouds covered the moon but left a hazy glow. A rustling noise drew her attention followed by the familiar tap of a small rock hitting her window. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t,” she said aloud through clenched teeth and stormed into the hall, throwing open the door to the middle bedroom. It was her mother’s sitting room, a place where she and Blake would often rendezvous. She could just make out Blake’s silhouette behind the drapes covering the balcony doors. Once again, he had climbed the ivy trellis. She opened the curtains, but kept the door closed, not trusting herself or her feelings.

Blake put his palm against the glass. “Juliet,” she heard him whisper. For a moment, she was tempted to let him in. She knew they would cuddle on the sofa, and he would kiss her and talk about all the wonderful, romantic adventures they would have together. She would blush, and he would tease her about being so innocent.

“No,” she said. “Not tonight. Not yet.” She shook her head and walked out of the room. Before long, she heard him scuttle back down the trellis and screech off in his new car.

Her throat tightened and she suddenly felt very alone. She missed her mother. She missed the sound of the little bell. An uneasiness washed over her. She knew she was in danger—in danger of giving her heart to the wrong man.

Chapter Fifteen

Barking dogs startled Deena out of a fitful sleep Tuesday morning. It was the ringtone setting on her phone for unknown callers. Hurley hated that sound and began echoing the noise. She grabbed for the phone and felt an ache in her back.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” It was Trey. “I wanted to let you know what we found on that knife.”

She sat up to clear the tumbleweeds rolling around in her head. “No problem.” The clock on her nightstand read 7:46. Early bird and worms and such, she thought, trying to focus.

“There was only one set of prints on the handle. I assume they were your friend Sandra’s from the thrift store. The knife had apparently been cleaned before that. Whoever else handled it may have been wearing gloves.”

“Oh, I see. What about the blood?”

“That was blood all right. But not human blood.”

“Steak?”

Trey chuckled. “Nope. Turns out it was cat blood.”

“Cat blood? Are you sure?”

“Yep. I’m gonna take heck from the guys in the lab for that one. They’ve already dubbed me ‘Deputy Kitty.’”

Deena wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or disappointed. “So what happens now?”

“I’ll hold on to the knife until the final medical examiner’s report. Then I’ll give it back to you to return it to its owner.”

“Sorry for all the trouble, Trey. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll see you Thursday at the funeral.”

When she hung up, she walked over to let Hurley out in the backyard. Her body ached from the hours of work she had spent the day before cleaning and rearranging her antique booth. All the bending and lifting was catching up to her. She leaned in the doorway, letting cold air splash her face. A feeling of foolishness washed over her. Had she been on a wild goose chase all this time? Carolyn had probably been curious about what was happening downstairs at the party and rolled too close to the edge of the stairs. That’s why they call them “accidents.” No one expects them to happen, and they don’t always make sense.

She had a theory about the knife, too, and wanted to run it by Sandra. If she were right, she might have just solved the case of the missing knife. But convincing Estelle that her mother’s death was just an accident would be much more difficult.

* * *

“I’m glad you stopped by,” Sandra said when Deena came in the shop later that morning. “I need to talk to you.” She looked around anxiously to see if any customers were within earshot. Two young women were trying on clothes.

Deena followed Sandra to the storeroom. “I heard from Trey this morning about the knife.”

“Oh, really? What’s the verdict?”

“The only fingerprints on it were yours. But get this. The blood…was cat blood, not human blood.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Sandra shook her head in disbelief. She poured herself a cup of coffee and offered one to Deena. “Check this out.” She led Deena over to the back door with its new heavy-duty deadbolt lock.

“What’s this about?” Deena asked and blew in her cup.

“The store was broken into over the weekend. Probably Saturday night.”

Between the hot liquid and the startling news, Deena spilled a few drops of coffee from her lips. She grabbed a napkin from the table and wiped her mouth. “You’re kidding! What did they take? Are you okay?”

Sandra was like a nervous mother trying to multi-task, always keeping one eye on her children. She walked to the doorway and looked in on the store. She turned back to Deena and told her the odd circumstances surrounding the break-in. Another customer came into the store, prompting Sandra and Deena to move to the front counter.

“I started thinking that perhaps whoever broke in that night was looking for something in particular,” Sandra said. “Possibly that knife.”

Deena was wondering the same thing, too.

The shoppers brought their items to the counter to check out.

Deena wandered over to the pottery and glass aisle, strictly out of habit. She gazed mindlessly at the wares rather than actually seeing them. Her mind was playing out Saturday’s events at the flea market and then that evening at the shop. Could her hunch that Marie stole the knife still be correct? Would Marie break into the store to retrieve the knife she had stolen? What about the cat blood?

“Deena,” Sandra called out, waking her from her daydream.

They huddled together at the counter, and Deena floated her theory. “I came here to tell you that I think Marie may have stolen the knife that night from the kitchen. She probably knew it was expensive and wanted to sell it.”

Sandra nodded. “I thought of that, too.”

“Suppose she picked up the knife, wiped it with a dish towel, and carried it upstairs. That’s where she said the closet was with Carolyn’s gifts. Maybe the closet was locked or maybe something spooked her, so she dropped it into the box of coats.”

“Right,” Sandra said. “She would have planned to sneak back later that night to get it or even get it when she came later in the week to clean. But then with Carolyn’s fall—”

“Exactly,” Deena said. “She didn’t go back to get it until it was too late.”

Sandra eyed a customer who was looking at shoes. “But what about the cat blood?”

“Carolyn had a cat. So I was thinking that—” Deena jumped when she heard a customer come up behind her. “Oh, my. You scared me.” She stepped out of the way so Sandra could ring up the sale.

The man set an old Royal electric typewriter on the counter and asked Sandra if she could plug it in to make sure it worked. Delighted by the hum, he asked for paper and began typing. Deena tried not to seem too impatient as he began telling a story about having used an identical model to type all of his papers in college.

“And you wouldn’t believe how hard it was to add footnotes,” he said, stroking each key in order.

Sandra smiled and nodded, always the polite shopkeeper.

Come on, mister! Social cues, Deena thought. Can’t you tell I’m waiting for you to leave?

At last, the man decided he had strolled far enough down memory lane and had no use for an electric typewriter. He thanked Sandra and left the store.

“Finally. I thought he’d never leave.” Deena returned to her spot across from Sandra. “Like I was saying, Carolyn had a cat. On Wednesday, we noticed the poor little thing was bleeding from a few spots on her belly and paws.”

Sandra winced at the thought as she picked up the typewriter and carried it back to the shelf. “You don’t think Marie would stab a cat, do you?”

“No, but maybe the cat climbed into the box and got cut on the sharp blade. Does that sound like something a cat would do?”

“Definitely. Cats love to get inside boxes. They’re very curious. But would Marie go so far as to break into the store to get the knife back?”

“I don’t know, but I’m definitely going to talk to her again. The two incidents may be unrelated, or we just might have a cat burglar on our hands.”

Chapter Sixteen

Discretion is important when dealing with financial matters, especially in a small town. Howard Collier had been the Fitzhugh’s accountant for the past twenty or so years. He was meticulous with his books and loyal to his clients. His reputation was impeccable. Carolyn had trusted him even more than her pastor.

Estelle occasionally drove her mother to his office but rarely sat in on their meetings. This was the first time she would be seeing him as head of the Fitzhugh estate. She brought a copy of the will as well as all the bills and notices she had gotten in the past week. Mr. Collier took care of paying all of Carolyn’s expenses. She was the only person in town still allowed to have an account at the local grocery store and pay her bill once a month. She never liked dealing with money and just wanted everything taken care of for her.

Estelle sat across from the gray-haired man in his gray three-piece suit on a gray winter day, exactly one week since her mother’s premature death. Like her mother, Estelle was not interested in details. She wanted reassurance that everything was in order: The staff were paid, the bills were paid, and she did not have to worry about the lights being turned off.

“I can assure you, Miss Fitzhugh, that everything will be taken care of seamlessly. It will be like your mother is still here.” He caught himself and looked down at the papers on his desk. “Forgive me. Poor choice of words.”

“I understand,” she said, leaning back in the tufted leather wing chair. “Will you be working with Jim Redmond in regard to mother’s will?”

“Absolutely. You have nothing to worry about. I’ve prepared a brief summary of your current finances with an estimated total of your net worth.” He passed a folder across to her and she picked it up tentatively.

She had never put a figure to her family’s fortune and wasn’t sure now that she wanted to know. She scanned the first two pages and turned to the last page. Her eyes widened and she caught her breath. The amount was nearly twice as much as she would have guessed. “Fine,” she said, and passed the folder back to Mr. Collier.

“There are a few specifics I need to go over with you. First, do you plan on continuing the services of Irene Harrison?” When she hesitated, he looked over the top of his glasses. “Estelle?”

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about what to do with Irene. I offered to let her stay, but she said she would have to let me know. For now, she’s still working for us—I mean, me.”

“If you would like to relieve her of her services, I can put together a generous severance package. Just let me know.” He turned to the next page in his portfolio. “What about Mr. Barnabus Bigelow? Do you want to continue the monthly payments your mother was sending him?”

Estelle sat forward in her chair. “That’s the mysterious man named in Mother’s will.”

Collier tilted his head. “You don’t know who he is?”

“No. Who is he? Mother never discussed him.”

Collier leaned back in his chair, swiveling side to side, staring at his Mont Blanc pen. “Let’s just discontinue the payments. I believe this was a personal matter your mother would have wanted kept private.” He leaned forward and wrote a note in the folder.

Estelle glared at him, annoyed at his tight-lipped countenance. “Mr. Collier, you are working for me now, not my mother. I insist you explain who this Barnabus Bigelow is and what these payments were for.” Her tone left no doubt about the seriousness of her statement. Her estate was worth millions, and she knew Collier would not want to jeopardize losing her account.

“I understand, Miss Fitzhugh.” He pulled another folder from the stack of files on his desk. “The truth is that Barnabus Bigelow is your mother’s brother, her twin brother, actually. Your uncle."

Her jaw dropped and she could not speak.

Collier looked at the details in the folder. “On April 23, 1995, Mr. Bigelow contacted your mother and revealed his identity. She had no previous knowledge that she had a sibling, much less a twin. She hired a private investigator to check him out, and indeed, his claim was true.”

Estelle could barely catch her breath. Her mind raced. How could Mother have kept this from me? I wonder if she told Father? I can’t believe this. “What else can you tell me?”

“Apparently, when your mother was adopted, her birth mother had twins and chose to keep the boy only. When he tracked down your mother, he asked for financial assistance in exchange for staying away from her and not revealing their relationship. She gave him $10,000 up front and has sent him $500 a month—in cash—for the past twenty years.”

“In cash?” Estelle’s mouth went dry and she felt light-headed. “May I have some water, please?” She reached in her handbag for a tissue and blotted her cheeks. How could this be possible? She took the glass of water from him. “Why would Mother keep this a secret?”

“Mr. Bigelow was man of low character. He had been in and out of jail numerous times before locating Mrs. Fitzhugh. You can imagine how his presence would have disrupted her life here in Maycroft.”

“Did you say he showed up in April of 1995? That’s just a few months before my father died.” Estelle’s mind reeled with this news.

“That is correct.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Your father?”

“No. Barnabus Bigelow.”

“Yes, as far as we know. The sheriff in that county checks up on him and reports back to me from time to time.”

“I want to meet him.” Estelle set down the cup, anticipating her accountant’s objections.

“I don’t think—”

“I don’t care. Please give me his address and phone number so that I can contact him. I insist.” Estelle, who was as feisty as her mother, was fire-bent on meeting this man and wanted Mr. Collier to know it.

“All right, Miss Fitzhugh. Here is his address. I do not have a telephone number.” He leaned across the desk like a concerned father. “Estelle, I’m warning you, though, do not go out there alone. He is unstable and could be dangerous.”

“Thank you,” she said, putting the note in her purse. She saw another envelope she had brought and handed it across the desk. “One more thing,” she said. “What is this about? It appears to be a statement from a private investigator in Dallas. I found it in the drawer of Mother’s desk. It is marked as paid. Do you know anything about it?”

“No, ma’am, I do not. Your mother had many dealings that she did not discuss with me. I just made sure the bills were paid.” He started to put the envelope in one of his folders, but Estelle reached out and took it back.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I want to contact this agency myself. Who knows what other secrets my mother could have been keeping from me.”

Chapter Seventeen

Soft Christmas music, a blazing fire, and the enticing aroma of lasagna baking in the oven should do the trick. This was one of four dishes Deena had perfected over the years. As she layered pasta and filling in her prettiest Pyrex baking pan, she thought about her phone conversation with Estelle earlier in the afternoon and what Gary would say when she told him her plans.

The idea that Carolyn had been adopted and had kept it a secret all these years was incredible. But add to it the fact that she had a twin brother made it simply fascinating. When Estelle asked Deena to go with her to meet Bigelow the next afternoon, she did not know what to say. After all, the relationship between Estelle and Russell still hung in the balance. Also, Carolyn may have had a very good reason for keeping this man away from her family.

But Estelle could be very persuasive. Deena gave in. She was starting to get a picture of Estelle as head-strong and tenacious. Far from the demure Southern belle most people saw on the outside, she had a fire in her gut and a mind of her own. Now the problem was Gary. She could only imagine what he would say when he learned she was going with Estelle to meet this guy. Hopefully, the warm reception when he got home from work would butter him up.

* * *

“Are you serious? No way you two girls are driving out there by yourselves to meet some stranger who’s spent the past twenty years blackmailing his own sister!”

She thought his head might explode. Maybe I should have waited to tell him after dinner, Deena thought. Too late now. “I know what you’re thinking, but let me explain.” She poured a generous amount of Chianti. “The man is seventy-five years old. How dangerous could he be? Don’t answer that,” she added quickly. “Now that it seems obvious that Carolyn’s death was an accident, we don’t have to worry that he’s a killer or anything. Besides, he hasn’t bothered the family in all these years, so I doubt he wants anything now. Also, he just inherited $100,000. He’s probably a pretty happy camper.” She hoped these arguments would put his fears to rest.

Gary shook his head. “It’s too dangerous for you two women to show up there alone— unannounced and uninvited. And I’m not being sexist. I’m just being realistic.” He pushed his plate away and crossed his arms.

She had one last weapon in her arsenal to try. “Well, what do you want me to do? If I tell Estelle I’m not going, she might just go out there all alone. Do you want that on your conscience?”

Gary hesitated and blew out an exasperated sigh. “What about Russell? Can’t he go with you?”

Deena had considered this option. “I don’t know how Estelle would feel about that.”

“I really don’t care. It would be much smarter to take Russell. I’d go with you myself, but I’m booked with clients all day. Please, Deena, just think about it.” He reached his hand over to hers.

“You’re right. I’ll call Estelle and work it out with Russell.” She looked down at Gary’s dinner plate. “Will you finish eating now? I put an ounce of love into every bite.” She batted her eyes and grinned.

“Sure,” he said and pulled his plate back. “I thought I tasted something sweet in there.”

She laughed and took another sip of the fruity red wine. I hope I’m right, she thought. After all, Barnabus Bigelow was a blackmailer who apparently cared more about money than his own family. If he had wanted to meet his niece Estelle, he probably could have found a way.

Just two days until the funeral and then Marie could talk to Estelle and tell her about the cat and the knife and the coats and the vase and the break-in and everything else about this crazy case. On Thursday, they would lay Mrs. Carolyn Fitzhugh to rest, and on Friday, they would do the same with all the questions surrounding her death. Deena took a big bite of pasta and thought, let’s just hope nothing else unexpected comes up before then.

Chapter Eighteen

Apprehension, the kind that makes your stomach quiver and your throat tighten, gripped Deena the minute she left her house to pick up Estelle Wednesday morning. She had stopped at the Coffee Depot to get fresh brew for herself and her two passengers. As she waited at the stop light, she raised the plastic lid and blew on her vanilla latte.

What was going to happen between Estelle and Russell? Would they be cordial at least? An hour-and-a-half drive each way would be brutal if they weren’t speaking. Gary was right to insist Russell come along, but she wished the circumstances were better.

Fluffy white clouds kept the sun at bay, but a cold north wind would push most of them aside by noon. The weatherman predicted a high of just forty-five degrees. Estelle had asked Deena to pull around to the back of the house to pick her up in case there were patches of ice from the overnight drizzle.

Deena parked near the back door and was surprised at how unkempt the rear of the house looked compared to the front. Parked in the gravel was the oversized black SUV Carolyn had used to get around town. She had a driver, Leonard Dietz, who stayed on-call to run her to various appointments and social gatherings whenever Estelle was unable to take her. The car had been modified so that the wheelchair could easily be stowed in the back. Deena wondered if Estelle would sell the car now that she no longer needed it.

Two rusted-out golf carts and a tin shed seemed forgotten years ago and were surrounded by overgrown grass and weeds. A metal fence barely stood with several sections laying almost flat on the ground. Interesting, Deena thought. All prim and proper on the front, but behind the scenes, everything is neglected and falling apart.

Estelle came out the back door and walked tentatively along the wet pavement. Deena thought she was seeing someone ten years younger. It was the first time she had ever seen Estelle in jeans and boots. She had on a red sweater—possibly cashmere—and a navy wool jacket flanked by a colorful scarf. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she was wearing just the right amount of make-up.

“You look great,” Deena said as Estelle closed the door and put on her seatbelt.

She blushed. “Thanks. I’m so glad you called last night. I have to tell you what happened.”

Deena turned the car around in the grass and drove out to the main road for the twenty-minute drive to Russell’s house. “So spill it,” she said once she was on the road.

“After you said you were going to call Russell, he was all I could think about. I tried to picture myself with Blake, but I just couldn’t do it. Then I started crying.” She reached into her purse for tissue. “I think it was the first time I really cried for my mother since she died.”

“Are you okay now?” She tried to glance at Estelle and still keep her eyes on the road.

“Yes. Dear, sweet Irene heard me blubbering and came to sit with me for almost an hour. I told her how lonely I was without Mother. She cried a little, too.” Estelle dabbed at her eyes. “I told her about my uncle and how hurt I was that Mother never told me the truth. She seemed worried when I said we were going to see him today. She wanted me to ask Blake to go with us. Insisted, really. But I told her how awkward that would be for you, and she dropped it.”

“You’re right. It would have been.”

“It’s funny that I have lived in the same house with Irene all these years but have never had a meaningful conversation with her until now. For the first time, I felt like I wasn’t an only child. Like I had a sister.” That started the waterworks flowing.

Deena waited for her to calm down to ask the all-important question. She held her breath and squeezed the steering wheel in anticipation. “So, what are you going to do about Blake?”

“I’m going to tell him it’s over between us. I am in love with Russell. I just hope he feels the same way about me.”

Relief washed over Deena. She knew things were not settled between them, but at least Estelle wasn’t going to break his heart, and that was what she cared about most. When they stopped in front of Russell’s house, Deena saw Estelle’s face blush. “Is this the first time you’ve been here?”

“Yes,” Estelle whispered, staring out the window.

Deena wasn’t sure if Estelle was reacting to what she saw or how she felt. Obviously, Russell did not live in a mansion, but his small house was well-maintained and neat. If his lack of wealth was a deal-breaker for Estelle, she could just go back to Blake-what’s-his-name, Deena thought, her heart beginning to sink. “You can wait here, I guess.”

“Absolutely not! I want to meet Maggie.” Estelle took off her seatbelt and hurried to the front door. Her soft knock brought on a loud bark from the dog waiting on the other side.

Russell opened the door, and Deena followed Estelle inside.

Thanks goodness he cleaned up, Deena thought. The place looked pretty nice. She even thought she smelled a spice candle burning.

Estelle kneeled down to pet Maggie who was busy smelling her clothes. “I’ll bet she smells Clover.”

“You’re probably right.” Russell held out his hand to help Estelle up. They stayed clasped together as he walked her to the back door to let Maggie out and show Estelle the back of his property. They were still holding hands when they returned, and he walked her through the rest of the house.

Deena realized she had worried for nothing. She thought about the early days of her relationship with Gary and how just holding his hand sent sparks of electricity up and down her body. For a moment, she envied the “new love” feeling the two shared.

“Are you ready to go?” Russell asked Deena.

“Sure. You’re not bringing…um…any of your little friends, are you?” She nodded toward the middle bedroom where Russell kept his gun safe and collection of firearms.

“No, not today.” He grinned sheepishly at his sister.

Deena was relieved. The last time he brought a gun on one of their capers, she had worried they would be arrested. Contrary to the stereotype that all Texans walked around packing heat and that the state was filled with pistol-packin’ grannies, Deena was not alone in her desire to steer clear of guns.

They headed out to the car and Russell insisted Estelle ride shotgun so that his “good ear” would be toward her, explaining how he had lost most of the hearing in his left ear when he was in the army. He used his cell phone’s GPS to direct Deena.

Mudshed was in Brindle County in the piney woods of East Texas. The crisp air and fragrant pines lining the highway made the drive pleasant and adventurous.

Unfortunately, Estelle’s optimism that she was in for a sentimental reunion with her long, lost uncle would be short-lived.

* * *

“Start looking on the right,” Russell said as they slowed down to read the numbers on the mailboxes that dotted the side of the dirt road where they had exited the highway. The trees made it hard to see what was beyond the road, and it seemed some of the properties no longer had structures on them.

“This must be it,” Estelle said as they got to a mailbox that was rusted through on one side with its flag bent and dangling. “I think it says forty-two.”

Deena slowly pulled onto the gravel driveway, but stopped when she saw a banged-up metal sign that read “Private Property—No Trespassing.”

“We’re not technically trespassing because I’m family,” Estelle said.

Deena noted a doubtful tone in her voice.

“Keep going, Deena,” Russell said.

Overgrown bushes and weeds scratched at the sides of her SUV as she steered around deep pits in the drive. Another sign, homemade and faded, read, “Keep Out!”

“Are you sure about this?” Deena asked.

“I can see the house through those trees,” he said. “Pull up a little farther.”

When she stopped, they all looked at the battered house in front of them. It looked like it came straight off the set of “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” There was a blue tarp over one side where the roof must have leaked. Much of the formerly white paint had peeled away. Some of the screens were torn and one of the front windows was cracked.

“Surely this is the wrong house,” Estelle said. “I can’t imagine anyone lives here.”

One, two…four dogs ran up from the back of the house snapping and growling at the car.

Deena cringed as their overgrown nails scratched her car. “What should we do?” she asked.

“Wait here,” Russell said. “We didn’t come all this way to leave without at least seeing if he is here.” He slowly pulled on the handle, and the dogs ran to his side of the car.

“Russell! You can’t go out there with all those dogs. They’ll eat you alive!” Estelle reached for him in the backseat. “Let’s just go.”

“She’s right,” Deena said.

Without saying a word, he inched out of the car and closed the door softly behind him. The dogs jumped and yelped, but he kept his eyes on the front door, his hands deep in his pockets.

Deena put her hands to her face and held her breath as he crept to the front porch.

He stepped gingerly on a cinder block that had replaced the first step. He skipped the next step that was rotted through. The dogs continued to pace and bark but did not follow him up the porch.

Deena felt a tinge of relief that the dogs had seemed to back off. A letter envelope had been shoved into the edge of the screen door. She watched as Russell tilted his head to read it and glanced back toward the car, shaking his head. This must be the right place, Deena thought.

She rolled down the windows so she and Estelle could hear what was going on. If Bigelow was inside, he knew someone was there and had not yet come out. Russell knocked on the side of the door and sprinkles of paint fell to the ground. No one answered, so he knocked again. Nothing. “Mr. Bigelow?” he called out.

“Get off my property!” The voice from inside the house was gravelly, but strong.

Estelle started to yell something out the window, but Deena held up her hand. “Give him a chance.”

“Mr. Bigelow, I need to talk to you.” Russell stepped back away from the door.

“Get off my property, now!”

“Mr. Bigelow, I am here with your niece, Estelle Fitzhugh. She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t care if you got Santa Claus in that car, I said, git!”

“Russell, let’s go,” Estelle pleaded out the window.

“Mr. Bigelow.” Russell heard footsteps creaking through the house, and then a screen door opened and slammed shut. “Mr. Bigelow?”

He walked to the side of the porch just as the gray-bearded man came around the side of the house, cocked his rifle, and fired a shot up into the air. He then lowered the barrel to take aim straight at the intruder.

That’s when Russell bolted. The dogs bit at his legs and feet. He jumped in the car, breathless. “Let’s get out of here!”

Deena put the car in gear and floored it through the gravel and mud, not slowing down until they were safely back on the main road.

“Are you okay?” Estelle asked. She took off her seatbelt and turned completely around to check on him.

“Yeah,” he said, gasping for air. “Luckily, I had on my boots.” He poked his finger through a hole at the bottom of his jeans.

Then Estelle did something that caught Deena off guard. She threw her leg over the seat and fell in the back next to Russell. “I was so scared for you,” she said. “You could’ve been killed.”

Russell looked into her eyes and gently kissed her lips. Putting his arms around her, he glanced into the rearview mirror to see Deena watching him. He looked like a teenager trying to sneak some action in the backseat of his parents’ station wagon. “Well, the good news is that we made it out of there in one piece,” he said. “The bad news is, that was definitely your uncle.”

“Are you sure?” Estelle asked, her words dripping with disappointment.

“I’m pretty sure. There was a letter stuck in the door with his name on it.”

Deena looked at her brother in the rearview mirror. “Did you get a good look at him?”

“To be honest, all I saw was white hair and the barrel of a shotgun. I have no doubt that if we’d stuck around, the next bullet wouldn’t have been fired in the air.”

Deena sighed. “I thought maybe he would have had red hair.”

“Red? Why red?” Estelle asked.

“Remember Marie’s list? She said she saw someone with red hair in the kitchen. I thought there was a chance that it might have been Bigelow.”

Russell motioned for Estelle to put on her seatbelt. He held her hand as they drove.

“I told Howard Collier, my accountant, that Mother recently hired a private investigator. I wonder if she was checking up on my uncle. I tried calling the detective agency, but of course, they wouldn’t tell me anything. If I could just find that report, I might have a better idea of who we are dealing with.”

“What makes you so sure that he’s the person she had investigated?” Deena slowed down to let a car pass, her hands still shaking.

“I just have a hunch. Who else could it be?”

“I don’t know,” Deena said. “Maybe one of the staff, like Marie—” She stopped quickly then added, “—or Irene or her driver.”

“I guess that’s possible, but she has known them for years. I think she would have told me if she suspected them of anything.”

Deena nodded. Dodged that bullet, she thought. Definitely not a good time to tell her about Marie. “Have you looked through her papers to find the report?”

“Yes, but Mother was known to hide things.”

“Like her silver bells?” Russell asked.

“Yes,” Estelle smiled and leaned her head so it rested on his shoulder. “Just like that.”

“Let Deena have a go at it. She’s great at finding hidden things.” Russell tapped his sister on the shoulder. “You remember? You always found my dirty magazines and cigarettes. She would snitch on me to Mom and Dad.”

“That’s what little sisters are for!” She found a radio station playing Christmas music and they settled in for the drive back to Maycroft. As she drove, she thought about the rickety clapboard house and the snarling dogs. The sound of the gunshot still rang in her ears. Gary was not going to be happy when he heard about what happened. I’m in for a big “I told you so,” she thought.

After driving for a long while, she broke the silence and asked Estelle, “Did you say that Barnabus Bigelow showed up a couple of months before your father died?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” Deena said. After a long pause, she asked, “How did you say your father died?”

“A hunting accident.”

* * *

Marie hurried through her work at the Fitzhugh estate on Wednesday. When she arrived, Miss Estelle was away from the house and Marie hoped to be finished before she returned. Knowing that on Friday she would have to confess to her thefts, she did not think she could look Miss Estelle in the eye today without bursting into tears or worse.

She started with Irene’s bedroom. As she grabbed the hamper out of her closet, she spotted something unusual. She heard Irene approach and quickly closed the closet door.

“Why are you running around like a mad woman?” Irene asked as Marie ripped the sheets off the bed to launder them. “Do you have another job to go to later today?”

“Um…no ma’am. I just wanted to get things nice for when Miss Estelle returns. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“No. And you need to be careful. You nearly turned over the night table.”

Marie nodded and hurried to the second floor to get the bed linens. Besides laundry, she did all the dusting and cleaned the bathrooms, two chores Irene particularly disliked.

She tiptoed toward Mrs. Fitzhugh’s bedroom, not sure of what she should do. She half expected to open the door and be attacked by her unearthly spirit. Swallowing hard, she gripped the doorknob. Her sweaty palm slipped as she began to turn it. She heard a floorboard creak, and a shiver ran down her back. She felt as though someone were spying on her. She straightened up tall and opened the door. Peeking around it, she looked over at the bed. It did not appear to have been slept in since she was there on Tuesday, the day of the party. Nothing seemed disturbed. She shut the door quickly and leaned her back against the wall, waiting for her breathing to even out.

The door to the spare bedroom was partially open. Usually, she changed the bed linens once every few weeks even though the bed was never slept in. Not today, she thought, and shut the door without even looking inside.

The middle room was Mrs. Fitzhugh’s sitting room where she kept her desk, family photos, books, and other mementos. The door was wide open, and Marie could feel a breeze coming through the doorway. As she stepped inside, a sudden movement and sound turned her around. A sharp stinging sensation made her grab at her neck. Clover, with nails like razors, had pounced from the bookcase onto her shoulder and was out the door in a flurry of fur and hissing.

“You wretched beast!” she yelled as she wiped at the trails of blood running down her neck. The balcony door had been left ajar, causing the drapes to billow like ghosts into the room. She hurried over to close them, shivering against the cold air.

“What are you doing?”

Marie spun around to face Irene. “Oh! You scared me, miss.”

“Leave this room to me. You don’t need to be in here.”

Marie walked out, and Irene shut the door behind them.

“Hurry up and get the linens so you can start the laundry.” Irene headed down the back staircase.

Marie was not used to Irene meddling in her chores. Something was up, she thought. Maybe she was suspicious or knew what Marie had done. She charged into Estelle’s bedroom and grabbed the towels out of the bathroom hamper and stripped the bed. She clomped down the back stairs to the laundry room, making sure Irene was aware of her presence.

As she placed the linens into the over-sized machine, she noticed something fall to the floor. It was a rubber band all in a tangle with a wad of red hair. She snatched it up and stuck it in her pocket, knowing full well where it had come from.

* * *

Estelle had phoned Irene on the drive home and asked her to prepare lunch. Deena parked around the back of Estelle’s house. When they walked in the back door, Irene took their coats and leaned in to give Estelle a one-armed hug, something Deena had never seen her do before.

The kitchen table was set with a white eyelet tablecloth and pretty chintz dinnerware. Deena recognized it as a Royal Winton set. “This is lovely,” Deena said to Irene as she surveyed the spread. “Hot tea is perfect for a day like this.”

“I can make coffee, if you prefer,” she said, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“I’d like some,” Russell said and sat down at the table.

Estelle excused herself and went up the back staircase to wash up.

With Irene gone as well, Deena whispered to her brother. “So what’s the verdict? Is it you or Blake?”

Russell grinned. “You know I don’t kiss and tell,” he said. “But it looks like Blake is out of the picture.”

“Whew.” She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead in dramatic fashion. Her cell phone rang and the barking dogs caught her off guard. “I’ve got to change that ringtone,” she said and dug in her purse. Again, it was Trey.

“I see…I see.” She nodded her head as she listened. “Okay, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Estelle returned with freshly applied lipstick. Deena remembered when she used to do that whenever Gary was around.

Estelle sat down at the table. “I called Howard Collier and told him to stop payments to that lunatic immediately. Now that Mother is gone, he can’t do anything to hurt us. He said he would call his sheriff friend to check on him and warn him to stay away.”

Russell nodded. “That’s a good idea. He seemed a little dangerous to me.”

“That was Trey,” Deena said, setting her cell phone next to her plate.

Irene walked in with Russell’s coffee and stopped to listen.

“He tried to reach you but the answering machine picked up. He didn’t want to leave a message.”

Estelle glanced at Irene. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I must have been running the vacuum.”

Deena tried to sound positive. “He asked me to tell you that the Medical Examiner ruled your mother’s death an accident. No murder and no foul play.”

“An accident? Of course it was an accident!” Irene blurted out. “Who said it wasn’t?”

An awkward silence fell over the room. Estelle blotted her lips with the cloth napkin and turned to the housekeeper. “Irene, dear, will you give us a few minutes? That will be all for now.”

Irene raised her chin, turned on her heels, and stormed back to the kitchen. Much more characteristic of Irene, Deena thought.

“Did he say anything else?” Estelle asked in a low voice.

“Just that it appeared your mother fell down the stairs backwards, based on the injuries to her head.”

“Oh, no!” She covered her mouth. “That means she watched as the person pushed her!” Estelle broke into sobs and tried to muffle them with her napkin.

Deena and Russell exchanged glances. It seemed apparent that Estelle was holding on to the idea that her mother was murdered as a way to cope with her death.

Russell knelt down beside her. “Hon, I think you need to accept the fact that your mother’s death was a terrible, tragic accident. There’s no proof otherwise.” He patted her back.

“But…but…what about the missing knife? What about the red-headed man in the kitchen?”

Deena realized she could not wait until after the funeral to tell Estelle about Marie. She took a deep breath, wishing she had already told Russell about her findings.

“About that,” she said, trying not to make eye contact. “We found the knife.”

“You what?” Estelle’s eyes widened.

“Sandra and I found the knife in one of the boxes of coats that was delivered from here to the thrift store.”

Russell sat back down in his chair. “When? Why didn’t you say anything before?” His face stiffened, and he looked at his sister with a combination of confusion and hurt.

“It was last week…Friday.” She could only imagine what they were thinking right now. “There’s a reason I didn’t tell you about it then. You see, the knife had blood on it.”

Glass shattering in the kitchen put an exclamation mark on her words.

“Irene, are you all right?” Estelle got up and walked toward the kitchen.

Irene emerged holding a few pieces of broken porcelain. “Sorry, ma’am,” she said. “I dropped a teacup.”

“Oh, you scared me to death. Please bring Mr. Sinclair some more coffee. We are going to move into the parlor. You can bring the tea tray and fresh cups in there.” Estelle stood up and looked at her guests. They all knew that Irene had been eavesdropping.

Her sour expression had returned when she came back to refill Russell’s cup. They walked down the hall to the parlor. The door was open, and Marie was inside dusting.

“Oh, sorry, ma’am. I didn’t know you were coming in here. I’ll finish up later.” Marie rushed out of the room, brushing past Deena without acknowledging her.

Deena felt even more like a creep knowing she was about to rat on poor Marie.

Estelle picked up Clover who was nestled against a pillow on the sofa. Deena immediately felt a sneeze coming on and realized she had forgotten her antihistamine again. Estelle and Russell settled onto the couch.

“Now,” Estelle said, “I want to hear everything.”

Deena rubbed at her nose and explained about finding the knife and calling Trey. “I didn’t want to worry you about it until we knew if there was a connection to your mother. The report came back showing the knife had cat blood on it, not human blood.”

“Cat blood?” She looked down at the furry bundle in her lap. “It must have been from Clover. Remember how she was bleeding the other day?”

“That’s what I think, too. She must have climbed into the box and cut herself on the blade.”

“But how did the knife get in the box in the first place?” Estelle asked.

Irene knocked lightly then pushed the door open with her foot. She set the tea tray on the coffee table and left without saying a word.

Deena looked at Estelle to see her reaction to Irene’s rebuff. “I thought you two were like sisters now.”

Estelle shook her head. “She’s probably upset because I wouldn’t let her sit in on our conversation. I just don’t trust her not to spread our dirty laundry all through the Maycroft grapevine.”

“Okay, back to the knife. I think Marie put it there, and here’s why.” She proceeded to describe the incident at the flea market. Estelle’s face flushed as the details unfolded. Deena told her how remorseful Marie had seemed and how she had agreed to confess the day after the funeral. “Sandra and I both thought it would be better not to upset you with this matter right now.”

Estelle walked over to the door and set Clover down in the foyer. “I can’t believe Marie would actually steal from us. It’s such a betrayal. Also, I can’t believe you would have kept this a secret. You must think I’m a spineless jellyfish.”

“Not at all.” Deena looked at Russell for back up but got the same cold stare.

“I want to talk to Marie,” Estelle said.

Russell leaned forward and picked up the bell on the side of the tea tray and gave it a good shake. “She’d better have a good excuse because stealing is no laughing matter.”

Irene came to the door.

“Irene,” Estelle said, “could you ask Marie to come here?”

She closed the door without answering.

“She had better not get too big for her britches. I’m still her employer.”

Deena felt stuck. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything about Marie. She thought she was helping, but now she felt like a conspirator in crime. She wasn’t used to Russell being upset with her. Why did she even open her big mouth?

Marie stood in the doorway looking like she was facing the electric chair.

“Come in, please,” Estelle said. “I understand you have something to tell me.”

Marie looked at Deena and her face turned ashen.

Deena felt an inch tall.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Estelle! I should never have stolen from your mother. There were just so many things in that closet. I will pay you back every penny. Please don’t fire me, please!” She dropped to her knees and folded her hands as if pleading for her life in front of the executioner. Tears flowed down her face.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Get up off the floor!” She motioned for Marie to sit in the empty chair next to her. “Now tell me the truth. When did all this stealing begin?”

Pulling a tissue out of her pocket to wipe her eyes, Marie answered, keeping her head down. “Two years ago when Freddy lost his job. The baby was just a year old, and we couldn’t pay our bills.”

“Why didn’t you just ask for a loan? I’m sure Mother or Mrs. Smathers would have helped you out.”

“Oh, no. Freddy would have been furious. He said, ‘We aren’t beggars.’”

Estelle seemed unmoved. “Well, does he know you’re a thief?” The sobs grew louder.

Bless her heart, Deena thought. That was harsh.

“I know, I know,” she cried. “I clean houses five, sometimes six days a week. I sell things at the flea market. I even babysit for my neighbor on Sundays. Freddy spends too much money at the bar and betting on games. I just want to be able to take care of my children.”

Estelle’s face softened. Marie’s story painted a picture of life very different from her own. “Mother kept that door to the storage closet locked. Only she and Irene had a key. How were you able to get into it to take things out?”

Again, Marie lowered her head. “I found the key.”

She said it so softly, Deena was not sure she heard right.

“You found the key? Where?” Estelle asked.

“Mrs. Fitzhugh hid it in her sitting room. I found it.”

“Show me,” Estelle said and stood up.

They all followed Marie up the stairs to the middle room. She opened the door and flipped on a light. One wall had a built-in bookcase. Marie picked up a small Roseville vase filled with white silk roses. Taking out the flowers, she turned the vase upside down, and a key fell in her hand.

“However did you find that?” Estelle asked.

“Actually, I accidently knocked it onto the floor when I was dusting. It broke and the key fell out.” She turned it around to reveal a repair. “I glued it and it’s good as new,” she added quickly.

Deena’s heart sank as she looked at the beautiful blue vase. That color in the pine cone design was highly prized by collectors. She decided it would be best not to point out that Marie had ruined a five-hundred dollar vase.

Estelle took the key and turned it over in her hands. “Let’s look in there together.” She led the group back into the hall. The storage “closet” was actually a small room next to Carolyn’s. Estelle unlocked the door and flipped the switch to turn on the overhead light.

Deena gasped as though stumbling upon an Egyptian tomb filled with the king’s treasures. Antique furniture, pottery, glassware, china, paintings, sculptures, and more filled the room. “Wow! I’ve never seen a collection like this.”

“A collection? This is just junk we don’t use anymore or couldn’t find a place for,” Estelle said. “Most of these smaller items were gifts.”

Picking up a rare piece of Newcomb Pottery, Deena was overwhelmed by the treasure trove before her.

“Close your mouth, Sis,” Russell teased. “You’re drooling all over the merchandise.”

Deena could see how easy it was for Marie to take a couple of pieces here and there without their being missed. Drunk with envy, she wandered through the maze trying to drink in as much as she could.

“Is this you?” Russell asked, picking up an oil painting in a gold frame leaning against a shelf. It was of a young girl in a frilly dress.

“Yes,” Estelle said. “Mother had me sit for that portrait when I was sixteen. I’ve always hated it.”

“I didn’t know that was you,” Marie said. “I tried to sell it. Nobody wanted it, so I brought it back.”

Russell snickered and Marie lowered her head.

Estelle put her hands on her hips and glared at Russell.

“I think it’s beautiful, really,” he said, trying to make-up for his blunder.

Estelle couldn’t hold back a laugh. “It really is awful. Have you ever seen so many ruffles on a collar before? I look like I’ve fallen into a cupcake.”

Russell held it up for Deena who could only shake her head.

“Since you think it’s ‘beautiful,’ I am giving it to you to hang in your bedroom. That way I can be the last thing you see every night before you fall asleep.” Estelle leaned over to kiss Russell’s cheek.

“Looks like I’ll be sleeping with one eye open,” he said, and gave a mock shiver.

They walked out into the hall and Estelle locked the door behind them. “Hey, you forgot your picture,” she said to Russell.

“We’ll just keep it in there for safe keeping, for now. I would hate for it to release any evil spirits.”

Estelle grimaced and put her arm through his as they started toward the stairway.

Deena took a deep breath as she prepared to open another can of worms. She felt it was time to confront Marie about the missing knife. “Um…Estelle, isn’t there something else we need to ask Marie?”

Estelle turned around, looking confused.

Deena motioned back toward Carolyn’s sitting room. “Is this the room where the boxes of coats were kept?”

Estelle nodded and led the group back into the room. “That’s right,” she said. “You hid the butcher knife up here in one of the coat boxes.”

“What knife?” Marie asked.

“The missing knife from the kitchen.”

“You mean the one Chef Jack lost?”

“Chef Jacques,” Estelle repeated with a French accent.

“Whatever. We all called him Jack back in high school. Anyway, I didn’t take his knife. Do you think I stole it?” Her anxiety seemed to rise along with the pitch of her voice.

Russell shoved his hands into his pockets. “Now, come on. You’ve already confessed to stealing. That was the hard part. Now own up to what you did with the knife.”

“I swear to you, I did not take that knife.” She crossed her heart with her hand.

“But it was here,” Estelle said, walking over to the balcony door and pointing to an empty spot on the floor. “It was found in a box that was sitting right here.”

“It wasn’t me. Maybe it was someone else working in the kitchen that night. It was a madhouse.”

Estelle looked over at Deena who shrugged her shoulders. “Finish your chores. We’ll talk about this again later.”

Marie nodded, and hurried away.

“What do you think?” Estelle asked, sitting down on the small sofa.

“I think she may have been telling the truth,” Deena said. “I just don’t know.”

Russell nodded. “Why would she lie about that when she already confessed to stealing?”

Estelle picked up an embroidered sofa pillow and pounded it into shape. “You’re right. Maybe one of the other staff took it. I should probably tell Wendy what we think in case it turns out to be one of the chef’s staff.”

“I can call her for you if you’d like,” Deena offered.

“She’s coordinating the reception tomorrow at the church. You could probably just tell her then.”

“Is this your mother and father’s wedding picture?” Deena asked, spying a framed photograph on the wall.

“Yes. Aren’t they a beautiful couple?” She stared at the picture and a few tears trickled down her face. She turned to Russell. “I wish you could have met my father. He would have liked you.”

Not wanting to interrupt another lovey-dovey moment, Deena walked over to browse the books displayed on the tall shelves. It seemed she had been forgiven for keeping the Marie incident a secret.

They stepped out of the room, and Estelle shut the door behind them. Sitting at the end of the hall at the top of the grand staircase was Clover, licking her paw.

“You know, it’s funny how Mother loved to hide things, even her cat,” Estelle said. “Many times Clover would be sitting next to her in the wheelchair hidden under her big shawl, and no one would ever know. Clover was there at the party.”

“Really? So that explains it!” Deena felt vindicated. “That’s why I sneezed on your mother.”

Clover let out a soulful meow, and Estelle walked down the hall to pick her up. “Poor kitty, you miss her, too. Is that what you are trying to say?” She put her face on the cat’s soft fur and stroked her back.

A strange picture suddenly flashed through Deena’s mind. She saw Carolyn turning around in her wheelchair. A wheel catching the edge of the step. Her falling backwards. And Clover. Clover leaping off her lap and landing exactly where she sat now. Was someone else there? Someone with a knife?

Without realizing it, she let out a loud gasp.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Russell put his hand on her back to steady her.

“I’m…I’m fine. I was just picturing…”

“I know,” Estelle said, still holding the cat. “I’ve done it a dozen times. I want to believe it was an accident. I truly do.” She looked at Russell. “But with my uncle and Marie and that stupid knife—I just don’t know who to trust anymore.”

Rubbing her nose to stifle a sneeze, Deena felt a cold chill and a sense of foreboding came over her. Was it the mention of evil spirits? Was it Clover’s mournful cry? Maybe she had just read one too many Stephen King novels. Regardless, she couldn’t help but feel the book was not yet closed on this mystery.

Chapter Nineteen

Funerals are always unsettling. People come together to celebrate a life while also saying goodbye. It is hard to do both at once. A heart broken has trouble finding a voice to cheer instead of cry. We lift up our heads to the sky while we bury our hearts under the ground. A life lived. A life lost.

“Russell is here,” Gary called to Deena from the living room. “Hurry up or we’ll be late.”

“Where are those blasted shoes?” Her favorite black Ferragamo heels would be perfect with her long wool skirt and herringbone sweater.

Gary walked in to see her crawling around her walk-in closet searching behind boxes and bags. “Did you hear me? Russell’s here.”

She sat back and let out a deep breath. “I can’t find my shoes.” She was close to tears and her hair was a mess.

He reached out his hand to help her up.

“You fix your hair, and I’ll look.” He took off his suit jacket and knelt down on the floor, digging around like a gopher. “Are you sure you didn’t donate them last summer with all those other shoes?”

“Uh-oh,” she said sheepishly. “I think maybe I did.”

Gary crawled backwards out of the closet, and Deena gave him an apologetic smile.

“While you’re down there, would you grab my black pumps?”

On his third try, he held up the correct pair of shoes.

“I’m ready,” she teased. “I’m tired of waiting on you.”

Russell was wearing the same suit he’d worn to the Christmas party and looked just as uncomfortable. “I hate funerals,” he said as Gary and Deena walked in from the bedroom.

“Everyone does.” Deena straightened his tie. “Except morticians. Are you going to be sitting with us or with Estelle?”

“With you guys. Estelle doesn’t want everyone gossiping about us before she has a chance to talk to Blake. I offered to stay home—”

“You didn’t.” Deena picked up her purse and glanced in the entryway mirror.

Gary opened the door to the garage. “Let’s get going or we’ll miss the whole thing.”

Russell chuckled. “That’d be okay by me.”

The First Baptist Church was on the other side of Maycroft, which was still only about a fifteen-minute drive. The parking lot was packed. They found a spot down the road at the Presbyterian Church.

“I’m freezing,” Deena said. A cold wind blew in her face. She pulled her black shawl tighter around her.

Gary put his arm across her shoulders. “Why didn’t you just wear your jacket?”

“Seriously? Everyone in Maycroft is in there,” she said. “I don’t want to look like a country bumpkin.”

Russell straggled along behind them.

They climbed the steps and heard the organ bellowing out a hymn. Deena quickly signed the guest book, and they entered the sanctuary.

Penelope and Edwin Burrows were in one of the back pews and waved them over.

Deena scooted in next to her to serve as a buffer for Gary and Russell.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes to arrive fashionably late,” Penelope whispered, blowing bourbon in Deena’s face.

“Couldn’t find my shoes.” She looked around to see several other Bluebonnets, all decked out in full bloom, waving to her. Didn’t realize I was one of them now, she thought. They must have another service project coming up.

Russell craned his neck to see Estelle.

“There,” Deena said, pointing to the family section on the side of the sanctuary. She heard him release his breath as the choir rose to sing a hymn.

Penelope leaned over just as the second verse of Amazing Grace was ending. “I thought your brother would be sitting with Estelle.”

Deena shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to explain.

Penelope giggled. “I’ll bet this won’t be the last time we see the two of them in a church together.”

The preacher chimed in. “Amen.”

* * *

After the service, the small family group filed out to attend a private graveside burial. The pastor invited the guests to the fellowship hall for a reception. He said the family would join them shortly.

“Last in, first out,” Penelope said a little too loudly. “I’ll see you inside.” She and Edwin slipped past them in the pew. Deena watched as Penelope put her hand on both men’s shoulders to “steady” herself.

“Did she really just cop a feel?” Deena whispered to Gary.

He stifled a laugh.

Over her shoulder, Deena spied Wendy swimming upstream against the crowd.

“Deena! I need you.”

“What is it?”

“When Estelle was leaving just now, she remembered a special picture of her mother and father she wanted to set out with the others. She said to ask if you would mind running to her house to get it. She said you would know right where it was.”

“Sure. We’ll take care of it.” Wendy slipped back into the crowd headed to the reception area.

As they were about to get up, Cliff sat down at the other end of their row and scooted over to join them. “Hey, guys. Beautiful service.”

Russell put his hand on Cliff’s shoulder. “Glad to see you, man. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yeah, well, I thought it was finally time to meet this girlfriend of yours.”

“I can’t imagine ever going to a funeral if I didn’t have to,” Russell said, shaking his head.

“You were there for me when we buried Gail, although I can barely remember it. I wanted to be here for you. And, hey, I brought something that will cheer you up. I’ve got a couple of cold ones in the back of the truck. Why don’t we sneak out the back and relax a few minutes until Estelle gets back.”

“I would, but—”

“You go ahead,” Deena said. “Gary and I can run to the house. You’re in good hands with Cliff.” As they stood to leave, she looked back at Cliff and mouthed the words “thank you.”

Gary and Deena headed out the front door. Some of the guests were driving away, but it seemed most had stayed for the reception. Deena always had trouble keeping up with Gary’s long stride. Soon they were back in the car with the heater on full blast.

“Will we be able to get into the house?” Gary asked as he headed east on Main Street.

“I’m sure someone stayed behind. Irene was with the family. Maybe Marie is there.”

Gary looked at Deena with surprise. She had told him all about the confrontation from the day before. “Can you even imagine the upkeep on a house that size? Just the cost of heating and air alone would be a small fortune. I wonder what their property taxes run?”

“You’re such a nerd. Let’s focus on what’s important here—getting to snoop around in the house!”

A few minutes later they pulled up to the house. “Looks like we won’t be alone,” Gary said. There was a Jeep parked in the driveway.

“You know I was kidding about snooping, right?”

“Of course. But I can’t wait to get a better look at the place.”

They rang the doorbell and a young man with red hair opened the door. Deena gasped and grabbed Gary by the arm, ducking behind him for safety.

“Hello,” the man said. He seemed somewhat annoyed by Deena’s reaction. “Can I help you?”

For a moment, Deena felt like she was having one of those dreams where suddenly everything seems odd and out of place. Like having amnesia. She looked down subconsciously to be sure she wasn’t wearing her pajamas.

“Deena?” Gary turned around to retrieve his wife. “I’m so sorry. We’ve just come from the funeral and—”

“No problem,” he said quickly. “Can I help you with something?”

Gary looked at Deena who had turned a grayish shade of white. She cleared her throat to find her voice. “Wendy—Wendy Fairmont—asked us to come over and get a picture to take to the church.”

“Oh sure, come on in.” He stepped aside for them to enter. “I’m David O’Malley, Wendy’s boyfriend.”

“Wendy’s boyfriend?” Deena felt her knees go weak. “Were you here the night of the Christmas party?”

“Yeah. I drove down from Dallas to help her out. She likes to have extra help for big events. My job today is to babysit the house so no one breaks in to steal anything while everyone is at the service.” He laughed and slapped Gary on the back. “You’re not going to steal anything, are you?”

“Ha. I’m not, but you can never be too careful.” He nodded toward Deena.

By this time, Deena had regained her senses. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “There’s a reason why I reacted that way. It’s a funny story actually…”

“No problem.” He shrugged his shoulders and walked back toward the parlor.

Deena started to explain, but Gary held up his hand. “Don’t even try. You can tell me about it later.” They climbed the stairs, and Deena led Gary straight to Carolyn’s sitting room.

He looked around and walked over to the balcony door. He pulled back the curtains. “Wow. Look at this view. If it weren’t so cloudy, I’d bet you could see all the way to Bingham. You forget how flat this area is out this way.”

Deena walked over to take a quick look. “Here’s the picture,” she said and lifted it off the wall. The floral wallpaper behind it was clean and revealed fading on the rest of the paper. “This must have been here awhile.”

Gary rattled the doors of the balcony.  “I wonder if you can still walk out here?”

“Now’s not the time to find out. Let’s get going.”

He stepped back and closed the curtains. His eyes roamed and followed the Victorian molding around the ceiling, coming down to rest on the built-in bookcase. “Is that the vase where Carolyn hid the key?”

“Yes.” Leaning the picture on the floor next to the wall, she picked up the vase and turned it over to show him the broken part.

“Ouch. That cost a pretty penny, I’ll bet.” He looked back at the shelves filled with books and small framed photos. “Look at all these old books. Some of these are probably first editions.” The bibliophile in Gary was coming out. He loved rare books and had a small collection himself. Scanning the titles, he pulled out an early copy of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. “I never thought I’d see one of these.”

“Okay, we’ve got to go. I’ll ask Estelle if you can come back and salivate over her mother’s books another time.”

He gingerly replaced the book. “She must have loved Gone with the Wind. She’s got three copies.”

“Actually, she hated that book, according to Betty.” Deena reached out and pulled one of the copies forward. “What’s this?” The book had a leather spine but underneath it was made of wood. “Look.” She pulled it out to show Gary, and two letter envelopes fell to the ground.

Gary quickly picked them up and turned them over to see the fronts. Handwritten on one was “Blake Whitman.” The other said “Russell Sinclair.”

“This must have been one of Carolyn’s hiding places,” Deena whispered.

“Can I help you?”

Deena and Gary both jumped when they heard the woman’s voice in the doorway. Gary stuffed the two envelopes inside his suit pocket.

“Irene,” Deena said and shoved the book back in its place. “You startled us.”

“Clearly.” She stood with her arms crossed and her jaw set.

“I thought you went to the graveside service.” Deena tried to sound casual even though she knew she had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Miss Fitzhugh sent me back to make sure you found the wedding picture.”

“The picture. Yes. We have it right here.” She reached down and picked it up. “My husband was just admiring this collection of books. He just loves old books.”

Irene stepped backwards in the doorway, signally it was time to leave.

“Good to see you.” They filed out of the room and hurried down the stairs. Once back in the car, Deena breathed easier.

“Why did you take those letters?”

Gary took quick breaths and jerked the car around in a quick U-turn. “I didn’t know what else to do. I just reacted.” He reached in his pocket and tossed them on Deena’s lap.

She held up her hands as though a rattlesnake had just landed on her. “Don’t give them to me! You’re the one who stole them.”

They turned a corner and one envelope slid to the floor. She tentatively leaned over to pick it up. It was the one labeled with Russell’s name. She studied it carefully, noting the top had been sliced with a letter opener. It was hand addressed to Mrs. Carolyn Fitzhugh and had a pre-printed return address in Dallas. The other one looked the same but was thicker.

“Okay. Let’s consider our options,” Gary said in his business-like tone. “We could tell Estelle exactly what happened. Give them to her and all have a good laugh about it.”

“But aren’t you curious about what’s inside? This one has Russell’s name on it.”

“Sure, but there’s no way we’re going to look inside, right? Right?”

“Let’s just think for a minute.” She held one envelope in each hand. “Why would Carolyn be hiding letters with her daughter’s two boyfriend’s names on them? I think she had them checked out when they started dating Estelle. I have a feeling these are from a private detective agency.”

“You may be right. But it’s none of our business.” He pulled into the church parking lot and found a space near the door. He looked back at Deena whose eyes were glue to the letters. “Remember, curiosity killed the cat.”

“Ha,” she said, snapping out of her trance. “It only injured the cat, in this case.”

“Deena…”

“What if it says something bad about Russell, and Estelle dumps him? It would be our fault that he missed out on his one true love.”

“Your brother’s a good guy. There’s no skeleton in his closet.” They both chuckled, thinking about her uncle’s case from the previous summer.

“Well, there were those months he spent in the psych hospital when he came back from the army with PTSD. What if I just take a peek at the letterhead? Maybe that’s not even what it is.”

“You’re a grown woman. This is all on you.” He leaned in.

She knew her husband was just as curious as she was. She carefully pulled on the sides of the envelope. The papers inside were folded with the letterhead on the top. She held it up to read. “Hawkeye Investigative Services. I was right!”

“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Now what?”

“Maybe we should just put them back where we found them and pretend this never happened.” She watched his reaction.

Gary looked down at the letters. “What would Russell want you to do?”

“Good question. All I know is that the last time I kept something from him, he acted like I had put a knife through his heart.”

“Well then, there’s your answer. Tell him the truth. After all, it just means Carolyn had Estelle’s boyfriends checked out. I’d probably have done the same thing if we had a daughter.”

Deena nodded and put them in her purse. Gary got the portrait, and they headed back into the church. I’ll tell the truth, she thought. What’s the worst that could happen?

* * *

An hour or so later, most of the visitors had left. Wendy and her crew were cleaning the hall.

Deena caught up to her as she stacked folding chairs.

“Hey, thanks for going back to the house for me,” Wendy said, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her sleeve.

“No problem. By the way, we met your boyfriend.” She searched for the right words. “He’s going to tell you that I screamed when I saw him. It’s nothing personal.”

Wendy stopped what she was doing and stared at Deena.

“He reminded me of someone else, and I was caught off guard.”

“Okay…”

“Also, I wanted to tell you that we found Chef Jacques’ missing knife. It’s a long story. I’ll have to tell you some other time.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Wendy looked puzzled as Deena turned to walk away.

Not a good time to tell her one of the catering staff might be a thief, she thought. I already treated her boyfriend like a serial killer. Gary was right. Honesty is the best policy. I’m tired of secrets.

Russell and Gary stood awkwardly waiting for Estelle as the last few guests gave her their condolences. As soon as they left, she plopped down in a chair and took off her shoes. “My feet are killing me,” she said. Deena could see she was emotionally spent.

Hearing loud footsteps behind her, Deena turned around to see Howard Collier headed toward their small group.

“Mr. Collier, you’re back,” Estelle said, pulling her shoes back on.

“Yes. I wanted to catch you before you left. I just got off the phone with the sheriff in Brindle County. He had just come back from checking on Mr. Bigelow. Apparently, your uncle had fallen off the wagon recently and was a little…out of it, shall we say. He hadn’t eaten in days and was in bad shape. They got him to the hospital just in time.”

“That explains a lot,” Estelle said.

“Yes ma’am. It seems that your visit might have saved his life.”

Russell reached for Estelle’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“And this was the oddest thing. The sheriff said when they were at the house, they found a big box filled with unopened envelopes, all from my office. It seems your uncle hadn’t spent any of your mother’s cash in years.” He shook his head. “Well, I just thought you’d want to know. I’ll see you in a few weeks. Again, my deepest condolences.” Estelle thanked him as he shook hands with Gary and Russell.

“Wow,” Russell said. “Maybe we misjudged the poor guy.”

“I’m willing to forgive him,” Estelle said. “I just wish I had known about him from the beginning.” She stood up and looked at Russell. “This has been quite a day. I’m ready to go home. Would you mind giving me a ride?”

“I rode with them. What do you say, guys?”

“Of course.” Gary offered her his arm. “We can’t leave a lady standing at the church. Remember that, Russell.” Estelle smiled and walked with Gary.

“Hey, you’re stealing my girl.” Russell came up on her other side and she took his arm as well.

“Don’t worry about me,” Deena said, bringing up the rear. “By the way, we met Wendy’s boyfriend.”

Estelle stopped and spun around to Deena. “With the red hair? I know. I screamed when he first showed up at the house.”

“Me, too! He probably thinks everyone in Maycroft is crazy.”

Russell held the door open. “Hey, Estelle finally met Cliff today.”

“I really like him,” she said. “He has your same sense of humor.”

When they got to the house, Russell walked Estelle to the front door and kissed her goodbye.

Deena turned to Gary. “So should we tell Russell now? I feel like I’m carrying around contraband. Like the police are going to pull us over and slam me face down in the gravel.”

Gary laughed. “It’s your conscience getting you. Why don’t we tell him when we get back to the house.”

“You’re the one who should have a guilty conscience. You took them.”

They drove across town to Butterfly Gardens. Dark clouds had blown in and a light mist fell on the windshield. They pulled into the garage just as the mist turned to rain.

“I know you want to get home, but I need to talk to you for just a minute before you leave,” she said to Russell as they got out of the car.

Once inside, Gary headed straight to the refrigerator to get a couple of beers. Handing one to Russell, he headed to the bedroom to change clothes.

Russell removed his coat and tie, and Deena let Hurley outside.

“Do you mind?” Russell held up the remote. “I think there’s a hockey game on.”

“Sure,” she said, waiting for Hurley to run back through the rain to the patio. She took off her shoes and let out a sigh of relief. Hurley was wet, so she picked him up with a towel before he could shake water all over her.

Gary came back in wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. He sat in his recliner and leaned back. “So, Russ, Deena has something she needs to tell you.”

She set Hurley on the ground and cleared her throat. “So, remember how you got mad at me when you thought I was keeping secrets from you? I don’t want you to think I would ever intentionally do that.”

“I know. That’s water under the bridge. Estelle was on edge, and I was a bundle of nerves. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks. But there’s another thing I need to tell you.”

“Yessss!” Russell yelled. “The Stars take the lead.”

Deena looked back at the screen to see hockey players jumping on top of each other. “Russell, I need you to listen.”

“Let’s just rip off the Band-Aid,” Gary said. “Deena and I were snooping around Carolyn’s book collection and found two letters she had hidden. They are from a private detective agency. Irene came in and caught us, and I stuffed them in my pocket. Here they are.” He motioned for Deena to hand them over.

She pulled them from her purse and gave them to Russell.

“What are these?” Russell turned them back and forth in his hands, reading the names on the front.

“My guess,” Deena said, “is that Carolyn had you guys checked out by a private detective. I peeked at the letterhead, but I didn’t take them out and read them, I promise. We were looking at the books and saw she had three copies of Gone with the Wind. One of them was a fake. These were in it. You see, Betty said—”

“Stop. It’s okay. What do think we should do with them?”

Deena sighed. “I can give them to Estelle and tell her the truth about what happened.”

“Or, we could read them first and then sneak them back where you found them,” Russell said.

“Now look who’s keeping secrets!”

Russell grinned. “Maybe I should just read the one with my name on it.”

“Isn’t it a federal crime to read another person’s mail?” Gary laughed. “I’ll put Ian Davis on speed dial just in case you need an attorney.”

Russell tossed the second envelope onto the coffee table. He pulled out the papers and read silently. When he got to the second page, he cried out, “Oh, no!”

“What? What is it?” Deena gasped as she leaned toward her brother.

“Gotcha!” He grinned and handed the papers to her.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it. That’s what big brothers do to little sisters.” He looked over at Gary and nodded.

“What are you going to do with the other one?” She folded the two pages and put them back into the envelope the way they had been before.

“That really would seem like an invasion of privacy. I’m gonna take these to the house and put them back where you found them. I can tell Estelle about it when the time is right. Besides, after tomorrow, Blake Whitman will be a ghost from the past. He’ll never be able to hurt her again.”

Chapter Twenty

Estelle drew herself a hot bubble bath when she got home. Her feet ached. Fatigue gnawed at her whole body.  She hadn’t slept well in a week. One thing, though, felt good. She had buried her mother with dignity and self-control. She hadn’t fallen apart. Being a grown-up is exhausting, she thought. The hot water drenched in lavender foam relaxed her, and soon she drifted off to sleep.

She wasn’t sure how long it had been when a sharp knock on the bathroom door jolted her awake.

“Miss Fitzhugh? Are you all right in there?”

Estelle awoke with a start. “Yes, Irene. I’m getting out now.” The water had turned cold, the bubbles melted. She got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a soft, chenille robe. The rich aroma of herbal tea lured her down the back stairs to the kitchen just as Irene was pouring a cup. Estelle sat down at the kitchen table and pulled the robe more tightly around her.

“I made this for you,” Irene said. “It’s sweet orange ginger. I thought you might need some warming up.”

“Thank you. Why don’t you pour yourself a cup and sit with me.” She blew on the steaming tea and took a sip. “I want to explain about yesterday.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, ma’am. I’m just the housekeeper.”

“Nonsense. You know that’s not true. I thought we were becoming friends.” She patted the chair and Irene sat down.

“Me, too.” She slowly stirred her tea. Without looking up, she said, “What you said about your mother’s death. Do you really think someone killed her?”

Estelle pondered the question, not sure how much she should trust Irene. “You and I both know how cautious Mother was about those stairs. The fact that she fell just seems suspicious. Too coincidental. Everyone says I’m just not accepting her death. That I’m looking for someone to blame.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. But only because I still find it hard to believe that she would have gotten that close to the edge of the stairs on her own. I’m going to say the right things and do the right things. But between us, I still think there’s a killer out there, and I won’t stop looking until he’s caught.”

Clover padded her way across the hardwood floor and jumped into Estelle’s lap. She looked into the cat’s forlorn eyes. “You were there, weren’t you, pretty girl? I wish you could tell me what happened.” She leaned down and brushed her cheek across Clover’s soft head and closed her eyes, picturing her mother.

Irene sat quietly. She cleared her throat. “Can I make you a sandwich or something?”

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll be up in my room. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I have a big day tomorrow.”

Irene stood and wiped up a drop that had spilled on the table. “Really?”

“Yes. I’m having lunch with Blake.”

“I’ll make you some extra special tea. Guaranteed to help you sleep.”

“Thanks.” Clover jumped to the floor, and Estelle slowly climbed the back stairs to her bedroom.

She emerged from the dressing area, her hair dry, her face washed. Dressed in her pink and gray flannel pajamas, she looked young and vulnerable. The tray of food Irene had left her lay on the foot of the bed. A vase with a red rose added a sweet touch. She switched on the bed lamp and snuggled in under the covers. The aroma of the tea relaxed her senses while the hot brew warmed her insides. After taking a few bites of the chicken salad sandwich, she felt better.

Her thoughts turned to Howard Collier and what he had said about her uncle. She wondered if she should go see him at the hospital. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture his face. She had only gotten a quick glimpse of the man. Would he resemble her mother? Would their mannerisms be the same? After all, they were twins.

She tried to open her eyes, but they protested. She managed to sit up for just a minute and glanced over at the nightstand. There behind a cloth napkin was her mother’s bottle of sleeping pills. After putting the tray on the floor, she lay her head on the pillow. Sleep pulled her deeper and deeper into its grasp. And then, she was out.

Chapter Twenty-One

Staring at the clock on the nightstand, Estelle wished time could slow down. “I promise I’ll call you as soon as I get back,” she said and ended the call with Russell. She dreaded her lunch date with Blake, but she was ready to get it over with. This will be the last time I have to see him. He’ll be gone, and I can be with Russell.

But, she had one thing to do first.

Irene was in the kitchen putting away the dishes when Estelle stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. “I need to ask you about last night.”

Irene jumped, obviously startled. “What do you mean?”

“Did you put sleeping pills in my tea?” She tried to soften the edge in her voice but knew it still sounded sharp.

Irene set a plate on the shelf and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Yes ma’am. One pill. You said you needed to get a good night’s sleep. I was trying to help.”

She seemed sincere. Estelle’s arms dropped to her sides. “I appreciate your wanting to help, but you should have asked me first.”

Leaning back against the counter, Irene seemed contrite. “I used to do the same thing for your mother. She didn’t like to admit she sometimes needed pills to sleep, so she would drop a hint. I would put one in her coffee or tea.”

“Well, I’m not my mother. Please don’t do that again.” She turned and walked down the hall to the parlor to wait for Blake. Why does everyone think they have to protect me? I can look out for myself, she thought.

Irene followed her out. “Are you excited to see Mr. Whitman today? I really hope you two get back together. He’s such a handsome man.”

That seems awfully forward, Estelle thought. No wonder Mother kept Irene at arm’s length. “Yes,” was all she managed to say.

* * *

Blake looked quite dashing when he arrived. He wore dark blue slacks, a white button-down shirt, and an argyle sweater vest under his long wool coat and matching scarf. She could imagine him standing in front of his shiny new car with a jacket thrown over his shoulder, holding a pair of driving gloves. Once again, his put-together look just made her feel shabby.

When he leaned down to kiss her, she turned her cheek to avoid his lips.

“Let’s go,” she said, opening the front door herself.

They had lunch at a cafe overlooking the narrow river that ran through the south part of town. The last time they had eaten there, fall leaves had painted a brilliant, colorful picture, the perfect backdrop for their budding courtship. Today, the trees were bare, the grass brown. The cold, dreary weather matched her mood. She avoided eye contact as they made small talk.  Surely, Blake must be getting the message, she thought. Do I look like someone about to accept a marriage proposal?

After the server removed their plates, Blake reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring box. Estelle felt her insides turn over.

“Estelle, you know how I feel about you. I should never have let you go. I loved you then and I love you now.” He opened the box. Instead of the ring he had given her before, this one had a diamond twice the size. “Give me another chance. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving my love.” His voice held less passion than before. It was almost as though he had rehearsed this moment and was simply going through the motions.

She looked down at her hands, wringing them in her lap. “Blake, it’s no use. I don’t love you anymore. I’m sorry.”

He grabbed the box and put it in his pocket. Without saying a word, he signed the credit card receipt and stood up. Estelle followed him outside to the car, searching to find the right words.

“Blake, I just—”

He held up his hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

She looked at his face. She wasn’t sure if she saw sorrow or anger.

He didn’t bother to walk around to open her door, so she got in and waited. Standing next to the car, she saw him typing a message into his cell phone. He got in and returned the phone to his jacket pocket. As he did, she caught a quick glimpse of the screen. All it said was, “Plan B.”

* * *

The more Russell thought about Estelle’s being out with another guy, the more antsy he became. He finally decided to drive into town and wait at her house. The reception he received at the back door was even chillier than the wind blowing through town that Friday afternoon.

“Mr. Sinclair. What are you doing here?” Irene stood in the doorway blocking the entrance.

“Hello to you, too, Irene. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Miss Fitzhugh is not here. I will tell her that you stopped by.” She started to close the door.

“If it’s okay, I’ll just wait here.” He stepped around her into the kitchen. “I want to be here when Estelle gets back.”

“Oh, I see. So you must know that she is out with Mr. Whitman.”

“Yes, for the last time.” He rubbed his hands together to shake off the cold.

Standing like a sentinel next to the door, she held up her chin and asked, “What do you mean?”

“She’s breaking up with him. Didn’t she tell you? She’s with me now.” He caught himself strutting a bit as he climbed the back stairs. “I’ll be waiting in the sitting room if you need me.”

“Mr. Sinclair—”

He stopped about halfway up and looked back. “Please, call me Russell.”

“That is somewhat presumptuous of you. Miss Fitzhugh always has her guests wait in the parlor.”

“I’d rather wait up here where there’s a television.” He was anxious to return the letters to their former hiding spot. “Oh, and would you mind bringing me some coffee? It’s mighty cold out today. I’d really appreciate it.”

“Certainly.” Her forced smile told him she was not happy with how pushy he was being. He went straight to Carolyn’s sitting room and found the fake book on the shelf. He took it to the desk and pulled the envelopes out of his jacket pocket. Sitting at Carolyn’s desk, he couldn’t help but wonder what she had found out that caused her to force Blake Whitman out of Estelle’s life. Staring at the envelopes, his curiosity got the better of him. Just a quick peek, he thought.

Just as he pulled the papers out of the envelope, Irene came in with the coffee. “This should make you feel better,” she said. “Drink up.”

“Thanks. Would you mind closing the door behind you? It’s a little drafty in here.”

He took several big gulps and then turned his attention to the investigator’s report. He couldn’t believe what he was reading.

It outlined years’ worth of cons, mostly against unsuspecting wealthy women. Only one had ever pressed charges, but he had managed to beat the rap in the end. Probably those other women were too embarrassed to admit he had taken advantage of them, Russell thought.

What really disturbed him was a hand-written notation at the end of the report. Someone—most likely Carolyn—had written ‘$100,000.’ She must have paid him off to disappear. So that’s how he could afford a brand new Porsche.

By the time he finished reading, Russell was fuming. How could Estelle have fallen for such a blood-sucking leech? Whatever Carolyn did to run him off was a good thing. He had to tell someone. He called Deena.

She answered on the first ring. “Hey, what’s up?”

“So I read the report on Blake Whitman.”

“You what? Where are you?”

“I’m at Estelle’s waiting for her to get back from dumping that creep. You’re not going to believe what a scumbag he is. Apparently, he makes a living conning rich women out of their money. He must have seen Estelle as a colossal payday.” Hearing a shuffling noise in the hallway, he turned his head toward the door.

“That explains why Carolyn ran him off.”

“She didn’t run him off, she paid him off—$100,000, to be exact.”

“That’s incredible! Good for her.”

Russell stared at the open door. “I really wish she would hurry up and get back. I don’t trust that guy.”

“You don’t actually think he’s dangerous, do you?”

“I don’t know what to think. But if he had been at the party, I’d be pretty suspicious of him right about now.” He folded up the report and stuffed it back in the envelope. Thinking he heard the creaking noise again, he put his finger in his good ear and gave it a shake.

“Hey, do you mind if I call you later?” Deena asked. “I’m trying to get to the antique mall before the weather gets worse.”

“No problem. I’ll talk to you later.”

Just as he ended the call, Irene appeared in the doorway.

“I thought you might need a refill.” She smiled and walked over to pour more coffee. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

When she left, Russell got up. He put the envelopes in the hollow book and placed it on the shelf. As he turned back to the desk, his head began to spin and his stomach felt queasy. He sat down and took several more swigs of coffee. Was he getting another migraine? What was happening? His head felt like a bowling ball, his neck like rubber. The last thing he saw before his head hit the desk was Irene walking into the room wearing a bright red wig.

* * *

Deena was ready for a day of normal. No funerals or knives or lies. Just normal. She wanted to work on her booth and to find some vintage decorations to go with her display in the den. She would be going back at work on Monday and wanted to make the most of the day. It was just two weeks before the big family get-together, and she was starting to get nervous.

The temperature had dropped overnight. She dug through the back of her closet to find the scarf and glove set she had bought on sale at the end of the season last year. These will be perfect she thought as she looked in the mirror. The bruise on her forehead had finally faded and her mood was lighter. She opened the patio door to let Hurley inside. He looked festive in his red and green snowflake sweater. “Good boy,” she said and tossed him a treat.

Janet had the front window of the antique mall filled with a kitschy holiday display. A silver aluminum tree with a rotating light was the centerpiece. She put it out every year but never sold it, despite the numerous offers she had received.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Janet said when Deena walked through the door. “Did your ears itch? I was just talking about you.”

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

“No. A woman named Marie James called me earlier today about renting a booth space. Said she knew you.”

“The beauty of living in a small town,” Deena said, unwrapping the scarf from her neck.

“What do you think of her? You know I’m picky about who I let sell here.”

Deena hesitated. Everyone deserves a second chance, she thought. If I don’t stick up for her, then I’m a hypocrite. “I think she’ll be fine. Is her sister going to be on the contract, too?”

“I’m not sure. She’s coming up here in a few minutes to talk about the details.”

Great. Just the person I didn’t need to see today. “I’m going to check on my booth. I’ll talk to you later.” She strolled back to her booth, browsing other vendors’ spaces along the way. She stopped to look at a pair of angel figurines. Too pricey, she thought, and set them back down.

Her shelves had several empty spots where items had been purchased. Thank goodness, she thought. Someone finally had bought her carnival glass punch bowl set. She heard the bell on the front door and peeked down the aisle. Sure enough, there was Marie. Deena ducked back into her booth, wishing she could disappear.

* * *

They did not speak on the way home from the restaurant. Blake’s cell phone rang twice, and both times he ignored it. As he pulled into the driveway, Estelle finally spoke. “You can drop me at the front.”

“It’s raining,” was all he said and pulled around to the back door.

He got out and walked around the car to open her door. Still a gentleman, Estelle thought. They ducked their heads and hurried to the back door. He opened it and they both stepped inside. Estelle turned to say goodbye.  Blake pulled the door closed behind him and locked it.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “What are you doing?”

“It’s not what I’m doing. It’s what you’re doing.” He pulled a pair of leather gloves out of his pocket and put them on. “You’re making a big mistake. You chose the wrong man. And you know, if it weren’t for all that money, he could have you.”

Estelle started to back away, but Blake grabbed her by the arm.

“You’re hurting me!”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He laughed when he saw the confusion on her face. “I did it. I came after your mother with a knife. Who knew that stupid cat was hiding in her chair?” He used his other gloved hand to pull at the scarf wrapped around his neck. “Nearly took my face off. I’ll probably have scars.”

Estelle stood motionless, unable to fully grasp what was happening.

A voice came from the top of the stairs. “We have a problem.”

“Irene?” Estelle asked.

“What’s the matter?” Blake jerked Estelle’s arm as he moved closer to the stairs. “Is there a problem with the safe?”

“No, I cleaned it out. It’s all in that bag.” She motioned toward a brown duffle on the floor next to the door. “Just get up here.”

Blake pulled Estelle behind him as he hurried up the steps. When he reached the top of the landing, he watched Irene hurry into the sitting room. Turning to Estelle, he said, “Your mother figured it out. It was all about the money.”

She tried to pull free but he grabbed her and held her arms behind her back.

He leaned his face against her head. “When I smelled your hair, it had the scent of freshly-minted cash. When I stared into your eyes, I saw dollar signs.”

He pushed her down the hall. “There’s something I thought you should know about that night. I didn’t show up here to kill your mother. I was going to kill you.” He pushed her up against the wall. “She came out of her bedroom and saw me just as I was about to open your door. She didn’t scream. Probably didn’t want you to come out. She kept rolling farther and farther away from your room. Taunting me. I knew what she was doing. I’d probably have taken care of you both if that cat hadn’t attacked me. I guess your mother and that cat saved your life.” He shook his head. “Not this time, though.”

Estelle cried and tried to fight, but Blake’s hold was too strong.

“Too late for tears.” He pushed her to the door of the sitting room. “You’ll be leaving this room the same way I did that night—and all those nights you teased me with that Romeo and Juliet crap.”

“Russell!” Estelle tried to break free and run to him, but Blake held her tight.

“What the—” He looked at the desk to see Russell passed out. “What happened?”

“He came over to wait for her. Said she was going to break it off with you. I took care of it.”

“How?”

“I laced his coffee with sleeping pills.” She pointed to the side of the desk where the empty bottle sat. “They will think he killed himself when he found out his dearly beloved accidentally fell to her death.” She pulled back the curtains and opened the balcony door. Cold wind filled the room as the curtains blew against her.

“No one is going to believe that!” He looked around the room. “We’ll have to take him with us. We’ll dump him on some back road. Get the bags and make room for him in the trunk.”

“Make room in the trunk? There’s barely enough room for the two of us in that stupid sports car of yours!”

“Just do it! We can’t be here when they find the body.”

Irene glared at Estelle. “Just like your mother.” She turned and left.

* * *

After several minutes, Deena heard someone walking down the aisle toward her booth.

“Mrs. Sharpe. Janet just told me you were here.” Marie dropped her gaze to the floor. “Thank you for vouching for me.”

“You’re welcome. I hope this will be a new start for you.” Deena moved about picking up items to dust, trying to look busy.

“Did Miss Estelle tell you about the deal we made?” Her mood brightened. “I am going to sell some of her things in my new booth.”

“Really?” Deena was surprised.

“Yes. She is going to let me keep half the money for each item and the other half is going to the animal shelter. I can’t wait to get set up. I won’t have to sell at the flea market anymore.”

“That’s great. I’m glad the money will be going for a good cause.” Deena smiled at the thought of Estelle’s generosity and capacity for forgiveness. Then she thought about Russell. "I thought you were working at the Fitzhugh house today.”

“I was, but when I got there, Miss Irene told me to take the day off. She said not to come back until Monday. You don’t think she wants Miss Estelle to fire me, do you?” Her voice began to quiver.

Deena motioned for her to move further into the booth. “I doubt it,” she said in a low voice. “Besides, it’s not really her decision.”

Marie nodded and blinked back the tears that had threatened to appear.

Deena glanced down the aisle to make sure there was no one around. “There’s one last question that has been bothering me.”

“Is it that knife? I swear I didn’t take it.”

“No. I believe you. But there was another time you didn’t tell the truth.”

Marie stared wide eyed. “What do you mean?”

“You made a list of people you saw milling around the kitchen the night of the Christmas party. Remember?” Marie nodded. “You wrote that you saw Estelle’s boyfriend in the kitchen that night. But Russell was never in the kitchen. Why did you make that up?”

“No, no! I didn’t lie! It was not that boyfriend—it was her other boyfriend. The tall one.”

Deena cocked her head in surprise. “You mean, Blake Whitman?”

“Whitman. That’s it. I couldn’t remember his name.” She clasped her hands and shook them in earnest.

“Marie, are you sure? Mr. Whitman wasn’t at the party. Not invited, anyway.”

“Yes. I’m positive. I remember wondering why he was so late. I’m telling you the truth!”

Deena took a step back. “What was he doing when you saw him?”

“I was getting a tray to carry into the dining room. We were hurrying to serve the dinner plates. He came in through the back door and was talking to Miss Irene.”

“Did you see him in the dining room?”

“No, but I was not paying much attention to the people inside. Miss Wendy was yelling at us to hurry, hurry.”

Deena stared at the girl. A knot gripped her stomach and her pulse raced as she took in this new information. Blake Whitman was only interested in Estelle’s money. He was at the house the night of Carolyn’s death. He came in through the kitchen where the chef’s knife was. He did it. He killed Carolyn Fitzhugh!

“I need to call Russell,” Deena said, grabbing her phone out of her purse. With each unanswered ring, her breathing quickened. When the call went to voicemail, she ended it and dialed Estelle. “Come on!” she said when there was no answer.

“What’s the matter?” Marie asked, grabbing Deena’s arm.

“Something’s wrong.” She dialed Estelle’s house phone. No answer. She ran to the front door. “Janet! Call the police. Tell them to go to Carolyn Fitzhugh’s house.”

Ignoring the rain, she flung open the car door so hard that it came back and hit her in the head. She squinted against the pain. Her hands shook so badly she could barely get the key in the ignition. She jerked the car into reverse and then sped off toward the far side of town. She swerved back and forth on the wet road trying to find Trey’s number on her phone.  She finally dialed 9-1-1 instead and told the operator who she was. “I need you to call Deputy Trey Simms at the Perry County Sheriff’s office. Tell him it’s an emergency. He needs to get to his aunt’s house immediately!”

* * *

“Blake, no, please!” Estelle struggled to break free of his grip.

“Shut up! If you had just married me, you wouldn’t be in this position. Not yet, at least.”

“The money. I can give you whatever you want. You can have it all!”

“Too late.” He snickered. “All that cash and jewelry in the safe will have to do. You see, Plan A was to kill you, then have your mother change her will, leaving everything to her closest friend—my cousin Irene—right before her untimely death. You were going over the balcony that time, too.” He pushed her toward the door.

“Russell!” She saw his head move slightly.

“Sorry. Prince Charming isn’t going to rescue you.”

He stopped abruptly as he heard someone yelling outside. No time to waste. He used that moment to shove Estelle over the edge of the balcony. He watched her hands grip the wet railing as her shrill scream pierced the air. At last, her fingers slipped.

“Let’s move!” he called downstairs to Irene after he heard the thud below. He grabbed the empty sleeping pill bottle and jammed it into his pocket. He pushed the picture back in its place over the wall safe. Russell was heavier than he would have thought, but he managed to get him down the stairs. Irene held the back door open as Blake hurried out and dumped the body into the trunk. She slipped on a patch of ice, but caught herself on the side of the car before falling.

* * *

Deena finally reached the edge of the county and sped around the winding road. A squirrel darted in front of the car, causing her to swerve again. She stopped at the curb. There were no cars in the driveway. Where was Russell? She jumped out of the car and raced to the front door, banging as hard as she could. She tried the knob. It was locked. “Russell! Estelle!”

She heard a scream from the side of the house by the driveway. She ran in that direction and saw Estelle doubled over the balcony rail.

“No!” Deena yelled. She ran as fast as she could, but her legs felt like dead weights. It was like a nightmare where everything seemed to move in slow motion.

* * *

Irene breathed hard as she slammed the car door. She pulled at the sides of the wig.

“Why are you wearing that get-up?” He started the engine and steam blew out of the tail pipe.

“Everyone around here knows me. It worked when I broke into the thrift store.” She pulled on it again. “I’ll take it off when we get out of this stupid town.”

“Suit yourself,” he snarled.

“What about Deena Sharpe? I heard her yelling and knocking at the front door.” She slumped low in her seat as Blake turned the car around, barely missing Russell’s truck. He pulled along the side of the house heading for the street.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a sadistic grin. “Looks like we got two for the price of one.”

The two women lay motionless in a heap below the balcony. He slowly drove past them, seeing a pool of blood by Estelle’s head. He muttered under his breath, saying goodbye for the last time. Hitting the gas, he sped around the tree-lined curve, heading for the main highway.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Whether it was the sound or the feeling that caught Deena’s attention first, she couldn’t be sure. She pictured herself inside a clothes dryer. Everything was spinning. Around and around. She listened as the steady swishing sound grew louder. A faint bright spot spun in circles as she tried to steady her dizzy head. She heard beeping. Is the cycle over? Is Gary inside here, too?

“Deena? Deena,” Gary said. “I think she’s waking up.”

With all the might she could muster, Deena opened her eyes.

“Well, hello, sleepy pie.” Gary smiled down at her.

She blinked against the bright light. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital.” Gary stepped back as a nurse rushed to her side and checked the monitor that had been making all that noise. Deena looked down to see Sandra standing at the foot of the bed, grinning like a silly child.

“I’ll let the doctor know,” the nurse said, and hurried out of the room.

“What happened?” She tried to sit up but her body would not cooperate. Looking around, she saw a large cast on her arm.

“Don’t try to sit up,” Sandra said. “I’ll adjust the bed.” She pushed the button on the remote.

Deena gasped. “That’s enough.” Her chest felt like an elephant were sitting on it. Doctor Roberts came in the room.

“Well, look who’s awake.” He pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and looked in Deena’s eyes. He had her move her fingers, toes, and head. “Everything looks pretty good. I want you to stay at least a few more days so we can monitor your breathing. I’ll check on you again later.”

“Thanks, doc,” Gary said. He held a glass of water with a straw up to her lips. “You have a dislocated shoulder, a broken arm, broken wrist, and several cracked ribs. You’ve been in the hospital for two days. Do you remember what happened?”

Deena took several sips of water, and her head began to clear. “Estelle. I went to her house. She fell off the balcony.”

“And you tried to catch her,” Gary said.

Deena remembered Gary’s words when he would have her hold a ladder. “If I’m coming down, I’m taking you with me,” she whispered.

“That’s just exactly what happened,” he said. “You saved her life by breaking her fall.”

“And you broke some bones in the process,” Sandra added.

Deena moaned, trying to find a comfortable position. “Where’s Russell?”

Gary and Sandra exchanged glances. Gary started to answer.

“Sis! You’re awake!” Russell rushed into the room and leaned over to kiss Deena’s cheek. “They just told me. They are about to take Estelle into surgery.”

“How is she and what’s wrong with your voice?”

“I had my stomach pumped. Gary can tell you all about it. Estelle broke her leg, among other things. That’s what they’re fixing today.”

Deena tried to smile at her brother. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Thanks to you, yes.”

“You’d better get back down there, buddy,” Gary said. “We’ll check on you later.”

Russell blew Deena a kiss and headed out the door.

“So, what happened to Russell?”

“You better tell it quick,” Sandra said. “I have a feeling some of the Bluebonnets will be up here before long.”

Gary pulled up a chair. “So you know that Blake Whitman turned out to be a con man, right? Did you know he and Irene were cousins? Last summer when she went home for vacation in New Orleans, she told Blake about the rich woman and her daughter she worked for. Blake hatched a scheme to swoop in on Estelle and marry her for her money. Carolyn hired a private eye and found out who he really was. She paid him off to leave town.”

Deena remembered talking to Russell. “He called me and told me about the report.”

“Apparently, Blake got greedy. His new plan was to get rid of Estelle, and then Irene would trick Carolyn into leaving her all her fortune. I’m sure she would have had an ‘accident’ after that.”

Deena was thinking more clearly.  “So he meant to kill Estelle? Did he use the knife?”

“Yes. Carolyn rolled all the way back down the hall to protect Estelle.”

“Bless her heart.” Tears welled in Deena’s eyes as she thought about Carolyn’s sacrificing her life for her daughter.

“Apparently, he hid the knife in the box when he climbed down the balcony.”

Sandra moved to the side of the bed. “Irene was the one who broke into the store trying to find the knife.”

“But you still haven’t told me what happened to Russell? He called me when he was at the house waiting for Estelle to come back from her lunch with Blake.”

Gary’s voice cracked with emotion. “Irene found out Russell was onto Blake and drugged him with sleeping pills. Blake and Irene cleaned out Carolyn’s safe and were planning on leaving the country. They put Russell in the trunk. He might have died if they had gotten away.”

There was a knock. They looked up to see Officer Nelson standing in the doorway. “Hi. Mind if I come in? I heard you were awake.”

“Gotta love a small town,” Sandra said.

Gary walked over to shake the officer’s hand. “Here’s our other hero,” he said. Deena thought she saw tears in her husband’s eyes. “Tell her about the call you got.”

“I was headed to the Fitzhugh house along with another squad car when a call came over the radio. Someone reported a vehicle speeding through a stop light. It almost hit their car. I had a hunch it might be related. I let the desk know I was after that driver since the other officer and Deputy Simms were almost to the residence. The caller gave a detailed description of the car, license plate number, and occupants. I pulled them over just as they were heading for the interstate.”

“Was it Blake and Irene?” Deena asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I noticed Mr. Whitman sweating even though it was starting to sleet. There were suitcases in the back seat, so I told them I needed to see in the trunk. That’s when I found Mr. Sinclair.”

Deena let out a cry and covered her mouth with her good hand.

“If you hadn’t called when you did, it might have been too late,” she said.

Deena couldn’t hold back her tears.

Gary took her hand gently. “He’s fine, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

The flood of emotion made her dizzy again. She felt both relief and despair.

“Deena,” Sandra asked, “what tipped you off in the first place?”

“Marie,” she said, wiping her eyes with the bedsheet. “She told me she saw Blake at the party that night. That’s when it all came together.”

“We’ll be contacting you in a few days to get a full statement. Luckily, Irene rolled over on Blake as soon as we mentioned ‘accessory to murder.’ That’s how we know everything that happened.”

“Thank you so much, Officer Nelson,” Gary said. “Before you go, do you want to tell Deena who called in the report about the speeding car?”

“Sure. It was one of your neighbors, actually. Christy Ann Maples.”

Deena’s mouth dropped open, and Gary let out a laugh—his first in days. “So now we are indebted to the Queen of the Suburbs for the rest of our lives!”

“I’m surprised she wasn’t too busy to make the call.” Deena chuckled then put her hand on her sore chest. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Inside joke?” Sandra asked, smiling at her friend.

Officer Nelson left, telling Deena to get some rest.

A few minutes later, Russell came back into the room. “What did I miss?”

“Just a good laugh,” Gary said, and stepped back out of his way.

“Estelle’s in surgery. I just thought I’d run back down here to tell you something.” He stood close to Deena and took her hand. She felt him trembling. “It looks like you’re gonna need to set an extra place at Christmas dinner after all.”

“For your girlfriend?” Deena asked with a grin.

“No, for your future sister-in-law. I just proposed and she said yes.”

From the Author

Thank you for reading Sharpe Edge, Book 2 in the Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I encourage you to leave a review on Amazon.

I am a retired teacher from Texas who writes both fiction and non-fiction. I also have a blog. In my spare time, I enjoy my grandchildren, photography, treasure hunting, antiquing, and snorkeling. You can visit my website at www.lisabthomas.com.

As a teacher, I worked face-to-face with students every day. As a writer, my audience is more abstract. In order to get to know each other better, please follow my blog and offer comments at “Lisa’s Stuff & Such” Blog. lisabthomas.blogspot.com/

Sign up to receive my Newsletter and a FREE copy of my non-fiction writing guide, My Dead Relatives: How to Keep the Family Tree Alive. I will not send you an email unless I have a new release, special giveaway, or other noteworthy information.

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More Works by Lisa B. Thomas

Sharpe Shooter, Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series, Book 1 is available HERE on Amazon.

The Perry County Sheriff’s office has a problem on their hands. They found a skeleton in the closet…literally.

When they identify the man’s body 50 years after his disappearance, the family turns to their niece, Deena Sharpe, to uncover the truth about his murder. She’s a burned-out high school teacher who soon discovers a mysterious author is about to implicate the victim in his latest conspiracy theory book. She must channel her inner super-sleuth to solve the puzzle and protect her family name.

With the help of her off-beat brother and others from the cozy town of Maycroft, Texas, Deena takes on a quest that leads to more questions than answers. Along the way, she discovers some truths about herself as well.

From antique shopping to car chases to ghosts in the night, life in the suburbs just got a lot more complicated.

My Dead Relatives, How to Keep the Family Tree Alive is available HERE on Amazon.

As we grow older, memories dim and eventually fade. Unless we document the past, stories of our loved ones will fade away as well. This guide offers a step-by-step process of how to write literary non-fiction stories about yourself and your family. It includes Style Tips as well as example stories about the author's own family.

Sharpe Mind, Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series, Book 3 is due out in December. Watch for it in the Kindle store or sign up for my newsletter to get release information.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to everyone who encouraged me during the writing of this book. Writing can be a lonely affair, but it helps knowing I have true supporters in my corner.

Thank you to my friend and editor Betsy Berry for your encouragement and expertise. A special thank you to beta readers: Lindsey Mobley, Robin Keating, Rita Coyne, and Lia London. Your feedback was invaluable. Thanks also to coverkicks.com for the cover design.

Most of all, love and thanks to my husband who has always been a tremendous source of support and encouragement in everything I do. Without you, none of this would matter.