A Mother's Day Murder (Mt. Abrams Mysteries Book 1) (6 page)

“How are you?” I asked. It felt easy, standing on the other side of the room. After not being alone with him for so long, I wasn’t sure how I would feel. It wasn’t bad.

“I’m good,” he said, scratching Boot behind her left ear. “The babe is up and grown.”

I nodded. “We’ll get used to it, I guess. I’m really happy for her.”

“How’s your mom?” he asked.

I shrugged. “The same. Maybe worse. I see her every Friday for lunch.” I had a sudden flash. “I’m taking her to the orchid show this Sunday for Mother’s Day. Would you like to come? She always asks for you.”

He smiled. “Sure. Since my own mother still insists on celebrating Mother’s Day alone in the Caribbean, I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“Great. I’ll let you know the details. The girls will love it.”

He was watching me. “You look really good.”

I shrugged. “Yes, well, losing fifty pounds will do that.”

He shook his head. “Not just that. You look happy.”

“I am. Work is good, money’s coming in, I’ve got friends. I’ve even got a date.”

He raised his eyebrows. “A date? Good for you.” He glanced around. “You painted the living room?”

“Last year. When Cait was around for Christmas break. We went for gray rather than the usual taupe. I like it”

He got up. He was not tall, barely five foot ten, and was slightly built. His hair was dark red, the color of fall leaves and copper wire tangled together. His eyes were a deep green, his skin fair and freckled. He had aged a bit, a trace of gray at the temples and a tired look around his eyes.

I suddenly thought of Sam Kinali, all big and dark and sexy. I blinked, and there was Marc again, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and he seemed suddenly frail.

“You look tired,” I told him.

He shrugged. “Yeah, well, you know publishing. And right now it’s even a bigger cluster fuck than ever.”

I nodded. “I bet. I’m still in a lot of the loops. Still get
Publisher’s Weekly
. Not a pretty picture”

He nodded a few times, looking down at the floor. That meant he was thinking, and thinking hard. “So, a date?”

“Yep. First date in a really long time.”

“Well.” He looked up. “I still love you, you know that, right?”

I think I stopped breathing. He what? He just said
what
?

I finally exhaled. “Yeah, sure. You’re just not
in
love with me anymore, right? Isn’t that what you said?”

He walked past me to the front door, turned around, and grabbed me by my shoulders and kissed me.

The feel of his lips on mine was such a shock that I almost fell to the floor. And it wasn’t just his lips. I felt his fingers as they gripped my shoulders, and then the slim, hard line of his body pressed against me, and I opened my mouth to him as all sorts of things came crashing in—familiarity, lust, happiness, more lust, that oh-my-God-he-wants-me-back feeling.

I pushed him away and stepped back. “And what the hell was that?”

He looked down at the floor again. “I’ve missed you,” he said at last.

“So? I’m sure you miss your brother out in San Diego. Do you give him a lip lock when you see him too?”

He shook his head. “No, of course not, but—“

“But what? We haven’t been in the same room together for months, and you think you can just, well, what you did?”

He looked at me. His eyes were full. Was he crying? “I miss you,” he said again. And walked out the door.

I put my hand to my mouth. My lips were still tingling. The rush I had felt had settled down in, well, you-know-where.

He still loved me. He missed me.

Damn him anyway.

T
he next morning
it was raining, which suited my mood perfectly. I’d slept very badly the night before, plotting various forms of ecstatic sexual reunion and/or severe mental and physical torture, with Marc as the central figure. Throw in Sam Kinali and his incredibly gorgeous eyes, and it was a pretty disrupted night.

Sometimes, when it rained, I drove Tessa to the bus stop, but today brought a light, warm spring shower, so we put on matching yellow fisherman’s slickers and walked down the hill.

Carol and Co. did not walk in the rain. Or the snow, for that matter, or when it was below thirty degrees. Taking Boot for a long walk to make up for the lack of exercise was out of the question. She did not like getting her feet wet. Yes, I know, spaniels are sporting dogs, and you’d think they would be fine in any weather, but—no. Not Boot. She started dragging her feet at the third raindrop. Puddles made her whimper. What a dog.

One of the advantages of the kind of community that was Mt. Abrams was that certain traditions remained intact. Marie Wu, for example, moved into the farmhouse style house across from the bus stop five years ago, and when she was told that her front porch was the spot of the school kids to take shelter during the rain, she just nodded and smiled. So there we were, crowded around Marie’s rocking chairs and empty planters, waiting. Shelly was at the opposite end of the porch, so I couldn’t fill her in on the latest Marc development, but I knew I’d talk to her later in the day.

The bus came and went, and I started back up the hill. It was raining harder, and I had the hood of my slicker pulled up over my head, so I didn’t hear the car as it drove up beside me, not until a voice was calling my name.

“Ellie, how about a lift?” It was Doug Mitchell, his window rolled down, smiling at me.

“Ah…” This was odd. Doug had never said more than five words in a row to me. Was he really trying to suddenly be a good neighbor? Why? “I’m good.”

“Ellie, it’s pouring.”

It was pouring. What could I say? “Sure. Thanks.”

I ran around to the passenger side and jumped in the front seat. I was dripping all over his nice leather interior.

“Oh, Doug, I’m sorry. Everything is getting wet.”

He was driving slowly. “No worries. I’m glad I saw you walking. I need to ask you a question.”

I was busy with my seat belt. Yes, I was only two minutes away from home, but well, it was a thing. “Sure. What?”

“Why were you in Jordan’s room yesterday?”

I opened my mouth. Then I shut it. I swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?“ I said, very proud that my voice did not tremble, squeak, or crack. My heart started to beat a little faster. I was a terrible liar. More than that, I was guilty as charged.

“Well, you see, Ellie, when Jordan was little, he kept insisting that someone came in his room at night. So Lacey and I set up a nanny-cam, just to show him that it was only his imagination, you know? These days, I just automatically reset it every night for him. It’s a very sophisticated piece of equipment. Motion activated. So imagine my surprise when I looked at the log and saw that the camera went on when no one was supposed to be home.”

I stared straight ahead, barely breathing. His voice had started out calmly enough, but he was talking faster and faster, and his tone was changing. He sounded angry. He had a right to be.

I was trying to think a way out of this, but seriously, how could I? Caught on nanny-cam. I thought that sort of thing only happened on reality shows.

“We walk past your house every morning,” I told him. When caught, try the truth. My father used to tell me that all the time. “And yesterday, Boot chased a rabbit into your yard, and we followed, and Shelly saw that your back door was open, so we went in to check to see if anything was wrong. It was a good deed sort of thing.” Oh, God, that sounded
so
lame.

“I see.” His voice was tight. “And you went upstairs because…?”

Very good question, Doug. I stared out the window. We were almost to my house. I could leap out of the car, run inside, lock my door and avoid him for the rest of my life.

“Did she send you?” he whispered hoarsely. “Did she?”

He suddenly sounded afraid. Of what? I turned to him. “Did
who
send me?”

His jaw was clenched, and his hands gripped the steering wheel like it was his last link to the real world. “I didn’t think she made any friends, but of course, she’d use you against me.” He seemed to be talking to himself more than to me. He was white as a sheet, and sweat had broken out across his forehead. “What did she send you there for?”

“Doug,” I said slowly and a little loudly, because, honestly, I was starting to panic. He was freaking out about something. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He jammed on the brakes, put the car into park, and turned in his seat. He looked desperate, and I was suddenly afraid. This was not about me being in Jordan’s room. This was a lot more than that.

“What did she tell you?” he asked harshly. “You know she’s a liar, don’t you?”

I laid my hand slowly on the latch to open the car door. I needed to be away from here. This had gone from embarrassing to scary to something totally beyond scary in just a few heartbeats. I lifted the latch gently, but of course, it was locked. “Doug, who are you talking about?”

He lunged forward, his face suddenly inches from mine. “She got everything she wanted,” he screamed at me. “She said she would leave us alone.” He had to be talking about Lacey. Why had she left? And why was he so terrified of her coming back?

I was done. My blood was pounding so hard I could feel it trying to burst through my heart and out of my chest. I looked down, found the lock button, pressed it, and pushed the car door open. He grabbed at me, caught my wrist, and twisted. There was a brief spurt of pain, but I jerked my arm, and his fist closed on the sleeve of my rain slicker. I pulled away, leaving him holding the empty slicker, and went running out into the rain and up the street toward my house. I was afraid to look back. He was in a car. He was obviously crazy. What if he tried to run me over?

I swerved off the street and jumped up on the stone wall bordering my yard. I immediately slipped, falling on my face in the wet grass, but at least I was on the other side. He couldn’t run me over without plowing through hundred-year-old puddingstone and mortar. I struggled to my feet, soaked, sprinted through to the back yard, and then slowed enough to glance over my shoulder.

Doug’s car had not moved. It was still in the middle of the street, wipers on, motor idling, my bright yellow slicker spilling out the open car door.

I ran through the lilac bushes, up the steps, and into the house. I locked the back door with unsteady hands. Then I raced to the front door and threw the dead bolt. I sank to the floor, shaking uncontrollably, breathing in great gulps, Boot whimpering at my side.

I
had texted Maggie
. I was still huddled on the floor when Boot started barking. Seconds later, there was a pounding on the door behind me.

“Ellie, are you okay?”

I struggled to my feet and unlocked the door. Maggie was standing there, Vivian Brewster behind her. She came in, grabbed my arm, and pushed me back into the kitchen.

“You need tea,” she said. I sat down. My breathing was back to normal, but I was drenched and felt cold. I think I was shivering. Viv had been in my house enough times to know my kitchen, and she pulled out mugs and tea bags. Maggie had vanished, but returned with a throw from the living room and put it around my shoulders. I wiped my face with the corner of the throw and pulled it tightly around me.

There was silence, until a mug of tea was put in front of me. I took a grateful sip and closed my eyes.

“Do you want to call the police?” Maggie asked.

I shook my head.

“Ellie, you sent me a text that Doug was after you. Are you sure?”

I took another sip. “Is he still parked out front?”

“No,” Viv said.

“He has my slicker.” My teeth had stopped chattering.

“We’ll get it back,” Maggie said. “What happened?”

I told them. I looked into my tea, sipping it as I spoke. When I was done, I looked up at them. “What should I do?”

Viv sat back, folded her arms across her chest, and shook her head. “Girl, you are into
something
here.”

Vivian Brewster, besides being a very successful business woman, was the kind of person you wanted in a dire emergency, because she never seemed fazed by events around her. A few years ago, when Hurricane Sandy came through and Mt. Abrams was without power for eight days, she got the key to the Josiah Abrams original summer retreat, which had become the clubhouse for the Lake Association. It still had gas for cooking and a fireplace in every room, and she set up a place where we could all come to get warm and fed.

She was also beautiful, with skin the color of coffee with a hint of cream, high cheekbones and wide dark eyes. She could have easily been taken for an African princess, but when she opened her mouth, Bayonne would come out.

She wagged her finger at me. “Breaking into that house? You both
know
those people aren’t right. And now you have him goin’ all kinds of crazy on you, and not in a good way.” She shook her head again. “What
were
you all thinkin’?”

Just hearing Viv’s voice made me feel better. I love Maggie to death, but despite her coolness and bravado, most of the time she tended to be useless in a crisis. Thank God for her husband, because every time Serif skinned a knee or bumped her head, Maggie would get hysterical while Derek applied first aid. With Viv in my kitchen, I wouldn’t have cared if Doug came through the door with a machete.

“I think he was really scared of something,” I said, putting down my mug and running my hand through my damp hair. “And who did he mean by
she
? Lacey?”

“I thought you all thought that
he
was the one to be afraid of,” Viv said.

“I know,” I said. “But who else could he have been talking about?”

We sat in silence. The rain had stopped, and the breeze coming into the house was warm and damp. I was feeling less chilled but needed to get out of my wet clothes.

“I’m fine now. Honestly. I was just, well, panicked,” I said.

“I don’t blame you. Doug doesn’t sound very stable,” Maggie said.

I shook my head. “No he wasn’t.”

“What are you going to do tomorrow morning at the bus stop when you see him? Pretend this never happened?” Viv asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

But I never had to. When Tessa came off the bus, she told me that Jordan was pulled out of class before lunchtime. The jungle drums sounded quickly, and by the time I was getting ready for my date with Sam Kinali, I got a text from Maggie. She had just left the library and had heard from Carol Anderson that Doug withdrew both boys from school. He told Denise Whitmore, school secretary and Carol’s yoga buddy, that he and the boys were going to be staying with Doug’s sister, beginning immediately, and for an indefinite amount of time.

G
etting
ready for a date when you haven’t had one since before the existence of the Internet is not nearly as much fun as it sounds, especially when you can’t fit into anything that looks even remotely sexy because all the sexy clothes are size ten, and you’re not quite there yet. Tessa was of no help, because she didn’t think I should be going out at all. Cait viewed the entire operation with ill-concealed amusement.

“It’s only a drink, Mom. Or are you expecting something more?”

I tore my eyes from my once-again disappointing image in the mirror and glared at her. “No, I am not expecting anything more. But my generation has a different definition of the word
date
. We don’t just accidentally bump into each other and decide to hang out or hook-up or whatever else you Millennials do. We plan ahead and try to make a nice impression.”

I pulled off outfit number six, decided a skirt or dress was too fussy anyway, and started hauling out my dress pants. I knew I had black pants from the Gap that I’d bought last winter, but they were actually too big. I found a dark purple tunic I’d had for a couple of years with black embossing around the shoulders and a V-neck, and long flowing sleeves. A little hippy-dippy, but it fell midthigh and hid the fact that the pants were too big and were being held up by a bright green belt.

“You could wear leggings with that,” Cait said. She was sprawled on my bed watching. I turned around and looked at myself from the back.

“Women with hips like mine should not be wearing leggings,” I muttered. The bulk around my waist was noticeable. Just perfect.

“If you wear them with that shirt, you’ll look fine,” Cait said.

“I don’t own leggings,” I told her.

She got off the bed and ran out. I stared at myself unhappily for a few seconds, then undid the pants and let them drop to the floor. I was running out of options as I stepped out of the pants and kicked them to the corner.

Cait came in holding a jumble of black and her cowboy boots. “Here, put these on.”

I held up the leggings. “You weigh, like, nothing. These will never fit.”

“One size fits all,” she insisted.

I sat down and started pulling them on. Yes the leggings were tight, but not uncomfortable. And I could feel where they were packing in all my flabby bits like sausage into a casing. I got up and looked in the mirror again.

“Wow. This might work,” I said, surprised.

“Try the boots,” she said. Our foot size was the only size we shared. The boots were black with deep gold embellishment, added a few inches to my height, and looked much cooler than I felt.

Cait grinned. “My work here is done. Some gold jewelry, and you’ll knock him dead,” she said as she walked out.

I looked at myself from the back again. Much better. I found a long gold necklace and some dangly earrings, and decided I looked just fine.

I had told Cait about what had happened with Doug, and although she did not seemed concerned, I did not want my two daughters home alone. On the way out I gave Cait twenty dollars, told her to head to the mall with Tessa, buy something for dinner, and plan on getting home around ten. Tessa’s eyes lit up at the prospect of being out so late on a school night, almost distracting her from her disapproval of my date. I kissed them good-bye and drove slowly past the Mitchell house. There were no lights, and the left side of the garage was open and empty. Doug had not returned from wherever he’d taken his sons. Besides, I’d only be gone an hour.