Arson Takes a Dare: The Third Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 3) (16 page)

In her hotel suite, Althea wearily seated herself at the mahogany desk. She removed the cover from her typewriter. She thought about Diana and her magnificent fury.
Diana as the Huntress is truly amazing.
Althea smiled.
And Diana the Human is pretty awe inspiring as well. Perhaps I’ve been too judgmental. I thought because the young woman takes her clothes off for money, she couldn’t be a woman of honor.

She fed a clean sheet of paper into her typewriter.
Diana loves Marisa. She went to great lengths to try and help her. To help both of us.

What is honor?
Althea asked herself.
Does it encompass friendship and feelings? Is it more than just doing the right thing when no one is watching? Perhaps I have defined honor too narrowly.

She touched the keys.

An Alien Act of Honor

By Seretha Ranier

Part Seven

“It’s a dream,” the sheriff muttered as he took the heavy frame from Mae Rue. “I’ve been short of sleep for weeks, investigating this murder. I’m sitting in my cruiser, sound asleep.” Shaking his head, he followed Mae Rue to the kitchen, agitated balls bouncing in their wake.

When Mae Rue pulled away the yellowed linen, she exposed the metallic figure eight. “The time machine!”

“Time machine! This is what I get for reading science fiction in an effort to take my mind off the case and relax. Not to mention those spicy burritos at three o’clock this morning.” The sheriff expelled a discreet burp.

Mae Rue swallowed her tears. “Winter, we found it.” She carefully slid both hands under it and lifted it.

Winter hovered above the device. “It’s my chance to restore my honor.” His mother and wife joined him, their white surfaces touching. The children abandoned the sheriff, and formed a semi-circle behind their elders. Winter advanced a few inches, forming an apex with his family.

The sheriff staggered against the counter. “I heard it. Him. Talking in my head.”

Winter bowed. “Sha-riff. It is an honor to meet you. I have learned much about you from May-Roo’s perspective. She admires you.” Winter seemed to smile. “And she wishes to take you as her lover.”

Mae Rue choked. “Winter!”

“Now I know I’m dreaming,” Sheriff Norton stated, “and I’m going to end up with Mae Rue, the beautiful woman of my dreams.”

Mae Rue’s mouth fell open. “I don’t even know your first name!”

“It’s Denham,” the sheriff answered. “I wanted to get to know you better as a person before we slept together, but I know things happen differently in dreams.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. The handcuffs in his fingers clattered. “Oops, how embarrassing.” He stuffed them in his pocket.

“Or apropos,” Winter interjected slyly.

Mother and Grandmother chuckled, gleefully bumping Winter in feigned displeasure.

Winter stilled. “It’s time for my act of honor.”

Mae Rue pulled away from Sheriff Norton’s grasping hands. “Sheriff, I mean Denham, this is not a dream. The device may only be used once. Winter must go back in time to right a terrible wrong—”

“I’m trying to catch up. Since I hurt my hand on that old picture frame when I carried it in for you, I know I’m not dreaming. I probably am infected with tetanus or worse from the rusty metal. There is no such thing as a time machine.” Denham inspected his scratched hand in the dim light filtering in through a dirty kitchen window.

While she searched for antiseptic and bandages, Mae Rue told Denham the story of Winter and his family. “Sorry, the label on this medicine says it’s for cows and it expired a few years ago, but it’s all I have.” She squeezed the tube and smeared a noxious film on his hand.

“I think I’d rather dip my hand in a pig sty.” Denham tried to free himself from Mae Rue’s grip.

“Stop whining. It’s very unattractive.” Mae Rue bent over his hand. “I can’t find any bandages, but this old bandana looks clean.” She wrapped it around his hand and tied it in a neat bow. “Well, fairly clean. It was in a box of old clothes in the little building with the shape of a cutout moon on the front.”

Denham bleated and tried to untie it with his good hand.

Mae Rue grasped his flailing hands. “I’ve learned Winter’s society is focused on honor. The gentle beings on his world strongly believe in doing the right thing, whatever the cost. Now, Winter must use the time machine to satisfy his honor.”

“I’m having a difficult time with all of this, Mae Rue.” The sheriff closed his eyes, his skin paled to the shade of honey. “I admit I did hear the balls talking in my head. Let’s say I believe everything you’ve said. We’ll also assume I’m not delirious from some agricultural disease, but we all know what they say about assumptions.”

Denham opened his eyes, the dark chocolate depths troubled. “What will he do with the artifact? Is he going to change the course of his world’s history? Earth’s history? Stop the Black Death before it wiped out a significant percentage of the world’s population? Prevent the horrific world wars? Ensure Hitler was never born to save the millions of Jews who were exterminated under the dictatorship of that madman? Or save upwards of a half million people killed under Idi Amin’s tyranny? The possibilities are endless.”

“What about unintended consequences? What if changing those events resulted in even worse outcomes?” Mae Rue shuddered. “Winter doesn’t want to do any of those things, Denham. He needs to change his own history.” 

“I have decided upon a course change.” Winter decisively approached Mae Rue. “We will use the device to see what really happened a few weeks ago. We shall go back to your husband’s murder. We will see for ourselves what happened that fateful night. We will not interfere. We will observe.”

“Winter! You travelled across the universe to fulfill this quest. Now you abandon it?” Mae Rue put her hands on her hips.

“If I changed the event in my youth, what would happen? Would I still perform the myriad acts of honor intended to erase the act of dishonor?” Winter drifted to his wife. “Would I meet my Wife? Would she find me lacking and keep looking for her Mate?” He hovered over his children. “If she rejected me, these little ones would not exist.”

Winter floated. “You gave us sanctuary and helped us search for the device. You helped Cat channel his endless curiosity and boundless energy in productive ways. You helped Sparrow overcome her crippling shyness through your gentle encouragement. You are the favored aunt among the children, loved and cherished by them.”

Winter rotated toward his womenfolk. “You made friends with Mother and Grandmother. I love them, but I also recognize they are a dauntingly formidable duo. You have inspired such fierce loyalty, each would give her life for you.”

Winter drifted to Mae Rue. “I believe my quest was to realize my current life is too precious to risk changing for a past indiscretion. Therefore, I have fulfilled my quest, May-Roo.”

The alien orbs moved to their paternal leader. When they all formed a circle around Mae Rue, Mother spoke. “You are in mortal danger, May-Roo. Even if the Sha-riff does not arrest you, another member of law enforcement will. We fear you will be unjustly convicted. We will use the device to save you by showing you and the Sha-riff what really happened that night.”  

As the orbs determinedly changed their arrangement to surround both Mae Rue and Denham, she felt the first thrill of fear since she’d met the family of aliens.

Part Eight

“I can’t allow you to make this sacrifice, Winter.” The cabin was filled with the slanting rays of winter sunshine. When Mae Rue’s eyes fell on the chalked outline marring the rough pine floor boards, she shuddered and looked away. The surfaces of the blocky furniture were covered with gritty black powder.

Winter seemed to smile. “Not your choice, May-Roo.” The artifact levitated between them, suspended in the cold, musty air. Winter moved to the artifact. His round form seemed to crack, forming an opening. The artifact slid inside.

As she felt a tremendous pressure throughout her body, Mae Rue clutched Denham and pressed her face into his jacket. When the pressure eased, she raised her head.

The sunshine was gone, the windows black with night. A kerosene lantern on the rough table illuminated the area around it, leaving the rest of the room in shadows.

“Babs, honey, just be patient. I have to get rid of Amy’s brother before I can put the plan into action with Mae Rue. Coy is suspicious.”

“Jeremy, I hate that nickname!” The woman in blue jeans and a heavy black jacket turned away in anger.

“Babs is perfect, since your name is Beth Ann Blackburn.” Smirking, he grabbed Beth Ann and pulled her into his arms.

Mae Rue gasped. “Jeremy! You’re alive!”

Winter hovered at her shoulder. “Silence! We have only one chance.”

“Did you hear something?” Jeremy tilted his head to one side, listening. He shrugged. “You’re the perfect paralegal.” Jeremy tousled Beth Ann’s curls. “Your law firm handles Mae Rue’s affairs. When you saw she was a single, mousy librarian who had been left a pot of money by her parents, you knew she’d be the perfect temporary wife for me. All I had to do was arrange an ‘accidental meeting’ in the library, and pretend to like to read.”

“Why does the stupid bitch keep her inheritance a deep, dark secret?” Beth Ann shook her curls in disbelief. “If I’d had drug-addled parents who’d won the lottery, run through half of the humongous jackpot, and then had the decency to inject each other with an overdose, I’d be shouting it to the world.”

“But her closed mouth is an advantage.” Jeremy laughed. “When I arrange her fatal accident, no one will think I killed her for her money. Everyone believes she’s an underpaid librarian. The police won’t find a motive and we’ll be home free.”

“That’s what you said before you killed Amy. That we’d be home free and living it up on her insurance money.”

Jeremy growled and pushed Beth Ann away. “How could I know she wasn’t paying the premiums? All of that work for nothing! If I could bring her back, I’d kill her again!” He savagely kicked the wood box. “And her stupid brother had to show up! I’d never met her family. They didn’t even have the same last name!”

Beth Ann licked her lips and tried to smile. “You need to move up your timetable, Jeremy. I’m pregnant. I don’t want to be an unwed mother.”

Away from Beth Ann but facing his unknown audience, Jeremy raised his head.

Mae Rue shivered at the look on his face. Denham hugged her closer.

“You know our plans don’t include any squalling brats interfering with our party time.” He walked to a duffel bag in the corner. “You’ll have to get rid of it.”

“No! I’m not getting any younger, Jeremy! I helped you commit murder! I want this baby and I want us to be a family!” She strode across the room.

His back to the distraught woman, Jeremy unzipped the bag. He pulled out a handgun and turned around.

Beth Ann’s trembling hands flew to her mouth. “You’re going to kill me? And our baby?” She grabbed the gun barrel. “No!”

“Let go!” Jeremy tried to twist away from her desperate hands.

The gun exploded.

Jeremy fell to the floor, exactly where the chalked outline would be.

Part Nine: Conclusion

“Once we knew to question Beth Ann and what to ask her, she fell apart like a dropped jigsaw puzzle.” Denham held Mae Rue close in the darkness, sheltering her from the cold breeze blowing off the pond.

“I am sorry for Deputy Blackburn. His heart is in the right place, and this must have been a devastating blow.” Mae Rue snuggled into the warmth of his open jacket.

The ice covering the surface of the pond cracked with shot-gun loud explosions. The round white craft rose from the water, hovering above the surface. Then, the ship shot straight up.

Denham waved at the retreating vessel. “You never told me what Mae Rue means.”

“When my mother was in labor, she asked for a quart of whiskey to ease her pain. She was already doped up to the max, but wanted more relief. My father pulled a bottle out of his coat and passed it to her. The doctor sniffed and said, ‘You may rue mixing alcohol and pain killers, Mrs. Conner.’ They laughed and mocked his upper-crust accent. My father turned to my mother, grabbed the bottle, and took a big swig. ‘May Rue! That’s what we’ll name the baby if she’s a girl!’ And that’s the story behind my name.”

They watched until the white ship was lost among the white-diamond stars.

The End of “An Alien Act of Honor”

Praying for patience as she stood over the stove in her kitchen, Marisa gritted her teeth.

“You’re frying bacon, not running a welder.” Barbara scolded her daughter. “Do you really need to wear those silly goggles? I never heard of anyone losing an eye due to flying bacon grease.”

Marisa added a plea for tolerance to the prayer.

“Don’t let the bacon get too crispy,” Barbara continued. “When you get to the eggs, please remember I like mine fried, with the yolks not broken.”

Marisa jerked off the goggles. At the last moment, she forced herself not to slam them on the counter. “I’ll let you fix your own breakfast, Mom.” She injected a sickly sweet note into her voice. “I don’t want to get it wrong.”

Barbara looked up in surprise from the newspaper spread out on the table in front of her. Her eyes widened, and then fixed on her daughter. She motioned with her coffee mug. “I hope you’re going to change your clothes. Alex seems to like you a lot. What if he comes over? That baggy shirt and ratty gym shorts make you look like a homeless person. You’re nearly forty. You need all the help you can get to look as nice as possible.”

Marisa clamped her lips shut and stomped to the living room.

From his vantage point on the long picture window sill, Laithe twitched his long orange tail into a question mark shape and meowed in warning.

“You’re right,” she agreed with the cat. “I shouldn’t get annoyed with my mother.”

Laithe straightened his tail into an exclamation mark and yowled.

Marisa hurried to the window. “Oh, my God. Television news vans are crowded at the curb in front of the house. There are camera-ready personalities ready to record sound bites. They’re surrounded by techie-looking people with bags on their shoulders, holding the cameras. Neighbors and strangers are milling around the sidewalk like it’s a street fair.” She grabbed her laptop.

“I hope Parvis Stidham is far away on a plum assignment,” Marisa continued, the cat her audience. “I don’t need him here, investigating Mayla Kenton’s murder. Over the spring and summer, something special was growing between us. Then he deliberately hurt me by outing Althea’s secret use of my life in her books. He chose to communicate it in the most humiliating way possible.”

Laithe’s yowl was a battle cry.

“Don’t worry, Laithe, you left battle scars on Parvis’ leg during your last sortie.” Marisa bent over her computer. “Oh, no. Listen to this. ‘Berea Kenton, winner of fifty million dollars in the Kentucky Lottery, announced at a press conference that Marisa Adair, Alex Caldwell, and Tara Ross have joined the team to investigate her daughter Mayla Kenton’s twenty-year-old murder. The team is headed by Burke Lee Creed, the famous detective from Clearwater, Florida.’ Great.”

Laithe stretched his length up the window and meowed in warning.

Marisa closed her laptop. “Now what?” She peered out of the window. A huge white van pulled up into her driveway behind her diminutive, red Mazda Miata. A portly figure in a baseball cap, gray work shirt, and dark pants staggered out of the driver’s door, and then hopped around to the other side of the whale-sized van. “That’s Fred. What’s he doing here? And who are all of those people with him?”

Laithe didn’t answer.

* * * * *

In Marisa’s crowded kitchen, Berea Kenton turned from the window over the sink. A large pink bag hung from her bony shoulder. She leaned against the counter as if she couldn’t hold herself erect against the weight of the bag. “I admit I tricked the others into coming here. Fred thought he was driving everyone here at your request, Marisa, and he brought his girlfriend Clara along for the ride. Burke Lee, Althea, and Clay thought they were going with me on a field trip to the scene of the crime.”

Burke Lee rested his length against the bisque refrigerator. He raised his white head from the tablet in his slender fingers. His black leather jacket was heavy for the unseasonably warm fall day. In contrast, his thin face was cool and composed. His dark eyes were watchful, seeming to take in everyone at once.

Althea huddled in a chair next to Clay. Her dark hair, streaked with gray and pinned in a bun, was settled against his shoulder. Her eyes were on her thin hands clasped in front of her on the table, and her cheeks were white with misery. Clay’s silver head was angled over her like a protective bird of prey.

“Fred believed Alex had agreed to go with us,” Berea continued. “Alex was surprised when we stopped at his apartment, but he gamely jumped aboard. I told him Tara had agreed to go, so Alex directed Fred to her home.”

His blue eyes wide with agitation and the lines on his face deepened by his emotion, Fred raised his hands, knobby with arthritis. Clara, retired lunch lady and his girlfriend, sat next to him, her eyes on his face. Fred’s large, battered rolling suitcase was near his shined black shoes. “I’m sorry, Marisa,” he said. “This is my fault. I knew Mrs. Kenton from both the nursing home and the assisted living center. It never occurred to me that she’d scam me.”

“I don’t blame you, Fred.” In spite of the ruckus, Marisa had to smile. The rolling suitcase, known as The Library, leaned against his leg like a faithful dog. The Library held an amazing volume of addiction and recovery books, informational CDs, and pamphlets for their support group. Wherever Fred was, the scuffed rectangle housing The Library was with him, either reposing at his feet or rolling along behind him.

“Ever since she won that cursed lottery, Mrs. Kenton has been hell on wheels.” Fred’s round, lined face was white, and his jowls shook. He absently reached down and patted The Library. The contact appeared to calm him.

Leaning against the counter, Alex looked freshly scrubbed and athletic. His tanned legs were dark against his white shorts, and his navy golf shirt caught the color of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Tara.”

“It’s not your fault, Alex. The old harridan thinks she can control everyone like mute pieces on a chessboard, simply because she won a butt-load of money.” Tara’s green eyes were as hard as cat’s eye marbles. Her normally smiling mouth was set in a harsh line, and her face was cold.

Berea’s face whitened, leaving bright patches of red powder on her concave cheeks in sharp relief. “Harridan!” She pulled a silver object from her pocket. She twisted it, telescoping it into her long pointer. She smacked Tara on the arm with the end.

“Ouch! That hurt!” Holding her arm, Tara advanced on the older woman. “Give me that before you hurt anyone else with it.”

“I confiscated one from her. She must have had a backup.” Clay plucked the pointer from Berea’s hand. He twisted it closed and put it in his pocket.

Burke Lee straightened from his position against the gleaming refrigerator. His white hair caught and held the sunshine streaming in the kitchen window, the fluffy hair as round as a full moon. “Mrs. Kenton, you must be truthful and stop hitting people. Otherwise, we can’t work together.”

Ranged around the table and its periphery, everyone talked at once.

Berea’s harsh voice rose over the pandemonium. “Lying was the only way I could take charge of the situation.”

The kitchen door rattled. Marisa peered around the edge of the curtain. “It’s Verna.”

Berea perked up like a dog about to receive a treat. “Who’s Verna? Is she another amateur detective?”

Alex shuddered. “Verna is Marisa’s nosy neighbor. She watches the neighborhood while pretending to work in her yard. She gathers intelligence by walking her odious little dog and speaking to anyone she can trap into conversation. If she sees a strange car in Marisa’s driveway, she invents an excuse to find out who’s here. I’m surprised it took her this long to get her inquisitive butt over here.”

Berea smacked her lips, as if she’d gotten the coveted treat. “She sounds like she’d make an excellent addition to our cold case squad. I bet she even keeps a log of her interrogations and surveillance activities.”

“We don’t have a squad, cold or hot or lukewarm.” Marisa hauled open the door, arresting the next round of knocking and Berea’s enraptured theorizing.

Her neon bright blue shorts and matching sleeveless top streaked with dirt from her ruthlessly weeded flower beds, Verna hopped through the opening. With her short gray hair slicked straight back from her forehead under the bright blue kerchief, her elongated head, and her large, hooked nose, the senior citizen looked like a tiny bird. As her head bobbed in excitement, she reminded Marisa of a toy bird, perpetually swinging up and down to drink.

“Marisa, how are you?” Verna asked, her dark eyes wide in her avid face. “The street is jammed with news vans and reporters. I didn’t see our dear little orange kitty in the window lately, and I thought he might have run outside into the ruckus. Oh, there he is.”

The ‘dear little orange kitty’ danced sideways around Verna. He hissed at her.

“Laithe is really not a friendly cat, Verna.”

Undeterred, Verna trotted over to Laithe, her birdlike head bobbing in anticipation. His tail puffed up to the size of an industrial feather duster and his back arched. His hissing escalated to yowling.

“We’re a little busy at the moment.” Marisa gripped Verna’s arm firmly, and propelled her to the door. She tried to shove the old lady through the doorway as Verna protested. “Wait, Marisa, I want to know why there are news vans out front. And I want to meet your friends—”

Berea carefully placed her large bag on the granite kitchen floor. Her face set, she lunged to Marisa and shoved her away from the door.

“Umph.” Marisa staggered, her arms flailing.

Alex leaped from his chair, neatly caught Marisa, and deposited her in the empty chair.

Clay applauded, his gray eyes sparkling. “Well done, young man.”

Berea offered her hand to Verna. “I’m Berea Kenton. I have to solve my daughter Mayla’s murder. We could use your help.”

Verna’s dark little face lit up as she shook the other woman’s hand. “I saw you on television, Mrs. Kenton. I was a teacher at the elementary school. I remember Mayla. She was a lovely and intelligent child. I’d love to help.”

A pretty face appeared at the open door. Dark eyes behind academic black glasses peered into the kitchen. “Hello? Marisa?”

Marisa jumped up. “Di—”

“Dee Forrest, your friendly neighborhood realtor.” Diana’s eyes flashed in warning.

Marisa’s eyes widened.
I’ve never seen Diana in her real estate persona.
Althea looked at Clay in consternation. Marisa smiled warmly to make up for it. “My realtor and my friend. Come in, Dee.”

In the doorway, Diana winked at Marisa as one hand smoothed the heavy black bun at the back of her head. Her navy suit with muted gray pinstripes and tailored lines lent her body angles while hinting at the hidden curves. A giant bag emblazoned with the outline of a house hung from her shoulder. A thick layer of pale foundation and light beige powder covered her exotic features. A touch of soft pink lipstick thinned her full mouth, but couldn’t hide the amused twist of her lips.

Verna’s head flew up like a bloodhound catching a juicy scent. “Are you thinking of leaving our lovely neighborhood, Marisa?”

Marisa narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Yes, in fact, I am thinking of moving. The neighbors tend to be nosy and intrusive.”

Verna nodded her head in sage agreement. “I’m sure you mean Mr. Roberts. He’s so inquisitive. He always has to know everyone’s business.”

Marisa’s mouth fell open. “Mr. Roberts is nosy?”

“And he likes to run around his house naked as a jaybird.” She compressed her mouth in a thin line, but her eyes sparkled in excitement.

“You don’t have to look in his windows, Verna.” Marisa’s tone was dry as dust.

“I’m sure I’d never peek in anyone’s window.” Verna threw up her thin hands in excitement. “Where are you thinking of moving? I can look at properties with you. Perhaps we can find two adjacent houses.”

Like a general on the battlefield, Laithe advanced on Verna. He hissed, and then opened his mouth wide to show his opponent his sharp teeth.

“Laithe, behave yourself.” Marisa’s heart wasn’t in the rebuke.

The orange cat retreated. He positioned himself between Alex’s bare ankles and glared at his archenemy.

Between Diana’s sensible, low-heeled shoes, a small brown and blue streak flew through the open kitchen door.

Berea’s bag fell over. A Pomeranian ball of fur spilled out onto the floor with a happy bark.

Laithe wound his way across the floor to the Pomeranian as a Chihuahua with a blue kerchief over his elongated head skidded to a stop and formed the third corner of the triangle.

“Princess!” Berea started to bend over.

Marisa stepped to the tableau. “Laithe!”

Alex recoiled. “Punky! Everyone cover your ankles!” He hoisted himself up on Marisa’s countertop.

Verna grasped both women’s arms. “Wait.”

The Abyssinian and the Pomeranian faced one another. They ignored the twitchy Chihuahua as if he were a lowly serf, allowed to live only as long as it pleased their royal majesties. Laithe was taller and more sinewy, while Princess was lower to the ground and brawny. In tandem, they gracefully sat on their haunches. The cat extended his nose, his orange wedge-shaped face stately. Princess mirrored his movement, managing to look down her nose at the cat even though she had to raise her golden muzzle.