Kitty Litter Killer (5 page)

I called Abbie as soon as I got home. I was eager to ask her if she’d heard Philip was in town, but she couldn’t talk. She was on the phone with Eric, who was out of town. I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation with a topic like her ex-husband. Philip’s presence could wait.

I answered some e-mails, including one from Tommy, and another from Eric’s daughter, Sherry, who was Tommy’s girlfriend—a relationship that had continued after both of them graduated from high school.

Tommy was doing well at college. He’d had a last-minute change of majors and was studying criminal justice, much to Max’s parents’ dismay. They wanted him to be a lawyer.

That reminded me of Angelica’s opinion about Sammie. I needed Max to assure me that he didn’t really think Sammie had a dark future as a klepto criminal in some prison cell, but he was ensconced in his study.

I glanced at my watch. I realized it was late, and I didn’t have time to make dinner. I ordered pizza instead, ignoring the tug of guilt I felt for not planning ahead. While I waited for it to be delivered, I paced the house, feeling vaguely restless. Not that I didn’t have a lot to do. I had bookkeeping to do for Max. A house to keep. I also had the never-ending piles of laundry. I even had a stack of books from the library, but I wasn’t interested in any of them. Frankly, I was just bored.

Most of the women I knew at church were content to be at home or at least wished they could be home. Knowing that piled more guilt on my head, because I wasn’t content. That made me a failure in my eyes. Aren’t all women supposed to adore taking care of their families full-time?

I wandered back into the kitchen. Sammie had tossed her coat on the back of a chair. I picked it up, ready to hang it on a peg next to the back door, but I felt something hard in the pocket. I reached inside and pulled out a squashed, unopened pack of gum and a rock that looked very similar to the rocks in Hayley’s flower beds. The package of gum looked like it had been run over by a truck and probably came from the parking lot at the Gas ’n’ Go. At least it wasn’t used, but it still grossed me out, and I tossed it in the trash. Then I balanced the rock in my palm.

A rock is no big deal, I told myself. Kids always pick up stuff like rocks. But a little voice in the back of my head asked me if maybe Angelica was right. And worse, it told me if I were a better mother and more content maybe Sammie wouldn’t have kleptomaniacal tendencies.

“Mom!” Charlie yelled from the family room. “I can’t hear Mike over Chris.” My middle son spent hours each day on his cell phone with his best friend, Mike. Anyone who says males don’t talk as much as females is seriously unobservant. It’s just the topics that differ.

I realized my youngest son had been noisy for a while. I’d tuned him out because the sounds were the whiny kind of talking he did for self-entertainment and not because he was in need or wanted attention. I could tell the difference, so I had learned to ignore the noise. Not everyone in the family had the same ability.

I went into the family room, scooped Chris out of his activity center, and carried him with me to the kitchen, where I stuck him in a high chair and covered his round cheeks with kisses. He beamed at me. Something crunched under my feet as I walked to the counter, but I ignored it, not wanting to be reminded of my housekeeping failures. As I cut up a banana for him, I heard the soft padding of bare feet behind me. I turned and saw Max.

“Hey, I really need to talk to you,” I said.

“Dadadadadadadada,” Chris said, holding out his arms.

Max took Chris’s hands in his and blew on them, making whooshing sounds. Chris chortled. Then Max looked at me. “I heard the little guy yakking. I have a feeling he’s always going to be vocal.”

I smiled. “Probably.”

Max came over and snaked his arms around my waist, and I leaned back against him.

Then I felt him shift back and forth. “What’s on the floor?”

We both looked down. Me with dread, thinking it had to be Cheerios or something the kids had dropped.

“Is that. . .gravel?” he asked, wiggling his toes.

“No-o-o.” I reached down and scooped up a familiar substance. “It’s kitty litter. Must have been stuck in my shoes. I have new trainers, and they have deep treads.”

While I swept up the pieces of litter, I told him about buying supplies from Adler’s Pet Emporium and the hole in the litter bag. Then about our visit to Hayley’s house.

“Mother told me you decided Sammie could have the cat.” He kissed the top of my head. “Thank you.”

I pulled myself from his grasp and turned around. “Do you mean you were worried I would say no?”

“Not worried,” he said. “Just hoping you would do it for. . .well, for my mother. . .and Sammie.”

“To avoid conflict and hard feelings, you mean?”

“Something like that.” He pushed a piece of hair away from my face.

“Well, I’m struggling with hard feelings today.” I crossed my arms. “Did you tell your mother that Sammie was stealing?”

The drop of his jaw told me all I needed to know. “That’s what I thought,” I said. “I just needed to know for sure.”

“I can’t remember exactly what I did say, but whatever it was, that wasn’t anywhere near the word I used. I can’t imagine where she got the idea.”

“She called it kleptomania and said she’s found a really good psychiatrist for Sammie.”

Max shook his head. “I’ll talk to her.”

“And your mother isn’t the only one who’s taking over. My mother talked to a real estate agent for us. Linda Faye King. Remember the emergency room nurse? She’s into real estate now.”

“What?” He raised his eyebrows. “Have we decided to move?”

I shrugged. “Not that I know of, but everybody is making decisions for me. My mother. Your mother. As usual. So I just go along with it all.”

He smiled. “You pretend to go along with it and then just quietly do what you want to do.”

I considered that and frowned. “That’s a bit passive- aggressive, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “No. Not in you. You just avoid making scenes, which is a good thing, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Oh. Okay.” I stared up into his green eyes. “I had a fleeting thought today about living out near your parents.” Surprise lit his face, making his eyes greener. “Really?”

“The cat breeder lives out there. Hayley Whitmore. Her house is too huge for my taste, but I liked the deck and the pool.”

“Whitmore? Leighton and Hayley?”

“Yep,” I said. “And Leighton said you know him.”

“I’ve met him through my father.” A quick frown wrinkled Max’s forehead, and then it slipped away. “Anyway, you liked their house?”

“Not their house. It was way too pretentious. Like Tara from
Gone with the Wind.
But I just thought about you and how happy you’d be out there and. . .”

He kissed me soundly on the lips, and I felt it down to my toes. When he was done, he stepped back and smiled while I pulled myself together. He knows what he does to me.

“So we can, um, talk about it,” I finally said when my heart slowed.

“We don’t have to decide right now,” he said.

I heard the back door open, and Karen, my stepdaughter, rushed into the kitchen from work, her long hair swinging in her face.

“Caaaaaaaa,” Chris squealed.

“Hey, Dad. Mom.” Karen planted a kiss on Chris’ head, dropped a bag of pretzels on the table, and reached for the refrigerator door. After a quick look inside the fridge, she slammed the door. “What’s for dinner?”

“Pizza,” I said.

“Pizza again?” She screwed her pretty face into a frown. Even my kids were heaping burning coals of guilt on my head.

“Yes, again.” I tried not to snap, and I also avoided Max’s eyes in case he felt the same way Karen did.

Charlie exploded into the kitchen from the other direction, clinging to his cell phone and just missing ramming into Karen.

“Watch it, moron,” she said.

Charlie stuck his tongue out at her.

“Stop now, you two, before you get started,” Max warned.

She rolled her eyes. Charlie grinned and turned to me and Max, waving his phone in our faces.

“Mike’s brother got caught today with drugs. He’s in big trouble. It’s called estisee.”

“Ecstasy,” Karen said. “And he’s a moron, too. I see him at the mall all the time.”

“Karen. . .” Max met her gaze, and she tightened her lips into a thin line.

“He’s in such big trouble,” Charlie said. “Grounded for life.” He bounced out of the kitchen.

I was glad that Mike’s parents were taking a hard stand.

“Dadadadada,” Chris intoned from his high chair.

“I see him at the mall with a group of kids he goes to junior college with. At least there will be one less idiot loose in the mall.” Karen sniffed. Max cleared his throat, and she tossed her hair. “You gotta admit it’s stupid.”

Well, we couldn’t really argue with her point. And with that proclamation, she asked me to call her when the pizza arrived, mumbled about tons of homework, and disappeared down the hall.

I had to admit I was jealous. Karen had a life. She got out of the house.

I wrapped my arms around Max. “Honey, I think I want to go back to work part-time. Outside the house.”

He blinked in surprise. “Where? Back at Self-Storage?”

“No.” I looked up at him. “Shirl’s doing fine managing everything. I need something else.”

His expression was wistful. “I kind of thought you were happy at home.”

Sometimes men are clueless. They see only what they want to see. Max liked me being home. He’s old-fashioned that way. His mother was always home when he was young. Not that she was the typical suburban housewife type—well, she was typical for her social class. That meant lunch at the club after a nice game of tennis. She had no money worries, so she could do that. But she was “home.”

I had no money worries, either. If I wanted to, I could go enjoy a nice game of tennis with my mother-in-law, but I don’t like tennis.

“I’m happy enough, but I miss the social interaction. I miss the regimentation. I miss having a purpose.”

“Taking care of our home and kids isn’t purpose enough?” he asked.

“Would it be for you?” I thought I had him there.

“Chris is getting on your nerves, isn’t he? It’s the teething thing.”

Max wasn’t getting it. Or he didn’t want to.

“No. I just ignore Chris’s grumpiness. That’s not it. I just want to get out.” I took a deep breath. “I had a really good thought. How about I work for your company?”

He stepped back, surprise lighting his eyes again. “You mean, work for Cunningham and Son?”

“Well, your dad is semiretired. Seems to me you could use a partner.”

Max blinked like a toad in a hailstorm.

“What’s wrong?” I frowned at him. “You wouldn’t want to work with me? You worked with me at Storage part-time. I do bookkeeping work for you here at home. You don’t think I could do it?”

“Well, it’s not that, exactly. . . .” He started to back away from me.

“You’re afraid of what your parents will think?”

“No. . . .”

I planted my fists on my hips. “Is it because I didn’t go to Harvard?”

“Um, no. . . .”

“Well, what is it, then?” “I’m not sure—”

The doorbell rang. The pizza had arrived.

“I’ll go get that,” Max said and quickly left the room.

“Fine,” I grumbled, my feelings hurt. I thought maybe he’d go with my idea. Especially after I held out the olive branch of living near his parents.

Chapter Three

On Tuesday afternoon, I prepared to meet Abbie and my mother at the church hall. Abbie was supposed to get there earlier than us to fiddle with the decorations she was going to use. As I passed through my kitchen on the way to the garage, the yellow walls glowed, and I felt just as radiant. Max had come home early so he could watch the little kids for me while I was gone. But he’d come home before the time we’d discussed and managed to sidetrack me. Not that he has to work hard to sidetrack me. But as a result, I had totally forgiven him of his insensitivity the night before and even felt hopeful. I figured I’d attack Max’s doubts about me working at Cunningham and Son like water wearing away a rock. Slowly and over a period of time.

I was leaving a bit early in hopes of getting a chance to talk to Abbie at the fellowship hall before my mother got there. I tried to reach her by phone to tell her, but when I got her voice mail, I left a message confirming that Ma and I would see her shortly. I wanted to tell her about Philip.

I saw a sign for the Gas ’n’ Go, which happens to be near the church hall. My mouth watered. Funny how addiction affects the body. I pulled into the parking lot and the debate began. Must have Mountain Dew, one voice in my head whispered. Just say no, another retorted. I sighed.

Then in my rearview mirror, I saw a WWPS truck whiz by. That reminded me of Doris’s Doughnuts and my mother. . .her constant nagging and how tired I got of people telling me what to do, including the voices in my head.

I ordered them to be quiet, grabbed my official I Get My Get-Up-’n’-Go from Gas ’n’ Go plastic refillable cup, and climbed from my SUV. Inside, I nodded at Pat, the clerk, and headed straight for the soda machine, half expecting to see a little good imp and a little bad imp sitting on the counter, ready to continue the argument.

Armed with my drink, I went back outside. I was climbing into my SUV when I heard the sound of a car window sliding down. Then someone called my name.

I turned and saw Linda Faye King in a tiny hybrid car parked right next to me. She looked totally put together in nicely cut brown slacks and a silky gold sweater. She tossed a leather briefcase on top of a jacket on the passenger seat.

“Hey,” I said.

“I’m glad I caught you.” She sounded a bit breathless. “I’m supposed to meet your mother at the reception hall, but I just got a call. I have to meet a real estate client. I drove by the church, but your mother wasn’t there. She’s not answering her cell phone, either. Can you tell her for me?”

“Yep. No problem.” I took a sip of my drink. So good. Unfortunately, the word that came to mind was ecstasy.

“Oh.” Linda reached into her purse and pulled out a gold business card holder with her red-tipped fingers. “You and I need to get together and discuss what you’re looking for in a house. I have several listings now that might suit you.” She handed me the card. “You can reach me at these numbers.” A diamond tennis bracelet dangled from her wrist.

I wondered if the bracelet was a gift. It didn’t look like the purchase of a newly minted real estate agent who needed a part-time job. “Okay,” I said, even though I had no intention of following through. At least not right now.

We said our good-byes. Linda headed off in one direction, and I headed in the other toward the church hall. This wooded countryside wasn’t developed. I saw For Sale signs along the road that I hadn’t paid attention to before. Linda’s name was on the bottom of each of them.

I pulled into the parking lot in front of the church fellowship hall. Ma and Abbie both attended this church. The congregation had recently bought this property and put up the building. Plans were in the works for a sanctuary to follow in the spring. But for now, the members used the multipurpose building for their worship services as well as social events, prayer meetings, and other group activities.

Backed up against the woods, the soft peach brick of the building glowed in the afternoon sun. Abbie wasn’t there. I glanced at my watch and wondered where she was.

I rubbed my arms, feeling a tingle of excitement. My best friend since I was little was getting married. My matron of honor dress hung in my closet, and I couldn’t wait to wear it. I’d been Abbie’s maid of honor when she married Philip, but this time was different. This time I liked her husband-to-be, Eric Scott. I’d started to get to know him right after I found the body of Jim Bob Jenkins in the milk case of our local grocery store. Eric had been the lead detective in the murder investigation.

He’d pursued Abbie long and hard and finally convinced her to try again with him. A new chance for love.

Just as I stepped from my SUV and shut the door, my mother roared up in her catering van. I waited for her.

When she jerked her body from the vehicle, I knew something was wrong. “Hey, Ma. You—”

“I am just so mad I could spit nails.” She slammed the door shut.

“I’m sorry. What’s—”

“After all, it is my business, you know.” She strode toward the building.

I followed in the wake of her hostility. “Yes, I—”

“And my name is on that sign. Big as day, it says ‘Doris’s Doughnuts.’ ” She stomped up the step to the cement walkway.

Breathlessly I joined her. “Yes, it—”

“That means I’m the boss.” She glared at me, stuck the key in the lock, turned it, and flung open the door to the church hall, banging it on the side of the building. Then she stalked through the opening with me trailing behind her. “Where is Linda?”

“She can’t make it,” I gasped.

Ma paused. “What?”

“I saw her at the Gas ’n’ Go. She asked me to tell you she had an emergency and can’t make it. Something to do with a client.”

“Well, that just makes my day complete.” Ma strode to the kitchen area and began flinging open cupboards. “I hope the women in charge of the morning Bible study put everything back the way it’s all supposed to be. They usually don’t, you know. And they just had a luncheon.”

She sniffed the air. “What is that smell?”

I shrugged and grunted. Saying anything was taking the risk of having my head bitten off. As Ma scurried around trying to find the source of the odor, I examined the kitchen. It was a cook’s dream and a good indication of how important socializing was to the church members. There was plenty of counter space and cupboards. A large center island held an additional sink, which I couldn’t fully see at the moment because of the bags that covered the surface.

On the edge of the island lay a copy of Abbie’s new book. She had said she would be here earlier in the day to drop some things off and look at the supplies in the kitchen cupboards to make sure she didn’t need to buy anything else.

I sneaked a look inside the bags and found packages of plain blue napkins, matching paper plates, and plastic cups, along with plastic flatware.

“It’s the trash,” Ma said.

I glanced up at her. “What?”

“The smell is coming from the trash.” She snatched the plastic bag from the metal can, grumbling under her breath that she couldn’t depend on anybody to help her.

“Do you want me to take that out?” I dropped the napkins back into the bag.

“No.” Ma stomped across the tiled floor to the back door. “You try to find the punch bowl. Who knows where that is.”

I heard the squeaky front door swing open. Both of us turned, and Abbie walked in carrying a drink from McDonald’s.

“Well, at least the bride-to-be is faithful,” Ma grumbled.

Abbie met my gaze with raised brows. Ma disappeared outside, and I heard her footsteps clomping down the stairs that led to the parking lot and yard behind the church. “Hey,” I said.

“Hi.” Abbie crossed the room and kissed my cheek.

“Where were you? I thought you’d be here before me.”

“I was.” She dropped her coat on the counter, followed by a wool blazer with dull brass buttons.

I looked more closely at her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She brought the straw in her drink to her mouth and didn’t meet my eyes. I didn’t believe her reply. Her eyelids were red rimmed.

“Abbie, have you been crying?” An awful thought occurred to me. “Have you and Eric been fighting?”

She shook her head. “No. He’s out of town, remember? At that training school.” She took a deep breath and seemed to pull herself together. “Did you see the napkins?”

“Yep. Sort of. . .plain, aren’t they?”

She smiled. “Nothing formal. This wedding is going to be different from my first. I don’t want to take any chance of. . .flashbacks.”

I looked up at Abbie in time to see a quick frown crease her forehead, then it was gone. If I hadn’t known her so well, I wouldn’t have noticed it.

“That’s probably a good idea. When you married Philip, it was a formal affair, all gold and white and perfect, and look how that turned out. But this is the real thing.” She thunked her half-finished drink on the counter and rubbed the middle of her forehead with her index finger.

“Are you okay, Abs? Do you have a headache?”

“No, not a headache.” She met my gaze with a shaky smile. “Everything is just fine.”

Her attention fell to the book on the counter. “Is this yours?”

I shook my head. “No. I thought it was yours.”

The back door swung open, clattered against the wall, and Ma stumbled in, coughing, her hand over her mouth.

I dropped the napkins on the counter and rushed to her side. “Ma? Are you okay?”

She shook her head and dropped her hand to point toward the back door. Her face was as white as the boxes she packed doughnuts in.

“Ma? Are you sick?”

She swallowed hard as she shook her head again. “No. Yes. Not yet.” She took a deep, trembly breath. “Don’t go out there!”

I couldn’t imagine what was so bad in the trash outside that she’d had this reaction.

She shocked both of us by grasping Abbie’s arm then dragging her across the room to the counter where Ma had set her purse. “It’s Philip. He’s outside on the ground.”

She yanked her cell phone from her handbag. The color returned to her face in two tiny red patches on her cheeks. Somehow that was worse than her dead white face. She punched in some numbers.

“Philip? As in Philip Grenville?” A tremor of apprehension wormed up my back.

Ma nodded. “Don’t go out there.

Abbie wasn’t moving, and Ma released her arm and took a deep breath. “Hello? 9-1-1? I need to report a shooting.”

Mute and motionless, I listened to Ma bark orders at the dispatcher.

“Yes, he’s dead,” Ma said into the phone. “Yes, I know who it is.” She reached over and clasped Abbie’s arm again. “His name is Philip Grenville.”

I had the proverbial breath-caught-in-my-throat reaction to that. Abbie’s face blanched so white she could have played the part of a vampire in an old horror flick.

I didn’t hear the rest of what my mother said because Abbie burst into motion, escaping Ma’s grip—not a small feat—and headed for the back door.

“Trish.” Ma frantically caught my eye and put her hand over the receiver. “Don’t let her see him. I. . .think a hunter shot him. It’s. . .bad.”

She didn’t have to say more. I was already running after Abbie. As she snatched the door open, I grabbed at her arm, but she jerked away from me, almost stumbling down the wooden stairs.

“Abbie. Stop!”

She didn’t listen. By the time I caught up with her, she was kneeling in the sparse grass beside Philip’s body.

I’d seen dead bodies before. Two to be exact. The first was Jim Bob Jenkins. The second was Georgia Winters, a teacher at the high school. But this was different. Philip was someone I had known well at one time.

Abbie was murmuring Philip’s name, pushing at his body. I guess shock shielded her from seeing harsh reality.

I glanced at him. What looked like bruises marred one side of his face. I averted my gaze so I wouldn’t see the rest. “Abbie, you shouldn’t—”

“Shut up,” she snapped. She finally tugged one of his hands from under his body and put her finger on his wrist.

I couldn’t stop her, but I knew checking for vital signs was a waste of time. He was dead.

My stomach roiled, and I was trying desperately to keep my gaze off his inert form. I swallowed hard and put my hand on Abbie’s shoulder. “Come on. You can’t do anything for him. We need to wait for help to arrive.” And I had to get back inside before I lost control of my stomach.

This time she listened to me. She stood and swayed. I gripped her arm to steady her.

“I just talked to him,” she said softly. “Just this afternoon.”

My heart skipped. I stared up into her tear-filled eyes. “What?”

She wiped tears from her cheeks and left a streak of Philip’s blood on her parchment-white skin. My stomach turned.

“And he came to my book signing at the festival.”

“I didn’t see him there,” I said.

“He came after you left. I wouldn’t talk to him.” Her voice was getting higher. “He called me this morning. Then he showed up here.”

“You never said anything about it. You didn’t tell me he was in town.”