Mahjonged (An Alex Harris Mystery) (7 page)

Seeing me with my accoutrements of investigation made Meme smile. “Oh, good, honey. I was afraid finding the body in your own house might put you off and you might leave this one to the cops.”

I smiled at Meme. “Ha. No way.”

Meme wrapped her chubby hands around her coffee mug and asked, “Are you going to make a list of suspects?”

“Not yet. First I want to know exactly who came with whom?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Me and Theresa came with Sam,” Meme said.

My mother put down her Danish. “Dorothy and Francis came with me.”

“Dorothy?” I asked, looking around the kitchen. “Where is she?”

“Judith took her home. She didn’t want to leave her husband alone,” Mom said.

“She probably just didn’t want to stay in this, what did you call it Meme?” my sister asked.

“Murder house,” Meme cackled.

“Okay. Enough. Let’s not forget someone died,” I said.

“Sorry,” Meme said.

“All right,” I began again, my grandmother sufficiently chastised. “Who else?’

“Mia came with Millie and Judith and Penelope came together,” Sam said.

“And Jean was right behind me,” Mom said. “She followed us over.”

“Connie and Liz came together and Mary-Beth came alone. Good. Now we know who came with whom.” I put my pen down and took a sip of tea.

“What’s next?” my grandmother eagerly asked.

I thought for a moment, chewing on a piece of raspberry Danish while I fine-tuned my plan of attack. “
You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word. It is victory. Victory at all costs - Victory in spite of all terrors - Victory, however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no survival
.”

“And do you actually have a plan to achieve this victory?” my sister asked not even giving me any credit for my latest Winston quote.

I cut my eyes at her and then turned my attention to the rest of table. “Okay,” I said, putting down the pastry and wiping my hands on a paper napkin. “Next, I want to know who sat where.”

“But we switched players several times,” my sister said.

“True, but I still want to know where everyone was as much as I can, especially the last hand right before Penelope was killed.”

“I played with Mia, Millie, and Mrs. Chapman on the last hand,” Sam said.

“That’s right. And Millie won if I remember correctly,” I teased. Sam gave me a sneer and I reached across the table and patted her hand. “I sat with Mary-Beth, Meme, and Theresa.”

“Yep. You played with us, honey.”

“And Mom, you were with Dorothy and Penelope and who else?” I asked.

My mother got up and poured herself more coffee and turned the heat on under the kettle. “No, Alex, Penelope was at my table but Dorothy played with Connie and Frances. That would leave me with Penelope, Liz, and Jean, I think.”

“How about earlier?”

“Well, I played with Mom and Penelope at some point. Penelope played well,” Sam said.

“So did Jean,” my mom added. “She picked up the game very quickly. As a matter of fact, I think I still owe her some money.”

“I played with Jean, Mia, and Penelope on the first game,” Meme said.

I shook my head and held up my hand.

“Stop! It’s too confusing. Let’s just say at some point in the evening, everyone got a chance to play with Penelope.”

“It was your idea, Alex.”

“What was?” I asked my sister.

“To go around and tell who we played with.”

“I know. It’s just too much and I can’t keep everything straight.”

I leaned back in my chair and ran my hands through my short hair as I glanced around the table at a sea of white-haired women, myself and Sam excluded. A thought began forming in my mind. Everyone currently sitting at my kitchen table had played at least one hand with Penelope. And despite my constant prodding for people to take their turns, a good portion of each hand involved chit-chatting.

“I can see the wheels spinning,” Meme said with pure delight. My grandmother was my biggest fan besides being just as nosy as I am. And like me, she really enjoys a good mystery. We read a lot of them, sharing books we purchase at various second-hand stores in the area.

“You two,” my mother said with exasperation. “You,” she said looking at her mother, “have always encouraged Alex in these crazy schemes. And you,” she said now boring down on me, “you shouldn’t be getting your grandmother mixed up in this kind of stuff. Not at her age.”

Meme and I just looked at each other and then burst out laughing. We couldn’t help it. We were truly like two peas in a pod.

“Oh, calm down, Mable,” Meme said to my mother. “You’ve always been too serious for your own good. Besides, this isn’t a game. We’re helping the police.”

“Maybe I should call John and tell him what his wife is up to.”

I didn’t know if my mom was serious or not so just to be sure I jumped up and grabbed the phone off the counter.

“Like I don’t have him on speed dial on my cell,” my mother said to me with a smirk. She put her hands palm down on the kitchen table. “Okay. I understand you want to find the person who killed Penelope. We all do, but I’m counting on you, Samantha, to look out for your little sister.”

“Me?”

Sam turned to me and we locked eyes. We could read each other’s thoughts and right now I beamed her a message that said
if you want to be on the inside track of everything I hear, you had better keep your mouth shut
.

My grandmother turned her ample body toward me, totally dismissing my mother for the moment. “So? You have an idea, don’t you?”

I smiled. “One of us killed her. That’s a given. And no one plunges a knife into the back of another person over a lost tile.”

“And?” my mother asked, obviously forgetting her admonishments of a moment ago and getting as caught up in the mystery as the rest of us.

“And,” I began as every person at my kitchen table leaned in closer so as not to miss one word, “we all spent time with her, we all talked with her, and somewhere in all the talk is the key. Somewhere, locked away in our subconscious, in a muddle of gossip and idle banter is the clue that will tell us why Penelope Radamaker was killed in my library on a dark and stormy night.”

Our plan hatched, an hour later we busily worked to get my kitchen back in order, each of us lost in her own thoughts. Phone calls had been made, and everyone agreed to meet at my mother’s house at six. Meme wanted to know if I planned to reenact the murder and had kindly volunteered to play the part of Penelope. Geesh.

My sister called her husband with instructions he take the kids along with our father to the movies this evening, and from her tone, I could tell she wasn’t leaving him any room to argue. When I called, Mary-Beth volunteered to bake her famous cheesecake, and my mother and I would put out savory treats.

With my house back in somewhat order except for the library, everyone left, leaving me alone in the murder house. For the next hour I successfully managed to keep my eyes off the door of the library, but it really didn’t matter. And how pretentious is it to have a library? I needed to find another name for the room but deep inside I knew what it would be for the rest of my life—the murder room. My eyes momentarily went to the door of the library/second den/murder room and even though it was closed I knew what lingered on the other side and I didn’t want to spend another minute alone in this house. John wouldn’t be back for a couple more days and it was no use to try his cell. Out in the middle of nowhere, he warned me he would be out of cellular reach. No worries, I had assured him with a wave of my hand. I was having the girls over for mahjong, so what could go wrong? Ha!

Thirty minutes later, I arrived at my health club, slowly jogging on the treadmill and keeping my eyes peeled for Connie.

“Hi, Tina,” I said to one of the club managers who just finished showing a prospective new client around. “You haven’t seen Connie today, have you?”

“Oh, hi, Alex. No. She called in sick this morning. Must be that bug going around. I have two other front desk personnel out today as well.

“Okay. I’ll try to catch up with her next week.” I turned the treadmill speed up a notch and raised the incline. I suddenly needed to burn up some energy.

So Connie had called in sick. She hadn’t seemed sick to me last night, but then we were all pretty tired. Maybe she just needed to sleep in or maybe the ordeal of being trapped in a house all night with a dead body had been too much for her. Or…my mind began to race as I turned the treadmill up another notch, maybe Connie was at this very second packing a bag and planning to flee the country after she snatched Bert out of the county jail. But why would she? She and Bert planned to divorce, but something told me a divorce wasn’t set in stone.

Twenty minutes later, with sweat bathing my face, I headed for the showers. I let the warm water rush over me soothing away the stress of the night before while I idly went through all that had transpired. What were the chances someone would come into my house and kill one of my guests? Or better yet, what were the chances someone I had intentionally invited would kill another invitee? I would have thought slim to none but then I should have known better. Indian Cove and the surrounding towns didn’t see murder too often, but for some reason I seemed to be involved in quite a few lately.

I don’t know how long I stood there, basking in the warmth of the shower, but all of a sudden the water wasn’t so warm anymore. I looked around and didn’t see anyone else in the locker room. Good. I sheepishly turned off the faucet and got dressed and out of there before someone came in and charged me for using all the hot water, or worse yet, cancelled my membership.

I drove the few miles from the club to the center of Indian Cove. All along the highway uprooted trees left behind huge craters in the earth. It resembled what I imaged the surface of the moon to be like. The sun shone brightly, but the destruction left by the storm devastated this part of town. Luckily the city center had been spared. Tree branches covered the town green but other than that everything looked okay.

Born in Indian Cove I’ve lived here all my life. I would probably stay until I died and this thought felt both comforting and bothersome. What did it say about me? Was I dull? Unadventurous? Boring? I don’t know what other parts of the country were like, but living in Indian Cove the last couple of years had been anything but boring. Between my job as part owner of a temporary agency and my new career solving murder, I was one busy girl. This thought brightened my mood considerably as I pulled into a parking space conveniently located in front of Kruger’s Market.

I’m a frugal person. Being a New Englander frugalness and a good dose of quirky came with the territory, but for some reason, I loved shopping at Kruger’s. The original owner, Mr. Kruger, had sold the store a couple of years ago when his children showed no interest in taking his place. The new owners kept the name and in fact, didn’t make too many changes at all much to my delight. The prices were scandalous and my sister thought I was crazy for shopping here, but I just really enjoyed the old-fashioned store. I liked the slightly musty smell of it and in summer, when mixed with the scent of suntan lotion, the whole place felt very beachy. The aisles were narrow and only one person could go down them at a time. It made it inconvenient but that was a part of the place as well. And I loved their cold cuts counter that couldn’t be beat and I headed there now to get some liverwurst and salami for lunch. Before I left my house, I packed a small bag and planned to stay the night with my parents. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t going home until John called. The police had a key and I knew they planned on going back in to scour the crime scene again. They also had my cell phone number so I saw no reason why I had to be there; the fact I hardly ever turned my cell on was something I kept to myself. I had answered enough questions last night to last me a lifetime and I didn’t have anything more to add.

But that’s what I planned for tonight. Our big get together at my parent’s house would hopefully provide the key to why Penelope had been killed. I got lost in my thoughts when I heard a voice.

“Can I help you?” a young woman asked me from behind the deli counter.

I didn’t recognize her. This was one of the problems with Mr. Kruger selling out. A constant parade of young college students worked here and just when I got to recognize one they moved on and another showed up.

“I’ll take a half pound of the liverwurst and the same of your hard salami. Oh, and can you give me about ten slices of the provolone? Thanks.”

While she filled my order I wandered over to a giant basket packed with long loaves of crusty bread. The basket leaned up against a window facing Main Street and just as I pulled out a loaf, I saw two people walking on the other side of the street—Connie and Bert.

I leaned against the wall and watched them. Connie didn’t look one bit sick to me but the thing that really bugged me was she and Bert were laughing. What could they possibly be laughing at? The man put a tracking device on her car for pity’s sake. And why was Bert not in jail, I wanted to know.

“Can I help you with anything else?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. No, that’s all for now,” I said to the young woman.

After picking up some tomatoes, fruit, and Lorna Dunes shortbread cookies, I paid the equivalent of our current national debt and left the store.

I stood there on the sidewalk looking up and down the street but Connie and Bert were nowhere to be found.

Like Dorothy said in the
Wizard of Oz
, there’s no place like home. And she was right. In this instance, the home was my parents’ house, not where I lived with John, and I instantly felt guilty thinking that. I knew I would come to love the house he so beautifully restored; at least I thought I would before last night. Now all I wanted to do was slap a for sale sign on it and move back to my little house. The thought of the one tiny closet and the one tiny bathroom in my house quickly put the idea out of my mind. But still. Would I ever love the murder house like I loved my tiny house or my parents’ house? Would the sight of Penelope bent over the card table with my cake knife sticking out of her back ever vanish from my memory? I didn’t think so. With a sigh I took the walkway up to my parents’ front door and let myself in.