Murder on Old Main Street (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) (17 page)

Margo and I looked at each other for a second. Then we both smiled broadly.

“Joey!” I greeted him effusively. “Did you sleep well, dear? Here, I’ll get you some coffee.” I waved eagerly to Sherri, who had thought we were finished and was approaching with our check. “We need another breakfast for my son here. Anything he wants, just add it to our bill.” I snatched a menu from its holder on the table and put it in Joey’s hands.

He looked at us suspiciously. “Why do I feel like a fly that just walked into a big, sticky spiderweb?”

“Got big plans for today, Sugar,” Margo inquired pleasantly, “or do you feel like doin’ a little readin’ for your mama and me?”

By noon Joey was hunkered down on the family room sofa with a cat tucked on either side of him, engrossed in the first of Harriett Wheeler’s diaries. As a little kid he had always been snoopy, ransacking the house for his Christmas and birthday presents, reading Emma’s diaries and that sort of thing, so I felt confident that this assignment was no hardship on him. And despite his youthful nosy streak, I had complete faith in my now adult son’s ability to keep his mouth shut. It had always been the discovery of the secret that intrigued him, not blabbing it. As long as he was in the know, he was capable of remaining silent until hell froze over, I knew. Margo and I agreed that it was the perfect solution, solving our time crunch while sparing us the knowledge of anyone else’s past indiscretions. Joey was under strict orders not to reveal the contents of the diaries to anyone, not even to his sister or us, unless in his judgment the documented offense was something worth paying a blackmailer to keep silent about.

As I rushed around collecting what I would need for the afternoon, I became aware of a ruckus going on outside the house and opened the front door to see what was happening. A knot of my neighbors, including self-appointed rule enforcer Edna Philpott, stood in the yard across the street. They seemed to be vigorously debating the source of a stream of water that was spouting next to the driveway. Within a minute, Edna disappeared inside along with the owner of the house. I hoped they were calling someone who would be equipped to deal with what was rapidly becoming an emergency. In the few moments I had been watching, the puddle forming in the street had grown into a small pond and was spreading rapidly in the direction of my unit. With no time to investigate the situation, I charged Joey with finding out what was going on and letting me know.

“Sorry to leave you holding the bag, but I haven’t got a lot of other choices. I’ve got to get over to the Wheeler house. Thanks, Honey, and let me know if you have any leads for us, too,” I reminded him as I headed out the door to the garage. “If Armando calls, tell him I’ll meet him here at five-thirty. My cell phone will be on, if he needs to reach me,” I added guiltily. I fished it out of my handbag and punched it on so I wouldn’t forget.

“Got it. Bye.” Totally engrossed, he turned another page without looking up. I took the hint and left. When I raised the garage door, I noted with alarm that the storm drains on both sides of the street were already overwhelmed, and the water level was steadily rising. The situation was not improved by the piles of leaves that had been raked into the gutters ready for removal. The flow of the water had combined with the already sodden leaves into a thick, clogging soup. A couple of men were attempting to clear one of the drains, but it looked like a losing battle.
What else can go wrong?
I wondered and immediately regretted the thought. No doubt I would find out soon enough.
 
I backed out cautiously and headed for Prospect Street, wondering if I would be able to get back into my driveway later in the afternoon.

When I made the final turn onto Wolcott Hill Road, I knew we were in for a hectic afternoon. The open house wasn’t scheduled to begin until 1:00, but cars already lined both sides of the street, and the curious roamed freely around the yard. Some even had the nerve to climb the steps to the front porch and peer into the windows, hands shading their eyes for a clear view. Reminding myself that I was there to help Margo sell the place for Will and Janet, I bit my tongue and nodded as pleasantly as possible as I let myself in the front door. Margo had already opened the lockbox, the secure container that held the front door key and was affixed to the house’s front doorknob.

Margo met me in the foyer. In time-honored realtor fashion, she had turned on nearly every light in the place to warm it up and avoid the appearance of hiding something. Colorful brochures about the house, freshly printed at Kinko’s, were fanned out on the hall table next to a stack of Margo’s business cards. The brochures contained several appealing photos and basic information about the structure’s age, square footage, mechanicals, property taxes, heating and electric costs, and so on. A sign-in sheet for visitors completed the display.

In the sitting room, an instant fire log burned softly in the fireplace grate, making a homey glow, and a bowl of fresh flowers graced the coffee table. From the kitchen wafted the aromas of freshly brewed coffee and something made with cinnamon warming in the oven.

“Apple crisp bars,” Margo announced. “Easy to serve and not too sticky. After all our hard work yesterday, I don’t want to spent the whole afternoon wiping finger marks off the woodwork. Shall we get this show on the road before the little darlings beat down the door?” She gave me a big wink, plastered a professional smile on her face, and hauled open the door.

“Hello, folks. I’m Margo Farnsworth, and this is Kate Lawrence, from MACK Realty. Come on in and sign the visitors’ sheet over here, and then we’ll be just tickled to answer all of your questions. Oooh, I just love that little suit you’re wearin’. Very becomin’. Did you know that a famous local author lived right here in this house?”

I groaned inwardly at the effusive patter and the southern accent, both thickly applied on selling occasions, and retreated to remove the apple crisp bars from the oven and pour coffee for the crowd. In the kitchen I was startled by the sight of half a dozen more of the curious standing in the backyard, peering up at the second floor, no doubt eager to tour the former abode of a recent murder victim. People’s appetites for the details of others’ misfortunes, the gorier the better, always astounded me. I braced myself for a long afternoon.

At 3:30 my cell phone rang, and I excused myself from a woman who was clearly not a serious buyer to answer it. I stepped out the back door onto the small stoop to be able to hear myself think. So many people were crowded into the downstairs rooms that it sounded like we were having the mother of all cocktail parties. A few ghouls lingered in the back yard, including an old lady clutching a camera. She stood, unsteady but determined, snapping photos of the second floor.
Is that even legal?
I wondered.

“Hello, this is Kate,” I said, trying to grip the tiny telephone without pushing its volume controls, which were located maddeningly on one side where my fingers needed to be.

“So you are alive. I am glad to know it,” said Armando in the haughty tone he reserved for our spats.

Oh, boy, here we go,
I thought and struggled to keep my temper in check. “Yes, alive and kicking, or more accurately, trying not to
get
kicked in the crowd we have here. I’m really sorry about last night, Honey, but it simply couldn’t be avoided, and you know how forgetful I am about turning on the cell phone. Anyway,” I rushed on in an effort to change the subject, “I’m looking forward to this evening. Are you picking up Estella before you get to my place, or do you want to get me first and pick her up together?”

“You still plan on attending with us, then?” More attitude.

I tried to keep in mind that I had, in fact, stood him up the previous evening, and he had a pretty good reason to be snippy. Still, it was an effort not to throw the phone as far into the neighbor’s yard as I could hurl it. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Of course,” I managed to say and leave it at that. There was no reason to ruin Estella’s evening. We had planned this little outing for her many weeks ago, and I was sure she was anticipating it with pleasure.

“Then I will see you at the house at five. You will be ready?”

“I’ll be ready,” I assured him. “See you then. Oh! By the way—“ Too late, I remembered about the broken water main, or whatever the problem was, on my street. I disconnected and mentally counted to ten while I considered calling Armando back. I decided against it. Joey hadn’t called to deliver any particularly dire news, so the problem must have been cleared up, I reasoned. At least, I hoped so. Thank goodness Estella would be with us this evening. It was definitely going to be a good idea to have a buffer tonight. Not for the first time, I cursed Armando’s tendency to pout. I far preferred a forthright, air-clearing quarrel to the icy silence he assumed on these occasions. We didn’t fight often, but when we did, I always got the silent treatment for several days. Once again, I experienced doubts about moving in together. Being given the cold shoulder from a separate residence was one thing, but sharing a roof under those circumstances would be very uncomfortable.

I returned to the house, unplugged the coffee machine, and cleared away the remains of the apple crisp bars in an effort to start closing down. We had limited the open house to three hours, knowing it would be difficult to clear the house right on time, but by 4:30 we finessed the last of our visitors out the front door and closed it firmly.

“So,” I asked Margo, “any hot prospects?”

For answer, she fanned a sheaf of buyer qualification sheets at me. “More than I’ve had time to count. Unless I miss my guess, while you’re loungin’ around at the theater tonight, I’m goin’ to be up to my glorious backside in a biddin’ war,” she opined with satisfaction. “By this time tomorrow, Will and Janet should be off the hook. Well, speak of the devil,” she finished up, peeking through the front curtains. The Copelands were venturing onto the premises at last. They were about to ring the doorbell when Margo threw open the door.

After saying a quick hello, I left Margo to deliver the good news and go through a couple of hard offers that had already been made on the property. I whizzed through both floors of the house, turning off lights and collecting paper cups in a trash bag, then fled out the front door.

“Go, go!” Margo assured me. “I’ll be just fine.”

Not only was she fine, I knew, she was entirely in her element and having the time of her life. I made a run for it.

My heart sank at the scene that greeted me when I turned into The Birches. Several Metropolitan Water District vehicles, including a pumper truck, lined the street. Floodlights shone on half a dozen men in yellow rain gear and boots. They stood on either side of a large trench in my across-the-street neighbor’s yard. The flow of water had been stemmed, but the street remained clogged with sodden leaves, pieces of broken pipe and other debris. After waiting for several minutes, I was motioned ahead by one of the MWD workers. It was just barely possible to squeeze through the trucks and maneuver into my driveway. To my surprise, Armando’s car was already in the garage. I rushed up the stairs and yanked open the kitchen door, knowing I was late but glad, at least, to have an indisputable excuse. “I’m home!”

Armando sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea before him, reading the newspaper. He was immaculately turned out, as always, in gray slacks, crisp blue shirt, navy sport coat, and neatly knotted silk tie. I immediately felt frumpy, but he looked up and smiled.

“So you made it.” He rose and kissed my check. “It was a very interesting situation out there when I came in half an hour ago. Are they making any progress? Would you like a cup of tea?”

Oh, good, he’s decided to quit pouting.
“There’s no time for tea,” I said, conscious of time ticking past. “Where’s Joey?” I added, noticing the silence from the family room.

Armando looked surprised. “I do not know. He was not here when I arrived.”

That’s odd,
I thought. I tossed my briefcase on the counter and headed for my bedroom. “Just give me two minutes to freshen up, and I’ll be ready to go,” I threw over my shoulder. Thank goodness for Margo’s apple bars, since I wasn’t going to get dinner any time soon. Hurriedly, I threw off my flat shoes and blazer and ran into the bathroom to brush my teeth and reapply lipstick. I flicked a little blusher and powder onto my cheeks, ran a brush through my hair, and spritzed on a little cologne. From the closet I grabbed a fitted silk jacket in a royal purple color that Armando liked. It would dress up the black pants I was still wearing. I shoved my feet into strappy sandals as I buttoned the jacket. That would have to do. I checked the time. Five forty-five. We could just make it, if only we could get out of the driveway.

When I got back to the kitchen, I put food down for Jasmine and Simon, who also were nowhere to be seen. No doubt they were hiding from all of the strange lights and sounds in the street. I plucked a light coat from the front closet and headed back out to the garage. The scene was the same as it had been a few minutes ago, but things seemed to be winding down. Several MWD workers were shoveling dirt back into the trench they had created across the street, now that repairs had been completed. Others had fanned out into the driveways of the houses in the immediate area and were working with heavy rakes and shovels to clear them of leaves and mud.