Chapter 4
We walked inside my mom’s house as the response teams finished up outside. The fire department had opened the windows in Jeanette’s house to air out the place, while the onlookers stayed to watch.
“Do you want something to eat?” my mom asked as I rolled my carry-on into the front foyer. A small flash of brown fuzz scurried across the room and ducked under the couch.
“What was that? Did you get a cat? A dog? Since when?”
“Oh my goodness. I forgot to tell you, didn’t I? That’s Streetman. He’s a long-haired miniature chiweenie.”
“A what?”
“Chihuahua-Weiner dog. Recent rescue. The owner went into assisted living and no one would take him. He’s only two years old but has more behavioral issues than a fifteen-year-old boy in reform school.”
“Um, I don’t think they have reform schools anymore, but . . . what kind of issues? He doesn’t bite, does he? Or pee all over the place?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. He’s a bit neurotic, that’s all. You’ll see what I mean. Give him time and he’ll warm up to you. Just don’t go sticking your head under the couch.”
“That’s the last thing I feel like doing.”
I glanced at the couch and slowly took in the rest of the place. The house looked the same as the last time I visited. No noticeable changes in a year—the cozy living room with its comfy sectional and floral chairs, the round oak kitchen table that faced the street, and my mother’s latest assortment of Southwestern tchotchkes. It was as if I had never left.
“So, yes or no? Want a bite to eat?”
“I grabbed a hamburger on the way here, but I could use a cup of coffee.”
“I can brew a new pot or reheat the leftover coffee in the microwave.”
“Reheating’s fine. I’ll get a cup. Want some, too?”
A few minutes later we were munching cookies and drinking whatever brand my mother had picked up on sale. Streetman ventured from his hiding place and positioned himself in front of my mother, who bent over to pet him.
“So, now do you believe me about the book curse?” She popped a small butter cookie into her mouth, but not before breaking off a piece for the dog. That done, she adjusted the strand of pearls that hung over her embroidered teal tunic. Even sitting in her own home, my mother refused to look sloppy. She would never resort to wearing a T-shirt or, God forbid, jeans. Nope, Harriet Plunkett, all five foot four of her, was from a different generation. One that was still struggling with her daughter’s casual style. I could swear she was eyeballing my graphic tee.
What the heck. It was a long plane flight and the days of wearing white gloves are over.
“Like I told you before, Mom, I think these are all unrelated incidents. The fact the ladies are all reading that book has nothing to do with it.”
“Then what about the e-mails we got?”
I had to admit, that part was baffling. Even Nate Williams felt the same way. We spoke about it briefly the day before I flew out west, and I could recall every word of our conversation.
“Call it whatever you want, kiddo, but sending an e-mail like that is harassment. If you can find out who sent it, you’ll know if it was a prank or if someone had darker motives.”
“And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that, Nate?”
“Same thing I told you a few days ago. Snoop around. Ask questions of the neighbors and friends of each of the victims. Think of it like filling in the edges of a jigsaw puzzle.”
“What about the two ladies who died in the hospital? The HIPAA laws will never let me talk with hospital staff.”
“Staff? No. But you can ask other patients and visitors.”
“I simply don’t have the inclination for this. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“It’s no different from tracking down a bill that some police officer left on your desk with no name or information.”
“Phee! Phee, are you listening to me?” My mother’s voice was like a razor. “I’ve been speaking for five minutes and you haven’t said a word.”
“Sorry, Mom. I must be tired. I’ll go unpack my stuff in the guest room. Everything’s still in the same place, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh. The only thing I changed was that awful pullout couch in my sewing room. I bought a daybed in case you ever visit with a gentleman friend.”
“If I ever have a gentleman friend, I don’t think he’d be sleeping in the daybed.”
My mother shot me a dirty look but didn’t press it, and I quickly changed the subject. Talking about my love life, or lack of it since a miserable divorce nineteen years ago, always made me uncomfortable.
“Give me a few minutes to freshen up and unwind; then we can talk about this so-called investigation you want me to conduct.”
By the time I had unpacked and washed up, my mother was sitting at the kitchen table with a small notebook in front of her. Kinsey Millhone, Stephanie Plum, and Miss Marple would have been impressed.
“I have everything all written down for you, Phee. The names, addresses, and information about the ladies in my book club who were murdered, or nearly murdered in Jeanette’s case.”
“Mother, we don’t know they were murdered.”
“That’s beside the point. As I was saying, I have everything organized for you. I wasn’t sure if you wanted it alphabetically or by the date they died, so I have two versions. I hope you can read my handwriting.”
I was half tempted to tell her an Excel spreadsheet would have been easier, but I decided against it.
“Um, gee, thanks, Mom.”
“You can get started first thing tomorrow morning. Not that I’m telling you how to begin, but I do know Cindy Dolton takes her dog, Bundles, to the dog park every morning at six. She was Minnie Bendelson’s roommate at the hospital before poor Minnie passed. I met Cindy when I stopped in to visit Minnie that first day and got an earful about Bundles and the dog park. Once they lift Streetman’s suspension I’ll be able to take him back there.”
My eyes popped open.
“His suspension?”
“Apparently there were some issues with the previous owner. Streetman is neutered, mind you, but still has a propensity for amorous advances with female dogs. Some of their owners filed a complaint.”
This dog is getting worse by the minute.
“I see.”
“Anyway, I was sure Minnie would be out of the hospital in a day or so, and all of a sudden, she’s dead. Like that. You can find out what Cindy knows when you meet her.”
“Six a.m.? You said six a.m.? That’s when she’s going to be at the dog park?”
“You can’t expect little Bundles to hold it past that hour, can you? Of course that’s when you’ll find her in the dog park. She’ll be easy to spot. She has short gray hair, and Bundles is a small, curly-haired white dog. A poodle mix, I think.”
“What about Edna Mae Langford? Oh, and before I forget, I met two ladies on the plan, twins actually, who were friends with Edna Mae. That is, if it’s the same Edna Mae, and I’m pretty sure it is.”
“Who were the twins?”
“Gertie and Trudy.”
“I don’t know them. Did they give you a last name?”
“No, but they said they live in The Lillian.”
“The Lillian? They must be in their nineties.”
“Um, yeah. I think they said ninety-four. Uh, is that the place people go for . . . um . . . their final decade?”
My mother’s mouth literally fell open.
“I wouldn’t quite put it so bluntly, but it’s the place to go when you want to live the remainder of your life in opulence and comfort. It’s styled after one of those fancy old European resorts. If it’s still standing when I’m ninety, I’ll consider it.”
I gave her a nod. My idea of opulence and comfort was anything above a Motel 6. What have I been missing?
“Anyway, Gertie and Trudy told me they wanted Edna Mae to move to The Lillian.”
“Edna Mae was too young. Still in her eighties.”
Eighties. The pinnacle of youth. Must be the nineties are the cutoff for old age around here.
“So, uh, getting back to her death. She died in the hospital, too. Like Minnie. Of course, getting pneumonia is kind of common after breaking a hip. Strange, huh? And from what I remember about Edna Mae when I met her a few years ago, she used to be a heavy smoker. That probably didn’t help. No book curse there, Mom. And it would be hard to make a case for foul play. Might as well strike that one off the list and save myself some time.”
“With the pneumonia part, sure, but what about the accident itself?”
“Are you saying that someone caused her to fall in her own driveway? How? How could that have happened?”
“How? I’ll tell you how. Edna went outside to get the mail and tripped over a small pile of those gravel rocks from her yard that wound up right in front of the mailbox.”
“Mom, the birds are notorious for uprooting the gravel and small rocks. Every time I visit, I’m always sweeping the patio for you.”
“Well, maybe it wasn’t birds this time.”
I sighed as I reached for her notebook.
“If I’m going to get started before six in the morning, this is going to be an early night for me. Let me see the rest of your list.”
I scanned the names and information. My mother had compiled more data than the IRS and DMV combined. Listed were names, friends, relatives, hobbies, and miscellaneous comments, such as “Refuses to use the utensils in a restaurant. Brings her own disposable plastic ones.”
Undoubtedly, retirement had given my mother a new occupation—busybody. I made a mental note to keep working until I collapsed at my desk or was carted off on a gurney.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about anyone on the list. One retired teacher, two retired bookkeepers, and two retired homemakers. Typical occupations for that generation. I was about to close the notebook when my mother added one more sheet of paper.
“Oh, this almost slipped my mind. I didn’t get a chance to add this information to the notebook. It’s still on a piece of scrap paper.”
“What is it?”
“A list of their spouses and what they do or did for a living.”
I scanned that list quickly and again, no surprises, unless I considered the large X across one of the occupations to be unusual.
“You have a big X across the pastry chef, Mom. What does that mean? Is he deceased?”
“No, that’s for Jeanette’s ex-husband. They’ve been divorced for years. Told me she couldn’t wait to go back to her maiden name—Tomilson—and didn’t plan on changing it anytime soon. She’s got a boyfriend in the area but keeps it very hush-hush. He might be married for all I know. That could be a motive, you know. I mean, if he was married and his wife tried to kill Jeanette.”
“Even if that were true, Mom, I don’t know how that could possibly relate to the other deaths. Never mind. I’ll get started in the morning and see what I can do. Remember, I’m only going to be here for a little over a week.”
“Then you’ll need to work hard. I’m not going to get a night’s sleep until I have answers.”
“Well, I intend to get them. I’m exhausted.”
Every bone in my body started to creak as I stood. I was about to say good night when I suddenly realized something. “Mom, how do you suppose the person who sent the e-mails got your addresses? Are they listed somewhere?”
“The library has a list for the book club. And they’re listed in the different clubs that people belong to. Minnie Bendelson’s was listed with the Doggie Park Friends Club, Marilyn Scutt’s was listed with the Lady Putters and—”
“Okay, I get the idea. Good night, Mom.”
“Good night, Phee. Oh, and one more thing. Be quiet in the morning. Streetman likes to sleep late. Gets grouchy if you try to wake him.”
That made two of us, but it never stopped my mother from waking me up at all sorts of ungodly hours. I’d only been there for a little while, but I could tell already that the master of the house was four-legged.