THIRTY-EIGHT

Trying to keep the blanket wrapped around me, my walk to Andy’s truck was closer to a shuffle than a stroll. Snail tempo. Unfortunately, that gave the Ardon Chronicle photographer who popped out of the bushes, ample opportunity to snap photos of me and Andy. I couldn’t even wave him away or cover my face. Needed both hands on the blanket to make sure he didn’t post pictures of me in my underwear.

“Auck!” The photographer toppled like an Iowa tipped cow.

Paint’s grinning face appeared out of the shadows. “Too bad you stumbled,” he told the downed man. “Lots of tree roots around here.”

“You tripped me!” the photographer swore. “That was no accident.”

“Prove it.” Paint laughed as he walked away from his angry victim to join Andy and me.

“What brings you by? Did a radio report go out that I’d stripped down to my unmentionables?”

Paint hooked a finger in the blanket behind my neck and peered down my back. “My, my, so you have. But I have faith Andy wasn’t the immediate cause of said stripping. Don’t expect a concession speech.”

He cleared his throat. “I was engaged in some stripping efforts of my own when that siren alert told me Summer Place might have a prowler. For the record, said stripping involved a cedar bench I’m refinishing not items of female clothing. Heard the news report of a fire while I was en route. What happened? Are Ursula and Amber okay?”

“Yep, though Ursula is once again in an ambulance, headed to the ER,” I said. “Amber’s with her. They both inhaled a lot of smoke. Ursula passed out, but the EMTs revived her. Said they’d both be fine.”

“Good,” Paint said. “Was it arson?

“How about we tell you all about it at my folks’ house?” I suggested. “I called Mom and Dad right away in case they heard about the fire. While I figured they were likely in bed, asleep, I feared someone might wake them with the news. My folks insisted I come over. I woke Eva, too. Told her I was fine and would give a full report come morning.”

We’d reached my date’s truck. “You want to follow us over?” Andy asked.

“Sure.” Paint winked at me. “Keep that blanket wrapped tight. Andy’s seen enough.”

  

My parents’ kitchen table was as welcoming as Aunt Eva’s. An hour had passed since we arrived. Time enough for Mom to call the hospital and chat with Ursula and Amber, who were now bedded down until morning for observation. Ursula had recovered enough to speak, though Mom said her voice sounded raw. Amber was kicking herself for shutting off her cell phone. Said she knew Ursula was exhausted and didn’t want a call to wake her. She’d forgotten all about the security app.

My suitors, my folks, and I all held steaming mugs of coffee. I’d borrowed a pair of Dad’s PJ bottoms. No way could I fit in any of Mom’s size-two clothes. I’d pulled the tie waist tight on Dad’s oversize flannel jammies and rolled the cuffs up two turns. His spare bedroom slippers kept my bare, bruised feet from the indignities of a cold floor. While my tootsies swam in the too-big moccasin slippers, my curled toes kept them from falling off as I shambled to the coffee pot for a refill.

Once Mom satisfied herself that Ursula and Amber were doing fine, she’d joined Dad and Paint in bombarding Andy and me with questions. It had begun to feel akin to an inquisition when Mom voiced her conclusion: “Someone’s out to kill Ursula.”

I was leaning toward that opinion as well. It would explain why someone set fire to the cottage. The toxic ingredient—most likely ground-up theophylline—added to my chocolate mousse was meant to end Ursula’s life. When Harriett died instead, the killer had to make a second try.

The theory held despite some unexplained disconnects, like Karen’s death. It seemed too coincidental for two young members of the Temple of True Believers to die in a two-day span. Then there was the Summer Place vandalism. The spray-painted threats in my kitchen were aimed at me, not Ursula. Two different sets of Summer Place intruders? Or was the vandalism just designed to confuse and distract?

My gaze locked on Mom’s worried face as I considered her verdict.

“Remember Dr. Swihart’s three theories of the crime?” I began. “One, someone wanted to kill Harriett. Two, someone wanted to kill another luncheon guest and failed. Three, someone wanted to destroy my reputation, and Harriett’s death was an accident. The fire—”

“If Harriett was the target, the fire makes no sense,” Andy interrupted. “She was already dead.”

I nodded. “That makes the two theories I like least seem the most logical. Someone is either trying to kill Ursula or has developed a burning hatred for me.”

“Wrong.” Dad’s voice boomed. “You weren’t in the cottage, Brie. Ursula and Amber were. And Ursula was a luncheon guest. I agree with your mother, she’s the target.”

I figured Dad’s response was partly wishful thinking. The arsonist could have seen lights in the cottage and assumed I was inside. Dad didn’t want to believe some villain out there might be after his daughter. Nonetheless, I didn’t argue.

“Why would someone want to kill Ursula?” Paint asked. “Somebody she ruled against in TV court? A stalker? Who?”

Mom shot Dad a look that said, “We shouldn’t have opened this can of worms. Now what?” Her teeth worried her lower lip.

She finally broke the silence. “I can’t tell you why without Ursula’s permission. But it’s quite likely that someone’s trying to kill Ursula to make sure a secret stays buried.”

Andy shook his head. “Mrs. Hooker, I get that you promised to keep some secret for Ursula, but don’t you think we all should know what’s going on? How else can we keep Brie safe?”

“Gotta say I agree with Andy,” Paint added. “Surely you can tell us who you suspect is behind this? Is Brie still in danger now that the fire has effectively evicted Ursula and Amber from the Summer Place cottage?”

Mom huffed and, in turn, fixed Andy and Paint with angry glares. “I am Brie’s mother. Of course, her life is more important than any secret. But I don’t believe Brie’s in any danger now. Ursula is leaving town. Tomorrow. And I’m going with her. Amber will head back to Miami.”

My mouth dropped open. So did Dad’s.

“You’re what?” he said.

Mom waved her hand. “Howard, we’ll discuss this later. For now the matter is closed. Ursula’s secret won’t be secret very long. Then this whole nightmare will be over.”

No, it won’t.

Karen and Harriett will still be dead. And I’ll always know Harriett might be alive if I hadn’t invited her to lunch.

Mom stood. “Why don’t you boys go on home? Brie can sleep here tonight. Either Howard or I will drop her at Udderly tomorrow morning.”

All of the table’s occupants knew my mother’s verdict was final. No further debate from prosecution or defense.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said.

On the porch, I hugged Paint, then Andy. “Thanks, guys. What would I do without you?”

As I watched them saunter down my folks’ sidewalk, I asked myself that question one more time. With feeling. Tears slid down my cheeks.

My heart had decided. My mind argued. But I knew it was another verdict that couldn’t be appealed.

After Andy and Paint departed, Mom provided Dad and me with a crucial update. Lawrence Toomey had flown to Washington D.C. yesterday morning to prepare for confirmation hearings.

“Clearly Toomey didn’t start that cottage fire, but he could have hired someone to do it,” she said. “Ursula doesn’t want to spend another night in Ardon County and risk putting anyone else in danger. She figures the best way to end this is to confront Toomey immediately. I’ll accompany her as legal counsel.”

Dad stroked Mom’s arm. “Honey. If someone’s trying to kill Ursula, being by her side makes you a target, too. If you’re determined to go to D.C., I’m going with you. No argument.”

But, of course, there would be. An argument that is. Or discussion as my parents preferred to characterize them. I’d witnessed very few rows between my parents, and, from the look Mom tossed my way, I wouldn’t be privy to this one either. When my folks had a rare disagreement, it was private, not public. And, once they came to an understanding, there were no pouts, no recriminations.

How did they manage that?

“Brie, the guest room is made up. Do I need to wake you or will the alarm on your phone do the job?” Mom asked.

I’d been dismissed. For a fleeting moment, I considered weighing in. I did have opinions about Mom’s—and Dad’s—plans. But why bother? I was an adult and my opinion mattered to them. But Mom was nothing if not stubborn. And Dad loved her—in part for her independence and integrity.

I was 99 percent certain she’d go to D.C., and Dad would hold down the fort in Ardon County. Me? I’d hold my tongue and pray.

My agreement to set up a meeting between Amber and Ruth totally disappeared from my mind until the lumpy, too-soft mattress in my folks’ guest bedroom practically swallowed me. Would Amber still want to meet Ruth?

Doubtful, was my last thought before I drifted off.