twenty-two

I met my mother, rubbing her wrists, on the steps of the brick police station. “Really!” she sputtered, her cheeks crimson. “They fingerprinted me!”

The late afternoon sunlight was watery, and twinkle lights had flashed on in the plum trees along the sidewalk. Laurel hadn’t kept my mother long. I suspected she’d done it more to scare us off than because she really thought my mom was involved in the murders.

I steered her to her rented SUV parked on the street. “At least they didn’t charge you with anything.”

“Fingerprinted!”

“Laurel’s just trying to sweat you.”

“I will not be sweated. No wonder you set her hair on fire. Not that I approve.” Her expression turned wistful. “She did have such lovely long blond hair. Like a fairy princess.”

Blech. I stopped myself from making vomiting noises just in time.

My mother stopped on the sidewalk as I walked to the driver’s side door. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“You’re upset. I thought I’d drive.” I jingled her keys.

She puffed out her cheeks and opened the passenger door. “I don’t suppose it matters.”

I waited until she’d buckled in, and we drove off.

A police car pulled onto the street behind us.

The Lincoln’s brakes were softer than mine and farther from my toes than I was used to. I made a whiplash stop on Main Street and our heads jerked forward.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

My mother sighed.

I cruised past the museum and tried not to look at the crowds milling inside. Leo had stepped up like a champion again while I’d loitered outside the police station waiting for my mother. I felt like I was taking advantage of his holiday goodwill.

“I baked a casserole,” my mom said, apropos of nothing.

I blinked. Had I daydreamed through a critical part of the conversation? “Casserole?”

“For Tom and Craig Wilde.”

Not liking where this was going, I ran a jerky hand through my hair. The killer had found us at the Wildes’ once before. It wasn’t such a leap to imagine it happening again. “I can take it over.”

“Not on your life. We’re going together. Now.”

My stomach rolled. “Now?”

“After we get the casserole from my house.”

“Mom, it’s Friday, one of my busiest days …”

She shot me a hard look. “Even if we weren’t investigating, it’s our duty to both pay our respects. Tom and Craig are a part of this community, and that means something.”

My shoulders hunched. She was right. And I could add an extra something to Leo’s Christmas bonus to make up for all the extra time he was spending at the museum.

We drove to my mom’s house. She strode inside and I waited in the Lincoln.

A murder of crows roosted in the oak tree. Heads cocked, they studied me as if waiting for something exciting to happen. One of the straw reindeer leaned at a drunken angle. I was just about to step from the car to straighten it when my cell phone rang. Adele.

“Hi, Ad—”

“Maddie, is it true? Dieter told me you three were attacked. What does the killer have against Dieter?”

“Hopefully it was only a case of wrong place, wrong time.”

“But that’s worse! Anyone can be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Especially if they were near me and my mom. “I’m sorry, Adele. I had no idea anything like that would happen.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a decent boyfriend these days?” She hung up.

I stared at the phone. At least she hadn’t sounded too angry.

My brow wrinkled. Or was she?

Foil-wrapped casserole in one hand, my mom got into the car. She slid the dish onto the dash. “Let’s go.”

I started the Lincoln. “So what’s the play here?”

“You’re more experienced with this sort of thing. What would you do?”

“You already know my investigative technique.”

“Yes, but I don’t think asking questions until someone tries to kill you is terribly practical.”

My grip tightened on the wheel. “I’m trying to change up that last bit.”

She gnawed her bottom lip, biting off the beige lipstick. “Oh? Because it seems to be happening all over again. It’s déjà vu. Someone trying to kill you, the return of the cowbell curse …”

Shifting in the leather seat, I pondered that. The feeling that someone wanted you dead was not a good one. “Or,” I said, “we could back off and let the police do their jobs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Someone’s trying to kill us. We’re American citizens. It’s our duty to get ourselves out of this mess.”

“Ask questions it is,” I said.

We drove to the Wildes’ house and parked in the circular drive. “Our” police car, back on protective duty (or trailing my mom), glided to a stop on the street behind us.

Lights glowed through the front windows of the gabled farmhouse. But the Christmas lights were off, and a weight of sadness descended in my chest. For the Wildes, the holidays would never be the same.

Feet dragging, I followed my mother up the front steps. I rang the bell.

My mother nodded, a determined look on her face.

Behind the door, footsteps approached. The front entry snicked open.

Tom’s chinos were rumpled, and the buttons on his blue shirt didn’t line up. The widower’s expression was haggard, his face nearly as gray as his hair. “Fran?”

She took his beefy hand. “Tom, we’re so sorry for your loss. We came to pay our condolences and help in any way we can. I went through this not long ago myself, and I know how much there is to do after a loss. How can we help?”

“I honestly don’t know.” He backed from the door.

My mother stepped inside.

I trailed behind, satisfied to let her take the lead.

In the entry, Tom stopped short and stared at the unlit Christmas tree in the living room. “The police have Tabitha’s body,” he said, his voice dull, heavy. “I don’t know when we’ll get her back. We can’t make arrangements until …” He swallowed.

“How frustrating for you both,” my mother said. “How is Craig doing?”

“The police released him. I heard it was because of you. Thank you.”

Surprised, I darted a look at my mother.

“Under the circumstances, Ladies Aid and the Dairy Association decided not to press charges,” she said. “Though I understand the fire department may be sending you a bill.”

He laughed hollowly. “Craig will be working that off until he graduates. But it beats jail.”

Balancing the casserole against her hip, she squeezed his hand. “Finding out who killed Tabitha and Bill is more important than this silly Christmas Cow incident.”

He blinked. “Can I take that from you?”

She handed him the foil-covered baking dish. “It’s for you. Truffled mac and cheese.”

He ambled into a wide kitchen. Silently, we followed, watching him set the casserole dish on the central island. Dishes piled in the sink. Crumbs and wrappers littered the black granite counters.

“About Tabitha—” I began.

“Craig wasn’t involved,” he said quickly.

My brows drew together. “We didn’t think he was. He came forward about the cow. I’m sure he wants to do everything he can to help the police catch her killer.”

Tom grimaced. “Sorry. I’ve gotten too used to apologizing for Craig lately. He may not be perfect, but he loved his mother.”

“Do you have any idea what Tabitha was doing at the Wine and Visitors Bureau?” I asked. I remembered how her coat had been damp with dew, her body cold.

“She got a call about an emergency meeting there regarding the Christmas Cow.”

My mom cocked her head. “A meeting? When?”

“The night before she was found.”

My mother shook her head. “We didn’t have any meetings that night, emergency or otherwise. I’d have known.”

“Someone called her,” Tom said. “I heard the phone ring, and she told me why she had to go.”

“And she didn’t return afterward,” I said. At least we were getting closer to time of death. “Did you call the police when she didn’t return?”

His face darkened. “No.”

“I’ll bet the police considered that odd,” my mother said, as if the police have the most outrageous ideas.

He hesitated. “Tabitha and I were having some problems.” He stared at his hands. “Sometimes she liked to stay out.”

“Stay out,” I repeated, hoping he’d elaborate.

My mother’s gaze turned thoughtful. “With Bill Eldrich?”

He rubbed his brow and stared at the carpet. “That’s what I’d thought, but then he was dead, and she was away again that night, and … ” He laughed, his voice harsh. “Can you believe I was relieved to think I’d been wrong about them? But I wasn’t, was I?”

So he’d known about his wife and Bill. That gave him motive. For Craig’s sake, I hoped Tom wasn’t guilty. Losing one parent was bad enough.

“I suppose I should tell the police,” he said. “But I know how it will make me look. If they focus on me, then they won’t go after the real killer.”

“They’ll likely find out anyway,” I said.

“It will look better if you come forward,” my mother said.

He nodded, looking unconvinced.

The doorbell rang.

“Probably another casserole,” he said. “I’ve got a freezer full of them. Just a minute.”

It was a request for us to stay, but we trailed him to the front door.

Penny, grape-cluster earrings jiggling, stood in the doorway, a foil-wrapped baking dish in hands. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, extending the dish. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Arms limp at his sides, Tom stared at her.

“It’s lasagna.” She raised the dish higher.

“A guilt offering?” He laughed, his voice high and strained.

“No.” Penny noticed us behind him and her cheeks pinked. “Tabitha and I had our differences, but I liked her. I never … Tom, this is awful. I feel terrible that I was short with Tabitha last time we met.”

“Short? You practically called her a liar.”

“I’d felt sandbagged, that was all.” Penny moved aside a set of keys and set the lasagna on an end table. “The reallocation of the funding. I’d told myself nothing is set until it’s official, but I wasn’t expecting all the money to go to the Dairy Association.”

“To Bill, you mean,” Tom said bitterly.

“To the Dairy Association.” She rubbed her neck. “I’m sorry I’ve upset you coming here. It wasn’t my intention. Tabitha was a lovely woman. I can’t imagine how terrible this is for you, but please believe I’m sincere when I say I want to help in any way I can.” She nodded to us and left.

He closed the door and turned to us. “Now you know why the money all went to Bill. Undue influence.”

“Are you sure?” my mother asked. “Can there be another explanation?”

“Tabitha thought she loved him.” Tom sighed. “Can you believe I thought she might have killed him? She knows how to shoot with a compound bow. We all do.” He blinked slowly. “Now they’re both gone.”

“Did Craig say anything else?” my mother asked.

“Craig has nothing to do with this!”

“Of course not,” my mother said. “But he may have some information that’s important, even if he isn’t aware of it.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Tom said.

“Could anyone else have had undue influence over Tabitha?” I had to ask, even if the question made my stomach writhe.

Tom paled.

“Not romantically,” I said. “Financially.”

“Financially?” His nostrils flared, his mouth flattening. “What are you saying?”

What was I saying? Tom’s son had thought Bill was paying off his mother. Dean Pinkerton said he could easily believe bribes were involved, but he was a cynic where government was concerned. “I’m trying to understand who else might have had a reason to kill Bill Eldrich and your wife. Their only connections were town council business and the Christmas Cow committee, and …” I trailed off.

“Their affair.” His broad shoulders slumped. “And if it wasn’t a work thing, then the only person who’d have reason to kill them both would be me or …” His face turned ashen.

“Or who?” I asked.

“I can’t live with this anymore,” he said, his voice rough.

“Tom.” My mother reached for him.

“I did it. I killed them both.”