Must Love Murder Page 3

  “If I had a dime for every time this happened,” I said through warm cheeks that still stung from having tight fabric yanked across them. I covered my old beige bra and granny panties with what was left of the dress. “Thanks,” I said, slamming the door shut. “Guess I gotta find something now.”

  But thankfully, George was on the job. He handed me jeans, pencil skirts, blouses in all shapes, colors, and sizes. But nothing was working until he handed me a flouncy top and a pair of dark-washed skinny jeans that looked three-sizes too small and tight. I decided to try to squeeze my toe into them, anyway. And to my surprise, my whole leg fit… and the other one too. Thank God for whatever stretch fabric these things were made from, and for loose blouses that hid muffin tops. I looked in the mirror and spun around. I actually, for once in my life, looked like the “cool mom.” Okay, so I was actually nowhere near cool-mom status, unless cool moms had frizzy hair and bags under their eyes…

  But I smiled to myself because I finally had a pair of pants I looked good in. A pair I was definitely going to wear when I picked up the kids Sunday night. I thought about borrowing Lilly’s iron and straightening my hair too. Eat your heart out, Jessica Fitz.

  I decided to buy that same outfit in every color. Then I looked at the price tag. $75! For just the pants. Are they crazy? “Never fall in love with pants before you check the price tag,” I told myself. Maybe the moral here is just never fall in love, with anything, ever.

  “And, honey, don’t you worry about that price tag,” George called from behind the door, making me wonder how long I’d been muttering to myself about price. “That’s just sticker shock. They’re always on sale, and we’ll sport you the money until you get caught up.”

  Get caught up? I was so far behind I wasn’t even sure what that meant.

  I stepped out of the dressing room. George looked at me like a proud dad. “I should’ve done this a million years ago,” he said again, this time with tears.

  Strangely, my aunt was nowhere to be found for my proud moment.

  “Where’s Aunt Mabel?”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into that woman. She’s been acting weird and texting people all night,” George said, pointing toward the lobby. I poked my head out. She was sitting on a lounge chair, face in her phone. She looked up long enough to smile.

  By the time we were done, I had a couple new pairs of skinny jeans, a nice pair of dress slacks, a pencil skirt, a couple cardigans, and some tops. Three hours and $300 later.

  “Who’s hungry?” George asked, like this was just stop number one on his to-do list tonight.

  My aunt looked at her phone, again, for the 400th time. “I’m… I’m sorry, y’all. I’m gonna turn in early.”

  “Everyone mark your calendars!” George said, laughing. “Mabel Pierce going home before 9:00 on a Friday night? That’s a first.”

  “You okay?” I asked my aunt.

  She bit her lip. “Yeah, just great.”

  She only bit her lip when she was lying.

  ---

  The next day, I woke up to a feeling I’d never had before. I actually looked forward to getting dressed. I didn’t even mind waking up early on a Saturday morning.

  “This must be how the other half lives,” I said to myself, as I closed my eyes and leaned into the spray of hot water from my shower. “The half without children.”

  I got dressed in one of my new outfits and even put on makeup before I headed into Kensington and parked at the same neighbor’s house a few blocks away that I had the day before.

  I knew something was wrong as soon as I got to my aunt’s street. Police cars with flashing lights and yellow “crime scene” tape surrounded Earl’s house.

  A chubby blonde woman with stretchy shorts and flip flops stood on the sidewalk, dramatically shaking her head from side to side in front of a news camera. She pointed over to Earl’s. “I just can’t believe it. He was such a good, good man. Always kept his lawn green. I still can’t believe it.”

  “What is going on here?” I said as I passed the commotion, secretly thanking my lucky stars I looked half-decent for possible TV coverage.

  The blonde woman stopped talking to the cameras as soon as she saw me, practically dancing over to talk to someone new, someone who didn’t know yet. I could already tell, whoever she was, she was probably the neighborhood gossip. “Let me guess. You’re Mabel’s niece, huh? You work at her matchmaking club, huh?” she asked.

  “How in the world do you know that?”

  She shrugged. “I ask around. I notice stuff. I’m Tracey. I live down the street, pale yellow house. Anyway, as you can probably guess, somebody murdered poor Earl last night,” she said, a little too happily. “Can you believe it? His friend found him this morning.”

  “What?” I said. “I don’t believe it. And not just the part about Earl having a friend.”

  Her mouth curled as she pulled me down the street a ways. “Yep. I heard it was awful. Killed with one of his own specialty weapons. They think it was someone he knew, like a friend or a… neighbor.” She looked around.

  “Why do they think that?” I asked.

  “I guess nothing was taken, so not a robbery. And it looked like Earl let the person in. Seriously, I just don’t know who would want to kill the man,” she said, with a straight face, making me wonder if she really was serious or just saying stuff because she was in front of the news and the cops.

  “Yeah,” I said, quick to agree in the loudest voice possible, even though I could think of about five people off the top of my head who’d want to kill Earl (myself included), and I had only just met the guy yesterday.

  Tracey leaned into me, like she was going to tell me a secret. “Of course, everyone knows Mabel and Earl didn’t get along. And we all heard the fight they got into yesterday afternoon, right before he was murdered. I’m sure I’m not the only one who mentioned it to the news.”

  “You mentioned it to the news?” I said, looking over at my aunt’s. “Exactly what are you implying here?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “But if I were, I wouldn’t be the only one implying it. The whole neighborhood is talking. Rumor has it, your aunt has mafia connections, and she did not get along with Earl.”

  “Whatever. We have nothing to hide.” I said as confidently as I could as I headed into the converted garage. My aunt’s reply yesterday when I told her to call the police on Earl still echoed through my head, though, and I couldn’t shake it.

  I’ll handle Earl.

  Great. I wondered if I was going to have to tell the police that one.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE SIGN ON the converted garage said “closed,” so I walked along the stone walkway, past the water fountain, and over to the front door. I glanced over at Earl’s, and shivered. The police were busy taking pictures and dusting for fingerprints.

  I knocked on the front door, and it took George way too long to let me in. My aunt was sitting on the sofa, clutching a tissue, and dabbing at her nose. Her mascara was gone and her eyes were swollen and pink. It was strange to see her looking so weak and haggard. I’m used to seeing about 3 inches of makeup.

  “I take it you heard about Earl,” I said, even though I wasn’t exactly sure why she was so apparently sad about it.

  Aunt Mabel blew her red nose into a tissue. “You know they’re gonna think I did it.”

  “Well, did you?” I asked then thought better about asking. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”

  “That’s not funny,” my aunt said, like I’d been joking.

  I was pretty sure I was already going to have to divulge some stuff to the police that I didn’t want to admit, like the “I’ll handle Earl” quote or the fact my aunt was acting weird last night.

  “And doesn’t your aunt have mob connections?” they’ll ask.

  “Oh yes,” I’ll answer. “But those are actually just friends of her second ex-husband’s. He’s an alleged mafia lawyer. She only sees them at certain parties now. It’s her fourth husband who you’ll probably want to look closely at. Did I mention, his family still thinks his death was suspicious…”

  Yep, that woman was going down.

  I tried to remain optimistic. I sat down next to her, and grabbed her hand. “They’re not going to think you did it. From what I’ve heard, Earl was a jerk and probably half the world wanted him dead.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Don’t worry,” George said, walking over to answer it. “Whoever it is, I’ll tell them we’re closed.”

  He peeked through the peephole and gasped. Then, after sucking in an enormous breath and allowing his shoulders to soften, he opened the door. Two police officers stood on the other side, flashing badges as if their dark blue uniforms and holsters weren’t proof enough of who they were.

  “We’re looking for a Mabel Pierce.”

  Aunt Mabel stood up and went to the door. “Yes.”

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions about the death of your neighbor, Earl Higgins. Some of your neighbors heard a scuffle coming from your house yesterday afternoon…”

  “I’ll say there was a scuffle,” George said. “But it was Earl. He came over swinging a baseball bat like a crazy man, breaking a lamp and a desk…”

  The taller of the police officers interrupted him. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to get an official statement from you, Ms. Pierce, down at the station.”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  The officer smiled reassuringly while the other one scowled suspiciously, and I instantly recognized their procedure. It was the good-cop-bad-cop thing. I thought they only did that in the movies.

  “We don’t have a list of suspects yet, ma’am. We’re just trying to find out what happened.”

  “Yeah right,” George said. “Sorry, but we know our rights around here. She’s not going anywhere and she’s not talking to anyone without a lawyer present.”

  The bad cop’s eyebrows raised. “Only guilty people ask for lawyers.”

  “Or smart ones,” George said, still holding the door. “Are we free to go?”

  “Just a couple questions,” the good cop said. “Where were you last night? A busy socialite like you probably has a million things to do on a Friday night, along with a million witnesses who saw you doing it.”

  “What?” my aunt said, holding the tissue up to her eyes. “I… I was out shopping and then I was here, and… I’m not answering these things…”

  George cut her off. “That’s right, because she’s not answering any questions unless she has a lawyer present. Is anyone here being detained?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’re free to go. Good-bye, gentlemen.” George closed the door so hard the picture of Aunt Mabel’s dead husband almost fell off the wall.

  The shorter cop yelled as it was closing, “I suggest you get a lawyer soon. We’ll be back.”

  George locked the door and plopped himself on the sofa. “Is it late enough to start drinking? Because I need a vodka and cranberry.”

  “Wow, George,” I said. “I’m impressed. If I ever get into trouble, I hope you’re around.”

  George laughed. “If there’s one thing I learned from having a brother who’s an evil lawyer, always, always invoke your right to shut up.”

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” my aunt said from behind her tissue. “I’m ruined. Who’s gonna trust my business, or me, anymore? And just when I’d finally found something in life I was good at, something I could make money at, something I liked…”

  I completely understood, with as many different jobs as I’d had in my lifetime, the form-letter rejections for everything I wrote, the bad career example I’d been setting for my kids. I’d only had this job for one day, and I needed money. Darn her. Why’d she have to go and kill somebody?

  I instantly felt bad about thinking that.

  But my aunt was right. The police likely already thought of her as a prime suspect, so the real murderer wouldn’t be discovered for a long, long time. Long enough for reputations to be trashed, clubs to go out of business, and jobs to be lost… And that’s the optimistic side where she didn’t go to jail.

  I racked my brain for a way to help her. Maybe there was a way to find who the real killer was first and fast…

  “I could ask my brother for help,” George said.

  “No!” My aunt shot back. “I’d rather rot in prison, thanks.” She grabbed a couple more tissues and wiped her eyes.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out,” I said, putting my arm around her, deciding then and there that I was going to talk to her neighbor to see what all the woman knew. I’d taken an investigative journalism class when I went back to get my degree five years ago, so I knew. Sometimes, figuring things out is all in asking the right questions.

  But before I did, I was going to need some answers to the pinkest of elephants sitting in this room right now.

  “Anyone hungry?” I said as I casually made my way to Aunt Mabel’s kitchen to pry her with pretzels and diet soda. “So… just out of curiosity, did you go anywhere last night after we went shopping? You didn’t see Earl, did you? And what did you mean yesterday when you said you’d handle the Earl problem?”

  I could see my aunt’s reflection in the toaster, even though she didn’t know it. She walked over to the door and peeked out the peephole before she answered. “I’ll take a soda and some saltines, thank you. And I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I don’t like it. After we went shopping last night, I was more tired than Rudolph at Christmas. I came right home, and went to sleep.”

  I peeked my head back into the room. And just as my journalism instincts suspected, Rudolph the red-nosed liar was biting her lip.

  I brought her the saltines and soda.

  “Thanks, honey,” she said, tapping a pink finger-tipped nail against the top of the can before pulling the tab to open it.

  “I wasn’t implying anything. I know you didn’t kill Earl. But you did say you were going to handle things with him. What did you mean yesterday when we were picking up lamp pieces and you said Earl just messed with the wrong woman and you’d handle him?”

  George sucked in a huge dramatic gasp. Even though George is gay, he only sounds stereotypical “movie-gay” when he gets nervous. “Dear Lord, I remember that too! Mabel! You did say that! And now the man is dead. You need to start explaining.”

  George rolled up the sleeves on his perfectly ironed white button-down shirt like he was channeling Perry Mason. But this suspect wasn’t biting, except maybe her lip.

  “I don’t remember saying anything like that!” Aunt Mabel said. “You’re both downright crazy!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  WALKING OUT TO my car, I looked around at Kensington. A man in a large brimmed hat pruned his roses. A woman in an expensive suit hopped out of her Mercedes, face glued to a phone. My aunt and I were so different from these people. And I saw it in that one police officer’s eyes. He could tell that too, and that’s why he already thought he had the case solved. He’d already decided he’d spotted the one bad fruit in the bunch that didn’t belong.

  I decided to buy a digital recorder on my way home just to speed the case along. I had a feeling the police officer was going to be back sooner than we thought. So I needed to start interviewing people as soon as I could while they still remembered stuff.

  The wind picked up and my flouncy blouse flapped and danced along with it. I wondered if Mark would see me on the news tonight. I was glad I had bothered to put makeup on, but I knew I should’ve straightened my hair. Next time, I decided, I’d straighten my hair. Like there would be a next time…

  I looked up from my thoughts… a pale yellow house stood in front of me.

  Mentally, I was already kicking myself for not having a recorder on me already. I knocked at the door. Flip-flop lady opened it and I quickly began spewing out the lie I’d rehearsed before she had a chance to get too savvy on me.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m on my way out to my car, so I don’t have much time, but I just wanted to personally come by and let you know that I found the perfect guy for you. So cute. So sweet.” I let my voice squeal a little at the end, even though my deep voice rarely hits the right octives to make a cute squeal. I quit smoking more than 20 years ago, but my girlie squeal still sounds more like a scary witch’s squawk. Whatever. I tried.

  “I’m not a client of your aunt’s” she said, scratching at her faded green t-shirt. “And what makes you think I’m even single?”

  “Oh I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought you were a client. I’m new. My aunt said she had clients in the neighborhood, and you were so nice. I just assumed. No worries. I’m sure someone else will snag this guy. I might, even.”

  “Come in and tell me all about him.”

  “Like I said before, I don’t have much time, but okay. I can’t resist a little girl talk.”

  We headed into her house, which was surprisingly clean. A pair of antique spectacles sat strategically on a doily off on a bookshelf, a large marble globe adorned the foyer. No dust, no cobwebs, I checked.

  I sat down in front of a glass table that looked like it had just been wiped. A couple orange candles were placed around a gorgeous glass pumpkin to let everyone know it was fall.

  And I instantly felt deceived. I like to think of myself as a good judge of character, and I thought Tracey was a lot like me with messy hair, flip flops, and stretchy pants. Turns out, she was a closet Martha Stewart the whole time.

  “So that was crazy today, huh?” I said, casually sipping the iced tea she gave me. “Did you have to spend all morning talking to the news and the police?”

  She crossed her thick legs, pulling her stretchy shorts down over her thick white thighs, little black stubble marks dotted them like pepper on milk. “Yes, that was crazy,” she said. “I never even heard a gun shot last night, nothing. Nobody did. He was found this morning by the poor woman from church who brought him casseroles every week since he and Judith divorced.”