Lethal Lasagna

TITLE

S he has to die.

Mitzi Douglas is sweet and kind, but she’s making my life miserable. I can’t have her coming into the room and being the center of attention, it’s just not fair. A layer of lasagna noodles went into the pan.

She makes me sick! A chuckle filled the kitchen. Now that is funny...she makes me feel bad, and so I’m making a special dish to make me better, much better.

The fragrant scent of meat sauce rose as it poured on top of the pasta. Ummmm. This smells good enough to eat. But, I won’t. It’s for Mitzi alone. She’ll just die when she gets a taste of this.

Laughter filled the room, and more layers were added to the poisoned pan.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

by

Rhonda Gibson

TITLE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Lethal Lasagna

COPYRIGHT © 2009 by Rhonda Gibson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

White Rose Publishing

A division of The Wild Rose Press

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

Visit us at www.whiterosepublishing.com

Publishing History

First White Rose Edition, 2009

Print ISBN 1-60154-632-7

Published in the United States of America

TITLE

Dedication

This book is for Kathryn Velarde Baharami. Meeting in a bookstore made us friends, hanging in there through the good times and the bad has made us sisters. You have been behind me pushing since the beginning and for that I will always love you. Thanks.

Prologue

She has to die.

Mitzi Douglas is sweet and kind, but she ’ s making my life miserable. I can ’ t have her coming into the room and being the center of attention, it ’ s just not fair. A layer of lasagna noodles went into the pan.

She makes me sick! A chuckle filled the kitchen. Now that is funny...she makes me feel bad, and so I’m making a special dish to make me better, much better.

The fragrant scent of meat sauce rose as it poured on top of the pasta. Ummmm. This smells good enough to eat. But, I won’t. It’s for Mitzi alone. She’ll just die when she gets a taste of this.

Laughter filled the room, and more layers were added to the poisoned pan.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 1

“She was my best friend. Why would I kill her?” I grumbled, resenting this recent summons to appear at the police station. A mint caught my eye as I dropped the car keys into my pocketbook. Walking and digging at the same time for the elusive candy, I pondered my friend Mitzi’s murder.

My head slammed into a wall of firm human chest. As I was propelled backwards firm fingers grabbed my upper arms.

Shocked, my gaze moved from the strong hands up to determined brown eyes. Had I not been the one falling backwards into what I knew was hot concrete, I would have found the whole scene amusing.

He jerked hard, and I found myself slamming into his chest once more. This time, he held me in place until I felt steady, and then he gently set me back. “Are you okay?”

Heat filled my face and all the spots where I’d made contact with him. “I’m sorry...I think so.”

“Good.” He smiled.

That simple action caused his eyes to turn from deep brown to a light caramel. My heartbeat picked up, and I couldn’t breath. Get a grip! To my shame, my senses ignored the silent command.

“Well, if you’re sure, I’ll be going.”

A verbal response would have been nice, but all I managed was a head bob. Wow, what this man did to my nervous system even St. John’s Wort couldn’t soothe.

He nodded back and turned to leave. Long jean-clad legs carried him to his awaiting pickup.

****

Later, I stared across the desk at the police officer, Detective Howard. He appeared to be in his early sixties. His short haircut reminded me of a military man. Only in his case, I think he kept it short due to the visible bald spot on the crown of his head. He tapped long slender fingers together forming a church steeple between his hands.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been brought in for questioning, but it was the first time I’d met Detective Howard. So far, he hadn’t impressed me much. It had been a month since I’d found my best friend, Mitzi Douglas, dead on her kitchen floor, and they still hadn’t caught her murderer.

“I’m not charging you with murder, Mrs. Parker.” He chewed on the unlit cigar as he leaned back in his chair like a Columbo wannabe. His steel blue eyes studied me.

I crossed my legs, folded my arms and returned his hard stare with one of my own. Just because I’m a retired postal worker, did not mean I’d gone postal and killed my friend. “Seems to me you are. Why would you call me, request that I come in, and then start asking me questions?” I emphasized the word me, to remind him that so far, our conversation had been all about me. Normally I like everything being about me but not this. I continued speaking as if he were still listening. “I’ve already told you I don’t know where Mitzi got the lasagna.”

“We got the autopsy back, she died of poisoning,” Detective Howard stated. His narrowed gaze studied me even more intently. “The food was laced with some form of mushrooms. Deadly mushrooms.”

My thoughts raced, and I found myself saying them aloud. “Mitzi wasn’t allergic to mushrooms. She would have eaten them with no fear of a reaction.” I looked at the detective and asked. “What kind were they?”

His eyes softened. Maybe now he believed me. The detective dropped his chair back to the floor. “Let me see.” He riffled through the mountainous stacks on his desk, spilling scraps of paper and stray paperclips about the floor. The cigar remained clamped in his teeth, and a frown creased his brow.

After several searches through the piles, he pulled the abused cigar from between his lips. “That file isn’t here. I must have left it in Detective Bow’s office.”

His lazy manner irritated me, but what could I do?

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

He’d done it again. Once more, I was the target of his speculations. My best friend for the last forty years was gone, and all the police seemed to do was lose her paperwork and ask me a lot of questions, which I had no answers to.

A tired sigh escaped me. “No.”

“Well, if you think of something, call me.” He handed me a business card.

I jammed it into my purse and stood. “Then I can go?”

A smile touched his thin lips but not his eyes. “You were free to go at any time.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I knew I was still a suspect.

The trip to my car seemed to take forever. Of course in Adrian, Oklahoma the summer sun beats down on you and time seems to stand still. Thankfully summer would soon be over, and I could enjoy cool evenings again.

I clicked my seatbelt together, avoiding the hot metal as I did so. “Claire Parker, if you aren’t careful, the next clicking sound you hear could be the echo of the lock on a jail cell as they shut you up for good.” Talking to myself was getting me nowhere.

I backed out of the parking lot. Another tired sigh escaped me. No matter how many times I told the police I hadn’t murdered my best friend, they still didn’t believe me. Why weren’t they looking for the real killer instead of pestering the life out of me? It was then and there, with the air conditioner blowing full blast and Rachel Lampa performing “You Lift Me Up,” that I determined to prove my innocence and keep myself out of jail.

After all, I’m not some green kid to let myself be pushed around. I still have straight even white teeth—all mine, sparkling blue eyes—at least that’s what I’ve been told, and my hair hasn’t seen a hint of grey in the last five years. Okay, that’s since I found the bottle of dark sandy brown hair color that they sell at Wal-Mart. Five years ago my natural dark sandy brown hair began to show signs of turning platinum blond – if I want to call it blond and not grey, that’s nobody’s business but my own. I just un-blond myself every six weeks. I’m not ashamed of my age, I tell anyone who asks how old I really am. So no harm done. Oh yeah, my point is, I’m fifty-two-years old, and that’s too mature to be in jail.

I arrived at my small house on the edge of town. I like to think of it as the country cottage I dreamed of from childhood. You know, white paint with blue shutters, boxes filled with various colored flowers line the windowsills, and it sits against the backdrop of a small magical forest. Only now that I’m older the thick tree line no longer feels magical.

Sprocket greeted me with a soft woof. To this day, I’m not sure what breed he represents. He’s somewhere between a large sheep dog and a puppet. His name is Sprocket because my daughter Megan loved the children’s show Fraggle Rock when she was a little girl. At the moment, he was sitting inside the fence, and he poked his nose through the white pickets.

I called to him as I unlocked the side door. “Hey boy, let me put my purse away, and then you and I will go for a much needed walk.” Some people might think I’m crazy for talking to him but I don’t care. I decided a long time ago, it doesn’t really qualify as crazy until he talks back in audible tones.

My pocketbook landed on the kitchen table with a thud. I hung the car keys by the door and headed to the bedroom. The answering machine sat on the side table by the bed, its light blinking. I pushed the play button and pulled an old pair of grey shorts out of the bottom dresser drawer.

Megan’s voice sounded at the beep. “Hey, Mom; Greg and I were wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner tonight. Call me back when you get in. Love ya.”

My daughter is a schoolteacher and her husband, Greg, is a principal. Pride washed over me at the thought of those two young people carving their way in this world. I knew what a strain it was for both of them to finish their education while working full time and being newlyweds. I also knew I was going to turn down their invitation.

I hated missing supper with the kids, but last night we’d had a horrible thunderstorm and my fear of tornadoes had kept me awake most of the night. Then, this morning Detective Howard had insisted I come to the station.

I’d either end up asleep in Megan’s mashed potatoes or ranting about the investigation into Mitzi’s death. Either topic made me bad, bad company. So, my plans were to walk Sprocket, have a quick sandwich and take a nap. The rest of the evening, I planned on watching an old movie and eating all the popcorn in my kitchen cabinet.

I pulled on the shorts, grabbed a pink tee shirt, and tugged it over my head. Then I sat down on the bed to return Megan’s call. A few seconds later, I took my turn at phone tag with Megan’s answering machine.

“Hey Megan, this is Mom. Thanks for the invitation to dinner but I think I’ll stay in tonight. After that thunderstorm last night, I’m beat. Maybe we can make dinner another evening. Love ya, too, sweetie. Bye.”

Sprocket’s big brown eyes gave me an accusing look as I clicked the leash onto his red collar. “I’m sorry ole boy, but Megan called and invited me to dinner. I had to call her back.”

He licked my hand, apparently to let me know I was forgiven.

Sprocket and I walked the length of the driveway and started down the sidewalk. My house is in one of the last neighborhoods on the edge of town. Mostly retired people live in this community, and that’s the way I like it. After my husband, Frank passed on ten years ago I moved out here and have been happy.

Sprocket stopped to investigate a tree.

My thoughts returned to Mitzi. Who would have killed her? That question plagued me night and day. Mitzi lived downtown not too far from the college. It was a busy community. She should have been safe there. And yet, she’d been murdered in her own kitchen. A shiver ran down my spine.

Mitzi and I met forty years ago at church camp when she was ten and I was twelve. A watery smile touched my lips at the memory. She was a tomboy through and through, but she was also very shy. Not me, I wasn’t much of a tomboy, and I definitely wasn’t shy. That was the year we both invited the Lord into our hearts and became best friends.

From then on, we saw each other through the good times and the bad. When Frank and I got married, she served as my maid of honor, and later I was the matron of honor at hers. She had her son, Luke, six months before I gave birth to Megan, and we were both present for those births. I was there when her husband died and eight months later she supported me when Frank passed on.

I wiped at the tears that flowed down my cheeks. “Sprocket, I can’t let her killer run loose. How do I catch him?”

Sprocket pulled on the leash. I don’t think the old dog cared how I caught a killer as long as he could continue inspecting all the trees and bushes on our block.

Since I’d made the decision to get to the bottom of this, without help from the police, I thought about all I knew. Sprocket pulled me down the sidewalk. For the first time in three weeks I made myself think about that day.

First of all, whoever killed Mitzi must have known her. Someone had brought her lasagna laced with poison mushrooms, and she’d accepted it. That meant it had to be a family member, close acquaintance, or someone she thought of as a friend.

That fateful Thursday night, Mitzi and I had planned to go to the movies together. I was to pick her up at six so we could catch the seven o’clock show. When I arrived, the front door was open. Thinking she wanted me to come on in, I did. I called her name but she didn’t answer.

If found her lying on the dining room floor.

Lasagna had splattered everywhere. The half empty pan, a broken plate, and an empty glass also lay on the floor close to her. I’d shoved the mess out of the way and rushed to her side. She felt cold to the touch. I called for an ambulance and the police but knew Mitzi was dead.

Thinking back to that horrible night caused another tear to slip from the corner of my eye. I swiped it away and realized Sprocket and I had completed our walk and we now stood by the entrance to my front yard. Mechanically, I opened the gate. Sprocket hurried inside the yard and sat. He waited while I unhooked the leash and then ran for his water bowl that stood in the shadow of the house.

“Thanks for the walk, boy.” I moved up the steps to the front door and let myself in. Perspiration clung to my legs. I needed a shower.

The air-conditioned draft felt wonderful against my sweating skin. Once more I made my way down the hallway and into my bedroom. As I peeled off my damp clothes, I thought of all I would miss doing with Mitzi.

There would be no more long afternoons at Starbucks. No more going to the movies on Thursday nights. And no more late night chats on the phone.

Why hadn’t I realized something was wrong when Mitzi hadn’t answered her phone for three nights in a row? Why had I written it off that she was just busy with the Rose Hat Club and her creative writing class?

As I stepped into the shower, I allowed my mind to travel once more to that night.

The police had questioned me and I’d told them everything I knew. At that time I wasn’t a suspect, so they released me. I’d come home stunned and called Mitzi’s son, Luke. He’s a doctor who lives in Dallas. He stayed with me as we made arrangements for his mother’s burial.

I’ll never forget the look of shock on his face when shortly after the funeral the police paid us a visit and asked me to come in again for questioning. It seems my fingerprints were all over the pan that held the poisoned pasta sauce.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 2

Living alone does strange things to a person’s mind.

We hear all kinds of things even on a calm night. But give us a storm, and our imagination runs wild. Personally, I see things that aren’t there, hear sounds that are non-existent, and pretty-much make myself a nervous wreck. Most of the time, I pray and ask God for protection and I’m fine. But, since Mitzi’s death, I’ve allowed my thoughts to get the best of me.

Another summer storm had built in the western skies, and once more I found myself sitting at my kitchen table, drinking hot raspberry zinger tea, and praying the Lord would calm the winds and rains.

My thoughts turned to Sprocket, wondering how he was taking this storm. I hurried to the living room and out the front door. My front porch is completely glassed in and weather proofed. It’s not real glass; it’s Plexiglas, that clear hard stuff that people like me use when they don’t want someone breaking into their house. I’ve created a little nook for myself in one corner. Tall artificial trees and plants shield me from the view of my neighbors while I sip on hot chocolate and read my Bible.

Sprocket’s doghouse faces the house. It’s large, wooden, and the interior is lined with lush carpet. As if he could sense me, he stuck his nose out and then hurried back inside. I didn’t blame him. His doghouse is dry and toasty-warm.

I walked back to the kitchen, retrieved my tea and then returned to the living room. This is the coziest room in the house. It is small with a miniature fireplace. I have one TV, a tan colored couch, small end tables, bookshelf, and a coffee table all crowded into the undersized room. Tonight I flipped on the television in hopes of hearing a weather update.

The weatherman reported a thunderstorm. “Well tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered as I set my teacup down. A flash of lightening lit up the room, and then all went dark. The electricity had just gone out.

This is not unusual in Oklahoma. I felt around in the drawer of the end table and found what I like to call the fire starter. It’s really just a long lighter that I got from the store. Then I cautiously made my way about the room lighting the many candles. In several moments, I had flickering lights all around the dimly lit room.

I picked up the historical romance novel, The Drifter. Yes, even at the age of fifty-two I still enjoy reading romance novels. I sat back down on the couch. After about an hour, the room began to get chilly. I pulled a light blue afghan from the back of the couch and stretched out with my book.

The television blared as the electricity came back on. I sat up with a start. My book fell to the floor and the jingle for Good Morning America finished bringing me fully awake. Sunshine filtered through the small window assuring me that morning had arrived and it would be another high humidity day.

As I blew out the burned down candles, I thought of Mitzi. She would have had a fit had she known I’d fallen asleep with them burning.

I folded the afghan and returned it to the back of the couch, scooped up The Drifter, and teacup then headed for the kitchen. After setting the cup in the sink and the book on the table, I put coffee and water into the coffee maker.

A loud knocking began at the back door. Now who in the world would be visiting first thing in the morning? The question had no more passed through my tired mind then my neighbor, Sara Green, started calling my name. “Claire!”

I pulled the door open just as she raised her hand again, and since she was looking over her shoulder, pounded me on the forehead. “Hey, what’s the big idea?” I gave her a not-so-gentle shove to keep her from doing it again.

“Oh I’m sorry, Claire. Can I borrow your phone real quick?”

It snagged my attention that she was looking at her house again. My gaze followed hers. A large old oak tree leaned again the telephone pole and several lines had snapped. That tree had been standing since the beginning of time. “If I have a dial tone, you can.” I stepped back and allowed her inside.

“Thanks.” She hurried to the phone that hung beside the refrigerator. “I should have had that tree cut down last time we had a storm through here. I knew its roots were rotten. I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

Sara has short black hair, brown eyes and is a little taller than me. This morning she was dressed in coveralls, and a bright green shirt peeked from underneath. The woman could use a few fashion tips if her combat boots were any indication of her regular style of attire. And even I hate to admit they were.

“You’re not a bother.” I offered.

I rubbed the sore spot in the center of my forehead. Sara is one of the few young people who live on this side of town. My eyes moved to her beefy hands as she talked on the phone.

“Yep, it’s a leanin’ on the pole and I don’t have a phone. I’m over at Claire Parker’s house.”

The coffee maker made sputtering noises. I decided to ignore Sara and make some toast, and then remembered I was out of bread. Well, cereal would have to do this morning. I moved to the pantry and looked over the varieties I’d collected over the last few months. A cereal, with Crunch in the name, caught my eye. I’d never had it before but had decided a couple of weeks ago to try it out. The dollar off coupon from Sunday’s paper had helped in that decision.

“Thanks for letting me use your phone.” Sara eyed the box in my hand.

Sara is probably in her early thirties and lives alone, too. Her house belonged to her grandmother, and when the old woman died, Sara inherited it. She leaned a hip against the refrigerator door. The same door I needed to open to get to the milk.

“Would you like to stay for breakfast?” I asked, pulling down two bowls.

A smile touched her lips. “If it ain’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all. Have a seat.” I set down the cereal and bowls, enjoying the scent of freshly brewed coffee that saturated the room.

She plopped into a chair and looked out at her house. “Can you believe the wind blew hard enough to knock that tree over? I mean...I knew the roots were rotten but I think that was some powerful wind to pull it out of the ground. Don’t you?” Sara tore the box open and poured a generous amount of the cinnamon squares into her bowl.

“It was blowing pretty hard, but I slept through most of it,” I said, pulling a gallon of milk from the fridge. After handing it to Sara, I returned to the coffee pot and poured two mugs of steaming coffee.

“You’re lucky. It whistled around my windows so loud I couldn’t get a wink of sleep.” Sara poured milk into her bowl and then shoved cereal into her mouth. As she chewed, I realized why it was called Crunch. The noise was almost deafening.

Sara swallowed her food and then announced. “You might lose your phone line for an undetermined amount of time this morning. The telephone company is going to come out here and get that tree off their pole, and they said they may have to shut off the line for a while.”

I nodded, said a quiet prayer of thanks for breakfast and the safety of last night, and then answered her with a question of my own. “Did they say what time they’ll be here?”

“Nope. Just some time this morning.” She gulped at the hot coffee.

I took a small bite. My head hurt. Not sure if the pain was from the noisy cereal or the knock on my head, I stood to get two aspirin.

Sara shoved her bowl back and cupped her coffee in those large hands. “Have you heard any more about your friend’s murder?”

I poured four aspirin into my hand instead of the normal two. At this point, I decided the headache was from the combination of the knocks to the forehead and the noisy cereal and that I didn’t care if this many aspirin was thinning my blood. They went down almost as roughly as the hard cereal.

The police hadn’t released the cause of Mitzi’s death as of yesterday morning and I wasn’t sure if I should share the information just yet. Deciding to sidestep her question with one of my own, I asked. “Have you?

“Naw, just that they still haven’t found her killer.” Sara pushed out of her chair and carried her bowl and cup to the sink. “Thanks for breakfast, Claire. I have to be getting to work.”

She walked with purposeful steps to the door. Just as she started to step off the porch, I asked, “Sara, what do you do?” As her neighbor, this is something I should know. Mitzi’s neighbors hadn’t known much about her, and so far had been no help finding her killer.

She smiled and pushed her chest out a little. “I work for the city. I’m a sewer inspector.”

I wasn’t sure what all that entailed, but it didn’t sound fun to me. But it did explain the boots. “You’ll have to tell me about it some day.”

“Sure will. I’m sorry again about the bump on your head.” With that she waved and jogged to the old red pickup in her driveway. It sputtered and blew smoke as she backed out.

What bump? I closed the door and hurried to my bathroom. Sure enough, a nice size knuckle knot rested right between my eyes. No wonder my head hurt.

A long hot shower was in order. As the warm water rushed over my tired body, thoughts of Mitzi plagued me. How could I find out who killed her? Did I really want to get involved? The answer to the last question was yes. The police didn’t seem to be getting anywhere looking at the crime scene, as the Detective had called it, so maybe there was something in her personal life that would give me a clue as to who killed my best friend.

Mitzi was deeply involved in her singles group at church. She was taking a creative writing class at the college, and she held a Rose Hat Club tea once a week. Since she was gone, I assumed the teas were no more, too. A moment of guilt slapped me in the face. If I had been a member of the hat group, I could have spent more time with my best friend. I pushed down the guilt and focused.

I’d start my investigation by visiting her class at the college and her church. Maybe someone there knew who might want Mitzi dead. Still it didn’t make sense to me, Mitzi had to have been the nicest person alive. She’d give away her last dollar to the poor, if they asked for it.

After dressing, I fed Sprocket and took him out for a quick walk around the block. The telephone company was at Sara’s when we returned home. After giving Sprocket his treat, I drove to the college.

“Mrs. Parker, it’s too late to enroll in the Creative Writing class.”

I hate when someone half my age tells me what I can and can’t do. The need to tell the child I have to be in that class threatened to overwhelm me. I took a deep breath and informed her once more. “I don’t mind having missed half the classes.”

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

The desire to tell her that if she was looking for her brains not to bother because there was nothing up there for her to see but moths and hot air, pulled strongly at my better judgment. A woman close to my age stepped forward and rescued Tiffany from my wit.

Her nametag identified her as Louise M. “Can I help out here?” She asked and gave the younger woman a stern stare.

The girl huffed, “She won’t listen. I keep telling her it’s too late too enroll in classes for this semester.”

Louise turned her attention to me and smiled. “Did Tiffany tell you that you’re welcome to observe if you want but wouldn’t get class credit?”

As I shook my head no, I had the satisfaction of watching little Tiffany turn three shades of red.

“I forgot,” she admitted, in a strangled voice.

Inserting a touch of honey into my voice, I listened as my question dripped with sweetness. “Do I need to fill out any paperwork to do this?”

Louise handed me a nametag that had Visitor printed across the front of it. “Just put this on your blouse when you attend the first time. Also, be sure and introduce yourself to the instructor. After that you should be fine.”

“Thank you.” I tucked it into my purse and returned her friendly smile.

A glance at my watch told me I had an hour before class started. My stomach rumbled reminding me of the slim breakfast I’d had earlier this morning. It had been a while since I’d eaten college food. Surely the food here would be better now than it had been in my day.

****

Clutching my new notebook and old pen I moved into the classroom with the rest of the students. I took a seat toward the back and to the inside of the room. From this location, I had a good view of the students as they entered. People of all ages filtered in. I was pleasantly surprised to see they weren’t all young like Tiffany-the-teenager-with-attitude. But then again, it also amused me to see at least ten women fifty years and older filing in and hurrying to seats up front. Who would have known there were that many women my age who wanted to be writers?

And then it happened. He walked in. Professor Brandon Harvest.

My jaw dropped and my tongue spilled out like a panting basset hound. Schoolgirl thoughts and emotions raced through me. He was the same man I’d head butted at the police station.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 3

His warm brown gaze surveyed the room. The other grey-haired ladies sighed collectively. Who could blame them? Instinctively, I reached up and touched my own sandy brown locks and grinned.

“Isn’t he a dream?” the woman behind me whispered.

The Lord sure knew what He was doing when He created Professor Harvest. I almost laughed at my own thoughts. Brown hair and soft chocolate eyes, not too tall but not too short, not a flat stomach but definitely not a fat tummy either, this man was every fifty-year-old woman’s dream. I nodded at the woman behind me and then shifted in my seat to absorb every word he uttered.

After about an hour, he looked at the watch that encircled a tan wrist and announced. “Okay, we’ll take a fifteen minute break and then start on our activity.”

A student’s hand popped up. “I have a question,” she blurted before he had time to respond to her raised, waving fingers. Her hair still held a hint of blonde, and her turquoise eyes pleaded with Professor Harvest for his undivided attention.

I ’ ll just bet you do. I gasped at my own mean thoughts. Lord, I don’t know what’s come over me…please forgive that mean thought, the ones I had earlier with Miss Tiffany, and the next one I’m sure to have.

“Is it a question that can wait until after our break? I’d hate for the others to miss it.” He raised a fine tan brow in the woman’s direction.

She lowered her hand and nodded. I watched her and another lady gather their purses and head out. When they got to the door, they both looked over their shoulders as if worried the handsome instructor would disappear. I couldn’t contain the giggle that crawled up my stomach and out my throat.

“Hello.”

His rich voice took me by surprise. With a little squeak I whirled around. My gaze flew up his body and into his eyes. A smile touched them. He dropped into the seat in front of me and extended his hand. “So, we meet again. I’m Brandon Harvest.”

“Oh.” I took the offered hand and allowed him to shake mine. “I’m Claire Parker.”

His warm fingers released me. “A new student?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” I felt the heat crawl up my face and heard a snicker behind me.

Once more, that fine eyebrow arched upwards. “I see.”

“You do?”

Again the snicker.

“No, not really,” he answered.

What in the world was wrong with me? Maybe I should check the expiration date on that St. John’s Wort. I dug in my purse and found the visitor pass. My hands trembled as I peeled off the paper and then slapped it onto my pink sweater with a smack. Then, I sat up straighter and took two calming breaths. “Yes, I am a new student and no I’m not taking this class for credit so maybe I’m not a student. I’m not sure.”

A smile touched his kissable lips. Did I just think kissable? That couldn’t have been me. Another wave of heat hit my cheeks. Yes, I did think kissable.

“Have you learned anything during the last hour?” he asked, leaning forward on the back of the chair and looking me straight in the eyes.

At the moment, I couldn’t remember anything he’d said in the last hour. A lock of light brown hair fell onto his smooth forehead. I must have nodded because he continued.

“Then I’d say you are a student. Do you plan on continuing with the class?”

I noted the laugh lines around those soft blue eyes. He had a small scar above his right eyebrow. His lips lifted in a bigger grin, and I noted his even, white teeth. Oh my stars! I realized I was staring at him like a newborn calf after its mother. I nodded.

“Good. After class, if you would like, we could go get a cup of coffee and I could bring you up to speed on what we have covered this semester.” He stood and broke eye contact.

I stuttered. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

He nodded and then moved away. I couldn’t seem to pull my gaze from his retreating back.

“Lucky dog, he’s never given any of us that special treatment,” a female voice hissed behind me.

I didn’t bother to comment. If the venom in her voice were any indication, it wouldn’t have done me any good to comment anyway.

During the next hour, I listened to Professor Harvest and the rest of the class discussing how to plot. His method seemed a simple one, and his assignment for the next class period required that the students write a two-page synopsis explaining the main plot and a sub-plot. I scribbled the instructions down in my new notebook. As I did so, I reminded myself I was here to learn more about Mitzi’s murder, not write a book.

The students asked questions such as, “Can it be any genre?” and “What point of view do you want us to use?”

I decided a lot of the questions were asked just to keep him talking. Eyelashes batted as he turned to answer each of their questions. Were there any serious writers in this group, or were they all here to study the handsome instructor? Had Mitzi been as smitten with him as the others had? She hadn’t said so. Could he be the reason for the deadly lasagna?

“I’ll see you all on Monday. Have a good weekend.” He returned papers to a briefcase while the students filed out of the room.

I made a mental note of the men in class, there weren’t many. Could one of them have killed Mitzi? Unlikely, they would have shot her. Not killed her with food, my tired mind reasoned.

“Have fun on your date.” The woman who’d sat behind me offered in a semi-bitter voice. Her earlier venom had evaporated.

I turned to her and smiled. “It’s not a date.”

She dropped her note pad and pen into a small satchel. “Oh, I think it is. He’s never asked any of the rest of us out for coffee.”

I decided the best thing to do was take her mind off the good professor. With my hand extended, I announced, “I’m Claire Parker.”

“Martha Lewis.” She gave me a limp-wristed excuse for a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Martha. What do you write?” I picked up my purse and walked with her toward the door.

It must have been the right question to ask because some of the frost melted from her tone as she answered. “Children’s stories, mostly. I’m hoping to win the contest.”

“What contest?” Could this contest have been an excuse to kill Mitzi?

“Well, it’s more like our final exam.”

I stopped and looked at her. “What’s the prize?”

“Publication in the school magazine. It goes out to all the students and alumni. Whoever wins will have a wonderful little piece of information to add to their writing portfolio.” She continued toward the door. “What do you write?”

I followed. “Honestly, I’m not sure.” I answered thinking about it for the first time.

“What do you enjoy reading?” The rich voice came from behind us.

I turned as he flipped off the light switch. “Historical romance.”

“Figures,” Martha muttered and left me standing in an empty classroom with the most handsome man I’d had the pleasure of meeting in years.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 4

“What made you decide to observe my class?” Brandon cupped his coffee between his palms.

Being a Christian it is my duty to answer as honestly as I can, at moments like this I’d rather not answer at all. What did I really know about Brandon Harvest—besides the fact that he’s easy on the eyes? He could be the killer. “I’m an old friend of Mitzi Douglas.”

Sadness entered his caramel eyes. “She was a very talented writer and a good friend. Still that doesn’t tell me why you joined a creative writing class.”

Mitzi had never told me her professor was her friend. She’d not told me about Brandon at all. If I’d been the one to meet him first, I felt sure I’d have told her what a hunk he is, and she would have said, ‘step into the twentieth century Claire, men are no longer hunks. They’re hotties.’

I’m not sure if it was the melancholy sensation I’d just walked into or what, but I answered. “I plan on finding Mitzi’s murderer.”

His brows drew together, and he ran a hand through his thick looking hair. “You think you will find him in my class?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Right now, I’m just going where she went and doing some of the things she did.” I took a careful sip of my hot tea. The aroma of lemon and honey filled my senses.

“Ah.” He focused on his drink.

I waited. Nothing more came from his lips. He simply stared into the dark liquid in his cup. That was it just ‘ah’? Where were the questions? The comments? Anything at all would be better than his silence. Maybe he thinks I’m a crazed woman. If so, what did I have to lose by confessing? “The police think I did it.”

His head came up and serious light brown eyes studied me. “I doubt that is true.”

I felt the heat rush into my face. Had I actually said those words aloud?

“You don’t look much like a killer to me.”

Yep, I’d said them. “Thanks but if the killer looked like a murderer I’m sure the police would have caught him by now.”

A warm chuckled greeted my ears. His laugh enough to send my heartbeats into overtime. Not since Frank, had a man brought my senses to life like this. I found myself joining his laughter.

He continued to smile when he asked, “So, if you are the main suspect what’s kept them from arresting you?”

The question sobered me up. “I’m the one who found Mitzi. She was laying on the floor beside a pan that had lasagna in it. When I saw her, I pushed the pan away and left my fingerprints. I gave them the details when they arrived. So, on one point they believe me, because I’d told them I’d touched the pan, but on the other hand they aren’t sure because mine are the only prints at the scene that aren’t Mitzi’s.” I stirred my tea.

Fresh tears filled my eyes as I relived those moments of finding her. Tears I was determined not to let fall. I took a deep breath and slowly released it before looking across at Brandon.

He sat his cup down and reached across the table. His warm hand engulfed mine. “She was more than a friend wasn’t she?”

I nodded. “We weren’t sisters by birth but we were as close as any blood sisters could ever be.” His palm scratched mine. I wondered what Brandon did that would create calluses on his hands. Editing papers surely hadn’t created the rough skin.

“Then I am doubly sorry for your loss.” His voice sounded sincere and strong. He squeezed my hand and then released it.

I missed the warmth immediately. “Thank you.” I picked up my teacup and traced the blue china design that decorated the sides.

As if talking to himself, Brandon said. “I wonder how far the police have gotten in their investigation.” He took a drink from his cup before looking at me.

Where was my willpower? “They know now that she was poisoned.” I offered then gulped the now lukewarm tea. The flavor of honey teased my tongue.

He sat his cup down slowly. “Poisoning?” Brandon’s voice sounded so low and soft I questioned whether or not I’d heard him right.

I nodded.

He studied the wall behind me for several long moments. “Claire, how would you feel if I offered to help you find Mitzi’s murderer?”

Excitement raced through my veins. How would I feel? My first instinct was to squeal with happiness. I’d love to get to know this man better. My second reaction was to say no. Again, I had to ask myself, what did I know about him? My third thought was, I hope he can’t read what I’m thinking by the expressions on my face.

As if he knew the turmoil my thoughts were going through, Brandon offered, “Mitzi was a friend of mine, too.” He paused. It seemed to me he was debating what to say next. Then he spoke again. “The creative writing class is a three month course. We cover whatever genres the students wish to write. A little over a month ago, we covered poisons for the mystery writers. I can’t help but think that maybe something I said had something to do with Mitzi’s death. More than ever, I’d like to help catch her murderer.”I met his sorrow-filled gaze and made the decision that it would be nice to have someone to discuss things with. Since this is all new to me, Brandon would probably have a better insight on how to go about finding a killer. He was a writer after all.

“Ok, I guess the first thing we need to know is who the mystery writers are in your class. And do you think we should tell the police what you just told me?” I leaned forward.

Brandon sighed and seemed to relax. “I’m not sure who the mystery writers are.”

“How can you not know?”

He leaned and met me halfway across the table. It was then I realized just how small the café’s tables were. I watched his mouth as he said, “When the course began I asked the class collectively who wrote what.” I must have frowned because he continued. “You know I said something like, ‘do we have any children’s authors?’ And so on. As each group raised their hands I wrote ‘yes’ beside that genre on my paper.”

“I see. So you created assignments for those genres and then had the class write collectively for each?” The words came out in a whisper. I ignored the breathiness of my answer, telling myself it was the quiet tone and not the man across the table.

He nodded.

How were we going to find out who the mystery writers were in his class?

Brandon smiled. “Looks like you have to attend my class again.”

“Why?” Excitement soared into my chest. Did he really want me there? Stop it Claire. This is about Mitzi not you. Besides, I had planned on going anyway but why did he feel I had to attend?

In whispered tones he answered. “Because Monday I’m going to ask everyone what they write again, and you can write down their answers.”

I scooted back in my seat. The distance helped me deny him this task. “Sorry Professor, but that’s not happening.”

A startled look crossed his face. He reacted as if I’d just slapped him, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Look, just have everyone write down on a piece of paper what they write. We’ll still get our answer.”

“So, while I’m pumping my students for answers what will you be doing?”

“I’ll be there but as a student. I’m not sure I want everyone to know why I’m really attending this class. If we don’t come across any suspects, we’ll need to turn the list over to the detective. He’ll want to know about the contest.”

“That makes sense. I’ll take care of getting a record of my students to him and telling him about the final exam, not contest. What’s your next step?” He asked.

“Sunday morning I’m going to go to her church.”

A grin broadened on his face. “You seriously expect to find the killer attending her church?”

When he said it like that, it did sound a little ridiculous. But it was possible. “I don’t know but it is one of the few places Mitzi socialized.”

The smile slipped from his lips and eyes. “I suppose so.”

Once more, I wondered how well he knew Mitzi. Had they dated? Or were they just friends like he said? If there had been romantic sparks, why hadn’t Mitzi told me about them?

Later that evening, I finished grilling my cheese sandwich and carried it to the table. At the same time, the microwave dinged announcing the bowl of tomato soup was done. I placed both on a large dining tray and headed to the living room. My favorite game show had just come on.

While the contestants introduced themselves I thought about Brandon Harvest. I hate to admit it, but it disturbs me that Mitzi and Brandon might have been closer than just friends.

Just before leaving the college, he’d offered me a class list of names, which I snatched up and tucked into my purse. Now what was I going to do with it? I couldn’t just call them all up and ask if they’d killed my best friend. That would just be tacky.

Warm buttery cheese teased my taste buds. On the television, a woman wearing a bright green top and the nametag that read “Florence” had just spun the wheel and landed on the three hundred dollar marker.

The category was “Thing,” and there were three words to fill in. I sipped at the hot soup as Florence asked for an M and got one. Then she did something I hate, she asked to buy a vowel. The crazy woman chose a U, which wasn’t in the puzzle.

It was the next contestant’s turn. He was a middle-aged man with a bald spot in the middle of his scalp. It reflected the light each time he bent over to spin the wheel. The thought he should do something about that crossed my mind as he spun the wheel and landed on the five hundred marker. He chose an S and got three of them. Then he asked for a vowel. Again I groaned.

This time the request was for an A, which he didn’t get. The game continued. Slowly I made out the words Single Stem Rose. The player who got it had a total of three hundred dollars. He could have continued guessing at the consonants and gotten more money but he was too anxious.

“Dumber than mud,” I grumbled, picking up the dinner tray and heading back to the kitchen during the commercial. Normally I would pick up the phone and call Mitzi but not tonight, not ever again. My gaze moved to the phone on the wall.

There were a number of women friends I could call. Gloria Fielding’s name came to mind, but I felt a twang of guilt. Mitzi was the one I shared these silly calls with. To call someone else was like saying Mitzi no longer mattered. It was betraying our friendship. I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t.

I hurried back to the living room and forced myself to become absorbed in the game show but Mitzi stayed on my mind.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 5

When my phone rang, the face of the alarm clock proclaimed the time to be eight AM.

“Hello?” I fairly growled into the phone. I wanted to scream. Didn’t whoever was on the other end of the line know that it was Saturday morning? My day to sleep in?

“Mrs. Parker?”

The voice sounded familiar. I scooted up against the headboard of my bed. “Yes?”

“You’re late, Dear.”

Late? What was I late for? The woman was crazy.

“Mrs. Parker? Are you there?”

I really didn’t want to answer her. The desire to sleep overwhelmed me so much I slid back under the sheets and comforter. With them over my head, I answered. “Yes, I’m just trying to figure out what I’m late for.”

“Dear I don’t think you’re awake.”

“Well, then if this is a dream, I’m going to hang up.” I pulled the phone away.

Her voice screamed through the phone lines. “No! We need you here.”

“Where is here?” I grumbled, putting the phone back up to my ear.

A heavy sigh sounded. “Mrs. Parker, this is Mrs. Harvey from church. You volunteered to help out at the annual yard sale.”

“Oh, no!” I threw the covers off and fairly jumped out of bed. “I am so sorry. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

After a quick shower and an apology to Sprocket in which I promised to make our walk longer this evening, I hurried off to the church.

“What took you so long to get here?” My friend, Gloria Fielding, asked as I rushed to her side.

“I forgot. Well, I didn’t forget. I just didn’t remember it was this weekend.” I reminded myself of that guy on the old sitcom that couldn’t remember anything, well, not anything. He remembered some things but they didn’t really make sense. What was his name? Hummm...The show was Green Acres.

Gloria handed me a roll of masking tape and a black marker. “Mrs. Harvey is really upset.”

“Yeah, she called me.” Mr. Haney? No, he was the guy who charged Oliver for everything.

“She didn’t!” Gloria gasped. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stall her.”

Gloria is a sweet lady who loves everyone. She has olive colored eyes, red hair and a crooked smile. I’d have to say she is the closest friend I had next to Mitzi. This thought startled me. With Mitzi gone, I guess that made Gloria my new best friend. Tears filled my eyes.

“What’s wrong, honey? Did Mrs. Harvey hurt your feelings?”

“No.”

Gloria stared me in the eyes and whispered dramatically. “Are you sure? Cause if she did, I’ll hold her and you can punch.”

That one always made me laugh. “Thanks, I’m fine. Just a little weepy this week.”

“I’m glad you made it, Mrs. Parker. And in such a good mood, too.” Mrs. Harvey passed on by. Her gray hair stuck out in the back. I almost giggled. Amazed that my emotions were on a rollercoaster ride this morning, I shook my head. What was wrong with me?

“Ignore her, Claire. I think her skirts have been starched too much,” Gloria whispered.

I giggled. “That’s not nice, Gloria.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Gloria went back to marking dishes but a happy twinkle filled her eyes.

After several moments of her marking plates and me pricing cups, she asked. “What have you been up to lately?”

A smile touched my lips. “Well, yesterday I went to my first creative writing class.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“You have no idea.” I sighed, thinking of Brandon.

Gloria laid down her black marker. “Okay, give girl.”

Give girl? What were we teenagers? I almost laughed out loud. Only the expression on her face screamed she was very serious. “There’s nothing to ‘give’ I just enjoyed the lesson. That’s all.”

“Uh, huh, maybe I’ll take up creative writing next week.” Gloria loaded the dishes back into a half full cardboard box.

The thought of telling her no entered my mind. Gloria is fifty-five years old and she still has the cutest figure. And her eyes and red hair catch more attention from men than sticky strips catch flies.

Maybe reverse psychology would work on her. “Great. It meets Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons at one. Oh, and you don’t get class credit for the class, but you can attend as long as you wear a visitors badge.” I added the cups to her box.

“If you don’t get credit, why are you taking the class?” Gloria handed me a box of magazines to price. “Put twenty five cents on all of these, please.”

Busted, I thought. She pulled a pile of books toward herself. As she started marking, I answered. “I’m looking for Mitzi’s murderer.”

The unladylike snort that exploded from her nose turned more than just my head. Gloria slapped a hand over her mouth. “You’re joking,” She announced once she’d settled down.

Mrs. Harvey stomped by, calling over her shoulder. “Do I have to separate you two?” She continued on her route not giving us time to answer.

“That woman needs a ...”

“Don’t forget we are at church.” Gloria interrupted giggling.

“Church or no church, she has no right to talk to us like that. We are full grown women.” I continued to stare at the retreating woman’s back.

Gloria took the magazines I’d marked and began replacing them in their box. “Maybe so, but she is still a school teacher.”

My gaze moved to the new pile of used merchandise Gloria had placed in front of me. “She’s retired, Gloria. And I’m not in school, and neither are you.” Sometimes Gloria just frustrated the dickens out of me with all her positive, see-people-in-the–best-light attitude.

Gloria was bent over a box, but I could still hear her muffled voice. “Yes you are.”

It took me a few moments to realize she was talking about the creative writing class. “That doesn’t count.”

Her head popped up. “How does taking that class have anything to do with Mitzi’s death?”

Olive eyes studied my face intently. For a brief moment, we shared the pain of a lost friend. I couldn’t contain the sorrow in my voice when I answered. “Honestly, I don’t know that it will but I have to see if I can find what the police can’t.”

Gloria stood slowly. “They are working to find her murderer. You know that, right?”

“Yes, but I also know that because my fingerprints are on the pan, I’m their number one suspect, and I didn’t do it. So, if I can help them solve this mystery, I will.” I wish I felt as confident as I hoped I sounded.

She nodded her understanding, and then we each picked a full box of yard sale goods and headed for the front. Just before stepping out onto the grassy lawn, Gloria stopped in front of me. “If I can help, you’ll let me know?”

“Oh course.” Somehow we managed to hug around our heavy loads before departing to work opposite sides of the sale.

After putting out the marked items, I squatted down beside a box full of stuffed toys. If I were lucky, I’d find something Sprocket might like to cuddle with this winter. A half hidden teddy bear caught my attention. His medium sized body was covered with other discarded childhood favorites. Just as I reached to unearth the stuffed animal, my knees creaked and begged to be released from the locked position I now seemed to be in.

“Can I help you up?”

A large tanned hand was extended down to me. I recognized that voice. Without looking up, I knew Brandon Harvest stood over me blocking the sun. What else could I do but paste a smile on my face, look up and answer, “Yes, thank you.”

Heat enveloped my face as the joints in my legs popped and snapped. When I was standing securely, he released my hand and elbow. He seemed not to notice the sounds or the redness I am sure lit up my face like a fiery furnace.

“Is this the one you were after?” He pulled the teddy from the pile and held it up for my inspection.

“Yes, he is.” I busied myself inspecting the toy. What was he doing here? Had he come to the yard sale? Or was he stalking me? The thought of him being there to see me set the pulse in my neck to throbbing. Satisfied the stuffed animal didn’t have any weird eyes or noses that would choke Sprocket, I deemed him a worthy new play thing for my old dog. I hugged it close and looked to the handsome man beside me.

He was looking around at the people and the many tables, furniture, piles of clothes, and all the other items that littered the church lawn. “I’m a sucker for garage sales.”

So much for thinking he was there because of me.

“Not me.” The words were out of my mouth and there was no turning back.

He grinned and looked pointedly at the teddy bear in my arms. “Really? So what brings you here?”

“I’m working this sale. I go to church here and was drafted into it a couple of months ago.” Fresh heat filled my face, and the pulse beat harder in my neck. Could he see that?

The confession turned his grin into a gentle laugh. “I see. I’ve been drafted into a few things myself lately.”

“Nothing too bad,” I fished.

He noticed a box of books and knelt down to look through them. “Not really ...”

It was obvious after several long seconds he wasn’t going to elaborate. “That’s good.” I said.

Mrs. Harvey approached. “Claire, Ramona has arrived to relieve you.”

Brandon stood with several books in his hands.

“Thank you.” I tried to read the titles, but he wasn’t holding them at the right angle.

The older woman looked Brandon over, nodded once, and then turned to leave.

“Does this mean you’re free this afternoon?” He asked. His eyes searched my face.

“I have to go home and give Sprocket his new toy and take him for a long walk. After that, I might be. Why?” Had I just squeaked like a water toy? What was it about this man that left me so breathless? Maybe I should find a vitamin that would cure breathlessness when a handsome man was in my vicinity.

“Let’s get out of here, and then I’ll tell you.” He made a point of looking in Mrs. Harvey’s direction. She watched us as a librarian listens for noise. If she were any more intense, I’d have to peel her eyes off us, literally. Well, maybe not literally, but it was obvious she would have liked nothing more than to hear our total conversation.

I began to walk to the checkout desk. It felt good to have the handsome professor following close behind me.

As I paid fifty cents for the stuffed bear, he paid for his books, and I saw the titles. Aw, they were on wood crafting and writing. We walked to our cars in comfortable silence. Okay, to the onlooker it might have seemed contented. At least I hoped I looked relaxed. Inside I was excited to hear what he had to say and why he’d asked about my afternoon.

We stopped at my car.

“Remember I told you I’d been talked into a few things?” How could I have forgotten? That had been less than ten minutes ago.

At my nod he continued. “Well, one of those things takes place this afternoon and I was wondering if you’d mind coming with me?” Brandon studied the tip of his shoes, reminding me of an embarrassed schoolboy. Even that was attractive. I had to get a grip!

“Coming with you where?” My heart pounded in my chest. I attempted to open the car door and wished like the dickens I had one of those remote door keys. The way my hands were shaking I’d have all the paint scratched off around the keyhole before I ever got it inserted and unlocked.

“Promise not to laugh?”

Finally the key went into the door. With one little twist I was able to deposit my bear onto the front seat. Feeling mischievous I answered. “Nope.”

A twinkle entered his eyes. “Ok. I’ll just ask. Claire, would you go with me to the high school where my granddaughter is auctioning me off to the highest bidder for a date complete with a steak dinner?”

I couldn’t contain the laughter that spewed from my lips. He had to be kidding. “Brandon, you aren’t supposed to bring a date to these functions. You are the date!”

“Well, I have that part planned out, too.”

He grinned in such a way I’m sure my heart melted and pooled at his feet but I refused to look down. To do so would be to break eye contact, and the good Lord knows I couldn’t pull my gaze away from his if my life depended on it. “Do tell.” I prayed my voice didn’t sound as shaky to him as it did to me.

He leaned close to me. I could smell peppermint on his breath as he whispered. “Well, if you buy me, I won’t have to go out with some strange woman.”

“Who says I’m not strange? You barely know me and besides, do I look like I’m in the market for a man?” I’m not sure why I was fighting this idea. Maybe it was the confident way he acted as if I’d jump at a chance to go out with him.

I slipped inside my car and left him leaning forward. The desire to laugh hit me again. Brandon Harvest looked as if he’d never dreamed I’d refuse his offer to pay good money for him.

****

What was I doing?

With my car parked in front of the high school, I asked again, “Girl, what are you doing?” Saying the words out loud didn’t bring any answers.

I shouldn’t be here.

Yet, I was.

If the number of automobiles in the parking lot was any indication, this auction would be bringing in lots of money. I wondered what the funds would go toward. A young man held the door open for me as I entered the building.

High Schools have a smell about them that only mothers and gym teachers can appreciate. I followed the signs that read “auction this way,” until I came to a large room filled with all sorts of people but no chairs. A crude platform stood at the front of the room with a microphone stand.

“Hi, Mrs. Parker. Are you here for the auction?” A young voice promptly asked after I found a spot against the back wall.

I looked up at the teenager. What did she think I was here for? She stood several inches taller than me, her blonde hair had been confined into a ponytail, and she wore a blue and gold colored cheerleading outfit. A smile touched my lips as I recognized her as one of the teens from my church.

It ’ s amazing how quickly you forgave her silly question of earlier. I ignored that still small voice and answered the grinning cheerleader. “Yes. I thought I’d check it out.”

“Then you are going to need these.” She handed me a half sheet of paper and a ping-pong paddle with the number seventy-two on it.

“Thanks.” My eyes scanned the paper.

“You’re welcome. Would you mind filling out this so we’ll know who you are when you pick up your items?” She asked handing me another small slip of paper and a tiny pencil.

I stuffed the first piece of paper under my arm, used the paddle as a makeshift table, and quickly scribbled in my name and phone number. Then I returned the paper to her.

She studied it for a second, gave me a dazzling smile and announced. “Well, gotta run. I see more people coming in. Have fun and thanks for coming!” Then she was gone.

I pulled the paper from under my arm. “Annual Cheerleaders Auction” graced the top of the agenda in all caps and bold type. The list of items was long. Right in the center of all the household goods, gift certificates and other things were the words “win a date with your choice of Professor Brandon Harvest, Bank Manager Mark Ringer, and several others.” I guessed the “others” didn’t hold titles.

The room continued to fill. A moment of panic threatened to overwhelm me. If they allowed many more bodies in this space that was quickly becoming smaller, I’d have to leave.

I’m not afraid of small spaces, but I am worried about being crushed in a sea of people. What if the fire alarm goes off? These people could squeeze the life out of a delicate woman like me.

Thankfully, someone shut the door and a woman’s voice came through the microphone loud and clear. “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming. This year our girls have gone above and beyond my expectations in finding things for your bidding pleasure. Let me first tell you that all items are new and have never been used.”

“What about the Banker?” A voice called from the crowd.

Laughter erupted.

When the laughter turned to snickers, the cheerleading coach continued. “Well, let me rephrase that statement, all store bought items are new.” She cleared her throat and gave a group of teenage boys in the front row a stern glance.

I remembered being on the receiving end of those quick stares. This woman had ‘the look’ down pat and the kids quieted down.

“Second, I’d like to thank Mr. Miller for volunteering to be our auctioneer.”

The cheerleaders stood off to one side and began applauding. Noise filled the small room. The coach waited, gave the look, and then continued.

“Please remember, all sales are final, and you can pay for and pick up your items just outside this door.” She pointed to the back door and then motioned for a young man to come forward.

The action began. Soon I was in the spirit of bidding. In no time at all, I’d purchased a make-over from Salon and More, a new pair of beige winter gloves, and an antique chest that I thought Megan would enjoy. I should leave, I told myself. But, I wanted to see who would bid their way into a date with Brandon.

Telling myself I was being all kinds of silly, I stayed and watched as the good Banker was auctioned off. He exited the stage, pink faced but worth a hundred dollars.

“Our next gentleman up for grabs is Professor Brandon Harvest. He enjoys picnics, old movies, and jogging in the park. Let’s start the bid with twenty-five dollars.”

Paddles flew into the air.

I stood on my tiptoes to see the bidders. Several of his students filled the room, and numerous other ladies I’d never seen before continued to bid on the pleasure of his company.

“I have three hundred. Do I have three fifty?”

My stars!

I continued to stand on my tiptoes to get a better look at the nut that would pay that much for a man. My legs began to wobble. I used one hand to hold me up on the back wall as I gasped in amazement.

“Five hundred! Do I have five-fifty?”

A woman must be desperate to bid five hundred dollars on a man! The thought exploded in my brain as the auctioneer announced. “Five hundred dollars. Going once, going twice,” his voice rang out. “Sold to number seventy-two!! For five hundred dollars!”

What? Number seventy-two! That’s my number. My gaze moved to the paddle I had slapped up over my head against the wall. I groaned.

I’d just bought Brandon Harvest for five hundred dollars.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 6

If I hurried, I might be able to get my stuff paid for and be out of here before anyone discovered I’d bought him. I pushed to get to the door. All the while, thinking, I bought a man. Me. I bought a man.

A long line trailed down the hallway in front of the desk. Just my luck. I guess I’m not the only one who wants to get the heck out of here.

“Hey, Claire.”

I turned to see Sara standing off to the side and smiling like the cat who ate the canary. She wore the same coveralls I’d seen her in yesterday, only today her shirt was florescent orange. Maybe if I acted natural she wouldn’t ask about my purchases. “Hi Sara.”

She pushed away from the wall and moved to stand beside me. “How are you enjoying the auction? My mother loves these things.”

The desire to lie and say it was great fun tempted me, but knowing the Lord like I do, I knew He’d disapprove of the blatant fib. So I told the truth. “It’s a little more than I bargained for.”

A soft laugh issued from her lips. “I’ll say! I bet you had no idea Brandon Harvest was so expensive.”

I tried to imitate the coach’s hard stare. It didn’t work.

She continued. “Mom had her sights set on Mr. Childs. He runs the bakery down town. Mom’s sweet on him.” She smiled broadly at her own pun.

“I’ve never met your mother.” I thought if I focused on her mom, Sara would change the subject.

We moved up.

“I’ll have to introduce you sometime. She’s already left or I would today. After she won her date with Mr. Childs, she rushed off to spruce up and left me to pay.”

Our turn came up. I motioned for Sara to step forward, which thankfully she did. After Sara paid for her mother’s items, Mr. Childs came forward, and Sara moved off to the side to make arrangements with him to meet her mother. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I wrote out my check as fast as I could and then waited semi-patiently for my receipt and items. My main goal was to get out of there without further embarrassing myself.

“Thank you for being so supportive.” The woman said, with a knowing twinkle in her eye, as she handed me the much-awaited receipt.

I muttered the words, “You’re welcome.”

I’d almost made it to the exit door when I heard a voice calling. “Hey, don’t forget me.”

Teenagers lobbying the entrance laughed and pointed behind me.

I turned and groaned.

Brandon raced down the hallway, his jacket flying open behind him. I remembered he’d mentioned that he enjoyed jogging and wondered how he’d feel to have to jog all the way to my car? Before I could turn again to leave, he’d stopped several feet away from me. A gleam flickered in his shinning eyes. “What time should I pick you up?”

“You don’t. It was an accident that I bid on you.”

“Ohhhhh,” came the calls of the teenagers.

What did they think this was? A sporting event? The way they had ohhhhed, you would think I just sucker punched the good professor. To escape the kids, I pushed the door open and became promptly blinded by sunshine.

He followed close on my heels. “Accident or not, we have a date.”

I stopped so fast he ran into me. The box of auction items and my purse flew from my arms and I lunged forward to catch them. They hit the sidewalk with a loud bang. His arms encircled my waist, and he pulled me to him fast and hard. The air left my lungs. How he’d managed to spin me around in the process of catching me, I’ll never know. I found myself looking up into his concerned eyes.

The students had followed after us and were now whistling and making some grunting noises that sounded much like a dog’s bark. Heat hit my cheeks and neck. I attempted to pull out of his grasp.

He refused to release me but asked in a low voice. “Are you okay?”

Again I pushed against his chest. “No, I’m not okay. Let me go. Haven’t you embarrassed me enough for one day?”

His arms slid to his side. For a brief moment, his eyes looked sadly into mine. Had I hurt his feelings? The laughs from the growing crowd pushed all those thoughts from my mind.

“Here, Mrs. Parker.” One of the cheerleaders held my things out to me.

I offered a quick thanks and then hurried to my car. Tears filled my eyes. How had I let this happen? With the box of things in my hands, I couldn’t get the door to the car open. Frustration built in me. I wanted to scream and cry at the same time.

“Let me help.”

His warm voice washed over me like honey on hot bread. How come he had that effect on me? I hated and loved it at the same time.

He took the box from my arms and watched while I dug in my purse for the keys. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

As I opened the car, I asked myself, what had he really done? The answer was clear. Nothing. I sighed, the weight of the world seemed to be on my shoulders. “I know, and I’m sorry, too.”

I unlatched the back door where he deposited the box. Then he turned and left before I could thank him. I watched him jog back across the parking lot and dash inside the school.

Feeling like a heel, I drove straight home. This day had been a disaster. I never should have gone to the auction. Correction, I never should have answered the phone.

It wasn’t a total loss, I told myself when I got home and pulled out the box of won items. Megan was going to love her antique chest.

Sprocket barked at me.

“I’ll be right back.” I told him.

Ten minutes later, I had changed clothes and put away Megan’s chest. I made my way outside—with his new teddy bear under my arm. I gave him the stuffed animal, which he sniffed at, and then quickly took to his dog house. A few seconds later, he returned, and I clipped Sprocket’s leash on him. We headed in the opposite direction this time.

I like to shake things up. They say when you go a different way on your walk you notice more. Don’t ask me who “they” are; I read it in a magazine.

I wondered what Mitzi would have said if I’d been able to tell her about today’s events. She probably would have laughed so hard she’d have wet her pants. When we turned forty, she started doing that a lot when she’d get tickled.

So far, all I’d managed to do while retracing Mitzi’s steps was find a handsome man and embarrass myself with him. I had to ask myself if I should continue with this quest. So far, I’d gotten nowhere finding Mitzi’s killer.

I’d planned on attending her church tomorrow morning. Doubts rose as to whether that was such a good idea or not. Then I remembered the first cheerleader at the auction. What is her name? Carrie? Maybe. She attends my church. I groaned. By the time services let out, everyone would know that I had bought one very handsome college professor.

I refused to believe I was going to Mitzi’s church to avoid my own church family. Really, I’m not. I’m going to see if I can get a lead on who killed my best friend.

Sure you are. It’s comments like that, that make me wish I could shut off that inner voice.

Okay that was part of it, but I still want to know who killed Mitzi and why.

Sprocket pulled me along as my thoughts moved in the direction of planning to attend Mitzi’s church. I’d need to look in the phone book and see if the times were listed for the services. Then, I’d lay something out to wear before making meatloaf for dinner.

Happy to have those plans in place, I looked about the neighborhood. Summer was slowly turning to fall. The late afternoon sun didn’t feel as hot as it had in the last few days. My gaze moved to the trees. Oak and Cedar lined the streets. The oaks were showing slight signs of color change. This lifted my spirits as autumn is my favorite time of the year.

Back at the house, I turned Sprocket loose in the front yard. He sat at my feet and looked up at me with those big brown eyes. I was sure it was his way of telling me I hadn’t paid any attention to him on our walk.

I knelt and rubbed him behind his shaggy ears. His head moved into the palm of my hand, and his tongue snaked out for a kiss on the arm. Dogs are wonderful for those of us living alone. They give us love and affection even after they’ve been ignored.

“How about a game of ball?” I asked, giving his head a final pat and pushing myself upwards. My knees creaked.

Sprocket took off like a shot. He ran the fence line looking for the old yellow tennis ball that he loved to fetch for me. His tail went up into the air, and he gave a happy yelp as he scooped up the toy and returned to my side.

I took the ball and gave it a toss. He returned it with much wagging of the tail. Dropping it at my feet, Sprocket turned to see where I would throw it next.

The sound of a pickup pulling into my driveway drew our attention. Sprocket gave a sharp bark.

Brandon Harvest waved and got out.

I thought I’d escaped him for the day. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy his company. It’s just that having him around causes me to behave, strangely, badly, and embarrassingly.

He came around the vehicle and stood beside the fence, gazing over it at us. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by, but I wanted to give this back to you. In my defense, I did try to call.”

I recognized the check he held out. It was the one I’d written to the school. What was he doing with it?

As if he could read my thoughts, Brandon leaned against the rails. “I paid the school the money you bid for me. In all good conscience I wouldn’t let you pay for a date with me, that you didn’t want to take.”

I folded the check. “I see. You were willing earlier today to let me bid and win you for a date. What changed?”

“Nothing. I had full plans of paying for the price of a date with me. So in a way it worked out. Only now, you’ve made it very plain you don’t want to date me. Good day, Claire.” He pushed away from the fence and walked slowly back to the pickup.

I wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say. If I said, oh I do want to date you...would he think I was a desperate woman? Probably.

Brandon rolled down the window on the passenger’s side. “We’re still friends. Right?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“Good, I’ll see you Monday then.” He backed out of the drive.

Sprocket nudged me with his wet nose. I looked down into the big brown eyes. If only dogs could talk, I was sure he’d ask me what was wrong. I rubbed his ears and headed into the house.

****

Sunday morning dawned overcast and stormy. I dressed, in my best navy blue dress with matching shoes, had two cups of coffee, and Crunch cereal. Now all I had to do was get in my car and go to Mitzi’s church. Not mine. Mitzi’s.

I felt guilty. We didn’t attend services together, and now that she was gone, I was going to her place of worship. I opened the trunk of my car and pulled out an umbrella–the one Mitzi gave me a few years ago. It features kittens dancing in the rain. I love it.

Rain splashed against the windshield. I pulled into the parking lot of the church and sat for several minutes praying the downpour would lighten up so I could dash inside.

The church wasn’t very big. It reminded me of the country churches you see in paintings. This one sits on the outskirts of town and is very soothing to the senses. Even in the rain, it looked inviting.

At this rate, I would spend the whole service in my car. I opened the door and got the umbrella up and over my head but not without getting wet. I yanked my bible from the passenger seat, thankful I’d invested in a nice cover, and tucked it against my chest. I hitched my purse over my shoulder, and then I ran for the entrance.

The wind caught my umbrella, the mud grabbed my shoes, and suddenly I was looking up at raindrops as they fell from the sky. I should have stayed home.

“Here let me help you up.” The door greeter must have seen me go down because now he stood over me holding out a hand. I could only pray my dress wasn’t up over my thighs. That just isn’t ladylike.

Heat filled my cheeks as he pulled me up. The umbrella lay at my feet, and I still clutched the Bible to my chest. I picked up my once beautiful umbrella.

“Come on in. We’ll have one of the ladies assist you.”

He was already pulling me inside. By the time I got my bearings, I was standing in the entryway, dripping on beautiful hardwood floors. A woman stood watching me with concern in her eyes. “I think I’d like to go home.” I turned to go back out the door.

“Nonsense, you’re already here. I’ll help you dry off, and you’ll be as good as new. I’m Lori Haywood.”

I looked into the kindest grey eyes I’d ever seen. Lori smiled and gently took my arm and led me into a small room off the sanctuary.

What could I do? I was already inside, and to go back out in sopping wet clothes wasn’t something I looked forward to. I sighed. “I’m Claire Parker.”

“Ms. Parker, this is the room right off the baptistery. I think we’ll be able to find you some fresh clothes in here.” She was already digging in a closet.

The thought of wearing borrowed clothes bothered me, but so did the thought of driving home and sitting in mud and water as I did so. “I really don’t mean to be so much bother.”

“You’re no trouble at all. See those?” She pointed at two dresses hanging on a clothes bar. They were nice dresses but they were also dripping on the floor.

I nodded.

“Those belong to Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Franks. The church bus splashed both of them as it arrived this morning. That’s why we have extra clothes here.” She handed me a sweater and a skirt.

They have people getting splashed by the church bus every Sunday? I shook the thought from my head as I prayed the clothes would fit.

“That, and we also have a clothes ministry. Come over here, and you can change in private. I’ll wait outside the door.” She smiled at me and left.

I quickly changed out of my soiled outfit and slipped into the blouse and skirt. With my own ruined clothes I wiped the water and mud from my legs, wishing I hadn’t worn hose this morning. A full-length mirror hung on the closet door. There I stood in a black sweater with a red skirt.

“Ready?” Mrs. Haywood’s soft call carried through the wood.

“Just a sec.” I added my dress to the other two hanging to dry, grabbed my Bible, and then hurried to open the door. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Thank you.”

“No problem. How about you and I go on into the Sunday school class? The others will be here in a few minutes.”

I hate going into Sunday school late, so I was happy to follow Mrs. Haywood. We entered a room with a board nailed over the entryway with the word Adult painted upon it. “This is a nice church,” I offered, looking around at the small classroom. Unlike my Sunday school room, this one had plaques with Bible verses and pictures of nice flower arrangements on the walls. Several lace-covered round tables were clustered about the room. A bookshelf holding Bibles and what I assumed were Sunday school books sat beside the door.

“We try to make it feel like a home instead of a place to visit once a week.” She offered as she took a chair at the table.

I sat down, too. It really did feel comfortable. I noticed a small table off to one side of the room. A coffee pot with several cups sat on its surface. The aroma of fresh brew began to fill the air.

“Would you like a cup while we wait?” Mrs. Haywood offered. “It should be ready in a couple of minutes.”

“Thanks. That would be nice.”

I watched her get up and separate two Styrofoam cups from a tall stack. She opened a cabinet under the table and pulled out a tray with an assortment of condiments on it.

“Cream or sugar?”

The sound of southern gospel music filtered into the room. “No thanks. I prefer mine black.” I felt as if I were visiting the home of Mrs. Haywood instead of a new church.

She carried my cup over and offered it to me. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you find our church?”

I took a tentative sip of the hot brew. “Thank you. My friend, Mitzi Douglas, used to go here.”

“Oh yes. We miss Mitzi. She was a wonderful woman and a very loving soul.”

Well, that was one way to describe her, I suppose. I studied Mrs. Haywood over the top of my drink. When Luke and I were planning her funeral, it never entered our minds to use her church and pastor for the services. We’d simply had a graveside service with my pastor residing. Now I felt a twinge of guilt at having neglected her church family. I shook off the feeling and told myself the announcement had been in the newspaper and anyone could have attended.

“Yes, she was.” I finally answered. The music stopped.

Mrs. Haywood set down her cup and tilted her head to the side. After a couple of seconds, she smiled at me. “The rest of the class will be here in a moment. Before they arrive I want to welcome you into our church. I hope you will like it here.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. She seemed so sincere in her invitation. “Thank you, I’m sure I will.”

Couples began to arrive, some young, some old, some at an age I couldn’t define. I watched each one with the question, Could that person know who killed Mitzi? running through my head.

Several came over and introduced themselves, and then went and found a seat at one of the round tables. They were all very warm and friendly, but I was glad to see the instructor finally stand at the front of the room to begin the lesson.

Only she didn’t. She asked the age-old question. “Do we have any visitors today?” Why do they do that? She knew she’d never seen me before, at least I didn’t think she had and yet, she asked the question.

Mrs. Haywood raised her hand. “I’d like to introduce Claire Parker. She’s a friend of Mitzi’s.”

The instructor brought a lesson book to me. “We’re glad you could make it, Mrs. Parker.”

All eyes were upon me.

“Thank you.”

She nodded and then returned to the front. I sighed with relief and made a pretense of looking for today’s date in the book.

It was your normal class. Prayer requests, prayer, and then the lesson. I smiled at the subject of our discussion, God Is Love, So What? I’m never good at just listening to someone else read to me, and I found myself speed reading through the lesson.

The creaking of the door opening caught my attention. I wondered who the latecomer was and felt thankful it wasn’t me.

Brandon Harvest apologized for being late. His gaze met mine and then the cad winked. While he took a seat, heat consumed my face.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 7

The minister finished his sermon and then said. “Before you leave, allow me to make a couple of announcements. The annual baseball game and picnic are next Sunday. So plan to come and stay for the afternoon fun. Also, Ladies, I understand from my lovely wife that you are putting together a scrapbook cookbook. She asked me to remind you to arrive Tuesday night at six and bring your scrapbook supplies and recipes. The proceeds will go toward sending the ladies on a women’s autumn retreat. Well, I think that’s it. I hope to see you all back here at six tonight. Let’s pray.”

I tried to focus on the prayer but my thoughts kept returning to the last announcement. The ladies were working on a cookbook? Was it possible one of them had a killer lasagna recipe?

“Amen.”

Could one of these sweet ladies have disliked Mitzi enough to poison her? I gathered my things and stepped out into the aisle.

People pressed in on all sides. A husky voice whispered in my ear. “It was good to see you here this morning.” Brandon placed his hand in the center of my back as we made our way to the exit.

The warmth of his palm traveled through the thin sweater. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Mitzi attended the same church?” I whispered back.

“You didn’t ask me.”

I wanted to scream. “You knew I would be here today.”

“I hope you enjoyed our services.” A woman said as she entered the aisle beside me.

I smiled and tried to ignore the warmth creeping up my spine and into my hair. “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

“Then maybe you’ll come again.” The woman beamed happily.

I met her grin with one of my own. “Actually, I’m interested in coming Tuesday for the cookbook class. Do you attend that?”

If it were possible, I believe her smile grew even wider. “Oh yes, we just started last month but it has been so much fun.” She now stood in front of the minister.

“I’ll be looking for you.” She offered before turning her full attention on the pastor. “That was a wonderful message, Pastor Haywood.”

“Why thank you, Sister Williams. I’m glad it touched your heart. I hope you’re coming to the picnic. I’m looking forward to a sample of your homemade apple pie next week.” He released her hand and smiled.

“I’ll be here and I’ll bring my recipe for that sweet little wife of yours.” She hurried out the door.

Then the preacher turned to me.

“Pastor, I’d like you to meet Claire Parker.” Brandon spoke around me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker. I hope you come back tonight.”

What do you say when a man of God asks you to come back to church? I found myself saying, “I’m looking forward to it.” I wonder if people burn in hell for saying the first thing they know is expected of them.

Only if you lied. That inner voice taunted. Sometimes I wonder how much of that voice is from God and how much of it is me? In this case, I knew it was God.

Brandon must have sensed my confusion. He shook hands with the minister, and then tucked my hand through his arm and led me out to the parking lot. The dark skies still hovered overhead but thankfully the rain had stopped. When we stood beside his pick up, he released me. “How about some lunch, as friends of course?”

“Mrs. Parker! Mrs. Parker!”

I turned to find Mrs. Haywood running toward us. She held my soiled clothes in her arms. “You forgot these.” She panted.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Thank you. I’ll return these tonight.” I motioned to the borrowed clothes I had on and then took the offered dress.

She smiled. “That will be fine. But, before you get away, I’d like to ask you to join us at Braums. It’s just a few of us that get together each week.” She held her side as if she’d developed a painful stitch.

Braums is a hamburger and ice cream restaurant. If I agreed to eat with them, I’d avoid having a private meal with Brandon. I’m not sure why I felt the need to keep some distance between us but I did. Maybe it was the thought that he’d been closer to Mitzi than I cared to think about. “I’d love to join you.” I answered.

“Oh, good. We always meet at the one on Fifth and Main Street.”

“I’ll bring her.” Brandon’s deep voice pulled my gaze up to his. Once more his knowing eyes twinkled down at me.

“That would be wonderful. We’ll only be a few moments. I think the Kellys will be joining us, too.” She turned and walked back to the church.

He opened the passenger door of his truck. “I’m glad you accepted our invitation. I’d like for you to get to know my church family.” His smile gave me a warm feeling deep in my stomach.

I slid onto the seat of the truck. The scent of leather cleaner filled my nostrils.

Brandon shut my door and hurried around to the other side. He waved at several families as we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. We rode in silence for several long moments. As he pulled into the parking lot, he asked. “How’s the investigation going?”

“I’ve just started.”

A soft chuckled came from his side of the cab, “So in other words, you haven’t learned anything?”

“Not a thing.” I admitted, staring at a large poster of a banana split that hung on the storefront window.

He shut off the motor and turned to face me. “Did I hear you tell Mrs. Williams you’re going to start going to the women’s meetings?”

I unfastened my seatbelt. “I thought I might.” I moved to exit the vehicle. My nerves were already a bundle of jumping grasshoppers. I could feel them deep in the pit of my stomach.

His hand covered mine on the seat. “Wait. The others won’t be here for a while. I’d like to talk.”

I tugged my tingling hand away and rested it in my lap. “About what?” My gaze met his once more.

“I was serious when I offered to help find Mitzi’s murderer.” He paused. “Are you going to allow me to, or not?”

What was he talking about? “I thought you were helping me. Aren’t you going to find out who the mystery writers are in your class?”

“I want to do more.” He confessed. “It makes me nervous knowing you are determined to find a killer.”

It was such a sweet thing to say, and from the expression on his features, I knew he meant every word. “I’m not in any danger. But if it will make you feel better I’ll keep you posted on what I’m doing next.”

He nodded. “And that is?”

“I’m going to start at the ladies cookbook night.” I couldn’t remember the exact name for it so waved my hand and said, “You know, that cookbook thingy.”

His laughter filled the truck. “You have got to be kidding. What makes you think someone from church hated Mitzi so much that they’d kill her?”

Why do men have to act like jerkalopes? “If I don’t check how will I know? Just because someone goes to church doesn’t make him or her perfect. The newspapers prove that every day.” I had a strong urge to wipe that expression of glee off his face.

“Ok, ok.” He held up his hands and continued laughing.

Now, I wanted to shoot him. If he could read my thoughts, he’d know that good, God-fearing people have these impulses to kill at a moment’s notice. Not that I ever would.

“I’m serious. You don’t know what triggered Mitzi’s murderer to kill her. It could have been anything. Think about it. Lots of people are surprised at what their friends and neighbors do.” I felt my cheeks and neck growing hotter and hotter.

He sobered. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just find it hard to believe someone from my church would do such a thing.” His expression turned somber and all my hot air flew out the window like a deflated balloon.

He turned and stared out the window.

I reached out and touched his arm. “Well, you are probably right.”

Still he stared as if deep in thought. Made me wonder if I’d awakened some deeply buried memory.

“I’ll probably just come home with some great, easy, old fashioned recipes.”

His attention returned. He patted my hand. “Let’s hope so.”

I smiled. Whatever had clouded his thoughts a few moments ago had vanished with the thought of food. “If I’m lucky, maybe Mrs. Williams will share her apple pie recipe with us.”

He laughed once more. “Don’t bet on it. She’s been promising that recipe to the pastor for years.”

I enjoyed the sound of his rich merriment. As we entered the restaurant, I wondered if Mrs. Williams used Sara Lee’s recipe. Probably. It had been my secret recipe for years.

****

Lunch had been nice but it felt good to be home and out of those heels. They were blue and new. Deadly combination. And the fact that they clashed with the black sweater and red skirt only added to my misery. That and the knowledge that I had to return to church tonight. Not that I didn’t love going to church, but my feet hurt so much right now, I dreaded forcing them into shoes later.

I took a quick warm shower, put on my flannel PJs, and crawled into bed for a quick nap. Dreams of Brandon as a little boy haunted my sleep. His face filled with sorrow begged me to comfort him. He’d held out his arms to me and cried. Anger filled his eyes when I couldn’t reach him fast enough. The little boy kicked and screamed. My heart ached for the child that I knew was Brandon. Then, the face changed from the child’s to the man’s. I saw the same distracted look that I’d seen earlier in the parking lot at Braums. I reached out to comfort him and found cold air. I awoke with a start.

It had seemed so real. He’d been so alone and sorrowful. What did I know about the man? I counted the things I knew on one hand. One, he’s a professor. Two, he goes to church. I tossed off the covers and padded to the kitchen.

I needed to know more. Something warm to drink might help. I filled the teakettle with water and set it on the stove. My favorite mug sat by the sink. I pulled it close while my thoughts ran in circles trying to figure out ways to learn about the handsome Brandon Harvest.

Sprocket barked. I walked through the living room and then out onto the porch. In the far corner of the yard I could see his shaggy body. He stared up into the tree. My gaze followed his. Sara’s orange tabby cat sat on the branch closest to the ground—but far enough away from Sprocket to be safe—daintily licking its paws.

The teakettle whistled. I returned to the kitchen and turned off the burner, then added homemade sugar-free hot chocolate mix to my mug. The scent of rich cocoa surrounded me as I poured the hot water over the mixture. Maybe I’d take it as my recipe for the cookbook.

My thoughts returned to investigating Brandon. Would Megan know where to begin? I picked up the phone to call her, and then paused. What would she think of her mother investigating the background of...I replaced the phone. On second thought, I wouldn’t ask for her help. Too many questions, and sometimes she forgets I’m the mama and she’s the child.

I took a tentative sip of the cocoa. The thought came to me to ask Detective Howard, but it left as swiftly as it arrived. The good policeman would haul Brandon in for questioning and then how would that look? It’d probably kill whatever relationship we might have.

Didn’t want to do that.

I shook my head as I returned to the bedroom to get dressed for church, again. “Nope, definitely don’t want to mess up this relationship.”

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 8

“You really should get a cell phone.” Mitzi’s son, Jake’s, voice announced on my answering machine. “Call me when you get in, I have a favor to ask.” The sound of his voice went from smiling to sad.

I wondered what he needed but decided to call him back after I’d had a nice cool shower. If women didn’t sweat but only glistened, I knew the shimmer of my skin would put a Christmas tree to shame.

This morning, Sprocket had acted like a new puppy on our walk. My arms and shoulders throbbed from his yanking and pulling on the leash.

A soothing shower and two ibuprofen later, I dialed Jake’s number at work. He picked up on the second ring. “Hey Jake, I got your message. What can I do to help?” I wasn’t sure what I was offering to help with but he was my best friend’s son, and I’d do any thing for him.

“Thanks for calling me back, Claire. If you don’t want to do this, I’ll totally understand.” His voice sounded sad and tired.

I laughed, hoping to make him feel better. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll tell you if I can do it. How’s that?”

“Fair enough. I need to pack up Mom’s things.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and pushed on. “Her landlord called, and well, I’m not sure I can do that right now. Can you? Would you mind?”

Tears filled my eyes. The sound of his pain and sadness were almost my undoing. “Sure. I’d be happy to.”

He sighed. “Thanks.”

Silence filled the line for several moments. He had to be told what I was up to but how could I voice it? I took a deep breath and plunged in. “Jake, I’m looking into your mother’s death. Is it okay if I go through her things as I pack them away?”

I could picture him in my mind’s eye running his hands through thick black hair. “Sure. I don’t see what it will hurt.” I knew weariness filled his sad eyes.

“Thank you.”

More silence filled the line. Finally, I heard him clear his throat once more. “Claire, I’ve rented a storage shed over on Broadway. Do you know the ones?”

“Yes.”

“It’s number two-ninety-two. Mr. Jackson the owner will give you a key and padlock.” He sighed heavily.

“Okay, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. Her things will be there when you’re ready.”

We hung up. Sorrow built afresh in my heart. I became even more determined to find Mitzi’s murderer. Jake deserved to know why his mother had been killed. I hoped it would give him closure.

I moved to my bedroom and dressed in a light blue pantsuit. The blue had reminded me of a Robin’s egg when I bought it. I attached a butterfly pin to the collar and smiled. The butterfly’s wings were filled with light pink gemstones. It glistened in the light. Perfect.

A glance at the clock alerted me to the passing time. I grabbed up my navy blue pocketbook, poured the contents of my red purse into it, and headed toward the door.

Several lemon-scented pine tree air fresheners lay on the washing machine by the back door. I grabbed one and hurried to my car where I ripped it out of its plastic and hung it onto the rear view mirror. The citrus smell filled the interior.

My intent was to go to Mitzi’s apartment and have a look around before going to the creative writing class.

As I backed out of the driveway, I noticed Sara standing on her front porch. She waved and I waved back. Why was she home from work? I pulled up in front of her house and got out. “Is everything okay, Sara?”

She sniffled and blew her nose into an oversized man’s handkerchief. I wondered where she’d gotten it. Probably the men’s Big and Tall store.

“I caught a nasty cold over the weekend.” She grumbled inside the handkerchief. “I hate the hot days and cool nights. It seems every summer at this time I tend to get sick. I’ll have to stop staying outside when the evenings cool off.”

The last thing I needed was an early fall cold, but since Mitzi’s death I’d decided to take an interest in my neighbor’s lives so I asked. “I’m headed into town. Can I get you anything?” I felt a moment of pride as I realized it was also the thing God would want me do.

“Naw. Boss just told me to go home and get some rest. I’ve had some, but I think I’ll go lie down for a while and get some more. Thanks anyway.” She blew her nose loudly, turned, and entered the house.

I slipped back inside my car. The smell of lemon drifted about me, giving the illusion of sitting in an orchard. I cracked a window. Not even orchards smell this sweet. For a brief moment, I wondered if those things came with instructions or if they were always this overpowering at first. Well, they were when I used them, but other people’s vehicles always held only a hint of scent.

A police car passed, and its presence reminded me that Mitzi’s apartment was a crime scene. I sighed, “I should probably see if it’s okay to be in there now.” Even as I said it, I dreaded the visit with Detective Howard.

****

“Ms. Parker.” Detective Howard acknowledged me. He moved to sit behind his cluttered desk and dropped into his chair.

I took note of the deep black circles under his eyes. His lips were drawn down. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Mitzi’s son called me this morning and asked if I would pack up her apartment. I wanted to make sure it was okay with the police before I did anything.” The words came out rushed, and I felt breathless.

He sighed. “Yes, they took the tape down a couple of days ago.” Howard picked up the papers and stacked them into neat little piles.

Baffled, I watched. What was wrong with the man? Something that kept him awake at night? Or had he pulled a long weekend here at the station?

His head came up, and he looked at me. “Is there something more?”

I stood. “No, I guess not.” I moved to the door but couldn’t make myself step through it. Taking a deep breath, I turned to face him once more.

He’d propped his arms upon the cleared area and rested his head upon them. I cleared my throat and waited.

He didn’t look up. “Yes?”

“Detective, are you okay?” I asked.

He raised his head. “As well as can be expected. Thanks for asking.”

I stared into his blue eyes. They looked tired and old. Not sure what to say, I nodded and then hurried from the room.

During the drive to the college, I worried about the detective. It was none of my business, and yet I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to cause the man to lose sleep. I was still fussing and contemplating when I entered the classroom—late I might add.

I slipped into a hard wooden seat. As I fumbled in my purse for a notebook and pen, Brandon’s voice filled the room.

“I’m glad to see everyone here. How did you do on your homework? Any problems?”

The only problem I had was that I’d forgotten all about the synopsis with its main plot and subplot. I laid my notebook on the desk and crossed my hands over its cover, praying he wouldn’t ask for mine.

His gaze moved about the class and then landed on where I sat at the back of the room. A knowing smile touched his lips. “If you don’t have any questions, please pass your synopsis to the front.”

Papers shuffled about the room. I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. “Here, pass this up,” Martha whispered. I smiled over my shoulder and took her paper.

A second whisper grabbed my attention. “That first date must have been something since you won the auction for the good professor and rumor has it that the two of you had lunch at Braums yesterday.”

Since Brandon was speaking again, I decided to ignore her. When had people started gossiping about me? A mental dialogue filled my head. Let’s see, maybe it was when you agreed to have coffee with him, or maybe it was when he showed up at your church’s garage sale, or even better, when you paid to have a date with the man, and then you arrived at his church and had lunch with him and his friends. Did I miss anything? I felt this horrible urge to slap myself.

“Ms. Parker?”

I looked up, confused. Had he said my name more than once? “Yes?”

Several women chuckled including the one behind me. I refused to act embarrassed.

“What do you write?” Brandon asked, grinning.

Grocery lists. No, that wasn’t the correct answer. “I’m not sure. I guess romance novels.”

She watched him jot down this piece of information.

He looked up once more.

“Why?” His eyes twinkled at me.

Oh why hadn’t I remembered he’d asked several people before me this question? “Because it’s what I like to read?”

“That’s a good answer.” He looked past me, “Ms. Lewis?”

“Children’s books.” She spoke clear and loud.

I winced at the volume she projected. Didn’t the woman know we were all in the same room? I’d like to have some hearing left at the end of this class.

“Why?”

Her self-righteous voice blasted my eardrums once more. “I want to make a difference in the lives of young people today.”

Was that answer for my benefit? Or to prove to the handsome instructor that she took her writing seriously?

Brandon went about the rest of the room. I noticed two new faces in the classroom. They had scooted their desks together and had their heads pressed so close it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. Obviously a couple. I wished I’d paid better attention. Brandon had already asked them what they wrote and said their name.

If I intended to find Mitzi’s killer, I needed to be more aware of what was going on around me.

“I would like to move people around now based on the genre that you write.” Brandon told them.

“This is new,” whispered Martha, sounding puzzled.

I couldn’t help but smile. How many times had Martha Lewis attended Brandon’s class? Was the woman so smitten with Brandon that she took his class repeatedly? And if so, how jealous would she become when he showed interest in someone else? The thought sent a shiver down my back, and the smile vanished.

“Romance writers, come to the front and sit here.” He indicated he wanted them to sit on the right of the room.

I gathered my things.

“Figures.” Martha growled.

I smiled sweetly as I passed her, moved across the back of the room, and then down the side aisle until I stood at the front of the class with three other people.

“Mystery writers please come forward and sit on the left-hand side of the room.”

Six people moved forward. I studied them, two older women, three young women who seemed to be friends, and one middle-aged man. They took their seats.

I returned my attention back to Brandon and the way he was arranging his students, noting that the children’s writers were two strong and now sitting at the back of the room. Martha hadn’t been moved, and her companion, a young woman who was probably a new mother, had joined her. A scowl marred Martha’s strong features. I had to turn my head to hide a smile. I made a mental note to ask him if it were possible Martha Lewis had become jealous of his and Mitzi’s friendship.

“Now, remember where you are sitting, this is our new arrangement. We’ll be working in groups from now on.”

A silver-haired woman raised her hand.

“Yes, Mrs. Watson?” Brandon smiled at the woman.

“What if we write in two genres?”

Brandon smiled. “Choose the one that you enjoy writing the most.”

She nodded and moved to the Science Fiction group.

I noted that her new group held five members, six now counting her. The young couple I’d watched earlier was among that group.

“Let’s take a quick break and regroup.” Brandon announced. He’d moved to stand in front of my desk.

The groups migrated toward the door. Once everyone had left, Brandon knelt down in front of me. “I figured out a way you can question each person here about Mitzi.”

Interested, I leaned forward. Our faces were inches apart. His breath drifted over me, smelling of peppermint. “How?”

“Since you really don’t know what you want to write, I’m going to suggest you move about the groups. Ask questions about each genre and if an opening comes ask about Mitzi.” He smiled at her for approval.

A smile touched my lip. It was a first-class plan. “Sounds good to me.”

His head raised as several students returned to the classroom. “So anything new happen since last night?”

I nodded. “Jake, Mitzi’s son, called and asked me to pack Mitzi’s stuff. I made a trip to the police and got permission to do so.”

He stood slowly, the remainder of the class had returned. I smiled at the other writers that sat in my group.

“That was a quick break.” He announced as he moved to stand at the front of the room. “While we were on break, Ms. Parker and I chatted. She’s not sure what genre she’d like to write.” He smiled in her direction. “She seems to like them all and can’t choose a favorite. So, I have suggested she visit each of our groups. Please tell her why you enjoy writing the genre you have chosen.”

I watched them nod, some faces looked eager to spend time with me, others indifferent, but Martha simply reflected anger. What caused a woman to feel such resentment? Surely it wasn’t that she was jealous. I turned my attention to the romance writers.

They smiled.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 9

Later that evening, while I ate supper, my thoughts moved toward what I’d learned about the three romance writers in the creative writing class. I glanced down at the paper that I’d made notes on while talking to them. Their names lined the left hand side under the words “romance writers.”

Dora Lee, a Southern lady, perhaps sixty years old, with a desire to write at least one bestseller before the Lord calls her home. Blond hair with silver streaks, blue eyes, and dimples. Her reason for writing romance? Expressing to readers that true love can still be found.

Rikki, the mother of two teenagers, in her early forties, wanted to meet new people. Brown hair framed her heart-shaped face. Green eyes looked tired but excited when she spoke of writing. Her reason for writing romance? Because she loves escaping into another world.

Then there was Linda Grace, the woman who confessed she’s fifty-five years old. Auburn hair, stark green eyes, and a long face. Very self-assured of publication almost to the point of being brazen. Her reason to write romance? At the time, it seems the easiest to write, and she wanted to prove she could do it.

I read through them once more. Beside each name I wrote one word to describe each woman. Dora Lee: romantic. Rikki: lonesome. Linda: arrogant.

Carrying my dishes to the sink, I decided two of the romance authors weren’t suspects in Mitzi’s death. The third, Linda, I hadn’t decided on yet. When they had asked why I was taking the class, I answered, “My friend Mitzi had suggested it.”

Memories seemed to drift across their faces. Sorrow had filled Dora and Rikki’s eyes. Linda’s had remained cool and uncaring, she claimed to not have known her.

I walked back to the table and placed a star by Linda’s name. The star represented possible suspect.

She’d shown no emotion at the mention of my friend’s name. I’d read somewhere that killers have no feelings for their victims. What motive would Linda have to kill Mitzi?

As I tapped my pencil on the kitchen table, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway grabbed my attention. I glanced out the dining room window. Megan stepped from her car and headed for the backdoor. A moment of guilt stung me. I should have visited her over the weekend, but church and new friends had filled the time.

Brandon’s handsome face floated through my mind’s eye for a few moments.

“Mom, you home?” Megan called as she came through the back door.

I smiled. “Hey, sweetie. What brings you out here?”

Her soft laughter tinkled as she opened the refrigerator and grabbed a soda. “Greg has open house tonight at his school. Besides, can’t a girl just come see her mom?” she popped the top and drank deeply.

“Oh course.” I scooped up the paper and pencil.

“I needed that.” She sighed as she lowered the can. “Whatcha got there?” Her gaze had moved to the writing materials in my arms.

I closed the notebook and smiled. “Just some stuff I’m putting away. Nothing important.” I slipped the notebook and pencil into the junk drawer. The crazy thing wouldn’t go down flat.

“Then why do you look like one of my students who’s trying to hide something from me?” She grinned knowingly.

It was silly to try to conceal what I was doing. Besides, why was I trying to keep it a secret from her? She was my daughter, not my mother. Still I asked, “What makes you think I’m hiding something from you?” I shoved things around. Still the notebook refused to lay flat enough to close the overstuffed drawer.

“Aren’t you?” This banter was getting us nowhere. I frowned.

Megan laughed. “Jake called this morning. He’s worried about something you said ...” she raised a light brown eyebrow. “About his mother.”

“Meddling kids.” I muttered, pulling the notebook from the drawer.

My daughter laughed. “Mom, this isn’t Scooby Doo, and you aren’t Velma. Jake says you’re looking through Mitzi’s things for a clue to who might have killed her. Shouldn’t you be leaving this to the police?”

My voice rose. “The police? They think I did it. I have to clear my name don’t I? Besides I’m more of a Daphne, than a Velma. “

She slipped into a kitchen chair. “You’re kidding. Right?” Concern laced her delicate features.

I joined her at the table. “Nope, I’m a Daphne not a Velma.” The cheeky grin I gave her did not soften my daughter.

“Mom, you know that’s not what I was talking about.”

“You know they took me in shortly afterwards. Well, I’ve been in several times since then. This last time, I’d had enough. I’m going to find Mitzi’s killer and clear my name.”

“I don’t know. This could be dangerous.” Her gaze met mine across the table.

“I’m not doing anything dangerous. Just asking a few questions. Following in her footsteps and having a good time.”

“Having fun! Having fun! Have you lost your mind?” Her voice went so high I’m sure only dolphins and I could understand her now.

I laughed. She stared at me as if I’d grown fangs. “Look Megan. All I’ve done is join Mitzi’s old writing class and gone to her church. Does that sound dangerous to you?” From the look on her face, I gathered she didn’t buy it and thought both actions meant I was in mortal danger.

Suspicion laced her voice when she asked. “Really? Then, where does Brandon Harvest come into all this?”

My little girl had done her homework. “He’s my writing instructor.”

“Interesting.” A relieved smile touched her lips. “Is that why you purchased a date with him at the high school auction?”

Heat filled my face. “That was an accident.”

She laughed.

Later, after an old movie and tons of iced tea and popcorn, I hugged my daughter goodbye. “Tell Greg I said hello.”

“I will.” She walked to her car and then turned back around. “Mom, please be careful.”

I laughed. “Going to writing class and church have never been dangerous. But, I will.”

Megan smiled, waved, and then got in her car and drove away.

The sounds of rustling in the bushes scared me. I turned to see what made the noise. Sara stood up.

“I’m sorry, Claire. I hope I didn’t scare you.” She sniffled. “I just came by to see if you have any chicken soup.”

“Sure. Come on inside.” I wondered what she’d been doing in the bushes.

Sara followed. “Did you get a new cat?” she asked as she closed the back door behind us.

“No.” I walked to the canned good cabinet. “Why?”

The sound of the blowing of a nose filled my ears. When Sara finished, she answered. “I thought I saw a black one dash into those bushes by the house.”

I sighed. That explained her lurking in my shrubbery. “Oh, I think we have a new stray. I saw him the other day, too.” The chicken soup was behind the tomato soup and I pulled it out and handed it over to Sara. “It seems I only have one can. Will that be enough?”

“Oh yes, thank you.” She took the soup. “I’m going to go now; I’d hate to get you sick, too.”

I followed her to the door. “Well, if you need anything else, please feel free to ask.”

“Thanks again.” She waved and left.

Exhaustion washed over me. I made my way to the bedroom and undressed for bed. The light on my answering machine blinked up at me. When had anyone called? I hit the play button and a gravely voice filled the room. “Leave Mitzi’s death alone. I’d hate for you to get hurt, too.”

I flipped through the caller ID. No new number filled the screen. As my heart pounded in my chest, I felt the need to call Brandon. I pushed the thought away. What would he think? Who would leave such a message? And how had it gotten on there?

Maybe if I played it again, it wouldn’t sound as threatening. I reached to push play but accidentally hit delete. No one would believe me now. The number wasn’t listed on my caller ID. I had no proof that anyone had called.

The need to call Brandon resurfaced, and this time I gave in.

****

The next morning, I dressed in a soft yellow pantsuit. One of my favorites because it’s made of cotton and feels much like wearing pajamas but looks nicer. Today I’d need the comfort. I looked to the heavens and said a soft prayer. “Lord, be with me as I do what must be done today. I know Mitzi is in heaven now, but honestly, it hurts to know she is no longer here. Thank you, Father, for giving Your comfort now in my time of need.”

The sound of wheels on the drive halted my prayer. I didn’t have more to say anyway. God would have to offer the consolation I needed to get through this day. “Amen.”

Picking up my pocketbook, I opened the back door to a smiling Brandon. He’d offered to help move out Mitzi’s things and had even volunteered to pick up boxes for packing. I smiled at the man who was swiftly creating a place for himself in my heart. For now, I labeled the spot as friendship. But I had to admit, he looked mighty fine for a man who spent most of the night on the phone with me.

“Feeling any better this morning?” He asked as he took my elbow and helped me down the back steps.

I didn’t need the help but with his warm palm cradling my rough elbow, who was I to complain? Chivalry didn’t come by everyday. I made a mental note to add extra lotion to my nightly routine and elbows, just in case this became a habit of his.

“I’m much better, thank you.” I allowed him to guide us to his waiting pickup.

He held my door open and waited for me to settle onto the seat before he closed the door. Brandon hurried around the hood of the vehicle and pulled himself into the cab. His cologne filled the small space, and I inhaled deeply. Its woodsy scent filled me with warmth and a desire to think of this outing as a date. I silently chastised myself. This was not a date. I had Mitzi to think about.

Thoughts of Brandon filtered in. Stop Claire! I repeated the order to myself, while I tried to ignore the warmth that consumed me inside the cab of the pickup.

Once we were on the road toward Mitzi’s, I said. “I’ve been thinking about that call.”

He glanced in my direction. “And?”

“Now we know for sure Mitzi was murdered. I’d kind of hoped it was just a wild goose chase and that I’d find nothing but feathers at the end of the trail. But, now it’s real. Very real.” I clutched my hands together to hide their telltale shaking.

Brandon reached across and covered my hands with his. “I know.” He squeezed my fingers gently and then returned his hand to the steering wheel.

“Thanks for coming with me to Mitzi’s. I’m dreading the task ahead.”

He glanced across and smiled. “I can understand why you’d dread it. I’m glad I can be here to help. Together we should be able to do it quickly.”

I thought about Mitzi’s small apartment and knew he was right. A hallway led down to a living room, dining room, and kitchen that were one small room. A bedroom and bath sat off to one side and behind them. It shouldn’t take long.

He pulled into the driveway and shut off the motor. Then Brandon opened his door and hurried around the pickup to help me out. “I’m here, if you should need me.” He offered in a soft voice.

“I appreciate that,” I said, aware once more that he held my elbow in his palm.

We made our way inside and looked about. Furniture lined the walls of the living room and dining area. Brandon whistled low. “It might take longer than I thought.”

“Mitzi was a pack rat.” I muttered, looking at the shelves of knickknacks, picture frames, piles of books and papers and other assorted odds and ends.

“I’m going to go grab some boxes and be right back.” He left.

Emptiness and silence filled me. Where does one start to pack away someone else’s life? I moved into the kitchen area. It was clean, other than a couple of glasses.

I swallowed, closed my eyes and then turned to the dining table. I opened my eyes. Everything had been taken from the scene of the crime. Red specks marred the wall and grey carpet, but all else had vanished. For a brief moment I wondered if the police had cleaned up the scene or if Mitzi’s landlord had done so.

Brandon came through the hallway once more. “Here we are.” He lay several flat boxes down and then picked one up and began putting it together.

A pile of newspapers sat beside the door. Another gift from the landlord? Maybe. I moved to the first whatnot shelf and began wrapping the crystal figurines into the newspapers, each one represented a part of Mitzi’s life. I wondered briefly what had happened to the crystal salt and pepper shakers I’d given her as an apartment-warming gift when she’d moved in here. They should have been on this shelf. They probably had been knocked off and broke.

We worked for several hours. Mitzi’s collectibles filled the boxes, and the many shelves and curio cabinets were empty. Sorrow threatened to overcome me. I’d packed all her bank papers and other important documents into a box and labeled it “papers for her son to go through later.”

Brandon picked up two boxes and headed back down the hallway. I took the paper-filled box and carried it out, too. As I set it in the front seat, I thought about my own death and cleanup.

Death is nothing to fear. I just need to prepare for it. My thoughts moved to making a will. Even though Megan and Greg will inherit all my possessions it still needs to be put in writing, I thought, closing the door and following Brandon back inside.

He took two more boxes and I another. I also decided to hire a cleanup crew to pack my things. The thought of Megan having to do it tore at my heart. This job is hard enough for a lifelong friend; I couldn’t imagine Megan’s sorrow at having to do it for me.

My parents had been killed in a rafting accident when I was a little girl. My brother and I moved to my grandparents’. And then, when my grandparents died, I’d been with my husband, Frank, and we’d had no money to travel back for the funeral. So this was new to me.

Frank’s death had hit hard, and I’d gone through his things gradually. Not packed it all up at one time and moved it away never to be seen again. That sorrowful thought brought fresh tears to my eyes.

“Thanks Dan. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Brandon snapped his cell phone shut. “That’s the last of the boxes.” He offered turning to me.

I sat on the steps of Mitzi’s apartment. I felt drained of all energy. Brandon sat beside me. He leaned against one of the metal railings.

“You’ve been awful quiet.” He observed.

I offered a smile, knowing it was weak. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been very good company, have I?”

“Nope.” A smile touched his lips and a teasing light filled his eyes.

I laughed. His honesty was refreshing. Brandon Harvest didn’t give me the opportunity to wallow in my grief. For that I was grateful. “Come on, I’ll help you load the furniture.” I started to stand but his warm hand caught mine, and he gently tugged me back down.

“Dan Barton and a few of the men from church are on their way. We’ll get the rest of the stuff from the living room when they get here.”

“Bless their hearts. I’ll have to fix them all dinner sometime. Do you think they’ll mind grabbing the bed and dressers at the same time?”

Brandon smiled and nodded. “Sure we can do that. Speaking of food, do you still plan to attend the women’s meeting this evening at church?”

“I’d like to.” I’d forgotten all about the meeting. A glance at my watch told me it was almost lunchtime. If the men hurried, I could have the furniture in the storage building and start sorting the rest of the papers and packing the other stuff this afternoon. The weight of weariness bore down on my shoulders.

He nodded. “Good. I need to finish a couple of small projects this afternoon. After we finish up with this, how would you like to go grab some lunch?”

A lunch date. The thought thrilled me and refreshed my tired body. “I’d like that.” I stared into his eyes. They softened.

The sound of doors slamming drew our attention. Three men, including Dan, moved up the sidewalk toward us. I smiled at the trio. Dan was in his forties with blond hair and brown eyes. I’d say he was about five-ten.

His companions, Josh and Tony, looked to be his age or younger. I was happy to see those young men. They were brothers. With black hair and blue eyes, they looked to be twins.

Brandon stood and shook Dan’s hand. “I’m sure glad to see you boys.” His charming smile did things to my heart that shouldn’t happen to an older woman like me.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 10

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” Lori Haywood asked me. The pastor’s wife slipped into a chair to my right.

“Never. But I do enjoy it.” I placed two wiggly eyes on my potato, and then drew two lines at the bottom and two on the sides to make a stick man. I was working on “American Potato Salad,” and the recipe was one of my favorites.

Lori laughed. “That is just too cute. Care if I steal the idea?”

I added an American flag die cut to the top of the page. “Not at all.”

“Thanks.” She pulled a sheet of brown card stock toward her, and I watched as she cut out the body and then began creating black spots on the paper. While she worked, I tried to figure out how to bring up the subject of Mitzi.

Mrs. Williams sat on my left. She smiled over at Lori and me. “Lori, do her pages remind you of someone’s?”

My eyes moved back to the layout and then to Lori’s serious face.

A sad smile touched her lips. “Mitzi’s.”

“Really? I didn’t know Mitzi made recipe scrap book pages.” I swung my head back and forth to look at the two women.

“She joined us last year.” Lori offered sadly. She picked up a pair of scissors and cut out the potato outline.

It became obvious that Lori didn’t plan on adding more information. There were so many things I didn’t know about my best friend. Never had I imagined she liked doing scrap booking, of any kind. I turned to Mrs. Williams. “What happened to her pages?”

“Oh, they went into the book.” She waved her hand in dismissal and acted as if this information should be public knowledge.

I worked silently for a few moments as I thought about the things I hadn’t shared with my friend. Mitzi scrap-booked, took a creative writing class with handsome instructors, and was in a Rose Hat Club that I’d never joined. I wondered how much more there had been to her that I didn’t know or realize. I tried to pull myself away from the depressing thoughts. “Do you two know of anyone who would want to hurt Mitzi?”

Mrs. Williams huffed. “That sweet little thing? As far as I know, everyone loved her.”

“It’s true. Here Mitzi was loved by one and all.” Lori agreed.

I wanted to agree, but knew it wasn’t true. Someone had hated Mitzi enough to murder her.

Mrs. Williams handed me a bowl of chocolate candy with peanuts. I scooped out a handful and then passed it on to Lori. When I looked up, I saw that Margery Bryant stood in front of our table. Her green eyes sparkled with joy. I wondered if the woman ever felt sad. I’d been introduced to her earlier, and her expression had been the same—full of joy and happiness expression. She was a chubby woman with red hair. Did the color come from the bottle or had she never turned grey? I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter, she just made me feel happy and welcome to be in the same circle as she.

“How’s it going, Claire?”

I held up the recipe page. “What do you think?”

She laughed. “I like it.” Her gaze moved to Lori’s paper piecing. “I see the potato man is a hit.”

Lori grinned. “It sure is.”

“Claire, when you come to a stopping point, would you mind having a cup of tea with me?” Margery asked.

I looked at the recipe page. “I think it’s finished.” I stood and stretched. “I’m ready for a break now, if you are.”

“Great.”

Margery led the way to the church’s cozy kitchen. I enjoyed this room best. Its decorations provided a country cottage theme. The counters were scattered with cookies, cupcakes, and all types of snack mixes. Tea and coffee pots lined another table against the far wall. A row of Tupperware glasses sat beside two different flavored teas.

I stopped and filled two glasses with ice from a bowl that sat close by. Margery smiled and visited with another woman I’d not had the pleasure of meeting yet.

“I think this one is a raspberry blend.” A teenager indicated the teapot with tiny pink roses painted on its sides. “And this one is Lemon Twist.”

I smiled at her. “Why thank you. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Claire Parker.” I poured raspberry tea into one of the glasses.

“I’m Olivia.” Her cheeks filled with a soft cherry hue. Freckles blanketed her nose under her green eyes. Light strands of strawberry blond hair framed a heart shaped face.

“It’s nice to meet you, Olivia.”

She dropped her voice down to a whisper and glanced around. “A rumor is going around that you are here looking for Ms. Douglas’s killer.” Olivia looked over her shoulder.

I laughed and prayed it didn’t sound phony. Then I leaned forward and whispered back to her, “I’m here because I wanted to see what Mitzi’s church was like. This cookbook sounded so fun that I decided to attend today.”

Her face lost some of its animation. “Oh, so you aren’t looking for her killer?”

The desire to lie and say no grew strong but I knew it wouldn’t be right. “Oh yes, I am looking for her murderer. But, it’s not a matter of looking here. Mitzi was my best friend and I feel close to her here, among her friends. Plus, with her death I realized I wanted to get back into crafts. This cookbook is a way for me to ease back into them.”

A new grin lit up her freckles. “Good. I don’t know who killed Ms. Douglas but I would love to help you find out.” She clapped her hands drawing attention to us.

It was as if the child hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “Thanks, Olivia. I’ll call on you if I come across something I could use your help with.” I added a teaspoon of sugar to my tea.

Margery chose that moment to join us. She picked up the yellow glass I’d filled with ice and poured lemon tea. “I see you’ve met my granddaughter, Olivia.”

I took a sip of the sweet tea and nodded.

“Run along, Olivia. Claire and I will catch up with you later.”

Olivia hugged her grandmother. “Okay, Nana. I’ll see you ladies later.” She winked in my direction and hurried off.

Margery laughed. “That child is always up to something.” She looked to me. “And, I think you know what it is this time.”

“Yes, I do.” We walked to a small round table in the corner of the room and sat down. “She wants to help me uncover Mitzi’s murderer.”

The smile dropped from Margery’s face. “I don’t want my granddaughter involved in that. It isn’t safe.” Her voice had turned waspish, and I knew then and there that sweet, loveable Mrs. Bryant wasn’t a woman to be crossed.

I set my glass down. “I agree. All I’m doing is asking a few questions. I’ll leave the real work to the police.”

She studied my face for several moments. Satisfied, she smiled, “I’m sorry. I get a little protective of my family.”

“That is totally understandable.” I took another sip of the cold liquid and savored the sweet fruitiness of the drink.

Margery sipped her tea, too, and then asked. “Have you ever thought about joining a Rose Hat Club? We recently lost one of our members and your name has been brought to the membership drive committee as a possible replacement.”

“Honestly, I haven’t but now that Mitzi is gone I think I’d like to make new friends. I know she loved her group.”

Margery’s face filled with sorrow. “Yes, it is hard to replace Mitzi. It’s a comfort to know that she loved us as much as we loved her.”

My heart ached. So this was Mitzi’s group and they wanted me to fill her hat so to speak. “What exactly are the requirements for joining the group?”

“It’s an undemanding group. Once a week we get together for an afternoon tea. We used to hold it at Mitzi’s, but now we have moved it to my house. Mostly we have a good time of dressing up in red and purples, and we go out to lunch once a month. Attend concerts, plays, craft shows, just all kinds of fun things together.”

I smiled, remembering all the times Mitzi had tried to get me to join in the fun. “I think I’d enjoy that.”

“Good.” She handed me a business card that read, MAD HATTERS. The rest of the information was Margery’s address, phone number and a cute saying that read. “Alice’s queen had nothing on me!”

“This is a cute card.” I ran my finger over the red embossed hat in the left hand corner.

“If you like us, I’ll tell you where you can get them made. We’re having our weekly tea Thursday morning at nine. Be sure and come a few minutes early, that way I can introduce you to the other ladies as they arrive.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m glad you’re interested in joining us. I’ll see you Thursday.”

Margery walk away. She was an interesting woman. My first impression was that nothing ruffled her feathers but then when I’d told her about Olivia’s hopes of helping me find Mitzi’s murderer, she’d turned into a ferocious mama bear. Had Mitzi brought out that emotion in Margery? And if so, would the grandmother be willing to kill to protect her family?

The tea no longer tasted sweet on my tongue.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 11

“You’ve been quiet this morning.” Brandon observed.

He sat on the floor of Mitzi’s bedroom watching me go though papers I’d found in the side dresser beside Mitzi’s bed. There were book marks, patterned note paper, cards from her son, and a few manuscript pages she’d jotted notes on.

“It’s just hard to go through her things. This just, seems so final.” A sob built in my throat, and my eyes began to sting.

He was at my side in seconds. His strong arms wrapped me up close to his chest, and the dam broke. I knew my tears were soaking his shirt, but I couldn’t stop the flow. Feelings of loss, loneliness, and deep sorrow drew on the fountain of tears that I poured upon him.

Then anger consumed me. Someone had taken the life of my best friend, and thus far, had gotten away with it. I gently pushed away from Brandon.

“Feeling better?” He asked, handing me a tissue.

How does one delicately blow one’s nose in front of the man she’s just drenched with tears? Plus, answer a stupid question without being sarcastic?

“Excuse me.” I sniffled and moved to Mitzi’s small bathroom. I turned on the overhead fan and blew my nose like a woman with a faulty drip.

Then I returned to the bedroom. Plastered on what I hoped was a sweet smile and said. “Much better, thank you.”

The man burst out laughing. I couldn’t believe him. Here I had cried all over his shirt, and he was laughing. I stared in wonder.

And then he snorted.

The shocked expression on his face sent me into giggles. His cheeks filled with red and his ears looked like scarlet lollipops. Anyone watching us would have thought we were insane as we both filled Mitzi’s house with laughter.

Just as she would have wanted.

The thought comforted me.

“What’s this?” Brandon asked, picking up the story I’d found in the drawer.

I scooped up the bookmarks and cards. “It’s a manuscript Mitzi was working on.” Should I toss them out or box them for Jake?

“No it isn’t.” His head was lowered, soft locks of brown hair begged to be touched. I wadded up a postcard and then focused on spreading it back out.

“It isn’t?”

He didn’t answer for several moments. “Nope, I’ve seen her handwriting and this isn’t it.” He held the paper up for me to study.

Why hadn’t I noticed that? Mitzi’s writing was more flowing, less blocky. “Then whose is this?”

He pulled it back toward him. “Do you think her son would mind if I hung on to this for a little while?”

“I’m sure Jake won’t care.”

While Brandon read, I finished cleaning out the drawer. Her date book sat off to the side. I picked it up put it in my purse. There wasn’t a lot left, and I really didn’t want to do anymore today. I glanced over at him. Black mascara marred his blue t-shirt from my cry fest earlier.

He looked up. His gaze met mine and he grinned. “Sorry. I got involved in this story. Whoever wrote it is good.”

“Mitzi good?”

Brandon scooted to the edge of the bed. “No, Mitzi had talent but she didn’t write mysteries. Her stories were more along the line of young adult.”

I sat down beside him. “That’s a part of her life I wasn’t involved in. Were her stories good?”

He folded the papers down the center and unfolded them again. “Her stories were sweet. She wrote about princesses and knights.” A soft laugh escaped him. “Only her princesses weren’t weak. She usually had the knight in jeopardy and in need of rescuing.” His eyes took on a far away look. Sorrow filled his face.

Was that the face of a man who’d lost a friend or the woman he loved? I didn’t want to focus on the thought that he might have loved Mitzi as a man loves a woman. I patted his knee. “How about you and I go get something to eat?”

He nodded and stood. “She really was a special lady, wasn’t she?”

“Yes she was.” I couldn’t contain the question that screamed through my mind as he led the way down the narrow hallway and to the front door. “Were you two romantically involved?”

Brandon turned with his hand on the doorknob. A soft smile touched his lips. “No, we were friends.”

I felt happy to know Mitzi and Brandon hadn’t been involved. It shouldn’t have been important to me, but it was. His words made my heart flutter, and the look on his face said he knew how I felt.

Embarrassed, I muttered, “Come, on. I’ll meet you at my house in ten minutes for a home cooked meal.” Then, I walked past him with my cheeks feeling as if someone held a heater too close to them.

“Right behind you.” Brandon pulled the door closed after us and locked it.

Ten minutes later, he pulled his pickup into the driveway behind me. Sprocket woofed a hello and stuck his head through the fence for a scratch behind the ears. I promised to take him on a walk first thing tomorrow morning and then hurried inside ahead of Brandon.

The scent of roast beef filled my senses as I entered the kitchen. My stomach growled and I smiled. What man could resist homemade roast beef?

“Wow, something smells really good in here.”

The old cliché the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach filtered through my mind as I tossed my pocketbook on the counter and grabbed an apron off the hook just inside the pantry door. “I put a roast in the crock pot earlier today. Have a seat at the table, and I’ll whip up some corn bread to go with our meal.”

“I see you baked, too.”

What? Who baked? Not me. I turned to see him pulling a pan of brownies toward him. Panic gripped my throat and cut off my air. “Wait. I didn’t bake brownies.” I hurried across the floor to the kitchen table.

He motioned toward an envelope. “Looks like someone left you a note.”

I scooped it off the table and ripped the paper open. A card slid out. Flowers decorated the paper in bright colors. Thinking of you was inscribed on the front. I opened it and read aloud. “Love, Mom.” Even if my mother were still alive, this isn’t her handwriting. The thought took me by surprise. Whose was it?

Brandon popped a brownie from the pan. “See, they’re from your mom.” He brought it to his lips.

I reached out and stopped him. “No, they aren’t. My mother died in a rafting accident when I was a child.”

He quirked an eyebrow at me.

I nodded. “I was raised by my grandparents, who are dead now, too.”

Brandon placed the treat back in the pan. “Why don’t you call the police?” He wiped his hands of crumbs.

Yes, I needed to call the police. How could someone have left brownies in my kitchen unless they’d been in the house? How had they gained access? My heart thumped with fear, and I silently thanked the Lord above for keeping me safe.

“Do you want me to do it?” Brandon asked, pulling me from my thoughts and prayers.

I pushed up from the chair I’d sat in, unawares. “No, I’ll do it.” My hand shook as I picked up the receiver.

Dispatch answered. “Detective Howard, please.”

His gruff voice barked through the lines. I glanced at Brandon, who frowned at the pan of brownies.

“Detective, this is Claire Parker. Would you come to my house, now please?” I explained about the pan of brownies and then hung up with his promise to be right over and his demand that I not touch anything. “He’s on his way.” I informed Brandon.

He looked up. “You know, I think I’ve lost my appetite for roast beef. What do you say I order a pizza?”

“I agree. The meat might be tainted also.” The thought that I’d need to clean out all the containers in my refrigerator rattled through my mind as I continued. “But I’ll order the pizza. This was supposed to be my thank you dinner for helping me at Mitzi’s.” I picked up the phone and ordered a large pizza with everything. Pizza might be tomorrow’s meal, too; I also ordered a two-liter of diet soda and one regular for Brandon.

Then, I moved to sit back down. My gaze wouldn’t stay off that plate of brownies. A chill ran down my spine. Even the thought of pizza turned my stomach.

It was an ordinary aluminum pan; anyone could have gotten it and baked the brownies. But, why lie and say they were from my mother? Why not just say, I made you brownies?

The answer hit me in the gut, taking my breath away. Because they are poisoned. Just like the lasagna that killed Mitzi. Someone wanted me dead, just like my best friend. But why?

****

An hour later, sitting in my living room, I told Detective Howard—again—that I didn’t know who would want to poison me. I was truly tired of answering his questions. The detective had called in several other policemen who had dusted for fingerprints, trampled the flowers under my windowsills, and pretty much asked me so many questions my head had started to ache. Now, the only one left was Detective Howard, and he’d given us permission to move about the house as we pleased again, but he was still questioning me.

I could hear Brandon rummaging through the kitchen.

“Have you been asking questions about Mitzi’s case?” he asked. The officer jotted the answer on his pad of paper before I could answer him.

The man must think me stupid. “You know I have.” I answered.

“I suggest you stop.” He answered. “Leave Mitzi’s case to us. We’ll find her killer.”

He had my interest. I scooted to the edge of the couch and asked. “You have new leads?”

His steel blue eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I can’t give out that information, Ms. Parker.”

“Is there anything you can tell me? Like if the brownies are poisoned?” Bitterness laced my voice.

The detective stood. “That I can tell you but not before we get the results from the lab. Until then, stay out of this investigation, Ms. Parker.”

Yeah right. I arranged a smile on my face and showed him to the door.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 12

When I returned to the living room, Brandon had filled two glasses with soda. He handed me a paper plate. “You have no intentions of butting out of this case, do you?”

My appetite came back in full force at the aroma of warm pizza. “Not on your life.” I smiled and picked up a slice. I almost took a bite but noticed that Brandon sat with his hands in his lap. “Something wrong?”

He grinned. “I was just going to say grace.”

I laid the pizza back down on my plate. “Oh, sorry. I forgot.”

“Not a problem.” He lowered his head and said a quick prayer over the food.

How could I have forgotten to pray? I’d been praying over my food all my life. Seldom did I forget. The desire to make an excuse popped into my head, but I chose not to do so. Instead I silently said my own prayer of thanks.

“So what now?” Brandon asked, picking up a slice of pizza and then taking a big bite.

The smell of pepperoni and onions filled the warm air. I inhaled deeply before answering. “The police will test the brownies and the roast beef, after that I’m not sure. Someone doesn’t like my asking questions. But, who?” Cheese coated my tongue as I chewed.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” He took a swig of cola and swallowed hard. Concern laced his eyes.

I swallowed the now-dry pizza. “Whoever it is, they don’t know much about my life.”

He continued to study me. “No, if they did they would know your mother doesn’t live around here.”

I knew he was trying to be sensitive by not saying that they didn’t know my mother was dead. It was sweet…But, must focus on the matter at hand, not about him being sweet and handsome right now. “So, I’m going to assume it was someone who I’ve just met.” I folded a napkin in my lap.

Brandon picked up another slice of pizza. “It would seem that way. Did anyone act upset that you were asking questions about Mitzi?”

“Not really. Most just showed sorrow for her death.” I scooted back in the chair, my mind working to remember if anyone acted suspiciously. Margery Williams had gotten upset, but I thought that was because of her granddaughter Olivia. Could she be hiding something?

The doorbell rang.

For a brief moment, panic welled up inside me. Having someone break into your home causes you to behave a little irrational at the slightest sound. The killer wouldn’t ring the doorbell I thought as I made my way to answer it. Maybe one of the policemen had forgotten something.

My neighbor, Sara, stared down at me. “Are you okay?”

I sighed and pulled the door open. “Come on in, Sara. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I saw the police drive away a few moments ago.” She followed me through the entryway and into the living room.

Brandon stood when we entered. He’s such a gentleman. I ogled him for several long moments. Stop staring, you ninny, and introduce him to your neighbor. I continued into the room. “Sara, I’d like you to meet Brandon Harvest.”

They shook hands. I couldn’t help thinking how meeting Sara must feel like meeting another man. She shook his hand long and hard.

“Sara lives next door.”

She dropped his hand and moved to sit on the chair I’d just vacated, leaving me to join Brandon on the couch. Once we were all seated again, I said, “Sara, would you like to join us?”

A smile touched her lips. “Sure. Thanks.”

I stood and handed her a paper plate and napkin. “I’ll go get you something to drink. What will it be? Diet cola, cola, or water?”

“Just water, please.” Sara grabbed three slices and dropped them onto her plate. Her gaze never left Brandon.

When I returned they were talking about the college. But as soon as I sat back down Sara turned troubled brown eyes on me. “What were the police doing here? I was worried about you.”

I wasn’t sure how much to tell her but then thought if someone were out to hurt me they might try to hurt her, too. “Someone broke into my house today.”

She looked about. “Did they take anything valuable?”

The urge to laugh hit me. “No, actually they left me a present.”

Her black curls bounced as her head swung back around and she faced me. A frown marred her smooth forehead. “And you called the cops on them?”

“It wasn’t a nice present.” Brandon inserted. He sat back on the sofa and rested his arm across the back.

“Oh?”

“No, it was a pan of brownies.”

The frown deepened. She hesitated but asked. “And you don’t like brownies?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Her expression, and the way I explained it just struck my funny bone. Or, maybe it happened because I was overly tired. Either reason, I laughed.

She looked at Brandon. “I don’t understand.”

He shook his head. “I don’t blame you.”

I tried to sober and explain. “When I came home tonight there was a pan of brownies waiting for me. I don’t know who they came from but whoever it was had to break into the house to get them on the kitchen table. So, we called the police. I think the brownies were poisoned.” I gasped for breath and then exhaled.

Sara tilted her head to the side and studied me. It felt as if she’d speared me and placed me under a microscope before she finally asked. “What made you think the brownies were poisoned?”

The question truly sobered me. “Mitzi was poisoned with a pan of lasagna. So I assumed that the brownies were poison-laced, too. I’m praying I’m wrong.”

“What did you do with them?” Sara took a bite of the pizza and sighed.

“The police took them.” Brandon answered. I felt him gently pull me back to the couch. One hand massaged my shoulder.

She stopped chewing. “Why?”

“To test them for drugs or poison,” I muttered, enjoying the warmth of his palm. I hadn’t realized how tight my shoulders had become.

“Because Mitzi had been poisoned?”

All I could do was nod. Brandon now massaged both shoulders. It seemed to me the girl was awful dense if we had to explain every detail to her.

“I thought you said they didn’t know how Mitzi died.”

Her voice came out low and dangerous sounding. Had I imagined it? I raised my head to look at her. She seemed at ease, but I noticed Brandon had quit massaging my neck and shoulders. Had he heard it, too?

She opened her mouth as if to say something else and then she coughed and quickly grabbed the glass of water. For several moments she fought the cough by pouring more water down her throat.

Finally, looking up through tear filled eyes she said, “I’m sorry. Since I’ve been sick my voice does this funky thing and then I seem to choke on air. I’m sorry.” Her cheeks were now filled with red color.

“Oh that’s okay. As long as you’re all right.” I handed her another napkin.

Brandon spoke as he resumed his massaging, and I leaned back again. “I hate when my throat catches like that. At least you have the excuse of being sick.”

I couldn’t see him, but was sure he smiled at her.

She finished her pizza and stood. “Thanks for dinner. I’m going to head on home now. I need to water my plants.”

Reluctantly, I stood and followed her to the door. I heard footsteps behind me and turned to look. Brandon followed us. It felt good knowing he was there. I dreaded the time that he’d have to go home, too.

Sara moved through the screened-in porch and opened the door. Just before stepping off the last step she turned. “I’m glad you’re okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

I watched her move across the front yard, pat Sprocket on the head, and then go on to her house. She turned and waved when she got to her porch.

“She seems really nice.” Brandon placed one hand on my shoulder and one on the door facing.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed his comforting presence. He gave me a sense of well-being and safety. I could get used to this.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 13

“Oh, she is very nice.” A little weird but who isn’t?

He stepped back. I missed his warmth immediately. “You know. I’ve been thinking and maybe you shouldn’t stay here tonight.” He leaned against the doorway that led back into the house.

“Where should I stay?” I crossed my arms and waited.

“Don’t you have a daughter that you can stay with?”

If the man had said my place I would have thrown something at him. But, he hadn’t. He’d proven once more that Brandon Harvest was a true gentleman.

I relaxed. “I’m not going to bother Megan with this, and I’m not going to live in fear.”

He pushed away from the doorframe and turned toward the living room. “Well, don’t you have friends you could stay with?”

Wasn’t he listening? I’d just told him I wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe with men it’s more complicated to hear. Or maybe he was just being stubborn. Well two could play that game. “I said no, Brandon. I’m staying right here.”

He turned to face me. His hands came up and a smile touched his lips. “Ok. I give. You’re staying here. I get it.”

Later, I wished I’d taken his advice. The house was so quiet and every time it settled my flesh crawled with fear. Thoughts of someone breaking in and force-feeding me poisoned food ran through my mind. Even though it was silly, I couldn’t get past those thoughts.

I hurried and got ready for bed. Sounds filled the night.

A dog barked. Was it Sprocket?

No.

My heart pounded. I grabbed the edge of the dresser and pushed with all my might. It moved against the door. I panted and listened.

This is ridiculous. I moved to my bedside and knelt.

I tried to remember a scripture about fear. Panic threatened to overtake me when, for several minutes, my mind remained blank and only cold fear could be found. Then it was there like a beacon in the night, Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows. Matthew 10:31 Prayers of thanksgiving burst from my lips, and then I crawled into my bed.

Sleep slowly settled over me but the fear had vanished. I nestled down under the covers, with the assurance that the Lord was with me.

****

The sun filtered through my curtains. I stretched and yawned. The desire to roll over and sleep away the day fought strongly with my desire not to become a sloth in my old age.

My gaze moved to the dresser I’d pushed in front of the door the night before. That explained the soreness in my arms. “Crazy old woman,” I muttered to myself as I shoved the covers back, and forced tired leg muscles to work. A warm shower might get the circulation going again and help with the soreness in my arms and shoulders. Maybe.

I moved stiffly to the dresser and pushed and shoved against it. It inched across the carpeted floor and for a brief moment, I wished for the adrenaline of fear that had possessed me the night before. Once it rested in its usual spot, I rested for a few minutes and then pulled clean clothes from the dressers depths. I hurried to the shower.

For the first time in years, I pushed in the knob to lock the bathroom door. I turned on the water and soon the room filled with warm steam and the scent of my lavender body wash. I’d chosen lavender because it was supposed to help me relax but could I relax knowing a killer had been in my house?

I could. And I would. The soothing scent washed over me, and soon I felt much better. “Fear will not win.” I declared as I dried the moisture from my body. That too seemed to give me confidence I could face the day.

So much so that I donned my favorite hot pink tee shirt that proclaimed, in flashy silver letters, ONE HOT CHICK. Next I pulled on a pair of blue jeans.

My flowerbeds were begging to be weeded, and I had decided I’d see them weed-free by the end of the day. After tying my shoelaces, I stood, smiled into the mirror and opened the bedroom door. I took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen for a scrambled egg and a slightly browned piece of toast.

The sound of something scraping across the front porch froze my confident steps. I stopped breathing and listened. No further sound met my ears. After several minutes of standing like a statue, I realized it was all in my head.

Exhaling, I moved on down the hall to the living room. I’d almost made it into the kitchen when I heard a thump come from the direction of the front porch. This time I dropped to the floor and panted with fear.

Sunlight filtered through the windows. I could hear a lawn mower running somewhere on the block. Everything seemed and sounded normal. But, I knew someone was on my front porch.

With the bravery of a wet worm, I pushed myself from the floor, tiptoed to the kitchen, found my big butcher knife, and then hugged the walls back to the living room. Furniture kept me from clinging to the wall in the living room. I stooped low and duck-walked to the door. Just as I got to it, someone knocked. My heart leaped, my pulse quit beating, and for a moment I thought I was going to die from lack of oxygen to my brain.

“Claire!”

It was Brandon. I still couldn’t move from my bent position.

“Honey, I know you’re there. I heard you coming. Open the door.”

Honey? Honey? The man had scared me out of my wits, and he had the nerve to call me honey? If I wasn’t so relieved to hear his voice I think I’d kill him with the big knife in my hands. No, that wouldn’t do. Detective Howard would lock me up for sure.

I stood slowly. Hid the knife in a potted plant beside the door and ran my sweaty palms down my jean legs before opening the door.

He smiled. “I thought I heard you up and about. What does a fella have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?”

A desire to slap that knowing smile off his face was strong. Instead of answering him I asked a question of my own. “What are you doing here so early?”

He stepped to his left and leaned on the doorframe. With one hand he gestured toward my cozy morning corner and said. “I slept here last night. Hope you don’t mind.”

One look at his rumpled clothes and messed hair confirmed he was telling the truth. “Why?”

A slight flush filled his cheeks and he looked down at his shoes. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you being here all alone and scared, so I came back. But the house was dark, and then I got to thinking what if the killer came back.”

I could have helped him out but after the scare he’d just given me I wasn’t feeling too charitable so I waited until he realized he’d have to explain himself completely.

“I was worried about you so I made a bed of your reclining chair and stayed the night.” He offered that boyish grin that I couldn’t seem to resist and finished, “So see? I protected you. Think you could reward me with a cup of coffee?” Rumpled and looking boyish, I couldn’t refuse him.

“Come on in, Sir Harvest, and I’ll prepare you a feast for your night of gallantry.” I turned and walked back toward the kitchen. Aware he couldn’t see my face, I smiled. He’d stayed on the porch all night to protect me. That was about the sweetest and dumbest thing I’d ever heard of.

“Thank you, hot chick.”

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 14

Venturing into the unfamiliar waters of flirtation, I answered. “Why thank you kind Sir. I’m so glad you noticed.”

His warm laughter greeted my ears and warmed my heart. We moved into the kitchen. “Sit down and I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

“Thanks.” He looked out the window that faced Sara’s house. A frown marred his handsome features.

My gaze moved to where he seemed to be looking. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Why was he frowning? He looked lost in thought, maybe it was personal. I decided not to question him about it. If it were something important, or had anything to do with me, I felt sure he’d say something.

I put coffee in the filter and then turned on the coffee maker. “How does eggs and bacon sound?”

“Great.”

Pulling the eggs from the fridge I asked, “How would you like them fixed?” I set the carton on the counter and reached for the bacon.

He turned from the window and grinned. “Scrambled and crispy.”

I smiled. “Me, too.” I ducked my head and went to work preparing my knight in shining armor a breakfast fit for a king.

Soon the fragrant smell of coffee and bacon filled my cozy kitchen. I popped bread into the toaster. Scrambled eggs and set butter and strawberry jam on the table. While I worked I noted that Brandon continued to gaze out the window.

I set plates and silverware down. “Something bothering you?” I asked as I placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

He smiled. “Not really. I was just thinking that if you hung a feeder in front of this window, you could watch the birds while you enjoyed breakfast every morning.”

I poured scrambled eggs from the pan into a bowl. I didn’t buy his story for one moment. But went along with it just the same. “I’ve had the same thought but just haven’t taken the time to hang one.” I added the glass coffee pot to the assortment of breakfast items and took my place.

“Would you like me to give thanks?” He asked, reaching across the table and taking my hand in his.

I nodded and bowed my head. His warm voice washed over me as he thanked the Lord for the food, my safety, and our friendship. I echoed his, “Amen.”

“Do you cook like this every morning?” He asked, after swallowing a bite of eggs.

I buttered my toast. “Not always; why?”

“Well, if I’m going to continue to protect my fair maiden, I want to know what kind of meals I can expect.” He took a cautious sip of coffee and then grinned over the rim of the cup.

I almost dropped the butter knife. “I’m far from a maiden, and I really don’t need protecting, Brandon. It was sweet of you to stay last night, but I’m sure it wasn’t necessary.”

“Ah, but that is where we disagree. Someone wants to kill or hurt you, that makes my staying on the front porch crucial. As long as I’m here, I don’t think the mysterious baker will be making house calls again.” He forked more food in his mouth.

His behavior and the stubbornness of his jaw said that no matter how much I argued he wasn’t going to back down. In all honesty, I didn’t want him to, but I couldn’t let him know that.

“Okay, let’s say I agree. How long do you plan on staying?” I nibbled on my toast.

He swallowed. “Until Mitzi’s killer is caught. I’m sure that you have ruffled his feathers and I, for one, do not want to see you hurt.”

“Brandon, that could be months.” The thought of having him on my front porch for months seemed extreme, but I did like the idea of having him close.

“Maybe. If it does, I’ll just have to make the front porch more comfortable.” He poured himself more coffee.

I couldn’t imagine him spending a month on my porch. “I have a guest room. You can stay there, if you insist on staying.” My coffee needed chocolate. I got up and found some in the pantry.

“No. I won’t have your reputation tarnished because I moved into the house.” Brandon protested.

The laugh burst from my lips. “Come on, we aren’t living in the eighteen hundreds.”

His serious eyes met my laughing ones. “No, but we are still Christians, and I’ll not have people talking trash about us and ruining our Lord’s reputation at the same time.”

The words talking trash weren’t something I would have expected to come from a professor’s mouth, but when he said it like that, I realized he was right. “Man, I hate it when you’re right. OK. How are we going to make the porch comfortable?”

“I’ve got a cot at my house that I sleep on sometimes. It’s comfortable and will fit in that snug cove you’ve created with the potted plants and flowers.” He pushed away from the table and carried his plate and cup to the sink.

I stood to clear the table. “Are you sure you want to go to all this trouble? It might be easier just to ask the police to patrol the neighborhood at night.” I replaced the butter and jam in the fridge.

“Not on your life. I’m staying, and that’s final. You’ll see; it will be no trouble at all.” He opened the dishwasher and put our plates, silverware, and cups inside.

I wiped the table off and replaced my potted plant in the center. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance out of this mess.”

He moved across the floor and pulled me into his embrace. His breath smelled of fresh-brewed coffee. “As long as you are in danger, we’re in this mess together.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

It felt like he kissed the top of my head before he released me and headed toward the door. He stopped in the entryway. “If you don’t have anything pressing to do today, would you like to come to the house and help me gather up that cot and some sheets?”

The thought of spending more time with him tickled me to the toes. I tried not to express how pleased I felt at his invitation. “Sure. As long as we get back here by lunchtime.”

“Not a problem.”

****

I was surprised to learn that Brandon didn’t live that far from me. His two-story house sat beside the lake. Trees lined the shore, and ducks swam about giving the place a sense of serenity.

“With a house like this, why do you sleep on a cot?” I tucked my purse against my side, as he led the way through the garage.

He laughed and opened a side door into a spacious kitchen. “I don’t always sleep on the cot. Just when I go camping.”

“So you aren’t crazy?” I laughed as I followed him through a comfy living room. Its interior held hunter green and soft tan hues. A large couch, recliner, and big screen TV filled most of the room. I noticed a bookshelf and fish tank occupied one corner with plush looking chair and matching end table in the other.

“Of course I am. I’m giving up all this to sleep on your porch.” He laughed, extending his arms to encompass the whole house.

We continued up the staircase and into an exercise room. A treadmill, weight bench, and exercise bike were the instruments of torture here.

He pulled down a ladder from the ceiling. “The cot is up here. I’ll get it.” Brandon climbed the stairs with ease.

I couldn’t imagine how he would get a cot down those steps by himself. All the folding beds I’d seen were heavy and bulky.

A plastic slide slowly came down the stairs. “If you’ll slow it down, I’ll send the bed down.”

“OK.” I moved to the end of the slide.

A few moments later, a folded bed slid down. I caught it at the bottom, moved it off the plastic, and smiled up.

“Good catch.” He pulled the slide back up and within moments stood beside me once more.

“That’s pretty clever.” I said.

He picked up the cot and grinned. “That is something my Dad taught me. He invented all types of things.”

I followed him back out to the pickup. “Did you inherit any of those skills?”

He shoved the cot in the back of the truck and grinned at me. “Come with me and I’ll let you decide if I inherited any of dad’s handiness.”

I felt like a puppy on a leash as he led me once more. We went around the side of the house and across a short back yard to a building that stood off to the side.

“This is my workshop.” He pulled the door open.

The aroma of freshly cut timber filled my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the woody scent. As I stepped over the threshold I realized the floor was covered in sawdust. Two windows allowed the room to fill with sunshine, displaying wonderful raw furniture.

“You made all these?” I ran my hand over a bookshelf. The wood felt warm and soft to the touch.

He leaned against the door jam. “I did. I had planned to finish that dresser this morning, but since you want to get back to your house, I guess it can wait.”

I heard the disappointment in his voice. A glance at my watch revealed it was nine A.M. “We can stay a couple of hours, if you want.”

A smile brightened his face and eyes. “That’s about all the time I’ll need.” He kissed me on the cheek, and then stepped past.

It had been such a quick kiss, and he’d crossed the room and started working before I knew what happened. I asked myself as I walked to a big shade tree with a wooden bench under it in the back yard, did I seem like a star struck girl? Heat filled my cheeks. Probably.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 15

After sitting down, I opened my pocketbook and pulled out Mitzi’s date book. It fell open to today’s date. She had written in purple, Writing Class, wear yellow outfit with my white hat and white daisy earrings.

A smile touched my lips as my gaze moved to the workshop. I could see Brandon through the open door. He lifted his hand and waved. What were my feelings for him? I reminded myself that I didn’t have time to dwell on romance right now. But, if I did, he’d have my undivided attention. The shameful thought took me by surprise.

Well maybe not total surprise.

I returned my concentration to the book in hand and flipped the page. Written in green were the words, Rose Hat Club Tea. Wear my purple jumper with my Rose Hat and matching red shoes, the ones with the purple and gold rhinestones.

Mitzi had an outfit for everything. My friend planned every day what she would wear. I had no idea she did this so far in advance. I pulled my legs up and swiveled around so that my feet rested on the bench and my back was pressed against the side rail.

My thoughts went to her closets. I still needed to clean them out and make a call to her son to see what he wanted me to do with Mitzi’s things. I made a mental note to do that this evening after our writing class.

I flipped to the back of the book and discovered a section for addresses. Each person’s name, address, and phone number was listed in straight black ink pen writing. Mitzi hadn’t made a mistake on any of them as far as I could see. My address book looks like a kindergartener wrote in it. Under the letter R, I discovered all the Rose Hat Club members’ names.

There was an even ten in the group. I recognized a couple of the names, but the rest were all strangers to me. “What am I going to wear in the morning?” I mumbled to myself.

“To what?”

Brandon’s voice startled me. I jerked upright. “To the Rose Hat Club tea tomorrow.”

“Something red?” He wiped his hands on a yellow dishtowel.

“Of course, something red. I guess I’ll need to go shopping for a hat with roses on it.” I swung my legs around and made room for him to sit down.

“When?”

“I don’t know,” I looked up at him. “Sometime today or in the morning.”

He nodded. “I’m thirsty. Would you like to come inside? I’ll make a pitcher of ice tea.”

“Sure.” I tucked Mitzi’s date book back inside my purse and stood. “How’s the dresser coming along?”

“Good. I’m almost done.” He held the door open for me.

Feeling like a real lady, I walked past him and headed toward the kitchen. “That’s great.”

He followed. “Yes, when it’s done I’ll call Mr. Foster and see if he’d like for me to take it over to his place.”

“I didn’t realize you built the furniture for other people. Why don’t you open a shop and sell out of it?”

“I might someday, but right now I enjoy working from home.” He searched around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets. He frowned as he finally gave up.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“The tea pitcher.” He moved to the fridge and opened the door. “Ah, there it is. Looks like Zelda filled it with something else.”

I watched as he opened a cabinet and pulled down two glasses. He poured the yellowish looking liquid into one and took a sip.

“Lemonade.” He made a popping sound with his lips. “Tart lemonade.”

His cheeks sucked in and he made fish lips. I couldn’t contain the laughter even though my brain still buzzed with the name Zelda. Who in the world was she? I’d heard of a game called that but never a person.

He filled the glasses with ice, poured half a glass for me and smiled. “Here you go. Try some.”

My first instinct was to say, not on your life, buddy. But the challenge in his eyes couldn’t be denied. I took the glass. Swirled the liquid inside and then took a tentative sip.

My eyes watered, my jaw locked, and salvia built in my cheeks. Pure lemon juice. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was green lemons that Zelda was trying to kill us with.

“I think she forgot to add the sugar.” Brandon laughed.

I made an exaggerated face at him. “Ya think?” I didn’t even bother removing the sarcasm from my tone.

His laughter deepened. Brandon pulled a canister to him and added the much-needed sugar. He mixed it and then handed a new glass to me. “How about we take this down by the lake?”

“Sure. I’d love to see the ducks. It’s been ages since I just sat by a pond and listened to them quack.”

He grabbed half a loaf of bread and led the way. Over his shoulder he said. “You are going to love these gals and guys, they will quack your ears off.”

The pond looked peaceful. Brandon moved to the waters edge and tossed out several torn pieces of bread. We watched as several ducks swam toward us, quacking hellos. At least I thought that’s what they were quacking.

We set our lemonade on a small bench. I sat to enjoy the shade and the calming sensation that nature brings, as the smell of pine and cedar filled the air. Brandon continued to feed the ducks.

A mother duck noticed us and came swimming our way. Five baby chicks followed close behind. “Oh, they’re so sweet.”

Brandon grinned. “And greedy.”

As I watched the babies run for the food, I had to agree with him. The mama herded them as best she could, but with bread on the ground there was no way she could keep the little chicks close to her.

“Here you go.” Brandon held a little yellow baby in his hands. He gently handed it over to me. The little bird flapped its short wings; its webbed feet felt rough against the skin of my hands.

I petted the downy feathers for a few moments and then returned the baby to its mother. “Thanks.” I smiled up at him. His eyes sparkled down at me.

He threw out the remainder of the bread and sat down. His warm arm brushed mine. Silly as it sounds, I shivered. We watched the ducks finish off the crumbs. They studied us for a few moments and then headed back into the cool water.

“Do you mind if I ask a personal question?” Brandon leaned forward with his arms on his legs and stared out across the shimmering water.

“Not if you don’t mind me being honest and telling you it’s none of your business, if I don’t like the question.”

His shoulders shook with a soft chuckle. “Fair enough.”

He remained silent and continued to gaze toward the far bank. I’d about decided he’d changed his mind when he finally spoke. “What happened to your husband?”

I leaned my head back against the stone bench and closed my eyes. “He had a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry.”

I smiled. “Don’t be. The Lord knew the timing. I suspect Frank had several things wrong with him that he hadn’t shared with me. He hated going to the doctor’s and, he hated not being able to do what he wanted even more. The doctor had already told him to quit smoking, stop working so hard, and to give up all those fattening sweet foods he loved so much.”

A bird sung in the tree over our heads. Its sweet sounds encouraged me to continue. “He’s been gone ten years, and after all this time, I’m grateful the Lord took him home sudden like. Frank would have hated suffering and having others care for him. No matter how much we loved him.”

Brandon sat quietly. “Thanks for sharing his story with me. I’m sure you loved him very much.”

“I did.” I wasn’t about to lie to the man. I opened my eyes and stared up into the tree branches trying to find the bird.

He sat up. “It’s been about that long for me, too. Dory died in a car crash one stormy night. The doctors tell me she didn’t feel a thing.” He turned in the seat and took my hands in his. “I haven’t felt this kind of...emotion, in a long time.”

His gaze drew me in. For the first time in a long time, a man seemed to be opening his heart to me. “Neither have I.” The words came out a whisper, right before his lips touched mine.

****

“He really kissed you? On the mouth?” Gloria asked. She picked up a white floppy hat and set in on her dark hair.

“Shhh. Not so loud.” I looked around. No one seemed to notice us. “Of course, on the lips. Isn’t that where most men kiss women nowadays?” I asked in mock surprise.

“It’s been so long since one’s kissed me, I can’t honestly say.” Gloria stuck her tongue out at me and removed the hat.

“Yeah, right. And broccoli doesn’t give you gas either does it?”

This time Gloria turned red and looked around. “Hey, that’s personal. Keep your voice down.”

“I will, if you will.”

“Deal.”

I picked up a Red Hat with a wide-brim. The body was sewn braid straw with a three and a half inch turned up brim and a gross grain hatband. A bow treatment in the back and a single white rose finished off what I considered a very beautiful and stylish hat. “What do you think of this one?” I asked.

Gloria held a purple hat in her hands. “Oh, I like it. That bow just sets it off. What do you think of this one?”

It was simple and reminded me of a sailor’s hat. It had a red rose glued to the front. “It’s really cute, but can I wear a purple hat and not a red one?”

“Sure, the Rose Hat Club doesn’t care what color the hat and the rose as long as you have both. It is charming, if you don’t want it, I might buy it.” Gloria put it on her head and looked in the mirror.

“Then you should buy it. I’ll borrow it from you sometime.” I smiled at my reflection. The rose hat looked silly and fun all at the same time. As much as I was enjoying this time with Gloria, I felt sad that she wasn’t Mitzi.

“Ready to check out?” Gloria asked.

I wondered if she sensed my melancholy mood swing. “Yeah, I only need one for now, and this one is perfect.” I smiled to show her I’d gotten over my moment of depression.

We paid for the hats and then made our way to Gloria’s car. Once inside and on the road to my house, I said, “Thanks for picking me up at Brandon’s place. I appreciate you going shopping with me, too.”

“It was fun, and I finally got to meet the handsome Brandon Harvest.” She winked at me and added. “The great kisser.”

Heat filled my face. “I didn’t say that.” I protested.

“You didn’t have to.” She laughed. “When I picked you up, I could tell from the dazed expression and the stars in your eyes that it was some kiss.”

What could I say? Brandon’s kiss had dazed me. I hadn’t expected to feel love and joy spring up as quickly as it had. My husband had had that effect on me. I’d always been told that God had that one special someone, just for me. When Frank died, I thought I’d be alone forever. Now, here was Brandon bringing out those same feelings. God always has a plan. I just wondered what plan He had for Brandon and me.

We pulled into the driveway to my house. “How about coming in for a cup of tea before you head home.”

Gloria grinned. “Thanks but not this afternoon. I have to be getting back to my house. Believe it or not, I have a date.”

“A date?”

She nodded. “You’re not the only one who can attract a man at our age.”

I got out of the car. “Call me tonight with the details.”

“Agreed.” Gloria laughed and waved goodbye.

Sprocket barked a greeting. I laid my package on the grass and gave him a good head rub. “Ready for your walk?” I asked him. I pushed the front door open and let the dog in a head of me.

He ran to the kitchen. It was silly, I knew, but since someone had come inside and left the brownies I wanted him to guarantee we were alone. I’d assured Brandon I’d be fine unaccompanied during the day and that I wouldn’t eat anything someone had left for me.

Still, I felt uneasy coming home to an empty house.

Sprocket came back to the living room where I stood waiting. My heart pounded in my chest. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I, old boy?” I rubbed him behind the ear. “Come on. I’ll change clothes and then you and I will go for a long walk.”

Once more I let the dog pass me and lead the way. Taking a deep breath, I opened each door as we traveled down the hall. First the computer room, then the bathroom, the guest room, and then I stood in front of my bedroom door. Sprocket looked up at me expectantly.

I knew if anyone were hiding in the house this was the room they’d be in. Taking a deep breath, I twisted the knob and pushed it open.

Sprocket barked and ran back down the hallway.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 16

I squealed and ran after my dog. We dashed to the front door. To my surprise, he stopped and jumped on the screen door, his tail wagging a greeting to Sara, my next-door neighbor.

Out of breath and with my heart pounding in my chest and ears, I felt like a fool. He hadn’t been running from danger, but had heard her on the front porch. My hand shook as I opened the door. “Hello, Sara.” I sounded as breathless as I felt.

“Hi Claire, may I come in?” she asked, shifting from one combat boot to the other. If she noticed my breathlessness, it didn’t show in her serious expression.

An offensive odor radiated from her body. Had the girl just stepped out of an outhouse? I resisted the urge to crinkle my nose as I remembered she worked in sewers.

“Sure.” I stepped back to let her in and noticed her large lunch box. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I was just about to make a pot of tea.”

“Thanks. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave my boots here by the door.” She was already unlacing the mud-splattered footwear. At least I hoped it were mud.

“Not at all, I’ll go start the tea.” I prayed silently as I went. Lord, thank You for keeping me safe, and Lord, please help me to overcome this fear. In You I have nothing to fear. Right? “Right.” I answered myself, knowing it to be true.

I put on the teakettle and glanced at the clock on the stove. At two in the afternoon, Sara was getting a late lunch. I pulled a bagel from the pantry and grabbed the strawberry cream cheese from the fridge. My salad from lunch had all but vanished.

Sara entered the kitchen and placed her lunchbox on the table. “Mind if I go ahead and eat?”

She’d taken off the cover-alls that had concealed her jeans and red tee shirt. I noted that most of the odor must have stayed behind with the clothes and boots. For that I was grateful.

“Not at all, I’m going to have a snack, too.” I indicated the bagels and cream cheese I’d just set on the table.

I got down two cups and the sugar bowl for the tea and then set a small pot of water on the stove before sprinkling a generous amount of cinnamon and sugar into it. Soon, the sweet fragrance filled the kitchen and covered the last of the offensive smell.

“What are you doing home for lunch today?” I placed the teapot and cups on the table.

She pulled two thick sandwiches, bag of chips, a cup of applesauce, and two bananas from the pail. “I wanted to talk about that man spending the night with you last night. Some of the neighbors and I are concerned.” Sara bit into the sandwich and chewed.

I almost told her Brandon was none of their business. But something in her eyes stopped me. Instead I asked. “Go ahead.” I split a bagel in half.

“It’s not right. He shouldn’t have stayed the night.” She gulped her tea.

I calmly spread cream cheese on the bread. “No? Why not?”

She picked up a paper napkin and wiped her mouth. “People are talking, and we agree that this is a respectable neighborhood. Men shouldn’t be sleeping on single ladies’ porches; you know that.” Her voice had risen in anger with each word and she tossed the napkin down and grabbed up the sandwich once more.

I counted to twenty. Honey draws flies better than vinegar. The old quote from my mother echoed in my ears. I never listened as well to her as I should. “You’re right. But, he wouldn’t sleep in the guestroom like I wanted.” It gave me some satisfaction to see the blood rush into her face.

“You asked him to stay in the house? Are you out of your mind?”

I swallowed. Sara meant well. She didn’t want our neighbors to think ill of me but that didn’t excuse her behavior or the manner in which she was speaking to me. I am old enough to be her mother. Brown eyes the size of doughnuts stared back at me.

“Look, Sara. I wouldn’t say I am out of my mind, but I also don’t think you should be concerned about Brandon sleeping on my porch either.”

The young woman started to protest. I held up my hand to stop her. “I know you mean well, but Brandon will be staying here until Mitzi’s murderer is captured and there’s nothing you can do about it. Except, assure the neighbors it is all innocent and that Mr. Harvest and I are just friends.” I refilled her teacup.

Were we really just friends? The kiss and the way he’d spoken earlier in the day had indicated he felt more for me than just friendship. I knew I felt more strongly about him too, but there was nothing either of us could do about that right now. At least, I didn’t feel like we could. Finding Mitzi’s murderer was what I planned to focus on. Not romance.

Her now calm voice pulled me from those thoughts. “If you’re just friends, then why is he staying here?” She used a plastic spoon and scooped out her applesauce.

“After yesterday’s attempt on my life, Brandon feels like I need someone to stay with me. He’s being friendly, that’s all.” I laid down the bagel and wiped my hands on a napkin.

Sara munched on her chips. Her gaze remained focused on my face. “Maybe, the brownies were just a warning to stay out of Mitzi’s case.”

I had to admit she had a good point. “You might be right.”

She repacked her lunch box. “Sure I’m right. The killer probably knew your mom died a long time ago and couldn’t have possibly baked those brownies or left that note here. See? A warning.”

I nodded and then watched as Sara pushed up from the table. She smiled and picked up the pail. “Thanks for the tea. I’ll try to soothe the neighbors, but please be careful with Mr. Harvest. I don’t trust him.”

Later, Sprocket and I walked around our block. I wondered if Sara could be right. Had the brownies been a warning? I’d been looking at the brownie incident as if someone who didn’t know me had left them but what if the person did know me.

And why didn’t she trust Brandon? Did she think he might have something to do with Mitzi’s death? Was that the reason he was staying close to me? Had I told him about my mother before the brownies arrival?

I couldn’t think clearly. The sun beat down on my head giving me a headache. I took the shortest path back to the house and let Sprocket loose in the front yard. After making sure he had plenty of water, I headed to the house for a cool shower and a nap.

As the water washed over my heated body, I couldn’t shake Sara’s warning. Brandon hadn’t done anything for me to suspect him of murdering Mitzi. But, what was it they say about murderers? They are usually someone you know?

Unable to sleep, I picked up the phone and called Gloria. Maybe she could help me work through these new doubts. Gloria didn’t answer. Before her answering machine could come on, I hung up. I pushed myself up from the bed, slipped off the gown and slid into a pair of sweats and a bright pink tee shirt. Then I headed for the kitchen.

I searched the fridge for something easy to make for dinner. Now that Brandon would be staying on my porch every night, would I need to include him in my dinner plans? I closed the door and moved to the table. It was time to make a decision about Brandon Harvest. Was he a suspect or a friend? And if he was a suspect, should I allow him to stay on my front porch?

Brandon chose that moment to pull into the driveway. He tugged two bags from the front seat and then hurried to the back door. I met him there. The smell of Chinese food drifted from the bags.

“I hope you haven’t started dinner.” He smiled.

The dimple in his left cheek winked at me as he passed. Well, it didn’t exactly wink but it sure was cute. Stop! He might be a suspect. Remember? “That smells wonderful.” I followed him into the room.

He set down the bags and began pulling out containers. “I thought this would be easier since we have class tonight.”

I moved to the cabinets and brought out two plates, two sets of silverware, and then got the soy sauce from the fridge. “It’s funny you should mention dinner. I was just wondering what our arrangement would be.” I put the utensils and condiments on the table and then handed him several serving spoons for the various dishes.

He grinned at me. “Well, since we are sort of living together, I thought I’d supply dinner one night and you could the next. How does that grab you?”

The aroma of sweet-and-sour sauce pulled me toward the table. “Tonight it grabs me just fine. I’ll let you know how I feel about it tomorrow night when it’s my turn to fix dinner.”

His laughter filled the kitchen. “Come get it before it gets cold.”

“I will as soon as you tell me what you’d like to drink. Soda? Tea? Or water?” I filled two glasses with ice.

Brandon dished rice onto his plate. “Tea, please.”

I poured tea for both of us and headed back to the table. He waited until I was seated and then said grace over the food. A murderer wouldn’t say grace at every meal, would he? I told myself to stop being silly, but my head had resumed its dull ache. It seemed lately I’d become headache prone, could it have anything to do with my thyroid? Maybe, I made a mental note to tell the doctor about it at my next appointment.

After several long moments of silence, Brandon frowned across at me and asked. “Is something wrong?”

I attempted a smile. “I have a headache.”

Concern laced his eyes. “When did it start?”

“When I took Sprocket for his afternoon walk.” I picked at the rice on my plate. The desire to tell Brandon about Sara’s visit pulled at me, but I refused to share the information with him.

He chewed, and then swallowed. “What did you eat today?”

I knew where he was going with this line of questioning and felt like a two year old. “Just a salad at Jerome’s Salad Bar and a bagel with cream cheese here this afternoon.”

“Do you feel sick otherwise?” He reached across the table and patted my hand.

I jerked my hand away. “I’ve not been poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I pushed back on my chair and stood. “Look Brandon, I don’t feel good. I’m going to go lay down for awhile.”

The hurt look on his features tugged at my heart. “Okay, do you want me to wake you a few minutes before we have to leave for class?”

“No. I think I’ll skip class tonight. Thanks anyway.” I stomped down the hallway angry that I’d allowed Sara’s suggestion to upset me. These suspicions and doubts where Brandon was concerned made my head feel as if a vice was wrapped around my forehead. I decided now was the time to do some serious praying. I knelt beside my bed and poured out all my doubts and fears to the Lord. Peace sluiced over me as I prayed and listened for His voice.

An hour later, I heard Brandon’s pickup back out of the driveway. My knees creaked as I pushed myself up from the bed. Sometimes I wish the Lord would speak to us in a voice like we speak to each other, maybe He does to other people, but for me I have to rely on His peace to guide me. As I rubbed my sore knees I also wished He would talk faster.

I made my way to the bathroom and washed my face with a cool rag. I’d overreacted to Sara’s suggestion that Brandon couldn’t be trusted. Just because she didn’t know him, she didn’t trust him.

I should have known Brandon wasn’t a murderer and I should have taken it to the Lord sooner. Thanks to the assurance I felt now, I knew I could trust Brandon.

Since I’d already missed the class, I decided to call Jake and ask what he wanted me to do with his mother’s clothes.

He answered the phone after the second ring. “You can have them. Keep what you want and give the rest to charity. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Claire. I’m not sure I could have done it.”

“You’re welcome.”

He cleared his throat and then asked, “Have the police come up with any suspects yet as to who might have killed my mother?”

I could still hear the hurt in his voice. “Not yet. I’ve been checking into it, and I’m not doing any better than the police. I’m sorry.”

We hung up a few moments later. I changed into a pair of jeans and then drove to Mitzi’s apartment. The aroma of staleness surrounded me as I looked about the empty rooms. I opened the bedroom closet. The sweet fragrance of floral perfume that Mitzi always wore filled my nose. My eyes stung with unshed tears. Sorrow closed off my throat. The unfathomable emotion took me by surprise.

Inhaling, I began pulling clothes off the hangers and shoving them into large black garbage bags. I tried not to think as I did this. Several garments had pins attached to them. Others had earrings and necklaces hooked onto the hangers. I took each piece of jewelry off the clothes and placed them in a bag that I would later give to Jake.

Once all the clothes were removed, I stared at the pocketbooks and shoes that lined the floor and shelves of the closet. Mitzi had matching purses and shoes for every outfit. I placed them in the trash bags with the last bag of clothes.

Now that I’d done what I came to do, I walked about the empty apartment. Nothing remained of my friend. I sighed and went back for the bags of clothes. It took three trips but soon I had them all in the car. I locked the door one last time and left.

My first stop was to deliver the key back to Mitzi’s landlord. I thanked him and then drove on to a local church, where I delivered three bags of clothes and two of shoes and pocketbooks. The rest I took home with me.

****

The next morning, I put on a lavender dress, a pair of red heels, my red lipstick, and the new hat I’d bought the day before. Then I sat down in front of the vanity and painted my finger and toenails blood red. I felt refreshed from a good night’s sleep and was excited about my upcoming meeting.

The smell of sausage and coffee floated down the hallway. I followed the mouth-watering scents.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” Brandon turned around and looked at me. He whistled and grinned. “You look...red this morning.”

I laughed. “Thanks. That’s just the look I’m going for.”

He turned back to the toaster. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry.” I poured coffee into my favorite mug and sat down at the table. I stared down at the plate of scrambled eggs and sausage he sat in front of me. Was it all in my head, or had I been eating a lot lately?

“No worries. We all have bad days.” He carried his own plate to the table and said grace.

I unfolded the paper napkin and laid it in my lap. “Thanks for understanding.”

The eggs turned out to be delightful. Brandon had melted cheese into them and added just the right amount of pepper. “These are wonderful.”

He nodded his thanks. “What are your plans for today?”

“I have a Rose Hat Club tea to attend at nine.” I took a sip of the rich coffee. It was a might stronger than I was used to, but I enjoyed it just the same.

“How long is the meeting?” He asked, laying down his fork and then wiping his mouth.

I rubbed the cup back and forth in my hands. “I’m not sure. Why?”

Brandon picked up his plate and carried it to the sink. “I need to run by the college this morning but will be back here around one. Would you like me to go with you?”

“No thanks. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

His look told her he thought she was still upset with him. So she continued, “Besides, would you really be comfortable hanging out with a lot of women drinking tea?”

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 17

“Claire, I’d like for you to meet Darlene Lowery. Darlene, Claire Parker.” Margery Bryant made the introductions.

Darlene was like the fifth woman I’d met. She seemed nice, and something about her felt familiar but for the life of me, I couldn’t put my finger on what.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Lowery.”

“Please, call me Darlene.”

Margery smiled at the two of us. “You two will get along splendidly. Have a seat, ladies. Darlene, please answer any questions Claire may have.” She left us standing there staring at each other.

Why she felt Darlene and I would get along was a mystery to me, but who am I to complain?

“Where would you like to sit?” Darlene asked.

The tea had been set up on Margery’s patio. Three tables with white linen clothes over them fill the small space. A bouquet of fresh wild flowers graced the center of each table. I chose the one closest to us. “Will this one be all right?” I asked.

“I think so.” Darlene led the way. She pulled out a chair and sat down.

I chose the seat that faced the door and yet allowed me to see everyone around us. The tables all held teapots and matching teacups and saucers. “I didn’t realize Mitzi had this many teapots.” I muttered, as I realized she normally hosted these get-togethers. They hadn’t been in her kitchen when I’d cleaned it out, so where were they?

Darlene leaned toward me. “She didn’t. Each month four of the ten members bring their pot, cups and saucers. If you decide to join us, your name will be added to the list and Margery will let you know when your months will be.”

My gaze moved to the colorful pots. One was decorated with blue and white roses, one had a Chinese print, another was solid yellow, and the last one was green with a dragon on the side and a wild boar on the lid. That was the one that sat on our table. The intricate details were beautiful. So now I’d have to go out and buy a fancy teapot and all the accessories.

“Everyone participates?” I asked, once more wondering about Mitzi’s teapot.

Darlene nodded. “Oh yes, that’s part of the fun. We also supply finger sandwiches or a pastry twice a year, sometimes more depending on the schedule.”

“Sounds like fun.” I smiled at Darlene.

Darlene smiled back. “It will be nice having you join the group. I’ll no longer be the newest member.”

“How long have you been a member?” I asked, wondering how well she knew Mitzi.

She unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. “A little over a year now.”

I followed her example, unsure when we would begin and wondering if there were certain rules that followed.

“May we sit with you ladies?”

I looked up to see a woman who appeared to be in her eighties and a younger woman probably in her sixties standing beside our table. Both wore pretty whimsical dresses and hats that sported roses. The older woman had a rose hatpin stuck to her dress.

“Of course, Hattie.” Darlene stood and pulled out a chair for the older of the two women.

After they were all seated she made introductions. “Hattie, Sadie, this is Claire Parker. She’s visiting today and might join our little group.”

I felt like an animal behind a glass wall as they stared at me through watery hazel eyes. “Hello.” I smiled to show I was an animal that wouldn’t bite. But, I don’t think they were buying it.

“You’re Mitzi’s friend, aren’t you?” Sadie, the younger of the two asked.

I swallowed. She’d said it as if Mitzi were still alive. “Yes, I was.”

Hattie reached for the teapot.

Darlene quickly picked it up, “Can I fill your cup, Hattie?” She smiled at the older woman.

“That would be nice dear.” Hattie answered, pushing her cup toward Darlene with a shaky hand.

Sadie continued to stare at me. “I understand you are trying to find her murderer.”

I opened a package of raspberry tea and pulled out the bag. “Yes, I am.”

“Why not leave that to the police?” Darlene sat the pot down with a thud.

Taking a deep breath, I picked it back up and smiled. “I am. But, I’m also trying to find out who would hate her enough to kill her. Do you ladies know anyone who would hate her that much?”

Hattie’s hands shook as she pulled her tea bag from its package. I realized that in twenty-five or thirty years, I might be just like her.

“Here Mom, let me help you with that.” Sadie offered.

She pushed away Sadie’s hands. “I’ve got it. God has allowed me to keep my hands. I’ll use them. It might take me a few moments, but I can do this.” Hattie winked at me across the table. “Leave me be and answer Claire’s question.”

I smiled at her. Hattie and I were more alike than I’d first thought.

“Mitzi didn’t have any enemies that I know of. She was sweet and kind in a lot of ways,” Sadie said. She chose a finger sandwich from a clear dish that rested on our table and passed the plate across to me.

Hattie proudly dipped her tea bag in the hot water in her cup. “Mitzi had a way about her that just made people love her. Everyone here wanted her to succeed. She was the youngest one. Darlene was until Mitzi came along. Isn’t that right, Darlene?”

“I suppose so.” Darlene tore apart the finger sandwich she’d just taken from the dish.

Sadie turned her gaze on Darlene. I was glad she’d removed it from me. “That’s right, there was a little animosity between the two of you, wasn’t there?”

“I wouldn’t call it animosity. She just didn’t like me much, that’s all.” Darlene tore the sandwich even more.

Mitzi liked everyone. I couldn’t imagine her not liking anyone. And, she hadn’t said a word about not liking anyone from this group. Maybe Darlene misunderstood.

“Oh come on, she didn’t like Mabel either.” Darlene tossed the mangled bread onto her plate. “I’m not feeling well, excuse me.” She got up and left the table.

Hattie laid her tea bag down on her saucer. “That was uncalled for, Sadie.”

I had to agree. It would have been nice if Darlene had stayed. I’d like to know why she thought Mitzi didn’t like her.

“Yeah, I guess it was. She’s just been too happy since Mitzi’s been gone. Everyone knows it’s because she has her status back as the baby of the group.” Sadie laid her finger food down and focused on me again. “How old are you, Claire?”

I felt a smile tugged at my lips. “Fifty-two and proud of it.”

Hattie laughed, “You’re safe. Too old.”

“That’s good to know. What about Mabel? Is she too old, too?”

Sadie grinned. “She’s ninety. Very safe.”

I had to know if the animosity that Darlene felt from Mitzi was real or not, so I asked. “Do either of you think Mitzi disliked Darlene and Mable?”

Hattie snorted. “Of course not, Mitzi tried to be friends with Darlene. I doubt she even knew Darlene felt the way she did. That woman has a way of hiding her true emotions.”

“Not with me she doesn’t. “ Sadie pulled her shoulders back and smiled with pride.

“That isn’t something to be proud of Sadie. You bring out the worst in that woman. You better be careful, or she’ll say you don’t like her next.” Hattie nibbled on the end of her sandwich.

“So why did she say Mitzi didn’t like Mable, too?”

Hattie reached across and patted her hand. “Aw honey, don’t let her kind get to you. She was just lashing out, after all Mitzi isn’t here to deny it, now is she?”

I shook my head. Mitzi hadn’t mentioned Darlene or Mable, so maybe Hattie was right. Maybe the whole situation was all in Darlene’s head.

Our conversation stopped when Margery tapped the side of her teacup and called everyone to attention. A large poster of the poem, Warning, by Jenny Joseph was brought to the front of the room. I’ve never heard a group of women recite so well together. I looked about and saw several of them laughing and hugging one another.

Afterwards, we were told that since this was a tea, there would be no meeting but to enjoy the social time together, and next month we’d discuss activities for the fall. She left the front as gracefully as she’d approached it.

“What kind of fall activities?” I asked, sipping at the raspberry sweetness.

Hattie waved her spoon. “Usually we have a film we go see in the fall, or a play.” She dismissed the subject by biting into a cookie from another tray.

“Oh Mother, that’s not all we do.” Sadie set down her cup. “Some of us also join in the fall motorcycle rally.”

I really couldn’t see it. The woman in front of me looked like a strong wind would break her in half. She didn’t look or act like a motorcycle mama to me. I couldn’t contain the note of surprise in my tone as I said. “Really?”

Excitement built in Sadie’s voice. “Oh yes. We have the best time. I love the feel of riding like the wind on the back of a Harley.”

Hattie chuckled as I stared open mouthed at the woman who had seemed uptight earlier. “Yeah, and picking bugs outta your teeth is pretty amusing too.”

“She’s just jealous she can’t do it.” Sadie huffed. She crossed her arms and frowned at her mother.

I leaned forward. “How many ladies do this every year?” And why hadn’t I heard about it before? I thought.

At my interest, Sadie gave up her anger at Hattie. “About five of us. Well, this year it will be four.” Sadness filled her voice.

“Someone quit?” I gently probed.

Her hazel eyes stared into mine. “Mitzi.”

Once more I was taken aback. Mitzi was a motorcycle mama? “Mitzi?” I asked in disbelief.

“Oh yeah, you should have seen her last year. Do you remember that, Mama?”

Hattie nodded.

Sadie continued. “There was a young couple there. They made some rude remark about Mitzi and Doug, and she laid into them. Can you imagine her surprise when they showed up at her writing class?”

“Who is Doug? And what couple?”

“Are you sure you were a friend of Mitzi’s?” Sadie asked, nibbling on a finger sandwich.

“I’m beginning to wonder that myself.” I confessed.

Sadie patted my hand. “I’m sorry, that was an unfair question. Oh course you were her friend. I can’t tell you the number of times she spoke of you.”

“Thanks.” It felt good to know Mitzi talked about me when we weren’t together.

“Doug works down in Hartshorne. He’s a mechanic there and has a nice cycle. Mitzi met him when her car broke down a few years ago. Remember?”

I nodded, vaguely remembering her car breaking down, but I didn’t remember her mentioning a man named Doug. Had she and Doug dated, or were they just friends?

“Anyway, she took a fancy to that bike and had soon talked Doug into doing the rally with us.” Sadie’s hazel eyes shone in her small face. “This year, I’ve asked him if I can ride with him.”

“You aren’t riding with Hank anymore?” Hattie asked.

Sadie sighed. “No Mama, I told you that last week.”

She leaned toward me and whispered. “Mom’s memory is slipping.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I whispered back.

“Me, too.” Hattie huffed. “Good thing there isn’t anything wrong with my hearing, Sadie Jean.”

I hid a smile behind my napkin while Sadie tried to make amends with her mother.

“Is everything going OK over here?” Margery asked, coming up to stand beside our table.

“Everything is lovely.” Sadie answered. “I was just telling Claire about our annual motorcycle rally.”

Margery’s eyes light up. “Oh that is so much fun. Are you planning on joining us, Claire?”

For a moment I wasn’t sure if she meant the rally or the club. I decided to play it safe and answered. “I’ve never been to a motorcycle rally, but I’ll consider it.”

“Good. I’ve checked, and if it’s okay with you Sadie, I’d like to ride with Hank this year.” Color filled her cheeks as Sadie put her under that stare.

I felt sure Sadie must have been a schoolteacher in her early years.

“Now, why would I mind?” Sadie asked, still studying Margery.

Margery pulled herself up straight. “Oh stop playing games, Sadie. We all know you’ve been sweet on Hank for years. I’m just trying not to make waves. So stop staring at me like that.” She smoothed out an invisible wrinkle in her violet colored dress.

Sadie picked up her cup. She ran her finger around the lip. “I’m sorry. Go on and ride with Hank, I’m riding with Doug this year.” She sipped her tea.

Margery made small talk with Hattie and then moved on to the next table.

We drank our tea in silence for several moments after she left—my mind on Mitzi and how little I knew about her. I thought we told each other everything. It was starting to occur to me that I did all the talking, and she did all the listening.

“Were you serious about joining us at the rally?” Sadie finally broke the silence.

I smiled at her. “I’ll want to learn more about it but I’m thinking I would.” I wondered if Brandon had a motorcycle.

A giggle escaped as I pictured myself on the back. Me, a motorcycle mama.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 18

I stopped by the Piggly Wiggly on my way home and bought a barbeque chicken and a tub of potato salad. Hot rolls from Jim’s Bakery rounded out my dinner. The warm aroma of fresh baked bread made my mouth water and my stomach growl.

Brandon stood on the front porch. He walked to the car and took the chicken and potatoes. “How was the meeting?”

A smile touched my lips. “Fun. I’m looking forward to becoming a permanent member.”

“I’m glad to hear you had a good time.” He opened the front door.

We stepped into the porch. My cozy nook had changed. Several colorful screens had been brought up and the artificial trees and short bushes had been arranged in the opposite corner.

“Want to see what I’ve done?” He asked.

I nodded and moved forward. Behind the screens sat a small cot and an end table. A clothes rack stood at the head of the bed and I noted his clothes hung nicely, looking fresh and clean. “Are you sure you’re going to be comfortable out here?”

He stood beside me. “As long as we don’t have a cold snap, I think so. I’ve got all the comforts of home.”

The chance of us having ‘a cold snap’ wasn’t likely in the middle of summer. “I’m not so sure about that, but I’ll feed you good tonight. Let’s take these inside.” I led the way to the kitchen.

Within a few moments, we had dinner on the table. Brandon spooned potato salad on his plate. “This smells wonderful.”

I inhaled, and the scent of sweet onions and boiled potatoes filled my nostrils. “They do smell good, don’t they?”

He nodded.

Laying a napkin in my lap, I broached the topic of my nosey neighbors. “Sara came to see me yesterday. She and the others are concerned about you staying here.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That you would be here until Mitzi’s murderer is found and for her to assure the neighbors it’s all innocent over here. But, maybe they’re right.”

Brandon began shaking his head no before I could even finish the sentence. “No. You’re right. I’m not leaving until that killer is captured.”

I smiled across at him. “Thanks.” His stance to stay made me feel good. It had been a long time since a man wanted to protect me.

Warmth radiated from his return smile. “I’m happy to do it.”

“I just wish I could come up with something on this case.” I said. “Or that the police would.” I sighed and poured us each a glass of iced tea.

Brandon grinned. “Well, I’m doing my part. Wednesday night I took a few moments to sit with the mystery writers in my class.”

“There are six members, right?” I laid a chicken breast onto my plate and passed the bucket to him.

Brandon took it and dropped two barbeque-glazed chicken legs onto his plate. I noted he preferred dark meat. “Yes.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Here are their names and the type of mysteries they write.”

I took the list and read, “Margaret-cozies, Debbie-cozies. The older ladies?” At his nod, I continued. “Shelby-chick lit with a twist, Heather-Romantic Suspense, Robin-Detective mysteries. These are the younger gals?” Again he nodded and chewed. “Fred-Cozy Mysteries. OK, what does this tell us?” I asked, laying the sheet down and picking up my fork. The taste of mayonnaise, pickles, and onion teased my taste buds.

“It tells me that Margaret, Debbie, or Fred could be the author to the short story we found in Mitzi’s apartment.” He answered and then took a sip of tea.

My gaze moved down the list of names again. Margaret, Debbie, and Fred all wrote cozy mysteries. “Because they all write cozies?” What was a cozy anyway? Would I look stupid asking? I looked over the list. Chick lit? Wasn’t that a kind of gum?

“The story I found at Mitzi’s has the characteristics of a cozy mystery. Anyone of them could have written it.” He tore at the chicken leg reminding me of the films I’d seen of King Henry VIII.

Since he didn’t elaborate as to what a cozy was, I decided to look it up online later, along with chick lit. “Do you think you can find out which one?” I asked.

He wiped his mouth. “Maybe. There’s something I should have told you before. The final for my class is a short story. The student with the highest grade will have their story published in the fall edition of the campus magazine. They playfully call it a contest.”

I laid down my fork. “I already knew about that, remember? You were supposed to mention it to Detective Howard.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll do that tomorrow.” Brandon focused on his food.

“Good.” After a few moments of silence I asked, “Are you thinking someone may have murdered Mitzi because her story was better than theirs?”

Brandon swallowed. “I guess it’s possible. People have killed for less.”

“But, publication in a campus magazine?”

He sighed and laid his napkin on the table. “To an author, publication is gold.”

I hated to admit it, but I honestly didn’t understand this desire to be in print. To me there was nothing that could cause me to kill another human. Nothing. I took my dishes to the kitchen counter.

Brandon helped me clear the table. “Do you have any notebook paper?” He asked.

“Sure, go to the living room and look in the drawer in the table at the end of the couch. There should be a notebook there.” I scraped the plates and then put them into the dishwasher while I waited for him to return.

He came back into the room. “I’ll also need a pencil.”

I pointed in the direction he’d just come from. “Same drawer.” Now what was he up to? Did the man plan on showing me why people want to be published? Surely not. I wiped off the kitchen table and dried it.

He returned. “Come sit with me.” Brandon sat down at the table.

“What are you up to?” I sat down and watched him draw a circle in the center of a page. “Have you ever done story webbing?” He asked.

“No.”

“OK. Well for our purposes this is how we are going to do this.” In the circle he wrote Mitzi’s name. Then he drew three lines out from that and placed a big circle at the end of each line. “You have been trying to find her killer at the church.” He wrote church at the top of the first circle.

“Oh I see. I’ve also been looking for clues at the Mad Hatter’s Rose Hat meetings.” I watched as he wrote Mad Hatters over the next circle.

“And my writing class.” He wrote Creative Writing class above the last circle. “Okay. Now is there anyone you suspect at the church?” He asked.

I couldn’t think of anyone. “Not yet.”

A pleased smile touched his lips and eyes. “Good.”

Good thing I didn’t say Margery Williams, I told myself.

“What about at the Mad Hatters?” He sat with his pencil poised above the circle.

“Well, there was one person who got upset when I asked about Mitzi, and a couple of other women said they didn’t get along.” I ran my tongue over my lips.

He drew a line out from the circle. “What’s her name?”

“Darlene Lowery.” I thought about her. Could she really be the killer? What was her motive? Dislike because Mitzi was the youngest?

He wrote her name on the line and then drew a smaller one under it. “What is her motive?”

I felt my face fill with heat. He’s going to think I’m insane if I say that. “According to the other ladies, Darlene was jealous of Mitzi.” When I said it like that it didn’t sound so bad. I watched as he wrote “jealousy” down.

“Now for my class.” He drew three lines out from the circle and listed Margaret, Debbie, and Fred’s names, on the lines. He studied the paper.

“That gives us four suspects.” I said. “Go to the Mad Hatters and draw two more lines.”

He did as I asked. “Whose names go on these?”

“I don’t know.”

At his puzzled look, I continued.

“Sadie said Mitzi upset a young couple not to long ago. Maybe she made them mad enough to kill her.”

He leaned forward. “Think, Claire. Did she say their names?”

I tried to remember exactly what Sadie had said, but with him staring into my eyes, all rational thought left. Put some space between you, I silently ordered myself. I pushed out of my chair and moved to the coffee pot. As I prepared the coffee, I let my mind drift back to what Sadie had said.

Then it hit me. I spun around and gasped at Brandon.

“What?” he asked excitedly.

My hands were shaking with excitement. “She said they are in your writing class!” The smell of fresh coffee didn’t soothe the excitement bubbling inside my stomach.

“They were a couple?” He asked.

I shook my head yes.

“Well, there is a couple in my class. Young though. What would they be doing with the Mad Hatters?” He frowned.

“Oh, well they weren’t with the Mad Hatters. They were at the motorcycle rally. But, Sadie said Mitzi was surprised when they showed up at your class.”

“Karen and Jack could be a part of a motorcycle group. They seem pretty wild, but I don’t remember any friction between them and Mitzi during class.” He drew two lines off the circle labeled Writers Group and wrote Karen and Jack’s name on the lines.

I poured us each a cup of coffee and walked back to the table. “They write Science Fiction.” I remembered she had long black hair and wore a leather skirt both nights I’d noticed her. Jack had been all muscles and wore torn jeans and a tee shirt. I could picture both of them on a motorcycle.

“Yes they do. Jack is pretty good at it. I keep telling Karen she should explore other genres. Her heart just doesn’t seem to be in the sci-fi stuff.” Brandon put two teaspoons of sugar into his cup and poured a little creamer into the steaming brew.

Pure sugar. I’d give anything to be able to eat and drink like that. Instead I sipped on my own bitter drink and thought about the people who might have killed Mitzi.

Darlene was jealous but was she jealous enough to kill? I planned on visiting with her again. Maybe Sadie had just misjudged her. Karen and Jack were angry with Mitzi and had had words but could that have led to murder? That information had come from Sadie, too. Was it possible Sadie may have been looking for someone else to blame?

“Brandon, would you write Sadie on a line beside the Mad Hatters?”

He did. “Why do we have her there?”

“She is the one who insinuated that Darlene and Mitzi had poor relations and she’s the one who told me about the argument between Karen, Jack, and Mitzi. I’m wondering if she’s trying to push the blame off on someone else.”

“That’s possible. Make everyone else look guilty so they aren’t looking at you.” His gaze moved to the large kitchen window. “Who do you know who drives classic silver Camero?”

“No one.” I looked out the window and sure enough a silver car with dark tinted windows was pulling into my driveway.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 19

I watched as my daughter Megan crawled out of the car. Her husband, Greg, stepped from the driver’s side. “It’s the kids. They must have gotten a new car.” I smiled at Brandon and then wondered what Megan was going to think about him staying with me.

Reminding myself that I was the parent, and they were the children, I smiled sweetly and said. “Let’s go get a closer look.”

“I’m right behind you.” Brandon said, as he pushed his chair back and gulped the last of his coffee down.

The evening was cooling off; the scent of honeysuckle tickled my nose as I made my way toward the new car and my children. “What have you got here?” I asked.

“My dream car, a classic 1968.” Greg grinned. He opened his door wide. “Hop in.”

I leaned forward and stared inside. A new car scented air freshener hung from the rearview mirror. Not a speck of dust showed on the shiny dash and steering wheel. “Very nice.” I stood and found Megan eyeing Brandon like he’d grown horns and carried a pitchfork.

“How about we go for a ride?” Greg had a rag in his hand and wiped at non-existent dirt on the hood. He seemed unaware of Megan’s disapproving gaze.

“Brandon, I’d like for you to meet my daughter, Megan, and her husband, Greg.”

Greg moved around the car and shook Brandon’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Brandon. How about a drive around the block?” He opened the back door to the car.

“Greg, can’t that wait a minute?” Megan studied Brandon with blue eyes so much like mine that I smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mr…?”

Brandon shook her hand. “Just call me, Brandon.”

Poor Greg looked so bewildered I took pity on him. “I think a drive is a great idea.” I slipped by him and slid inside the car.

A smile lit up my son-in-law’s face. “Great.” He opened the front seat passenger door for Megan; as soon as she was inside he hurried around the car.

Brandon slipped in the back seat with me. A smile touched his lips, and he winked. Together we put our seatbelts on. Our hands touched briefly. A warm sensation traveled up my arm, and I returned his smile.

“Just listen to that motor purr.” Greg smiled in the rearview mirror. “Isn’t she great?”

Megan sighed. “Sorry about this, guys. He has been like this all afternoon.”

“It sounds smooth.” Brandon agreed. He reached across the car and took one of my hands in his.

“She’s wonderful.” I agreed. “What are you two doing tonight?” I asked as I tried to ignore the warm fingers clasped in mine and the thumb that was gently brushing the back of my hand.

Megan looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. “You haven’t listened to your messages today, have you?”

“I’m afraid not.” I confessed.

Greg pulled back into the driveway. “Well, we’d thought about spending the evening with you,” he looked into the rear view mirror at them, “but, if you are busy, we’ll come another time.”

“Not at all. Come on inside. I have some things I need to tell you.” I opened the car door and pulled my hand from Brandon’s. I missed the warmth and roughness of his palm immediately.

“Look at this motor.” Greg said to Brandon. The two men had their heads under the hood within moments.

Megan met me at the front of the car, and we walked to the back door together. She looked over her shoulder and whispered, “Who is Brandon?”

I murmured back. “My creative writing teacher.” He was more than that, but I didn’t want to whisper about it right here and right now. I’d tell Megan later.

We went into the kitchen. Megan sat down at the table while I pulled a Sara Lee cherry pie from the freezer. I turned on the oven to pre-heat and grabbed a metal pie plate from the lower cabinet.

Greg and Brandon entered the kitchen.

“What’s this?” Megan asked. She held the notepad up that Brandon had been writing on earlier for everyone to see.

Before either of us could answer, Greg said. “It looks like a story web. Are you two working on a book together?”

Brandon took the notebook. “Not exactly.”

“We were brainstorming.” I said proud of myself for not lying but managing to avoid the truth at the same time.

Megan turned her best schoolteacher gaze on me. “What exactly were you brainstorming?”

So much for half the truth.

“If you must know,” I put the pan in the oven and shut the door. “We were working on Mitzi’s murder.” I read the instructions on the box and then turned the timer.

The room had grown very quiet. I turned to find my daughter staring at me. Her look had changed from determination to concern. “Mom, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

Stubborn should be my middle name. “Good idea or not, I’m doing it.” I folded my arms and leaned against the hot stove. Then, I quickly moved to rest my hip against the counter.

A smile tugged at Brandon’s lips. The man dared to laugh at me! How was it, he knew what I’d done? Megan and Greg seemed oblivious to the fact that I’d just toasted my own buns. I rubbed the warm spot.

Megan sighed. “Okay, what have you found out so far?”

I turned to get two more cups down from the top cabinet. “Not much, really. A woman from the Rose Hat Club was jealous of Mitzi. But I don’t know if that’s enough to murder someone. Two people had words with her, again I don’t think that’s enough to kill and three members of Brandon’s class are cozy mystery writers.”

When I turned back around Megan and Greg were looking at me like I had lipstick on my teeth or something. Their heads swung between Brandon and me.

Finally Greg asked. “What does three cozy mystery writers have to do with this?”

Brandon laughed. “Here, let me have a shot at it, Claire. We found a short story in Mitzi’s apartment. She didn’t write it. I know this because the story was a cozy mystery. Mitzi wrote young adult stories.”

“Oh, well, that cleared it up nicely.” Megan’s voice dripped with sarcasm. She turned to Greg. “Are you getting this?”

I handed them both a cup of coffee. Greg pushed his away before answering. Drat! I’d forgotten he wasn’t a coffee drinker. “Greg what can I get you to drink?”

“Ice tea?”

I nodded and he turned to answer his wife. “They think maybe one of the cozy mystery students might have wanted Mitzi dead. But, if so, why?”

“The final for my class is a short story. The person with the highest score gets his or her work published in the campus magazine.” Brandon laid the writing pad down and leaned back in his seat.

Megan’s head was bent over the notebook again. “Okay, that accounts for six of these names. Who did you leave out?”

I took Greg’s coffee to the counter and pulled down a glass. “That would be Sadie; she’s the one that told me about the other three people.” After filling the glass with ice and tea, I carried it to Greg. “I’m wondering if she’s trying to cover something up by accusing them.”

“Thanks.” He smiled and gulped the cold drink.

How could I have forgotten he wasn’t a coffee drinker? “You’re welcome.”

“So, really you don’t have any more than the police do. Do you?” Megan asked.

“Nope.”

A smile touched her lips and eyes. “Good. How about a game of Monopoly?”

Brandon looked at me and quirked an eyebrow. I knew he was wondering if Megan always switched gears in mid-sentence. I nodded, and he sighed.

“Sure. I’ll get the game.” I kept the board games in a closet at the end of the hallway. As I pulled it off the top shelf, I wondered if Mitzi’s death could have had anything to do with money.

I leaned against the wall. Who would have inherited Mitzi’s money? Her son, Jake. He wasn’t anywhere near here when Mitzi had died. Plus, the boy loved his mother very much. I couldn’t see him killing her.

Maybe money didn’t have anything to do with it. What other reasons did a person have to kill? Jealousy? That would take me back to Darlene. Greed? That could lead to one of the three students.

Laughter came from the kitchen. I shook my head and decided to let the subject of Mitzi and murder drop for the time being. My family was waiting to play games.

As I carried the game back to the kitchen, I was surprised to hear Megan say. “I’m glad you’re staying here. I worry about her snooping around in Mitzi’s death.”

I stopped short of the entryway and listened. “It’s my pleasure. I enjoy spending time with your mother.” Brandon said.

“I’m glad. Mom’s been alone for too long.”

To hear Megan, you’d think I was some lonely heart looking for companionship. It was time to nip this conversation in the bud. I continued through the door. “Here it is. I get to be the dog.”

Greg yelped. “I want the car.”

Megan laughed. “Big surprise there.”

I slid the game onto the table. Megan pulled off the lid and started distributing money. “I guess this makes me the banker.”

Brandon laughed. “I suppose so, but only if I get to use the ship as my game piece.” He pulled the box to himself. “Hey, where’s my ship?”

“Sorry ole fella. I lost it a long time ago.” Megan handed him the top hat. “Here, this is more your style anyway.”

I laughed at the expression on Brandon’s face. He looked like a little boy who’d just had all the red licked off his sucker.

****

The evening with the kids and Brandon quickly drew to an end. Brandon and Greg proceeded outside while Megan and I cleared away the game and dirty dessert plates.

“You know, Mom, I think your professor is interested in more than just your storytelling abilities.” She set the coffee mugs beside me on the counter, a sweet smile pasted in place as if she’d made the statement in innocence.

Talking to one’s child about a man, even if she was thirty years old, seemed odd to me. In all honesty, I was downright uncomfortable with the subject. “We’re just friends, Megan.”

She kissed me on the cheek and chuckled as she walked away. “Maybe you should tell him that.” The door slammed behind her as she made a speedy exit.

Maybe I should. Especially since he’d taken to holding my hand every so often.

“What are you thinking about? And please don’t tell me about Mitzi and her murderer.” Brandon put the lid on the game and smiled at me.

“You and I need to have a talk.” Might as well get this over with as soon as possible. Maybe it would be like pulling a tooth; if I jerked fast it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Sure. What’s up?”

What ’ s up? What are we? Teenagers? I took a deep breath and leaned against the counter. “I’m not ready for the whole boyfriend, girlfriend relationship thing.”

His face never changed. He walked over to me and placed the Monopoly game on the counter. “Is that all?”

Why did his voice have to come out all husky like that? I opened my mouth to answer and nothing came out. After several long moments, I nodded.

“Okay.” He leaned in and lightly kissed my parted lips. “Let me know when you are.” The words whispered across my mouth.

A sigh escaped me and then I watched him walk out of the kitchen.

Not ready, my grandmother ’ s old cat.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 20

The next morning I stumbled out of bed and moseyed into the shower. My dreams were filled with riding on the back of a motorcycle behind a man wearing a small silver top hat. Warm water helped to wash away the sleepiness.

I dressed in a lightweight pink pantsuit with yellow and blue flowers down the legs. As I opened the door to my room, I silently prayed. Lord, please don’t let us feel strange around each other this morning.

The house was silent. No smells of bacon or coffee greeted me as I headed down the hallway. It was already after eight so where was Brandon?

Entering the kitchen, my gaze moved to the table. A beautiful bouquet of yellow roses decorated the center of it. I moved further into the room. An envelope rested against the glass vase. I picked it up and pulled out the card. I’m glad we are friends. Love Brandon.

My gaze moved to the large window. His pickup was absent. I bent over the flowers and inhaled. The sweet smell of roses tickled my nose.

Just to make sure he had left, I walked to the front porch. “Brandon?” No answer. His bed was made. A book lay on the end table, I picked it up. It surprised me to see that it was a Zane Grey western. I’m not sure why but I hadn’t expected him to be a western reader. Kind of took away from the motorcycle man I’d grown to think of him as.

Walking back to the kitchen, I made a pot of coffee and then picked up the cordless phone and called Gloria. Her machine answered. “It’s just me. Call me when you get a chance. Maybe we can do lunch or something.” I hung up and laid the phone on the table.

The smell of fresh, brewed coffee filled my kitchen. I put two slices of bread into the toaster, grabbed butter and jam from the fridge, put them on the table and then poured a cup of coffee. Why was it so important to Darlene to know she was the youngest of the Mad Hatters? I asked myself.

Then, I shook my head. No, today I’m not going to think of Darlene or the Mad Hatters.

As I waited for the bread to pop into toast, I looked about. The kitchen floor needed to be swept and mopped. After breakfast, I’d get on that. Plus throw in a load of laundry. Were the young people, Karen and Jack, really so upset with Mitzi that they would stalk and kill her?

No, I’m not going to think about that. I admonished myself again. But, if they had, why keep coming back to class after she was dead? Maybe to throw the police off their scent. “Not like the police aren’t checking into them anyway.” I grumbled to myself.

The grinding of metal sounded from the toaster as the bread popped up. For the next several minutes I busied myself eating and thinking. Today I was going to take it easy. Hang around the house and get some light housework done. I’m not going to think about Mitzi or murder today. I told myself.

I started by running the dishwasher. I swept and mopped the kitchen floor, tossed a load of whites into the washer, and then ran the vacuum though the house. I’d thought of Sadie as a suspect, but what was her motive? I fought the urge to continue thinking about Mitzi and all the people who might have wanted her dead.

Within an hour, I was ready to go on my walk with Sprocket. He pulled and tugged as we ambled down the road and around the block. For the first time in a while we took our time. I let him smell every bush and flower along the way while I enjoyed the sunshine and fresh air.

I pushed all thoughts of Mitzi from my mind. Tonight I’d ask more questions at the writing class but for today, I wanted to give my brain a rest. She’d been on my mind so much lately, I’d almost forgotten what it was like not to think about the murder. There I go again. Push the thoughts away, Claire. The self-talk helped and so did my dog.

Sprocket picked up the scent of a cat and away we went. He pulled me down the sidewalk toward home. The black and white kitty he smelled realized he was in pursuit and the race was on.

My big dog barked and pulled. I hung on and prayed he wouldn’t get away from me. Being jerked down the sidewalk wasn’t my idea of good-for-me exercise.

The cat went up a tree and Sprocket finally stopped. Winded I panted beside the big dog. His tongue hung out and he gave me a doggie grin.

We’d stopped in front of Sara’s house. The cat hissed from his perch above us and Sprocket barked.

I stared up at the frightened animal. “Come on, Sprocket. You’ve scared the poor kitty enough for one day.” I pulled on his leash, still trying to get my breath.

“Looks like he gave you a run for your money,” Sara said as she closed her front door.

I tried to smile. “That’s one of the bad things about having such a big dog. When they take it into their heads to chase a poor defenseless cat, you don’t have much choice but to follow.”

She laughed. “Hey, are you real busy?”

“Nope, I’m taking it easy today. My house is pretty straight and now that I’ve walked the dog, I’m going to spend the rest of the day reading and lounging around.” I pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes.

Disappointment filled her voice. “Oh, okay.”

As much as I hated giving up my time of liberation, I asked. “Is there something I can do for you?” Please let it be something easy, so I can go back to my stress free day. It was a selfish prayer, but if you don’t tell the Lord what you want, you’ll never get it. The thought that I might not get it anyway struck me as comical.

“I’m heading down to the flea market this morning and wondered if you’d like to go. Mom is working, and I thought that it might be nice to get to know you better. But, since you already have plans, I guess I’ll go alone.” Sara’s voice held a hint of sadness. She looked up at the hissing cat, avoiding my gaze.

I studied Sprocket. It didn’t take a genius to know I was being played. But, if the girl was that lonesome for company, maybe I should go with her.

“If you will give me a couple of minutes to put Sprocket away and grab my pocketbook, I’ll go.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose on you.”

“I’m sure. It’ll be fun to go to the flea market. I haven’t been in a while. Be back in a flash.” I pulled the shaggy dog to the yard and shut the gate. The screen door slammed as I hurried into the house.

I’m not sure why I did it but I scribbled a note for Brandon as to where I was going, propped it against the flower vase on the table, and then grabbed my purse.

Sara backed the old red pickup out of her garage. It spit out a cloud of smoke. She motioned for me to get in. Oh my stars! Death by rust and smog.

I jerked hard on the passenger’s door. It resisted. I yanked with all my might and it swung open. “Sara, would you rather take my car?” I asked pulling myself into the cracked vinyl seat.

“Oh no, I want to take the truck in case I find something really big that I can’t live without.” She waited until I put on my seatbelt and then put the pickup into reverse.

The vehicle sputtered and jerked down the road. Thankfully, the market wasn’t that far from the house. Whiplash would soon be setting in if we had much further to go. A neck brace would clash with my pink tops, I felt sure of it.

We came to a jerky stop in front of the old building that housed the flea market. I sighed with relief.

“Sorry about that. The old gal doesn’t drive as smooth as she once did.” Sara slipped out of the pickup and came around to my side. She pulled open the door and smiled.

I unbuckled my rusty seatbelt. “Why don’t you trade it in?”

We started toward the building. “It was… my dad’s, and I just can’t give it up. Stupid I know, but I grew up with that pickup.”

Sara wore a pair of jeans and a purple tee shirt today. White tennis shoes covered her large feet. I was amazed to see that she also had in a pair of amethyst earrings. She looked almost normal. Everyone knows that white tennis shoes are a fashion faux pas during the winter months. I pushed the thought aside and said. “That’s not silly at all. I have my mother’s brooch from when she was a teenager. We all want things of our loved ones to keep them in our memories.”

“Thanks for understanding.” She held the door open for me.

The aroma of onions, hot dogs, frying meat, and fresh baked bread filled the warehouse. Several food vendors had set up shop and created small café style eating spaces.

Colorful booths lined the walls and filled the center of the building. I had no idea it had expanded so much in my absence. The gleam in Sara’s eyes told me she was going to enjoy this almost as much as I. She grabbed a cardboard box and proceeded down the aisle against the wall.

Okay, maybe Sara was a little more into this than me. I watched her plow right past the brightly colored display of scarves and hats. What was the hurry?

I walked to the scarves and selected a light lavender one. It would go great with a dark purple pantsuit or dress. The silk material ran through my fingers.

From the corner of my eye, I detected a sudden movement. I turned my head for a better view and saw Martha Lewis duck down the next row of booths. Had she been spying on me? And if so, why? *Note to self: Go back and put Martha Lewis on the list of suspects*

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

Shocked at the sudden voice, I swirled around to find that Olivia stood behind me. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled up into a ponytail. She wore a short skirt and a green blouse that matched her eyes.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Teenagers have no sense of subtlety. “I’m here having a good time. What about you?”

She rubbed the silky lavender fabric between her fingers. “I’m here to help raise money for our youth group. We’re selling hot dogs over there.” Her finger pointed to one of the food stands. “I like this scarf. Are you going to buy it?”

“I think so.”

Olivia released the scarf, and she picked up a green hat. “How does this look on me?” She slapped it down over her hair.

“Looks great.” The color brought out the green in her eyes.

I paid the woman for the scarf and moved to the next booth. Old and new books lined several bookshelves. Olivia followed.

“She has the series I’m reading.”

I smiled at Ms. Cooper, the English teacher from the high school, while Olivia held up a book for me to see. A mouse decorated the cover. It held a sword in one hand and a shield in the other.

“What’s it about?” From the corner of my eye, I noticed Ms. Cooper’s head bent over the book she was reading when we arrived.

“Well, it’s a series about animals that live in an Abbey and other animals that try to take it away from them. I guess you’d call it an adventure. I love the moles and the way they talk. Oh! And then there are the rabbits, they are so funny.” Olivia took a breath. Her eyes had grown into round disks in her face.

“Wow, they sound exciting.” I picked up one of the other books in the series. An otter with an earring graced its face. I flipped the book over to read the back cover.

Olivia practically squealed. “Oh, they are. You should try one.”

A picture of the author met my gaze. So much for reading about the book. “Okay, I’ll take this one.”

“No, start with this one. It’s the first.” Olivia handed me the book with the little mouse.

“Have you read this one?” I asked, showing her the Otter.

She sighed. “Not yet. But I will someday.”

“Then I’ll get them both. But you have to read this one while I read the other. How does that sound?” I took both books to the schoolteacher.

“That’s great! Thanks, Mrs. Parker.” Olivia frowned.

I glanced in the direction she was looking. A young man by the food booth waved for her to come to him. I handed her the book. “Go on. It looks like you’re needed. I’ll be by in a little bit for one of those hot dogs.”

She smiled her thanks and took off.

“That was a nice thing you just did,” Ms. Cooper said as she took my money. “Is there another book you’d like to have? It’s on me.” A frown marred her features as she stared over large round glasses that made her look like an owl.

I accepted my change. “That’s not necessary. I’m curious as to what the kids are reading.”

Her grey hair was pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head. Big brown eyes studied me. “Aren’t you the lady who is snooping into the murder of Mitzi Douglas?”

I wondered how she knew. “What makes you think that?” I asked, picking up a historical romance and turning it over in my hand.

“I recognized your name, and I’m dating Detective Howard. He’s concerned you’re going to get into trouble poking around in his case.”

My attention had been captured. I watched her as she picked up the book she’d been reading and sat back down. The thought that Detective Howard was concerned about me, took me by surprise. “Please, call me Claire.”

“Thanks. Having any luck with your snooping?” She asked, the smile had left her face, and now she just seemed angry.

I sighed. “No. Does your boyfriend still suspect me?”

“Honestly, he hasn’t said.” Ms. Cooper bent her head back to her book and dismissed me as if I were one of her irritating students.

It suddenly dawned on me that she might be jealous that he’d mentioned my name in relationship with his case. I finished reading the back of the book and picked up a second one by the same author, then cleared my throat.

She looked up. “Can I help you with something else?”

“Please, I’d like to get these two books, too.” I handed them to her. While she figured the total I continued. “Ms. Cooper, Mitzi was my best friend. I didn’t kill her, and I just want to know who did. My boyfriend and I just can’t seem to come up with anyone who disliked her enough to kill her.” Maybe saying I had a boyfriend would open her up to me.

I told myself it wasn’t a lie. Brandon is a boy, and he is my friend. Put them together and you get boyfriend. Okay, that’s a stretch.

A smile crossed her face. “Please call me, Laura.” She handed the books back to me; dimples filled her cheeks once more. “That’s what Marvin is having trouble with, too. Everyone seems to have liked her. If you ask me, I bet it was either a family member or a very close friend,” she whispered.

She sounded just like Detective Howard. “Oh there are at least three people who didn’t like her, but I don’t think any of them killed her,” I answered. “And, unfortunately that’s why the police are looking at me, her best friend.” I reminded her.

“You found people who didn’t like her?” She leaned forward.

It dawned on me, she’d relay any information I gave her to Detective Howard. Maybe I should drop a couple of names and let him look into them. “Darlene Lowery was jealous of Mitzi but like I said, it probably wasn’t enough to kill her over.”

I watched as she mentally repeated the name to herself several times before commenting. “Maybe not. Is she the only person?”

Pretending to look at another book, I tried to sound off-handed with my answer. “No, there is a couple in the creative writing class at the college that had words with her. It could have just been an age difference thing with them though. You know how young people are. I’m sure it was nothing.” The way her eyes lit up, I knew Detective Howard would be hearing from Ms. Cooper soon.

I put away the book. “It was nice talking to you, Laura. Thanks for the books.” As I walked off she was flipping her cell phone open.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 21

When I turned around, Sara stood in front of me. “I thought you were right behind me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. For a moment, I felt as if she were scolding me. Then a smile broke out across her face. “Come on. I want to show you something.” She grabbed one arm and pulled me down the next aisle.

I noted she’d exchanged the cardboard box for a big fabric shopping bag decorated with sunflowers and sequins. It hung from her arm and swung between us as she dragged me along.

We passed the lady who sold the shopping bags. I made a mental note to go back and buy one of them. Sara stopped so suddenly that I ran right into her back.

I looked around the booth and realized we were in the salt and pepper shaker kingdom. There were all kinds of collectible shakers.

“Aren’t these great?” She asked, picking up a set of pig salt and pepper shakers shaped like miniature chefs. They were pink with white hats and coats and each sported black and white checkered scarves and aprons.

“Yes they are. Look at these.” I pointed out a frog and princess. The princess was bent down to give the frog a kiss.

Sara smiled. “I like those, too but since I collect pig shakers I think I’ll keep to these.” She paid the woman for them.

I picked up the frog and noted that the price was only three dollars for the set. Thinking Megan would enjoy them, I paid for mine. We waited while the woman wrapped them in tissue and placed them in a plastic bag.

It dawned on me that we’d just started, and I was already holding three plastic bags. Sara must have noticed, too because she said, “Did you see the bag lady back there? She has all kinds of shopping bags for sale. They sure help when you have several items.”

“Thanks. I think you’re right. I’ll go back and get one.”

She looked forward. “Do you mind if I move on? I’ll stay on this aisle, if you want me to wait for you.”

Her tone reminded me of a little girl asking permission from her mother to be allowed to wander away. “Not at all. Enjoy yourself.” I glanced down at my watch. “How about we meet at the hot dog stand in an hour? That way you can shop at the stands you want, and then we can revisit our favorites if we want to.”

Sara grinned. “Sounds good to me, meet you in an hour.” And then she was gone.

I returned to the stand with the bags. Each one seemed unique in its own manner. I sorted through them and asked myself which one I really liked. It seemed I usually went with what was cheapest or what I thought others expected of me. This time I wanted something I would really like.

A pink bag with fake cherry-colored fringe caught my eye. I pulled it out from several other bags and was delighted to see that it had a pink flamingo on the front in the same cherry coloring as the fringe. This was my kind of bag.

“That’s a good choice,” the sales lady said as I handed her the bag. She pulled off the tag. “That will be eighty dollars.”

I swallowed my tongue. Okay, not really, but eighty dollars? You said you wanted to buy something you liked no matter the cost, I reminded myself as I handed over the check. I also thanked the Lord for the large insurance policy my husband had taken out, and my retirement fund.

“Do you want me to wrap this up for you?” the woman asked.

I put the checkbook back in my handbag. “No thanks, I’ll carry it.” When she offered it back, I put my other purchases inside along with the cumbersome pocketbook. Now my hands were free once more.

Each new aisle held wonders from the past and treasures of today. One lady carried nothing but crystals. Her booth sat beside one of the few windows in the building. The jewels reflected the lights sending colors about the area. Something niggled at my memory but was to far away to grasp.

A little dog drew my attention. It looked a lot like Sprocket. I reached out to pick it up.

“You don’t want that one.” Air whispered over my ear and tickled the hair around it. Electricity sparkled around us, and I knew without looking who had just eased up behind me.

The desire to lean into him tugged at me but I resisted. I placed both hands on my hips and turned to face him. “And just why is that, Professor Harvest?” He stood so close we touched.

He laughed and stepped back. Was that a hint of red that had just crept into his handsome cheeks. “Because I have already purchased him for you.” Brandon extended his hand and the little dog seemed to wink at me.

The light reflected in both the dog’s and Brandon’s eyes. New electricity flickered between us. “You did?” The question came out a whisper.

He nodded and continued to extend the glass toward me.

To cover the breathlessness, I spoke a little louder than I intended. “Why?” Not the most graceful acceptance of a gift. I took it into my hand and attempted to smile and take the sting from my demand.

Brandon leaned close and whispered against my lips, “Because we’re friends.” He stood to his full height and continued. “Plus, he looks just like Sprocket, don’t you think so?”

“Yes. That’s why I was going to buy him.” I touched the finely shaped head. Savoring that feeling of excitement that only Brandon could ignite.

He touched the side of my face. “Now you don’t have to.”

“Thank you.” Oh my! Please don’t tell me that was not my voice. I sounded like a love struck girl. Surely it wasn’t mine. Surely.

Once more he leaned close. “You’re welcome.”

It surprised me when he rubbed his nose against mine and then moved to look at a clear dolphin that seemed to be jumping from the ocean into the air. What had I expected? Another kiss? Wasn’t it me who wanted to be just friends?

I glanced at my watch and realized an hour had passed. “Brandon, I need to go meet Sara at the hot dog stand.”

His stomach growled, and he laughed. “I’ll come with you.”

We walked down an aisle filled with an assortment of toys and electronics. Several times I noticed Brandon pausing. “After we eat a hot dog, would you like to come back down this row and look at some of the newfangled gadgets?”

He looped his arm in mine and stepped up our pace. “That is the best idea you’ve had all day.”

Fresh air entered the building as someone opened the door. I turned to see Martha slipping outside. Had she been waiting to see if Brandon were with me? Surely the woman wasn’t stalking us.

Sara stood waiting for us when we arrived. She looked from Brandon to me. “Hello, Mr. Harvest.”

“Call me Brandon.”

Sara ignored him and turned to the girl selling hot dogs. “I’ll have two dogs, a bag of chips, and a grape soda.”

“Was it something I said?” He mouthed to me.

I shrugged. Sara seemed the odd sort. She tended to get upset at the drop of a hat, and a few moments later, she’d be as sweet as maple syrup on a Sunday morning.

Sara paid for her food, took a number, and then stepped aside for Brandon to place his order.

“Claire, what would you like?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

I smiled at Sara. “I’ll have what Sara ordered; only I just need one hot dog.”

She smiled back. Her number was called, and she stepped forward. “Where do you want to sit?” she asked.

Several tables were empty, so I pointed to the one furthest away from the stand. “How about there?”

“I’ll save you a seat.”

Brandon joined me once more. “What are you going to do after this?”

“Going home for a nap. You?”

Our number was called. We both stepped forward and took the food. “I’ll go to the house for a few minutes, and then I’m going to head out to my place to finish a rocking chair.”

Brandon pulled out a seat for me and then took one himself. “This place has really grown since the last time I was here.”

I smiled. “I told Sara the same thing.”

“You two really should get out more.” She pounded her bag of chips with a balled fist.

I jumped.

“Sorry about that. I like them in small pieces.” Her cheeks were flushed with color. “Sometimes I forget my own strength.”

Brandon unwrapped one of his hot dogs. “No harm done.”

I opened a packet of mustard. “Did you discover any more good finds, Sara?”

She looked up from her food. “I bought a book.”

“What’s it about?” Brandon asked, biting into his meal.

“A man who spends his life chasing a whale.” She wadded up her paper wrapper and poured chips from the bag into her mouth.

“Moby Dick?” I asked.

“Yep, I loved that book as a kid. It brought back childhood memories, so I bought it.” She tipped her grape bottle back and finished the liquid off.

Sara seemed to be a woman who enjoyed the things of the past. She’d kept her father’s old truck for sentimental reasons and bought a book with her childhood in mind. I decided she must have had a good childhood if she wanted to hang onto it like she did.

“Are you ready, Claire?”

The question took me by surprise. I looked down at my untouched meal. “A...I was planning on looking about some more. But if you’re ready to go ...”

Brandon cleared his throat. “I’ll be happy to take you home, Claire.”

I looked into his warm chocolate eyes. “That would be nice.”

“Fine. Then I’m out of here.” Sara pushed back her chair, picked up the sunflower bag, and headed for the exit. On the way, she tossed her trash in a can and then hit the door with both hands to open it.

“That is one odd duck.” Brandon said as he picked up his hot dog and took a big bite off one end.

I nibbled on a chip. “Maybe I should have gone with her.” I felt like I’d gone to a party with one date and left with another. A weird way to look at it, but the only method to explain how I felt at the moment.

“Why don’t you buy her something to make it up to her?” Brandon wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“That’s a great idea. I know she likes drinking tea, and I saw a lady selling all kinds at one of the booths.” I smiled at the kindness he generated toward others.

We spent the next two hours going from booth to booth. There were a lot of them that didn’t hold our interest for more than a passing glance but there were others that one or both of us stayed at for quiet a while.

I left with a new spice tea for Sara to try and a cute teacup to go with it. Little pink pigs danced around the side. It was just too cute to pass up. At another stall, I found a bag and tissue paper to wrap them up.

Brandon placed the new tools he’d purchased in the bed of his truck and helped me load my things in the back seat. “That was fun,” he offered as he held the passenger door open for me.

“I thought so, too.” He closed the door behind me. A true gentleman, I reflected, clicking my seatbelt into place. The scent of coconut oil filled the truck. It reminded me of summer days at the pool.

He climbed into the cab. His cell phone rang. I sat politely as he took the call and tried not to eavesdrop.

“Oh, really?”

No, not listening. Looking at the bird in that tree.

He turned the key and started the truck. The air conditioner felt good against my warm face.

“Will you alert the students?”

Alert them to what? No, not listening. Focus on the car with all the doors open.

“Okay. That should work. Thanks for letting me know, Bob.” He winked at me.

Crazy man. I felt the heat in my cheeks intensify.

“Good. Bye.” He snapped the phone closed, and then turned to stare at me with those beautiful chocolate eyes. “Would you go on a date with me tonight?”

Okay, I wasn ’ t expecting that.

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 22

He held up his hand as I opened my mouth. I’m not sure what I was going to say but felt relieved that he’d stopped me.

“That was the dean at the school. Classes have been cancelled tonight because of some sort of electrical problem. So, the singles group at church meets tonight, and I wondered if you’d go with me.” He gasped for breath.

I simply looked at him. Coconut surrounded us and the air conditioner cooled the air. Was he asking for a real date? Or was this a friendship date? It had been so long since I’d dated, maybe they were the same.

He opened his mouth to speak. “If you already planned to go, we could just ride together. Plus, I don’t want to leave you alone after dark. What do you say? It’ll be fun.” Red color filled his neck and moved up his face.

This time it was my turn to hold up a hand. “Since you put it like that, I’d love to go.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean...I mean ...”

I laughed. “Don’t hurt yourself, Brandon. I said I’d go. Do you really care what my reasons for going are?”

He put the pickup in reverse. His arm went over the back of the seat. For a brief moment, his fingers played in my hair. “I guess not.”

Looking into his face, I decided I needed a better hair conditioner. One that would leave my hair silky soft.

Ten minutes later, he dropped me off at the house. Brandon handed my bags to me. “Don’t forget. I’ll be back at six to pick you up.” He touched the side of my face and smiled.

I leaned my cheek into the palm of his warm hand. He pulled it away and hurried around the front of the pickup. Just before he got in, I called, “Is this dress or casual?”

“Casual. We’re having pizza for dinner and playing board games all night.” He waved goodbye and backed out of the drive.

Sprocket barked a hello, bringing me out of the romantic cloud I found myself floating in. Who was I kidding?

Determined not to go there with my thoughts I turned to smile at the dog.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sara’s living room curtain fall into place. I knelt down and patted Sprocket through the fence. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, ole boy. I have a gift to deliver, and then we’ll go in the house to cool off and have a nice nap. How’s that sound?”

He bumped my hand with his head. “Thanks, I’ll be right back.”

I crossed the driveway and followed the sidewalk to Sara’s front door. A new sunflower wreath hung on the door. Its flowers and leaves looked fresh and inviting.

Sara opened the door. A frown marred her smooth features. “Is everything okay?” She asked, looking toward my house.

“Everything’s fine. I felt bad for this morning and wanted to come by and drop off a thank you gift. It was nice going to the flea market.” I held the package out to her.

She eyed it suspiciously. “You didn’t have to buy me a gift.”

“I know. But I wanted to.” I jiggled the bag. “I think you’ll like what’s inside.”

A smile touched her face and softened her features. “Thanks.” She took the bag. “Come on in and I’ll open it.”

I followed her into a living room similar to my own. Only she didn’t have the large screened-in porch. Cinnamon filled the air. She moved to an oversized couch and sat down.

“Please, have a seat.” She indicated the matching chair that sat off to the right of the couch.

While she pulled out the paper, I glanced about. Bookshelves lined the room. I realized no pictures of her family decorated the small area. In my house, photos of Megan and Greg filled every available space.

“Oh Claire, this is great!”

I turned my attention back to her. She held the pumpkin spiced tea in one hand and the cup in the other.

“There’s a saucer that goes with the cup in the very bottom of the bag,” I offered, happy to see she was delighted with the present.

Sara set the cup on the coffee table. “Would you like to see my collection?” She had already gotten up and headed through a door at the back of the room.

As if I had a choice. I followed. “Do you collect teacups, too?” I asked, catching up with her in the first bedroom.

“No, this is my salt and pepper collection.”

Hundreds of small pig-shaped salt and pepper shakers filled numerous shelves along the back wall. Speechless, I moved to stand in front of them. The pigs came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some were dressed as farmers, musicians; all sorts of occupations were represented. I even saw pig sets that were dressed like Civil War heroes.

“These are awesome.”

“Thanks. If I keep getting them, I’m going to have to build another shelf.” She turned to leave the room. I would have enjoyed looking at them some more, but it was obvious the viewing had come to an end. As I left the room, the sunshine cast light off something and it hit me in the eyes. With all the different styles of shakers, I didn’t doubt that she had silver ones in there, too.

Sara shut the door behind us. Once more she led the way. “Thanks again, Claire. I love the pig teacup.” A smile spread across her face. “I might have to start looking for various cups with pigs on them.”

I walked the remainder of the way to the door. “I’m glad you like it. I’d better get on over to the house. Sprocket and I are going to get out of this heat.” I indicated the pink bag on my arm. “As you can see, I just got back from the market. Thanks again for inviting me this morning. It was fun.”

“Maybe we can go again when Mr. Hart gives me another Saturday off. It seems I don’t get them but once every six weeks.” She walked out onto the porch with me.

“It’s a date.” I waved goodbye and hurried to my own house. A date. I have a date with Brandon Harvest. What am I going to wear?

****

At five-thirty I stood in front of my full-length mirror. It had taken all afternoon, but I’d finally settled on a light blue skirt with a darker blue top. As always, my first choice had been pink, but it was a fun color, and this date wasn’t suppose to be fun. I’d decided earlier that it would be a date to learn more about the people in Mitzi’s life. Not a date to pursue a man.

“I look drab.” I said to the reflection.

A glance into my jewelry case produced a large floral pin. Normally it wasn’t one I’d wear. For some reason, the pink flowers and green petals always clashed with the top I’d chosen. I pinned it into place and smiled.

The blue from the top brought out the color in my eyes, and the pink flowers in the pin gave me a sense of well being. Don’t ask me why pink makes me feel good, it just does. I strapped on a pair of white sandals and looked at the many purses Mitzi had left behind.

I should have put them in the giveaway bag, but knew they were all expensive and since they were every color of the rainbow, I could use them. A light blue one with green leaves embroidered on the front caught my eye. I dumped the contents of my own pocketbook onto the bed and rearranged it in the blue.

Pulling it onto my shoulder, I glanced at the clock once more. Fifteen minutes. I still had fifteen minutes. I walked to the bathroom and wiped off my sweaty palms. I’d forgotten how nervous investigating Mitzi’s murder made me. It’s not the murder and you know it. “Oh, shut up.” I told the bleached blonde in the mirror.

The doorbell rang. I stuck my tongue out at the reflection and hurried down the hallway. Brandon was early.

I pulled the door open with what I hoped was my most charming smile. It faded as my brain related to the rest of me that Brandon looked a lot like Detective Howard.

“Mrs. Parker.” He tipped his hat. “May I come in? I have a few questions for you.”

The driveway stood empty except for his patrol car. “I guess so.”

He stepped past me. “This shouldn’t take long.”

A sigh escaped my parted lips. “Please, sit down.”

“Naw, I can see you are on your way out. I’ve asked you to stay out of Mitzi’s case, but it has come to my attention that you are still nosing around. Is that correct?”

Pulling myself up to my five foot two inches, I answered. “Yes, I’ve asked a few questions.”

“I see.” He ran his hand over his buzz cut. “What makes you think Darlene Lowery might be our murderer?” He pulled out a small notebook.

If he wasn’t going to sit down, I was. I moved around him and sat on the couch. “I didn’t say Darlene murdered her. I said, Darlene was jealous of her, but I’m not sure that is enough to kill for.”

He jotted my words down in his book. “I see.” His gaze met mine. “Just so you know, people have killed for a lot less.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “So I’ve been told.”

He licked the tip of his pencil. It reminded me of something my grandfather did when I was a kid. His steely gaze locked on me once more. “Can you give me the names of the couple who argued with her and what they were quarrelling about?”

“Yes and no.” I waited. What was it about this man that set me on edge and made me act like a delinquent teenager?

He sighed. “Which is it?”

It took all I could muster to push my rebellious nature to the side and answer. “I only know their first names.”

He nodded.

“Karen and Jack. Brandon will know their full names. They’re in his creative writing class.” I answered.

He made more notes on the small pad. “What was the argument about?”

I heard Brandon’s pickup pull into the driveway. At least, I hoped it was him. “That is a question for them. Sadie didn’t say, and I didn’t think to ask.”

His lips twitched as he wrote down this new piece of evidence. “You know, a good detective asks all the questions.”

“Why, Detective Howard, that’s the first time you’ve indicated you thought I was good.” I batted my lashes and attempted to look innocent. I swear, I think I heard the man growl at me.

“What’s going on?” Brandon asked, opening the screen and coming on into the room. He looked nice in blue jeans and what looked like a freshly pressed caramel colored shirt.

Detective Howard shook his head. “Mr. Harvest, I need the names of two of your students.” He ordered.

Brandon arched an eyebrow. “Is that so? Which two?” From his tone, I could see the good detective rubbed Brandon the wrong way, too.

If the officer noticed, he gave no indication of it as he consulted his notes. “Karen and Jack.” He looked expectantly at Brandon.

“Karen Moore and Jack Carr. They are on that class list I gave you.” He paused and then asked. “Are they in some sort of trouble?”

Detective Howard shut his notebook and stuffed it back in his shirt pocket. “We got a tip today and need to ask a few questions of them, that’s all. Thank you both for your cooperation.”

He shoved the pencil behind the notebook, and then raised one eyebrow at me. “Claire, leave the detective work to us.” Detective Howard put his hat back on and left the room. And, the door slammed behind him before I could remind him that if it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t know who to question.

Brandon turned to face me. “Now, what was that about?”

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 23

I stood, puzzled as to why he appeared angry with me. “I met Ms. Cooper today at the flea market and put a bug in her ear about Darlene, Karen, and Jack.” I moved to the door, ready to leave.

He stood his ground. “So? What does that have to do with him stopping by here?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you the best part. He and Ms. Cooper are dating. I knew if I told her, she’d tell him, and he’d look into it.” I felt pretty proud of myself. “I was right, too.”

His voice came out unusually low. “And when were you going to tell me about this? Does he plan to look into my background, too?”

What was he talking about? “Why would he investigate you?”

“Why not? Have you told him we’re working on this together? Or is he to assume you are keeping me around to make sure I didn’t do sweet Mitzi in?” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

I must be dense because none of this made sense to me. “I can’t remember if I told him or not. You were standing here, why didn’t you mention it?”

“You really don’t understand, do you?” He uncrossed his arms and frowned.

I shook my head no.

“Then I guess it really doesn’t matter then. Come on we’re going to be late.” He took my elbow in his rough hand and propelled me out of the house and into his truck. He closed the door a little harder than I thought necessary.

On the way to the church, I asked, “Did you get the rocker finished?”

“Almost. I’ll work on it some more tomorrow and then deliver it sometime in the afternoon.” He focused his gaze on the road. His voice had lost its anger, but he still seemed a little put out.

I fiddled with the strap of my pocketbook. Apologizing wasn’t something I was used to doing. Especially when I really didn’t understand what I was apologizing for. But, I bit my lip hard and then pressed forward. “Brandon, I’m sorry. I should have mentioned that you were helping me with Mitzi’s case. I’ll call him and let him know first thing in the morning.”

He pulled into the church parking lot. “If that’s what you want to do, fine.” Brandon got out of the truck and came around my side to open the door.

We walked to the building in silence. Once more, he opened a door for me and guided us into the meeting room. It was a large room with lots of long tables and benches. The scent of freshly baked cookies greeted us.

Brandon moved off to visit with several other men while Lori nabbed me. “I was hoping you’d come tonight. I’d like to introduce you to some of the other single ladies in our group. This is Mary, Cheryl, and Lilly. Ladies, Claire.”

“Nice to meet you all.” I glanced over my shoulder to where Brandon stood talking. His gaze met mine for a brief moment, and then he glanced away.

Cheryl smiled. “I see you arrived with Brandon. He’s nice.”

“Yes, he is.”

It wasn’t long before the three women were drilling me. Where had we met? Were we dating? If not, why? I answered all their questions and asked a few of my own. It was amazing how quickly the four of us got along.

“The pizza’s here.” One of the men announced.

I stepped up to help the women. We placed the boxes in a row down one table. Set up drinks on another and games on several more tables. We served ourselves, and the game playing began.

“Come play Bridge with us,” Mary said, pulling me toward two men who waited with plates piled high with pizza. Each had found a can of soda to wash down the carbs.

I grabbed my plate and let her pull me along. “Tim, David, this is Claire Parker.”

A smile touched Tim’s lips. “Here comes trouble.”

He had no idea.

Something about him seemed familiar. I tried to place where we’d met before but soon forgot all about it as the game started. Mary sat across from me and was my partner; David and Tim sat across from each other.

We laughed and played for about an hour. I learned Tim was a construction worker and David an RN. Both men were nice and asked about my days as a postal worker. Even as I got to know them, I was very aware of Brandon and his playmates. One woman, I hadn’t met yet, hung onto his arm and laughed loudly whenever possible. The other woman seemed quiet and only had eyes for the man who sat beside her.

“That’s Susan Butters. She’s the biggest flirt here, and her favorite man is Brandon.” Mary whispered in my ear when we both went back for additional slices of pizza.

A loud round of laughter came from her table. “I can see that.” I muttered.

We turned to look at the table. Mary leaned close once more. “That really wasn’t a kind thing I just said. Please forget it. Susan isn’t really bad. She’s just lonely and thinks that if she hurries and remarries she won’t be any more.”

“What happened to her husband?” I asked as we headed back to the table.

Mary stopped short. “He died in a car crash a couple of years ago. He liked the races and had just started racing himself when the accident happened.”

“That’s too bad.”

Now was as good a time as any to mention Mitzi. “Did you know Mitzi?” I asked as we sat down at the table once more.

The other woman smiled. Her clear gray eyes looked across at Tim. “Yes, we did. She was very sweet, and we miss her.”

Mitzi and Mary would have been good friends, I realized. Mary had the same soft voice and sweet disposition as Mitzi. Why hadn’t I seen it before?

“I know. I miss her very much, too.”

Tim got up. “I need a fresh drink.” He picked up his empty can and left the table.

Mary and David exchanged knowing looks.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset him.” I watched the tall thin man drop his can into the wastebasket and go out the door.

Mary laid a hand over mine. “It’s okay. He and Mitzi were dating. Tim was pretty serious, but I think Mitzi just enjoyed his friendship.”

I hadn’t put this Tim with the one that Mitzi had been dating. She’d spoken of him, and I knew she’d felt the same way he had; only she’d been too afraid to tell him. Should I tell him how she’d felt? Or leave it be?

In my minds eye, I remembered seeing Tim’s face among the mourners at Mitzi’s funeral. We’d never met, but I’d seen him there. Tears had run down his face freely and unashamedly. I’d thought at the time that he must have loved her very much and wondered who he was.

David leaned forward. “He’s coming back. Can we drop the subject?”

“Sure,” I agreed, sad that I’d caused Tim pain.

Tim smiled as he approached our table. “Sorry about that. The older I get the more I have to go.” As if he realized what he’d just said in front of ladies he turned three shades of red.

Everyone at the table burst out in laughter.

****

For the second time that day, I found myself driven home by someone besides the person I’d gone with. “Thanks, Mary for the ride home.”

“No problem. I’m sorry Tim spilled grape juice on that lovely skirt. I hope you can get it out.”

I unfastened my seatbelt. “I hope so, too. Thanks again.”

She waved as she drove off.

Sprocket ran to the fence for a quick pat on the head. “Sorry ole boy, no time to talk. I have to get inside to see if I can get this stain out of my skirt. Tomorrow we’ll go for a nice long walk, I promise.”

Maybe I’d take him to the park, I thought as I opened the back door and shut it behind me. The stickiness of the fruit drink slid down my legs as I shimmied out of the juice-covered skirt.

I held it up to the light and realized it was ruined, just like my evening. With tears in my eyes, I dropped the skirt into a basket that sat in front of the washer. Brandon hadn’t even noticed when I’d left.

Why should he have?

Susan had held his attention all evening, not me.

Feeling sorry for myself, I traveled down the hallway in the dark. When I opened my bedroom door, a horrible odor greeted me. I reached up for the light switch but it didn’t light the room as I’d expected. Thinking the bulb had burned out, I stepped forward to find my bedside lamp.

Something wet rolled under my feet. The sandals slipped in what felt like goo. I tried to catch myself but felt the air whoosh out as I hit the floor with a crash. Excruciating pain traveled up the fingers of my right hand and into my wrist. It snapped. My head hit something hard and then all went black.

****

The last thing a woman wants to see when she wakes up with a bad headache and sharp pain is the butt of a chicken. I pushed the bloody mass away from me.

From the streetlamp shinning through the window, I saw what had caused me to fall. The body of a chicken, a wet substance I figured was chicken blood, and guts littered the floor of my room.

Taking a few moments to test out my feet, I stood. My hand felt two sizes too big for my wrist. I moved to the bedside lamp, trying to avoid the mess in the floor. It refused to come on also.

I eased my way back to the hall. The light switch here felt cool. Light illuminated the passage and me. My blue top and underwear were covered in blood and gook. I gagged.

I rushed to the guest bathroom and threw up my pizza. My head ached, my hand was on fire, and everything stank. I kicked off my sandals and retrieved the ruined skirt from the washer.

How long had I been out? I looked the glowing numbers on the microwave. Twenty minutes. Pulling the bottle of aspirin from the cabinet, I decided to go see if Brandon was home yet.

I stepped through the screen door and onto the porch. It banged behind me. Brandon stuck his head out from around the trees and shrubberies. “What in the world happened to you?”

He was around the greenery before I could answer. Tears filled my eyes and the next thing I knew I was sobbing against his shirt.

Brandon opened the screen door and led me inside. “Here, sit down.” He pulled a clean handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped my face.

“Thanks.” I sniffled.

He gently picked up my right hand. “That looks broken. What happened?”

I pulled my hand back and cradled it against my body. “I fell over something in the bedroom.”

“Where did all this blood come from?”

My head hurt. I reached up but the spot where it hurt the worst was clean of the sticky mess. “I’m not sure. I guess from the bedroom.”

He got up and walked back to the bedroom. Minutes went by and I began to get worried. It killed my head but I called out. “Brandon, what are you doing?”

“Getting a flashlight to see what you tripped on.”

Great. That’s just what I needed, my future boyfriend to see I tripped on a chicken butt. I groaned and put my head into my left hand.

A few moments later he returned, his face colorless. “I’m calling the Sheriff.”

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 24

Sheriff Trucker arrived with Detective Howard right behind him. The sheriff is a young man with bright red hair and a toothy smile. Both men hurried to the bedroom. While they were gone, Brandon went to the kitchen and made an ice pack using a plastic baggie.

“That is some mess you have back there,” the Sheriff commented when he came back.

I wondered where the detective was but didn’t ask. My head hurt too badly. “I guess I should go look for myself.” The room began to spin as I tried to push off the couch. I felt my body sway.

“Sit down.” Brandon pulled me back. “We need to get you to a hospital.” He applied the ice pack to the back of my head once more.

“We will, Mr. Harvest. But first I need to ask a couple of quick questions.” He pulled out a notebook similar to the one Detective Howard carries.

I closed my eyes and tried to will away the pain in my wrist and hand.

“Ms. Parker?”

So much for willing away the pain. I reopened my eyes. “Yes?”

“I know you don’t feel well, but I have to ask. How did this happen?” His pen was poised above the paper. He smiled encouragingly.

I sighed. “I came home from church. Went to my room. Tried to turn on the light, it didn’t work. Took a step into my room and slipped and fell.”

He wrote as fast as I spoke. I think we were both trying to get this over with as soon as possible.

“Good. How do you think all that blood and those dead animals got into your room?”

I sat up straighter. “What dead animals? All I saw was one dead chicken, and I’m not sure how it got in there.”

“Um, hum.” He made more notes.

Careful not to make my head hurt any worse than it already did, I turned to look at Brandon. “What’s he talking about?”

“You didn’t see all the blood and stuff in there?” The sheriff hooked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate my bedroom.

I ignored him and continued to look into Brandon’s concerned brown eyes. He spoke to me as if I were a child. “The chicken was right in the doorway; that’s why you fell. There are other things in there and blood all over the walls. It looks like a slaughter house.”

I continued to stare at Brandon. Who would do such a thing? And how had they gotten into the house? I had opened the backdoor with my key.

Someone cleared his throat. Sure it was the sheriff. I moved my head slowly to face him. Detective Howard had joined us. I hadn’t heard him enter the room. This scared me. Was I losing my hearing as well as my mind?

Detective Howard knelt in front of me. He took my left hand in both of his and said slowly and softly. “Claire, you have to answer our questions. We need to stop the guy who did this, and we need your help to do it.”

Now I knew I was losing it. Mean old Detective Howard was being nice and seemed to care. This couldn’t be right. I leaned forward and whispered, “Who are you and what have you done to the tough guy I’m used to?”

He whispered back. “I’m serious.”

I removed my hand from his and sat up, still confused but willing to help. My gaze settled on the sheriff who looked as befuddled as I felt. “What was the question again?”

In a slow steady voice he asked. “Did you see the mess in there?”

“No. The lights didn’t work. I slipped and fell. When I woke up, I turned around and went to the hallway. That’s where I turned on the light and saw this,” I indicated with my left hand the front of my dress and my legs, “gunk on me.”

Detective Howard looked to the sheriff. “The lights are working now.”

Brandon spoke up. “I put the light bulb back in.”

Both men turned on him. “Would you repeat that?” the detective asked.

“Claire came to me looking like this and hurt. I got her settled in here and then went to see what had tripped her. The room was pitch black. I found a flashlight in the hall pantry, and when I realized that the light bulb was lying on her bedside table, I reinserted it. Right after that, I called you guys.”

The detective shook his head and stared at the floor, the sheriff sighed and asked. “Did you think to use something besides your hand to touch the light bulb?”

“No sir.”

I couldn’t see his face but knew by the sound of his voice Brandon was calling himself everything bad in the books. To take the focus off him, I asked. “How soon can I clean up my room?”

“Not for awhile. I’m going to call in a team to dust for finger prints,” the sheriff answered.

Then he fired off a question of his own. “How do you suppose this person got inside the house?”

“I don’t know. The back door was locked when I came home.”

Brandon cleared his throat. “The front door was locked, too.”

“Check the windows. If someone came in that way, we’ll find out.” Detective Howard motioned one of his men into action.

At this time of night, I doubted they’d find any thing and decided to give up on my poor trampled flower beds. He gave orders for another man to look around inside.

“I have one more question, and then I’ll let you go.” The Sheriff said. “Who would do this to you?”

Again I was dumbfounded. Who would do this? As far as I knew, I didn’t have any enemies, and I don’t think I’ve ruffled enough feathers to justify this kind of retaliation. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“I think you should know that the perpetrator left you a message.” He had my attention.

“And what did it say? Did he leave a note? Can you get prints off it?” I asked.

Once more, Detective Howard interrupted. But, instead of his usual no-nonsense voice he used his kind, one. “It’s in blood on your bedroom wall.”

My voice cracked. “In blood?”

“I’m afraid so. Whoever did this wrote. Mind your own business.” His normally steely blue eyes were now pools of concern.

“You think it has something to do with Mitzi, don’t you?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid so. I tried to get you to stay out of the investigation. I just wish you had heeded my warnings.”

Everyone sat quietly. Now I wish I’d listened to him, too. I felt stinging in my eyes. Twin tears trickled down my cheeks.

“Gentlemen, I’d like to take her to the hospital now.” There was no doubt that Brandon meant business this time. “You can follow us, if you want to and ask all the questions you need once a doctor has seen her.”

Both policemen stood. “We’re done here for now.”

****

The next afternoon, I was released from the hospital. The hand wasn’t broken but badly sprained. The head wound wasn’t anything to be concerned about. I had aches and pains all over but other than a headache and a sore wrist, I’d been given a clean bill of health.

Megan drove me home. As we pulled into the driveway, she protested again. “Mom, I don’t like you staying here after what happened.”

“I’m fine, Sweetie. Whoever did this wanted to leave a message, not hurt me.”

“Sure, and kids who go trick or treating do it so that they can give the candy to children starving in Africa.” She parked the car and jumped out before I had a chance to retort.

What could I have said to that anyway?

She helped me from the car. “I see Greg and Brandon are already here.”

I’d wondered where Brandon had disappeared to after Megan’s arrival at the hospital the previous night but hadn’t asked. “It would appear so.” I walked to the fence to pet Sprocket.

He licked my good hand and looked up at me with big sad eyes. “I know Sprocket, I promised a nice long walk. But as you can tell, my body guard isn’t going to allow it to happen today.” I knelt down and whispered. “I’ll ditch the warden tomorrow, and we’ll go, I promise.”

Sprocket barked and licked me again. I stood and proceeded to the back door.

Megan patted his head, too, and then followed. Before we got too far, she called to the dog. “Promises were made to be broken, Sprocket old boy.”

That ’ s what you think, young lady. I entered the house with attitude. My daughter was not going to tell me what I could and couldn’t do.

Brandon gave me a big hug as I entered the bright kitchen. His arms felt warm and secure. He smelled of sunshine and wood. “Welcome, home.”

I leaned back and smiled. “Thanks.” His warm eyes eased away a little of the concern I’d had about returning to the house. I didn’t want to stay with anyone else and knew home would be the only place I’d be allowed to stay, alone. Thanks to his comfort, I knew I’d made the right decision.

Megan accepted Greg’s hug, too. She laughed. “Wow, I should come home with mom more often.”

It was time to show my family I could take care of myself. I pulled out of Brandon’s arms and said, “I’d like to see my room now.”

“Are you sure?” Brandon asked.

Megan moved from her husband’s embrace. “Mom, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

I didn’t give a rats foot what my daughter thought was a good idea or not. I was going to see that room…and that was that, as they say. “I’m a full grown woman, Megan. I can handle it.” I headed toward the hallway.

Brandon caught up with me. “It’s not pretty.”

“Maybe not, but I have to face it.” I continued on, grateful he continued behind me.

The door stood before me. I inhaled and opened it. The stench wasn’t as bad as it had been the night before. Yellow tape barred us from entry.

Still, I looked. I’d expected to see little animal corpses all about the room, but only saw the blood on the floor and walls. I turned to ask Brandon about them.

He answered before I could voice the question. “The police took the rats and chicken. They were taking them to the lab for testing.”

“Rats and chickens?” I wrinkled my nose.

“Four rats and one chicken.” He corrected.

My gaze moved back to the room. Blood saturated my carpet and walls.

“What are they testing them for?”

He shrugged. “No idea. They don’t exactly offer information to people who have already tampered with evidence.”

I hugged him around the waist. His arm came around my shoulders. Instead of bringing more attention to the fact that he might have accidentally removed fingerprints from the crime scene, I asked. “How am I going to clean this up?”

“We’ll help you.” Megan leaned her head on Greg’s shoulder. They had followed us and stood beside me.

Brandon rested his chin on the top of my head. “I’ll help, too.” His breath shifted through my hair.

I leaned against him. “Thanks. I appreciate the help.” It felt good to have someone to lean on. I knew we probably should talk about what had happened last night at the church but for right now, I was content to forget the whole thing ever happened.

“We’ll need the okay from the police first. But we should be able to get in there tomorrow,” Brandon said. His hand stroked my arm, sending shivers up my spine and into my hair.

“Until then, would you like to see your new room?” Greg asked, turning Megan toward the guest room.

Reluctantly, Brandon and I parted. We followed Greg and Megan into the guest room. A pretty pink rose quilt covered the bed. My flower prints from the other bedroom now covered the walls. It looked almost the same as my old bedroom did, only now smaller.

“It’s beautiful.” I smiled.

Megan hugged me. “I’m glad you like it, I had to move it all while the police were here. But since they had an emergency pop up, I got permission to move your clothes in here later.” I started to protest but she continued. “The doctor said for you to take it easy for the rest of the weekend.”

Brandon took my left hand and gently pulled me from the room. “In that case, come along. I have another surprise for you.” He continued until we got to the living room. His body had been blocking my view but when he stepped to the side, I saw a brand new wooden rocking chair.

“It’s beautiful.” I walked over and sat down. The seat felt soft and cool. I’d barely settled into it when a knocking started at the back door.

For a brief moment, my heart jumped with fear. Then I realized that whoever destroyed my bedroom wouldn’t knock on the door to get in. Only then did I realize I needed to go to my heavenly Father with this fear. Before, I’d been aware of it but had not felt it seep into my bones like it did now.

Megan headed toward the sound. “I’ll get it.”

“Brandon, this is a wonderful piece of workmanship. Thanks.” My voice shook. I suddenly felt tired and worn out.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Megan said, leading Gloria into the room.

Gloria rushed forward and hugged me. “Oh Claire, I am so sorry. When Megan called, I decided I’d stay a couple of days with you. I hope you don’t mind.”

What did one say? No, please don’t stay! I already have two people staying with me already? What?

Megan saved me, “If you’re going to stay, then I may go home tonight. But, if you get tired or need to leave let me know, I’ll be right back to take care of Mom.”

Okay, maybe “saved” wasn’t the right word. How old did she think I was? “I don’t need anyone to take care of me, Megan. I’ve been taking care of myself for fifty-two years!”

“Uh-oh. Megan, I think it’s time we go. You’ve upset your mother, and that’s the last thing she needs now.” Greg opened the front door.

Megan came over and hugged me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Had I overreacted? She was simply trying to help. “Me, too. I think I’m just over tired.” I returned her hug and then faked a yawn.

“Well, that’s understandable. How about we move you over to the couch? Maybe you can take a little nap.” Gloria headed down the hallway. “I’ll go get a lightweight blanket.

“Mom, I’ll call tomorrow.” Megan promised as Greg shoved her toward the door.

Greg waved and said. “Get some rest. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks. I will.” I sighed as they left.

Brandon held out a hand. I put my good hand in his and allowed him to pull me to my feet. “I’m glad you like the chair, but I have to agree with Gloria, you need to get some rest.” He walked with me to the couch and watched as I lay down.

Gloria hurried back into the room carrying a blanket and pillow. She pushed the pillow under my head and snapped the spread open and let it drift over me. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“I wish I had my book.” I realized the book I’d been reading was still in the bedroom. “But, that’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Brandon asked, slipping into the chair I’d just vacated. He pushed one of my throw pillows behind him.

“It’s in the bedroom.”

“Well, don’t you have another book somewhere around here we can get you?” Gloria asked, sitting down beside me.

I remembered the books I’d bought at the flea market.

“There is a pink bag by the back door. Will you bring that to me?”

“Sure.” She hopped up and was gone in a flash.

Brandon stood. He leaned over me and kissed my forehead. “I’m going to go, too. I’ll see you tomorrow. Try to get some rest.”

I jerked to attention. “You’re leaving?” I hated the way my voice squeaked with fear.

“Just to the porch. If you need me, I’m a yell away, you call out.”

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of his warm lips on my brow. “I will,” Came out as a sigh.

“Bye.” He stood. The sound of the front screen closing alerted me to the fact that he’d left the room.

I opened my eyes. What was I going to do about Brandon and these feelings he evoked in me?

“Is he gone?” Gloria asked, coming back into the room with my bag.

I grinned. “Yep, he’s gone. But only to the porch.”

“Good.” She handed me the bag and said. “I hear you promised a certain animal outside a walk. Would you like for me to take him now or in the morning? Or would you prefer to walk him yourself?”

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 25

So that was her plan, to defy my family and allow me to do what I wanted. I laughed. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be able to walk him in the morning.” I tossed off the blanket. “But, right now I want to see my bedroom again. There might be something there the police missed.”

“Are you supposed to go in there?” Gloria asked as she followed me down the hall.

“If the yellow tape is any indication, probably not.” I slipped under it.

Gloria stood in the doorway and shook her head. “Not that a little thing like that is going to stop you.”

“Nope.” I stood on the wrong side of the yellow line and looked around.

Someone banged on the back door.

I groaned. “Oh, that’s probably Megan.”

“Stay here and I’ll stall her.” Gloria disappeared down the hall.

If I hurried, I could look about the room and pretend I’d been in the bathroom before Megan thought to come looking for me. The stench of the room wasn’t as bad as the night before but it still left a bad odor in my nostrils.

Black powder covered the doorknob and several other places in the room. It was bad enough I had had to clean the finger printing film off my kitchen a few days ago, now I’d have to do so again. I noticed that the powder was smeared in some places. It was nice to know that the police had already dusted for prints.

I moved to the wall to look up at the message that had been written just for me. Mind your own business. The writing slashed across my creamy white paint in angry red streaks. I didn’t even want to think about the fowl or rodent that had given up its lifeblood for me.

Pushing the thought away, I pretended to write the words myself. I stretched my arm up and realized that whoever had left the message stood taller than I did. If I had written the note, it would have been a couple of inches lower.

My hand accidentally grazed a splatter of semi-dried blood. It wasn’t sticky. Wasn’t blood supposed to be real sticky? I lowered my head and took a whiff. The light scent of tomatoes tickled my nose. “It’s ketchup.” I whispered.

“Yes it is and you are messing around where you don’t belong.” The hard words came from behind me. I recognized Detective Howard’s gruff voice.

Caught, I glanced down at my ketchup-coated fingers. Red handed no less. “Guilty as charged.”

He held the tape up. “Get out of there.”

My movements were slow and stiff, but I did as he asked. “I was just trying to help,” I offered in my stop bossing-me-around tone.

He turned me to face the wall. His hands rough on my forearms. “See the message?”

I nodded. I wished he’d release me, and I tried to wiggle free.

His hands held me in place. “Read it aloud please.”

“Mind your own business.”

He leaned down close to my ear and said, “Sounds like good advice to me.”

“But this is my business.” The protest sounded weak as I looked up at the words that appeared to have been written in anger.

Releasing me, he sighed. “Claire, please leave this to the police. We’ll catch him.”

I returned to the living room and sat back down on the couch. Detective Howard followed. I heard banging in the kitchen and wondered what Gloria was trying to find. I sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to make it difficult for you. I just think that people will talk to me easier than they do you.” I picked at the loose threads on the blanket.

He sat down across from me. “The killer knows you are snooping into this case. Right now you’re getting warnings, but if you find out who killed Mitzi, he won’t hesitate to kill you, too.”

“I know that.” Saying the words didn’t make them any less scary. “But, I don’t want to give up. Finding Mitzi’s murderer is important to me.”

Gloria stuck her head in from the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of sweet tea, Detective?”

So that ’ s what she ’ d been doing.

He stood. “No thanks. I just came by to let you ladies know that I have a patrol car cruising by every hour to check on the house.” His steely eyes focused on me. “Lay low for a few days, Claire. Finding Mitzi’s murderer is important to the police, too.”

I nodded and then pressed. “Does this mean I can keep asking questions?”

The detective closed his eyes. His lips moved as if he was counting. Then he opened them. “Promise me you will rest for a couple of days. I know I can’t trust you not to be meddlesome, but I can ask you to keep me posted on what you learn.” Before I could respond, he added, “This isn’t a game, Ms. Parker.”

Aware of Gloria standing in the room, I gave the detective the respect he deserved. “You have my word; I will take a rest from this for a few days. And, when I start asking questions again, you’ll be the first to know.”

He nodded. I felt as if he were admitting defeat. “I’m sending a cleaning crew to take care of your bedroom. Do not allow them in if one of my officers isn’t with them. Understand?”

“Yes, thank you.”

With his hand on the doorknob, he hesitated and then looked at me again. “Claire, be careful.”

A chill filled me at the real concern in his voice. I pulled the blanket over my legs. “I will, I promise.” That was one promise I intended to keep.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Gloria handed me a frosty glass of tea. “Now that he’s gone tell me, what’s going on between you and Brandon Harvest?”

What should I tell her? How much? “Shhhh, not too loud. He is on the front porch, you know.” At her nod, I continued in a soft voice, “I’m not sure there’s much to tell. He’s showing a romantic interest,” I took a sip of the sweet tea.

“But?” Gloria prompted sitting down and crossing her legs.

I sighed. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

She smiled. “Do you get all breathless when he’s around?”

“What is this? High school?”

Gloria leaned forward and answered dramatically. “Nope. Claire Parker, this is your life.”

For a brief moment I expected some old school teacher’s voice to come out over a loud speaker. I remember Claire. She was a quiet girl with lots of potential. I shook my head to get rid of the illusion of being on an old TV show.

“Well?”

I pulled my feet onto the couch and positioned the pillow to ease the pain in my aching back. “Sometimes. But most of the time, I just feel happy and content to spend time with him.”

A twinkle entered her eye. “Has he kissed you?”

Heat filled my cheeks.

A soft laugh filled the air. “How was it?”

I found that stray thread and began pulling at it again. “Nice.”

“Hum, just nice?”

What was this, twenty questions? “It was nice.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Okay, I liked it.”

The other brow moved up with the first.

I sighed. “He makes me feel special. Is that what you want to hear?”

“It’s a start. Now why don’t you tell him how you feel?” She scooted back and picked up her tea from the coffee table.

“I don’t know. Right now I just want to focus on finding Mitzi’s murderer. Is that so wrong?” Defiance filled my voice. I didn’t want to think too hard on my relationship with Brandon. Before I could stop it, a yawn escaped my lips.

“Okay, I can take a hint.” Gloria unfolded her legs and ordered. “To bed with you.”

“I thought I was sleeping here.”

She shook her head. “Nope. That’s my bed. You are going to the guestroom.” Gloria pulled the blanket off me.

“I don’t think that’s right. You should have the bed.” I looked up at her.

Gloria gave me a stern look. “Do I need to call Megan? She’ll come over here, and then I’ll have to go home and poor Sprocket will miss out on his walk in the morning.” The threat was laced with a smile and a teasing tone.

“Heaven forbid.” I swung my legs off the couch and headed for the bedroom at a snails pace. Her voice stopped me at the door.

“Do you need anything before you go? I can get you a couple more aspirin.” She offered.

I smiled. “No thanks. I appreciate you staying with me tonight.”

“That’s what friends are for.” She walked into the kitchen, and I went to bed.

****

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Brandon asked.

I hadn’t told him I was coming to class for just this reason. He’d refused to let me go with him on Monday so I knew he’d still protest today. “I’m fine.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll be back in a moment.”

A sigh escaped me as he walked out of the classroom. I was early and the first to arrive, so I pulled out the young adult book I’d picked up at the flea market and began to read.

“Well, well. Look who’s here, Karen.”

I looked up to see that Jack and Karen had slipped into the classroom. From the looks on their faces, something wasn’t right in their world. “Hello.” I smiled and then went back to my book.

A hand came over the top of it and pushed it down. Karen knelt in front of my seat. “Tell me, Mrs. Parker. What did we ever do to you?”

I smiled and pulled my book out from under her hand. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jack sit down on the desk beside me. “Nothing that I’m aware of.”

His voice growled. “Then what’s the big idea of siccing the police on us?”

I folded my arms over my chest careful of the bandaged wrist. “I didn’t sic the police on you.”

“No?” Karen slapped the top of my desk. “You are the one with all the questions about your dead friend.”

“So? What’s that got to do with the police questioning you?” I prayed I could play dumb long enough for other students or Brandon to get there.

Her gaze burned into mine. “You are the only person that I know of that would say we had a fight with her.”

Jack stood and shoved the desk off to the side. “And we don’t like being questioned by the fuzz.” He added.

Fuzz? I shook my head at the use of such a sixties word. “Look, I didn’t tell the police to question you. Maybe they are questioning everyone in the class. Did you stop to think about that?” I asked, aware that Jack now stood between escape and me.

He rubbed his chin as if in deep thought. “As a matter of fact, we were smart enough to ask a few people about it, and no one here but us was questioned. So, we got to thinking about it. You’ve been absent, and the police are asking us very personal questions.” He dropped his hand and growled. “It had to be you.”

Karen laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

Now how did she know I had a bruise the size of a basketball on that shoulder? I flinched but refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear and pain. “It wasn’t me.”

“What’s going on here?” Brandon demanded. He was followed by several of his women students.

Jack backed up and Karen dropped her hand. “We were just talking.”

“About what?” Brandon’s chocolate-eyed gaze met mine.

What did I have to lose? “It seems Karen and Jack were questioned by the police regarding Mitzi Douglas.”

“Aw, they stopped by my place and asked me some questions, too.” He walked to the front of the class and opened a notebook.

Karen sat down in the chair beside Mitzi’s. “Really? I thought we were the only ones.”

Dora Lee, one of the romance writers, took her seat. “No, they visited me, too. They asked questions like, did you like her? Did she have any enemies? Did you ever argue with her?” She waved her hand in the air. That sort of thing. “I was under the impression they were just checking to see if she had any enemies that I knew of.” She flipped her blond streaked grey hair and then pulled a notebook from her bag. The strong scent of her perfume filled the air.

“Oh.” Karen looked down at the desk. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Parker.”

I reached across and patted her hand. “No harm done.”

Inside I was screaming, murderer!

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 26

I was glad when class ended. Brandon took up the short story assignment he’d given in my absence. After class, I headed home.

My encounter with Karen and Jack had drained me. Once I was safely inside the house, I picked up the phone and called Detective Howard. It didn’t take me long to fill him in on what had happened. After hanging up, I decided I needed a large bowl of chocolate ice cream.

The sound of a truck pulling into the driveway caught my attention. I looked out the window. Brandon got out. I pulled another bowl from the cabinet.

He knocked at the door.

“Come in.”

Within a few moments he’d traveled through the short hallway and smiled as he entered the kitchen. As he pocketed the key I’d given him earlier he asked, “Whatcha making?”

I pulled the ice cream from the freezer and held it up. “Want some?”

He moved to the table. “Sure, count me in.”

A smile tickled my lips. If he thought I’d just serve him, he had another think coming. I carried the ice cream and scoop to the table. “What are those?” I indicated the short stacks of papers he’d laid out on the table before returning to the counter.

“The class’s short stories.”

I scooped up the bowls and spoons and returned. “For their finals?” After placing them on the table, I opened the ice cream, handed him the scoop, and sat down.

“No, that’s not for two more weeks. These are practice stories. I told them I’d grade them and give them pointers so that their finals aren’t a surprise.” He filled my bowl with the cold treat and slid it across the table to me.

“Thanks.” I picked up one of the manuscripts. “Mind if I glance at this?” I’d already picked it up and read the title. Maggie’s Monsters by Martha Lewis. Hey, this is the story by the lady who used to sit behind me in class. Right?”

He carried the ice cream back to the freezer, and then returned. “Right. I’m glad you want to read them. I plan on evaluating a couple while I enjoy this.” Brandon dipped his spoon into the cold dessert.

I’d always heard a person shouldn’t read anything while eating. Something about, you don’t realize how much you eat. Or was it you don’t enjoy what you eat? On the dieting roller coaster of life, you hear all sorts of things. In this case, I decided to ignore the advice and read.

Mrs. Lewis’s story was cute. Maggie’s fear of monsters left her hiding all the time. Once she realized the monsters weren’t real, she could go outside and play again. I laid it to the side and watched Brandon as he ate and read.

He’d read a few lines of each story and then push them aside and take up a new one. It dawned on me that he was looking for something. But what?

With him so deep into the reading, I could study him unobserved. His brown hair looked windblown. I wondered how it would feel if I combed it with my fingers. Would it be as silky and soft as it looked?

Laugh lines crinkled at the corner of his eyes. His lips were slightly parted as he read. The man was just handsome. I sighed.

He looked up.

I panicked. Had he seen me staring? And heard my sigh? “This is it!” He held up the first page of the story he’d been reading.

“What is it?” My voice shook. I looked down into my empty bowl. Man, the diet sayings were true. I hadn’t even realized I’d finished off my chocolate treat.

“This is the story we found in Mitzi’s apartment. Fred Wilson wrote it.” He frowned.

“Are you sure?”

Fred didn’t seem like a murderer. He was about forty years old with thick black hair and eyes the color of night. And, he walked with a cane.

“Be right back.” Brandon scooped the last of the melted ice cream from his bowl. He got up and carried it to the sink and then hurried down the hallway and out the back door.

I watched him open his truck and pull something out before he headed back into the house. Pushing my bowl back, I picked up Fred’s papers and began reading. Chills ran up my spine as I read. I flipped through the pages absorbed in the story and all it had to offer.

It didn’t take long to read. When I finished I looked up at Brandon. “Wow.”

“I know. Now look at this.” He thrust another folded manuscript under my nose.

After a couple of paragraphs I knew I was reading the same story. “It’s the same.”

He ran his fingers in his hair. “Yes it is.”

“Is this why you were reading all of them now?”

Brandon grinned. “I was that obvious, huh?”

I laughed, loving the way his voice filled me with warmth and happiness. I carried my bowl to the sink. “Afraid so.”

“I guess we should call the sheriff or detective and tell them what we found.” Once more he ran his fingers through his hair.

It was all I could do not to run mine through it, too. “I just can’t see him as the killer, Brandon. He walks with a cane. His daughter brings him to class and picks him up afterwards. “I’d hate to sic the police on him.”

“Me, too. But I don’t know what else to do.” He began gathering the stories and placing them in piles by genres. “Besides, even a person with a cane can poison food.”

I moved back to the table and sat down. “Okay, how about this? Friday after class, we’ll ask him about it. That way, he can tell us why Mitzi had it.”

He began shaking his head before I got the word out of my mouth.

“Why not?” I pleaded.

“One, you aren’t coming back to class. You saw how ugly Karen and Jack got today; I don’t want you getting into any more trouble with those two. They may have been the ones who broke in here and planted dead animals in your bedroom. And two, I think we should turn this new evidence over to the police.” He picked the papers up, folded them in half, and held them in one hand.

I studied his serious features. In all honesty, I didn’t want to go back to the class anyway but he didn’t have to know that. “I’ll make you a deal.”

He started to protest, and I held my hand up. “Hear me out. I won’t go back to class if you promise to talk to Fred before turning him over to the police. If he doesn’t have a good excuse, then you can turn him in.”

I wasn’t sure he’d go along with it, but slowly his brown eyes softened into caramel swirls, and he gave in. “Okay. I’ll talk to him Friday after class.”

“Good.”

Brandon pushed his chair away from the table and headed for the back door. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

“Me, too.” I followed him to the screen. “Where you headed?” For reasons I don’t even want to evaluate, I wasn’t ready to let him go.

He turned around. Cupped my face in his hands and gently kissed my lips. After several moments, he eased back and answered. “To my house. I have a piece I’d like to work on before returning here tonight.” He stepped off the short porch.

I loved the way he kissed with such gentleness, but I didn’t want him to feel as if he had to stay with me. “Brandon?”

He turned. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to come back tonight.”

He frowned. “Don’t you realize by now, I want to be here?” A thoughtful look came over his face. “Will Gloria or Megan be spending the night with you again?”

I chose not to answer his first question and go with the one I thought the safest to reply to. “No, I’ve told them both I’m fine now and can take care of myself.” I leaned on the doorframe and inhaled the sweet fragrance of roses. The gentle breeze lifted his hair and swept it over his eyes.

Brandon pushed it into place. “I’ll see you around seven.” He winked and turned to leave again.

I couldn’t help myself. Before I lost my courage I had to do this. “Brandon?”

His shoulders slumped and he turned to me again. “I’m not going to argue about this, Claire.”

“Me either. I thought I’d see if you’d like to catch a movie with me tonight?” I held my breath.

The smile started in his eyes and moved to his lips. He took the needed steps to return to me and then asked, “Are you asking me on a date?”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” I could smell his cologne and my old heart raced just a little faster. Focusing on the pulse in his neck, I waited for his reply.

Silence filled the air between us. Finally, I raised my gaze to his.

“Claire, is that a yes or a no?” He stepped onto the stairs and rested one tan hand against the doorframe by my head.

“It’s a yes.”

He leaned in and nibbled on my lower lip. “Good. It’s about time.” Then he turned and headed to his truck.

My legs felt like wet rubber duckies. Where had the man learned to nibble like that? Who cares? As long as he does it again soon. Shocked at my thoughts, I felt the heat wash into my cheeks.

“I’ll see you at seven.” He called and waved, then was gone.

I smiled and returned the wave.

Then it hit me. I was going out on my first real date in over thirty-five years.

What does a fifty-two year old woman wear on a date to the movies?

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 27

Gloria would know.

I hurried inside and grabbed up the phone. She answered on the second ring. Before I lost my nerve I blurted. “I just asked Brandon to the movies.”

She yawned. “Good for you.”

“Were you taking a nap?” I asked, twisting the cord around my finger.

“Yeah.” Another yawn filled the line. Either she was very sleepy or just wanted me to shut up and leave her alone.

“What do I wear?” I figured if I got straight to the point, I could let her go sooner.

“I don’t know, but I’d wear a pair of blue jeans, pretty top, and shoes to match the blouse.”

“What color of blouse?”

“Any color, just chose something he hasn’t seen you in before.”

Mentally I ran through my closet. Most of my shirts were pink or blue. I didn’t think blue on blue would look very good. And Brandon might be sick of seeing me in pink. Maybe I should go shopping.

“Is that all, Claire? I’d like to finish my nap.”

I’d forgotten all about her. “I’m sorry. Thanks. Enjoy your rest.”

She hung up.

The thought of running to the store for a new top brought a smile to my face. Why not? I hadn’t been shopping in a while. I grabbed my pocketbook and hurried out the door before I could talk myself out of it.

****

Don’t ask me how it happened. One moment I was trying on clothes, and the next I was sitting in a salon having my hair cut and colored.

“You know. I could add a body perm and it would liven up your naturally curly hair.” The lady said as she unclipped the cape from around my shoulders.

My reflection said the cut and color had livened my natural curls enough. Now my hair barely touched my shoulders. It felt and looked light and silky. “Not enough time today, but thanks anyway.” I laid a tip on her table and then headed to the front to pay the bill.

Butterflies took up permanent residence in my stomach, as I neared the house. A new magenta top rested in the bag on the seat beside me. Magenta is not pink, I had told myself in the store; now I wasn’t so sure. But the blouse is pretty and feminine looking. And the best part is, it will match my black jeans and boots.

Sprocket barked hello as I pulled into the drive. I noted that Sara’s truck wasn’t sitting in her garage. Most people would think I was nuts for showing the dog my new hairstyle and clothes, but I didn’t care. After opening the bag and letting Sprocket inspect my new purchases, I headed inside.

My bedroom smelled fresh and the sun shone through the window—the same window the police said the person who’d vandalized my house had crawled through. I pushed away that thought and focused on the movie date instead.

I pulled a pair of black jeans from the closet and then got the shirt out of its bag and laid it over the top of the jeans. And then I found the only pair of black boots I had and laid them on the floor, as if they were attached to the legs of the jeans. “Yuck.”

They just didn’t go with the outfit. I picked them up and tossed them back inside the closet. Crawling around on the floor, I looked for something that might match the top. After several moments of this, I found a pair of penny loafers in the back.

I dragged them out and dusted them off. Once more the empty jeans had shoes planted at the bottom on the floor. Taking the tags off the blouse, I smiled. A date. A real date. With Brandon.

Why had I fought it for so long? I sat down on the edge of the bed as the answer came to me. Because falling in love again would seem untrue to the marriage and love I’d shared with Frank.

“I still love him, Lord. But, I believe You brought Brandon into my life for a reason, and I don’t think You would allow me to have these feelings of love, if it weren’t Your will.” I sat quietly and waited to see what the Lord had to say. The room remained quiet but a peace washed over me. It was as if the Lord Himself hugged me with assurance that falling in love with Brandon was the right thing to do. “Thanks, Lord. I love You.”

****

While waiting for Brandon, I munched on a cookie. To take my thoughts off our date, I pulled out the notebook we’d been working on with the webbing system of searching out suspects.

Since we knew that Fred was the author of the short story at Mitzi’s I marked out the other two ladies names. What was his motive for killing Mitzi? She wrote better than he did? I doubted it. His story had been very intriguing. But then again, writers can be their own worst critics.

Then there was still Darlene. Jealousy was a strong motivator. Hadn’t I over-reacted to Susan’s attentions to Brandon? And we weren’t even dating yet.

My pen moved to Sadie’s name. Upon reflection, I’d come to the conclusion she was just a gossip. I marked her name off the paper.

Karen and Jack’s names branched off the circle that was labeled Creative Writing Group. After the confrontation I’d had with them in class, they moved to the top of the list.

As I studied the list I wondered, who would break into my house and put dead rats and one bloody, gooey chicken in the bedroom? Were Karen and Jack capable of such a thing? I believed they were.

Rats? Where had someone gotten the horrible vermin? I wrote the word, “rats” on the paper. Something flickered in my mind, but I couldn’t quite get a grasp on it. Think Claire, what is it? I closed my eyes in hopes of a clearer mental image.

A knock on the front door broke my concentration. I took a deep breath, pushed away the pad and pen, and then answered the knock.

“Wow. You look great.” Brandon entered the living room.

Heat filled my cheeks. “Thanks. Shall we go?”

I had thought the movie would be uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. The only time I’d felt uneasy was when Karen and Jack had entered the theater. They’d both looked at us for several long moments before moving further down the row and back two. After awhile I’d forgotten all about them as we ate popcorn and enjoyed the film.

It wasn’t until the ride home that I remembered they’d been at the theater, too. The way they looked at us, I felt sure they knew we were going to be there. I shook the thought off. That was impossible. This investigation was getting the best of me. As we walked up the drive to the house, I realized there was no way they could have known about our date.

Standing in front of the screen door that leads to the living room, Brandon kissed me gently on the lips. I laid my hands on his shoulder and returned the kiss. All thoughts of Karen and Jack fled.

“I’m glad you asked me out.” He said, resting his forehead on mine.

I pulled away. “Me, too.”

“Good night.”

“Night.” I closed the door and listened. He walked across the porch. It felt good knowing he was still there, guarding me.

****

Sunday morning I woke up feeling horrible. My head hurt and my stomach felt a little queasy. I dressed in a jogging suit for comfort’s sake and then in socked feet, I made breakfast.

Brandon and I had fallen into a comfortable arrangement. He enjoyed oatmeal so I tried to make it for him Sunday mornings. While it finished cooking, I made toast.

His knock sounded on the front screen. I walked to the door and let him in. “Good Morning, Beautiful.” He smiled as he came inside.

Even though my head hurt, I appreciated the compliment. “Good morning.” I led the way back to the kitchen. Sunshine filtered through the curtains.

“Something wrong this morning?” he asked, walking to the coffee pot and turning it on.

I got down a mug and handed it to him. “I just don’t feel very well today.”

“Then you sit down, and I’ll finish this.”

Within minutes he had the cereal, toast, and coffee on the table. I bowed my head for grace. Closing my eyes against the sunny kitchen felt good.

“Amen.” His warm voice forced my eyes open.

“Amen.” I echoed softly. The bowl he sat in front of me wafted up the scent of oatmeal. My stomach flipped unhappily. I pushed the dish away.

“Not hungry?” He asked buttering a slice of bread.

I wrinkled my nose. “My stomach says I should pass on the cereal this morning,” I answered, reaching for a dry piece of toast.

“Do you have a fever?” He reached out with a cool palm and felt my forehead. “You feel a little warm to me.”

“I’ll take my temperature here in a little while.” I nibbled at the toast and sipped the hot coffee.

He nodded and then finished eating. “Should I make your excuses this morning at Sunday school?”

“If you don’t mind. I just don’t feel like getting out this morning.”

Brandon pushed his chair back and began to clear the table. “Okay, I’ll tell them. Do you think you’re going to be all right? I promised my friend, Rodney I’d have lunch today with him and his wife, Kim. Then we’d planned on fishing this afternoon. I’d planned on asking you, but now that you are sick, I can cancel.”

I stood and hugged him. “Go have fun at church and with your friends. I’ll be fine. I’m going to take some aspirin. I’ll be fit as a frog on a log in no time.”

He returned the hug and kissed me on the forehead. “I’ll call after church. If you aren’t feeling any better, I’m coming home.”

My heart swelled at the sweetness of his offer. What had I done to deserve such a wonderful man? “Okay.”

He released me and left. I finished loading the dishwasher and ran it. Then I went to the living room and picked up the book I’d been reading. After several minutes, I realized I couldn’t stay focused on the words.

I found the thermometer and took my temp. The red line stopped at ninety-nine point eight. I remembered I hadn’t taken the aspirin and so went into the kitchen to get it. Light reflected off the silver birdcage that Brandon had converted into a bird feeder and hung in the window the day before.

Again, I had a flash of memory but not enough to wrap my mind around. After getting the aspirin, I went back to the couch and laid down. I must have fallen asleep because the ringing of the phone woke me.

“Claire, this is Jake.” His voice sounded winded as if he were afraid I might hang up at any moment.

I sat up and pulled my legs under me. I hadn’t expected Mitzi’s son to be calling but was pleasantly surprised. “Hello, Jake.”

“You sound funny. Did I catch you at a bad time?” Concern filled his voice.

“No, I was asleep. I think I’m coming down with a pre-fall cold. What can I do for you this morning, Jake?” My throat felt like someone had sanded it with rough paper.

“Honestly, I feel silly for calling. It’s okay if you have it, but I was just wondering ...” he paused.

The kid was making no sense. “Wondering about what?”

“I’m kind of embarrassed to ask.”

I sighed. “Come on Jake, spit it out.”

“Well, I was going through the box of figurines that came from Mom’s apartment and I can’t find one of them.” He paused. “And, I was wondering if you saw it or maybe packed it in a different box.”

At this rate I’d be on the phone all day with the boy. “Which one was it?” I hoped my impatience wasn’t evident in my tone.

“It’s a little crystal pig. I won it for Mom several years ago at one of those traveling carnivals, but it doesn’t seem to be here.”

I sat up straighter. “A pig?”

A nervous laugh drifted across the lines. “Yeah, it’s silly, but Mom swore she loved it. So I worked that crane machine until I finally got it for her. It took me three nights and about thirty dollars in quarters. I gave it to her for her birthday. I was sixteen but I’ll never forget that look of happiness.”

My mind raced. Had I seen the little pig? No. “I’m sorry, Jake, but no, I haven’t seen it.”

Disappointment filled his voice. “Oh, okay. I’ll let you go. Thanks Claire. I hope you get to feeling better.”

I hung the phone up and went to the kitchen. A thought gnawed at me. My gaze traveled past the silver birdcage and across the drive to Sara’s house. “Surely, I can’t be right.” But there was only one way to find out.

I filled a glass with water and took several sips. Lying down might not have been the best thing for me to do. Now I ached all over. A glance at the clock on the microwave confirmed I’d slept away the morning. It was now twelve-thirty. My head hurt even more than it had this morning.

The phone rang again. I sighed but went to answer it. Jake may have forgotten something or had another question about his mother’s things.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Claire. How you feeling?” Brandon asked.

I didn’t want to worry him so I made my scratchy voice sound as light as possible. “I’m doing okay. How were services?”

“They were good, but you sound awful. I’m coming home.”

If I wanted to do what I thought I wanted to do, I didn’t want Brandon to come home. He would definitely not approve. And, I wasn’t sure my suspicions were correct. “No, go have fun with Rodney. I’m taking some more aspirin and going to lay down for a nap.”

He paused. “Are you sure?”

“Very. All you would be able to do is watch me sleep. Plus, I’ll feel even worse if you don’t go have some fun. You’ve been babysitting me too much lately.” I twisted the cord around my hand and sent up a silent prayer that he’d listen to me.

A deep warm laugh traveled through the lines. “Okay, I’ll go, but if you need anything, call my cell phone.”

I agreed and we hung up. I got dressed and grabbed my jacket. Then I pulled Sprocket’s leash from its peg and headed out the front door.

Walking the dog was the last thing on my mind. Snooping over at Sara’s house, that was the real reason behind the leash. With the way I was feeling, hopefully I wouldn’t have to walk him any further than across the driveway to her house. How I’d get inside would be the next bridge I’d have to cross.

My gaze moved to Sara’s house. Her pickup sat in the driveway. Rats! I’d been hoping she’d already left to have lunch with her mother.

Sprocket barked and bumped my leg with his head. I laughed nervously. “Okay, boy. We’re going for a short walk.” Heat consumed me. My fever had picked up.

The dog was happy to walk around the block. I realized I’d neglected him since I’d taken on investigating Mitzi’s death. My thoughts turned to the crystal pig and the saltshaker set I’d given her that had disappeared.

Just because Sara collected both didn’t mean she took them from Mitzi’s. I tried to think of a motive. As far as I knew, Sara and Mitzi had never met. I thought back to the first time Sara had inquired about Mitzi. She’d acted as if they’d never met. Was I allowing my over-active imagination to run wild?

Sprocket stopped to visit a cute Cocker Spaniel puppy. While they sniffed at each other, I allowed my thoughts to ramble to the vandalism of my room. Working in a sewer would have given Sara access to the rats. Anyone could get a chicken from the farmers market. But rats, well I really needed to check with the pet store and see if any had been purchased in the last few weeks.

The dogs said goodbye, and I was on my way again. “Why hadn’t the police thought of that?”

We were almost back to the house. Sweat poured off my brow, and my head felt woozy. I looked to Sara’s house and found her staring back at me.

“Claire, why don’t you come in for a cup of peach tea?” She called.

This was my chance. If I could look at her collection again, I might be able to prove to myself that she hadn’t killed my best friend. “Thanks, I could sure use a glass of iced tea.” I tied Sprocket to the front porch.

She smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes. “Sure. Come on inside.”

Was I walking into a murderer’s home, or had a fever consumed me, and this new fear was just a figment of my imagination?

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 28

“Mom and I really enjoyed the spiced tea you gave me, Claire.” Sara closed the door behind me. A soft click sounded and then she led the way into her kitchen. “My mom told me to find out where you got it. It helps to calm her nerves.”

I looked about the kitchen that was so much like my own. She’d added a border of black and white pigs near the ceiling. White curtains covered a window that looked out over the back yard. A small round table sat in the center of the room.

Sara looked over her shoulder at me. “Oh please, sit down. You look as if the sun has cooked you alive.”

Thankful, I slid into one of the chairs at the table. My head throbbed and my body felt as if it were on fire. I should have waited to do this, I thought. “I feel like it, too.”

Sara turned back to the counter. She took a small clear glass bottle down. “You want iced tea, right?”

“Yes, please.” I laid my head on the cool surface of the wood. Maybe I should have gone home and taken the nap I told Brandon I’d take.

Ice cubes clanked into glasses. The sound rebounded in my aching head.

Sara sat down across from me. “It will take a few minutes for the tea to boil. Until then, we can catch up.” Without taking a breath, Sara pressed on. “You’re a member of the Mad Hatters aren’t you?”

I lifted my head and looked across at her. “Yes. You know. I’m not feeling too well. I appreciate the offer of tea, but I think I’ll go on home.”

She put a large hand over mine. “You stay put. The tea will be ready in a few minutes, and you’ll feel much better.”

I looked into her eyes. They seemed hard and cold. I lowered my head. At the moment I felt as weak as a newborn lamb, but knew something wasn’t right. “Okay, but just one glass. I left Sprocket out in the sun.”

“I heard you’ve been asking a lot of questions about Mitzi’s death. Mama’s in the Mad Hatters, and she says you asked everyone about it. Why did you do that?”

I groaned. “I want to know who killed her.”

“But with all those warnings, weren’t you scared the killer would come after you?” She pushed her chair back and went to make the tea.

I tilted my head and watched her. She poured the boiling water into a plastic pitcher. Steam circled her head. “A little. But, Brandon was sleeping on the porch, so I felt pretty safe.” I lowered my eyes. The pressure behind them felt almost unbearable.

“He wasn’t there when someone put rats in your bedroom.”

Had the police questioned Sara about the vandalism? “That’s true. Whoever put them there did so when neither of us was home.”

“I guess they should have used real blood instead of ketchup.” She mumbled. I heard the tea being poured into the glasses.

Someone rang the doorbell.

Even with the headache and fever, I knew Sara had killed Mitzi and put the dead animals in my room. The police wouldn’t have told the public about the ketchup, and only the killer would have known that piece of information. What I didn’t know is why she did it. I forced myself to sit up.

She ignored the visitor and handed me the beverage.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” I asked.

“No, I’m not expecting company.” She sat down and stared at me. “Go ahead and drink up. It will make you feel better.”

I raised the glass; the scent of peach caused me to feel queasy again. I set it on the table. I had to know for sure. “Sara, why do you think the person who killed Mitzi messed up my bedroom?” I rocked the glass between my hands. It felt wonderful against my palms.

The doorbell rang again. Sara got up and walked to the window. She looked out and frowned.

Why didn’t she answer the door? I looked to the tea. “I’d better be going.”

She turned as I stood. “Mitzi was a Miss Perfect. She made my mother’s life miserable. She had to die. Drink the tea, Claire.”

TITLE

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 29

“Why?”

She advanced toward me. “You know why. I warned you.”

I stepped back. “So it was you.”

Sara picked up my glass. “Drink the tea. I promise it won’t hurt.” She continued to walk toward me as I backed up. “I like you, Claire; I promise it won’t be painful. Drink the tea.”

The sound of splintering wood filled the house. Sara didn’t miss a step. “You have to die, too, Claire. Mom can’t think of nothing but you and Mitzi. I thought when Mitzi went away, she’d stop worrying and would do stuff with me again. But then you started nosing around.”

Detective Howard and a police officer entered the room. “Stop right there.” He ordered.

We both stopped.

Sara turned to face them. “What are you doing in my house?” She demanded.

“You are under arrest for attempted murder.” The detective told her. At the same time he motioned for the officer to cuff her.

Attempted murder? The words echoed in my feverish mind.

She tossed the tea at him and made a dash for the back door. I slumped against the wall. The officer was on Sara before she could get the door open. He cuffed her and then hauled her past me.

“Are you all right?” Detective Howard asked, whipping out his handkerchief. He picked up the glass. I noticed a small amount of liquid still rested in the bottom.

I stared.

“Claire?” His concerned blue eyes stared up into mine.

“I’m fine.” Fine, I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be the same again. I’d faced Mitzi’s killer, knowing she planned to kill me, too. “The tea is poisoned, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Probably. We’ll check it out at the lab. Did she confess?”

Brandon rushed into the room. “Oh Claire, please tell me you didn’t drink it.” He wrapped my shaking body in his arms.

“I didn’t.” I assured Brandon as hot tears ran down my face and into his shirt.

Detective Howard’s soft, commanding voice said. “I need to know, Claire. Did she confess?”

I pulled myself away from Brandon’s tight hold, aware that the police officer had already asked that question. I turned my attention to Detective Howard. “I don’t know.”

He took me by the arm and guided me to one of the kitchen chairs. “Okay, tell me exactly what she said.”

I spent the next half hour answering their questions regarding what had taken place since I’d arrived at Sara’s. When I finished, I asked a question of my own. “How did you know I was here?”

“We picked up Darlene Lowery about half an hour ago. She confessed to killing Mitzi, but when we questioned her about the things that had happened to you, she didn’t have a clue what we were talking about. But then when I—”he cleared his throat—”asked about the rats and the chicken that were in your room, her face paled, and she begged us to come check on Sara.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Brandon said. “Why did she want you to check on Sara?”

“She was afraid that Sara would try to kill Claire.”

If it hadn’t just happened, I wouldn’t have believed it, but she had just tried. And, might have succeeded, if the police hadn’t arrived.

The Detective must have been thinking the same thing because he asked, “And you didn’t drink the tea?”

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t.”

“You’re sure?” Concern laced his voice.

I tried to smile. “Very sure.”

More officers filled the room. Detective Howard nodded to me and then started giving orders.

Brandon pulled his attention back to us. “Detective, I’d like to take Claire to the hospital.”

“Okay, but Claire I’d like to have your official statement before you leave, if you feel up to it.”

I turned to face Brandon. He’d started to protest but I laid a hand on his arm. “Would you put Sprocket back in the yard? Then we can go.”

Detective Howard indicated we step outside, and then he whipped out his notebook. He shot off several questions. I answered each of them. While I did so, I watched Brandon take Sprocket home and release him in the front yard. Then, he jogged back across the driveway.

“Did Darlene say why she killed Mitzi?” I asked.

“She just kept muttering that it wasn’t fair that Mitzi was always the center of attention and got everything her way.”

“So it was jealousy.” I sighed. Sadly, my friend had died because someone was jealous of her.

“And Sara almost killed you for the same reason.” Brandon reminded me.

The thought of my near-death immediately drained all my energy. “I’m sorry but I’m tired. Can I go now?”

“I might have more questions for you later but you can go for now.”

Brandon helped me into his truck.

While he walked around to the driver’s side I rolled down the window. “Detective, I’m glad you figured out Darlene murdered Mitzi. Thanks.”

He smiled. “I’m glad too.”

I rolled the window back up.

Brandon pulled out onto the road. I rested my head against the seat and enjoyed the cool air that came through the air conditioner. “How did you know I was at Sara’s?”

“I saw Sprocket tied to her front porch.”

“So you called the police?” I asked.

He reached across and took my hand. “No, they were already there.”

I enjoyed the coolness of his palm over the back of my hot hand.

He gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Sara said something about her mother not spending time with her because of Mitzi and me. Isn’t that sad?”

“Yes. I wonder if Fred feels the same way.” Brandon rubbed his thumb against the back of my hand.

“Fred and Sara are brother and sister?” I opened my eyes and turned to look at him.

His other strong hand controlled the truck, and his eyes remained on the road. “Adopted brother and sister. Darlene Lowery adopted them both when they were just kids. Sara has always resented that her mother adopted Fred, too. I think she planted his manuscript in Mitzi’s house. If he were arrested, she’d be an only child and the center of attention.”

“Darlene never gave Sara her last name?”

“Nope, seems Sara wanted to keep her father’s last name. She had been in a series of foster homes and had been a troubled child. The only thing her father left her was that old truck and the feeling that she wasn’t good enough to keep around.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I went and talked to Fred. He told me how much Sara hated him.”

We pulled into the emergency parking lot. Poor Darlene, even though I hated the fact that she killed Mitzi, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I couldn’t imagine Megan going to jail for attempted murder. No matter how badly our children behave, we still want to believe the best of them.

I wondered how Darlene had given Mitzi the poisoned lasagna. Had they been friends? Or had she left it for Mitzi with a note like Sara had the brownies at my house? And if so, what had happened to the note? Had there been a note? My head really hurt from all the unanswered questions racing around in my brain.

Brandon held my door open for me. He hustled me into the emergency room. After that, all talk of Mitzi and murder was dropped.

Why does it take all day to find out you have the flu? I hate hospitals, and I hate waiting when I feel bad. It was a great relief when they finally released me into Megan’s care, with a prescription for an antibiotic and the standard caution to drink plenty of fluids. All I wanted was to get home where I knew Brandon waited for me. Even though I wasn’t feeling well, I wanted to be with him.

She drove home and asked for all the details of what happened at Sara’s house. “I can’t believe you went to her house thinking that she killed Mitzi.” She scolded as we drove up in my driveway.

I blew my nose. Then climbed out of her car. Brandon’s pickup was parked in the drive. His cot was in the back and two suitcases were propped against the cab of the truck.

He was putting the greenery back in place as I stepped onto the screened-in porch. Disappointed, I asked a stupid question. “You leaving?”

“With Darlene and Sara behind bars, you no longer need me here.” He pushed the chair I used for my morning Bible studies back into place.

How could he think I no longer needed him? I’d grown to love him. It dawned on me he’d never said he loved me. I’d called him my protector, my friend, and my teacher but I had never called him my boyfriend. Well, not to his face, anyway.

Megan came through the door. “All packed up?” she asked.

He grinned. “Yep, I’ve got it all.”

What should I say? I wanted to throw my arms around his neck, tell him I love him and beg him not to leave. But Megan stood staring from one of us to the other. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“It was my pleasure, except I wish you hadn’t been in danger.” He looked about the porch. “Well, it looks like I got everything.”

I looked about also. Not seeing anything else, I had to agree. “Yes, I guess so.”

“Then I’ll be seeing you.” He waved and left. The screen door slammed behind him.

I stared at it. I’d grown so used to him being here. Even though he hadn’t driven out of the driveway yet, I missed him.

“Come on, Mom. I’ll help you get ready for bed.”

I followed like a child after its mother. Depression settled over me. Tears stung my eyes, and my chest felt as if someone had taken a hammer to it.

For the next few days, Megan stayed with me. She fixed my meals, made my bed, and treated me like a child. On the fourth day, I got up and proclaimed myself healthy enough for her to go home.

“Are you sure, Mom?”

I watched her pack her suitcase. “I’m sure.” I hugged Megan to me. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re my mom. I’ll always be here for you.” She returned my hug and then stepped away.

Half an hour later, I waved goodbye to her and sighed. Sara had loved her mother enough to kill for her attention. “Lord, please get Sara and Darlene the help they need.”

For the first time in a long time, I was alone. After locking myself in, I fixed a grilled cheese sandwich and turned on the television.

Half way through my game show the phone rang. Thinking it might be Brandon, I grabbed the telephone and practically yelled into the receiver, “Hello!”

“Missed me that much, did you?” Gloria asked.

I laughed. I’d forgotten she’d left to visit her brother and had been gone all week. “How was your trip?”

She sighed heavily. “Long and boring. Tell me about your week.”

I told her about Darlene and Sara. And then I told her that I’d been sick and that Brandon had left.

She ignored the part about Brandon. “I wish I’d have been here. I could have saved you from Megan’s mothering.” She giggled.

Her amusement was contagious. I laughed, but then confessed that it wasn’t that bad.

“How about we do lunch tomorrow, and you tell me what happened between you and Brandon?” Gloria offered.

Would I be able to talk to her about Brandon? So far, I’d only confided in God my true feelings. “I’d love to have lunch, but can’t promise what the conversation will revolve around.”

“Deal.”

TITLE

S he has to die.

Mitzi Douglas is sweet and kind, but she’s making my life miserable. I can’t have her coming into the room and being the center of attention, it’s just not fair. A layer of lasagna noodles went into the pan.

She makes me sick! A chuckle filled the kitchen. Now that is funny...she makes me feel bad, and so I’m making a special dish to make me better, much better.

The fragrant scent of meat sauce rose as it poured on top of the pasta. Ummmm. This smells good enough to eat. But, I won’t. It’s for Mitzi alone. She’ll just die when she gets a taste of this.

Laughter filled the room, and more layers were added to the poisoned pan.

TITLE

Chapter 4

“What made you decide to observe my class?” Brandon cupped his coffee between his palms.

Being a Christian it is my duty to answer as honestly as I can, at moments like this I’d rather not answer at all. What did I really know about Brandon Harvest—besides the fact that he’s easy on the eyes? He could be the killer. “I’m an old friend of Mitzi Douglas.”

Sadness entered his caramel eyes. “She was a very talented writer and a good friend. Still that doesn’t tell me why you joined a creative writing class.”

Mitzi had never told me her professor was her friend. She’d not told me about Brandon at all. If I’d been the one to meet him first, I felt sure I’d have told her what a hunk he is, and she would have said, ‘step into the twentieth century Claire, men are no longer hunks. They’re hotties.’

I’m not sure if it was the melancholy sensation I’d just walked into or what, but I answered. “I plan on finding Mitzi’s murderer.”

His brows drew together, and he ran a hand through his thick looking hair. “You think you will find him in my class?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Right now, I’m just going where she went and doing some of the things she did.” I took a careful sip of my hot tea. The aroma of lemon and honey filled my senses.

“Ah.” He focused on his drink.

I waited. Nothing more came from his lips. He simply stared into the dark liquid in his cup. That was it just ‘ah’? Where were the questions? The comments? Anything at all would be better than his silence. Maybe he thinks I’m a crazed woman. If so, what did I have to lose by confessing? “The police think I did it.”

His head came up and serious light brown eyes studied me. “I doubt that is true.”

I felt the heat rush into my face. Had I actually said those words aloud?

“You don’t look much like a killer to me.”

Yep, I’d said them. “Thanks but if the killer looked like a murderer I’m sure the police would have caught him by now.”

A warm chuckled greeted my ears. His laugh enough to send my heartbeats into overtime. Not since Frank, had a man brought my senses to life like this. I found myself joining his laughter.

He continued to smile when he asked, “So, if you are the main suspect what’s kept them from arresting you?”

The question sobered me up. “I’m the one who found Mitzi. She was laying on the floor beside a pan that had lasagna in it. When I saw her, I pushed the pan away and left my fingerprints. I gave them the details when they arrived. So, on one point they believe me, because I’d told them I’d touched the pan, but on the other hand they aren’t sure because mine are the only prints at the scene that aren’t Mitzi’s.” I stirred my tea.

Fresh tears filled my eyes as I relived those moments of finding her. Tears I was determined not to let fall. I took a deep breath and slowly released it before looking across at Brandon.

He sat his cup down and reached across the table. His warm hand engulfed mine. “She was more than a friend wasn’t she?”

I nodded. “We weren’t sisters by birth but we were as close as any blood sisters could ever be.” His palm scratched mine. I wondered what Brandon did that would create calluses on his hands. Editing papers surely hadn’t created the rough skin.

“Then I am doubly sorry for your loss.” His voice sounded sincere and strong. He squeezed my hand and then released it.

I missed the warmth immediately. “Thank you.” I picked up my teacup and traced the blue china design that decorated the sides.

As if talking to himself, Brandon said. “I wonder how far the police have gotten in their investigation.” He took a drink from his cup before looking at me.

Where was my willpower? “They know now that she was poisoned.” I offered then gulped the now lukewarm tea. The flavor of honey teased my tongue.

He sat his cup down slowly. “Poisoning?” Brandon’s voice sounded so low and soft I questioned whether or not I’d heard him right.

I nodded.

He studied the wall behind me for several long moments. “Claire, how would you feel if I offered to help you find Mitzi’s murderer?”

Excitement raced through my veins. How would I feel? My first instinct was to squeal with happiness. I’d love to get to know this man better. My second reaction was to say no. Again, I had to ask myself, what did I know about him? My third thought was, I hope he can’t read what I’m thinking by the expressions on my face.

As if he knew the turmoil my thoughts were going through, Brandon offered, “Mitzi was a friend of mine, too.” He paused. It seemed to me he was debating what to say next. Then he spoke again. “The creative writing class is a three month course. We cover whatever genres the students wish to write. A little over a month ago, we covered poisons for the mystery writers. I can’t help but think that maybe something I said had something to do with Mitzi’s death. More than ever, I’d like to help catch her murderer.”I met his sorrow-filled gaze and made the decision that it would be nice to have someone to discuss things with. Since this is all new to me, Brandon would probably have a better insight on how to go about finding a killer. He was a writer after all.

“Ok, I guess the first thing we need to know is who the mystery writers are in your class. And do you think we should tell the police what you just told me?” I leaned forward.

Brandon sighed and seemed to relax. “I’m not sure who the mystery writers are.”

“How can you not know?”

He leaned and met me halfway across the table. It was then I realized just how small the café’s tables were. I watched his mouth as he said, “When the course began I asked the class collectively who wrote what.” I must have frowned because he continued. “You know I said something like, ‘do we have any children’s authors?’ And so on. As each group raised their hands I wrote ‘yes’ beside that genre on my paper.”

“I see. So you created assignments for those genres and then had the class write collectively for each?” The words came out in a whisper. I ignored the breathiness of my answer, telling myself it was the quiet tone and not the man across the table.

He nodded.

How were we going to find out who the mystery writers were in his class?

Brandon smiled. “Looks like you have to attend my class again.”

“Why?” Excitement soared into my chest. Did he really want me there? Stop it Claire. This is about Mitzi not you. Besides, I had planned on going anyway but why did he feel I had to attend?

In whispered tones he answered. “Because Monday I’m going to ask everyone what they write again, and you can write down their answers.”

I scooted back in my seat. The distance helped me deny him this task. “Sorry Professor, but that’s not happening.”

A startled look crossed his face. He reacted as if I’d just slapped him, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Look, just have everyone write down on a piece of paper what they write. We’ll still get our answer.”

“So, while I’m pumping my students for answers what will you be doing?”

“I’ll be there but as a student. I’m not sure I want everyone to know why I’m really attending this class. If we don’t come across any suspects, we’ll need to turn the list over to the detective. He’ll want to know about the contest.”

“That makes sense. I’ll take care of getting a record of my students to him and telling him about the final exam, not contest. What’s your next step?” He asked.

“Sunday morning I’m going to go to her church.”

A grin broadened on his face. “You seriously expect to find the killer attending her church?”

When he said it like that, it did sound a little ridiculous. But it was possible. “I don’t know but it is one of the few places Mitzi socialized.”

The smile slipped from his lips and eyes. “I suppose so.”

Once more, I wondered how well he knew Mitzi. Had they dated? Or were they just friends like he said? If there had been romantic sparks, why hadn’t Mitzi told me about them?

Later that evening, I finished grilling my cheese sandwich and carried it to the table. At the same time, the microwave dinged announcing the bowl of tomato soup was done. I placed both on a large dining tray and headed to the living room. My favorite game show had just come on.

While the contestants introduced themselves I thought about Brandon Harvest. I hate to admit it, but it disturbs me that Mitzi and Brandon might have been closer than just friends.

Just before leaving the college, he’d offered me a class list of names, which I snatched up and tucked into my purse. Now what was I going to do with it? I couldn’t just call them all up and ask if they’d killed my best friend. That would just be tacky.

Warm buttery cheese teased my taste buds. On the television, a woman wearing a bright green top and the nametag that read “Florence” had just spun the wheel and landed on the three hundred dollar marker.

The category was “Thing,” and there were three words to fill in. I sipped at the hot soup as Florence asked for an M and got one. Then she did something I hate, she asked to buy a vowel. The crazy woman chose a U, which wasn’t in the puzzle.

It was the next contestant’s turn. He was a middle-aged man with a bald spot in the middle of his scalp. It reflected the light each time he bent over to spin the wheel. The thought he should do something about that crossed my mind as he spun the wheel and landed on the five hundred marker. He chose an S and got three of them. Then he asked for a vowel. Again I groaned.

This time the request was for an A, which he didn’t get. The game continued. Slowly I made out the words Single Stem Rose. The player who got it had a total of three hundred dollars. He could have continued guessing at the consonants and gotten more money but he was too anxious.

“Dumber than mud,” I grumbled, picking up the dinner tray and heading back to the kitchen during the commercial. Normally I would pick up the phone and call Mitzi but not tonight, not ever again. My gaze moved to the phone on the wall.

There were a number of women friends I could call. Gloria Fielding’s name came to mind, but I felt a twang of guilt. Mitzi was the one I shared these silly calls with. To call someone else was like saying Mitzi no longer mattered. It was betraying our friendship. I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t.

I hurried back to the living room and forced myself to become absorbed in the game show but Mitzi stayed on my mind.

TITLE

Chapter 14

Venturing into the unfamiliar waters of flirtation, I answered. “Why thank you kind Sir. I’m so glad you noticed.”

His warm laughter greeted my ears and warmed my heart. We moved into the kitchen. “Sit down and I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

“Thanks.” He looked out the window that faced Sara’s house. A frown marred his handsome features.

My gaze moved to where he seemed to be looking. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Why was he frowning? He looked lost in thought, maybe it was personal. I decided not to question him about it. If it were something important, or had anything to do with me, I felt sure he’d say something.

I put coffee in the filter and then turned on the coffee maker. “How does eggs and bacon sound?”

“Great.”

Pulling the eggs from the fridge I asked, “How would you like them fixed?” I set the carton on the counter and reached for the bacon.

He turned from the window and grinned. “Scrambled and crispy.”

I smiled. “Me, too.” I ducked my head and went to work preparing my knight in shining armor a breakfast fit for a king.

Soon the fragrant smell of coffee and bacon filled my cozy kitchen. I popped bread into the toaster. Scrambled eggs and set butter and strawberry jam on the table. While I worked I noted that Brandon continued to gaze out the window.

I set plates and silverware down. “Something bothering you?” I asked as I placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

He smiled. “Not really. I was just thinking that if you hung a feeder in front of this window, you could watch the birds while you enjoyed breakfast every morning.”

I poured scrambled eggs from the pan into a bowl. I didn’t buy his story for one moment. But went along with it just the same. “I’ve had the same thought but just haven’t taken the time to hang one.” I added the glass coffee pot to the assortment of breakfast items and took my place.

“Would you like me to give thanks?” He asked, reaching across the table and taking my hand in his.

I nodded and bowed my head. His warm voice washed over me as he thanked the Lord for the food, my safety, and our friendship. I echoed his, “Amen.”

“Do you cook like this every morning?” He asked, after swallowing a bite of eggs.

I buttered my toast. “Not always; why?”

“Well, if I’m going to continue to protect my fair maiden, I want to know what kind of meals I can expect.” He took a cautious sip of coffee and then grinned over the rim of the cup.

I almost dropped the butter knife. “I’m far from a maiden, and I really don’t need protecting, Brandon. It was sweet of you to stay last night, but I’m sure it wasn’t necessary.”

“Ah, but that is where we disagree. Someone wants to kill or hurt you, that makes my staying on the front porch crucial. As long as I’m here, I don’t think the mysterious baker will be making house calls again.” He forked more food in his mouth.

His behavior and the stubbornness of his jaw said that no matter how much I argued he wasn’t going to back down. In all honesty, I didn’t want him to, but I couldn’t let him know that.

“Okay, let’s say I agree. How long do you plan on staying?” I nibbled on my toast.

He swallowed. “Until Mitzi’s killer is caught. I’m sure that you have ruffled his feathers and I, for one, do not want to see you hurt.”

“Brandon, that could be months.” The thought of having him on my front porch for months seemed extreme, but I did like the idea of having him close.

“Maybe. If it does, I’ll just have to make the front porch more comfortable.” He poured himself more coffee.

I couldn’t imagine him spending a month on my porch. “I have a guest room. You can stay there, if you insist on staying.” My coffee needed chocolate. I got up and found some in the pantry.

“No. I won’t have your reputation tarnished because I moved into the house.” Brandon protested.

The laugh burst from my lips. “Come on, we aren’t living in the eighteen hundreds.”

His serious eyes met my laughing ones. “No, but we are still Christians, and I’ll not have people talking trash about us and ruining our Lord’s reputation at the same time.”

The words talking trash weren’t something I would have expected to come from a professor’s mouth, but when he said it like that, I realized he was right. “Man, I hate it when you’re right. OK. How are we going to make the porch comfortable?”

“I’ve got a cot at my house that I sleep on sometimes. It’s comfortable and will fit in that snug cove you’ve created with the potted plants and flowers.” He pushed away from the table and carried his plate and cup to the sink.

I stood to clear the table. “Are you sure you want to go to all this trouble? It might be easier just to ask the police to patrol the neighborhood at night.” I replaced the butter and jam in the fridge.

“Not on your life. I’m staying, and that’s final. You’ll see; it will be no trouble at all.” He opened the dishwasher and put our plates, silverware, and cups inside.

I wiped the table off and replaced my potted plant in the center. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance out of this mess.”

He moved across the floor and pulled me into his embrace. His breath smelled of fresh-brewed coffee. “As long as you are in danger, we’re in this mess together.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

It felt like he kissed the top of my head before he released me and headed toward the door. He stopped in the entryway. “If you don’t have anything pressing to do today, would you like to come to the house and help me gather up that cot and some sheets?”

The thought of spending more time with him tickled me to the toes. I tried not to express how pleased I felt at his invitation. “Sure. As long as we get back here by lunchtime.”

“Not a problem.”

****

I was surprised to learn that Brandon didn’t live that far from me. His two-story house sat beside the lake. Trees lined the shore, and ducks swam about giving the place a sense of serenity.

“With a house like this, why do you sleep on a cot?” I tucked my purse against my side, as he led the way through the garage.

He laughed and opened a side door into a spacious kitchen. “I don’t always sleep on the cot. Just when I go camping.”

“So you aren’t crazy?” I laughed as I followed him through a comfy living room. Its interior held hunter green and soft tan hues. A large couch, recliner, and big screen TV filled most of the room. I noticed a bookshelf and fish tank occupied one corner with plush looking chair and matching end table in the other.

“Of course I am. I’m giving up all this to sleep on your porch.” He laughed, extending his arms to encompass the whole house.

We continued up the staircase and into an exercise room. A treadmill, weight bench, and exercise bike were the instruments of torture here.

He pulled down a ladder from the ceiling. “The cot is up here. I’ll get it.” Brandon climbed the stairs with ease.

I couldn’t imagine how he would get a cot down those steps by himself. All the folding beds I’d seen were heavy and bulky.

A plastic slide slowly came down the stairs. “If you’ll slow it down, I’ll send the bed down.”

“OK.” I moved to the end of the slide.

A few moments later, a folded bed slid down. I caught it at the bottom, moved it off the plastic, and smiled up.

“Good catch.” He pulled the slide back up and within moments stood beside me once more.

“That’s pretty clever.” I said.

He picked up the cot and grinned. “That is something my Dad taught me. He invented all types of things.”

I followed him back out to the pickup. “Did you inherit any of those skills?”

He shoved the cot in the back of the truck and grinned at me. “Come with me and I’ll let you decide if I inherited any of dad’s handiness.”

I felt like a puppy on a leash as he led me once more. We went around the side of the house and across a short back yard to a building that stood off to the side.

“This is my workshop.” He pulled the door open.

The aroma of freshly cut timber filled my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the woody scent. As I stepped over the threshold I realized the floor was covered in sawdust. Two windows allowed the room to fill with sunshine, displaying wonderful raw furniture.

“You made all these?” I ran my hand over a bookshelf. The wood felt warm and soft to the touch.

He leaned against the door jam. “I did. I had planned to finish that dresser this morning, but since you want to get back to your house, I guess it can wait.”

I heard the disappointment in his voice. A glance at my watch revealed it was nine A.M. “We can stay a couple of hours, if you want.”

A smile brightened his face and eyes. “That’s about all the time I’ll need.” He kissed me on the cheek, and then stepped past.

It had been such a quick kiss, and he’d crossed the room and started working before I knew what happened. I asked myself as I walked to a big shade tree with a wooden bench under it in the back yard, did I seem like a star struck girl? Heat filled my cheeks. Probably.

Table of Contents

Lethal Lasagna

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29