Death of a Dumb Bunny

by

Melanie Jackson

Version 0.1 – February, 2011

Published by Brian Jackson at KDP

Copyright © 2011 by Melanie Jackson

Discover other titles by Melanie Jackson at www.melaniejackson.com

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Chapter 1

The Chief of Police likes me. Really, he does. If not for my skills as an unofficial detective, then because I can tell him what teams to bet on in the play-offs. It’s certainly not his fault that I can’t pass the physical and get out of parking enforcement. And Randy Wallace adores my dog so I know he would never make Blue unhappy unless it was a crisis situation. Like losing state funding for extracurricular projects near and dear to the town’s collective heart.

But really, no matter what the town council thought, how important could another public safety lecture be? And why send Officer Bill to conduct it? Did we want this paper mâché creature to be the law personified to impressionable minds? I mean, did these people have amnesia? Sending Officer Bill back to the grammar school was just begging Fate to do something nasty to a lot of innocent children.

Of course I protested the assignment, but to no avail.

“Boston, just do it. You can have this Friday off.” Good Friday. Friday was one of our busiest days and the one day of the week when I was most likely to end up writing up friends and family for parking infractions. Good Friday was even worse since there wasn’t enough parking at the churches and people tended to feel better about offending parking regulations than offending God. It was probably worth playing Officer Bill one last time to get out of it.

“Okay. I’ll do it. This once.”

“Thank you.”

So, there I was, about to inflict myself on small children who had never harmed me.

I will agree that for many years, Officer Bill was a friend to school age youngsters, especially among those who counted their years on one hand. But that was when the beloved and gentle Alfred Cook was assigned the role of public liaison. After he died I had inherited the costume and job, and not because I had any inclination toward the spotlight or gift for interacting with children, but merely because I was the only one in the department small enough to get my skull through the opening in the paper mâché head. Since my inauguration, every Officer Bill appearance had been a disaster. First time out I had gotten Bill’s enormous head stuck in a door and ended up ripping his ears off. The kindergarten had been so traumatized by the dismemberment that there had been mass crying and several children ran away. Then there was the incident at The Falls. Officer Bill fell in a fountain and came out looking like something from a leper colony. That one is on Youtube under Zombie Attack in Washington. And lastly there had been that awful murder in October where the corpse was hidden in Officer Bill’s costume and then strung up at the 4-H Halloween Haunted House.

Of course the costume had been replaced since then, but when it was reordered, no one had specified getting it in a larger size, so there I was, on April Fool’s Day, strapping on the Velcro costume and contemplating Officer Bill’s twenty pound, wire reinforced head. And listening to my dog whine with unhappiness because I would look like a giant bobble-head doll in a band uniform the moment I put it on.

At this rate, I would never win the respect of my peers. It took some firm imagining about writing up Good Friday church-going friends and neighbors to reconcile myself to the task.

“Chloe,” Mrs. Roberts, the school secretary whispered as she sidled up to my chair. She had seemed so tall to me as a child, but now I could almost look her in the eye. “I seem to have misplaced the supply room keys. It has the office key too. They are always in my desk— always. But I can’t find them. And I do hate to ask Dick Bensen to let me in to the supply closet again. He always tells Mr. Andrews when I forget something and it makes Mr. Andrews very cross.”

I didn’t blame her for not wanting to call Bensen. The janitor was called Dirty Dick and not just because he had an aversion to bathing. The new principal didn’t sound like anyone real terrific either if Mrs. Roberts was afraid of him. I had known Mrs. Roberts since my own school days and the sweet lady was one of the few people who hadn’t been freaked out by my ability to find things, including sensitive information about some of my teachers.

“Do you know where they are, dear?” She sounded frantic.

A quick glance at the coat on the back of her chair and the sag in the right pocket told me where the keys had gone. It was warm in the office but nippy outside. The out-of-order sign on the restroom door told the story. Mrs. Roberts had had to go out to use another restroom. The nearest was near the auditorium. They were kept locked except when there was a function and she had had to bring her keys to get in. She had also stuffed her pockets with toilet paper from the office bathroom because the stuff in the kids’ bathrooms was about as absorbent as wax paper.

“Right coat pocket, under the toilet paper,” I whispered back and then hefted my Officer Bill head. I hated this part because I am just a tiny bit claustrophobic.

“Let me help you,” said Mrs. Roberts. And then softly: “Thank you, dear. I am so relieved.”

“So you must be Officer Boston,” said a falsely hardy voice of the male persuasion.

I stood and turned slowly. In the Officer Bill head, there is no other way to do it. Mr. Andrews is the new principal and ringmaster for the day’s event. The teachers had heard Officer Bill was coming and wisely left campus for lunch, leaving a mostly empty parking lot.

“Oh. My goodness. Well…” Rick Andrews isn’t from around Hope Falls and therefore isn’t used to seeing me. He was obviously having trouble with the fact that I am smaller than many of his fifth grade students.

Mary Roberts faded quickly. It was a pain, but I decided to politely remove my fake head so he could talk to my real face. Perhaps that would reassure him. Bill’s blank eyes are a bit disconcerting.

“I must be. No one else would be caught dead wearing this costume,” I muttered as I pulled the head off and almost removed my nose. In fact, I am married now. But I carry Cupid’s arrow through the heart and a ring on my finger without feeling any need to change my name. Not that Lincoln is a bad name. It just isn’t mine.

Blue whined.

“I have been told by the Chief of Police that the children love er… Blue, is it? And she works with you all the time,” Mr. Andrews said nervously, eyeing her therapy dog vest with suspicion as I put on my head back on. I had to admit that she wasn’t behaving very well. Perhaps because she isn’t actually a therapy dog. But I had a firm belief that our new principal simply didn’t like dogs. His clothes were absolutely free of animal hair and he was wearing too much aftershave and an unseasonal tan. I checked his hand— wedding ring. I checked his scalp— hair plugs. I was willing to bet that the new Lexus in the parking lot was also an upgrade, and probably not for Mrs. Andrews benefit, since he had it at the school.

“Yes, the kids love her.”

“But maybe, since she is upset, it would be best if she waited in your— um— vehicle.”

“She’ll settle down,” I said, hoping this was true. “Blue! It’s okay. It’s still me in here. Knock it off.”

Blue whimpered pathetically but turned down the volume. She didn’t try to make friends with Mr. Andrews. She probably noticed the lack of animal hair too. For sure she was staying away from the overpowering musk that wafted our way.

“Okay then. I guess it is time to go. The children are in the cafeteria. They’ve eaten already. The noon duty supervisor is there to help maintain order,” Mr. Andrews said reassuringly. He obviously also heard about Officer Bill’s last visit and wanted no repeat disasters. Maybe he thought keeping the kids in a contained environment was safer than having them on the playground. Personally I was doubtful. If there was a panic kids would get trampled in the stampede away from Officer Bill.

“The door is nice and wide, right? No way will my ears get stuck?” I asked, maybe just a little maliciously.

“Double doors. We should have no spatial problems this time.”

I nodded and almost snapped my neck. The damned head is not only ugly, it’s heavy too.

“Let’s do it.”

“Mary, you watch the office,” he ordered unnecessarily. Like Mrs. Roberts hadn’t been minding the office while he was still a snot-monster in someone else’s school. And I resented him calling her Mary when he plainly insisted she call him Mr. Andrews.

We walked slowly and Officer Bill managed to make it to the cafeteria without incident, though it was hard to stroll with Blue pressed against me and shivering. For a Rottweiler, she sure is a sissy about a stupid paper mâché head. Or maybe it was Mr. Andrews she wanted to avoid. Blue isn’t fond of selfish people.

Around the cafeteria was some familiar brown grass and a leafless tree that hadn’t committed itself to the spring growth yet. School grass and trees always hover on the edge of death. I’m not sure why since no one is allowed to walk on the lawn or play in the spindly tree.

We walked by a garbage can at the lunchroom door and I noticed that it was almost completely full of creamed spinach. The cafeteria obviously still hadn’t gotten the memo on lunch menus. Children don’t consume leafy green stuff. Except for cash. I hear they eat up parental finances like nothing else. Another reason that I prefer dogs.

I stumbled a little at the raised sill. If I had put on the Officer Bill clown shoes, I would have gone sprawling.

Mr. Andrews guided me down the aisle between long Formica tables to the podium and stepstool set up in front of the fire exit and introduced me in his falsely cheerful voice. The children, mixed ages between four and eight applauded politely. They seemed fine with my presence. I reminded myself that many of the kids were new to the nursery school and kindergarten and wouldn’t have horrific memories of Bill’s mutilation. Things might actually go well this time and I should be optimistic. It would have been nice if Mrs. Vance, the noon duty supervisor, wasn’t malingering in the back of the room, her face naked of both make-up and any sign of thought. She had replaced Mrs. Thomas who retired when I was in college. Mrs. T would know how to quell a riot. I had no such faith in Gail Vance or Principal Andrews.

My voice is a little high anyway and I have to shout to be heard through the head, even with a microphone. I was probably a little shrieky but no one seemed to mind. It just made me one of the kids.

My crib notes were taped just under Bill’s eye sockets. I had to kind of cross my own eyes to read them but at least I would be sure to cover everything in case the council actually checked up on me.

1: Obey the crossing guard.

“Boys and girls, can you raise your hands if you think it is important to obey the crossing guard?” Okay, that sounded condescending. More than anyone, I should know that short didn’t mean stupid. Mr. Andrews was rubbing off on me.

A few hands went up. One was way up and waving frantically. I hoped it wasn’t a request to use the restroom. If one went they would all want to go.

“Yes, Xander, what is it?” Mr. Andrews unwisely asked.

“What if the crossing guard tells me to kill someone?” Xander asked. “With a flame-thrower. And a machete.”

A startled Mr. Andrews looked my way. I considered before answering. People think I am impulsive because I think quickly, but I can recognize when prudence is called for. Xander had a large head which suggested above average cranial capacity. That didn’t mean he was smart. The space might be filled with water instead of brains.

“That isn't likely to happen, now is it? In the whole history of the world, that has probably never happened,” I added reasonably and then hit myself in the nose with the microphone as the Officer Bill head shifted forward and then swiveled to the right. The children giggled as I pulled it straight. They had probably never seen “The Exorcist” so weren’t bothered by a head-spin.

“But what if the crossing guard is an evil alien crossing guard? And she is here to take over the earth by making children kill people?” Xander persisted. Children with imaginations are a pain. I know this because I had been one. With me it was Sherlock Holmes though, not killer aliens.

“In that case, you shouldn't obey the crossing guard. But only in that case. And you will need documentation to back up the claim that the guard was really an evil alien or you will be benched at recess.”

“Officer Bill!” Another child jumped up. I think this one was female, though it was hard to see through the mesh that made up Bill’s eyes. The child was wearing what had to be an older sibling’s favorite t-shirt, rescued from the garbage or perhaps a pile of laundry that had been allowed to sit until it mildewed. In other words, something that would alarm the health department but be typical for a teenager.

“Yes?”

“What if the crossing guard tells me to hide my little sister's toys?”

“Don't do that. Your little sister will tell on you and you’ll get in trouble.” I thought I sounded pretty Zen-like considering the circumstances, but Mr. Andrews shot me a look.

“But what if the crossing guard tells me to lie to mommy about hiding the toys? If I lied I wouldn’t get in trouble.”

“You shouldn't do that either. Liars do get caught and then they are in twice as much trouble.” Though I lied to my mother from time to time and rarely got caught. It was self-preservation.

The maybe female was frowning as she sat down. I think I ruined her plans for the day.

Another child jumped up. Male. This one was dressed in malarial yellow from neck to shoes. I remembered going through a similar green phase in the second grade until kids started calling me Elf. I reserved judgment on the choice of a monochromatic outfit. Unfashionable clothes can mask a brilliant mind. In fact, I don’t know too many really smart people who care that much about clothing.

“What if the crossing guard told me to put a bean up my nose?”

Okay, so the outfit wasn’t protective cover for the next Einstein.

“Oh, you should definitely do that because the doctor likes to pull beans out of people’s noses. He told me so.”

Bad Chloe! The Chief trusted in my goodwill and professionalism, so I tried to find some. I would be nice and on message for the next ten minutes even if it killed me, but at least the children were laughing now.

“But what if the bean is really big and—”

“Enough of that. Let’s not be silly. You all know not to put things up your nose. Not even your fingers. If anyone is looking. What you do on your own is your affair, just keep your boogers to yourselves. They spread germs.” Kids sniggered. They like booger references and I figured it was okay if I stayed away from potty jokes. “Let’s move on so you can enjoy the rest of your lunch hour. Now, you all know that you should always walk straight home when school is over, right? Can anyone tell me why?”

Xander jumped up again.

“Yes, Xander.”

“I have to make right turns to go home. Is that alright?”

“Yes, you can make turns to go home.”

“Left turns too?”

“Yes. Left turns are fine. As long as they lead you home.”

“What if I turn into Eddie's house for some milk and cookies?”

“No, that wouldn't be a good turn to make.”

“Why?”

The only why I wondered about was why anyone would have children.

“Because that wouldn't be going straight home, which is one of the rules.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” I was sounding exasperated. Partly it was the questions, but I also realized that the heat was turned way up in the cafeteria and I was sweating. Officer Bill’s head was also beginning to smell funky, sort of like varnish and rodent droppings. Bill was stored in a sort of shed behind the parking garage. Did it have mice?

“Why is it a rule?” Xander persisted.

“Because the world is full of evil aliens that want to take you to another planet and put things up your nose,” I muttered, forgetting the microphone would probably pick it up just because I didn’t want to be heard.

There was a collective gasp.

“That was a joke,” I said hastily. I crossed my eyes and scanned my list. “Now, let’s see— what else? Don't talk to strangers. That’s a very important rule.”

“What about you? You're a stranger.” Xander hadn’t bothered to resume his seat. Obviously he was going to the mattresses on this one, and Mr. Andrews was checking messages on his phone and smiling stupidly at the screen. Either he has getting a hot stock tip or he was cheating on Mrs. Andrews. I was betting on cheating.

“It's okay to talk with me, I'm Officer Bill.”

“No you aren't. You're just a lady with a big, fake head. Where is the real Officer Bill?”

I couldn’t tell the children that Alfred was dead, no matter how much I wanted to get back at Xander.

There was a sniffle and a small voice said: “Doesn’t Officer Bill have a real head?”

“Of course I’m real. And I have a real head. It’s just under this other one right now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” But I would be sure and ask The Chief when I got back to the station. Officer Bill was stupid, an idiot artifact from the fifties. Why couldn’t I just talk to the children as myself? It wasn’t like Officer Bill was getting tons of respect from these mini-people larvae.

“I told my brother about you coming and he said there's no such thing as Officer Bill anymore. The real Officer Bill got hung at the haunted house.” This, I needn’t tell you, was Xander. I bet he had been the first to share the glad tidings about there being no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny.

“Your brother was pulling your leg.”

“No he wasn't. He never even touched me.”

Literal. They were so literal.

“I meant that your brother was joking. I'm Officer Bill. In fact, I'm even a detective.” Unofficial, but still a detective.

“You are not. Girls can’t be detectives.”

“I am too and they can so.” Blue began to whine. She doesn’t like it when I get upset and the crack about girls not being detectives had pissed me off. I had heard it too many times from my own co-workers.

“Are not!”

“Am too!”

“The doggy is crying,” announced the moldy child that I thought was female. “Officer Bill is being mean to the doggy.”

That stung.

“I am not! I would never be mean to Blue.”

“Boys and girls,” began Mr. Andrews in an ineffective voice as he shoved his phone in his pocket. Some breath spray fell on the floor and rolled under the podium.

“If you're a detective, you should prove it,” Xander said.

This got a big round of applause and some cheers.

“Prove it! Prove it!” they chanted.

“How?” I thought about offering to pepper spray Xander but decided The Chief would probably not like it if I did that.

“Well…. Ricky's lunch was stolen. That’s a crime, right? If you’re really a detective you should be able to figure out who took it.” Dear Xander. But this I could handle. Finding lost things is kind of a specialty of mine.

“Now, boys and girls—” Mr. Andrews tried again. How had this man become a principal? Blue was a better disciplinarian. I would have to find out who he was sleeping with. He couldn’t have gotten this job by merit.

“No, that's alright, Mr. Andrews. I'll take this case. It will give me a chance to show the children some police work in action.”

But I wasn’t going to do it while wearing a stupid paper mâché head. I began to wrestle with Bill’s oversized cranium. After a moment it came off and I gulped in a couple breaths of air that smelled of hotdogs, but was otherwise very pleasant. I dropped Bill on the floor, but gently since the children were there and wouldn’t like it if I drop-kicked the head up the aisle.

Blue looked happier too and her tail thumped the podium, sounding like thunder.

“Okay, where is Ricky?” I asked, wiping away the worst of the sweat with Officer Bill’s felt sleeve.

After some pointing and shoving a boy of maybe seven came forward. He was red of face and had red hair that looked like it was fighting a stiff wind. He was either feeling very shy or very guilty.

“Hi, Ricky. Don’t be nervous. You can pet Blue while we talk, if you like.”

“I’m not nervous.” But he was. Maybe it was the strange clothes he was wearing. Some parents are so dense. They don’t get that what was age-appropriate school-wear when they were kids just wouldn’t cut it now. Who could honestly think rainbow suspenders were a good idea especially with hair that color? He looked like he belonged in a circus.

“Good. Because there is no need to be nervous if you tell the truth. Now, we are going to do some deductive reasoning and see if we can find out about your lunch.” I thought about asking a bunch of standard questions like I would in a real case, but there was no need now that I had seen Ricky and I wanted to keep this as short as possible. There was no fun in torturing this kid. “Can you tell me what was in your lunch today?”

“Sushi,” he said, and got giggles. “And Pringles and grape soda.”

I shook my head at his wish list. No one else believed him either. I was betting he was notorious for having bad lunches. It went with the suspenders.

“No lying to the police. That is the most important rule of all.”

“How do you know he’s lying?” demanded Xander.

“I’m a human lie-detector. And Blue can smell it if you lie.” I added. The first part was true. The second part might be true. I have always kind of suspected it.

“Really?” asked the moldy female. I was sure now that I could see her clearly that she was a girl, albeit one without many girlie inclinations.

“Of course. Ricky, hold out your hands. Blue, is Ricky lying about the sushi?”

I gave Blue the sign for speak and she obligingly howled. The room was full of wide eyes. I didn’t impress them but my dog doing the Hound of the Baskervilles sure did. Mr. Andrews was smothering a smug smile, and though it had been my intention that the children have an ooh-ahhh moment, I didn’t care for the fact that he was laughing at them when they did. Mr. Andrews just wasn’t a very nice man.

“Okay, it was a bologna and onion sandwich,” Ricky admitted sheepishly. “And stewed prunes.”

There were more nervous giggles. Prune is a dirty word in the lower grades.

“Well, there you go. The solution is simple.” I paused dramatically. “Nobody stole Ricky's lunch. He forgot his lunch today. On purpose.”

Ricky gasped and then looked like he was going to cry.

“I did— and now I’m hungry!”

“It’s okay Ricky.” I would slip him a granola bar. I had one in my belt-bag.

“Wow, how did you know that?” Xander demanded.

“If you had a lunch of bologna and onions, wouldn't you forget it at home?” And besides, Blue loved adulterated swine and beef products. If Ricky had so much as walked near a bologna sandwich, Blue would have been all over him when she sniffed his hands.

“Impressive,” said Mr. Andrews. “Let’s give a round of applause to Officer Bill— er— Boston.”

The children clapped with much more enthusiasm this time. I smiled at Mr. Andrews as I gathered up Office Bill’s head and said goodbye to the kids who were brave enough to come forward and talk to me and pet Blue. One child pressed a scrapbook of Officer Bill drawings into my hands. Obviously they had been done ahead of time. A quick glance told me we probably weren’t harboring any Renoirs in the grammar school, though I thought maybe a few of the kids should be in therapy. It had to be Xander who drew Officer Bill swinging from a tree.

I snuck Ricky his granola bar and gave him a wink. I was rewarded with a toothy smile.

And I smiled too. Officer Bill had gone to the school and not caused any panic or crying. The Chief would be pleased.

My steps were lighter as I walked toward the parking lot and Blue pranced beside me, basking in the afterglow of the children’s attention. I wanted to know who Mr. Andrews was having the affair with. Not that I would necessarily do anything with the knowledge, but it’s good to know things and finding them out has always been so easy for me.

A quick stop at the Lexus showed me crushed oyster shells in the tires. The white dust came from a private road on the east side of town. The road where Councilwoman Watts lived. Neither The Chief, nor my father, the former chief of police, thought much of her morals. Neither had Mr. Watts who left her six months ago. This might be something we could use later if the new principal continued to be mean to Mrs. Roberts. That’s the thing about a small town— we look after our own.

“Come on, Blue. Let’s get some lunch.”

Mostly what I do is based on logic, but sometimes I am nearly psychic. Precognitive even. Take Officer Bill. I had a strong premonition that Officer Bill was going to have another accident that afternoon on my way back to the station. And this time the head would be crushed completely, even if it meant driving over it a dozen times to make it happen.

Blue woofed approvingly.

Chapter 2

The winter had been rather long and burdened with dead bodies, but spring had finally arrived. Which didn’t mean we couldn’t have cold weather or even other deaths, but that at least we would have our frost and other losses decorated with tulips and daffodils and some of the world’s most exotic hyacinths.

I was especially aware of the hyacinths because Mom and Aunt Dot were both entered in the Flowers of Spring Contest. It is an annual event to raise money for the community garden. As you have probably guessed, this year’s chosen flower is the hyacinth. Flower fever had been running high since right after Christmas when Mom and Dot began forcing bulbs, searching for that perfect entry. I had a few particularly pungent specimens on my front porch.

I prefer pumpkins, but would never sneer at Mom’s endeavors in the world of bulbs and tubers. And I understand why she was experimenting so diligently. The hyacinth isn’t as hardy as the narcissus, but then few flowers are stalwart enough to push their way out of frozen ground and brave the winter snow in Hope Falls. And allowance must be made for the hyacinths superb scent and varied colors, but she still needed something that could be safely exhibited in a cold barn from Good Friday to Easter Sunday, when horticultural-minded citizens would stop in to see the flowers and cast a ballot for their favorite.

If Mom had drawn the line at the flower show my Easter would be easy, but she had also signed Blue and I— and Aunt Dot, Rosemary and Althea— up for the Easter parade because they were short on bonneted heads this year and she felt tradition needed upholding.

That meant I needed a bonnet. And since this was also a competition….

Now, I wear hats. In the winter. Which, yes, maybe do make me look like a mushroom because they are brown and grey and cling to my head as knit caps are known to do. But I am a small person and I need a small hat. The Easter bonnets Mom was building out of chicken-wire would be nearly as wide as I am tall. And as for making Blue wear one, well, I already told her I wouldn’t do it. Instead Blue is getting an Easter collar with all the frills upon it, which Althea can put in a sonnet or not, as she chooses. Knowing Althea, she’d probably do it. Odes and Easter and a dog called Blue, it was inevitable.

No help or sympathy would be had from Alex either, who was busy boiling and dying eggs in our kitchen for Sunday’s egg-hunts at Hurst Meadows by the old marble quarry. Alex, who is a freelance forensic anthropologist and usually very busy solving cybercrimes, had never dyed eggs before and he was fascinated enough to have gotten roped into the job by my father, who was on the Easter planning committee (the mayor always is). The eggs and dyes were all organic— boiled beats, carrot tops and onions skins and the like. And I couldn’t blame my new husband for not making waves. His mother was happy about the bonnets. His dad was happy that his mother was happy. My mother was happy about so many people wearing her bonnets and she had correspondingly higher chances of winning a prize for her millinery endeavors. I would try to be happy too.

Easter is a big deal in Hope Falls. Partly because everyone is very happy about Christ being risen and saving us all, but also because it brings in a lot of tourists whose dollars are needed after the long winter of empty hotels and attractions like The Falls Recreational Facility. We have lovely bunny balloons to mark the occasion and cotton candy in a rainbow of colors, both of which are given to children on Good Friday. I missed the part in the Bible about balloons and cotton candy—and bonnets and hyacinths— but it’s fun and festive and we all love it. And if it brings joy, can it be wrong?

The Easter drill goes much as follows:

Church and/or breakfast involving lots of pastry

Easter baskets, if you are under 10 or Alex

Parade at 10 a.m. where bonnets are admired & a winner chosen (rain or shine— and there was 50-50 of being either so bonnets tended to be made of synthetic materials rather than the silk ribbons of old)

1st egg hunt for the under 4s was at 11 (the field would be emptied by 11:30 and there would be time for volunteer bunnies like Alex to hide more eggs)

2nd egg hunt at 12 (for 4-7 year olds)

3rd egg hunt at 1 (for 8-10 year olds)

1:30 p.m. winners of Flowers of Spring Contest announced in the old barn

Then home to cook/consume dinner of ham or lamb (ham for us and I had convinced Mr. Jackman to make it since he is the better cook)

Thaddeus Rabbit, our very own Easter Bunny, was available for pictures all day long. He was a roving ambassador of Easter spirit, handing out carrots and words of good cheer. I really like seeing Thaddeus in costume. He looks even hotter and dumber than Officer Bill. Though he wears his voluntarily and with a good heart, which should shame me.

“You look nice,” Alex said, stepping out of the steamy kitchen.

“Thank you.”

I don’t wear much makeup on work days. I mean there is no way to accessorize the uniform and make it fashionable, so what you see first thing in the morning is pretty much what you get. Okay, the teeth are cleaner and the hair combed, but that’s about it.

But it was Good Friday and a day off, so it seemed a nice time to spare some effort on my clothing. And Blue and I would walk downtown and get a balloon and cotton candy for Alex who was steaming himself over a hot stove. He would love that. It was something of a surprise to me still, but Alex really was a great big kid.

“I’ll be back in about an hour,” I said.

“I think I’ll be done by then,” Alex said, but sounded a little doubtful.

The air was crisp and the sky a painful blue that made all the daffodils look like they were lit up from the inside. Blue and I both pranced along the sidewalk, enjoying the church bells and the children running about with their balloons. Every Easter— and only at Easter— Mundorff’s Sundries gets in special balloons that are clear on the outside, but inside have a second balloon shaped like a bunny’s head. Blue and I stopped at the card-table to pick up a balloon and then to wave at Mrs. Everett who was having a sale at her lingerie store, What Lies Beneath.

Gepetto’s, our toy shop, was doing a booming business. They were selling matching bunny noses and ears in a variety of colors and both children and adults were getting into the spirit by wearing their bunny gear. It was odd how well even this simple costume could alter identity. I almost missed Mrs. Adams and Linda Stone though they were only a dozen feet away. Fortunately Blue saw them and said something so they didn’t feel slighted.

Our next stop was the Morningside Inn where the cotton candy booth was in full production. Mr. Jackman and Mrs. Graves were there, but not in ears and noses. Though the cotton candy is free, there is a jar for donations to the food bank which Blue and I gladly contributed to.

Mrs. Graves, who was the one actually spinning the candy onto the paper cones, was beginning to look a bit like Marie Antoinette as the spun sugar lofted up in the breeze and got caught in her hair net and began to spin itself higher and higher above her head.

“You look like a fairy princess,” I told her and got a wry smile along with a blue cotton candy. “Blue says she can take care of that for you if you kneel down.”

Blue woo-woo’ed a confirmation.

“Very thoughtful, but I promised Ricky Redfern that I wouldn’t touch it until he could run home for his camera. He seems to feel that I would make good copy in the school newsletter.”

“Will you be at the Lit Wits on Wednesday?” I asked. My own attendance had been spotty in recent weeks.

“I suppose, though Tara Lee is being tiresome about reading poetry. I never thought I would say it, but I miss Althea. At least you could laugh at her stuff. Tara’s is just boring and impenetrable.”

I chuckled. As we were talking, I noticed a woman who came out onto the screened porch of the inn and began scanning the crowds. She was striking because of her bright (and impossible) red hair and her drum tight face that was free of winkles but somehow made me think that she was older than she wanted anyone to believe. She did not seem to be taking in the pleasurable sights of Good Friday, but rather looking for someone with a high degree of worry and annoyance. At least as much worry as Botox would allow.

The Morningside Inn caters to mostly upscale clients, but the people who visit understand that the inn is located in the heart of the historic district with our authentic brick and cobble streets (basically they were pavers thrown down haphazardly to keep wagons getting mired in mud) and old wooden walkways which served the same purpose for pedestrians. Our other big attraction was Hope Falls, also known as The Other Falls, which is a forested wilderness. People choose their footwear accordingly. This bottled red-head had obviously not read the chamber of commerce brochure or visited the website where weather and terrain were discussed at length. Four inch, red leather, strappy sandals could only end in heartache— or broken ankles— if she left the hotel’s manicured grounds.

Mr. Jackman noticed my staring at her feet and nodded slightly in agreement.

“Her name is Rochelle Golightly. She’s here with her brother, Bobby.” I could tell from the reserve in Mr. Jackman’s voice that he was not a fan. “She may be okay, but the brother is an arrogant jackass. He’s been complaining about the children playing on the lawn.”

This was strong language from the mild Mr. Jackman.

“What kind of car do they drive?”

“A black Escalade. It has a bumper sticker that says: If you love something set it free. If it returns then it’s yours. If it doesn’t return, hunt it down and kill it.”

“Hm. I’ll watch for it.” I try not to ticket tourists unless they are egregious about their violations, but I would make an exception for anyone Mr. Jackman thought was a jackass.

I spotted the school principal, Mr. Andrews, crossing the inn’s croquette field where a game was in progress. He did not seem overjoyed to see his students, sticky with cotton candy and higher than their helium balloons.

“Speaking of jackasses,” I murmured and was not really surprised when he gave a toothsome smile to Rochelle Golightly or when he happened to meet up with Nadine Watts and casually decided, in a needlessly loud voice, to have breakfast at the inn. Really, I prefer it when people conform to my low expectations. Then I don’t have to wonder if I have misjudged them or why they are lying with words or deeds.

“Fidelity isn’t his strong suit?” Mrs. Graves asked.

“Condemned by the company he keeps,” Mr. Jackman agreed. “Nadine Watts has never been big on the seventh commandment. This seems a little blatant though. Surely the wife knows what’s going on.”

“Marnie Andrews is a complete doormat,” Mrs. Graves said with a sigh.

“He better hope she’s a doormat,” I muttered. Because of my own history, I take a dim view of cheating. “Well, we best be off. Alex is slaving over a pan of steaming eggs and I promised him cotton candy as a reward.”

“See you at the egg hunt. And thank you again for the dinner invitation,” Mrs. Graves said.

“Thank Mr. Jackman. He’s cooking our ham.” I hugged them both and then stepped around the pacing red-head.

Loaded up with Good Friday loot, Blue and I stopped at Past Glories and I picked up a couple of movies that had no redeeming social merit, but lots of laughs and a few car chases.

I detoured around Washington Street. Knowing the last minute rush at the Kandy Kounter, I had picked up a chocolate bunny and foil eggs a week ago. Fortunately, cellophane grass lasts forever so my old Easter basket would work fine for Alex’s treats.

And if that wasn’t enough sugar for my husband, I had made Easter cut-out cookies and decorated them with sugar sprinkles.

Alex had the Easter eggs covered. Mr. Jackman was making our ham. We were all set for a vernal celebration.

Chapter 3

There were six dozen eggs on the counter, sitting in their cartons, mostly pink. The green ones just looked moldy, Alex explained, and brown eggs weren’t exciting. The kitchen was a bit odorous from the eggs and vinegar Alex had used to fix the dye, but I kind of liked the smell since it was Eastery.

There was also a small bowl of pink eggs on the dining room table next to the vase of daffodils. They had been flattened past hope of resurrection by yesterday’s rain so I cut them and brought them in before the snails feasted on them.

“Those are our eggs. The cats seemed to want some and I like deviled egg sandwiches. Besides, I kind of messed up the dye on those. They’re spotty.” Alex was tucking in to his cotton candy and sounded a bit sticky.

“I like deviled eggs too. And I always fix an egg for the cats. They like to roll them around the floor until they crack the shell.”

“Well, I guess you’ve got to kill your prey before you eat it,” he said reasonably. “Did you see the postcard from Elvis?”

I picked up the picture of the hotel at Molly Mines where we had gotten married. The back said: Opening Night went great! Wish you were here— Elvis.

“That was sweet of him. Especially when I don’t think he’s comfortable writing letters.” Or doing lots of things that normal people do. Elvis, our minister, believed that he had been kidnapped by aliens and they had done something to him up in their spaceship. Something had happened to Elvis King alright, but I suspected the brain trauma came from being electrocuted by a rival Elvis.

Thinking of other Elvises, I asked: “Have you heard anything from Hawaii?” Hawaiian Elvis was Federal Marshal Macpherson. We had met him in Molly Mines while he was undercover, investigating the Elvis murders.

“Nothing about the case. He did say that he is thinking of taking a vacation in July and visiting Hope Falls.”

“That would be nice. I wonder what he’ll make of our town.”

“Or Hope Falls of him. Oh. Your mom called while you were out. She wanted to know if you had picked an Easter dress yet. I guess it is supposed to match your hat?” Alex sounded tentative. I hadn’t complained a lot about my bonnet but Alex isn’t stupid.

Picking an Easter dress had become as big a bone of contention as choosing a bridal gown had been, but I supposed it had to be done.

“Nothing I own matches my hat. It has white doves in a willow-twig nest and faux Fabergé eggs in synthetic grass. I look like one of those village women trying to carry a meal for a family of four on my head.”

“I don’t know, it sounds like anything would work with that.” Alex grinned at me. “My mom showed me her hat. It has a stuffed white bunny and baby chicks and lots of purple silk flowers. She’s renting a costume to wear. It’s very… purple. She looks like a grape.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.” I giggled. “Althea has a whole flock of bluebirds in a rose bush. It’s real tall and if there is any wind at all, she’ll go airborne.”

“See, a couple doves and eggs are not so bad. And in aid of keeping our spirits bright, I thought I would pop down for a pizza while you look in your closet for a dress. Just pick something and call your Mom, okay?”

“Okay. Tomorrow we can do any last minute shopping for dinner.” I already had the ham laid by, but a big meal for lots of people always needed last minute trimmings.

“I’ll take your bike downtown,” Alex said. “I could use some exercise.”

“Blue will like that.” My bike has a sidecar for our dog to ride in. We had only brought it out of storage in the last week. Winter had been too long and too cold to tempt any of us with exposed travel.

“Back in a bit,” Alex said and gave me a kiss goodbye. We had only been married for a few weeks and I was still a bit shocked but pleased by the whole thing.

As I had feared, my closet yielded little in the way of dress that went with jeweled eggs. The best bet was my wedding dress, but it seemed a little soon to be wearing it to anything as casual as an egg hunt. But then I recalled that I had one of my Grandma Boston’s party dresses in the spare room. It was her ‘Sunday, goin’ to the church sociable’ dress. It had a sweetheart neckline edged with hand-tatted lace, and acres of yardage in the skirt that really needed a hoop or several crinolines. All I had was a limp petticoat, but it would do in a pinch.

The yellowed fabric was a kind of thick linen and printed with a block-cut of red and pink strawberries and their light and dark green leaves. Later in life, Grandma had rounded out, but as a teen, she had been slender as well as short. I always felt a little like I was playing dress-up when I put the frock on. Probably because I had played dress-up in it as a child. It wasn’t my usual kind of thing, but it would about stand up to my umbrella-sized bonnet.

The frock was the only clothing of my grandmother’s that I had kept. The dress was out of character for the woman I knew, who was uncanny— even witch-like when annoyed— and given to wearing loud caftans that she had knit for herself. This frock was innocent and tasteful, and I suspected that my great grandmother had chosen it for her daughter. Great Grandma Gigi had come from aristocracy in Seattle and retained her love of pretty things even after moving to Hope Falls with her roughneck, entrepreneurial husband.

The cats followed me down the hall to the guest room, intrigued by the seldom-opened closet and the smell of mothballs in the brittle garment bag.

An honest evaluation in bright light showed me that the dress needed washing and then ironing. I groaned thinking about all the gathers in the skirt that would have to be pressed. But the hem was quite dirty and I knew that Mom— and Aunt Dot and Althea and probably Alex’s Mom and Aunt Elizabeth— would complain if I turned up in a grubby dress. Feeling put upon, I ran some cool water in the bathtub and poured in a small amount of lingerie soap. It smelled nice, like blood oranges, and I knew that it would be kinder to the old fabric than a modern detergent.

I don’t have a washboard or even a nicely shaped rock for doing laundry, so I resorted to rubbing the fabric against itself as I had seen my grandmother do when camping and grandpa had messed up her bath towel by cleaning fish on it. I felt a bit silly but it seemed to work. Or maybe the older, rougher weave of the fabric released dirt better than modern material does. In any event, I had a more or less clean dress by the time Alex and Blue returned with a super-veggie pizza. And I was on moral high-ground. Mom couldn’t complain that I had chosen sentiment over buying something new to match her bonnet. As if anything in town could.

The cats didn’t approve of the washing process since it involved water, and their comments left no doubt that they preferred dying Easter eggs with Alex. Of course, if I wanted to bribe them with treats, they would be willing to stay and keep me company. Blue was interested though and came to watch when she and Alex got back from the pizza parlor. She would have gotten in the tub during the rinse out if I had let her.

It took every bath towel we had to dry the dress. I laid them side by side on the hall floor and then put the sopping dress on top. Then more towels and then I rolled it tightly. I had to repeat this three times to get the dress dry enough to hang over the shower door, but at least I hadn’t damaged the fabric by ringing it out, nor was it too badly wrinkled. I might be able to iron it in only one day.

The towels got stuffed in the dryer before I went to eat.

It rained again that night, which is an excellent excuse for hot chocolate, cookies and a fire, along with a DVD. Looking out the living room window before I closed the shutters on the dark, I saw a few people hurrying through the rain, wading carefully through the stream that had sprung up in the middle of the street. The orange street light made the water look like orange juice. I don’t care for this light. It seems unnatural and doesn’t flatter anyone.

Good Friday was almost over. For some reason, I was feeling vaguely troubled, but when I thought about why I was bothered, all I kept seeing were red sandals with very high heels. That made no sense at all. I figured that my subconscious was still worrying about my Easter outfit.

Chapter 4

The pecans were in their proper place on the third shelf next to the other nuts, but the butterscotch pudding had moved again. It was annoying and I half suspected that my cousin, Todd, had done it on purpose. You can make monkey bread with other flavors of pudding, but I like butterscotch.

“Okay, Blue, where is it?” I asked and then followed her nose to the proper shelf and tossed a couple boxes in the wagon. The market uses old Radio-Flyer wagons instead of grocery carts. “Thanks. Now I’ll make it home in time to iron my dress before reporting for work.”

Blue woofed softly. She was wearing her therapy dog vest while we were in the market so there would be no questions. Blue loves the market, especially the butcher and the baker, both of whom slip her things. Of the two, I think Blue likes the gingersnaps more than the tri-tip, but she never lets anyone else suspect that she has favorites.

As I leaned into the freezer, trying for the last bag of frozen dinner rolls, I noticed a pair of bright red sandals go tottering by. A swipe of the frost glass showed me the backside of Nadine Watts, clearly outlined by a white stretchy skirt that was sheer enough to show off a red thong. She was carrying a bottle of champagne. I doubted she was planning a seasonal celebration with the widows and orphans.

Blue snorted, expressing distaste for her perfume.

“Exactly,” I said. But almost at once I began to feel uneasy. Turning slowly, I saw a petite woman with soft brown hair and a stark white face also staring at Nadine Watts. She had a bottle of wine in hand, which was clenched so tightly that her knuckles showed white.

I wasn’t acquainted with Marnie Andrews, but I was pretty sure that this was who I was looking at. Before I could decide whether to introduce myself and perhaps prevent a bottle being thrown at the councilwoman, the principal’s wife turned away. She also had on red heels, though not as preposterously high as Councilwoman Watts.

“Blue, things could get ugly. Do you think we should warn The Chief about this?”

Blue thought it might be a little early to disturb The Chief of Police on the weekend, especially since I might run into him casually after work and not have to interrupt him at home when his family from Los Angeles was visiting.

*  *  *

I waved at Father McIlhenny as I turned onto Larkrise and sped up to a blistering four miles per hour. There is no parking by the church, so no need to linger. Though I was enjoying the colorful annuals people had planted for the weekend, I was distracted by footwear. Local people were still— mostly— being sensible about the streets and the cold, but tourists in high heel were everywhere. I wondered if the hospital was getting a lot of extra business in turned ankles.

I spotted Golightly’s Escalade near the park but it was parked legally. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see inside, though I gave it the old college try.

Curiosity might have compelled me to stay a little longer in hope of catching a glimpse of Bobby Golightly, but I saw Alex across the street. He and Dad were on the courthouse steps. Blue woofed in happy recognition of two of her favorite people and I felt myself smiling all over as they waved at us.

Blue and I stopped briefly at the Hope Falls Animal Clinic. Dr. Mumm encourages his doggie patients to drop in for cookies and pats from the vet techs. He says it lessens the dog’s dislike of the clinic if they can go there and not have anything bad happen. It certainly works with Blue. She also enjoys see Basset, the clinic’s mascot cat. Basset is a Maine Coon and too laid back to be bothered by canines, even large ones like Blue.

Chilled and tired, I turned in my vehicle at five and then stopped by Mom’s house to pick up my bonnet and Blue’s Easter collar. I told her about wearing Grandma’s dress and she seemed pleased with my choice, which was good because the stores were closed and I had spent a long time ironing the gathered tiers of that skirt.

Alex was getting Chinese for dinner— with extra pot-stickers though Bob and Rosemary had decided to go to a dinner party with Mary Elizabeth instead of having dinner with us. It was wonderful that they were making new friends and not relying on Alex and me for their entertainment. Rosemary had a real bee in her bonnet and was getting stubborn enough to be really annoying. She wanted more grandchildren. I believe in recycling, even ideas and impulses since many concepts can’t be fully explored in one sitting, but not when conversations become nagging. What did she think? That Alex and I said it was too soon for kids on Monday, but by Saturday we would change our minds?

Sighing, I put my enormous bonnet on the backseat of the car. My work was done for the day. Except for putting together Alex’s Easter basket and getting the monkey bread ready for tomorrow morning. I would do the basket after he was asleep. Maybe I would hide it and let him hunt for it. That would probably appeal to him.

Chapter 5

It is fortunate, since that parade goes on rain or shine, that the sun was cooperative that morning. Elaborate bonnets and well-dressed egg-hunters could pass review undimmed by heavenly tears— I’m quoting Althea. Though not a sweet person, she often says things that could put a diabetic in a sugar coma.

All over Hope Falls, families would be getting ready for the event. It was tradition. I didn’t have to see him to know that Dad, as the new mayor, would be wearing a bunch of baby carrots on the lapel of his blue velvet coat and a yellow ribbon on his top hat as he led the procession. I’d asked Alex, since he wasn’t in the parade, to get a picture of him. Dad hadn’t bought the outfit special. The hat and coat have always been in his closet, though heaven knows where he had collected such relics. Maybe he had played The Mad Hatter back in high school when he did theatrics? He would also be carrying the official walking stick wrapped with colored ribbons, a sort of portable Maypole that passed from mayor to mayor.

The Bernese Mountain Dog Rescue Team was in the parade, of course, each one pulling a little cart filled with flowers or a toddler. Easter, Christmas and Saint Patrick’s Day brought them out because there is nothing a Bernese Mountain dog likes better than a parade. Blue looks a bit like their short-haired sister and is always happy to see them.

All this was a given and expected. Alex was the variable and he was doing fine. The man does love his holidays.

Alex was enjoying a sarsaparilla while visiting with his parents. Bob and Rosemary were staying with Mary Elizabeth while their new cottage was repainted and carpeted. They had stayed with us the first night, but Zoom and Lucy (aka the feline riders of the apocalypse) had escaped their kitty-proofed half of the duplex while we were out to dinner and we had come home to a snowstorm of feathery down. Rosemary would have liked to have blamed Apollo and Aphrodite, but Zoom and Lucy were found inside the duvet, still clawing the fabric when we went into the bedroom. Given the close call earlier in the day— Zoom was lucky I checked the dryer before slamming the door— Bob and Rosemary had taken the cats and moved in with Mary Elizabeth the next morning. I wondered how Alex’s aunt, both childless and petless, was coping. At least Rosemary wouldn’t be nagging Mary Elizabeth about babies or anything else. Alex’s aunt is formidable.

Anyhow, I had passed on the twin treats of a morning visit with the in-laws and frosty cold sarsaparilla, being full of monkey-bread and not wanting to have to make too many trips to the port-a-potty in my grandma’s voluminous dress and my even more voluminous bonnet. We would be seeing Bob and Rosemary at dinner. That was visit enough for one day. Especially with Rosemary looking so thoughtful. Usually ideas improve with thought, but not Rosemary’s. All that was on her mind right now was grandchildren. I wonder what her next campaign would look like and if Alex would be really angry if I yelled at his mother.

Though a little chilly, the day would be counted a success in my books, at least so far. There was no need to feel uneasy. Alex had loved his Easter basket. Blue loved her new Kong. The cats had enjoyed chasing a stray jellybean around the floor, which was nice since they would miss out on other festivities and goodies that Alex, Blue and I would enjoy. Not that they could possibly be hungry for anything after their breakfast. As customary, at our house, the animals eat first. Coming out of bad situations, a full food bowl first thing in the morning— and last thing at night— made everyone feel safe and happy. After all, you never know when some calamity might lead to a worldwide crunchies shortage. The bottom of the bowl was good reason for feline panic. And anyway, the monkey-bread needed time to bake, so why not keep the peace and share the bacon and boiled eggs on Easter as a second course.

Braced with coffee, carbs and Alex’s enthusiasm for the upcoming ritual, I had felt almost glad to put on my Easter costume and face the blustery day. Alex was dressed up too, but just in a tapestry vest, faux fur bunny ears and nose. All the assistant bunnies who would be hiding eggs wore them as a badge of office. He looked cute. And funny. It took an effort but I didn’t giggle even when Apollo and Aphrodite stalked him from the back of the sofa, trying to swat his big brown ears. I did take a picture though so I could giggle in private later.

The last thing I did before popping on my giant bonnet and loading crates of dyed eggs into the car was to set the table for dinner. I had no reason to think that I wouldn’t be back in plenty of time to do this later. Perhaps I was just delaying the inevitable by laying out Grandma Boston’s damask cloth and my red dishes, but I felt better once it was done. Like making a sign against the evil eye.

We finally arrived at the meadow a little before ten. As Mom had predicted, there were more Easter baskets than bonnets on display that year, and they came in some exotic shapes and sizes. I noticed one in particular carried by the out of town woman I had seen at the inn on Friday. It was a pannier, a kind of long basket that they use on donkeys to carry firewood or flowers. It looked bottom-heavy, given the fact there were only silk peonies poking out of the top and they couldn’t have added much to the weight. A basket like that would be useless at the egg hunt, since the drop would crush the eggs, but I gave her credit for finding something so striking for the parade.

Thaddeus Rabbit was there, though not being as talkative as usual. In fact, I didn’t hear him say a word. I thought I heard him sniffing and wondered if he had a cold. At least the bunny suit would keep him warm and his germs contained. The sun was still out but the breeze was in the north and carried both chill and a promise of rain. We didn’t need an influenza epidemic among the kids.

Just before we took up positions for the parade, I noticed Mr. and Mrs. Andrews. This was their first Easter in Hope Falls. I was pleased that I had guessed right. The woman in the grocery store was Principal Andrew’s wife. Her stare was every bit as fixed as it had been in the market and a quick scan of the crowd across the street revealed Nadine Watts wearing hooker bunny. She had to be freezing in her skintight bodysuit and bunny tail.

I felt a rare flash of annoyance. One learns to live with neighbor’s habits and idiosyncrasies when residing in a small town. But this was crazy. When were elections? Surely the home-wrecker would be voted off the board next time. If Marnie Andrews didn’t beat her head in with a wine bottle before then. Certainly if I found Nadine dead, tail-up in the bushes, I would have a prime suspect.

I caught Mr. Jackman’s eye then glanced pointedly from Mrs. Andrews to Nadine Watts. He shook his head in disgust but moved closer to the councilwoman in case a scene erupted.

Thankfully, the parade is always short, really just a chance to promenade bonnets by the judging stands while the ukulele band played, so we got through it in about fifteen minutes. Then it was on to the important events— the egg hunts. A look at the darkening sky convinced me that we weren’t starting a minute too soon.

I had hunted in the meadow as a child along with Althea and our cousin, Todd. After the first year, I had only done it to please Mother. There is nothing clever about finding brightly colored eggs dropped onto grass. And the other kids, especially Todd, were awfully pushy.

Dad, bless him, had sensed my disappointment in the egg hunt and had taken to drawing maps and leaving elaborate clues so that I had to really hunt for my Easter basket. We kept up this tradition long after I had figured out that a bunny rabbit couldn’t possibly climb up our elm tree and break into our car and leave my basket in the trunk.

The little kids are the cutest and most fun to watch. They aren’t greedy and every egg found is a complete surprise. Most want to stop right then and eat them. Parents also keep their gladiatorial instincts under control since they are walking with the very small children and not sitting above the fray as they are when the older kids are hunting.

The later contests are much more rough and tumble, with parents standing on the rim of the quarry, shouting down instructions at their offspring in the wood-rimmed meadow in a manner more appropriate to a little league game. Or a boxing match. For the last group of kids, the real pit-fighters for whom winning eggs is worth ridicule by their more sophisticated peers, I was happy to take shelter behind one of the horse-drawn wagons and sip a cup of weak tea, waiting in relative quiet while the youth of Hope Falls engaged in Easter combat.

I knew the hunt was over when the screaming stopped and the mass migration to the old barn started. Blue and I were slow to catch up with Mom and Aunt Dot, and I was happy to let Alex take Blue with him while he escorted his parents to the outbuilding where the flower judging was taking place. Easter is great and I love it, but a little bit of the merry, egg-munching crowds goes a long way with me, and I was in no hurry to hear the groans of disappointment if Mom didn’t win either the bonnet or the hyacinth competition.

My phone rang as I passed the hay shed. This was startling because I hadn’t bothered to shut it off. I couldn’t imagine who would be calling me. Everyone I knew was at the egg hunt. It took me a moment to find my phone in my belt-bag and then walk to where I could hear clearly.

“Boston, you know the entrance to the old marble quarry?” The Chief asked as soon as the line stopped crackling.

Goosebumps came at the sound of The Chief’s voice.

“Yes. It’s in the woods by the meadow on the north side.”

“Get down here right away. We’ve had a murder.”

*  *  *

“I’m sorry to call you away from the festivities, Boston,” Randy Wallace said, eyeing my bonnet. “But I wanted you to look at this area before we moved the body.”

The Chief sounded unhappy. Frankly, there was no other way to sound. The Easter Bunny was dead, lying face down in a meadow, his body skewered by a whole quiver of arrows, which was a strong visual definition of the term ‘overkill’. Beside him was a white, faux fur rabbit head— either removed to check for signs of life or else dislodged when he fell— and his willow basket, still upright and half filled with carrots. This I stared at with surprise and trepidation. Thaddeus Brookes only handed out healthy Easter treats, organically grown in his own garden. That wasn’t what was in the basket.

“Chief,” I said, setting my ridiculous bonnet aside on a convenient stone. “We need to lift him up so I can see his face.”

“Why?” The Chief was appalled, though he hid it almost at once.

“Because I don’t think this is Thaddeus.”

“What?” But The Chief was carefully lifting the corpse so I could kneel and look at his face. It stained my Easter dress with mud, but this was no time to be fussy.

“It’s not Thaddeus, though there is a strong resemblance. This is no one I know. We have an imposter Easter Bunny.” This was not, of course, our largest problem. But the fact might be very important. After all, if we had mistaken this man for Thaddeus Brookes until this moment, had his killer done so as well?

Or was the killer smarter and better informed than we were? Had this stranger been his target?

“How did you know?” The Chief asked, taking out a handkerchief and rubbing his hands, though he was already wearing rubber gloves. “I thought it was Thaddeus. We all did.”

“The carrots.” The Chief looked blank. “They’re from the store. Uniform size. Cleaned. No tops. Thaddeus always leaves on the tops. I should have spotted it sooner.”

Thaddeus Rabbit had also been uncharacteristically quiet.

The medical team arrived. They had come by a back road and the ambulance was covered in dirt. We were screened by a dense hedge of brambles and everyone was either in the old barn looking at flowers or else heading home to slave over their hams and lambs, but we were being discrete. Word would get out about this soon enough but we didn’t want any children seeing a dead Easter Bunny.

“I think we’d better find Thaddeus so he can explain who this is. I’m going to phone Dad and Alex and head out to T Farms.” Althea and Dale would see that Mom and Alex’s parents got home. Alex could also give Mr. Jackman a key so he could get in to our place and start Easter dinner. Even if Alex and I missed it, the others could enjoy the ham and scalloped potatoes and bread pudding made with sausage and lovely Gruyere cheese.

“Any sign of trouble— any— and you call for back-up. Take no risks, Chloe.” He only called me Chloe when he was worried.

“You got it.”

“I should send someone with you.” It wasn’t like The Chief to be dithery. This murder had shaken him.

“Don’t be silly. You need everyone here, and Dad and Alex are cops— at least they were. We can handle it.” I looked at the body again, frowning because something— beyond the obvious— was wrong.

“Boston, you’re thinking something else— what?”

I looked at Lawrence Bryce who had processed the scene. We were working under bad conditions what with the wind kicking up and the rain starting to fall. I could see that Lawrence had bagged a green beer bottle and some cigarette butts. They’d be checked for prints and DNA but I had real doubts that our archer had sat around having a beer and smoke while waiting for the Easter Bunny to show. Of course, I might be wrong. Maybe that was exactly what he had done. It would be handy if he had.

Though beyond the range of the official egg hunt, there had also been dozens of tramping feet through there that day, kids and ‘helpful’ parents looking for stray eggs. There probably wouldn’t be any useful forensic evidence from the scene. It would all come down to the arrows and I was betting they were printless. Even the dumbest criminal knew to wear gloves.

Still, there was one shoe print in the soft earth that was bothering me. There might be something else as well. I hated to waste the time, but I needed to walk the scene.

I looked at Bryce.

“Lawrence, get a picture of this print.” It was a cowboy boot. A man’s with a split heel. Cowboy boots aren’t rare, but they were a lot less common than athletic shoes, or the dress shoes many of the men were wearing because they had come directly from church.

I walked around carefully, aware of The Chief’s intent gaze. I found another strange print about twenty feet away. There was a broken egg nearby, a green one, trod upon by a careless foot that didn’t see it in the patch of grass. A sharp heel had punched right through it. The damaged egg wasn’t going to waste though. Already the ants were moving in to claim it. Not something that would usually bother me, the sight made my stomach roll. I hoped nothing had gotten to our unknown bunny.

“This is out of place. Our replacement bunny must not have known that we don’t hide eggs out this far. Was he lured by his killer? Or did someone else drop it— maybe someone who saw the body and panicked? Lawrence, this print too.” It was a woman’s shoe with an unusually pointed toe and spike heel. Again, not that rare in a general way, but local women would not wear spike heels into the meadow which was strewn with rocks and gopher holes here near the woods. And a tourist would have to be very determined to venture out this far among the mud and broken stones. An egg-hungry child might persist through the mud, but an adult? I didn’t think so.

“Why?” The Chief asked curiously. He wasn’t challenging me, just seeking information about why these prints were important and the others weren’t.

I tried to think how to answer without using the word ‘intuition’.

“No one local did this.” I hadn’t known that I was going to say this, but it was true. Some things are inviolable, like the Hope Falls Easter Bunny. Thaddeus Rabbit was a beloved tradition of our town. Thaddeus III had taken over the job from his father Thaddeus Junior, who had inherited his position from Thaddeus Senior, who was known for bringing in root vegetables and boiled eggs to the foresters of Hope Falls who were snowed in at a logging camp during the long winter of 1902— not dressed as a rabbit, but he had arrived on Easter Sunday and was believed to have saved their lives or at least their sanity. The current Thaddeus was also a civic hero who supported causes like the food-bank and the community garden. All of us had grown up knowing him and loving him. “I don’t think anyone from Hope Falls would attack the Easter Bunny— our Easter Bunny. It would be sacrilege. The crime doesn’t fit. These shoe prints don’t fit the scene either. Or the town. I think they belong to an outsider.”

I really wanted this to be true.

Bryce nodded as he leaned over the track with his camera. “I can’t see it being anyone local either. Thaddeus is respected and even loved by everyone I know. The only person who ever took a dislike to him was his ex-wife and they split a decade ago. Seems kind of a long time to wait for revenge.”

“Okay.” The Chief accepted our judgment. We had the hometown advantage and he knew to use it. The Chief had adapted fast to life in Hope Falls and he had great instincts, but he was also an outsider and deferred to our greater familiarity with the town and its customs.

The wife. I vaguely remembered the ex-wife and gold-digger is the word that came to mind, though I reminded myself not to be judgmental. After all I had married a man with more money than I had who came from a family at least one income bracket above my own. I knew that wasn’t why I married him— Alex is lovely and because he is also sweet he appeals to almost anyone with a womb. And usually he gets the text and subtext of female conversation. What could be better in a husband? But it was possible that not everyone would understand this. Maybe some people were thinking that I had ‘done well’ for myself.

So, maybe not a gold-digger. She was high-maintenance though, I remembered that much. Shirley— no, Shelly— had always worn false eyelashes so heavily mascaraed they looked like sutures holding her eyelids open. It looked odd with her bleached hair and heavy, almost goth make-up. Her clothes had never quite fit in with either life in town or on the farm. She wore spiked heels and lots of white wool pants that had to be dry-cleaned. In particular I recalled a pair of thigh-high silver boots. They impressed me enough that I went home and wrapped my legs in tinfoil so I could look like I was from outer-space too.

Though I had never questioned it as a kid, I wondered now where Thaddeus had found her. She was a strange choice. Personally, I don’t understand people who seek out emotional jumbles to wade in, but some people do seek troubled waters— and find them, more is the pity. I didn’t recall the details of their romance and subsequent parting, but Mom would remember. I’d call her later and ask for the story.

Also, they had had no children. There was no Thaddeus or Thadette IV to carry on the tradition. There had been some civic worry about this.

“I wondered who inherits Thad’s farm and money with the wife out of the picture,” I asked myself softly, but Randy and Lawrence were both paying attention and nodded. We were all thinking the same thing. Was the heir someone who liked hunting maybe? Thaddeus was a private man, but we were going to have to be nosy anyway. I wasn’t looking forward to it.

If Thaddeus wasn’t feeling talkative— for whatever reason— David Cooper is the Brookes family lawyer. David and I aren’t close, but his secretary— who loathes David as much as I do— is a good friend. I could talk to her, if worse came to worse, and get details through a backdoor.

But first things first. I needed to be sure that Thaddeus was alive. And that he wasn’t the shooter. I couldn’t imagine Thaddeus Brookes being so angry that he would shoot an imposter rabbit, but it needed to be checked. Even if it was more of just going through the motions.

“I’ve got to get moving. Thaddeus could be in trouble if the murderer figures out that he got the wrong guy,” I said, taking out my phone. Alex was on speed-dial. Though I was tempted to let the rain do its worst to Mom’s hat, I took my enormous bonnet with me.

Alex wasn’t going to like this news one bit. He always wants to protect me from ugliness and danger, and I love him for it. I was just going to have to work on making him understand that I feel the same way about him, my family and my town. And sometimes, I was the best person to investigate.

“Boston, you think we’ll find the murder weapon? After all, there is a risk in being seen with it. He might have ditched it in the woods.” Lawrence waited for my answer.

“Greater risk in leaving it behind. I think you might have to register hunting bows, at least in this county,” I said, turning slowly with my phone, trying for a signal. The walls of the quarry were blocking me. “Keep looking, but I don’t think you’ll find it. Someone smuggled it in without being seen. I’m betting they smuggled it back out the same way. You could try searching Easter baskets, bonnets and hoop skirts, but I am betting our murderer and the weapon is long gone. The crowd was already breaking up when I came down here.”

Normally, a bow and arrows would be noticed at a social gathering, but not in that throng. As I had said, any of the hoop skirts could have concealed a weapon— many of the hats too. And there were lots of large Easter baskets around. There were also a lot of tourists, strangers acting strangely, at least by our standards. They would resent being searched, especially without explanation— which The Chief wouldn’t want to give in front of the children. And almost everyone had on some kind of costume, even if it was only bunny ears and noses. It made even people you knew hard to identify. Basically, it would be impossible to place everyone, even if we had an exact time of death. I didn’t envy the officers doing the grunt work on this one.

“I can’t tell if this was a killing frenzy or if our shooter was just a bad shot,” The Chief said.

“Why a bow and arrow, and not a gun?” countered Bryce.

“Because it’s quiet and works well at a distance, especially if you have a scope. You could stay under cover in the woods and wait for a good shot at the target. Espcially if you had lured him out here with some excuse like taking pictures for the newspaper,” I said, walking off to search for a signal for my phone. “Never mind looking for a hunting bow. Start looking for someone with dirty cowboy boots or four inch spiked heels covered in mud and green eggshell.”

They wouldn’t find them though. As I said, our killer was long gone, along with everyone else who didn’t have flowers in the contest or older kids in an egg hunt. We weren’t going to solve this with forensic evidence. It was going to be all about motive and opportunity. That meant digging into things that people weren’t going to like us knowing.

Chapter 6

The Brookes’ farmstead and the farmhouse itself were not unkempt but that afternoon, in the failing light, I was aware of a feeling of desolation and loneliness that had never been there before. I prayed it was my imagination and not because Death had come calling.

We were a strange delegation, Dad in his top hat, me in my Easter dress and Alex in a gaudy vest with bunny ears stuffed in his pocket. Blue was the only one who didn’t look like she came from Fairytale Town, though it was maybe a little eccentric that a dog would be out paying an Easter visit on a bunny.

We knocked and then knocked again on the Dutch door and for a long time there was no answer except the patter of rain on the porch roof. The gray light was weakening with every minute and the wind was moaning through the old apple orchard, shaking the limbs roughly. Only the daffodils along the drive remained graceful under the assault. The driveway needed gravel. Thaddeus had a small 1928 Caterpillar tractor, but small in tractor terms was still heavier than most automobiles and the gravel showed the cat’s passing.

Lightning crackled in the distance. But that wasn’t why Dad and Alex were looking so grim and peering in windows. I didn’t join them. Instead I watched the tall, un-mown lawn by the door as it swayed and whispered unhappily and prayed that Thaddeus was still alive. Finally we heard footsteps and the door unlocked.

“Thaddeus!” I said with relief. “Thank heavens you’re alright.”

“I’m fine, dear. Hello, Mayor. Hello, Blue and stranger,” he answered and then began to cough. His eyes were red and his cheeks flushed fever red. Thaddeus had a nicely modulated voice, but illness had made it rough and irregular. He didn’t look fine, but as I had half-expected to find his body shot through with arrows, this rated as an acceptable state of being. “Come in, come in. It’s cold out today.”

“Let me make you some tea,” I said, taking his trembling arm. His skin was hot even through his shirt. He was in high fever. “Thaddeus. This is my husband, Alex, and you remember Blue.”

“A pleasure,” he wheezed. “But why have you come on this horrible day? I guess you figured out that Brutus took my place at the parade? I told him not to talk to anybody.”

“Yes. The store-bought carrots tipped me off,” I said gently, lowering him into his reclining chair and pulling the afghan over his lap. The small table next to the recliner was covered in bunched Kleenex and cans of ginger ale. I wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten.

“Hucksters. Passing off vitamin-deficient produce. But I was feeling too poorly to harvest any of the root vegetables and I fear that Brutus is coming down with it too.”

“It’s okay. Sometimes things happen and we have to make due.” Like getting shot by hunting arrows; that was a big thing.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Alex said and disappeared into the kitchen. There was no need for all three of us to break the bad news.

The house wasn’t terribly messy, but the indifference to the grace-notes, like holiday decorations or flowers or pictures, was endemic. There was no sign that there had ever been a Mrs. Brookes in residence. Had she taken everything with her when she left? Had Thaddeus been angry enough at their divorce to remove all traces of her?

“Brutus is still at the meadow?” Thaddeus asked, but answered himself at once. “No. You wouldn’t be here unless something bad had happened. Was he taken ill?”

“I am so sorry, Thaddeus,” I said when Dad remained silent. “I’m afraid that Brutus is dead.”

“Dead?”

“He was shot in the old marble quarry. With a hunting arrow.” I didn’t see any need to mention all the other arrows, especially when Thaddeus turned gray.

“Oh God! This is my fault. I made him wear the suit even though he didn’t want to!”

Dad looked blank, but I understood what Thaddeus meant and quickly reassured him.

“I don’t think it was a hunting accident. At least… the hunter would need to have been very drunk to not notice the difference between a man in a bunny suit and a plaid vest and an animal. I mean, what did he think he was shooting? A polar bear?” This I asked of Dad, wondering— hoping— for a moment if I could have misjudged things and maybe this was a terrible accident.

My father shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Thaddeus. I think it was murder,” he said softly. “Chloe does too.”

“Then it was,” Thaddeus said with a touching faith in my abilities. “But who would want to kill my cousin? Brutus only just arrived from Ohio this week. He couldn’t leave our Uncle Benjamin while he was ailing. He’s never even set foot in Hope Falls proper. Besides, he was… salt of the earth.” When we stared he went on. “Brutus was simple. He didn’t hardly talk. As a child, the other kids used to call him ‘dumb’.”

This news made it worse.

“We were concerned that…” I tried to think of a nice way to say what needed saying.

“That someone was trying to kill me? Not Brutus? I guess that makes more sense, but why?” Thaddeus looked as bewildered as we were.

“I don’t know,” I said, staring at his haggard face. “And until we do know, I don’t want you out here alone. The killer probably thinks that he got you, but word will get out eventually that he missed.” If he missed. Alex was going to do some checking on Brutus Brookes. Maybe the simple man was hip-deep in enemies.

“I won’t be alone,” Thaddeus said. “Two buddies are coming up today to do some fishing with me and Brutus. Dennis Mulligan and Frank O’Leary should be here soon. Only I guess now we’ll be planning a funeral instead of chasing trout.”

“We’ll stay until they arrive,” I said. “In the meanwhile, why don’t you rest, if you can? I am going to see about making some soup.”

“Carrots, onions and tatties are on the counter,” Thaddeus said. “I was going to make soup later.”

“Well, instead you can put your feet up and let me spoil you a bit,” I said. “Dad, you want to help chop veggies?”

“Sure thing, hon.” We left the room quietly, not sure that Thaddeus would sleep, but allowing him some privacy if he needed it. Blue stayed behind, her head resting on his knee at convenient stroking height.

I called The Chief from the kitchen and explained that the dead man was Thaddeus’s cousin, Brutus Brookes, only arrived from out-of-town and filling in as Easter bunny because Thaddeus was ill. The Chief asked if Alex would be looking into Brutus’s background and I said yes. The police had access to all sorts of databases, but not everything important was in law enforcement computer systems.

While Dad and Alex chopped veggies for the soup, I called Mr. Jackman and made sure that things were going fine back at the house. Of course he had everything under control. I told him to relay reassuring messages to our arriving guests that we would be there soon. I hoped I wasn’t lying. I could hear Rosemary in the background demanding to speak to Alex and hurriedly hung up. The day already had enough stresses in it.

Naked soup was not enough for a meal, especially with company coming. A quick search through the cupboards gave me the ingredients for baking powder biscuits. I shredded up some cheese and added it to the dough. It wasn’t a great Easter feast, but I doubted Thaddeus was in the mood for feasting.

Fortunately, Thaddeus’s friends arrived shortly after we got the soup on the stove and biscuits in the oven. I think they were a little surprised by the close examination they got from the three oddly dressed invaders in Thad’s kitchen. Dad and Alex were retired from active police work, but they still know how to give cop eye. And I was making damn sure that nothing about them— from their sneakers to their fishing rods— felt threatening. After all, either of them could be the killer. In fact, since I doubted that this was a random or impersonal crime, they were actually good candidates, at least on paper.

In real life, they were two nice guys and since they passed muster with my inner-voice, we explained the situation and were pleased when they didn’t hightail it right back out of town. Frank didn’t have much to say but Dennis was both chatty and horrified. We had to use a lot of tact to escape an in depth discussion and get back to our own dinner.

I did admonish the men that if they had to leave Thaddeus in the next couple of days that they were to call me or my father and we would have Thaddeus come to us. I felt that I needed to do more, but couldn’t think what would be useful and finally decided to ‘suffice it unto the day the evil therein’ or however that saying goes. I couldn’t make bricks without straw or clay and couldn’t get ahold of anything or anyone until Monday.

One good thing came of Sunday. Mom’s bonnet placed first and she got second place for her cinnamon hyacinth, which she brought to the house. First place went to Aunt Dot for she showy Two-Blue, which looked weird but had a scent you could smell at twenty paces. I was just as glad that Dot hadn’t brought her winning flowers along. It was missing since she was dining with Althea and Dale. The scent would have clashed with Mr. Jackman’s ham, which was delicious and deserved our undivided attention.

Rosemary was predictably upset that we had been called away from the egg hunt, and we didn’t add to the unpleasantness by giving her any details of the crime. We just said that someone from out of town had been shot in what might be a hunting accident. That was stretching the truth until it screamed, but adding to her worry didn’t help us, her or Alex’s dad, and Alex was grateful to my father and I for telling the kind lie.

Mom came in to help me wash dishes and I asked her about Shelly Brookes.

“He met her at some sort of club in Seattle.” Mom’s look was significant. Now that I was married she was willing to reference certain things, like bad women and the places where they congregated. “He was probably drawn to her bunny tail. We tried to make her welcome since she was Thaddeus’s wife, but she didn’t mix much with the neighbors and never joined any clubs. She visited the library once. Mrs. Grady said it was like being around a black hole of unhappiness. She was very rude about the book selections and snide about the patrons.”

Poor Mrs. Grady. The library was her pride and joy.

“Thaddeus… well, he is a warm and generous man. There is none better, but he is very private and rather prideful, and he had never mentioned her again from the day he took her and her expensive luggage to the bus station. He still acts like the whole thing never happened. Not that I blame him. I don’t know what she could have done to make a gentle man like that so angry, but it must have been bad.

“Hm.”

“So good riddance. She just didn’t belong here and we are better off with her gone.”

This was harsh talk from my mother who never says anything bad about anyone.

So, the ex-wife had been unhappy and impolite and maybe prodigal. Was she still? It was hard to imagine anyone waiting a decade to strike back at a spouse, but there are some people who are so miserable that they can cling to a grievance forever. Could Shelly Brookes— or whatever she was called now— be one of them?

I assumed David Cooper had handled the divorce. I would have to find out if he had kept track of her. I’d like to know where she spent her Sunday. It was a long shot, but it needed doing.

Chapter 7

Alex and I shuffled into the kitchen, Alex headed for the coffee grinder and me for the kibble closet, followed by little pattering feet. I know that technically I am the owner and they are the pets, but most days I have doubts about who owns whom.

The sound of rain is usually soothing, but I hoped it stopped soon. My job wasn’t that fun when it was wet and it kept suspects— I mean people— indoors where it was harder to casually run into them.

“Have some coffee,” Alex suggested, handing me a mug.

“Thanks.” I would need the extra help. I hadn’t slept well.

And to make matters worse, Jeffrey Little was out of town for a traffic trade show. He was checking a new kind of parking meter that accepted ATM and credit cards. The Chief had asked me if I wanted to go, but I declined. I’d been to one of those shows last year and they are really, really boring. And I don’t like the way they smell, kind of like burnt coffee, gym socks and stale air. It would be different if we all had unlimited budgets and could actually buy all the high-tech gadgets, but hahaha! So Jeffrey was welcome to two free nights and free stale donuts at some motor lodge. Anyway, with the murder, I couldn’t have left town.

“I better get dressed,” I said, taking my coffee with me.

The Chief and I have an understanding. When there is some crime that I need to investigate I do my regular job, but only as much as is convenient. And I often leave my assigned route so that I can do other things in a different part of town. Like question David Cooper’s secretary.

Alex was busy investigating Brutus Brookes from the comfort of our living room. Blue was with him. We didn’t expect to find out much since the Brookes family were pillars of society and had always lived blameless lives, and we were sure that the target was meant to be Thaddeus and not his cousin. Especially since Brutus had never been to Hope Falls. It was a long shot that anyone in town had a compelling reason to kill him. Of course, a compelling reason could have followed him from home and all bases needed to be covered.

While Alex was delving into Brutus’s affairs, I was following my nose and that was leading me to David Cooper’s office.

But first I needed a present. My mother had taught me to never go calling on friends empty-handed. She had probably meant this more as a guideline for dinner parties, but it applied in investigatory work as well. Everything went smoother if there was some sugary topping on it. So I stopped in at Daddy’s Donuts to pick up Mary’s favorite pastry.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that news of Brutus’s death had leaked out and people were talking. It was being called a hunting accident, which was good, at least in terms of not scaring the murderer, if he or she were still in town and in a position to hear the gossip. Personally, I would leave the vicinity after killing someone, but there had to be a reason for the murder and maybe it precluded flight. I just hoped the reason did not include another attempt on Thaddeus.

As though guessing the direction of my thoughts, the story of Thaddeus’s divorce came up while I was waiting in line and I listened carefully while pretending to look at a menu. Alice Sellers, the widow of the founder of the Other Falls campaign, was talking to Nadine Watts in a low voice that was charged with gleeful venom. Being freed from a loveless marriage, she might have indulged in a little personal growth, perhaps even stopped drinking, but apparently the bitter leopard wasn’t changing her spots. The widow was reveling in the innuendo and so was Lucy Watts. Desire, covetous and envy grow such lovely tempting fruit for the gossips, I guess, but its poison from first bitter bite to last. People know that— they have to know that— but they eat anyway and then offer it to others. Councilwoman Watts eyes were actually shining with pleasure as she heard the details of a marriage gone bad. Some women are especially guilty of taking pleasure in stories like this. Jealousy of other women— usually younger and more attractive— scars their soul and makes them bad news addicts.

It would be easy not to discount what she was saying because the voice was so annoying and cruel and most of her speculation was probably made-up from plots on daytime drama, but even a stopped clock is right twice a day, and it was my job to hear this, even if it was ugly and probably untrue.

Not to put too much reliance on biased gossip, but according to Alice Sellers, Thaddeus’s exotic ex-wife had been a slut and possibly even a prostitute. That was interesting, but not as compelling as finding out the ex was a contract killer or something else lethal.

Mostly I wondered when and why Thaddeus had rejected the high-heeled widow. I was sure that he had. Alice Sellers was bitter and sounded like a woman scorned.

The women ordered skinny coffee and left together, and then it was my turn at the counter.

“Good morning, Chloe. Great day for ducks.”

“It’s easing up some,” I suggested with more mope than real expectation.

“What can I get for you? We have some fresh onion bagels.”

“I need serious sugar fortification against the rain. And an apple fritter for a friend.”

I actually bought the last two apple-fritters, since the maple bars were gone, but no coffee, though Daddy’s is quite good. The routine works this way, David’s secretary pulls the file I need to see and then she leaves to make coffee. I look at the files and then we have our pastry. Nothing definite is ever said between us.

As I left the donut shop, I noticed a black Escalade across the street and detoured enough to check that it had the bumper-sticker Mr. Jackman had mentioned. It did. Apparently the Golightly siblings were still in town.

David doesn’t come into the office on Mondays so I was sure of finding Mary Grady alone. On the way, I passed the Elkin’s house on Lincoln Street and saw that Liz had gotten her new solarium installed. She had ordered one for her birthday because last winter’s heavy snow had collapsed her old green house. She saw me through the glass and waved a trowel. I waved back, reminded that it was time to begin starting my pumpkin seeds. Jacky MacKay and I were going to start a pumpkin garden and see if we couldn’t grow a giant— I mean several hundred pound— pumpkin. It was too cold to plant anything outside yet, but the squash could be started indoors. I would give some seedlings to Jacky so he could watch them grow. Our reformed Pumpkin Thief really liked his pumpkins.

David’s office is located in an historic building that is a lot classier than he is. It also has a great heating system and I felt like I had walked into a furnace after being outdoors. I pulled off my knit cap and unbuttoned my coat. Easter was over and I had ditched my giant bonnet in favor of more practical headgear.

Thinking of my bonnet brought to mind my grandma’s dress and the annoying thought that I was going to need to wash and iron it again before I stored it away.

“Hey, Chloe.”

“Hey, Mary.”

“I expected you this morning since the— well, you know.” Mary was glad to see me for my own sake, but being bright and plugged into the information grapevine, she knew that there had been a suspicious death and that I wanted to know about the Brookes estate. There was nothing about or from Brutus himself, since he lived somewhere else and had his own attorney, but Mary had an unsigned copy of Thaddeus’s new will waiting on her desk. I saw at a glance that David would have to change it again. Brutus Brookes, the proposed beneficiary, was dead. No one else except charities were named and I couldn’t see the community garden or the seniors meal program sending someone to kill Thaddeus.

Mary came back in with two mugs of coffee.

“Is that what you needed?” she asked.

“I always need coffee,” I said. Then, abandoning indirection and tact, I asked about Thaddeus’s divorce. I wanted the when and why.

“This is all we have on file,” Mary said regretfully. “The old records aren’t on the computer. And it was before my time so I don’t recall the details of the divorce. Just that there was a huge scandal when he dumped her at the bus station with a mountain of suitcases. Do you think it’s important?”

Did I? Or was I just curious because this woman had provoked so much anger and distaste in her neighbors.

“Maybe. See what you can find without getting into trouble.”

“Okay.”

“Shall I bribe you with banana bread?” I asked. Mary doesn’t bake.

“Yes, please.” Then her smile faded. “They are saying that it was a hunting accident, but it isn’t really an accident. Is it?”

“No.”

“And someone killed Thaddeus’s cousin by mistake, thinking it was him? Thaddeus, I mean.”

Like I said, Mary is bright.

“I think so, but don’t spread it around.”

“But who would want to kill the Easter Bunny?” Mary asked. “That’s— that’s just so wrong.”

“I don’t know, but I am doing my best to find out before they try again.”

I left after that and got back on my route, handing out a few parking tickets on my way to the Morningside Inn. There are two places to stay in Hope Falls, a slightly rundown motor court and the Morningside Inn. The choice of a traveler’s home away from home was usually dictated by economics. The inn was not an inexpensive place to stay.

Maybe I was stretching, but a hunting bow seemed like a wealthy person’s weapon.

The inn’s parking lot was half-empty since many of the Easter revelers were returning home, but again I saw the black Escalade, which must have broken some speed limits to beat me to the inn, and I decided to scratch the itch that had been with me since Good Friday.

“So, I keep thinking about the bumper-sticker on the Golightly’s Escalade,” I said when Alex picked up the phone. I had told him about Mr. Jackman’s unusually harsh comments.

“I’ll look into it,” Alex promised. He sounded distracted and that meant he was working. “Want to meet for lunch?”

“Okay. Bring Blue to Courthouse Park around one and I’ll pick up sandwiches for a picnic. The rain really is letting up now.”

We were interrupted with a meow. Alex had me on speaker phone and this always confused Apollo.

“Hi, kitty,” I said.

“By the way, Aphrodite caught a mouse on the porch,” Alex sounded amused.

“Yes?”

“And brought it inside to share with Apollo.”

“Oh dear.” I started to laugh. Apollo doesn’t like mice. He tends to screech and jump on chairs to avoid them.

“I opened the door and shooed it out again before Aphrodite could eat it. It disappeared into a hole in the bank at the side of the yard.”

“Good. I really don’t like the idea of cuddling someone with mouse breath.”

“Or comforting one with advanced rodent complex.”

“That either.”

“Okay. See you at one. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I said and then hung up.

I reluctantly left my vehicle and was almost to the door of the inn when my phone rang. It was The Chief. He needed me out on Fellows Road behind the college. There had been an attempt on Principal Andrews’ life. He was alive, but was on the way to the hospital to have an arrow removed from his buttocks.

“On my way. Let me call Alex and cancel lunch.”

The Chief grunted.

Did we have a serial killer lose in Hope Falls? Or was this a copy-cat?

One thing, the black Escalade couldn’t have been used by the archer. Not this time.

Chapter 8

The college isn’t far out of town but it is tricky to access because of all the one way roads that wind steeply up the wooded mountain, touching only a few perimeter buildings. The campus offered fantastic views of the woods and Falls and usually had empty parking lots at the top because it was easier to navigate the trails on foot, especially when paved roads were icy.

My official vehicle runs on batteries and hates hills in the cold, so I parked in a lower lot and hit the nearest staircase. I would be winded before long, but I wanted to see the crime scene before the drizzle damaged too much evidence.

I passed the physical education building on the third flight of stairs. The college had an archery range beyond the basketball courts. I still didn’t believe that anyone local would kill our Easter Bunny, but since I was there I would check and see who was taking an archery class this semester. The college didn’t loan out equipment and didn’t have hunting bows in any case, but maybe someone from out of town had been using the range for practice. Everyone had to sign in before they were allowed in to the enclosure. My friend, Terri Forman, worked in the athletic department. She would let me see the roster for the range. It was a longshot, but crimes wouldn’t get solved if all we did was look at the sexy solutions. Sometimes, criminals were stupid and did the obvious thing.

There wasn’t much to see at the scene, just disturbed pine needles and some mud and a little blood. But I had The Chief show me where Andrews had been laying and I found a woman’s shoe prints half-overlapping what I assumed were Principal Andrews dress shoe imprints.

“Did Andrews have any lipstick on his face?” I asked The Chief.

“Um… the paramedic mentioned that there was some strange redness around his mouth.”

“And was he in a state of undress?”

“The arrow had somehow miraculously missed penetrating his slacks,” the Chief admitted.

“Nadine Watts,” I said and The Chief blinked.

“Councilwoman Watts shot Principal Andrews?”

“No, Nadine Watts was kissing Principal Andrews. And I am betting that we will find that his wife is taking an archery class and was perhaps expressing her disapproval of her husband’s lunchtime activities.”

“Damn. So this has nothing to do with our Easter killer?”

“I don’t think so. Not that this won’t get ugly too if it comes out.” I walked toward the archery range and found a nice stand of well-placed shrubbery, a quick look showed the fresh impression of a woman’s athletic shoes.

“Yeah,” The Chief agreed. His relationship with the town council was often adversarial and they would protect one of their own, even if they personally despised her. “And so?”

“Let me call Terri Forman and make sure that I’m right about this. Then we need to decide what to do about it.”

“We have choices?” The Chief asked as I took out my phone.

“Well, I do. You will have to leave it to me so you can use the whole plausible deniability thing if asked. I think I’ll tell my Dad about it though. He needs to be in the loop in case it comes to a fight. Something has to be done about Councilwoman Watts. This isn’t the first marriage she has interfered with.”

The Chief looked fascinated.

“We won’t be arresting Mrs. Andrews for shooting her husband?”

“Not unless we run out of other options…. Hi, Terri. It’s Chloe Boston. Can you do me a favor? I’m meeting Marnie Andrews for lunch, but I can’t recall if she said she was taking archery or swimming this semester. Can you check which building she’s in? Thanks.” The confirmation was quick. “So she should be done with class now? Great. Thanks again.”

I looked at The Chief.

“I’m going to call Marnie Andrews now and ask her to come to the station. You may want to make yourself scarce and call off Bryce, if you haven’t already.”

The Chief shook his head but walked away.

*  *  *

“Sit down, Mrs. Andrews,” The Chief said sternly as he opened the door to the interrogation room. “Officer Boston is going to have a little chat with you. Depending on the outcome, I may be seeing you later.”

The Chief left the room closing the door behind him. I was betting that the intercom was on and he was listening. But as long as I didn’t know that for fact, then I could also deny that he had any knowledge of what I was about to do.

“Here’s the thing,” I said, looking into Marnie Andrew’s frightened but defiant eyes. “We know that you shot your husband this afternoon out at the college. Nice effort, trying to blame this on the Easter hunter, but the real killer uses different arrows and a different M.O.. I’m afraid we were never fooled, if that was your intention.”

She looked away. I think that my reference to the Easter killing had startled her. Whatever had been on her mind that afternoon, it wasn’t a copycat killing.

“We also know that he deserved to be shot. Believe me, I sympathize completely. Ask anyone around here. They’ll tell you my story and how I take a dim view of cheaters. But murder is out of the question. Your husband’s or Mrs. Watts’. Homicide isn’t the way to fit in to a new community. We have standards. What would your mother say if she knew about this? Or Father McIlhenny?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks but still she said nothing.

“Your options, as I see them, are to suffer in silence while your husband goes on his merry way, go for marriage counseling, or divorce the cheating bastard. Or all of the above, along with public scandal and ridicule for your husband, since you are the wronged party and most everyone would be sympathetic as long as they don’t know you shot him.” Actually, this public ridicule was coming whether she wanted it or not. Word was out about Principal Andrews and Mrs. Watts having an affair. A quick call to my mother on the way back to the station confirmed this. “But if you can’t see your way to being reasonable then we’ll arrest you and charge you with attempted murder instead. The choice is yours.”

“You aren’t going to arrest me?” she asked, blinking hard. “Really?”

I shoved the Kleenex box closer. We were going to need it.

“It’s why The Chief has left the room. Officially, he has no knowledge of what happened today. We’re giving you a chance to do the right thing. You are being offered a do-over. Personally, I would take it.”

“Thank you!” she said fervently, beginning to cry in earnest. “I didn’t mean to kill him, I swear. I was out doing archery practice for my class and I saw him walk by with that—that— and they were—” She gulped. “And I followed them. I was going to shoot next to him to give him a scare, but I’m not very good yet and his naked butt—”

“—was a natural attractant for an angry arrow.” I pulled out several tissues and put them in her hand. “Wipe your eyes. I believe you about it being an accident. Or, at least not premeditated. But I think it might be best if you left your bow and arrows here for the rest of the week. You can use the ones at the college for your class if you mean to go on.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I couldn’t touch them again anyway. And I dropped the class already. I went straight to the enrollment office and filled out a drop slip. I don’t think archery is for me.”

I nodded, hoping she didn’t take up skeet shooting instead.

“Okay, here is the drill. Right now, my father, the Mayor, is at the hospital having a talk with your husband about his close call and how this story might look in the paper. He will also be speaking to Mrs. Watts. This affair ends or it goes public at the council meeting.” Her eyes got big at my words. “We can’t get into her sex life, but Mrs. Watts used her influence to get your husband his job. That’s corruption. We won’t stand for it.” Mostly because it wasn’t working. Mr. Andrews was a lousy principal and no one respected him.

“That’s— that’s wonderful! Everyone says your dad is the best, most caring mayor ever, and I believe it. I’ve never heard of anyone being so hands-on.”

I nodded. It was kind of wonderful that Dad and The Chief were willing to intervene personally to keep this woman from jail, but I wished like anything that it hadn’t happened. We might not be breaking the law by not charging her, since we had no hard evidence of her crime and I deliberately hadn’t Mirandized Marnie before her confession so it was inadmissible anyway, but we were bending the heck out of it. I just hoped we were all flexible enough to live with the consequences if she got fed up again and did something a lot more permanent to her rotten spouse.

And in the meantime, I still had a killer to catch, and I needed to do it before someone else died.

“Do you need the name of a counselor or divorce lawyer?” I asked.

“I thought I would talk to Father McIlhenny first,” she said. “He seems very nice.”

“He’s a good choice,” I agreed. “And he can help you with any contacts you might need later.”

I stood up. Marnie bounced up and startled me with a hug, which I barely managed to return.

“Drive carefully,” I said, which was maybe dumb, but I needed to say something to end this interview. It was time for Marnie to leave and for me to eat some lunch and think. I also really needed a normal hug from Alex and some time with Blue. This afternoon had left me feeling angry and fatigued.

The Chief came in when Marnie was gone.

“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” I said.

“Me too.”

*  *  *

I remembered that Blue was out of her tablets. We feed Blue a special supplement for her joints. It costs more than dinner for two with wine and dessert, so I don’t like to leave it sitting around in my cart, in case some health-conscious canine with sticky paws comes along. I had meant to go by the vet’s after lunch but the whole shooting thing at the college had distracted me. Dr. Mumm closes at three every other day so I had to hurry. Hunger would have to wait to be appeased.

A car honked at Mrs. Jarvis as she stepped off the curb in front of the station. She gave it the evil eye as it roared by. From time to time we get tourists who drive with their horn instead of their steering wheel or brakes. Robert Golightly was one of these. I really needed to find a reason to give him a ticket. Maybe a smashed headlight. Those can happen most unexpectedly and the fine is steep.

My second stop of the afternoon was to pick up a pizza. The Chief had given me the rest of the day off and I was going home to rest and eat. Parking fines would be down again this week, but I was very tired and hungry, two things that interfered with clear thinking.

I was making salad while Alex set the table when I noticed our feathered pen was missing again.

We keep pen and paper on the counter by the phone. The pen, a gift from my mom, often goes missing. Blue isn’t interested in pens and Aphrodite is too lazy to chase them. That leaves Apollo as chief culprit when the pen disappears.

Sighing, I dropped to my knees to remove the grill thing from the front of the refrigerator. Apollo, in addition to being scared of mice, is also concerned about the monster that lives under the refrigerator and won’t fetch anything that disappears in the shadows behind the grill. It has become a graveyard for old toys.

“If you swat it under here, the least you could do is get it out again. Your paws are smaller than my hands.” I got a stare of innocence from my cat as I scolded.

I think sometimes the cats are jealous that Blue gets to go to work with me and they get into mischief in revenge. But what can I do? They hate cars and have a tendency to leap at birds even when the vehicle is moving. I can trust Blue to behave. The cats… well, not so much.

Maybe it was time for new cat toys. And I would grow catnip this summer.

The pen was rescued along with two furless mouse toys, missing their tails and rattles, and a dented ping-pong ball that would never roll again. Yes, the toy count was down, Aphrodite was looking for live playmates, clearly it was time to get the cats some new playthings. I went back to finish our salad, thinking that it would be nice if all problems could be so easily corrected.

Alex and I discussed his internet findings— or lack thereof— while we ate. As I had suspected, Brutus Brookes had led a blameless life and there was no obvious reason for someone to kill him. The only unusual event in the last year was his sudden inheritance from a wealthy uncle. Thaddeus and Brutus were both beneficiaries, but that wasn’t all that unusual and the uncle had died of natural causes.

Of course, there was no obvious reason for anyone to kill Thaddeus either. The only person who had ever hated him was the ex-wife and she was long gone. It was all very discouraging.

We had a quiet evening at home so I could brood in peace. When I am circling an idea, wanting to take its measure, I like to move around. But once the hypothesis is settled upon, the parameters explored, then I like to be still and contemplate in quiet. It can take time to coax the little voice inside that sometimes goes mute when it suspects some piece of information is faulty or it sees a conclusion is troublesome. Maybe even unthinkable.

I started with the why. Why shoot the Easter Bunny? The past can be a burden, a weight brought to bear that leads to criminal acts— especially crimes of passion. Revenge is a number one favorite for that.

Though many crimes are born out of wrongful past acts, the future can also be strong incentives for criminal behavior. I wondered what we were looking at. Frankly, we seemed short of past acts that could lead to murder. Maybe it was time to explore future events for a motive. What might Thaddeus be about to do that would bring a killer out of the woodwork?

Gain— that was a favorite of mine. Cold blooded murder for money was a classic. Did it fit though? I needed to know more about Thaddeus’s finances. I wondered who handled his accounts. We didn’t have that many CPAs in town.

“Have some chocolate,” Alex said.

The cold deepened quickly and by full dark snowflakes began to fall. In the orange of the streetlamp, they looked a bit like cornflakes. I was happy to turn my back on them and watch the fire instead.

We retired early but I woke just after twelve. The stillness outside, the kind that came only with deep snow, was my second clue that spring had lost a last skirmish with winter. The first was my cold nose and overheated body. The animals had joined us on the bed during the night and both cats were using me as a cushion. The calendar insisted it was springtime; the weather suggested otherwise.

This might have depressed me on another occasion, but until the streets were plowed, I was on holiday. I couldn’t give anyone parking tickets if there was nobody out parking. Alex and I could give our full attention to Thaddeus and his finances. That was fortunate, because I had the feeling that time was running out.

A good place to start would be to invite Thaddeus and his friends to dinner, maybe after the funeral. Why not try and get things from the horse’s mouth? Many things could be discovered through social discourse that wouldn’t necessarily come up during an official inquiry where plying witnesses and suspects with wine was frowned upon.

This seemed a particularly good idea after I heard from The Chief the next morning. Daryl and Frank had tried making a run into town for donuts and had piled into a ditch. They claimed the brakes had failed on their car.

The mechanic had taken a look and determined that the brake-line was cut.

Chapter 9

“I’m glad you don’t think intelligence is a handicap,” I said to Alex as I laid out the Scrabble tiles and got a triple word score.

“Yeah because you would be the head cripple.” He grinned as he added the total. “But you know me. Any ambulatory female will do as long as she can cook.”

I threw a pillow at him. Blue jumped up and woofed, thinking we were about to play a game that she could be involved in.

“See what you’ve done? You’ve upset my dog.”

“That’s okay. I’ll bribe her with cookies,” Alex said, heading for the kitchen. “So what’s next? I know you’ve been thinking all day.”

“A dinner party. And I suppose that I need to find out when the funeral is, though I don’t want to go.”

“You’ll call Thaddeus?”

“Yes, but Mom first.” My mind made up, I went to the kitchen to place the call.

“H-h-hachoo! I mean, hello.”

“Hi, Mom. Bless you,” I said, recognizing her by her sneezing. Aunt Dot is a blaster. Mom squeaks. “Allergies?”

“Yes. I’ve been cleaning the linen cupboard. What can I do for you, dear?”

“Two things. I am calling to find out about the funeral for Brutus.”

“Tomorrow at ten, dear. At the Episcopal church. Don’t worry, the garden club has arranged for flowers.”

“Oh good. Thanks, the club’s arrangements are always so pretty.”

“Yes, and more personal.” Mom was right to be proud.

“So, I was thinking of inviting Thaddeus and his two friends to dinner tomorrow night. Frank and Dennis are really nice. The funeral is bound to be depressing and I was thinking that maybe a small gathering away from the house would cheer them up. Or at least make them feel less lonely.” Especially with all the attention and questions I planned to ask. “The weather has kind of trapped them out at the farm.”

“That is very sweet, dear! What can I bring?”

“I was going to do spaghetti Bolognese and marinara— Thaddeus is a vegetarian— bread and salad. So maybe a nice red wine?”

“Dale and Althea brought me a bottle for Christmas that I have been saving for a special occasion.” Mom loathes red wine. I was surprised that she hadn’t found a special occasion to dump it before this one. Maybe it was really expensive wine.

“That sounds perfect. I’ll have some white here too.” In case Thaddeus also loathed red wine. The closed-mouth Easter Bunny needed to relax. In the right frame of mind I might be able to convince him that Mrs. Graves should take over his investments. Then I would know everything about his finances.

“Do you want me to call your father and invite him?”

Mom and Dad are still separated, but this was a party given by their daughter so the family should be together. That was okay with me. I wanted my dad there.

“Chloe, I have been thinking about your questions. About Thaddeus’s wife.”

“Yes?”

“Almost no one kills a spouse, even to get out a bad marriage these days,” Mom explained, though she sounded troubled. “And they certainly don’t kill their ex after a decade, no matter how bitter the break up. Otherwise, she would be the perfect suspect for you. She really was a nasty avaricious person.”

“Hm?” Something was buzzing at the back of my brain.

“I mean, from what I hear, the woman was a plastic surgery addict. New nose, new chin, new breasts— and all to show off for other men in those horrible strip clubs. She might look like anyone today. But, as I said, hardly anyone would kill over a marriage gone bad, especially ten years down the road. It doesn’t make sense.”

“But they might kill to stay in one,” I said slowly. “At least long enough to claim an inheritance as a grieving widow rather than an ex-wife with dubious claims.”

The idea was crazy, but the crime was insane too. And I needn’t take things that far. Thaddeus and Shelly needn’t still be married for her to inherit. What was the law? It varied from state to state, but I was sure that in Washington even if a couple divorced and there were children with a previous claim, if the official document weren’t altered, the former spouse would inherit— no matter how ugly the divorce or how many biological heirs were in line. Of course, there were no kids in this case, which made things simpler.

Had Shelly Brookes somehow discovered that she was still a beneficiary in Thaddeus’s old will? I needed to see an older copy of Thaddeus’s will or living trust and discover if the ex did in fact have a financial motive for this crime. The how of it could come later. Hopefully Mary could find one for me. It was hard to believe that Thaddeus could have overlooked a detail like changing his will, but on the other hand, he wasn’t an old man and no one likes to have dealings with lawyers. Especially David Cooper. He might have let the matter slide.

“Thaddeus has money?” Mom asked. I didn’t blame her for being surprised. I didn’t think of him as being well off. Farmers rarely were. But what might seem like a small amount to us might be a fortune to someone else, like an aging stripper.

As though anticipating my question, Alex exhaled loudly and waved a hand.

“Thaddeus has about a million-five in cash, plus the property,” Alex said softly, looking up from his computer. “Unless he has spent his inheritance in the last six years. That’s what he inherited from his father.” Seeing my question he added: “Wills are public after they are probated.”

“And he just inherited some money from an uncle in Ohio, I think. Mom, did you hear that?”

“Yes. I am very surprised because he lives so modestly. Though Thaddeus is one of the main contributors to the food pantry and that can’t be inexpensive to run.”

“No, it can’t be. I’ll see you around six, okay?” I said to Mom, wanting to get off the phone.

“And at the funeral?” she pressed.

“I’ll try. Jeffrey is out of town though so I may not be able to get time off.” Especially since I didn’t want to go to a funeral anyway. “I need to get on the phone and call Thaddeus and Mr. Jackman and Mrs. Graves about dinner. And grocery shop,” I added.

“Okay, dear. See you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I did love my mother. And I didn’t love Rosemary.

I looked at Alex and considered the politics of not inviting Bob and Rosemary to this dinner party and decided that I would have to suffer the consequences later. I needed to concentrate on Thaddeus and figuring out who was trying to kill him.

“It’s okay,” Alex said. “I know this is part of the investigation, not a real party. Anyway, Mom and Dad may not even hear about it.”

“They’ll hear. But I’ve just remembered that they joined the bowling league and will be busy tomorrow night.”

We both smiled at this happy bit of serendipity.

“Okay, Thaddeus is next. This is a pointless exercise if he isn’t able to be here.”

But Thaddeus was happy to accept an invitation and sounding much better. I was glad the flu was passing. He had seemed impossibly fragile on Easter morning. Of course, that could have been shock too. I had been stunned, and it wasn’t my cousin lying dead in my place.

Chapter 10

Mary Grady called me right after I stuck my pound cake in the oven. I had to pick up the phone with a towel because I was covered in flour.

“Chloe, there never was a divorce! Thaddeus is still married! David only started the divorce proceedings today.”

“And the wife is named as a beneficiary in the old will?” I guessed.

“Rochelle Brookes is the sole beneficiary,” she confirmed.

Rochelle. Not Shelly. I thought of the woman at the Morningside Inn. Could it be? Was she that bold, that certain that no one would recognize her? And who and what was Robert Golightly? Accomplice? Protective coloring?

“Holy cow. Thanks, Mary. I owe you some banana bread,” I said and then hung up so I could tell Alex what Mary had said.

Now we knew exactly what to look for. Proof shouldn’t be that hard to find. And once we had even semi-solid evidence in hand, I would call The Chief and warn him. This case could get a lot of publicity. The Easter Bunny murders would get a lot attention from the sensational press. That could maybe be turned to our advantage.

I would even help with the arrest, if The Chief wanted me there, though there was nothing I wanted less and didn’t see how I could be a help this time since I didn’t know the suspects. Many officers feel vindicated, rewarded for their work when they make an arrest. I don’t. It just makes me sad. And I was an effective weapon because no one suspected how much actual investigating I did.

Blue woofed at me and I pet her head and said soothing things which relaxed me as much as her.

Alex hunted the internet and I paced the floor. Usually I have some sympathy for people who do wrong. I can understand why they would do something illegal when their backs were to the wall and all other options were gone, but compassion for Thaddeus’s wife wouldn’t come. I have never been financially besieged. Mostly because I’ve been lucky and don’t live beyond my means— and don’t let nasty, greedy men run my life, which I suspected was the case with Rochelle. But if I ever was in trouble, I wouldn’t kill to remedy my problems.

That isn’t to say that I can’t be driven to the ultimate act of self-defense— I have been. And I would kill or die to defend Alex or Blue or my family. But not for money. Never for money. They were right, the ones who said that the love of money was the root of all evil. Out of this desire for wealth came envy, wrath, gluttony— all the sins of virtue except perhaps sloth.

You don’t kill the Easter Bunny because you are short on cash.

“I’ve got them!” Alex said a while later. “Call The Chief.”

*  *  *

The dinner table was lovely, but I had decided against flowers. There would have been enough of them at the funeral and the scent might evoke unhappy thoughts. Candles went better with Italian food anyway.

I was feeling oddly calm after my talk with The Chief. Usually entertaining holds at least minor anxiety, but other events had overwhelmed mere hostess jitters.

The Chief said he didn’t want me at the arrest and I was pleased. I like figuring things out, searching for the tentacles that grow out of some evil act and hunting them down, one by one. But picking up the messy pieces after the arrest requires more stamina than I have.

Greed, hate, envy, the emotions that lead people to cruelty and crime, these are not one time events that we experience for a set period and then just forget again at some appointed hour. We don’t covet from nine to five, hate from eight to four and then go home and be normal. For most of us, these terrible emotions are a passage from one state of mind to another.

But some people just get lost along the way. They wander into some dark alley of vengeance and hate, and they never find their way out again. They become their worst emotions and make decisions that enforce the bad things in their lives. And people, innocent bystanders, get hurt.

“Have some sherry,” Alex said sympathetically. He doesn’t like the messy side of law enforcement either. It’s why he does cybercrime and not homicide. “I’ll do the salad tonight. You just rest.”

Everyone arrived on time. We were convivial but a bit restrained because this was the funeral meal and good taste said we shouldn’t be boisterous or jolly.

Alex had built a fire and poured out wine which he offered around. Mr. Jackman had a tray of lovely antipasto for us. We settled in, comfortable and perhaps ready to talk about things that had been ignored for years.

I hadn’t said anything to Thaddeus or his friends about my reasons for dinner or about the arrests that The Chief had made that afternoon, but our Easter Bunny was not stupid and after we had settled in around the dining table, he drank to my health and then asked me what I had found out.

I looked at the faces gathered around the table, most well-known and dear, and felt myself relax. The news I had to share was surprising and unpleasant, but the worst was over. And if such things must be talked about, where better than at a table with food and friends? Hoping that it didn’t put anyone off dinner with my story, I decided to go ahead and explain what we had discovered about Rochelle and Robert Golightly.

“Murder is usually committed because of some act in the past, some happening that leads a person to feel that they must have revenge for a wrong done them. Sometimes, less often, murder is done to influence the future. In this case, killing Brutus Brookes was both.”

“But Brutus Brookes wasn’t the intended victim, was he?” Dad asked.

“No. It was meant to be Thaddeus. And the two people who planned this horrible deed are Thaddeus’s supposed wife and her husband. Or brother— depends who you ask” I took a swallow of wine. “The Golightlys have been arrested though, so we needn’t worry anymore about what they’ll do. The law will sort it out.”

“Supposed wife?” Mrs. Graves asked.

“Yes. There is a child involved, too, but she isn’t Thaddeus’s daughter. Though I have no doubt that Rochelle has told people otherwise and there may be some gossip,” I said apologetically and began passing the bread basket. The nine grain rolls smelled wonderful but I hated airing people’s dirty laundry and it ruined my appetite. “I think, if there is ever a DNA test, the child will prove to belong to Robert Golightly. But maybe not. Rochelle is not a discriminating woman and there have been other men, along with some arrests for prostitution.”

There were gasps.

“The brother’s child!” Mom was horrified.

“Robert is not Rochelle’s biological brother,” I hastened to explain. “He is her adoptive brother and first husband. Her only lawful husband. They married in ninety-eight. Rochelle’s marriage to Thaddeus wasn’t legal since she never divorced Robert Golightly.”

I waited a moment to see if Thaddeus wanted to say anything, but he was communing with the butter dish and didn’t look up. It was hard to tell in the candlelight but I think he was blushing.

“Things might have gone along without incident, but Robert took some risky loans and found himself in need of money. Quickly. He turned to his on-again, off-again wife. And, as Fate would have it, there was an obituary in the Reno paper. Thaddeus’s uncle, a rather well-to-do uncle who had business interests in Nevada, had passed away. The obit said that Benjamin Brookes was survived by his nephews, Thaddeus and Brutus Brookes.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Graves said. She writes mysteries and I figured that she had guessed the rest.

“Naturally, given the nature of the beast, Rochelle contacted Thaddeus, trying to palm off Robert’s daughter as being Thaddeus’s child, but Thaddeus knew that she wasn’t his and refused to pay back child-support or set up a trust fund or anything like that. Right, Thaddeus? You knew she wasn’t yours and you told Rochelle to go pound sand.”

This time I forced an answer before going on.

“I had mumps as a teen,” Thaddeus confirmed with a blush. “The girl couldn’t be mine. When Shelly got nasty, I told her to call my attorney and set up a DNA test. Knew she wouldn’t do it. I planned to help with the kid’s college even if she wasn’t mine, poor thing, but I didn’t say that to Shelly. After all, the wages of sin shouldn’t be visited on the children— even when they aren’t mine. I’m thinking of maybe offering to keep her if no one else steps forward.”

“And you were thinking it was the worst of sins that Rochelle had committed, right? Because you caught Rochelle with her ‘brother’ all those years ago, and that’s why you told her to leave but never said why to anyone else?”

He sighed and then slumped in his chair.

“Yes. I was so horrified when I found them out by the lake that I threw her out that very day. I probably would have thrown her out, even if I hadn’t thought that man was her brother. But seeing her with him…. Nothing has ever sickened me more. I just couldn’t think. I was so ashamed and….”

“We understand. Anyone would be disgusted. And David Cooper, the big-mouthed moron—” Alex shook his head at me, warning me not to get personal, even if what I said was nothing but the truth. “Um— he told Rochelle that she hadn’t a prayer at getting any money without a DNA test, and that Thaddeus was planning to change his will right after Easter so she would no longer be his beneficiary. Thus giving her a time frame in which she had to commit murder. After that, someone else would inherit, so she needed to hurry.”

I didn’t say how much they would inherit. I looked at Thaddeus, asking with my gaze who was going to be his heir now. It wasn’t any of my business, but Hope Falls needed its Easter Bunny and the food bank needed a patron.

“Brutus has a son. Nunnelly is my heir now. We were never real close, but he’s a nice boy and he’s coming out to Hope Falls. He’s been working as a produce manager at a market but he’s gonna help me with the farm instead. He’ll take over when I’m gone.”

I nodded. It was a relief that some good would come of this horrible tragedy.

“Until David spilled the beans, Rochelle hadn’t considered the possibility that she was still a beneficiary in Thaddeus’s will. I don’t know if she thought of the scheme, or if it was Robert’s idea, but as I said after that conversation with David was when they decided to kill Thaddeus. Thanks to Dave Cooper, they knew that they had until Monday to do it. Actually, they had longer, because David is anything but diligent, and a few questions around town would reveal that David never comes into work on Monday. There was time for one more effort. The brakes on the car,” I said to Thaddeus and took another swallow of wine.

“Fortune favors the bold and there was no time to waste. Rochelle knew about our Easter tradition and how Thaddeus was likely to be out in the meadow during the hunt, near the woods that offered such great cover for an archer. Since both Rochelle and Robert have had numerous plastic surgeries and were sure they wouldn’t be identified by anyone in town, they booked themselves into the Morningside Inn and got ready to commit murder.”

“Why the bow and arrows?” Dad asked.

“There is a waiting period for guns and I doubt that either Rochelle or Robert would pass a background check anyway. And buying one of the street would mean putting themselves into a potential blackmailer’s hands. Fortunately, they didn’t need a gun. They had a better, quieter and more familiar weapon at hand. Robert went with what he knew.”

I reached back for the folder on the counter behind me and took out the printout from the casino in Reno where Robert worked. They held medieval jousts and Robert was one of their archers.

“Alex found this online. Robert also has a hunting license. He uses a bow for that too. The only thing they got wrong, was killing Brutus instead of Thaddeus.”

“No,” Thaddeus said. “The other thing they got wrong was committing their crime in a town where they would be found out by you.”

Embarrassed, I ducked my head.

Chapter 11

“It’s nice to be alone. Just us,” I said to Alex, handing him the last wine glass for drying. “And Blue,” I added when Blue opened her eyes and thumped her tail. “And the cats.”

“You’re getting good at throwing parties. Even this one, that could have been kind of depressing.”

I nodded.

“I wonder if Thaddeus will end up with Rochelle’s daughter. That would be a little weird, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but I’m betting that the poor kid’s life is already pretty weird. And there are worse places than Hope Falls to grow up. I don’t know Thaddeus well, but I think he would make a good parent.”

“I guess. There are so many ways to screw up a kid. Alex?” I asked abruptly. “We’ve never really talked about it, but do you even want kids?”

“Maybe. Not now though. I’m still learning how to parent a dog and the cats. For now, I am content being a husband.” He put the wine glass back up on the shelf and hung up the dish towel. “What about you?”

“I don’t know either. I think I need to be a more normal person before I try to be a mom.”

Alex smiled.

“I don’t think you’ll ever be normal. Nor do you need to be normal to be a good mom. And if our kids were as special as I think they might be, you would be a way better mom than most.”

“Hm. Maybe. But I still want to think about it for a while. There’s no rush.”

“Okay then.”

I turned off the kitchen light, noticing that our feathered pen was missing again. Tomorrow I would get Apollo some new toys. How could I be a mom to a human child when I forgot stuff like toys for the cats?

Oh well. We would think about it. No harm in thinking. In fact, lots of good came from thinking.

“Let’s go to bed.”

“Those are my favorite words,” Alex said, taking my hand.

About the Author

Melanie Jackson is the author of 23 novels.  If you enjoyed this story, please visit Melanie’s author web site at www.melaniejackson.com.

eBooks by Melanie Jackson:

The Chloe Boston Mystery Series:

Moving Violation

The Pumpkin Thief

Death in a Turkey Town

Murder on Parade

Cupid’s Revenge

Viva Lost Vegas

Death of a Dumb Bunny

Red, White and a Dog Named Blue (Summer of 2011)

The Book of Dreams Series:

The First Book of Dreams: Metropolis

The Second Book of Dreams: Meridian

The Third Book of Dreams: Destiny

Club Valhalla

Devil of Bodmin Moor

Devil in a Red Coat

Halloween

Knave of Hearts

The Curiosity Shoppe (Sequel to A Curious Affair)

Nevermore: The Last Divine Book (Coming Soon)

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

eBooks by Melanie Jackson:

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

eBooks by Melanie Jackson: