Lye In Wait: A Home Crafting Mystery Part 13

Tootie turned and nodded to us. She looked better today, wearing a simple navy dress and low-heeled pumps, her hair coiled atop her head again, powder and rouge on her cheeks. Her dull expression still alarmed me. But when Meghan introduced Erin, warmth sparked in Tootie's eyes. Perhaps I expected too much from a grieving mother.

Rustles and shuffles at the rear of the chapel made us turn our heads. The pews began filling up. On the other side of the aisle, a dozen people in garb from suits to jeans cl.u.s.tered together, the good-looking owner of the Gold Leaf Tavern and the spike-haired woman from Beans R Us among them.

The seats behind us were filling as well. I recognized many of our neighbors and a few people I'd seen here and there around town. Walter had worked for them all on one project or another. Building a fence or a patio. Cleaning up after a windstorm. Installing a sprinkler system. Helping with a renovation or caring for the yard when someone was on vacation. Walter had been one of a dying breed, the all-around Jack of all Trades.

Behind them, Detective Ambrose slipped into a corner seat.

Just as the director/minister began adjusting the microphone sprouting out of the podium, Debby and Jacob hurried in. She wore a long black dress that tucked in the right places and flowed in the right places to accent her figure, but the black fabric combined with the heavy eye makeup, the black hair, and her ghostwhite skin made her look like an over-the-hill goth. Jacob wore a black suit with a white shirt and a bow tie. He looked like he wanted to scratch.

The service itself was generic and short. Mr. Crane didn't know much about Walter, so his comments were by necessity impersonal. When he asked if anyone wanted to get up and talk about Walter. I looked at Debby, but she shrank back.

One of the two women I'd thought were pew fillers got up and sang the hymns. Her voice, pure and sweet, brought unexpected tears to my eyes. Both Erin and Meghan cried, too.

After Amazing Grace we shuffled outside, blinking like moles in the brighter light. Above, clouds scudded across bits of blue, in thrall to the whim of the wind. I didn't see Ambrose; he'd slipped out as un.o.btrusively as he'd come in.

"I wonder if Debby and Jacob know about the fire," I said, searching the small crowd milling on the lawn in front of the funeral home.

"Down there," Meghan said, pointing down the street. The two figures in black were already a block away, leaning together and not looking back.

"Well, I'm not chasing after them," I said, not sure what to make of their hasty departure.

Ann a.s.sisted Tootie into an old mint-green Buick in the parking lot and walked around to the driver's side. We went over to say good-bye, but Walter's mother was obviously exhausted so we cut the conversation short.

As we approached Meghan's Volvo, which was parked on the street, Erin tugged on her mother's sleeve. "Hey, look. There's Dad."

Richard drove slowly past, gesturing as he spoke to the woman beside him in the white Camry. She wore a green coat over a black turtleneck and looked to be much older than d.i.c.k, despite the unnatural red of her hair. They appeared to be arguing.

"Was he at the funeral?" I asked.

Meghan said, "I doubt it. Richard hates funerals. He was probably over at the hardware store." She gestured down the block. His car turned and accelerated away.

"Who's that woman with Dad? It wasn't Donnette," Erin said.

Meghan frowned. "I don't know. I feel like I should know her, but I can't place her. Probably someone he works with." Then she grimaced, and we exchanged glances, remembering Richard had quit his job again.

We arrived home about four. Erin trudged up the walk behind us. Poor kid. She'd been through a lot the last week. Meghan started to push her key into the lock, but the door swung open at her touch.

She turned to me. "I must not have pulled it shut all the way."

In my mind I saw Walter's open back door. Thought of Walter's intruder. Following Meghan inside, I tried the k.n.o.b as I closed the door behind me. Locked. An itch skittered across my shoulders. Meghan and Erin went upstairs.

I wandered through the house, opening doors and glancing behind furniture. My inspection was deliberately casual-I didn't even want to admit to myself what I was doing.

And I found nothing.

Upstairs I changed into jeans and a sweater, and was groping through my drawer looking for a pair of matching socks when I spotted something on my dresser that made my heart stutter. More precisely, I didn't spot something.

"Meghan!" I yelled.

I heard her footsteps in the hall while I stared at the empty s.p.a.ce where my jewelry box usually sat.

"What?"

She leaned against the doorframe and raised one foot to slide on her loafer. I moved so she could see and pointed to the dresser top. She blinked twice, then whirled and ran back to her room. I followed. She let out a whoosh of air at the sight of her own jewelry box. She hurried over and lifted the lid.

I felt sick. Insurance should cover the few valuable pieces from my grandmother. And then there were the bits of silver jewelry picked up over the years, mementos of places I'd been and moments I'd wanted to remember. I'd miss them. But I would have dumped it all in Puget Sound myself if I could have kept my engagement and wedding rings. Not that I wore them anymorethough at the moment I fervently regretted that-but I knew they were there. And right next to them, Mike's platinum wedding band. For a year after he died, I slid the circle of smooth metal onto my thumb each night before I turned out my bedside lamp, slept with my hand curled to my chest until morning. Even recently I'd sometimes taken it out, held it in my palm like a talisman.

"My mother's ring is missing. So's the engagement ring Richard gave me." Meghan looked grim.

We went through the rest of the house. Erin helped. We couldn't find anything else missing, though Erin said some items in her room had been moved.

"I don't know how you can tell, Bug. You haven't cleaned your room for over a week," Meghan said.

"I can tell," Erin said, and crossed her arms.

We called the police. An officer we'd never seen, thank heaven for small favors, came within thirty minutes to take our statements.

"We'll do our best to find the thief," Officer Danson said. She reminded me of a young Kathy Bates.

"But it's not very likely you'll recover our jewelry, is it?" My voice came out a depressed monotone.

She grimaced. "Jewelry is pretty easy for a thief to get rid of. I wish I could be more encouraging."

"We understand," Meghan a.s.sured her. And we did understand why it would be hard to catch them. What I didn't understand was why someone did it in the first place. They'd taken more than just stones and metal; those rings were my only connection to a person-and a time-now lost. I blinked back tears, took a deep breath.

"Why did they only take the jewelry?" I asked. "Why not the television, or the stereo? Meghan has a laptop in her office, and I have a computer downstairs as well. Why'd they leave those behind?"

The policewoman said, "Time. A quick in and out before they could get caught."

"Well, they got lucky. We both work at home, and it's pretty rare that someone isn't here during the day."

She looked thoughtful. "That's interesting. It sounds like someone knew you'd be gone. Any idea who knew you'd all be at a funeral?"

"Anyone who knew about Walter-the man who died. Which turned out to be a lot more people than we thought," I said, thinking of the full chapel.

"So someone burglarized the house when you were all goneand you just happened to leave the door unlatched at the same time?"

"They must have broken in," I said, "then didn't pull the door all the way closed when they left."

"The lock doesn't look forced," Officer Danson said.

"So they picked it," I said.

Meghan's eyes narrowed at the woman. "Are you implying something?"

The officer shook her head, expression still pleasant. "Just getting the facts straight."

It took me a few seconds. "You think we arranged this? For insurance or something?" I was incredulous. "I can't believe you people. You're supposed to protect and serve, right? I used to think we needed more police. Voted for more funds, believed the rhetoric. But if all you do is ha.s.sle the victims, we'd be a h.e.l.luva lot better off with fewer of you! What a useless..."

"Sophie Mae," Megan said.

"...bunch of ineffective-"

"Sophie Mae!"

The policewoman's jaw set. Brodie, leaning against Meghan's leg, whined low in his throat.

Meghan continued in a gentle voice. "Just because they don't always recover stolen jewelry doesn't mean they won't find ours. You still might get your rings back. Mike's ring back."

I started to cry.

The officer mumbled something placating, reminded us to be careful about making sure the door was closed and locked, and told us she'd let us know if and when they found anything out. She looked back at me once from the open doorway, then made her getaway, while I stood in the middle of the living room sniffling like a fool.

EIGHTEEN.

MEGHAN SAID SHE'D MAKE grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner since we could all do with a little comfort food. Upstairs, I splashed cold water on my face, feeling drained and so tired I was sick to my stomach. The empty s.p.a.ce on my dresser seemed to throb like an ache. Trying to ignore it, I went back downstairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, the image of Erin's duffle bag came to mind. Another thought followed it, and another. I went out the front door and around the side of the house. Picking my way in the dark, I groped for the rock in the garden where we kept the spare key. Lifting what I hoped was the right one, I patted the damp ground beneath. My fingertips registered the coldness of metal, and I was about to dig into the mud when a light flared on over my head. I looked up, squinting.

"Erin?"

Wordlessly she shone the narrow beam onto the patch of ground. The house key glinted back at us. I put the rock back and stood up.

"I thought maybe we had latched the door when we left, and someone found this and used it to come in," I said. "Guess I was wrong.

Erin's eyes looked black in the half-light from the flashlight. "Unless they put it back," she said. She squatted and picked up the rock, training the light on the glittering key. Standing again, her shoulders sagged. "And that's what he did."

I noted the male p.r.o.noun. She was thinking the same thing I was.

Making my voice light, I said, "But we can't really know, because the key's there. If it were missing, that'd be another thing. But since it's there, it may never have been moved. Your mom probably didn't pull the door all the way shut."

Erin sighed. "Nice try, Sophie Mae. But it has been moved. I know, 'cause when I put it back on Sat.u.r.day, I pointed it away from the house."

"How could you possibly remember that?"

"Because I pointed the end to where the small end of the rock goes. I always do. I don't know why." She sounded defensive.

Stooping again, I saw what she meant. The rock in question narrowed at one end. It had settled into a distinct depression in the ground, a teardrop-shaped hole for a teardrop-shaped stone. I angled the light to the side and squinted. I could make out another imprint in the wet soil under the key; an imprint that matched the way Erin said she'd replaced it when d.i.c.k dropped her off early on Sat.u.r.day.

The key felt gritty and cold when I picked it up and put it in my pocket. As we walked back to the front door, Erin said, "It was Dad, wasn't it?"

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.

Inside, Meghan stood ladling the soup into bowls. A stack of sandwiches sat on the table, cheddar oozing from between slices of golden bread. The smell of warm bread and cheese, the click of the ladle against the bowl, the rustle of Meghan's ap.r.o.n, all combined to say "home"

"Where have you two been? I thought I'd have to..." Meghan trailed off when she saw our faces.

"What's wrong?" Her expression said "what now?"

"Sophie Mae and I think Dad came in and stole your jewelry," said Erin. Her voice was serious and matter of fact, but when she finished that bald statement her elfin features crumpled. Meghan shot a look at me.

"It's okay, Bug," Meghan said to her daughter. "I'm sure Sophie Mae's wrong this time." Her tone barely contained her anger.

Erin shook her head. "No, she's not. I put the key back the one way and he saw me and now it's different, and all your nice stuff's gone and I'm sorry, Mom" She choked out the last words. "I'm really sorry."

"Oh, Erin!" Meghan hugged her, then walked her out of the room, murmuring. She didn't even spare me a glance.

I slumped onto a chair and watched the cheese stop oozing and start to congeal.

Disgusting.

Meghan returned to find me with my head lying on my crossed arms, eyes closed. The cold food had become too much to look at.

"Sorry," she said, leaning against the counter. "Erin told me she figured it out herself. Sometimes she's a little too smart for her own good. When I suggested she might be mistaken she was quite offended. But I told her the key being moved didn't prove anything. Anyone could have found the key."

"Maybe," I said, raising my head and sitting back in the chair. "But it was probably Richard. You know he's always looking for money. He either owes it to someone or thinks he's found a surefire bet. We have to tell the police."

Meghan showed an inordinate interest in the kitchen floor.

"We have to, Meghan. If he did this, we can't just let him get away with it."

Her eyes moved toward the stairs, and I knew she was thinking of Erin. "If he did it."