Mint Juleps, Mayhem, and Murder Page 7

  “I thought things were better under Colonel Pershall. Mitch likes working here better than anywhere else he’s been stationed.”

  Megan shrugged. “I don’t know. Henry’s always stressed about something at the squadron.” She glanced around, then said, “Have you heard anything about how he died?”

  “Just that he was strangled.”

  Megan shivered and said, “Nadia heard he was strangled with a kudzu vine.”

  “I hadn’t heard that,” I said slowly. Nadia was another military spouse who taught first grade at the same school as Abby. Nadia did always seem to know everything, so she’d probably know the latest rumor. The squadron grapevine was practically wireless communication. “I don’t know, Megan. We should probably wait and see what the investigators say.”

  Tyler shifted his arms in jerky movements as he squished his eyes together and began to cry. Megan stood up. “Naptime.”

  Other moms were meandering home at a much slower pace than we’d used earlier. After we’d strapped everyone back in their strollers, I walked home through the neighborhood streets, oblivious to the traditional-style brick homes set back from the road with their Palladian windows, large porches, and lush landscaping. Instead, I was thinking about what Megan said about Colonel Barnes benefiting, at least in the squadron, from Colonel Pershall’s death.

  I called Denise to check on her later that night while I was grating cheese for our dinner of tacos.

  “How are you doing?” I asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know how to answer that,” Denise said. “I’m taking it hour by hour today. I’m trying to plan a funeral service for Lewis, but I can’t do much until they release…him.”

  I assured Denise I’d do anything she needed to help with the service, then said, “On a different topic, I saw Megan Fleet today and she said Henry is out of town. He’s been TDY since Saturday morning. Not great news, I know, but I thought you’d be interested.”

  “I am. Well, there’s still Carrie, and Colonel Barnes,” she said and sounded a bit more like the old Denise, who’d coordinate events and dispatch problems with aplomb. She continued: “That sounds awful to throw them out there like that, but that baby-faced detective was back this morning. Follow-up questions, he said, but I don’t see how he could call them that since they were exactly the same questions he’d asked me before. He was checking to see if my story had changed.”

  “What happened with Carrie’s letters?”

  “He was interested in those. He tried not to show it, but I could tell. He took them and I haven’t heard anything since.”

  “There’s my call waiting,” I said. “Can you hold on?”

  “No need,” Denise said. “I’ll call you if I find out anything new.”

  Mitch was on the line. “Ellie, I need you to come pick me up.”

  The thin whine of Livvy’s voice sounded from the living room. “Mom, Nathan took the book I was reading and won’t give it back.”

  Distracted, I gave Nathan the “mom look” and he grudgingly handed the book to Livvy. I tilted the phone away from my mouth and said, “Get your own book.” I pulled the phone back and watched Nathan stomp over to the coffee table, which was stacked high with library picture books.

  “Sorry,” I apologized to Mitch as I went back to grating cheese. “I’m in the middle of dinner and the kids have done nothing but argue and pick at each other all afternoon—” I broke off as his words sunk in. “You need me to pick you up?” Mitch had driven to work that morning, as he always did, and he should have been driving home about now. “Did you have car trouble?”

  “No. I had an accident. I’m fine, but I need you to come get me. I’m on Scranton Road. You know the section where it dips and curves?”

  I put down the cheese and grater. He had my full attention. “What happened?” That stretch of road was notorious for bad accidents. I’d seen several cars flipped upside down in the ditch.

  “Don’t worry. Everything’s okay. My tire blew out, but I’m okay. The car needs some work, so I called a tow truck. Just come get me. And, Ellie, don’t worry. I’m fine.”

  “You call that fine?” I asked. “That’s horrible,” I said, staring at the dented side panel of Mitch’s small Nissan. It was already loaded on the flatbed tow truck, but I could see the path the tires had taken through the thick scrub along the side of the road. There was a gash on a pine tree where the bark had been stripped away when Mitch sideswiped it.

  I spun toward him. “You could have been killed.” The kids were still in the van a few feet behind us, so I didn’t filter the anxiety I felt.

  Mitch put his arm around my shoulders. “I wasn’t. I’m okay.” He stepped away and turned in a circle, holding his arms out. “Not a scratch on me. I’d have driven it home, but the air bag deployed and the front tire is basically shredded. Nothing terrible.”

  I gripped his hands. “Mitch, if you’d hit that tree…”

  He silenced me by pulling me close into a hug. “That’s my worrywart. Glad to see some things never change.”

  Of course he’d try and make light of it, but I wasn’t having any of it. “This is something to worry about,” I said into his shoulder. “Don’t tell me that didn’t scare you.”

  Mitch pulled away, his face serious. “Yes, I was scared. Terrified, actually, but that mostly came after the air bag deployed. I didn’t have time to do anything except react when it happened. It’s over now and you don’t have to worry. I know you’re prone to worry about something, even when it’s over. Especially when it’s over,” he amended.

  I ran my hands up and down his arms. He was right. I did have a tendency to worry too much. “No strained muscles? How’s your neck and shoulders?”

  “I’m okay.” He caught my hands and pulled me back to the minivan, which was parked behind the tow truck. “I have those speedy pilot reflexes, that’s what saved me. I’ll drive. You’re too shaken up. I’ve had time to calm down.”

  He was joking about his “pilot reflexes” and I had to smile, but I couldn’t help but think he was right. Without his training in making quick decisions, the result could have been much worse.

  Tips for Busy, Budget-Minded Moms

  The Family Calendar

  Post a family activities calendar in the kitchen. Find a calendar with plenty of space for each day. First, go through the whole year and note every family birthday. Next, list school holidays and business trips. Finally, list every family activity—dentist appointments, music lessons, social and religious activities, sports practice sessions, and vet appointments. Some people like to use different colored ink for each family member so they can tell at a glance who has activities on which days. Don’t forget to add new events like field trips, business trips, plays, and recitals as they come up.

  Chapter Seven

  I picked up the mail from the kitchen cabinet and went to find Mitch. We’d had dinner—the tacos had been a challenge for the kids to eat—and I knew he’d tucked the kids into bed before I made the rounds, but I hadn’t seen him since then. It always took me a bit longer to get through the bedtime story, song, and prayer, because there was always something Livvy wanted to talk about. Tonight it had been why there are polar bears and “regular” bears.

  Mitch wasn’t playing Galaga or Pac-Man on the classic arcade game console I’d given him for his birthday a few years ago and he wasn’t puttering around on the patch of land that he’d carved out in our backyard for a garden this summer. I’d stayed far away from the garden since my thumb was definitely not the green one in the family. With Mitch in charge of the garden, we’d had so many fresh veggies that I’d practically had to give away bushels of them, not to mention the six loaves of zucchini bread I had in the freezer.

  I frowned and checked the garage, which looked odd with the gaping empty space where his car was usually parked. The garage door was open and when I walked onto the driveway I saw that the light was on in the storage shed. A veritable symphony of bug sounds filled
the night.

  I hurried through the darkness to the shed. A few more weeks and the mosquitoes and the “no-see-ums,” the even smaller and more persistent gnatlike bugs, would disappear as the cooler weather arrived. It would be the best time of the year, crisp and cool and bug free. For now, we had several bug zappers around the yard and if we were going to be outside for a long time, like at the family reunion, we ringed the yard with bamboo tiki torches that burned an oil that repelled the bugs.

  Mitch was hunched over something on his small workbench at the back of the shed. “Hey,” I said and pulled out a step stool for a seat. He murmured an absent-minded greeting, deep in his project.

  As I opened the mail, I said, “I guess I’m taking you to work tomorrow.” A quick mental image of Mitch’s car on the tow truck came to mind, but I pushed it away. Mitch was right. It was better not to focus on what could have happened. “You could take the minivan, but I need to get the rest of Livvy’s school supplies.” There was a brief mumble from Mitch, which I took as agreement. “I still have to find low odor dry-erase markers with fine tips and a specific brand of blunt scissors. I had no idea school supply lists were so specific.”

  I opened a bill and leaned over to set it in a stack by my feet. The last plain white business envelope had a heavy thickness on one end that made it sag in my hand. I opened it. “Mitch, you got a squadron coin in the mail,” I said as the oversized coin dropped heavily into my palm. It looked like the one Denise received with the jet engraving on one side and squadron patch with the hawk on the other.

  Mitch glanced over his shoulder at it, then said, “I didn’t order one. The squadron must be sending out new ones.”

  “Looks like your old one,” I said.

  There was a pause and then Mitch said, his words halting as he focused on what he was doing, “That’s good…I’ve got a spare now.” He set down what he was working on and stepped back, his hands braced on his hips. I’d seen that posture before, usually when he was working on something that was hard to fix. I’d seen it a lot this summer when the underground sprinkler stopped working. He spent hours digging, then fitting pipes and checking for leaks.

  “What are you working on?” I trashed the empty envelopes and junk mail, then moved over to his workbench.

  “Oh, not much,” he said as he quickly shoved a few tools in his toolbox. “Just cleaning up. Ready?” he asked, his hand poised to switch off the overhead bulb he’d installed to give him light when he worked late out here.

  “Ah—sure,” I gathered up the bills and squadron coin, which I handed to him. He slipped it in his pocket. I frowned, wondering why Mitch was in such a hurry to leave. I glanced around. The shed was incredibly tidy. I knew because I’d cleaned it up before the family reunion. We’d needed a place to store all the extra chairs and ice chests. The only thing out of place now was the leaf blower that had short-circuited, and Mitch had hastily pushed it away when I walked over.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Mitch said easily.

  “What’s up with the leaf blower?” I asked as we left the shed.

  “I thought I might be able to fix it, but I don’t think I can.” He closed the shed door, clipped on the padlock, and looped his arm around my waist.

  He must be tired and ready to call it a day, I decided. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I heard from Dan today,” I said as we walked into the garage. “He’s recovered and says he can start his triathlon training again in a few days. Although, he sounded pretty excited about white water rafting. Wants to know if you want to go on a trip with him to Colorado next summer.”

  “He’s always trying some new sport,” Mitch said with a shake of his head. “Next summer’s too far away. I have no idea what we’ll be doing next year.”

  “True,” I said with a sigh. Mitch might be deployed or he might be home. It was hard to make long-range plans at times.

  “I’ll call him back,” Mitch said. “How’s Felicity? Mad as ever?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Then she’s probably still upset. She doesn’t cool off quick. Hardly ever, actually.”

  “Well, I’m glad he’s okay,” I said.

  “Me, too,” Mitch said, looking around the garage. He’d come to a standstill.

  “Are we going in?”

  He refocused on me, then said, “Yes, right.” He punched the button and the garage door spooled down.

  “Are you okay? You’re kind of preoccupied.”

  “No. I’m fine.” We went into the kitchen. I put the bills away and curled up in the overstuffed chair with the basket of knitting supplies I’d pulled off the closet shelf earlier today. I ran my hand over the half-finished scarf. It was a sea-foam blue. It would make a perfect birthday present for Abby, if I finished it in a month, which seemed like plenty of time to knit a scarf. I loved the way the stitches lined up so neatly. Except for those on the second row. I looked closer and realized I’d dropped a stitch.

  Mitch opened the refrigerator door. “I picked some more carrots today. These are fresh out of the garden.”

  I stopped working with the yarn and held up my hand like a traffic cop. “No carrots. If I eat any more carrots the palms of my hands are going to turn orange.” I’d intentionally fixed tacos for supper because it was something that didn’t sound good with carrots. “And don’t you dare thaw out a loaf of that zucchini bread. I don’t want another slice of that until at least after Halloween.”

  There’s healthy eating and then there’s going way too far overboard. My idea of a snack didn’t involve anything colored orange, green, or yellow, unless it was M&Ms. Or Hershey’s kisses, my favorite snack, because they were small enough that I didn’t feel guilty if I ate one, and—most critical of all—they were pure chocolate.

  Mitch opened the freezer. “Ice cream?”

  It wasn’t pure chocolate, but it was pretty close.

  “Do you mind if we run an errand before we pick up the kids?” Abby asked as we walked to her car. We’d just had lunch at the Peach Blossom Inn, a local bed and breakfast that served delicious Southern cuisine.

  “No, I’m sure the kids are fine. The longer we stay away, the better, as far as they’re concerned.” It was the last day of summer vacation for Abby. She had to return to work tomorrow, so we’d planned a girl’s lunch for ourselves. Our kids were bouncing and climbing at Fun Time which, until last year, had been a big box linen store. The chain declared bankruptcy, the comforters disappeared, and the huge space was converted to an indoor kids’ play area with foam cushions, a ball pit, a huge climbing maze, and various inflatable bouncers. Another section catered to older kids with arcade games, a miniature golf course, bumper cars, and even a laser tag section. Despite Livvy’s protests that she was too old, Livvy, Nathan, and Charlie were on the pre-K side with Anna, my favorite babysitter, watching over them. I figured it would probably be the easiest money she’d ever earned because there was so much for the kids to do.

  “Great. I want to invite Carrie to the supper club.” Abby turned the car in the direction of the base. “And it’s obviously going to take a face-to-face encounter. I’ve left her a couple of messages, but she’s not calling back, so I figured we could run by there on the way to get the kids.”

  I wanted to talk to Carrie, too, but I didn’t think the supper club was the way to approach her. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, to invite her to the supper club? She might feel left out since everyone else will be part of a couple. Wouldn’t you feel left out in a situation like that?”

  “No,” Abby said, perplexed.

  Of course. I’d forgotten to factor in Abby’s indefatigable ability to fit into any group. She makes friends faster than I can sort and organize, and if she was invited to a supper club and everyone else showed up with their spouses, she wouldn’t care. She’d jump in, chat with everyone, and probably be the life of the party.

  “I’m sure her isolation is a coping mechanism,” Abby said. “It’ll be goo
d for her to get out. I understand she needs her time alone, but it can’t be healthy for her to shut herself away in that tiny house all the time. She needs some interaction and it’s my week to check on her.” The squadron spouses had made an unofficial visitation chart to make sure Carrie was okay.

  “I don’t think our system of checking in with her is working quite like we’d hoped.” She’d obviously not passed along the word that she could use help with cutting the lawn. I quickly filled Abby in on Denise’s request to find other suspects. I knew I could trust Abby and since I wanted to ask Carrie where she’d been on Saturday, I figured I better give Abby some background on the letters. Even though at the storage unit I’d promised Denise that I would keep quiet about her misplaced suspicions, I hadn’t made the same promise about the letters. The drive to the base went quickly because the traffic was light. As we pulled through the base’s front gate, I said, “Carrie sent some vicious letters to Colonel Pershall. She’s angry about Ryan’s death and blames Colonel Pershall.”

  “But that’s absurd,” Abby said.

  “I know. Colonel Pershall had nothing to do with it. It was an accident.”

  “Although,” Abby had slowed down for the low speed limit on base and the pace of her words matched her methodical driving, “I did hear something about how she didn’t want him to go on that last deployment.” Abby coasted to a stop in front of Carrie’s house and turned to me. “Didn’t she have a bad feeling about the deployment? Jeff told me she went to the squadron and made a big fuss about how Ryan shouldn’t go because it was too dangerous.”

  “I didn’t know that. But Colonel Pershall couldn’t pull him off the deployment.”

  “Of course not. It was his turn,” Abby said. “If Colonel Pershall had pulled Ryan off the deployment, then I’m sure every other person in the squadron would have a bad feeling, too, and want out. It wouldn’t have been fair.”