Fudge Brownies & Murder (18 page)

Checkmate. Amy had tipped her hand by mentioning the topic she was trying to avoid. The baby shower. It was a pretty normal thing to have. Like her mother had said, a tradition. Almost a ritual for pregnant women. So how could she explain in a way that her mom and Amy would even remotely understand why she didn't want a shower? It was because having the shower would stir up the emotions that she had been pushing aside. She had made it through the past year by putting her efficient, analytical side in charge. Rushing from one major life change to the next, checking off tasks on lists so she wouldn't think about what was happening too much. Not that she could take back the pregnancy. It was just that a year ago she had her life and goals all figured out, or at least she'd convinced herself that she was on the right-for-her route. Getting married and having a baby was so far off course, yet she couldn't and wouldn't change anything. However, if she thought about it all too much, she wanted to curl into a ball a cry for a week.
Soooo not her style.
Pregnancy hormones were seriously weird.

Her mother slipped off her wood-soled clogs. "I'm going to go get some storage bins. We can use those to bring the stuff in."

"Storage bins? How much did you buy?" The baby connected with a roundhouse kick on her bladder. No matter how badly she wanted to find out more about what they were up to, Carla needed to pay another room in the house a visit.

"Not nearly enough," her mother answered as she walked by, landing a gentle pat on the baby bump. "I'm sorry, my dear. But I'm not sure you have any idea, at this point, how much stuff a newborn baby needs."

"I have printed out checklists from websites.
I'm
sure I have enough supplies for right now."

When Carla returned from the bathroom, four huge storage bins were stacked along the wall next to the front door. Of course, they happened to be made of opaque plastic, so she had no idea what was inside. The front door opened. Amy and her mother entered, both of them struggling to carry bins which appeared to be heavy. Pacifiers and onesies didn't weigh much. What had they bought? Carla ran her fingers through her short, recently trimmed hair. That reminded her that not only was Amy doing cooking duties for her and Bruce several times a week, she was also performing hairdressing for the bedridden services. She owed her friend so much, especially since she was now taking on taxi driver for her mother and the insane shopping trips.

Carla retrieved the brownies from the coffee table and plopped back down on the couch. She settled onto the pillow nest and balanced the plate on her wiggly tummy. Apparently the baby was more excited about the gifts than she was. She concentrated on shoveling forks full of the dense, fudgy brownies into her mouth. A parade began as the storage bins were transferred into the nursery. Finally, the conniving duo settled into the easy chairs in the living room. She decided to make one more attempt to derail the baby shower plans they were probably cooking up.

"Seriously, I have this baby thing handled. Since we don't know what gender the baby is, I hope you haven't bought a ton of white, yellow, or green things." She set the crumb-covered plate on the coffee table. "I am a seasoned online shopper. Two-day shipping will work fine. I'll order what I want from the hospital after the baby is born. The crib and car seat are already set up. I have diapers, wipes, onesies, sleepers, and blankets. More than enough to get us through a couple days."

Her mother looked at Amy and rolled her eyes. In turn, Carla looked at Amy and gave her the evil eye, just to let her know she wasn't happy with the retail therapy high jinks. Somehow, the look didn't work. Amy's expression didn't change. She had apparently summoned her cool operator competition alter ego.

"You are so stubborn," her mother said calmly as she traced circles with her finger on the chair's arm. "There are a lot of people who would like to help you get ready for the baby. You don't have to do everything yourself."

"I do if I want things done the way I would like." Wow. There was nothing like letting her control freak bitch side out to play. "I'm sorry. That was harsh."

"You're about to have a baby." Her mother smiled. "You don't have to be sorry about anything. Mood swings happen."

The whir of the garage door opening signaled that Bruce was home with dinner. They had both been craving pizza. So he volunteered to make dinner, as in ordering the pizzas then picking them up on his way home from the station.

"Food's here," he announced as the door leading from the garage banged open. A few seconds later, he appeared with three flat boxes. "I even got a veggie pizza with vegan cheese, whatever the hell that is, for you, Geri."

"Thank you, that's so nice," her mom said as she stood up. She grabbed the boxes and arranged them like puzzle pieces in between the books, magazines, and water glasses scattered over the coffee table. "Feel free to grab a slice of mine, if you're curious."

Amy jumped up. She passed behind Bruce, who was unloading his pockets on the console table, like she was avoiding a grizzly bear, making a wide arc around him. When she returned to the living room with a stack of plates, silverware, and napkins she gave him another wary look as he settled into his favorite recliner. For his part, he was too busy opening the lid of the box containing his all-meat pizza to notice the oddness. When her mother and Amy looked at each other, an entire nonverbal conversation took place through eyebrow raises, nods, and head shakes.

"Okay, give it up. What is going on with you two?" Carla asked. She leaned sideways and flipped open the box for the ham and mushroom pie. "Fess up now…to minimize the consequences."

Her mother tilted her head from side to side as she looked at Amy, who in turn shrugged. "We went out to Buck's house," Amy said, "to see if we could uncover any more clues about the murder."

"I was planning on asking him to carve a special spoon for you guys," her mother interjected. "To commemorate your wedding and the baby."

Bruce leaned back in his recliner and calmly took a bite of pizza. "Okay. Sounds like an…interesting present. Although I'm not happy that you two decided to try to interrogate a murder suspect on your own."

Amy twisted a strand of her long, straw-colored hair around her index finger. "But we never got a chance to talk to Buck. When we got close to the driveway, I could see, through the woods, that Harlan's truck was parked near the house. He's the ex-convict boyfriend of Esther Mae's three-eyed niece." She yanked her finger out of the hair cocoon. The curl momentarily stayed in a coiled spring then relaxed. Amy started the process over with another strand. "So I parked behind a clump of trees on the road. Nobody at the house could see my car or Geri, who stayed inside it. Plus she had the keys, and I made her move to the driver's seat when I got out, so she could've easily driven away if necessary."

"Good to know," Bruce said. He took another bite of pizza.

"How the hell can you be so calm?" The baby agreed with Carla's sentiments and displayed its excitement by doing the rumba. Her husband just shrugged and raised an eyebrow to urge Amy to continue.

Amy set her plate on her knees. It wobbled as though she was in the middle of an earthquake. "I walked through the woods so I could see what was happening. Harlan ran out of the side door of the house with a pistol in his hand. Buck ran out the front door toting a shotgun—wearing only his underwear. There was a bit of a showdown as he told Harlan that if he stole anything else, he would end up in the ground like Esther Mae."

"Is that how he said it?" Bruce asked as he slipped another slice of greasy, meat-topped pizza onto his plate.

"What do you mean?" Amy frowned at him.

"What were his exact words?"

Amy looked up at the white ceiling that Carla had studied every inch of over the past three months. When she looked back down, her gaze locked onto Bruce. "He said 'If you steal anything else from me, you'll end up in the ground just like Esther Mae.' Or something very close to that." She looked down at her slice of fake cheese topped pizza. "Oh. I see why you wanted to know exactly what he said."

The special gloves with little spots of conductive metallic thread embroidered on the fingertips were a great thing. Alex had bought them for her on one of his business trips. She loved being able to access the to-do list app on her phone without having to take off the gloves. No more ice-cold fingers for the sake of using technology. Amy stepped aside from the flow of people coming through the doors behind her. At the edge of the dining area, she studied the task list she had put together the night before to see if there was anything else she could get at Clement Street Market to prepare for the baby shower. Her main goal was to order a big bowl of LeighAnne's incredible banana pudding. Bananas and chocolate were a classic flavor combination. So adding banana pudding to the brownie buffet was a perfect option for a non-chocolate dessert. Plus, LeighAnne made the best version of the Southern dessert Amy had ever tasted.

Apparently there were a lot of people getting ready for the weekend because the aisles were packed. She studied the traffic flow for a few seconds and picked a route through the center rows. The aroma of mint pulled her from the left to the right side of the aisle. The Tea Emporium was brewing up a fresh pot of one of their custom blends to offer samples to curious shoppers. She stopped at the edge of the booth and studied the tea varieties written on a picture frame chalkboard hanging on the back wall. A couple kinds of hot tea would be a nice option to coffee or the mango punch Amy was planning on serving.

She left the booth with a paper bag full of fragrant herbal teas, from the sweet mint that led her to the merchant to a pineapple and coconut rooibos red tea that tasted like a tropical summer day. Or at least that's what the description on the label said. She hadn't been able to sample that one. Her next stop was the Southern Gals booth. That was until she wandered farther up the aisle and spotted the Michigan mitten-shaped cheese board at Buck's Wooden Wares. It would be the perfect prop to use in pictures for her blog.

"This is wonderful," she told Buck as she removed it from the wire stand that was holding it upright. "I have to get it."

"It's my newest design." He wrapped the board in sheets of newspaper and slipped the parcel into a generic plastic shopping bag. "I've been doing a lot of work lately since my nights are so lonely."

"I can't imagine how hard it must be for you right now."

He held out the bag. "It's awful. It sure would be nice if you could help me out sometime. You've seen me in my boxers, so you're already halfway there."

Hello, sleazy come on
. LeighAnne had been right. Amy grabbed the bag, but he wouldn't let go for what felt like a minute. The prolonged contact made her creep meter chirp in warning. Then his statement really sunk in. He had been in his underwear during the showdown with Harlan. What if he was flirting with her to try to lure her to his house so he could kill her for spying on him?

"Uh…I'm really busy with holiday season stuff."

His smile flattened. "Well, it sure was nice of you to bring me those frozen dinners."

Instant relief zipped through her body. She had forgotten that she had seen the horny senior citizen in his undies
twice
. Buck had apparently gotten his jollies from the almost deadly, drunken encounter while she was left desperately trying to erase the images from memory.

"You're welcome." Amy spun around. The bag with the heavy cutting board smacked into the purse of another woman who had stealthily entered the booth while Amy was freaking out. The unintended pummeling resulted in an angry glare from the innocent victim. "I'm so sorry. Excuse me."

Amy rubbed the back of her neck as she made her way between the other shoppers. Her skin was slick with sweat. Jumping to conclusions was a serious cardio workout. As she rounded the corner, she could smell the signature smoky bacon scent of the Southern Gals booth before she could see it. She ducked around a double stroller and stopped in front of the booth's cash register. LeighAnne was sitting on the stool behind it, but she wasn't paying any attention to Amy.

Rayshelle and the other woman whom LeighAnne had hired were in the area behind the steam tables that formed the front border of the booth. Rayshelle plopped a big spoonful of rigatoni casserole into a foam clamshell container. A river of red sauce traced down the side as she fastened the lid. She turned and slammed into the other woman. The collision sent the box and Rayshelle flying in opposite directions. The container smashed into the divider at the back of the booth. The pasta and sauce formed an abstract star on the mustard-yellow painted wall. Rayshelle staggered backward in slow motion with her arms out as though she was riding a surfboard on a gnarly wave. Her quest for balance failed, and she landed on her butt on the cement floor.

She giggled as she tilted her head to study the splatter art. "I made a starfish."

A hiss drew Amy's attention to LeighAnne. She hopped off her stool and stomped her foot. Her face was almost as red as the tomato sauce. "I don't know if you're stoned or drunk, but I have had it with you." She pointed in the direction of the market's exit. "You're fired!"

Rayshelle's whimsical expression turned blank. She grabbed the handle of the rolling cart that held the large, insulated drink dispenser full of sweet iced tea. The top-heavy cart tipped. The orange vessel wobbled then fell on its side, popping off the lid and covering her in a brown tidal wave of syrupy sweet tea.

"Get out!" LeighAnne screamed. She grabbed Rayshelle's arm and yanked her to her feet. "I don't want to see you ever again!" She shoved her into the aisle through the opening between the cash register and a table filled with stacks of foam cups and takeout containers.

Amy grabbed the wobbly, wet woman by the arm. "Come on, let's get you into the bathroom."

The restroom was in the hallway right in front of the booth, but the short in length journey seemed to take forever. Rayshelle stumbled with every other step. Amy kept hold of her arm, acting as both a crutch and a guide. "What's wrong? Did you take something…like a cold medicine or pain reliever you haven't tried before? Or did you stop at the bar before coming to work?" she asked when they finally made it to the privacy of the restroom.