“No, I haven’t seen anything unusual,” Mrs. Landry said. “Well, except for a couple of nights ago. I did notice someone leaving pretty late when I was looking out the kitchen window. But it was dark, and I couldn’t make out who it was. It looked like a man, though. She seemed fine, happy. Actually, happier than usual the past couple of weeks. I don’t know why, she never said.”
“Was she a good neighbor? Did y’all get along okay?”
“Oh yes, she was delightful. We had a problem when she first moved in, but that’s all taken care of now.”
“Really? What happened?”
“She was planting a garden and fixing up her backyard when she dug up a hydrangea bush on the property line. It was mine. I was quite upset about it. I’d had that bush for a long time, but she apologized and took it right down to the nursery to see if it could be saved. Fortunately, the roots were mostly intact, so someone from the nursery was able to replant it. She even paid for him to come back a few times to check and make sure it was growing strong again. She felt terrible about it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Landry. I’m sure the police will be here soon, and we’ll all be able to go home. Until then, Jonah and I will get everyone some more tea while we wait.”
“Thank you, dear, that would be lovely.” Mrs. Landry wobbled back to the rest of the group.
Tess went to talk to Jonah. “Let’s get everybody some fresh tea and maybe a few sandwiches while we wait for the police. Some of our guests hadn’t had lunch yet when this happened, and you know I don’t like for anyone go hungry. I was raised with better manners than that.”
“Sure. Is everything okay? Was anyone able to tell you anything?” Jonah asked.
“Something’s bothering me,” Tess replied. “I’m not sure what, but I’ll figure it out.”
Jonah nodded. “In the meantime, I’ll get the hot water and put together a couple of plates of sandwiches.”
“I’ll pass the tea box so our guests can decide what they’d like.”
As Tess started to walk behind the counter for the tea box, Phyllis’s purse caught her eye. She noticed the stain Phyllis said was a few days old. It wasn’t faded but looked fresh. How could it be fresh?
In a flash, Tess understood.
She knew who killed Kate and why.
Leaving the tea box behind, she walked over the guests gathered together near the window.
“Phyllis, you said you took Marcus his lunch today, right? At his office?”
“Yes, why?”
“And you spoke to Kate while you were there. You mentioned coming here for lunch and suggested she do the same, am I right?”
Phyllis stiffened. “Well, yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“It has everything to do with what happened to Kate. If I’m right, you saw your opportunity this morning.”
“I don’t understand, Dear.”
“You slipped Kate’s EpiPen out of her purse while you were at the office. Everyone knew where she kept it so it would have been easy. Then, you planted the idea for her to come here for lunch, when you mentioned you were meeting a friend here. But you never planned on meeting anyone here.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about?” Phyllis said tensely.
“You wanted to get near Kate while she was eating. I’m guessing that you distracted her for a minute and poured almond extract over the Devonshire cream.”
“That’s crazy!” Phyllis looked to the other patrons and then laughed as if this was a bad joke. “Why would I do something like that? Kate was a sweet girl, I had no reason to hurt her,” she argued.
“Considering all the late nights at work, I’m guessing there wasn’t much actual work going on when she was with your husband Marcus. Daniel said it was dark when he drove by Kate’s office, which makes me think Kate and Marcus were holed up somewhere else. That’s why she broke up with Daniel and why Ms. Landry said she’d been so happy lately. Am I right?”
“No, you are not!”
Tess grabbed Phyllis’s purse off the floor and sniffed the stain. “This spot isn’t from putting it on the floor. It smells like almond extract. You were in such a hurry, you didn’t put the cap back on tight, and it leaked everywhere.”
Phyllis burst into tears. “My stupid jerk of a husband! How could he have an affair with that tramp, after all I’ve done for him? He was going to leave me for her! I found the divorce papers in his office, and I knew I had to do something to keep him from her.”
Just then the front doorbells jingled, and a police officer walked in. “Hey y’all, sorry for the delay. I got here as quick as I could. The ambulance shouldn’t be too far behind. Who wants to tell me what happened?”
As if rehearsed, everyone turned in unison and looked at Tess.
“I guess that would be me,” Tess said.
BURN, by K.L. Murphy
“You called 9-1-1,” Greg said.
Lillian Parker pursed her lips. “Was that a question?”
The wooden chair creaked under his weight. “I guess not.”
She peered at him over her glasses. He was the fire chief now, grayer and heavier than when she’d taught him in high school but still the same—easily led, eager to please. “That’s what I thought.”
He lowered his chin, the flesh bulging over the collar of his starched shirt. “The 9-1-1 call came in just after 3 am.”
“I know what time it was, Greggie.”
“It’s Greg now.” Silent, Lillian shrugged and sipped her tea. “Three in the morning is pretty late to be awake, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Lillian was often awake during the night, rising when the throbbing pain came. It happened more often now, but he didn’t need to know that. “I do mind.” She smiled. “Greg.”
He rubbed his large hands against his thighs. His nails were bitten to the quick, the skin around them red and ragged. “The house was owned by Trudy Trimble. Do you know her?”
“Of course, I know her. Being old does not make me stupid.”
“I didn’t say—”
She cut him off. “Trudy Trimble is her married name, but she’ll always be Trudy Horning to me. Carter Horning was her granddaddy. You might remember him. He and my daddy built these houses together.” Both houses, splintered and worn by decades of wind and salt and sea, had been standing longer than Lillian had been alive. How many times had she wandered down to the beach as a girl and seen the two men standing knee deep in the sea, fishing rods in their hands, heads thrown back in laughter? She shook away the memory. “Trudy’s grandmother—that was Millie Horning—we were best friends when we were girls. Stayed close all our lives, too. Even after she passed, the Horning family kept coming.” She paused. “Trudy’s like a granddaughter to me.”
Greg’s head bobbed. “I remember the Hornings. Brent and I got to be pretty good friends one summer when we worked at that sandwich shop on Main, the one next to the Stop ’n’ Go Shop.”
“Ben McCardle’s place.”
“Right. I think it’s a Chipotle now.”
Lillian set her cup on the side table. Ben McCardle had made the best pimento cheese in the county, maybe even the whole state of South Carolina. His grilled pimento cheese and bacon sandwiches had been famous for a while, but that was before the heart attack and the medical bills. There’d been at least a dozen places there since Ben had been forced to pull up stakes. She didn’t know what a Chipotle was and figured she never would, but she did miss those sandwiches.
“Brent is Trudy’s daddy. He lives in Atlanta now,” she said. “He gave the house to Trudy as a wedding present.” Her gaze drifted to the window, to the black shell that had been the Horning house. Dark wisps of smoke curled up and faded into the gray sky. The fire had been extinguished—their expression, not hers—yet the air still smelled of ash. She swallowed the burning lump in her throat.
Past the Horning house, she stared at the monstrosity the Manns had built. Massive in size, it loomed over the other ho
uses on the street. Lillian frowned. How many times had she tried to argue against such a monstrosity? Modernize, she’d agreed. Enlarge, she’d said. But no one had listened.
“We need a vacation home for our children and grandchildren,” Regina Mann had said, no apology in her voice. “Seven bedrooms, minimum. It’s so much better if everyone has their own space, don’t you think?”
Regina had torn down the old house with its tin roof and charming porch and built—well, Lillian didn’t really know what it was. The outside was pink, the color of that horrible medicine. It had king-sized double doors, Mediterranean arches, and dozens and dozens of lights. They came on like clockwork every night, the glare blinding. She’d often thought it was a wonder they couldn’t see that house lit up clear to Charleston. The lines between her brows deepened. Except for last night. While the fire had raged at the Horning house, the Mann mansion had sat dark, like an ominous shadow against the night sky.
“Miss Parker?” said Greg.
“I’m sorry. Were you saying something?”
“I was asking if you’ve spoken with Trudy since the fire.”