Murder Has a Sweet Tooth Page 15

  As fate would have it, that was the exact moment I pushed on the door. Only the door never moved.

  “Open,” I said again, and gave it another push.

  But the door didn’t budge.

  To say I was surprised was an understatement, and, thinking about it, I stepped back and considered my options. That was just about the same time I heard the heat in the sauna click on.

  Eleven

  SO WHO CAN BLAME ME? I STOOD THERE FOR A FEW dumbstruck moments, the panic closing in while the heat rose, not little by little, the way I imagine it’s supposed to in a sauna, but by leaps and bounds. What had Celia said? The sauna was acting up? Oh, yeah. Big time. Even little ol’ unmechanical me knew that. Even before I shook off the surprise and fear that kept me rooted to the spot, there was a thin stream of perspiration on my forehead and another one on my upper lip.

  I flicked it aside and shook myself out of my daze. “It’s a machine, Annie,” I reminded myself. “And machines can be controlled. You’re not stuck in some suburban house of horrors.”

  Keeping the thought in mind, I tamped back my fear and did my best to approach this problem like I did everything else: logically, reasonably, carefully.

  There were control buttons on the side of the sauna heater unit, and I fiddled with them, stepped back, and waited for the promise of cooler air.

  No dice.

  In fact, I swear the temperature climbed another few degrees.

  “Logically, reasonably, carefully,” I told myself. “Logically, reasonably, carefully.” The mantra might actually have helped if I didn’t suddenly feel like a Thanksgiving turkey that had been shoved in the oven and left to baste in its own juices. I lifted the hem of my top and flapped it to cool myself off, and the strategy worked, at least for a few seconds. Before I could heat up again, I went back to the door. When it didn’t open, I pounded on it with my fists, and when no one answered, I cursed myself for keeping my cell phone in my purse and my purse in Celia’s kitchen. I looked around, considering my options.

  They were limited, but not nonexistent.

  “Logically, reasonably, carefully,” I told myself, climbing up on one of the cedar benches against the wall. If I could reach the skylight on the ceiling . . .

  Yeah, I don’t know what I intended to accomplish, either, but I thought maybe the skylight up there might open. Seeing that I was a couple feet too short to get anywhere near finding out, it didn’t really matter. I hopped back to the floor and sat down, hauling in breath after stifling breath. How long I sat there, I don’t know. I may have drifted off for a few minutes. I do know that by the time I snapped myself out of the daze, I was drained and weak, and my head was swimming. One glance at my clothes and I realized I looked like I’d been swimming, too. My shirt stuck to my body and a stream of perspiration trickled between my breasts. My pants were soaked and clung to my legs like wet rags. My hair was too curly even on the best days and with the added oomph of the heat, I could practically hear it springing into wild curlicues all over my head.

  And none of it mattered. At least not as much as getting out of that sauna alive.

  “Logically, reasonably . . .” I tried to comfort myself with the mantra again, but I couldn’t remember the rest of it. The words floated out of my head, just like I felt I was floating above the cedar floorboards. I made myself take another stab at it. “Logically . . .” I said, but the rest of the phrase failed me. I rubbed my knuckles across my eyes and pressed them to my temples. My head pounded. So did my heart.

  “Logibally, reasonically . . .” Was that my voice? It was so strained and muffled, it sounded like it came from a million miles away. “Carebally,” I told myself. “When you’re investigabating a murderous murder, you’ve got to be reasonically logical.”

  So reasonically logical I was.

  At least that’s what I thought at the time.

  I plucked the thermometer off the wall and without even looking to see how high the temperature was, I flung the thermometer at the skylight. I missed by a mile and on the way down, the thermometer clunked me in the head.

  I picked up the huge, shallow spoon that’s used to toss water onto the hot sauna coals and tried to crack the skylight with that, too, and had no better luck. When the ladle landed on the floor next to me, I picked it up and hurled it at the door.

  Good thing I’m a bad pitcher and the ladle hit the wall instead of the door. Just at that moment, the door opened and Celia stuck her head inside the sauna.

  “Annie?” She took one look at me and hurried inside, but not before she propped the discarded ladle against the door. A wave of wonderful, fresh, cool air streamed into the sauna. My clothes were so damp, I shivered.

  “Annie?” Celia grabbed my shoulders and gave me a little shake. “We wondered where you were and what happened and—”

  “I was being logiable,” I told her. “But I couldn’t get out.”

  She looked over her shoulder at the door and I was just not-out-of-it enough to know something was wrong.

  “I told you the sauna wasn’t working right. There’s no way it should be able to be turned on from anywhere but right in here. But somebody must have done that. And put the lock back on the door after Glynis, Beth, and I left.” I was the one who was woozy, but Celia swayed on her feet. But if they knew you were in here, nobody ever would have done that. Unless . . . Unless . . .” I wasn’t seeing straight, but I saw that Celia’s complexion turned green. “My goodness, Annie, I know this is going to sound crazy, but it looks like somebody tried to kill you.”

  I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THAT. I MEAN, SURE, PEOPLE had tried to kill me before. Any number of times. I’d had the brake lines on my car cut. There had once been a doctor who wanted to keep me quiet, and she tried to shoot air into my veins through an IV line. And just recently, Eve and I had been kidnapped by a man who threatened us with a knife. Sometimes I still had bad dreams about that big, shiny knife and the crazy man wielding it.

  But really, if somebody wanted me dead, there seemed to be plenty of better ways of doing it. Roasting me alive didn’t strike me as either efficient or decisive.

  Then again, it definitely sent a message, and a troubling one at that. Is that what someone was trying to do? Was that someone Edward Monroe? And how far was he willing to go to prove a point?

  Thinking through the problem, was I sounding logical and reasonable again? Finally!

  That was thanks to the fact that after Celia dragged me out of the sauna, she took me into the house and made me drink a couple gallons of water. Then she poured a tepid bath for me (the tub in the master suite was almost as big as the pool outside) and when I was done soaking, she, Glynis, and Beth fluttered around me like mother hens taking care of a favorite chick.

  “This is so awful.” We were back in the kitchen and Celia apparently decided that I needed to replace all the salt that had been sweated out of my system. She shoved a plate at me heaped with Reuben dip and Triscuits. “Somebody must have assumed we’d all left the sauna. That’s why the lock was back on the door.” The three women weren’t the only ones gathered around me. The men were there, too, all except for Edward Monroe, I noticed, who was suspiciously absent.

  Celia glanced around at the guys, who all shook their heads, denying any accountability for the sauna fiasco. Her dark eyes flashed. “Well, I’m going to have a talk with the kids, that’s for sure. If one of them pulled that stunt, they’re going to be grounded until they’re out of college.”

  Beth brought me a glass of lemonade. “Are you sure you feel OK?” She looked to Michael for guidance. “Maybe we should call EMS after all?”

  I couldn’t say no, because my mouth was full of crackers and dip. I shook my head instead. After I swallowed, I said, “I’m fine. Really. Even if one of the kids did it . . .” I doubted this was true, but going along with the story might get me information and, at a time like this, information was what I needed. “You know it was an accident. You’ve all been so kind taking care of m
e. And I feel much better. Really.”

  “No headache?” I don’t know how she thought it would prove it, but Celia pressed the back of one hand to my forehead. “No nausea? No chills?”

  My mouth was full again so again, I shook my head. Celia had given me one of her bathrobes to wear while my clothes were in the washer and dryer and I didn’t want to move too fast. Celia is short and dainty. I am short and anything but. I wouldn’t have been so self-conscious if the guys weren’t gathered around. I set down my plate and cinched the belt on the robe so I could stand. It was a relief to realize my knees weren’t rubbery anymore. “I think I’ll just head home,” I said. “I mean, after I get dressed.”

  That seemed to be enough to satisfy the men. Nodding the way people do when a crisis has been handled and all is well again, they grabbed their wineglasses and went back to the great room.

  I watched them go and pretended I’d just noticed. “Edward isn’t here any longer.”

  Beth’s mouth thinned in a way that told me I’d hit a nerve, but she didn’t say a word.

  “He’s taking Henry and Antonia to their grandmother’s for the night.” Glynis supplied the explanation. “He was gone even before we realized you were missing.”

  “Is that true, Beth?” I turned to her. “You look as if you’re not quite sure.”

  “Of course I’m sure. And what difference would it make, anyway?”

  It wouldn’t have, if Beth didn’t look so darned jumpy. She bustled around the kitchen, straightening and refilling the serving dishes even though none of them needed it.

  I closed in on her and pretended to be reaching for some of her blue cheese herb dip so I could lay one of my hands on hers to still her. I kept my voice low so Celia and Glynis—on the other side of the kitchen choosing a bottle of wine out of the wine chiller built in near the pantry—wouldn’t hear. “You want to talk?”

  Beth glanced up only long enough to make sure her friends weren’t watching. She nodded.

  I knew I had to act fast, before she changed her mind. “Come on, Beth,” I said, backing off from the island and the food that looked better than ever now that I was feeling more like myself. “You can show me where my laundry is.”

  The basement of Celia’s house was far more elegant than my apartment. There was a cheery finished room with a wall of shelves for toys, a bunch of those low-slung rocking video chairs, and a huge flat-panel TV. There was another room Celia used exclusively for her scrapbooking. The lighting was so good in there, it could have doubled as an operating room. Beyond that was the laundry room. The dryer buzzed just as we walked in.

  I retrieved my clothes and stepped into a little side room where the shelves along one wall were stacked with extra bottles of laundry detergent and fabric softener.

  “So . . .” Since Beth politely stayed out by the washer and dryer, I raised my voice so she could hear me and slipped into my underwear. “I can’t help but feel there’s something you want to tell me, Beth.” Just to make sure she was listening, I stuck my head out the door. Beth had her back against the washing machine. She was wringing her hands and there were tears running down her cheeks. I

  stepped into my pants and pulled my top over my head. Barefoot—I had no idea what had happened to my black flats—I walked out of the storage room.

  “Does this have anything to do with the missing Girl Scout cookie money?” I asked.

  I think she actually might have laughed if she wasn’t so totally miserable. Beth shook her head. “The cookie money . . . I mean, it’s incredibly embarrassing to have to admit you misplaced five hundred dollars. I can’t let Michael find out. He’d be so upset and embarrassed. I mean, especially with the new promotion and him being in charge of millions of dollars at the company. If word went around that I couldn’t even keep five hundred dollars straight . . .” She shivered at the thought. “This whole thing about the cookie money is the straw that broke that camel’s back, Annie. I’m so stressed, so worried. But the cookie money, it’s nothing compared to—” She paused and looked up at the ceiling.

  And I knew I had to nudge her, just a little, or she’d get stuck in her uncertainty. I took a step nearer. “When I asked about Edward leaving early this evening, you looked a little upset.”

  Beth chewed on her lower lip.

  “If there’s something you know—”

  Her sob stopped me. Beth brushed both her hands over her cheeks. She sniffled. “I can’t even believe I’m thinking what I’m thinking. I mean, I’ve known Vickie and Edward since forever and it’s really crazy and I shouldn’t let my imagination get carried away like this. But I can’t help it. I mean, I just started thinking and I think—”

  “What?”

  She hesitated. I stepped even closer. “Look, I know it’s a little crazy to think of me as a private detective. Sometimes even I have a hard time thinking of myself as a private detective. I don’t look like a private detective. I don’t always act like a private detective. In fact, I’m not a full-time private detective. But I’ve investigated enough cases to know there are things people see and things people think . . . and sometimes, when you consider what you saw and what you think, you’re pretty sure you’re imagining things, that you’re just nuts. But then sometimes, when you talk it out with somebody, you realize it’s not so nuts after all. What you’re thinking, Beth, it might be way off base. But it might lead us to something that makes more sense. Or it might be right. I know that’s sometimes hard to accept. But if you are right, don’t you owe it to Vickie to try and find the truth? No matter what?”

  Beth nodded. Her nose was red. She rubbed it and blubbered, “When you asked about Edward . . . I don’t know, it just made me think, that’s all. You see, when I left the sauna and came back inside, Edward’s wineglass was on the table, but he was nowhere in sight. I asked Michael where he was and he said that Edward had stepped outside to smoke a cigar.” She made a face. “Vickie hated those cigars, but he’s never even tried to quit. I thought . . .” She shrugged. “Well, of course I didn’t think anything of it. Until Celia brought you into the house.”

  It didn’t take a detective to see where this was going. “You think . . . Edward?”

  “He’s a good friend of Celia and Scott’s. He’s been around here enough to know that the sauna’s been acting funny and maybe that means he knows how to make it do whatever it did to get so hot so fast. If he knew you were inside and if he knew where the lock was . . . well, really, that wouldn’t be all that hard because the lock was right there on that big rock outside the door of the sauna and anybody could have seen it.” Her voice was as watery as her eyes. “I don’t know how, but he know why you’ve been hanging around, Annie. He must know you’ve been asking questions. You know, about Vickie’s murder.”

  I followed my own advice and talked out as much as I could of what I thought Beth was thinking, just to see where it would take me. “You think Edward knows I’m a PI. And that he knows I want to find out who killed Vickie. And that he tried to kill me because he thinks I’m getting close to the truth because . . .” No dice. As much as I tried, I knew I couldn’t get past the very real objections to mesh with Beth’s theory. “There’s no way. He has an alibi. I checked it out. He was at that coaches’ meeting the night Vickie was killed, and according to the minutes of the meeting, he didn’t leave. He was there at the beginning, and he was there at the end.” I thought about everything Tyler had said about murder. And marriage. “The police think it’s somehow possible that Edward might have murdered Vickie, but . . . But you think . . . you think he killed her, too?”

  “I don’t just think it,” Beth said, and she nodded like a bobble-head. “I know it for certain. And”—she burst into tears—“it’s all my fault!”

  IT TOOK A WHILE TO GET BETH CALMED DOWN. I found a plastic cup, poured some water, and made her drink, then I led her into the playroom and plunked her down on one of those video chairs. I sat in the one next to her, already worried about how I was going to
get out of it again. When it stopped wobbling enough for me to think straight, I got down to business. I pinned her with a look and wondered if she could even see me through her teary eyes.

  “You seem pretty certain about Edward being guilty,” I said. “You want to tell me why? And why do you think it’s your fault?”

  Beth started crying all over again. “Because . . .” The word bubbled past her tears. “Because I’m the one who told him about Vickie and Alex.”

  “Whoa!” I held up one hand to stop her in her tracks. There was only so much I could process at any one time, and this was a biggie. I leaned forward. My chair swayed. “You knew about Vickie and Alex? But I thought one of the rules was—”

  “That we never discussed what we did on Tuesday nights, not even with each other. That’s right.” Beth wiped a finger under nose. “We always followed the rule, too. Every one of us. But then a few weeks ago, Vickie and I were working on the girls’ Girl Scout cookie project. You know, tallying up sales and filling out order forms and deciding where we were going to put all those cases of cookies when they were delivered. I admit it, I was pretty overwhelmed by the whole thing. That kind of stuff always knocks me for a loop.”

  “And Vickie?”

  “Vickie was never fond of numbers. She used to say . . .” Beth smiled through her tears. “Vickie used to say that the only good number is a dead number. Silly, but that gives you some idea about how she felt about math. But that day, even though we were counting and adding and balancing orders against how much money people owed, Vickie was in such a good mood, I couldn’t believe it. She was humming and smiling. I asked her what was up. And she said . . .”

  “Alex.” Beth didn’t need to confirm or deny. Apparently the way Vickie felt about Alex meshed with the way he felt about her. And the timing sounded right, too. According to Alex, he’d been meeting Vickie at Swallows for a few weeks.