As I finished up the dishes, I thought about everything I wanted to do today. I had suspects I needed to interview—I wanted to put eyes on each of the people who visited Angie on Saturday, and there was also the issue of this forensic accountant whose name was on the yellow stickie.
I’d already talked to Cynthia. For sure she was still hiding things, but I just didn’t see a murderer when I looked into her eyes.
Beatrice, though, clearly had motive. Angie had outmaneuvered her at every turn. HOA’s are funny things. There’s a ton of rules, but the only ones to enforce the rules are the homeowners, and it’s hard to claim they should care if the HOA President didn’t give the state-mandated number of days’ notice for an annual meeting, or that the President altered the minutes to her benefit. Did anybody even read HOA minutes? Around Sunhaven, probably not.
Beatrice was a bit mysterious. I usually had somebody like her figured out, but I couldn't quite grasp what it was that was off about her. She was not tall but not short. Not heavy but not skinny. She dressed in vague colors - browns, grays, and tans. Her hair was dishwater blonde, long, uncut, usually up in a ponytail that did nothing to flatter her face. I remember when I first met her, I wanted to give her the name of my hair stylist, but of course I would never do anything like that. I did believe, though, that a few highlights and some long layers might brighten up her look, and, hopefully, her attitude. Was there a crazy killer hidden behind those glasses that were too big for her face? I wish I could say for sure that there wasn’t.
Felyne had been the last one to see Angie alive, besides the killer, of course. I had a funny feeling about Felyne. From what Angie said, she was a good manager, but then why was Angie doing a lot of the tasks an HOA manager would typically do? Felyne reminded me of the school cheerleader who had to go out into the world and turn her good looks and peppy personality into a lasting career, and it seemed as though she had done just that. I tried to reimagine her face at the HOA meeting I had attended after Angie took over as President, and I recalled somebody who had a lot going on under the lily-white skin, freckles, and cute smile.
Then there was Brady Strong, Bug Guy. He was a man I needed to meet, and I already had a plan to do just that.
Finally, I’d already made an appointment with this Peter Barlow, Forensic Accountant. Why was his name on the yellow sticky with Stormy under the chair?
Turning the dishwasher on, it occurred to me that in addition to the rest of my plans for the day, I had to go to the grocery store. With Harmony here, I was going to need more to eat than a Lean Cuisine or a can of cashews and a granola bar, but there wasn’t much in the fridge to make a meal out of. I stood and stretched and then tapped my fingers on the counter. I had a great recipe for chicken and corn chowder soup that was fast, easy, and resembled comfort food. It was just the ticket.
I had also had what I thought was an incredibly inspired idea in the middle of the night as well. Unlike an officer of the law, I couldn’t interrogate people. I couldn’t force them to talk to me, coerce them into coming clean, or strong-arm them into telling me their secrets. I needed something to make them open up to me, and I had thought of just the thing, even though it meant not just baking, but baking from scratch. Nobody could hold back when they were eating homemade goodies, the delicious scent wafting into their nose. I had no doubt that several batches of my grandmother’s recipe for almond poppyseed bread would open doors for me, and there might even be a little left for me and Harmony to enjoy as well.
I looked around for the kids. I hadn’t seen Mr. Tuttles or Stormy in a while. Tuts loved his little dog bed in my room about this time of the morning, as it lay in the direct path of the morning sun coming in from the sliding glass door, so I poked my head in to check. Stormy was stretched out on Tuttles’ dog bed, taking up all the room and hogging all the sun with her belly up and head facing to the side, one paw above her head and the other comfortably tucked - a vision of relaxation. Mr. Tuttles was curled up on the very end of his own bed in a little ball, trying to make himself as small as possible so that he wouldn’t bother Stormy. He glanced up at me as I stifled a laugh, his tiny eyes apologetic.
As I grabbed my purse, I looked down at my feet. Crocs. I knew they weren’t fashionable, but they were comfortable for around the house. I also wasn’t wearing any makeup, and I was in a ratty sweatshirt. I had so much to do, though, I didn’t want to waste time with nicer clothes or makeup. I mean, really, what were the chances of running into anybody I knew at the grocery store this early in the morning anyway?
A hundred percent. That’s what the odds were. Isn’t there some kind of natural law about that, like Occam’s Razor or Newton’s Second Law of Motion, except it’s for running into people when you don’t want to? Maybe they should name that law for me. Kate’s Law of Unwanted Encounters.
I came around the corner from the frozen foods into the cheese aisle and practically ran right into another woman. “Excuse me! Oh…uh, good morning, Beatrice.”
Beatrice Gransby gave me a sneer and looked me up and down, spending a beat too long gazing at my Crocs and old cutoff shorts. “Kate.”
I was definitely not exuding “new money,” and the irony of Beatrice openly mocking the way I dressed wasn’t lost on me.
But, I also had a busy day, and right here in front of me was one of the very people I wanted to make a point to see. Every chance encounter is an opportunity, I like to say.
“Excuse my appearance, please.” I said. “I had to run out to get some groceries for Angie’s daughter. She’s staying with me, you know.”
Beatrice stiffened. “No, I didn’t know.”
“But where are my manners! I should ask how you’re doing. I do hope the police weren’t too hard on you. I assume they’ve already interviewed you?”
Her eyes flicked back and forth, not meeting mine. “I gave a statement, yes.”
“I’m so out of the loop since, you know, the Chief of Police and I split up not that long ago.” Yes, I was willing to go there, and, yes, I was willing to exaggerate how much time it had been. Solving my best friend’s murder meant more to me than worrying about people gossiping about me and Javi. “Did you get the feeling they have any suspects? What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t have the slightest idea. Being interrogated is hardly my idea of fun, and they weren’t particularly forthcoming about who their suspects are.”
What would I have given to be in the room when Beatrice was being interrogated. I imagined leaning in to Beatrice over the table, “Where were you and what were you doing Saturday night at 10 pm?” She would cower under my gaze. I would have made a great cop.
I shook myself out of my pleasant reverie in time to nod in a way I hoped was wise.
I gazed at Beatrice, searching for signs of guilt. What would I do if I was an average citizen, and I had killed somebody in a moment of passion and hadn’t yet been caught? Would I go to the grocery store as usual? Would I be able to withstand the interrogation from the police? It was hard to believe that a Housewife of Sunhaven could come under that much pressure without cracking, but it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibilities.
“Well, I’ve got to go,” I said airily.
Beatrice gave me one last scowl and wordlessly turned to go.
“Oh, Bea, just one more thing.”
She twirled back around to face me.
“I heard through the grapevine that you were at Angie’s house on Saturday. You know, right before the murder.”
If looks could kill, I’d have been evaporated a thousand times over by now.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Kate.”
“Oh, probably not. Just thought I’d ask. I’m sure plenty of people from the neighborhood will be talking about it, you know. You might want to get ahead of all the rumors. But don’t worry. I doubt anybody thinks you’d have any reason to kill Angie.”
I tried to keep my tone light, but just saying the words “kill Angie” still sent a blade through my gut. I’d never let Beatrice see that, though.
“Just so you know, Angie asked me to come over to help her with something, and I’ll repeat that it’s none of your business.”
With that, Beatrice hustled down the aisle towards the checkout lines. I watched her go, eyes narrowed. At least I could cross her off my list of people I wanted to see in person. I would not, however, be checking her off my list of suspects. As a matter of fact, she was slowly creeping to the top of that list.
I wandered up and down a couple more aisles of groceries and finally made my own way to the checkout line, still deep in thought.
Great, right in front of me was old Edward Diamond. Olive Tree Man. Well, at least he wouldn’t judge me based on my appearance.
His hands were shaking as he lifted his groceries out of the basket and onto the belt. “It used to be that the cashier unloaded groceries, rang them up, and then bagged them for you,” he said, not really talking to anybody. “These days, we pay more for food but get less service. It’s the way of the world, I suppose. More for less. Pretty soon, they’ll get rid of all the cashiers, and we’ll all be forced to use the self-checkout and probably pay more for the privilege.” He nodded his head at the self-checkout line.
“Would you like some help, Ed?” I asked.
“No, no, I wouldn’t. I can do it.” He continued to slowly move his groceries onto the belt. Cans of spaghetti, cans of soup, a bunch of grapes. They were all gradually making their way through the checkout and into a bag. I couldn’t help but look longingly at the self-checkout line. There were about ten people in that line, but with five self-checkout stations, it was moving fast.
The cashier gave him his total, and I watched as his shaking hands pulled out his wallet. He counted out the dollars and then felt in his pocket for the change. He counted out the dimes first, then a couple of pennies, saying the total aloud, one by one.
“You’re seven cents short,” the cashier told him. I wanted to scream. The person in the self-checkout line I would have been behind was already finishing up. I would have been done by now, and I had so many things to do today!
“I know I had more change in here, but my pants are so old, they’re all developing tiny holes in the pockets,” he grumbled, looking at me.
“Sorry, Ed. I always pay by credit card. I never even carry change anymore. I don’t think anybody does.”
“Credit cards. Hmph. They charge you for the pleasure of using your own money.”
“Well, that’s not really….” I stopped myself, knowing it was a lost cause and appealed to the cashier. “Do you supposed you could just let it go? Override the sale for seven cents or something? Anything?”
“Nope. Against the rules.” The cashier, a decidedly unattractive young woman with a bored look, snapped her gum. I stole one last envious glance at the self-checkout line. I really needed to get going!
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Ed, I’m putting your groceries on my credit card. You,” I pointed to the cashier and read her name tag. “Sally. You’re going to give me Ed’s cash. Ed, you can owe me seven cents. And I promise I won’t charge you interest on it.”
Sally looked from me to Ed and back. “Do it!” I barked. She handed me the cash while I ran my credit card.
As he left, I could hear Ed muttering under his breath, “I suppose now she’ll get free miles for my groceries.”