Ring In the Year with Murder--An Otter Lake Mystery Page 7

  “That reminds me,” Freddie said, pulling something shiny from his breast pocket.

  “What is that?”

  He didn’t answer, just walked over to Stanley on the bed, sat and gently swapped out one collar for another.

  “Is that … does that collar have Stanley engraved on it?”

  Freddie didn’t answer.

  “But … I thought you weren’t keeping him?”

  “I’m not. But every dog should have a collar. And besides, when I take him to the pound, they should know he already has a name, so no one calls him anything stupid like Killer.”

  “Okay, let’s look at what we know for sure,” I said, holding out some placating hands that I lowered once I realized they would probably just anger him. “One, you are very upset right now, so I’m not sure you are thinking str—”

  “My thinking is just fine.”

  “Two, I think because the town has had an unprecedented amount of murders in a short period of time…” Again. Three to be exact. Over a period of a year and half. But still, that was crazy high for Otter Lake. “… I think maybe you are just jumping to murderous conclusions.”

  “Oh really?” Freddie raised an eyebrow. “Because I think you just proved my point.”

  “How?”

  “It’s a proven fact that when you have murders, people then have murder on the brain, so hence, they are more likely to murder in a stressful situation—a situation that in the past would have, say, just resulted in a mean tweet.”

  I squinted at him. “That is not proven fact. In fact, I think that is the complete opposite of a proven fact.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of copycats? Same thing.”

  “No. No, it’s not. And back to my arguments, three—”

  “Oh great. There’s a three,” Freddie said, bobbling his head around. “No, you know what? Forget three. You heard Candace say everyone in this town hates her!”

  I frowned. I had heard that. I had indeed. “I think she was just upset … and she’s drinking! You know she doesn’t drink, and—”

  “And what about the threatening letters? Multiple threatening letters.”

  “I’m actually thinking Mrs. Watson was exaggerating. Candace said note—”

  “You know what? Discussion over. We are investigating Stanley’s attempted murder and that is that.”

  “No, that is not that.” I felt kind of beastly for saying it. Mainly because I knew Stanley being sick brought up a whole lot of memories for Freddie, but I couldn’t help but think being a good friend meant not letting one’s friend run off half-cocked solving attempted murders that never happened.

  Freddie spun around, putting his back to me.

  Okay, well, if we were going to be mature about the whole situation.

  “Can we please just talk about this?”

  “No, you’re doing this for me.”

  “Freddie…”

  “Again! Stop saying my name!” He spun back around. “Besides, you owe Candace.”

  Okay, that gave me pause. “I’m sorry, what now?”

  “I said, you owe Candace.”

  “How do I owe Candace? She stole my boyfriend.”

  “Oh yeah. Right,” Freddie said with a scoff. “That’s how it happened, Miss I’ve Moved On.”

  “Okay, maybe I haven’t entirely moved on, but—”

  “You broke her. Now you gotta fix her. Well, maybe not fix her, but protect her from whoever’s trying to poison her.”

  “I did not break Candace. And nobody is trying to poison her.”

  “You heard her arguing with Grady. She used to be a cute, happy ball of pink, sunshiney things before she met you, Erica Bloom. And now she’s like the mean ex-wife who arches her eyebrow and makes snide comments over her martini glass at everyone. That’s what you did. You made the world a less happy place.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “Okay, you know what?” Freddie said, “Let’s compromise. We won’t launch an official investigation or anything. But let’s just see if we can get the cloth or paper towels that mopped up the drink, and I’ll send it to a lab. It’s for my peace of mind.”

  “I really think—”

  “I need to know for sure this isn’t my fault,” he said, voice dropping.

  We both looked down at Stanley.

  I felt my shoulders sink. “It’s not your f—”

  “I never should have left him with you.”

  “Hey!”

  “Erica, when you were suspected of murder, who helped you prove your innocence?”

  I cleared my throat.

  “Sorry, what was that?” he asked.

  “You did.”

  “And when your crazy pseudoaunt was being accused of murder, who helped you then?”

  “That was you too.”

  “And when you were trapped on an island with a freaking serial killer, who helped you th—”

  “You, Freddie. It was you. But those were very different circumstances.”

  Freddie didn’t answer though, and when I caught a look at his downturned face, I could have sworn …

  “Oh my God. You’re not … going to cry, are you?”

  He looked up at me, eyes glistening. “Say you’ll help me, Erica. Or I swear to God I will.”

  I took a horrified step back, bumping into a dresser.

  “Tears are going to spill right down my face.”

  I braced myself against the drawers. “You wouldn’t!”

  He sniffed. “Oh … oh boy, here they come.”

  I looked at him sideways. “You … you are evil.”

  “So you’ll help me?”

  “Gah!”

  “Yes!” Freddie shouted.

  “But you have to promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That this little investigation of ours will be as low-key as possible,” I said. “I do not want us making fools of ourselves tonight.”

  “Really, you’re telling me that,” Freddie said right as Jessica opened the door for her and Matthew. “I’m not the one who once paraded a beaver around town topless.”

  “Oh,” Jessica said, half turning to leave. “Sorry, did we come back at a bad time?”

  I sighed. “And so it begins.”

  The Morning After

  “I can’t believe I let you emotionally blackmail me into an investigation of a dog poisoning that didn’t happen.”

  Freddie patted Stanley on the belly. “It’s what friends do, Erica.”

  I started to shake my head, but then clutched it with both hands just to be sure it didn’t fall off. “And I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that given where we’re at right now, I don’t think we were able to keep the investigation low-key.”

  Freddie nodded. “Not looking that way, is it?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Okay, let’s do this.” Freddie yanked down his cummerbund and strode down the hall with startling purpose.

  “Do what exactly?” I called after him. Low heels or not, these were not speed-walking shoes. I’d be hobbled by the end of the night. “And where are you going? The conservatory is back this way.” I jerked my thumb behind me, but Freddie was paying zero attention.

  “I think our first step is pretty obvious, don’t you?”

  I screwed my lips to one side. “First step? I only agreed to one step and that was to look for poison samples that don’t exist.”

  “Just come on.”

  Freddie resumed his stride, and I chased after him once again. He was cutting through the crowd like a hot knife through soft butter … until a woman sidestepped into his path.

  Tyler’s mom.

  And she looked upset.

  This could take a while.

  You see, Nancy was a bit of a helicopter parent. She was always worried about everything, like Tyler using sunscreen, or staying hydrated, or having an undetected peanut allergy that he didn’t actually have—seriously, the kid loved peanut butter. And ever since Fr
eddie agreed not to press charges, Nancy had been bringing all of these worries to Freddie for some reason. It was kind of like that belief where if you save someone’s life, you’re responsible for them. That or maybe she had just worn out all of her family members. Either way, she was driving Freddie nuts.

  “Freddie, thank God I found you. You’re not going to believe what’s happened.” She darted a look over his shoulder. “Where’s Tyler? Have you seen him?” Her short hair was shellacked tight to her skull in little curls, and she had a black feather boa wrapped around her neck. Both the hair and the boa really set off the crazy in her eyes.

  Freddie frowned. “I sent him to bring in some supplies from outside. Is this about the peanut allergy again because—”

  “No. No. This isn’t about the nuts. It’s about your suit.”

  Freddie froze. “What happened to my tux? Tell me nothing happened to my tux. I don’t think I can take much more.”

  She held up her palms. “No. No. The tux is fine. It’s just…”

  Freddie raised an eyebrow.

  She clutched her hands together at her chest. “The whole thing’s backfired.”

  “Backfired? How could it possibly backfire?”

  “Well, I don’t think Tyler wants you to know, and I tried to talk to his father about it, but you know how fathers can be—”

  “Cut to the chase, woman!”

  “Well,” she said, face twitching. “I just knew something was wrong with him, so I texted some of his friends and…”

  “And?”

  She pinched her lips together before saying, “Apparently, Chloe laughed and asked who he was trying to be dressing up in that cheap tux.”

  I froze. It was the only thing to do because for just a second it felt like a crack had split open in the earth’s crust right underneath Hemlock Estate.

  Cheap.

  I had heard Freddie called many things over the years. I, myself, had called Freddie many things over the years. But I had never once heard anyone use the word cheap. I mean, sure, Freddie might complain about being pigeonholed as the rich kid in town—a title he had stolen from Matthew who had been sent off to prep school during his teenage years—but just because he didn’t necessarily want that title foisted upon him, from what I could gather, he didn’t exactly want it taken away either.

  “That little—”

  “Freddie!” I snapped.

  “I knew you’d understand,” Tyler’s mom said. “We can’t let her get away with this, right?”

  “Of course not. Why would you even think of going to his father with this first? He’s a pastor! He can’t help us.”

  “I know,” she said, nodding too big. “He thinks I’m crazy, but this … this cannot stand.”

  I didn’t know Tyler’s dad, but it was good to hear that there were some levelheaded types in town. “Okay,” I said, putting my hands up in whoa position. “Let’s just calm—”

  “You know what else I heard she said?” Nancy went on, ignoring me completely.

  “What?”

  She stepped in and clutched Freddie’s forearm. “That Chloe thinks she is out of Tyler’s league.”

  His eyes flashed madly around the room. “Where is she? No. Better yet. Where is her mother?”

  All right, that was my cue. I grabbed Freddie by the elbow and yanked him back. He held up a finger to Tyler’s mom to wait then said, “Erica, what do you want? We’re kind of busy here.”

  “Um, okay,” I said, scratching at my hairline. “Weren’t you the one telling me earlier that Tyler’s mom was a … helicopter mom?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Well, whuppa whuppa.”

  Freddie cocked his head. “Whuppa whuppa? What the hell is that?”

  “A helicopter sound.”

  He angry-squinted at me.

  “Fine! I’m not good at sounds, but the point is you were the one telling me not too long ago that Tyler needed to handle this stuff on his own. That with Nancy interfering all the time it was stopping Tyler from becoming a man.” At least I was pretty sure that had been what he’d said. Sometimes I tuned out Freddie when he was ranting. “Well?”

  No response. Just fire. Deadly fire in the eyes.

  “And let’s not forget that you are supposed to be a respected business leader in this town. How’s it going to look if you and Tyler’s mom go off seeking revenge on a sixteen-year-old girl because she can’t appreciate fine tailoring?”

  A tense moment passed. Freddie wasn’t one to let perceived slights pass—and this seemed like a maybe real, secondhand, gossipy-type slight. That being said, he was very concerned about his role as a business leader in this town even though our business had yet to actually make any money.

  Finally Freddie took a slow breath and turned back to Tyler’s mom. “All right, I know this is upsetting, but I need to give this some more thought before we do anything about it. I have a lot on the go at the moment.”

  “What did you say to him?” she yelled, looking at me over Freddie’s shoulder.

  I half ducked.

  She looked back at Freddie. “Whose side are you on?”

  He swivelled some pleading eyes back in my direction.

  I shook my head firmly no.

  “Just promise me you won’t do anything yet,” he said, patting her hand. Hard. He had gone back to looking like he wanted to fight the entire room—me definitely included. “One way or another. We’ll make this right.” He leaned in toward her, and I could have sworn he added in a whisper, “Once I get rid of Erica.”

  “Freddie!”

  He leaned back. “Just don’t do anything.”

  Nancy stomped away.

  Freddie stomped off too, but in the opposite direction. I scampered after him as best I could. These heels were getting more wobbly by the second.

  “Out of his league,” I heard Freddie mumble. “Out of his league!”

  Uh-oh.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” he snapped, suddenly whipping around to point at me. “She may be out of his league, but she is nowhere near being in the league of my tuxedo.”

  I nodded quickly. It seemed the safest course of action. I was actually a little surprised, and more than a little grateful, that I had been able to pull Freddie away from this fight in the first place. I could be agreeable.

  He whipped back around and resumed his march headed straight for … Rhonda? She was busy talking to a group of people, with her back to us. Freddie tapped her on the shoulder.

  She whirled around. “Hey!” She looked super happy to see us … then suddenly super sad. “How’s your dog?”

  “Stanley is in dire straits, Rhonda.”

  I let my chin fall into my chest.

  “Oh no, that’s awful,” she said, dropping a heavy arm around Freddie’s neck and pulling him in for a hug. Freddie kept his body ramrod straight, but I could see him puffing her red frizzy hair from his mouth kind of like I had earlier with my mom. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes,” Freddie choked out. “There is.”

  I think Freddie was having trouble breathing what with the death grip she had on his neck. Someone had obviously been into the champagne.

  “Rhonda,” Freddie said, voice muffled through her hair. “Rhonda!” But she just kept on hugging. He whacked her on the arm. “We need your help.”

  Rhonda finally let Freddie go, face dropping into her most authoritative ex-cop expression. “What do you need, boss?”

  “I have a job for you.”

  “Got it.”

  “Right.” Freddie leaned in closer to Rhonda, but not before darting his eyes side to side again. I don’t know why. No one was listening. “I need you to find Candace and make sure she doesn’t eat or drink anything for the rest of the night.”

  Rhonda nearly jumped to attention. “Done.” I was a little surprised she didn’t salute.

  Freddie turned back to me. “I love the way that woman takes orders.”

  I pressed a finger in
to the spot between my eyebrows and closed my eyes. “Rhonda?”

  “What’s up, Erica?”

  “We’ve talked about this.”

  Since the three of us had started our business together, we’d had some trouble working out the power dynamics. I considered us all equals. Freddie considered himself boss. Rhonda, having been used to being Grady’s deputy, was having a little trouble not showing belly when Freddie barked. I had been trying to explain to her the importance of asking questions when Freddie ordered her to do something, because if she wasn’t careful she’d be pumicing the calluses off his feet and making him martinis before anyone could put a stop to it.

  “Oh right,” Rhonda said with a slow nod. She then squinted at Freddie suspiciously. “Why do I have to stop Candace from eating or drinking anything?”

  “Because someone is trying to kill her. With poison.”

  “Right. Got it.”

  She had just spun on her heel to leave when I again said, “Rhonda.”

  “Wait,” she said, slowly turning back around. “Someone is trying to kill Candace?”

  “We don’t know that,” I said.

  “Yes we do.” Freddie turned back to face me, yanking his cummerbund down. “Stop playing God,” he hissed. “Rhonda doesn’t want free will. You’re just confusing her.” I thought he was going to end it there, but at the last second he tagged on, “It’s cruel,” before turning back around. He then filled Rhonda in on everything that had happened so far.

  “Should we call the police?” Rhonda asked me over Freddie’s head. She was quite a bit taller than him in her nautical-looking heels. “Grady’s here somewhere. He’d want to know.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Freddie said with an unpleasant snicker. “He and Candace were having quite the brouhaha in the conservatory. You missed it.”

  I whacked him. “It wasn’t a brouhaha. It was just one of those conversations couples have when they’re experiencing issues.” And maybe breaking up.

  Rhonda eyed me suspiciously. At one time, Rhonda had been Grady’s and my biggest supporter, but she had taken his side when things started to go downhill and I couldn’t make a decision whether or not to move home. We had gotten beyond everything, but the subject was still a little touchy. “And you just happened to stumble across this discussion of issues, huh?”