Assisted Murder (A Moose River Mystery Book 6) Read online

  As much as he frustrated me sometimes with his rationality and logic and penchant for giving in to the kids, I did appreciate that we balanced one another out.

  And that he was so willing to share his delicious overpriced churro with me.

  “What did you make of this morning at Gloria's?” I asked as we walked. I kept an eye on the kids as they maneuvered through the light crowds on the way to the rollercoaster.

  “What?”

  “This morning,” I repeated. “Gloria’s?” We hadn’t had much time to talk about it after we’d left her house, as Grace had immediately called and asked where we were. Once we got home, it was a rush to get kids fed and more coffee brewed and then an even bigger rush as we made the impromptu decision to head to one of the parks for the afternoon.

  “I decided that I'm going to shave my head when my hair starts thinning.”

  “That would be weird.”

  “No weirder than that thing on Irv Finkleman's head,” he pointed out.

  I reached for the soda and took a sip. “Fair point. But I was talking the weird dynamic between your aunt and Irv.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I dodged a stroller and watched people scream as they dropped from view on the Tower of Terror. “There was some sort of tension there,” I said. “I couldn't figure out what it was. But they seriously forgot we were there for a minute. It was like they were having their own private conversation, but leaving some pieces out.”

  He narrowly avoided taking a plate of nachos to the chest from a college kid who wasn't watching where he was going, and said, “I figured they were both just rattled from finding out that someone they knew was dead and found in Gloria's house.”

  Logic and reason. Like always. And just as maddening.

  “Sure, but it was like they wanted to say more, but then didn't because we were standing there,” I said.

  “Probably,” he answered. “But I don't think either of them were going to admit to murder right there over coffee.”

  “Maybe they were.”

  He offered me the last bite of churro but I shook my head. “I don't know about Irv, but I don't think my aunt is a killer.”

  “You said before that you didn’t know her well enough. So how can you know that for sure?”

  He popped the churro in his mouth, tossing the paper in a trashcan. “I don't know for sure. I haven’t seen her in forever, remember? She might be a little on the crazy side, sure, but not in the I-kill-my-neighbors kind of way.”

  “That is not reassuring.”

  “Daisy. She didn’t kill her neighbor. The aunt I remember wouldn’t do something like that.”

  “But you never spent much time with her. And you haven’t seen in her years. You said so yourself.” I kept up my stream-of-consciousness dialogue. “I mean, maybe she's changed. Maybe your grandmother wore her down and turned her into a homicidal maniac.”

  Jake considered this. “Now that’s an argument I might listen to.”

  I watched the kids weave around a crowd of high school cheerleaders. There was apparently a cheerleading competition being held nearby, and we'd seen groups of heavily made-up and scantily dressed teenage girls for the better part of the day. Will was not complaining.

  “But we don't know Irv,” I continued. “We don't know anything about him.”

  “Except that he has exceptionally poor taste in hairstyles.”

  “Except for that.”

  Jake shrugged. “I don't know. We don't really know anything other than that you almost tripped over a dead woman in my aunt's kitchen. All I know is that we have to go on this roller coaster again and I'm hoping my stomach holds.” He winced. “And we have to listen to some live music tonight. So even if my stomach is okay right now, there are no guarantees after this evening.”

  I chuckled. “We should have grabbed the complimentary barf bags on the plane.”

  He shot me a look and grabbed the soda back from me. “That’s not nice. And I think they’re called ‘motion sickness’ bags.” He shook out an ice cube and sucked on it. “Besides, we are here to celebrate a birthday, not investigate a murder. Remember?”

  “Of course,” I said, smiling. I waved at the kids, who were impatiently waiting for us at the entrance to the ride, then reached for Jake’s hand and squeezed. “But I’m great at multi-tasking. Remember?”

  ELEVEN

  We got back to the rental a little after five, giving everyone time for a quick dip in the pool and showers before we headed off to the clubhouse to see The GG's perform.

  I was surprised to see the parking lot filled up and people filing into the building. I’d be lying if I said part of me assumed we would be the only ones there. Clearly, I was wrong.

  We walked into the clubhouse entryway where we'd met Grandma Billie and followed the others toward the back. A long hallway led to what was actually an oversized restaurant and bar overlooking a beautifully manicured golf course. The tables were packed, and the stools at the bar were all occupied, mostly by people who were much older than us. Watercolor ocean-themed prints lined the peach colored walls, and the potted palms and large windows gave the impression of being outside rather than indoors.

  The GG's were on stage tuning their instruments and positioning equipment. Gloria was the only female. A row of twinkling lights lined the bottom portion of the stage, and unlit tiki torches provided a backdrop as they moved microphone stands and adjusted the drum set. They moved slowly, and I wasn’t sure if this was because of age and arthritis or because they were just intent on being meticulous. Gloria waved at us as soon as we walked in and pointed to the far corner near the window.

  Grandma Billie was hunched over in her wheelchair, nursing a Bud Light next to an empty table marked RESERVED.

  “I think that's for us,” Jake said, herding us in that direction.

  “Great,” I said. “Your grandmother can question my life decisions all night.”

  “Nah, it'll be too loud in here with all of the supposed music,” he said.

  Grandma Billie looked up at us as we approached. “I figured you all got smart and decided to stay away from this train wreck.”

  “We wouldn't miss it,” I told her.

  “That's because you've never heard them,” she said. She held up her beer bottle. “I could use another one.”

  “Can she have another one?” I whispered.

  “Ageist,” he whispered back, winking. “I'm on it, Grandma.” He did a U-turn and headed back toward the bar.

  “Tell Grandma Billie what we did today,” I said to the kids as we sat down around the table.

  Admittedly, it was a preemptive strike in an attempt to avoid having her criticize me while Jake was gone. But she listened intently as the kids detailed everything we'd done at the park earlier, only interrupting them once to order them to speak louder. She even cracked a couple of smiles, particularly when Will told her about a girl we saw vomiting after getting off one of the rides.

  “Now that would've been me,” she said, nodding. “Never did have the stomach for those things.”

  “They're fun,” Grace told her. She’d settled into the chair right next to Grandma Billie and had her elbows propped on the table. “I love rollercoasters. And rides that spin. And go upside down.”

  “Hmm,” Grandma Billie said. “If you say so. I'm just glad I'm too old for people to try and take me on those things now.”

  “You're not too old,” Sophie said on the other side of her.

  “We could push you around the park,” Grace said eagerly. “In your wheelchair. And then we’d get to go to the front of the line because you have special needs.”

  “Grace!” I felt the heat build in my cheeks.

  “Well, it’s true,” Will said. He adjusted the baseball cap he was wearing and looked at me. “Anyone needing assistance usually goes to the front of the line on rides. I was actually thinking we should probably rent one for you or Jake when we go to Magic Kingdom. We can cut right to the
front of the line on pretty much every single ride.”

  I shook my head. “No way. No chance.”

  Grandma Billie chuckled as she watched our exchange before turning her attention back to the girls. “I appreciate you two girls saying that, but there’s not a chance in the world of that happening because I am most definitely too old.”

  “No, you’re not,” Grace said.

  “Wait until the party they're having for me. There'll be so many candles on that damn cake, we'll probably burn this place down.”

  Both girls giggled, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she’d just used a swear word or because they found her comment funny. Probably a little bit of both.

  I smiled. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.

  Grandma Billie leveled her gaze on me. “So what's this I hear about you finding old Clutterbuck deader than a doornail on Gloria's floor?”

  I glanced toward the stage. The GG's appeared to be still tuning their instruments and performing sound checks. Soft music played from the speakers, some old 40s music, from the sound of it.

  “Well, I don't really know the circumstances,” I said. The heat was spreading from my cheeks to my neck. “But, yes, she was on the kitchen floor.”

  Grandma Billie narrowed her eyes. “I'd like to say I'm sorry, but Agnes was about as much fun as a hemorrhoid.”

  “What's a hemorrhoid?” Sophie asked.

  “It's a sore. On your butt,” Grandma Billie told her bluntly. “No fun at all.”

  Sophie's eyes went wide and she turned her attention back to the band.

  “Gloria told us something similar,” I said. “Not about hemorrhoids, of course. About Agnes’…issues.” I felt like I was digging a bigger hole for myself with every word I uttered. “Did anyone like her?”

  “Not really,” she said, her tone still just as gruff. “She had a way of sticking her nose into everyone's business and then telling them what they were doing wrong.” She wrapped her fingers around the bottle and peered into it before taking a sip. “And she never had a nice word to say about anyone. Complained about everything. Whoever put her on Gloria's floor did the world a favor.”

  “Gloria is worried that the police think she did it,” I told her.

  “Bah,” she said, waving a hand in the air and setting the beer bottle on the table. “Gloria's a worry wart. She has a temper hotter than Hades but that doesn't mean she'd go and kill someone. Yell and scream and throw things? Sure. But there's no way she offed that old broad. They'll figure it out and she'll be fine.”

  She seemed to have it all figured out.

  Jake returned to the table and handed his grandmother a fresh Budweiser. She licked her lips and took a long sip. “Thank you, Jakey.”

  “You're welcome,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder and sitting down on the other side of me.

  Grandma Billie made a grunting noise and leaned toward us. “Okay, this woman heading our way. She's another wacko. If she stays too long, I might fake a stroke.”

  “What?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.

  “What’s a stroke?” Grace asked.

  “Shhh,” Billie hissed. “Just go with it.”

  “Uh, okay,” I said, glancing at Jake. He looked as bewildered as I felt.

  He pushed a beer in my direction and shrugged.

  “Billie!” a voice said behind me. “It is such a pleasure to see you! And this must be your grandson I've been hearing about!”

  Grandma Billie rolled her eyes and reached for her beer again.

  I twisted in my seat to get a look at the person attached to the voice. The woman was probably in her sixties, with long black hair that was divided in half by a thick silver stripe, reminding me of a skunk. Her eyes were lined heavily with makeup, her lips painted bright red. Long silver feather earrings dangled form her ears. She had on a tight black top and gray leggings, an outfit more suited for Emily than for a grandmotherly type. But she didn’t look particularly grandmotherly apart from her age.

  She looked at Jake. “Are you the grandson?” she asked, leaning in toward our chairs. She smelled like the perfume aisle at a department store.

  “Uh, I think so,” he said.

  She smiled first at him, then at me. “Well, of course. So nice of both of you to come.”

  “Relax, Esther.” Grandma pointed her beer bottle at me. “This is his wife. You won't be taking him home to bed tonight.”

  The woman's cheeks reddened and she glanced at the kids. Grace and Sophie were hanging on every word, their eyes enormous. Emily and Will both had their phones out and weren’t paying attention at all.

  “Why would she want Jake to come over for a sleepover?” Grace asked loudly, and to no one in particular. “Do adults have sleepovers, too?”

  Sophie hushed her.

  “Why don’t you girls go find the bathroom?” I suggested.

  “Why?” Grace asked. “I don’t have to pee.”

  “Yeah, but you might,” I said. “And you don’t want to miss any of the…concert, do you?”

  They exchanged glances before bolting out of their seats.

  “Oh, Billie. Such the kidder,” The woman said as soon as the girls were away from the table. Her chuckle was exaggerated as she held out a hand to Jake. “I'm Esther Quiddle.”

  “I'm Jake,” he said, taking the offered hand and shaking. “And this is my wife, Daisy.”

  She smiled at me and we shook hands. “Of course, of course. I've heard all about both of you. I'm sure you've heard about me.”

  Grandma Billie made another noise and took another sip from her beer.

  “I'm the manager for The GG's,” she informed us. “I handle everything from social media to booking.” She glanced toward the stage. “With Gloria's approval, of course.”

  “Oh, great,” I said, feeling awkward that we had no idea who she was and baffled that the GG’s were apparently big enough to require a separate person to handle their social media presence and gigs. “That must be...fun.”

  “It is,” she said, letting the smile brighten. “Of course, it would be more fun if I got paid. But we can't have everything, can we?”

  “So you volunteer?” I asked.

  The smile flickered and she fiddled with one of the long silver feathers that were nearly brushing her shoulders. “Yes. I volunteer.” She glanced toward the stage. “For now.”

  “Did you hear about old Clutterbuck?” Grandma Billie interrupted. “Deader than a doornail.”

  “I did, I did,” Esther’s smile disappeared and was replaced by a suitably sad expression. “Just terrible. Though, I must say, my interactions with that woman were not entirely pleasant.”

  The cymbals crashed on the stage, and Emily and Will nearly jumped out of their seats. I suppressed a smile; that’s what they got for being so completely immersed in their phones rather than their physical environment.

  “Why was that?” I asked Esther. When she looked hesitant to respond, I added, “Gloria and Billie have both mentioned how difficult she could be to get along with at times.”

  She nodded, and the feathers in her ears swayed back and forth. “Gloria asked me to intervene,” she explained.

  “Intervene?”

  Jake dug his foot into my calf as a warning but I shifted out of his reach.

  “Agnes was always complaining about the noise the band made,” Esther said. “Gloria tried to reason with her, but didn't have any luck. She asked me to talk to her. I did.”

  She paused and I waited a beat before prompting her. “And…?”

  “It didn't go well.” She shook her head. “She just wouldn't listen and ended up telling me to get off her porch.” She glanced toward the stage one more time and her face darkened. “It was kind of an ugly situation. Especially for someone who doesn't get paid.”

  The girls reappeared from their trip to the bathroom and she forced the smile back on her face. “Anyhoo. Just wanted to say hello and introduce myself. You folks enjoy the show. You, to
o, Billie.”

  Billie flicked her hand at her like she was dismissing a fly.

  I watched her walk off, her rear end swinging in those tight leggings. She seemed nice enough, despite Billie's seeming distaste for her. And her interactions with Agnes sounded just like everyone else’s.

  But one thing did strike me as a little off.

  Esther Quiddle sure didn't seem happy about volunteering.

  TWELVE

  Emily leaned across the table and yelled into my ear, “This is the worst band I've ever heard in my life!”

  Normally, I would've rolled my eyes at that statement. She always thought her taste in music was better than everyone else's, and she had no problem voicing her opinion on everything she heard. She was also prone to hyperbole that was hard to take seriously.

  But, after listening to The GG's for twenty agonizingly long minutes, I was pretty sure she was correct.

  I'd tried to find something good about what we were seeing and what we were hearing, but it just wasn't there. Between Gloria's off-key singing, the drummer who appeared to be about ninety and who couldn't keep the beat, the guy playing the guitar who was only plucking one string, or the guy on the keyboards who'd managed to hit at least two wrong notes in every song they'd done, Emily was right.

  It was the worst band I'd ever heard in my life.

  But the crowd loved them.

  They sang along with the lyrics. They cheered when the songs ended. They called out requests. It was like they were watching Springsteen.

  “Can we go soon?” Emily yelled into my ear.

  I shook my head.

  She sighed and slid back into her chair, eyes focused on her phone in her lap.

  Grace scurried around to my side of the table. “This is hurting my ears, Mom!”

  “Cover them up!” I told her.