take him somewhere, leave him…”
“No we won’t.” I got a firm grip on her and led her resolutely back toward the living room. “He stays right there ‘til the sheriff arrives. I’ve already called him, remember?”
Gerda cast me a frantic, baleful glare. “How could you do such a thing to me! Well, we’ll just get rid of my letter opener, then.”
“We’ll do nothing of the sort. That’s tampering with the evidence. Now, come back in the kitchen. We both need a strong cup of tea.”
Gerda dug in her heels. “Annike, you don’t understand! If he’s found like this, I’ll be arrested! You don’t know what’s been going on. Unless we do something, right now, before it’s too late, I’m going to be convicted of murder!”
Chapter Two
“Convicted…” My voice trailed off as I stared, bewildered, at Aunt Gerda. “What do you mean convicted? Why on earth should anyone even suspect you of murder? It’s ridiculous! You’re just upset, you should never have gone in there.”
“Stop patronizing me!” Gerda hugged herself. The color had drained from her cheeks, leaving her unnaturally pale beneath her dusting of powder. “I know what I’m saying. I told you, you don’t know what’s been going on.”
I drew a deep breath and guided my distraught aunt toward the kitchen. After shoving her into a chair, I poured a selection of chocolate chips from the tin container across the table. Gerda grabbed several and chewed them with frantic urgency.
I waited until she swallowed and reached for more. “Okay, tell me the worst. What have you been up to?”
“I-” Gerda broke off and gathered a handful of chips, then laid them out, one by one, in a straight line in front of her, as if giving herself time to think. When she at last looked up, it was through half-lidded eyes that revealed nothing. “No, you’re quite right, dear. I am overreacting. Talking utter nonsense, in fact. It…it’s just been a bit of a shock, that’s all. Now, help me get my mind off it ‘til the sheriff arrives. Tell me about the drive. Did it rain the whole way? How is Vilhelm? I don’t hear him chattering his little head off. Is it too late for his evening cheep session?”
“He’s fine. But you’re babbling. Why?” I stared her down, waiting.
Color tinged her cheekbones. “I’m not babbling. I’m just a bit upset right now, and I’ve got every right to be. I’ve got a murdered man in my study!”
“You were upset before that, when you first mentioned him. Come on, out with it. What are you trying to hide from me?”
Her flush deepened. “Nothing! I’m just upset because of all the uproar we’re having around here. Anyone would be.”
“Uproar? What uproar? What’s been going on?” My gaze narrowed on her. “Have you been fighting over something with Brody?”
“No! Of course not!” She didn’t meet my gaze. She glanced around, as if seeking a diversion, and found it in the three cats who sat around her feet. She detached Furface’s teeth from her ankle, then gathered up an armload of lavender point Siamese. “No, Olaf. No claws,” she informed him, and for a long minute busied herself settling the animal in her lap.
“Well?” I prodded.
“It has nothing to do with Brody,” Gerda averred with too much fervor. “But it’s typical of him that his dying act would be to make one last muddle for me. Why couldn’t he have had the decency to finish my accounts, then go and get himself killed somewhere else?”
“I doubt if anyone asked him his preferences.” There had been some major disagreement, if not an actual fight, between Aunt Gerda and Brody, of that I now felt certain. I wouldn’t push, though. I’d get it out of her eventually.
Gerda, having found a tangent, was up and running with it. “Now we’ll have the sheriff and his people tramping over the place all weekend, tracking mud through the house and nibbling all the Thanksgiving goodies.”
“I doubt the new sheriff will like it, either,” I stuck in dryly. “Videotaping the football game just isn’t the same as watching it live.”
“That’s Brody all over, making life as difficult as possible for everyone else. And now, of all times! Honestly, Annike, it couldn’t be worse timing. There’s so much work to do!” She handed over the sleepily blinking Olaf and rose, pacing with restless steps to fill her kettle, a blue and white enameled job made in the shape of a whistling bird. She turned a burner to high. “Get out the chamomile and peppermint, will you, dear? We need something soothing.”
I deposited the cat on a chair, then selected the dried herbs from among the sizable collection in the racks hung on the pantry cabinet door. “Why’s this a worse time than any other for him to be killed?” Was there any good time to be murdered? And just what was it my aunt was hiding?
She looked down her long nose at me. “The Thanksgiving weekend festivities, of course.”
“What on earth does he have to do with them? I mean, no one’s going to cancel anything because of this, are they? We’ve held the community dinner for what, thirty-something years, now?”
“It’s gotten a little more complicated this year.” Gerda brought down her antique blue onion pattern teapot and filled it with hot tap water. The familiar occupations of making tea and discussing town events seemed to calm her. “This afternoon our Event Coordinator quit on us.”
“Why so late in the proceedings? All the work must be done, by now.” I fished in the cupboard for the ever- present tin of shortbread cookies. Lemon, this time.
Aunt Gerda pulled a woven cozy from a drawer and set it beside the pot, then smoothed it with nervous fingers as it lay on the tiled counter. “But that’s why it’s all such a crisis. She didn’t do anything. And I was going to call her up tonight and give her a piece of my mind, and now I can’t.”
“Can’t spare a piece of it, you mean?”
That succeeded in diverting her, at least for the moment. She fixed me with a reproving eye. “Living on your own is doing nothing for your manners, young lady.”
“Thank you. I haven’t been called young in years.”
Aunt Gerda snorted. “You’re only thirty-nine.”
“And counting,” I agreed, pleased with the success of my tactic. “So why can’t you call her? Who is it?”
“Cindy Brody.”
“Ouch.” The kettle’s rumblings took on the first note of a whistle, and I retrieved it from the stove. In the renewed silence, I asked, “Aren’t she and…I mean, weren’t she and Brody getting divorced?”
Gerda emptied the tap water from the pot and began measuring in spoonfuls of loose herbs. “Anyone else would have been over and done with it by now. But that’s Cindy, always complaining and never finishing.” She moved back, allowing me to add the boiling water.
“So Cindy took on the job, and you’re only just now finding out she didn’t do anything? I’ll just bet the SCOURGEs are in an uproar.”
Aunt Gerda directed a pained look at me. “You mean the Service Club Of Upper River Gulch Environs.”
“That’s what I said. The SCOURGEs. If they didn’t want to be called that, they should’ve been more careful about choosing their name. Are they going to kick her out of the club?”
“Technically, she doesn’t belong anymore, anyway. She moved to Meritville as soon as she decided she wanted a divorce.” Gerda popped the lid on the pot, covered it with the cozy, and set it on a trivet in the middle of the huge pine table.
“Sounds like a ‘good riddance’ on all sides. Okay, so nothing’s been organized. Everyone’s done it all so often before, they can cope anyway, wouldn’t you say?”
“I told you, it’s been expanded a little. We need someone who isn’t already working on something to take charge, and where can we find someone who-” She broke off, a sudden gleam lighting her eyes.
“Oh, no, you don’t! I am not crazy enough to actually chair a SCOURGE project.”
