Poppy Done to Death

But just at a surface level, Avery had had a better chance than anyone to be on that road at that time. He had a secretary, but she only came in in the afternoon. Avery shared a suite of offices, and the secretary, with another CPA, but essentially he worked by himself.

Someone had dropped that receipt on my floor, and none of the people who could have done it should have done it. I just didn’t want to imagine that one of them was capable of driving a knife into Poppy.

As I dialed the Atlanta number, I realized something else was bothering me, but for the life of me, I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Scene Clean,” said a happy male voice.

I introduced myself and explained the situation.

“Of course, I’d be glad to help you out,” Zachary Lee said enthusiastically. I wondered if I were his first customer. “But I have to have the home owner’s written permission, you understand. And the responsibility for the bill?”

“I’ll be responsible,” I said firmly. I could ask John David about the insurance coverage some other time. “Mr. Queensland can give you written permission, and I’ll meet you there this afternoon at four, unless I call you and tell you otherwise.” I gave the cheerful Mr. Lee my phone numbers, house and cell, John David’s number, and the address on Swanson Lane.

Phillip staggered into the bathroom as I hung up. I was relieved to see him, because I had to go to work and we had to discuss what he would do while I was gone. I began to make a list while I waited for him to emerge; he seemed to be taking yet another marathon shower.

I scrawled a number of items on an old envelope. I’d number them later. “When Memorial Service or Funeral?” I wrote, and then, “T’giving.” Entries under that included, “turkey,” “celery,” “sweet pot.,” “cran sauce.” Mother had invited me over to have Thanksgiving dinner with her and John, Melinda and Avery had been scheduled to go to Melinda’s parents’ home in Groton, and Poppy and John David had been wavering between accepting an invitation from some college friends or throwing in with my mother’s plans. Now, of course, all these arrangements would be in disarray. Poppy’s murder-and, to a much lesser extent, the unexpected presence of Phillip- naturally would alter the next few days beyond all recognition. No one in the family would want to think about the holiday, but we would all have to.

I was supposed to work today and tomorrow, though the library would be closed Thursday and Friday. Lawrenceton more or less shuts down on Thanksgiving, though not as much as it used to when I was a kid.

Phillip emerged from the steamy bathroom, wearing the bathrobe again. I was glad to see he looked pretty alert. When I offered toast or cereal, he said he didn’t normally eat breakfast right after he rose. I bit my tongue to keep from pointing out he’d been up for a good thirty minutes in the shower, and he poured a glass of orange juice and sat by me on one of the high stools at the counter.

“You look ready for work,” he observed. “So, what’s my agenda for today?”

“If you left the bathroom in a mess, you need to go in and clean it. Remember, the Wynns are staying here,” I said. Phillip looked distinctly alarmed and unhappy at continuing to live in such close proximity to unknown old people who were in the middle of such a crisis. Tough.

“Also,” I said, “here is a pad and a pen. There are going to be lots of phone calls today. Please write down each one: the time, the caller, and the message. Here’s my phone number at work. Every two hours, call me and let me hear the list. Some of these I’ll have to act on pretty quickly. Now, there’s a remote possibility people will bring food by here if they hear the Wynns are staying with me. You accept the dish, write down any instructions about heating or refrigerating it, and who brought it.”

Phillip nodded. He seemed a little dazed.

“Here’s the remote control for the TV. Here’s the remote for the DVD player.” I went over to the television cabinet and opened a door. “Here are my DVDs.” I went into the kitchen, opened a drawer, extracted a key from a plastic tray. “Here’s another key to the house. If you leave, please write a note saying where you’ve gone and when you’ll be back. Do you have a watch?”

Phillip shook his head.

“Okay.” I handed him a watch that had been Martin’s. I’d come across it that morning when I was putting on my makeup. It wasn’t an expensive watch; it was the one he’d been wearing when we got married, and I’d given him a fancier one our first Christmas together. Martin had chucked this watch in a drawer and I’d automatically packed it when I moved. It was just a mass-produced watch; there were probably millions identical to it. It was absurd to feel a pang over a bit of assembly-line metal that ran on a battery.

Phillip gave me a sharp look as he slid the watch on his arm. “I won’t break it,” he said defensively. My face must have been showing more than I’d thought.

“I don’t think you will,” I said, and hugged him, much to his surprise. “And the world won’t end if you do.” I hoped I wasn’t being too demanding. Not only would someone performing all those little tasks be genuinely helpful; I would know where Phillip was. I’d given him a key because I wanted to show I trusted him. I wasn’t sure I really did. I could not stop Phillip if he decided to leave while I was at work, and it would be ludicrous to try to find a baby-sitter for him. No, this was sink-or-swim time for my brother and me.

I just hoped we’d both survive.

Janie Spellman was working the check-in desk when I came out of the employees’ lounge, my lipstick fresh and my mind preoccupied. Janie gave me a brilliant smile as she loaded books on the cart. I regarded our newest staff member with both grudging admiration and envy. When Janie had gone to school, she’d learned computer systems as a matter of course, and she could help younger patrons far more knowledgeably than I. But Janie should have gotten a job somewhere else for a couple of years before she came back to Lawrenceton. She was always getting shocked. People who had been her revered elders when she’d been in high school and college were always startling her by checking out reading material that didn’t jibe with her idea of what they should be reading. People she’d gone to high school with were not always particularly happy to see her. And children said and did things that could horrify the most jaded librarian, much less a young woman who’d so recently been a child herself.

Janie was also quite anxious about her single status. Though there was no discernable reason for her to be desperate, she was, and spread her nets unwisely. For one thing, Janie had cast her eyes at Perry Allison. Perry was at least fifteen years older, and I knew he was gay, but this was something Janie had not yet figured out-to be honest, it was fairly recent news to Perry himself.

Perry wasn’t the only male Janie had set her sights on. Robin Crusoe was another. I was getting a little miffed about that. In fact, I was miffed at this very moment. Robin, who was supposed to be completing his postconvention book tour, was standing with his elbows on the desk behind which Janie stood, and he was smiling at her entirely too broadly. And she was simpering back at him.

I felt a rush of irritation, chased by a big dash of insecurity. I turned on my heel and went back into the employees’ lounge. My hands were balled into fists and I was breathing deeply. I was being childish and unreasonable. Jealousy was beneath my dignity, and it was unattractive, too. What was wrong with me? I was one big emotional storm. This truly didn’t seem like me, yet I was undeniably enraged. Janie’s and Robin’s shared smile had given me an utterly baseless sense of betrayal. I was so angry that I wished, not for the first time, that I were a lesbian. But a female couple probably had their share of lovers’ spats, too. After all, it wasn’t men I was unhappy with; it was vulnerability. I’d just had enough pain for a while.

I knew that I had a better life than maybe 90 percent of the women in the world, and I wasn’t trying to be Pitiful Pearl. But after the little hurts of life that almost everyone sustains, I’d more or less just gotten through the staggering shock of losing my husband. More pain was something I hadn’t signed up for when I’d succumbed to- okay, welcomed-the revival of my relationship with Robin.

“Eff him,” I said. My spine straightened. That felt good. I swung a fist up and shook it. “Eff him.” That felt better. I was pleasurably shocked at myself.

“Eff who?” asked my boss.

“Robin,” I said after I’d jumped maybe a mile. “He’s out there flirting with Janie. I just don’t need that today. Actually, I don’t need that any day. I need security. I need devotion.” I couldn’t believe I was saying this to my boss. I had known Sam forever, and I won’t say we hadn’t experienced some mind-to-mind talks, because we had. But he had never been anywhere close to the top of my list of confidants.

Sam patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Sorry about your sister-in-law,” he said. I came out of my selfish absorption to register Sam’s appearance. He looked awful. He was drawn and pale, and he’d visibly lost