Death of a Dumb Bunny Page 3

  “Fidelity isn’t his strong suit?” Mrs. Graves asked.

  “Condemned by the company he keeps,” Mr. Jackman agreed. “Nadine Watts has never been big on the seventh commandment. This seems a little blatant though. Surely the wife knows what’s going on.”

  “Marnie Andrews is a complete doormat,” Mrs. Graves said with a sigh.

  “He better hope she’s a doormat,” I muttered. Because of my own history, I take a dim view of cheating. “Well, we best be off. Alex is slaving over a pan of steaming eggs and I promised him cotton candy as a reward.”

  “See you at the egg hunt. And thank you again for the dinner invitation,” Mrs. Graves said.

  “Thank Mr. Jackman. He’s cooking our ham.” I hugged them both and then stepped around the pacing red-head.

  Loaded up with Good Friday loot, Blue and I stopped at Past Glories and I picked up a couple of movies that had no redeeming social merit, but lots of laughs and a few car chases.

  I detoured around Washington Street. Knowing the last minute rush at the Kandy Kounter, I had picked up a chocolate bunny and foil eggs a week ago. Fortunately, cellophane grass lasts forever so my old Easter basket would work fine for Alex’s treats.

  And if that wasn’t enough sugar for my husband, I had made Easter cut-out cookies and decorated them with sugar sprinkles.

  Alex had the Easter eggs covered. Mr. Jackman was making our ham. We were all set for a vernal celebration.

  Chapter 3

  There were six dozen eggs on the counter, sitting in their cartons, mostly pink. The green ones just looked moldy, Alex explained, and brown eggs weren’t exciting. The kitchen was a bit odorous from the eggs and vinegar Alex had used to fix the dye, but I kind of liked the smell since it was Eastery.

  There was also a small bowl of pink eggs on the dining room table next to the vase of daffodils. They had been flattened past hope of resurrection by yesterday’s rain so I cut them and brought them in before the snails feasted on them.

  “Those are our eggs. The cats seemed to want some and I like deviled egg sandwiches. Besides, I kind of messed up the dye on those. They’re spotty.” Alex was tucking in to his cotton candy and sounded a bit sticky.

  “I like deviled eggs too. And I always fix an egg for the cats. They like to roll them around the floor until they crack the shell.”

  “Well, I guess you’ve got to kill your prey before you eat it,” he said reasonably. “Did you see the postcard from Elvis?”

  I picked up the picture of the hotel at Molly Mines where we had gotten married. The back said: Opening Night went great! Wish you were here— Elvis.

  “That was sweet of him. Especially when I don’t think he’s comfortable writing letters.” Or doing lots of things that normal people do. Elvis, our minister, believed that he had been kidnapped by aliens and they had done something to him up in their spaceship. Something had happened to Elvis King alright, but I suspected the brain trauma came from being electrocuted by a rival Elvis.

  Thinking of other Elvises, I asked: “Have you heard anything from Hawaii?” Hawaiian Elvis was Federal Marshal Macpherson. We had met him in Molly Mines while he was undercover, investigating the Elvis murders.

  “Nothing about the case. He did say that he is thinking of taking a vacation in July and visiting Hope Falls.”

  “That would be nice. I wonder what he’ll make of our town.”

  “Or Hope Falls of him. Oh. Your mom called while you were out. She wanted to know if you had picked an Easter dress yet. I guess it is supposed to match your hat?” Alex sounded tentative. I hadn’t complained a lot about my bonnet but Alex isn’t stupid.

  Picking an Easter dress had become as big a bone of contention as choosing a bridal gown had been, but I supposed it had to be done.

  “Nothing I own matches my hat. It has white doves in a willow-twig nest and faux Fabergé eggs in synthetic grass. I look like one of those village women trying to carry a meal for a family of four on my head.”

  “I don’t know, it sounds like anything would work with that.” Alex grinned at me. “My mom showed me her hat. It has a stuffed white bunny and baby chicks and lots of purple silk flowers. She’s renting a costume to wear. It’s very… purple. She looks like a grape.”

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better.” I giggled. “Althea has a whole flock of bluebirds in a rose bush. It’s real tall and if there is any wind at all, she’ll go airborne.”

  “See, a couple doves and eggs are not so bad. And in aid of keeping our spirits bright, I thought I would pop down for a pizza while you look in your closet for a dress. Just pick something and call your Mom, okay?”

  “Okay. Tomorrow we can do any last minute shopping for dinner.” I already had the ham laid by, but a big meal for lots of people always needed last minute trimmings.

  “I’ll take your bike downtown,” Alex said. “I could use some exercise.”

  “Blue will like that.” My bike has a sidecar for our dog to ride in. We had only brought it out of storage in the last week. Winter had been too long and too cold to tempt any of us with exposed travel.

  “Back in a bit,” Alex said and gave me a kiss goodbye. We had only been married for a few weeks and I was still a bit shocked but pleased by the whole thing.

  As I had feared, my closet yielded little in the way of dress that went with jeweled eggs. The best bet was my wedding dress, but it seemed a little soon to be wearing it to anything as casual as an egg hunt. But then I recalled that I had one of my Grandma Boston’s party dresses in the spare room. It was her ‘Sunday, goin’ to the church sociable’ dress. It had a sweetheart neckline edged with hand-tatted lace, and acres of yardage in the skirt that really needed a hoop or several crinolines. All I had was a limp petticoat, but it would do in a pinch.

  The yellowed fabric was a kind of thick linen and printed with a block-cut of red and pink strawberries and their light and dark green leaves. Later in life, Grandma had rounded out, but as a teen, she had been slender as well as short. I always felt a little like I was playing dress-up when I put the frock on. Probably because I had played dress-up in it as a child. It wasn’t my usual kind of thing, but it would about stand up to my umbrella-sized bonnet.

  The frock was the only clothing of my grandmother’s that I had kept. The dress was out of character for the woman I knew, who was uncanny— even witch-like when annoyed— and given to wearing loud caftans that she had knit for herself. This frock was innocent and tasteful, and I suspected that my great grandmother had chosen it for her daughter. Great Grandma Gigi had come from aristocracy in Seattle and retained her love of pretty things even after moving to Hope Falls with her roughneck, entrepreneurial husband.

  The cats followed me down the hall to the guest room, intrigued by the seldom-opened closet and the smell of mothballs in the brittle garment bag.

  An honest evaluation in bright light showed me that the dress needed washing and then ironing. I groaned thinking about all the gathers in the skirt that would have to be pressed. But the hem was quite dirty and I knew that Mom— and Aunt Dot and Althea and probably Alex’s Mom and Aunt Elizabeth— would complain if I turned up in a grubby dress. Feeling put upon, I ran some cool water in the bathtub and poured in a small amount of lingerie soap. It smelled nice, like blood oranges, and I knew that it would be kinder to the old fabric than a modern detergent.

  I don’t have a washboard or even a nicely shaped rock for doing laundry, so I resorted to rubbing the fabric against itself as I had seen my grandmother do when camping and grandpa had messed up her bath towel by cleaning fish on it. I felt a bit silly but it seemed to work. Or maybe the older, rougher weave of the fabric released dirt better than modern material does. In any event, I had a more or less clean dress by the time Alex and Blue returned with a super-veggie pizza. And I was on moral high-ground. Mom couldn’t complain that I had chosen sentiment over buying something new to match her bonnet. As if anything in town could.

  The cats didn’t
approve of the washing process since it involved water, and their comments left no doubt that they preferred dying Easter eggs with Alex. Of course, if I wanted to bribe them with treats, they would be willing to stay and keep me company. Blue was interested though and came to watch when she and Alex got back from the pizza parlor. She would have gotten in the tub during the rinse out if I had let her.

  It took every bath towel we had to dry the dress. I laid them side by side on the hall floor and then put the sopping dress on top. Then more towels and then I rolled it tightly. I had to repeat this three times to get the dress dry enough to hang over the shower door, but at least I hadn’t damaged the fabric by ringing it out, nor was it too badly wrinkled. I might be able to iron it in only one day.

  The towels got stuffed in the dryer before I went to eat.

  It rained again that night, which is an excellent excuse for hot chocolate, cookies and a fire, along with a DVD. Looking out the living room window before I closed the shutters on the dark, I saw a few people hurrying through the rain, wading carefully through the stream that had sprung up in the middle of the street. The orange street light made the water look like orange juice. I don’t care for this light. It seems unnatural and doesn’t flatter anyone.

  Good Friday was almost over. For some reason, I was feeling vaguely troubled, but when I thought about why I was bothered, all I kept seeing were red sandals with very high heels. That made no sense at all. I figured that my subconscious was still worrying about my Easter outfit.

  Chapter 4

  The pecans were in their proper place on the third shelf next to the other nuts, but the butterscotch pudding had moved again. It was annoying and I half suspected that my cousin, Todd, had done it on purpose. You can make monkey bread with other flavors of pudding, but I like butterscotch.

  “Okay, Blue, where is it?” I asked and then followed her nose to the proper shelf and tossed a couple boxes in the wagon. The market uses old Radio-Flyer wagons instead of grocery carts. “Thanks. Now I’ll make it home in time to iron my dress before reporting for work.”

  Blue woofed softly. She was wearing her therapy dog vest while we were in the market so there would be no questions. Blue loves the market, especially the butcher and the baker, both of whom slip her things. Of the two, I think Blue likes the gingersnaps more than the tri-tip, but she never lets anyone else suspect that she has favorites.

  As I leaned into the freezer, trying for the last bag of frozen dinner rolls, I noticed a pair of bright red sandals go tottering by. A swipe of the frost glass showed me the backside of Nadine Watts, clearly outlined by a white stretchy skirt that was sheer enough to show off a red thong. She was carrying a bottle of champagne. I doubted she was planning a seasonal celebration with the widows and orphans.

  Blue snorted, expressing distaste for her perfume.

  “Exactly,” I said. But almost at once I began to feel uneasy. Turning slowly, I saw a petite woman with soft brown hair and a stark white face also staring at Nadine Watts. She had a bottle of wine in hand, which was clenched so tightly that her knuckles showed white.

  I wasn’t acquainted with Marnie Andrews, but I was pretty sure that this was who I was looking at. Before I could decide whether to introduce myself and perhaps prevent a bottle being thrown at the councilwoman, the principal’s wife turned away. She also had on red heels, though not as preposterously high as Councilwoman Watts.

  “Blue, things could get ugly. Do you think we should warn The Chief about this?”

  Blue thought it might be a little early to disturb The Chief of Police on the weekend, especially since I might run into him casually after work and not have to interrupt him at home when his family from Los Angeles was visiting.

  * * *

  I waved at Father McIlhenny as I turned onto Larkrise and sped up to a blistering four miles per hour. There is no parking by the church, so no need to linger. Though I was enjoying the colorful annuals people had planted for the weekend, I was distracted by footwear. Local people were still— mostly— being sensible about the streets and the cold, but tourists in high heel were everywhere. I wondered if the hospital was getting a lot of extra business in turned ankles.

  I spotted Golightly’s Escalade near the park but it was parked legally. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see inside, though I gave it the old college try.

  Curiosity might have compelled me to stay a little longer in hope of catching a glimpse of Bobby Golightly, but I saw Alex across the street. He and Dad were on the courthouse steps. Blue woofed in happy recognition of two of her favorite people and I felt myself smiling all over as they waved at us.

  Blue and I stopped briefly at the Hope Falls Animal Clinic. Dr. Mumm encourages his doggie patients to drop in for cookies and pats from the vet techs. He says it lessens the dog’s dislike of the clinic if they can go there and not have anything bad happen. It certainly works with Blue. She also enjoys see Basset, the clinic’s mascot cat. Basset is a Maine Coon and too laid back to be bothered by canines, even large ones like Blue.

  Chilled and tired, I turned in my vehicle at five and then stopped by Mom’s house to pick up my bonnet and Blue’s Easter collar. I told her about wearing Grandma’s dress and she seemed pleased with my choice, which was good because the stores were closed and I had spent a long time ironing the gathered tiers of that skirt.

  Alex was getting Chinese for dinner— with extra pot-stickers though Bob and Rosemary had decided to go to a dinner party with Mary Elizabeth instead of having dinner with us. It was wonderful that they were making new friends and not relying on Alex and me for their entertainment. Rosemary had a real bee in her bonnet and was getting stubborn enough to be really annoying. She wanted more grandchildren. I believe in recycling, even ideas and impulses since many concepts can’t be fully explored in one sitting, but not when conversations become nagging. What did she think? That Alex and I said it was too soon for kids on Monday, but by Saturday we would change our minds?

  Sighing, I put my enormous bonnet on the backseat of the car. My work was done for the day. Except for putting together Alex’s Easter basket and getting the monkey bread ready for tomorrow morning. I would do the basket after he was asleep. Maybe I would hide it and let him hunt for it. That would probably appeal to him.

  Chapter 5

  It is fortunate, since that parade goes on rain or shine, that the sun was cooperative that morning. Elaborate bonnets and well-dressed egg-hunters could pass review undimmed by heavenly tears— I’m quoting Althea. Though not a sweet person, she often says things that could put a diabetic in a sugar coma.

  All over Hope Falls, families would be getting ready for the event. It was tradition. I didn’t have to see him to know that Dad, as the new mayor, would be wearing a bunch of baby carrots on the lapel of his blue velvet coat and a yellow ribbon on his top hat as he led the procession. I’d asked Alex, since he wasn’t in the parade, to get a picture of him. Dad hadn’t bought the outfit special. The hat and coat have always been in his closet, though heaven knows where he had collected such relics. Maybe he had played The Mad Hatter back in high school when he did theatrics? He would also be carrying the official walking stick wrapped with colored ribbons, a sort of portable Maypole that passed from mayor to mayor.

  The Bernese Mountain Dog Rescue Team was in the parade, of course, each one pulling a little cart filled with flowers or a toddler. Easter, Christmas and Saint Patrick’s Day brought them out because there is nothing a Bernese Mountain dog likes better than a parade. Blue looks a bit like their short-haired sister and is always happy to see them.

  All this was a given and expected. Alex was the variable and he was doing fine. The man does love his holidays.

  Alex was enjoying a sarsaparilla while visiting with his parents. Bob and Rosemary were staying with Mary Elizabeth while their new cottage was repainted and carpeted. They had stayed with us the first night, but Zoom and Lucy (aka the feline riders of the apocalypse) had escaped their kitty-proofed half
of the duplex while we were out to dinner and we had come home to a snowstorm of feathery down. Rosemary would have liked to have blamed Apollo and Aphrodite, but Zoom and Lucy were found inside the duvet, still clawing the fabric when we went into the bedroom. Given the close call earlier in the day— Zoom was lucky I checked the dryer before slamming the door— Bob and Rosemary had taken the cats and moved in with Mary Elizabeth the next morning. I wondered how Alex’s aunt, both childless and petless, was coping. At least Rosemary wouldn’t be nagging Mary Elizabeth about babies or anything else. Alex’s aunt is formidable.

  Anyhow, I had passed on the twin treats of a morning visit with the in-laws and frosty cold sarsaparilla, being full of monkey-bread and not wanting to have to make too many trips to the port-a-potty in my grandma’s voluminous dress and my even more voluminous bonnet. We would be seeing Bob and Rosemary at dinner. That was visit enough for one day. Especially with Rosemary looking so thoughtful. Usually ideas improve with thought, but not Rosemary’s. All that was on her mind right now was grandchildren. I wonder what her next campaign would look like and if Alex would be really angry if I yelled at his mother.

  Though a little chilly, the day would be counted a success in my books, at least so far. There was no need to feel uneasy. Alex had loved his Easter basket. Blue loved her new Kong. The cats had enjoyed chasing a stray jellybean around the floor, which was nice since they would miss out on other festivities and goodies that Alex, Blue and I would enjoy. Not that they could possibly be hungry for anything after their breakfast. As customary, at our house, the animals eat first. Coming out of bad situations, a full food bowl first thing in the morning— and last thing at night— made everyone feel safe and happy. After all, you never know when some calamity might lead to a worldwide crunchies shortage. The bottom of the bowl was good reason for feline panic. And anyway, the monkey-bread needed time to bake, so why not keep the peace and share the bacon and boiled eggs on Easter as a second course.