* * *
My phone rang at four in the morning. I hoped it was a wrong number, because I was not ready to rise and face some kind of emergency. And why else would anyone call at that hour?
“Hello?” I croaked.
“Soph!” It was Mars’s voice. “Is it true that Abby Bergeron is dead?”
Oh no. I would never get back to sleep now. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The truth was that it didn’t even occur to me to notify Mars. “It was late when I came home.”
“You were there?” The phone line went dead.
“Mars? Mars?” Ugh. He was on his way over. And he had a key. We had swapped keys for ease of picking up Daisy. If I didn’t get up, he’d sit on the edge of my bed and bombard me with questions.
I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on a fluffy white bathrobe, and stumbled down the stairs. Mochie sprang ahead of me, and Daisy was as alert as if she’d slept the whole night.
I flicked on the outdoor light just in time to see Mars run across the slumbering street and up to my kitchen door. I opened it for him.
I yawned. “Why is this such an emergency?”
He held out a plastic container full of croissants and breakfast breads. “A peace offering.”
“You came prepared to bribe me?”
“They’re from the Laughing Hound. Day old but still good.”
After breaking up with Natasha, Mars had moved in with our friend Bernie, who ran The Laughing Hound, a popular local restaurant. The two of them lived in a mansion catty-corner from my house.
“No wonder you haven’t moved out of there.”
Mars shrugged. “It’s convenient and comfortable. Bernie brings home a lot of leftovers, so I never have to cook. Altogether convenient. Not to mention that Natasha still hasn’t paid me for my share of our house.”
I wasn’t getting involved in their financial dealings. “Coffee or tea?”
“Better make it coffee. I need to be fully awake when I talk to Wesley.”
“How did you hear about Abby?” I asked.
“Wesley called me ten minutes before I phoned you. He was distraught. I figured if anyone knew what was going on, it would be you.”
“Thank you so much,” I said wryly. “How did he hear about it?” I poured coffee for Mars and steeped hot English breakfast tea for myself. I brought the mugs to the table with milk, sugar, spoons, and napkins, and I placed the breakfast breads on a platter.
“One of his staffers, I think. Bernie said the news made it to the Laughing Hound last night, so I assume it’s spreading like wildfire.”
“You woke Bernie, too?”
“He turned over and went right back to sleep.”
I should have been so lucky.
Mars stared at the mugs listlessly. A faint smile crossed his lips. “Sophie’s brew. I’ve put a spell on you!” he read. “Where did you find these?”
“A gift from Nina.”
“Figures. Very funny.”
Mars stirred his coffee, and the smile faded. “I liked Abby. What happened to her? Heart attack? A bad fall?”
“I doubt it. No one, not even Wolf, knows much yet. She was in her freezer.”
Mars’s spoon clanked to the table. “Are you kidding me? Someone stuffed her into a freezer?”
“I’m afraid so.” I took a long drag on my hot tea.
“How would you do that? Aren’t the shelves in the way?”
“Not in chest freezers. They’re basically a big box. There might be a couple of baskets to divide the space, but they can be lifted out very easily.”
Mars cupped his coffee in his hands as though he had gone cold. “It never occurred to me that she might have been murdered. I thought for sure that she had some medical emergency or a disease that I didn’t know about.” He looked me in the eyes. “Who would want to kill Abby?”
“You’re the one who knew her. I wasn’t aware of her existence until you told me about her.” I watched his expression. “She had an ex-husband.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“They’ll probably suspect him first.”
Mars stared into his mug. “Um, Soph, there’s something you should know. It’s not a big deal actually, but I went out with Abby a couple of times.”
Chapter 9
Dear Natasha,
My mom has a cooking blog. She’s very proud of it, and she’s a great cook. But when she serves a casserole and takes a photo, it looks like garbage! How can I tell her it’s turning people off?
Worried Son in Difficult, Tennessee
Dear Worried Son,
What is your mother doing making casseroles? Is she stuck in the 1960s? Bring her up-to-date by explaining that no one eats casseroles anymore!
Natasha
It was far too early in the morning for that kind of revelation. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Mars was a smart, good-looking guy with a sense of humor. I’d heard that single women our age were chasing him in Old Town. Still, it came as a shock to me.
“Don’t look at me that way. We went out twice.”
“And . . . ?”
“And nothing. She’s still in an I-just-got-divorced fog. She was nice enough, but there wasn’t a spark.”
It wasn’t funny, but I had to swallow an urge to giggle. “A spark?”
“No chemistry. Does that sound better?”
I knew what he meant. And this really wasn’t the time to tease him about it, anyway. “Are you trying to tell me that Wolf will be coming to talk to you as soon as he’s done with the ex-husband?”
“I’d say that would be very likely.”
There was no point in asking if he had an alibi. No one knew yet when Abby had died. And I didn’t have to ask if he had murdered Abby. I knew Mars better than anyone. He didn’t have it in him to kill someone. Even if it had been an accident, he would have been a stand-up guy and called an ambulance. That was Mars. Still, the cops would have to consider him a possible suspect. “Was she dating anyone else?”
“If she was, she didn’t tell me about it,” he said. “Maybe Tilly knows.”
“They spent a lot of time together in the kitchen. They probably talked about many things. Wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
I wasn’t sure how I could broach the subject of his client without sounding accusatory, so I just blurted it out. “Any chance Wesley was involved with her?”
Mars’s face lost all its color. “No!” He thought for a moment. “No,” he stated firmly. “What would give you that idea?”
I turned the tables on him. “Why would Wesley call you about Abby in the middle of the night?”
“Because she was working with Tilly. The newshounds will be all over this. It has to be handled very carefully. I’ll write a press release about how sad they are and what a wonderful person she was.”
I didn’t press him, but our eyes met across the kitchen table.
Mars massaged his forehead. “Wesley isn’t that stupid.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. As if that would prevent a politician from straying. The newspapers were full of stories about infidelity in the political arena.