The Last Thing She Said Read online

  “There’s no telling what they may conclude,” Chris said.

  “It wouldn’t be smart for you to take this letter to your supervisors or even the feds without verifying it first,” Doris said in a maternal tone so sweet that it could produce a sugar rush.

  “You want us to look into the Livingston case ourselves,” Helen said.

  “Dear, we need to think about Shannon’s kids,” Doris said. “They lost their father two months ago. Now, they’ve lost their mother. Next, they’re going to find out that she wasn’t who she said she was.”

  “The second it gets out that murder mystery author Mercedes Livingston had run off with another man, people will assume she’d extorted a fortune from her father, killed her husband, and buried his body in the woods.” Chris shook the letter. “That’s why Shannon wrote this letter. She’s asking me to prove she didn’t kill George Livingston so that the Blakeley kids don’t have to go through the trauma of everyone assuming their mother was a homicidal maniac.”

  “And Christopher knows first-hand what it’s like for folks to think his mother is crazy,” Doris said.

  Helen took in a deep breath. “I can’t sit on this evidence forever.”

  “We’re not asking you to,” Chris said. “Only until the Geezer Squad has time to investigate it.”

  Shushing him, Helen glanced over her shoulder at Doris.

  “Oh, I know all about your book club’s dirty little secret.” Doris rose to her feet and snatched the letter from Chris’s hand. “Like you really thought you could hide the Geezer Squad from me.”

  “You told your mother about us!” Helen said with a hiss. “The Geezers are gonna kill you!”

  Shaking his head, Chris held up his hands in surrender. “I never said a word.”

  “Elliott talks in his sleep,” Doris said on her way out of the barn.

  Helen Clarke and her daughter lived in Shannondale, called “the mountain.” High above the Shenandoah River, the community was located on the West Virginia side of the Appalachian Trail.

  Growing up in Harpers Ferry, Helen and Chris had been high school sweethearts until their breakup after graduation. After law school, Helen had attended the police academy in southern West Virginia where she had met and married Sierra’s father. After their divorce, she returned to the place of her roots and bought a modest three-bedroom home tucked along the side of the mountain. A wrap-around deck and sunroom showed off the tremendous view of the Shenandoah River and the valley below.

  Built as a summer cabin for a wealthy couple who resided in Washington DC, her home was too small for most people. It was just the right size for Helen and her daughter. The finished basement walked out to a rock garden that spilled down the hillside. Sierra joked that there was not one level piece of ground where they lived. She was right.

  It was Helen’s dream home. As a child, she had always wanted to live on the mountain.

  The downside of being a detective is that you see up close and personal the horrendous things that some people can do to other human beings—innocent souls who have mothers. Helen was over-protective—a trait she embraced. She refused to allow her daughter to go out with a boy who she had not personally met. She would also run a police background check on his family just to be safe.

  Despite the career-making break in the Mercedes Livingston kidnapping, Helen was aware of the time. The sun was setting on the opposite side of the valley to signal that time was running out. Abandoning her quest to take possession of the letter, she rushed home to interrogate Sierra’s date.

  With her mind focused on walking the delicate line of protecting her daughter without embarrassing her, Helen turned off of Skyline Drive and down into the driveway. She hit the brakes when she saw a red SUV.

  What’s he doing here?

  Helen’s lips pursed. Her eyes narrowed. Grabbing her bag, she threw open the door and marched into the house.

  “No, I’m not cancelling my date,” Sierra was saying when she walked in. She resumed texting on her phone while waiting on the sofa in the great room.

  “What are you doing here?” Helen tossed her bag onto the sofa.

  With a roll of his eyes, Thomas Clarke turned around from where he was admiring the view through the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows. “I wanted to see my daughter. She blew me off last month.”

  “I didn’t blow you off,” Sierra said. “You and Deborah decided to go on that survivalist weekend.”

  “We invited you to come with us.”

  “Why would I want to spend a weekend sleeping on rocks and foraging for food?”

  “It was meant to be a bonding experience. Adversity brings people together.”

  Sierra rolled her eyes, pushed up from the sofa, and went down the hall to her room.

  “How much did you and Deborah pay for that survival weekend?” Helen asked.

  “None of your business.”

  “That much?” She laughed. “Smart people avoid adversity. They don’t pay good money for it. Admit it—Deborah set up that getaway because she knew Sierra wouldn’t want to go and she’d have you all to herself.”

  “Bull! You’re the one who poisoned Sierra against me. Even if we hadn’t decided to go on that weekend, Sierra would have been a mopey lump on a log the whole time.”

  “Why even go then?” Sierra re-entered the great room. She had put on her jacket. Her purse was slung over her shoulder. “I’m going to meet Brad at Chick-fil-a. See ya.” Before anyone could stop her, she went out the door.

  “Good job!” Helen said with heavy sarcasm. “You drove seven-and-a-half hours to pick a fight with your daughter.”

  “Who’s this Chris guy?”

  Helen blinked. “Chris?”

  Thomas jabbed the air with his finger. “What’s your boyfriend doing buying my sixteen-year-old daughter a horse?”

  “He didn’t buy a horse for Sierra,” Helen said. “Coco was a 4-H horse that he bought for his farm.” She patted her own chest. “I bought Coco from him for Sierra because she wanted her.”

  “And she’s been going to his place riding with him every weekend,” he said with a snarl. “She’d rather go riding with him than come see me.”

  “He’s giving her riding lessons.”

  “Are you there during these riding lessons?”

  “No, his daughters are.”

  “She’s talking about him all the time.” He shook his head. “Ain’t natural.”

  “She’s talking about him all the time because he listens to her. She tells him things that she should be telling you.” She jabbed him in the chest. “Chris is a caring compassionate man—always has been—and I’m thrilled that she has someone like him in her life. Every teenager needs a responsible adult who they feel they can go to. Chris has become that person.”

  “So he’s a pervert,” Thomas said with a nod of his head.

  She grabbed him by the hand and dug her thumb into his palm. Even though he was taller and more muscular than she, he was no match for her when she hit the pressure point to send him to his knees. “That’s mighty rich coming from a man who walked out on his wife and daughter for a twenty-two-year-old personal trainer with size-D implants,” she hissed into his ear while he cringed. She twisted his wrist behind his back and shoved him face-first to the floor. “You don’t want to go there, Thomas.”

  She watched him slowly climb to his knees. “Be careful driving home.”

  He cringed. “I can’t go home.”

  She clenched her teeth. “Why not?”

  “Deborah kicked me out.” He looked up at her. “I have nowhere else to go.”

  Chapter Five

  Nothing topped dinner and a cold case of mystery.

  One phone call from Doris to Elliott Prescott about the revelations in Shannon’s letter was all it took. Elliott passed the word to the rest of
the book club that they had a case. He didn’t go into the details. He didn’t have to. Any Geezer with plans cancelled them.

  Under the guise of a book club that focused on crime fiction, the self-proclaimed Geezer Squad consisted of law enforcement retirees.

  At forty-seven years old, Chris was the youngest. His fellow club members called him “the kid.” Since his late father had been a founding member, legacy was the only reason they had allowed him into the club—or so they claimed.

  The other founding member was Elliott Prescott. No one was quite sure from what agency the muscular older man with a gruff manner had retired. It was suspected that if anyone uncovered that information, he’d have to kill them.

  The Geezer Squad had indeed originated as a book club.

  Retiring after getting shot in the line of duty, State Police Captain Kirk Matheson had joined a book club meeting at the library on the firm recommendation of his wife. That was where Kirk had met Elliott, another restless law enforcement retiree.

  The two geezers became instant partners in disruption.

  They would only read that month’s selection if it was a crime fiction novel. If the club was lucky enough for the two geezers to have read that month’s book, then they would be honored by a tirade, in stereo, about the technical errors in the plotline. As if that wasn’t bad enough, they would provide graphic accounts of real-life line of duty incidents to prove their points.

  The book club elected Doris to kick the two geezers out.

  The expulsion didn’t stop Kirk and Elliott.

  They decided to start their own book club—restricted to law enforcement retirees with the focus on crime fiction. It wasn’t long before the club stopped reading books and started focusing on those cold cases that kept them up at night.

  The Geezer Squad was born.

  The feisty crimefighters had to operate in secret due to fear of their families, who would freak out if they’d discovered that their retired spouses or parents were chasing real-life murderers.

  Less than an hour after Doris had called, Elliott Prescott was letting himself in the side door. The crow’s feet around his eyes deepened as he took in a deep breath. “Is that my sweet bed bug’s chili I’m smelling?” he asked while shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it on a hook in the mudroom.

  His entrance to the kitchen and sunroom was blocked by Sterling, who clutched a yellow tennis ball in his mouth. The dog’s tail wagged. Elliott relented and tossed the ball into the sunroom for him to retrieve. After capturing the ball, Sterling dropped into his dog bed, rolled over onto his back, and chewed on the toy.

  In the bed next to him, Thor lay motionless with her eyes focused on the collection of birds filling the array of feeders at the edge of the yard. The rabbit sat so still that no one would have known she was there—except for her neon pink dress and hat.

  “Your bed bug is upstairs getting dressed,” Chris said while stirring the chili simmering in a large pot on the stove. The counter was littered with remnants of onions, pepper cores, empty cans, and a host of spices. He scooped out a taste on a spoon and blew onto it.

  “I found the old case file Dad had put together on the Livingston case.” Chris gestured at the case file box resting in the middle of the kitchen table where the meeting was going to be held. “We’re expecting a long meeting, so Mom threw together a pot for us. Jacqui is making a salad. Francine is picking up a batch of cornbread from the bakery in town. Bruce is bringing the wine, of course. We have ice cream in the freezer for dessert.”

  Chris took a cautious sip of the chili and cringed. “It’s missing something.” He resumed stirring the pot while puzzling over the missing ingredient.

  “And I’ve brought my charming good looks.” Elliott took a spoon from the drawer and took a taste. “It’s a little bland.”

  Chris took another taste. “A lot bland.”

  As realization moved in for Chris, Elliott took a second taste. The two men shook their spoons at each other. “Chili powder!” they said in unison.

  Chris examined the row of spices assembled on the counter. Finding the bottle, he took off the lid, shook enough out to fill the spoon, and sprinkled it into the pot while Elliott stirred.

  “How’s your mom handling Shannon’s passing?” Elliott asked while gesturing for Chris to add more chili powder.

  “She’s holding up.” Chris shook a bit more of the powder into the chili. “She doesn’t like to cry in front of people.”

  “Don’t be shy, kid. It’s gonna need a lot more than that little pinch you put in.” Elliott took another taste. “That letter Shannon left probably took her mind off of losing her best friend.”

  Instead putting in more of the spice, Chris tasted the chili. “You’re right.” He shook out another spoonful to dump into the pot.

  “I’ve always sensed that Shannon had something to hide. Never occurred to me that she was a runaway legendary author.” Elliott took the spice from him, unscrewed the lid, and dumped a bunch into the pot—much to Chris’s dismay. He took in the strong scent that rose from the pot and let out a pleased sigh. He took a taste and licked his lips. “That’s it.”

  Chris’s eyes watered from the spicy heat as he took a taste. “That cleared my sinuses.” He grinned. “I think we got it.”

  The two men bumped fists as Elliott felt a small needle-like trap snap onto his ankle. He jumped back and looked to see what had attacked him. The tiny pup yapped up at the newcomer with the ferocity of a big dog. “Did someone wash Sterling in hot water and shrink him?”

  “That’s Chompers.” Chris scooped up the pup. “We got him at the soccer game today. He was free.”

  Elliott rubbed his stinging ankle. “What was he? The door prize?”

  Chris carried the pup down the back stairs to the family room where the girls were having a movie night during the grown-ups’ meeting. “Emma! You need to teach Chompers not to bite!”

  While Chris disappeared down the back stairs, Doris was descending from the floor above. She had changed out of her sedate work clothes into a comfortable pair of blue jeans and light tan sweater with a colorful scarf that floated around her shoulders and down to her hips. Her thick blond hair framed her lovely face.

  Damn, I’m one lucky man. Elliott had been hesitant to make his feelings for Doris known after his friend’s sudden death from a massive heart attack. His attraction wasn’t instant. He had noticed her beauty. No man could miss the agelessness of her smile and the grace with which she crossed a room.

  There were many attractive women around—women who weren’t his best friend’s wife. But it was Doris with whom Elliott enjoyed engaging in playful banters with at the library. She possessed a quick wit unlike any woman he had ever known—and he had known many. Doris was the one who challenged him to read more. Reading provided him material with which to debate.

  The thought of his feelings moving beyond friendship didn’t cross Elliott’s mind until after they had buried her husband and multiple men started angling to take Kirk’s place in her life.

  Appearances would not look good for either of them if Elliott had made a move on her too soon. Yet, Doris was receiving invitations at a high rate for lunch, cocktails, and weekends in Atlantic City. Fearful that he would lose his chance if he waited too long, he actively courted her.

  Doris wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his shoulder. “Oh, Elliott,” she sighed.

  He held her tight. “I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “She’s with Billy now.”

  “But I’m going to miss her,” she murmured. “So much.” She raised her eyes to his. “What am I going to do without my best friend?”

  “You still have me.”

  “I sure do.” She planted a soft lingering kiss on his lips before placing her mouth close to his ear. “You’ve been messing with my chili.”

  “Chr
is was the one who put the extra chili powder in,” Elliott said.

  “At Elliott’s direction,” Chris said upon returning to the kitchen. “There wasn’t any in it.” With a gesture for Elliott to follow him, he went to the kitchen table and removed the lid from the box.

  “You know what I always say. If you don’t like my cooking, you can do it.” Doris went to the stove to stir the chili.

  “Mom screws up recipes on purpose,” Chris told Elliott in a low voice. “Last week, she made brownies with salt instead of sugar. She thinks that if she messes up enough meals that I’ll think she’s going senile and start doing all of the cooking.”

  “How’s that working for her?” Elliott asked.

  “I do all of the household repairs,” Chris said while skimming notations in a notepad. “I do the barn chores and yard work. I do the girls’ laundry and make them breakfast and lunch. Is it too much to ask my mom to cook dinner?”

  “I cook dinner.” Doris flashed a wicked grin at the back of her son’s head. “Last night, I made my world-famous tuna casserole.”

  “Don’t you mean infamous?” Chris shot back in her direction.

  “I like your mom’s tuna casserole,” Elliott said.

  “She’s dating you, Elliott,” Chris said with a sigh. “You can stop pretending now.”

  “No, I really do like her tuna casserole.” Elliott shot a grin into the kitchen.

  Doris winked at him as the mudroom door flew open. Jacqui Guilfoye, a slender blond-haired woman, held the door open for Ray Nolan, a heavyset man with a thick beard and eyeglasses, to roll through the doorway in his motorized wheelchair. He carried a huge plastic bowl filled with salad in his lap.

  A retired medical examiner from Pennsylvania, Jacqui had the physique of a younger woman. The lines around her mouth and eyes gave away her age. It was plain to see that she had been a looker in her youth. She had married her mentor right out of medical school. It was his second marriage. They had no children. After a long and successful marriage, they built their dream home on top of the mountain overlooking the Shenandoah Valley. Then, her husband died—leaving her alone.