Wine, Dine and Christmas Crimes, Maria Swan [best short novels of all time .TXT] 📗

he didn’t hesitate, and we walked up the Bakers’ driveway, to the back door of Brenda’s home. I handed him Dior’s leash while I got the key and unlocked. Brenda’s message was still stuck to the door.

We looked at each other. “Should I leave it?” I asked.

“I would if I were you,” he said.

He walked into the house while I went to dump the icky bag in the trash can. He sat quietly on the couch while Dior drank from his water bowl like he was about to die of thirst. I was drying my hand when I worked up the courage to ask, with as much as nonchalance I could muster, if he knew where Brenda went.

He shook his head. “Hard to tell, I tried to explain to her that the best thing to do was wait by the phone. I’m guessing she consulted a lawyer? Leta is not being accused of anything. Okay, maybe that’s not completely accurate. They may charge her with withholding evidence, but it’s a long shot.” He knew what was going on.

“Where does B&B Catering come in?” I asked.

“Well, it was the company van, but I assume Leta had no clue that she was transporting the victim’s personal belongings. Regardless, once the media gets hold of the details, it will be public knowledge, and as I told Brenda, she can’t avoid the publicity. Her only hope is to spin it in her favor.”

I looked at quiet Bob Clarke, and found his narrative very intelligent and sensitive. Too bad Brenda insisted on calling him just a friend while the over-perfumed widow across the street was busy spinning a solid web. And I had no clue what he was talking about. So I offered him a glass of Brenda’s wine and asked if he had ever heard of a secret group who spread police secrets before the media knew.

Bob smiled. “There is nothing secret about it,” he said. “I’m sure some lower administrative worker leaks half-true info to dozens of followers at the same time as the media gets briefed. But the so-called secret group assumes they know before the public because they read the info before the media release. Nothing that the secret group gets is secret and often is half-true and half-tweaked. If indeed it was cause for trouble, it would no longer be around. Trust me, Monica, the people in charge are aware, and while not amused, they don’t feel threatened either.”

All that was wonderful, but I still had no idea what Leta did or didn’t do and where Brenda went.

“I’m going to head down to the station,” he said. “If Brenda is there, I’ll try to convince her to get home.”

I had run out of things to ask Bob without giving away that I knew nothing of what he was talking about, so I thanked him, and he left. I grabbed some eggs from Brenda’s refrigerator and headed home with Dior in tow. Tommy might have a key to his Aunt Brenda’s house, but he didn’t have mine.

My dinner consisted of scrambled eggs and toast. No missed phone calls. I did the only sensible thing to do, I turned on the television and made myself comfortable with Dior at my feet. I had channel 15 on, and before I had a chance to check the evening programs, breaking news interrupted everything. The police department spokesperson announced that the death of Ana Hu was officially classified as homicide. An overdose of opioids had caused the victim’s vomit. They had no suspects in custody, however the victim’s cell phone had been located, and they were working on several leads.

The victim’s phone—B&B Catering van transporting the victim’s belongings...a bad feeling found its way up my spine. I remembered what Leta said about disposing of the trash. Something told me the victim’s phone may had been located in a dumpster at Leta’s apartment complex.

Brenda came to retrieve Dior at around eleven thirty. I opened the door in my nightie, and while I was dying to know what was going on, the disgruntled look on her face sealed my lips. She was halfway between my place and hers when she stopped and turned to look at me, still standing by my open door.

“Want a glass of Pinot Grigio and a quick rundown on humanity’s darker side?” She didn’t wait for my answer, just nodded her head toward a ribbon of light filtering from under her back door that had been left ajar.

I quickly slammed my door shut and scurried after her. I didn’t even have to ask. She started to talk the minute the cork left the bottle. Ana Hu’s cell phone had been found in possession of a professional dumpster diver. He turned it in as soon as he realized it was hot. The detectives trusted the source. The man said when he found the cell it was covered with smelly, sticky stuff. In spite of his cleaning efforts, enough of that remained to prove it was Ana’s DNA in the form of old dried up puke. Eww. Whatever else had been in that dumpster was now in a landfill, and none of that would matter if not for the fact that the dumpster in question was located in Leta’s complex.

I was too depressed to even say, I had already figured that out. And of course the connection to B&B Catering was a given. It was after I drank the last sip of wine that I worked up the nerve to ask Brenda how Ana Hu’s belongings ended up in the catering van. I carefully avoided saying your van.

“The doorman,” she said.

The doorman? The only reason I didn’t drop my stem glass was because it was already on the coffee table. “The Gold Buttons guy from The Nest?”

Brenda nodded. I felt my lips moving, but suddenly I had nothing to say.

“While Leta was doing the interview for the local channel—I knew that was going to cost us, didn’t know just how much. That was the only