A Tail of Murder
Of Mice and Murder
Barking Up the Wrong Tree
Catastrophe
A Rash Decision
The Purrfect Murder (coming 2024)
For my dad—the original man in my life with dimples in his cheeks when he smiles.
I never lie because I don’t fear anyone. You only lie when you’re afraid.
John Gotti
1
Hearing my mother’s voice on the phone was the last thing I’d expected when I grabbed my cell off my kitchen counter. In my focus on the maple syrup candy I was—unsuccessfully—attempting to make, I must have read the caller ID wrong.
“Nicole?” my mom said. “Are you still there?”
I tucked the phone between my ear and my shoulder, but it was too late. The maple syrup still on my fingers smeared all over both the back and the screen. That was going to be fun to clean off. “I’m still here. I thought the phone said The Sunburnt Arms, so I was expecting the owner.”
“It probably did. This town is like the cell phone version of the Bermuda Triangle. I couldn’t get a signal, so I used the phone in my room.”
I let go of my spatula, turned around, and leaned my head into my hand. Either some sort of weird inhaled sugar-fume high was muddling my brain or my mom had said she was here in Fair Haven, Michigan, rather than home in Virginia, where she belonged.
“You’re where?” I croaked out.
“It’s rude not to pay attention when someone is speaking to you.” Her voice carried the exasperated I-raised-you-better tone I knew so well. “I’m in Room 3. I’ll need you to meet me here. I don’t want to drive out to that farm on my own. My GPS had me on unpaved roads with no street lights when I came in last night.”
I didn’t know whether to comment on the fact that she didn’t need streetlights now since it was the middle of the day or that she’d called Sugarwood that farm. Like it hadn’t been my business for over six months now, and like she still didn’t know that I made maple syrup rather than raising pigs.
Knowing how my mother would respond to either of those observations, though, I swallowed down both responses.
Besides, I had a bigger problem. My mother didn’t make jokes. She was really here. Unannounced, and expecting me to come right this moment to pick her up.
The stench of something burning registered in my brain.
I spun around. Black smoke curled from my pot. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I disconnected the call, tossed my phone on the counter, and grabbed the pot off the heat. The contents had turned a charcoal color. I tried to pull out my spatula, but the whole pot lifted with it. I dropped the pot into the sink. It clanged so loud that Velma barked softly in her sleep.
I moved my hands up to ruffle through my hair but stopped before I got syrup in my hair as well as on my phone. I ran my gaze over the disaster that passed for my kitchen—I was 0 for 3 at trying to follow Nancy’s detailed recipe for making maple syrup candy—to the Bullmastiff snoring on my couch and the Great Dane on the floor among the remnants of her “indestructible” toy. There was no way I’d have time to clean my house up. I’d be lucky to clean myself up. And my laundry baskets full of unfolded, unsorted clothes were sitting on the bed in the guest room.
At least I could hide those in my own bedroom before I left.
I tucked the dogs into their crates, threw on a pair of clothes not covered in baking residue, and snagged my light jacket off the hook by the door on my way to my car. Despite seeing locals out in t-shirts, the May sunshine wasn’t warm enough to go coatless, in my opinion. Maybe after I’d been here a few years I’d acclimate, but I wasn’t betting anything valuable on it.
I waited for my phone to sync to my car’s Bluetooth and then called Mark. The egg-sized knot in my stomach grew into a watermelon. My parents needed to meet Mark eventually. I couldn’t have put it off forever. I’d just hoped for a little longer before they weighed in on our relationship.
He answered with a smile to his voice. It was one of the many things I loved about our relationship—no matter why I called, he always sounded happy to hear from me. And I’d thrown quite a few unpleasant phone calls his way over our time together, so that was saying something.
Hopefully he wouldn’t consider this call one of the unpleasant ones.
“So I got a surprise phone call this morning,” I said.
A slight rustling noise came across the line as if he were filing papers while we talked. “Good surprise or bad?”
“Depends.” In my ideal scenario, we’d have dated a few more months and then we would have taken a trip to DC. Maybe we’d have even waited until we were engaged. But my parents always had their own idea of how things should work, and the definition of no in their dictionary was try harder. “How do you feel about meeting my mom?”
He chuckled. “I’m ready if you are. Are they coming for a visit?”
You could say that. Except for the tense. “How do you feel about meeting my mom tomorrow?”
“What?” This time he sounded more like I’d said aliens had invaded—mostly disbelief mingled with a touch of barely concealed panic.
If I hadn’t been driving, I would have squished my eyes shut. “My mom called me a few minutes ago from The Sunburnt Arms. I’m on my way there to meet her.”
Mark let out a whoosh of air. “Are they both here, or just your mom?”
I hadn’t asked, but it’d sounded like my mom was alone. She would have mentioned if my dad was with her. He hadn’t spoken to me in months. He had no more to say to the daughter who’d disappointed him so completely than he did to the brother who’d done the same. My Uncle Stan had died without them reconciling.
The same might end up being true of me. I’d done what I could to bridge the gap between us, but my dad couldn’t forgive me for leaving DC and my career as a criminal defense attorney.
The weight in my chest felt like I was being run over by my car rather than riding in it. “It’s just my mom,” I said softly.
