For A Few Murders More

Chapter 1.

“The roof is tumbling down, Mom!” my older daughter, Madison, cried in something of a hoarse whisper. “Can you come here right away? I really need your help!”

“Maddie, where are you and what do you say is happening?” I thought my daughter sounded very upset.

“I can’t talk about it on the phone. I just need you to come as quick as you can to help me,” she pleaded in that same hoarse whisper.

“Tell me where you are, Madison,” I insisted.

“Shadowtree Mountain Resort. Mom, please come or I don’t know---” The call disappeared into the nothingness where calls go when a signal or connection is lost.

I tried frantically to redial the number which I was seeing on my phone’s display, but I didn’t get an answer or even voicemail. The number wasn’t from Madison’s cell phone or her office phone. I knew that she didn’t have a land line at the condo apartment she shared with her friend from work, Laniece Starber. Madison sounded so panicky that now I felt panicky, too.

I tried her cell number, but the computer voice on the line told me that her phone was out of the area and sent me to voice mail. I left a succinct message for her to call me immediately. Then I tried her office number but got her voice mail stating that she was unavailable and offering to transfer me to someone else.

“Addie, was that a call from Madison?” asked Lottie Frisham, my best friend and near neighbor. I joined Lottie at the home of Marolly Hamilton who lived next door to me on one side and next door to Lottie on the other side. The Hamiltons had the corner house at the intersection of Serenity Lane and Hopeful Way in the peaceful, though small, town of Wanderwood, Texas. I, Adelaide Bonner Girard, lived on Serenity Lane. Lottie and her husband, Walter Frisham, lived on Hopeful Way.

“Yes, it was Madison, but we can talk about it later,” I replied.

“Well, what did she have to say, Addie?” Lottie asked.

“Later, Lottie,” I insisted. “We’ll talk after the party.”

Shelby Draper was recently elected the new and official President of the Wanderwood Library Friends organization of which Lottie and I were members. Tom and Marolly Hamilton were hosting a backyard party in honor of Shelby and the other newly elected officers. I previously served as Interim President which pulled me into helping investigate a murder. Now I was recuperating from a not so restful cruise that I took with my younger daughter, Lindsey, and enjoying the company of my friends and neighbors. ‘Life does not get much better than this,’ I thought.

Today’s celebratory party was in Tom and Marolly’s backyard which was more a fragrant and lush garden than merely a yard. The couple were founding members of the Wanderwood Garden Club and often won many honors for their hard work and beautiful garden beds. Toward the back of the yard, Lottie and I were seated at a quaint wooden table in one of several floral alcoves designed into the yard plantings. Our good friend, Lacy Tindal, brought her plate and joined us at the table.

“These marbled caramel blondies look rich, but I took one anyway,” Lacy laughed. “I decided that I could count calories tomorrow.” My good friend Lacy Tindal was a partner with her husband Bart in Bart’s Amazing Autos located conveniently between Wanderwood and Dripping Springs. This month, Lacy’s hair was a classy, champagne blonde shade done up in a waterfall of curls pulled back from her face, and I thought that the color set off her blue eyes remarkably. The new hairdo was no doubt the work of LaDonna DeValle at LaDonna’s Cut Yer Guff Salon.

“Good choice,” I chuckled. “Did you bring the blondies, Lottie?”

“Velma Plott,” Lottie informed us. “She’s experimenting with recipes from a new cookbook.”

“Which cookbook?” I questioned, thinking that I might want to borrow it the next time I was having a get together for a group of friends.

“Velma is being mysterious about this new cookbook and won’t reveal the title,” said Lottie.

“Maybe Velma decided to write her own cookbook,” suggested Lacy before taking a bite of the caramel blondie. “You know she prides herself on her specialty baking. Velma is always experimenting with recipes. Wow! This is scrumptious!”

“Or maybe Velma is working on a recipe for a cooking contest, and we are her guinea pigs for testing the recipe,” I speculated. “I tried one of those blondies and you are right. I’d say scrumptious is an accurate description.”

“Well, speaking of recipes, Addie, I forgot to get your Almost Healthy Oatmeal Cookie recipe,” said Lottie. “I’ll need to pick it up today. I want to practice making the cookies before my book club meets on June 20th.”

“We’ve already heard the speeches, noshed a little, and devoured dessert,” I said. “We could probably adjourn to my house. I’ll pull the recipe up on the computer and print it out for you.”

“I’d like a copy of that recipe, too, it you don’t mind,” Lacy agreed. “That’s the cookie with all of those great fruit and nut ingredients, isn’t it?”

“Raisins, dried cranberries, apricots, dates, walnuts, and pecans,” I listed for them. “The dates are optional. I add them when I have part of a package of chopped dates left over from another recipe.” I grabbed my plate and cup and headed for our hosts and the trash can with Lottie and Lacy following. After tossing our trash, as well as expressing our thanks, congratulations, and goodbyes, we ambled next door to my house.

My office, that used to be the downstairs bedroom, was looking tired and worn since I updated my nearby kitchen earlier in the Spring. While we were waiting for my computer to boot up, Lottie brought up the phone call again. “Adelaide Bonner Girard, I have waited long enough.” She fussed, shaking her bouncy gray curls which seemed to be a little shorter this week. “Later is now. What did Madison say that got you so upset?”

“Madison was the one who was upset,” I recounted. “She said that she was at some resort and the roof was coming down.” I remember the way my daughter had whispered to me like she was afraid.

“Well, what did she mean by that?” demanded Lottie. The word well was well-used by Lottie since she used that word to start many sentences.

“Yes, Addie, what did Madison mean by that?” Lacy Tindal echoed in a more reasonable tone.

“I don’t know exactly,” I replied as I accessed my recipe file document on the computer screen. “Oh, no. Just a minute. I have to turn on the printer and let it set up.” I punched the power button on the printer.

“Well, Addie, tell us what you do know about the call,” Lottie insisted. “Madison must have said something more than just reporting that the roof was falling down.”

“The printer takes a minute or two to set up, so I’ll try to remember what Madison said. The call was short, but Madison told me that she was at the Shadowtree Mountain Resort and that the roof was tumbling down.” Finally, the printer readout said ready so, with a couple of clicks, I told the computer to print two copies of the Almost Healthy Oatmeal Cookie recipe that my friends requested.