A Grave Matter of Murder by Maxwell Mary

Author:Maxwell, Mary
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2021-06-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

Late the next afternoon, Julia and Harper were sitting at a table in the dining room while they changed the menu inserts for the following day. As they chattered happily about a sale on children’s shoes and overcoats at a clothing store in town, I switched on the radio in the kitchen and gathered the ingredients for a batch of Cherry Bliss Cookies.

An old Bonnie Raitt song was playing, so I sang along quietly. Let’s give them something to talk about. How about love? The tune was one of my mother’s favorites, so I always thought of her dancing around the house whenever I heard it.

When the music faded away, it was replaced by a commercial for an insurance company. I lowered the volume and thought about the Oliver Curran investigation. I remembered the moment that Zack and I came upon the crime scene on Chase Canyon Road. I thought about the uniformed officers searching Virgil Munro’s property in the harsh glare of the portable lights. And I recalled the first few things that Dina had told me about the incident: a young man’s body in a shallow grave, a single ruby-and-diamond earring and a razor-sharp carving knife.

It was clear that the homicide was linked to the string of burglaries, but I was frustrated by all of the unanswered questions. How was Oliver Curran’s death connected to those crimes? How did he become one of the thieves? Did he betray his companion? If Martha’s earrings were the main target, why was one left behind when Oliver was buried?

As I blended the butter, granulated sugar and egg for the cookies, I conjured an image of Martha Davenport’s earrings. I tried to imagine her as a young newlywed, unwrapping the small gift box in the honeymoon suite at The Ralston Hotel in Crescent Creek. She had described the moment to me in great detail when she and Bonnie Linwood visited Sky High two days earlier to discuss the burglaries. Although decades had passed since that memorable day, the spark in Martha’s eyes as she talked about opening the gift from her husband was bright and radiant and timeless.

“How are you doing back there?” Julia called through the pass window. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Thanks for the offer,” I said, turning off the mixer, “but it’s one batch of cookies. I can handle it.”

She laughed. “If anything changes, you know where to find me.”

While she and Harper continued their conversation, I added the baking soda and salt to the bowl,

started the mixer again and increased the volume on the radio just in time for an extended version of a classic song by ABBA. I hummed along and shimmied my hips as I poured the maraschino cherry juice into the bowl along with the chopped cherries.

As the steady tempo of the mixer matched the beat of the music, my mind drifted back to Martha again. I pictured her giggling cheerfully as she regaled Bonnie and I with highlights from her wedding ceremony and reception.

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