Amanda Flower - Maid of Murder

For my parents

Rev. Pamela Flower and Thomas Flower

and

in memory of

Calvin

Special thanks to Rosalind Greenberg for plucking my manuscript out of the thousands, and to my editor Jerri Corgiat for helping it shine.

Thanks to my Sisters in Crime, Maria Hudgins and Sarah Parrott, for their critiques and support, and to my dear friends, Melody Steiner, Jen Pula, and Melissa Williamson, who read and commented on the manuscript.

Hugs to Mariellyn Dunlap for her edits, friendship, and willingness to always accompany me on a road trip, be it near or far.

Love and gratitude to my mother, Rev. Pamela Flower, who read every word ten times over and was there every step of the way.

Finally, to my Father in Heaven, thank you.

As a child, I dreaded the Fourth of July despite the fireworks, the barbecue, and the general flag flapping. The holiday signaled that summer was half over. And though my mother chided me about my attitude, called me her pint-sized pessimist, and told me to see the glass half full, I moped through the holiday. I knewcome the next daythe discount store and supercenters would have fresh back-to-school displays of yellow number two pencils and college-ruled notebook paper. I was a fair student and mid-list popular, but I never wanted to go back to school. As an adult, when I actually had to work every day, my attitude toward Independence Day changed. To me, any day that starts as a paid holiday is a good one.

But that Independence Day morning, my brother called.

When the telephone jangled near my sleeping head, I sat bolt upright and sent my cat Templeton flying across the room in a hissing cloud of black fur.

Who died? was my first thought, followed closely by, whos about to die? for waking me.

I groped for my glasses, shoved them on my face, and looked at the clock. It read four minutes after six in electric blue numerals. The phone rang again. I snatched it up.

India? My brothers voice, hyped up on caffeinated pop and mathematical theorems, zipped out over the line Could you look up Yang-Mills Theory for me at the library today? I think Im really onto something. Id do it myself, you know, but Im hitting a wall here with work. And the librarys slow, right, because its summer

Mark. I interrupted.

Huh?

The librarys closed today. I swatted a hank of long, dark hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear.

Its closed? But why? He sounded shocked.

Its the Fourth of July. You know, Happy Independence Day and all that. I glared at the clock. Its also six-oh-five in the morning on a day I dont have to work, I added in case he was having trouble grasping the point, which Mark often did.

It is?

Where are you? I asked while rubbing my gray eyes, which were gritty from sleep.

In my office?

You dont sound very sure of that.

There was a pause. Definitely my office. Im working on this really great theorem. I think I have it now, India. My dissertation

I understand, I stepped in before he could enter another long-winded explanation about The Dissertation. Hed worked on it for half a decade. Itd become a bit of a swear word in my parents house.

Well, Mark, I better let you get back to it. Call me at the library tomorrow, and Ill see if I have time to look up that Yohoo-Miller thing for you.

Yang-Mills. Its a partial differential equation that

Whatever. I moved to hang up, but his lingering silence was palpable. I sighed. Was that all?

Mark swallowed hard. I know shes getting married.

Geez. I knew hed eventually find out one way or another, but I wished it had been after the ceremony.

Mark, I

Dont lie to me; I saw it in the paper. Shes getting married next weekend. You knew. I cant believe you didnt know.

Uh. What could I say? I did know. Mark would be devastated when he found out how well I knew. I tucked that thought away to deal with later.

Why didnt you tell me? Its not like Id care or anything.

Sure, I thought, and my watercolors would make me millions of dollars someday. I took a deep breath. I didnt know how to tell you, and Olivia didnt want to hurt you, either.

Thanks, anyway, he whispered and hung up.

I stared at the receiver, then knocked it against my forehead a few times before dropping it back in its cradle.

After fifteen minutes, I threw off the sheet and stomped to the bathroom. Next time he has a day off, Im calling at three in the morning. That little . . .

After a shower and breakfast, I no longer felt so hateful toward Mark. I knew I should have told him that Olivia was getting married. I should have told him months ago when I learned about it, but there never seemed to be a good time. And the way marriages go these days, I thought, it would be much easier to announce that Olivia was getting a divorce in a couple of years.

I clicked on the TV.

Its going to be a beautiful Independence Day, folks, the weather girl from the Cleveland station said. We might break some records. Temperatures in the upper nineties and ninety percent humidity, Remember, dont mow your lawn until after sundown. Theres an Ozone alert

I clicked off the screen.

By nine that morning, I was sprawled across a sheet I used to cover my poorly chosen couch in order to avoid touching the hot, itchy fabric. It was beautifully upholstered in royal purple velvet. I had found it at an estate sale in Chicago. It had cost a mint to have it shipped to Stripling, and, not until it was safely stowed in my apartment did I learn that it was uncomfortable in the summertime and a magnet for black cat hair. My long legs hung over its end, and Templeton lay in the same position next to me on the floor. I periodically spritzed him, then myself, with ice water from a spray bottle that I normally used to wet down my unruly hair. Templeton shook his head like a dog every time he was hit with a spray of water but didnt move out of its reach. Even an aquaphobic feline welcomed the cool mist in my air conditioningdeprived apartment. While Templeton shook his head for a fourth time, I tried to build up the courage to call my brother back and tell him the truththat I did know that Olivia was to be married this weekend in Stripling and that I, India Hayes, who had sworn after the last wedding that I would never be in a bridal party again, am to be one of Olivias doting bridesmaids.

The phone rang.

I told Templeton, Ill get it, but tomorrow Im teaching you to answer the phone.

He didnt respond.

India? It was a voice easily as perky as the weathergirls.

I swallowed hard. I knew that voice. Hi, Olivia. You arent in town, are you?

Templeton gave me a look that to me said, Spritz me, baby. I obliged.

Just arrived. Were at my mothers now. Stripling is just how I remember it. Its so cute. The perfect place for a wedding, dont you think?

Really darling.

She missed the sarcasm. As you know, its a holiday.

I heard something about that. I spritzed myself in the face.

Very funny. Anyway, my mother is having a little Independence Day gathering at two in honor of my return, and I am inviting you to come.

Well, I was planning

Please, India? I havent seen you in forever, and I want you to meet Kirk. You can bring a date if you want.

I snorted, but after ten more minutes of listening to Olivias pleas, I finally agreed. As bridesmaid-in-waiting, I had an obligation.

After she hung up, I pulled the sheet over my head with a moan and asked Templeton to put me out of my misery. I peeked out from the sheet when he didnt respond. He looked like an overbroiled chicken splayed on the hardwood floor. If you are not going to help me out, Ill just have to call Bobby, wont I?