When Jeanie D’Alisa is found murdered in her bedroom after hosting a dinner party in her home, detectives Anna Cole and Kristy Hicks are called to investigate the crime. Known within her community for her generous, yet unpredictable nature, Jeanie’s secrets unfold as family, friends and neighbors become suspects. Anna and Kristy discover stamped passport pages revealing travels unknown and a curious relationship between Jeanie and the charming salesman who frequents the apartment building. Meryl, Jeanie’s devoted but needy friend, further complicates the investigation when she phones Jeanie’s sister who is studying abroad and lies to her about the cause of death. Through a muddied pool of misdirection and betrayal, will Anna and Kristy be able to assemble the clues in order to bring Jeanie’s killer to justice? The path to solving the mystery becomes tangled with faces of loved ones who are revealed to be foes in this story about the lengths people will go to in order to save themselves.
Targeted Age Group:: 18-65
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I was at a lunch with my family members and they were telling old stories of relatives long since passed. My uncles told one story of my great, great aunt who was murdered and instantly I had an idea for a story that revolved around a woman who was killed, but whose family and friends had completely opposing and varied opinions of her.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
My characters come from a strategic number of suspects I felt I needed to have. I knew I wanted to have a pair of female detectives working on this case. I also knew the victim would be female. Beyond that, it was about creating the people and relationships of those who might want to harm the victim. I started with motive, and built my characters out of that.
She opened her eyes only once she heard the apartment’s front door close. She couldn’t even bring herself to turn over in the bed despite her discomfort, for she didn’t want a single mattress coil’s shift to alert him to the fact that she was awake. She waited a moment, lying in her bed, pausing in case he had forgotten anything, but the sound of footsteps had faded into the distance.
Meryl Brunetti had been awake for twenty minutes, but she hadn’t been prepared to begin the day. Not until he was gone. She didn’t want to see him, she didn’t want to talk, and she certainly wasn’t prepared to deal with anything they’d discussed the night before. She needed more time, and she needed to figure out how she felt.
Instead of waking up at seven o’clock to make him breakfast as usual, to start his day on a pleasant note, and see him out the door, she slept. Or, rather, she pretended to sleep. She’d been unable to sleep the night before. Her mind twirled with anger, despair, and uncertainty.
When she heard the sound of the shower signally the beginning of his day this morning, she felt drowsiness weigh on her eyelids, as though his impending exit would cause her relief. She felt her mind quiet, and forced herself to keep her eyes shut. She wouldn’t rise and she wouldn’t make a sound. She couldn’t bear to see his face. Not after last night. She’d have to pretend later that she’d accidentally slept in.
Maybe she could blame oversleeping on the alcohol. She’d need some excuse, given the average schedule she kept, which rivaled military rising hours. She might be able to blame a hangover for her tardiness depending how closely anyone was counting her cocktails last night. As a rule, she vowed always to have a drink in hand at any social gathering both as an accessory (she could never figure out a comfortable, natural place for her hands), and an ordinary pause in conversation (she often took a sip when she couldn’t think of the next thing she wanted to say.) As a result, she appeared to always have a glass in hand. However, she rarely drank it with the same fury as some of her louder, and more entertaining friends.
After he left their home, when she heard the click of the lock in place behind him, she emerged from the bed and walked with purpose to the coffee maker. She brewed the first pot of coffee for the day. There would be at least one and perhaps two that followed, depending on her afternoon.
The morning light that flooded into the apartment seemed excessive this particular morning. On any other morning, she’d relish in the beautiful daylight that overtook her home, but today she had the beginning of a headache, perhaps from lack of sleep, and she pulled the living room curtains closed.
She wanted to spend a rare day in her pajamas without responsibility, but she couldn’t afford such a day. She never could. Every day, there were endless duties to address. There was the grocery shopping, preparing for her next book club meeting, picking up or dropping off the dry cleaning, meeting with other mothers on various committees, baking for fundraisers, and sometimes making multiple trips to the high school to drop off a meal or some piece of sports equipment that her son had forgotten.
Meryl loved to be busy, to feel that she had definite purpose, but she secretly dreamed of a day off when dinner didn’t have to be prepared, and she didn’t have to have the answers to every question her family members posed.
She couldn’t rest today, so she’d need to get herself in gear. It would be simple for her to switch gears, as though she flipped a switch within herself, and instead of being a woman who dreamed of having a day alone to think, she’d be the ever-attentive wife, mother and neighbor with a long list of to-dos. She’d dutifully check off assignments throughout the day and feel a shallow sense of pride at the basic acts of life she’d accomplished.
She fancied that she could be a bit of an actress, always able to re-set her mind in order to get herself through the day. She assumed that acting came naturally to any good mother who had to drudge up patience, or happiness, or energy when they had none. She prided herself on the many roles she could fulfill for various people in her life, but she was exhausted. Before she slipped into a delayed state, she took a deep breath and focused on the things she had to accomplish today.
Meryl slipped on some beige slacks, a lavender camisole, and a bright green cardigan. If her thoughts weren’t bright and positive, at least her clothes could be. She brushed her teeth and pulled her hair slickly back into a low ponytail. She’d once read that a low ponytail was a sign of class, so from that day forth she’d only worn a high ponytail if she was working out, which, admittedly, wasn’t very often. She didn’t have time today for her full makeup routine, so she put some powder on her face, evening out her skin tone and freckles, and added a bright red lipstick to finish off her look.
She was running late, but moving quickly with the efficiency of someone who is constantly proceeding in a rapid pace. In the kitchen, she drank her first cup of coffee with the speed of a professional addict, taking a mental note of a rug that caught the corner of her eye in the living room, which she wanted to wash later. A plate of muffins she’d baked the afternoon before sat strategically placed on the counter.
Meryl found great pride in her efficiencies. If there was anything in her life that she could prep in advance to ease the load in the future, she did it then, and got it out of the way. No one would ever describe her as a procrastinator. If anything, she planned too far in advance at times. She couldn’t help but calculate the ways she could further simplify her life.
On this particular morning, she was especially relieved that she’d found the time to bake the day before. It was Meryl’s day to spend the afternoon with her ailing neighbor and friend, Lois Carter, and she always brought baked goods. They served both as a treat since Lois rarely had appropriate food to offer guests, as well as a conversation piece since Lois constantly praised Meryl for her talents in the kitchen.
Lois Carter lived upstairs with her husband, Gary, and two teenage daughters. Last year, when Lois was diagnosed with breast cancer, the building, filled with long time dwellers and friends, had rallied to support the Carter family. Many neighbors took turns visiting Lois during the recovery time in between chemo treatments, since Gary’s job in finance kept a grueling schedule, which he couldn’t afford to ignore.
Meryl didn’t work. She was a proud homemaker, so there was no excuse for any idleness on her part. She dutifully spent two regularly scheduled afternoons a week with Lois, even now that Lois was in remission and had completed the last of her treatments for what everyone hoped would be forever. While the two women saw each other more than twice a week, the afternoon visits had a sentimental hold on them, as if the cancer would not return as long as they kept their standing dates.
Knowing Lois wouldn’t have coffee, Meryl poured a second cup into her mug before going upstairs. She did this often, for no one seemed to drink as much coffee as she did. In fact, she couldn’t think of anyone in the building who could offer her a hot cup of coffee whenever the occasion arose. As a result, Meryl kept her own supply, and she could regularly be found with her mug in hand while on her way too or from a friend’s apartment, or clutching it while checking the mail, running errands, and left in places a mug honestly shouldn’t land.
On the way upstairs to Lois’ apartment, Meryl passed the Superintendent, Andy Quinn, coming out from another unit and greeted him politely. “Morning, Andy,” she offered.
“Hi, Mrs. Brunetti. Going up to see Lois?” he asked. He knew the residents and their schedules as well as anyone. After the worst of Lois’ treatments, Andy would stop in to bring a soothing ginger soup his wife made in order to help ease the nausea.
“Yes, you know, Friday is my day. See ya!” Meryl answered. Andy was already down the hallway and nearly out of sight before she could finish her reply. What an odd man, she thought. He was friendly, yet very removed. He remembered everyone’s name, yet he floated like a ghost through the building, preferring to remain unseen. Meryl couldn’t figure him out, and didn’t particularly wish to. She wished only to keep a polite relationship with him in case she ever needed to call upon him to help with something in her own apartment.
Upstairs, she knocked on the Carter’s door. “Lois, it’s me,” Meryl called.
“Come in, dear!” Lois replied. Then, seeing Meryl’s basket asked, “Oh, you doll. What did you bring me today?”
Meryl held the basket of baked goods up saying, “Blueberry muffins. Homemade.” She grinned proudly. She knew Lois would rave about her goodies, and she welcomed the forthcoming compliments.
“Well, come! I don’t have coffee – oh – I see you brought your own as usual. Well then, let’s sit shall we? What’s new?”
That’s how their Friday’s always began. Meryl, who loved to bake, would come bearing a starchy, sugary combination, and Lois would lead them to the living room where they would sit at opposite ends of the couch as they re-capped the latest updates on their family, children, and mutual friends. Lois prepared for Meryl’s visits by having a couple of napkins, and two glasses of water set on the coffee table. She wasn’t much of an entertainer, and the lack of cloth napkins, general décor, or even a floral arrangement never went without notice to Meryl’s extremely judgmental and meticulous mind.
Meryl’s visits were always at Lois’ home, which she seldom left. Early in her chemo treatment, Lois was urged by her doctors to keep her errands to a minimum and remain in the apartment, so she wouldn’t become exposed to germs that might interfere with her illness and treatment. Lois kept up the habit out of compulsiveness, even though she was out of immediate danger. Because Lois had very little interaction with the outside world, even to run general errands, she was always more than eager to gossip with Meryl by the time their regular visits surfaced. Lois desperately clung to the happenings of others, even when she was well enough to get out and join them.
Meryl could never quite tell what kept Lois so contained from the world, but she knew never to bring it up. The subject was touchy, and Meryl felt Lois deserved, had earned, the right to lead her life however she pleased. She had fought hard enough to keep it, after all.
Louis looked much healthier of late. The color had returned to her face and her dark brunette hair had grown in enough to develop into a severely short bob. She wore a tracksuit and looked to be in better shape than most forty-something women her age. She had energy for life that hadn’t existed before her diagnosis, and the thrill of everything around her came out in the form of honest enthusiasm.
“Nothing, really. Joseph is very busy with work, but he promises we’ll go on a vacation soon. We actually got in a fight last night,” Meryl said. And, even though she’d brought up the argument, she didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want to answer Lois’ tiresome questions exploring all aspects and layers of the dispute, so she made the conscious effort to change the tone of what she was revealing. It was time to act.
Meryl sat up straight and continued, “I want us to take some time away with each other. I’m thinking the northeast. Perhaps we’ll drive up the coast of Rhode Island and Maine. Don’t you think that’d be wonderful? Especially if I can make him go before winter? The view of fall leaves would be just incredible,” she said, not stopping, not allowing for an interruption. “Other than that, I’m helping at the high school with preparations for homecoming. Are the girls going? I swear Eddie is more excited for the game and all the visiting graduates that return for the weekend. I keep asking him if he’s asked anyone to the dance, but he just shoos me away. I’m telling you, you have it easier with two teenage girls than I do with one teenage boy!”
There. She had successfully brushed right past her fight with Joseph. She flown so quickly over it, and onto the next thing that she hoped Lois would not back track to it. Meryl couldn’t be sure what we could hold back if Lois tried to hone in on what was wrong, and it frightened her in a way Meryl was never used to feeling. She was a woman in full control. The idea of anything spiraling out of her control was devastating. So devastating that she wouldn’t allow herself even to think of it. She focused on their children, and homecoming. A dance and teenagers were good for distractions if nothing else.
Meryl’s son Eddie, a senior, had a wild history of flirtation with both of Lois’ daughters. He was a doting admirer who would do anything for them. Margaret, a sophomore, pined for him year after year, but it was her older sister, Sandra, who’d shared a more serious relationship with Eddie since they were in the same grade.
During Eddie and Sandra’s freshman year, they dated for eight months, which was essentially an eternity for youth, but their relationship fizzled when they both found new people to hold their interest. After nearly ten years of living in the same building with their families, they felt more like siblings than potential lovers.
“Oh, I do wish I could help with all of that, but my health comes first. You know how I am,” Lois said. “I hope I’ll make it to the football game at the very least. Both Margaret and Sandra don’t have dates just yet, but they’ve been window-shopping for dresses and shoes all the same. They came home the other day with magazine cut outs of the dresses I’m supposed to buy them.”
“What a treat to choose dresses,” Meryl said. “I’m already bored of ties and slacks. They’re all the same,” she sighed.
“Jeanie has been helping with the shopping. You know how she is! But you can certainly join in on the girly action if you need a break from picking out a nice tie. Their trips to the mall are bordering on obsessive.”
To this, Meryl laughed, but Lois’ face turned abruptly serious, as if she’d set in her mind the pace of this conversation and knew it was the time to turn her purposeful questions in another direction. “Now, listen, Meryl, I hope you won’t be offended that I’m asking, but what’s is going on downstairs?” Lois asked.
“What do you mean?” Meryl replied, genuinely wondering and curious about the mysterious inquiry.
“I know you and Jeanie are close and you don’t have to tell me if it’s one of those things, but we’ve been hearing a lot of yelling. It’s more than usual, so that’s saying something.” She tried to add a slight chuckle, as if the topic were casual, though she really was genuinely concerned. “I wondered if she’s said anything to you. Is she okay?” Lois inquired.
Jeanie D’Alisa lived directly below Lois and diagonally across the hall from Meryl. Due mostly to proximity, Jeanie and Meryl were dear friends. The two women often spent time together, and there was an open door policy between their homes. Jeanie didn’t have any children but relied on Eddie if she needed anything when her husband, Fred, was at work. He was always at work.
Jeanie, Meryl and Lois were all around the same age, though Jeanie joked that Lois acted closer to her mid-fifties instead of her mid-forties. She’d even taken to calling Lois “Granny” up until her diagnosis, which prompted Meryl to force Jeanie to stop. While Meryl understood Jeanie, the vast majority didn’t appreciate her wild, and sometimes inappropriate, sense of humor.
“Oh, she’s just fine, Lois,” Meryl said and, as she said it, she took a rare moment to glance at her watch. She normally didn’t rush through her visits, but suddenly she didn’t want to be bothered with gossip. She wanted to go home, finish her first pot of coffee and bask in the silence until her husband and son came home later in the afternoon. She wanted only silence until then, and found she wasn’t in the mood for socializing or acting the part. She didn’t want to talk about her own marital issues, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about Jeanie’s.
Meryl was appalled by Lois’ query based purely on moral principal, but also noted that on any other day, she would’ve certainly indulged Lois. It was the timing, the day, and the ache in Meryl’s head that stopped her from participating in discussing the most normal, minimal, local scandals. Oh, how a moral compass could shift given a sleepless night.
“Jeanie hasn’t mentioned anything to me,” Meryl said, faking a jovial tone. “I’m sure it’s just more of the usual.” She winked as she stood, initiating her departure.
Both women knew that the usual that Meryl had alluded to consisted mostly of alcohol induced arguments, fiery tempers, and passionate fights, but generally about items of business as simple as what channel to watch, or how long it had taken Jeanie to prepare dinner. The conflicts were dramatic and sometimes frightening to outsiders looking in, but were, for better or worse, a regular occurrence in Jeanie and Fred’s relationship.
Lois stood with Meryl as she rose. “Are you going already? I hope it’s not something I said,” she pleaded.
“Not at all, Lois,” Meryl lied. “I told you, I’ve got my work cut out for me with homecoming coming up. Lots to organize. Lots to plan. Let me know if you want me to take the girls on another visit to the mall. I’d be happy to take them if you can’t. Just let me know how you’re feeling.”
“Oh, Meryl,” Lois said, “What would I do without you?”
Meryl kissed her on the cheek and said, “I’ll see you next week,” before she waved herself through the door. Outside, she closed the door behind her and sighed deeply.
Jeanie and Fred fought often and epically. They were notorious for their clashes, but Meryl knew, though Jeanie had said nothing to encourage the thought, that things had been escalating. Now that Lois expressed concern, she knew it was time to delicately, yet directly approach Jeanie and make sure that everything was, in fact, all right. She could use Lois’ inquiry as an excuse to inquire.
Even though they spoke of everything, sometimes Jeanie held the details of her marriage off limits. Meryl assumed that Jeanie felt stronger without having to reveal that layer of her life, and so she didn’t pry. Meryl trusted that Jeanie would come to her in time with the details she needed to know. The vague screaming between the D’Alisas was, Meryl assumed, painful enough to endure individually. Jeanie didn’t need an audience, but now it was time to make sure safety was not an issue.
At Jeanie’s door, Meryl knocked and waited. Jeanie didn’t work and was incredibly lenient when it came to the timing and start of each day. Most days when Meryl was making lunch for herself, Jeanie was just waking. She was a night owl, she said, and preferred the darkness of night to anything the fresh morning light could offer.
Jeanie’s monthly family dinner was last night and her home had been full of a wide range of guests, friends, family, and many of their neighbors. Even Andy Quinn had made a reluctant and unexpected appearance.
Meryl had no doubt that Jeanie was in bed nursing a hangover. She also knew she’d delay the cleaning that was required after each dinner for as long as possible. Jeanie preferred the party to the chores, and persisted week after week with the tradition she’d proudly built for her circle and, really, for most residents of their apartment building.
When Jeanie’s third round of knocking went unanswered, she tried the doorknob. Very few units in the building made a habit of locking their doors during the day. The doorknob turned and Meryl whispered, “Jeanie?”
The apartment was mostly dark. Meryl pulled the curtains back in the living room to bring day into Jeanie’s home. “Jeanie,” Meryl called again, slightly louder the second time. There was no sound.
Meryl couldn’t hear the low murmurs of a telephone conversation or the dialogue of Jeanie’s favorite afternoon soap operas on television. There was no music coming from the radio and no stream of water pouring from the bathroom. There was no sign of anyone.
At the bedroom door Meryl paused and put her ear to it. Again, only silence answered her. The silence felt eerie now, unexpected and lingering. “Jeanie?” Meryl asked.
She turned the bedroom doorknob and walked into the darkness that Jeanie’s coveted blackout shades protected. If Jeanie were asleep still, Meryl knew it was because of a hang over, so instead of opening the curtains for a drastic awakening, she walked toward the lamp on the dresser and quietly clicked it on. She turned through the shadows and saw Jeanie in bed. “Now, Jeanie. This is silly! Are you playing a joke? You scared me!” Meryl exclaimed.
Meryl would swear later that she heard the sound of a sigh, what she assumed was the sound of her friend twisting her lips into a comical grin, but when she sat on the bed, and brushed her friend’s hand she found it cold and lifeless. Meryl rushed to the window and threw open the blackout drapes. When she turned and saw Jeanie’s face she knew then that her friend was dead. She had been dead for hours.
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