ILL-TIMED ENTANGLEMENTS, A Kate Huntington Mystery (#2)

By Kassandra Lamb

No good deed goes unpunished! When Kate Huntington agrees to help Rob Franklin’s elderly aunt with a problem, the “problem” ends up dead and Kate ends up in the middle of a police investigation.

Kate’s second adventure in this series has a cozy mystery flavor as she and her friends wade through a brimming pool of suspects–some of whom have secrets they would prefer stay buried–in order to clear Aunt Betty of suspicion.

Soon Kate has two more problems. Although she is still very much grieving for her beloved Eddie, she is finding it hard to deny her growing attraction to another party in the investigation. And Rob surprises everybody when his reaction to this potential romance is both intense and negative. Is he just trying to keep his friend from getting hurt, or could he possibly be jealous?

As the residents of The Villages retirement community continue to die off, and not from natural causes, the question soon becomes not just whether they will find the killer, but at what cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kassandra Lamb
• Release date: Mar 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476397979

Kassandra Lamb

In her youth, Kassandra Lamb had two great passions—psychology and writing. Advised that writers need day jobs and being partial to eating, she studied psychology. Now retired from a career as a psychotherapist—which taught her much about resilience, perseverance, and the healing power of laughter—she spends most of her time in an alternate universe populated by her fictional characters. The portal to this universe (aka her computer) is located in northern Florida where her husband and dog catch occasional glimpses of her.

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ILL-TIMED ENTANGLEMENTS

A Kate Huntington Mystery

by

Kassandra Lamb

author of Multiple Motives

Copyright © 2012 by Kassandra Lamb

Ill-Timed Entanglements is a work of fiction. Names, characters and events are ALL products of the author’s imagination (as is The Villages retirement center). Any resemblance to actual events, places or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Real places in this novel may be used fictitiously. No part of this book may be used, transmitted, stored, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the writer’s written permission.

All Rights Reserved.

E-book design by 52novels.

Cover art by Rebecca Swift Artwork.

Smashwords Edition March 2012

CONTENTS

Dedication

The Kate Huntington Mystery Series

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Author’s Notes

About the Author

This book is dedicated to the men entangled in my life:

To my brother who has been there from the beginning,

and who advises me on guns and guy things;

To my husband who puts up with me, which is no small feat,

and who proofreads my manuscripts,

(also no small feat);

To my wonderful writer son who is often my most

critical and therefore most helpful reader,

and who came up with the title for Multiple Motives;

And to the most precious little man of all,

my grandson.

The Kate Huntington Mystery Series

Multiple Motives

Ill-Timed Entanglements

Family Fallacies

(to be released Spring, 2012)

Celebrity Status

(to be released Fall, 2012)

CHAPTER

ONE

Betty Franklin’s phone rang at eight o’clock in the morning. She had been up since six-thirty, but nonetheless no civilized person, in her opinion, should be calling before nine.

Still in her bedroom slippers and bathrobe, Betty shuffled over to the phone on the wall of her kitchen and picked up the receiver. A cheerful voice said, How’s my favorite author this morning?

I’m fine, dear. How are you?

I am absolutely wonderful! I just got off the phone with Jodi at Blue Speck Publishing. They love your latest book!

That is good news, my dear.

Wait, there’s more. Are you sitting down?

Yes, Betty lied, as she shuffled to the stove to retrieve the tea kettle. She liked her new agent, but the young woman’s exuberant personality could be a bit over the top sometimes.

"This book fulfills your current contract. But they’re offering you another two-book contract. Aaannd…"

That’s wonderful, Betty said. Not the least bit surprised by this news–after all, she was a best-selling author–she started to fill the kettle with water.

Wait, I haven’t told you the best part yet, her agent’s voice bubbled through the phone line. The advance is a hundred thousand dollars, fifty per book!

Betty almost dropped the kettle into the sink.

Maybe not so over the top this time. That was almost twice the size of her last advance. Well… that truly is great news, dear, she managed to say into the phone in a reasonably steady voice.

Thought that would make your day. I’ll send along the contract for your signature as soon as I get it.

Betty paused. For some reason, she could never keep this girl’s name straight. Was it Sally or Sarah? Thank you, dear, she finally said, but her agent had already disconnected.

Even though she could hardly wait to tell her friends in the writers’ club the good news, Betty did not rush through her morning routine. Her face and figure still retained vestiges of the beauty she had once been, and she did not consider advanced age an excuse to let oneself go. She dressed carefully, put on her make-up, then combed and patted her short wavy white hair into place.

Finally ready, she closed her apartment door and started down the hallway. There was a slight skip in her step as she headed for the recreation center of her retirement community, where the writers’ club meeting was about to convene.

Betty had always loved to write. Anything that called for a bit of creative prose and she was happy. During her thirty-year career as a high school English teacher in Philadelphia, she had even enjoyed writing questions for tests. In her forties, she had started a novel, but the demands of her career, raising a teenaged son and dealing with a temperamental husband had left little time for writing. The half-finished manuscript had languished on a shelf for two decades.

Twenty years later, the son was grown and living in Seattle, the husband had succumbed to a massive heart attack, and Betty had retired from teaching. She’d discovered that her own pension, combined with the survivor benefits from her husband’s, gave her just barely enough income to afford a rather upscale retirement community.

She had moved into The Villages retirement center in her hometown of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and, to supplement that income, she had started writing for a travel magazine aimed at retirees. One day the editor of Senior Travels had made an off-hand comment in a telephone conversation about her latest article. Your writing is fabulous, Betty. If anyone should write the Great American Novel, it’s you.

That was all the encouragement she had needed. Dusting off the old manuscript, she’d set to work, and six months later she was calling her editor for advice about where to send her finished novel.

And the rest, as they say, is history. Now she had three best sellers under her belt, was about to publish her fifth novel, and had a lucrative contract for two more books. Betty was grinning from ear to ear as she stepped through the conference room door.

***

A half hour into the writers’ club meeting, Betty Franklin’s mood was as low as it had been high earlier that morning.

After the group had applauded her announcement, someone had asked how she had woven one of the subplots into the main plot at the end of the book. It was something she had mentioned at previous meetings as she’d struggled with how to tie up those particular loose ends.

As soon as she had started explaining her solution to the knotty problem, Doris Blackwell had jumped up and accused her of plagiarism. She had claimed the subplot was suspiciously like an idea for a book that she had described to Betty two months ago.

Other members of the group tried to calm Doris while Betty just sat there, too flabbergasted to speak up in her own defense. The last words Doris threw over her shoulder as she left the room were, I’m calling my lawyer. I’m going to sue you.

Back in her apartment, Betty dialed her agent’s phone number, her lips pressed into a grim line. Once again the girl’s name was rattling around in the back of her brain just beyond the reach of conscious awareness. Why was it she could remember the phone number by heart but couldn’t come up with the damn name?

Betty muttered, Forgive me, Lord, under her breath as the phone rang in her ear. She never even thought in curse words, much less used them out loud. It was a sign of how upset she was.

Hello, dear, she said to the young lady who answered the phone. She didn’t even try to remember the receptionist’s name. This is Betty Franklin. I have a bit of an emergency. Is she in?

The girl who picked up a moment later was Sara Burnett, an up-and-coming literary agent in New York City. Hey, Betty. What’s up? she asked cheerfully.

Betty filled the agent in on Doris’s accusations.

Are you sure this woman isn’t just blowing hot air? Sara asked.

I doubt it. Doris Blackwell is a very litigious person, Betty said. She’s usually involved in one or two lawsuits a year.

How hard would it be to take that subplot out?

Very. It would require a major re-write because it’s entwined with the main story in several places. And I’d have to totally rethink the ending… Betty’s voice trailed off. She did not want to re-write the book. Her mind had already moved on to the next one.

But Sara had jumped to another possibility. When did you develop that subplot, before or after this woman talked about her idea with you?

I don’t know for sure, but I think it was before. I’d have to look back through the earlier drafts in my computer. I don’t think it was in the original outline.

You save all the old drafts?

Yes. I’m always afraid I’ll have second thoughts about something I took out or changed drastically, and I’ll want to go back to the earlier version.

Okay, put them on a flash drive and hop on a plane. Your contract requires your publisher to back you up in the event of a plagiarism claim, if there’s reason to believe the claim is unfounded. I’ll get the publisher’s lawyers on the phone and get a meeting set up for late this afternoon or first thing tomorrow.

Honey, I’m eighty-five. I don’t just hop on planes anymore. Never did like to fly anyway because I get airsick.

So how’d you end up writing all those travel articles?

I flew when I had to, but I was a lot younger then, in my sixties. Mostly I got there by tour bus or cruise ship.

Thirty-six-year-old Sara only spared a brief moment to contemplate how being in one’s sixties could be considered a lot younger. Okay, so when can you get here?

Betty thought for a moment. I’d have to get someone to drive me to Philadelphia or New Jersey to catch a train, and probably by the time I get there I’ll be incoherent with fatigue. I’d say day after tomorrow.

Okay, I’ll see if I can set something up for Friday morning. And don’t forget to bring those earlier drafts.

I’ll gather them up right now. Soon as I call around for a ride for tomorrow morning. Uh, just one other question, dear.

Shoot.

What’s a flash drive?

***

Kate Huntington’s stomach growled as she sat in a booth at Mac’s Place, waiting for her best friend to join her for lunch. She blew a dark curl out of her blue eyes and said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for a good metabolism. She’d had to increase her exercise a bit, but she had recovered her figure fairly readily after the baby was born. All things considered, I don’t look bad–for a thirty-nine-year-old woman, she thought.

Her mind turned once again to her guilt-ridden ruminations about returning to work part-time in a few weeks. One third of her guilt was about leaving Edie with her nanny three days a week, and two thirds of it was because she was actually looking forward to it!

For the umpteenth time, Kate told herself, I’m no different from any other middle-class professional who also happens to be a mother. I love my child. I love my job.

But in reality, there was a difference. Kate did not have to work to sustain her middle-class lifestyle. Thanks to the foresight of her late husband, who had taken out a sizeable life insurance policy several years before he was killed, Kate was financially comfortable, as long as she didn’t get too extravagant.

Bottom line, she was not cut out to be a stay-at-home mom. Spending all day every day in the company of a seven-month-old was starting to make her stir-crazy. And she loved her work. Being a psychotherapist felt more like a calling than a career to her.

Besides, she was leaving Edie in good hands. Two months ago, the cousin of her friend, Rose, had immigrated from Guatemala. It was perfect timing. Maria Hernandez, the oldest of seven siblings, needed a job. Kate needed a trustworthy nanny.

Maria was wonderful with the baby, but her English was practically non-existent. Her presence in the household had done little to alleviate the young widow’s loneliness.

Kate’s reverie about nannies and returning to work was disrupted by a blur of movement surging past her booth. The blur came to a halt and took two steps backward. Rose Hernandez’s short, sturdy body was swathed in an apron at least two sizes too big for her.

Cute waitress costume, but it’s a little early for Halloween, Kate said.

Rose rolled her eyes. Very funny. Waitress went home sick so I’m helping out. You gonna be here awhile? Mac’s called a replacement. Should be in soon. I got news. Big news.

You and Mac gettin’ hitched? Kate asked in a teasing tone, not sure how she would feel about it if the answer was yes.

Rose rolled her eyes again, as a pink tinge crept up her cheeks. Hardly, she said. Mac Reilly had already been married, and divorced, twice in his forty-one years, and although he adored Rose, he could best be described as an irascible curmudgeon. Rose was still assessing if she could deal with his personality full-time, especially since two Mrs. Reillys before her could not.

A customer gestured for Rose’s attention. Later, she said and raced off, just as Kate saw her lunch companion coming into the restaurant.

At six-two and well over two hundred pounds–he wasn’t saying how far over these days–he was hard to miss. As he spotted Kate and walked in her direction, she noticed with concern that he looked tired and harried, and the salt was starting to gain on the pepper in his hair.

"Hmm, I never, ever would have thought to put the words Rose and waitress together in the same sentence," Rob Franklin said, as he settled into the booth across from Kate.

Somebody went home sick so she’s helping Mac for a little while. She said she has some news for us once her relief arrives.

Sorry I’m late. Emergency call as I was walking out the door.

Important client?

Important, yes. Client, no. It was my Aunt Betty. Do you remember her from the party? The Franklins’ daughters had conspired to throw their parents a surprise anniversary party the previous month. She’s my great aunt actually, Rob added. She was married to my grandfather’s youngest brother.

Aunt Betty would be hard to forget, Kate said. We had a delightful conversation about child-rearing practices, past and present. Apparently she had to research those of the eighteenth century for her latest novel.

Well, that novel is the cause of the current emergency, I’m afraid.

A young waitress whom Kate had never seen before appeared at their table.

And sorry again, Kate, but I can’t stay to eat. I’m swamped. To the waitress, Rob said, A crab cake sandwich with fries, to go, please. And put her pickle slices, he tilted his head in Kate’s direction, on my sandwich.

Crab cake sandwich with Greek salad, and, yes, you can put my pickles on his sandwich. In response to the confused look on the waitress’s face, Kate added, Just tell Mac the order’s for Kate and Rob. He’ll understand.

As far as Kate was concerned, the owner of Mac’s Place was family. Their parents had been best friends and they had grown up together, along with Kate’s three siblings. When his parents had died in a car accident, Mac had turned their corner pub into a full-blown restaurant.

Kate and Rob regularly met there for lunch on Wednesdays, unless Rob was unable to shake free from his duties as a partner in a thriving law firm. In addition to Kate’s connection to the owner, Mac’s Place served the best crab cake in Towson–which was saying something in Maryland, a state known for its crab cakes.

I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner that I wasn’t going to be able to spare the time for lunch. I thought I had things under control with this case that’s going to court tomorrow. But today, Murphy’s Law has been in full play.

Since Ed’s death, Rob had made every effort to keep things from interfering with his Wednesday lunch dates with Kate. He and his wife were quite aware that they were her lifeline to sanity. They did their best to provide her with support and a sense of connection with the world outside of diapers and two o’clock feedings.

I understand, Kate said. You didn’t need to come over in person. You could’ve just called.

"Actually, I have a huge favor to ask, and I figured it would be easier to explain face to face than over the phone. Aunt Betty’s emergency requires that she get up to New York to her publisher’s office by Friday morning. Her son is out of the country, and my court case will probably last well into next week. It’s a complicated custody battle, and the children will be at physical risk if things don’t go our way.

I can’t possibly get away, and Aunt Betty doesn’t fly anymore. She gets airsick. She was calling to get a ride to the train station. But as spry as she is, I can’t really see her dragging a suitcase on and off trains by herself. Besides I think she needs someone to go with her who can advocate for her. I’m afraid the publisher’s lawyers are just going to steam roll right over her and do whatever they think is expedient.

Okay, I can see this coming. The huge favor is you want me to go with her. Liz can’t go?

She’s swamped at work right now too. Big project deadline coming up next Tuesday. She’s been working practically 24/7.

Rob hesitated. He wasn’t at all comfortable with what he was asking of his friend, but worry for his aunt was twisting in his gut. Kate, I know it’s a lot to ask but I’m really concerned about the situation. Aunt Betty’s been accused of plagiarizing part of her latest novel.

Oh, no! Kate thought for a moment. I’d love to help but I don’t want to leave Maria alone with the baby that long. We’re talking a couple days here, to get up there and back. Maria’s English is so poor, if something happened, she wouldn’t be able to deal with it.

I was thinking about that on my way over here. How would you feel about having Maria and the baby come stay with us while you’re gone? We can set them up in the spare bedroom downstairs. Samantha’s at loose ends at the moment. She’s been laid off from her summer job. I thought I could hire her to help Maria out. She’s had a few years of Spanish in school. And if they have any problems, Liz and I are just a phone call away.

Kate considered that plan. After a couple years of rebelliousness, Rob and Liz’s youngest daughter was headed into her senior year of high school and was maturing into a responsible young woman. But Sam at loose ends was probably still a scary concept for her parents. The arrangement Rob was proposing killed two birds with one stone.

Still Kate was struggling with maternal guilt. The baby was totally comfortable with Maria now, she reasoned, and Samantha adored the little girl. Edie would certainly not be deprived of attention. Kate had to admit that her hesitation was more about her own resistance to being away from her little one.

Then a countering guilty thought occurred to her. She never would have gotten through the months after Eddie’s death, not to mention single parenthood, without Rob and Liz’s support. She felt like they had adopted her into their family. And now they needed her help. How could she refuse?

Kate had hesitated too long. Rob started to backpedal. I’m sorry, Kate, I shouldn’t have asked this of you. It’s too much. I’ll think of something else…

No, I’ll do it, Kate quickly interrupted him. I was feeling kind of bored lately anyway. This will provide a little change of pace for a couple days.

Just as Rob finished giving Kate the details of the plagiarism accusation, Mac appeared next to their table. He was a wiry man, a bit on the short side but with a ramrod straight spine, thanks to the decade he had spent as a Green Beret. A good part of his jeans and faded Army tee-shirt were covered by a grimy apron.

Here’s your crab cake and salad, sweet pea, he said, using his childhood nickname for Kate as he placed a plate in front of her. And for the gentleman, a pickle sandwich with crab cake garnish. There was a twinkle in his blue eyes as he dropped a white paper bag in front of Rob.

Kate snickered. Rob, the pickle addict, gave Mac a mock scowl.

Standing up, Rob fished some bills out of his wallet to cover his share of the lunch tab. Then he leaned over and kissed Kate on the forehead. Thanks a million, sweetheart. It’s a load off my mind to know Aunt Betty’s in good hands. If you run into any problems, call me.

Rob picked up the bag and headed for the door. See ya later, Mac.

Kate’s catch-up-on-life chat with Mac was cut short by a loud crash coming from the kitchen. As he raced off, Rose dropped onto the bench across from Kate.

Where’d Rob go? she asked, disappointment in her voice.

He couldn’t stay. Prepping for a big case, Kate managed to get out around the bite of succulent crab cake she had just taken. She rolled her eyes in pleasure as she licked tartar sauce off her lip.

You know how I’ve been talking about quitting the force. Rose was normally fairly reserved but today her chocolate brown eyes were sparkling with excitement. Well, I’m gonna do it. I’m working on getting my private investigator’s license. White teeth flashed, momentarily transforming her serious and rather plain features into a face a beauty queen would envy.

Wow! Kate beamed back at her. Have you turned in your badge then?

Rose shook her head. Can’t yet. Need the income. But I’ve started my training. Have to work under a licensed PI for a couple years. You remember Skip?

Of course I remember Skip. He had been Kate’s bodyguard, one of three hired by Rob when they had realized Eddie’s killer was also trying to kill them. Skip Canfield, who was six-five and built like Hulk Hogan, had turned out to have as much brain as brawn and had helped them track down the killer.

He has his PI license now. Got it about a year ago. I’m training with him. Helping out on investigations when I’m off duty. Rose paused for breath. He and I are talking about starting our own agency. Keep that under your hat though. He doesn’t want his boss to find out yet.

Hot damn, that’s a great idea. Then you won’t have to deal with bureaucracies or supervisors ever again.

Exactly. Rose’s face broke out again in a brilliant smile.

Kate knew her young friend did not suffer fools gladly. She’d come close to resigning from the Baltimore County Police Department during the investigation into Eddie’s murder, due to the incompetence of her then superior officer. And her Army career had been aborted when her application to the military police was turned down on the basis of her height.

Ever since then Rose saw red whenever anyone called her petite. She much preferred Kate’s word, compact, to describe her short, sturdy body that was well-endowed in all the right places.

Kate popped the last bite of her crab cake sandwich into her mouth, then glanced at her watch. I better get going.

See ya later. Rose flashed yet another grin.

As Kate headed home to get nanny and baby organized for their stay at the Franklins, she struggled again with maternal guilt. Samantha adored Edie and vice versa, she reminded herself. Her little girl would be fine.

And it’ll only be for two days, thought an unsuspecting Kate.

CHAPTER

TWO

The next morning, Kate was zipping along I-83 toward Pennsylvania. Traffic going in her direction was light by comparison to the rolling back-up on the other side, as interstate commuters headed to their jobs in Towson or other parts of the Baltimore area. The outside temperature was already soaring due to a July heat wave.

Kate hoped to get to Betty’s retirement community in Lancaster by ten, take a short break and be back on the road again by ten-thirty. That should get them to Newark, New Jersey, by a little after lunchtime.

Kate normally found driving relaxing but only the insane, in her professional opinion, enjoyed driving in New York. She and Betty would take the train from Newark into the city and, with any kind of luck, be checked into their hotel by four that afternoon. Then an early dinner and a good night’s sleep so Betty would be fresh the next day for her meeting.

As she drove, Kate occupied her mind by imagining different scenarios with the lawyers and how she would handle them. This was a technique she used with clients to rehearse anticipated confrontations. Imagine the worst case scenario and figure out how you will deal with it, so you will go into the situation calm and confident.

In this case, the tricky part was that Kate had to advocate for Betty without usurping the older woman’s autonomy. Ultimately any decisions were Betty’s to make. But Rob was concerned that the publisher’s lawyers would see his aunt as a sweet little old lady and would try to push her into doing something she didn’t want to do. Kate’s job, in addition to chauffeuring, was to help Betty back them off, if the meeting started to go in an undesirable direction.

Kate grinned to herself. If Betty was anything like the other Franklin women she knew, the folks in New York were going to discover that this sweet little old lady was not all that easy to push around.

As she took the exit for US 30, Kate realized her mental rehearsals were moving from prudent preparation to obsessive ruminating. It was time to think about something else. Her adorable daughter, Edwina Elizabeth Rosa Huntington–named after her dead father and the two women who had helped catch his killer–was always a good topic for inner contemplation.

Better not go there this morning, however, or she would be turning around and heading back home, abandoning Betty to her fate.

At the thought of Edie, Kate felt a slight tugging sensation in her breasts. She had just finished weaning the baby to a bottle and formula the previous weekend, in anticipation of her return to work. Guilt poked at her heart. Was she a bad mother? Going back to work when her child was still so little, weaning her because she couldn’t face the idea of pumping breast milk every day at lunchtime. And now gallivanting off to Pennsylvania.

You’re a great mom, love. Our baby girl is just fine, her late husband’s voice echoed in her head.

Kate smiled.

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