I nod, sipping at my sweet tea. Yes, this all makes sense. It explains Dani’s watchful gaze on Teeny and Teeny’s disappointment when cops showed up at the spa. But I have a few more questions to ask.
“Dani, just wondering. Were you ever a foster child?”
Her beautiful face crinkles and freezes, as if she’s twenty years older. “No, why?”
She’s lying and I know it. “I’m just asking everyone for a project I’m working on. Was Teeny a foster child?”
“I don’t know. It’s entirely possible, I guess. You’d have to ask him.” She eats a couple sweet potato fries, then gulps at her water. I continue with my questioning, relentless.
“And did you say you shot with bows in the Marines?”
“What does this have to do with anything? Of course you can’t suspect I killed those women!”
“I didn’t say that. I just asked if you shot with bows in the Marines.”
“Yes, a few times. But that was so long ago and I was different then.”
I lean across the table, dropping my voice. “Is your family wealthy?”
Dani glares at me. “Well, aren’t we Miss Nosy-Pants today? As a matter of fact, yes. My family is wealthy and they helped me buy the spa. Are you happy now?”
“That is helpful. Thank you for being honest.” Although I know that wasn’t totally the case.
She stands, ice in her eyes. “I’m finished here. I wish you well with whatever you’re doing, Tess. But don’t you plan on having a job when I re-open. Remember that time I said I had your back? I meant it. I don’t bail on my friends, just like with Teeny. Now I’m not even sure you’re my friend.”
As soon as she stalks out the door, Rosemary glides over to my table, the eyes of several male customers following her. She situates herself in Dani’s abandoned chair.
“Whew, she’s some piece of work, isn’t she? Where’d you meet that broad?” Rosemary taps her fingers on her lips, gripping an invisible cigarette. She doesn’t give me time to answer. “So look here. I went to that computer shop and asked him those questions. He had a hard time staying focused…men, you know. Anyway. He wasn’t a foster kid and he doesn’t shoot bows. That’s what he said.”
I sigh. “But just like Dani—the woman I had lunch with—who knows if he’s telling us the truth? Digging into the past is taking too much time. It seems like we need to reel this killer in fast, you know? Before there’s another murder?”
Rosemary nods. Her boss calls her back to work. She smiles, which is quite disarming considering she rarely smiles at me. “Catch you around, Tess Spencer. And take care of that eye.”
I walk out into the pouring rain, careening into a brick wall of a man. Axel.
30
AXEL CATCHES MY ARM, swinging me back under the restaurant awning. He runs a large hand through his hair, shaking some of the water out. He examines my face and frowns. “What has become of your eye?”
“It’s a baby thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
He looks confused, then offers a hesitant smile. “Your friend liked the bouquet?”
I wish I could scold him because his orange roses showed up everyone else’s flowers. Instead, I put aside my pride. “Yes. They were perfect.”
“Ah, gut. I am going into this restaurant. You are still hungry?”
“Nein. I mean, no. I’m not. I just ate.”
He leans against the wood door, totally blocking anyone who might want to exit. “You are checking in on your elderly friend today perhaps? Miranda Michaels?”
I didn’t realize he knew her name. “Yes, I’m visiting her tonight. Her daughter Charlotte will also be there, because she’s getting released from the hospital.”
He gives me a look I can’t describe. It’s something like concern but it goes deeper. “Miranda Michaels has helped many people.”
I have no sweet clue what he means, since I doubt she’s helped him. Yet certainly it’s true. She held me back from the brink of suicide once. But he knows nothing about that…
“Guten Tag,” he says, swinging the door wide and charging in. I can imagine Rosemary rushing over to show him to a table. I wonder if she’s his type. A hidden puddle by the sidewalk surprises me when I sploosh right into it. As I climb into the SUV, muddy water slops from my shoes onto the floor mat. Not the best day to be outside. I wonder if Detective Tucker is hunkered in a makeshift tent in the woods.
Ready to change into something dry, I head straight home. On the way, I call Thomas to remind him to check on that Crystal Mountain Spa deed before he leaves the office. Hopefully that will shed some light on who might have had access to the woods in the eighties and nineties.
Charlotte calls me as I’m rounding the final curve. “Could you come to The Haven?” Her voice is quiet and shaky. “Mom isn’t doing well at all and I could really use you here.”
“On my way.” I pull into the closest graveled turnoff spot and reverse direction, back toward town. The water sluicing over my wipers mimics my mood. It’s like I’m watching a flood approach and there’s nothing I can do to hold it back.
THE NURSE OPENS THE door to Miranda’s suite, revealing Charlotte clinging to Bartholomew’s hand on the couch. She turns her head slowly, as if a sudden twist would pain her. Her hair is still missing in a patch on the back but she looks tragically beautiful, like a Klimt painting.
I rush over to her side, hugging her. “It’s going to be okay.”
“She’s dying, Tess.”
“I know. That’s why it’s going to be okay. You know how much she’s missed your dad. Now she will see him again…and her Savior. She’s not afraid.”
“I know…” Charlotte’s voice fades. “But I am. I don’t know how to handle any of this. I still haven’t even really processed Dad’s death.”
The Good Doctor wraps an arm around Charlotte, somehow making the tall woman appear small. “We will do everything we can to make her comfortable. She won’t be in pain. Believe me, she knows you’re here, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”
Charlotte’s lustrous eyes fill with tears. “You can go in and say goodbye, Tess.”
Suddenly I’m not just the comforter, I need comfort. Remnants of our long discussions piece themselves together like a quilt in my mind. Times when Miranda encouraged me that I was special, that I had value even when no one else seemed to care who I was. Long chess games played in the dwindling summer twilight. And the laughter…oh, mercy…the laughter!
I creep in, watching this tiny woman who has been weakened, but not destroyed, by strokes and heart attacks. She never once complained about being in a wheelchair. She simply made the best of it. I truly pray I can be half the woman she is when I am her age.
Miranda takes shallow breaths, making me fearful. The nurse sitting in the corner gives me a reassuring nod. I take Miranda’s hand, whispering to her. “It’s me, Tess. Just wanted to…” Words don’t come, but the tears do. Taking the Kleenex the nurse offers, I sit and hold my friend’s cold hand, wishing I could will the strength back into her. Yet I know it’s almost her time. She would tell me that herself. She’d say, “Tess Spencer, you stop that blubbering and let me go. It’s time for me to get on up to Russell. He’s missed his fireball wife. And law! I can’t tell you how ready I am to use these legs again!”
I close my eyes and imagine Miranda young and healthy, like she looked in pictures. Reddish-brown hair and deep blue eyes, with fair skin…like Snow White.
Finally, the nurse taps my shoulder and I glance at the clock. Time has flown. I need to give Charlotte time with her mother. I give one final squeeze and for an instant, she seems to squeeze back.
The Good Doctor has poured us both strong coffee, and I sip at it, grateful for its comforting smell and warmth. He looks closer at my bruised eye. “What happened?”
“Daughter backed into it.” I don’t feel like elaborating.
He nods, his battleship gray eyes swiftly returning to Charlotte. I feel a little zing as I realize he�
��s totally smitten with my best friend. Maybe he’s the only one she really needs right now, with his bedside manner and familiarity with the death process. Chances are I might make things harder by being here and crying my eyes out when she goes.
“I should probably get home,” I say.
Charlotte turns to me, brimming with sadness but determined to keep her chin up. The poor girl has been through so much in this past week. “You need to go?”
“I’ll stay if you want. But maybe I should go check on your house?”
She looks at me closely, seeing through my excuses yet understanding, as she always does. “Sure, if you could. I won’t get back there tonight.”
“You need anything at all? Clothes? Food?”
Bartholomew cuts in. “Rosemary is actually bringing us food tonight from the bistro.”
I’m impressed with Rosemary’s sudden interest in Charlotte’s well-being. “Sounds like it’s covered for now.” I go over and give Charlotte a hug, wishing I could soak up some of her sorrow. “I’ll be over tomorrow, bright and early.”
She nods and looks out the window. Rain continues to streak the panes. Heaven is weeping for us.
IN THE HALLWAY, MR. Seger rocks on his feet, humming some disjointed tune. I walk toward the front desk, but he grabs my arm. “How is your friend? And her mother?”
I don’t really think it’s any of his business. “They need some privacy right now.”
He nods knowingly. “Death is not the end.”
Something about his cavalier attitude piques me, even if he is nuts, like the aide indicated. “Yes, but it sure feels pretty final for a while.”
His eyes snap with something akin to hostility. The ever-hovering aide swoops down the hall toward us, her lanky brown hair flying. “So sorry, Mrs. Spencer. Mr. Seger needs to come play bingo with the other residents. Isn’t that right, Mr. Seger?” She fingers her cross necklace.
Mr. Seger levels a completely lucid glare at the aide…or perhaps he’s shooting invisible lasers at her necklace, I can’t tell. “You’re always right, Peggy.” He spits out her name like it’s something stuck between his teeth.
I can’t deal with this weirdness. “See you later.” I turn toward Peggy. “And please keep him away from Mrs. Michaels’ room.”
Nothing seems amiss with Charlotte’s house. As I pass Thomas’ office, I wish I’d picked up cupcakes to celebrate his last day there. It would be nice if they’d throw a farewell party for him, but I don’t think that will be the case. Royston might have to hire two people to replace Thomas, with all the work he did. So this farewell is going to cost him.
At home, I find Nikki Jo sitting on her porch, rocking Mira Brooke. From the peach slices in her iced tea to the overflowing urns of lavender that flank her pumpkin-colored front door, I could be looking at a staged photo for Better Homes and Gardens.
Mira Brooke toddles to me, her curls damp with sweat. “Come on in and have you some peach tea,” Nikki Jo offers. “Mira Brooke wanted to be outside but it’s hotter than a pistol out here.”
As we step over the threshold into air-conditioned comfort, Nikki Jo turns around and gives me a look that stops me in my tracks. I know she has some kind of bad news but I don’t want to ask.
We continue into the kitchen, where she methodically takes out a glass, puts three cubes of star-shaped ice into it, then pours it full of sweet tea. She passes it to me.
“Charlotte called just before you got here.” Her eyes fill and tears start to smear her eyeliner. “Miranda…”
I hear what she’s saying but only one thing registers—Miranda Michaels is dead. All my Scotch-Irish emotional restraint flies out the window. I bury my face in Mira Brooke’s curls and weep.
31
THE WEEKEND HURTLES along like a loaded coal train with no brakes. After Charlotte and I wrap up funeral arrangements, she extracts a promise that I’ll stay with her for the entire wake, funeral, burial, and follow-up fried chicken meal at Nikki Jo’s. Some of Miranda’s distant relatives flew in to stay with Charlotte, so at least she has that distraction.
Never does the community of Buckneck band together like when it loses one of its own. Just about every woman in town sends food for Charlotte, from loaves of fresh-baked bread to huge casseroles designed to feed the entire family. I wind up transporting several things back to Nikki Jo’s chest freezer to save for later. Each kind face brings fresh tears to my eyes as I realize how many lives Miranda touched, just like Axel said.
Thomas shoos me off every time I try to take over baby duty. “You be there for your friend. She needs you. Mira Brooke and I are having daddy-daughter bonding time.”
The funeral itself is a posh affair, as befits a Grande Dame like Miranda. I’m pleased that many caregivers from The Haven show up, but I’m not thrilled that Mr. Seger tagged along. As he gives Charlotte’s hand an exaggerated shake and loudly whispers, “My deepest condolences, mademoiselle,” I kind of want to slap him. He never even met Miranda. Plus, I don’t like the way he’s acting so familiar with Charlotte. I wish Thomas were around to give him a manly “back-off” glare, but he took Mira Brooke and left early to set up chairs and tables at Nikki Jo’s. The Good Doctor has been sidelined by a hypochondriac patient, so it falls on me to shuttle Mr. Seger back to an aide. We finally run into Peggy, who timidly emerges from the bathroom like she’s been hiding.
“Mr. Seger paid his respects.” Like most Southern women, I possess the natural ability to wrap my irritation in words that don’t offend, but unmistakably get the point across. “He might be getting tired.”
She nods and firmly takes his arm.
“Au revoir, Mrs. Spencer.” He gives me a little salute.
I didn’t realize he knew my name, but it doesn’t matter. Hopefully I’ll never step foot in The Haven again. It’s nothing but a storehouse of memories now.
Finally, we sing the last hymn—“When We All Get to Heaven.” Charlotte and I take one final look at Miranda, looking snazzy as ever in a navy suit that would have brought out the blue in her eyes. Her hands rest on her Bible, which brings a fresh influx of tears to my eyes. That woman read and lived the Bible every day I knew her.
Companionable silence hushes the opulent interior of the Good Doctor’s Lexus on our way to the cemetery. The day seems to reflect Miranda’s life—brilliantly clear, with nary a cloud in the sky. The dry ground has absorbed the recent rains, so our heels don’t get stuck in the grass.
As the pastor pays tribute to Miranda, I find myself hoping again that I will age like she did—not just maintaining her classy beauty to the end, but her sense of humor and her deep concern for others, as well. I raise my eyes to the sky and thank the Lord for our Miranda Brooke, a constant reminder of one of the closest friends God ever blessed me with.
Back at home, the gladiolas, roses, and lilies from church have been artistically arranged on Nikki Jo’s wraparound porch, nearly choking me with their fragrance. Inside, the church women have filled the tables with mashed potatoes, rolls, green beans, fried chicken, and homemade lemonade. Charlotte and the Good Doctor begin to greet guests. I search for Thomas and Mira Brooke.
The kitchen swarms with women. Nikki Jo is at the helm, giving orders like a head chef. Balancing a cheesecake in one French-manicured hand, she guesses who I’m looking for. “They’re out back!”
On the patio, I scan the growing, milling crowd for my husband, feeling on the verge of collapse. I’m sure Charlotte feels this way and worse. All I want is to get a few plates of food and go back to the cottage, kick off these heels, and decompress.
I’m about to tell an unsupervised little girl to stop chewing on Nikki Jo’s lavender hosta flowers when a large hand slides around my waist. Thomas gazes down at me with Mira Brooke perched on his arm. She looks like a fairy in her violet dress.
“Are you a parking ticket? ‘Cause you’ve got fine written all over you,” he whispers.
I grin. “Corny, but I’ll take the compliment.”
“How are you holding up?” Mira Brooke kicks at his leg with her patent-leather shoe, but he doesn’t flinch. My man is tough.
“Tired. How are you?”
“Hungry. How about this…you head back to the house with Mira Brooke. I’ll snag some food from Mom and we can chill. This meal is mostly for the family anyway. I know you’re like family to Charlotte…but Doc Cole seems attached to her these days. Are those two together together?”
I nod. Mira Brooke launches into my arms, twisting my dress to one side.
“Andrew will be disappointed.” Thomas grins. “Passed over for an older man.”
I smile. Not only does Thomas know how to cheer me up, he also senses when I’m completely worn out. This small gesture—picking up food for us and hanging out at the house with me—touches me more than anything else could at this juncture.
“See you at home.” Mira Brooke and I crunch the gravel back to the house. I’m thankful to get beyond the shrubbery that separates our yards and hides us from sight. Someone else will have to corral that wild flower-munching child. I’m going to end this day on a happy note and spend time with my family, which is just what Miranda would want.
32
AFTER OUR BELLIES ARE pleasantly full of Southern comfort food, Thomas and I settle in on the porch swing. I squeeze up bites of a popsicle for Mira Brooke, whose lips are now watermelon pink.
Thomas stretches his legs, which seem twice the length of mine. “I forgot to tell you. Dani bought that spa property from a shareholder in a defunct coal company. He’d been paying taxes on the land for years. Apparently there used to be a coal mine up in those woods, but after a tragic accident, people wanted to forget about the whole business. The mine closed down back in the seventies.”
As a bit of ice slips to the ground and melts into a pink puddle, I think of that twined log cross in the woods. Maybe it marked the mine? Surely some family member would want to remember where the tragedy occurred.
Trial by Twelve Page 15
