"When will the marker go up?" she asked.
"Most likely not for another month."
Jennifer nodded. "You mind if I stay a little longer?"
"Do what you want. We're open to the public."
He took the hint and headed down toward the crypt. When he got there he turned back and looked at her before going off.
She offered a little wave. It was nice that he cared, even if it was only because he didn't want to explain one more frozen corpse to his boss. Then she bent down and touched the red earth. Dust to dust. She wasn't sure what she'd expected to find at Hovey's grave. She was certain the police had scoured every inch. If anything had been left, it'd probably been trampled into the earth.
"Richard," she said aloud. Talking to the dead didn't seem odd to her. She often spoke to her parents, but so far they'd never answered her. "Tell me, would Suzanne actually have killed herself over you? And why would some other woman care so much that she'd brave the cold to visit you every morning? What kind of hold did you have over them?"
The wind picked up, whistling at her head and tearing at the flower in her hand, whipping off two petals. "Well, if you won't tell me, I guess I'll just have to find out for myself who your mystery woman is. You, me, and your lady have an appointment. Bright and early tomorrow morning."
Chapter 7
But morning and Jennifer's appointment with Richard's "lady" were a long while off. She grabbed a salad at a fast-food restaurant, ate it in her car, and punched in Suzie's number on her cell phone. The girl worked the evening shift at the Starvin' Marvin not too far from her house, and, as she'd told Jennifer, close enough that her mother could be at the store in five minutes if she ever ran into any trouble. It was two-thirty. The phone rang twice before a soft voice answered hello. She sounded so young, so vulnerable over the phone.
"Suzie, it's Jennifer. I found Sam, but he's... pretty busy at the moment. I think we should go ahead without him. I'm headed for the library, the main one, downtown. Want to meet me there?" She heard Suzie yawn. "Did I wake you?"
"No, it's all right. I was late getting in from work last night. I lay back down for a nap after breakfast. I'll throw something on, grab a banana, and be there in about thirty minutes. I'll have to slip out the front, so Mom won't stop me and try to feed me lunch."
"Okay. See you then." Jennifer cranked up her car and headed back uptown to one of the best sources of information she knew of, the Bibb County Library. It was located in a large white building not all that far from Sam's apartment in the old part of Macon. Sam would never think to look for her there, almost on his doorstep, and a lot of what had been written about Richard Hovey and Suzanne Gray was most likely right on the shelves or in the micro fiche housed in the old building's toasty warmth. She could even check the Internet without going home.
Jennifer remembered a big article about Hovey the day after he died. She flipped through the stack of back issues of the Telegraph, and there was his photo right on the front page with the headline: NATIONALLY KNOWN MACON ATTORNEY RICHARD HOVEY DIES.
A most attractive man. His hair was still dark with just a hint of silver around his temples. His nose was long, his jaw angular, his eyes large, dark, and brooding under thick eyebrows. His physique was still slender. He had the poise of a man who wore an expensive suit as though it were his due.
But there was something about his looks that she didn't trust. Beneath his veneer of seductive sincerity was an invitation to danger. He looked like someone who didn't like to lose, wouldn't tolerate it. Did Suzanne have any idea what kind of fire she'd been playing with?
Renowned attorney Richard Foster Hovey, 42, …
Funny how, in death, "shady" became "renowned." But wasn't the law a numbers game, just like everything else? Wins versus losses. Very little else mattered.
...was found dead at his home on Ogelthorpe Street January 31, the victim of a fall.
Short and to the point. No mention of rose petals.
Mr. Hovey is probably best known for his defense of mass murderer Abraham Eckel...
Hovey should have been jailed for that one. Anyone who used a technicality to get off a mass murderer who planned to kill again... Thank God the police had caught him before he managed one more victim.
...and his most recent work for alleged wife killer Simon DeSoto. Mr. Hovey, sought as a consultant on cases all over the nation, had a reputation for winning acquittals for clients who had little hope of success. His arguments before the state supreme court are often cited.
A fairly in-depth recounting of the DeSoto case and conviction followed, including the fact that Hovey had filed a petition to have the verdict set aside.
And it had been. By a judge who might as well hang up his career. He'd insured his defeat in the next election, even if he had been following the letter of the law.
She flipped to the inside of the B section where a conventional obit added the following information:
Survivors include his former wife, Mrs. Ruth Loudermilk Hovey; a son, Darrell Hovey; two daughters, Melanie Hovey and Mrs. Virginia Hovey Boyd; and his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Hovey.
So, the ex-Mrs. Hovey was a Loudermilk. They had money. Owned a good amount of land on the east side of Macon, just past the city limits, if Jennifer remembered correctly. Ruth Holvey had to be part of that family. And it would make all kinds of sense for Hovey to have formed that union, as ambitious as he obviously was. The fact that one of the daughters was already married suggested the Hoveys had wed young. Hell hath no fury like a woman who puts her husband through law school—with or without the aid of her family's money—and then gets dumped.
Funeral services will be conducted at 11 A.M. today at Bibb Memorial Gardens. The family requests that donations be made to charity in lieu of flowers.
No mention of Suzanne Gray. Or any other significant other. She wondered if Suzanne had attended his funeral. And, if so, how the ex-Mrs. Hovey felt about her being there. Suzie should know.
One day later, Suzanne was dead herself. What had that day been like for her? Hell, most likely. Ignored, excluded. Could she have been so distraught that she typed that note and forgot to sign it above her typed name? Typed name. That still didn't make sense.
And what about Ruth? Was she devastated by Richard's death? Was she embarrassed by Suzanne's? The latter was a given. Who wouldn't be?
Jennifer folded the copy of the Telegraph and returned it to its shelf. Then she found the edition with Sam's article across the front page. A smiling Suzanne stared from a studio photo, crinkles around her eyes, as though she had no cares in the world, her hair dark and full, chin length. She looked young for her age, Jennifer thought, like an older version of Suzie. Pleasant enough, but not particularly attractive while Suzie was actually quite pretty. Of course youth in itself holds a lot of appeal.
She scanned down through the article to see if there was anything she'd missed.
...local businesswoman... O Happy Day Delivery Service, a balloon/candy/flowers/singing gram service co-owned by Kelli Byers... graduate of Sherwood High School.
No college mentioned.
Sam had done well by her. He had set the scene and explained the facts of her death, but he didn't exploit them. He left her dignity intact.
Jennifer shuffled through the B section of the paper. Photos of lovely brides and smiling grooms caught her eye and her stomach gave a lurch. The pain she'd pushed away so hard was again gripping her chest.
Sam, how could you? I thought you had more class. All I've ever asked from you is honesty.
Tears were threatening again, but she refused to cry. Not here. Not in a public place. She pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her nose.
Someone called her name.
"I got here as fast as I could," Suzie told her, sliding into the chair next to her. She'd thrown on an old Sherwood High School sweatshirt and some jeans. Then she looked Jennifer full in the face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Jennifer sniffe
d and blinked hard. "I think I'm catching a cold. It's trying to go to my eyes."
"We'll all be sick with flu if this weather doesn't break soon. I don't ever remember cold like this lasting so long."
"Neither do I."
"Suzie, did your aunt attend Hovey's funeral?"
"I don't know. I didn't see her all that day. He was buried the morning of the day she..."
"Right." Suzanne had died that night, the same day as Hovey's funeral.
She started to fold the paper when Suzie tapped the lower left-hand corner, and a headline leaped. GRAY-HOVEY TO WED. There it was. In the very same newspaper that carried news of Suzanne's death was her engagement announcement to a dead Richard Hovey.
"They were getting married in June," Suzie said.
"She told you about it."
"Of course. I was going to be her bridesmaid. She talked about it all the time. She really loved him."
"But you still don't think she killed herself."
Suzie shook her head. "Men were always falling in love with Aunt Suzanne. Even our minister had a little something for her, but I wouldn't breathe that to anybody but you. She had to know she'd find someone else, even if it took a long time to get over Mr. Hovey. They had only known each other a few months. There's always someone else out there for us, isn't there? If love goes wrong? That's what Aunt Suzanne always told me."
She should have Suzie talk to her writers' group, explain to them that being thirty and unmarried didn't mean she'd never find someone else. Maybe not another Sam, but... She sniffed hard. Better to keep her thoughts on Suzanne.
"And you don't think Hovey was seeing anyone else?"
"Are you kidding?" Suzie asked. "He was dating my Aunt Suzanne."
Okay. So Jennifer didn't know that was supposed to be a stupid question.
"She had this almost magical appeal," Suzie explained. "She wasn't like the rest of us—not like you and me. Men were drawn to her."
Jennifer stole a look at Suzie. The kid was serious. And maybe she was right. A touch, a look, a hidden promise—a woman didn't have to be conventionally pretty to be amazingly sexy.
Jennifer put the newspaper back on its rack in the reserve room. "Come on, let's check the Internet."
The two of them found an empty carrel in the computer room, and with Suzie looking over her shoulder, she logged on and brought up a search engine. She typed in Richard Hovey and got so many hits, she didn't know where to start.
"Wow! I know Aunt Suzanne said he was well known, but I had no idea."
Even Jennifer was surprised. Hovey's name popped up in articles from the New York Times to the Washington Post and the Philadelphia Inquirer. He'd been called in as a consultant on all kinds of trials across the country.
They scanned titles of as many articles as they could, knowing that they could retrieve all that information later. Right now what Jennifer was really interested in was Hovey's relationship with Suzanne.
"Have you ever tried searching for your aunt's name?"
Suzie shook her head. "I think she and Kelli have a website, but I've never seen it. Aunt Suzanne didn't have a personal computer, but Kelli does."
Jennifer entered Suzanne's name into the search engine and got dozens of hits, all from newspaper articles about her death. And one hit for O Happy Day Delivery Service. She clicked on the link and the computer came alive, balloons of red, blue, and yellow swelled across the screen and then exploded, showering confetti over the name of the service which was surrounded by cut flowers and wrapped candies. She could tell by the way the flowers danced that if speakers had been connected, music would be playing. Such a happy display.
"Would you look at that! That's neat!" Suzie said.
Jennifer grinned. It was indeed neat. And just as one more balloon filled and then popped, she had a thought.
"You say your aunt didn't have a computer. How about a typewriter?"
"No. But she could use Kelli's anytime she wanted. She lives just across the road."
Which meant that Suzanne didn't have anything convenient to type a suicide note on. Unless she'd used Kelli's machine, which would make her the accomplice. Why hadn't Sam checked that out?
"Kelli's kind of weird," Suzie went on, "but she does know her computer stuff. She does all the advertisements for the business."
"Weird how?"
"Oh, you know." Suzie shrugged. "I just don't much like her. I always thought she was jealous of Aunt Suzanne."
"How so?"
"Well, because Aunt Suzanne got so much attention, you know, and Kelli didn't like other people around Aunt Suzanne. If Aunt Suzanne and I went to the movies, we'd have to slip out if we didn't want Kelli to come, too."
Jennifer jotted down the phone number at the bottom of the screen. Kelli Byers was most likely still running the business. And anyone who was jealous of Suzanne Gray was someone she wanted to speak with. Then she returned to the search engine and typed in Ruth Loudermilk Hovey.
"Why do you want to know about Mr. Hovey's ex-wife?" Suzie asked.
"Suzie, if your aunt didn't kill herself, someone had to do it."
"But you can't think his wife..."
"I don't think anything. I'm just putting her name into the computer to see what comes up."
Ruth's name appeared on three links. One had to do with the Cherry Blossom Festival. Of course she'd be involved with that. The next concerned the Macon Woman's Club, but the last was something else entirely, a gossip column from the Atlanta Eye dated two years ago.
RUTH HOVEY CHARTS HUSBAND'S SUCCESS
The buzz around the Bibb County Courthouse is that the key to Richard Hovey's phenomenal success in the court room is Ruth Hovey's personal astrologer. Ruth is reported to employ the astrologer, a la Nancy Reagan, to schedule Richard's court appearances. Does it work? This reporter can only say it obviously doesn't hurt.
"She's a nut," Suzie pronounced. "No wonder her husband left her."
"Maybe, maybe not," Jennifer said. Had Ruth been trying to influence her husband or was this a desperate attempt to be more a part of his life? How did Richard view her little hobby? She hardly thought he'd be pleased that a tabloid had attributed his success to an astrologer. And who, Jennifer wondered, did she consult when her marriage hit the rocks?
Or was the story simply not true? One of the basic tenets of journalism was consider your source: the Atlanta Eye.
Her stomach growled and she turned off the computer. That salad hadn't been much, but a vegetarian had only so many fast-food options.
"I'm hungry. How about you?" she asked Suzie.
"Starved. All I've had all day is a banana, a Coke, and a cold piece of pizza for breakfast."
"What do you say we grab an early dinner?"
"Sounds good. My shift starts at seven."
Jennifer dug her cell phone out of her purse. If she was hungry, that meant Muffy was, too. The dog was no doubt pouting from her absence. She'd also need to be walked.
The voice of her neighbor, Mrs. Ramon, came on the line, her thick accent even more difficult to understand with the chaos of children in the background.
"Mrs. Ramon—"
"Jennifer, you get yourself back here pronto. That fellow of yours has come knocking on your door twice now and then mine. I told him I know not where you are, but he seems really upset. What you done now, mi chica?"
"Could you please ask one of the kids to feed Muffy and take her out for her walk? Her leash is in the closet. And ask them to give her a treat. There's a box on top of the refrigerator. But only one treat. She has to watch her weight."
"Of course. I do whatever I can for you. You know that. But what has happened? Your young man—"
"It's all right. I'll take care of it."
"No, Miss Jennifer. You get your head out of the dirt—"
"Out of the sand," Jennifer corrected.
"Out of wherever you put it that you shouldn't have," Mrs. Ramon insisted. "Your young man have with him this woman, muy linda, hair li
ke, what you say, copper. You take care, my young friend. You get yourself back here, I warn you. I don't like the look in her eye. I don't trust this one."
"I appreciate your concern but just take care of the dog. Please. I'll take care of everything else. I've got to go." She hit the phone's off button.
"What's wrong?" Suzie asked.
"Nothing." She wasn't about to tell Suzie her troubles. At least it wasn't tears that threatened this time. It was anger. Sam had brought that woman to her home. How could he?
Anger was so much easier to deal with than hurt, but, in truth, she wasn't much good dealing with either one. Maybe that's why she wrote. It gave her control. Before relationships got too complicated or messy, she could always kill off one of the people involved. That was the advantage of mystery over romance: no one was guaranteed to make it to the end. Too bad Belle Renard wasn't as easily dispensed with as the characters in her books.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Suzie asked. "You're spacing out on me."
"I'm sure. You've got to get to work and I've got to get to my writers' meeting. We'll have supper and then we can both take off. Sound good?"
"Great."
Food had again lost its appeal. Jennifer wanted a hole to crawl into. Barring that, her writers' group would simply have to do. Unfortunately, she hadn't anticipated what she'd find there, or she wouldn't have gone.
Chapter 8
When Jennifer walked into Monique's den, four sets of eyes stared at her with such I'm-so-glad-it's-you-and-not-me sadness written all over their faces. Clearly, they all knew about Sam and Isabelle Renard.
Pity. In all its ugliness. What could be worse? Nothing, except maybe seeing that wretched engagement announcement again. Monique, no doubt, subscribed to the Sunday edition of the Atlanta Constitution.
Jennifer pursed her lips and folded the copy of the paper waiting for her on her customary seat on Monique's sectional sofa. The cowards. Not one of them had had the courage to call her, at least not on Sunday. They'd probably spoken with each other and then hatched their plan to wait, knowing that once she came to their writers' meeting, she'd have no way to escape.
Dying to Get Her Man Page 4
