Dead in a Flash

by Brynn Bonner

  “Patricia, would you go tell Aunt Yvonne that Sophreena will be up in about fifteen minutes,” Dinah Leigh asked, giving me an apologetic look. “She’ll need a little time to get herself together. Poor old love is slowing down these days. The trip was hard on her and she’s exhausted. She’ll just be getting up from her morning nap.”

  Patricia looked to be in her early forties, with Dinah Leigh’s good looks but without her affable manner. She gave an eye roll worthy of a teenager and rose. “Wouldn’t we all love a nap,” she groused, jerking her head in my direction. “She’d best come up before Auntie gets into her cups.” She gave me the smile again, more genuine this time, though on the malicious side, and continued. “Auntie operates under the rule she can’t drink while it’s light out, but as she’s fond of saying, it’s always dark under the porch.”

  As she walked away, Dinah Leigh shook her head. “That’s my daughter. Patricia has decided to run for public office in this fall’s elections. She has most everything she needs to be successful—she’s well funded, she has good connections, she’s smart, she’s attractive, and she’s determined. Now she just needs to work on that personality thing,” she said dryly, motioning for me to take the vacated chair.

  “Ah, but she’s right about Aunt Yvonne,” Dinah Leigh said with a tsk. “She loves Jesus, her family, Virginia Slims, American Idol, and Wild Turkey bourbon—not necessarily in that order. But she should be in good shape right about now.” She gave me the room number and glanced at her bejeweled watch. “Just give Patricia a few minutes to get her situated. I only hope they don’t peck each other to death before you get up there.”

  I declined coffee and looked out the window to where Phoebe was still churning the water. “I met Phoebe briefly upstairs; she seems very nice,” I said.

  “Yes.” Dinah Leigh beamed. “I think she’s the real deal. And Conrad’s giddy as a schoolboy. The only problem is she’s making me feel like the world’s biggest slug. I think I’ll go see if there’s a yoga session I can get into.”

  I took that as my cue and started up to interview Aunt Yvonne, feeling confident, despite the warnings.

  When would I learn?

  * * *

  “I don’t understand why we’re dredging up all this old stuff. Who cares?” Yvonne demanded. She was a dry husk of a woman. Her skin had the sallowness of the dedicated chain-smoker, and deep wrinkles were carved from each side of her mouth down to her chin, giving her the look of a marionette that had been stuffed in a trunk too long.

  “It’s for Conrad,” I said encouragingly. “It’s a wedding gift from Dinah Leigh.”

  “Worst gift I ever heard tell of,” Aunt Yvonne muttered. “What’s wrong with a compote bowl, or some nice percale sheets, or in Dinah Leigh’s case, why doesn’t she just buy him a house? She bought me one, you know.”

  “That’s very generous,” I said. “Maybe this is something you can do for her in return. It means a lot to her.”

  Aunt Yvonne gave a resigned sigh. “Fine, ask your questions and I’ll tell you what I want you to know.”

  What she wanted me to know wasn’t a whole lot. She had a few names from her branch of the family, Dinah Leigh and Conrad’s maternal line. She knew a little about family occupations and some family lore about a migration pattern, but it was like pulling crabgrass to get a factoid out of her. “Me and my sister didn’t give a rip about all that old stuff,” she said. “Marie was like me; she lived for today and for Dinah Leigh and Conrad’s future. Those people who came before are all dead, they can’t do us any good.”

  After getting nowhere and enduring her fourth tirade about how unjust it was she couldn’t smoke in the room that Dinah Leigh had “paid out the ying-yang for,” I decided to pack it in. The whole time we talked, Yvonne was continually toying with an old cigarette lighter or flipping a pack of cigarettes on the tabletop. She definitely needed a nicotine fix. I put away my notes and quickly texted Esme to tell her I’d be stopping by Dinah Leigh’s room to check on the status of the box of family artifacts, then I’d be set to leave.

  “Conrad needs to come to it that all that stuff from the past doesn’t mean anything,” Yvonne harrumphed as I headed for the door. “He’s his own man and well into his years. Much as Dinah Leigh likes to make over him, he’s no boy.”

  I couldn’t think of what to say to that, and anyway, a reply wasn’t needed. Aunt Yvonne pushed past me and headed for the elevator, intent on getting outside for a smoke.

  * * *

  “Dare I ask how it went?” Dinah Leigh inquired, grimacing as if she already suspected.

  “I got a little new info,” I said. “She’s not really into the whole family history thing, is she?”

  “No,” Dinah Leigh said, making her mouth form a perfect circle as she drew out the word. “Not the sentimental sort, our aunt Yvonne. She can be a bit tart.”

  “No problem, I’ve dealt with lots of reluctant people. She’s not the worst,” I said, but I was thinking Aunt Yvonne might still be in the running for that title.

  “Good, then. I think Chelsea is almost done. Would you like to wait or should I have the things sent over to your office?”

  “I’ll wait, if that’s okay.”

  “Oh, surely,” Dinah Leigh said, gesturing to a chair beside her. Her suite had a sitting area as big as my living room, with a little kitchenette in the corner and a gorgeous view of Mystic Lake.

  “If you have the time, would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions about what happened to the senator’s family all those years ago? He says I can speak freely to you about the fire.”

  “Of course, but I doubt I’ll be much help. I was a child when the fire happened and we were getting ready to move. In fact my mother had already gone ahead of us. She was pregnant and Aunt Yvonne came down to pack up the house for her. I was left behind to help. I was miserably unhappy about the move. I hardly saw Lenora after the fire because her family was in mourning. Then we moved to Norfolk and I didn’t see her or Stanton again for a long while.”

  “Did your parents ever talk about it?” I asked.

  “Not a whole lot—not around me anyway. I did overhear them a couple of times over the years discussing how foolish it was for Alton and Margaret to continue believing Johnny had survived.”

  “I understand they weren’t the only ones to suggest the parents were delusional,” I said.

  “No,” Dinah Leigh said with a sigh. “I know it pains Stan and Lenora, but their parents did go a little off the deep end when they lost baby Johnny. They were mad with grief and grasping at straws, which I’m sure would be exactly the way I’d react myself. What a horrible, horrible thing to lose a child, and in that awful way.”

  “Do you have any idea what, specifically, made them believe the baby had been kidnapped?”

  “I’m sorry, Sophreena, I don’t know any particulars. We had a sheriff back then named James Ogdon. Big Jim, people called him. He was a very sweet man, but I came to realize as I got older that he probably wasn’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. Maybe they simply didn’t trust his conclusions.”

  The door opened without a knock and Patricia came into the room followed by a man a full head taller than her and strikingly handsome. She flopped down on the sofa and started filing at a nail with such industry I expected her to quickly strike knuckle. She looked over at me with a wicked grin. “How’d it go with Auntie? She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she?”

  “Patricia,” the man said, stretching her name into a caution. “Watch the cynicism.”

  It fell to Dinah Leigh to introduce Marc Benton, Patricia’s husband. He extended a hand and I feared my arm might suffer tendon damage if he didn’t stop shaking it with such vigor.

  “Marc is trying to teach Patricia to be more prudent about sharing every opinion that comes into her head, which is a good skill to possess, especially in politics. He’s her campaign manager,” Dinah Leigh said.

  “And he’s right, I’m a terrible crank,�
� Patricia said. “I need to learn to be winsome.” She vamped a moment and fluttered her eyelashes.

  “Maybe your brother can give you some clues,” Dinah Leigh suggested brightly. “He called about a half hour ago. He’s on his way from the airport. I told you he’d come.”

  “And of course he never disappoints you,” Patricia said.

  Dinah Leigh ignored her and addressed her comments to me. “We weren’t sure he’d be able to make it. Ken’s a doctor; he works with a group called Physicians for Peace in areas of the world where there’s substandard medical care. I haven’t seen him in three months, so I’m very pleased he could come home. I only wish Lenora’s son, J.D., could’ve made the trip. I know she’s disappointed he can’t be here, but he’s off in some jungle somewhere like Dr. Livingstone. Only he’s a PhD doctor, not the medical kind. I know she’s proud of the work he does, but honestly, it seems like he could have taken a few days to come for this. Anyway, be sure you come by our table tomorrow so I can introduce you to Ken.”

  “You can curtsy and kiss his ring,” Patricia said.

  There was a light knock on the adjoining door, and Chelsea pushed it open with her foot and came in with the box of family archives. She was wearing a strange expression. Her face was flushed and she seemed distracted. I wondered if she and Lincoln had spent a bit of quality time between document scans.

  “Marc can help you get that to your car,” Dinah Leigh said.

  I tested the box and demurred. It wasn’t that heavy, just awkward. I took out an elastic-band-and-webbing contraption I keep in my bag for just such occasions and slipped it onto the box, forming a handle.

  “Chelsea, would you fix me a cup of tea? Earl Grey, please,” Patricia said, again filing away at the problem nail.

  “Chelsea is not your maid,” Dinah Leigh said calmly, but with a razor’s edge.

  Patricia looked up, her eyes drilling into Chelsea. “Of course not, whatever was I thinking? She’s the daughter you wish you’d had, right?”

  Chelsea blanched and turned to go back into her own room. I couldn’t help but notice her hand was shaking as she reached for the knob.

  “Patricia! Really!” Dinah Leigh scolded. “Sometimes you go too far.”

  * * *

  By the time I headed home the clouds that had been gathering all day were sending heavy raindrops spattering onto my windshield. I hadn’t brought an umbrella and I’d had to run for my car. I was wet, tired, and grumpy and in no mood to work tonight and intended to tell Esme so, even if she pushed.

  But when I arrived I found Esme had lit a fire in the family room fireplace. There was tomato-basil soup simmering on the stove and grilled cheese on my favorite Italian bread on the griddle. We took trays into the family room to eat in front of the fire and shared our day. These were the times I was going to miss when she moved out.

  I told her about my interviews with the Nelsons, the pleasant one with Conrad and the flinty one with Aunt Yvonne.

  “So sorry I missed that,” she said.

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” I told her, which is a line she uses on me frequently. She gave me an overly sweet smile and took a bite of her sandwich.

  I told her about Dinah Leigh’s seemingly brittle relationship with her daughter.

  “Yes, I met her. She’s quite a contrast to the other daughters,” Esme said. “Lenora’s daughter, Judith, is quiet and kind, and so is the senator and Lily Rose’s daughter, Sarah. I think of them as dutiful daughters and I don’t mean that in a dismissive way. They’re always the ones to recognize when people need a chair or something to drink or when their parents are overtaxed, and they see to it without any fuss or bother. I don’t think I’d want to come up against either of them if they decided their children or their parents needed defending, but otherwise they tend to blend into the background.”

  “I seriously doubt Patricia would ever blend,” I said.

  “Not her nature,” Esme said. “But we don’t know her story, so I won’t judge. Not unless she gets snippy with me personally.”

  “I think she’s smarter than that,” I said with a laugh. “But she does seem to take after her great-aunt Yvonne a bit.”

  The rain had let up, but I knew it wasn’t done for the night. There were still low rumbles of thunder off in the distance and the weather forecasters had predicted bands of rain coming throughout the night.

  “I hope this doesn’t last into tomorrow,” I said. “I was hoping we’d have a beautiful North Carolina spring day for the senator’s big event.”

  “It’s supposed to stop by morning,” Esme said, reaching for my tray. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve got things to prepare for tomorrow’s gala. I always wanted to say that, tomorrow I’m going to a gala.”

  “So we’re not working tonight?” I asked, relieved I wouldn’t have to mutiny.

  “You can do as you please, but I’ve got things to attend to. I’m going up now to hang my dress in the bathroom to steam it. And while that’s happening I’ll pick out my accessories and decide which shoes to wear. Then I’m going to take a nice long, hot bath using that bath bomb Marydale gave me for Christmas. You need to get your things ready, too.”

  “Oh, I will,” I assured her. She left the room, a woman on a mission, and I contemplated what all I had to do. I went up to my room and pulled my one good dress from the closet and hung it on the door. Next I found my shoes, both of them, and set them by the dresser. I scrambled around in my bag for a tube of lip gloss and set it on the dresser, then took a quick shower. I was done before Esme even started drawing her bath.

  I answered email, read for a bit, then turned off the light and snuggled in under the comforter. Unfortunately, sleep proved elusive. I tossed and turned for a while, then finally switched on the light and opened my laptop.

  Lincoln had said Chad Deese claimed a connection to Quinn County. I did a search and found a great-uncle and a smattering of distant cousins, but neither Deese nor his direct-line ancestors had ever lived in Quinn County as far as I could tell. Maybe that had been a ploy, as Lincoln suspected.

  I opened the folder I’d set up for information about the fire to check something that had been troubling me. I called up a calendar of 1947 and compared it to a newspaper article. Baby Johnny’s death certificate hadn’t been issued until almost two weeks after the fire. I wondered what that meant and made a note to look into it further.

  I tried again for sleep. As the thunder rumbled and lightning lit up my curtains, I worried about the volume of work we’d taken on and felt guilty about slacking off. Dinah Leigh’s case should be simple enough, though the deadline was tight. And the senator and Lenora’s case seemed like it should only be a matter of organizing the facts and verifying the official findings. But still I felt a lot of pressure and unease.

  I worried it around in my head for a while and had just fallen asleep, when a bolt of lightning so bright it lit my entire room woke me with a start. The rumble that followed growled on for what seemed like minutes, though it could only have been a few seconds.

  I burrowed back under the covers, grateful to be warm, safe, and dry. I remembered a phrase my father had used. It was a night not fit for man nor beast.

  four

  THE HOTEL HAD PULLED OUT all the stops for the senator’s event. Marble, metal, and glass sparkled and employees bustled about with efficiency and toothy smiles.

  “This is grander than the grand opening,” Denny said, surveying the activity in the vaulted lobby.

  “You came to the grand opening?” Jack asked.

  “Professionally,” Denny sighed. “Two ladies got into an altercation when one rolled a wheelie-bag full of cosmetics over the other’s Jimmy Choos. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Never a dull moment for you, eh?” Jack said. “I’ll stick to planting things and cutting grass, thanks all the same.”

  In truth, Jack Ford did a lot more than that. He was a landscape architect and owned his own thriving business, no small co
up for a guy in his mid-thirties. Plus, he cleaned up real nice.

  The scrapbooks were set up in a nicely decked-out display area near the back of the room, and once we reached our table I excused myself to the restroom, which I didn’t actually need at the moment. Just coincidentally, I had to walk through that area to get to the bathroom—if you ignored the door directly behind our table, which I did. I kept my ears open for comments as I passed through and was not disappointed. I had to resist the urge to start flipping around business cards like a Vegas blackjack dealer.

  I literally ran into Lenora, or rather she ran into me. She was craning her neck, scanning the space with squinted eyes. “Oh, Sophreena,” she said, patting my arm. “I’m so sorry. Have you seen Lincoln? We can’t find him and Stanton wants him to sit on the dais with us.”

  “No, I haven’t seen him today. Would you like me to help look?”

  “No, no,” Lenora said, smiling and dispensing little waves and greetings as people walked by. “He’ll turn up. Just if you see him, tell him. And come to my table when you can. I was feeling very low yesterday because Judith’s husband and the grandkids can’t be here. But I had a wonderful surprise last night. Be sure you stop by.” She rushed off, working the crowd along the way.

  I looked for Dinah Leigh’s table, figuring if anyone might know where Lincoln was, it’d be Chelsea. I spotted the table but Chelsea wasn’t with Dinah Leigh. I stopped by and was introduced to Ken Dodd. He was ridiculously handsome, with thick, wavy blond hair and an athletic build. And he oozed so much charm I felt like an overwatered houseplant. It was too much to soak in.

  Patricia was like a different woman today, warm and friendly. The contrast from her demeanor yesterday made me wonder if she was bipolar, but then I realized she was wearing her politician’s mask. Her husband seemed about to jump out of his skin and Dinah Leigh dismissed him to “go network, before you bust a gusset.”