“I would’ve been a disappointment. I wasn’t very good in English class.” Janie gestured at the ledger sheet on her desk. “Numbers were more my thing.”
“You lost your mother while you were in school.”
“I lost both parents my senior year. Mother had been ill for years, so her death was not unexpected, but my father took it very hard. He ended his own life.”
“How awful for you, my dear. It’s good that Ms. Wyckham was able to offer you a home so you could graduate with your classmates. Did she nurse your mother?”
“Yes, one of the home health care people who stopped by to check on her.”
“Were you with her long?”
“Just till the end of school. Mathew and I got married before the ink was hardly dry on my diploma. Maybe you knew my husband. He teaches shop and government.”
“My friend Dot taught with him. She says that Mathew was a painfully shy young man.”
Janie laughed. “People think we’re an odd match, but really, Mathew was the only good thing that came out of that miserable time in my life.”
She glanced across the hall at Claire’s door, perhaps hoping to find that the counseling session had ended so she could get back to work. Elinor took the hint and went to sit in a chair against the wall.
“Please do go on with your work. I’ll give it a few more minutes.”
“Let me know if you change your mind about that cold drink.”
“Thank you.”
Tacked to the door of Janie’s office was a calendar of classes, committee meetings, and outside groups that met at the church. Elinor counted no fewer than six brands of 12-Step meeting, AA, Al-Anon, Ala-Teen, Sex & Love Addicts, Gamblers Anonymous, Codependents Anonymous. Nothing for the Digitally Addicted, she noted. Meetings would start with a request to silence cell phones. Members would share how many roll-over minutes they had consumed that week. Digital addicts would confess to checking their devices between REM sleep cycles. First timers would describe the anguish they had put their families through paying roaming charges, how many hours they had stood in line waiting to buy the latest iPhone. Meetings would end with the recitation of a prayer affirming their commitment to a digital-free future and solidarity with their fellow sufferers.
“I understand that Eula Wyckham began attending worship services here recently,” Elinor said, forcing Janie Calender to look up from her work again.
“She did. Claire had her down for a pastoral visitation next month.”
“I used to go on those visitations with my father. He was a Presbyterian minister. I wonder why the woman came so late to a spiritual life? She was no spring chick.”
“I only talked to her that first time, sold her a ticket to the Little Rays… ” Janie trailed off, perhaps feeling the subject indelicate.
“Did she ever mention where she was from?” Elinor asked.
“I don’t recall that she did. She wasn’t much given to talking about herself.”
“I’ve heard that she started her nursing career as a midwife.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t know that.”
“I expect Ms. Wyckham’s home was a bit dull for a young person.”
“I just wanted to have fun, you know? Ah, there’s Claire now.”
“What brings you out on this scorcher of a day, Elinor? Did Janie offer you something cold to drink?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Dot and I just got back from lunch.”
“I bet you’re here to plan that program for the library. Come on in.”
Elinor allowed the door to close before admitting to her subterfuge. “Actually, I’m here to see if you can go with me to make a condolence call on Lucy Childers.”
“She’s very distraught, Elinor. Perhaps it would be best to wait a day or two.”
“Her husband’s killer is on the loose, Claire. The police are desperate to get a lead in the case. There are questions that only Lucy can answer.”
“Dear me! You make my blood run cold.” Claire sat down abruptly. “May I ask why on earth you’re involved in this?”
“DeWayne Ratliff thought it would be better for a woman to ask those questions.”
“Well, murder or not, she’s suffered a terrible tragedy, and she’s not strong. Of course, it would be hard for anybody. He was only forty-seven.”
“She’s Catholic, isn’t she?”
“Yes. But Father James is no better at dealing with a grieving woman than the next man. Anyway, Lucy’s husband was wonderfully ecumenical when running for re-election. They attended my church as often as any other. Lucy let Patrick get away with it as long as she could buy all the pretty clothes and shoes she wanted.”
“She’s not one of our library regulars so I don’t know her very well. Why do you say she isn’t strong?”
“I can’t give away things told in confidence, Elinor. Anyway, it has nothing to do with these dark and evil deeds.”
“A murder investigation is like an archeological dig—you have to sift through a ton of rubble to find the few bits that matter.”
“Maybe I could be more helpful if I knew what you’re looking for.”
“Fair enough. I have Patrick’s cell phone. The police need the password to access his digital calendar. He may have had an appointment with the person who killed him.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “Then maybe I’m a suspect. I had an appointment with him.”
“You?”
“Well, not that night, obviously. You and I were at the Little Rays banquet. But I did want to talk to him about an insurance policy. I suppose it will have to wait for now. Very well, I’ll go with you.” She leaned forward and pushed a button on her desk. “Janie, I’m going out for a while. Can you handle things without me?”
Janie’s disembodied voice, cheerful as always, assured her that she would not be missed.
*****
When Dot relieved Libby Jonson on the circulation desk, Libby handed her an enlargement of the newspaper clipping they had found in Eula Wyckham’s gilt-edged Bible. “Looks like a Missouri tag to me,” she said.
“That fits. Thanks, Libby. I’ll dig some more in that direction.”
An early afternoon lull settled over the library, giving Dot time to work on her genealogy project. Within minutes she got a hit. She had found the baby born during a snowstorm, a grown man now. Nowhere was Eula Wyckham’s name mentioned, but the other details were right. His story had appeared in the Kansas City Star, he said, detailing how his desperate mother had flagged down a passing car that happened to contain a midwife. He had grown up to become a humanities professor at the University of Missouri, Kansas City.
With her search narrowed geographically, Dot was able to find another “Wickham,” a birth announcement for Ada Eileen Wickham. Today, that baby girl would be fifty-three years old, she calculated. Eula Wyckham was almost seventy, so they couldn’t be the same person. But they might be related, despite the different spelling of the last name, Wickham with an “i” instead of a “y.”
She spent another forty minutes following up on this lead but could find no further traces of the family. Was this paltry bit of family history enough to motivate a low-tech person like Eula Wyckham to buy a laptop computer, learn how to use it, and spend hours at the public library searching the web? Whatever became of Ada Eileen? Married, most likely, and using a husband’s name, not some variation of “Wickham” that could be traced.
Dot heaved a sigh and turned away from the screen to help a young mother check out a book about home canning. Her infant slept soundly in a sling across her torso.
“If you’re trying to get rid of zucchini, don’t bother,” Dot advised. “Just heave it over the back fence.”
“I want to try my hand at canning tomatoes. Is it difficult?”
“I have no idea. I eat ‘em as fast as I pull ‘em off the vine. Sometimes that’s all I have for supper. That, and bread and butter.”
“The tomatoes in the supermarket are just horrible. They say we might get some rain toni
ght.”
“I knew it! Well, I hope it does the tomatoes some good. Drop off any unwanted produce here. I’ll see it doesn’t go to waste.”
The girl and baby left. The library fell silent. Dot wondered how Elinor was getting on with Lucy Childers.
*****
Elinor was not getting on very well at all. In fact, she had been prohibited from going upstairs by a gaggle of bossy Catholic women.
“It’s up to you, Claire,” Elinor urged, mouthing the word, “Password.”
Claire nodded that she understood and disappeared up the stairs. Elinor walked into the den to wait for her and found a teenaged girl watching a muted TV. It struck Elinor that she might have better luck getting the password from Patrick’s daughter rather than his wife.
Blue eyes, starry with tears, looked up inquiringly. “They’re all out in the kitchen.”
“I was hoping to talk to you. Beth, isn’t it?”
“Bethany. I don’t know you.”
“Elinor Woodward. I volunteer at the library.”
“Oh.”
“I’m so sorry about your father, my dear. It’s a sad and stressful time for you and your mother.”
“Uhhuh.”
Elinor took a seat opposite her. “I saw you at the Little Rays of Sunshine banquet Thursday night. Did your mother drive you?”
“No. I was spending the night with a friend.” Beth Childers’ eyes filled with tears again.
Elinor reached over and patted her knee. “I wish I could spare you, child, but there’s something very important I need to talk to you about.”
“What is it?”
“It’s about your father’s cell phone.”
“I don’t know where it is.”
“I have it. The police need to gain access to his calendar. Do I need to explain to you why that might be important?”
“Because Daddy was murdered?”
“Exactly. Do you know his password?”
“He never let anybody touch his stuff.”
“Perhaps he kept a list somewhere.”
“He has a database on his computer. That’s what he called it anyway.”
“Where is his computer?”
“In his office next to the kitchen.”
“Might we have a look?”
Bethany cast her baby blues toward the ceiling, clearly wondering how her mother would want her to handle this request.
“It’s very important, Bethany,” Elinor urged.
“What did you say your name was again?”
“Elinor Woodward. I won’t touch anything without your permission.”
The girl, as small-boned as either parent, rose to her feet and led the way to the kitchen where women from Lucy’s congregation scurried about, handling food, answering the door, talking in hushed tones. Everything came to a stop and all eyes turned to the bereaved youngster.
“Poor lamb,” someone said.
“I have to get a key,” Bethany mumbled.
She opened a kitchen drawer and found a keyring that held miscellaneous house and car keys. Without hesitation, she selected one from the bunch and inserted it into the lock of a door Elinor would have supposed led to a pantry. Instead, the door opened to a small office dedicated to the use of one person with an apparently singular focus—a large desktop computer whose peripherals filled an alcove behind the door. A window facing the street was so heavily curtained as to admit almost no light. Other than the built-in desktop and a springy swivel chair, there was no other furniture. On the wall opposite the desk was the room’s only decoration, a framed print of the iconic Robert Indiana sculpture, “Love.”
“He spent hours in here,” Bethany said, looking about her as if for the first time.
“With the door open or closed?”
“Sometimes the door was open. I think he liked to hear Mom banging around in the kitchen.”
The monitor, tucked into the alcove, would have been difficult for anyone outside the room to see, Elinor noted. She reached down and awakened the machine with a touch of the mouse.
“Password?” she inquired.
“I don’t know it.”
“Surely you borrowed your dad’s printer from time to time? For a school project, perhaps?”
“I have my own upstairs.”
“Yet you knew exactly where to find the key.”
Bethany blushed. “I did come in here once when I ran out of paper.”
“Do you think he used the same password for phone and computer?”
Bethany shrugged. “Maybe.”
Elinor felt defeated. “Did your mother ever use this machine?”
“Mom barely knows how to turn on the oven.”
“We all have our strengths. Let’s look in the drawers, shall we? Maybe we’ll find a list of passwords written down somewhere.”
The teenager sat down at her father’s desk and pulled out one drawer after another. One held a few basic office supplies; the rest were stuffed with promotional materials for the Reelect Childers! campaign, mingled with still others touting the Childers Insurance Agency. The girl rummaged among rulers, clips, pens, Tootsie Pops, and bumper stickers, and Elinor, overcoming a reluctance to violate a dead man’s secrets, pitched in to help. But their search did not yield an analog list.
“It’s probably in his database,” Bethany said.
Elinor looked around the minimalist office and spotted a phone charger plugged into a wall outlet. “Do you mind if I take this?”
Having achieved only one of her goals, Elinor went to wait for Claire in the car. She didn’t have long to wait. Claire Holmes opened the car door and got in. Elinor drove away, but a block from the house Claire said, “Stop the car, Elinor.”
Elinor immediately pulled over to the curb. “My dear, are you sick?”
Claire looked a bit chalky. She shook her head, opened her purse, and took out a bloodstained towel. Wrapped inside was a bloody knife.
“Good heavens! She killed him?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. She gave it to me. It’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?”
“It’s not Patrick’s blood. It’s hers. She’s a cutter, Elinor. I wasn’t going to tell you, but now I have no choice. She waited and waited for him to come home Thursday night. He said he was bringing home barbecue, so she didn’t fix supper. She gets shaky when she doesn’t eat and can’t think straight. She got herself all worked up, took some kind of pills, and finally got in her car and drove down to his office. She saw Rexie Roberts’ car parked out front and believed that her worst fears had come true. Her husband was having an affair with another woman.”
“Rexie says she was giving him a good bawling out for having Guy Pettibone arrested. She’s the one who took Patrick’s phone away from him.”
“Lucy attends one of the self-help groups that meet at our church, though she’s not a regular. As soon as she feels better, she quits going.”
“Ah, me. We’ll have to turn this over to DeWayne, you know.”
“He’d better have a doctor standing by. She’s already cut herself up and down both arms. And, by the way, she doesn’t know Patrick’s password.”
*****
Enid Jacks had cried herself into an early bedtime. Her two brothers were gone with their dad to haul away the miniature model home/playhouse from the backyard.
“The neighbors complained that it looked like an outhouse from their back deck,” Kate said. “But the clincher was that Shelby couldn’t get his truck in to hitch up his boat. I’m sorry I ever dreamed up that ridiculous project. He tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen.”
“He’s not really a carpenter, though, is he?” Elinor said, somewhat sharply. “We’ll have to think of some way to make it up to Enid.”
“He thinks he’s a carpenter,” Kate said. Under her breath she added, “Thinks he’s a great lover, too, but I’ve got news for him.” She sighed. “Granddad’s old shop must have forty screwdrivers hanging on the wall, but
if I need a pair of pliers, do you think I’m allowed to borrow one? I swear, a man must have a photographic memory for what’s on a pegboard, but can’t remember to pick up a gallon of milk on the way home.”
“I’m headed to the store, myself. The weekend is upon us and I’m completely out of groceries. Last night I had to eke out a supper from a quart of peas and a handful of stale saltines.”
“Shelby’s picking up fried chicken. Why don’t you stay? I don’t have to cook tonight!” Kate exulted.
“No, thanks, sweetie. I really must run along. Do you know Shelby’s password?”
“To his cell phone? Don’t get me in trouble, Aunt Elinor. Why do you ask?”
“Bill and I didn’t have cell phones. I just wondered how common it is for a wife to use her husband’s phone and vice versa.”
“The minute he gets in the shower, that phone rings. I have to know his password.”
“If he didn’t let you touch his phone, you’d suspect he had secrets, wouldn’t you?”
“Shelby’s not allowed to have secrets, and you know why.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
“Her name was Jennifer, wasn’t it?”
“You’re more forgiving of him than he is of me. He can’t look at me without wondering if I’m the one who told you.”
“Technology has come up with a way to address the problem of a faithless spouse.”
“Technology?”
“They have an app for it.” Kate picked up her own cell phone from its charging station next to a row of small appliances on the kitchen counter. “You see that little dot there? That’s Shelby driving across the back of the ranch to dump the dollhouse.”
“My stars! You track your husband?”
“Have to. It’s the only way I can be sure he is where he says he is. The only way I can stand to go on living with him.”
Chapter 10
For a second night in a row it was dark when Elinor arrived home. She wished, as she was leaving in the sunlit mornings, that she could remember to leave a light burning so she wouldn’t have to walk into a dark house. She carried her groceries in from the carport and began putting things away.
Halfway down the hall leading to her bedroom she was struck by the same sensation she had the night before, that something wasn’t right in the house, that some window or door had been opened in her absence, a sense that she wasn’t alone. This time she refused to give in to the urge to check the other rooms. However, as she changed clothes, she couldn’t help scanning the carpeted floor of her closet for signs of an intruder lurking behind the hanging garments. In the bathroom, she opened the door wide before bending over the sink and dashing cold water in her face. Drying off, she met her own eyes in the mirror and realized she looked old and alone.
Death In The Stacks: An Elinor & Dot library mystery Page 17
