“You’re not going to arrest us, are you?” I asked when I was finished with my story.
“Probably not,” she said and stood up. She walked around the table to stand next to me.
“‘Probably’?” I prodded anxiously, twisting my neck to look up into her face. Damn, she was tall. “What does ‘probably’ mean?”
Her smiled disappeared. She bent down and thrust her face into mine.
“Probably, you’re not a murderer,” she rapped out. Her hazel eyes narrowed. Her voice deepened. “But if you are, we’ll get you. That’s a promise.”
I bent my head back as far as it could go. My neck screamed with pain. Oakley bent her own head closer, all the time keeping her eyes on mine. I swallowed the lump of fear that came up in my throat.
“Probably, you won’t be a murder victim either,” she continued, her formerly musical voice now harsh and atonal. “But you’re sure trying hard enough. Do you really want to be strangled like Sheila Snyder?” She paused. A picture of Sheila’s dead body rose in my mind. Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed again. “Do you really think your little games are smart, Ms. Jasper?”
I shook my head. The gesture wasn’t enough for her.
“Answer me,” she ordered.
“They’re not smart,” I recited.
“Did you kill Sheila Snyder?” Oakley demanded abruptly.
“Huh?” I responded, startled. I looked into those hazel eyes and saw intelligence and curiosity there.
“No, I didn’t kill her,” I answered belatedly, my voice much too high and squeaky. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I…”
“You can go now,” she said quietly as I faltered. She straightened up to her full height, took two long steps and opened the door.
I left in a daze. Then it was Barbara’s turn.
Sergeant Oakley finished with Barbara in less than ten minutes. Wayne dropped me at my Toyota, still parked in front of the Good Thyme, and drove Barbara to her apartment. I felt sick with leftover fear as I guided the Toyota home. The officer with the gun had been all too real. And Sergeant Oakley. Did she really suspect me?
I was in the kitchen feeding C.C. when Wayne came in. His face was still stony as he looked at me.
“Please, don’t be mad,” I requested in a small voice. I didn’t want to beg. But I had no energy left to argue.
His face softened. He put his arm around me and led me into the bedroom. We took off our clothes and climbed under the covers of the bed silently. I felt his breath on my neck, then his lips. I moved my mouth to meet his.
Vesta banged on the wall. We sighed in unison and kissed each other goodnight.
Wayne and I slept late the next morning. It was Saturday, after all. When I finally opened my eyes, Wayne was smiling at me, his face pink and drowsy. I smiled back and pulled him closer.
“Hey in there!” Vesta shouted through the door. “You got a phone call!”
I put my robe on and stomped to the phone. Barbara was on the line. She wanted to know if I was coming to Sheila Snyder’s memorial service at one o’clock. Sergeant Oakley’s questions replayed themselves in my mind, but only faintly. A memorial service would be safe, I told myself. Especially if I took Wayne. I got directions to the Chapel of the Valley in San Ricardo and told Barbara I’d be there.
Wayne and I were late to the memorial service. We had been all dressed and ready to go at twelve-thirty, but as we headed toward the door, Vesta asked Wayne to stay. When he refused, she got heart palpitations. After those had run their course, she said she wanted to go with us. But she had to get dressed. We waited for over half an hour before finally leaving without her. Wayne’s expression was grim on the way to the chapel. I wondered what his stomach felt like. Mine was churning.
“I didn’t know Sheila Snyder personally,” the minister at the pulpit was saying as we slunk into the chapel. The minister was small in stature, but very well-groomed. The chapel was small too, with wood-paneled walls and long, thin, vertical windows. About half the seats were taken. “But I know there were many who loved her…”
“Excuse me,” I whispered and took a place in the back pew next to a young woman I didn’t recognize, whose eyes looked swollen with tears. Wayne squeezed in next to me. My heart thudded a little faster. There was no body here, but the presence of death and grief was palpable, betrayed by a sniffle here and a sigh there from the mourners, even an occasional hand raised to brush a tear from an eye.
“…Sheila Snyder was the beloved wife of Daniel Snyder,” the minister went on. “The loving mother of…” He paused to look at the index card he was holding. “Loving mother of little Topaz and Opal. And the dear sister of Stanley Smith…”
My eyes searched the crowd, wondering if I would spot Sheila’s brother. I didn’t, but I did recognize Edna and Arletta two rows in front of us. Felix and Barbara were close by too, sitting next to a woman with silver hair in a French twist that just had to be Iris. And there was someone tall with red hair in front of them. I just hoped it wasn’t Sergeant Oakley.
“…indeed a tragedy. When such a young person, a wife and mother of two children, is taken from us…” the minister rambled on. His voice was very soothing. My heart rate slowed.
My gaze traveled to the back of the heads in the first row. Dan Snyder’s dark curly one was easily recognizable. And on his right, Topaz, Grandma Rose and Opal. The surprise was the head to his left, Alice Frazier’s. There was no mistaking her glossy, well-cut black hair.
“If you will pray with me now,” the minister intoned. “Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”
I bowed my head, suddenly sad. Sheila was dead. There was no getting around it. I felt Wayne’s arm come around my shoulder. I squeezed his knee compulsively, glimpsing for a moment the grief I would endure if he were to die.
Once the prayer was over, the minister asked Sheila Snyder’s friends and loved ones to speak.
The first one to go up to the lectern was a plump, pretty woman with large, solemn brown eyes. Her name was Julie, and she looked about thirty. She didn’t carry any index cards. And her opening line was an attention-getter.
“Sheila Snyder was an alcoholic,” she declared. She paused as a buzz of mutters rippled through the room.
“I wouldn’t be saying this today if Sheila wouldn’t have told you herself,” Julie assured us, her voice clear and earnest. “But she would have. Because she was in recovery. She hadn’t had a drink in three years. She was proud of that. And she was my sponsor. Without her…” Julie’s voice caught for a second. Her brown eyes glistened with sudden moisture. She rushed through the rest of her speech. “She was my friend. And she was an inspiration. I’ll miss her.”
Then she hurried back to her seat, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket on the way. I heard someone else blow their nose in the silence. Rose Snyder put an arm around each of her grandchildren. Dan Snyder’s head swayed from side to side. I wondered if he was crying. And I wondered if Julie had been in Alcoholics Anonymous with Sheila. And if so, what had happened to the anonymity?
“Thank you, Julie,” the minister said smoothly. He was back at the pulpit again. “That was very moving.” He looked down at another index card. “Natalie Westbrook was also a friend of Sheila Snyder’s. Natalie,” he prompted.
Natalie was a thin, tan woman with a gray frizz of hair pulled back into a barrette. She put on a pair of glasses as she approached the lectern and studied a sheet of yellow ruled paper once she got there. Then she smiled.
“Sheila was one far-out lady,” she announced in a high, fluting voice. “I remember the day when I first did her chart. It was a real piss…er, a real doozy! She was a Pisces. And not only that—” Her voice deepened. “Mars was in her first house.” She gazed out at us significantly. I resisted the urge to raise my hand and ask her what she was talking about.
“I met Sheila at her restaurant,” Natalie went on. “She was some cook. Great tostadas!” She made a smacking sound with her lips.
As the minister introduced Sheila’s brother, Stanley, I thought about the words of the last two speakers. Julie had characterized Sheila as a friend and inspiration. Natalie had called her someone in touch with the higher vibrations. I remembered the Sheila I had met, the Sheila of the spike heels, blow-dried hair and short-shorts. The Sheila who had managed to offend at least five people in as many minutes. The Sheila who had struck her own daughter. Which was the real Sheila? All of them?
“My sister had spirit,” Stanley announced softly. He was tall and dark with a mischievous look around the corners of his eyes, which his current serious expression couldn’t completely erase.
“She was older than me. And with our mother dead, it was up to her to keep me in line when we were kids.” A smile crept onto his face. “She was better than me in baseball, better than me at Monopoly. She always ended up with Park Place and the Board-walk! But I forgave her. At least she didn’t try out for football.”
A few people laughed. Then his face grew serious again.
“Anyway, she was my big sister and I’m sorry she’s gone,” he finished and sat back down.
I felt Wayne shift his weight next to me. I didn’t blame him. The pews were hard and uncomfortable. I found his hand and squeezed it, hoping there weren’t too many more speakers.
The minister seemed to be tiring of the ceremony too.
“And Dan Snyder,” he introduced briefly. “Loving husband to Sheila.”
Dan stood up and made his way to the pulpit. When he turned to face us, his eyes were glassy. He swayed a little.
“He’s drunk,” someone whispered from the row in front of us.
“Looks like he’s stoned to me,” a deeper voice corrected.
“Shhh,” someone else admonished.
“Sheila,” Dan began, his voice thick and slow. He swayed again, then grabbed the lectern with both hands to steady himself. “She was…” He faltered and began once more. “I loved her. I really did. And now, it’s too late to—”
He broke off abruptly, sobbing. Drunk or stoned, he was certainly grieving.
The minister moved to Dan’s side and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Dan’s head jerked around like a snake striking.
“What!” he shouted, his hands forming into fists.
The minister stepped back as the shout reverberated through the chapel. I would have done the same. The expression on Dan’s face looked fierce enough from the back pew; it had to be worse up close.
“I loved her,” Dan began one more time. “Nobody can take that away.” Then he just stood, swaying, his eyes on the lectern.
After a few moments, the silent room filled with whispers. Was he finished?
Then a new figure walked up to the pulpit. It was Alice, her substantial body, elegant as usual, in a black silk dress. She put her head close to Dan’s, apparently whispering in his ear. Finally, he nodded slowly and allowed her to lead him back to his seat. I heard a number of relieved sighs around me.
Relief was evident on the minister’s face, too, as he took the pulpit again.
“Please join me in the Twenty-third psalm,” he said, his voice not quite as smooth as before. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”
I bowed my head, but not so far that I couldn’t see the first row. When we got to the part about “paths of righteousness,” Alice put her arm around Dan’s shoulders. He shook it off. He turned to her and said something I couldn’t hear over the sound of the prayer. She said something back and he faced forward again. Then Rose turned his way.
“…and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever,” the minister finished.
There were scattered “amens,” the minister said a few more soothing words, and everyone stood up. It felt good to stretch after sitting for so long on the hard benches. I reached my arms up and bent back, then remembered where I was.
At least the minister hadn’t been looking my way. He was busy herding the four Snyders and Sheila’s brother, Stanley, to the front of the chapel. Alice Frazier was left behind. I wondered whose decision that had been. A line began to form for those who wanted to pay their respects to Sheila’s family. I turned to Wayne.
“Shall we get in line?” I asked softly, hoping he would say no.
He smiled and patted my shoulder, as if he knew why I was asking.
“Hey, kiddo,” Barbara greeted me, her voice unusually subdued. She nodded toward the line. “Let’s do it,” she said.
“Where’s Felix?” I asked.
Barbara pointed to the far aisle. Felix was talking to the twins, gesturing frantically with both hands. Arletta was smiling, Edna wasn’t. I wondered who was grilling whom. As I turned back, I saw Iris walking toward us, her back as straight as ever under charcoal-gray linen.
“Such a nice service, don’t you think?” she asked in a stage whisper.
I nodded insincerely and introduced Wayne.
“Oh my,” she trilled, looking up at him.
I bristled. If she said anything about Wayne’s face I’d—
“Such beautiful hands,” she said instead.
I relaxed. Iris wasn’t so bad, I decided.
“May I?” she asked, reaching for his hand.
Wayne blushed, but stoically allowed her to examine it.
“Let me guess,” she cooed, holding the back of his hand with one of her own hands and stroking his fingers lightly with the other. “A writer, perhaps?”
“How did you—” I began.
“Hello, again, Ms. Jasper,” came a voice from behind me.
SEVENTEEN
I TURNED, A social smile ready on my lips. I felt it drain away when I saw who was standing behind me. Sergeant Tina Oakley, tall and imposing in a forest-green suit. So she had been the redhead sitting in front of Barbara and Felix. No wonder Barbara seemed so subdued. Oakley turned on her smile. I flinched at the sight of it, like one of Pavlov’s dogs salivating at the sound of the metronome.
What was Oakley doing here? Looking for the murderer? I stopped breathing. Did she suspect someone specific? Iris and Alice were here. And the Snyders. So was Barbara, for that matter. And of course, me. Damn.
I felt Wayne’s reassuring hand in mine and took a breath, thinking of all the suspects who weren’t here. Leo and Ken. Meg. Gary and Paula—
“And hello to you, Ms. Chu,” Oakley said, shifting the focus of her smile onto Barbara’s glum face. I could hardly believe I had once thought Sergeant Oakley’s smile was friendly. Now it looked to me like the big bad wolf’s, ready to gobble us up.
“Sergeant Oakley, how nice to see you,” Iris cooed. At least she wasn’t afraid of the big bad wolf. “So good of you to come today.”
Oakley’s smile flickered for an instant. Barbara and I exchanged glances. I wondered if Iris really was pleased to see Sergeant Oakley.
“Police work must be so demanding,” Iris continued, her voice breathy with apparent fascination. “How did you ever get into such an interesting field?”
My body relaxed as I watched Iris politely grill Sergeant Oakley. Oakley could dish it out, but she wasn’t very good at eating it. She turned and left our little group abruptly after Iris examined her hands and declared them “so wonderfully intelligent and just the tiniest bit manipulative.”
Then Iris turned back to the three of us.
“Would you girls consider joining Rose Snyder and myself for lunch tomorrow?” she asked brightly. “And, of course, your lovely friend Mr. Caruso,” she added with a nod at Wayne.
“Lunch would be great,” Barbara answered for all of us. Her voice had life
again now that Sergeant Oakley was gone. “Where do you—”
“Sorry,” Wayne interjected quickly. “Another engagement.”
“I’d love to come,” I put in, trying to pump some enthusiasm into my words to make up for Wayne’s obvious reluctance.
We agreed on a time and place, then Iris joined what was left of the line of people paying their respects to Sheila’s family. Dan Snyder was swaying in place, his eyes at half-mast as an elderly man spoke to him. Topaz was glowering, Opal was squirming and Rose Snyder was wringing her hands. Only Sheila’s brother, Stanley, looked calm at this distance.
“Whaddaya say?” Barbara asked with a nod toward the line.
“Goodbye,” I answered and grabbed Wayne’s arm. We were out of the chapel in seconds.
The rest of Saturday and the following Sunday morning weren’t much more fun than the memorial service. I processed Jest Gifts mail orders and popped antacid tablets as Wayne and Vesta discussed her upcoming departure in the background. Even with my boom box turned all the way up, the shrieks, rumbles and shouts kept intruding.
By the time Sunday noon rolled around, I was only too glad to be going to lunch with Iris and Rose. I didn’t even care anymore if one of them might be a murderer. I kissed Wayne goodbye and ran for the quiet of my Toyota.
Barbara was waiting for me in the lobby of her apartment building. She waved through the glass and then came racing out to my car.
“Hey!” she greeted me, jumping in. “Ready for some more sleuthing?”
I didn’t answer her. I took a deep breath instead and asked her, “How come it took you so long to get to the back of the Good Thyme Friday night?” It had been worrying me all weekend.
“Huh?” she replied with a frown.
“Friday,” I repeated. I turned the key in the ignition. “When we went to look for back entrances. The cop. The gun—”
“Oh, that,” she said, her frown disappearing. “There was a full dumpster blocking the side the way I went around, so I came back around your side and stepped in some more garbage. Jeez-Louise, those people have a lot of garbage…”
Fat-Free and Fatal (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Page 17
