Bennie stood, nodding her thanks to Pastor Kyle. I watched him closely, searching for the reason behind his reappearance. “I found her at the church,” he said, answering my unasked question. “She said she wanted to find peace with all of you, so I convinced her to come back.”
“Sit down and have some pot roast,” Bennie said. She pulled out the chair next to her where the gold-rimmed card with Sherri’s name marked her spot and ushered her into it, then brought the pastor to his seat.
Sherri hesitated, but finally plunked down, her body slack and dejected. Any suspicions that she could be the killer deflated. I knew that Sherri was distraught, but it didn’t seem like it was from guilt.
Which left me nowhere.
Chapter 22
The dessert course was the final stop of the progressive dinner. One last chance to figure out what actually happened to Delta by the end of the night. I hoped it was still possible, but at this point, I wasn’t convinced I could spin the mass of tangled threads into a tapestry that made any sense.
Todd and Megan left Bennie’s house early to prepare the coffee and tea, and Will and I had offered to bring Jessie Pearl with us. “If it wasn’t for these blasted crutches, I could walk,” she said, as Will took her hand to lead her to the truck.
The air was crisp, and it was only three blocks, but in her current state, those three blocks might as well be all of Big Bend National Park. I tried to catch Will’s eye, but he kept his focus squarely on Jessie Pearl. “It’s a nice night,” he said. “You’ll be walking again soon enough.”
She made a sound, but I couldn’t tell whether it was to agree or disagree. More and more, I saw bits of Delta in her mother. “I’m not an invalid,” she snapped, tucking her crutches more firmly under her arms, but they wobbled as she tried to make them move together. Her good foot tangled underneath her. She stumbled, her hold on the crutches giving way.
Will caught her, supporting her with one arm, holding on to the wayward crutches with the other. “I’m happy to walk with you, if you want to try,” he said, and I saw what he was doing. Giving her the power to choose, so she could save face.
“Bah.” She waved away the offer with one hand, all the while holding on to him with her other. “Why waste a good truck?”
I took the crutches from him and laid them in the bed of the truck, then climbed into the extended cab, careful not to catch my heel in the hem of my dress. Once I was settled, Will lifted Jessie Pearl into the passenger seat, and we started the quick trip to Mockingbird Lane. “It’s a shame,” Jessie Pearl said, one block into the drive.
“What is, Mrs. Trapper?” Will asked.
“That we’ll probably never know what really happened in the cemetery with Delta, or what she was up in arms about before the end.”
Will took the next right, an indirect route. I knew he was trying to stretch the trip, but I didn’t think anything new would be revealed. “My daughter Gracie’s sixteen now, and I’ve learned that she just is who she is. I’ve done all the influencing I can. I’m still her compass, but she’s fully wired, and now it’s up to her as to the kind of life she’s going to live. I can’t live it for her, just like you couldn’t live Delta’s.”
“I suppose, but do you ever stop tryin’?” She turned to look at him, allowing me to see her profile. Her iron gray hair was done up in short, tight curls. There was a frailty to the way her skin was mapped with lines, the combination of them telling the story of her life. They seemed deeper and more ingrained than they had even a day ago. More evidence of how this ordeal was wearing on her.
“No,” Will said, “I don’t guess you ever do.”
“I believe Delta was trying to help someone. She felt betrayed, somehow. You have no ideas, Miss Jessie Pearl?”
She turned her upper body, looking startled and like she’d forgotten for a moment that I was in the truck. Her voice rose, and for a moment she seemed even older than her eighty-three years. “She was poking around into someone’s business. If she talked to that investigator and knew Anson wasn’t cheatin’ on her, then who was she talkin’ about that day in the kitchen? She stood right there and said he couldn’t be trusted, and that she would find out the truth if it killed her. What truth?”
Will pulled up in front of Jessie Pearl’s house, but none of us moved to leave the truck. “Ma’am, you never mentioned that she said that the other day when I was over.”
“I didn’t think of it the other day. The problem with growing old, you see, is that the mind comes and goes.”
Her mind seemed to come and go about as quick as her mood changed. She was steady and calm right now, but a short while ago, she’d been agitated and angry. I wondered how much of what she said could be trusted. “But you didn’t think she was talking about her husband?”
“Oh no, I did think she was talkin’ about Anson. Absolutely. At least at the time. But you’re tellin’ us now that Anson wasn’t the lout we were thinkin’ he was, and if that’s the case and she knew it, then she had to have been talkin’ about someone else. And if she was tryin’ to get the truth of somethin’, then it means someone wasn’t bein’ honest with her. That’s what’s ironic. God says an eye for an eye, right? That’s what happened with my girl. Whatever good she might have been tryin’ to do there at the end . . . finding whatever truth she was after . . . well, that was her downfall.”
I felt like she’d just talked in a giant circle, and yet it made sense in a way. Karma. An eye for an eye.
“Do you think it could have been Jeremy Lisle?” I asked.
“He’s as good a suspect as any of them, I reckon.”
“What about Mayor Radcliffe? Could she have found out something about him?”
“Well, now, I have no earthly idea. I’d say anythin’s possible, wouldn’t you say? Someone killed her.”
That was the truest statement of the night. Jeremy Lisle and Mayor Radcliffe each had the strength to have overpowered Delta and wielded a rock against her. But which one had the bigger secrets? Did the mayor have any, in fact?
The passenger door of the truck wrenched open suddenly, a face appearing in the dark.
Jessie Pearl and I both jumped in our seats.
“Granny, it’s just me!”
“Megan Mobley, you gave me a fright!” Jessie Pearl snapped. “What in heaven’s name were you thinkin’, scarin’ me like that?”
Megan had taken a step back, the color draining from her face. “I’m so sorry, Granny. We were all just wondering where you were, and Pastor Kyle’s kind of upset, so I said I’d come find you.”
“Why’s the pastor upset?” Will asked. He’d been listening to the conversation between Jessie Pearl and me, but when she whipped around at the sound of his voice now, I got the feeling she’d forgotten he was there.
“He’s saying some of the things in the house belong to the church,” Megan said. “He wants to know why they’re there.” She threw her hands up. “I don’t know what to tell him!”
“What in tarnation are you talkin’ about?” Jessie Pearl demanded. “What’s he sayin’ belongs to the church? Hogwash, pure and simple.”
“Right? I bought everything, just like I bought the sideboard.”
I remembered the sideboard Cynthia had seen, and her thinking Delta had stolen it. The pastor had defended that, but now it sounded like there were more items that needed to be accounted for.
Megan started to help her grandmother from the truck. Will hurried to her side, lifting her down and helping Megan prop her up while he grabbed the crutches from the back of the truck. I joined them, and together we walked slowly up the walkway to the Mobley/Trapper house.
Todd’s strings of twinkle lights made the front yard look fun and festive. If Delta had been a different kind of person, this whole evening might have been a celebration of her life. Instead, it felt like a disconnected moment. The entire night, in fact, had felt off-kilter, as if it had missed its mark with its intention. The Red Hat ladies had wanted to hold the pro
gressive dinner, as planned, but the pall hanging over the group from her death was too much to overcome. It felt more like a funeral procession, and the twinkling lights didn’t quite fit.
Todd met us at the door, holding it open and helping Jessie Pearl over the stoop. “The pastor’s throwing a wall-eyed fit,” Todd said under his breath, just loud enough for us to hear.
Jessie Pearl straightened her hunched spine as much as she could and hobbled forward on her crutches. “Where is he?”
Todd led the way through the maze of antiques to the dining room. It looked lovely. The twinkling lights continued inside, too, draped over the freestanding hutch and along the ceiling. With the interior lighting turned down low, they cast flickering shadows on the walls and pine floor.
The Red Hat ladies had gathered around the table, a few already holding dainty dessert plates. In their aprons, all lined up, they looked like a particularly fashionable group. Each apron seemed to say so much about the woman who wore it. Randi’s spoke to her free spirit. Georgia’s was romantic, while Cynthia’s was tailored and classic. Bennie’s was vintage flirty and Coco’s Texas denim, with a twist, fit her to a tee. Megan and Jessie Pearl wore theirs, too, but while I was sure I’d captured the personalities, the aprons hadn’t helped either one accept what had happened to Delta. Megan had still lost her mother, and Jessie Pearl had still lost her daughter, and no magical Cassidy charm could take away the pain that went along with that.
Georgia picked at her slice of sopapilla cheesecake, a Texas classic. Randi nibbled on a sugar cookie. Coco stood over the banana pudding with Nilla Wafers, but hadn’t taken any dessert. They were all down-home desserts, but it seemed none of the ladies were in the mood for sweets.
Their husbands, once again, were their opposites. They stood at the perimeter of the room, plates piled high with the different selections Todd and Megan had prepared, and watched as if the room were a theater and the people were actors in a play. Megan manned the sidebar, pouring coffee from a large carafe, and offering ice water and sweet tea.
From what I could see, Todd had exaggerated the pastor’s state of mind. Either that, or he’d calmed down in the time it took us to get inside. There was no temper tantrum, but he was expressing a healthy dose of anger with a dollop of disbelief. He ran his hand through his sandy-colored hair, shaking his head. “How could this happen? I just don’t understand.”
He looked at each of the Red Hat ladies in turn, and in response, they each shook their heads. “You said all this was in the basement, Pastor,” Coco said. “We come to church and sit in the sanctuary. We don’t ever venture into the basement, do we, Sherri?”
“Why would we?” She looked at Coco, then at the pastor, but to me her eyes seemed vacant, and I wondered if she saw them at all.
“Exactly,” Georgia said. “Cyn, you work there. Did you ever go in the basement?”
Cynthia had put her dessert plate down and was fiddling with the apron ties knotted at her waist. Her gaze darted about nervously. “Well, of course,” she said. “Every once in a while, but—”
Pastor Kyle swept his arms wide. “Who took these things?”
Cynthia’s eyes turned glassy from the accusatory stares. She took a hurried step backward. “I don’t know.”
Pastor Kyle looked around. “How could you not know?” He pointed first to an antique chair, then to an old trunk. “All of these are from the church basement.”
“Delta didn’t invite me over here.”
The Red Hat ladies murmured their agreement. “Me, either,” Randi said.
“Me, either,” Georgia echoed.
I looked at Cynthia, recalling the conversation we’d had a few days ago. She’d told me the same thing about not being invited into Delta’s house, and about discovering the stolen church items when she’d peeked through the window. Had that been the truth, or had she had enough foresight to plant that seed in my head so I could corroborate her story?
But even if it was a story she’d made up, that still didn’t explain the murder. Unless Cynthia had turned to blackmail. But blackmail and murder over a few church antiques was a stretch. If Delta had even been behind it. Megan and Rebecca were the ones who sold antiques, after all. Could one—or both—of them have stolen the goods?
I pulled out my cell phone and quickly texted Sheriff McClaine, asking him if Delta’s bank account activity might indicate she was paying a blackmailer.
He responded right way. Why?
For the next minute, our texts flew back and forth.
Just a thought, I said.
Feel free to share that thought, he responded.
Hoss McClaine, dagnabbit, I typed with my thumbs, my frustration sky-high.
Hang on, he finally responded, and then thirty seconds later, he replied with, There are regular deposits, but no regular outgoings. If anything, she was blackmailing someone, not the other way around.
“Huh.”
“What?” Will asked, raising one eyebrow.
I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud. I quickly glanced around, but no one was paying attention to me. I handed my phone to Will, and a second later he was leading me out of the dining room and down the hallway toward the bedrooms. “Which one of them would she have been blackmailing?” he asked when we were sure no one could overhear us.
“Pastor Kyle? Maybe there’s something shady in his past that we don’t know about?”
But Will shook his head. “If Pastor Kyle’s lying, he deserves an Oscar. Plus he drives a beat-up old car. He doesn’t appear to have extra money lying around.”
“I thought he drove an SUV,” I said, puzzled. I’d seen him in it plenty of times, not to mention just this evening.
“That belongs to the church, but he basically is the church, so . . .”
That made perfect sense. “So he drives that around town when it’s available.”
“Right.”
We moved on. “Jeremy Lisle?”
Will looked around to be sure we were still alone, then said, “If Delta had something on him, then I could see it. Ambition is a powerful motivator.”
Once again, I thought back through everything I had discovered, trying to summon up something that would equate to dirt Delta might have had on Jeremy. He’d known she’d tried to block the Historic Council from giving a designation to Jessie Pearl’s house. He’d also known she’d donated money to the Radcliffe campaign. From what Radcliffe had said, money had been donated by each one of Delta’s family members. Surely there wasn’t anything unethical there. They were all over the age of eighteen. I didn’t know whether it looked better to have a whole family donate, each person individually, or to have a large donation come from one person. I also didn’t know if it really mattered.
“Maybe he was trying to get her back on his side of the election. Delta was influential in town.”
“Right, except he wasn’t blackmailing her. Hoss said she’s the one with the steady deposits in her account.” Will leaned against wall. “Here’s a hypothetical. What if Lisle turned the tables on her? He could have had her followed. She could have found out that he’d stooped to something underhanded and blackmailed him for her silence. Would anyone vote for a man who resorts to that kind of intimidation?”
“They wouldn’t.”
I jumped at the sound of a man’s voice behind us. Jeremy Lisle came around the corner, his expression tight. “But that scenario you just painted didn’t happen.” He threw his arms wide. “If you want to ask me something, just do it. I got nothin’ to hide.”
“Mr. Lisle,” I started weakly. “We were just throwing out ideas—”
He held up his hand, stopping me midsentence. “I heard you plain as day. Blackmail? I’m running for public office. Do you really think I’d succumb to blackmail?”
Will put his hand on my lower back, in encouragement and support. It was just what I needed to keep my voice steady and stand tall. “It happens, though. I’ve seen it. Good people making bad decisions.”
Jeremy came back the way he’d come, anger still bubbling close to the surface. I didn’t blame him. To overhear that you were a suspect in a murder investigation, even from the likes of me, had to be disconcerting, and if he was innocent, all the more upsetting.
Will returned to the group and was talking to the pastor, so I took the opportunity to sneak a peek at the rest of the house. I had no expectations of finding anything, but I was curious as to whether any other church antiques were hiding in plain sight, and how they might have gotten here.
Walking back down the hall, I glanced in each room. From the décor and clothes laid out on her bed, I guessed that Jessie Pearl’s was at the end of the hallway. Across from it was a closed door. Tiptoeing closer, I turned the handle and opened the door a crack. Clothes were strewn about. Men’s pants, shirts, sneakers, and dress shoes. A few ties dangled haphazardly from the back of a chair. This had to be Anson and Delta’s room, the remnants of Anson’s quick packing evident.
And there, in the middle of the room, was the mattress Jessie Pearl had tried to flip. I tried to picture the scene as she’d described it. She’d gotten up under the mattress, climbing onto the box spring to work it up higher and higher. But instead of being able to flip it over like she’d done before, it had fallen back down on her. Her leg had buckled under her, the bone snapping.
That’s how Megan and Todd had found her.
I closed the door again, moving down the hall back toward the dinner guests, but stopped at another door. Acting on impulse, I slipped inside, closing the door behind me before I knew what room I was in. The queen-sized bed, the closet doors opened to reveal his and hers clothing, the boxes filled with antiques and knickknacks, all priced for a tag sale or flea market. This had to be Megan and Todd’s room.
I stood back, taking it all in, feeling a sense of sadness close in around me. Megan had left three dresses discarded on the bed, one black, one multicolored, and one black, brown, and cream. She’d ended up in the faded floral number, the apron I’d made the perfect complement to it, but it had clearly taken her a while to figure out what to wear. Not surprising given how much her mother’s sudden death seemed to have shaken her.
A Seamless Murder Page 20
