Claire pulled the window sash back down and got out of bed. First she had to make a call, and then she had to get dressed.
Knox Rodefeffer lived on the other side of Morning Glory Circle, across from the Eldridge Inn. He was still up, and seemed very surprised to see Claire under his front portico so late in the evening. He was dressed in khakis and a white shirt, but his tie was undone and his collar loosened. He had on worn leather slippers and was holding a tumbler of what smelled like whiskey. Claire could hear a twenty-four hour news station on the television in the background.
“What can I do for you, Claire?” he asked, and then looked behind him as if to see who might be lurking in the hallway.
“I came to talk to you about my parents’ mortgage,” she said.
“You’ll need to talk to our loan officer about that,” Knox said, “down at the bank tomorrow.”
“I also wanted to know if it was you or Meredith who ran over my friend Tuppy,” Claire said. “I’m on the way to see Scott and I want to be sure I have the facts straight.”
Claire watched all the florid color drain out of Knox’s heavy jowls and all three of his chins.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Maybe you should call the county sheriff’s department and we can let them help us sort it out.”
“What do you want?” he said, and came outside, closing the door behind him.
“I’m here to warn you,” Claire said. “If you, Meredith, or Courtenay try to pin this on Pip I will make you very sorry.”
“I don’t know what you mean and pretty soon I won’t care,” Knox said. “I’m done with this conversation.”
He turned and opened the storm door.
“I had a long talk with your ex-wife this evening,” Claire said.
Knox stopped and turned back around, letting the storm door hiss shut.
“Go on,” he said.
“Anne Marie says Meredith is dangerous,” she said.
“My ex-wife is mentally ill,” Knox said. “Was this one of her so-called visions?”
“She told me you married Meredith in order to ally yourself with her late father and late husband’s political friends. She said there’s something you don’t know about Meredith that’s going to derail your campaign at the last minute.”
“What?” he said, now looking very interested.
“Anne Marie said Meredith has taken a life twice before, and may do so again,” Claire said. “If she killed my friend he’s the second; that would mean there was another death before that. It also means you could be the next to go.”
“That’s preposterous,” Knox said, but he stayed on the porch.
“If you know she killed my friend, you better turn her in before she goes off the deep end and turns on you,” Claire said. “Or worse, waits until the most crucial part of your campaign to wig out on live TV.”
“Did Anne Marie say she’d flip out at a press conference?”
“She said whatever the trouble is it will come to light in a very public way.”
“I heard Anne Marie was telling fortunes for a living, and by all accounts she’s making a ton of money doing it, but I thought it was a scam.”
“She’s been tested at Duke University,” Claire said. “She achieved 98% accuracy.”
“If she’s so accurate why didn’t she tell you how Meredith supposedly killed these people or who they were?”
“Anne Marie says her visions are like being in a dream while she’s awake,” Claire said. “She said she saw Meredith with blood on her hands and a red numeral two was visible above her to the left, and the number three was fading in and out on the right. She’s done so many readings now she can translate the symbols she sees much more easily. She said blood on the hands means taking a life, and the numerals were written in blood. The left side refers to the past and the right side to the future.”
Claire was good at reading people. She knew Knox was inclined to believe every single word she was saying, maybe had observed things in Meredith’s behavior that backed up these new suspicions. He may also have been thinking about an attempted murder he himself got away with.
“I’m sorry my ex-wife wasted your time, Miss Fitzpatrick,” Knox said. “I hope she has enough sense left not to broadcast her slanderous delusions. Neither my wife nor I had anything to do with your friend’s death. I was in DC that night and Meredith went to bed early with a headache. Her car was stolen that evening so perhaps whoever took it hit your friend. In any event I’m sorry for your loss. If you’ll come down to the bank tomorrow I’ll see to it that your parents’ mortgage is refinanced at a much lower rate, and I’m sure you’ll be happy with the terms.”
“And Pip?”
“Tell that loser if he knows what’s best for him he’ll leave town and never come back,” Knox said. “As long as he leaves my wife and secretary alone nothing will happen to him.”
Knox went inside and closed the door. Claire hurried down the steps and ran back to her rental car, which was parked around the corner. She drove down Morning Glory Avenue to the very end, past the library, where a narrow gravel road known as Possum Holler began. About a quarter of a mile out this road, just past the entrance to the Rose Hill Cemetery, was a shabby farmhouse with an old sofa on the front porch. Claire parked in the rutted driveway, got out of the car and walked around to the back of the house, choosing her steps carefully to avoid tripping over the multiple rusted metal objects and broken plastic items that littered the muddy path.
Claire looked through the dirty window of the back door and saw Pip’s mother sitting in the kitchen. A cigarette dangled from her lips as she took colorfully-decorated cards from a deck and placed them in an intricate pattern on the table. Claire tapped on the glass and the older woman looked up, scowled, and waved her in. The screen door hinges screeched as Claire opened it, and she knew from past experience that in order to open the interior door it had to be raised up an inch by pulling up on the door knob as she pushed.
The smell inside the house was a musty combination of mildew, fried food, and cigarette smoke. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes and a small television on the counter was broadcasting a shopping channel. The house was heated by an old gas box stove that sat in the corner of the room. A blanket was draped over the wide opening that led to the front room in order to keep the heat in the one room in which Pip’s mother spent most of her time. Claire knew this because she had lived in this house for a year after she married Pip.
“Well, if it isn’t the empress, daughter of the mighty one,” Mrs. Deacon said.
“How are you, Freda?” Claire asked as she sat down across from her.
“I’m worried about my son,” Freda said. “I’ve tried every spread I know and every one ends with this dad-blasted card …”
She held up a card that featured a weeping woman with a display of swords hanging points-down behind her.
“What is that?” Claire asked.
“It’s the Nine of Swords, baby girl, and it’s reversed, which is as bad as things can get.”
“Pip’s in trouble, alright,” Claire said. “He needs to stop running away from his problems and start taking responsibility for his actions.”
“There’s more going on than just Pip having some bad luck,” Freda said. “There’s real evil involved, someone powerful and wicked.”
“Is the car still in the shed?” Claire asked.
Freda eyed Claire through the smoke from her cigarette, looking as if she was trying to decide whether or not to lie.
“Pip told me it was here,” Claire said.
“It’s gone,” Freda said. “It was here when I left for work and gone when I came home. Someone cut the padlock on the shed and towed it away. They rutted up my driveway something awful.”
Claire thought but didn’t say that it would be hard to prove that anything done to Freda’s property could actually make it any worse.
“Was the front end banged up?”<
br />
“I couldn’t tell ya,” Freda said. “I never laid eyes on it, myself.”
“Of course,” Claire said. “Well, I better get going …”
“I’ll do your cards,” Freda said, and then lit her next cigarette with her previous one.
“That’s okay,” Claire said. “I need to get home.”
“Shuffle and then cut the cards three times,” Freda said as she held out the cards. ‘We’ll just do a quick and dirty simple one.”
Claire did as she was told, and then handed them back. Freda fanned the cards and asked Claire to pick out three. As Claire picked them out Freda placed them on the table.
“This here’s your past,” Freda said as she pointed to the first card Claire drew, which depicted a goat-headed fella who reminded Claire of several men she’d met in L.A. “This is the devil. He represents ambition, greed, and a lust for material things.”
“Sounds about right.”
“This is your present,” she said, pointing to the card in the middle of the spread. It featured a man in a dark, hooded cloak, holding a scythe, which Claire figured couldn’t represent good news. “This is death, but it doesn’t mean you’re gonna die. It means the end of the old way of life and the beginning of the new; an abrupt and complete change.”
“That’s true enough,” Claire said.
“This here’s your future,” Freda said, pointing at the last card, featuring a sundial surrounded by cherubs in a bright blue sky. “And it’s about the luckiest card there is, the Wheel of Fortune. You’re going to have unexpected and great good fortune. I’m not a bit surprised; you always did land on your feet.”
“Only after Pip dropped me from a great height,” Claire said, and got up to leave.
“Pip’s a catbird, I know that,” Freda said. “But he’s my only son and I love him. We gotta look out for him, ‘cause Lord knows he can’t look out for himself.”
“I know,” Claire said. “I’m trying to help him.”
“If he needs money it’ll have to come from you,” Freda said. “I’m flat broke.”
“Are you working?” Claire asked.
“I’m cleaning at the college; same as always.”
Freda went back to shuffling cards, her cigarette clamped in one side of her mouth, the eye on that side shut to avoid the smoke.
As Claire opened the back door something on the filthy floor caught her attention; she reached down and picked it up. It was part of a bank deposit envelope; it looked as if someone had torn off the top end, took the cash out, and then dropped it. It was from Knox’s bank.
“You got a bank account downtown?” she asked Freda.
“I don’t trust them banks,” Freda said. “Matt Delvecchio cashes my checks at the IGA.”
Claire held up the deposit envelope.
“Knox Rodefeffer must have paid you well for housing his wife’s car,” Claire said, “and for lying about what happened to it when you’re asked.”
Freda lay down the cards, took her cigarette out of her mouth, and pointed it at Claire.
“You always were too smart for my son,” she said, with a crafty smile. “Pip takes after his father in the looks and brains department. Me, I’m not much to look at but I can take care of myself.”
When Claire got to the bar Patrick had a message from Pip.
“He said to meet him at the depot,” Patrick said. “He said it wasn’t safe to stay in here.”
“Well, for once he’s right,” Claire said. “It’s probably the most sensible thing he’s done this week.”
“What’s he done now?”
“What hasn’t he done?” Claire said. “If he’s talking he’s lying, if there’s a woman within five feet he’s trying to get in her pants, if there’s a fool nearby with any money he’s trying to get hold of it, and if there’s the least bit of hard work required he’s suddenly nowhere to be found.”
“I gave him a hundred bucks,” Patrick said. “He said you’d pay me back.”
“Somehow,” Claire said, as she took out her wallet, “I never get a drink but I always end up paying his tab.”
When Claire arrived at the depot Pip wasn’t there. She sat on the steps to wait and shortly thereafter she heard a car pull in and a car door close. Sloan’s attorney Stanley came around the corner.
“Hello, Claire,” he said.
“He’s not here,” Claire said. “I was supposed to meet him but he’s skipped town.”
“I’ll track him down eventually,” Stanley said. “It’s you I want to talk to.”
“I’m not coming back to work for Sloan.”
“Suits me,” Stanley said. “You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since the day I met you.”
“Then why do you need to talk to me?”
“This unfortunate accident with Tuppy,” Stanley said. “Was Sloan implicated in any way during your questioning?”
“No, of course not.”
“We received a call from the county sheriff’s office; they want to question her.”
“Probably because of the mean texts and voicemails she left Tuppy right before he was killed.”
“Do you know the content of these communications?”
“She said she knew where he was and was coming for him. She said his ass was as good as dead.”
“Unfortunate phrasing to use, in retrospect,” Stanley said, “but said in the heat of passion, with no real intent to act upon those feelings.”
“Sounds like you’ve got her defense ready.”
“Has anyone questioned you about Sloan’s relationship with Mr. Tupworth?”
“All I said was that we both worked for her. I honored my confidentiality agreement.”
“Your confidentiality agreement won’t be upheld by a court of law in a homicide investigation,” Stanley said. “If you refuse to answer any questions based on your agreement with Sloan you’ll be found in contempt of court.”
“So I either go to jail or lose all my money.”
“Just one more reason to return to the fold and allow me to handle your defense.”
“I don’t need a defense,” Claire said. “I didn’t kill Tuppy.”
“The combination of circumstantial evidence, an ambitious detective, and a judge running for re-election has often resulted in the incarceration of innocent people.”
“So you’ve met Sarah.”
“I had the pleasure.”
“Well, no thanks, Stanley,” Claire said. “I will honor my confidentiality agreement even if it means I go to jail. At least my parents will still have my money.”
“An honorable stance,” Stanley said, “but I wonder if you’ll be able to maintain it when faced with actual imprisonment. Your fellow inmates probably won’t think your smartass comments are that cute, either.”
“I don’t think it will come to that,” Claire said. “You’re a smart guy. Who do you think killed Tuppy?”
“Based on your movements over the past two days I’d say your ex-husband or the bank president.”
“Well, you can watch me walk home now,” Claire said, “and tomorrow you can watch me go to work at The Bee Hive.”
“I’d like you to sign a new confidentiality agreement.”
“Why? Wasn’t the last one I signed in force for perpetuity?”
“It’s just a precaution,” Stanley said, and withdrew papers from his inside breast pocket. “You know how cautious we legal-types are.”
“No,” Claire said. “You’re not the boss of me anymore, Stanley. I don’t have to do anything you ask me.”
Claire got up and attempted to walk past the attorney but he grabbed her arm. Claire pulled away and rubbed her arm.
“Keep your hands off me,” Claire said. “You don’t know how pissed off we hairdresser-types can be when we’re bullied, or how apt we are to file assault charges.”
“Don’t threaten me,” Stanley said. “I’m being cordial now. You haven’t seen one sixteenth of what I’m capable of doing.”
Headlights illuminated them and the city police car pulled into the parking lot next to Stanley’s sedan.
Skip got out and said, “Claire, you alright?”
“I could use a ride home,” she said.
Once in the car she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Who was that guy?” Skip asked.
“The devil,” Claire said. “A product of unbridled ambition, greed, and the lust for material things.”
Chapter Seven - Tuesday
Scott’s mother was gasping for air as he fumbled with the cylinder of oxygen and attempted to rig up the cannula, the slender plastic tubing that would deliver oxygen to his mother’s lungs via her nose. He then remembered the breathing treatment apparatus called a nebulizer that they’d brought home from the hospital. He helped her use it and was relieved to see her wide-eyed look of panic relax into grateful, deep breaths as it took effect. He turned the oxygen up to the level recommended by the doctor and draped the cannula around her head with trembling hands.
“Call your sister,” she said between ragged breaths.
“I did,” he said. “She’s coming today.”
Doctor Machalvie arrived and let himself in. Scott waited in the kitchen while Doc attended to his mother.
“These crisis events will get very bad very fast,” Doc said when he returned from his mother’s room. “I gave her an injection of Terbutaline to help her breathe and a sedative to help her relax. You’ll notice I elevated her arms on some pillows and turned the heat down. You can wipe her face with a cool, damp cloth, and put a fan in her room; these things may help her breathe easier. When she gets panicked have her breathe through pursed lips. She’s stabilized now, but this is going to be a recurring experience. You need to either get her into a nursing facility or call Hospice.”
“She wants to stay home,” Scott said, “but I can’t call Hospice … I just can’t.”
“Then you’ll need to hire a nurse and get all the necessary medical equipment set up here. Will her insurance cover that?”
“I don’t know,” Scott said. “I don’t even know where her policy is.”
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