I hugged the covers to me. “Dead? But all she had was the flu.” The vision of Andre’s body flashed in front of me. “She was murdered?”
“Calm down, Liz. Nothing like that.”
“I just can’t believe it. When I picked up the dress from her yesterday, she looked wretched, but not—oh, God.”
“What?”
“She said she felt like she was going to die. I just thought—you know how sometimes when you have the stomach flu—”
“You couldn’t have known—”
“But I should have insisted she let me take her to the doctor. I was in such a hurry because of having to learn lines and altering the dress that I only offered half-heartedly.” I rubbed my head. “How could she die of the flu, or food poisoning, or whatever it was?”
“Apparently Tony came home in the middle of the night and found her unconscious in the bathroom. He rushed her to the hospital, but they couldn’t save her.”
“Poor Tony.” Tony Vico was an airline pilot, and the most devoted husband and father in town.
“Anyway—will you please go over there with me?”
“So you won’t have to go to the funeral home?”
Her voice was small when she replied, “I know I’m awful about it, but I just can’t bear to. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
“I need 45.”
“Skip the coffee. I’ll be there in 20.”
I headed for the bathroom, but Mother’s faint voice caught me midway across the landing. “What’s going on?” she called.
When Meg returned home after dropping out of college, Mother canceled her cell phone. We now had three phone lines in the house, one for each of us. Mother always turned off the bell on the phone by her bed at night since the pain of her arthritis often kept her from sleeping. Everyone who knew us waited to call till after ll:00 AM. Still, all three lines came together on the phone in the kitchen on the other side of her bedroom wall, and Fran’s three sets of rings would have been hard to ignore—I was the proof of that pudding.
I ran down the stairs and slid open the oak double doors. Years ago she’d taken over the dining room as her bedroom when the stairs became too difficult. Mother was sitting up in bed with her grey hair tumbling onto her shoulders.
“What’s happening?” Mother asked.
“Let me get you some coffee, then we’ll talk.”
“No, just tell me.”
“Fran called with some bad news. Annamaria died last night.” I told her what Fran had said. “I have to hurry, Fran’s going pick me up soon.”
Mother nodded. “Start the coffee, will you?”
As I went into the kitchen, she called after me, “Where’s Meg?”
“I don’t know. I heard her chasing Bunny through the Ferguson’s yard earlier.” As I measured coffee into the filter, I heard Mother’s small sounds of pain in the next room as she got out of bed. It was the worst time of day for her when, as she said, she was most like the tin man after a hard rain.
“Coffee’s started,” I called and ran upstairs. I intended to hurry, but my thoughts roamed as the hot water beat on my head and back. Where could Fran have disappeared to last night and why? Why had Andre been holding Meg’s lipstick? Why had Meg arrived late to the rehearsal wearing a different costume than we’d planned?
And why would anyone kill Andre at the play rehearsal when there were so many people around? “Because his house has a security system, that’s why!” I said.
I hoped Gene would find the killer fast. I shivered even though the water running over me was still hot.
This made five deaths of people close to me in the last three years. First James Egan, Fran’s husband, died after a long battle with cancer. Then Barry, Andre’s secretary, died of AIDS. Horrible as both deaths had been, they’d brought relief from suffering.
But the deaths that had followed—each had been appalling in its suddenness, its unfairness—Hugh gunned down in that robbery. Now Andre being murdered and Annamaria dying only a few hours ago.
My chest ached.
I hurried out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. I heard a noise in the study. “Meg?” I said, crossing to the door.
Fran straightened from the file drawer of my desk, a large manila envelope in her hand. Today she wore her hair the way I liked it best, in a single braid that stretched nearly to her waist. She wore navy slacks and sweater. “Nope, me, and you’ve caught me red-handed.”
“Honestly, you and Meg are the worst. I’d trust you both with my purse or national security, but let either of you get within sniffing distance of envelopes or stamps, and you’re without a single scruple.”
Fran tossed the braid over her shoulder. “That shower’s going to qualify you for Guinness.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. Besides, there’s some guy in Norway who stayed in a shower 50 hours. No one’s ever going to break his record.”
“Really?” She squinted at me.
“Check it out,” I said. “But meanwhile, put my envelope back. I need it to send out the stuff I’ve been working on. Why didn’t you swipe one from your very own newspaper office?”
She looked crestfallen. “I forgot to.” She looked down at the envelope. “Please, Liz,” she wheedled, “I really need to send something.”
“Then go to the P.O.” I pointed at her, “Now put it back.”
She hesitated, her green eyes calculating, but then she gave up, stuffing the envelope back into the drawer. “You are no longer my best friend.”
“Yes, I am,” I replied, “I have saved you from sin. Now go downstairs where Mother can keep an eye on you.”
They were drinking coffee in the kitchen when I went down.
Mother gave me a disapproving look. “Don’t you have anything dark to wear?”
“I think I look quite nice, as a matter of fact, dignified, not at all frivolous.” I’d chosen a beige suit.
“You could at least wear high heels,” Mother said.
“Would they convey sorrow better than these?” I said, holding my foot, shod in its neat, comfortable flat, out for inspection.
Fran stuck her tongue out at me. She hated that I had nicer ankles than she did. Though my legs were considerably shorter, her ankles were the slightest bit thick while mine were nicely turned.
I poured coffee into a mug and slid English muffin halves into the toaster. “How’d you find out about Annamaria, anyway?” I asked Fran.
“Max.”
“What would you do without him?”
“Shut down the paper. No one digs dirt the way he can.”
“You’re no slouch.”
She laughed. “But not in his class, and besides, I hate the boring side—researching, verifying.” She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck.”
“You should stop by Alisz’s as long as you’re making consolation calls,” Mother said.
“She’ll probably be at Annamaria’s,” I said.
“Claire’s going to make two casseroles, one for Alisz. Poor thing, losing Hugh and now her best friend in—” Fran started to count on her fingers.
“Seven months,” Mother supplied.
I smelled scorching and hit the lever on the toaster. It reluctantly released its hostages.
“Me, too,” Fran said.
I gave her my English muffin and started another.
She spread generous amounts of butter and orange marmalade and offered me half. She looked unusually pale.
“Why don’t you skip calling on the Vicos?” I said.
Her smile wan, she said, “I wish I could. Do you think I’ll ever grow up?”
“Not a prayer.” We grinned at each other.
Mother said, “You should get over this irrational fear of death, Fran. It’s not natural.”
Fran sighed and bowed her head over her coffee.
She’d explained once that her fear of dying wasn’t so much the process as it was of being a body. “I know it comes from visits with my uncle. He was a pathologist and noth
ing was sacred to him. My brother egged him on for the goriest details. It made me sick. I’ll do anything to avoid being dead!”
The only time she’d ever let me down was when I’d needed her to go to Hugh’s funeral with me and she hadn’t been able to do it.
Tony Vico greeted us with a wobbly smile and hugs, nearly crushing the flowers we’d brought.
In the living room, flower arrangements and potted azaleas, mostly pink like ours, stood two and three to a table. The mantel was a mass of roses.
Tony and Annamaria’s two oldest daughters were there with husbands and children. Their youngest daughter, Patricia, probably hadn’t made it home from college yet. Father Donnato stood by the fireplace. I was surprised to see Kirk beside him. Kirk, like Father Donnato, was in priestly garb, his blond hair downy now that he’d washed out the goo he’d used for his role the night before.
After I’d paid my respects to Annamaria’s family, I stood alone for a moment, nauseated by the warm room, noise, and smell of flowers. I made my way to Kirk, and when he turned to me, I said, “Aren’t you kind of in the wrong pew?”
“Liz, for heaven’s sake!”
“Well, Annamaria was such a staunch Catholic I wondered—”
“I am allowed to have friends outside our church, you know.”
I’d never seen Kirk so crusty before. Curious, I couldn’t resist a little jibe. “No, I didn’t know that. Surely the Bishop’s Committee has some rule against it?”
He glared at me. At the best of times, Kirk, with his blond hair, round blue eyes, peaches-and-cream complexion and stocky build, looked like a choir boy, not a full-grown Episcopal priest. Now, his face pink with indignation, he looked Meg’s age rather than only ten years my junior.
“Your joke’s in poor taste given the circumstances,” he said.
I felt the heat rise in my face, part anger, part embarrassment. I took a deep, calming breath. “Point taken,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “I’m unnerved by what happened to Annamaria. She was such a good person, kind, generous—it hurts to know she’s gone.” Tears glittered in his eyes.
“Even though you believe in heaven?”
“Heaven has its share of saints. They should leave us the few we’ve got.”
I stared at him in astonishment. “There’s hope for you yet, you young whippersnapper, you.”
He smiled and moved off.
Fran glided up to me. “Why are you looking at Kirk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Kind of narrow-eyed and considering.”
“Wasn’t she the Indian princess on the Howdy Doody show?”
“You idiot!”
We both started to laugh and quickly stopped. We looked around to see if anyone had noticed and saw Alisz at the front door.
“Whoa, that’s a glare-and-a-half!” Fran whispered to me.
“I can’t blame her, walking in to find us giggling when we should be mourning.”
“We are mourning, just not in the same way.”
Patricia made her way into the house past Alisz’s rigid form and fell, wailing, into her father’s arms. Tony began to sob.
I walked over to Alisz. “I’m so sorry about Annamaria. I know how close you were.”
Her hazel eyes glittered. She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together.
Behind us, Tony’s wracking sobs grew louder.
I thought Alisz must be barely holding herself together and wished I could think of something comforting to say.
As Father Donnato led Tony and Patricia away, Patricia whispered brokenly, “Oh, Papa, what will we do?”
“Did you pick her up at the airport?” I asked Alisz.
“Yes.” The word barely escaped her lips. She was pale except for the patches of blusher on her cheeks. There was no sign that she had cried, but Alisz had always been strong.
“That was so good of you. Fran and I came over to see if we could help, but there doesn’t seem to be anything that isn’t taken care of,” I babbled. “Mother’s making casseroles, I’ll bring them by later.”
To my intense relief, Fran came up behind me and said we’d better go.
As I stood in the bright sunshine by Fran’s new black Mustang waiting for her to unlock the door, I took a deep breath of the cool morning air. Pine and cedar trees formed a dark wall behind the Vico’s house, and the air smelled fresh.
Fran hit the lock release, and I got in. The car had gathered a lot of heat. We opened our windows as we rolled slowly along. Two houses down on the other side of the street was Alisz’s long, low house of thin pink bricks.
“This is a great car, Fran.”
“Yeah. Black’s not a color I’d choose, though. It has to be washed constantly to look good.”
“What do you mean you wouldn’t choose it? You did!”
“Sure. I just meant since I got it I’ve seen other colors I liked better.”
“Buyer’s remorse, huh?”
“I guess,” she said. “So are you going to explain to me why you were looking at Kirk that way?”
I wriggled uncomfortably.
Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Whatever is wrong?”
I gazed out at the lightly populated golf course. I couldn’t think of a more tedious pastime, but I didn’t say that to Fran since she’d been raised believing it was the nation’s religion. “Promise you’ll never tell?”
“Promise.”
“He was telling me how great Annamaria was, and there was such a depth of feeling in how he said it. It made me wonder if there was anything between them. I’ve always wondered why a young, unmarried man would settle in Warfield where everyone’s already married. Have you heard anything?”
Fran made a miniscule adjustment to the rear view mirror. “Not about them. Why would they be attracted to each other?”
“Kirk’s cute if you like the boyish type. And Annamaria was absolutely gorgeous.”
“She was nearly fifty! And a good fifteen pounds over—”
“She was still beautiful.”
“Well, Tony’s the gorgeous one, and he must make lots of money. Kirk’s as poor as—”
“Maybe it appears silly on the surface, but there was something. They were more than ordinary friends.”
“He’s bound to admire a woman who did so much work for the community,” Fran argued.
“In addition to her travel agency.”
“Yeah, and she always had time for her family.” Sunlight came in the window gilding Fran’s hair.
I added, “And all their friends. I can’t count the number of times Meg called from their house begging to stay the night with Patricia. I was worried that she’d wear out her welcome, but Annamaria said, Don’t worry—I just add more water to the soup!’”
“Watery soup? That doesn’t sound like her. I’ve never had lasagna as good—”
“No, no, it’s an expression for making things stretch,” I said. “I always forget you need an interpreter, not being from these parts.”
“Just you wait, you northwest chauvinist. I’m going to take you south to my old stomping grounds some day and see how you like being the outsider.”
The same thought hit us both. Fran’s foot came off the gas, “It’s not going to be the same without Annamaria, is it?”
“She made travel planning almost as much fun as actually going.” I shivered.
Fran nodded. “She took such joy in things.”
“She loved the play. She asked me to alter her dress with basting stitches because she hoped she’d feel well enough to perform tonight.”
We passed the power substation. Its chain link fence was softened by rhododendrons with yellow blossoms just beginning to open.
“Yesterday afternoon, I ran into Andre at the market,” Fran said. “He was buying a case of champagne for the cast party.”
We passed the Elk’s hall, the lumberyard, then the huge white building that had been co
nverted into a fundamentalist church. Ghostly grey letters spelling out “Macrae’s Grocery” showed on the side of the building through two coats of white paint. “Grandfather’s revenge,” I said, “he’ll never stop haunting them, couldn’t abide self-righteous Bible-thumpers.”
Fran smiled as she turned left onto Main Street and said, “Episcopalians are not self-righteous Bible-thumpers?”
“We only pat the Bible occasionally.” I pointed to our old-fashioned brick church with its belfry. “See what dignity we have?”
“Thanks to the Catholics. Since they built it, they ought to get the credit, don’t you think?”
“They lost their claim when they sold it and moved.”
She shook her head. “Do you think atheists get het up over their street corners?”
“Nope. You can only get het up when you’re convinced God’s on your side.”
She guffawed, turned left past the excrescence of the new McDonald’s and pulled up in front of the combination police station/fire station/meeting hall.
“Are you going to tell Gene where you went last night?” I asked.
She withdrew her keys from the ignition and carefully stored them in her purse. “Yes, of course I am. I don’t know why I was so secretive.”
“So where did you go?”
Her cellular phone buzzed in her purse. She snatched it out. “Oh, hi, Max.” She shook the phone, then said, “Talk fast, Max, I’m on low bat again.”
I could dimly hear the gnat’s whine of the voice on the other end of the call. I felt awkward sitting so close to a phone conversation, but I was determined to get Fran to tell me what lie she’d made up to tell Gene.
I studied the grey, cement-block building. To the right were huge glass doors behind which the fire trucks rested. In the middle of the building was a recessed, covered entryway that led to lobby doors. I’d waited there several times while the city council wrangled in private session. I’d never had to visit the police section before.
Fran said sharply, “No! Are you sure?”
I turned. She stared at me, her green eyes wide.
“What?” I said.
She waved me to silence, listening intently. Soon she said, “Okay, Max, thanks.”
“Remind me to recharge this,” she said as she folded the phone. “Now, Liz, I’m going to tell you something, and you have to promise me you won’t let anyone know you know about it because I’m not supposed to know either.”
Paula K. Perrin - Small Town Deadly Page 5
