Paula K. Perrin - Small Town Deadly

by Paula K. Perrin

  I dialed Jill Ferguson’s number. At last, an answer. She’d seen Alisz’s car come by, then she’d been out doing errands, but she’d returned in time to witness my arrival. “He looked like a caveman with you over his shoulder! I couldn’t call the police—he’s the chief! What happened?”

  I ignored her question. “You’re sure you didn’t see Mother and Meg leave?”

  “Do you think I spend my life watching Macrae comings and goings?”

  “No, of course not,” I lied before hanging up. I made a mug of Lapsang Souchong and ended up in the living room staring out the bay window, listening to the rain.

  If the caller was the killer, Gene could not be the killer. I still didn’t know about Sibyl. She hadn’t acted guilty about anything except the smell of marijuana clinging to her when she’d gotten out of her van.

  I was sure Jennifer’s brownies had been filled with marijuana as well. Their strange texture, the way things were funny, then freaky, after I’d eaten them.

  Was there a connection between Sibyl smoking it and Jennifer baking it and what I’d found in Andre’s car?

  I shook my head.

  If the killer had my errant threesome, why hadn’t he or she said something specific? Was I supposed to worry myself to death?

  I wandered upstairs to my study. The decoy pages still sat on my desk. I wondered if Gene had read them when he’d searched the house for my family. Suddenly it seemed a shabby trick to have played.

  I stabbed out Alisz’s number. Again, the answering machine.

  I peered out the window. Though it was not quite five, the heavy rain made it nearly dark. There were no lights on at the rectory, not even the porch light.

  “Okay,” I said in the quiet of my study, “I’ll wait for half an hour for Gene to come back, but after that, I’m going to find them.”

  How to keep from going crazy in the meantime? Food. Downstairs again, I started the heavy pot heating and cut a round steak into chunks. I dredged the meat in flour mixed with herbs and set them to sizzling in hot oil. I glanced at my watch—how could time pass so slowly? I got out onions, potatoes, and carrots.

  What could have gotten Mother out of the house? I cudgeled my brain as I chopped carrots and cried over the onions, but it was no use.

  I needed a list. Out of habit, I headed for the recycling pile on the counter near the phone. I pushed aside some glossy cosmetics brochures and found an envelope. I wrote Alisz and Jared’s names. I tried them again. No luck. Who else could I call?

  “Max!” I said. Why did I keep forgetting he had a part in all this? I looked him up and punched his number.

  He answered.

  As soon as I identified myself, he said, “Terrible thing about Fran. It’s awful. She was a great person to work for.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” I said.

  “I guess it’s especially hard on you, being her best friend and all.”

  I was wondering how to bring up the pictures when he said, “Did she leave anything with you?”

  My pulse hammering in my throat I said, “Left something?”

  “Yeah.”

  Silence.

  “Like a package?” I prodded.

  “Yes! So she did leave it with you?”

  “No, I was just trying to figure out what you meant. What would be in this package?”

  “Look, don’t try to play games,” he said, his voice grating. “You’ll find yourself way over your head.” He breathed heavily for a moment then continued, his voice conciliatory, “Sorry. I’m looking for some photos Fran and I had collected for a story. It was important to her; printing it could be like a memorial to her, you know?”

  Outraged, I snapped, “Those pictures aren’t a fit memorial for a dog!”

  “So you do have them!”

  Darn. The state department would never recruit me for undercover work.

  Max said, “They’re mine. I’m coming over for them.”

  “No!” I squealed. “Gene’s here.”

  “Then you’ll have to get away and bring them to me.”

  “Why do you really want them?”

  “I told you, we were working on a story—”

  “Those aren’t for any story a decent newspaper would print. What do you plan—”

  “None of your damn business, but I’m telling you, if you don’t give them to me—”

  “Did you kill Fran?”

  He laughed. “Kill the golden goose? Nah. But now that she’s gone, I want them.” His voice turned silken, “She’d want you to give them to me.”

  “Okay,” I said, crossing my middle finger over my index finger, “I guess she would. Just tell me one thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did she sneak out to get these pictures the night Andre was killed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where were they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Look, I don’t have to give you these pictures. Answer my question, or—”

  “All right!” he shouted, then more quietly, “All right, I don’t know where they were. Probably at Andre’s. She was going to help him out, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, just tell me where to meet you and you won’t have to worry about them any more.”

  Without thinking, I’d been swirling the contents of the stew pot around and around. Now I knocked the spoon against the pot and said to Max, “I have no intention of giving those photographs to anyone, least of all to—”

  “You fucking bitch! I want those pictures, and you’d better give them to me—”

  I hung up the phone. My knees were shaking again, so I sat at the littered table, realizing with Max this mad at me, I was unwise to stay here alone like Hick’s dumb duck.

  I turned the heat under the stew low, put a lid on the pot, grabbed a jacket and a pair of sneakers. I ran out to the station wagon.

  When I whipped around the corner of our lot, I was surprised to see a cop car. I’d no sooner noticed it than the lights on top of it began to flash. I pulled over.

  Lofty came to my door. He bent down to peer in at me. “Chief Cudworthy wanted you to stay inside your house, Ms. Macrae,” he said.

  “My family’s missing, I’ve got to go find them.”

  “Gene’ll be along any minute,” he said, “you’d best go back inside.” He opened the car door.

  As I got out of my car, Jill called from her porch, “Everything all right, Liz?”

  “Oh, yeah, everything’s just fine,” I said. If total confusion is fine. If not knowing where your family is is fine. If having a rodenty little reporter really, really mad at you is fine.

  We heard the pounding and yelling at the back door before I even got the key in the front door. “You’re right, Gene’s come right along,” I said.

  Lofty hurried ahead of me to let Gene in through the kitchen door.

  As soon as the door opened, Gene said, “I told you not to leave.”

  “I have to find them,” I whispered, my lips trembling.

  His arms wrapped tightly around me. “They’re okay, Liz, we found them.”

  I clutched him and craned my head back to see his face. “You’ve got them?”

  “They’ll be here any minute. I wanted to be the one to tell you—”

  I pulled away, feeling my face getting hot. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? Did you ever hear of the phone?”

  “This isn’t something you’d want to hear over the phone,” he said, his voice deep and gentle. “I know you’re mad because you don’t like being scared, but listen to me now, Liz. You listening?”

  “What’s happened?” I whispered.

  “Cousin Claire’s all right, but she’s in the hospital.”

  “Meg?” I gasped.

  “Meg’s fine. So’s Kirk,” he said, opening and shutting cupboards. “Where’s that damn brandy?”

  “We drank it all the other night.”

&nb
sp; “Lofty, go get some brandy,” he barked at the hovering policeman.

  “What’s wrong with Mother?” I asked, leaning against the counter.

  “Her heart was bothering her.”

  Guilt washed over me.

  He hurried on, “She’s going to be all right. They’re just keeping her for observation.”

  “When’s Meg going to come home? Why didn’t she leave me a note?” My voice was rising, “We always leave notes so no one will worry. How could she—”

  “Liz,” he said, then louder, “Liz!” His fingers gently raised my chin so I had to look at him. “Now listen to me.”

  I raised a hand to push his arm away, but he shook his head. His blue eyes searched mine. “A long time ago in Scotland, all this temper and stubbornness kept our ancestors alive, but nowadays, it’s just a pain in the ass to everyone, especially the ones who live with us.”

  Gently, he pushed my hair back from my forehead. “When you’re uncertain or scared, that old temper comes roaring out of its cave and starts whacking at anything in its path. Tonight you need to lock it up. Meg’s really shook. She needs your soft side, Liz.”

  He grinned at me the way he used to when we were kids on the same team plotting strategy, “You do have one, don’t you?”

  I couldn’t help smiling back. “I think there’s one around here somewhere.”

  Footsteps crossed the front porch.

  “Thanks, Gene,” I said, pushing past him.

  “Yeah.”

  I turned back, stood on my tiptoes and aimed a kiss for his cheek. He was so much taller, it landed on his neck. Oh, well.

  I hurried down the hall to meet Meg and Kirk.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Meg’s yellow sweatshirt hung from her bowed shoulders. Her brown eyes were enormous, her face pale.

  Kirk had his arm around her, but she stepped away from him to hug me, nearly tripping over Bunny in the process.

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you,” I said.

  “It’s okay, Aunt Liz.”

  I led her into the parlor, switching on the Tiffany lamp as I passed it. We sank onto the love seat together. Kirk perched on the window seat. Bunny hopped up beside him. I knew Mother would not allow the poodle to do that, but at the moment I didn’t have the energy to deal with it.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “We were talking over the music for Fran’s service and suddenly Kirk asked Grandmother if she was all right. She was so pale!” Her cold hands clutched mine. “Thank God Kirk was here—he knew just what to do while I called 9-1-1.” She took a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t even remember our address!” Big tears rolled down her cheeks, and she bit her lip. “I was so afraid she was going to die. I’d never seen her so—she was helpless.” Meg began to sob.

  I put my arms around her, and we rocked back and forth. When she pulled away and groped in her pocket for a tissue, I asked, “What did the doctor say?”

  “They’re keeping her for observation, running tests.”

  “I should go see her.”

  “No!” Gene’s voice joined Meg’s and Kirk’s. Color flooded Meg’s face.

  Kirk said soothingly, “She can’t have any visitors right now.”

  “Especially not me, right?” I clutched my elbows. “I upset her too much.”

  Gene walked over to the fireplace and rested his arm on the mantel. “She gave as good as she got, Liz.”

  “She pretty much pushed you into it,” Meg said softly.

  I looked toward Mother’s empty chair. “Well, there’s scant use debating it now.”

  Meg hooted with laughter. “You sound just like her.”

  I got up, crossed to the window seat and looked out. “Everything has changed,” I said. “In just two days.” Bunny’s cold nose nudged my hand, and I began stroking his wooly back.

  Kirk hurried into the silence, “We can’t always see God’s plan while it’s in the making.”

  I whirled, “You think it’s God’s will that Fran—” Gene shifted by the fireplace. He caught my eye. I bit back the angry words.

  “The house seems so empty,” Meg said.

  “Claire has a great big personality,” Kirk answered.

  Gene sneezed.

  “Bless you,” we said in chorus.

  He sneezed again.

  “I told you to go home and change,” I said.

  “There wasn’t time.”

  “Oh, the call.” How could I have forgotten it? “Did you trace it?”

  “Didn’t have to. It’s the phone booth out by the Elks.”

  “What are you talking about?” Meg demanded.

  “The caller. I thought he had you—” my voice guttered out.

  “Oh, Aunt Liz, I’m so sorry, but I just never thought of leaving a note. I tried to call from the hospital but you weren’t home, and I didn’t want to leave that kind of message on the machine, and then later—”

  Kirk broke in, “I told Meg it’d be better to wait till we got home, so if you want to blame anyone, blame me.”

  I stared at him, this kid priest in his red Hawaiian shirt and cut-offs and realized how both Mother and I appeared to him, always throwing blame around. No more, I promised myself.

  “Anyway,” Gene continued, “before we had cell phones, and even now sometimes if it’s confidential, if we want to use a land line, we’ll specify a certain phone booth, and I remembered the number for that one.”

  “But no one was there?” I asked.

  “Nope. No witnesses either,” three sneezes in a row interrupted him. He blew his nose and continued, “I’ve got men asking, but it’s not likely they’ll get anything.”

  The doorbell rang, startling us all. Gene gestured us to stay put and went to the door. He returned carrying a bottle of brandy. “Anyone need this now?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Kirk said.

  “I’ll get glasses.” Meg leaped up. Bunny raced down the hall ahead of her, his toenails clicking.

  Gene handed the bottle to Kirk and said, “I’m going to go change, then I’ll come back. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Kirk said, “I’ll stay.”

  “No offense, but I can’t let you do that.”

  Kirk glared first at Gene, then at me. “I’m losing patience with this!”

  “I don’t want either of you here,” I said.

  Gene slumped onto the window seat. “Do you have a gun?”

  “No, Gene, I don’t believe in them.”

  “I bet the killer does.”

  “So far, it seems, the killer has not needed firearms.”

  “Do me a favor, Liz. For once in your life, don’t argue, just go along with a plan that makes sense, will you?” He rubbed at his eyes.

  “If you insist on someone staying all night, how about Lofty?”

  “No.”

  “You think I’m stubborn?”

  He looked up at me, pain in his eyes. “I can’t stand to lose anyone else.”

  I turned to Kirk, “Do you have clothes you could lend Gene so he doesn’t have to go out again?”

  “Sure.” He set the brandy bottle next to the lamp and hurried into the hall where I heard him talking with Meg.

  The glasses she was carrying chimed against each other as she set them next to the brandy bottle.

  I said, “Meg, would you put some honey and lemon juice in hot water for Gene?”

  “And a couple of aspirin?” he added.

  She nodded and went back to the kitchen.

  I looked down at Gene who had slumped, eyes closed, into the corner formed by the wall and the window. I hesitated. Perhaps it was my own weariness and confusion as much as trust that finally made me say, “We have to talk.”

  One eye opened far enough to reveal a wedge of blue.

  “I found—” I felt my own face heat up. “Did you know someone took pictures of you and Sibyl together?”

  He jerked upright, both eyes wide open. “What?” He stood up
. “When? Who?”

  I giggled.

  He glared at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “Photographs that were taken of you and Sibyl outside her neighbor’s house last summer.”

  His face flushed a deeper red. One hand rubbed his moustache. He cleared his throat. “No, I wasn’t aware of that. Who took them? Where are they?” There was no threat in his manner, only embarrassment.

  “Somewhere safe,” I said.

  “How did you see them?”

  I sighed. “Fran left them in my desk drawer.”

  “Is that what you were so mysterious about?”

  “Yes.”

  He sank back onto the cushions. “You must think I’m a real fool.”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed, a short, sharp bark. He sighed. “So why are you telling me now?” His tone was dull.

  “I guess because—” I skidded to a stop. “Because—”

  He shoved himself to his feet, interrupting roughly, “It doesn’t matter. Show me the pictures.”

  “I can’t. I’ve put them away for safekeeping.”

  He turned a sad smile on me. “So you’re not really trusting me. Why did Fran give them to you?”

  Meg came in with a mug that streamed honey-scented steam. Grateful for the respite, I offered him the brandy bottle.

  “Better not,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs—”

  The front door opened, and Kirk came in with an armload of clothes held under his water-beaded coat. He’d taken the opportunity to change, too, into jeans and a faded sweatshirt.

  Gene went off with the clothing. Meg poured three brandies, and we listened to the rain gurgling through the gutter at the side of the house. Kirk crossed to the fireplace, crumpled up some newspaper and laid kindling for a fire. Bunny stood beside him, tail wagging.

  Gene padded in barefoot, the hems of his borrowed jeans a couple of inches shy of his ankles.

  As Kirk struck a match to light the fire, his stomach growled.

  “Oh, the stew,” I said, starting to get up.

  “Alisz is expecting us for dinner, so I turned it off,” Meg said.

  Kirk sat cross-legged in front of the fire.

  I sank back. “I can’t face being polite company tonight,” I said. “Why don’t you two go?”