Murder Sends a Postcard (A Haunted Souvenir)

by Fifield, Christy

  It was my turn to wait while she turned to someone else. I heard a soft conversation in the background, then she came back to the phone. “Riley’s here, too. Does the invitation include both of us?”

  I looked at Jake, who was standing close enough to hear what she said. He nodded and I relayed the expanded invitation.

  “All right,” she said. “Give me the address.”

  Sly and Jake went to wash up, and Jake said he needed to check on dinner. I waited in the carport, watching for Karen and Riley.

  I did wonder where Karen had been. I hadn’t talked to her since our dinner on the Fourth, and as I thought about it, I realized I hadn’t heard her on the radio all weekend. She hadn’t said anything about being gone, but it seemed like the logical explanation.

  In just a couple minutes, Riley’s pickup rolled up across the street from Sly’s T-Bird and the two of them climbed out. I greeted them with hugs and took them into the kitchen through the side door.

  Inside, the tang of tomato and the musky fragrance of oregano mingled with onion and garlic into a heady promise of Italian delights.

  Jake stood at the counter, stirring a dark red sauce in the Crock-Pot. “Spaghetti,” he said unnecessarily. The smell had already given it away.

  “Smells divine,” Karen said. She spoke for us all.

  Dinner turned into the usual group effort. I made garlic bread, Sly put together a salad, and Jake boiled the pasta.

  Karen and Riley volunteered to set the table, but Jake suggested we eat on the screened patio. He showed them the way, and the two of them disappeared with a stack of plates and silverware.

  They came back several times for things like glasses and napkins. Both of them. As though they couldn’t stay apart for long enough to walk from one room to another. And each time they seemed deep in a private conversation. They hardly noticed that the rest of us were there.

  Jake drained the pasta and tossed it with a small scoop of the sauce to keep it from sticking. I sliced garlic bread and piled it on a platter, and Sly tossed the salad with a dressing of olive oil, wine vinegar, and assorted herbs.

  Riley carried the crock of sauce, and the food procession made its way down the hall and out to the porch.

  Even without the usual Thursday group, the conversation followed our normal pattern: We spent the first half of the meal quizzing Jake about his sauce and sharing our own personal takes on the art of spaghetti. Everyone had their own recipe, and we all had our own take on what was essential.

  When we had exhausted that topic, Jake asked me about my meeting with Buddy McKenna. “What did he want to know?”

  “The kind of thing we talked about on Friday night,” I said. “Did I agree with what Bridget said in her notes. Did I have something to add that wasn’t there. He was very careful not to tell me anything he didn’t think I already knew, but he did confirm that Andy Marshall had sunk everything into Bayvue, and then gone into debt so deep he couldn’t get out.”

  I told Jake what Buddy had said about Andy’s behavior, and about not judging too harshly.

  “Wait a minute,” Karen said. “Let’s back up a little, shall we? When did you see Andy Marshall? And for that matter, when did you spend all this time with Mr. McKenna?”

  Jake and I took turns filling the three of them in on the adventures of the weekend. Riley looked especially upset as we described Andy’s appearance and behavior.

  “He was a few years ahead of us, wasn’t he?” I said. “How did you know him?”

  “I didn’t know him very well, but my older brother did. Well enough to get in a couple fights with him,” Riley said. “They played football together, and didn’t always see eye-to-eye on things. Andy was rough around the edges, and he was a fierce competitor. Hated to lose. Just purely hated it. Once in a while they disagreed about tactics; what was okay and what wasn’t.”

  “I remember one time,” Karen said. “Tom had a knot on his head for a week. Was that from Andy?”

  “Sure was. Andy didn’t think Tom had hit an opposing lineman hard enough, and he showed Tom exactly what he thought he should have done. Tom said his ears rang for days.”

  “Sounds like a dangerous guy,” Jake said, his brow furrowing in concern. He turned to me. “You sure Buddy’s safe out there with that guy stumbling around?”

  “Andy’s broken,” Sly cut in. “He’s done lost everything he worked for, and it broke something inside him. Seen it happen before. Makes a man weak, or it makes him mean.” He turned to look at me. “Which do you think he is, Glory?”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t say, Sly. But I don’t think I saw mean in that man out there.

  “I sure hope I’m right,” I added softly.

  “So anyway, after our talk on Friday night, Buddy stopped by the store on Saturday and wanted to ask me some questions. I met him at Lighthouse and had a cup of coffee, Jake dropped by and joined us for a few minutes, and that was the end of it.

  “Which, by the way, you would have heard about if you’d been around this weekend.” I glared at Karen and Riley. “Now give. Just where were the two of you the last three days? ’Cause I am convinced you weren’t in town.”

  Karen reached for Riley’s hand and held it so tightly her knuckles turned white. “We went away for the weekend.”

  Clearly there was more to the story. “And?” I prodded.

  She looked around the table. “You all have to swear you will not repeat a word of this. Not a word.

  “Swear.”

  We nodded but that wasn’t enough for her. “Say it!”

  Sly, Jake, and I each promised, but she had me really worried. I had asked Linda what to do about Karen and Riley and she’d told me to just be supportive, but now I wondered exactly what I was supporting.

  “We went to a couples retreat.”

  “A retreat? You mean like a church camp or something?”

  Karen shook her head. “No. It was just something our counselor recommended. A few days away, concentrating on the two of us.”

  “Your counselor? Since when do you have a counselor? And why do you need a counselor anyway? You’re divorced!”

  “Because,” Riley explained, “if we’re going to get married again, we want to do it right this time.”

  My gaze shot to Karen’s left hand. Bare. So it hadn’t happened yet. Maybe.

  I thought I’d lost my mind. “You’re getting married again, and you’re seeing a counselor to help you do it right, and you went to a retreat—and you haven’t mentioned a word about this to me? Did I hear all that right?”

  “It’s only been the last couple weeks,” Karen said. “And you’ve been so worried about Riley and me getting back together that I didn’t want to say anything until we were sure.”

  “So it isn’t really if you get married again, it’s when.”

  Karen nodded.

  Jake got up from his chair and walked around the table. He shook Riley’s hand, a huge grin on his face. “Congratulations, man! That’s great news.”

  Riley grinned back. “Yeah, I think it is.”

  Jake reached down to hug Karen. “You’ll be great,” he said. “Just great.”

  By that time I was out of my seat and around the table. I threw my arms around Riley, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “Do it right this time. Or there will be hell to pay.”

  Karen stood up and I wrapped my arms around her. “If this is what you want, then I’m happy for you,” I said, and I meant it. I never doubted for a minute that they loved each other. They just needed to learn how to live together. And maybe they had matured enough to make it work.

  “Have you told your families yet?” I asked when we had settled in lounge chairs with refilled glasses a few minutes later. “Does Bobby know?”

  “Nobody knows,” Riley said. “They didn’t even know we were spending the weekend tog
ether. Like Karen said, we didn’t want to say anything until we were sure.”

  “And if you’ll notice,” Karen added, “you were the first person we called when we got back.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I should have thought of that before I shot my mouth off.”

  “That wasn’t exactly how we planned to tell you,” Karen said. “I had a little speech all prepared, but then we got to talking about everything that happened and it just came out.”

  “Well, I, for one, am honored to have been part of this,” Sly announced. “I think anyone getting married is reason enough for celebration.” He raised his sweet tea in a toast. “Here’s to many years of happiness.”

  “How about you, Sly?” Riley asked. “You never married?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head, his expression far away. “I came close once. Really loved that little gal, but my mama pitched such a fit I couldn’t do it.

  “I went to Mr. Louis about it,” he went on, his voice soft and low, as full of longing as if it had been yesterday instead of decades ago.

  “He told me he’d help me if I was determined to do it, but we both knew it wouldn’t happen. I wasn’t brave enough to go against my mama’s wishes and break the law, so I joined the Army and went away for a while.”

  “Break the law?” Jake said. “How?”

  “I know,” I said. “Your girl, she was white, wasn’t she, Sly? That’s why you couldn’t marry her.”

  “That’s right, Miss Glory. It was a different world back then.”

  “It was before either of us was born,” I told Jake. “But I heard about it. It took a long time for things to change, but eventually they did.”

  I looked over at Sly. “It was just too late for some.”

  Sly nodded. “Your uncle Louis, he understood. Offered to drive us up to Chicago or New York, one of them places, if we really wanted to go. Coulda got hisself in trouble for it, but he was willing. He was a real good man, Miss Glory.”

  “Do you mind my asking about this?”

  Sly shook his head. “Ancient history, Miss Glory. Can’t hurt me now.”

  “Why you? I mean, sure, he was a good man. And he didn’t seem to have much patience for a lot of what went on back then. But why did he help you and not someone else?”

  “Mr. Louis was a friend of my mama’s,” he said. “She worked cleaning houses with her little sister. They worked for Mr. Louis’s daddy when Mr. Louis was a young man, and he took a shine to my aunt Sissy. You can bet his mama put an end to that right quick. Sissy got shipped over to cousins in Slidell, and Louis ran off and joined the Army.

  “Sorta like me.”

  “I had no idea,” I said, my head spinning.

  “Course, all that happened before I was born,” Sly said. “So I only know what my mama and daddy told me later on. They used to carry news about Sissy to Mr. Louis, right up to the day he died. I think helpin’ me was his way of sayin’ thanks.”

  Chapter 31

  SLY’S STORY EXPLAINED A LOT ABOUT UNCLE LOUIS. He must have been one stubborn son of a gun to come back to Keyhole Bay after his stint in the Army.

  “I don’t know if I’d’ve ever come back here,” Riley said. “Even if my mama and daddy were here. I’d’ve hightailed it west so fast you wouldn’t have seen me go.”

  “West?” Jake asked. “I’ve been there. Not that much different from here, unless you’re in one of the big cities. Otherwise it’s the same; good people and bad, rich and poor, happy and miserable. From what I’ve seen, people are the same wherever you go.”

  “True, that.” Sly nodded his agreement. “I saw a lot of places courtesy of my uncle. Uncle Sam. Good people and bad, wherever you go. Whatever you go looking for, that’s what you’re gonna find. And I found good people, generous and helpful people, everywhere I went.”

  I got up from my chair and walked over to Sly, and knelt down next to him. Tentatively, I reached out and put my arm around his shoulders, and gave him a one-armed hug. “That’s because you’re a good and generous man, Sly. Like goes to like, as Memaw would say.”

  Sly reached out with one callused hand and ran his fingers along my cheek. “Louis would be proud of you. I think he is proud of you. You’re a good girl, Miss Glory.”

  “Thanks.” I stood up and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. Sly had given me a fresh look at the only family I had in Keyhole Bay, and I was grateful. Uncle Louis and Bluebeard could be mighty annoying, but I was still glad to have them in my life.

  “Speaking of Uncle Louis,” I said to my friends, “have I told you about his latest antics?”

  I launched into the story of the postcards, lightening the somber mood with the tale of his mess and of the epic pout that followed. “He was still pouting the next day,” I said, “when Buddy McKenna came in. I think that was some kind of record, even for Bluebeard.”

  It was good to be among friends, people who knew about Uncle Louis, and be able to speak freely. I had kept the secret of my ghostly roommate for a long time, unwilling to admit it, even to myself. But now everyone in the room knew about Louis, and accepted his presence in my life.

  Soon Karen and Riley announced that they had to leave. They thanked Jake for dinner, and a few minutes later we heard Riley’s truck pull away.

  Sly hugged me good-bye, a real hug. Somehow it felt right this time. Sly’s connection with Uncle Louis made it feel like we were family, and I was happy to add another person to my little family circle.

  “I’ll see you later in the week,” he said to Jake, “and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Lunchtime,” I agreed. “And I’ll be sure to bring a treat for Bobo.”

  We watched the T-Bird pull away, and Jake and I were left alone.

  “Time for me to go, too.”

  “You’re welcome to stay a little longer,” Jake said. But when I didn’t accept the invitation, he walked me to my truck and said good night.

  “I’ll stop by in the morning,” he said, “and see if Bluebeard is still pouting.”

  “Probably will be.”

  I started the engine and drove the few blocks back home. I parked in the back and let myself in, checking the locks and alarms twice. All the talk about Andy Marshall had left me uneasy, and I still wasn’t ready to accept the police’s explanation of Bridget’s death.

  I peered through the dim light in the shop, but everything was in its proper place, and Bluebeard didn’t even complain about me disturbing his sleep.

  I was about to head upstairs when I noticed the box of postcards still behind the counter. I picked up the box and carried it upstairs with me. I could turn on the TV and finish resorting the cards before bed, and then I wouldn’t have to look at the mess in the morning.

  I found a sappy romantic comedy on a local channel and set to work on the postcards.

  I was halfway through when I found another card with Bridget’s precise printing. Like the first one, this one also said Edina, MN, on the address side. But where the first one had only a few letters in the message space, this one had two complete words.

  Let’s talk.

  Who did she want to talk to, I wondered. There was only one person who might be able to tell me, but good manners told me it was far too late to call anyone, and especially someone I only knew casually.

  Good manners, however, didn’t prevent me from sending e-mail. Buddy might not get my message until tomorrow, but it could wait that long.

  I grabbed my laptop and opened the e-mail program. Using the address on Buddy’s business card, I typed in my question:

  Who did Bridget know in Edina, Minnesota?

  I set the computer aside and got up for a glass of sweet tea before I went back to my sorting.

  To my surprise, the computer chimed with an incoming message just a few minutes later.

  Just my
dad, as far as I know. Why?

  I debated how to answer him. If Bridget was actually sending a postcard to her father, offering to talk to him, then maybe she was trying to mend their broken relationship. Perhaps working with Buddy had somehow convinced her to reach out to her father, even if it was only a postcard.

  But that wasn’t something for an e-mail in the middle of the night. It was a message loaded with emotional baggage, and I wasn’t going to trust it to pixels on a glowing screen.

  Nothing critical. Just something she said. I’ll tell you about it the next time I see you. Good night!

  I closed the e-mail program and shut down the computer. If Buddy answered my e-mail, if he asked any more questions, I could honestly say I hadn’t seen the message.

  I thought about how I’d found Bridget’s message while I finished sorting the postcards and got ready for bed.

  Of all the things Bluebeard had said, all the clues he’d dropped, why this one?

  I put the box of postcards, now carefully sorted again, at the top of the stairs so I would remember to take them back downstairs. The one with Bridget’s message I left in the middle of the coffee table. I’d try to remember to give it to Buddy next time he was in the shop.

  Chapter 32

  I FLOATED IN THAT HALF-DREAMING STATE BETWEEN the first soft beeps of the alarm clock and the “I have to be downstairs in fifteen minutes” freakout, savoring the last few minutes of peace and quiet before the onslaught that was a summer Monday.

  The early morning warmth made me kick off the light blanket, but the slow whirring of a box fan kept the bedroom reasonably cool for now.

  Although I didn’t have to get up for another few minutes, my brain had already kicked into gear. Julie would be here with Rose Ann, so I could get out of the shop for a little while. There was a short list of absolutely necessary errands, and I considered how best to make use of my time.

  The bank was a high priority after a holiday weekend. And groceries. No one who lived in Keyhole Bay went near the market on a summer weekend. My Friday morning visit had been problematic; Saturdays were impossible, and by Sunday the shelves were picked clean.