Audie pursued me diligently in the months following our investigation into Penn Hardy’s murder last fall. Once I had chosen the theater director over my childhood friend, Cord Grace, Audie relaxed and acted like a giddy school boy at times. Flowers every day, occasional chocolates, joining in harvest time celebrations at the family ranch, singing beneath my bedroom window. . .
Even the usual November doldrums, brought on by shortened days and brown ground, sped by unnoticed in a haze of happiness. On Christmas Eve Audie took me to a special dinner out of town, away from prying eyes. He got down on one knee and popped the question.
“Cecilia Wilde, heart of my heart, love for you has blinded me to all others. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” His face paled, blue eyes blazing and hair glistening from a fresh cut. He could have chosen the greatest love poems of all time, but instead he used his own words, tying my name—which means blind—into his proposal. That touched me more than anything Shakespeare might have written.
I leaned over and tousled his hair with my hand. Looking straight into his eyes, I said “Yes!” and met his lips in a kiss.
During the eternal ecstasy of that moment, Audie slipped a ring on the fourth finger of my left hand. I looked at it now.
“There’s something I should tell you.” Audie’s voice broke into my reverie. “I’m pretty sure I know who this guy is.” He sat straight in his chair, color high in his cheeks.
“Why didn’t you say so before?” Reiner’s words came out in a huff.
“I tried. You didn’t let me.” Audie’s level voice carried impact. “Anyhow, I’m telling you now. It’s Vic Spencer. He recently opened a janitorial service, pretty much a one man show, but occasionally others help out. Word spread, and it seems everybody uses his services. He just got the contract for the MGM.”
Now I remembered where I had seen the victim before. Our paths had crossed at the theater a few times, but we never said anything beyond a casual greeting. He was as invisible as most janitors were, rarely seen—since he worked after hours—and never heard except for his cleaning equipment. However, members of the Grace Gulch Chamber of Commerce praised his services. His clients included private homes as well as businesses.
“Is that Spencer with a c or with an s?” Frances asked, looking up from her notebook.
“With a c, I think. I can check. We have his contract on file at the MGM office.”
Frances stared down at her notes. “Vic Spencer. That matches the name on the blackmail note. It sounds familiar, but I don’t think I’ve met him.”
In a town the size of Grace Gulch, where everyone knew everyone else and their family’s history since the 1891 land run, that could be important.
“I think Lauren Packer recommended him to Mrs. Mallory.” Audie mentioned the lawyer who handled Magda Grace Mallory’s many interests. He also was involved in our production of Arsenic and Old Lace. You might want to talk with him.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll do that.”
I could almost see the cogs in Reiner’s brain turn and mesh together. Vic Spencer and Audie Howe, both new to Grace Gulch. One dead, the other one the first to find him. It made a tidy package, one that would keep suspicion away from longstanding citizens.
Reiner’s next words confirmed my interpretation of his facial features.
“You know, you can be up front with us, Mr. Howe. You saw the light on in the store. You came to investigate and found Mr. Spencer in the process of a burglary. You struggled—”
“No, no, no!” Audie’s face twisted in frustration. “He was dead when I arrived. I already told you.”
“Audie,” Frances’s soft voice interrupted him. “We have to ask. If that’s the way it happened, it was self-defense. The law allows you to protect your property.”
Of course, technically the property belonged to me, not Audie, but I knew what she meant.
“No.” Audie repeated his single syllable answer as if saying it again would convince them.
Frances looked through her notes. “You still haven’t told us where you were before you went to the theater. What were you doing, say, between five and seven?”
Now Frances was questioning Audie? That hurt. I felt betrayed. Reiner’s suspicion did not surprise me. He tended to play the role of bad cop to her good cop. How would my fiancé answer?
Audie stared at his hands, locked together in front of the chair, as if expecting them to answer the question for him.
“Mr. Howe? You can answer the question here. . .”
Audie shook his head, still not speaking. What was wrong with the man? He needed to tell them where he’d been and get this nonsense over with so they could go and check it out. As incensed as their interrogation made me, a part of me understood their need to question and verify.
“. . .or we can take you to the station.”
“What’s wrong with all of you?” Tired of their harassment, I jumped out of my chair. “Why are you going over and over the same ground when you should both be out there. . .” I gestured toward the broken window “. . .chasing whoever really did this?”
A breeze swept through the room from the open window and I shivered. I wrapped my hands in the chinchilla boa and wished I had taken the time to dress properly instead of jumping helter-skelter into a light T-shirt and jeans. Daytime in April might be warm, but the nights remained cool, even cold. A heady spring scent, redolent with dogwood and lilac blossoms, drifted in, accompanied by the trilling of a late night siskin. The normal, joyous rites of spring did little to lift my mood.
Reiner and Frances exchanged another look.
“We have to know the truth, Cici.”
Frances’s explanation did nothing to calm my nerves.
4
From: Elsie Holland ([email protected])
Date: Friday, April 18, 9:40 PM
To: Frances Waller ([email protected])
Subject: Disappearance?
You have been missing from your post at the piano at Word of Faith Fellowship and from your normal police beat.
I know what you’ve been doing during your absences.
Expect further communication from me on the subject.
Saturday, April 19
Audie lifted his head. “Can I speak to you privately, officers?”
His response did nothing to dispel my nerves. He refused to look at me. I wanted to put on one of the lace-up boots that stood on a shelf behind the cash register and stomp my foot. What was he hiding from me?
A surprised look flashed across Reiner’s face, and a glint sparkled in his eyes. “Let’s go to the office, then.”
Audie rolled his shoulders and stood. “Don’t worry.” He must have sensed my concern. He kissed my cheek before he followed Reiner and Frances into the office. My office. It felt like someone else had taken over my life. My business, anyway. A slow-burning anger replaced my earlier tears. No one had the right to do this. Not to that poor dead man, Spencer, or whatever his name was, and not to me.
I couldn’t stay still. I grabbed a broom and started sweeping up broken glass. The bottom half of the numeral 3 from Established 2003 dangled from a sliver of glass. Someone had brought in the papers scattered on the front sidewalk while I waited in my office. I appreciated the unexpected kindness. Those Bonnie-and-Clyde ads were irreplaceable.
Could I cover the window with something, in case of rain? I wondered.
I could imagine Reiner’s reaction. Don’t touch it!
Instead, I compromised by moving the most delicate clothing items behind the counter, out of harm’s way. I grabbed a notepad and started a list.
Number one: Call glazier about replacing the window.
How long would it be before the police would allow me to start repairs? And how long would it take before I could reopen? I would have to ask Frances. No business could afford to close its doors for long. Today I had received a couple of online orders. Maybe I could take care of those and update my computer catalog while I waited.
I moved to the next rack—tons of polyester from the ’70s—but stopped when the wheels rolled over the white chalk outline of the space where Vic Spencer’s body had sprawled. I stared, transfixed, at the bloody spot where his head had lain.
Questions mixed with revulsion swirled around in my head, and I stopped working. The police probably wouldn’t want me moving things around in any case. I pulled up the chair from the dressing room and took out a notepad. Maybe writing down facts and questions would get them out of my mind. Better yet, maybe they would shed some light on the situation.
Fact: Vic Spencer died in my store tonight. But could he have died somewhere else?
I looked at the floor and decided against it. Someone followed him inside, hit him on the head, and he fell and bled to death on my floor
Question: Why was Vic Spencer at my store?
Fact: Vic Spencer had an e-mail asking him to come to my store tonight.
Questions: Who sent it? And why?
Question: Was Spencer’s death accidental—wrong place, wrong time? Or was it intentional?
Intentional seemed most likely; after all, someone had sent him the email. If it was intentional, what was the reason behind the murder?
Questions outnumbered the facts. The biggest one was why at my store? No wonder the chief liked Audie as a suspect. He had discovered a robbery in progress and killed the intruder. For them that was the simplest explanation.
Audie, what have you been up to? His recent moodiness weighed on my mind. When I asked him about it, he tweaked my chin and said to let him keep his secrets until the wedding. Since I held onto a few secrets of my own, I let it go.
I flipped the page in my notepad and wrote Audie’s Strange Behavior at the top. Last week he disappeared for a couple of days and wouldn’t say where he went. He missed a couple of our nightly telephone calls. And other times he got through a conversation without quoting his favorite playwright, Oscar Wilde. His mind wandered to a place he wouldn’t let me visit.
Wait a minute. Did I suspect Audie of murder? No. I shook my head. He would never kill someone. But he was hiding something from me. And I knew the police would ferret it out.
I flipped the page back and read over my facts and questions. A sliver of excitement pumped into my veins, warming me against the cool evening air. An investigation drew Audie and me close in the first place. Maybe the same magic would work now to lift Audie out of his current funk.
I returned to my task of moving the clothing racks, careful to steer clear of the spot where Spencer had lain. After all the hard work, I’d need to take another shower before bed. I had taken care of two more racks by the time Reiner exited my office, followed by Frances, and then Audie. They were laughing.
Laughing? While I had worked myself into a frenzy during the past fifteen minutes?
“We’ll check what you told us,” Frances said. “But you’re free to go.” She noticed me pushing the rack. “You moved things around.”
I bristled. “I started to move some things to the back room, to make sure they don’t get rained on. But I stopped. I do need to protect the merchandise. Can I at least cover the window with a tarp?”
“That’s fine.”
“When can I call someone to fix the window and the floor?” I decided to strike while she seemed agreeable to my efforts to return to business as usual. I reached for the tarp and tacked it into place.
“We should finish up here tonight. You can probably call on Monday. I’ll let you know.” She glanced at Reiner walking the perimeter of the store, checking for what, I couldn’t guess. “You are free to go. I’ll give you a call. Oh, and don’t tell anybody about the email we found.”
I promised and headed out to my car.
“Cici.”
At the sound of Audie’s voice, I whirled around to face him. A hangdog look clouded his features. I had to know the truth.
“What did you tell the police that you couldn’t tell me?”
He blinked, shutters that closed the window to his thoughts. Whatever had happened, he wouldn’t tell me. Then he smiled and dug out an Oscar Wilde quote. “‘One should always play fairly when one has the winning cards.’”
I fumed. Cards, was it? I guess he didn’t want to invite me to join his game. Before I could retort, I tugged my car door open.
Audie caught the door and looked at me over the window. “You don’t think I had anything to do with the murder, do you?” Audie studied me, his blue eyes dulled by fatigue.
“Of course not!”
He smiled at that and came around the door to take me in his arms, his hands rubbing slow circles on my back. My head rested against his shoulder. It felt so good. The light glinted on my engagement ring. I looked at it now, the symbol of our present love and promise of our future. Audie had shared its history with me: the European cut diamond set in an art deco platinum band originally belonged to his great-grandmother. It passed to him and held special meaning for us, a celebration of his heritage and my special interest in all things historical.
I relaxed. Whatever happened, I knew things would be okay between us.
“Don’t worry,” Audie whispered, his voice a low croon. “We’ll figure out who did this. And I’ll tell you everything. Soon. It’s a good surprise. Really.”
When he kissed me, I could believe anything. He drew back, and we stood, hands clasped between us.
“Proverbs says that ‘He who covers over an offense promotes love, but whoever repeats the matter separates close friends.’ Think about that before you go to sleep.” Audie kissed me again briefly, and left.
Food for thought. Love, not spite, lay behind Audie’s silence.
~
The next morning I slipped on one of my contemporary outfits, a denim skirt and a short-sleeved sweater and added a scarf with spring flowers around my neck. I laughed when I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Add a pony tail and I would almost be a poster girl for ’50s chic. With a poodle skirt, of course. Even if memories of last night’s disaster weighed down my heart, I could at least look cheerful.
I puttered around long enough that I missed Sunday school. I can’t say that I was sorry; I didn’t want the murder to take the place of the Bible lesson in the adult class. But I did make it to Word of Fellowship in time for the worship service. I was right. News of the previous night’s events had preceded me. However, before the vultures could sweep me up for details, Enid Waldberg, the pastor’s wife, rescued me. She planted herself by my side.
“Would you sit with me today?” She swept me past the questioning eyes to her usual place near the front. Dear Enid. She was as sweet as her husband was brusque, and they made a good team.
Her request was unexpected; in most churches I had visited, people sat in the same pews week after week, almost as if they were assigned seating. Taking someone else’s spot could earn you glares. My family sits in the third row from the back, on the pianist’s side. I had been watching Frances Waller play hymns ever since she started at the tender age of eleven.
Frances wasn’t at the piano today. I wondered if the investigation had taken her away or if something else had happened.
The investigation. I didn’t want to think about it. Instead, I listened to soft organ music and studied the new banners hung on Easter Sunday earlier in the month. An empty white cross, a dark thorn of crowns, stood on a gold quilted banner. Red silk letters formed the words HE IS RISEN. I sent up a belated prayer for Vic Spencer’s family and trusted that whatever his faults, he had gone home to be with the Lord.
Someone called my name, and I glanced over my shoulde
r. Dina stood by our usual spot, surprise written on her face. She had recently dyed her short hair bright pink in honor of spring. I waved. The budding reporter would get her chance to question me later.
“Mind if I join you?” Audie looked more handsome than ever in a cadet blue linen jacket and navy slacks.
We slid over in the pew moments before the music director announced the first hymn, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” The familiar words trickled over me and through me, reassuring me of God’s care. The praise team sang “I Am a Friend of God.”
Pastor Waldberg preached from John 15: “I have called you friends. . . . ” In step with his usual style, he focused on the conditional clause, “. . .if you do what I command.”
Every week after church, Audie and I ate dinner at the Crazy W, my family’s ranch. We rode together in his Focus. Dina bounded out to greet us. I shook my head. Her pink hair contrasted poorly with the orange T-shirt she had changed into after church. All in all, I preferred the Christmas-red color she sported last fall.
“Come in and tell us all the news! I’ve been dying to hear all about it.”
No surprise, Dina pounced on last night’s events.
“And the editor promised I could write an exclusive interview with you about the break-in!”
I smiled at that. Although I didn’t want to relive the events of last night, I had expected the questions. I was glad for Dina’s opportunity.
She took my sour cream pecan pie from the trunk and ran up the steps. “I’ll take care of this. Dinner’s ready.”
Audie took my hand in his and squeezed it. He seemed to take the Wilde sisters in stride. At least Jenna, my older sister, only came to town for fleeting trips. She was actually Dina’s birth mother, but Mom and Dad adopted Dina at birth. The resemblance between my outspoken, outrageous, adorable sisters grew with every passing year. At least in part, I took to wearing vintage clothing to stand out from my two larger-than-life siblings.
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders Page 3
