“I think it’s wonderful, although I’m sorry Gene is so upset.” Her voice colored warmly, losing all of its earlier hesitation. “I’d hate to see anything happen to the theater. Perhaps that’s selfish of me.” She let out an apologetic giggle.
“Nonsense. You’re a great actress who needs a stage to share your talent.”
I had scarcely hung up the receiver before the phone rang again. It was Dina.
“Can we come over? Peppi and me?”
Out my newly-restored window, I saw the carpenter pull up in his truck. “Not right now. Smithy just got here to fix the floor.”
“We’ll be there at lunch time, then. I’ll bring the food this time.” She clicked off her cell phone before I could respond.
True to her word, Dina arrived with Peppi, carrying fragrant bags from The Gulch. I wondered what mischief my sister had up her sleeve. She usually only bothered with The Gulch when she needed serious help.
“Okay, what trouble did you get into this time?”
“Let’s eat first.” Today Dina wore a lilac-colored T-shirt that coordinated with her pink hair.
We dug into the food, but Peppi couldn’t keep quiet for long.
“We have a plan for catching the blackmailer.”
“Don’t be so modest.” Dina flashed a grin at both of us. “She figured it out.”
“Well, every e-mail we’ve seen has been written after 9:30 at night. I work at the library at the college, and so I checked a few things. ‘Elsie Holland’ has been using one of the library computers every night between 9:30 and 10:00.”
I gulped down the bite of my sandwich. “What? Do you know who it is?”
Peppi shook her head. “You can’t see the computers from the circulation desk where I sit.”
“But we came up with a plan.” Now Dina jumped in. “I’m going to show up tonight, pretending to have plans after work with Peppi. And I’ll wander around and see if I can find this Elsie person.”
“You’re not going alone.”
Two heads—one pink and one carrot red—turned in my direction.
“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Dina grinned at me.
We talked strategy and agreed to get together after prayer meeting to go to the library.
But first I had to get through the early evening. A minute past five, my front door rattled where Audie waited, his nose pressed to the glass.
“Ready?” He grinned like he had just received word that he had been nominated for a Tony award. He picked me up and twirled me around, my gypsy gauze skirt flying in a wild circle. The dreamy feel of the night before returned. Forget about murders and trust funds and blackmail.
Tonight before prayer meeting we would meet with Pastor Waldberg for mandatory premarital counseling. Maybe we would resolve more details for the wedding. We had reserved the date, the second Saturday in June, months ago, but we had decided very little else.
“Put me down.” I made a half-hearted protest. “People will see you.”
“I don’t care!” Audie sang out. “I love Cici Wilde, and I want the world to know it!” After one more twirl, he set me back on my feet, kissing me before he let me go. “We need to leave if we’re going to make it to our appointment on time.
I thought about walking. In my present mood the five blocks would float by under my feet. But no, by the time prayer meeting ended I would need my car to drive to the library. I made do with walking to the car hand in hand with Audie. I struggled to lock the back door with my left hand.
“Here. Let me help.” Audie added his free hand.
Giggling, we managed to get it secured between us. How I looked forward to a lifetime of doing everything together, hand in hand. On the flip side, I wouldn’t mind skipping the meeting with the pastor. How would his hellfire-and-brimstone style preaching translate into premarital counseling? Would he make dire warnings about lifetime commitment and marital vows? Stop worrying, I scolded myself. He’s a man of God who loves his people.
Audie opened the passenger door for me. “‘He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the Lord.’”
“Now I know that isn’t Oscar Wilde.”
“No.” Audie grinned. “Solomon. Proverbs 18:22. I thank God every day for His favor in finding you.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.
How I love this man.
“We’ll be fine.” He drove to the church parking lot nearest the office doors.
Pastor Waldberg met us at the door. Warmth shone in his dark eyes, his thick black brows raised in welcome. “Thank you for coming early.” He led us back to his study.
After sitting on an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, he tipped forward and looked straight at us, seriousness settling on his features. “I’m sure the two of you have given considerable thought to the marriage covenant. God plans for marriage to be a permanent commitment between two people. A picture of the unity between Christ and His bride, the church.”
Audie reached out for my hand and squeezed my fingers. “I know that Cici is the woman God has planned for me.” He spoke with absolute assurance.
I melted inside. I had dreamed about this kind of love my whole life. “And I feel the same way about Audie.” I squeezed his fingers back, a bit of a kiss by way of fingertips and pulses.
“It is always a pleasure to see two committed Christians come before me.” The pastor’s face relaxed a tad, and he actually smiled. He read from Ephesians 5 and reminded us of the roles of a husband and wife. I knew Paul admonished wives to submit to their husbands, although I was enough of a twenty-first-century American woman to squirm a bit at the implications. Somehow my responsibility paled, though, in light of the apostle’s exhortation for husbands to lay their lives on the line for their wives, as Christ loved the church.
Next he pulled papers from his desk. “Here is a compatibility assessment I recommend that all couples take. It may indicate how well suited you are for marriage to each other—although of course it is not the final answer. God does not always lead by way of scientific method. I will give it to you to take home and complete it before our next session.”
Compatibility?
When we were together, I felt like the other half of Audie, yin to his yang, but what secrets would a test uncover? His background as an only child growing up in a Chicago suburb was so different from mine, the middle child on a ranch. But I reminded myself, Audie had sought out our ranching community. No need to worry.
“Have you reached a decision about your ceremony?” Pastor Waldberg asked.
I must have looked confused. I thought the ceremony was a package deal—dating back hundreds of years to the first edition of the Book of Common Prayer and adapted over the centuries. With a sermon tacked on by the pastor, of course, in case unsaved heathens showed up at the ceremony, and warning us of the pitfalls we faced.
“I thought we might write our own vows.” Audie smiled. “Remember, I mentioned that to you when we were looking at invitations? I promise I won’t plagiarize any lines from a play. Not even Oscar Wilde.” He pulled a small notebook, like the one he used for rehearsal notes, from his shirt pocket. “I’ve started on mine, but I’m not ready to share them yet.”
That’s right, he had. I had totally forgotten his suggestion. I couldn’t even decide what dresses I wanted for the wedding party. Dina was the writer in the family. A nervous giggle bubbled through my lips.
One glance at Audie told me he was serious. Audie the artist, Audie the actor, Audie who could quote endless lines from both the Bible and Oscar Wilde, would not feel threatened by the idea of jotting down and remembering a few heartfelt lines. Me, on the other hand. . .I gulped. Maybe I could read mine.
“Sure. That would be fine.” My mouth formed the words but my heart lurched. The compatibility questionnaire burned in my hand. Maybe it would reveal more surprises than I had bargained for.
After that, the pastor took notes about dates and members of the wedding party. When we left his offic
e, people had gathered for the Wednesday night potluck dinner.
The prayer service that followed put all my thoughts about murder and burglaries and the wedding behind, although lots of people prayed that the police would have the murderer in custody soon. Afterward, I caught up with Suzanne to make arrangements for tomorrow.
“Hey there!” Enid Waldberg, our sweet pastor’s wife said. “You’re just the ladies I wanted to see.”
Uh-oh. I recalled Suzanne’s reminder about the nursing home.
Enid’s face had that determined look, bent on roping us into doing something out of the kindness of our hearts.
“Tomorrow is our monthly nursing home visit. You offered to accompany me on the next visit.” She beamed at us, certain of our pleasure in doing our Christian duty.
That was before small things like blackmail, burglary, and murder had taken over my life.
“Oh, I’d love that.” At least Suzanne hadn’t lost her enthusiasm for the venture. She winked at me. “Research for playing the role of Martha Brewster in the play.”
“Oh, yes, it would be wonderful if you could do a dramatic reading. They would enjoy that.” Enid turned to me. “And Cici, perhaps you could speak about whatever you choose to wear tomorrow. It might be tactful to wear something from before 1920. Some of them might not consider the Sixties as vintage years. Although you look lovely today.”
Enid’s sweet exterior hid a core of steel, perhaps even stronger than her husband’s. After I made it home, I went to my closet in search of an outfit for tomorrow. Formal wear a lá 1913, that was the ticket. Magda had asked me to wear her pearls, and the police would return them tomorrow. I brushed my hand over the real fur trim around the neckline and hoped I wouldn’t run into any animal rights activists.
For our evening’s foray to the college library, though, I decided to change into jeans. My ’60s outfit would stand out like Columbo’s trench coat in a corporate office. In ordinary street clothes, I might pass as an older student taking classes, someone like Peppi herself, closer to my age than to Dina’s.
My sister picked me up a few minutes before nine. Her student parking sticker enabled her to park closer to the library building. Her all-black attire looked like she intended to burgle valuable books. Then again, her shocking pink hair ruled out the possibility of sneaking by. Heads turned whenever she walked past. A bulging backpack sat on the rear seat.
“Doing homework?”
“I might as well while I’m there. I’ve got a couple of papers due before the end of the semester.” She opened her hazel eyes wide. “Camouflage.”
What excuse could I offer for my presence at the library?
“You’re looking for a particular volume on fashion history.” Dina must have read my thoughts. “You could ask Peppi to order it for you through interlibrary loan.”
Another thought troubled me. “We should have told the police about our suspicions.”
Pink hair flew in a dozen directions as Dina shook her head. “They know the e-mails originated from the college. They have their own sources. We’re not hiding anything.” In other words, she didn’t want the police to spoil our fun.
The campus parking lot loomed like a deserted playground, with only a few people around to take advantage of the amenities. I spotted half-a-dozen cars. We walked through automatic sliding doors into yesterday. In spite of recent remodeling, nothing could change the smell of book dust and the quiet chatter of library patrons.
Dina perched on a stool by a computer and began clicking keys. Doing her research, I suppose. I approached Peppi at the circulation desk and asked her about interlibrary loans.
“Yes, certainly we can arrange to get books for you.” She winked at me and leaned toward me, speaking in a whisper. “Only a few more minutes until the zero hour.” She nodded at the wall clock, which read 9:25.
“How are we going to do this?” Steno pad in hand, Dina was ready to record the story.
We looked at each other.
“There are only a few people left,” Peppi said. “I thought we would just wander around and see who’s at the computers.”
“Spy on them.” Dina grinned in anticipation.
“Before we do anything, I’m going to call Frances. I still think we need to let her know.” I dug my cell phone out of my purse and dialed her number.
From a distant corner of the library, I heard an answering buzz.
11
From: Frances Waller ([email protected])
Date: Friday, April 18, 9:39 PM
To: Cord Grace ([email protected])
Subject: Secret?
I came here straight from church. A couple of people asked me where I was on Sunday. How long. . .
Wednesday, April 23
The ringing stopped after one buzz.
“Cici, what’s up?” Frances spoke into my ear.
Dina tiptoed down the aisles and motioned for me to follow.
“I, uh, dialed your number by mistake.” I knew I sounded lame. Why did my stock of small talk disappear when I needed it most? I snapped the phone shut and followed Dina down the aisle, Peppi a few steps ahead of me.
We reached the end of the aisles and walked into the computer room, empty except for one lone figure. Frances sat in front of a monitor, guilty surprise written all over her face.
Frances—the blackmailer? My mind refused to wrap itself around that idea.
Peppi stepped forward. “Can I help you with anything? You seem caught up in your research.”
The surprise faded from Frances’s eyes, although high color remained in her cheeks. “You’re not here about my ‘research.’ Not with those two along.” She leveled her gaze at me, silently reminding me of the way I had dragged the police into our reenactment of Penn Hardy’s murder last fall.
With that look, I knew she couldn’t be the blackmailer, in spite of the suspicious timing.
Dina circled behind Frances during the conversation. She peered at the screen and let out a whoop of laughter. Peppi gave her a disapproving look, and she silenced her mirth.
“Funny girl? To Cord? Cord Grace?”
The color that had begun to fade in Frances’s cheeks surged tomato red again. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
“The staff room,” Peppi offered. We didn’t speak as we walked down the aisle and behind the circulation desk, giggles escaping Dina every few seconds.
Three of us sat on one side of a long table, across from Frances. I wondered how she felt being on the other side of an investigation.
“I come to the library for privacy.” Frances looked at her fingers, twined together in front of her. “I have homework to do. I’ve started taking college classes.”
“I’ve noticed that you’re here every night. After 9:30,” Peppi said.
“Yes, I come after play practice or after my shift ends.” Frances lifted her head, understanding flitting across her features. “After 9:30. You mean—you thought I might be Elsie Holland?”
“We thought the person who used the same library computer every night at 9:35 might be Elsie Holland,” I explained our reasoning.
“So you decided to investigate on your own. Again.” She shook her head at me.
“But now we know your secret.” Dina couldn’t contain herself any longer. “You have to tell us. You—and Cord?” She let out a full-throated laugh.
“Why do you think it’s so funny? Cord is a good man and—”
My mind put things together. The doughnut they shared at Gaynor Goodies. Frances’s presence at a lot of rehearsals when she wasn’t called. Her absence from church on Sunday. “You went with Cord to church last week, didn’t you?” Why hadn’t that made the rumor mill? Maybe because no Gaynors would be caught dead in the church where the Graces worshipped, and for once, Jessie didn’t have a clue.
“We started dating about a month ago,” Frances confessed. The bright red flush softened to a romantic pink. “And yes, I usually e-mail him while I’m here at n
ight.”
I wondered what kind of silliness they wrote to each other.
“Frances, I’m so happy for you. And for Cord.” In fact, I thought they would make a terrific couple. But that still left the question of Elsie Holland and Jerry Burton. “But if—since you’re not Elsie Holland—” I corrected myself “—who is? Have you noticed anyone else using the computers while you’ve been here?”
“No. At least not the same person every night.” Frances sighed. “Ladies, you have to leave the investigating to us. The police, I mean. The blackmailer turned into a murderer when Spencer died.” She had turned professional again. “We’re checking out the computer angle.” She pulled her soft brown hair into a pony tail. “Is there anything else you want to tell me? Any other ‘facts’ you’ve turned up?”
I thought about our total lack of success in the pawn shop hunt on Monday. “No.” I mean, we hadn’t learned anything, had we?
We said our good-byes. Frances promised to return Magda’s pearls in the morning. Peppi stayed behind to close the library while Dina took me home. I couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of Cord and Frances as a couple. I was glad that my old boyfriend hadn’t pined after my engagement to another man.
Once in bed, I couldn’t get to sleep right away. No matter what Frances said, I felt compelled to investigate Spencer’s murder. Someone had lured him to my store with malicious intent. That made it personal. I fell into a troubled sleep. I dreamed of a double wedding. During the vows, Pastor Waldberg asked, “Do you, Elsie Holland, take this man?” When I awoke on Thursday morning, I pondered on Elsie’s identity again. Every door I tried led me deeper into a maze.
But I set aside sleuthing for the morning, concentrating on remodeling my store. Because of the fancy dress I had donned for the nursing home visit, I decided on ordinary bagels from Gaynor Goodies. No need to risk stray crumbs or jam on my outfit. I finished my first cup of coffee and a bagel a few minutes before nine.
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders Page 8
