Wednesday, April 30
Our compatibility scores were revealing? What did they reveal? I twisted the cap off a bottle of water and took a swig. Maybe the drink would moisten my throat and enable me to speak.
Audie’s fingers drummed a fast tattoo where our hands remained clasped. “I don’t care what the score says. I know I love Cici, and she’s the one for me. As Wilde says, ‘Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.’”
“Now, don’t fret.” Pastor Waldberg reassured us. His eyebrows still sent a silent message: stormy weather ahead. “The test works this way: I divide each of your scores by the maximum possible points, then multiply them by a hundred for your individual ‘Marriage Compatibility Percentage.’ This particular assessment tool says that couples with scores below 50 percent should seriously reconsider the step of marriage—”
Call off the wedding? His words panicked me.
“—and couples with scores between 50 and 70 percent—” He barreled ahead without explanation. “—will need strong conflict resolution skills. Those relationships will require extra TLC.”
“What was our score?” Audie asked the important question.
Now Waldberg looked at us, his somber gray eyes saying what his words did not. “Cici scored right at 70 percent. Audie’s was a little higher.” He shuffled through the papers. “You agree on the most important things; for instance, your spiritual beliefs—your common faith in our Savior, humor, conversation—things that remain as your bodies change and grow older.”
I relaxed a bit. Wasn’t that most important?
What’s the problem, then? My mouth formed the words, but no sound came out. Audie stepped in. “Where do we differ?”
“Well, your scores on the question about your parents varied widely.”
“I admire the way Mr. Wilde raised his girls alone. He’s a great role model,” Audie answered confidently.
I remembered my own score on that question: a five. I rushed to explain, “I’ve only met Audie’s parents once. I like them fine, but I don’t know them. How could I answer a question like that?”
“Mm-hmm.” The pastor pointed to another question. “This one gives me greater pause. ‘I feel that I can share all my feelings, good and bad, with my partner and that he/she does the same with me.’ Cici, you only gave four points for that statement.”
Now his eyebrows did relax, and I felt like he would listen to my answer. Audie’s fingers had drifted to the ends of my fingertips, barely holding on.
“I feel that I do share all my feelings and thoughts with Audie.” We worked well as a team when it came to investigating crime, at least.
“So the problem is with me. You feel like I’m holding out on you.” Audie turned to the pastor. “I think I understand. You see, I am working on something and—”
I refused to let him skate by. “You keep saying you have a secret and assuring me it’s a good one. But if you’re planning something for our future, I have a right to know.” Anger I had held at bay erupted, and I cried in frustration.
My ever-sensitive and kind fiancé—I had given him a nine in those categories—handed me a tissue. I glared at him.
The pastor looked at me, then Audie. “Are you ready to talk about this tonight?”
Audie shook his head, a slight movement that didn’t ruffle his hair.
“Very well, then. I strongly suggest you each spend time in prayer this week. Consider Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 4. ‘Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of men’s hearts.’ At its heart, this is an issue of trust. Audie, can you trust Cici with your secret? Cici, do you trust Audie’s motives? You need to resolve this before we continue with the next lesson.”
I thought about that. I did trust Audie’s love, and his motive, even if mistaken, could rise out of a desire to protect me. I couldn’t discern Audie’s thoughts, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
The pastor led us in prayer and dismissed us to the church dinner. The friendly chatter and quiet minutes spent in prayer calmed my spirit. We would talk, but I could wait until Audie was ready.
A little more than an hour later we exited the prayer meeting to a gray sky, the color that betokens a rainstorm. I would have preferred a moonless night; the threatening clouds reinforced my concerns from the counseling session.
“It’s going to rain.” Audie had lived in Oklahoma long enough to recognize our weather patterns. “Maybe God is crying for Magda, too. Although I know the angels in heaven are rejoicing.” Audie took my hand in his, a simple, comfortable gesture, a reassurance that all would be well between us, and opened the car door for me. We had agreed to visit Gene together.
Audie looked extra nice tonight in a suit that showed off his lean frame to good advantage. But then I thought that about almost everything he wore. Today’s outfit suggested a touch of the professor, with the leather-patched elbows and a green turtleneck sweater that brought out the warmth in his blue eyes. I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He clasped my hand and held it to the spot where my lips had touched him. At times like this I felt we were as comfortable as an old, married couple, warm and cherished. I was confident that we would work through the issues the questionnaire had raised.
Less than ten minutes later, we parked in front of the mansion. The cloudy sky shrouded the house with an appearance of mourning, as if Magda’s death had sucked all warmth and vitality from what had once been a home. A single light burned in the front room, the same room where Magda had entertained us.
“It looks like Gene is home.” Audie opened the door for me before grabbing the plate of brownies that I had bought from Gaynor Goodies. At the front door, I saw the clip where Magda’s note had hung on the night we discovered her body, and I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I didn’t want to fall apart in front of Gene. Sympathetic, yes, but not a basket case, that was the ticket. Lord, lead me to the truth and let me be a help, not a hindrance, in this time of need.
Audie was about to ring the bell a second time when it opened a crack.
Unshaven, bleary eyed, wearing a dressing gown, Gene took a moment to register our identities. “Audie. Cici. Come on in.” Bobo recognized us as old friends and danced around our feet.
We followed Gene to the drawing room. My heart sank at the damage done to Magda’s home in a matter of days. The same cut glass tumblers sat on the same silver tray, but instead of iced tea and lemonade, I smelled alcohol. At least he used an ashtray to collect his cigarette butts.
Anger burned through me, followed by sympathy. I hadn’t ever seen him this bad.
“I’ll take the brownies back to the kitchen.” I left Audie with the grief-stricken son.
Audie’s low voice rumbled behind me as I made my way down the hall. I paused at the kitchen door, immobilized by memories of my last visit. But I made myself walk through. The police had finished their investigation of the scene and someone else—I was sure it wasn’t Gene—had cleaned up.
As long as I was in the kitchen, I nosed around. Magda didn’t keep spirits in the house; she had been as dry as the Sahara in her habits. Had Gene slipped back into his old patterns from high school? Rumors suggested that he loaded up after every football game, win or lose. He had straightened out since then; he took risks with money, but not drugs or alcohol.
I found the trash can under the sink and breathed a sigh of relief. No beer cans. The whiskey in the front room was probably all he had had to drink today. He could still stop again before he fell back into heavy drinking. Unless he had problems I didn’t know about and Elsie Holland/Jerry Burton targeted him?
“Didya get lost back here?”
I jumped at the sound of Gene’s voice. He slurred his words and waved around the whiskey glass.
“Here, let me help you with that.” I took the glass from his hand and rinsed it in the sink. “Do you want a brown
ie?”
“Sure.” He flopped into one of the straight back wooden chairs that adorned the kitchen table. Bobo lay across his feet. I checked the refrigerator for drinks and poured him a tall glass of milk after I sniffed it. I added a double brownie portion.
Audie appeared at the doorway. “Mind if I join you?”
“Take a chair. Enjoy some of Cici’s fine cookin’.” Gene tipped over a chair in the process of pulling it out for Audie.
I cut the remaining brownies and put them on the table. Gene demolished half his brownie in a single bite. I offered him another piece.
“Sure is good of you to stop by. It’s been lonely around here.” Tears welled in Gene’s eyes. I felt bad for him. Even after my mother’s death, I had never been alone. There was always Dad and Dina.
“I’m sure your uncle and Cord will help all they can.” I knew how inadequate that sounded. The mayor and the rancher both had other responsibilities. They couldn’t babysit Gene through his grief 24/7.
“Maybe I’ll call on Suzanne. The sister I never knew.” Gene made a sound halfway between a hiccup and a giggle. “She’s the closest family I have left.”
I hoped he meant it. Suzanne must be grieving, too. Or did he think he could con her into giving him more of Magda’s money?
Gene polished off the milk. I filled up the glass again. I didn’t know what to do to help Gene get sober, but I figured milk couldn’t hurt. Didn’t they say coffee helped? I stood up and poked around in the cabinets. A single red can hid at the very back, behind the many varieties of decaf that Magda enjoyed. I measured out enough for a strong brew, this side of palatable.
While I rummaged through the shelves, Audie and Gene spoke in low voices. The words “Suzanne” and “family” and “relationship” kept coming up. Maybe Audie could communicate better to Gene than I could, man to man.
When the coffee was done, I poured Gene a cup and placed a pitcher of cream on the table. He had trouble getting his fingers around the dainty handle. Two of the middle fingers in his right hand were splinted together.
“You’ve hurt yourself!” I remembered Cord’s mention of Gene’s broken finger. Had he injured his hand before Magda’s death? In that case, I didn’t see how he could have strangled her.
“Oh, this.” He cupped the drink in his left hand and carried it to his mouth. His face puckered, and he added a teaspoon of sugar. “I hurt myself working out at the gym last week.” His face brightened, as if he had remembered his happy thought. “You know who else was there? Peppi Lambert. Did you know that little firecracker can bench press a hundred pounds?”
“No, I didn’t.” Although now that he mentioned it, I remembered Peppi’s gym schedule. I had pegged her as the intellectual, artistic type, not a health nut. “She’s a woman of many talents. She and Dina have been working some newspaper stories together.” No need to mention their investigation.
“I won’t be making it to any rehearsals for a while. That stupid play. Those unlucky pearls.” Genuine tears filled Gene’s eyes, and Bobo pressed against his leg. “I asked Mom why she was giving them away. I didn’t know she had already made plans to give away half her fortune.” A scowl replaced his tears.
The pearls. I had to ask. “Did she tell you why she wanted to—” I almost said “get rid of” but decided that sounded too harsh. “—donate them?”
“Oh, some lame story that they weren’t rightfully hers, but the original owner didn’t want them back. Hey, you’re friendly with that cousin of mine.” Gene jumped to a different subject, and his mouth twisted in another scowl. “I won’t be going back to work on the ranch. Tell him for me, would you?” He gestured around the kitchen and toward the back door. “I’m a man of business now.”
Audie poured himself a cup of coffee before I could warn him about its strength. “From what I know of Cord, he’d rather hear directly from you.”
“Oh, yes, my nose-to-the-grindstone cousin, the apple of Mama’s eye. Why couldn’t I be more like Cord? I’ve heard it all my life, ever since we were kids.” Anger rushed across his face, tightening his features. “And that’s hard when your kid cousin is five years younger than you are.”
I poured Gene another cup of coffee. I wanted to keep him talking. “I know all Magda wanted was for you to be at peace. She loved you.”
“Then why did she leave the will the way she did? Don’t deny that you’ve heard all the dirty details. I tell you, I only get a pittance of the money that’s rightfully mine.” He grabbed the knife I used to cut the brownies and pitched it into the sink.
21
From: Jerry Burton ([email protected])
Date: Tuesday, April 29, 9:38 PM
To: Eugene Mallory ([email protected])
Subject: Fingers?
The last few days you have been wearing a splint on your right hand.
Did you hurt your fingers at the gym as you claim—or in tightening the string of pearls around your mother’s throat?
Expect further communication from me on the subject.
Wednesday, April 30
We froze for a moment. Audie spoke next. “You’d best be careful. You could have hurt someone.”
“So you think so, too. Are you Jerry Burton? Who do you think you are, trying to blackmail me?”
Blackmail? Gene must have received an e-mail from Jerry Burton, and he thought Audie had sent it?
Gene’s face crumpled, on the verge of tears. “I would never hurt Mom. She’s always been after me, ever since I was kid, but I loved her. And she loved me. I think she was trying to make up for Dad dying when I was so young. ”
“I would never threaten you. I understand more than you know.” Audie sat down next to Gene and bent to where he could look him in the eye. “My dad’s job took him away a lot when I was growing up. So my mother had to fill in for both parents a lot of the time.” Audie sipped his coffee and then added a bit of cream. “I gave her a rough time.”
Audie’s pale hair fell over his forehead. “In fact, I was arrested for possession of drugs, Gene. Not once, but twice. Mom was ready to hand me over to the authorities and let them throw away the key.”
Audie had shared part of this story with me before. I thought back to the compatibility questionnaire. Do you share the same background? Well, teenage angst was a universal phenomenon; look at Jenna’s pregnancy. They both had matured into responsible adults.
I wasn’t so sure about Gene. Had he ever been arrested back in high school? Jenna would know. I suspected she held a tender spot in her heart for the Grace bad boy. If so, nothing major had resulted from it. A juicy story about a bad boy from a good family would only swell the Grace family legend. An unpleasant thought struck me. Magda’s e-mail mentioned an old secret. Could it involve Gene? Of course not. Gene wasn’t even born forty years ago.
“Instead, Mom hooked me up with a Christian lawyer.” Audie continued his story. “He told it to me straight. Keep going the way you’re headed and you’ll end up in jail. Or—go to God. Let Him turn your life around. He can give you what you want from your father.” Audie tapped his long fingers on the table, a short drum beat. “That lawyer introduced me to the theater, and things started to change. If I hadn’t paid attention when God brought him into my life, I don’t know where I’d be today.” A smile lit his face. “Certainly not here in Grace Gulch, Oklahoma, with the woman of my dreams.”
Gene sneered. “I suppose you want me to get saved. Just like my dear sister.”
My thoughts flew to the day Suzanne had asked Jesus into her life after her lover’s death threw her world into a tailspin. Nothing would have pleased Magda more than for both her children to come to know the Lord.
“I pray that you do.” Audie spoke in soft tones that carried his deepest sincerity. “Every day.”
Audie prayed for everyone involved with the theater, one of the things I admired about him. Gene didn’t react, and we left a few minutes later.
“Do you think he’ll listen?” I a
sked as we drove away.
Audie shrugged. “That’s between Gene and God. All I can do is share the good news with him.”
Before I went to bed, I browsed through my closet for tomorrow’s outfit. Even the rationing the war imposed couldn’t stifle creativity. I picked out a white blouse trimmed with lace, which started life as a pillow case, and a denim skirt converted from men’s overalls. While I ironed the blouse, I considered Magda’s other heir—Suzanne. Tomorrow, I decided, I would visit her. She had called today, canceling our usual Wednesday Bible study.
In the morning, I considered baking homemade brownies but nixed the idea. Instead, I carried the leftover fruit and veggies from our meal the other night. Suzanne watched her weight and might not welcome baked goods. After work, I drove to Suzanne’s apartment, in the same complex where Frances Waller lived.
When Suzanne opened the door to her apartment, she looked even more distraught than Gene had, if that was possible. Her normally buoyant blond hair sagged to a dull crown around her head, and she hadn’t bothered with makeup. I had never seen the pure, unadulterated Suzanne before.
“Oh, Cici.” She choked on my name. “I’m so glad you came by.” Old tears had dried on her face, leaving it looking like a squeezed-out lemon.
“I brought you something.” I handed her the container of fruit.
“Make yourself comfortable while I freshen up.” She disappeared down the hall. I heard noises from the back of the apartment and the flush of water nearby.
Whereas Gene grieved by indulging all his sensual pleasures, Suzanne seemed to have dried up. A pillow and afghan tossed on the couch suggested she had spent the night in front of the television, which played at a low volume. I perused the pictures of Suzanne in her movie roles that hung on one wall. She claimed she had an insignificant career with minor parts, but the photographs indicated otherwise. I righted a frame that had fallen face down on the end table. Magda had her arm around Suzanne, the two of them smiling into the camera. I recognized it as a publicity shot for the new production.
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders Page 15
