“Tosh, you’re supposed to be finding the silver lining within this information, remember?”
“You’re right. But so far I don’t think I like the picture I’m getting of this woman. She sounds like a conniving user.”
“That’s pretty much what her group of high school friends said about her. Maybe I can talk to them again tonight and try to wheedle a few positive attributes.”
“I would appreciate that,” Tosh said. “Otherwise I’m going to have to revert to my emergency backup sermon.”
“What’s your emergency backup sermon?” she asked.
“Reading a children’s book. Don’t laugh; it works every time to make people cry. You choose a touching book about a puppy who dies, or something, and anyone who actually cared about Barbara can apply it to her. Then you read a few verses from Ecclesiastes and--bam!--you’re done.”
Lacy laughed and shook her head. “Tosh, you’re not like any pastor I’ve ever met before.”
“And that’s a good thing?” he guessed.
“That’s a very good thing,” she assured him. She and God hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms lately, but if someone like Tosh believed the things her grandmother had been teaching her all her life, then maybe there was some truth to them.
“That reminds me. Do you attend my new church?” Tosh asked. He rested his head in his hand in what was becoming a familiar gesture to her while his eyes probed her face, searching for she knew not what.
“I haven’t gone much since I’ve been back.”
“Maybe now is a good time to start,” he said.
“Maybe so,” she agreed. They shared a smile then he checked his watch and hopped out of the booth.
“We have to book it,” he said. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she said. Somehow by the time they reached the car, they were holding hands, and Lacy had no idea how it happened. Why was touching Tosh second nature while touching Jason felt like an electric jolt every time? With him she was sure she would never look down and be surprised to realize she was holding on to him; she would know the second his hand touched hers. What was it that made her reaction to the two men so different and, more important, which way did she prefer?
Chapter 12
They were the first ones at the funeral home.
“Do you want to see her?” Tosh asked.
“I suppose,” Lacy said. Her discomfort over viewing a dead body was overpowered by her curiosity about Barbara Blake. Who was this woman who had no mourners?
Once again Tosh took her hand, but this time he tucked it securely between both his in a comforting gesture that both reassured her and made her feel like a little girl. Slowly they walked together up to the casket. Lacy felt an odd pang at her first sight of the dead woman, but since it was the same initial feeling she always had when approaching a deceased person she chalked it up to anxiety.
Tosh hadn’t been exaggerating; Barbara Blake was beautiful. Her skin was taught and flawless. Her blond hair was perfectly streaked with highlights and lowlights, making the color appear natural. If not for telltale age spots and wrinkles on her hand, Lacy would have guessed her age to be fiftyish. She studied the woman, trying in vain to find some clue about her from her appearance. Why had someone killed her? How had she gone through life with no connections?
She had no idea how long they stood there, staring, but eventually voices sounded from behind them. People began streaming in, some of them Lacy recognized. They came forward and only then did Lacy realize they thought she and Tosh were the receiving line.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” an elderly gentleman said, shaking her hand.
Lacy blinked at him in surprise. How did she get herself out of this awkward situation?
“That’s so kind,” Tosh answered. “But we aren’t family. I’m the pastor of the church where she was a member.” He didn’t explain Lacy’s presence, but the man drew his own conclusion.
“Oh, I heard we had a new pastor in town. You look too young to be a pastor, but I guess if you’re old enough to be married, you’re old enough to pastor a church.”
Lacy’s discomfort increased another notch, but Tosh draped his arm over her shoulder and smiled. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. After the man moved on, he leaned down to whisper in Lacy’s ear. “We’ve got to get away from here and circulate before people start asking us when we’re planning to have children.”
She smiled, patted his chest, and they moved apart, deciding they could learn more by separating than if they stayed together and drew questions of their own. Lacy wasn’t surprised to see her grandmother’s group of friends arrive. Not only was attending the viewing the proper thing to do, but the women would no doubt want to see what their former friend looked like now. Unless one of them had already seen her, Lacy thought. Remembering how nervous and shocked they had all been that first morning after the arrest, Lacy wondered again what their story was. What were they hiding? Was it possible that one of them had killed Barbara?
Lacy edged closer, picked up a bulletin, and pretended to study it while secretly eavesdropping on the group.
“She looks good,” Gladys said grudgingly.
“She always did,” Rose said. She pulled a handkerchief from her ample bosom and dabbed at the sweat on her upper lip. Everything about Rose was ample, from her pudgy body to her booming voice.
“Looks were never her problem,” Maya said. “It was always her personality.”
“Not that any man could understand that,” Janice added peevishly.
“Yes, but she remained alone, and we were all happily married,” Gladys pointed out.
Rose harrumphed. “You really think she was alone? You know what she was like.”
Gladys looked around. “Shh, not so loud. It’s disrespectful to speak ill of the dead, especially at their own viewing.”
“There’s nothing positive to say about this one, and you know it,” Rose argued.
“At least she was funny sometimes,” Janice said.
“At our expense,” Maya added. “She had the meanest, most cutting sense of humor of anyone I’ve ever met, and she was so conniving that you never knew she was making fun of you until after the fact.”
“Do you think anyone ever really knew her?” Gladys asked, staring hard at Barbara.
“If they did, she would either have been locked up in prison or a mental institute,” Rose snapped.
Gladys blanched. “Rose, don’t ever say that again.”
Rose glanced around, too, caught Lacy’s stare, and flushed. “Let’s move along, ladies. We’ve done our duty and paid proper respect.”
Curious, Lacy thought, but not much new information to glean from. Across the room, she spotted Tosh circulating around and talking to everyone in his path. How apropos that she was hiding out in a corner while he was being social. Where would Jason fit in if he were here, she wondered, but didn’t have to think about it too long. He would be standing in the entryway, surveying the room and reading people’s faces. Only after he decided the room was safe and the people trustworthy would he enter and begin to make polite conversation.
Lacy edged farther into the shadows until she was half hidden behind a large palm plant. Her hiding place gave her an unobscured view of the room, but if anyone turned and saw her inhaling palm fronds she would be mortified. Just as she was debating staying put or moving back toward the center of the room, a solitary figure slunk toward the open casket. Lacy froze, blinking in surprise as her old high school principal, Mr. Middleton, stopped short in front of Barbara Blake.
His lips moved as if he was talking, but Lacy was too far to hear what he was saying. And even if she was close enough to hear, she wouldn’t have listened. Some things were too private--graveside conversations included.
How did Mr. Middleton know Barbara Blake? Had they been in the same class together? How old was he, anyway? He had always seemed ancient to Lacy, and she wasn’t sure her opinion was off base. Not only had he been her high school
principal, but he had been the principal when her mother was in high school, too. In fact, the rumor was that he would still be working if the school system hadn’t forced him to retire the year after Lacy’s sister, Riley, graduated.
What was the inscrutable expression on his face? A stoic man, his face didn’t usually give much away, but now there was a glimmer of…what? Sadness? Had he loved Barbara? Was he the only true mourner in this room? If so, how sad. She could have stayed here, married this stable man, and possibly had a chance to change her selfish ways. Instead she had moved to New York and seemingly kept a detailed list of gifts from her male suitors.
Mr. Middleton turned from the casket and caught sight of Lacy. She froze like a deer in headlights when they made eye contact. His mouth opened slightly in what looked like surprise. He took a step toward her before thinking better of the idea. Instead he took a few steps back before turning to flee the room as if hounds were chasing him.
After that, things were uneventful. The mourners cleared out quickly, much sooner than the allotted visiting hours. Tosh finished talking to every person in the room, including the undertaker, and then came to fetch Lacy.
Placing his hand on the small of her back, he guided her from the house and toward his car. “How did it go? Did you learn anything new?”
“Mr. Middleton was here,” she told him.
“Who’s that?”
“My high school principal. He isn’t the type to go to visiting hours willy-nilly. He must have known her somehow.”
“So ask him how.”
“I can’t do that,” she said.
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “He’s so…intimidating. He scares me a little.”
“What do you think he’s going to do to you? Give you a suspension? It’s a little late for that,” he said, opening her car and holding her hand to help her inside.
“You don’t understand. He’s always had this way of looking at me like he knows what I’m thinking. It’s creepy.”
“My principal was like that, too,” Tosh said. “But high school was a long time ago. Maybe he’s lonely and would enjoy the opportunity to talk to a former student.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know Mr. Middleton.”
“Neither do you,” he pointed out. “Start small. Say hello next time you see him.”
“I can probably manage a hello.”
“Thatta girl,” Tosh said cheerfully.
“Tosh, does anything ever depress you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, not elaborating further. “And, see, I can be mysterious, too.” He wagged his eyebrows at her, and she smiled.
They reached her house a few minutes later. It looked dark, lonely, and empty without her grandmother. “Want to come in and pick up the cake I promised you?” she asked, suddenly desperate not to be alone.
“Sounds good,” he said. He followed her inside and stood looking around in the entryway. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it looks like an old lady lives here.”
“I’m going to tell my grandmother you said that,” she told him.
“From what you’ve told me I can do no wrong because I’m a pastor. I have carte blanche.”
“True, but I wouldn’t test the theory. At the very worst she won’t bake for you, and that’s a dire punishment.”
“Fine, then, the house is very homey.”
She paused and looked around, too. “It is, isn’t it? It’s always been my second home.”
“Do your parents still live in town?”
“No, they’ve lived in Florida the past couple of years since they retired.”
“Do you have aunts, uncles or cousins nearby?”
She shook her head. “My mom is an only child. I have some extended cousins that my grandma took under her wing, but that’s about it. What about you?”
“I’ve never been under your grandmother’s wing,” he said.
She cut a piece of cake for him, using every drop of willpower to deny one for herself. He followed her to the couch, and they sat side by side while he ate.
“I’m from a large family. They’re very devoutly Catholic. I didn’t feel the liturgical vibe and wanted to go protestant. It’s always good for the family outcast to gain physical distance from the rest of the family, don’t you think?” he asked.
“Our family is too small for outcasts,” she reminded him. “I think that’s more of a big family type thing.”
“How long has it been since you talked to your sister?” he asked.
“Over a year. Don’t tell me I need to forgive her, Tosh.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Let’s watch a movie. Does your grandmother have anything that doesn’t have Charlie Chaplin in it?”
“She doesn’t have any movies, but I do. I have to get them from my room, though. What are you in the mood for?”
“Surprise me,” he said.
“French subtitles it is,” she said, starting to rise.
He caught her hand and pulled her back. “Don’t surprise me. Find a comedy.”
“All right,” she agreed. She returned a few minutes later with said comedy, and put it in the DVD player. The rest of the world had upgraded to newer and better technology, but her grandmother had only gotten a DVD player a year ago.
She sat on the couch, close to Tosh, and he put his arm around her. Her natural instinct was to move closer and rest her head on his shoulder, and so she did, not bothering to wonder again why she felt so comfortable with him. She just did. She felt as if she had known him forever instead of for two days.
Some time later, he whispered in her ear. “Lacy, wake up.”
Her eyes opened slowly, blinking in confusion. “I fell asleep?”
“Almost after the opening credits,” he said.
“You could have woken me sooner,” she mumbled, stifling a yawn.
“I didn’t mind,” he said. His arm was still around her, but she had slipped farther into his embrace until he was almost cradling her. They studied each other a few beats before he spoke again. “It’s late. I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow at the funeral.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
“I’ll see myself out.” He eased away from her and stood, backing toward the door in almost the same way that Mr. Middleton had walked away from the casket earlier. He didn’t turn until he stepped onto the porch, and then he faded into the darkness. She heard the hum of his car engine and she stood, securing the door and turning off the light.
When she turned to walk down the hallway toward her room, she found that she didn’t feel sleepy anymore. Instead, she was wide awake. Thoughts of the waiting journals drew her toward her room, but then something Tosh had said gave her pause outside her grandmother’s room.
You could search her things.
Lacy stood outside her grandmother’s room, biting her lip in indecision, hating what she was contemplating. Like her, her grandma valued privacy. Lacy had never before dreamed of invading that sacred trust, and she had no doubts that her grandmother had ever entertained thoughts of snooping through Lacy’s belongings. But Tosh was right. She needed to help her grandmother any way she could. Unlocking the key to her connection with the dead woman might be the solution to getting her out of jail.
Guiltily, slowly, she crept into the room. It smelled just like her grandma, like peppermint and vanilla. Lacy stopped short in the doorway, her reticence kicking into high gear once again. I’m doing it for her own good, she repeated over and over to herself, and that thought inched her forward until she reached her grandmother’s nightstand.
Somehow Lacy knew that everything her grandmother held dear and personal was kept in that square piece of furniture. With shaking fingers, she reached out and pulled open the bottom drawer. In it she found cards and letters from her, her sister, and her mother, as well as from her deceased grandfather. Everything in this drawer was beginning to yellow with age, telling Lacy that it hadn’t been used lately.
Witho
ut rifling through, she closed the bottom drawer and opened the top one. At first, she thought she must be mistaken about the timeline of the drawers because there was an envelope marked, “Our first five years.” Inside were several old receipts, ticket stubs, menus, a few canceled checks--one of them quite large--and a couple of letters. Lacy scanned the letters, but quickly realized they were all from her grandfather. She was vaguely curious about the contents of the envelope. Obviously they chronicled her grandparents’ first five years of married life, and even from a non-personal standpoint Lacy found the information fascinating. It was like history come to life.
But she forced herself to put the envelope away. Either her grandmother would share it with her when she wanted, or Lacy would go through it after her death. In any case, it wasn’t relevant to the situation at hand.
Just when she was about to give up hope, she found a handwritten note stuffed in the front of the drawer. The paper and ink looked new, and the double B’s in the signature jumped out at Lacy.
“Lucinda, I’m back in town and eager to talk to you about our little pet project. See me at your earliest convenience, or else. Barbara Blake.”
What pet project? What did the menacing “or else” mean? There was no way Lacy’s grandmother was involved in anything illegal, but the letter certainly held a sinister undertone. And it had obviously worked to compel Lucinda Craig to visit, probably almost as soon as she received the threatening letter.
Then another horror dawned on Lacy. She was holding evidence against her grandmother in her hand. Barbara had made a threat, if not explicit, then certainly implied. Whatever this letter was about could be enough motive for a conviction. If the obnoxious Detective Brenner ever got a warrant to search this house, then her grandmother would be up a creek.
Without further thought about what she was doing, Lacy took the note to the bathroom, lit it on fire, dropped it in the sink, and washed away the ashes, allowing the water to run for a long time, just to make sure everything went all the way down. Then she returned to her grandmother’s room and began searching in earnest, looking for she knew not what. But if she found anything remotely incriminating, she would get rid of that, too. Her grandmother didn’t murder that woman, and she wouldn’t allow anything to be misconstrued as proof that she had.
Morning Cup of Murder Page 11
