To Love and to Perish

by Lisa Bork

  “I don’t know.” I started pulling out my desk drawer, searching for the white pages. “I think they explain about it in the front of the phone book. Here.” I yanked the book out of the desk and laid it flat, ruffling through the pages. “*66”

  I lifted the receiver and dialed the code. A message responded. I hung up and repeated the words, “The caller was not in our area code.”

  “So they were in Binghamton?”

  “Or Albany. Or Alaska, for that matter.”

  Cory shook his head. “You may be right. Someone does want to make sure we’re not at the funeral. The question is ‘why?’”

  _____

  Around ten minutes to five, Cory shut off the lights in his garage and unplugged the coffee machine in the showroom, carrying the remains of the pot into the bathroom to dump in the sink.

  I put away my files and stood up, ready to call it a day.

  The showroom bells jingled, announcing a new arrival. It was Erica with Maury in tow. She had a huge smile on her face as she practically skipped across the showroom to greet Cory and me.

  Her attire caught my attention next. A black dress and black shoes, appropriate for a funeral except for the amount of cleavage peeking through the bodice, the thigh-skimming length of the hem, and her five-inch stilettos. Her image was more appropriate for a porno video—although after seeing the women who worked in Wayne Engles’ office, Wayne might have applauded her choice.

  Maury’s black suit said “undertaker,” but the red rose with babies breath in his buttoner said “wedding.”

  Cory wiggled his eyebrows at me.

  I ignored him.

  “Jo, what a funeral. There were two hundred and forty-seven people at the service. The receiving line took forever. It’s such a shame. That Wayne was a looker. The funeral director did a great job masking the gash in his forehead. I’d have never known if I hadn’t seen it myself.”

  Cory’s lips twitched.

  I frowned in his direction. “How do you know it was two hundred and forty-seven people? Did you count?”

  Erica waved her hand. “Oh, no, they were milling about everywhere. I never would have gotten a correct count.” She reached in to her glossy vinyl shoulder bag and whipped out a black book. “I counted the names in the guest register.”

  I gasped. “You stole the register?”

  She made a face. “Of course not, Jolene. We waited until everyone except Matthew and his mother had left. The funeral director offered them the book. They didn’t want it. So I said I would take it.”

  “And they gave it to you?”

  Maury spoke up. “They seemed to think she had worked for Wayne. I think that’s because she offered to send out all the thank you notes, too. We have them in the car.” He grimaced.

  Erica tossed her blond hair and grinned. “I’m unemployed. What else have I got to do?” She handed the guest register to me. “Take a look. I tried to meet everyone at the lunch afterward. Go ahead, just ask me about any of them.”

  I scanned the pages. Cory sidled over next to me and read them over my shoulder. “I don’t see the Potters. I don’t see any names from the sheriff’s department—”

  “Max and Gumby were there. They didn’t sign the book.” Erica glanced at Maury. “Gumby tried to hit on me. Can you believe it?”

  Maury’s fists clenched but his face remained expressionless.

  I could believe it. Sheriff’s Deputy Steven “Gumby” Fellows was the only local man I knew taller than Ray, and the first man to hit on me after Ray and I split. He wasn’t successful with me, but he had a lot of notches in his bedpost. A few years ago, he married a stripper. Neither one of them seemed to be taking the “forsaking all others” portion of their marriage vows very seriously.

  I tipped my head to acknowledge I’d heard her, hoping Erica would let the subject go instead of upsetting Maury further. “The only names we recognize are Suzanne and Matthew Gleason—”

  Erica cut me off again. “Suzanne Gleason was a nervous mess. Every time Gumby or Max even glanced in her direction, she shook. I asked Gumby if she was a suspect in Wayne’s death. He wouldn’t tell me, but after I asked, he kept a closer eye on her, which just made her that much more jumpy. She spilled coffee on her pants, poor thing. Matthew’s girlfriend rubbed ice cubes on her leg to make sure she didn’t get scalded. I felt sorry for Suzanne.”

  “I wished we’d met her. She wasn’t home when Cory and I went to Binghamton.” I sighed and continued reading the register. “We can name the women who really did work for Wayne: Pam Sullivan, Missy Temple, Silvia Porter, and Beth Smith.”

  “Oh, Beth Smith.” Erica rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner at Maury, who grinned in reply. “She’s something else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her hair is freaky, but she had a big pear-shaped diamond on her finger that caught the light. It was gorgeous.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d missed it when she and I shook hands outside her townhouse. “Do you know how long she’s been engaged?”

  Erica nodded. “Since Sunday. The other women she works with were whispering about her. They said she’s a cradle robber. Apparently she’s talking about eloping.”

  I thought back to her mother’s statement that she’d been married twice already but was dating a boy. Evie had said she was dating a young man, too. I’d just thought their descriptions were the quaint wording of an older generation, not an accurate description of the man. “Any idea who he is?”

  Erica jumped up and down, squealing. “Don’t you know?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her antics. “I have no idea.”

  “She’s engaged to Matthew Gleason.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “MATTHEW GLEASON?” MY STOMACH tightened with distaste. “Ew, that’s just wrong. He’s young enough to be her son. What’s he doing with her? And what’s she doing with him? He doesn’t even have a job. Is she going to support him? Ew. That’s icky.”

  I thought back to the day we met Wayne. We’d asked him about Elizabeth Potter or Beth Smith, as we now knew her. He’d said they weren’t close anymore and I thought a flash of anger had crossed his face. Well, obviously they had been physically close enough with her desk just a few yards outside his door, but they weren’t friends anymore. Could he have been angry over her relationship with Matthew? Had the two met when Matthew visited his office? Wouldn’t that be ironic, especially if Wayne turned out to be Matthew’s real father? He’d surrounded himself with half-dressed women and one had caught his godson’s—or son’s—eye.

  Cory’s expression spoke of his distaste. “I expected more from Matthew.”

  Erica reached out her hand, oblivious to the implications of her news. “I need the book back, Jolene. I have to write out all the thank you notes. You can have it when I’m done, if you want.”

  I gave it to her, reluctantly. “Don’t lose it.”

  She closed her purse. “I won’t. I promise.” She twirled and tucked her arm through Maury’s. “Take me home, baby. I got work to do.”

  Cory followed me into my office as I put on my suit jacket in preparation to leave. “What do you make of it, Jo?”

  “I’m completely baffled why a young man would want to marry Beth Smith. She’s not unattractive, but she’s got mileage. I’m sure his mother doesn’t approve.”

  “I wonder if his father didn’t approve. It would be a motive for Beth to shove James Gleason in the street during the race festival. Maybe it was an added bonus for her to try to pin his death on Brennan.”

  “Now we know why she was at the race. He did say his girlfriend was there. Too bad we didn’t ask her name sooner, not that I know what it all means anyway.” I grabbed my purse. “I’m sorry, Cory. I’d like to talk about this more, but it’s my turn to pick up Danny from practice. Ray’s on the evening shift tonight.”

  “No problem. I don’t know what all this means either. You go ahead. I’ll set the alarm.”

  As I navigated
the side streets of Wachobe, headed for the football fields behind the middle school, I ran through all the facts we’d learned to date. None of it made sense to me anymore. Suzanne Gleason had also been at the festival, close to the spot where her husband, James, died only moments after he was hit by the car. She’d witnessed the argument between Brennan and her husband, but allegedly not his death. Did she know something more that she feared he might tell Brennan? Or fed up with James’ combative ways, had she taken the easy way out of their marriage, perhaps to spend her days with Wayne Engle, who later spurned her? Maybe that was why the sheriff’s deputies made her so nervous today. Or did she think Matthew had killed his father, either to protect her from him or in anger over a possible rejection of his relationship with Beth Smith? Had Wayne figured out the truth or, worse, witnessed the act, leaving Matthew no choice but to kill him, too? Or had his mother killed him to keep him from turning in Matthew? Or could the two of them have conspired to kill both James and Wayne?

  Beth Smith seemed more suspicious to me by the day. She’d pointed the finger at Brennan, which we knew couldn’t be true. It was hard to believe she’d simply been mistaken. She had to have done it on purpose. But why? Did she push James Gleason into the street and blame Brennan to kill two birds with one stone? Or had she done it to protect the real killer, Matthew, her lover? Had Wayne known the truth either way and therefore needed to be eliminated?

  A tooting horn snapped me out of my speculations. I’d failed to notice the light turn green. The guy behind me hadn’t. He tooted again. I hit the gas, forcing myself to let the questions go for now.

  A quarter mile later, I pulled into the circular drive in front of Danny’s school. He sat on the low brick wall that surrounded the school with two of his friends. When he spotted me, he waved to them and trotted over with his backpack in hand, his coat slung over one shoulder. He climbed in next to me, and I caught a whiff of body odor that made my eyes water. I cracked open my window. “Hi, Danny, how was practice?”

  “Good.” He pitched his backpack and coat over the front seat to the back.

  I pulled away from the curb. “We’re having takeout for dinner. What do you prefer, Chinese or pizza?”

  When he failed to respond, I glanced at him. He faced forward, his face expressionless. “Danny? What would you like for dinner?”

  He blinked. “Can you take me to see my dad?”

  “Um, sure, I guess so.” I hoped his dad wouldn’t think we had a water and deodorant shortage at our house. “Do you want to eat first, maybe shower?”

  “No.”

  All righty then, Mr. Phillips was in for a real treat.

  The half hour ride to the jail passed in silence. When I attempted conversation, Danny asked to turn on the radio. I let him, thinking the noise might take both our minds off our troubles. It worked, because Danny started to sing under his breath. I had to smile.

  When we arrived, Danny signed in at the jail and waited for the guards to go through all the necessary logistics to reunite him with his dad. I considered asking to visit Brennan while Danny was with his dad but remembered Catherine’s request to not talk to him. With so much swirling in my head, I couldn’t wait to talk to someone.

  When Danny disappeared inside with the guard, I dialed Ray.

  “What’s up?”

  “Danny is in visiting his dad. I’m waiting for him. What are you doing?”

  “I’m sitting on the county road over near Brennan’s house, waiting for a semi to speed by.”

  The local truckers and Wachobe were at odds. The town no longer allowed semis to drive up and down Main Street, which enraged the truckers enough to hold a sit in, parking their trucks all over Main Street right before the July 4th celebration this year. The parade had to be cancelled because the police chief couldn’t get them to move, even when he slapped them with fines. The town refused to revoke the new law. Lately, the truckers had taken to speeding up and down the county roads in defiance.

  “Any luck yet?”

  “No, it’s been a quiet night.”

  “Well, it’s been a busy day. Erica and Maury went to Wayne Engles’ funeral today. They found out Matthew Gleason is engaged to marry Beth Smith. Do you think Gumby and Max know that?”

  “I don’t know. I can call and ask Gumby. He’ll tell me.”

  “Do he and Max talk about Brennan’s case with you?”

  “Sometimes, when the sheriff isn’t looking.”

  “Do they have any idea who killed Wayne Engle?”

  “Darlin’, they think Brennan did it.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why. But I keep throwing out different ideas. They seem to listen. They’re looking hard at the three wild cards from the Watkins Glen festival: Matthew and Suzanne Gleason and Elizabeth Smith. The case will crack soon. They’ve only been on it a couple days.” Ray sucked in air. “I gotta go. I gotta guy doing about seventy-five.”

  The phone went dead. I pictured Ray in full pursuit and then let that image go. It was easier to not to think about his work. I just kept the faith that he did it well and safely.

  I was the only person in the jail waiting room. Wednesday must be a slow night. Either that or everyone else came over after dinner. My stomach growled, and I wished we’d done the same.

  Danny reappeared after fifteen minutes. He had a worried frown.

  I stood up and put my arm around his shoulder, no easy feat now that he’d grown taller than me. “How’s your dad?”

  “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you happen to ask him about Brennan?”

  “Brennan’s good, too. He’s teaching my dad how to play chess. Catherine brought them a chess board.”

  “She’s so nice.” I had to admit it. No wonder Ray had taken up with her after me. How lucky I was he’d come back. “Did your dad say anything else?”

  Danny hesitated. “He said he’s going to change his plea to guilty.”

  My jaw went slack.

  Danny rushed on. “He said he stole the Ferrari and sold it. He said it was time to set the right example for me and to take responsibility for his actions.”

  Wow. I fumbled for the right response. “You must be very proud of him.”

  A tear slipped down Danny’s cheek. “But what if he gets killed in prison?”

  I hugged Danny closer. “Catherine and Ray will make sure everyone takes good care of him.”

  The frown lines didn’t leave Danny’s forehead but I couldn’t bring myself to promise Danny that nothing would happen to his dad. I’d lost my mom young. I knew for a fact anything can happen.

  “Let’s go home.” I squeezed him again. “I need pizza. Don’t you think pizza sounds good?”

  After a moment, he nodded and let me lead him out the door and into the parking lot.

  But I was certain he felt the shadow of the jail looming over us, just as I did.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THURSDAY MORNING I HAD an appointment to show the Mercedes on the showroom floor to Mr. Linz, the owner of Simply Divine Burgers in Wachobe. He served up the best Black Angus burgers in the world. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought so, either. He wanted to buy the Mercedes for his daughter, a senior in high school, to drive around town. Now, that was a lot of burgers.

  “It’s a 2006 Mercedes SLK 280 with just over 13,000 miles and one previous owner, a woman in her sixties.”

  Mr. Linz smiled enthusiastically. Women in their sixties are not known to be aggressive drivers. I happened to know this particular woman could barely see over the steering wheel, and her keys had been confiscated by her son, who feared for public safety after his mother entered an off ramp thinking it was an on ramp, narrowly missing a head-on collision with a semi.

  “It’s a Florida car, so there’s no rust. Wachobe will be its first brush with salted roads.”

  The phone in the showroom rang. I ignored it, knowing Cory would answer in the garage.

&
nbsp; “Of course, it has the red exterior your daughter wanted and a black interior.” I whipped the driver’s door open. “I’m sure she’ll like the fact it’s a convertible.” It wasn’t a practical car for our impending winter weather but who was I to break her heart? “Would you like to sit in it?”

  I held my breath as Mr. Linz squeezed his Santa belly behind the wheel. He may have eaten a few too many of his own burgers. I hoped I wouldn’t need the Jaws of Life to extract him, but he seemed content enough behind the wheel, running his hand over the dashboard.

  Cory appeared in the doorway between the showroom and the garage, shrugging on his leather jacket. The weather had turned colder overnight, dropping into the high forties. Tree leaves had turned yellow and red seemingly overnight, too. Fall had arrived in the Finger Lakes.

  He motioned to me.

  “Excuse me just one minute, Mr. Linz.” I walked over to meet Cory at the front door. He had one hand on it already, clearly eager to be off.

  “Brennan called. His bail got paid. He asked me to come pick him up.”

  “Who paid his bail?”

  “He doesn’t know, but one of the guards at the jail said it was a bank check delivered by messenger. He thinks it might have been his father.”

  “Maybe his father wants to see him again before he passes away.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, I’m going to go pick him up. I don’t know if I’ll be back today.” Cory blushed. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about the case, but I’d like to at least spend some time with him.”

  “Of course. No problem. Tell Brennan I said hi.”

  A half hour later, I had a signed contract on the desk for $27,500. After a test drive, Mr. Linz had decided the Mercedes was perfect for his princess, and he was on his way over to the bank to get me a check right now. This sale meant Asdale Auto Imports was in the black for the year, months before year end, a first ever. Quite an accomplishment and one I had to share.

  I called Ray.

  “Hey, darlin.’ What’s up?”