by Debra Webb
Rowan felt stunned all over again as she read the letter that basically recapped all that Patty had just said. “I honestly have no idea what this is about. As I said, I have never received a call or a message from your mother. I return all calls. Always. I can assure you I will find out what this is about.” She passed the letter back to Patty and placed a hand on hers. “Let’s go over what you believe happened so I’m clear what we’re looking for.” Obviously Woody had taken the call, and Rowan barely restrained her fury over the idea that he’d failed to pass along the message.
Geneva’s husband had died while Rowan’s father was in Nashville visiting her. She’d thought she was protecting him by bringing him there, but what she did was bring him right to the killer’s door. If she’d left him here he might still be alive. An ache pierced Rowan like a knife thrust deep into her chest.
No looking back. She could not change the past.
“Daddy was here for his visitation and funeral so his body was—” she cleared her throat “—prepared here. When Momma said her last goodbye to Daddy she opened up the casket so she could see all of him and something was wrong. She’d wanted a moment alone with him. That’s why we weren’t with her. She didn’t say anything at the time, but I remember she was very upset. We never knew what happened. Like she said in the letter, she hadn’t wanted to make a scene at his funeral. If we hadn’t found these letters we would never have known. Chief Brannigan had us looking for anything that might be missing. That got us started going through her things and that’s when we found the letters.”
“I understand.” Rowan nodded. “I wasn’t here at the time. I was still in Nashville, but I am very sorry that after I came to Winchester, your mother was unable to speak with me. I will talk to Herman and Woody—they would have been here during that time—and I will find out what happened. I’ll call you tomorrow with an update. You have my word. If anything that occurred at this funeral home was wrong, I will do all within my power to make it right.”
“Thank you.” Patty welled up again. “I just hate that she didn’t tell us.”
Rowan smiled. “She was trying to protect you from whatever it was. She was a very good mother and wife.”
The grieving woman took a deep breath. “Well, I have to get back to work. I’ll look forward to your call as soon as possible.”
As they stood, Rowan assured her once more, “I will call you tomorrow whether I have the answer or not, and I will call you every day after that until I do.”
When Patty was gone, Rowan locked up the funeral home and drove straight to Herman’s house. He had gone home after the Hall funeral service. He lived on High Street in one of the old bungalows Rowan used to pretend she would own when she grew up. She had decided in her child’s mind that she would run the funeral home but she would not live there.
“Sometimes things just don’t work out the way you plan,” Rowan muttered.
Herman was sitting on the front porch in a rocking chair, sipping iced tea, when Rowan emerged from the car.
“Well, young lady, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” He held up his glass as she climbed the steps. “Would you like a glass of my lovely wife’s famous sweet tea?”
Rowan started to decline but changed her mind. “I would love a glass of sweet tea.”
He placed his glass on the table between the two rocking chairs and pushed to his feet. “You sit down right here and I’ll get it for you.”
Herman hurried into the house, the screen door slapping against the frame behind him. Rowan set the rocking chair into motion and wondered if she would ever find the time to do this? When she lived in Nashville her life had been too hectic for taking a moment to do nothing but sit. Since her return to Winchester it had been equally busy. Burying her father and getting her legs under her with the funeral home and trying not to think of her father’s killer being out there had been a hectic and troubling time.
She closed her eyes and pretended that the fresh air and sound of birds singing were the only things in this world that mattered at the moment. She didn’t want to think about the police cruiser following her, parked a half a block down the street, or the bastard who had pretended to be her friend and then murdered her father and so many others and who was out there somewhere watching her.
“Here you go.”
Her eyes fluttered open and Herman offered her the glass of tea.
“Thank you.” She accepted the cool glass.
Herman settled back into his rocker. “What’s on your mind, Ro? You look as tired as an old man coming out of retirement.”
She smiled. “You know I appreciate that old man coming out of retirement.”
He laughed and picked up his glass. “And I appreciate a little excitement in my life now and then. Keeps me young.”
“Is Estelle home?” Rowan hadn’t seen her in ages.
Herman snorted. “Are you kidding? She’s over at the church helping with the food for the Hall family.”
“That’s kind of her.” Rowan had completely forgotten that Herman and his wife were members of the Baptist church. “Tell her I said hello.”
Herman set his rocker into motion. “I sure will.”
Rowan sipped her tea for a time. Eventually, she said what she’d come here to say. “Tell me about Geneva Phillips’s husband. Was there some sort of issue with the services we provided for him?”
Herman frowned. “I don’t think so. But I can tell you that was the week I had the flu. Lord, I was as sick as a dog. Your daddy left me in charge and I fell down on the job. Woody had to take care of everything on his own. Lucky for him there were only two that week—Mr. Phillips and Mr. Werner.”
Rowan thought about all Patty had said. “Apparently Mrs. Phillips was very upset by something she felt was wrong with the way her husband was prepared. She didn’t elaborate in the letters she wrote to her daughters, but she insisted she tried calling me and I wouldn’t return her calls.”
Herman’s jovial expression turned dark. “I don’t like the sound of that. You better talk to Woody. He might be on the lazy side but I haven’t ever known him to do anything poorly and sure enough nothing wrong, but you never really know what a person will do given the chance or out of necessity.”
Herman was right. Rowan understood this better than most. You never really knew a person. Never.
She finished her tea and thanked Herman for his hospitality, and then she drove to Woody’s house on North College Street. By the time she parked in the drive she was more than a little furious. He could be at work but she would rather confront him here than at Gardner’s. Either way, she wasn’t going home until she found him. Damn him. If he’d made some sort of mistake and then tried to cover it up she would see that he paid the price.
Deep breaths. She struggled to calm herself as she stalked up the steps to the front door of the small white house. He’d inherited the place from his mother, who had moved to a retirement home with her three best friends.
Rowan rapped on the door and chastised herself for thinking such a thing. There were far too many unknowns to judge the man. But she was most unhappy at the moment. It was impossible to provide a service to the public without having an issue crop up from time to time. The real value of the business was in how you handled those issues. Her father would never have allowed a customer to go home dissatisfied. He would have found a way to work things out. This behavior was not acceptable. No matter that Woody was no longer her employee, she intended to know exactly what had happened to upset Mrs. Phillips so badly and why he had taken calls and never passed the messages on to Rowan. He had allowed Geneva Phillips to believe Rowan didn’t care about her feelings.
Fury swelled inside her again and she knocked a second time, a little harder. Maybe a lot harder.
Still no answer.
“Damn it.” She stamped back down to her car and decided what the hell.
She would find him even if it meant visiting the competition.
Gardner’s Funeral Home was on the corner of South Jefferson and Third Avenue. The house wasn’t historic and it wasn’t nearly as large as DuPont’s, but it was nice with its stately columns and the small balcony. Parking wasn’t optimal but from what Rowan had heard, the services were handled well.
Rowan climbed out of her car and started for the entrance. She reached for the door and walked in. The lobby was small but reasonably impressive. The marble floor and angel murals on the walls were tastefully done. A table loaded with lovely fresh flowers sat in the center.
A woman appeared. The opening of the door likely set off a warning that she had company, or maybe they had one of those new high-tech camera systems. With all that had been happening lately, Rowan was glad the security company was coming to install a system for her. She should have done it weeks ago.
There was something to be said for doing things the old way, but not all things done the old way were best. Like that kitchen she needed to renovate.
“Good afternoon.” The sixtyish woman smiled.
She looked vaguely familiar. Her black hair was peppered with gray. The gray dress and white pearls were elegant and understated.
“Hello.” Rowan smiled. “I’m here to see one of your directors—Woody Holder.”
The woman’s eyebrows reared up in surprise. “Mr. Holder is not here at the moment. He’s out on a call.”
Which was code for he was picking up a body.
“Do you know when he might return?” All Rowan needed was five minutes and perhaps a pound of flesh.
“I’m sorry. I don’t.” She frowned. “Are you Rowan DuPont?”
Another smile automatically pushed into place. “I am.”
“I’m Sandra Sturtevant. I was your fourth grade teacher.”
Rowan’s smile was genuine this time. “Mrs. Sturtevant, how nice to see you. I didn’t recognize you. How are you doing?”
“I’m doing well. With the kids living halfway across the country now, I decided retirement wasn’t for me, so I started working for Mr. Gardner last year.” She glanced around and leaned close to Rowan to say, “I wanted to work for Edward but he didn’t need anyone.”
A laugh bubbled up in Rowan’s throat despite her frustration at Woody. Now she remembered Mrs. Sturtevant. She’d been a widow since she was in her midthirties but she’d never remarried. She always said she had her teaching and her two daughters. Rowan’s father had remarked once that since the Sturtevant daughters had moved away the widow was on the prowl for a new husband.
“You look great.” Rowan noticed the big diamond on her left ring finger as well as a shiny band.
The woman noticed her looking. “Oh, you probably don’t know. Randy Gardner and I married last fall. His wife died of emphysema the previous spring, poor thing.”
“I’m so sorry to hear about his wife.” She stretched a smile back across her face. “But congratulations to you.”
“Thank you. We’re very happy. Traveling every chance we get.” The older woman put a hand to her chest. “I’m sorry, you’re looking for Woody. Well, he’s out picking up Lawrence Reed. He had a stroke a couple of days ago and, bless his heart, he didn’t make it.”
“That’s just awful.” The downside to operating a funeral home in a town this small was that you usually knew all your clients personally.
“I can have him call you,” Mrs. Sturtevant offered.
“Oh, that’s all right.” Rowan waved a hand at the suggestion. “I’ll find him.” And she would. Damn him.
The former teacher stepped in close again. “Just one thing, Woody is a mortuary assistant. He is not a director.”
Rowan nodded. “Sorry. I guess I heard wrong.”
Sturtevant waggled a finger at her. “Now don’t you go trying to steal him back. Randy will be most unhappy if that happens. He’s been looking for a good full-time assistant for ages. He’s tried to woo Woody away from you for a long time.”
Rowan shook her head. “You tell Mr. Gardner he needn’t worry. Woody is all his.”
With a little waggle of her own fingers in goodbye, Rowan turned and strode out of the lobby. When she climbed into her car, she reminded herself to breathe again. She drove straight to the Reed home and waited until the Gardner’s cargo van doors closed before slipping out of her car and hurrying up to the passenger side of the cab.
The driver slid into the seat behind the wheel but it wasn’t Woody.
“Excuse me.”
He jumped as if he’d been shot. He pressed a hand to his chest. “Jeez, you scared the daylights out of me.”
“Sorry. I thought Woody Holder was picking up Mr. Reed.”
The guy made a face. “He was supposed to but he called me at the last minute and begged me to take his place. He said some sort of emergency had come up.”
Rowan faked a smile. “Thanks. I’ll give him a call.”
She walked back to her car and climbed in. Woody was avoiding her. He knew he was in serious trouble and he hoped to dodge her until she cooled off.
Not going to happen. She knew where he lived and where he worked. He couldn’t evade her forever.
Twenty
Friday, May 10
Rowan sat up. Her heart pounded with the receding dream. Her sister had been floating facedown in the water. Then she’d lifted her head and stared at Rowan. Come into the water, Rowan.
Rowan blinked and took a long, deep breath. “God, I hate these damned dreams.”
She threw the covers back and dropped her feet to the floor. Squinting, she peered at the time on her cell. Two a.m.
Freud’s whimpering drew her attention across the room to the door. Had she closed the door? She didn’t remember closing the door.
Shoving the hair out of her eyes, she stood. “Do you really have to go out at this hour?”
Maybe she’d forgotten to let him out after Billy dropped by. He’d gone over his thoughts with her about the case reports and his visit with Luther Holcomb as well as Raven’s friends from school. He’d explained in-depth his and Detective Lincoln’s conclusions on the photos taken of Raven’s body.
Billy was convinced Raven hadn’t accidentally drowned but had been murdered by Julian’s daughter.
A cold fist twisted in Rowan’s chest again. All these years it had been painful enough believing that her sister’s death had been an accident...that somehow Rowan should have been there to help. Now, those feelings were amplified by the idea that someone had murdered her and Rowan had been at home stewing with jealousy. Did seventeen-year-old Alisha Addington’s actions confirm her mother’s claims that Norah and Julian were having an affair? Considering the father’s psychopathic tendencies, it was possible his daughter had indeed inherited those same tendencies. Anna had admitted she thought as much.
Would Alisha have tried to lure Rowan to her death as well had she attended the party?
Had Julian known what his daughter had done when he took Rowan’s case when she was a freshman in college? Was his motive some grotesque curiosity?
And why hadn’t any of Raven’s friends noticed that she disappeared from the party? All three had given the same story to Audrey Anderson. Giving the three grace, it was possible Raven had blown them off for the cool girl from LA.
There was a very good possibility that Rowan would never know the whole story.
Rowan pushed away the thoughts. She wasn’t going to rehash those frustrating possibilities or solve that painful mystery now. She tucked on her glasses, stood and moved toward the door. “Okay, boy, if you need to go out that badly, let’s get it over with.”
Freud rushed for the stairs and disappeared down to the second floor. Rowan followed more slowly. As hard as she tried, she could not excise the turmoil of thoughts from her head. If this scenario she and Billy were
piecing together proved true, did that explain why Norah had killed herself? Had she blamed Raven’s death on her selfish actions? As much as Rowan wanted to believe that scenario versus the one she had believed most of her life, that her mother hadn’t loved her enough, it was too early to conclude anything.
Rather than go to the door leading to the rear staircase as he usually did, Freud went to the front door of the living quarters. He sniffed at the door, made more of those whimpering sounds.
“What is wrong with you, boy?”
He pawed at the door and stared up at her expectantly.
“All right, then.” Before unlocking the door, she hesitated, went back to her bedroom for her cell phone and handgun. If she was going outside she should have both with her. Billy would approve.
When she unlocked and opened the door, Freud barreled down the hall. Rowan moved considerably slower. She shoved a handful of hair behind her ear and toyed with the idea of visiting Tessa Cardwell in the morning to see if her story would be different when she wasn’t being questioned by the chief of police or by a reporter. Tessa had insisted to Billy that she had no idea why Raven went into the water or if she did. She’d given the same story to Audrey. Apparently Raven and Tessa had a disagreement and spent the entire party not speaking to each other. Tessa claimed not to remember what they were arguing about that day. Some boy, she’d suggested.
Rowan would make it a point to speak to her. Maybe help prompt another...
For several seconds the object hanging from the second-floor banister didn’t register in Rowan’s brain...and then it abruptly did.
Rope. Wrapped around the banister and then knotted tightly to ensure it didn’t pull loose. A noose hung a few feet below the landing the same way it had when she’d come home and found her mother suspended there.
In the lobby below, Freud stared up at the rope and circled the space below it, growling and whimpering.
Her heart in her throat, Rowan hurried down the stairs. Her fingers pawed at the dead bolt on the entrance door. Her heart suddenly dropped and thundered so hard she couldn’t capture a breath. She needed out of here. Now.
