“Sounds like a good plan, Anna. It’s kind of you. Not everyone in your shoes would bother to do it.”
“There’s no one else to do it, Sergeant, but thank you. Alright, I’ll make a call and take care of it. Thanks for your help, Tremaine. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome, Anna. Bye.”
“Bye.” I hung up the phone and mused about the sergeant for a moment. He had been very considerate on the phone just now. Was he a nice guy underneath that cool exterior, or was he after something? I tucked that thought away while I looked up Jack’s mother in my address book. Carlene had always been kind to me, and I still sent her birthday and Christmas cards every year. I had broken the news of Jack’s death to her on the phone a few days ago, and it had been a heart-wrenching experience. She had cried and said that she couldn’t understand why anyone would murder her son and then dump his body alongside the road, of all places, and I was unable to comfort her with a reasonable explanation. She was calmer when I phoned her today, and grateful that I was sending her son’s ashes home. I felt very sad saying goodbye to this poor woman who had lost both her husband and her son in the course of her lifetime.
I made two more calls: first to Fergusons to arrange for the cremation, and then to Father Winfield about the mass. I hadn’t talked to him about Jack’s death yet, although I assumed he knew about it. He told me that he could perform the funeral the following Tuesday.
“The sermon will be a bit sparse, Anna. I met your ex-husband when you and your family first moved to Crane, but I didn’t see much of him after that.”
“No, he wasn’t much of a church-goer, Father. I don’t expect you to say very much about him under the circumstances.”
“Don’t worry, Anna – I have a stock sermon for this kind of situation. Ben will be coming, I assume?”
“I sure hope so, Father. He was pretty upset with his father before Jack died, so I’m not sure he’ll want to attend the funeral.”
“That’s unfortunate, and hard on you. I hope to have a chance to talk with Ben after mass, if he comes. Will anyone else be attending, do you think?”
“Well, Father, there really isn’t anyone else. I don’t want to invite the people from the movie set. They didn’t work with Jack for very long, and I don’t want them to come out of a sense of obligation. Jack’s mother isn’t well enough to travel, and he has no other family. The people here in Crane didn’t really know Jack, either. It might be just you and me, Father, unless Ben decides to come. I’m sorry to ask you to do this for just me, but I want to have a mass said for Jack. It wouldn’t be right to cremate him without praying over him. I hope you understand, Father.”
“I understand and I totally agree with you, Anna. Remember the parable of the shepherd who leaves his flock to go in search of a single lamb? Each of us is important in God’s eyes.”
“Thanks for understanding, Father. I’ll have Ferguson’s contact you about Jack’s ashes, and I’ll see you on Tuesday at 10 AM.”
Ben came for supper that Friday night, as usual. I had stopped at an Indian restaurant for take-out curry before leaving Calgary, so it took me a little longer to get home. Ben was already there when I came in the door, playing with Wendy in the backyard.
“Hi honey, how are you?” I called, opening the sliding door onto the deck. Ben tossed a rubber ball to Wendy and turned to look at me. He seemed relaxed and in a good mood.
“I’m starving, Mom. What’s for supper?”
“Indian tonight, plus I’ve got some peanut-butter cup ice cream in the freezer for dessert.”
“Great, my favourite. We’ll be right in. Come on, Wendy.”
“You feed her and I’ll set the table.”
We both avoided the subject of the murder while we ate dinner, and I didn’t mention the funeral until after dessert. Ben stared down at the table as I gave him the details, not saying a word until I was through.
“I know where this is going, Mom.”
“Where, honey?”
“You’re going to ask me to come to the funeral.”
“I’d appreciate it if you thought you could.” Ben didn’t say anything, and I sighed. “I know how you feel about your father, Ben, and how his murder must complicate things.”
“You’d be wrong about that, Mom. Just because he got himself killed didn’t make him a better father.”
“No, Ben, it didn’t. And I know that it was really hard all those years that he wasn’t there for you. I’m not going to give you a sermon on how much he really loved you, but I’m hoping that one day you’ll begin to remember the good times you had with your dad. Like the time he took you camping, or your sixth birthday party when he got your TV hero, Captain Eddy, to stop by. How about if I play the guilt card and ask you to come so that it won’t be just Father Winfield and me at the funeral? He wants to talk to you, by the way.”
Ben sighed. “Oh great – pastoral counselling.”
“Yes. Anyway, give it some thought, and I guess if I see you at the funeral, I’ll see you.”
“I’ll think about it, Mom, but I’m not promising anything.”
“Fair enough, honey. So, did you see your new girlfriend this week?” He rolled his eyes, and we went back to chatting about less controversial subjects.
Chapter Thirteen
Ben left at 8:15 for a date with his girlfriend back to Calgary. I picked up Amy a few minutes later and we drove to Longview, arriving at the Spur by a quarter to 9:00. All of the parking spots were taken in front of the bar, so we were forced to park a little way down the street.
Amy and I strode down the sidewalk beneath a purple-tinged sky, the clamour of people having a good time spilling out of the bar up ahead. We climbed the two steps onto the split-rail porch and pushed through the swinging doors, pausing to take a look around. The place was packed and all of the tables were full. There were small brass lamps sitting on the wooden tables, and the flickering light cast a warm, honey glow over the scene.
Amy grabbed my arm. “There she is, sitting by herself at a table for two,” she said, nodding toward the actress. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
We had discussed the best way to approach Karen on the drive over, and decided that we should play up our common bond with Jack. He had been gone for a week, now, and if Karen was feeling sentimental, she might enjoy an opportunity to reminisce with us.
Amy halted beside Karen’s table and beamed down at her. “Hi Karen, remember me? I’m Amy Bright, one of the extras on the movie. I was in the bank robbery scene they shot yesterday.”
Karen squinted up at her, silky blond hair skimming her shoulders. “Oh, right – I remember you. You were ‘frightened mother with little boy’ who got shoved out of the way by the gunman. How’s it going, Amy?”
“Just great, thanks. This is a friend of mine, Anna Nolan. Her name might sound familiar to you. She’s Jack Nolan’s widow. She was feeling kind of blue tonight, what with Jack gone such a short time and all, so I invited her out for a drink. The tables are pretty full – do you mind if we join you?”
Karen eyed my face for a moment. We had met at a cast party years ago, but I doubted that she remembered me. She had taken good care of herself, I noticed, although there was a certain hardness around her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She was an attractive woman, and I wondered why she was sitting alone.
“Sure, pull up a chair. My husband, Connie, is out back shooting pool with some of the guys. I’ve been saving a seat for him, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be back anytime soon.”
I nodded my thanks, borrowed a chair from the table behind me, and sat down with Karen and Amy.
“So, you’re Jack Nolan’s widow?” Karen asked.
“Not exactly. Jack and I divorced four years ago.”
“That’s what I thought. Jack told me that he was divorced.”
I studied her, wondering how she meant that comment, and in the ensuing silence a waiter hustled over to our table. He was young, maybe a little ol
der than Ben, and wore the bar uniform: a white shirt with garters to hold back his sleeves, black pants, and a full-length white apron. His hair was parted straight down the middle and slicked back. The waiters’ costumes were less revealing than the waitresses’, who wore low-cut, off the shoulder gingham blouses, flounced short skirts, and frilly aprons.
“Welcome to the Silver Spur. What can I get you, little ladies?” he asked.
Amy studied him with delight, as if she were just about ready to gobble him up. Apparently young men were fair game for her. “Well, look at you. Don’t you look handsome in your costume. Doesn’t he look adorable, Anna?”
I smiled at the young man, who was entranced by Amy’s cleavage and didn’t bother to look my way. “Very handsome,” I answered.
“I hear that you have a special ladies’ drink at the Spur – what’s it called?” Amy asked.
“ It’s called a ‘Lady Killer,’ ma’am,” he replied with a grin.
“That sounds like fun. I’ll have one of those, please. What are you going to have, Anna?”
“I’ll have a white wine spritzer and maybe some chicken wings, if you’ve got them.”
The waiter dragged his eyes away from Amy. “Sure do, ma’am. We have mild, medium, hot, and ‘Somebody grab a bucket of water – my mouth is on fire!’ zesty,” he drawled. “What would you like, little lady?”
I appreciated his effort to stay in character. “We’ll have two pounds of the medium wings for the table. Thanks.”
The waiter left, and Amy began chatting about the movie. Karen wasn’t paying much attention to us, her chin cradled in her hand and her eyes gazing about the room. I decided that it was time to engage our leading lady in conversation.
“Karen, you look very familiar to me,” I said with a fake frown. “I’m sure Jack introduced us at a cast party for A Christmas Carol a few years back. Didn’t you play the Ghost of Christmas Past in that?”
Karen’s eyes swivelled back to me. “That’s right. Boy, that seems like ages ago. I wasn’t even married then.”
“I remember how good Jack thought you were in the part. He said that you had a lovely, ephemeral quality that added a supernatural element to your characterization.” I hoped I wasn’t laying it on too thick.
“Did he really?” Karen said, her eyes lighting up.
“Oh yes. He said that when you were on stage, the audience couldn’t take their eyes off you, and that it was an uphill battle to get their attention during your scenes together.”
“Did he say that? How kind of Jack – he always was so supportive of his fellow actors,” Karen said with a gracious smile, lapping up the compliments.
The waiter returned with our drinks. Amy’s Lady Killer was some sort of tri-coloured, layered affair with cream on top. “Ooh, that looks yummy,” she enthused.
“It sure does. Karen, let me buy you a drink. Would you like one of those?” I asked.
Karen snickered. “No thanks, that thing looks like it has about a thousand calories in it.”
“Oh, come on, you don’t have to worry about your figure. I bet you work out all the time. You’re so toned,” I replied.
Karen glanced down at herself. She had on a t-shirt that proclaimed “Actresses do it onstage.” “Thanks, I have a portable gym I take everywhere I go.”
Amy sipped her drink while the waiter clicked his pen and waited. “Wow, this is so delicious,” she enthused.
“It sure looks good. I’ll have one if you have one, Karen,” I said.
“Well, why not? Just one won’t hurt, I guess. Let’s live a little!”
“That’s the spirit, Karen. Two Lady Killers, my good man,” I said with a flourish.
“Coming right up, little ladies.”
An hour later I was still nursing my drink while Karen and Amy had moved on to vodka cocktails. Karen’s eyes had become glassy and Amy couldn’t stop giggling. We were acting like we were best friends, just three women letting down our hair and enjoying a night out on the town.
“Have a chicken wing,” I said, pushing the plate toward Karen.
“Thanks Anna,” she said, helping herself to her fifth and biting hungrily into the meat. Diet forgotten, she tossed the well-chewed bone over her shoulder and reached for another. The bone bounced off the shoulder of a middle-aged man sitting at the table behind us.
“Sorry,” I mouthed at him. The man shrugged good-naturedly and turned back to his friends. “You know, girls, I have something I want to say about Jack,” I said. Karen and Amy turned and tried to focus on me. “Don’t get me wrong – we had our problems – but I really miss him. Jack was one hell of a man.” I lowered my voice and leaned in closer, drawing them in. “Actually, I think that he was just a little too much man for me, to be completely honest. You know what I mean.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “It was probably best that we parted, but I’ll always love him.”
“You’re right, Anna,” Karen said. She put her face so close to mine that I could smell the seasoning from her chicken wings. “He was a real ‘man’s man,’ you know, but he sure knew how to take care of the ladies.” She winked and leaned back in her chair. “Not like the little wiener I married. Ha, ‘wiener!’ That’s the perfect word to describe him.” She nudged my arm and wiggled her eyebrows at Amy, who giggled some more.
“I don’t think I’ve met your husband, Karen. Have you met him, Amy?”
“Uh huh, he was shooting our scene yesterday.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Karen agreed. “He’s always with the second-string crew, shooting the crowd scenes with the extras. Connie’s problem is that he’s a big gorilla – he hasn’t got an artistic soul. He can’t handle the scenes with the tender emotional parts – you understand? Passion? Romance? He’s no good with them. Just like real life, come to think of it. The ape thinks he owns me. If I’m not ready for him on a second’s notice, he gets angry. What a shithead.”
“But Jack wasn’t like that,” I prompted.
“Jack? Hell no, that man was smooth – and sexy. He could get me revved up in no time and keep things simmering all afternoon. And sometimes into the evening, too.” She winked at me. I smiled back. Oh yeah, I just loved hearing all about her sex life with my ex-husband.
“I guess that you had to play it pretty close to the vest, spending time with Jack while your husband was working on the film?” I asked.
Karen nodded and tapped the side of her nose. It took her two tries to find it. “You know it, Anna. People around here have big mouths.” She looked at Amy and said “shhh,” laying her finger over her lips. Amy tried to wink back, but was having trouble closing only one eye.
“’Because I guess that Connie would be pretty jealous if he found out about you and Jack,” I prompted.
“Course he would. He thinks he’s some sort of a he-man because he’s European and has some hair on his chest. Ha! Hasn’t got much left on top of his head. He’s got a lousy temper, too. He tried to shove me around when we first got married, but I got even with him. I wouldn’t let him bully me, no sir.”
“What’d you do?” asked Amy, her eyes bright with curiosity.
Karen crooked her finger, motioning for us to come closer. We bent our heads together over the table. “I got him drunk one night and shaved his privates. He wouldn’t use a men’s room for weeks after that until the hair grew back in.” She grinned and nodded while Amy shrieked with laughter.
“What’s all this? Having fun, ladies?” a voice growled behind us. I looked over my shoulder and saw a squat, dark, balding man with small eyes smiling down at us. Amy pointed at him and laughed even harder. He shrugged, grabbed a chair from another table, and joined us.
“Who’re your new friends, Karen?” he asked.
“This is Amy. She’s one of the extras on the movie,” Karen said, pointing to her.
“Sure, I’ve seen you around. Good to see you again, Amy.”
“And this other lady’s Anna Nolan, Jack Nolan’s ex-wife.”
Connie t
urned to look at me, the smile disappearing from his face. “Jack’s ex-wife, huh? You’ve got my condolences, lady.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t mean because somebody offed him. I mean for ever having married the jerk in the first place.”
I frowned at his rudeness. “Not a fan of Jack’s, Connie?”
“Don’t be such an asshole, Con,” said his wife. “She’s grieving over him.”
“Watch your ugly mouth, Karen. I told you about calling me that.”
“Alright, dick-head.”
He leaned forward and grabbed Karen’s wrist. She gave it a sharp twist and broke free, leaning back out of his reach. “Stop being so grabby. You’re just showing off in front of my friends.”
“Ah, shut up. You’ve had too many, Karen. We should be going – I have an early start tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m not called until tomorrow night, and I don’t feel like going just yet. It’s only . . . .” She stopped to squint at her watch.
“It’s 10:35,” I said helpfully.
“Mind your own business,” Connie said, leaning too close to me. He scowled, making his face even more unattractive, and blew beery breath in my face. I flinched and pushed my chair back an inch. He smiled, thinking that he had intimidated me.
“Oh, get lost, Connie. You’re such a downer. You’re no fun anymore. Just leave me and my friends alone,” Karen said.
“Why, so you can have some more fun, you moron? You want the producers to hear that you were drunk in the Spur again? I told you it’s time to go, so get your fat ass out of that chair and get moving.”
“Fat ass!” she shrieked. She grabbed her cocktail and threw the dregs into his face.
Connie roared and jumped out of his chair. He lurched toward Karen, who leapt back out of his way, knocking over her chair.
“Alright folks, that’s enough. Everybody calm down, now,” an authoritative voice said behind us. I looked up to see Steve Walker standing next to our table, a pool cue held nonchalantly in his hand. He must have been playing pool in the back room all the time we had been there. I felt relieved; I didn’t fancy getting into a barroom brawl. He was ignoring me, however. I hoped things weren’t going to be awkward between us.
Framed For Murder (An Anna Nolan Mystery) Page 9
