by Linda Reilly
Heather laughed and rolled her eyes. “Live and learn, right?” She greeted Aunt Fran with a warm hug. “This is the lady I’m forever grateful to. Taking on my monsters every day after school.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like we’re real thugs, Mom. Our mug shots are hanging in the post office.”
“They’re far from monsters.” Aunt Fran smiled at the kids. “You know how much I enjoy having them.”
“Brooke, before I forget,” Lara said. “Your Pickwick book is at the house. You must’ve left it there either Wednesday or Thursday.”
“It is?” Brooke shot a guilty glance at her mother. “I was sure it was in my bag.”
Heather looked sternly at her daughter. “If you didn’t know it was missing, that means you haven’t been reading it, doesn’t it?”
“Noooo.” Brooke gave her mom a contrite look. “Yes,” she groaned. “It’s so boring!”
“You have a book report due in a week,” Heather reminded her. “Fran, if you’re going to be home today, can we stop by later in the afternoon for it?”
“I’ll help you with it, Brooke,” came a voice from behind them.
They all turned at once to see Dora Pingaree, attired totally in black, clasping her hands at her waist. Gray bags hung beneath her puffy eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t slept all night.
Lara’s heart broke for the woman. Was she in terrible pain today? Lara suspected that the black attire was in remembrance of both Theo and Glen.
“Dora!” Brooke greeted her book-club friend. “I didn’t see you come in!”
Dora smiled wanly at the group. “So great to see everyone. Lara, I see you’re still in town.” Her tone held a note of surprise.
“Still here,” Lara said, avoiding her aunt’s gaze.
The vestibule began to fill.
“I know Pickwick is a long book,” Dora said, sliding her arm through Brooke’s. “But the writing style is so filled with humor and wit and delightful descriptions. We’ll break it down into sections….” Her voice trailed off as they entered the church together.
Aunt Fran leaned close to Lara. “If you don’t mind, I’ll think I’ll sit for a few. Pastor Folger should be along anytime. I’d like to be sure you meet him before the service.”
“Absolutely.” Lara escorted her aunt over to one of the pine benches and sat beside her. When she looked up, she saw Mary Newman and Josette Barnes striding into the vestibule. The two couldn’t have looked more different. Mary was outfitted in charcoal gray, from her prim chapel veil to her flat, sensible shoes. Josette, on the other hand, was a study in fashion—flaunting a lime-green cape over a form-fitting, burnt-orange sweater and black leggings.
Mary spotted Lara, and a look of embarrassment flashed in her eyes. Lara wondered if Mary had told her aunt Josette about Chris and his published stories.
Josette held out a gorgeously manicured hand to Aunt Fran. “Fran, how have you been?”
“Quite good, actually. And you?”
“I’m excellent.” She slid a quick look over at Mary. “I mean, you know, under the circumstances,” she said more quietly. She bent her head lower. “Fran, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something. Can I stop by some day this week?”
“Anytime.” Aunt Fran smiled. “Give me a quick call first so I’ll be properly dressed.”
“Will…you be there, Lara?” Josette said.
If one more person asks me that…
“Probably not,” Lara said. “But I’ll be making frequent visits to New Hampshire, so I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
“Well, that’s…great.” Josette’s smile looked ironed on. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later, Fran.” She pushed Mary a bit forcefully toward the doorway to the nave.
Aunt Fran grew quiet. Lara squirmed on the bench, then noticed a man in long black vestments and a white collar moving purposely toward them.
Lara rose.
“Good morning,” the man said. “I’m Ernest Folger. And you must be the niece I’ve been hearing so much about. Welcome to Saint Lucy’s.” His smile warm and kind, Pastor Folger’s pale blue eyes twinkled from a round, rosy face.
“Yes, I’m Lara. I’m very pleased to meet you, Pastor.” She grasped his outstretched hand.
Pastor Folger turned to Aunt Fran and greeted her in a deeply respectful manner. It was clear that they’d been friends for years. Lara took an instant liking to the man. Everything about him seemed genuine.
“I hope we’ll be seeing more of you, Lara,” he said, winking at Aunt Fran.
Here we go…
“I hope so, too,” Lara said. She amazed herself by realizing that she meant it.
The pastor’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth curved into a frown. “As I’m sure you know, we’ve had two unfortunate deaths this past week. One by his own hand, which makes it even sadder. Although…” He shook his head slightly and tapped a finger to his lips.
Lara waited for him to finish his sentence, but the pastor apparently thought better of it.
“Regardless,” he said with a deep sigh, “I’ll be praying for both their souls today. And Lara, please don’t judge our lovely town by what can only be called a tragic anomaly.”
“No, Pastor, I won’t.”
He bade them both good-bye and went into the church. Lara and her aunt rose to follow him, just as a latecomer rushed into the vestibule. She stopped short when she saw Lara. “Oh. You’re still in town.”
Sheesh, is everyone in town gossiping about me?
Lara bit off a retort. “Hi, Kellie,” she said to the stylist.
Through eyes that were now slits, Kellie Byrd studied Lara’s coiffure. “I see your hair got all the curls back. Didn’t you blow-dry it this morning?”
Reminding herself where she was, Lara ignored the accusatory tone. “I don’t normally blow-dry my hair, Kellie.” She gave the woman as courteous a smile as she could manage. “As for the curls, I’m afraid they go whichever way they want without much direction from me.”
Kellie suddenly noticed that Lara’s aunt was standing slightly behind her. “Oh, um, hi Mrs. C.” Her face going tomato red, she mumbled an apology and gave her an awkward hug. “See you after the service,” she sputtered and dashed off into the church.
Lara and her aunt followed her. Aunt Fran tipped her chin toward the altar, indicating that she wanted to sit in a pew near the front.
As they walked along the main aisle, the oddest thought struck Lara.
If Glen Usher hadn’t killed Theo Barnes, then the main players in the suspect pool were all right here, right now.
And of all places, in the church.
Chapter 27
“I thought Pastor Folger made a thoughtful tribute to both Theo and Glen,” Aunt Fran said.
“He did,” Lara agreed. She helped her aunt into the front seat of her rental car, then scooted over to the driver’s side.
The pastor had spoken highly of both men. It was clear that he’d dug deep to find warm hearted stories about each of them. The smiles and tears of most of the parishioners had been a testament to his way with words.
“Oh, flippity floop,” Lara said. “Aunt Fran, I left my jacket in the pew. It was so warm in there I had to take it off. Be right back, okay?”
“Take your time,” her aunt said.
Lara was grateful they’d escaped after the service without having to stop and gab with anyone. Considering the way some people had been asking her how long she’d be sticking around, she was beginning to feel persona non grata.
She hurried up the steps and into the vestibule. The church was quiet, almost eerily so. Now that she was alone, she took a moment to admire the arched, stained-glass windows. They towered toward the vaulted ceiling on both sides of the nave. She remembered, ages ago, Aunt Fran telling her that the windows had been created from hand-stained glass, a method only the most skilled artists could master.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t linger. Her aunt was waiting in the car. She trotted dow
n the aisle as quietly as she could. She didn’t want her footsteps to echo in the church. She snagged her jacket off the bench where she’d left it.
Her jacket folded over her arm, she’d almost reached the vestibule when the clatter of high heels sounded in her ears, followed by an urgent female voice. A second voice shushed the first one, and the two chattered in hushed tones.
Yikes!
Whoever it was, they’d apparently come out of the tiny restroom at the back corner of the church.
Panic squeezed Lara’s throat. Her breath felt glued inside her lungs.
She was torn between the desire to hear what they were talking about, and the more instinctive need to flee.
No contest.
Lara’s frantic gaze landed on the thick, floor-length curtain hanging over the confessional closest to her, on the left. On tiptoes, she dashed inside the darkened booth and sat on the little bench. Her heart slammed her chest so hard she was sure her blood vessels were going to burst. It felt like a remake of Poe’s story of the heart buried under the floorboards!
“I didn’t want to tell anyone before,” a woman’s voice burbled, “but I can’t keep it inside any longer!”
Lara recognized the voice—Josette’s.
“It’s okay, honey. We’re all friends here,” Kellie Byrd said in a subdued voice.
“I know,” Josette blubbered. After a long pause she said, “I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but, remember I told you about spending the night in Connecticut with my new beau?”
Lara pictured Kellie nodding.
“Well… Oh God, it was all a lie! I did drive to Connecticut that afternoon, and Aaron and I did have dinner at his place, but—” She started to bawl in choked sobs.
“It’s okay, Aunt Josette. Don’t be embarrassed. You can tell us.”
Mary Newman!
“I know. Okay, here goes,” she went on after a noisy snuffle. “That night, after we had dinner, Aaron tol-told me he didn’t really think we were a good match. He told me I should leave right away so I wouldn’t have to drive back to New Hampshire in the dead of night. It was so…humiliating!”
“What a jerk!” Kellie bleated. “I mean, come on, what kind of guy does that, ya know? A creepazoid, that’s what kind!”
“Kellie, we’re in church,” Mary admonished.
“I know, I know. Sorry,” Kellie said. “But Jo, why didn’t you get a hotel room somewhere, so you wouldn’t have to drive all that way home at night?”
“I-I thought about it, but then I couldn’t bear the thought of staying that close to Aaron. I wanted to just get home where I could cry my heart out.”
Kellie sighed. “I hear ya.”
“It— The thing is, I lied to the police, and now they’re going to find out. They asked me for Aaron’s phone number so they could contact him. I had no choice—I had to give it to them!”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong, Aunt Josette,” Mary insisted.
“Jo, did you call Aaron to let him know what happened?” Kellie’s voice.
“No. Why?”
“Because if you explain your situation to him, maybe he’ll agree to confirm your story. It’s not like you’re guilty, right? Why can’t he just tell them you spent the night there? It’s the least he owes you.”
“Oh God, Kellie, I can’t ask him to lie to the police! Isn’t that a crime?”
A long moment of silence ensued. Lara wanted desperately to suck in a long breath, but she was terrified to move. The confessional was getting stuffier. She wondered when anyone had last used it.
“Ladies, we’re all forgetting something,” Mary said in a hushed tone. “The police think Glen killed Theo, and I happen to agree with them. No one needs to lie.”
Lara heard the shuffle of feet. What was happening? She prayed the trio was leaving.
“Come on, let’s go get some coffee,” Kellie put in. “Someplace where we can talk privately.”
“You mean someplace where that nosy niece of Fran Clarkson’s won’t come bouncing in, don’t you?” Josette asked. “She as much as accused me of murder, you know.”
What? No I didn’t!
“I don’t know what her problem is,” Kellie said with a caustic snort. “Maybe she killed Theo and wants to throw the police off her track, ya know?”
“Lara’s okay,” Mary said softly. “She’s been very kind to me.”
Bless you, Mary.
The clatter of shoes fading into the distance told Lara the women were leaving.
Thank heaven!
A quiet fell over the church. Not a single sound echoed off the walls.
Lara slowly peeled back the musty-smelling curtain and stumbled out of the confessional. She was light-headed from being closed in so long. Okay, it was only about three minutes, but still—
Her jacket was still draped over her arm. She swung it over her shoulders and shrugged it on.
“Lara?”
“Oh!” She jumped at the voice.
“I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Pastor Folger said. He’d padded up the main aisle so quietly she hadn’t heard him.
Lara tapped her heart. “My fault entirely,” she said. “I left my jacket here and had to come back for it.”
The man smiled, his eyes filled with compassion. “I do sincerely hope you won’t be a stranger. It’s been good for your aunt, having you here.”
“I know.” Had he and Aunt Fran spoken privately? “Pastor, may I ask you something?”
“You surely may,” he said, steering her with an outstretched arm toward the vestibule. “What can I help you with?”
Lara followed his lead. “How well did you know Glen Usher?”
“I’ve known him since I moved to this parish nine years ago. Not terribly well, but he wasn’t an easy man to know. In spite of that, we had many a talk over the years. I wish I could have done more for him.” The pastor gave her a pensive look. “Why do you ask?”
“I had the feeling you’re not totally convinced that Glen actually—well, you know, took his own life.”
The pastor nodded, his eyes crinkled in obvious sorrow. “You’re very perceptive, Lara. It was out of character for him. Taking another man’s life in the heat of anger is entirely different from taking one’s own. Quite frankly, I’m not sure Glen committed either sin.”
“Have you told the police that?”
Pastor Folger gave her a benevolent smile. “I’ve shared my thoughts, but I don’t have an iota of proof. Only a gut feeling, if you will. I simply have to trust in the police to do their jobs properly.”
Lara mulled over his words. “Pastor, why do you think Glen was, well, the way he was? It was almost like he never grew up.”
A shadow fell over the pastor’s face. “From what I gleaned, Glen’s parents had him later in life, and then both died when he was barely a teen. With no other family, he ended up in a group foster home. There was no one left in his life to put him first, so he floundered. Do you see what I’m saying?”
Lara swallowed. “I think I do. And thanks so much for listening.”
An insightful, caring man, Lara thought.
She hurried out to the car. The woman who’d always put Lara first was patiently waiting.
As she had been for the last sixteen years.
Chapter 28
Aunt Fran gave Lara an amused smile. “I can’t believe you sat in that confessional, literally hearing Josette’s confession. The irony is almost comical.”
“I know, right?” Lara set a mug of tea on the table in front of her aunt. “I felt kind of weird doing it, though, even if Josette did call me nosy and said I practically accused her of murder. The problem is, I’m now on the fence about Josette. I think I’m adding her back to my suspect list.”
Aunt Fran’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You have a suspect list?” She ran a hand over Dolce’s head. The cat closed his eyes and purred in her lap.
“Well, yes, an informal one. Nothing I can take to the
police.” She sipped her tea and plucked a macaroon from the plate of cookies she’d set out.
“I understand what you’re saying, Lara. And yet, all the evidence points to Glen. Even if none of us can picture him killing Theo, and then killing himself, the police believe his confession clinches it.”
“It might, and it probably does,” Lara said. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling the curls slither through her fingers. She shared the pastor’s feelings about Glen with her aunt.
“That’s…interesting,” her aunt said. “Pastor Folger usually has excellent instincts.” She shook her head. “But I think, at this point, we should leave it in the hands of the police. If Glen actually wrote a confession and left it in his car—”
“I know, I know,” Lara interrupted. “Something about it just seems off to me. I can’t get it out of my brain.” She picked a sliced almond off her macaroon.
Maybe it was time. Her old life—her real life—was calling to her. Not very loudly, she admitted. In fact, it had dwindled to a bare whisper. But it was there and had to be dealt with.
“Aunt Fran, you know I’m going to have to go home soon. Maybe as early as tomorrow.” Except I’m not sure anymore where home is.
Her aunt looked down at Dolce. “I know.”
“But listen, this morning, when I was cleaning the litter boxes, I had some thoughts about how to get you some help with the cats. And find homes for the kittens. Hear me out, okay? And try to keep an open mind.”
She explained her idea about transforming the back porch into a meeting place for people and cats. Lara would do all the initial cleaning, painting, and decorating. If Gideon Halley was willing, they’d retain him to do the necessary legal work, including obtaining a license, to give Aunt Fran’s home official status as an animal shelter.
“And what if,” Lara said, fresh ideas skipping through her head like baby goats, “we recruited some vet tech students to volunteer on different days. Once we’re set up, we can do some fundraising to help cover neutering and veterinary care. Oh, Aunt Fran, the more I think about it, the more I love the idea. Plus, I can start painting more watercolors to sell, with the proceeds going to the shelter. I’ll bet Sherry and Daisy will even display them in the coffee shop and sell them on consignment.”
