by Sylvia Nobel
I turned back to ask Marissa another question and was startled to see her staring at a sheet of paper in openmouthed shock.
“What is it?”
“A letter from Riley’s attorney. It says that he received this one week before Riley disappeared and was instructed to mail it to me in the event of his death,” she said in an awestruck tone, waving a second sheet. “But, I don’t know what it means.”
Curious, I rose and moved to her chair. “May I see?”
After a fraction’s hesitation, she extended the paper to me. My pulse ratcheted up a notch when I recognized the same meticulous block printing as contained in La Donna’s note. LOVE BUILDS BRIDGES WHERE THERE ARE NONE. -R.H. DELANY and DO NOT GO WHERE THE PATH MAY LEAD, GO INSTEAD WHERE THERE IS NO PATH AND LEAVE A TRAIL. -RALPH WALDO EMERSON. Okay! Now things were really getting interesting. The apparent pattern of the carefully selected quotations fired my imagination. What they meant, I had no clue, but the manner in which they’d been sent did much to reveal character and told me that the man had obviously possessed an impish spirit of fun and adventure.
I quickly copied the quotes into my notebook and handed the sheet back to Marissa. She reread the passages with a bewildered expression before meeting my gaze again. “That was one of the things that I admired about Riley. He always had his nose in a book. Anyway, he always had a penchant for repeating these types of philosophical sayings or quoting poetry. But, I’ve never heard these before.” Question marks danced in her eyes. “What am I supposed to make of this?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, debating as to whether I should mention La Donna’s cryptic missive. I decided to wait and see what else developed.
She closed her eyes momentarily and when she spoke her voice sounded despondent. “This whole thing has been a nightmare. Sometimes I wish I’d never come here.”
“Why do you stay?”
“That’s part of the long story.”
“I’m listening.”
She hesitated, appearing unsure, then said, “Okay, I’ll make it short. My adoptive parents are both dead and I have no relatives that I know of.”
“Have you tried to find your birth mother?”
An impatient shrug. “I never wanted to. Anyway, instead of finishing my last year of college, I ended up marrying this guy I met at a party. He came on really strong and I fell for him. Big mistake.”
“Why do you say that?”
She picked a few pieces of lint off her skirt. “Eric Van Steenholm was tall and blonde and really hot. He was in the service and we moved around a lot. Because of that, I never made many lasting friends. It was a pretty lonesome life and,” she finished in a whisper, “a lot of times, I didn’t want anyone to see me.”
Uh-oh. “Why not?”
She ran her tongue across her lips, her expressive eyes revealing deep sadness. “Because he turned out to be a drunk. Booze turned him into a monster and more than once…he beat me up pretty bad.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Her wistful smile held a trace of triumph. “God got even with him. He died last year of complications from liver disease. I was free from him at last, but he left me saddled with a mountain of debts to pay. I lost everything. Finally, I had no choice but to declare bankruptcy and I went to work at Riley’s office. That’s pretty much my life in a nutshell.” She shifted in her chair. “And just for the record I didn’t set out to break up his marriage. We were just good friends. One day we were talking and he confided to me that he’d made a mistake marrying La Donna…that they didn’t have much in common and hadn’t been happy for a long time…at least he wasn’t happy.”
“Apparently he forgot to mention that fact to her. I understand she was pretty upset when Riley’s will was read.”
Her eyes widened. “Upset? She was a raving maniac! For someone who’s supposedly so sick that she can hardly lift a finger, she practically tore my hair out. She was screaming about me stealing gold coins and going on about how me and Winston had plotted to kill Riley. Crazy stuff! I would never—”
“Did you know about the coins?”
She flinched when the log snapped behind her, sending a plume of sparks spiraling up the chimney. “He mentioned them to me one time, but I never had a key to the box and I didn’t even know what bank they were in. How do we know she doesn’t have them? She could be lying just to get even with me.”
Interesting theory. “I understand you overheard her and Riley having an argument the night before his hunting trip. What was that all about?”
Her gaze grew distant. “Everything. She was ranting about him squandering all her savings and ruining her life, she was complaining about all the work she’d done here and that she had no intention of leaving. Of course she had some choice things to say about me…but most important,” she said, leaning forward, her eyes burning with intensity, “I overheard her say that she wished he would drop dead.”
Much more interesting. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Tell me, how did he seem the last couple of weeks before his disappearance? Was he upset or preoccupied?”
She chewed on a fingernail. “I don’t know. Maybe. But then, he was so busy all the time and he was getting ready to go on his trip. Listen,” Marissa added earnestly, “nobody was more surprised than me about this whole unbelievable mess. I mean, I had no idea he was going to leave me this…creepy old place, and because he did, La Donna hates my guts.”
She seemed totally sincere, totally convincing, but then I’d run up against performances like hers from other people who turned out to be guilty as hell. “I’ve seen photos of Riley. He was a very attractive…older man.”
A touch of color tinted her prominent cheekbones. “I knew that he was thirty-one years older than me, but you know the age difference didn’t seem to matter. He was an amazing man and I adored him.” Wistfully, she added, “He always called me an old soul.”
“So there’s no truth to the rumor that you were romantically involved with—”
“Winston?” Her eyes flashed with indignation as she shot to her feet. “That’s an out and out lie! La Donna made that up! She knows damn well he’s been working here on the property almost every day, but then so have a lot of other people. She’s such a spiteful bitch! If I could I would leave here tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you?”
She crossed her arms defensively and an odd look flitted across her face as she stared at the rivulets of rain cascading down the wavy old windowpanes. “Because other than this…hotel, I’ve got no place to go. I don’t have a dime to my name, no job nor any prospects and…” she said in a small voice, fastening melancholy eyes on me, “I’m pregnant.”
15
By the time I parked next to Ginger’s car in Rulinda’s gravel driveway, I was engaged in a raging battle with myself, my mind awash with the myriad of interviews and perplexing data. I felt as if I’d been handed a brightly wrapped package filled with dazzling and mysterious contents that I was forbidden to open. But, what choice did I have? In order to placate Tally, I now had to yank the rug out from under myself, and it was an effort to banish the cold burn of resentment gnawing at my insides. Piled onto that loomed the unpleasant task of informing Ruth that I was backing out on my promise to her. There was really no winning on either front.
Feeling emotionally drawn and quartered, I laid my forehead against the steering wheel unable to stop thinking about Judge Gibbons’s life and bizarre death. The questionable timing of his enigmatic messages to La Donna and Marissa, coupled with Grant’s discovery of similar communiqués delivered to the judge in the weeks prior to his death, convinced me that I was standing on the doorstep of something extraordinary. The icing on the cake was Marissa’s surprising admission. Before I’d left Hidden Springs, she’d shared one more piece of unexpected information. According to her, and I remembered that La Donna had also alluded to it in an offhanded manner, the one thing Riley had craved in life that neither of hi
s wives had been able to provide for him was a child. Marissa admitted that she’d considered terminating her pregnancy, but because of her own dubious birth history and out of respect for Riley’s memory, she’d decided to carry the baby to term. My head felt like it was going to explode, so great was my longing to continue forward with this compelling story. To say that I was disappointed at not being able to follow it to its conclusion would be the understatement of the century.
The rain had finally stopped, but there was no break in the gloomy cloud cover, so unlike the brilliant sapphire skies I’d grown accustomed to. The temperature had edged down several more degrees and the wind held a sharp bite as I squeezed past a white van with the Posey Patch Florist logo painted in flowers emblazoned on the side. When I reached the front door, it was obvious that the tan slump-block house was badly in need of repair. The chipped concrete patio was crowded with moving boxes, an array of broken clay pots filled with dead plants, several sets of lawn tools and dusty furniture covered with plastic. I rang the bell. While I waited for someone to answer, it occurred to me that, under the present circumstances, taking time to select flowers seemed like a frivolous endeavor.
I heard footsteps approaching and the door swung open to reveal one of the homeliest women I’d ever seen in my life. Whew. Talk about an unlucky genetic draw. It was an effort not to stare at her round pumpkin-like face, complete with puffy eyelids, numerous chin moles and topped off with a bulbous red nose. Copious facial hair fluttered in the wind like cobwebs and…was that a bag clip perched in her steel-wool-gray hair?
“You the O’Dell girl?” the woman inquired gruffly, thumbing the straps of her bib overalls onto her wide shoulders with one hand while holding a beer bottle in the other.
“Yes. Rulinda?”
“In the flesh. Come in.” She gestured for me to enter and I almost tripped over a mangy little dog that blended in with the brown braided rug. It yipped loudly. Oops!
“Sorry, I didn’t see you, little fella.” I reached down to pet it, but quickly withdrew my hand when it snapped at me.
“Kiko, be nice!” Rulinda admonished the mutt while pointing to an arched doorway. “Your friend’s in the dining room.”
Ginger waved at me from a long table adjacent to a picture window with tape plastered over several cracks in the pane. “Over here, sweetie!”
I crossed through the living room, trying hard not to stare at the hodgepodge of furniture, bric-a-brac and plastic bins of all shapes and sizes piled almost to the ceiling. The décor screamed second-hand store. In contrast, on the table in front of Ginger, amid vases, giant rolls of ribbon and a large pair of serrated shears, sat three unique floral arrangements. As I studied the eclectic selection, I knew it would be difficult to make a final choice for the centerpiece.
“Well, what do ya think?” Ginger asked, her infectious grin wide and expectant.
I shot an admiring glance at Rulinda who stood with arms folded, beaming over her creations. A housekeeper she was not, an artist she was. “They’re all…amazing.” Did I want the simple black vase holding an exquisite purple orchid accompanied by a delicate spray of baby’s breath, the colorful cluster of pansies set in shimmering gold paper offset with wispy feathers or the small glass bowl half filled with water resting on a flat saucer of smoky mirrored glass? A single red rose sprinkled with gold glitter floated in the water and the bowl was surrounded by tiny flickering candles—magical in its simplicity.
“I love this last one,” I remarked to Rulinda. “How do you get the glitter to stay on the petals so perfectly?”
Rulinda gave me a cagey smile. “Tricks of the trade,” she said, then added quickly, “Spray paint.”
I exchanged a glance with Ginger who nodded her approval. “Let’s go with the roses,” I said.
“Okay, then.” Rulinda set her bottle of beer down and eased her substantial bulk into a chair with a grunt. She filled out the paperwork while I wrote a generous deposit check. “So, who’s the lucky groom-to-be?” she asked, sliding the receipt towards me as she reached for my check.
My mind zipped back to her inflammatory statement about Riley Gibbons rotting in the darkest corner of hell and concluded that she would not be pleased when she found out. Ginger and I exchanged a wary glance before I answered, “Bradley Talverson.”
The transformation in Rulinda’s face was immediate. Her shaggy brows clashed together and her eyes turned frosty. “You’re shittin’ me!”
“Afraid not.”
“So, I guess you already know that your fiancé’s uncle was the rotten bastard responsible for the…the ruination of my family!” Her ample bosom heaving, she tacked on, “Personally, I’d like to hand out a prize to whoever cut the sonuvabitch’s head off.”
She’d delivered her tirade with all the subtlety of a snapping turtle and I was a bit taken aback. Never mind the fact that Judge Gibbons had based his decision on the available evidence presented during the trial at that time. “Well, if you don’t want the job, I guess we’ll be going.” I held my hand out as if to ask for the check back, being half serious, half facetious, but the humor was lost on her. Appearing uncertain, she frowned as Ginger chastised lightly, “Aw, come on, Ru, it ain’t Kendall’s fault and it ain’t the Talversons’ fault that any of that stuff happened.”
“Well…I suppose not.”
Even though I’d be removing myself from the story in a matter of hours, I charged ahead. “Did Ginger tell you that I’m a reporter?”
“Yeah, so?”
“I’d be interested in hearing your take on the whole situation.”
“You really want to hear it?”
“Yes.”
She sat back in her chair, tapping the table thoughtfully. “Okay, my take is pretty simple. In my opinion, Judge Gibbons is responsible for shit-canning just about everything in our lives. Did you know that because my brother had to spend ten years in that hellhole, I ended up having to raise his kid?”
“No. I didn’t know he’d been married.”
“Well, he wasn’t, but the whor…I mean kid’s mother took off when he was six months old and we never saw her again. Pretty sad. But anyway, Donny was a handful and a half. He already had a shitload of emotional troubles, but thinking that his daddy was a murderer all those years was the capper and really screwed him up something awful. Jesus, the poor kid wet the bed ’til he was nine, suffered from migraine headaches, got into all kinds of trouble at school…” she shook her head forlornly. “You know where he is now?”
I exchanged a quick glance with Ginger. “No.”
Scowling, Rulinda thrust her substantial chin out. “Dead, that’s where he is.”
I blinked in surprise. No one had mentioned that fact to me. “What happened?”
“He overdosed on drugs five years ago when he was only fourteen, and if you want to lay blame, I trace it all back to Judge Gibbons’s wrong-assed ruling.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You’re sorry?” she jeered. “I’m just getting warmed up. Randy had worked for years to build up a real successful towing business and it’s all gone now. And, in order to pay the god-awful legal bills, I had to sell my dry cleaning business and mortgage this place to the hilt. My mother had to sell her house and move in here, and I haven’t even begun to talk about the humiliation of having all our friends and everybody else in town thinking that Randy was this monster who’d cut his girlfriend to pieces.” She leaned towards me, getting so close I could smell her sour breath. “Does that about sum it up for you?”
“Pretty much.” Part of me felt sorry for her, but considering the intensity of her hatred and the fact that she was built like a tank, it occurred to me that she could have taken the judge out herself.
“Just a few more questions about your brother’s whereabouts prior to the judge’s body being found.”
She rolled her eyes in obvious exasperation. “You know what? I’m tired of answering questions. Reporters from hell and gone have been c
ircling around like vultures, hounding us for the past two weeks.” She pushed to her feet. “If you got more questions, go ask Randy yourself. He’s working on the garage. Why don’t you just walk your narrow fanny through the gate in the back yard and you’ll find him.”
I hadn’t intended to piss her off and half expected her to return my check as she escorted us to the front door, but apparently she had enough sense to separate business from her personal feelings.
Outside in the chilly wind, Ginger buttoned her coat and slipped on gloves as we walked to her car. “Heavens to Betsy! You sure as heck didn’t score any points with her.”
I shrugged. “So far, she’s number three on my list of possible suspects with that same reaction.”
She put a restraining hand on my arm. “What? You think Rulinda could’ve done it?”
“It’s possible. She’s got a strong motive, she’s a big enough woman and did you see the size of those shears that were laying on the table?”
Ginger, looking understandably shocked, opened her car door and eyed me critically. “I thought you wasn’t workin’ on this story.”
“I’m not.”
“In a pig’s eye.” She planted her feet firmly.
I grinned at her. “You really like pig sayings, don’t you?”
“I mean it. I ain’t budgin’ ’til you tell me what you’re up to.”
“Okay, here’s the deal.” I sketched a quick version of the circumstances and her eyes sparkled with bemused speculation. “For pity’s sake! How’d you manage to get yourself into such a fix in less than forty-eight hours?”
“I had to work pretty hard at it.”
She shook her head in dismay. “I don’t envy you havin’ to break it to Ruth that you’re droppin’ out.”
“Me too.”
“On the bright side, it’s gonna make Tally a happy camper.”
I gave her a wry smile as she slid behind the wheel and started the engine. “Good luck, sugar. Call me later.” She slammed the door, but powered the window down, adding as she backed out, “Be careful givin’ Randy Moorehouse the third degree. Just lookin’ at him scares me.”
