Down Home and Deadly

by Christine Lynxwiler

  Over Tiffany’s shoulder, I saw Gail and Marco come in. Marco looked extremely uncomfortable and kept tugging at the tie wedged around his throat. Gail had the appearance of someone performing an unpleasant duty. She and Marco sat toward the back and spoke to each other in whispers without looking around at all.

  An elderly couple entered next. They spoke briefly to Jolene and settled themselves directly in front of me. After a few moments of getting settled, the gray-haired woman turned around to me.

  “Excuse me. Were you married to Jimmy? Someone said his wife was here.”

  “That woman at the back is his wife.” Her husband nudged her and spoke loudly enough to be heard all over the building. “She told you that. You should’ve worn your hearing aid. Now turn around here and quit meddling.”

  I bit back a smile. Would that be Alex and me in forty years? I glanced at them again. They looked vaguely familiar, and I was pretty sure they were the couple who talked loudly during the last funeral I attended.

  “I was Mindy Finley’s closest neighbor and best friend for thirty years. If I want to ask questions about her grandson, I will.” She twisted back to face me. “I hadn’t seen Jimmy since he was a kid. He used to stay with his grandma sometimes. He worried her to death with his constant shenanigans. She bailed him out time and time again until she had nothing left to give.” She shook her head. “But he had the nerve to show up at her funeral looking for an inheritance. Now he’s got himself killed.”

  Her husband tugged at her, and she turned around without waiting for any comments from me. Just as Tom started to escort Jolene to the front of the funeral parlor, the door opened and closed quickly and someone sat toward the back. I glanced around as discreetly as possible to see if I could spot the newcomers. Harvey and Alice. Came to make sure their nemesis was really gone, I guessed.

  Across the way, and also on the back row, was a woman with a black dress, black hat, and glasses. I peered at her and nudged Carly. “You’re right. Down Home’s staff is almost all here. Debbie’s even back there.”

  Carly nodded dully, and I turned my attention back to her. “Are you sick?”

  She shook her head.

  Before I could question her further, a loud “Psst!” brought my attention to the aisle.

  Jolene had stopped right beside me with Tom LeMay still on her arm. She looked at me and motioned around the sparsely populated room. “So which one was J.D.’s girlfriend?”

  Heat crept up my face. I glanced at the spectators, who were all watching me. Debbie had taken the sunglasses off and was staring at me, wide-eyed. Lisa glanced toward me then looked away. “The one in black,” I whispered.

  Before she could press me, Tom tugged gently on her arm. “Miss Highwater, we really must begin.”

  She waggled her fingers at me and walked to the front and sat down.

  Without warning, “Born to Be Wild” blared from the speakers. Everyone jumped. Jolene had apparently done a little tweaking of the funeral plans that she and I had made together. When the song finished, a man in a black suit got up and read the obituary. Then he cleared his throat. For the next few minutes, he spoke in fairly generic terms about how quickly life passes by and how awful it is to waste it.

  Even though I knew what he said was true, my mind started to inventory all the people who might have killed Jimmy Dean Finley, their motives, and their alibis. Beside me, I suddenly felt Carly shaking. I looked over and drew in a sharp breath. Tears were coursing down her face, and she was quietly sobbing. “Carly?” I whispered. “Are you hurting?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you sick?” Sympathetic tears were pricking my own eyes, even though I couldn’t imagine that we were crying about J.D.

  Another shake of her head.

  I handed her a couple of tissues from the box in the pew beside me and put my arm around her. “It’s okay,” I murmured, all thoughts of suspects and alibis vanquished from my mind. “What’s wrong?” I tried one more time, but she shook her head yet again.

  “I can’t talk about it here,” she whispered, each word punctuated by a quiet gulp.

  “Then let’s go somewhere where we can.” I stood, helped her to her feet, and guided her to the back and out the double doors. No doubt we’d be the talk of the town, but I didn’t care what people thought. The important thing was figuring out what was wrong with Carly.

  Out in the courtyard, she quit trying to hold it in and started sobbing harder. My legs trembled as we sank onto a wrought-iron bench. “Car?” I wiped her curls back from her face. “Did you know J.D.?”

  As she shook her head, relief coursed through me. Followed quickly by extreme confusion. “Why are we crying?”

  “It’s Travis,” she choked out.

  My heart jumped. Her ex-husband had been found. “He’s here?”

  She looked up at me, dark mascara tracks trailing down her cheeks. “Jenna. Travis is dead.”

  *****

  *****

  Chapter Sixteen

  The hard thing about business is mindin’ your own.

  “Oh no.” I reached over and took Carly’s hand in mine. “I’m sorry.”

  We sat there for a few minutes without speaking, letting the cool breeze dry our tears as they fell. My natural curiosity was strangely dormant. A man I’d considered a brother had lost his life. He’d lost any hope of a second chance. Of reconciliation with his children. Had it seemed worth it to him after the initial infatuation was over? I guess we’d never know. Nor did it really matter now. Any lingering bitterness I had toward the man who’d broken my sister’s heart and almost broken her spirit faded away to a deep sadness.

  “He’s been dead four years,” Carly said softly.

  “Four years?” It seemed incredible that we hadn’t known. I’d googled his name more than once on the Internet, just to see if I could figure out what happened to him once he walked out of our lives so completely. Why hadn’t I at least found an obituary?

  “He died in Mexico,” she said, as if answering the question I didn’t ask. “That’s why there was no record of it here.”

  I nodded. “I guess that makes sense. Was he ill?”

  She looked over at me, her dark curls falling across her face. “He was shot to death. It was apparently a drug deal gone bad in a small border town. The local authorities kept it as quiet as possible.”

  “So this is what you and Elliott have been fussing about? Travis being dead?” I really couldn’t see how that had turned into a source of such conflict.

  She nodded her head and stared at the water bubbling in the small fountain in front of us. “It took awhile to find out for sure if the Travis that died was”—she cut her gaze to me and grimaced—“our Travis.”

  “And you didn’t want to tell me until you knew for sure. I understand that.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Thanks. I knew you’d understand. I didn’t see any sense in you or Mama and Daddy having to grieve if it wasn’t true. Especially after you found J.D.’s body. It just brought it all so much closer and made it more real.” She nodded toward the funeral home. “Just like in there. The preacher could have been preaching Travis’s funeral.”

  I thought of his words about how quickly life passes and how awful it is to waste it. “You’re right.”

  “The main thing Elliott and I disagree about is telling the kids.”

  Suddenly, the cryptic things Carly said over the last few weeks made sense. How far do you go to protect your children from pain? “You don’t want to tell them.”

  She jerked her hand away and pushed to her feet. “I don’t want to hurt them. I’d rather just marry Elliott and never tell them anything about their dad. At least not until they’re adults.”

  “But Elliott feels like they should know.” I stated the obvious.

  “Yes! He says he doesn’t want to start our lives together as a family with a deception hanging over us. Even though I understand what he means, every time I picture telling them, I just
can’t do it.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  She shrugged and stuck her hand in the cool fountain water. “I guess we’re not going to do anything. We’re kind of at an impasse.”

  My heart ached so much for her, but even Dear Pru had no wise answer for her. I stood and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll be praying for you.”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  *****

  Dear Pru,

  My husband has found someone else, and we’re in the process of getting a divorce. We have a four-year-old daughter, and he wants joint custody where she will stay with me through the week and spend weekends with him. His values are very different from mine, which is one reason for the divorce. Should I agree to these conditions? If so, how can I be sure my little girl will continue to believe what I believe to be right from wrong?

  Concerned Mother

  *****

  Dear Mom,

  You may not have a choice in the custody arrangements. Teach your child your values by living them as well as stating them. Refrain from bad-mouthing your ex, especially in front of your daughter. And pray a lot.

  *****

  After the funeral, I headed home and changed into my oldest T-shirt and capris. I had the rest of the day off, and I knew just what I needed. Two hours with a good book and my deck chair. Some sun, some shade, and maybe even a little nap.

  I reached for my book from the shelf and recoiled as I saw the tiny flip phone. I’d stopped short of putting a blue label with Debbie on it, but I had put it out of the way so I’d quit getting it confused with mine. But how long was I going to keep it? I picked it up instead of the book and ran my finger over the shiny surface.

  I hadn’t counted on how conflicted I’d feel about Debbie’s phone once I decided that Lisa definitely hadn’t known about Debbie and J.D.’s “friendship.” If I turned it in, they’d surely arrest Lisa, because if they had the weapon and the towel with J.D.’s blood on it, all they needed was motive. If I didn’t turn it in, the guilt was going to eat me alive.

  I groaned inwardly. Why hadn’t I left this silver burden with Debbie that day on her porch? Sometimes I reminded myself of that obnoxious eight-year-old at every pool across America. You know, the one who feels she’s responsible for everybody’s well-being and can’t even enjoy swimming for the weight of the responsibility. “Mama! Timmy’s getting close to the deep end. Katie’s not wearing her floaties. . . . Debbie threw evidence in the trash.”

  I started to put the phone back on the shelf then stopped. Getting rid of this once and for all would relax me more than lazing around in the backyard.

  “Sorry, big guy,” I murmured to Mr. Persi who had started scampering through the house as soon as he saw me change into my yard clothes. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, and we’ll do it then.” I glanced down at the faded jean capris and my 2004 National League Champs Cardinals shirt. I looked bad enough that I wouldn’t purposely go to the store but not so bad that I’d hide in the floorboard if I had car trouble and needed help. “I won’t even change clothes,” I told the golden retriever. “We’ll play as soon as I get back.”

  Neuro gave the dog a pitying look. I could imagine her saying, “Are you really buying this?”

  I rubbed my hand across the cat’s head. “I mean it. You could go outside, too, if you wanted to.”

  She jumped down, her tail high, and ran to the living room. She preferred the coolness of her window perch where she could watch us romp but still be completely pampered and comfortable.

  I smiled. Who was I to question how Lisa and Larry fawned over Fluffy? I talked to my pets and filled in the blanks in their parts of the conversation.

  At the thought of Lisa and her Fluffy being separated forever by jail bars, I snatched my car keys from the hook and ran out to the car.

  Debbie answered the door, still wearing her black dress.

  Since she had less motive than Lisa for murdering J.D., I’d decided to take my chances. “May I come in?”

  She stepped back, and I walked into the tiny living room. It was neat and clean. Incredibly clean. From the way Debbie had been acting at work, I’d imagined empty wrappers and bottles lying around.

  She saw my glance and apparently realized what I was thinking. “I clean when I’m upset.”

  I nodded. That would explain the vacuum marks still on the couch.

  I shoved the phone into her hand. “I can’t keep this.”

  She looked down at it and dropped it.

  It hit the hardwood floor and flew into pieces.

  Debbie gasped. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  We both scrambled for the pieces. “It’s just the battery cover,” I said. But my hands trembled as I put it back on.

  “Do you think it still works?” she whispered.

  “If it could survive the diner’s scraps, it can surely survive this.” I hit the power button, and we watched the light come on.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  I shrugged and set the phone on her end table. “Now it’s all yours.”

  Panic flitted across her face. “Jenna! You can’t do this. You’re the one who fished it out of the trash.”

  “I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Suddenly, the phone made a little beep, and we both jumped. “What was that?” I asked.

  She bent down and gingerly picked it up. “I’ve got a missed call.”

  “You do?”

  Her eyes widened, and she put her hand to her chest. “You don’t think?” She mouthed the words, “J.D.?”

  “No!” I shook my head. “Definitely not.”

  “What if it is? What if he’s in a witness protection program or something and he’s not really dead? And I don’t call him back?”

  “Fine. Call him back.”

  She shoved the phone at me. “You do it.”

  “No, ma’am.” I crossed my arms in front of me and conjured up a mental picture of the little eight-year-old girl at the pool. It wasn’t my fault if Debbie was going off the deep end. “If you want to call, you do it.”

  She fumbled around and pulled up the missed-call number. “It’s not his number.”

  Why was I not surprised?

  “But it wouldn’t be if he was in hiding somehow.” She took a deep breath and pushed the SEND button. “It’s ringing,” she whispered.

  I nodded, leaning toward her in spite of myself.

  She obligingly stepped closer to me and held the phone where we could both hear.

  “This is Chief Conner. Who is this?” an angry-sounding male voice barked.

  John. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  Debbie’s face paled, and she raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Tell him,” I mouthed.

  She shook her head.

  “Hello?” he growled.

  We just stared at each other again. “Not my responsibility,” I kept repeating to myself.

  “Listen! The phone you have is evidence in a murder case. Bring it to the Lake View police station immediately. We have ways of tracing the geographical position of this phone call. It will go easier for you if you bring it here.”

  Debbie gasped loudly and flipped the phone shut.

  She sank down on her freshly vacuumed couch and burst into tears. “This is just too much,” she sobbed.

  My new resolve wavered. It had been a hard day. Debbie had already been to the funeral of someone she cared about.

  I sat beside her. “I’ll go with you.”

  She reached for my hand. I took hers. She palmed the phone to me and slipped her hand away. “I can’t do it, Jenna. If you do it, maybe you can calm John down.”

  “Ha!” Had she ever seen me with John?

  She pushed her blond hair out of her face and looked at me. Tears still flowed freely down her cheeks. “I mean it. You have to at least try. I’ll stay here and change clothes. . .” She ducked her head again. “And get ready to be arrested.”

  “Why would t
hey arrest you?”

  “Withholding evidence? Or maybe he’ll think I killed J.D. so that Lisa can’t have him.” She picked up a needlepoint pillow and buried her face in it.

  Why had I thought I could let other people handle their own problems? I sighed. “I’ll take the phone to John and talk to him.”

  She pulled the pillow down from her face and hugged me. “I have a confession.”

  “What?” I braced myself, not sure I could keep any more of her secrets.

  She grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and wiped her nose. “I used to think you weren’t good enough for Alex.”

  I blew out the breath I’d been holding. “I’m sure you were right.” Debbie had never made it a secret that she would like to go out with Alex.

  She sighed. “Nah, I was wrong. And if you can keep John from making a mess of this, I’ll sing at your wedding.”

  I laughed softly. “Thanks.”

  *****

  “I’m Jenna Stafford. I need to see Chief Conner, please,” I informed the uniformed officer at the front desk. He chewed his gum furiously for a minute while studying my face as if memorizing it for future reference. Probably thought he’d be seeing it on a wanted poster. “Please? It’s important.”

  “Hold your horses,” he said and picked up a phone. He punched a button and spoke in a low tone, “Jenna Stafford to see you, Chief.” He looked disappointed at the response but waved me toward the inner sanctum. “Go on in.”

  John, writing at his desk, looked up when I walked into his office. “Hey, Jenna. What can I do for you?”

  I cleared my throat. I needed to get a grip on this situation quickly if I wanted it to go as I planned. I slipped into the seat across from him. “I want to make a deal with you,” I began.

  He held up his hand in the tradition of traffic cops everywhere and half smiled. “If you’re going to tell me who you think the murderer is, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “No. I don’t know who did it,” I said quickly. “But I do have a problem connected with the murder. In a way. Only it’s not, really. But you think it is.”