by Sandra Balzo
“But, Sarah,” I said gently, “his wife had been killed. He had just found out she had been seeing another man. Don’t you think that in his grief and anger he might have—”
“No!” she exploded, and I backed off as far as the confines of the Firebird would let me.
Sarah sat silently for a moment, looking up at the ceiling of the car, shoulders drooping. She shook her head finally and turned back to me. “You don’t understand. To David, suicide would have been the ultimate sin. The final sin, the one that would place him beyond God’s mercy, with no chance of repentance or forgiveness.”
“Maybe he didn’t think he deserved forgiveness,” I said softly, thinking about the possibility that David had killed Patricia.
“No! He didn’t leave those two kids alone on purpose.” She went to get out of the car. I did the same and our eyes met over the roof of the Firebird. “Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was murder. But David did not commit suicide. I know it and those kids need to know it.”
“What can I do?” I asked again, my voice sounding small to me.
“I told you. You can find out how he died.” She had the keys out and was heading up the walk now.
“Are you—”
She turned at the door. “I have to be with Sam and Courtney. You’ll have to do this.” She unlocked the door and went in, closing it firmly behind her.
Since Sarah’s house was less than a mile from downtown Brookhills, I decided to walk into town. Not that I had much choice. My car was at home, which was another mile past downtown. Anyway, the walk would give me a chance to think.
Sarah was sure David hadn’t committed suicide. I understood her logic, but maybe David had simply snapped. He certainly had reason. Maybe Sarah didn’t know him—or his faith—as well as she thought.
As for my suspicion that David had killed Patricia, I decided to bury that along with David. Two sugar packets do not a theory make. Besides, it was obvious now that he hadn’t known about his wife’s affair, so what motive would he have had? Thank God I hadn’t told Pavlik what I’d been thinking. The Harper kids didn’t need any more pain.
The Harper kids. Funny how we all referred to them that way, even though Sarah had said David never adopted them. I wondered what their real father’s last name was, and what names they would go by now.
I had reached the corner of Civic and Brookhill Road. I turned down Civic toward the police station.
Gary was working at the Department’s aging PC when I got there. The computer had been donated and resembled Sarah’s in brand name only.
He closed out of what he was doing. “You okay?” he asked.
“No. I’m sad, and I’m angry, and I’m confused. And,” I added, “I’m ashamed for ever suspecting David of killing Patricia. I was playing detective. I don’t know what got into me.”
I had been sitting forward on my chair, elbows resting on the desk, hands clutching my hair. Now, I raised my head to rest my chin on my hands. “You didn’t say anything to Pavlik about what I said, did you?”
I wasn’t making a lot of sense, but Gary understood. “No, but—”
“Good, because I found out that David didn’t know about Patricia and Roger until yesterday. He had no motive.”
“Well, you—”
“Sam is a mess, you saw that. Besides both Patricia and David being dead, he feels responsible because he told David about the affair.”
“I know, he told me.”
I sat up a little straighter and brushed back my hair. “You know, Pavlik surprised me. He was really, really good with Sam. Said he wasn’t responsible for anything David did.”
“Pavlik doesn’t seem the type to take time with a kid.”
I shook my head. “I know. People surprise me. Sometimes for good, sometimes for bad.” I thought about Caron and Roger, and about Bernie’s reaction to the affair. You just never knew what human beings were capable of. And on that subject: “Sarah swears David would never have committed suicide.”
“That’s what everyone says when something like this happens, Maggy. ‘So-and-so would never commit suicide for this reason or that.’ ” He shrugged. “People don’t want to believe that a person they loved chose to die, chose to leave them.”
“Couldn’t it have been an accident?”
“Anything’s possible, I guess. But it looks like he went off Poplar Bridge. That rail is at least three feet high. It would be pretty tough to accidentally fall over it into the creek.”
The town storm sewers empty into Poplar Creek. Between that and run-off from the spring thaw, at this time of year the creek ran as deep and fast as a river. Eight to ten feet of muddy water and unpredictable currents, and a spring day didn’t go by when Brookhills parents didn’t warn their kids to stay away from it. And the kids didn’t ignore them. I thought about what Eric has said about Poplar Creek and Sam being caught with a girl there.
But Gary was still talking. “...so, like it or not, Maggy, I’m going to have to tell him.”
“Tell who? What?”
Gary was used to my lapses. “Tell Pavlik about your sugar packets,” he repeated patiently.
My sugar packets. Sure, it was our bomb and our robbery, but when it came to my hare-brained sugar packet theory, I wasonmyown.
“But we’ve already decided it wasn’t important,” I protested. “Why bring it up now? It’s not going to change anything. Patricia and David are dead.”
Gary looked uncomfortable, but he persisted. “But we don’t know why, and Pavlik won’t stop until he knows that. Since they were apparently short on money, David might have needed Patricia’s share of the store. Or maybe there’s an insurance policy on her.”
I was confused. “Wait. Who said Patricia and David were having money problems?”
“I just told you. Laurel Birmingham checked the records for me. The Harpers were in arrears on their property taxes. Two years in arrears.”
Boy, I had missed a lot when I tuned out. The Harpers were broke? I thought about the beautiful house and cars.
“There’s more.”
Great. “What?”
“Patricia was going to see Gene Diaz.”
“I heard. She probably wanted to talk about the election.” I didn’t mention my other theory.
He frowned. “Diaz and Patricia were friends. He said she called him and said she needed some advice. She was talking softly, seemed to be afraid someone would overhear.”
“So?”
“So, she was calling from home and evidently didn’t want David to hear. She wanted advice from a friend who is also an attorney. She was having an affair. What does that all add up to, Maggy?” He seemed to think I was being obtuse.
Maybe I was. “Divorce?”
“Bingo.” He stood up. “I’m sorry, but I have to talk to Pavlik.” He smiled wryly. “And believe me, that’s the last thing I want to do.”
I got up, too. “But Roger told me Patricia said she couldn’t divorce David. And, like I said, what does it matter now? They’re both dead. Wouldn’t it be better if we just let everyone keep thinking—”
Gary shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Maggy. Pavlik won’t, and I can’t.” He picked up his hat. “Do you know who’s with the kids now?”
“Sarah. She’s going to stay with them at their house.”
“Good. I’m going over there now to see Pavlik. Maybe I can take them out to lunch or something.”
I nodded and he left me standing there in his office, trying to think what to do next. Since I couldn’t stop Gary or Pavlik, I supposed I should concentrate on Sarah’s “assignment” to prove that David’s death wasn’t a suicide. Before I did anything this time, though, I had to be sure of my facts.
I checked my watch—nearly 11:30. It seemed much later than that. I wasn’t sure what time the services were held at Christ Christian, but maybe if I hurried, I could still catch Langdon. And since my house was on the way, I could pick up my van.
I needn’t have worried abou
t getting to church in time to see Langdon. According to the sign out front, he practically lived there. Christ Christian was “On God’s Side,” and had services at 7:30, 9:00 and 10:30 a.m. Sandwiched in-between were Sunday School and Bible Study.
Can’t make it on Sunday? Try Tuesday or Thursday night at 7:30 p.m. or Saturday at 6:00 p.m. Still not enough for you? The Salvation Women’s Club meets following Tues-day’s service and the Men’s Good News Bible Study, after the Thursday service. I didn’t know where Langdon got the energy.
He was shaking hands in the narthex of the church as I entered. I wasn’t sure if he knew about David, so I hovered on the fringes of the faithful until Langdon noticed me and held up one long bony finger, signaling me to wait.
After assuring a woman whose name badge read, “Hi! I’m Mrs. Cox” that he would speak to the organist to make sure no more New Age music crept into the selections played during the collection, he excused himself and swept over to me. His bony face and hands hanging out of the long black robe reminded me of The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.
Langdon took my hands in his. I shuddered and he mistook my reaction. “I know, I know, my dear. David is dead. What could be more tragic? We must keep our faith, though, that God has a plan. Something that we can’t see, can’t understand with our feeble human brains.”
Personally, I was glad I couldn’t see it. Chances are, it would scare the shit out of me.
But Langdon was still talking. “We mustn’t question God’s will.”
I felt a pat coming on and extricated myself from his grasp.
He gave me a hurt look, but muddled on. “Maggy, we must now reach out to the children. Give them our support. Show them God’s love in this difficult time.”
I wasn’t sure God’s love would seem like much of a substitute for having a mom and dad right now. Too abstract. God can’t tuck you in at night and make your lunches.
I touched Langdon’s arm in an effort to stem the flow of platitudes. Mistake. He had my hand again and was patting in earnest.
I let him keep it. “The police think David committed suicide.”
His vague eyes suddenly focused, giving me a little shock. They were sharp and intelligent behind his thick lenses. “That’s not possible.”
Just like that. “You’re sure?”
Langdon Shepherd had changed before my eyes from a dithery old man to a man of conviction. He nodded firmly. “I have no doubt.”
But he saw the doubt in my eyes. “Maggy, I know you’re not one of our flock. For people like you,” (read heathen) “it’s hard to understand, but we believe that suicide is the one sin for which no absolution can be given. Any other sin, no matter how horrible, can be confessed and forgiven. With suicide there’s no time, you see. No time for forgiveness.”
“But—”
“No. David, of all people, would not have killed himself. He would not have left the children alone. He knew how that felt.”
“How what felt?”
“How it feels to lose a parent in that way.”
“David?”
Langdon nodded grimly. “It was kept very quiet, but Da-vid’s father hanged himself in the garage one Sunday morning. David and his brother found him when they came home from church. David was twelve.”
Courtney’s age. I felt sick. What a horrible, selfish thing to do. And in the garage, where his family was sure to find him. I thought about the small red-haired boy watching his father’s body swing...Stop it. Stop it.
But maybe David’s father had mental problems. If so, wasn’t it possible that David did, too?
Langdon answered my question before I could ask it. “Da-vid’s father had inoperable cancer. David understood why he had killed himself, but he hated his father for it all the same.”
I thanked Langdon and went back out into the spring day. I shook my head to clear it. I knew there was logic to what Langdon was saying. Having suffered through his own fa-ther’s suicide, would David have condemned Sam and Courtney to do the same? I didn’t believe so.
Gary had gone to Patricia and David’s house to tell Pavlik about the sugar packets and the Harpers’ money problems. What would Pavlik say? This was the one time I’d be thrilled if the sheriff simply blew him off. I decided to go and find out.
By the time I got back to the Harper house, the police cars were gone. Everything looked normal on the quiet street, except for Sarah’s screeching yellow Firebird in the driveway. And except for the parade of neighbors dropping off food at the Harpers’ front door. The old tradition of taking a hot dish to neighbors in time of need was still observed in Brookhills. That some of those hot dishes carried labels from the best deli counters in town was beside the point.
Sarah led me into the kitchen, where she had been wrapping lasagnas, soups, casseroles and breads for freezing. She thrust the last one into the large chest freezer and closed the lid. “So. Did you go see Langdon?”
Now how did she know that? I looked around for the kids before I answered.
“Gary took them out to lunch,” Sarah said. Geez, was the woman psychic? “Sam didn’t want to go, but I made him. Now, tell me: I figured you would double-check with Langdon. What did he say?” She lighted a cigarette.
“The same thing you did. That David wouldn’t have committed suicide. Did Gary talk to Pavlik before they went to lunch?”
Sarah was searching in the cupboards for an ashtray. “Yeah. Pavlik was out of here like a shot. What was that all about?”
I sank down at the table and confessed to telling Gary about the sugar packets in the wastebasket. “It’s all my fault,” I added miserably.
Sarah was totally supportive. “Are you nuts?”
I ducked my head. “I know. I know. But Gary is a friend and—”
“Gary is the police chief. You should have known he would tell Pavlik.”
“But, at first—”
Sarah had taken a couple drags of her cigarette. It seemed to calm her. “Well, I can’t see that even Pavlik could make something of this.”
“I know. That’s what I thought. Until Gary told me David and Patricia were having financial problems.”
Sarah stared at me, her Virginia Slim Menthol hanging out of one corner of her mouth. “Where did he get that from?”
“They’re two years behind on their taxes.”
“Impossible. Look at this place.” She swept her arm around the room. Gorgeous, from the granite countertops to the top-of-the-line appliances.
She sat down at the table with the delicate bone china saucer she’d chosen as an ashtray. “I would have known if they were having money problems.”
“That’s what I thought. And how would Patricia have come up with the money to invest in Uncommon Grounds? It doesn’t make sense.”
“No. It doesn’t,” Sarah said carefully. “I suppose Pavlik will think this gives David a motive.”
“Who knows what Pavlik thinks? But with this and Patri-cia’s affair—”
The doorbell rang and Sarah stood up. “You’ll have to find out.”
“Find out?”
Sarah was heading for the door. I followed her. “You’ll have to find out what Pavlik thinks.” She ushered me out the door to make room for what looked like a tuna noodle casserole.
Chapter Sixteen
Sarah was obviously not my Watson. She was Nero Wolfe sitting around issuing orders and I was her Archie. It didn’t take me long, though, to fulfill my mission, even if I did so unintentionally.
Pavlik was waiting for me when I got home. Or more accurately, he was standing with one foot on the stoop, trying to peer in my front window. When he turned, he looked pretty damned pleased with himself.
“Why are you peeking in my window?” I asked.
“Playing hide-and-seek with Frank. Can I come in?” He smiled. So I let him in.
After the two friends, one furry and one infuriating, had greeted each other, I put Frank out and left Pavlik on the couch. I remained standing. “David didn’t kill
himself, you know.”
Pavlik was skeptical. Wasn’t that a surprise. “So how did he get from the bridge into the creek? It would be one hell of an accident.”
“Patricia’s death turned out to be murder and that seemed like an accident, too.”
His dark eyebrows went up. “So you think that Harper was murdered, too?” He stood up again and strode across the room. Given the size of it, it didn’t take long. When he reached the kitchen door, he turned. “So this is a plot, to what? Rid Brookhills of all the white Anglo-Saxon Protestants?”
I thought that was in particularly poor taste. “Don’t be an idiot. All I know is that David Harper didn’t kill himself.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s against his religion. And because his father committed suicide. Hanged himself in the garage for David and his brother to find.” I was angry all of a sudden. “David would not have done that to his own children.”
“But they’re not his children,” Pavlik pointed out.
“It doesn’t matter, he wouldn’t...”
Geez, there I was again, with the tears thing. There was something seriously wrong with me. I turned away, but then Pavlik was there, letting me cry on the shoulder of his pretty gray topcoat. I cried for Sam and Courtney, for Patricia and David, and then, just a little bit at the end, for myself.
Slowly, the tears started to subside. As I got my emotions back under control, I gradually became aware of other things. I couldn’t help but notice, for example, how good Pavlik smelled. No cologne, just good male scent, with a little soap and a hint of Mint Crest. I couldn’t help but notice, too, how nice it was to feel a man’s solid body against mine again. Or how well my head fit on his shoulder. I couldn’t help but notice how his hair curled at the nape of his neck, and feel the warmth of his cheek as he rested it against my hair. I couldn’t help but notice...the puddle of slobber I’d just left on his cashmere shoulder.
God, I was worse than the dog.
I attempted to wipe discreetly at the mess, at the same time trying to regain control of my raging hormones.
