“His name isn’t ‘Joe,’ ” Henrietta said irritably. “His name is Micah.”
“Right.” Rachel strolled out to the porch.
The papers he signed were a blur. He obediently put his signature wherever Henrietta pointed. Hopefully he would have access to his accounts and a provisional driver’s license in a short while.
As soon as he finished the paperwork, Henrietta accompanied him outside as he tried to find Rachel in the sea of people. Cars and buggies and news vans lined the road on either side as far as one could see. Photographers were trying to take pictures of Amish workers as those workers held hats to their faces.
“Is that man on the bulldozer Amish?” Henrietta’s voice was incredulous.
He glanced in the direction she was pointing. Sure enough, the bulldozer operator was dressed in suspenders and wore a black flat-brimmed hat along with an Amish-style beard.
“From what Bertha told me, that guy has wanted to operate a bulldozer from the time he was three years old and he watched a bulldozer operator his father had hired build a farm pond.”
“Uh, excuse me—but I thought the Amish drove those little buggies.”
“They do, to go someplace. This guy hires a driver who isn’t Amish to haul his heavy equipment to each location, and then he and his son do the work. They don’t use it to travel anywhere. It’s a tool to them.”
“This place is crazy.” Henrietta shook her head in disbelief. “You need to come back to LA, where people are normal.”
He would have liked to debate that particular issue of “normalcy” with her, but it didn’t matter enough to discuss it. Nothing mattered right now except that he needed to talk to Rachel about the fact that Darren might have been in LA the night Grace was killed. It broke his heart, but the coincidence was too great to ignore.
At that moment, Darren pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. He took one long look at Joe and then turned away, but not before Joe saw that his brother’s eyes were red—as though he had been weeping. Darren started into the daadi haus just as two Amishwomen came barreling out, apparently already in the process of setting up for the worker’s lunch. They were barefoot and chattering between themselves.
Joe saw their mouths move, but sound had ceased for him. All he could think about was getting to his brother and shaking the truth out of him.
Like a sleepwalker, he waded through the crowd and followed Darren into the house. When he got inside, Darren had already pulled a glass out of the cupboard and was standing by the kitchen sink, gulping water.
His father was sitting at the table, looking pale and shaken.
Darren turned around, looked his brother straight in the eyes, and said, “I didn’t do it.”
Joe gritted his teeth. “You were there.”
“Joe,” his father said. “Please…”
“Yes. I was there.”
“You…” Joe made a lunge for his brother.
His father half rose as though to intervene, but Darren sidestepped him.
“I didn’t kill her.”
Joe’s fists were clenched, aching to connect with his brother’s face. “Then who did?”
“I don’t know. When I got there, she was already gone, so I went to find Bobby.” Darren’s hand trembled as he drew another glass of water.
“You’re the one who—”
“I’m the one who put out the juice boxes and the snacks and made sure he couldn’t get out of his room.”
“There were no fingerprints.”
“I watch TV. I know how these things work. I used my handkerchief and shirtsleeves. I didn’t leave any prints.”
“If you didn’t kill her, why didn’t you get him out of there? Why didn’t you call the police?”
“Me? Call the police? The no-account brother showing up minutes after Grace was murdered? What are the chances? There’s no way I could have proved I didn’t do it.”
“You left my son in that house alone!”
“He was asleep, but he was never alone. I sat outside your house in my car all night, watching and wishing that my big-shot brother would come home.”
“You were there when I arrived?”
“Yes, but you didn’t see me. As soon as you came home, I left. You didn’t notice my rental car parked behind the house. I got lucky. Those houses are so big, no one bothers to look outside.”
“Why did you even go there in the first place?”
“There’s this business idea I had—a sure thing. I hoped you were good for one last hit.”
“Who killed her, Darren?”
“I don’t know. If I did, I’d tell you. Grace was always kind to me, even though I could tell she didn’t like me. She was a good person. She didn’t deserve that.”
“How long had she been gone when you got there?”
“I don’t know. I knew something was wrong when I saw the front door ajar. I knocked and called for Grace, but when no one came, I let myself in. I heard the back door slam as I walked into the living room. I think my sudden appearance might have saved Bobby’s life.” Darren laughed mirthlessly. “Actually, I might have accidentally done something right for a change.”
Joe glanced at their father. He seemed frozen into position, waiting for his sons to work things out.
Joe then stared at Darren as he sifted through everything his brother had told him. There was a tiny muscle at the side of Darren’s eye that twitched whenever he was lying. He’d never told his younger brother of his discovery, because he knew Darren would find a way to control it if he knew. Joe had won a lot of clandestine poker games when they were kids because of that telltale twitch.
It wasn’t there.
His brother was telling the truth.
Chapter 27
Rachel pulled her keys out of her pocket as she made her way to her Mustang. As she unlocked it, Henrietta caught up with her. “Do you mind if I tag along?” she said.
Rachel was surprised. “Why?”
“I came straight here from the airport. To tell the truth, after all those hours in a plane, I’m worn out and my head is splitting. I didn’t want to bother Micah for a place to lie down and rest. He seems a little stressed with all these people. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’d appreciate a chance to slip away and have a cup of tea or something. To get my bearings and get over this headache.”
“Sure.” Rachel was a little puzzled by the woman’s request, but some people were pushier than others. Perhaps this was the way people in LA acted. “Hop in.”
“What a cute little bungalow,” Henrietta gushed when they arrived at her home.
“It’s okay, I guess.” Rachel unlocked the front door and tossed her keys onto the counter. “Can I get you anything?”
Henrietta was busy looking around and didn’t answer. “What?”
“Would you like something to drink? You mentioned needing a cup of tea? I have aspirin and Tylenol.”
There was a distant look in Henrietta’s eyes, as though she were thinking about something far away. She shook herself, focused on Rachel, and smiled. “I have my own pain medication in my purse, but I’d love a cup of tea, please. I’m parched.”
“Sure.” Rachel went into the kitchen, microwaved a cup of tea, and brought it out to Henrietta, who was now seated on the couch and leafing through one of the People magazines from the library.
“There’s sugar in the canister in the kitchen and milk in the fridge,” Rachel said, handing her the cup.
“Thank you,” Henrietta replied. “This is fine just as it is.” She waved her hand at the magazines she had fanned across the table. “This is all so sad. Grace was such a wonderful person.”
It occurred to Rachel that Henrietta could fill in a lot of questions for her, things that had been niggling at her ever since she’d discovered who Joe was. She sat down in the chair across from her. “Did you know Grace well?”
“I’d say so. I was her business manager, and I also took care of her public relations. I took G
race on as a client when she was just starting out. We went through several movie projects together. Grace was very talented.” Henrietta sipped her drink. “She put her movie career on the back burner when she was pregnant with Bobby. After he was born, she never quite got it going again.”
“Do you have any suspicions as to who killed her?”
Henrietta sighed. “The police questioned me about that over and over. I told them I could think of no one who had anything against either of them. Micah and Grace were the perfect couple. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt them. In my opinion, it was a random break-in. Some crazed killer. The police have pretty much come to the same conclusion.”
“Well,” Rachel said doubtfully, “things like that do happen. When it’s a stranger, it’s so much harder to solve.”
Privately, Rachel doubted that was truly the conclusion the cops had come to.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Rachel said, “I’ll go change now. I need to get back and help my aunts set up for the midday meal. Do you mind if I take the time to shower?”
“Of course not. I’ll be fine here. You take all the time you need. It’s so nice to be in a comfortable living room instead of crowded into a plane. Thanks, Rachel.”
“There are sandwich things in the fridge if you want to eat,” Rachel said. “Help yourself.”
“I’m fine. Enjoy your shower.”
Rachel closed the bedroom door, dropped her clothes into the laundry basket, laid her gun and cell phone on the bedside table, and turned on the shower in the small, adjoining bathroom. As usual, she left the bathroom door open in order to hear the bedside phone if it rang. Soon steam began to rise and fog the clear glass of her shower stall.
She was shampooing her hair when she heard her bedroom door open and shut. She froze. “Henrietta, is that you?”
“Yes, dear. Micah called and asked you to call him back as soon as you get out of the shower.”
Rachel relaxed. “Thanks.” Funny, she hadn’t heard the phone ring. But then, she had probably had soap suds in her ears. She leaned her head back to rinse out the shampoo.
“Are you and Micah dating?” Henrietta called from the bedroom.
Henrietta’s voice interrupted Rachel’s thoughts. The woman was going to talk to her even while she showered? How rude. Oh well. Some people couldn’t stand to be alone. “No, Henrietta. Not really.”
“But you’d like to, right? He’s so good-looking, and I think he likes you.”
Rachel squeezed a dollop of conditioner into her palm and began to work it through her hair.
“We’re just friends,” Rachel said. No way was she going to confide her feelings for Joe to this woman.
“Really good friends, right?”
This was starting to get weird. Rachel rinsed her hair, turned off the shower, pulled her bathrobe down from where she had draped it over the top of the shower stall, and pulled the belt tight.
Then she walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom.
Henrietta was wearing long calf-skin gloves. She smiled at her pleasantly while pointing Rachel’s own 9mm semiautomatic Beretta directly at her navel.
“You didn’t answer me. I said, you and Micah are really good friends, right?”
Rachel’s mind raced, taking inventory of her situation. Except for the robe, she was naked, vulnerable. There was nothing at hand she could use for a weapon.
“I know.” Henrietta sighed dramatically. “This must feel so strange. You’re usually the one holding the gun, aren’t you, dear?”
“What do you want, Henrietta?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
“I want Micah, of course.”
Everything fell into place. “You’re the one—”
Henrietta’s smile spread across her face, reminding Rachel of a deranged-looking hyena she had once seen at a zoo. Henrietta raised the hand not holding the gun, palm out. “Guilty as charged.”
Weird suddenly wasn’t a strong enough word for how Rachel felt. Henrietta sat there in her pearl necklace, bright smile, and flowery housedress. All she needed was high heels to finish out the image of the perfect fifties’ housewife.
Oh yes, and to lose the gloves and gun.
Keep her talking, Rachel thought, as she stood dripping on the bath mat with her wet hair streaming down her back. Keep her talking.
“I don’t understand, Henrietta. I thought you liked Grace.”
Henrietta got that faraway look in her eyes again. “Oh yes, I liked Grace. Everyone liked Grace. From the time we were kids, everyone liked Grace.”
“You were children together?”
“Grace spent time in a foster home while her folks were going through a bad patch. I was living in the same house.”
“Joe never mentioned that.” Rachel crept forward half an inch.
“Micah didn’t know. Grace was embarrassed about her past.” She frowned. “She was ashamed of how we met.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, creeping closer. “That must have been tough.”
“Oh, you’re sorry? I’m sure your heart is just breaking.”
“What happened in that home, Henrietta?” She knew there were foster homes that were havens of love and kindness. There were others that were houses of horror. She was betting on Henrietta and Grace having lived in the latter.
The other woman’s eyes lost their focus for a moment, as her thoughts turned inward. “I took care of her,” Henrietta said. “She was so little and pretty, and our foster father was not…a good man.”
“I’m sorry you had to experience that, Henrietta.”
Henrietta shook herself and came away from the dark place she’d gone. Now her eyes looked straight at Rachel, and they were deadly.
“She owed me.”
“Is that why she took you on as a business manager? To give you a start?”
Henrietta threw back her head and laughed. “My dear, it was me who made her into who she was.” Her eyes narrowed. “I invented her.”
“What are you talking about?” Rachel moved forward another quarter-inch. If she could keep her talking until she could get close…
“Grace had the beauty. She even had the talent. I had the brains and the drive. Do you think a girl gets to be a runner-up in the Miss Texas pageant without someone backing her? It was me who worked two jobs to pay for those clothes, me who researched and trained her. Grace might have been the one actually walking down the runway, but it was me who belonged up there. I was the one who did all the work.”
“But what about Joe?”
“Don’t call him that.” Henrietta’s voice was peevish. “His name is Micah. A man like him could never answer to a name as common as Joe.”
“All right.” Rachel resisted the temptation to argue with her. “What about Micah?”
“It was Micah and me who were soul mates. Always. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was meant for me. The problem was, he was so besotted with Grace’s beauty, he could barely see me for looking at her. I finally realized that I would have to get her out of the way if he was ever going to notice what he was missing with me.”
“But what about Bobby? Don’t you feel bad about taking his mother away from him?”
Henrietta’s face clouded. “I’ll be a better mother to Bobby than she ever was. I’ll be a real mother once Micah and I are married.”
“Have you talked to that little boy?” Rachel crept another quarter-inch closer. “Have you seen how much he misses her? How often he mentions his mommy?”
Henrietta closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders, as though the strain of holding the gun was creating too much tension. “He’ll get over it.”
As she said that, the gun’s nose pointed toward the floor for a split second. That quickly, Rachel considered leaping toward Henrietta and forcing the gun out of her hand. But Henrietta immediately jerked the gun up and pointed it at Rachel’s heart—as though she had read Rachel’s mind.
�
�I will pull the trigger.” The woman’s voice was as matter-of-fact as if she were discussing a sale on panty hose. Rachel felt goose bumps rising on her skin—not from being cold, but from the knowledge that however homely Henrietta looked and no matter what sacrifices she may have made for Grace in the past, the woman had gone completely and utterly mad.
And she was obsessed with Micah.
Rachel was in mortal danger, and she knew it. Unless she thought of something fast, these would be her last moments on earth. A deep sadness engulfed her. There was so much more she wanted to do and see…so many unfulfilled plans and hopes.
In that instant, she resolved that if she got out of this alive, she would never again hold back from living her life. She would no longer allow police work to consume her. She would even find out if there was a chance Joe could ever love her, and if she found that he could—she would hold onto that love with both hands for the rest of her life.
But first, she had to survive. Her only hope was to keep this crazy lady talking until Henrietta’s attention faded or Rachel could get a few steps closer. She had the skill to disarm someone, but not from eight feet away.
“Is that the reason you locked Bobby in his room? To keep him safe until Micah got home?”
Henrietta’s face clouded over. “That wasn’t me. That was Micah’s brother. He let himself in the front door before I could complete my plans.”
Rachel wondered if Joe knew.
“And what were those plans, Henrietta?”
“Why, that I would find the body, of course. I would heroically rescue Micah’s little boy from that awful, awful scene. No one would ever suspect little ’ol June Cleaver–me.” Then she cackled.
It was eerie. There was no other word for the sound. It raised the hair on the back of Rachel’s neck. “What are you planning to do with me, Henrietta? You can’t shoot me in cold blood. People saw you leave with me. I have neighbors who will hear and report a gunshot.”
The Sugar Haus Inn Page 26
