Pray for Us Sinners, a Cozy Mystery (A Ronnie Lord Mystery, #2) (The Ronnie Lord Mysteries)

by L. K. Ellwood

  “I’m not asking you to fan them on your coffee table. Just keep them out of sight where Ian and Elliott won’t find them again.”

  “Why don’t you ask Bill to throw them out?” Ronnie asked. “Or sell them on the Internet? He doesn’t take new issues, and he doesn’t read the old ones, so what’s the point?”

  “Why does my youngest son collect jars of dirt?” Gina threw her hands in the air. “Why does Ian spend all his spare time playing some dumb computer simulation game? Who can understand why men do the things they do? I go downstairs to do laundry and find the two of them thumbing through Miss October, nineteen sixty-seven. What am I supposed to think?”

  “How about ‘Thank goodness my sons aren’t gay’?” When Gina did not laugh, Ronnie added, “I suppose this was the compromise in order for Bill to get his pool table, huh?”

  Gina rolled her eyes. “Take the boxes when you leave, please?” She then motioned Ronnie to the study. “By the way, the Vatican sent Nana some more information on protocol I need to give you, plus we need to confirm our reservations for Miami. We can do that on the boys’ computer.”

  “Sure.”

  As Ian and Elliott dashed outside to play, Gina scrolled a Web page from a travel site while Ronnie summarized the events of the shivah she had missed, sans the tryst with Landon and Danny’s busy hands. “So I thought I’d try to talk to this guy who works at Two Witt, maybe get a different perspective on things there.”

  “I think you’re grasping at straws. Either that, or you must really be so bored that you’re starting to believe Lorraine Witz.”

  “I don’t know.” Ronnie shrugged. “I’m starting not to trust Danny Cushing. He defended Nora, which struck me as odd considering the two don’t seem to like each other.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well,” Ronnie sat on Ian’s bed. “They seem competitive. It’s a contest to see who can do what’s best for Allayne and Allayne’s memory, you know?”

  Gina confirmed their reservations with one click of the computer mouse, and patted her sister’s shoulder as she stood. “Speaking of laundry…”

  “That was five minutes ago.”

  “…I need to check on the dryer. You got a few minutes, why don’t you find us a good place to eat while we’re in Miami? I’ve bookmarked some local Web sites.”

  “I already told you, I want to go to Joe’s Stone Crabs,” Ronnie called as Gina padded out into the hallway. “We should probably call them now if we want to get a table three months from now.”

  “Sounds good.” Gina’s voice floated down the hall. “You make the call, and I’ll go pick some money growing on the bush in our backyard.”

  “Cute.” If the only the FDIC had branched into agriculture…

  Ronnie browsed an online Miami restaurant directory, quickly becoming bored. She checked her watch. The French Deli would be opening in twenty minutes; she could always go over there and get Loni’s perspective of the shivah, seeing as how the two did not connect there yesterday.

  She was about to log off the connection when suddenly she checked Gina’s Web site bookmark list again. The death pool site Gina had found was listed there. Curious, Ronnie brought up the site.

  GOING… GOING… GONE! blinked at her in a large, red font. Ronnie clicked on the link underneath the title and was immediately taken to a second page decorated with macabre, animated clip art graphics. She winced at a cartoon representation of a hanging man and scrolled to the death pool’s instructions. Entrance into the contest was closed, and a listing of contestants who had paid the necessary fee was available for perusal.

  She found Darth Gaul’s entry easily. True to Gina’s word, Allayne’s name was listed; a checkmark beside her name indicated that Darth had received credit for the correct death prediction. Eyeing the other lists, Ronnie noticed no other contestant had picked Allayne to die.

  “Disgusting,” she muttered, scattering the mouse over its foam pad. She watched the pointer on the screen hop from corner to corner, then stopped as it skittered across Darth Gaul’s name.

  What’s this? Had Gina not noticed before that Darth Gaul’s name was really a link, that when the pointer crossed the name Darth Gaul’s e-mail address was made visible at the bottom of the browser?

  Darth Gaul was really gedhead@alflnet.com.

  Ronnie bit her lip. The Internet suffix indicated Ash Lake Internet Services, Inc., Gina’s own Internet service provider.

  Darth Gaul was local.

  Darth Gaul predicted Allayne’s death… how certain was Darth Gaul that she would die this year?

  Presently Gina returned, smelling like fabric softener. “Find anything interesting?” she asked.

  Ronnie switched off the computer. “Oh, yeah.”

  ~ * ~

  As she pulled into the last available parking space near the deli, Ronnie saw only one patron enjoying breakfast in the corner booth, with his back turned to the picture window. Only when she entered the restaurant did she see that the white-haired gentleman was none other than Ethan Fontaine. A quick glance at the table told her he was alone this morning; it was eight-fifteen now, Nana would still be at morning Mass.

  She sat at her favorite table and tried to obscure her face with a menu, to no success. Ethan’s voice prickled her skin.

  “Mrs. Lord.” His greeting was cordial, yet tinged with acid. Clearly Ethan’s affection for Nana had yet to transfer to her descendants. Perhaps he could still see a bit of Stephen Alger in her, she decided, thinking of her grandfather, who had successfully foiled Nana’s attempt to lead him away from Catholicism in their youth.

  “Mr. Fontaine, good morning. Enjoying your Zone Diet?”

  Ethan looked down at the platter of mixed fruit remnants and muffin crumbs. “I don’t believe in diets, only self-control,” he answered pointedly. “Diet is an ugly word, because it implies that there are foods that should be avoided. Since the good Lord has made all provided for us, there is no such thing as food that is bad for you.”

  “I see.” Ronnie had to contain her shock. This had been the longest Ethan had talked to her without directly mentioning or implying her eventual descent into Hell. “I’ll remember that the next time Loni tries to pawn one of her desserts on me.”

  “Now, Ronnie,” he chuckled, “food is not bad, but it can still be abused.”

  “And not everything I make is loaded with butter and cream, either.” This came from Loni, who approached Ronnie’s table and set down a steaming mug of coffee. “In fact, I just put out some apple pies in the dairy case. Sugar-free, with half the calories of my regular apple pie.”

  Ethan wiped his face with a napkin and reached for his wallet. “Well, Loni, I’m sold. I’ll take one to go,” he called to her as Loni ducked behind the counter. “I’m entertaining this evening, and that pie will nicely complement the dinner I’m going to prepare.”

  Ronnie toyed with the tines of her fork. “Sounds like a real wingding. Just be sure to bring my grandmother home at a decent hour, okay? She has SATs in the morning.”

  She peered at him through the fork. Ethan bristled at her remark. Behind her was the unmistakable sound of the kitchen door as Loni ran for her life. Ronnie concealed a grin as Ethan regained his composure and stood.

  “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you found us out,” he sighed. “It’s difficult to keep a secret in a small town, especially this one.” He cast a dark glance at the kitchen.

  “Don’t blame her,” Ronnie said. “Gina and I saw you two at the movies the other night.”

  “Did you, now? And you didn’t come roaring down the aisle to pull us apart?” Ethan appeared amused.

  “Nana’s an adult. She does what she wants.” Ronnie shrugged. “We don’t have to like it. My uncle certainly doesn’t, so don’t expect an invitation to the house to watch football anytime soon.”

  “I don’t care much for sports, anyway, and you need not worry about Julia. My intentions are honorable. I just want to ma
ke up for lost time, is all.”

  Huh? “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you planning to counteract fifty years of so-called satanic brainwashing at the hands of the Jesuits?” Ronnie drawled.

  “Like you said, Julia does what she wants,” Ethan said innocently. “If I happen to offer her other options over, say, dinner…” He approached the counter gladly and took the white box Loni now set before him, “it’s up to her to decide what she wants to do.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Ronnie scoffed. “I know what you’re trying to do. Why would you decide to renew a relationship with my grandmother so close to Lorena’s canonization? You’re planning to disrupt the whole thing, aren’t you?”

  “Ah, yes.” Ethan rocked on his heels. “I do recall Julia saying that event is coming up. Well, don’t you worry about that, Mrs. Lord. I have no intention of raining on that debauched parade. Of course, I always carry a couple of tracts of truth with me, and if I should happen to slip one into a pair of priestly hands…” With that thought hanging in the air, Ethan whistled as he walked out the door.

  Ronnie twisted in her seat to look at Loni. “What the hell just happened?”

  “I think Ethan’s going to try to convert the Pope,” Loni guessed.

  “Oh, man.” Ronnie dug into her purse for her cell phone. “It’s one thing if Nana wants to have dinner or go to the movies with the man, but no way is she bringing him to Miami. Gina’s going to freak when she hears this. Maybe if we’re lucky the Swiss Guard will detain his ass during our private audience.” She looked up at Loni. “Do they bring the Swiss Guard on papal visits?”

  Loni laughed. “Girl, you’re asking the wrong person. My church doesn’t have a pope.”

  Gina was not picking up her phone—more than likely she had joined the boys outside—so Ronnie dialed Arthur. She was one number away from initiating the connection when she stopped and canceled the call. The bell attached to the entrance rang as the front door opened, and in stepped Landon, who skidded to a halt just inside the deli as he spotted her. Following close behind were Rick and Dakota, who slammed into Landon’s back.

  “Hey!” Dakota said, irritated.

  Landon said nothing and did not move, and the two grudgingly pushed past him to a booth. After a few tense seconds, he finally removed his ball cap and loped over to Ronnie’s table. Ronnie inhaled and pressed her palms downward, feeling them slide from the sudden perspiration.

  Ronnie watched Loni approach the booth with an order pad. Dakota, crushed into the wall by Rick, his arm around her, leaned against the tabletop. “Landon!” she barked. “What do you want to drink?”

  Landon took the chair opposite Ronnie. “Coffee,” he called over his shoulder, his eyes still on Ronnie. In a lower voice, his smile soft, he said, “I left you a message.”

  “I got it,” Ronnie said. “I’ve just been out of sorts with Allayne’s death, and I haven’t had time—”

  “Yeah.” Landon lowered his head, and Ronnie felt her heart sink. He was expecting some kind of rejection, she knew. It’s not you, it’s me. We can still be friends. Get the hell away from me before I call the cops… and she could think of nothing to say to comfort him. Part of her still was not sure if she really wanted to reject his overtures.

  “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you today,” she said, mincing as Landon’s head jerked suddenly upward, a look of hope spreading his grin.

  “Er, I wanted to talk with you and your friends, that is.” Ronnie crooked her neck toward the booth. “It has to do with Allayne Witt, and you mentioned you and Rick worked there. I know Dakota used to work for her.”

  “Oh.” Landon sounded disappointed. “Uh, sure, I guess that would be okay,” he said, and scooted his chair back to stand. With a broad gesture he guided Ronnie to the vacant side of the booth.

  Dakota’s pretty auburn hair was now tipped with black ends to match her lipstick, fingernails, and eyeliner. In the skin-tight, black T-shirt she wore, she looked as if she were on her way to an audition to sing backup for Ozzy Osbourne. The young girl smirked as Ronnie slid into the booth, looking nothing like the demure maid who tried to serve her lemonade a few days earlier.

  She rested her cheek on her fist. “Never figured you to type to tadpole,” Dakota said with a sly glance at Landon, seated at Ronnie’s left.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ronnie asked. It didn’t sound flattering.

  “You know, when an older woman digs a young man. A much younger man.”

  Ronnie bristled at the remark and sat up straight. Did the girl think she looked that old? She folded her arms on the tabletop. “Never figured you for the nursing type,” she said.

  Dakota shrugged. “Four-point-oh grade point average, vice-president of the Chi Eta Phi nursing sorority at JU. And I’ll likely be tapped for Phi Delta Kappa in the fall.”

  “I heard you lost your job, I’m sorry,” Ronnie said, sincere. “Will you still be able to afford JU?”

  Dakota blew away her condolences, rolling her eyes. “I got it taken care of, don’t cry for me.”

  “Did you move back home?”

  Rick nudged Dakota, and she flashed him an amorous grin. “No, I got other arrangements.”

  Ronnie shifted uncomfortably. Landon’s thigh was pressing into hers, and there was nowhere else to go on the other side of the booth. She glanced at Rick, who watched her with amusement. She ignored Loni’s equally twisted smile as the deli owner set drinks on the table, including the mug she had left on her table, before giving them privacy.

  “I didn’t see you at the funeral, or the shivah,” Ronnie continued. “I’d have thought since you worked for Allayne you’d show.”

  “Her mother doesn’t want me in the house, she made that very clear to me,” Dakota said ruefully. “Besides, I knew Miss Witt well enough to know that wasn’t her scene. She’d have been insulted to have seen it, and I certainly didn’t want to insult her memory by taking part.”

  “Right.” Ronnie scraped the rubber sole of her sneaker against the pole supporting the table, remembering her role as official mourner, and wondered if the provision to not shave included her legs and underarms, which she did that morning.

  “You missed a lot of good food,” Rick offered, leaning into Dakota with an amorous look. “Didn’t she, Lan?”

  “She missed a lot of stuff.”

  Ronnie winced. There was no mistaking that veiled remark.

  “Anyway.” Ronnie cleared her throat. “Lorraine, er, Mrs. Witz, has asked me to investigate Allayne’s death—”

  “Why?” Landon frowned. “You’re not a cop.”

  “What’s to investigate?” Rick asked. “She was sick. Everybody knew that.”

  “I know, I’m aware of it, too,” Ronnie said, her eyes on Dakota. The girl’s smirk had vanished. “It’s possible that Allayne Witt’s death might not have been attributed to natural causes.” She hesitated to use the word murder.

  “So, you’re working for the cops then?” Landon asked. “Like some kind of profiler?”

  “She’s not working for the cops.” Dakota’s bravado had returned. “That loudmouth mother’s got you on a goose chase, lady.”

  “So you think Allayne’s death was just that. Her cancer?”

  Dakota’s mouth was a straight line. “I never said that.”

  Ronnie leaned forward and tried to look into Dakota’s eyes, finding it difficult to do so for all the girl’s erratic movements. She knew something, and looked conflicted about telling her. Perhaps having Landon and Rick around was preventing her from being more open with her.

  “Look,” Rick said, “we just came in here to get some breakfast before going over to the church for our community service. Dakota’s just along for the ride. She don’t have to tell you nothing—”

  Ronnie ignored him. “I saw you peering outside your door the night she died, Dakota. You looked upset.”

  “I was upset. I’m still upset,” Dakota nearly wailed. “I liked Miss Witt. She was
a really nice lady, and I liked working for her. She was really helpful giving me information about her cancer, ’cause she figured I’d need to know it if I’m going to become a nurse.”

  “I heard you called a friend that night.” Ronnie checked over her shoulder to see if Loni was listening.

  Tears formed in the girl’s eyes, and she nodded. “I had to talk to someone. I didn’t expect her to blab, I just wanted to talk.”

  “Don’t worry, you did nothing wrong, but I suspect there’s more you want to tell me. Dakota.” She inched her hand closer to Dakota’s, which was now nervously tapping her coffee spoon against the tabletop. “On the day Allayne died, she told me she was concerned that somebody might want to harm her. If that happened, and you are aware of something that could prove that, you should be open with me. If you’re worried about anonymity, I can assure you I won’t mention names to Lorraine.”

  “I wouldn’t mention anything to Lorraine,” Dakota said. “Landon says you’re a teacher.”

  “I am.” There was that thigh pressing against hers again. She shifted over another inch, knowing if she did so again that she would be on the other side of the wall.

  “For a teacher you don’t seem very smart,” Dakota challenged her, “otherwise you’d have figured it out quicker.”

  “Figured what out?”

  But Dakota just smiled and plucked a dollar from her pocket, tossing it next to her untouched mug. “I’m only going to say this once. Since I’m not working at Two Witt anymore, and since nobody’s been hired after me, there’s probably a lot of trash that hasn’t been taken out.” She nudged Rick. “Let’s go,” she told him. “I don’t feel so hungry anymore.”

  “Gladly.” Rick slid out of the booth and pulled Dakota against him, casting a disinterested glance at Ronnie. “Landon, you coming?”

  “Go on ahead. I’ll walk, it’s not that far.”

  “Suit yourself.” Rick snaked his arm around Dakota’s waist and the two sashayed out the door, sharing a clandestine joke between them.