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

by L. K. Ellwood

  Ronnie gingerly set the cookie back on her dresser. If the chocolate-covered treat did indeed have an extra ingredient, Lew was going to kill her for withholding information, and evidence.

  “You’re kidding,” Gina exclaimed when Ronnie called her with the news. “That pinprick could be anything, Ronnie. It could have formed from a bubble in the chocolate when the cookies were dipped. This doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Well, you never know. I got to thinking about that Mexican singer who was killed a few years back. Serena, Sabrina…”

  “Selena.”

  Ronnie snapped her fingers. “Yeah, her. She was killed by her fan club president. Maybe there’s a parallel here. Maybe Allayne was unhappy about Nora’s methods of promotion and tried to can her. Nora gets even and tosses her needle in Lorraine’s trash, thinking in the event it is discovered that Allayne was murdered, Lorraine will take the fall.”

  “I don’t know.” Gina’s voice was muffled. “I still think it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Since when is murder supposed to make sense in order for it to happen? Now, get off the phone. I need to call Lew.” Again.

  This time Lew answered, sounding distant as he greeted her, but Ronnie took it as a good sign since he did not hang up immediately. A few minutes into the conversation when she brought up the cookie, however, she wished he had.

  “What is wrong with you, Ronnie?” he exploded. “Damn it, girl, why didn’t you come to me immediately with all this? Why didn’t Lorraine Witz come to me if she had these suspicions?”

  Ronnie did not want to tell Lew what Lorraine had told her, about her lack of faith in local law enforcement. She did not want Lew thinking that somehow she had influenced the grieving woman into believing that. “I don’t know why,” she said finally, convincing herself of the half truth. “You were so sure Allayne’s death was attributed to natural causes, and I thought maybe Lorraine was looking for some sympathy. I didn’t really believe her, either, until I found out about Nora’s diabetes and saw the pinprick in the cookie. Besides, you know Lorraine’s story; she had a bad marriage, and she doesn’t really get along with Danny Cushing, so maybe she’s distrustful of men in general…”

  “I’m the law, Ronnie. She should have said something to me.”

  “So talk to her, then! I can’t account for her actions.”

  “You can account for yours, though,” Lew said, his voice cool. “Have you become distrustful of men, too? I wouldn’t know from this morning.”

  Ronnie’s heart numbed. “Lew, about that…”

  “No,” Lew cut her off gruffly. “I don’t want to know about that. I want to know why you felt, despite our personal problems, you couldn’t come to me with this, even if you didn’t believe Allayne’s death was foul play.”

  Ronnie sighed. “I didn’t say anything because you were so set on the natural causes findings, and, yes, I was still mad at you.” She frowned. If he still believed there was nothing suspicious, why was he so upset now? He would not be feeling this way unless…

  “Oh, no.” She gasped. “You know something, don’t you?” she accused him. “You think Allayne was murdered, too?”

  Lew was quiet. Double bingo.

  “What changed your mind, Lew?” Ronnie asked. “Tell me. I can probably help you. I’ve been around these people a lot in the last few days.”

  “I’m not telling you anything,” Lew said in his best sheriff’s voice, “except this: yes, I’ve been given reason to look deeper into Allayne’s death. I’ve also been trying to keep my investigation quiet, and so far it’s working. I won’t break what works.”

  Ronnie bit her lip. Had Dakota gone to the police? That might have explained the girl’s reluctance to talk with her. She tried to ask another question when Lew interrupted.

  “Had I known about that cookie, you might have been a bigger help than you are right now.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ronnie countered hotly. “Take it. I’ll bring it right over.”

  “Won’t do any good, Ron. You know that. As long as it’s been in your possession, no judge would admit it into court as evidence even if I could make an arrest. I wouldn’t be surprised if some defense lawyer tried to persuade a jury that you tainted it yourself to frame somebody else.”

  “Me?” Ronnie squealed. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

  “I don’t know myself, but I’m sure a good lawyer would think up something to discredit you. That’s why they make the big bucks. It could be said you were jealous of Allayne’s fame and wealth, or maybe, given your past entanglements, you’re just the bad seed of the saintly Alger family.”

  “Hey, Paul Dix brought on his own fate, nobody can fault me for that.”

  “Word it in the right way, Ronnie, people will believe what they want to believe.”

  Ronnie sighed. Lew was right. She should have said something from the start. Even if Allayne had died of her illness, at least the cookie would have gone through proper analysis procedures. “Do you still want it?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do. We still need to have it tested so at least I can be one hundred percent sure.”

  “I’ll be over there in fifteen. Uh, will you be there?”

  “No, give it to Dwayne. I have to go to Mandarin and talk to the rabbi who officiated at Allayne’s funeral about having her body exhumed.”

  Ronnie cringed at the thought. “Well, I don’t envy you that task. Uh, Lew…?”

  But Lew hung up without saying goodbye, leaving Ronnie to stare at her phone receiver and breathe back the tears forming in her eyes.

  ~ * ~

  Ronnie did not linger at the police station, staying long enough to deliver the wrapped cookie and frown at the bemused smile on Dwayne’s face as he slouched at the duty desk.

  “What?” Ronnie demanded.

  “Coo-coo coo-choo, Mrs. Robinson,” he drawled.

  “Shut up.” Other, more biting responses burned in the back of her mind, but she decided instead to vent her anger into a high-speed drive to Nana’s house, Molly Hatchet on the stereo at high volume. She pulled into the driveway before the first verse of “Flirting with Disaster” had completed.

  She sat with Arthur at the kitchen table, watching him eat scrambled eggs, and handed him a book he had asked to borrow. “I got six boxes of old Playboy magazines in my guest closet, too, if you want to borrow those.”

  Arthur thumbed through the health directory. “Thanks, I’m not that bored. Besides, your grandmother would die if she found them here.”

  “Where is Nana?” Ronnie glanced down the hall toward her grandmother’s bedroom.

  “Still at church,” Arthur groaned, bending his fingers into quote marks. “But who the hell really knows?”

  Tonight she would be having dinner with Ethan at his house, but Ronnie decided not to mention that, as Arthur looked rather irritated, more so than usual. Instead she appraised him of the revelations surrounding Allayne’s death. She had yet to mention the cookie when Arthur slammed down his fork, splattering bits of egg yellow across his place mat, startling Ronnie.

  “Ronnie, stay out of it,” he said, exhausted. “None of that concerns you. You know what happened the last time you got involved in a murder investigation. Your poor grandmother nearly had a stroke when she heard about you ending up in the hospital.”

  “Which turned out to be nothing,” Ronnie pointed out. “Besides, I think she’s a bit too preoccupied with something else to care about what I’m doing.”

  “All the same, you have other things to worry about. Let Lew chase Lorraine Witz’s ghosts. That’s why we elected him. If you want his job, run against him next year.”

  “No thanks.” Ronnie leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “Why are you so grumpy this morning? Cabin fever?”

  Arthur rubbed his forehead. “No, I’m sorry, Ron. Your sister called here this morning.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She wanted to talk to your grandmother
, but when I said she wasn’t home yet, she just hung up the phone. Treated me like a damn telemarketer.” Arthur looked at his niece, and Ronnie could clearly see the pain etched on his face as he ran a hand through his thinning hair. As if the house arrest had not already taken a toll on him, Gina’s coldness was not helping. Just one visit from Ian and Elliott, she knew, would do him a world of good.

  She leaned over and looked at the ankle bracelet. “How much longer do you have to wear that thing again?”

  Arthur shot her a look that said Don’t ask, then relented with, “Longer than I’d like. Ron, take my advice: put your money in the bank and leave it there. Buy bonds and get a money market account. Don’t gamble your savings on any stupid financial fads.”

  “Don’t worry about me. You should be telling this to your grandnephews, and you will see them again if I have something to say about it,” she rejoined before Arthur could speak. “She can’t stay mad forever.”

  “She’s an Alger, and my brother’s daughter,” Arthur grumbled with a half-smile. “For years Nick was ticked off at NBC for canning the original Star Trek.”

  “I’m an Alger, too, and I’m just as stubborn. Don’t worry.” Anything else she had planned to say was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

  “Ronnie?” Nana called from the foyer. “I saw your car. Were you waiting on me? Have you been here long?”

  “We’re in here, Nana.”

  Nana tottered into the kitchen and set her purse on the counter. “Well, you two look rather cozy. I think I’ll join you after I help myself to some apple juice,” she said, and opened the refrigerator.

  Arthur nudged Ronnie and nodded toward the kitchen window, which faced the front street. Interpreting the silent message, she slowly crept upward and parted the gauzy curtains, expecting to see a navy blue paint job driving away. Instead she was surprised when a chocolate brown Cadillac tottered down the street, narrowly missing her parked Firebird, an aged Mrs. Kleffner gripping the wheel and squinting into the distance.

  Ronnie heaved a sigh and sat. “So, how was Mass?”

  Nana joined them at the table, a glass in one hand, while the other patted her puff of neatly coifed hair. “Very nice, thanks for asking. Though I wouldn’t have to tell you if you’d consider attending during the week, you know.”

  “I know,” Ronnie moaned. “I’ve just had other things on my mind.”

  “Oh, really?” Nana sipped her juice. “Well, I’m sure your problems aren’t anything a little prayer can’t handle. I’ll have a petition sent to Father Joel.”

  “Thanks.” Who was the patron saint of amateur detectives? Saint Sherlock, Saint Hercule, or Saint Columbo?

  Arthur scraped up the last of his eggs and slid the dish into the sink, half-heartedly spraying it with a blast from the faucet. “I’ll be in my room, working,” he said. “I’m sure you two have much to talk about, and I have a deadline to meet. Ron, if I don’t see you I’ll catch you later.” With one last glance Ronnie interpreted as a plea to deal with the Ethan Fontaine situation, Arthur disappeared. Ronnie turned back to her grandmother, noting instantly the now mournful look on the old woman’s face. It appeared Nana had suddenly aged ten years over the last few seconds.

  “I’m glad he’s gone now, so I can tell you this,” she whispered. “Father Joel received a call from Tallahassee last night. The State Supreme Court denied our request. Arthur won’t be going to Miami for the canonization after all.”

  Ronnie relaxed her shoulders, having expected worse news of the ‘I have an incurable disease’ variety. Still, she knew not to make light of Nana’s revelation. “Can you take it to the next level?” she asked. “Maybe the District Court of Appeals?”

  “I want to, but Father Joel doesn’t recommend it.” Nana shook her head. “I have to admit I was rather miffed at Father Joel for saying that, but he pointed out that by the time we go through all the red tape the canonization will have already happened, so what’s the point?”

  “Well, I doubt Arthur will want to fight it. He doesn’t seemed bothered one way or the other.”

  “But I want him there. He’s family, and despite what he did, he should be there.” Nana was nearly shouting; unshed tears shone in her eyes. “I’m not even sure if I want to go if he can’t.”

  “What?” Ronnie cried. “Nana, please, you’ve worked for years to see this come to pass. The pope is coming to meet you. How many people can say that? An event like this doesn’t happen every day, and Arthur would want you to go. If fact, I’ll drag him back here so he can tell you himself.”

  Nana patted Ronnie’s arm as if to keep her in place. “No, let’s not bother him while he’s working, dear. It’s just,” she sighed, “everybody in the family will be there except him. It will feel so empty.”

  “Then think about how empty it will be if you’re not there, Nana. Remember, the day’s really about Lorena. We’re supposed to be there for her.”

  Nana looked at Ronnie with a faint smile. “Okay,” she said in concession. “You’re right. If it doesn’t bother Arthur, I’ll try not to let it bother me. Now,” she pressed her palms to the table and stood. “Are you staying for lunch? I was going to make chicken salad.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Ronnie remained at the table, watching as her grandmother gathered the necessary ingredients for lunch, enjoying the peace of the moment. She was reminded of other such occasions in her youth, days when she had come home from school to find Nana making dinner for her, Gina, and their brother JR because Mom and Dad were out on a rare evening. Arguments over who got to be the top hat during Monopoly notwithstanding, those were rather peaceful nights, too.

  It pained Ronnie to risk the serenity by bringing up Ethan Fontaine, but Ronnie knew Nana could not see him on the sly forever. Deep down, she was certain Nana realized the same thing.

  “I understand you have a date tonight,” Ronnie began, her head bowed.

  Nana looked up from the large glass bowl of chopped chicken and mayonnaise. “I’d hardly call a meeting of the Rosary Guild a date,” she said with a nervous chuckle.

  “Nana, I ran into Ethan Fontaine at the deli this morning. And Gina and I saw you two at the movies a few days ago,” she said softly, picking up on the ceased activity in the kitchen. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. We know you’ve been seeing a bit of him socially.”

  She heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up to see her grandmother’s tense jaw and tightened hand gripping the wooden spoon, now paused in mid-stir. Tiny bits of chicken and chopped celery clung to the handle. The older woman was clearly expecting a fight and, when Ronnie said nothing more, softened.

  “Actually,” Nana said, “I’ve been seeing quite a lot of Ethan Fontaine.”

  Ronnie was puzzled. “What do you mean, a lot?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “You don’t mean you two have been…” Oh, Lew would give her hell if he learned of that. What was good for the grandmother…

  “No. No!” Nana said sharply, then laughed at the look on Ronnie’s face. “I mean I’ve been dating him for a long time now. Of course, at my age, I see it as a long time.”

  “How long?”

  Nana shrugged and resumed stirring the salad mixture. “Oh, about nine or ten months.”

  “Ten mo—” Ronnie gasped. “I didn’t date Jim that long before we got engaged! So this has basically been going on since the day we all went over to Ethan’s house thinking he was involved in Lorena’s disappearance?”

  “No, not immediately afterward,” Nana said. “It took a little while, but after the case closed Ethan called to offer his condolences about Arthur, and we got to talking. He asked me out to dinner, and I really had no reason to refuse. Ethan isn’t a bad man.” Nana reached for the cupboard above her for two plates. “The rest is history.”

  “So why all the secrecy then? You had to have known we’d find out eventually, though I’m impressed you made it this long without us knowing. Why not bring it out into the open r
ight away? Are we all so bad that you thought we’d lock you in your room?”

  “Well, isn’t it obvious?” Nana rounded the counter and set two plates of chicken salad on the table. “Of course I was concerned about how the family would react. I’ll assume Arthur knows and that he’s not happy about it.”

  “I believe his exact words were ‘I should get her an ankle bracelet like mine’.”

  Nana frowned. “So you’ve answered your own question. To tell the truth, I’m surprised you’re not screaming at the top of your lungs. I mean, this is the man who sends you weekly anti-Catholic e-mails.”

  “My e-mail program is filtered, so I don’t really get them.” Ronnie paused. “About that, Nana, is Ethan…?”

  “No, he’s not trying to lure me away from the Church. Nor am I trying to convert him. We don’t even talk about religion when we’re together; there are plenty of other topics to sustain conversation for an evening. We’ve always shared the same tastes in art and music, and other things.”

  Ronnie nodded. She could not picture Ethan having any interests beyond the Good Book. “So where is this relationship going, if you don’t mind my asking?” she asked. “I mean, I look at you sometimes and it’s obvious Ethan has something to do with that smile on your face. It can’t all be the Lord’s work.”

  Nana winked and helped herself to a bite of chicken salad. “We aren’t planning to elope to Vegas, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t know, Ronnie. I can’t predict the future, but I do hope he’s a part of mine.”

  “So be it.” Ronnie peered past the kitchen entranceway and caught a flash of blue shirt. Arthur was eavesdropping in the hall, and Ronnie blessed him silently for his newfound restraint.

  “Just be careful, Nana,” Ronnie said. “We don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Ethan would never hurt me, Ronnie. We may not agree on certain things, but I think even you’d like him once you really got to know him.”

  An image of Ronnie and Ethan sharing a beer and camaraderie at the Wild Rooster came to focus, and Ronnie had to bite back a laugh. “If only I had your confidence in miracles, Nana,” she said. “Seriously, though, I can’t predict the future, either, but I can’t help but wonder—”