“That was totally unfair of her. You didn’t know what was going on with Haskett’s family.”
“But that’s the point. I should have known.”
“But—”
“No, listen. She’s right. I let my integrity get in the way of my humanity.” She paused and stared at the light shimmering off her glass. “Do you know the real reason I got my teaching credentials instead of pursuing a career as a reporter?”
Gary shook his head.
“I was scared. I was just too scared. I didn’t think I had what it took to do the job, and I didn’t want to fail. So I told people it was because of Russell.” Deena’s eyes began to well up as she finally released the secret she had kept caged for so long. “Everyone thought I was so noble and self-sacrificing, but I was really just a coward.” Feeling ashamed, wanting to hide, she put her hands over her face. “I guess after a while, I began to believe it was true. You tell a lie often enough, and it begins to stick, even in your own mind. I’m such a hypocrite.” Her tears turned to sobs, and Gary leaned over to put his arms around her.
“Sweetheart, you are being too hard on yourself. Being afraid is nothing to be ashamed of. We are all afraid at different times in our lives. If being scared were a sin, we’d all be in hell.” He held her tight until the sobbing stopped. “I’ve never seen you intentionally hurt anyone for as long as I’ve known you.” He brushed back her hair. “At least not to their face—only behind the back—isn’t that how you Southern women do it?”
Deena couldn’t hold back a grin. She gave Gary a little pinch on the arm. “Besides,” he said, “if you hadn’t become a teacher, you might never have met a certain dashing financial advisor in the high school auditorium.”
He waited until he could tell she was more relaxed. “Look, if you want to drop this whole murder thing, I would totally understand. You shouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
Deena loved his sincerity. “You know,” she said, “I have always believed that things tend to work themselves out as they should be. I’ll never understand tragedies like Matthew’s, but I think following through might be the best way to find a sense of redemption.”
“You know I will support you in whatever you do.”
Once again, Gary managed to make everything all right. They stood up and gathered their dishes to take back into the house. If only I could share my other secrets, she thought. Leaning across the table, she blew out the candle.
*
The screeching of the garbage truck brakes startled Deena out of a sound sleep. She was surprised she had slept past nine o’clock until she remembered the wine from the night before. She sat on the side of the bed to get her bearings. The phone rang, and she debated whether to answer it or let the machine pick it up. “You get it,” she said aloud in the direction of the nightstand. Probably just a sales call.
The distressed sound of her brother’s voice stopped her, and she race over to grab the receiver. “Russell?”
“Oh, hey sis. I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’ve got a doozy of a headache and just took my last pill. Could you run by the pharmacy and pick up my refill?”
“Of course. I’ll leave here in just a few minutes. You just rest now.”
She got ready quickly, pulling her shoulder-length brown hair back in a ponytail. It was rare for her brother to ask for help these days, so she knew he must feel awful. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and set about pulling food from the refrigerator to take to him. Luckily, Gary had grilled two extra hamburger patties. She put the foil pack in a plastic grocery sack along with the leftover tub of potato salad. She grabbed a couple of cans of Dr. Pepper and her purse before heading out the door.
At the pharmacy, she bought a half-gallon of milk and a box of Raisin Bran, Russell’s favorite cereal. She made the twenty-minute drive to his house in fifteen minutes. Holding the bags of food, she could hear Maggie barking and scratching on the other side of the door. She fumbled with her keys, trying to find the right one. She opened the door, and Maggie jumped up, almost tripping her as she tried to get to the kitchen.
“Here girl.” She slid open the patio door to let out the grateful dog. Walking into the bedroom, she found Russell groggy and lying fully clothed on top of the covers.
“Hey sis,” he said without opening his eyes. “Sorry to make you come all the way out here.”
“No problem. How are you feeling?”
“Like road kill. This one hit me fast.”
She looked at the nightstand to see an empty prescription bottle and glass of water. “Is it time for another pill yet? It’s about 10:30.”
“Not for another hour.”
“Let’s get you more comfortable,” she said, pulling off his sandals. His floral Hawaiian shirt was soaked with sweat. She unbuttoned it and got a fresh t-shirt from the dresser. “Can you put this on?” Still lying with his eyes closed, he went through the motions of removing his other shirt and pulling the t-shirt over his head. She pulled the sheet up over his legs and turned on the ceiling fan. Like a child, helpless and needy, he let his sister care for him. This was all too familiar for them both. “Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“I’d feel better if you would eat something.”
“I’d feel better if you didn’t make me eat something.”
His snarky remark was a good sign, and Deena relaxed a bit. “Where’s Cliff?”
Russell lay still as if trying to think. “San Antonio to see his son’s family. Back tonight.”
Cliff and Russell watched out for each other. Deena and Gary drew a lot of comfort knowing Cliff was right next door in case anything happened. “We’re morgue buddies,” Russell would say. “We check on each other once a day in case one of us has died and we need to call the morgue.” The thought was bittersweet. Cliff had lost his wife to cancer two years earlier.
She walked back to the kitchen to put the food away. The milk carton in the refrigerator was almost empty and a few days past its expiration date. She threw it in the trash and tied up the bag to take out when she left. Maggie’s bowls were both empty. She opened the cupboard and scooped out two big portions of food. Before she could fill the water bowl, the phone rang. Not wanting the sound to wake Russell, she grabbed the receiver to answer. “Hello,” she whispered.
Hearing no response, she repeated herself. “Hello?”
“Is this Russell Lancaster’s number?” The male voice on the other end sounded confused.
“Yes it is. Can I help you?” The line went dead, and all she heard was a dial tone. Setting down the receiver, she tried to place the man’s voice. It was vaguely familiar, but that was all. She went back to filling Maggie’s bowl and walked over to the patio door to let in the panting dog. “Poor girl,” she said. “Go drink some water.”
Maggie trotted into the bedroom to check on Russell. Apparently satisfied that he was all right, she came back, went straight to her bowl, and lapped up the fresh water. Deena turned on the box fan and sat on the sofa. She decided to wait until it was time for Russell’s next pill before she left. Maggie returned from the kitchen, tail wagging, mouth dripping with water. The large dog sat on the floor next to Deena, resting her head on Deena’s knee. “You sweet baby.” She reached down with both hands to scratch Maggie’s neck.
She thought about her conversations with Sandra who often encouraged her to adopt a shelter pet. Deena always gave the same excuse: She did not want a dog to have to stay home alone all day while she and Gary worked long hours. He loved dogs and would have several if she would agree. Secretly, she never wanted to admit, even to herself, that the reason she worked late at school so often was that she did not want to come home to an empty house—empty of children, that is.
That was Deena. Her way of coping with her lot in life, good or bad, was to convince herself and others that she actually preferred the lemons life threw her way. Just like when she said she had to tak
e care of Russell instead of being a reporter. And when she had two miscarriages followed by a hysterectomy, she convinced herself it was all for the best, claiming she had no maternal instinct anyway. Looking down at Maggie’s sweet brown eyes, she felt that familiar knot in her stomach signaling a longing she knew she had to push away.
The phone rang again, but this time it was her cell phone.
“Hello.”
“Mrs. Sharpe, this is Leon Galt.”
She wondered how he got her number. “Yes, this is she.”
“I understand you are looking into the death of your uncle, Matthew Meade.”
“That’s right.” Her response was tentative.
“I spoke to your aunt and uncle. I have some information you might be interested in. How would you and your husband like to join me for dinner tonight?”
“Actually, I was planning on calling you today,” she said, not wanting him to get the upper hand. “Where would you like to meet?”
“I’m near downtown Dallas. How about the Bistro Grille on the interstate? That’s about half way.”
“That would be fine. Does 7:30 sound okay?”
“Perfect,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”
Deena could not believe she was finally going to meet this mystery man. She was anxious to call Gary but knew he would be tied up all day with clients. She looked at the magazines on the coffee table. She found one without a hunter on the front cover and absent-mindedly turned the pages. When it was finally time for Russell’s next pill, she got a fresh bottle of water and walked into the bedroom to wake him.
“Here, take this,” she said. He sat up a little and gulped down half the water. “I left hamburgers and potato salad in the fridge. There’s also fresh milk and cereal to eat.”
“Thanks, sis,” he said. “You’re a lifesaver. Oh, and could you feed—”
“Done. Call me later to let me know how you are.”
“Will do.” He gave her a weak salute.
“Oh, and you’ll never believe who Gary and I are having dinner with tonight. Leon—I mean, Noel Future.”
Russell raised his head slightly off the pillow and opened one eye. “Really? Get me an autograph. And one for Cliff, too.”
*
“Do I have to wear a tie?” Gary asked when he came home and found out about the dinner plans.
“Yes. I want you to look intimidating. Also, you look so handsome when you wear a tie.” She brushed the side of his salt and pepper hair.
“Too late for flattery. I’ll do it for you, though.” He tightened the knot around his neck. “Now what exactly is the purpose of this meeting?”
“I would assume he wants to tell us about his theory on Matthew’s death. Gene Carter said Galt was determined to prove Matthew was involved in something bad. Maybe he didn’t feel like he could tell my aunt and uncle directly, so he is going to tell us instead.”
The beige linen pants and ivory blouse she put on was one of her favorite outfits. She wrapped her Aztec shawl over her shoulders. A turquoise brooch worked perfectly to hold it in place.
“Okay. I’m ready to go,” Gary said. “You sure look pretty, Mrs. Sharpe.” He took her hand and twirled her around, knocking her into the dresser.
“Ouch! My ankle.” She reached down to hold it. “I should never be allowed to wear heels.” She stood up and took a deep breath.
“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but there are a few things I want you remember. Don’t be overly friendly. Don’t let him pay for our dinner. And don’t order beer.”
“Why can’t I order beer?”
“It makes you belch. This guy is from New York. We don’t want to look like small town hicks.”
“But we are small town hicks.”
“I know, but we don’t want him to know.”
They left the bedroom, Deena slightly limping. Gary picked up his keys from the side table as well as a faded envelope off the stack of mail he had brought in earlier. “By the way, you got a letter today.”
Deena looked at the name scrawled in shaky handwriting. “It’s from Aunt Cora.” She pulled the single folded paper out of the envelope and saw the pretty border with purple and yellow roses around the edges. She smiled thinking about the rose wallpaper in Cora’s old house. She read it silently and put it back in the envelope. “She thanked me for helping her. She thinks Matthew wants the truth to come out.”
“Well, you are doing your best.”
They drove about forty-five minutes to the restaurant. Deena was nervous. She talked about Russell and the backyard and the weather and her antique booth—obviously avoiding the subject of Matthew. The parking lot was crowded for a Monday. “How are we going to recognize this guy?” Gary asked.
“I’ll know,” she said. Deena had an uncanny way of guessing other people’s occupations. It was probably her attention to detail. If only she could apply that same sort of attention to her own looks, she often thought.
Gary held the door, and Deena quickly scanned the waiting area. He’s not here, she thought. Then a trim man in a perfectly tailored suit walked up to them. “Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe?”
“Yes,” Lucy said, wondering how he recognized them.
“I am Leon Galt.” He reached out his hand, shaking Gary’s first, then Deena’s. “We have a table right over here.” He led the way to a round table near the side of the restaurant. He pulled out Deena’s chair, something Gary had stopped doing years ago.
“I took the liberty of ordering wine. I hope that’s okay.” Deena smiled, attempting to be gracious. He poured two more glasses. “I ordered red. I know how you Texans love your steak.” He waved his hand at the various taxidermy pieces decorating the walls. Gary laughed and raised his glass in a half-toast gesture. Deena kicked him under the table. Ouch! She had forgotten about her sore ankle. I’m definitely ordering fish, she thought.
“What do you do for a living, Gary?” Galt crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Deena noted his strong features and dark hair. She was surprised he was pleasantly attractive, expecting him to have beady eyes and a thin mustache like the sinister villains in movies. If not an investigator or whatever he claimed to be, she would have pegged him as a history professor.
“I am a financial advisor with a company in Maycroft. And you? What do you do Mr. Galt?”
“Please, call me Leon. I am an investigative reporter and author of numerous books based on my findings.”
“Anything I would have heard of?”
“Perhaps. I write under the penname of Noel Future.”
Deena jumped in to the conversation. “That’s an unusual name. I get Noel—‘Leon’ spelled backwards—but why Future?”
“Because,” he said with a wry smile, “my findings influence the way some events will be viewed in the future.”
“What events?” Deena asked and picked up her wine glass.
“Oh, enough about me. I understand you are a retired school teacher. Journalism, I believe? That must have been fun for you.” He reached over and poured more wine in her glass.
“Fun? I would describe it more as rewarding. ‘If you can read, thank a teacher.’” Deena immediately regretted saying something so cliché. Gary nudged her foot under the table.
“Well then, thank you, Mrs. Sharpe,” Galt said, nodding his head toward her.
Before she could respond, the waiter arrived and took their order. “I’ll have the baked tilapia and a glass of chardonnay.” She handed her menu to the waiter and excused herself to the ladies room to regain her composure.
When she returned, the men were discussing baseball. She interrupted and said, “Let’s get down to the real reason we are here, to talk about Matthew Meade.”
“Of course,” Galt said. He wiped his mouth with the white cloth napkin. “I understand that your family has asked you to look into the circumstances surrounding his death. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Deena said. “How did you find out about that?�
�
“I spoke to Lucy and Richard Lancaster. So, have you come to any conclusions thus far?”
Deena sat up in her chair. Why the heck is he asking me questions? she wondered. I should be asking him questions. “Leon,” she said, drawing out his name, “I think my motive is quite clear concerning my uncle’s death. It is yours that is in question. Would you mind explaining why you are pokin’ your nose around in my family’s business?”
Gary, hating confrontation about as much as he hated the Yankees, knew the fun and games were over. Whenever Deena got serious, she talked more Southern.
“Of course. I understand your curiosity. Your uncle had been missing for forty years. Then, out of the blue, his body is found and identified. His poor mother must be in such anguish. I am so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, but you haven’t answered my question.”
“The fact of the matter is your uncle was involved in some questionable activities that led to his tragic death. Those activities are part of an extensive investigation that I have been conducting for the past five years. As a result of that investigation, I have written a manuscript that my publisher plans to take to print in the next six weeks or so. I am sure that once you read it and examine all the evidence, you will not only understand your uncle’s actions but also be able to find it in your heart to forgive him for the role he played in this dreadful business.” He sat back, satisfied that he had thoroughly explained the situation.
“That’s it? That’s your entire explanation?” Deena asked.
Galt smiled and shook his head.
She looked at Gary for help and then back at Galt. “Well now, you see, that dog won’t hunt.”
“I beg your pardon,” Galt said, clearly confused.
“That doesn’t tell me anything. For starters, what ‘dreadful business’ are you talking about?” She made air quotes to emphasize her question.
“I am not at liberty to say. I know you have only ever published your little school newspapers, but in real publishing, there are confidentiality clauses to which an author must adhere.”
Gary watched as Deena’s neck turned a rosy red. Luckily, the waiter arrived with their meal. “Well look at this,” Gary said. “Doesn’t that look delicious? There’s nothing better than a good steak. Except for fish, of course.” He looked at Deena. “Yours looks wonderful dear. Should we order you another glass of wine? Yes, let’s all have some more wine.”
Sharpe Shooter (Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series Book 1) Page 7
