The closer we drew to the fire, the stronger the scent of charcoal and mesquite barbecue grew. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the imposing structure of the MGM with the newly-constructed museum next door. But where was Audie? The firefighters must have stopped the flames before they spread. Jenna flicked a glance in that direction and then continued trotting toward the smoke.
“There he is!” I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted my husband. He stood with a small group of onlookers, the mayor, Dina, of course, snapping pictures of the charred remains of Brad’s studio.
Audie frowned when he saw me. I could hear his question. Why didn’t you stay behind like I asked you to?
I just tagged along behind Jenna, I replied silently.
“I had to find out what happened,” Jenna explained. “The museum is as much my responsibility as it is yours.” She turned her attention to the smoldering ruins of the studio. “It looks like everything’s gone.”
That wasn’t quite true. The foundation remained intact, and a few studs still stood. But it looked like an outdoor theater or a house with glass walls. We could see everything inside, a scattering of soggy black ash. A burned smell permeated the air, resurrecting the nausea I felt earlier in my pregnancy. Junior somersaulted, letting me know he didn’t like it either.
Dina darted around the building, fingers snapping pictures as fast as they could move. Behind , an unexpected figure emerged: Dr. Barber, who served as the town coroner. Two firefighters lagged behind him, toting a body bag between them.
A wave of heat that had nothing to do with smoldering embers swept over me, and I bent over, ready to regurgitate the iced coffee I had drunk earlier. I stumbled, in spite of my sensible slip-on shoes. Audie caught me.
I heard Jenna cry “Brad!” as I slipped into unconsciousness.
~
Blessed cool air. Needle in my arm, injecting me with something equally soothing. Soft voices. I opened my eyes and saw cold steel bars staring back at me. I was on a bed in our local clinic.
The events of the morning rushed back into my memory. The routine news conference—routine, that is, until the fire started. Jenna’s and my mad dash to reach the scene. The body. I sighed and turned onto my back.
“Mrs. Howe?” Dr. Johnson, my lifelong family doctor, bent over me.
“What happened? What am I doing here?”
“You got a little dehydrated, dear. I see that you drank iced coffee. Tsk, tsk. Coffee is a diuretic, you know. You should avoid it as much as possible. All that caffeine isn’t good for you or the baby. Much better to stick with water.”
I had heard his lecture before, but I didn’t think one cup of the real stuff a day would hurt. After today, I might change my habits.
“You should be ready to leave as soon as we top you up.” He nodded at the half-empty bag of saline solution dangling from an IV pole.
“Where’s everyone else?” As concerned as Audie had been all through my pregnancy, I was a bit surprised not to find him at the foot of the bed, rubbing my still-sore feet. Not that I could see my feet over Junior. Maybe he doesn’t like my lingerie. I giggled. I didn’t much like the johnny gown either. It didn’t tie around the back anymore. Vintage hospital clothing, now that’s something I’ve never researched.
“He said he was taking care of a few things, but that he would be back by the time you were ready to leave. Rest some more. You won’t get as good a chance after your baby is born.”
I shut my eyes. The cool liquid in my veins did feel good. I drifted through that half-waking state where every thought took on the tenuous feeling of dreams. Who was in the body bag? Brad? Who else could it be? What caused the fire? I knew that turpentine caught fire easily, but artist studios didn’t usually burn to the ground.
Don’t go there. The fact that I had successfully hunted down two murderers didn’t mean every bad thing such as this one that had happened resulted from malicious intent. I hoped, prayed, that Brad was still alive. That I was mistaken about the meaning of the body bag.
Whatever had happened, Audie and Jenna faced a challenge. Brad’s mural was the first big project they had overseen at the new Center for the Arts. Without the artist, could it even be finished? His copious notes about the mural had burned to ashes. Probably, we had also lost Larry Grace’s journal, his primary source for the mural. At least the winning design remained in Audie’s custody.
Agitation replaced the cool, soothing calm I had felt minutes before. I didn’t want to think about the fire any more. The treasure hunt was a more pleasant topic. I looked forward to the people who would stop by to ask for the Grace Garland. How many of the excited treasure hunters would figure out the clues? The planning committee had agonized over making them difficult, but not impossible to figure out. Who were likely candidates?
All members of the Grace Gulch Chamber of Commerce had eliminated themselves from competition. Too many of us knew the clues. I wondered if Frances Waller would take part. Frances Grace, I reminded myself. The newly married police officer detected for a living, after all. I knew my good friend Suzanne Jay intended to join the hunt. Noah Brodie planned to register a team of college students. Newcomers Wilbert and Dustin Murk might sign up. They had jumped into several community activities with both feet. No, they couldn’t. Dustin had joined the Chamber of Commerce and her honey business thrived. Wilbert’s smithy drew as much business as he could handle.
Who else? Enid Waldberg’s presence at the press conference yesterday surprised me. Would the pastor let his wife participate? Perhaps so. She had shown surprising depths ever since her starring turn as Abby Brewster in Arsenic and Old Lace. We had recruited her to play the part after the murder of the original actress, Magda Grace Mallory.
Yes, I should have a lot of fun, helping the treasure hunters along. I almost wished I could take part myself. What if no one finished the hunt before I had the baby? Doubtful. People would figure out the four clues before six weeks had passed.
I drifted into sleep, visions of the Grace Garland hanging around Enid’s neck.
When I opened my eyes again, Jenna stood there.
“I asked Dina to give us a few minutes alone,” Jenna said. She held the paisley hat in her hands, twirling it around her finger. If she kept up at that rate, it would unravel. I remembered her reaction to the body bag, and she didn’t have the excuse of late pregnancy to explain her behavior.
“Tell me about Brad.”
“Oh, Cici.” Tears formed in her hazel eyes, so that they sparkled with gold highlights.
Dr. Johnson returned at that moment. I noticed that the saline bag had emptied.
“How are you feeling?”
“Much better. Thank you.”
“You’re ready to go. Just remember. . .” He repeated his instructions and handed me a sheet of paper with the same information. Enough, already. “Not long now.” He patted my hand and left.
His nurse removed the IV from my arm and stopped the bleeding with a cotton ball. A cartoon character decorated the Band-Aid she added. I groaned. “I’m an adult.”
“You’re a mommy-in-training,” she corrected. “Get ready for years of cartoons.”
I wondered where my husband had disappeared to. My little episode wasn’t serious, but he usually attended to my every need. So now that I had actually passed out, where had he gone? What more urgent matter did he have to take care of?
In the mean time, I wanted to get into real clothes again. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and waited for Jenna to continue her conversation.
“We’ll talk later,” Jenna promised. She scooted a chair next to me and helped me with my slip-ons. “I remember how hard it was to put on shoes.”
We ignored the nylons; who cared if someone saw my bare legs? She helped me fasten my undergarments. I refused her help in buttoning the blouse. I could still reach my front. We tugged the jumper over my head. The belt had halted half way to where my waistline used to be. I adjusted it and she tied a bow in the
back.
“Anything else?”
Only Audie.
“Where’s my wife?”
I confess my insides turned into jelly when I heard his voice. When had I become so dependent on the man? I didn’t mind. The way we cared for one another constituted some of the best of marriage.
He rushed through the door in a blast of hot air and spicy cologne. He took my face between his hands and kissed me. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
If you were so scared, why did you leave me here alone?
That’s when I noticed the person hovering behind my husband. I recognized that petite frame, blonde hair turned pale silver, back as straight as a soldier.
“It’s a blessing Mother decided to fly in for a visit. Good news. She’s arranged to stay until the baby is born.”
I managed a weak smile at the woman with more military command than our local police chief. My mother-in-law.
“It’s good to see you, Gilda.”
3
More settlers arrived within minutes: Wallace Wilde; Kenneth Kirkendall; Ned Waller; and the intrepid Maisie Mallory, the only woman to stake a claim in the Gulch. With the exception of Kenneth Kirkendall, all of the original settlers of Grace Gulch have descendents living in the town today.
From A History of Grace Gulch
Tuesday, September 12
Gilda strode toward me like royalty, in spite of the three-inch stiletto heels. I didn’t know how she managed. I wasn’t that graceful in heels even when I wasn’t seven and a half months pregnant. She wore a jacket and skirt that would have done well in an exhibit of vintage clothing from the ’70s. She always dressed the same, without regard to Chicago blizzards or 100-degree Oklahoma summers.
I was glad I had exchanged the hospital gown for my jumper before her arrival, but wished I had put on my pantyhose after all.
“I rented a car at the airport and drove down that delightful Route 66. I’ll have to drive it all the way from Illinois some time. I called Audie when I reached Arcadia. I’m sorry I didn’t call before I left. It was a spur of the moment decision. You did say to come back any time. And I know how difficult these last weeks can be.”
So my husband had disappeared to the house to prepare for his mother’s arrival. A good thing, since she tended to give my housekeeping a white-glove inspection. It wouldn’t be his fault if Gilda rearranged the kitchen before supper.
The import of Audie’s words only now registered. She’s arranged to stay until the baby is born. What were they thinking? How would I survive six weeks with the woman who made me feel like second best for her only son?
“You’ve been missing your mother.” Audie’s hand slid around my shoulders and walked with me toward the door. “No one can take her place, I know, but I thought Mother. . .” Joy twinkled in his blue eyes.
He thinks he’s giving me the best present of my life.
“Of course.”
Audie opened the passenger door for me. Jenna hugged Gilda in welcome. She didn’t respond in kind.
I looked out the car window at my sister. She covered up her worry with a practiced smile for the doctor and Audie, but I could see the turmoil beneath the shell. “Later.” I mouthed the word at her.
Audie drove me to the house and we ate a simple lunch. Gilda had already set up sandwich ingredients, deli-style.
During the meal, I asked the question that was on my mind. “Is Brad dead?”
Audie shrugged. “I assume so. I saw the body, but I didn’t get close. Who else would it be?”
Who else indeed. Unexpected death had again struck Grace Gulch.
After eating, I insisted I was ready to return to work. Enid Waldberg had covered for me while I was at the clinic. “I feel fine,” I insisted. “Enid’s got other things to do. I don’t like imposing on her.” The pastor’s wife had already agreed to run the store while I took maternity leave.
Not many people came by the store that afternoon. Perhaps the somber event of the fire had drained the electric excitement of the morning. Was Brad truly dead? I shuddered. I couldn’t imagine a worse way to die. I remembered Jenna’s reaction, and hoped she would come by soon so we could talk. If she didn’t come of her own accord, I would call.
I took advantage of the quiet to consider a new display for the store. Whatever I did next might remain in place until after I had the baby. I wanted something from the ’60s—an era partial to me in recent months for providing so many wonderful vintage maternity outfits—but how could I capture the craziness of those years? What Oklahoma woman epitomized the times?
My research unearthed few Oklahomans involved in the anti-war movement and radical feminism. After all, my state buckled the Bible belt. My customers would appreciate our more conservative heroines. Maria Tallchief, a native Oklahoman, led the New York City ballet until her retirement in 1965. Lee Troup Johnson grew to prominence in equestrian events in that decade. Both of them were classy, strong ladies. I didn’t carry vintage riding gear or tutus, but I could feature some Kennedy-esque outfits.
What few people with enough energy to venture out in the oppressive heat were probably hunting down the first clue. Where would they start? Noise? Streets? Gates? We hoped the challenge would engage the questors for several days.
I was considering closing the store early when Jenna popped in.
“I’m surprised to see you here, after your fainting spell.” Jenna grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “But I’m glad I caught you.”
“Come in. We need to talk.” I set out the ring bell for service card by the cash register and walked into my office. I settled into my desk chair, the only remaining comfortable seat for me in the store. Jenna hunched over on a metal folding chair. I dug in my desk drawer for a box of tissues. I suspected we would need them.
“Now, tell me about Brad. The way you talk about him, it’s clear you two have a history.” Had a history. Had the fire victim’s identity been released? How could I have forgotten the tragedy?
Tears welled up in Jenna’s eyes. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”
“Are you sure? It might have been someone else.”
“In his studio? Who else could it be? No one has seen him since last night. I’m sure it was Brad.” Quiet tears escaped in spite of Jenna’s best efforts to hold them in.
I didn’t have a clue why Brad’s death upset her so personally, but we could get to that later. I pushed the box of tissues at my sister and rolled my chair around the corner of the desk. She reached out blindly, her arms cradling my neck. I held her in wordless empathy. She cried tears of soundless grief, no need for words. Her sorrow spoke volumes.
Junior changed positions and Jenna yelped, the first sound she had made in several minutes. “What was that?”
“Junior’s elbow, I think.”
“Junior. You and Audie. Haven’t you decided on a name yet? It’s your baby.” She started crying again, this time in loud sobs. “Your baby. You have Audie and I’ve lost. . .”
I waited for Jenna to finish her statement. She’s lost what? Whom? Brad? She was talking now, incoherent word fragments, the kind of cry that only the Holy Spirit can interpret and carry straight to the Father’s ear. God, help me here. I need Your wisdom to comfort her. Especially since I didn’t know she cared about Brad.
I held Jenna and said those trite phrases that come to mind in times like this. “There, there, it’s going to be all right.” I sounded like I was talking to a child. “I’m here for you.” That was a little more adult. I held her until Junior shifted positions again, this time straight on my bladder.
Jenna sobs lessened but she didn’t move. I lifted my head from where it lay on her shoulder. “Would you like some tea?”
She nodded. I poured us each a glass of mint iced tea while she mopped up the damage done to her face. We sipped our drinks in silence while Jenna regained control of herself.
At last, in a voice near a whisper, she began. “You remember the summer I went to art camp?
With Noah and Finella?”
Did I ever. Jenna had gone wild her freshman year in high school. Mom and Dad didn’t know what to do with her. When her art teacher offered to sponsor the three friends—aka the Three Musketeers—at a camp for promising artisans, my parents jumped at the chance. They hoped it would give her a sense of purpose and direction, help her settle down. Finella’s presence decided them. Noah had been almost as wild as Jenna, but Finella had a good head on her shoulders.
The camp didn’t exactly accomplish what our parents had hoped. By the time Jenna returned, she was three weeks pregnant. But I wasn’t going to bring that up unless she did. Instead I said, “Of course. I was never so lonely in my life.”
“Tell me another story. You spent every day over at the Circle G with Cord.”
That was true. At nine years old, I worked hard at becoming the best cowgirl in Lincoln County. Of course at that age I also assumed I would grow up to become Mrs. Cord Grace. How dreams change.
“I suppose you tell Audie everything.”
I smiled and nodded. My dear husband, my own special dream come true. After Audie had almost ruined our wedding by keeping a big secret, we had both learned our lesson.
“I suppose there’s no help for it. The truth is, Brad was a junior counselor at the camp that summer. That is, he was a freshman at OCU but so obviously talented that his teacher recruited him as an aide.”
Brad. Camp. My mind whirled.
“I was smitten with him. Well, you’ve seen him, Cic. With those sultry green eyes and long blond curls. . .every girl at the camp was in love with him. He didn’t pay attention to any of them. Until he asked me, me, to model for him. You can imagine how I felt.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest of the story, a secret Jenna had kept for twenty-three years.
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 03 - Paint Me a Murder Page 2
