“Hi.” I pretended that nothing seemed unusual.
They both turned at the unexpected intruder.
“The door was open, so I came in. Am I interrupting anything?”
Ham backed away from his sister, changing the disturbing tableau. Jessie resumed stirring the chili that sizzled in the pot.
“Why, Cici, whatever brings you here tonight?”
I waved a stack of photos I had brought with me. “You asked me for information on Lizzie Gaynor’s wardrobe. I have it here.”
As a member of this year’s Land Run Days committee, Jessie wanted to make sure the Gaynor contributions to Grace Gulch were recognized.
“Oh, my.” Jessie blinked. “Now isn’t such a good time.”
“Nonsense.” Ham shook his fiery head, doing a good job of imitating calmness personified. “Come on in. Care to join us for supper? Sis always makes enough for a troop.”
“Once a baker, always a baker. I always think in terms of a baker’s dozen.”
“Sorry, no. You probably know my mother-in-law is in town and she’s expecting me home before long.” Junior chose that moment to give me a kick and I grimaced.
“Oh, you poor dear. Sit down.” Jessie fussed around and poured me a glass of lemonade with fresh strawberries. I resisted the urge to eat the strawberries first.
I showed Jessie a few photos I had found of Lizzie. Although Mary Grace and Lizzie Gaynor both arrived in Grace Gulch in the 1890s, their clothing personified their differing personalities. Mary had come to Oklahoma as a young bride, Lizzie as a no-nonsense matron. She avoided frills like leg of mutton sleeves and her dresses had simple collars with button down fronts in simple calico patterns. “I don’t have those exact dresses in stock, of course. I could either find you something similar—”
“Worn by a Grace, no doubt.” Jessie sniffed.
“—Or I could try to duplicate the pattern. Make a dress.”
Jessie’s eyes lit up and then her enthusiasm dimmed. “But, dear, do you have time for that?”
“I can do it.” I loved trying my hand at vintage patterns, and the more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea. It gave me the perfect excuse to return and ask more questions if I needed to. “I want to.” We discussed the price, and I checked her measurements.
Ham surprised me by setting the table while we talked. Maybe he wanted to stay on hand to remind Jessie not to blurt out something she wasn’t supposed to. Time to do what I came here for.
“Ham, I wanted to say how sorry I am about Finella’s death. Even though you were divorced. . .”
Ham slammed a butter dish onto the table. Tears formed in his eyes, but he brushed them away. “Divorced in her mind, maybe.”
And in the eyes of the law, but I didn’t voice my opinion. I didn’t come here to antagonize him.
“I believe in my marriage vows. ‘’Til death do us part.’ Fin was the one and only for me.”
And now Finella was dead. Or was his professed devotion to Finella a cover for another interest? “You still cared for her.” Like a good listener, I rephrased what he had said.
“You betcha.” He reached into the freezer for an ice cube tray. “I bet she was dating that artist fellow all along.”
“Now, Ham, you know they didn’t even meet until that art show. Six months after the divorce.” Jessie turned the chili on low and joined us at the table.
“Hmph.” Ice cubes clinked in two jelly jar glasses. “Merriman. Marry-man. The only man Finella was ever going to marry was me.”
This was too good to be true. They were telling everything I wanted to know without my saying a word. If I wanted proof of Ham’s jealousy of Brad, I had it. Had his jealousy turned to spiteful anger—enough to start the fire in an effort to kill his rival?
Jessie turned worried brown eyes in her brother’s direction. “There was no danger of Brad marrying Finella. He ended things between them.”
“He was too stupid to realize the treasure he had in Finella. Not a finer woman walked God’s green earth.” The inconsistency of his remarks didn’t bother him, and his shoulders started shaking when he poured tea into the glasses. “Oh, Fin.”
The moment had become too personal, and I decided to leave. “I can see I came at a bad time. I’ll talk with you later.” I headed for the door, but Jessie followed me to the carport.
“There’s something I want you to know.” Jessie whispered, glancing over her shoulder as if afraid Ham could hear her. “Ham was with me all Tuesday morning. You saw us, there at the mayor’s conference. He couldn’t possibly have killed poor Finella.” She dashed back into the house.
I drove the few blocks home in thoughtful silence. So Jessie was providing Ham with an alibi. Soon I arrived at my sanctuary, the home I had purchased in a gesture of independence from family expectations. Audie had loved it as much as I did and wanted us to live there after our marriage. Even Gilda’s presence couldn’t undo the frisson of pleasure I received when I pulled into the driveway.
Gilda had fixed beef stew and cornbread tonight. Why was she using the oven and heating up the kitchen? Maybe she hadn’t learned to resort to stove-top cooking during the summer months up in Chicago. Still, it smelled absolutely wonderful.
“You paid a condolence call on the victim’s ex-husband? Didn’t you say he abused her?” Gilda ladled stew into a bowl and blinked. “Is that the way things are done here in Oklahoma?” From her tone, she couldn’t believe it.
Audie looked at me out of the corner of his eye. How much did Gilda know about my history as an amateur sleuth?
“Well, no, that’s not why I went. I wanted to show Jessie photos of her great-grandmother Lizzie’s clothing. She wants me to sew a reproduction for Land Run Days.” I confess that I felt a little bit smug.
“You were snooping around again, weren’t you?” She added Olympus-sized pieces of cornbread to the bowls of stew.
That answered my question. Did Gilda approve of such behavior in her daughter-in-law? It didn’t sound like it. “Snooping” wasn’t a positive word. I pretended I hadn’t noticed her.
“I didn’t have to. All I did was mention Finella, and Ham blabbed about how much he loved her and how Brad would never marry her and he wasn’t worthy to tie her shoe laces. Then he started crying. It was kind of embarrassing.”
“Hah. Tears don’t prove anything. Abusers always apologize afterward.” Gilda’s eyes took on a faraway look as if she were speaking from personal knowledge.
Had Audie’s father—or perhaps his grandfather—abused my mother-in-law in some way?
“I volunteer at a battered women’s shelter,” Gilda said. “You wouldn’t believe how many women go back to an abusive partner after they say they’re sorry and they’ll never do it again. But of course they do.”
I couldn’t imagine my overly-critical mother-in-law offering comfort to people in crisis. Maybe she helped out in other ways.
“At least Finella tried to get away.” Audie ran a chunk of his cornbread around the edge of his bowl and ladled out some more stew. If Gilda stayed too long, he’d need to buy a new wardrobe.
“Poor woman.” Gilda said with empathy. “I understand you like to investigate things, but this Ham sounds like a dangerous man. You should stay away from him.”
I knew it. She wants me to stop. Her opposition only served to stiffen my resolve.
Audie said grace, and Gilda poured us each a glass of extra dark tea. I took a sip and couldn’t hide my gag. “That’s coffee.”
“It’s decaf. I wouldn’t serve you anything bad for the baby.”
“Iced coffee?” I sputtered.
“I thought it would make a nice change. People here seem to drink sweetened tea all day long.”
Yes, and I wish I had some right now. “How—interesting.” At least I enjoyed the stew. She had cooked the meat in some kind of juice instead of the rich brown gravy I expected. But it tasted wonderful, and was probably better for me than a fat-laced sauce.
&n
bsp; “There’s only one problem with the theory of Ham as murderer.” I sighed. “Jessie swears on a stack of Gaynor goodies that Ham was with her all Tuesday morning. He couldn’t have killed Finella.”
“She could be lying. Family members can be blind to what’s going on.” Gilda seemed determined to cast Ham in a bad light.
“True, but Jessie is constitutionally unable to keep a secret. Her store is gossip central. I think she’s telling the truth.” After that, I dropped the subject.
Audie brought it up again when we prepared for bed that night. “Ham’s alibi leaves you with a problem.” He undid my shoes and prepared the warm foot soak. “If he didn’t commit the murder. . .”
“And I assume you agree with me that both Brad and Jenna are innocent?”
“Of course!” He rubbed my toes and I sighed with pleasure. “So if it’s not Ham or Jenna. . .and we’re assuming it’s not Brad, for your sisters’ sake. . .?”
“Then who killed Finella Gaynor?”
9
Gainers gossiped that the Graces spoiled their daughter. Louella certainly enjoyed her position as the only child (at least for her first fifteen years) of the town’s founding family. Their wealth didn’t hurt. At an age when her peers married and had families, she frequently lit the stage of the Orpheum in productions of musicals as well as dramatic plays by playwrights such as O’Neill, Shakespeare and Ibsen.
Louella was destined to act out her favorite role, Juliet Capulet, in real life. In the process, she broke her parents’ hearts. After she finished school, she developed an independent streak. She marched with the suffragettes for the right to vote. That didn’t bother Bob and Mary as much as her decision to step out with Louis Hardy. Louis was the son of the Gaynors’ oldest child, Bertha Gaynor Hardy.
From A History of Grace Gulch
Friday, September 15
Dina dragged into my store on Friday morning and grabbed not one, but two, scones from Gaynor Goodies. She also added cream and sugar to her coffee.
This must be serious.
“Did you learn anything useful from Ham last night?”
Her knowledge of the visit didn’t surprise me.
“Jessie gave him a solid alibi, I’m afraid.”
Dina devoured the scone in three bites. “That’s just great. Do you know what I learned yesterday?”
I shook my head.
“I’m working on a piece about Brad for the paper. It’s a good excuse for me to find out what people are thinking. And they love to talk about the topic of the day, especially since no one knows he’s my—” Her voice choked. “—father.”
“And you don’t like what you’re hearing.” I put an arm around Dina’s shoulders.
She nodded, discouragement turning her normally hazel eyes almost brown. “I guess it’s not too bad. Most people say nice things, that he was polite, interested in their stories. But then others say he was a—” Again she struggled to continue. “—a womanizer. And they’re a little afraid of the influence he might have on impressionable young women. Young girls like my mother.” Her mouth twisted in a grimace. “Oh, no one has mentioned her. No one even suspects they ever knew each other. But that’s what I keep thinking.”
“Probably just the stereotypes some people have about artists.” I smoothed her hair, but I wondered about what she said. Was there more to it than his relationship with Finella?
The doorbell jingled, announcing the arrival of customers. I gave Dina a quick hug and whispered, “Don’t go anywhere. We’ll talk some more as soon as these folks leave.”
A pair of teenage girls, cheerful cheerleaders if I didn’t miss my mark, came in. “We saw your display out front. We want to be your first customers.” A natural blonde, hair suggested only the slightest of natural highlights, said.
“How sweet is it you’re doing the ’60s.” The second girl, her light hair owing more to a bottle, added. “Somebody on the planning committee must have spilled the beans, because it’s been a big secret.”
Planning committee? What did the Land Run Days committee have to do with my outfits from the ’60s? Or these kids? And what were they doing here on a Friday morning?
“Ooh, I love this.” One of the girls headed straight for my rack of minis and maxis. She pulled out a black leather skirt so scandalously short that I had almost decided against buying it. “Mom would have a cow if I wore this.”
I pictured Dina in that skirt and agreed with the mother. I would need to pull the item from my stock and swallow the loss. “I have a wide variety of styles from the ’60s. If I know the occasion, I can suggest some outfits.” I practiced redirection, not denial--an essential skill for any retailer who wanted to keep her customers happy.
“I thought you knew!” The second girl fingered a long gauze maxi, one of my favorites. “Homecoming, of course! Our theme is the ’60s. All those cheesy songs.” She wrinkled her nose. “Anyhow, we thought we’d take advantage of teachers’ planning day to shop early.”
Homecoming, of course. Junior must be messing with my mind that I could have forgotten the often profitable school event. I could relax, now that I knew they weren’t skipping school. I actually enjoyed music from the ’60s. I had grown up listening to my father’s collection of the Beatles and the Mamas and the Papas. In fact, a record by the Monkees played in the background right now. The girls were tapping their feet. They must not recognize the provenance of the music.
I put on my saleswoman smile. “The homecoming dance! I should have guessed. I have some formals that would be perfect. Or the maxis would be lovely with the right blouses.
The first girl took one last longing look at the black leather and turned her attention to more classical attire. Her figure would compliment the form-fitting style of the decade.
I left them alone to browse among the outfits I had assembled, but I couldn’t help overhearing them chatter. Voices that normally egged on a football crowd carried throughout my store.
“I wonder which one that dreamy artist guy would like better.” The first girl sneaked a glance at the mini. “Maybe I could wear it, you know, when he gives our art class a workshop.”
“Don’t be silly.” Her friend pulled out a formal gown that her grandmother might have worn. The peach crepe dress with oversized satin cape would look well on her. “He thinks we’re just kids. Besides, he has a girlfriend.”
“She died in that fire. Don’t you remember?” The first girl—Megan, that was her name—rifled through the maxis. “And he broke up with her. It was all over town.”
“That’s not what I heard.” The second girl—Amy? No, Apryl— held up a black V-necked top against a red-and-black striped skirt. Vivid, but it seemed to suit her personality. I didn’t think she’d accept fashion advice from an old fuddy-duddy like me.
She continued the conversation. “He might have broken up with her, but she didn’t break up with him. She kept showing up at his studio.”
They exchanged glances as if to say I know what that’s like.
The sound of liquid splashing in a cup didn’t quite cover Dina’s sniffles. I flashed a reassuring smile in her direction and approached the girls. Between them, they had removed half a dozen outfits from my racks.
“Would you like to try these on?” When they nodded, I walked them back to the dressing rooms. “Holler if you need me.” I didn’t usually abandon my customers, but I wanted to talk with Dina further. I steered her into my office.
“Is that the kind of thing you’ve been hearing?” I kept my voice low.
Dina nodded and ran her hands through her hair, turning it into abstract spikes. “That, and worse. That maybe Brad finally got tired of Finella pestering him and did away with her. And now you say Ham has an alibi.” She grabbed the cup of coffee, but it spilled on the floor. “Oh, jumping jellybeans.”
At that point, one of the girls called for help.
I was in luck. Each girl decided on a dress with all the accessories—a pretty sale—although where teen
agers got so much spending money these days puzzled me. Dina had earned most of her spending money, and she never spent so much on a homecoming dress. Apryl had chosen a wild maxi and peasant blouse that at least was an improvement over the black leather mini, and Megan had shown the good taste to go with the pale peach crepe. “Take the receipt, in case you need to exchange anything.” Apryl’s mother might want her to rethink her outfit.
Dina had finished mopping up the coffee by the time they left. She had drained a second cup without incident and started a fresh pot. “I have to get to the paper and work on my story. The editor will wonder what happened to me.”
I knew Dina would write a factual, reflective piece, good journalism in spite of her personal feelings on the subject. “Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?”
Dina gave me a startled deer-in-the-headlights look but she smiled and accepted my hug. “Thanks, sis.”
After Dina left, I put the rejects back on the racks and took the black leather mistake to the storage room. A ’60s retro homecoming promised good sales for my current emphasis. I made a note to call Dustin Murk with the news. She might want to use the same theme for their hayride. I planned an ad for the Grace Gulch Herald and closed the store for lunch about half an hour early, to catch the noon deadline for the Sunday edition. When I returned, I found Jenna and Audie waiting inside. He had a key, of course.
Junior jumped when Audie spoke, and I giggled. “Your son recognizes your voice,” I told him.
My husband leaned over until his face was inches from my bump. “Hey, there, baby. I love you.” Junior started dancing, at least that’s what it felt like.
“If you keep this up, I’ll need a bathroom run pretty soon.”
“Who are you talking to? Me or our girl?”
“Both of you!” We exchanged a kiss.
“We brought lunch.” Jenna held up a bag from the Gulch.
“Audie tells me Jessie gave Ham an alibi.” Jenna dug in the bag for her sandwich. “And you’re wondering who else might have done it.”
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 03 - Paint Me a Murder Page 6
