by Sara Rosett
“Well, it sure sounded like it to me,” Cecilia said. “I heard them arguing over their lunch at Chili’s. I was in the booth behind them.”
“When was this?” I asked. Gabrielle had told me that there weren’t any feuds or issues within the family.
Cecilia tilted her head as she thought. “A few weeks ago.”
“I wonder what they were arguing about?” I said, slowing my pace to match Cecilia’s as she neared her white Kia.
“Property. A house they’d inherited. It sounded like Gabrielle wanted to sell it, but Jean was telling her it would be better to rent it out.” Cecilia fingered her key chain as she said, “I know it sounds like I was eavesdropping, but they were talking really loud. The more they talked, the louder they got. Gavin and I felt really uncomfortable. We were going to stop by their table on our way out, but then after they argued, it didn’t seem like a good idea. They left before us, anyway, so I don’t think they ever knew we were right there, hearing everything.”
“So they didn’t come to an agreement?”
“No! Jean said her mind was made up and Gabrielle said she wasn’t going to change her mind, either. Gabrielle stormed out and then Jean left a few minutes later.”
“Maybe they did get past it, because they seemed to be getting along at the squadron spouse party.”
“I know. It might have just been me, but I thought there was some tension between them.” She shrugged as she clicked the button to pop the trunk. “Maybe I was reading into the situation—because of what I’d heard at the restaurant, but they didn’t talk to each other much, you know.”
“That’s true—,” I said, then broke off when I glanced inside Cecilia’s trunk. She put the grocery bags in and slammed the trunk back in place.
“I suppose we’ll never know. Anyway, great to see you,” Cecilia said. “Don’t forget. Book club at my house this week.”
“What? Oh, right. See you then,” I said, and slowly pushed the cart down the aisle to my van.
I wasn’t absolutely sure, but it looked like Abby’s gray snakeskin purse was in Cecilia’s trunk.
Chapter Thirteen
I should have said something. Right away. Why hadn’t I just said, “Hey, you have a purse like Abby’s. I’ve been looking for one of those. Where did you find it?”
But I hadn’t. I’d been so surprised to see the gray snakeskin shoved in the back corner of the trunk that I hadn’t known what to say. At least, I thought it looked like gray snakeskin. What if I was wrong? Had there been a glint of silver, shining from behind the thick blanket that covered the rest of the purse—or whatever it was? Or was that just my imagination? Instead of mentioning it casually, I’d done my usual tongue-tied routine and kept silent. Now, sitting in the darkened auditorium, tapping my foot in time to “Angels We Have Heard On High” while watching the kids straggle onto the risers at the front of the room, all I could think about was that possible sliver of snakeskin. What if it was Abby’s purse? Why would it be in Cecilia’s trunk? Could Cecilia have found it somewhere? And why did it look like she’d been trying to cover it with a blanket? But if she didn’t want anyone to see it, then why open the trunk when I was right there? She could have easily put the groceries in the backseat of the car.
I shook my head impatiently. There was no way I could work out an answer to that question without talking to Cecilia and I wasn’t sure how to approach her. I couldn’t casually mention the purse now, especially since I’d only seen a small part of it in the trunk. I couldn’t exactly say, “Hey, the other day I thought I saw Abby’s purse in the trunk of your car. Did you know it was stolen?” If I could somehow sneak another look, then I’d know for sure. Maybe I could conveniently run into her again the next time she did her grocery shopping. Mysteriously run into her at the library and offer to stow her books in the trunk for her? Too crazy and weird.
I stood up and walked to the back of the auditorium where several parents were chatting. Abby was talking to Nadia. I slipped out the door before she spotted me. I decided not to bring up the possible gray snakeskin sighting to Abby. She was impulsive and, until I knew for sure or came up with some way to figure out if it was her purse, there was no use in mentioning it.
I walked through the lobby area of the church, past the Christmas trees glittering with their tiny lights, swaths of gold ribbon cascading down. I pushed out through the heavy glass doors into the cool, dark night. It was cloudless and tiny pinpoints of light glowed in the inky sky. I wished it would all go away—Waraday, the feeling that I wasn’t sure who I could trust, and that premonition, that nagging feeling, that things were somehow going to get worse. I wanted a normal Christmas with my biggest worries being simple things like getting my Christmas cards out on time and finding the perfect gifts for the kids. I didn’t even want to think about all those Christmasy items on my to-do list that weren’t checked off. I was being a very bad Santa and had to get in gear to make sure I bought the kids’ gifts before the stores sold out.
I paused at one of the benches positioned around the front of the church. I could still hear the faint notes of music from inside. The music stopped and I knew the shepherds were making their way from one side of the stage, their “pasture,” to the other side where they would find Mary and Joseph and the baby at the stable. I drew in a deep breath of the chilly night air, thinking of the Christmas story and how cozy and snug “the barn” looked on stage, but in reality, it had probably been cold and a bit scary, that first Christmas night. Having her baby in a barn far away from her relatives was probably not how Mary had envisioned the birth of her first child.
I shook my head to myself, thinking how often I wished for some abstract ideal. The picture-perfect Christmas of glossy magazine spreads didn’t really exist, not in my life, anyway. I had to accept that and move on. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if my Christmas cards arrived late and I knew I’d find wonderful presents for the kids. We were together, everyone was healthy and happy—those were the important things.
I drew in another gulp of the brisk air. It felt good to be outside and absorb the quiet, still night. A silent night, I thought with a smile. But then a pair of headlights cut through the darkness as a car turned into the parking lot. Swerving around the speed bumps, the car accelerated toward the building, then cut sharply to the side, making for the road that curved around the side of the building. I was in the shadows of the wide overhanging portico surrounding the front entry to the church, so I doubted the driver noticed me, but as the car bumped onto the unpaved road that led to the gravel parking lot of the food bank, I could read the sign on the side of the driver’s door. GET ORGANIZED WITH GABRIELLE.
Gabrielle certainly wouldn’t have been in my plan for a perfect Christmas, but it seemed she was one of the cards I’d been dealt and I needed to talk to her. I stood up and walked down the steps, then turned toward the food bank. The rehearsal had just begun. The kids would be singing and reciting their lines for a while. I had time to catch up with Gabrielle. I needed to find out if she and Jean had had a disagreement. I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, but I really needed to know if she was being honest with me. Was she playing me?
I decided honesty was the best policy. I’d just ask her. I wasn’t good at beating around the bush and I was still kicking myself for not just asking Cecilia about the snakeskin purse. I’d ask Gabrielle if she and Jean had had a disagreement. It wasn’t that uncommon for sisters to argue—it probably didn’t mean anything, but I had to know. I would have trusted what Cecilia said—why would she lie? But, then again, why would she have something that closely resembled Abby’s stolen purse in her trunk?
Gabrielle was probably checking on Simon. The food bank had already closed, but I knew Diane would still be there, shutting down computers and turning off lights. Simon was probably there, too. I was pretty sure Gabrielle wasn’t picking up a late-night volunteer shift. She seemed more like the type of person who’d organize a fundraiser before she’d stock shelves.
And she would be great at raising money, I thought as I walked along, digging my hands into my jeans pockets, wishing I had grabbed my coat. I could see Gabrielle running an auction or Vegas-style casino fundraiser. I’d have to mention it to Diane or Simon and see if they’d consider it.
I heard a car ahead of me coming around the corner of the building, its headlights washing over the thicket of trees beside the road. It wasn’t moving fast, but I hurried off the road and continued walking beside the building. The car came even with me and stopped, then the window rolled down. “Ellie, are you okay?”
I was surprised to see Cecilia inside, but then I remembered the food bank donation she’d bought at the store. She’d probably driven here directly from the store, just like we had. In fact, I could have offered to drop off her donation, if I’d thought about it. I’d been so flustered by the possible sighting of the missing purse that it hadn’t crossed my mind, but now I was glad I hadn’t. I had another chance.
“I’m fine . . . just going to check in at the food bank,” I said, leaning down to the window. “The kids are rehearsing for the pageant.” I waved toward the church building behind me.
“So that’s what all the cars are here for,” she said. “Do you want a ride to Helping Hands?”
“No, it’s only around that curve. Thanks, though.” She glanced at the road and moved her hands on the wheel, preparing to pull away, so I said quickly, “Hey, do you have a gray snakeskin purse?”
Her chin moved up, pushing her lower lip flat, an expression that said she had no idea what I was talking about. “No . . . ,” she said, drawing out the word.
“Oh, okay. Someone had one,” I said, scrambling wildly to think of some reason I’d be asking her about a purse—this was why I don’t do things on the fly. “I wondered if it was you. I was looking for one like Abby’s.” At least that much was true. “Maybe you’ve got something similar, something made of gray snakeskin, and I’m just confused . . .”
“Nope. Not me,” she said. “See you later.” She waved and edged the car away.
No guilty look or betraying fumble for an answer. I guess I was wrong . . . but I really had thought it looked like Abby’s purse.
I cleared the corner of the building and the food bank’s parking lot came into view. Two empty cars sat beside each other. I recognized Gabrielle’s SUV and Diane’s Subaru wagon. The door to the food bank swung open and I heard Diane’s voice. “I’ll get the door for you.”
I was about to call out, but Gabrielle followed Diane out the door, carrying a box. A square of light illuminated her face and I saw her glance quickly around the parking lot, as if she was checking for cars. “Thanks,” she said. “Sorry to keep you late. Traffic, you know.” Her voice had a tone that I’d never heard, strained and . . . almost soft. Her southern accent was still there, but more muted, as if she didn’t want to be heard.
Traffic? In North Dawkins? Other than the bottleneck that developed at the gates to the base at seven in the morning, traffic jams were pretty much nonexistent.
“Of course,” Diane said in a mild tone. “Don’t worry about it.” I’d heard her speak that way before with especially skittish clients. “Do you need help . . . ?”
“No. No, I’ve got it,” Gabrielle said as she pushed the button on her remote key chain and the back door to her SUV popped open. “Thanks again. See you later. Well, hopefully not here. Not that I don’t want to be here,” Gabrielle said as she hurried down the steps and put the box in the SUV. I could see that it was filled with food items. A package of spaghetti noodles stuck up over the edge and the light glinted off circles of cans packed into the box. “I mean, I’d love to help out . . . sometime.” She sounded breathy and flustered.
Gabrielle was picking up food from the food bank? I was stunned into silence. I’d been about to call out to her, but as it dawned on me why she was there, I hung back in the shadow of the building. Her comments about the funeral food made sense now. She needed food. No wonder she’d been so upset that Simon had emptied his refrigerator.
“I understand. We’d love to have you. Anytime,” Diane said, still standing at the top of the steps as she held the door open. I thought there was a little extra inflection in that last word—another layer of meaning. As in, stop in anytime to volunteer or for food.
Gabrielle revved the SUV into a quick turn and was out of the parking lot before the door fell closed behind Diane.
Wednesday
The next morning after I dropped the kids off at school, I headed for the interstate that flanked the outskirts of North Dawkins. I merged into the traffic heading north and set the cruise. I’d spent a good portion of the night tossing and turning. For the first few hours, Cecilia occupied my thoughts. Since she’d denied owning a purse like Abby’s or anything made of snakeskin, I was at a dead end unless I could get another look in her trunk. But after another sleepless half hour, I couldn’t come up with one even slightly plausible reason to get another look.
I signaled and moved to the fast lane to pass a car. I suppose I could have followed Cecilia around and tried to use Mitch’s binoculars from his hunting gear to get a long distance look in her car trunk, but that idea seemed chancy at best. If she did have the missing purse, did Cecilia have the rest of the stolen items from Abby’s house? The idea seemed ludicrous—Cecilia breaking into Abby’s house? But if I was going to go that far in my thinking . . . was it possible that she’d broken into the other houses, too? Maybe even Jean’s house and, like Gabrielle had suggested, she’d freaked out when Jean spotted her. Had she then killed Jean to keep her secret life as a burglar quiet? No, I just couldn’t picture it.
I’d spent the rest of my sleepless hours contemplating what I knew about Gabrielle. After seeing her obvious embarrassment and unvarnished need at the food bank last night, I’d realized that there was more to Gabrielle than I thought. If she was to the point that she was getting food from the food bank—a move that I was sure from her body language and words was a last resort for her—then she had to be in dire financial straits.
I shifted uncomfortably as I zoomed past the exits for Macon. No wonder she’d gone after my clients. If you couldn’t buy food . . . well, that could make you do some pretty crazy things. Of course, it didn’t make it right. Desperation wasn’t an excuse for bad behavior. And if she was desperate . . . well, people did awful things when they were desperate. I already knew Gabrielle wasn’t above using underhanded methods to get clients.
I had to know if there was a conflict between her and Jean and—if Cecilia had been telling the truth about it—how deep the rift was between them. I’d felt all along that I couldn’t completely trust Gabrielle, but now I needed to know if her deviousness stopped at stealing clients or extended to her sister. I’d come to the conclusion that I needed to do a little research, ask a few questions, before I asked Gabrielle anything. She was slippery and I wanted facts when I talked to her. Thus, this road trip.
It was frightening how easy it had been to find information on Gabrielle’s ex-husband. I checked Jean’s obit in the local paper for his name, Dennis Matheson of Stockbridge, Georgia. Stockbridge wasn’t far from Atlanta and it was small enough that I was able to find Matheson Builders listed in a local business directory. A few phone calls and I had Dennis’s current job location, a warehouse under construction in an industrial district on the southeast side of Atlanta.
When the traffic snarled and slowed, I knew I was getting close to Atlanta. I exited the interstate for a state highway that took me directly to the industrial district. As I pulled into an unpaved parking area, kicking up dust, I called Mitch at the squadron. “I’m here,” I said.
“You made good time.”
“I should be back before the kids are out of school. You won’t even have to leave work early. Did you find out anything?” Mitch had asked a few discreet questions at the squadron about Simon . . . if there was anything unusual going on in his life.
“Not a thing. He’s a pretty boring
guy, aside from his Hula-Hoop fetish.”
So the word had gotten out on that. “Umm. I may have heard something about that,” I said evasively.
Mitch’s gusty sigh came over the line. “Of course you have, and did you share this with me? No.”
“Come on, it wasn’t my secret to share. I only knew about it because Waraday told me when he was questioning me. He specifically told me not to repeat it. Besides, would you have been able to keep quiet about it? Honestly?”
“Not for a minute,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
“But that’s it? Nothing else? No fights, arguments, disagreements . . . or, I don’t know . . . secret assignations ?”
“No, the word in the squadron is he was a loyal husband and a really good golfer.”
“Okay,” I said. “Well, let me see what I can find out about Gabrielle. I’ll check in with you before I drive back.”
I walked up to the cavernous building, scanning the people in hard hats. I’d had a fleeting look at Gabrielle’s ex-husband at the funeral and I didn’t see anyone who looked like him. I hoped I hadn’t driven nearly two hours only to miss him. It didn’t seem like a good idea to call ahead this morning. It was easy to say no on the phone—harder to do it face to face. But if he wasn’t here . . .
I stopped a guy in his early twenties and asked for Dennis Matheson. He waved me toward a backhoe that was grinding around the corner of the building. I made my way over the uneven ground toward it. When I was close enough, I waved and the man driving it braked. Brown hair curled from under the edges of the hard hat and his worn face was sunburnt below his sunglasses. “I’m Ellie Avery. I live in North Dawkins. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your ex-wife,” I called over the rumble of the engine.
A disgusted look passed over his face and he shook his head, waving me out of the way.
“She’s asked me to work with her,” I shouted, then suddenly thought of my mental jabs at Gabrielle for her dishonesty. But it was true, she had asked me to work with her. Okay, it was a half-truth, but I needed to get him out of the backhoe. Maybe Gabrielle and I had a few more things in common than I realized. Of course, I knew what my motives were. I wasn’t sure what hers were.
