by Diane Weiner
“It’ll make for continuity for sure.”
She continued reading the logbook. “Dad, what’s this?” Two of the pages were filled with numbers left to right. She handed it to her father.
“I don’t know. Too many numbers to be a combination or phone numbers.”
“They aren’t perfectly straight, either. It’s kind of a pattern, yet it isn’t.”
“I don’t know, honey. My grandfather loved spy books and puzzles. He was probably doodling.”
The door creaked open. “Ya’ll workin’ or chit chatting? There’s a pile of repairs over there. I gotta finish the new rosewood for the guy at the Met. Promised he’d have it after the holidays.”
“Where were you, Grandpa? I checked the house and you were gone.”
“Needed some fresh air, that’s all.” He hung his wool coat on a hook by the door. He walked past Sara to his worktable.
“You smell like garlic. You worried about vampires or something? I know you weren’t in the house making sauce.”
“Mind your own bee’s wax. If you want to help, be quiet and start varnishing.”
Sara dropped the brush, this time out of her good hand. What am I going to do? Now I’m having trouble with my right hand, too? No, just butterfingers. From worry. The dystonia is supposed to stay isolated, not affect both hands.
Her father came over with a rag. “You okay?”
“Tired, that’s all. I’m sorry, let me clean it up.”
His phone rang. “Patty? Yeah, I’ll make a ShopRite run. A roast, carrots, and some sort of dessert. I’ll try to remember.”
“Mom wants you to go shopping?”
“She says you and that Travis fellow are having dinner with us tonight.”
She’d completely forgotten to invite Travis. “I’ll run to the store while you and Grandpa get some work done. I heard roast, carrots, and dessert. How’s she going to make a roast that quickly?”
“I bought her a pressure cooker for her birthday. Surprised the heck out of her that I came up with such a thoughtful present. She’ll get it done.”
A pressure cooker? If my husband bought me a pressure cooker as a gift, I’d have a fit. Sara grabbed her jacket and got into her car. She pulled her phone out of her purse. Do I want him to come? He’s hiding something. The only way I’ll find out if he had something to do with Ellie’s murder is to spend time with him. Surely, something will slip out.
“Travis, it’s me. Mom invited you over for dinner tonight. I forgot to mention it. 7:00. Text me or call me back when you get this message.”
She got to ShopRite before the ‘pre-dinner rush’, as her Mom always called it. The rush meant waiting behind one or two others to checkout instead of walking right up to the register. Back in San Francisco, you couldn’t find a parking space from 4 p.m. until well after 8:00. She knew she had to stop comparing everything to her old life—the life she didn’t know if she’d ever recoup.
She felt like a lost child, standing over the meat case. It’d been a while since she bought a roast. What size was she supposed to get? A rump roast? A pork roast? It was all very confusing.
“Hi, Sara. You spend as much time at the grocery store as I do, I see.” It was her old music teacher.
“I’m on a mission to buy dinner ingredients and have no idea what to get.”
“How many people?”
“Four or five. And she wants carrots.”
“Well, if she’s cooking carrots, she probably means a pot roast. Here’s one that should fit the bill. I always buy more than I need so I can have leftovers the next day.”
“Thanks! Hey, what are you doing for dinner tonight? Why don’t you come over?”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“Are you kidding? You know Mom. The more the merrier.”
“Well, I’d like that. As long as the roads stay clear. I’ll bring dessert.”
“Great. One less choice I have to make.”
“I was heading to that aisle anyway. My friend, Lillian, just got out of the hospital.”
“Is she okay now?”
“Yeah. Very strange. She had her hip replaced last year. For a while she felt great—no pain when she walked. She even started doing Zumba with the exercise channel. Then she got this strange rash, and she was tired all the time. Then her hair started falling out. Not all of it, but enough where you could see her scalp through it.”
“What caused it?”
“Her daughter made her see a specialist in the city. It was metal poisoning.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She underwent treatment and she’s much better now, although the hair doesn’t seem to be growing back.”
“Glad to hear they figured it out in time.” She pushed down her glove and looked at her watch. “I’d better get moving. See you tonight.”
Chapter 17
Sara put on her skinny jeans and a bright red sweater. Skinny was a misnomer. In fact, she had a bit of trouble zipping them up, though they’d fit just fine before this trip. She took time straightening her naturally unruly hair, and put on a bit of mascara. I look way too pale. Her California tan had faded and she remedied it with a little blush and bright lipstick. Travis honked. She took a last look in the mirror, grabbed her coat and went outside.
Travis unlocked the car door. “Glad I checked my phone messages.”
“Where were you? It took you long enough to return my call.”
“So all day long you’ve been longing to talk to me?”
“Shut up. That’s not what I meant. It’s just…Mom had to know how many she was cooking for.”
“What happened when you went to Jailyn’s medical school? Did anyone remember her?”
“Yes, they did. Jailyn had been a suspect in a hit and run. Girlfriend of her former lover/lab partner. Of course, they couldn’t prove anything, but everyone at the school thought she was guilty. Jailyn has a temper and is vindictive. It establishes a pattern.”
“It’s hard to imagine a successful doctor with this serious of a fatal flaw. If you hadn’t found the ID badge at the cabin, I’d be skeptical.”
At least he believes me about the badge and doesn’t think I’m crazy. She took off her glove and rubbed her hand.
“It’s bothering you. Are the stretches helping?”
“They were, but I’ve been slacking. I tried practicing. I was fine for a while, then my fingers clenched. I can’t imagine not playing in the symphony. It’s my whole life.”
“Sometimes we’re given a detour, or wind up choosing a better route.”
“Did you read that in a fortune cookie? You sound like you’re talking from experience. Is that what happened to you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Hey, I forgot the bottle of wine I was going to bring.”
“Don’t worry. My parents seldom drink wine. They’re quite the teetotalers. You can bring it next time if you want.” Am I counting on a next time? “We’re here.”
Her mother flung open the door and ran outside. “Sara, honey, come in. It’s freezing out. Travis, let me take your coat.”
“And where’s your coat, Mom? I told you not to go running outside in the middle of winter in shirt sleeves. You’re going to get sick.”
“Smells wonderful in here. Pot roast?” Travis took off his coat and gloves.
“One of my specialties. I made it in the pressure cooker. Can I get you a glass of wine?”
“Sure.” Travis followed Sara into the living room while Patty carried the jackets into the kitchen.
Sara said, “Travis, this is my former music teacher, Mrs. Capelli. One of my greatest fans.”
“Gail, please. Sara, you can call me that too you know.”
“She encouraged me to go into music.” Her father cleared his throat. “Of course, Dad fed me a musical diet from the time I was born. He taught me most everything I know. Mrs. Capelli was like extra vitamins.”
Grandpa came in from the kitchen. Was she imagining it, or did his e
yes sparkle when he saw Mrs. Capelli sitting on the sofa?
“You bought the wrong kind of carrots, Sara. Your mom doesn’t buy them pre-sliced you know.”
Patty Baron interjected. “It’s fine, Sara. Saved me a step or two, and cooked with the roast who would know the difference?”
“How you doing there, Barack?”
Travis didn’t bat an eye, just answered. “Hungry. Nice eating something other than fried chicken and collard greens.”
Sara felt mortified. Her grandfather hadn’t even caught Travis’s sarcasm. He can’t be that rude, can he? He’s deliberately pushing my buttons, like he used to do to Grandma. Grandma didn’t let him get away with it. “Grandpa, do you remember my old music teacher, Gail Capelli?”
“Yeah. We know each other.”
Sara felt surprised. “You do?”
Gail said, “Your Grandpa and I run into each other on our lunch time walks. Sometimes we hit the diner for coffee afterwards.”
“Grandpa, you walk? With your bad hip? I thought you were kidding when you told me that earlier. I thought you took your nap after lunch.”
“Am I supposed to report when I leave the house now? Is there a sign out sheet?”
“Your grandpa and I have a lot in common,” said Gail. She rested her hand on his shoulder and he seemed to relax immediately.
A lot in common? Funny, I don’t recall my beloved music teacher being a racist old coot. She jumped when the doorbell rang,
“Who else are you expecting, Mom?”
Sara’s mother went to the door. “I invited Detective Lambert.”
“I asked you not to.”
“I know, but he was talking about going home and opening a can of Spaghetti-O’s for dinner. He wasn’t even going to bother heating them up. Cold Spaghetti-O’s straight from the can? You’d have done what I did if you were in my shoes.” She opened the door.
“You look lovely, Patty. These are for you.” Phil Lambert handed her a bouquet of carnations and a bottle of wine.”
“Beautiful flowers, thanks. And wine. We love wine.”
Phil took off his coat and gave Sara a kiss on the cheek. “Nice to see you again so soon.”
Travis shook his hand. “Glad you could make it.”
“Phil, this is my former music teacher, Gail Capelli.”
He kissed her hand. “Former? You don’t look old enough to have been teaching when Sara was in school.”
Gail blushed. Grandpa grumbled. Sara could read his thoughts. Don’t go flirting with my lady. She had to chuckle. Grandpa and Mrs. Capelli?
Phil sat on the sofa, planting himself between Travis and Sara.
Sara felt uncomfortable with the silence. “So, Phil, where was Jailyn Peters the night of Ellie’s murder? Unofficially, of course.”
“She has a solid alibi. She was volunteering in a clinic across town.”
“I don’t buy it. I think she and Preston Montague worked together to get rid of Ellie.”
“Why? Preston Montague broke up with Jailyn Peters well before he started seeing Ellie. Then, Ellie broke up with Preston. That’s not a love triangle. I don’t see motive.”
“Preston was angry Ellie called off the engagement. His family was pressuring him to get the ring back, but Ellie refused. There’s motive.”
“A weak motive at best,” said Phil.
Travis said, “He ran away after the murder. You were barely able to question him. If he’s innocent, why hide out in the cabin?”
“I’ve seen it before. A suspect is innocent but knows it looks bad for him so he avoids the police. I’ve got to admit he was the first person we considered.”
Sara didn’t buy it. She hadn’t completely made up her mind over whether Preston was sincere when he asked for her help. Preston may be getting close to Jailyn because he suspects her of killing Ellie. “Then what about Jailyn Peters? She lent Preston her Tesla and she’s helping him hide out at the cabin.”
“We found no evidence of that,” said Phil.
“I told you she dropped her ID badge at the cabin.”
“We didn’t find…”
“She has a history of reacting poorly to being jilted.”
“And she saw a way of getting back together with Preston,” said Travis. “I mean, without Ellie in the picture…”
“Who said she wanted Preston back? You don’t even know who initiated the breakup. It’s all conjecture. We have nothing linking Jailyn Peters to the crime scene, or Preston Montague for that matter. The only prints we found in the house were yours, Travis.”
“We were neighbors. Of course, I’d been over there.”
He said he barely knew Ellie. Just said hello to her when he saw her outside. And what about the earring I found in his sofa? The one that matches Ellie’s? And the curling iron?
Phil said, “And there were tire tracks in her driveway. They match your truck.”
“I didn’t give you permission to test my tires. Did you have a warrant?”
“Didn’t need one. Tires on that truck of yours are fairly standard.”
“In other words, you have tire tracks matching the tires of the model of truck I drive. Not my specific truck. Besides, I drove over when Sara found the body.”
No, he ran over and drove my car back to his place.
“We were nearly killed by a speeding Buick on my way here from the airport.”
“And Sara, you’re sure it’s the same Tesla you saw Preston drive away in at the parking garage? One hundred percent sure?”
“Yes. Top of the line. I’m sure.”
“Even if it was the same car, it could have been speeding for a million reasons other than that the driver had just killed your friend. Maybe he was late getting home to his wife, or late to start the night shift where he worked, or he had too much to drink.”
Patty Baron stood in the doorway wearing the ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron she’d bought at the craft fair years ago. “Dinner’s on the table.”
Phil sat next to Sara. Grandpa was about to sit on her other side when Travis said, “Why don’t you switch with me so you can talk to Gail more easily?”
Grandpa grumbled, nodded, and hobbled over to where Gail sat.
Bob Baron, head of the household, was perched at the head of the table like a king on a throne. “Patty, come on in before it gets cold.”
She poked her head out of the kitchen. “I’m just packing a care package for Jacob next door. I’ll take it over after dinner.”
Bob said, “Our neighbor is a recent widower. Poor guy doesn’t know which end is up. If Patty didn’t bring him food, he’d likely starve himself to death.”
Gail said, “How considerate. I know how he feels. It’s so lonely in the house with my Charlie gone. It was some time before I could get out of bed to make myself meals.”
“Patty and Bob took care of me after Mary died. They still do, though they don’t need to treat me like a baby.”
That’s about the mildest I’ve ever heard Grandpa complain about being babied. Usually it involves yelling and stomping—more like a temper tantrum.
“Well,” said Gail, “getting to know your grandfather has really brightened things up. Maybe your neighbor would like to join us on our walks sometime.”
Patty said, “That’s a great idea. I’ve invited him over but he always refuses. Maybe if you and Grandpa went and knocked on his door it’d be different.”
“More wine?” said Bob.
“Not for me. I’m technically off duty but you never know when I’ll be called in,” said Phil. Sara could have sworn he puffed out his chest in an inflated sense of importance as he spoke.
“Pass the salt,” said Grandpa. Sara reached for it, but couldn’t grasp it. It spilled on the placemat.
Sara instinctively threw a pinch over her left shoulder. I can pick up a pinch of salt but miss the shaker. My hand has a mind of its own now. “I’m so sorry.” She picked up the placemat and went into the kitchen.
Her mother called after
her. “Honey, there’s another placemat in the drawer next to the stove.”
She was about to go back inside, when she heard a phone vibrate. It was coming from Travis’s jacket pocket. She slid it out. Unknown caller. Probably a telemarketer. She went back to the table.
Phil said, “Your father was telling me about the family business. How interesting. Do you know how to make those things too?”
“You mean oboes? Yes. It’s been a while but Dad taught me back when I was little. I’m a little out of practice.”
Bob said, “Nah. It’s like riding a bike. Look how you stepped right in doing repair work. We’re already making a dent in the backlog since you’ve been home.”
Travis pulled his phone out of his pocket. The ring tone was the opening of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. “Excuse me, I’ve got to take this.” He went out the back door, allowing the frigid air to sweep in.
His phone just rang. In the kitchen. In his jacket pocket. I saw it with my own eyes. He has two cell phones! Her creative mind raced through the list—wife, secret girlfriend, a child. Or optimistically, a slew of patients he stayed connected to in case they required emergency physical therapy.
“Right, Sara?” said Patty.
“Huh?”
“I was telling Phil how you used to play in the marching band. You looked like a toy soldier in that tall hat and the pants with the gold stripe running down the sides.”
“Those uniforms were the worst! Especially when it got warmer and we had to march in the Memorial Day parades. I have Mrs. Capelli to thank for those memories!”
Gail laughed. “I didn’t like it any more than you did. You think I liked giving up my Saturdays to be at football games all fall? I don’t even like football.”
Patty said, “Remember that time it was so hot and you threw up right during the ceremony at the cemetery?”
“Mom, please. Let’s change the subject.” She was glad Travis was out of earshot, not wanting him to picture her dressed like a toy soldier with vomit in her hair. He definitely wouldn’t have let that go by without a sarcastic barb. She shuddered.
