A Lie for a Lie (23 page)

“Nonie said they were
friends
.” I tried to remember if she’d said “just” friends.

“Oh, they were more than that. They were always together. But when he won the role of Idan in
Wayfarers
, he never looked back. He left Emerald Springs, and that was that. He dropped poor Nonie, and she was crushed. Up until then she’d been a top student, on her way to a full scholarship somewhere. After Grady disappeared she just stopped caring, and her grades plummeted. She didn’t even apply for college. When she graduated, she stayed in Emerald Springs and took one menial job after another. After I got married I hired her as my housekeeper because I felt sorry for her. I guess I was on my way to being a professional do-gooder even then.”

“Part of your charity work?”

She looked chagrined. “No, I’m sorry it sounded that way. Nonie was a great choice, but the personal stuff gets sticky after a while. After shoring up Grady, then Nonie, I moved on to wider interests. Eventually I ended up on the national board of A Hospital for Every Child. We work with communities all over the country to develop better pediatric facilities. I’ll be leaving for our semiannual meeting before Grady’s memorial service, which is why it’s been scheduled so late. Maybe Santa Barbara will be cooler than Emerald Springs.”

“No wonder the hospital here was such a priority for you.”

“Farley and I weren’t able to have children of our own. I want other people’s children to have the best treatment available.”

This was a more human side of Veronica, and I liked her better. “Not such a fluffy little life. It sounds like you’re doing a lot to make a difference.”

“You know what they say. Bloom where you’re planted. And I seem to be planted here for good.”

“Maybe that’s not so bad. Grady got out of town, but I don’t think he was a happy man.”

“His life certainly didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped.” She finished her coffee and looked at her watch. “Neither did he, for that matter. I know how much trouble he caused you. I’m sorry that’s the person he turned into, quarrelsome, demanding, difficult. But I’m sorry he died, too.”

“Especially here and now?”

She nodded ruefully. “Especially here. If this had happened somewhere else, he would have been a footnote to Emerald Springs history. Remembered for his roots, his remarkable success. Now he’ll be remembered for being our very own murder victim.”

“I’m sorry, too. That he died at all. That he did it on our watch. That we’re expected to pay 65 percent of his fee . . .”

“That the circumstances are suspicious?”

“Call me eternally curious.”

She got to her feet and picked up her purse. I walked her to the door.

She paused at my threshold. “Just be careful, okay? If Nora Nelson’s not the murderer, that means the real one’s still on the loose.” She paused. “But quite honestly, I think you’re perfectly safe.”

“Because the murderer’s already in jail.”

“Too many coincidences otherwise.”

“You’re certainly in the majority.”

She held out her hand. “You’ll be at Grady’s service?”

I knew better than to say no. “I’ll see you there.”

“We need to put him to rest and move on.”

But as I watched her walk to her car, I wondered how possible that was going to be. Growing up here, Grady Barber might have been a loner and a misfit, but now he would cast one of the longest shadows ever seen in our fair city.

 

 

The moment Nonie had told me about Grady’s autobiography, I’d called Book Gems, the local bookstore where I had once been employed, and asked them to find and order it. Today, after Teddy and Ed returned victorious, I decided to run into town and see if the book had arrived. Instead, just as I was gathering my keys, the store called to tell me the book was out of print and no longer available. I’d have to look for a used copy or try the library. I decided to start with the latter.

The Emerald Springs Library is small and cozy, with that old-book smell that seems to be missing in the most modern versions. I missed having a preschooler young enough for story hour, so I could sit and watch the children’s librarian perform the magic trick of turning a child into a lover of books.

I missed having the time to thumb through the jokes in
Reader’s Digest
.

Since our library has replaced the card catalog with a computer, I went to the desk and told the bespectacled woman behind it what I was looking for.

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked. “
Sailing toward a Rainbow
?”

“There’s a waiting list?”

“We had one copy. Somebody stole it. I’m sure it’ll show up on eBay. The autobiography of Grady Barber from the library in the town where he died. That will jack up the price.”

“Yuck.”

She shrugged, as if to say that was the way of the world.

“Why just one copy?” I asked. “He was a local celebrity.”

“We probably started with more, but when there’s no demand for a book, it’s donated to our book sale in the spring. Too bad we didn’t know—” She paused. “It would be in demand,” she finished.

I was disappointed. Thanks to Veronica and Nonie, I knew something about Grady’s years in Emerald Springs. I wanted to know more about the later years, too, even if Grady’s book was probably a gross exaggeration. Still, it would give me a place to start.

Somebody tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned, expecting to be told to move on, since it seemed like that kind of day. But the woman behind me had a friendly face.

“Esther.” I gave our church organist a quick hug. “Hiding out in the air-conditioning?”

Esther, more energetic in her midseventies than most twentysomethings, pretended to fan herself with her hand. “I have a route. If the parsonage had air-conditioning, I would be visiting you regularly.”

“That’s a reason to ask the church board for window units.”

The woman behind us cleared her throat, and I apologized and stepped aside. Esther went with me and gave up her place in line.

“I heard what you were asking for,” Esther said.

I tried to think of a good excuse. I was stumped.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Esther said when I didn’t explain. “I think we’re all a lot more curious about Grady Barber than we were before this happened.”

“I spent so much time with him. I’m hoping the book will give me a more pleasant perspective.”

“I heard he was a handful.”

Esther was one of the helpful women who had gotten me into this mess in the first place. I couldn’t hold it against her, though. Like Sally Berrigan, Esther had just wanted to keep me busy.

“You’re smiling,” Esther said.

I told her what I was thinking. “You got me into the Idyll, you and the others, to keep me out of trouble, didn’t you?”

She smiled, too. “If that was our reason, it certainly didn’t work. But that wasn’t the reason. Why did you think so?”

“I have this wee history . . .”

“No, you just seemed at loose ends. We thought we’d put your talents for solving problems and finding answers to good use until something better—or worse—came along.”

That was a much nicer slant. I told her so.

“I’ll find you a copy of the book,” Esther said.

“Really? You have one somewhere?”

“No, but I’ll find one.”

She would, too. Esther was a treasure hunter-and-gatherer. She had the gift of finding things of value in places no one else would look. Apparently this extended to Grady’s autobiography.

“That would be great.” I started to say good-bye, so she could get back in line, when I thought of something else. “By the way, did you know Grady personally? I know you taught piano before you retired, and I know he sang in the school choir. Did your paths ever cross?”

“As a matter of fact, they did. One of my students played the piano for him. There was some kind of concert, I think, and she accompanied him during a solo. I remember he came to her lesson, so I could give pointers. He had a voice like an angel. Very memorable.”

“Who was your student?”

“I can’t recall. Over the years I had half a dozen or more who played for the school choir. I can’t remember which one it was, but maybe I will if I think about it.”

I thanked her and gave her another hug before we parted.

I wasn’t done with church folks, though. Since they tend to pop up out of nowhere, I always try to be on my best behavior in public, or else slink around in the shadows. Sometimes both are easier said than done. Luckily this particular church member was somebody I did want to see, so I carefully placed myself in her path.

“Tammy . . .”

Tammy Sargent looked up from the magazine shelves on the other side of the librarian’s desk. She didn’t smile, and she didn’t look all that happy to see me, but she did nod. “Aggie. I was just looking for something new to make for dinner.”

I’d already seen she was clutching
People
magazine and
Us
, which aren’t magazines I consult for their recipes. She was looking for details about Grady’s murder. I carefully didn’t glance at the magazines as she set them down again.

I lowered my voice. “I wanted to say I’m so glad Madison was late on Friday night. I’m happy she wasn’t there when everything happened.”

“We were in a mess. She was getting a final fitting on her costume, and a seam ripped as we were going out the door. So poor Madison was standing there wrapped in a towel while our seamstress tried to fix it, and the clock ticked and ticked. She was frantic.”

Tammy had been talking rapidly, but she came to a sudden halt. Her shoulders drooped. “I guess it was all meant to be. It spared my poor daughter that awful scene.”

“You had a seamstress working on her costume? What a good idea. My mother knows everybody in town who can thread a needle. Maybe she knows her.” I looked expectant.

Tammy hesitated. “Sue Grossman. Over on Eagle Street.”

“I guess I’ll never need her with Junie in town, anyway.”

“I heard
you
found him.”

I nodded. “I went to get Grady just before he was supposed to go out onstage. Somebody else had been there first.”

“Somebody else? You mean Nora Nelson.”

This was not a subject I wanted to debate for the second time that day. I lowered my voice still more. “Tammy, Ed can find the name of a good counselor to help Madison process everything that’s happened. I’m sure the whole thing has been—”

“We don’t need anybody else. She’s got me. Don’t you think I can handle this? Grady Barber’s dead, and Madison just has to move on. Case closed.”

I wondered why Tammy was so defensive again. What exactly was she afraid that Madison might say to somebody? And had she sounded just a shade too happy Grady was history, or was that my imagination?

I tried to pacify her. “We all need help sometimes. This parenting thing is harder than I ever thought it would be, and I’ve got Ed. I just thought you might like somebody to share that burden. You haven’t really had that.”

“And Madison’s turned out just fine.”

“That’s not in question.”

“You and Ed don’t think I know what I’m doing. This isn’t the first time this has come up, and it’s worse now because of that party.”

I apologized, although I wasn’t quite sure for what. “I was trying to lend a hand at a tough time. In no way was I implying you’re not a good mother.”

“Great. For once, just stay out of whatever doesn’t concern you.”

Sometimes the best thing to say is nothing. I watched her stomp away, and I hoped that Madison really had been having her costume pieced together while Grady lay dying on the green room floor. Because if this scenario was an out-and-out lie, then I had to tell Roussos. And fingering a member of our congregation as a murder suspect was as good as asking the church board to fire my husband.

On Thursday, Feeling Quilty was feeling the heat. Except for those quilters without air-conditioning, shopping was low on agendas, and the store was almost empty. Those who did drag themselves in were less enthused than usual.

“After this heat wave nobody believes they’ll ever have use for a quilt again,” Junie said. “I’m offering a class on home-dec sewing. People still believe in place mats and pillow shams.”

We were down in the basement, and I was helping Junie dust and straighten. Not because the classroom area really needed it, but because this was a cooler place to chat than the backyard or porch. By nine AM the thermometer had hit ninety, and by ten thirty the temperature had climbed two degrees. We were rumored to reach triple digits tomorrow.

“Surely we’ll get some rain soon and cooler temperatures,” I said.

“Tempers are short. Yesterday I separated two women who were about to come to blows over the last yard of fabric on a bolt. I had to promise I’d special order more and give it to them at a bargain.”

Even in the basement I still felt too hot for beating around the bush. “It’s always nice to see you, but I do have another reason to be here. Do you know a woman named Sue Grossman? She’s a professional seamstress. She does alterations, tailoring, makes clothes to order.” I had looked Sue Grossman up in the phone book, so I knew Tammy had been telling that much of the truth.

“Sue’s in here every once in a while. She might teach a dressmaking class in the fall.”

Encouraged, I told Junie what Tammy had said about being at Sue’s house the night Grady died. “I need to find out if she really was,” I finished. “I could ask her myself, but I doubt she’d tell a stranger something like that.”

“Oh, you want me to help you get Nora out of jail.” Junie looked thrilled.

I held up a hand. “I’m not sure I’d go that far. But I’m trying to figure out who else might have murdered Grady. The police aren’t going to look any further. They’re perfectly happy just to say a suspect’s in custody.”