A Lie for a Lie (31 page)

“Can you imagine how Winona must have felt to have been written out of his life that way? After he left her here and never looked back? Then he pretends in print that she never even existed?”

“Are elephants involved here? Does she keep a pack of Dobermans for company?”

“I doubt it. She’s kind of a Doberman herself.”

“You’ll be careful when you talk to her tomorrow?”

“How do you know I’m going to talk to her?”

He just looked at me and shook his head.

I kissed his nose. “If I was the minister, you’d have to go off and do all these scary investigations. Just be glad our roles really aren’t reversed.”

Discovering where Winona lived was as easy as opening the telephone book and looking up Unger. There was just one listing for a Jerry Unger, so I made a wild guess Winona was married to good ole Jer. Discovering they lived in the Village was the interesting part. Officially known as Essex Village, the Village is upscale and desirable enough to have its own nickname. Calling it the “Village” is our twist on the “Cape” or the “Vineyard.” The houses are tastefully designed, well constructed, and shaded by towering trees and lilacs. I had no problem finding Winona’s street or the adorable cottage that had a porcelain plaque with her house number to the right of a wisteria-adorned porch.

I’d stewed about this visit throughout the night. How would I feel if the boy I loved in high school ignored me completely in his autobiography, even pretended I never existed? And how would I feel if he had returned for a grand homecoming years later and viewed me only as the maid? Winona had gone into a tailspin when Grady left town without a backwards glance. She’d lost a good chance for a scholarship ticket out of poky little Emerald Springs. How could she not hold this against him?

Of course that was still a long way from murdering him to get even for the slight.

I had expected to find Winona in a less tony neighborhood, perhaps not Weezeltown, where she had grown up, but a street with older cars in driveways and battered bicycles chained to porch railings. Not so. If Winona lived here, she had done well for herself over the years. Even if the neighborhood hadn’t told that story, the house itself would have. The exterior was charming right down to the last detail, and the flipper in me recognized the reason. Care, hard work, and a good eye had made a mildly cute house worthy of a spread in
Cottage Living
magazine.

I may have nerve, but not enough to walk up the flower-lined walkway to the front door and demand to know why Winona killed Grady Barber. I couldn’t point my nonexistent magnifying glass at her, tell her I knew her motive and had irrefutable proof.

Nor could I give away the most significant clue to her guilt, one that had occurred to me the moment I’d first heard Veronica call her “Nonie.” As he choked to death on his own blood, Grady had somehow managed to scrawl three letters on the wall,
nor
. But could he have died before he finished the last one? Could Grady have been trying to write
nonie
? With just a little more time, that lowercase
r
might have become an
n
.

Of course there was the small matter of that knife. I had no explanation for that, except that perhaps Winona had hired somebody, maybe Danny in particular, to steal it so she could pin the murder on somebody at the tent show. Why not point the police in the show’s direction when Sister Nora’s merry band were known to be the biggest kooks in town? Maybe Nora’s arrival backstage, and the similarity to
nonie
were simply accidents.

Accidents do happen, despite what Freud insisted. I’ve rammed enough bumpers in my quest to parallel park to know this for a fact.

I wanted to know more about Winona, but I didn’t feel up to inventing an excuse to confront her in her own house. Besides, she was probably at the Hayworths’ cursing stainless steel appliances that are never, alas, less stained than plain old white ones.

I was contemplating my next move when a woman came out of a brick bungalow two doors down from Winona’s cottage with a collie on a leash. The dog was already panting, and the woman’s familiar face was turning pink from the sun. I recognized the cat’s-eye glasses, the poorly dyed hair, the rotund middle. I couldn’t believe my luck. The woman was Norma Beet, our church secretary. Since things slow down at church during the summer and attendance drops due to parishioners on vacation, Norma works only three afternoons a week until the middle of August. It looked to me as if she’d found a way to fill her mornings.

I got out of my car and hailed her. Norma was delighted to see me. The collie flopped down to the pavement and began to pant harder.

“What are you doing here?” she asked cheerfully. “Visiting friends? Taking a walk?” She went through a list of possibilities without slowing down to let me answer.

Norma has many strengths. Talking nonstop is not one of them. Used to this, I waited for her to breathe, then I jumped in. “I always enjoy a drive through this neighborhood. So what are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you know? I finally talked my father into moving out of that monstrous house of his and into something easier to take care of. We bought this one because it’s got a lovely garden in the back where he can putter whenever he feels like it. We moved in at the beginning of the summer.” She regaled me with packing tales.

A few years ago Norma came to Emerald Springs from South Dakota to take care of her father, Alfred, a take-no-prisoners curmudgeon in his eighties who made everyone in church snap to his step until he was well into his seven-ties. When Alfred began to suffer health problems, Ed was instrumental in convincing him that Norma should move in, a decision that has suited them both. Now I was delighted she had talked Alfred into leaving a house that was big enough for a fraternity.

“Are you enjoying it here?” I asked, when there was another oxygen-depleted pause. “This really is the prettiest neighborhood in Emerald Springs.”

“Oh, we love it! Even Dad. And the neighbors have been so lovely. They’re just the nicest people. I feel so welcomed.”

I hoped the neighbors didn’t run and hide whenever Norma and the collie came out of the house. Norma takes some getting used to, but I’ve learned to appreciate her, if not her incessant chatter. She told me once that her childhood on a wheat farm had taught her to notice everything. Living where big events rarely happened had taught her to appreciate the smallest of changes. Consequently Norma has almost total recall, and if she’s around when an event occurs, she can be relied on for the tiniest details. She’s all too willing to recount them, every one.

“Who’s your friend?” I asked, squatting down to stroke the collie’s golden fur.

“This is Sammy. Dad and I rescued him from the pound. Isn’t he a beaut?”

He was that, but hot. I stood and volunteered to walk with them around the block, and Norma was delighted. The collie lumbered to his feet, and off we went.

“You must have moved while I was in Indiana, or I would have heard. I could have helped,” I told her.

“Don’t worry. The Women’s Society organized meals while we were moving in, and some of the youth group came over and helped us unload our smaller things. By the time I separated the heirlooms from the junk, there was just enough to furnish this house.”

Before we even made the turn up the side street, Norma told me about the changes they’d already made inside, and what they still planned to do. When we had another block under our belts I considered just edging into the subject of Winona, but decided subtlety probably wasn’t fair. When Norma took another deep breath, I told her that I’d met Winona at Veronica Hayworth’s house and I was hoping to learn a bit more about her.

“Because of Grady Barber’s death,” Norma said. “I figured you might be looking into that.”

“Caught me.”

“Well, I didn’t realize you’d think there was anything special about the Ungers. They’re just the nicest family. Winona’s a top-notch mother. I never saw anybody work so hard. College, full-time job, starting her own business, running those children here and there once they get home from school.

“Wow. All that?”

“She’s getting a degree at Emerald College, and she’ll be starting her own business once she does. Meantime she’s working for a woman over in Emerald Estates as a maid. The kids both need braces, and Jerry’s a contractor, but times are slow right now. She says most of her paycheck goes to the orthodontist. She has a good job, though. Most of the time she’s done working when the kids are out of school. A boy and a girl. Jessie and Jamie. Isn’t that cute?”

The names showed a whimsical side to a woman who had never seemed to have one. “What kind of business?” If Winona was a freelancer for the Mob, I was on the track of something big.

“She told me she knows the service industry in Emerald Springs inside out. She’s going to start a referral service. People can call her, and she’ll find them the perfect employee for any job, then she’ll make the contact and set up everything, check progress, and monitor quality. House repairs. Catering and party planning. Cleaning. Home care for the elderly. Pet sitting. She’s been collecting lists and interviewing service providers for months now. She graduates in December, and she’s already preparing to quit her job.”

I suppose that a hit man might be considered a service provider, but somehow murder seemed at odds with Winona’s work ethic and strong mothering skills.

Winona had gotten off to a difficult start, or rather, the episode with Grady had been a difficult detour in a life filled with promise. But it sounded as if Winona had recovered nicely and was once again determined to succeed.

Still, maybe she had secretly pined for Grady Barber since high school, hoping that if she saw him again, their love would be rekindled. Abandoned lovers can tell themselves a number of lies to buffer their pain. When the reunion finally occurred, could Grady’s disdain have sent her into despair and ended with an uncontrollable need for revenge?

“I wonder if the marriage is happy,” I said.

“Judging from what I see? Supremely so. They take every chance they can to do things as a family. And most evenings when Sammy and I walk by, Winona and Jerry are sitting together on the porch on the love seat, talking and laughing.”

I heard a wistful note in Norma’s voice. I think Norma has potential to be more attractive. A good salon, a diet, new glasses. It wouldn’t take much more than that except a short course on active listening. She clearly has a lot of love to give. I wondered if I could help, and filed that away to reconsider after Grady’s murderer was in jail. Match-maker me.

We were nearly back to Norma’s new house, and as we finished the walk, she told me about some of the other neighbors. “You’ve been a help,” I said once we were standing on her sidewalk.

“There’s Winona now.” She nodded her head toward the cottage. “Her boss is away for a few days, and she’s been home with the kids.”

A late-model sedan, plain but impeccably clean, pulled into Winona’s driveway. I was caught standing with Norma and gazing in Winona’s direction. Winona got out, and two good-looking blond children followed through the rear doors. The kids streaked toward the house so fast I only had a blur to go on, but I was guessing middle school.

Winona came toward us. She smiled at Norma. “How are you?” Then she looked at me. “Mrs. Wilcox.”

“Aggie was just driving through the neighborhood and saw me with Sammy,” Norma explained. “We took him for a walk.”

“Just driving through?” Winona sounded skeptical.

“I have to check on Dad,” Norma said. “And I have to get Sammy some water. It’s too hot for man or beast.” She said good-bye and continued to talk to us until she was halfway up her sidewalk. The neighborhood seemed oddly quiet once she was inside.

“So . . . Norma was telling me all about her move,” I said.

“That’s our Norma.”

“She seems happy. She loves the neighborhood.”

“But you didn’t come to see
her
, did you? Why are you here?”

I don’t like to lie. I’m normally very good at telling a piece of the truth so I won’t feel guilty about not telling every bit of it. Now I couldn’t think of a piece that wouldn’t give me away.

“I wanted to find out more about you,” I said instead, giving her the whole darned thing in one gulp. “Veronica told me that you and Grady were more than just friends. She wasn’t talking out of school, Winona. She was just telling me what she knew about him. She made me want to find out more.”

Without the headband and gray uniform, Winona looked as pretty today as I’d guessed she might. She wore daffodil yellow shorts and a tank top, and her blond hair was parted on one side and waved along both cheeks. I was convinced her dangly sunflower earrings had been given to her by a child. Clearly she treasured them.

“We
were
more than that,” she said. “But that was a long time ago. So I’m assuming you’re not asking out of idle curiosity.”

“I don’t think Nora Nelson killed him.”

“And you’re hoping I did, so you can get her out of jail?”

“No. I’d much rather it was some evil psychopath who just got tired of hearing ‘Sailing toward a Rainbow’ in elevators, and wanted payback. But truthfully, I think it was somebody who knew him better than that.”

“And I did and had a reason to hate him.” Winona smiled. Genuinely. “Truly, you know, I did hate him for a while. After I got over loving him, of course, which took some time. There’s nothing quite like that first love. Anyway, I told myself he’d ruined my life. I was sure I’d never love anybody else or move on. For a while I pretty much made sure of that. Then I got a little help, started noticing it wasn’t Grady who’d made me give up my other dreams or stop working on them. I’d done that part by myself. So I took a few classes, remembered how much I love to learn, got the job with Veronica so I’d have time to take more, met my husband . . .”