An Affair to Dismember (14 page)

“Yes. If I had stayed, he would have killed me for
sure.” Sarah’s eyes darted toward the nun, and her cheeks flamed red. Sister Cyril patted her hand.

“It’s okay, Sarah. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You did the right thing.”

“I had an affair,” Sarah blurted out. “No one had been nice to me in so many years, and Jeff was so kind to me.”

Sister Cyril supplied the rest of the story. “Don found out about you and Jeff, and now you’re here.”

Sarah sniffed, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Excuse me,” she said. She jumped up and scooted away. Sister Cyril was fast on her heels. I heard her give Sarah some words of comfort as they retreated back into the main building.

“Don killed Jeff,” Bridget said.

“What?”

“Sarah’s husband killed her lover. He found out about it and beat him to death with a hammer.”

I gasped and choked on my egg salad. “That’s horrible.”

“He had locked her up all those years, and she wound up falling in love with the exterminator. They had a monthly service, you see. Her husband didn’t want her betraying him by having a life outside the house, and when she managed to have a life without him, all the while locked up in the house, well, he went crazier than he already was.”

“Geez, what’s wrong with the world? Everybody is killing everybody else all of a sudden.”

“I’m pretty sure murder has been around for a while, Gladie. As long as men have been around. Tell me about your dead body.”

I told her about Uncle Harry, stealing Spencer’s car, and discovering the body. I skipped the part where Spencer and I slept together. I didn’t think that was need-to-know information for the moment.

“How dare he tell you not to get involved,” Bridget said. “Who does he think is?”

“The police chief,” I reasoned.

“No, he thinks he’s a man, and he doesn’t want a helpless female sticking her hysterical nose in. But this is public information, Gladie. You have just as much right as anyone else to look into these murders. You’re only doing it for the welfare of our town.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are. Spencer Bolton may be the hottest thing to walk on two legs, but he’s not worth his salt. I heard all about him from Bird Gonzalez when I got my hair done yesterday. Did you know he is so shallow he weighs his girlfriends every morning?”

As much as I loved the image of him weighing his girlfriends, I thought Bird had exaggerated Spencer’s shallowness just a tad.

“I’m not going to quit looking into Randy Terns’ gang,” I told Bridget, “but not because Spencer is a sexist. I have more information, and I’m in this thing too deep. If the killer knows who I am, I can’t afford to wait for the Cannes police department to get around to catching him. Hell, they haven’t even ruled it a murder yet.”

Bridget nodded.

“I need your help,” I said, pulling out Jimmy’s mail from my purse. “I need you to hang on to this for me for a while. I’m not ready for the police to see it yet.”

Bridget opened up the bank statements and skimmed them.

“Jimmy the Fink was depositing a tidy sum every month in addition to his Social Security check,” I told her. “Bridget, I think he was blackmailing Randy Terns.”

“This is big,” Bridget said. “Jimmy was blackmailing Randy? You’ve got motive right here. But for who?
Jimmy killed Randy because why? Because he wouldn’t pay anymore? Then who killed Jimmy?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the other one, Chuck Costas. I have to talk to Uncle Harry again. Spencer said something to me. He said the gang meant business. It got me to thinking. Uncle Harry is all business, and I’m sure he would make it his business to know more about Randy and his gang than he let on.”

THIRTY MINUTES later, Uncle Harry’s door opened, this time by Uncle Harry himself instead of his butler. I threw a handful of dog biscuits inside to calm his dogs.

“How you doin’, Legs?” He greeted me with a kiss on my cheek and let me into his living room.

“I forgot something,” I told him.

“Yeah? What was that?” Spencer came into view, his arms folded in front of him with an expression on his face that said I had been a naughty girl. Was he following me or something? The man was constantly stomping on my territory.

“Do you have a room here or what?” I asked, annoyed.

Spencer scowled. “Never mind that. What did you forget? A lipstick? A book? What?”

“Uncle Harry,” I said, making a point to ignore Spencer. “I forgot to ask you something. Did Randy Terns speak to you recently, before he died? Did he tell you he was scared?”

UNCLE HARRY poured himself a drink and took a seat on his extra-deep, extra-plush white couch.

“Did Randy Terns tell you he was scared?” I repeated. “Perhaps he was being blackmailed?”

“She’s better than you, Spencer,” Uncle Harry said. “Spencer didn’t guess about the blackmailing.”

I exhaled. It was a wonderful feeling, being right. I was vindicated somehow, like I was finally good at something. I helped myself to Uncle Harry’s bar, popped off the top of a Corona, and took a long swig. I felt Spencer’s eyes on me, trying to read me, trying to figure out how I had guessed blackmail.

“Randy Terns was a scared man in general,” Uncle Harry said. “I think he was scared about a lot of things, but honestly, I don’t know what they were.”

“But he was being blackmailed?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. Randy was being blackmailed, and he wanted to find his gang.”

We let that information settle for a minute. Randy had been after his old gang. But Randy had never found Jimmy, or if he had, he’d left Jimmy alive and well.

“But you didn’t help Randy,” I said. “You didn’t tell him where Jimmy was.”

Uncle Harry downed the last of his drink. “I did one better. I pretended to help him, pretended I was looking for his old gang. But I would never have told Randy where to find Jimmy the Fink or Chuck Costas. I didn’t trust that Randy just wanted to talk, and contrary to popular belief, I don’t condone murder. Even if they were blackmailing Randy, I didn’t think Jimmy and Chuck needed to die over a few bucks, a few bucks that they had earned, really.”

“Did you think Randy Terns was capable of murder?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but anybody who dresses as a tree to rob a bank is erratic at best, if you know what I mean. He could have done anything.”

“How long did you keep pretending?”

“Not long. Randy was dead a week after he came to me.”

I gasped. Randy had been noisy about finding his former colleagues. Maybe they had found him before he found them. Maybe they had objected to the change in plan regarding the blackmail. Perhaps I had stumbled on the motive for Randy’s murder. “Do you think Chuck Costas, the third gang member, killed him?” I asked.

“It’s a possibility.”

“Are you really looking for Chuck Costas or are you pretending?”

“You’ll have to wait and see, Legs.”

“IT WOULD be safer if you just offered yourself to Harry’s Rottweilers for lunch.”

Spencer had followed me out to my car. I put my key in the lock and opened the door with a loud creak.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

Spencer scowled. I could see him debating with himself whether to arrest me again.

“It’s not like I’m going after the third gang member,” I said.
At least not until Uncle Harry tells me where he is
. “Besides, I’ve got work to do. I’ve figured out a match, and I need to handle it.”

Spencer’s face relaxed. “Good. Just put this whole thing out of your mind.”

“That’s what I plan on doing. I’m going to work, try to start drinking tea, and go to the memorial on Wednesday.”

He put his hand out, palm toward me. “Wait, don’t do that. You should stay clear of the Terns family. Randy wasn’t the only one who was a little loopy. His kids all have a screw or two loose.”

“I’ll be careful. They seem pretty harmless, though,” I said.

“That may very well be, but people have been dropping dead, and I would prefer you weren’t one of them.”

“You said that with a straight face.”

Spencer shrugged and smirked.

“You beginning to like me, Spencer?”

“Let’s just say I hate paperwork.”

I slipped into my Cutlass Supreme and turned on the motor. “Do me a favor,” I called out over the roar of my V-8. “Let me know how Jimmy the Fink died, when you find out.”

“I could do that.”

I WAS lying about putting the murders out of mind. And I was lying about trying to love tea. But I was telling the truth about getting to work. I was on my way back to Tea Time to sign up my first matchmaking client. Grandma was right. It had come to me in a flash that morning, and I knew for sure just how to match Ruth’s niece, Julie.

The day was heating up. I rolled down Main Street, looking for a parking spot, and almost crashed when I spotted Betty Terns coming out of the drugstore. It was the first time I had seen her away from her house, and it startled me. I had somehow assumed she was like my grandmother, forever close to home.

Betty wore a forty-year-old pink suit in perfect condition—it wouldn’t have looked out of place on Mamie Eisenhower. She clutched her purse like it was going to fly away.

I parallel-parked perfectly in a space three inches too short for my car and bolted down the sidewalk after her.

“Betty!” I called. She continued walking, even picking up the pace. I ran after her in my heels on the cobblestone walk, praying I wouldn’t break a bone.

“Betty!” I called again, finally reaching her and tapping her on the shoulder. She turned around slowly. Her eyes squinted at me, her mouth turned down in frustration. No, not frustration. Anger. But then in an instant, her face brightened into the most welcoming smile.

“Gladie,” she gushed, “what a wonderful surprise.”

“I’m so glad I caught you. Would you like to get some iced tea with me? My treat.”

Betty looked around, as if waiting for another person to appear with a better offer, but she nodded. “Sure. I would love to. It’s warm today.”

Tea Time had calmed down since the morning. Only two other customers were in the place; they were sitting at a table, pouring black tea from light blue miniature teapots.

“Again? And you expect me to serve you here?” Ruth sidled up to our table carrying a rag, which she had been using to wipe down the bar.

“Two peach iced teas. Extra ice,” I ordered, cutting off her rant.

Ruth stumbled backward. “Tea? Are you sure? Did I hear you correctly?”

It was the closest to vulnerable I’d ever seen her.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve been dreaming about your peach iced tea all day.”

“I’ll bring you some scones, too. On the house.”