Death in Reel Time (6 page)

“Marking the rough footage of one of the interviews with Charlie Martin,” Tony said. “Wanna watch?”

“You sure we wouldn't be bothering you?”

“No, it's okay. I'm just making notes of where to cut,” he said, pointing to a list of time marker notations. He picked up a little gizmo and attached it to the computer's port. “I'll put this splitter on so you can get the audio, but I won't be able to hear you very well.” He pulled the earphones back up but held them away from his ears. “So don't think I'm being rude if you say something and I don't answer.”

I motioned for him to go ahead and he let the padded earpieces fall into place. Esme was muttering again. Clearly, he hadn't won her over quite yet.

Charlie Martin was a grizzled old guy. His hair was cropped close to his scalp and he had a short, unkempt beard and wiry eyebrows that stuck out in all directions, probing the air like little antennae.

I could see what Tony meant about Beth being good with people. She teased Charlie without being condescending or disrespectful. And when he wasn't forthcoming she coaxed him along, saying things like “Oh, Charlie, would you tell Tony what you told me before about . . .” This seemed to rev Charlie's motor when he was about to go into a stall, and so the interview moved right along.

He talked freely about his time riding the rails when he was a young man, sleeping in hobo camps and working
here and there for food. But when Beth started on questions about the war, he turned somber. And when she asked about the men he served with he went totally silent and looked down at his hands. After a few beats he looked into the camera, his face set hard, and snarled, “Turn that thing off.”

The screen went blank and then the picture blinked back on again. Beth switched tracks and asked Charlie questions about gardening and plants for a couple of minutes and then made another attempt at eliciting wartime stories. He hesitated, then looked into the camera and slowly shook his head.

When I looked at Esme, she had a hand spread across her forehead, a pained expression on her face. I reached behind Tony to touch her shoulder. “You okay?”

She cleared her throat and patted my hand, but she didn't turn to look at me. “Lots of ghosts from that dark time,” she said, her eyes squeezed shut. “Lots of haunted souls.”

We all looked up as Olivia came into the room from the screened porch. Her face was red and her clothes were stained with dirt and spotted with perspiration.

“I thought you were upstairs resting,” Tony said, snatching the headphones off. “Where in the world have you been?” He got up and guided Olivia toward a chair and she collapsed into it.

“I am so sorry, Esme and Sophreena,” she said, panting as she wiped her forehead on her sweatshirt sleeve. “It was such a beautiful day I decided to rest in the lawn chair out in the yard. And then I was feeling so good I decided I'd try walking down to the lake. I used to do that several times a day and never gave it a thought. I made it down fine and
I thought
so far, so good
. But I had to rest a while before I could make the walk uphill. It was wet and slippery from last night's rain and I couldn't seem to keep my feet under me good. I should have taken my phone. I'd have called you to drive your motorcycle down and get me, Tony.”

“Yeah, wouldn't Beth just love that? Me putting you on the back of my bike? But I could have done the fireman carry,” he said, doing a pantomime.

He was trying to get a laugh from Olivia and she obliged. When she excused herself to take a shower, Esme and I left Tony to his editing and went to the dining room to lay out the notes to get Olivia started on her heritage scrapbooks.

I glanced at my watch as we sorted through the selection of background papers Marydale had brought over. “Maybe we're going to be dining fashionably late,” I said. “It's after five and Daniel's not even here to begin the cooking.”

“I'm told he's very picky about his ingredients. He likes fresh and local,” Esme said. “Winston said he was going right to the farm to get some things.”

Olivia came in looking refreshed and quite spiffy in a rust-colored pantsuit. But she was moving stiffly. I had a hunch she had suffered more than a little slipping and sliding in her trek up the hill. We tried to work for a bit but she was distracted and couldn't concentrate on the questions, which was just as well, since the others started arriving a few minutes later. We'd just settled in the living room when Daniel came rushing in from the kitchen.

He welcomed us and did a quick survey of the room. “Mom, where's Beth? I was counting on her to do hostess duty while I cook.”

“She's not here yet,” Olivia said. “But I think I'm capable of acting as hostess, especially considering this is my house.” She started to rise, but Daniel put a hand on her shoulder.

“Of course you're capable, Mom,” he said. “The point is this is supposed to be a treat for you, too.”

Olivia frowned. “What in the world happened to your arm?” she asked, tracing a long, nasty scrape along his forearm.

“Little farm mishap,” he said. “Two of the goats conspired to push a gate open. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's nothing. I'll go find Tony and press him into service until Beth gets here. He'll have some appetizers out to y'all in a jiffy. Dinner will be served in about an hour. Hope you're all hungry.”

We chatted companionably, but I noticed Olivia didn't seem herself. On closer inspection I could see she had her own assortment of small injuries, souvenirs from her afternoon's misadventure. She'd broken fingernails, scrubbed up her knuckles, and had a blooming bruise on her ankle that was only visible when the hem of her pants hiked slightly. Daniel hadn't noticed. I wondered if Olivia would report the incident to Daniel or Beth later, and debated whether I should rat her out if she didn't. I leaned toward her and asked if she was okay.

“I'm fine,” she assured me, grasping my hand. “I'm a little concerned about where Beth is, though. It's not like her to be so late. And without calling.”

“Would you like me to go call her?” I asked.

“Yes, please, would you do that? I'll enjoy myself more if I know what's holding her up.”

I stepped out to the kitchen, where Daniel was in his element. He was moving with efficient speed and directing Tony to do the same. I held up my phone. “Your mom is worried about Beth and wants me to call, but I don't have her number.”

He nodded toward a list on a bulletin board hung by an old-fashioned wall phone. I called both Beth's home number and her cell and got voice mail each time. “Maybe she's somewhere with Blaine,” I said. “Will he be joining us, too?”

“Blaine wasn't invited,” Daniel said, his voice flat. “But I'm getting a little worried myself. This is
not
like her.”

“Want me to go over to her house and see if she's there?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, that'd be great,” Daniel said, “but take the appetizers out first, please.”

Tony held the tray high, fancy-waiter style, and I followed in his wake, half convinced the enticing aromas wafting from the tray might actually be able to lift me right off my feet like in the cartoons.

I slipped in next to Olivia and whispered to her that I hadn't been able to reach Beth, but that Tony was going over to check on her.

She smiled and nodded, moving a stack of magazines from the coffee table so Tony could put the tray down. Daniel followed a moment later with a huge tray laden with three pitchers, tumblers filled with ice, and some stemware.

“Jack, would you play bartender so I can get back to the kitchen?” he asked, then pointed to each pitcher in turn. “There's ginger iced tea, raspberry lemonade, and sangria. Please, enjoy.”

When he had gone I picked up a little cocktail plate. I tried to be dainty but by the time I was done I'd piled one of everything onto it. There were stuffed mushrooms, some kind of tiny tart, figs stuffed with goat cheese, and several things I couldn't identify but was eager to try.

We heard Tony's motorcycle start up and I winced involuntarily, awaiting the backfire, but I heard him pull out onto the street and purr away with no startling bang this time. We laughed and talked for a while longer, then Daniel came to check that we had everything we needed. I considered telling him I'd like every appetizer he had left in the kitchen put into a doggy bag for me to eat later, but I resisted.

Tony was gone for quite some time and when he returned I didn't hear his motorcycle in time to prepare myself. The backfire almost made me dump my plate of goodies into my lap. Tony made quite a striking picture standing in the doorway in his black motorcycle jacket. He carried his helmet by the strap in one hand and pushed his hair back with the other. “No answer at the door,” he reported. “But her car's there and I think I heard the shower running inside. She'll probably be along soon.” The helmet slipped from his grasp and rolled over to the baseboard. I saw him grimace as he reached for it and noticed that the fingers on his right hand were horribly swollen. Had they been that way earlier? I didn't have time to ask.

Daniel clapped his hands together and announced, “I think we'll have to go ahead without her or else dinner's going to be ruined.”

Olivia seemed about to protest, but after a moment's hesitation she managed a wobbly smile. “Yes, I'm sure she'll
understand. Something must have come up. Oh, and I forgot, they're with one car; maybe Blaine had the car, maybe that's why she's late. Anyway, she can join us whenever she gets here.”

We'd made it through the salad course and still Beth hadn't arrived. I was annoyed with her since I was a little worried now, too, and I couldn't concentrate every cell in my body on enjoying the food, which even my untrained palate found extraordinary. Daniel and Tony started bringing in the main course of salmon topped with a chopped salsa-type stuff, tiny herbed potatoes the size of jelly beans, and asparagus with some kind of yummy yellow sauce. We were halfway through dinner when Beth appeared in the porch doorway, her hair wet and her clothing slightly rumpled. She was pale but there was high color in her cheeks and her eyes glinted.

“I am so sorry,” she said, looking up and down the table as if she weren't entirely sure where she was. “I was,” she said, then there was a moment of silence as if she was trying to remember something. “I just let the time get away from me,” she said finally. She slipped into her seat, then seemed startled by a thought. “Oh, Daniel, I'm so sorry. Can I help?”

“Everything's under control,” he said, giving her a tepid smile. “Tony stepped in. Glad you could make it.”

“Good, that's good,” she said, settling back in place and unfolding her napkin. She had her head down and her movements were strangely slow and measured. Esme and I exchanged looks. Something wasn't right.

The conversation resumed and Daniel went to the kitchen to get Beth's plate. As he put it in front of her he
bent down to whisper in her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. I assumed he was asking her if she was okay. I also assumed she was lying through her teeth when she indicated she was.

In contrast to the rest of us, who did everything but pick up our plates and lick them, Beth pecked at her food, frowning occasionally as if she'd tasted something odd. I wondered if she'd actually been the one who hadn't wanted to invest in Daniel's restaurant because she didn't like his food. If that was the case, she had buckshot for taste buds.

We lingered for a while over dinner and Beth excused herself from the table twice. She seemed unsteady on her feet and I saw Olivia's worried gaze follow as she left the room each time.

Daniel invited us to retire to the living room for dessert and coffee—key lime pie and a chocolate almond torte, which made me sorely regret not planning ahead and saving room for both.

The doorbell rang as we were filing in. Olivia was already seated and Daniel and Tony were both carrying trays, so Esme went to answer the door.

I heard her voice take on a particular lilt and I detoured to the front hall.

“Couldn't stay away, could you?” Esme said to the visitor. “You were invited as my plus-one, you know, and you said you couldn't make it. You missed a fine, fine dinner, but you can still join us for dessert.”

The door opened wider and I saw Detective Denton Carlson of the Morningside Police Department standing on the front porch. Denny is a very large African-American
man and one of the few around who could be a match for Esme, in size and in many other ways as well. They'd been dating for more than a year now, though she still refused to call it that. According to her they were just “passing time” together. Esme's an independent woman, sometimes to a fault.

“Hey,” I called. “I thought you were on duty tonight.”

“I am,” he said with a sigh. “Sorry, Esme, I'm not here to see you, though I'm always
happy
at the sight of you.” He gave her a half smile. “Is Bethany Branch here?”

“Yes, she's in here,” I said, jerking a thumb back over my shoulder.

“I need to see her,” Denny said, stepping across the threshold, his big body filling the doorway. “It's official business, I'm sad to say.”

He walked purposefully to the archway into the living room, Esme and I trailing behind him. Everyone looked up, smiling, and then the smiles faded, one by one, as they took in the look on his face.

He nodded a general greeting, scanning the room until his eyes lit on Beth and locked. “Beth, could I have a word with you in private?” he asked.

She looked back at him and seemed to have trouble bringing him into focus.

“Why would you want to do that?” she asked.

“Bad news, I'm afraid,” he said. “I really need to speak with you.”

She didn't move and didn't seem to comprehend what she'd been asked to do.