Death in the Choir (14 page)

“Yes, he attempted suicide before,” Lily repeated, as if
answering the look of disbelief in Francesca’s eyes. “Years ago. He drank too
much wine and downed a bottle of antidepressants. I got there in time and took
him to a hospital. He had his stomach pumped.”

Francesca mulled over this piece of information. It
would be easy to conclude that because he had tried it once and failed,
therefore this time had really been suicide. But she had studied enough logical
propositions during her philosophy days to know this conclusion might be false.

Lily began pacing now. The question about the love
letters lingered in the air like smoke from a grease fire.

“Where are they? Where are the letters and the journal
now?”

“I gave them to Tony
Viscardi
,
the investigator you saw me with at the restaurant.”

“
Mierda
!”
Lily reverted to Spanish in her anger. Perspiration had broken out on her face.
“How could you do that? How could you?”

Lily continued pacing nervously, while Snowflake glanced
at Francesca and let out a little growl. “Why couldn’t you just keep your nose
out of our business? Those were personal things, and you had no right to take
them. You had no right to give them to anyone.” She clenched her fists. “Oh,
I’m just furious!”
 

Now
I’m really in it knee deep
, Francesca thought.
Maybe I should have expected this temper
tantrum
.

“Why are they so important to you?” she asked.

“Because I believe they have information in them that I
never want my daughter to know about her father, that’s why. And I wanted to
destroy them.”
  

“What kind of information?”

Lily laughed, but it sounded more like one of
Snowflake’s growls. “Do you really think I’m going to tell you that? Why should
I trust you?”

Francesca decided it was time to exit. She placed the
china cup and saucer carefully back on the silver tray. Then she stood up,
moving as far away from Snowflake as possible.

“Well, it’s been lovely, Lily, but I have to go. I,
er
, I have another appointment.”

Lily simply stood there glaring at her as she left.
Definitely not a Martha Stewart farewell,
Francesca thought, hurrying down the well-kept path to her car.

* *
*

As she drove home, she mulled over the things she had
learned. Lily and Randall had shared a very stormy past filled with recriminations
and broken promises. And Lily had somehow managed to paint a pretty rosy
picture of the man to their daughter. But what if Randall had become such a
bother to Lily that in a moment of anger she had decided to end the whole
charade?

Lily could
have written those letters herself. And now she’s afraid that information about
their stormy relationship will leak out. Information that might somehow link
her to the crime, as well as tarnish Candy’s radiant image of her dad.

Still deep in thought, Francesca decided to stop at a
nearby shopping center to pick up some pizza for lunch
. Instead of getting a whole pizza, I’ll just get two slices. This way,
I won’t be tempted to overeat.

Her plan was to eat lunch at home, but the hot pizza was
so tempting, she started devouring a slice on the way to her car. She stopped
briefly in the parking lot and tossed a paper napkin into the trash bin.

“HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY” a woman’s voice chortled as the
trash can lid opened.
Oh, no,
talking trash cans. I just hope the toilet
bowl industry doesn’t jump on the bandwagon.
 

As she was climbing into her car, she spotted a familiar
figure standing by a small boutique. The woman was staring at a black velvet
evening dress in the window. It was Patricia weighted down with numerous bags
and shoeboxes, evidence of a serious shopping spree. Francesca hailed her and
walked over.
I hope I don’t have pizza
smudges on my face.

“Oh, Francesca! You’ll never believe what I found.”

Patricia unearthed a chunky glittering bracelet from one
of the bags and held it up for Francesca to admire. “Isn’t it just the most
beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? It was very pricey, but you know what Oprah
always says.”

“Uh, actually, no, I don’t think I do.”
Here it comes, the prosperity gospel
according to Oprah Winfrey.

“Why, she always says that we should treat ourselves
because we are worth it! We deserve to have the best. Haven’t you ever heard
that philosophy?”

“Well, I guess if you can afford it…”

Patricia winced. “Oh, Francesca, don’t you see? If you
treat yourself to nice things, the universe will smile on you, and you will be
given even nicer things.” She cradled the bracelet in her hands. “By the way, I
think you have a pizza smudge on your face.”

“Let me show you the earrings I also found.” Patricia
juggled her bags awkwardly.

Shopping
must be women’s version of hunting,
Francesca thought.
And heaven knows I’m familiar with the
sport: spotting the prey, bagging it, and then displaying it proudly.

Suddenly one of Patricia’s bags fell from her arms and
hit the pavement. Something made of glass broke and splattered liquid all over
the sidewalk. An acrid aroma reached Francesca’s nostrils as she and Patricia
attempted to clean up the broken glass. And then she caught a glimpse of the label
on the bottle: a very expensive brand of Scotch.

“I didn’t know you were a Scotch drinker,” Francesca
commented.

“Oh, not really, but I like to keep my liquor cabinet
well-stocked. For guests, you know.”

* *
*

Arriving home, she thought about the incident again.
Patricia had seemed unusually flustered by
what had happened. But maybe it’s because she’s a secret drinker and doesn’t
want anyone to know. I’d better not start psychoanalyzing her.
 

She was glad she had accepted the date with Thomas, even
though part of her wished she were getting ready to see Tony. She found it
somewhat odd how quickly she had bonded emotionally with Tony, and how
attracted she was to him. But she also knew the dangers of becoming attached to
a man she didn’t really know that well. She needed to divert her romantic
energy. Going out with Thomas seemed a perfect solution to the problem of
falling too quickly for Tony.

As she was dressing, Tony called. “I think you’ll be
pleased with my news. You won’t have to worry about any more threatening phone
calls or visits from Scotty. We’ve arrested him for drug dealing.”

“Oh?” She was somewhat startled, and just the slightest
bit sad as well. It might be true that Scotty was a drug dealer, but he was
young and there was something pathetic about him. No doubt he’d grow even
harder and meaner behind bars. And she couldn’t help but wonder what would
happen to his grandmother now.

“We sent an undercover man to one of the places
Brumble
frequents regularly,” Tony continued. “It didn’t take
long before
Brumble
approached the guy and tried to
make a deal with him.
Brumble’s
dealing in some
serious stuff – heroin and cocaine and pills.”

“Well, it’s a relief to know he won’t be dropping by
here any longer,” Francesca admitted.

She could hear the smile in
Tony’s
voice. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

Then he asked about her day and Francesca told him about
visiting Lily. She also told him about dropping by the shopping center. When
she mentioned Patricia and the broken Scotch bottle, he laughed heartily.

“Sounds like she doesn’t want people to know she’s
drinking more than just a glass of white wine now and again.”

“That’s probably it.”

Tony invited her to dinner that night, but she had to turn
him down because of her date with Thomas. She didn’t share the details, just
that she was “busy.”

“Well, maybe we can try again another night. Next time
I’ll be sure to ask you earlier. Take care and I’ll talk to you soon.”

She sighed as she hung up the phone.
I’d rather be going out with Tony tonight.

* *
*

Thomas and Francesca ended up at a small French
restaurant on the square in downtown Decatur, two doors down from the Italian
place. The waitress was a twentyish French woman who resembled the young
Katherine Hepburn. She was so refined and elegantly made up that she made
Francesca feel slightly out of place. In some ways, Francesca almost missed the
waitress with the tattoos and nose ring. At least she didn’t put on airs.

Thomas seemed familiar with the French dishes, and he
recommended the salmon in butter and cream sauce very highly, so Francesca
decided to try it. He also ordered a delicious Chardonnay, which she suspected
was very expensive.

The appetizers, clumps of crabmeat and asparagus drenched
in butter sauce, were delicious, although the conversation was somewhat
strained.
 
Thomas liked to talk about
classical music, and Francesca, whose tastes ran more to jazz and
country-Western, didn’t know a lot of the pieces he was referring to. So she
simply nodded her head pleasantly. After a while, she began to get a crick in
her neck.

Just as their entrees arrived, she looked up and saw
something that doubled the ache in her neck almost instantly. It was Tony,
looking dashing and desirable, and on his arm was none other than the stately
Lily. She was adorned in a drop-dead beautiful, low-cut dress that left little
to the imagination.
 
Francesca’s first
impulse was to hide. She tried to shift over in her seat so she’d be partially
blocked from their view by Thomas. But it didn’t work. Lily and Tony hailed her
and headed over to the table.

“Hello, Francesca. Hi, Thomas,” Lily drawled sweetly.
“What a surprise seeing you both here.”

Lily gave Thomas a particularly appraising look.
Maybe Lily thinks I’m buttering him up for a
solo
, Francesca thought cynically.
Her spirits rose a bit when she noticed that Tony looked just a bit guilty. But
then she quickly chastised herself:
This
is ridiculous; we’re not married.

“How nice to see you both,” she lied and then introduced
the men to each other. “Tony, this is Thomas White, who’s also in the choir at
St. Rita’s. Thomas, this is Inspector Tony
Viscardi
from the Decatur police station.”

“Oh, a man of the law,” Thomas said, laughing.
“Shouldn’t you be out patrolling the streets to make them safer for citizens?”

“They gave me some time off – for good behavior,” Tony
commented drily.
 

Francesca watched as Lily and Tony headed back to their
table.
Was it my imagination or did Tony
give Thomas a particularly intense once over? Maybe he’s jealous
.
Or maybe I’m projecting
, she thought
glumly, for when she heard Lily’s sparkling laughter moments later, she felt
very jealous herself.

After the meal, Thomas invited her back to his house for
coffee and an after-dinner drink. She was tired and longing to go home and
spend time with Tubs and a good book. But she figured it would be just for an
hour, so she agreed. She’d already crossed him off her future dating list
during the meal; they just didn’t seem to share that much in common.

Thomas lived in a sprawling two-story house on Kathleen
Drive, which was also located in Chelsea Heights. The plush furnishings rather
surprised Francesca, who had been expecting bare-bones, graduate-student decor.
Then she remembered he had told her about having been in real estate.
He’s probably fairly well-off
, she
thought, settling down on the white couch in his living room. Once he’d started
a fire in the fireplace, the topic turned to Randall.

“I just can’t believe it was suicide,” she said, as they
sat sipping their coffee.

“But didn’t the police rule it
was
suicide and drop the case?” Thomas wondered.

She added more cream to her coffee and took another sip.
“Yes, they did, but all the pieces don’t add up in my mind. I still think there
was some kind of foul play. Call it woman’s intuition.”

Thomas walked across the room and adjusted the volume on
the CD player. “I think you’ll like this. It’s ‘
Depuis
le jour
,’ a
really beautiful piece.”

Then he sat beside her, rather close, she noted, and
smiled. “Well, Mrs.
Bibbo
, tell me your theories. Who
do you think did it?”

She smiled too. The music was pleasant, and the flames
were dancing around in the fireplace very dramatically.
Maybe he’s not that bad after all.
She made
herself more comfortable on the couch.

She nodded when he brought the coffee pot near her cup,
and he refilled it. “I can tell you the suspects. Father John, Lily, Candy,
Patricia – or one of Randall’s neighbors, Scotty
Brumble
– or someone else, someone we don’t know.”