Elizabeth C. Main - Jane Serrano 01 - Murder of the Month (27 page)

Next to Vanessa, Gil beamed from his picture, supremely confident and handsome. A large pink heart encircled the two pictures. How convenient that their last names had placed them together in the annual. Together in life; together in death. Were they murdered by the same person? This apparently successful couple wasn’t so lucky after all. I slapped the book closed. No wonder Sassy wanted to get these ghosts out of her house.

“Are you all right, Jane?” asked a soft voice.

I jumped, banging my hand on the shelf under the counter and upsetting a box of tacks in the process. “Harley! I didn’t hear you.”

I scrambled from my dusty place on the floor, brushing the remaining half-dried tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. Was Harley here to accuse my daughter of murdering his best friend? He’d have to stand in line for that duty, behind the police. Well, why not? He had more reason than most to be upset. “I … uh … I’m sorry—”

“Oh, Jane,” he said with a sad smile, “did you think I came to berate you for supporting your daughter? You don’t have to pretend. I know what you thought of Gil, what Bianca thought of him.” He bent to pet Wendell, who agreeably flopped onto his back for a stomach rub.

Since Harley had brought the controversy into the open, I figured I might as well skip right to the point. “She didn’t kill him, Harley.”

“I agree.” He straightened up and approached the counter. “That’s the reason I’m here.”

“You do?” I stepped back carefully from the tacks littering the floor. I’d clean them up later.

“Don’t you think I know that no daughter of yours could do such a terrible thing?”

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that. Honestly, I didn’t know what you’d think. After all, Gil was your friend—”

“Well, now you know. And you must also have guessed by now how I feel about you, Jane, so you can count on me to do everything in my power to help you clear Bianca. When I heard they’d taken her into custody, I couldn’t believe it.”

“Tell that to Arnie. He doesn’t have any trouble with the idea.”

“The fact that she apparently went to Gil’s house doesn’t look good, but I’ll talk to him tomorrow, see what I can do. I wanted to see you first though and offer my full support.”

“I do appreciate your help,” I said. “This is all so crazy. I just want it to be over so I can have my daughter back. I know how insensitive it is of me to be going on like this when it won’t ever really be over for you, losing two close friends—”

“No, don’t apologize for being honest. It’s one of the things I admire about you. Yes, I still have to come to terms with my own loss, but I’m hoping that we’ll be able to help each other through this trying time.”

I appreciated Harley’s help, as a friend, but I knew we were on tricky ground now. Agreeing to go to the reunion with him had merely given him false hope. Thank goodness the event had been cancelled. I hesitated, and then said simply, “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.” This was not the right time to tell him that there would never be anything more between us than friendship.

He started to move around the counter, looking steadily into my eyes, and I was suddenly on alert, knowing that he was going to try to take me into his arms. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, especially tonight after everything he’d been through, but I wasn’t going to lead him on any further. I stepped back in what I hoped was an inconspicuous way.

“Could you help me pick up this stuff?” I improvised, gesturing at the mess on the floor.

He blinked, and after a moment looked down slowly at the papers spread across the floor as though seeing them for the first time. “What’s all this?”

“Ask Sassy. She left it here.”

“Sassy? Why?”

“The reunion committee material. You want it?”

“With Gil and Vanessa gone, I suppose I’ll be the one in charge of reunions from now on. There will be others, I guess, eventually.”

Was I determined to rub salt in his wound? What a topic to bring up. I watched in helpless silence as he slowly bent to retrieve a pile of yearbooks.

“On second thought, never mind that now,” I said. “I can do it tomorrow.”

He didn’t seem to hear me as he opened the yearbook I’d been looking at. He leafed through the glossy pages, pausing at the colorful double-page devoted to the senior prom. Naturally, Gil and Vanessa were featured front and center, caught with broad smiles as they were crowned king and queen. “On Our Way to the Stars” read the crooked blue and gold banner behind them. I recognized an adolescent version of Alix laughing and clapping as she stood beside Kurt Wendorf. Kurt was watching the coronation, too, looking anything but happy.

I pointed to his picture. “What was that scowl about? If looks could kill …”

Harley looked at me but said nothing.

“Did Gil’s trouble with Kurt start that long ago? I thought they were friends.”

“Well, they were on the football team together, but … well, they did have some trouble over Vanessa.”

“Kurt was interested in her, too?”

“She was irresistible back then, and she knew it. She took up with Kurt several times, after she and Gil had had a fight or something, but she always went back to Gil. Kurt never learned, never took Vanessa’s rejection very well. Kurt even put his fist through the wall one time—”

“So he could have harbored a grudge against both of them,” I said doubtfully. “I haven’t been able to put the two murders together—”

“—
if
Vanessa was murdered,” he interrupted.

“—oh, I’m sure now that she was, but maybe—”

Harley nodded. “Kurt’s always been a hothead, about his son and everything else—”

“I know, but somehow he doesn’t quite seem like the type,” I said.

“What type is that? Surely you agree that Kurt’s been out of control recently.”

“Yes, but I’m starting to think that Gil’s murder was done by someone who planned it carefully. That doesn’t sound much like Kurt. Still, it has to be checked out.” I pushed away the memory of Max’s youthful certainty about his father’s innocence. Any son would think that, and Max probably didn’t even know about his father’s high school crush on Vanessa. What father, wanting to impress his son, would tell him stories about how he got dumped for a more successful man, especially if it had happened more than once? “The first thing is to find out where Kurt was this morning,” I continued. “You know what? I’m not going to wait until tomorrow. I’m calling Arnie right now. He won’t want to listen, but maybe with your help—”

“You’ve got that, Jane.”

“Thanks.” I smiled at him as I reached for the telephone book under the counter.

“But don’t get your hopes up too high,” he warned. “Arnie seems convinced that Bianca did it, and you have to admit that the gun and the scarf are difficult to explain.”

I ran down the listings under Russell County until I found the numbers for the sheriff. I started to punch in the non-emergency number. Only half-listening to Harley’s words, grateful for his support, I was halfway through the task when my brain belatedly processed what he had been saying. Had I heard him right?

His words echoed over and over to the drumming of my heart. He’d said, “the gun and the scarf,” only he couldn’t have known about the scarf. Bianca said she hadn’t told anyone about it except Nick and me, and I had removed it before the deputies arrived on the scene. Other than the members of the book club, only one other person could have known about the scarf, and that was Gil’s murderer. He was standing in front of me.

The receiver dropped from my suddenly nerveless hand. I kept my face turned away from Harley as I trapped the swinging receiver and hung it up. If I looked at him, he’d know in an instant what I had just figured out.

Before I could redial, the phone rang. I snatched up the receiver on the first ring, certain that it was Laurence calling from the hospital. My brain whirled as I tried to think how to let him know what was happening.

“I’ve checked. There’s nobody suspicious at the potluck,” came Minnie’s muffled voice. She must have been covering the receiver with her hand to deaden the sound. “Are you sure Gil’s killer is here?”

“Definitely not, Minnie,” I said. “Good idea to ask. Harley is here with me right now.”

“How nice that you have someone to keep you company,” she said. Minnie didn’t get the hint. She chattered on, apparently not noticing that my responses were little more than monosyllabic grunts. My throat was so constricted that I wasn’t sure I could form real words, but I had to keep the conversation going. This telephone was my lifeline and dear, oblivious Minnie was my only hope.

I reached for a pad of paper and busily scrawled notes, keeping the paper shielded from Harley waiting quietly on the other side of the counter. My thoughts scrabbled around like the proverbial rats escaping a sinking ship and I didn’t think my shaking knees were going to hold me up much longer. I longed to sit down on the stool fastened to the stairwell behind me, but I had to remain poised for action.

I held one hand up, palm facing Harley, as though listening to something of importance, but I didn’t dare look at him. I wasn’t that good an actress. Meanwhile, the counter, which had always seemed so substantial, now appeared as flimsy as balsa wood, and as easily breached. I’d never noticed before this moment that someone on the other side of it was actually standing close enough to reach my throat.

“Well,” Minnie said, “I’d better get back to the potluck. My chicken enchilada casserole is about to come out of the oven and—”

“Bianca’s favorite!” I broke in, practically shouting it into the phone. I had to stop her from hanging up.

“It is? I’m surprised. I thought she preferred vegetarian dishes.”

“That’s right. No doubt about that,” I answered, trying to put an ominous note into my voice. “Your pot roast tops the list, way above everything else.”

“Really? Then why did you just say chicken enchilada casserole was her favorite dish?” I now had Minnie’s attention, but I wasn’t getting through to her. I wasn’t surprised. These clues wouldn’t win any prizes for clarity.

“Yep, that’s the question, Minnie.” I forced a laugh that sounded like a croak. “Maybe we could discuss it at book club.”

“Book club? Why would we discuss enchiladas at book club?”

“You said it! And let’s go for your book next.”

“But you didn’t think that
Paint Her Dead
belonged in a mystery book club because it was about a real life murder—”

“Exactly, and I haven’t changed my mind.” I let that sink in for a minute before I continued deliberately, “Your book is precisely the one we should discuss—”

“I don’t understand—”

“And you’ve already made the refreshments? The ones we had the night Wendell upset the table? That’s terrific—”

“Frosted bran bars?” Minnie sounded horrified. “I would never make frosted bran bars.”

“Alix loved them so much—”

“She hated them! Don’t you remember how dreadful that night was, with Bianca accusing Gil of murder and everyone arguing with her that there hadn’t really been a murder and—”

“Yes, I remember. We need more of that.”

“More? But it was awful!”

I said nothing, hoping that mental telepathy worked.

The silence lengthened and then I heard Minnie ask, “What’s going on?” Good old Minnie. She’d finally figured it out. I held my silence and continued to scribble on the pad with white-knuckled intensity. Then Minnie’s laugh came through loud and clear. “You won’t believe this, Jane, but they’re chanting for my casserole in the other room. I’ll call you back later.”

Just like that, she was gone. Stunned, I gripped the receiver hard. Talking to the dial tone made about as much sense as talking to Minnie, so the fake answers I came up with to Minnie’s supposed comments were fairly easy for a few seconds before raucous beeps announced that the phone was off the hook.

Over the racket, Harley told me what we both already knew. “Your call is over, Jane.”

I looked up. He had moved to the end of the counter and the gun he was pointing at me removed any doubt about what was going on. Did he have an endless supply of guns? Bianca had already taken one of them.

“You just couldn’t leave it alone,” he said. “Too bad.”

I agreed wholeheartedly. If I’d been asked at that moment whether I’d be willing to return to selling books, leaving murder investigations to others, I’d have said an emphatic yes. But no one seemed to be asking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Jane,” Harley said. “You’d be a very bad poker player.”

I stared in fascination at the gun pointed steadily at me. “Is that real?” I asked conversationally. Talking was better than getting shot. “I don’t think of you as the gun type. Too messy, I suppose. You’ve always been so fastidious.”

“Occupational hazard. It wouldn’t do to have a bank manager who couldn’t keep accounts neat and tidy, would it?”

“Right. He might misplace your money.” I was just chattering, stalling for time, but the look on his face changed so abruptly at my words that I kept talking as though I knew something. “So Gil discovered that you’d been fudging the books at the bank. That answers one question. But why Vanessa?”