Ellen McKenzie 04-Murder Half-Baked (27 page)

“Y
es, I found them.”

The coldness in Gina’s voice stopped me in my tracks. That was Gina, wasn’t it? I listened, almost involuntarily, wanting to be sure. Gina’s voice was always soft, serious, but never biting, cold or sarcastic. This voice
…

“She’s not a bit the way you described her.
She’s a sweetheart. He’s
…
a sick old man.”

It was Gina. There was a pause while she listened. Should I announce myself? I didn’t want to eavesdrop. But I was curious. Who was she talking to, and who was she talking about?

“I’m not coming back. I told you that.”

Not going back where?

The box shifted, and I pushed it into the wall to keep it from falling. It made a scraping noise. Damn.

“Someone’s here.”
The tone of Gina’s voice changed. It got softer and caution crept in. She didn’t want to be overheard. Why?

“I’ll call you back in a few days. No. I won’t give you my phone number.” The phone was hung up, and Gina was moving my way.

“Ellen, I didn’t hear you come in.”

I knew my face was red. I hoped she didn’t think it was embarrassment because I was eavesdropping, which it was, but because I was wrestling with the awkward box. I started to come up with an excuse but
—
just for a second, with the light behind her
—
she reminded me of something. Or someone. Then she moved, and the moment was gone.

“I’m looking for my aunt. These are the leftover donations none of you could use. I thought I’d put them with her rummage sale stuff.”

“Oh.” She looked at me, then at the box, which I still had jammed into the wall. “We moved all that into the garage. There’s a table in there. Here, let me help you.” She took one end and started to back
up
into the kitchen.

“I can get it,” I said. “If you’ll just open the door
… ”

She was right. The table in the garage was piled high, and there were boxes pushed under it, stacked around it. There was enough good junk here to stock several sales, and enough unusable rubbish to fill several trashcans. I shoved my box in a corner, straightened up, and smiled at Gina. “Do you know where my aunt Mary is? I wanted to talk to her. About dinner tonight.” I added that last
bit
hastily. Gina had been watching me appraisingly, as if she wondered how much of her conversation I’d heard. It made me uneasy.

“No. She wasn’t here when I came back for lunch.” She paused for a moment, smiled a sad little half smile, and went on. “I needed a break from Sal.”

“Oh. But isn’t this late for you? I mean, I’d think you’d need a break long before this. It’s after one o’clock.”

“I’m supposed to quit at around two, but it depends
..
. Rose seems tired, so I’ll work later today.
S
ometimes, well, I just have to get away for a few minutes.”

“Sal can be a bit much,” I agreed. “Are you going back? I could give you a ride.”

“A bit much,” she repeated. There seemed to be genuine amusement in her smile, probably for the first time since I’d met her. “I think I’d have described him
…
another way. Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll walk. Shall I lock up?”

Lock up? If she did, Aunt Mary would never get in again. I wasn’t at all sure she owned a house key.
“No, don’t bother. I think I’ll wash my hands before I leave. That box is pretty dusty.”

I had no idea if Gina believed that one or not, but she nodded, turned, and started down the street. I closed the garage door and walked back to the house.

There was a familiar smell in Aunt Mary’s kitchen, a warm cake smell I hadn’t noticed until now. Aunt Mary surely hadn’t baked for dinner tonight. Had she? I looked around. On the counter three layers of what looked like sponge cake rested on racks
, which
sat on cookie sheets. I walked closer. The cake layers had been drenched in some kind of syrup, something with
—
they smelled like espresso. What on earth was Aunt Mary up to? She was a great cook, everyone knew that, but she didn’t usually
…
Gina? No. It couldn’t be.

Puzzled, I continued on into the dining room. The phone was on the old built
-
in sideboard, right where Gina had left it. I stared at it. It was a new cordless one with all the
latest
features. It had a screen that lit up and showed you the number you were calling. Or the one calling you. Or the last number you dialed. I’d given that phone to Aunt Mary for her birthday, only last month. She’d claimed to love it, but I knew she had no intention of using all those wonderful features. She knew who she was calling and who was calling her, and she didn’t need a screen to tell her.

However,
I
did like those features. I had no idea who Gina had been calling, but the phone could tell me. Should I? Of course not. That would be a terrible invasion of privacy. Wouldn’t it?
But we were in the middle of a murder investigation. Well, Dan was. I wasn’t. But if I could help in some way
…
and I wanted this murder solved before the wedding. Even more, I wanted Grady Wilcox caught and put behind bars. Sturdy ones. It seemed very possible he was the murderer, but even if he wasn’t, he’d probably burned down one house trying to get to his wife. I’d feel better knowing he was locked up. If he wasn’t the murderer
… Of course, there was no reason to think Gina
…
but from what I had overheard, accidentally, of course, it sounded as if she were talking about Rose and Sal Ianelli, that she’d come to Santa Louisa to find them. Why? I thought of her standing in the light for that brief moment. The picture Rose had shown me of the first Gina superimposed itself on that image. No. It wasn’t possible. How could that be? Talk about far-fetched. I picked up the phone and hit redial.

The number appeared on the screen.
I hurriedly wrote it down.

“
Baker’s Bakery and Deli. May I help you?” The woman’s voice sounded out loud and clear.

A bakery? I had no idea what I’d expected, but not that. Now what? “Ah, I’m looking for
—
”

“Yes?”

“Gina Baker?”

I could almost feel the stillness coming from the other end of the line. “Who is this?” The voice was still loud, but now it was hostile.

“I’m an old friend of hers, from high school, haven’t seen her since I left town, and thought I’d look her up.
”

“Yeah? Well, that was a long time ago. She got herself married.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t married now. But if I were a friend from long ago, I could continue to play dumb. “How wonderful. Can you tell me where to get in touch with her?”

“No. I don’t know where she is. She took off after her husband died. Left me here to run this bakery all by myself. She knew I couldn’t do it all alone anymore. Haven’t been able to for years. But does she care? Oh, no. Not her. Some daughter she turned out to be.”

“Her husband died?” I’d thought about divorce, but it had never occurred to me that she could be a widow.

“Got himself killed in one of those pileups in the fog on Highway Five. I told her to come back and live with me. But would she listen? Not her. She just took off on some fool errand of her own, and now she says she’s not coming back. If you see her, tell her she’s an ungrateful bitch.” The phone went dead.

Well! Wasn’t that interesting. It was crystal clear why she didn’t want to live with her mother. It explained a few other things as well. Poor Gina. Widowed. I’d always pictured widows as old ladies who lost their husbands after years and years of marriage
and had
children and grandchildren to lean on. Didn’t sound as if Gina had anyone.
I thought about her, outlined in the dining room doorway, sunlight behind her. And I thought about the photograph Rose had shown me. There was one logical answer as to why Gina had come to Santa Louisa. Only, it wasn’t logical at all. It was impossible. Wasn’t it? I put the phone back on the sideboard but
stashed
the slip of paper I’d written the number on in my purse. Invasion of privacy was no longer an issue. An answer to my very big question was.

I
found Aunt Mary. She had, of course, been collecting for Grace House and her back- seat was loaded down with boxes. I helped her unload, put the coffee on, and made her sit down while I brought her up to date on what I knew and what I suspected.

“First, you can forget about Anne Kennedy as a suspect. She’s the most grounded person I know.”

“But she knew Doctor Sadler was going to change his will.”

“So did the attorney.”

“He didn’t have a motive. Why would he kill Doctor Sadler?”

“No reason at all. But Anne didn’t have one either. Doctor Sadler wasn’t the only person who gave money to Grace House. We’d have managed.”

I didn’t say anything. She might be right. But I doubted we’d be making an offer on the blue house on Elm Street if Doctor Sadler were still alive.

“You need to talk to Hermione Turner.”

“Who?”

“Hermione Turner. Don’t laugh. Her mother was addicted to English novels. Hermione was Owen Sadler’s nurse for years. She ran his office, knew all of his patients, and kept him from driving too many of them away with his bossiness. He really was a good doctor, and everybody knew it. He just couldn’t keep from wanting to run everybody’s personal life as well as their medical one. Hermione had a way of soothing the feathers Owen ruffled. If what you suspect is true
—
and the more I think about it, the more I think you may be right
—
she’d know.”

So, instead of going back to my office, I headed out to Shady Acres.

Retirement for Hermione didn’t mean a sweet little thatched-roofed cottage on a quiet village lane. It meant a single room and wheelchair, into which she barely fit. Hermione was not a small woman. There was more than enough room on her lap for the blue point Siamese that stared at me with unblinking blue eyes. Her brown eyes were just as piercing.

“Why do you want to know?”

There were a number of ways I could have answered that question, some true, some not so true. I looked around the small room. It was lined with overflowing bookcases. The single bed had a depression in the middle
—
a testimony to Hermione’s excessive weight
—
but the bed was neatly made. There were pictures on the antique dresser. Children?
G
randchildren? I didn’t know, but there were a lot of them. A laptop computer sat on a roll
-
around table by her wheelchair, a printer close by. The small TV was on mute, but it was turned to the local PBS station. The CDs displayed on the nightstand were an eclectic collection of classics and jazz.
This woman’s legs might not work well anymore, but her brain was clicking along just fine. Truth was called for.

“I think Gina came here looking for Sal and Rose Iannelli. I believe she thinks they are her grandparents. My aunt, Mary McGill, said you would know if that were possible.”

She laughed. A huge, rolling belly laugh. The cat looked at her with deep reproach and left. He looked at my lap, rejected the possibility, and jumped up on the bed
,
where he proceeded to clean himself.

“So Mary thought I’d know. Well, she’s right.” The laughter left and she got very quiet. Finally she sighed and nodded. “Guess it won’t hurt to talk about it now. She’s been dead
…
what? Close to thirty years? And now the doctor’s gone, too.” She peered at me closely. “Do you think this might have anything to do with who killed him? Is that why you want to know?”

That caught me completely by surprise. I hadn’t planned on talking about my vague suspicions, because that’s all they were
—
half-formed, shadowy things. I couldn’t imagine how, or why, Gina could be connected to Doctor Sadler’s death.
Still
…
“I don’t know.”

She kept looking at me, studying me. She sighed again. “Gins
e
ng,” she said, not looking at the cat, “come here.”

The cat looked up, then very slowly
—
making sure we both knew that moving was his idea, not hers
—
he stretched, gracefully left the bed, landed on the floor, and sprung into her lap. She didn’t speak again until he had kneaded her dress a little, turned around twice, and settled himself
.

“She just might be their grandchild. Gina, Sal and Rose’s daughter, had a baby.” Again she fell silent.

I wasn’t sure she was going to say anything more. She sat very still, absently stroking the cat, evidently reliving something that had happened a long time ago. Should I
speak
? Get up? Leave? She had told me what I had come to find out. Sort of. But before I could move, she refocused on me.

“Sal was furious when he found out. I don’t know how long Rose had known, but they didn’t tell Sal until she was so close to the end it couldn’t be hidden any longer.” She shook her head. “I can still hear the yelling. Him yelling at Rose, saying it was all her fault for not keeping a closer eye on Gina, Rose crying, Gina screaming back at her father, saying none of it was her mother’s fault and to leave her alone. The older girl
—
I can’t remember her name
—
tried to run interference, but it was no use. They were all in our office. Not to make sure Gina had prenatal care, but because Sal wanted Owen to abort her.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Can you imagine? She was about eight months gone.”

She stopped again. The cat pushed his head into her hand and turned up his purring a notch.
His demand for attention seemed to soothe her because she smiled, resumed
stroking him and went on with her story.

“Owen said she had to deliver it but didn’t need to keep it. He knew someone who was looking for a baby to adopt. Actually, Sal knew them too. They had a bakery in Salinas.”

A bakery? In Salinas? I thought about Gina’s phone call. Oh
,
my.

Hermione’s mouth gave a twitch of disapproval as she went on. “Owen
—
Doctor Sadler
—
always knew someone who wanted to adopt, and God knows, there was always some poor girl who needed to give up a baby. Anyway, Sal couldn’t wait to get
onboard with that idea, especially since he knew them and thought they were good people. Actually, I don’t think he cared much. I think he
mentioned their “goodness”
to make Gina and Rose feel better. It didn’t work. Gina had a fit. Said she was going to keep it. Rose, poor Rose, wrung her hands and cried; the other daughter just kept hold of Gina’s hand and looked frightened. Owen wanted to make arrangements to check her into the hospital when the time came, but Sal was having no part of it. She was to deliver right there, in our office, where no one would ever know she’d had a baby. Until then, she’d hide out in her bedroom. We were
told
to
say
she had mononucleosis. That’s good and contagious so she couldn’t have visitors.” She stopped again, and this time I’d swear there was a tear in
her
eye. She reached up and wiped it away before she went on. “Before long, Gina went into labor. They kept her at home until her pains were coming every couple of minutes. By the time she got here she was bleeding. Placenta Previa. We got the baby out but couldn’t stop her from hemorrhaging. Rose kept pleading for them to take her to the hospital, but Sal just kept saying for Owen to fix her. He couldn’t.” She paused again, took a deep breath, and finished.
“The baby was a girl. They gave her to the adoptive mother before she was all the way cleaned up.”

I handed her the box of tissues that sat on the dresser. “What happened then?”

She blew her nose, causing the cat to dig his claws into her legs. “Ouch. Ginseng, you rotten spoiled thing.” The cat ignored her and resettled himself. She scratched his ears, wiped her nose again, and finally looked up at me. “Nothing happened. The adoptive parents had already signed all the papers. She, the mother, had come equipped
—
diapers, blanket, bottle.”
Hermione paused again. She wasn’t looking at me, but at the memory of that awful night. “She was a sour
-
looking woman. The man, he looked nice. He held the baby and kept cooing at her. He looked so happy.
The woman
barely glanced at her. Took her as soon as I’d clamped the cord. Said they had a doctor at home. She and her husband left. I didn’t have much time to think about it.
Gina was bleeding pretty bad, we couldn’t get it stopped, and then she died.”

There was another long pause. She absently stroked the cat, blinking back tears. I wondered if her tears were as hot with rage as the burning lump in my throat I was trying to swallow. How could he! How could they!
To give away a child with no more thought than giving away a puppy in front of a grocery store, and then to just let the girl die because Sal didn’t want the neighbors to know she’d disgraced him. I’d read about things like this, but in another world, another century. That it could happen here, in this town, in this century, seemed impossible. But it had.

Hermione took in a deep, shuddery breath and went on. “After Owen pronounced Gina dead, Sal just stood there, stony faced. Finally, he asked Owen to make all the arrangements and
wr
i
te
“
heart failure
”
on the death certificate. I think Rose was in shock. She kept staring at
Gina, shaking her head and moaning. No, no, she kept saying. Then the sister had hysterics. She started screaming at her father, not very nice words either.”

“What did Sal do?” I hesitated before I asked that question. Hermione was obviously having a hard time reliving that terrible night. I wasn’t sure I could go through much more of this
,
either, but somehow I had to know.

“He hit her. Told her to be quiet, and when she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, he smacked her right across the face. I’ve never seen anyone do that before or since.”

I hadn’t either. “Oh, how awful. What did the girl do? What did Rose do?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m not sure Rose even knew it happened. Like I said, she was in shock, just not functioning. I wanted to do something, give her something, but Sal pushed them both out the door. Rose was sort of frozen. The girl was sobbing, but not so loud anymore, and she was holding her face. She kept trying to look back at her sister, but Sal just shoved them
both out the door
,
again ordering Owen
to take care of it.”

“And did he?”

“No.” The tears disappeared. Hard lines formed around her eyes and mouth. “I did.”

I didn’t think I could ask any more questions. The whole thing was making me a little sick, and even if I could think of any, I didn’t want to know any more. Besides, I didn’t think Hermione could stand to answer.