Merry, Merry Ghost (31 page)

She probably knew Harrison was in financial trouble because Kim’s dad had done work for Harrison. It could be any one of us, except”—she drew a deep breath—“I know it wasn’t Dave.”

Some of the vigor seemed to drain from Johnny’s posture though he tried to look positive. “Well, sure. I mean, I know you and Dave are a couple. Obviously, Susan wouldn’t have considered making a loan unless…Well”—he sounded uncomfortable—“I understand that you’d stick up for him.”

She looked at him in surprise, flushed. “Not for the reason you think. I know he didn’t because of what he said Saturday night.”

Johnny looked at her sharply.

She spoke rapidly, her face forlorn. “I know he didn’t harm Susan because Saturday night he demanded that I try to persuade her to make the loan. I told him I didn’t want to talk about it. And”—the words came ever faster though her voice dropped almost to a whisper—“when I told him I wasn’t going to take the money, he hung up on me.” Her face was white and strained, she was clearly humiliated. “But anyway he wouldn’t have asked me to keep trying with Susan if he’s the one who poisoned her.”

“Peg”—there was anguish in his voice—“I’m sorry.”

Her head jerked up. “You don’t need to be sorry for me. I should have known Dave wasn’t interested in me.

He always dated really popular girls. He never paid any attention to me until last spring. I should have known he wanted Susan’s money, not me.”

He reached out, gripped her arm. “Dave’s a fool.”

Her eyes shiny with tears, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Johnny.” But the light fled from her eyes. “I wish I could believe that Kim called Dave. But I don’t. That means Kim called someone I know and love.”

“He’s as likely as anyone.” Johnny was emphatic. “Sure, he asked you to talk to Susan. Maybe that figures.

Nobody said this murderer is stupid. But you’re right about one thing: she called someone who was at the house Saturday night. That’s why I want you to tell me what you know about Kim and the others. Who did Kim know well enough to take the chance of saying, ‘I’ve got something here that might interest you. Susan Flynn wrote out a new will, leaving everything to Keith. It came in this morning’s mail. Do you think I should put it on Wade’s desk?’ Whichever one she spoke to, she made a big mistake. Kim didn’t know Susan had been murdered.”

Peg’s face was abruptly merciless. “I hated Kim.”

Johnny looked at her in dismay, his open face shocked.

Peg caught the swing as it lost momentum. “Last swing today, Keith.” She helped him hop to the ground.

“Race from here to the slides and back and it will be time to leave. See how fast you can go.”

Keith dashed away.

Peg’s hands clenched into tight hard fists. “Kim was reckless and greedy and a cheat. I always thought she encouraged Gina to spend more money than she had. Maybe that’s not fair. Gina still buys and buys and buys. In high school, Kim flirted with anybody, everybody. Mitch was crazy about Kim. She was the prettiest girl in the junior class. Mitch was wonderful, but having him wasn’t enough. She always wanted more. She was the one who made Mitch mad that night. She was running around on him. Mitch found out and lost his temper. He stormed out. That’s why Ellen died. Worst of all”—Peg’s voice was flat and empty—“Kim was cheating with Tucker. We never let Susan and Tom know that it was Tucker. Tucker dropped her immediately. I wasn’t sure whether he was sorry at what happened or if he had never cared about her and only used her to make a fool out of Mitch.”

Out of breath, cheeks flaming, Keith ran full tilt at Peg. She caught him up and turned away, hurrying across the playground to her car.

Johnny lifted a hand, took a step after her, then stopped. With a frustrated shake of his head, he walked swiftly toward the police cruiser.

Never be late for
a wedding or a funeral. I was at St. Mildred’s a good fifteen minutes before the service.

Unseen, I stood in the narthex near the side table with pamphlets about church teachings. The casket, covered with a cream and silver pall, waited near the central aisle. The church was filling quicky. Susan Flynn’s many friends had come to bid her farewell.

I always found the order for the burial of the dead beautiful and comforting:
God is our hope and strength, a
very present help in trouble
.

I saw every mourner who entered. I felt a rush of relief when Leon Butler arrived. He looked solemn and unaccustomedly formal in a old blue suit which likely hung in his closet most of the year. He sat on the Gospel side of the sanctuary near the back.

I sped outside. The parking lot was full and cars were parked on both sides of the street. I finally found Leon’s battered old pickup near the entrance to the forest preserve. I flowed into the passenger seat and opened the dash compartment. It held maps, a tool kit, receipts, and a large half-eaten Hershey bar with the wrapper neatly folded back over the open end. I fished out a receipt from Hanley’s Hardware. Now I needed something to write with. I had almost despaired when my fingers touched a stub of a pencil.

I placed the sheet on the dashboard and quickly wrote on the back of the receipt:
Mr. Butler—It is urgent that I speak with you about Susan Flynn’s will. After the funeral, please meet me in
the forest preserve at the end of the pier. Thanking you in advance for your cooperation—Susan’s friend
whom you met Saturday night
.

St. Mildred’s was bounded on one side by the cemetery, on the other by the forest preserve. The entrance to the forest preserve was about twenty feet from Leon’s truck. I draped the note over the bottom curve of the steering wheel. It could not be missed. I opened the latch on the passenger door. Otherwise, Leon would surely wonder how a note was placed inside his locked truck.

Everything depended upon Leon. Saturday night I’d realized there was a deep affection between Leon and Susan. I was counting on Leon to be willing to climb any mountain for Susan Flynn and her grandson.

Mourners were still walking
into the church. I entered the room where the family waited to be summoned to the front pews.

Jake Flynn nervously rolled a crumpled tissue in one hand. Her purple silk dress made her look pale.

“Where’s Peg? She promised to be here in plenty of time. I told her not to go to the park. It wasn’t appropriate.”

Charlotte Hammond smoothed her graying hair. “We have at least ten minutes.”

The door opened and Peg walked in. She closed the door behind her, leaned against it. There was a desperate, intense quality to the stricken gaze that moved from face to face. “Somebody killed Kim Weaver last night.”

“Kim?” Gina’s voice rose in shock.

Charlotte Hammond lifted a shaking hand as if in denial.

Peg took a deep breath. “A new will leaving everything to Keith arrived at Wade Farrell’s office yesterday.

In the mail. Instead of giving the will to Wade, Kim Weaver kept it. She took the will to the old brick factory last night. Someone killed her.”

“A new will?” Jake lifted a trembling hand. “That can’t be. Susan wasn’t going to sign the will until Monday morning.”

Peg stared at her mother with a mixture of horror and despair.

Gina came to her feet, strode across the room, grabbed Peg’s arm. “Kim can’t be dead.”

Tucker lounged on a small sofa. His face was calm but his eyes were alert and wary. Jake struggled to control her breathing. Harrison gripped a chair arm, as if the room had suddenly become unsteady. Charlotte watched him with concern.

“Kim is dead. She is very dead.” Peg’s voice wavered with hysteria. “The police think she told someone about the new will. Last night she went to the brick factory with the will and someone shot out a tire on her car and the car went into the pit.”

Harrison clenched his hands. “What about this purported will? Where is it?”

“No one knows. The police can’t find it. It may have been lost in the water.” Her face suddenly twisted in bitterness. “Does that make all of you happy? Especially one of you?”

The door began to open, bumped against Peg.

She stepped out of the way.

A silver-haired man in a dark suit slipped inside, spoke softly. “If the family is ready…”

As the age-old liturgy
unfolded, those who had surrounded Susan in life sat together to bid her farewell. Yet each seemed as separate from the other as figures on an Edward Hopper canvas. Plump Jake Flynn’s dark purple silk dress, even though unflattering, was appropriate for a funeral. As she dabbed at her eyes, I wondered if she remembered Susan and her generosity or if she was exulting that Pritchard House was hers alone. As the haunting strains of “Amazing Grace” filled the church, Peg Flynn sang until she stopped to stifle a sob. Of them all, only Peg seemed to care about Susan’s grandson. Gina Satterlee’s narrow face was pale and drawn, her gaze distant. Susan’s death meant she now could afford extravagant shopping. Tucker Satterlee appeared grim. Occasionally he glanced at his sister. Harrison Hammond followed the program and engaged in the proper responses, but he avoided glancing toward the pall-covered casket. If Susan had lived one more day, his financial doom would have been sealed. A teary Charlotte wiped at her eyes. With the news of Kim Weaver’s murder, did she wonder where her husband was last night?

As the bells tolled, I knew the murderer must feel confident.

There might be a way to shake that confidence.

I walked to the
end of the pier. The lake was a dismal gunmetal gray. Thanks to the warmth of the mink coat and a black cashmere sweater and black wool slacks and boots, I was comfortable despite the chill breeze off the lake. I turned when quick steps sounded on the wooden pier.

Leon Butler stopped in front of me, nodded gravely. “I found your note.” His face was perhaps a shade thoughtful. “Guess I must have left my truck unlocked.”

“That was such a bit of luck.” My tone was innocent. “I hope you didn’t mind my using a receipt from your dash compartment for paper. I left my purse in the trunk of my car. I didn’t have anything to write on.” I patted my pocket, implying a set of car keys within. “Thank you for meeting me. I don’t know whether the police told you that Susan’s new will is missing.”

His mouth drew down in a dark frown. “No, ma’am. Sam Cobb wanted to know about me signing the will and seeing Mrs. Flynn and you, but he didn’t say a word about not having the will.”

Sheer fury glittered in his eyes when I told him Susan was murdered.

“Someone went upstairs and got her digitalis and placed it in the pot for her cocoa. They were all in and out of the living room at Pritchard House Saturday night: Jake, Peg, Peg’s boyfriend Dave, Tucker, Gina, Harrison, and his wife Charlotte. Last night Kim Weaver went to the old brick plant and someone shot out a tire and her car went into the pit. Again, any one of them could have been at the plant.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed. “Tire shot out?”

I described that instant as the Cruiser swung below the pole with the red security light.

“All of the family are real good shots. Real good.” Leon was emphatic. “Tom loved skeet shooting and there’s a course out at Burnt Creek. Everybody competed, Tom, Susan, Jake, all the kids. Harrison’s a duck hunter. Any one of them could nip a tire, even at a hundred yards. I don’t know about Dave Lewis.”

I was discouraged. “You’ve known most of them for many years. Who would poison Susan? Who would conspire with Kim Weaver to hide the will?”

“Different things matter to different folks. Pritchard House means more to Jake Flynn than any pile of bricks should. That house puffs her up. I don’t know what she might do if she thought she was going to lose that house. Peg?” His face softened. “She’s a sweet girl, good as they come. But”—and his eyes narrowed

—“she’s nobody’s pushover. If she cares about something, she’ll fight like a wildcat. One time we had a hired hand and Peg came around the corner and saw him beating up on a horse. She had her skeet gun in her hands and she whipped it up quick as lightning and shot around his feet and aimed the gun at him and told him to get his hide off of Burnt Creek and if she ever saw him again she wouldn’t shoot at his feet. She’s like the other kids, not a dime in her pocket except what Susan gave them. I heard tell that Dave Lewis wanted money for a clinic from Susan. Tucker? He and Mitch spent a lot of time together, but he didn’t grieve a minute when Mitch ran away. Without Mitch around, Tucker was in line for Burnt Creek.” He looked dour.

“As soon as Tucker took over at Burnt Creek, he called me in, said I’d sure done a good job but he would handle everything himself now. As for Gina”—Leon hunched his shoulders against the cold breeze that tugged at his suit coat—“she’s got too many fancy clothes for a gal who can’t hold a job. Gina grew up without folks. It didn’t seem to hurt Tucker. He loves the land. It fills him up. But Gina’s empty inside. I suspect she’s in a bad fix over money.”

Maybe he saw my look of surprise.

He gave a little whuff of laughter. “Don’t know how an old bachelor knows about buying baubles and such?

I got a pretty niece, Lou Ann, a buyer for Neiman Marcus. Lou Ann comes to see me and I find out all about people who don’t think the world is right unless they got the newest and the fanciest and the most expensive.

That’s Gina.” The geniality left his face. “Maybe she felt like she had to have money. As for Harrison, everybody in town knows he’s come a cropper with his latest fancy housing addition. The houses are so big the people have to go to Oklahoma City and buy outsize furniture to fill up the rooms. As for Kim Weaver, when she was in high school, she hung around the kids and spent a lot of time at the ranch. A bold piece with a gambler’s eye. I’d wager she figured out which one needed money the most, made her pitch about hiding the will, and thought she was on easy street when the meeting at the brick plant was set up. I guess Kim never thought somebody would put the ace of spades on her king.”

Kim had slipped a small pistol into her purse. She’d been confident she had all the cards, but the joker was out.