Murder Under the Covered Bridge (14 page)

fifteen

Francine helped Charlotte down
from the bed. She made sure her friend was stable and in the bathroom before re-hiding the second diary and leaving the first for Charlotte to find. Then she headed downstairs. She wore her slippers and the lightweight white robe she'd thrown on a chair not too many hours ago. The yeasty smell of cinnamon rolls permeated the house.

As she neared the kitchen, she was surprised to hear the voices of the other three women gabbing in the kitchen and the noise of food being prepared. She swung open the kitchen door to the find Alice at the stove scrambling some eggs, Mary Ruth at the oven with the door open stirring some kind of potatoes on a baking sheet, and Joy at the central island nibbling on a cinnamon roll while making notes on white index cards. She had her tablet open to a search engine page.

The three looked up when Francine entered the room. “Good morning,” Alice said brightly. “Did you sleep well? Where's Charlotte?”

“Charlotte's in the shower. I slept well except for this nightmare where we had a séance, the Roseville Bridge burned down, and we're scheduled to be on television this morning.”

“Bad news,” replied Alice. “All that really happened. Are you hungry? The rest of us are, and we're getting ready to eat. We've made plenty.”

“That's good. I forgot to tell you that Jonathan will be here for breakfast.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no! I also forgot to let Jonathan know we would be out to the bridge by seven o'clock! He wasn't planning to show up until around eight.”

Mary Ruth waved her off. “No problem. As Alice said, we have plenty. He can heat up any leftovers. Plus we have baked goods. Lots of baked goods.”

“With any luck, we'll be back by eight o'clock,” Alice said.

Francine looked out the window at the day that was dawning. The rainstorm that had blown up during the night was gone. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Stars were visible in the western half of the sky. In the eastern half, rosy streaks formed on the horizon. She hoped it would be a good day. Sunshine would help for sure.

She crossed her arms as she studied the amount of work that had been accomplished. And Joy was dressed and ready for the day. “I thought we were going to stagger our showers starting at five thirty,” she said to Joy.

“Who could sleep with all this work to do?” Joy said. “I got up with Mary Ruth at four o'clock. I really need to be on my game by airtime, although I'm told there'll be no
Good Morning America
report. They weren't interested. It'll be local only.”

Francine peered into the skillet full of eggs Alice had just taken off the heat. Even given that Jonathan was coming, it seemed like a lot. “Is Cox's Army coming over for breakfast?”

Mary Ruth pulled the baking sheet out of the oven and placed it on the top of the stove. “You forget that Toby's here. Our trainer has him on a
high-protein
,
low-fat
diet.”

“He's looking pretty buff. I noticed it yesterday. The
low-fat
part has got to be difficult considering all the tasty stuff we're making.”

“Being disciplined about sampling is the hardest part of being a caterer. You have to know the food tastes good but you have to watch the calorie content. Fortunately for Toby, he's young, and now that he's exercising, he burns calories like your presence burns bridges.”

Before Francine could respond, Toby burst through the back door to the kitchen carrying a stack of bulk vegetable oil containers. One of them he placed to the side. Whereas the others were white, the one he separated had a yellow tinge to it. “I'm starved. Cleaning out the food truck after yesterday's corn fritter donut stampede wasn't easy. Is breakfast ready yet? I feel like we've been up for hours.”

“We have been,” Alice answered. “And don't pretend I didn't see you sneak one of the
apple-cinnamon
scones I made yesterday.”

Toby winked at her. “Whoever said I was pure? I'll burn it off just being on my feet all day trying to pacify customers.” He placed the bucket and the plastic containers in the far corner of the kitchen. He went over to where Francine stood next to Alice and also peered into the skillet. “The eggs look pale. You made them with mostly egg whites, didn't you? So I needed to get some fat in my diet with the scone.”

“The eggs are as prescribed by our trainer.” Mary Ruth scooped heaping spoonfuls of breakfast potatoes into a large bowl. “You'll get some healthy fat with these potatoes. I've baked them with olive oil and spices. Where did you get the yellowish container you brought in? I don't buy that brand of oil.”

“Are you sure? Because two of the four full containers out there are the same brand. They're all the same anyway.” He said it in a teasing manner.

Mary Ruth's mouth straightened. “You know better than that. I'm particular about all the ingredients. I'll have to talk to the supplier out here. Alice, don't use those today unless you have to.”

“Right now I just want to eat,” Toby said. “Are we at the bar or the table?”

Joy finished writing a note on an index card and placed it with a small pile of other cards. She got off the bar stool. “The table. Sorry I'm a bit behind in setting it. I'll get right on it.”

“Shall I go up and see how Charlotte is coming?” Francine asked.

“Yes,” Joy answered, pulling forks, knives, and spoons out of drawer. “If she's out of the shower, just have her come down. She can get ready after that. I don't know that I'll need all of you for today's segment, but I'll need the moral support. Plus, this is going to be tricky.”

“In what way?”

“I'm trying to stick to the bridge and what a tragedy it is to lose another covered bridge like the one at Bridgeton or Jeffries Ford. If it even gets rebuilt, it'll no longer be historic. The problem is that the anchors may try to swing this to the reason we were there yesterday morning. My counter will be to bring up yesterday's events—your cousin William being in a coma and the fire at Zedediah's house that may or may not be arson. Those don't leave much room for joviality in the story.”

Joy disappeared into the formal dining room.

Francine felt sad about everything. Nothing was going right for any of them. She left the kitchen and headed toward the staircase, only to find Charlotte with her robe pulled tight and her wig askew negotiating the stairs, both feet on a stair step before progressing down to the next one. “How are you feeling this morning, Charlotte?”

“Like I just performed a high wire act. I mounted the bed to sit down and put on my slippers, but I fell back and rolled into the center of it. It held me captive like a sausage in a pig in the blanket. I fought just to get to the edge of the bed and then practically had to rappel to the floor.”

“You should have called for me.”

Charlotte finally reached the bottom of the stairs. “Nah. I've already accomplished more than I do most days. It's made me hungry.”

“That's good. I was coming to get you for breakfast.”

“Breakfast is served!” called Mary Ruth from the dining room.

But Francine's cell phone rang at that moment. Surprised because of the early hour, she studied the caller ID. It was Dolly.

“Go on,” she told Charlotte, shooing her into the dining room. Charlotte didn't move, though, and Francine let her stay. Her life was too interesting right now to expect Charlotte to pretend it wasn't. “Hello?”

“This is Gloria. I'm Dolly's sister.” The voice sounded like much like Dolly's, but it was raw with emotion. “I'm calling to let you know William died last night.”

The news hit Francine hard. “I'm so sorry,” she said in a rush. “I don't know what to say. How did it happen? How's Dolly doing?”

Charlotte took her by the arm and indicated a nearby upholstered chair for her to sit in. Francine sat.

“Dolly is devastated, as you can imagine. He was doing well and no one expected this.”

“Did the doctors give a reason?”

“All they can tell us is that anytime someone goes into a coma like he did, there's injury to the brain. William's case didn't look dire, and they thought there was a good chance he would recover, but basically, he didn't.”

Francine had known going in that recovery from brain injuries was difficult. She felt like the doctors had been honest. In the hospital they'd never ruled out death. But she wondered why William had tilted from having a decent prognosis to death.

Francine looked at her watch. Much as she wanted to support Joy, she felt it was her duty to support Dolly. “I can be there in less than an hour,” she offered.

“That's kind of you, but Dolly needs time alone. It's been a difficult night and she's had no sleep. Why don't I call you back later in the day? That might be a better time for you to visit.”

“I understand. But if she needs anything before then, please call me.”

“I will, thank you.” Gloria disconnected. Francine set the phone in her lap.

“William?” Charlotte asked.

Francine nodded blankly.

“I'm sorry.”

“Me too.” Francine recounted the little she knew surrounding William's death.

Charlotte held Francine's hand. “Brain injuries are serious things.”

“I know. Even if a patient comes out of a coma, sometimes the recovery process takes years. William's life could have been marked with terrible symptoms or unbearable pain. I don't want to sound Pollyannaish, but sad as it is, it might have been better for him this way.”

Charlotte thought a moment and her eyes went wide. “The séance,” she said. “At one point you asked if the spirit Merlina had contacted was William. It might have been.”

Francine felt a brief moment of anger. “Don't go there. I don't believe for a moment Merlina contacted the dead. And besides, the séance was in the afternoon. Dolly's sister said he died last night.”

“Maybe he was already in the state between life and death.”

“You hired her. How can you believe in this?”

“Hiring Merlina was supposed to help Alice. It just didn't go at all as I expected.”

Mary Ruth bustled out from the dining room. “Let's move it. We need to get breakfast going.” She took one look at Francine and turned to Charlotte. “What happened?”

“William died.”

“Oh no.”

Intellectually Francine knew breakfast would be delicious, but she found herself staring at the portions Mary Ruth placed on her plate. She stuck a fork in the eggs but couldn't bring them to her mouth. She set the fork back down. She looked up and found Charlotte watching her.

“You have to eat, Francine.”

“I know. It just … too many things are happening at once, and it makes me sad. Being shot at, the two fires, William's coma, and now his death. I don't know what to make of it.”

“None of us do,” Joy said. “But we have to go on.”

“The scones came out very well, Alice,” Mary Ruth said. Francine could tell it was a deliberate attempt to change the subject. “Has everyone tried one?”

The rest of the women murmured about how good they were. Francine was glad that Mary Ruth had cut them into more normal serving sizes, not like the ones she would serve from the food stand. She took a nibble. It tasted wonderful, with a rich buttery taste that lingered on her tongue after the perfect blend of cinnamon and apples had faded. “It
is
good,” she said, and the nibble inspired her to eat more. Eventually she finished the scone and followed it up by eating a bit of the scrambled eggs and breakfast potatoes on her plate, followed by a small sample of a warm cinnamon roll. The food made her feel better.

Joy looked at her watch. “It's now almost six fifteen. We need to be at the bridge and ready to go no later than seven o'clock, and it takes us twenty minutes to get there from here. Can everyone be ready in fifteen minutes?”

“I haven't even been in the shower yet,” Francine said, “so no, I can't be ready in fifteen minutes. Why don't you hitch a ride with the news van? We'll be there in plenty of time. You know they won't get to this until the second hour.” There was a great amount of grumbling, but everyone moved in a rush.

Toby said he would take care of getting the dishes in the dishwasher and shooed the women out of the kitchen after they'd brought their plates from the table. “I've already showered and I'm ready for the day. Plus, I won't be on camera. It's the rest of you who need to be ready for showtime.”

Francine was surprised. Mary Ruth wasn't going and she'd assumed neither would Toby. “I didn't know you were planning to be there.”

Toby shrugged and worked on getting the leftover eggs and potatoes into containers. “I'm driving you. It was Grandma's idea. She said she would feel better knowing I was there.”

Francine took a quick shower, dried her hair, and did the best she could putting on some makeup to cover the lines in her face and the bags under her eyes. She kept thinking about William. It bothered her that William's death had been so abrupt and that the fire to the bridge had come on the heels of his accident there, not to mention the fire at Zed's house. Were all of these really linked, or was it just circumstance? She was certain William couldn't have had anything to do with the fire at Zed's house, but what about Dolly? Dolly had made a threat to go after whoever had shot at William, but surely she'd been at the hospital with William and had nothing to do with the fire. And Zed couldn't have had anything to do with William's death without half a dozen people at the hospital noticing him.

She came out of the bathroom to find Charlotte had changed clothes and was doing her best to speed read through the first of Francine's grandmother's diaries. She'd hoped to satisfy Charlotte with the first while keeping the second hidden. Plus, letting Charlotte read the first diary would go a long way to securing her cooperation at Bridgeton, which Francine suspected she would need.