Paula K. Perrin - Small Town Deadly (15 page)

With a sigh, I opened the
refrigerator.

Meg opened the back door and went
onto the porch.  She called, “Bunny, come in now.”

By the time I’d put the cheese in
a bowl, Meg was seated at the table with Bunny sitting on the floor between her
and Kirk.  “See?  His problem was he thought he had to run away in order to do
what he wanted.”

“How did you convince him
otherwise?” Mother asked.

Gene sat down next to her.

“I had a long talk with him out by
the river yesterday.  I just told him I’d let him go whenever he wanted,” Meg
replied.  “Actually, I was a little worried right now because Grandmother
insisted I lock him in my room while we had all those people here, but he
understood.”  She leaned down and ruffled his beige topknot, “You’re a real
gentleman, aren’t you, Bunny?”

Mother said, “Liz, sit down. 
Kirk, will you give the blessing?”

Like a good Episcopal lady, I sat
gently in the empty chair between Kirk and Gene and bowed my head.  God knows,
I needed a prayer.

“Almighty and most merciful God,
bless and comfort the people at this table and gather to you our departed
friends Andre Noire, Annamaria Vico, and Fran Egan.”

Once again that stab in my heart. 
Fran.  If only she were here with her casual ways and lively conversation.  I’d
never realized how much I relied on her.

Kirk had gone on.  “—and please
bring peace into this household—”

Good God, did the man spend his
days with his ear pressed to our windows?  Honestly!

Kirk’s blessing finally ended, and
in the strained silence that followed, I passed him the salad.

Surprised that I could be hungry,
I took a bite of spaghetti.  The rich tomato sauce brought back the hot
September day that Fran, Meg, Mother and I had spent wrapped in the steamy
smell of fresh tomatoes, basil, parsley, oregano, rosemary, and thyme.  We’d
sung the Simon and Garfunkel song, waltzing around the tomato-spattered
kitchen, barefoot and sweating, Mother laughing at the spectacle we made.

Gene cleared his throat, startling
me back to reality.  But the smile from the memory stayed.

Gene said, “About these phone
calls—”

“Now, Gene, you know I don’t allow
unpleasant subjects at my table,” Mother said.

Gene picked a baby carrot out of
the salad and crunched it between his teeth.

Kirk said, “You’ve effected quite
a change in Bunny’s behavior, Meg.  How did you do it?”

“Oh, one of my roommates had a
psychic connection with animals,” Meg explained.  “So yesterday after I tracked
Bunny through a million backyards, I tried it.  And you know what?  After I
listened at him as hard as I could, he told me Barry and Andre never let him
sniff around and roll in the dirt.  That’s all he wanted when he ran away, just
to be a real dog.”

“You could hardly blame him for
that,” Gene said.

“Margery Macrae, that is absolute
bunkum!” Mother said.

Meg laughed.  “I’d never try to
convince you of it, Grandmother, but it’s God’s honest truth.”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in
vain,” Mother said automatically, spearing lettuce with her fork.

Kirk, apparently unconcerned about
Meg offending the lord said, “I’ve heard of animal psychics.  Did he talk to
you in words?”

Meg’s forehead wrinkled in
thought.  “I don’t know how to explain it—not words—just ideas that I knew
weren’t mine.”

I stared at her.  Other than the
greenish pallor of her hangover, she looked normal, but she thought she was
talking to dogs.

Gene addressed me, “Did Andre talk
much about his plans to run for the senate?”

Although I was pretty sure
reference to my liaison with Andre fell into Mother’s unpleasant conversation
category, I plunged in.  “Oh, he and Barry used to joke a lot about running him
for king because Andre had a solution for everything, but I was surprised when
he filed,” I said, taking a sip of water.  “I’d have expected him to wait for
an easier race.  It’s a pretty sure thing Louise Nordahl will win the primary
for the Republicans.”

“It’s hard to see how a liberal
like Sybil Aynesworth stands a chance,” Mother said.

Gene’s leg hit the table leg
causing the dishes to jump.  “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Sybil may have a chance,” I
said.  “She’s got most of the Democratic vote and may nibble at some of Andre’s
share of Republicans.  Her family’s problems have earned her a lot of
sympathy.”

“Surely you don’t think she’s
using that tragedy to her advantage?” Kirk demanded.

I shrugged.  “Have you ever heard
of her turning away from a camera?”

Gene cleared his throat.  “We’re
getting off the subject.  Do you know who Andre’s volunteers are?”

“No,” I said.  “You should ask—” 
Fran.  Another stab of pain.  Fran would have known.  “Even if you’re not
running for the same position, don’t all you candidates keep an eye on each
other’s campaigns?”

“No time.”  Gene leaned back in
his chair.  “I can ask around, I just thought you might know.”

“You might try Victor,” Kirk
said.  “He mentioned he’d done some work on Andre’s campaign.”

“You see?” I exclaimed.  “You
should have listened to me yesterday.”

Gene’s eyes narrowed at me.  He
swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti, but before he could speak, Mother said,
“Have some more salad,” thrusting the bowl into his hands.  “And tell me how
your own campaign is going.”

He shrugged irritably and took a
deep breath.  “I’m tired of it already.  Making speeches and being on view is
bullsh—” he skidded to a stop.

Mother appeared not to notice.

He continued, “I want to improve
services, not smile for cameras.”

“Your parents would be
disappointed if you dropped out.”

He sighed.  “Yeah, I know.”  He
rubbed at his moustache with his forefinger.

I nearly laughed at his rueful
expression.  Obviously his run for sheriff was someone else’s idea.  I wasn’t
surprised.  Gene had never wanted to live anywhere but Warfield, never wanted
more than a job that allowed him time to talk with folks or to go fishing on a
nice day.

He looked down at his empty plate
in surprise and said, “Can I have some more?”

“May I,” corrected Mother.

He sighed, scraped back his chair
and went to the stove where he heaped his plate.  “Anyone else?”

“Yes,” Meg said, getting up, plate
in hand.

A flicker of movement caught my
eye.  I turned to see Kirk feeding Bunny a strand of spaghetti while he thought
we were watching Gene and Meg.  Bunny licked his chops.

Gene piled spaghetti on Meg’s
plate and said, “Andre’s housekeeper said you’d been a frequent visitor at his
place the last couple of weeks.”

My throat closed.  I pushed my
plate away.

But Meg answered calmly, “We were
running lines.”  She sat back at the table.

“He played the corpse,” Gene
said.  “You didn’t have any lines together.”

“No, but he helped me get into
character and learn my role anyway.  He was terrific at all the parts.  The
rest of you guys drove him crazy stumbling over your dialogue, not
understanding your motivations.”

“For heaven’s sake, it was just a
little melodrama, not King Lear!” I said.

“What are you upset about?” Gene
asked.  “You weren’t in it till the last night.  He wouldn’t have been
criticizing you.  He was probably talking about Jared.”

“Oh, I wasn’t so great, either,”
Kirk said.  “Everyone expects a priest to be able to work in front of people,
but I was having real butterflies!”

“About whom was he speaking, Meg?”
Mother asked.

Meg squirmed.  “He didn’t have a
high opinion of anyone, really.”

Gene’s fork hit his plate.  “What
exactly did he say?”

“He was especially hard on Victor,
laughed because Victor had been asking if he could give him an intro in Hollywood.  Andre said Victor was right where he belonged, wrestling country bumpkins
around a stage.”

“Gosh, I thought Victor was
perfect,” I said.  “He was menacing and kind of oily, just the way I’d pictured
the role.”

“What else did Andre say?” Gene
asked.

“Well, he said I had a lot of
potential.”  Meg smiled.

Kirk muttered, “Talk about oily,”
under his breath and slipped another strand of spaghetti to Bunny.  Mother
looked away.

“He said Annamaria had improved a
lot.  She was so stilted and self-conscious at first, but once she finally got
the character, she really lived into it.”

Gene nodded judiciously.  “That’s
true.  What did he say about me?”

Meg’s face grew red.

“What?”

“He said it was lucky you only had
to play yourself because your arrogance served you well.”

Gene frowned.  “What does that
mean?”

Mother, Meg, and I exchanged
glances.  Meg shrugged innocently, but all of us knew what Andre had meant. 
Another man might view it as simple arrogance, but it was something else
besides, an unselfconscious, a sureness that made people turn to him.

Gene’s face reddened as the
silence lengthened.  “So who else did he not approve of?”

“He despaired of Alisz, said she
was more wooden than an oak, said if she’d ever had an emotion in her life, no
one would know it.  He thought Jared joked around too much.”

“He tends to do that when he’s
nervous,” I said.

Gene said, “And of course Andre
called Laurel mousy to her face.”

Kirk said, “But remember how good
she was when Andre made us do those crazy drama exercises?”

Meg said, “Laurel was great when
she was pretending to be someone else.”

Smiling, Kirk said, “She pretended
to be a Southern belle at her first cotillion.  She was so funny.”

“Got the drawl just right,” Gene
agreed.

“Annamaria mimicked that
Australian lady who works for her,” Meg said.  “I thought she was the best, but
Victor and Alisz claimed their Transylvanian accents beat everyone.”

“Funny how pretending to be
somebody else loosens you up,” Kirk said.  “Doing different accents—”

I jerked upright.  “How many of
the cast did southern accents?”

Kirk shrugged.  “We all tried it,
didn’t we?”

“Can you imitate them now?”

Gene flicked a glance at me, blue
eyes intent.

“Are you thinking about the
caller?” Meg asked.

“Yes.  There was an accent, but it
didn’t sound real.  Isn’t that what you thought, Mother?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t know how to
describe it.”

Kirk tried a couple of times to
duplicate the accents he’d heard the cast members use, but Mother and I
couldn’t get anything out of it.

“Getting back to what we were
talking about before, Meg, what did Andre say about Fran?” Gene asked.

Meg looked apologetic, “He thought
Fran tried to keep the spotlight on herself.”

“That’s Fran for you,” Gene said cheerfully. 
A shadow passed over his face.  “Jesus.”  His hand ran over his moustache. 
“It’s hard to accept, isn’t it?”

I bit my upper lip and winced.

Meg’s face crumpled and a tear
slid down her cheek, “I’m going to miss her so much.”  Kirk patted her arm.

Mother said, “Fran was such a
vital person.”

“So the only reason you were
hanging around Andre’s was to get coaching for the play?” Gene asked.

Meg turned an anguished glance on
Kirk.

Gently Kirk asked, “Do you want me
to tell?”

Meg looked at Mother, then at me,
her dark eyes pleading.

My voice trembled, “Meg, for
heaven’s sake, tell us what’s wrong.”

Meg sat up straight.  “I was
talking to Andre about renting Barry’s apartment over the garage.”

My breath whooshed out.  “Is that
all?”

“All?”  her voice squeaked with
surprise.  “I didn’t think you’d let me go.”

“Not let you go?  Why ever not?”

She shrugged and looked around at
us uncomfortably.  “You know.”

“Know what?” I said in
exasperation.

“Well, you never got to leave.”

“You’ve always been free to
leave,” Mother said stiffly.  “Both of you.”

“Honey, just because I didn’t
leave doesn’t mean you can’t,” I said.

Meg’s eyes filled with tears.

“She didn’t want to hurt your
feelings,” Kirk said.

“You went to Kirk about this
instead of coming to us?” Mother demanded.

“He—”

“I dragged it out of her.”

Mother and I glared at him.

Color flooded into his face, but
he looked first at Mother, then at me, without a trace of expression. 
He’s
really got that priest thing down pat,
I thought.  I remembered him asking
after Meg yesterday, mentioning they had an appointment. 
Just what’s going
on?

Mother pushed back from the table
and stood, using the back of her chair for support.  Kirk scrambled to his feet
to help.  She waved him away, reaching for the cane she’d left hooked on the
refrigerator door.

“I’m going to rest.”  She took a
step, then turned to Gene, “I hadn’t thought to ask.  Who’s going to notify
Fran’s family?  Should we do that?”

“I talked to her brother.  He’ll
tell his parents,” Gene said.

Mother said, “Liz, you should call
them and offer to help make arrangements.”  She walked down the hall, her cane
thumping.

“I should have thought of calling
Fran’s family already,” I said.  “I’ll run upstairs and phone them.”

Meg stretched her hand out to me. 
“Aunt Liz, I’m sorry about the moving-out stuff.  This is a bad time.”

I clasped her warm hand briefly. 
“You have nothing to be sorry for.  We’re the ones—  We’ll get it worked out,
don’t worry.”  I hastened down the hall, but Gene’s voice stopped me at the
foot of the stairs.

“You didn’t know Meg was hanging
around with Andre?”

I kept my voice low, glancing
towards the shut doors of Mother’s room  “Not till Sheila mentioned it
yesterday.”

Gene’s beeper went off.  “Damn. 
I’ve got to get it.  This piece-of-crap cell phone the council stuck us with
isn’t working again.  Can I use … ”

Irresistible.  “
May
I use?”

“Someday, Liz,” he growled,
shaking his head, a reluctant smile on his lips.

“In the kitchen,” I said.  “Use
Mother’s line, will you, so I can reach Fran’s family on mine?”  I looked at my
watch as I went upstairs.  Where would Fran’s family be at 12:30 on a
Saturday?  Under usual circumstances, a golf course.

I walked into my study and crossed
my great-grandfather’s worn Persian carpet to my desk.  I took my phone book
out of the top left-hand drawer, started to open it and stopped.

Stepping to the love seat in the
corner by the bookshelves, I kicked off my shoes and sat with my feet up, my
back against the arm’s faded rose velvet upholstery.  I reached to the sound
system on the shelf behind me and flipped on the CD player.  The lilting sounds
of Rampal playing Vivaldi filled the room.