The Grave Soul (23 page)

“You slept together.”

“And the next day, I regretted it. That reaction cut Kevin to the core. He stuck around town long enough to be the best man at his brother's wedding, and then he left, joined the army. He would never have met and married Delia if it hadn't been for the way I treated him. I was the one who doomed him to a life with that vile woman.”

“You can't blame yourself for his decisions.”

“I not only wrecked Kevin's life, I wrecked Doug's. I was never able to love him the way he deserved. He knows something's been missing from our relationship. How could I tell him the truth? I tried with him, Mike. I really did. I wanted to be a good wife. But then Doug and I learned we'd never have children. Doug called it his ‘lousy sperm.'”

“Was that the official diagnosis?”

Laurie allowed herself a rueful smile. “Funny. No. I don't remember the specifics. The thing is, Doug blamed himself. I told him it wasn't his fault, but of course, deep down, I did blame him, even though I didn't want to. We talked about adoption, but it was expensive and by then, I wasn't sure I wanted to bring children into our relationship. I was reeling from all that when Kevin returned to New Dresden with Delia and his two beautiful little girls. It was almost more than I could take. She had everything I should have had. Did she value it? Nobody in this family hated Delia the way I did.”

“I can see that,” whispered Father Mike.

“She deserved what—”

“Laurie, you mustn't say such things. This is God's house.”

She looked down, closed her eyes. “I want a divorce. How do you suppose Evangeline is going to take that news?”

She was right to worry about Evangeline. “But you're Catholic. Doug's Catholic, even though he's estranged. The church doesn't allow—”

“I know that and I don't care.”

“Have you and Doug talked about this?”

“No. And when I do, he's not going to take it well.”

“Does Kevin know?”

“Kevin and I have repaired our relationship. We're not close, not the way we once were, but at least we can say we're friends. That's all we'll ever be. I don't blame him. And no, he doesn't know that I want to divorce his brother. I have no idea how he'll react to it. But his reaction is the least of my worries.”

“Meaning?”

“Doug's an alcoholic. The rest of the family may turn a blind eye to his drinking, but I can't. His bitterness has become toxic. He's falling apart, Mike. His temper is out of control. He approached me yesterday with a knife in his hand.”

“Laurie, you have to get away from that house.”

“If I can just get through New Year's, then I can make some plans. I want Doug to know that I do care about him. That I'll be there for him if he ever decides to get help for his alcoholism. But my question is, if I'm the one who needs help, would you be there for me?”

“I can't condone divorce, but if you need a place to feel safe, come to the rectory.”

She reached her hand toward his. “Thank you.”

He had the sense that she hadn't told him everything. As a priest, he was used to being the repository of secrets. He even had a few of his own. And yet this time around, he was glad she hadn't come to air out every last skeleton in her closet.

 

33

Bright winter light pouring in through the window woke Jane on Monday morning. Checking the clock next to her on the nightstand, she saw that it was going on seven. She'd only been asleep for a few hours. She'd stayed up late, talking and laughing with Kevin down in the bar after closing.

Muttering deprecations, she slipped out from under the covers to yank the cheap shade all the way down, then jumped back in bed and pulled the blankets over her head.

The thought of working another shift from hell made her groan as she tried to get comfortable. It would be New Year's Eve tonight. The bar wouldn't open until five. It took a moment for her to realize that today was the day she would put New Dresden and all the Adler family secrets in her rearview mirror for good. She would leave without the proof she'd come looking for—no smoking gun pointing at any specific person in the Adler family. The failure rankled, though the idea of returning home, getting back to her normal life, pretty much outweighed any real sense of defeat.

Leaving today would, of course, put Kevin in a bind, but she was sure he could handle New Year's Eve without her, especially with Tammy's help. She hadn't quite worked out the excuse she would give him for taking off so suddenly, but she still had time to devise something plausible. Maybe she'd help clean up from last night and get the bar ready for another big evening before she gave him the news.

Stop thinking, she ordered herself, turning over and punching her pillow. But when she heard a noise out in the hall—and then the sound of voices—her curiosity got the better of her. Throwing on her robe, she ran a hand through her long, tangled hair as she made her way, barefooted, toward the bathroom.

Kevin stood next to his door, fumbling with his keys. Hannah waited behind him, yawning as she brushed snow off the front of her belted camel coat.

“Jane, hi,” said Kevin, looking up as she came toward them.

Jane stopped by the bathroom door and flipped on the light. “What are you two doing up?” She tried to make the question sound light, even humorous.

“It's our friend, Walt Olsen,” said Kevin. “I'm afraid he died about an hour ago.”

“I'm so sorry.” She leaned heavily against the door frame.

“Our mother called us, told us we should come to the hospital,” said Hannah. “That he didn't have much time left. Kevin swung by my place and picked me up.”

“My brother offered to take Mom, Kira, and Katie over to the funeral home in Union.”

Of course, thought Jane. Carmody & Sons would handle the burial.

Hannah poked Kevin's chest. “If they're all off dealing with the funeral, who's covering the farmhouse?”

“Laurie,” said Kevin. “She'll stay until Mom gets home.”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot about her.”

“We've got to get some shut-eye,” said Kevin, finally finding the right key and pressing it into the lock. “I'll see you later down in the bar.”

“Right,” said Jane. As she stepped into the bathroom, she repeated Hannah's comment.
Who's “covering” the farmhouse?
What the hell did that mean?

*   *   *

By one, Jane was seated at the cafe down the street, finishing her omelet and her fourth cup of coffee. She'd thought about getting started on cleaning up the Sportsman's, but because Kevin and Hannah were still asleep up in Kevin's apartment, she didn't want to wake them. She opted for lunch instead.

After paying the bill, Jane went back to her room, packed up her things, and carried her suitcase out to her car. With some free time on her hands, she decided to drive over to St. Andrew's. She'd heard Father Mike's name often enough. Since it was Monday, she assumed he might have some free time.

*   *   *

The church was located along the same county highway as the Adler's farm, approximately half a mile away. Jane parked her car in the empty lot next to the church. The coffee had helped, but she still felt sleep deprived, not entirely focused. She hoped her decision-making abilities would be better today than they had been yesterday.

The white clapboard building was old and picturesque, with a tall spire topped by an ornate metal cross. The front of the church was dominated by lovely recessed and arched double front doors. Jane made her way down the sidewalk next to the building. As she walked along, she admired the row of narrow stained-glass windows that undoubtedly brought light into the sanctuary. Behind the church was a modest-looking two-story brick house. A sign above the front door announced that it was the rectory. If Father Mike wasn't inside, she would try the church next.

She rang the doorbell. Less than a minute later the door was drawn back by a short, plump man with an amused look and a clerical collar. “Can I help you?” he asked, peering at her over his reading glasses.

“My name's Jane. I'm working at Kevin Adler's bar. Both he and his mother said that, if I had some time, I should come by and meet you, maybe see the church.”

“Lovely. May I ask … are you Catholic?”

“I'm … looking.”

“Of course. Well, you might as well do your … looking … here.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, absolutely not. Come in.” He turned away and coughed into the crook of his elbow. “You must forgive me. I seem to have contracted my first winter cold.”

The interior surprised Jane by being more than a little messy. Books, papers, and magazines were scattered on top of every flat surface. A plate with a half-eaten sandwich rested on an upholstered footstool in front of the TV.

“I'm interrupting your lunch.”

“Not at all. Can I offer you something? I just made a fresh pot of Earl Grey.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“I'll just be a minute.”

As he crossed into the kitchen, Jane drifted around the living room. She examined the books in his bookcase, then moved over to his desk, where a photo album was open to a five-by-seven close-up of Delia Adler. She stopped and turned the page, only to find more photos of Delia. Hearing the clink of glasses in the kitchen, she pushed a pile of magazines to the side and sat down on the couch. Father Mike reappeared a few moments later.

“Here we go,” he said, setting a tea tray on the coffee table. “I think you'll find everything you need. Lemon. Milk. Sugar.” He stepped over to his desk to retrieve the desk chair. As he eased it out, he shut the album, then turned to Jane and smiled.

“I've always loved tea,” said Jane. “My mother was English. I actually grew up there.”

“Really? What part?”

“In and around Lyme Regis. We came back to the states when I was nine. I guess I've always considered myself half English.”

“With all the Emerald Isle descendants around these parts, I wouldn't say that too loudly.”

Jane laughed. “You must love art.” She glanced around at all the framed photos, drawings, and paintings. “Are you the artist?”

“I took some of the photos. Photography has always been a hobby of mine.”

“Really.” Doug wasn't the only photographer in the Adler universe. “And the drawings?”

“My drawing skills are at the level of stick figures, so no, I can't claim anything else.” He poured some milk into his tea. “You said you've been … looking. For a spiritual home?”

“Yes,” said Jane. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Have you attended other churches?”

“A few.”

“Nothing interested you?”

“Not really. The last church I attended, the minister had a rather bland delivery. The entire service seemed flat and uninspired.”

“Here's something I've always believed but rarely stated: If you want to be a minister, you better be a good storyteller. You better have the skills of an entertainer. Otherwise, people tune out.” At the sound of the doorbell, he groaned. “Will you excuse me? I need to get that.”

While Jane waited, she turned around to look at the large painting on the wall behind her—three compelling images of the same horse. The style was part modern, part primitive, full of motion and intense color. As she stood to study it more closely, Father Mike returned to the room followed by Evangeline Adler, who was carrying a blue Le Creuset pot, holding the handles with hot pads.

“You shouldn't have brought that over today,” said Father Mike.

“I'd already made it. You've got a cold. This will help.” She smiled at Jane. “Nice to see you again.”

“You've met?” said Father Mike.

“We have,” said Jane. Evangeline looked exhausted, her skin exceptionally pale, her fine white hair pulled haphazardly back into a bun.

“I'm sorry to interrupt your tea,” she said, her smile uncertain, “but I need a couple minutes of your time, Father. It's about Walt's funeral.”

“I should probably get back to the bar anyway,” said Jane, setting her cup down on the tea tray. She'd wanted to ask him about Delia, but that wasn't going to happen now. “Tell me one thing before I go. This painting, it's wonderful. Where did you find it? Who's the artist?”

“Her name's Nina Careg Darel. She's a Wisconsin woman. I love to visit art galleries when I have the time. I found that one at a gallery in Milwaukee.”

“She's popular around the Midwest,” said Evangeline. “I've always admired the painting, too—and, of course, Father's photographs.”

It was small talk. Evangeline was trying to be polite, but she couldn't hide the strain in her voice.

“I'll stop by another time,” said Jane.

“Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings are reserved for confession. Afternoons are best.”

Jane smiled. “Thanks again for the tea.”

As he walked her to the door, he said, “Don't stop looking.” His amused expression had returned.

“I won't.”

Once outside, Jane returned to the parking lot. As she was about to get into her car, she spotted Evangeline's Jeep. Inside, behind the wheel, sat Kira. This was likely the last chance Jane would have to talk to her. Trotting over, she stood next to the driver's door until Kira lowered the window.

“Hi,” said Jane. “Do you remember me?”

“You work for my dad. At his bar.”

Jane figured she didn't have much time. “Look, what you don't know is that I'm a private investigator. Guthrie hired me to look into your mother's death.”

Kira slouched forward and groaned, her head resting against the steering wheel. “I told him to call you off. He said he would. Now I find out you're still here?” She looked up sharply. “I don't need your help. I don't want it.”