The Lost Women of Lost Lake (17 page)

Jane and Cordelia pulled stools up and sat across from her.

“When did you find him?”

“Right around seven-thirty,” said Cordelia. “I was waiting for my stage manager to show up.”

“That would be?”

“Fontaine Littlewolf.”

“Did he ever show?”

Cordelia shook her head.

“Any idea where he is?”

“None.”

“You have any thoughts on when the guy died?” asked Jane.

“I've got a man working on that. There's no rigor, but his skin is cool. I'd say a few hours.” Returning her attention to Cordelia, she asked, “Are any of the doors to the theater kept open during the day?”

“You'd have to ask Fontaine.”

It would have been fairly easy, thought Jane, for someone to come and go through the stage door without being seen. A generally deserted alley separated the theater from a two-story brick building next door. That building was empty, with a
FOR RENT
sign in the front window. In fact, as she thought about it, since the gift shop closed at three, the killer could have come in the front way without being seen.

“Did either of you touch anything?” asked Kelli.

“Not me,” said Cordelia.

“I bent down to get a pulse,” said Jane. “That was it. I did notice something under the dead man's right foot.”

“The O-ring. Yeah, we bagged it. Not sure what it means.”

“Did you find the gun?”

She scratched a few notes on a pad she'd removed from her vest pocket. “Not yet.”

“His name was Steve Feigenbaumer,” said Jane. “He was a journalist.”

Kelli looked up. “Where'd you hear that?”

“I was out on the beach walking with Helen Merland yesterday morning. He came up, introduced himself and told her that's what he did for a living.” For the time being, she left out his connection to Tessa, whatever it was.

Poking her cap back with one finger, Kelli said, “He wasn't a journalist. He was a police officer.”

Jane's eyes widened.

“He lived in Chicago. I'd like to know what he was doing up here. What did he want from Helen?”

“He said he was looking for someone he thought lived in town. I guess he figured she might be able to help.”

“He mention a name?”

“Judy Clark.”

Kelli turned to Cordelia.

“Don't look at me. I wasn't there.”

“You'd never met him?”

“Never.”

“Take a look at this.” She pulled a couple of snapshots out of her pocket and pushed them across the table. “You recognize any of those people?”

Jane had seen one of the pictures before. It was the snapshot Feigenbaumer had shown Helen yesterday morning—a young man and woman standing next to an old Chevy. The season was winter and they were dressed in heavy jackets and scarves.

“No idea who they are,” said Jane.

Cordelia put her finger on the second photo. “That looks like a young Lyndie LaVasser.”

“That's what I think, too,” said Kelli. “And if that's the case, why did Feigenbaumer have a picture in his pocket of a woman who'd just died?”

“Maybe
she
was Judy Clark,” said Cordelia.

“Was her death ruled accidental?” asked Jane.

Kelli hesitated. Wiping a hand over her mouth, she said, “It was a homicide. The coroner found evidence of a partially crushed trachea and severe blunt-force trauma to the back of her head. She was buckled in and her airbag deployed when the car went off the road, so it's unlikely it happened when she hit the ditch. Other signs suggest she was already dead, that the accident was staged. We haven't had a murder in this community in forty years. Now we've got two.”

“Which means they're probably related,” said Jane.

Kelli's lips parted, but she didn't reply.

Jane pushed the pictures back across the table.

“I understand you're directing a play at the community playhouse, Ms. Thorn,” said Kelli, slipping the pictures back into her vest pocket. “I'm afraid that, for now, I'm shutting the community center down. It's a crime scene. Nobody comes in or out.”

When Jane saw the look of relief spread across Cordelia's face she nearly burst out laughing.

“That's not a problem,” said Cordelia.

Giving Jane one last parting glance, Kelli got up and said, “You can go. I assume you aren't leaving town immediately. I may have other questions.”

“Of course,” said Jane.

When Kelli got to the door, she turned to look at Jane one last time.

“Did that woman just wink at you?” whispered Cordelia after the door had clicked shut.

“I think so.”

“What have you been doing behind my back?”

“Nothing,” said Jane, as surprised by the wink as Cordelia. “Absolutely nothing.”

20

Returning to the cottage shortly after eight, Jane asked Cordelia if she minded going inside without her. She had something she needed to do, but would be in shortly. Cordelia gave her a what-the-hell-are-you-up-to look. As a lover of the dramatic moment, however, she didn't argue. She trotted eagerly up the stairs, ready to deliver the bad news all by herself.

When they drove up, Jane had noticed that the garage door wasn't shut all the way, as if someone had been in a hurry. Curious what she might find, she hoisted the door and stepped into the semi-darkness. Jill's Jeep was gone. Tessa's Volvo sat in its usual place. On a whim, Jane pressed her hand to the hood. To her surprise, she found that the engine was still warm. She wasn't sure what to make of it, nor was she inclined to ask Tessa, especially after her “back off” message earlier, and yet clearly Tessa had gone somewhere.

As she was closing the garage door, Jill's Jeep drove in behind her.

“I'm so sorry,” said Jill, hopping out. She was wearing white slacks, a navy-blue-and-white striped top, and canvas deck shoes. She looked ready for a night on the water. “I know we planned to be out on the lake by seven-thirty, but I got waylaid up at the lodge.” Opening the back door, she removed an old woven wood picnic basket. “I come bearing provisions. That should make up for the my late arrival.”

“I just got here myself,” said Jane.

“Tessa's probably chomping at the bit,” said Jill as they made their way up the stairs to the front door. “Thankfully, she's easily placated with pie.”

When they entered the living room, Cordelia and Tessa were sitting close together on the couch. It took Jane a few moments to decipher the look on Tessa's face. When she did, she realized it was elation.

“What's going on?” asked Jill, setting the picnic basket on the stone hearth in front of the fireplace.

“You're not going to believe this,” said Cordelia, pressing a limp hand dramatically to her chest. “A man was murdered at the theater this evening. The undersheriff was forced to close the community center because it's a crime scene.”

Jill folded herself into a chair, never taking her eyes off Tessa. “Who was he? Someone we know?”

“His name was Steve Feigenbaumer,” said Jane. She'd gone into the kitchen to grab herself a beer. She figured she was owed. “He's a Chicago cop.”

“He is?” said Tessa.

“Was,” said Cordelia, patting Tessa's knee.

“He was your Peeping Tom, the guy looking in your window the other night,” said Jane, squeezing off the bottle cap and tossing it in the garbage. “Kelli thinks his murder is related to Lyndie LaVasser's.”

“But Lyndie wasn't murdered,” said Jill. “It was an accident. I mean … wasn't it?”

Jane sat down on the La-Z-Boy. “Afraid not. Kelli said that her trachea had been partially crushed, that she was probably dead before the car left the road.”

“Lord,” said Jill, her hands twisting in her lap. “How did this man—”

“A gunshot to the head,” said Cordelia. “Don't ask for details.”

Jane's mind was spinning with questions, reservations, scenarios, suspicions, exactly the kind of thing Tessa had ordered her not to do. For her part, Tessa appeared to be trying hard to hide what she was thinking by forcing her eyes down, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Appalling,” was all she said.

Turning a sharp gaze on Tessa, Jill said, “That's it. I've tried to give you the space you asked for, but this is the last straw. You know something. You've got to tell us what it is.”

“I've never met the man. That's the truth. Hook me up to a lie detector if you don't believe me.”

“Do you know a woman named Judy Clark?” asked Jane.

Just for a microsecond, Tessa's expression froze. “Clark?” she said, pursing her lips. “No, I don't think so. Who is she?”

Jane assumed that it was obvious to everyone in the room that Tessa was lying. “People in town knew her as Lyndie LaVasser.”

Jill moved to the edge of her chair. “Tessa, come on. Talk. Tell us what's going on.”

“Honestly, I don't know. Lyndie was a friend, sure, but that doesn't mean I was privy to all her secrets. If she called herself Judy Clark once upon a time, she never mentioned it to me. Truly, honey. I'm as stunned as you are.”

Tessa had recovered and was acting now, Jane was sure of it. The problem was, she was a good actor, with a willing audience in Jill.

“Feigenbaumer said that Judy Clark was a murderer,” continued Jane.

Tessa's eyes collided with hers. “That's a terrible thing to say. Remember, she was a friend of mine. I stick by my friends.”

The comment was a shot across the bow. A challenge. Are you with me or against me?

“Who had she ‘theoretically' murdered?” asked Tessa.

“He didn't say.”

“Then I think you better be careful with an accusation like that.”

“It doesn't sound like the Lyndie I knew,” agreed Jill.

It was a naive comment, one Jane didn't feel like debating.

“I think we should all calm down,” said Tessa, leaning back and fixing her eyes on Jane. “Let Kelli do her job. She's the one with the experience.”

“Not in multiple homicides,” said Jane. “This one's way over her pay grade.” As soon as the words came out, she realized that
that's
exactly what Tessa was counting on.

*   *   *

Back at Thunderhook lodge later that night, Jane was lying on her bed reading when she heard a soft knock at the door. Retying her bathrobe, she found Jill standing outside in the hall.

“Is everything okay?” asked Jane. Her first thought was, My God, has someone
else
died?

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

In the last few days, Jill looked like she'd aged ten years. Jane wondered what had been going on behind the scenes at the cottage.

Jill sat down on the couch as if every muscle in her body ached. “I don't know what to do. Tessa's lying to me. That's not the kind of relationship we have, or … I thought we had.”

Jane sat down next to her.

“I'm not crazy, am I? She's been lying to all of us for days, ever since that man appeared at her study window the other night. Who knows? Maybe it began before that.” She searched Jane's face for an answer.

“It may have,” said Jane. “You're right. She's holding something back. She's not telling us the truth.”

“What do I do? I've tried being sympathetic. I've accused her of not loving me. I've dropped the subject in hopes that she would open up. Nothing works. It's like I'm living with a stone.”

“I can only imagine how hard it's been.”

“You know what she's like. You push too hard and she cuts you off at the knees. We had a fight after you left. She's not speaking to me at the moment. I mean, I really laid down the law to her, told her I wasn't going to stand to be shut out.”

“And she said?”

“That it was her business and she'd handle it. But if she won't talk to me, what do I do?” Folding her hands together in her lap, Jill continued, “What I know for sure is that she's in trouble. And she's scared to death. That's why I'm here. I need to ask you a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Will you look into it for me? I know you've done investigating for friends in the past. You're good at it. I need you to help me now. I need someone on my side, someone who loves Tessa, who believes in her goodness.”

Jane's first response would have been to give Jill a wholehearted yes, and yet after Tessa had ordered her to stay out of her business, she was torn. She hadn't exactly promised that she would, she'd merely stated that she understood what Tessa was asking. Yet that was splitting hairs, wasn't it? “I'd love to help in any way I can,” she said. “But Tessa asked me to stay out of it.”

Jill looked surprised. “When did she say that?”

“She called me yesterday afternoon. It wasn't a friendly request. It was more along the lines of an order.”

Shaking her head, Jill said, “You can't listen to her. You have to help me. There's no one else who can.”

“How do I choose between you?”

“Don't choose either one of us. Choose the truth. If Tessa's afraid of that, she's not the woman I thought she was.”

As an argument, it had a certain force. Not that Jane needed a lot of coaxing. Would she be a complete swine if she ignored Tessa? “What if I find information that implicates her? I can't bury it.”

Her voice shaking with emotion, Jill said, “She wouldn't murder someone in cold blood. No one will ever convince me of that.”

Jane sympathized. If someone came to her and said that her father, a man she loved, trusted, and admired, had committed a murder, she, too, would have said it was impossible. And yet, if Jane had learned anything in her life it was that people were complex, a mixture of contradictions, that they often had multiple faces—some that they showed to the world, some that remained carefully hidden.