What Laurel Sees: a love story (A Redeeming Romance Mystery) (9 page)

A lump lodged in her throat. Never had she felt so desperately alone while in a house of God.

It was all so very surreal. The Requiem was mystically beautiful. The Cardinal had officiated alongside the parish’s bishop with such reverence. But even with Frank’s bier before her—white roses cascading off the top, encircled by shimmering candles—all Laurel could see was her little Grace. Grace was there, sitting by Shana, so many pews away on the other side, far in front of her.

Laurel reminded herself. There was little chance that she would be able to talk to Grace after Frank’s Mass ended. Shana had already made her intent more than clear in a pointed email. Though Shana wouldn’t deny Laurel entry to the funeral itself, attendance at Frank’s burial was strictly limited, by invitation only. It hadn’t seemed appropriate to Shana to add Laurel’s name to the guest list, either at graveside or following that, at the private reception to be held at her estate.

This would be it.

The chapter of her life that Frank had occupied had come to a close. This was goodbye. No attention had been called to Laurel’s presence. There had been no preferential seating. No one would acknowledge her as part of Frank’s family, certainly not as one of his widows. At most, it seemed she was an embarrassment to the recovering family name. Many sideward stares and whispers confirmed it. She was not wanted here, not by anyone, save her daughter.

Lord, help me
. The weight was so heavy, too burdensome to carry alone.

Just after the Mass concluded, Shana and Grace rose. As they headed down the center aisle, Grace scanned the crowd. Buried in a sea of faces, Laurel’s hopes leapt. Everything in her longed to cry out:
I’m here, Baby. I’m here.

Finally, Grace’s mournful eyes rested upon hers. Laurel pressed her hand to her overflowing heart.
Yes, Sweetheart. I’m thinking of you. Whenever it beats, and even when it skips one.

Ever so softly, Grace smiled through her tears. She put her hand to her heart, too, mirroring the gesture.

It wasn’t a moment before Shana took Grace’s hand and ushered her onward, down the aisle and out the cathedral’s majestic front doors. It hadn’t been long, just an instant really. But still, Laurel brimmed with gratitude. They’d had that instant, that one exquisite connection, that moment straight out of heaven.

Soon, a long procession of cars crept out of the parking lot, behind Frank’s departing hearse. The windows to the limousines were all tinted black, lest cameras intrude upon the grieving passengers. It had been Shana’s choice, no doubt, and a good one in Laurel’s estimation.

Briskly, Laurel made her way to her car. Joe had been right to suggest that she should wait inside until most of the other parishioners had already left the cathedral. The waiting press would mob those who left first, deeming them of greatest import, leaving her free to exit down the back stairs.

What she hadn’t counted on, though, was that Detective McTier would be out there in the lot, right beside her car.

“Hey, Laurel...” Joe leaned around a pillar. “Looks like you’ve got company over there.”

Laurel reached into her handbag. “Yeah, I saw.”

“Just go straight home when you’re done with him. I’ll come to you.” Joe ambled away.

Laurel got her keys out and squared her shoulders.

McTier stepped aside as she neared. “I have a theory,” he said.

Laurel composed herself. “I think it’s fair to say that this is not the time.”

McTier scrunched his lips, seeming to concede the point. “You’d do just about anything for that little girl, wouldn’t you?”

Laurel didn’t have to wonder what he meant by that. The man’s tone was exceedingly clear. “As I told you before, Detective, I had nothing to do with this. With all respect, you’re wasting your time.”

“You know what, Ms. Fischer? When it comes to you, I’ve got all the time in the world.”

By the time Laurel got back to her apartment, Joe was waiting at the door. At least he had been willing to interview her privately, apart from the crush of reporters she’d seen outside the cathedral.

Laurel opened the door. A strange thought struck. Other than her super, Joe was the first man to visit her apartment.

Joe wandered inside. He gazed around the space. “So, home sweet home.”

Laurel followed him in and shut the door. “It’s not much, but it’s really close to the Grille, so no complaints. Feel free to have a seat.”

Joe perched on the edge of the sofa. He pulled a small recording device out of his pocket and set it upright on the coffee table. “You don’t mind if I use this, do you?”

Laurel wrung her hands. “Actually, I do. I said I’d talk to you, but I don’t really want you recording me.” Oddly, a name flashed across her mind.

He looked a bit peeved, but he put the recorder away. Instead he pulled out a steno pad. “I guess we can do this the old fashioned way.”

At least he was trying to be nice. She gestured toward the kitchenette. “Do you want anything to drink or...”

“You got a beer?”

Laurel shifted her weight. There was that name again, echoing in her mind. She fought to refocus on his question. “All I have is tea, water, or juice. I’m diabetic, so I don’t really keep any kind of alcohol.”

He put his hands up. “No worries. I’ll pass.” At least there was an agreeable look on his face.

Laurel eased into a chair across from Joe. She could not deny what she kept hearing any longer. “I know you’re here to interview me, but...  Could I ask you something?”

His facial response looked so tentative. “You can ask.”

There was no easy way to broach this. It would sound so bizarre to him, so random. But there was also no way to ignore the name she kept hearing. She’d just have to ask. “I don’t really know anyone by this name, but... Who is Clay?”

All that had been pleasant on Joe’s face drained into weariness. He crossed his arms. “My brother.  Why?”

“I don’t know exactly. And I’m not trying to freak you out or anything. I just keep hearing his name.”

He circled a finger to one side of his head. “Hearing as in...that...”

Laurel set her hands in her lap. “That voice, yeah.” It was so hard to go out on these limbs—especially with a stranger—but suddenly, there was more. “Like maybe there’s a problem between you.”

She didn’t have to ask if she were right. Confirmation was written all over his face.

Joe tapped his pen. He was withdrawing from her. “You know, as you said, I’m interviewing you here and, maybe we should stick to that.”

It was a polite enough rejection, but it still stung. Regardless, Laurel pressed. Something was there, something that needed to come out, for his sake. “Maybe it would be easier for me to tell you about my life if you told me a little about yours first.”

Joe sighed. A faraway haze crossed his face. “It’s complicated. The thing with Clay.”

An ironic smile flickered. “And my life isn’t?”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Clay was...” He paused for the longest time. “Our mother died when Clay was born. Our dad took off...so my brother and I, we ended up at a parochial boarding school, same parish where we were for Frank’s Mass today. Let’s just say it didn’t work out so well between us. Clay, he and I—we’re kind of like oil and water, you know?”

Laurel nodded. Something about this reporter fascinated her. There was a certain sadness in his eyes, a wound that ran much deeper than he seemed willing to admit.

“You got any family?” Clearly, he was ready to get back to business.

“My parents. They’ve got a Bed & Breakfast out on the Oregon coast. When Frank divorced me, they were all over me to come home. Help them out with the place. And believe me. I’d love to, but... I can’t. Not without Grace.” Laurel ran her hands along the arms of her chair. “Any way you could leave them out of the story? It’s all so awful. I hate to risk their business’s reputation over this mess.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Joe clicked his pen open. “So, fast forward. You called Frank, early the morning that he died.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mrs. Fischer, at her press conference,” he said.  “She was going over the events leading up to the discovery of the body. It was in today’s paper.”

Word was getting around, much faster than Laurel had thought. Now the whole world would be jumping to conclusions. There was no point in withholding the information any longer. Maybe, if she told him the truth, even as strange as it was, he’d print it. Maybe it would help defang the rumor mill against her.

Laurel sat forward. “I’d had a dream about Frank. Night visions—they’re a facet of this gift I’ve been given. They can be wonderful, but they can also be very disturbing at times.”

Almost imperceptibly, Joe shook his head.

As simply as she was trying to explain it, apparently, he was having trouble believing her. She could hardly blame him. If it hadn’t happened to sane people all over the Scriptures, she probably wouldn’t have believed it herself. “You want me to go on?”

“Yes, yes. I just—” He jotted something down.

She waited for him to look up from his notebook. It was all so hard to describe. “There’s a different feeling I get when it’s an important dream. I have ordinary dreams, too, just like anybody does, but this one—I woke up and I had this really dire sense about him, like something was about to go horribly wrong.”

Joe continued to take it all down. “Walk me through this from your call in the morning. Was it the administrative assistant who told you what had happened?”

“No, Rene had given the phone to Shana by then. So, I was on the line with Shana when Grace discovered her father’s body.” Her daughter’s cries reverberated in her ears. Again, Laurel’s heart broke. “When I called, I had no idea he was dead. I keep beating myself up about it. I keep thinking, maybe I could have stopped it.”

Joe looked up. “The murder?”

Laurel splayed her fingers. “Possibly.” What could she say when she understood so little about it herself? “It’s so hard to know. I just get pieces sometimes and I wrestle with... I mean, I’m still just a human being and I’m not always sure what to do with what I’m given.”

Laurel leaned forward. “I didn’t ask for this gift. It just started happening. I guess I can understand why it intrigues people.  They think, wow, isn’t it amazing to see these things. To know.  And it is, but...”

Laurel felt her eyes begin to fill. She tried with everything in her to stem the tide, but it was no use.

Joe just looked at her. “Do you need to stop?”

Laurel brushed away a tear. “No, it’s... It can just be really painful. What I see...it’s not always easy to see. This gift, it can be very isolating. I lost my child over it...and just about every friend I thought I had.”

Her voice choked in her throat. “I’m no Jeremiah, that’s for sure. But there’s this place where he talked about it being so hard to have this gift that even he tried to shut it off. I know that feeling. And it’s just like he said. If I bottle up what God gives me, it’s like there’s this fire, raging inside me. I have to let it out. And let people think what they think.”  

Salty tears were rolling. She was falling apart in front of this man she hardly knew, yet somehow she felt safe with him, safer than she’d felt in a very long time.

He watched her, silently taking in her words.

“It gets incredibly lonely,” she said. “I mean, maybe it’s pathetic, but I actually caught myself looking forward to you coming over today. ”

Joe’s eyes widened.

She had to laugh at herself. “Like, wow. Bona fide human contact. I know it’s just for your paper, and you’re being paid to talk to me. But, hey. Whatever.”

That’s when it happened.

The oddest little smile skittered across Joe’s face. He was definitely still studying her, but on some level she couldn’t begin to comprehend, he seemed to understand just a bit of the alienation she was feeling. What’s more, if she were reading him right, he was beginning to care.

Joe put his pad back into his pocket. “You want to maybe go out someplace to do the rest of this? Get some air?”

eight

S
hana excused herself from the receiving line. Even though the guest list to the reception in her estate had been purposefully limited, there were still so many people there. It was the burden of notoriety.

Already the vultures were circulating. They were feigning condolences, but under the hush of it all, she could tell they were jockeying for position. Even Rene. Frank would have to be replaced soon. Of course, no one said so. They were all far too savvy for that. Behind the air of sympathy, underneath Rene’s dewy-eyed promise to be there for her, the stale scent of a political agenda wafted around the room. As always, it was about the money. After all, she was still sitting on a considerable fortune. They were competing for her future support.

She’d managed to hold it together throughout the service. She’d steeled herself at Frank’s graveside. But now, more than anything, she just wished all these people would go home. She caught Howard’s arm. “Could you handle this for a moment?”

Howard put a comforting hand to her back. “Go. Take as long as you need.”

Shana strode away. She needed a chance to sort this all out in her mind, time alone to deal with her emotions. If she shook one more hand, if one more associate of Frank’s told her how sorry they were or how much the Party would miss him, she might completely lose it.

Shana pushed through, into the kitchen.

Helen looked up from her labors. “Can I get you something, Mrs. Fischer? A cup of tea?”

Shana leaned against the counter. “No, Helen. Thank you. I’ll be fine.” It was a lie. At least in the short term.

Helen transferred a batch of her fresh baked hors d’oeuvres onto a silver tray. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine, that’s now or anytime soon. You just lost your husband. People will understand if you need to let down a little.”

If only Helen knew. Shana looked toward the kitchen steps. “How is Grace doing?”

“Never you mind about Grace. She’s sleeping upstairs, like a tired little lamb. The way you should be. A short nap in the middle of an afternoon like this might do you a world of good. I’d be happy to keep things running for you down here.”

The idea was so tempting.

How Shana would love to curl up in her bed, drift off to sleep, and—for a blessed twenty minutes or so—forget that this horror had ever even happened.

But how could she sleep, knowing that everybody was downstairs, their tongues waggling that she’d been too weak to face them? There’d been no rest for her mind, what with all the questions that refused to give her solace. What had really happened to Frank? Should she even be grieving him at all?

Detective McTier sauntered into the kitchen. He helped himself to a stuffed mushroom from Helen’s tray. “These are very good, Ma’am. I’ll have to get my wife to ring you for the recipe.” He popped the morsel into his mouth and turned to Shana. “My condolences and whatnot, but do you think I could have a moment?”

This man was unbelievable. Shana straightened. “I’ll remind you I just buried my husband.”

McTier extended a short stack of papers. “But with all due respect...”

Shana took the papers in hand. As hard as her head was pounding, she could hardly focus on all those columns of numbers. “What are these?”

“Phone records. Frank’s,” he added. “Quite a number of calls there between Frank and that Rene Cox. But since she was his assistant, that’s not so much a flag.” He pointed to the log. “I took the liberty of highlighting a few calls that might be of interest to you, particularly that last one.”

Shana ran her finger down the page to the data lines marked in bright yellow. Everything inside her imploded. Just after one a.m., Frank had placed his final call. To his ex. “This is Laurel’s number.”

The detective hiked his brows. “Yeah. Kinda makes you wonder. But maybe that’s just me.” He pointed to the list. “I guess you saw those other calls there between them. He say anything to you about any of these calls?”

It was such a sobering sight. With every bit of strength she had left, Shana handed the records back. She looked McTier in the eye. “No, Detective. As a matter of fact, he didn’t.”

Joe led Laurel through the open-air market where local merchants displayed their wares. There was always something about the aroma there that Joe liked—all the produce, and even the fresh fish. It was a constant in a life that had few others.

“You come here a lot?” she asked.

“Most days. Creature of habit, I guess. Part of my routine.”

Laurel stuck her hands into her pockets. “Guess I’m going to have to find a new routine. A new normal. Whatever that looks like without Frank in the picture.” 

“Was it normal for Frank to call you now and then?”

Laurel kicked aside an acorn on the walk. “Yes and no. We had this strange sort of dynamic. Even after the divorce.”

Joe nodded. As crazy as it all sounded, there was a genuine quality about Laurel, something that he couldn’t deny. “Yeah, I read the files. He pretty much trashed you and your whole...what am I supposed to call it?”

“My gifts,” she said. “Early on, I think he did believe. When we were first married—trying to get his law practice going—I saw all these amazing things for him...that we would have a daughter, that he would run for office one day. That he would win...  He relied on me.”

As they emerged from the market, Joe guided her along the walk.

Laurel matched his stride. “But, down the road, after some of those things actually happened, Frank...” She gazed into the distance. “I remember, I saw him drifting in a boat, he was caught up in this terrible current and didn’t know it.”

Her reverie appeared to break.

She shrugged a shoulder. “When I started seeing things like that... When I saw that he would leave me for Shana...”

Her voice trailed off, even though her thoughts seemed to continue. Joe waited quietly. Long ago, he’d learned a thing or two about women. If he wanted to know how they ticked, he had to let them talk. He had to stop filling in the conversational blanks. He had to really listen.

A wry resignation tweaked Laurel’s expression. “I guess it’s not so easy to be married to someone like me.”

Joe couldn’t argue the point. He stifled a grin.

She leaned toward him, confidentially as a couple passed on the other side of the walk. “I mean, seriously. Think about it. Poor guy couldn’t get away with anything.”

Joe scratched the side of his neck. He couldn’t help but be amused. When she loosened up, this woman could be pretty appealing. She was also undeniably beautiful, in the purest sort of way. That honey-brown hair of hers sparkled in the sun. And those eyes.

Joe caught himself. Stay focused, man. Keep your head in the story. Sure, he was feeling drawn to Laurel. But she was still a murder suspect, and nothing about her relationship with her ex was quite adding up. He’d have to keep digging.

Deliberately, he trained his gaze away. “So, you were still on speaking terms with Frank. Even after he used your gifts to convince the court you weren’t mentally fit to be a mother.”

“He’d call me,” she replied. “He’d get in these binds or he’d have some important decision to make and he’d ask me whether I’d seen or heard anything.”

“Really.”

“Uh-huh.”

Why a remarried councilman would spend two seconds talking to a woman he’d called certifiable in court boggled Joe’s mind. Either Laurel was the best liar he’d ever run across, or somewhere in Frank Fischer’s mind, even he’d wondered if he should believe her. “Tell me. Had you actually seen or heard anything for him? I mean after the divorce.”

Wistfully, she nodded. “It took me a while to get past the hurt of it all. But yeah. Eventually, I did.” Laurel stopped walking. She ran her fingers through her hair. “I guess I might as well tell you what I told Detective McTier. Frank called me an hour or so before he died.”

“Before or after the dream?”

“Right after.”

Joe let out a breath.

Laurel put her hands out. “I know. Crazy.”

“Yeah, but why did he call you? Why does a councilman who’s supposed to be away on a business trip—only his current wife doesn’t know that he’s really at his office for some reason in the wee hours... Why did he call you?”

Laurel ran her fingertips across her mouth. She looked at him, serious as sin. “You’ll get one chance with me on this, Mr. Hardisty. Can I trust you to keep this off the record?”

“I’m calling you Laurel. So, why don’t you call me Joe?” He held her gaze. “And yeah, you can trust me. Absolutely.”

“It’s just...I wouldn’t want to sully Frank’s memory. I’m just going to tell you this next part, completely off the record, because... I feel like, for your sake, I need to help you understand.”

Laurel checked around them. No doubt she wanted to make sure that this part of their conversation was still private. Seeing no one, she turned back to him. “At first, when Frank called, he was going on about some snafu at his bank. He wanted me to hold my support check for another day or two. But really, it was pretty clear he called me to defend himself.”

“What, for divorcing you? For taking your kid?”

“I always hoped he would own that someday, but no.” Sadness swept over her. “What it was, was... Well, a couple of weeks before that, I’d told him that I’d seen him, in another vision, with this woman. Not Shana. Someone else.”

Joe fought to wrap his head around it all. “So, the dream you had the night he was murdered, was it the same woman?”

Laurel nodded. “The details weren’t very clear either time, but yes, I think it was.” Gravity was all over her face. “And when I get two messages about the same thing, I know from experience. It’s urgent. So, I took the opportunity. I tried to tell him it was going to be disastrous.” Once again, her eyes misted.

Joe processed it all in his mind. Whether or not these had been delusions, this woman was dead on sincere.

At least in her own mind.

“Frank denied it,” she said. “He swore that I was completely off base, both times. The same way he denied it when we were still married and I saw him in a vision with Shana.”

Joe reeled. This woman was hard-core. “And you told this part to McTier?”

“No,” Laurel replied.  “Just you.”

Nothing about this computed for Joe. “I’m sorry, I don’t... I just don’t get it. You didn’t tell McTier, you don’t want me to print this part, and I won’t. So, why did you tell me at all? I’m a rag reporter, for crying out loud. You probably could have gotten way more selling your story to any one of the legit papers out there. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you chose me, but... Can you tell me why?”

The gentlest kind of glow came over Laurel. She looked at him, her eyes filled with understanding. “That decision didn’t come easily. Yes, there were higher offers. But you need to know that I wasn’t the one who chose you, Joe. He did.”

Joe stared at the computer screen in his office. He knew he was supposed to be proofing the copy he’d banged out overnight. But how was he supposed to focus on what Laurel said he could print when his thoughts kept whirling around what she said he couldn’t? All those off-the-record notes on his pad—they’d crack the story wide open.

Joe shook his head. Over his screen, he could see Debra striding toward his office, no doubt looking for the copy he’d written. Smoothly, he stowed his notepad in the hanging file drawer in his desk.

Debra breezed in. She cocked her head to one side. “You realize your brother’s been busy chasing away customers at Oliverio’s.”

Joe figured as much. “Free country.”

She waltzed over to his desk. “Actually, Adele sends her thanks. Turns out Clay’s little stunt goosed her story considerably. He’s still out there, drumming up bad publicity. Looks like either Zoring is going to lose his job or Oliverio is going to lose his restaurant. And Oliverio—poor sap—he’s going to look bad either way he goes on this. At least there’ll be a feature in it for Adele.”

Joe slid the file drawer closed. “Am I supposed to be jealous?”

Debra darkened. “You’re supposed to turn your work in on time. I believe that’s why I pay you.”

“Indeed.” Joe rose. “Gotta bolt.” He tucked his recording device into his jacket pocket. “Need to be in court for the Fischer custody hearing.”