Wreath of Deception

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “Oooh, he sounds verrrry interesting,” Loralee said, her eyes flashing.

  “Agreed,” Ina Mae put in.

  “I’d want to kill Kyle myself if he played tricks like that on me,” Javonne said, and the others nodded.

  “Plus, Hank Schroder has a connection to poor Genna through his ex-wife” said Loralee. “And he pretty much admitted he hated the entire family!”

  “Well,” Jo said, “he didn’t put it quite that strongly, more dislike than actual hatred.”

  “People always try to soften it when they can’t help but blurt out their feelings. He may have said ‘dislike’, but I’ll guarantee it was ‘hate’.”

  The door bell jingled as a customer came in, and the group clammed up. Since Carrie was off tonight, Jo left to take care of the woman, who, it turned out, simply needed additional yarn to finish a knitting project. Jo found her the matching lot color, rang it up, and was soon back with the workshop.

  “I also spoke with Tracy,” she said, reaching for her soda and taking a sip. “She’s the girl who worked with Kyle at the tennis desk.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember,” Ina Mae said. “What did you learn from her this time?”

  “Something quite interesting. Genna, it turns out, shared an apartment with Bethanne Fowler, the tennis pro at the Country Club.”

  “Oh?” Ina Mae looked less than impressed.

  “I guess you’ve never seen Bethanne Fowler, but there was a picture of her at the Club. She and Genna look enough alike to be sisters – same height and coloring, similar hair style.”

  “Oh!”

  “And,” Jo continued, “it turns out that the dog Genna was walking that night was actually Bethanne’s.”

  “Oh.” Ina Mae’s face turned very solemn.

  “I don’t get it. What does that mean?” Javonne asked.

  “It means, dear,” Ina Mae explained, “that if Genna was pushed down that cliff, the poor girl might have been mistaken in the dark for her roommate Bethanne.”

  “But I thought we were focused on Pete, Genna’s boyfriend,” Deirdre protested. “You told us how angry he could get, and how jealous –over Genna, not Bethanne.”

  “Pete has an alibi for the night Genna was killed,” Ina Mae said.

  “Except,” Loralee jumped in, “I don’t consider it an ironclad alibi. He’s still a suspect in my book.”

  “An alibi?” Deirdre asked.

  “Pete was working late, with another mechanic, that night,” Jo said.

  “Oh! But you don’t believe it, Loralee?”

  “No, I don’t. Not for a minute. I think he may have slipped out. Or maybe this other mechanic is covering for him.” Loralee jabbed the stems of the spring flowers into her wreath fiercely, making Jo wonder whose face she might be seeing in its center.

  The ladies hashed over the points Jo had brought up – Hank Schroder’s motive, Bethanne Fowler’s dog, Pete Tober’s alibi – while trimming their wreaths at the same time. Clear evidence of the separation of right-brain, left-brain activities, Jo thought, as their creativity carried on in the midst of all those gritty thoughts.

  Her wreath finished, Ina Mae began to tidy up her area. “I have to leave early tonight,” she explained. “I’m expecting a call from one of my daughters who’s traveling in Japan, and I don’t want to miss it.”

  There was a flurry of interest and questions about the trip, and Loralee, who had ridden with Ina Mae, gathered up her things as well. Javonne and Deirdre were still putting the final touches on their wreaths as the other two bid them all a good night and took off. Javonne, wiring her bow in place, got back to the murders.

  “I find that very disturbing, what Ina Mae said about Genna being mistaken for Bethanne.”

  “Yes,” Jo agreed. “I plan to talk to Bethanne about it as soon as I can. She hasn’t been answering her phone, so I’ll just drive over to her place.”

  “That poor girl,” Deirdre said, shaking her head. “She’s probably not answering her phone because she’s devastated. Do you think you should bother her with this right now?”

  “That’s right,” Javonne agreed. “After all, it’s just a guess. Maybe she doesn’t need to hear this on top of all she’s dealing with right now.”

  Jo shook her head. “I hate to add to her distress, but I think it’s important enough for her to be aware of as soon as possible.”

  Javonne nodded, then adjusted her final flower sprig and held up her wreath. “There! What do you think?”

  Jo looked at the color scheme Javonne had chosen – white flowers and green ivy, topped with a green and white plaid ribbon that had a touch of red. “I think that will look spectacular on your red door. Did you remember to tuck in all the wire ends, so they wont scratch the paint?”

  “Absolutely,” Javonne said, grinning. “It took Harry long enough to finally paint the door, and I’m not about to mess it up in any way. But this,” she held her wreath up proudly, “will be a crowning touch, after the Christmas wreath we made last time comes down, that is. Well,” she said, glancing at the clock, “Time to get on home.”

  “Yes, I’m done here too,” Deirdre said.

  Jo was commenting on Deirdre’s creation, when the door jingled for a late-arriving customer.

  “Bye, ladies,” Javonne called as she sailed past them.

  Jo looked over, and was startled to see Hank Schroder standing there, looking as uncomfortable as he glanced around at the flowers and yarns as if he had accidentally stepped into a ladies’ lingerie shop. He wore the same green overalls she had seen him in before, with a few new additions of grass stains and streaks of dried mud.

  “Mr. Schroder,” she greeted him. “What a surprise.”

  Deirdre’s head popped up at hearing the name.

  “Uh, yeah. I came about that nephew of yours. The phone number he gave me was kinda scribbled, and I couldn’t make it out right. Got a Pizza place, instead. One of my crew dropped out today – he probably knew I was going to fire him soon, so he quit. Anyway, there’s an opening for after school and Saturdays, and if the kid wants the job, tell him to get in touch with me. He struck me as pretty reliable.”

  “Yes, I think he is.” Jo wasn’t sure what to say next. That Charlie didn’t really want the job? So she simply said, “I’ll pass the word on to him.”

  “Okay, good.” Schroder caught sight of the soda cans still scattered on the workshop table. “Say, I just came from work, and I’m wrung out. Can I buy one of those from you while I’m here?” He reached into his pocket for change.

  “Oh, please,” Jo said, waving away his offer to pay, “help yourself to whatever you’d like in the cooler. They’re complimentary.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Schroder pulled his hand from his pocket and stomped over.

  Deirdre whispered to Jo, “I’ll hang around until he’s gone,” then, in a stage voice announced, “Well, I don’t know what’s taking my husband so long. He said he’d be here at 8:45 to pick me up. He should be here any minute, though. With his big brother, Jeb.”

  Jo winced, thinking Schroder, who was not a stupid man, must surely pick up on the purpose of that announcement. Why not add that the “brothers” would arrive packing hunting rifles, and with spares in the trunk while you’re at it? Still, she couldn’t complain. There was something about the man showing up out of the blue like this that made Jo uneasy.

  Schroder, though, after shuffling around the cooler a bit, pulled out an icy Coke can, popped it open, and poured half of it down his throat. He wiped his mouth, muffled a burp, and looked around.

  “Nice place you got here.”

  “Thank you.”

  The phone rang, and Jo reached for it. The caller, however, needed to speak with Carrie about a knitting problem, and Jo suggested she check back the next day.

  “Well, you tell the kid to give me a call,” Schroder said, moving toward the door. “Or to just come on over.”

  “I
will.” Then, feeling the need to give Charlie an out, added, “I’ll tell him to get in touch with you either way.” Schroder shot her a look, and she explained. “The twins came down with the chicken pox. I’m not exactly sure if Charlie’s had it yet or not, so he might not be ready to work for a while.”

  “Well, I hope so for his sake. I need a worker now. If he can’t come in, I’ll have to call someone else.” He held up the near-empty soda can. “Thanks for the drink.”

  Jo nodded, and watched him leave the shop, feeling a mixture of guilt and relief as she did.

  As the door closed behind him, Deirdre asked, puzzled, “Charlie? Is that Carrie’s son?”

  “Yes, but forget the part about the chicken pox, and the twins. All figments of my imagination.”

  “Oh, I wondered. You certainly think fast on you feet, don’t you? Here, let me help you clean up here, then we can walk each other to our cars.” Deirdre picked up her soda can and shook it lightly, and, finding it empty, tossed it in the trash. “You done with yours?”

  Jo, her throat having gone dry after the last few minutes, was pleased to find hers still about a third full. She drank thirstily, then added it to the bag Deirdre was filling with other cans and trimming debris.

  “Actually,” Jo said, gathering up the protective paper from the table, “I have a little more to do before I close up here. But thanks. I don’t think we have to worry about Mr. Schroder. I saw his pick-up drive safely away.”

  “Scruffy-looking man,” Deirdre said with a grimace. “Well, if you’re sure you’re all right, I’ll get going then.”

  Jo walked Deirdre to the door, and waited until she saw her wave from inside her car. Then she locked the door and cleared the cash register. She checked a few odds and ends in the stock room, then turned out all the lights and headed out to her car, carrying along the trash bag she and Deirdre had filled to toss in the dumpster.

  The streets of Abbotsville were at their usual quiet, post-9 P.M. state, which Jo always savored for the opportunity they offered for a good wind-down on the drive home, sometimes listening to a little soft jazz on the radio. Tonight she felt keyed up, though, as she started her ignition. Was it from going over all those points of the murder with the group? Or the unexpected appearance of Hank Schroder at the end of the night? In any event, she didn’t feel like going straight home yet, and so she turned right instead of left at the corner.

  Jo headed to Highpoint Road, thinking she would drive past the place Genna had fallen to her death. She wanted to see just how dark it was at this time of night. She and Charlie had been there during daylight, and she hadn’t noticed how many streetlights there were or how close they were to the spot.

  Jo stopped at a red light on the way, the lone car except for one other passing in the opposite direction. As she waited, her stomach gave a surprising painful twist, enough to make her wince. It eased, and when the light turned green, she pulled ahead.

  She thought of Hank Schroder and his appearance at the shop, and it suddenly occurred to her to wonder how he had known where to find her. Jo didn’t remember mentioning anything to him about her shop. She turned onto High Point, and, as she did, came up with a possible answer. He could have asked Bob Gordon, of course, or anyone of half a dozen people at the country club who knew she was setting up the craft show. It seemed, though, a lot of trouble to go to just to locate and hire another crew member. Had Charlie impressed him that much?

  Jo’s stomach suddenly became a caldron of pain. She groaned, and grabbed at it with one hand, while steering with the other. Her eyes blurred for a moment. A honk from behind startled her, and a glance into her rearview mirror showed a small refrigerated truck close behind her. She must have slowed down a lot, and here, near the Wildwood apartments, traffic had increased. The driver was obviously annoyed at being unable to pass her. She picked up speed, but at the first opportunity the truck pulled around her, zooming by. She was barely aware of it, though, since by this time she was struggling to keep from doubling over, extreme nausea adding to her woes.

  A searing stab of pain suddenly shot through her abdomen, making her cry out, and her foot reflexively pressed down on the accelerator. At the same time, she was seeing double, and one of the lamp posts she had gone to check on became two, and then four as it or they loomed before her. Jo battled with the pain as well as the confusion, trying, in a few quick moments, to steer, but unsure where to point her car. Her brain told her to pull over and brake, but which way was "over", and where was the brake?

  Her stomach interrupted her brain, signaling extreme distress, then there was noise, shock, and pain as her rusty Toyota came to a sudden, crashing stop.

  CHAPTER 22

  There was a party going on somewhere, because Jo could hear it. People talking, glasses clinking. The squeaky wheels of a portable bar. Laughing. Crying? She really wished her neighborhood would quiet down. These houses were too close together. In the morning she’d look for a place off by itself. And those bright lights. Had she forgotten to close her draperies? She needed sleep. She felt so tired.

  “Jo, Jo, are you awake?”

  Someone was rubbing her hand. Jo opened one eye a slit and saw Carrie. Why was Carrie in her bedroom?

  “What are you doing here?” she rasped. Her tongue felt swollen and her consonants came out mushy.

  “One of the nurses – Bobbie Fraehling – lives down the street from me,” Carrie explained. “They wanted to call your mom, but Bobbie had them call me.”

  “My mom? Why would they call my mom? And who’s ‘they’?”

  “Hospitals always call the nearest relative. Except your mom’s way down in Florida. They found her name in your wallet.”

  Jo was totally confused. Of course Mom was in Florida. She’d been there since Dad died nine years ago. Both eyes open now, Jo glanced around. All she saw were white walls. No, they were white curtains. This wasn’t her bedroom, was it?

  “Where am I? What happened?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  Carrie’s eyes looked worried. Jo shook her head, then winced at the sudden pain.

  “You drove your car into a tree over on Highpoint. Don’t you remember? What were you doing on Highpoint?”

  Jo thought hard. “I felt sick.”

  “Yes, they said you had thrown up. Were you trying to get yourself to the hospital?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” It was such an effort to remember. “I think I went there to see where Genna had fallen.”

  Carrie nodded. “But what made you crash?”

  “I remember a truck.” Things were starting to come back. “He wanted to pass me. But I felt so sick.” She glanced at Carrie. “I threw up?”

  “Uh-huh. They found you hanging half out of the car. You must have got the door open, but your seat belt held you in.”

  Jo winced. “How bad is my car?”

  “Why don’t you ask how bad you are?” Carrie asked, with exasperation, as though Jo were a child who had just done a very foolish and frightening thing. Don’t ever do that to me again, she seemed ready to scold.

  “Okay,” Jo said contritely, “how bad am I?”

  “Nothing’s broken, thank God. They had to put a few stitches in your scalp.”

  Jo touched her head. So that was why it hurt so.

  “And your hair might look a little odd for a while ‘till it grows out. Some bumps and bruises, but nothing too terrible. You were lucky.”

  “Yes. Apparently. Now, my car?”

  “It’s... fixable.”

  Jo groaned.

  “Don’t worry. Nothing too major. They have to straighten something around the wheel that hit the tree, pound out some dents. You should have it back in a couple days at most.”

  “How much will that cost?”

  “I don’t know, Jo. But don’t worry about that. You need to rest up right now.”

  “Right. Where are my clothes? Can you take me home?”

  “No, you have to rest here,” Carrie s
aid, spelling it out, “in the hospital. Jo, you blacked out, remember? That’s serious. They want to keep you for observation.”

  “And how much will their observations cost me? Carrie, I don’t have health insurance, remember? I couldn’t afford it. So I can’t afford this either.”

  “Jo, be sensible. If you go home too soon and have complications, you could run up an even higher bill. Not to mention what it might do to your health.”

  As if to block any thoughts of flight, a white-coated technician snapped open the curtain and stood there, holding a tray of sinister-looking needles and tubes.

  “Ms. McAllister? I need some of your blood.”

  Jo grimaced. “It’ll be on sale tomorrow if you can wait. Twenty percent off.”

  The woman gave a polite laugh, probably having heard similar jokes hundreds of times, as well as such accusations as ‘vampire’ and ‘leech’ which occurred to Jo but never reached her lips. Carrie stepped out as Jo presented her arm to be bound, swabbed, and pierced. By the time the Band-Aid was applied, she realized that she really wasn’t feeling well enough to go home, and would appreciate a few hours of recovery time there under professional eyes. So when an orderly came to wheel her from the emergency area to a room, she offered no protest, only waving wanly to Carrie as well as ordering her as firmly as she could manage to return home to her family.

  “I’ll be back in the morning,” Carrie promised, leaving Jo to watch a succession of acoustical ceiling tiles roll by on her way to her destination. By the time she reached her room, her eyes had grown too heavy to check it out, so she simply stated that it would do. She sank into oblivion on the cheerful parting words of the nurse: “Press this call button when you need the bedpan.”

  <><><>

  Carrie arrived early, shortly after Jo’s food tray had been delivered.

  “Well, aren’t we royalty now,” she declared. “Breakfast in bed!”

  “And a princely one it is, too,” Jo said after swallowing a spoonful of her watery Cream of Wheat. “The coffee is almost warm. At least I think it’s coffee.”