Death Gone A-Rye

by Winnie Archer

  Based on the lack of parking available, I’d expected the sanctuary to be full. Full to bursting was more like it. Nessa Renchrik’s funeral was a star-studded event—if you counted the muckety-mucks in Santa Sofia as stars. From where I stood at one of the doors between the vestibule and the sanctuary, I could see the entire school board was there, members of the city council, a local representative, people on the board of the Chamber of Commerce, and so many others who, from their nicely appointed suits and tailored dresses, looked to be important people.

  The front pews were reserved for family and the rest of the seats looked to be taken. It was standing room only. I moved to the right side of the church, working myself into a spot between two people. I looked over to see whose space I’d invaded and stared. “Dad?”

  My dad stared right back at me. “Ivy?”

  We spoke at the same time: “What are you doing here?”

  My dad had been through the wringer since my mother died. Only recently had he begun to smile again. His sallow skin had started to absorb the sun and he had color in his cheeks. He’d even gained back some of the weight he’d lost, due, in no small part, to his frequent visits to the bread shop. Like I had, he was making his way through every one of Olaya’s offerings. His grief was still there, inside him, but he had decided it was time for him to live again. The only lasting outward effect of his loss was the graying of his hair. He’d gone from dark hair to silver fox. There was no going back, but it suited him well.

  My dad didn’t like the fact that I seemed to have a propensity for crime solving. My telling him that I was digging into Nessa Renchrik’s death wouldn’t sit well with him. Here, at the victim’s funeral, seemed like the wrong setting for such a discussion. “An old high school friend is on the school board. I thought I’d support her,” I said. “How about you?”

  My dad lowered his voice. “Comes with the job.”

  My dad was City Manager, so I guess it made sense that he might have interactions with the school board. “Did you know her?”

  He paused for a beat before saying, “Let’s just say we had a few interactions.”

  What I heard was code for: “Any interaction we had was not pleasant.”

  The service was distinguished, with accolades for Nessa being spouted by everyone who spoke.

  “She was a leader in our community.”

  “A prominent voice has been silenced.”

  “She had a vibrant career.”

  As I listened to each person who spoke at the funeral, and afterward at the reception, what stuck with me was the fact that not a single comment was about her as a person. No one said she was well loved, or that she had been a friend to the students in the school district, or even that she’d be missed. I thought again of Candace and her telling me that there was a line of people who might have wanted to do Nessa in. I’d come to believe that one hundred percent.

  Santa Sofia didn’t have a convention center, but it did have a lovely historic grange hall. The Renchrik family held the reception after the funeral there, catered by a local business. My dad and I stood side by side, each of us holding a glass goblet of iced tea—unsweet—and a napkin. I was saving my appetite for the bread I’d have at Yeast of Eden when I went to retrieve my car, and my dad said he had dinner plans. When I was growing up, his business dinners once a week, or so, were common occurrences. I was glad to know he was getting out and completely back in the swing of things at his job.

  “So, tell me,” I said to him.

  He glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he said, “She made my life miserable, truth be told. Always calling or emailing about this or that or the other thing. ‘There needs to be a park on the south side of town.’ ‘Why can’t this area be zoned commercially?’ You name it, she wanted to be part of it. It’s in poor taste to say it, but she was a thorn in my side.”

  Selfishly, all I could think was that I was so glad Captain York didn’t know how much Nessa Renchrik irked my dad or he might be right up there at the top of the person of interest list next to Miguel. We talked for a few more minutes before my dad said, “Time to go. Coming?”

  I debated, not sure if I’d be able to learn anything useful from a room full of politicians, but at that moment, I saw Candace across the room, goblet in hand. She was talking, rather animatedly, I thought, to a man and a woman. She swung her free arm out and her head moved around making her look a touch like a bobblehead.

  “No,” I said to my dad. “I’m going to go talk to Candy. My school board friend,” I added when he raised his eyebrows in a question.

  He leaned in to kiss my cheek but ended up whispering in my ear. “I know what you’re doing. Be careful, Ivy.”

  I never could fool him. I squeezed his hand and gave him a smile. “Always, Dad.”

  He slipped out and I started across the hall. As I got closer to Candy, I recognized her companions from seeing them at the district office—and from their photos on the district’s website. They were the two of the four school board members I hadn’t actually spoken with yet: Jerry Zenmark and Margaret Jenkins-Roe. Margaret was short like Candace, but where Candy was in the Mrs. Claus school of plump, Margaret looked like a strong wind could snap her in half, and that her bones would break with a brittle crack. Skin hung from her arms revealing the shape of the bones underneath. Her hair was blond, but unlike Candy’s, which was curled and fluffed, Margaret’s hung in strands that looked like they might never be completely clean. Sunken cheeks, bulging eyes, and thin lips. Poor Margaret did not look healthy. She also didn’t look particularly grief stricken.

  She looked to be in her early sixties, but I thought it was possible that she was actually younger than that. Jerry, on the other hand, looked younger than he probably was. I put him in his early forties, but he looked more like late thirties. He was tall and lanky, and he wore black slacks, a gray button-down, and a dark gray blazer. He and I were twinning. His thinness, compared to Margaret’s, looked completely healthy. He had an oval face with deep-set brown eyes, skin that had been sun drenched—probably from running or cycling—and brown hair shorn close to the scalp. I wondered if he and Nessa had been allies.

  “Candace,” I said as I came up to their small group.

  Candy started, clearly surprised to see me. “Ivy? What are you . . . I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  I just smiled and she held her hand out to the board members, palm up. “Jerry. Marge. This is an old friend from high school. Ivy Culpepper, these are two of our school board members. Jerry Zenmark and Margaret Jenkins-Roe.”

  “So nice to meet you both. You do such great things for our community.” They both smiled. Jerry dipped his head in a nod. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, holding my breath as I waited to see if Marge showed any sign of recognition. I thought my identity had remained hidden after my near miss with Katherine Candelli in the restroom, but I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. Maybe Katherine had hidden somewhere and waited to see who came out of the restroom. She’d definitely been suspicious. Or maybe she’d somehow caught a glimpse of me when I’d been following her. Had she mentioned my name to Marge?

  I exhaled. Apparently not, because all Marge said was, “Thank you,” while Jerry Zenmark said, “I’m still getting my head around it. Quite a shock. Really, quite a shock. She was a powerhouse. Hard to imagine a person like Nessa suddenly not being here.”

  “I’m sure she was a huge asset to the school board.”

  Jerry muttered under his breath, but not quietly enough that we didn’t all hear. “Yeah. I lost my vote because of it.”

  “Your vote?” I asked just as Candy dipped her chin and glowered at him. “Jerry.”

  He held up a hand and bit his lower lip. “Sorry. My bad. Poor taste.”

  I waved away the apology. “It’s okay. I didn’t know Nessa. I’m just here for moral support. I’m sure there is huge gap on the board now. What happens to her seat?”


  “I’ll become president,” Candy said. “We’ll appoint someone to fill her seat until the next election.” Jerry opened his mouth and started to speak, but Candy interrupted him with a hand in the air. “No, Jerry. The technology funding passed. Your surfing program is tabled. We voted. It’s over.”

  I looked from Candy to Marge to Jerry. “Technology for Chavez Elementary?” I asked.

  Jerry turned his full attention to me. “You are up on school board business?”

  I gave him what I hoped was a fetching smile. “Just a bit.”

  “We had an important item on the agenda at the school board meeting Tuesday. Kids spend far too much time on devices and in front of screens. We don’t need more of that in schools. We need them out doing things. Being active. It was Nessa’s passion project.”

  “The vote didn’t go Jerry’s way,” Candace said with a grimace. “It’s all in the public record.”

  “You-all didn’t understand the issues,” Jerry said. “There are grants you can get for more computers. Tech companies want their products in schools. Tap foundations. That’s what they’re for. But our after-school activities need district support. District funding. Nessa understood that. She fought for this.”

  Candy held up her hand to him. “We’re not debating this again. The vote was three to one. Even if Nessa was here, it wouldn’t have passed. It’s over.”

  Jerry’s nostrils flared as he exhaled. It didn’t look like it was over for him. He directed his gaze at Marge. “Is that right, Margaret? Would Nessa have lost?”

  Marge swallowed and her eyes bugged more than they did naturally, but she didn’t answer.

  Jerry kept at it. “She had your ear at the Communities in Schools dinner.”

  “Jerry!” Candace snapped. “Enough.”

  Jerry snapped his mouth shut, but not before I filed away the information that Nessa had been working over Marge the evening before she’d died. The Whac-A-Mole game continued. Here was yet another person who’d had a sketchy interaction with the woman just before her death.

  Across the room, someone waving their arms caught my attention. It was Mei Masaki. Terry stood next to her. I waved back, then held up one finger. I wasn’t quite done with Candy, Marge, and Jerry.

  They, it seemed, however, were done with one another. When I turned back to them, Jerry was walking away, Marge was near tears, and Candy looked like she could throttle someone. I decided to leave them be. “I’ll see you later, Candy. Nice to meet you, Marge,” I said. As I glanced at Jerry’s back, he turned his head and caught my eye. He dipped his chin in a single nod. I nodded back before weaving my way through the mourners to Mei and Terry.

  Mei wore a simple black wrap dress. Her hair looked like a shimmering sheet of black satin. Terry wore a dark gray suit. Just as it had been at the wedding, his hair was parted in the middle and had a gentle wave in it.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here, Ivy,” Terry said after a hug. “Did you know Nessa?”

  I felt like a broken record as I said, “No, just here for moral support.”

  Mei arched one brow but didn’t remark. She knew I had something else on my mind. Maybe she hadn’t told her husband about my visit to the district office and our eavesdropping on the superintendent and the intrepid reporter who’d come to visit.

  “How are the honeymooners?” Terry asked. “Have you heard from them?”

  I scanned the room as I answered. “I got a few texts from Emmaline, but otherwise no. I’m sure they’re having a great time.”

  “Have you heard anything more about Nessa?” Mei asked. “Did you talk to that reporter?”

  Terry looked from his wife to me. “What?”

  “Ivy stopped by the office the other day to see the superintendent.”

  “She was wrapped up with a journalist, so I never got the chance.” I left out the fact that I’d talked with McLaine in the parking lot and she’d clued me in about the donor. I turned and searched the crowd again, wondering if he was here.

  “Are you looking for someone?” Mei asked.

  “Joseph Patrick. Do you know him?”

  It wasn’t Mei but Terry who answered my question. “I know who he is. He’s in finance. Involved in state politics. He’s a pretty big player, in fact. Backs politicians who will fight for education issues.”

  “Why do you ask?” Mei asked.

  “I was hoping to talk to him. He met with Nessa the day she died.”

  Once again, Mei arched a brow, and looked at her husband. “How do you know that?”

  I shrugged. “Just through the grapevine, you know?”

  “He was going to back her senate bid,” Terry said. He scanned the room. “I saw him earlier.”

  “There he is!” Mei pointed to the door leading out of the Grange Hall. A tall man with graying hair and a receding hairline stood in front of the exit talking with someone. I realized a second later that it was Candace. Perfect! She’d introduce me.

  “Thanks. Good to see you both,” I said, giving both Terry and Mei quick hugs before I hurried away from them and toward the exit.

  My feet ached in my heels, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through the crowd. Once I got close enough for her to hear me, I raised my hand and called out. “Candy!”

  Both Joseph Patrick and Candy turned toward me. “Ivy,” she said. “You’re everywhere, aren’t you?”

  She sounded a little irked. I smiled and shrugged. “Running in the same circles lately.” I looked up at her companion expectantly.

  Candy seemed to realize she had to introduce us. “Ivy, this is Joseph Patrick. Mr. Patrick, this is an old friend of mine. Ivy Culpepper.”

  With some people, you get an immediate impression of who they are and what they’re about. Joseph Patrick came across as a high-powered don’t mess with me type. His dark eyes bore into me and made me want to take a step back. I held my ground.

  “A pleasure,” he said. “How did you know Nessa, if I may ask?”

  “I didn’t actually. Friend of a friend.”

  “Ah.”

  I plunged ahead. Why not? “I understand you were going to donate to her campaign? I hear she had the potential for a great political career ahead of her.”

  I wasn’t sure what response I expected from Joseph Patrick, given the animosity of Lulu Sanchez-Patrick, aka@MarissasMama, but all he said was, “I was. She had potential. It’s the skeletons that do you in.” He turned to Candy, said an abrupt good-bye, and gave me a nod before walking away.

  How very cryptic. We stared after him as he walked out the door. “What did he mean by that?” I asked.

  Before she answered, Candy surveilled our surroundings. No one was within earshot, so she said, “He was going to donate to Nessa’s campaign till he found out she and her husband have had undocumented workers work for them over the years. She might have been able to overcome it, but he didn’t think so. He withdrew his support.”

  I thought of Sylvia being deported, again wondering if Nessa could have somehow had a hand in it. But getting rid of their workers didn’t change the fact that they’d used them in the past, so why would she bother? “Why did he come today if he withdrew his backing?”

  “He’s a decent guy, and very much a humanitarian. He didn’t support her, but he can still pay his respects to the dead, right? Plus, he’s a board member of Communities in Schools. People like him have to make an appearance.”

  It all boiled down to the PR. I had a sudden thought. Maybe Nessa hadn’t known some of their people were in the United States illegally. Was the crew that took care of their management properties paid under the table? I thought about the tension I’d heard about between Cliff and Nessa. Cliff seemed to be in charge of Seaside Properties. Maybe he’d found the workers and Nessa had been in the dark. Maybe he’d thought it would never come to light—until his wife decided to run for public office.

  I thought about the woman I’d seen at the Renchriks’ home. Rachel had called the housekeeper Fernanda, but Cl
iff had called her Carmen. Had that been an automatic response, calling out the name of a person so ingrained in the mind? An idea hit me. What if Carmen had been the housekeeper before Fernanda? Could she have suffered the same fate as Sylvia?

  Another thought came to me. What if Nessa had only found out about the undocumented workers recently? Maybe getting rid of them was payback to her husband for ruining her career? If that was the case and he’d found out, could he have simply snapped? Miguel had said it, and I knew it was true. Always look at the spouse. Cliff popped back up as prime suspect.

  As I drove home, I thought about this new scenario, but my thoughts drifted to my conversation with Jerry Zenmark and Margaret Jenkins-Roe. If Nessa had been at the school board meeting, would the funding for the technology upgrades have passed, or would the vote have gone to her and Jerry’s pet project? Margaret was the swing vote, and Nessa controlled her. If Nessa hadn’t died, would she have pressured Margaret into voting her way? Jerry certainly seemed to think so. That led me to another question. Why was Nessa against technology in the schools in the first place? It only helped to better prepare students for a future in a society filled with technology. By not being offered that pathway, those students were put at a disadvantage.

  And surfing? Sure, it got kids out in the sun, but it was hardly going to give them an edge in their future careers. Marge seemed completely incapable of handling any object that could kill a person, and she was so brittle looking, I doubted she had the strength to do the deed.

  There were just too many potential suspects.

  I almost slammed on the brakes when another idea hit me. Candy said she would now become the school board president. Was that enough of a motive to kill Nessa Renchrik?

  Chapter 15

  The afternoon sun was setting as I walked along the beach, Agatha trotting by my side. I’d ditched my heels from the funeral the second I’d gotten home and changed into sweats, a hoodie, and sneakers. So much better.

  Pinks and oranges and streaks of blue painted the sky like an airy watercolor. The temperature had dropped and the breeze had picked up, pushing locals and visitors away. They’d left the beach just for me. I walked down to my favorite rock formation near the pier where Baptista’s Cantina and Grill was already busy with the dinner crowd. This part of the beach had been my mother’s favorite spot, and it’s where I still came when I wanted to feel close to her. Now, as I struggled to make sense of what had happened to Nessa Renchrik, I could hear my mother’s voice in my head. You’ll find the answer, Ivy. Don’t give up.