Jennifer blushed, almost down to her toes. She could have kissed Marjorie right then and there.
"Find me that box and I'll pack Suzanne's things for you," Jennifer promised.
"All right. But you listen up to what I just told you. More times than not, it's us women who do the decidin' for men. You even think you might someday want that Sam Culpepper, you'd better consider it now because that Belle woman has an agenda all laid out for him."
And if it was that obvious to a complete stranger, why was it that Sam couldn't see it?
"I'll be back in just a minute. I think I have something we can use out on the back porch."
Jennifer looked about the room. Faded flowered wallpaper, the single bed with a solid blue coverlet, an old photo of a couple, and another of a young Suzanne and a small child, Suzie, on either side of the single window. A small bookcase with worn books and stuffed toys. A dusty crystal box on the bedside table. This must have once been Suzanne's room.
"Will this do?" Marjorie asked from the doorway. She offered a plain brown, open-ended cardboard box.
"How long did she live with you?" Jennifer asked, accepting the box.
"From her second year of high school up until about ten years ago. She needed to get her own life. That's why Vic built her that house. And Vic and I, we needed our space. Suzie, too. She was soon to be starting her teen years, and we had our own ideas about how she ought to be reared. But now I wonder if things might have been different if we'd kept Suzanne with us."
Seems every time someone died, there was always more guilt to go around than people to absorb it.
Jennifer folded the dress and carefully laid it in the box. Then she added the shoes and the other bags.
Marjorie opened the closet door and used her foot to shove shoes and boots to one side. "You can put it in here."
Jennifer set it on the floor, noting that Marjorie seemed reluctant to touch a single item, not even the box. "Don't blame yourself. Things happen. It's not as though you could have done anything to prevent it."
Marjorie looked into her eyes. "But I saw it coming. What happened with that Lewis Spikes boy and then with Vic. I saw it coming."
Chapter 19
Unfortunately, the guilt-ridden don't necessarily feel obligated to unburden their souls, and Marjorie didn't share another word. She simply showed Jennifer the door and left her guessing what she might mean.
She found Suzanne's roses, or what was left of them, in the trash, thankfully on top. Definitely thorned.
Jennifer rewrapped the roses in the brown paper she'd found them in and stowed them in the trunk of her car. As she pushed the lid shut, she heard "Jennifer." She turned to see Suzie standing directly behind her.
"I wondered where you were."
"Did Mama show you Aunt Suzanne's things?"
"Yes. I packed them for her."
"Did you see the anklet?"
Jennifer dug it out of her pocket. "She let me take it with me."
"It's not Aunt Suzanne's," Suzie said confidently.
"Do you know who it belongs to?"
Suzie shook her head. "It's not Kelli's either. At least I've never seen her wear it, and I've seen most of what that woman owns. It's her something borrowed. That's what you thought, too, isn't it? Her killer planted it on her."
"Is that what you think?"
"Of course."
"This is the first time I've heard you use the word killer. Before you just said Suzanne didn't kill herself."
"Sometimes it's wise to let someone warm up to an idea. I didn't want to scare you off."
"Learned that from your mama, huh?"
"Oh, yeah, from dealing with my mama. And my dad."
"But Suzanne could have gotten that anklet from anywhere, or bought it herself in the store. I really don't think we can put too much stock in—"
"Look at it." She took the jewelry out of Jennifer's hand. "It's worn. See? One of the wings on the little bird has lost its sharp corner, probably from beating against the side of a shoe. Besides, Aunt Suzanne already had her something borrowed, a tiny gold locket. She gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday and I gave it back to her about a month ago to keep until the ceremony. It's down at her house. I can show you, if you don't believe me."
"Of course, I believe you, Suzie. Why wouldn't I?"
"Jennifer, whoever killed her knew all about her plans to marry Mr. Hovey. That's why she was dressed up like she was. What they didn't know was how to lay her out right, how Aunt Suzanne herself would have done it."
It gave her little shivers hearing how this young woman would know how her aunt would have committed suicide. She glanced back toward the house and saw Marjorie watching them from the window. The moment she realized Jennifer was looking, she drew back.
What, Jennifer wondered, had happened between Vic and Suzanne that made them decide they had to get her out of the house?
When she got home, Muffy didn't even stir at the sound of the key in the door. She was snuggled at Belle's side. On the sofa. Where she was never, ever supposed to be.
"Muffy is not allowed on the furniture," Jennifer stated firmly. The dog bounced down and slunk off toward the bedroom, fully aware of her unacceptable behavior.
"Too bad, Muff. Big bad mama is home," Belle said. "So, how's it going? Where were you?"
"No place you need to know about. Any calls?"
"Not a one. Oh, except for Sam checking up on us. The police had left and he was waiting for the repairman. We had a nice, long conversation. He wanted to know where you were."
"And where is he?"
"Right now? Probably out looking for DeSoto."
"Please tell me you're kidding. You actually let him—"
"Hey, I didn't have anything to do with it. Sam's a big boy, Jennifer, if you hadn't noticed."
Oh, she'd noticed all right.
"If he calls back and I'm gone, you tell him to call me at Monique's. Or on my cell phone. Tell him I turned it on. You got that?"
"Sure. Monica whatever."
"Monique Depree." She found a sticky note and a pen, wrote Monique's name down and tossed the pad at her. "Don't forget."
"Okay, okay."
She slipped into her tiny kitchen and pulled a frozen pizza for one out of the freezer. Then she ripped it out of its box and slapped it into the microwave. She poured herself a coke and chugged down half of it. As soon as the timer sounded, she choked down the pizza, standing right there, leaning up against the counter.
"Oh, Jennifer," Belle sang out. "When you get finished in the kitchen, you might want to check out your mail. The mailman brought it up. A thick manila envelope. Looks self-addressed. It's got a New York postmark. I laid it on your desk."
Great. Just when she thought her life couldn't get any worse, some New York publisher decided to put the cherry on the sundae and send one of her manuscripts back. And Belle was right there to bear witness.
Chapter 20
"You're kidding. That woman is not staying in your home." Leigh Ann crossed her arms, offered Jennifer a most disgusted look, and tilted back in her chair in Monique's spacious kitchen.
"Even as we speak," Jennifer assured her and the rest of the gang, pulling a chair up to the table. "She's probably drinking right out of my milk carton and eating all my chocolate doughnuts."
"Better to keep the fox out of the chicken coop," April declared, "even if that means taking him into your own home." She helped herself to a piece of Mississippi Mud, a gooey chocolate brownie, melted-marshmallow, chocolate-icing concoction that should come with a sugar-shock warning, as should most everything April baked. "Anyone got any ideas about how to get rid of this Belle woman?"
She shoved the pan across the table toward Leigh Ann who immediately cut a huge piece. Someday her calorie count had to catch up with the skinny little thing. At least that's what April always said.
Monique cleared her throat, and they all turned to look as she leaned back against the counter. "How can we help? I have a
spare room."
Jennifer was truly touched. "No, that's all right. Actually I kind of like having Belle where I can watch her. What I really need help with is finding out what was going on with Suzanne Gray."
"I don't see the point in that," April said, savoring the rich chocolate on her tongue. "I mean this poor Suzanne Gray woman is dead, and so is the man she threw herself away for. There's no helping either one of them, but Jennifer and Sam, now, the two of them need a good bit of help. We can do something about their situation."
"Excuse me?" Jennifer interrupted. A little sympathy was just fine. Meddling was a whole other matter. "Suzanne Gray deserves justice, dead or alive."
"Just lay it on us," Teri declared. "She's not going to let this one go, you all. So what do you need to know?"
"Who killed Suzanne Gray, for starters."
"That's for enders," Leigh Ann declared, shuffling the brownie pan toward Teri. "But for my money, she offed herself. Lost love. How could you doubt it?"
Monique set a gallon milk jug in the middle of the table. "You said yourself the woman was determined to be wed before her fortieth birthday." She grabbed some glasses and poured milk for everyone, not bothering to ask whether they wanted it or not. Women need calcium.
"Yeah, so why didn't Richard Hovey's parents know about the wedding plans?" Jennifer asked.
Leigh Ann's brow creased. "You're right. They should have. Even if they hated her."
"You're kidding," Teri threw in. "That man was forty-two years old and a gazillionaire. He didn't have to tell his parents a thing."
"What about all that stuff you said you and Sam found in her house?" April asked. "All those wedding preparations. I can't imagine anyone going to all that trouble and being able to keep a secret like that."
"Right. That's where you all come in," Jennifer stated. If they were all so anxious to help, then she'd let them. "We know Suzanne and Richard's engagement announcement, modest though it was, appeared in the newspaper, but without a set date. I want to know exactly how far the wedding arrangements had progressed. The dress swatches came from La Boutique Nuptiale. I'll check it out. If she actually ordered a dress, put down money, I want to know. And when it was to be delivered. I have no idea how long it takes to have a gown made—"
"Months," April broke in. "Especially when you add the fittings. It usually takes at least three."
"That's what I thought."
"And then there are the dresses for the attendants," Leigh Ann threw in.
"Right. Got it covered," Jennifer went on. "The jewelry brochures were from Astor's. Surely Richard Hovey would buy one whopping ring for his bride-to-be, even if it's never been found. Leigh Ann, you like rings. You take that one."
"I like dresses, too," she pouted under her breath.
"The stationery samples came from Pastorelli's. Don't you know them, Monique?" Jennifer asked.
Monique nodded. "I'll get on it in the morning."
"The flowers from Carmichael's—"
"I'll take that one," Teri offered.
"I'll check out the bakery," April volunteered. No big surprise there.
"Okay. That's Lazy Susan's."
"Got it."
"That only leaves Talley's Travels."
"I'll take that one, too," Monique offered.
"Terrific. I guess that about covers it, at least for now," Jennifer said.
"So what is it we want to know exactly?" Leigh Ann asked.
"What Suzanne and Richard ordered. If they actually put down deposits. When they did it, what date they gave for the wedding, etc."
"And you think this will help you understand her death?" Monique still didn't seem convinced.
"Either these two people were madly in love and Suzanne killed herself when Richard died—"
"That's so beautiful, isn't it?" Leigh Ann interrupted.
"No, it's not," Teri snapped.
"Either Suzanne killed herself," Jennifer went on, "or someone staged an awfully elaborate murder, someone who was aware of the wedding plans. I want to know which it was."
"Why?" Monique asked again. It wasn't a challenge, really. It was more a recognition that something more was going on with Jennifer. "I mean why all the detail?"
"I'm going to write about it."
"Oh," Leigh Ann said. "You mean you're going to use it as a basis for a novel."
"No. Teri already knows this. Sam and I are going to write a true crime book about Richard Hovey. I'm... I'm not going to write fiction anymore."
"I sure as heck didn't know that last part," Teri said.
None of the rest of them said a word. They sat there stunned.
"What happened?" Monique asked.
"I told you. This poor woman is crying out for justice and—"
"No. What happened to you? Did you finally hear back from that publisher about your Jolene Arizona book?"
She knew she should have burned that book. She should never have let anyone read it or know that she'd written it. But all those rejections she collected from all her other books, so many of them demanding something totally new, something never done before, had spurred her on. And so Jolene had been born, a left-handed, blind-in-one-eye, bareback riding circus performer turned private eye, who slept with almost everybody on God's green earth. And, nine months ago, in a fit of weakness, Jennifer had actually submitted it to a New York publisher.
"Yes, I heard back. This afternoon."
"Are you going to tell us what they said?" Monique asked, frozen, milk jug in hand.
"They said they really, really liked it, but they just bought a book very similar to it. They told me to try again." Jennifer fought the bile she felt rising in her throat. "Only they wanted more sex and more violence."
"That's terrific!" Leigh Ann clapped her hands.
"It's not terrific. It's disgusting. I'm done with fiction. I'd be done with writing only..."
"We don't choose what we are," Monique told her. "You're either a writer or you're not, and you, Jennifer Marsh, are a writer."
They all paused for a moment. No one would press the issue. Not now. Jennifer was serious and they knew it.
And so was Monique.
"Okay. Everyone's got their assignments." Monique wisely said no more. "I want to see everybody back here tomorrow night so we can pool our information."
"That's awfully tight—" Teri complained.
"Just do it, Teri," April insisted, packing up what was left of the brownies. "So you lose a lunch hour or an hour after work. Jennifer won't let us move on to more important things until we do it, and every minute that Belle woman remains in her life—"
Jennifer was on her feet. "I'm going home." She grabbed her shoulder bag, but April managed to catch hold of the straps and pull her aside before she got to the door.
"We need to talk."
Jennifer stared at her.
"If my getting a contract for my Billy and Barney books has discouraged you in any way..." April whispered.
She pulled her arm out of April's grasp. "I'm thrilled for you. Write your books. Publish two million of them. It's all good with me. You deserve it."
"I may deserve it, but you deserve it, too. I can't even imagine how you must feel after that awful letter about your Jolene Arizona book. You should never have sent that book out. You should never have written it."
"Thanks for sharing, but you don't understand today's adult fiction market. If you're going to lecture me on the morality of writing books that deal with sex and violence—"
"Go back to your first love, Jennifer. Your Maxie Malone books have come within a breath of selling. They're charming, they're witty, they're moral. Maxie's a strong female character that won't let anybody stop her. She's a lot like you. I know you can find someone to print them. You've had at least two encouraging replies from queries. You're getting close."
"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, certainly not in publishing."
"But you can't give up now," April insisted.
&
nbsp; "Then just when can I give up?" Jennifer didn't want to cry in front of April or any of the rest of them. She was so tired her limbs were moving on their own and she had just about had it. "My social life is in shambles, Suzanne is dead in some undertaker's backroom, Sam is God knows where doing who knows what, Belle has taken over my home, my money is running low, and it's so cold that I have only one catering job scheduled with Dee Dee and that's Friday when I'd much rather be out doing something with Sam. My writing is a lost cause, and—"
"It's always darkest just before the dawn," Leigh Ann offered, sweeping past them.
"Actually it's always darkest before it gets pitch-black," Teri pointed out as she pushed past and out the door. "See you all tomorrow."
And her writing group was dissolving into trite and catty backbiters. Okay, that wasn't fair. They'd always had their share of the trite and catty.
But as much as she loved April, one of the truly good people in this world, Jennifer couldn't bear to hear one more time how talented she was and how unfair it was that she wasn't published. "April, go home to your babies and Craig."
Jennifer then turned and left without another word. She had to get home to Muffy and check on that horrid woman Belle. What else could possibly go wrong?
Even as the thought entered her mind, she knew no one should ever pose that question, not even to oneself.
Chapter 21
Jennifer wasn't the only one whose life was tumbling out of control. Sam hadn't been home all last evening. She knew because, after she got back from her writers' group, she'd called his house several times and gotten no answer. Bright and early the next morning, he called her. She met him on the front steps of the Bibb County Courthouse.
Dying to Get Her Man Page 12