Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial)

by Leigh Ellwood

  “No, Paulie’s usually not so absent-minded,” Elena said. “He keeps his tools for work in a shed on the property, and he never brings anything with him except for his lunch. He takes a paper sack every day, and I just don’t see him driving all the way back there from his meeting to get one he left behind.”

  “Mrs. Dix,” Ronnie unfolded her arms, “is there somebody I can call to keep you company today?”

  Elena pointed to the wall phone by a set of kitchen cabinets. “My neighbor, Mrs. Humphrey, I suppose. Her number’s on the message board by the phone.” She cast her eyes down to her shiny violet slippers. “I’ll have to call Tom and Joanne... so many people...”

  Ronnie felt a pang in her heart as she punched Mrs. Humphrey’s number, remembering all the people she had to call upon learning about Jim. Each button became more labored, more painful to push, and her voice more incoherent as she broke the news to puzzled relatives and friends. Had Gina not arrived to help as soon as she called, Ronnie was not sure how she could have finished that tragic duty.

  When Ronnie returned to Lew and Elena she caught the tail end of his explanation for her presence. “Oh!” Elena’s face lit with recognition. “Yes, the saint girl is from your family. I hadn’t realized.”

  “Yes,” Ronnie nodded, slightly embarrassed. “She’s not quite a saint yet, but I imagine others think differently.”

  “Ah.” Elena appeared unsure how to react to that, and Ronnie wished Lew had not mentioned her relationship to Lorena. Not that she found any shame in the connection, but having to constantly explain the canonization process was getting tiresome. Better to have business cards made up to pass out to people, she thought.

  Lew broke the awkward silence. “Oh, Mrs. Dix, one other thing. We found that your husband’s wedding ring and watch were missing, and we suspect whoever killed him took them. We’ll need a description to send to the area pawn shops, or maybe a picture if you have one.”

  “Oh, no, no.” Elena was adamant. “Paulie never wore jewelry to work. Once he nearly lost his ring in an open plot, so a few years ago he started leaving them at home. Here.” Lew helped her to stand, and Elena toddled over to a workstation built into the kitchen by the pantry, where Paul Dix’s watch and wedding band lay in a dish of spare change and paper clips.

  She handed the items to Lew, who studied them in the palm of his hand. “Fine,” he said. “That’s one thing we don’t have to worry about then.”

  Lew returned the jewelry with a benign smile, but Ronnie could tell he was disappointed. A survey of area pawnshops might have brought forward a good lead had the jewelry been stolen and hocked by a killer stupid enough to take it to a shop that close. Now they truly had no clues.

  Mrs. Humphrey, a diminutive toothpick of a human being with a shock of hair dyed carrot orange, barged through the kitchen door without knocking, bringing more tears with her. Lew and Ronnie left the two to commiserate, not before Lew left behind his card and instructions on when and how to claim Paul’s body. “Hopefully the autopsy won’t delay his release,” he said.

  This comment, meant to sound comforting, only renewed the fervor of Elena’s grief. Sobs could be heard outside as they retreated to the cruiser. No doubt a visual of her husband’s lifeless body sliced like deli meat on a cold metal table brewed in the woman’s mind, Ronnie thought. She shuddered to think how Elena would react when it came time to actually identify and claim the body.

  They were leaving the house, halfway to the car when Ronnie spoke again. “You suspect her, Lew?”

  Lew shook his head slowly. “Not her, him.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “You get a good look at that watch?” Lew asked with a raised eyebrow. “Movado. Not a cheap watch, and when you hold it up to the Wal-Mart decor of that house—”

  “So the guy’s got an expensive watch. So what?” Ronnie broke in. “Maybe it was an anniversary gift from his wife.”

  “I didn’t see any engraving on the back, and I doubt Elena Dix would spend that much money given her illness.”

  Ronnie’s mouth was a straight line. “Doesn’t mean anything. People splurge on gifts, even when things look bleak. Look at me. I could barely pay my bills last year, but I still managed to fill my nephews’ stockings last Christmas. You want to talk about not cheap!”

  “I guess it helped, though, to have that break on rent.”

  Ronnie did not reply, but instead let Lew unlock the passenger side door for her. Lew gunned the cruiser’s motor and sharply rounded a corner toward the main road, causing them both to lean to the left. Ronnie caught her balance by pressing a hand against the dashboard, catching the scent of Lew’s aftershave. Old Spice, what Gina’s husband Bill wore; the pungent aroma often filled the kitchen in the morning at breakfast. Funny how she never detected that Lew used any type of aftershave, she thought. Even so, Old Spice did not seem to suit him; that scent was for dads and older men with boats.

  Ronnie studied the passing scenery. She did not want to get into her current living arrangements with Lew. Many people had voiced their disapproval of Ronnie moving into Gina’s basement, with Gina’s husband Bill being the most vehement considering it meant sacrificing his game room. Meant to be a temporary arrangement until Ronnie was able to find a more affordable apartment, weeks turned into months, then one year and counting.

  “I don’t want to talk about me right now,” she said finally. “What was it about Paul Dix’s jewelry that got you so hot and bothered?”

  “That’s only part of it.” Lew eased the cruiser behind Ronnie’s car on a yellowed strip of curb and adjusted the parking brake. “Mrs. Dix said her husband went to his Elks meeting last night. The Elks meet at the Famous Amos in Fernandina on Tuesday nights, not Thursday. I know this because my neighbor is a member, and he was home last night sitting on his back porch drinking beer.”

  “Really?” What reason would Paul Dix have to lie to his wife? “You think he was having an affair? You think he was getting gifts from, ah, a sugar mamma?”

  “I find it hard to believe, but I have to look at every angle. I see the Dixes in church every Sunday…” Lew looked away. “That is, I saw them. He was the last person I’d suspect of infidelity.”

  “Not everybody is what they seem, but I have a feeling you’re right,” Ronnie agreed. “At any rate, Paul Dix would have to have been seeing a really freaky chick to choose the cemetery for his secret trysts, somebody who’s definitely not from Ash Lake. Wouldn’t Elena have thought the appearance of the new, expensive watch unusual, and called him on it?”

  “I suppose we won’t know that,” Lew said, “until of course, I re-interview Mrs. Dix when she’s calmer.”

  “You mean when she’s had time to think of a good story,” Ronnie needled him. Passersby crossing in front of the cruiser glanced curiously through the windshield. Ronnie could only guess what they were thinking at seeing a member of one of Ash Lake’s more prominent families sitting in a police car. Even though she was sitting in front, she wondered if word would eventually trickle through the grapevine back to her grandmother.

  She unbuckled her seat belt and moved to leave. “Really, Lew, I can’t perceive any funny business here. Maybe Paul Dix did forget something at the cemetery and just picked the wrong time to go back for it.”

  Lew cranked the engine again as Ronnie opened her door. “Why tell his wife he’s going to a nonexistent Elks meeting, then?”

  “He wanted to play poker with his buddies, and figured his wife would have a cow. I don’t know, Lew. Why don’t you ask the Elks?”

  “I plan to. Should I bring anything else for dinner besides beer?”

  “Just your appetite. See ya.” Ronnie slammed the door shut behind her and watched Lew pull away and round the war veteran’s memorial planted in the center of the traffic circle before starting her own motor.

  As she pulled away she stole one last glance at the cemetery. The yellow crime tape was visible in the distance through the main g
ate. Ronnie leaned against the steering wheel. “Who took you, Lorena?” she whispered. “Why was it worth killing a man?”

  Chapter Six

  “It all started on our honeymoon. Neither of us had been to California, so we decided to rent a car and trek up the Pacific Coast. Oh, thank you.” Arlen Sanders clutched his balloon-shaped glass with both hands as Gina Hayes poured a refill of iced tea. “Anyway,” he continued to his captive audience, “while we were in Hollywood, Brenda picked up this crazy tourist guide which pointed out all of these bizarre landmarks, like Nicole Brown Simpson’s house, and the place where Thelma Todd was found dead...”

  Arlen and Brenda Sanders were seated practically on top of each other on the Hayes’s living room sofa, with Arlen sandwiched between his wife and Ronnie. Father Joel Mitchell, a cheerful, fortyish man with round-rimmed glasses, sat to Ronnie’s left. Bill Hayes, flanked by his two sons, held court in his rocking recliner, with one eye trained on the muted Cleveland Indians game.

  Elliott Hayes looked up at his father with crinkled brows. “Who’s Thelma Todd?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Bill shushed him. Ronnie, observing how her brother-in-law eagerly nodded to Arlen’s every word, could tell Bill had no idea either.

  “I think I’ve seen a book like that,” Ronnie said. “It had one of those maps to movie stars’ graves.”

  Brenda nodded. “We thought it’d be cool to go over and visit Marilyn Monroe’s grave, leave some flowers. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff people left behind.”

  Gina, flitting back into the kitchen to check on the lasagna, called back, “I imagine it’s nothing like the stuff left on Aunt Lorena’s grave.” Mild laughter all around.

  “Gina,” Ronnie griped. Lorena Alger had been dead since the end of the Civil War, yet her sister insisted on referring to her as “aunt” as if she had been a treasured family member who once showered them with gifts and affection. Whether Gina had taken to using the moniker for recognition or reverence was anybody’s guess, Ronnie thought. Gina never referred to Lorena’s brother, their direct ascendant, as “Grandpa Stephen.” Ronnie doubted plans would ever be made for his canonization.

  She glanced at the crystal clock sitting atop the piano. Where were Uncle Arthur and Nana? Where was Lew? Had something broken in the Paul Dix case that accounted for his tardiness?

  “So we’re leaving the mausoleum,” Arlen continued after a generous sip from his glass, “and there were these two old ladies puttering around Liberace’s grave. They ask me to take a picture, which I did, and as they leave they snatch up some of the foliage growing around his enormous headstone.”

  Brenda laughed along with the memory of the day. “For their scrapbooks, so they said,” she said as Gina took a seat on the piano bench to listen. “So I get to thinking, hey, there’s nobody around, so why not take home a free souvenir ourselves? I emptied a prescription bottle into my coin purse and filled it with some of the dirt from Liberace’s grave. The rest is history.”

  “We still have that little brown bottle, too,” Arlen said with a hint of pride. “Never opened it again.”

  The room was silent for a moment, and Brenda said meekly, “Well, that’s about it. You don’t think we’re weird, do you?”

  Ronnie checked Father Joel’s face in particular for a reaction. She imagined the priest, as the head of the committee for Lorena’s cause for canonization, had witnessed more severe forms of fanaticism during his research. Over the years he had helped investigate reports of healings and apparitions attributed to Lorena’s intercession, often cutting away the false alarms from the few authenticated miracles that would be used as evidence when the cause went to Rome for final approval.

  The lack of the would-be saint’s body, however, would cause problems. There was no question in Ronnie’s mind that the canonization process would be delayed, and she was certain others felt the same way. The strain on the young priest’s face, despite his outward demeanor, was obvious, and Ronnie wondered if Father Joel planned on informing Rome at all.

  “I don’t think it’s weird,” Gina said finally, and Brenda visibly relaxed. “I think it’s quite unusual, yes, but a hobby’s a hobby. You must get to see a lot of interesting places while your building your collection.”

  “We got to see Ash Lake,” Arlen offered to another round of laughter. “I didn’t realize we had an honest-to-God saint buried here in Florida. Even so, I figured she’d be buried in St. Augustine.”

  “She almost was.” This from Father Joel. “The bishop wanted to put Lorena under the altar of the diocesan cathedral after her beatification, but we managed to convince him otherwise. It’s true people think more of St. Augustine when they hear ‘Florida’ and ‘Catholic’ in the same sentence, but this was Lorena’s home. Her family chose to settle here, and here is where they stood stay.”

  An awkward silence fell upon the room. Ronnie sipped her tea and suddenly wished it had come from Long Island. She watched the priest and knew exactly what he was thinking. Had he relented and allowed Lorena to be moved to St. Augustine, there would have been no theft. Paul Dix would be alive.

  “Did you get any dirt from Marilyn’s grave, Mr. Sanders?” asked Ian. From the glazed look on her nephew’s face Ronnie could tell the boys at best were familiar with her, no doubt by way of the classic issues of Playboy Bill kept in his own collection of magazines, a collection which was supposed to be under lock and key.

  She looked at her sister, who was clueless. Everybody’s right, thought Ronnie. I do need to get out of here.

  “Marilyn was buried above ground, no dirt to be had,” Arlen reminded the boy.

  “What about Dale Earnhardt?” This from Elliott, the racing fan.

  “Not yet, but we are heading through the Carolinas on our way to Virginia for our summer vacation,” Brenda said, smiling. “If we can find the grave and it’s not on private grounds, we’ll give it a shot. You can be sure we’ll be more careful in building our collection from now on.”

  The conversation eventually drifted to other topics, with Gina taking the lead by discussing the last epic Hayes family vacation to Mount Rushmore. Ronnie excused herself to finish setting the table, eager for a break from stories already heard. Gina had no intention of bringing up Lorena’s abduction or Paul Dix’s murder, she knew, nor would she allow either topic to remain on the table for long in the event somebody else said something. So long as Lew was not present, what more could be said besides a rehash of the Sanders’s discovery of the body?

  Father Joel soon joined her in the kitchen. He waved his empty glass. “Just getting some more tea,” he murmured, reaching for the refrigerator door.

  “Help yourself. Hey,” she reached over and patted his shoulder, “there’s no need to beat yourself up over this.”

  The priest’s smile was grim. “She would have been safer in St. Augustine,” he admitted.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Well,” Father Joel sighed, “I could have at least stepped up security around the grave site, or had one of the funeral homes take care of the body. I just didn’t see the need to do so until the church was finished. I didn’t think…” his voice trailed away, and Ronnie hoped the young man would not start crying in her sister’s kitchen. As frequently as Gina checked on dinner, Ronnie knew she would be blamed for the outburst.

  “Father, getting upset won’t help. Nobody anticipated this, and nobody is blaming you, okay?”

  “Okay,” he whispered, and reached into his pocket for a black-bead rosary. “I suppose the only thing we can do now is pray.”

  Ronnie could see it was time to change the subject. “So,” she began as she rummaged through the utensils drawer for forks, “what do you think of the Sanderses? Do you think they’re weird?”

  Father Joel chuckled, and Ronnie was relieved to see his good spirits return. He brushed away a lock of dark brown hair hanging down from his forehead. “No, no, they’re good people. I’m grateful they were there to fin
d Paul Dix before...” he made a face, and Ronnie held up her hand. He need not go into more gruesome detail.

  “What about the dirt fetish?”

  “Ronnie,” the priest chided. “Who am I to judge anything like that? I’ve been to the catacombs so many times the Swiss Guards know me by sight.”

  Father Joel then eased closer, his palms curling around the lip of the sink. His face became serious; Ronnie knew what was coming next, and decided to beat him to the punch. “I don’t know anything more,” she said, “and I don’t know if Lew has anything new to share since I saw him last. I’m hoping he’ll hurry up and get here, but you know Gina isn’t going to let him talk business tonight.”

  She looked through the window above the sink to see the momentary flash of headlights sweeping the driveway. Squinting into the dark, Ronnie made out the shape of a compact car with a slanted nose—Uncle Arthur and Nana had arrived.