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

by Leigh Ellwood

  Nana shrugged and sipped her tea. “I don’t really know much about our finances. Arthur has handled everything for years. He has access to all of our accounts except for the boys’ trust funds, which Gina is looking after, and the money set aside for my future care, should I need to move into a nursing home.”

  “That will never happen,” Ronnie said pointedly. Jim’s grandmother had spent her last days at such a place, and during visits Ronnie often held her breath to avoid the smell. What was difficult to avoid were the dejected, frail shells of human beings slumped in wheelchairs outside their rooms as the linens were changed. The fear and emptiness in their eyes burned in Ronnie’s memory; she dreaded growing old, and dreaded seeing her grandmother growing even older.

  She watched Nana fuss over her salad and wave to a couple she recognized coming into the deli. Healthy and vibrant as she was, Nana was likely never to need to use that money for the purpose anyway, Ronnie thought. She said a silent prayer of gratitude, and that she too had been blessed with the Meyers’s good genes.

  They finished lunch chatting about happier, more trivial topics, and Ronnie paid the bill. “I’ll call Gina now, she should be giving the boys their lunch,” Ronnie offered. “I was going to cook tonight anyway, so why don’t you eat with us?”

  Nana said that would be fine and Ronnie fished for her cell phone, her eyes coming to rest on the Jacksonville Journal Chet had given her that morning. “Local men sought for questioning in corpse’s disappearance” read the headline. Underneath, the top half of a photo of Nana could be seen above the fold.

  “Wait a minute.”

  She ripped away the front page and searched for the staff box. With her eyes on the paper, she dialed the phone number printed there and asked the operator to connect her to one Oscar Blaine.

  “What are you doing?” Nana asked.

  Ronnie held up a finger. “I’m calling the managing editor of this rag. It’s one thing if Hoskins wants to keep running these stories, but he doesn’t need to keep mentioning you and printing your picture. You don’t need all the unwanted attention.”

  “Well, I figure there’s not much we can do, given the freedom of the press. Besides, it’s no secret that Lorena was Stephen’s great-aunt, and I his widow.”

  “That’s beside the point. I feel like this guy is harassing you through his job. You’re not a public figure, Nana. There should be limitations.” Suddenly she stood up straight and faced upward. “Hello, Mr. Blaine?” she greeted the gruff voice on the other end. “My name is Veronica Lord, and my grandmother is Julia Alger—”

  “The relative of that old dead kid.” Oscar Blaine interrupted her, more of a statement of fact than a question.

  “Er, yes.” Ronnie shrank back into her chair. The way Oscar Blaine put it, suddenly having a saint in the family did not seem so prominent. The guy was probably not Catholic. “I wanted to discuss the nature of the press her disappearance has been getting—”

  “You want to talk to Chet Hoskins about that. That’s his beat.”

  Ronnie sighed. So now her familial tragedy was a ‘beat,’ mere territory upon which Chet Hoskins felt free to stalk. “Actually I wanted to speak to you personally about Mr. Hoskins’s treatment of my family in the press,” she said before Blaine could hang up on her. “I understand the murder of Paul Dix is news and that your paper is obligated to inform the public, but I must say Mr. Hoskins is not the most civil person—”

  A loud, derisive snort on the other end surprised her. “Why not just spit it out?” Blaine bellowed. “The guy’s a moron. He’s a moron who can’t spell worth tootely-hoots, much less write sentences without inserting a semi-colon in the wrong place. You wouldn’t believe how much my copy editor has to clean up his stuff before it goes to press.”

  Ronnie listened to the man complain with rolling eyes, picturing Oscar Blaine in her mind as a cross between Lou Grant and Detective Sipowicz from NYPD Blue. She imagined the man must have been relieved that she called, if only to have a reason to vent. Nana leaned closer to listen herself.

  “Uh, well, if you don’t mind my asking, why does Mr. Hoskins stay on the payroll if he does such a lousy job?”

  Oscar Blaine chuckled, then suddenly hacked up what sounded to Ronnie like a pint of phlegm. “Daddy’s got deep pockets,” he answered snidely, “plus a clamp on the publisher’s arm so he can get what he wants. If Sonny Boy wants to be a reporter, Sonny Boy gets to be a reporter and my boss gets a hot tub on his back porch.” Another bone-shattering cough rattled over the line. “If you ask me, that money would have been put to better use teaching that kid how to write.”

  Or for some nicotine patches for the staff, Ronnie thought as she hung up the phone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Reading the look of disgust on her sister’s face as she studied the front page of the Journal was enough for Ronnie, and she decided not to peruse the paper herself before heading to work. Missing a day of Dilbert would not throw her schedule into disarray, she thought.

  Since her call to the paper’s managing editor three days before, little new information on the murder and grave robbing had come to light. Lorne and Landon Dennis had vanished completely, and Jeanette Holley had called only once in that time to say she had not heard from them, nor did she expect a call. “They stuck us with a seventy-five dollar unpaid tab,” she griped. “They won’t come back willingly, I’ll tell you that.”

  Despite the dearth of new information, articles on the case continued to run in the metro section. Chet Hoskins now penned fluff pieces detailing the process of canonization and the Alger family’s history in the community. Harder news would come presumably when a break in the case was made. Much of the information filling the current articles were public knowledge, facts Chet could have researched at the library. The only thing that bothered the Alger women about this was the regularity in which they were printed.

  “Honestly, you’d think nothing else was happening in town.” Gina poured another cup of coffee.

  “Gina, Ash Lake isn’t exactly a blooming metropolis. Nothing else is happening.” Ronnie slumped in her chair, elbows on the breakfast table. “I’m actually looking forward to the annual issue which is nothing but a list of area high school graduates. At least that’s not Chet Hoskins’s ‘beat.’”

  Both women sifted through the paper for something else to read, and, finding little satisfaction in the classifieds section, went about their respective days. At work, Ronnie downed three cups of coffee and administered her last final exam without incident. At the end of the school day she made a full inspection of her office for anything she wanted to take home with her. She hoped not to have to return until the summer session began, and she did not want to worry about anything academic during her coming vacation.

  She locked her door and gave Gloria Hathaway a sincere hug before leaving. The secretary was planning an extended vacation. “Take care of yourself. See ya in September.”

  “You too, sweetheart, and if I don’t see you during the break I hope everything works out for you.” Gloria paused at her desk, fumbling with her purse strap. “I’m really sorry for any trouble I might have—”

  Ronnie pressed her hands to her ears in jest. “Stop it, stop apologizing. You’ve done nothing wrong, so there’s nothing to forgive, okay? We’re cool.”

  The secretary reluctantly nodded, and Ronnie inwardly sighed with relief. She knew Christ commanded in the Gospels to forgive your enemies endless times, but she could not recall a passage that stated specifically how many times one should ask for forgiveness. If the numbers were the same, summer would be over before she and Gloria were finished.

  “Any plans for the summer?”

  Gloria clutched a book to her chest, her head down as she passed Ronnie to get to the front office door. “I’m going to pray a lot,” she said, and Ronnie could not decide whether or not she was joking. “I also have quite a bit of reading to do.”

  “Let me know if you want to borrow any more
books. Gina has a whole theological library in her home office.” Ronnie said, pointing to Gloria’s book. She recalled the thrilled look on Gina’s face as Ronnie told her of Gloria’s interests; no doubt her sister was already planning to enroll the elderly woman in RCIA.

  ~ * ~

  “I did what you suggested, Ronnie, and I’m sorry to say nobody owned up to it. Actually, I shouldn’t say I’m sorry, because I’m relieved. It means nobody on the committee is leaking news to the press.”

  Nana sat next to Ronnie on the Hayes living room sofa, sipping black coffee and waiting for Gina to bring out the cookie tray. Fridays were normally lenient in terms of schoolwork for Ian and Elliott. Gina, feeling especially generous today, gave the boys the last two hours off to play outside. What cookies were not ravaged in their wake were set out on the coffee table for the ladies to enjoy.

  “So it’s got to be coming from the sheriff’s department then.” Gina selected a Milano cookie and settled into Bill’s recliner, turning it to face the couch. “I mean, I know I’m not talking to the guy.”

  Ronnie leered at her sister. “Well, maybe you haven’t, but perhaps somebody you talked to did. To whom have you talked about the case?”]

  “Nobody.” Gina crossed her legs. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on! I didn’t even know about the finger until I read about it in the paper, remember?” Microscopic cookie crumbs sprayed the air as she simultaneously chewed and spoke. “My own sister and grandmother don’t even tell me what is going on.”

  “Now, Gina.” Nana began soothingly, “we were told to keep quiet by the police. I certainly didn’t want to risk anything by opening my mouth, and I imagine Ronnie felt the same way.” She patted her granddaughter’s knee.

  “Ronnie never tells anybody anything,” Gina huffed. “Like the time I had that clear size sticker stuck to the back of my jeans and you didn’t tell me. That thing was stuck to my butt the whole day.”

  Ronnie shrugged. The incident was two years old, but Gina was slow to forget such things when the laughs were enjoyed at her expense. Many, many laughs in this case, Ronnie recalled, as she and Gina had gone to the mall in Jacksonville’s Regency shopping district that day. “I didn’t say anything because I thought it was funny. I mean, I figured you’d catch it eventually. They were your jeans. You had to have felt something.”

  “I did catch it, five hours into the day after using the ladies’ restroom. I went through the whole day wondering why people were looking at me so funny. I can’t believe nobody said anything.”

  “That’s right, Gina. I am united with the entire state in a major conspiracy, and we are all determined to make you look like a complete jackass,” Ronnie retorted in mock seriousness.

  “Girls!” Nana admonished them both with a look and the bickering ceased. Ronnie grudgingly shoved two cookies into her mouth and crunched loudly, knowing fully well how much it annoyed her tidier older sister.

  “Tensions are high, I understand that, but this infighting is not going to solve any of our problems. We certainly don’t need anymore headaches,” the old woman continued. Ronnie and Gina muttered their apologies, and the three women sat silently for several seconds.

  Ronnie helped herself to the last Milano cookie and snapped it in two. She studied the thin strand of chocolate sandwiched by the shortbread. “Hey,” she spoke up suddenly, “what about all those people hanging around your house that night we found the finger? Could one of them have done it?”

  “We went over that already, remember?” Gina said wearily. “You said you didn’t think anyone got close enough to see the finger in the box.”

  “So maybe I was wrong. There were kids running all over the damn place. Any one of them could have slipped between us. I was so scared I didn’t even know my own ass from my elbow that night.”

  Nana snatched away the one half of the cookie Ronnie did not eat. “If you ask me, maybe we ought to consider the bomb squad,” she said. “We don’t know any of them, so naturally somebody might not have considered our feelings when talking to the man.”

  “Possible,” Gina nodded, “but I still think it’s one of Lew’s people. We’ll know for certain later.”

  Ronnie obliviously pinched loose crumbs from her white T-shirt. “Why? What’s later?”

  “Your date, silly. Lew’s taking you to that concert at the Florida Theater.”

  Ronnie felt her heart stop. The concert. The date! She had almost forgotten the concert was tonight, what with all the commotion Finals Week brought. The murder investigation and memories of the confrontation at Ethan Fontaine’s house also took precedent in her mind. She had hoped perhaps for one more week to prepare mentally.

  Lew had mentioned nothing of the show the last time they met. Had he forgotten as well? She wondered if she should call to remind him if necessary.

  No, she decided, and remained rooted to her seat. No sense in appearing too eager for an outing that everybody but her believed was a date. Did Lew believe it? If so, he would have called. Ronnie was certain of that.

  The phone chirped, catching her off guard. She yelped slightly to the amusement of her sister, who rose to answer it. The smile on her face told Ronnie that her reaction well made up for the jeans sticker incident.

  “It’s Lew,” Gina waved the cordless receiver at Ronnie, “and he doesn’t sound like he wants to talk business.” She held back, obviously rethinking her words and stifling a laugh.

  Speak of the devil. “You could have at least covered the mouthpiece when you said that,” Ronnie muttered under her breath. She snatched away the receiver to hear hearty laughter on the other end.

  “No shortage of grief in that house,” Lew teased her. “It’s nice to hear you ladies laugh again.”

  “I take it there’s nothing new to report?”

  “Nada.” Lew’s voice calmed into a more serious tone. “Wish I could tell you more. We got troops all over looking for the Dennis’s truck. We’ve even got the Georgia State Police keeping lookout on I-75. We hit a few dead ends with the leads we had, but maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll slip up over the weekend.”

  Gina and Nana cleared away the food and cups and disappeared into the kitchen, though Ronnie was certain both would be straining to hear everything. “Well, thanks for letting me know what’s up.” She bit her lip. Dare she broach the subject of the concert?

  Lew must have been reading her mind, she thought. He faltered, and in a different voice asked, “So, uh, I’m thinking I’ll come by around six, since the show starts at eight and who knows what the interstate and parking downtown will be like.”

  “That’s fine.” Ronnie swallowed. Six was more than fine, it meant that Lew did not want to have dinner first. Did not an official date include dinner with the show? “I’ll see you then.” She rang off and looked up to see her sister and grandmother crowding the kitchen doorway, all smiles and raised eyebrows.

  “He’ll be here at six,” Ronnie informed them quietly, “if either of you are interested in sticking around and checking him out to see if he meets your approval.”

  “That won’t be necessary, he already does,” Nana chuckled. “Have fun on your date.”

  “It’s not a date, okay? He’s just coming over here to pick me up, and we’re going straight to the concert. We aren’t even stopping for dinner beforehand.”

  Gina rested against the doorjamb and folded her arms. “Sure, but what about afterward? A guy’s gotta eat.”

  Ronnie swallowed again. What about afterward?

  ~ * ~

  They took the cruiser to Jacksonville. Lew drove the speed limit the entire way.

  “Aww.” Ronnie pushed her lower lip into a pout. “Aren’t you going to hit the lights and sirens and blow past these slowpokes? It’s not like other cops haven’t done it before.”

  Lew eased into the passing lane and glided past a silver BMW. “Cops like Dwayne, I hear,” he smiled. “Chuck tells me he gets paranoid about those traffic cameras put up on the inter
state closer to the city, like Big Brother is using them to grab a retina scan or something silly.” He shook his head. “I’m not on official business now, so I don’t like taking advantage of the system, if you know what I mean.”

  Ronnie did. Jim was that way, too, and she said as much. “I think the only time he sped without needing to was when his mother had her last heart attack.” She settled back into her seat, her gaze drifting back to the hard, clear plastic that separated the front and back seats. “Of course, it wouldn’t be completely unethical to step on the gas a bit more tonight.”

  “How so?”

  Ronnie pulled the denim jacket she wore tighter around her chest. “Well, what if you get a call tonight about the Dennis boys or something related to one of your other cases? You’ll want to get back home quickly, and I won’t mind if you speed. Just let me know beforehand so I can get a good grip.” She curled her right hand around the passenger side handle, pressing her fingernails into her palm.