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

by Leigh Ellwood

  Ronnie slowly exhaled. Lorraine was not going to like that Danny was on to her. Then again, she could not help but feel relieved that the situation was out in the open. “Danny, I’m sorry if—”

  “Ronnie.” The hand landed on her knee again, this time below the skirt, and squeezed. Ronnie tensed.

  “Ronnie, I know you’re a smart lady. You don’t believe for a minute that one of us could have killed Allayne, do you? It makes no sense.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell Lorraine, but she insists foul play.” Ronnie could hear her voice crack. “I hate to think I’m just humoring the woman…”

  “Do you want me to talk to Lorraine?”

  “No!” Ronnie held up a hand and shifted in her seat, hoping Danny would take the hint and remove his hand. He did not budge. “Who knows what she’ll do if she knows you know anything? I’ll call her tomorrow and call the whole thing off. Pass the buck to Lew. He’s much more diplomatic than I am.”

  “Lew, the sheriff?”

  Ronnie nodded. She did not like Danny’s smile.

  “Was your sister serious about the two of you?” he asked. “From what little I’ve seen these past few days, you two don’t look like an item.”

  The hand snaked higher. Ronnie’s eyes widened. Now who was concerned about forbidden things during the mourning period?

  Ronnie curled her fingers around the door handle and pulled. “Trust me, Danny, you are very much mistaken. In fact, Sheriff Caperton and I are engaged to be married. Thank you for driving me home.”

  She leaped on rubber legs out of the Porsche and quick-stepped to her door, leaving a bewildered Danny Cushing in her wake. She did not turn to acknowledge the car still idling on the curb by her house as she let herself inside and slammed the door.

  With her back pressed against the perpendicular wall, she sank slowly to the floor, breathing deep to calm her shakes. Peering out the frosted glass panel, she watched the distorted figure of the Porsche slowly ease into the driveway across the street in a three-point turn, disappearing from view.

  She looked down at her hands, and wondered if Danny had noticed she was not wearing an engagement ring.

  Oh, Lord! Ronnie squeezed her eyes shut. Please forgive that one lie. Please make it come true.

  Chapter Nine

  There were two messages waiting for Ronnie on her answering machine. Ronnie slung her purse on the kitchen counter and stared at the blinking red light, her bare feet hurting. Right now Gina was probably snug on her couch in a pair of sweatpants and T-shirt, reading a novel, while she was just getting home. Ronnie reminded herself to put in a six o’clock wake up call to see if her sister wanted to go to the seven-thirty daily Mass.

  Uncle Arthur’s loud, stern voice roared through the blossoming migraine pounding nails from inside her skull. “Skipping. She was skipping up the walk after he dropped her off. A woman her age,” he blared, popping his P’s with such force that Ronnie expected spittle to spray through the speaker. “I’ve got a good mind to plant one of these ankle bracelets on her so she can’t leave the house, either. What’s the number for the state pen?” Click.

  “Good luck.” Ronnie mashed the erase button. She would deal with that tomorrow as well, she decided. Nana would be more receptive to reason if Ronnie was in a better frame of mind, thereby allowing her to treat her grandmother as an adult.

  The second message began with a heavy, crackling sigh. “Hi, it’s Landon. Landon Dennis?”

  Ronnie froze, then rolled her eyes. Of course it was. How many Landons did he think she knew?

  “Listen,” the message continued, “you’re probably expecting me to apologize for what happened, and I called here about to do so, but I realized I’d be lying. ‘Cause I’m not sorry, you know?”

  Ronnie smiled. He sounded sincere, at least, and she did feel bad for running out on him without giving him a chance to explain his actions.

  “Anyway, Ronnie, if you’re not mad at me I’d like to see you and just talk. We can meet up at the Wild Rooster for a beer or something, someplace public if you think I’m going to try something again. I’ll have to warn you, though, I just might.” A nervous chuckle followed, and Landon left his number. Ronnie surprised herself by actually copying it down on a Post-It note.

  She stared at the seven numbers on the little yellow paper square for several seconds before erasing the message, then crumpled the note into a tiny ball before flicking it into the garbage. No, she thought, whatever reparations he’s made, I can’t ignore what he and his brother did. Besides, with Nana and Ethan painting Ash Lake red, one controversial relationship in the family was enough.

  She turned to go to bed, but suddenly reached for the trash can and fished out the scrap of paper, flatting it against the counter. Landon had mentioned working at Two Witt with his friend. Perhaps he had seen something amiss while working there. Perhaps his friend had seen something.

  Perhaps Danny was only trying to convince her that Allayne was not murdered in order to throw her off the scent. Perhaps Lorraine was right, after all.

  Ronnie rubbed the bridge of her nose, willing her thoughts in one direction. She had not been this confused since the first year she had to do her own taxes.

  Finally she slapped a hand on the counter. “Girl, give it up,” she told herself. “Just go to bed.”

  ~ * ~

  Late into the night, as she drifted in and out of a dream, Ronnie thought better of the wake up call for Gina. She decided instead to just pay her sister a visit—at the crack of dawn—and prepare breakfast. She still had a key to the house.

  To her surprise, her brother-in-law did not register any surprise to see Ronnie at the kitchen stove, arranging several silver dollar pancakes on a large platter. Bill Hayes merely sat down at the kitchen table, armed with a fork, and eyed his empty coffee mug with longing.

  “It’ll be ready in a few,” she told him, and ducked into the refrigerator. “Does Gina still have you off sodium?”

  Bill beckoned her toward the butter tray on the refrigerator. “Just cut me a pat before she wakes up, will ya?” he begged in his gruff, morning voice. “I can’t stand that imitation spray crap she buys.”

  Ronnie instead handed him the dreaded yellow bottle. “And incur Gina’s wrath? No, thanks. I’d just eat them dry if I were you.”

  Bill snorted. “So, is it Daylight Savings Day at the Regency Mall? That why you’re here so early, to abscond with my wife and spend my money?”

  “Oh, no, Bill.” Ronnie smiled sweetly. “Haven’t you realized yet that you’ve been dreaming all this time? I never moved out of the basement.”

  Bill did not laugh, but helped himself to half the platter. “Fine with me, if you want to sleep on top of a pool table. We’re getting it today.”

  “A pool table, nice.” Ronnie raised her eyebrows. Bill had wanted one for years. “I take it business is booming.”

  “Always is in the summertime,” Bill said between bites. “Plus the new development in your new neighborhood. You’ll be within walking distance of a Starbuck’s soon.”

  Ronnie sighed. There was that serpentine chain, slithering up behind her. “Maybe they’ll give away free samples on opening day.”

  One by one the rest of the family joined the table and Ronnie resumed her position at the stove. Elliott was particularly active for such an early hour. “Have you seen the basement since Dad and I rearranged it?” he asked his aunt. “I got my own shelf for my graveyard dirt collection now.”

  Ronnie stole a glance at her sister; it was clear Gina had lost some sort of argument regarding her youngest child’s strange hobby. Ever since the young couple who had discovered Lorena’s desecrated grave while on a dirt-collecting mission influenced the young boy, Elliott’s own collection had grown to nearly fifty jars. Already he had samples from a number of eternal Florida residences, including Lorena’s old site and two late members of Lynyrd Skynyrd.

  “I’ll have to take a look,” Ronnie told her nep
hew. “Though, it would have been nice if you guys had waited at least a week out of deference to my leaving,” she added to Bill, who shot her a look.

  Breakfast progressed quickly, with Bill leaving for work shortly after, and the boys heading into their room to change. Ronnie helped Gina clear the table.

  “Speaking of collections,” Gina crooked her neck toward the basement door. “If you don’t mind, I’d like for you to hold onto one of Bill’s for me, say, until the boys are married and/or dead.”

  Ronnie smiled. Gina could only be talking about the boxes of vintage Playboy magazines Bill kept sealed in plastic sleeves. Apparently he was saving them for a time when they would be used as currency. “What will my neighbors think?” Ronnie placed a hand to her heart in mock indignation.

  “I’m not asking you to fan them on your coffee table. Just keep them out of sight where Ian and Elliott won’t find them again.”

  “Why don’t you ask Bill to throw them out?” Ronnie asked. “Or sell them on the Internet? He doesn’t take new issues, and he doesn’t read the old ones, so what’s the point?”

  “Why does my youngest son collect jars of dirt?” Gina threw her hands in the air. “Why does Ian spend all his spare time playing some dumb computer simulation game? Who can understand why men do the things they do? I go downstairs to do laundry and find the two of them thumbing through Miss October, nineteen sixty-seven. What am I supposed to think?”

  “How about ‘Thank goodness my sons aren’t gay’?” When Gina did not laugh, Ronnie added, “I suppose this was the compromise in order for Bill to get his pool table, huh?”

  Gina rolled her eyes. “Take the boxes when you leave, please?” She then motioned Ronnie to the study. “By the way, the Vatican sent Nana some more information on protocol I need to give you, plus we need to confirm our reservations for Miami. We can do that on the boys’ computer.”

  “Sure.”

  As Ian and Elliott dashed outside to play, Gina scrolled a Web page from a travel site while Ronnie summarized the events of the shivah she had missed, sans the tryst with Landon and Danny’s busy hands. “So I thought I’d try to talk to this guy who works at Two Witt, maybe get a different perspective on things there.”

  “I think you’re grasping at straws. Either that, or you must really be so bored that you’re starting to believe Lorraine Witz.”

  “I don’t know.” Ronnie shrugged. “I’m starting not to trust Danny Cushing. He defended Nora, which struck me as odd considering the two don’t seem to like each other.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well,” Ronnie sat on Ian’s bed. “They seem competitive. It’s a contest to see who can do what’s best for Allayne and Allayne’s memory, you know?”

  Gina confirmed their reservations with one click of the computer mouse, and patted her sister’s shoulder as she stood. “Speaking of laundry…”

  “That was five minutes ago.”

  “…I need to check on the dryer. You got a few minutes, why don’t you find us a good place to eat while we’re in Miami? I’ve bookmarked some local Web sites.”

  “I already told you, I want to go to Joe’s Stone Crabs,” Ronnie called as Gina padded out into the hallway. “We should probably call them now if we want to get a table three months from now.”

  “Sounds good.” Gina’s voice floated down the hall. “You make the call, and I’ll go pick some money growing on the bush in our backyard.”

  “Cute.” If the only the FDIC had branched into agriculture…

  Ronnie browsed an online Miami restaurant directory, quickly becoming bored. She checked her watch. The French Deli would be opening in twenty minutes; she could always go over there and get Loni’s perspective of the shivah, seeing as how the two did not connect there yesterday.

  She was about to log off the connection when suddenly she checked Gina’s Web site bookmark list again. The death pool site Gina had found was listed there. Curious, Ronnie brought up the site.

  GOING… GOING… GONE! blinked at her in a large, red font. Ronnie clicked on the link underneath the title and was immediately taken to a second page decorated with macabre, animated clip art graphics. She winced at a cartoon representation of a hanging man and scrolled to the death pool’s instructions. Entrance into the contest was closed, and a listing of contestants who had paid the necessary fee was available for perusal.

  She found Darth Gaul’s entry easily. True to Gina’s word, Allayne’s name was listed; a checkmark beside her name indicated that Darth had received credit for the correct death prediction. Eyeing the other lists, Ronnie noticed no other contestant had picked Allayne to die.

  “Disgusting,” she muttered, scattering the mouse over its foam pad. She watched the pointer on the screen hop from corner to corner, then stopped as it skittered across Darth Gaul’s name.

  What’s this? Had Gina not noticed before that Darth Gaul’s name was really a link, that when the pointer crossed the name Darth Gaul’s e-mail address was made visible at the bottom of the browser?

  Darth Gaul was really gedhead@alflnet.com.

  Ronnie bit her lip. The Internet suffix indicated Ash Lake Internet Services, Inc., Gina’s own Internet service provider.

  Darth Gaul was local.

  Darth Gaul predicted Allayne’s death… how certain was Darth Gaul that she would die this year?

  Presently Gina returned, smelling like fabric softener. “Find anything interesting?” she asked.

  Ronnie switched off the computer. “Oh, yeah.”

  ~ * ~

  As she pulled into the last available parking space near the deli, Ronnie saw only one patron enjoying breakfast in the corner booth, with his back turned to the picture window. Only when she entered the restaurant did she see that the white-haired gentleman was none other than Ethan Fontaine. A quick glance at the table told her he was alone this morning; it was eight-fifteen now, Nana would still be at morning Mass.

  She sat at her favorite table and tried to obscure her face with a menu, to no success. Ethan’s voice prickled her skin.

  “Mrs. Lord.” His greeting was cordial, yet tinged with acid. Clearly Ethan’s affection for Nana had yet to transfer to her descendants. Perhaps he could still see a bit of Stephen Alger in her, she decided, thinking of her grandfather, who had successfully foiled Nana’s attempt to lead him away from Catholicism in their youth.

  “Mr. Fontaine, good morning. Enjoying your Zone Diet?”

  Ethan looked down at the platter of mixed fruit remnants and muffin crumbs. “I don’t believe in diets, only self-control,” he answered pointedly. “Diet is an ugly word, because it implies that there are foods that should be avoided. Since the good Lord has made all provided for us, there is no such thing as food that is bad for you.”

  “I see.” Ronnie had to contain her shock. This had been the longest Ethan had talked to her without directly mentioning or implying her eventual descent into Hell. “I’ll remember that the next time Loni tries to pawn one of her desserts on me.”

  “Now, Ronnie,” he chuckled, “food is not bad, but it can still be abused.”

  “And not everything I make is loaded with butter and cream, either.” This came from Loni, who approached Ronnie’s table and set down a steaming mug of coffee. “In fact, I just put out some apple pies in the dairy case. Sugar-free, with half the calories of my regular apple pie.”

  Ethan wiped his face with a napkin and reached for his wallet. “Well, Loni, I’m sold. I’ll take one to go,” he called to her as Loni ducked behind the counter. “I’m entertaining this evening, and that pie will nicely complement the dinner I’m going to prepare.”

  Ronnie toyed with the tines of her fork. “Sounds like a real wingding. Just be sure to bring my grandmother home at a decent hour, okay? She has SATs in the morning.”

  She peered at him through the fork. Ethan bristled at her remark. Behind her was the unmistakable sound of the kitchen door as Loni ran for her life. Ronnie concealed a grin as Eth
an regained his composure and stood.

  “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you found us out,” he sighed. “It’s difficult to keep a secret in a small town, especially this one.” He cast a dark glance at the kitchen.

  “Don’t blame her,” Ronnie said. “Gina and I saw you two at the movies the other night.”

  “Did you, now? And you didn’t come roaring down the aisle to pull us apart?” Ethan appeared amused.

  “Nana’s an adult. She does what she wants.” Ronnie shrugged. “We don’t have to like it. My uncle certainly doesn’t, so don’t expect an invitation to the house to watch football anytime soon.”

  “I don’t care much for sports, anyway, and you need not worry about Julia. My intentions are honorable. I just want to make up for lost time, is all.”