Memory of Murder

by Ramona Richards

  Ray and June waited as she finished her prayer. Then Ray kissed his wife goodbye, and June came to Lindsey’s side. “You perch and tell me what to do.”

  Lindsey slid onto a stool and propped her foot on the lower shelf of a worktable. “Are you sure about this? I know your grant-writing business has been picking up.”

  June waved away the concern. “I’ll make it up tonight. Let’s get to work.”

  Lindsey took a deep breath. “Let’s start by emptying the fridge. I’ll chop, mix and scramble while you start the coffee. RuthAnn will be in around five, and she can get us open and take the orders. You ever wait tables?”

  “Many times. I’m not a bad short-order cook, either.”

  Lindsey nodded, then paused. “Thank you.”

  June trotted over and gave Lindsey a quick hug. “I’m just glad I’m here for you. April said she’d help, too, if you need her. She’s not feeling well this morning, but she’ll be over shortly.”

  “Good. She can bring me a case of strawberry preserves. I’m almost out. My customers love that I’m buying local—and that it’s my sister’s organic jams and jellies on the table.”

  They continued to chat back and forth as they worked, and Lindsey realized that June’s presence, as frenetic as it could be at times, calmed her. Despite their years apart, despite their past animosity, they were still sisters.

  At ten minutes after five, Lindsey glanced at the clock, then the back door, for the tenth time. Where’s RuthAnn? She’s never this late.

  “Want me to call RuthAnn this time?”

  Lindsey shook her head. “I’ll do it. She was up late last night, too. She probably just overslept and can’t hear the phone. I hope she hasn’t had to go back to her mom’s.”

  But, again, RuthAnn’s phone rang until it switched to voice mail. Lindsey’s stomach tightened as she hung up. “I don’t like this.”

  June, deeply involved with the second batch of biscuit dough, nodded toward the parking lot. “Want me to ask the deputy to check on her?”

  Lindsey shook her head and followed her instinct. Flipping open her cell again, she dialed Jeff.

  He answered in the middle of the first ring. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I hope. RuthAnn isn’t here yet. Could you—”

  “On my way.”

  Every bit of the previous night’s tension returned, settling over Lindsey as she tapped a pen on the worktable, the grocery list she’d been working on forgotten.

  Behind her, June washed her hands, then slid a pan of biscuits into the oven. She walked over and put her arm around Lindsey’s shoulders. “Want me to call April?” she asked softly.

  After a moment, again following a dark, street-savvy instinct, Lindsey nodded. As June made the call, Lindsey slid off the stool and headed for her office. Time to get the cash drawer out of the safe and ready for the day. She had to open by 5:30 a.m., when the first farm workers and early-bird commuters would arrive.

  “She’ll be here in twenty minutes or so.” June took the cash drawer from Lindsey and followed her to the counter in the customer section of the diner, helping Lindsey get the register up and running. Then, precisely on time, June unlocked the front door and greeted the first guests. She took orders, poured coffee and worked the register and drive-through, while Lindsey hobbled about in the back, cooking and filling plates.

  April arrived just before six and took over the kitchen, insisting that Lindsey stay behind the register. Even though they’d never worked together before, the sisters quickly fell into a routine, calling back and forth, engaging in an ongoing banter that amused the customers.

  Jeff arrived, alone, at 7:10 a.m., two hours after Lindsey had called him. He waited for her in the kitchen, and from the dark circles around his eyes, she could see that he’d slept little—and still had not taken his pain medicine. He delivered the news without preamble.

  “RuthAnn’s gone.”

  The pit of Lindsey’s stomach dropped. “Gone? How?”

  He shook his head. “Her car’s gone, but not her clothes or her suitcases. The place looks rough. Ransacked.”

  “You mean, like she was kidnapped?”

  He took a deep breath and rested one hand on his gun. “We don’t think she left of her own free will. RuthAnn was taken out by force.”

  * * *

  The yellow crime scene tape stretched across RuthAnn’s yard twisted and fluttered in the night wind, shuddering like a terrified rabbit. The full moon and bright streetlights cast a harsh glare across the lawn and abandoned house. Stark shadows from the few young trees in the area streaked the walls and grass.

  Lindsey stared at the house, hugging herself against the chill. “I can’t believe someone took her.”

  Jeff walked up behind her, standing so close she could feel the warmth of his body. “It may not be related. RuthAnn moved here a few years ago, but she grew up over in Portland. We’re still looking into her past.”

  Lindsey closed her eyes and braced herself on her crutch, fighting the urge to lean back against Jeff. “I hate that she might be hurt because of me, and I don’t want it to be because of her past, either. I just want her to be all right.”

  He paused. “We have to keep all options open until the evidence reveals something. How did it go today?”

  Lindsey sighed and opened her eyes again. RuthAnn’s house hadn’t changed. Lindsey felt the chill more than ever and shivered. She just wanted everything to go back to normal. “Pretty well. June and April functioned like a team. The Schneiders came in on time, but June and April stayed all day. Did you find out about RuthAnn’s mom?”

  Jeff slipped off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “Her mom did fall, but she didn’t break anything. They took her to the E.R., but they sent her home. RuthAnn stayed for a while, then came back here.”

  She closed one hand on the collar, her fingers brushing his as she twisted to look at him with a sad smile. “Thanks. This is getting to be a habit. Maybe I should take a coat.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She believed him. Lindsey tugged the jacket a little closer around her and glanced back at the house. “You know people often think RuthAnn’s my mom.”

  His brow furrowed. “Why?”

  “Well, we do have the same build, the same hair color, similar facial structure. The age difference is right, so it makes sense, if you think about it. We work together, and most people never look as closely as they should.”

  Jeff watched her for a few moments, his brows furrowed. Lindsey almost smiled. She loved that look on his face. Beneath his brows, his eyes had an intense focus and his lips tightened. He reminded her of a little boy studying a new puzzle. “What is it?”

  “Lindsey, this may not be about you at all. Normally, we leave the diner first while she locks up. But not last night.”

  Her eyes widened. “You think he was after RuthAnn?”

  He nodded and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “He didn’t expect me to be there. Or you. If RuthAnn had been there, we’d have left a few minutes earlier. The stun gun was meant for RuthAnn. Ray?” He turned his attention to the phone and filled the sheriff in on their conversation. “I think we should look at the evidence, maybe even RuthAnn’s house, with a new perspective. Right. Okay. Tomorrow.” He hung up.

  Lindsey grinned. “You wake him up?”

  Jeff’s cheeks pinked. “Something like that.”

  “He came by the restaurant about seven or so. He and June had supper in my office, then I made them leave. They’re basically still newlyweds, but they don’t get a lot of time together.”

  “Not lately, no. Usually around here crime is mostly drugs, car accidents and family squabbles—sometimes all three in the same location. But it’s been active lately. Kinda hoping some of this cooler weath
er will chill people out.”

  “Have you had supper?”

  Jeff’s eyes widened. “Not really. I can grab something at home.”

  “Are you sure? I know it’s late, but I could whip up something before your relief gets here. And, y’know, if this is about RuthAnn, y’all won’t have to keep watch over me.”

  “Oh, we’ll keep that on for a while. Until we’re sure.”

  “Okay. Anyway, I do make a mean grilled cheese...” Lindsey’s voice trailed off. She didn’t know what to say next, or even why she’d impulsively asked him about dinner anyway. Why did I do that?

  “I shouldn’t. I mean, I like grilled cheese and all, and I’m sure you make a great one, but I need to stay outside.”

  “Sure. You probably should.”

  The sound of tires on gravel saved both of them as Jeff’s replacement for the night drove into Lindsey’s driveway. They left RuthAnn’s and headed back to Lindsey’s. After he made sure her house was secure, they walked outside, pausing just before they split up, with her heading back into the house and him to his car.

  “Oh, here.” She slipped the jacket off her shoulders and handed it back to him. “Thanks again.”

  “No problem. See you at four?”

  She nodded, then headed into the house, feeling more than a little foolish. She shut the door, locking it as his cruiser backed out of the drive. She leaned against the door, banging her head lightly against it. “You’re such a doofus,” she told herself. “That was awkward. And dumb.”

  And confusing, especially since she knew he wanted more from her than she was ready to give. Yes, Jeff Gage had opened a door for her, had made a place for himself in her life. But she still wanted to wait. The restaurant—her dream—had to come first. Didn’t it?

  With a long sigh, Lindsey straightened and adjusted the crutch under her arm. She didn’t really need it; walking without it was uncomfortable but not impossible. She’d certainly had bad sprains before, and this didn’t even come close. One, which happened when her father pushed her off their front porch, had put her on crutches for four weeks.

  Still...being on her feet all day had left her ankle swollen and achy. She hobbled into the bathroom, slowly and carefully took a cool shower to wash away the day’s restaurant grime, then slipped into her softest pajamas.

  Bracing her back against the headboard and her foot on a pillow, Lindsey lifted the lid on the music box. The tinkling minuet relaxed her, and she opened her grandmother’s Bible, turning to one of her favorite passages in 1 Samuel. The story of Abigail and David. Her mother loved it, as well, describing it as the moment when “an intelligent woman with a heart for God met a wise man who sought the heart of God.”

  “Would be nice to meet a man like that,” Lindsey muttered, “but I hear they’re few and far between.” A thought flared in her mind that Jeff was such a man, but she tamped it down. Not yet. Setting the Bible aside, she leaned back, closed her eyes and prayed. Her words came slowly at first, as she thanked God for the blessings of that day.

  Her mother had taught her that. That every day, no matter how horrid, also came with blessings, good things. When you could count the blessings, everything else would fall into perspective. God’s perspective, she always said, is not ours. We must focus on the fact that He sees the bigger picture.

  Lindsey always started with the simple ones—the smiles of her customers, the fact that they came often enough that she could afford this cottage—and moved on to ones that made every day better—the love of her sisters. The blessings came faster as she thanked God for each one and praised Him. Finally, she asked for His help, ending with a soft, “A few clues would be nice.”

  Lindsey opened her eyes again, reaching for the music box and the diary carefully hidden in the compartment underneath. Her mother had concealed it there, so her abusive husband couldn’t find it. Lindsey had never felt the need to change that, even though she read from the diary every night. For no reason she could explain, Lindsey didn’t want her mother’s private thoughts exposed for the world’s viewing.

  She flipped through the book, tonight turning to the end, a section she’d read only once in all these years. Once had been hard enough; she’d never wanted to see those words again. But now she felt drawn to that passage, and she realized she needed to face it again. Without really knowing why, Lindsey took a deep breath and began reading.

  August 7

  July’s hurt. He’s been at my baby again. Bad this time... I think more in her mind than her body. She’s always told me about the hurts before, but not now. I think she saw something he didn’t want her to see.

  Don’t know when it happened. I came home from Mama’s this afternoon and found her crying in the garage, hiding under a box. She wouldn’t come out, screaming that she hated me, hated him, hated everything. But I couldn’t leave her there. Her lip was messed up, and her eye. He’d torn a chunk out of her hair, and she was wet, head to toe, like she’d been dunked in a pool with all her clothes on. I dragged her out, scratching and fighting, then just held her tight until she calmed down. Still wouldn’t tell me what happened, just turned sullen. I fixed her up best I could. She holed up in the girls’ room for a bit.

  Then I found him in our room. Scared me half to death. Didn’t know he was there. But he was passed out, drunker than all get out. He looked awful, too, like someone had done to him what he’s done to us. Messed up his eye real bad, cut face, arms all black-and-blue, cuts on his chest.

  I know it’ll be bad when he wakes up. I packed the girls up and took them to Mama’s. She’ll keep them for a few days. Wait for this one to blow over. He’s still out. Been almost twelve hours.

  Lindsey closed the diary and bit her lower lip, trying not to cry, remembering the days that followed that last entry. Two days later, the cops showed up at her grandmother’s house to explain that the girls’ mother had been carried to the hospital by a neighbor. His rage consuming him, their father had slammed her head into the refrigerator. She lived, but was never quite the same after that. She never wrote in the diary again. One horrific year later, she died at the hands of the man she found too terrifying to leave, and Lindsey ended up in foster care.

  “Why, Mama? Why did you stay? Why?” Lindsey lost her fight against the tears, and the diary slipped from her lap as she surrendered to her tears.

  * * *

  Lindsey screeched, jerking awake. Gasping for air, she clutched the sheets, panting in the wake of the nightmare. The GTO had been powering toward RuthAnn. Lindsey’s sweat-drenched pajamas stuck to her skin, and she pushed the sheets back and swung her legs out of bed, still taking in great gulps of air. “Dear Lord,” she whispered. “What was that?”

  A nightmare, definitely, but the images flooded her again as she sat, clutching the edge of the mattress. Her father’s battered, slashed face. The GTO, peeling out with a deafening howl, aiming for RuthAnn, who merely stood there, twirling her keys.

  Lindsey looked up. “Her keys.” RuthAnn had a duplicate set of keys to the restaurant. She also had a set for Lindsey’s house, just as Lindsey had a set for RuthAnn’s. “In case of emergency,” she’d said. “Neighbors look out for each other.”

  She glanced at the clock: 2:30 a.m. No use in going back to sleep now. Lindsey stood up, limping around her bedroom as she peeled off the pajamas. After a quick shower to wash off the sweat, Lindsey dressed for work, a thought nagging at her.

  The keys. RuthAnn’s house had been ransacked, but whoever did this probably wouldn’t have found them, thanks to RuthAnn’s foolproof hiding place. But now the house stood unsecured, with the front door closed but the lock smashed. Lindsey suddenly felt a vulnerability she had not experienced in a long time, and she rolled her shoulders, trying to shake off the twinge that hovered there. Her back tensed, and she fought the urge to look behind her. Whoever got those keys could get to her
or her restaurant at any time. I need to retrieve those keys.

  She propped the crutch against the back door, leaving it behind, then took the three back steps one foot at a time. At the bottom, she tested her balance and stability on the wet grass. Perfect.

  Moving carefully and favoring her ankle, Lindsey limped the short distance between the two houses with no problem. Using her own key, she opened the back door, slipped under the crime scene tape and stepped into the kitchen. The kitchen light still burned, casting harsh shadows over the wreckage in the kitchen. Dishes had been flung from the cabinets, as well as food, utensils and cookware. The smell of rancid vegetables and rotten meat permeated the air, and Lindsey grimaced. “Oh, Ruthie.”

  She shut the door, wincing again, as she looked down. Shattered glass blended with streaks of flour and sugar, and both ground beneath Lindsey’s shoes as she stepped forward. “Ruthie, I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Now,” she whispered, “let’s see if those hiding places are as good as you thought.”

  Lindsey stepped as carefully as possible through the debris on the floor as she headed for the kitchen sink. Pulling open the doors underneath, Lindsey ran her hand up against the panel at the front, which was above the doors but below the sink.

  “Yep,” she muttered, as her hands closed around the small key ring of her house keys dangling from a strip of duct tape. “I thought you were crazy, but you were right.” She remembered well the day RuthAnn told her about the hiding place.

  Shoving her house keys deep into her pocket, she headed for the bedroom in search of the restaurant keys. RuthAnn’s house was identical to Lindsey’s, and the light from the kitchen provided enough light for her to see that the destruction was just as bad there. Pillows lay ripped open, the mattress pushed off her bed. Ceramic shards littered the floor, and what few books RuthAnn owned were ripped apart, their pages strewn around everywhere. All the artwork had been torn from the walls, and CDs lay scattered like abandoned Frisbees.