I couldn’t exactly tell her his ghost had asked me to tell her that, but at least I was able to give her the truth of his words, if not in their proper context. His attempt to pay me back for hurting him was a secret no one ever needed to hear, and especially not Neena.
Some women cry beautifully, their eyes drenched in tears, their faces a mask of sorrow. Neena was not one of those women. She cried like a toddler who could see the lollipop on the table but wasn’t able to reach it.
“He told me he’d sold the truck and paid off the gambling debt, and he begged me to let him come home. I wanted to make sure he was good and properly sorry for his actions, and I said no. His mother’s right. I shouldn’t even go to the funeral.”
“Viola’s lashing out because she’s hurting, and she’s not known for being the most rational or kind person, even at the best of times. Hudson would want you at his funeral. That much I know. He loved you.”
Sniffling, she nodded. “Will you go with me? I don’t have family, and I’m clearly not going to be part of Hudson’s anymore. I think I could get through it if I didn’t feel so terribly alone.”
How was I supposed to say no to her?
“Yes. I’ll go.” Internally, I sighed. “For now, why don’t you stay awhile? I’m going to cook some pork chops and make a salad. Nothing fancy, but I’d love the company.”
CHAPTER 24
As much as I’d looked forward to a quiet evening, Neena had needed me more, and she’d stayed late, which meant I dragged myself out of bed the next morning with reluctance and got ready for work.
Robin waggled her fingers at me when I came in, but didn’t bother to look up from her magazine. I’d left the message about the poker game on her desk because I didn’t want to be the one to relay it to Spencer.
“He in?” The door was closed, but that wasn’t a sign of anything.
“Not yet.”
“Is there something I’m supposed to be doing to assist him? He hasn’t really given me enough information to know the scope of the job.”
Why I was asking Miss Bubblegum this question was a mystery to me. She merely shrugged and left me to wonder why he felt the need to hire me. It wasn’t like Robin was overworked or the work too complicated. Why wasn’t she handling the underwriter requests?
Pondering a less than charitable answer to that question, I went into my office and checked the inbox. Less than an hour of relaying underwriter requests to applicants and forwarding along the responses from the day before cleared it completely.
When I went to check, Spencer was in his office.
“Got a minute?”
He glanced up, but I saw him hit the key to blank his screen. “What can I do for you?”
Settling into the opposite chair, I said, “That’s the question I came in here to ask you. You must have needed someone to do more than juggle a few emails every day.”
"Not at the moment. You picked a slow week to start." The soft binging of either an incoming email or some other type of message drew his focus briefly, but he didn't pull his screen back up, and I didn't point out he'd been the one to pick the day I started work.
"Listen, if it's the pay you're worried about, don't. I'm dealing with some outside projects. Nothing is closing in the next week or two. All I need from you is to handle client/underwriter communications, and I don't really care how much of your time it takes or doesn't. Robin has plenty of reading material if you want to hang around, or you can monitor the inbox remotely."
For a guy who had been such a stickler for job history, he seemed pretty lax about the actual job.
“As long as you’re on top of getting the information where it needs to be, I don’t really care about anything else.”
The bing sounded again, and when he gave me a pointed look, I took the hint.
“Okay then. I’m all over it.”
But I’d be all over it from anywhere but the office since it was all the same to him. Besides, I still had a few things to do to get settled. Like driving fifteen miles to the nearest center to pick up the cable equipment so I could access the Internet from my laptop, and hitting the hardware store for some paint chips.
The first errand hit a snag right off the bat.
“Yeah, I can give you the set top box and modem, but they’re not going to do you any good,” said the pleasant-looking man behind the counter. “You don’t have a hook up yet.”
“I checked your site to see if service was available at my new location, so I’m not sure what the holdup would be.”
“Oh, it’s available, it’s just never been run in from the pole. You’re looking at a full install.”
Considering she’d lived alone, I was a little suprised Catherine hadn’t watched a lot of TV.
“How long before you can get someone to do the install?”
“Probably a week.”
Okay, I admit it, I flirted with him, and I did it without the tiniest shred of shame. I’d do it again if I had to, too, because it worked.
“Let me pull up the schedule,” he said with a shy smile. “I’ll see if I can slot you in sooner.”
Five minutes later, I’d gently turned down a date, but had an appointment for my cable to be hooked up by noon the next day. Plus, I’d decided it felt good to be looked at as an attractive woman. In fact, it felt refreshing to be looked at without speculation, since that hadn’t happened to me in at least a week.
I carried the feeling with me all the way back to the hardware store, where it quickly dissipated the minute I walked through the door. I sighed and fought the urge to turn around and leave.
"Hey, Everly. Whatcha doing?"
"Hey, David." The man was like Visa—everywhere I wanted to be. “Just taking a look at some paint colors.” Nothing to see here, move along.
Except he didn’t. “Interior or exterior?”
“I thought I’d start in the kitchen. That paper is a little too busy for my taste.”
He sort of stared at me for a moment, then said, “You can’t really paint over wallpaper. Or you can, but it won’t come out smooth or look as nice as it would on bare walls.”
Helpful as the information was, I really hadn’t been looking for new complications when I went in there. “What do you recommend? Taking the wallpaper down first?” Sounded like a lot more work.
“You could, but those old houses, there might be a bunch of layers, and who knows what the plaster looks like underneath.”
“In other words, I could leave up the paper and not get a smooth finish, or waste a lot of time taking it down and not get a smooth finish.”
Not that I’d seen a lot of it, but he did have a nice grin. “In a nutshell.”
"Well, you've been extra helpful, I must say." While he'd pointed out the folly of the attempt, I'd been picking out paint chips in various shades of yellow, anyhow. Even if the resulting surface looked rough, the reduction of pattern was a good trade-off. "I'm going to go for it anyway."
“Hey, I’ve got to go, but do yourself a favor and buy the heavy-duty primer. You might have to put on a few more coats to get it to cover if you go with the cheaper stuff.”
Left alone, finally, I was reading the instructions on the back of the primer can when I heard a low-voiced conversation in the next aisle.
“Poker game still on for tonight?”
The shelf of paint stood between me and whoever was talking, so I held my breath so I could hear better.
“No, man. Called off on account of the funeral. Scoot wanted to pay his respects. Bandy’s going, too. Everyone is, I think.”
"Polk says he was killed before midnight, and we played until at least two. You know, if Hudson hadn't let his old lady push him into giving up the game, he'd have been tossing his ante in the kitty instead of himself killed. It woulda only been his wallet taking the hit."
Their voices became fainter, and when I heard footsteps moving away, I hurried to get to where I could see who’d been talking, but didn’t make it in time.
If they'd all been playing poker at the time of the murder, I could cross Scooter off the list along with the rest of the poker players, and I wouldn’t have to stake out Bandy’s to see if I could learn anything.
At this point, I was down to a single suspect: the father of the boy who’d been hurt in the basketball game. Would he show up at the funeral? In a few hours, I’d find out.
If I’d wanted to make an understated entrance to Hudson’s funeral, that opportunity went out the window when I walked in with my arm around a pale and shaking Neena for support. Heads turned, eyes widened, and Hudson’s mother let out a shriek of protest that her husband tried to muffle.
He, at least, had the decency to give Neena an apologetic smile before leading his wife from the room.
The crowd parted as I escorted the widow toward the open casket, her steps become more labored as we went. About halfway there, solemn-faced, Jacy appeared like an angel to take Neena’s other arm, and a hush fell over the crowd.
Knowing Hudson was gone wasn’t the same as seeing the concrete proof, and having been cut out of all the decision making or early viewing, I’m sure Neena felt blind-sided by having her first glimpse of him being in public.
Tears ran down my face, and we held her as she looked down at the still face of her beloved. Gently, she patted his hand then leaned down to kiss his cheek. I felt the shudder go through her, but when she stood straight, she whispered, “He’d want me to be strong.”
Shoulders squared, she turned and waited to accept condolences from anyone not too intimidated by Viola to offer them.
She might have been comforted to know Hudson’s ghost stood by her side, his face a grave mask as he observed the grace she showed, even to Viola when that woman took her place near the coffin fifteen minutes or so later.
Viola’s eyes looked a little glassy, and I wondered if her husband had slipped her a sedative. If he did, I applauded his judgment. I didn’t think she and Neena would bond over their loss, but there wouldn’t be a scene, and that was good enough for now.
"I'm okay," Neena whispered to me when I shot her a glance to see how she was holding up. "Don't go far, though."
Knowing it wasn't our place to stand as family, Jacy and I left her there but kept an eye out in case we were needed.
On the plus side, I now had a chance to take a look around at the attendees, and the place was packed.
The baseball team attended in uniform, and among them, looking thinner than on the photo was the boy from the collection box. I intended to keep an eye out for his parents when the service began, and I refocused my attention on Hudson and the tragedy of his loss.
CHAPTER 25
The preacher spoke eloquently of a life taken too soon, and of a man who, at the heart of him, cared about his community. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place, and when it was over, most everyone adjourned to the town hall for a potluck dinner in Hudson’s honor.
Everyone in town must have donated something, including several containers of meatballs from Bertinos. Jacy and I were alone in the kitchen.
Jacy shook her head in disgust as she looked around the room. “I think half these people only showed up because they wanted to get a look at Neena and chow down on free food. Viola has a few of her cronies convinced she’s the killer.” She pulled the foil off the top of the disposable pan and tipped the contents into a warming pan.
“Wasn’t her, and we both know it. I’m pretty sure I know who it was, though.” I lit the burner under the pan while she added more meatballs. “I saw his car at the motel—I just didn’t realize it until yesterday.”
“Well,” she said, turning toward me with brows raised, “don’t keep me in suspense.”
“It’s the father of that kid, the one who—”
A crash sounded from around the corner where the sinks were, and we both about jumped out of our skins. Somebody had bumped into the table and knocked a whole pan of lasagna to the floor. We rushed forward to help clean it up before anybody could fall in it, and by the time we’d finished, a couple acquaintances from high school cornered me to get the scoop firsthand.
I could tell Jacy was about to burst, but it wasn’t like we could talk in front of them.
Viola kept her distance from Neena, and whatever poison the woman had tried to spread was dissipated by the widow’s gentle demeanor because she was treated warmly and with deference. A fact that had Viola looking like she wanted to chew chain and spit nails.
After the meal, I left her to Jacy’s tender care and went to help my mother with some of the cleaning up while folks took turns telling stories about Hudson. That was how I came to learn my latest theory held less water than a thimble.
Yes, the boy with cancer had been hurt during basketball practice, but the injury for which Hudson was demoted had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. During the scan to rule out a concussion, the radiologist found signs of cancer, and only by early detection had Bobby’s disease become known. The intense headache he’d had from playing the game had saved the teen’s life.
Another motive shot to hell.
And so, I was at ground zero again that evening when my doorbell rang unexpectedly, and I saw Ray the pizza guy on the front steps. I hadn’t ordered pizza, but I figured Jacy had sent him along as one of her taking care of a friend gestures, and I was grateful.
“Hey,” I said when he stepped inside. “I’m glad to see you, but I didn’t order anything.”
He closed the door behind him, and I got a glimpse at the look on his face.
“Oh, I think you did. You’ve been meddling.”
The pizza box hit the floor, and I knew I was in trouble when I saw the knife in his hand. My body went hot as fire.
“Ray, you don’t want to do this.” Keep him talking was all I could think to do. Maybe I could convince him to put the knife down.
"You don't know what I want, but I'll tell you. My kid is going to go to Louisiana State, and he's going to play ball, and he's going to get signed to a major franchise. That's what I want, and I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.” A few expressions flitted across his face: anger, sorrow, regret. “I just went there to talk to Hudson that night, make him see reason. He wouldn’t though, and I lost it for a minute." He cast his eyes down for a second. “Before I even knowed what was happenin’, he was dead.”
I looked around for something, anything, to defend myself with, while trying to figure out how I’d come onto his radar. “How is killing me going to help?”
“I know you figured out it was me who done Hudson. I heard you tell that other girl at the funeral, and I can’t let you ruin my family. My boy’d never live it down.” Fire lit his eyes again. “This is all Hudson’s fault. Put my kid on the bench because of a science test. Kid with an arm like my boy, he don’t need no science anyway. But you don’t pull your best shot at a win out of the game when there’s a college scout watching.”
I shook my head. "You’re not even who I was talking about. But even so, there's no proof you did it, Ray. You can walk away right now, and no one will ever know. Even if I did go to the police, there's no evidence, and Ernie already thinks I'm an idiot, so he'd never believe me." Slowly I edged toward the parlor door. Maybe he'd get distracted, and I could shoot inside and lock him out.
“Ev.” Hudson’s voice sounded loud in my ear, and I felt the cool ice of him there. “I’m here. Whatever happens, you’re not alone.”
"Might as well be," I muttered.
Ray took a step and closed some of the distance between us. He meant to kill me, I could see that in his eyes plain enough, but there was a part of him that regretted the necessity.
“What would your son say if he knew what you’d done? You say you don’t want his life ruined, but how are you going to look at him even if you do get away with it, which you won’t. No way will you get away with two murders, and when he finds out, he’ll lose all respect for you. And the other kids will ostracize him.”
"Kids don't know w
hat's best for them." As he took another menacing step, Hudson shot an arm through Ray's head and the man flinched. Hard. So Hudson followed with a gut punch and then appeared to grasp the wrist holding the knife. Even though his hand passed right through, the sensation must have disoriented him.
For a moment, I thought we'd won. Ray dropped the knife. I darted forward and gave it a kick that sent the weapon shooting across the floor and under the locked closet door. Now, it was just Ray and me.
Undeterred by the loss of the knife or by Hudson's repeated blows, Ray advanced again, and I found myself grappling with the man. He smelled of oregano and garlic. We struggled while Hudson howled out his anger, and then I felt Ray's hands on my throat.
He had me against the door, and I couldn’t breathe. He was going to kill me after all. The last thing I’d see before I died would be the face of a maniac, and Hudson staring at me over his shoulder. As the thought flitted through my head, Hudson disappeared, and I heard a commotion at the top of the stairs.
With what little strength I had left, I tried to ram a knee into Ray’s tender bits, but he held me too tightly. My vision started to go blurry and gray, and then I saw the impossible.
“What the—” Ray turned to look over his shoulder just as a mannequin head launched off the upper landing, bounced down the stairs and hit him in the side of the head.
"Strike," Hudson yelled from somewhere above me. The big man went down like a set of bowling pins, the pressure on my throat was gone.
I pulled in one burning breath, and then another.
“Is he dead?” Hudson wanted to know as he hovered over Ray’s prone body.
His chest rose and fell even though the rest of him remained motionless, and I shook my head. “Just knocked out.”
"Well, you'd better call Ernie, but first tie him up or something, just in case he wakes up. He’s not gonna be out for long."
It was good advice, so I grabbed a tie-back from the parlor drapes and did just that. “Thanks for saving me. But what am I supposed to tell Ernie when he gets here? I don’t think he’s going to believe me if I say you were here and played a round of ghost bowling-for-killers with a mannequin head.”
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