“Well, if—”
“Linda’s takin’ your ma for a ride. I tried to warn her, but she won’t listen to me. I don’t have the energy to deal with it right now, but I’ll tell you what. She said she needs extra money, but I’m not sure. I think the girl wants something.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked. “I thought she was pretty nice. A little dense, maybe.”
“Well, that shows you what you know,” Gail said.
I found comfort in her familiar dig at me.
“Don’t let her fool you. Linda Faye went to school with my daughter. I know what she used to do. She acts ignorant and then stabs you in the back.”
“I guess I don’t know her that well. But people can change.”
Gail snorted. “Change? I doubt that. If you dye a zebra, you still have a zebra.”
“Yes, I guess that’s true. Only God can change a person’s heart.”
“And He’s got His work cut out for Him with people like Linda.” Gail’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she killed Philip Grenville. You do know that she slept with him, too, don’t you? She hated him.”
“I had no idea.” Philip’s transgressions had cut a wider swath through Four Oaks than I had imagined.
“Oh yes. Back when she lived out with her mama.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“No. Philip tried to keep it hush-hush, and so did the women he was involved with. And he made the rounds, believe you me. Seducing them with his uniform and badge. Poor Abbie didn’t know the half of it.”
“Maybe she did,” I murmured. “Do you know who any of the other women were besides Linda?”
Gail’s face was twisted in anger. “He made passes at my daughter Terry, too, but he didn’t make any headway. I can’t remember who else there was.”
“So had he been in touch with Linda?”
“Yes. I overheard her tell one of her friends about it. First time at the fall festival. He wanted to meet with her, and that made her mad.”
I had already thought it odd that Philip had contacted Abbie. Now he had made contact with Linda.
“But she’s slick.” Gail’s eyes narrowed again. “Philip came into the shop for coffee, and Linda was as nice as pie to him.”
“Maybe that’s because she was at work. Or she thought that if she was nice to him, he’d leave her alone?”
Gail snorted. “No. Something’s up.” She breathed deeply, and her eyes drifted shut.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Her lids snapped open. “I’m fine. Just tired. It’s my daughter. She’s having a hard time. Single mom, you know. She lost her job then got another one. She works with kids at the YMCA, but the hours are terrible. I have to drive my grandbaby to school for a while.”
A smile flickered briefly over Gail’s lips. “She’s in the fourth grade, you know, in a private school. No buses. We pay for it.”
I nodded. “It’s wonderful that you do that.”
Gail’s face hardened again. “Terry had just started dating someone, and it looked good for her. Met him through the kids she works with. Then Linda came along and stole him.”
Ah. Now the truth came out. Gail’s real reason for disliking Linda. “So she took your daughter’s boyfriend? Who was it?”
Gail huffed. “Clark Matthews. And then your ma has the nerve to hire Linda after she did that. I can’t believe it.”
Clark’s name kept popping up. He was beginning to sound like the proverbial Lothario. This also began to explain the rift between Ma and Gail.
“Why did Ma hire Linda? Did she know about all that?”
“No, but she should have had more sense.” Gail huffed. “I told her after she hired her, but she said she needed the help ’cause I wasn’t there.” She took a deep breath. “Now why didn’t she just fire Linda?”
I understood how Gail felt. But I knew that my mother couldn’t just fire someone based on Gail’s grudge. Was it possible this situation might not have a good ending?
“You two have been friends for so long,” I said.
“That’s my point,” she said. “I’m her friend. And she chose someone else.” She blinked rapidly, and for just a minute, I saw the real emotion behind the anger. Hurt. And I thought she might cry.
“I’m sorry it’s turned out this way,” I said. “I know Ma misses you.”
Gail recovered and snorted again. “If she missed me, she would get rid of that hussy.”
Although I’d failed in my mission to mend the rift between Gail and my mother, I had tried. I’d learned a few more interesting facts for my clue notebook. And I hoped my talk with Philip’s mother, June, would be as enlightening.
On my way to her house, I called Sherry to update her like I’d promised. She didn’t answer, so I left her a message telling her what I could and explaining I’d be busy most of the day. I wasn’t keen about talking to her, so I hoped she wouldn’t call back. I was walking a fine line trying to keep the things secret that needed to be kept secret.
June Grenville lived alone in a ranch home in a tiny town about twenty miles from me. She’d lived there for years. Nothing had changed since I’d last been there. That was when Abbie and Philip were married.
I took a deep breath and walked to the front porch, which was surrounded by tidy square flower beds and neatly trimmed evergreen shrubs.
The door opened shortly after I knocked. I was surprised. June didn’t look a day older than the last time I’d seen her, despite the grief etched on her face. Her hair was a little bit different. Not as long. Now it hung in a pale-blond pageboy.
“Trish, how nice to see you. Please come in.” She opened the door wide.
I walked past her into a tiled foyer, then I turned to face her. “Thank you for seeing me. I know this is a bad time.”
“Bad time. Yes. . .and no.”
That was a strange statement. I must have frowned. “I’ll explain in a few minutes,” she said with a tiny smile that revealed laugh lines around her eyes. “Please come and sit down. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” I said.
She took me to her living room in the front of the house where modern furniture and glass-topped tables adorned a celery-colored carpet.
I sat on the couch, and she sat across from me in a chair.
“So what can I do for you?” she asked. “Abbie indicated that you wanted to talk to me, but she didn’t say why, except that it had to do with Philip.”
“Abbie didn’t tell you anything?” I asked.
“Just that the police questioned her regarding Philip’s death.”
“She didn’t do it,” I blurted out defensively.
June held up a hand. “I don’t believe for a minute that Abbie did it.” She rubbed her temple. “The police have been here talking to me. They kept asking me about her relationship with Philip. Past and present. Like they think she might have done it.”
“She’s probably considered a suspect.” I knew that was as close as I could come to telling her the truth without compromising my promise to Corporal Fletcher.
June leaned forward with an intense gaze. “So why are you here?”
Trying to explain my penchant for sleuthing was hard enough with my family. Explaining it to a relative stranger made me feel weird and maybe a bit presumptuous. “Well, I’m afraid she’s going to be arrested, so I’m. . .well, I guess I’m investigating.”
June’s eyes widened. “Really? Trying to solve my son’s. . .murder?”
“Um. . .yes,” I said.
“That’s fascinating. Why would you do that? Don’t you think the police can handle the investigation?”
I shrugged. “If it was Eric leading the investigation, yes. But this detective seems to have it in for Abbie.” I paused and considered my next words. “I could be wrong about it. Maybe it’s just the detective’s personality, but I want to look into it myself. I can find out things I know the cops can’t. And I have a way to g
et what I discover back to the police.”
“Good,” she said. “I must admit that Detective Reid’s visits here haven’t been the best experience for me, and I’m Philip’s mother. She’s not a nice person. The worst thing is, I expect she’ll be back.” June gazed at me with eyes that burned with emotion. I could tell she was trying to figure out what made me tick. “So what makes you think you can solve this? You don’t have any police background, do you?”
“If you count being involved in two other murder investigations, then yes.” I told her about Jim Bob and Georgia Winters. I also explained that Max wasn’t thrilled with what I was doing.
“I should think not,” June said. “But I can see you’re determined. And I want to see Abbie cleared as much as you do.” I squirmed under her steady, assessing gaze. Then I saw the change in her eyes when she made up her mind. “I believe you might be able to do this.”
Her expression of confidence made me feel better, but I was still confused by her emotional state. She wasn’t behaving at all like I would expect a grieving mother to act. “So you do believe Philip was murdered—that it wasn’t just an unfortunate accident?”
“Don’t you?” she asked. “What’s the likelihood that he was shot with a stray bullet from a hunter’s rifle? In an area posted No Hunting? In that location near the church?”
I nodded. “I feel exactly like you do, which is why I’m here. The police don’t appreciate my help, by the way.”
“I don’t imagine they do.” She stood and walked to a side table that was covered with framed pictures. She picked up two and held them out to me. I took the first from her hand. It was Abbie and Philip at their wedding. I had a similar picture in an album at home.
I glanced up at June to ask why she’d shown me the photo, but the two tiny rivulets of tears running down her cheeks stopped me. At last. Signs of mourning.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I feel insensitive.”
She sniffed. “It’s fine, Trish, really. Please ignore my tears. I just want you to know that the day Abbie married Philip, she became like another daughter to me. That hasn’t changed.” She handed the next picture to me. This one was a family shot of her, Philip, and a younger woman.
“Is that your daughter?”
June nodded. “Mary. This was taken a few years ago during one of his brief visits here.”
If body language was any indication of relationships, Mary and Philip didn’t get along well. He had his arm around her shoulders, but they were stiff. I could have put a fist between their bodies.
“How often did Philip visit?”
“Regularly and on holidays.”
That meant Philip was in town many times without contacting Abbie.
“Mary will be here tomorrow. We’re going to bury Philip Sunday afternoon in a private service. Then she’s going to stay with me for a while.” She took the pictures from me. Her tears still flowed. Ignoring her obvious pain was difficult. While her initial lack of expression had been puzzling, this was much worse. I wanted to either hold her in my arms or leave so she could be alone. I could only imagine the grief of losing a child. I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the questions I had to ask.
“I guess I was always a little surprised that you weren’t angry at Abbie for the end of the marriage.”
“How could I be? We all knew how Philip was changing for the worse.” She placed the picture back on the table and stroked the glass. “He wasn’t always like that, you know. Something changed. It might have been his work—I don’t know. Or his father’s death. But Philip got worse after he married Abbie. It was like the responsibility of marriage brought out the worst in him.” She turned around and gazed at me. “I always suspected that he hurt her.”
I said nothing. I didn’t know if Abbie wanted anyone to know.
June’s glance was sharp. “You don’t have to say anything. I know. I just wish I’d had the courage back then to step in. Maybe things would have been different—”
“I think we all have regrets,” I said.
She dropped back into her chair and visibly drew herself back together. “How will you proceed?”
“First, I want to figure out why Philip came back after all this time. Why he wanted to talk to Abbie so badly.”
“Oh, I can tell you that.”
I almost fell out of my chair. I was finally going to get an answer to my question, and so easily.
June fingered the edge of her shirt. “Most people didn’t know that he came back on a regular basis to visit since he made sure no one knew he was here. He was never successful in his relationships, but he did take care of me. Too many people around here didn’t like him. But this time was different. He. . .”
I waited for her to finish. Her mouth worked; it was obvious that what she had to say was painful. Then she met my gaze with her tear-filled eyes. “He was dying. He had just months to live. Cancer.”
“Oh, wow.” Of everything I might have thought June would tell me, I never would have guessed that in a million years.
The corner of her mouth twitched, despite her pain. “You’re shocked. I understand. When I first found out, I couldn’t believe it. But hang on for what I have to say next.” Her smile grew, although she was still crying. “It was a mixed blessing. Because of his illness, he finally decided to go to church. He committed his life to the Lord. That’s why he moved back here to try to fix things he’d left undone. Try to reach the people he’d hurt. He wanted to make everything right.”
I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. Philip Grenville? He’d moved back here and turned his life around?
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I understand. It took me awhile to believe it. While he was sick, I went to see him. I questioned everything he said, even though Mary assured me it was true. He had always been such a good manipulator. I was still skeptical when he walked in here two weeks ago with a suitcase in one hand and a Bible in the other.” She clasped her hands tightly. “I feel terrible, really. Here he was dying, and I was suspicious that he was just being the same old Philip. Being manipulative because he wanted something. Or poking fun at my religion. His own mother didn’t believe him. Then he started to talk to me about what had happened.” She smiled despite teary eyes. “Can you imagine how I felt?”
“No. I can’t.” I paused. “You say he came here two weeks ago?”
June reached for a tissue from a box on her coffee table and wiped her cheeks and nose. “Yes. He’d spent brutal months in treatment. Then the cancer returned, so he came here to die. He didn’t go to a doctor again, except once to Dr. Starling for an unrelated illness.”
June picked up a pillow and hugged it. “Mary was with him for his last few weeks of treatment. I had to work and couldn’t get the time off.”
“I’m glad he had someone there with him,” I mumbled, still trying to absorb everything June had said.
She nodded. “I was, too. And I think you’ll need to talk to Mary, as well, after she’s had a couple of days to settle in. She recently experienced a bad real estate deal in Atlanta and lost some money, so she needs to get financially stable again. At least that’s her excuse for moving in with me. I’m sure she also wants to make sure I’m okay.
“Anyway, she was as shocked as I was at Philip’s change. When the treatments were over, she went back home. Then we got the news that the cancer had returned. The doctors told him he should get his affairs in order.”
“But. . .how. . .”
“How did he have such a change of heart?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“He had a fellow officer who had been witnessing to him for years.” She paused and wiped her eyes. “When a person comes face-to-face with their own mortality and sees imminent death, it changes their perspective.”
I nodded.
“I’ve prayed for him and the people he hurt for years,” June said. “He was a manipulative, selfish man. I still loved him as a
son, but I saw the trail of misery he left behind him. That was difficult. His change of heart was certainly an answer to my prayers, but I had to work through a surprising evolution of feelings before I could believe him and accept what had happened. Then when he was shot, I once again had to sort through mixed emotions.”
I waited for her to explain.
“The cancer diagnosis was tragic,” she said, “but it led to his salvation. His murder was tragic, but it did save him from the suffering he would have eventually endured from his illness. I wish I’d had the extra month or two with him, but the little time we did have was perfect. . .so you can see why I feel the way I do.”
“Yes.” My tangled spaghetti brain was trying to tie all the pieces together. “So that’s why he was pursuing Abbie.”
June squeezed the pillow. “Yes. He wanted to make things right. He knew what he had done to her. He told me that she wouldn’t talk to him. Not that I blame her, mind you. He probably came on too strong.” She smiled briefly. “Just because someone gets saved doesn’t mean they have a personality transplant. But I was going to intervene and call her that night and ask her to see him.”
“Were you aware of a letter he sent to her?”
“Yes,” June said. “He wrote that right before he left New York City. He wanted to get together with her once he’d settled in here. But she returned it without opening it.” I watched June’s face for any anger, but there didn’t seem to be any. She noticed my perusal. “I can’t blame Abbie for her reaction. And he didn’t, either.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “That detective took the letter away. I was stupid. I was in such a state of shock after I was told he’d been shot that I just gave them blanket permission to go through his belongings. I should have insisted on a warrant and taken the time to get what I wanted. Now they’re using it against Abbie, I’m sure.”
“You didn’t know,” I said. “How could you?”
June took a deep breath. “Yes, you’re right, of course, but I still blame myself.”
“Abbie is going to blame herself, too,” I murmured, “for not giving him a chance.”
“He understood.” When June leaned back and her body seemed to collapse in on itself, I realized our talk had worn her out. I had three final things to ask.
Kitty Litter Killer Page 13