"Do you know why he doesn't come around to visit anymore?" I asked.
"Don't know. People around here probably told him I was crazy and poisoned his mind against me. Gets kind of lonely, because no one around here speaks to me much. My birthday is in a few days. Clayton used to always visit me on my birthday, but he hasn't in years. I bet I won't see another living soul on my birthday this year. You're the first person to visit me in a long, long time. What'd you say your name was again?"
"Clara," I said. I felt sorry for this poor woman who had married an evil, cruel man, and spawned a carbon-copy son with him. It was easy to understand why she sat in her little apartment, watching soap operas and eating herself to death.
"Wanda, I appreciate your time. Is there anything else you need?"
"Maybe a book or two. I like to read them Harlequins once in awhile."
"I'll see to it that you get some of them." Talking to Wanda made me want to cry. The poor woman had led such a horrific life. She was now living vicariously through soap operas and romance novels, probably visualizing herself living a kind of fairy-tale life she had never, and would never, personally experience.
"One last thing before I have to leave, Wanda," I said. "Do you know if your son, Clayton, has ever married? He is your only child, isn't he?"
"Yeah, Homer threw such a fuss when I got pregnant with Clayton that I never dared get knocked up again. Anyway, Clayton married a gal named Elizabeth, or something like that. Was told she had bright red hair, like Homer's. But that's the last I heard. I can't even recall who told me that," Wanda said, obviously trying to think back to recall who had given her the information. Finally, she shook her head and shrugged. "That's all I know. Carol, wasn't it?"
Close enough. I nodded as I got up off the couch and got ready to leave. I patted Wanda gently on the shoulder, and said, "Well, I'll let you get back to your television program, Wanda. I'll see that you get the items you've told me you needed."
"Thanks, and thanks for visiting me too," Wanda said. "Be careful now, as you're leaving. There are little purple creatures from Jupiter that live in the hallways and stairwells here. They've got only one eye in the middle of their foreheads. They have furry feet, and great big teeth. I think they're the little sons-a-bitches that keep stealing all my candy."
Harriet's words came back to me: "Nuttier than a fruitcake, his mudder is." With a nod and a tender smile, I tried to mask the veil of sorrow that had suddenly dropped over me.
Before driving back to the Camelot B&B, I stopped by the drugstore and picked up a few items. On my way back past Serenity Village, I dropped a bag off at the front desk and asked the young gal sitting there to deliver it to Wanda Pitt. She promised she would take it to Wanda right away. The bag contained a half dozen Harlequin romance books, the latest edition of Soap Opera Digest, two six-packs of Pepsi, and two five-pound boxes of chocolate candies.
I vowed to myself to send a few books and a box of chocolates to Wanda every month or so. It would give her something to look forward to. She needed something, no matter how trivial, to look forward to in her sad and lonely life. With any luck at all, Wanda could eat at least a few of the chocolates before the purple, one-eyed, furry-footed, aliens stole them from her.
Chapter 17
The smell of bacon woke me on Wednesday morning. I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and spent a few minutes fussing with my hair. When I went downstairs and walked into the kitchen, three voices in unison greeted me. "Good morning, sweetie." Then Sinbad tacked on an, "Ya damn nuisance," in a perfect imitation of his master.
Stone was sitting at the table. In front of him was a plate full of bacon, French toast, and scrambled eggs. It looked and smelled delicious, and I found myself suddenly extremely hungry. Now this is what I'd had in mind from the beginning!
"Would ya like some breakfast this morning?" Harriet asked me.
"Yes, ma'am, I would love breakfast this morning," I answered with feeling. My mouth was watering in anticipation as I gazed at Stone's plate. "That looks wonderful. It smelled so good it actually woke me up."
I saw Harriet glance up at the clock above the stove. It read seven-thirty-five. I knew she was thinking half the day was already wasted. She shook her head in amazement and then opened the fridge door and removed a carton of eggs. As she turned back toward the stove, I noticed there was a full inch of ash hanging precariously off the end of her cigarette over the skillet. I decided to concentrate on the antics of the parrot to preserve my appetite.
"How'd you get a breakfast like that? And at this time of day?" I whispered to Stone as I gestured toward his meal.
"Oh, probably because I'm such a handsome, charming fellow," he said. "And fixing Harriet's toilets for her probably helped too."
"Suck-up," I whispered back good-naturedly.
I decided that Harriet might have better hearing than I thought when she said, "Stone says his favorites be French toast and bacon. But don't worry, sweetie, I knows what ya likes too."
With that remark, she placed a full platter of poached eggs and toast down in front of me. I looked down at my plate and back up at Stone just in time to see him laugh hard enough to spit a piece of bacon the full length of the table.
"Thank you, Harriet. This looks delicious," I said politely as I kicked Stone's shin. My appetite had vanished, much like Eliza Pitt had vanished on that April morning two and a half years prior. My fork felt as if it weighed twenty pounds as I picked it up off the table.
"Chow down, sweetie. Times a'wasting!"
* * *
Later on that evening, Stone got a phone call from his favorite nephew, Andrew. Andy was a pilot, Stone said. He flew private charters out of a small, executive airport, not far from Stone's home. He was going to be flying into New York the following Monday to drop off some clients. After a few days, he would fly the same clients back to South Carolina. Andy had decided to rent a car and stay in New York until the scheduled return flight, in order to spend some time with his uncle. Harriet had several vacancies, and Stone arranged for Andy to use one of the available rooms.
"You'll love Andy," Stone told me. "He's a terrific young man. I wish I could have made a jeweler out of him, but he's always wanted to fly, from the time he was just a little boy. My brother Sterling is Andy's dad, and he's a commercial pilot for Continental Airlines. But Andy never wanted to fly the huge jetliners like Sterling. I guess I should be thankful that Andy chose to settle near me in Myrtle Beach."
"I can't wait to meet Andy," I said. And I meant it sincerely. Anybody who rated so highly with a man like Stone had to be a wonderful individual.
Stone and I watched the evening news together on a little thirteen-inch color television in Harriet's family room, before retiring to our own rooms. We were riveted to the screen when a blurb came on about a new breakthrough in the 2001 Eliza Pitt murder case.
Apparently, the Schenectady homicide detective, Ron Glick, had recently reopened the investigation, in association with the DeKalb police department. It thrilled me to think that perhaps I'd had a stronger influence on the detective than I'd realized.
According to the news release, Kale Miller, the boy who had bagged Eliza's groceries at the Food Pantry on the day she vanished, had remembered that she'd been wearing a gray sweatshirt with Mickey Mouse on the front. Deep in the Adirondack Mountains, a sweatshirt matching that description had been found approximately three miles from where the hiker, Rod Crowfoot, had discovered the body two weeks after Eliza's disappearance.
The camera zoomed in on Detective Glick's face, making it appear even squarer than I recalled. It seemed to be the exact same shape as the TV screen. Glick explained to the reporter how DNA tests had determined that the blood on the sweatshirt, and also the blood splattered on a nearby rock, matched the blood of Eliza Pitt. It was thus concluded that her body had been discovered in a different location from the site where the murder had actually taken place.
"It was a brutal killing," Detective Glick said into
the camera. "The victim died from a blow to the skull with a blunt object, presumably a rock."
The television screen showed a photo of a pregnant Eliza Pitt, taken before the murder, on the TV screen. It was the first photo I'd seen of her in color. The only other photo had been a black and white, grainy photo in an April 2001 edition of Schenectady's Daily Gazette. Like the girl at the Starlight Lounge that Rod Crowfoot had followed home one night, and also like Clay's father, Homer, Eliza Pitt had bright red hair. Wanda Pitt had at least been correct on that account.
* * *
When I checked my e-mail Thursday morning, a message I received from Wendy about caused me to go into cardiac arrest.
"Mom," she wrote, "I've got terrible news. Something really bad has happened. Please call me as soon as you can. I need you—when are you coming home?"
I considered abandoning my Jeep and catching the next flight back to Kansas City. I knew that it was an overreaction to all that had been going on recently. So I forced myself to calm down and then rushed out to look for Stone.
I found him in the backyard, digging a hole for Harriet, who was standing beside him with a sweet potato vine growing out of a pint Mason jar. I had noticed the sweet potato propped up in the glass jar, full of roots, with vines stretched out all along the window ledge behind the kitchen sink. I'd known there was something vital missing from the backyard; I just hadn't been able to put my finger on it.
As Harriet bent down to place the sweet potato and its roots down into the freshly dug hole, Stone sensed my presence and turned to gaze at me on the porch. He was at my side in an instant.
"What's wrong, Lexie?" he asked.
I repeated the message I'd received from Wendy as best I could, my voice quivering as I spoke. Stone pulled me into an embrace and patted my back tenderly as he said, "Go get my cell phone off my bureau and call her right away. Maybe it's not as bad as you're anticipating. And remember that I'm here for you. Okay?"
Chapter 18
Wendy had lost the baby. She said she'd awakened the previous night with terrible stomach cramps and Clay had driven her to the ER at Shawnee Mission Medical Center. It'd been an ectopic pregnancy. My grandchild never had a chance for survival.
Wendy was distraught and heartbroken. I was upset for her, knowing how much the baby meant to her. But here was another example of how God sometimes works in mysterious ways, I thought. Had the baby lived, Wendy would be forever tied to a man who might one day be tried and convicted of murder. The child would also have a tough time of it, with a felon for a father. If tried and convicted, it was possible that Clay could even receive the death penalty.
As I listened to Wendy talk about Clay's reaction, or lack of one, to the loss of their child, I knew she was upset with his attitude. Clay wasn't offering the support and compassion she needed. It seemed to me he was emotionally distancing himself from her when she needed him the most. It seemed as though Clay thought the tragedy wasn't worth getting upset about, and he didn't want to discuss the loss or be emotionally disturbed by it.
"I wish you were here with me, Mom," Wendy said in a teary voice as we spoke on the telephone.
"Honey, how soon do you have to start your new job at the coroner's office?"
"Not for several weeks now, because of the time required for my recovery from the surgery to remove the fetus and placenta from my fallopian tube. Why do you ask?"
"I'd like you to consider flying out here to spend a week with me. You need to get away to cope with the loss of your baby, and I really need to discuss something with you." I wanted to take this opportunity to warn her about Clay while she was upset with him. Now she might be more open to the idea that she didn't know him as well as she thought she did. I could only pray for that possibility.
"What do you need to discuss with me?" she asked, suspicion evident in her voice.
"It's not something I want to talk with you about on the phone."
"Oh God, Mom! You're not moving to Myrtle Beach to live with that Stone guy, are you?"
"No, of course not, Wendy. It has nothing to do with him, or me, for that matter. But it's critically important to you and your future."
"Mom, what in the world are you talking about? You're scaring me."
"I'm sorry, honey. I don't mean to scare you. But I do really, really need you out here—just for a week if that's all you can get away."
"Well, it does sounds tempting, but I'm not sure what Clay will think about me leaving him for a week this early in our marriage."
"If he's any kind of husband at all, he'll understand you need to deal with this tragedy in your own way. Unless he's a total jerk, he won't prevent you from doing whatever you have to do to recover."
I knew I was being melodramatic, but I'd hoped she'd consider coming, if for no other reason than to prove to her mother that she hadn't married a total jerk.
"And honey, it wouldn't be wise to tell him I have something important to discuss with you. No sense worrying him. Just tell him you need to get away, or your mother needs you—and that your mother is paying your way. Tell him anything you have to, but please let me arrange for a plane ticket for you to come out here."
I'd just encouraged my daughter to lie. But I knew I had to keep my priorities straight. And my daughter's safety was at the top of the list at the moment.
"I'll talk to Clay when he gets home from the gym," Wendy assured me. "I'll call you back at this same number after I've discussed it with him."
"Okay, I'll be waiting to hear from you. And I'm so sorry to hear about your baby. There will be others, but I know that doesn't make it any easier to accept."
I gave her the number to Stone's cell phone. She wouldn't have to wonder about that aspect of it anyway. Stone's phone had a South Carolina preface. Stone borrowed a deck of cards from Harriet and talked me into a game of rummy. I assumed it was designed to take my mind off the ticking clock. He suggested the three of us could drive up through Maine and New Hampshire. If Wendy didn't take me up on my offer, just he and I could go, he said.
"That's where the fall colors are the most vivid. It'd be a relaxing place for Wendy to recover from her loss. I'd treat you both to a Maine lobster while we were there. By the way, Lexie, how do you plan to relay all of this information to Wendy?"
"I don't know. I'll need to be tactful, of course. I've never cared for Clay much, but Wendy loves him. I know it won't be an easy thing to do. Couldn't I just make small talk with Wendy and casually work it into the conversation?"
"How would you do that?"
"Maybe something like, 'It sure is cool today, isn't it, Wendy'?" I ad-libbed. "I hear we're to have a bit of rain this weekend. Would you like to go with me to the weekend sale at Sears? Someone told me that Rose Travis got hired at the hair salon at Sears. There's a high probability that your husband is a cold-blooded killer. Did you notice how well the yellow rose bushes in the front yard are doing since I pruned them? Maybe I'll have Rose give me a perm this weekend while I'm at the sale at Sears."
Stone shook his head and laughed at my preposterous rendition. I was being silly, but Stone and I both knew it really wasn't a laughing matter. Stone knew me well enough by now to know I often laughed to keep from crying. As a lone tear escaped my eye and trailed down my cheek, he put his arm around me to comfort me. "It will work out, honey," he said softly. "Try to think positive thoughts."
I prayed silently that he was correct and it all would work out—and in a way that didn't alienate my daughter. I also prayed Wendy would make the trip out East, and that she'd like Stone and accept him as my new friend. For I realized I was beginning to care a lot for Stone Van Patten, and I was still not too sure I was ready for that kind of complication in my life.
* * *
At long last, Stone's cell phone rang. Wendy said she was coming! I was so relieved I almost wept. Clay had not been receptive to the idea but had finally agreed to the trip. I told her I would arrange for a paperless ticket. All she'd have to do was show her ide
ntification at the ticket desk at KCI Airport in Kansas City, Missouri. It was late Thursday evening, so I'd try to schedule a flight for Monday morning to give her several days to rest and recuperate from her surgery.
I handed Stone's phone back to him, and then in an impulsive gesture I reached up and placed a quick kiss on the side of his cheek. With a thoughtful look, he said, "Don't worry. Everything is going to work out just fine, Lexie. We'll make sure Wendy is safe. Get your ticket bought—I'll be on the back porch reading for another hour or so. If you need to make any calls, my phone will be on the bureau in my room. Every month I waste more airtime minutes than I use, so feel free to use it all you want."
Earlier that day, we had picked up the reprints we'd ordered from Jake's negatives. Stone had requested enlargements of the photo of Clay with the dead moose on April twelfth, and the one of Jake and Clay together. In the larger version of the moose photo, we could just make out an unusual etching of an eagle on the front door, as if the carved wooden door had been specially made for the cabin. The only other interesting thing we learned from the photo was that there was a high-powered rifle propped up against the head of the moose, between its left antler and Clay. Stone thought it was probably a thirty-aught-six, often used for hunting big game. "You know, Lexie, Clay didn't kill that moose with his bare hands," Stone reminded me. "Or thump it over the head with a rock."
Leave No Stone Unturned (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 1) Page 11