“Did you find anything else?” he asked.
“No.” My heart was about to burst.
His voice softened. “Let us handle this. There’s no reason to put yourself in danger. I’ll tell the landlady we’re through for today and follow you home.”
“Don’t say Agatha. I told her I’m Holly’s sister, Norma Abernathy. Wife of Abel Abernathy.”
Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. Before he turned and stormed out the door, I thought I saw the beginning of a smile. Maybe I just wanted to see it.
I tiptoed out of Holly’s apartment. Since Sam forgot, I locked the door. When I glanced toward the parking area, I saw Harry Thorne lumber out of his Ford truck. His face looked pasty and drawn. Was he coming to Holly’s place? He felt obligated to protect young girls at the club, but why would he show up at Holly’s apartment after she died?
I considered hiding to see if he’d manage to get into her apartment, but I didn’t relish confronting another angry male. Plus, Sam was waiting.
Slipping away from Holly’s door in the opposite direction, I took a circuitous route to my car and dropped the apartment key through the landlady’s door en route. I decided not to mention Harry’s arrival to Sam; I wanted to think about why Harry was there. Maybe I could find a way to slip into Harry’s office at the club and poke around. That would really tick Sam off.
It was a shame Sam and I carried so much emotional baggage. Not only did the burden wear us out; it complicated my efforts to find Holly’s killer. Sam, Bless him, made sleuthing incredibly difficult.
Fourteen
Sam stood by my Wagoneer, waiting. “Where did you go?” His question sounded more like concern than accusation.
“Nowhere. I got lost among the buildings. These apartments go on forever.”
He seemed past registering surprise at anything I said or did. “I’ll follow you home and check your locks in case the killer trailed you.”
I thought about Harry Thorne and glanced around.
After Sam closed my car door, I waited until he got in his vehicle to stick my key in the ignition. My hand shook. I scanned the row of cars to my right and saw Harry Thorne backing out his white Ford truck. When I eased my car into reverse and sputtered out of my space, I was trembling all over.
I crept to New Braunfels and drove south at twenty-eight mph. I feared Harry was following us, but I couldn’t drive fast with Sam right behind me.
Sam probably thought I was afraid to go home, which I was. I was too rattled to face him and afraid of what I might say...of what he might say. Holly’s life undoubtedly reminded him of the unknown woman who’d relinquished the child that he and Katy adopted.
He didn’t know I was that unknown woman. He knew, when we lived in Chicago, that Lester and I had decided not to marry and that my bank transferred me to a satellite branch for several months. He didn’t know I’d secured the bank transfer so I could secretly deliver Lester’s baby. Or that I had asked his wife, Katy, to adopt my daughter.
I stopped at the Austin Highway light by the McNay Art Museum and scrounged through my glove box for Kleenex. In my rearview mirror, I saw Sam’s car, followed a few cars back by Harry’s truck. Unlike Sam, I was well acquainted with Harry Thorne’s white Ford. I managed to wipe my eyes and blow my nose before the light changed.
Since Sam and Katy couldn’t have children and had decided to adopt, she and I made a pact: the most painful pact of my life. Katy’s obstetrician and her attorney would arrange for the Vanderhovens to legally adopt a baby who would soon be available, my daughter Lee. Katy and the doctor swore that Sam would never learn the identity of Lee’s biological parents.
Six months after my baby was born, I transferred back to the main Chicago bank and became Lee’s Aunt Aggie. Sam never knew I was Lee’s mother.
Barely able to drive, I grabbed more Kleenex and reminded myself I’d done my best for my baby girl by placing her in their loving home.
When I turned left on Burr Road, I spotted Sam’s car behind me, but I didn’t see Harry’s truck. Was he navigating a back route, waiting until Sam wasn’t around to protect me? Was Harry hell-bent on tying me to Holly’s murder and determined to punish me?
Maybe I’d misread Sam. If he knew I gave Lee to him and Katy because I loved the baby and admired them, maybe he wouldn’t hate me for deceiving him. Maybe he could still be my friend. My feelings for him went beyond friendship, but I could never let him know. How could he ever forgive me for living a lie and causing him to live one?
I drove up the hill. Sam followed me up the driveway and plodded over to open my door. Without saying a word, he took my elbow and steered me, with a light touch, to my cottage. He realized I’d been crying and brushed his finger under my eyes. “I’m glad you’re home, Aggie. You’ve made a good life here. There’s no reason for you to be snooping in a murder.”
“You’re right. There’s no reason for me to snoop.”
I considered telling tell him about Harry, how he’d scowled at me, searched for me at Las Tapitas, materialized at Holly’s apartment and followed us. If I told Sam, he’d probably stay with me until he could get another officer to relieve him. He might also focus exclusively on Harry Thorne and forget about the other suspects.
Whatever I said, he’d probably delve deeper into Holly’s past. His discoveries might spur him to pursue the truth about his adopted child.
From my front porch, I saw Grace peering at us through her window. Boffo panted beside her, his stubby forelegs planted on the sill. She gave me a thumbs-up sign, which I ignored. I was focused on Sam. It would be impolite to not ask him in. “Would you like a Coke?”
“No, thanks. I need to get back to work.” He paused, then turned and marched into my living room. I thought he was going to check the locks.
He gave me a serious look. “There’s something I need to say.”
Fifteen
Sam whirled to face me.
My heart whammed against my chest. “It’s about your neighbor.”
“Grace?”
“Grace Livermore. Did you know she had three husbands who died?”
“She told me.” We faced each other like sentries in Korea’s demilitarized zone.
“Didn’t that strike you as unusual?”
“I found it tragic they died so young.”
“SAPD thought the circumstances were beyond unusual. They suspected the deaths might not be accidental. When I came to San Antonio, they’d decided to reopen the files.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “The police kept files on Grace’s husbands? They suspected she killed her husbands? That’s preposterous!” I flung my arms out and marched around the living room. “Grace couldn’t hurt anybody. She’s warm and creative and loving.” I turned to face him. “You don’t know her.”
He staked out a place on my sofa, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and froze me with his eyes. “I know it’s damned unusual for one woman to bury three husbands.”
I couldn’t deny that, but Grace Livermore was the last person in the world to commit murder. She’d loved the men. And the children. I paced. “Did they investigate the deaths when they occurred?”
“They did. The family reported Charlie Livermore took one of his daughters out to eat. When they came home, he stayed in the car to finish a cigarette and listen to music. When his car caught fire, he burned to death.”
I glared at him and started pacing. “That’s precisely what Grace told me. Linda was talking on the phone.” I gestured like a defense attorney. “Grace and Kim came home from their party. They smelled smoke, ran to the garage and found Charlie’s car in flames. Grace thinks he never knew what happened.”
“I’m sure he didn’t. He was an alcoholic and had probably passed out. Since he was thirty-nine, they did an autopsy so the medical examiner could determine the cause and manner of death.” He leaned over the coffee table to study my photographs.
“What did they find?” I was thinking like a sleuth. I knew
Grace could never commit murder.
“Charles Livermore died of cyanide gas poisoning.”
Breathless, I sank to the other sofa.
“He wore a wool and silk sport coat. When he passed out, the coat caught fire and cyanide fumes encircled his head. Plastic and foam in the car seats ignited, producing more cyanide gas. In a closed car, with Charlie in an alcoholic stupor, he inhaled more than enough cyanide to kill him. It’s a common scenario when people burn in a car. The ME determined that the level of alcohol, plus the cyanide in Charlie’s blood, killed him.”
I sank further into the cushions. “So you’re telling me Charlie Livermore’s death was an accident.”
“The ME deemed his death accidental. When Grace’s second husband, George Ball, died seven years later and Grace married Ray Peters four years after that, and he died, the police decided to take a closer look at Grace Livermore.” He picked up the photo of me with Aunt Novena and Uncle Fred.
I shook my head. “Grace simply couldn’t do the things you say. She’s still broken up over Ray’s death.” Sam had planted a seed of doubt, but I was determined to defend Grace. My heart told me he was wrong. This time, I would stand up for my principles. “Grace told me George Ball suffered from cardiac arrhythmia and high blood pressure. He never exercised. Then he went out and walked for three days, drank alcohol every night, tracked a deer and keeled over with a heart attack. Three men who were with him saw him fall.”
He tilted toward me. “Did she tell you George had the wrong pills packed in his pill box? That instead of 100 mg tablets of Metroprolol, the Beta Blocker he took twice a day, they found ordinary aspirin? Somebody switched the pills.”
My heart skipped. I was glad to be sitting down.
“The abrupt withdrawal of his medication, coupled with excitement, exertion and alcohol, could have caused his heart attack.”
I felt weak. “Maybe George made the substitutions himself. By mistake.”
“It’s possible. His cardiologist said patients frequently take meds incorrectly. His friends said George was ecstatic about the hunting trip, but that he wouldn’t be so careless with meds he knew were vital for his heart condition.”
“Could someone in his family have substituted the pills? By accident?”
“The file says the family kept meds in one cabinet. Meds for George’s three-day hunting trip were transferred from larger bottles to George’s pillbox. Someone could have put in the wrong meds by mistake or exchanged them on purpose. Naturally, his family’s prints covered the bottles. His buddies’ prints were on his pillbox. They went through his things trying to find something to help him.”
“I guess someone from SAPD questioned Grace and the children after George died?”
“They all seemed horrified to think somebody could have switched the pills but swore they didn’t do it. Since SAPD has reopened the files, they’ll interview the children again. One lives in Oklahoma and the others in California, so the investigation will take a while. Then they’ll talk to Grace.”
He picked up the photo of him with his family. Even though I was Lee’s Aunt Aggie, I never displayed a photo of Lee by herself or with me.
It seemed like a hundred years since I’d sneaked into Holly’s apartment and played amateur detective. I felt more washed out than my khakis. I never imagined sleuthing could cause such torment. Like Sam and Meredith, Grace was my friend. Since I’d lost my mother when I was young, Grace was almost like a mother to me. SAPD’s suspicions about her just couldn’t be true.
Sam must have realized the impact of his devastating news. He put down the photograph and joined me on the sofa.
“Did they do an autopsy on George?” I asked.
“The procedure showed he died of a heart attack. The question was, why?”
“The ME ruled Charlie’s and George’s deaths were accidental, right? So they have absolutely no proof Grace had anything to do with what happened to them.” I didn’t tell him that Grace was a little bored with George. I knew she’d loved him.
“There’s no proof.”
“So why are you telling me all this?”
He looked directly at me. “I know you spend time with Grace. I know you like her. I just want you to be careful.”
He had pummeled my heart by suspecting Grace, but I couldn’t be angry with him.
“I need to go,” he said. But instead of leaving, he picked up his family photograph. “They were something, weren’t they, Aggie?”
“They were special.” I swallowed hard.
He lingered over Katy, then dwelled on Lee’s face. Was he remembering how Katy’s obstetrician had called and said he had a patient who would deliver a baby girl who, as soon as she was born, could be theirs?
Surely he’d asked about the baby’s parents. For years, he must have wondered who had abandoned Lee.
With the photo in his hand, he studied me. Fortunately, my bland clothes didn’t accentuate the color of my eyes. When I wore blue or green, they adapted to the color. This was my only feature Lee shared. Otherwise, she hadn’t resembled me. Her hair was curlier and lighter than mine. She had hair and features like her runaway father.
“It’s hard not to look back, isn’t it,” he said, focusing on my eyes, “and wonder what might have been?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. It is.” How could I break his melancholy? I had to maintain our fragile friendship. If he ever suspected I was Lee’s mother and had deceived him, he’d be livid. The thought of even touching me would repel him.
I needed to change the subject fast. “Thanks for bringing me home. It’s been a long day for both of us.”
He stood me up and clasped my arms. “Try not to worry about your friend Grace. SAPD’s suspicions are probably groundless. Sometimes people have too much time on their hands. Even cops.”
We needed to talk about something else. With the weight of deceit surrounding us, his closeness made me uncomfortable. Besides that, the scrap of paper I’d retrieved from Holly’s shoe and stuffed down my bra itched like crazy.
Stepping back, I peered up wistfully. “Will you pick up Meredith and me for Sheldon’s party tomorrow night? He’s expecting us.”
His jaw dropped. “Sheldon? Sheldon Snodgrass? The weird eater? We’re going to his party? Why would we go to his party? We hardly know the guy.” He looked like a stunned owl. His eyes were wide open.
“Meredith said she thought the event would be a blast.” Dredging up my sweetest southern smile, I led him to the door. As soon as he cleared the threshold, I flipped him a wave, closed the door and scurried back into the house.
Next, I had to break the news about Sheldon’s party to Meredith. Lying was getting easy. Wasn’t that some kind of personality disorder?
I peeked through the curtains and saw Sam shake his head as though he was confused. He pulled away. My prospects for a relationship with him were growing dimmer. He suspected Grace of murder, and I knew she couldn’t kill anyone. He would investigate Holly’s adoption and, I feared, Lee’s adoption. Any day now, he’d discover that the feckless mother of his beloved daughter, Lee, was me.
Overwhelmed by the urge to compose a personal ad, I grabbed my Big Chief tablet.
“Single white female. Young. Formerly a banker. Loves humor...”
Who was I kidding? Bankers didn’t quit working while they were young. They loved playing with money.
A banker who loved humor? Nobody would believe that.
I had just put down my pen when the doorbell rang. Had Sam returned?
Sixteen
“It’s me, Grace.”
When I opened the door, she stood on my front stoop with a wide grin on her face. “Did you see me wave through the window?”
“Yep.”
“That’s Sam, isn’t it? The detective?”
“That’s Sam.”
“I could tell from his khaki shirt and pants. The clothes indicate he’s steady and serious, not sold on himself. His orange and yellow tie reveals a roma
ntic streak. He’s wildly appreciative of the beautiful things in life. You should watch a Texas sunset with him.” She produced a big smile.
I collapsed on the sofa, laughing. “You’re something else. How can you surmise all that from his clothes?”
“Experience. Three husbands, remember?”
She perched expectantly on the arm of my sofa, probably waiting for me to disclose more about Sam. I didn’t have the energy to discuss him or Holly’s murder. I certainly wasn’t going to reveal SAPD’s suspicions about her. Elmore Moseley was a better topic.
“Elmore’s attractive. How was the movie?”
“We didn’t go. We went to dinner at Alexander’s at the Quarry. We started talking and sat in the booth for two hours. Then we came home and snuggled in front of the TV.”
She saw surprise on my face.
“We only cuddled. When you’re my age and you’ve lived alone, you appreciate the warmth of another body. Being held renews your life force. I know I sound weird. You have to experience it.”
There was no way this woman could kill anybody. She rested her chin on her fist.
“Sometimes, when you spend days without speaking to anyone,” she said, “your vocal chords become dormant. When you speak, your voice cracks. That’s one reason I sing when I play the piano.” She shrugged. “Even if nothing serious ever develops between Elmore and me, people aren’t meant to be alone. At my age, you see things for what they are and count your blessings.”
We heard yipping and scratching outside my front door.
“Oops. Sorry. Ernesto stopped up Boffo’s hole and filled the one in your yard, but he dug out again.” She withdrew a handful of doggy treats from her pocket and strode to the door. “I dropped a couple of these on the way over. I knew if he sneaked back, he’d smell them.” She cracked the door and bent to give Boffo his treat. He panted, displaying his friendlier dachshund lineage. When I approached him, he growled. I wondered if my recent stomach problems gave me halitosis. If Grace hadn’t been there, I might have coughed in his face.
Fit To Be Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 1) Page 10