Paula K. Perrin - Small Town Deadly

by Paula K. Perrin

  I got to my feet. I held my hand out to her and said, as though she were a little girl again, reluctant to cease splashing in the tub, “Come on, Meg, it’s time to go to bed now.”

  She laughed shrilly. “You sound like a mother. But guess wha? You’re not my mother. You never were my mother, mush as you like to preten’ it.”

  My hand went to my mouth. “Meg.”

  She peered at me. “You don’t wanna hear. Famous Macrae tradishun—don’t hear what you don’ like, an’ keep your secrets dry.” She giggled.

  “Honey, I know you’re upset. Let’s not worry about a bath, just let me help you get into bed.”

  “Leave me alone,” she screamed. “I never wanna see you again.”

  I stumbled to the door, the dog skittering out of my way as I went into my room and sank down on my bed. I started to reach for the phone, saw the dark stain on my sleeve, jumped up, pulled off Fran’s lavender dress and iridescent scarf. I threw them into a corner. I reached into the closet and pulled out an oversized Save the Elephants sweatshirt.

  I went back to the phone and punched out Fran’s number. “Hi, this is Fran. Sorry I’ve missed you. No doubt at some point I’ll stop having fun and come home and call you. Wait for the beep, okay?”

  But when the beep sounded, I couldn’t speak.

  I wasn’t aware I was crying until a tear dropped off my chin. I put my hands up to wipe away the tears. My hands stank of vomit.

  I pulled on a pair of sweat pants and went back into the bathroom. I got Meg tucked into bed. I checked her pupils and felt her limbs and head. No bumps. So I left her to sleep. I took the quilt into the bathroom, dumped it into the tub, and left it soaking.

  I couldn’t go to bed. Despite the weariness, my muscles felt twitchy. I pulled on some socks and my Nikes and padded quietly down the stairs.

  Mother’s light still shone, so I stopped in her doorway. She looked up from her book. “What happened?” she asked. “I heard something fall.”

  “Yes.”

  “What was it?”

  I hesitated. “Mother, I’m tired. Nothing was broken, and I don’t feel like talking about it.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “I think I deserve an explanation of things that happen in my own house.”

  I didn’t want to stick around for what was bound to happen next. I said, “I’m going out for a run.”

  “At this time of night? That’s foolish, Liz, even in Warfield.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, walking away. I didn’t much care if I made it back or not.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Outside, I shivered in the cool mist. Haze smeared the street lamp’s harsh light. I set one foot down, then another, until I’d reached Grace Avenue. I walked past the old grain silo where barn owls still nested, turned left on Main, and continued past the railroad tracks.

  A half mile later when I reached the security gate that closed off the road to Sword’s Hill, I stopped.

  Andre’s house was up on the hill along with the houses of five or six other rich people who had stripped the hill of its trees and natural vegetation to build. Some winters Warfield laughed as the heavy rains sent lavish landscaping sliding. What wouldn’t those rich folks do for some blackberry patches, now? old-timers said. I thought of Andre’s political campaign and his ecological views.

  What did Andre mean to do if he got elected? Had he posed such a threat to someone that they’d killed him? I hadn’t paid much attention to his campaign—I’d ask Fran in the morning.

  I stepped closer to the four-bar metal gate. It’d be easy to climb over. How hard could it be to break into Andre’s house? If I could find out who’d killed him and why, there’d be time to work through Meg’s problems without the threat of her being hauled off to jail.

  I hadn’t paid attention to the sound of a powerful car approaching until headlights threw my shadow onto the pavement beyond the gate.

  I walked parallel to the gate, not looking into the headlights, getting out of the way of the motorist I assumed would electronically open the gate. Instead, the car door opened and Officer Tough stepped out.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I’m just out walking.”

  “Why here? Thinking of collecting souvenirs?” He shifted his weight, and his gun belt creaked. Up on the hill a dog barked. His radio sputtered unintelligibly. “You want to explain what you’re doing here?”

  “No,” I said, walking back toward the road.

  “Don’t you be walking away while I’m talking to you,” he yelled.

  “What are you going to do? Shoot me?”

  He muttered something and got back into his car.

  I kept walking up the road out of the fog, away from the gate, away from his car, away from home.

  If I’d been thinking clearly, I might have guessed they’d have a watch on anything to do with Andre. I wondered what kind of spy equipment they had installed near the gate.

  I thought back to the “Mission: Impossible” series I watched as a teenager and wished I had an Impossible Forces team of my own. I’d use them to find out what Fran was hiding and why, what had so depressed Meg and why she was so angry with me. I’d have them find out who killed Andre and Annamaria—

  I stood stock-still. “Now where did that come from?” I said to the dark road and the tall pines that lined it. Annamaria? Surely it was just food poisoning or the flu?

  I shivered and started walking again, trying to drive the thought out of my head. I could accept that Andre had done something to precipitate his murder, but Annamaria? A nicer woman never lived.

  I began making a mental list of things to do to get things back to normal, since lists always have the power to soothe.

  Number one, Get Meg a therapist. I can’t handle her. A barking dog startled me. I increased my pace, hoping the dog was sleepy enough to stay in its yard.

  No, get Meg away. Fran’s right—we should just leave town and let Gene work. A car approached going fast, its radio blaring. It raced around the curve and down the hill.

  I’d go to Fran’s with Meg in the morning, then make some excuse so they’d go to the climbing gym without me. I’d go get the tickets and meet them at the gym and we’d head for the airport. For once I’d let details sort themselves out. Except, I’d have to get our passports from the bank—thank God for Saturday hours. And I’d better take a few things in an overnight bag.

  I heard a vehicle approaching from the rear, and when the truck came abreast, a man’s voice said, “It’s not smart running at night.”

  My first, startled thought was—I had been running. Somewhere along the road, habit had conquered shaky limbs. My second thought was that the last person I wanted to see was Gene.

  “Lots of drunks out on Friday night,” he said.

  “Yeah, one passed me going about 80 toward town just a few minutes ago. Why don’t you go chase him?”

  “Hicks got’m.”

  I kept going. His truck kept pace.

  “Hicks also told me you were thinking of breaking into Andre’s house.”

  I stumbled.

  He said, “See, it’s not safe running in the dark. Let me give you a ride home.”

  Breathing deeply, I stopped.

  He hit his brakes. The battered Dodge pickup, the only transportation left to him after divorce #2, rocked to a stop. When divorce #3 was finalized, he’d probably be walking.

  I walked up to his window and looked him straight in the eyes. “Gene, I’ve had a really bad day. I need time alone. So, thanks and good-bye.”

  He shrugged. “Okay.”

  He drove slowly out of sight over the crown of the hill ahead.

  I started running again, watching the ground for hazards and planning the contents of my getaway bag.

  I was gasping for air by the time I got to the top of the next, taller hill. Watching the road in front of me for potholes, I didn’t notice the parked pickup until Gene’s voice said, “Don’t you think t
his is far enough?”

  Jogging in place, I asked, “What time is it?”

  “It’s 12:13,” he answered, getting out of the truck.

  “So it’s another day. Thank God. This one’s got to be better.” I collapsed on the bed of his truck.

  He sat down next to me, and we gazed out across the downward-sloping pasture, south toward the smear of light that was Portland and Vancouver. Pines and cedars poked up from the fog lying in a puddle at the foot of the hill. Somewhere out there in the darkness, several miles away, was his parents’ dairy farm.

  “Do you think we’re out of step, staying in a place our great-grandparents settled rather than moving on to something new?” he asked.

  “You belong here.”

  “Not the kind of man you’d ever write one of your books about.”

  I laughed. “I’m not telling you my pen name.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  We sat watching the fog’s slow advance up the hill.

  “Why are you so worried I’m out to hang Meg?” he asked.

  I leaned away from him. “What do you mean?”

  One of his eyebrows lifted. “I mean you’re acting like you think she’s guilty and you need to protect her.”

  I stood up and faced him. “What do you mean? It’s natural I’m concerned about her,” I said. “I’ve raised her from the day Sherry marched up the porch steps and presented Meg to us.”

  “The woman didn’t give Meg to you, she gave her to George, the father of her baby.”

  “George didn’t know what to do with her.”

  “Did you or your mother ever give him a chance to find out?”

  I walked away down the hill. I heard his footsteps crunching on the gravel as he came after me, and I began to run.

  He caught me, just where the fog had crept up the hill to meet me. He jerked me around to face him, but I wouldn’t look at him.

  “Liz, I’m sorry. Just—let me say this one thing, and after that, I’ll stay out of it, okay?”

  I didn’t move.

  “Liz, you and your mother never gave George a chance after your father walked out.”

  I tried to pull away, but his fingers bit into my arms.

  “You’ve got to hear this.” He went on in a soft voice, “You tarred George with the same brush. He was male, therefore he was not to be trusted.”

  “He fathered a child with a woman whose name he couldn’t remember next time he saw her!”

  “Yeah. He was irresponsible about that, and he was set on his career, and he was selfish. But he also loved you and your mom, and he tried to take care of you both when your father left. But you cut him off at the knees—how was he going to get through that wall of yours?”

  “What wall?”

  “Your distrust of all things male—you wear it to keep everyone out.”

  “You’re mangling metaphors,” I said.

  He sighed. He stared off into the mist.

  I stepped backwards, and he let me go.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  I nodded. For the umpteenth time that day, tears rose in my eyes. I’d never had it pointed out how woefully lacking I was so often in a 24-hour period before.

  I turned toward town and started walking, swiping with my sweatshirt sleeve at the tears running down my cheeks. I couldn’t be mad at him for telling me the truth.

  His shoes slapped the pavement and his voice was thick and low when he said, “Oh, jeez, Liz. Please don’t cry.” He turned me around and guided me back to his truck. The door shrieked when he opened it for me.

  Grateful the cab light didn’t work, I climbed into the truck. I said, “I never cry.”

  “I know.”

  We rode in silence. He cleared his throat. “You’ve done a good job with Meg. You should trust in the way you raised her.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We’re making progress, Liz. I can’t say too much, but we’ve found some—”

  “What?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “You were spilling your guts to Sheila!”

  “I didn’t tell her anything that wasn’t going to make the rounds anyway, but this stuff is different.”

  I sat silent, fuming.

  “You think Andre was killed because of his political ambitions? He said he was out to kick butt,” Gene finally ventured.

  “He’d played with the idea of running for office for a long time, but he never seemed serious. I guess Barry’s death made him take his own life more seriously.”

  Gene snorted, “Barry. That faggot—”

  “Barry was a decent, humorous, sometimes vain and silly man who loved life a lot. He didn’t deserve to die as he did, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to be called names by a provincial, narrow-minded—” I drew a deep breath. “Sorry,” I said, “but I can’t stand to see hate perpetuated so thoughtlessly. Barry was a good man.”

  “Look, I can’t—I am prejudiced—but I try to treat everyone the same no matter how I feel. Don’t I get some credit for that? “

  “Yes, I guess you do.”

  My thoughts drifted to George. He had always planned on being a football star. He’d trained and played like a demon. He’d had one great season, rookie of the year, and then in the midst of the next season, his knee had been ruined.

  He couldn’t adjust. He’d promised he’d come home to make a start at something else, but when his plane arrived, he hadn’t been on it. Just like our father before him, he’d disappeared, leaving his daughter. Meg had been so young she’d never suffered what I had. Several years later, Mother announced she’d received a telegram saying George was dead.

  When we passed the Sword’s Hill gate, Gene pulled off. He leaned across me and rolled down my window and called to Officer Hicks, “Everything okay?”

  “Real quiet.”

  “I’m calling it a night,” Gene said. “I won’t be in till noon tomorrow.” Gene rolled up the window and continued into town. “So do you have any information for me?” he asked, his tone casual, “Anyone I should look at closely?”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “You ask me, the murder was disgusting.” He flicked his high beams at someone who hadn’t lowered theirs. “Most likely it was someone there last night, Liz.”

  “But we know them.” I bit my lip. “There’s no reason to think he did it, but if I had to pick someone who fit the profile of who murderers turn out to be, I guess I’d pick Jared.”

  “Because he’s so quiet?”

  “Yep, just what the shocked neighbors always say. But he’s a young man screwed down too tight. He’s taking pre-med because Alisz wants him to be a doctor like Hugh, but he’s fascinated with dolphins. He’s giving up his dream to please his mother. Almost everything he does, like being in the play, is to please her.”

  He was silent, considering.

  Oh, God, why had I said anything? It was despicable to finger Jared because I was so afraid for Meg.

  The church was dark when we turned past it. It looked like a grim fortress. How forbidding it must look to those who didn’t know the Sanctus light burned within it.

  Kirk’s VW was gone. Was he out on a date? Or out comforting “all those who suffer in body, mind, or spirit?”

  “Gene, forget I said that about Jared, okay? I shouldn’t have—”

  He turned the corner and stopped with a squeal of brakes to avoid hitting Meg’s car. “What happened here?” he asked.

  “Long story,” I said.

  “Is Meg all right?”

  “Yeah.” I forced myself to look at him and surprised the strangest little smile on his face. “What?” I demanded.

  “Nothing,” he mumbled.

  “I’m sorry I buckled when you said that stuff about George.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  I batted away his apology. “I haven’t—I don’t know—it seems like everything I thought was true isn’t, that I’ve been living in some kind of dream world …” I pull
ed the handle, but the door wouldn’t open.

  Gene leaned across me. For a startled moment I thought he was going to kiss me, but he shoved the door and said, “It sticks.”

  I slid out of the cab.

  I walked in front of the truck, and Gene said, as I reached his side, “Take care, Liz, this whole thing gives me the creeps. There’s something weird going on, and—”

  “What?”

  “I shouldn’t be talking like this.”

  I smiled at him. “Doesn’t suit the image?”

  He grinned back, “Not even a little bit.”

  I trudged up the stairs to my room and found the message light shining on my phone answering machine. I hit the play button. More pleas from the media, several blanks where someone had called but hadn’t left a message, then Fran’s slightly slurred, laughing voice said, “So you took my advice, huh? Little devil, you.” She giggled “Lizzie, I’ve been sleuthing! Discretion demands I wait to tell you in person.”

  She giggled again. “Slip Meg a mickey so she’ll sleep in, willya? I’m unplugging my phone and getting my beauty sleep. Too bad my looks will be wasted on a rock wall. Can we go someplace fun after? Like New Zealand?” A big yawn. “See you in the morning, Piggelty.”

  The message had been left at 12:25, so I figured she might still be awake and dialed her, but the phone just kept ringing, so I knew she had unplugged it. She really was determined to get her beauty sleep.

  “See you in the morning, Higgelty,” I said as I dropped onto my bed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I woke up just before the alarm went off at seven and soon discovered Meg was gone.

  She’d rinsed out Grandmother McDowell’s quilt, but she hadn’t left a note for me. Was she so angry she planned to cut me out of the climbing gym expedition and go straight to Fran?

  Well, she’d have a shock there! Hell had no fury like Fran wakened from slumber.

  I grabbed my bag. I’d call Mother from the airport. She could arrange for Jill Ferguson to help her while I was gone.

  I drove toward Fran’s, noticing a tall aluminum ladder propped against the brick facade of the church. Sheila stood in the doorway of her restaurant helping an old man make it up the step. Kirk, dressed in red sweats, stood next to the frail wife. I loved this little town where people woke with the sun. Even if, this morning, the sun was hiding behind a sullen fog.