By the time we’d finished cooking the lunch and serving it into the containers wielded by the multitude of volunteers, it felt like we’d been working all day. But it was only eleven thirty. The delivery people dispersed and we set about cleaning up the kitchen.
“I need to get back to the houseboat to help Miss Gloria acclimate the new kitten. I think Cheryl said she’s bringing him from the SPCA around noon. But I have time to run you down the island and drop you off at Mom’s first,” I said to Helen, once we’d finished. “Or if you’d rather, we can run home to check in with Miss Gloria and get a bite to eat.”
I lowered my voice so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings. “We’re invited to take some of the leftover casserole home, but honestly, after I’ve worked on a meal like this, I usually don’t find it very appealing. But I could throw together a chef salad in no time.”
“I’m not really hungry,” she said. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d take me to the Project Lighthouse on the way home. I want to talk with the woman who said Claudette had a sister.”
I’d had the same thought. But (a), I didn’t see how I was going to jam visiting Project Lighthouse into an already crazy day, and (b), the chief of police had made a special trip to the church to warn us to stay out of the murder case.
“But you heard Steve and the chief,” I said. “They asked us—no, they begged us, not to take on anything on our own.”
“No problem,” she said, her gaze leveled straight at me. “I can call an Uber.”
I stared back. She was one tough cookie. I had to wonder whether she imagined that Claudette’s sister’s disappearance—and maybe Claudette’s death—were related to her own family tragedy. That couldn’t be—too much coincidence. But at least talking to Jai might provide a clue to Claudette’s past that we didn’t yet understand. In that case, I couldn’t possibly say no.
“I’d be happy to take you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tell me what you eat and I’ll tell you who you are.
—Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin
I texted my friend Jai to make sure she was on duty and that it would be convenient for us to stop and chat about Claudette. I thought she would be there—New Year’s Eve was a perfect time to have a safe space available for drifting teens. On the few blocks across town to Truman, I explained to my mother-in-law the basics about Project Lighthouse.
“It’s a drop-in center for homeless kids and runaways. They try to provide a place where kids can get support, and maybe apply for an ID, because nothing happens without that. No ID, no job, no school, no nothing. And she helps them think about the next step in their lives—when they’re ready. Sometimes it’s finding a place to live or a job or school, and sometimes having someone who will listen to them is all they need. Or even simply hold them in place while the world spins around them. That can mean a lot. Jai and the other staff call these kids ‘travelers,’ because they’re usually on the way to something. They don’t always know what that something is.”
I parked a block away from the storefront. Usually this end of Truman was not so busy in the daytime, but all bets were off in the days leading up to New Year’s. There was a small gaggle of teenagers clustered outside the Project Lighthouse door, several of them carrying brindle puppies. One strummed a guitar and sang a Bob Dylan song; others joked and laughed together. They looked like normal kids, but I knew their stories were more complicated. Someday I would tell my mother-in-law about my stepbrother Rory, but it had a sad ending for one of his friends, and now was not the time to get into that. I waved her inside.
We stepped into a chaotic open space. A washing machine gurgled at the back of the room, and I could smell a pot of chili cooking. Two more puppies were wrestling on a rug with a few kids watching and laughing. There was a set of drums on one side of the room, and bookshelves containing books for GED classes, SAT preparation, and a full set of Harry Potter books and Nancy Drew mysteries.
Jai, a thin woman with tattoos on her arms and long red hair pulled back into a ponytail, waved hello from behind the desk, where she was talking to one of the travelers. “I’ll be with you shortly,” she said. “Have a look around.”
We perched on the edge of a sagging brown couch that had seen much better days, Nathan’s mother watching everything. I remembered the first time I’d visited the center; the chaos had felt a bit overwhelming. But I’d learned that for the kids who dropped in, it felt safe and homelike, but without the restrictions and complications and painful memories their real homes might have had.
When Jai had finished talking with the girl in front of her, she came over to greet us. I introduced her to Helen and explained our interest in Claudette Parker’s murder.
Her face darkened. “We’re going to really miss her. This is so tragic. Especially considering what happened to her sister years ago.”
“Will you tell us about that?” I asked her.
“I don’t suppose it’s confidential at this point,” Jai said, and heaved a big sigh. “I think she felt comfortable here and wanted to help because these kids reminded her of her sister, Lorraine. Lorraine was a little bit troubled and liked to live on the edge, flouting her parents’ rules at every opportunity. Claudette said she spent a lot of time skipping school and hanging out with other kids who weren’t walking a traditional path.”
Nathan’s mother smiled. “That sounds like a kind way of putting it.”
“I suppose,” said Jai, “but who am I to say what’s right for each kid? Here we try to focus on providing a place where they feel accepted and not judged. Because there’s too much of that out in the world.”
“For sure,” I said. “And if you don’t feel sturdy when you face all that outside judgment, it can throw you for a loop.”
Jai leaned over to pat the puppy that wandered closer to us and was nosing around her feet. The little dog squatted as if to pee on the rug, and Jai called for one of the kids to whisk him outside.
“Maybe Claudette felt badly that she wasn’t able to help her sister find her way, and then it was too late,” she said. “And maybe these kids reminded her of Lorraine. Anyway, she brought in tons of homemade cookies and day-old pastries from her shop. Which, I have to say, tasted better than most people’s day-of baked goods.” She patted her stomach. “I’m sure I put on a couple pounds over the past few months. She sat with the kids when she had time, and tried to chat with them. They’re usually not inclined to talk with grown-ups, but she was good at listening.” She paused, thinking about how to phrase what came next. “Though she was intense, and that sometimes scared the kids off.”
“Intense in what way?” I asked.
“Maybe she pushed a little too hard to learn their stories? She really wanted to help them understand how to be safe. A couple of times kids backed away from her, and didn’t show up here for a day or more.”
“What happened with her sister?” Nathan’s mother asked.
“She accepted a ride from a guy who was cruising the streets in downtown Atlanta in an old Pinto. The other kids saw her get in, but no one seemed to know the guy who took her, and they never could nail down a good description. Maybe he had blond hair? Sunglasses? A black ball cap? A checked shirt? He was probably no older than twenty, but the kids reported that he looked like an adult. They were too vague to help the cops find him.”
“And so what happened?” asked Helen, leaning forward toward Jai, a look of anguish on her face.
“No one saw her alive after that,” Jai said. “They found her body a week later in a ditch near the city dump. It did a number on her family. I could tell how much it marked Claudette’s life, too. That’s why I encouraged her to keep coming. For her, I think it was therapeutic.”
“Understandably,” I said. “That is so tragic.” I glanced at my phone, which was buzzing like crazy—eight texts from Miss Gloria on the screen—and raised my eyebrows at Helen. “Sorry to rush you, but I need to get home. Miss Gloria seems to be flipping out.”
“What is that all about?” my mother-in-law asked in a low voice.
“She’s coming back from the dachshund parade. It’s a kind of flash mob for wiener dogs and their owners, and everyone wears costumes and they march about two blocks because the dogs have such short legs. She’s crazy about the event and so happy to have her rescue dog participate. Last year she invited me to go along, and I felt as though I couldn’t refuse. It brings her so much pleasure. I went dressed as a hamburger.” I suppressed a snort of laughter.
Helen leaned in close to whisper, “Does she realize that her dog is not a dachshund?”
Now I burst out laughing. “I’m pretty sure she does.”
Although Miss Gloria had skipped Cooking With Love in order to wait for the little cat to be delivered, he still hadn’t arrived by the time we boarded the houseboat. My roomie was pacing from the kitchen, through the living room, and out to the deck and back.
“Do you think they’ve changed their minds and given him to someone else?” she asked, wringing her hands. “I’m so nervous. I couldn’t even concentrate on my favorite Outlander rerun.”
“That’s serious,” I said. She was a huge fan of the Scottish time-travel show and had gotten the rest of the household sucked into it—except Nathan, who proclaimed the plots ridiculous. To be honest, I thought his refusal had more to do with his embarrassment about watching steamy sex scenes alongside Miss Gloria than it did weak plots.
At that moment, we heard the sound of an unfamiliar engine rumbling from the parking lot. And then a door slammed and Cheryl appeared, walking up the finger of the dock carrying a pet crate. The sound of frantic, high-pitched kitten mews emanated from inside.
“I bet you never thought you’d see me again!” she called out cheerfully as she got closer. “The person who was desperate to adopt the kitty was told by her husband that it was one more cat or him. It wasn’t an easy decision, but she went for her husband.” Cheryl’s laugh boomed out across the bight. “Then we had five applications to choose from. But once I explained the story about how Miss Gloria had found the kitten shivering under the porch on the night of the murder, we all agreed she was the rightful owner.”
We invited her to board the boat, and she hopped across the small gap and set the cat carrier on the deck. All three of our animals rushed over to investigate. Evinrude backed away almost immediately, raising his handsome gray striped body into Halloween cat shape, followed by a low growl and a full-throttle hiss. Miss Gloria’s Sparky danced around the perimeter of the crate, batting at the little kitten inside. And Ziggy ran quivering through the doggy door that Nathan had installed and headed toward Miss Gloria’s bedroom.
“Hello, T-Bone!” crowed Miss Gloria, kneeling down to peer into the crate. “Welcome to our nuthouse. It’s a little bit chaotic here, but I bet you’ll feel like part of the gang within twenty-four hours.”
She winked at Cheryl, and I could tell she was nervous about whether we’d be judged as overwhelmed with animals, unfit for another adoption. And then watch the new kitty get whisked away to the next cat lover on the list.
“Come, sit down and take a load off,” she told Cheryl. She sat back cross-legged on the deck and pointed our guest to her own chaise lounge. “We’d love to hear your tips.”
Cheryl sat, pulling the kitten’s crate closer to her. “When you are introducing a new family member, we always advise not mixing the established animals too quickly with the new kitten. Everybody needs time to acclimate.” She patted the crate with the kitten inside. “Even though T-Bone has been living with a bunch of cats at the shelter, your furry fellows are new to him. And I’m not sure he’s ever met a dog. We recommend starting the kitten out in a safe room—meanwhile, they can adjust to each other’s scent, but with a door securely separating them. They will tell you when they’re ready to mix it up. It might take a week or more. And then be sure to treat them all equally.” She plucked at her white T-shirt that had three black cats painted on it, and below that the words This is why we can’t have nice things.
She looked hot, so I offered everyone a cool beverage. As I got up to get a glass of ice water for Cheryl, I couldn’t help bugging my eyes out a little bit at Miss Gloria on the way to the kitchen. We did not have the patience to keep the kitten in a separate room for a week while everyone adjusted to his odor. Nor did we have the space. And treat all the animals equally? Ha! Around here, the winner was whoever shoved onto your lap or into the feed bowl first.
By the time I returned, Helen, who’d been mostly quiet since our visit to Project Lighthouse, had taken the floor. “Are you absolutely certain you didn’t see anyone leaving Claudette Parker’s home the night of the murder?” she asked Cheryl.
Yikes, how had this conversation evolved into an inquisition? Or devolved might be the better description.
Cheryl’s face colored a deep crimson. “Are you working for the police?” she asked.
“Not a bit,” said Helen. “As I’m certain we told you, we feel like we have a personal stake in bringing the killer to justice, since we were the ones who found the woman. You can imagine how that felt,” she added, patting her hand over her heart.
“Awful,” said Cheryl, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.
Helen leaned forward. “So are you certain you didn’t see anyone leave Claudette’s house that night? Apparently the police took Redford in for questioning yesterday—in fact, Hayley here saw it happen. And then we heard this morning that he was released; apparently there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him. Do you know anything about any of this?”
Cheryl’s face colored again, and she cleared her throat. “I did see Paul that night. He came by to talk with me, super-upset. I’ve known him for years and years, and I know he’s no murderer. He went to talk with Claudette about a promotion, and about getting some acknowledgment that he’d invested in the business and provided some of the recipes. She was adamant that this wasn’t happening. He didn’t know what to do next, so he came to me to blow off some steam. Maybe he thought I knew her well enough that I could put a word in with her? I advised him to sit tight and show her how indispensable he was.” She sighed. “Of course he panicked when he heard the news that she’d been murdered right around the very time he was at her house.”
“Was she dead when he went to speak with her?” Helen asked. She had crossed her arms over her chest and looked very fierce.
“Of course not!” Cheryl yelped. The hand holding her water glass trembled. “He would have reported that instantly.”
“Did you tell the police about his visit?” I asked, stunned that this was the first we’d heard of it. I glanced over to meet Helen’s eyes. We’d sat right in Cheryl’s yard and ate her cookies and sipped her tea and talked about that night until we all thought we’d covered every possible angle.
“Yes. After he called me in a complete panic about all the news of her murder. I phoned the cops yesterday and confessed that I’d skipped over that conversation,” she said. “I told them that he could not possibly have killed her and been so calm—I assured them that he was only concerned about his job. And then exactly what I worried about happened—they arrested him for a murder he didn’t commit.” She looked close to tears.
“First of all, they didn’t arrest him—they only talked to him. He’s definitely back home now,” I said. “We heard that from the chief of police this morning. And second, it was absolutely the right thing to call the cops. They can’t find the real murderer if people are holding important information back.”
She nodded. “I’m glad they
know everything I know now. But you have to understand that he’s been a dear friend for a long time. I didn’t feel it was my place to throw him under the bus. After speaking with the police, I called Paul and told him to tell everything he knows, too.” She got to her feet and said her goodbyes. “You should feel free to call us if you have any trouble with Mr. T-Bone, anything at all.”
Miss Gloria hugged her and walked her down the dock to the parking lot to get last-minute advice about the kitten’s diet.
“I can’t believe she didn’t tell us those details right away,” I said to the others when Miss Gloria was back. “That could make a huge difference about who the cops arrest. And maybe Paul saw something that will help the police solve the case. Sheesh.”
At that moment, a text came in. My mother was on the way home, driving by Houseboat Row, and would happily take Helen with her for a couple of hours if that suited. It did suit. My mind was boggled and I felt drained and stressed. I’d need to rally in order to summon the energy to work my mother’s party.
I walked Helen up the dock, where my mother and Sam were waiting in the catering van. “Thanks so much for the ride,” Helen said. “It’s been a very hectic day.”
“Hectic on our end, too,” Sam said, “and it doesn’t look as though things are slowing down anytime soon.”
We agreed to meet at the Hemingway Home at four, and I returned to our boat to take a little rest. Before I could voice my concern or physically stop her, Miss Gloria unhinged the cat carrier and let the orange kitten out. He stood in the sunlight, blinking, as though he’d landed in Oz or on the moon, maybe. From inside the boat, Ziggy began to bark sharp shrieks of alarm. Evinrude, with his tail hoisted hard like a flag in a stiff wind, marched off our boat, jumped to the dock, and headed up the finger to Connie’s house. This was where he went when he was annoyed with me. Though lately he had gone less often, since Connie’s toddler, who loved grabbing ears and tails, was not all that appealing to him either.
The Key Lime Crime Page 19