"Has something happened? I tried to call Jay. They said he was busy, so I called you, and you were out."
I broke in on her reproaches and gave a terse account of Janey's arrest.
Ginger heard me in silence. When I finished, she gabbled something at Dennis then said into the receiver, "We're coming right over."
"But Ma's here..." There was no point in objecting. Ginger had hung up.
Mother was poking in my refrigerator. When I told her Ginger and Dennis were on their way, she just looked resigned. "Better send out for a pizza. I'm starving."
So we shared a vast mushroom and olive pizza and bottles of Henry Weinhardt's Private Reserve with Ginger and Dennis while we hashed everything over. Both of them were as stunned by the idea of Janey's guilt as I had been. My mother who pointed out that Janey had been charged only with the deaths of Miguel and Denise.
"You mean Jay still doesn't know who killed Dai...my father?" Dennis's big face flushed.
"Lordy," I muttered into my beer. "Maybe it was Lydia."
"Or Ted Peltz," Ma said darkly. She was unreconciled to the fact that Peltz was going to get away with wife-battering.
We finished the pizza, speculating wildly, and adjourned to the living room. It was half-past ten by that time, and Mother remembered she hadn't called Dad. After some hesitation--it was one-thirty in New York--she decided to wake him up anyway and went off to the kitchen to call.
Ginger and Dennis and I talked for a while about weddings. I was relieved to hear that they still meant to go through with their sylvan ceremony and told them about my own plans. That necessitated a round of rearrangements, so the dates wouldn't conflict and somebody could take care of the bookstore. We were trying to figure out how to time all the flying back and forth when Jay came in.
He took one look at Dennis and Ginger, groaned, and went to the refrigerator for a beer. Ma trapped him and made him say something to my father, so he looked harried as well as exhausted when he and Mother returned to the living room.
He creaked down on my second-best chair, an overstuffed 1950's armchair covered in brown plush, and took a long swallow straight from the bottle. We all stared at him.
When he rested the bottle on the chair arm I said, "Give."
He looked wary and said nothing.
"Who killed David Llewellyn?" Ma demanded.
Jay's brows shot up. "I charged Jane Huff with all three murders when we got to the courthouse."
"But you only arrested her for killing Miguel and Denise!"
"That was before you found the poison bottle in her purse," Jay said reasonably. "I was sure she'd done it, but I only had hard evidence for the later killings at that point. The bottle--it still contained a trace of the poison, by the way--gave me enough to book her for Llewellyn's death, too. The bottle's just like the one we found at the lodge, and another Cowan found in the glove compartment of her car. She must've brewed a big batch. She'll go before the judge tomorrow." He took another swig of beer. "And that, friends, is all I'm going to say."
We all protested at once.
"That's not fair!" I got up and stood over him. "Come on, Jay. We won't talk to the press, and we have a right to know."
"Not the ghost of a right," Jay growled. "The alleged killer will be tried in court. I won't say anything that can be twisted or misrepresented or otherwise used to jeopardize a verdict." Very high minded--or, more likely, paranoid.
It took a while, but we wore Jay down. I suppose it wasn't fair, all of us jumping on him like that. When we had sworn not to discuss the killings, and I had pointed out that Dennis, at least, had a right to know what kind of case the D.A. would be able to make, Jay sighed and gave in.
"I talked to Lydia."
"She's okay?"
Jay patted the arm of the chair, and I sat on it. "Not okay, but definitely lucid. She wanted to talk. Bill didn't like that, and neither did the doctor. For that matter, I could have waited until tomorrow, but Lydia insisted on making a statement."
"Did she say why she drank the poison?" I had an inkling.
"She thought you suspected her of lacing your mother's drink, and she started to panic. Janey had already directed suspicion at her with the cat. Lydia had some vague notion that drinking the gin and tonic would prove her innocence, so she took a gamble."
"And lost."
"Maybe not," Jay said slowly. "Maybe not."
"Was she trying to protect Janey?" Mother's dark hair, curly like mine but gray-streaked, had dried in lopsided kinks and whorls. She looked tired but not half as tired as Jay.
Jay said, "At first. Lydia didn't get along with Janey, but Janey was Bill's daughter, and Lydia has this habit of shielding Bill from life's little unpleasantnesses."
"Unpleasantnesses!" Ginger's perm crackled with indignation. Somebody else who was into protecting her man.
Dennis was trying to puzzle it out. "But my mother..."
Jay sighed and rubbed the Velcro corset. "I'm sorry, Dennis. I don't mean to trivialize your mother's death--or the other deaths. I was trying to give you Lydia's viewpoint. Denise apparently saw Janey put something in Llewellyn's drink. That it might have been murder didn't strike her until the next day, when Lydia woke her up to tell her your father was dead. Lydia sedated Denise and persuaded her she must have been mistaken."
I went to the front window. The street below wasn't empty. Small-town Sunday evening. I sat on the wide window ledge. "I suppose Denise was too caught up in the, er, the developments about the will to brood over what she had or hadn't seen."
"We'll never know," Jay murmured, still watching Dennis.
"She was kind of moody the whole time we were in San Francisco." Dennis's voice cracked. "I thought...well, see, I was pretty confused myself. We didn't talk much about...about old Llewellyn's death. There was too much else to discuss. And there was the will and the funeral."
Ma leaned forward in the rocking chair, her eyes on Jay. "But when she heard about Miguel's death, Denise must have reconsidered."
Jay nodded. "She called Lydia as soon as the news broke. We had to clear that point up, because Lydia had claimed she called Denise with the news of Miguel's death. Denise called. Janey answered and brought Lydia to the phone. Janey must have hung around and heard enough to suggest a plan of action." His face was grim. "Denise fought."
Ginger gave a single, satisfied nod. Dennis gulped, but he didn't say anything.
"The cat was an attempt to incriminate Lydia," Jay went on. "Or scare her. It's solid evidence of premeditation. One of the carpenters working on that cabin above Denise's place identified Janey's car. He was up on the roof eating his lunch and enjoying the view. Claims he can see Mt. Shasta from the ridge of the rafters. He saw Janey's car pull up, still with the sailboard on the roof. He was definite about that."
"Did he see Janey herself?" Ma wondered. So did I.
Jay took a swallow of beer. "Yeah. The guy saw Denise answer the door and let Janey in. He also heard Janey pull out and looked over about five minutes later when Lydia drove up thinking she was going to eat lunch with Denise and talk things over. He just caught a glimpse of that, enough to notice that it was a different car. Then he got busy. He didn't see Lydia leave, though he did spot the Toyota, Lark. He remembers thinking it was unusual for Denise to have all those visitors."
We were all silent for a long moment. Poor Denise would have been safer in San Francisco, which has one of the highest rates of violent crime in the nation, than in bucolic retirement.
I was remembering the scene in the gazebo a little too clearly. I got up. "What about Miguel?"
Jay frowned. "I guess he must have seen what Denise saw."
"Blackmail," Ma murmured.
Jay nodded. "Poor kid. I should've taken him in and sweated it out of him. I knew he was holding something back, but I thought it had to do with his relations with Llewellyn." He finished his beer and didn't look at Dennis.
"Janey arranged a rendezvous with Miguel, took Bill's gun from t
he collection, and got in the Mercedes with Miguel." I was pacing and probably making my guests nervous, but I couldn't help it. "He wouldn't have seen her as particularly threatening."
Jay sounded almost apologetic. "A woman alone with a young man, way out in the tules. The flip side of machismo."
"So she shot him." I plunked down on the carpet by Mother. The rocker creaked. "But why the trick with the refrigeration? Why the cat and the larkspur?"
Ma said, "I'll lay any odds you like she's a compulsive reader of murder mysteries. Librarians often are."
I craned round to look at her.
She gave me a faint smile. "My contribution to the evidence. W.H. Auden wrote a good essay on the symbolic meaning of mysteries, but I don't know what he'd make of Janey's. I read them myself, and one thing I've noticed is the texture of their absurdity."
That interested Jay. He straightened in the plush chair, hands on the arms. "Absurdity?"
"The juxtaposition of wildly disparate elements which aren't inherently odd."
"Just odd in context?"
She nodded, approving. "Whether consciously--in an attempt to confuse the investigation and throw blame on Lydia--or unconsciously, Janey was trying to reproduce the absurd texture of the classic mystery."
"Life imitating art?" Jay sounded skeptical, as well he might.
Mother said, "Life often does imitate art, which is why art is such a heavy responsibility."
"I think she was just crazy."
We all looked at Ginger, who blushed but held her ground. I was inclined to agree with her.
Dennis was still brooding. "I suppose she'll plead insanity."
"She may. The judge is almost sure to order a psychiatric evaluation." Jay leaned against the plush backrest. "But all murderers are at least temporarily insane. I think she'll stand trial."
Ma said, "I'm glad there was a resolution before I had to leave. Thank you for trusting our discretion, Jay." She got up. "Dennis, can I trouble you to drive me out to D'Angelo's apartment? I left my car in the lot, and I really ought to be off."
Jay said, "I'll drive you."
I said, "No, you won't. You're going to bed. I'll take you, Ma."
"She can come with us." Ginger settled things. She rose, too, and pulled Dennis to his feet. Then she went over to Jay. "I think you're smarter than hell for figuring all that out. Thanks for telling us what happened." She stuck out her hand.
Jay rose and shook it. "All right, Ginger?"
I wasn't sure what he meant, but she apparently was. She nodded emphatically and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to me. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lark."
"You're coming to work?" Hope sprang like a green shoot.
"Sure. We have to start training Annie."
I hugged her. "You're right. We do." I kissed Dennis and Ma and verified Ma's plans for the morning. Finally they left.
I closed the door and went in search of Jay. He was in the kitchen making a turkey sandwich.
"I forgot to feed you!"
He turned and kissed me ferociously. "What am I, a bird in the nest, that you have to stuff my craw? Don't get stuck in Lydia's mode, darling."
"We had pizza."
"I can taste it." He's not supposed to eat pizza.
I put the kettle on, and we sat down at the table. I watched him eat.
"This should put you in good with the sheriff."
He took a bite. "I quit yesterday."
He was chewing, so I took a moment to translate the message. "What?"
He set the sandwich down. "I resigned Saturday and told the dean at the college I'd take the director's job."
"Oh, wow."
"You don't sound heart-broken."
I swallowed my relief. "I'm glad, because it will give us a lot more time together, but I'm not glad if it was because of Miguel."
Jay touched my cheek. "No, that was a bad judgment call. I'll probably regret it the rest of my life, but I'm used to judgment calls. And to regret, for that matter. I quit because I lost my professional judgment with Peltz." He took another bite, chewed, and swallowed, adding, "And because it's time."
"Time?"
"I've been a cop about as long as it's safe to be a cop. Time for a change. Time to start over."
That sounded good to me. Very good. I let him know.
About the Author
Born in Montana and raised in Oregon, Sheila Simonson taught for thirty years at Clark College in Vancouver, Washington. She is the author of four regency romances published by Uncial Press and of her current mystery series, including WILLA award winner Buffalo Bill's Defunct and An Old Chaos (Perseverance Press). Her Lark Dodge series is being republished by Uncial Press, the first, Larkspur, in September 2011 and the second, Skylark, in early 2012. Sheila is married to Mickey, has a son, Eric, and lives in Vancouver.
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Uncial Press brings you extraordinary fiction, non-fiction and poetry. Put a world of reading in your pocket.
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