Deana smiled fondly. “Can you believe my dad? He still buys them and has a fit if they’re not on display when he comes home from Florida. Mark says this room will belong to my dad until the day he dies.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” April said. Before she caught herself, she had the thought that it would be nice to have a space in her mother’s home that she could call her own.
Deana said, “I’m glad we have a few minutes to catch up. How are you holding up?”
April rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Dads. Can’t live with ’em, can’t kill ’em. You know my father is being questioned by the police?”
Deana shook her head, her brown eyes troubled. She leaned into her friend. “When did that happen?”
“Late this afternoon,” April said, pointing to the high school yearbook picture. “Since Frankie Imperiale worked on the Castle job site, they wanted to talk to Dad.”
“That’s him?” Deana said, taking the book from her hands and studying the picture. April wondered if Deana could see the underlying structure of the skull that she’d seen yesterday come tumbling out of the rubble. She shook her head to rid herself of the image of Frankie’s head without the flesh and muscle that made the man who he was.
“Is Ed okay?” Deana asked, looking at her friend.
April shrugged her shoulders. Tears popped into her eyes. Her best friend had to be exhausted after a long day of caring for others, but she was serene and sincerely concerned about April. April fought back the tears. “I need to figure out what happened that night at the Castle. Everything seems to track back to that night.”
“The night of Rocky’s graduation party?”
April nodded. “Exactly. And the night Jesse was born.”
Deana was thoughtful. “What does Jesse have to do with it?”
“I’m not sure except that Frankie is his father.”
Deana’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? That seems like a very unlikely match up. How did they even meet?”
Deana’s attention drifted as they heard footsteps outside, and she moved to the door, listening. Someone was heading for this room. April drew her friend back a step, just as the door was flung open.
“There you are,” Tammy said, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. April shrank into the room, but Tammy made a beeline to Deana, gripping her upper arms.
“I want you to help me. You can help me. Please,” she said, her voice clogged with tears.
Deana gently extricated herself from Tammy’s grasp. Deana had plenty of experience with grieving people. April was impressed anew at her quiet strength.
“What can I do for you, Tammy?” Deana’s professional voice was soothing.
Tammy drew in a breath. Deana guided her to the couch that they’d sat on last night watching the late news, and squatted on the floor next to her. She put her hands on the woman’s knees, as much to ground her as anything else.
“You’ve got to find out what killed George,” Tammy said. “Please, Deana, I know you can find out how he died.”
“Tammy, honey,” Deana said, “he was an old man. You’ve got to let him go. He had a full life.”
Tammy’s shoulders heaved as she let the tears flow. She looked up to the door. April got the hint and closed it. Whatever Tammy wanted to say was private.
“Deana, you saw him. Did he look like he’d been killed? You can’t believe what people are saying. I heard someone say he’d been smothered with his pillow or given an overdose of insulin. Can you find out?”
Deana shook her head. “That would be impossible to determine without an autopsy. His family didn’t want one. George was very specific in his instructions that his body remain intact. End of story.”
Tammy had buried her face in her hands, and her next words were barely audible. “The nursing home is a good place. We do the best we can.”
“It’s true,” Deana said. “I testified to that with the last investigation. Forever Friends takes good care of their clients.”
Tammy wailed, “If the nursing home gets a bad rap, it could close and I’ll be out of a job. All a place like that has is its reputation. After what happened last winter, we’re just starting to fill up again. If people think we’re killing our patients . . .”
Deana said softly, “No one thinks you’re killing people, Tammy. Slow down.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Tammy cried.
Why was Tammy so upset? Did she know more about George’s death than she was saying?
“Can’t you do something?” Tammy said.
“Definitely not,” Deana replied. “I have a position of trust in this community. I can’t afford the hint of impropriety. I cannot get involved. This is my livelihood you’re talking about. Mark’s work. My family’s business.” Deana’s eyes were stormy. April hadn’t seen Deana’s wrath in a long time.
A beeper went off on Deana’s watch. “It’s time for the family’s final moments with George. I’ve got to go.”
Tammy was crying gently now. “Can I stay up here for a moment? I don’t want Lyle to see me like this. He’s not happy that I’m so upset about George. Says I’m a worry-wart.”
April said, “I’ll stay with her, Deana. Go do what you have to do.”
Deana shot April a worried look.
“It’ll be fine,” April said, her hand on Tammy’s shoulder. She kneaded her muscles. Deana left the room.
“This could come back on your dad, you know. George was at the Castle the day before he died, April,” Tammy said. “He might have hurt himself over there. Sometimes injuries don’t show up until later. They do their damage internally, and then the person dies in his sleep. The Castle is just as much at fault as the nursing home is. More.”
April wondered about the two deaths since she’d returned to Aldenville. Both were connected to the Castle in some way. Both were connected to her father. What if George’s death hadn’t been natural?
She didn’t want to entertain the possibility. “Yost was investigating that possibility. But he didn’t find anything.”
“That’s only because Frankie’s skull distracted him. That Castle was a mess. There were hazards everywhere. Lyle said he twisted his ankle in a hole. An old man like George, he could have easily gotten hurt.”
Why was George there on Tuesday? The old men liked to watch the work crews, but no one was working that day. Only Lyle, double-checking his dynamite charges. April had a thought. “How did you get here, Tammy?”
“Lyle,” she said.
But Lyle’d said she was home with a migraine. April’s thought was cut short by Tammy.
“Come to the nursing home tomorrow,” Tammy said, clutching her arm. “I’ll show you around. You can see for yourself what a reputable place it is. I’m on in the afternoon. Wait until we get through lunches, say, after two.”
Mo was at the nursing home. This would be a good opportunity to talk to him.
“I’ll come over, Tammy,” April said.
“Thanks, April. You’ll see,” Tammy said, tears leaving red streaks on her splotchy face. April felt a twinge of guilt using Tammy’s vulnerability to get into the nursing home. But to keep her father from going to jail she needed to know what George knew about the graduation night party, and Mo was the only one who knew that now.
CHAPTER 14
The next morning, Friday, April woke up later than she’d intended. She felt dry-mouthed and achy, as though she’d spent the night drinking cosmopolitans instead of going to a wake. She was emotionally hung over. The stress of the week had left her feeling wrung out.
She lay in bed trying to figure out what she’d learned last night. She’d seen Frankie’s picture but didn’t remember him. Tammy was afraid that she was being blamed for killing people at the nursing home. Curly, Mo and George had had one last lunch at the diner before George went back to the home and died. Frankie had not been a nice guy, at least according to Suzi and the other stampers.
In the shower, April remembered with a star
t that she had to get to Mirabella and meet Rocky before she could do anything else. She’d nearly forgotten. She needed to salvage this job for Retro Reproductions.
Before leaving she listened to a short message from Vince that had come while she was in the shower. He told her that Ed was still being held. He’d spent the night in the holding cell of the jail on Main Street. Vince was going to work. He’d be on the Heights job today if she needed to reach him.
She looked up the number for the local police and called. A secretary answered, informing April that Ed could not receive calls, but he would be able to use the phone later in the day. April left a message with her, telling her dad she loved him and to call her.
April flipped on the radio, ate cereal with one hand and drew with the other. She listened for mention of the Castle story or something about the skull or the bullet, but none came.
She crumpled the napkin she’d doodled on and put her cereal dish in the sink. She’d been drawing dark images. At the stamping party, Piper had created a page about her son going to jail. She understood that impulse now. April found herself drawing bars and gloomy corners. Ed in jail. Whatever she didn’t want to think about came through in her sketch pages. She reminded herself he wasn’t in jail. He was in the local pokey. There was a huge difference. That was a good thing. But she couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that Yost wasn’t finished with him yet.
The ring of the phone brought her back to reality. It was Rocky. “I just saw Aunt Barbara leave. Ready to go?”
April glanced up. The clock on the microwave read 9:04. “I’m on my way,” she said.
Once outside, she slid the big barn door smoothly on the track, locking it with the key Ed had left. But she didn’t make it to her car. An unfamiliar blue pickup rattled up the drive, blocking her in. She scowled. She was going to be late. Would Rocky wait for her?
She shielded her eyes and recognized Lyle after he rolled down his window and leaned out. This wasn’t the muscle car that he’d been driving when he dropped off Tammy the other night. This was a brand-new four-passenger truck, with fancy wheel covers and shiny tailpipes. The huge tires meant it stood four feet off the ground.
He was holding a folder. “Time cards. It’s Friday. Your dad’s day to do the payroll.”
April’s heart sank. “Did you talk to him? This morning?” April asked.
Lyle said, “No. Vince left me a message last night with the crew’s work assignments.” He looked at her hopefully as if she would enlighten him. “He said we were off the mansion job for now?”
Obviously Vince hadn’t thought he needed to know about Mrs. H. kicking them out. “For now,” she said, hoping her oblique tone would keep him satisfied. He waited for more, but when she wasn’t forthcoming, he tapped the folder.
Lyle said, “I guess he forgot about payroll. Understandable, with everything else going on. But the men have to be paid on time.”
She said, “Do you know how to do the payroll?”
Lyle dashed her hopes. “I don’t. I stick strictly to the construction side of the business.”
April felt her head start to pound. How had she gotten so involved? She’d come back to Pennsylvania to work on one of her dad’s jobs. No pressure. No being her own boss. She’d just wanted to be an employee, but here she was the boss of a six-man crew who needed to get paid. She rubbed her temples.
April said, “Leave the time cards with me.”
“Want me to put them inside?” Lyle asked.
She shook her head. “That’s okay. I just locked up.”
He handed the folder to her and started to put his truck in gear but then stopped. “I already told Vince, but I’ll tell you, too. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Retro Reproductions going.”
April was touched. “Thanks, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Lyle backed out of the driveway. She tossed the folder on her passenger seat. The payroll would have to wait until she got back. Maybe Ed would be home by then.
The first order of business was getting Retro Reproductions back into Mirabella. If she didn’t keep the men working, there would be no more paydays after this one. She jumped into her car and drove to the Tudor.
Rocky was waiting on the back steps. Today she was dressed in a loose sundress, the floral print bringing out her green eyes. She was hearing red huaraches that looked like they came from Mexico. The bracelet she never seemed to be without dangled from her perfect wrist, and an old Schwinn bike with a wicker basket leaned against the porch railing.
April felt her stomach tighten at the thought of what waited for her inside. Vince and her dad were counting on her. “Did you look at the mural?” she asked.
Rocky shook her head. “No, I just got here, too. Come on.”
April hesitated as Rocky stood to go in. She was officially off the job and had no business going into Mrs. H.’s house. If she wasn’t breaking any laws, she was at least breaking rules of etiquette. Rocky disappeared and April shook herself. The mural wasn’t going to fix itself.
The house was quiet except for the ticking of a clock somewhere and the whirr of the fan of the air conditioner. Drapes were drawn against the heat of a summer day. With no construction workers on site, the house seemed unnaturally still.
“How are you this morning?” Mitch asked. He came from the hall and scrutinized her expression. April saw Rocky stop and look back at the two of them, a bemused expression on her face.
“Fine,” she said abruptly, quickly passing him and catching up with Rocky in the dining room. She didn’t want Rocky thinking she had any feelings for Mitch. He looked a little confused by her abruptness, but she couldn’t worry about him now.
Rocky had installed herself in front of the mural, her eyes narrowed. She picked off a piece of peeling paint and sniffed at it. Squatting, she rubbed her hand over the surface of the wall.
April’s throat constricted. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. There was so much riding on Rocky’s opinion. But the frown on her face was not a good sign.
Sitting back on her heels, Rocky pursed her lips and brushed the hair from her eyes. April saw a tiny scar that led from the corner of her eyelid up across her forehead. It bisected her frown lines. No wonder she wore her hair the way she did.
She couldn’t wait any longer. “What do you think, Rocky?”
“Like I said yesterday, you’re screwed. This was painted with oils, so when you used alcohol on it, the paint actually dissolved. There’s nothing under there. See?” She rubbed at the spot and showed April her fingertip, covered with gold color. “You’re down to blank wall.”
April groaned. “So not what I wanted to hear,” she said.
Rocky shrugged, her shoulders eloquent. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
April said hopefully, “Maybe you can convince your aunt Barbara that the mural is too ugly to restore.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Rocky said. “We’ve grown up hearing how it was a genuine Refregier.”
Mrs. H. had said something like that on Wednesday. “Is that someone well-known?” April asked. Her voice was thick with panic.
Rocky nodded. Mitch looked grim.
“A famous muralist painted this?” That was all she needed. She’d destroyed the work of a world-renowned painter. Her heart sunk even lower.
Mitch said, “Supposedly the guy became famous later doing WPA work. You know, like the mural at Coit Tower.”
So Mitch had been to San Francisco. Interesting.
April stared at the wall. The picture was so ugly and over the top. The characters were oversized, almost cartoonlike. But the colors did have that 1930s sensibility. Damn.
Mitch’s phone rang and he walked away from them to answer it.
Rocky straightened. “I’m sorry, April. I’m fresh out of ideas.”
“Well, thanks anyhow.”
The mural was hopeless. Her mind shut down, unable to think of alternate solutions. She’d have to let her father know she’d
failed. April followed Rocky through the kitchen.
Rocky said conversationally, “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting Tammy for breakfast.”
“Is she okay?” April asked. “She was so upset last night.”
“She’s just had a stressful week.”
“Yes, with George dying and all. And then Frankie Imperiale, too,” April said, watching Rocky’s expression. Rocky’s face didn’t change.
Rocky shook her head, her beautiful hair moving as one sheet. “Why would Frankie’s death affect her? She didn’t know him. Tammy’s only ever had one boyfriend. She’s gone out with Lyle since she was sixteen.”
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