Broken Vows Mystery 01-For Better, for Murder

by Lisa Bork

  “I don’t know.” Cory swept his hat off, followed by his cape which he swirled in the air once and draped over his forearm while holding the hat in his left hand. He reminded me of Zorro somehow, clearly not the image he hoped to evoke. I kept the thought to myself out of respect for his art—and his feelings, too.

  We took a moment to pay our respects to Tim, then moved into the other room where Becky sat between her children in the front row of folding chairs. Little Emma’s braids hopped up and down on her back as she swung her legs to and fro. Mark’s knee bobbed up and down like a jackhammer. Only Becky was motionless. An elderly man and woman flanked Emma. I assumed they were Becky’s parents.

  The service was conducted by a minister I had never seen before, who had a voice loud enough to shatter eardrums. He introduced himself and said he was from the city. Clearly, he thought he was preaching in a cavernous church, not this puny parlor. The mourners included two elderly ladies, Sheriff Burnbaum and his overweight wife, Martha, a couple women I thought might be teachers at Tim’s children’s school, Sally Winslow, Chrissy Martin, her sister Celeste, and my insurance agent Bernie. The ten others who sat together might have been Tim’s staff. A handful of males sat alone, and, as a last-minute rustle at the back of the room announced, Ray was in attendance.

  He glanced my way but didn’t acknowledge me as he slipped into the last row. His gaze darted about the room, no doubt assessing the group assembled. My eyes watered. I faced the front of the room, determined not to let on that his indifference bothered me. Still, I wondered if he thought it was a modest turnout, too.

  I couldn’t believe the members of the town board, namely Henry Hart, and the zoning board had not attended at least to honor Tim’s years of service to the town. And what about his fellow parishioners? Tim was a dedicated churchgoer. How come none of them showed up? And where was his precious bowling team that he’d helped win the first place trophy seven years in a row? Or a few token members of his high school class? Surely all of them hadn’t moved out of town for bigger and better things.

  The Reverend kept the service mercifully short and to the point. No one offered a eulogy. No one shed a tear, either, not even Tim’s children.

  At the close of the service, Becky and her family rose and created a receiving line in the lobby. The other rows emptied from the front to the back of the room, leaving Cory and me to bring up the rear of the line. Ray had disappeared before the service ended, most likely to answer a call. I was relieved not to have to face him today, unable to provide the answers he wanted nor summon the bravery to seek the answers I desired.

  Bernie stopped next to my elbow and leaned in over his beer belly to have a word. “Call me later. We need to talk about your claim.”

  This statement did not bode well, but Bernie moved on with the tide of mourners before I could question him.

  I took the opportunity to study the group again. Could one of these people be the killer?

  I ruled out the two old ladies, Becky and her family, Walter and his wife, Cory and Ray, all for obvious reasons, which left me with an insurance agent, three women who couldn’t stand to break a nail, and a bunch of people I didn’t recognize. Maybe now would be a good time to sneak a peek at the guest registry.

  “Cory, I’m going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

  Two of the unidentified guests were just signing the book as I approached, so I decided to slip into the restroom first. Inside, Celeste and her sister Chrissy were talking. Their voices dropped to whispers. They turned their backs to me as I entered.

  The whispers died out. I heard someone leave.

  When I emerged from my stall, Celeste was repairing her war paint in the mirror. “Hi, Jolene. I like your suit.”

  She sold it to me six months ago. “Thanks.”

  “That’s not the blouse I sold you to go with it, is it?” She capped her lipstick and dropped it inside her clutch.

  I busied myself at the sink and pretended not to hear her over the water. “Nice service. I was surprised it wasn’t at Tim’s church, though.”

  “He’d been all but excommunicated anyway.” Celeste used her fingertip to dab at a spot of excess lipstick.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Celeste turned to face me with a half-smile. “Don’t you know?”

  The look on my face must have answered her question because she continued, “During the sermon a couple weeks ago, our pastor said he didn’t think gays should be allowed to marry or have legal rights to benefits and wanted the congregation’s support by mounting a letter-writing campaign to our state senators. Tim stood up and disagreed with him.”

  “Wow.” I was impressed. Tim had seemed pretty meek and mild for such a bold move. He was, however, very fair-minded and honest. “And people are holding it against him?”

  “Let’s just say no one likes the way he treated Becky, and his actions added fuel to the fire. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  Not really. I avoided Celeste’s eyes and looked at her chin, then down to her neck. She had on a gorgeous white gold and pearl necklace. I checked her wrist and ears and found the matching pieces. They looked identical to the set Isabelle wore to lunch on Sunday. Where did an unmarried retail store manager like Celeste get that kind of money? Maybe I needed to seriously consider changing my line of work. Maybe catering to the expensive sports car tastes of, well, let’s face it, mainly men wasn’t going to make me a successful woman after all.

  “That’s a beautiful necklace, Celeste. And the matching pieces, too.”

  She ran her fingertips over the necklace, all the while grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Thank you. They were gifts.”

  I almost had the nerve up to ask from whom when little Emma skipped into the room, passing between us and entering a stall. Celeste picked up her clutch and disappeared out the door.

  I waited for Emma to reappear. As she washed her hands, I said, “I’m sorry about your daddy, honey. He was a very nice man. I’ll miss him.”

  She picked up a paper towel and dried her hands. “He was going to take us to the zoo for the Santa breakfast. Mommy said she’d take us now.”

  Ah, the young never lose their focus. “I hope you have a good time.”

  I held the door open for her and followed her into the lobby where Bill Young was just handing Becky the guest book. Apparently, the receiving line had moved faster than I expected. Only Becky’s family remained in the room.

  Cory appeared at my elbow with my coat. “Brennan Rowe asked if the auction was scheduled yet. I told him you were on it but nothing had happened yet.”

  “He called your cell phone?” The man must be FBI.

  Cory held my coat. “No. He was here. Didn’t you see him?”

  I shrugged my coat on and turned to face Cory. “I’ve never actually met him. We’ve done all our business by phone and mail, and I don’t travel in his social circle.” Not that I have a social circle. “Which one was he?”

  “The good looking one in the blue suit.”

  “I saw five of those. Can you narrow it down?”

  “Not really, Jo. He didn’t have a rose between his teeth or anything.”

  Interesting. Rowe knew Tim well enough to attend the funeral. Or was he just guilty about Tim’s death? Could Rowe have been involved?”

  “How do you know Rowe, Cory?”

  “He works out at the gym sometimes, and he brought his car in for service once or twice.” Cory swept his cape over his shoulders and tied it. “It’s snowing heavily. I’ll bring the car around.” He stopped on his way out to bend chivalrously over Becky’s hand and whisper something that made her smile before donning his top hat and disappearing out the door.

  I approached Becky to say my good-byes just as Bill Young tipped his head over her in that sympathetic way funeral directors do. “Would you like to take the flower arrangements home with you? If not, I’ll take them to a nursing home.”

  Becky furrowed her brow. Her m
other patted her on the arm. “We’ll take a few flowers to press in a Bible for the children.” She followed Bill into the other room with her husband and grandchildren trailing, leaving me alone with Becky.

  “Again, I’m so sorry about Tim. If there’s anything I can do …” I wrapped my scarf around my neck, thinking my words sounded so empty.

  Becky’s eyes filled with tears. “Can you tell me where the money is?”

  “What money?”

  “Henry Hart stopped by yesterday. He said the town board is calling an emergency meeting for tonight. It seems over a hundred thousand dollars is missing from the books, and they think Tim is responsible.” She hiccupped. “Do you think Tim is responsible?”

  Henry Hart was not a man to point fingers without evidence. Funny he hadn’t mentioned the money yesterday when we talked about Tim. Maybe he had caught the scent of impropriety and couldn’t find the source, just like the rest of us. But apparently he did have doubts about Tim’s honesty. I shook my head in bewilderment. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like the Tim I knew.”

  Becky swiped the tears from her cheeks. “It’s not the one I knew, either. But maybe we never really knew him at all.”

  Becky’s parents and children emerged from the other room, carrying a bouquet. Emma asked her grandmother about what would happen to the flowers when they were pressed in the Bible. Her grandmother did her best to tell her all about the ins and outs of dried flower preservation, bless her heart.

  I waved to Becky and took my leave, wondering why her mother thought the child would want flowers to remember this day when her father was ripped from her for the last time. I certainly didn’t appreciate having any trigger to recall the raw emotion of my parents’ funerals. Having to drive by this funeral home and the cemetery on occasion was quite enough.

  The heavy wet flakes of snow had already turned the funeral home’s driveway to slush. When Cory pulled his car into the turnaround, I rushed out the double glass doors and hopped into the front seat, slamming the door to keep the flakes out.

  “I can’t believe all this snow so early in December. Where’d it come from so fast?” I brushed the snowflakes from my hair and fastened my seat belt.

  The car shot forward and slid onto the main road, fishtailing. I grabbed the door handle. “Geez, Cory, where’s the fire?” I turned my head to glare at him.

  Only it wasn’t Cory. It was a thin man with the largest hawk nose I’d ever seen, holding a switchblade in his right hand as he steered the car with his left.

  I didn’t know for sure, but I was willing to bet his friends, if he had any, called him “the Beak.”

  “Who are you? Where’s Cory?”

  In reply, the Beak ran a red light, causing a Mac Tool truck to slam on its brakes as it entered the intersection. The truck lurched side to side but came to a halt without impacting my passenger door. As I checked my seat belt, I congratulated myself on the forethought to use the restroom before leaving the funeral home.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  Given the slippery road conditions, the Beak now had his gloved hands in the ten and two o’clock positions with the knife pinched between his knuckles. “Shut up.”

  I picked up my purse and smacked him in the head with it. “Answer me!”

  He took his foot off the gas and snatched my purse from my hand, scraping my coat sleeve with the knife blade in the process. My purse flew past my head and landed in the backseat. “Bitch.”

  I realized the error of my ways. My cell phone was in my purse. I should have dialed 911 instead of hitting him.

  He spun the wheel. We made a hard right, grazing the snow bank on the street corner and rebounding into the oncoming lane where we came face-to-face with a Saab. Seconds before impact, the Beak veered right, but not before I saw the woman driver’s mouth open to scream. I thought I saw a car seat in the back of her vehicle as we passed.

  “Slow down! You’re going to kill somebody.”

  He slowed down but only so he could bring the knife point to my neck. “Shut up.” He made a left, withdrawing the switchblade so he could grip the wheel with both hands again.

  I looked out the window and tried to figure out where he was headed. From the direction he’d chosen, he seemed to be racing out of town. A few miles from the lake, the area turned to snow-covered fields and very few houses. I didn’t want to go there with him.

  Ray had enrolled me in a self-defense course for my birthday one year when I’d asked for a new vacuum cleaner. He told me it never hurt to be prepared. The class instructor said never let an assailant take you somewhere else because somewhere else would always be worse than fighting where you are now. Fewer witnesses. Less chance of help. And he did recommend putting up a fight. When I told Ray what the instructor had said, Ray agreed, reiterating that the bad guys never want a fight. They hoped for complete submission. Well, this bozo was trying to peck the wrong chick.

  When the Beak braked ever so slightly for a right turn, I braced myself. My left hand pushed the release button on my seat belt as my right hand opened the car door. I tucked my legs, scrunched my neck, led with my shoulder and rolled out, hitting the slush. I felt the pavement against my butt and thighs. My left elbow snagged on the seat belt and caught in the partially closed door. The car dragged me down the road for the length of a football field. My butt and thighs started to burn. My arm felt like it would pull right out of its socket. I started screaming. Horns blared. I heard other people screaming. I bounced over the pavement, slush flowing up and over my face like the wake from a motorboat, choking and blinding me. Another football field went by and I feared I would die. My head slammed against a boulder of ice. I felt myself losing consciousness. Brakes screeched. I lurched forward. My head met an immovable object. I saw stars. I felt a hand on mine. The Beak unhooked my hand from the clutches of the seat belt and pushed it out of the car. I heard the roar of an engine, more brakes screeching, then nothing more.

  ___

  I came to briefly in the emergency room, my body one throbbing nerve of pain. A man held a flashlight to my eyes and asked me questions, too many questions. I closed my eyes and shut him out.

  For a while I heard voices, felt hands on my body, and couldn’t hold onto a thought for more than a second. I heard Cory, Isabelle, and Ray, my mom and dad, too. Even Erica. And the pain. A couple times I thought I saw the light. I ran toward it. Anything to ease the pain.

  Next time I woke, I was looking at the floor through a hole in a gurney. I heard a plink every few seconds as the intern picked the pebbles from my thigh with tweezers and tossed them in a stainless steel bowl. I know this because she told me before I passed out for a second time.

  When I opened my eyes again, I could see the moon outside the window. Ray sat in a chair next to my bed, watching me without expression. He wore his uniform. He always looked nice in his uniform. I love a man in uniform. I love you, Ray. Oops, did I say that out loud? My eyes closed again.

  I tried to sleep but it seemed like every five minutes a nurse woke me up to ask my name. At one point, I offered to write it down for her since obviously her memory wasn’t worth beans. She had a thing about thermometers too.

  I felt the sun on my face. My right arm felt like it was being squeezed, tight. Too tight. My eyes flew open. A red-headed nurse, more sunburst orange actually, smiled at me. “Good morning.” She put the stethoscope to the hollow of my arm and released some of the pressure from the cuff. “Your blood pressure is good. Can you open your mouth for me?”

  I opened my jaw, and she slid a thermometer inside. “Hold it under your tongue. Lips closed.” I nodded obediently. All the fight was gone out of me anyway, and from the agony just breathing caused, I doubted it was ever coming back.

  I noticed my left wrist was wrapped in one of those stretchy brown bandages. My whole left arm was in a light blue sling pulled tight to my chest, which felt bandaged as well.

  “Okay.” She slipped the thermometer out of my mouth. �
��What’s your name?”

  Again? “Jolene Asdale.” My throat was dry. I croaked the words.

  “Good. Would you like some water?”

  “Yes.” I sucked greedily from the straw while she held it with cheerfulness frozen on her face. When I had my fill, she set it on the rolling tray table beside the bed.

  “I’ll call the doctor and your husband.” She turned to leave.

  “Wait. What happened to me?” I didn’t miss her reference to Ray as my husband. All my senses had returned full force. I smelled disinfectant, which made me nauseous. I heard carts rolling in the hallway and knocks on other patients’ doors, along with the loudspeaker requesting Dr. Warner to report to Emergency. I saw the sun and wondered what day it was. And felt my headache.

  I reached up and my fingers touched the bandage on the side of my head. “What’s this?”

  She kept moving toward the door. “I’ll let them fill you in. They’ll be right here.”

  I watched the hand on the clock move. One tick. Two ticks. Ten ticks. I felt around the sheet for the call button. I couldn’t find it. I hurt myself trying. My left leg burned. I realized it was bandaged, too. Tears threatened.

  Sixteen ticks later, Ray walked in. He had on street clothes. Before I could speak, the doctor appeared in the doorway behind him. “There she is.” The doctor strode into the room and unwrapped his stethoscope from his neck to listen to my chest. He had huge sweat marks under the armpits of his blue scrubs. I wondered why he didn’t have a white jacket on to cover them up. “Feeling better?”

  Better was such a relative term. “Safer.”

  He nodded. “You are safely out of danger, but you had quite a time for yourself. You arrived here yesterday with a severe road rash on your left buttocks and thigh, a broken rib, a dislocated shoulder, a sprained wrist, a three-inch gash in the side of your head, some facial lacerations, and a mild concussion. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last twenty-four hours.”

  I reached for my water and he put the Styrofoam cup in my hand. “So today is Wednesday?”