by Irene Brand
Why had Trudy Blanchard come to the library on the night she’d been killed?
Who had murdered her and why?
Had the hitman been after Drew or was she the intended victim?
If someone was determined to kill her, would that person follow her to the city?
Was some member of her immediate family responsible for these crimes?
With her mind in such turmoil, Rissa finally gave up on sleep and sat in a chair until daylight.
FIFTEEN
The funeral was scheduled for eleven o’clock. Again the Blanchard family appeared to be unified as they traveled by limousine to the church. Ronald had given the servants time off to attend the funeral, leaving only Howard and Peg at home.
Rissa hadn’t expected many people to attend, and she was astounded at the masses standing outside the church waiting to be admitted. Since most of them had never even known Trudy, they couldn’t have been there to mourn her. And because Ronald was such a pain in the neck to most people, very few would have come to empathize with him. Undoubtedly the crowd had gathered out of curiosity.
But she wondered how much their curiosity would be satisfied. Because very few could watch the family during the memorial service, no one would know how grief-stricken they were. Except for the impressive spray of flowers on the casket, no flowers were on display, so they wouldn’t find out how many floral offerings had been received.
Although the church would accommodate a congregation of two hundred, Rissa estimated from the size of the throng that not everyone could be seated. Drew stood beside the curb when the limousine arrived, and he and Rissa exchanged significant glances. She was comforted to know that he was near her.
The church remained locked until the Blanchard family arrived and took their places in an alcove that separated them from the other mourners. Soft music welled from the pipe organ as the family was seated, and Rissa listened to the subdued murmuring as the congregation gathered inside the sanctuary. Aunt Winnie must have had a hand in choosing the musical pieces because selections from Bach, Mozart and Haydn as well as familiar hymns were played.
As she waited for the memorial service to begin, Rissa enjoyed being once again in the church where her spiritual values were nurtured. Unity Christian Church had been a landmark in Stoneley for many years. The building’s tall spire, capped by a cupola and a weather cock, contained a bell cast by Paul Revere and Son in 1803, which still summoned the congregation to worship each Lord’s Day. An extensive renovation fifty years ago had altered the exterior of the church from its former clapboard appearance to a brick-faced edifice. But the original sanctuary had been preserved in its simple but attractive dignity.
The building was five windows wide with the upper windows tucked tightly under the narrow eaves. The tall, prominently placed wooden pulpit and sounding board were located in the center of the long wall opposite the entrance. Each pew faced the pulpit, as did the galleries that projected from the other three walls. Massive roof timbers and a plastered ceiling hovered over the sanctuary.
Enclosed stairways provided access to the galleries. The Blanchard family sat in a curtained area under the gallery to the left of the pulpit where they were secluded from the curious eyes of most of the congregation.
Before the service began, Tate Connolly, Aunt Winnie’s youthful sweetheart, who had just recently reentered her life, incited Ronald’s anger by entering the family section to take an empty chair beside Winnie. Rissa smiled and nudged Portia with her elbow. She thought it was cute that Aunt Winnie had a beau.
But according to Portia, who had gotten the information from Mick, even Tate Connolly was a suspect in the criminal activities that surrounded the Blanchard family. There had been bad blood between the Blanchard and Connolly clans for generations. According to rumor, Howard Blanchard and Lester Connolly, Tate’s father, had both loved the same woman. She had chosen Lester, and in revenge Howard had destroyed the Connolly family financially by sabotaging their textile business and seizing the company for himself. Was there no limit to what the men in her family had done? Rissa thought. She shook her head and switched her thoughts back to the memorial service, wondering if her father would create a scene here.
When the family had discussed the funeral, Ronald had mentioned his plan to deliver a eulogy to his wife, but hadn’t persisted when his daughters had vetoed his suggestion. But Rissa wouldn’t have been surprised if after he had gotten all of them inside the church, he would take charge as he always did. Or would he dare to alienate Alannah Stafford, who without doubt would be in the crowd? At least they had been spared the humiliation of having the woman seated with the family.
Rissa breathed easier when the minister, Gregory Brown, approached the pulpit, for she didn’t believe her father would interrupt him to speak. She didn’t know Reverend Brown well, having seen him only a few times, because he had come to Unity Christian Church after she’d gone away to school.
But she was impressed with his kind voice and expression and his handsome features as much as his brief message. He chose to read from the fourteenth chapter of John.
Let not your heart be troubled: you believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there you may be also.
As the minister’s soft voice commented on the words he had read, Rissa’s heart was calmed. Reverend Brown didn’t use the words of Jesus to suggest that the departed would live in earthly mansions in Heaven. That suited Rissa. Living in the Blanchard mansion hadn’t brought contentment to any of them. The consensus of the minister’s message in simplistic terms seemed to be that Jesus was telling His followers that the splendor of life with God throughout eternity would be superior to any scenario that the earth-ridden mind could conceive.
Rissa prayed that the peace she had experienced through the short service had also found its way into the hearts of her family members. Even as much as she resented her father, she wanted him to find rest for his troubled heart and mind.
Representing the Blanchard family, Ronald and Aunt Winnie stood at the exit to shake hands with those who had attended and to accept their condolences. Juliet silently observed Ronald’s solemn countenance, and Rissa should have been warned by her sister’s expression to expect the worst.
Only the Blanchard limousine and representatives from the funeral home wound their way to the private cemetery adjacent to the town graveyard. At one time the Blanchard graves had been a part of the community cemetery, but when an ancestor had decided that the Blanchards deserved a private burial place, a fence had been erected around the family plot.
The granite mausoleum was impressive—larger and more ornate than any other crypt in the community—and Rissa knew that her father had planned it that way. But she was past caring about the things her father did. She wanted to put this funeral behind her and move on with her life. She looked toward the future with Drew.
Because the kitchen staff had gone to the funeral, dinner was scheduled to be served later than usual. Rissa had been watching Juliet during the ride home, contemplating the determined expression on her sister’s face. Juliet was the first to enter the house, and when the rest were grouped in the hallway removing their coats, Juliet stepped up on the bottom stair step.
“I’ve got something to say, and I want all of you to step inside the living room.”
Ronald lifted his eyebrows. “And when did you start giving the orders around here?”
“Right now!”
Ronald’s mouth took on an unpleasant twist, but he bowed ironically and waved his family into the room before him.
Juliet was the last to enter the room and she stood in front of the fireplace. She motioned for everyone to be seated.
“You’d better be sitting down when you hear what I have to say.”
Sharing a glance with Portia, Rissa could tell that her twin was as surpris
ed as she was. Rissa stroked her right cheek with the thumb and pinkie finger of her left hand, signaling that she had no idea what Juliet was up to. Portia nodded in agreement.
The six women sat on the twin settees. Ronald stood ramrod straight beside the door.
Looping her thumbs into the belt of her long silk skirt, Juliet looked pointedly at her father. Pulling a deep breath, she said, “Do you know Arthur Sinclair?”
Ronald’s face turned a pasty white, and he didn’t answer.
“I’ve been sitting on this particular bit of news for several weeks,” Juliet said, her green eyes snapping in anger. “I wasn’t sure that I would ever tell anyone what I’ve learned.” Staring directly at Ronald, she said, “But after your pious show of devotion and love today, I can’t remain quiet any longer.”
The fringe of Juliet’s lashes cast shadows on her cheeks as she purposely scanned the faces of her sisters and aunt. “Ronald Blanchard is not my father. Arthur Sinclair is.”
A quick intake of breath escaped Ronald’s lips, and he stared at Juliet, quick anger rising in his eyes.
“While you were vacationing all over Europe with Alannah Stafford,” she said to Ronald, “I’ve been running down information to learn about my true paternity. I had to go as far as California before I learned the truth.” She turned to face her sisters. “Ronald Blanchard, the man I’ve always thought was my father and could never understand why he hated me, is not my father. Our mother had an affair with Arthur Sinclair, who is now a tenured professor at the University of California. I’m the result of that affair.”
“Oh, no,” Miranda cried out and laid her head on the arm of the settee.
“It’s true. When I tracked him down, he admitted to the affair. I was prepared to hate the man, but when I learned that he had just recently learned that he was my father, I forgave him.”
“But how would he have learned that?” Winnie said.
“Because our mother contacted him after she escaped from the mental institution and asked him for money to start a new life. My father said that Mother wouldn’t give him any details except that she feared for her daughters, especially me, if my true paternity was made known. He gave her some money, but he had no idea where she went after that.”
“Could the fact that you knew that information have caused the attempt on your life last month?” Bianca asked.
“I’m sure it did,” Juliet said, and her eyes sparkled angrily. She turned to face Ronald.
“You might be able to pull the wool over the eyes of others, but you aren’t fooling me at all. If you didn’t kill our mother here in the library, at least I feel sure that you’re indirectly responsible for her death.”
“That’s a lie,” Ronald shouted in his own defense. “I resented her affair as any man would, and I had never forgiven her. But when I saw her lying dead on the library floor, I realized that I’d never stopped loving her. That’s the reason her affair had hurt me so much.” His voice cracked. “And contrary to what you think, Juliet, I never hated you. I cherish you as if you were my own.”
“If that’s your way of cherishing someone, then I want no part of it,” Juliet said bitterly. “And I don’t believe that you loved my mother, either.”
“Well, you’re wrong. Ever since Trudy was killed, I’ve been reliving the years of happiness we had.” Almost pleading, Ronald looked from one woman to the other. “Don’t you see? I loved her, and I’m heartbroken because we missed so many years together. Can’t you understand that?”
His earnest gaze moved from his sister to each of his daughters. When he apparently found no sign in their eyes that they believed him, with drooping shoulders he left the room. His retreat down the hallway sounded like the steps of an aged, weary man.
Although Rissa didn’t believe that her father still loved Trudy, she did feel sorry for him. A proud man like Ronald would be devastated to have his wife betray him. And it was obvious now why he had always shunned Juliet. When Juliet had grown up to look so much like his wife, every time he’d looked at her he must have been reminded of his wife’s unfaithfulness.
Darkness settled once again around Blanchard Manor. In a vacant turret in the rear of the house, a black-robed figure sorted through a box that held various kinds of drugs. How easy it had been to sneak in the poison under the eyes of those who thought they were such good detectives. Holding up a bottle to read the label in a dim light, the individual giggled with delight. Potassium! Just what was needed to right an almost-forgotten wrong!
Slowly the masked person eased down the narrow steps from the turret, unlocked a door with a skeleton key from a ring that held keys affording access to any room in Blanchard Manor. Soundlessly, the apartment door opened.
All was quiet in the room as a sterile hand dropped a potassium tablet and some sugar into Howard’s teacup.
Rissa awakened the next morning surprised to hear the sound of hurricane-force winds beating against her window. The weather the day before had been hot for April in Maine, and Sonya, who was gloomy most of the time, anyway, had muttered, “It’s a bad sign. Nothing but an omen of bad weather when we have a hot day like that in April.”
The room was semidark and Rissa snuggled under the blanket reflecting on Drew and their future. She should have been making preparations to go home, but as much as she missed the city, she knew she would miss Drew more. Thoughts of him had infiltrated her dreams and her waking hours for several weeks before she’d come to Maine. What would it be like now to know that he loved her and to be separated by a few hundred miles? She was convinced that the city wouldn’t be as important to her now as it had been a month ago. So that was what love did to you, she thought with a hint of wonder.
Another blast of wind rattled the windows and Portia sat up in bed, stretched and yawned. “What’s going on?”
“We’re having a storm.”
Portia peered at the clock on her nightstand and slid back under the covers. “We don’t have to get up for a half hour. Gee, it’s cold in here.”
“I’ll get up and turn on the heat. After yesterday, I’d hoped that spring was here, but it doesn’t sound like it.”
After she adjusted the thermostat on the gas logs, Rissa wiped steam off the window.
“Portia, it’s snowing.”
“No wonder I’m cold,” her sister muttered, covering her head.
The wet snow had plastered the outside of the window, and an inch or more of the white stuff was already on the ground. “It must be a full-fledged blizzard,” Rissa said. “I can’t even see the trees at the edge of the lawn.”
“And I was planning to spend the day with Mick and Kaitlyn,” Portia groaned.
Still watching the storm, Rissa marveled at Portia’s love for Mick’s young daughter. When they’d been children, Portia and Rissa had always been delighted when they’d found out that they possessed a habit or preference that the other twin didn’t. Portia’s utter devotion to children and Rissa’s lack of maternal tendencies was one of the most obvious differences that had surfaced lately.
By the time the family gathered for breakfast, the whole estate was blanketed in several inches of snow.
“I won’t be going to work today,” Ronald said, and Rissa knew he would be like a caged lion. “The storm is expected to blow itself out by mid afternoon but not before it dumps six more inches on us.”
“I’m worried about the power going off,” Winnie said. “It’s a wet, heavy snow, just the kind that hangs on the evergreens and then drops on the electric lines.”
“Always borrowing trouble, aren’t you?” Ronald said, but his tone wasn’t as sarcastic as usual. “But you may be right, so all of us had better prepare for a possible outage.”
Winnie put the household staff and her nieces to work. Water would be available and food could be prepared, for Andre preferred a gas stove rather than electric. Most of the fireplace grates had been replaced by gas logs, but in a power outage, the thermostats wouldn’t work and it was hard to heat
a house as large as theirs. Winnie suggested that everyone should have extra blankets in their room.
By mid afternoon the snow lessened, and a few shafts of sunlight turned the countryside into a winter wonderland. Apparently the cop on guard at the gate had been recalled before the blizzard had struck for there wasn’t a cruiser in sight. Blanchard Manor was one of the first places to be plowed out after a blizzard and the snowplow came before the snow had stopped entirely.
“Let’s go play in the snow,” Rissa said with youthful excitement. After the hardship they’d all endured recently, romping outdoors seemed like the perfect escape. Juliet and Portia readily agreed, and the sisters hurried to find their outdoor clothing.
Drew followed the snowplow to the manor, and he laughed when he saw the twins and Juliet dressed in heavy clothes making a snowman on the lawn. They cheered when they saw him, and he was dazzled by the change in their expressions. He was thankful that the blizzard had provided them with a reason to have some fun. He pulled on his heavy mackinaw and plunged through the snow to join them. It was worth being suspended from his job to have time to play for a change.
Rissa waved to him. When she turned her back to work on the snowman, he scooped up a handful of wet snow and molded it into a tight ball. When he got closer to her, he said, “Hey, Rissa.”
She turned and he threw the snowball at her, but she was quicker than he anticipated. She reached out her hand, caught the ball and tossed it back at him. It exploded in his face. All three of the sisters tackled him and rolled him over and over in the snow.
Laughing, he pushed them away and jumped to safety.
“Just for that, I won’t help you build a snowman.”
Ignoring her sisters’ surprise, Rissa put her arms around Drew’s waist. “We’re sorry. But you should know when you attack one Blanchard, you have to deal with all of us.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said teasingly. Holding her tightly, he reached down, scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it in her face.