“Of course you did,” Jennifer agreed. “Listen up gals. I want you both at my house tonight, at seven o’clock. Can you make it?”
“Yeah, but why? You’re not doing that rounding up of the usual suspects thing, are you?”
“Not unless you’ve suddenly become a suspect,” Jennifer assured her. “Just be here. Call the others for me please, and don’t be late. I’ve got to get some rest tonight, one way or the other.”
She dropped the phone back into its cradle. She really needed to get up. She had more people to talk to, and the one who came most readily to mind was Luther Johnson, Arthur’s grandfather. He’d been around so long, he had to know something. Yes, she had to talk to him, providing she could force herself up off the floor.
Muffy, who couldn’t hold a grudge, came over and snuggled up against her. Jennifer’s hand found the soft fur of the dog’s neck as she rolled over on her back. It’d been a long time since she’s slept on the floor.
Chapter 22
“I’m older than dirt,” Luther Johnson told Jennifer, thunking his cane into the worn carpet. “A person shouldn’t let himself get so old and useless. It ain’t right. What you say you come here for again? I know it wasn’t just to hear me complain.”
Jennifer smiled at him. She felt certain he didn’t mean half of what he was saying to her. He was teasing her. He had a glint in the corner of his dark eye and a slight curve to his mouth. His white beard and mustache were too well groomed for a man who had given up on life, and the house was perfectly kept, not a speck of dust in sight.
“Arthur told me you worked for the Ashtons for years.” Jennifer tried to settle back into the slip-covered chair, but it threatened to swallow her whole. She pushed herself forward.
“That’s right. Hired on shortly after Mr. Shelby’s second marriage.”
“You’ve heard about Mrs. Ashton’s murder?”
“I said I was old, young lady, not deaf, dumb, and blind. Or dead. What kind of a hole do you think I live in?” He adjusted the glasses that had slipped to the end of his nose and gave her a quick once over. “I’ve got myself cable TV, and I can still see well enough to read the newspaper.”
Jennifer blushed, feeling thoroughly put in her place. “I was in the house the night she died, and...”
“And you’re feeling guilty.” He nodded his head and took up a pipe, busily stuffing it with tobacco. Then he leaned forward and fussed through a stack of newspapers on the table next to his recliner. “Where is that dang lighter?”
Jennifer retrieved it from under the edge of a magazine on the coffee table and handed it to him. He seemed a little too agitated. “You understand about the guilt.”
He flicked on the lighter and sucked the fire down into the bowl of tobacco, watching her over the pipe, but he didn’t say a word. He just let the smoke puff out of his mouth around the stem.
“Arthur told me about your finding Juliet,” she told him.
“That Arthur talks more than he should.”
“Maybe. I spent the night in Juliet’s room. It made me want to know why—”
“Some people, no matter how hard you try, can’t be saved,” he said more to himself than to her. “That’s a life lesson, young ’un. You’d do well to learn it now.”
“What did she need saving from?”
“People make choices and gosh darn if they don’t act all surprised by the consequences. Does that make any sense to you?”
“What choice did Juliet make?”
“How much pit bull you got in your lineage? You’re as directed as my old hound Sal. She’d tree a fox and sit there as long as it took to get him down.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, if you’ll let me.”
He grinned. “I did love that old dog, but why you diggin’ what happened to Juliet back up now? Can’t do you or nobody else no good. Times have changed. The world moved on, at least all save maybe Mr. Shelby. God, but what he loved that child.” His eyes filled.
Obviously Shelby wasn’t the only one who had loved Juliet.
“Shame’s a powerful motivator,” he went on. “We used to have too much of it. Now we don’t have enough. You think there might have been sometime in between when we got it just right?”
“I doubt it. What was Juliet ashamed of?”
“Did I say anything about Juliet being ashamed?” His eyes narrowed.
“No, but I thought you meant—”
“Sometimes people think too much. You one of those people?”
“Most definitely.”
That made him laugh, a snicker that turned into a belly laugh. “I think I like you. You and old Sal would have made quite a pair. You say that was you they wrote about in the paper who was there the night Miss Mary died?”
“That was me.”
“Hmmm, hmmmm, hmmmmm. You don’t have no better sense than to stay in a place like that.”
“You worked there.”
“But I didn’t stay there. Only the once.”
“When?”
“Miss Mary had Mr. Shelby’s body laid out in the parlor for the viewing.”
“In the house?”
“Tradition. His daddy’s body had been there and his daddy’s before him.”
“And you stayed with it?”
“Somebody has to sit up with the dead. Wouldn’t be right to leave them alone.”
Little shivers pricked up her arms, even in the heat of that small clapboard house.
“But you weren’t even working there then.”
“Wasn’t work I was doing. Mr. Shelby and me go way back.”
“Weren’t you...” The words had escaped her mouth before she could stop them.
“Scared?” He chuckled at her. “Lots more than spirits to be scared of, child. Spirits, they come to you, chat a while, and move on. They don’t mean no harm to the living. It’s people you should be afraid of, if’n you’ve a mind to be afraid.”
“It’s just that I didn’t know anybody still did that.”
“Most don’t, but that’s what Mr. Shelby asked for, just like he done for his daughter.”
“Juliet? She was laid out in the house?”
He nodded and puffed slowly on his pipe. “She was the last one before Mr. Shelby. Like I said, he was strong on tradition.”
“And did you...”
“Sit up with her?” He shook his head. “Mr. Shelby never left her side, not to eat or to drink. I brought him food and tea, but he wouldn’t touch it, wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence.”
The loss of a child. What grief to bear.
“Did Mary...did she wait up too?”
“Mr. Shelby wouldn’t allow it. He wanted no one in there. Not me, not Melba, not even Miss Mary.”
“Actually...”
“You meant for Mr. Shelby?”
Jennifer nodded.
“Melba and I took care of it, but it was mostly me.”
“Why?”
“Melba took Mr. Shelby’s death real hard. She did what had to be done, making the funeral arrangements, preparing for the viewing, and the reception following the interment, but that night, when no one much was around, I heard her sobbing. I sent her off to bed. No need her exhausting herself further. She didn’t need to be up talking to him like that all night. If she’d had anything important to say, she should have said it while he was alive. You don’t do that, Missy, do ya? You got somethin’ to say, you tell it to a person while they’re living. You can’t be sure how much they hear after they’re dead. No need making amends then.”
“What kind of amends?”
“Now that would be between the three of them.”
“Three?”
“Melba, Mr. Shelby, and God. Ain’t none of my business.”
The whole idea of waiting up with the dead fascinated her, almost as much as it repulsed her. “And when Clarisse died and Amy Loggins died...”
“I ’spect they was done the same way, but I wouldn’t know.”
No wonder
the house had such a feel to it, especially the parlor.
“You worked in that house a long time. Tell me, who hated Mrs. Ashton enough to murder her?”
“Now you’re asking me to see into the hearts of men. I don’t rightly know who might have done somethin’ to her. Didn’t seem to me nobody much cared one way or t’other if she lived or died. That happens to some of us when we get older. You got to plant your good deeds early, so they have time to blossom in your old age.”
The wood on the screen door rattled with what Jennifer assumed was supposed to be a knock.
“Come in,” Luther shouted.
A lively middle-aged woman with a bright dimpled face and a Styrofoam container let herself in. Her face went slack when she saw Jennifer, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry, Luther. I didn’t realize you had company,” she said, handing him the container. It emitted an aroma of tomato sauce and peaches.
“What you got for me today, Gert?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs with salad and fresh cobbler.”
“Gosh darn it! Didn’t you tell them that I said spaghetti doesn’t travel well?”
“The message was delivered. Aren’t any of our people professional chefs like you,” the woman reminded him.
“They get paid, don’t they?”
“Yes, I suppose they do.”
“That makes them professional. They should know their business. Doesn’t take a whole lot more to do a job well than to just do it.”
“Do you want it now or should I put it in the fridge?”
“You can throw the danged thing out the window for all I care,” Luther fussed.
Gert winked at Jennifer. “That means put it in the fridge.” She disappeared for a moment, then swished back through, paused at the door, and waved. “See you tomorrow, Luther.”
“She’s a right nice lady even if she doesn’t listen worth a hoot.”
“I can tell,” Jennifer agreed. “Eileen McEvoy seems like a nice lady, too.”
“She can be.”
“I’m sure you’re aware the police suspect her in Mary Ashton’s death.”
He nodded.
“Well, what do you think? Could she have done it?”
He chuckled at her. “Miss Eileen is a lady. No matter how much she despised Miss Mary, she’d leave her to God to deal with. That’s her belief and I can’t see her breaking it.”
But sometimes people were a little too anxious to wait for God’s justice. “You didn’t finish telling me about Melba and Shelby. What regrets did she have to make right with him?”
“It wasn’t her fault, what happened to Juliet. Wasn’t mine either. But sometimes you suspect somethin’ and you don’t move quick like. Later you wish you’d trusted your instincts. A person shouldn’t force his beliefs on nobody else. We come to know what we can bear in our own way. Can’t nobody else tell you what your conscience can take and what it can’t.”
“What are you saying? Did Juliet feel guilty about something?”
Luther’s face turned hard. “I’m not saying nothin’, just an old man ramblin’ on.”
He picked up the remote control and turned on CNN. Their interview was over.
Chapter 23
“Eileen hated her, and I don’t mean just a little,” Jennifer told Sam, standing over him and tapping her finger nervously on the edge of his office desk. “I mean we’re talking deep-rooted, I’m-gonna-get-you-sucker hate. Anyone who saw her at Monique’s could tell you that. And Arthur said it, too. Only, both Luther and Monique said they couldn’t see Eileen hurting anyone, too religious. And Melba—well, who knows what that woman is thinking? But there was no love lost for Mary there, either.”
She’d had to wait ten minutes for Sam to get back to the office when she got there a little after three, and every thought she had in her head was anxiously bubbling out.
Actually she was lucky he’d come back at all. When he was out that late on assignment, sometimes he didn’t return. He simply finished up at home and e-mailed his copy.
“You should be home sleeping,” he reminded her, “instead of collecting character references for Eileen McEvoy.”
“I know. I did sleep most of the morning.” She didn’t bother to tell him that half of it was on the floor. “But I’m fully alert now.” She blinked her eyes wide at him.
“So I see. Your mind has slipped into overdrive.”
“Actually it’s more like mush, but active mush.”
“And this mush has concluded what? That you think Eileen had Mary killed?” Sam leaned forward and pulled a yellow legal pad from a pile of papers on his right, his pen poised over it. “Sometimes people can convince themselves that if they don’t actually have a hand in the deed, they’re somehow not as responsible as the person they hired to commit the crime.”
She sat down on top of his desk and took the pad away from him. “Heck if I know if she’s guilty or not. I couldn’t help but like the woman. She’s full of righteous indignation, not blood lust. I can see her committing social murder without blinking an eye, that is, putting Mary through public humiliation so bad her phone would never ring again, like some avenging angel pointing her finger at evil. Only she wouldn’t do that when Shelby or Juliet was alive. She realized it would hurt them as well.”
“Maybe the point is they’re both dead,” Sam offered. “The courts let her down. You say Mary had pretty much withdrawn from most of her social engagements. Maybe her life was all she had left.”
“What a grim thought.” She shook her head. “Like I said, Luther seemed to think that Eileen would leave Mary to God’s judgment, but I don’t know.”
“Sometimes even religious people can convince themselves that taking the law into their own hands is somehow doing God’s work. Who is Luther, by the way?”
“Was, actually. The Ashton’s cook up until three years ago. But is, too, as he’s still alive.”
“I see. I’m glad to hear you’re restricting your communications to the living.”
She let that one go. She had no intentions of allowing Sam to sidetrack her. “But you should have heard Eileen talking about Juliet. She knew that child was being mistreated. She just didn’t feel there was anything she could do about it. How frustrating! Shelby was there in the home. It was his responsibility. Eileen was only the aunt. And Luther and Melba—they carry the guilt, too.”
“You’re talking about events that happened years ago. You shouldn’t let yourself get worked up over something that’s long over and done. You need to answer a simple question for yourself: in your gut, do you believe Eileen McEvoy is behind the killing of Mary Ashton?”
“Haven’t you been listening to me?”
Sam let out an exasperated puff of air. “That’s exactly my problem. I have.”
“Okay, then. No, I don’t. I can’t see Eileen doing the blood-and-guts thing, not now, not then. Not ever, actually, especially now when all that’s left to be concerned about is property. Under all that outward gentility, Southern women are as strong and determined as they come. But they’re hardly ever obvious.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “I certainly agree with that.”
Jennifer grimaced at him. He was really good at complimenting and insulting her at the same time, especially when she set herself up.
“Mrs. McEvoy told me that Shelby married Mary so he’d have someone to take care of Juliet,” she said. “Mary told me that she was the love of Shelby’s life, but Monique disagrees. Throw in Mrs. McEvoy’s description of how Mary treated Juliet, and Shelby’s loss of interest in life after Juliet’s death. And let’s not forget Mary’s reaction, at least according to Luther, after Shelby died. She didn’t sit up with his body.”
“I didn’t know people still did that.”
“Some do, apparently. But my point is that somebody’s not got the whole picture.”
“Yeah, us.”
“And then there’s Melba. According to Mrs. McEvoy, she really didn’t like Mary. Yet she stayed in tha
t house all these years and Arthur—”
“I’m beginning to think I need a playbill. Who’s Arthur?”
“The current cook, Luther’s grandson. He implied that Melba might have had a thing for Shelby, and Luther told me she cried all night when he died.”
“I see. Sounds like a hotbed of romantic intrigue.”
“Actually, I think it was anything but.”
“I found out something you might find of interest,” Sam offered. “Some items were missing from her room.”
“Mrs. Ashton’s? Are you serious?”
“Mostly jewelry. Small items. Expensive pieces.”
“That wasn’t a robbery,” Jennifer insisted. “If you had seen that room, you’d know that.” She didn’t notice she was trembling until Sam took her hand.
“Why are you pursuing this?” he asked. “It’s not good for you. I want to get a story, but what interest do you have in it other than curiosity?”
She pulled her hand away, not expecting him to understand what she was about to say. “Monique asked me to. And I took Mary Ashton’s money, all $1,000 of it, and now I don’t have anybody to give it back to even if I wanted to.”
“So? She’s dead. That negates any contract you may have had with her. Besides, she said you could keep the money.”
“It’s not just the money. She made me promise.”
“Promise what?”
“That I wouldn’t let whoever murdered her get away with it. Sam, she thought she was going to die, but not like that. You didn’t hear the terror in her screams. Even if she were everything that Mrs. McEvoy said, she didn’t deserve that. No one does. Juliet had somehow made it through. She had made a life for herself.”
“Then why did she commit suicide?”
Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Sam studied her. “Mrs. Ashton’s reading glasses were gone, too.”
“Maybe she was wearing them when they attacked her. She could have been reading before bed, maybe even fallen asleep with them on. Her attackers took away everything they could, everything except the blood. They couldn’t take that away.”
“Okay. What do you want me to do?”
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