“I know, but something else occurred to me, and I know it’s as weak as the other parts of all this. But I wonder if Todd dropped the wrench instead of knocking it off the Trigger. Roy doesn’t typically leave his tools lying around. There would have been no place for the wrench to be resting. I mean, Roy would never in a million years leave a tool just sitting out on a Trigger. He might leave one on a back work table, but chances are that he would put it away in his toolbox no matter when he thought he might need it again.”
Paul made some interesting points, but he was right; they were weak. Or, they were terribly insightful. I didn’t for one minute think that Todd had killed anyone. Murder wasn’t on his mind, love was. Unless he thought Derek was some sort of threat in the love department. Had Derek actually been on a date with April, not just asked her out? Stranger things had happened, five times, to be specific.
“I think you should tell Cliff. Or Jim,” I said.
“You do?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. Good. Yeah, I just needed another opinion.”
“Sure.” I thought about telling him that Cliff would be over eventually, but I decided he could handle it on his own and not at my house.
If that was somehow rude, I was about to make myself look even ruder.
The smell of flowers was suddenly overwhelming. I liked flowers, but the scent this time was so strong that I was immediately nauseated and the first ping of a headache slammed at my temple.
It took only another few seconds to locate Grace. She was in the middle of the street, facedown and not moving.
“Well, gotta go, Paul. I’ll talk to you later,” I said as I stood and then hurried inside the house.
I would apologize later maybe but for now I really needed him to go away.
I plopped my knees on the chair by the front window and peered out. Fortunately, Paul made a quick exit without any indication that he’d just been run from.
Once his car was out of sight, I ran back outside and to Grace. As I’d done so many times since the ghosts came into my life, I told myself: She’s dead. There’s nothing you can do for her.
Nevertheless, when you see someone facedown in the middle of the street, your first instinct is to try to help them, ghost or not.
“Grace,” I said as I crouched next to her, reached for her shoulder, and gently rolled her over. Even with the streetlights, it was dark enough that she was solid under my touch.
At first she didn’t respond, but lay there, unmoving with her eyes closed.
“Grace,” I said as I shook her gently. I wished I knew what I was supposed to do. Leave her be, keep trying to get a response? Watch as unknowing drivers propelled their cars through the ghost they couldn’t see?
“Grace, come on, wake up,” I said.
Finally, her eyelids started to flutter and a moan escaped her throat.
“Grace,” I said as I helped her sit up.
“Betts. That’s your name, right? Betts?” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “We’re in the middle of a road, which won’t hurt you, but it might be better to go somewhere where people can’t see me out here talking to the air.”
“Yes,” she said after she blinked and seemed to remember that she was a ghost.
I helped her stand. After we both decided she wasn’t too wobbly, we moved toward my house, climbed the stairs, and went inside. I hoped Cliff wouldn’t show up right away.
“What’s going on? Are you . . . do you feel pain?” I said as I sat her on the couch.
“No, not at all,” she said.
In tandem, both of us looked down at her dress. A huge circle of blood filled the area over her stomach.
Without even thinking, I reached forward and touched the spot. It felt nothing like blood. It wasn’t wet or sticky or warm, it was part of the mostly solid figure that was Grace. I turned on a light in the kitchen, but kept the front room dark so I could still see her.
“It looks like something must have happened there.” She laughed.
“Maybe you were stabbed. That could have been how you were killed,” I said, my tone and words oddly clinical.
“Maybe,” she said. “It’s difficult for me to consider that idea. Gruesome.”
“Do you remember anything from tonight, before you saw me?” I thought back to the article that Jake had found that mentioned the discovery of blood behind the depot. Was the wound on Grace’s stomach representative of where it had come from?
Grace bit her lip. I was struck again by her beauty. I was surprised that every man that met her hadn’t followed her to the ends of the earth.
Perhaps they had.
“Grace,” I interrupted her thoughts. “We’ve been focusing on Robert and another man named Justice Adams.”
She gasped. “I know that name. He was a very bad man. He hurt me.” She looked at the blood on her dress.
“Was he your killer?”
“It’s very possible. He was . . . oh, dear, he was a scary man. He found me at the station, I believe, and wouldn’t leave me alone. Yes, there’s a good possibility that he killed me.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
“I’m afraid not. But tonight, Betts, I remember running from someone tonight. I was scared, but I don’t think anything happened to me that could have caused this.” She pointed to the blood.
“Robert, then. Maybe he was your killer?” I said.
“I refuse to believe that. I loved him so much. He loved me; I’m certain of it.”
“Did you have a lot of men fall in love with you?” I asked.
For a moment she was caught off guard by the question, perhaps embarrassed.
“Grace, you were—are—absolutely gorgeous. I’m not just saying that. Why would I? But I can’t imagine any man—and most women, frankly—not staring at you as you passed by. You are a classic beauty. And you are kind and gentle and sweet and intelligent. You seem like the whole package.”
“Goodness, well, thank you.”
“I’m not saying that to compliment you. I’m stating it as a fact that might help us solve your murder.”
“I see. Well, I suppose people noticed me. It was uncomfortable sometimes, but at other times, it was just what it was. I was told many times that I was beautiful, I think, but white men weren’t supposed to find me beautiful. White men weren’t supposed to even look at me that way.”
There was no bitterness in her voice, and I was aware that she was doing what I’d done, stating a fact.
“This won’t be easy because it would be hard to remember this stuff anyway, but think back to before you were killed. We’ve got Robert and Justice.” I didn’t tell her that Gram had dreamt about them and that those dreams were violent and awful. I didn’t want to plant the seeds if they ultimately weren’t real. “Who else, Grace, who else?”
“My husband, perhaps, but I know I got out of town without him knowing. He would never have been able to find me.”
“He was cruel to you?”
“Yes. He was also a drinker, a big drinker, Betts. I filled him full of moonshine before I left town. I knew how he’d react. He’d pass out for a couple days, wake up mad as a bear that I was gone, get over it in a day or two, and find another woman to pester.”
I laughed even though she hadn’t meant to be funny. “Grace, I’m sorry, but I expect that once a man found you, his standards might never be met again.”
“Trust me, Betts, my husband wasn’t picky. Any woman would do. I can’t believe I stayed with him as long as I did.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll have Jake check him out.”
She nodded. I’d missed when the hole in her middle had filled in and the blood disappeared, but she was now back to the whole version of herself.
“Okay, you went to look for Robert. And I know Justice said he would meet you later that ev
ening. Think about your search. You must not have found Robert, but what did you find?”
“I don’t remember.”
I glanced out the window as a car pulled up behind the Nova.
“It’s Cliff, my boyfriend,” I said to Grace.
“Yes. I’ll be on my way. I’ll work on remembering more, Betts. I’ll try,” she said.
“All right,” I said. “Tomorrow. Let’s try again tomorrow.”
I didn’t want to interrupt our conversation but there was no way we could continue with Cliff in the house. And, truthfully, I was really happy to see him and looked forward to a night with just the two of us humans.
Thankfully, that’s exactly what I got.
Chapter 21
I woke the next morning refreshed and with an idea re-blossoming in my mind. It was as if a night of not focusing on anything but Cliff helped settle everything else in my mind, and suddenly I wanted to see someone about my idea. Anyone who might substantiate it would do, but I knew where I wanted to begin.
Cliff left early, but I took my time, making a few notes and drinking a few cups of strong coffee. I’d told him I would stop by the post office and check on Gina, another of Derek’s ex-wives, but something else gnawed at me. Gina got moved to second place, but another ex-wife took first.
When I felt ready I hopped in the Nova and steered it past downtown, pulling into an empty parking spot in front of Doc’s office. It looked like Ridley was already there; her Explorer was next to the building. There were a couple other cars in the street that might have belonged to patients inside, but it didn’t look like the office would be too busy.
“Hi,” I said over the counter. “I don’t have an appointment, but Ridley has been helping me with my pain meds. Any chance she has a minute or two?”
“Oh, well, I’ll see. We’re busy this morning.”
I glanced back at the empty waiting room.
“The patients are all in the back.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Give me a minute.”
She got my name, not acting as though she remembered me, and disappeared down the short hallway that led to the examination rooms. I took a seat and tried to look like I was interested in a magazine.
I didn’t think Ridley would want to see me, but since I was here (falsely, of course) in a patient capacity and she couldn’t risk letting anyone know that we’d spoken about Lynn during my last visit, she would probably see me and play along, even if she didn’t want to.
I imagined the thoughts turning over in her head as she tried to figure out a way to ignore me, but ultimately couldn’t come up with one.
A long moment later, she stepped through the doorway.
“Betts, what can I do for you?” she asked.
“Have a minute? I’d like to talk to you about these headaches,” I said as I put my fingertips to my left temple.
Ridley looked around and then said, “Sure, come on back.”
Silently, she led the way back to the same cowboy examination room we’d been in before. She shut the door after I followed her inside and took a seat on the exam table.
“I take it you’re not really here for your headaches,” she said.
“Nope,” I said.
My idea had come to me somewhere in the middle of the night, though I wasn’t sure exactly when it had sprouted; I’d been too busy with Cliff. It had blossomed with the rising sun, though, and then mellowed with some strong coffee. It was a relatively weak theory, sparked by Grace’s visit, and the coffee consciousness made that very clear. However, it still made sense. Kind of.
“So,” I began, “did it really take five wives for Derek to realize he was the problem? He was the one who couldn’t father a child, right? It had absolutely nothing to do with the women he’d married.”
I hoped I was dropping a bomb, exposing a big secret, that she’d think I was extra clever. But that wasn’t how she reacted. Instead, she steeled her stare and her stance.
“Yes, it took five,” she said plainly, as if she wasn’t surprised in the least that someone might have figured out this part of the mystery. But, then again, as she confirmed my suspicion I realized how obvious it had been.
I’d been asking how in the world Derek had chosen to marry five times. That was now clear, but there was still a big piece missing from the puzzle. Why had these women agreed to marry him? That was going to be more difficult to draw out of her, out of anyone, apparently.
“Ridley, I’ve only met a few of Derek’s ex-wives, but every single one of you seems intelligent and savvy. Forgive me for asking this because there is no way to phrase it without being insulting, but why in the world would you all marry him, a sour, unfriendly man? I’m missing something. It makes no sense.”
The corner of her mouth twitched twice. “So, you don’t have it all figured out?”
“That’s why I’m asking. I think the answer will lead everyone directly to his killer. Am I right?”
“You are one hundred percent correct, but you’re still thinking about it the wrong way.”
“Point me the right way.”
This time she laughed out loud. “No, Betts, I’m not going to do that. You might assume that my reasoning for not doing so is because I killed Derek. Here, let me add another glitch to your thinking. I did not kill him, but I did not like him. I never did. Why haven’t the police asked me that question—did I even like him? They’ve asked me where I was that night, and if I thought anyone wanted him dead. No one has asked if I liked him. I’m sure they all assume that we divorced because we ‘fell out of love’ or something, but that’s not true. I was never in love in the first place.”
“That brings me right back to the question—why did you marry him, then?”
She shrugged, crossed her arms in front of herself, and looked at me.
I forged on. “You got something out of the marriage. Security? No, you’re a nurse and you live in Broken Rope. Your living expenses aren’t high. Companionship? No, evidently not that. Money? But Derek didn’t have money.”
“Still on the wrong track. But we could go round and round all day. I need to get back to work. There are real patients scheduled to come in, you know.”
“Sure,” I said as I scooted off the exam table, hiding my disappointment.
Ridley held the door open and signaled that I should walk through first.
“I’m going to tell Cliff about our conversation,” I said.
“I didn’t expect you not to. He’s a good guy and a smart police officer, but he hasn’t asked about my feelings for Derek either. Again, too many people assumed too many things. Marriage isn’t always about love.”
“Did any of Derek’s wives marry him for love?”
“You’ll have to ask them. Or tell Cliff to ask them.”
“I will.”
“Good luck with the headaches,” she said as a final dismissal.
“Uh-huh,” I said.
I looked at her a long moment, but she was clearly done with our conversation. I walked past her and then past the receptionist out front. There was one patient in the waiting room, but he didn’t look all that sick so I didn’t feel too guilty. I left the building and walked toward the boardwalk.
I wasn’t ready yet to let go of my idea, but first I needed to talk to Cliff.
• • •
“Really? We didn’t ask her about her feelings for Derek?” Cliff said, truly puzzled.
“She said everyone assumed that she just fell out of love and they got divorced. No one asked if she ever liked him.”
Cliff blinked. “That’s either some wordplay on her part, or some less-than-stellar police work on our part,” he said. “We’ll take another close look.”
I’d managed to catch Cliff outside the station, just as he was coming back from an official visit with Lynn, the
details of which he couldn’t share. Jim left as Cliff and I walked into the station together, but Jim didn’t tell either of us where he was going. I got the impression that Cliff already knew.
“Cliff,” I said as I repositioned myself in the chair across his desk. “Have you found out any more about Derek’s or Lynn’s financial situation?”
“Nothing new since yesterday, Betts.”
“I can’t let go of it. I can’t let go of the idea that the women who married Derek could not have possibly done so without some sort of financial benefit. It’s a horrible, rotten thing to say, but I’ve become obsessed, I think. Nothing else fits.”
Cliff nodded. “We’ve thought about that too, Betts, but we keep running into dead ends. Lynn doesn’t really have any bills; her house is paid for, so she must have spent her money wisely. Nothing looks fishy.”
“What money, Cliff?” I said. “She worked as a retail clerk for many years. How did she have enough money to pay off that house? How deeply have you looked?”
“She inherited the house from her parents.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” I was disappointed in the lack of mystery in that answer. “All right, how about under her mattress?”
Cliff smiled. “We searched the house after Derek was killed. I think we checked the mattress—underneath it at least, maybe not inside it. But, still, if she or Derek had money, Betts, how did they get it? We know for a fact that Derek’s bank account was always very low.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Cliff cocked his head and looked at me with his eyebrows tight together. “You really can’t let go of the money angle, can you?”
“What else could it possibly be? What’s that Sherlock Holmes saying—when you’ve eliminated the impossible . . .”
“What remains, no matter how improbable, it must be true. Or something like that,” Cliff said. “Yes, Mr. Holmes is unquestionably an excellent detective, even in his fictional form.”
“It seems impossible that any of the women who married Derek actually liked him,” I said.
Cliff laughed. “Let us dig a little deeper to make sure, but you might be right.”
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