“Yes, there is,” Connie said sounding smug. “But Cindilee wasn’t in a wheelchair. She was walking.”
Oh, yeah, definitely a drumroll.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jesse put her other hand against the side of her head and cradled it between her cell phone and her palm. “Oh, my goodness. My brain hurts.”
“Did we do good?” Connie asked cheerfully.
“Yes,” Jesse answered, still holding her head to keep it from flying apart. “And I don’t know what to do next. Could you two meet me at Vivian’s?”
“Sure.”
“What now?” Matt demanded in the background.
“Don’t fuss,” Connie said. “We’re going to Viv’s.”
The call disconnected, and Jesse was caught between a void of confusion and a head that just didn’t want to accept reality.
“What in the world is going on?” Sophia asked gingerly.
Not for the first time, Jesse was grateful for her mother’s perception. Where others might stomp in unaware, her mom always seemed to know when she should tiptoe. It was a wonderful trait, especially in a parent.
Jesse took a deep breath. “Do you think you could find someplace to pull over up here? I’m in the process of stirring up a hornet’s nest over at Vivian’s, and I’m just not sure I can face that right now.”
“Sure. Is there anything you can tell me before I find a good place to pull over?”
“I think Bill Marshall’s in this up to his earlobes, and I don’t think poor, pitiful Cindilee’s very far behind him.”
“Oh, my heavens,” Sophia said in hushed tones. “Are they the couple Adele saw visiting Ginny? How could Cindilee get up to the second floor?”
“The building has an elevator. But it appears that Cindilee was walking.”
Sophia let her breath out in a huff and didn’t make another sound until she found a quiet place off the side of the road next to where a creek wound under an old concrete bridge. It was apparently a popular fishing spot and well worn by frequent visitors.
“Experienced in business, car sales and good at accounting,” Sophia repeated as soon as they were parked. “That’s what Fred Dawson said.”
“That’s what I was just thinking,” Jesse agreed. “A perfect description of Bill Marshall. But all three of them were at Ginny’s. If it was just Bill and Harry working together, Cindilee wouldn’t have been there.”
“So we know what Bill’s part in it would have been, but we don’t know Cindilee’s. Weren’t you going to talk to her today?” Sophia asked. “While Bill was at work?”
Jesse nodded absently, her mind working. “I was just thinking that Maria and Bill are probably both at Vivian’s right now, meeting with the auditor to try to figure out what’s been going on.”
“Wouldn’t you like to be a fly on that wall?”
“Well, we were going to be,” Jesse said. “But I think I need to do something else first.”
“Like drop in on Cindilee? Has it occurred to you that you could be talking to a murderer who obviously isn’t nearly as helpless as she pretends?” Sophia asked quietly. “I’m not sure I like that idea too much. It’s a good thing there’ll be two of us.”
“I think it would be better if I talked to her by myself, Mom. Why don’t you take me by the house and let me get my truck. Then you can go on over to Vivian’s and see what’s happening there.”
Sophia started her car and headed it toward the turn off that would take them either to Myrtle Grove in one direction or to Culverton in the other. Culverton was where Bill and Cindilee Marshall lived, and that’s the direction Sophia took when she got to the turn.
“You are so stubborn,” Jesse said, secretly relieved that her mother was going. No one wanted to face a possible murderer alone, not that she actually thought Cindilee was the killer. “You have your phone with you, right?”
“Yes,” Sophia answered.
“I want you to stay in the car. I seriously think I’ll be able to handle her better by myself. She probably thinks she’s smarter than everyone else anyway, so I should be able to make her think I’m not a threat. And she does like to talk.”
“And how am I supposed to know if she’s trying to kill you?”
“I can call you on my phone before I go in and put it in my purse pocket.” Jesse focused on logic. She really didn’t want to think too far ahead right now, because everything seemed to turn a uniform murky gray when she tried. “If you don’t make any noise, there’s no reason for her to know you’re listening. And if anything really bad happens, I can just scream.”
“And then I, what, run in waving my phone?” Sophia asked, persisting in combining practicality with maternal worry.
Recognizing a good question when she heard one, Jesse scanned the passing countryside for a nice-sized stick. Then inspiration struck.
“Do you have a tire tool in your trunk? You know, one of those old, long ones with a crook and a lug-nut thingy on one end and that pointy end on the other?”
“I think the pointy thing is for a hubcap, which no one seems to have anymore,” Sophia explained. “But yes, I do.”
“Well, whatever it’s for, it helps make it a scary implement and a lot easier to swing,” Jesse said. “We can get that out of the trunk before we get to Cindilee’s house. And you can use it to lay waste to her if it becomes necessary.”
“I’m a mother.” Sophia nodded, pleased with the idea. “I can do that in defense of my young.”
Jesse giggled. “We’re both insane.”
“I prefer not to think about it,” her mother answered. “Things have a way of snowballing out of control, and we appear to be deep inside one of those snowballs. By the way, is there any good reason why we’re not calling the sheriff?”
“Because we have no real proof of anything. And I’m not sure he’s going to rush out here and snatch me from the jaws of death on the basis of rumor and innuendo. Especially when all I have to do is go home and leave it up to him to handle.”
“Is there any good reason why we’re not doing that?” the ever-sensible Sophia countered.
“It’s that snowball thing,” Jesse said. “And don’t look at me like that. I offered you the option of going home, and you wouldn’t go either.”
“It’s all my fault, then. Insanity apparently runs in the family.”
“Okay, we’re almost there. I guess we’d better get out that tire tool.”
∙∙∙•••●●●•••∙∙∙
Jesse drove the last few blocks to the Marshall’s house. It was, of course, just outside of town, sitting well back from the road and hidden behind a wall of trees. The positive side of its isolation was that any car approaching wouldn’t be visible until the last bend in the gravel driveway. Jesse rounded that last curve and pulled in under a tree, parking close enough for a shout to be heard from the house, and far enough away to give her mother some protection should things go wrong.
Sophia slumped lower in the passenger seat until the top of her head barely cleared the dash, leaving her just able to see through the bottom edge of the windshield. The convertible’s top was up and its windows were down.
“I’ll leave the keys in the ignition,” Jesse said as she dialed her mother’s cell phone, put her own phone on speaker and stored it in the front pocket of her purse.
“This is all becoming terribly real.” Sophia sounded breathless as she answered her phone and plugged in the ear bud that would let her hear the slightest sound from the other end. “You’re not going to do anything stupid like try to arrest her, are you?”
“No.” Jesse looked out the driver-side window, facing away from her mother just in case someone was watching from the house. “I just want her to talk. Maybe she’ll say something we can use.”
“You don’t think she did it, do you?”
Sophia seemed to be seeking reassurance, and Jesse was happy to give it to her. “I don’t see how she could have.”
“Right. Me eit
her.”
Jesse got out of the car and closed the door, looking toward the simple house about twenty yards away. Gray brick on the bottom, pale yellow siding on the top, with its front porch and trim a crisp white, it conveyed a welcoming charm in the warm October sunshine.
“Just a casual conversation,” she said, speaking as much to herself as to her mother as she began her walk away from safety and toward the unknown. “Maybe with a little confession on the side. A little unburdening. Nothing that would matter. Just some girl talk. Remember to keep your head down.”
She didn’t dare look back and could only hope her mother could still hear her. Her mind swirled with warring questions. She had originally planned to arrive at Cindilee Marshall’s on nothing more than another fishing expedition, similar to one she had just left.
Now she had to wonder if the Marshalls’ involvement was anything more than a theft that had nothing to do with either a murder or a questionable suicide. Maybe somebody else out there cared who had stolen a bundle of money from the car dealership, but Jesse didn’t.
Bliss didn’t need the money. Vivian certainly didn’t, and the worst thing that could happen right now was to have the murder investigation sidetracked by anything that didn’t have a direct impact on who had killed Harry Kerr. So, Jesse decided she would keep the subject of embezzlement out of the conversation as long as she could, saving it for shock value if that became needed.
She had arrived at the front door by that time. Pausing to square her shoulders, she told the small voice in her head that kept whispering “run” to shut up. She pushed the doorbell with perhaps a little more force than was necessary, and inside, the Boomer Sooner song rang out and continued to ring out long enough to make Jesse regret not simply knocking.
When the OU fight song finally died away, a woman’s voice called, “Come on in. The door’s unlocked.”
Jesse turned the knob and entered. The short foyer opened into a small, tidy living room that was almost overwhelmed by a fat-cushioned sectional that started with a settee, curved into a sofa and ended with a chaise where Cindilee Marshall sat tucked into the corner.
Pillows hugged her back and a quilt was draped across her lap and legs. She wore no makeup and her hair didn’t look as if it had been brushed recently. She lifted the remote next to her and turned off the television that had already been muted.
“Well, my goodness, what a pleasant surprise.” Her voice was soft. “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t get up.” She motioned to the sofa. “Please sit down.”
Choosing a chair at the end of the chaise so that Cindilee wouldn’t have to twist herself around to talk, Jesse set her purse on the coffee table less than two feet away, carefully positioning the mesh phone pocket to face their direction. Sophia might not be able to hear everything that was said, but she could hear any loud noises.
“How are you today?” Jesse asked. The other woman certainly didn’t look well, but then she appeared to have made a profession out of pretending to be ill.
“I have good days and bad days. Today is not one of the good ones. But I’m glad you came. It gets very boring sitting here alone all day.”
“I apologize for not calling. I really should have, but I was out this way on another errand, and I just got the impulse.”
Cindilee smiled and nodded, seeming detached and just a little dreamy. “I suppose you’ve been out chasing killers,” she said gaily, her tone at odds with her physical appearance. “Any luck?”
“Well, it’s certainly been interesting,” Jesse answered. “But everything I find out just seems to make it more confusing.” Thus far this was going a lot better than she could have hoped, but as nonthreatening as the other woman seemed at the moment, Jesse reminded herself to keep her guard up.
“Confusing how?” Cindilee leaned her head against the pillow at the back of her neck. “Let me play couch detective with you. What have you learned?”
Jesse watched the hands that lay limp on top of the quilt. No hidden weapons there. Instead, her hostess seemed as friendly and confiding as she had on Saturday, which had apparently been one of her better days.
“Well, I would love to get your opinion on a few things.” Jesse leaned forward and looked closely at the almost translucent skin of the woman across from her and at her obviously enlarged pupils. “But first, and I don’t mean to be intrusive, but are you okay? I know you’ve been in a wheelchair for awhile, but you seem so much worse than you were just two days ago. Do you need to see a doctor?”
Cindilee waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, poo. That wheelchair’s mainly for Bill. I get a little tired when I walk, and I sometimes go too slow, so Bill likes to use the wheelchair. At home, I just take my time. Or I sit.” She shrugged and swept her hands over herself to illustrate.
“That’s all?” Jesse couldn’t help worrying. Something didn’t seem right. She had moved back home to spend time with her grandfather in his last years, and she knew sick when she saw it. “Because you really don’t seem to feel well today.”
Cindilee shrugged again, just one shoulder, and it seemed to barely move. “This is my life. I have good days and bad days. More bad than good lately.”
“So, if I can’t take you to the doctor, is there anything I can do?” Jesse asked, realizing this had nothing to do with why she had come, but nothing she was seeing made any sense. She needed to know how this woman could have been walking up and down stairs just a few months ago, and be so helpless now?
“Actually, yes.” A smile lit the drawn and pale face of the other woman. “If you could bring me a glass of water from that pitcher there.” She pointed to a tray in the middle of the coffee table where a water pitcher, a glass and a small bottle of pills sat side by side. “And that bottle of pills, if you would.”
Jesse quickly handed her the pills, then poured a glass of water and gave it to her. Meanwhile, Cindilee dumped a generous portion of the pills into her palm, which she then emptied into her mouth and followed them with a long drink of water before handing the half-empty glass back to Jesse. The pill bottle was then added to others on a table behind Cindilee’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” she breathed the words out with a sigh.
Teetering between sympathy and confusion, Jesse decided this was no time for politeness. She came here to get answers, and that wasn’t going to happen without questions.
“If I’m trampling on a sensitive subject,” she began as gently as possible, “please just say so. But, your difficulty walking… is that from an injury?”
“Oh my, you do believe in getting to the heart of a matter, don’t you?” Cindilee’s smile was crooked this time, and definitely sad. “I don’t normally talk about this, but I fell during my second pregnancy. Lost the baby. Injured my hip. Never got pregnant again, and my hip’s never really healed. Poor Bill blamed himself.”
Jesse’s mind reeled, pulling her heart along with it. “Oh, how awful!” A large part of her wanted to turn and tiptoe quietly away, leaving this poor woman to the wrenching tragedy of her life. A much smaller, more cynical part whispered that this could all be a lie designed to elicit the crushing sympathy that it had. Confused and torn, Jesse didn’t know which part of herself to listen to, and it only reinforced the knowledge that she really did suck at being a detective. One sob story and she was ready to toss in the towel and go home, except… why would Bill Marshall blame himself?
“Why did Bill blame himself?” Jesse asked as soon as the question formed in her mind.
Could it an accident for which he was responsible? Or was he just feeling the blame that Cindilee projected on him, much like the guilt Jesse’s own suspicions were arousing.
“We were hiking in New Mexico,” Cindilee began again, a dreamy singsong quality making her sound disconnected from the memory. “The terrain was too rough, but Bill’s such an outdoorsman, and I thought I should go with him. It was a silly, romantic notion, but I was young and in love.” She sighed, too small a sigh to be overly dramatic
and just enough to sound sincere. “More than silly as it turned out. We’ve both paid the price ever since.”
“I’m so sorry.” Jesse’s response was genuine even as her mind wildly calculated the possibilities. Even if the story wasn’t true, it could still be a lie Cindilee Marshall had been living for years. And if it wasn’t a lie, if this woman turned out to be innocent of all wrongdoing, Jesse was going to have a lot of moral reevaluation to do. Deciding to ignore her cold-hearted skepticism for another few minutes, she asked, “There’s nothing you can do about it? Surgery won’t help?”
Cindilee shook her head. Her slight smile was the perfect balance of resignation and melancholy. “Unfortunately, my problem at the moment is a little more serious than my hip. Last summer I was diagnosed with stage-four ovarian cancer. They removed what they could, but by the time I was recovered enough to begin treatment, it was spreading again.”
Jesse was stunned into silence, wondering what to do next. Should she, for the moment, simply believe what she was hearing, even if such a tale of woe seemed a little too convenient? Erring on the side of sincerity, she went with her heart. “Good heavens, is there anything they can do?”
“I seem to fall into the ‘nonresponsive’ category on the treatments, and it’s progressed to where it’s inoperable. So…” Cindilee spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “I’ve been quietly putting my house in order and preparing to die.”
The words, the tone, the mannerisms, everything rang true, and Jesse felt a weight settle over her heart. This, of everything, she believed. And this answered the question of how the invalid before her had been seen upright and walking into the second-floor apartment of Ginny Spurber on more than one occasion just last spring. Cindilee had been diagnosed and begun treatment during the summer. She had given up hope only recently.
And that, combined with the words “putting my house in order,” set off alarm bells in Jesse’s head. “I don’t suppose,” she asked quietly, throwing hesitation to the wind, “that a part of putting your house in order might possibly include killing Harry Kerr, could it?”
Murder, Mayhem and Bliss Page 24