by Sherry Lewis
He climbed the hill and crossed the street to the little white church. Choosing a pew in the back, he planted himself in the corner, where he could have a clear view, and waited. Within minutes, the spectators—no stretch of his imagination let him think of them as mourners—began to stream into the sanctuary in small groups. Subdued conversation hummed almost too low for him to hear, and the occasional, almost irreverent, burst of laughter was quickly stifled.
Most everyone in Cutler turned out for weddings and funerals, and Garrett’s proved to be no exception. With less than five minutes to go before the service was to begin, the pews at the back had nearly filled, but the one in front reserved for the family remained conspicuously empty. Wondering how long they’d have to wait for Garrett’s nearest and dearest to arrive, Fred shifted around on the hard wooden bench, trying to find a more comfortable position.
Emma Brumbaugh started playing something soft and soothing on the church organ. A few minutes later, Olivia appeared in an almost concealed doorway at the front of the sanctuary. She wore a wrinkled black dress that looked as if it had been stuffed into the back of her closet for a while. But other than the color of her clothes, she gave no obvious signs of mourning. Her expression looked more like someone conducting a business meeting than burying her brother.
She passed Garrett’s coffin, barely sparing him a glance, and took her place alone on the front pew. The organ music swelled, and a few last-minute arrivals scurried up the aisles to their seats. As the music stopped and Reverend Simper took his place at the pulpit, someone slipped onto the pew beside Fred.
It was Suzanne. She smiled at him and Fred nodded back, looking for Alison and bracing himself for Celeste to come next.
Suzanne leaned toward him and whispered, “Celeste didn’t come. She hates funerals. But she said to tell you hello.”
Well, that was the best news he’d had in a long time. “Where’s Alison?”
“She’s at home. With Celeste. Everything’s been so hard on her.” She might have said more, but Reverend Simper began speaking so Suzanne clasped her hands together in her lap and gave him her attention.
The reverend’s long face was cast in its most somber expression, and his eyes looked out over the congregation with deep sympathy. “We are gathered here today on this most solemn occasion,” he said, “to pay tribute to our friend and neighbor, Garrett Locke.”
Fred listened with half an ear and scanned the sanctuary to see how the rest of the crowd was reacting. Two rows in front of him, Rusty Kinsella sat stiffly beside his wife, Eileen. Beside them, one dark head and five red ones staggered in a row to the end of the pew.
Janice Lacey’s eager eyes darted around the room, and Bill leaned forward slightly in a posture that told Fred he’d soon be asleep. Enos and Jessica had seats directly behind Olivia. George Newman sat in the same pew as Lizzie Hatch, and Grady had worked his long body into the corner, ready for a nap.
He wasn’t the only one, either. Reverend Simper droned on in that church monotone that always lulled Fred to sleep. “. . . so sad when a life ends so abruptly. A man with so much to give and such a contribution to make . . .”
Albán Toth. Ivan Neely and his young, pregnant wife. Doc and Velma Huggins. Margaret must have come in late. She sat with Sara, Benjamin and Deborah in the pew directly across from Fred’s. No Webb—as usual.
Fred had hoped for some sort of breakthrough in finding Garrett’s killer, but it didn’t look as if he’d get it. Just as he was about to rest his eyes, he spotted a petite woman with shoulder-length blond hair sobbing quietly into a handkerchief. He’d never seen her before, but he’d bet money he knew who she was. He had a feeling he was looking at Paula Franklin, and he made a split-second decision to catch up with her after the service. It might be his only chance.
The reverend continued, extolling Garrett’s virtues, some of which Fred suspected were products of the reverend’s imagination. He quoted Bible verses and shared anecdotes from Garrett’s life. Devoted son. Hardworking businessman. Thoughtful and generous employer.
Grady slipped a little lower in his seat. Janice Lacey fanned herself with the program. Margaret slid an arm around Deborah’s shoulders.
“. . . Such a shame,” Reverend Simper said, “that Garrett’s lovely daughter couldn’t be here today.” And for the first time a trace of sympathy moved through Fred. If Douglas died tomorrow, Suzanne probably wouldn’t allow Alison to attend the funeral. He hated thinking that things had reached that point between them.
He thought about Alison’s sad little face at the lake that morning and his heart broke a little.
Olivia sat in the front pew, her shoulders rigid, and from what Fred could see, her face completely expressionless. One of the youngest Kinsella children started to cry. Rusty scooped her up and hurried to the back of the chapel. And the blond woman dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
Interesting. Out of a chapel full of people, she was the only person who truly seemed upset. Surely the death of a young man cut down in the prime of his life ought to inspire more than this almost sterile acceptance of his passing. Shouldn’t it?
At last the reverend ran out of virtuous things to say, and Loralee Kirkham moved to the front of the sanctuary, beaming benignly upon the congregation. Emma Brumbaugh worked her way through a musical introduction and Loralee, hands clasped together in front of her, began to warble, “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want . . .”
And then, at last, it was over. Fred watched Paula Franklin pull herself together. He wanted to talk to her about Garrett, but he needed to talk to Suzanne about Alison. He hesitated, uncertain which woman to approach first.
Paula dabbed her eyes again, and Fred decided she’d probably stay on for the graveside service.
Suzanne opened her purse and took out her keys, and Fred made his decision. He placed a hand on Suzanne’s arm to keep her from leaving. “Can I talk with you for a minute?”
She drew back instinctively. “What about?”
“I saw Alison this morning. I’d like to talk to you about her.”
Suzanne’s eyes narrowed skeptically, but she nodded. “Outside.”
Now that the funeral was over, the crowd seemed almost festive. Groups had formed all over the church lawn and down the sidewalk to the street. Fred followed Suzanne past several clusters of people to the end of the parking lot where she’d left her car. She leaned against it and folded her arms across her chest. “What about Alison?”
“I found her by the lake when I went out this morning. She’s very upset, Suzanne.”
“You think I don’t know how upset she is? I live with her, remember?”
Fred didn’t let her harsh tone stop him. “She tells me you’re talking about moving again.”
Suzanne didn’t look happy about him knowing, but she lifted her chin and said, “As a matter of fact, I am. Coming back here was a mistake. I need to take her someplace—”
Fred cut her off impatiently. “You need to let her stay right here and work out the things that are bothering her. She doesn’t want to go.”
“She’s seven years old,” Suzanne said with a roll of her eyes. “She doesn’t know what’s best for her.”
“Maybe not, but she thinks you don’t care about her. That Douglas doesn’t care. You can’t run away every time the going gets rough.”
Suzanne stared at him for one long moment, her eyes filled with loathing or something awfully close to it. “I’m not running away.”
Fred put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Don’t get upset with me, Suzanne. I don’t want to argue, but I’m concerned about Alison. About what all this is doing to her.”
“Well I’m concerned too,” she snapped. “And I’ll decide what’s best for her. Staying in Cutler is out of the question.”
Fred’s heart dropped, both because he didn’t want to lose Alison again, and because he was afraid what leaving would do to her. “I think you’re making a mistake. Just make sure you’re not p
utting your own desires before Alison’s needs.”
He meant the words to sound mild and fatherly, but Suzanne’s temper flared. “I’m not the one putting my desires first. You’re doing that. You’re afraid that if Alison moves away, you’ll never see her again. You don’t want to lose her and you’re trying to guilt me into doing what you want.” She yanked open the car door and dropped into her seat. “I’ve never tried to keep Alison away from you, Fred. You know that. But don’t try to interfere with my decision. And don’t you dare go behind my back where Alison is concerned again.” Slamming the car door between them, she started the engine and reversed so quickly Fred had to skip backward to keep her from running over his feet.
He stared after her, stunned by her reaction. Obviously, he’d gone about the situation in the wrong way. He hadn’t intended to make her so angry.
She rounded the corner and disappeared from view, and Fred knew he’d have to watch his step in the future. Only a slender thread tied Alison to the family now, and he couldn’t afford to let it snap.
He walked slowly back to the church, trying to buoy his spirits. At least he’d found Paula Franklin—or he thought he had. Maybe he could still talk to her before she disappeared.
TWENTY ONE
Fred spent the next twenty minutes looking for Paula Franklin, but he didn’t have any luck. He’s lost her. She must have slipped away while he was talking to Suzanne. He started toward the Buick just as Janice Lacey bounced down the steps from the church and headed straight for him.
“Fred? Wait! Fred?”
He pretended he hadn’t heard her. He just couldn’t deal with her. Not right now.
But she caught up with him easily and grabbed hold of his arm. “Oh Fred,” she cooed. “Wasn’t the service lovely? Doesn’t the reverend do a wonderful job? And I thought the flowers were just beautiful, didn’t you? I’ve told Becky Grimes a thousand times if I’ve told her once, she ought to set up a shop. Don’t you agree? Don’t you think she ought to open her own flower shop?”
Maybe if he agreed, Janice would leave him alone. “The flowers were lovely.”
“And such a wonderful service. Wasn’t it?”
“Wonderful.”
“I just think it’s such a shame that Garrett’s daughter couldn’t be here. Such a shame. Don’t you think so? Why in the world didn’t Yvonne bring her?”
He didn’t answer. The minute Janice started speculating, she strayed into territory Fred wanted to avoid. He scanned the crowd once more for Paula Franklin, but he couldn’t see her anywhere.”
“Of course, the divorce probably left them with some bad feelings—don’t divorces always?—but don’t you think she could at least have brought Jenny back for the funeral?”
He did, but he didn’t want to encourage Janice.
Janice’s eyes brightened suddenly and she waved to someone behind him. “Enos, Jessica! Over here.” She lunged at them and dragged Enos into their circle. “I was just saying to Fred what a shame it is that Yvonne didn’t bring Jenny back for the funeral. Don’t you think it’s sad when parents let their own feelings take over like that?”
Jessica tugged at the hem of her blouse and leaned into the fray eagerly. “Oh, my yes—” And the two women were off and running.
Fred met Enos’s eyes and smiled. Enos smiled back, but Fred sensed immediately that a level of unease lay behind it. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Enos led him a few steps away. “I got a call from the county attorney’s office this morning.”
A chill streaked down Fred’s spine. “What did they say?”
“The judge has set a date for the trial. May second. And they want to get some pretrial motions heard before that. They’ll have to serve Doug with notice of everything, of course. . .”
The mental image of Douglas going to trial blocked out the sun, the sound of the women’s voices, the chattering of chipmunks in the trees overhead—everything.
“You’ve got to hire an attorney,” Enos insisted. “Get somebody on board now, before your deadlines lapse and you can’t get a continuance.”
Bile rose in Fred’s throat. He couldn’t speak.
“I’m serious, Fred.”
“I know,” he croaked. “Thanks.”
Enos put a hand on Fred’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “I wish I could help.”
“You can find the real killer,” Fred told him.
“We’re still looking into it as much as we can, but the county attorney is satisfied with the case he has so far. We’re not getting back-up on any further investigation. I’ve got limits on how far I can go officially.”
The world tilted dangerously on its axis. Fred closed his eyes and tried to maintain his balance. “That’s ridiculous. You know Douglas is innocent.”
“Maybe so, but my hands are tied.”
Fred opened his eyes slowly. “Tell me something, then. Was that blond lady at the funeral Paula Franklin?”
Enos frowned. “Why do you want to know?”
“For my diary,” Fred snapped. “Why on earth do you think I want to know? Was it her?” Enos didn’t say anything, so Fred pushed a little further. “Don’t tell me I’m interfering with an investigation, Enos. You just said the county doesn’t want you to keep investigating.”
Enos nodded once. “Yeah. It was her.”
Fred let out a heavy breath and patted Enos’s arm. “Thanks, son.”
Janice and Jessica were still chattering away, so Fred started for the Buick again. He only took a few steps when Enos called after him, “You be careful, y’hear?”
“I hear.”
Enos pushed his hat back and scratched the top of his head. “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“You find out anything, you bring it straight to me. I don’t want you playing hero.”
Fred sketched a quick salute, but he didn’t bother to answer. Being a hero was the furthest thing from his mind.
Fred rang the Franklins’ doorbell three times before the fragile-looking woman from the funeral yanked open the door and glared up at him. “Oh!” she said when she saw Fred standing there, “I thought you were my husband.”
“Sorry,” Fred said. “I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”
“I’m not disappointed.” She flicked her eyes over him quickly. “What can I do for you?”
Fred tried his best to look friendly and non-threatening. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about Garrett Locke.”
Wariness crept into Paula’s expression. “Why?”
“My son has been accused of his murder. I’m trying to clear him.”
“You’re Douglas Vickery’s father?” She looked him up and down, no doubt making mental calculations about his age. “How do you expect to do that?”
“By finding Garrett’s real killer.”
Paula laughed shortly. “The sheriff seems to think he’s already done that.”
“He hasn’t.”
Her laughter faded slowly. “What do you think I can tell you that would help?”
“You knew Garrett well,” Fred said, and it wasn’t a question.
“Yes, I suppose.”
“You were seeing him romantically?”
Paula didn’t answer right away, but her eyes narrowed. “Why do you think that?”
“You looked pretty upset at the funeral,” Fred said.
“Funerals make me cry.”
“You were the only one who did.”
Her shoulders sagged and she looked down at her feet. “Garrett and I were friends.”
Fred understood why she wanted to dodge the truth, but he was losing patience. “You were more than friends.”
“Even if we were, it’s none of your business.”
That was a matter of opinion. “I was told that Garrett broke up with you when Suzanne came back to town, but you were seeing each other right up until the day he was murdered, weren’t you?”
Paula shook her head. �
��No.”
“What if I could prove that you were?”
Anger flashed across her face, but it was gone at once. She sighed and locked eyes with him. “If I tell you what I know, will you go away and leave me alone?”
“If I can.”
“You have to promise.”
“If you didn’t kill Garrett, you don’t have anything to be afraid of. I’m not going to tell your husband about the affair. Maybe we should step inside.”
Paula barked a laugh. “Roger’s already heard all the gossip. When he finds out I went to the funeral today—” She broke off quickly and fresh tears filled her eyes. “But you can’t come in. Roger would blow a gasket if he found you in here.”
Grief overwhelmed her again and Fred decided not to push. He waited as patiently as he could for her to regain control.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said at last. “I hadn’t even seen him in weeks.”
“Since before or Suzanne came back to Cutler? Or after?”
“Before. He probably told people he broke up with me, but that’s not true.”
She had Fred’s attention now. “Why did you stop seeing him?”
“Because he changed. Overnight.”
“Changed how?”
“Lack of interest.” A flush crept into her cheeks. “We were seeing each other a couple of times a week, and then all of a sudden, nothing.” She wiped tears away with the back of her hand. “He made excuses the first couple of times he stood me up, but after a while he stopped doing even that.”
“You thought he’d found someone else?”
“It had to be. Garrett was a very passionate man. If he stopped wanting me, it had to be for only one reason. Unfortunately, he also liked to keep old flames around just in case. I didn’t want to be one of them. And then, of course, Suzanne came back and Garrett was all about her. It was embarrassing, really. I broke it off with him, but I still loved him.”
Fred hated to admit it, but maybe Douglas was right. In his day, dinner between a man and a woman had meant only that. A shared meal. But maybe now it symbolized something more . . . physical. “Suzanne claims she wasn’t in love with him,” he told Paula.