by Lois Winston
Eddy saw them too, and said, “Well, I suppose your sheriff friend will pick him up.”
I said pointedly, “If he has money in a case, it’ll prove he killed your wife.”
“Oh, he’s got it all right. Now maybe my Patience will finally rest in peace.” He smiled at my dad. “Sorry about all this, Noah. You were good to me in a way I probably didn’t deserve. I just want you to know I did it all for her, and I’d do it again if I had to.”
Noah rasped, “I understand, Eddy. Thanks for the apology.”
Then Eddy turned to me and said, “Well, as they say in the movies, ‘I’ll be seeing you, kid.’” Then he took two steps back and melted into the dark.
~*~
At first, Caleb didn’t speak as he crushed me to his chest. Then he turned me in his arms to rest his chin on my shoulder, and we watched the lights from the fire truck chasing patterns across the dying fire. “God, Lalla. The son of a bitch was going to burn you and your dad alive.”
“Did you arrest him yet? He didn’t get away, did he?”
“Judge Griffin? We got him, all right. Thanks to Maya’s call.”
“You weren’t listening when I called you? He confessed to everything.”
“No. I thought it was a wrong number and hung up. On the way out here, I got a squad car to the judge’s house as he was packing to leave town. Want to guess why he had a suitcase full of musty-smelling old cash? I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing me tighter. “I almost didn’t get here in time.”
“That’s not it.” I sniffled, then sneezed. I was still somewhat disappointed that he hadn’t heard the confession I’d worked so hard to get.
“So what did he do, come out to mop up loose ends?” Caleb asked.
“Something like that. I didn’t think anything of the first aid tape on his face. I’m sure they were scratches from Autumn. Autumn was his wife’s niece. He told me when I was at his house about the niece. He set up that last scene between Autumn and me so I’d take what she said about Garth to the police, then she’d be dead by the time they found her, and Garth would be accused of that murder too. If only I’d insisted she come with me to the car, instead of leaving her in the café, she might still be alive.”
“Just as well you weren’t in the judge’s way,” he said, hugging me closer to quiet my shivering nerves. “He was probably lurking nearby waiting to snatch her the minute your back was turned. I don’t want to think what might have happened if you’d been there.”
“That old buzzard probably started the fire with one of his damn cigars. You could do DNA to confirm it all, right?”
“Come on, don’t go beating yourself up with this. You couldn’t have seen it coming any better than I could. Sometimes we get our man right away, and sometimes we just have to keep at it until all the cards, hopefully not another murder, stack up right.”
Caleb wrapped me up tight in a blanket, then said, “Are you going to be all right for a minute?” When I nodded, he said, “Good. Sit down with your dad before you fall down. I’ll talk to the fire chief, then take you and your dad home with me.”
As much for the warmth I didn’t need as to stop my chattering teeth, I gathered my father and Maya with me under the blanket and hugged them. I couldn’t stop touching them in my joy that we were all alive. Turning to my dad, I said, “Noah, I’m sorry to tell you this, but the judge is Patience’s murderer.”
His voice quaked from the aftereffects of the chloroform. “Oh, hell, I already figured that out.”
“But, how did you—?”
“Well, something’s wrong with a fella’s table manners when he tries to kill you instead of eating the lasagna.”
I rubbed my dad’s singed hair off his forehead and laughed at his eyebrows. They were going to take a while to grow back to their usual lofty status. With my other hand, I wiped at the soot on Maya’s cheek.
“But why would Judge Griffin want to kill us?” she asked.
“Not necessarily you, Maya. You just happened to be here at the wrong time. He knew we had Spike and that the dog would recognize him and, well, if things went wrong, which they did, he came prepared.”
“I noticed it too,” Noah said, scratching his head. “Spike took off like his tail was on fire. And I guess it almost was on fire.”
I said, “The judge was secretly romancing Patience. She broke it off with him because Eddy was going to be paroled in a few weeks, but he wouldn’t let her go until she told him where she’d hid the money. I don’t know if she ever did tell him, but he got it, then killed her.”
Maya said, “He killed Patience for her money? Why? Wasn’t he rich anyway?”
“The money was in his family’s trust, but he used it to buy into an illegal drug smuggling ring. He cut a quick and dirty deal with Bill Hollander and his drug-running, crop-dusting buddy Bob Norquist. Then Patience screwed that up by stealing it from Hollander. What could Patience do but keep it and wait for Eddy to come home?”
“But why wouldn’t Eddy just call the police and tell them what he knew?”
“Because, sugar, Eddy was an escaped felon, and he was sure they’d arrest him first and forget to look for any other suspects. He needed help, something that would get some headlines, start the police asking questions.” Then I told her about the borrowed dirt bike, stuck in the back of Patience’s old Pinto, and how he used my car and the lake to get the attention he needed from the police. I finished with, “He even used Autumn’s pendant, slamming it in the car door, to give us a clue that she was involved.”
Noah said, “The judge must have been fit to be tied when they found Patience in your Caddy at the lake. She was a smart lady, but even Patience didn’t guess that Sydney Griffin was Hollander’s killer. All these years, I really didn’t know the man.”
The fire chief came to us with bittersweet news. “Well, it isn’t all bad. The worst of it is in the hallway where it was started and the hole in the ceiling where that beam fell down. There’s some damage to the roof over the porch. Your furniture is going to smell bad for a while. Most folks leave theirs outside for a bit, or get new, but that’s between you and your insurance guy. All in all, your house will stand.”
I could feel the tears streaking a vertical path on my cheeks.
Caleb squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll get one of the guys to get Maya home, and then you and your dad can stay at my house. We can sort this whole thing out tomorrow.”
“No. I’ll take her,” I said.
“You sure you don’t want me to take her? It’s no trouble.”
“No, Caleb. As Maya’s godmother, I have to explain myself to her mom.”
“Then I’ll take your dad to my house. I’ll wait for you.”
With Spike in his arms, Caleb and I supported my dad to the cruiser, and then Maya and I left for her home.
To Roxanne’s credit, she listened without interruption, then grabbed both Maya and me in a tight hug. Three weeping women brought Roxanne’s husband, Leon, into the living room and the story was told all over again. When I was finished, I kissed them and left for Caleb’s house.
~*~
“I put a terry robe on the bathroom door for you,” Caleb said, pulling me inside and guiding me down the hall to the bathroom. “Take a long shower and we’ll talk in the kitchen.”
I plunged myself under a cool shower, then in my panties and his robe, I wobbled on bare feet into the kitchen, where Caleb was making tea.
“I hope that’s herbal,” I said, fighting to keep my eyes open. “Have the police released Garth?”
He held up the box as confirmation of herbal tea and said, “Lalla, you’ve been incredibly brave, but do me a favor? Retire the fake badge and take the rest of the year off.”
I winced at the mention of my fake badge. “Yeah. Well, I’m happy to give up the badge and my amateur sleuthing. You turned Zack’s old room into an office, didn’t you? I’m fine with the couch.”
“It is an office, and I made up the hide-a-bed for you.”
>
“Thanks. Just point,” I said, giving him a jaw-popping yawn.
He steered me down the hallway to the room. An antique brass lamp converted from kerosene to electricity cast a soft light on a line of photo frames marching across the wall. The pictures showed his two sons from six months through the Marines, where his oldest, Zackary, had made the Marines his career. I noticed there wasn’t one photo of Marcie, either on the wall or on his desk. And he’d left me one of his old T-shirts to sleep in.
When he later tapped at the door, I wrapped myself in a blanket and patted a space next to me on the edge of the bed. “Sit. For just a minute. No more talk about bad guys.”
I clutched his hand for the reassurance I knew without asking would be there for me. “You saved my life, you know. Old Indian proverb says you now own me. Like a squaw. I’ll have to follow you around in pigtails and bare feet. What do you think? Do you need an old squaw?”
He was looking straight into my eyes. One sandy lash had come floating down to attach itself to the smooth ledge above his shaven cheek. I reached up to flick it off, and my eyes were drawn to his very intent gaze. I noticed little shards of green in the iris. For a moment, I didn’t blink, I didn’t breathe as I took in every minute detail in his face; the shaving nick at his cheekbone, the little hairs on the ridge between his straight brows, the road map of wrinkles that made up his hardworking face, and the wide mouth with its deep commas that softened into a smile whenever he saw me.
In answer to my silent questions, he kissed me on the forehead, got up, and softly closed the door on his way out. I thought I had a lot to think about, that I would spend the rest of the night mulling over those questions. But Caleb must keep the same soporific drug in his pillows as I have at home, because I woke the next morning with my face in his neck, his arm draped around my shoulder. I don’t remember going to his room, much less crawling under the covers, but it felt right.
Last night seemed like another bad dream and my head hurt something terrible. I knew it was the chemical hangover from the judge’s chloroform hanky. Nothing stays the same, I thought, drowsing. I should tattoo that on my palm, then I could tell people I was a palm reader. I snuggled up closer and went back to sleep.
By the time I woke again, the sun was poking holes in my eyelids, and Caleb was gone, his side cold to my touch.
I peeked in at my father sleeping with Spike curled at his feet. The dog tipped his ears at me, but otherwise was quiet. I tiptoed toward the kitchen. Even though the wall clock said eight- thirty, Caleb had found time to leave a note saying for us to help ourselves to anything we might need. Mi casa es su casa. I would rather have had a hug. Or a kiss.
I picked up the full carafe of really good coffee and snagged the biggest empty mug on the counter. A note under the mug said, “I love you.” Caleb knew I’d pick up the biggest cup. I smiled, poured a second cup of coffee for my dad and went to roust the “boys” out of bed. We needed to visit our burned-out home with the insurance people, and the sooner the better.
~*~
Noah and I stood next to the charbroiled exterior of our home while the insurance guy clucked at the disaster and made scratch marks on his padded clipboard.
I thought my dad would burst into tears at the bedraggled sight of his beloved home. So I was surprised at his cheerful response to what I viewed as a complete and total disaster.
“It looked much worse last night,” he said, smiling. “I’ll have to replace the porch roof. See,” he said, pointing out the sagging remains above our heads. “I liked it when I built it, but now I think it kept the interior too dark. I’d rather tear it off, start over.”
I followed him through the front door and we looked up at the light of day trickling down from the hole in our ceiling.
He said “sure” to everything the insurance adjuster proposed while doing his tuneless whistle. I walked behind him, setting up waterlogged furniture as we went. Hands in pockets, he kicked at charred walls and overturned furniture. Taking his penknife, he prodded the occasional piece of wood.
“Floors’re still good, Lalla. They don’t make planks like this anymore. That old saloon had the thickest oak floors I’d ever seen. A little sanding and a polisher, that’s all it’ll take.”
At my dour expression, he said, “Look, I’ll show you.” He bent his knees and bounced up and down on the floorboards, grinning. “The floors are solid as the day they were cut. They’ll stand up just fine.”
“What about all that black stuff on the wood? The staircase looks ruined.” I sniffled, close to tears at the sight.
“Nah. The stairs are barely singed. That’s just wet soot.” He took a rag out of his pocket and rubbed at the railing. “See? Now don’t get weepy on me, Lalla.”
I looked up the staircase to the landing. The thirty-year-old yellow-and-blue-striped wallpaper my mother put up was soaked, blackened and ruined. “I heard Mama calling to me last night,” I said. “She told me to wake up and get out of the house because it was on fire.”
“Really? That’s nice to know.” He lifted one hand out of his pocket and put it around my shoulder, giving me a quick pat before removing it. “I’ve been talking to her for years, but so far she’s never responded. Lucky for me, Eddy was there to get me out. Well, we have a lot to be grateful for. Now, Lalla, don’t give me that look. It was her decision and I’ve forgiven her. You should too.”
“I have forgiven her, Dad, I have. I just… I just wish…” I wanted to tell him what I’d done the day of her death, that I’d torn up the note she’d written to him, and that I’d unpacked her suitcase, putting her clothing back into the drawers, shoving the little suitcase under the bed. I’d done everything I could to wipe away her effort to leave us.
His hand tightened on my shoulder. “We all wish she hadn’t done it. But your mother had been sick for a long time, and she didn’t want you to be raised under that dark cloud. I suppose she chose her time because she knew, in the end, I wouldn’t be able to let her go.
“You were her pride and joy; you know that, don’t you, Lalla? She wanted you to be happy. Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s see if we can get a list together for the insurance company.”
“Can we afford to fix up the house, even with the insurance?”
“What my claim won’t cover, there’s plenty of money in savings.”
“You mean from the land you’ve been selling? Why, Dad? Why do you keep selling it?”
“‘Cause money in the bank feels good, that’s why. Besides, you’ll need it when I’m gone.”
Panic-stricken, I cried, “Noah! You’re not sick again, are you? I mean, that triple by-pass worked, didn’t it? There’s not something you haven’t told me about, is there?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. The damned place is worth so much more than when I bought it, well, I thought it would be a burden if you were already moved away by the time I die.”
I waved my hands in front of his face. “I don’t need it! I don’t want to think about it! So, for crying out loud, quit scaring me to death.”
He chuckled at the “scared to death.” “You really think you want to hang around this old place? Not hightail it back to New York?”
“No. So will you stop selling off my inheritance? Caleb and I might need a place to live someday.”
He grinned. “Is it too late for grandkids?”
“One thing at a time, Noah Bains. I have yet to get used to the idea of having Caleb Stone as more than my best friend. And we’ve got Patience’s funeral today, and I’ve still got to find a dress that doesn’t smell like it’s been roasted over charcoal.”
When we were finished with the list, he hurried to his truck.
“Where are you going?” I called. “You’ve got to get into your suit.”
“Why, to town, of course, to price out lumber. I’ll meet you at the funeral home.”
Now I understood his enthusiasm. He was really happy to have something to look forward to.
TWENTY-FOUR
The parking lot of the mortuary was filled to capacity and manned by local police. Spectators were held behind some hastily erected barricades. While a long line of mourners slowly filed through the door of the funeral home, a camera crew from the local TV station was setting up for a shoot. A woman reporter saw me and scurried across the lawn, leaving her cameraman struggling to catch up. Curious heads turned as she screeched, “Ms. Bains! Oh, Ms. Bains!”
I flinched. My God! That voice could be heard in the next county.
When she tripped on the trailing mike cord, she jerked around and chewed out her cameraman, as if he was to blame for her clumsy behavior. Then she turned her back on him to shove the mike under my nose. “Is it true you captured the dead woman’s killer at your home? Tell us, Ms. Bains, did you know all along retired Judge Sidney Griffin was the murderer?”
I stayed only long enough to glare her down and wink back at the cameraman, then ducked into a side entrance. A suit with an earphone and NRA lapel pin wrote down my name and handed me a pamphlet. Behind me, I could hear the woman reporter reciting her spiel for the camera.
“Lots of friends of the McBride family are here to pay their respects to the much-loved Patience McBride, victim in a murderous rampage that goes back twenty years. Just a moment ago we spoke to ex-model Lalla Bains, now retired at forty and living in seclusion at her father’s ranch. That interview will be on tonight’s…”
Oh brother, I knew I would have to pay for that glare. Why didn’t she say over-the-hill and get it done. The station would probably show a video of my widening backside with a voiceover detailing my brief modeling and flying careers, two briefer marriages, and, of course, another mention of the fact that I’d just turned forty.
I was led to the front pew where my dad, Roxanne, and her family were all together.
I whispered a greeting to them and again apologized to Roxanne for almost getting her baby killed.
“That’s all right, honey,” she said as I sat down. “All that excitement and she has yet to step foot in New York City.”