by Edie Claire
Leigh turned around and examined the inside of the car more closely. There didn't appear to be any black case, but she couldn't see under the coat. Her hand reached for the door handle, and she pulled it skeptically. She was surprised when the door popped open without protest.
"It's not locked?" Bess said loudly, sounding equally surprised.
Assuming the question was rhetorical, Leigh leaned down and lifted the coat. There was no black plastic case underneath it. Nor, she decided after a quick but thorough check of the rest of the interior, was there a black case anywhere else in the car.
She closed the door and stood up.
"No kit?" Bess yelled.
She shook her head.
"Check the trunk!"
Leigh looked at the green metal trunk apprehensively. It wasn't a big trunk, but it was big enough. She walked over and put her hand on the latch, then paused. She should be curious. And she was curious. Just not that curious. Not with her knack at discovering things she didn't want to find. And at this particular moment and under these particular circumstances, she did not want to find Reginald Humphrey. She let her hand rest on the latch a moment. "It isn't opening," she announced.
"Try it again!" Bess yelled.
"It must be locked," she reiterated. It wasn't a bald-faced lie, she reasoned, walking back towards the Cavalier. After all, she didn't know that it wasn't locked.
"If the case is gone too, that's good," Bess said approvingly, as her niece came within speaking-voice range. "It confirms my theory." Bess lowered herself carefully back into the car, and Leigh and Frances returned to their own seats. "Leaving the coat inside was a nice touch. Makes it look more like foul play. But he should have known that someone would look for the insulin kit."
"You don't seriously think he staged his own disappearance?" Frances asked skeptically. "What good would that do him?"
"It could do him a lot of good," Bess proclaimed smugly. "I'll bet you a nickel that the First Church of the New Millenium is about to receive a hefty ransom request."
"Oh, please," Frances scoffed. "No two-bit con could succeed in pulling that off. He'd do much better to keep embezzling, if that's what he was doing."
Leigh's head spun as she drove out of the park, her eyes searching earnestly for a payphone. It was bad enough when her aunt played detective, but if her mother started in as well—. She shuddered. The possibilities were too horrible to contemplate. How much had Bess told Frances about Humphrey, anyway? And why did Frances have to care? Didn’t the Koslows' oven need cleaning or something?
"He can't embezzle forever," Bess debated. "Particularly if he's onto me being onto him. Which, of course, I am." She smiled proudly. "Like ugly on a frog."
"And what if you're wrong?" Frances countered. "What if he really was abducted? Or what if he went for a walk around the park, took his insulin, then went into hypoglycemic shock somewhere?"
Bess faltered only for a second. "Nonsense. If he was going for a walk he'd have taken his coat. I'm telling you—he planned this whole vanishing act from day one. Reginald Humphrey is alive and well—and busy planning his next scam."
Which had better not be setting you up for arson, Leigh thought grimly. There was no phone in sight, so she continued driving until they were back at the church. She parked the car near the office door and jumped out, leaving the engine—and the women's mouths—running. Let them debate all they wanted to. As far as she was concerned, this was a matter for the police. They needed to know that Reginald Humphrey's car had been found, and they needed to check that trunk. Whether it was empty or not, she didn't know. But she did know one thing Bess and Frances didn't. If the reverend had gone off intentionally, his coat wasn't the only thing he had neglected to take with him. His car keys were still in the ignition.
Chapter 9
How Bess could plow happily through three beef tacos and a margarita, Leigh couldn't imagine. Not with the possibility of her being framed for the Molotov cocktail just hanging there. Sure, putting a batch of similar bottles on her porch had been a long shot. Bess might have seen them herself, or the fire investigator might have missed them. But maybe it didn’t have to be a sure thing. Maybe it was just a warning.
Leigh picked at her plate, wondering exactly how much Bess had told Frances about the situation. Clearly, she had not divulged everything. Frances seemed to know about the old photograph and to understand why her sister had gone to the parsonage. But she couldn't possibly know about Leigh's role in the "visit" to the mini-storage or she would be hyperventilating, to say the least. There was certainly no way Bess had mentioned the recyclables bin.
Yet Frances did pick up on one thing. She knew that no matter what her sister said, the quest to debunk the reverend was still very much in progress. Between carefully chewed bites of salad, Frances enumerated a long list of horrible things that could and would go wrong if Bess didn't keep her nose out of it. Bess responded by batting her eyes at the men at the bar, and Leigh kept her eyes on her plate, wishing fervently that her mother were at home doing mother things—like cooking pot roast and dusting off refrigerator tops.
"Lydie will be over at dinnertime," Frances announced as they returned to the church parking lot where her Taurus was parked. "She's bringing a casserole, so don't cook anything." The comment was directed at Leigh, but both women knew that Leigh's cooking was a non-issue. "Lydie has a class in the morning, though, and I have music club. Can you be at Bess's by 7:30 AM?"
Leigh yawned mentally. "Sure."
"I really don't think this will be necessary much longer," Bess insisted, annoyed as always at the fuss. "I can almost handle the stairs by myself now, and there are plenty of people I can impose on as chauffeurs." Bess leaned toward Leigh. "But I may need your help with some other things," she whispered.
Leigh smiled hesitantly. Frances revved up her car and departed, and Leigh and Bess headed out behind her in the Cavalier. When Frances was out of sight, Bess pointed across the street. "We're not going home just yet, kiddo. Head right over there. You're about to meet the notorious Ivey sisters."
Not having the energy to argue, Leigh steered the Cavalier across the road and parked in the driveway of a small brick ranch with a giant picture window across the front. Before Bess was even up on her crutches, the house's front door opened. "Bess, dear," chortled the elderly woman who opened it, "we were hoping you'd come by. You're recovering beautifully. Come in and sit down—we'll set up a place for you to prop up that foot."
"Thank you, Betty," Bess cooed sweetly, then delivered a wink to Leigh. They followed the concrete walkway up to the door, and were shown inside.
For a spinster who'd spent her entire life living with her sister, Betty Ivey was surprisingly attractive. She had high cheekbones and a profile like a china doll, with dark brown eyes and black hair that showed only a few strands of gray as it disappeared into a tightly coiled French braid. She shut the door behind her guests and ushered them into the living room. Leigh noticed she walked with a limp.
"Here's tea!" rang a merry voice from the other side of the room. "Specialty of the house. Almond raisin herbal." Carrying a tray laden with four unmatched china cups, Louise Ivey shuffled in. She looked very similar to her sister, though the crop of snow white hair on her head was obviously a wig. Her limp was even more pronounced, but she had no trouble keeping the tray level. From the look of their shoes, Leigh suspected both sisters were clubfooted—a sad reason for their spinsterhood, if true.
"My goodness, tea already! And you didn't even know we were coming," Bess praised, after the obligatory round of introductions. She pulled her splinted foot up onto the stool provided and centered it on the cross-stitched cushion.
"Of course," said Betty with a smile. "You know we always keep a little extra brewing for company." The guests had been given places of honor on the sectional couch that formed a semicircle around the treasured picture window, while the Ivey sisters sat in stiff, Victorian-looking furniture nearby.
Leigh
took in the view uncomfortably, feeling like she was doing something she shouldn't. The view was panoramic—offering a sweeping spread of the whole north and east corners of the church, the entirety of the parking lot, and what used to be the front of the parsonage. The window stretched from the floor to the ceiling, with mint-green curtains pulled back tightly to either side.
"Do you know if the police have checked out the reverend's car yet?" Louise asked innocently.
Leigh sputtered some tea over her hand, then wiped it delicately on her jeans. She could only hope none had landed on the cream-colored couch.
"The car?" Bess asked, sounding equally innocent.
"Of course, dear," Betty answered. "We saw the police car at the church this morning, so naturally we called over to find out what was going on. Then when you left and came back so quickly, we just had to call again. Barbara said that Reverend Humphrey must have left his car at the park."
"Apparently," Bess answered.
"I can't imagine what could have happened to him," Betty said worriedly, twisting her hands. "We haven't been able to watch over him like we used to—before the fire. That was such an awful tragedy."
Louise nodded soberly, but her eyes gleamed with excitement at the memory. "We were up all night. Sirens, fire trucks. It was terrible."
"After that, we’ve been very careful to keep an eye on the church," Betty said seriously. "People count on us, you know. Ordinarily we're in bed by nine, but lately we've been trying to spell each other. We get nervous, just two old ladies out here all alone, with all this funny business going on!"
Leigh got the distinct impression that what the Ivey sisters said and how they felt were two different things.
"When was the last time you saw Reverend Humphrey?" Bess asked, moving things along.
"Monday night," the sisters answered together. They looked at each other, and Betty continued alone. "He was at the wedding rehearsal, of course. There were a lot of cars coming and going earlier, what with the youth meeting, but the reverend was there late, as usual. Louise went on to bed, but I stayed up. I wanted to make sure he took off safely, you know."
Leigh took another swallow of the bizarre-tasting tea and hoped she didn't look as skeptical of her hostesses' motives as she felt.
"Did anyone else stay late with him?" Bess asked.
"People trickled off," Louise broke in. "The wedding party was the last to go. Shannon and Joy walked out to their cars together about 9:30, I'd say."
"9:38," Betty corrected. "You went to bed at 9:45."
"Did I?" said Louise, sounding miffed. "I know that Ted Hugh's car and the reverend's car were still there."
"Right," Betty responded smugly. "Then the reverend left."
Bess sat up. "Ted Hugh stayed late with Humphrey? Just the two of them?"
Betty nodded. "I think I had just drifted off when the reverend's headlights woke me up." She gestured toward the couch. "It's really comfortable to snooze on, you know. Anyway, I checked the clock when I saw him. It was 10:42. He took off in that awful old green car and headed north."
"And hasn't been seen since," Louise declared dramatically. "The poor, poor man."
"I can't imagine what Ted Hugh was doing there so late," Betty continued, ignoring her sister's interruption. "He didn't leave till after 11:00."
"11:03, I think," said Louise.
"You weren't even awake," Betty snipped.
"I know when you came to bed," Louise protested. "You came in and said that Ted had finally gotten off, and I looked at my clock and it was 11:05."
Leigh started to feel a little queasy, and wondered whether it was the bitter tea or the sour-cream and green-onion enchiladas she'd just eaten. Perhaps it was a combination effect.
"It is odd that Ted stayed at the church so long," Bess mused out loud. "Especially after Humphrey left."
Betty and Louise Ivey exchanged a look that Leigh couldn't interpret, and she wondered if the sisters were really as precise with times as they seemed, or if they just got a kick out of pretending.
"Would you ladies like some cake?" Louise asked suddenly. "The bridge club bought me such a huge one for my birthday; I doubt we’ll ever finish it."
"We really must be going," Bess insisted, much to Leigh's dismay. A little cake was probably just what her stomach needed. "But happy birthday, Louise. Which one is this now, fifty-seven?"
Louise laughed heartily. "I'm eighty-one, you know. But I'm still the baby of the family. Betty's almost eighty-three."
"I'm eighty-two and a half," her sister replied without humor. "And never felt better." She turned to Bess. "Do you think the police will want to talk to us? We'd be happy to help, you know."
Louise nodded her head vigorously. "We can write down everything we remember. From the fire on. Should we call them, do you think? They haven't seemed so interested in our reports in the past," she added ruefully.
Bess smiled. "I'll think they'll appreciate this one. Just tell them about the last time you saw Humphrey's car."
The sisters looked at each other in delight, and their guests rose to leave. The almond raisin tea lay heavily in Leigh's stomach as she departed, though she was beginning to think her gastric distress had more to do with the conversation than the menu. She had been trying to put a mental finger on what was bothering her, and she was getting closer. It had something to do with Warren's uncle Ted being the last person to see Humphrey before he disappeared.
The inconsistency didn't hit her until later that evening, as she was finishing up a generous helping of her aunt Lydie's sausage-rice casserole. But it bothered her enough that she left before dessert.
***
Please, be home.
Leigh knocked on Warren's door with apprehension. He had no obligation to be home at 7:00 PM on a Wednesday night, nor to be alone if he was. She could only hope.
The door opened, and he smiled tiredly. "Hey, Leigh. What's up?"
He wasn't opening the door as wide as usual, but he wasn't exactly blocking her way either. She scooted inside quickly.
"You look beat," she said honestly. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Yes," he answered with equal honesty, motioning her to the only chair in his living room that was not covered with papers. "But I can use a short break. You want a drink?"
Leigh smiled. There was nothing like being offered refreshments by a handsome man in well-fitting jeans. "A diet cola would be nice," she said. "Remind me to replenish the kitty sometime."
Warren waved away the concern and brought her a drink. For someone who was an expert in finance, he was always generous.
"The wedding came off really nicely, I thought," she began, somewhat nervously. "I trust you gave your mother a good report?"
He nodded. "She was quite pleased, but a little distracted." His voice turned serious. "My father was admitted to the hospital last night."
Leigh's eyes widened in alarm. "I'm so sorry. Is he going to be all right?"
"He'll be fine," Warren answered optimistically. "But it's definitely pneumonia. He'll be there a few days."
Leigh felt terrible. Warren obviously had enough worries without her coming to inform him of more. She decided to delay the dirty work for a moment by telling him about the time Bess had had her gall bladder out and had been chastised by the nurses for flirting with the orderlies. When she finished he was smiling again, and she couldn't help remembering how good he'd looked in that tux—smiling and laughing with someone else.
"Katharine looked nice," she said incongruously.
Warren looked at her curiously, then the ghost of a grin appeared on his face.
"What?" Leigh said, suddenly annoyed. "She did look nice! Can’t I say that?"
He laughed out loud. "You can say whatever you want. She looked fabulous."
Leigh knew her cheeks were turning red, and it infuriated her. She buried her face in her drink can and tried to think of another, less dangerous line of small talk.
Warren spared her the effort.
"So, enough about my social life. What's been going on with you? Slipped any dates into that hectic work schedule of yours?"
Leigh swallowed. The answer was no, of course. In fact, being on a date was about the only thing that could ruin her joy in obtaining a free meal. "No dates," she confessed. "All the good ones are taken." She hadn’t meant to include the last line, but it popped out anyway.
"Define 'taken,'" Warren said quickly.
Leigh raised her eyebrows. It was an odd question, but it played right into her hands. "Taken means married, engaged, or living together. Don't you think?"
"What about dating exclusively but not living together?"
Her heart rate increased. Was he talking about himself and Katharine? If so, what was he getting at?
"No," she said without thinking. "If they're not engaged or living together, they're fair game."
"I see," he said, his smile fading somewhat. An awkward silence followed.
Leigh cursed herself silently, albeit fluently. Why, oh why did she have to say that?
There was no hope now but to launch into her real agenda. "Have you heard about Reginald Humphrey's disappearance?"
His eyebrows arched. "You mean he's still AWOL? Since last night?"
Leigh nodded. "Since Monday night, actually. The women in the church office got worried when he didn't show up this morning, so they called the police. There's going to be an investigation." She went on to describe the discovery of the car, being careful to leave her aunt's hypotheses out of the picture, at least for now.
"The keys were in the ignition?" Warren asked incredulously. "That doesn't sound good. Maybe his sermon on Sunday wasn't just paranoia after all."
Leigh took a deep breath and forged ahead with the sticky part. She'd had enough unfortunate brushes with the law to know what made trouble, and Warren's uncle was brewing a batch of it.
"Do you remember before the wedding, when your uncle was ranting and raving about where Humphrey could be?"
"You think I could forget?" he asked, sounding tired again.