Never Preach Past Noon

by Edie Claire

  Leigh's eyebrows rose, and Warren raised an apologetic hand. "I know, I know. I'm not trying to argue that Ted's got all his marbles. But that's how he saw it. Humphrey was dead—and there was nothing he could do about that. But he could save the wedding, and send Joy off a happy bride.

  "He figured all he had to do was move the body—get it out of the church. He also knew that he couldn't possibly carry a big, bulky bundle out to his car without some risk of being seen. Even if the Ivey sisters were asleep, the parking lot was brightly lit and readily visible to passing cars. So he decided he'd take the body out the other door on the back side of the church. He pulled down the curtain, wrapped up the body, and threw in the insulin kit. Then he headed for the animal shelter, hoping to find a dumpster or anywhere else he could safely hide the body for a while. When he couldn't find a good spot outside, he kicked open the basement door. The freezer was right there—and it seemed like a good idea."

  "He should have known the body would be found eventually," Leigh commented.

  "He didn't care. He just wanted to get it out of the way until the wedding was over. And even if it was found beforehand, as long as it wasn't on church property, the wedding could still happen as planned—without police tape across the aisles.

  "After he dumped the body, he went back to the church and fixed up the room to make it look like Humphrey had left voluntarily. He says he cleaned up some food that had been left out and threw the syringe in the waste can with the others. He pulled the remaining curtain across the window so the absence of the first might not be so noticeable. Then he drove Humphrey's car to the park, left everything inside it, and walked back to the church."

  Leigh couldn't resist some sense of satisfaction—she had gotten the last part right, at least. "So why did he leave Humphrey's keys and coat in the car? Was he hoping someone would steal it?"

  Warren shrugged. "I don't think he thought that through. He just didn't want to have anything else to dispose of. He had gotten Humphrey's things out of the church—by that point he just wanted to get out of there himself."

  Leigh sat silently a moment, thinking. She and Bess had seen syringes in the wastebasket on Tuesday night, right after the wedding. "If someone had tampered with Humphrey's insulin, couldn't the syringe on the floor prove it?" she asked hopefully.

  Katharine shook her head. "It's long gone—I checked already. The trash was taken out days ago."

  "Oh," Leigh said, deflated.

  "But I suspect that the police have the insulin bottle—and they'll certainly test that," the lawyer continued. "If Ted is lucky, they won't find anything. This isn't an official homicide investigation yet, you realize, because the cause of death is still open. The detectives are working it up as a suspected homicide because of the circumstances in which the body was found, but the coroner still hasn't ruled out death by natural causes."

  Leigh said nothing for a moment, then a smile spread over her face. "Well, if nobody killed him, then everything will be fine!" she said optimistically, thinking how certain her aunt had been that no one at the First Church of the New Millennium was a murderer.

  "Probably," Katharine answered cautiously. "But we can't count on that. My contact at the coroner's office told me that the autopsy showed hypovolemic shock and laryngoedema—which are consistent with some types of poisoning. They'll be running a toxicology screen, and if they find anything, we're in for a fight. Ted has a lot going against him—namely motive, opportunity, a history of emotional instability, and one false story already on record.

  "If he's willing to take my advice and confess to moving the body now—he may escape murder charges if the ruling does come back homicide. Otherwise, it's only a matter of time before the detectives match up his prints with those on the freezer and on Humphrey's car. Either way, he could be facing charges of breaking and entering." Katharine lay a hand on Warren's knee and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "I'm sorry your family's having to go through this. But you know I'll do the best I can."

  Warren beamed at the lawyer appreciatively, and Leigh made an excuse to leave. She was truly glad Warren was getting good legal aid, but if Katharine's hand moved any higher up his leg, Leigh wasn't going to be responsible for her actions.

  ***

  Friday morning arrived, and Leigh woke up in a rotten mood. She had tossed and turned all night, which meant that she would be spending the rest of the day groggy and irritable. She didn't even have to go over to Bess's today—Frances was on duty now, and Lydie would take over most of the weekend. But it was the last day of her week off from Hook, Inc., and it was clearly going to be miserable.

  She had left Warren's apartment last night feeling like the ultimate third wheel. Katharine had fallen all over herself to see her out, and it didn't take a brain surgeon to read between the lines.

  She walked over to the window and felt her insides churn. She didn't want to know, but she had to look. Steeling herself for the worst, her eyes scanned the parking spot where Katharine Bower's gold Lexus had—until last check at 2:00AM—been firmly parked.

  It was gone. Her heart jumped a little, then settled back. Her clock said 7:13 AM—for all she knew, Katharine could have left fifteen minutes ago.

  Leigh scowled her way through two cups of coffee, impervious even to the charms of Mao Tse, who was so happy to have her roaming human in residence again that she started chasing imaginary Martians—her favorite game.

  On the third cup of coffee, Leigh started feeling a little queasy, and decided to lay off. The current state of things in her life, she reasoned, was simply not acceptable. She couldn't keep on suffering in silence while Warren and Katharine got closer. She either had to make up her mind to stay out of it no matter what stage their relationship had reached—or she had to do something. Like level the playing field. Like admitting to Warren that her feelings about him had changed.

  She ruminated over the thought for a moment. It was certainly risky. Granted, she had always known that Warren was attracted to her. A woman—even an eighteen-year-old girl—rarely misses the telltale signs. But he had never acted on the attraction. Nothing. Ever. Why not?

  She liked to think it was because he could read her so well. He had known she didn't feel the same way, and if he had ever crossed the line, they wouldn't have enjoyed the easy friendship they'd had for so many years. But if that was the case, why couldn't he see how she felt now?

  Feeling particularly frumpy all of a sudden, she got dressed and ran a brush through her hair. If Warren really was in love with Katharine, she thought miserably, what right did she have to mess that up? After all, she had certainly had her chance. Katharine was a great lady, and by all appearances, she treated him well. And right now, she was being a lot more help to him than Leigh possibly could.

  She exhaled in frustration and collapsed on the couch again. Maybe backing off was the right thing to do.

  Mao Tse leapt onto her stomach and meowed plaintively. Leigh scooped the cat up and kissed her between the eyes. "What do you say, Mao?" she asked. "Should it just be you and me?"

  Mao purred another second, then scrambled out of Leigh's arms and dove onto the floor. "More Martians?" Leigh chuckled. But as Mao took off again, she noticed the cat had something real between her teeth. It was a colorful cat toy, complete with catnip and a feather tail. Leigh had never seen it before.

  "Where did you get that, girl?" she asked, but Mao Tse had already dragged her kill off to the bedroom, howling in triumph.

  Warren. All she had asked him to do was look in on Mao now and then—make sure her bowls were full. And he had gone out and bought her a toy.

  Leigh stood up again, her resolve building. She had to level with him. If she didn't, she would spend the rest of her life kicking herself. What was the worst that could happen, anyway? So he gave her a polite, sympathetic stare and said he was flattered, but not interested. So what? She would feel like a idiot, true, but what did it really matter? She always felt like an idiot.

  She h
eaded straight out of her apartment and down the stairs, checking her watch when she reached his door. 7:38 AM. If she was lucky, he wouldn't have left for work yet. She knocked.

  It took a while for the door to open. "Leigh," Warren said, not quite as pleasantly as usual. "Is something wrong?"

  "No," she said quickly, looking at his tired face and wet hair. He had on his standard business slacks and shirt, but no tie yet. He was obviously trying to get ready to leave, and her timing, as always, was lousy. She started to weaken, but bucked herself up. The fact that he was tired might be construed as a bad sign, but the fact that he had apparently woke up in just as foul a mood as she had was quite positive indeed.

  "I don't want to make you late for work," she began, "but I wanted to talk you about something."

  "Can you talk while I get ready?" he asked, walking into the bedroom. "I may not get in a full day's work today, but I'd like to start out with an honest effort."

  He made it sound as though his uncle's arrest were imminent, and Leigh felt a tug of sympathy. His mother would not take the news well. She would be counting on him to keep the family intact and out of grief, and, like the loyal son he was, he would do his best. But he wasn't going to succeed.

  "I'm sorry," she said sincerely, following him.

  He stopped what he was doing for just a moment and smiled at her. "Thank you. But I really don't want to talk about my uncle right now. Was there something else you wanted?" He turned to the closet and picked out a tie.

  The timing was wrong and she knew it. But when would it be right? She had to start sometime. Somewhere.

  "You know how you always say I have lousy taste in men?" she began uncertainly, suddenly wishing she had scripted things first.

  He grinned as he tied on the tie. "Well—it's true, isn't it?"

  "For the most part," she confessed. "But I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I think I've always been attracted to the wrong type because I haven't known what it was I really wanted."

  "Oh?" he remarked casually, running a comb through his hair.

  Timing again. Was he really in the mood to hear this?

  Get a spine, woman!

  She took a deep breath. "I want someone who understands me."

  The words were not completely out of her mouth before the apartment buzzer sounded. Ignoring it, he turned towards her, his eyes searching her face.

  "Your buzzer," she said stupidly, pointing.

  He looked at her for another second, then headed for the door. Leigh hesitated in the bedroom for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next. When she heard Katharine's voice coming over the speaker, her heart sank. She walked out into the living room to find Warren looking even more miserable than when she had first arrived.

  "Bad news?" she asked quietly.

  "She didn't say," he answered. "But she's on her way up."

  Leigh swallowed. "You want me to leave?"

  "No," he said, looking at her closely again. "What was it you were saying?"

  Leigh turned her eyes away. He was looking at her like he knew what she was about to say, but with Katharine Bower due to pop in any second, how could she?

  "Leigh?" he encouraged, stepping closer.

  "Katharine's coming up," she sputtered, and the door opened. Leigh felt a sudden rush of annoyance. The woman wasn't even knocking now?

  Katharine blew through the door in a single motion, laptop case in hand. Her cheeks were flushed with adrenaline and contrasted strikingly with her crisp yellow suit, making Leigh painfully aware of her own jeans and sweatshirt—and the fact that she hadn't even put on makeup yet.

  "No coroner's report yet," the lawyer told Warren briskly. "But your uncle has been called in for more questioning. He was in a serious panic when I talked to him on the phone just now, and I'm afraid I may need your help to calm him down. Can you come with me?"

  The familiarity in Katharine's voice made Leigh's whole body tense. It was a few moments before the lawyer even noticed her standing there, and when she did, the look in her eyes wasn't particularly kind. "Hello, Leigh," she said stiffly.

  Leigh returned the greeting with equal stiffness, a tide of nausea rolling up in her middle. Katharine had always been the soul of politeness before. Had something happened between her and Warren last night? If so, she decided quickly, she didn’t want to know. She headed for the door. "Warren," she said, not looking at him, "if there's anything Bess or I can do to help, just let us know, okay?"

  She was gone before he could answer.

  Chapter 15

  Remembering that her original plan for the week had been to do absolutely nothing, Leigh decided to give the idea a shot. She went back to her apartment, gave Mao Tse a few extra cat treats, then headed out to forget her and everyone else's problems for a while.

  It was snowing fairly heavily as she pulled out of the parking lot, and she wondered if any accumulation was expected. Not that any self-respecting Pittsburgher would be put off by an inch or two, but since she didn't know where she was going and her gas tank was running low, any more than that she'd like to know about. She switched on KDKA to catch the weather, then turned north on McKnight Road towards the nearest pay-at-the-pump gas station. Before the commercials had ended, however, her Cavalier had reached Dunkin Donuts, and given the loud, irresistible call of that institution, she had no choice but to park and go in.

  She had finished off two double-chocolate donuts and was halfway through a blueberry muffin when she gave up on the nothing idea. It wasn't going to work. She was dying to fill her aunt in on everything she'd found out last night, especially the fact that Humphrey might have died of natural causes. And she wanted to do it in person.

  It was still snowing, albeit more lightly, by the time she reached Franklin Park, but thanks to the hard-working salt trucks, the roads were still clear. For her aunt's sake, Leigh hoped the squall ended soon. Bess was dependent on Frances for her transportation, and although Frances could drive on snow as well as anyone, she rarely considered it prudent to do so. Certainly not with a passenger on crutches.

  Leigh pulled up to the farmhouse and was surprised to find no sign of her mother's car. Refusing to believe both women had gone out, Leigh sprinted up to Bess's front door to check. Cold, wet snow clung to her sneakers as she went, and she wished she'd had the sense to wear boots. She knocked on the door loudly, and within a few moments, Bess opened the door herself.

  "Oh, I'm sorry," Leigh apologized quickly. "I didn't think." She shook the snow off her shoes and stepped inside. "Where's mom?" she asked. "I can't believe she left you alone!"

  "She's out filling a very important prescription," Bess said deviously. "I was just enjoying a little solitude."

  Leigh felt suitably embarrassed. Her aunt hadn't had a moment's privacy in a week, and when she finally managed to shake off Frances, here came the niece again. Unannounced, no less. Leigh was in the process of apologizing again when a car pulled up behind hers, a car that didn't belong to Frances.

  "Well, will you look at that?" Bess exclaimed, ignoring the apology in favor of watching the newcomer emerge from her Monte Carlo. "The mystery woman returns. What do you suppose she wants with me?"

  Leigh shrugged. They both watched with interest as Noel Humphrey hugged her short, fur-trimmed coat tightly around her upper body and walked briskly up the porch steps. She, at least, was wearing boots.

  "Hello," she said with a smile that was friendly, yet appropriately sober. "It seems so cold here. I suppose I'm overreacting a bit, but I'm used to a warmer continent, you know."

  Leigh and Bess exchanged glances, and thoughts. Both were tempted to call this bizarre little fraud to task, but under the circumstances, neither dared. They were entirely too curious about what the heck she was doing there.

  "Noel," Bess began warmly, "it's so good to see you again. We didn't know where you'd gone. Are you all right? Please, come in. This must have been such a shock for you."

  Their guest nodded and walked in, an
d Leigh took a quick look around for Punkster. Like the other cats, he was nowhere in sight. Frances had apparently locked them all out on the porch again, and it was just as well—a flying attack cat was probably not what Humphrey's widow had come for.

  Noel took off her coat and settled uneasily into an armchair, declining the offer of a cup of tea. She was dressed a bit more conservatively than before, with a tight polyester shirt and flared pants instead of a miniskirt. Nevertheless, it was hard to picture anything in this woman's wardrobe wearing well in equatorial Africa.

  "I'm sorry to drop in unannounced," the woman began, her large doe-eyes radiating regret—and anxiety. "But I had to talk to you. Reginald always spoke so highly of you, you know."

  Bess's eyes flickered with an amusement that Leigh hoped only she could see. "Did he?" her aunt answered evenly, "How sweet. He had nothing but praise for you as well, as I'm sure you know."

  Noel Humphrey smiled broadly, bringing some previously disguised crow's feet to the surface. Leigh had thought the woman was around fifty, but on closer examination, she appeared to be not much younger than Bess. "My husband was a wonderful man," she began, tears forming. "But he had his enemies. Everywhere we lived, people always misunderstood him. They feared the kind of emotions he could bring out in people, the heights he was capable of reaching."

  She paused a moment to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'll tell you ladies the truth," she continued. "I'm not surprised that someone tried to kill my Reginald. I'm only surprised they succeeded."

  She held her trembling chin high, and Bess and Leigh exchanged another covert, skeptical glance. The clothes, the artificially preserved face, the whole persona—everything about this woman was so incredibly surreal, it was as if they had all walked unwittingly onto a stage, and were now in the middle of a very bad performance.

  "He was a strong man," Bess soothed, applying a fine amount of thespian polish herself. "And we're all very sorry he's gone. The whole church is devastated, and we feel terrible that you had to find out the way you did. Is there anything we can do to help? Do you have a place to stay?"