by Edie Claire
Bess's eyes shot daggers at the thought. "But why bring Noel into it?" She said irritably. "It's obvious Humphrey was a talented con, but her skills were middling at best."
Maura shrugged. "Maybe her showing up in the flesh wasn't part of the plan. My guess is he needed to stage something that he couldn't be suspected of doing by himself—like having somebody take pot shots at him. Noel and Martin could handle that easily enough without being seen. But he was probably already dead before they got here. Maybe they got worried when he didn't show up where he was supposed to be, and they decided to send Noel in to find out what the problem was."
"That first time she walked into the church," Leigh said, remembering, "I told her he was dead, and she fainted."
"I still think that was all put on," Bess insisted. "She probably just thought he'd gone ahead of plan and faked his death. The next day when we mentioned the body—that's when she knew."
"If that's true, they didn't waste any time capitalizing on it," Maura remarked. "They saw money in the congregation and cooked up a fast scam."
"Complete with posthumous endorsements from the good reverend himself," Bess said sarcastically. "That would never have worked, by the way. The congregation isn't that stupid. No wonder those two chose Reuben and Evelyn as their victims. Reginald probably told them that Reuben was a legitimate ally—and feeble-minded and loaded, to boot."
"And Noel was at the church yesterday when Evelyn stormed in and announced that Reginald's ghost wanted vengeance," Leigh remembered with a sigh. "That's probably what gave them the idea in the first place."
"They could have used some of the lights and other equipment from the mini-storage," Bess postulated.
Leigh nodded. "Noel was aware of the mini-storage already. Reginald even arranged for her to have access to it. Maybe he was storing stuff for them, too—as much as they were in and out of jail." An image of the box marked "M.H." floated across her mind, followed closely by the old black-and-white, boot-camp photograph that had started it all. She had been right in her original assessment—Reginald didn't recognize the nicknames of the other recruits at Fort Jackson. But it was a safe bet that the real freckled youth—Martin "Money" Hensen—would have.
Maura's eyebrows arched. "Mini-storage?"
Leigh swallowed and threw a glance at Bess, who winked back. Had she mentioned the mini-storage fiascoes already? Since Leigh did not remember having been strangled to death, she assumed not.
"We…uh," she began tentatively, avoiding Maura's eyes. "We found out that Humphrey—I mean Hensen—had been renting a mini-storage unit. But Noel cleaned the place out already. The manager told me."
Bess smiled at Leigh approvingly. Maura just glared at her, as did Frances. Luckily, Lydie was the first to speak. "Well, I'm just glad it's over." She turned to the detective with a grateful smile. "Thank goodness you got here when you did. If Francie had used that casserole dish on Martin, I do think it would have done him in."
"Oh, foot," Frances muttered suddenly, getting up from the table. "I completely forgot about the casserole! It'll have to go back in the oven…"
"How exactly did you know to come?" Lydie continued asking Maura. "I dialed 911 when I heard Martin yelling downstairs—but I didn't think to mention your name."
"I headed over right after Bess told me she'd been getting threatening calls from a man, because I was worried about Martin's rap sheet," Maura answered. "When I spotted Noel's car I called for backup, but the uniformed officers you called were right behind me." She paused, then smiled. "I wish I'd gotten here ten minutes sooner; but then, you ladies seem quite capable of fending for yourselves."
Lydie blushed, and Frances fussed with the oven settings. Bess threw back her shoulders and grinned proudly. Leigh just felt like an idiot.
"Now if you'll excuse me, there are a few things I need to do," Maura said politely, folding up her notebook and rising from the table. Leigh accompanied the detective to the door with trepidation. She expected more questions about the mini-storage, but none came. Maybe it wasn't that important. At least not the part about her having broken into it with a stolen key. Twice.
"The business about Humph—, I mean Hensen being a con artist," she asked Maura in a low voice. "I guess Bess told you how strongly she feels about that not getting out."
"She shared that, yes," the detective said with a knowing smile. "I told her that the department isn't in the habit of keeping secrets. But then, we don't have any need to broadcast Reginald Hensen's criminal record, either. He's dead, and no one's been complaining about his behavior recently. That case is closed."
Leigh exhaled with relief. "What about Noel and Martin?"
"Noel's being extradited—she's not up on any charges here. As for Martin, Bess had better level with her friends about him. He's going to trial for assault."
Leigh wondered briefly if Bess could make up a convincing story about how the wonderful, honest reverend had been duped by both the woman he loved and his own evil twin.
Sure she could.
Maura started to leave, but Leigh stopped her. In addition to feeling worthless in a crisis, she also felt guilty. "Um, Maura—" she began.
"Yes?"
"I haven't told you everything I know, I mean, that I did know, when all this was going on. Bess and I found out things about Reginald—like the mini-storage—that we didn't tell anybody. But we really didn't think it would affect Warren's uncle, and Bess was so concerned about the church falling apart—"
Amazingly, Maura waved the apology away. "Don't sweat it, Koslow. All's well that ends well. You tipped me off about Noel's little mission scam, didn't you?"
Leigh noticed the jaunty look that had returned to her friend's eyes, and smiled. It was about time. "The homicide detectives," she began, suddenly understanding. "They've been investigating Reginald Hensen's death and the First Church of the New Millennium for days. But they closed the case without ever figuring out they were dealing with a veteran con artist running a blackmail scam. Or that the widow who so easily avoided them was actually a convicted felon on the lam."
"Yep," Maura answered, grinning broadly. "They sure did."
Chapter 24
Leigh didn't stick around for the casserole. Once the official questioning was over, she headed straight for her Cavalier. She needed to clear her head. It was time to go home.
Her brain was mush. She could have sat at Bess's kitchen table all night, staring at the walls and trying to make sense of everything that had happened. But that would mean contemplating the fact that her life might well have been saved by her mother, her aunt, a psycho cat, and an electric sander, and she really wasn't up to that.
Besides, her father had been on his way over, and he had sounded unusually rattled on the phone. Given Frances's bizarre burst of cool competence, if he showed up as anything less than unflappable, she would be lost in a permanent Twilight Zone.
She pulled the Cavalier into her apartment lot, and felt a gush of comfort at the sight of Warren's VW. Home at last. She parked, entered the building, and took the two flights of stairs at a run, then stopped suddenly at his door—hand poised.
Katharine's advice of earlier in the afternoon drifted back to her. Why don't you go find Warren? You two need to talk.
She had suspected the two of them had made some decision about their relationship. They'd seemed so intense lately—maybe that was why. Maybe they had decided to get married.
She contemplated the thought for only a moment, then decided it didn't matter. Maybe the fact that her brain was mush had something to do with it, and maybe it didn't. Maybe she had been thinking too much all along.
She knocked on the door.
Maybe he was in love with Katharine. Maybe they were already engaged. But unless they'd already eloped, she didn't care. Warren was going to know how she really felt, and that was that. If she made a fool out of herself—fine. Today was the perfect day for it.
The door opened, and Warren offered her a tired smile.
"Hey, Leigh. Come on in." She didn't think it possible, but he looked even worse than he had last night. His hair was mussed, his shoulders sagged, and his eyes had bags she had never seen before.
"Are you okay?" she asked worriedly, walking in. "Is Shannon all right?"
He looked at her curiously. "I guess you talked to Katharine, then."
"Briefly," Leigh said quickly, not wanting to talk about Katharine. "Did something happen with Ted?"
Warren smiled feebly. "You could say that. He was so sick with worry over Shannon that he totally lost it. Yelling at the doctors and nurses, refusing to let anyone take her blood. At one point I thought I had him calm enough that I could slip out to the cafeteria for a sandwich, but when I got back, security was throwing him out of the building."
Leigh winced. "That must have been awful."
"I've had better Saturday afternoons," he said with another half-hearted smile. "But Shannon's condition isn't serious this time; that's the main thing. She'll probably be released tomorrow, and Ted is home for the night, so I'm clear for at least eight hours." He took a deep breath and looked at her, then seemed concerned.
"Has something been happening with you? I assumed everything would settle down at the church, now that everyone knows Humphrey died of natural causes."
Having no desire to rehash the last twelve hours of her life just yet, Leigh changed the subject. "I have a feeling the church will do just fine. As for my day, it's been eventful, but we'll talk about that later. First, I want to know how your dad is doing."
This time, he smiled for real. "He's much better. He went home from the hospital today. As soon as he can travel, my mother is bound and determined to fly back and give Joy and Tim a proper welcome-home party."
"That's good to hear," Leigh said sincerely. She paused a minute. "So does this mean that you're almost off duty as local guardian of the extended Harmon family?"
He grinned tiredly. "I don't mind really, but I have fallen behind on my job. I need to work tonight, in fact." His eyes rested on a stack of papers on the counter, and he started sorting through them idly. Then he turned around suddenly, as if remembering something. "You said you wanted to talk to me?"
Leigh froze for a moment. She didn't do well head-on. Approaching from the rear was much more preferable. "When I saw Katharine at the church," she began, planning her strategy as she went, "she said she thought we needed to talk about something."
Warren looked mildly annoyed. "She did, did she? What else did she say?"
Leigh blinked, not understanding his reaction. "Nothing. Why?"
He turned back to his papers again. After a moment, he spoke softly, still facing away from her. "Leigh, if you really want to know what's been going on between Katharine and me, I'll tell you."
She didn't say anything. She didn't dare, or he might stop talking.
"Despite all the high drama surrounding the wedding, we both had a wonderful time being part of it," he began. "And it started us talking about marriage."
He paused, still not looking at her. She was afraid to breathe.
"Long story short, we have a lot of respect for each other, but the relationship is over."
Her heart made a little leap inside her chest. She should let it go at that. She knew she should. But she couldn't. Her jaws just started flapping.
"Katharine didn't want to raise a family, did she?" she asked breathlessly.
The question was impertinent, to be sure, but Warren seemed more amused than surprised by it. "Well, I guess you read her better than I did. No, she doesn't. But that wasn't the real issue."
He was still facing away from her, fiddling with the stack of papers. Perhaps he didn't want her to see how hurt he really was. "What was the real issue?" she asked apprehensively.
He didn't hesitate with his answer, but he didn't turn around either. "I'm not in the habit of marrying women I'm not in love with."
Leigh's last bit of resistance melted at the words, and before she even realized what she was doing, she stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He turned around quickly, as though she had stung him. They had always been affectionate pals, but her touch this time was different. She looked in his eyes to see if he had noticed, but all they registered was confusion. She took a deep breath. It was now or never—and never wasn't acceptable.
"Warren," she began, "I have to tell you something. I'm sorry it took me so damn long to figure it out, but—" She wavered, but only for a millisecond. "I love you. And I don't just mean as a friend. I really do love you."
He didn't move, but his eyes flooded with a mixture of emotions she couldn't interpret. "I want you to be happy," she continued quickly, "and I didn't want to mess up your relationship with Katharine if that's what you really wanted, but I couldn't just stand by anymore and watch you with another woman in your arms—it was making me crazy."
Warren still said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on hers, but the only feeling she could identify in them was shock. In fact, she was pretty sure his arms, which were resting loosely on her shoulders, were trembling almost as much as hers were.
"I just thought you should know," she said quickly, turning her eyes away. "If you don't feel the same way about me I'll under—"
She never finished the sentence, because he kissed her. One arm pulled her in close, the other came up to cradle her head as their lips touched. Leigh had been kissed plenty of times, but the feelings that flowed through her now were indescribable. Warren loved her all right. He was saying it in a million ways, from the softness of his caress to the earnestness of his kiss, and, as he finally came up for air, with his beautiful deep voice.
"I've loved you since I was eighteen years old," he said softly, still holding her close. "But I'd given up on you. Repeatedly."
Leigh smiled, then shook her head. "I've been such an idiot. I'm sorry." She burrowed her head into his shoulder. It felt nice. "I wanted to say something before, but I was afraid you were falling in love with Katharine, and I didn't want to mess up your life any more..."
Warren pulled her head back and kissed her again. "I'll confess—I did notice that you were looking at me differently. But you were also avoiding me, and you kept sending mixed signals. I wasn't sure if—well, I thought maybe you just wanted what you thought you couldn't have."
Leigh shook her head vehemently. "I'm not playing games, Warren." She ran her hand over his cheek and through his wavy brown hair, and realized she had been wanting to do that for a long time.
It wasn't the only thing she had been wanting to do for a long time.
"I should warn you, though," she continued with a smirk, "a woman like me comes with serious, major strings attached. I want kids, dogs, a minivan, retirement—the works. Can you deal with that, Harmon?"
He laughed out loud, then wrapped his arms around her tightly. "Just try me."
Epilogue
Two weeks later
The woman stood at her kitchen window, looking idly out at the blackness beyond. She supposed she should feel better now that the worst was behind her, but she didn't. And she wouldn't.
She was glad that her loved ones were safe, and she was glad that the church would survive. That's all she had wanted. But she herself could never be truly happy. Not when she had taken a life.
She had known, that horrible night so many years ago, that she would never be truly happy again. The memory was as clear now as ever. All she had to do was close her eyes, and there she was—again. Standing on that empty road, looking down at those two lifeless bodies, knowing her own life was over.
That day had started off like any other. She had her learner's permit, her father's rusted-up Ford, and an attitude that only adolescence can produce. Her boyfriend had a new apartment, and she had wanted to go there. He was too old for her, but no one in her family was concerned with such things. Her parents were deeply in debt and fighting all the time—her brothers disappeared for days. No one would even notice if the Ford disappea
red for a few hours.
She had made it to the apartment just fine. Unfortunately, her boyfriend had not been alone when she had gotten there. She had stumbled back out to the Ford and taken to the road—and that had been a big mistake. The gas pedal had seemed her only therapy; speed the catharsis for her grief and rage. She had seen the two boys walking along the shoulder, there was no doubt about that. She saw them long before she entered the bend. But she had been going too fast, she had practiced driving too little, and she turned the wheel too late. The car skidded, and she panicked.
It would have been easier to explain if it were night, but it wasn't. If the road were icy or even wet—but it wasn't. There was no good excuse. When the car finally settled to a stop she simply got out, unhurt, and went to look for the boys. They weren't standing anymore. They just laid there, both of them, unmoving. Their eyes open, seeing nothing.
She would never have deserted them. That was one point she didn't torture herself with. She had checked their pulses, but she knew she wouldn't find any. No one else was in sight. No car. No people outside. Just a few houses a half mile or so away.
She had no idea how long she had stood there, looking from them to the horizon, wishing for someone else to make a decision for her. She could walk to the nearest house and look for a phone. She could call an ambulance. She could call the police. But then what?
She knew what. She would go to jail. For all of her youth, maybe all of her life. She would rot and die there. There would be nothing left for her, nothing. And it wouldn't help the boys, either. It wouldn't bring them back. No good could possibly come of it.
She remembered sitting down then, sinking to her knees beside the older boy. He looked about sixteen. The younger one, maybe thirteen. There had to be something she could do for them. If it took the rest of her life, she was going to try to make it up to them. But she couldn't do that if she died in jail.