Gone with the Twins

by Kylie Logan

  I shook away my temporary paralysis and kept an eye on Frank, too, who was going around the park, shaking hands and talking to people. “I’m thinking about letter sweaters,” I said.

  “You think schools have letter sweaters any more?” Luella wondered.

  “Did they when Bill Barone went to school here?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Do you mean—”

  “Was Bill an athlete?” I asked her.

  Luella thought about it for a moment. “Bill was younger than me by a whole lot of years. By the time he was in school, I was already married and had kids to worry about. I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to that sort of thing.” She glanced around and caught sight of a woman in an orange sundress. “Hey, Helen!” Luella waved her over. “You went to school with Bill Barone, didn’t you?”

  “Bill!” The woman had pudgy cheeks and her lipstick matched her dress. “He was one year ahead of me. Every girl in school was in love with Bill. Such a handsome kid!”

  “Do you remember if he played sports?” I asked her.

  “It’s not easy to field a team in a school the size of ours,” Helen said. “But yeah, he did. Me and Bill, we were both on the cross-country team.”

  A thought hit me and a feeling like electricity zipped through my veins. I was almost afraid to ask, “And Bill, did he have a letter sweater?”

  Helen wrinkled her nose. “I suppose he might have,” she said, and then her expression cleared and she smiled. “Come to think of it, I know he did. I went to his funeral. I remember now. I remember that his letter sweater was hanging right next to a picture of Bill.”

  “Thank you!” Poor Helen probably couldn’t imagine why I had an ear-to-ear grin on my face, but then again, I don’t think Luella could, either. That would explain why, when I caught sight of Chandra on the other side of the park and took off running, Luella was right behind me.

  Since I didn’t want Chandra to see me and head the other way, I circled around and came up behind her. “Great party, huh?”

  Chandra flinched and turned to me just as Luella puffed her way over to the gazebo near where we stood. Chandra was wearing white shorts and a blue T-shirt that said Panther Alumni on it in white lettering. Her blue earrings matched her shirt. So did her blue flip-flops.

  “It’s always nice to see the old gang.” Chandra waved to someone across the park, but when she made a move to head that way, I looped my arm through hers.

  “I was just thinking,” I said. “About your school colors. Blue and white.”

  Both Chandra and Luella glanced at the bunting curled around the octagonal gazebo.

  “Yeah.” Chandra looked down at her own outfit. “Blue and white. So what? A lot of schools’ colors are blue and white. Besides, we used to say the blue was for the lake and the white—”

  “Was for the snow that buried us up to our tushies in the winter!” Luella laughed.

  I was glad—her comment helped put Chandra at ease. Which didn’t mean I was about to let her go. Still hanging on, I did my best to sound just as casual. “I was thinking about other stuff, too,” I said. “But then, I suppose I can’t help it at an event like this. It’s so great to see so many of the old students return. And it got me thinking, you know, about letter sweaters.”

  When Chandra tensed, I knew I was right on the money, and I pounced fast before I lost my advantage. “That night Kate and I went to Tara to talk to the Twins about the highboy, we got back and you had a fire going in your fire pit. A really smoky fire that never really quite caught. I can’t say I know a whole lot about burning things, but I imagine that’s exactly what would happen if someone was trying to burn something made of wool. Smoke—lots of smoke. And a smell like burning hair. I think that’s exactly what would happen if someone tried to burn a wool sweater.”

  Chandra made a move to run, but hey, I may be small, but I am determined. I clung to her and refused to budge a step. Not even when she burst into tears.

  Luella might not have understood what was going on, but she didn’t question what I was up to. Like the true friend she is, she took Chandra’s other arm.

  “Is this something we should talk about in private?” I asked Chandra.

  She didn’t answer. She was too busy sobbing.

  • • •

  By the time we got Chandra home, her eyes were swollen and her nose was red. As soon as we got inside, she went right to the kitchen and put on the teakettle, and though I feared this meant we were in for some stinky herbal concoction, I didn’t argue. Chandra needed to calm down otherwise I’d never get any straight answers out of her. If that meant sharing a pot of Indian gooseberry, so be it.

  Luella and I settled ourselves at the dining room table, but not before both of us took a long look at the Bill Barone shrine on the buffet. A few minutes later, Chandra put mugs of tea down in front of us and slumped into a chair.

  “How did you know?” she asked me.

  I hated to admit it was a shot in the dark, so I skirted the question. “What’s more important is why. Why burn the sweater, Chandra? You obviously . . .” My back was to the buffet and I turned slightly in my chair so I could motion toward the framed photos of the man who had been Chandra’s first husband. “You obviously cherish Bill’s memory. Why burn something that belonged to him?”

  “Because . . .” The tears started again and Chandra gulped in a breath and her chest heaved. “Because . . .” Her voice broke. She twisted her fingers together and wailed. “Because after Vivien was killed, I knew I couldn’t be found with the sweater. Because . . . because I stole it from Vivien’s house!”

  Not exactly what I was expecting, though after I sat there for a moment, pikestaffed, I realized it made perfect sense.

  “Then you were at Vivien’s the night she was killed! That fabric I found caught on the doorway—”

  “I snagged my shirt.” Chandra hung her head and her blond bob hid her face. “I didn’t even realize it until you said something about it. Then I checked and saw that my shirt had the tiniest little tear in it. I threw that away, too.” She looked up and glanced from me to Luella. “I had to make sure the police didn’t know.”

  There was a lot here to work through and I took my time. “You didn’t want them to know because you—”

  “Went over there, of course.” Chandra wrapped both hands around her mug but she didn’t drink any tea. “It was true what I told Hank. I did go out for a walk. I was thinking—thinking about Bill.”

  “Because of the anniversary.”

  She nodded at my comment. “I was walking and thinking about Bill, and honest, I didn’t even realize where I was headed until I got there. And then . . .” As if she were reliving the moment, Chandra looked all around. “I saw that I was at Vivien’s. Like I told you, Bea, I’d been there before. And I don’t know what I was thinking—I mean, I sure didn’t want to talk to Vivien or anything. But I went up to the door and knocked.”

  “And what would you have done if she answered?” Luella asked.

  Chandra shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I would have . . .” Her shoulders drooped. “You know, when Bill left me, he took everything of his with him. His high school yearbook and, yeah, his letter sweater, too. And a lot of pictures.” Her gaze drifted to the display on the buffet. “I was so hurt at the time, I didn’t question it. In fact, I was glad he took it all. I wanted it all out of my house. I wanted to get rid of my memories. Then he got sick and Vivien wouldn’t let me anywhere near him. And when he died . . .” A tear slipped down her cheek.

  “When Bill died, I realized that I had nothing to remember him by. We had some good times,” she added quickly as if she thought we might dispute her motives. “Deep down inside, he was a good man, and before Vivien ruined our lives, I really, really loved him. He just went crazy, that’s all. On account of Vivien. He lost his mind.”

  She’d got
ten off track and I nudged her back in the right direction. “And when Bill died . . .?”

  Chandra tried to talk, choked on the words, and cleared her throat. “I waited a while. Months, I think. I waited until I thought Vivien might feel like talking and I went over there. I explained that I wasn’t there because I was mad at her. I told her that all I wanted was one little thing, one little something to remember Bill by.”

  “And Vivien . . ?”

  Chandra’s expression darkened. “She told me to get off her property and leave her alone. She told me that Bill was her husband and I was nobody to him. She said she’d call the police if I ever bothered her again.”

  “And then that Friday night, you found yourself back at her house. And no one was home.”

  “Oh, Bea, don’t you see! It’s not like I planned it or anything. Like I said, I was just out walking and pretty soon, there I was. I knocked, and if Vivien came to the door, I was going to say that we should let bygones be bygones. I was going to ask again. For anything. A few pictures. Anything.”

  “But she didn’t answer the door.”

  “She didn’t, and I don’t know . . . some kind of craziness came over me when I realized she wasn’t home. The house is old. It wasn’t that hard to pry open the door. I went inside, and really, I’ve never been so scared in my life! I knew I was only taking what rightfully belonged to me. I knew I wasn’t going to touch anything really valuable or anything that belonged to Vivien. But still, I was so scared and so nervous. I went into the house and I looked around as fast as I could. I found what I was looking for upstairs, shoved in an old dresser drawer. It’s like she didn’t even care about any of it. It was all just piled up and put away. Bill’s yearbook and Bill’s sweater and all those pictures.” Again, her gaze flickered to the buffet.

  “Which explains why some of them are in frames that are marked as new merchandise down at the gift shop at the marina,” I pointed out. “You haven’t had them packed away for years like you told me.”

  Chandra sniffled. “You would notice that, Bea. Nobody else would. I never thought of it. I never looked through any of the stuff I took from Vivien’s, either. I mean, not there at her place. I was too freakin’ scared to do anything but scoop up what I could and run.”

  I reached over and put a hand on hers. “That’s why you couldn’t tell anyone where you really were at the time Vivien was murdered.”

  “I didn’t want to get in trouble,” Chandra admitted. “And if Hank found out I broke into Vivien’s house . . . well, you know Hank. He’s pretty much by the book. He’d know I didn’t kill Vivien but I’d end up in jail anyway. When I saw his patrol car in your driveway that evening, I thought he knew I broke into the house. I thought he was there to arrest me!”

  “And that’s why you burned Bill’s sweater?” I asked.

  She nodded and wept quietly. “When I heard that Vivien had been murdered, I was sure Hank was going to question me, because you see, I did stop by Estelle’s that night. Or at least I walked through the yard. I didn’t see Vivien, I just cut through on my way home, but after I heard what happened to Vivien, I was afraid someone might have seen me. That why I couldn’t take the chance of him finding the sweater here. The pictures . . .” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I told myself I should get rid of the pictures and the rest of the stuff, too, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t make myself burn up all that’s left of Bill’s life. Besides, I figured no one would ever question the pictures. I mean, it makes sense, right, that I’d have some photos of Bill?”

  She glanced up at me through the fringe of her shaggy bangs. “That night Hank called from the station, I thought for sure he finally knew. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when he said all he wanted was lunch.” Chandra shivered. “Are you going to turn me in?”

  Luella and I exchanged looks, and in that moment, a silent agreement, as well. But still, I felt I had to ask. “What else did you take, Chandra?”

  She pulled herself out of her chair and opened the top drawer of the buffet and I saw a yearbook with a blue and white cover, along with more pictures. Chandra gathered them all up and set them down on the table in front of me.

  “I framed my favorite pictures,” she said. “But there are more pictures of Bill and some other pictures, too.”

  Before I could sift through the pile of photographs, Chandra leaned over and did it for me. “I was surprised to find this stuff,” she said, and she set five pictures down in a row in front of me.

  “That’s my house!” I stared at the pictures that showed Bea & Bees in the days before I bought it. “These are the pictures that were missing from Estelle’s file on the sale of my house. Why would Vivien have them?”

  “Like I said . . .” Chandra sat back down. “I didn’t look through things. Not while I was at Vivien’s. I just grabbed what I could and got out of there. But I didn’t see anything else that looked like real estate stuff. Not in the drawer with Bill’s things.”

  Quickly, I shuffled through the rest of the pictures. There were no others that showed my property and, in fact, no others that showed any other houses that either Estelle or Vivien had ever sold.

  I turned my attention back to the pictures Chandra had pulled out to show me. “None of these pictures were ever on Estelle’s website,” I said. “There were others—others that showed exactly how much of a mess the place was—but these . . .” Again I looked them over. The first and second pictures showed the parlor. At the time, the window that looked out over the front porch was broken and Estelle had managed—but just barely—to keep the evidence of a raccoon nest in the fireplace out of the shot.

  The others were all copies of the same picture—one that showed some brave souls actually checking out the property: a dark-haired couple, man and woman. From the angle the pictures were taken, I couldn’t see the man’s face at all, but the woman . . .

  I squinted and bent closer for a better look.

  She had a slim nose and trim frame, and from what she was wearing, I could tell the picture had been taken in cold weather.

  “This must have been right before I saw the place on Estelle’s website and made an appointment to come out and look at it,” I said. “Estelle mentioned at the time that some other people had already looked at it. Smart people—these two walked away.”

  I set the pictures aside. Why they’d been taken out of Estelle’s file was still a mystery, but not one I was concerned about at the moment.

  “So . . .” With one finger, Chandra traced an invisible pattern over the surface of the table. “What happens now?”

  “What happens?” I gathered up the pictures of my home and tapped them into a neat pile. “What happens is we all go home and rest up for the gala tonight. I don’t know about you two”—I stood, taking the pictures with me—“but I’m going to go take a nap. It’s going to be a long night.”

  It wasn’t the only thing I did when I got home. Off the record (and don’t ever breathe a word to Hank), I also tossed that envelope with that piece of gauzy white fabric in it right in the trash.

  19

  I wasn’t sure who was more thunderstruck, me or Levi.

  For my part, I’d just thrown open the front door and I stood inside it and stared in openmouthed wonder at the Civil War soldier who rang the bell. He wore a dark blue frock coat with fringed gold epaulets on the shoulders and gold embroidery on the stand-up collar, along with dark pants and knee-high leather boots, and there was a sword—I take that back, on second look, I saw that it was an empty scabbard—hanging from the red sash around his waist. He wore a hat with a Grand Army of the Republic insignia on it and a jaunty golden feather plume at the side, and after a moment of staring at me with his eyes wide and his jaw slack, he whipped the hat off his head and bowed from the waist.

  “Ma’am,” Levi said. “You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on!”

  Compli
ment aside (and believe me, I’m all for compliments!), he sounded gallant and old-fashioned and not at all like the bar owner/PI I knew, and I had to laugh.

  “I have a feeling we’re a mixed metaphor,” I told him. “You’re a Union soldier—”

  “Union officer,” he corrected me.

  I nodded to acknowledge my error. “You’re a Union officer, and I’m wearing—”

  “Oh, what you’re wearing!” Grinning ear to ear, Levi grabbed both my hands and held them out to my sides so he could get a better look at the replica of the red gown made famous in the scene in the movie version of Gone with the Wind when Scarlett attends Ashley’s birthday party. It was made of fabric that sparkled in the evening light—just like the gown in the movie—and had the same formfitting style, the same poofy, short sleeves that were accented with fluffy crimson feathers, and the same low-cut sweetheart neckline.

  Which was exactly what Levi was checking out.

  I slipped out of his grip and spun around. “What do you think?”

  He whistled low under his breath. “I think I’m in love!”

  I had to ask. “With the dress?”

  He stepped over the threshold and scooped me into his arms. “With the dress and with the woman who’s wearing it. You’re gorgeous!”

  “Even though it’s Scarlett O’Hara’s dress and there’s no way she’d ever be seen with a Union officer?”

  “We’ll call a temporary truce. At least for tonight,” he said, and kissed me.

  Truth be told, I could have stood there all night and been perfectly happy, but the blast of a horn sounded from across the street and we looked over just in time to see Kate zip by in a golf cart and wave.

  “Kate must be picking up Jayce,” Levi said, craning his neck to watch her, her straw picture hat flapping in the breeze. “Are you ready to go?”

  I was as soon as I grabbed the gauzy red shawl that completed my outfit. One more look in the mirror to check my hair—pulled back from my face just like Chandra had taught me—and I was all set.