Murder Carries a Torch

by Anne George

  Which is what we did. By eight o’clock, both of us were sound asleep, Fred in his recliner, me on the sofa. Around twelve I woke up enough to turn off the gas logs and the TV and get us both to bed. It was the next morning before I remembered Pukey Lukey and tried to call him again. It was the next morning when there was still no answer, that I began to worry something might be wrong.

  Chapter

  Two

  E-MAIL

  FROM: HALEY

  TO: MAMA AND PAPA

  SUBJECT: MISSING YOU

  We’re missing you so much, but wasn’t it a wonderful Christmas. We had three new inches of snow last night. Papa, you’d love that. Have you talked to Alan and Freddie since you got home? I E-mailed both of them right after you left and haven’t heard a word. Tell them to do better toward their sister. We’re invited to a party at the university tonight in honor of some visiting professor who everyone thinks will win the Nobel Prize in chemistry. I’ve never heard of him, but Philip is real excited. Tell Aunt Sister I’ll wear the blue outfit she gave me for Christmas. Is everything okay at home? How’s the jet lag? Debbie says David Anthony is getting huge. I wish I could see her.

  I love you.

  E-MAIL

  FROM: MAMA

  TO: HALEY

  SUBJECT: EVERYTHING’S FINE

  Thanks again, darling, for the wonderful Christmas. The jet lag is better today. Aunt Sister says I have it worse because I don’t have her physical reserves. She went to an Angel-Sighting Society luncheon yesterday at the club. Two members claimed they had sighted angels recently. I’ve talked to both Alan and Freddie since we got home. They both had good holidays. E-mail them again and fuss at them. Haven’t seen Debbie yet, but I remember her with Fay and May. I never thought she would look normal again, let alone get her figure back, which she did.

  Do you believe in angels?

  I love you.

  When I turned off the computer, I realized I was hungry, really hungry for the first time since we had gotten home. I put three slices of bacon in the microwave, scrambled a couple of eggs, and fixed some cinnamon toast. Comfort food. I sat at the kitchen table with the January sun coming through the bay window and ate every bite except for a small bit of egg that I gave to Muffin. So much for the anorexia that Sister claims I have.

  I was having my second cup of coffee when I remembered Luke and reached for the phone. There was still no answer at either number. I dialed Mary Alice.

  “Maybe they’ve gone skiing,” she said.

  “Skiing? Have you lost your mind? They’re both in their sixties and have lived in Mississippi all their lives.”

  “You don’t have to ski to go skiing. You sit in the lodge and drink hot rum and watch the ambulances go by.”

  “You can do that in the bar of the Holiday Inn across from University Hospital.”

  “Not the same ambiance. Everybody wouldn’t have on the pretty ski outfits.”

  “Well, I doubt seriously that Luke and Virginia are sitting in a ski lodge drinking hot rum and watching ambulances.”

  “I don’t know why not. At Debbie’s wedding they were both crocked.”

  “I’m hanging up,” I said.

  “Wait. You know that red velvet bag I gave you to put in your purse when we came through customs? The one I told you to guard?”

  “The one with your pearls in it?”

  “Yes. That one. I’ll be over in a little while to get it. Guard it.”

  “I’ll get Fred’s old BB gun out. How come you didn’t get it yesterday if it’s so precious?”

  “I forgot it.”

  This time I did hang up. I put on a pair of jeans, a turtleneck, and an old flannel shirt of Fred’s and took Woofer for his walk. As we opened the gate, I could see Mitzi Phizer sitting in her new sunroom reading the paper. She and her husband, Arthur, our longtime neighbors, had gone through some terrible problems back in the fall. It was good to see her there; it was good to see her wave at us.

  The air was so crisp you could taste it. Warsaw, in spite of the cold and snow, had had the underlying smell of diesel fumes and coal fires. Fred was right. It was good that home was this particularly beautiful place.

  We turned the corner and I could see the statue of Vulcan, the huge iron god of the forge that overlooks all of Birmingham. The sun was glinting off his big bare butt. Oh, yes. I was home.

  I was waiting happily for Woofer to check out a telephone pole when a black Lincoln pulled up and stopped. I thought for a second that it was someone wanting directions, but when the window slid open, Pukey Lukey said, “Hey, Patricia Anne.”

  The sun was so bright, I couldn’t see him well. I leaned through the window.

  “Hey. What are you doing here? Debbie said you wanted to get in touch with us. I’ve been trying to call you.”

  Luke, I realized as my eyes adjusted, looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. He was wearing dark glasses, but they weren’t large enough to hide the puffiness beneath his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I was alarmed at his appearance. “Has something happened?”

  “Oh, God, Patricia Anne. You wouldn’t believe. Get in and let’s go to your house. I was on the way there when I saw you.”

  This sounded bad, like something we would need time for. I looked down at Woofer who was now investigating the Lincoln’s tires.

  “You go on. I’ve got the dog. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “The dog’s fine. You can put him in the backseat.”

  I looked at the maroon leather upholstery. Then I looked at Woofer.

  “I think I’d better meet you there.”

  “All right. But hurry.”

  I straightened up, the window slid closed, and the black car pulled away from the curb right in front of a young man in a pickup who managed to slam on his brakes and shoot Luke a bird at the same time. Luke seemed unaware of the near collision and continued on down the street. The young man frowned at me.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed, as if I were to blame. I do this a lot, apologize for things that aren’t my fault. I think it’s because I’ve been Mary Alice’s sister for sixty-one years.

  We walked home faster than Woofer liked. He wanted to savor the trees and bushes more.

  “We’ll come back this afternoon,” I assured him.

  Luke’s car was in our driveway and Luke was sitting on the back steps waiting. I took Woofer’s leash off and he ambled over to investigate the strange man. Luke patted Woofer’s head and began to cry. And for a second, I swear, this big man sitting on my back steps became the little boy crying because he had just thrown up all over everybody.

  “Luke,” I said, sitting down beside him and putting my arm around his shoulders. “What on earth’s wrong?”

  “Virginia.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of wet tissue which he mopped his face with.

  “What’s wrong with her? Is she sick?”

  He shook his head no. “She’s left me.”

  “Virginia’s left you?” I couldn’t believe that was what he’d said.

  “Gone. Skedaddled. Vamoosed.” He tried to smile.

  “But why? What’s happened?” Virginia and Luke had been married for more than forty years. Fred and I had just started dating when I went to their wedding.

  “Another man. She just up and ran off with another man, Patricia Anne.” Luke buried his face in the wet tissue; his shoulders shook.

  “Oh, surely not, Luke. Virginia wouldn’t do that.”

  “Gone,” he muttered into the tissue.

  Woofer lay down across our feet. I pushed him off gently and took Luke’s arm.

  “Let’s go in the house and get warm and get some coffee.”

  “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Okay.”

  I was unlocking the door when Sister came through the gate.

  “Hey, y’all,” she said. “What’s happening?”

  I gave Luke a slight push as the door opened. “Go on to the bathr
oom.” Then I waited for Sister.

  “Was that Puke? Where did he go?”

  “To the bathroom.”

  “To throw up?”

  “I hope not. Come on in.”

  “Is something wrong?” She followed me into the kitchen.

  “He says Virginia’s left him.”

  “You’re kidding. Why?”

  “He says for another man. But I don’t know any of the details. He just got here.” I reached into the cabinet and got the coffee. “And he looks like hell, bless his heart.”

  “For another man? That’s interesting.” Sister sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Interesting?” I measured the coffee into the Mr. Coffee.

  “Sure. I wonder where she found him. Available men are as scarce as hen’s teeth in Columbus.”

  I plugged in the coffeemaker and came to sit by her at the kitchen table. She was wearing a bright red sweatshirt printed with green frogs that leaped as she breathed. The effect was dizzying. Luke, I decided, given his predisposition to motion sickness, might be in trouble when confronted with this.

  “Listen,” I said. “He’s very upset. And don’t you dare call him Puke.”

  “You think I would be that rude?” The frogs jumped slightly.

  “Just a reminder. You might forget.”

  “Well, I won’t.” She drummed red acrylic nails on my white table. “Reckon what he wants with us? I still bet it’s politics and he wants money for Richard.”

  “I think he just wants somebody to talk to, and we’re his only close relatives.”

  I was wrong, of course.

  Luke looked slightly better when he came from the bathroom. He had combed his hair and probably splashed cold water on his face. It was less puffy. He still looked bad enough to shock Sister, though, who said, “Puke, you look like hell!”

  He nodded sadly and sank down into the chair opposite me. “I know. I don’t remember when I’ve slept.” He took his first look at Sister and shut his eyes. “Mary Alice, are those frogs jumping?”

  “I’ll pull it off.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stood up, pulled the sweatshirt off, and folded it over the back of the chair.

  “It’s just a white shirt now.”

  “Thank you,” Luke repeated and opened his eyes.

  His appearance was startling. Even though he had several days’ worth of beard, I could see his cheeks were sunken. Apparently he hadn’t been eating either. I got up, turned on the oven, and got a package of Sister Schubert’s orange rolls from the refrigerator.

  “Patricia Anne says Virginia’s run off with another man,” Sister said. No beating around the bush here.

  Luke nodded. “She has. A man named Holden Crawford. A preacher who was painting our house.”

  “Holden Crawford? You’re kidding. Sounds like Catcher in the Rye.”

  They both looked at me blankly. Neither of them would ever get on Jeopardy!

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I want to hear this.”

  The coffee was made. I poured each of us a cup, put the rolls in the oven, and sat back down.

  Luke put two teaspoons of sugar in his coffee and stirred it before he continued.

  “It didn’t take him but three days to paint the whole house, including the soffits. But when he left, Virginia went with him.”

  “What did he look like?” Sister wanted to know.

  “I didn’t pay much attention. Big. Dark hair.” Luke sipped his coffee. “Every time I saw him, he was up on a ladder painting the soffits.”

  “And you’re sure Virginia left with him?” I asked.

  “She left me a note.” Luke fished a piece of stationery from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. Across the top were flowers with babies peeking out of them. Written on it was: Enough. I’ve gone with Holden.

  I handed the note to Sister.

  “Cute stationery,” she said.

  Luke nodded. “I gave it to Virginia for her birthday. It looks like her. Beautiful and delicate.”

  I glanced at Luke’s glasses. Nothing unusual about them. Not especially thick.

  “She must have lost weight,” Sister said. “Has she had cosmetic surgery recently?”

  I aimed a kick at her ankles, but she had outsmarted me and was holding her legs up.

  Luke was too upset to take offense. “She doesn’t need it. When we went to the inaugural ball last year, nobody could believe she was Richard’s mother.” He sighed. “I just don’t know what in the world got into her. Maybe religion. I know the man’s a preacher.”

  I hopped up. “I’ll get the sweet rolls.”

  “What kind of preacher is he?” Sister asked. “How come he’s painting houses?”

  “Doesn’t make a living preaching, I guess. The man in Columbus who recommended him to do the painting says he’s got a small church up near Gadsden. I can’t even remember the name of it. Jesus Is Our Life and Heaven Hereafter or something like that. I’ll bet it’s a cult.” Luke rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Oh, Lord. My sweet Virginia and poisoned Kool-Aid. And her a Lutheran.” Luke sat up suddenly. “You don’t suppose he kidnapped her, do you?”

  Sister leaned forward. “How old is he?”

  “Fiftyish.”

  “I doubt it seriously.”

  I was looking through the oven window, watching the icing melt on the sweet rolls. Poor Luke. I could understand his not wanting to admit that Virginia had just taken off with this Holden Crawford because she was smitten with him. Holden Crawford. The English teacher inside me was smiling.

  “Have you tried to get in touch with her?” I asked him.

  “I went up to Gadsden. Nobody had heard of the church. There’s no Holden Crawford listed in the phone book.”

  “There are a lot of Lutherans up there,” Sister said. “Their families all came over from Germany. A lot of Catholics, too.”

  I tried to figure out if there was any point to this remark, decided there wasn’t, and took the sweet rolls out of the oven.

  “What I was hoping,” Luke said as I handed each of them a plate and a napkin, “was if you two would help me.”

  “Help you how?” Sister reached for a sweet roll. “Ow. Hot.” She stuck her finger in her mouth.

  “Help me find Virginia.”

  “How could we do that?” I poured each of us more coffee.

  “Well, we know the man’s name and that he’s a painter and a preacher. And we know his church is somewhere around Gadsden. Just because nobody that I asked in town knew him doesn’t mean anything. We could check with the sheriff’s office, branch out.” He looked from me to Mary Alice who was already chewing orange roll and didn’t look up.

  I sat back down and reached for an orange roll. “Have you called Richard?”

  Luke shook his head. “Didn’t want to worry him.”

  “But look.” Mary Alice held up her hand for silence. We waited for her to swallow. “That’s what children are for. I think, Luke, that you ought to call Richard and tell him that his mama’s run off with a preacher who’s a painter on the side and may have joined a cult. Tell him it’s the Jesus’ Open Hand church or whatever you said. Maybe the federal government has a file on them.”

  Luke blanched beneath the several days’ growth of beard. “You think the federal government might have a file on this group?”

  “Oh, sure. Every time you see one of those groups out waiting for the end of the world on a mountaintop, there’s an FBI man right in the middle of them.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. This was fast getting out of control. “This Holden Crawford is a minister of a small church. Right?”

  Luke and Sister agreed.

  “The fact that it’s a small church certainly doesn’t mean it’s a cult.”

  They nodded.

  I continued. “He’s attractive, in his fifties—”

  “And he’s up on a ladder painting the soffits,” Sister interrupted. “What are soffits, anyway?”

 
“Those things under the eaves,” Luke explained. He turned to me. “What are you getting at, Patricia Anne?”

  “As I was saying—” I hesitated, expecting Sister to finish my sentence, but she didn’t. “He’s attractive, younger than Virginia. Maybe she was feeling a little lonesome.”

  “And there he was right outside her window reaching up to paint the soffits,” Sister added.

  Luke sighed. “I know, y’all. But she’s my wife. I’ve got to know that she’s all right.”

  “Well, eat an orange roll and let’s think about this for a few minutes.” I pushed the basket toward him.

  Luke is a nice-looking man. The older he gets, the more I see a resemblance to my father, his uncle. Papa had a square jaw that neither Sister nor I inherited, but that Luke picked up from the Tate gene pool. Luke and Papa also had the same dark auburn hair, which had turned white by the time they were fifty. Luke’s beard, I noticed as he leaned forward to take a roll, still had a lot of red in it. He had pulled off his jacket and was wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt that made his eyes, bloodshot as they were, look the same blue as Papa’s. And the same blue as both of my boys. Damn.

  Virginia has never been one of my favorite people. She’s a “sizer-upper,” one of those women who walks through your house and doesn’t miss a thing. The kind who knows more about your medicine cabinet than you do.

  But here was her husband, my papa’s look-alike, sitting at my kitchen table asking me to help him. Saying he needed to know if she was all right.

  Well, damn. What choice did I have?

  “Tell us what we can do,” I offered.

  “Like I said, help me find her. She’s been gone ten days.”

  “No problem,” Sister said.

  Chapter

  Three

  Luke fell asleep on my guest room bed as soon as his head hit the pillow. He looked so sick, I wondered if we ought to take him to a doctor.

  Sister said no. “He’s just torn up about Virginia. Just goes to show.”

  She was still sitting at the kitchen table finishing up the last of the orange rolls.