Gina did not appear too convinced, which baffled Ronnie. Normally when her sister learned of somebody mulling over the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults program, as the secretary of the English department at Ronnie’s school did last year, Gina would immediately prepare a reading list and offer prayerful support. Indeed, here she frowned deeper and slammed back into the house, muttering along the way that she would be helping Nana supervise the move. More than likely, Ronnie knew, she would be taking a mental inventory of everything in the house, just in case.
Ronnie turned back to Father Joel with a withering look. “What she means is that she wants to make sure Landon Dennis doesn’t steal anything more from the Alger clan.”
“I highly doubt he’ll do that.” Father Joel sounded insulted.
Ronnie shrugged. “I have nothing worth stealing anyway. I don’t even have a television anymore.”
“Just as well. No point in owning one until football season starts,” Father rejoined with a smile, “unless you’re lucky enough to get Jaguars tickets.”
“After last season, that shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Hey, new coach, new season.” Father Joel chuckled. “Have faith.”
“I’m trying, but I have this nagging feeling God’s siding with the NFC.” Ronnie then invited the priest inside for a look around and for a soda. “By the way, is the other Dennis brother doing his service for the church, too?”
Father Joel stopped short of the threshold and his countenance darkened. Ronnie felt a light catch at her throat. This just hasn’t been the day for saying the right thing, she thought.
“Lorne Dennis is back in prison,” Father Joel said quietly. “Assault and battery following a rough night at the Wild Rooster, not to mention violating his parole.” He shook his head. “That’s part of the reason we’ve seen such a change in his younger brother. He’s finally decided he needs better role models and a better way of life.”
Ronnie nodded. Who could think of a better role model than the good Lord? “Well, maybe the changes will rub off on Lorne. What about the other boy in there?” She crooked her head towards the house. “What’s his story?”
“Rick Something-or-Other, he spoke so fast I didn’t catch it,” Father Joel admitted. “He’s not one of ours, he’s a friend of Landon’s. Does odds jobs for a living.”
They peered inside the house to see the aforementioned Rick enjoying a long pull from a Coke can while Gina and Nana positioned throw pillows on the newly acquired piece of furniture. Landon was nowhere to be seen.
Ronnie nudged the priest inside the foyer. “No sense in standing in the sun when I finally have a couch to sit on,” she said. “Enjoy the inaugural sit, and I’ll get you a Coke.”
She found Landon in the kitchen, leaning back against her double-tub sink, idly inspecting two round nuts screwed into the ceiling. An open Sprite can sat on the counter to his left; tiny carbonated bubbles fizzled on its rim.
“That’s for the hanging pot rack.” Ronnie nodded upward as she ducked into the refrigerator for the priest’s drink. Suddenly she felt silly for explaining. What did the boy care of her cookery and kitchen décor?
Landon crossed his right hand over his left shoulder to rub a sore muscle. His head tilted back slightly, and Ronnie noticed a trail of reddened acne lining his lower jaw. Other than that, he appeared to be a handsome young man with his hair growing out and the first signs of a mustache darkening his upper lip. A far contrast from the forlorn and shorn youth the Algers encountered in court last year.
“Yeah, there’s a huge pot rack in the church kitchen almost like that, too. We went in there this morning to unload frozen fish sticks for the school.” The statement sounded more like a question coming from the lad, and Ronnie nodded to show that she understood.
“Good thing my nephews are being home schooled,” Ronnie cracked. “They can’t stand fish sticks.”
This got a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Anyway, that rack had these huge spaghetti pots hanging from it. They looked so heavy, like they could pull the screws from the ceiling.”
“They have to feed a lot of kids over there,” Ronnie agreed. Since the bodily interment of Lorena into the church’s altar, registration and enrollment at the school had swelled. With the closing of a soup kitchen at the local Presbyterian church, there was also talk of moving the ministry over to the church hall, which doubled as the school cafeteria. She imagined Landon would be unloading frozen fish sticks for the rest of his allotted community service.
Landon grimaced. “I didn’t much care for the lunches we got at school. ’Bout everything came with cold tater tots, and the lunch lady was so butt ugly and always muttering under her breath.”
“Tourette’s?”
Landon smiled and held up the can for another drink. “No, thanks. This is fine.”
Ronnie closed the refrigerator door with a thud. She thought better than to say anything. The boy was trying, after all. Instead she dipped an awkward smile in his direction and turned to leave when his next words froze her to the spot.
“I’m sorry for what I did.”
“What did you do?” Ronnie’s heart stopped. Had Gina been right about the boy? Had he slipped a knickknack into his back pocket only to feel guilty about it? Maybe he had found the google-eyed Walnut Man. If so, he could have it.
“I meant about that coffin and all. Lorena. I don’t remember apologizing in court; then again, I don’t remember much about that at all.” Landon looked down at his shoes. “We needed the money, and we didn’t know—”
Abruptly Ronnie’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, a move that surprised Ronnie just as much as it did Landon. “Please, you don’t need to apologize any more. Lorena is fine, and so are we. You and your brother weren’t responsible for Paul Dix’s death.”
“But if we hadn’t stole the body first—”
“Mr. Dix would probably still have been killed, he knew too much and he was a liability. You don’t know what would have happened, so don’t bother creating and reliving alternative scenarios.” Ronnie removed her hand and resumed a safe distance from Landon. What was that scent on him? It was spicy and bold, no doubt some brand of cologne advertised in outdoors magazines featuring rugged cowboys riding into the sunset. Why were her insides suddenly shivering?
Quickly she bolstered the distance between them by opening the refrigerator again and unconsciously returning the priest’s soda. There did not seem to be a world outside the kitchen anymore, and it unnerved Ronnie to be feeling such a way, especially with Lew…
Ronnie squeezed her eyes shut. She did not want to think about Sheriff Lew Caperton right now, regardless of what she was feeling. She was still angry with him.
“Any—anyway,” she continued, “you and your brother actually did us a favor by taking Lorena when you did. I doubt anyone else would have taken as good care of her.”
“We cut off her finger and gave it to your grandma, I wouldn’t call that good care,” Landon protested hoarsely. “Why do you think I’m in here? I can’t even look at Mrs. Alger.”
“So? It’s done. We couldn’t reattach the finger, but it is back with the body anyway. Nana forgives you, and we have moved forward. Somebody else could have chopped her into tiny bits and sold her relics on the black market.” Whether or not there existed a black market for first-class saintly relics Ronnie could not really say, but the would-be lie at least brought a smile of relief to the boy’s face.
“Mrs. Hayes doesn’t forgive us still, I can tell,” he said, his face suddenly falling. “Lorne’s not helping much by going back to prison.”
“I wouldn’t worry about my sister. She still hasn’t forgiven me for things I did to her when we were kids,” Ronnie assured him. Then, realizing Gina might be within earshot, she leaned back to spy on the activity in the living room. In doing so she nearly crashed into Father Joel.
“Oh, Father Joel! I forgot about your soda.” Ronnie felt suddenly guilty.
The priest sho
wed no disappointment. “Not a problem, Ronnie. I’ve just come for Landon so we can get going. Rick has your box of donation items, and we’re going to take your grandmother back to the church.”
“Are you sure, Father? How will all of you fit into the cab?” Surely Father Joel was not planning on having Nana sit on somebody’s lap?
From the corner of her eye she watched Landon take one last gulp of soda before pouring the remaining liquid down the sink. “Oh, the boys will be fine riding in the back of the truck,” came Father Joel’s detached voice from the other side. Landon nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, we’ve done it before. No biggie,” he said. “Thanks for the drink, Mrs. Lord.”
“No problem. Just don’t get dehydrated today. And please, call me Ronnie. Mrs. Lord is my mother-in-law.”
“We won’t… Ronnie.”
A shy smile lightened the young man’s face, and Ronnie considered hiding behind the refrigerator door again. What was wrong with her today?
~ * ~
“You know, by the time you get everything unpacked and in place you’ll be ready to move again.”
Gina and Ronnie sat alone in the living room, each curled on opposite corners of the couch, staring at the bare wall before them. In the time following Father Joel’s departure, only one box had been unpacked, the contents of which were stacked at Ronnie’s feet. The bed upstairs had yet to be put together, the computer in the downstairs bedroom was not yet connected to the Internet, and only half a roll of tissue paper remained in the downstairs half-bathroom. The temptation to beg another night at Gina’s house nagged at her.
No, Ronnie thought. It would be better to just fit a sheet over the mattress and sleep on the floor. She saw no reason to spoil the joy in which her brother-in-law basked the moment he reclaimed his basement.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ronnie said finally. “I can’t find a better place to live for the mortgage I’m paying. Real estate is really getting expensive out here.”
Gina closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the wall. “People want to live in the country now, away from Jacksonville. Of course the land’s going to sell at a premium if it’s in demand, and it’s still cheaper than moving out to Fernandina.”
“Yeah, well, if the area continues to be developed nobody’s going to be able to tell where Jacksonville ends and where Ash Lake begins,” Ronnie shot back. “We’ll all be moving into the ocean to get away from the serpentine chain of Starbucks stores and dry cleaners following us up the street.”
“Serpentine chain,” Gina snorted. “How long have you been rehearsing that rant in your head?”
“Does it show?” Ronnie asked with mock innocence.
Gina shook her head. “Well, don’t complain to me. Write a letter to the editor. Aren’t you on a first name basis with that guy at the Times-Union?”
Ronnie thought of the gruff Oscar Blaine, spewing phlegm into her phone when she had called last year to complain about the intrusive journalism techniques of beat reporter Chet Hoskins. “I just might do that, thank you for suggesting it.”
They remained silent for a few more seconds when Gina suddenly bolted upright. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to three. Plenty of time.” Gina’s sons still had forty-five more minutes of practice. Gina relaxed back into the couch.
“You know, if you had kept your TV set we could be watching the end of Southwest Memorial,” Gina chided. “You want to know how Allayne’s doing, you only have to turn on her show.”
“Those episodes are taped weeks in advance, Gina,” Ronnie sighed. “Besides, they have so much makeup on her she probably looks better than she did at her healthiest. I think the local news provides a better perspective.”
Courtesy of the local newspapers and morning news shows, Ash Lake had over the past few weeks been granted daily coverage of Allayne Witt’s homecoming. Every day Ronnie opened the paper to a picture of Allayne strolling through the Avenues Mall in Jacksonville, dining at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, or signing autographs for a gaggle of ever-present fans. It amused Ronnie to see such fawning media exposure; it was not as if Jacksonville was devoid of celebrity, given that various Jaguars players and surviving Lynyrd Skynyrd band members could often be spotted around town. Perhaps Allayne warranted more attention because she had two Daytime Emmys on her mantel and the occasional matinee idol on her arm, while the Jags continued to struggle through their seasons.
The one thing Ronnie did not see in the paper during this time was a picture of Allayne Witt coming out of the Mayo Clinic on the Southside of Jacksonville after a chemotherapy session. There were no pictures to be seen of an unglamorous actress ravaged by a bout with breast cancer. In a way, though, it pleased Ronnie that the press had enough grace to leave that aspect of Allayne’s life private. Still, she wondered how the woman who had once sat next to her at Girl Scout meetings fared.
“Well, as I’ve probably asked a hundred times this morning, have you heard from Allayne lately?” Ronnie asked Gina.
“Please.” Gina picked at a loose thread jutting up from the sofa arm. “The only time I hear from Allayne Witt is through her fan club or one of the legion of ‘little people’ on her payroll, and everybody in town gets those things in the mail. I don’t think I’ve spoken a complete sentence to her since that last benefit she sponsored, and that was two years ago.”
Ronnie had to think about that one. “Oh, yeah, you mean the one for the Allayne Foundation. Seems like every television star has an eponymous charitable organization devoted to eradicating some unpronounceable disease, huh?” she said. The eponymous charitable organization in question, The Allayne Foundation, was originally set up to aid underprivileged children in the North Florida area, but recently the focus was expanded to include benefits to cancer patients, particularly children. Ronnie knew Allayne often sought local celebrities to associate with her at various events. The Algers, specifically Nana, had been approached in recent months for such things, no doubt in response to Lorena’s canonization. With Lorena unable to participate…
Gina shifted and cast a sideways glance at her sister. “You’re getting rather eloquent with your vocabulary lately, aren’t you?”
Ronnie shrugged. “I teach English. That’s my excuse.”
“Well, the only one I do hear from all the time is that loudmouth mother of hers. Oh!” Gina added with a grimace. “Lorraine Witz, ugh. She came into the deli the other day while Loni was slicing me some turkey. The whole time we were at the counter it was Allayne this and Allayne that. How great she is and how much money she’s making and how she was spending it all on her dear mother who worked—”
“—two jobs, one at the Waffle House off I-95 by the airport and the other for some godforsaken podiatrist who looked like Katharine Hepburn in man drag, I know.” Ronnie too had heard the same platitudes from the senior Witz woman, as Lorraine Witz was very fond of lording her famous daughter over everybody and anybody powerless to move. Who could move, what with Lorraine keeping her audience captive with her hypnotic, nasal voice and vice-like grip?
Gina fanned her fingers in front of her face, an obvious attempt at mocking the stage mother. “I had no other choice, what with Harold leaving me high and dry for his bimbo receptionist who defied gravity. She didn’t have two brain cells to rub together, and yet he hired her to do shorthand. Little did I know what she was really doing with her hands,” she declared in Lorraine Witz’s Brooklyn-born accent to Ronnie’s encouraging laughter. Returning to normal, Gina shook her head at her sister. “Yeesh, if you already know the answer, why did you ask?”
Ronnie shrugged. “Dunno. I’m just curious to know how she’s really doing, you know? The papers don’t report about her health, just fluff pieces, so we don’t really know how well she’s recovering from the cancer, if she is.”
“Well, call her yourself, Ron!” Gina looked at her watch. “Just because she’s a big time soap star diva doesn’t mean she’s unapproachable.”
“I can’t do that. She won’t remember me. She was in your graduating class.”
“So what? Yeah, we shared classes, but she ran with the cool kids and the drama club. And she was Jewish, so she certainly wasn’t going to tag along with our off-campus Bible study. Besides, Nana’s the one who really gets invited to those shindigs. They only contact me personally when they can’t find her.”
Ronnie rose and tried to mentally measure the opposite wall. It certainly was large enough to support an entertainment center, but when did she ever watch television? Back when she had her own set and cable television hookup at Gina’s, the boys used it more than she did. She had not watched Southwest Memorial in earnest in at least five years, either. More than likely the characters she followed were either dead and awaiting resurrection, or in witness protection.
Gina opened her mouth to say something more when a sharp digital whirring noise filled the air. “Where’s the phone?” she asked instead as both women glanced around the room.
“Good question.” Ronnie peered over boxes and unruly stacks of papers for her handheld receiver, finding it on top of a folded newspaper in the kitchen. She answered on the third ring to a quiet, feminine voice.
“Veronica Lord?” she called hoarsely before Ronnie could even acknowledge the call.
“Uh, speaking. This is Ronnie.” Ronnie felt her heart numb. Already one week into school and her students were finding excuses to bail, she was certain. Who else could it be, since only the school and family had her new number? Even Lew did not have it, and Ronnie was not sure she wanted to give it to him just yet, considering…
“Ronnie, hi. This is Allayne Witt, you know, from high school? Or should I say Elaine Witz?” The voice on the other end faltered, and Ronnie heard Allayne speaking brusquely with somebody in the background. Ronnie took the second to clamp her hand over the mouthpiece and mouth Allayne’s name to Gina.
Pray for Us Sinners, a Cozy Mystery (A Ronnie Lord Mystery, #2) (The Ronnie Lord Mysteries) Page 3