Pray for Us Sinners, a Cozy Mystery (A Ronnie Lord Mystery, #2) (The Ronnie Lord Mysteries)

by L. K. Ellwood

  “Wow.” Ronnie swore she heard an echo. She did her business quickly and washed her hands with the bar of lavender soap resting on a turtle-shaped dish. Glancing downward, she could not help but notice the wastebasket underneath the pedestal sink. Amid wads of tissue and makeup sponges she spotted a hypodermic needle. Ronnie frowned; she had not realized Lorraine was diabetic. She had so much energy, and the way she ate!

  Lorraine was pacing the foyer, looking at her watch when she returned. “Danny’s finishing yet another cigarette on the back patio,” she said with a grimace. “He’ll be here any second now.”

  “You really want me to ride home with him?” Ronnie had not meant to sound too sarcastic, but for a woman who was suspicious of the man…

  “You know what they say, dear, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Lorraine winked with a pained smile. “I know you’re probably thinking me an old woman crazy with grief—”

  “I don’t think that,” Ronnie rejoined quickly. Was that a lie?

  “But I’m thinking that you could use this time alone with Danny to interrogate him. You know, get him to slip up. Maybe he’ll admit to some wrongdoing.”

  “Somehow I’d think Danny might catch on quickly if I tried something.”

  “Ah, but you have that analytical mind,” Lorraine insisted, her rubber-soled shoes not making a sound as they walked. “You found that one murderer, you’ll find this one.”

  “Of course.” Ronnie sighed. If one exists, let’s just hope I don’t find him at the steering wheel.

  ~ * ~

  The Porsche sat much lower than Ronnie’s Firebird, and the cab was definitely cozier. While the Firebird did not have much of a backseat area, Danny’s car had none. In lieu of that was an expensive set of stereo speakers, which tickled Ronnie’s ears with a playful Mozart symphony.

  “Really?” Danny was saying to her. “You’ve never ridden in a Porsche before?”

  “You don’t find many of them in Ash Lake,” Ronnie admitted.

  Danny toggled the stick shift. “Well, we should definitely make your inaugural ride worth the while,” he said, and mashed the gas pedal. The car shot out of Two Witt’s driveway onto the main road like a stock car at the Daytona 500, pressing Ronnie into her seat. She tried to relax as the scenery blew past her window, and did not realize she had been holding her breath until Danny glanced at her.

  He chuckled and eased off the pedal. “I forgot, as small as this town is, you’d be home in two minutes, and that’s not long enough to appreciate a car like this.”

  “I suppose not,” Ronnie said with a nervous laugh. An awkward silence followed, with Lorraine’s words pounding in her ears. Get him to slip up. How to do that? Would it make any difference? Confirm that Allayne’s murder was a non-issue?

  “So,” she said finally, “I suspect you’ll be heading back to LA soon?”

  “Eventually,” Danny said, nodding. “Though I’m not in any rush. Allayne was my only client, and though it would probably be therapeutic to dive back into work and take on other actors, my heart’s just not in it right now.”

  “I know what you mean. When my husband died, I had to take a leave of absence from work. I didn’t know which way was up for months.”

  Danny eyed her sharply. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that.” His hand lifted from the stick shift and came to rest just above her knee, touching her skirt. Ronnie felt the entire leg numb.

  “It’s, uh, okay, it was a few years ago.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but she could tell Danny sensed her unease. She breathed deeply when he retracted his hand.

  “Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “It’s best that I stay here for a while longer. I don’t know if you heard at the house, but Nora’s been planning something.”

  “She mentioned something about a memorial for the fan base.”

  “Trust me, this is no ordinary memorial,” Danny said grimly. “I heard her on the phone today with somebody from the Alhambra Dinner Theater at the beach. Nora wants to put on a musical tribute to Allayne there, since that’s where her career began, with proceeds going to the Allayne Foundation. I probably wouldn’t have heard of it had Alex not mentioned it to me.”

  “Alex?”

  “Sorry, Alex Penrod. He plays Brantwood on the show. You saw him at the shivah. Nora convinced him to participate, and he was asking me about the place.”

  “Right, I did meet him at the house.”

  Danny’s sigh was labored. “Lorraine’s going to hit the roof when she hears about it.”

  “I can see why,” Ronnie mused. “She loved her daughter. She’s not going to want to be left out of the planning.”

  “Oh, Lorraine won’t want to plan anything at all, right now,” he said, then added upon seeing Ronnie’s confused expression, “I’m sorry, I forget you’re not Jewish. According to our customs, those in mourning are not supposed to attend any events with music for the next thirty days. Planning this event, it’s like Nora’s slapping Allayne’s mother in the face.”

  “I see. You know, I even wonder if Allayne would have wanted something like that planned in the first place.”

  Danny shook his head and braked gently at a stop sign. “I doubt it. Allayne loved her fans, and her career, but she valued her privacy. My guess is that Nora’s doing all of this stuff to show us that she can still be useful. Else she’s going to have to go out and find a real job.”

  “Really? So being fan club president was an actual paid position?” Ronnie was astonished. To think one could make a living of producing a quarterly newsletter and maintaining an Internet Web site devoted to another person. “Why didn’t I think to get a job like that?”

  “Yes, she draws a salary,” Danny said with a laugh. “Doesn’t make as much as me, but it’s enough to pay the bills. It’s a shame, though, that Allayne didn’t survive her illness. Nora would’ve been fine.”

  “Oh? Was Allayne going to renew her contract with the show?”

  “Not only that, but we were about to sign with the network for the lead in a miniseries.” He mentioned the name of the book on which the movie would be based. Ronnie whistled.

  “Read it. Oprah’s Book Club. I can see Allayne in the lead, too.”

  “She was made for the part, and it would’ve been the perfect springboard to feature films, too.”

  Ronnie noticed Danny’s voice sounded pained as he talked. How much commission from those contracts would be lost with Allayne’s passing? Certainly the prospect of soap opera residuals would not compensate. And the look in his eyes as he mentioned Allayne’s name… he honestly loved and missed her.

  No, this man was innocent, she decided. That left Nora.

  “Which way do I go from here?”

  “Huh?” Ronnie looked out the windshield at the intersection before them. She pointed Danny toward her complex, and leaned in her seat as the car turned.

  “Yeah, that is a shame,” she said, “I imagine Nora could have done much for the fan club, with promoting a TV miniseries. Hey, is it true that Nora has the right to license Allayne’s name to merchandise?”

  The Porsche stopped in front of Ronnie’s mailbox. Danny adjusted the parking brake, but let the engine idle in neutral. He twisted in his seat to face Ronnie, smirking.

  “You’ve been talking to Lorraine,” he accused.

  “Lorraine’s been talking to me.”

  Danny scratched his chin. One day into the ritual mourning, and already he appeared to be sprouting a few coarse, blond hairs. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he said, rather tersely, “but yes, Nora is authorized to do just that. However, the net of all monies made off of Allayne’s image and name will be given to the Allayne Foundation. Nora won’t benefit personally.”

  Ronnie nodded slowly. The air in the cab suddenly cooled, and she released the clasp of her seatbelt. “I see, I’m sorry. Lorraine wasn’t clear with me on that, and you’re right. It’s none of my business.” She swallowed back her beating heart, w
ondering if this awkward turn in the conversation would get back to Lorraine.

  “Nora didn’t kill her, Ronnie.”

  What? Ronnie gaped at Danny, unaware that no sound had come from her open mouth.

  Danny’s eyebrows raised, wrinkling his forehead. “That’s what you’re insinuating, isn’t it? This sudden interest in Nora, I mean. Your sister told me at the shivah that you’ve been dating the town sheriff, so I know you can’t be interested in Nora for other reasons.”

  Ronnie held her breath. Dating, dated… she didn’t know what she was to Lew anymore. As for Nora… “No! I mean, no,” she added in a lower voice. “It’s not like that at all. I mean,” down to whisper now, “is Nora…?”

  Danny shrugged. “Personally, I don’t know and I don’t care. She spends so much time being the president of the fan club that I don’t think she has a social life.”

  “Uh-huh.” Still none of my business. “So, what makes you think I think Allayne’s death is suspicious?”

  “It’s not that difficult to read Lorraine. Remember, I’ve been staying at the house, so I’ve had the pleasure of watching the woman fuss about and eye us with caution,” he said without a hint of malice. “Plus I know all about you tangling with that murderer last year, and seeing Lorraine taking you into her confidence… I just put two and two together.”

  Ronnie slowly exhaled. Lorraine was not going to like that Danny was on to her. Then again, she could not help but feel relieved that the situation was out in the open. “Danny, I’m sorry if—”

  “Ronnie.” The hand landed on her knee again, this time below the skirt, and squeezed. Ronnie tensed.

  “Ronnie, I know you’re a smart lady. You don’t believe for a minute that one of us could have killed Allayne, do you? It makes no sense.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell Lorraine, but she insists foul play.” Ronnie could hear her voice crack. “I hate to think I’m just humoring the woman…”

  “Do you want me to talk to Lorraine?”

  “No!” Ronnie held up a hand and shifted in her seat, hoping Danny would take the hint and remove his hand. He did not budge. “Who knows what she’ll do if she knows you know anything? I’ll call her tomorrow and call the whole thing off. Pass the buck to Lew. He’s much more diplomatic than I am.”

  “Lew, the sheriff?”

  Ronnie nodded. She did not like Danny’s smile.

  “Was your sister serious about the two of you?” he asked. “From what little I’ve seen these past few days, you two don’t look like an item.”

  The hand snaked higher. Ronnie’s eyes widened. Now who was concerned about forbidden things during the mourning period?

  Ronnie curled her fingers around the door handle and pulled. “Trust me, Danny, you are very much mistaken. In fact, Sheriff Caperton and I are engaged to be married. Thank you for driving me home.”

  She leaped on rubber legs out of the Porsche and quick-stepped to her door, leaving a bewildered Danny Cushing in her wake. She did not turn to acknowledge the car still idling on the curb by her house as she let herself inside and slammed the door.

  With her back pressed against the perpendicular wall, she sank slowly to the floor, breathing deep to calm her shakes. Peering out the frosted glass panel, she watched the distorted figure of the Porsche slowly ease into the driveway across the street in a three-point turn, disappearing from view.

  She looked down at her hands, and wondered if Danny had noticed she was not wearing an engagement ring.

  Oh, Lord! Ronnie squeezed her eyes shut. Please forgive that one lie. Please make it come true.

  Nine

  There were two messages waiting for Ronnie on her answering machine. Ronnie slung her purse on the kitchen counter and stared at the blinking red light, her bare feet hurting. Right now Gina was probably snug on her couch in a pair of sweatpants and T-shirt, reading a novel, while she was just getting home. Ronnie reminded herself to put in a six o’clock wake up call to see if her sister wanted to go to the seven-thirty daily Mass.

  Uncle Arthur’s loud, stern voice roared through the blossoming migraine pounding nails from inside her skull. “Skipping. She was skipping up the walk after he dropped her off. A woman her age,” he blared, popping his P’s with such force that Ronnie expected spittle to spray through the speaker. “I’ve got a good mind to plant one of these ankle bracelets on her so she can’t leave the house, either. What’s the number for the state pen?” Click.

  “Good luck.” Ronnie mashed the erase button. She would deal with that tomorrow as well, she decided. Nana would be more receptive to reason if Ronnie was in a better frame of mind, thereby allowing her to treat her grandmother as an adult.

  The second message began with a heavy, crackling sigh. “Hi, it’s Landon. Landon Dennis?”

  Ronnie froze, then rolled her eyes. Of course it was. How many Landons did he think she knew?

  “Listen,” the message continued, “you’re probably expecting me to apologize for what happened, and I called here about to do so, but I realized I’d be lying. ‘Cause I’m not sorry, you know?”

  Ronnie smiled. He sounded sincere, at least, and she did feel bad for running out on him without giving him a chance to explain his actions.

  “Anyway, Ronnie, if you’re not mad at me I’d like to see you and just talk. We can meet up at the Wild Rooster for a beer or something, someplace public if you think I’m going to try something again. I’ll have to warn you, though, I just might.” A nervous chuckle followed, and Landon left his number. Ronnie surprised herself by actually copying it down on a Post-It note.

  She stared at the seven numbers on the little yellow paper square for several seconds before erasing the message, then crumpled the note into a tiny ball before flicking it into the garbage. No, she thought, whatever reparations he’s made, I can’t ignore what he and his brother did. Besides, with Nana and Ethan painting Ash Lake red, one controversial relationship in the family was enough.

  She turned to go to bed, but suddenly reached for the trash can and fished out the scrap of paper, flatting it against the counter. Landon had mentioned working at Two Witt with his friend. Perhaps he had seen something amiss while working there. Perhaps his friend had seen something.

  Perhaps Danny was only trying to convince her that Allayne was not murdered in order to throw her off the scent. Perhaps Lorraine was right, after all.

  Ronnie rubbed the bridge of her nose, willing her thoughts in one direction. She had not been this confused since the first year she had to do her own taxes.

  Finally she slapped a hand on the counter. “Girl, give it up,” she told herself. “Just go to bed.”

  ~ * ~

  Late into the night, as she drifted in and out of a dream, Ronnie thought better of the wake up call for Gina. She decided instead to just pay her sister a visit—at the crack of dawn—and prepare breakfast. She still had a key to the house.

  To her surprise, her brother-in-law did not register any surprise to see Ronnie at the kitchen stove, arranging several silver dollar pancakes on a large platter. Bill Hayes merely sat down at the kitchen table, armed with a fork, and eyed his empty coffee mug with longing.

  “It’ll be ready in a few,” she told him, and ducked into the refrigerator. “Does Gina still have you off sodium?”

  Bill beckoned her toward the butter tray on the refrigerator. “Just cut me a pat before she wakes up, will ya?” he begged in his gruff, morning voice. “I can’t stand that imitation spray crap she buys.”

  Ronnie instead handed him the dreaded yellow bottle. “And incur Gina’s wrath? No, thanks. I’d just eat them dry if I were you.”

  Bill snorted. “So, is it Daylight Savings Day at the Regency Mall? That why you’re here so early, to abscond with my wife and spend my money?”

  “Oh, no, Bill.” Ronnie smiled sweetly. “Haven’t you realized yet that you’ve been dreaming all this time? I never moved out of the basement.”

  Bill did not laugh, b
ut helped himself to half the platter. “Fine with me, if you want to sleep on top of a pool table. We’re getting it today.”

  “A pool table, nice.” Ronnie raised her eyebrows. Bill had wanted one for years. “I take it business is booming.”

  “Always is in the summertime,” Bill said between bites. “Plus the new development in your new neighborhood. You’ll be within walking distance of a Starbuck’s soon.”

  Ronnie sighed. There was that serpentine chain, slithering up behind her. “Maybe they’ll give away free samples on opening day.”

  One by one the rest of the family joined the table and Ronnie resumed her position at the stove. Elliott was particularly active for such an early hour. “Have you seen the basement since Dad and I rearranged it?” he asked his aunt. “I got my own shelf for my graveyard dirt collection now.”

  Ronnie stole a glance at her sister; it was clear Gina had lost some sort of argument regarding her youngest child’s strange hobby. Ever since the young couple who had discovered Lorena’s desecrated grave while on a dirt-collecting mission influenced the young boy, Elliott’s own collection had grown to nearly fifty jars. Already he had samples from a number of eternal Florida residences, including Lorena’s old site and two late members of Lynyrd Skynyrd.

  “I’ll have to take a look,” Ronnie told her nephew. “Though, it would have been nice if you guys had waited at least a week out of deference to my leaving,” she added to Bill, who shot her a look.

  Breakfast progressed quickly, with Bill leaving for work shortly after, and the boys heading into their room to change. Ronnie helped Gina clear the table.

  “Speaking of collections,” Gina crooked her neck toward the basement door. “If you don’t mind, I’d like for you to hold onto one of Bill’s for me, say, until the boys are married and/or dead.”

  Ronnie smiled. Gina could only be talking about the boxes of vintage Playboy magazines Bill kept sealed in plastic sleeves. Apparently he was saving them for a time when they would be used as currency. “What will my neighbors think?” Ronnie placed a hand to her heart in mock indignation.