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

by L. K. Ellwood

  “Cute couple,” Ronnie murmured, taking a sip from her mug.

  Landon stared into his coffee, his hands curled around the mug, his knee nervously bouncing against her leg. “I’m sorry about that. Dakota’s usually really nice. She’s just upset about losing her job and Miss Witt dying.”

  “A lot of people are upset about that, Landon, which is why I thought she’d be more helpful.”

  “Do you really think somebody killed her?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Landon,” Ronnie sighed. The enticing scent of his aftershave was not helping matters. “I’m just trying to make sense of what Dakota just said, about there being a lot of trash around Two Witt. I mean, was she speaking figuratively?”

  Landon shook his head. “Dakota’s pretty much a straight shooter. She says what’s on her mind.”

  “That explains the tadpole remark,” Ronnie muttered, somewhat relieved to see Landon did not react. What concerned her more was what Dakota had not said.

  “Landon, from what you remember working at Two Witt,” Ronnie began, turning to face the boy. Please don’t look at me with those eyes. “Do you, uh, do you remember seeing anything or anyone unusual?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, was there something out of place? Do you recall Miss Witt looking uncomfortable with anybody?”

  Landon shrugged. “What little I saw of her, she was always uncomfortable. I thought it was because she was sick. But one time that blond guy...”

  “Danny Cushing, her agent?”

  Landon snapped his fingers. “Yeah, him. One day Rick and I were getting some sodas after working out in the yard, and Miss Witt comes in the kitchen with her agent riding her ass. He was ragging her about dragging her feet with contract negotiations. I wasn’t trying to listen, but it was hard to do with them right there. Finally the guy kicked us out and they went back to screaming at each other.”

  “Really.” That appeared to contradict what Danny had told her about Allayne’s renewal with Southwest Memorial. Had Allayne been coerced into signing the contract, perhaps the one with the miniseries, too? Perhaps she thought of taking some time off to recover, and Danny badgered her into signing, insisting a leave might harm her career. Certainly a reason to be angry, but not a reason to kill.

  “Yeah, and one other thing,” Landon said. “I’m in the laundry room cleaning up, and I overhear Mr. Cushing on his cell phone. Didn’t know who he was talking to, but he said something about coming into some money soon, and not to worry. I figured he got Miss Witt to sign that contract, and that he’d get his share, but it might have meant something else.”

  “Indeed, it might.” Danny could have been speaking of an inheritance, an inheritance of residual payments.

  She turned away from him, idly picking at the small, laminated dessert menu wedged in its metal clasp holder. Landon’s breathing was slow and even, tickling her left ear.

  “Do you think he might have done something?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know if I’m just letting my imagination run away with me. Lorraine’s fears have been drilled into my head so much that I’m starting to believe them. I’m wondering if I’ve been feeling guilty for not being a better friend to Allayne, that I feel compelled to see this through to alleviate my guilt.”

  She laughed bitterly to herself, then rewarded Landon with a shy smile. “But I thank you for your input, Landon. You’ve helped me see Two Witt from a different, unbiased perspective.”

  “You’re welcome.” Landon grinned wide and deftly stretched an arm across the back of the booth. Ronnie instinctively leaned away from the back of the bench seat.

  “So,” he said, “is that information worth something?”

  “I’ll pay for your coffee.”

  “That wasn’t what I had in mind.” Landon waggled his eyebrows.

  “I’ll buy you a cinnamon roll, too.”

  “Ronnie,” Landon whined.

  “Mrs. Lord,” Ronnie whined back.

  “Ronnie.”

  “Landon.” Ronnie’s voice was sharp. “I’m at least fifteen years older than you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “We probably don’t have anything in common. What would we talk about on a date?”

  “Well,” Landon frowned, “you like the Jags, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “That’s one thing. I’m sure we’d find others if you’d give it a chance.”

  “Yeah.” Ronnie’s shoulders sagged, and she was glad the deli was deserted. Even Loni was conspicuously absent, and Ronnie hoped she was not huddled in a corner of the kitchen, transcribing their conversation over the phone.

  “Haven’t you considered looking for somebody closer to your age?” she suggested. “You know, I hear Dakota has this friend Chloe who—”

  “Looks like Carrot Top. No way.” Landon exaggerated a shiver. “It’s because of what me and Lorne did, isn’t it? You still can’t get past that, after all I’m doing at the church, and keeping up with my probation meetings. I thought I’d paid my dues.”

  Landon’s sudden anger prickled at Ronnie, and she stiffened. She did not feel threatened, but almost guilty, as if trying him a second time.

  “What you did,” she said slowly, “is done. I told you that once before. As for whether or not it’s an issue with regards to your feelings for me...” She paused. Was it an issue? Was there an issue, at all? Ronnie pressed her hands together so Landon could not see that she had suddenly started trembling.

  “Look, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything. I know you’re thinking your family will freak out, but all I’m asking for is one date. I’ll pick you up, we’ll go out to eat, and I’ll take you home. Why does that sound like such an ordeal?”

  “It doesn’t,” Ronnie conceded. “It doesn’t sound painful at all. In fact, it sounds rather nice. I haven’t been out on a date in a while.”

  Landon held up his hands. “Neither have I. Let’s end our dry spells together. What do you say?”

  Ronnie said nothing, not even when Landon prodded her a second time. Finally he followed her gaze to the door to see Lew in his sheriff’s uniform, arms folded, staring back at them with a saddened expression. She had not heard the bell on his entrance.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Ronnie whispered, and Landon nodded.

  “That’s not a ‘no’, and I’ll take what I can get. Later.” Landon nodded slightly to Lew as he brushed past him to the exit. Lew did not return the acknowledgement, but kept his eyes fixed on Ronnie, who bent her head back to her mug.

  Loni materialized from out of nowhere, coffeepot in hand. “Usual, Lew?” she called.

  Lew hesitated then slowly shook his head. “No thanks, Loni,” he said, eyes still on Ronnie. “I’ve changed my mind. Sorry to bother you.” With that, he pushed through the door and into his cruiser, slamming the door behind him before pulling away. Loni and Ronnie continued to watch the street after the dust cleared, then Ronnie turned to find the deli owner scowling at her.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “You know damned well what. You had Ash Lake’s most eligible bachelor practically eating out of your hand, and now you’re throwing him to the curb to fulfill some crazy urge to go slumming.”

  “I am not slumming, and I’ll thank you to be a little more charitable towards Landon Dennis. He is sincere in trying to reform, you know,” Ronnie said defensively. “Besides, you wouldn’t be so supportive of Lew if you knew—”

  Ronnie stopped. Loni’s antennae extended, and the woman rushed closer to the table, as if to not miss a single word issued. What Ronnie did not expect was for Loni to nearly dive next to her and press her against the wall.

  “Would you like some pie?” she asked. “Compliments of the house.”

  “Loni, for crying out loud, it’s eight-forty in the morning.”

  “Hey, people eat cold pizza pie for breakfast all the time. Why not regular pie?”
>
  “Forget it. This bit of gossip stays in the vault.”

  Loni huffed and extricated herself from the booth. “Fine, be that way,” she said. “If you need me, I’ll be in the back looking for a safecracker.”

  ~ * ~

  Three calls to Lew from her cell were immediately patched to his voice mail, and Ronnie decided not to further harass him with messages she did not know would be answered. She could not honestly be certain how much of her conversation with Landon was heard, and what he had interpreted from it, so she let the ball dribble in his court. When he would decide to return serve, she did not know, but hoped it would not take long.

  The temptation to forget her troubles with a shopping trip to Regency Square in Jacksonville passed, as Ronnie did not feel like dealing with traffic on the Dames Point Bridge. Instead she milled around the shops in Ash Lake’s downtown square, taking in shelves of pastel curios, nautical plaques, and blown-glass dolphin sculptures. She saw a number of things that would have looked nice in her new place, but each inspection of their exorbitant price tags kept her wallet in her purse.

  In the bookstore next to the French Deli and Bakery, Ronnie purchased a few paperback mysteries and a crossword puzzle magazine, something to occupy the long, dateless nights she was certain were ahead of her. Bag in hand, she was about to unlock her Firebird when a movement inside the deli caught her eye.

  Nora Daily stood before the counter, gesturing wildly, as Loni shook her head and wrung a checkered towel in her hands.

  “Would you at least think about it?” the young woman was saying as Ronnie quietly reentered the deli and took a position behind Nora as if to order something to go. Loni looked relieved to see her, but shifted her glance back to Nora and sighed.

  “Hey, don’t get me wrong,” Loni said. “I’m a paid member of Allayne’s fan club, and while it’d be nice to do something for her memory, I can’t do this. Ask Ronnie Lord, right behind you.” Loni pointed, and Ronnie masked her displeasure as Nora turned with a scowl. “She knows all about this kind of stuff.”

  “Pray tell, of what stuff are we discussing?” Ronnie clasped her hands in mock interest.

  “I was talking with Mrs. Humphrey about having a sandwich named for Allayne,” Nora said testily. “I’m looking at this menu and I see a number of sandwiches named for people I’ve never heard of. Why not Allayne? She was a native of this backwater town, she deserves some recognition.”

  Loni snatched the paper takeout menu from Nora’s hand. “The Uncle Louis is named for my husband’s uncle, who loaned us the money to set up shop. The Miss Eulalie is for my grandmother, who gave me the slaw recipe that goes on the sandwich, and the Walter Meadows special is named for a local who was once listed in Guinness as being the oldest man alive. He ordered that particular sandwich every time he came in to eat.”

  “Which was every day the French Deli was open, until the day he died,” Ronnie added. “That’s his dollar bill framed on the wall behind Loni.”

  “Allayne patronized your restaurant, too, you know,” Nora said. “Every time she came to town.”

  “And I appreciate her for it, but if you’d give me a moment to talk you’d know that I once approached Allayne with this idea and she declined. Said she didn’t want a fuss, and I intend to honor her wishes, even in death.” Loni grasped the edges of the counter and furrowed her brows, effectively ending the discussion. An exhausted looking Nora threw up her hands in defeat.

  “Fine. All I want to do is keep Allayne’s memory alive, is that so much to ask?”

  “No, but surely there are other ways to do it,” Ronnie said. “For what it’s worth, there’s no sandwich named for my great-great aunt Lorena.”

  “That’s ’cause you said—” But Loni halted at the warning look on Ronnie’s face.

  “How about this?” Ronnie moved to the counter and brushed aside a stack of flyers advertising a Rotary Club fish fry. “How about Loni puts a collection jar on the counter, with the money going to The Allayne Foundation? It’s subtle, yet it’s for a good cause, and people in this backwater town are rather generous when it comes to charity.”

  “I’d be willing to go along with that,” Loni said.

  Nora nodded complacently. It was not the name in lights on the menu board, but Ronnie saw that the young woman was appeased. “We have jars specially made for that,” she said. “I’ll bring one by next time I’m here.”

  “I’ll make a space for it.” Loni smiled as Nora exited without a farewell.

  “Thank you so much,” she added when the two were alone. “I’ve never seen anybody go ballistic over a sandwich before. Not since somebody ordered the Walter Meadows in his presence and asked for Swiss instead of Muenster. You’d have thought the customer was pledging allegiance to the Communist Party, the way ol’ Walter carried on.”

  “I don’t see the point in naming sandwiches for people, anyway,” Ronnie said with a shrug. “I don’t think I’d want my name attached to something containing dead meat.”

  “Oh, this from the woman who orders extra bacon in her oatmeal.”

  Ronnie leaned on the counter. “You know, I should call your husband and suggest a new dish. The Loni Humphrey: grilled cheese and a glass of whine.”

  “How about the Veronica Lord? Just one big plate of chicken.”

  Ronnie stopped smiling and appraised Loni with a curious stare. “Why would you say that?” But Loni’s sly smile told her everything. “Tell me you didn’t crack the safe.” How had she done it so quickly, too?

  Loni pursed her lips. “Just ‘cause you’re not talking doesn’t mean Lew isn’t, either.”

  “Spill.”

  “Lew to Dwayne, Dwayne to his wife Shirley, Shirley to me.”

  Ronnie tensed. “I’ll kill him.”

  “Who? Lew or Dwayne?”

  “Both of them. All of them. The whole damned police department!” Ronnie exploded. How dare Lew make his deputy, of all people, privy to their relationship! Dwayne likely knew things she had yet to share with her own sister now. “These guys are supposed to be serving and protecting, not prattling like a house full of hens.”

  “Now, girl, don’t sweat it. I’m proud of you, actually. We need more people in this world with your sense of values.” Loni patted her hand and produced a Styrofoam container from the dairy case. “Don’t blame Lew. He probably just wanted to vent, and told the wrong person. You don’t have to worry about Dwayne’s wife, either, ‘cause she’s not the gossiping type.”

  “She told you.” Ronnie peered into the carton and saw a slice of pie. It was as if Loni had this prepared for her, to ease her anxiety.

  “I have ways of making people talk,” Loni drawled in an exaggerated accent, “and don’t you worry, ‘cause this is going into my vault, and Dick doesn’t even know the combination to that.”

  Ronnie was not consoled, and Loni sighed. “Anyway, I can more than pay you back for my burning curiosity if you’ll just wait a few minutes.”

  “How?”

  Loni only held up her forefinger and reached for the phone. “That Nora girl was puttering around the pharmacy before she came in here,” she said as Ronnie turned to look at the pharmacy across the street, next to the Vilano Theater. “Candis is working today. Maybe we can get some dirt.”

  “Dirt. What dirt? She was a probably buying a candy bar. If so, that only tells us she’s not very bright, because the markup over there is outrageous.”

  Loni pinned the receiver between her ear and shoulder. “You know, Dakota’s right. For someone with a college degree you sure don’t pick up on much.”

  Ronnie opened her mouth to respond but was silenced when Loni turned her attention to the voice on the other end of the phone. Several seconds of pleasantries volleyed back and forth before Loni went for the kill. Ronnie bent her ear closer, trying to interpret the “uh-huhs” and “oh, reallys” on Loni’s end before she replaced the receiver.

  Loni stretched her arms across the counter. “Candis repor
ts that Nora Daily dropped by to fill a prescription on insulin and hypodermic needles,” she said. “Myra’s working the register, and she said the girl also bought a bag of Funjuns, horrendously marked up—my words, not hers.”

  “I admire Candis’s chutzpah, telling you something so confidential.”

  “Hey, Candis isn’t a doctor. Everything’s fair game.”

  “Insulin and needles, huh? Diabetes.” Ronnie closed her eyes and tried to remember where she had seen a needle recently. She had not been many places over the week, save for home and Two Witt.

  Two Witt. There was a needle in the trashcan of Lorraine’s bathroom. “Do you suppose Nora was picking up a prescription for somebody else?” Ronnie wondered aloud.

  “Oh, no. It has to be hers,” Loni said. “They’re really strict about showing ID over there, ever since all that trouble with the OxyContin a few months back. People forging prescriptions and such.”

  “I see.” It seemed unlikely that Lorraine and Nora would both be diabetic. Possible, but it troubled Ronnie.

  Then she remembered Dakota’s remark. There’s a lot of trash that hasn’t been taken out.

  It made sense then to see discarded needles in Two Witt, but why in Lorraine’s bathroom?

  Unless Lorraine was being framed.

  Ronnie clutched her purse and dashed for the exit. “Loni, I just remembered something. I’ll see you later.”

  She was already out the door and in her car when Loni called after her. “Ronnie, hon? You left your pie.”

  Ten

  Bingo.

  Lorraine was right all along.

  The outer shell of the cookie was cracked slightly from where Allayne had bitten into it, to say nothing of the sweet’s treatment over the past few days, but Ronnie could clearly see the microscopic pinprick where the chocolate coating was thinnest. Somebody could easily have injected the cookie with insulin or something else lethal enough to put Allayne to sleep for good.

  Damn it! Why had Lorraine neglected to mention Nora’s diabetes? Did she even know? Had she known that fact, she might have given serious thought to Lorraine’s accusations earlier, and had the cookie analyzed by professionals. Or pressed Lew to look into the matter.