Neil was silent for a moment. Then he breathed, “Someone is after the Six of Hearts.”
“Somebody already got one.”
“So you think this is all about retribution for Faith’s death?”
“Don’t you?” she asked carefully.
Another beat of silence. “Sounds like it. But why after all these years?”
“I don’t know. Mary said her father had been going through Faith’s papers lately. Maybe she wrote down something about the club and Zeke figured out we were with her when she died. Either Zeke or Mary.”
“Maybe,” he said slowly.
“You sound doubtful. Even you mentioned that Mary lied about the locket.”
“Yes. Both of them could want revenge for Faith’s death. Who else might want revenge?”
Laurel licked her dry lips. She was getting into dangerous territory. “I…I don’t know.”
“Yes you do,” Neil said evenly. “Faith isn’t the only one who died that night. You’re thinking maybe the father of the baby wants revenge.”
“Uh, well…”
“Which means you suspect me.” Laurel cast frantically in her mind for an inoffensive answer. There was none. “Yes, Neil, I’ve thought of that.”
“That’s why Monica was questioning me at the party.”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to be angry that anyone would suspect me of murder, but it’s not the first time. Some people thought I killed Faith.”
“Not for long. You had a rock-solid alibi.”
“Thank God. But I don’t this time. I could have done any of the pranks you talked about. Hell, I could even have killed Angela. I was in Wheeling when she died. New York is no great distance. I could have driven there and back in one night.” Laurel couldn’t answer. “But I didn’t.”
Silence spun out while Laurel tried to analyze his tone. Not nervous. Too calm?
“Laurel, I understand why you think the person you’re looking for might be the father of Faith’s baby. It’s a logical assumption. That’s why I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone. I was not the father of Faith’s child.”
Shouldn’t she have expected this denial given the direction of the conversation? Wouldn’t any man say the same thing to divert suspicion from himself? “Neil, after Faith died and everyone thought she’d committed suicide because you wouldn’t marry her, why didn’t you ever say it wasn’t your baby?”
“Because I didn’t know it wasn’t mine. I should have known because she never said a word about being pregnant to me. I had no idea. But when I heard she was, I assumed it was mine.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Four years ago I found out I’m sterile.”
“Sterile!” Laurel burst out in spite of herself. “Neil, you had a son with Ellen. What about Robbie?”
“I married Ellen six weeks after she gave birth to Robbie and I adopted him. Her ex-husband didn’t want children and divorced her when she got pregnant. She thought he’d come back to her after he saw the baby, but he didn’t, so she agreed to marry me and give her baby a father.”
“But how did you find out you were sterile?”
“Ellen wanted more children. We tried for two years and nothing happened. We went through a battery of tests. It didn’t take long to find out the fault was mine. I had mumps when I was a kid. The doctor said they can cause sterility. That was when my marriage began to fall apart. It was also when I realized I couldn’t have been the father of Faith’s baby.”
Very convenient, Laurel thought cynically. Also very hard to prove. But he sounded so sincere. And if he were lying, why hadn’t he done it thirteen years ago? Even now he wasn’t denying he’d had sex with Faith. In fact, he said that at the time of her death, he believed he was the father of her baby.
“Laurel, I know you probably don’t believe me,” he said. “I’m not asking you to cross me off your list of suspects. All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind, not so much for my sake as for your own. There’s someone out there who was the father of Faith’s child, someone who could know about the Six of Hearts.” He paused. “Someone who could do to you what he did to Angela.”
2
A lazy, lovely snow began around seven A.M. Laurel had been awake for around an hour and now sat at the table in the glass-enclosed breakfast nook, sipping coffee and watching April and Alex frolic. Being taller, April looked more graceful than her brother, who tended to lower his head and plow forward like a charging bull.
Laurel smiled. She wished she could get as excited about playing in the snow. Instead, all she had to look forward to was a funeral. At least the snow was light and shouldn’t interfere too much with the service at eleven.
She fixed the dogs their Alpo but skipped any breakfast for herself. Just the thought of food nearly choked her. She showered, put on a sedate black suit, black boots, pulled back her hair in a black bow, and left for the store.
“You’re not going to work today, are you?” Norma exclaimed when she and Penny found Laurel in the workroom.
“I’ll take time off for the service, but I’m really better off keeping busy.”
“Well, do it behind the counter,” Norma ordered. “You don’t want to mess up that nice suit back here.”
“Will Mary be in today?” Penny asked.
“I’m not sure. I told her not to come back until she’s feeling one hundred percent fine. I doubt if she’s there yet.”
“I hope they put her father away for a long time for what he did,” Penny said.
Laurel looked at her. “As a matter of fact, he was out of jail Saturday afternoon and causing more trouble Saturday night.”
Penny’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding!”
“I wish I were.” Laurel sighed. “I get very frustrated with the law sometimes.”
“Don’t we all,” Norma agreed. “I sure hope they find who murdered your friend.”
“So do I,” Laurel said vehemently.
Later she couldn’t concentrate on the funeral mass. She studied the large crowd. She recognized a few celebrity faces from the entertainment world, the governor of West Virginia, and a handsome man who sat with the family. Judson Green, Angie’s fiancé. Laurel remembered his picture from the newspaper. It certainly hadn’t done him justice. What a great life had been snatched from Angie.
Laurel also saw the blue-haired Lewis sisters, who never missed a local funeral. Near them sat Monica. Denise was seated by Crystal. Laurel caught Denise’s eye and smiled. Denise gave her a flat, cold look and turned her head. It doesn’t matter, Laurel thought staunchly. I did the right thing.
She followed the entourage to the cemetery. The snow still fell desultorily, as if its heart weren’t really in it. Not as many people came to the cemetery as to the church. Once again, Laurel found herself unable to concentrate on the priest’s words. Pictures flashed in her mind. Their fourth-grade teacher losing her temper with Angie because she kept making everyone giggle and sending Angie to the blackboard to write “I will be serious” fifty times, and how Angie laughed afterward because the teacher never noticed she’d misspelled “serious” every time. Angie singing “These Dreams” in the talent contest. Angie teaching Faith to dance a pas de deux to “Moonlight Sonata.”
Dancing in slow motion. Faith looking at Laurel. “You’re the only one. You know.” The intensity of her azure eyes. Laurel shuddered.
“Cold?” a woman whispered.
Laurel nodded, then looked at the woman. It was easy to see she’d once been a beauty. Now in what Laurel guessed to be her late sixties, the woman had skin that was pale and webbed with fine wrinkles. Her blue eyes were slightly dulled, and her white hair was pulled back in a severe French twist. Not every older woman could have looked attractive with the stark hairstyle, but her classic features did not require curls.
Laurel realized with a start the service was over. People gathered around the Riccis. Some formed small groups, others made their way to their cars
. No one approached her and she turned away, feeling oddly disoriented, partly ashamed that she hadn’t shed a tear, partly relieved that the ordeal was over. She pulled her coat more closely around her and started in the direction of her car. As she plodded through the snow, she suddenly realized how close she was to Faith’s grave. She hadn’t visited it since the day of Faith’s funeral. Her footsteps slowed. Did she want to go there, especially today?
She was already walking in that direction before she’d consciously made up her mind. Big flakes of snow fell on her face, and caught in her lashes as she climbed the knoll where Faith rested. She buried gloved hands in her pockets as her heart beat harder. What did she expect? she asked herself. Faith to pop up and point an accusing finger at her?
As she neared the grave, Laurel saw a figure bending over it. She squinted through the snow. It was a woman in black. A woman with upswept white hair.
“Hello!” Laurel called, recognizing the woman who’d stood beside her at Angie’s gravesite.
The woman looked up, then began to run in the opposite direction with amazing swiftness. Surprised, Laurel slowed. What was wrong with the woman? Who was the woman?
Laurel picked up speed again, watching the woman disappear over the top of the knoll. She wiped a gloved hand over her eyes, brushing the snow away. When she reached Faith’s grave, she knelt. The simple gray stone looked little and bleak, almost lost in the blanket of snow. But against it, red as blood, rested six carnations tied with a red ribbon from which dangled a small red plastic heart.
Twelve
1
For the second time in the last week Laurel vowed to get a cell phone for the car as she pulled up at a curb and climbed from the car, sloshing through dirty road snow to reach a public phone. She called the store and told Norma and Penny she would be returning later than she’d expected. Then she headed out of town to the Howard house.
Laurel had only been to Faith’s house once although it was not too far from her own. Long ago Zeke insisted on meeting Faith’s new best friend. Even then his hair had been bushy and white and he’d looked at everyone accusingly as if they’d committed some horrible deed. Laurel had been scared to death of him, but apparently her sedate appearance and shy manner reassured Zeke. Laurel remembered Neil saying Zeke had only allowed Faith to date him because his parents were part of Zeke’s congregation and Zeke had considered him “safe.” She guessed Zeke had considered her safe, too.
The house was old, two-story, and covered with peeling white paint. One green shutter hung loose from an upstairs window. For the first time, Laurel thought about the Howards’ finances. Zeke used to be a handyman. He was quite skilled, but eventually he lost jobs because he couldn’t confine his preaching to his church meetings. Everyone he worked for was treated to a long sermon, and when he wasn’t preaching, he was belting out hymns at the top of his voice. Eventually no one would hire him. The Howards now subsisted solely on what Mary earned at Damron Floral, which wasn’t a generous salary. Laurel’s father hadn’t raised wages for four years, even though the store was doing better than it had in the past decade. As Laurel climbed the rickety front steps, she decided to change that situation, no matter what her father said. Everyone at Damron Floral deserved a raise.
She knocked on the door. In a moment Mary appeared. The bruise above her eye had turned a glorious mixture of purple and green. Her freckles stood out starkly from her parchment-colored skin, and her lips were colorless. Dark circles lay under her eyes. She wore an old blue chenille robe that had seen far too many washings.
“Hello, Laurel,” she said dully. “I’ve been expecting this visit.”
“You have?”
“Yes. You’ve thought it over and come to fire me after what Kurt told you about Papa the other night in the woods. You think he’s crazy and he might come back to the store and do more damage.”
“Mary, I won’t deny I think your father needs psychiatric help, but I certainly didn’t come here to fire you.” She paused. “I do need to talk with you, though. Privately.”
“Oh.” Mary seemed taken aback. “Then come in. Papa’s asleep.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The doctor gave him something strong.”
Laurel stepped into a small, dreary room. She remembered the yellow wallpaper with little blue cornflowers. Twenty years ago she’d thought it was rather pretty. Now it was faded and bore water stains near the windows. The rug was worn bare in spots, the wooden tables scratched, the chairs and couch sagging.
“Can I get you some tea or something?” Mary asked as Laurel sat down in an armchair. A spring jabbed her in the right buttock and she tried to shift subtly so as not to insult Mary about the state of the furniture.
“Nothing to drink, thanks. I just need to ask you a few questions.”
“You sound like Kurt.”
“I’m not the police, Mary. Just your friend.”
Mary smiled slightly and sat down on the couch. “All right. Ask away.”
“When Kurt was here the other night, did he tell you what had happened at the Price party?”
“Yes.”
“Even about the locket on the doll?”
Mary looked away guiltily. “Yes. He made quite a point about the locket.”
“Well, last night I talked with Neil Kamrath.” Mary tensed. “He called me about the locket. He said you told him years ago the locket had been buried with Faith. Yet there it was on the doll. We both saw it.”
Mary drew a deep breath. “I lied to Neil. Faith wasn’t buried with the locket. Papa wouldn’t let her wear any jewelry, especially something from my mother. She always carried it in her purse, then put it on when she got away from home.”
“But she didn’t have it on the night she died.”
“It disappeared about a week earlier.”
“A week.”
Mary looked at her earnestly. “Yes, Laurel. It just disappeared. At first Faith thought Papa found it, but he never mentioned it. She was upset when she couldn’t find it. It meant so much to Faith.”
She looked like she was telling the truth, but if Faith were so upset, why hadn’t she mentioned the missing locket to Laurel? She wouldn’t keep pushing Mary, though. “All right. Will you talk about your mother with me?”
Mary drew back. “My mother! What does she have to do with anything besides the locket?”
“I’d just like to know more about her.”
Mary’s fingers twitched on a ragged lace doily on the arm of the couch. “I’m not comfortable talking about her. Papa never let us mention her.”
“You’re twenty-six, Mary. You may talk about anything you want. Please. I have a really good reason for asking.”
“Well…she was only a teenager when she got married. She and Papa lived in Pennsylvania then. Her name was Genevra. She had Faith when she was eighteen. Me four years later. When I was two, she ran away. After that, we moved here.”
“Why did your father choose Wheeling?”
Mary’s foot jiggled. “He lived here when he was a boy. He liked it and knew some people.”
“Tell me more about your mother.”
“She was lots younger than him. She was very beautiful, like Faith. I found a picture of her a long time ago.”
“May I see it?”
“When Papa found out I had it, he burned it.”
“Has your mother ever contacted you in all these years?”
“N…no.”
“Which means yes.”
“Well, it was a long time ago. I was only five or six.”
“Where was she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t the letter have a return address or a postmark?”
“I don’t remember. I told you, I was really young.”
“Did she contact Faith?”
“Yes.”
“More than once?”
“I don’t know.” Mary nibbed a hand across her forehead. “That’s a lie. They wrote to each other
all the time. Faith begged me to write to her, but I wouldn’t. Papa said she was a sinner. I always tried to do what Papa wanted me to, but I never told him that Faith wrote to her. I wanted to please both of them.”
“How did Faith keep your father from intercepting the letters?”
“Someone here in town rented a post office box for Faith. I don’t know who it was.”
“Really? When did the communication stop?”
Mary looked at her as if she were stupid. “When Faith died.”
“Not until then!” Laurel exclaimed. Mary nodded. “Faith never told me anything about her mother except that she had run off with another man and she didn’t blame her.”
“You know how Faith was about men. I guess she would understand.”
It was the first time Laurel had ever heard Mary sound critical of her sister. Yes, Faith liked boys, maybe too much. But as far as she knew, Mary had never even been on a date. Did she isolate herself from men because her father had spoken so harshly of Genevra all these years? And before his mind began to slip and he’d decided Faith was some kind of angel, he’d probably said the same things about her, or even worse. After all, she was pregnant when she died. Had he convinced Mary that Faith and Genevra were two of a kind? “Mary,” Laurel asked softly, “where was your mother when Faith died?”
“Why are you asking me all these questions about my mother?” Mary flared. “She doesn’t have anything to do with anything! She’s probably dead by now.”
“Oh, no.”
Mary frowned. “What do you mean? How could you possibly know anything about my mother?”
“Because I’m almost certain I saw her at Faith’s grave today.”
2
“I think we should go home,” Denise said. “The snow is getting heavier.”
“Oh, Mommy, no!” Audra wailed. “I see the lights every year!”
Denise turned up the windshield wipers a notch. Traffic crawled toward Oglebay Park. She was still furious with Laurel, still shaken by the funeral, and she was catching a cold. The last thing she wanted to do was drag through the park, but she and Wayne had been going out of their way to please Audra after her awful experience less than forty-eight hours ago. She still had to sleep with her light on and wanted Denise to stay with her until she drifted off. Tonight, while Wayne was at the hospital with an emergency, Audra had insisted she wanted to see the Festival of Lights at Oglebay Park as Denise had promised.
In the Event of My Death Page 16