“Yes, could you connect me to Mario Gepetti,” I said.
“One moment, please,” the receptionist said before the phone rang.
I hung up before the first ring finished. I’d just wanted confirmation that he was there.
A few moments later, Cliff, Morris, Jake, and I were gathered in the archive room. I told them about the grocery store, showed them the magazine article, pointed out the method of poisoning, and reiterated every interaction I’d had with Freddie/Mario since the first moment he’d peeked his head through the school’s front swinging door.
Cliff called Jim, who said he’d track down Mario and bring him in for questioning.
“So, do you really think Mario killed Roger?” Jake said. “Do you think Roger killed Mario Jr., our Mario’s father? There has to be some strange connection. Mario III came here as someone else. You”—he looked at me—“and Miz thought he faked his acceptance. He must have done exactly that. How in the world did he manage it?”
“We need to know more about Roger Riggins,” I said. “He was from New Mexico, but that’s all I remember from the file and my quick Internet search.”
“He was married. We contacted his wife regarding his murder. She wanted to come out here, but we asked her not to until we knew more,” Cliff said.
I said, “Hang on—when we were making the sourdough starter, I’m almost sure Roger was the one to bring up the story about the business being ruined because their starter was ruined.” I thought back to the moment in the kitchen. “Freddie, I mean Mario, knocked over a bowl of flour right when Roger started the story. I sure can’t imagine Roger was a killer, but I barely knew him. Maybe, Mario followed him here to kill him, but he knocked over the flour so no one would know the details of the story and connect the two of them together. I don’t know. There’s something missing.”
“How did Roger behave toward Mario? If Roger had killed Mario’s father, he would have probably been surprised—no, downright horrified—to see him in the class,” Jake said.
“Roger was fine. Normal, from what I could tell, friendly. He was very math-teacher-like, but that’s the only impression I got from the short time I knew him.”
“We need to talk to all of the students, not just Mario. Look, I need to help Jim. Anything else you think I should know right now?” Cliff said.
“Go. I’ll call you if I think of anything.”
Cliff, undeterred by the audience, moved around the table, bent over, and kissed me. He lingered there for a little longer than was appropriate, and Jake cleared his throat. During the unprofessional and completely surprising maneuver, my whirring mind calmed to one thought only, and that thought was all about Cliff. No ghosts. Just Cliff.
“You stay out of trouble. Got it?” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Jake?” Cliff said.
“I hear you. I’ll be with her constantly. Lucky girl.”
“Thank you, Jake,” Cliff said on his way out the door.
Morris hadn’t been bothered by the affectionate display, but he didn’t see any reason to stick around any longer, either. He’d been researching death camas, trying to learn as much as possible about it when I’d called him, and he decided to go back to that research.
When he was gone, I said to Jake, “Gram will not be pleased with the new developments. She’ll be really ticked that we fell for Mario’s act.”
“She’ll be fine. Your grandmother has seen much worse than this.”
“I suppose. I sure hope the year improves.” I thought about calling her to give her an update but decided not to. She was keeping busy; that was probably the best thing for her. I switched gears. “What did you find out about Mary Silk?”
Jake reached to the folder on the middle of the table. “It’s interesting. And you’re going to be impressed by how I found it. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was damn hard and just by chance that I dug up anything at all.”
The buildup was certainly impressive.
“Okay, okay, I know. Get to the point,” Jake said.
I nodded.
“I would never have even thought about looking for someone named Mary Silk in the place that I found her but this research has taught me something very valuable. I need to keep a better record of those mentioned as surviving loved ones in obituaries.”
“Like so-and-so was survived by so-and-so, and it usually mentions their relationship.”
“Yes. Usually. Anyway, I’m connecting dots I only think are there, but it’s the best guess I can offer.” Jake handed me a copy of an obituary. I’d read a number of obituaries in the archive room and had become accustomed to the sometimes old-fashioned language or the smudged print. This one was clear, though, as if he’d retyped it on his computer and then printed it out. I looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“Believe it or not it’s a genealogy program I recently purchased. You scan the obit and it creates that.” He pointed. “Read aloud.”
It is with a heavy, heavy heart that we print the remembrance of Mr. William Kennington today. Mr. Kennington along with his business partner, Howard Knapp, were killed in the tragic Kennington Bakery fire, killed horribly and surely painfully inside the walls of the business the two men created.
I paused and looked at Jake. “This is dramatic.”
“Yes, things weren’t so formulaic back then, at least they weren’t for those at the Noose. Go on.”
Though details are still scarce as to the official cause of the fire, we know for certain that the loss of Mr. Kennington and Mr. Knapp will leave a deep hole in the heart of our community. It must be added that Mr. Kennington’s legacy is the distinct values of honor and integrity.
He will be remembered by all, but most especially his family and loved ones. His loving wife, Maude, and his daughter, Lila, will always hold him in their hearts. But his kindness extended beyond his family and beyond his employees. This reporter knows that Mr. Kennington also held a special place in the heart of local high school teacher Mary Silk, and it would be remiss not to mention her loss here.
Rest in peace, William Kennington, good man, good heart.
I put the piece of paper on the table and sighed heavily. “I have to say, Jake, that was bothersome to read, creepy.”
“I know, but not so much back then, I guess. I find obituaries like that here and there.”
“I still don’t understand the connection to Mary Silk. If I were Maude Kennington, I would have thought that my husband was having an affair with Mary. I’d be pretty ticked.”
“That’s one interpretation.” Jake nodded. “And that might be what was happening, but we can’t be sure until we talk to Mary ourselves.”
“Special place in her heart. What in the world does that mean? Wait, who wrote this?” Not that we could have conjured him or her up to help us out, but I’d recently met the ghost of a long-dead reporter. This didn’t sound like his writing style, but I was curious.
“There was no attribution,” Jake said. “It was an obituary so there might have been a reporter, or a cub reporter, or a secretary assigned specifically to obituaries. Or someone just might have answered the phone or taken the obituary order in person. Not possible to really know.”
“I’d love more info.”
“We’ll ask Mary if she remembers. And?”
“And, great job, Jake.” I smiled.
“Aw, shucks, ’twas nothing. Now, ask me about what I found out regarding the camera.”
“Oh! What did you find out about the camera?”
“Just that my camera might be the biggest mystery of all. The owner of the shop had never seen anything like it. As I explained to you, it wasn’t supposed to record any sort of activity with those lines.”
“But it did.”
“Yes, it did. The only conclusion we could come to is that it really worked.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Well, there’s an element of woo-woo and phony-bologna with ghost hunting, right?”
&nbs
p; “Right.”
“Maybe there really were ghosts in the area, and the camera behaved as it truly was supposed to behave—for the first time that this guy had ever heard of.”
“That’s spooky. Kind of.”
Jake shrugged. “Dunno. I think it’s kind of . . . awesome. Next time there’s a ghost in the vicinity, I want to test it. Just let me know.”
“You’ll get to test it soon. Jerome wants to come with us to talk to Mary Silk.”
“That just might be the best news I’ve heard in the last hour.” Jake gathered his camera equipment off a shelf. “Summon him. Let’s go find him. Whatever.”
I didn’t bother to tell Jake it didn’t work that way. He knew better.
Instead, I led the way out to the Nova, and suspected that Jerome would show up momentarily.
Fortunately, he did.
Chapter 21
Only a few minutes later I was steering the Nova down the two-lane highway with Jake in the passenger seat next to me and Jerome in the back. I’d been right; Jerome had appeared downtown shortly after we left the archive room.
“I have to trust that you are here, Jerome, that you aren’t some strange figment of Betts’s imagination, and now I won’t be able to record your presence. I didn’t even think about charging the battery in this thing. It’s as dead as you, Jerome,” Jake said as he held up the camera. “This darn camera has proved to be more annoying than helpful.”
“I don’t understand,” Jerome said.
“He can’t be sure that you’re really here, Jerome,” I said to the backseat. “Jake, you saw Sally; you know the ghosts exist.”
“He saw Sally?” Jerome said.
“He did. She appeared briefly for him.”
“Hmmm.”
“What? Isn’t that okay?” I said.
“I don’t know if it’s ‘okay’ or not. I’m surprised. It’s a tricky maneuver and it takes a lot out of us.”
“It was brief, and Sally managed to stay around for a few more weeks afterward.”
“I see. Tell Jake he’ll have to take it on faith that I’m here. I won’t appear for him. Sorry about that.”
“Take it on faith, Jake,” I said.
“I can do that. I hope Betts has been behaving herself. You do know she’s missed you.”
“Jake,” I said. “Come on.”
Jerome chuckled. I turned and looked at him briefly. He tipped his hat. “Would you please tell your friend that you behave just fine.”
“Jerome says I behave fine.”
“I was worried he’d think that.” Jake sighed.
Benedict House, originally a school for the blind, spread wide in a low valley in the Missouri countryside. It was a three-story building with lots of big windows and a huge bell tower rising from the middle section where, at the bottom, big front doors opened into what used to be a cafeteria. Now those doors led to a recreation room, where a combination of noises greeted us and reminded me briefly more of a school than a place where old people now lived. A television blared from one corner. Four people, two men and two women, were involved in a lively game of Ping-Pong. Two other tables were being used for card games, the participants diverse except that every one of them had gray hair or no hair.
“May I help you?” A small walled reception area was tucked to our right. A round-faced redhead with a nurse’s cap spoke through a window hole.
“We’re here to see Ms. Mary Silk. Jake Swanson and Betts Winston,” Jake said.
The redhead gave us the once-over before she looked at something on the podium in front of her.
“Sure, hang on a second. I’ll come out and show you to her room,” she said as though she didn’t really want to.
A moment later she appeared from behind the reception area. The rest of her was as round as her face and she moved laboriously as if something was hurting.
“They’re a noisy group today,” she said as she nodded toward the activity room. “Sorry about that.”
Jake looked at me and then back at the nurse. “No problem.”
“This way.”
We followed the nurse as she hobbled down a long hallway. I thought about telling her we didn’t need an escort and directions would do, but I figured that might insult her so I remained quiet. I peered through open doorways as we passed. I saw some people in bed, but mostly I saw people sitting in chairs, perhaps watching television or reading a book or even knitting. There was a general sense of peace about Benedict House, and though Gram often joked about which room she wanted and though I’d move her in with me before I moved her some place where there was no family present, Benedict House wasn’t a bad place to be.
It was clean and bright with sunshine, and it didn’t smell funny; these were attributes that automatically made it somewhat appealing.
“I’m Dell,” the nurse said as she put a chubby hand on a doorknob. She seemed to be in a better mood the farther we’d gone from the activity room. “If you need me, just push the red button next to Ms. Silk’s bed. She’ll be in her wheelchair and she’ll be able to talk to you, but you’ll need to speak up a bit. Sometimes, she’s a little confused, but most of the time she isn’t. She’s an easy one.”
I cringed at the “easy one” description. It made Mary somehow less human, but something told me that Dell didn’t really mean it that way.
“Ms. Silk, yoo-hoo,” Dell said as she opened the door and led the way inside.
Mary Silk was sitting in her wheelchair, but she turned eagerly toward us. Her hair was as gray as the other residents’ and her wrinkled face unrecognizable now from the picture in the yearbook. She smiled and her bright eyes brightened a little more.
“Oh, Dell! You brought visitors,” she said as she clapped. “Three of them!”
“No, Mary, I’m not visiting, but these two are.” Dell looked at me. “Well, she might be a little confused.”
“Oh, no, I mean the other three,” Mary said.
I glanced toward Jerome, who shrugged.
“And another person who can see ghosts. Lucky people,” Jake muttered quietly.
“Excuse me?” Dell said.
“We’ll be fine,” I said. “Thank you, Dell.”
Once Dell left us alone and the door closed behind her, the first thing that Mary said was, “Come closer. I want to meet the handsome cowboy first.”
We moved closer—and went with it. There wasn’t time to discuss why Mary could see Jerome, and it didn’t much matter. She just could.
“Your name is Jerome Cowbender, just like the Broken Rope legend?” Mary said when Jerome introduced himself.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s probably the most interesting and wonderful thing I have ever heard,” she said with wide eyes.
Jerome smiled at Mary and she smiled at him. I didn’t know if he was as transparent to her as he was to me. I didn’t know if she knew he was a ghost or not. Again, at that point it just didn’t matter.
“Ms. Silk,” I said.
“Mary, dear, you must all call me Mary. I haven’t liked being called Ms. Silk since my teaching days. Those are long gone now.” Mary sighed but didn’t lose her smile.
“Thank you. Mary, we have some questions for you from back when you were a teacher. Are you okay to answer them?” I said.
“Well, I’ll try. Don’t remember all that much anymore. It’s been a long time.”
“Sure. We understand, but we feel like you might remember these events. They were a pretty big deal.”
“Oh.” The smile faded slightly. “Well, go ahead, dear. Ask. I’ll do my best.”
“We were wondering about the Cylas family. Homer and Ellen, their son Gent and their daughter Jennie. Do you remember them?”
Mary’s already pale face faded to a shade paler, and she put her fingers up to the hollow at the bottom of her neck. “I’m not sure I do,” she lied.
I reached out and put my hand over hers as it came down and rested on the wheelchair’s armrest.
&nbs
p; “Mary, if it’s not too much to ask, would you please think about it for a minute. Make sure. It’s important.”
Jerome moved to Mary’s other side and sat on the edge of her bed.
“We’d sure appreciate it, Mary. We could really use your help,” he added.
Mary looked at my hand over hers and then she looked up at Jerome. She inspected his face.
“Time passes so quickly, you know that, don’t you?” she asked Jerome.
“Yes, ma’am, it surely does. It’s not fair, but that’s what happens. It’s good to make the best of the time you have.” Jerome looked at me. “Sometimes we need others to help us to do that.”
I blinked but wasn’t completely sure what he meant. Now wasn’t the moment to ask.
“You’re right, of course,” Mary said. “I suppose they won’t lock me up at this old age anyway. Maybe it’s time to tell the truth.”
Jake had been sitting on a chair next to a small table on the other side of Mary’s bed and to the side of Jerome. He scooted his chair a little toward me and sat up. He sent me a small nod. He was encouraging me to keep going.
But, unfortunately, at one time in my life I wanted to be an attorney. That part of me had mostly withered with my exodus from law school, but it suddenly found a little life. If Mary had done something illegal, she should consult an attorney before she spoke to anyone, including us.
“Mary . . .” I began.
“Mary,” Jake interrupted. “Betts is about to tell you that if you’ve done something illegal, you should talk to someone like an attorney before you talk to us, but I’m going to intervene here and make you a promise. We won’t tell anyone what you tell us. I promise. I swear. Your secrets will be ours. You have no reason to believe us, of course, but as I think you’ve already figured out since meeting Jerome, we’re an unusual bunch, from some unusual places. Look, we don’t care even if you killed someone, by accident or on purpose, your secrets will be safe with us.” Jake looked at me. “How could it matter to anyone other than people who are already dead anyway?”
If Bread Could Rise to the Occasion Page 19