A Justified Murder, page 18
Jack put his hand up to keep Chet from speaking. “Someone spread an STD. Could ruin a marriage or two.”
Kate said, “What if she found something hidden inside Sylvia’s house? People are always leaving things behind. Top of closets, fallen behind something. In Chicago, we had a family who moved out and forgot they had an attic. It was full.” She looked at Chet. “We’ve toyed with the idea that Sylvia didn’t commit suicide but was murdered and Janet found out about it.”
“Maybe Sylvia had the bootie,” Sara said. “Sylvia and Janet were besties, so maybe Sylvia told her the story behind the kidnapping.”
“Mom said she saw Sylvia crying,” Jack said.
“I need to know more about this woman Sylvia,” Chet said.
“Very elegant,” Sara said. “Her husband died and someone took the body away. They—”
“He died very unexpectedly,” Jack said. “I wonder if there was an autopsy? We should ask—”
“Sylvia ate oleander,” Kate said. “Janet cried for a—”
“The neighbor’s sons painted Witch on the garage door,” Sara said.
“I heard that, but at the memorial, that woman, Megan, said Janet forgave them,” Chet said.
“We’ve heard contradictions on that,” Jack said. “Megan told us that Janet never forgave any of them.”
Sara’s voice rose. “Everett wrote what was said today. Never trust a writer! Professional liars, all. He is making it up as he goes along. He just needs a punch line.”
“You mean a killer,” Jack said.
“And a kidnapper,” Kate said.
“They—” Sara began.
“Hey!” Chet said. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but could someone tell me the story in a coherent way?”
They turned to Sara.
“Don’t look at me. I tell with pen and paper. I can’t even type a story. As for talking, I’m the pits.”
They turned to Kate. “I sell things. People don’t listen after three sentences.”
They looked at Jack. “Me? Are you crazy?”
“You could sing it to us,” Kate said and that made them smile.
“All right,” Chet said. “I’ll ask questions and you answer them. One at a time. Any paper and pen around here?”
“I think I can find something.” Sara got up and went into her writing room. She returned with a black-and-red Prada bag filled with a notebook, loose paper, pens in eight colors, and a pretty lap desk of pale bamboo.
Chet gave her a look of admiration, put the board across his legs, and took out the pens and the spiral notebook. “Let’s start with stats. Name, birth, where, when, who.”
Sara gave Jack and Kate a look to say, He’s good, isn’t he? then they began telling everything they knew about Sylvia Alden.
They were as concise and succinct as they could be, but they had a lot of info to relay.
After going over the facts, Sara told what she’d read in Sylvia’s books, how they were almost autobiographical. “She kept her pen name very secret. Obviously, there were people she didn’t want to know that she was writing.”
“What did she write at the time of the kidnapping?” Chet asked.
“Didn’t mention it. Her heroine was busy with her child and husband.”
“Have a date on that kid?”
Jack told him that Sylvia’s daughter was eleven at the time of the kidnapping.
“The books stopped about the time Janet arrived in Lachlan,” Sara said.
“No mention of finding a friend?”
“None,” Sara said. “Sylvia was trying to adjust to widowhood and asking herself what to do with her life since she’d lost her best friend. Her agent told me that book sold the best of any of them. Not spectacular, but it did well. The reviews were excellent.”
“But you said—” Kate began but stopped.
Chet turned to her. “Said what?”
Kate looked at her aunt. It was up to her to tell or not.
When Sara was silent, Jack spoke. “What no one wants to say is that someone posted bad comments on review sites. Really bad.”
Chet looked at Sara and waited in silence.
“Yes, there were some truly hideous reviews. Meant to hurt.” She said this with her jaw clenched, her hands in fists.
“I take it that you’ve had that done to you.” When Sara nodded, Chet squeezed her hand. “I think cyberbullying should be a whole new branch of the police force.”
Kate said, “As long as people support it, it will never stop.”
“So who wrote these bad reviews?” Chet asked.
“Different people,” Jack answered. “They really were vile. Said the author should give up writing, should never have started. They were personal attacks.”
“Could they have come from Mrs. Alden’s brother?”
“Maybe.” Sara was regaining her composure. “When I read them, my heart went out to Sylvia. I wondered...” She looked at Chet.
“If they caused her suicide? It happens. I’ve seen too much of it. The person feels like they’ll never recover. The suicide takes seconds but lasts forever.” He looked at his paper. “Anything else you know about Mrs. Alden that may have made her want to end it all? She lost her husband and her career was torn apart on the internet. Maybe she—”
When his phone rang, he looked at the ID. “This is probably info.” He went outside to answer the call and they watched him through the glass. From his expression, the news wasn’t good.
Chet came back inside, sat down by Sara, and pulled up an email. “It’s a time line.” He looked at them as though he dreaded telling what he’d just heard. “Four months after Sylvia Alden died, her daughter, Lisa, went to jail for eighteen months. Seems that in college she transported drugs. A dealer ratted on her and some other college kids in exchange for a plea deal. He got six months. The kids got one to three years.”
The four of them were quiet. More reasons for Sylvia to commit suicide were being found.
“That day in the restaurant, I bet she was crying over her daughter,” Jack said.
“Possibly,” Chet said. “Husband gone, vicious reviews of her books, daughter going to jail. It’s a lot. She may have felt so helpless that she couldn’t bear it, so she poisoned her own food, and got out of the whole mess.”
“Loneliness combined with age...” Sara didn’t finish.
Jack sighed. “Does this take us back to the beginning? No suspects, no motive?”
“I don’t think we can fully eliminate Mrs. Alden,” Chet said, “but it doesn’t look like she had anything to do with the kidnapping. I’ll do more research and try to find out where she was that day. Maybe she was there at the store and saw something. Maybe—” He broke off as he knew he was just trying to make them feel better.
“I’m not so sure about any of this,” Sara said. “Kate, if you get sent to jail, I’ll be waiting for you when you get out. I’m certainly not going to remove myself from life because I’m sad.”
“What about me?” Jack asked.
“I’d petition for you to spend your time in solitary. Half your dad’s friends were put in prison because they listened to him. Your life would be in danger.”
Jack blinked a few times, then laughed. “Nice to think I’m wanted by so many.”
It was getting dark outside and they’d been talking for hours.
Chet closed the notebook. “Mind if I keep this? I’d like to go over some of these facts.”
“Please do,” Sara said.
Chet stood up and stretched. “So where’s a good motel nearby? Not too fancy but clean. And cheap.”
“You can stay here,” Sara said. “In Jack’s room.”
Jack gasped. “I don’t think—”
Sara cut him off. “You’ll have to bunk in with Kate. On her sofa.”
Kate stood. “He cannot possibly stay with me!”
As though Kate hadn’t spoken, Sara stuck her arm inside Chet’s. “Let’s go get your bags.” They went out the front door together.
Jack turned to Kate, grinning, then frowned when he saw that she was truly upset. “I promise I’ll behave. I won’t sneak into your bedroom, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll—”
She waved her hand. “Do stop fantasizing. I’m not in the least worried about you. Aunt Sara likes him. Really, really likes him.”
“In the least?” Jack quoted. “You’re not worried—?” When Kate walked down the hall to his bedroom, he followed her.
“Get your shaving things and I’ll get your clothes.” She opened his closet door and stepped inside. “Why don’t you ever wear this shirt?”
“It’s pink. Ivy bought it for me.”
“Your sister does have taste.” She tossed it onto the bed.
Jack had grabbed some shaving gear and put it in a leather bag. When he saw Kate frantically flinging his clothes onto the bed, he tossed the case down and went to her. He took her by the shoulders, set her down in a chair, then knelt in front of her. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
She took a moment before she spoke. “It just hit me that someday I may have to move into my own place. Alone.”
Jack put his hand under her chin. “You won’t be alone. You won’t be abandoned.”
“It’s just that I grew up so isolated. It was just Mother and me. Then I went to college and it was great being with other people. But Mother needed me so I went back home and we were alone again. When Mom told me that I had an aunt I was jubilant. And I came here and now...”
“And now you have a family.”
She looked at him. “Yes.”
He took her hands in his. “You won’t lose it. If I have to I’ll build you an apartment building and fill it with my relatives. You haven’t met half of them. You’ll have so much family that you’ll crave peace. You’ll call me and say, ‘Jackson! You better get me out of here or I’ll send my mother to move in with you.’ But by then I’ll be living upstairs in the penthouse so that means your mom will be just above you. She...”
Kate was laughing. “My mother would straighten you out in two days.”
“One call with her just about did it. She is a bit of a terror, isn’t she? I was scared to death. Started sweating.”
She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Jack stood up.
They heard a door close, then laughter. Jack looked at what Kate had thrown onto the bed. “We better move these things.” He picked up a white shirt. “I am not going to wear this.”
“It’s nice.”
“It has lace on it.”
“It’s not lace, it’s white on white embroidery. Here!” She grabbed the hanger tops and handed them to him, then picked up the shaving gear. “Let’s go!” She started to go through the house, meaning that they’d see Chet and Sara, but Jack said no.
He led her through the garage to the little courtyard at the side. The fountain of the girl dancing in the rain was encased in golden light.
They went through the door to Kate’s bedroom, past her first closet, past the bath, to the second walk-in, which was empty.
“A whole closet to myself?” Jack said. “This is great!”
“It’s temporary, so don’t get used to it.”
They hung up his clothes, put his toiletries in the bath, then looked at each other. Now what did they do?
“I don’t know about you,” Jack said, “but I am sick of murder and suicide and hearing that college girls get sent to prison. How about if you and I go to the Brigade and have beer and beef?”
Kate hesitated. “I...”
“They have a live band. Want to sing with me?”
She smiled but said nothing. She was still deciding.
“They have chocolate things. From the bakery.”
“I’ll be ready in three minutes.”
Jack didn’t complain when he had to wait thirty minutes for Kate to get ready. She had a closet full of clothes from the designer Elaine Cross and she had put on a dark green, fitted dress.
She was standing in front of the tall shoe rack, trying to make up her mind, when Jack stepped behind her. He reached over her head and pulled down her tallest high heels. “These.”
“What is it with you and heels?”
“Give me an hour and I’ll tell you. Come on or that loquacious ex-cop will be in here asking more questions.”
“Loquacious, huh?”
“I’ve been around Sara too long. It’s like living with a dictionary. Are you ready yet?”
“I just need to—” She smiled. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
They went out the back to Jack’s truck. “Think they’ll miss us?” she asked.
“Not at all. Not one little bit.”
Thirteen
KATE HAD HEARD of the Brigade, which was next door to the fire station, but she hadn’t been to it. That was probably caused by a lifetime of her mother’s three older brothers telling her that if she stepped inside a “beer joint” the floor would open up and drag her straight down into hell. She knew it was nonsense but still...one developed doubts.
Jack opened the door for her and the place made her smile. It was like looking at a fire station of about 1904. On the right was a long antique oak bar with a fireman’s boot at the end. A calligraphy sign said it was for donations for domestic abuse victims.
A mirrored wall behind the bar held shelves full of sparkling clean bottles. At the end of the long room was a raised platform with musical instruments, a dance floor in front. To the left were booths and tables.
Jack bent and said in her ear, “Like it? My sister designed it.” There was such pride in his voice that she smiled broadly at him. Seconds later, they were greeted with what seemed to be dozens of people calling hello to Jack.
“Where’ve you been? Haven’t seen you for weeks.” From the bartender.
“Why didn’t you call me?” From a pretty blonde woman.
“Jack! When are we goin’ out again?” Another pretty young woman.
“Are you planning to run a booth at the fair this year?” A fireman.
The people talked on top of each other as Jack answered and led her to the one booth that was vacant.
“Been here before?” Kate asked as she slid across the seat.
“A time or two. I—” He stopped because a tall, very good-looking, blond man was standing at the end of the table. “What do you want, Chris?” Jack’s tone was telling the man to go away, but he didn’t move.
Chris was looking at Kate. “I know you. Or at least I’ve seen you before.”
“She sells real estate for Tayla. Half the town has seen her.”
“No,” Chris said. “It was somewhere else.”
“I know,” Kate said. “When I first came to Lachlan, you and another man were outside the fire station. Do you really have a dalmatian?”
“It’s tradition. You mind?” He motioned to sit beside her.
“No, of course not.” She moved to the side and he sat down beside her. She ignored Jack’s glower.
“So you really sell real estate?”
“I do. Need something? A house? An apartment?”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking of getting my own place. I have two male roommates now.”
“Ah.” Kate realized he was telling her that he wasn’t married and had no live-in girlfriend.
“Would you like to go out with—”
“No!” Jack said. “She’s busy. Very, very busy. I think Bill’s calling you.”
Chris smiled. Nice teeth. “No, he’s not.” He looked back at Kate. “How about I stop by your office on Monday at ten a.m.?”
“That would be perfect. What are you looking for?”
“Small, cozy. Somewhere I can grow tomatoes.”
“I know just the place.”
He stood up. “I look forward to seeing you then. Jack.” He left.
“Did you just make a date?” Jack sounded incredulous.
“A business appointment.” She was smiling.
The waitress came and they ordered beers and nachos. “And a couple of Reubens,” Jack said without consulting her, and the waitress left.
“What if I want a salad?”
“Do you?”
“Heavens no! After this week I may take up drinking whiskey.”
“With random firemen?”
She gave him a look to behave himself. At the end of the room, some musicians were beginning to set up. “Do you sing with them?”
“Sometimes.”
“Really?”
He laughed at the way she sounded like a preteen groupie.
When the nachos arrived, he ate a couple of the hot cheese–dipped corn crisps, and leaned forward. “How are you doing about...you know. The case.”
“Which part? Murder? Suicide? Lies spoken in church?” She lowered her voice. “Or my father?”
“That last one.”
“Every time his name is mentioned, I find out something new. And none of it has been good.”
“At least people liked your dad.” He ate a clump of chips and drank of his beer.
“I still can’t see our fathers as friends. Would brains and brawn fit together? But then, that’s like you and me and we get along well enough.”
Jack grinned. “You think I’m brawny?”
“I think I’m the brains so you get whatever is leftover.”
Jack gave a snort of laughter.
“The more I hear—all told in tiny pieces, by the way—I think our fathers may have been more alike than we think. The same but opposite.”
“You mean that my father was loud so yours was...”
“Quiet. Mine escaped, but yours...”
“Got caught. Often,” Jack said.
“My father was a cat burglar while yours was...”
“A six-gun outlaw.”
