A Justified Murder, page 26
Sara spoke up. “You are going to talk to Leland alone? You’re practically in competition for his wife’s favor.”
“And you’ll lose your temper,” Kate said.
“I won’t do that. I—” He gave up. “Ten minutes, then I leave without you.”
“Sure you will,” Kate said. “Good one.”
It took thirty minutes as they had to organize the boys. They couldn’t drive without an adult with them and their mother was unreachable. The hotel said she was having a deep tissue massage.
In the end, they took Kate’s car. Jack and Sara were in the front bucket seats and the boys sandwiched Kate in the back.
“Let’s drive home,” Max said as he smiled at Kate. “Only take a few hours.”
Jack made them get out near Valerie Johnson’s house. “Just give her the invitation, then leave. You have other stops to make and you can walk.”
The boys winked at Kate and waved goodbye.
“Their father needs to take them down a peg,” Jack muttered as he drove away. He acted like he didn’t hear the smothered laughter of the two women.
By the time they got to Southwest Ranches and pulled into the long drive to Charlene’s house, they weren’t laughing. Their minds were back on the murder—or murders.
The gate was open and they pulled in. No one answered at the house or Charlene’s studio. They walked around, but the place had a feeling of abandonment. No one was there.
They were about to leave when a sleek blue BMW pulled in. The man behind the wheel was Leland, Charlene’s husband. The look on his handsome face told of his misery and worry. And his fear.
He stood beside the car for a moment as he looked at them, unsurprised to see them. With a movement of his head, he motioned for them to follow him inside.
Kate thought how her first visit there had been so happy. Charlene had been laughing and talking about how wonderful her life was.
Leland sat down heavily on the couch, while the three of them sat across from him and waited in silence.
“If you need to talk to my wife, I don’t know where she is. She doesn’t have a car or credit cards or her passport. I—” He ran his hands over his face, then looked out the window for a moment. “I guess you want me to tell you what I know.”
“Yes, we would,” Sara said softly.
He nodded. “I just got back from seeing Tayla.”
Kate drew in her breath.
“Yeah,” Leland said. “Exactly. She’s taking the blame. She—”
He took a moment to compose himself. “I didn’t know of the bootie until Tayla told me this morning.” He blinked back tears. “Where do I begin? Janet—” He swallowed at the name. “Janet Beeson babysat our boys four times. We thought she was ideal, a sweet little old woman who said she’d taken care of hundreds of children in her lifetime. She said she used to teach school.” He looked at them for verification.
“Not that we’ve heard,” Sara said.
“Our kids and the Nesbitt boys were friends.”
Again, Kate gasped.
Leland shook his head. “I guess you’ve met Kyle. He hated the woman. Said she complained about everything he did. Trees, noise, deliveries. Everything displeased her.”
“The boys probably heard his complaints,” Sara said.
“Kyle said he figured that’s part of why the kids thought she was a witch.” Leland looked up, his eyes brimming in tears. “I didn’t believe him. I like Kyle, but he gets angry too easily. I felt sorry for the woman. She—” He took a breath. “So we said yes when she said she’d love to babysit for us.”
“Did the boys like her?” Sara asked.
“No. But we didn’t believe them either. We thought the Nesbitt kids had told them what Kyle said.”
“The trickle-down effect,” Kate said.
“Exactly what did your boys tell you?” Jack asked.
“That Mrs. Beeson poisoned them.”
Jack, Kate, and Sara were too stunned to make a reply.
“I punished them for that. No iPads for a week. And to prove my point, I asked Janet to stay with them overnight.” He paused. “Today Tayla said Janet probably drugged the kids so she could search the house.”
“To get rid of them so she could look for secrets,” Sara said.
“Yes,” Leland said. “I think so.”
“And she found a big one,” Jack said.
“I didn’t know it—and neither did Tayla—but Charlene had an old tin box with newspaper clippings and the pair of booties in it.”
“I would imagine that it was so she’d never forget how fortunate she is to have her life today,” Sara said.
“Why was Janet so angry at Tayla?” Kate asked.
“I think it was because Tayla sold Sylvia a house.”
“You mean for charging too much?” Kate asked.
“No,” Leland said. “A few years ago, Janet went away for a couple of months. While she was gone, Sylvia bought a house through Tayla.”
“Why would that make Janet angry?” Kate asked.
“You ask me? My life is coming apart and I’m supposed to know why some old woman wanted to hurt people? Why did she bring up a twenty-plus-year-old...? I can’t even call it a kidnapping. Charlene was sixteen years old.” He stopped and looked away.
“Would you tell us?” Sara asked softly.
“I guess you deserve that.” Leland took a moment to collect himself. “Charlene shouldn’t have been left alone. I guess you know that just days before her parents left the country, she’d given birth to a stillborn baby, a little boy. She was still...” He made a motion around his chest area. “You know.” He looked up. “My wife is brilliant at concealing pain. She said all the things her mother and grandmother wanted to hear. She told them she was glad it was over so that now she could get on with her life.”
“The catch phrase that everyone thinks buries the past,” Sara said.
“Yes!” Leland’s hands were in fists. “Her mother shouldn’t have believed her, but...” He looked up.
“Tayla was coming,” Jack said.
“Yes, that was it. The problem and the solution all in one person. Tayla was supposed to arrive about two hours after the parents left.” Leland grimaced. “That whole damned family loves to dump responsibility onto Tayla. They think she can do anything, that she can solve any problem. So they turned over a frightened, half-crazy teenager to her—but they’d kept the whole pregnancy secret from her. Tayla walked into a monumental problem knowing nothing about any of it!” He got up, went to the window, and looked out for a moment.
When he turned back, he was calmer and he sat back down. “To be fair, I think Charlene actually believed she was okay. When Tayla left a message saying she’d be a day late, Charlene decided to get out of the house. She felt so good that as she left, she pulled up a bunch of flowers from a pot by the door.”
“Lilies of the valley,” Kate said.
Leland nodded. “Charlene slipped them into her pocket, then caught a bus to downtown. When she saw the sale signs at the store, she went inside. But...” He looked up, his eyes bleak. “Right away, she saw the children’s department. Infant wear.” He paused for a moment. “I think that’s when she realized what she’d lost. She was holding an outfit for a little boy, for her son, when suddenly boxes and racks collapsed.”
“And there was the baby,” Sara said.
“Yes,” Leland said. “A baby in a stroller, crying in fear at the noise, stopped at her feet. On its dress was embroidered lilies of the valley. It seemed to be fate. She picked the child up, put the flowers in the stroller, and went into the restroom. She changed the baby into boy’s clothes, then fed it, nursed it. She was a mother and that’s what mothers do.” Tears were rolling down Leland’s cheeks. “Charlene doesn’t remember hearing any sirens. It was just her and the baby.”
“And that’s how Chet saw her,” Sara said. “As a young woman who had found her soul.”
“That’s probably a very good description. I asked but she doesn’t remember seeing anyone.”
“How did she get the baby out?” Sara asked.
“The child went to sleep after it had nursed. Charlene held her under her big shirt and it looked like she was pregnant. She told the young police officer at the door that she was having contractions. He got her a taxi.”
“Sorry to say this,” Jack said, “but if she could come up with that lie, it sounds like she was beginning to realize what she was doing.”
“Yeah.” Leland’s eyes were downcast. “That’s exactly what the lawyer in me thought.”
“I don’t think Chet knew about a pregnant woman leaving the store,” Sara said.
“Probably another rookie afraid he’d screwed up,” Jack said. “Like Chet, he was afraid to tell anyone what he’d done.”
“What about Tayla?” Kate asked.
“By the time she got to Atlanta, Charlene was...was...”
“Living in a dreamworld?” Sara asked.
“That’s being kind,” Leland said. “She thought the baby was hers and for a while, so did Tayla. When she realized what was going on... I give it to Tayla. It was a miracle that she managed to stay calm. She left the baby at a fire station, then she took Charlene home to Philadelphia with her. They never told anyone what happened. At least not until right before we married, then Charlene told me.”
“And how did you react?” Sara asked.
“Shocked but it didn’t change my mind about her. Love is love.”
Sara was smiling at him.
“Looks like the family was right,” Kate said. “Tayla did fix the problem.”
“Right now, it doesn’t feel like it was ever fixed,” Leland said. “All the secrets were hidden inside a tin box that a vicious old woman went searching for.”
For a moment, they were all quiet.
Jack spoke up. “Did Sylvia remodel the house?”
“How would I know that?” Leland was puzzled by the incongruous question.
“It might explain some things,” Jack said softly.
“I don’t know...” Leland wiped his eyes. “No. Wait. One time Tayla made a remark about Sylvia’s new kitchen. It seemed to puzzle her. She said that when Sylvia bought the house she’d liked the kitchen very much, so why did she tear it out?”
When they were silent, Kate whispered, “Was my father...?”
“Yes.” Leland’s eyes bored into hers. “He was the father of my wife’s baby. If it makes you feel any better, it was once and he never knew about the consequences. Tayla’s mother said, ‘Why ruin more lives?’ She meant that your parents shouldn’t be told, especially since you were on the way.”
Leland stood up. He seemed to have finished as much of the story as he could handle. “I need to... I don’t know what has to be done. Water things. Feed animals. It’s Charlene’s domain. She—”
Sara stood up. “Go take a shower. It’ll make you feel better. We’ll feed and water everything.”
Leland didn’t protest but went down the hall to the bedroom.
Quietly, the three of them left the house and walked to the barn. There were two horses there. Jack directed them in the feeding and watering and they went about it in silence.
When they got to the chickens, Sara spoke. “Sylvia. It always goes back to her.”
“Why would Janet be angry because Sylvia bought a house?” Kate asked. “I assume she had one when she lived with her husband.”
“Sure, but it wasn’t like the one she bought,” Jack said. “What I want to know is why I wasn’t asked to do the kitchen. Tayla and I are friends. She would have recommended my company to Sylvia to do the work, but she didn’t call me.”
“Your question is why you didn’t get the business?” Kate sounded almost angry.
“All I’m saying is that this is yet another odd thing.”
“Sylvia’s husband was a plumber. I’m sure she knew building contractors,” Sara said. “A new kitchen is nothing compared to Janet drugging kids so she could search for secrets. She was angry at Tayla and got her back by trying to hurt who she loves the most: Charlene.”
“That makes no sense.” Jack threw out meal to the chickens. “If she was angry at Sylvia, why didn’t she go after her?”
They looked at one another.
“Maybe she did,” Sara said.
“There’s more to this than just a house,” Sara said. “If I were writing it I’d have the house built on top of something valuable. Touch Not the Cat.”
They looked at her.
“It’s a wonderful old novel. Valuable Roman ruins were under the house, and people wanted the place.”
“Chet wanted to tear up the floorboards of the Janet-Sylvia house.”
At the mention of him, they were silent for a moment.
“Where did Sylvia get the money for the house? Her books didn’t make any,” Kate said.
“Not with those brutal reviews that put people off.” Sara sounded bitter.
“So what’s so damned valuable about that house?” Jack asked.
Sara looked at her watch. “I’d say we should go there now, but we have the, uh, the thing. The book club.”
“I think you’d rather face a firing squad,” Kate said.
Sara’s eyes brightened. “It would sure be quicker.”
Kate rolled her eyes and Jack laughed.
They got home at 3:30 p.m. In the shade outside the front door were three coolers. The tea shop beside the bakery had delivered boxes of sandwiches and cakes.
They carried them inside to the dining room and halted. Chet’s big boxes of files were still stacked against the wall.
Jack got a handcart and began wheeling the boxes down the hall to the garage.
Kate and Sara did double time as they hurried to set up the table with food and drink. Loose tea was put into the pot. It just needed water for the brewing.
At five to four, Sara said she doubted if anyone was going to show up. She sounded hopeful. At one minute to four, the doorbell rang.
Jack said, “I’m going to look for the boys.” In a very cowardly way, he scurried out the back.
They had invited four women, but six of them showed up and went straight to the dining table. Behind them, his shoulders bent, his face tired and drawn, was the only man.
“Eric Yates,” he said to Sara. “I think you’ve heard of me.”
“From the memorial service, yes.” She gave no other information.
He followed the others into the dining room, where Kate had started pouring cups of tea. She stepped away to stand beside her aunt Sara. “Do you think they know what this is about?”
“I do. Men don’t usually invite themselves to tea parties,” Sara said. “So how do you plan to start this?”
“You sit over there and begin autographing.”
Sara started choking.
“Just kidding. Do whatever it was that I saw you planning, then I’ll take over. Unless you want to run the show.”
“No! You. Not me.”
They waited until 4:30 p.m. to begin. It was a solemn group, talking in subdued voices of gardens and the problems caused by the non-native iguanas.
When they were full of tea and smoked salmon and puff pastries, Kate directed them into the living room. They filled the two couches and the chairs, then looked expectantly at Sara.
She stood at one end, a pile of 4x6 index cards in her hands. “As I think you know, we have some serious matters to discuss. Things we don’t want other people to know about. At least not yet.”
She looked at the cards in her hands. “If you’ve ever read a murder mystery you know how important alibis are, so I’m going to give you one.” She handed the cards to the woman on the end for her to start passing out. “We all understand that husbands want to believe they know all, but they don’t want to listen. So I’ll explain writing in a few sentences. Memorize them so you can parrot them back to your hubby or whoever asks and sound as though we really did have a book club meeting.”
On the card was written:
There are no secrets to writing. Put your butt on a chair and do it. One sentence at a time. And never say you want to BE a writer. Say that you want to write.
She gave the women time to read the cards. “The book club portion of the evening is now completed. You know all there is to know about writing. I turn this over to Kate.”
Kate didn’t tiptoe around. “We want the truth about Janet Beeson.” As she expected, there was no answer. “It doesn’t have to be a truth that you know for sure. It could be something that you believe. Your gut instinct. A feeling.”
There was still silence. Kate looked at Sara as though to say that this had been a failure. But when she turned away, Valerie Johnson stood up and moved to stand before the window.
“I think Janet Beeson burned down my studio.”
She paused for a moment as she gathered the courage to tell the rest of her story. “My husband had it built for our thirty-second anniversary. It was very cute, and north facing so the sun wouldn’t hurt my eyes. He put in a powder room so I wouldn’t have to go into the house. It was his last gift to me and he knew it. After he passed, I nearly lived in there. It made me feel close to him. It was in there that I created a baby blanket for the grandchildren I was never going to have. It won first prize in four contests before I entered it in the Lachlan fair.”
She swallowed. “On the day I entered it, Janet smiled and said it was a good effort. She was letting me know that it wouldn’t win. I didn’t tell her about the other contests. I just let her think that was my first. When I won, I said, ‘I guess the judges chose the best one.’ It was arrogant of me. I should have been more humble. She looked at me—” Valerie crossed herself. “With hatred. Pure hatred. She made the hairs on my entire body stand on end. I was afraid. Over a local crochet contest!”
She took a moment to breathe. “Two days later, my studio burned down. The fire chief said it was an electrical problem. To me, it was like I’d lost my husband a second time.”
