No Parm No Foul, page 17
On the way to the Inn, Carly updated Ari on Evelyn Fitch’s situation and on her embarrassing faux pas with Chip Foster.
When she was through, he reached over and squeezed her hand. “Sometimes things seem worse than they are. You didn’t intentionally hurt Chip’s feelings, so don’t beat yourself up. As for Evelyn, you’ll probably know more by tomorrow. Maybe you can even visit her on the weekend.”
He squeezed her fingers again, sending a pleasing jolt through her. “Thanks, Ari.” He always seemed to know exactly what to say to peel the layer of gloom from her heart.
The sight of the Inn as they drove into the parking lot made Carly’s spirits lift. With its porticoed entrance and white pillars, it sat on an expanse of carefully tended lawn that stretched toward a forest of dense firs. Above the portico, tiny white lights glimmered along the railing of the balcony.
Carly’s mom and stepdad were already seated in a cozy corner of the dining room. A thick white tablecloth covered their table, which was set with antique china and crystal wineglasses. In the center of the table, a candle glowed softly in a pewter holder.
Rhonda waved at Carly and Ari as if she hadn’t seen either of them in a year. Hugs went all around, and Rhonda insisted Ari sit on the brocade-covered chair beside her.
“You both look wonderful,” Gary said, winking at Ari. His kindly blue eyes beamed at them from behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.
Over a bottle of sauvignon blanc and a sampling of appetizers, they indulged in a few minutes of pleasant small talk. After that, Rhonda and Gary listened intently as Ari gave them a shortened version of his current situation.
“How ridiculous,” Rhonda huffed, “to think a man would murder someone and then hide the evidence in his own trash can.”
Gary looked incensed as he lifted his wineglass to his lips. “I suppose they have to follow the evidence, but it makes no sense to me either, dear.” He took a small sip of his wine and pronounced it top notch.
“At my attorney’s suggestion,” Ari said, “I left a note on my front door explaining where I would be this evening. That way if the police show up, they can’t claim I was trying to evade arrest.” He said it lightly, but Rhonda gazed at him intently with a worried expression.
Carly shivered. What if the police did show up to arrest Ari while they were having dinner? She shuddered at the image of him being handcuffed at the table and led out of the dining room like a captured felon. While the idea horrified her, she couldn’t discount the possibility.
When their salads arrived, Carly took the opportunity to ask Gary about the skin condition Chip Foster suffered from.
Gary nodded. “Xeroderma pigmentosum. In all my years of practice, I treated only two patients who suffered from the disease. Since it seems you already know, I can tell you that Chip Foster was one of them.” He poked at a grape tomato with his fork. “The other one was during my residency in Boston, about a thousand years ago.” He chuckled at his own joke. “The patient was a young woman barely out of her teens. Interesting case, of course, but a sad one.”
Rhonda bestowed a “cut to the chase” smile on him. She knew he loved to elongate every tale he told. “Why don’t you talk about the first patient, dear? The one Carly asked about.”
Gary blinked behind his glasses, then looked from Carly to Ari. “Since you already know who it is, I’ll give you an overview. Given that particular patient’s condition, he’s actually lived longer than many with the disease. What helped is that he was diagnosed at a young age and didn’t present any neurological symptoms. Not then, anyway.”
“Oh, for the love of Peter, Paul, and Mary,” Rhonda bleated. “We all know who you’re talking about. Just say his name.”
Carly stifled a giggle, then grew serious. “Gary, is there any treatment for Chip’s condition?”
“Unfortunately, there isn’t a cure, but the symptoms can be managed. The crucial thing is to avoid exposure to the sun and all forms of UV light. The eyes, especially, need to be protected. Even with great care taken, however, skin cancers are always a looming possibility.”
Carly took a sip of her wine. “Gary, this would be going waaay back, but do you recall Chip being hospitalized for his condition as a teenager?”
Gary’s expression sobered. “Indeed, I do,” he said somberly. “Terrible thing. The poor boy had fallen victim to an ugly prank and was trapped in a sun-filled atrium for far too long. By the time help arrived, he’d suffered severe sunburn.” He dabbed at his lips with his napkin, then took a larger than usual gulp of wine.
And it was, no doubt, the prank orchestrated by Ferris Menard that Steve had told her about earlier.
At least she knew now what Chip Foster was dealing with. It made her feel even worse about him seeing that slip of paper on her desk.
“Can we please stop talking about diseases?” Rhonda said. “I feel for that poor man, I truly do, but that’s not why we’re here, is it?”
Gary flushed, and Carly apologized. Fortunately, their server came by at that moment and delivered their entrees. The aroma of herbs and butter wrapped around them as their plates were set before them. They’d all opted for the chef’s special—maple cured pork tenderloin with creamy gravy and rosemary popover.
“This looks fantastic,” Ari said as they dug in.
After they finished eating, they ordered coffees all around but declined dessert. Carly asked her mom if she’d heard from Norah since the day the chief dropped the bombshell about Ferris Menard.
“Once,” Rhonda said tartly. “And it was a most unsatisfying conversation. Every time I talk to her lately, I get more and more frustrated. She won’t tell me what her boyfriend does that he has to dress like a clown. She said she’ll let us all know when the time is right. She’s being very mysterious about it. I think she’s enjoying teasing me.”
Carly sipped her coffee. “When you talk to her, does she sound happy?”
Rhonda’s lips pinched together. “That’s the odd thing. She’s been sounding more relaxed and more bubbly than I’ve ever heard her sound. I’m not getting that desperate ‘I gotta have a man’ vibe that she usually gives off.”
Carly smiled inwardly. She and Norah were like night and day, but Norah was really the more fun one. Compared to her older sister, Carly sometimes felt like a stodgy old lady.
“Mom, give her a break, okay?” Carly suggested. “Have faith in her decisions, whatever they are. You know Norah. If she decides she made a bad boyfriend choice, she’ll dump him faster than a boiled potato. And who knows? Maybe this one’ll end being a keeper.”
Gary nodded as if agreeing, but he kept his mouth shut.
Rhonda tapped her manicured fingernails against her china cup. “I’d go along with that, except for one thing. This work the boyfriend does where he dresses as a clown—he does it during the evening. Ergo, he can’t be entertaining children, can he?” She threw up her arms.
“Sure he can,” Carly said. “Lots of places have children’s events in the evening.”
“Maybe,” her mom grumbled, “but even so, how can he make a living that way?”
Carly didn’t have an answer for that one. She’d long believed Norah was seeking a partner as solid and dependable as their dad had been. If one boyfriend wasn’t a good fit, she moved onto the next—without ever looking back.
Carly had been only seven when their dad died, but Norah was almost ten and had formed a much stronger bond with him. While Carly had only vague memories of Paul Hale, Norah could describe him in detail, right down to the tiny scar over his left eye. She could hum every song he played on his harmonica; she could recite the trick he’d taught her to tie her shoes so she wouldn’t trip over the laces. His death had left a much bigger hole in Norah’s heart than it had in Carly’s.
Rhonda suddenly sat up straighter in her chair, her eyes dancing with mischief. “By the way, Carly, have you noticed anything different about me?” She turned her head slowly back and forth, as if trying to land on the perfect pose for a head shot.
Carly studied her mom’s face at every angle. If there was a noticeable change, she wasn’t seeing it. “Sorry, Mom, I don’t,” she admitted.
“Good! Then they passed the test.” With a sly wink at her husband, she reached up to her right ear and removed a tiny device.
Carly let out a squeak. “You finally…I mean you got hearing aids!”
“I caught the word finally, young lady,” Rhonda said with mock offense. She grinned. “It’s so wonderful, isn’t it, Gary? I can hear everything! I don’t have to give people that blank look anymore, pretending I knew what they said when I didn’t have a clue.”
“That is, indeed, a blessing,” Gary said, gracing his wife with a loving smile. He winked at Ari, who hid his own smile in his napkin.
Getting her new hearing aids must have been her mom’s secret mission the day before, Carly realized. That’s why she wasn’t at the library.
“It’s amazing,” Carly said. “They’re totally invisible. I’m impressed, Mom.”
When they’d all finished their coffee, Gary signaled their server for the bill. After he paid, they retrieved their coats from the coat check in the Inn’s beautifully appointed foyer. Everyone hugged goodbye, but Rhonda lingered a moment with Carly.
“Now he’s a keeper,” Rhonda whispered in her daughter’s ear, referring obviously to Ari.
Feeling a flush in her cheeks, Carly nodded and smiled. “Thanks for everything, Mom. I enjoyed every minute of the evening.”
Rhonda moved over to Ari. She’d already hugged him once, but now she grasped him as if he were departing on an arctic expedition. “Remember, Gary and I are here for both of you. Whatever you need, whatever we can do.”
“That’s very comforting, thank you. And thank you both for the terrific dinner and the fine company.” Ari smiled at Carly. “Next time it will be our treat.”
Our treat. He said it as if he and Carly were a confirmed couple. A permanent couple.
There was a part of Carly that relished the feeling, that gave her a warm sense of belonging.
But there was another part of her that told her to cool her jets—not to mistake her feelings for something they weren’t until she was absolutely sure.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Located on a winding country road, the South Mountain Church of the Valley was a plain white structure sitting adjacent to a dirt parking lot. Save for the wooden cross attached to the façade, it might easily have passed for a private residence.
Inside the church, a dark blue runner ran along a central aisle that led to a raised altar. A podium rested off to the left, its base surrounded by at least a half dozen vases filled with tall white lilies. Were the flowers courtesy of Portia? Carly wondered.
Carly had intentionally gotten there early. She wanted to sit as far from the front as possible—it would give her a better view of everyone who came in to pay their respects. Two of the cars in the parking area had looked suspiciously official. She suspected they belonged to plainclothes police investigators.
She slid into a wooden pew in the back row on the left. The church was warm, and she loosened her coat. She hadn’t seen any sign of either Portia or Holly. Maybe they were in another section with the pastor? A dark-haired woman garbed in black was seated about halfway down the aisle on the opposite side. Her head was bowed, as if in prayer—but for all Carly knew she was reading her text messages. These days it seemed the more likely scenario.
People were starting to amble into the church. An elderly woman with tight gray curls and a generous coating of makeup toddled up alongside Carly’s pew and pointed to where she was sitting. “Would you mind if I sit where you are?” she said in a reedy voice. “It’s hard for me to slide over.”
Carly glanced down the row of pews, wondering why the woman didn’t just choose one of the empty ones in front of her. Nevertheless, and remembering where she was, she smiled and moved over so the woman could have her seat.
The woman gave out a slight groan as she dropped onto the wooden bench seat. “My hip’s acting up something awful today. Were you a friend of Ferris’s?”
“More of a business acquaintance,” Carly said quietly.
The woman unsnapped her shiny clutch purse and dug out a lace hankie. “I barely knew Ferris, but I’m good friends with his mom, Irene,” she said, latching her purse shut. “Poor thing. Her memory issues came on so quickly. She’s getting good care in the facility, but she’s failing more every day. It won’t be long before…” She let the sentence dangle for Carly to fill in the rest.
“By the way, I’m Helen Fairchild,” the woman said. “What’s your name?”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Carly.” Had they been in a more social setting, Carly would have offered more than her given name. Attending a prayer service for Ferris Menard didn’t seem like the appropriate place.
A low hum fell over the church as more people began coming in and murmuring to one another.
“What facility is Irene in?” Carly asked her.
“I’m sure you know it. It’s the Balsam Dell Long-Term Care place. She has a lovely room, but her mind is a jumble.” She shook her head. “Shame on me, I haven’t visited her in a while. But I’m determined to visit her today, even if it pains me to see her like that.” She dabbed at her dry eyes with her hankie.
“I hope you have a good visit,” Carly said.
“You know,” Helen went on, “Irene doesn’t know about Ferris’s death. The doctor and nurses decided it would be kinder to keep her in the dark. She only has a few months left, so why upset her now? Besides, after she told her son about his father, he stopped visiting her.”
Carly nodded absently, her attention drawn to a handsome, silver-haired man who’d slipped in through a side door on the opposite side of the church. He sat down in the rear pew, his back ramrod straight as he stared toward the altar. A few people nodded to him as they came down the aisle, but no one paused to greet him or speak to him.
Aware that she was gawking, Carly pulled her gaze away. Helen elbowed her, two pink spots sprouting on her powdered cheeks. “That’s Lawrence Kendall, in case you’re wondering. Started out as a used car salesman decades ago, until he married into the Jepson family. He’s been living like a king ever since.”
Jepson. The surname was familiar to Carly, but she didn’t recall ever knowing any Jepsons. “I guess I don’t know them.”
“Oh my, the Jepsons own car dealerships all over the state! As you can see, Lawrence is still a looker, but in the old days he was movie star gorgeous. I almost had a shot at him once,” she tittered with a waggle of her penciled-on eyebrows. “But he was more interested in Irene. Believe you me, those two were hot and heavy for a while.” She shook her head in disgust. “Poor Irene. He dumped her like a bag of bugs when that Pamela Jepson came along. Pamela was rather plain, but the dollar signs won out, if you get my meaning.” She rubbed her fingers together in a gesture that signified having lots of cash.
Hot and heavy? Bag of bugs? Did this woman write soap operas for a living?
Helen fingered her wrinkled neck. “Oh, dear. I’ve said too much, haven’t it? Irene would be very upset with me.” She smacked her own hand as if to scold herself, but a telltale smile formed on her lips.
Yeah, tell me another one, Carly wanted to say. It wouldn’t surprise her if Helen had a PhD in gossip-spreading.
More people were streaming in and seating themselves, filling in the empty spaces in the pews. Carly wanted to question Helen further about Ferris’s mom, but just then she saw Steve Perlman come in. After the conversation they’d had at the library the day before, she was surprised he’d even attend Ferris’s prayer service. If she could nab him after the service, she’d ask him about that too.
And where the heck was Grant? He’d told Carly he planned to get there early, but so far she hadn’t seen any sign of him.
Carly gulped when Chief Holloway strode in. She should have known he’d attend the service—he was law enforcement. Dressed in full uniform, he scanned the room for several seconds. His eyebrows dipped toward his nose in a frown when he spotted Carly. Without acknowledging her, he sat down in the row in front of her.
He is not happy to see me, Carly thought. He probably assumes I’m spying.
Which, of course, I am.
After all, killers had been known to attend their victims’ funerals, hadn’t they? Or was that just Hollywood hype?
Probably the latter, but Carly still wanted to take note of who showed up for the prayer service.
The pews were nearly filled to capacity, which surprised Carly. She hadn’t imagined that so many people would want to pay their final respects to Ferris Menard, but then chided herself for having such an uncharitable thought. She honestly hadn’t known the man well enough to judge his character. For all she knew, he was secretly a philanthropist who gave tons of money to the needy. Besides, mourners came mostly for the family, not for the deceased.
Carly was beginning to worry about Grant, though. Where was he? One thing about Grant—he was never late.
It was nearing 9:00 a.m. when a slight man carrying a prayer book emerged from a different side door and stepped up to the podium. Trailing him were Portia and Holly, huddled together as if in deep mourning. Walking arm in arm, they took a seat in the first row. Holly was garbed in a navy skirt and blazer with a white blouse, while Portia’s stunning black pantsuit was accentuated by a bright pink scarf.
Carly was still fretting about Grant when the man in question slid into the pew beside her. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself. Everything okay?”
