Beware False Profits (27 page)

I thought it had to do with Chad’s memorial service. And maybe with my feverish dreams.

By the time I parked behind the church and went around to get the punch bowl my legs were limp linguine. The closet was beckoning, and I was absolutely thrilled to be finished with this episode in my life. I had decided that once I felt better, I would tell Sally Berrigan the story, and leave it in her hands. I suspected she would see no harm in forgetting the entire saga since she was the one to write the first unfortunate chapter.

Halfway up the walk I realized I didn’t have the keys to the closet. I wanted to bang my head in frustration, but nothing could convince me to wait even one more minute. I headed for the front of the church and Ed’s office. Norma Beet was sitting at her desk, and her eyes behind cat’s-eye glasses brightened when she saw me. She got to her feet and sent her chair spinning when she stumbled backwards. Norma forgets that her substantial tummy goes everywhere ahead of her, in this case straight into her desk.

I could see she was going to ask about the box. I headed her off. “Is Ed here, Norma?”

“No, he was here.” She launched into a moment-by-moment replay of my husband’s day.

Norma is harmless, and except for the incessant chatter, she’s an excellent secretary. I think she’s something of a project for Ed, who’s sure he can teach her to say less and more at the same time. Ed’s all about transformation.

I’ve learned to interrupt, although it doesn’t come naturally. I balanced the box carefully on the edge of her desk and waved my hand to stop her. “Would you mind opening the Women’s Society closet for me? I’ve got the punch bowl.”

I said this so naturally, so casually, that she didn’t even blink.

“No problem. Follow me.”

She continued the recital on the way. Ed would have nothing left to tell me tonight, but I didn’t care. Norma was going to open the closet.

Most of the time when people expect to see one thing, they don’t notice it’s something else entirely.

I told the annoying voice inside my head to be quiet so I could hear Norma, a demand I had never expected to make.

We reached the closet, and she opened it. I set the box down carefully. Lightning did not strike. An earthquake didn’t rumble through the building. The ceiling didn’t cave in on top of it.

I stepped back; Norma locked the door. That was that.

Norma wasn’t finished. I stood there quietly exultant and listened as penance.

“You have an amazing memory for detail,” I said, when she stopped long enough to draw another breath. “You remember every nuance of every moment. I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody who pays that much attention to everything around her.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Really?”

“Really, it’s amazing. How do you do it?”

“What can I say? I grew up on a wheat farm in South Dakota, a place where nothing big ever happened. When I was little I realized that the only things around me that ever changed were little things. So I started noticing them. That way time didn’t seem to stand still.”

I was touched. And didn’t that explain a lot? Here was a woman with almost total recall. Growing up, had anyone been interested enough in details to listen to her observations? Maybe Norma was just making up for lost time.

“I wish I paid half as much attention to things as you do.” My poor overheated brain was trying to tell me something, and I stopped a moment. I realized what it was.

“Listen, Norma, something’s bothering me. Maybe you can help. Would you mind trying?”

She looked so pleased. I had never realized that under the glasses and the extra pounds and the hair that got gradually darker at the tips from a bad dye job, that Norma had the makings of an attractive woman. She had great skin. A beauty queen’s nose. And a pretty smile.

I rushed on, glad that I’d made her happy but not taking any chances she’d start to chatter again.

“At the memorial service for Chad Sutterfield, his parents placed photographs on a table in the social hall. Childhood photos of him. Do you remember?”

“Sure. I was in there to make sure everything ran smoothly.”

I didn’t even have to cut her off. She was waiting for me to continue. This was fun. A real conversation.

“Well, I keep thinking that something went wrong,” I said. “But I don’t know why I think so, or what it might have been. I keep seeing those photographs in my mind. They just keep nagging at me. Am I imagining it?”

“Maybe you’re thinking about the one that disappeared.”

I waited, on full alert now. “Disappeared?”

“Right. The picture of him on a horse. It was there when I left for the church, and it was gone when I came back. I noticed somebody was over there moving photographs around to cover up the gap. That pretty woman with the short dark hair? The tall one who smells like jasmine?”

Cilla. I remembered now that Cilla had repositioned the photographs, as if she was trying to keep her hands busy when she was feeling so many strong emotions.

Cilla, who’d disliked Chad to the point of hatred. Cilla, who had gone to bed with Chad before she understood what kind of man he was. Cilla, who was certain that Chad wanted Joe’s job.

“Why would she want that photo?” I asked out loud, although I didn’t expect Norma to have an answer. “A memento?”

“I don’t remember any way she could have hidden it. She wasn’t wearing a jacket. She was wearing a sundress, remember? Navy, with lighter blue flowers down the front? Nothing to disturb the line of it, no pockets.”

“Maybe she got rid of the picture before we got there?”

“No, I’m almost sure I came back before she did. A minute or two before the service was over. I was worried about the caterer.”

“Did the Sutterfields say anything about the missing photograph?”

“They were so upset, I doubt they even noticed. Of course, maybe they removed it themselves when I wasn’t there. But I don’t think so, because they had people around them all the time.” Norma’s eyes brightened. “We can ask January if he found anything in the trash.”

“You mean like a photo or frame?”

“He emptied the trash after the service.”

“Is he here?”

“No, he’s gone home. Would you like me to call him?”

Norma was definitely improving, but I hated to sic her on January. On the other hand, I didn’t have another drop of energy left. I was running on fumes.

“Would you?” I squeezed out my last smile. “You’ll call me if he has anything interesting to say?”

“I sure will.”

She chattered as she saw me to the door, but I had a new appreciation for Norma, and even this didn’t spoil it.

“Thanks for letting me help,” she said before she closed the door.

“The pleasure is mine.” And now I was vaguely ashamed. Because in the same way I had decided Maura was hopeless, from the beginning, I had discounted Norma, too.

I told the voices in my head to take a rest. I hadn’t been as generous toward Norma as I should have been, but in the future I would try harder. Meanwhile I had found and returned the punch bowl. I had discovered why I’d been bothered last night by a mental slide show of Chad Sutterfield as a boy. And I had made a connection between Cilla’s actions at the memorial service and the disappearance of the photograph. Pretty good for somebody who was looking at life and death through a head filled with seaweed.

I started for my van, for home, for my bed and a long, dreamless nap. I got the house and the bed. I even got the nap.

But dreamless wasn’t in the cards.

Early Friday afternoon I saw my doctor. My memories of the night before were vague. When I slept, I slept sitting up. Breathing was hard enough that I considered going cold turkey. Ed kept me pumped full of liquids and Tylenol to keep my temperature down, and we had conversations about whether I should go the doctor in the morning or the emergency room right away. But a call to the hospital reassured us that a virus with flulike symptoms was making the rounds, and we were already doing what we needed to.

The doctor prescribed heavy-duty cold and cough meds and took a chest X-ray. I was ordered to bed before my symptoms degenerated into pneumonia and told that under no circumstances was I to go to Teddy’s play tonight and contaminate the audience.

Ed brought me home, promised to fill the prescription after a late afternoon meeting, and settled me on the sofa with a thermos of juice, the phone, and the television remote. Junie would be home not long after the girls arrived. I wasn’t to do anything but get better.

My head hurt too badly to read, and despite feeling giddy with exhaustion, I couldn’t sleep. I kept the television off since even on good days I’ve been known to contact alien life-forms simply by pressing Menu or Mute on the remote.

This left puzzles to solve, and not sudoku or the
Flow
’s daily crossword. The puzzle of why Cilla might have taken a photo from the memorial table. The puzzle of when and how. Whether she had told me the truth about her feelings for Chad. How or if she was involved in the fire or Chad’s death.

When the telephone rang I still wasn’t getting close to an answer. Norma was on the other end. She had talked to January, and yes, he had seen a picture frame and glass in the trash but no, he couldn’t tell her where it had originated. He thought it might have come from one of the restrooms.

I called Lucy, but I got her voice mail. I pressed the number to page her and got a window cleaning service. When I called back to leave a message, I was offered a time-share in Cancun. At least that’s my best guess, judging from the mariachi band in the background.

Cilla and I weren’t yet friends. I decided to take a chance on losing a future filled with shopping trips and daring hair appointments. I called information and let them dial the food bank.

I was transferred twice, but eventually Cilla picked up.

I went through the polite formalities. I suspected she was hoping I had information to share about Joe, because she almost sounded breathless.

“I need your help,” I said cutting through the chitchat. “We’ve discovered something odd, Cilla, and you might know more than we do.” I launched into the explanation about the missing photo of Chad on horseback and the discarded picture frame. Then I waited.

“I never saw it,” she said.

“You were at the table when I spoke to you, rearranging the photos. I just thought—”

“What did you think? That I wanted a memento of that creep?” She paused. “Okay, it’s not nice to talk that way about the dead. But you’re seriously pissing me off.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why the photograph was removed.”

“I got there and noticed a gap. Call it nervous energy, but I just moved things around to distribute them better. And maybe to say a private good-bye, although it was more like good riddance.”

I don’t know why, but I believed her. Now I was sorry I’d made her angry.

I put my thoughts together out loud. “So we know that while we were at the service, somebody came in and took it. Because by the time you got there, it was already gone.”

“Why do you care anyway?”

I didn’t answer, because I was thinking back on the service and the people in attendance. Someone could have walked in off the street, of course, but now I remembered that one person in attendance had left for a few minutes in the midst of a coughing spell.

Maura.

“Aggie, I asked why you care!”

I pulled myself together. “Look, I’m sorry I ever wondered if you might have something to do with the photograph. I believe you. But you can help in another way. Can you tell me what kind of relationship Chad had with Maura?”

Now
she
was silent. I wondered if she was planning how to slam down the receiver to best effect, or if she was simply thinking.

“I never saw any sign of friendship,” she said at last. “I can’t remember ever witnessing them in a private conversation, or even acting like they wanted one. They were polite. But…”

“Go on please.”

“I think a strong suspicion Chad wanted Joe’s job was one of the few things Maura and I had in common.”

That was nothing new. “Okay.”

But Cilla continued. “She kept an eye on him, you know? Like she didn’t trust him. Maybe even more than I didn’t trust him.”

Still nothing new.

She wasn’t finished. “And once she told me she married Joe because he only saw the good in people, but sometimes that meant he didn’t see what was right under his nose.”

“Those were her words?”

“It seemed a little odd, but I figured she was talking about Chad wanting Joe’s job. Maybe she was suspicious all along that Chad was up to no good, and Joe wouldn’t listen to her. You should ask her.”

“I might.” I thanked her and hung up.

Had Maura suspected that Chad was stealing from the food bank? Had she warned Joe?

Had she stolen the photograph?

I was contemplating these questions when Teddy arrived home. She knew better than to crawl into my lap, but she came into the living room and we gave each other pretend hugs from across the room.

“How was the play?” I croaked. “Did Rene remember all her lines?”

“She was good. And she was happy.”

I was sorry I couldn’t hug my daughter for real, because I was so proud of her. “Did you feel a little sad it wasn’t you onstage?”

“No. Miss Hollins let me sit up close so I could help with lines if Rene forgot. It was almost like being in the play.” She beamed as she lifted herself on tippy-toe. “And I get to be Cinderella tonight, so I kept remembering that.”

I pretended to hug her again. Once we put Jennifer Hollins in the loop, she’d come up with the perfect solution to Teddy’s dilemma. From the beginning, two performances had been scheduled. One this afternoon for the students, and one tonight for parents and friends. So Rene had been asked to play Cinderella for the matinee, and Teddy for the evening performance. Two glass slippers, two little girls happy with the decision. One young teacher showing what she was really made of.

And wouldn’t it be great if all moral dilemmas were so easily solved?

“You can’t go tonight can you?” Teddy asked.

“I’m going to have to watch the videotape. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll talk extra loud so you can hear me.”

Deena came home and without being prompted, helped Teddy get a snack. Then she came into the living room and stood where Teddy had. “Can I go to the library with Tyler in a little while?”

Since the library was on the oval, just a stone’s throw from our house, I didn’t see a problem. “I don’t know why not.”

“We’re doing our final project together in science. We picked each other for partners.” She paused. “Everybody knows.”

I nodded, not sure what to say.

“The Meanies are so shallow.” She started to leave, but even with a fever I couldn’t let it go at that.

“Mind telling me what you mean?”

“Well, they were making fun of me. So I told them I like Tyler better than I like them, anyway. Except for Tara and Maddie, who are still okay.”

Middle school seemed a little early to risk exorcism from the popular crowd. I was delighted. I thought the poor but worthy Peace Corps volunteer might still have an edge over the greedy brain surgeon. Even if the brain surgeon happened to have Kentucky Derby contenders in his stable.

“So, you and the Meanies are kaput?” I asked.

“No, now they’re acting like it was all so yesterday. Carlene invited me to spend the night at her house next weekend.”

“Well, sometimes when you stand up for yourself, things work out nicely.”

“Really? I stood up for myself in English class. I told Mr. Sammons that the book he wants us to read is dumb, and we ought to be able to pick one that’s interesting.”

“I bet the
dumb
word didn’t help your cause, right?”

“He told me to write an extra page about why the book didn’t meet my high standards. So now I have more work to do.”

“Win some, lose some.”

She rolled her eyes, and I tried not to smile.

I dozed until Deena came back in to tell me she and Tyler were leaving and Teddy was upstairs trying to train the guinea pigs. I hadn’t realized Tyler was going to escort Deena to the library. He came in to say hello. Once again I thought what a nice-looking boy he was with his brown hair and eyes.

They were gone, but for some reason every time I closed my eyes I pictured Tyler in different settings. At the beach. Repeating the Cub Scout promise.

On horseback.

When I gazed at the photos of Chad after his memorial service, I thought about the boys my daughters were growing up with, how ordinary they seemed. Just like Chad.

Now I realized where that association had come from. The photo of Chad Sutterfield in middle school, which was the missing horseback photo, had strongly reminded me of Tyler Wagner.

I sat up and ran my fingers through my rumpled hair. “You’re an idiot, Aggie.”

The resemblance to Tyler had been clear enough that after one quick glance I’d almost made the connection that day.

Chad Sutterfield was Tyler Wagner’s biological father.

I rested my aching head in my hands. Maura had disappeared long enough to snatch the photo that afternoon. Now I realized why Maura might have the ultimate motivation for stealing it.

That very afternoon hadn’t Cilla told me that Maura was exactly the kind of woman Chad liked?

Another piece clicked into place. Now I knew why Betsy’s comment about the punch bowl had pinged around my aching head with such vengeance. Betsy had said that most of the time when people expect to see one thing, they don’t notice it’s something else entirely. She had almost passed the new punch bowl off as the old one. It was still entirely possible that nobody else would ever notice the difference.

Maura had been married to Joe Wagner. She had given birth to a son. Tyler looked like neither mother nor father, but wasn’t that true of many children? The combinations of genes produced something entirely unique? Expecting to see Joe’s son, Joe’s son was what people saw. Probably even Joe had been fooled.

But what if he
hadn’t
been? What if Joe had discovered the truth and walked out on Maura. Maybe that was the garbled message from his cell phone. Maybe Joe was so furious, so betrayed, he was never coming home.

I dismissed this immediately. Even my poor fried brain knew this couldn’t be right. Joe loved Tyler. He would never walk out on the boy he had raised as his own.

So how did this tie in? Tyler’s parentage was interesting, but what did it prove? I’d seen statistics that claimed more than 10 percent of all children are conceived outside of wedlock, unbeknownst to the fathers of record. If that was true, Joe was in good company. Maybe Maura’s lies amounted to fraud, but I didn’t think this was a crime that would interest Detective Roussos.

Then what about murder? The police thought Chad had died in a fire set by his own hand. But what if this wasn’t true? What if Joe had set it out of revenge, trapping Chad inside?

I shook my head in frustration. What proof did I have things hadn’t happened exactly the way the police believed? I couldn’t imagine Joe Wagner committing such a heinous crime.

No, if I told Roussos what I’d learned, he would tell me it didn’t matter. My theory was only that, and there was no real crime connected to it.

Of course there was another person in the triangle.

What if Maura had killed Chad because he threatened to tell Joe the truth about Tyler? Maybe Chad finally figured out that Tyler was his and demanded his parental rights.

I threw that away, too. Why would a man as self-centered as Chad claim paternity, if with it came financial responsibility and child support payments?

No. If Chad was threatening to tell Maura, he wanted something in exchange for silence. A man who steals food from the poor and homeless is a man who won’t blink at blackmail.

The telephone rang, and Lucy was on the other end. “You tried to call, didn’t you?”

“The trumpeter in your mariachi band reported me, right?”

“Aggie, are you sick or just plain nuts?”

“As a matter of fact…” I launched into my woes, dispensed of them quickly, and moved on to my conversation with Cilla. I didn’t feel comfortable telling Lucy my suspicions about Tyler. And she wasn’t going to be any help figuring out Maura, because Lucy didn’t know her.

“That reminds me,” Lucy said when I finished. “Cilla called last night to say she thought she saw Joe poking around the ruins of the warehouse after work. But before she could get there to confront him, he disappeared.”