Blessed Is the Busybody (23 page)

“I guess.”

I sat forward. She looked like she needed a friend. I took her hand.

Her lips trembled. “Brownie was here one night, umm . . . paying for his birdhouse.”

“I’m sure he thought it was perfect.”

“Well, then he, like, took out his wallet and a key fell on the rug over there. And he didn’t notice it, but I did. I didn’t say nothing. I was kinda busy at the time, you know?”

I was afraid I did.

“Anyway, after he left I noticed it again. And when I picked it up I saw it had a tag on it, with this address. At first I thought it was his address, then I realized it couldn’t be ’cause I’d seen his house so I could make the birdhouse. So anyway, I went by the address a couple of nights later, looking to see if maybe he had another woman stashed over there or something.”

The picture of Brownie Kefauver “stashing” anyone was incongruous. “Uh huh.” I nodded sagely.

“When I got there I saw it was just an empty house with a For Sale sign.”

Sage redux. I nodded once more.

“So then, I like, well, I—” She gulped and started to sob again.

I held out more tissues. We went through the nose blowing again.

“Better?” I asked.

She began to speak quickly, as if she was afraid once she stopped she wouldn’t be allowed to continue.

“Sax was looking for a place to hide some stuff, or leastwise that’s what he told me. He wanted to use my apartment. I didn’t ask what he was hiding, but I guess it wasn’t nothing good. Most likely drugs or maybe guns. I needed money. Root canal.” She pointed at a bottom molar. “I didn’t have any other way to get enough. Brownie couldn’t help. I guess his wife has all the money. So, I—I told Sax he couldn’t use my place but I could get him the key to a house that was for sale, but he’d have to pay me for my trouble.”

“Why would he want to hide anything in a house that was being shown by realtors?”

“He said that didn’t matter, that he’d find a good place in the house where nobody would bother looking.”

“So you sold him the key?”

She nodded, looking miserable. “Not for much. And I didn’t know he’d use it to, you know . . .”

“Kill Jennifer?”

She nodded again. “I didn’t know that’s where it happened. The murder, I mean. Not until yesterday. Then I heard one of our customers talking. And I made a big mistake.”

“What did you do?”

“I was so mad when I heard. That’s the only reason I can think of to act so stupid.”

I wasn’t going to quibble about her IQ. “How stupid?”

“I told Sax I’d heard where Jenny died. And I told him it wouldn’t look good for him if I went to the police and told ’em what I knew.”

I sat back. “You were blackmailing him?”

She shook her head wildly. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. I was just so angry! He killed Jenny in that house. I know he did. They used to fight, and Jenny told me that once she came into that money, she was going to dump him. Maybe he found out, I dunno. But I wanted him to know he wasn’t going to get away with killing her. And maybe I was just hoping he’d tell me he
didn’t
kill her and he’d say it in a way that would make me believe it was true, so I wouldn’t feel so guilty.”

“Oh, Keely.” I was suddenly very sorry I was sitting in Keely’s house, in a neighborhood where nobody would ever think to look for me. And I was just as sorry for the woman across from me.

“This morning he was out front in a car. I saw him out my window. I’ve been afraid to go outside ever since. I called the police and told ’em there was a guy parked out there watching my apartment, and they came by and chased him off. But I know he’ll be back. I thought you was him.”

“Why didn’t you just tell the police what you knew?”

She wrung her hands. “Will they believe me? I’m nobody, Aggie. I serve drinks in the worst bar in town. I called Brownie and told him I was in trouble, and he told me never to call him again. And I’m the one that sold Sax the key! How’s that going to look? What can I do?”

I got to my feet and peered out the window. There was a new car on the street, just behind my van. I was sure it hadn’t been there when I parked. “What kind of car does he drive? Does he have a car?”

“A beat-up Mustang.”

I was very afraid I was now parked in front of a beat-up Mustang. And I was very afraid the driver’s door had just swung open. “Where’s your phone?”

“Are you going to call somebody? You said you wouldn’t!”

I turned back to her. “Do you want to end up like Jennifer Marina?”

Her huge eyes widened. “No. No, I don’t.”

“Then where’s your phone?”

She pointed toward her bedroom.

“Wedge a chair under the doorknob and turn out all the lights. Is there another entrance into the apartment?”

“Used to be, but somebody walled it off before I moved in.”

I was grateful to that unknown carpenter who had blithely broken city codes. Thanks to him we had a chance.

“Stay away from the windows. Stay down low, and hit those lights right now. Then get in the bedroom and help me barricade that door, too.”

“Who are you going to call?”

“The man who wants Sax Dubinsky for murder as badly as Sax Dubinsky wants you.”

16

By the time Roussos and friends arrived Sax had broken into the apartment and was nearly finished kicking in the bedroom door. I was armed with a can of hair spray and Keely was hoping he wouldn’t peek under the bed.

By the time it was over I swore I was done playing amateur detective. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say sleuthing nearly got me killed.

On the other hand, I’m sure urging Roussos to pull out all the stops and get a patrol car to the scene saved Keely’s life as well as mine. I don’t know what she would have done if I hadn’t been there to call him. Maybe she would have been smart enough to call 911 when Sax started kicking in her front door. But I think telling Roussos that Jennifer Marina’s murderer was working on his next two victims brought help a lot quicker.

I do know that from now on Brownie’s going to have to get his “birdhouses” somewhere else. Keely swears she’s a changed woman. When we parted after giving our statements, she was heading to confession for the first time in decades. If the priest wasn’t available, she was going to confess on the front steps of Saint Mary’s to anybody who would listen. I was planning to drive home by a different route.

Our police station sits at the edge of downtown, a two-story frame rectangle sided with gray asphalt shingles. Never an architectural masterpiece, these days the building is an eyesore. Emerald Springs citizens will be delighted when the move is finally made to the service center so that the station can be torn down to make way for public parking.

Inside is much like outside. Paint is peeling; threadbare carpet is patched with duct tape. A uniformed officer took my statement at a rusting metal desk that was old when Eisenhower was president.

As I was heading home to my sadly empty house, Roussos stopped me in the parking lot. I hadn’t seen much of him, since he had been busy with Sax.

The temperature had dropped while our little life-altering drama played out. I shivered now, and Roussos tugged off a black leather jacket and draped it around my shoulders. I was enveloped in the scent of anise and pine needles, or that was my best guess. The jacket smelled and felt so good I didn’t want to give it back.

“You really couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” he said.

I was too exhausted to smile. “Apparently not.”

“With what Miss Henley told us, we’ll probably have enough to charge Dubinsky for the Marina murder. He’s been our best suspect from the start. At least once we knew Rico Marina had an airtight alibi.”

“You’ve got more on him?”

“Dubinsky and a couple of his Cobra buddies have been trading guns for drugs in East Cleveland for about six months now. The cops there know all about it, but they haven’t made any arrests. While they’re at it, they want to get the guys at the top. When we searched the house across from yours, we found crack stashed in the crawl space under the family room. You get to that from the basement, so you need to get into the house. We were pretty sure we knew who put it there. We’ve been watching the house to catch him in the act, but he hasn’t been back.”

“I guess he never expected anybody to make the connection between Jennifer’s murder and the house. Or even Sax would have been smart enough to move his hidden treasure elsewhere.”

“Now that we know he had a key, that’s one more piece of the puzzle. And that SUV you saw at the house the morning you found the body? We’re pretty sure it belongs to a friend of his. With what we know we can probably get a warrant and go over it. We can search Dubinsky’s apartment, too.”

“A confession would be easier.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got a couple of people who heard him fighting with Miss Marina. And he doesn’t have an alibi for the night she was murdered. If we find blood in the SUV, the owner will probably turn state’s evidence. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Dubinsky again.”

“You think he killed her because she was going to dump him once Gelsey paid her off? That’s Keely’s theory.”

“He probably wanted
something
from her she wasn’t going to give him. Love, money, Coors instead of Bud Light.”

“He’d be better off with Bud Light. You could suggest it.” He didn’t quite smile. “Maybe they had a fight, and he killed her because it was easier than counting to ten, or she knew about the drugs and guns and was threatening to blackmail him, too. We’ll probably never know for sure. But between what we do know and what we’ll find out in the next few days, he’s going down.”

I wasn’t ready to give up the jacket. Maybe I’m a vegetarian, but apparently my scruples don’t extend to leather.

“What about Gelsey?” I asked, pulling it forward to snuggle deeper.

“What about her?”

“Sax killed her, too?”

“We’re working on that.”

“Can you tell me what you know?”

One corner of his mouth actually turned up. His gaze warmed. “You tell me.”

I’d thought about this while I waited to give my statement. “Maybe Sax knew who Jenny was going to blackmail and why. After all, they were living together. Even if she didn’t tell him, chances are he figured it out one way or the other. So after he killed Jenny, he decided to blackmail Gelsey himself.”

“Interesting. You think?”

I glared at him. “Yes, and maybe he even killed Jenny so he could go after Gelsey without sharing the payoff. I don’t know. Only whatever the sequence, something went wrong. Gelsey refused to believe him, or she threatened to call the police. I can see her doing that, especially if she suspected Sax killed her daughter. She wasn’t mom-of-the-year, but she wasn’t a moral wreck, either. Jenny was hers, whatever that meant to her. And I don’t think she would let her daughter’s murderer go free.”

“All tied up in a neat little package.”

“You have a bigger, fancier one?”

“One murder at a time.” His smile widened a little. “But it’s possible.”

I was astonished. “Wow, that is high praise from you.”

“You’ll never hear it again. Stay away from my cases, okay?”

Reluctantly, I removed the jacket and handed it back to him. “Keep dead bodies off my porch, okay?”

“It will be my pleasure.”

Somehow when Ed called the next morning, I forgot to mention the incident with Sax and Keely. I was lying in bed missing everybody despite the fact that when they’re here, I frequently yearn for solitude—or at least for an uninterrupted cup of coffee.

“Hey.” I sat up and raked my fingers through my hair, as if he could see me. “How’s it going?”

“They love me.”

“How can you tell? You’re in Boston, right?”

“Not everybody in America feels a need to regurgitate an entire life history when they’re introduced, including a blow-by-blow of past lives.”

“You still don’t believe Junie was Cleopatra, do you?”

“It’s crossed my mind to be skeptical.”

I missed him more. I thought about wrapping myself in his bathrobe, except that he never wears it himself so it just smells like Tide. “So somebody loosened a tie and you think that means you’re a shoo-in?”

“I’m afraid I’m a shoo-in, Aggie. This is more or less a pre-empt. If I want the job, I think it’s mine.”

“Gosh, I’m married to a rising star.”

He was quiet, and I waited him out.

“Thing is,” he said at last, “I was looking for a quiet life, remember?”

“I do. I wasn’t in favor of it.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know what to tell you. It hasn’t exactly been quiet here, has it?”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I can’t make it simple. Just don’t expect me to misplace my
R’s
and polish the Revere sterling after social hour.”

“I wish you were here.”

I slumped against the pillows and thought about last night. “You have no idea how much I wish I was, too.”

“I’ll be home late Sunday evening.”

“Good luck tomorrow morning at the service.”

We made smoochy noises and hung up.

The house was quiet enough that I could hear every car pass on Church Street. After I showered and dressed I went downstairs and made toast and coffee from Arabica beans my sister Vel roasts and sends me monthly.

I was reading the comics when I got the first of three phone calls. The girls wanted to spend the day at the Frankels’, where they were raking the yard and building a fort out of bags of leaves. I’d expected them to be too smart to fall for this Tom Sawyer trick and gave May a mental salute. I told them I would bring everybody picnic lunches as a treat.

In the second call Bob said he needed me to fill in for someone else, and I said yes to this, too, building on yes number one. I promised to come in after I dropped off the lunches.

Third call, Esther, our organist, had something to give me. Would I be home for a while?

Esther has multiple talents besides music. She can make sick plants bloom again. She can knit a wool muffler in the time it takes me to cast on a row of stitches. She bakes a chocolate chip applesauce cake that is so luscious just a hint she’s bringing one to a potluck guarantees a large attendance and fights in the food line. Esther is seventy-six, spry as a college sprinter, rosy cheeked, and silver haired. She is also a treasure hunter.

I wasn’t surprised she was bringing me something. Esther can go for a walk and return with stones shaped like sail-boats or seed pods for the perfect dried arrangement. She goes to yard sales and comes home with Spode china and Depression glass, discovered in the two-for-a-quarter box under the picnic table.

From the moment we arrived, Esther, who suspects my eccentricities, has brought me things. A bouquet of brightly colored asters from her yard, a filmy lace curtain that’s the oddly perfect choice for our bathroom, the chenille bedspread with pink and blue tufted roses in our guest room. I have a Porky Pig candy dish I wouldn’t trade for a gold mine, courtesy of Esther’s last trip to California.

I had tea steeping when she arrived in a Barbie pink jogging suit.

We hugged and I sat her at the table. We chatted and sipped, going through the usual pleasantries about the weather and autumn colors. She was carrying a canvas bag.

“I’m on my way to practice my prelude,” she said.

Tomorrow’s speaker was an Emerald College professor who would regale the congregation with his doctoral dissertation on Sartre. If anything would make our members appreciate my husband, this would do it. I asked Esther what she was going to play, and she said something suitably French, and that if he was as boring as he sounded, she might play it while he lectured, as well.

We sat there smiling at each other.

“Ed’s not here?” she asked.

“Out of town for the weekend.”

“And the girls?”

“At May and Simon’s, building forts.”

“Then I have the perfect project for you.” Esther pulled an old-fashioned scrapbook out of the bag and set it on the table next to her cup. “A find. A real find.”

“What is it?”

“I was visiting Dolly Purcell, and she told me she’d been cleaning out her spare room and found this. She was going to bring it herself, but she’s down with a cold.”

Dolly is a longtime member, now in her eighties. She and Esther are good friends.

“Church photos?”

Esther slid it across the table to me. “Photos, and they’re all documented. Names, dates, a little write-up for every event. Dolly was the historian a long time ago. This is just like her. She puts all her energy into learning a job, masters it, then she’s bored. But at least for two years she set things to rights.”

I flipped pages while she finished her tea. The scrapbook was the old-fashioned variety, a long rectangle with a green plastic cover trimmed in gold. The forty or so pages were black and the photos were held in place with triangular corners. Dolly had carefully typed information to go with each photo. It really was a treasure trove.

“Great. This will help a lot. Now I’ll be able to identify some of the stuff that’s not cataloged.” I looked up and smiled. “Thanks for bringing it to me.”

She stood and stretched. “There’s a rumor going around that they caught the guy who killed that poor girl.”

I set the scrapbook on a counter and walked her to the front door. “I think they have.”

“That’s a relief. Nobody with a brain in his head believed Ed was involved, of course. But at least the subject won’t come up now.”

I wondered. Even if Sax was charged for Jennifer’s murder, there was no guarantee the police would find enough evidence to charge him for Gelsey’s. And Ed
had
been standing over her body when the police arrived.

“I still can’t figure out why this no-good dropped the body on your porch,” Esther said, standing much too close to the very spot.

“Maybe he panicked and wanted to get rid of it as fast as possible. Or maybe he wanted to point suspicion in the wrong direction.” But I knew that was a stretch. There were better places than a public porch in daylight. Sax had taken an awful chance.

“Who would ever have thought we’d be having this discussion.” Esther shook her head and started down the steps to the church.

I planned what to take to the girls for lunch and pulled frozen cookie dough out of the refrigerator to go with the pimento cheese sandwiches. As I set the slices on my cookie sheets I flipped through the scrapbook, making sure not to leave grease spots on the pages. Dolly had done a wonderful job. I viewed weddings and child dedications, religious education award ceremonies, even some early shots of my kitchen when the tile floor was being laid. Judging from the volunteer’s clothing, I’m guessing the floor went in before the Depression. I need to mention this to our successors to give them ammunition for the next skirmish in the Congoleum wars.