Blessed Is the Busybody (6 page)

Teddy stared at me as if I’d grown a more interesting head. “Work? You?”

I passed her a bowl of applesauce. “Amazing concept, isn’t it? A mother who does something besides bake brownies for the P.T.A. and go on field trips.”

“You never told me you applied,” Ed said. “You never mentioned it.”

“Well, if I didn’t get the job, I would have hated to admit I’d lost out to some cute little coed.”

Ed was staring into space now.

I waved my hand in his face. “Ed, I’m not starting a new law practice. I’m not running for Congress or sending the kids off to boarding school. I’m opening cartons and punching in credit card info. For twelve hours a week, tops. It will get me out of the house. Is there a problem?”

“I guess I didn’t mention the other reason for that meeting tonight.”

I was genuinely puzzled. We seemed to have segued back into an old conversation, when I’d thought that this new one would cheer him. After all, at least now, if he was fired, we’d have the security of my fifty-odd dollars take-home pay.

“That other issue wasn’t enough?” I asked. With the girls sitting at the table I didn’t want to repeat details of the movement to fire their father.

Ed’s voice grew softer, and I knew we were in trouble. “Book Gems plans to have an adults-only room in the back. Half the ministers in town are up in arms. Tri-C has been called on to join them.”

Lucy called after Ed’s departure, and the moment she heard my tone, she promised to waltz over bearing good Irish whiskey and a carton of whipping cream. I made the coffee, Luce made it Irish. Strong Irish. Enough to nibble the edge off my depression.

“Well, the good news is that Gelsey and her friends will have trouble figuring out who to dislike more,” I told Lucy. “I sell porn, and Ed attracts naked bodies to our porch.”

“You don’t have to take the job,” Lucy said. Tonight she wore denim overalls cut to the panty line, over a rose colored T-shirt that owed more to spandex than jersey. Once upon a time I had dressed to provoke. Now I was too tired, or too content. I wore faded jeans.

“It’s going to be a classy place,” I told her. “One of the other booksellers showed me the plans when I applied. Heather-toned carpets and polished oak shelves. Plush armchairs with reading lamps in most of the aisles. An eclectic mixture of genres. A coffee bar. It’s costing the owner a fortune, and it’s just what the town needs.”

“Except for that little ole room in the back.”

After the conversation at our dinner table I had called Book Gems’ owner, Bob Knowles, and asked point-blank about the adults-only room. He hadn’t minced words.

“It’s not kiddy porn,” I told Lucy. “
Penthouse
and
Play-boy,
and maybe
Hustler
behind the counter. Some erotic novels, but classy ones. Gay love stories. He claims he’s trying to appeal to everyone except the lowest common denominator. Which in this case is probably the Emerald Springs Moral Majority. They don’t have any idea what he’s really doing, just that there’s sex involved. I don’t know how these people multiply.”

“Aggie, you know I don’t have a problem with this, but how’s it going to look, you working there?”

“Maybe sexy books will pale in significance to murder. You think?”

“You must want the job pretty badly.”

I did want the job. I have a bachelor’s degree in humanities and all the course work for a master’s degree in eighteenth-century philosophy. I met Ed before I started my thesis, and by then, I had already realized there wasn’t a college professor hiding inside me.

I tried to explain. “Before the girls came along I held a new job every place we lived. I have no clerical skills and an education that prepared me to stare at my navel. Right now this bookstore is as good as it’s going to get, and the hours are perfect.”

“You could sell real estate.”

“I’m busy on Sundays, remember?”

Lucy fell silent, and I went upstairs to make sure lights were off in my daughters’ bedrooms.

The girls were asleep. School started next week and I was trying to get them in bed earlier each night to prepare. I went back downstairs to find that while I was gone Lucy had made us each another Irish coffee. The caffeine and the alcohol were at war, and she was hoping one or the other would declare a victory.

Lucy brought my second cup back to the table. “I talked to Sarah about the house across the street.”

“What more could she say?”

“Well, I just wondered if anyone besides the owner might have a key.”

I had vowed I was going to leave this matter alone. Being caught in the act of snooping by Emerald Springs’ hottest detective had been highly humiliating. Now I realized how easily vows can be broken. “And?”

“She did some checking for the police, so she already knew. Two people have keys to the backdoor, with locks, by the way, that are first cousin to the ones at Fort Knox. For a house with nothing to steal, this one is well secured. Picking them would be a real challenge.”

I headed her off before she got the bright idea to try, just for the heck of it. “She didn’t tell you who has the keys, did she?” I asked. Lucy knew everyone in town.

“She
did
.” Lucy plunked down beside me, Medusa curls clawing the air around her head.

“You’re going to tell me, right?”

“I am
so
good at making you wait.”

I pretended nonchalance. “Have I told you about Deena’s last dentist appointment? The yearly line-up for my book discussion group? Ed’s sermon schedule for the fall?”

“Yvonne McAllister for one.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Lucy filled in the silence. “Her brother lives next door to the owners, to their
new
house, that is. Yvonne knows them slightly, and she promised she’d look in on the old house once in a while when she was on her way to or from church. She has key number one.”

This was news. It was in character for Yvonne to help even the remotest acquaintance, but her tie to the house was surprising.

I tried to bring some reason to our gossip. “We don’t know Jennifer was murdered there, or even if she was ever there dead or alive. Besides, any realtor with access to the lockbox could have gotten in.”

“Not between nine in the evening and nine in the morning. Everyone is locked out. That’s the way it’s programmed. Plus with this system, we can tell if and when any realtor enters, by their codes. It’s all recorded. And maybe a really good locksmith could get inside without a key, but it would take a talented pro.”

I whistled. I hadn’t known the logistics. And dollars to doughnuts, that was the very time period during which poor Jennifer, in one form or the other, had visited.

Lucy preened. “Don’t worry, I can’t see good old Yvonne in killer mode. But depending on where she keeps her key, someone else might have gotten hold of it, right? That good-looking son of hers? A friend?”

I waved the part about Jack away. “Who has the second one?”

She dragged out her words. “You’re really going to like this.”

“Did I ever tell you the story of Teddy’s first swimming lesson?”

“The mayor.” Lucy sat back, eyes glistening.

“You’re kidding!”

“Browning Kefauver the Third has the other key.”

“Why?”

“Remember I told you the owners rented out the house for a while? That’s why they left the old furniture behind? Well, Brownie’s half brother and his wife were the renters. They were moving to Dallas, and they sold their house sooner than they’d expected. So they put most of their stuff in storage and rented the house across the street for a couple of months until it was time to head south.”

“This must have happened before we came. I don’t remember anyone living there since we moved in.”

“Before they left they gave their key to Brownie so he could supervise the movers and make sure all their stuff went to Dallas and the owners’ junk stayed behind.”

“And he never gave back the key?”

“Get this. He claims he lost it,” Lucy finished triumphantly.

The idea of Emerald Springs’ anal-retentive mayor having anything to do with Jennifer Marina’s murder was intriguing.

“He doesn’t drive a green SUV by any chance, does he?” I figured Lucy would know. Lucy has sources at City Hall and can find out anything.

“A cream-colored Lincoln.”

We had sipped and talked our way to ten o’clock. I knew the meeting at church should be ending soon. Emerald Springs was an early to bed kind of place. Former farm towns often are.

“I’ll walk you to your car.” I rose and cleared away our cups. One more mug of Irish coffee and Lucy was going to be sleeping in our guest room. “You’re okay to drive?”

“I went light on mine. You needed the extra shot. And I parked at the church. Some bozo was blocking your driveway.”

“That happens all the time. The prevailing theory is that the minister and family have no life and therefore no need to use our car.”

Outside the sky was clear and the stars were spectacular. In the parking lot we said good-bye, and I watched Lucy drive away. The girls are sound sleepers, and I’d locked the house tight so I had a few minutes of freedom. The lights were on in the parish house, and I saw movement in the foyer, although the light in Ed’s study was off. Since this probably meant the meeting had broken up and people were lingering over good-byes, I decided to go inside. Ed hadn’t wanted me at the meeting, but he hadn’t said a word about the farewell party.

The foyer, where our secretary’s desk is located, is open and modern, with nothing more than a low brick planter heavy on philodendron separating his desk from the coat closet and reception area.

I expected to see a dozen or more people but only found two. Simone Jeffrey, the board president’s wife, and her teenage son Ron, a lanky, dark-haired boy who, judging from behavior at monthly potlucks, routinely consumed enough calories to fuel a football team.

“I thought the meeting was over,” I told Simone after a brief greeting. “You, too?”

“Tom told me to pick him up at ten. He’s an optimist.”

I didn’t know what else to say. Simone is a nice enough woman, who attends most services and social events and lays low otherwise. But gossiping about the possible outcome of the meeting was inappropriate.

I chatted with Ron instead, asking whether he was looking forward to his senior year at Emerald High and a plethora of the other questions adolescents find repugnant. Silently I asked his forgiveness.

Ron was about to strangle me when the door to the meeting room behind the secretary’s desk flew open.

My immediate impression was of a flock of geese flying in
V
formation. Gelsey was the leader, with the gaggle in formation behind her. I know too much about geese. Last year I helped Deena research a report on the Canada variety. As geese fly their wings create an uplift, and by sticking together they boost their flying power about 70 percent. Those who want to fly solo feel an uncomfortable resistance and usually return.

This particular gaggle consisted of five people. With the exception of Gelsey, most of them were relative strangers. I recognized Fern and Samuel Booth, longtime members who rarely attend but continue to give generously. The couple behind them had been pointed out to me at the beginning of Ed’s ministry, but I couldn’t remember their names or significance.

“After everything we have done for this church, to be ignored and ridiculed!” Gelsey swept out the door, her neck extended purposefully and gooselike.

“Gelsey . . .” Tom Jeffrey tried to squeeze past the others. “Nobody is—”

Gelsey didn’t even look over her shoulder. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’ve discounted everything I said. I know when I’m being placated. I won’t have it.”

Tom succeeded in his task and caught up with her, momentarily destroying the gaggle’s alignment. “No one is trying to placate you. You know we—”

Gelsey stopped and spun to face him. Her eyes were blazing. I doubt that she’d seen me or Tom’s family standing open-mouthed beside me. She was as angry as I’d ever seen anyone, and for a moment I wondered if I should separate them. I had the oddest feeling Tom was in danger.

“Don’t try to tell me you respect me!” Gelsey lifted her hand but she only used it to reinforce her words, chopping the air in front of her. “You didn’t even listen to what I had to say.”

Tom tried reason. “We gave you five full minutes to state your concerns.”

“My concerns? Mine? I’m concerned for this church. I have supported it with every fiber of my being and with a sizeable amount of cash. And when I die Tri-C’s endowment will grow substantially!”

“Everyone is grateful for all you’ve done.”

“Not grateful enough. Not nearly grateful enough.”

Samuel Booth, an older man with a potbelly that would ground a gander, put his hand on Gelsey’s shoulder, whether to comfort or restrain her, I couldn’t tell. Gelsey shook it off angrily.

Tom tried one more time. “Gelsey, why don’t we—”

“I know when I no longer have the respect or consideration I’ve earned! And if you won’t listen to those who know this church best and have its welfare truly at heart, then I can’t trust this board with my money, can I? Well, maybe you won’t have to worry about spending any more of it. I’m canceling my pledge, and as soon as my attorney can see me I’m changing my will!”