Bloom and Doom (24 page)

“Stay where you are. I’ll get it,” I chimed.

“What are you doing here?” she muttered.

I swung open the door and greeted Pastor Seymour and Shirley, his assistant, with a smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ellen jerk to attention and shove her liquor bottle under the couch cushion.

“Audrey, my dear.” He grasped my hand with his cold, arthritic fingers. “An unexpected pleasure.”

I pulled him into a hug, then shook Shirley’s hand. Amber Lee had explained that she’d become an invisible fixture with him whenever he made calls, ever since the previous year, when he drove through the local fast-food chicken restaurant—which unfortunately didn’t have a drive-through at the time.

“Hey, Pastor,” Ellen said, sitting primly on the couch.

“Don’t get up, my dear,” Pastor Seymour said as Shirley led him to the love seat and settled him with a pillow behind his back. Not that Ellen tried to stand, a wise decision on her part.

“I came to express my condolences at the loss of your daughter’s fiancé,” he started, “and to see if I could do anything to help. Of course you all are in my prayers.”

“Thank you, Pastor,” Ellen said. “Thanks for coming.”

As I sank into a rocking chair in front of an electric fireplace, I let my hand slide across the lumps that the pills in the plastic bag caused in my pocket. A similar lump formed in my chest, and I wondered if Pastor Seymour’s presence might help soften the blow of the theory I was forming, that Jenny might have attacked Derek while asleep. At least if Ellen tried to kill me, I’d have witnesses.

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” I found myself saying. “I discovered something, and I want to talk with both of you before I go to the chief about it.”

“Something to help Jenny?” Ellen said.

I cocked my head and bit my lip before continuing. “It’s something I learned from Jenny today, and it has to do with what I found in Jenny’s stuffed penguin.”

“You were messing with Jenny’s stuff?” Ellen said.

I swallowed hard. “Jenny asked me to retrieve something for her, and you were . . . asleep.”

Before Ellen could process that, Liv walked in with a tray of coffee. I used the time she spent doling out cream and sugar to collect my thoughts. Best not to sugarcoat things.

Ellen cast me a frightened look, taking her coffee from Liv with trembling hands. Porcelain clinked on porcelain and liquid jostled out of the cup and landed in the saucer. What was the old proverb about words being like water—once you pour them out, you can’t take them back?

I wished I didn’t have to say them. I declined coffee. It would roil in my stomach. I cleared my throat instead. “I don’t know of any other way of saying this, but did Jenny mention to either of you that she’d been taking sleeping pills?”

The pastor shook his head.

As did Ellen, but then she paused. “She did say something a few weeks back about not being able to sleep. I figured it was just prewedding jitters.”

“She seemed stressed during the prewedding counseling,” Pastor Seymour said. “More than most of my young ladies. Derek was . . .” He stopped and considered a cobweb in the corner. “A bit . . . dismissive of her concerns.”

You’d have to know Pastor Seymour to know those were fighting words.

“So Derek didn’t seem to care,” I translated.

Pastor Seymour nodded.

“That’s crazy,” Ellen said. “Of course he cared. Why else would he have proposed?”

“I suspect Derek was under a lot of pressure from his parents to reform, and I’m sure they felt Jenny was a step in that direction.” I looked Ellen squarely in the eyes. “Jenny is a wonderful girl, and I’m sure she would never do anything to consciously hurt anyone.”

Liv sank onto the couch next to Ellen Whitney. The movement was accompanied by a crunch of broken glass and the smell of alcohol wafting from the cushions. It must have been obvious to everyone, but we did what anybody in polite society would do—we ignored the pink elephant in the room.

Liv took Ellen’s hand.

I cleared my throat. Here goes, I thought. “Ellen, has Jenny ever sleepwalked?”

I already knew the answer to this question. Once, she fell asleep on my couch after a late-night movie and gab session. In the middle of the night, I found her up, opening and closing my dresser drawers. I asked her why, and she said she couldn’t find her tights for school. But if I had to go to the bathroom, it was okay, she assured me, since she could use the cat’s litter box in a pinch.

I’d herded her back to the couch, wondering if I should hide the litter box. In the morning, she had no recollection of the conversation.

“Mostly when she was a girl.” A grimace of apprehension darkened Ellen’s face.

I exhaled. “Certain sleep medications have been known to aggravate that.”

“Are you saying . . . ?” Ellen started.

“Yes, it’s possible that Jenny could have been sleepwalking and killed Derek—without even knowing it—and without being criminally responsible. It’s rare, but it happens.”

“No . . .” Ellen’s face went ashen and she raked two clawed hands through her hair. “Take that back.”

“I’m not saying I want to believe it. But it would explain everything—the knife with only Jenny’s prints on it, the flowers.”

Ellen stood up. “My Jenny is not a killer. Not even in her sleep. Get out of my house.”

“But I . . .”

“I said leave,” Ellen insisted.

“Maybe you’d better, Audrey,” Pastor Seymour said, a grim look on his elfish face. “I’ll stay with Ellen for a while.”

“Ellen, I’m truly . . .”

But Ellen whipped her head around to face the other direction.

Liv grabbed my elbow. “He’s right,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

“What were you thinking?” Liv jerked her car
to a stop in front of my apartment building. “Telling Ellen that Jenny might have killed Derek after all!”

“I said in her sleep. Unconsciously.”

“And you don’t see how that could upset the woman? What’s gotten into you, anyway? Audrey, ever since they arrested Jenny, you’ve been defending her. And then you flip-flop, spouting some insane theory about Jenny killing Derek while sleepwalking.”

I pulled out the bag of pills and dangled it in front of Liv’s face. “Not so insane. Look, I hate the idea, too. It would be a hard thing to live with—for both Jenny and Ellen. But it makes a lot of sense—just a tragic accident. Or would you rather believe some deranged killer is lurking in Ramble, stalking his next victim?”

Liv rolled her eyes. “Still, you didn’t need to break it to her that way.”

“Like Bixby would be any gentler.”

Liv sighed. “Okay, fine. What are you going to do now?”

“Get some sleep,” I said. “Then, with a clear head, I’ll look up the pills online before I take them to Bixby in the morning. I want to make sure they’re what I think they are.”

“You really should get Internet here. I know you’re trying to save money, but—wait, do you mean you’re not even
sure
they’re sleeping pills?” Liv said.

My turn to roll my eyes. “Of course they’re sleeping pills. Jenny told me she took a sleeping pill and said she kept them in the stuffed penguin.”

Liv lifted an eyebrow.

“You’d have to know Jenny. It made sense to her. But I want to identify the specific brand before I hand them over. Jenny’s defense lawyer will need to be aware, and it might help if she hears about it sooner rather than through proper channels.”

Liv sat in the driver’s seat, biting her lip while staring at my front stoop.

“I’m still trying to help her,” I said. “Can’t you see that?”

She grabbed my hand. “Of course you are. You’re a good friend. But this will be a hard thing for everyone to come to terms with. Ellen . . . and especially Jenny. Did you discuss your sleepwalking theory with her?”

I shook my head. And then inhaled. Liv was right. Someone needed to. Someone who cared about her. And it looked like that person would have to be me. “I’ll see if I can visit with her tomorrow, tell her what I found. If you thought I was too direct with Ellen, can you perhaps recommend a better tactic?”

“I . . . I was wrong,” Liv said. “You’re right. There’s no other way than to come out and say it.” She squeezed my hand. “Want me to come with you?”

“I doubt the jail would allow it.” I sent her an encouraging smile. “But thanks for offering.”

“You’d better get some sleep, then,” she said. “Tomorrow is going to be a humdinger of a day.”

“Yeah, and Liv?” I opened the car door and swung weary legs to the pavement.

“Yes?”

“Thanks for being my cousin . . . and my friend.”

She leaned over and hugged me before I hoisted myself out of the seat. Once I’d unlocked my apartment door, Liv backed out and headed down the road.

I bent down and prevented Chester from making a break for it.

“No, you don’t, buster,” I said. “I’m not chasing you all over town tonight. I need to get some sleep.”

But sleep proved elusive.

Chester took turns between playing Tarzan with the cords from my already askew blinds and trying to snuggle under my covers and attack my toes. Sleep was not on his agenda.

Not that my mind was all that conducive to the idea, either.

I kept imagining Jenny popping a sleeping pill after breaking up with Derek, looking for relief from the stress and thinking that maybe things would be rosier in the morning. But instead, her sleeping body slipped out of bed, grabbed the florist’s knife—and maybe the flowers—in the apartment, descended the porch stairs, and hopped into Derek’s car.

She would have still been in her pajamas, but I wondered if Derek even knew she’d been asleep.

But why had Derek remained parked in front of her apartment? I couldn’t figure that out. Maybe he needed a few minutes to collect himself after the breakup. Or maybe he had to take or make a cell phone call. I doubted we’d ever know, but I wondered if Bixby had Derek’s cell phone records.

I must have fallen asleep at one point, because I had a dream. I was working on Jenny’s wedding flowers. Except instead of the anemones, she had wanted red roses. Tons of red roses in the bouquets, corsages, centerpieces, altar flowers. Bridesmaids in red dresses and with red hair. Red rose petals dropped by a cute red-clad flower girl as she skipped down a white runner. Only they weren’t rose petals, they were drops of blood.

Derek’s blood.

I awoke with a start. What had Little Joe said about a spatter pattern? If Jenny had killed Derek in that awful way, even while asleep, she would have been covered with his blood. Could Jenny have showered and changed and cleaned up and destroyed evidence—all while asleep?

Or could she have awakened covered in blood, panicked, and cleaned herself off—and been too shocked and afraid to admit what had happened? Jenny was the type to close herself off from a stressful situation, huddle under the covers, and wait for everything to pass. Perhaps the shock of the whole experience had left her in the stupor Mrs. June interpreted as drug withdrawal.

I glanced at the alarm. Five a.m. Sleep wouldn’t come until this whole mess was sorted out. So I took a quick scalding shower, dressed, fed Chester, and walked in the dusky almost-sunrise to the shop.

Ramble was still asleep, and a hazy mist floated near the ground. It would burn off when the sun rose fully, but the ghostly ebbs and rises sent a shiver down my spine, and every sound gave me the heebie-jeebies. A foraging cat sounded like a footfall. A bird pecking at an open garbage bag, like someone lurking in the shadows of the alley.

I shook off the feeling. Soon everything would be sorted out and Ramble could go on its normal sleepy way.

I microwaved a cup of instant coffee while the computer in the front of the shop booted. My eyes half-focused, I logged onto the pharmacological website and searched for the names of some of the leading sleep aids. I scrolled through dozens, but nothing looked like the pills in the plastic bag.

Then I used the site’s pill identifier tab—handy tool—to enter the shape, color, and markings. And sure enough, found a match.

Only someone must have made a terrible mistake. This wasn’t a sleep aid at all. It was an antipsychotic, and a powerful one.

“Jenny,” I said to the empty shop walls, “what were you doing with that?” The idea that Jenny had been hiding a mental illness formed, then evaporated pretty quickly. Sure, Jenny and I hadn’t kept in touch as we once had, but a psychotic break would be hard to miss. Small towns pick up on that pretty quickly, and I hadn’t heard anyone say, “Did you hear about Jenny’s breakdown, bless her heart.” And if these pills were prescribed for her, why were they in a plastic bag? And why would she refer to them as sleeping pills?

Then the back door shut with a soft thud.

“Larry?” I remained perched on the stool, straining to hear any further sounds. “Is that you?” I swallowed hard. “Liv?” I really should have locked the door behind me.

I walked to the back room. It was empty, and the door was shut, just as I left it. The sound of the back door must have been the product of a sleep-deprived, stressed-out imagination. I walked to the door and locked it behind me, also pulling shut the sticky, seldom-used dead bolt.

I slammed an angry fist against the cold steel.

One act had made the town so jumpy we were all hiding behind locked doors. I resented the loss, the intrusion of violence and the destruction of our security, as much as if a thief had broken in and stolen one of my prized possessions. I guess a sense of safety is right up there on the list of cherished valuables. Too bad nobody offered an insurance policy on that.

I sighed and headed back toward the front of the shop. Might as well read up a little more on that pill. Even though it wasn’t a sleeping pill—which negated my whole brilliant theory—I wondered how Jenny had obtained them and what possible effects and side effects they might produce.

Could it be the result of some catastrophic pharmacy mistake? Or might someone have slipped them to her, claiming they were sleep aids? And could they alter Jenny’s personality so much that she could become a coldhearted killer—with no one in town noticing? I rubbed my forehead. I couldn’t even put my mind around that idea.

As I passed the walk-in, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. Those mice again? I pulled open the door. Sarah Anderson stood in the middle of the cooler.

“What are you doing in here?”

She pulled a florist knife from behind her back, the blade dully reflecting the fluorescent light.

We stood still, frozen, probably both stunned for a moment. Then I ran out and slammed the cooler door behind me. I raced to the back door and tugged. Then tried to manage the stubborn dead bolt with trembling fingers. Why had I locked myself in? I tugged harder, as if by sheer force I could breach the heavy steel door. The dead bolt finally gave way.

“Stop it,” Sarah said.

I whirled around. She stood three feet away, brandishing the knife.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What are you doing?”

“I think you know.” She shook her head. “Get back from the door.” She grabbed my wrist and pulled me away from the door.

I had to remind myself to breathe. “The pills . . . But how did you know I—?”

“Shirley. She came into the health club last night. Moonlight aerobics.” Sarah shifted to stand between me and the door, between me and safety. “During cooldown, the topic of conversation switched to Jenny and the murder. Shirley told everyone that you found sleeping pills among Jenny’s things and that you were planning to take them to the police.”

“But they’re not . . .”

A corner of Sarah’s mouth quirked up into what might roughly be described as a smile. She took a step toward me, and I shuffled backward, toward the open cooler door.

“I figured they’d trace the pills to me,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do next. I waited outside my apartment, expecting the police to show up looking for me. I decided that if they arrived knocking on my doorstep, I could sneak away and start over somewhere else.”

She advanced closer. I took another step back.

“When nobody came, I figured you hadn’t gone to the police yet. I still had a chance. See, I had to get those pills back, Audrey. They’d discover what they were, who they belonged to, and then it would all come out. I drove over to your place. Saw you leave and walk here. I decided to follow you.”

So that wasn’t a cat. Maybe someone had been lurking in the alley.

“But those aren’t sleeping pills,” I said.

“Of course they are,” she said. “That’s all they’re good for. I should know. I’ve been taking them long enough. Until I got sick of being asleep.”

“Listen, if you’re sick, we can get help—”

“I am not sick!” She took one menacing step forward. “I’m not sick, so I don’t need pills. Why do people keep saying there’s something wrong with me? Something is wrong with them.”

I stepped back and raised my hands. I was back in the cooler, with no escape, unless I could talk my way out. “Who says something is wrong with you?”

“My parents, the so-called doctors, everybody. I thought I’d left them all behind when I moved here. I didn’t need the medicine anymore. I was fine. Derek thought I was fine. More than fine. At first.”

Derek. But Sarah couldn’t be the elusive redhead. She had blond hair. Unless . . . and then I recalled Jenny’s Halloween photographs of Sarah dressed as Lucy Ricardo.

“You . . . you’re Lucy. Lucy has red hair.” Maybe that was what my subconscious brain tried to tell me with the red roses dream.

“Derek thought it was cute, the red wig. He called me Lucy when I wore it. We’d take long drives in that cute car of his, and he took me to this little club out of town. He’d buy me dinner—steak and lobster with butter sauce and all that fancy stuff. No one at the health club could see me eat all that cholesterol.” She chuckled. “And then we’d dance and gamble a little. He let me peek at his cards and blow on the dice, just like in some glamorous movie. He called me his good luck charm. Me. He didn’t love Jenny, you know.”

I shook my head. “No, he didn’t love Jenny.”

“Then why was he going to marry her? I’ll tell you why. His father put him up to it. Said what a good and wholesome influence Jenny would be. Marriage would settle Derek right down, he said. But why not marry me? Derek loved
me
. I’ll bet I’m every bit as wholesome as Jenny is.” She pointed the knife to her own chest for emphasis. “I was furious when Jenny showed me that rock of hers. Over two carats, she said. And Ellen smiling and pushing her all the way.”

“Hardly seems fair.” I scanned the shop walls for something I could use to defend myself if talking it out with Sarah didn’t work.

“Look, I know Derek may have seen a lot of girls, played the field, but he always came back to me. Always.”

“You were seeing Derek even when he was dating Carolyn, weren’t you?”