Cemetery Silk (16 page)

I confirmed, “That bad.”

“What did he say about the farm? Can he protect Gran's interest so she doesn't have to sell?”

This was the part that had really gotten to me. I tried not to cry now.

“Apparently, if we do something at this late date, like create a trust, or deed my share to someone else, you for instance, that's obstruction of justice. Hawkins said some other things, but basically, we would be trying to hide assets and that's illegal.”

“Because they have already filed the lawsuit?”

“That's right.”

The porch door closed and Mother's footsteps crunched on the walk. I remembered the brave way she tried to keep her bottom lip from quivering when Bruce Hawkins told us we could do nothing to save her home. She came up behind me and patted me on the shoulder.

“Not to worry, dear.”

She kissed me on the top of my head and sat down beside me. My tears started pouring again.

“Paisley, this is not your fault. I encouraged you…why, I practically forced you to write this book. Thanks for not telling Bruce that, by the way. So you mustn't blame yourself.”

I sniffed back the tears as well as I could. “Thanks for saying that, Mother, but I should have known better. You did warn me about having the names sound so similar. And I should have changed the plot more, like Bruce said.”

I got up and sat down in the grass where it was cooler. “What an stupendous idiot I was to think I could get away with writing adult fiction!”

Cassie spoke up very quietly but firmly. “Then make it nonfiction.”

“What?” I turned and stared at her incredulously.

“What do you mean, dear?” echoed Mother.

Cassie leaned forward intently, her big hat making a shadow on the compass rose of the patio.

“I mean, we'll just have to prove that he did do it. We'll have to prove that Ernest Dibber killed Abigail and William.”

“Oh, come on, Cassie! Haven't we caused enough trouble all ready? I managed to lose the farm; you want me to end up in jail, too?”

“Just a minute, Paisley. Let's hear her out. Please, go on, Cassandra.”

“Well, I did a lot of thinking when I was in France, about you guys and all of the

time we spent gathering information for the book. The more I thought about it, the more I decided it was very plausible. Dibber could have killed Abigail and William, and Rae Ann, too. Have you forgotten about her? That whole business was just too much of a coincidence. I think he killed poor Deep and made it look like an accident. Danny always thought she was murdered. He said her tire had been stabbed with a sharp object.”

“Like maybe a nail,” I scoffed.

I was too afraid of being caught up in the illusion of false hope to listen any more. I lay back in the grass, closed my eyes, and tried to ignore them.

“No,” my daughter answered with patient persistence, “more like a knife blade.”

Then Mother took over the floor.

“Very well, Cassandra, let's suppose that Dibber found out that Rae Ann was coming to meet us at the motel. He was afraid that she would tell us something incriminating, something he let slip during one of their trysts. Now, remember, we thought she was a red herring and nothing she said was true. But suppose Dibber thought we would take her seriously. Just suppose he followed her to the motel and slashed her tire so it would go flat when she got back out on the highway. Luck was with him when it happened just like he had planned. Rae Ann pulled over to the shoulder and tried to fix the flat tire. With those long fingernails she probably didn't get very far. She saw a car coming on that lonely road and waved down the driver. Surprise, surprise, it was her old friend, Ernest Dibber. He invited her back into her car for a little drink and some petting.”

“Gran!”

“He got her stone cold drunk, lay her out in the road, and ran her over with his

car, or maybe a truck. I bet he has a truck!”

“Gran, that's gross!”

“Murder is gross,” she agreed, very satisfied with her scenario.

I stood up quickly and angrily brushed the grass off my jeans.

“I can't believe my ears! We just spent an hour with a lawyer who told us our busybody meddling and my stupid insinuating book could lose us the old home place and every penny I'll ever have. And you two are still at it!”

“What choice do we have, Mom?”

“She's right, Paisley!” said Mother emphatically. “We have no other choice. We have no legal recourse. We found that out this morning. The only way to save the farm and ourselves is to prove that Ernest Dibber is a murderer. You can't be accused of libeling someone if you've told the truth.”

“Oh, my God, here we go again.”

“Indeed we do!” shouted Mother as she gave Cassie a high five.

At first I went along with them and their crazy scheme because it kept us busy and lifted our spirits. But as we reviewed all of the notes we had made during our investigative period, I began to feel an inkling of what Cassie meant. The whole crazy thing was beginning to seem plausible. Maybe Ernest Dibber really was a murderer. After all, I thought, he was callous enough to let that poor dog starve to death in his back yard. There was no doubt at all that he had conned William into leaving him the money. And I had definitely come to believe that someone deliberately set out to kill poor Deep and make it look like a hit-and-run accident.

At my urging, Cassie made the emotional sacrifice to call Danny and invite him to dinner. When he arrived they spent some time alone out on the patio. Afterwards, he seemed quiet, but resigned, and Cassie was obviously relieved that they had worked things out and could still be friends. Apart from an occasional heartfelt sigh when he looked at her over the dinner table, Danny behaved in a very civilized manner.

She had asked him to bring the accident report. We went over it after our meal of grilled scallops and vegetable kebabs. That turned out to have been a bad idea. The description of what had happened to Rae Ann was very graphic.

“Ugh! Neck broken and crushed, multiple deep facial lacerations, crushing injury to both legs from thighs to below the knees.… Hey, she wasn't that tall!”

“Yeah, Mom, I was thinking the same thing. Deep was only a little over five feet at the most. Danny, how far apart are the wheels on a car or truck?”

“A lot farther than that. I keep pointing that out to Bert but he doesn't want to reopen the case. He's too hung up on the alcohol thing. He doesn't want to look for any other cause of the accident, but this just doesn't add up. A car passing over her body only once could not have caused all of these injuries. Like Cassie said, Rae Ann Cooledge was not that tall. She would have had to be very tall for a car to ride over her head and her thighs at the same time.”

“Oh dear! Then someone rode over her once, went back, and did it again just to make sure she was dead?”

“Worse than that, Mrs. Sterling, I think the killer knew she was dead after the first pass. I think the second, and possibly third rollover, was to get some sort of satisfaction or revenge.”

“What makes you think that?”

My body temperature had dropped about two degrees, but I had to know. He answered me.

“The driver who rode over the body did so very slowly and deliberately. The vehicle was going no more than a couple of miles per hour; otherwise, she would have been knocked off the road into the ditch the first go around. And that, my friends, means the killer was very cold-blooded and heartless, or insane.”

Danny left shortly after we recovered enough to have dessert. When Cassie walked him to the car, I was happy to hear them laughing. He was a nice young man. I was glad they could remain friends. Maybe his heart was not so broken after all.

I cleaned up the grill and let Aggie lick the strawberry bowl before we put it in the dishwasher. Mother made a fresh pot of coffee and put some mugs on a tray.

“Let's take our coffee out to the patio. It's such a beautiful night,” she suggested.

“Unh, what about the mosquitoes?”

I was decidedly uneasy about being outside at night, now. Who knew what might be in the bushes?

“Nonsense, Paisley, there's a lovely, light breeze, a virtual headwind for a mosquito. We'll be fine. I'll light a citronella candle just in case.”

And so we carried the coffee tray out to the patio. Cassie joined us, and I relaxed after a time. It was a lovely night.

“I think I see Mars, or maybe that's Betelgeuse. It's a giant red star. Bruin told me all about it. He's studying astrophysics.”

“Great name for an astrophysicist.”

“Hah! He's heard all the Ursa major jokes in the book, Mom.”

“I bet. Is he just a friend, or something more? And what happened to David?”

“Can we not discuss my love life?”

“She's right, Paisley. It's very impolite to ask a young lady about her gentlemen friends.”

“Thank you, Gran.”

“Don't mention it,” smiled Mother.

“Okay, then let's discuss an old lady's gentleman friend.”

“Mom, don't be rude.”

“I'm not being rude. Just listen for a minute. I've been thinking.…”

“Hooray,” Cassie saluted.

“As I was saying, Horatio is bound to know the funeral director in Lanierville. I'm sure there's only one. The town is smaller than Rowan Springs, for goodness sakes. Since the medical examiner was out of commission, I'll bet he would be the only one who could tell us something more about Rae Ann's injuries. Wha'cha think, hum, Mother?”

“Paisley, I think you have turned into a veritable ghoul. It's a great idea. I'll call Horatio first thing in the morning.”

Chapter Fifteen

When Pam finally telephoned me at the end of the week we talked for almost an hour. Her lawyer and those from the publishing company all said pretty much the same thing as Bruce Hawkins: “Beg for mercy and forgiveness, and take out your checkbook.”

The lawyer was drafting a letter for me to sign that would state my culpability and my desire to make a public apology. He would pass along this document with a substantial monetary offering to Mr. and Mrs. Dibber.

I wanted to throw up.

“If you knew these people, Pam. If you knew half of what we know.”

“Look, Paisley, they could be Attila the Hun and his blood-thirsty little missus for all I care. Business is, as they say so crudely, business. And mine is going down the drain if we don't do something PDQ.”

“But, Pam, what if Dibber really did commit murder? We have some evidence, you know.”

“Paisley, for God's sake! Now hear this! You are not a real detective and there is no Leonard Paisley, so please don't meddle in this business anymore! My lawyer is doing his best to get these bumpkins to accept a settlement. If you keep snooping around and they find out, the whole thing's off and we're back to square one. With you and me in some very deep trouble, I might add. Now do me a favor. Stay on your little farm and do something agricultural. And keep out of trouble!”

Blood rushed to my face and set my cheeks on fire. I was furious with Pamela for the first time since she had borrowed my new winter coat to wear to a fraternity party, gotten drunk, and thrown up in the sleeve. I knew she was nervous about this whole thing; and while it was admittedly all my fault, she had no reason to treat me like a simpleton. Do something agricultural, hah! Well, how about dig up some more dirt on Mr. Ernest Dibber? How about that, Miss Fancy New York Literary Agent!

I decided to keep the gist of Pamela's phone call to myself. No reason to upset the troops. Besides, I was sure that we could keep our little investigations discrete. I should'a known better!

I stayed out of Mother's sight until after the mail arrived in the hope that she would forget to ask me about Pam's phone call. Thank goodness the mailman brought something that made us all forget.

Cassie came running up the driveway waving a large manila envelope and shouting something unintelligible over the hum of the air conditioner. Like an idiot I shouted something back that she could not hear through the closed door. We were each yelling, “What?” until I unlocked and opened it.

“It's the death certificate!” she panted breathlessly. “I guess that's what comes from Vital Records, right?”

“Right you are! Let's have a peek.”

I grabbed for the envelope.

“Wait! What about Gran? Or will it upset her too much?”

“Yes.” I decided impatiently and ripped off an edge.

“What's it say? What's it say?”

I had to stop and laugh. She had not said that since she was four. I gave her a quick kiss.

“You're priceless, Babe.”

She gave me her million-dollar smile, well, make that a million dollars in the hole, and looked over my shoulder as I read.

“Abigail Beaufort Roth, blah blah blah address, died November 5th, blah blah. Here it is, ‘Cause of death, cardiac arrest.'”

“Big wow,” she said.

“I guess it was too much to hope for it to say, ‘poisoned by neighbor,'” I replied.

“That would be too easy, my dear.”

I turned quickly to see Mother standing in the doorway.

“Thanks for getting my mail, Cassandra,” she said sweetly.

Cassie sank contritely down on the sofa as I handed Mother the certificate.

“Sorry, Mother. We should have waited for you to open it.”

“Why? Just because it's addressed to me?”

I flopped down by Cassie. I felt like a little kid who had been caught raiding the cookie jar. Foolishly I tried to defend myself.

“I was just trying to protect your feelings.”

“Like reading Abigail's death certificate is going to upset me more than knowing she was callously murdered by some lascivious lunatic? Try again.”

She slipped her reading glasses out of her pocket and stood in front of the French doors to read.

Cassie and I scrunched down in the sofa cushions thoroughly chastened and disappointed. Cassie had her eyes closed and I was thinking maybe a nap would help.

“That's funny.”

I opened one eye and looked inquiringly at Mother.

“I thought Abigail died at home—before the paramedics arrived.”

I sat up, instantly alert. “So did I. At least, that's what you told me. Who told you?”

“I'm trying to remember. I guess it was William. But here it says the time of death was two hours after she was admitted to the hospital. That means she has a medical record.”

She sat down on the coffee table facing us.

“How can we get hold of that medical record quickly?” she asked.

“Humm,” I hazarded a guess, “as Abigail's next of kin, I suppose you could request it.”

“Yes, but I would have to get a signed and notarized this, that, and the other to prove it. We don't have that much time.”

Cassie opened her eyes and grinned at me. “I was a candy striper one summer.”

That was true. I had arranged it through a hospital administrator friend of mine. He was desperately in need of some warm bodies when his nurses went on strike. Cassie had hated each and every minute, but she had stuck it out.

Mother looked at her granddaughter over the top of her reading glasses.

“What are you suggesting? That you put on your pink and white striped disguise and infiltrate enemy territory?”

“Exactly!”

“Cassie, I can't let you do that. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. It really is enemy territory. You could run in to Sue Dibber and the cat would be out of the bag for sure.”

“You want to do it, Mom?”

“I'm the logical one.” I admitted.

“Oh, yeah, and just how do you find a medical record once you get in the hospital?”

She was right there; I did not have a clue.

“Well, I know exactly how to find it,” she continued. “When they found out I kept turning green and dizzy around sick people, the head nurse sent me down—it's always down, by the way—to the Medical Record Department. I filed and pulled charts all day for six miserable weeks, thanks to you,” she glared at me.

“Besides,” she persisted, “I still have my uniform. If you can find me some white stockings we're in business.”

I drove back to Lanierville full of conflicting thoughts. Cassie seemed totally unconcerned, quite sure of her ability to find Abigail's record. Mother, for once, was completely on her side.

She listened to Cassie lecture about “Rolodex patient information” and “terminal digit filing systems” with enormous interest. She seemed mesmerized by Cassie's quasi-technical knowledge. I was the only one who was afraid we were making a mistake. But then, they did not know about Pamela's orders. I was trying to decide if I should let them in on that little goody when our trip was over. We had arrived at Lanier General Hospital.

Cassie was overjoyed when we found a big sign at the entrance to the parking lot with a detailed map of all the areas in the hospital. Sure enough, the Medical Record Department was in the basement, just like she said it would be.

Cassie studied the sign intently and directed me to park Watson under a big tree by a side entrance.

“That's where I'll be coming out. And, Mom,” she suggested, “park backwards. That way nobody can see your license plate, and we can make a quick getaway.”

“Cassie, don't you think this is.…”

“Mom, we've been over this a hundred times. You have to start trusting me.”

“This is not about trust! Honestly, Cassie, not this time. What if they don't have candy stripers here?”

“Mom, get real. Everybody has ‘em. Cheap child labor.”

“But what if your uniform is different?” I insisted.

“I'll say I just recently moved to Lanierville. I haven't gotten my new uniform yet, but was so filled with the desire to do good works, I just couldn't wait.”

“But.…” I was at a loss for more convincing words.

“Let the child go, Paisley. I think she'll do just fine. Let her try at least. There's a lot a stake here for all of us. She should be allowed to do her share.”

Cassie gave Mother a big smile and a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Gran.”

And she was gone.

We waited in agony for one hour and forty-seven minutes. I drank four cups of tea from the thermos. Twice I had to run like a rabbit to the gas station on the corner to use the restroom. Mother had taken the driver's seat each time with the promise to race over and pick me up if Cassie came out of the hospital before I got back.

Finally, one hour and forty-eight minutes after she went in, we saw the side door open and a tall pink and white striped figure emerge.

I turned Watson's engine on and stepped on the gas. The tires squealed as we raced forward across the parking lot and up over the curb into a border of pansies and petunias.

“For heaven's sake, Paisley. Watch where you're going!” screamed Mother.

I closed my lips over a particularly apt Spanish curse word and backed off the grass. I dug out about half of the flowers as I spun my wheels. Nothing like being inconspicuous, I always say.

Cassie opened the back door and jumped in. “Go! Go!” she shouted.

I went racing through the parking lot and squealing out on the street towards the entrance to the freeway.

Cassie sat back getting her breath.

“Wow!” she gasped. “What a rush! That was great!” she laughed.

I started laughing, too, with hysterical relief. Mother joined in the chorus. We laughed until our sides hurt. We finally had to stop for self-preservation.

“God, Mom, I have to pee.”

“Cassandra,.… Oh, never mind! I have to pee, too, Paisley.”

And we started laughing again.

I pulled off at an exit about thirty miles from the hospital and I let them out at a Waffle House while I parked the car. Suddenly, I was starving.

Mother came out first. “I'm really hungry, dear. Do you mind if we get something to eat?”

“Great minds and great appetites! Let's get a table.”

Cassie wanted to change out of her uniform and asked us to order for her. While we were waiting for pecan waffles and scrambled eggs we sipped our coffee and went over the copies of Abigail's medical record.

We were very disappointed.

“There's nothing here. Just vital signs, heart rate, pulse, respiration, over and over again.”

“What's ‘emesis'?” I asked.

“Where?” Mother leaned over to look at the page.

“Here, ‘dark brown emesis, non-projectile, non-bilious.'”

“Oh, I don't know,” she replied. “Maybe we should have kidnapped a doctor while we were at it.”

Cassie slipped into the booth next to me.

“Isn't it fabulous? You should have seen me. I was terrific. A regular Nancy Drew. Of course, as soon as Sue Dibber saw me, I thought the jig was.…”

I gasped, “Sue Dibber saw you?”

“Yeah, in the cafeteria.”

“For God's sake, Cassie, couldn't you have waited until afterwards to eat?”

“The cafeteria, dear? What on earth possessed you?” asked Mother with raised eyebrows.

Cassie turned bright red.

“Obviously, you two know nothing about covert operations,” she sniffed. “Or you would realize that you have to blend in, act like the rest. Candy stripers spend most of their time in the cafeteria. That is, until some busybody from the nursing staff comes along and finds some work for them to do.”

She attacked her waffle and managed to look wounded while devouring it.

“I'm sorry, Cassie, truly I am. You were terrific. You must have been. You got the records and came out in one piece. The news about Sue just startled me, that's all. I honestly thought she would have quit her job after moving to the lake. With William's money in her pockets, I didn't think she would still be working. That's the reason I let you go through with this crazy idea.”

“Well, she's there. And she looks even more pale and scrawny in her white uniform than she did in that flour sack she wore to the funeral.”

“I wonder why she's still working at the hospital,” I mused out loud.

“The lake is not very far from here. And she does have a philandering husband. Maybe her job is all that she enjoys in life,” Mother offered. “The poor thing.”

“Well, ‘the poor thing' looked scared to death and mad as hell when she recognized me. She even dropped her food tray. What a mess,” said Cassie with a big grin. “And in all the turmoil this other nurse grabbed me and pulled me out in the corridor.”

“What for?” I asked.

“Just like I told you, to fuss at me for lollygagging around—exactly like I planned. When she asked me what I was supposed to be doing, and I told her pulling files, she escorted me down to Medical Records and introduced me to the Director. The old bag told me to start pulling and filing records just like I knew she would.”

She took a bite of waffle and basked in our unspoken admiration for a moment while she chewed.

“I found Abigail's record almost right away, but I had to figure out a way to copy it. That took some time.”

“Why didn't you just grab it and run?” I asked.

“Mother! A medical record is a legal instrument, you said that yourself. You can't just steal it. What if we find something we needed to prove in court? We can't subpoena the medical record if it's not there. And without it we can't prove a thing.”

“My daughter, the genius!”

Cassie slept all the way home—a combination of warm food and the descent from an adrenaline high. Mother and I argued quietly back and forth about the value of our adventure.