Deceived (17 page)

2:15 p.m.

“My dear, you look fabulous!” Toby Gray came out from behind his mess of a desk, arms out, and pulled Liz in for a hug. Then he pushed her outward, holding her shoulders, looking at her. “You know my standing offer. Anytime you want to come back.”

“Thanks,” Liz said. Toby himself looked fabulous. Thick black hair in a fifties pompadour, his chosen look ever since she first met him. His thin body held clothes well, and Toby knew how to dress. He was one of the few men she knew who could wear pastels and make them seem dangerous and sexy. To other men . . . of a certain kind. Toby was thoroughly and openly gay.

“Now then, you simply must tell me the story of your life since you stopped being Veronica Lake.”

“You remembered.”

“Remember! Dear, every new recruit, I show them this.” He went to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, which was completely stuffed with movie books and Hollywood biographies, and pulled down a large photo album. He shoved some papers on his desk so he could lay the album down. He opened the cover.

There was an eight-by-ten color photo of Liz as Veronica Lake on the first page.

“This
is what I show them, my sweet. You are the cover girl. The glam shot. The one that hooks ’em.”

Hooks ’em. Yes, she and Toby were very much alike indeed.

That’s why she was here.

“I’m in trouble, Toby.”

He closed the photo album. “That sounds serious.”

“It is.”

Toby went to the office door, closed it. Then he guided Liz into a wooden chair, the kind a lawyer might have used in the 1950s, and had her sit. He parked himself on the edge of his desk and said, “Tell Uncle Toby what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know where to start,” Liz said.

“The beginning, dear.”

Liz smiled. “That would be here. The Veronica Lake party, the first time I went out.”

“It is emblazoned on my mind like Apollo’s chariot. A magical night.”

“The night I met Arty, my husband.”

“Ah, yes. The whiz kid businessman who convinced you to abandon me.”

“He’s dead, Toby.”

Toby put his right index finger on his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s complicated,” Liz said. “An accident. We were hiking, I got mad, he fell — ”

“Fell?”

“Off a small cliff. Enough to hit his head on the rocks.”

“I’m sorry, dear.” Toby touched her arm.

“It was an accident. A terrible accident. But there are some questions, a sheriff’s detective with questions.”

Toby nodded. “They tend to do that, don’t they? Horrible people. Tell me, do the questions have any basis? And before you answer, please remember it’s Uncle Toby here.”

“Barely,” Liz said. “I don’t want to go into it, please. The thing is, they are going to do an autopsy, and I need to have them . . .”

“Not find anything?”

Liz nodded.

Toby put his hand on her cheek. “You knew the right person to come to,” he said.

“Can you really do it?”

He put his right hand on his chest, fingers spread. “Dear, this is
Toby
. Already the cogs and wheels are spinning in my well-connected head. Now, the county morgue, that’s a good thing. That’s going to work for us. The place is absolutely nuts. However . . .”

“Yes?”

“It’s not going to come without cost. We have to spread some money around.”

“I have money.”

“That’s good enough for me. You let me take it from here. I forgot your married name.”

“Towne. Husband, Arthur.”

“And he died when?”

“Saturday.”

“Wow. Not long.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Probably good. Call me here tonight, but use a pay phone. And sweetie . . .”

“Yes?”

“Try not to worry, okay? Remember. This is
Toby.
”

8:05 p.m.

Rocky tried not to yell into the phone. “I want to have a say in this.”

Liz’s voice, coming back at her, was cool and measured. “Rocky, I know what Arty’s wishes were, and he did not want to have a big deal made over his death.”

“He talked about death to you?”

“Oh, we did talk about it.”

“It was the topic of conversation how many times?”

“Rocky, why are you talking to me this way?”

All right, pull back, Rocky told herself. Maybe Liz, for all her standoffishness, was really grieving. Give her some slack, but don’t let her run all over things.

“Look, Liz, I just want to make sure the family is involved.”

“You will be. I’m going to get with Pastor Jon and talk about it.”

“But why rush it? Why does it have to be Wednesday?”

“I need closure, Rocky. And all his friends are right here.”

Rocky sighed. “Where’s the funeral going to be?”

“I have to talk to Pastor Jon.”

“I’ll talk to Pastor Jon, too, then.”

“Please, Rocky, I’m really hurting here. I don’t want anything to come between us, especially now.”

Right.

“Arty wouldn’t have wanted that,” Liz said.

“I just thought in planning this whole thing, we could — ”

“Pastor will handle everything. And I promise to keep you in the loop.”

“Well, thanks, I — ”

“I prayed this morning that God would bring us all closer together.”

“You did what?”

“Rocky, yesterday I accepted the Lord Jesus as my Savior. Just like Arty wanted me to. It’s a feeling like starting all over again. I’d like that to be true for us. For us to be sisters.”

That thought went down like a dry cracker. Rocky started to think maybe she was being a jerk. That wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.

Arty wanted them to like each other. Rocky wanted to but just couldn’t.

Then, when Arty got religion, he thought that might make things better. As if he could be the center that pulled two opposites together.

Didn’t quite work that way.

I’m sorry
,
Arty. Really sorry.

“And now,” Liz said, “I just want to live right and make Arty proud of me. I know he’s with the Lord now, and I want him . . .” Her voice trailed off into what sounded like tears.

“Okay,” Rocky said.

She heard a sniff.

“Sorry I was a little short with you,” Rocky said. “Now’s not the time.”

“Thank you, Rocky. I know the Lord is going to work this all out for both of us.”

Fat chance.

After the phone conversation, Rocky followed the Eastern music into the kitchen. Geena was doing some interpretive dance, barefoot.

“Join me?” Geena said, swaying like a flag in a stiff breeze.

“I’ll pass,” Rocky said. “You have any Milanos?” A bag of cookies and an old movie on TV were just the ticket.

“I don’t think so,” Geena said. She danced over to a cupboard and flung it open. “I have some saltines.”

Just my luck, Rocky thought. And the only old movie was on TCM, some 1940s navy movie. It looked like a comedy. The info display said it was
Bring on the Girls
starring somebody named Sonny Tufts.

Who?

Oh, and Veronica Lake. Fine. Rocky always liked Veronica Lake. She had that hairdo.

Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad way to kill some time. “Hey, Geena,” Rocky called. “Do you at least have some Cheez Whiz?”

8:32 p.m.

Tomorrow, Liz thought. Tomorrow, I’ll go get the sacks.

Don’t be seen. Figure out your story first.

You went out to the canyon to pray. Pray over where Arty had fallen. You went out there to spend some time alone with God.

She shivered. The house wasn’t cold. She had the heat on.

But she was cold. Even after the drink. The bottle of Beam was half full. Well, go for it. Whatever.

It would help her sleep. She hadn’t slept too well last night.

Of course you didn’t
,
just some nerves. Relax.

Mama
,
don’t worry
,
I’m going to relax. And then I’ ll come see you.

I’ ll come. . .

The phone rang. Liz almost jumped out of the chair.

Should I answer?

It rang again.

Better answer. If I don’t answer
,
somebody might want to stop on by.

“Hello.”

“Liz, it’s Mac.”

“Oh hi, Mac.”

“How you doing?”

“Fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Just tired.”

“You had a big day yesterday.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I wanted to read you something,” Mac said. “A little encouragement.”

“Why?”

“Well, you kind of seemed upset in the parking lot.”

“Oh, that. I was just . . . overwhelmed.”

“I know. I know just how you felt.”

“You do?

“Do you have a Bible?”

“Arty has one.”

“Can you get it?”

“Now?”

“Now,” he said. “I want you to read something with me.”

If she had to, she had to. She put the phone down, got up, and went to the bedroom. Arty actually had three Bibles. That annoyed her. Why not just one big one and be done with it?

He kept one on his bedside table, and it was still there. Red leatherette cover. She reached for it and then stopped. Like her hand would burn if she touched it.

Crazy, she thought. Don’t give it that power.

She picked up the Bible. Nothing happened to her hands. She went back to the phone.

“Got it,” she said.

“Okay,” Mac said. “Open it to about the middle, and look at the top for the book of Psalms.”

“Psalms?”

“It’ll be printed at the top of the page.”

She lay the Bible on her lap and opened it. It freaked her out a little. Like something might pop out at her. Like a hand grabbing her throat.

Only pages. “I see Proverbs,” she said.

“Flip a little to your left, and you’ll find Psalms.”

She did. There it was, just like he said.

“Okay,” she said.

“Now follow the numbers till you get to Psalm 51.”

She did, and dark memories of Sunday school floated back. That was the last time she had looked in a Bible.

She flipped to the Psalm numbered 51. “I’m there,” she said.

“Now look for the verse numbered 17.”

Liz ran her finger down the page and stopped on 17. “Okay.”

“You see it?” Mac said.

“Yes.”

“It says, ‘The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.’ ”

“What’s that mean?”

“What it means,” Mac said, “is that you showed a brokenness of spirit yesterday, and that is what God wants. He is going to heal you and hold you up always.”

Liz shuddered.

“So you just go to bed with this Scripture in your mind,” Mac said. “Good night.”

“’Night.”

Liz hung up the phone and closed her eyes.
Just gather yourself
,
take
it easy
,
day by day. Everything will flow.

She looked down at the open Bible. Her eyes fell on some words.
For I know my transgressions
,
and my sin is always before me. Against you
,
you only
,
have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight
,
so that you are
proved right when you speak and justified when you judge.

Liz almost screamed. She pushed the Bible off her lap. It fell to the floor, pages down. Liz just stared at it, like it could, at any moment, turn over and crawl back at her.

Tuesday

9:23 a.m.

“Thanks for seeing me, Mrs. Towne,” Detective Moss said. Thanks? Liz was tired and didn’t want to do this. Not now, not ever. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? It was over.

Funeral tomorrow. That was all they needed to know.

But the woman detective had this bulldog look about her. Arrogant. Even with all her surface politeness. She stood at the door like she had a right to be here.

You can do this, Liz told herself, then said, “Can we make this fast? I have so many things I have to see to.”

“Of course. Inside or out?”

“Oh, would you mind out here?” Liz said. “The house is a mess.”

“I’m sure you’re awfully worn out,” Moss said.

Liz motioned to a couple of white plastic patio chairs, coated with a thin veneer of dust. That was one thing you could count on in Pack Canyon. Dust and dirt and everything muddy when it rained.

They sat. The detective held nothing in her hands. It was just like she wanted to have a friendly conversation. But Liz knew about those. She knew how cops and sheriffs talked to you when they wanted something, like when they tried to get her to rat out her own mother.

You had to be careful with the law. They were silver-tongued snakes.

“I just want to say again how sorry I am for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“Is your head all right?”

Liz had put a fresh Band-Aid on her forehead five minutes earlier. It actually hurt, but she said, “Fine.”

“Good, good. You need to take care of yourself now. Anything you need?”

“I’ve got some good people looking out for me.”

“Oh? Family?”

“Sort of. My church.”

“Ah. What church is that?”

“The community church. Just up the road.”

“Little white one? Across from the market?”

Liz nodded.

“Your husband, he was an active member of that church, wasn’t he?”

How did she know that? She’d been talking to people. “That’s right.”

“You didn’t attend with him?”

“No, not then. Now I do. I mean, now I’m a member.”

“I hope that didn’t cause any friction in the marriage. It sometimes does.”

“Not really,” Liz said. “But anyway, that’s all taken care of now.”

“Taken care of?”

“Arty was leading me to God. I went to church yesterday. Because I knew that’s what Arty would want me to do. And I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior.”

Moss did not saying anything. Her face was impassive. Then she nodded. “Religion is quite a comfort at times like this, isn’t it?”

“Is there anything else you need to know?”

“Oh, just a couple of things. Just to wrap things up, you know, get the old file off the desk.”

“You have a file?”

“Every accidental death requires some attention. Oh, yes, and I got a call from the coroner’s office. They already released your husband’s body to a mortuary.”