Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 04 - With This Ring (27 page)

We got Bonnie settled back into the recliner in the Bloomingfields’ living room. Harold thanked us for our help, and for the first time since we’d met he didn’t look at me with either mistrust or dislike, or a combination of the two. He was relieved and sincerely grateful for our assistance.

Harold told us it was the worst condition he’d ever seen Bonnie in since the onset of Alzheimer’s. He felt certain she was having a reaction to the emotional impact of discovering Steiner’s body. He likened it to PTSD, post-traumatic stress syndrome. “It’s like a light in her brain switched off when the situation occurred,” he said. “I’m taking her to see the doctor on Monday, and I hope he can help her. Her meds do not appear to be working. She may benefit from a higher dose.”

We agreed with his assessment and wished him luck. Before we left I pulled out my phone and showed Harold the photo Sheila had taken. “Do you recognize this vehicle?”

“No, sorry.”

I knew if Rocky and Spike had anything to do with Steiner’s murder, it would more likely be Bonnie who had seen the green van, but I also knew asking her about it would be a futile effort. Not only would she not remember seeing any particular car, she probably had no recollection of finding her neighbor dead in his house, since she still believed him to be alive and craving radishes she’d grown in her garden three decades ago.

Sheila and I said our goodbyes and went outside to the car. As we opened the car doors simultaneously, Sheila asked, “Do you think there’s any chance that the Larry Blake you told me about might recognize this van? If he heard Steiner calling out for someone to please help him, it stands to reason the van, or at least the killer’s vehicle, was parked in or around the area at the time of the murder. Which house does he live in?”

I pointed out the white two-story house adjacent to the Steiner home, and agreed that it couldn’t hurt to ask him if, by some slim chance, we could catch him at home on an early Friday afternoon. I backed the car out of the Bloomingfields’ driveway, and pulled in to Blake’s.

There was no doorbell, so I rapped loudly on the wooden door. After waiting awhile and knocking again several times, we headed back to the car. I hadn’t really expected to find him home. I knew he had a full-time job.

“I figured it was a long shot,” I said. “He works as a janitor at the community college here in town. You probably remember me telling you about him.”

Sheila nodded and stepped into the car. Just as I opened the driver’s side door, I heard a whistle and looked up to see Larry standing in the doorway in silk pajamas. He looked hideous wearing a pair of white furry flip-flops that matched the floral design on his purple pajamas. The hair on his toes resembled that of an orangutan. He had more hair there than on his head. I motioned for Sheila to get back out of the car and join me.

“Good morning,” Larry said as we walked back up his front walkway. He then sarcastically asked, “Are you here on a personal visit or in your official capacity as the Witness Statements Records Collector, Natalie?”

Sheila looked at me in confusion, as I’d not gone into a lot of detail about my previous visit with Larry Blake or the watering, swollen eyes that had resulted from my trip to the college to meet with him. I just shrugged noncommittally at her and turned to Larry.

“I’m sorry about that earlier misunderstanding, Larry. My real name is Alexandria Starr, but please just call me Lexie.”

“Oh, well, okay, Lexie. But before you tell me what you’ve come for, please introduce me to your lovely friend.” Larry licked his lips and then flashed a brilliant smile at Sheila, or at least as brilliant a smile as one can accomplish with only three teeth. His face held a comical expression, like that of a jack o’lantern, and my friend laughed in response as she took a step backward.

I introduced the two and noticed one of Larry’s eyes was fixated on Sheila’s breasts. The one I assumed was made of glass stared straight ahead. I was rather annoyed he hadn’t given my breasts a second look. Sure, Sheila always had been better endowed than me, but I still found his indifference a bit rude. I almost felt betrayed. Sheila pulled her windbreaker tighter around her waist and spoke to Mr. Blake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Larry. We didn’t really expect to find you at home,” Sheila said. Her eyes darted back and forth. She obviously didn’t know which of his eyes to try to make contact with. She eventually gave up and concentrated on a disposal truck picking up a trashcan on the curb across the street. “Lexie told me you worked as a janitor.”

“Yeah, well, I should be at work right now. But I woke up with some kind of bug this morning,” Larry said. “So I called in sick, thinking I’d be fine by Monday, after a three day weekend at home. I reckon by then all the vomiting and diarrhea should be over with.”

Sheila took another step backward. I’m not sure if her reaction was an aversion to the man himself, or just to the germs he was harboring. I think Larry was pleased with this as it gave him a better angle in which to stare at her breasts. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Larry?” I said.

“Yes?” He replied without evening lifting his good eye up to meet mine. “What can I do for you ladies?”

“We’ve got a photo of an older green Chevy van on my phone we’d like you to take a look at and tell us if you recognize it.”

Larry forced himself to look away from Sheila long enough to glance at the photo. He shook his head, and said, “Can’t say that I do. Why do you ask?”

“We have reason to believe this vehicle could be connected to the death of Thurman Steiner. We had rather hoped you’d seen it in the neighborhood the morning of his death—or at any other time for that matter.” Disappointed in his response, I placed the phone back in my fanny pack.

“No, sorry. I told the authorities about the little red truck I saw in Steiner’s driveway the evening before and numerous times before that, but it was nowhere to be seen the next morning. I think the only vehicle I saw that morning was a dark colored muscle car flying up the street, quite a bit over the residential speed limit. I’d come outside to leave for work when I heard that strange sound coming from the direction of Steiner’s house, and noticed his flood light had been turned off, which, like I said, he normally didn’t do until he went outside to get his morning paper around seven or so. It was about five-thirty, which is the time I leave for work every morning. Then I remembered I’d left my sack lunch inside on the kitchen table. When I came back outside, I saw the vehicle gunning it down the street. It was picking up speed as it passed me. I probably should have mentioned it to the crime scene detectives.”

“Did you see the driver?” I asked. I couldn’t believe he’d thought this information was not worthy of sharing with the cops. “Could you tell if the car had just left Thurman’s house?”

“I don’t think so. It seemed to have come from farther up the road. It was going too fast to have just pulled out of Steiner’s driveway. And, no, I didn’t pay attention to the driver.”

It stood to reason someone wouldn’t park directly in front of the house, or in the driveway of someone they intended to kill. They’d park further up the street, a block or two from the pastor’s house, so as not to draw attention to his vehicle. Had the detectives given Buck Webster enough scrutiny? He drove a dark colored muscle car. I wondered if it was just a coincidence. “Was this car a black Ford Mustang by any chance?”

“Could’ve been. It was still dark outside, and I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to the traffic on the street,” Larry said. He still had not averted his eyes from Sheila as he conversed with me. “I reckon it could’ve been a Chevy Camaro or a Dodge Charger, or one of any number of models. I do sort of recall the car had a bright colored bumper sticker on the front left bumper. Maybe yellow with red writing, or the other way around, but I can’t say that for certain, so I never even mentioned the car or the bumper sticker to the cops. I didn’t reckon, at the time I was questioned, that it was related in any way to the killer.”

“I understand. I don’t reckon I would’ve thought so either,” I said. I was talking like Larry Blake again, after only speaking with him for a minute or so. What did it say about me that I could pick up someone else’s mannerisms or speech impediments so quickly?

We thanked Larry for his time and told him we hoped he felt better soon. It was time to head back to Pete’s Pantry, so we could purchase the groceries and get them home in time to head to the floral shop around two. I’d considered traveling to a nearby town to pick up groceries at a store besides Pete’s Pantry. I didn’t particularly want to risk another disaster, or have any more run-ins with Edward, the manager. Then I decided I might as well bite the bullet, because I’d surely see him again some time. I wasn’t about to start driving an extra thirty miles every time I had to pick up a few items at the store. And did I really care what Edward thought of me? I had better things to do with my time than worry about things like other people’s impression of me.

Chapter 16

We managed to fill our basket, and pay for the groceries without causing another scene at the grocery store. After returning to the inn and stashing away all our purchases, we headed back out to the floral shop in town. There was only one, and it was small, but it did appear to have good quality flowers and decent prices. I’d ordered a half dozen pink and white lily and baby’s breath arrangements for the table centerpieces, and a bouquet in matching colors for my maid of honor, Wendy, to hold. Wendy and I would wear white orchid corsages, and Stone and Andy would wear matching boutonnières. An elaborate multi-colored spread for the table that held the cakes and the punch completed my order.

When we arrived at the shop, the florist was running a bit behind, so we had to wait about fifteen minutes for her to finish up with another customer and put the final touches on Wendy’s bouquet. While we were waiting, Wendy called me on my cell to verify everything was on tap to go off on Saturday as scheduled. She’d just spoken with Detective Johnston and wanted to relate what she’d learned.

According to Wyatt, all of the people I’d talked to had also been questioned by the police and cleared of any suspicion. I had to agree there was no substantial evidence that pointed to any one of them and assumed we’d all been barking up the wrong tree all along. Wyatt told Wendy the detectives would be widening their search to take in all the people associated with the church, Steiner’s neighborhood, and his friends and relatives who’d not already been questioned. They also intended to make another thorough investigation of the crime scene in case some small clue had been overlooked, or a bit of trace evidence had not yet been discovered.

It sounded to me as if the investigating team was stepping up their search for the perpetrator, and I was happy to hear this was the case. I’d pretty much come to the conclusion my efforts were at a dead end, and I’d be forced to leave it entirely in the hands of the detectives, where it no doubt should have been left in the first place. Investigating murders and other crimes was their forte, not mine, and I had other important matters to concern myself with right now.

After the wedding the next day, Stone and I would have a relaxing day at the inn on Sunday to recuperate from the effects of a busy weekend. All of our guests, except the Davidsons, would be departing that day and no one else was scheduled to arrive for nearly ten days. Sheila and Randy would head home to Fairway on Monday morning, and Stone and I would have one more night before taking off on our much-deserved honeymoon.

We had booked a flight to Jamaica where we’d spend a week of touring, trying out some Caribbean cuisine, and enjoying the sunshine and beautiful beaches. We’d climb up Dunn’s River Falls one day, if I was still able to do that with a waterproof cast on my left wrist, and take a raft ride down the Martha Brae River on another. We planned to take in some reggae music and sample some fried plantains and jerk chicken. We hoped to see all the sights that Kingston and Ocho Rios had to offer.

I was really looking forward to our honeymoon, and to spending quality time with Stone that didn’t revolve around the responsibilities of running the Alexandria Inn. I was tired from the events that had followed Pastor Steiner’s death, and sore from my recent falls. I could use a little rest, relaxation, and good times, all in the company of my new husband.

* * *

Stone and Randy had returned from their fishing trip with Wyatt by the time we’d made it back from the floral shop. They were excited about a successful day of fishing and were planning a fish fry for Saturday evening. They assured Sheila and me they’d be responsible for frying the crappie and preparing all the fixings to go with it. They’d be serving green beans stewed in bacon fat, and Stone didn’t think a person could eat fish without fried potatoes to go with it. I was happy to leave them in charge of Sunday’s supper. I would be exhausted from the wedding activities, packing for our honeymoon, and taking care of an inn full of guests.