Let There Be Suspects (14 page)

“Both.”

“He’s broken up. Considering what we saw of their relationship, it’s hard to fathom, but Cliff believes his marriage to Ginger was rock solid.”

“I don’t think reading people or feelings is his strong suit. He’s one of those guys who lives in his head.”

“As for his alibi?”

“Ed, did you hear his conversation with Roussos?”

“When I went over to the Victorian to find him, the old woman who lives next door was sitting in the kitchen with him. Seems she was curious about what anyone was doing there tonight. She saw him go in before dark, then she saw the lights going on and off. Since it was Christmas Eve it seemed odd to her that anyone might be working, so she finally came over to check. They were chatting like old friends.”

“He could have slipped out at some point.”

“According to her, the light show never stopped. I’m sure Roussos will do some more checking though.”

“He suspects Sid, doesn’t he?”

“It’s possible when he talked to Cliff, Cliff mentioned that Ginger and Sid didn’t get along.”

I heard noise on the stairs. In a moment Vel and Junie arrived in the kitchen. Junie was wearing an old flannel robe of Ed’s and she looked as if she had aged a decade. I went over to her and put my arms around her. She rested her head on my shoulder a moment, but only a moment. Then she straightened.

“I’m going to make cocoa,” she said. “And everybody’s going to drink it.”

We did, too, as Roussos finished with Sid and Jack, then did cursory interviews with Vel and my mother. We sat at the kitchen table and finished mugs of cocoa topped with marshmallows, just the way we had as children when something was wrong in our lives.

As I finished the last of mine, I remembered a night when I was thirteen and Ginger was seven. I’d heard her murmuring and tossing from side to side in her sleep, and I had gone in her room to wake her. She was upset and confused about where she was, and she began to cry. Ginger rarely cried real tears, so I suppose that the tears, as much as anything, were memorable.

I remembered that I had taken her downstairs and made cocoa. And as she drank it, she sat close to me, as if the unexpected warmth and comfort were new and worthy of further exploration.

Then when we finished, I tucked her back into bed, and while I sat beside her, she went to sleep.

Now upstairs in my bedroom, cuddled close to my husband, I finally cried, too.

Sleep well, Ginger. And may you find peace at last.

9

I awoke the next morning to the smell of sausage. Okay, it was soy-based sausage, but in the months we’ve been vegetarians, I’ve made some headway forgetting how the real stuff tastes. I’ve gone maybe 1 percent of the distance. That’s a breakthrough.

This morning the sausage smelled delicious. Since Ed wasn’t beside me I suspected he was downstairs cooking, and there would be omelets to go with it, maybe even waffles. Opening presents makes everyone hungry, and Ed always makes sure we’re well fed. I swung my feet over the side of the bed in anticipation.

Then I remembered the events of last night.

I stayed there, considering how to make Christmas a good one for my daughters. As if on cue Teddy pushed the door all the way open and came through with Moonpie clutched in her arms. Moonpie, being the gentleman he is, was bearing up under the strain. The moment she put him on our bed, he would disappear for the day.

As expected he launched himself off and under our bed when Teddy set him down, but she didn’t seem to notice. She wriggled up beside me.

“Did Ginger really die?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know, honey. But people are trying to find out. In the meantime there’s nothing we can do but remember she was our friend.”

Teddy considered this. “I don’t think she was really our friend. People always seemed mad at her.”

“Do you think so?”

“She said things that sounded nice, but they weren’t.” She paused. “Aggie, you’re just so funny,” she mimicked Ginger’s voice.

Out of the mouth of babes. I hugged her. “Your grandmother cared about her very much.”

“Junie likes everybody. Last night she said Ginger is an angel now. How does Junie know what Ginger is?”

“She’s making her best guess.”

“I don’t believe in angels.”

“I think Junie really means that Ginger is with God.”

“I don’t believe in God, either.”

Again I was reminded how much had disappeared with Old Saint Nick.

I tried to point out the differences. “That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself, too, but just so you know, a lot of people
do
believe in God, even if they don’t believe in Santa Claus. We get to pick and choose.”

Teddy was frowning at me. I felt I had to say more. “It’s not all-or-nothing.”

She continued to frown.

“You don’t have to decide before breakfast,” I said.

She nodded thoughtfully. “I guess we can have Christmas anyway, can’t we?”

“I know a little girl who has presents under the tree.” I slid off the bed and lifted her down. “Let’s go tickle Deena awake.”

“She’s helping Daddy cook.”

I suspected Ed was providing Deena with the fatherly version of the same talk. Two parents, two children. For once I was glad we didn’t have more.

Since eating a relaxed meal before gifts isn’t possible, Ed put the waffles and sausage in the oven to stay warm, and as soon as everyone else joined us, we took juice, coffee, and cranberry bread into the living room. I insist on order of sorts. This means we finished in twenty minutes instead of ten. Ed had thoughtfully rewrapped my mother-in-law’s Christmas toothpick holder after the bubble lights set the package on fire. Toothpick holders were only popular for a limited time at the turn of the twentieth century, when picking teeth in public was acceptable. So the collection that Nan has amassed for me would have looked right at home in the Victorian—before the garage sale. This newest addition was made of fragile opalescent glass. It will look stunning on top of my cabinets.

Everyone tried hard. Junie had made both girls “quillows,” quilts that tuck into an attached pillow to take to sleepovers or to cuddle up inside on a cold evening. Teddy’s was made from pastel cat fabric and Deena’s fabric was covered with brightly colored flip-flops. Junie had pieced complicated stars in matching colors to top them off. I suspected they would be the hit at any slumber party.

I got my coveted tool belt, an encyclopedia of home repair, a fancy color wheel from Junie for picking out wall colors, and a lacy white blouse to help me remember I am not Al on
Home Improvement
reruns. Ed got a new wool overcoat and a simple MP3 player, which I promised I wouldn’t touch. The girls got clothes and games, and for Deena, an MP3 player to match her dad’s. Vel and Sid gave Teddy a sled.

Junie and my sisters got lots of presents, too. As we had every Christmas since childhood, we addressed our gifts to each other in the code we’d invented to keep Junie at bay. Teddy found this interesting. Deena found it lame and made sure we knew. We cooed over and discussed every gift. I felt sorry for Ed, who was forced to listen to all the female chatter, but when I turned the switch on his train set and for the first time in decades it chugged and tooted around the track, he was delighted to forgive us.

At least the mood was light enough to pass for a real Christmas morning. Although I knew my mother and sisters had Ginger’s death at the forefront of their thoughts, they made sure our girls did not.

We were in the middle of breakfast when I saw the girls whispering to each other. “Christmas secrets?” I asked and hoped the topic didn’t have anything to do with Ginger.

“Teddy was asking if I thought the guinea pigs might come later.”

I frowned. “We’re done with presents, Teddy.”

She seemed okay with that, as if she thought it hadn’t hurt to ask. But Deena looked less pleased. “I bet my friends got tickets to the Botoxins concert.”

“I bet they didn’t.”

She really does have a spectacular pout. It’s a little too Angelina Jolie to make me comfortable, but she timed it exactly right. Had it continued one instant longer, I would have taken her aside to discuss the importance of gratitude. But under the eleven-year-old facade, Deena really is fairly solid, so she stopped pouting and moved on to a second helping of waffles. After breakfast she asked Sid for help with her MP3 player, and the two of them went up to her room to download Deena’s favorite CDs. Botoxins, most likely.

Ed and Teddy bundled up to try her new sled on the closest public hill, although it was iffy whether we’d had enough snow. Vel went upstairs to pour over the Italian cookbook I’d given her, and Junie and I stacked the dishwasher.

“How are you doing?” I asked when we were alone in the kitchen.

“It’s hard.”

I put my arm over her shoulders. “You did your very best to help Ginger turn her life around. You know that, don’t you?”

It was a measure of how sad Junie felt that she didn’t try to comfort me. “Every time we started to get Ginger on her feet, Fig came back, claimed she’d straightened out her life, and carted Ginger off again.”

“You did a whole lot more for her than anybody else ever did. Short of kidnapping her, there wasn’t anything else you could have done.”

“I know how hard it was on you girls, especially your sister.”

I knew which sister she meant. And I was surprised to hear her admit this. I pointed to a chair. “Sit. I’ll finish the dishes in a minute. Let me make some tea.”

Again, the fact that she let me said everything. For our Christmas celebration Junie was wearing overalls of a large floral print, heavy on poinsettias and holly. Under it she wore a gold lame pullover, but even the bright fashion statement couldn’t disguise the circles under her eyes and her grayish pallor. For the first time I was face-to-face with the fact that Junie was growing older. My flirtatious butterfly of a mother looked as if she needed a good rest in the cocoon. I wondered how much longer she would keep up the craft fair circuit.

I made the tea strong and added a dollop of real cream. Junie will always be plump, but she’s not one to nibble all day. It’s just that when she does eat, she sees little point in not enjoying it.

I sat across from her, sipping mine.

“I had hoped . . .” Junie tried to smile. “Well, I had hoped Ginger’s problems were behind her.”

“It’s possible this was just a random act of violence.”

“That seems unlikely.”

I wasn’t sure how much she understood about last night. She’d been trying so hard just to cope with Ginger’s death. “Junie, Sid doesn’t have an alibi, and I think the police know about her feud with Ginger.”

“I wanted the girls to get along. I did what I could to make it happen. But Ginger was too needy. She knew Sid was the greatest rival for my attention. And she needed so
much
attention. Your sister was caught in the middle.”

“Ginger took up a lot of time. And space.” I hesitated. “And money.”

Junie looked up. “Don’t you understand why I paid for culinary school for Ginger?”

“Not really.”

“I thought it was her last chance to make something of her life, that it would give her a goal, a career, some real self-esteem.” A tear trickled down her cheek.

“I guess I knew that. It’s just that—” I realized this wasn’t the right moment to sound critical, but Junie sighed.

“That I didn’t help Sid, as well? Agate, precious, despite her rivalry with Ginger or maybe because of it, your sister was the little princess in our family. We waited on her, petted her, listened sympathetically to every little complaint she had, and we let her slide by. When it came time for her to go to college, she wanted that handed to her, as well. She’d never really had to work for anything the way you and Vel had. We’d spoiled her. Maybe we were making up to her for Ginger being such a thorn in her side. I don’t know. But when she got her high school diploma, I realized it was time to reverse that trend or Sid would expect other people to take care of her for the rest of her life.”

Junie never fails to surprise me. But this was more on the order of a revelation from on high.

“You need to tell Sid,” I said after a long silence.

“Your sister would never kill anyone.”

I knew this. Sid was the sister who had inspired Deena to confront a parishioner in our last church because she wore a fur coat to services. Sid gives money to any organization that works to stop violence. She once inserted her slender body between two men arguing on a street corner because she was afraid fists were about to fly. Sid shoved Ginger at the open house, yes, but that had been completely out of character. Murder was out of her universe.

“This could get nasty, Junie.”

Junie wiped away another tear. “No, this will be resolved the way it should be. I’m sure nobody will think your sister’s a murderer. I had a dream last night. I saw Sid happily married. She had three children, and she named the oldest girl Ginger.”

I’m afraid that the new Nostradamus is not alive, female, and temporarily residing in Emerald Springs, Ohio.

 
In the early afternoon Roussos dropped by with more questions for Sid. I guess the good guys don’t take a break on holidays. I wondered where Roussos usually spent them, and if he had family in the vicinity.

Jack doesn’t live far away, and he walked over to sit in on the interview. Afterwards Sid told us it was clear Roussos knew she had shoved Ginger at the open house. Maybe Mabyn had been confronted and forced to tell the truth. I thought this didn’t bode well for my sister.

I
knew
it didn’t bode well when, once Junie was out of the room, Sid pulled me to one side to say that Roussos had asked her not to leave town. Neither Sid nor Jack thought she should force the issue.