Liquid Lies (21 page)

Perhaps it was human nature to try to unravel death.

“Do you remember what Mark did yesterday?” I asked. “Anything unusual?”

Mr. Kincaid adjusted his glasses. “Nothing that I can remember.”

“Me neither,” Samuel said as he stretched his long arms. Samuel looked like a living skeleton, thin, pale and bony. Yet, he had the deepest dark brown eyes, and a huge smile full of perfect white teeth.

“Why was he working late last night?” I asked.

Samuel handed me a cup of coffee. I thanked him.

“He volunteered to come in last night to let the mayor in. Plus Francesca was his client.” Mr. Kincaid added cream and sugar to his coffee. Then he sat down in one of the chairs.

“That’s ironic. When he practiced makeup on me, he mentioned he would get the next client, as you refer to them. And he had a crush on Francesca. Who would have ever thought that she’d be dead, and he would be too?” I shook my head as my shoulders slumped over.

“Hey, you know he aced the makeup exam, thanks to the extra practice he had.” Mr. Kincaid added, “He bragged to all of us how he got a live person to practice on. He really loved you CiCi.”

“I loved him too,” I said, as my body went limp. “Listen, I have no idea why my two best friends are dead, but, I have to find out. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Sure,” Mr. Kincaid said.

“Why did you think the mayor needed to come here last night?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I couldn’t say no. After all, he’s the mayor. Plus we have his daughter’s remains here,” Mr. Kincaid said as he adjusted himself in the armchair.

“But I wonder why at night? What could he have wanted to see or talk about that could only happen here last night?” I asked Mr. Kincaid.

“See, that’s what I can’t help you with. What I’ve learned is not to ask questions, because everyone has their own way to grieve and get on with their life. And with the shock of his daughter’s death, who knows?” Mr. Kincaid said.

“Mark had volunteered to be here last night, as neither Mr. Kincaid nor I could be. I had my Dungeons and Dragons group,” Samuel added.

“Yes, and I had a meeting over at hospice,” Mr. Kincaid said. “I told the mayor that Mark would be here to let him in.”

My mind raced. Whoever killed Mark knew he’d be working late. “Was anyone else here?” I asked.

“Not that I was aware of. Just Mark and the mayor,” Mr. Kincaid said.

“And our clients,” Samuel added, pointing down to the basement where they kept the bodies.

“Besides you two, could anyone have found out about the meeting last night?” I asked.

“Sure. I guess. I mean, they could have told anyone about it,” Samuel added.

“I agree,” Mr. Kincaid said.

“That’s true.” I felt like I was getting closer to an answer just to be yanked back to where I’d started, which was in limbo. “But I think that the person who hurt Mark may have guessed he’d be here by himself.”

“You mean
killed
Mark,” Samuel added.

Silence fell over us like a curtain.

“Yes,” I continued as my eyes watered up.

“Okay. But why would anyone want to kill him? Mark was as harmless as any of our clients downstairs,” Mr. Kincaid added.

I couldn’t tell them about how Mark may have been on to something related to Francesca’s murder, because then they would want to know those details. I wasn’t ready to reveal anything, because frankly, I had no answers.

And I had no idea who to trust. Except Mark. And I had a hunch that he had found a clue to Francesca’s death. Somehow Francesca’s murderer found out and had to kill him. It was a long shot. But that was all I had, a whole lot of nothing but speculation.

“Mark was the most well-liked person in town, and it blows my mind that someone killed him,” Samuel said as he shook his head.

“I’m telling you. These are dark days for Round Lake with these two murders. Someone better figure this out or we’ll not only lose all the tourists, but residents will start putting their houses on the market.” Mr. Kincaid groaned.

“Like yah. We have a murderer on the loose killing people left and right,” Samuel said.

“Sadly, it’s good for my business but not for any others.” Mr. Kincaid fisted his hand “We’re all counting on the police to find the killer.”

“They should,” I said. But they didn’t realize I had appointed myself amateur sleuth in charge of the investigation of both Francesca’s and Mark’s deaths. Not only because I loved them both, but also because I felt convinced that I had somehow caused their deaths.

Some best friend I’d turned out to be.

What had Mark meant by “Ask Father”?

I figured I’d go over to the mayor’s and feel out the situation. My plan
wasn’t
to interrogate the poor guy. He had lost his only child, and now his city was contending with a killer on the loose. I needed to gather information to get answers to some questions. Why did the mayor have to go to the funeral home last night, and what did he say while he was there?

Who besides Samuel and Mr. Kincaid knew that the mayor was meeting Mark at the funeral home? Did that same person kill Mark? And why did they kill Mark? And was this the same person that killed Francesca?

Jacob was still a suspect, even though Mark had said ‘Not Jacob.’ But, Jacob told me this morning that he had been at the pavilion last night. He took the bait. So that put him right back in the running as a suspect.

Another suspect, however farfetched, was the older married man Francesca had dated and had some sort of issue with. At least from what her Aunt Vivian told me, so I think I could put him on the potential suspect list. There was just one little problem. Who was he? I looked at my cell phone; I had fifteen minutes to meet Vivian for brunch. I’d try to get some information out of her.

I ruled out Samuel and Mr. Kincaid as suspects. They had alibis for last night that could be checked out.

My head began to hurt when I realized that there could be two separate killers. But right now that didn’t make sense to me. I had to go with the premise there was only one killer.

***

The walk to the bed and breakfast gave me some much needed time alone. I wept for Mark, for Francesca, for my parents until I was dried up.

By the time I met up with Vivian, I was emotionally exhausted, yet, determined to get to the bottom of my friends’ deaths. Vivian greeted me as I entered the dining area.

“I’ve got us a little table overlooking the lake,” she said as I followed her.

We sat down, and a waitress took our orders. We both ordered fruit and bagels while a waiter poured our coffee and orange juice.

“Are you doing okay?” I asked Vivian as she stirred cream in her coffee.

“A good night’s rest and a bath do wonders for the body. However, I’m afraid nothing can help my broken heart,” she said.

“I’m so sorry. Part of me feels like this is all some very wicked nightmare, which I’ll wake up from, and Francesca and Mark will still be alive.” I unfolded the yellow linen napkin on my lap.

“Who’s Mark?” Vivian asked.

I told her about Mark and what happened last night. I choked on the part where I told her he had died.

“Good gracious dear. To lose both your best friends.” Vivian reached across the table and held my hand.

We sat in silence until our brunch was delivered. Neither of us ate much. I had no appetite, even though I felt hollow inside. It was an emptiness food couldn’t fill. I mustered up the determination to solve my friends’ murders. I strengthened my resolve and decided that crying all the time was not going to accomplish anything. After my parents’ deaths, Estelle said that to truly honor them was to get on with life. Right now that meant avenging Mark and Francesca’s deaths. And to do so, I had to pull myself together. Get back to solving two crimes.

The waitress cleared our plates and left the check.

“You came here to learn more about Francesca. If you’re up to it, I’d be glad to share with you the years she spent with me,” Vivian said.

“That would be great, thank you,” I said.

For the next hour, Vivian told me about their travels as well as Francesca’s dabblings in fashion design in Paris, and other stories of her adventures overseas. “Telling you about Francesca feels good, as though I’m letting her live on through sharing these stories. She was never afraid to take on anything, she snatched life by the horns and never let go. And to think that she’s gone. We have to remember who she was. I’m sorry I keep getting off track. Will any of this help you with her eulogy?”

“Yes, thank you very much. I feel bad that she and I lost touch the past few years,” I said.

“Oh, but she never forgot you. She loved you Cecelia. But she also felt troubled by losing your friendship. She never would tell me what happened,” Vivian said. “May I ask you what it was that came between you?”

“I suppose we grew apart. But I missed her every day. Some days it hurt so badly, like something was missing that would complete my happiness,” I sputtered the words.

“She missed you too,” Vivian added. “Life isn’t fair. Some good people leave us early while some terrible people seem to live forever. Like my favorite cousin, Donny. He died so young. He was the sweetest kid. He was a lot like Francesca. So daring. So full of zeal.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“He drowned,” she said as she placed her napkin on the table.

A loud sound of glasses breaking made us turn. It appeared a tray had fallen near the hostess stand. The CEO of Round Lake Hospital, Mr. McNally, was bent on the ground, next to a young blonde hostess. The hostess was a gorgeous leggy buxom blonde in her early twenties. Mr. McNally was a handsome man in his early fifties. The newspaper often had pictures of McNally and his wife, dressed in formal wear, at various charity functions.

Glass was scattered on the ground, as Mr. McNally and the hostess picked up the shards. Another waiter began to sweep. Mr. McNally stood, pulling the hostess over to the side. He held her close, almost in an embrace.

Our waitress came over. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you. We’re fine. Is everything okay?” Vivian asked. She pointed to the hostess stand.

“Yes,” our waitress said. “A day doesn’t go by around here without someone breaking something.” With that she left.

“Now, what were we talking about?” Vivian asked.

“Your cousin Donny?” I said.

“Oh yes. I had told you he drowned.”

“Couldn’t he swim?”

“Oh no, quite the contrary. He had a full swimming scholarship for college,” she said. “My brother was the runner up for the same scholarship, but he lost out to Donny. Now don’t get me wrong, we were all so happy for Donny, mostly my brother Charles. He was thrilled for Donny, and always said it went to the better man.”

“Anyway, the summer before college began, Charles and Donny were swimming in the river near our house. I can’t remember all the details, but an unusual undercurrent of some sort pulled Donny under. My brother tried saving him but couldn’t.” Vivian slumped.

“That’s so tragic,” I clarified. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the CEO and the hostess walk toward the exit. He guided her with his arm held behind her back.

“Yes, it was,” she said.

“I’m so terribly sorry,’ I added.

“After Donny passed, we insisted that Charles use the scholarship. After all he was runner up. And he took it. Now look where he is today. He’s so successful. Even though Donny’s death was a horrific tragedy, something good came out of it.”

“I guess so.” I thought about how horrible it must be to try to save someone, and fail. But Mark had saved me. “I bet the mayor felt awful that he couldn’t save Donny.”

The door opened, and McNally gave the hostess a quick kiss. Then he left. Was he having an affair with her?

“For years it tormented Charles. We all felt so bad for him. He’d been through so much. You see, we were poor country folks, and the city kids looked down on us. Charles wanted, more than any of us, to fit in with the rich kids. So he worked hard and saved up every single penny he made. He wanted a better life.” Vivian looked away as though deep in thought. “I’m sorry I’m rambling dear.”

“No you’re not. I enjoy listening to you. Even when I met you years ago, I remembered your wonderful stories,” I said. “I’m sorry about everything. Sometimes, I don’t know how to make sense of all this.”

“You never learn, but instead just keep going. One breath at a time,” Vivian softly said as she gazed out the window.

“Have you talked to the mayor recently?” I asked.

“We talked at length last night before I went to bed,” she said.

“How’s he doing?” I asked.

“He’s coping, but barely. I think it’s almost a blessing that he has so much responsibility as mayor. It keeps his mind occupied, and off what has happened. Plus he has his campaign. Let me tell you, whatever he sets his mind to he gets done. He will be the next governor,” Vivian answered.