Murder Actually (20 page)

 

I woke up in a foul mood.

Dinner, I decided, had been my worst date since the Sneeze Guard Incident of '99 (don't ask) and Blue had snuck back outside during the night and put a freshly killed bird on my front step. Tessa Oglesby still showed no signs of conformity, and worse yet, our client was in jail and I had no clear plan for getting her out.

I sat down at the kitchen table and put all my notes from the case in front of me. I arranged them and rearranged them. The answer had to be here, somewhere. I looked over the list of names and suspects: Alex, Sabrina, Rose, Coco...each had opportunity and something to gain from the death of Jasper Ware, but which one was crazy enough to kill? I decided to talk with the one person on my list who I was sure hadn't committed the murders.

I was prepared for my trip to Truly's this time with a bottle of wine and a signed copy of my latest book. I even thought the surroundings held a bit of squalid charm as I pulled into the gravel driveway.

She answered the door and grinned at me. “Hey there! Glad you're back. You left without trying my homemade schnapps last time.”

I followed her inside. The scowling infant was nowhere to be seen although I could hear an ominous scratching from somewhere down the hall.

She followed the direction of my glance. “Don't worry. That's Otis back there. I got him locked up on account of the mailman.”

I couldn't remember if Otis was the baby or the bloodhound. “How's your baby?” I asked politely.

“See for yourself.”

She jerked her head towards an automatic swing tucked in the corner of the kitchen where the infant gently ambulated, its unblinking eyes glaring out into the darkness of the living room. “Kid loves that swing.”

“Oh, really? How nice.”

I felt again the inadequacies of being a single, non-childbearing woman in our society and was faintly resentful I should feel inferior to Mrs. Jennings.

Truly lowered her bulk into the recliner and gave the foot release a gentle tug. She appeared to be dressed in the same outfit as previously, although I noticed the infant was wearing a battered yellow sleeper in place of his Halloween costume. I looked around the crowded trailer. It was possible the dishes next to the sink had been cleaned and were now dirty again, but I didn't think so. The rest of the kitchen I preferred not to think about.

“How have you been, Mrs. Jennings?”

“Oh, can't complain,” she said cheerfully. “Wish I could say the same for Ms. Nora. Looks like the police have it in for her this time, huh?”

“Yes, she's been arrested.”

“Damn cops. I was gonna go over there and clean but I guess there's no one to keep it clean for now.”

I assumed the cleansing must've been in the metaphoric sense, as the conditions at Black Birches never seemed to improve.

“Mrs. Jennings. My friend and I are trying to clear Nora Ware.”

Truly nodded. “Good idea. She didn't do it. I know Ms. Nora pretty well. She's too sweet to kill. Not spunky like you and me, huh, Ms. Gray?”

She laughed immoderately and I shivered. Were Truly and I kindred spirits? The morning air suddenly felt a little chilly.

“Cold?” I noticed a fake fireplace in one corner and Mrs. Jennings reached over and clicked on a log.

“I like to have a fire when the mornings get some chill,” she said grandly.

I found myself rather liking Mrs. Jennings.

“Are you ready for that drink? It'll warm you up.” She didn't wait for my reply but reached behind her where a bottle cozily roasted in front of the heater.

“It's my own blend.”

She recklessly filled two water tumblers to the brim and handed one to me.

I fished a dog hair from the top of my glass and cheered her health.

I choked. There was something horribly wrong with the booze. I opened my mouth to tell her it had gone off when I noticed she had swallowed her glass in a single gulp and was eyeing me with an expression of sublime contentment.

“It's marvelous.” I gasped.

She beamed. “Told you, didn't I? Let me top you off.”

She moved with sinister agility, filling my glass to the brim and offering me a plate of broken Ritz crackers.

“I like to have a little nibble with my cocktail. Now, what should we drink to? How about Edgar Archer?”

I regarded her in amazement, but her glass was empty before I could protest. I reluctantly raised the glass to my trembling lips. I was about to commit the irredeemable social error of declining a third drink when there was a loud crash outside the front door.

She let out a gentle roar. “That's done it for them, little buggers.”

“What on earth is that noise?”

The air was filled with an unearthly din of bangs, shrieks, screams and what sounded like a loud vacuum.

She rolled her eyes. “It's my kids.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Damn if I know.” The recliner groaned and cracked as she pushed herself up and weaved to the front door. “You kids stop that racket! We got company!” She bawled out through the open doorway.

I glanced around the humble trailer and the few efforts that had been made to brighten the décor: cheap, bright curtains, a throw blanket featuring Elvis in
Jailhouse Rock
, and a collection of chipped china in a small wooden hutch. I recognized a few of the pieces as things I'd seen at Black Birches.

“Mrs. Jennings, do you know anything about a gray silk scarf that Ms. Nora donated to charity? She says it went out with a bag of items she was giving away.”

Mrs. Jennings lit a new cigarette from the tip of the old one and took a delicate drag.

“Damn do-gooders,” she pronounced angrily.

“What?”

“Always coming around and stealing things! Yes, I said stealing! Ms. Nora told me I got dibs on anything she was getting rid of. And then Mrs. Alex came around and stole it all out from under me! I asked Ms. Nora what happened to that bundle of old stuff she had in the kitchen and she says,
Oh, Coco wants it for the St. Anne's Rummage Sale
. Church sale! Like anyone out there's more needing nice things than me and these kids.” She gestured wildly around the trailer. “I told her she'd promised that old stuff to me and she said it didn't matter, that she had plenty of things and I would get it next time.”

“So,” I said slowly, “Coco Ware took Mrs. Ware's gray silk scarf for the St. Anne's Rummage Sale?”

“Yes, I remember because I wanted it particular to go with my Sunday dress, which is gray, too. Gray is my signature color.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Yeah, I did a magazine test. It said I was a woman of mystery and should stick with gray.”

I took in the voluminous tucks and folds of Mrs. Jennings's body and was forced to agree.

“What color are you?” she demanded.

“I have no idea.”

“Here you go,” she tossed me a dirty
Allure
magazine. “Page forty-seven,” she directed. “Don't mind my answers, just put yours by the side. It says there the test was developed by a real Color Doctor.”

I would've liked to challenge those credentials but decided the easiest way to get what I wanted from Truly Jennings would be to take the test.

“Well?”

I finished adding up my numbers for A, B and C, and read my analysis at the bottom.

“I'm black. It's says I've gone through a recent emotional upheaval and I'll be crushed at work by an adversary.” I wondered if it was referring to Ms. Weebles.

Truly appeared deeply satisfied. “You see there? I knew the first time I saw you there was somethin' wrong with you. I do some fortune tellin' in my free time and you got a real dark aura.”

I elected not to delve into this psychoanalysis any further, coming as it did from Truly Jennings and an official ‘Color Doctor'. “You were telling me about your gray silk scarf,” I reminded her gently.

“That's right! It was mine even if some people can't respect dibs.”

Dibs again! Was I the only one who didn't respect the concept? Mrs. Jennings continued. “Mrs. Alex took that scarf along with everything else. I even asked her about it when she came by Black Birches after the funeral, and she says everything's already been sold for charity. Told me that looking all prim and proper, too, like I was trying to steal from poor people! Who's stealing from me, that's what I'd like to know!”

Mrs. Jennings sighed and finally disposed of the long ash hanging from her cigarette butt.

“Oh, well, I can't complain too much, I guess. Easy come, easy go, and Ms. Nora give me this last week.”

She motioned towards a particularly hideous gnome dressed in a Jets jersey and holding a Busch beer sign. “I had my eye on that for a while and Ms. Nora comes to me last week and says I can take it because it was Mr. Ware's and she never really liked it. Can you believe that? I guess there's no accounting for taste.”

Mrs. Jennings gloated over her treasure and I stood up to leave. I felt a little wobbly with the addition of schnapps to my system and shook my head before I moved to the front door.

“You come by anytime and see me, Ms. Gray,” she called out. “I like your style.”

“I like yours too, Mrs. Jennings.”

I went back to the car and sat for a minute, my eyes not even taking in the rough trailer and roosters. Instead, I saw the night of the book reading. I saw everything with new eyes. It was all there, if I'd just been paying attention.

I glanced down and noticed I had missed a call on my cell.

It was Missy Conger, Crispin Wickford's former assistant. Her voice sounded bored. “You said to call if I remembered anything and I just wanted to tell you I remembered something. Crispin ran out of space on the memory card he used at the book reading. He gave the card to me to have the pictures printed. I forgot all about it. Anyway, if you want it I have it here at the
Gazette
with the pictures.”

I tried not to break too many traffic laws on my trip downtown.

I remembered what Crispin had told me at the faculty party; he had left the book reading to change cameras. He'd told Missy to get the pictures developed. Pictures from Inkwell. It might be nothing, but with the information I already had it might be a very big something.

I picked up the camera from Missy, who, as usual, was entirely uninterested in the transaction and petulantly picked at the polish on her purple nails.

“Did you just pick it up, Missy?”

“Yes. Should I call the cops and tell them?”

“No need,” I said recklessly. “I'll call them myself later.” Just as soon as I look at these pictures, I added silently. I was so enamored with my own brilliance I failed to notice the blue car pull silently behind me and follow me down the street.

I got home and spread everything on the kitchen table: the camera, the photographs, my notes and a list of all the evidence to date. Blue watched me with a jaundiced eye.

I looked through Crispin's pictures once…twice.

Where was it?

I went through again, more slowly this time. Crispin had gotten pictures from every angle at Inkwell. There were photos of Rose and Sabrina laughing, one of me stuffing my face in a corner, one of Jasper Ware glaring at Violet, and general shots of the crowd, the room, even the food. Crispin had covered every base that night. But what was it he'd seen?

I gave a muttered exclamation as Blue jumped onto the table and knocked one of the photos to the floor.

“Blue, you have to be more careful. Somewhere in this stack there may be material evidence of…”

I stopped suddenly.

There it was.

I stared down at the picture Blue had pushed to the floor. For a second I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me and I did a steady count to five. I looked at Blue and he stared back at me, unperturbed, and then wandered out his cat door.

I looked down again at the photograph.

It was Coco Ware.

Crispin had caught her just coming down the stairs at Inkwell. She was glancing back over her shoulder. The photograph was grainy and there were a lot of people in the shot, but I knew it was Coco. I recognized the navy suit she had been wearing that night and she was carrying her tote bag with donations for St. Anne's rummage sale. The expression on her face was inscrutable.

But it was Coco Ware, upstairs at Inkwell.

Coco Ware, who claimed she'd never gone upstairs that night.

Coco Ware, who took the gray silk scarf from Nora.

Coco Ware, who married an ardent collector of antique weaponry.

Coco Ware, who drove the same car as Alex. The car Mrs. Jennings saw outside Jasper's studio.

I picked up the phone with trembling fingers and dialed a number. Julia listened to me in silence. “Lock your doors,” she urged. “Right now. Get up and go lock all the doors and hide in the bathroom.”

I shook my head at her logic. “Just because I know doesn't mean Coco knows that I know.”

Julia's voice was emphatic. “Trust me on this one. Whenever Pippa Pepper finds the killer they always come looking for her. Those who ignore genre conventions are doomed to repeat them.”

“That's history.”

“Same thing.”

“Just hurry up.”

I hung up and waited for the sound of tires on my driveway as I packed up my notes and clues. The stillness of my cottage and the turmoil of my mind made me restless, and I forced myself to sit down at the kitchen table. I felt jumpy and wanted a glass of wine, but knew I'd be answering a lot of questions so I refrained. A slight noise caught my attention, like someone gently bumping at my screen door. I figured it was Blue; sometimes he was too conceited to use the pet entrance.

“Blue?”

There was a faint meow from the other side and I felt uneasy. I remembered I hadn't locked the door and got up from my chair. Damn Julia. She was getting me freaked out over nothing. The faint sound came again from outside, more of a rustle than a sound, but it was enough to make me go to the kitchen door and look outside.