To Helen Back (6 page)

Chapter 11

“Y
OU’LL BE AS
good as new in no time,” Doc Melville said, patting Madeline’s hand, and she looked up into the smiling face that hovered above her. His fingers gently touched her wrist, his eyes on his watch as he checked her pulse. Then he patted her again. “Things seem back to normal already.”

Normal?

Madeline pressed her eyes closed, afraid the tears that had been building up inside her would suddenly gush freely. Even worse, a wave of nausea engulfed her though she fought it, trying hard to stay calm. She couldn’t give in, couldn’t break down, not yet. Not in her father’s office.

“No doubt it was the strain of the service,” Fanny Melville said as she began stroking Madeline’s hair, her touch so tentative, as if Maddy were a fragile china doll that might crack. “It’s too bad Emma MacGregor’s arthritis was so bad this morning, else she would have been at the organ and you, sweet girl, could have stayed home.”

Maddy’s chest tightened suddenly and she found it hard to breathe. Her heart felt so heavy, like her father’s enormous Bible had fallen on top of her, crushing her lungs and ribs.

Oh God, she thought, oh God, it had all been her fault, hadn’t it? Would things have been different if she’d kept her secret to herself?

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Her father’s voice no longer seemed so strong and even as it had been throughout the eulogy. There was a catch to it, a trace of fear. Or was it guilt she heard?

She forced her eyes wide open to find him peering down at her anxiously, his skin pale above the gray of his beard. “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “A glass of water?”

“No, I’m fine,” she told him, and struggled to sit up. She laced her fingers in her lap, pressing her hands together to steady them. “I’m sorry if I caused a scene,” she added, the words a low whisper.

“You think
you
caused a scene?” Fanny Melville chuckled. “My dear, you’d have to stand in line for that honor. The two Mrs. Grones are well ahead of you there.”

“Maybe it’s the flu,” another voice suggested, and Maddy caught sight of Helen Evans peeking at her from over Fanny’s shoulder. “I’ve heard there’s a vicious strain going around.”

Doc scratched his jaw. “She doesn’t have a fever, and her pulse is fairly steady. Her throat isn’t red, her glands aren’t swollen, and her lungs sound clear.”

Madeline flushed beneath the scrutiny. She hated how they talked over her as if she wasn’t even in the room. All she wanted was to get out of there. To be alone. “For the tenth time,” she told them, “I’m okay. I just got a little dizzy. It’s no big deal.”

“I’d like you to come in for a full physical,” Doc Melville said. “It wouldn’t hurt to give you a thorough examination.”

“No,” Maddy said, reacting quickly. She swung her legs off the couch, her knees wobbling as she put her feet on the floor. “It’s not necessary, I swear,” she added, avoiding her father’s eyes. “I’m just tired. I didn’t have any breakfast.” She’d been too sick to her stomach to eat.

“She’ll come in, Doc,” her father interjected, and his frightened expression from moments before was gone, replaced by features as firm as granite. “I’ll see to it that she gets an appointment.”

Madeline wanted to scream at him, to argue that it was
her
life to live, not his. And hadn’t he done enough already? But her strength seemed to have left her for now. She stood, brushing away the hands that petted and stroked her, wishing she could run away until this morning was left far behind.

“Can I go?” she said, not caring if she sounded brusque and ungrateful. “Or do you all want to stand around and just stare at me all morning?”

“Madeline!”

Her father took hold of her arm, but she pulled free and rushed toward the door. Just as her hand grabbed the knob, she heard Helen Evans say, “No, Earnest, don’t,” and then Maddy pushed free and stumbled off.

Tears flooded her eyes so that she could hardly see where she went. She bumped into something and nearly screamed when she realized it was the coffin.

His coffin.

She tripped on the red carpet that ran down the aisle, falling to her knees. She scraped her knees, drawing blood, but she didn’t stop.

She scrambled to her feet and forced her legs to move ahead, to get her outside where she could finally breathe; where she didn’t have to think of Milton Grone and the last time she’d seen him, wondering if it was her fault that he was dead.

Chapter 12

“W
ELL, THERE YOU
are, Mrs. Evans. I’ve been waiting for you to come out.”

Helen had barely parted ways with the Melvilles a moment before when a curvy figure in high heels popped out from behind a gnarled oak to intercept her on the sidewalk in front of the church.

“You do remember me, don’t you?” the redhead asked, squinting in the sunlight.

“Of course I do,” Helen said. “Hello, Mrs. Grone.” She smiled politely and tucked her purse into the crook of her elbow. Hadn’t the first Mrs. Grone been a brunette all those years ago? Helen wasn’t sure if the red hair was all that becoming, although it did distract a bit from the hard lines around her mouth and eyes. She had a pinched look on her face as though life had not been kind. “I haven’t seen you around in ages,” Helen went on, “not until you showed up at this morning’s service. How are you doing? Are you still living in Alton with the boys?”

Delilah pulled a plastic compact from her purse and powdered her nose. “I’ve got a good job at a restaurant off the highway,” she said, “in hospitality.”

Hospitality? Helen had heard that she waitressed at a truck stop off the interstate.

“My boys are teenagers now, can you believe? It’s hard to work full-time and keep ’em in line.” Delilah put away her compact and laughed, but there was little amusement in the sound. “You know how kids are these days. They don’t listen to a thing their parents say, and it’s not like I’ve had help raising them.” She paused, sighing, and stabbed a hand into her bag, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. She tapped the bottom and cursed. “Empty,” she said, glancing at Helen. “Damn.” She crushed the pack in her fist and pocketed the litter. “I guess it’s not my day.”

Helen felt suddenly sorry for the woman. “Back in the chapel,” she began, “if I could apologize for how Shotsie—”

“Oh, no, don’t bother,” Delilah cut her off. “I’m not surprised that Milt’s floozy would want me to get the hell out. It’s my fault for making an entrance,” she said. “I should have slipped in and sat down without a peep. I don’t know why I do half the things I do sometimes. Milt was always telling me to keep my big trap shut.” Delilah tapped a foot on the sidewalk. “The only reason I dropped in was to see for myself if the old coot was dead. I didn’t think about how the Black Widow would react.” Her painted mouth settled into a grim line. “Not that I imagined she’d be thrilled to see me, but I never thought she’d have me tossed out.”

“Shotsie’s very upset about losing her husband,” Helen said in her defense. “You can’t honestly blame her for not wanting you there.”

Delilah’s hands went to her hips, and her voice prickled with defiance. “Tell me why in hell I shouldn’t have come, huh?” She stared at Helen with heavily made-up eyes, the crinkles of skin around them all too obvious, despite the pancake makeup meant to disguise them. “No matter how bad things were when Milt and I split, we were married for ten years. We did have two kids together.” Her shoulders slumped and for a moment she looked away. “It was important for me to be here, you understand. Sort of like watching the last five minutes of a move that I’d missed.”

“I see,” Helen said, sizing up the former Mrs. Grone and thinking that, despite the physical differences, perhaps she and Shotsie weren’t so unalike after all. Both had formed attachments to a man best described as headstrong. Both seemed deeply affected by his death, despite Delilah’s tough façade.

“It’s strange to think he won’t be around to fight with anymore,” Delilah said, and glanced up at the chapel.

Helen followed the direction of her gaze and saw a pair of men in dark suits emerge from the vestibule. They guided the wheeled contraption upon which Milton’s casket lay. They lowered it carefully down the steps and to the curb where a long black hearse awaited. Hardly breaking a sweat, they pushed the casket into the back, the trolley collapsing, and closed the doors behind it.

Helen read the words printed on the hearse’s tailgate:
MORGAN & FAMI
LY. ONLY THE BEST FO
R YOUR BELOVED’S FIN
AL REST.
She shook her head, thinking that advertising showed up in the most inappropriate of places.

“So his ticker just went out on him all of a sudden, huh?” Delilah said, nibbling on the tip of a red-painted nail. “Then he smacked his head on a rock when he fell.” She shuddered. “All that blood. Christ, but it must have been tough for Shotsie to see him lying on the ground like that.”

“It was,” Helen admitted, finding it difficult to believe that Milton had died just two nights before. “We’d just come from the town meeting and no one was very happy about—”

She stopped herself, Delilah’s words suddenly striking a chord.

Helen cocked her head. “How did you know he’d struck a rock?” That tidbit hadn’t appeared in the paper, though it was hardly a secret, considering the two dozen townsfolk who’d been present when Milton was found. Still, Helen found it hard to imagine anyone in River Bend phoning Delilah Grone to gossip.

“Well, Mrs. Evans, it’s like this,” Delilah began, her hands fiddling with the strap of her handbag. “I came to town to meet with Milt that night, of all the rotten timing. I’d been after him for a while to pony up what he owed me. It was only fair, right? I mean, he skipped more child support payments than I could count, and forget the alimony!” She let out a noisy
humph
. “I wanted to work something out with him, but Milt wouldn’t budge. ‘Go on and sue me,’ is what he said, and he laughed, like I wouldn’t go through with it.” Delilah kicked gravel with her shoe, not meeting Helen’s eyes. “I called him a dozen times to try to get together but, lately, whenever I phoned, he hung up.”

She shifted on her feet and tossed back her red hair, as though trying to shake off bad memories. “It was hard, scraping by, especially when the boys were young. I barely saw a red cent from Milt, and me just working part-time back then. Those were tough days. Real tough.”

Helen could only imagine what it had been like. Being a mother had been hard enough with a husband who’d supported her in more ways than one. “Didn’t the courts pressure Milton to pay his child support?”

“The courts?” Delilah snorted. “They just shoved me from one social services boob to another. I mean, they apologized right and left, but nobody did a damned thing.”

“Certainly Mr. Grone could afford it,” Helen said.

“I’ll say he could,” Delilah replied, and her eyes flashed with anger. “He hardly spent a penny of what he earned, and he’d been working since he was a kid, doing construction and laying down roads for the government. His father didn’t help him out, so Milton knew how to save his checks. He probably had a bundle earning interest in the bank all these years, and I’m sure he didn’t spend it all on Blondie.” Her red lips twitched into the hint of a smile. “The old rat trap they live in looks even worse than it did when I left.”

Milton’s reputation for being miserly was hardly a secret, Helen mused, recalling all the times Art Beaner and the board complained about Mr. Grone refusing to contribute to the community funds that maintained Serenity Gardens, the playground, and the historic lighthouse near the river.

Delilah slapped a hand against her thigh, the noise tugging Helen from her thoughts. “Burns me up, it does,” she said, “how Milt could ignore his own flesh and blood like that then go out and strike a big deal for that water park. And don’t think I haven’t kept up with it in the papers.” She tucked her arms beneath her breasts. “That set a fire under me, it surely did, which is why I high-tailed it here after work last Thursday night. I had a few things I wanted to get off my chest even if I had to force the old coot to listen to every word.”

Delilah appeared so distraught that Helen pitied her and all she’d had to endure.

“You’d decided to give him an ultimatum, is that it?”

Milton’s ex-wife nodded, biting down on her bottom lip.

“He didn’t know you were coming?”

“Well, I’d
tried
to warn him,” she said. “I called and said, ‘Okay, Milt, I’m giving you one last chance to make things right,’ but he just chuckled. ‘And if you don’t, I’ve got someone who’ll help me get what I’m after,’ I told him. Then he laughed some more before he hung up.” She sighed, her voice softening. “I got in my car just after seven o’clock, as soon as I finished my shift. I stopped at home to change clothes, so it was probably close to eight when I got to River Bend.”

She hesitated, wetting her lips. She cast her gaze down but Helen could plainly see her distress. “I got out of my Bug, and there he was, lyin’ on the ground. I walked over and saw for sure that it was Milton. I tried to shake him, telling him to get up. I even knelt down in those damned weeds and got stains on my pants. When I touched his head, I felt something wet, like blood on my fingers. Oh, man, it was awful.” She shivered, and Helen reached out to lay a hand on her arm.

“So you left without calling for help?”

“I banged on the door to the house, hollering for Shotsie, but no one answered. Then I heard all those voices coming up the street.”

“That must have been after the meeting broke up,” Helen said. “Ida Bell led a group of, um, concerned citizens to confront Milton about the water park sale.”

Delilah swallowed hard. “All I know is that I got out of there fast. I didn’t think it would look good for someone to find me hanging around with Milt on the ground as good as dead. They might’ve thought I had something to do with it.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Helen told her with a smile meant to reassure. “He presumably died of a heart attack, as you must know. That could hardly have been your fault.”

“Blondie would have found a way to pin it on me, I’m sure. If nothing else, she would have blamed me for causing the bastard’s ticker to stop.”

Helen didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure if Delilah wasn’t right about that.

The rumble of a car engine coming to life momentarily charged the air, and Delilah stared at something over her shoulder. Helen turned around to see the van from the mortuary driving off in a cloud of exhaust.

“Is she having him cremated?” Delilah asked, her eyes watching the road. “Milt always said he didn’t want to be buried, all those worms and stuff.”

“I really don’t know,” Helen told her, her brow creasing as she tried to think of the latest talk she’d heard that morning. “There won’t be any kind of graveside service, I do know that. Doc Melville asked the mortuary to postpone anything until tomorrow.”

“Postpone? But why?” Delilah’s eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“No. At least I don’t think so.” Helen was suddenly anxious to be on her way. “Amos Melville has always been extremely thorough. Could be he’s getting a second opinion before it’s too late.”

“A second opinion?” Delilah repeated, screwing up her face. “Wasn’t it a heart attack plain and simple?”

Was anything involving Milton Grone plain and simple? Helen wondered.

She sighed, feeling tired, impatient to get home. Amber was probably using her wicker rocker as a scratching post, furious that she wasn’t there to open up a can of tuna. “I’m sorry that I don’t have any more answers for you. I’m sure we’ll all know soon enough if anything odd turns up, though I see no reason why it should.”

“You’re right, of course,” Delilah replied, the pleats in her brow easing somewhat. “Well, it was nice chatting with you, Mrs. Evans.” She stuck out her hand, which Helen shook. “Maybe I’ll be back more often now that the old buzzard’s gone.” She waved as she teetered along in her high heels, hurrying off in a swing of hips and wiggle of her behind.

She headed straight for a beat-up green Volkswagen Beetle, the sort that Helen hadn’t seen in years. Hadn’t they been banned once a long time ago, she tried to recall, because of the motor being in the back rather than the front? Or was it the Pinto she was thinking of, with its gas tank in the rear?

The VW’s engine popped and groaned before it finally caught. She looked on as Delilah drove away, wheels grinding over the gravel. And then the Bug went around the corner, out of sight, the motor no more than a fading rattle.

What an odd bird, Helen thought, shaking her head. My, but Milton Grone certainly had married two real doozies. He’d been a decent looking man, if one liked the rough-hewn type, but his character had certainly been lacking.

Maybe, she mused as she resumed her walk from the chapel toward her own house, there was a lot more to Milton Grone than anyone had realized.

Though she couldn’t imagine what that might be.

As she strolled up the swept sidewalk, she smiled to herself, deciding that if there was any part of Milton’s life no one had known, it surely wouldn’t take long before someone in River Bend found out.

In a town of this size, secrets didn’t stay buried for long.