Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders (10 page)

Then I remembered Magda’s reassurances last night. She knew what she wanted, and she could outmaneuver anybody. Still, common sense suggested a discussion about the lawyer with Audie at some point.

The better part of an hour passed before I left, with a few more rumors and theories and nothing more by way of solid facts.

“Come back any time!” Jessie winked at me. “You’re good for business.” She leaned forward and handed me a cup of mocha latté. “On the house. Just let me know when you figure out what’s happening with Frances.”

Frances? What was that all about? I waved good-bye and opened my store a few minutes before the carpenter would arrive. The phone rang as soon as I stepped inside. I grabbed the handset. “Hello?”

“I need to reschedule our lunch date.”

10

From: Jerry Burton ([email protected])

Date: Tuesday, April 22, 9:34 PM

To: Suzanne Jay ([email protected])

Subject: Coincidence?

A recent edition of the Grace Gulch Herald reported that you will be playing the part of Martha Brewster in the upcoming production of Arsenic and Old Lace at the MGM Theater. You bear a striking resemblance to the actress playing the role of Abby Brewster, Magda Grace Mallory herself. Coincidence?

Expect further communication from me on the subject.

Wednesday, April 23

Suzanne Jay’s voice stirred up guilt. I had totally forgotten our usual Wednesday lunch date. The leading lady of the theater had come to know the Lord in the course of the investigation into Penn Hardy’s death last fall. As his former mistress, she was one of the leading suspects. Since her decision to follow Christ, we met once a week for Bible study and discipleship time. Our growing friendship pleased Audie, who always had a soft spot for the actress.

Wednesdays at noon, Suzanne stopped by the store, and I’d put the
C
losed
sign on the door for an hour, sometimes an hour and a half. She rarely missed.

“Magda has asked me to lunch with her. I’m sure you understand.”

I did. Magda ruled Grace Gulch with a generous but firm hand. Most of the time we gladly acquiesced to her benevolent dictatorship. Coming at this point, however, I wondered if the invitation had anything to do with last night’s revelations. But what could Gene’s rant have to do with Suzanne?

“Oh?” I left the question open-ended, hoping my friend might tell me more.

“She called me this morning.” Suzanne didn’t rise to the bait.

“No problem. We’ll meet tomorrow instead.”

“Can’t do it tomorrow, either. We’re supposed to go to the nursing home with Enid Waldberg, remember?”

I stifled a groan. Why had I given in to Enid’s pleas in a moment of weakness? I heard a page rustling over the phone wire, as if Suzanne were consulting a calendar.

“Will Friday work?”

“Of course.” Something about Suzanne’s tone of voice indicated today’s meeting with Magda was anything but a casual luncheon, but she seemed reluctant to reveal more. Maybe an indirect question would prime the pump. “Speaking of Magda, though, what did you think of the bombshell Gene dropped last night? About a trust fund for the theater?”

“I think it’s wonderful, although I’m sorry Gene is so upset.” Her voice colored warmly, losing all of its earlier hesitation. “I’d hate to see anything happen to the theater. Perhaps that’s selfish of me.” She let out an apologetic giggle.

“Nonsense. You’re a great actress who needs a stage to share your talent.”

I had scarcely hung up the receiver before the phone rang again. It was Dina.

“Can we come over? Peppi and me?”

Out my newly-restored window, I saw the carpenter pull up in his truck. “Not right now. Smithy just got here to fix the floor.”

“We’ll be there at lunch time, then. I’ll bring the food this time.” She clicked off her cell phone before I could respond.

True to her word, Dina arrived with Peppi, carrying fragrant bags from The Gulch. I wondered what mischief my sister had up her sleeve. She usually only bothered with The Gulch when she needed serious help.

“Okay, what trouble did you get into this time?”

“Let’s eat first.” Today Dina wore a lilac-colored T-shirt that coordinated with her pink hair.

We dug into the food, but Peppi couldn’t keep quiet for long.

“We have a plan for catching the blackmailer.”

“Don’t be so modest.” Dina flashed a grin at both of us. “She figured it out.”

“Well, every e-mail we’ve seen has been written after 9:30 at night. I work at the library at the college, and so I checked a few things. ‘Elsie Holland’ has been using one of the library computers every night between 9:30 and 10:00.”

I gulped down the bite of my sandwich. “What? Do you know who it is?”

Peppi shook her head. “You can’t see the computers from the circulation desk where I sit.”

“But we came up with a plan.” Now Dina jumped in. “I’m going to show up tonight, pretending to have plans after work with Peppi. And I’ll wander around and see if I can find this Elsie person.”

“You’re not going alone.”

Two heads—one pink and one carrot red—turned in my direction.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Dina grinned at me.

We talked strategy and agreed to get together after prayer meeting to go to the library.

But first I had to get through the early evening. A minute past five, my front door rattled where Audie waited, his nose pressed to the glass.

“Ready?” He grinned like he had just received word that he had been nominated for a Tony award. He picked me up and twirled me around, my gypsy gauze skirt flying in a wild circle. The dreamy feel of the night before returned. Forget about murders and trust funds and blackmail.

Tonight before prayer meeting we would meet with Pastor Waldberg for mandatory premarital counseling. Maybe we would resolve more details for the wedding. We had reserved the date, the second Saturday in June, months ago, but we had decided very little else.

“Put me down.” I made a half-hearted protest. “People will see you.”

“I don’t care!” Audie sang out. “I love Cici Wilde, and I want the world to know it!” After one more twirl, he set me back on my feet, kissing me before he let me go. “We need to leave if we’re going to make it to our appointment on time.

I thought about walking. In my present mood the five blocks would float by under my feet. But no, by the time prayer meeting ended I would need my car to drive to the library. I made do with walking to the car hand in hand with Audie. I struggled to lock the back door with my left hand.

“Here. Let me help.” Audie added his free hand.

Giggling, we managed to get it secured between us. How I looked forward to a lifetime of doing everything together, hand in hand. On the flip side, I wouldn’t mind skipping the meeting with the pastor. How would his hellfire-and-brimstone style preaching translate into premarital counseling? Would he make dire warnings about lifetime commitment and marital vows? Stop worrying
,
I scolded myself. He’s a man of God who loves his people.

Audie opened the passenger door for me. “‘He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the Lord.’”

“Now I know that isn’t Oscar Wilde.”

“No.” Audie grinned. “Solomon. Proverbs 18:22. I thank God every day for His favor in finding you.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.

How I love this man.

“We’ll be fine.” He drove to the church parking lot nearest the office doors.

Pastor Waldberg met us at the door. Warmth shone in his dark eyes, his thick black brows raised in welcome. “Thank you for coming early.” He led us back to his study.

After sitting on an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, he tipped forward and looked straight at us, seriousness settling on his features. “I’m sure the two of you have given considerable thought to the marriage covenant. God plans for marriage to be a permanent commitment between two people. A picture of the unity between Christ and His bride, the church.”

Audie reached out for my hand and squeezed my fingers. “I know that Cici is the woman God has planned for me.” He spoke with absolute assurance.

I melted inside. I had dreamed about this kind of love my whole life. “And I feel the same way about Audie.” I squeezed his fingers back, a bit of a kiss by way of fingertips and pulses.

“It is always a pleasure to see two committed Christians come before me.” The pastor’s face relaxed a tad, and he actually smiled. He read from Ephesians 5 and reminded us of the roles of a husband and wife. I knew Paul admonished wives to submit to their husbands, although I was enough of a twenty-first-century American woman to squirm a bit at the implications. Somehow my responsibility paled, though, in light of the apostle’s exhortation for husbands to lay their lives on the line for their wives, as Christ loved the church.

Next he pulled papers from his desk. “Here is a compatibility assessment I recommend that all couples take. It may indicate how well suited you are for marriage to each other—although of course it is not the final answer. God does not always lead by way of scientific method. I will give it to you to take home and complete it before our next session.”

Compatibility?

When we were together, I felt like the other half of Audie, yin to his yang, but what secrets would a test uncover? His background as an only child growing up in a Chicago suburb was so different from mine, the middle child on a ranch. But I reminded myself, Audie had sought out our ranching community. No need to worry.

“Have you reached a decision about your ceremony?” Pastor Waldberg asked.

I must have looked confused. I thought the ceremony was a package deal—dating back hundreds of years to the first edition of the Book of Common Prayer and adapted over the centuries. With a sermon tacked on by the pastor, of course, in case unsaved heathens showed up at the ceremony, and warning us of the pitfalls we faced.

“I thought we might write our own vows.” Audie smiled. “Remember, I mentioned that to you when we were looking at invitations? I promise I won’t plagiarize any lines from a play. Not even Oscar Wilde.” He pulled a small notebook, like the one he used for rehearsal notes, from his shirt pocket. “I’ve started on mine, but I’m not ready to share them yet.”

That’s right, he had. I had totally forgotten his suggestion. I couldn’t even decide what dresses I wanted for the wedding party. Dina was the writer in the family. A nervous giggle bubbled through my lips.

One glance at Audie told me he was serious. Audie the artist, Audie the actor, Audie who could quote endless lines from both the Bible and Oscar Wilde, would not feel threatened by the idea of jotting down and remembering a few heartfelt lines. Me, on the other hand. . .I gulped. Maybe I could read mine.

“Sure. That would be fine.” My mouth formed the words but my heart lurched. The compatibility questionnaire burned in my hand. Maybe it would reveal more surprises than I had bargained for.

After that, the pastor took notes about dates and members of the wedding party. When we left his office, people had gathered for the Wednesday night potluck dinner.

The prayer service that followed put all my thoughts about murder and burglaries and the wedding behind, although lots of people prayed that the police would have the murderer in custody soon. Afterward, I caught up with Suzanne to make arrangements for tomorrow.

“Hey there!” Enid Waldberg, our sweet pastor’s wife said. “You’re just the ladies I wanted to see.”

Uh-oh. I recalled Suzanne’s reminder about the nursing home.

Enid’s face had that determined look, bent on roping us into doing something out of the kindness of our hearts.

“Tomorrow is our monthly nursing home visit. You offered to accompany me on the next visit.” She beamed at us, certain of our pleasure in doing our Christian duty.

That was before small things like blackmail, burglary, and murder had taken over my life.

“Oh, I’d love that.” At least Suzanne hadn’t lost her enthusiasm for the venture. She winked at me. “Research for playing the role of Martha Brewster in the play.”

“Oh, yes, it would be wonderful if you could do a dramatic reading. They would enjoy that.” Enid turned to me. “And Cici, perhaps you could speak about whatever you choose to wear tomorrow. It might be tactful to wear something from before 1920. Some of them might not consider the Sixties as vintage years. Although you look lovely today.”

Enid’s sweet exterior hid a core of steel, perhaps even stronger than her husband’s. After I made it home, I went to my closet in search of an outfit for tomorrow. Formal wear a lá 1913, that was the ticket. Magda had asked me to wear her pearls, and the police would return them tomorrow. I brushed my hand over the real fur trim around the neckline and hoped I wouldn’t run into any animal rights activists.

For our evening’s foray to the college library, though, I decided to change into jeans. My ’60s outfit would stand out like Columbo’s trench coat in a corporate office. In ordinary street clothes, I might pass as an older student taking classes, someone like Peppi herself, closer to my age than to Dina’s.

My sister picked me up a few minutes before nine. Her student parking sticker enabled her to park closer to the library building. Her all-black attire looked like she intended to burgle valuable books. Then again, her shocking pink hair ruled out the possibility of sneaking by. Heads turned whenever she walked past. A bulging backpack sat on the rear seat.

“Doing homework?”

“I might as well while I’m there. I’ve got a couple of papers due before the end of the semester.” She opened her hazel eyes wide. “Camouflage.”

What excuse could I offer for my presence at the library?

“You’re looking for a particular volume on fashion history.” Dina must have read my thoughts. “You could ask Peppi to order it for you through interlibrary loan.”