Armed (23 page)

“Maybe her doctor didn’t know because she went to a specialist,” I said.

“That’s what I thought too, but I asked and he said her annual physical two months ago showed nothing.”

“Oh.”

“It was probably just a note she wrote to herself. A reminder for something. Is that your family over there?”

“Yes. You know my sister and that’s her husband and their two children.” I pointed to where Henry karate chopped his sister. “And my parents are standing over there. Would you like to stop and have something to drink? There should be some cinnamon rolls left, too.”

“That would be nice. I like your hair.”

I blushed like a silly schoolgirl and skated ahead of him so he couldn’t see my face.

We sat by the mini-van trying to keep warm and my mom handed each of us a cup of cider.

“LT tells us there’s nothing new on the murder front,” my dad said to John.

LT? Did my father just call me LT? He hadn’t used that term for me in twenty-five years. Was he mad? I looked out toward the ice hoping to see a crack expanding that I could fling myself into.

“LT?” John asked.

Jesus.

“Gee, I don’t know where that came from,” Dad chuckled. “We used to call Alex LT. Little Terror. I haven’t called her that in a long time.”

John’s eyes were on me while I continued my search for a large hole in the ice. I would never live this down. Jesus.

“Is this your first murder case?” Dad asked.

John told my parents that for Indian Cove, yes, but up in Boston he had seen his share over his ten years on their force. It was one reason why he wanted to get out of the big city and come back to Connecticut. The slow pace of Indian Cove and the small surrounding towns his department covered suited him fine and he liked being close to New York. He enjoyed going into the city for the theater and the food. He tired to have dinner with his parents every week, and he volunteered as a big brother to a boy in New Haven.

Sam leaned over and whispered in my ear while the men still talked. “Good looking, athletic, likes the arts and fine food, has a charitable soul, a good son—what more could a girl want, huh, LT?”

I tried to shrug her off and wished I could do a karate kick like Henry. “Would you be quiet!”

“I think you should ask him out. I’m pretty sure he would say yes.”

“I’m too busy,” I whispered. I had never asked a man out before. The fear of rejection lingered over me.

“You could find the time if you wanted. I think you’re scared of rejection, but I’m telling you, the man would not say no.”

As always, Sam knew me too well. I jumped up and made my way back to the pond. I felt bitterly cold and would like nothing more than to go back home and cuddle up with a good book. I rephrased that in my mind. I would like nothing more than to go somewhere with John for a cup of tea and more talk. John. I liked it. He looked like a John.

I glanced back to where they all sat. For a split second, John looked over at me and our eyes locked. His soft gray ones picked up the deep blue of his jacket. I turned and headed for the center of the pond. A few minutes later I looked back again but he was gone.

“Turn left at the next corner,” Meme said.

I put my signal on and turned onto a street with so much snow pushed up against the curbs that two cars could no longer pass.

“Who’s next on the list?” I asked.

“Billy Chance. He’s a good kid. Been lending money to his family for years. His grandfather worked with your grandfather. He fell on hard times a few years ago, but now he’s got a detailing company and he’s doing real good. Your sister told me about Lawrence.” My grandmother gave a hearty hoot. “Wish I could’ve seen that. That man had his bowtie too tight all these years. He needed to let it hang loose.”

“It wasn’t exactly loose,” I snickered, feeling guilty at laughing at Grandpa’s expense.

“I just hope your father doesn’t take after him. Poor Mabel,” Meme said.

I flashed back to my Dad standing in the kitchen with a bowtie earlier and quickly pushed the thought away.

“You’ve had a busy couple of days, Honey. Sam told me about Friday night. You shoulda called. I played Pinochle with Sybil Sibleman. Try saying that three times fast when you had a bit too much Manischewitz. I lost. I could a used a night breaking and entering. And the way that cop looked at you, I would have liked to see that.” Meme turned and smiled at me. We had no secrets from Meme. What I didn’t tell her, Sam would. “I told you to go after him. He’s got the hots for you something bad from what your sister said.”

I listened to Meme’s banter while I guided my car down a street lined with old houses wondering what Detective Van der Burg, no, John, was doing and who he was doing it with. Probably no one or else he would have brought her to the pond.

“Too bad you didn’t find any drugs. That would have cleared things up nicely.”

“A long shot, but Sam and Millie wanted to find out. I still think whatever got Mrs. Scott killed is tied up in that place and now we know it’s not drugs.”

“Pull up to the second house on the right,” Meme said.

Meme, my little grandmother, the one with the hat and the colored hair and the little purse, lived a double life as a loan shark. Okay, obviously not the kind you see on the Sopranos whacking everybody, but she had been lending money to a small group of people for as long as I could remember. She charged them less interest than the bank would, but in truth, I knew it had nothing to do with money. Her brownstone in New Haven had sold for a mint and with the small pension she received from my grandfather’s former employer, Meme had it made. I suspected my grandmother got a kick out of being a loan shark, and if she ended up helping a few families out, so much the better.

“You stay in the car, honey. These are proud people and I don’t like putting their hard times on display.”

I watched Meme heave herself out of my small car and walk up a recently shoveled path. The house looked old, but it had a clean feel to it. A welcome mat by the door and nice curtains in the windows gave it a homey feeling.

The door opened and a short, dark-haired man holding a toddler ushered Meme in with a smile. Painted across the back chrome fender of the car in the driveway was
Billy Chance - Detailer
in hot pink lettering. Five minutes later the door opened again and Meme and the man came down the path.

“Billy, this is my granddaughter, Alex. She’s helping out till Theresa’s foot is better.”

“Hi.” Billy reached across the passenger seat and shook my hand giving me a shy smile and then helped Meme into the car. “Give Theresa my best. Have a good Christmas, Mrs. Redmond.” He nodded again at me and shut the door.

When Meme buckled in I nodded in the direction of Billy’s car. “I wouldn’t put that shy young man together with that blazing sign.” I put my car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

“A real wiseacre. A James Dean wannabe. Got in a bit of trouble but I knew his family and they raised him right. I offered to help a few years ago and he’s been paying every week without fail. Sometimes people just need someone to believe in them.”

“Does the government know about you? They could use someone like you down at the welfare office.”

“And sometimes people are killers,” Meme said solemnly, catching me off guard. “Someone killed Mrs. Scott and you need to find out who. And if it’s got nothing to do with the factory then we got a bigger problem on our hands.”

I eyed my grandmother and realized this murder bothered Meme more than she let on. Maybe it even scared her. “Who’s next on your list?” I asked, trying to put the murder out of Meme’s mind.

“One more but the neighborhood ain’t so good. I’ll go during the day. Fred can take me.”

I jammed on the brakes. A cough drop popped out of my mouth and hit the windshield. “Viagra Fred?”

“You give him one of those pills and he really comes to life. He can look real mean when he has to.”

I made a right at the next light and headed back to Indian Cove. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

Dozens of mourners stood huddled around the casket. Bitterly cold, the falling snow added an eerily calm effect to the service. Large fir trees near the gravesite, their boughs laden with snow, gave partial shelter from a wind gradually growing fiercer.

After picking up Mrs. Haddock, I joined Sam and our mother at the funeral home after which everyone went to the cemetery. The small chapel had been crowded to overflowing with mourners, most from Poupée, but some neighbors and friends Mrs. Scott had met over her years in the area.

Detective Van der Burg stood in the background throughout the service. I avoided his gaze though I felt his eyes on me several times. Things were brewing between the two of us, and while exciting, I felt bad. A murder had taken place and, using the situation as a dating service didn’t sit well with me. Sometimes being a Catholic, even far removed, put such a burden on me. Guilt about everything lurked around every corner my entire life. But it also had benefits because deep down inside me lurked a bit of larceny. If not for the guilt and the fear of getting caught, I might have robbed a bank by now just to see if I could.  

I scanned the mourners surprised to see Emmanuelle Roberts, but to not attend would have seemed strange given the entire company had turned out. Joanne sat with Mitch and looked bored. Jerry Gagliano sat with several people from the factory. I stole a few glances at Dolly throughout the service but she looked as grief-stricken as her husband.

They lowered the casket as the weather worsened. Later, the mourners made their way back to their cars, I took Mrs. Haddock aside. “Mrs. Haddock, do you recognize anyone today?”

“No. I don’t think so. Elvira didn’t socialize with anyone from work.”

“No, what I meant is do you recognize any of them as the person you saw standing out in front of Mrs. Scott’s home?”

“Oh! Well, let me think.” Mrs. Haddock watched the mourners drifting away from the graveside. “I’m sorry, Alex. No one looks familiar.”

I patted her hand. “Not to worry, Mrs. Haddock. They’ll catch whoever is responsible. Oh, one more thing. Did either Mrs. Scott or her husband ever mention a son to you?”

“A son?”

“Yes. I heard somewhere Irwin had a son in California.”

Mrs. Haddock looked shocked. “No. Elvira never told me about that.”

I decided to drop it. I only had my mother’s story to go on.

Sam had an appointment back at the office and my mother wanted to spend the afternoon with Meme. I told Mom about getting Meme and Mrs. Haddock together and my mom took Mrs. Haddock with her. After they drove away I went over to the Poupée residence.

The old house, situated on a large, wooded lot, and grand in size, felt warm and inviting inside. Good quality furnishings had a used, lived-in feel. I stared out the French doors at the lilac hedge that had served many years ago as a fort against the advancing army, which usually consisted of Sam. I only came to the house to play on special occasions, but when I did, I played the Indian and Sam the U.S. Cavalry.

Inside, with the house lavishly decorated for Christmas, the gathering took on more of a party atmosphere than that of a funeral. A simple buffet of rolls, Danish pastries, muffins, and fruit covered the dining room table.

I got something warm to drink and wandered into the living room where the large fireplace kept everyone warm. Richard and his wife stood in a corner talking with another couple. Monica and Sandy had just arrived. Emmanuelle sat alone.

“What a lovely ceremony.”

Emmanuelle looked up from where she stared into the blaze. “Yes. Simple but nicely done.” Her husky voice took on a soft tone, rather than its usual snotty one, and she said her words without scorn. And then she said something that really took me by surprise. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been very helpful to you. I have a lot going on, but that aside, I know I’ve been rude. I’m not saying I like answering your questions, but William probably put you on the spot.” She turned back to the fire and stirred the embers with an iron poker. “So. Have you come to any conclusions?”

“No. Nothing.”

This sudden change in Emmanuelle made my defenses perk up. I didn’t know if the funeral truly upset the woman or if it a ploy on her part to garner information.

She went back to staring into the fire. Her ink-black hair fell gently around her face, framing cheekbones the same as those that had launched many a successful modeling career. Everything about her face screamed perfection. If ever the term “life isn’t fair” applied, it was now, I thought with envy wondering how come Emmanuelle got all of it: the hair, the eyes, and the perfect, cream-colored, smooth-textured, wrinkle-free skin. She even possessed an artistic hand where makeup application applied.

She put the poker down and rested her elbows on her knees. “My mother died when I was twelve.” She looked at me and her eyes misted. “I really loved her a lot though I hated her for a long time after because she abandoned me.”

“Do you have sisters and brothers?”

“A younger sister. Just a baby when Mom died. I had to take care of her.”

“What about your father?”

“What about him? I never knew him. He left. We lived with my mother’s brother and his wife until my mom died, and then went to live with my grandmother.” She reached up and pushed a piece of hair over her ears. “My mother never married the man who fathered my sister. Caused quite a scandal.”

“Where’s your sister now?”

Emmanuelle scrunched up her shoulders. “Don’t know. Being so much older I didn’t have much in common with her.”

“I’m sorry. It sounds like you had a very difficult time.”

“Yeah, but we managed.” Emmanuelle shrugged again and gave me a little smile before she stood and walked away.

I was right; life wasn’t fair.

A loud grumble in the pit of my stomach sent me on a search for something to eat. I found Detective Van der Burg over by the corner of the table getting a cup of coffee.