Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders (11 page)

Another thought troubled me. “We should have told the police about our suspicions.”

Pink hair flew in a dozen directions as Dina shook her head. “They know the e-mails originated from the college. They have their own sources. We’re not hiding
anything.” In other words, she didn’t want the police to spoil our fun.

The campus parking lot loomed like a deserted playground, with only a few people around to take advantage of the amenities. I spotted half-a-dozen cars. We walked through automatic sliding doors into yesterday. In spite of recent remodeling, nothing could change the smell of book dust and the quiet chatter of library patrons.

Dina perched on a stool by a computer and began clicking keys. Doing her research, I suppose. I approached Peppi at the circulation desk and asked her about interlibrary loans.

“Yes, certainly we can arrange to get books for you.” She winked at me and leaned toward me, speaking in a whisper. “Only a few more minutes until the zero hour.” She nodded at the wall clock, which read 9:25.

“How are we going to do this?” Steno pad in hand, Dina was ready to record the story.

We looked at each other.

“There are only a few people left,” Peppi said. “I thought we would just wander around and see who’s at the computers.”

“Spy on them.” Dina grinned in anticipation.

“Before we do anything, I’m going to call Frances. I still think we need to let her know.” I dug my cell phone out of my purse and dialed her number.

From a distant corner of the library, I heard an answering buzz.

11

From: Frances Waller ([email protected])

Date: Friday, April 18, 9:39 PM

To: Cord Grace ([email protected])

Subject: Secret?

I came here straight from church. A couple of people asked me where I was on Sunday. How long. . .

Wednesday, April 23

The ringing stopped after one buzz.

“Cici, what’s up?” Frances spoke into my ear.

Dina tiptoed down the aisles and motioned for me to follow.

“I, uh, dialed your number by mistake.” I knew I sounded lame. Why did my stock of small talk disappear when I needed it most? I snapped the phone shut and followed Dina down the aisle, Peppi a few steps ahead of me.

We reached the end of the aisles and walked into the computer room, empty except for one lone figure. Frances sat in front of a monitor, guilty surprise written all over her face.

Frances—the blackmailer? My mind refused to wrap itself around that idea.

Peppi stepped forward. “Can I help you with anything? You seem caught up in your research.”

The surprise faded from Frances’s eyes, although high color remained in her cheeks. “You’re not here about my ‘research.’ Not with those two along.” She leveled her gaze at me, silently reminding me of the way I had dragged the police into our reenactment of Penn Hardy’s murder last fall.

With that look, I knew she couldn’t be the blackmailer, in spite of the suspicious timing.

Dina circled behind Frances during the conversation. She peered at the screen and let out a whoop of laughter. Peppi gave her a disapproving look, and she silenced her mirth.

“Funny girl? To Cord? Cord Grace?”

The color that had begun to fade in Frances’s cheeks surged tomato red again. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

“The staff room,” Peppi offered. We didn’t speak as we walked down the aisle and behind the circulation desk, giggles escaping Dina every few seconds.

Three of us sat on one side of a long table, across from Frances. I wondered how she felt being on the other side of an investigation.

“I come to the library for
privacy.
” Frances looked at her fingers, twined together in front of her. “I have homework to do. I’ve started taking college classes.”

“I’ve noticed that you’re here every night. After 9:30,” Peppi said.

“Yes, I come after play practice or after my shift ends.” Frances lifted her head, understanding flitting across her features. “After 9:30. You mean—you thought I might be Elsie Holland?”

“We thought the person who used the same library computer every night at 9:35 might be Elsie Holland,” I explained our reasoning.

“So you decided to investigate on your own. Again.” She shook her head at me.

“But now we know your secret.” Dina couldn’t contain herself any longer. “You have to tell us. You—and Cord?” She let out a full-throated laugh.

“Why do you think it’s so funny? Cord is a good man and—”

My mind put things together. The doughnut they shared at Gaynor Goodies. Frances’s presence at a lot of rehearsals when she wasn’t called. Her absence from church on Sunday. “You went with Cord to church last week, didn’t you?” Why hadn’t that made the rumor mill? Maybe because no Gaynors would be caught dead in the church where the Graces worshipped, and for once, Jessie didn’t have a clue.

“We started dating about a month ago,” Frances confessed. The bright red flush softened to a romantic pink. “And yes, I usually e-mail him while I’m here at night.”

I wondered what kind of silliness they wrote to each other.

“Frances, I’m so happy for you. And for Cord.” In fact, I thought they would make a terrific couple. But that still left the question of Elsie Holland and Jerry Burton. “But if—
since
you’re not Elsie Holland—” I corrected myself “—who is? Have you noticed anyone else using the computers while you’ve been here?”

“No. At least not the same person every night.” Frances sighed. “Ladies, you have to leave the investigating to us. The police, I mean. The blackmailer turned into a murderer when Spencer died.” She had turned professional again. “We’re checking out the computer angle.” She pulled her soft brown hair into a pony tail. “Is there anything else you want to tell me? Any other ‘facts’ you’ve turned up?”

              I thought about our total lack of success in the pawn shop hunt on Monday. “No.” I mean, we hadn’t learned anything, had we?

              We said our good-byes. Frances promised to return Magda’s pearls in the morning. Peppi stayed behind to close the library while Dina took me home. I couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of Cord and Frances as a couple. I was glad that my old boyfriend hadn’t pined after my engagement to another man.

Once in bed, I couldn’t get to sleep right away. No matter what Frances said, I felt compelled to investigate Spencer’s murder. Someone had lured him to my store with malicious intent. That made it personal. I fell into a troubled sleep. I dreamed of a double wedding. During the vows, Pastor Waldberg asked, “Do you, Elsie Holland, take this man?” When I awoke on Thursday morning, I pondered on Elsie’s identity again. Every door I tried led me deeper into a maze.

But I set aside sleuthing for the morning, concentrating on remodeling my store. Because of the fancy dress I had donned for the nursing home visit, I decided on ordinary bagels from Gaynor Goodies. No need to risk stray crumbs or jam on my outfit. I finished my first cup of coffee and a bagel a few minutes before nine.

A moment later, Frances Waller walked through the door, bearing a bag.

“You made it!” I lifted out Magda’s pearls. They came alive in the light. “Magda begged me to wear her pearls, and today I have the perfect excuse. I’m visiting the nursing home with Enid. Will you help me get them on?”

“Sure, since Audie isn’t here to do it for you.” Frances grinned.

“Speaking of boyfriends—I’m so happy for you and Cord.”

“I’m glad. I was afraid you might, you know, be jealous, since you used to date.” Frances’s gentle fingers held the necklace against the back of my neck. “I’ve always liked him, but he only had eyes for you. Now, though. . .” She stepped back, the pearls secured in place.

I turned around. A faint blush spread across Frances’s cheeks. She’s serious.

“He is
a good man. He just wasn’t the right one for me.” I hugged her. “I hope things work out for the two of you.”

She hugged me back, the hold expressing feelings that her words did not, and then left.

With the pearls nestled around my neck, I felt like a queen. They gave me the confidence boost I needed to take on the old ladies at the nursing home. The ladies would pick up on any errors in clothing style that I made.

Enid and Suzanne arrived a few minutes before twelve.

“Don’t you look lovely. I’m sure the ladies will enjoy hearing all about that dress,” Enid said.

“Aren’t those Magda’s pearls?” Suzanne asked. She wore her costume from last year’s production of
Much Ado About Nothing.
I wondered what bit of the play would she share with our audience?

I nodded. “Frances dropped them off this morning.” I hung the
Closed
sign on the door and walked with the others to Enid’s waiting van. Its spacious comfort made me wonder about investing in a larger vehicle than my little Civic. Easier to carry merchandise for the business.
But did the advantages outweigh the additional cost for gas? After all, I didn’t have a family to haul around—at least not yet.
.
My mind raced around the question until I realized the source of my discomfort. Avoidance.
I didn’t want to think about going to the nursing home. It reminded me of the last time I saw my grandmother. Ever since her death, I had avoided it like I might be the next to die. I prayed for peace.

When Enid parked by the front entrance, I took a deep breath, gathered my skirts, and stepped down from the van. In the foyer I paused to regain my bearings. The facility hadn’t changed much in the nine years since my last visit. The wall had been repainted the same institutional green, with new and cheerful paintings. The linoleum floor looked every bit as scuffed, and the air, if anything, seemed even mustier in spite of a fresh breeze blowing through opened windows.

Enid touched my arm. “The community room is this way.” We walked down a short hallway, with glimpses into rooms made cheerful with colorful afghans and fresh flowers. Someone put effort into making the residents’ homes away from home pleasant.

We rounded a corner and walked into a room full of people in everything from Sunday dress and walkers to pajamas and wheel chairs. Our audience. Enid toured the room, introducing Suzanne and me to every person present. Many of the names and faces were familiar to me from the days they still lived at home. Guilt for neglecting them when they dropped out of sight replaced my previous unease.

Enid stopped in front of a lady with titian-dyed hair.

“Mrs. Lambert. I’d like for you to meet Suzanne Jay and Cecilia Wilde.”

Lambert? Why did that name ring a bell?

Mrs. Lambert fixed gimlet eyes on me. She reached out a gnarled hand toward my neck. I stepped back, frightened by the implied threat.

“Why are you wearing my pearls?”

“I’m sorry?” I stammered. “Magda Grace Mallory gave me these pearls.”

“That one.” Venom laced Mrs. Lambert’s voice. “I don’t understand why my son ever became involved with that harlot.”

Harlot? Was the old lady confusing Magda with someone else?

“Just ignore her,” Enid whispered in my ear and tugged me to the next resident.

Senility, I supposed. She must have owned a string of pearls once upon a time and thought they were hers.

After that little episode, the rest of the visit went fine. Enid presented a short devotion. They interacted with my presentation of fashion tips and diary excerpts from the original Grace Gulch Ladies Society. Several of them remembered pictures and stories their mothers had shared with them.

But Suzanne was the hit of the day, with her monologue that began, “What fire is in mine ears?”
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand
.
What beautiful words. How could I ever write my own wedding vows? Shakespeare, I was not.

Thinking of wedding vows reminded me that I needed to start on the compatibility questionnaire that the pastor had given us. I worked on it before rehearsal. I raced through the first few questions, rating things like “same spiritual beliefs” and “sense of humor” a solid “10”. But others gave me pause. Beyond American middle class, we did not share a common background. I had only met his parents once; how could I know if I hoped Audie would resemble them as he aged? I jotted down the first number that jumped into my mind.

Audie and I shared a hurried dinner at my house before heading to the theater. I mentioned Mrs. Lambert’s strange reaction to Magda’s pearls.

“I wonder if she’s related to Peppi. She’s a Lambert, too.”

“You know the area families better than I do. I wouldn’t worry about what she said. It sounds like she’s gaga.” Audie shrugged it off. “You know what Wilde said about being old?”

“Tell me.” I could use a laugh.

“‘I am not young enough to know everything.’ The poor old thing has probably forgotten half of what she knew once upon a time.”

What she might have forgotten was what frightened me.