Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 03 - Paint Me a Murder (14 page)

21

Donald Gaynor, Elliott and Geraldine’s son, took up the academic life and made his Grandma Lizzie proud by earning a doctorate in education. In 1960 he donated most of their acreage to the town for the establishment of Grace Gulch Community College. In exchange, he was appointed dean for life. He never married, but Grace Gulch and all of Lincoln County continue to benefit from his vision for quality education at the local level.

From
A History of Grace Gulch

Friday, September 22

“You sound like you thought my father was guilty. That he killed Finella.” The red in Dina’s face didn’t go well with her hair, as blue as an Oklahoma sky.

I should have bitten my tongue. “Of course not.” I backpedaled. “But he knew he was a suspect. We’ve been trying to figure out where he might have gone to hide.” I looked to Audie for confirmation.

My husband didn’t like to come between the Wilde sisters. But my hero rallied to my support. “Cici’s been busy chasing down clues from the mural. If they are clues. She stirred up somebody about something, and now she’s been threatened.” He drew himself to a military stance and threw out the next line like the seasoned actor he was. “And all of it to help
you
. So don’t accuse her of not believing in you or Brad.”

“That’s easy enough for you to
say
.” Righteous anger made every blue hair on Dina’s head bristle. There was no way I wanted a chance customer to walk in our on “discussion.” When the grandfather clock struck the half hour, I closed the store for an early lunch. Maybe I could conduct ordinary business in the afternoon.

Audie made a run to the Gulch for some sandwiches while I stayed with Dina. She didn’t shed any tears, but I could tell she was shaken.

“He’s right. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me about it.” Time for me to play big sister again.

“It’s not you. It’s just, you know, everything. I finally learn who my biological father is and then he disappears before we have a chance to talk and he could be hurt or dead and we can’t find him. And I. Want. To. Talk. With. Him.” Each word in the last sentence came out through clenched teeth.

She drew a deep breath and shook her head. “I refuse to cry. I overheard one of the officers calling Jenna. They want her to come in again. Do they still think she’s involved with
drugs?”
She shook her head at the absurdity. “Or do they think she was Ham’s accomplice? Did he say something that implicated her?”

I doubted the police would take anything Ham said at this point as gospel, but Dina’s imagination was running away with her. If I didn’t stop her, she might end up saying they suspected Jenna of plotting to assassinate the mayor. “Maybe they think she knows something about Finella’s history with Ham, since they were friends way back when.” I thrust the cup of tea Audie had fixed for me at her. “Here. Drink this.”

Dina took a sip and almost gagged. “It’s
lukewarm.
And sickeningly sweet.”

“Audie’s specialty. It was hot when he made it.” I placed a light hand on Dina’s shoulder. “Of course I’ll keep looking for Brad.”

Audie returned with a bag full of food as I made that statement. He nodded at me. “As long as she—and you too, Dina—don’t take any fool chances.”

I didn’t think I had done anything foolish. But a threat was a threat, whatever the cause. “Line up in pairs like at preschool? Always know where your partner is?” Audie didn’t smile at my joke.

“We’ve been traipsing around the Gulch as a group,” he said. “Anyone might have guessed about our inquiry into Finella’s death. Someone could have seen us at the town park, for instance.”

“I know.”

We finished our lunch in silence. Junior kicked me in the ribs. I wished he would delay his karate practice for awhile—say six or seven years. I was tired of being pushed around. Gilda made me feel like an outsider in my own kitchen. Jenna and Dina insisted I solve Finella’s murder—oh, and by the way, get them out of hot water yet again. At times even Audie’s playful insistence that our baby was a girl stressed me, making me feel as though he wouldn’t welcome a son.

I tried to please everybody and what thanks did I receive? A threatening note, and a sister accusing me of not believing in her father’s innocence. Something inside snapped.

“I have done everything I know how to do since Brad’s studio burned, endangering my baby along the way. I’m a stranger in my own kitchen. I’ve taken so much time investigating that I feel like a stranger in my own store.
Now someone has threatened me and Junior.” I pushed to my feet. “I’m not going to take it any more. No sirree, Bob.”

I headed to the back room. Only the boxes from Dustin’s stood in the way and prevented me from slamming the door behind me. I shifted them out of my way and picked up my X-acto knife. The sound of the blade ripping through the tape on the first box echoed in stunned silence.
Get moving
. Rip.
Do you expect them to follow you and beg your forgiveness?
Maybe so, but a small voice suggested I owed
them
an apology.

I opened the carton. Everything from a wide Merry Widow creation dating back to the Edwardian era to a paisley turban that would have done Queen Elizabeth proud had been well-preserved, most in special hat boxes. Jenna would have a ball, if she was willing to talk with me after my recent behavior. One exceptional hat pin would fetch a good price all by itself. The quality of this collection would ordinarily keep me excited for days. Instead I kept glancing at the door, unable to concentrate.

Through the opening, I heard Dina’s voice rise in counterpoint to Audie’s measured tones. Once in awhile she laughed, suggesting Audie had thrown in a quote or two from Oscar Wilde. The grandfather clock struck half past noon. I finished sorting the hats, separating them by decades and jotting down prices. Next up, I found a box of men’s work clothes.

I hoped Dina or Audie would join me. When the front doorbell jingled, I felt as sad, as overused and abused as the dungarees I held in my hand. A soft knock preceded Audie’s appearance at the door. “Are you okay?”

I sat down on a folding chair so abruptly that my dress fluttered about my knees. My husband’s ash-blond hair fell into his eyes. It gave him a little boy, hangdog look, the hurt my words had inflicted reflected in his eyes. I opened my arms, and he scooped me out of the chair into a close embrace.

We held each other without speaking for a long minute. At length Audie cupped my face with his sensitive fingers and kissed me deeply. Then he drew back. “Tell me about Mother.”

I debated evading the question but decided against it. The compatibility questionnaire we had taken before our marriage had indicated we would need good conflict resolution skills. This was one of those times.

I sent up a prayer for wisdom and received a flash of inspiration. I grabbed a hat and stuck it on top of my head. As usual, my dandelion seed hair sprung out at odd angles.

“Do you remember how I used to fret about my hair?” I perched the hat at a ridiculous angle and batted my eyelashes in a stage imitation of a coquette. Audie laughed.

“How could I forget? You still spend an hour every morning trying to tame it.” He lifted a strand to his lips.

“Then a certain handsome theater director told me he liked the hair, he liked the look, he even liked me.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “Over time, I started to believe him. I married him.”

I removed the hat and patted down my hair before continuing. “Gilda makes me feel the way my hair used to. Inadequate. Like I don’t meet the standard for cooking or keeping house or taking care of you or—” I cradled the bump that sat firmly between us. “—being a good mother.” There, I had said it. “I don’t know if it’s her or me. Probably it’s a little bit of both.”

“She makes you doubt yourself.” Although he made it a statement, the timbre of his voice indicated he had never guessed my feelings.

All the things I could have, should have, said, choked in my throat. “Yes.”

“And you think I agree with her.” He made that jump without any further hints from me. My beloved husband.

I turned my face away so he couldn’t see the flush spreading across my cheeks. “Yes.”

Audie took me back into his arms and kissed me again. “You have always been the most amazing, wonderful woman in the world for me. And I know you’ll be a terrific mother. Look at the way you helped raise Dina.”

That comment forced a laugh from me. “Fine job I did with her. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in her doghouse at the moment.”

Audie waved my worry away. “Growing pains, that’s all. She’ll come around.” His face grew serious. “I’ll ask Mother to leave. Tomorrow, if you like.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I admit it’s nice to have supper waiting at home, even if we have Chicago specialties night after night.” I attempted a smile. “And she’s been a big help around the store. And as you pointed out, she’s lonely.”

“Just tell me if you change your mind.”

We remained in place, our hearts speaking to each other without words. At last I relaxed. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Shh, it’s okay. There’s nothing to forgive”

The clock struck one, reminding me I had a store to run. I started for the front door but paused. “Just one thing. I don’t want her in the delivery room with me. Just you. I can do without a blow by blow description of what she went through when you were born.”

“I promise.” Audie bussed my cheek and left, turning the sign to
Open For Business
as he walked out.

I loaded a rolling cart with boxes and returned to the showroom—in case anyone came in to shop. No one did right away, so I continued with a box of children’s clothes circa 1960, colorful madras, bib overalls and even a christening gown. The toys at the bottom of the box confirmed my suspicion of the presence of a boy and a girl.

The girl’s prizes included a Barbie doll that looked like the original 1959 model vintage and a diary with pink daisies on the cover. The lock had long since given way. Nostalgia hit me. I had once confided all my ten-year-old woes into a volume much like this one, my worries about Jenna’s pregnancy and later, my delight in my new baby sister.

Dina. No longer the sweet baby who joined our family, but still my precious little sister. I needed to apologize, but not now when a customer might wander in.

The boy must have treasured his camping kit, complete with a still-working compass and a rusty Swiss Army knife. A square of folded yellow paper had been wedged into a Tonka truck.

Idly I opened the paper the boy had folded so carefully. He had drawn a crude map, complete with “x marks the spot.” I wondered what treasure he had buried. With landmarks like “dog house” and “tire swing” long gone by now, no one would ever know. I’d show it to Dina and we’d share a laugh. Or maybe she’d want to write a special interest article about the last Kirkendall children for the
Herald
.

I dialed her number before I lost my nerve. The phone rang forever—a full ten times—before she picked up. “Dina here.” I could have frozen ice cream in the depths of her vocal chords.

“Look, I know we need to talk. I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” I swallowed. “But I’ve found something I think will interest you. For the paper. Can you come by the store this afternoon?”

“What is it?”

I described my find, and Dina agreed it might make an interesting piece. “I’ll come by about three.”

The timing—right after school, one of my busiest times of the day—was no accident, I was sure. But I wouldn’t complain. “Great. See you then.”

Dina ran in to pick up the children’s toys and left while I took care of yet another high school girl seeking a vintage prom dress.

The pained smile on Dina’s face left me dialing her number again that night and a few times on Saturday.
She’s out with Noah,
I told myself. What normal single young woman hung around at home on a weekend?

That reasoning worked until Dina didn’t make it to church on Sunday morning.

Dina hadn’t missed church in all twenty-two years of her life.

22

The Dust Bowl years were hard on the Gaynor family. Slowly Elliott was forced to sell off small pieces of their holding. They held on tight to the mercantile during the dark days of World War II when their second son, James, was held prisoner in a Japanese POW camp. When news of James’ survival of the Rattan Death March reached the couple, Geraldine suffered a stroke and never fully recovered. James Gaynor returned to Grace Gulch to heal and vowed never to leave Oklahoma again.

From
A History of Grace Gulch

Sunday, September 24

Dina’s absence didn’t register until after church. We arrived late. Junior had kept me awake for a good deal of the night; I tossed and turned about as often as he did. Audie turned off the alarm and let me sleep, and we made it just in time for the worship service. The organist was already playing the prelude when we walked in.

I spotted Dad in his usual space at the end of the third row, right next to the stained glass portrayal of Jesus leading a flock of sheep. I didn’t spot Dina, but no surprise there. My sister had outgrown the need to sit with family at services. We slipped in at the back, and Junior kicked up a fuss. Spasms wrinkled across my abdomen off and on to the point where I could scarcely concentrate on Pastor Waldberg’s sermon.

He did grab my attention at the beginning. He plunked a jar of honey on the podium and challenged the children to listen for what was sweeter than honey. One irrepressible waif called out “chocolate!” and we broke into laughter.

The pastor preached from Psalm 19 about how God’s word was more precious than silver or gold and sweeter than honey. Did we hoard it in our hearts like we might lock away a valuable coin? Did we consume it at every opportunity and use it to sweeten our everyday life? In spite of the departure from his usual hellfire and brimstone style, he still managed to pile on the guilt.

Maybe the Holy Spirit was nudging me. I hadn’t cracked my Bible open that day in my rush to get ready for church. Soft, pale pink leather covered the “Mother’s Bible” that Audie gave me for my birthday. I loved the look, feel, and smell of this Bible , but I needed to do more than open it on Sunday mornings.

Audie nodded in agreement with every statement. The man I had married loved God’s word. He hoarded it like precious silver, tucking away large chunks in the recesses of his mind to pour out like honey at appropriate moments. What a man. I rested my head on his shoulder. He must have inherited that habit from his mother. Gilda kept busy looking up cross references and flipping pages in her Bible.

My mind wandered. Dustin’s business would expand even more with the “product placement” this morning. The jar on display had the telltale floral arbor logo. Of course the pastor didn’t intend to advertise the business, but people would notice. My eyes scanned the congregation. Jessie Gaynor, looking very different out of a baker’s uniform, sat by herself, her gaze focused on the floor.
I should visit her; she must be having a difficult time after Ham’s arrest.
I spotted Noah’s sweatered back and glanced around for Dina. I didn’t see her.

Noah had started attending Word of Faith Fellowship before he asked Dina out—part of the reason Dad agreed to them dating in the first place. Single Christian men were not plentiful in Grace Gulch. His apparent faith seemed to contradict his drug habit, if he did indeed use drugs. Well, I knew of Christian alcoholics battling their addiction, so I guess Christian druggies shouldn’t surprise me. God was in the restoration miracle business, after all.

But if Dina wasn’t with Dad or Noah, where was she? Nursery duty?

People around me bowed their heads and the pianist began playing “Wonderful Words of Life
.
” The pastor had moved to the invitation while my thoughts had wandered. I spent a couple of minutes in quiet prayer.
Lord, teach me to love Your word more. Let me speak of it to Junior while we are walking and sitting and all those other things Moses told the Israelites in Deuteronomy.
Audie would raise our child to love God’s Word, but I shared that responsibility.

As soon as the pastor closed in prayer, I walked in Dad’s direction. Before I could get my question out, he spoke first. “Have you seen Dina?”

I blinked. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Dad rubbed at his eyes, a sure sign he was worried. “She didn’t spend the night with you?”

“No.” Unformed fears rose in my throat. “Did she say she would?”

Dad flung his hands in an open, helpless gesture. “She said she was researching a story for the paper, and after she finished, she was going to stop by and see you.”

“So when she didn’t come home, you assumed she had crashed at my place.” It had happened before. “But I haven’t seen her since Friday afternoon.” Surely she didn’t spend the night with. . .

“Has anyone heard from Dina?” Noah joined our circle. “I missed her this morning.” His usual sunglasses weren’t in evidence. I wanted to peer into his eyes to see what they might reveal, but worry about Dina distracted me.

If none of us had seen her. . .

Last of all, Jenna and Audie joined us. Enid had engaged Gilda in a conversation. “Ready for Sunday dinner?”

I thought of the apple crisp Gilda baked yesterday, which I accepted with gratitude. After the week I’d had, I would have brought a bakery cake. Neither one sounded good in light of Dina’s absence.

“Have you seen Dina?” I directed my question to Jenna.

She looked perplexed. “Not since yesterday. She told me about the story you had given her, and she seemed pretty excited.”

“Did she say where she was going?” If Jenna resented the interrogation, she didn’t let on.

“She mentioned going out to the Kirkendall farm—the Murks, I mean. To see if Dustin would let her wander around and take pictures.”

Noah nodded his head in agreement. “That’s where she was headed when we parted ways yesterday. I had my Saturday masters class so I couldn’t go with her, but I expected her to call again later.”

“When did you leave her?” I asked Noah.

“About half past two.”

“And did she call? When?” I fired the questions.

“We talked by phone a little before three.” Jenna realized something was amiss, and she frowned. “What’s happened?”

“No one has heard from her since that phone call.” Dad looked at each of us for confirmation. “She’s missing.”

Junior did a flip flop, and I hugged my abdomen with my arms, grateful that he couldn’t disappear and cause me the same kind of worry.

“Get in the car,” Audie told me. “We’re heading to the Murks’.”

Our normal Sunday dinner routine jumped to standby while the Wilde family reacted. Overreacted? I hoped so. I kept hoping Dina would buzz me or pop in from a side room where she had been helping out and tease us all about our worry. Enid saw our quiet march out the door and raised a thin eyebrow at me. I stopped long enough to tell her what was happening in a few, terse words.

“I’ll be praying.”

I appreciated friends like that, someone who didn’t need a lengthy explanation.

Jenna climbed in the car with Dad. I wondered if she had told him about her past relationship with Brad yet. After raising Dina from infancy, how would he feel to have his position usurped at this late date?

Audie outlined the situation to Gilda as we headed out of town. I only half-listened. My internal ear tuned into a different channel. Had Dina done something reckless because she believed I had given up on the investigation? Had the person who sent the threat targeted Dina instead of me, because she continued asking questions?
Not fair
, my mind shouted at God, at anyone who was listening. I had done what the blackmailer had asked. I hadn’t asked any more questions. So why. . .?

Of course an accident or illness or something like that could have caused Dina’s disappearance, but I doubted it. If she was ill, she would have called. If she had been in an accident, someone would have called Dad as the next of kin. No, since we hadn’t heard from Dina, that meant she couldn’t call. That suggested foul play or—death.

“I can’t believe that nice couple is involved with anything illegal.” Gilda’s clipped tones sounded shocked. “They were so nice when we were out there the other day.”

They had impressed me that way as well. Nothing to hide. But they own a hundred-acre farm, which they don’t cultivate. They wouldn’t know the lay of the land as well as a farmer would—as well as Larry Grace did when visiting Bob in the early part of the twentieth century.

What about the young Kirkendall boy in the ’60s? X marks the spot. I shook my head. He would have known every hidey hole but no kid would keep quiet about buried treasure. Whatever he had buried mattered only to him and maybe his best friend.

So how should we approach the Murks? “We’ll just ask if Dina came out yesterday about the story. A perfectly harmless question.”

Audie snorted. “Harmless until the entire Wilde brigade pulls in. They’ll know something is up. If all we wanted was an answer to a simple question, we would call.”

Stop asking questions
. If the Murks had made the threat. . . I shivered, but stuck my chin out. Someone somewhere had done something to Dina even after I stopped asking questions.

The Murks wouldn’t do anything to me, not with my entire family about me.

“It’s looking more and more like we’ve identified one of the clues on the mural.” Audie said. “There are too many connections to Dustin’s honey trade to dismiss.”

“Maybe she’ll let us poke around. See if we can figure out the next clue.” I tried to look on the positive side. “Even if the mural is talking about her beehives, it doesn’t mean she’s involved. It just means she may be able to point us in the right direction.”

“Did any of the verses mention a specific flower or fruit? I believe Mrs. Murk harvests different kinds of honey.” Gilda spoke up. “I asked the pastor about the honey he displayed on the podium today. I noticed it was a different flavor than the wildflower honey that Mrs. Murk usually sells. It was berry medley honey.”

Flavored honey? I supposed honey gathered from different flowers would taste different--kind of like Dina with her hair color du jour. An acute longing for my sister swept over me, and I held back a sob.
Oh, God, let Dina be safe.

Audie reached for me. We ran over a pothole and he put his hand back where it belonged, on the steering wheel. I had turned my cell phone off during church, but now, I checked for messages in case Dina had called—nothing. No one needed to talk with me badly enough to interrupt worship, not even with a buzzer.

Was it possible that the unexpected disappearances of Brad and Dina and Finella’s murder were completely unrelated? Coincidences do
happen.

I didn’t believe it for a minute.