Dead Giveaway (14 page)

Thank God Moira hadn't suggested they pack up the bedroom! One look at Johnny's bed and Ellen knew she would have been in tears. And the den would have been just as bad. They'd watched late-night movies together, cuddled up on the overstuffed leather couch, eating popcorn and drinking Johnny's favorite imported beer. The living room was out, too. She'd played hostess there at Johnny's parties, giving instructions to the caterers and florists, and meeting his friends. The picture she'd given him hung over the fireplace, an original drawing of Johnny onstage that had taken her months to complete. No room in Johnny's condo was safe from memories.

“Ellen? Are you all right?”

Realizing that Walker was staring at her, Ellen nodded shakily.

“I think that's enough work for tonight.” Walker taped the box shut and pushed it against the wall. “Come on, Ellen. Let's go up and open that wine I brought.”

“But there must be twenty boxes left to pack.”

“They can wait.” Walker took her arm and propelled her into the room where Jayne and Paul were working. “We're knocking off for tonight. Ellen needs some rest.”

“She sure does.” Jayne nodded. “Go to bed, Ellen, honey. You look like you've been rode hard and put up wet.”

Less than ten minutes later, Ellen was sitting on her own couch in her own living room, wearing her new bunny slippers. It was a relief to be home again. Walker came in from the kitchen with the wine and stopped to smile at the slippers. “You look cute with hare on your feet.”

“Thank you.” It was an effort, but Ellen managed to return his smile. “These are the silliest things I've ever seen in my life.”

“I knew you'd like them. How's the wine?”

Ellen took a sip and smiled again. “Perfect.”

When Walker sat down in the big chair across the room, Ellen began to relax. He seemed to know that she didn't like close contact. She was lucky to have such an understanding friend.

They sat in silence until they'd finished their wine. Then Walker got to his feet. “Can I get you another glass of wine before I go?”

“Go where?” Ellen was puzzled.

“Marc said I could use Johnny's place since I'm stuck up here with the rest of you.”

“But they've packed up all of Johnny's sheets and bedding. Why don't you stay here with me?”

The moment the words were out of Ellen's mouth, she wished she hadn't said them.

“Do you want to rethink that, Ellen? I know you're offering your extra bedroom, but some of your neighbors might talk.”

He was reading her mind again! Ellen could feel the color rise to her cheeks. “Forget the neighbors. If you stay here, we can start cleaning up the workroom first thing in the morning.”

“That's fine with me if you're sure it won't cause any problems.” Walker got the wine bottle from the kitchen and refilled her glass. “Take this to bed with you, Ellen. I'm going to start on that cleanup before I turn in.”

Ellen took his advice and finished the wine before she got ready for bed and turned off the lights. It was comforting, knowing that he was only a few steps away. Perhaps she wouldn't have another nightmare tonight. She'd been absolutely right to tell him she didn't care what the neighbors thought. It was time she started living her own life.

After two hours of packing, Clayton had called them all into Johnny's living room. “Any luck?”

Laureen shook her head. “Nothing in the kitchen. We even rubbed a pencil over the pad of paper by Johnny's kitchen phone.”

“Why did you do a silly thing like that?” Vanessa giggled.

“It's not silly at all.” Hal sighed as he explained. “When a person writes, it can leave an impression on the paper underneath. I thought you said you watched
Columbo.
”

“I must have missed that one. So what did it say?”

“Where's Ellen?”

“That's what it said?
Where's Ellen?
”

“No.” Alan looked as exasperated as Hal. “We just want to know where Ellen is.”

Jayne spoke up. “Walker took her home. She was all dragged out.”

“Good. We didn't want to say this in front of her, but one of Johnny's girlfriends left him a note. It said,
Roses are red, violets are blue. Thanks a lot for the screw.
And
violets
was misspelled.”

“That figures.” Marc snorted. “Johnny never picked his girlfriends for their brainpower.”

Laureen noticed that Vanessa's cheeks were very red. “How
do
you spell
violets,
Vanessa?”

“
V . . . I . . .
oh, who cares.” Vanessa glared at Laureen. “I'm sure you know how to spell it. Tell her what we found, Hal. That's much more important. It proves Johnny never left on that plane!”

Hal nodded. “We found Johnny's airplane tickets. One-way to Italy, still in the folder with his itinerary.”

Laureen shrugged. “That doesn't prove a thing. Johnny might have forgotten them and asked for duplicates at the airport. Or maybe he decided he wouldn't bother with paper tickets and downloaded e-tickets. I've done that a couple of times.”

“So has Gracie.” Moira grinned at her roommate, who was starting to blush. “Except Gracie left the e-tickets at home, too. But we don't think Johnny left on that plane, either. Grace and I found his telephone bill and there's not one single overseas call.”

“What does that have to do with the price of apples?” Marc frowned.

“It's just strange, that's all,” Grace pointed out. “When my father died, I spent a lot of time on the phone making arrangements with my mother. Of course I tried to call after five when the rates were down, but there were so many things to take care of and the lawyers' offices were closed after three because there's a two-hour time difference between Vegas and Indiana and I don't think it was daylight savings time or there would have been three hours because they don't have it there, you know. So anyway, my total phone bill was simply . . .”

“I told you those tickets we found were important!” Vanessa interrupted. “Johnny wouldn't leave without calling Italy to tell his mother what time to meet the plane!”

Clayton held up his hand. “We may be jumping to erroneous conclusions. Johnny could have called from the casino.”

“We thought of that,” Grace continued, “but I was doing a show for Johnny then and I know he never got to the casino more than fifteen minutes before his show because his parking spot was right next to mine. They've got the nerve to call it executive parking, but it's really not because all the spots on the top level are uncovered and if it rains, your car gets wet and you have to walk all the way across . . . Okay, Moira. I know I'm babbling. Anyway, I used to see Johnny pull in at seven forty-five and my girls complained that he left right after the nine o'clock show without even signing autographs.”

“So what does that mean?” Vanessa looked blank.

“It means he couldn't have called from the casino,” Moira explained. “There's a six- or seven-hour time difference, and I don't think Johnny would call his relatives in the middle of the night.”

Clayton looked impressed. “That's very astute!”

“But it still doesn't prove anything.” Marc spoke up. “Johnny could have called from his cell phone, or a girlfriend's phone, or his relatives could have called him. I packed up the stuff in Johnny's bedroom and I'm positive he left. His suitcases are gone and he took his clothes.”

“His toilet articles are gone, too,” Rachael added. “Toothpaste, toothbrush, comb, razor, antiperspirant.”

Marc looked pleased. “There you go! A man doesn't pack a suitcase unless he's planning on taking a trip.”

“A point well taken.” Clayton nodded. “On the other hand, if the two men Vanessa so graphically described engaged in any type of foul play, they may have confiscated the items in question.”

“Huh?” Vanessa frowned.

Rachael assumed her role as interpreter again. “Clay's saying that if the thugs got to Johnny, they'd take the suitcases to make us think Johnny had left.”

“That's what I said in the first place!” Vanessa was so excited, she almost shouted. “I told you those two guys looked mean enough to murder him!”

Hal grinned. “Sure, Vanessa. But what did they do with the body?”

“They dug a hole and they buried it. That's what you do with dead people.”

“They didn't dig a hole up here. The ground's been frozen for over two months.”

“Then they took him somewhere else to bury him. Or maybe . . .” Vanessa jumped to her feet. “I know! They chopped Johnny up in pieces and put him in the incinerator! I saw a movie where they did that. Do I win?”

“It's not a game, child-bride. Is that possible, Alan? Could someone cremate a body in our incinerator?”

Alan shook his head. “No way. Our incinerator doesn't reach temperatures that high. There'd still be big chunks of bone left behind.”

Vanessa made a face. “Oh, yuck! I know it was my idea, but I'm not going down there to look for Johnny's bones.”

There was a long silence before Jayne spoke up. “Nobody has to look, Vanessa. There's nothing in our incinerator except ashes.”

“But how do you know?”

Jayne's face began to turn red. “Because I dropped something down there yesterday and I had to sift through the ashes to get it back.”

“Grandmother Lindstrom's silver ice bucket?” Paul sighed as Jayne's face turned even redder.

“Well . . . yes. But it only got one little dent that you can hardly notice. And I polished it afterward. I'm sorry, Paul. I promise I'll never use it for a wastebasket again.”

Paul nodded even though he knew Jayne would forget. She seemed to lack respect for the silver his family had given them as a wedding present. She'd been thrilled to receive it and she kept it beautifully polished, but a few months after their marriage he'd found the coffee server doubling as a vase for flowers and the cream pitcher sitting on top of her piano holding pencils and pens. The only piece that had retained its original purpose was the candelabra and Paul knew that was only because Jayne had yet to find something that would fit into the holes. When he had objected, Jayne had informed him that silver wasn't any fun if you kept it wrapped up in bags.

“Okay, let's call it a night.” Clayton yawned and headed for the door. “We can finish up the packing tomorrow.”

Hal took Vanessa's arm to pull her up, but she refused to budge. “Where's everyone going? I thought we were going to decide what happened to Johnny.”

“We've got all week.” Hal got a better grip on her arm and hauled her to her feet. “I'm tired and I want to go to bed.”

“Oh, sure. You want to go to bed, but you sure don't want to . . .” Hal squeezed her arm and Vanessa let out a little yelp as he pushed her through the doorway.

“We're leaving, too.” Moira stood up. “Poor Grace is beginning to droop.”

“True enough,” Grace sighed, “but I wish you wouldn't point it out in public. You're no spring chicken either, you know.”

Moira let out a whoop of laughter. “I guess I deserved that one. Come on, Gracie.”

“Me, too.” Marc headed for the door. “I have to check my answer phone. I'm expecting an important call.”

“I'll bet you ten bucks you didn't get it.” Rachael looked smug.

“You're on. This guy promised he'd call right after dinner and he must have called the land line, because I didn't get any calls on my cell . . . oh, hell!” Marc started to laugh. “I forgot. The phone lines are down and none of our cell phones work.”

Clayton waited until they were all out the door. “Hold the elevator while I lock up.”

“Why bother?” Alan asked him.

“Because someone could walk right into the building and steal Johnny's possessions. Our security system's down.”

“But we've got a natural backup system.”

“We have? Jack never mentioned it.”

“That's because Jack didn't know. It's called the avalanche system and nobody's getting in or out until they move that wall of snow.”

Jayne swiveled on the piano bench to look at Paul. “So what do you think? Do I need a teensy shove? A black satin glove? Or the stars above?”

“I do not care for any of the three.” Paul frowned slightly. “They do not meet your usual standard, Jayne.”

“I know that. Come on, Paul. I've got to come up with a finale, but I can't think of anything else that rhymes with love.”

“Perhaps you should attempt to rhyme with
A
and
B
and permit your strongest line to stand alone.”

“Can I do that?” Jayne looked dubious.

“Certainly.” Paul nodded. “Many excellent poets have written in this manner.”

“Okay, if you say so. But I'm still stuck for a rhyme.”

Paul hummed the melody twice. Then he smiled. “If you'll give me one chance to grab the brass ring when I ride on the carousel of love.”

Jayne scribbled on her pad of paper and sang the stanza again.

“I like it, Paul. I like it a lot. But ring doesn't exactly rhyme with dream and scheme.”

“It will when Miss Rawlins sings it.”

Jayne turned to him in surprise. “You've been listening to Barbie's records?”

“This is true. I have attempted to identify her most unusual accent.”

Jayne began to smile. “Sure you have. And the Pope just turned Lutheran. You were listening to country-western because you missed it.”

“No, Jayne. I did not miss the music. I missed you.”

Jayne felt suddenly shy. The moment she'd been avoiding was close and she wasn't sure how to react. She'd missed Paul, too, but should she come right out and say it? Instead, she changed the subject. “You must have missed dinner. Do you want something to eat?”

Paul nodded. “Do you have the Cheese Whiz, Jayne?”

“Cheese Whiz?” Jayne's voice was incredulous. “You always said that you hated processed cheese. Wild horses couldn't drag you to try it.”

“I have changed my mind, Jayne. I recently purchased ajar and I have developed the taste.”

Jayne was thoughtful as she went into the kitchen and fixed a plate of crackers. She set the jar of Cheese Whiz in the center and prepared to carry it into the studio. Paul had definitely missed her if he'd listened to Barbie Rawlins songs and tried Cheese Whiz, but that didn't mean that he could just waltz up here and pick up the threads of their marriage. They'd both learned how to compromise in the months they had been apart, but basic issues persisted.

They sat on opposite ends of the piano bench and munched crackers in silence, passing the jar of cheese back and forth. Jayne blushed as she realized that Paul was staring at her. Damn that cool Scandinavian exterior! She never had been able to read his expressions. Did he want her as much as she wanted him? Or should she observe the proprieties and insist he sleep on the couch? It was all so confusing that she was ready to jump out of her skin, especially since she couldn't seem to stop imagining how good it would be if they were in bed together.

“What is wrong, Jayne? Are you unhappy that I am here?”

“Of course not.” Paul was looking at her with concern and Jayne decided to confront him straight on. “I'm just trying to decide whether I should follow my instincts and drag you to bed.”

“That would be very wonderful.” Paul began to smile.

“Yes, but we haven't settled anything yet. Remember that awful argument we had?”

“I remember. And I must offer to you my apology.”

Jayne sighed deeply. “You can't apologize if you didn't start it and you didn't, I did. I flew off the handle and I knew I was wrong, but I was too damn ornery to admit it.”

“That is not true, Jayne. I am the one who left and I am also the one at fault.”

Jayne shook her head. “No, Paul. I pushed you too hard and I should have known better. You had to leave. I didn't give you any other choice.”

“No, Jayne. You had worked all night and you were very tired. I failed to appreciate your exhaustion.”

“That's ridiculous!” Jayne's voice was rising. “You're just making excuses for me. You always make excuses for me. I'm adult enough to admit that I was wrong!”

“You were not wrong! The blame belongs to me!”

Paul realized that he was glaring at Jayne and she looked just as upset. Unable to resist, he started to chuckle.

“What's so funny?”

Jayne glared at him, arms crossed, and Paul laughed out loud. Clearly reconciliation had its pitfalls, too.