Death at the Day Lily Cafe (8 page)

Just then the flock took flight and headed right for us. One flew so low I could feel it in my hair. “Oh!” I cried, and lost my balance. Tyler grabbed my arm, and my beer bottle flew out of my hand. Bini caught it midair. It spewed foam. She handed it to me, shook the overflow from her hand, and walked away. I felt the top of my head, wondering if I'd been scratched. “Tyler?”

“Well, at least there's no hawk.” He frowned, his tanned forehead deeply furrowed. “Bini got us this far. Maybe the chickens will be out tomorrow. It's like you said, they're smart. They should know the difference between friend and foe.”

 

F
OURTEEN

Once Tyler and Bini left for the day, I made a cup of tea and sat at my desk. I acknowledged the warning in my gut about Tyler's new workmate. We'll be okay, I thought. I'll have to pay more attention. Maybe Bini's expertise will help Tyler.

No life was without chaos or disappointments, but if you had something to ground you, it was all bearable. Creating a sustainable, organic farm grounded Tyler. The Day Lily did the same for me.

And yet Tyler was a big part of my new life. We were companions; we shared the farm, coffee, pets. And now he had someone new to accompany him. “Oof,” I said aloud, placing my hands over my stomach. I felt completely and utterly clueless about what to do. Maybe I had been taking him for granted. I'd been so focused on the café, and now I had another investigation. All I knew was I couldn't let what we'd created slip away, no matter what, and maybe who, filled our time.

I finished my tea and decided to look over Lori's list. I scanned the page, but Sheriff Wilgus's name stared back at me as if he were waving his arms around for me to pick him. But why had Lori added him to the list? Doris said the sheriff and CJ had always hated each other, so their animosity must have originated a long time ago. But what was the cause, exactly?

I logged on to Facebook and typed Lori's name in the search box. There must not have been a lot of Lori Fiddlers on social media, because her face popped right up. I sent her a friend request and visited her timeline to see if any of her public information would be helpful.

I studied her list of friends, scrolling through a myriad of photos of people accompanied by family pets or in silly poses with a best friend. Nothing suspicious. Her own photos were fairly generic, too. Lots of pictures of her son, Jamie, in his uniform, graduating from the police academy, Lori's arm around his shoulder. There was a photo of her new bedroom floor. It really was beautiful. There must be something helpful here, I thought. I propped my chin on my hand. Her profile said she'd gone to Devon County schools. I assumed Joe Wilgus had, too. His family lived in Cardigan for generations. Lori and the sheriff could easily be the same age. Had their feud started in high school?

I sat straighter in my chair, my humming nerves telling me I stumbled onto something. I noticed my friend icon had a notification.
Lori Fiddler has accepted your friend request.
That was fast. I checked the clock. It was only seven. I messaged her.

Any chance I could stop in and see you this evening? I won't stay long.

OK.

On my way. Btw, do you still have your high school yearbooks?

As I drove over to Lori's, I thought about what I was undertaking. Again. I wondered if I was making a mistake, agreeing to help Doris. Would it distract me from the farm and café? And what about Annie and her new relationship? I hadn't seen her tonight. No eye contact.

I was certainly a curious person. And I did love a good puzzle. But it was more than that. In Lori's case, as in Megan's, I felt an obligation to people who had been victimized to root out the truth. I'd questioned my motivations then, too. But one year after Megan's killer was found guilty and sent to prison for life, Corinne Johnston, Megan's mother, wrote me a note thanking me for discovering what happened to her daughter. Having the killer behind bars had helped her grieve in peace. And although she would never be the same—what mother could?—she believed my solving the crime had enabled her to continue living.

When I arrived at Lori's, I switched off the engine and attempted to get out of my car. A black Lab's massive paws were on my door and he was trying with some success to duck his boxy head through the open window. “Sit,” I said in a less-than-convincing voice. He leaned in and slurped my ear. After checking to ensure he hadn't swallowed my pearl earring, I forced open the door. Five wagging tails thrashed my legs, and I almost tripped over a yipping Yorkshire terrier.

I noticed a shiny red Camaro parked next to Lori's van as I walked, doing my best to avoid stepping on tails and paws. I looked up to see Lori at the screen door. “Sorry about the welcoming committee,” she said. “I think they are a little attention starved now that Carl James is gone.” She opened the door a crack. “Sit,” she said, and all five dogs simultaneously perched on their hindquarters.

“They're just enthusiastic,” I said. “I may need a navigation system to get to your door, but I actually love dogs. Please don't worry about them.”

She opened the door wider, and I stepped inside.

“Let's go out to the screened porch,” she said. “I hate being in this house ever since Carl James died.”

The porch looked out onto a densely wooded lot, the setting sun barely peeking through the trees. Plants on stands and in a variety of pots lined the floor. A hodgepodge of dog beds, some held together with strips of duct tape, were piled in the corner. The musty scent of wet fur lingered in the humid air.

We sat on an old wood-framed sofa. A small lamp lit the room, its yellow bulb giving everything a jaundiced tint. She was dressed in a housecoat. Her hair was piled on top of her head and some sort of heavy cream glazed her face.

“Lori, do you have a job to go back to?” I turned to face her.

She shrugged. “I clean houses.” She smoothed the cotton smock over her knees. “I think my clients understand I need time to grieve.”

The dogs discovered us and began lunging at the door. I noticed several rips in the screen and wondered if they would eventually burst through.

“Sit,” she said again. Their bottoms hit the grass.

“You can let them in,” I said. “I don't mind.”

“No. They will overwhelm you. I know there are a lot of them. But they just sort of accumulated. I have no idea where the Yorkie came from. I think someone dropped her off because they knew we'd take care of her.”

“It's really nice that you do. The Devon County shelter is overflowing.” I studied her face. “How are you, Lori?”

She eyed me. “I think I see him sometimes, in the shadows of this house. And when I go to bed I can smell the faint scent of his cigar.” She gripped her hands together. “It's as if he's haunting me.”

“He lived here,” I said. “This was his home. And you anchored him. Maybe he isn't quite ready to leave you.”

“Is that how it works? If so,” she said, shivering, “I don't like it one bit.”

“I don't really know how it works.” I rested my elbow on the back of the sofa. “But maybe he's trying to help you figure out who really killed him.”

“Well, I'm not listening, so he can go on to the afterlife.” She stared out at the darkening night. “Why did you want my yearbooks?”

“I was just wondering if you and Joe Wilgus went to school together.”

“How did you know that?” She looked over at me and frowned.

“Well, you appear to be about the same age, and according to Doris, his dislike of CJ started a long time ago.” I shrugged. “It just made sense that it could have started in high school.”

“Wow,” she said, eyes wide. “My sister is right. You're good at this.”

“How good?”

“I'll show you.” She went inside the house and returned with a stack of three books. She sat down and opened one. The aged, gray cloth was topped with faded blue letters that read,
Devon County High School, The Blue Herons, 1981
. The corners had begun to curve inward. She flipped through the pages until she came to one titled
Homecoming
. She slid it onto my lap. “I was crowned my senior year.”

I looked down at a photo of Lori in a sparkling tiara, a bouquet of long-stemmed roses in her arms, standing on the fifty-yard line grinning hard. Her arm was looped through a tall football player's, a helmet tucked under his other arm, his knees dirty from the first half. “You're lovely.”

Lori leaned over and peered down at the photograph. “I wasn't bad back then. But it's just Devon County.” She laughed a little. “It doesn't take much to become homecoming queen when there aren't many girls to choose from.”

“You would have stood out at any high school.” I studied the picture. “Your date is very handsome.”

She looked up at me. “You mean you don't recognize him?”

I glanced back at the picture. Dark thick hair. Longer, though, not a pompadour. I already knew before I read the caption:
Crowned queen, Lori Westcott, and her escort, Joey Wilgus.

“He was the quarterback,” she said. “We went to prom together that year. You should see what he wrote next to my senior picture. He always believed we would marry one day.”

I looked over at her. “So where does CJ fit in?” I folded my hands atop the open book and waited for her to form her response. An owl hooted eerily in the distance.

“Carl James started coming over to my house that spring. He had quit high school and was making a lot of money learning the flooring trade. He bought a big old convertible and kept coaxing me out for rides. Joey and I were going steady, but he was applying to the community college and I never wanted to bother with more education. I didn't like school. I mean, I liked the social stuff. But studying gave me a headache. Sometimes I think I have some sort of learning disability, you know? But teachers didn't really pay attention to that back then.

“Anyway, I felt like Joey was distracted, focusing on his future and all.” She exhaled. “I found out I was pregnant right after prom.” She combed her hair back from her face. “Carl James was so persuasive. I couldn't resist him.” She peered over at me as if to check my reaction.

“What happened when you told Joe?”

“Oh.” she shivered. “He was so angry I thought he would explode right there. And then he went after Carl James. The way I heard it, the fight was brutal. They both ended up with broken noses. Carl James said Joey pulled out a knife at some point and they finally stopped. The cops said they didn't find a knife on either one of them, but one of the cops was probably Joey's dad.”

My mind was reeling. “And so you and CJ got married? Did you have the baby?”

“Yes.” She clenched her hands into fists. “I was so sure it was Carl James's baby. But then Jamie was a month premature.”

“What are you saying?”

“Jamie weighted nine pounds six ounces. Nothing preemie about him.”

“So…” I placed a hand on my forehead then looked up at her. “Could Jamie be the sheriff's baby?”

“Shush,” she said, with her index finger over her lips. “Jamie is home for the funeral. He's upstairs in his bedroom.”

“I see.”

“Anyway,” she said in a softer voice. “I never breathed a word to Carl James that Joe and I had been intimate.”

“So how did the sheriff react when you got married?”

“He's hated me ever since. I don't know what he thought about the baby. But one day when Jamie was in high school he said the sheriff pulled him over for speeding. He hadn't been, of course. He said Joe just stared at him. Hard. Then told him to get on his way.”

“So maybe he does know.”

“
I
don't even know, Rosalie. Don't you see? Either one of them could be Jamie's daddy. But how could I go and break Carl James's heart when I wasn't even sure? It would have ruined all of our lives. And I didn't think it was worth it. I still don't.”

“So that's why he's coming down so hard on you. Because you broke his heart.”

She placed both palms on her cheeks. “I've certainly made a mess of my life.”

“We all do, don't we? By the time we hit our age, that is. Too much room for error.”

Lori placed the stack of yearbooks on a nearby table, the top one still open to the homecoming page. Her eyebrows dipped as she gazed out at the night. “He isn't going to stop until he gets his way. He's a very stubborn man.”

“Lori, is there a chance CJ might have stolen a little money? Did you see any indication of that?”

“What?” Her eyes shot over to mine. “Why would you ask me that?”

“That's why CJ got laid off. Someone stole some money from the work site. He didn't tell you?”

She hesitated and blinked a few times, avoiding my gaze. “No,” she said. “He was very upset about his job. Look, Rosalie, you're a dear for working on this tonight, but it's been a long day and I'm past spent.”

“Okay.” I placed my hand over hers. “We probably both need to get some sleep.”

We stood and headed for the door. The dogs were on alert. As we passed through the house I heard the deep pounding of hard-rock music coming from the second floor.

“I swear he sees me. You know I can't sleep in our bedroom? I hear things.” She reached the door. “I've been sleeping on the sofa with the dogs at my feet. They're restless, too.” She leveled her eyes with mine. “I didn't kill him. You know that, don't you?”

“I'm certainly trying to prove you didn't. And the best way to do that is to figure out who did.” I started out the door but stopped. “Lori, was CJ ever, well, violent with you?”

“Lord, no.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He treated me as if I was a prize he won but never deserved.”