Fruit of All Evil (16 page)

“Oh, I know a little about the military world,” George said. “I understand if Drew doesn't want to request a hardship discharge to leave the military permanently, but there are such things as emergency leaves. I'm sure his commander would understand. In fact, I would be surprised if Drew wasn't ordered to take some extra time. I don't understand why he wouldn't want to, Becca. I think that needs further exploration.”

“I agree. I know Sam is looking at it more closely, but I think I can ask Drew myself. As well as I
don't
know him, I understand something about him that's difficult to explain. If, as I hope, he isn't the killer, he's got an amazing sense of loyalty. He would never want to fall short of doing his duty. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, but I still hope the police are looking closer. And I hope he isn't the killer, too.” George tapped a fingertip at his chin. “But someone is, so tell me more about his family, the cousins you and Ian met.” George sat back and crossed his legs.

“Okay. Well, Shawn, Mid, Sally, and Alan. I wish I knew more about them than I do. Hopefully, Sally will tell me more during the pedicure. My first impression was that . . . well, that Sally is an emotional wreck, Alan is annoying, and Shawn and Mid had perhaps had a discussion or an argument earlier in the day. They were silently communicating things to each other and to Alan. Did you see that, Ian?”

“Yes, but I don't know that I'd put much into it. They're a family, and families create their communication patterns. Maybe that's the way they normally behave.”

“What about Alan? Did he bug you as much as he bugged me?”

“I don't think so.”

“Tell me why he bugged you, Becca. Give me the details,” George said.

“It was more than the dinner. I ran into him today, too.” I hadn't yet told Ian about my day, so I replayed the events for them both. Even though the pie delivery was legitimate, I made sure to emphasize how Alan's appearances seemed wrong somehow, as though he was trying to be sneaky but wasn't good at it, but I wasn't sure they agreed. However, they both enjoyed the adventure with the cat at Jeanine's house.

“Well, coincidentally, I'm making my famous quiche Jeanine for dinner tonight. Does Sam think she had something to do with Madeline's murder?” George asked when he stopped laughing about the cat's escape from the chicken coop. Once George had been introduced to Jeanine's fresh eggs, he refused to purchase eggs anywhere else. He had also become a quiche expert, his quiche Jeanine (quiche Lorraine) becoming everyone's favorite.

“He doesn't know what to think at this point. Her behavior is odd, more odd than normal even for Jeanine. I know he'd like to talk to her, and I think he's concerned about her. I know I am.” Keeping my earlier promise, I didn't tell them what Allison had shared with me about the foreclosure letter.

“Plus, and I hate to be too graphic . . .” Ian said.

“Oh, please do,” George requested seriously.

“Well, Jeanine might be strong but she's little. I have no idea how she could have handled Madeline and done what was done to her.”

“Gracious, you didn't tell me what was done to her. Don't leave anything out.”

Between the two of us, we told George about the state in which we'd found Madeline. The scarf around her neck, the wounds on her hands, the blood, the position her body was in, and the gruesome details of her gray skin and bulging eyes. It didn't make for good predinner conversation, but George insisted, and we indulged him.

“I knew Madeline. A little,” George said when we finished. “I bank at Central, as so many of us do. There aren't many choices in Monson, and Central has always been the biggest bank around. Plus, years ago, when they got into the mortgages, it was so nice to do business locally. When everyone seemed to have money, and mortgages were both easy to get and easy to give, Madeline was sort of a local superstar. But over the last few years I know she's done some pretty vicious things. She was a businesswoman first and foremost—oh, I'm not trying to defend her, but I do think her reputation was partly because of the times we're in. I don't know if Jeanine had any sort of money difficulties”—I kept my expression neutral—“but when their livelihood is threatened, some people have been known to do desperate things . . .”

“Go on,” I prompted him to continue.

George tapped at his chin again, and his eyes grew bigger behind his glasses. “Madeline was killed in her home, in her bedroom, in the middle of the day. Becca, dear, that doesn't sound like the actions of a mere customer, someone Madeline knew impersonally and had angered. In fact, the place she was killed and the way she was killed sound very
personal
, indeed.”

“So, you think it was someone she knew well, a family member?”

“If I were an investigator, which clearly I'm not, that's where I'd be looking most closely. I don't think a customer would have sought her out at her home. I think a customer would have done the crime at or around the bank.”

I thought George made some good points. I hoped even more that Sally would shed some light on her family's dynamics.

“Another question, Becca, dear,” George said as he folded his hands on his lap.

“Yes?”

“What about Linda?”

“What about her?”

“You know what I'm asking. Do you think Linda could have killed Madeline? Lord knows she had plenty of good reasons. From what you've said, Linda's future mother-in-law was not making the relationship easy.”

“No, I don't think Linda killed Madeline. I don't think Linda killed anyone.” I didn't mean to sound so emphatic. Ian put his hand on my knee. “Sorry, George, but Linda doesn't have that in her.”

“I understand your loyalty, but Ian told me that Linda left Bailey's shortly after Madeline caused the scene. Do you know where she went?”

I hesitated and looked at Ian, who kept his face expressionless.

“Linda said that she and Drew were together all afternoon.”

George was silent for a long, thoughtful moment before he said, “I don't suppose someone else can vouch for them?”

“Not that I know of.” I didn't want to share details about Linda's bright blushing with George.

“
Hmm
. Well, the good news is that Sam Brion is a topnotch police officer. Perhaps he and his cohort will move quickly and solve the crime so you can fulfill your duty as . . . what did Ian tell me you were calling yourself? As a Number One or something.”

I smiled. George had changed the tone of the conversation and purposely avoided emphatically pointing out Linda and Drew's weak alibis because he was a gentleman first and foremost. He didn't want to risk hurting my feelings or Ian's feelings by showing how clear it was that Linda and Drew should probably both be considered prime suspects in the murder of Madeline Forsyth. I appreciated his effort.

“Well, I do believe it's time for dinner and some lively discussion about you two and your trip to Iowa.” George stood and, with Hobbit by his side, made his way to the kitchen. Even though it was probably rude, Ian and I had frozen in place on the couch. Fortunately, Ian figured out what to say next.

“I, uh, mentioned that I was inviting you to visit my family. I might have mentioned that you hadn't agreed to go quite yet. Sorry about that awkward moment.”

“It wasn't so bad—more surprising than awkward.”

“Come on, let's have dinner and save the inevitable and uncomfortable conversation about why you still can't decide to come meet my family for later, much later.” Ian stood and held out his hand. I looked at the sun tattoo that was perfectly centered on the back of his hand.

I felt awful. At that moment, I wanted to tell him I'd go with him—go with him anywhere. I adored him and couldn't believe I was risking the possibility of losing him, but I just couldn't say yes yet. Borrowing a line from my parents, I needed it to “be real, be totally real” before I said yes.

“Ian . . .” I said as I took his hand.

“Nope, not now. Later.”

Though George's eyesight was almost gone, his hearing was more acute than mine. He spoke from the kitchen. “Nonsense. Becca, life is short; enjoy it completely while you can. And love is rare.”

Ian smiled but shook his head and mouthed, “Later.”

We ate dinner, laughed at George's stories about his adventures when courting his wife, who was engaged to another man when they met. George was bound and determined to marry her, no matter that he would have to break into her father's house, steal her fiancé's car, and beg her sister to lie to the entire family just so he could spend some time alone with the woman of his dreams and convince her that he was the man for her. His escapades landed him in jail for two days, but when he was released, Marylou was waiting for him. They eloped and enjoyed fifty-six years of marital bliss, and eventually Marylou's family welcomed them both back into the fold. The jilted fiancé held a grudge all his life.

The evening ended with what George called one of his “nuggets.”

“True love is hard to find, Becca. Don't be one of those fools who can't see it right in front of their eyes. Hang on tight to the good stuff.”

“How's the temperature?” the young girl asked. She was
seated on a very small stool facing me. She reminded me of Pippi Longstocking, with two bright red braids, though they didn't stick straight out from her head.

I dipped my feet into the swirling warm water and said, “Great. Perfect, actually.”

There was a method to entering a salon and moving toward the pedicure chairs/feet tubs. I was able to take my shoes off discreetly, sit and turn in the chair, and then submerge my feet without feeling like they were on display. No one gawked, not even Sally. No one pointed or rolled their eyes. I watched my pedicurist's face for some sign of distaste, and when I didn't see anything unusual, I realized I was being too paranoid about the whole thing. I decided to relax and enjoy the fabulous sensation of the warm water pulsing and swirling around my feet.

“Would you like a cocktail, Becca?” Sally asked from the chair next to me. Her pedicurist, dark and exotic, was named Orchid.

“No, thanks,” I replied. It was not too long after nine in the morning, and I didn't want to insult her by pointing that out.

“Fine. Yes, Orchid, I'd like a Bloody Mary, please.”

A cloak of sadness hung over Sally. She wasn't attempting to hide her feelings or make anyone think she was ready to be over her aunt's death. Her face was puffy and her eyes were red. Though those things could have been because she'd been drinking, I suspected there hadn't been many moments since Madeline's death when she hadn't been crying.

Of course, I felt terrible for her loss, but the way she wore her emotions so boldly also made me uncomfortable, and I remained aware that even though she was emotional, she still might have had something to do with Madeline's death. I couldn't buy into her tears without remaining on my almost pretty toes.

Pippi—actually, her name was Hallie—tapped on one of my ankles. I looked at her, wide-eyed. A wave of recognition passed over her face. She realized I'd never done this before. Suddenly, she became the master and I became the student; she liked it that way and so did I. She held my ankle and lifted my right foot onto a ledge above the bath. I decided to trust her.

“How are you doing, Sally?” I asked.

“Oh, I guess I have good moments and bad moments,” she said, her drawl even thicker than before. “Who'm I kiddin'? All my moments are pretty bad right now.”

“I'm so sorry. You must have been close to Madeline.”

Hallie was working the outer regions of my nails, clipping at them with miniature garden shears. So far, so good on the pain level, but I noted that she was awfully close to potentially drawing blood. I tried not to tense up.

“Darlin', I was closer than close,” Sally said as she took the Bloody Mary from Orchid. “Aunt Madeline took care of me, Mid, and Shawn when there was no one else to take care of us. Our mamma was a piece of work, if you'll pardon the expression—she was an S.L.U.T. Instead of caring for her kids, she spent her time carousing and chasing men. Aunt Madeline had no patience for her. We spent more time with Auntie than with our own mamma.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that about your mom. It was good that you had Madeline.”

“Probably saved our lives, or gave us lives. Who knows how we'd have turned out if Auntie hadn't intervened to raise us with some sort of respectability?”

“She's the reason you went into banking, right?”