Funeral Hotdish (21 page)

Joya was thinking of all the nice things she’d do for her friend back in Phoenix for finding such a smart guy to save her dad’s ass. This was exactly why he needed a good attorney. This was the kind of clear thinking she’d seen defense attorneys in Phoenix do again and again. And here was a clear-thinking, answer-for-everything defense attorney that was taking her dad’s case.

“So what do you think?” she finally asked.

“I think one of your dad’s friends killed that kid.”

“WHAT?”

“You heard me. What makes you think they didn’t?”

“I know these men. I’ve known them all my life. The town knows them. They’re not killers. They were trying to save the town—to force him out, or to confess. Or to save Johnny. They never intended him to die!”

“Are you sure?”

“Goddamnit it, yes, I’m sure. Listen, maybe you don’t understand Northville. This is a nice little town. Families have lived there for generations. Everybody knows everybody. They take care of one another. It’s a wonderful place to raise children. It’s not some cesspool where people going around murdering somebody.”

“I might have bought that before somebody turned it into a cesspool where people go around murdering somebody.” He said the words slowly, quietly. He was surprised a seasoned reporter couldn’t see through the disguise to what the town was really like.

Joya refused to be swayed. “My dad and his friends thought they were helping the town. They aren’t murderers. If you can’t believe that, if you can’t get up in a court of law and argue that, I’ll have my twenty dollars back and we’ll forget this.”

“Oh, I can get up in a court of law and argue your dad is a saint, but it doesn’t mean I have to believe it. But I’m keeping your twenty dollars because I don’t believe your dad is a killer. Now his buddies, I don’t know. But here’s the thing…if one of them did kill that kid, all three are culpable. It’s called ‘felony murder.’ If someone dies in the commission of a felony, everyone involved is as guilty as the one who pulled the trigger. So the only way to save your dad is to pretend all three of them are saints. So here’s my first piece of legal advice: tell your dad and his friends to keep their mouths shut and they’ll be okay.”

Joya nodded in great relief.

“Why don’t I come down next week and talk to your dad and I’ll lay it all out for him?”

“He’ll want his buddies there, too. I know you can’t represent all three, but would it be okay if they all listened?”

“Sure. Let’s see, I’m in court on Monday. How about Tuesday?”

They made an appointment and Joya left feeling hopeful. This man knew what he was doing, and anyone who’s ever needed a good attorney knows how great that feels.

She stopped at Econo Foods to pick up greens for a salad—with diverticulitis a problem for both her mom and dad, their idea of salad was Jell-O. She left the store at about four p.m. and decided to take the back way home, rather than drive out to the interstate.

She was feeling so proud of herself, so happy to take such good news home. The country music station her dad favored even sounded good today. She didn’t notice the pickup until it was beside her, forcing her off the road.

Joya screamed as she pulled the wheel to the right and went into the ditch that was half-full of snow. She was amazed how the car plowed through the white snowpack, and for a second she thought it might just keep moving forward until it went up into the barren field on the other side of the ditch. But suddenly, the car came to a jolting stop as it smashed into something solid, hidden beneath the snow. Only her seat belt kept her from flying through the windshield, but it didn’t stop her head from crashing into the steering wheel. When she opened her eyes, she saw blood.

“Oh my God, oh my God, I’m bleeding,” she cried out. Who would come to help her? There was no one on the road. The pickup was gone. The wind was blowing and it was eighteen degrees outside, and she was alone in the last minutes of light on a North Dakota winter’s day. She started to cry.

“He ran me off the road. Who was that? Why did he do that? What kind of car was it? No, it wasn’t a car, it was a pickup. What color? Black. No, not black. Dark blue. Why? Who would do that to me? Oh God, I’ve smashed Dad’s car.”

She unhooked her seat belt and tried to open the door, but it couldn’t push against the snow. She was tilted downward, so it looked like the passenger door might be freer. She pushed and shoved and angled and tried to get herself up to the passenger side, but she couldn’t. All the time, the light was fading.

If she’d been on the interstate, somebody would have stopped by now and rescued her. But she was on the back road. It was a good road, used mainly by the farmers who lived off it or the railroad workers who had a depot up the way. Joya calculated that not many of them would be driving by soon. If she was to get out of this, she had to do it herself.

And then the dark blue pickup came back.

She stopped breathing as she looked in the rearview mirror and saw a man get out of the pickup and start down the ditch slope. He was carrying something in his hand and Joya feared it was a gun.

Oh God, he’s going to kill me. Right here. Who is he? Why? Why? Why?

The man reached her door and she saw he held a shovel. He used it to clear away some snow so the door could open. “Push,” he yelled, and she pushed on the door while he yanked, and their combined effort opened it enough that she could slip out.

He grabbed her coat and helped her get out of the car. She finally had a chance to look at him. He was wearing the badge of the Richland County Sheriff’s Office.

Her first instinct was to scream at the man who’d run her off the road and demand an explanation, but first instincts are best corralled when you’re facing a badge.

“So what happened?” He asked like he didn’t know. He was looking her straight in the eye, but there was a smirk around his lips.

“I, I, I, don’t know,” she stammered. She felt her palms sting, just like that day at the library.

“You probably hit ice and went off the road,” he coached, saying the words as though he were talking to a child.

“I guess…I hit…hit ice and…went off the road?”

“That sounds about right.” The deputy grinned. “You’ve got to be more careful, girly. Roads like this can be dangerous at night. You shouldn’t be fooling around out here. You know, it’s never good for your health if you’re foolin’ around in stuff you shouldn’t be. You’re not from these parts, are you?”

“I…I…I’m from Phoenix.”

“It’s a lot nicer in Phoenix these days than it is in North Dakota. Think maybe you should head back home?”

Joya’s mind was recording every word, even through her fright. She looked at his badge, No. 329. It was a number she’d never forget. She looked at his face—blue eyes, sandy blond hair under his ear-flap cap, a mole on his right cheek, thick lips that knew how to sneer.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” She was getting her bearings but careful not to let on that she was regaining her equilibrium. “I think my car is smashed. Can you radio for help or something?” She thought to herself,
No way am I ever getting in a pickup with this man.

“I can pull you out. Put it in neutral.”

He climbed out of the ditch, backed up his pickup and uncoiled the chain. It took him only a few minutes to hook onto her back bumper and pull her out. There was a dent in the front bumper, but no real damage. When she turned the switch, the car came alive.

“Think you can make it home without any more accidents?” Like he was concerned about her welfare. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to a visitor who’s not staying long.”

“I’m sure I can,” she said. “Thank you, Officer.”

“Yes, ma’am. Just remember, I pulled you
OUT
of that ditch.”

He smirked at her again and drove away.

Joya drove home, plotting her revenge. That stupid son of a bitch. He thinks he can scare me and make me run away. He thinks he’s so goddamned smart. Wait till I get him. The asshole called me ‘girly’!

She decided to tell her folks she hit ice and went in the ditch and a nice farmer pulled her out. She couldn’t admit what had really happened or they’d make her stop working on this case. No, she’d lie to them, but she’d sure as hell tell that smart defense attorney in Wahpeton. He’d know how to handle this. Badge 329 had pulled his last stunt.

Chapter Twenty-one

Wednesday, January 19, 2000

The next day, Joya stayed close to home, helping her mother make pierogies and enjoying a day of being the woman’s daughter.

Maggie signaled first thing that she wanted no discussion about “the case,” and that was fine with Joya. She was ready for a break.

When Maggie sent her uptown for more dry cottage cheese, Joya made a side stop at Leona’s Flowers to buy her mom a bouquet.

“How about those two pink roses and some white ones?” she asked.

“Sorry, the pink ones are spoken for, but I’ve got some nice red roses that are as big as cabbages.”

Joya bought a dozen—no baby’s breath because her mother was allergic—but rich greens and a satin gold bow. Maggie loved them, but scolded her daughter for spending so much money.

“You should go visit Gertie,” Maggie suggested after lunch. “I don’t think we’ll have her much longer.”

“Great idea.” Joya was chagrined to realize her promised call to Gertie months ago had never happened. “When’s a good time?”

Maggie called the house to ask Wanda when Gertie took her nap and if today would be okay for Joya to visit. “Oh, I think that would be fine. No, she’d love to do that. I’ll send her over at three.”

Joya nodded. Her mother was the only person she’d allow to set a schedule without checking. “Wanda’s got an eye appointment in Wahpeton at three-thirty, so you’ll go over at three and stay with Gertie till she gets back.”

That “babysitting job” would be about one and a half hours. Fine. She’d always loved Gertie. The woman was her late grandmother’s best friend, and she told great stories.

She arrived early at the neat, small house that Gertie and her sister shared. She liked its screened-in front porch—not usable now in the snow, but the unofficial “living room” for the women all summer. Today, for the first time, Joya realized the front porch was the largest room in the house. The rest was two tiny bedrooms, a closet of a bathroom, a one-butt kitchen and a living/dining room just big enough for two recliners and TV-tray side tables that held books, magazines, mail, and a space big enough for a cup of tea or glass of milk. Both recliners faced the television, encased in a cabinet that must have been here since these women were girls.

Gertie was in her recliner. Joya figured that was where she spent most of her waking hours. The first thing she noticed was that the woman was skin and bones. Her collar bone was so sharp, Joya thought it would rip through the neckline of her dressing gown at any second.

“When did you get so skinny?” she joked with the woman.

“I don’t have much of an appetite these days.”

“Wish I had that problem.”

“Don’t worry, you look fine. A couple extra pounds never hurt anybody.”

Joya saw that Gertie’s eyes kept darting to the television and realized she’d been in the midst of watching
Oprah
.

“I love Oprah,” Gertie whispered, admitting a guilty pleasure.

“Oh, me, too. Let’s watch.”

“Oh, Amber, I was hoping you’d say that.”

Joya was stabbed with sadness that this dear woman was not only wasting away, but losing it. What did she expect? The girl had been like a granddaughter to her, and to lose her like that!

During a commercial break, Joya offered to make tea.

“That would be lovely, Amber, thank you.”

She went to the kitchen and knew her mother was right—they weren’t going to have Gertie much longer. She wondered if the woman remembered her own sister. But when she came in, she was sure Gertie knew who she was, so she used an old trick on the woman.

As she settled the cup and saucer on the only clear space of the side table, she said, “I was just saying to myself the other day, ‘Joya, you’ve got to drink more tea.’”

Gertie blinked twice, looked her in the face, and smiled, recognition in every wrinkle. “That’s a fine idea, Joya. I can’t tell you how much pleasure I get from a good cup of tea.”

After Oprah, Joya worried how they’d spend the time, but Gertie was now anxious to talk.

Joya had never expected
this
conversation.

“You can’t worry about your father, dear,” she began. “He didn’t kill that boy. You do know that, don’t you?”

Joya blanched. “Yes…yes, of course. I don’t think my father is capable of killing anyone. He’s a good man, Gertie. A decent man. He might have made some mistakes, but I’m certain he couldn’t kill anyone.”

“No, he didn’t. Neither did his friends. You know, that Earl blows up now and then, but he’s a real softy. You know what he told me one time? He told me he had two moments of every year when he was happy ‘from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes.’ One was the early spring when he got on his tractor to face a field to plow. The other was the end of harvest when he turned off the combine. Now somebody who loves the earth that much is no killer. No, Earl didn’t do it.

“And Bernard. I’ve never seen a man who can cry so easily. He couldn’t hurt a flea. He’s so quiet—Norma is perfect for him. No, he didn’t kill that boy. What was his name?”

“Crabapple.”

“Don’t call him that. Call him by his real name.”

“Darryl.”

“Those men didn’t kill Darryl, and the whole town knows it. If we have to, every single person in this town will get on the witness stand and swear on a Bible that we know these to be good, honest men. Father Singer will certainly stand up for them, and I bet we can get the Bishop down here. He thinks the world of your dad because he paid him back. When they redid the church roof, they borrowed money from the Bishop and your dad saw that every cent was repaid. Nobody ever repays the Bishop, so he loves your dad. No, don’t you worry. We have plenty of wonderful things to say about those men, and no jury would ever convict them.”

Joya was amazed at how Gertie had put all this together, mentally making a list of character witnesses. She was glad that Gertie was so certain of their innocence.

“Johnny didn’t kill that boy, either.” Gertie spoke as though it were common knowledge.

“He didn’t?” Joya almost yelled.

“No, he didn’t.”

Joya waited for more explanation and when none came, she gingerly asked, “Gertie, how do you know Johnny didn’t kill Cra….Darryl?”

“Because a boy who’s about to kill himself does not lie in his last confession.”

Joya hadn’t felt an electric charge up her spine like this since she’d discovered Sammy the Bull was in Phoenix—and that one had been mild, compared to this shock.

“You, you, you heard his last confession?”

“Wasn’t ’sposed to. I was in the sacristy polishing the brass candlesticks and Father was out in the church with his paint kit, touching up the stations of the cross. Johnny came in and said he needed to make his confession. They sat in the front row, face-to-face, and Johnny told him. You know how sound bounces in that big church. I could hear them plain as day.”

Joya’s breathing had become irregular.

“What did you hear Johnny say?” She used her most gentle voice.

“He was crying and carrying on. He confessed to Father about giving Amber that pill that killed her. And he said he wanted to kill that boy. He intended to kill him. He even figured out where he was, and he went there but somebody had beat him to it, and the boy was already dead. Johnny said it was probably just as much a sin to want to kill so badly, so he wanted that off his soul. He wanted a clean slate. He wanted a chance. I’ll never forget him saying, ‘I know I have to go to Purgatory and I’ll probably be there a long, long time, but maybe someday I can get to Heaven and be with Amber.’”

Gertie started crying softly as she shook her head at that memory and the heartbreaking admission of a boy in his last hours.

“Father knew then that Johnny was going to kill himself. I knew it too. And Father tried so hard to talk him out of it. He talked and talked, but it didn’t do any good. Johnny kept crying and begging for absolution and Father gave it to him, but he never stopped begging. Maybe I should have run out of the sacristy and tried myself, but it didn’t seem right to interfere with his last confession. Poor Johnny, oh, that poor boy.”

Joya realized she was crying. She tried to speak, but sometimes when she cried, her voice got very high and squeaky, and it did that now.

“That’s okay, dear, it’s a sad story,” Gertie said. “It’s a very, very sad story. But now everyone thinks Johnny killed that boy. The sheriff doesn’t. He’s out to get those guys. But everyone else is happy that this is almost over. And nobody else is going to suffer.” Gertie reached over to take Joya’s hands.

They were ancient hands, veined and purple—the skin so thin that any pinch or bump left a bruise. But they were strong hands as they enveloped Joya’s and Gertie raised herself up to her full height and looked the girl in the eyes.

“Joya, do you know what it means to let ‘sleeping dogs lie’?”

Joya nodded, not secure that her voice would be more than a shriek.

“I haven’t told this to anybody else. Not even Wanda. I won’t. And I didn’t tell you so you’d go tell someone. I just told you so you’d know. I think somebody should know before I go, and you’re the one I’m trusting. I’ve spent a long time thinking about this and we must keep this secret and let sleeping dogs lie. Johnny will get the blame for this and that’s sad, but God knows the truth and He’s the only one who counts. If Johnny gets the blame, everyone else goes on their way and our town can heal.”

“But the real killer…” Joya finally found her voice.

“That’s not important.” For a woman who believed in her God, that shocked Joya. “There’s been enough pain. There’s been enough agony. It’s time for it to stop. So promise me you’ll let sleeping dogs lie.”

Joya didn’t think that was a promise she could keep, but Gertie’s hands tightened around hers.

“It gets your father off the hook,” the old woman said, like that should be the end of it.

“Gertie, do you know who killed that boy?”

“I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

Wanda walked in the front door, announcing herself and putting an end to the conversation. She apologized for being so late and it was only then that Joya realized she’d been here three hours. She’d have stayed three more if Gertie had kept talking.

“Time for a little supper and the news is on,” Wanda said, dismissing Joya and getting her sister back on schedule.

Joya reached over to kiss the old woman goodbye. Gertie threw her arm around her neck and gave Joya a big hug. “Sleeping dogs,” she whispered.

Joya felt it would be the last time she’d see the woman. She vowed, no matter what, to come home for her funeral.

She drove to the city park that was such a point of pride. When city fathers couldn’t come up with the money to grade the site, Earl Krump drove his tractor from the farm and bladed the ground himself. Somebody wanted to name it Krump Park after him, but of course, they settled on something inspiring. Northville Public Park.

Joya parked and kept the engine running so the heater would continue to blow, and thought about the afternoon of revelations. Her training as a reporter kicked in and she could almost recite the woman’s words verbatim.

She knew a secret that only three other people in the world knew. One of them was bound by Canon law to forever stay silent. Gertie would take her knowledge to the grave. The real killer certainly wasn’t going to fess up. Joya was the only one who could tell the world Johnny was blameless.

But if he didn’t kill Darryl, who did? Joya felt certain Gertie either knew or had a good idea. Whoever it was, Gertie was willing to give that person a pass. Joya was astonished.

Part of her—the girl who grew up in Northville—wished she didn’t know this information. Part of her—the daughter of a man in the cross hairs of a vengeful sheriff—wanted to forget everything she’d heard this afternoon. Part of her—the woman who was an investigative reporter—wanted to track down the real killer.

The reporter part first took the upper hand. Staying quiet went against every fiber of her being. Her mind reeled.

“In my world, you don’t excuse murder, no matter what. You don’t say one life isn’t important enough to care about. You don’t let a killer walk free. You don’t let an innocent boy be scorned as a murderer because the town finds it convenient.”

Anyone peeking in would have wondered why this girl was screaming out loud to herself in a parked car with the engine running.

“Nobody’s going to be held accountable for Darryl’s death? Nobody but a kid so wracked with guilt, he hung himself? That’s what they call justice in this nice town? That’s okay?”

She punched the steering wheel, again and again, like she was boxing with someone.

“Why doesn’t anybody care about Darryl? I never knew the kid. All I know about him is he sold drugs and he worked at Huntsie’s. I don’t know what he looked like. I don’t know if he had a girlfriend. I don’t know if he had dreams for the future. I don’t know what he wanted out of life. I don’t know what he cared about. What made him happy?”

Joya Bonner didn’t need to know any of those things to know it wasn’t right that he ended up dead.

She started imagining his last moments. The image was so painful, she howled. “No!”

She covered her eyes with her hands and wept.

The daughter part took over.

“My dad isn’t a killer. Gertie stressed that. The whole town knows it. Yet he’s the one the sheriff wants to nail. Goddamn sheriff and his ego. He wants to be the last one standing. I hate men’s egos. They’re never under control. Oh, Dad. Why couldn’t you guys have left this alone in the first place? Why did your egos have to get in the way? You
kidnapped
that kid. Left him chained up. Cold and hungry. He couldn’t even defend himself. He might not be dead now if he’d had a chance against his killer. But he didn’t. God, what were you guys thinking? You thought you were above the law. Just like Sammy…Stop it, Joya. Your dad is nothing like that Mafia goon. Nothing. You hear me?”

The little girl who grew up here made an appearance.

“How could all this happen in this wonderful, little town? Good people. Strong family values. Honorable people. Respectful. Kind. Friendly. Helpful. Honest.”