In the Event of My Death (20 page)

After work, when everyone had gone home, Laurel placed a quick call to Kurt. She got his answering machine. Maybe he wasn’t home yet. She’d try again later. She had to tell him about seeing Faith’s mother and about the noose in the Pritchard barn.

It was six when she left the store and drove to the hospital. She didn’t know if Audra was allowed visitors, but she at least wanted the child to know she’d stopped by. She was surprised when a pretty, dark-haired nurse said she could see Audra for a few minutes.

Audra lay propped on pillows, deathly pale, her brown hair spread around her mournful little face, her eyes fixed blindly on a cartoon show rattling annoyingly on the television opposite her bed.

“Audra?” she said gently. “Audra, it’s Laurel.” No response. She neared the bed and held out a bud vase. “April and Alex each sent a pink rose with some baby’s breath. They thought you might like pink roses.”

The child’s big brown eyes moved for the first time. She reached out a tentative finger and touched a petal. “Pink roses are my favorite.” Her voice was scratchy. “Did they come with you?”

“They would have, but dogs aren’t allowed in hospitals.” Laurel put the roses beside Audra’s bed and sat next to her. “How are you feeling, honey?”

“Not so good.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “My mommy’s dead.”

Laurel’s throat tightened as she hugged the child who felt so slight in her grasp. “Your mommy is in heaven, honey. Heaven is a wonderful place with pink roses and puppies and kittens and big, fluffy clouds and beautiful angels.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Audra suddenly went into a coughing jag, then moaned slightly. Laurel wiped her nose with a tissue and gave her a drink of water. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m way too hot. Could you take the blanket off?”

“I don’t think we should do that. It’s your fever making you hot. Just try to hang on. You’ll feel better in a couple of days.”

“No I won’t. I’ll never feel better. Laurel, I heard a nurse in the hall say it’s my fault Mommy’s dead.”

Laurel’s anger ignited so violently it shocked her. “That’s ridiculous! Who said that?”

“A tall nurse with lots of yellow hair. She said if that little brat had stayed in the car, nobody could’ve killed Mrs. Price.”

“That is
not
true.”

“But it is. Mommy was grouchy and I got mad and ran out of the car. I wanted to scare her.” Tears brimmed in Audra’s eyes. “Instead she got killed and it’s my fault.”

Laurel’s instinct was to coo and comfort, but something told her that wasn’t the way to approach Audra. She was a tough, smart little girl. Logic would appeal to her more than coddling. “Audra, did you kill your mother?”

The child’s eyes widened. “No! Honest!”

“Then her death is
not
your fault. Her death is the fault of whoever killed her. Doesn’t that make sense?”

“Kind of. But I was out there running around…”

“Did anyone try to kill you?”

“No.”

“That’s because they weren’t after you. Whoever it was wanted to hurt your mommy and if they hadn’t done it that night, they would have done it some other time. I’m not just trying to make you feel better, Audra.” She looked straight into Audra’s bloodshot eyes. “I
know
what I’m saying. Do you believe me?”

Audra frowned, still sniffling. “Well…I guess.”

“Good. That nurse doesn’t know what she’s talking about.
I
do, so you
have
to believe me. You also have to believe that your mother is in a beautiful place and she’s looking down on you and loving you just as much as ever.”

“But I’ll never see her again,” Audra quavered.

“Yes you will, sweetheart. I guarantee it. Now you just concentrate on getting well. April and Alex are looking forward to seeing you as soon as you get out of here.”

“Really?”

“My word of honor. You’re their favorite person.”

“Except for you.”

“That’s just because I’m the one who feeds them.”

Finally Audra smiled slightly. “Give them kisses for me.”

“I will,” Laurel promised.

When Laurel left Audra’s room, she went to a phone in the hospital lobby and called Kurt’s number. Still the answering machine. She looked at her watch. Six forty-five. She knew he was home by now. Maybe he was still so mad at her he just wasn’t answering her calls. But she had to talk to him.

Ten minutes later she pulled up in front of his apartment house. She remembered her last trip here. She’d been frightened senseless by whoever had chased her down the hill, trying to push her car off the road. Kurt hadn’t been home, but he’d certainly been angry with her for coming there instead of going to police headquarters. He’d been right. It was a stupid move. But this evening was different.

Laurel entered the building and tapped on his door. No answer. She tried again. Right on cue, Mrs. Henshaw threw back her door and stepped into the hallway. “You after him again?” she asked rudely.

Laurel tried to hold on to her temper. It seemed she’d been losing it all day. “I really need to speak with Kurt and I can’t seem to reach him by phone.”

“Thought you was his girlfriend. Looks like he’s avoidin’ you.”

I will not get mad, Laurel said to herself as she looked the woman up and down. She wore double-knit pants strained at the seams in the hip and thigh area, a sweatshirt with sequined poinsettias stretched across her ample bosom, dirty running shoes, and a green velvet clip-on bow in her salt-and-pepper hair. She also had a rim of chocolate around her mouth and Laurel heard a television game show playing noisily in the background. Bells and whistles were going off while the audience clapped wildly.

“Mrs. Henshaw, has Kurt been in this evening?”

“How would I know? What do you think I am? A snoop or somethin’?”

“I just thought you might have heard him.”

“Can’t hear anything in my apartment with the door shut.”

“You heard me knocking on his door.”

“You was poundin.’”

“No I wasn’t.”

“Well, I don’t know nothin’ about him.” A slightly crafty look passed over her round, boneless face. “I’m manager of the buildin’, though. I’ve got keys to all the apartments. If it’s
real
important…”

“It is,” Laurel said firmly. Kurt was avoiding her, but he had to know a few things she’d found out. “I’m going in for just a moment to leave him a note,” she told Mrs. Henshaw. “If you see him later, will you tell him I was only here for a couple of minutes?”

Mrs. Henshaw retrieved the key and gave it to her with a conspiratorial wink that sent waves of dislike through Laurel. “Sure I’ll tell him. You can count on me.”

Laurel didn’t like counting on Mrs. Henshaw for anything, but she had no choice. The woman had seen her. No doubt she would report to Kurt as soon as he set foot on the upstairs landing.

Laurel had been in Kurt’s apartment a couple of times, and then only briefly. It was utilitarian, almost Spartan, with only a vinyl-covered couch, a couple of cheap, scratched tables, a small bookcase, and a worn recliner chair lined up opposite the television in the living room. Only a double bed and a walnut-veneer dresser occupied the bedroom. “I don’t need much and I’m saving money for my dream house,” Kurt explained the first time she was here and had badly concealed her surprise at the barren look of the apartment.

Right now Laurel wasn’t at all concerned about his furnishings or lack of them. She glanced at his answering machine. The red light did not blink, which meant he’d listened to and erased her two earlier messages. She picked up his receiver, dialed her number and code. There were no messages on her machine. He hadn’t returned her calls.

Okay, fine, Kurt, she thought. If he didn’t want to talk to her, she wouldn’t force him.

Looking around, she saw no notebooks in the living room—nothing but a scratch pad beside the phone. A pencil lay beside it. She picked up the pencil and began to write, immediately breaking off the lead point. She fished in her purse for a pen. She got out “Dear Kurt, I” before it went dry.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she muttered. She looked around the room. On the bookshelf sat a cup full of pens and pencils. As she went for one, she couldn’t help noticing Kurt’s scant library. No one could accuse him of being an avid reader. He owned two of Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer novels, three of Ed McBain’s, Benchley’s
The Deep
and
White Shark
, Ken Follett’s
The Key to Rebecca
, a Clive Cussler, and a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets.

Laurel did a double-take. A book of Shakespeare’s sonnets? Could it be a leftover from high school? If so, Kurt hadn’t kept any of the other books they’d read in school. Besides, their senior English class Shakespeare book had contained plays as well as sonnets.

Overcome by curiosity, she withdrew the book. It was bound in brown leather, obviously a fairly expensive edition. A bit of dust on the top showed that it hadn’t been read for a while, which didn’t surprise Laurel. She couldn’t imagine Kurt lounging in his easy chair reading Shakespearean sonnets.

She opened the cover, then the flyleaf. The book was inscribed in a beautiful, sloping hand:

All days are nights to see till I see thee,

And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

A couplet from one of the sonnets. The book had been given in love. But it wasn’t the book so much as the giver that left Laurel breathless. Beneath the inscription she read:

All my love,

Faith

1

Laurel sat back on her heels. Why on earth would Faith give Kurt a book of Shakespearean sonnets? Well, it didn’t take much thought to figure that out after reading the inscription. Faith loved Kurt. Laurel closed her eyes. Faith loved
Kurt
? They’d been friends since they were seven and Faith had swung on the ivy vine into the tree house. Kurt and Chuck, Faith and Laurel. They’d been inseparable that summer, but gradually drifted apart as they got older. Faith had never dated Kurt. She’d never dated anyone except Neil.

At least openly. Hadn’t Neil said he was the only guy Zeke would let her go out with because his parents were members of Zeke’s church? Laurel thought about Kurt’s animosity toward Neil lately. Was it only because he thought Neil was strange, or was it because he’d once considered Neil a rival, another of Faith’s lovers? And what about the night of the Price Christmas party? Kurt had been talking about Faith and her baby. What had he said? Laurel dredged up the memory: “That child would have been almost thirteen…I’d bet it was a boy.” He sounded strange, wistful and removed, almost as if he’d forgotten she were in the car.

Neil said he couldn’t be the father of Faith’s baby. If Laurel chose to believe him, then someone else had to be. Could it have been Kurt? Is that why he was so furious with her when he found out how Faith died? Was he merely disappointed in her lack of truthfulness, or was he livid over losing the girl he loved and his child?

Suddenly the apartment seemed oppressively small and airless. Laurel grabbed a pen from the cup and wrote briefly on the scratch pad: “I have some information that might interest you. Please call me. L.” She’d intended to explain about Faith’s mother and the noose in the barn, but she couldn’t bring herself to stay in the apartment that long. She placed the piece of paper in his chair where he’d be sure to see it, dashed from the apartment, and knocked on Mrs. Henshaw’s door. “Here’s the key,” she said hurriedly.

“Find what you was lookin’ for?” Mrs. Henshaw asked, smirking.

“I left a note,” Laurel said curtly. “Thank you for the key.”

As she ran down the steps, she was aware of Mrs. Henshaw watching her from a crack in her door.

2

Laurel drove straight home, trying to recover from the shock of what she’d found in Kurt’s apartment. When she turned into the long, dark drive leading to her house, she was glad she’d remembered to pick up a battery for her garage door opener. When she pressed it, the door slid up. She pulled in, closed the door, then emerged from the car and went into the house via the side door.

Both dogs eagerly awaited her. “I know. Dinner is late,” she told them. “You’re probably both on the verge of starvation. Speaking of starvation, I haven’t eaten anything all day. I feel like I’m going to faint.”

She fixed the dogs’ food first, then rummaged in the refrigerator until she found a package of hot dogs. She stuck three in the microwave, then wrapped them in bread, ketchup, and relish and wolfed them down with unladylike speed. Still hungry, she next turned to the freezer, withdrew two Fudgesickles, and dispatched them just as quickly. “I have to remember to go to the grocery store,” she said aloud as a cramp clenched her stomach when all the food landed with a thud. She went to the couch and lay down, feeling like a five-year-old who’d eaten too much birthday cake.

A few minutes later, as her stomach was beginning to calm, the phone rang. Laurel picked it up and Kurt barked, “What do you mean coming into my apartment when I’m not home?”

“Well, pardon me, but you won’t answer my phone calls. I was only there about ten minutes. Didn’t your resident hall monitor inform you?”

“Yes, but she said it was a lot longer than ten minutes.”

“Oh, big deal. Besides, she gave me the key. Calm down. I didn’t go through your underwear drawer or anything.”

“Very cute. What do you want?”

“First of all, I’d like for you to stop acting like a jackass.”

“Thank you.”

“You are and you know it.” It was hard to keep her voice even. If Kurt
had
been the father of Faith’s baby, he’d let Neil take all the blame, but he was treating her like a criminal. “Okay, you’re mad because I didn’t tell you how Faith really died. I made a terrible mistake. Don’t you dare tell me
you’ve
never made one.”

He was quiet for a moment. “What did you want to tell me, Laurel?” he asked in a more civil tone.

“First, Genevra Howard, Faith’s mother, was at Angie’s funeral.”

“Faith’s
mother
! Did you talk to her?”

“No, not really.”

“But she said she was Faith’s mother.”

“No. She looked like Faith and she left flowers on Faith’s grave.”

“That’s it?”

“Kurt, she left six red carnations with a red plastic heart attached.” He was silent. “Don’t you think it’s important that a woman who disappeared over twenty years ago, who didn’t even come to her own daughter’s funeral, suddenly showed up at Angie’s? And what about the flowers on Faith’s grave? Didn’t you
hear
me? I said
six
red carnations with a red plastic
heart
attached. The Six of Hearts.”

“It’s pretty odd
if
it was really Faith’s mother who left the flowers.” His voice sounded hollow. He doesn’t want to believe me, but he does, Laurel thought. Why doesn’t he want to believe Faith’s mother might be here? Is he afraid of what she knows?

“There’s something else, Kurt,” she said in a rush. “I went out to the Pritchard farm yesterday and—”

“What the hell did you do that for?” he exploded.

“I don’t know,” she floundered. “I just wanted to see it. I went into the old barn and there was a hangman’s noose dangling from a beam.”

“A
noose
?”

“Yes. It was made from new rope.”

“A
noose
?”

“
Yes
, Kurt, a
noose
. Like the one Faith put her head in that night.”

“Jeez!” He sounded natural for the first time during the phone call, animation replacing cold anger. “I’ll go out there and take a look. But you stay away from there. You shouldn’t have gone there in the first place. You shouldn’t be anywhere alone. Look at what happened to Denise.”

“Denise wasn’t in a secluded spot.”

“Well, not technically, but no one could see her from the road.”

Laurel swallowed. “Kurt, this has been bothering me. Do you think Denise suffered or did she die quickly?”

“It’s too early to have the medical examiner’s report.”

“But you saw the body. What would you say?”

He paused. “Laurel, I’m no expert. There was a lot of blood.” He drew a breath. “I don’t think she died after the first blow. There were signs that she tried to get up on her knees, tried to crawl…”

“Oh,” Laurel gasped. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

“You asked.”

“I know. I wish I hadn’t. There were two female ghouls masquerading as friends at the Price home this morning who just couldn’t get enough details. It made me sick.”

“There are a lot of people like that.”

Laurel could feel herself calming down a bit. Besides, she didn’t want Kurt to think she’d seen the book of sonnets and had any idea of his connection with Faith. “Kurt, I’m sorry I came into your apartment without an invitation, but I really needed to talk to you.”

“You could have called me at the office or come in,” he said stiffly.

“Yes…. well, I…”

“You don’t want to talk about any of this in public. You still don’t want anyone to know how Faith died.”

And you don’t want anyone to know you were involved with her, Laurel almost snapped, but caught herself. Besides, he was right. She still didn’t want the whole town to know the truth. But there was more. She’d always thought of Kurt as a confidant, someone on whom she could depend. After seeing the book of sonnets and the declaration of love from Faith in his apartment, though, she wasn’t so sure how far she could trust him anymore.

“At least you know that Faith’s mother might figure into all this. And the Pritchard farm definitely needs to be checked out.”

“Laurel, I’m going to say this again. I don’t want you to go out there or any other place where someone can get at you without being seen. You’re very lucky you didn’t run into anyone this morning. The killer no doubt put up that noose and might be staying around the place. Are you sure you didn’t see anyone?”

“No,” she said aloud. Silently she added, I didn’t see anyone except Neil Kamrath watching me look at the hangman’s noose.

3

When Laurel hung up, she couldn’t help thinking how different her conversation with Kurt had been than one just last week. They’d never been overly romantic, their conversations were not laced with longing and endearments, but there had always been a closeness. That closeness was gone forever. It was what she had feared when she broke off her engagement to Bill Haynes five years ago, and she still believed he would have reacted to the truth exactly as Kurt had.

She had just put on a kettle for tea when the phone rang. She answered, hoping it wasn’t her mother demanding she come to Florida.

“Laurel, I’m so glad you’re home!” It was Neil.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her interest piqued by the excitement in his voice.

“I’ve found Genevra Howard.”

“What? Where?”

“Just where I guessed she’d be.”

“With the Lewis sisters.”

“Yeah. I parked down the street and waited all afternoon until I saw a woman matching your description come outside and fill a bird feeder.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No. I didn’t want to scare her.”

“Did you go to the door after she went in the house?”

“No.” He sounded slightly embarrassed. “I used to take piano lessons from Miss Adelaide when I was a kid, but you know how she and her sister are. They act like every adult male is out to ravish their maidenhood.”

Laurel burst into laughter. Both sisters were in their early eighties without an ounce of flesh to spare, but they’d always clung to each other, fluttering and cringing away from men as if they were dewy Victorian belles. Laurel often thought that in secret they probably lived on a diet of torrid romance novels.

“I have an idea,” she said. “They barely know me, but I’m female. I’d been planning to take them a wreath as a gift because they were in the store trying to select one when Zeke came in and put on his sideshow. I’ll run to the store, get a wreath, then meet you outside their house. We’ll simply be a young couple bringing them a wreath.”

“Laurel,” Neil said slowly, “they
do
know me. They think I’m the father of Faith’s baby. They won’t let me inside the door.”

“Oh.” Laurel bit her lip. “Neil, you look so different now than you did as a teenager I don’t think they’ll recognize you until we’re inside. Then they’ll probably be too polite to throw you out. I don’t want to go alone. Please meet me there.”

“Okay, we can give it a try. Do you know where they live?”

“Yes. I’ll meet you in about half an hour.”

She turned off the stove, grabbed her jacket, and headed for the store. As she remembered, the sisters had been torn between a pine and a cedar wreath. She chose the largest wreath she had left, pine decorated with small pieces of wax fruits and tiny, foil-wrapped packages and finished off with a large red velveteen ribbon.

When Laurel pulled up in front of the Lewis sisters’ house, she stood by the car for a minute, looking down the dark street. She didn’t see the white Buick Neil had been driving earlier. Then she saw him emerge from a dark Mercury Marquis. “Different car,” she commented as he drew near.

“Dad’s car. Old as hell, but it runs fine. It hasn’t been driven for a month, though, and needed some road time. Nice wreath.”

“Big and probably not what they wanted, but at least it might get us in the door.”

She rang the bell. In a moment the curtain drew back a fraction and she caught a glimpse of blue hair. She counted to ten and rang the bell again. The porch light went on and slowly the door opened.

“Miss Lewis?” Laurel wasn’t sure which sister was looking at her warily. “I’m Laurel Damron from Damron Floral. You were in my store last Friday when that awful scene occurred with Zeke Howard. You left without a wreath. I wanted to bring you one as an apology for the terrible distress you suffered.”

The woman relaxed slightly and managed a small smile. “My dear, that’s so kind of you, but it really isn’t necessary.”

“It would please me if you’d accept the wreath. If you don’t like this one, I can get you another.”

The woman’s faded blue eyes studied the wreath. “It’s simply beautiful. It was our favorite but a bit beyond our finances. I really can’t accept.”

“I insist. I see you don’t have a hook on your door. We’ll come in and hang it for you.” Laurel was already stepping into the house with unaccustomed pushiness. “Where are my manners? Miss Lewis, this is Neil Kamrath. He used to take piano lessons from you.”

“Oh, not me,” the woman fluttered. “I’m Miss Hannah.”

A woman seated on an old-fashioned settee immediately stood. “I’m Miss Adelaide. We look very much alike, but I’m three years younger than Hannah. I remember you, Neil. What a fine young man you’ve grown into! Did you ever master Tchaikovsky’s ‘Song of the Swan’?”

Neil looked slightly taken aback by her cordiality. “Good heavens, what a memory!” he exclaimed. Miss Adelaide beamed. “No, I’m sorry to say I never learned to play it well. Music isn’t my forte.”

“Oh, well, very few have the calling. I’ve heard you write stories.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.” He looks totally cowed by these two fragile old ladies, Laurel thought with amusement. In a minute he’s going to start shuffling his feet and sprout a cowlick.

“I’m sorry to say I haven’t read any,” Miss Adelaide went on. “Hannah and I lean toward the classics. Mr. Charles Dickens is a favorite.” I’ll bet, Laurel mused. No doubt they’d read their share of Dickens, but she was sure the sisters also possessed a large library of bodice-rippers.

“That’s all right, Miss Adelaide,” Neil said. “I doubt if you’d care for my work, but it earns a good living.”