Invisible (25 page)

“Exactly. I thought there had to be something more to life than seeing dead presidents in my garden vegetables, even if Margarite was gone. So I bought this motor home, sold my house, and started making the rounds of the kids and grandchildren.”

“Maybe, in a way, it’s nice that they’re scattered out. Gives you lots of traveling to do.”

“I love my children and grandchildren. I enjoy visiting them. They’re great, each and every one of them. But it didn’t take me long to discover that a merry-go-round of visiting them wasn’t enough.”

“The Lord fills a lot of empty spaces, if you’ll let him.”

He skipped that comment. “So that was when I discovered the joy, and small cash benefits, of writing travel articles. Now here I am.” He smiled. “Watching Beef Boogie Bingo in Clancy, Arkansas. But I meet lots of interesting people, and there are always new places to go and new sights to see.”

Two meteors streaked across the sky, almost as if running a race. I considered Mac’s on-the-road life. Was he on to something here, just cutting himself loose?

“I ate some of the peach cobbler you brought to Magnolia’s barbecue,” he said. “It was very good.”

The fact that he remembered it was peach told me he wasn’t just making polite small talk. “Thank you. I’m sorry I disappeared.” Since he already knew I was dabbling in murder investigation, I went ahead and explained to him about rushing over to Thea’s to look for Kendra’s photo. “I thought I’d get back in plenty of time to talk to you again. But when I finally found the photo I was astonished to see that the guests were gone and the lights out at Magnolia’s.”

“So you went on home.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Silence, as if he were waiting for me to add something. When I didn’t, he said, “But you didn’t stay there. You left again.”

“You saw?” I asked, surprised.

“I heard a car in your driveway. I looked out. And a car was leaving. With the lights turned off.”

“I didn’t want to wake anyone.”

“Stealthy as you were being, I figured that.”

Stealthy! I didn’t know what Mac was thinking, but I reluctantly realized it was time to explain my midnight jaunts. So I told him about overturned tombstones and my decision to stake out the cemetery and try to identify the vandals. “I’d been going there for quite a few nights, but it was on the very night of Magnolia’s barbecue that the vandals finally showed up. Though I didn’t really accomplish much because I fell in a ditch before I could get the license plate number on their pickup,” I had to admit.

He picked up the chair and turned it to face me. “You’re telling me you were running out to this cemetery at midnight, hiding there all night, watching for vandals.” He shook his head, obviously flabbergasted as he added this to the list of my other peculiarities. Murder investigation. Sleeping in my car. Now midnight stakeouts in a cemetery. “And here I thought . . .”

“Thought what?” I asked when he broke off.

He squirmed in the chair as if he had just developed a bad itch. “It seemed logical. An attractive woman, a midnight rendezvous . . .”

“A midnight rendezvous?” I repeated blankly. “With whom?”

“That’s what I wondered. I never did see you come home.”

The light came on in my head like a shooting star blazing across my mind. Now it was my turn to be flabbergasted. My mouth actually dropped open. “You mean you thought I . . . and some man . . .”

“I asked Magnolia the next day if you were seeing someone, and she said no. So then I thought, if he was someone you were sneaking around to see . . .” Another squirm. Neither of us were watching the stars now.

“So that’s why you asked me if I was here in Clancy with someone. You thought maybe I was sneaking off for an entire weekend rendezvous.”

I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. Someone thinking Ivy Malone was involved in a secret relationship, carrying on a flaming rendezvous with some unknown man . . .

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.

Mac straightened in the chair, and I could see I’d insulted his dignity. “Apparently I was wrong,” he said, his tone lofty.

“Yes. You were wrong.”

“I apologize.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed again at the preposterousness of it all. Finally Mac laughed too.

“But it wasn’t a totally preposterous thought,” he insisted. “You are an attractive woman. You have sparkle and energy. You’re not afraid to try new things. You cook a fantastic cobbler. Why wouldn’t you be in a relationship?”

23

Mac was already up when I woke the next morning; he cooked scrambled eggs with diced ham for breakfast. Today I followed him around as he interviewed people for his article. Some were officials overseeing the event, others average people he stopped on the street to get their take on shooting stars, quilts, and Beef Boogie Bingo.

Late afternoon, when he was checking the list of events on a poster to make certain he’d covered everything, I spotted the Community Worship Service scheduled for tomorrow morning in the park. “Oh, that sounds good. I think I’ll go.” Tentatively I added, “Maybe you’d like to come along?”

“Actually, I’ll be moving on first thing tomorrow morning.”

“You will?” I’m sure my surprise showed.

“I can get everything I need for the article wrapped up today, and I promised my daughter that I’d be with them for my granddaughter’s eighth birthday on Tuesday. It’s going to take me at least two days to drive to Montana.”

I didn’t know why the news gave me such a jolt. No reason for Mac to hang around. Moving on was what he did. And it wasn’t as if some big romance had developed between us. Although sitting under the stars together last night had felt a smidgen romantic.

“I’ll be staying until Monday so I can see Kendra’s friend at the lawyer’s office,” I said. A little awkwardly I added, “There should be plenty of motel rooms available by tomorrow evening.”

“That’s what I figured.”

My jolt of surprise—and, okay, a sliver of disappointment— was over by the time we ate fried chicken for supper at yet another civic club stand. We wandered the carnival again in the evening, shared a fuzzy bundle of cotton candy, and watched more 3:00 a.m. shooting stars. On Sunday morning, I cooked buttermilk hotcakes while Mac showered.

Immediately afterward, Mac started readying the motor home for travel. He tucked the jacks that leveled and stabilized it into a side cubbyhole, cranked down the TV antenna, rolled up the carpet under the steps, and checked the gauges that showed battery, water, and holding tank levels. By the time I was ready to leave for the 9:00 worship service, he was putting things away inside so they wouldn’t fly around during travel.

He followed me out to the car and leaned his elbows against the window as I put the key in the ignition. “You will get a motel room tonight, won’t you? I don’t want to be worrying that you’re camped out in your car. Even if you do have a whistle.”

“No need to worry.”

“I really did like your cobbler at Magnolia’s. And your being here made Meteor Daze a lot more fun.”

“I’ve enjoyed it too.”

There was still much I didn’t know about Mac MacPherson, and I was mildly regretful. We hadn’t gotten around to talking about what occupation he’d been in before he retired. How he happened to have that motorcycle tattoo. What his real name was, behind the Mac. If he intended to stay on the road indefinitely.

“I’ll probably be back this way one of these days,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about doing something on Lake of the Ozarks.”

“If you get back to Madison Street, I’ll bake you another cobbler.”

“I’d like that.”

For a moment I thought he was going to lean inside the car and kiss me, but instead he squeezed my shoulder and backed away. I wheeled the Thunderbird in an arc, and when I looked back he was checking the oil in the motor home’s engine. Moving on. Would I ever see him again? Well, not something I planned on worrying about.

* * *

The worship service was nice. Chairs were set up on the grass. Small crosses made of wired flowers stood on either side of a wooden pulpit. One of the groups we’d seen at the bluegrass festival provided the music and did a credible job. The message was brief, on the simple theme of loving your neighbor.

After lunch I felt at loose ends. I’d seen pretty much everything there was to see at the Daze, and now it was just a matter of waiting around until I could talk to Beth Bigelow at the lawyer’s office tomorrow. Then the thought occurred to me: Was it necessary to wait? This was a small town . . .

I found a phone booth outside a gas station and looked up the Bigelow name. One Bigelow had an address that sounded distantly rural, but an Andy Bigelow lived on 14th Street. Should I call?

I decided not. I remembered reading in a detective book that the element of surprise is always good. I didn’t know why that should matter here, but I was out of my unlikely could-this-be-romance state (a daze of my own?) and back into investigative mode.

The house on 14th was a neat clapboard, with an older blue Honda in the driveway. I rang the bell. A young woman in her midtwenties came to the door. She was wearing a bulging maternity top over red shorts.

“I’m looking for Beth Bigelow?”

“That’s me.” Friendly smile, not a hostile glare, for a stranger at the door in small-town Clancy.

“I’m a friend of—” I broke off, thinking I should have choreographed this better. I didn’t want to upset her the way I had Marcy Alexander. Although maybe that was inevitable, given the circumstances. “You were a friend of Kendra Alexander?”

“Oh yes. We went all through school here together and then roomed at college together too. She was always so energetic and healthy, I couldn’t believe it when she . . .” She trailed off with a hard swallow and quick glisten of tears in her blue eyes. “And then to have her go so fast. She was a bridesmaid at my wedding just a few weeks before she died.”

“I have a photo here. I think she was a friend of Kendra’s, but I need to identify exactly who she is.”

Beth took the photo and studied it. “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize her. I didn’t know everyone Kendra knew at college, of course. But I’m pretty sure I’d recognize anyone who was really a close friend.” She handed the photo back.

I held up the other picture. “I think this is Kendra’s fiancé, Ray Etheridge.”

“Oh yes. Ray.” She smiled. “A wonderful guy.”

“Could you tell me something about him?”

For the first time her open friendliness took a step backward. “Why? What’s all this about?”

“It’s complicated, but this woman—” I indicated my Kendra’s photo, “was murdered up in Missouri not long ago, and I’m looking into—”

“You’re a policewoman?”

Obviously, from her incredulous question, I doubted she’d believe in the existence of some Special Geriatrics Force, even if I wanted to lie. “It’s just that she was a friend and neighbor, and so far her killer hasn’t been caught. But I have reason to believe she had some sort of relationship with Ray Etheridge.”

“Relationship? You mean he was dating her or something?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, you can be sure Ray didn’t kill her! And he certainly wasn’t cheating on Kendra. He . . . fell apart when she died. He was really crazy about her. He’d never kill anyone.”

“The thing that concerns me is that my friend had this photo of Ray in her apartment.” I took a deep breath, hating to go on, because what I had to say seemed to reflect so badly on my Kendra. “And she was using the real Kendra’s name and identity.”

“Pretending to be Kendra? That’s awful!” I could see Beth rising toward outrage now, and I hastily said the same thing I’d said to Marcy Alexander.

“I don’t think she was using the name maliciously.” Which came off as lame as it had with Marcy Alexander.

“How long ago was this woman murdered?” Beth asked.

“Just a few weeks ago.”

“I hadn’t thought about it for a long time, but I remember hearing sometime last year that Ray was dead too. Though I never heard if it was true or not. Somewhere up in Missouri, I think it was supposed to be.”

“Did they say how he died
?
”

“Accident of some kind, I think. Although I remember thinking at the time, oh my gosh, did he commit suicide because of Kendra? He was so devastated when she died. But you know . . . Let me see that picture again.”

I started to hand her Ray’s picture, but she grabbed the photo of Kendra instead. She put her thumbs over the dark hair and tilted her head as she studied the oval face partly hidden by a hand.

“Ray had a sister. She was going to college too. Not there at Jonesboro with us, but she came to see him a few times, and we all went out for pizza and beer. Except for the hair, this does look rather like her. But she was very light blond, just like Ray.”

I felt a rush of excitement. “This Kendra in the photo dyed her hair dark. Underneath, I’m sure she was quite blond.”

“Really?” Beth bent her head to study the photo more closely. “I didn’t know Ray’s sister well, of course, just met her those few times. But I never saw her in anything even close to this sexy outfit. And I can’t imagine why she’d pretend to be Kendra.”