Let There Be Suspects (15 page)

Lucy came by with gifts for the girls, but she didn’t stay long. She told me we would talk later, and I knew she’d hold me to it.

Late in the afternoon Ed came into the kitchen where I was pretending to help Vel make Christmas dinner and asked if I wanted to visit Cliff with him.

“You go,” Vel said. “I can finish without you.”

I nodded, but without enthusiasm. “This isn’t going down as one of our best Christmases, is it?”

“Not likely.” Ed kissed my forehead and pulled me close for just a moment. “Shall we invite him to dinner?”

I looked to the cook for answer. “You can try,” Vel said, “but I doubt he’ll say yes.”

I went upstairs to tell the girls where we’d be and comb my hair. Once Ed and I were in the car heading toward the Emerald Springs Hotel, he told me that Cliff wanted to talk about Ginger’s funeral.

“You can’t mean he’s going to bury her here?”

“That’s what he said on the telephone.”

“But why? That doesn’t make sense. She never lived here. I mean, it’s the scene of the crime. You think he’d want to bury her as far away as possible.”

“Cliff said that at least
here
, someone will come to her funeral.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. According to Ginger she had a legion of fans if not friends. She’d had her own television show. She was the author of a successful cookbook and at work on the next one. Since their marriage she had lived with Cliff in Indianapolis. Surely she had met people along the way.

“The only people he could think of who might want to attend were
his
family, a grandmother and great-aunt whose health won’t permit a winter trip,” Ed said. “It’s a sad statement about Ginger’s life.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. It was also strong evidence that the people Ginger
had
known hadn’t liked her. Exactly how many people had she alienated and how badly? Had any of them disliked her enough to kill her?

Was Roussos going to look into this? Or was he going to settle on my sister as villain?

The Emerald Springs Hotel and Spa wants to be a premiere resort, with its own heliport to accommodate jet-setters, and famous chefs vying to direct its kitchen. That’s what it wants to be. In reality it’s a sprawling brick building with two hundred or so rooms and suites, a funky old spa with museum-worthy fixtures, and a restaurant that treats vegetarians like recalcitrant children. I learned that last fact on my wedding anniversary.

The hotel, built just after World War I, sits on the site of the first Emerald Springs Hotel, which was built before the Civil War. Until the old frame building went up in flames, the original hotel was a popular destination for Ohioans eager to “take” the waters. The mineral springs that flow underground are said to have healing properties, not a one of which has ever been proved. The mouth of the springs “springs forth” in a nearby public park where swimming and wading are allowed in the summer. I can truthfully say that last summer the water did nothing for my ingrown toe-nail. Call it evidence.

In the summer the lobby smells faintly of mildew, and when the wind blows, the walls creak. Now, in winter, the lobby smelled of wood smoke and fresh evergreens. Small tables were occupied by guests playing cards or chatting over drinks. I liked the ambience, as if we had jumped back a century to a simpler time. I was ready for a simpler time.

Ed asked a clerk at the reception desk to announce our arrival to Cliff. Then we took the elevator to the fourth floor, which is as high as it goes. The hallway carpet was gray, patterned with pink and lavender roses. Below the chair rail the walls were painted the same green as the carpet’s foliage and above it a paler green. Watercolor landscapes were spaced at intervals.

Cliff ’s room sat at the end of the hall. Ed knocked, and we waited.

Cliff let us in with a sad little smile. “Thank you for coming.”

Trying to figure out what to say in these situations is so hard. It never gets easier, and being married to a minister doesn’t help. I don’t think it gets easier for Ed, either.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, touching Cliff’s arm. “I can’t even imagine how you feel.”

“It just seems impossible.”

“It does,” Ed agreed.

The room was actually a suite with a kitchenette to the right, and a sitting room straight ahead with a bedroom off it. Cliff led us to wingback chairs in the sitting room in front of a fireplace with gas logs that looked as much like real ones as Mickey looks like a mouse. He must have ordered a pot of coffee when Ed told him we were coming. Coffee was the strongest fragrance in the room, but I could still detect a note of Ginger’s spicy perfume. I pictured Cliff trying to pack up Ginger’s belongings, and I knew what I could do to help.

“One of the last things Ginger did was buy gifts for your girls,” Cliff said. “If you would take them back with you?”

I nodded, trying not to think about what Ginger had selected. “We’d like you to come home with us and have dinner.”

“No. I’m really not . . . up to that.”

“Cliff, would it help if I packed Ginger’s things while you and Ed talk? It might be easier for you to let me do it.”

His eyes filled, and he nodded. “The blue suitcase was hers.”

I imagined Cliff hauling the suitcase home and being forced to unpack it. “Are you . . . I mean is there anything she had with her that you want to keep? Because I could pack those things separately for you to take back, and just take care of the rest of it here.”

Again, he seemed grateful. “When my first wife died I had to dispose of her things.” He shook his head. “I don’t want anything. Ginger had some jewelry with her, I think. I’d like you to have whatever you want.”

That was a wrinkle I hadn’t thought of. “Oh no, that seems like a lot—”

“Please. Just take it all.”

I nodded. If Cliff was planning a real funeral, the funeral director would expect us to provide a dress. If nothing hanging in the closet was appropriate, at least I’d know her size. This was something I could do for Cliff, as well.

I left Ed to discuss arrangements and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind me. Ginger’s perfume was stronger here, and her belongings were strewn all over. This was going to be harder than I thought. Ginger still seemed alive in this room, and I could almost hear her ask why I was going through her things.

I found the suitcase lying open on a stand, but she had unpacked completely, and it was empty. I opened drawers and began to fold and place items inside. Lacy lingerie, sweaters I hadn’t seen her wear, silk pajamas. I finished the drawers, leaving the row of drawers filled with Cliff ’s things untouched. Her jewelry was rolled in a satin case on top of the dresser. I was surprised how much she had brought with her and wondered if Junie might want it. I was sure my sisters wouldn’t.

I cleaned out the closet and found a rust-colored wool dress with a matching paisley shawl that would be appropriate for her burial. I packed it on top, then I tackled the bathroom, assembling and packing everything that was clearly hers in a carry-on bag that had been next to the suitcase.

Fifteen minutes later I was finished. The only trace of Ginger was the perfume lingering in the air.

I joined the men in the sitting room. Ed stood when he saw me. “I can take that.” He came over and got the bags. Cliff averted his eyes. Ed wheeled them just outside the door and left it ajar when he came back in to say goodbye.

We stood in the suite’s hallway. “Cliff has decided on a simple memorial service. He’s already talked to a funeral director. She’ll probably be buried at Memorial Gardens. We’ll know for sure tomorrow.”

I didn’t ask Cliff if he was certain this was what he wanted. I was sure Ed had covered that. Cliff was determined to leave Ginger in Emerald Springs with us.

Cliff seemed to cast around for something else to talk about, as if he was afraid he might cry. “I got two more switches in for you, before the police . . .” He shook his head and his eyes grew moist. “And I replaced the one in the room you’re working on. It was defective.”

I was surprised the switch had been the problem, not me. “Thanks.” I touched his arm.

“Oh, I almost forgot. The girls’ gifts are in the kitchen.”

He took a few steps into the kitchenette and removed something from the counter beside the refrigerator, which had been blocked from view. He came back and handed me an envelope with Deena’s name printed on the front in violet ink. Then he left again and returned with a cage. Inside was a guinea pig that was almost the exact red of Ginger’s hair.

“Ginger said Teddy really wanted this for Christmas. I hope it’s okay?” He held it out to Ed. “There’s food and some other stuff to go with it.”

I glanced at Ed, who was staring down at the guinea pig. Cliff had been through so much. I didn’t know what to say.

“Teddy definitely wanted a guinea pig,” Ed said, without looking at me. He took the cage from Cliff. “And we didn’t get her one. She’ll be thrilled.”

Suddenly I knew, without opening the envelope in my hand, what Deena would find inside.

I was sure Cliff believed Ginger had chosen well. He was not the kind of man to pick up on the undercurrents at a dinner table. “You’re a very thoughtful man,” I said with as much sincerity as I could dredge up.

He returned with a bag filled with all the basics for the guinea pig. “Ginger wanted the girls to have a good Christmas. It meant a lot to her. She said giving them these gifts was like making up for the past.”

In the hall Ed and I didn’t say a word. Juggling the guinea pig and cage, the food and litter and Ginger’s luggage, we made our way to the elevator.

Making up for the past
.

Ginger was laughing at us from the grave, and we hadn’t even buried her.

10

On the night after Christmas Sid and I hiked a block-by-block grid of Emerald Springs, starting at the Oval. I hoped with Christmas lights still shining, she would recognize at least a portion of the area where she had walked through falling snow on Christmas Eve. She was fairly certain which street she had taken after she placed the baby in the manger, but just two blocks away she thought she might have taken this turn, or maybe that one.

Frankly, I couldn’t blame her. Emerald Springs is a lovely little town, but there’s a definite trend toward icicle lights hanging from porch eaves and colored spotlights on evergreen plantings. The Frosties, Rudolphs, and Grinches are one big holiday cartoon commercial. Sid thought she recognized a brightly lit Santa, then we saw an identical one three blocks away. And so it went.

In fact, by the time we got home, the map we tried to create was a hopeless tangle of “maybes” and “not so sures.” There was little point in giving it to Roussos as a way to check Sid’s alibi. Short of knocking on every single door in a twelve-block radius, there was no way to prove my sister hadn’t gotten the last laugh in her lifelong war with Ginger.

Meantime Ginger’s last laugh at
my
expense was happily inert in the cage Ginger thoughtfully bought to house it. A delighted Teddy named the new guinea pig Cinnamon, Cin for short. As far as I can tell, Cin likes to sit in his cage. Or sit in Teddy’s lap. This is his entire repertoire. I’m just grateful that either the stores in Emerald Springs didn’t yield two guinea pigs or that Ginger somehow missed that part of Teddy’s Christmas wish. Cin posing as a rock is one thing, but Cin humping a girl rock is a sight I hope never to see.

So far Moonpie has not tried to develop a more intimate relationship with Cinnamon, but oddly, he seems to miss Teddy’s devoted attention. Maybe a cat can’t sulk, but Moonpie’s doing an excellent imitation.

As I had suspected when Cliff handed me the envelope, Deena is now the proud owner of three tickets to the Botoxins’ concert in Columbus. Rather than humiliate Cliff, Ed and I agreed to let Deena keep them. When concert time comes, one of us will make the grand sacrifice and chaperone. I made myself buy one more ticket.

Of course three tickets mean that Deena has to choose two friends from her vast circle to go with her. All those not chosen won’t just be hurt but furious. After all, it was Deena’s mother who successfully preached that eleven-year-olds were too young for the concert.

Deena is nobody’s fool. She figured this out while her excited squeal was still echoing through the parsonage. Judging from the times since then that I’ve caught her staring into space, she’s struggling over how to resolve it.

Since Emerald Springs is not a hotbed of violent crime, the autopsy was completed quickly, and Ginger’s body was released for burial. The memorial service was planned for the Thursday afternoon after Christmas, and our Women’s Society volunteered to take care of the reception. I was touched and grateful, and I suspected that the committee’s presence at the service would keep the sanctuary from feeling so empty and sad. Afterwards Ed would do a short commitment service at the grave side with only Cliff in attendance. Cliff had asked that we respect his desire for a private good-bye.

On Thursday morning I woke to a silent house. The girls had spent the night with their friends the Frankel girls. Considering the circumstances of Ginger’s death, we had decided not to require their attendance at the memorial service, and May Frankel had volunteered to take them ice skating instead. Junie wanted to do the flowers and was probably in town driving our local florist crazy. Vel, who had extended her vacation time for Ginger’s service, was helping Junie—or more likely, running interference. Ed was at church working on Ginger’s service. That left only Sid and me.

I threw on sweats and went downstairs to see if Sid was up, but the coffeemaker was off and the only sound was Moonpie crunching cat food. I figured if Moonpie was hungry, Teddy and Vel, who was staying in Teddy’s room, had been conscientious about closing the bedroom door. Cin was still with us.