Murder Carries a Torch (2 page)

“This isn’t an election year. Besides, this is January.”

“Oh, Mouse, you dummy. It’s
always
election year.”

“I guess you’re right. How was your luncheon?”

“Interesting. Two women sighted angels while we were in Warsaw.”

“Where did they see them?”

“One woman said she woke up and the angel was standing by her bed.”

“Writing in a book of gold?”

“What?”

“Like Abou Ben Adhem.”

“Who’s he?”

“Never mind. What about the other one?’

“She was having a root canal done.”

“How did she know it was an angel?”

“She just knew. We had a good lunch. Not chicken, thank goodness. I had enough of that in Warsaw. Broiled salmon in dill sauce.”

“That’s nice. How did you get invited?”

“Half the investment club’s in it, Mouse. All you have to do is believe in angels.”

“And you do.”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“I think that would get you in. Look, if you talk to Pukey, don’t promise him a thing about politicking.”

The back door opened and Fred walked in.

“Gotta go,” I said. “And I won’t.” I hung up.

“Meatloaf.” Fred held his hand to his heart. “I could just cry.”

So much for the alpha male.

“Are you tired?”

“Beat. Everything’s in pretty good shape over at the
shop, though.” He came over and hugged me. “You know what I’m going to do? Take a shower and put on that new jogging suit Haley gave me for Christmas.”

“Be still my heart. I’ll light a fire and we’ll watch
Wheel of Fortune
.”

Which is what we did. By eight o’clock, both of us were sound asleep, Fred in his recliner, me on the sofa. Around twelve I woke up enough to turn off the gas logs and the TV and get us both to bed. It was the next morning before I remembered Pukey Lukey and tried to call him again. It was the next morning when there was still no answer, that I began to worry something might be wrong.

When I turned off the computer, I realized I was hungry, really hungry for the first time since we had gotten home. I put three slices of bacon in the microwave, scrambled a couple of eggs, and fixed some cinnamon toast. Comfort food. I sat at the kitchen table with the January sun coming through the bay window and ate every bite except for a small bit of egg that I gave to Muffin. So much for the anorexia that Sister claims I have.

I was having my second cup of coffee when I remembered Luke and reached for the phone. There was still no answer at either number. I dialed Mary Alice.

“Maybe they’ve gone skiing,” she said.

“Skiing? Have you lost your mind? They’re both in their sixties and have lived in Mississippi all their lives.”

“You don’t have to ski to go skiing. You sit in the
lodge and drink hot rum and watch the ambulances go by.”

“You can do that in the bar of the Holiday Inn across from University Hospital.”

“Not the same ambiance. Everybody wouldn’t have on the pretty ski outfits.”

“Well, I doubt seriously that Luke and Virginia are sitting in a ski lodge drinking hot rum and watching ambulances.”

“I don’t know why not. At Debbie’s wedding they were both crocked.”

“I’m hanging up,” I said.

“Wait. You know that red velvet bag I gave you to put in your purse when we came through customs? The one I told you to guard?”

“The one with your pearls in it?”

“Yes. That one. I’ll be over in a little while to get it. Guard it.”

“I’ll get Fred’s old BB gun out. How come you didn’t get it yesterday if it’s so precious?”

“I forgot it.”

This time I did hang up. I put on a pair of jeans, a turtleneck, and an old flannel shirt of Fred’s and took Woofer for his walk. As we opened the gate, I could see Mitzi Phizer sitting in her new sunroom reading the paper. She and her husband, Arthur, our longtime neighbors, had gone through some terrible problems back in the fall. It was good to see her there; it was good to see her wave at us.

The air was so crisp you could taste it. Warsaw, in spite of the cold and snow, had had the underlying smell of diesel fumes and coal fires. Fred was right. It was good that home was this particularly beautiful place.

We turned the corner and I could see the statue of Vulcan, the huge iron god of the forge that overlooks all of Birmingham. The sun was glinting off his big bare butt. Oh, yes. I was home.

I was waiting happily for Woofer to check out a telephone pole when a black Lincoln pulled up and stopped. I thought for a second that it was someone wanting directions, but when the window slid open, Pukey Lukey said, “Hey, Patricia Anne.”

The sun was so bright, I couldn’t see him well. I leaned through the window.

“Hey. What are you doing here? Debbie said you wanted to get in touch with us. I’ve been trying to call you.”

Luke, I realized as my eyes adjusted, looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. He was wearing dark glasses, but they weren’t large enough to hide the puffiness beneath his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I was alarmed at his appearance. “Has something happened?”

“Oh, God, Patricia Anne. You wouldn’t believe. Get in and let’s go to your house. I was on the way there when I saw you.”

This sounded bad, like something we would need time for. I looked down at Woofer who was now investigating the Lincoln’s tires.

“You go on. I’ve got the dog. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“The dog’s fine. You can put him in the backseat.”

I looked at the maroon leather upholstery. Then I looked at Woofer.

“I think I’d better meet you there.”

“All right. But hurry.”

I straightened up, the window slid closed, and the
black car pulled away from the curb right in front of a young man in a pickup who managed to slam on his brakes and shoot Luke a bird at the same time. Luke seemed unaware of the near collision and continued on down the street. The young man frowned at me.

“Sorry,” I mouthed, as if I were to blame. I do this a lot, apologize for things that aren’t my fault. I think it’s because I’ve been Mary Alice’s sister for sixty-one years.

We walked home faster than Woofer liked. He wanted to savor the trees and bushes more.

“We’ll come back this afternoon,” I assured him.

Luke’s car was in our driveway and Luke was sitting on the back steps waiting. I took Woofer’s leash off and he ambled over to investigate the strange man. Luke patted Woofer’s head and began to cry. And for a second, I swear, this big man sitting on my back steps became the little boy crying because he had just thrown up all over everybody.

“Luke,” I said, sitting down beside him and putting my arm around his shoulders. “What on earth’s wrong?”

“Virginia.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of wet tissue which he mopped his face with.

“What’s wrong with her? Is she sick?”

He shook his head no. “She’s left me.”

“Virginia’s left you?” I couldn’t believe that was what he’d said.

“Gone. Skedaddled. Vamoosed.” He tried to smile.

“But why? What’s happened?” Virginia and Luke had been married for more than forty years. Fred and I had just started dating when I went to their wedding.

“Another man. She just up and ran off with another man, Patricia Anne.” Luke buried his face in the wet tissue; his shoulders shook.

“Oh, surely not, Luke. Virginia wouldn’t do that.”

“Gone,” he muttered into the tissue.

Woofer lay down across our feet. I pushed him off gently and took Luke’s arm.

“Let’s go in the house and get warm and get some coffee.”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“Okay.”

I was unlocking the door when Sister came through the gate.

“Hey, y’all,” she said. “What’s happening?”

I gave Luke a slight push as the door opened. “Go on to the bathroom.” Then I waited for Sister.

“Was that Puke? Where did he go?”

“To the bathroom.”

“To throw up?”

“I hope not. Come on in.”

“Is something wrong?” She followed me into the kitchen.

“He says Virginia’s left him.”

“You’re kidding. Why?”

“He says for another man. But I don’t know any of the details. He just got here.” I reached into the cabinet and got the coffee. “And he looks like hell, bless his heart.”

“For another man? That’s interesting.” Sister sat down at the kitchen table.

“Interesting?” I measured the coffee into the Mr. Coffee.

“Sure. I wonder where she found him. Available men are as scarce as hen’s teeth in Columbus.”

I plugged in the coffeemaker and came to sit by her at the kitchen table. She was wearing a bright red sweatshirt
printed with green frogs that leaped as she breathed. The effect was dizzying. Luke, I decided, given his predisposition to motion sickness, might be in trouble when confronted with this.

“Listen,” I said. “He’s very upset. And don’t you dare call him Puke.”

“You think I would be that rude?” The frogs jumped slightly.

“Just a reminder. You might forget.”

“Well, I won’t.” She drummed red acrylic nails on my white table. “Reckon what he wants with us? I still bet it’s politics and he wants money for Richard.”

“I think he just wants somebody to talk to, and we’re his only close relatives.”

I was wrong, of course.

Luke looked slightly better when he came from the bathroom. He had combed his hair and probably splashed cold water on his face. It was less puffy. He still looked bad enough to shock Sister, though, who said, “Puke, you look like hell!”

He nodded sadly and sank down into the chair opposite me. “I know. I don’t remember when I’ve slept.” He took his first look at Sister and shut his eyes. “Mary Alice, are those frogs jumping?”

“I’ll pull it off.”

“Thank you.”

She stood up, pulled the sweatshirt off, and folded it over the back of the chair.

“It’s just a white shirt now.”

“Thank you,” Luke repeated and opened his eyes.

His appearance was startling. Even though he had several days’ worth of beard, I could see his cheeks were sunken. Apparently he hadn’t been eating either. I got up,
turned on the oven, and got a package of Sister Schubert’s orange rolls from the refrigerator.

“Patricia Anne says Virginia’s run off with another man,” Sister said. No beating around the bush here.

Luke nodded. “She has. A man named Holden Crawford. A preacher who was painting our house.”

“Holden Crawford? You’re kidding. Sounds like
Catcher in the Rye
.”

They both looked at me blankly. Neither of them would ever get on
Jeopardy!

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I want to hear this.”

The coffee was made. I poured each of us a cup, put the rolls in the oven, and sat back down.

Luke put two teaspoons of sugar in his coffee and stirred it before he continued.

“It didn’t take him but three days to paint the whole house, including the soffits. But when he left, Virginia went with him.”

“What did he look like?” Sister wanted to know.

“I didn’t pay much attention. Big. Dark hair.” Luke sipped his coffee. “Every time I saw him, he was up on a ladder painting the soffits.”

“And you’re sure Virginia left with him?” I asked.

“She left me a note.” Luke fished a piece of stationery from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. Across the top were flowers with babies peeking out of them. Written on it was:
Enough. I’ve gone with Holden
.

I handed the note to Sister.

“Cute stationery,” she said.

Luke nodded. “I gave it to Virginia for her birthday. It looks like her. Beautiful and delicate.”

I glanced at Luke’s glasses. Nothing unusual about them. Not especially thick.

“She must have lost weight,” Sister said. “Has she had cosmetic surgery recently?”

I aimed a kick at her ankles, but she had outsmarted me and was holding her legs up.

Luke was too upset to take offense. “She doesn’t need it. When we went to the inaugural ball last year, nobody could believe she was Richard’s mother.” He sighed. “I just don’t know what in the world got into her. Maybe religion. I know the man’s a preacher.”

I hopped up. “I’ll get the sweet rolls.”

“What kind of preacher is he?” Sister asked. “How come he’s painting houses?”

“Doesn’t make a living preaching, I guess. The man in Columbus who recommended him to do the painting says he’s got a small church up near Gadsden. I can’t even remember the name of it. Jesus Is Our Life and Heaven Hereafter or something like that. I’ll bet it’s a cult.” Luke rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Oh, Lord. My sweet Virginia and poisoned Kool-Aid. And her a Lutheran.” Luke sat up suddenly. “You don’t suppose he kidnapped her, do you?”

Sister leaned forward. “How old is he?”

“Fiftyish.”

“I doubt it seriously.”

I was looking through the oven window, watching the icing melt on the sweet rolls. Poor Luke. I could understand his not wanting to admit that Virginia had just taken off with this Holden Crawford because she was smitten with him. Holden Crawford. The English teacher inside me was smiling.