Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) (20 page)

"Cozy, little paranormal council of war," Magda smiled.

Wendy frowned. "You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope," she replied brightly. "Are you ready for my info?"

"As I'll ever be."

Ian sat by smiling and watching their byplay. Wendy scowled in his direction, which made no impact on him whatsoever.

"I went by Doug's office again today."

"Doug?"

Magda flushed. "Fry. He invited me for lunch, and I thought I'd take the opportunity to check him out. As a suspect, I mean."

Her friend replied slowly, "Right."

"Do you want to know, or not?"

Ian spoke up from the sidelines. "We do."

Magda slumped in her chair. "I found out why he lent his exhibit to the museum."

This was more than Wendy had expected. "Why?"

"According to Doug, he and Braun have known each other since childhood. Family friends and all that. Braun called on old ties, and Doug felt like he couldn't say no."

Wendy tried to hide her disappointment. "That's all?"

Magda shrugged her elegant shoulders. "So he said."

"You don't believe him?" Ian asked.

She frowned. "I don't know." Then she shook her head, "What did you two find out?"

"Oh!" Wendy sat straight up in her chair. She began rooting around in her purse, frantically searching for something. "I almost forgot!" After a few more seconds and a full purse dump on the table, she found the neatly folded piece of paper that Jack Crosby had given her. "Crosby gave me this. It's the names of some of the women that Braun was sleeping with. I'm sure it's not comprehensive, but it might give us a place to start."

Their heads were close together as they huddled over the list. Wendy felt a flash of irritation when she saw how short it was, but she knew that it was more than she should expect from the likes of Jack Crosby.

"Six names. I doubt that's all of them," Ian echoed what Wendy had been thinking.

"Three of them are first names only. Not a lot of help," Magda added.

"These two I recognize," Wendy said, pointing to the first and third entries on the list. "Fiona Gray and Nina Gomez. They're both local business owners, fairly influential people. And married."

Ian was nodding, "Braun had eclectic tastes. This one, Penny Hargrove, is a checker at the grocery store."

That left the three first names unaccounted for. "Jen," Wendy pointed at the fourth name on the list. "Could this be short for Jennifer?"

"Maybe," Ian allowed. "We already suspected something had happened between her and Braun. I didn't peg her for one of his girlfriends, though. There are probably dozens of Jens, Jennas, and Jennifers in this town."

Wendy didn't answer, but in her own mind at least, that name was accounted for. "That leaves Kelly and," she read the name twice to be sure, "Hester?"

"Not a name you hear everyday," Ian remarked.

"Neither is Magda," put in that person. "There are a lot of family names around here. It's not that unusual to find unusual names."

Having dissected the list as much as they could, Wendy refolded it and tucked it back into her purse. "Ian, do you think we got everything we could from Jennifer Jacobi?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but that reminds me that the services for Benny are this afternoon."

Wendy's hand flew to her forehead. "I completely forgot."

"I know. That's why I told her you might not be able to make it."

Wendy was already standing up. "Of course, I'll be there."

Ian stood up with her and walked to the door. When she moved to open it, he put a hand on her arm to stop her. "I'm not sure you should go."

Wendy frowned at him. "Why not? I have to go."

Ian's hand clenched tighter on her arm. "You are the one who has been pushing Jennifer as a suspect. It could be dangerous."

Wendy was touched by his concern, as unnecessary as it was. "Ian, I'll be fine. It's a public event, and I was invited. There is nothing suspicious about me going."

Ian didn't look convinced, but he released her arm and took a step away. "Just be careful."

Wendy flashed him a very strained smile. "Always."

As she drove up to the small Lutheran church that was holding Benny Jacobi's services, Wendy exhaled heavily, forcing thoughts of the investigation from her mind. For now, she needed to focus on Benny. Of course, it wouldn't hurt if she just kept her eyes open for anyone who looked out of place.

The interior of the church was small and narrow with several rows of folding chairs set up alongside a thin aisle in the center. The aisle led to a lectern area filled with flowers. In the center was a coffin. Wendy hadn't been to a funeral since she was fifteen years old. The scene was disturbingly familiar, and it brought all the memories of that day rushing back with surprisingly fresh pain.

The women had refused to leave her alone, though she'd asked them more than once. They hovered over her in their mourning dresses like horrible black crows waiting to pluck out her eyes. She had hated them with the fiery intensity that only a teenager can summon. Even as she recognized that she was being unfair, she hated them.

"You must change, Wendy," the largest crow cawed at her. She was holding a somber black dress with long lacy sleeves and a high collar on a wire hanger.

It was the most depressing dress Wendy had ever seen. "No, thank you." She was polite, as always, like her mother had taught her.

"It's not right, what you're wearing," the crow persisted.

Wendy looked at her sundress of buttery yellow. She had topped it with a soft white cardigan and paired it with nude flats. "I like this dress," she replied. Her voice was serene, hiding the turmoil of angry black hatred that twisted her gut into knots. She had no desire to match what she was wearing on the outside with how she felt on the inside.

"People will think you have no respect."

That almost broke her composure. Wendy's fingers twitched and stretched at her sides, pretty blue sparks dancing across her fingertips. She wanted so badly to throw her hands at the crow and watch as she writhed in pain and anguish.

Then, perhaps, she would know how Wendy felt.

Instead, she took a deep breath and answered in the same inflectionless voice. "It was Mom's favorite. She would want me to wear it."

The crow was cowed, if not entirely convinced, and she dropped the horridly depressing dress on the bed.

The church had been small, and so it was packed to standing room only by the time Wendy walked in. There was a seat, small and empty at the front, reserved for her. Her steps faltered as she made her way down the aisle, as though she realized that sitting in that chair would somehow make it all real. With every set of eyes in the room riveted on her, there was nothing else to do. She moved with steps as sure as she could make them to the chair and sat down.

The coffin seemed too large for the space. And she knew it would be much too large for her delicate, petite mother. Wendy was glad, or she would have been if she hadn't been so numb, that her mother wasn't going to be buried in it. The idea of her mother's tiny form rolling around inside that oversized coffin was too horrible for words. Even if it hadn't been her express wish, Wendy would have asked that they cremate her. She didn't want her mother under all that dirt and darkness for eternity.

Some remote part of her being wondered why there was a coffin at all. Her mother was being cremated; she wouldn't rest in it for all eternity, or whatever it was that all these ridiculous people believed. Then she remembered what the oldest crow has said.

“Folks from my generation don't hold with cremation. They'll want to see a coffin. We'll at least have to rent one for the ceremony.”

Wendy hadn't wanted to consider how the business of coffin rentals came to be.

When the service began, Wendy didn't even pretend to listen. A string of people stood and walked to the lectern. They talked of her mother, she supposed, but she didn't care what they had to say. None of them really knew her. Somewhere in the middle of the second speech, Wendy became aware of a presence at her shoulder. Gerry must have been there the whole time, but he knew enough to sit silently at her side and not force his attention on her. When she looked at him, he reached over and encircled her shoulders with his thick arm. Only then did Wendy feel the tears run down her cheeks. She leaned into Gerry and was met by the solid warmth of him, the first comfort she had felt since it happened.

Wendy woke from her memory with a start to realize that she had been standing in the aisle for far too long. An elderly woman with a walker was making movements to try and get past her, but the aisle was too narrow. Wendy muttered an apology and walked quickly to a seat near the back.

A row of chairs was set apart from the rest directly in front of the coffin. All the seats were occupied, and Wendy spotted Jennifer Jacobi in the second chair from the aisle. Her dark head was bent towards an older woman seated beside her. She seemed to be supporting the other woman, who Wendy guessed must be Benny's mother. When she turned her head to the side, Wendy saw the grief infusing every line of her face, the tears streaming from red-rimmed eyes.

Her own breath caught in her throat with a strangled sob. She was sure at that moment that she wouldn't make it through the ceremony. She felt, deep in her bones, that she would lose her composure somewhere in the middle of the eulogy, at the worst possible moment. Panic gripped her and she moved to stand up. A solid presence at her side halted that abrupt movement. She didn't look at him as she returned to her seat, but she didn't really need to.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Gerry patted her shoulder, "Unnecessary."

"All the same."

With Gerry beside her, Wendy felt the anxiety draining away, and she was able to start looking around the church. Most of the seats were filled, and it comforted Wendy to see that Benny had so many people who would miss him. She even spotted Carrie sitting a few rows ahead of her, and she was glad that someone else from the library had managed to come. As she was watching, someone opened the back door, and Carrie turned her head at the noise. Tears were running unabated down her flushed cheeks.

The reverend stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat in preparation for speech. He stood straight, a solid presence of support and comfort in front of the crowd. The tension in the room decreased by the slightest amount, but it was enough, as though everyone present had started breathing again.

His low, even voice reverberated around the enclosed space. "I have known Benjamin since the day he was born. It saddens me more than I can say that I stand here today, but we are gathered here, not to feel sorrow, but to celebrate Benny's wonderful, if too short, life."

The service was short and dignified. As the family stood to precede the rest of the mourners out of the church, Wendy inclined her head to Jennifer and got a very small smile in return.

Gerry walked her outside, silently supporting her each step out the door. Ian was waiting outside by the car. Without a word, Gerry helped Wendy into the passenger seat of Ian's car and walked away.

She was quiet on the way back to her house. Thoughts of Benny, and even more painfully of her mother, crowded out any possibility of speech. Ian respected her silence and didn't try to press his company on her. There was something very comforting about having him by her side without feeling obligated to fill the time with small talk she didn't mean and couldn't possibly care about. He didn't leave immediately in the car, as she had thought he would. He followed her inside, and when she fell onto her couch, he brought over a knobby blue blanket to wrap around her feet. At the sight of the faded, uneven stitches of the blanket, Wendy's eyes filled with tears and overflowed. Her mother had made it for her.

Like Gerry had the day of her mother's funeral, Ian sat beside her while she cried. That he didn't press her or try to get her to stop meant more to her than he could possibly understand.

When she was ready, she broke the silence. “My mother made this for me.”

Ian whispered, “It's lovely.”

At that, Wendy laughed, which felt nice after all the crying. “It's ugly and lumpy,” she corrected, “but I love it.”

He nodded his understanding.

“She died when I was a teenager.” Wendy wasn't sure why she was telling him; she hardly ever talked about her mother at all. It was probably because of the funeral, but she suddenly felt the need to tell Ian everything. “She used to work with Gerry.”

“I know,” Ian said softly. He picked up one of her hands between both of his. “I've seen pictures of her at the office. You look like her.”

Wendy smiled at that. “She was much prettier than me. Gerry talked her into joining the family business. Lightower Investigations is what our family does. Until me.”

Ian probably knew all of this, but he didn't interrupt her.

“She and Gerry worked together for years, but I always knew she had wanted something else. She wanted to be a teacher. When she died,” her voice caught and she cleared her throat, “I could never forget that she had never gotten that. She never had the chance to be a teacher.”