Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (44 page)

“Actually, I felt stupid back there. It was so—embarrassing. I’m in the bathroom throwing up while Lorry handles everything. Not exactly something I’m proud of. It should have been the other way around.”

“Lorry isn’t your average woman.”

“Got it bad, don’t you?”

Nick threw a pillow and Kendall laughed as he caught it.

“Remember that conversation we had on the way up there?” Kendall asked. “You were so sure no woman was ever going to get under your skin.”

“Drop it, will you?”

“So when are you going to see her again?”

“Probably never.”

“Oh, come on—”

“I mean it, Kendall. Stop bugging me about it. You never know when to stop!” Nick slammed into his bedroom.

Kendall stood still for a moment, his face thoughtful. After a moment, he walked over to the phone and dialed. “Marilyn?… I’m okay.… Yeah, well, a lot happened.… I don’t know. I haven’t looked at the papers.… Of course Nick didn’t do it! I don’t care what the papers say. I ought to know if he’d commit a murder or not. Although I think he did want to murder me a minute ago…. I’m joking. Marilyn, I missed you this weekend.”

“My house party didn’t exactly turn out the way I’d planned.”

Ellen’s understatement got a quick laugh from Bart. But as he saw her puzzled look, he coughed.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” she said.

“I know. But it was rather a peculiar way to put it.”

“I suppose.” They sat together in the day room, Bart with a drink in his hand, Ellen with a cup of tea beside her.

“How’s Mrs. Winston?” Bart asked after a moment.

“The pills Dr. Felmer gave her seem to have done the job. She’s fast asleep.”

“Still have to face it when she wakes up.”

“I know. But tomorrow I may be more equipped to help her.”

“Yeah, there’s that to be said.” He took a cigarette from his case and lit it.

“When are you going to give up that disgusting and filthy habit?”

“No immediate plans.”

“You don’t care what it does to your insides?”

“Frankly, no. I figure you gotta go some time, so what’s the difference?”

“The difference could be several years.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“I do feel sorry for you.”

“Thanks a whole lot, but I don’t remember asking you for sympathy.”

“No, you only ask for money.”

“Touché.”

“I can just see you thirty years from now, still coming around begging for money. Only then you’ll be asking Kendall instead of George. Won’t that be awfully demeaning for you?”

“Well, you’ve just told me if I keep smoking I won’t have to worry about old age, so I guess I’ll assume that the gods will look after me and I’ll be history by then.”

“Speaking of that…”

“Speaking of what?”

“Well, God, I guess.”

“Were we?”

“You said something—it doesn’t matter what. I was only going to say how curious it is that Lorry is so religious. I mean, going to church here even when it meant going to a strange place where she wouldn’t know anyone. And then, what she’s doing for the summer. I don’t think she makes any money. Helping kids on the street. Likely most of them don’t even want help.”

“Strange girl, all right.”

“So much like her mother. Not always, of course. We were great friends as girls. But Patricia met this young man who was going to seminary. At first, she was sorry for him. Such a waste, you know. She thought she could change him. But as she got to know him better, she was the one who began to change. She began to believe what he said—that you could know God. And the next thing we knew she was married and gone off out west with him. Happy, too. That’s the surprising thing. Not just in her letters, but I’ve seen her a few times. She’s never had a house with enough rooms, and he’s never been paid enough for them to manage properly, but she’s genuinely happy. Just like Lorry. Rather peaceful to be around.”

“Almost like she knows something you don’t,” Bart mused.

“Yes, that’s it exactly. That’s what Patricia was like. So annoying, yet, sometimes, I’ve wondered if there was something I missed. Not that I’m unhappy,” she said hastily.

“Of course not,” Bart dismissed the topic. “Now, about the money. You implied that if I helped you out this weekend, you’d see that I went away with a little more in my pockets than when I arrived.”

“You’ll have to give me a chance to talk to George. He’s in his study just now working on a case that’s going to court this week, so I wouldn’t want to interrupt him. Perhaps later tonight. You don’t mind staying overnight, do you?”

“Not at all. Although I would prefer to move into the house. If the truth be told, mice aren’t really my favorite companions.”

“Oh, certainly. I’ll change the bedding and give you the room Hildy was in, shall I?”

“That would suit me just fine.”

Alone in his study, George sat nursing a Scotch and trying to concentrate on the file before him. It was a tricky civil case. One of two partners had exercised an option to call for the other partner to buy him out, only to discover that his partner had no intention of doing so, but was exercising a smaller clause which gave him the right to refuse and force the first partner to buy
him
out. In other words, the first partner’s bluff had been called, and he couldn’t come up with the necessary capital. It was a real mess. If only they could work together… but it appeared that by calling the option into effect, all chance of the two men’s working together harmoniously had ended. The firm of Brodie, Fischer, and Martin was representing the second partner.

Normally, George would have enjoyed preparing for the case, but today he was unable to concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time.

He thought back to Friday afternoon and the feeling he’d had of impending doom. Well, he had certainly been right, hadn’t he?

And to add insult to injury, Bart was still in the house, likely out there cajoling Ellen into giving him money. George supposed he’d find himself writing out another check. Likely, he’d be doing that for the rest of his life.

Well, Bart was family. Besides, George had the money to spare. Only it galled him to think that he was making money only to have Bart go and throw it away. He could tell Bart this was the last time. Make it sound convincing. But of course, Bart was Bart, and that was it.

George remembered telling Manziuk that Bart likely had the temperament for murder. He hadn’t been serious, of course. Just annoyed. The truth was Bart was much too lazy to expend the energy to either commit murder or to cover it up. And George sincerely hoped no one close to him, including Bart, fell under suspicion. Let the police arrest Shauna, or perhaps Hildy. Even Nick, although he liked Nick. But not a member of his family or someone from the firm! Although they did say that more often than not it was the husband in these cases. That would be great publicity!

Oh, well, they’d live through it. He just hoped the police made their arrest soon. If they didn’t arrest someone, all of them would remain under suspicion. And that would do the firm no good at all.

George sighed. His stomach still felt queasy. Maybe he should watch what he ate more, like the doctor had said. Or was it his ulcer acting up? Maybe it was his instinct again. Maybe there was more trouble to come.

He picked up the papers he’d been trying to read. There’d be a lot of trouble if he wasn’t ready to go to court with this case. He’d have to force himself to concentrate.

Across town, in a much less affluent neighborhood, Lorry Preston was concentrating on unpacking in the small, third-story room which would be hers for the summer. It was less than a quarter of the size of the bedroom she’d stayed in at the Brodies’, and she had to share a second-floor bathroom with the members of the family as well as another summer intern, but it would be comfortable. The walls were papered in a blue gingham check, and the spread and curtains were off-white and reminded her of old lace. There was a rocking chair, too, with matching blue pillows. The picture of Jesus with little children around him was one she’d often seen before. She felt much more at ease in this home than she had in the Brodies’.

She looked at the framed photograph lying face down on the spread. She sat on the edge of the bed and picked it up. Dean’s familiar smile stared at her.

She hadn’t written to him yet. He’d be worried. Perhaps she should phone. With a start, she realized she hadn’t telephoned her parents, either. What if they read about the murders in the papers?

She opened a drawer and set Dean’s picture inside. Then she hurried downstairs to phone both Dean and her parents. She wouldn’t have to do more than tell them about the murders and that she was fine. She would call Dean later in the week to talk about other things.

But while the short talk with her parents proved very simple, once they were certain that she was all right and that she was away from the site of the murders, the conversation with Dean was more difficult.

“I should never have let you go,” he said in a troubled voice.

“Dean, it was never a question of your letting me go. Don’t be so melodramatic.”

“Lorry, do you know how hard it is for me when you’re thousands of miles away and involved in a murder? Anything could happen.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not the point. I want to look after you. How can I do it when you’re so far away?”

“I thought I was relying on God to look after me.” Her voice was teasing.

“I know that, but he can use me.”

“Oh, Dean, God doesn’t need you to look after me. He can do fine all by himself.”

“You sound as if you don’t care if I’m around or not.”

“Why must you be so serious all the time?”

“You could have been killed!”

“Dean,” she said, her voice perplexed, “I trust God. I thought you did, too. Remember? ‘If I live I live for God, if I die I go to be with him.’ I thought you believed that.”

“I do, but not where you’re concerned, Lorry. I’d go crazy if anything happened to you.”

She hung on to the receiver, her fingers showing white around the knuckles. “Dean, that reminds me. I found your ring in my purse.”

“Put it on, Lorry.”

“I told you I wasn’t ready to make a commitment.”

“I slipped the ring in at the airport. I thought you might change your mind while you were away.”

“Dean—”

“I love you, Lorry. That’s why I’m so concerned about you. What more do I have to do to make you understand? I’d marry you tomorrow if you’d agree.”

“I have to go, Dean. I’ll call you in a few days.”

“I wrote you a letter. You should get it soon. Lorry?”

“Yes?”

“I really believe God wants us to be together. He wants me to take care of you.”

Her hand tightened on the receiver. “I’ll talk to you later, Dean.”

She hung up and went back to her room where she sat in the rocking chair and gently rocked back and forth. She’d attended the same church as Dean while she was going to college in Edmonton. During the last couple of years, they’d drifted together because they enjoyed doing a lot of the same things. But she’d only thought of him as a friend. She wasn’t ready to get serious. There were so many things she wanted to do before settling down and having a family.