The Lost Women of Lost Lake (22 page)

“Jane, hi,” said Fontaine, looking up as he handed a check to Emily. For such a big man, he had an unusually soft voice.

“Did I come at a bad time?” she asked.

“I was just leaving,” said Emily. “I'm scheduled to work at three today.” She folded the check, pressing it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Thanks,” she said, giving Fontaine's shoulder a squeeze.

“Call me before you make any decisions,” he said. “Give your mom my love.”

Once she'd left, he turned to Jane and offered her the seat Emily had just vacated.

Jane was intrigued by the number and variety of birdhouses and feeders hanging from hooks around the room, with dozens more stacked together along a wall under a chalkboard.

“I sell them,” said Fontaine. The old wooden chair creaked as he leaned back.

“They're wonderful.” Some were painted, some were left rustic. What they all had in common was a sense of whimsy.

“It adds to my bottom line,” he said. “With the exception of the emporium, you can find them all over.”

“Why doesn't the emporium carry them?”

“Oh, well now, that's a tricky one. Mrs. LaVassar, she told me last Saturday that they didn't sell well enough for her and she wanted them out ASAP. So I went and got them.”

“Was that true?”

“Yeah, pretty much. It's a funny thing, though. They sell just fine at the other stores in the area.”

Jane wasn't sure what he was suggesting.

“She didn't like Shinobs. Ojibwes. Native Americans. I heard she told customers that my stuff was badly made. Can't say I'll miss her.”

“That's nasty,” Jane agreed. “You still live here at the center?”

“Yes, ma'am. It's a small room, but it suits me just fine. Got my bed in there, a bookcase, a microwave, a TV, all the comforts of home—rent free.”

“Sounds like a sweet deal,” said Jane, standing with her hands on the back of the folding chair.

“I figured, hell, I'd live here for a while, save my money and then move into something more comfortable when I had a nest egg saved up. But I never moved. I banked most of my paychecks all these years, made investments. I was riding high, too, until the stock market fell through the floor. And then, wouldn't you know, I pulled my money out. If I'd left it in, I would have made most of it back by now. I hope Tessa stays on as board chair for a long, long time. When she goes, I'll be next.”

“But she says you're indispensable around here.”

“That's nice of her. It's not true. They could get a kid to take over my job, pay him half as much. I never played the game right. After I got out of the army, I let my hair grow.” He pointed to his long braid. “It's the way I like it. I know it irritates people, which is partly why I do it.” Fontaine didn't smile much, but he smiled at that. “Anyway, you didn't come here to listen to my tale of woe. What can I do for you?”

“I hear that the gun used to kill Steve Feigenbaumer was found in the theater.”

“Yeah,” he said, clasping his hands behind his neck. “Down in the dressing room. I hauled in a bunch of lockers a few years back. The high school was tossing them and I figured we could use them. No locks, of course. For every production, I assign a locker and put the name of the actor on it. The gun was found in Wendell Hammond's. I wouldn't want to be him right about now.”

“Wendell?” This was the first piece of news she'd learned that gave her some hope that someone else might have had it in for Feigenbaumer. “I suppose it could have been planted.”

“Always a possibility.”

“I wonder where Feigenbaumer was staying?” She'd never seen him around Thunderhook.

“Fisherman's Cove over on Harris Lake. I was over there the other day and saw him coming out of one of the cabins.”

“How far away is Harris Lake?”

“Oh, maybe six miles out Country Road Seven.”

Jane realized she might be moving into dicey territory with her next question. “You were late to the theater the night Feigenbaumer died.”

“Yeah, I was sorry about that. I was visiting my uncle over in Empire. He was making himself a will, wanted my input. When I left, I noticed one of the tires on my truck was low on air, but assumed it'd get me back to town. About three miles out of Empire, the damn thing went flat. Didn't have a spare, so I had to hike back to my uncle's place.”

“You couldn't call?”

“No cell phone service. You've probably noticed that it's spotty all over up here. Actually, the best place to get service is around Harris Lake. There's a cell phone tower just outside of town. Anyway, my uncle owns an auto repair shop. Figured he might have a tire with a rim we could switch out. It took longer than I hoped it would. I told Kelli Christopher to call him if she needed to verify where I was.”

Jane didn't mean to impugn the honesty of Fontaine's uncle, and yet as alibis went, this one was even worse than Tessa's.

“You asking around because you're Tessa's friend? She had nothing to do with that guy's murder. You can take that to the bank.”

“I hope you're right. If you think of anything else—” She handed him one of the Nolan & Lawless Private Investigation cards. “You can reach me at the second number.”

He studied it for a few seconds. “You're a PI? I thought you owned a couple restaurants.”

“Something I do on the side.”

He nodded. “I'll remember that.” He placed the card carefully on his desk. “Always good to know who you're talking to.”

26

Tessa could feel Cordelia eyeing her from across the room. She wished that her dear old friend would go play shuffleboard or soak in the hot tub, anything that would give her some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, Cordelia was deep into her “I Am the Goddess of Healing, the Bearer of All Comfort, the Bringer of Light” mode. When her feet were firmly planted on that cloud, there was no arguing with her.

Sidling over to Tessa, Cordelia said, “I know what we should do.”

“Do you.”

“I think a palm reading is in order.”

Tessa groaned.

“I realize you're an unbeliever, but there's no need to be churlish.”

“I'm not being churlish, I'm being disinterested.”

Cordelia dragged the footstool over and sat down. “It's painless.”

“Says you.”

“You are such a baby.”

“Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?”

“Drama mama.”

“Diva.”

“Prima donna.”

“Megalomaniac.”

Cordelia's eyes bugged out. “I am
not
.”

Tessa held up a hand. “All right. I suppose it's better than being subjected to that crystal ball you carry around with you.”

“If you'd rather do that—”

“No, no.” At least the palm reading didn't involve a dark room, candles, and holding hands under the table. “Which palm do you want?”

“The right one.”

“Is there really a difference?”

Adjusting her gold lamé turban, Cordelia said, “I am a practitioner of Chinese palmistry. In that tradition, for a woman—it's the reverse for a man—the left hand shows the cards dealt you at birth, the right shows what you made of what you were given.”

“You're not going to tell me my fate? That I'll be hit by a truck or be ground up in a wood chipper?”

“You watch too many movies.” Cordelia traced a couple of lines with her red fingernail. “Your love line is strong.”

“See, this is what fries me about woo-woo stuff like palm reading, tarot cards, psychics. They state the obvious and people fall down and foam at the mouth because they're so impressed.”

“Shut up and let me concentrate,” said Cordelia.

“Now who's being churlish?”

“Hmm,” said Cordelia, portentously. “Hmm,” she said again. “Now give me the other hand.”

If nothing else, this was light entertainment.

“Oh, my,” said Cordelia, examining it.

“What?”

“Your rebellion line. Very revealing.”

“Of what?”

“Your heart line is equally interesting.”

“Aren't you supposed to fill me in on what you're learning?”

Still bent over, Cordelia raised her eyes. “In theory.”

“So?”

“The heart line suggests a self-centered, introspective woman. FYI, my heart line is the exact opposite. I'm the kind of person who gives and gives and gives.”

Tessa thought it politic to suppress a laugh.

“But the rebellion line, especially in your youth, is troubling.”

She jerked her hand away. “That's enough.” Grabbing Cordelia's hand, she pretended to examine the palm. “Oh, no,” she said, feigning horror. “This is terrible. Your fate is dark and covered in cobwebs.”

With a dignified sniff, Cordelia withdrew to the chair by the fireplace. “There's no such thing as fate. Our future is in our own hands.”

“Then how can you foretell the future?”

“Palmistry, as practiced by
moi
, isn't about the future, it's about who you were and what you've become.”

“I'm entirely integrated. The same yesterday, today and forever.”

“I think not.”

“Let's change the subject.”

Tapping a finger against her lips, Cordelia hesitated and then said, “I seem to be about to tell you something I probably shouldn't.”

“Oh, go ahead. We all know you're evil.”

“Well, the night that Feigenbaumer was murdered, when Jane and I came back here to tell you about it, Jane told me to run inside and give you the news while she headed into the garage.”

“And why would she do that?”

“Because she's nosey. She said that the engine of your Volvo was warm. Someone had been driving it.”

Tessa opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Let's put all our cards on the table for once, shall we? Everyone knows you're not telling the truth. Who was Feigenbaumer to you?”

“
Everyone
knows?” said Tessa.

“Don't be so stubborn. We all love you and want to help.”

“There's nothing I need help
with
.”

“Who drove your car that afternoon?”

Tessa heard the sound of footsteps on the basement stairs.

A second later, Jonah appeared. “I, ah,” he said, holding his stomach. “I … I mean, did you have something you wanted me to do this afternoon?”

“Not here,” said Tessa. “You should probably call up to the lodge and talk to Jill.”

“Because my stomach hurts. And I have an awful headache. I think maybe I'm coming down with the same thing Jane had.”

“Then take a couple of ibuprofen and go lie down.”

“Yeah, I think that would be best.”

“Come here first,” said Tessa.

He dragged himself over to her chair.

Giving him a hug and then a kiss on his forehead, she said, “One more day and you'll be a free man. Jill and I talked about it this morning. But you're going to have a curfew from here on out.”

“Like what?”

“Midnight.”

“Even on weekends?”

Teenagers were so legalistic. “Okay, one on weekends. But twelve on weeknights.”

“It's not like I'm in school.”

“Don't push, buster.”

“Right,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Now go get some rest.”

He grinned at Cordelia as he walked out of the room.

Once he'd disappeared down the stairs, Cordelia stood. “I suppose I better go.”

Reaching toward her, Tessa said, “No, stay. Quite honestly, I don't want to be alone. Maybe we could play Scrabble. Just … no more prying questions, okay?”

“FYI, I have a reputation for being lethal at board games.”

“I'll chance it.”

“It's your funeral.”

Yes, thought Tessa. In a matter of days, it probably would be.

*   *   *

Before Jonah left through the garage, he hung a sign on his door that said
SLEEPING. DO NOT DISTURB
. He wasn't sure it would buy him any more time, and yet he had to make the effort. He'd called and texted Emily at least two dozen times since last night, and gotten no answer. He had to find out what was going on before it ate a hole clean through his stomach.

Keeping close to the side of the house, he crept up the hill into the woods and made his way around the north end of the lodge until he came out to the road that would take him into town. Running at a fast clip, he made it to Emily's house in under ten minutes. Just as he figured, her car was gone. She was at work.

Trotting back out to Main, he walked with his thumb stuck out until a car stopped. Thankfully, he recognized the man behind the wheel. He might not have gotten in if he hadn't. It was Mr. Dahlgren, one of the mailmen in town.

“Where you headed?”

“To the Moon place,” said Jonah. The Moons lived in a small development on the east end of town, the same area where Jonah had once lived.

“Hop in.”

A few minutes and a nonstop conversation later, Mr. Dahlgren let Jonah off at Wiggen Road.

“Have a good one,” called Mr. Dahlgren as he pulled away.

Jonah sprinted down the wide open street to the largest house in the development. Jim Moon, Kenny's dad, was the president of Balsam County Savings & Loan. Because of his general wealth and his standing in the community, he owned a piece of prime property on Villniss Lake, a small but exceptionally beautiful piece of water. Kenny bragged so much about what his dad had done in the Gulf War that it was like the guy had won it single-handedly. When Mr. Moon returned home, he was offered the job of assistant branch manager as a way to thank him for his service. Jonah didn't know how long it took Mr. Moon to become president, although he doubted it was more than a few years. As long as he'd known Kenny, his dad had held the top job.