The Oldest Sin (15 page)

“Oh, Mom, please.”

“What did you say to him?” asked Hildegard curiously.

Rudy shrugged. “I just asked him if he wanted something to drink. He saw my chef’s uniform and thought I was a waiter, so he ordered a beer. I told him he’d have to pay me up front. I’ve been in enough student theatre productions now to recognize a fake beard when I see one. So, when he got up, I jumped him.” He allowed himself a small smirk.

Sophie didn’t care. She hugged him again.

“Mom!” he said, blushing.

“You’re just going to have to put up with me.”

“Jeez,” he said, a slow grin forming. “I can see that.”

Lavinia pulled her rental car up to the curb and sat for a moment, stuffing the map — the one Peter had given to her right after the breakfast meeting — into the glove compartment. She knew she was a complete airhead when it came to directions, especially in an unfamiliar city. So, sweetheart that he was, Peter had patiently highlighted all the roads she needed to follow in order to get to the bar. As she turned off the motor she could see the lights of die low, rather seedy-looking building nearly a block and a half away. She’d driven past it first, just to make sure it was the right place. Parking spots were at a premium, as Peter warned they would be. He hadn’t been to the bar himself since the last time he visited his parents, two years ago, but he said that on Saturday nights the building was always jammed to die rafters. Much to Lavinia’s occasional embarrassment, it was just the kind of tacky, glitzy environment she loved. And northeast Minneapolis was far enough away from the convention site to allow her complete privacy.

Once inside McDivot’s Nordeast Lounge, Lavinia grabbed the first available table and ordered a Ramos fizz, her favorite bar drink. Adelle should be along any minute. Lavinia had left a note for her at the front desk earlier in the day. Adelle had responded with her own message shortly after one
P.M.
saying she wasn’t sure how she could help Lavinia in her effort to find the truth behind Ginger’s death, but she’d be happy to join her for a drink later.

Lavinia was delighted by this small piece of good luck. She was sure she’d be able to jog Adelle’s memory, get her to see what had really happened. If she could get a church member in her corner, she was halfway home.

“That will be three bucks,” said the waitress, setting the Ramos fizz down in front of Lavinia. “You want me to start you a tab?”

“Good idea.” She nodded, her eyes scanning the crowded room. She didn’t know a single soul, and just as she’d hoped, no one seemed to be paying her any attention either. In an effort to disguise her looks, she’d wound an Indian silk scarf around her head. With her trademark mahogany tresses covered up, she’d be even harder to spot.

As the waitress stepped over to another table Lavinia glanced at her watch. It was almost ten. Surely Sabbath services hadn’t gone this late. If she remembered correctly, on the first day of Tabernacles Week there would be both a morning and an evening sermon. Sermons in the Church of the Firstborn weren’t fifteen minutes of uplifting fluff, like some churches she’d attended in the past few years, but instead, two to three hours of intense biblical exegesis during which the faithful were supposed to take notes for further study. “Prove all things,” said the Bible. “Hold fast to that which is good.” It wasn’t that she disagreed with the sentiment, but remembering how Howell Purdis had used it as a battering ram to push his own agenda, well, even now it still had the power to give her a bad case of heartburn.

She remembered one minister who once spoke for six hours straight before finally quitting. He was a self-appointed traveling evangelist who thought of himself as the Church of the Firstborn’s great interpreter of biblical prophecy. Nobody wanted to attend his sermons. Even the other ministers thought he was a little cracked, but since he was a personal friend of Howell Purdis, he was tolerated, even venerated. In her mind’s eye, Lavinia could still see him, bobbing and dipping behind the pulpit, grasping the Bible with fire in his eyes and flinging it in the air, gesticulating wildly about the “little horn” of Daniel chapter eight, verse nine. She laughed to herself, realizing it was all still engraved on her memory. So long ago, but still so impossible to forget. Then again, so was the verse that said, “Those that walk in pride, He is able to abase.” With a little help from Adelle, that’s just what she’d come to the Twin Cities to facilitate.

As her gaze traveled restlessly over the smoky, interior, Lavinia spotted Adelle standing in the doorway. She was fidgeting with her purse, looking for all the world as if she’d just entered a den of iniquity. Lavinia doubted her old friend spent much time in bars. Oh, well, she thought to herself, standing up and waving her over, she could cope this once. Nothing bad would happen to her. And anyway, it wasn’t as if the consumption of alcohol presented some big moral dilemma.

“Did you have trouble finding the place?” asked Lavinia.

Adelle made herself comfortable at the table before responding. “Not really.” She touched a hand lightly to the side of her hair. “Your directions were fine.”

“Good.”

After ordering a Scotch and soda, Adelle gave herself a moment to absorb the surroundings. “Quite the dive.”

“Peter suggested it. I wanted to go somewhere where we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“You don’t find this atmosphere die least bit … disturbing?” Her lips thinned in distaste as she nodded to a young man in tight leather pants with his hand halfway up some woman’s dress.

“Oh, come on. Turn off the criticism for a little while and just chill.”

“Chill?” she repeated, giving Lavinia a slow, deeply amused smile.

Lavinia ignored the sarcasm and instead took a sip of her Ramos fizz. “We need to get down to business.”

“All right.” Adelle leaned into the table with the kind of exaggerated patience she no doubt reserved for lunatics and very small children. “I told you in my note that I haven’t the slightest idea what would possess you to think Ginger’s death was anything other than natural.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Lavinia paused for maximum dramatic effect. “I have Ginger’s diary.”

Adelle’s eyes narrowed. “What diary?”

“Ginger kept a diary the year we were banished to Terrace Lane for our sinful appetites.”

“Don’t be so snide, dear. You could still stand to lose a few pounds.”

“And you look like you’ve been on bread and water ever since you married Hugh.”

Adelle folded her arms over her chest and stared down her nose. “You know, insulting me isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

She was right. “Come on, girl. Expressing a little attitude every now and then has made both of us rich and famous.”

Adelle gave her a pained look. “You’re incorrigible,

you know that. But let’s get back to the diary. I’m… intrigued.”

Lavinia could tell Adelle was playing it cool, though she was clearly curious as hell. “Well, if I may summarize, it talked a lot about the six of us. Things we did together. And it also mentioned one other rather striking point. Ginger was in love.” This was the stuff of disaster for a sophomore at Purdis Bible College. A student wasn’t allowed to get serious about another student until the second semester of their senior year. Any romantic attachments that developed prior to that point were grounds for expulsion.

“With who?” asked Adelle, her expression skeptical.

“The diary doesn’t say. You’d have to read it in context to get the full meaning. But there are only a couple of possibilities.” She waited while the waitress set a bowl of popcorn down on the table, followed by a napkin and Adelle’s drink. Selecting a single kernel, Lavinia popped it into her mouth and gave Adelle a look pregnant with meaning.

“And so, if we can cut to the chase here, who do you think murdered her?”

“The person she fell in love with.”

“I don’t get it. Why?”

‘To cover up a very big secret.”

“What secret?”

“You tell me.”

By the end of this exchange, Adelle’s expression had turned decidedly frigid. “I don’t like games, Lavinia. You’re going to have to be a lot more specific if you want me to comment. Who are you accusing?”

“Did Ginger ever confide in you about her love life?” Lavinia chose her words carefully. Adelle was probably completely in the dark, though there was a remote chance she knew everything. Either way, Lavinia had to tread carefully.

“Of course not.” Then, hesitating, she added, “That is, I mean —”

A half-dozen guys in black leather jackets pushed noisily into the room. As Lavinia turned to see what the commotion was all about, she noticed two familiar faces bounce in behind them.

“Oh shit,” she said, her shoulders sinking in exasperation as she watched them press through the crowd toward the table. Until she knew what was going on, she decided it was best to hide her frustration behind a forced smile. “What are you two doing here?”

“We could ask you the same thing,” said Bunny, dumping herself into a chair. Cindy sat down next to her, looking ill at ease, as if she wanted to be anyplace else.

Bunny was trying to appear casual, though Lavinia saw through the act. Running into them tonight was no coincidence. “You followed me,” she said, bristling.

“No, I didn’t,” said Bunny defensively. “Adelle told Cindy that she was meeting you here around ten. I thought it might be fun to crash the party.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might not want your company tonight?”

“Did it ever occur to you that I don’t care?”

They held each other’s eyes for several long seconds before Lavinia switched her gaze to Cindy.

“Don’t look at me,” said Cindy, flustered. “I didn’t know it was a secret.”

“Look, both of you,” said Lavinia, attempting to rein in her impatience. “Adelle and I are having a private conversation here. We don’t want an audience.”

‘Tough,” snapped Bunny. “We’ve got to talk.”

From the moment Bunny had entered the room, Lavinia had sensed some incredibly hostile vibes coming from her, though to be honest, she didn’t have a clue what it was all about. ‘Talk about what?”

“The exercise video!”

“Oh.” Her curiosity evaporated. She dismissed the issue immediately, letting Bunny’s anger slide past her.

“You put me off all day. I won’t be put off any longer! That video you and Peter made is a travesty!”

“Do you really think so?” said Lavinia, clearly stunned. She knew Bunny might not like the fact that she’d kept it a secret, but surely she saw its value. “Oh, come on. You’re just jealous because you didn’t think of it first.”

“Like hell I am,” said Bunny, slamming her fist down hard on the table.

“Calm down,” said Adelle.

“Butt out,” demanded Bunny. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. And I’d prefer that you two have your fight someplace else. I’m not interested.”

For a moment Bunny seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Not to change the subject,” continued Adelle, “but before you arrived, Lavinia and I were having an interesting conversation about Ginger.”

“Really?” said Cindy, her expression growing cautious. “What about Ginger?”

“She kept a diary the year we all lived together in Terrace Lane.”

Lavinia couldn’t believe Adelle had spilled the beans so blithely.

“A diary?” repeated Bunny, scrutinizing Adelle’s face. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” said Lavinia curtly. “It is.”

“But where did you find it?” asked Cindy. She pulled her chair up closer to the table, though her bulk prevented her from getting as close as she might have liked. The country-western music had been cranked up several decibels since the addition of the six leather jackets.

“Apparently, someone decided to clean out Windsor basement,” said Lavinia, gazing down into her empty glass.

Windsor Hall was the largest women’s dorm on campus. Most of the girls stored their trunks in the basement. At the end of their senior year, every coed was supposed to remove her belongings. Mo6t did. But, every now and then, something was left behind.

“Of course,” said Adelle, the light dawning. “I remember. It was last year when the building committee decided to renovate it. Everything had to be moved out by the end of spring term.”

“They found a trunk with Ginger’s name on it,” continued Lavinia, deciding there was no point in keeping it a secret any longer. “You know how that cavernous basement used to fill up. There was no system. People would forget they’d stored stuff down there. After twenty years of forgetful coeds, I’m sure the place was a nightmare of polyester blouses and silly scarves.”

“But I still don’t understand,” said Bunny. “How did you get your hands on the diary?”

“I received a letter from an elderly woman in the registrar’s office. It seemed she remembered Ginger and me, and also recalled that we were best friends. She contacted me through my publisher — she said she used my cookbook all the time — and asked if I’d like the trunk. What could I say? Ginger didn’t have any other family. It seemed kind of cold to tell her to dump it in the trash, so I said, sure, send it along. I’d be happy to pay the freight.”