The Oldest Sin (21 page)

Sophie grimaced. She knew she had a lot to learn about managing negative hotel information. This obviously wasn’t the kind of publicity the Maxfield wanted or needed, yet she failed to see what she could do about it now.

Cindy stared straight ahead at nothing in particular. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”

“Peter’s upstairs talking to the police.”

“Why? Do they think he had something to do with it?”

Sophie noticed a certain eagerness in Cindy’s expression, an eagerness that repulsed her. “I don’t know. No one knows anything yet.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. Most murder victims know their murderers.”

Thank you for that
Reader’s Digest
moment, thought Sophie. “There are a lot of people in town this weekend who knew Lavinia.”

“Meaning what?”

“Just that there could be a lot of potential motives.”

“I certainly hope you’re not talking about me,” she said indignantly.

“No, Cindy. I’m not talking about you.”

“I should hope not.” She took a gulp of beer. “I still can’t believe it. It’s like … a horror movie. It can’t be real. I wonder if Bunny knows.”

“I left messages for all of you to call me. So far no one has.”

“I haven’t been up to my room yet, Soph. I just got back from the Civic a few minutes ago.”

“Is Bunny still there, too?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since this morning. Funny, she’d just come back from Lavinia’s suite.”

“What time was that?” asked Sophie.

“Oh, let me think. Probably around eleven.”

“Did she say she’d talked to Lavinia?”

“No, only that she’d knocked on her door. Lavinia never answered.”

Sophie mulled this over.

“I wonder who found her?” asked Cindy, pulling the bowl of peanuts in front of her.

“Bram and I.”

Her eyebrow raised. “Gee, I’m really sorry. Was it … was she —”

“Yes, she was already dead. But before I say any more, I’d like to hear what the police have to report.” Sophie could feel Cindy’s eyes boring into the side of her head. Feeling incredibly uncomfortable, she decided to ask a few questions of her own. “I heard that you, Bunny, and Adelle met with Lavinia in a bar last night. Some dive in northeast Minneapolis.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” said Cindy quickly. “Bunny made me go.”

She sounded more like a high-school sophomore than a grown woman.

“I agreed to come along as long as we got home early.”

“Did you drive together?”

“No,” said Cindy, lifting the beer to her lips, “I met her there.”

“You didn’t by any chance give Lavinia a lift home, did you?”

She stopped, set the glass carefully back down on the table, and then replied, “She had her own car, Sophie. Why would I do that?”

“Lavinia phoned me around eleven from a pay phone outside the bar. One of her front tires had gone flat.”

“Really.” She turned the glass around in her hand. “First I’ve heard of it.”

“What did all of you talk about last night?”

“You should have been there, Soph. It was something else. Lavinia announced that she had Ginger Pomejay’s diary — one she apparently kept the year we all lived together in Terrace Lane. Lavinia brought it with her to the convention, God knows why.” She crunched a peanut thoughtfully. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about Lavinia’s murder theory — the one she mentioned the other night at the reunion.”

“You mean that Ginger didn’t die of cancer?”

“Exactly. Apparently, in this diary, Ginger said she was in love.”

“So?" said Sophie. “We all had crushes.”

“Right, but Lavinia said the person Ginger loved was the one who murdered her.”

Sophie’s head jerked up. “Why? I don’t understand.”

“Me either. All Lavinia would say was that there was some big secret Ginger was killed to keep her from spilling the beans — or words to that effect.”

Cindy was right. This was an amazing story. “So who was this mystery person?”

“Lavinia said she didn’t know for sure. Although, if you ask me, I think she suspected someone pretty strongly. She said there were only a couple of people it could be. That’s when Bunny got pretty uptight. She accused Lavinia of suspecting one of us.”

“Excuse me?” said Sophie.

“Yeah, I know.” Cindy laughed, draining her glass. “That would mean Ginger was in love with a woman. Hardly likely.”

But it would have been quite a secret thought Sophie, rolling it around in her mind. No wonder Bunny got hot under the collar. She was the only lesbian in the group. Still, so much was missing from the story, it made no sense. “Did Lavinia suggest the method of Ginger’s murder?”

“Sorry, that’s all I know.” Cindy pushed her empty glass away. “Maybe we’ll find out more later.”

Sophie couldn’t imagine how. With Lavinia dead, the subject would no doubt die with her. Unless? “Where’s the diary now?”

“I assume it’s up in her room.”

A lightbulb went on inside Sophie’s head.

“Where else would it be? Say, Sophie.” Cindy examined her fingernails with a studied casualness. “Since you own the hotel, will the police give you a full report about Lavinia’s death?”

“I hope so. This is all kind of new to me.” She tapped her chin in thought. “You know?” she said after a long moment,

“I know this is a lot to ask, but would you do me a big favor?”

“Sure. Anything.”

“This has been kind of a rough day. Would you mind passing the information about Lavinia’s death on to Adelle and Bunny. I don’t think they should hear it from a stranger, and I’m afraid I really need to get home.”

“Don’t give it another thought,” said Cindy, patting Sophie’s hand. “I’ll take care of everything. A good night’s sleep will fix you right up.”

Sophie was a bit startled by the shallowness of the comment, but let it pass. Death did that to you. She’d had enough experience with the Grim Reaper to know that reactions became out of whack. The concerns of everyday life seemed like worthless trivia, just as the people who went on with their normal fives — or who appeared to grieve less than you did — seemed shallow.

And yet, life did go on. For everyone, that is, except Lavinia.

Searching for her car keys inside her purse, Sophie stepped off the elevator into the subbasement of the parking garage across the street from the Maxfield Plaza. The dank concrete ramp had been built in the late Sixties. Although the lighting was up to code, it always struck her as dim.

As she walked toward her car she glanced over her shoulder several times to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Perhaps it was a reflex. Too many women had been attacked in parking ramps in the last few years for her to feel entirely comfortable. Or maybe she was just feeling jumpy. After what had just happened, she had good reason.

The security in this part of the building was tight. Since no one could get into the basement and subbasement without a passkey furnished by the hotel, the lower two floors of the building weren’t as busy as those open to the general public. And that’s the way it was tonight, thought Sophie. Quiet. The kind of quiet that got inside your bones and made you walk a little faster, breathe a little harder.

Her heels clicked on the concrete as she hurried toward the far wall where her car was parked. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a car door slam. Then footsteps echoing away. She pulled her thin coat more tightly around her body and looked in every direction, but saw no one. Feeling more isolated and vulnerable than she dared admit, even to herself, she opened the car door. She had to calm down. She’d been in this garage a hundred times and nothing had ever happened before. As a matter of fact, this was one of the safest ramps in the city. Nothing was going to happen tonight either. She’d go home, take a long hot shower, and — “Excuse me,” said a voice from behind her.

Her head snapped up. Stiffly, she turned, seeing a man standing in the shadows about ten feet away. He was holding what looked like a thick envelope in his left hand. His stance was casual, yet something about the way he looked frightened her. She had to admit, in her present state of mind, the sight of any stranger would have caused a moment of panic. “Did you say something to me?” she said, clearing her throat.

“Yeah.” He leaned against a Jeep. “Just chill, okay. I ain’t here to hurt you.”

How good of him to point that out up front.

“Did you just come from that hotel over there?” His eyes flicked in the direction of the Maxfield.

“I did,” she said slowly.

“I heard … I mean, somebody told me that… you know, a lady got hurt over there. Is it true?”

She saw no reason to lie. “Yes. It is.”

“Um.” He nodded. “But I mean … how bad’s she hurt?”

He was a sleazy-looking fellow. How on earth had he gotten into the Maxfield’s section of the parking garage? “Very badly,” she replied.

“But she’ll be okay, right? She ain’t gonna buy it or nothing like that.” He seemed highly agitated. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or scared.

“I’m sorry, Mr. —” She waited for him to say his name. When he showed no sign of a pending response, she continued, “I’m afraid that’s all I can say.” She started to get in her car.

“No!” he said, moving quickly toward her. “I gotta know.”

He was fast, but Sophie was faster. She slid into the front seat and slammed the door, pressing the automatic door locks.

In frustration, he beat on the driver’s-side window with his fist. ‘Tell me!” he yelled. “Was it Lavinia Fiore?”

His face was close to her now. So close, she finally realized who she was addressing. The police sketch had captured him perfidy. Feeling a shiver of adrenaline shoot through her system, she started the motor and backed the car up.

Morton held on to the door handle, trying to yank it open. “Just tell me,” he demanded. “I gotta know.” Smashing both hands against the window, he inadvertently flattened the envelope he was holding against the glass. The open flap revealed a thick bundle of cash.

Sophie stared at it for just a moment before her eyes rose to his.

He reeled back as if her expression were a terrible accusation, dropping the money to the ground. “It ain’t what you think,” he shouted. “I never hurt no one.”

Jamming the gearshift into drive, Sophie pressed down hard on the gas and sped away from him. The last thing she saw in her rearview mirror was Morton, down on his hands and knees, stuffing the bills back into the envelope.

Adelle felt dizzy when she sat up in bed the following morning, rubbing her sore eyes awake. Hugh had already gotten up and left. He’d scheduled a meeting with Isaac Knox and a couple of the other evangelists for nine o’clock. Not wanting to be late, he’d set the alarm for seven. Adelle had planned on getting up with him, but as soon as she’d opened her eyes, she realized her headache was immense. There was no use fighting it. Mumbling something about seeing him later, she’d turned over and gone back to sleep. She hated herself when she drank too much, but if there was ever a time when it seemed appropriate, it was last night Cindy and Bunny had knocked on the door to her suite just after she’d returned from her shopping trip to Dayton’s. They brought with them the news of Lavinia’s death. Thankfully, Hugh allowed her to bow out of the Bible study. It was usually a command performance during Tabernacles Week, but tonight even
he
saw the wisdom in allowing her the night off.

After a two-hour walk down memory lane with her friends, she’d finally gotten rid of them. She’d spent the rest of the evening in her bedroom, nursing a ten-year-old bottle of Scotch. It seemed a fitting tribute to an old friend, as well as a quick way to dull the pain. She was a little surprised at how philosophically both Bunny and Cindy were taking Lavinia’s death. But then, they didn’t know what she knew.

Many years ago, long before Lavinia had come upon the diary, Adelle suspected Ginger’s death hadn’t been due to cancer. Yet she’d kept her mouth shut. To be sure, Ginger hadn’t confided in her, but then, she didn’t need to. Adelle had witnessed the truth. And then she’d mutely witnessed the consequences. Her silence had been her shame, and had remained her shame to this very day.

Easing her legs out of the bed, she sat forward, one hand on her stomach, die other pressing against her forehead. She felt rotten in so many ways, the alcohol was the least of her problems. Still, she wondered if she should go get some aspirin. Church members weren’t allowed to take drugs, though she knew her father-in-law always traveled with a small apothecary. Sleeping pills. Cold medications. At heart, he was a rather silly hypochondriac.

“Adelle? Are you up?” called an angry voice from die other room. A moment later Hugh burst into the bedroom. When he saw the look on her face, his angry expression turned more tentative. “I’m really sorry about what happened yesterday. If there was any way I could change things — make it easier for you —”