Thicker than Water (23 page)

More likely he'd have tons of leftovers for a late-night snack, but I didn't vocalize my opinion because he seemed so proud of himself. There was another knock on the door, which Miller ran to answer, and a few moments later Helen Wickland walked in. “Hey, Torie. Rudy.”

I stood. “What can I help you with?” I said.

She had a newspaper clutched in her hands. “I came by for two reasons. One was to apologize for the other night,” she said. “I'm not sure what exactly it is I'm apologizing for, other than I wasn't very vocal in sticking up for you. But I won't apologize for running against you. When Eleanore nominated me, I didn't even think about you getting upset. We're grown adults. I just thought it would be fun to be an officer in the historical society.”

“I'm not upset with you for running against me, Helen. That would be silly of me,” I said. “I was upset because I was being attacked, and I suppose I expected a more valiant effort from more people in the room. Don't worry about it. It was an eye-opener for me.”

“I thought you might want to see the paper,” she said.

“Oh,” I said and took the paper from her. Then the phone rang. I answered it. “Hello?”

“Jesus H. Christ, have you seen the freaking paper?” It was Collette. My best friend.

“I just had it handed to me.”

“Why didn't you tell me Rossini interviewed you? I could have watched for this article and, I dunno, maybe done something about it before it went to press,” she said.

“I haven't read it yet, so … I meant to tell you. Actually, I meant to ask you about this Rossini guy, but so much has happened I just haven't gotten around to it. Jeez,” I said. “In fact, I had forgotten all about the damn interview.”

“Did you really tell this guy that Sylvia clawed her way to the top—making New Kassel the thriving tourist attraction that it is—by not allowing pond scum to own their own homes?”

“What? No!”

“I'm going to tear this guy in two,” Collette said. “He'll never work in this town again. Damn columnist. He thinks he can get by with anything by not quoting you.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, if it's Rossini's interpretation or opinion of you, he thinks he can say whatever he wants. Jerkwad thinks he's damn Rush Limbaugh.”

“Calm down.”

“Calm down?” Collette said. “Torie, did you say that you thought it was your appointment from God to carry on Sylvia's work and to keep the rednecks from taking over your little Kingdom of New Bavaria?”

“What?!” I sat down. “Oh, he did not print that. Did he really print that?”

Rudy had stopped chewing his sandwich, and Helen was shaking her head and blushing all the way to her ears. I could only imagine what I must have looked like. There probably wasn't an inch on me that wasn't red from anger or flushed with hives. “I did not say either of those things.”

“Sue his ass for libel, girl,” Collette said.

“Collette, I have to go. I'll call you back later.”

I hung up the phone and went about reading the article that Helen had brought to me. It was one slanderous comment after another. He even described me as a “short and dumpy soccer mom who is cashing in on the timely death of her associate.”

I stood up. “How in the hell can he print this?”

Then I sat down.

Then I stood up.

Watching me get up and down, Rudy looked like one of those bobblehead toys. “Sugar, sweetie, pick one, up or down. You're making me seasick.”

The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Well, well, well,” Mayor Castlereagh said. “We finally see the true colors of our Little Miss Historian.”

“Oh, I bet you're loving this,” I said.

“You know I am,” he said. “Those chickens will be gone by sundown.”

“Listen here, you … you … If you touch one feather on my chickens…”

“Yes?”

I slammed the receiver down into the cradle.

“Bill?” Rudy said.

“Yeah.”

“Torie, what are you going to do?” Helen said.

“Look, Collette can pull strings and get this retracted,” I said. “I'll … I'll write a formal apology to the town of New Kassel in our
Gazette
. Everything will be fine.”

Deep down inside, though, I couldn't help but wonder whether it
would
all be fine. Once the suspicion was planted, people would always wonder. But I couldn't think about that now. Somebody seriously wanted my reputation ruined, wanted me gone, out of power, and out of town, even.

I looked down at the list of members that I'd gotten from the Methodist church. I knew tons of people on that list. Hell, even Deputy Duran and my mother were on it. Not that my mother ever went to church, but that was the church she belonged to. But two names popped out at me. Eleanore Murdoch and Elmer Kolbe. I just couldn't bring myself to believe that Elmer would want me out of town. Of course, the mayor could have gotten to him.

In my mind, the two people who wanted me out of town the most were the mayor and Eleanore. “I'll be back,” I said suddenly.

“Where are you going?” Rudy asked.

“I'm going to visit Elmer.”

Twenty-Eight

Elmer was at the firehouse, the very place I knew he would be, since he was the fire chief, after all. The firehouse was an old building, and an early-twentieth-century fire truck sat on the front lawn. The antique fire engine had actually been used here in this town, and Elmer had had the presence of mind to keep it and restore it. I went in, passed the front desk, and went down the hall to his office.

“Torie,” he said. “Come in.”

He didn't seem to be hiding any nefarious doings with that bright smile. It was the same smile I'd seen on his face my whole life. To believe he was faking it meant he'd been faking it all that time, and that was far too disturbing for me to think about.

“I've got a question for you, Elmer,” I said. I took the seat across from his desk.

“What is it?”

“Did you attend the box social at the Methodist church?”

“Which one?”

“The last one.”

“Yes,” he said. “I was there.”

“Was there anybody there who was not a member of your church?”

“Sure,” he said and shrugged. “Lots.”

I wasn't sure what to ask next, and it turned out I needn't have worried about it, because he posed the next question. “Why? You seem agitated.”

“Have you seen the papers today?”

Rubbing his forehead, he sat back and exhaled for what seemed like a full minute. “Yes,” he said.

“Do you believe the story?” I asked.

He said nothing.

“Do you believe I said those things?”

“No, Torie. Even if you meant those things it would be political suicide to actually have said them. I would believe Eleanore capable of shooting herself in the foot, but not you.”

“Oh, I've shot my own foot before,” I said.

“Yes, but Torie, this would be like blowing your damn foot right off your leg. You wouldn't be that stupid,” he said.

“Then you know what I'm getting at here,” I said. “Elmer, somebody is trying to make life so difficult for me that I'll leave town, or at the very least disappear from the public scene.”

“I know.”

“They tried beating me up,” I said, “but that didn't work. They went after my family—whether or not they would have actually hurt my kids, I don't know—and now defamation of character. What is going on?”

“I wish I knew,” he said. His small eyes narrowed. He played steeple with his fingers and then leaned forward. “Why did you ask about the box social?”

“Because Eleanore said that was where the anti-Torie campaign began. I've looked at the list of church members. Aside from Eleanore, I can find no outright enemies of mine on that list.”

“I'm on that list,” he said.

“Yes, you are.”

“You suspect me?”

“No,” I said. “Can you remember anything unusual about that box social?”

“Not really,” he said. “Eleanore was there—she hung with a pretty snotty group that day. I can't really remember anything sticking out in my mind. Just that there was an air of … discontent.”

“Great,” I said. I squeezed my eyes and tried to make my headache go away.

“What is it?” he asked. “There's something you're not saying.”

“The mayor—” I began.

“He goes to the Catholic church, I think. And no, he wasn't there.”

“No, I mean … He hasn't said anything to you about me, has he?”

“He's always talking about you,” he said.

“Oh, that's comforting,” I said. “I meant in an official capacity.”

“You mean, has he bribed me to slander you? You know, threatened to pull some strings so that I'd lose my job if I didn't cooperate? That sort of thing?”

“That's not how I mean it to sound,” I said.

He stared at me long and hard. I wilted beneath the intensity. He was my elder. The man was in his seventies. He refused to retire, even when everybody told him he should. I felt like I was being scolded by my grandfather and he hadn't even spoken a single word. “He did, actually,” Elmer said, “but I told him to jump in the river. It's only a few hundred yards from his house. It should be easy enough for him to find.”

My mouth went dry at his announcement. “Oh, my God,” I said.

“Torie, this was a very long time ago. Two or three years ago. Long before all of this stuff came up with Sylvia,” he said.

“So he could have been waiting to play his hand,” I said. The hysteria rose in my voice like mercury in a thermometer.

“Nobody knew you were going to inherit everything,” Elmer said.

“No, but still, maybe that was just icing on the cake. Maybe he was going to make this move regardless, and Sylvia dying just made it easier for him,” I said.

“Torie,” Elmer said, “talk to your stepdad first. Don't go off half cocked and accuse Bill of anything.”

“I won't,” I said. I stood then, not sure how to end this conversation. “I … thanks, Elmer.”

“No problem,” he said. “Let me know when you need me to come back for the tours.”

I smiled, knowing that Elmer understood. “I will.”

*   *   *

On the way back to the Gaheimer House, I unexpectedly ran into Eleanore Murdoch. I tried to pretend I didn't see her. In fact, I ducked behind a small fig tree and went about picking some imaginary gum off my shoe. But you know, nothing gets past Eleanore. Not a damn thing.

“Oh, Torie,” she said. “I thought that was you.”

“Eleanore,” I said. I took a deep breath. Surprisingly, she was dressed down today. She wore black leotard pants with a purple sweater that came down to her knees, which only accentuated the fact that the woman's shoulders are three times wider than her hips. It wasn't her appearance that bothered me so much as her attitude. It was as if nothing had transpired at the meeting at all. She thought she was going to schmooze me and I'd forget all about how she darn near incited a riot in my name this week. “Is there something you wanted?”

A dead person could not possibly have mistaken my greeting for anything other than the cold shoulder, but Eleanore—as I have spent a lifetime discovering—is as dense as the fog on Venus. “What band do you have lined up for tomorrow?”

“It's none of your business,” I said and proceeded to walk past her.

“Wait just a minute,” she said. “Who do you think you're talking to?”

“Well, you look like the two-faced, bigmouthed idiot who was at the historical society meeting the other night. You know, the woman who kept referring to me as
that
woman,” I said. “Really, Eleanore. If you're going to plant the seeds of hatred, you have to be prepared to reap whatever ugly plant you sow.”

“Well, I never,” she said.

“Neither have I.” I turned to leave, and then I happened to think of the words Father Bingham had said to me about how I should forgive and love those who don't necessarily have my well-being in mind—and for once, I really looked at Eleanore with the blinders off. Freeing myself of all the pettiness made me see her for what she really was: a pathetic woman who was so unhappy with herself that she had to spend her life pretending she had a life. Or that she had somebody else's life.

I don't know. Maybe it's because
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
is my favorite Dr. Seuss book and my favorite Christmas story, but somehow it seemed as if my heart grew three sizes bigger standing on the street staring up at this giant woman with a beehive hairdo and Oreo cookie earrings. I couldn't stand it one more minute. I lunged at her and gave her the biggest hug I could muster.

“I forgive you, Eleanore. I don't care how petty you get, how mean you get, or how jealous of me you get, I'm not going to care anymore.”

“What?” she said.

Ahh, if only I'd had a camera to register the look on her face.

“You need to let all that go. Look deep inside you, Eleanore. I'm sure there's a beautiful person somewhere in there, just waiting to be released. You know, like a butterfly from its cocoon.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No, I haven't. I'll tell you what, Eleanore. You throw whatever you want at me. You go right on ahead, because deep down inside, I know that you're just doing it because you feel wholly inadequate. So if you want to remove me from power, go ahead. Try. But remember, I'll always be here for you.”

With that, I smiled and left a completely and totally—for the first time ever—speechless Eleanore Murdoch standing on the sidewalk.

Life seemed suddenly good.

Well, except that there was still somebody out there trying to get rid of me. And my chickens could be in serious danger by nightfall.