Uncommon Grounds (18 page)

Langdon took my hands in his. I shuddered and he mistook my reaction. “I know, I know, my dear. David is dead. What could be more tragic? We must keep our faith, though, that God has a plan. Something that we can’t see, can’t understand with our feeble human brains.”

Personally, I was glad I couldn’t see it. Chances are, it would scare the shit out of me.

But Langdon was still talking. “We mustn’t question God’s will.”

I felt a pat coming on and extricated myself from his grasp.

He gave me a hurt look, but muddled on. “Maggy, we must now reach out to the children. Give them our support. Show them God’s love in this difficult time.”

I wasn’t sure God’s love would seem like much of a substitute for having a mom and dad right now. Too abstract. God can’t tuck you in at night and make your lunches.

I touched Langdon’s arm in an effort to stem the flow of platitudes. Mistake. He had my hand again and was patting in earnest.

I let him keep it. “The police think David committed suicide.”

His vague eyes suddenly focused, giving me a little shock. They were sharp and intelligent behind his thick lenses. “That’s not possible.”

Just like that. “You’re sure?”

Langdon Shepherd had changed before my eyes from a dithery old man to a man of conviction. He nodded firmly. “I have no doubt.”

But he saw the doubt in my eyes. “Maggy, I know you’re not one of our flock. For people like you,” (read heathen) “it’s hard to understand, but we believe that suicide is the one sin for which no absolution can be given. Any other sin, no matter how horrible, can be confessed and forgiven. With suicide there’s no time, you see. No time for forgiveness.”

“But—”

“No. David, of all people, would not have killed himself. He would not have left the children alone. He knew how that felt.”

“How what felt?”

“How it feels to lose a parent in that way.”

“David?”

Langdon nodded grimly. “It was kept very quiet, but Da-vid’s father hanged himself in the garage one Sunday morning. David and his brother found him when they came home from church. David was twelve.”

Courtney’s age. I felt sick. What a horrible, selfish thing to do. And in the garage, where his family was sure to find him. I thought about the small red-haired boy watching his father’s body swing...Stop it. Stop it.

But maybe David’s father had mental problems. If so, wasn’t it possible that David did, too?

Langdon answered my question before I could ask it. “Da-vid’s father had inoperable cancer. David understood why he had killed himself, but he hated his father for it all the same.”

I thanked Langdon and went back out into the spring day. I shook my head to clear it. I knew there was logic to what Langdon was saying. Having suffered through his own fa-ther’s suicide, would David have condemned Sam and Courtney to do the same? I didn’t believe so.

Gary had gone to Patricia and David’s house to tell Pavlik about the sugar packets and the Harpers’ money problems. What would Pavlik say? This was the one time I’d be thrilled if the sheriff simply blew him off. I decided to go and find out.

By the time I got back to the Harper house, the police cars were gone. Everything looked normal on the quiet street, except for Sarah’s screeching yellow Firebird in the driveway. And except for the parade of neighbors dropping off food at the Harpers’ front door. The old tradition of taking a hot dish to neighbors in time of need was still observed in Brookhills. That some of those hot dishes carried labels from the best deli counters in town was beside the point.

Sarah led me into the kitchen, where she had been wrapping lasagnas, soups, casseroles and breads for freezing. She thrust the last one into the large chest freezer and closed the lid. “So. Did you go see Langdon?”

Now how did she know that? I looked around for the kids before I answered.

“Gary took them out to lunch,” Sarah said. Geez, was the woman psychic? “Sam didn’t want to go, but I made him. Now, tell me: I figured you would double-check with Langdon. What did he say?” She lighted a cigarette.

“The same thing you did. That David wouldn’t have committed suicide. Did Gary talk to Pavlik before they went to lunch?”

Sarah was searching in the cupboards for an ashtray. “Yeah. Pavlik was out of here like a shot. What was that all about?”

I sank down at the table and confessed to telling Gary about the sugar packets in the wastebasket. “It’s all my fault,” I added miserably.

Sarah was totally supportive. “Are you nuts?”

I ducked my head. “I know. I know. But Gary is a friend and—”

“Gary is the police chief. You should have known he would tell Pavlik.”

“But, at first—”

Sarah had taken a couple drags of her cigarette. It seemed to calm her. “Well, I can’t see that even Pavlik could make something of this.”

“I know. That’s what I thought. Until Gary told me David and Patricia were having financial problems.”

Sarah stared at me, her Virginia Slim Menthol hanging out of one corner of her mouth. “Where did he get that from?”

“They’re two years behind on their taxes.”

“Impossible. Look at this place.” She swept her arm around the room. Gorgeous, from the granite countertops to the top-of-the-line appliances.

She sat down at the table with the delicate bone china saucer she’d chosen as an ashtray. “I would have known if they were having money problems.”

“That’s what I thought. And how would Patricia have come up with the money to invest in Uncommon Grounds? It doesn’t make sense.”

“No. It doesn’t,” Sarah said carefully. “I suppose Pavlik will think this gives David a motive.”

“Who knows what Pavlik thinks? But with this and Patri-cia’s affair—”

The doorbell rang and Sarah stood up. “You’ll have to find out.”

“Find out?”

Sarah was heading for the door. I followed her. “You’ll have to find out what Pavlik thinks.” She ushered me out the door to make room for what looked like a tuna noodle casserole.

Chapter Sixteen

Sarah was obviously not my Watson. She was Nero Wolfe sitting around issuing orders and I was her Archie. It didn’t take me long, though, to fulfill my mission, even if I did so unintentionally.

Pavlik was waiting for me when I got home. Or more accurately, he was standing with one foot on the stoop, trying to peer in my front window. When he turned, he looked pretty damned pleased with himself.

“Why are you peeking in my window?” I asked.

“Playing hide-and-seek with Frank. Can I come in?” He smiled. So I let him in.

After the two friends, one furry and one infuriating, had greeted each other, I put Frank out and left Pavlik on the couch. I remained standing. “David didn’t kill himself, you know.”

Pavlik was skeptical. Wasn’t that a surprise. “So how did he get from the bridge into the creek? It would be one hell of an accident.”

“Patricia’s death turned out to be murder and that seemed like an accident, too.”

His dark eyebrows went up. “So you think that Harper was murdered, too?” He stood up again and strode across the room. Given the size of it, it didn’t take long. When he reached the kitchen door, he turned. “So this is a plot, to what? Rid Brookhills of all the white Anglo-Saxon Protestants?”

I thought that was in particularly poor taste. “Don’t be an idiot. All I know is that David Harper didn’t kill himself.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s against his religion. And because his father committed suicide. Hanged himself in the garage for David and his brother to find.” I was angry all of a sudden. “David would not have done that to his own children.”

“But they’re not his children,” Pavlik pointed out.

“It doesn’t matter, he wouldn’t...”

Geez, there I was again, with the tears thing. There was something seriously wrong with me. I turned away, but then Pavlik was there, letting me cry on the shoulder of his pretty gray topcoat. I cried for Sam and Courtney, for Patricia and David, and then, just a little bit at the end, for myself.

Slowly, the tears started to subside. As I got my emotions back under control, I gradually became aware of other things. I couldn’t help but notice, for example, how good Pavlik smelled. No cologne, just good male scent, with a little soap and a hint of Mint Crest. I couldn’t help but notice, too, how nice it was to feel a man’s solid body against mine again. Or how well my head fit on his shoulder. I couldn’t help but notice how his hair curled at the nape of his neck, and feel the warmth of his cheek as he rested it against my hair. I couldn’t help but notice...the puddle of slobber I’d just left on his cashmere shoulder.

God, I was worse than the dog.

I attempted to wipe discreetly at the mess, at the same time trying to regain control of my raging hormones.

Damn. I was hot for the sheriff.

I lifted my head and tried to step back, but his arms were still around me. I looked up at him as he turned his head toward me. Our eyes met and I felt a tiny, almost imperceptible charge—a charge I hadn’t felt since the day I met Ted. And we know how well that worked out. I stepped back.

Pavlik dropped his arms and did likewise.

We just looked at each other.

“I’m sorry,” I said. Then, “Thank you. I’m okay now.”

Pavlik cleared his throat. “Good.” He was messing with his tie. “Umm. I came here to ask you a few questions.”

Of course. I waved him back to the couch and took the chair on the other side of the room, as far away as I could get. It wasn’t far enough.

Pavlik reached inside his coat for his notebook. I cringed as he tried not to notice the slime on his shoulder. He flipped open the book. “First, did you know the Harpers were having financial difficulties?”

I shook my head. “No, I couldn’t believe it when Gary told me.”

His eyes went dark gray and ominous, suddenly. “Donovan told you that?”

Aww, geez—talk about walking on eggs. I tried to backpedal gently. “Well, he didn’t really say that. He just said they hadn’t paid their taxes. I told him to forget what I’d said about the sugars yesterday, and—” Oh blast.

His eyes were almost black now. Black and boiling, like the clouds on the leading edge of a Wisconsin electrical storm. “Yesterday? Donovan knew about this sugar thing yesterday?”

Oh Lord, let me say the right thing to cover Gary’s tail and defuse Pavlik before he goes off. “Not really. I mean, I just mentioned to him that I wondered why there were empty sugar wrappers in the basket when Patricia didn’t use any sugar. And that David does take sugar. I was stupid to even bring it up.”

He was just staring at me.

I continued to try to explain. “You were absolutely right. Those kids lost their mother and then their stepfather and there I was playing TV detective. All I cared about was getting the store open...”

Dang it, I was crying again. This time, though, Pavlik just watched. He sat impassively, arms crossed, on the other side of the room while I fought to get my breathing back to normal so I could talk. My throat felt like a rock the size of my fist was jammed down it—something I should have thought of doing when I opened my mouth in the first place.

What’s worse, I had nothing to show for all this emoting. No sympathy, no cashmere shoulder, nothing. Except the slobber. Pavlik stood up finally and got me a paper towel from the kitchen. He practically radiated anger.

“You’re right,” he said standing over me. “It probably doesn’t mean anything. But I needed to know about it. Me. Not your friend Donovan. Me. I’m the one in charge of this investigation. Don’t forget it.”

And he stomped out the door.

I remembered those pit bulls Pavlik had been talking about. Their trainers alternating between affection and mistreatment to make them fight. Pavlik seemed to be using the same technique on me; one moment he was asking me to dinner or giving me a shoulder to cry on, the next he attacked. It kept me off balance. Just another version of the good cop/ bad cop thing?

How could I have been attracted to him, even for a second? A man like Pavlik could only be trouble. Some women found those brooding Heathcliff types attractive, but I’d seen too many of them turn abusive. And cops were probably control freaks to begin with.

Though that wasn’t true of all of cops. Look at Gary.

Speaking of Gary, since I’d gotten him into trouble, the least I could do was warn him. I tried calling the office, but he wasn’t back yet. On a hunch, I tried the Harpers and got him there.

He just laughed when I told him what had happened. “Don’t worry Maggy. Pavlik can’t do anything to me. I’m elected by the voters. The worst he can do is endorse the other candidate when election time rolls around. If there is another candidate. He’s just making noises to scare you.”

And it had worked. Again. But, more importantly, what was this change in attitude from Gary all of a sudden? “Where did you take the kids for lunch?” I asked.

“McDonald’s down on the highway. They didn’t want to see anyone they knew.” We were both silent for a moment.

“Are they—”

“They’re doing as well as you’d expect. I don’t think either death has sunk in for Courtney yet. It’s going to be tough going for them. I told Sarah I’d try to stop by again. Anyway, Maggy, I have to run now.”

He sounded cheerier than I’d heard him in a long time. That made one of us.

The next day was Monday. That meant arriving at 5:30 to open in Patricia’s place. Caron got there just before 6:30, singing a happy song. Things must be okay with Bernie.

I asked her and she smiled. “It’s wonderful, Maggy. I haven’t felt this close to Bernie in years.” She leaned over and whispered, “I get horny when I look at him.” She giggled and started to fill the cash drawer.

Horny? I hadn’t heard “horny” since the days when Caron and I hung out at the bar across from the office and drank Tom Collins. “Horny, huh?”

She giggled again and I went to open the front door and flip the sign.

The day passed quickly. It was a cool, cloudy April Monday and business was brisk.

I served vats of Scandinavian, a smooth full-bodied coffee, to commuters. People were bubbling over with the news of David’s death, discussing it amongst themselves as they waited in line. Once they reached the front, though, the subject was dropped.