Wild Ride: A Changing Gears Novel (17 page)

At five minutes to twelve she grabbed her coat and bag and made her way to Katie’s.

Duncan stood in front of the faded yellow Victorian Alex’s cousin would soon occupy. He’d already searched it thoroughly and he’d found nothing. Unless the Van Gogh was buried in the backyard, he doubted the painting was on the property.

Since Alex had blown him off for lunch, he decided to visit Franklin Forrest’s neighbors.

The house on the left had a bike in the driveway about the right size for a ten-year-old who was probably at school. There were no cars in the drive. He suspected working parents.

The house on the right looked more promising. Parked in the freshly swept drive was a sky blue sedan at least a decade old that glowed with regular waxing. Everything from the yard to the lace curtains in the window was neat and tidy.

Best of all, lights were on in the back of the house. He knocked at the solid front door and waited.

A dog yapped, the sound growing louder until he heard the yapping interspersed with panting and snuffling against the bottom of the door.

“All right, Trixie, calm down.” The door opened and the dog roared out, a fluffy white bath-mat with the soul of a rottweiler.

While Trixie sniffed his ankles, darted back and forth between him and the door, and barked some more, Duncan passed the old man who had answered the door his card. “I’m Duncan Forbes,” he said. “I teach art history at Swarthmore and I’m writing a book. I’m interested in Mr. Franklin Forrest.”

The old man shook his head. “I’m afraid Franklin passed on a few months back.”

“Irving? If that’s the Jehovah’s Witnesses, tell them we’re Catholic.”
A small lady approached. She was all pastels, from her pink blouse and mint green slacks to pale blue sneakers.

“He’s not a JW, he’s an author. He came looking for Franklin.”

“Oh,” she said. Like her husband, she looked sorrowful. “He passed away recently. We miss him very much. He was a good neighbor. I’m Daisy Taft and this is Irving.”

“Nice to meet you. Duncan Forbes,” he said again. “I’m sorry to hear Mr. Forrest is gone. I was hoping to interview him for my book.” They shook their heads, so he did, too. The dog barked a couple of times.

“I hope he didn’t suffer?”

“It was quick. Heart attack,” said Irving, patting the left side of his own chest.

“Was his family with him or was he alone at the time?”

Daisy’s pale blue eyes wrinkled around the edges as she squinted. “You’re the first person who ever asked us that. We didn’t say, because what was the point, with him being gone and no one could do anything by then, but we heard shouting that day.”

“The day Mr. Forrest died?”

“Yes. I felt so bad that he should exchange harsh words with someone on his last day on earth. He was always such a kind man.”

“I hope it wasn’t one of his granddaughters?”

“Oh, no. It was a man’s voice.” He wanted to ask if she’d recognized the voice, but didn’t want to push his luck. Daisy, however, once she’d started, seemed relieved to tell anyone at all, even a complete stranger, about the argument.

“I’d baked Franklin a pie. He loved my apple pie, and after his wife passed, I used to take over some baking once in a while. I don’t think he always ate properly. He was over ninety and never wanted to be dependent. I knew he was home, because his car was parked out front, so I went to the back door. We always used each other’s back doors. Casual like.

“But when I got there, before I knocked I heard shouting. Awful shouting. Two men. Well, I knew Franklin’s voice, of course, but not the other. It was a man, I’m sure.”

“Just one man?”

“I think so.”

“Could you make out what they were saying?”

“No. Not that I would ever eavesdrop, of course.”

“Then what happened?”

“I left with my apple pie. I didn’t want him to know I’d heard anything. I came home and told Irving and we waited about an hour, then I phoned over, but there was no answer even though his car was still out front.”

Irving picked up the story. “I went over and knocked. Nothing. We had each other’s keys, of course. Have done for years. I let myself in and found him on the floor in his study.” He shook his head. “I called the police.”

“How awful for you.”

“It was a shock, that’s for sure. But I’m glad it wasn’t one of the girls finding him.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet him. He sounds like a fine man.”

“That he was. Him and his wife. You’d never know finer people.”

“Thanks for your time,” he said. “I appreciate the help.” As he drove back to town and grabbed a quick sandwich at Elda’s he thought about this latest news. So Franklin Forrest’s heart attack had been provoked.

By whom?

Alex returned from lunch with a bouffant. An honest-to-God, backcombed until her eyes watered, sprayed until her hair had the shape and texture of a space capsule, bee-hive.

If she’d had time she’d have gone home and showered, but a forty-years-old hairstyle took time. This monstrosity had taken nearly a full hour to create so Alex hadn’t even had time to eat anything. Now she was back, looking like a caricature of a 60s prom queen. She had a headache from the backcombing, incipient hairspray poisoning, and a stomach grumbling with hunger.

“Not one word,” she said when Myrna opened her mouth.

“I couldn’t think of one anyway,” she said and disappeared down Textiles with a sound suspiciously like a giggle.

She glanced furtively around. Duncan’s usual spot was still vacant, thank goodness, and there were only a few patrons visible. Before anyone could approach her, she made a dash for her office, where she snapped the blinds shut. More smirking and uncontrollable laughter she did not need.

She tried to get back to work, but her head felt strange—as if she tipped it to one side she’d need a crane to get it upright again—so she held it rigidly balanced between her shoulders.

At least no one could see her hidden in her office with the blinds closed. She only had to make it through another four hours and she could leave. With luck, no one but Myrna would ever know.

A shadow fell across her desktop and every womanly particle of her being recognized Duncan Forbes.

“Go away,” she said without moving her head.

“I heard you got a new look,” he said, managing to keep a straight face.

“What do you think?” she asked sweetly turning toward him. Let him think it was the latest fashion. With his rumpled, hiking-man dress sense he might not know Katie had paid her back for all the years of going elsewhere.

“You look like Marge Simpson crossed with Doris Day.”

Okay. So he’d noticed she wasn’t exactly rocking it in the hair department, at least her coiffure of humiliation was giving someone pleasure. “Well, that should give your libido a rest.”

“Are you kidding? I love those old Doris Day movies. I could go for that look in a big way. In fact,” he said, leaning against her doorjamb and appearing to give the matter considerable thought, “I’d like to paint you like that.”

“Well, I feel like I’m wearing the Statue of Liberty on my head, which is starting to pound. I am not in the mood.”

“Should have had lunch with me. It would have been more fun.”

Since she knew exactly how much fun it would have been, and she knew she’d have ended up with something a lot more pleasant than a headache and a bill for thirty-five bucks, she scowled at him. “Out.”

He went, whistling “Que Sera Sera.”

She opened her top drawer for painkillers and all thoughts of Katie, Doris Day, and lunchtime frolicking with Duncan Forbes fled her brain.

There was a gun in her drawer.

A chrome-and-black, I-kill-people-for-fun kind of gun. She must have made some sort of sound, possibly a strangled scream, for suddenly Duncan came pounding back and he wasn’t whistling. “What is it?”

She swallowed, not lifting her head, as though the revolver might go on a shooting spree if she didn’t keep an eye on it. “A gun.”

“Bad idea to keep a firearm in an unlocked desk drawer,” he said, coming around her desk to take a peek.

“It’s not mine. I hate guns.” Her voice wobbled a little and his hand dropped to her shoulder with reassuring warmth.

“Don’t touch it.”

An unnecessary piece of advice. She couldn’t be more scared of that thing if it had fangs and snarled at her. She pressed her lips together, thinking that a mysterious dead man, a man who’d been shot, and a gun that certainly looked up to killing people being found in her library within the space of a couple of weeks had to be more than coincidence.

“I’ll call the police,” she said, pulling herself together with an effort and picking up her phone.

Luckily, Tom took the call.

“There’s a gun in my desk drawer,” she told him as calmly as she could. “It’s not mine ” And the subtext was clear. Get it out of here.

He said, “I’m there,” and disconnected without any of the chitchat they’d have indulged in two weeks earlier. Funny how a murder changed things.

“Tom’s on his way,” she told Duncan, still unable to take her gaze off the black-and-silver object in her desk drawer.

“Good.” He disappeared and she decided to be strong and not wail that she needed him beside her for this latest crisis.

But he was back in less than two minutes with a mug of water and a bottle of pain killers in his hand. “Myrna’s,” he said when she glanced at him questioningly.

Gratefully, she swallowed the pills. It was pretty obvious he hadn’t told Myrna why he needed them, or she’d be crowding in here, too.

Duncan moved behind Alex and rubbed her shoulders, as though he could feel the burdens pressing down on them. She touched his hand briefly. “Thanks.”

He didn’t ask what she was thanking him for, which was mostly being there when she needed him. “You’re welcome,” he said.

Tom arrived in minutes. His eyes widened slightly when he took in her hair.
“Did either of you touch the gun?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Tom glanced at Duncan, who also replied in the negative.

He came around behind Alex and stared at the thing in her drawer.

“Jennings, nine millimeter, semiautomatic,” he mumbled to himself.

“The murder weapon?” Duncan asked.

As though realizing he wasn’t alone, Tom frowned. “When did you first notice the firearm?”

“When I opened my desk drawer to get something. I called you right away.”

“When did you last open that drawer?”

She tried to think, but with the shock, the weight of hairspray, it was hard to focus. “Maybe yesterday? I don’t think I opened it this morning.”

“I’d like you both to leave the office, please. Try not to touch anything.”

“Yes, of course.” I know the drill, she felt like saying. “Should I close the library?”

“Yes.”

Tom pulled out a pair of surgical gloves and slipped them on, and she and Duncan left him to it. As they were leaving, he said, “Why don’t you go next door and wait for me in my office.”

Alex glanced at Duncan, feeling puzzled. “Both of us?”

“Yes. I want statements from you both.”

With a shrug, Duncan fell into step and they went next door. She felt the stares of everyone she passed getting a load of the beehive and she thought as long as she lived she’d never forgive Katie for this.

It was a whole lot easier being mad at Katie than admitting she was terrified.

Tom didn’t keep them waiting long, nor did he separate them, so each heard the other’s story. He started with Alex. “Who’s been in the library today?”
She blinked at him. Was he kidding? “It’s a public library. All kinds of people.”

“Anyone you didn’t recognize?”

“No. Well, a college student, but I think he’s been in before. They blend together. It’s hard to tell.”

“Did you leave your office unattended?”

“I went out for an appointment during my lunch hour.” She would not look at Duncan. “And I was in the library a fair bit today. Myrna might–”

“I’ve asked Myrna to make a list of everyone she remembers.”

“Good.”

“I’d like you to do the same.”

He turned to Duncan. “You see anything out of the ordinary?”

She noticed Duncan’s eyes widen so slightly probably only she would notice. He was as surprised as she was to find Tom treating him more as an ally than a suspect.

He paused, as though really giving the matter some thought. “No. Seemed like a regular day to me.” He paused, then turned to her, “The custodian was in your office.” He switched his attention to Tom. “He brought Alex some fall leaves and she went out of her office to fetch a vase. He was probably there three or four minutes. Plenty of time to plant a weapon.”

They both stared at him. “Arnold?” she finally said.

He shrugged. “Just doing my civic duty. The guy has the keys to the municipal buildings and he’s a big boy. He could haul in a dead guy.”

“Why?”

“Hey, I’m telling you what I saw. Not my place to make judgements about it. But I’ve noticed he brings Alex little gifts all the time. Not stuff you buy, usually things he’s scavenged.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’s like a cat. He killed something and brought it to her, like a trophy.”

“You think Arnold Black killed Jerzy Plotnik?”

“Or found him dead and dragged him into the library for Alex.”

She shuddered at the idea.

Tom scribbled a note, so she had to assume he was taking the possibility seriously. “When Alex was out of the office during lunch, were you in the library?”

“No. I went out too. I ate lunch.”

Tom nodded slowly. She wondered if he was tying to think up some other questions. Duncan said, “Well? Is it the murder weapon?”

“We’ll send it out for tests. Check Alex’s office for finger prints.”

She got home after that awful day, wondering why she’d ever thought this town was dull.

The first thing she needed to do was shower at least seven times to get rid of the shellac feel to her hair. But once she got to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of herself, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Gill should see this,” she mumbled behind her hand. They’d played hairdresser when they were younger, using both of their mothers’ photo albums as a guide. She’d never been much good at playing hairdresser, but Gillian had a flair.

As Alex stared at herself, she could swear it was her mother staring back.
She didn’t have a mother anywhere close, either geographically or emotionally. She didn’t have any real family but Gillian. Since she’d called Tom the night she’d found her cousin with a black eye, well, she obviously hadn’t had Gillian on her side, either.

Sticking out her lower lip, she blew out a breath. Her hair towered over her like a building had accidentally been dropped on top of her head, adding to the feeling of pressure she felt whenever she contemplated her cousin.

Gillian needed her. She’d realized that for a while, but tonight, when she was feeling alone and unsettled and wanting to share the joke of Katie and her hairstyle with someone who would get it, she realized that in an odd way, she needed Gill, too.

She stared at the phone for a while. Picked it up. Put it down. Put on the kettle for herbal tea and then never made a pot. Finally, she grabbed her coat and car keys and left.

She reached Gillian’s house long before she was ready to face her but decided she had to suck it up and walk up that path.

Even so, she spent a good two or three minutes out on the freshly swept front doorstep staring at the blue front door before she got up the courage to knock.

It took a while for the door to open.

“I know you’re there, Gillian,” she finally yelled. She could feel her cousin on the other side of the door.

If a door could slam open, this one did. “What do you—” The surly words were cut off as Gillian snorted. Then the snort turned into a giggle, which led naturally into a lung-endangering guffaw. “You look like your mother on her prom night,” she shrieked.

“I went to Katie’s K-K-Kut ‘n’ Kurl and ended up with a goddamn Bee Hive.”

The laughter felt good, especially today and especially with Gill. They hadn’t laughed together for a long time. But it couldn’t last forever. By the time they’d quieted to snickers, Gill said, “So, why are you here?”

She didn’t invite Alex inside.

The hairstyle seemed even heavier as Alex tried to figure out what she wanted to say. Finally she went with the simplest. “Gill, I’m sorry.”

Her cousin nodded, waiting for more. But she didn’t slam the door, so that was good.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did the other night.” She wasn’t going to apologize for suggesting her cousin needed help, because she probably did. But, in retrospect, Alex could see that her behavior hadn’t been completely warmhearted, not to mention tactful.

Gill stared at her. “You still think I need help?”

Alex stared back, looking into her pretty blue eyes, the bruises were fading, probably with the help of cosmetics. Alex saw that her cousin’s hair was clean, her skin dewy, and that she looked—good. “Why don’t you tell me what you need?”

The door opened wider. “Want some tea?”

Alex thought maybe Katie had done her a good turn after all. “Yeah.”

The funny thing was that they didn’t end up talking about drugs, or murder, or failed marriage. Among the packing boxes littering the kitchen, they talked about their grandparents.

“Do you remember when Grandma caught us smoking?” Alex asked as they sat over tea in the kitchen.

Gillian chuckled softly. “We wouldn’t have gotten caught if you hadn’t coughed your guts up.”

“I couldn’t help it. Smoking didn’t come easily to me.”

“Neither did sex.”

They stared at each other and once more collapsed into giggles. “Oh, my God. I was such a geek.” Alex dropped her head into her hands, and banged her hairstyle against the kitchen table which only made them laugh harder. “I’m getting brain damage!”

“You’ve got a long way to go to catch up with me,” Gillian said, and the mood turned serious.

“Come back to the library,” Alex said.

She touched her face. “I can’t. I’d scare the kids.”

“The bruise has really faded. Come on.”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a lot on right now. I’m moving this weekend, and I’ve got to start looking for a paying job.”

Like that would be easy. If she, Gillian’s own flesh and blood, had had a hard time allowing her cousin to volunteer, she couldn’t imagine anyone in town paying her to work for them.

“You did a great job in the library, you know. Some of the moms have been asking for you. The little kids really liked having you help them.”

“Let me think about it, okay?”

“Sure.” To change the subject, Alex said, “The word in Katie’s is that you’re seeing someone.” She’d been amused to hear that Tom Perkins was supposedly hot for her cousin, because he’d been seen driving her home. Some people made gossip out of thin air.