A Farewell to Yarns (22 page)

lost half her audience.

Mel was staring across the room. "Or—or he could have known the bomb was on the plane."

“W h a t d o yo u me a n ? " J a n e a s k ed . " He wouldn't have let the others take the risk if he'd known. And how could he have known?”

Mel gave her a long, level look.

John Wagner answered. "He could have known if he'd arranged it.”

Jane nodded. It was a thought that had been swimming malevolently in the deepest, darkest part of her mind, but she hadn't allowed herself to recognize it.

The waitress, a perky girl with a gleam in her eye, bounced over to give them their bill. She tried to flirt with VanDyne but was firmly re buffed. When she'd gone, John Wagner spoke again. "So after years of hiding the truth and probably feeling pretty confident that nobody would ever discover it, he suddenly has Phyllis, his first wife, turning up."

“Talking a mile a minute about her son, a boy exactly old enough to be Richie Divine's son," Jane said.

“How do you know she was talking about Bobby?" VanDyne asked.

“I heard her. Sweet, gabby, completely indiscreet Phyllis," Jane said softly.

“And she recognized him?" Mel asked.

“I think she must have, but maybe not right away. I'm sure he recognized her. When he came in the room, he looked like he'd been hit in the head with a hammer. I thought at the time it was because the room was such a mess, but it must have been the sight of Phyllis. Fiona had to force him to take Phyllis over to look at the house next door. He didn't want to. He was almost rude about it. But when he came back, he was really mellow. Like he'd sorted it out. Maybe they'd talked about it, and she'd agreed not to tell anyone."

“She would agree," John said. "But I don't think she could have stuck to it. She was too open."

“That must have occurred to him later," Jane said.

Mel said, "We've skipped over a vital part of this who le thi ng. W hy do yo u t hi nk Albert Howard is Richie Divi ne? There's no resemblance. How would Phyllis have recognized him if the rest of the world hasn't? And what made you think of it?”

Jane told them about the church choir and elaborated on her theories about plastic surgery and age.

“But if you're right, it's only because you heard him sing and have a good ear. It doesn't account for Phyllis knowing him. I doubt that he hummed a few bars of 'Red Christmas'

as he was walking her over to the house next door."

“But she knew him fairly well. She'd been married to him, if only for a short time. Besides, I think it's more likely that Albert himself gave it away. He knew her. He probably had fond memories of her, and he must have at least suspected that the son she talked about might be his. He and Fiona have no children. Getting to know a son is a powerful incentive for a middle-aged man to give himself away."

“And then have second thoughts about his own welfare," Mel said. He picked up the bill, glanced at it, and dug in his back pocket for his billfold. " All right, J ane. I think you've got something"

“That's big of you to admit," Jane said.

“Let me have all this stuff," he said to them. Jane handed over the framed band picture and the book she'd bought. John Wagner gave him Phyllis's yearbook. "I'm going back to the office to see what else I can run down. Mr. Wagner, I've got to ask you to keep this to yourself for a while longer. I know you're anxious to tell your father, but—"

“I understand. It might be raising false hopes. Besides, my dad might tear over there and try to take Albert Ho ward apart wi th hi s bare hands. Don't worry. I won't say anything yet. But when?"

“I f t her e 's a n y o f t hi s I can co n fir m, i t shouldn't take more than a few hours," Mel answered.

“Just one thing," Jane said, scooting out of the booth. "Please don't ruin the bazaar."

“What?"

“It's only got a few more hours to run. We close down at six-thirty. A lot of people worked awfully hard on it. Please don't ruin it."

“Jane, you've got the weirdest priorities," Mel said. "All right. I won't make a move until six-thirty, but how am I going to explain that to my superiors? I'm sorry, boss, but I couldn't make an arrest until the last of the Christmas ornaments had been sold—”

Jane gave him a smile. "It's important to me.”

“All right, but make sure you close down at exactly six-thirty.”

John Wagner left them, and Mel walked Jane to her car. She paused with her hand on the door. "Mel, I don't much like myself for all this. What I've done to Fiona—”

He put his arm around her in a bracing manne r . " It i s n't wha t yo u've do ne , J a ne. And you've got to think about your friend Phyllis, n o t F i o n a H o wa r d . Y o u ' v e d o n e t h e r i g h t thing.”

She looked up at him. "I know. It just doesn't feel very good.”

Jane realized on the way back from the mall that she couldn't explain to Shelley what was going on. There wasn't the time or privacy to tell her the whole story, and it wasn't something to tell only a part of. The rest of the afternoon was endless. She stayed at the busy sale table in the front hall most of the time to keep her mind from endlessly circling what she'd done. She didn't see either Fiona or Albert all after noon, but every time she heard a voice raised, she imagined it was Fiona discovering that the band picture was missing. At quarter of five, she ran home for a minute. "Mike, drive me back to the bazaar, and you can have the car to get dinner. Here's some money."

“Aren't you going to be home?" he asked, grabbing his coat before she could change her mind.

“Yes, but not until later. I'll find a ride.”

When she returned, some of the other workers were beginning to consolidate what was left of the sale items into two rooms. They also marked things down brutally. "Another rush will start any minute," Shelley said. "People on their way home from work. We have to unload everything we can.”

At six, the last crew of volunteers set out to retrieve all the signs in the neighborhood. At quarter after, they put a CLOSED-SEE YOU NEXT YEAR sign on the front door and locked it. The few shoppers remaining picked over the last goods as the workers slashed prices right and left. At twenty after, Albert came through the hall in his coat and boots.

“Where are you going?" Jane asked. Dear God! Was he escaping the net? No, of course not. How could he know?

“I put your cartons in the garage, and the roof has leaked. They're all wet, and you'll need dry ones to pack what's left," he explained. "I'm running up to the grocery store to get some."

“Oh, there's no need. I'll do it."

“No trouble," he said. "Is there something wrong? You look awfully pale."

“It's nothing. It's just been a long day.”

She watched him leave, feeling helpless.

By twenty-five after, the shoppers were gone. O nl y S he l l e y a nd t wo o t he r vo l u nt e e r s r e mained. "You can go on along," Jane told the other two. "Shelley and I can manage."

“But Jane—" Shelley began, but seeing the stricken look on her friend's face, she stopped.

"Yes, Jane's right. We'll take care of packing up.

Jane saw them to the door and as she opened it, found herself facing Mel VanDyne. "It's sixthirty, isn't it?" she said needlessly. He looked grim. "Mrs. Jeffry, would you ask Mr. Howard if I could speak to him?”

It was as if they were strangers. "He's not here. He's gone to the grocery store to get some cartons," she said in the same impersonal tone.

“Then perhaps I could speak to Mrs. Howard while he's gone.”

Shelley came into the hall, smiling. The smile faded as she saw Jane and Mel facing each other with set expressions. "What's wrong?”

Mel turned to her. "Are you the only worker l e ft b e s ide s M r s. J e ffr y? " S he l le y no dded . "Would you mind leaving—quickly?"

“Of course. Jane, are you coming with me?”

“Yes."

“No," Mel said. "Not quite yet. I'll see that she gets home.”

At that moment, Fiona came down the stairs. "Is everybody gone? How did we do?

Would you like to help counting money or packing things—oh, it's Detective—uh—"

“VanDyne, ma'am. Could I have a few words with you?”

Fiona turned very pale. "Actually, it's not a good time. Perhaps later?"

“I'm afraid it has to be now," VanDyne said. "Yes, very well," Fiona said, turning toward the family room.

Shelley watched her go, then mouthed to Jane, "Albert?”

Jane nodded miserably. Mel took her elbow and guided her along behind Fiona. Jane heard the front door close as Shelley left and had a ma d urge to t ur n and r un. M el mus t ha ve sensed the impulse. He tightened his grip on her arm. "I need a witness. My uniformed man slipped on the drive and is in the car whimper ing over his wrist," he whispered. When they entered the family room, Fiona was sitting on the sofa where Jane had sat earlier. She, too, was staring at all of the pictures. "Jane, there's a picture missing," she said a small voice.

“I know. I took it," Jane said.

Fiona looked at her for a long moment, then said, "You know, don't you."

“Yes, Fiona. I know who Albert really is." Jane felt sick.

“What do you want?" Fiona said to VanDyne.

“I want to talk to your husband about the deaths of Phyllis Wagner and Bobby Bryant.”

Fiona stood and walked to the wall, putting her palm on the spot where the band picture had been. Jane wished she could curl up and disappear.

“You don't, of course, have to talk to me at all," Mel was saying. "As his wife—”

She turned quickly and looked at him. "You don't need to talk to Richie. He didn't kill those people—I did.”

Twenty-six

"What!" Jane's exclamation came out as a strangled cry. Mel practically shoved her into a chair and then turned back to Fiona, saying very smoothly, "Why don't you sit down, Mrs. Howard, and tell us about it.”

Fiona shrugged. "I might as well."

“Don't yo u want to call a lawyer?" Jane asked.

Fiona ignored her. Mel had taken a card out of his jacket pocket and was reading her rights. She didn't act like she heard him or cared. He took a small tape recorder out of another pocket and put it on the coffee table. Pushing a button to start it, he said, "Do you understand that I'm recording what you're about to say, Mrs. Howard?"

“Yes, I understand."

“And you agree to be recorded?" Mel looked as surprised as Jane felt.

“Yes."

“Please tell me in your own words what happened," he said, slowly sitting down. He moved and spoke as if in the presence of a wild animal that might take fright and flee at any quick moves. Jane remembered him saying something days ago about needing a confession, because there might be such a lack of hard evidence.

Fiona glanced at him, then at Jane, then looked out the windows and spoke in a flat tone. "Mrs. Wagner was my husband's first wife. The marriage was annulled, and he didn't know until last week that there had been a child. When she came here and I suggested that he show her the house next door, he recognized her. On the way over, she told him about her son—their son."

“Did Mrs. Wagner know right away who he was?" VanDyne asked.

“No. He told her. He
told
her," Fiona said. She looked years older, like the mother of a grown child who has done something very stupid. "You see, Richie isn't very good at—at protecting himself. He was so excited at the idea that he had a son, that he admitted to her who he was. It was very foolish. I couldn't trust anyone else to keep our secret. I've done so much all these years to keep everyone from knowing. Did she tell you, Jane?"

“No, she didn't tell me. I r ealized when I stood next to him in the choir."

“The choir. I told him not to be in it, not to take the chance, but he loved it so much. He really loved singing, you know. He didn't care nearly as much about the fame and the money as the sheer joy of singing. It was the only thing I couldn't give him. No, I didn't give him child r e n , e i t he r . I t hi n k he wo u l d ha ve l i k e d children....”

Her voice trailed off into a long silence. Mel broke it by saying softly, "So you killed her to keep the secret? Tell me about it."

“There's not much to tell. That night after Richie went to bed, I waited until the boy came home. I knew he was drunk from the way he was singing. I waited another hour to make sure he was sound asleep, then I went over there. I knew my way around the house from helping take care of the old lady who used to live there. I almost went into the wrong room, but the boy was talking in his sleep, so I knew he had the big suite. I went in the small bedroom and killed her with a knife I'd picked up in the kitchen. I had one of my own with me, but I didn't want to use it." She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes for a long moment. The only sound in the room was her breathing.

“Did yo u tell yo ur husb and what yo u 'd done?" Mel asked.

“Tell Richie? No, of course not!"

“What about the boy? Bobby. Did you kill him, too?”

Fiona nodded. "I didn't want to. At first I didn't think it was necessary. Richie said the woman told him she'd never revealed to the boy who his father was. I thought that was probably true, but I couldn't be sure.”

Jane shivered. Fiona was talking in a bleak but rational tone, as if they were discussing something serious but mundane, like the house needing a new roof.

“But then," Fiona went on, "then he started playing the music. It was all Richie's songs. Everybody thought he was just being a nuisance, but it was a message. I knew what it meant. He was saying that he knew who he was and who Albert was, and he was going to blackmail us. Richie had been so happy to find out that he had a son, but the son had no feelings for him at all. He—he was a blackmailer. He called after the police made him turn the music off and asked Albert if he'd heard it. I was on the extension, but they didn't know. He said he wanted to see Richie the next day and talk about an 'allowance.' That's what he called it. Richie was crushed. Absolutely crushed. So I called the boy back that night and told him Albert would meet him at the mall."