Deadly Descent (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

I switched to my handset and pressed it tightly against my ear as though it would help to muffle bad news.

“Judy,” I said.

“That’s right. She’s brought me her mother’s diaries to establish motive for Fiona murdering her mother. Say’s she hated Zelda all her life. She’s threatening to go to the press.”

“Brian’s toast if she does.”

“I know that, but legally, we can’t stop her.”

“She’ll stop if we find out who murdered her mother.”

“I’ve done everything I know to do. It’s keeping me awake at night.” He cleared his throat. “I know I’ve kind of kept you on the sidelines, Lottie. Didn’t take you serious at first. But the information you dug up on the Swensons was first class leg-work. Maybe you can see something I’ve overlooked. Can you put in more time here?”

I closed my eyes, swallowed hard. “Sure.”

I murmured a hasty goodbye, looked around at my ever-growing stack of work, shuddered, sipped my sludge, punched Josie back on line and told her about Sam’s call.

“Are you making any progress at all?”

“None. But Sam and I agree if this were a murder for hire, the killer would have used smarter, surer methods than bludgeoning someone. I’m running out of time, Josie. Judy’s going to derail Brian’s campaign. And Kansas needs him.”

“I agree. Oh well. Hell, why not? Send me everything you have about the St. John murder. It would be legal for Sam to use me as a consultant. Since you expect me to be a psychologist by proxy, I might as well be a sleuth by proxy too.”

We hung up. Next, I called Brian and urged him to arrange a complete exam for Fiona. He was silent when I described the symptoms Josie had asked about. “Have you noticed any of these things? Headaches? Tremors? Eye discoloration?”

“No, none whatsoever. I’m surprised at what all can go wrong with the human body. I’m sure I would know if Mother were having headaches. She’s hardly one to suffer in silence.”

He called back two hours later and said he and Jenny had talked it over and he felt as though he had burdened me unnecessarily. While he couldn’t thank me enough, he had decided to wait to schedule an appointment for Fiona. No rush. He was certain there was nothing really major wrong.

“It’s not a good idea, Brian. Josie made that clear.”

He thanked me again, then hung up.

***

That evening, I heard the mournful strains of Keith’s fiddle when I walked through the door. He played gloomy old-timey songs, “My Darling Cory is Gone,” and “The L&M Don’t Stop Here Any More.” I moved from the kitchen into the living room and watched him play for twenty minutes before he stopped, acknowledged my presence.

“Hungry, honey?” I asked. Like most rural folk, we ate dinner at mid-day. Supper was usually light, improvised.

He shook his head, tucked his fiddle back under chin, then as if worried that he had offended me by his curtness, he lowered it to his side again.

“Unless you’ve already started something special,” he said carefully.

He has brown hair, still thick, although graying. It was mussed now, forming a boyish frame around his serious face.

“No.” I smiled. “Nothing special. Soup and fruit.”

He started to position his fiddle, then looked mortified and lowered it again.

“I didn’t mean to imply you
should
have fixed something special. Don’t want you to take it that way.”

“Of course not.” My tone was light, but I was seething.
I’m not a touchy woman. I’m not like your first wife.
If he started weighing every word, second guessing my every thought, our lives would be impossible.

“I brought some editing home. After I’m done, I’ll turn in early.” I rose, started toward the stairs, hoping he would call me back.

He didn’t.

***

The next morning, still miserable over the pall descending on our marriage, I gloomed around the office like an exhausted charwoman. I missed Judy’s help, but I wanted her to continue cleaning and sorting her attic. Given her conflict of interests, I was grateful she would be occupied with that task for the next couple of weeks.

By the looks of my desk, I needed to catch up my daily work. I went into high gear. God had given me a good mind. I intended to use it to get my two jobs under control, and find a way out of my marital mess. The most obvious way was to solve two murders, new and old, so I would have time to think about persons other than cold-blooded killers. Persons like warm-blooded husbands.

I flew through the bills and the stories, saving the letter stack for last. I bit my lip, stunned, that I hadn’t seen it at once. Another letter, post-marked from Phoenix this time.

It was as though an icy hand had reached out and clutched my arm. Tickled up goose bumps. Made my heart skip a beat. I, who have always prided myself on my intuition, hadn’t had an inkling this person was really dangerous until that very instant. I stared at the piece of paper, got up and locked the office and took the file to Sam Abbott.

***

He read them all, smiled and assured me it was someone’s idea of a prank.

“It’s close to Halloween, Lottie. When you’ve been around as long as I have, you’d know how to recognize a joke. Someone having fun.”

“But what if it’s not?”

“It is. I’ve lived in this county all my life and know about everything there is to know about folks living here. We’re not harboring a murderer.”

I stared at him in disbelief, thinking of the all the secrets exposed while compiling my books.

“Who do you think murdered Zelda? An alien?” I’d gone too far. Temper flashed in his eyes before he reached for his pipe and delayed. Searching for the right words to instruct a wayward child.

“That’s different. And rare. It’s never happened here before. It was real. A body discovered. Not pieces of paper.”

Thinking of the Swenson murders, I stilled my face.

“You’ve got to learn to sort, Lottie. Figure out what’s intriguing to you as an historian, what’s a police matter, and frankly, learn to clamp down on your over-active imagination.”

I left, mad as hell, and called my sister on my cell before I went back to the office.

“Josie? Are you up to another professional consultation?”

“If you’re up to my bills.”

“Remember those letters I told you about? They’re heating up.” I read her the latest and told her about Sam blowing me off. “What do you think is going on?”

“My head, based on all my training, tells me I agree with Sam. Someone is having a jolly good time pushing your buttons. Someone you know fairly well has a macabre sense of humor.”

“What does your gut tell you?”

“My gut says it’s worried you’re worried. My gut says there’s nothing funny about any of this. Not a thing.”

“You don’t think those letters are just what they appear to be? A cry for help?”

“I hate that stupid phrase.” She sighed. “I thought it was the well-known ‘cry’ before, but I don’t anymore. I don’t like the tone of this one. Do you have any enemies?”

“No,” I said flatly. “I may have rubbed a few people the wrong way, but I haven’t made any enemies.”

“Think hard.”

“I got someone fired at the nursing home,” I said tentatively. “She was angry. But, even if she were mad enough, I know she isn’t smart enough to be doing this.”

“You’re not going to like this, Lottie, but I have to ask. Could Elizabeth be doing this?”

“No way.” I went rigid. My scalp tightened with despair. “Why would you even
think
that?”

“Don’t dismiss the idea too quickly. One doesn’t have to be a psychologist to know you’re a little touchy about your relationships with your stepchildren. Think about it. If Keith called me to see if I could discourage you, he probably mentioned his unhappiness with your new job to Elizabeth. They do call one another, I assume.”

“Yes, and she’s very protective of him. But she’s not a sneaky person. I think she would call me up and bawl me out. Tell me off for upsetting her father.”

“If someone isn’t pulling your leg, and if it isn’t Elizabeth trying to scare you out of your new job, I like the other alternative even less. The letter says the writer has murdered before and will again.”

***

That evening, I shoved ground beef back and forth in the skillet, looking at it hard, not meeting Keith’s eyes even though he sat a mere three feet away reading his paper. I wished we could recover our former easiness. The distance had begun the day I took the job. I wanted to ask him if his daughter hated me. If I had misread her degree of animosity.

I added cooked macaroni to the mixture, dumped in tomato sauce, and set it to simmer. I started on a salad. He jumped up to set the table.

I dished up. We sat down. He said it looked like rain, and I said, yes, it surely did. He said it looked like everyone was going to have a good corn crop, and I said it sure looked like it. He helped clear. I washed up. He dried.

I ran upstairs, got my pistol and my ear plugs, and went outside. It was deep twilight, and I switched on the yard light. I set up a row of beer cans on a log and started shooting. I heard the back screen door slam. I could feel his massive presence behind me, silently watching.

Bang. The first can flipped into the air. Bang. The second can followed. I whirled around.

“Say something. Set me on the path of righteousness. You know that’s what you’re dying to do.”

“Nothing to say. You’re liberated, lady. Got a star on your chest to prove it. You say what you want. Do what you want.”

“I don’t. I don’t. Every breath I draw is dictated by you. I don’t speak, act, or do anything without your permission.”

We heard each other with obvious amazement. He put his hands on my shoulders.

“You know what you just said isn’t true,” he said. “Same as I know what I just said isn’t true.”

“I didn’t know you’d mind that much, Keith.”

“You did know, down deep inside, or you would have talked it over with me first. That’s what hurt the most. Not even talking it over.”

He had me there.

“This is the first time since we’ve married you’ve ever done anything I didn’t like, Lottie. The very first time. And even so, I haven’t said one critical word to you about it. Now have I?”

“But you went behind my back, Keith. To my sister. That’s what hurts. The going behind my back.”

“I was wrong, and I’m ashamed.”

I was stricken by his tenderness. It was as though he were handling an exquisite animal whose spirit he didn’t want to break.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. “I take it back. I take it all back. Every word I said. You
don’t
tell me what to do. What to say. You never have.”

“I’m ashamed of calling Josie. I apologize.”

“Keith, did you call Elizabeth, too? Tell her how you felt?”

“I mentioned it,” he said gruffly. “Why?”

“Just wondered.”

He didn’t know about the letters I was getting at the office. I decided it was better not to trouble him with Josie’s suspicions.

“I think this is a very good night to kiss and make up,” I said.

“At last we agree.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The next evening, Keith went with me to a tri-county rally for Brian. The crowd was as big as we could hope for considering the political climate in Kansas this year.

Brian’s face tensed as he endured the lengthy introduction. On his right sat Jenny, to his left, Fiona and Edgar Hadley. He spoke for thirty minutes about the farm problem. He pledged to do away with subsidies and promised to investigate the fairness of deficiency payments. It was dull, dull, dull, but it gave me a chance to look at him for a long time.

His eyes were haunted. He had lost weight. Suddenly, I felt very sorry for him. He would probably lose this election. There were too many obstacles for him to overcome. There would be other years, other chances. He was still very young. But from a strategic standpoint, I wished he had waited.

I endured to the end, as did everyone else. Then Keith spotted some neighbors and went off to say hello, and I headed to the back of the auditorium to speak with Brian. He left the building through the back exit before I could reach him.

Fast-moving dark clouds scudded in front of a high-flying crescent moon. The night air was chilly.

A little child came up to him out of the shadows.

“Can I have your autograph? My mom says you’re going to be president some day if the people in this state have any sense at all.”

He automatically reached toward his breast pocket for a pen, then stopped.

“Later,” he said curtly. “I’ll do it later. I haven’t got time right now. Now run along.”

Dismayed by his churlishness, I stayed in the shadows. Brian had always been as gracious in private as he was in public. This refusal to sign a simple autograph was so unlike him I could hardly believe my ears. Slump-shouldered, the child walked away.

Brian walked over to his car, which was parked at the side of the building. I watched as he opened his car door and pulled a flask from the console. He tipped back the bottle and took a deep drink. His hands trembled under the dome light as he screwed the cap back on, and wiped his mouth.

How could I not have seen this? Not have noticed? All the signs were there, and they were unmistakable. If golden boy wasn’t an out and out alcoholic, he damn sure had a serious drinking problem.

I recalled the day I had gone to the Hadleys’ house, when Fiona had thrown her little fit and Brian had told me how concerned he was. He’d tossed down several stiff drinks in the middle of the day. I had excused him due to the circumstances. His hands had trembled that day, too. I’d assumed it was from anger. As clear as day, I heard again William’s words. I remembered Brian’s defensiveness.

No wonder he was so often in dark glasses. They were to hide his bloodshot eyes. No wonder he didn’t want me to pursue Fiona’s physical. It would have drawn too much attention to him. All the symptoms Josie was interested in and had described were ones that fit an alcoholic.

Just win the election
, I thought bitterly. They’re all alike, and he’s no better than any of the rest of them. Just do whatever it takes to win the election.

Heartbroken, I turned, left without speaking to him. I found Keith. “Let’s go home.”

Not only was I sad over a life being wasted right before my very eyes, I was furious over the time I had wasted on his behalf. If I had known there was even a hint of this kind of problem, I wouldn’t have volunteered to be his county campaign chairman. To some, my attitude would sound cold and bloodless. I didn’t care. My struggles with my mother had drained me of all pity for drunks.

I didn’t like them.

***

The next morning, I edited stories with renewed vigor. Mentally, I composed a little speech to the Hadley family. I now had an ideal excuse to disengage myself from this crazy bunch of people. I didn’t want a fiery confrontation with Brian, although it might have done him a world of good. But I wasn’t out to do him good. I didn’t take him to raise.

My goal had been to get him elected. Now I hoped his hypocritical little soul went down in flames. It might hurt him politically if I withdrew from the local level without explanation, but not much. There was nothing I was going to say or do that the big boys couldn’t handle.

Better yet, I fumed, I would put it all in a letter. I reached for a piece of paper with the historical society’s letterhead, then changed my mind. I got up, went to my briefcase, and took out a piece of my personal stationary.

The phone rang.

“Lottie? I’ve been waiting for you to return my call. I couldn’t stand it any longer,” Judy said.

“Darn, I’m sorry, Judy. I forgot to give you my cell number. What call?”

“I left a message on your answering machine about six-thirty this morning. Before the office opened. Telling you I’d found a letter you weren’t going to believe. It’ll blow this county sky high. I called early because I didn’t want a volunteer to hear me if you had the phone on speaker.”

Puzzled, I looked at the message counter on my machine. It was blank. This was the third time now someone claimed to leave a message for me that I hadn’t received.

“Just a minute. Sounds like something that should be kept inside these walls.” I laid down the handset, and closed the heavy outside door. “Now, what would be so important you would want to call me that early in the morning?”

“I’ve found the smoking gun, Lottie. The proof that Fiona murdered my mother.”

“You’ve found what?” Blood left my brain along with my police academy training.

“A letter. An old, old letter. Well, a copy actually. Which makes it even better.”

Breath returned. Blood began flowing. An old letter wasn’t proof of anything. Zilch.

“Explain, Judy.”

“One of Mom’s trunks had a false bottom. I found it in there. Remember those blank pages we found in the attic? Remember the rose watermark? It’s much clearer on this letter. But I want to
show
you, not tell you about it. It’s never been about the family history story, Lottie. It’s not the handwriting either.”

“Judy! What for god’s sake?” I wanted to reach through the phone lines and wring her scrawny little neck.

“Come dressed in your Deputy Dog costume so you can arrest Aunt Fiona on the spot.”

She interrupted my furious protests that things didn’t work like that.

“I’ve already called her to come over. I want her to actually see me hand you the letter. It’s high noon. Fresh horses for me and whisky for my men.” Like the hero in an old western, sure of righteous victory, she didn’t bother to suppress her satisfaction over the coming show-down.

“Jesus Christ, Judy. Fiona’s coming over?”

“You bet. I said her life depended on it. She doesn’t know you’ll be here. I want to surprise her.”

“Don’t say anything dumb to Fiona. Use your head. I’ll be there in a flash.”