Killing the Secret (4 page)

Lexie forced herself to be friendly. “How are you doing today?”

“My arthritis always acts up on these cold damp days,” Ruben complained.

“I’m okay,” Sam responded. “Sad day for the town though.”

“Sure is sad,” Ruben added, as he squinted his eyes at Stan. “You know that boy Ronald ain’t no murderer.”

“No, I don’t know that,” Stan retorted then moved toward the steps with Lexie trailing behind.

The restaurant was half full of people dressed in dark church clothes, obviously stopping to eat breakfast before going to Terri’s funeral. The chatter in the room subsided when she and Stan entered. She made herself speak or nod to people as she walked toward an empty booth in the far corner of the restaurant.

For a couple of minutes, it felt like a magnifying glass was focused on her. No one had seen her in a dress and with her hair down since she’d come back to run for sheriff
. Maybe some of them have enough sense to realize I’m going to a funeral. The gossip will be that I was trying to impress the hunk of a detective.
Just the thought of it irritated her. After she ordered her breakfast, she went into sheriff mode.

“I talked to Ronald last night and I think he’s innocent.”

“No offense, but your objectivity is questionable since he‘s a hometown boy.”

“I barely knew him and even if I did, I wouldn’t let it influence my judgment.”

“So what did he tell you?” Stan took a gulp of coffee.

“That he walked into Terri’s room and immediately yelled for help. There was a man in the hall who could verify it was a matter of seconds between Ronald passing him in the hall and the yells. Ronald described him as a tall man with a gray toupee and beard.”

“So a mysterious man is his alibi. Let me guess. Ronald doesn’t know who this guy is.”

“No.” Lexie ignored his cynical tone. She took a bite of eggs so she wouldn’t be tempted to tell him she didn’t appreciate his attitude.

“I don’t have time to chase imaginary witnesses.” Stan pointed his slice of bacon toward her like it was an instruction stick. “Your guy left the syringe in the sharps container. Don’t you think a different killer would’ve taken the evidence with him?”

“Not necessarily. If he was stopped for some reason, he would’ve immediately been implicated if he had the syringe in his possession.”

“Maybe.” Stan seemed to consider the possibility. “When I get back I’ll see if any of the hospital staff know who Ronald’s mystery man is. I’m doing this to ease your mind.” He looked directly into her eyes and said, “Not because I think he’s innocent.”

Lexie’s gaze moved to the red gingham tablecloth. “I appreciate you doing it regardless of your reason.”

“It’s time to get the prisoner,” he said abruptly before half his breakfast was finished.

“I’ll put a deputy at each door of the church so you won’t need to handcuff him.” Lexie said the words with authority, but she looked at the ruffled gingham curtain on the window instead of Stan’s face. She didn’t know if his lack of response meant he agreed, or was going to put up a fight.

Back at her office, they found Ronald wearing a suit and tie, sitting in an open cell, talking to Clay, Tye and Delia.

“Where’s the prison uniform?” Stan’s irritation was evident.

“In the john,” Tye answered loudly.

“Delia borrowed a suit for me to wear,” Ronald interrupted the verbal sparring.

“The pants are a little short,” Delia said, “but the best I could find on short notice.”

“How sweet!” Venom oozed from Stan’s voice.

Lexie quickly spouted out her directions. “Clay, you answer the phone while we’re gone so Delia can go to the funeral. Tye, you’ll stand by the front door and I’ll stay posted by the back door. Detective Johnson can sit in the pew behind Ronald.”

Johnson added his orders to Lexie’s. “As soon as the funeral is over, I’ll bring the prisoner back here to change clothes and we’ll leave. There won’t be any graveyard visit or family dinner for this murderer.”

Lexie nodded. She wanted to argue the point, but at least Johnson was allowing Ronald to go without the cuffs, which was just short of a miracle.

Chapter Eleven

Jamie flung her pinstriped jacket over the back of the recliner and rolled up her shirtsleeves. She propped herself against the throw pillows on Abbey’s flowered sofa with her shoeless feet planted on the edge of the table. “Don’t you think Terri looked a little pale and stiff?”

Loretta shook her head in exasperation. “Well, shit! What do you expect from a dead person?”

“Not a hell of a lot, but you’d think that someone could’ve commenced the funeral before the body corroded.”

Beth clutched a throw pillow as she spoke. “Delia told me that Terri’s death is being investigated.” Everything Beth wore was black, which was in distinct contrast to her light skin and prematurely white hair. “The police think that Ronald couldn’t bear to see her suffer.”

“You’re a regular volume of information,” Jamie said.

“Why does Beth know this stuff, Jamie, and you don’t? Perhaps you and Tye need to have a little pillow talk on your sleepovers,” Loretta teased.

Listening to the conversation from her kitchen, Abbey was glad to have lunch prep as an excuse. Gary took their kids to his parents so the friends could have time alone to deal with Terri’s death.

Abbey doubted that Jamie—the basketball coach, Beth—the porcelain doll, Loretta—the social climber, and herself—the farm mom, would ever have been friends if their championship basketball team hadn’t linked them forever. She told her husband that she didn’t know if she could handle spending over two hours with
the boss, the bitch,
and
the meek.
Gary agreed to come home at 2 p.m. to cue the women to leave.

Nothing motivated Loretta to move faster than a toddler wanting to sit on her lap, or a little hand reaching toward her perfectly styled blonde hair. Nicky had run Loretta off in the past and Abbey’s little wild boy could do it again if his services were needed.

Abbey was surprised Loretta showed up after the funeral. She had hesitated when invited.

“At your farm?” Her tone was acid. “I guess I’ll come if you’ll keep those animals away from me.”

“I’m sure we can find a fenced-in area for you,” Gary inserted.

“Didn’t you say you redecorated? I’d love to see what you’ve done with your little house?” Loretta added, after a piercing look at Gary.

Abbey stabbed the tomato and began slicing it viciously at the memory.

Beth joined Abbey in the kitchen. “How can I help?”

“Just tell them lunch is ready.”

Jamie admired the bay window as soon as she walked into the kitchen. “I love the new window. Did Gary put it in?”

“Yes. The man can build anything.”

“It’s sweet with the white ruffled curtain.” Loretta pushed the panels apart. “But you’re not getting enough light. You should have picked blinds. They’re so stylish now.”

“I think it looks perfect,” Beth said.

“No offense, dear, but style has never been your thing,” Loretta scowled.

Abbey hoped to get Loretta out of bitch mode by changing the subject. “I’ve been thinking we should do something to honor Terri.”

Between bites, Jamie managed one word, “What?”

“Not sure, but it needs to be related to basketball since that was her claim to fame in Diffee.”

“Maybe a gift to the town?” Beth suggested.

“Well, I think all our names should be on any gift. She didn’t win that championship by herself,” Loretta commented as she spooned sandwich components into separate piles on her plate.

Jamie’s voice warbled, “I’ve got it! Let’s have a fundraiser and use the money to renovate the inside of the old gym—new paint, bleachers, and refinish the floor. If the superintendent agrees, we’ll call it the ‘Terri Womack Memorial Gymnasium.’”

Beth chimed in, “We can make the game part of our twentieth high school reunion. That way we’ll raise more money. ‘Killing two birds with one stone’ as the old people say.”

“You need to stay away from old people if you’re repeating weird things about birds.”

Jamie curled her lip at Loretta.

Abbey ignored the pair. “So who will we play?”

“How about Jamie’s college team? She can make them take a fall for us.” Loretta raised her eyebrows in anticipation of Jamie’s reaction.

“Not in this lifetime. My girls aren’t taking a fall for anyone.”

“Keep in mind,” Abbey said, “it’s twenty years later and I’m fifteen pounds heavier. We need to play a team that’s not very good.”

Jamie laughed, “The nursing home doesn’t have a team.”

Abbey stuck out her tongue.

“The high school team is lousy,” Loretta said. “Let’s play them.”

“Beth, since you teach at the high school will you ask the superintendent?” Abbey continued, “I’ll phone Tina, Mariah and Heather and talk them into playing.”

“I bet Mariah won’t come. Rumors are circulating that her war hero husband is the dark horse for the Republican presidential nomination.”

“Wow, Beth! But just think of the money we can bring in if the wife of a political candidate plays.” Abbey’s eyes brightened at the prospect.

Loretta shook her head. “No way will someone of her stature make a spectacle of herself.”

Racket from the front porch signaled Abbey that her family was about to save her from a dismal conversation.

“I need to go–things to do.” Loretta stood quickly as Nicky made a beeline for her lap. He grabbed a leg and hung as she walked toward the door. Gary unclasped his giggling son from the irate woman.

“That boy needs to grow-up,” Loretta panted.

Gary followed her out to the porch. “Kids aren’t grown-up by thirteen months.”

Loretta made a noise that sounded like a ferocious animal and stomped to her BMW.

“I’ll start making calls in the morning,” Abbey promised Beth and Jamie after their good-bye hugs.

“Gary, there’s nothing like spending a couple of hours with my teammates to help me remember how lucky I am to have you and the kids.”

“If I’m so damn wonderful why aren’t you giving me a big smooch?” Gary puckered his lips like a fish. Abbey reached over and grabbed him around the neck and planted a long kiss firmly on his lips.

Chapter Twelve

Abbey pushed aside the breakfast dishes and started her ‘to do’ list. The sun from the bay window left streaks of light on her short brown curls. She was wearing her favorite clothes—old sweatpants with a t-shirt. Her bare feet under the table touched something sticky. “Oh, the joy of motherhood.”

“What’d you say?” Gary hollered from the family room.

“I have sticky toes from your little guy dropping jelly on the floor. I’m going to have to scrub the floor again today.”

Gary leaned against the door facing. “If you wore shoes you wouldn’t feel the jelly, so you wouldn’t need to scrub the floor.”

“Sounds like male logic to me.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “That’s the best kind.”

“You go do man stuff. I need to get the game planned.”

“Yes, my queen.”

“I like the sound of that,” Abbey laughed.

Abbey dialed Heather’s phone number. “May I speak to Heather?” Abbey asked the man who answered the phone.

“Who’s this?”

“I’m Abbey King. I went to high school with Heather.

“This is Heather’s dad.”

“Mr. Hobart, it’s been a long time.”

“I’m here moving Heather’s stuff out of her apartment. She died.”

“Died?!” Abbey gasped.

“Heather tried to kill herself twice last year and managed to survive. This time she succeeded. She was found dead in her bathtub.” His voice cracked, “I can’t believe that she’s gone.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hobart. Is there anything I can do?”

“It’s too late for anyone to help. I can’t talk about it anymore.” His voice deteriorated to a whimper and the phone clicked.

Light rays made jagged marks across the wall. She wished for rain with lightning and thunder. There needed to be a loud racket to interrupt the living so the world will know her friend died. Instead, Heather’s passing was diminished by the cheerful glare of the sun.

Heather chose to die, Abbey reasoned, so now she has her peace. She cried softly for a few minutes then forced herself back to her list.

Next task—phone Sean Haverty, Mariah’s dad, to ask for her number.

“Sean, it’s Abbey. I need Mariah’s phone number. I want to invite her to play a benefit basketball game with our old team.”

“Sure. Here it is.”

“Are you okay?” Abbey asked. “I’ve heard you have some heart problems.”

“I’m fine. My old ticker just slowed down—just like the rest of me.”

“Take care of yourself, Sean, and I’ll see you at church tomorrow. Good-bye.”

Mariah’s phone rang six times before a man answered, “Toleson residence.”

“May I speak to Mariah?”

“Who should I say is calling?”

“Abbey King, a high school friend.”

“Are you sure you’re not a reporter. I’ve heard similar tricks.”

“I’m the real deal. We played on a basketball team together.”

“I’ve been Mrs. Toleson’s Personal Assistant for three years. She’s never once mentioned being a basketball player. I’ll take your number so she can return your call, if she chooses to.”

“Okay,” Abbey responded.

One roadblock after another, was her thought as she dialed Sean again.

“Sean, Mariah’s assistant didn’t let me talk to her. He thinks I’m a reporter. Will you phone her and tell her about the game?”

Sean agreed.

Abbey dialed the last number on her list, hoping for third-time charm.

“May I speak to Tina?”

“Mom died,” a child’s voice squeaked. “Talk to my Dad.”

Abbey suppressed the moan that was rising from her chest to her throat.

“Hello,” said a somber voice.

“I went to high school with Tina. How did she die?” Abbey’s voice cracked every couple of words. She wasn’t sure she made sense.

“Who are you?”

“Abbey King. I played basketball on the Diffee High School team with Tina.”

“Yes. I do remember her mentioning your name,” Gavin spoke slowly. “She died of respiratory failure as a result of being poisoned. She was murdered.”