Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) (16 page)

“Well, I’m keeping the details of the incident quiet for now.”

He understood. He was acquainted with Lily.

“Good idea. She doesn’t need to know. Serry’s had enough in her life lately.” His voice was low, hoarse. “We all have.” There was a pause. “Thanks, Miss Prentice. You’re all right.”

I didn’t correct him about my name.

We said goodbye and I prayed, right then and there,
Lord, please be in this situation. Let Your loving will be done.
I didn’t give Him any suggestions. I had no idea how to work this out.

I woke up that Saturday morning feeling better than I had in weeks.

“Wow,” Gil said as he came into the kitchen, “French toast? And bacon.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and kissed the back of my neck as I stood at the stove. “Bring it on! I’m starved.”

“What’s on your agenda today?”

I set his breakfast plate before him. The bacon was definitely underdone, but I had made sure to thoroughly cook the French toast. It was Lily’s recipe, and I’d followed it to the letter, but somehow things hadn’t come out quite as planned.

“Um, not going in this morning,” he said between sips of coffee. “Both the back-to-school/Labor Day supplements and the Halloween Parade insert are finished.” He counted his accomplishments on his fingers. “Furthermore, I’ve done six generic editorials in advance, so I’m giving myself a break. They can call me if they need me. I’m sticking around here.”

I sat down to my own breakfast and murmured our blessing.

“I know what you’re up to. Remember, the doctor said yesterday it’ll be a couple more weeks before the baby comes, so you can relax.” I flipped my French toast slice over to disguise the burned part and poured a light stream of syrup over it.

Using his fingers, Gil deftly picked out the meaty parts of his bacon and left the translucent fat on his plate. “How about you? Any plans?”

I sighed. “Not really. I don’t have any more tutoring sessions until Tuesday. I thought I might pack my overnight bag just in case.”

“Good idea.”

“I’m going to call Lily, too. She’s still pretty broken up about Sam’s death. No, make that angry, irate, and furious. She thinks Vern did it. That’s not fair. I’m going to have to find a way to tell her it was Serry.”

Gil patted my hand. “All this has been pretty hard on you, too, honey.”

“Well, yes, but I’ve accepted it. Did I tell you that Lily wants to bury Sam in the yard behind Chez Prentice?”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. He could go in that corner by the back fence.”

“She wants a headstone.”

“Oh, brother. How is Etienne reacting?”

“Not well, according to Marie. He doesn’t see the need. And that’s not all, Gil. Lily has decided that we must name the baby Samantha after the cat.”

Gil had taken his plate to the sink, stopping to dump the remains of his bacon in the trash can. He turned on his heel at my comment.

“Our baby’s middle name is already going to be Lillian. Isn’t that enough for her?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve already drawn the line.” I sighed. “Sometimes I think this name thing has been the hardest part of the pregnancy. Everybody has an opinion.”

Some months ago, Vern had suggested Uma. “It’s glamorous,” he’d insisted.

Etienne and Marie had hinted that Marguerite would be a good choice, and the Professor had mentioned that Nicie was a fine old Scots name.

“I must admit, I still like the name Anthea. It means flower.” I’d seen it in an old British children’s book.

“Anthea, schmanthea. I don’t care if it means the whole botanical garden. Come on! She’d be cut to verbal ribbons in junior high with that moniker. She’s Janet, after your mother, and that’s that, and she’ll be here before we know it.” Gil walked over and patted my belly.

“She can’t come soon enough for me! I have a closet floor full of shoes I’d like to be able to get back into, not to mention the blouses that won’t button over my chest.”

He arched his eyebrows. “You know, that was a pregnancy plus I hadn’t anticipated.” He stepped back to avoid my playful swipe. “Well, if you’re sure you won’t need me, I could do some work on the newspaper’s website today. I’ll be back around four.” He kissed the top of my head and headed for the door. “If you feel up to it, maybe we can go to a movie later,” he called out over his shoulder.

“Sounds good,” I said, “Find out what’s playing.”

An hour and a half later, I’d washed the dishes, mopped the kitchen floor, cleaned out the refrigerator, and scrubbed the toilet. There were clothes spinning in the dryer, and I’d packed my little suitcase in preparation for my stay at the hospital. No matter what I did, though, a strange, restless feeling wouldn’t leave me alone.

I made a lunch of chicken salad and toast and took it out onto the deck, where Gil had recently placed a small wrought iron table and two matching chairs. He’d bought this house right before we were married because he knew I liked it, and despite the haphazard building techniques and the seven-mile distance from town, I was very content here. Gil liked to accuse me of loving House, as he called it, more that I loved him, which was nonsense. Still, I felt at home here in my ramshackle lakeside cottage more than anywhere else, especially on our big weather-beaten deck that overlooked Lake Champlain.

It was a gorgeous day on the lake, warm with a soft breeze. Summer, I reflected, was my favorite time of year here. Where my sister Barbara lived in Tampa, she had sunshine like this almost all the time, but along with it came humidity and the possibility of hurricanes.

According to Lily, Florida was a hurricane magnet. “It’s just like mobile homes, Amelia. They’re tornado magnets,” was her none-too-scientific analysis.

I polished off the salad and drained my glass of milk. I put my dishes in the dishwasher and returned to the deck in time to watch a flock of birds flying over. Lake Champlain is beautiful any time of year, but I especially liked it now, when everything was still green and warm. I slipped off my shoes and waded in the shallows that bordered our pebbly shoreline.

“We’ll wade in this together when you’re big enough,” I told baby Janet. “Your daddy will teach you to swim, and I’ll teach you to . . . row,” I concluded dryly, remembering an occasion when I’d had to do a lot of rowing. “Uncle Alec will tell you about the history of the area and Aunt Lily will . . . ” I paused, mentally searching for Lily’s specialty, “ . . . teach you to cook. You mother is a terrible cook, sweetie. You might as well learn that now,” I admitted to my child.

I couldn’t swim and was also lousy at sewing. What could I teach this baby? I could always correct her grammar, I suppose, but where was the fun in that?

I sat on the deck steps. “I’ll just be your mommy,” I told her, patting my belly with one hand as I toweled off a bare foot with the other.

I believe I’ve already noted that one becomes philosophical when one is pregnant; at least I did. This particular afternoon, my thoughts went back all those years ago when I so longed for someone of my own. Surely God had smiled at the little song I sang on the front porch when I had no way of knowing what He had in store for me.

Of course, all this had been long in coming. I’d stayed at the house on Jury Street with my ageing parents while my sister Barbara married her airman and traveled with him all over the world. I’d taught school for decades, living in the old family home that my business partner Etienne had now converted into Chez Prentice. I’d nursed my parents through their terminal illnesses and had been prepared to spend my last several decades alone in the big old house, just me and Sam the cat. It wasn’t the future I’d planned as a teenager while sitting on my parents’ front porch, dreaming of a Prince Charming, but it was probably preferable to whatever had happened to what’s-her-name, Janey Johnson.

What
had
happened to her? I wondered. The question gnawed at me as I remembered her desperation just before she disappeared into the night. I stared over the water and watched the ripples sparkle.

Where had she gone? Had Bernini’s men followed her? Had they grabbed her off the street and stuffed her into the trunk as I’d seen on TV? Had she been shot like those poor men on St. Valentine’s Day?

I shuddered, thinking of the terror she must have felt. I wondered if Diedre had ever heard anything from Janey. Now that I knew where Terence’s sister lived, I could ask her.

The cell phone Alec had insisted I acquire was in the pocket of my sleeveless maternity smock. A pocket was this garment’s only virtue. In this massive piece of bunched cotton fabric, I felt like a hot-air balloon. The maternity Bermuda shorts with the stretchy tummy panel weren’t much better. How glad I’d be when I could wash it, iron it, and give it all away to charity!

The restless energy I was feeling wouldn’t let me laze around the deck any longer. I had questions that needed answers and action was called for.

On the cell phone, I pressed the button to call Chez Prentice. “Marie, would you give me Dierdre Joseph’s phone number? You know, the one throwing the retirement party?”

Dierdre Joseph,
née
Jamison, was surprised to hear from me. Yes, she remembered who I was. No, she had never heard from Janey Johnson since that one summer. Yes, she’d heard the news that Danny DiNicco was dead. Wasn’t it sad?

By the way, what an amazing coincidence that she’d booked the party at my house! Yes, her brother Terence was in town. As a matter of fact, he was staying with her and her family, but she wasn’t sure that he was interested in talking to anybody, she said with apology in her voice.

“He hasn’t been well lately,” she confessed, “It’s the real reason he retired. It’s made him real depressed.”

“Would it help if I came over there? We could reminisce about the summer theater days.”

“That’s really sweet, but I don’t think so. Though, he always liked you, you know.”

I hadn’t known. “Really?”

“You made him laugh. You were a cute little thing, he said. You tried so hard.”

I grimaced, unseen. “I guess I did, at that. Do you think perhaps he’d enjoy a chat on the phone, Dierdre?”

“Oh, no, he’s not here right now. He’s out at our camp.”

“The Joseph cabin? The little fishing cabin on the lake shore near the lighthouse? Of course! I know the place. It has the license plates nailed all over the walls, right?”

“That’s it. My late father-in-law’s collection. It’s kind of rundown now.”

 “You say he’s out there? I could go see him or invite him over to my place for coffee.”

“I don’t know, Amelia. He told me he wanted time to think, to be alone,” Dierdre said. “I gotta admit, things aren’t very quiet around our house, what with Luther’s kids and everything. Terence insisted I drive him out to the cabin and come back and pick him up just before dinner. He probably isn’t even there at the cabin. He sometimes likes to go out on the lake in my dad’s old boat.”

“Maybe another time, then.”

“Yeah, another time would be fine.” Dierdre sounded relieved as we said goodbye.

I put the phone back in my pocket and stared out at the lake again. I paced a little, went into the kitchen and turned on the radio, turned it off, and went back out on the deck.

So what if Terence was off riding in the boat? I could leave a note with my phone number, couldn’t I? There were things I wanted to know about that long-ago summer that only Terence could answer. At least, I hoped he could.

I had made a decision. Eagerly looking forward to the task at hand, I changed out of my sandals and put on some sneakers. Some of the rocky lake shore was uneven ground, and I would need to watch my step.

The sun was warm on my bare arms and legs as I walked in the direction of the lighthouse. I could just make it out above the tree line in the distance. I’d reach the Joseph cabin first.

I extended my arms sideways to catch a little bit more sun. It would be nice to get just the tiniest bit of a tan before the baby came. They say you get vitamin D from sunshine. Not that I needed more vitamins after the horse pill I swallowed every morning.

I slid the sunglasses up on my forehead and gazed out at a colorful sail in the distance. The summer’s annual sailboat races were now over, but from our vantage point on the deck, Gil and I had enjoyed observing the various boats moving as their crews swarmed, watching the action through his strong binoculars.

I took a deep breath of the breeze that ruffled my hair and sent up a silent prayer of thanks for my life as it was. “
All I have needed, Thy Hand hath provided
,” I hummed, Alec-like, “
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me
.”

I arrived at the old Joseph camp sooner than expected. There was no doubt that this was the one. The house itself was tiny, made of roughly-hewn wood with closed shutters and a slanted roof. One outer wall was bedecked with a large array of New York State license plates, ranging from the old orange-and-black rectangles to the more recent blue-and-white ones, all in various stages of rusty deterioration.

I turned and saw the weathered dock where a small boat with a motor was tied up. Presumably, Terence had returned from his ride on the lake. I thought I saw smoke coming from the chimney.

I made my way up from the shore, following the overgrown path to the door.