Paper-Thin Alibi (22 page)

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Authors: Mary Ellen Hughes

Tags: #Mystery

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“If you like. But not tonight. I’m still figuring out the steps as I go along, but I think it’s turning out pretty well.”
“What are you doing?” Loralee asked. “Decorating boxes?”
“Yes, gift boxes. I thought it’d be fun to decoupage gift boxes with scrapbooking paper—inside and out.”
“I like the effect of the printed paper on the outside, but solid color on the inside.” Dulcie said.
“And”—Jo held up a cellophane-wrapped scrapbooking sticker of a dragonfly—“this is going to be glued to the inside of the lid.”
“Ooh! So you see it when you open it up!” Dulcie cried. “What a nice surprise that will be. Maybe you could use it for a gift for Lieutenant Morgan.”
Jo smiled. “Well, Russ might prefer something a bit more masculine. I doubt pastel-colored dragonflies are quite his thing.”
Ina Mae smiled as well. “Possibly not decorated gift boxes either. That looks like something the giftee might enjoy saving to keep special things in, which I’d say is more a feminine thing. I can see one of my daughters using it to store all her little scented candles.”
The others agreed and were coming up with other uses for Jo’s decorated boxes when the Craft Corner’s bell jingled. Involved in their conversation as well as their own projects, most didn’t notice, but Jo, whose ear was alert to the sound, immediately looked over. She was surprised to see Meg Boyer coming in.
Jo called out, “Hi, Meg,” which caught the others’ attention, and they added their greetings to hers. “Need something more for your scrapbook project?” Jo asked.
But Meg, instead of heading for the scrapbooking area, came straight back to the workshop table. She had the look of a woman on a mission.
“I was talking to Kevin tonight,” she said, and Jo assumed she referred to her husband. “He was away for a couple of days on a sales trip, so I didn’t get a chance before tonight to tell him about that photographer, Bill Ewing. You’re not going to believe this,” she said, “but Kevin knows him.”
“He does?” It seemed to Jo as if all five of them had cried out at once.
“From the army,” Meg explained. “They were both stationed at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri for a while. Kevin worked as a clerk, but Bill Ewing—Sergeant Ewing, he was then—was doing photographic work for the army.”
“Did he know him very well?” Ina Mae asked.
“They weren’t good friends or anything, but Kevin is pretty sure Ewing will remember him if he calls and invites him out to lunch.”
“Oooh,” Javonne said, obviously interested in the possibilities.
“How does Kevin feel about doing that?’ Jo asked, thinking that Meg’s husband, from what she understood, preferred to make all the decisions in their household.
“Oh, he’s up for it!” Meg said. “I’ve explained all about how you want to find Linda’s killer. Kevin says Bill Ewing always seemed like a powder keg ready to blow up. He feels if Ewing murdered someone, he needs to be brought to justice.”
“Amen,” Ina Mae said. “But how does he think he can do that by meeting with the man?”
“Well,” Dulcie said, jumping in, “Kevin’s in sales, right? So he must know how to draw people out. And they have their military years in common to put Ewing at ease. He should be able to get the man relaxed and talking, maybe after a couple of beers?”
“Exactly!” Loralee agreed. “It’s a wonderful idea, Meg.”
Meg beamed, obviously proud of having come up with it.
“Please warn your husband to be careful,” Jo said.
“Yes,” Javonne said firmly. “Tell him to make sure they meet in a very public place, so that if Ewing gets upset, there’ll be plenty of people around for protection.”
“I’ll tell him, but Kevin is pretty good at taking care of himself. Anyway, Jo, I wanted to run that by you, to make sure it wouldn’t interfere with anything else you planned. Then, if it’s okay, I’ll need to know how Kevin can get in touch with him.”
“If Kevin’s willing to give it a try, that’s great, Meg. I can use any help I can get.” Jo gave Meg the name and location of the combination restaurant and motel where Ewing was staying. “He’s probably been eating most of his meals there, so an invitation to go elsewhere should appeal to him.”
Meg tucked away the paper on which she’d written all the information. “I’ll let you all know how it turns out.”
“Come join us for Jo’s next workshop,” Loralee invited. “You’ll love the things she teaches us. And we’re a pretty good group.”
Meg smiled, clearly pleased at the idea. “Maybe I will!”
She took off to the friendly farewells of them all. As the door jingled behind her, Loralee said, “Such a nice young woman. I can see a real difference in her since she’s taken that job at the Abbot’s Kitchen.”
“Does anyone know her husband?” Jo asked, and got four head shakes.
“With him having to travel so much,” Loralee said, “I guess he’s always preferred to keep to himself on his days off.” She hesitated. “Meg has hinted that he somewhat unreasonably expected her to do the same, that is, stay at home most of the time and keep to herself. But apparently that’s changing. Looks like they’re both starting to reach out more to their fellow townspeople. I’m so glad.”
“If he can get something on Bill Ewing that Jo can take to the sheriff, I’ll be even gladder!” Javonne declared. She glanced around the workshop as if seeing the ongoing collage projects for the first time. “What did you say I should do with this poster board, Jo?”
Chapter 22
Jo closed up shop after the ladies took off and headed to the hospital to see Russ. She reflected on the fact that this was perhaps her fourth or fifth trip there, taken with as many different emotions—fear and dread, relief, then back to worry. What emotions rolled through her this time she’d be hard put to pin down and label, but they’d been churning ever since her talk on the phone with Russ’s brother Scott. What she was going to do about them she hadn’t the faintest idea.
She tapped on Russ’s door, which led to the old room he’d been returned to, and pushed it partway open.
“Hi,” she said tentatively, feeling unexpectedly shy, as though the man she had come to see was someone she barely knew. But once Russ turned his head toward her and smiled his familiar smile, all her hesitancy disappeared.
“Feeling up to company?” she asked, stepping in. His eyes were shadowed and somewhat sunken, and she noticed his television wasn’t on.
“Been staying awake just for you,” Russ said as he reached out with his good arm to pull her close. She set down the poster board that she’d brought with her before leaning over to give him a kiss. His lips were dry but, thankfully, nonfeverish. His cheek, she noticed as she rubbed her own against it, was pleasantly smooth.
“You got a shave again,” Jo said.
He grinned. “Gotta find something to keep them busy.”
“Oh, you’ve kept everyone here plenty busy lately. It’s time to let them move on to the other patients.”
“And start doing things for myself? What’s the point of being in the hospital if you can’t be waited on hand and foot?”
“I don’t know anyone less likely to enjoy being waited on. You know you’re itching to get all this over with.”
Russ laughed, and joked, “How little you know me.” The words struck a chord with Jo, but she managed to smile.
“What’s that?” Russ asked, looking at the poster board she had leaned against the bed.
Jo picked it up. “It’s something I made for tonight’s collage demo, but I put it together with you in mind.” She held it where he could see and watched the amusement grow on his face as he looked it over. It was a collage of police-related cartoons that she’d clipped from old
New Yorkers
and other magazines that Ina Mae had given her.
Russ’s amusement increased to laugh-out-loud.
“I hoped you’d like it.”
“Do I get to keep it?”
“Of course. I can tape it to the wall, there, if you like.”
“That’s good. Then when Mark comes by next time he won’t miss it. That one about the burglar in the rabbit suit will ring a few bells for him.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll let him tell you about it. It’s a good story.”
“Mark’s been a good friend.” Jo took out the tape she’d brought with her and began fixing her cartoon collage to the wall beneath the television. Several get-well cards had been taped there as well, and Jo noticed one or two new flower arrangements in the room. Carrie’s box of brownies perched on the table beside the bed, its cover ajar.
“Mark’s the best.”
“I also got to talk to your brother Scott while you were in surgery.”
“Yeah, Scott told me. He called this afternoon.”
“He seemed very sorry he couldn’t be here.”
“I told him not to worry about it. We’ll get together after the baby’s born.”
Something in Russ’s voice had changed, and Jo looked over at him. She came back to the bedside and pulled the chair close, sitting down.
Russ looked at Jo silently, then said, “Scott told me what he’d blurted out. He apologized, said he assumed you would have known about Laura’s and my son. He was right. I should have told you.”
Jo took Russ’s hand with both of hers. “There’s no
should
about it. You share things when you’re ready to. Not before. Scott, unfortunately, pushed things forward.”
Russ shook his head. “You told me all about what you went through with Mike’s death. I owed you that much in return.”
Jo squeezed his hand. After a moment, she asked softly, “Did he have a name?”
Russ nodded. “Jarrod Russell, the Jarrod after Laura’s father who died when she was little.” He smiled. “I intended to call him Bud. Never was too crazy about ‘Jarrod. ’ But I hadn’t mentioned that to Laura.”
Jo smiled back. “Was that Laura who met you for lunch? Last September, when the country club’s craft show was going on?” Jo remembered her surprise that afternoon when, basking in the success of the first local craft show she’d been asked to organize, she had spotted Russ—he was still Lieutenant Morgan to her then—affectionately greeting a very attractive woman at the doorway of the club’s restaurant. The surprise had been at her own pained reaction, her first clue that she had budding feelings toward this man.
Russ’s eyebrows twitched in surprise. “You saw her?”
“Just a glimpse. I was heading for the restroom.”
“Yeah, that was her. She was passing through the area and suggested we get together. We’ve managed to stay on fairly good terms. She’s seeing someone now. I hope it works out for her.”
“I’m sorry for what you went through,” Jo said.
Russ squeezed her hand. “It was tough. But it was tougher seeing Laura deal with it. I tried to help her, but it seemed like the harder I tried the more she pulled away. I have to admit that things weren’t perfect between us before that. We probably hoped starting a family would fix things—always a mistake, I’ve since learned. So when the seas got rough, the water rushed through the cracks.”
Jo nodded. “I’m sorry if this is painful to talk about.”
“I’m glad that now it’s all out. It’s a relief. That part of my life was something I wanted you to know about, but I could never figure out how to bring it up. The longer things went, the harder it got, until it became some kind of secret. I didn’t want there to be secrets between us.”
Jo winced, thinking of all that she’d been keeping from Russ since he’d been shot—for his own good, she had been convinced, so that he could concentrate on getting well. Was that a valid enough reason? She’d certainly thought so when his situation had been so critical. What about now? Was he well enough to handle that added stress and burden? Or might it be good for their relationship to tell him about her trouble, but terrible for his health?
She looked at his eyes, so shadowed and tired. No, she decided, not yet. Bringing back his sad memories had been hard enough on him. She had to allow him more time to rest and gather his strength. If, when he finally learned what she had been doing, Russ was upset that she’d kept it from him, she’d have to take the chance that he’d also be able to understand and forgive. She looked at him and realized with a rush of feeling how important that chance was to her.
Russ, unaware of the thoughts going through her head, simply smiled and reached up to stroke her face.
Chapter 23
Jo noticed a subtle change at the craft shop the next day. Customers were coming in, which was a good thing. And many were buying—a very good thing. However, during their browsing periods Jo found she was picking up on a lot of whispering. And from the glances thrown her way she couldn’t help but assume the whispers were about her.
There was nothing overt enough to counteract. When merchandise was brought to the front counter—small bunches of dried flowers, a scrapbooking paper or two, or ribbons—the faces of her customers were always blandly smiling, where earlier she was sure she had detected furtive, suspicious looks. Carrie noticed it too, having come in to check her yarn stock.

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