The Grave Soul (16 page)

“Nope. You?”

“Once.”

“Divorced?”

“She died.”

“I'm sorry.”

He shrugged. “We were headed for divorce court. We'd been having problems for years. This may sound cold, but I was always kind of grateful that I never had to fight her for custody of the kids.”

Jane wondered if he'd just given her the motive for Delia's murder. “How'd she die?”

“Fell off a second-floor deck.”

“Yikes.”

“We lived next to a ravine. That's where she was found.”

“How awful.”

“She was a big drinker—even in the mornings.”

“Is that why she fell?”

“Probably. I wasn't there, so I'll never know for sure. Years ago, a buddy of mine and I started a construction company. My dad hired us to create an office for him by closing off the hayloft in the old barn. High gambrel roof, open rafters. As a kid, I remember playing in there and feeling like I was in an old Gothic church. When he died in '94, Mom needed something to take her mind off his passing. She decided to go back to raising Airedales. She wanted to use the bottom half of the barn for that, so I had to clean it out, insulate it, and figure out a way to tie the heat in from upstairs. That's what I was doing the morning Delia died. I didn't realize what had happened until I got home that afternoon.”

“Who found her?”

He blew out a breath. “I did.”

He was a likable guy, came across as open and honest, giving her no reason to doubt him. Nobody would suspect, unless they knew the truth, as Jane did, that he'd just lied to her—easily, casually, without missing a beat. It was something she needed to keep in the forefront of her mind. “Look, we don't have to talk about this.”

“Yeah, it's not a good memory.”

He worked at his hotcakes while Jane finished up her meal. After paying their bills, they headed out to Kevin's van. He switched on some music as they sped along, a Steve Earle CD, and began humming as they turned onto a county road. A few minutes later, he veered off onto a gravel path and pulled in next to an old wood-frame farmhouse. “When I was a kid, this was way out in the country. Not anymore.”

“Great old house,” said Jane, pushing out of the front seat, her boots hitting the snowy ground.

“And that's the barn I worked on,” said Kevin, pointing, a note of pride in his voice. “I used to think I'd make a career out of transforming old barns into usable living space, but when the great recession came along, I was glad I had the bar. I still do an occasional construction job. Between that and the bar, I'm able to make a decent living.”

Before they reached the base of the porch steps, the front door opened. Evangeline Adler stepped out into the chill morning to hug and kiss her son. If she was ill, she didn't look it. On the other hand, cancer was that kind of disease, especially in the early stages. “This must be Jane,” she said, squeezing Jane's hand. “Welcome.”

She led them back to the kitchen, where a pot of soup was simmering on the stove. Carrots, celery, parsnips, turnips, and a big yellow onion lay on the cutting board, waiting to be chopped. The two kitchen windows facing the back of the property were blurred by condensation. Jane liked the old-fashioned feel. The tall, painted cupboards were original, the appliances immaculate specimens from the 1950s, she guessed. No stainless steel or granite in this woman's kitchen. Jane thought it was a breath of fresh air.

“Where's Kira?” asked Kevin.

“Out in the barn tending to Foxy.”

“She have her litter yet?”

“I expect she will by the new year.”

Easing onto a stool, Evangeline picked up her knife and began working on the carrots. “Sit down,” she said, motioning to the kitchen table. “You can stay for a few minutes, can't you?”

Kevin cupped his hands together in front of him. “Actually, we can't. I have to break Jane in this morning, show her what has to be done before we open the bar at noon. So, I'm afraid we need to pack up the food and get going.”

Evangeline checked her watch. When she looked up, her gaze fastened on Jane. Those old eyes didn't miss a trick, thought Jane. She felt thoroughly evaluated, placed in a box and labeled. What she wasn't able to read in Evangeline's expression were the words on that label.

“It's only ten o'clock, Kevin. My car's been giving me some trouble. Wouldn't take more than five minutes for you to look at it.”

“I guess,” he said, zipping his suede jacket back up.

“Jane, why don't you stay here and keep warm. The coffee's on, so go ahead and help yourself. Kev, I'll get my keys.”

Jane sensed that Evangeline wanted to talk to her son and didn't want Jane listening in. As they bustled out the door, she took a moment to stir the soup. It was chicken noodle. She found a spoon and gave it a taste. The woman certainly knew how to make chicken stock.

This family, so tightly knit, was a fascination to Jane. On the outside, they seemed like such decent people. Perhaps they were, with the exception of one self-serving moment when they'd all banded together to save one of their number from a homicide charge. Thanks to the fact that Evangeline had so many connections in this small town, they'd succeeded in covering up a murder. So why were they still having secret family meetings twenty years after the fact?

The only conclusion Jane could draw was that Evangeline, the one who appeared to be the prime mover in the family, had decided it was time to explain to Kira what had gone down all those years ago. Jane wasn't sure why Kira needed that information. She could live her entire life without it and be a much happier woman. Still, if Jane had guessed right, Kira would require time to deal with the news, to process her feelings, to ask questions, so sticking around New Dresden for a while made sense. But Guthrie had said she intended to stay for months. The reason given was Evangeline's cancer—her chemotherapy appointments. With so much family in town, with her friends and her church connections, one would think there would be plenty of people to give Evangeline a helping hand. Why put Kira's education on hold? Why take her away from the man she loved? After staying at the house on Thanksgiving, Guthrie hadn't even been allowed to come in on Christmas Eve. Something didn't add up.

Drifting into the living room, Jane examined all the photographs. Some dotted the top of the piano, others hung on the walls. The mantel held dozens of small, framed baby pictures. Clearly, Evangeline's family was the center of her world—with the exception of one person: Delia. There were no pictures of Kevin's wife anywhere.

Walking across the hall to the dining room, Jane found a lovely, bright space dominated by a built-in breakfront filled with fine china and glassware. As she was about to move over to examine the contents more closely, the small hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. She had a strong sense of being watched. Turning around, she scanned the room, and then moved back across the hall into the living room. The feeling didn't go away. If anything, it became stronger. She stepped over to the stairway leading up to the second floor and was about to start up when she heard the back door open. She immediately gave up her search and returned to the kitchen.

“Kevin said it may take him a few minutes to work out what's wrong with my car,” said Evangeline. She removed her coat, hung it on a hook by the door, then retied her apron. “Did you get yourself some coffee?”

“If I drink any more I'll start flying around the room,” said Jane. She sat back down at the kitchen table as Evangeline returned to her stool to continue cutting up vegetables.

“Kevin tells me you're a terrific bartender.”

“It's a good skill to have, especially if you like to travel. You can pretty much always count on finding a job somewhere.”

“Where are you from?”

“My father's family is from Illinois. My mother was English.”

“Was?”

“She died when I was in my early teens.”

“Your father?”

“He's still alive. And I have a younger brother. He's married and they have one daughter.”

“And you?”

“Never been married. No children.”

Evangeline regarded Jane with her sharp eyes. “I don't mean to pry, but that sounds like a very lonely life.”

“It can be. I'd like to think I'll find the right person one day.”

“You will,” said Evangeline. “Don't give up.” She worked slowly, almost meditatively on the carrots. “I've lived a good, long life. I've been blessed and I know it. Worries, needs, circumstances within and outside of your control, they weigh on you. But in my time, I've discovered only one bottom line.” Looking up, she said, “Family.”

Kevin pushed through the back door. “Look who I found,” he said, smiling broadly. Putting his arm around a willowy young woman with hair the color of winter wheat, he kissed her forehead. “Jane, this is my daughter, Kira.”

“Hi,” said Kira, looking a little embarrassed. “Nice to meet you.”

“She gets her good looks from me.”

“
Dad
.”

“Just stating the obvious.”

Turning to her grandmother, Kira said, “You need to come out to the barn and take a look at Foxy.”

“Is she all right?” asked Evangeline.

“I'm not sure. I never helped a dog give birth before.”

“Likely she won't need our help.

“I think you have a bad alternator,” said Kevin, popping a piece of raw carrot into his mouth.

“Can you fix it?”

“Yeah, but not this morning. I'll come by later.”

“Thank you, dear boy,” said Evangeline, removing her apron.

“Any pies today?”

“Six. They're on the shelf in the pantry.”

“What kind?”

“Apple, pumpkin, and lemon meringue.”

“Score,” said Kevin, pumping his arm as he turned around and winked at Jane. “We better get crackin'”

 

24

No more than a dozen people stopped into the bar that afternoon, all of them regulars. Jane made sure she talked to each person, serving them their favorite poison along with a heaping basket of Evangeline's popcorn. She preferred being busy to being bored, and bored was exactly how she felt as the day wore on.

Like so many small town bars, the interior of the Sportsman felt like being locked in a dingy, overheated closet. With light slanting in through the narrow, clerestory windows, she could actually see dust motes floating in the air. At least Wisconsin had voted through a smoking ban. She wouldn't leave smelling like an ashtray.

If a customer was used to the cramped shadows, the interior probably felt cozy, even comforting. The walls were covered with sports memorabilia, a moose head or two, and lots of framed photos of men and a few women holding up fish or standing next to strung-up dead deer. Hanging lantern lights over the tables helped patrons see well enough to play one of the many board games Kevin made available. Jane was glad she didn't have problems with claustrophobia.

The after-work crowd began trickling in around four, eager to order beers and munch on popcorn. It was easy enough for one person to handle. Nothing like the evening crowd at the Lyme House Pub, where two bartenders were always busy until closing.

After switching channels on the TV to the Milwaukee Bucks/Detroit Pistons game shortly after eight, Jane retreated to a stool under the glow of one of the back-bar lights. She'd brought the latest
New Yorker
with her in case she had some time on her hands. She'd just finished reading through a long article and was paging through the magazine looking for any cartoons she might have missed when a familiar face came through the front door.

Jane was glad Guthrie had been able to drop off pictures of the Adler family before she left the Twin Cities. Hannah Adler, Kevin's older sister, was an unusual-looking woman, though that didn't mean she was unattractive. She was expensively dressed in a belted, camel wool coat and striped wool scarf. Her thick, shoulder-length bob was likely a dye job, strawberry blond, heavy on the strawberry, but her jewelry was tasteful, as was her makeup. Her most prominent feature was an unusually large mouth.

Stopping directly in front of Jane, Hannah said, “Where's Kevin?”

Not exactly the friendliest woman Jane had ever met. “Not here.”

“When will he be back?”

“Around eleven.”

The comment created a sour look. Pulling off her tight leather gloves, one finger at a time, Hannah dropped them and her purse on the counter. Unbelting her coat, she sat down. “I'm Kevin's sister. And you are?”

“The new bartender.” Since Hannah hadn't offered her name, Jane didn't offer hers. It was petty, of course, but then, with so little of interest going on inside the Sportsman's, Jane felt a little power struggle might spice up the evening.

Much like Evangeline, Hannah's gaze was not only probing, it was thorough. The difference was that while Evangeline's assessment had come with a smile, Hannah's was heavy and direct.

“Can I get you something to drink?” asked Jane, easing off the stool. She closed the magazine and set it on the bar next to Hannah. She wanted her to see what she'd been reading. Jane was amused to watch the older woman's eyes widen ever so slightly. Jane was, after all, the hired help.

“A Rob Roy, up, with a twist,” said Hannah, removing her coat and placing it on the stool next to her.

Jane wondered if this was a test. No one else, at least so far—and that included last night—had ordered a Rob Roy or a twist. Then again, Hannah probably wasn't a bump and a beer kind of gal.

“Do you need instructions?” asked Hannah.

“I think I can manage it,” said Jane. “You have a scotch preference?”

“Johnny Walker Black Label is fine.”

Jane packed the shaker and the glass with ice and set them on the bar, poured an extra-generous two ounces of scotch into the shaker along with the Italian vermouth and bitters. After shaking the drink, she dumped the ice out of the now chilled glass and strained the alcohol into it. Looking around for a whole lemon, she found one next to the well. She used a paring knife to cut an extra thin strip and twisted it once over the drink, dropping it directly on top. “Here you go,” she said, slapping a cocktail napkin on the bar and setting the drink on top of it.