Cheated By Death (27 page)

“She was electrocuted, wasn’t she?”

Her eyes widened. “Why, yes.”

“She lived above a bakery, in Amherst,
right?”

Ruby frowned. “No, Malczewski’s on Walden
Avenue. It’s still there. Every time I go by there I think of her.”
Her eyes had a faraway, empty look. “You never really get over
losing your mother.”

I said nothing. Too many thoughts clogged my
mind. My mother, Shelley—my father. So many emotional
ties—shredded.

Somewhere a clock chimed three.

I thought about the old woman in the
photograph. “My grandmother was special, wasn’t she?”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed with . . . fear?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“She knew things—about people. About when
things would happen. She knew.”

Ruby got up from the table, and started
wrapping the cake in plastic wrap. “Would you like to take some
home?”

She’d give me no more answers.

“Yes. Thank you.” I pushed back my chair, got
up, and zippered my jacket.

She walked me to the door, and pressed a
brown paper sack into my hand. “You’ll come for Hanukkah, won’t
you?”

“I’ll try.”

Ruby kissed my cheek, and looked at me with
such tenderness. Suddenly I realized who it was she reminded me of.
But I’d have to wait until later to follow that lead.

19

The cleaners were on my way home, so I
stopped to pick up my jacket. The refrigerated glass case filled
with pastries at the gourmet coffee shop next door reminded me of
another stop I needed to make.

Emily Farrell answered the door after my
second knock.

“Jeff? How’d you find me? I’m not in the
phone book.”

“City Directory. I looked up all the
protesters for the newspaper article. Can we talk?”

Emily glanced over her shoulder. Her daughter
played with Legos on the spotless kitchen floor.

I stood there, clutching a white bakery box
of goodies, not unlike the one Jean Newcomb held the day before,
moments before she’d been murdered.

“I brought a peace offering.” I handed her
the box.

Embarrassed, Emily opened the door to let me
enter.

A pink valentine border lovingly stenciled
near the ceiling, knickknacks and spice racks, gave Emily’s small
kitchen an air of warmth and security. Pages torn from coloring
books and other examples of Hannah’s artwork made a gallery of the
refrigerator door. My single-parent home had had no such
heartwarming touches. While immaculate, our apartment had been
sterile by comparison.

“Would you like coffee or something?” Emily
asked.

“No, thanks.”

She gestured for me to take a seat at the
kitchen table.

Hannah was on her feet, drawn to the box like
a magnet. “What’s in there?”

“Cut-out cookies. And a couple of chocolate
chip ones for your Mom.”

“Can I have one?” Hannah asked.

“May I have one,” Emily corrected, “and it’s
not polite to ask.”

Hannah hung her head, pouting.

“Sure you can have one,” I said. “If your Mom
says it won’t spoil your dinner.”

Eyes shining, the little girl pressed close
to her mother. “Please, mommy?”

“Just one,” Emily said, and opened the box.
She placed a yellow-iced reindeer cookie on a paper napkin and set
it on the table. Hannah climbed on the chair. She broke off the
head, and nibbled on an antler.

Emily took a seat beside her. An open Bible
lay on the table. She marked her place, and closed it.

“Looking for guidance?” I asked.

“The whole city thinks our group is
responsible for what happened to that doctor.”

“I don’t.”

Relief played across her features. “Tonight
we’re holding a prayer vigil for Dr. Newcomb. We took up a
collection for her children.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

She stared at the Bible’s black leather cover
for a long moment, her expression filled with indecision. “Were you
really using me just to get information on our group?”

She looked up at me, her eyes troubled.
Hadn’t Maggie asked me the same thing when I was investigating Matt
Sumner’s death?

“I was worried about Brenda,” I answered
truthfully. “I had to keep her safe. Getting information was part
of the process.”

“Then all the things you told me were
lies.”

“I never lied to you.”

Her gaze held mine. “You said that nurse was
just a friend.”

“She is my friend, but she’s also my
sister-in-law.”

Her eyes widened. Was she a bigot, as well as
a religious zealot?

“I have to find out who killed her friend and
caused Brenda to lose her baby.”

Emily’s sympathetic gasp was genuine. “Oh,
Lord, she was pregnant?”

“They don’t only do abortions at that health
center, they help women have healthy babies, too. She can’t have
any more.”

“Oh, poor thing,” she murmured. She glanced
at her own child, who was systematically reducing the cookie to
mere crumbs.

“The theory is Lou Holtzinger pulled the
trigger,” I said.

“I’ll admit he’s kind of a scary man, but I
don’t think he’d stoop to—” Emily looked at her daughter, mouthed
the word, “murder.”

“I don’t know about that, but I don’t think
he’s responsible, either.”

“Then who—?”

“I don’t know.” I studied her face and sensed
that she wanted to help me. “Did you see anything out of the
ordinary that day? Was there anyone you didn’t recognize hanging
around?”

Emily shook her head. “Just the regular
clinic employees, the people who work in the next building, and
members of our church group.”

I frowned. I hadn’t really expected more from
her.

She glanced back at her daughter. “I won’t
take Hannah to another protest. In fact, I don’t think I can go
back again. Not after what I saw yesterday.” She looked up at me,
and her eyes filled with tears. “You were right. It’s too
dangerous. There’re too many crazy people with guns.”

I reached for her hand and experienced what
she felt: a swell of fear and disappointment.

“That doesn’t mean you have to give up what
you believe. There’re other ways you can work for the cause.”

She looked at me in surprise. “But, I thought
you—”

“We may disagree, but that doesn’t mean I
don’t respect you for holding onto your convictions.”

She offered me a small, shy smile. Her hand
tightened on mine and the feeling I got was different this time.
Attraction—to me.

Gently, I disentangled my hand and sat back,
flashing an embarrassed smile in return.

Hannah was humming. She wet her finger,
dipped it into the pile of crumbs, then sucked on it, taking
delight in each sweet morsel. She looked up at me and a weird
feeling of déjà vu passed through me. But it was another blue-eyed
child who stared back at me in my mind’s eye. Dressed in a red
polka-dot dress with a white pinafore, the little girl smiled, and
lifted her chubby brown arms to me.

“Is something wrong? You look like you’ve
just seen a ghost,” Emily said.

“Maybe I did,” I murmured. “Maybe I did.”

Plowing back
into the glut of negative
emotions that charged Richard’s house drained me. Maggie took her
role as Brenda’s stand-in sister seriously, making sure Brenda’s
time was occupied with projects and conversation that had nothing
to do with babies or children. Brenda sat at the kitchen table
working on needlepoint, while Maggie pulled together a gourmet
dinner worthy of Julia Child.

The depth of Maggie’s maternal feelings
startled me. Her presence seemed to have pushed Richard aside. I
had to practically drag him from the solitude of his study to join
us in the dining room.

Starched linens, antique silver, their best
china, and tall, white candles in ornate holders graced the table.
Maggie held court, roping me into polite, innocuous conversations
on good books, holiday plans, and fabric choices for reupholstering
the living room furniture.

Brenda’s gaze moved from Maggie to Richard,
her attention divided between the ongoing conversation and her
puzzlement at her husband’s unusually quiet demeanor. Richard and I
are on different wavelengths, but I could tell he was annoyed about
something. He barely touched his beef burgundy, but kept refilling
his wine glass. Was withdrawal his survival technique for handling
grief?

After dinner Richard retired to his study
while Maggie and I hand-washed the tableware and Brenda looked on.
Then, armed with a box of chocolate and a bottle of zinfandel,
Maggie and Brenda headed for the master bedroom for a marathon
Monopoly match. Never one for board games, I declined the
invitation to join them. I’d already reached my emotional
saturation point. Instead, I sat at the kitchen table and studied
the new security system’s manual for the better part of an
hour.

Rubbing my tired eyes, I noticed how eerily
quiet the house was. I tossed the instruction book on the counter
and went in search of Richard.

He was on the phone and didn’t bother to hide
his irritation at being interrupted. “I have to go,” he said, and
rang off.

“Who was that?” I asked.

Richard hesitated, looked away, and picked up
a file folder on his desk. “Take a look at this,” he said and
handed me a sheet of paper.

I read the e-mail’s subject line: Willie M.
Morgan.

“What’s this?”

“It’s from Tomkins Investigations in
Philadelphia. The firm my lawyer hooked me up with.”

I skimmed the terse paragraphs. Willie Mayes
Morgan, husband of five years to a Vanessa Block, father of
four-year-old Jason—he hadn’t mentioned those facts to Brenda. He
had a good credit record, including a mortgage and car payments.
He’d been an active member of Society Hill Baptist Church. The
family home was up for sale, meaning his wife and son intended to
join him in Buffalo. The report included character references from
his former boss, the pastor of his church, and several family
members. But none of it explained why he was so intent on seeing
the ex-wife he’d abused more than a decade before? Did he want to
apologize? Why hadn’t he done it the day he’d visited? Or had my
presence disrupted his plans?

I handed the paper back. “What do you
think?”

“They say a leopard doesn’t change his spots,
but if you believe this report, and the fact he has an iron-clad
alibi, Willie has,” Richard said.

No wonder he was depressed. The man he wanted
to blame for all his problems was undoubtedly innocent.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I reminded
him. “Who was on the phone.”

He looked away again, face coloring.
“Patty.”

Just the mention of her name triggered my
temper.

“She wants to see me,” he continued. “She
said she had something important to tell me.”

My gut tightened. I tried to keep my voice
level. “Such as?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not going, are you?”

Richard looked guilty. “Well, I—”

My anger swelled. I was about to say
something we’d both regret when he spoke first.

“Brenda’s not jealous of her. Why the hell
are you?”

I ground my teeth. Would he even believe
me?

He looked away, and rubbed his forehead.
“Maybe I’ve had too much to drink. I’m not thinking clearly. I
can’t leave Brenda here alone.”

“No. You can’t.”

He looked up. “Would you go for me?”

No, I wanted to shout, but then I thought
better of it.

“Yeah. I’ll go.”

And I'd tell her off once and for all.

Newly remodeled
, the Commotion Diner
on Transit Road still managed to look shabby. Cardboard Santas
decorated the cheap paneling while limp, crepe paper streamers hung
from faux Tiffany lamps over each table. The vinyl seats were the
hard, uncomfortable kind that make your ass cheeks fall asleep one
at a time. The place reeked of stale grease and vile coffee. I’d
just stepped into the joint and already I wanted to wash my
hands.

Patty sat in a corner booth away from the
plate glass windows, as though hiding. The beige jacket draped over
her shoulders barely concealed an open-necked red blouse. Her
short, dark skirt showed off her legs. She saw me and her features
twisted into an angry scowl.

“What are
you
doing here?”

I slid into the hard seat across from her.
The coffee cup in front of her was half empty—the contents looked
cold.

A fiftyish, overweight waitress waddled over
to the table. “Coffee, sir?” Even her voice was weary.

“Sure.”

She nodded and shuffled to the urns on a
narrow table against the wall.

“Where’s Richard?” Patty asked.

“With his wife. Where he belongs. You can
tell me whatever you wanted to tell him.”

The waitress was back with a cup. She placed
it before me and took out several vials of non-dairy creamer from
her apron pocket. “Get you anything else?” I shook my head. She
frowned and walked away.

“Well?” I demanded.

Patty gathered her jacket and purse. “I don’t
want to talk to
you
.”

“Well you’re going to have to.” I grabbed her
arm before she could escape.

“Let go. You’re hurting me!”

“Leave Richard and Brenda alone,” I grated,
still holding her forearm.

“Why? You want him all to yourself? Are you
afraid I’m going to replace you or something?”

I let go as though burned. If she only knew
how close to the truth she’d come.

“Sit down!” Incredibly she obeyed.
“Talk.”

For the first time since I’d met her, Patty
looked unsure of herself. “I know something. Something that might
help Richard.”

“Tell me.”

Despite the no smoking law, she shook out a
cigarette from her pack, and lit it. “What’s it worth to you?”

I knew she’d eventually try to shake him down
for money. “What’re you asking?”