Death in the Cards (31 page)

I fixed her with a look, ignoring Hugh at my own peril, I realized, but suddenly knowing my one chance to get out of this alive and have the truth be told.

And it didn't involve crashing over Hummel display chests.

“Mrs. Crowley, you knew my Aunt Clara. Knew her well. Prayed with her many a time,” I said. “And she had a saying.” I took a deep breath, and said it as somberly as Aunt Clara always had: “That there is a devil, there is no doubt. But is he trying to get in, or trying to get out.”

I paused. “Either way, there's only one way to be free. Do the right thing.”

Rebecca's eyes widened. Hugh moaned. Rebecca pushed the rifle ceilingward, just as he pulled the trigger.

Jeb the blue tick beagle howled at the sound of the shot.

And I crumpled to my knees.

Epilogue

Hugh's shot went into the ceiling and I fell to my knees out of relief. Hugh dropped the rifle and I grabbed it from the floor before either he or Rebecca could get it.

But Rebecca had collapsed against Hugh, and he held her up as she sobbed. He looked in my direction, and I tried to catch his eyes, but he cut them away.

I was glad to be alive, glad to know the truth, but still filled with sorrow. I kept hold of the rifle, went around Hugh and Rebecca to the kitchen and picked up the phone to call 911, yet again.

Now, a month later, life has returned to normal, more or less.

Rebecca told the whole story to Chief Worthy. She's being held in the women's penitentiary and her case should come to trial early in the new year.

Ricky Crowley's condition finally turned for the better. His doctors say he should be home by Christmas. We're holding another chili-spaghetti supper for him at the
Methodist church, though, to keep helping Maureen with medical expenses.

Dru, when confronted with what Sally and Cherry and I had found in Serpent Mound, also confessed to the long-ago murder of Harold Thiesman.

Then he gave a long interview on the Masonville CBS-affiliate channel and said he'd killed Harold in self-defense when Harold had come to his and Ginny's home and started a fight. He'd dumped Harold's body in the desert. Ginny had told him she'd burned his overalls and handkerchief, but she kept them all these years, and then, in Paradise tried to blackmail him, saying if he didn't give her the money she wanted for her treatments, she'd write out the truth in a letter she'd mail to the authorities, then kill herself, rather than facing the pain of sickness before death or hospitalization, which she feared as much as death itself.

That, I realized as I watched the interview on the TV in my laundromat while working on several shirt orders, was why Ginny had the suicide note and the pistol with her when she died.

Dru also admitted to throwing the suitcase with the threatening note through my Red Horse Motel window.

The water main was repaired, and I was able to return to my laundromat and home.

No one ever confessed to breaking into the LeFevers' bookshop, but the general belief is that it was Dru and a few of his followers.

Missy took over Dru's congregation. Despite the moment of compassion she showed during the book burning at the Red Horse—telling Dru to back down—she ruled the congregation with even more righteous fury than Dru had, trying to make up, I supposed, for his past failings and her association with him. But most folks were so soured by the extremes she and Dru had pursued, that the congregation lost about
half of its members. We in the area's churches—of all kinds—took in a few of those folks. Graciously, without too much gossip over the Jell-O salads in the carry-in suppers.

I even heard of one former Dru follower who became a devout Wiccan.

The others drifted away from religion altogether, at least for the time being.

But that's the problem with going to one extreme or another, with no room for doubts or questions. Doesn't leave you much wiggle room to grow in your faith in times of trouble.

Anyway. It turned out that Guy has type 2 adult onset diabetes. Guy does not like the diet changes this has forced, but we—the staff at Stillwater and I—are helping him cope.

Winnie and her many friends ended up gathering nearly seven hundred signatures throughout the county to get the bookmobile reinstated. The Mason County Library decided to cut back on periodical and video purchases, plus shift around some staffing hours, to let Winnie get back to running her beloved bookmobile. Those of us who depend on the bookmobile are thrilled.

Cherry got over her heartbreak about Max quickly enough, especially when she met Deputy Rankle, who turned out to be a cousin of Mr. Azure Eyes. The deputy was at the Bar-None one night, off duty, and was charmed by her story of how she helped solve the mystery of Ginny's murder. She totally reconfigured what happened with her and Max—in her version, there was no Silly Putty, and she pinned him to the floor and made him tell me about the woman who visited Ginny—but neither Sally nor I dashed her version with the truth. Deputy Rankle was a far better choice for Cherry than she'd made in a long time.

And it was kind of nice to have a law figure who actually liked me in my circle of friends, although one day Chief
Worthy came into my laundromat and mumbled a weak apology about not taking my information seriously.

It took me two weeks, but I finally convinced Hugh to take up tutoring again. He didn't want to, at first, because he was so horrified at what had happened at the Crowley farm.

But I thought his brother Ed had it right. Forgiveness keeps our hearts from turning hard. And besides, I didn't really think he would have shot me. He told me his finger slipped as Rebecca pushed up the gun, and I believe him.

Just last week, he got a letter from his son in Seattle. He brought it to our Sunday tutoring session in my laundromat office and read it to me. Slowly, sounding out words, his hands trembling as he held the letter tightly.

And as for Owen and me . . . well, Owen came home from Kansas City on cloud nine after having visited with his son, who was, he said, going to come visit for Thanksgiving. That was fine with me. I was looking forward to meeting him.

But I couldn't say how things would eventually work out between Owen and me. We agreed we cared about each other, that we wanted our relationship to work out, but we weren't sure if we could work through our differences in communication—my need for total sharing and honesty, Owen's need for keeping the things private that seemed, to me, exactly what you should share with someone you loved.

But somehow, not knowing how our relationship is going to work out is okay, at least for now.

There are other things I don't know, either.

I'm still not sure I understand my Aunt Clara's devil saying. And I don't know how Ginny knew my aunt's saying. My guess is that Ginny knew the strange old saying independently of my Aunt Clara. A coincidence—although the LeFevers (who are expecting their first child next June) assure me there's no such thing.

I checked with the LeFevers and they said they'd never
heard me calling out in my dreams and if they had, they surely wouldn't have told Ginny or anyone else about it. I told them about my Mrs. Oglevee dreams—just in general—and they told me that it's not altogether uncommon for people to repeatedly dream about a person who'd been important to them in life who'd passed on. So, in the parking lot, Ginny could have been making a guess about my having a “spiritual guide,” then, based on my reaction of amazement at her divining the truth, made good guesses about just what form my guide would take.

Truth be told, I'm not sure how I feel about that explanation.

And I don't know why Ginny focused on me as the one who would implicate Dru if anything happened to her or why she played such odd games to reveal Dru's past. Maybe she didn't want to make knowing about his past too easy, in case he decided to give her the money she wanted.

Of course, she was wrong in her prediction about who her killer would be, assuming that Dru might kill her if she threatened blackmail, and she was wrong about Ricky, and about the wisdom of going to Rebecca with her predictions of his death unless he got her help.

So maybe leaving the suitcase with the overalls and the handkerchief and its odd note with me was just a lucky guess on Ginny's part.

She couldn't have known I would be able to find her killer if something happened to her . . . could she?

I also don't know why I have dreams of Mrs. Oglevee, why she shows up to give me advice. I probably will never know.

But inasmuch as I have the gift of questioning, as Sally pointed out that day at Suzy Fu's Chinese Buffet, I have come to know that it's just as much a gift to be able to accept not always knowing the answer to everything.

Paradise Advertiser-Gazette

Josie's Stain Busters

by Josie Toadfern

Stain Expert and Owner of Toadfern's Laundromat

(824 Main Street, Paradise, Ohio)

Thoughts and prayers go out to the Crowley family. As we all know, they've had a tough row to hoe the past several years. But there's some good news: Ricky is expected to make a full recovery and should come home in the near future from Cincinnati's Children's Hospital!

We still need to support the Crowleys as best we can. So please mark your calendars for the dessert auction (organized by Luke and Greta Rhinegold) at St. Paul's Lutheran Church for 7
P.M
., Wednesday, November 12. l know I'll be there! Mrs. Beavy is bringing three of her famous buttermilk pies, one of them a sugar-free variation.

I'll be bidding on that one for Guy, who, as many of you know has been diagnosed with diabetes 2. Thank you for all the cards and prayers. He's doing pretty well, adjusting to his new diet.

I know I speak for all the Main Street business owners when I say it's great to finally be back in business, after the water main break. In celebration of being back in business, here are this month's stain tips:

   
• Rust spots from water sometimes emerge on linens. Mix two quarts warm water, two cups lemon juice, and two tablespoons salt. Spread your item out on the lawn on a sunny day and treat spots with this mixture. When you see the spots start to fade, carefully wash the item as soon as possible.

   
• Make throw rugs look like new by adding a half-cup or so of table salt to the wash water.

   
• Get Silly Putty out of clothing by pouring rubbing alcohol over the putty, rubbing, and repeating until the Silly Putty disintegrates or can be pulled right off. (This works on hair, too. Just in case someone you know gets Silly Putty in his or her hair. For some reason.)

   
• Pre-treat collars and cuffs with cheap shampoo to prevent ring-around-the-collar stains.

   
• And know that one thing gets out blood better than anything else—hydrogen peroxide.

Of course, always test these tips on a hidden corner or hem of the stained item. These tips come from my expertise—but remember, it never hurts to question conventional wisdom.

Until next month, may your whites never yellow and your colors never fade. But if they do, hop on over and see me at Toadfern's Laundromat—Always a Leap Ahead of Dirt!

About the Author

Photo by Jerry Huffman

SHARON SHORT
's humor column, “Sanity Check,” appears every Monday in the
Dayton Daily News
and covers everything trom shredding pantyhose for stress relief to talking refrigerators. Her fiction credits include several short mysteries published in
Futuro Mysterious Anthology Magazine, Murderous Intent Mystery Magazine,
and
Orchard Press Online Mystery Magazine.
In addition, Ms. Short is a principal of her own marketing communications firm. She lives in Miamisburg, Ohio, with her husband and two daughters.

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Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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