M:
So, Constance must have hated Pepper Buckridge.
Beverly:
Hate might be too strong a word, but yes, something like that.
M:
Nathan, too?
Beverly:
I never heard him say a word against Pepper, but I’m sure her rules hurt.
M:
What did Constance think of Wayne Buckridge?
Beverly:
A tfirst I think she liked him. He seemed so serious to her that she’d joke with him, not often but every now and then. Eventually he started to respond. He even joked back Connie thought they were developing a friendship. (Seems hesitant)
M:
But later?
Beverly:
Well, after she’d worked there about a year, Wayne made a couple ofpasses at her. She rejected them, of course, but he didn’t stop.
M:
How do you know all this?
Beverly:
Oh, Connie and I got together every Thursday. It was her day off. We’d have lunch or go for a walk Sometimes she’d come over to the house. Tom and I’d bought a small rambler in Richfield by then. Or we’d go shopping. But we al ways had these long conversations. Connie needed someone to confide in, someone she could trust, especially after Wayne started pressuring her to have sex with him.
M:
Are you saying that Connie had no interest in him at all?
Beverly:
Lord, no. He was a goodfifteen years older. I mean, she liked him okay, but the idea of having sex with him repulsed her.
M:
Really? Other people I’ve talked to have said that it was the other way around. Connie tried to seduce Wayne.
Beverly:
That’s absolute hogwash. Believe me, I know. I was even there once when Wayne came home. It was after Connie had taken the job as their cook. We were in the kitchen talking and Wayne walked in the back door. He nodded to me, made no effort to introduce himself, and then, in my presence, he came up behind Connie and pinched her in the… well, lower regions. I was appalled. So was Connie, though she just moved away. But she blushed a deep red and tried to ignore it. She told me later that she was terrified that she’d lose her job if she didn’t put out, so to speak Come to think of it, here’s an even more telling situation I witnessed. Once, when she was over at my house for lunch, we looked out the front window and there was Wayne sitting in his car, staring at the front door. That’s when Connie admitted to me that he d been following her around town for months. I mean, the man was obsessed, and that’s the truth. Connie wanted nothing to do with him. As an employee, she had to be friendly, and like most women she second-guessed herself. She wondered if she’d done something to give him the wrong impression, the idea that she was “interested.” But the fact was, she wasn’t, and yet she had to deal with him every day and be pleasant. As I said, she liked him, okay, even felt a little sorry for him. He and his wife kept separate bedrooms. He ate most of his meals alone in the dining room. Little Paul was almost always asleep by the time he got home from work. From what Connie said, Pepper was a total hypochondriac. Or so everyone thought.
M:
Are you suggesting that wasn’t true?
Beverly:
(Hesitates again) I’m not sure how much I should say. (Puts a hand over her mouth)
M:
About what?
Beverly:
(Seems uncomfortable) I wouldn’t want this to appear in a book. You have to understand, it all happened so long ago. Connie’s obviously made peace with what happened. I don’t have the right to open up old wounds.
M:
Perhaps they ‘re not so old. Would it surprise you to learn that Paul Buckridge believes his mother was poisoned? He’s thinking of having her body exhumed.
Beverly:
(Appears shocked) But he mustn’t do that.
M:
Why not? It may be the only way to prove how she really died
Beverly:
He should leave well enough alone!
M:
But if Connie actually poisoned her, if Pepper
was
murdered, he deserves —
Beverly:
Connie? Excuse me, but what are you saying? Connie had nothing to do with Pepper’s death. It
was
Wayne Buckridge who poisoned his wife. He’d been feeding her small amounts of antifreeze for months. I told you, he
was
obsessed with Connie. He wanted her at any cost, so he slipped the poison into Pepper’s Coke. She had a lot of stomach problems and liked to drink things that were fizzy. Little did she know that the fizzy liquid was causing the stomach problems, the weight loss — and eventually would kill her.
M:
Did Connie know about the poisoning before thefact?
Beverly:
She had no idea. She just thought Pepper
was
sick and getting sicker. After Pepper died, Wayne came to her and asked her to marry him. She refused, of course. That’s when he told her what he’d done. And he said that if she refused to marry him, he’d go to the police and tell them that Connie had poisoned Pepper. After all, she was the cook She had daily access to all of Pepper’s food and drink Wayne said it wouldn’t be hard to make the police believe that Connie had been after him all along. Maybe he’d even admit to sleeping with her once or twice. He’d be full of remorse for his part in his wife s death. But when he rejected Connie s ever-growing sexual demands, how could he know she’d resort to poison to get rid of Pepper? Well, as you can imagine, Connie was horrified. It all sounded so plausible that she felt sure Wayne could make the accusation stick After all, to the outside world, all she had going for her were her looks. It would seem natural that she’d use them to better her station in life. She came over to my house the same night he proposed. Id never seen her in such a panic. First she told me what Wayne had done and then she said she dgo to jail if she didn’t agree to be his new wife. She begged me to tell her what to do. What could I say? Wayne had all the cards. If she didn’t agree to his terms, she’d end up in prison. Nathan would go to a foster home. Their lives would be ruined. After she calmed down a little, she mentioned that Wayne had insisted that it would be good for Nathan to finally have a real family. Connie couldn’t give him much — she had no money and never would — but Wayne could give him the world. The best schools. Music lessons. Summer camps. After they were married, he promised to make Nathan his legal son. He told her he loved her like he’d never loved anyone else in his entire life, that he didn’t want to go on living without her. When she got home later that night, she found him sitting on the back porch. He asked her again to marry him. Had he been so wrong to think she caredfor him just a little? She asked him to give her a day to decide. She talked to Nathan about it. He was nine or ten at the time. I don’t know what he said exactly, but the next day Connie told Wayne she’d marry him, but that she wouldn’t do it right away. There had to be a decent waiting period after Pepper’s death. She didn’t want people to get the wrong idea. She asked for two years. He agreed to one. And exactly one year to the day after Pepper died they were married.
M:
You believe this story?
Beverly:
It wasn’t a story, it was the truth.
M:
But you only heard Connie s side of it. Wayne s might have been very different.
Beverly:
Are you suggesting she lied? That Wayne didn’t poison his wife?
M:
All I’m saying is that there s no independent verification. There were no other witnesses to what was said or done. It’s Connie’s word against Wayne’s.
Beverly:
Exactly. That s just the way he set it up.
M:
But Connie could have set it up, too. Did you ever talk to Wayne Buckridge personally, ask him if any of this was true?
Beverly:
Heavens, no. After I learned what he’d done, I was afraid to open my mouth in the man s presence.
M:
Then what you know is simply what Connie wanted you to know.
Beverly:
It wasn’t like that! She wasn’t lying!
M:
At this point, Beverly, an unbiased party would be hardpressed to prove
what
happened. Constance is still alive to tell her tale, but unfortunately, dead men are notoriously silent.
When Bram arrived at the church on Saturday afternoon, a long line of cars was just leaving for the cemetery. Pulling in behind a rusted Bronco, he followed the funeral procession until it reached the iron gates of Lakewood. It was a cool, windy day, the kind of spring weather that made a person glad to be alive, especially in the face of a death that seemed both senseless and unnecessary. Bram hadn’t really known Sean Rafferty, but he felt it was important to pay his last respects. He was also hoping that Marie might be somewhere in the crowd. He knew it was a long shot. If she was still in Minnesota, she would be keeping a low profile. Attending the funeral of her murdered bodyguard probably wasn’t smart. Even so, Bram felt there was a chance she might come.
After Marie had left the Ardmore Suites, Bram realized that finding her would be difficult, if not impossible. The note she’d left behind simply said thanks for the help and have a good life. It wasn’t enough. Bram had to know she was all right, and he wanted to see her one last time.
He parked his car on 36th Street and, without waiting for the stoplight to turn green, hurried into the cemetery. By the time he reached section 17, the graveside ceremony was already underway. Either Rafferty had a lot of friends or his family was large. People stood ten and twelve deep around the casket as die minister intoned a prayer. Bram stayed in the background and surveyed the mourners. Marie didn’t appear to be among them.
Feeling oddly let down, he waited until the minister was done and people started to walk back to their cars, then climbed a hill behind the burial site for a better look at the crowd. As he reached the top, he noticed a woman sitting on a gravestone about thirty yards away. She was wearing oversize dark glasses and a tan raincoat, the collar pulled up around her neck. The lower part of her chin was also covered. Her hair was blonde and short, and she looked to be a good thirty pounds heavier than Marie, but something about the woman made him hesitate.
Returning his attention to the mourners, Bram spied a man stepping slowly away from the crowd. Once he was halfway up the hill, the man stood still and watched the group disperse. As the wind blew his suit coat against his body, Bram noticed a slight bulge under his left arm. What was a guy who was packing a concealed weapon doing at Rafferty’s funeral? Glancing back at the woman on the headstone, he made a quick decision.
“A sad day, isn’t it?” he called, moving quickly down the hill toward what he now assumed was one of Constance Buckridge’s hired thugs.
The man looked around but didn’t respond.
As Bram got closer, he put his arm around the fellow’s shoulders. “I’m … Mortimer Brewster. Sean’s uncle from Vermont. I can’t believe he’s gone. A real special guy, huh? How’d you know him?”
The man seemed uncomfortable with Bram’s arm across his back and tried to move away, but Bram held on tight and began walking him down the hill and away from the woman on the headstone.
When he finally spoke, the thug’s voice was almost sweet. Coming from such a potentially menacing hulk, it seemed incongruous, almost comical. “We met… at a party.”
“Yeah, Sean loved to party down. Did you know his favorite drink was root beer?”
The guy was trapped. He had to at least pretend he’d come for the funeral. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yup. Ever since he was a kid. Root beer, root beer, root beer.”
“Fascinating.”
“It is, isn’t it?” The crowd was thinning. “Say, I didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s… Smith.”
“Isn’t it just.”
“What?”
“Such a tragedy. And to think Sean left a wife and six kids behind.”
The man peered sideways at him. “I thought he wasn’t married.”
“Well he wasn’t until last week. He married a woman with six kids. Can you believe it?”
“I guess his uncle would know.”
“Which way’s your car?”
.He pointed to a blue Firebird parked along one of the cemetery’s gravel roads.
Bram headed straight for it. “What a coincidence. My car’s right over there, too. I suppose you’re coming back to the church for the late lunch. Some of us burly men types should get back there and make sure they’ve got all the chairs set up. It’s the least we can do for Sean.”
“Lunch?”
“Sure. Everyone will be there. I’ll introduce you around.
You’ll adore his mother. She’s a stitch. Although she probably won’t be in top form today. Normally, when I introduce people to her, she’d still be telling them jokes an hour later.”
Smith swallowed hard. He wasn’t an Einstein, for which Bram was duly grateful.
As they approached the Firebird, Bram let go of his shoulders. Smith turned quickly to survey what was left of the crowd. “Say, Mortimer —”
“You can call me Mort.”