A Most Curious Murder (12 page)

“Don’t be crazy, Zoe.” Jenny decided it was time to quiet her. Zoe was digging herself a hole so deep, she would soon hit magma and they’d all go up in flames.

“I’m going to remind you to not leave town, Ms. Zola.” Ed pulled himself as tall as he could get.

“I’m meeting my editor in New York next week.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re not doing that. Better have ’im come to Bear Falls. You leave and you’ll be sitting in our jail—you and your little dog, too.”

Zoe pulled in a shocked breath. For once she was speechless.

A plane roared over the Traverse City airport. Not Lisa’s plane. Not yet.

Jenny had come to the airport early. She needed a few hours away from everyone. Away from the insanity that had struck her hometown.

Alone for the first time in almost a week, she was relieved to sit and relax in the small refreshment room at the Cherry Capital Airport.

The big gate closed off the runway, so no planes were coming or going at the moment. All there was to do was wait.

She stretched her legs and closed her eyes, feeling as if a big gate had closed around her life, too. No place to go. No choice but to stay at home with her mom. No way she would leave her in the middle of the awful stuff going on: murder, the library destroyed, Zoe—her almost friend—under suspicion, and people talking all over the north country.

For just this minute, until Lisa arrived, she wanted no problems. She wanted to be nothing but a stranger sitting alone in an empty terminal, a woman in a wild T-shirt with a pouncing leopard on it and khaki shorts, waiting for her older sister to
arrive and straighten out everybody’s life. She wanted to be an ordinary woman with long, black hair hanging around her kind of pretty, oblong face. Maybe a woman going to California to meet her husband, the big business tycoon. A woman—so neat and nice—with places to go and people to see.

After a while, an airport agent appeared and rolled back the gate. There was still time before the plane landed, but not thinking wasn’t getting Jenny anywhere, so she stood, feeling the excitement of seeing her sister. Let the rest of it wait—all the trouble. They’d go someplace and talk before returning to Bear Falls. First, she wanted to see her sister’s face, hug her, and then feel the way a kid sister feels: happy, dependent, eager to get back to sharing their lives.

She walked over to the arrival gate where others were waiting. Travelers came out one by one: tired mothers with tired children, businessmen, tourists. Greeters queued up behind her, hurrying forward, one after the other, to meet their friends or family. Lisa wasn’t in any of those groups.

Jenny was getting impatient. Lisa would have called if she missed the plane. She wouldn’t leave her standing there.

And then a lone woman, wheeling a red carry-on behind her, made her way slowly up the carpet. She was a woman swathed in blue scarves and a long, off-white dress. A large, puffy bag was slung over her left shoulder; her blonde streaked hair was swept up into a pile on top of her head. Large sunglasses were pushed up into her hair. At first Jenny wasn’t sure—too tanned, too thin, too . . . otherworldly.

Lisa waved and hurried forward, big smile on her face, carry-on forgotten as she rushed to Jenny with her arms out.

Lisa was home.

They hugged hard and stood back to look deeply into each other’s eyes. Lisa, shorter than Jenny, hugged again and said, “Missed you, kid.”

“Me too.” Tears sprang into Jenny’s eyes.

“Think we can go someplace and catch up?” Lisa asked, her arm around Jenny, who’d taken over the suitcase.

“Absolutely. How about Junior’s? I haven’t been there since I came home. Nobody to go with. How I’ve missed you.”

“What the heck have you been doing? You come home and the place goes to hell.”

It wasn’t a real jab, just a sister’s way of showing sympathy.

They kept their arms around each other as they made their way out of the terminal and into the dark lot where Jenny’s car was parked.

***

Junior’s Bar, on Cass, was an old place with a lot of history and thousands of glasses of Irish beer behind it. It was both a family restaurant and a place for the good ol’ boys to shoot pool and drink beer. And it had real good food. Not a place for tourists, exactly, although they found their way to Junior’s, too, eventually. Both women had childhood memories of the place: with their mom and dad on a Sunday afternoon, eating hamburgers and drinking sodas, their parents talking about a vacation they were planning with friends who were visiting.

Neither found a familiar face along the bar when they walked in. Too many years since they’d been there.

They took a booth near the pool table in the second room. With cold Irish beers in front of them and warm smiles and a little shyness, they talked. First Lisa told Jenny how filming was going, about the people she was meeting, about a distributor who’d already contacted her. It didn’t take long, though, before Lisa was asking, “Really, Jen. What the heck’s going on in Bear Falls?”

Lisa shook her head while Jenny laid out all that had happened since she got home, beginning with the Little Library and moving to two dead men and Zoe Zola. “You know her, don’t you? Mom’s fairy-tale neighbor?”

“Met her last time I was home. I love her. A little odd, but I figured hanging out in fairy-tale land can do that to a person. Actually, we’ve kept in touch. I call her from time to time. She calls me. She’s friendly with Mom. Kind of keeps an eye on her.”

Jenny shook her head, conveying her feelings about Zoe Zola.

Lisa leaned back, rubbing her neck. “Mom loves her, too, Jenny. They share gardening and the Little Library . . . she is building it up again, isn’t she?”

They talked on, into a second beer. A group of men entered the room talking and laughing, maybe a little drunk. One racked up the balls on the pool table. Another shoved coins into the jukebox, and a country singer whined through the speakers about his dog loving him more than his girl did.

Jenny looked around for a table they could move to, but the place had filled while they talked. The laughter was loud. The crack from a break shot on the pool table was enough to spawn a headache.

“We should’ve remembered not to sit here,” Lisa said. “You want to move to the bar?” She laughed, but when she looked over the back of the booth, her smile fell away.

Jenny leaned forward. “What’s wrong? Somebody you know?”

Lisa screwed her pretty face into one of those warning looks. “Sure is,” she said and started to get up.

“Who?”

“Nobody you want to see. Let’s get out of here.”

Jenny finished off her beer and got up, trusting Lisa to know what she was doing.

“Then why the hell don’t you go on home?” a man’s voice snarled from someplace behind them.

The voice came from an alcove next to the jukebox. Noise in the room died down. Even most of the half-drunk men at the pool table stopped, looking past Jenny at the commotion.

Jenny froze. “Is that Johnny?”

Lisa nodded slowly. “He’s with Angel. And drunk. You are
so
lucky you didn’t marry him.”

“Get the hell outta here. Go on home,” Johnny barked. A mumbling followed, and then Angel stepped from the alcove where they’d been hidden. Her large belly preceded her. Her face was a deep, mottled red. Angel paused and stared straight at Jenny.

Johnny muttered something at her that made Angel scurry for the door, working her way through a gauntlet of staring faces—every patron watching as she stumbled out the door.

“We better go before he sees you.” Lisa rose and reached across the table for Jenny’s arm.

“Too late. I’ll bet I’m what Angel’s mad about.”

Lisa made a face. “Oh, oh,” she said.

Jenny turned to see Johnny walk slowly toward her.

She couldn’t catch her breath as he approached—there was no getting away this time. The young face Jenny remembered had been carved by the last eighteen years into an older, unhappy man’s face. But it was still Johnny: black, straight hair hanging over his forehead; hooded, hurt eyes fixed on her; a thin, angular body—that of a man wracked by alcohol, cigarettes, and other things.

Her breath caught in her throat. This was her first lover: gentle, sweet, and brimming with plans for their future back then. She almost fooled herself into smiling until his lips curled into a cruel, drunken smile.

“Let’s go,” Lisa said and pulled her arm.

Jenny couldn’t move.

Johnny maneuvered around Lisa and then half-fell into the vacant side of the booth. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and shook his head ever so slowly. When he opened his bloodshot eyes, he smiled a slipping smile at Jenny.

“Saw you the other day at the market. Guess you didn’t see me. I was gonna come over and say hi.” He put a hand on the table, fingers inching toward hers.

Jenny pulled her hand down to her lap.

“Aw, come on.” He leaned closer. He smelled of beer and smoke. “Don’t be like that. We used to be . . .” He stopped to smile a bleary smile. “Well, you know what we used to be.”

Lisa, looking mighty, grabbed Jenny’s arm. “We’re getting out of here, Jenny. This guy’s got nothing to do with you.”

Jenny’s mouth opened. Whatever the words were supposed to be, they didn’t come out.

Johnny grabbed for her arm, too, ignoring Lisa. His voice was low and lush. “Let’s go someplace where we can talk. We’ve got a lot to make up for.”

“
Now
, Jenny.” Lisa puffed with anger. Blue scarves wafted around her as her chin dropped into her neck and her body got tight. Sweet Lisa was spoiling for a fight.

“You always were a pain in the ass.” Johnny blinked up at Lisa then back to Jenny.

Jenny found the strength to pull away from his hand and stand. There were things she wanted to say, things bottled inside her for years. But now was not the time. She took the hand Lisa held out and followed her through the poolroom, past the row of staring bar patrons, and out the back door to her car.

How many times can you be a fool?

Jenny sat alone in the dark yard, wishing she could be like this for at least a month or two: unseen and unjudged.

Mom had been so happy to have both her girls at home with her. She hadn’t noticed Jenny’s pasty complexion, her distress. She made them all sit down at the table for ham and cheese sandwiches and a pitcher of iced tea. There were
ooh
s and
aah
s over the orange chiffon cake she brought out.

After eating and talking, Mom and Lisa went to sit on the porch while Jenny escaped to the backyard. She needed to be alone. Seeing Johnny was an assault, a dark hole she’d fallen into without warning.

She sat on the damp ground under the black walnut tree, arms around her knees. Overhead, the sky was a vision you’d never see in Chicago: billions of stars—dead light from thousands of years ago. She imagined universes, planets, moons, novas, and swirling gases. It was always the sky that reminded her how small and unimportant she really was.

She felt ashamed—nothing nice or kind or any of the good things she used to feel after seeing Johnny. She brushed her hand
over the soft grass and felt as if she ought to cry. If she was the kinder, happier self she used to be, she would at least take what happened as only a blip, a misstep. Johnny could change back to who he used to be—of course he could. Despite all the proof to the contrary, she believed in happy endings.

Or used to.

Not anymore. Johnny wasn’t what he was supposed to be. Something had derailed him. Maybe alcohol was a big enough demon. Maybe it was something else.

Jenny leaned her head against the tree, brushed an ant from her thigh, and closed her eyes. There were better things to think about. Good things around her: happy Fida barking in the house next door, the library houses they were going to build . . .

But her thoughts strayed to bad things: Zoe practically being accused of murder, the anonymous destruction of the Little Library, a man dead in his own house, his dead body guarded only by a little dog . . .

Lisa called from the back porch. “Jenny?”

She didn’t answer.

She slumped down into herself, knowing the dark wasn’t deep enough to hide her.

When Lisa found her and dropped beside her on the ground, they said nothing for a few minutes.

“How sorry are you feeling for yourself?” Lisa finally asked.

“Very,” Jenny muttered and snuffled to show she’d been crying.

“How long will it take you to get over it?”

“Forever.”

“That long?”

“Think so.”

“Then I’ll give you the wisdom I came out here to impart and go back in, since I don’t have forever to waste in the dark.”

“Bitch.” Jenny felt the word.

“No, I’m not. I just don’t buy into self-pity. Don’t have the patience for it. I’ve seen too much of real misery while making this film. A lot of poverty. A lot of alcoholism. A lot of sadness.” She took a breath. “And, by the way, I don’t call other women bitches.”

“Good for you. But none of that makes me hurt any less.”

“Right. So dumb of me.”

“Sure is. Just because there’s worse in the world, you think I’m not supposed to feel what I feel?”

Lisa was quiet, letting Jenny spout off.

“What Johnny did before was about me—something about me. I somehow chased him away. And Ronald . . .”

“Sorry,” Lisa said and seemed to mean it. “I don’t think you could have changed a thing.”

“Then why can’t I get over it? Or grow up?”

“Okay. So give me a date. When’s it going to end?”

“I may never get over it.”

“I’ll give you a week.”

“A week?” Jenny went from shocked, to hurt, and soon to laughter.

“No good? A year? A decade? Poor you. We’ll all play little pity violins. All the while, the years will pass you by—only you’ll be alone because we won’t be able to stand your moping. Then one day, when you’re old and decrepit, you’ll wake up and say, ‘Why the hell did I waste all that time?’”

Lisa got up, a small figure against the night sky. She swept her hands across the back of her jeans. “Anyway, I was sent out with messages.”

“Messages?” Jenny asked.

“Zoe’s here. She said to tell you her pants are empty. Whatever that means. I didn’t dare ask for fear of getting a long passage on pants that rhyme with ants but really mean aunts,
and therefore we will move on to relatives—meaning you, to whom the message was sent.”

Jenny laughed, breaking up a tight place in her chest. “What else?”

“Tony’s here, too. I thought everybody went to bed at nine o’clock in Bear Falls. Guess things have changed. So he’s the carpenter Mom hired to rebuild Dad’s Little Library. Seems like a nice enough guy.”

“What’s
he
doing here?”

“He’s got final plans for the twin houses—or something like that. He said he won’t show anybody until you come back in.”

Jenny made a noise and struggled to get up. “Glad somebody needs me.”

They headed up the dark lawn to the house.

“A week, huh?” Jenny mumbled.

Lisa reached over and put an arm around her sister’s slumping shoulders. “I take that back. A couple of hours. That’s about all the self-pity I can take.”

***

Iced tea was poured. More cake was sliced and passed around. The group settled into conversation—mostly welcoming Lisa home and, on Tony’s part, asking about her documentary. That led to a lengthy conversation about small-town kids in peril.

“Why Montana?” Tony asked. “There’s plenty of ’em here in Michigan.”

“Plenty of ’em everywhere. I’m setting the template for local filmmakers to follow—I hope.”

Zoe—tired, she said, of coming only armpit high at the table—sat on two phone books. She sipped a glass of tea with her pinky in the air, eyeing people as they talked but keeping mostly to herself.

Tony took center stage, rolling out his blueprints for the two library houses and smiling ear to ear when he heard the
ooh
s and
aah
s and Dora’s satisfaction.

“They’re perfect. Jim would be so happy.”

He pointed out how the front of the children’s house would open to allow access to the books and the roof of the other would seal when it’s closed to keep the rain out. He showed them a pocket for a notebook and a pen. “Sign-out sheets,” he said.

“Oh, yes.” Dora put down her fork and sighed. “About those. Ed Warner stopped by earlier and asked for any I’d remembered. I wrote down what I could.”

Dora turned to Zoe. “Ed felt bad about warning you not to leave town. Said he didn’t want to do it but didn’t know what else to do until he finds the real murderer. I think he’s sorry, Zoe.”

“Humph. He keeps looking in the wrong direction,” Zoe said. “The man’s got to dig into that family—the Canes. That’s where the skeletons are buried.”

“Just picture that house all painted with fairies and superheroes,” Dora interrupted, pointing to the blueprints in front of her.

“Oh, the fairies.” Zoe was easily distracted. “Of course, I’ll get a few to pose for me and, as to the adult post, how about an escaping Madame Bovary? Don’t you wonder where she went?”

“An Atticus Finch, too,” Lisa hurried to put in. “I’ll always believe he was the hero Harper Lee made him out to be in the first book.”

“What would an Atticus Finch look like?” Zoe frowned, thinking.

“Like Gregory Peck, of course,” Dora said, then began to laugh. “Oh my. Then how about Hercules Poirot? He’s easily recognizable with his fine mustaches.”

“Or Vito Corleone. You know, from
The Godfather
,” Tony joined in. “Paint him in his garden, Zoe. Dead or alive.”

“How about you, Jenny?” Tony asked. “Any character you especially like?”

Jenny wasn’t in the mood to be funny. “How about the girl in
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
? Lisbeth Salander.”

Lisa made a face. “She’s your favorite character?”

Tony winced.

Zoe shrugged.

“She will do,” Jenny said, reminding herself she had only an hour left to be nasty.

Zoe slid off her chair. “But before all of that, my editor is coming in from New York tomorrow, about noon. I’ll be busy most of the day. Why don’t we all meet at Myrtle’s for dinner at six? I want you to meet him. He’s a very nice man.” She started for the door. “Oh, and I’m buying. It’s nice to have something to celebrate.”

Jenny stopped her. “Zoe, what about . . . your pants?”

“Oh, yes.” Zoe turned back from the open door. “If you’ve got a half an hour in the morning, could you come over? I’ve got some . . . er . . . things I need to show you. It would be good if we got a chance to talk.”

“Ants in your pants, Zoe?” Lisa laughed.

Zoe, straight-faced, threw both hands in the air. “Ants in my pants, a bee in my bonnet, butterflies in my stomach. All little things. Little things. No importance, really. Except little things can be powerful things, and that makes them big things when they become words. Line the words up and you have so many answers. Do you see?”

“Of course not,” Lisa said. “But I’ll take your word for whatever the heck you’re talking about.”

Zoe grinned and nodded.

Tony rolled up his drawings and exited behind Zoe.

***

Lisa, Dora, and Jenny sat rocking on the porch and talking about things having nothing to do with killers. They made plans for Lisa’s short visit, beginning with a trip to one of the lonely beaches on Lake Michigan the next afternoon.

“Only if it doesn’t rain,” Dora cautioned to groans from her daughters.

“Mom! My cell phone says seventy-five and sunny.”

“Cells!” Dora dismissed the idea. “What do they know? Joe, my Traverse City weatherman, will tell me in the morning. Joe’s got maps and weather quizzes and fronts and things. No cells. We’ll go if Joe says so.”

Dora went inside when she got a chill from the damp in the night air. Lisa and Jenny sat quietly rocking. Every once in a while, they shared a funny memory of their father.

Unable to contain herself, Lisa finally asked, “So, okay, what’s with Zoe and her pants?”

Jenny weighed whether to rat Zoe out or not. She decided she needed a completely sane person on her side. “She stole papers from Aaron’s house after we found him dead. She stuck them in her pants when Ed Warner arrived.”

Lisa made a painful noise. “Should she have done that?”

“No. But I’m having trouble blaming her. Ed keeps talking as if he thinks she’s a killer.”

“Yuck! Couldn’t he find somebody his own size?”

“Size doesn’t matter with him. It sure doesn’t matter to Zoe, but she’s new to town. Well, ‘new’ in Bear Falls years. I guess that makes her a suspect.”

“She’s so alone.”

“She’s got Mom on her side.”

“And me. And you,” Lisa said.

“I suppose so,” Jenny grudgingly agreed.

“Why’d she take the papers? Do you know what they are? Is there some way to sneak them back where they came from?”

“I don’t have answers to any of those questions. I only know she’s getting desperate. I’ll talk to her in the morning. Maybe there’s something there that will help her.”

The phone rang inside the house. Lisa clamped her feet to the porch floor and got up. Jenny did the same and then led the way back in, hoping the phone would stop. Nothing good ever came of a phone ringing after eleven o’clock.

She answered on the sixth ring.

“Is this Jenny Weston?” a harsh woman’s voice demanded.

Jenny racked her brain—who was calling?

“This is Angel. Angel Arlen.”

She froze. “Angel. Hi. Was that you I saw at Junior’s earlier?”

“You know that was me. You were practically begging for Johnny’s attention. I’m just calling to warn you to stop playing games. In case you don’t remember, he married
me
. He’s
mine
.” Her voice broke. “He’s got responsibilities here.”

“I . . .” Jenny couldn’t think of a comeback.

“Just a friendly warning. Don’t take it personally.”

Angel hung up.

Jenny didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.