Cypress Nights (5 page)

“No—he—I can't believe it. He loved this church. He must have gone there for a few quiet minutes, same as he always does—did.”

“Yes.” Cyrus thought of walking up the path toward one of the side doors into the building with Jim at his side. “I went into the church with him yesterday. I'd left my clipboard there. The last thing he said was that he'd be at the meeting Bleu was holding.”

Madge's mouth trembled and she pressed her lips tight together.

“I know, I know,” he said, trying to comfort her as best he could from where he was. Getting too close to Madge was dangerous. They both knew it.

She covered her face with her hands. “Me, I don't know how we carry on after something like this.” Her
voice came to him, muffled by her hands. “We do it over and over when the hurt comes. Each time we console each other and we think evil things won't happen around us again. But they do. It's no good thinking you've had your share of unhappiness. It feels like too much already, but more comes along soon enough. Why is that, Cyrus?”

Her hands rested on the desk now, and her tragic, puzzled face turned toward him. She wasn't asking a rhetorical question. Madge wanted him to explain why his God, and hers, let these things happen.

“You know it doesn't work that way,” he said. “What happened to Jim is man's making. Don't try to find another reason.”

When Madge's tears came, they broke in sobs and she swung her chair around, away from him, so he couldn't see her cry. He stood up, holding the dog under one arm.

“Forgive me,” she said. “Just let me calm down. I'll be fine.”

She would be fine. Would she? Would either of them ever be fine?

Swiftly, he put the dog down and moved behind her chair. Awkwardly, he patted her back, then stood beside her and rubbed the nape of her neck.

Madge got up. She turned to him, her eyes awash and shimmering. A pretty, dark-haired woman with a big heart. And he had failed her completely.

She walked straight into him and rested her face and fists against his chest. He felt her tears dampen his black shirt.

He felt as if she tried to burrow inside him, to hide and be kept safe.

A useless man wasn't a man at all.

Putting his arms around her was what any friend would
do for her, and he did. Sometimes he forgot how small she was. The top of her head didn't reach his chin. With hands that betrayed him by their jerky efforts, he smoothed her back through her cotton blouse. She moved her arms at once and put them around him. She held on tightly.

Cyrus bowed his head. With one hand, he stroked her hair. “Be quiet, Madge. Inside, be very quiet. Make your heart calm.”

When she nodded, her nose pressed into his chest even harder.

“I'd like a promise if you can spare me one,” he told her.

Once more, she nodded.

“Be very careful, my friend. Don't be alone after dark in any of the buildings here. Think before you go wandering. Just ask me, and I'll go with you as soon as I can. Rosebank is a big, secluded place, too. Once you're in your rooms for the night, stay there. And always, at any time, call me if you're worried about something.” After a pause, he finished, “Call me, even if you just need a friend to talk to.”

So, he had taken several steps backward from the distance he'd promised to put between them. He was only human.

Madge kept her face close to his chest, but looked upward at him.

She held her heart in her eyes, and there was longing, but also acceptance in the gentle way she remained close.

There was no decision; he kissed her forehead lightly, softly, asking nothing of her, but desperate to give her some peace.

Her eyes closed.

Millie barked sharply.

Cyrus and Madge sprang apart.

The dog barked louder. She jumped and turned circles at the same time. And she quivered before she ran to hide in an open cupboard.

Madge gave a weak smile. “That's our big, bad watchdog. Someone must be coming to the door.”

Before she'd even finished, the front doorbell rang.

Running her fingers through her short curls, Madge visibly pulled herself together. She took a tissue and blotted her eyes. A final sniff and she stood very upright. Cyrus admired her strength. He had no tears to wipe away, but he hurt where no one could see.

Dodging around him, Madge left the office and went to open the door. In moments, she was back, a beautifully wrapped package in her hands. “It's for you, darn it. Must be from one of your legion of admirers.”

He smiled at the expression on her face. “Women like presents, don't they?” he said.

“Yes, of course they do. We're shallow things.”

“You'd do me a big favor if you'd open that for me. I always make a horrible mess with the paper and ribbons.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

She put the box on the desk and undid a scarlet ribbon with a bow so large and intricate it covered the top. After this, she lifted away pieces of tape without tearing the shiny white paper scattered with red roses.

“Hmm.” She looked at him and her lips were pursed. “It's from an admirer all right. Look at the way it's wrapped.”

He sighed and did his best to look abashed.

The lid on the box inside had also been taped shut. Madge used her fingernails, ran them under the box rim to free the lid.

Holding the box aloft, she removed the lid with a flourish.

A cloud of dust rose from inside. It billowed. Madge coughed and Cyrus's eyes stung.

“Drop it and get back,” he shouted. Madge dropped it on the floor between them. He grabbed her and pushed her behind him.

Small pieces of burned paper floated up from the box. Black, oily-looking, they drifted down to settle everywhere, including on Cyrus and Madge.

“A silly joke,” Madge said, picking bits out of her hair.

Cyrus took up the phone, called Spike but got his second-in-command, Marty Brock. “If you think we need the fire department, call 'em,” Cyrus explained to him, after giving him the general rundown on what had happened. “I don't smell anything much except old smoke.”

“Spike's tied up, but Marty's on his way over,” Cyrus told Madge. “Stay where you are.”

He made his way around the perimeter of the room until he had a clear view of the open box. Dust was settling. Dust and ash. He wrinkled his nose at the acrid scent. Slowly, he went closer. “Someone stuffed the box with burned books,” he told Madge, getting even closer. “That's all it is—old burned books.”

A piece of lined paper, folded once, lay on the old carpet. Cyrus picked it up, and by the time he read it, Madge was beside him.

 

And the new schoolhouse went away
all burned up.

Suffer the little children
suffer and die.

At the same time

S
pike had never been inside Kate Harper's house before but nothing about it surprised him.

Every pale blue, flower-sprigged upholstered chair and couch stood on spindly gilded legs. So many roses in crystal bowls sat on shiny surfaces that he struggled not to wrinkle his nose at the overpowering scent.

“Do sit down, Sheriff,” Kate Harper told him. “Choose just anywhere that pleases you. It's not often enough that I have the company of a handsome young man.” She actually fluttered her long, dark lashes at him. Red hair, piled high on her head, spilled down into ringlets around her face.

He had dreaded coming here and didn't feel any better now he had arrived. “Thank you, Miz Harper.”

She flapped a white hand. “Kate, Sheriff. Call me Kate like everyone does.”

Damn, if she wasn't flirting with him, even if only a
little. He sat on a chair and straightened his back. He needed to remember that Kate was a traditional Southern woman from a class taught to flatter men. “Kate,” he said. “I didn't want to come by so soon, but one or two things have happened since Jim's death yesterday that I surely didn't expect. I want you in the picture, and I'm hoping you can give me some useful ideas.”

Kate's age was a matter of local conjecture. Without staring too closely, he decided she must be in her fifties, which was younger than he'd expected. She had a regal carriage and almost floated across the polished wooden floor to take a place on the edge of a couch. She settled the skirts of a green, polished cotton dress carefully. Kate had a nice figure, a voluptuous figure.

She sat quite still with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes downcast.

“There's nothing I can say to make this any easier,” Spike told her. “I can't even imagine the depth of your shock.”

She made a little choking noise and nodded. When she looked at him, her eyes shone with moisture. “My Jim's—my Jim was the best man in the world. The kindest, gentlest man I ever met. You have to find his killer, Sheriff. Please find him and bring him to justice real soon.”

“I intend to do my best,” Spike said. The room felt expensive, but it was common knowledge that Jim had lavished gifts on Kate, his companion of a number of years. He had stepped in to comfort and help the woman when her husband died and apparently left her with very little.

“I know what they're sayin' about me,” Kate said. A luminously pretty woman in that pale manner common in the Southern redhead who never forgot her hat or gloves.

Spike searched for the right thing to say.

“What's wrong with Sam Bush comin' by to see if I need anythin' extra now and then, that's what I want to know?” She raised her shoulders almost to her diamond drop earrings. “If Jim thought it was a good idea, then there's no one who should make anythin' of it.”

“Of course not,” Spike said cautiously. He had no idea who did or didn't pay attention to any visitors Kate had.

“Same with George Pinney. You know George, Sheriff?”

“I've never met him, but I know he and his wife look after Jim's place.” Jim Zachary's house was the closest one to Kate's. In fact it was the only other house in this pretty little area just out of town.

“That's right,” Kate said. “George runs little errands for me, too. These things don't mean I've got a mess of strings to my bow like the busybodies in this town are suggestin'. And why would they bring it all up now, anyway? You tell me that. If they think I could…do what they're suggestin', what would Sam or George have to do with it just because they're good to me?”

He had refused iced tea and now regretted not accepting a glass. Despite fans slowly turning overhead, the big room stifled him. “Beautiful roses,” he said. He had to get past thinking Kate was too fragile to be questioned. He didn't have the luxury of waiting to work on this case.

“I pick them myself,” Kate said. “I've got a beautiful rose garden. Jim made sure of that.”

“When was the last time you actually saw Jim?” Spike said.

“Yesterday,” Kate said, sniffing. “He stopped by at lunch, because I was worried about a mold George found on one of my trees. Jim knew all about those things.”

“How did he seem?” Spike asked. “Anything unusual about his behavior?”

She shook her head. “He was his usual sweet self.”

“He didn't mention any plans for later in the evening?”

Kate bristled. “What are you suggestin', Sheriff?”

He sighed. “These are routine questions. They don't mean anything but what they say.”

“No, then. Jim always came home after he'd been at St. Cecil's.” Kate raised her chin.

“So after he left you yesterday lunchtime, you never saw him again?”

Tears popped into Kate's eyes, and ran down her cheeks. “So cruel,” she said. “So harsh. I don't need you to squeeze my heart for me.”

She meant he was cruel and harsh?

Exasperated, Spike said, “Would you feel better if you had a friend with you, Kate? Someone you trust.”

“I've lost the people I trust. Lil Dupre was a good friend but now I know she's as bad as the others and that husband of hers is nothin' less than evil.”

Spike let those comments pass. “Do you think you can manage talking to me for a few minutes? We can always do this at the station if you'd feel better there. Neutral ground can be helpful.”

Kate flashed her palms. “The idea. The
police station?
I will not go there, not under any circumstances. I can just hear the tongues waggin' over that. Only it's not goin' to happen, Sheriff.”

Spike propped one booted foot on the opposite knee and put his hat on top. He settled back, deliberately making himself comfortable. “I don't blame you. I just wanted to make the offer. I came on my own, because I thought we could have a friendly little chat. Nothin' too official.”

She opened a pink lace fan and fluttered it rapidly before her face. “Thank you. You're very kind.”

“Would it be all right if I took a few notes?” Spike asked, trying not to tense visibly.

“I suppose so. If you want to.”

He slipped his book from a breast pocket and slid out a pen. “Now. Jim was home for a bit yesterday, because you wanted him to check mold on one of your trees.”

“He surely was. Just as well. George was goin' to spray the wrong stuff.”

“Then, Jim left and you went about your business. Did you go out in the afternoon, Kate?”

“I never go out when it's so hot.”

“So you were here all afternoon?”

“That's what I said. And all evenin', although there will be those who are disappointed by that.”

He gave her a questioning stare. “Disappointed?”

“Don't ask me how they think I would do such a horrible thing, but—” she let out a shuddering sigh “—but you know it's been said I wanted Jim to die. Can you imagine that?” Her voice climbed the scale and shook. She cried without attempting to hide the tears.

Spike looked around for tissues, but Kate produced a white handkerchief with lace edging and dabbed her eyes.

“Why would anyone say such a thing?” he said.

“Because Jim insisted on leaving everything he had to me. I told him I didn't want that, but he wouldn't hear of anythin' else. He said that with him bein' so much older, he'd rest better when his time came if he could be sure I was taken care of.”

“I see.” What, Spike wondered, would a man see in a vapid, selfish woman like Kate Harper. “So you're going to inherit Jim's estate.”

He thought her eyes hardened just a little. “Yes. Everything. And that Ozaire Dupre, nasty, avaricious man that he is, can't stand it. He spends his life lookin' for schemes to make money, and I just stay quiet and unassumin' and money comes to me. He's jealous, so he's suggestin' these vile things.”

Spike looked at the top of his hat. He needed a new one but the old one was worn-in now. Kate couldn't have sent a knife through Zachary's neck. No way. But if he wanted to get cold about it, she did have a motive, the only logical motive he'd come up with so far.

“Well,” he said. “We'll keep on doin' our job. We'll get the killer. Of course, if he doesn't kill again it'll make the case easier in a way, won't it?”

She pinched her lips together and narrowed her eyes. “How would that be, Sheriff?”

“We'll know this was all about getting rid of Jim, and we won't be lookin' for a serial killer. That'll narrow things down.” He deliberately let his gaze slide away from hers.

“If that isn't the way things always go in this world,” Kate said. She jumped up and stood with her hands on her hips. “It's a man's world, right, Sheriff? If you can make it look like I killed him for his money, you will. Anythin' rather than go after one of the
boys
you hang out with in town. Men stick together. Well, there isn't enough money in this world to make me want to be without my Jim. You just remember that.”

Spike also stood and went closer. “It's not that way at all, Kate.” He started to put a hand on her shoulder, but she turned away.

“You're missin' things right under your nose,” she said, swaying, swinging her skirts back and forth. “I'm not
goin' to be like some people, but I can tell you I'm not the one you should be lookin' at. Someone else in this town's got plenty of reason to make sure no one looks too close, but you haven't even thought about him.”

Spike took a breath through his nose. “Who would that be?”

“That would be purely conjecture on my part, and I won't be party to spreading gossip. But you better think about why Jim died—and it wasn't because I wanted his money.” She spat the last words out.

“It looks as if it's got something to do with the new school.”

“There isn't a new school,” she snapped back.

“The one they intend to built at St. Cecil's.”

She didn't answer at once.

“I know what I'm pretty sure of,” Kate said after a pause. “Someone's got a reason to want that school stopped, and it's nothin' to do with money. Think about that. Why wouldn't they want that school, hmm? Then think back to anythin' else unusual that's happened. Somethin' you never figured out, maybe.”

“If you know something, it's your duty—”

“It's my duty not to say anythin' unless I'm sure. I'm not, but it makes sense. You go back over situations you never got to the bottom of, Sheriff. Could be you need to do some serious diggin'.”