Death in Reel Time (21 page)

I swore.

C
ARRYING A SECRET CAN WEIGH
you down. Plus it creates a gap between those who know and those who don't. I could already feel the effects as I drove home.

Beth had asked me to stay with her while she told her mother and Daniel, and it was an emotion-wrought hour. As frequently happens, I held two opinions at once: that both Daniel and Olivia had absolutely no inkling and were completely in shock
and
that they had suspected all along. Olivia took the news with physical pain, holding her middle and rocking back and forth. Daniel's anger had smoldered like the embers in the fire pit. I'd had the thought—inappropriate and ghoulish—that it was a good thing Blaine was already dead or else Daniel might have killed him.

I stayed long enough for the shock to wear off, then left them to their family time.

When I got home I recounted everything to Esme and she took it with her usual rant to mask the pain of it.

“I knew I didn't like that guy,” she said. “He was too slick by half and he wouldn't ever look you in the eye. Shame! That's what that was all about: He was ashamed and he had plenty to be ashamed about. We find out now after he's dead and gone and can't be held accountable. I know it's wrong to speak ill of the dead and no matter what the man did he didn't deserve to have someone take his life, but I've got to say, the more I find out about him the less regret I feel about him being gone from this earth. And all those people at his funeral, talking about him like he was a saint? Well, that surely won't stand once this comes out.”

“It can't come out,” I said firmly. “We're not to tell anyone, not even the club. Beth doesn't want any hint to reach Blaine's parents and sully their memories of him.”

Esme started to protest, then puckered her lips. “I understand,” she said, resigned. “I don't like it, but I understand.”

After supper I called Jack and asked if we could go for a walk on the lakefront and was gratified by his eager yes. I dug my heavy coat out of the back of the closet and rummaged on the shelf for a scarf and gloves.

After five minutes of walking the gloves were in my pocket and my coat was unzipped. There was a nip in the air, but not enough to warrant my togs, especially at the pace Jack was setting. He was in an ebullient mood.

“Does it make me a jerk to be happy Blaine wasn't killed at my place?” he asked. “I mean the poor guy's just as dead no matter where he was killed.”

I thought of what Esme had said about her waning regrets about Blaine's demise. I knew she didn't mean it. Esme's go-to reaction to tragedy or injustice is to find someone
to blame and let all the negative energy flow. When she's purged she comes back to her old, compassionate self.

“You're not a jerk,” I said, wishing I could tell him I'd been right about Beth and Blaine's troubled marriage. Wishing I could learn more about his sister's experience and maybe understand it better. But I couldn't and I wondered if he felt the distance that created between us. I thought of Marydale and Winston and how weird they were acting. I wondered if they knew, or at least suspected, about Beth's marriage, or maybe something even worse. Had Beth remembered something about that day? Something she'd told them when she'd gone to Marydale's house so undone this morning?

“Still a big question, though,” Jack said, snapping me back to the moment. “How'd that tarp get there? It had to be somebody familiar with the place, how we fold our tarps, where we store them. Denny and his cops have questioned all my employees and they're all in the clear. But it still puts a taint on the place.”

“It'll be okay,” I said. “The police are piecing things together. Sooner or later a loose thread will appear and someone will pull it and the whole thing will start to unravel and reveal what the killer worked to conceal.”

“I know you believe that,” Jack said, “but this isn't a genealogy search. There's somebody out there with a vested interest in keeping things tied up tight.”

I gazed up, admiring the scattering of stars across the velvet sky. “Yes, but if you're patient, and you keep trying to understand how one thing relates to another, sooner or later you get a picture, though it's not always a pretty one.” I told
him about what we'd discovered about how Olivia's father had died.

“So that's why you were at Olivia's,” he said. “I thought maybe it had something to do with your suspicions about what was going on with Beth and Blaine.”

I cringed. I didn't want a lie between us, but I couldn't betray Beth's confidence, either, so I sidestepped.

“Olivia was very upset when we told her,” I said.

“Can't blame her there,” Jack said. “That's almost biblical—brother against brother. Speaking of which, I saw Peyton this afternoon and he looks like crap. I think he's taking this harder than anyone thought at first. The guy looked like he hadn't slept in days—or showered, either.”

Jack frowned, his attention caught by something ahead, and I squinted to see what it was. “Is that Olivia?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “What is she doing down at the water? Didn't she learn her lesson last week? She exhausted herself getting down to the lake and back.”

“She looks like she's moving pretty good now,” Jack said.

We quickened our pace but were still too far away to call out to Olivia. She went out onto her pier, where our sight line was blocked by an overhanging limb. When she came back into view she was carrying something long and straight cradled in her arms. She headed back up the series of concrete steps to her backyard. She was moving slowly, but without hesitation.

We walked on and when we came even with Olivia's house I saw that the lights were on in her garage studio and there was smoke coming from the stack of the woodstove.

“Surely she can't be welding,” I said. “Let's go up and make sure she's okay.”

We climbed the steps and as we came to the door I called out so we wouldn't startle her. Once inside I saw she was carrying several short lengths of board from the chop saw to the woodstove.

“Olivia, what in the world are you doing out here at this time of night?” I asked.

“I can't rest, Sophreena,” Olivia said. “I am so sick and tired of resting. And when I put my head on the pillow every rotten thing I've learned in the last twenty-four hours starts looping in my brain.” She gave a sidelong glance toward Jack as she tossed the planks of wood into the stove.

“I know finding out about your father was a shock,” I said deliberately, letting her know I'd kept Beth's confidence. “But it was a long time ago.”

“I know,” Olivia said, pulling off a glove to push a fuzz of hair back up under her bandanna. “But it was upsetting just the same and I needed something that brings me comfort, and for better or worse this is it.” She made a sweeping motion, taking in the piles of scrap metal.

“Were those boat paddles you just put into the stove?” I asked, noticing the shape of one of the pieces still left by the saw.

“Yes, I had to get new ones. Those were so old they were starting to splinter. And I didn't have any firewood; that's one of those tasks that got overlooked while I wasn't well. So I figured burning the old paddles would warm things up enough for me to stay out here a while tonight.”

“You aren't planning to start welding, are you?” Jack asked, then tried to soften his tone. “I mean, are you sure you're ready for that?”

“Don't worry, you two,” Olivia said. “I know my limitations.
I'm going to work at my drafting table for a little while, that's all.” She pointed to the corner where a large sheet of paper showed scribbles of angles and shapes that formed a structure that would have vexed Rube Goldberg. “I have in mind a piece I want to make when I
am
able. Sort of a celebration of new life thing.”

“Sounds cool. I can't wait to see what you come up with,” I said, meaning every word. “Now, does Beth know you're out here?”

“Yes,” Olivia said slowly, glancing at the stove, where the paddle pieces were now fully aflame. “She and Daniel are having some brother-sister time,” she said, giving me a meaningful look. “They know I'm out here. But do they know I walked down to the lake? No, they don't, and I hope you two won't tattle on me. The other day it was warm out and I just got overheated. I thought maybe I could do better on a cool evening. I made it fine and I'm really proud of myself, so don't ruin it for me.”

“Your secret's safe with me,” I said.

“I know it is, Sophreena,” she said, reaching over to pat me on the cheek.

*  *  *

When I got home Esme was doing dishes—loudly. This was a clue. Whenever Esme is being hectored by a spirit or nettled by a message she can't understand, she cooks or she cleans, both with a lot of clanging around and fussing.

“What now?” I asked.

“Celestine. Still,” Esme said. “You cannot talk sense to the woman. She keeps on at me, it's
not right, not right
. I've tried every which way I know to placate her, but it's not
working. I've told her everybody understands how it all came about and nobody blames her or Riley. That Olivia is sad, but not mad. I've even tried to let her know about Beth's situation to give her extra assurance that Olivia understands, but it's no good. She won't let it go.”

I picked up a dish towel and started to dry and put away dishes. “Maybe she means something else entirely. Maybe she's trying to say that keeping it a
secret
wasn't right.”

Esme considered, then shook her head emphatically. “No, that's not it.”

“Well, maybe not for her,” I said, “but I don't enjoy having to keep Beth's secret. I felt guilty when I was with Jack.”

“Yeah, well there's plenty of things you're keeping from Jack,” Esme said, pursing her lips. “But I know what you're saying. Same with Denny. And what if the abuse did have something to do with Blaine's murder? It's a motive, a strong motive, and Denny ought to know.”

“I agree,” I said. “But we can't break a confidence.”

“No, we can't,” Esme said. “But just between us, let's explore this. Who could have known Beth was being abused and been willing to go vigilante to stop it?”

I leaned against the counter, making circles around a large serving platter with the cloth. “Well, there's Daniel. He's very protective of Beth and it was clear he didn't have much use for Blaine. He seemed shocked when Beth told him this afternoon, but maybe he's a good actor. He'd be a good candidate except we know he was at the farm all that afternoon.”

“We know he
says
he was at the farm all afternoon,” Esme corrected. “Then there's Tony. He didn't even try to hide his hostility toward Blaine.”

“But he was out filming and has time-stamped footage to vouch for his whereabouts most of that afternoon.”

“
Most
of the afternoon? And can't those things be monkeyed with?” Esme asked. “Anyway, you're forgetting he went over to Beth and Blaine's that night to check on Beth.”

“I'm not forgetting, but Blaine was probably already dead by then.”

“They don't know when he died. There's a big window. And you remember when Tony came back he was favoring his arm, like he'd been in a scuffle or something.”

“Daniel had an injury, too,” I said. “He had that long scratch. Olivia asked him about it and he said he got it on a gate at the farm.”

Esme pointed to the platter. “You're gonna rub a hole through that, you keep on,” she said.

I put the platter into the cupboard, my mind still winnowing through suspects. “Okay, there's Peyton. According to Beth, he's the only one who knew the actual extent of the troubles. But from what I can gather he was trying to protect Blaine's reputation, not Beth. I always thought Peyton was a good guy, but it seems he's on the wrong side of this one. Family loyalty's one thing, but talk about blame the victim. And Beth says Alan Corrigan and Bonnie Foster both probably suspected, though she doesn't think either of them knew how bad it really was. They were friends of Blaine, too, so who knows what they were thinking.”

“If they had a brain in their heads their first concern should have been Beth's safety. But you never know about people. Seems strange that Alan fella didn't tell Denny right off he was still in Morningside that day. And there was that
little set-to he got into with Peyton at the coffee shop. What do you suppose that was about? And Bonnie? Does she stand to get the store now?”

“I don't know,” I said. “That's a whole other angle, isn't it?”

“Yep, yet we can't discuss any of this with Denny without breaking our word. I wish we could talk it over with the club at least. I don't like keeping things from them.”

“Me, either,” I said. “I've already felt like Marydale and Winston were acting peculiar.”

“You know, now that you mention it, Winston hasn't brought us bread or anything in quite a while. What's up with that?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. But I think they may know something they aren't telling.”

“Yeah, and so do we,” Esme said. “In the words of my dear departed friend, Celestine, it's
not right
.”

M
ONDAY MORNING DAWNED SUNNY AND
bright, with the promise of Indian summer temps. Esme had gotten up at early-thirty and was on her way to Olivia's. They'd be working on the scrapbooks, but Olivia would also want to talk about the situation with Beth and she seemed more comfortable talking with Esme alone.

I had so many questions roiling in my mind, I couldn't concentrate. I pulled on sweatpants, layered a fleece jacket over a T-shirt, and headed out for a morning walk. Without Esme along I got to set my own pace instead of having to double-time it to keep up with her long-legged strides. I settled into a lazy stroll and by the time I got to the coffee shop I hadn't even broken a sweat. And my psyche was no more settled.