Died in the Wool (24 page)

I was silent.

“Are you there?”

“Yeah,” I said. The poor girl had been murdered. In her own house. By some despicable person who used her quilting—the one thing she loved—against her. I had expected this. Hell, I was the one who thought from the get-go she had been murdered. Even so, hearing Mort tell me I was right was a little weird—as if at the last minute I was hoping I had been wrong. “That's really crappy.”

“I thought so, too. How's it going there?” he asked.

“Oh, we just got started.”

“I'll let you know if I hear anything else.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I hung up the phone and wondered about Glory Anne Kendall. Who would have wanted to kill her? Her father was crazy about her. He went to all the trouble to get special dispensation to have her buried next to him and his wife. I was right on that. He knew she hadn't committed suicide, so I would bet money that he confessed this knowledge, and the priest allowed her to be buried in the Catholic cemetery.

Was Whalen capable of murdering his sister? He was obviously a controlling individual, but did that mean he could have killed her? And not just killed her in a rage, but meticulously planned her murder ahead of time? Why would he have done such a thing? Had Glory decided to marry Anthony Tarullo anyway, and that news sent Whalen off the deep end? Even then, what sort of brother kills his sister over a bad love match? Wouldn't he have taken his anger out on Tarullo instead? Or even killed Tarullo? Who did that leave? Anthony Tarullo?

If it was Anthony Tarullo, why would Sandy and Whalen go to all the trouble of covering his back? Why not say Glory was murdered, have an investigation opened, and get the news out to the public? I would want my sister's or daughter's murderer brought to justice. Why cover it up for him? The very act of making the murder look like a suicide suggested guilt on the parts of both the brother and the father.

My cell phone rang again and I jumped. I didn't recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Torie O'Shea?” a female voice asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Hi, it's Judy Pipkin,” she said.

“Oh, hi,” I said.

“Marty said you might want to speak to me.”

“Marty … Tarullo? Why would he tell you that?” Although it was true, I still wanted to know why Mr. Tarullo would think to share this with Judy Pipkin. As far as I could remember, I never mentioned her name to him when I spoke to him about Glory.

“Because I'm Doris Jenkins's granddaughter,” she said. “My mother was ten years old when Glory Kendall died. My mom's older sister, Tilda, married Marty. I think I might have some information for you.”

*   *   *

I've known Judy Pipkin my whole life. I went to high school with her youngest son, David. Judy is about sixty-eight and worked on the county cemetery project with me, as well as a few other projects involving the historical society. That's a great thing about the people of New Kassel. They may not hold an office or even belong to the historical society, but from time to time they will jump in and help on a project, either because that particular project is near and dear to them for whatever reason, or because they just have the spare time and decide to help out. At any rate, Judy Pipkin really enjoyed historical work, though not the touristy stuff so much. She lives in the house right next to the Murdoch Inn. Sandwiched in between the Murdoch and the Old Mill Stream restaurant, right where the road bends, it's a beautiful Colonial home that was built in the forties.

I knocked on her door a half-hour later, and she answered right away. “Hi, Judy,” I said.

“Torie, come in,” she said, waving me indoors. “How's your mother?”

“Oh, she's doing great. She's got her hands full with Colin right now,” I said.

“I've heard that he's going stir-crazy,” she said. “One rumor even said that he was thinking about resigning as mayor and going back to being sheriff.”

“He can't do that,” I said. “Mort is in office.” I said that more for my comfort than to quell any rumors she may have been spreading. Judy is a thin and wiry woman, with lots of dark hair for her age. I know she doesn't color it, because she has plenty of gray around the temples. That's where the gray stops, though. It doesn't spread around her head like mine. Now that I thought about it, I realized she had less gray than I did, and I'm almost thirty years her junior. I couldn't help but wonder why Mother Nature was so inconsistent.

“Listen,” she said, “I heard you were looking into the Kendall suicides.”

“Yes,” I said. “I bought the Kendall house.”

“Oh, that's great,” she said. “I'm so glad somebody is looking into this. Somebody who can tell the story right.”

“Well, I don't know if I can do that or not, but I'll try.”

“My mother always told me that she thought the girl, Glory, had been murdered.”

“Based on the whole laudanum thing?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Did she have any ideas as to suspects?” I asked.

“Mom said that Glory was one of those girls who just got too much attention.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her brother-in-law didn't just love Glory, he worshipped her. According to my mom, he would have killed for Glory,” she said.

“Your mom would have been pretty young at the time. Are you sure about this?”

“I'm only telling you what she told me her whole life. Whether or not she witnessed this stuff, or if maybe her mother told her, I don't know, but my mother was adamant. Anthony would have done anything for Glory Kendall.”

“People throw phrases like that around pretty loosely. Sitting at the drive-up window at the bank the other day I was saying how I was going to kill the teller if she didn't hurry up. Are you sure she meant it literally?”

Judy shrugged. “Of course, I can't know for sure, but I think she was serious. Anyway, she said that everybody felt very strongly about Glory. You couldn't just like her or tolerate her, you adored her or worshipped her. Everybody felt that way about her, and I mean everybody.” She narrowed her eyes and cut them around her living room.

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying her brothers were no different than anybody else.”

It was really quiet in her living room.

“Are you saying that … her brothers …
loved
her? Were
in love
with her? Like in the biblical sense?” I asked, hysteria rising in my voice. It couldn't be true. It made sense, it would make everything make sense, but it just couldn't be true.

“I'm saying that my mother said that her brothers—I can't remember their names—fought for her attention. The older one couldn't stand it that the younger one got the attention because he had been to war, so he'd try to get his sister's attention in other ways.”

Hazel left Whalen right after Sophie was born. Was that why? Because she sensed or maybe even discovered that Whalen was in love with his sister? It would sure as hell be enough reason for me to leave, if I'd been in her shoes, and like her, I would have taken my daughter and most likely would have tried to keep her from him. They didn't have “joint custody” back then. If Whalen had wanted Sophie, he would have gotten her. How horrible to find out your husband was in love with another woman, especially when the other woman was his sister!

Could this be the Big Thing? The big secret that all of this was wrapped up in?

It hadn't even occurred to me—most likely because, at the core of it all, I still expect the best from people, not the worst. I'm not sure if that makes me pathetically naive or the last of a dying breed. Maybe both.

“Listen, Judy, do you remember ever hearing anything about Whalen's wife? Whalen was the older brother. His wife, Hazel, left him. Does any of this ring a bell with you?”

“You know, I don't remember names,” she said, and it's all pretty vague. I just remember the things my mother was the most adamant about. I do recall her mentioning that one of the boys had a wife and that she'd disappeared. That's all I remember about it, though. Marty would be the one you should ask.”

Of course! When I talked to Marty, I'd been so wrapped up in the Glory/Anthony love story that I'd completely forgotten to mention Hazel. I guess at the time I hadn't seen how that would actually have affected Glory. If what Judy said was right, it could shed some light on why Hazel had left. Of course, like so much family history, this was just one woman's secondhand knowledge.

Judy's phone rang then. She went into the kitchen to answer it, was gone a few moments, and then came back into the living room. “It's Marty Tarullo's daughter,” she said. “He's had a stroke. He's asking to speak to you.”

“To me?” I asked, shocked.

“He's at Wisteria General,” she said. “I'll drive you.”

Twenty

Marty Tarullo had slipped in and out of conciousness for the five hours that I was at Wisteria General. I made a phone call to Professor Whitaker, and he said that the team would be back the next day, too. Emilia was hard at work on restoring the original drawing of the monster character in the mural. How she was doing this I didn't know, and I didn't care. I just wanted to see what was beneath the current drawing. Finally, I'd had Rudy come pick me up and take me to my car at Judy's house. I'd asked the hospital to call me when Marty came to. I had no idea what he wanted to tell me, but in case it was something that could blow this whole Kendall family mystery wide open, I sure as heck wasn't going to sit on my hands. If he wanted to talk to me, by golly, I'd be there. I followed Rudy home with my mind feeling like it was expanding, pushing out of my ears and eye sockets until I thought my head would explode. I know that expanding your mind is supposed to be a good thing, but I would have argued that point right then.

When I got home, I made a list of things to do to prepare for the Strawberry Festival coming up in June. Then I vacuumed all the floors. I vacuumed the living room floor three times. Not because it needed it, but just because I forgot that I'd already done it and did it again. Finally, when I was about ready to start the vacuum for the fourth time, Rudy threatened to make me go live in the stables. That would have been bad, so I put away the vacuum.

I decided to walk out to the stables and see the horses that Rudy had threatened me with. I hadn't given them very much attention since this whole Kendall thing had started. I wanted to spend an evening just doing nothing and not thinking about the Kendalls. It was scary how I could immerse myself in somebody else's family so completely that I started to feel betrayed when they didn't behave like I thought they should, hurt when tragedy ultimately struck, and stumped when I didn't understand their motivation.

I love to hear horses breathe. That may sound strange, but nobody ever said that I was normal. In fact, my own mother has never said it, and my daughters routinely call me “weird” or “unusual.” I walked through the stable, listening to the horses breathe and the crickets rub their legs together and the owl in the distance ask, “Who?”

When the temperature felt as though it had dropped below sixty, I headed back into the house. I took a book off the shelf in the living room and started to read. I fell asleep there and was awakened by Rudy kissing my forehead the next morning.

Wow, horses must be magic. I slept really soundly and had not thought of the Kendalls at all. Not until this very moment when I woke up. I'm pretty predictable, huh?

Rudy took Matthew to my mother's, and I saw to it that Mary didn't go to school with black lipstick on. Then I headed up to my bathroom. Just as I stepped out of the shower, my phone rang.

It was Judy Pipkin. “Torie, he's awake. If you want to see him, you should probably get here fast. I can't say how long he's going to be lucid, and I don't think he'll last through the day.”

“I'll be right there,” I said.

*   *   *

I hate visiting the terminally ill, and without a miracle, Marty Tarullo was not long for this world. I want people to be either alive or dead. That whole hanging on in a world that no longer has a place for you … it's just horrible. I suppose one good thing could come of it, if you're inclined to take advantage of it. It could give you a chance to say things to the people you need to say things to, before diving off into the wild blue yonder.

Marty Tarullo was doing just that. Not only had he requested to speak to me, but he was surrounded by his family. He'd been saying the things he needed to say. I have respect for that. His family will cherish his last words in the years to come. His hospital room was not cheery in the least. Nobody'd had the chance to bring in colorful balloons with cutesy sayings on them or vases full of fragrant flowers. But his family was here, and that was the most important thing.

When I walked in, I felt like I was interrupting. Well, I was. These were his last moments with his family, yet he'd chosen to give a few of these moments to me. His family had to give up precious time that they would never get back to allow him to talk to a relative stranger. Connie recognized me when I entered the room. She smiled and said to her father, “Dad, Torie O'Shea is here.”

His eyes wandered around a bit until his gaze landed firmly on me. I gave a slight wave and walked over to his bedside. There must have been seven or eight people in the room. They all smiled at me and nodded.

The milky white lights did nothing to make Marty look any less close to death than he was. In fact, they made him look as though he'd already passed on. If it had been my father lying there, I'd have opened the window. My father loves the sun on his face and the smell of the outdoors, and I couldn't take him looking like this. Maybe it had been too distracting for Marty.

“Hi, Mr. Tarullo,” I said in a quiet voice. It still sounded loud.