Grace Interrupted (29 page)

“Do you realize what you’re suggesting?” Tank’s expression was grim. “You’re talking about premeditated murder.”

“I know,” I said. “I think Gordon got the idea to kill Lyle after the altercation in Lyle’s home. They left the guy with a broken knee. He wouldn’t have been able to put up much of a fight. It was now or never, in Gordon’s mind. So he came up with the back injury idea, acted the part for the doctor’s benefit, and came home to recuperate with a hefty supply of meds that served as his alibi.”

She tapped the report. “Gordon’s wife didn’t work. She was home all day.”

I pointed farther down. “Except not the day of the murder. Here, look.”

Tank read what I’d been skimming—Eileen Embers’s statement. When she finished, she said, “Okay, so the wife went out with her friends for the whole day.”

“Right. Because, in her words, Gordon insisted that she get a day off from ‘hovering over him.’ ”

“I see where you’re going, but you forgot one important detail.”

I hadn’t but I let her talk.

“The son Davey was still in high school. An emergency at the school sent all the kids home early that day. Gordon couldn’t have anticipated that. Davey says his dad was home when he got there, and that he never left. In fact, he said his dad never even got up off the couch the whole day.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?” Tank asked. “You doubt the kid?”

“What if,” I said, “Davey Embers came home from school and his father
wasn’t
there? His father who was supposed to remain immobile? What if Gordon returned with no explanation, but when the cops came to interview the family he pressed Davey into swearing he’d been there the whole time?”

Tank sat silent for a moment. “The kid was about fourteen at the time?”

I nodded.

“Something like that would screw up a kid but good.” She pursed her lips and stared away. “If you’re right, and that’s a big ‘if,’ there’s no way to prove it. The kid would have been carrying the secret for half his life. He’s not going to turn Dad in now.”

“I know.”

Tank didn’t look at me as she continued to sort through the file. “Gordon Embers retired immediately after his medical leave was over.”

“Is that significant?”

She met my gaze. “I’ve only met Gordon a couple of times but he strikes me as a man with strong convictions. And from what I understand around here, he was highly respected. He epitomized what police officers should be.” She chewed her bottom lip. “How can a man who upheld the law for so many years ever reconcile himself with taking another human life? If you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—he murdered Lyle in cold blood.”

“To protect his family.”

“To protect his family,” she admitted. “He probably saw giving up police work as the price he had to pay for his deed.” Tank scratched her forehead, then continued, “If Gordon Embers really did kill Lyle thirteen years ago, that throws a new light on Zachary’s murder.”

“How so?”

She waved a hand. “I’m not suggesting Gordon killed Zachary, but what I told you about it getting easier the second time, is true. With the entire PD convinced Jack was guilty of Lyle’s murder . . .”

“Jack became the target of your suspicions,” I finished. “I get it.” My mind raced. Should I share any of this with Jack? Telling him I suspected his father of murder would surely put an end to our burgeoning relationship. But how could I
not
tell him?

Tank read my thoughts. “Do not say a word to anyone.”

I started to open my mouth.

“Not a word, do you understand?” She brought her face closer and kept her voice low. “All you’ll do is open a can of worms that you can’t handle. If you’re right, Gordon Embers killed once to protect his family. Do not put a target on your back by threatening him.”

“But what if it is true? Doesn’t Davey deserve a chance at a better life? Wouldn’t bringing the truth out into the open help him face reality? Maybe give him the opportunity to grow up?”

Tank held up a finger. “Not your concern. Not now. Give me a couple days to sort this out. Let me make some discreet inquiries, okay? That’s the key here—discretion. If I start asking questions about this old case, no one will think twice. Heck, I’ve been doing that already. But if you start poking around . . .” She let the thought hang. “Don’t.”

I gave a huff of frustration. I wanted to do something.

“Give me your word,” she said.

I stared up at the older woman. For the first time, I noticed that her eyes were a pale gray rimmed in dark blue. Piercing, and more than a little unsettling. I didn’t give my word lightly and I wasn’t ready to do so now.

“Grace,” she said, startling me with her force.

I knew I wasn’t getting out of this room without agreeing to keep quiet. “Okay.”

“Say it.”

“I won’t share my suspicions about Gordon Embers with anyone.” After a pause, I added, “I give my word.”

She nodded acknowledgment. “And I give my word I’ll keep you posted on developments.”

I called Jack on my way home just to let him know I was there for him. Got his voicemail again. “Jack,” I said, “talk to me. You can’t crawl into a hole like this. If you and I are ever going to have a relationship, we have to learn to work together. Give me a try. If we make it through this . . .”

I wanted to say that we’d make it through anything, but that was cliché and melodramatic. Instead I simply said, “Trust me, okay?”

When I got in I saw a blinking light on my answering machine. Jack had left me a voicemail on the house phone. “I got your messages,” he said haltingly, “and even though I know you’re right I just can’t talk right now. I can’t see anyone. It’s all happening again and this time I don’t think . . .” There was a pause. “Just give me time, Grace. Please. I promise that when I’m ready I’ll get in touch.” He made a sound like he wanted to say more, but hung up instead.

I stared at the phone for a long time.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON, I MET FRANCES AT the office. “Sorry to infringe on your weekend,” I said, “but I appreciate you helping me out.”

“I should take this next week off just to make up for all my playacting,” she said with a frown, “but I know I’m going to have piles of work waiting for me.” Heaving a deep sigh, she added, “I expect you’re keeping track of the time off I’m owed.”

“Of course.”

“Good. So am I.”

Of that I had no doubt.

Today’s visit to the Civil War camp was of utmost importance to me. Not only would the camp be open to the public for most of the afternoon as drills and battles were reenacted, but tonight was the celebratory ball signaling the official end of the event. Although I had a passing interest in seeing some of these things, what I wanted most of all was to talk with Davey again. I had a feeling that he would open up to me if I could get him alone again for just a little while.

Clearing Jack of the first murder wouldn’t automatically clear him of the second, but it would be a good start. I wanted Frances along today because I was convinced that one of Zachary’s Civil War colleagues did him in, most likely Jim Florian. If we were to learn anything of importance about Zachary’s murder from these people, it would have to be today or not at all.

Frances, clad in her 1860s-era working shift with her ball gown draped over one arm, took a final look at her watch before removing it from her wrist. Giving me a pointed stare she wiggled a finger at my blue jeans and tank top. “You better get changed. We should get down there ASAP.”

I planned to slather on sunscreen after I donned my Civil War getup, but as I dug through my bag, I couldn’t seem to find it.

“Can’t you move a little faster?” she asked. “You’re not even changed yet.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

“No reason,” she said stiffly. Then added, “It’s just that I told someone I’d meet them down there before it opened to the public.”

I looked up. “Who?”

“Hennessey.”

My eyebrows arched.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, missy. The only thing I want from him is information. Last time we talked, he seemed a lot more tuned in than I’d given him credit for. We have about a half hour before I told him I’d be there.”

“So he’s more of a kindred spirit than you originally thought.”

She made a noise of disdain. “Do you want to help figure out who killed that Zachary fellow or not?”

I grabbed my day outfit and started for the nearest washroom on this floor. “I’ll be right back,” I said.

Although the facilities in this part of the mansion had been upgraded when converted into an administrative wing, the last time this section had seen any renovation had been in the early 1960s. Pink tile floors and walls, high ceilings, and black-seated toilets between pink stalls kept the room bright, though severely dated. With everyone in this area off for the day except me and Frances, I opted to avoid a cramped stall, and instead started changing clothes in the middle of the room.

I’d just pulled the dress over my head when I heard the bathroom door open. “Eep!” I screamed, scrambling to pull the fabric down past my face, to see who had come in.

Frances held my cell phone out to me. “Sorry,” she said, “it’s for you. I thought it might be important.” She gave me a funny look. “Your dress is on backward.”

I hated that she was right and that I looked stupid. Forgoing the bodice, I jerked the garment down to my waist, and stood there in my contemporary cami with a poofy blue skirt cocked unevenly at my hips. “Thank you,” I said, reaching for the phone. “Hello?” I said into the little receiver.

“Grace?”

“Tooney?” I said, recognizing his voice. “What did you find out?”

“I need more information first,” he said. “Couple of dead ends so far. This guy you want me to investigate, where’s he from?”

For a half-second I couldn’t come up with it, then remembered what Frances had told me about Florian being a big shot at NASA. “He lives in Florida,” I said.

“Great. I’ll be in touch.”

When he hung up, Frances asked, “What did he want?”

“Just wanted to know where Florian lived. That must be a more popular name than I expected.”

 

 

WHEN WE ARRIVED, MOST OF THE REENACTORS were gone. An elderly woman was seated outside her tent under an improvised awning. Perched on a small stool, she shucked corn on top of a wooden box that had been turned on its side and wobbled on the uneven ground. Her skirt was pulled up, exposing bony knees she kept spread wide around her makeshift table. “Where is everyone?” Frances asked her.

“Hot one today, isn’t it?” the woman asked with a toothy smile.

“Very hot,” Frances agreed, fanning herself.

They weren’t kidding. Although it was still only mid-morning, the sun beating down on us was making me doubly glad I’d eventually found my sunscreen. Perspiration gathered at my hairline and I felt bright beads hover before tracing their hot path down my back. The tight bodice wasn’t helping matters. I glanced down and noticed a small damp patch of sweat forming just below my neckline.

“Gonna get hotter before it gets cooler,” the woman added.

I’d been busy looking around. “Over there. Way down past the last Confederate tents,” I said. “Looks like that’s where everyone is gathered.”

“Sure enough,” the woman said, tossing the cleaned ear of corn into the pot next to her and grabbing a fresh one to shuck. “That there is the practice for this afternoon’s battle. Gotta get it all right, you know. Don’t want the wrong side to win this time.” She chuckled at her own joke.

“Thank you,” I said as Frances and I set off.

“You’d be smart to stay up here, where it’s nice and cool,” the woman said. She winked at me and beckoned me to come closer.

Frances gave me the eagle eye as I obliged the old lady.

“Lookie what I got,” she said triumphantly, leaning back so I could peer into the upturned wooden box. An electric fan, its cord covered by debris to keep it hidden, whirred quietly inside. “They ain’t getting me to come down to that sweltering meadow. No way.”

I grinned at her. “I don’t blame you a bit.”

We started off again and she raised a hand to wave good-bye. “Hope you find what you all are looking for.”

I waved back. “Me, too.”

“Are you like that with everyone?” Frances asked.

“Like what?”

“So . . . insufferably cheerful.”

I turned to catch a look at her face, to see if she might be kidding. She wasn’t. I shrugged.
Not with you
, I thought.

 

 

BY THE TIME WE MADE IT TO THE BATTLE-GROUND, the final scripted attack was under way. “We missed him,” Frances said, clearly miffed. “He wanted to meet me before the last battle began.”

“I’m sorry, Frances.”

She waved off my apology. “It is what it is,” she said. “Let’s go watch.”