Murder Carries a Torch (8 page)

Sister eyed the food that was left in front of Virgil Stuckey.

“That looks good.”

Virgil nodded. “Is.”

“Patricia Anne, maybe we ought to order something. We need to keep our strength up.”

It was close to an hour before we got back to the hospital. Telling Virgil goodbye took quite a while. He promised to call if there was any news of Virginia. In fact, he would just call anyway. And chances were he’d be back the next day. The sheriff was a smitten man.

“He’s too young for you,” I said to Sister who was doing a little skipping step down the sidewalk. “He’s not twenty-eight years older.”

“I know. Isn’t it wonderful? I might not have to bury this one.”

“How many plots do you have left at Elmwood?”

“Just two. And one of those is for me. He might want to be buried with his first wife anyway. Though I doubt it.”

Amazing. There was Sheriff Virgil Stuckey driving up the road to Pulaski, Tennessee, with no idea in the world that my sister already had him hog-tied for eternity. A man she had met just the day before.

“Aren’t you still engaged to Cedric?” I asked.

“Who?”

“The Englishman.”

“I don’t think so.”

Luke was spooning tapioca pudding from a plastic cup when we got back.

“They’re not going to let me leave,” he said mournfully.

“Oh, Luke, I’m so sorry.” Mary Alice actually patted his foot which was sticking out from under the sheet. The woman has no conscience. “What did they say?”

“Maybe tomorrow.” He blinked back tears. “And I’m so worried about Virginia. I know she’s up there at that church, not knowing I’m hurt.”

“She’s fine, Luke,” I said. “She’s going to show up soon.”

“Of course she is,” Sister agreed. “And we’ll come back to get you tomorrow. Okay?”

“In the Jaguar?”

“Absolutely.”

The poor fellow smiled. I could have kicked Sister in the butt, especially when we were walking down the hall and she said, “Did you see Luke’s toenails? Longer than Howard Hughes’s. If he cut them he’d wear a size smaller shoe, I swear.”

It was my idea to go back over Chandler Mountain and go home the way we had come the day before. I knew we weren’t going to find Virginia at the church, and that I, for one, wouldn’t set foot in that church with that box at the front even if the police didn’t have it cordoned off, which they probably did. But I wanted to see it, knowing what I did know about all that had happened there.

So we wound up the steep curves that I had traveled down in the ambulance the day before. The view over the edge made me appreciate again how carefully the ambu
lance driver had taken the curves. One mistake and we’d have been in the next county or in the heavenly choir.

The weather had done a complete turnaround in twenty-four hours. It was in the midfifties with bright sun striping the road through bare branches of trees, trees that clung to the rocky bank over the road and threatened to crash down at any minute. We didn’t meet another car all the way up the mountain.

The Jesus Is Our Life and Heaven Hereafter church was built on the bluff side and was, since the road ran so close to the bluff, the first building on that side of the road. I hadn’t realized the day before that the back of the church would have been jutting over a deep ravine if it weren’t for a large rock formation.

There was no crime tape across the front of the church, and the only vehicle in sight was Holden Crawford’s paint van.

Mary Alice pulled into the driveway between the house and church and stopped.

“They don’t have much parking space here, do they?”

“No. Looks like they park in front of the house. The yard’s all rutted.”

Then she voiced what I was thinking. “I wonder what Virginia thought when she first saw this place.”

“That she was in over her head, I imagine, especially when she found out what was going on over at the church.”

“But she didn’t leave.”

“Maybe she couldn’t.”

Mary Alice tapped her nails against the steering wheel. “I wonder if the police checked the back of the van.”

“I’m sure they did. Virginia’s missing and her car is
found in Tennessee with Monk Crawford’s body in it. They checked all right.” I looked toward the church. “But, you know, a person could fall off one of those rocks and never be found unless they happened to get caught in a tree.”

“You’re thinking Monk Crawford killed her and went to Tennessee in her car?”

“Well, I don’t know,” I admitted. “He wouldn’t have brought her up here just for her car.”

“And she was nobody’s Pamela Anderson.”

“Who?”

“
Baywatch
. Boobs.”

“No. She was a sixty-something-year-old woman. Doesn’t make sense.”

“Money?”

“You think she had any?”

“Probably some.”

“Well, that should be fairly easy to check out.”

The sound of wheels on gravel made us turn around. A red pickup truck had pulled into the driveway behind us. I was relieved to see a nice-looking young couple in their late twenties get out. The woman, I realized instantly, had to be Susan Crawford’s sister. The same red hair fell almost to her waist; she was carrying a pot of pink hydrangeas wrapped in pink foil. They walked up to my side of the car, and I let the window down.

“Afternoon,” the girl said. “I’m Betsy Mahall and this is my husband, Terry. Can we help you with something?”

“We just stopped for a minute,” I explained, introducing Mary Alice and myself. “We were here yesterday.”

“The ladies who found Susan?” Terry Mahall was very tall and thin, at least a foot taller than his wife. He
put his arm protectively around her shoulders. “She was Betsy’s sister.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Betsy Mahall nodded. “I brought these flowers to put in the church.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I guess it doesn’t matter, but I wanted to.”

“Of course it matters, honey,” Terry Mahall said. “Here, let me hold those for you.”

Betsy surrendered the hydrangeas and fished in her jacket pocket for a Kleenex.

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding the Kleenex to her eyes. “I don’t guess I’ve stopped crying since I got the word yesterday. And then when we heard about Monk this morning—”

“Why don’t you sit in the car a minute?” Mary Alice offered.

“Why don’t you do that, honey? You’ve just about made yourself sick.” Terry Mahall opened the back door for his wife. “I’ll go put these in the church.”

Betsy hesitated. “Y’all sure you don’t need to leave?”

We assured her that we weren’t in a hurry.

“Thanks.” She climbed into the car and sank down on the seat with a sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my life.”

We watched Terry cross to the church.

Betsy shivered. “I hope the door’s not locked.”

“It wasn’t yesterday.” Sister turned and looked at the girl. “You want some aspirin? And I’ve got some coffee up here in a thermos.”

Betsy shook her head. “My ears are already ringing I’ve had so much aspirin. But I’d like for you to tell me about yesterday. About Susan.” She paused. “If you don’t mind.”

“You tell her,” Sister said.

Terry disappeared into the church with the hydrangeas. I wondered if he would put them on the box at the front. I assumed he knew what the box usually held.

“My cousin was looking for his wife,” I explained. “He went into the church and didn’t come back out, and we went in to see about him. He had fallen and was unconscious and Susan was lying on the front bench.” I decided not to add any details.

“Did she look peaceful?” Betsy asked.

“She looked dead.” Mary Alice realized how blunt this sounded and tried to soften it. “But neat in spite of her neck.”

“It was like someone had laid her out,” I explained, frowning at Sister.

Betsy sighed. “I always thought it would be the snakes that took her. I thought her husband Ethan’s dying from snakebite would put some sense in her, but it did just the opposite. She said she had to do his work, too.”

“You’re not a handler, then?”

“Lord, no. Susan took it up when she married Ethan. She even kept those things under her bed, but I wouldn’t let her come near my house with them. I’m scared to death of snakes.”

“You and me both,” Mary Alice agreed.

“What about her children?” I asked. “Weren’t they in danger?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. Susan and Ethan both adored those babies. They were careful.”

I wondered how careful you could be with poisonous snakes under your bed and toddlers roaming around.

“How old are the children?” I asked.

“Jamie’s four and Ethan Jr.’s two. Bless their hearts.”
Betsy wiped her eyes again. “I was keeping them while Susan was in Georgia. I didn’t even know she was back until the sheriff called. She wasn’t supposed to be back until today.” She paused. “And then he called again this morning about Monk. I swear, my head’s just spinning.”

Mary Alice held up the thermos. “Sure you don’t want some?”

“No, ma’am. But thanks. You know, I think I’ll go in the church and pray a little.” She opened the door and hesitated. “There’s not anything in there, is it?”

“In the church?” I asked. “You mean like snakes? I don’t think so.”

“Or blood?”

“If there is, it’s our cousin’s.”

“Oh, okay.”

Betsy started toward the church and then turned and came back to the car. I let the window down again.

“I wish you could have seen how beautiful Susan was,” she said.

“We did.”

She nodded, turned, and walked toward her husband who had come out of the church.

“That’s just downright pitiful,” Sister said. “That poor girl.”

I agreed.

“You still want to go look over the bluff and see if we see Virginia caught in a tree?”

I thought not.

DEBBIE
: We’re on our way to the hospital, Aunt Pat. Y’all come on down. Henry wants you to see him bring David Anthony out to weigh him and put his little cap and diaper on.

ME
: Wake up, Fred. Debbie and Henry are on their way to the hospital. We’ve got to go see David Anthony as soon as he’s born.

FRED
: What time is it?

ME
: Eight o’clock.

FRED
: At night?

Henry Lamont is one of the special people in my life. If I had had to bet on one of my students becoming a famous writer, it would have been Henry. He still may get around to it some day. Or maybe he won’t, which is fine. He’s a wonderful, creative chef, a job that he loves and that all of us enjoy. I couldn’t have been more pleased when he became part of our family.

Mrs. Lamont, we were informed when we got to the hospital, was in one of the birthing rooms on the fourth floor. Just inquire at the desk up there.

“Birthing room?” Fred asked as we got on the elevator. “Is that the same as a delivery room?”

“Not quite,” I explained. “It’s like a very nice bedroom and the whole family can stay in there with the mother while she’s in labor and while the baby’s being born.”

“What?” The elevator door closed, but Fred didn’t punch the button.

I reached over and hit four. “Sure. We’re the cheerleaders.” I waved an imaginary pompom. “Push, Debbie, push!”

“Not funny, Patricia Anne.”

“I know, sweetheart.” I put both arms around his waist. “But don’t you wish you could have been with me when our children were born? That you had been the one to hand them to me while they were still attached to the umbilical cord?”

“Lord, no. Will Henry have to do that?”

“Henry
wants
to do that. He wants to bond immediately with David Anthony.”

“Well, that’s fine, I guess. He’d still better send Debbie some flowers, though.”

The door opened and we stepped out.

“I sent you roses every time.”

“There’s one pressed in each of their baby books.” I took his hand. “You want to have another one?”

“I think I’ll pass.” He grinned. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Hey, Aunt Pat. Uncle Fred.” Henry was walking down the hall. He held up a Styrofoam cup. “I just came out to get some coffee. Y’all come on back. Debbie’s in birthing room two.”

“How’s she doing?” I asked.

“Great. The doctor says he doesn’t think it’ll be long. Mary Alice is already here.”

“Maybe I’d better wait out here.” Fred pointed to a room where several people sat watching a TV bolted high on a side wall. Below the TV was a large window with a closed Venetian blind.

“Well, come on speak to Debbie first.” Henry pointed to the waiting room. “I’ll bring David Anthony to the room next door as soon as Debbie’s held him and loved him some. They’ll open the blinds and you can see them weighing him and putting the drops in his eyes.”

I squeezed Fred’s hand. I had seen Haley bring the twins, Fay and May, out when they were born. But Fred had been out of town. He had no idea what a thrill he was in for.

Walking into the birthing room was like walking into a posh bed and breakfast run by Laura Ashley. Except for a few discreet monitors and beeping sounds and the fact that Debbie was squeezing on the neutercal and told Henry to go to hell, this could have been any romantic hideaway.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “Your Aunt Pat and Uncle Fred are here. You want some more ice?”

“No. Hey, y’all.”

I went over and kissed her; Fred waved from the doorway.

“Where’s your mama?” I asked.

“Out in the hall or somewhere talking to that Virgil guy. I’m on the verge of having this baby and Henry’s out getting snacks and Mama’s sweet-talking some man.”

“I’m here, honey.” Henry smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I won’t leave again.”

Tears oozed from the corners of Debbie’s eyes.

“I’m acting horrible, Aunt Pat. Did I act this bad when the girls were born?”

“Sure you did,” I assured her.

A woman dressed in a delicately flowered Laura Ashley granny dress brushed by Fred who was still standing by the door. She smiled at all of us, checked the monitors, said, “Doing fine. Love that stress ball,” and left.

Damn. A delivery theme park.

Debbie groaned and squeezed the neutercal.

“Honey,” Fred said, backing out of the room. “Your Aunt Pat and I are going to wait down the hall. Okay?”

“Okay. I’m really not hurting much, though. I just feel these urges.”

Urges? That was when Fred disappeared. I was about to follow him when Mary Alice walked in.

“Did you see those heavy Birkenstock sandals that nurse was wearing with that cute Laura Ashley dress? Ruined the whole effect. Hey, Mouse. I saw Fred skedadlling down the hall.”

“Hey. How’s Virgil?”

“Fine. He’s found out some stuff. I’ll tell you later.”

“Has he found Virginia?”

“Maybe.”

“I want some ice,” Debbie said.

In a few minutes I joined Fred in the waiting room where he was watching a basketball game on TV.

“Who’s playing?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. The ones in the blue are winning.”

I sat down beside him and took his hand.

One of the Laura nurses stuck her head in the doorway. “Caldwells? Your baby’s on her way.”

Four people jumped up and rushed to the window.
The venetian blind opened and they oohed and aahed, laughed and cried.

“Let’s look,” I told Fred.

We joined them at the window. Two nurses, dressed in green scrubs (reassuring) were ministering to a purplish-red baby who was not at all happy about what had just happened to her. So this was the world. Sheesh.

Her father, a bespectacled young man with thinning hair, also dressed in scrubs, kept pointing from the baby to himself as if the crew outside might not be sure this was his daughter. One nurse handed the new father a diaper. He put it on the baby like an expert, then looked through the window where we all applauded him. He grinned sheepishly. A little shirt, a blanket, knit cap, a tiny arm held up for a bye-bye, and the venetian blind closed.

Everyone in the room congratulated the family on their beautiful baby; everyone was sure that their baby would be more beautiful.

“That was really something,” Fred said. “I never got to see ours until they were in the nursery.”

“And I was asleep when they were born.”

“So was I, thank God.” Mary Alice had come up behind us. “This is like squatting in a Laura Ashley field, you ask me.”

“Debbie okay?”

“About there, I think. She and Henry don’t need me in there.”

A very sensitive thing to do, leave the parents alone to share the birth, and I told her so.

“Well, they came in and were cranking up the bed to this ungodly position and I said to myself, ‘Mary Alice, it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge.’”

“Good thinking,” Fred agreed. “Do you think I have time to go to the bathroom?”

“How long does it take you?”

Fred ignored Mary Alice and headed down the hall. She and I sat in two of the straight chairs that were lined up along the middle of the room. Obviously people weren’t supposed to stay here long enough to warrant being comfortable.

“Well, what did Virgil have to say?” I asked.

“Monk Crawford died of snakebites.”

“You mean it was an accident?”

“Far from it. One whole arm was full of bites. Virgil said he was tied up and it looked like his arm was put down in a basket of snakes. Then they left him to die in the car.” She paused. “The snakes were gone, though. Virgil was glad of that.”

“Oh, good Lord.” I closed my eyes for a moment fighting down nausea. The group that had just welcomed their new baby girl left, wishing us good luck.

“Thanks,” Sister said. “And congratulations.”

“What about Virginia?” I asked. “You said maybe they had found her.”

“They found a sales receipt for the car in the glove compartment. Virginia had sold the car to Holden Crawford.”

I thought about this a minute.

“That doesn’t mean anything. The Crawford guy could have forced Virginia to write a sales slip so if anyone questioned his having the car he could say he bought it.”

“That’s true,” Sister conceded. “But Virgil said it was a lead.”

“Sounds like a lead to another dead body if you ask me.”

“Well, I’m thinking maybe she sold the car and went to Disney World.”

“She what?” I stared at Sister.

“You know. Like those ‘I just won the Super Bowl and I’m going to Disney World’ folks. Virginia left Luke, she’s feeling good about it, and she’s gone to Disney World.”

I shook my head in amazement. Somehow my loony sister had segued from a dead snake handler to Mickey Mouse and had lost me in the transition.

“That doesn’t make a grain of sense,” I said.

“But it’s a nice thought. Nicer than the alternative.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“Have you heard from Richard?” I asked.

“Not yet.” She patted her purse. “Call forwarding.”

“Well, you be sure and tell him his mother’s at Disney World. I know he’ll be relieved.”

Fred came back in and Sister told him about Monk Crawford’s death. His reaction was the same as mine.

“Snakes? Good Lord! What kind of snakes?”

“Poisonous.”

I was glad I was sitting between them, and I was glad that was the moment when a granny-Laura came to the door and said, “Lamont family.”

The three of us jumped up and rushed to the window. The venetian blinds were opened just as a beaming Henry came in carrying David Anthony. He kissed him and handed him over to the nurse, who laid him on the table before us.

What can I say? He was quite simply the most beautiful baby I have ever seen in my life. He had a head full
of black hair and perfect little features not flattened out like most newborns. Unlike the baby girl who had been on that same table earlier, David Anthony looked around calmly.

We all waved at him.

“You precious.”

“You darling.”

Fred nudged me. “Look at that, Patricia Anne. He’s looking at us.” Then, “Hey, you sweet boy.”

Henry pointed to the baby and then to himself just like the other father had done earlier.

We nodded. Yes, David Anthony was obviously his. Yes, he was amazing. Yes, he, Henry, had pulled off a miracle.

The eyedrops, diaper, blanket, cap, wave bye-bye. And we were hugging each other and crying. All of the joy, all of the hope in the world was in that small room that January night.

Tears rolled down Sister’s cheeks. “He looks just like Will Alec. It’s amazing.”

It would have been amazing if it were true. Will Alec was husband number one. David Anthony’s grandfather was husband number two, Philip Nachman. Oh, well. They were both nice men.

On the way home, after we had spoken to Debbie and told her how wonderful the baby was, I tried to figure out what kin David Anthony would be to Haley’s and Philip’s baby when (cross your fingers) they had one. Debbie and Haley were first cousins on our side; Debbie and Philip were first cousins on their fathers’ side. Third cousins once removed? Double third cousins? Jet lag kicked in and I was sound asleep and drooling when Fred pulled into our driveway.

“Let’s call Haley,” he said as we walked into the house.