Pies and Prejudice (14 page)

A sandy-haired man in his late thirties rose when Loralyn reached the front of the sanctuary and gave the pinched-faced strawberry blonde seated next to him a nudge, forcing her to make room for Bradford’s fiancée. Ella Mae assumed from the pair’s drawn features that she was looking at Chandler and Ashleigh Knox. Chandler gave Loralyn a polite nod but Ashleigh refused to even look at her.

The minister took his place in the pulpit as the last strains of the hymn rose lugubriously from the organ pipes toward the belfry. Ella Mae listened to the Scripture reading and
the opening lines of the minister’s message, but after a while, she began to shift restlessly in her seat, pivoting this way and that to take in every face in the chapel.

Was one of the mourners casting his or her eyes down out of piety or out of guilt? Had one of them worn sunglasses to obscure a gaze that was opaque with shame? Would the killer remain silent throughout the service out of respect or because he or she dared not speak, dared not risk words flowing forth lest their dark secret be released into the air. Was the murderer even present?

Ella Mae continued to study the occupants of the family pew. Chandler Knox, who was seated between Loralyn and Ashleigh, was boyishly handsome. When an elderly aunt took the pulpit to regale the mourners with anecdotes from Bradford’s childhood, Chandler’s cheeks softened into dimples and he smiled. Yet his body was stiff. He sat as erect as a soldier, as though he didn’t dare relax control, and he grasped his Bible so tightly that the barn red cover buckled under his fingers. Ashleigh, whose face showed no traces of her father’s affability or easy humor, glared at the aunt. She then craned her neck and turned her cold, angry gaze on anyone who dared to meet her eyes.

Toward the end of the service, Loralyn finally cast off her posture of remorse and sat back against the pew, opening her chest and breathing deeply. She stared unseeing at the ivy and daisy funeral wreaths and the copious arrangements of white daylilies, and Ella Mae wondered what was running through her mind. As the aunt descended from the lectern, Loralyn covertly looked over her shoulder, the handkerchief pressed delicately against her lips. She scanned the crowd, obviously seeking someone out.

As Ella Mae watched, the corner of Loralyn’s mouth moved. It was a twitch, really, and lasted only a fraction of a second, but it registered pleasure. Leaning forward, Ella Mae tried to discern who’d elicited a crack in Loralyn’s grief-stricken façade, but a woman in a hat decorated with
a spray of black feathers blocked her view. At that moment, she bent down to retrieve an item from the floor and Ella Mae could see who had coaxed that spark of light in Loralyn’s eyes. She was appalled to recognize the chiseled jaw line and wavy hair belonging to Hugh Dylan.

“What is he doing here?” Ella Mae murmured while everyone else recited a prayer aloud. “And why did Loralyn look at him like that?”

Suddenly, time rushed backward. The years peeled away like old paint to reveal a moment from Ella Mae’s adolescence.

It was the first school dance of the season at Margaret Mitchell Junior High and the gym had been transformed from a cavern smelling of sweaty socks and mildew to an enchanted winter wonderland. Glittering paper snowflakes dangled on satin ribbon from the rafters. They concealed the basketball hoops and the championship pennants in a swirl of silver and white. The floor was covered in scraps of white confetti and the table linens were a dull silver. Even the windows had been frosted with washable paint.

Ella Mae walked beneath an arch of white and silver balloons, fearing the gaze of her classmates and yet longing for it as well. She was small-chested and bony, her scapulae protruding under the skin of her back, her childlike wrist barely able to support the weight of the corsage Reba had bought for her. And though she could not control her lack of curves, Ella Mae felt a touch of vanity over her hair. Normally a bramble of whiskey-colored curls, her mane had been straightened into a sleek French twist by a talented beautician who’d driven in from Atlanta at Ella Mae’s request. She’d saved for months to pay for both her twilight blue dress and her hair sculpting, and for an instant, a breath in time, she felt like a princess.

There, beneath the arch of shimmering balloons, she could pause and drink in this moment of possibility. She
looked the part. But would Hugh Dylan notice her? She had made this transformation for him. To finally make him really see her.

Hugh had been standing with a cluster of other boys on the far side of the gym when Ella Mae entered. He glanced her way and she could tell that he didn’t recognize her at first, the slim girl with the straight hair and iridescent blue dress. She felt a rush of hope, of triumph. Surely, he’d ask her to dance, and once she was in his arms, they’d finally have a chance to talk. She’d be funny and smart and coy and graceful and he’d fall in love with her then and there. Surely, this was to be the night of her dreams.

But Ella Mae was wrong.

Seeing a potential rival, Loralyn had instantly detached herself from a cluster of giggling girls and walked, with the slow confidence of the queen of the popular crowd, to within inches of where Hugh stood. It was impossible not to follow her every movement. Against the backdrop of winter white and the lusterless pastels of the other girls’ dresses, Loralyn drew every eye in her strapless black gown. Her long hair had been coaxed into soft waves, which fell down her tanned skin like a blond waterfall. Beyond her beauty, she possessed an air of sophistication that no other girl in the room possessed. Unlike Ella Mae, Loralyn was the kind of girl who made her own dreams come true.

Posing like a French model, she cast a coquettish look at her friends, opened a sequined Chanel clutch, and dropped its contents—a lipstick, bubble gum, a silver pen, and some money—onto the floor.

Hugh, the best-looking and most charismatic boy in school, darted forward to collect Loralyn’s treasures. From then on, the two were inseparable. They’d dated all through junior high and high school. Loralyn constantly broke up with him and he repeatedly forgave her and took her back. It was as if she’d cast a spell over him that night in the gym.

Does she still have that kind of hold over him? Is there still something between them?
Ella Mae wondered in dismay.

The rest of the service seemed interminable. Several people came forward to speak about Knox, but with the exception of the elderly aunt, all the stories were horse related and seemed to serve as excuses for a host of owners to brag about their latest victories at the track or the distinguished bloodlines of one of their studs. The only highlight occurred toward the end when Peggy, Bradford’s devoted office manager, stood nervously before the crowd and began to sing “Ava Maria.”

The notes, laden with Peggy’s affection for her employer, caused a genuine sense of loss to settle onto everyone’s shoulders like a heavy shawl. The poignant melody allowed blocked tears to flow, and by the time Peggy was done, a dozen people were blowing their noses and dabbing at moist cheeks. Ella Mae watched Peggy return somberly to her pew, where a man immediately put a comforting arm around her and whispered into her ear.

Other couples reached for one another, and Ella Mae felt a keen sense of loneliness at the sight. She could remember reaching for Sloan’s hand at the last wedding ceremony they’d attended. When the groom kissed the bride, Ella Mae had clapped in shared joy, glowing with the knowledge her marriage was as strong as the day she’d added the name Kitteridge to her own.

“Stop it,” she chided herself. Closing her eyes, she silently appealed to her Maker to heal her injured heart. When she opened them again, she felt calm and still. A few minutes shy of eleven o’clock, the service came to an end and the congregants filed out of the church to the accompaniment of yet another mournful hymn.

Ella Mae did not rise to follow. Instead, she studied every person who passed by her pew. Most of the faces were unfamiliar, but she quickly turned away when the people she
recognized—Peggy, Hugh, Loralyn—headed for the exit. She continued to linger after the sanctuary had emptied, mulling over the fact that she’d learned nothing helpful beyond the assumption that Ashleigh disliked Loralyn. Hardly a motive for murdering her own father. If she were to commit a violent act against anyone, Loralyn would have been the more obvious victim.

As she reflected on Chandler’s tense posture and the angry grip he’d had on his Bible, raised voices permeated the quiet.

“You idiot!” a woman shouted from the direction of the foyer. “I told you to rent a limo! I am
not
riding in the back of that ridiculous horse-drawn carriage. I’m in a black dress and it’s June! That Amish-looking contraption might be fine for you and Daddy’s white-trash fiancée, but
I
will not be seen in that thing.”

“White trash?” Ella Mae heard Loralyn say. Her voice was dangerously calm. “You come from a line of farmers and schoolteachers.
My
family carries the pedigree around here. The Gaynors are one of the first families of Georgia. Your people probably came through Ellis Island carrying their belongings in a cloth bundle infested with lice.”

Loralyn delivered the insult with the icy haughtiness of the Snow Queen, and even from where she remained seated in her pew, Ella Mae could hear Ashleigh spluttering with indignation. “I know your type. Tarts likes you are a dime a dozen in Atlanta. You were only using Daddy. You didn’t love him and he didn’t love you! He still kept Mama’s picture in his wallet and he would kiss it when he thought no one was looking. What
was
between you? What kind of deal did you two have?” A pregnant pause. “Did you know about Daddy’s scheme, Chandler? Are you in on it too?”

Laughing derisively, Loralyn said, “Chandler wouldn’t understand what your daddy and I had planned any better than you would.”

“Well, whatever you dragged him into got him killed!
I hope you’re happy.” The last word bubbled out as a sob. “No, I take that back. I hope you’re absolutely miserable for the rest of your life.
You
did this. Because of
you
, the most generous man in the world died alone—tied up like some torture victim in a nail salon. A nail salon of all places!” Ashleigh began to cry louder, as if the feminine setting of her father’s murder was too much for her to take.

Chandler cleared his throat. “That’s enough. Show some respect,” he commanded and Ella Mae was impressed by his composure. “Ashleigh, you will ride in the carriage as our father wished. ‘Daddy’ has written you enough checks over the years to have earned this one request.” He hesitated. “As for you, Ms. Gaynor. We will get through this day by being courteous to one another. That is how we’ll honor my father’s memory, not by bickering inside a church. If there’s any business you’d care to discuss tomorrow, you know where to find me. I’ll be running the equine center from now on.”

The two women had stayed quiet during Chandler’s monologue, but now Loralyn uttered a light laugh. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of one another after today, Chandler. You see, your father and I had an understanding. A private one. It involved the racing circuit and certain investments and things I don’t plan on divulging to you.” Ella Mae heard Ashleigh begin to speak, but Loralyn wasn’t finished. “As far as your daddy being the sweetest, most generous man in the world—think again, princess. Everyone’s got something to hide and he was no exception. If he wasn’t playing a dangerous game, then we wouldn’t be wearing black today.”

“It sounds like you might know who killed him. Do you?” Chandler asked and Ella Mae heard the anguish and desperation in his voice. Every cell in her body was on alert, her senses sharpened as she waited for Loralyn to answer.

“No,” was all she said. “I told the police everything I could about your father and
my
fiancé. It’s up to them to solve his murder.”

Ashleigh made an unattractive snorting noise. She
undoubtedly thought Loralyn was lying. Ella Mae certainly thought so. “Why should you care? Now that Daddy’s dead, you won’t reap any benefits. You’ll just walk away and look for your next husband, right?” Ashleigh’s words were meant to sting, but they were unable to inflict an injury to Loralyn.

“You’ve pretty much summed it up,” she replied callously. The sound of her heels clicking on the flagstones punctuated her cruel remark.

“I’d like to kill that bitch,” Ashleigh hissed before Ella Mae heard Chandler shoo his sister outside.

After waiting a few minutes Ella Mae pushed open one of the heavy wooden doors and was surprised to find Hugh Dylan positioned on the other side. She stammered out a hello, but was immediately distracted by the sight of Officer Hardy leaning against a parked police car. Seeing Ella Mae, he jerked upright and began walking in her direction, his steely eyes fixed on her face.

“Ella Mae, what are you doing here?” Hugh spoke her name as though it were made of spun sugar. In his black suit, with his dark hair combed into neat waves, he looked just like a contemporary version of Mr. Darcy.

“Um, I just wanted to pay my respects. Like I told you the other day, I didn’t know Mr. Knox, but I saw him the once and, well, he smiled at me like we were already friends.” Hardy’s rapid advance made her speak quickly, her words tumbling over each other. “And I wanted to show people that I’m innocent, that I’m sorry this horrible thing happened to Mr. Knox and to his family.”

Hugh reached out to touch her on the elbow. “We can talk about that this afternoon. Are you still coming by?”

Ella Mae opened her mouth to speak, her body moving toward his hand, which had yet to make contact with her arm, but Hardy inserted himself in the narrow space between them. Hugh was forced to step backward and Ella Mae lost the comfort of his blue gaze.

“I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere, Ms. LeFaye. Your prints matched those found on the murder weapon. I’m bringing you in.”

Stunned, Ella Mae said nothing, allowing Hardy to take a firm hold of the arm Hugh had been reaching for seconds earlier.

Hugh called her name, but Ella Mae was too humiliated to answer or to even turn her head. At least the funeral entourage had cleared the parking lot so no one else could witness her disgrace.