The Grave Soul (12 page)

The old man searched Jane's face. Reaching some sort of decision, he closed his mouth, then his eyes.

Jane felt terrible for him, for the questions, which must have hit him like blows. She hated herself for needing to inflict this kind of pain. “You, Henry Adler's best friend, and Brian Carmody, Evangeline Adler's brother, and others in the Adler family colluded to cover up a murder.”

When he spoke again, his voice came out deeper, stronger, steadier. At the same time, he'd begun to tremble. “I want you to leave.”

“Why did you do it? Lying like that. All these years.”

“I'm an old man. Let me die in peace.”

“Did Kevin do it? His brother, Doug? Or was it someone else in the family?”

Mustering what defiance he could, he said, “If you don't leave right now, I'll call a nurse and have you thrown out.”

It appeared Walt Olsen would take the truth of the matter to his grave. He hadn't given an inch. Even so, Jane felt she'd found part of the answer she'd come looking for. Words could lie. Body language rarely did.

Gazing down at him with an overwhelming sense of sadness, seeing clearly what his actions had cost him, she said simply, “I'm sorry. Thanks for your time.”

*   *   *

“Why was your mother so upset with your sister?” asked Laurie, staring out the passenger's window of her husband's LeSabre as they sped along the snowy highway late Sunday afternoon, on their return trip to New Dresden.

“Because she didn't come to the family retreat,” said Doug.

“But … I mean, she's had conflicts before. We all have.”

“This time it was really important for all of us be there.”

“Because of Kira,” said Laurie. “I get it.”

“Hannah's never played by the rules. Besides, I would imagine our usual cottage rental on Beaver Lake isn't exactly a draw anymore. The good doctor is way out of our tax bracket.” Turning the radio down, he added, “What you probably don't know is that Hannah's been pushing Mom and Kevin to make some changes.”

“At the farmhouse?”

“She won't get anywhere with her ideas.”

“What does she want to change?”

“Doesn't matter. Mom's thinking on the matter is set in concrete.”

“We all did make a commitment.”

“Yeah, right. You're the poster child for that.”

Every conversation these days eventually devolved into the same thing. Laurie didn't love him enough. She never had. “What do you want from me?”

“If I have to explain, what's the point?” He didn't say anything for almost a minute, then, “Are you cheating on me?”

“My God. Who on earth would I be cheating
with
? And where would I find the time?”

He grunted. “You sure did stay late at Kevin's bar when you were working there. Way later than you needed to.”

His constant whining about her late hours was one of the reasons she'd quit. “I'm not cheating on you with your brother.”

“Right.”

“You actually believe I'd do that?”

“What if I said yes?”

“How do I know you're not cheating on me?”

“Maybe I am. If I was, it would serve you right.”

Doug had put on so much weight in the last couple of years, probably because of his drinking, that she doubted he'd be willing to risk the humiliation of getting naked with a woman who might find him physically wanting. Still, there had been a time, back in the early nineties, when she'd been fairly certain he'd been cheating on her with none other than Delia. It was before his dad died, before he'd inherited the paper. Two or three nights a week he would work late into the evenings. He covered by saying he needed to take the initiative—learn everything he could about the business, impress his dad with his dedication. He'd stumble into the house in the wee hours of the morning, weave noisily into the bedroom, strip, and climb into bed, snoring almost before his head hit the pillow. Since she was teaching at the middle school back then and had morning classes, she usually turned in around eleven. Doug undoubtedly figured she was asleep, though how she was supposed to sleep through the racket he made was beyond her.

Unwrapping a candy cane, Doug stuck the straight end in his mouth and sucked on it. “Tell me again why you decided to stop bartending at Kevin's tavern?”

“Are we going to argue all the way home?”

“Nothing new in that.”

She removed her gloves. “The only reason you care is because I can't sneak free bottles of booze to you anymore.”

The muscles along his jawline tightened.

She should never have responded with the truth. He'd been building all morning—that's how she thought of it. A building up. Twisting everything people said, using words to feed some unquenchable internal fire. At times like this, she couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the eager, ambitious young man she'd married. The answer was, of course, obvious: When his lifelong dream of running the
New Dresden Herald
had died, the best part of him had died right along with it.

“If you don't tell me,” said Doug, “I'll pry it out of Kevin, one way or another.”

She felt a wave of heat roll up her neck. “He thought I pocketed some money. The till was short forty dollars the other night and he blamed me.”

Turning to look at her, he laughed. “You know, even after all these years, you still have the capacity to surprise me.”

“I didn't do it.”

“Is that right. Then where did the money go?”

“How should I know?”

“You saying Kevin made it up? He used it as an excuse to fire you?”

“He didn't fire me. I quit.”

His amusement at her apparent disgrace suggested he'd chew on that one for a while. Her perceived pain would, in a weird way, assuage his.

“So that's why you were so cold to Kevin all weekend,” said Doug.

“I wasn't cold.”

“I believe I saw icicles dangling from your ears.”

“Funny.”

“I'm a stitch.”

Especially when he'd been drinking. She'd caught him downing half a bottle of wine right after breakfast. She knew she should be worried about him, should urge him to talk to someone about it, but the truth was, she didn't want to fight with him. She had something else in mind. “I assume we're still planning to stay at your mom's house for Christmas Eve.” All she wanted was to go back home and stop thinking—and talking—for a few days.

“If you don't want to come, don't,” said Doug.

“You don't want me there?”

“Jesus, woman. You're the one who's bitching. Do what you like. You do anyway, no matter what I want.”

She let a few silent minutes go by. Finally, she said, “You know how much I love Kira. She's like my own child.”

“Oh, fabulous. Dumb me, right? I thought we'd put ‘poor childless Laurie' to bed years ago. So we weren't able to have kids. Nothing we can do to change it. If you still blame me—”

“
Please
, Doug. All I meant was that I feel sorry for her.”

He gripped the wheel and stared straight ahead.

“Don't you? She didn't know a thing about any of this until a few days ago. There were times, in the last two days, when I felt like she was being brainwashed. Like we're a cult and we were trying to draw her in, indoctrinate her. You could see it in her eyes. She's overwhelmed.”

“We all felt like that in the beginning. If she can just help my mom through the chemo, then she can go back to Minneapolis.”

Laurie didn't believe him. A necessary decision, one that had once seemed so right, so utterly essential, had grown to dominate their lives in ways that none of them could have foreseen.

Kira would never leave New Dresden. And everyone in the family—except Kira—knew it.

 

18

“I can't thank you enough for everything you did,” said Guthrie, walking Jane and Cordelia to the door of his apartment. They'd stopped at his place on their way home to fill him in on what they'd learned in New Dresden. Guthrie could now approach Kira with much more than a few photos of unknown provenance and an unsigned note.

“I wish we could've figured out who actually murdered Delia,” said Jane.

It didn't matter. He could have hugged and kissed both of them. Kira would be home tomorrow night. He had the ring and the champagne, the strawberries, the whipped cream and the chocolate. Lots of chocolate. The conversation about her family would come later. He didn't want anything to spoil this one special evening.

“Before you go, we should probably talk about what I owe you,” said Guthrie, his hand jingling change in his pocket.

“You can't afford us,” said Cordelia, her gaze traveling to the framed drawings that covered a good section of one of the living room walls. “I love all the artwork. They look like something a child would do. Either that or a brilliant modern master.”

He laughed. “Actually, they were all done by Kira's sister—when she was a child. Kira loves them. They've kind of grown on me.” He scratched the back of his neck, watching Jane walk over to look at one more closely. “So, after I get your bill, will I be in hock for the rest of my natural life?”

“You don't owe us anything,” said Jane. “We were glad to help.”

“Let us know how it goes with Kira,” said Cordelia, sympathetically chucking him on the shoulder.

“Thanks. I will.”

“I assume we'll be invited to the wedding,” she added.

“Absolutely.” He knew his grin was ridiculously wide and he didn't care. “You two have a great Christmas.”

After they'd gone, Guthrie switched on the Christmas tree lights and sat down to enjoy his handiwork. He hadn't been sitting for more than a few minutes when his cell phone rang. Checking the caller ID he saw that it was Kira.

“Hey, sweetheart, I'm so glad you called. What time will you be back tomorrow?”

“I've missed you so much.”

“No more than I've missed you. So when should I expect you?”

“Guthrie?”

The way she said his name pulled him up short. “What?”

“I'm not coming home. Not quite yet.”

“
What
? Why?”

“I've decided to spend Christmas in New Dresden with my family.”

“I'm your family.”

“Of course you are, baby. I didn't mean—”

“Kira, you promised.”

“I know, but something's come up.”

“It's not safe for you there.”

“Safe? What?”

“I have so much to tell you, but I can't do it over the phone. It's important, Kira. Things you need to hear.”

“About what?”

“Just come home, okay? Christmas Eve was supposed to be our time.”

“I know, sweetheart. And I'm really sorry. Please don't make this harder than it already is.”

“If it's so hard, I don't understand why you're staying. Something's wrong, Kira. I know it is. I can feel it. I'm back here, all alone, and I'm worried. I mean, what if you never come back to me?”

“Oh, Guthrie. Don't be ridiculous. That's never going to happen. Listen, I better—”

“No,” he all but yelled. “Don't hang up. Just a few more minutes.”

“I'm so sorry, honey. I love you.”

“Call me later.”

“I'll try.”

“Don't just try, do it.”

“Bye, sweetheart. Have a wonderful Christmas. I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

Before he could say that was impossible, she'd hung up.

*   *   *

By six the following night, Christmas Eve, Guthrie alternated between bouts of fury at Kira and her family and a relentless anxiety that twisted his stomach and made him feel like the ground he was walking on was about to dissolve. His brother, on hearing that Kira wouldn't be back, had invited Guthrie to spend Christmas Eve with him and his wife and little boy. Guthrie knew he wouldn't be good company, so he thanked him, but declined the offer.

As he made himself a cheese sandwich in the kitchen, an idea occurred to him. He might be the only one who could save Kira from the clutches of her family. He normally didn't think in such melodramatic terms, and yet, in this situation, he felt it was justified. Stewing about it a few more minutes, he finally made a decision. And then, as he had just a few days before, he grabbed his coat, hopped in his car, and headed for the freeway: Next stop, New Dresden.

*   *   *

Evangeline's house, decked in Christmas lights, glowed warm and inviting in the winter dark. As Guthrie sat in the drive, going over his game plan—he'd formed several different approaches, depending on who answered the door—he worked hard to force his anger away, replacing it with a more calculated calm. He wouldn't get anywhere if he started a fight, though that's exactly what he felt like doing. He wanted to stomp into the living room and let it rip, tell those people that he knew one of them was a murderer and the rest were the murderer's accomplices. And then Kira would fall into his arms and he'd whisk her away from this wretched place forever.

Yeah. Right. And the earth was flat.

Stepping up on the porch, Guthrie rang the bell. He could hear the muted sound of a piano playing Christmas carols, singing, laughter. He imagined the dining room table loaded with food. Ham. Roasted turkey. More homemade pies. He hated himself, but he longed to be part of it. The door finally opened, though not by a family member, but an unfamiliar man wearing a black shirt and white clerical collar.

“Can I help you?” asked the stranger, peering over his reading glasses.

The man reminded Guthrie of the aging Dustin Hoffman—thin-lipped, perpetually amused expression, the kind of guy who smiled without ever showing his teeth.

“Oh my goodness, you're Guthrie,” said the priest. “Kira showed me pictures of you on her smartphone.” He pushed through the screen, then reached back and closed the heavy front door behind him. “I'm Michael Franchetti. Most people call me Father Mike.”