The Grave Soul (21 page)

“You're actually going to drink that?” asked Cordelia. “Jane Lawless? The original food snob?”

“I'm not a food snob. I merely believe in eating well. I didn't have much for dinner. Don't want to drink bourbon on an empty stomach.”

“Want a few Oreos to go with the milk?”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Too bad I left my bucket of kale at home. Kale and chocolate milk. Yummy.”

“Let's cut to the chase. Tell me what was going on at the farmhouse.”

“Nothing much. Just two things of note. I'll start with the last one first. As I was packing to leave, this man came out a door in the barn right near where I was hiding. He set off across the yard and headed toward town. Well, of course, me, being the awesome sleuth that I am, I scrambled after him. I wanted to get a look at his face because I knew you'd ask me who he was. He had a flashlight—one of those big lantern types.”

“That was dangerous, Cordelia. What if he'd caught you?”

“Actually, he did.”

Jane lowered the quart of milk from her lips. “What?”

“He must have heard me creeping along behind him. I mean, I thought I was being exceedingly stealthy.” She took a sip of the bourbon. “Close your mouth, Janey. I handled it.”

“How?”

“Well,” she said, shifting to her hip, “I could tell by what he said that he couldn't see me very well. It was so insanely dark out there. No moon. No starlight. I figured all he could see was a big dark mound. Me.”

“And?”

“An idea occurred: What other big dark mounds are out running around at that time of night?”

“Are you asking me a question?”

“A bear, Janey. So I raised my arms—you know, like a bear would do—” She gave a demonstration, clawing at the air with her fingers. “—and made this threatening low growl.”

Jane closed her eyes. “Oh God.”

“Yeah. Didn't work. Not many bears out in the wild wearing night-vision goggles. He called, ‘Hey, friend, didn't hear what you said.' I think he was a little scared. I dropped the bear act and moved a little closer. My face was so well covered that I figured he'd never recognize me again, so I felt free to improvise.”

Jane took several sustaining gulps of the milk.

“I told him I was in training. That I was planning to join a National Geographic expedition cruise to the antarctic. Wanted to get in a little practice in a similar habitat before I left. I explained that I was into polar surfboarding. Antarctic wines and cheeses. It's a perfectly plausible story, so wipe that look off your face.”

“Did he ask your name?”

“Called myself Stella Nelson.”

“And who was he?”

“Michael Franchetti. You know,
Father Mike
?” She bugged out her eyes. “The guy Guthrie told us about. The Catholic priest? I thought, hell, he asked me what I was doing out there in the middle of the night, so I asked him what he was doing.”

“And he said?”

“Visiting Evangeline Adler. I already assumed as much. He said his church wasn't far.”

“I wonder what he was doing in the barn,” said Jane.

“That's what I'd like to know. But since I couldn't figure a way to ask the question without giving away the fact that I'd been trespassing on the Adler's property, I told him I needed to get back to exploring.”

“So, what else did you learn?”

“Actually, there was a conversation I overheard between Doug and Kevin. Seems some old guy named Walt, a close friend of Evangeline's, had a stroke a few days ago. He's not doing too well.”

“Walt?” repeated Jane. “Walt Olsen?”

“Does he have a daughter named Katie Olsen?”

Jane moved to the edge of the bed. “He was the police chief in New Dresden when Delia died. You remember? I told you all about him.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. You went to interview him while I was back here trying to convince my new marketing director not to jump off the roof.”

“You say the stroke was recent?”

“That's what Doug said.”

Jane had gone to visit Walt Olsen last Sunday afternoon. It must have happened sometime after she left. Were the two events related? How could they not be? At the time, she remembered thinking that she'd been too aggressive. Too rough. “Unreal,” she said under her breath.

“Apparently Katie called the farmhouse tonight to tell them about her dad. The doctors thought he'd recover, but he's taken a turn for the worse.”

Rising from the bed, Jane walked straight to the table and grabbed the bottle of Maker's Mark. She didn't bother with a glass.

“Hey, girlfriend, slow down,” said Cordelia.

Jane began to pace. “I'm the one who caused his stroke.”

“And you think
I'm
the queen of melodrama?”

“It's the truth. Simple cause and effect. I was too hard on him. He was a sick old man and I came on way too strong.”

Cordelia sat up in bed. “If he lied about what he saw all those years ago, if it weighed on his conscience, that's not on you, it's on him.”

Jane shook her head. Taking another swallow from the bottle, she said, “No.”

“Yes.”

She kept shaking her head, trying to force the sense of guilt away. Walter Olsen had made a mistake. He'd put personal ties ahead of justice. Jane had done that herself. One time in particular stood out: Jane had protected her brother at the expense of her own sense of right and wrong. She'd lied, covered up what he'd done. She knew intimately what that sort of decision had cost her. What right did she have to sweep in like some avenging angel and demand that Walt Olsen atone for his sins by telling her the truth?

“I think you better sleep here tonight,” said Cordelia.

“Can't. You own all the pillows and blankets.” Dropping down on the bed, she fell onto her back. “What hospital is he at?”

“The one in Henderson. That's all I know.”

Jane had to go see him. First thing in the morning. She had to make amends. In fact, this whole business with the Adler family—it was beginning to feel wrong. Jane the Righteous, Jane the Good, was attempting to destroy Kevin and the rest of his nearest and dearest by linking them to a murder. As hard as she tried, she couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that some ambitious Wisconsin prosecutor would say that yes, prison was the price they all had to pay.

“It's nearly two in the morning,” said Cordelia. “I don't know about you, but a hard night of espionage has truly tired me out. I think we should turn in.”

Jane felt a pillow hit her stomach. A second later, a blanket descended. “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Turning on her side, Jane pulled her knees up to her chest. As she closed her eyes, she heard the TV snap off, then the lamp. She supposed she could lay there and be still. But good, deep, restful sleep, the kind that would allow her to feel refreshed come morning? That had been in short supply lately. She doubted tonight would be any different.

 

30

Sunday morning dawned gray and raw, with bitter, twenty-five-mile-an-hour wind gusts blowing in an unwelcome change in the weather. Shortly after eleven-thirty, with a sleepy Cordelia dragging her luggage behind her, Jane led the way out to the parking lot. She'd been up for hours, had made herself coffee in the room and watched CNN while she listened to Cordelia snore.

Before Cordelia set out on the road back to Minneapolis, she wanted a full breakfast with “all the trimmings,” as she put it, so they stopped at a cafe along the highway. As Jane picked at her omelet and Cordelia devoured her steak and eggs, they discussed the food for tomorrow night's New Year's Eve bash at the castle. Having slept only fitfully, Jane tuned in and out of the conversation, unable to fully concentrate. Thankfully, mercifully, Cordelia was so excited by the topic that she didn't seem to notice.

Returning to their cars, Cordelia gave Jane one of her bone-crushing hugs, meant to suggest affection, not the desire to send the recipient to the hospital. “Promise me again that you'll make it home in time for the party tomorrow night.”

“Scout's honor,” said Jane, raising a hand. “You drive safely.”

“Always, dearheart. I'll crank up the tunes and boogie.”

As soon as Cordelia had driven off, Jane jumped into her Honda and headed for the hospital in Henderson. She felt wired because of way too much caffeine, but also, strangely, like she was running on a weird sort of autopilot. After parking in a lot next to the hospital's main entrance, she stopped by the reception desk, where a woman was gazing with unblinking, zombielike eyes at a computer screen. The autopilot thing seemed to going around.

“Could you tell me what room Walt Olsen is in?” Jane asked.

“Are you a family member?” the woman replied without looking up.

“Yes.”

She checked a clipboard. “He's in ICU. Room 211.”

“How's he doing?”

“I don't have that information. You'll need to speak with his doctor. Also, talk to the charge nurse before you go in. He may not be allowed visitors.” She explained where to find the ICU and the ICU waiting room, then offered a practiced spiel about the location of the cafeteria and the gift shop.

Jane took the elevator up to the second floor. Halfway down the hall, she came to closed double doors. The rooms beyond were glass fronted, dimly lit, and much larger. Finding the nurses station empty, she continued on, noting the room numbers.

Just before she reached 211, a thought struck her and stopped her cold. Why hadn't this occurred to her before? Would appearing at Walt Olsen's bedside, out of the blue, just as she had at the nursing home, have a negative impact on the old man's health? Hurting him was the last thing she wanted. Maybe, she thought, silently castigating herself for such a serious lapse in judgement, she ought to spend a moment examining her motives.

As Jane stood there, hands sunk in the pockets of her jacket, she was appalled at what she'd been about to do. This was all about her guilt, not Walt Olsen's welfare. Moving a little closer to the room, she saw that Kevin and a priest were inside. Kevin was holding Walt's hand, bending over the bed and talking to him. Jane watched for a few seconds, then turned and headed back the way she'd come.

Before she reached the nursing station, the ICU doors opened and Evangeline Adler and her son, Doug, came through. Jane quickly ducked into an empty room and crouched low. She held her breath and prayed they hadn't seen her. As they passed by, Doug had his arm around his mother's shoulders. Evangeline was crying, dabbing a tissue to her eyes. Once they were out of sight, Jane waited a full minute and then straightened up and peeked into the hall to make sure they'd entered Walt's room. Walking as fast as she dared toward the doors, she raced down the hallway outside the ICU to the elevators. The last thing she wanted was to run into someone who might recognize her.

When the elevator doors opened on the first floor, she came face to face with Todd Carmody, the brother of Steven Carmody, the funeral director she and Cordelia had talked with last weekend about Delia's cremation. Steven would surely have recognized her, but because she'd only met Todd briefly, she hoped that the baseball cap and glasses she'd been wearing at the time had disguised her appearance well enough that her face wouldn't ring any bells for him now. Still, when he looked at her just a moment too long, Jane ducked her head and threaded her way through a group waiting by the reception desk.

Damn, she thought, bursting out the front door. She rushed out to her car and climbed in, slamming her fist against the steering wheel. This decision to visit Walt Olsen's bedside had been wrongheaded for so many reasons. Sitting in the bitter cold with her breath swirling around her, Jane wondered if there wasn't some way she could salvage something positive out of an otherwise miserable day. She had a little more than twenty-four hours left in New Dresden. She'd been hoping for an opportunity to talk to Kira alone. At this very moment, most of the Adler family was inside that hospital. There might never be a better chance.

Jane backed her car out of the lot and burned rubber back to New Dresden.

*   *   *

After taking the porch steps two at a time, Jane stamped her feet to keep them warm as she waited for someone to answer the bell. She wished now that she'd thought to wear her much warmer sheepskin jacket last night when she'd set off for the motel. It was going on two in the afternoon, but the temperature wasn't much higher than it had been earlier. Thankfully, the bar didn't open on Sundays until four, so she had a little extra time before she had to get back to do her prep work.

For the last few days, Jane had been leaving text messages for Guthrie whenever she found that she had cell phone service. She wanted to keep him abreast of what she'd been learning. He'd sent back the occasional encouraging comment along with his always effusive thanks. He hadn't said anything about Kira, and yet, because she had more or less receded from view into the farmhouse, and this disappearing act had been a big part of why Guthrie had wanted Jane to go to New Dresden in the first place, making this visit to the farm seemed not only important, but imperative.

Jane rang the bell a second time. And then a third. When it seemed likely that nobody was going to answer, she trotted down the porch steps and walked out into the snowy yard to look around. There were lots of footprints going back and forth to the barn and the garage. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Jane looked up at a window on the barn's top floor just as a shade was pulled.

“Kira?” Jane called.

Inside the barn, dogs began to bark.

“Kira, please. It's important. I need to talk to you.” It seemed apparent that she'd been seen. Hearing her cell phone trill, she fished it out of her pocket. She was so unused to hearing it ring that it startled her. But, of course, the farmhouse was one of the few places in town where she could get a good signal. Walking away from the barking dogs, Jane said hello.