The Grave Soul (25 page)

Jane needed to get away from Cordelia's house and thought coming to the restaurant made the most sense. Now she wasn't so sure. She jumped when her intercom buzzed. Picking up the receiver, she said, “Hello? I mean, this is Jane.”

It was Conor, the afternoon host. “You've got a visitor. Guthrie Hewitt. He says it's important.”

Jane pressed a hand to her forehead. “All right. Send him down.”

When he entered her office a few minutes later, she almost didn't recognize him. “You cut your hair?”

“I was sick of the ponytail thing,” he said, sitting down in a chair opposite her desk. “No,” he added, shaking his head, “that's not entirely true. I thought if I got rid of it, maybe I'd be more acceptable to Kira's family.”

“Have you talked to Kira in the last couple of weeks?” Jane hadn't felt up to seeing him since she'd returned.

“Once,” he said. “I told her what happened to you. She wouldn't even entertain the possibility that someone in her family was responsible. But she did say something interesting. Turns out nobody in her family ever picked up her mother's ashes from the funeral home. All these years and they were still there when Kira went to get them.”

Jane recalled Steven Carmody delivering that piece of information to her. She couldn't imagine how Kira had found out unless Jane had told her, which must have come during the fog of her last day in New Dresden. “Didn't that shake her?”

“Actually, I think it did. But I still got the same refrain: You need to leave me alone until I figure things out. We text occasionally, but I haven't talked to her since that conversation. Speaking of people who are hard to get ahold of, I stopped by Cordelia's house a couple of times to talk to you. Both times she said you were asleep.”

“I probably was.”

“I called a couple of times, too.”

“This hasn't been the best couple of weeks.”

“I need to tell you how sorry I am for getting you mixed up with the Adlers. I should have kept my nose out of it.”

“Really? You could have done that?”

“Well, no,” he admitted. “But I could have left you out.” He sucked in a breath. “I wish there was something we could do to jump-start your memory.”

“Not sure what that would be.”

“Have you given any thought to the few days you do remember?”

Jane leaned back in her chair. “Actually, I've thought about them a lot.”

“Have you reached any conclusions?”

“I made some notes. I promise, I'll write them up for you.”

“But tell me some of your conclusions now.”

She glanced at the carafe of coffee, then folded her hands in her lap. “Okay, let's think this through out loud. The Adler family may seem close-knit, but there's a lot of friction under the surface—a lot of history—that makes them a volatile mix. As for who murdered Delia, with the exception of Evangeline, I think it could be any of them.”

“Why not Evangeline?”

“Her age, for one.”

“She was much younger when Delia died.”

“I know, but I just can't envision her committing a murder. Maybe she did it. It's possible I have a blind spot when it comes to her. I can easily see her being the prime mover in covering up the facts of Delia's death. She loathed her daughter-in-law. And I think she would have done anything to protect a family member from going to prison for her murder.

“It's possible Doug—and even Father Mike—had a sexual relationship with Delia. Or maybe it was simply flirtatious. But if it did turn physical, and if it had come out, it could have been curtains for the priest's career, and would have created havoc in Doug's personal and professional life. Doug still needed to impress his father back then. And after his dad died, if the good citizens of New Dresden had learned he was having an affair with his brother's wife, his standing in that conservative community would have crashed and burned.

“Hannah hated Delia on general principles. She may suffer from generalized Catholic guilt, but I don't think that's why she's so hard on herself. Maybe she thought her brother needed protecting from a wicked witch and did the unthinkable—the unforgivable. It's possible an argument got out of hand.”

“And Aunt Laurie?” said Guthrie.

“Riley Garrow—one of Delia's friends—told me she had a thing for Kevin. She hated the way Delia treated him, would stare daggers at her. Not positive that rises to the level of motive, but I'm sure people have been murdered for far less. Katie Olsen said Laurie was the type to let things smolder until she couldn't hold her anger in any longer, and then she'd explode. That's a dangerous kind of personality.”

“And Kevin? What about him?”

What about Kevin, thought Jane. “He probably had the strongest motivation of all. We had breakfast together right after I started working at his bar. He told me that he was glad he never had to fight Delia for custody of the kids. That's certainly a sufficient motive right there. Add to that the fact that Delia was staying out late drinking in bars, openly flirting with guys—and maybe even sleeping with them. That must have been humiliating. How could he not have been angry at her? The thing is, in the end, I still have no proof that any of them did it. If I could've stayed longer, dug deeper, maybe I would have found something. As it is…” She shook her head.

“Please don't apologize.” He moved to the edge of his chair. “Jane? Don't take this the wrong way, but you seem so down. Are you sure you're okay to be back at work?”

It was a good question. The idea of going back to Cordelia's house felt like nothing short of total claustrophobia. She could walk up the hill to her house, another familiar place she hadn't explored since coming home. What if it felt weird? Just the idea of having to struggle again with a space that had once been so commonplace and comfortable but that now careened in and out of focus was more than she could stand. She was sick of feeling barely in control.

Looking up, she asked, “Could you give me a ride?”

“Sure. Where to?”

“New Dresden.”

His eyes widened.

Just the thought gave Jane an unexpected jolt of energy. “What do you say?”

“Why on earth would you go back there?”

“To get my C-RV.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Can't exactly leave it there. How long would we be gone?”

She could see the wheels turning inside his mind. He wanted to go. She wouldn't need to push. “If we left right now, you could drop me off and be back later tonight. Then again, I can't go without telling Cordelia. She might want to come along. We'd have to stop at her place first.”

“The more the merrier. It's not safe for you in that town. We could be your posse—protect you.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Look, Kira texted me a while ago. Evangeline starts her third round of chemo tomorrow, except Kira won't be driving her down to Eau Claire. Laurie will. Apparently Kira and Hannah have been working on some project together. Some family issue. Kira will be there alone tomorrow morning. Evangeline and Laurie won't get back until late in the day on Tuesday. What would you say about spending the night there—and then driving out to the farmhouse tomorrow morning with those photos of her mother in the ravine? It's about time she sees them for herself.”

“You're sure you want to be the one to show them to her?”

“I have to, Jane. Sometimes I get the impression she thinks I'm making the whole thing up.”

This was exactly what Jane needed. Simply making a decision to act, to face the dragon down, caused her spirits to rise. “Let's do it.”

*   *   *

As Jane came through the front door of the mansion, she found Hattie thumping down the central stairs outside the great hall, otherwise known as the living room. Behind her trotted Mouse and Gimlet, both with bows from discarded Christmas wrapping stuck to their heads. When the dogs saw Jane, they raced ahead and charged across the fieldstone foyer to greet her. Hattie stood back and adjusted her gaudy crown, a Christmas present from her dear auntie. It was part red velvet, part fake white fur and fake jewels, and lots of fake gold—not exactly Hattie's taste, though Cordelia insisted it had been her niece's idea. She was holding another Christmas present, a world atlas that weighed almost as much as she did.

“Hey, where's your matching red velvet cape?” asked Jane.

“I got some peanut butter on it. Accidentally.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, Auntie C. was pretty pissed. But Bolger has this book called
One Hundred and One Household Hints
. It explains how to get peanut butter out of velvet. He's taking care of it.”

“That's good.”

“The cape's a little much. But the crown is cool.”

“Very.”

She held up the atlas. “You know where the Gobi desert is?”

Jane had to think. Before she could come up with an answer, a scream rang out. “Who was that?”

“Octavia.”

“You mean your mother?”

“She came home a little while ago.”

“Don't you call her ‘Mom' anymore?”

“Doesn't feel right. I don't see her much. She feels more like Octavia to me.”

“That okay with her?”

Hattie shrugged.

Another scream, this one more of an angry shriek.

“It's Auntie C. and Octavia,” said Hattie, her expression bored. “They're fighting.”

So what else was new?

“It's because of Ivan,” said Hattie, plunking down on a bench.

Jane was afraid to ask. “Who's Ivan?”

“The guy who came home with Octavia. They came in a limo. Took forever to bring all their luggage inside.”

“I'll bet.”

“If I had a sister, would I argue with her as much as Auntie C. argues with Octavia?”

“Hard to answer a hypothetical. They are rather unusual people.”

“Yeah,” Hattie agreed, hopping off the bench. “I'm gonna go study my atlas. Come on, critters,” she said, motioning for the dogs to follow her. Gimlet spun in circles and chased after her. Mouse held back, gazing at Jane with earnest eyes.

“You go, too,” she said. She gave him a quick kiss on his muzzle and then watched him bound off.

“Oh,” called Hattie, stopping before she disappeared into the great hall. “The Gobi desert is in China.”

“Right,” said Jane. “Thanks for the clarification.”

“Anytime.”

Once up in her bedroom, Jane tossed a few clean clothes into her backpack. She was zipping it up when Cordelia rushed in and slammed the door. “My sister's back.”

“I heard.”

“She has a new man with her.”

“Boyfriend or fiancé?”

“You think she makes that sort of distinction? We start working on our first production in early February. She already has changes she wants to make.”

“Good changes or bad changes?”

Cordelia leaned against the door and fanned air into her face. “She wants Damien Carroll to play the male lead opposite her.”

“The movie star Damien Carroll?”

“They're friends.”

“Wouldn't that be good for the theater—to have two major stars in the first production?”

“I suppose. It's just … I've heard he's a terror to direct.” She glanced down at the backpack. “What are you doing?”

“I'm packing up a few things.”

“I can see that.
For what reason
?”

“Guthrie's driving me back to New Dresden. I need to pick up my Honda. I thought maybe you'd like to go with us.”

One eyebrow arched. “No more sleuthing, right?”

“We might go see Kira. She'll be alone at the farmhouse.”

“But that's it. You'll both be back tomorrow.”

“Yes, Cordelia. We'll be back. Why don't you come with us?”

“And leave Octavia here all alone to do God knows what? By tomorrow night, she could move a circus into the rose garden. Or get married to Ivan.”

“He would be number fourteen?”

“Ten, but who's counting. Besides, Damien Carroll and his wife are arriving next week to look at the renovations we've done at the theater. Octavia offered to let them stay here at Chez Thorn. I have to get cleaning people in, find a temporary chef—”

“I can help you with that one.”

“Yes … good, good. There's so much to do.”

Jane could see that a road trip was definitely not in Cordelia's future. She'd moved on from the mystery in New Dresden. Jane, however, was still struggling to dig herself out. “You'll take care of my dogs while I'm away?”

“Of course,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, spreading her arms wide and falling backwards. “If they're not chasing Hattie, they're chasing the cats. What do you feed a movie star of his magnitude? His wife, Lena—she's a minor actress in comparison. You've probably never even heard of her.”

“Lena LaMarr? Of course I have. She's hardly minor.”

Cordelia eyed Jane thoughtfully. “Obviously, I follow the trades. I know she did some directing last year. What if she wants to horn in on my creative efforts? What if that's Octavia's plan?”

Within their new theatrical partnership, Octavia was the one with the money, which gave her the edge in the power game both sisters constantly played. Cordelia was the one with the expertise in running a theater, and the one with stellar directorial credentials. Jane sometimes wondered if the Thorn Lester Playhouse would ever get off the ground. As she was searching through the dresser drawer for the keys to her CR-V, the door burst open and Octavia entered, flapping a brochure in front of her.

Jane's first impression was that her nose looked different—more pointed. It was probably naive of Jane to think Cordelia's sister maintained her youthful beauty without the occasional nip and tuck. This particular nip wasn't an improvement.