The Murder in Skoghall (Illustrated) (The Skoghall Mystery Series Book 1) (35 page)

Jess looked over her shoulder through the doorway toward the rest of the house. In one of those other rooms Beckett was setting up his computer to record whatever happened in the dining room. He had made a similar argument. It seemed that to some people, the truth didn’t matter as long as everyone was fine with the lie. “Can I help you?” she said.

Pam put a cup and saucer in her hand and Jess picked up the other one. She carried them through to the dining room. Pam followed her with a coffee service, then went back for the plates of pie. “Now, you should take some pie to the other room for you three. Might as well so nobody goes hungry.” Pam was already back in the kitchen, cutting more pie.

“You know,” she said, “it’s not like we’re hurting Uncle Bill with this little charade of ours. I think he might even enjoy it. Shoot, he’s mistook me for Aunt Vera plenty of times. I don’t think I look like her really. I take after my father. But there must be something about me that gets him thinking of Vera.” She chuckled as she put two plates in Jess’s hands. Pam picked up the third plate of pie, grabbed paper napkins and forks, and led the way into the spare bedroom where Beckett stared into his laptop. “Here you go. No reason not to have a snack, especially if you’re going to be watching us eat pie on that thing.” She pointed at the computer.

Beckett thanked her and she was off again, back to the kitchen for something or other. “She’s sure busy,” he said.

“This is probably the most excitement she’s had all year,” Jess whispered. “Are we ready?”

Beckett tilted his computer toward Jess. She looked at a feed of the dining room. Beckett showed her the recording software and she watched his test run of her and Pam carrying the coffee and pie to the table. “…it’s not like we’re hurting Uncle Bill,” Pam said in the recording. Jess put a hand on Beckett’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I still feel weird doing this,” he said.

“It’s what Johnny wants. If he and Pam are all right with it, who are we to judge?”

“But why all this?” He gestured at the computer.

“He’s a historian. I think he wants it preserved. You know, straight from his grandfather’s mouth so there won’t be any guessing later. When he came to my house, he said we can’t trust our memories.”

Beckett was going to say something else when the front door opened. He hit record and they watched the live feed as Pam went to greet her uncle Bill. She said hello, but avoided calling him anything, waiting for him to decide who she was. They heard Bill say, “This nice young man gave me a ride here. What do we owe you? Vera, do you have your purse?”

“It’s taken care of,” Johnny said. “I’ll come pick you up later.”

“Later?” Bill.

“For your appointment.” Johnny.

Pam appeared on the computer monitor, leading Bill into the dining room. She was saying the young man could show himself out. A moment later, the door opened quietly and Johnny joined them in the bedroom. They all sat on the edge of the bed, the computer before them on a small student’s desk, a desk that had been Johnny’s when he was in high school and still bore the marks of his boredom. Jess pointed to the plates of pie sitting on the dresser and Johnny nodded. She passed them round and they sat, watching the charade and eating pie on Johnny’s childhood bed.

Pam poured coffee for Bill, then joined him at the table. She asked him how his day was, and he said the shop was a mess, he hadn’t found a machinist to replace Carmichael who was half as good. Johnny whispered that it was around 1985, give or take. Bill complained for several minutes about work.

Pam set her fork down and looked at Bill thoughtfully. “I was thinking about Bonnie today, Bill.”

“I think about her every single damned day.”

“Johnny asked me why we don’t have any baby pictures.”

“We got plenty.”

“He means from before. He needed some for a school project, you know like they do these days. And his classmates were all bringing in baby pictures, like from the cradle, before they could stand up even. He wanted to know why we don’t have anything from when he was a baby.”

Jess was thinking how well Pam was playing her part, when she saw that Bill looked uncomfortable. He laid his fork on the table and made a fist beside it. Pam didn’t seem to notice.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him his baby album got lost and it was a real shame.”

Bill relaxed, took up his fork again.

“I think maybe we ought to tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

Johnny had coached Pam, but maybe she was pushing too far too fast. Jess could feel Johnny tensing up beside her. Beckett, too. They were thinking about Johnny’s secret past. Jess, however, was concerned with Bonnie and what was coming as the anniversary of her death drew near.
I hope this is what you want,
she thought, as her fingers found her throat and lingered there.

“About his father,” Pam said.

“Vera!” Bill’s voice was harsh and authoritarian, but Pam wasn’t to be undone.

“Oh, Bill,” she chided. “Doesn’t the boy have a right to know where he comes from?”

“He comes from us. We’re his family and thank God he’s got us.” Bill was getting agitated, something that would be bad for all of them. Pam reached over and patted his arm.

“All right. I suppose you’re right about that, dear.” She patted a few more times then withdrew her hand. “How’s the pie?”

“You make a fine pie, Vera.”

They ate in silence until Bill’s plate was clear.

“I got something for him,” Bill said.

“Got something?”

“I got something for Johnny. I think it will help.” Bill began to stand up from his chair.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll get it to show you.”

“Just tell me about it. You can show me tonight.”

He sat again, easily swayed ever since his illness took over. “All right, Vera. I went to see Bonnie one day after…. Well, after.” Pam nodded. “There was a jewelry box on the headstone, so I picked it up. It was a Purple Heart. Carl Copeland’s Purple Heart.”

Jess looked at Johnny, wondering how much he understood. His face was blanched. He still didn’t know Copeland had killed his mother, and the thought of telling him turned all that rhubarb pie to acid in Jess’s stomach.

“But Bill, Carl’s not Johnny’s father.”

“Who’s going to tell him otherwise? The Copeland’s are gone to Arizona now. And isn’t it better to have a father who died a war hero, with a Purple Heart, than that, that bastard.” Spittle followed the word like it had a foul taste all its own. Bill wiped his lower lip with the back of his hand, then took up his coffee cup and drained the last of it. Pam immediately picked up the carafe and refilled his cup. “That boy deserves a father and a decent man.” The coffee cup clattered against the saucer as he set it down with a trembling hand. “That Carl was a nice kid and he went to war for his country. That’s more’n that John Sykes ever did.” Bill’s face had flushed, the creases around his eyes deepening with his rising aggravation.

Pam put her hand on his arm again. “You know,” she said softly, “John swears he’s innocent, and Bonnie sure always seemed happy with him.”

He shook off her touch. “That just makes it all the more damned sickening!” His hand trembled as he picked up his coffee cup so much that coffee sloshed over the lip and onto his shirt. “Damn it!” He set the cup on its saucer with a harsh clatter.

Pam jumped up and hurried into the kitchen. She returned with a tea towel and dabbed at his shirt.

“Oh, quit your fussing. It’s nothing.” Bill brushed Pam’s hands away from his shirtfront and grabbed the towel from her. He brushed it over himself a few times and put it down. “What do I care?” he said. “I’ll change it before I go out.”

“That’s all right then.” Pam eased back into her seat and refilled her own coffee cup.

Bill was quiet. He lifted his coffee again, this time succeeding in his aim, and made a slurping noise as he drew the first hot sip through his lips. He set the cup back on its saucer, then ran his battered old fingers around its rim. His face softened as the agitation of a few moments before left him. He looked blank. Pam waited patiently for whatever would come next.

Johnny muttered to himself, something Jess couldn’t make out. She looked sideways at him and saw he was crying, his lips barely moving to shape his utterance. “Ask him…” she made out those two words. Jess put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and he glanced her way before wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Ask him why he doesn’t believe John Sykes is innocent.”

“More pie?” Pam said.

Jess looked at the computer again.

“No. One is enough at any one sitting, Vera.”

“Right you are, Bill.” Pam smiled at him, a conciliatory look. He reached out to take hold of her hand. Pam seemed surprised, her eyes widening and body pulling back, but she relaxed and leaned toward him, completing the shift in an instant so short Bill never noticed it had occurred. “Bill?”

“I get worried,” he said. “Sometimes I think about the future and I get worried.”

“Honey, why don’t you think John might be telling the truth about being innocent?”

Bill’s head jerked up on his body and he looked at Pam so directly Jess flinched. She was afraid they had gone too far, but then he relaxed and shook his head. “Because the law found him guilty. The law has its methods and he had his trial. If the law says he killed our girl…well, I got no reason not to believe the law. I’ll never understand it. Not a single piece of it. But the law put him in jail and we got that precious little boy and that’s what I know. All I can do…” His voice became thick with emotion and he paused to clear his throat. “All I can do, Vera, is go forward. Give that boy a father who’s fit to have.”

“All right. All right, Bill.”

Bill pressed a thumb into the crumbs on his pie plate and put it into his mouth. When he looked up and saw Pam, his face pinched and opened and pinched again as he worked through conflicting notions of reality. His consternation rose and he put his hands to his face and rubbed, pushing his palms up and over his head. He shook himself at last and looked at his niece again. “Pam?”

“Hi, Bill. How’s it going?”

“I think I’m tired today.”

Pam glanced at the shelf where she knew the camera was hiding. Her look said that she was done.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Beckett didn’t speak on the drive back to Skoghall. Whenever Jess said something pleasant, he responded with little more than a grunt, so she gave up talking and left him to stare sullenly out the window, his head on his hand and his elbow on the door of the car. The sky was a still blue and the humidity hadn’t broken yet. The sun seemed to reflect off everything and be everywhere at once so that Jess found herself squinting, even with sunglasses on. The River Road curved between the Mississippi and the bluffs. Motorcycling clubs trolled the road in their leather and bandanas, the noise from their engines blotting out the tranquility of the drive. Jess thought about stopping for a bite to eat somewhere, but Beckett was so far withdrawn she decided it was best to get home. Maybe he could take it out on some clay, wedging it into nice balls.

“I don’t know who to be more angry at,” he said, finally turning his head from the window, “Bill Ecklund or you.”

“Me?” Jess’s voice was high with surprise. “What did I do?”

“You started this whole thing, didn’t you?”

“Whoa. Hang on. First, I did not start this. His mother, Bonnie, started this. Remember?” She stretched her throat toward him. “So, what was I supposed to do? Ignore her?”

“No, but…”

“I don’t see how you could think any of this is my fault. I’m just trying to not get run out of my house.”

“I don’t know.”

Jess glanced at him, then fixed her gaze back on the road as it curved yet again. “Don’t know what?”

“I think you enjoy this, Jess.” He put his hand to his chin and rubbed at his goatee.

“Enjoy? Enjoy?” she spluttered with indignation. It was ludicrous.

“I don’t mean you like having a ghost. I mean you like getting involved. You’ve had these meetings with Marlene and Sterling. You’ve been to the prison and now this…this charade. I’m not sure that was ethical, Jess. The poor guy has Alzheimer’s.”