Clause & Effect Page 14

  “I’m moving to another campground closer to Lenape Hollow,” Luke said, surprising me yet again. “There are sites available over at a place called Mountain View Acres.”

  A little silence fell between us as we left the building and started across the parking lot to the place where I’d left my car. It took me a moment to make the necessary mental adjustments. It appeared I’d misjudged Luke, and that fact disturbed me.

  I cleared my throat. “Congratulations on being cast in two of the meatier parts in the pageant.”

  He chuckled. “No small parts, only small actors, right? Congratulations to you, too. From what I heard this evening, the old bicentennial script was a mess. You and your team pulled off a small miracle.”

  Flattery. You’ve got to love it.

  “And that business at the historical society,” he added as I unlocked my car door. “Wow. I didn’t realize until someone told me just now that you were right there when they found the body.”

  “It’s not the first thing I’d tell a stranger.” And because he was a stranger, distant relative or not, I was once again beginning to feel a little nervous about his intentions. He was as stoked as the Energizer Bunny, which made him unpredictable.

  “I saw in the paper that they identified her. Grace Yarrow? Funny name. Did you ever meet her?”

  “I wasn’t living here when she was killed.”

  I had to maneuver around him to slide into the driver’s seat. When I tried to close the door, he caught the top of the window with one hand to keep it open.

  “Since I’m going to be around for the next two weeks, we ought to get together for coffee or something.”

  “What a good idea,” I said with patently false enthusiasm. “I have your cell number. I’ll call you.”

  With that, I tugged hard enough on the door to close it and immediately hit the button to lock it. I smiled at him through the window as I started the engine and gave a little wave after I backed out of my parking space. He waved back and headed off toward the far end of the lot at a trot. I could just make out the Vespa in the shadows.

  I told myself I was overreacting, but I kept checking my rearview mirror as I drove home. I was safely inside my house with the security system armed before I breathed easily again.

  I turned to find Calpurnia watching me. “What?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that a young man who claims to be traveling around the country should decide to get involved in a local history pageant?”

  And why, I wondered, had he made a point of bringing up Grace Yarrow’s name? He couldn’t have been more than a year or two old when she died.

  I was halfway to the kitchen when I stopped in my tracks. Calpurnia, who had been trailing after me, sent me an exasperated look, one that said more clearly than words that her food bowl needed replenishing. I shook my head, bemused by my own flight of fancy.

  “I just had the craziest thought,” I told her. “Being obsessed with finding out what happened all those years ago can result in making weird connections. You know that, right?”

  She didn’t care.

  I foraged in the cabinet for a can of cat food while the idea that had just come to me percolated at the back of my mind. Those who had known Grace, at least the ones I’d spoken to so far, all appeared to agree she was sexually active. No one had mentioned a child, and yet, way back at the beginning of the case, Detective Hazlett had asked me if she’d had one. I’d taken his question to mean that the autopsy had found indications that Grace had given birth.

  Not all young, single women who have children out of wedlock keep them, especially if they don’t have family to help out. That was even more true in the past than it is today. Any child born to Grace Yarrow would be over twenty-five years old, but perhaps not by much . . . right around Luke’s age.

  Talk about jumping to conclusions!

  I fed the cat before opening the refrigerator to find a snack for myself, all the while shaking my head at my own foolishness. Of course, Luke was who he said he was. He had the Greenleigh nose. But there was something off about him. Something he wasn’t being open about. At my first opportunity, I resolved to do a little digging into his background.

  That went on my mental to-do list right after “talk to Judy Brohaugh.” I’d already made arrangements to meet with Darlene’s sister the next day. Using the excuse, feeble as it was, that I wanted to ask her about her memories of the bicentennial, especially the pageant, I’d finagled an invitation to have lunch with her at her condo in Monticello.

  I closed the refrigerator without removing anything to eat. If I expected to get any work done before I left for Judy’s place, it was time to pack it in for the night.

  I was hoping for a solid eight hours of sleep. Instead I fell into a nightmare in which shadowy figures chased me around my backyard armed with sheets of heavy-duty plastic and rolls of duct tape. Flashes of lightning revealed their faces to me one by one: Gilbert Baxter; Ronnie; Judy as she’d been when I last saw her years ago; Tom O’Day; and last but not least, a small child with the Greenleigh nose.

  Suddenly, in the manner of dreams, I was inside the house but still being pursued. I fled from room to room, and then out onto the small balcony that adjoins my upstairs office. I climbed over the railing onto the roof of the garage and ran down the gently sloping surface to the low point over the path that runs between my property and Cindy’s. It’s an easy jump, only a little more than six feet, but just as I was about to fling myself over the edge, a great chasm opened up. The roof turned into a cliff with jagged rocks below. I teetered there, caught between two terrors, and then I went over, a soundless scream issuing from my lips.

  The fall woke me.

  After I untangled myself from the bedsheets and used the top one to wipe the sweat from my face, I couldn’t get back to sleep. I stared at the ceiling until the first rays of sunlight streaked into the room and the cat came to stand on my chest to insist that I get up and feed her.

  Chapter 24

  Judy’s condominium complex wasn’t the easiest place to find. I had only the vaguest memories of downtown Monticello and those were mostly from the times my father drove me to a studio somewhere in the vicinity of Broadway for ballet lessons with Miss Bimboni. I did work in Monticello at the telephone company one summer, but I spent most of my time indoors. Back then, the first generation of computers had only just been introduced. I handled long-distance calls at a workstation that looked like the command center for a spaceship. TSP? I think those were the initials it went by, but I no longer have the slightest idea what they stood for. I do remember that I made friends with a coworker—I don’t remember her name, either—who had a friend whose family owned a motel not far away from where we worked. We were invited to swim in the motel pool when we worked a split shift. That motel was the one landmark I recognized. I was surprised that it was still there and that it looked much the same as I recalled. Not much else is unchanged.

  After driving in circles and then backtracking, I eventually located Judy’s address and even snagged a parking space that wasn’t too far away. She must have been watching out her window for me, because she buzzed me into the building while I was still reaching for the intercom button.

  “Come on up,” said a disembodied voice. “Second floor. Second door on your left.”

  I wouldn’t have recognized her. Although she’s only a few years older than her sister, she’d let herself go big-time. The loose caftan she wore only emphasized the excess weight, and her face was puffy and unhealthy looking.

  I’m not one of those people who preaches about the dangers of being overweight or looks down on those who have trouble taking off the pounds. Svelte would never describe me, either, although I was almost too skinny as a child. But the way Judy moved, ponderously and with exceeding care, hinted that she might have more in common with Darlene than either sister realized. I couldn’t help but notice the telltale signs of arthritis in her hands and
fingers when she waved me into the kitchen.

  The delectable aroma of homemade chicken soup greeted me when I stepped through the door. For a moment, I thought a healthy meal might be in the offing, but once I was seated, Judy added grilled cheese sandwiches to the menu, slathering both sides of the bread with real butter before slapping them into a greased fry pan and putting three slices of cheese on each.

  I have to admit, the result was delicious.

  A few minutes later, seated at the kitchen table and scarfing down the calories, we studied each other. Judy broke the silence just before it began to feel awkward.

  “Hell getting old, ain’t it?”

  Both the comment and her deliberate misuse of the English language surprised a laugh out of me. “You got that right,” I agreed, matching her colloquial manner of speech.

  Sometimes even a stickler for proper grammar has to let her hair down.

  We exchanged basic renewing-our-acquaintance chitchat, during which I did most of the talking. I answered her questions about why I’d moved back to Lenape Hollow, and told her what I thought of our old hometown in the present day. Inevitably, Darlene’s name came up.

  “I hear she was stupid enough to agree to serve on the board of directors at the historical society,” Judy said.

  “She is on the board.” Stupid didn’t come into the equation.

  My careful answer seemed to amuse her. Her lips twitched. “I know you two were close in high school. I guess you’ve still got each other’s backs.”

  I took a sip of lemonade to give myself time to think. There had been an undercurrent of resentment in that crack about the board of directors, but had it been directed at Darlene, or at the historical society? Judy’s move to Monticello had obliged her to give up her own seat on the board. With the exception of whatever person held the post of town historian, every other board member was required to reside within the village limits.

  The previous night’s bad dream had made me think twice about keeping my lunch date with Judy, but separate from my desire to help right the old wrong of Grace’s murder, I wanted to talk to her because, optimist that I am, I hoped to find a way to mend the rift between the two sisters. I was certain Darlene wasn’t telling me the whole story behind their estrangement. There was more to it than Judy’s marriage to the ex-husband of one of Darlene’s friends.

  Wary of putting my foot in my mouth and making things worse, I said, “It’s been good to renew old acquaintances. I’ve been surprised by how many of my former classmates still live in this area. And of course I remember you, a little, from back then.”

  Judy’s smile turned rueful. “I was certainly littler in the good old days. As you can see, I’m now twice the woman I used to be.”

  I almost choked on my drink. Those were the exact words Darlene used to describe her own weight gain.

  Judy chuckled at what she took to be embarrassment on my part. “Never mind. When you called, you said you wanted to ask about my memories from twenty-five years ago, not fifty.”

  “Right. About the bicentennial.” I didn’t want to come right out and ask if it had been her husband Grace Yarrow tried to seduce, so I took another bite of my grilled cheese and waited to see if she’d volunteer any information.

  After a moment she said, “I’d never have figured you for a member of the historical society, and they sure roped you into taking over a thankless task. I’m surprised they didn’t stick Shirley Martin with running the pageant. She’s good at grunt work. Or did she wise up and find a better job?”

  I wiped grease off my fingers before picking up my soup spoon. “Shirley is still there, and she’s been a tremendous help, but I was recruited because I have specific skills.” I explained about my editing business. “The powers that be wanted to put on another pageant like the one performed for the bicentennial, and they thought the same script might still be usable.”

  Judy polished off her soup before she spoke again. “I’d have thought they could do better than that.”

  “Well, we did end up completely rewriting it.”

  “Of course you did. The original was a piece of crap.”

  “It had . . . problems,” I conceded.

  Judy’s face came alive when she grinned at me. “It did have its moments, though. Did you know I played one of the founders’ wives? No lines, of course, but we rented costumes from one of those companies that supplies reenactors, so it all felt very authentic.” A faraway look came into blue eyes very like her sister’s. “The thing I remember best is when the scrim got caught on one of the lights at dress rehearsal and nearly started a fire.”

  “Scrim?”

  “You know—a semitransparent curtain, so the audience gets only an impression of the actors behind it. It was a dumb idea in the first place, but it was supposed to be artsy.”

  “Some people must have enjoyed the performance. They remembered it all these years later and asked for a reboot.”

  “Well, no one booed. There was one bad moment, though, when we spotted Mr. and Mrs. Daly in the audience. They weren’t supposed to be back in Lenape Hollow for another month.”

  “And that was bad because . . . ?”

  “Because we’d borrowed one of the outbuildings from their place to create part of our set.” She put air quotes around the word and winked for good measure. “Two of the guys on stage crew took it apart, put the sections on a truck, and cobbled it together again inside the historical society building to represent the sort of humble dwelling the first settlers lived in.”

  “Did the Dalys recognize it?”

  “If they did, they never mentioned it, but I have to say that having them at home made it a whole lot trickier to put the shed back.” She popped the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, watching me closely as she chewed. After a final swallow of lemonade, she added, “From what I’ve seen lately on the news, swiping a building wasn’t the only crime someone committed back then.”

  “Grace Yarrow was murdered at about the same time,” I agreed.

  Lips pursed, Judy shook her head from side to side. “Hard to believe.”

  “Why? As I understand it, she disappeared quite suddenly. Surely someone must have wondered what happened to her.”

  “No one cared. We weren’t exactly heartbroken to see the last of her. Not only was she a pushy broad, but she kept changing her mind. Playwrights should never be allowed to direct their own shows. We may not have had any lines, but she moved us around like puppets, and never to the same place twice. Besides that, she was downright irrational about everything to do with the pageant. She’s the one who decided the Dalys’ outbuilding would be perfect as part of the set. She ordered those boys to go get it for her. What if they’d been caught? They could have ended up in jail.”

  “Boys? What boys?”

  “The ones on the stage crew. They were seniors in high school that year. Old enough to think Grace was sexy. Too young to worry overmuch about breaking the law when the result would make her happy.”

  “Stage crew,” I repeated, wondering why it had never occurred to me to search for information in that direction. “I don’t suppose you remember any of their names?”

  “Hardly.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I was speaking more to myself than to Judy. “I can find out. I have a copy of the pageant program.”

  “More people to tap for their memories?”

  A hint of sarcasm had crept into her seemingly innocent question. When I didn’t answer right away, she came to her own conclusion.

  “You aren’t really here to ask me questions about the pageant, are you? It’s Grace’s murder that interests you. I heard about that business last fall.”

  I frowned at her reference to the unpleasant events of the previous autumn. The two situations were entirely different. I do not make a habit of poking my nose into murder investigations. On the other hand, I couldn’t deny that I wanted answers from Judy about Grace Yarrow.

  “Busted.” I tried and failed
to sound apologetic. “I wasn’t sure you’d agree to talk to me if you thought I was trying to find out who her enemies were.”

  “Why should I mind? If you’ve learned anything at all about her, you already know that she ticked off just about everyone.”

  “Even you?”

  “Moi? The epitome of cool and collected?” Judy rolled her eyes. “Of course, me. Not only was I on the board, I was the one who had to tell her to rein in her spending. Do you know how much it costs to rent a scrim?”

  “Do you remember Gilbert Baxter?” I asked.

  She looked surprised by the question. “Gil? Sure. He took over as director when Bud Graham retired.”

  “Did he quarrel with Grace, too?”

  “Probably.” She stood and started to clear the table. “Why are you asking me about Gil?”

  “Because he’s the one who told me that one of the members of the board back then—Elise Somebody, or so he thought—accused Grace of trying to seduce her husband. Did he get that right?”

  Actually, Baxter had said he couldn’t recall which board member had made that claim, but I wanted to see how Judy would react if I pinned the charge on someone other than her. Although she stood with her back to me, her body language spoke volumes. She tensed, shoulders and neck taut with it, and the plates and bowls she was carrying clattered loudly when she set them down on the counter.

  “That would be Elise Sanders,” she said without turning. “She died a few years back, but I think her ex is still alive. They got a divorce around the same time I dumped my first husband.”

  “Was Elise’s spouse fooling around with Grace Yarrow?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Are you sure? You were on the board with her. Baxter wasn’t and yet he—”

  “He wanted to be. Elise probably let him think she’d recommend him to replace her when she retired, and I suppose she might have unburdened herself to him, but she certainly didn’t say anything to me.” Judy returned to the table with a plate of cookies and the pitcher of lemonade, refilling my glass without asking if I wanted more.