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Alice-(Tommy & Alice) Saturday, 3:30 p.m.
I put in a call to George as soon as Julie suggested it. When he finally called me back it was late afternoon, since he’d been out fishing all day and had left his phone in the car for fear of losing it in the gulf. “What do you need, Alice?”
“We decided we’d like to include the staff in Julie’s display. We’re entering the data this weekend, so I had to disturb you on your day off.”
“Not a problem,” George replied. “It’s nice you consider the staff part of the B-Bird family.” His tone turned droll. “Marlene wasn’t born in 1967, nor was our pool guy or the kid who mows. Bill lives in the park, so I’m the only one you need to hear from.”
“Right. So where were you on July 7th of 1967?”
“Believe it or not, that was a night I will never forget,” he replied. “I went to my first concert in Chicago: one of those on-the-lawn things where you brought your own blanket and...refreshments.”
“The kind you drink or the kind you smoke?”
He chuckled. “No comment. But you’ll never guess who the band was.” Apparently he couldn’t wait for me to even attempt it. “Does Jim Morrison ring a bell?”
“Wow. You saw The Doors in concert?”
“I’ve still got the ticket stub somewhere.” His voice warmed with the memory. “It was wild. ‘Light My Fire’ was at number one on the charts. Jim was at his greatest. I had a full head of hair and all my own teeth. I count that night as the best of my early years.” He sighed. “How come when you’re young you don’t know how good it is to be young?”
“I’ve got no idea, but I think it happens to everybody. I was absolutely convinced I was too skinny and my nose was too big.”
“That can’t be right. I’ll bet guys followed you around like a pack of hounds.”
And I chose the worst hound in the pack.
Aloud I said, “I was told guys got turned off because I read all the time.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” In a moment of honesty I said, “I pretty much threw my life away at seventeen.”
“I’m glad you got it back. Tommy was a wreck after Ella died, but you gave him new reasons to keep going.”
Thanking George, I ended the call and messaged Julie: Grge at Doors cncert-Chicago. That done, I checked the time. Wilma goes to the chapel on Saturday evenings, usually around six, to straighten the hymnals and reset the chairs for Sunday service. It struck me that the chapel was exactly the right atmosphere in which to find out what she was hiding. How could she lie to me in God’s house?
The door was propped open to air the place, and I stopped in as if I’d been passing by and spotted her. Chatting aimlessly, I helped Wilma with her chores, moving the chairs so she could sweep and removing expired announcements from the bulletin board while she neatened the chancel and made sure there were enough chairs for the choir. As we worked, Wilma told me about a new couple who had moved in a few doors down from her and Earl. “They seem nice, and she plays the piano. I’m hoping she might give Anita a break sometimes.”
“That would be nice.” I didn’t specify who’d benefit, but everyone would. Our pianist is ninety and half deaf, so the choir has to sing in full voice to be heard over the accompaniment.
As Wilma began putting the cleaning tools away I said, “You know something about our little project that you aren’t telling.”
She turned to me with a deer-in-the-headlights look. “Oh, I—I don’t think—”
“Aren’t we supposed to help the police solve a double murder?”
“Yes, but...” Wilma put a hand over her mouth. “When helping one person hurts another person, it’s hard to decide what’s right.”
“It sounds like you’ve got a secret that’s hard to keep. What if you tell me what it is, and then we’ll talk about what should be done?” When she frowned I added, “I won’t do anything you don’t agree to. I promise.”
That was all it took. A few minutes later, I knew everything Wilma knew about the night in Nashville when two people died.
