THE CLOUDLESS SKY WAS deep blue and the rolling hills north of St. Louis along the Mississippi River were covered with trees and tan pastures. A couple of turkeys took flight and skimmed over the roof of the car, looking like flying bowling balls and drawing “oohs” from both driver and passenger. With the car’s heater pumping out warmth, it was easy to forget it was only fifteen degrees. There had been no significant snow in December, and Highway 79 was a dry ribbon following the contours of the land. It was a beautiful winter day.
The only cloud on her personal horizon was that the driver of the Blazer who’d try to run over her had escaped the police chase. She was no closer to knowing who wanted her dead.
Thomas was thrilled to go with her. The day trips they frequently took to explore the countryside around St. Louis had been at the bottom of the priority list recently. When this case was behind her, PJ was going to renew a lot of things that had gotten shoved aside. She was also going to think through her relationship with Schultz. She needed time to sort things out when dead bodies weren’t turning up every day or two.
In Clarksville, PJ bought gas for the Focus and asked for directions to an eagle-viewing area. The attendant must get the question a lot, because he handed her a pre-printed slip of paper with directions to two different spots and told her it was early in the season but she might get lucky because of the cold weather. The eagles congregated around open water when the temperature dropped. She chose Lock and Dam 25, just because she’d never seen the setup before.
It was a little disappointing because the lock was inactive. There wasn’t any river traffic at that time, and so it just sat there, ice coating the huge metal gates. There was a viewing platform with spotting scopes for the eagles. There were some, but they were far away on the other side of the river, and looked like dark shapes high up in the trees. There was no fishing activity by the birds.
“I guess it’s siesta time,” she said.
The wind coming in over the Mississippi was brutal. Even though they were wearing down parkas, gloves, and scarves that covered about every inch of their faces except for their eyes, they didn’t stay long.
As they headed back to Highway 79, PJ and Thomas were a bit subdued. Aside from getting really cold, they hadn’t accomplished anything.
“Mom, look,” Thomas said. He was pointing out the front window. A magnificent adult eagle, its white head shining in the sun, had landed just ten feet above them in a tree branch. Its claws were curled around a wriggling fish, just snatched from the river. Holding the fish against the branch, the bird began to tear at it.
“Awesome,” Thomas said.
“Awesome,” PJ agreed. “But not for the fish.” They sat there until the eagle spread its wings and flew away, then made their way through Clarksville, picking up some burgers for an on-the-move lunch.
Conversation fizzled out after the fries were gone, and they passed through the town of Louisiana driving along in comfortable silence. Half an hour later, PJ pulled into the driveway of Riverview Elder Care in Hannibal. They were fifteen minutes early, about as well timed as PJ could have hoped.
The grounds were beautifully-landscaped, attractive even in the dead of winter with plenty of evergreens. Instead of the decrepit old farmhouse she was expecting, the center was a low-slung creation fashioned of dark glass and slabs of black marble, a storm cloud fallen from the sky and settled on a hilltop. There was a circular driveway leading to the main entrance, but PJ found a visitor’s spot in the small parking lot.
The lobby carried through with the glass and marble theme, but reversed to white. On the floor was white tile with a matte finish that PJ assumed was slip-proof. Off to the right was a solarium that held a large swimming pool. A few residents paddled around, and at one end of the pool, there was an organized exercise class. A receptionist sat behind a curved marble counter. She smiled at them and waved them forward.
“I should have brought my swimming suit,” Thomas said quietly, so that only PJ could hear. “I could show those old guys in there some moves.”
She nearly burst out laughing. Instead, she hooked her arm into his and propelled him along. He was dragging his feet, looking enviously at the pool.
“I’m Rhonda. You’re here to see Mrs. Singer, aren’t you?” the receptionist said.
“Yes. We’re a little early, so we’ll just wait over there.” PJ pointed to a bank of upholstered easy chairs that looked like white leather and probably were.
“No need. She woke up from her nap a little early. I think she’s very curious about your visit. Mrs. Singer doesn’t have many guests. Actually, she just doesn’t agree to see many.”
PJ remembered the painful beginning to her phone conversation with John Winter, when she was the first to inform him of the death of his two nieces’ husbands. She didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news to Mrs. Singer. She already had an image of the woman in her mind: frail, crepe paper skin, eyes slightly filmy, sweet personality. Everyone’s old grandma.
“You must be Thomas,” said Rhonda, turning to her son. “Some of the men headed off to the rec room a little while ago. I think they’re playing table tennis. Would you like to join them?”
PJ saw the look that crossed her son’s face. A swimming pool where he could show off his excellent water skills, maybe, but stuck in a room with a bunch of octogenarians batting a little ball back and forth wasn’t his idea of fun.
“Actually, I have this book to read,” he said, holding out The Great Gatsby, assigned at the academy. She’d been pestering him to get started on it, and now he was eager to use it as an excuse. Annoyed, she stepped on his foot out of sight of the receptionist.
“Ouch. I mean, I’d be happy to. Just show me the way.”
“If you’d both follow me, please.” The woman took off down the hall. They heard the rec room before they saw it. “In here.”
The room was large almost to the point of being cavernous, high-ceilinged and lit by rows of skylights. Artificial lighting was taking over as an early winter sunset darkened the sky. There were several seating arrangements scattered around the room, some of them occupied with residents talking or quietly reading. One side of the room was lined with computers, and the rest of the place had many forms of indoor entertainment, including pinball machines, a self-service snack counter, pool tables, and table tennis.
“Heads up!”
A white ball went whizzing past Thomas’s head. He ducked, and it clattered to the floor after bouncing off a plasma TV.
“Sorry.”
They watched as play resumed. The men might have been octogenarians or nearly so, but they were active and thoroughly enjoying themselves. There was a rooting section that booed and applauded, and the players were good. They stood far back from the tables, and the moving ball was practically a blur.
“Hey, can you teach me how to play like that?” Thomas said.
“Sure, c’mon over, young man. Eddie here used to be a high school coach. He’ll get you started.”
“Bye, Mom. Take your time with your interview or whatever.”
PJ and Rhonda continued down the hall until they came to wooden double doors. The receptionist knocked and then opened the doors to a sumptuous office.
There’s no end to the surprises here.
“This is Dr. Penelope Gray,” Rhonda said. PJ entered and the doors closed behind her. The only light in the room was an exquisite Tiffany lamp on the desk. The base looked like a twisted vine, and the stained-glass shade was ringed with blue and green dragonflies. Light glowed vibrantly through the shade. It took a few moments for PJ to notice the woman sitting behind the desk. She was diminutive, dwarfed by her massive mahogany desk. PJ guessed she was about sixty, with a crown of silver curls, wearing a conservative dark dress and a tasteful amount of gold jewelry.
“It does draw the eye, doesn’t it?” the woman said, nodding toward the lamp.
“It’s beautiful. Are you the administrator?” PJ asked. “I made an appointment to see Mrs. Singer. My business with her is private.”
“Sit down, Dr. Gray. I’m Jasmine Singer.”
PJ sat down, keeping her face lowered to hide her confusion. This isn’t everyone’s sweet old grandma.
“I don’t just live here, I own the place. Most people are a little surprised when they meet me,” Jasmine said. “Money can stave off old age, or at least the appearance of it, for a while. I’m seventy-nine. It shows up in some ways, though. The staff tennis instructor says soon he’ll be able to beat me with one hand tied behind his back. I told him if he ever does that, call the funeral home because I’ll be dead.”
PJ smiled. She liked this brash, honest woman, and her sense of humor.
That’s me, decades from now, I hope. Except for the money part.
She wondered how to begin, and if she was about to spring unpleasant news on her. Jasmine didn’t seem to be much of a factor in her nieces’ lives, so she might not be upset.
“Mrs. Singer,” PJ began.
“Call me Jasmine.”
“I’m PJ. Jasmine, are you aware of the very recent deaths of Frank Simmons and Arlan Merrett?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me say I’m sorry for the losses you’ve experienced.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’d never met either of them, so it wasn’t much of a personal loss.”
“You didn’t attend your nieces’ weddings?”
“I was invited. I think the girls had stars in their eyes, figuring they’d get an expensive wedding present out of me. I told them it was too far for a frail old woman to travel,” she winked at PJ, “and sent them each a toaster.”
“They must have been disappointed about that. Not seeing you, I mean.”
“It was a four-slice toaster. Top of the line. Same one I use myself.”
PJ really liked this woman. “May I ask why you were estranged from your nieces?”
“You may ask.”
“My questions may be very important, Jasmine. Do you know I’m working with the police on the homicide investigations?”
“The Metro Mangler. I know who you are, what you do, where you grew up, and the name of your son, your cat, your ex-husband, your CHIP teammates, and even who gronz_eye is. I know that you phoned John Winter in Denver, but not what you talked about. I know that you rented a Ford Focus because your car was totaled in an attempt on your life. I know that you bought gas and looked at eagles in Clarksville on your way up here today.”
PJ was shocked. “You’re having me followed?”
“Not until you called and asked to see me. When someone inquires about me, I find out all I can about them. There are plenty of people who are up to no good where the very rich are concerned. Not that you are, PJ. Would you care for some orange juice? I usually have some at this time of day.” She pressed a button on her phone. “Rhonda, would you please bring in some O.J.?”
The trip was a waste of time. This woman’s lips are sealed tighter than an envelope.
The orange juice arrived in crystal goblets. PJ took the offered goblet to be courteous and was glad she did. It was the best orange juice she’d ever had.
“I didn’t come here to talk about May and June,” PJ said. “I came to talk about April. John Winter told me he went to her funeral. What do you know about her death?”
“For one thing, I know that she wasn’t in the casket that was buried that day.”
PJ sat back, stunned, goblet halfway to her mouth. “Who was?”
“A young woman named Elissa Nevers. Elissa was a maid in my sister Virginia’s household. April killed her in a rage, claiming the maid had taken a necklace from her. The necklace was later found behind the dresser, where it had slipped. What she did to that poor maid was horrible. Even now I block it from my mind.”
“Didn’t the police investigate the maid’s disappearance?”
“Not seriously. No one even inquired about her for a long time. She had no family. When a high school friend finally tried to get in touch with her, we said that Elissa had quit and left town suddenly, in the company of a young man she’d been dating. Elissa had done that very thing before and stayed missing for two years before surfacing in the Bahamas, working as a hotel maid. It was a stroke of good luck for us. The police lost interest when that fact came to light.”
An innocent woman killed, possibly tortured and maimed, and there’s something about it that’s a stroke of good luck? PJ kept her face neutral, which was becoming harder to do. Her training as a psychologist came in handy at times like this.
“So where was April after the funeral? She couldn’t continue living in the same house.”
“Obviously. April came to live with me, at my summer home in Michigan.”
“Weren’t you afraid to take her in? Not to mention that you were hiding a killer from the law.”
“Family secrets, dear. All the wealthy families are hiding something. Ours just happened to be a little bit more serious than some. Virginia and I were close, and I didn’t hesitate when she asked it of me. I did take the precaution of hiring a doctor who lived with April and kept her under control with drugs.”
Family secrets. Score one for Merlin.
“I think you should have gone to the police, have her arrested, and then gotten her committed to an institution. What is it, schizophrenia?”
“You’re good. No wonder you have such a high solve rate on your cases. We did think about April being committed, but it would have shamed the whole family. The newspapers would have loved the story. Also, I liked April. When you know her better, it’s easier to sympathize with her.”
PJ’s favorable impression of Jasmine was fading fast. The woman was so concerned about image that she’d conceal a murder and let the killer avoid the consequences. And what could there possibly have been about April to trigger sympathy? That she was mentally ill, maybe. She might have led a better life if her parents had sought treatment for her early. No doubt that would have shamed the family, too. Thinking back on her earlier impression that Jasmine was what she wanted to be decades from now, PJ cringed.
“There’s something else I think you should know about April. Virginia’s husband wasn’t the father. Virginia was pregnant when she married.”
“The shotgun wedding,” PJ said.
Jasmine’s eyebrows shot up. “John told you that? May I ask what else he told you?”
“You may ask.”
There was silence in the room, except for the ticking of a schoolhouse clock on the wall. PJ watched the short pendulum as it swung back and forth.
Jasmine shook her head. “John didn’t have anything else to tell. Only a very few of us knew the secret.”
Secrets known only to a minority—esoterica! Score two for Merlin.
“Who was the father?” PJ asked. Evidently Jasmine’s lips weren’t as sealed as PJ thought. Information was sailing out of her mouth.
Jasmine sighed. “I’ll only say that April was the spawn of rape. Virginia’s probably thoroughly shocked in her grave with what I’ve said already.”
“Where is April now? Is she still in Michigan?”
“That’s the only reason I agreed to talk with you today, PJ.
April murdered the doctor and ran away six months ago.
With all the resources I can call upon, I can’t find her. She’s disappeared from the face of the earth.”