Chapter 24

 

Friday dawned clear and surprisingly cool for July. There were no meetings or pressing errands, and I hadn’t had a chance to enjoy my new screen porch yet, so I decided this was the day. There was no furniture in the room, and the walls were only primed, but while Paddy was out on his cable run I set up the card table and a folding chair. I owned some of my family linens, and found a lovely drawn-work tablecloth my grandmother had made. With a bright-red paper napkin and a blue plate the table looked festive. I hunted through the silverware drawer to find a matching set of flatware. Then I made myself a massive vegetable omelet, a slice of toast, and a pot of coffee.

I brought Paddy in and he pushed his bony frame past me as I carried the food up the narrow stairs. The dog was so tall he could see out through the screening even sitting down. While I ate, he surveyed the trees beyond the yard. He loved the space as much as I did.

It was mid-summer, and the birds weren’t singing with the enthusiasm of spring, but robins were insistently calling “cheeri-up,” and various sparrows twittered. I heard a blue jay’s accusing, “Thief!” After eating, I brought in a pile of pillows from my bed and sat leaning against the wall. I was too low to see anything but branches against the sky, but a light breeze made the leaves dance, and I sipped coffee and let my mind wander.

It still mystified me that DuWayne and Larry hadn’t needed to do more than vouch for each other on the day Angelica had disappeared. Len had said something about them hauling sand. I supposed someone at either the pickup or delivery locations, or both, had seen them a few times. I watched the leaves and unfocused my eyes. When was Angelica actually killed? That was the real question. And it couldn’t be answered. No wonder the alibis weren’t important. Until this week, no one had even been sure anything had happened to her.

Finding her body made it likely she had never left the area, but unless someone confessed, it would probably never be known if she died the day she was walking to Paula’s Place, or the next day, or even the next. I was no forensics expert, but I doubted the exact day of death could be determined after seven years.

And then there was Ralph Garis and his son, Frank. Why was Ralph interested enough in the discovery of the body to fight for a seat on our Family Friends Committee? Clearly, he had come to try to get information rather than to be helpful. Why had Frank given a note to Adele about Larry being free, instead of just saying it out loud? If Frank knew Adele at all, he knew that anything he passed along to her wasn’t going to remain under wraps. Maybe Ralph had accused Frank of being involved with the disappearance, and Frank didn’t want to discuss it with his father.

Who had been the visitor to the grave site? I couldn’t figure that one out at all. If it had been a thrill-seeker, why had he or she run away? Fleeing pointed to someone with guilty knowledge, since they had gone directly to the correct location. And that could be anyone. Larry, DuWayne, Frank, even Ralph might have been there, although I couldn’t see Ralph wearing running shoes. The prints were so obvious, maybe it was Ralph or someone wearing those distinctive shoes to leave a false clue. I came to the unhelpful conclusion that it could have been anyone at all. So far, there was absolutely no way to narrow the field of suspects since we had no idea who knew how to find Angelica’s grave.

The sky was warming to a bright clear blue, and white clouds drifted behind the treetops. I slid down and snuggled deeper into the pillows. Adele’s ridiculous idea that Dennis Milford liked me intruded on my efforts to think about Angelica. Was it possible she was right? If she was, how did I feel about it? Milford was attractive in a rough sort of way. He reminded me of George Peppard at the age when he played Banacek on television, although he didn’t seem to have Banacek’s smooth way with women. I had enjoyed the reruns of that show, back when I had cable TV. I’d lived in Dead Mule Swamp for three months and hadn’t even thought about hooking up my television yet, although I had brought a small set with me. I had no idea how one got reception out here; I hadn’t seen a cable box along the road. I supposed I’d have to get a dish, or an antenna and converter box.

My thoughts continued to jump from one topic to another. Could Milford show Banacek’s skill in solving cases, and find Angelica’s killer? If Adele was right, did I want to date someone yet? That answer was a definite “no.” Having one solid fact was like a corner fencepost. Maybe I could build from there.

I debated teal or plum for my accent wall. No answer for that question. I pondered whether DuWayne was harmless but insensitive or dangerous and threatening. No fence post there either.

“Let’s go for a walk,” I proposed to the dog.