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I DROVE TO WARD RIVER a third time on Monday morning, though I didn’t tell Barbara or Faye I was going to. Aside from Frannie, who’d probably lie her head off, Lila Beale could tell me more about Steve Deline than possibly anyone living. I hoped she wouldn’t mind sharing.
When I entered the Send ’Em Flowers Flower Shop (the sign’s redundancy would have driven Barbara Ann nuts), there was no human to greet me. At first I heard only the echoes of the tinkling silver bell overhead, but then a beautiful Irish setter stepped out from behind an oak counter. She was an older dog, and she seemed friendly. I let her sniff my hand and told her how beautiful she was, and she returned to her blanket, satisfied I hadn’t come to steal an amaryllis.
I spent a few seconds browsing. Coolers lined the wall on my right, sparsely populated with floral arrangements, terrariums, and indoor plants. The back was curtained off with a heavy plastic drape, but it was pushed aside far enough to reveal a set of stairs and a bunch of items stored for winter: plant stands, a sturdy dump cart for moving dirt and rocks, and leaf tarps. Stacks of pots sat next to a utility sink, scrubbed and ready for spring. The left wall was mostly taken up with the counter, which suggested a grocery or hardware store as the original purpose for the building. Atop one end were Christmas items for plant lovers: mistletoe, holly, poinsettia plants, and Christmas cactuses. (Or is it cacti? Only my sister would care.) Scattered around the room were displays offering impulse buys: frog and butterfly planter decorations, watering devices, stakes topped with angel figurines, and plaques bearing sentiments such as I plant; therefore we all live. I’d read most of them when I heard water gush in the pipes overhead. Soon footsteps sounded and I saw feet coming down the stairs.
Lila Beale was one of those tiny women who give the impression they have more energy in one finger than most people have in their whole bodies. Her stride was confident, her expression alert, and her eyes as bright as polished lapis lazuli. With a professional smile she asked, “How can I help you?”
Always start with a positive. “I met your dog. She’s a love.”
The smile got warmer. “Brandy? My best bud and security guard.”
“She doesn’t seem likely to attack anyone, even a criminal.”
“Probably not,” she admitted. “I guess I should have gotten a pit bull or something, but this...friend I had was a big fan of setters.”
Steve Deline had mentioned setters on his dating profile. “So this is your friend’s dog?”
“No.” She blinked twice. “I got Brandy after he...moved away.”
“Well, she’s beautiful.”
“So what do you need today?”
“Information.” I placed my card on the counter. “I’m with the Smart Detective Agency in Allport.”
Thin brows rose slightly, and her enthusiasm waned. “Oh.”
“You’re aware that Steven Deline was recently murdered?”
Her gaze dropped to her hands. “The police told me. It’s awful.”
“You and he were friends?”
“For years. Then we had a fight.” She swallowed hard. “It was dumb. I over-reacted and drove Steve right out of Ward River. I feel awful about that.”
“He got a protection order against you.”
She seemed embarrassed. “Yeah.”
“The night Steve was killed, there was someone there when his body was—” I chose a better word than dumped,“—left in the alley.”
If Lila had killed Steve, she’d be unnerved to hear that. Instead she seemed confused. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Nothing, really.” I made my tone girlish. “I’m supposed to be gathering background on Deline, but honestly, I wanted to meet you. I mean, how many guys are so scared of a woman they ask for a PPO?”
She waved its importance away. “Like I said, the whole thing was dumb. Steve was a practical joker who sometimes went overboard. I took one of his pranks too personally and did some things to get back at him.” One eyebrow rose. “I was better at it than he expected, and he ended up ducking all over town to avoid me.”
I looked at her aslant. “You don’t look dangerous to me.”
Stepping back, Lila raised her thin arms. “What you see is what you get.” As if to second her owner’s un-scariness, Brandy yawned widely, making an odd sound that made both of us chuckle.
That seemed to smooth the way for the big question. “What made things so bad between you and Steve?”
Lila grimaced. “He embarrassed me in front of his friends, and the story went all over town.”
“That’s terrible.”
She put a finger to her lips for a moment before going on. “I was kind of a mess about it.”
It was too early to ask for her version of the Vegas story. “Did you know Steve was living in Allport?”
“No one did. Or if they did, they didn’t tell me.” After a pause she added, “I guess my friends wanted me to get over Steve, and his friends wanted to forget what he did.”
“People always tell you to get over things,” I said sympathetically, “but there’s no timeline back to the way things were before.”
“Exactly.” Lila leaned against the counter behind her. “When Steve finally left town, my friend Karen sat me down and told me to think about how strange it all was. She said everyone knew Steve had acted like a slug, but my revenge tactics had turned him into a victim.” She rolled her shoulders. “I realized I didn’t want the whole town chuckling about my latest stunt or feeling sorry that I was so messed up.”
“Sounds like a really good friend you’ve got there.”
“She is.” Lila paused, as if recalling her former self and wondering how she’d gone so wrong. “I’d seen my life one way, but she insisted that wasn’t the only possible outcome.”
That struck a chord. “You didn’t want to wake up and realize you’d wasted years feeling sorry for yourself when you could have been out enjoying life.”
“Right.”
“And you didn’t want to wake up old and alone because you missed out on a chance at happiness.”
Lila looked at me funny, and I realized I’d been speaking for myself, not for her. After a moment she gave me an impish smile. “Well, I don’t intend to get old. I intend to get better until I decide that the world can no longer hold all my awesomeness, and then I’ll just float off into space or something.”
I liked the idea that it was up to a person to decide what aging was for her and deal with it as she saw fit. Lila seemed pretty wise despite her youth, unlike “You know who” Habedank. “So you got a new attitude, like the song says?”
“Exactly. I stopped stressing about what Steve did and got back to what really matters.” She waved at the store. “After a while people around here went on to gossiping about somebody else.”
I knew how it felt to be the general topic of conversation in a small town. For a year after Don’s death I’d been plagued by well-meaning but intrusive friends and acquaintances. Anytime I appeared in public, I could almost hear the whispers: That’s the dead cop’s wife. You know, the guy that got shot. Faye had been wonderful, going places with me she’d never have gone on her own and acting as my bodyguard. Even Barbara made arrangements to come home for those Awful Firsts: the first Christmas without Don, the first Fourth of July parade, and the first birthday he could no longer celebrate. Family pulls together in tragedy, and sisters are the best.
Lila had been thinking her own thoughts. “You can’t keep hanging on when something’s gone. You have to make your heart let go.”
The comment struck me like a blow. Had I moved on? I hid my loneliness pretty well, but now that life had offered a second chance for happiness, I’d sort of frozen up. Was I holding on to the past too hard? Did some part of me still want to be the small-town hero’s widow? Was I unable to face really moving on from the man I’d loved all those years, the man who’d won my heart, built our home, and fathered my children? Letting go isn’t just opening your hands. It’s also closing off a part of your heart.
“Moving on is a wise choice, Ms. Beale. Not everyone can do it.”
Her smile was rueful. “I just wish I’d figured that out sooner. Now Steve’s dead, and I’ll never get to tell him I got over all my silliness.”
On the drive back to Allport I considered the conversation I’d had with Lila. Strangely enough, a possible murder suspect had given me the most valuable advice I’d heard so far: You can’t keep hanging on when something’s gone.
In a burst of enthusiasm I called Lars, who was at home and apparently putting away groceries. As cans slid onto shelves and cellophane wrappers crackled in the background he told me, “I got a few things done already. I notified the condo association, looked up some phone numbers, stuff like that. Did you tell them yet?”
I immediately began to have doubts again. Did I have the right to make myself happy when the results affected my sisters?
“Lars, don’t do too much. Things could still change.”
There was a pause, and I pictured his handsome face with a disappointed expression. “I thought—”
What does a person do when no matter what choice she makes, someone is going to be upset? As I’d been doing a lot lately, I equivocated. “I don’t mean really change. I just mean the timetable.”
“Oh.” He sounded relieved. Men are so easy.
