In a place as small as Glenvar, bad news travels at the speed of light. The food moves even faster. The whole afternoon and evening, starting about half a second (or so it seemed) from when I first heard that whispered “Robby Pluck”, people delivered casseroles, cakes, cookies, pies, ice, coffee, soda, gallons and gallons of tea, ham, a four-pound roast, and various other delicacies to Dicey’s house.
Tim, who was assigned the unfortunate job of breaking the bad news to Dicey, left Charli and me with her because, as expected, she was devastated. Thankfully, Mom and Dad arrived soon after to help out and Mom put her superb organizational skills into action. If it had been left up to me, the doors would have been locked, the phone unplugged, and we would have all been hiding in the closets.
Mom, on the other hand, was like the director of a Broadway play. She assigned us to various tasks, polished the silver, sorted out the kitchen, and never even broke a sweat. She had us moving about our duties so smoothly that even I looked graceful. Well, almost.
She sent Dad to their house for masking tape, disposable storage containers, and coolers, then, when he returned from that trip, out again for some supplies from the grocery store. Along with the other tasks Mom assigned us, Charli took on the phone duty, and I did door-answering detail. Dicey alternately cried and blamed herself. As much as we could, Charli, Mom, and I took turns hugging her, bringing her tissues, and holding her hand.
“I can’t help it. I know it’s foolish, but I loved that boy,” she said, for what must have been the two hundredth time. “I wanted us to get married, but he said people would talk. Why didn’t I insist?”
Mom was in the kitchen boiling water for hot tea and trying to wedge all of the casseroles and other food into Dicey’s fridge and the coolers. Charli was still manning the phone, taking message after message and telling people, “thank you for the thought, but I really can’t think of a thing in the world Dicey needs food-wise. Yes, I’m absolutely sure. Thank you so much for offering. Of course, I’ll let you know right away if there’s anything you can do.”
I patted Dicey’s hand again and was about to murmur my usual spiel about how he loved her too, that he was a good guy and only wanted to protect her, when the doorbell chimed. I plastered what I hoped passed for an appropriately sad look on my face, and prepared to greet yet another neighbor bearing offerings of chicken and mushroom soup casserole or lemon lust. I suppose astounded would be an accurate description of how I felt when I saw who was at the door.
Giselle looked terrible, like she’d been rolling around in a gutter. She reeked of cheap cologne and body odor. If I hadn’t felt so bad for Dicey, I probably would have been tempted to make some smart alecky remark about her appearance.
“What?” I said. “What in the world are you doing here?”
Her eyes were ringed with dark circles and were so bloodshot they were more red than white. “Let me in,” she croaked, “I need to talk to Dicey.”
I planted myself squarely in the doorway. No way was she getting past me. “No. She’s too upset. She doesn’t need you harassing her.” I stepped back and pushed the door to close it, but Giselle stuck her foot in and shoved it open.
“So am I. He was my friend too, you know. Don’t be mean, Marty. Let me in.”
I thought about slamming the door in her face, but she had a point. I hate her, but I’m not totally without compassion. She had been a friend of Robby’s. And according to what I’d overheard Art and Robby saying at Pilazzo’s, maybe more than just a friend.
I let slip one of Mom’s ‘could I possibly be any nicer’ sighs and shook my head. “Oh all right. Hold on for a minute. I’ll go check with Dicey and see if she wants to talk to you.”
I left Giselle standing on the porch and went back to Dicey’s cheery study. She was curled up on one end of the leather sofa looking small and vulnerable. “Dicey, Giselle is at the door. She wants to come in. I told her to leave, but she insists that she needs to see you. I told her I’d check with you.”
Dicey stared at me, not seeming to comprehend. “Giselle? Wants to talk to Robby?”
I glanced up at Mom who’d just brought in a tray full of mugs of Earl Grey tea.
“Dicey, hon,” Mom said, her voice as gentle as meringue. “Robby’s gone. Remember? Giselle wants to speak to you. Should Marty let her in or send her away?”
A horrified look crossed Dicey’s face and then she suddenly sat up straight and smoothed her hair. “Yes, I’ll see her.”
It was like a different person. She no longer seemed either little or vulnerable. She was the big-time lawyer, in control and taking charge, ready to kick some legal butt. The swiftness of the change astonished me.
I didn’t say anything to Giselle, just opened the door and pointed down the hallway toward Dicey’s family room.
Giselle tried to hug Dicey, but Dicey pulled away. “What do you want?”
“I, uh, I’m sorry about Robby,” Giselle said. “I just wanted you to know that. He was my friend. I’m going to miss him.”
Dicey softened a bit. “I know, dear. I know. He was a good man. We’ll all miss him.”
“Giselle, dear, would you like a cup of tea?” Mom asked.
Giselle nodded, giving Mom a grateful look. While Mom went off to fix another mug of Earl Grey, Giselle, Dicey, and I sat there for a few interminable minutes, none of us saying anything.
Finally, Giselle broke the silence. “I’m really sorry to have come here, Dicey, but, it’s just that, well, I, uh, I was wondering if Robby might have left a package here for me. He was supposed to bring it by my house today and he didn’t. I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important.”
Dicey blinked at Giselle and shook her head. “I didn’t see him today. Or since yesterday morning, for that matter. We had a quarrel over the phone when he called to tell me that you were, uh, that you were leaving the station and he didn’t come home last night. I went on to bed and when I got up this morning he still wasn’t here. I just assumed he’d, that he’d stayed with a friend or something. Sometimes he did that. Dear Lord, I was sleeping and he was dead. How could I have not known?”
I made soothing type remarks, trying to reassure Dicey that she couldn’t have known, that she had to stop blaming herself. But it was Giselle who went to hug Dicey and this time Dicey let her.
Once she’d calmed down again Dicey turned back into her ‘in control’ persona. “You think maybe the package is here?” she asked.
Giselle raked a hand through her snarled hair. “Possibly. I don’t know, Dicey. I hate to bother you about it. It’s just my stuff from the station. I didn’t have a chance to get it after the incident yesterday. Like I said, I wouldn’t be here about it right now, but it’s important.”
“Let’s have a look, then,” Dicey said. She took Giselle by the arm and they went up the stairs to search for Giselle’s stuff.
The phone rang again and I heard Charli answer it. I went out to the kitchen to help Mom. She was scraping a foul smelling casserole that reminded me of Delbert’s Kitty Glop down the garbage disposal.
“What’s that?”
“Hazeltine Bolling’s ‘famous’ Tuna a la King. It looks like she made it about forty years ago. I ran out of room in the fridge and I didn’t think Dicey would mind if I sacrificed this one.”
“Need any help?”
Mom pointed to the dozens of cakes, pies, trays of cookies, and other desserts that covered the kitchen table. “Start labeling all of the dishes that aren’t throw away with the owner’s name. There’s a list of who brought what, a roll of masking tape, and a marker on the counter.”
I took the list and set to work. “You know, Mom, I feel sort of sorry for Giselle. Can you believe it? I never thought I’d hear myself say those words.”
Mom came around the table and squeezed my shoulder. “Well, I’d say that you’re finally growing up, dear. It’s time you and Giselle put this silly foolishness behind you. Perhaps you two will even become friends.”
I nearly gagged. “Don’t push it. Empathy and compassion I can manage, but friendship? Maybe when fat lady makes the pigs fly while she’s singing.”
Mom shook her head. “That’s not how it goes, Martina.”
Just then Giselle and Dicey came back downstairs, so I never did hear Mom’s version. Giselle hugged a small box tight against her chest. She thanked Dicey for seeing her and left. Since it seemed as if everything was finally calming down, Charli and I said our goodbyes to Dicey and left minutes after Giselle.
Both of us were absolutely wiped out and badly in need of sleep. We walked slowly toward Charli’s house. I couldn’t help but stare at the place where Frank Billingham had lain dead. First Frank, and now Robby. My thoughts worried over the pattern, wondering if the two murders were connected, knowing deep in my mind that they were.
The night air was balmy and thick. Our crisp, clean, sweet summer days appeared to be ready to give over to our normal summertime weather: hazy, hot, and humid. Moths fluttered around the street lamp and off in the distance I heard laughter and shouting as a group of neighborhood kids played flashlight tag. Giselle’s car was parked in front of Kyle’s house and she was sitting in it. Her head was down and she was doing something, but I couldn’t see from where I stood what it was.
I hesitated, but remembered what Mom had said in the kitchen about me growing up and a fresh wave of pity washed over me. Ever the martyr, I forced myself over to the Corvette and tapped on the window. Giselle’s head jerked around so hard it’s a wonder she didn’t get whiplash.
“Sorry to have startled you. Are you all right?” I asked.
She fired off a look that could have launched a missle. Her eyes were wild and full of hate. She stuffed whatever she was holding between her legs.
Her words spewed out like venom. “Get away from me!” Stop spying on me! I hate you, Marty Sheffield, and I’m going to make you pay for everything you’ve done to me if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
She had the Corvette moving before I could get out of the way and the back wheel came within a whisper of crushing my foot.
I stood frozen in the middle of the street, stunned speechless.
“What the heck?” I asked Charli once I regained my senses. “I was just trying to be nice.”
“I guess grief affects different people indifferent ways.” Charli hitched her arm through mine and pulled me over to her porch.
We practically fell inside the house. Once I reached the safety of her family room, I felt the weight of the day, of the week, settle onto me and began to bawl. Charli cried too and we hugged each other tightly, trying desperately to stop.
“I’m beginning to think that we’re living in some sort of twisted nightmare,” Charli said. “I keep telling myself to wake up, that all this isn’t really happening, but it is. And I miss John and the kids so much. I wish they were home, safe and snug, and that everything was back to normal.”
I knew exactly what she meant. I didn’t know how much more I could take. This time the old bags had landed a particularly low blow. Maybe the next punch would be the one that sent me to the mats.
“It’s going to be all right,” I told her. I didn’t believe it, of course, but what else was I going to say.
“Are you scared?” Charli asked minutes later. I was brushing my teeth and she sat on the side of the bathtub watching me.
“A little. I mean, I’m not scared that I might be next or anything, but I’m worried that the detective is going to try and find a way to blame me.”
Charli cooed for me not to worry about that, gave me another hug, and then we went straight to bed. I slept in Jaelyn’s room again, but I was restless and sleep was hard to find. When I did doze off, I kept seeing pictures of Frank and Robby. And once, I dreamed that Sam was chasing me with a butcher knife.
The next morning, Charli was sipping a cup of French Vanilla coffee and sitting at her kitchen table contemplating a handful of colorful pills when I woke up.
“What the heck are all those for?” I asked.
“Vitamins. The big orange one is my multi, the little gel one is my vitamin E, four hundred milligrams, the white round one is my vitamin C, I take 500 milligrams of it, this little pinkish six-sided one is my OPC, that’s an antioxidant, and this one here,” she held up a long yellow horse pill, “it’s my B-Complex. Would you like a dose?”
“Hell no! Geez, that’s enough pills to choke a goat, Charli. Why the hell do you take them? You eat the healthiest diet of anyone I know.”
“Well, I’m turning thirty soon, and since I have three little guys depending on me, I have to take precautions. That’s why I take these. Studies show…”
I interrupted her so I didn’t have to listen to a health-care lecture that would fast degenerate into a session of Charli and Mom’s favorite pastime, ‘what’s wrong with Marty’s life’. I told her about my weird-o dream.
Charli shivered. It turned out that she’d had a similar one, only in her dream she was being chased by a flock of flamingos. “I feel so guilty,” she said. “If I hadn’t decided to run the coup on ONAG none of this would have happened.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” I said, “I don’t think it has anything to do with ONAG. Maybe Giselle killed Robby. You saw how weird she acted last night when I tapped on her car window. Yes, I really think that’s it. I think Robby or Sam or Art killed Frank and Giselle killed Robby. The two murders probably aren’t even connected.”
“You don’t actually believe what you’re saying, do you?” Charli asked.
I wanted to. I really and truly did, especially the part about Giselle, but I couldn’t. “No. I guess I don’t. But I don’t think the murders have anything to do with your taking over ONAG. I think that was just a coincidence. And as much as I’d like to believe Giselle is guilty, I really don’t believe that either. She’d be too afraid of breaking a nail or something.”
“So, what’s your real theory?”
“I guess I’m thinking that the killings have something to do with the conversation I overheard between Art and Robby. Whatever it is that they were up to, two members of their little gang are dead. Sam or Art or maybe even both of them had to have done the murders. But I can’t figure out why.”
“You should tell that to the detective.”
I helped myself to a cup of coffee and a bagel while Charli unwrapped a small piece of chocolate candy. “He won’t believe me. And why should he? It’s not like I have any proof that they were up to anything illegal. All I have is a conversation I overheard and a suspicious mind.”
Charli nodded gravely. “And a sister with an equally suspicious mind.”
The chocolate looked too good to pass up. I asked my sister for one.
“Sure, sweetie. It’s calcium. Really delicious, though, almost like candy.”
She was right. It tasted so yummy that I swiped a handful out of the box.
“No! Only one. I told you, that’s calcium. It’s five hundred milligrams. You aren’t supposed to take more than one or two at a time. Too much can make you ill.”
Why the hell did they make them taste so good if all you got to eat was one? I sheepishly handed the calcium chewies to Charli. All but one, anyway. I figured that five hundred milligrams at a time thing was for people like Charli who drank milk and ate broccoli on a regular basis. I was probably supposed to take a bunch more since my preferred diet is loaded with junk food. When Charli left the room I snuck two more of the chocolate chewies out of the box. Better to be safe than sorry.
While I waited for Charli to finish dressing, I called Dr. Parnell’s office to check on Delbert. “He’s doing pretty well, Marty, but I’d like to keep him one more night. He isn’t his usual self and while I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, I want to rule out all of the possibilities. He’s not a kitten anymore.”
Of course I agreed to let him keep Delbert. “Take good care of him, doc. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to my buddy.”
After Charli was all spiffed up and ready to go, we spun by my apartment so I could change clothes. I went ahead and packed a bag to take with me since we’d decided that the best thing for both of us would be for me to stay with Charli for a few more days. While we didn’t think we were in physical danger, both of us were a little scared and Charli was really feeling lonely.
I changed into a short khaki skirt and my nicest non-logoed t-shirt, dug out my whitest Keds, and stuffed my hair, which the humidity had turned into an unruly mess, into an almost-neat ponytail. Once I’d stowed my bag in the trunk of the Mercedes, Charli and I headed over to the police station to give our statements about how we found Robby’s body.
Since it was my second trip to the Glenvar Police Station in less than a week, I was feeling like a real pro at it. Too bad it wasn’t something I could list on my resume.