Chapter 25

“Who shut down your restaurants?” I asked Gil.

“I closed them. Not even one person came here to eat tonight.”

“That’s not fair. Fawn died in your restaurant, but it was probably from natural causes. And why all of your restaurants? They couldn’t have all been affected.”

“Business in all of them slowed to almost a halt since the national media sensationalized the death. We announced that we decided to shut down until investigations here are complete.”

“But that could take a while. And so many employees depend on you for their income.”

“I’ll keep paying them.”

I knew Gil did well financially. But what he was talking about could probably break him in no time.

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked. “I have money. And a shoulder to lean on.”

“Getting too close to your shoulder can be painful.”

A dual meaning. I kicked hard. And I’d left him before, so he couldn’t leave me. Our partings hurt both of us. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“At least you weren’t wearing pointed heels. But I’m better. I have to go.”

“Let me know if I can help.”

“Right.” He clicked off.

I considered a minute and realized I’d hurt his manhood again. It wasn’t enough that I’d kicked his family jewels. Now I’d offered the man money.

I needed to use better judgment before I acted or spoke.

Stevie’s candle-room door was still shut. I pressed my ear against it.

Eerie utterances. Possibly in her voice, but much deeper.

I didn’t want to figure out what to do now. I shut down all thoughts and took a shower. Crawled into my bed and slept.

* * *

In the morning I woke with negative thoughts. Gil, bankrupt. Ish, explaining his blow-up doll to others because of me. Gil, in pain because of me. Stevie, maybe still in that room with candles. Angry at me.

I slid out of bed to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep in there.

My legs hurt, then gave way. I fell to my knees. “What the hell?” I blurted.

I held onto the bed and pulled myself up. My shins ached. And now also both knees.

I limped down the hall. Stopped at the room with the shut door and tried the knob. Locked. “Stevie,” I said, knocking. I sniffed the door. No burnt candle odor. She must have gone to school.

The scent of cinnamon rolls vacuumed me into the kitchen. I was glad to note that my legs started to feel better.

A saucer held two rolls. I ate one before touching the door of the stove. It was cold. The rolls were on the counter beside a toaster oven. I felt inside that oven. It was hot.

Ravenously hungry, I ate both sweet rolls and touched Minnie’s soil.

“Still damp enough,” I said to her. Minnie looked healthy, from the poufs on her bumpy pink head to her triangular thick stem.

I mentally patted my back. I’d done something right. At one time Minnie kept slumping. Her poufs spread. Then I’d learned I shouldn’t water her so much. Cranberry juice was also a no-no. And now she was looking much better.

“If this were my kitchen,” I said, standing beside her to drink orange-pineapple juice, “I wouldn’t replace the stove. There would be no need to.” I grinned, noting the fridge, microwave, and toaster oven. What more did a homemaker need?

I washed and put away my glass and saucer, deciding today I would buy Stevie more toss-away cups and plates. I’d also get her a stove since she seemed to like them.

I checked the phone book for places that sold appliances. I was near the back door and heard a man holler. I went to the porch.

“Come here!” he yelled, making me take a quick step back. And then he whistled. A dog barked. It sounded not far outside Stevie’s gate. “Come here, Rezo,” the man yelled.

From the porch I saw him near the road. Large man in a tan sweat suit. Black cap.

Pumping their arms as they walked behind him were the two women with white hair. None of them glanced at me.

I went through the house to the front, got in my car, and drove off, worried. Two members of the group that Stevie belonged to had died.

The only ones left were Kern, the priest, Ish, Jenna, and Stevie.

Fawn McKenzie’s death confirmed a connection to the death of Pierce Trottier, at least in my mind.

I’d spoken a bit with all of the male members of The Quitters Group. I’d had to rush away from Jenna’s house when I’d told her that fib about wanting her picture and a story. The notebook I’d bought and disposable camera were still in my car. I drove to her house.

Parking in front, I rang her doorbell. Jenna didn’t respond.

A vacant lot with overgrown grass was to the left. The frame house to the right of hers was dull yellow, a new white truck parked in front. I went there.

A woman with a round face opened her door an inch and kept the safety chain on. “Yes?”

I plastered on my nice-grandma smile. “Sweetie, I’ve been working on a story about your neighbor, Jenna Griggs, and I need to take a couple more pictures of her.” I held up my camera and notebook. I’d told the truth. I was making up a story about Jenna right now.

The woman’s face softened. “What did you need with me?”

“I’m trying to find her, and she doesn’t seem to be home.”

“Did you try Westell Brothers?”

“Where’s that?”

“On Bowman Road. Jenna’s probably working right now.”

“Thanks.” I was turning away but noted her disappointed stare at my camera. “Before I go, it would sure add to the story if I could snap a picture of Jenna’s neighbor. What did you say your name is?”

“Gwen Allen.”

I held up my camera while she unlocked her safety chain. Gwen stuck her face in the open doorway and smiled. I snapped her picture. “Another one?” I said, and she changed pose. “Got ya. Thanks.” I took another picture and headed off her porch.

“What magazine did you say that will be in?”

I kept going, pretending not to hear.

“What magazine?” She walked right behind me.

“Good Girls.”

“Is that new? It’s not porn, is it?”

“No, ma’am, and you’ll be in the first issue that hits the stands.” I pinched my palm.

Her smile widened. I slid into my car. “What’s the article about?” She poked her face near my window.

I cranked the motor and drove off. Thinking up too many lies created by my first lie was more untruths than I could handle. Maybe she’d think I hadn’t heard her final question.

I needed to decipher what was truth and what wasn’t in two people’s deaths. Maybe a person who killed once did what I did with lies: became proficient with practice. I didn’t want to lie. I especially didn’t want anyone to kill, particularly not the people around me. I needed to find Jenna Griggs.

* * *

Jenna was the first person I saw inside Westell Brothers. “Hello, how are you?” she said with a huge smile, gliding toward me like a salesperson hoping for a smashing sale. She put her hand out and made eye contact. Recognition registered.

“I’m great,” I said.

“You’re doing that story about people who quit smoking.”

I nodded but didn’t believe she had quit. And I didn’t need to get her against me by mentioning that guess. I glanced into the store to see what products she’d sell here. “You have appliances.”

“With the best prices in town. Guaranteed.”

“I want a stove.”

“Right this way. Gas or electric? Built-in or freestanding?”

I’d paid so little attention to stoves I wasn’t certain what type Stevie had. I did usually pay attention to color. “Black.”

“Here are black ones.” She swept her arm toward a large array.

I rubbed my hand over their shiny tops, deciding not to tell her all I normally did with my own stove was dust it. She wanted a sale. I wanted information. We could fulfill each other’s desires.

“Pierce Trottier’s death was a horrible thing,” I said, fingering knobs on a stove.

A rush of air left her nostrils. “Can you imagine?” she asked.

“Imagine what?”

“If it was your cousin.”

Fear for Stevie gripped my chest. “Why do you say that?”

“Can you imagine what it would be like if yours died? Pierce was my first cousin.”

“Yes, I read that in his obituary.” And now might not be the time to ask about his two children again.

Jenna nodded. Her gaze slid toward the rear of Westell Brothers, making me realize I’d spoken too loudly. She might get concerned about her job.

I opened the stove’s oven and looked in, pretending to care. Jenna’s boss might be looking. My action showed I was interested in stoves.

“What killed him?” I asked.

“Pierce?” Her eyes looked fearful. I needed to convince her that she could trust me.

“Yes.” I gripped her hand. “Jenna, I’m so sorry about your relative. I’m sure you know he died in my cousin’s yard. I fell on him. Fell on him. And still feel him against my legs. I care. I need to know what happened.”

Her face softened. “We weren’t really that close.”

“I understand. Stevie’s my cousin. We aren’t really close, either.” Our relationship was on and off, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

She glanced worriedly toward the store’s rear.

“Look in here.” I pointed inside the oven. “Make believe you’re happily selling me an appliance.” I grinned at the oven.

She bent to it, plastering on a smile. “He might have died from nicotine overdose.”

I let go of the oven door. It slammed shut. “Nicotine overdose?”

“He had a heart condition. That’s why he needed to quit smoking.”

“I thought he quit the night before, the night Stevie and most of the others did.”

The store’s front door opened. A couple entered and glanced at us. They moved toward the rear. A male salesman aimed for them.

“I need to get back to work,” Jenna said.

“You’re working now. I’ll buy something. Smile.” I plastered on my own grin.

She smiled, too. “So this is the kind of stove you need? Freestanding?”

I tried to picture the one in Stevie’s kitchen. “Yes, it is.”

“Okay, good.”

I envisioned something else I had seen. And the smell. “It looked like Pierce had gum between his teeth when he died. And he smelled of vomit.”

She looked wounded.

“I’m sorry. I’m just remembering.”

“It’s okay. Yes, they said he had chewed nicotine gum and vomited.”

“Why?”

She took a breath. “He was probably poisoned.”

“From nicotine gum? People chew it all the time and don’t die.”

“It wasn’t only that.” Jenna glanced away. She didn’t want to speak of this.

A woman in a tan pantsuit came near. She eyed Jenna and then me. Jenna’s boss.

“Hi. Nice stoves,” I told her. “Jenna is about to sell me a really nice one.”

She nodded and ambled away.

“I’ll have to get busy,” Jenna said.

“I really want a stove.”

“This one?”

I checked out the stove’s burners, trying to recall Stevie’s. There were flat burners on both sides, except for the parts I’d dented. Yes, it was electric.

“Let me check the other black electric ones you have,” I said, like I knew something about these appliances. She pointed to three others. I glanced at them, comparing prices. I moved toward the last one that cost hundreds more than the others. Shiny black top and oven door. A couple more thingies on top, one of them maybe a grill. “This one’s probably better,” I said.

“Definitely.”

“Good. I’ll take it.”

She looked relieved and wrote up the order. “They’ll deliver tomorrow. Someone has to be there.”

“I will.” I paid, again grateful money was no longer an issue in my life. Right now solving a murder was. Or possibly two of them.

“Can I call you at home later?” I asked.

She diverted her eyes. Kept them down. “You can try to reach me.”

I thanked Jenna and left Westell Brothers determining she would screen her calls. Mine would not be answered.

I’d met one person who knew Pierce Trottier’s fiancée and might know and be free with gossip about him by now. Glancing into my rearview mirror, I wondered how my strawberry waves would look nipped a wee bit. My next stop—Audrey Ray’s salon.