On Friday morning, Jane and Leslie drove separately to the art center. On the way there, Jane shook her head in wonderment at the night she’d just spent. She couldn’t quite believe how much fun she’d had. It was a word she’d almost forgotten. Now that it was back in her life, she was more than a little intoxicated by it.
The food from the restaurant hadn’t turned out to be as good as they’d hoped. Leslie hadn’t liked her dinner at all, so they ended up splitting Jane’s bastilla, talking nonstop the entire time. Jane was beginning to see the kind of woman Leslie was—generous, imaginative, introspective, maybe a little too idealistic—and she liked what she saw.
After dinner, they’d listened to music, mostly oldies, and eventually got up and danced their way into the bedroom, where they fell on the bed laughing. It felt strange to be with someone who was so much fun. Even in good times, Julia had never been like that. Around midnight, deciding they were hungry and deserving of a treat, Jane, brandy in hand, tossed together the makings for one huge chocolate chip cookie. They ate it while playing Scrabble using made up words. The only rule was, whatever you made up, you had to be able to define. It was an experience she wanted to repeat.
Jane arrived at the art center before Leslie. She waved to Emma and Cordelia, who were seated toward the back. The room, which was normally an exhibition space, had been set up with chairs and a lectern. She was a little surprised to see so many people in attendance. She did a quick count and realized it was close to forty. Taking a seat near the front, she offered Leslie a restrained smile when she walked in and sat down next to Cordelia.
The head of the council, Connie Johnson, a gray-haired woman in a blue linen blazer, welcomed everyone to the morning event. She thanked several dozen people for their help with the festival and then launched into a short pitch for the next day’s main event: Cordelia Thorn’s talk about the importance of community theater in the life of a small community, to be delivered at the Rialto theater. Cordelia stood, gratefully and skillfully acknowledging the applause. Once all that was out of the way, the names of the silent auction winners were announced. People stood as their names were called. The gourmet dinner was the last. When Leslie’s name was read, Jane turned to smile at her. Standing, Leslie clasped her hands together like a winning prize fighter and beamed at the crowd. Jane couldn’t help but wonder how much she’d bid. The art council was no doubt appreciative of her generosity, which was the point. Jane was grateful, too, because it meant another date with the mayor.
As everyone began leaving, Jane stood up and looked around. Leslie nodded to her as she ducked out, holding a pretend phone to her ear and grinning. Cordelia was engulfed by people wanting a moment with her, which left Emma alone—just the person Jane wanted to talk to. They walked out together. It was a beautiful day, perfect weather for that night’s bonfire.
“How did your reunion meeting go last night?” asked Jane. What she really wanted to know was whether or not Kurt had talked to her about Sam.
“So-so,” said Emma. “You know, don’t you? Kurt said he’d already spoken to you.”
They walked to a bench in the park and sat down.
“Initially, I guess, I was both shocked and confused,” Emma began. “But I understand some things now, why Sam was the way he was.”
“You mean about him being gay? You never wondered?”
“I did, sure, but it’s not the kind of thing you ask the guy you’re dating. And honestly, I figured if it turned out he was gay, I was okay with it. Even then, as much as I cared about him, I didn’t think we’d be together forever. More than anything, we were friends.”
“And the rest?”
“That’s harder. Kurt was afraid I’d never want to see him again after I found out, but that wasn’t my reaction at all. He was sucked into that ridiculous insanity pretty much against his will. He tried to talk Sam out of it. Between you and me, I think he’s really scared that when this comes out, he’ll go to jail. But how could he? He’s every bit as much of a victim as Sam. The only reason he never spoke up about what happened was because of Monty’s threat. Who knew Dave and Monty were such scum?”
“I’m glad Sam had you in his life,” said Jane.
“Sam and Kurt,” said Emma. “Oh, gosh, look at the time. I’ve got so much to do before tonight.”
“Did you get a chance to talk to your uncle Grady?”
“Yes, he said he’d be free at eleven.”
“I can’t thank you enough.”
“I wish you’d tell me what you have planned.”
“Let’s just hope it works.”
Emma sighed as she rose from the bench. “I wish I weren’t leaving next week. But I have to get home. Philip has been making more noises about getting back together.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“It’s never going to happen.”
There was a finality in Emma’s voice.
“And Scott? Is he still texting you nonstop?”
“That guy is bonkers. He’s one person I’ll be glad to put in the rearview mirror.”
“You’re being careful, right?”
“As careful as I can be. I really don’t see him trying to hurt me. I just think he’s obsessive. Once I’m gone, he’ll find someone new to fixate on. Lucky her.”
Wilburn Lowry was carrying a broken rocking chair down the front steps as Jane pulled up outside the Mickler house a few minutes later. She rolled down the window and called, “Where do you want to talk?”
“Give me a sec,” he called back, stuffing the chair above a bunch of other junk toward the back of the van. And then he slipped into the seat next to her.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“You’re never gonna believe this. I found something last night I think could be important. Down in the basement, under a lot of other crap, I discovered a black plastic leaf-and-lawn bag with a varsity letterman jacket inside. When I saw the blood on it, I closed it right back up.”
“Are you sure it was blood?”
“Trust me. I know what old blood looks like.”
“Do you know who the jacket belonged to?”
“Dave Tamborsky. There was a patch with his name sewn on the inside, near the collar.”
Jane hadn’t expected that.
“What should I do with it?” asked Lowry.
“Leave it right where you found it.”
“Already done that. But what do you think it means?”
Her mind was already spinning through the possibilities.
“What I wonder is, if it belonged to Dave, why did Monty have it?” Lowry said. “It looked like he tried to remove the chenille letter. He got it halfway off, but then just left it. What’s all that about?”
“I’m not sure.” What if it actually was Sam’s blood? If so, then it was a direct link between Dave, Monty, and Sam’s murder.
“Do you think Dave might have had something to do with Sam Romilly’s death?” asked Lowry.
“Yeah, I do.”
“So, should we turn it over to the cops?”
“I think we have to.” She didn’t have a lot confidence in the local police, though she did feel she had no other choice than to take a chance. Emma insisted that her uncle, the police chief, Grady Larson, was a man with a great deal of integrity. Jane was about to test that theory.