SUNDAY, AUGUST 27, PRESENT DAY
“Margy? We’re here.” Clare entered her mother-in-law’s kitchen with a bowl of potato salad balanced in her arms. Margy always said not to bring anything to Sunday dinner, but the one time Clare had arrived empty-handed, she felt the ghost of her grandmother Fergusson shaming her all afternoon long. “Margy?” She stepped forward to get out of Russ’s way as he came up the steps, baby carrier in hand.
He looked over her head to the empty kitchen. “Must be we’re eating out back.”
They had begun having Sunday dinner at Margy’s shortly after they were married. Not every Sunday—particularly in the winter, Clare was needed for Evensong or small concerts at St. Alban’s as often as not, but they managed the get-together at least twice a month. It was the old-fashioned concept of Sunday Dinner, a full meal at three in the afternoon, although with Margy, you were as likely to get vegan chickpea stew as you were to see roast pork and dumplings.
She followed Russ around the corner of the house to Margy’s backyard, and sure enough, there was a blue-and-white cloth on the picnic table beneath a spreading maple tree. Smoke rose from the small grill—which was manned by Jack Liddle. Margy was lighting citronella coils that had been studded into the ground like wards against evil spirits.
“There’s my boy!” Margy went straight for Ethan, making it clear who her boy was now.
Russ let his mother take the carrier. “Chief—Jack.” He shook the older man’s hand. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Margy kindly extended the invitation to me. I told her I’d come if I could bring the burgers.”
“Did she lecture you about how cows are destroying the climate?”
“Only beef cattle!” Margy hoisted Ethan from his carrier.
“Dairy cows fart methane, too, Mom.” Russ leaned closer to Jack. “My sister and brother-in-law run a herd with two hundred head of milkers. It puts Mom on the horns of a dilemma.”
Jack grinned. “I’m moooooved by her predicament.”
Clare set the salad bowl on the table. “Next person to pun gets stuck with diaper duty for the rest of the day.”
Both men prudently shut up.
Margy surrendered Ethan back to his father and headed to the house. Clare followed her. “Jack seems like a very nice man.”
Margy made a noncommittal noise.
“Did you know him well? Back when he was police chief?”
They entered the kitchen. “You know what it’s like around here. Everybody knows everybody else.” Margy went to her refrigerator, covered in flyers and bumper stickers urging the reader to give peace a chance, buy local, and reuse, reduce, and recycle. She pulled out her ice bin and set it on the counter. “Can you get the sodas out of the pantry for me?”
Clare hoisted a pair of six-packs and set them beside the ice. “It’s just … you seemed pretty friendly the other night. He brought you a plant.”
Margy shot her a look. “He’s well brought up.” She opened the cellar door and retrieved a battered Coleman cooler that must have been at least as old as Clare. “But, yes, I knew him before he was chief of police. We went to school together.” She slid the cooler across the floor. “Go on and put the sodas in there.”
“Really?” Clare tried to keep the speculation out of her voice. Perhaps they had a schoolyard romance. Margy had been a girl in the run-up to World War II. Maybe they … her imagination failed her. History wasn’t her strong suit. Maybe they collected scrap metal together? From what she had heard about Russ’s Campbell grandparents, that didn’t seem like the kind of thing they’d condone.
“Really.” Margy sounded amused.
Clare settled the last soda can into the cooler and straightened. “What about after you graduated?”
“After graduation, he went into the air force. There was a draft on, remember. I started working at the town hall, and then I met Walter—of course, I had known who he was, but he was several years older than me—and he was handsome and dashing and practically a war hero…” She sighed. “By the time Jack was out of the service, Walter and I were engaged.” She gave herself a small shake. “Not that it would have made a difference if we weren’t. Jack and I were friends, not boyfriend and girlfriend.” She grasped the ice basin and upended it into the cooler. “Can you carry this outside? I’ll bring the ketchup and mustard and what-all.”
Jack’s burgers were meltingly good. Even Margy had one, “Just to be polite,” and polished it off with enthusiasm. Russ ate three, which made Clare realize they probably ought to switch up their cold pasta or tabbouleh salad habit a bit. Afterward, they spread the play quilt in the shade and laid Ethan down to stretch and kick. Margy had just gone into the house to bring out dessert when Russ’s phone rang.
He checked the number. “Got to take this.” He moved a few steps away, out of the shade into the bright sunshine. “Van Alstyne here.”
Clare would have happily listened in, but Jack leaned across the table and said, “That was some potato salad.”
She smiled. “It’s not a tricky dish.”
“Sometimes it’s the simple ones that are most satisfying. I had to teach myself to cook when I—”
“Wait. Wait.” Russ stalked back toward them, waving one hand. “The chief investigator for the 1972 case is here.” He swung a leg over the picnic bench and sat down. “Yes, he’s still alive.” He shot an apologetic look at Jack. “Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker. Okay, go ahead.”
“Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear. I have Jack Liddle with me, you’ll have seen his name on the old files.” He turned to Jack. “This is Daniel Scheeler, our ME. Dan, can you repeat what you just told me?”
“I know how your victim died. I know how both the victims died.”