Crime Times Two Page 9

  There was no avoiding Leona on the way out. The woman sat behind the counter with a thick book on her lap, the kind of book you pick up when you have all the time in the world to do nothing but read. Meredith’s gaze flickered to the woman’s hip to see if the holster and gun were visible and noted they indeed were present and accounted for.

  “We don’t get too many strangers up here.”

  She stopped, unsure if she really wanted to engage the librarian in conversation. But if there was one conclusion she’d arrived at in the past year, it was she would no longer be bullied. She would stand up for herself. In this instance, the librarian developed the wrong idea about her and Jacob. Gossip had a habit of traveling far and wide in a sparsely populated place like High County. Rumors needed to be cut off at the source.

  “I didn’t know him,” she started. “Jacob, I mean. I’m sorry he died. You must have known him well.”

  Leona closed the book on her lap with a thump. “Most of my life.” She stood and touched the holster at her hip. “You know he never was able to make his confession, before his heart attack. There must have been something terrible weighing on his mind.”

  Meredith frowned, not sure where the conversation was heading. “I didn’t know him,” she repeated. “I just come in here to do my schoolwork.”

  “What was he talking about with you, all that time back there in the corner?”

  The conversation with Jacob flashed through her mind: his fear of his wife and his certainty she wanted to kill him. “He said their anniversary was coming up.”

  Leona appeared grudgingly satisfied at the answer. “That’s right. He was a happily married man.” The librarian set her lips firmly together, as though she were defying any contradiction. Then she added, “Your husband died too, didn’t he?”

  Meredith hid her discomfort. Brian and Jacob, two dead husbands. “Yes. Recently.”

  “We don’t get that sort of thing up here.”

  Unwittingly, a laugh bubbled to Meredith’s lips. “People dying?”

  “Murder,” the librarian said, her face screwing up as though the word tasted bad coming out. The word was just short of a reproach.

  The breath stopped in her throat. She swiveled and walked out without glancing back. No wonder she was besieged with guilt over Brian’s death; others treated her as though she were guilty, too. It was impossible to go anywhere or do anything in these tiny towns without someone watching, judging, and gossiping. She’d suspected the man was going to cause headaches for her and, sure enough, here was this bored librarian creating drama out of thin air.

  Even in death, Jacob was a problem, conjuring Brian back into her life. Honey was right; Jacob had been a creepy married man and that was that. She wished for the thousandth time she wasn’t reliant on others for help and she didn’t need to use the Twin Lakes library. Her own life was complicated enough without getting involved in the lives of others.

  Someday, I’ll get out of the dark ages and have a cell phone, cable TV, a computer and Internet like the rest of the world. All those things cost so much money. How do people afford them all?

  A thin film of white had accumulated on the walkway and she walked slowly with her feet wide apart, trying not to fall. She wasn’t entirely clear what her intentions were in talking to Jacob’s widow. It didn’t make sense she’d be able to spot a murderer just by studying her. This was ridiculous. She figured the older priest, Father Karl, might tell her something about Jacob’s widow. At the very least, he could point her toward Jacob’s house. She headed toward the church at the far end of the street.

  The church’s heavy wooden door was twice her height but swung open easily. Again, the interior of the church was hushed and votive candles flickered at one side. Neither priest was in sight and no one sat in the pews. The confessional where Jacob died was empty and silent. Meredith gazed down the center aisle and considered what life would be like to belong to a community such as this. There’d be comfort in the rituals and formalities, and especially being accepted as part of a congregation. Church picnics, family gatherings, shared experiences.

  Belonging. I want to belong somewhere, but how?

  People in small towns closed ranks, were generally distrustful of strangers, and made it difficult for someone new to join in. She didn’t always want to be an outsider peering in.

  She shifted on her feet, unsure if she should call out. Unnerved by the quiet, she backtracked to the entrance, her footfalls echoing. If anyone was inside, they were staying hidden. She shoved against the door and emerged again into the cold, standing at the top of the steps. More snow was falling now and her thoughts flew to the road down the mountain. She was unused to driving in slick conditions. Rain and fog, no problem; the general rule was just slow down. Snow was different. Handling a car in these conditions was like the difference between roller skating and ice skating. Anyone would tell you ice skating was much more difficult.

  She gazed down the street, wondering if she should give up on Jacob’s wife and simply go back home. Meredith blinked snowflakes away as a figure appeared at the end of the street, in front of the library. Leona stood watching, arms crossed in front of her.

  This decided her. She wouldn’t let small town people chase her away. Let the librarian watch her and gossip all she wanted. She would find Jacob’s wife and look her in the eye. The visit would be masked as a simple condolence call, from someone who’d met her husband. This decision made, a truck came into view, driving slowly past Leona and turning to go behind the library. Curtis, she thought; just in time to lead the way. She drew her sweater more tightly around her and flipped up the collar to shelter her neck from the wet flakes. Leona disappeared back into the library as Meredith hurried by, hoping to catch sight of the truck again before she froze to death.

  She didn’t expect Idaho to get so cold this soon; it was still autumn, after all. Autumn was supposed to be a time of warm breezes and trees taking on subtle colors of rust. The season was supposed to gradually edge toward winter; instead it burst in within a week. Meredith expected to have at least until after Thanksgiving before she needed to worry about snow. Winter apparently arrived earlier in this part of the country, especially in the higher elevations.

  Bingo, she thought, as she rounded the corner to the street behind the library. The truck was parked in front of a tidy house halfway down the block. Jacob lived right there, with the library practically in his front yard. She hesitated only a moment, and then shunted the last misgiving away. She had every right to make a quick stop, one widow consoling another. It wasn’t strange at all.

  ****

  Jacob’s wife wore black from head to toe, from the lacy veil perched on the crown of her head to the three-inch heels below a narrow pencil skirt. She made a comely widow, demure and alluring at the same time. Such effect didn’t come without some effort and care, and she wondered at how the woman considered these things so soon after her husband died.

  “I’m Brooke.” The woman’s voice was hushed and gaze downcast as she introduced herself. “Thank you for coming.”

  Jacob’s wife was much prettier than expected and Meredith was instantly aware of her own appearance. Her chunky pea green sweater, found at a secondhand store, sported a small moth hole at one elbow. She’d worn the same jeans twice already that week and a strand of hair had fallen from her usual ponytail. “I…I just wanted to say how sorry I am,” she stuttered, overly conscious of her lie.

  Brooke gestured to one side of the entry to the living room. “Please come in.”

  Father Michael and Curtis stared as she entered, both wore similar expressions of surprise and dismay. The window shades were drawn, shutting out the purity of the early winter light, and a single lamp lit the room. The space was uncluttered and neat, with no sign children lived in the house. Certainly, Jacob hadn’t mentioned any. A few books sat stacked neatly on one table, but otherwise, there was little to indicate real people occupied the home. The room was neat to the point of bein
g sterile. Cups rattled through a doorway apparently leading to the kitchen.

  “You know Father Michael?” Brooke asked. “And the sheriff, of course.”

  Meredith smiled weakly at both men, her gaze lingering an extra second on Curtis before flickering away. “We’ve met.”

  Brooke gave a charming shrug and sat in a chair next to the priest, gesturing that she should sit on the sofa next to Curtis. The four of them faced each other.

  “Tell me,” Brooke said. “How did you know my husband?”

  “I didn’t really know him; I met him at the library. We talked a couple of times, that’s all. He seemed upset about a few things.” She studied Brooke carefully as she made this last statement, to see if her words rattled the woman.

  Brooke nodded, her chin jutted forward. “Jacob was under quite a bit of stress,” she acknowledged. “He lost his job last year and wasn’t able to find anything else. Jobs are scarce around here. I told him we could move but he didn’t want to leave. We both grew up here, you know.”

  “He’s at peace,” Father Michael murmured, then to Meredith said, “As is your own husband.”

  Meredith wiped her palms lightly against her pants at the mention of Brian. Sitting in this newly widowed woman’s house took her back to the days when her own widowhood was fresh. Death, murder, and suspicion haunted her for months before she regained a semblance of normality.

  I’m here for closure, she reminded herself.

  Curtis cleared his throat. “The doctor confirmed a heart attack, in the autopsy report. We were discussing this when you knocked.”

  The priest leaned forward. “In my experience,” he offered, “heart attacks can come on suddenly.”

  “He was awfully young to have a heart attack,” Meredith interrupted, her heart in her throat. “That’s unusual.”

  They all stared at her.

  “Excuse me.” Brooke’s voice sounded small and whispery. “Are you implying you don’t believe Jacob died of a heart attack? Doctor Rose confirmed it.”

  There was another clatter in the kitchen and then a woman emerged carrying a tray filled with coffee cups. The sour-faced, romance-reading woman she’d seen talking about handguns with the librarian hesitated for a moment at Brooke’s side.

  “This is my good friend, Carolyn Reynolds,” Brooke said, gazing up at the woman. “She’s been such a life-saver, helping out, cooking and cleaning.”

  “I go by Caro,” the woman corrected, setting the tray down on the coffee table. She looked around the room for an extra chair and, not seeing one, perched on the edge of the sofa hovering over Meredith. “Have some coffee.”

  It came out like an order so everyone leaned forward to get a cup except for Meredith. Already on edge, she bristled at Caro’s tone and didn’t like how the woman loomed at her shoulder. For a moment, there was just the sound of gentle slurping. Meredith eyed Brooke and recalled Jacob talking about his wife working long hours. What kind of work did this pretty woman, one who wore heels on a snowy day, do in a rural area?

  Father Michael broke the silence, balancing his cup and saucer expertly on one knee. “It was nice of you to stop by. Brooke is fortunate to have so many friends, like CeeCee here.”

  “Caro. I don’t go by CeeCee anymore,” she corrected. “Doesn’t suit me. Not like Bee.” She nodded at Brooke and the hint of a smile touched the corners of her mouth.

  Brooke smoothed her skirt of unseen wrinkles, running one hand slowly from hip to knee, like a cat preening at the praise. Everyone in the room—Curtis, the priest and Caro—watched as she repeated the motion down her other side. Irritated, Meredith was certain she knew the effect she made. What would life be like to be so beautiful, she wondered. Life must be easier; doors were opened for you, people were kinder. Then she blinked, realizing she was staring too.

  “Bee for Brooke, Cee for Caro,” Father Michael explained. “I always used to say they needed a friend whose name started with A so they could be the ABCs.”

  Meredith didn’t want to be on friendly terms with these people. There was a grim purpose to her visit, so she changed the subject. “Have you made funeral plans?” she asked, and mentally kicked herself. This wasn’t the hard-hitting question she was here to ask Why was your husband so afraid of you?

  “The service will be at the church,” the priest said, his attention focused on Brooke’s face as he spoke. His gaze was soft, filled with compassion. Brooke rewarded his sympathy by reaching over and touching one of his hands. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  Meredith raised her eyebrows. “The funeral will be in the same place where he died? Won’t it be uncomfortable for everyone?”

  Brooke’s tears instantly vaporized. “What else did you and Jacob talk about?”

  Caro stood up and her coffee cup upended onto the floor. “Oh,” she cried. “Look what I’ve done. I need a dish rag.”

  Caro dashed to the kitchen and Curtis stood, setting his cup on the table. “We should go.” He gestured to Meredith. “I’ll walk you out.”

  She ignored his prompting and kept her attention on Brooke. Now or never, she thought. “You asked me what your husband and I talked about,” Meredith said in a rush. “He told me you were going to kill him.”

  Chapter Nine

  The priest gave a choking cough. Curtis blew a regretful sigh and didn’t speak. Brooke simply nodded, appearing unperturbed at the accusation. The widow set her cup on the table at her elbow and lifted deep blue eyes to Meredith. For the first time, she noted puffiness below the woman’s eyes, covered expertly with makeup. She felt a twinge of guilt at her harsh words. For the first time, she wondered whether she was mistaken.

  “Thank you.” Brooke spoke quietly. “I appreciate your bringing this to me.”

  The woman’s poise was impressive. Defensiveness or anger, maybe even a run for the door, would be expected, but not this calm gratitude. “Why would he accuse you? He was very upset, and very sure.”

  Brooke didn’t blink, her expression gentle as if talking to a recalcitrant child. “As I said, Jacob lost his job a while ago. When he couldn’t find another job, he became very depressed and started acting strangely. Anxious. Angry. The last few months, he wasn’t the same man anymore. It was as though I’d lost my husband already.”

  Silence descended on the room. The priest paled and his fingers fidgeted at a rosary he’d drawn from his pocket. Meredith glanced sideways at Curtis, but he stood stock-still next to her. His mouth was set in a line, lips unmoving, offering her no assistance. Perspiration formed at her upper lip, but she couldn’t stop herself. Brian and Jacob. Jacob and Brian. Her heart jumped in her chest. “You told Jacob you fixed the brakes on his car, but the mechanic said they weren’t touched.”

  “Stop it.” The statement came from the kitchen doorway, the words dripping with venom. “Everyone knows who you are,” Caro said. “You don’t belong here.” She took a step forward and then strode across the room to stand next to Brooke.

  Curtis put a steadying hand on Meredith’s shoulder. “This is an emotional time, for everyone. Let’s remember that. There’s no point in making this worse.”

  Caro hadn’t finished. “Your husband’s murder was big news,” she said. “Everyone knows about you, your family. Don’t drag those city lifestyles up here.”

  It wasn’t fair. She’d been vindicated. Besides, murder wasn’t a city lifestyle. These words were on the tip of her tongue, but Curtis gripped his hand under her elbow and tugged her up and off the sofa. “We need to go now.” His tone indicated there would be no debate.

  Father Michael stood as well, his face stern and reproaching. The chilly atmosphere took her back to the previous spring when she was the accused, a murderess. Brooke watched coolly as they went to the door. “Forgive me if we don’t walk you out,” Brooke said, rooted to her seat. One of her hands clutched the priest's, the other held Caro’s. The three remained riveted in place.

  Curtis and Meredith were at the doorway, then out the
door. He led her to his truck. “Get in,” he ordered.

  ****

  He drove around the corner, out of sight of Brooke’s house. She waited for him to blast her and so prepared her arguments for why she confronted Brooke. They drove up a hill, the snow crunching under the tires and his hands squeezed the steering wheel. His knuckles squeezed and released, and she wished he’d yell at her and get it over with.

  “I have to pick up Jamie soon.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Curtis. Say something.”

  “Look up there. By God, that’s a beautiful sight.”

  She gazed up to where he pointed at a bald eagle high in a pine, its white head shimmering as though snow-capped. As they watched, the huge bird lifted its wings and with a weighty flap soared off over the trees.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t you trust me?” His tone was jesting although his expression remained serious.

  Meredith twisted in her seat to face him. Her gaze traced his lips, chapped in the cold, and over his solid jawline, covered with his ever-present two-day stubble. His profile was so familiar and dear to her now.

  She recalled their hike—was the outing just a few days back? —when he started to say something to her: “You know I’m here for you and…” Jamie had interrupted to point out a herd of elk, then Curtis’s phone rang to alert him to Jacob’s death. It was the moment everything went wrong. She wondered what he was going to say next and what would have happened if he had a chance to say it. His expression was warm as he gazed down at her and her heart had quickened. Only two others before affected her the same way: Brian and a boy in high school years ago.

  The boy in high school was skinny and his ears stuck out, but he’d been sweet and shared her circumstance of being in the group teachers categorized as “disadvantaged.” His name was Sam.