Broken Vows Mystery 01-For Better, for Murder Page 5

  I parted my lips to reply, but the huge swelling in my throat prevented me.

  Ray walked out the door.

  It took me all of a minute to pick up the phone and call my lawyer.

  Cooler heads would prevail. Greg Doran was the best lawyer in town, maybe even in the Finger Lakes region. I found his words somewhat reassuring, although I could sense his amusement over the phone wires.

  “Jo, you’re not a suspect. Ray’s just doing his job. Have you ever given him any reason to doubt your honesty?”

  I supposed it would be safe to confess to Greg that I did cover up for Erica after she helped rob a mom and pop movie theater twelve years ago, but I didn’t. I’d confessed it to Ray before we got married, including the fact that I reimbursed the theater anonymously, so he’d know what kind of a girl he was throwing his lot in with. He didn’t seem too concerned at the time, but I suspected it had been in the back of his mind today.

  “But why did the killer put Tim Lapham in my Ferrari?” I was an innocent bystander. Why drag me into it, unless the rumored argument with Tim made me a likely suspect? I shivered.

  “I didn’t know Tim personally,” Greg said. “I’d only be guessing, but I’m absolutely positive Ray does not think you’re involved in Tim’s death. If he does arrest you, then call me right away.”

  “Okay.” I curled the phone cord around my fingers and took a deep breath. “You know the paperwork for our divorce?”

  “Yes.” Greg’s voice was soft now.

  “It still needs to be filed, right? Before we’re officially divorced? I mean, technically, we’re still married right now, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  The muscles in my stomach tightened and I felt like I might throw up. “Maybe it’s time to file it.”

  Silence filled the line.

  “Greg?”

  “I’m here, Jolene. Why now?”

  This confession was hardest of all. “I think Ray asked someone to marry him.”

  “He did not.”

  My hackles rose. “How do you know?”

  “Because I know Ray. He would never do that while he’s still married to you.”

  “But he signed the papers three years ago when I left him. He doesn’t think we’re still married.”

  “Jo, Ray knows you’re still married.”

  “How do you know? Have you talked to him about it?”

  “I don’t need to talk to him about it, Jo. It’s Ray. He knows the law. Why don’t you think about it a few more days—maybe even talk to him about it, eh?”

  I hung up the phone feeling unsettled, mostly because Greg had to hammer the truth into me. Ray did know everything, and I didn’t have the guts to talk to him about it. I would have to talk about my feelings, which was always hard for me. Of course, my role models had been two parents whose idea of sharing their feelings was saying “I love you” when they tucked me in bed at night.

  The need to know more about Catherine Thomas ate at me. I pulled up the white pages on the Internet and set out to locate Catherine Thomas’ den. I was pretty certain she didn’t live in Wachobe—the townsfolk would have never overlooked her with Ray and missed the opportunity to fill me in. I checked the city west of us. Nothing. Then I checked to the east. Bingo. The listing indicated she was a criminal lawyer. That made sense to me. Ray spent plenty of time testifying in court. Undoubtedly, that was where they’d met. But how would I ask him if he needed me to finalize our divorce in order to marry her? Maybe sometime during his next interrogation of me would be a good time?

  I decided to do what any sensible, mature woman would do under the circumstances.

  I baked chocolate chip cookies.

  While they baked, I washed my CorningWare and my plain white dishes and put them back in their cupboards. While the cookies cooled, I walked the four blocks to the shop to pick up my car and to buy a fancy box from the gift shop two doors over. Then I went home, loaded the cookies into the box, drove over to Becky Lapham’s house, and knocked on the door to express my condolences in person—and ask her what the hell she was thinking when she told Ray I went to Vegas with Tim.

  Little Emma answered my knock and all my determination left me. She was a tiny thing, all blue eyes and blond curls in a denim jumper and white tights. Very China-doll-like.

  “Hi Emma, I’m Jolene Asdale. Do you remember me?” I met her once at the park with her mother, before Tim and I dated.

  She shook her head and started to close the door.

  “Wait! I brought you some cookies. Chocolate chip. Is your mother home?”

  The door swung open wide. I stepped inside as Emma ran down the hallway screaming, “Mama. Mama.”

  Becky Lapham appeared with both Emma and Mark hiding behind her. She wore black pants and a black turtleneck. I realized I should have changed out of my colorful Christmas ensemble. I wrapped my black coat around me and hoped she’d forget her manners. She didn’t.

  “Jolene, how good of you to come. Let me take your coat.”

  I looked around for somewhere to set the box of cookies and decided to hand them to Mark, a handsome blond boy who came up to my chin. He accepted them and dashed down the hall with Emma in hot pursuit.

  “Kids, what do you say to Ms. Asdale?”

  “Thank you” floated out of the kitchen in stereo.

  Becky took my hand and led me into the living room where I perched beside her on the olive camel-back sofa. “Really, it was good of you to come.”

  “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Tim. If there’s anything I can do for you or the kids …” I’m not very good at these types of social situations, or social situations in general. I only knew Becky slightly. She’d been two years behind me in high school, as had Tim. Tim had been my younger man. But Becky and I shopped at the same stores, so we chatted on occasion.

  She tipped her head in acknowledgment and squeezed my hand. “No, there’s really nothing. I spoke to Bill Young at the funeral home. Tim’s funeral is tomorrow at ten a.m. My parents are flying in from Florida today. They’ll be here by five. It’s all been quite a shock, but the kids seem to be handling it well. It’s not as though they got to see Tim every day.”

  I nodded in a way I hoped would seem understanding.

  Becky continued, “It’s weird. You’re one of the few people who have come to visit except for the next-door neighbors. I got a few phone calls. I don’t know if it’s the fact we’re divorced or the fact Tim was murdered that’s keeping people away. Even at church this morning, no one had much to say to us, not that they ever do.” She released my hand and raised her hand in the air as she shrugged. “I guess I don’t blame them. I’m not sure how to handle it all either. I’m not his wife anymore.”

  “No, but you’re the mother of his children.”

  “True. His parents are too ill to travel, so it will just be my family at the funeral.”

  “Cory and I will be there.”

  “Thanks. Ray told me you found Tim in a car in your shop, just sitting there?”

  I wondered how much Ray told her and kicked myself for not asking him. “Yes. I have no idea how Tim got there. The alarm was on when I unlocked the doors.”

  “It’s bizarre. I can’t imagine who would have wanted to harm Tim. I keep thinking it had to be someone from the city who craved the sensationalism and thought we were too backwater to catch him. ”

  Wachobe wasn’t the boondocks. With the amount of money and people cruising through this area, we had everything a city had, just on a smaller scale. But Becky’s guess was as good as mine at this point.

  Becky tipped her head to listen to the laughter coming from the kitchen. “Sounds like they’re enjoying your cookies.”

  She leapt to her feet. “I’m sorry. Can I get you something to drink or maybe snag one of the cookies for you?”

  “No, thanks. I just wanted to stop by and express my condolences. I don’t want to keep you.” As I said this, I knew I should stand and say my goodbyes.
Thankfully, when I didn’t, Becky sank back onto the sofa beside me so I could pose the question pressing on my mind. “I wanted to ask you about something Ray said.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Ray said you thought Tim and I went to Vegas together over Columbus Day weekend. We didn’t. I wondered where you’d gotten the idea we had.”

  Becky’s face burned red. “I’m so embarrassed. I repeated what Tim told me. He must have lied to me.” Her brow furrowed and she wrung her hands. “I can’t imagine why he would lie to me, though.” After a moment, her face brightened. “Except he knows I’ve always liked you. Maybe he went with someone else I wouldn’t have approved of?”

  “Maybe. He never mentioned anyone else to me, but we only had five dates. I don’t feel like I knew him well.”

  Becky let out a nervous giggle. “We were married for eight years, and I don’t feel like I knew him well either.”

  “Really?” I found it comforting to know someone else had unresolved marital issues. Some divorcees were alarmingly clear about the faults of the men they referred to as their rat-bastard ex-husbands. I, on the other hand, could fault Ray for only one thing, trying to push me into doing something I didn’t want to do. Try as I might, I couldn’t hate him for that.

  Becky smoothed an imaginary crease from her pants. “Really. Tim was secretive. He went out every once in a while without telling me where he was going, and he didn’t like it when I questioned him when he came home. He didn’t talk to me very much. It drove us apart. That, and all the hours he worked. And his bowling. He never wanted to miss bowling, even when it fell on the night of our anniversary. For me, that was the final straw.” Becky’s voice broke and tears streamed down her cheeks. “Look at me, speaking ill of the dead. What kind of a person am I?”

  Becky began to sob in earnest. I held her hand and passed her a few tissues, wishing I could do more. She pulled herself together after a couple of minutes and apologized.

  “Don’t be sorry, Becky. You’ve had a huge shock.” I rose to my feet. “Please call me if I can do anything for you or the kids. I’d be happy to help out in any way.”

  “Thanks, Jolene. It’s good to know I still have one friend.”

  As I backed out of her driveway, I pondered her statement. Where were all the people she called friends? She’d been a quiet girl in high school, but likeable. I knew she hung out with Sally Winslow and Chrissy Martin. Why weren’t they at her house now, holding her hand instead of me? They all had kids the same age and went to the same church. Had Tim’s murder tainted their family forever, like my mother’s suicide had tainted mine? I hoped not. Tim’s children were too young to have to suffer the stares and whispers until they could graduate from high school and run off to hide in college. Maybe they’d just become thick-skinned like me and not worry about what other people thought anymore.

  At least, I’d never worried before. Today, I was a little worried.

  I’d never been implicated in a murder before.

  I called Cory as soon as I got home to let him know I’d committed him to appearing at the funeral. And I did mean appearing. He got all excited about picking out the correct wardrobe and rehearsing his lines. He’d come across as Tim’s oldest and closest friend, I had no doubt. But Becky would also feel better after she’d seen Cory. He had the gift.

  “Cory, I have to ask you about the Ferrari.”

  “I’ll clean it up. Don’t worry, Jo.”

  “Thanks, but that’s not my question. Ray said they found a fingerprint on the interior of the driver’s door. A fingerprint belonging to a guy known to reside in Arizona.” I kept his name to myself. I wasn’t sure if what Ray told me had been in confidence or not.

  “I could’ve missed a spot. The car was so clean when it arrived that I didn’t worry too much about it.”

  I hung up, relieved that the Beak probably wasn’t wandering around our heretofore unsuspecting village but frustrated since we didn’t have a clue as to who killed Tim.

  I warmed to Becky’s idea of an outsider looking to make a big splash in the newspapers. For all I knew, someone had been following me around for weeks, waiting for the right opportunity to learn my alarm code. All he would have needed was patience and a pair of binoculars. He would have looked like any other tourist surveying the lake as he spied on me through the showroom window.

  I wanted to talk to Ray again and vindicate myself of the Vegas accusation as well as feel him out about Catherine. I knew where to find him. The annual Christmas tree lighting festival started at seven p.m. in the park. Ever since we were sixteen, Ray and I went to the ceremony together. Actually, the last three years we’d arrived separately and ended up standing together without talking much, but still, together. It was our tradition.

  At a quarter to seven, I put on my black wool coat and my black leather gloves lined with rabbit fur, left my apartment, and walked the three blocks to the park, which was blanketed with fresh powder. It was also full of children giggling and darting between the legs of chatting adults and the smells of hot chocolate, roasted chestnuts, and popcorn. Salivating like Pavlov’s dog, I took up a position at the end of the hot chocolate line. The two women in front of me turned around.

  “Oh, Jolene. There you are. How are you, you poor thing?”

  Celeste’s blond curls were partially hidden by a pale blue wool beret. I knew the model in Talbots’ storefront window sported the same one, and Celeste had the matching scarf and gloves as well. Her companion, Mindy something, had on the same set in pale pink. All frightfully fashionable, especially blended with their perfectly made-up faces. I plucked a stray hair off the sleeve of my coat and formed a polite response.

  “I’m fine, Celeste. How are you?”

  “Shocked. We can’t believe the news about Tim Lapham’s murder. And to find him in your showroom” —Celeste’s voice rose an octave as she held the “ooom” in room and I realized she’d attracted the attention of the crowd around us— “you must be devastated.”

  “I’m very sad for Tim’s family. I’m sure the rest of the village is, too.” With my peripheral vision, I saw a few of the older women nod and turn away. The rest of the crowd averted their eyes as though avoiding a train wreck.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Celeste leaned in to my ear. “Who does Ray think did him in?”

  “I really can’t say.” I meant I didn’t know, but Celeste grabbed my forearm as though she thought I meant I knew but couldn’t share.

  “Was it his wife?”

  “No.”

  “His partner?”

  I tried to extract my arm from her grasp. “No.”

  “Did Ray ask you about the fight you had with Tim?”

  “Celeste!”

  She had enough sense to look embarrassed but not enough to stop talking. “But it was someone from here, right? Or is Ray looking for a drifter?”

  “Celeste, I have no idea who killed Tim. I don’t think Ray has a suspect identified yet either.” Unless it was me and he just wasn’t saying so.

  Mindy tugged on Celeste’s sleeve as the line moved forward, saving me from further inquisition.

  I got my hot chocolate and moved as far away from Celeste and Mindy as possible. Christmas was still my favorite time of year—the wreaths with red velvet bows, the evergreen scent, the sparkling white lights, and the atmosphere of goodwill toward man—even though it hadn’t always brought me good cheer. I wasn’t going to let a gossip monger like Celeste ruin it.

  As I sipped, I scanned the crowd, looking for Ray. He was always easy to spot, standing at least a head taller than any other person. I didn’t see him. As the carolers converged on the gazebo from all sides, singing “Oh, Christmas Tree,” I tried to join in the festivities, oohing and aahing as the tree lights flashed on and cheering as jolly Father Christmas rang his bells and ho ho ho’d his way through the townspeople, passing out candy canes to the little ones.

  But I felt abandoned as the high school orchestra played “Silent N
ight” to close the celebration and Ray did not appear.

  I longed for his presence behind me and the feel of his breath on my hair. Somehow this night felt worse than the day I left him, maybe because this time he had rejected me. I tried to tell myself to be patient, rationalizing that he’d received an important call or was following up a lead on Tim’s death or Erica’s escape, but even as I did, nagging doubts said, “he thinks you hid Erica and her merry robber band,” and, “he thinks you know something about Tim’s death,” or worse, “he thinks you killed Tim.” And for some unfathomable reason, I felt guilty, guilty, guilty, even though I was innocent. I blinked back my tears.

  A hand grabbed my arm. Relieved, I turned.

  My disappointment must have shown on my face, because Cory snapped his head back in surprise. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, I thought you were Ray.”

  “I haven’t seen him.” Cory scanned the crowd. “I was on the other side until I saw you. Did he say he was going to meet you here?”

  I shook my head.

  Cory knew about our standing date. I didn’t have to tell him I was devastated. “Jo, you know he’s investigating a murder and a robbery, and he’s on the lookout for Erica. I don’t think he’s ever been this busy before.”

  True. I didn’t remember anyone ever being murdered in our village, the town encompassing it, the nearby townships, nor even in Ray’s larger territory beyond. Only the nearby cities had that kind of action. All our deaths had been accidental, if drinking and driving still fell in the accident category. And armed robbery? Well, no, I didn’t remember anything like that either. Usually it was a bike “borrowed” from one kid’s backyard and found in another’s or a television that jogged down the street on its own. Ray spent most of his time on domestic disputes, motor vehicle issues, and drugs. Drugs pervaded every corner of the world, even our picture postcard village.

  Cory was right. The investigation neared the close of the first forty-eight hours, and, as far as I knew, Ray didn’t have a clue as to who did it. Everyone knew the first two days were the crucial period in any murder investigation. I gave myself a mental kick in the pants.