Silver Anniversary Murder Page 21

  Miss Tilley continued: “ ‘Sources indicate that police are also investigating Gabriel Thomas’s possible involvement in the death of his first wife, Beth Blake, née Gerard. Blake, who subsequently married real estate developer Jeremy Blake, plunged to her death from a penthouse balcony earlier in the month. Originally considered a suicide, the case is now reopened in light of new evidence discovered at the cult’s headquarters.’ ”

  “It’s all because of you, Lucy,” said Rachel, giving her hands a squeeze. “You have to keep that thought. Think of the girls who will be safe now.”

  “You’re a strong woman, Lucy.” Miss Tilley passed her a tissue. “Now it’s time to be up and doing. The longer you sit here feeling sorry for yourself, the harder it will be.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Lucy. You have a lot to process. I can recommend a wonderful therapist. . . .”

  Lucy shook her head no. “I’ll be okay. Miss T is right. I have to concentrate on the positive. I’m safe. It’s over and done.” She swung her legs off the couch and stood up. “Can I get you some tea or something?”

  “Sounds good,” said Rachel, jumping to her feet. “I’ll help.”

  In the end, it was mostly Rachel who filled the kettle and made the tea and piled cookies on a plate, but Lucy did drink her tea and ate a couple of cookies. When they left, Rachel pressed a slip of paper in her hand that contained the name and phone number of the therapist. Lucy stood in the doorway, watching them go, then dropped the paper into the trash. She’d survived the cult; the worst was over. For Pete’s sake, she’d only been held captive for forty-eight hours and she hadn’t been tortured or anything. Miss Tilley was right, it was definitely time to be up and doing. She hadn’t been brought up to be a wilting flower and she knew exactly what her late mother would have told her. Those frequently repeated remarks about “Monday morning flu” and “dishpan diarrhea” echoed in her ears as she resolved to pull herself together and carry on. Tomorrow she would go to work.

  Tuesday morning when she drove to the Pennysaver office on Main Street she noticed the town was ready for the Silver Anniversary Weekend. Banners were flying from the storefronts and silver planters containing blooming hydrangeas and white alyssum dotted the sidewalk. The bandstand on the town green had been decorated with white and silver bunting, and sandwich boards announced the weekend’s events, which included an outdoor band concert, fashion show, church service, and dinner dance. When she stepped into the office, she found Phyllis and Ted busy putting the final touches on a special supplement for the weekend.

  “How’re you feeling?” asked Phyllis, by way of greeting her. Phyllis was peering at her monitor, copyediting the ads for the supplement.

  “Much better,” said Lucy, which was all she could manage as she scurried across the office to the safety of her desk. Once she’d seated herself, she switched on her computer and began working through the hundreds of e-mails that had piled up while she was away.

  “How was New York?” asked Ted, rubbing his eyes and leaning back in his desk chair, taking a break from the feature story he was writing.

  Lucy paused, her finger poised over the delete button. “Okay.” She swallowed hard, not sure how much she wanted to reveal, finally deciding she didn’t want to talk about it. “I guess I’m not really a city girl. I’m glad to be back home.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Phyllis. “I couldn’t stand living in a city, and especially not a big city like New York.”

  “Did you catch any shows?” asked Ted.

  Lucy shook her head, replaying the week’s events up until her capture. “I saw my friend Sam, went to the botanical garden, and caught an art show in Soho.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Ted sighed. “Take a look at this story for me, will you, Lucy? It’s too long, needs to lose about ten inches.”

  “Okay.”

  Lucy was soon immersed in Ted’s story, which credited Sylvia as the originator of Silver Anniversary Weekend and provided an account of the planned activities. She found she was able to tighten up the story without making any drastic cuts and soon had it ready for press. Work, she decided, was exactly what she needed, and she threw herself into her job with a vengeance. And so the rest of the week passed and every day she felt a bit more confident and able to control her emotions.

  First up on the weekend’s program of activities was a Saturday morning fashion show and luncheon at the Quissett Point Yacht Club. Lucy had made arrangements to go with Sue and was looking forward to the occasion. She had carefully chosen her outfit: white slacks, a green and white print tunic, and even a pair of green ballet flats that she was terribly pleased to have found on sale at Old Navy.

  “My goodness,” exclaimed Sue when Lucy stopped by to pick her up, “that is quite a nice outfit.”

  “You really think so?” Lucy was so accustomed to receiving a withering critique of her fashion choices from Sue that she could hardly believe what she was hearing.

  “I do. You look great,” said Sue, grabbing her purse and following Lucy to the SUV. Sue was wearing a similar outfit, though hers had a French flair since she was wearing a striped Breton top and espadrilles.

  The two friends reluctantly came to the conclusion that Sylvia had outdone herself in planning the fashion show, which featured a lively narration, a charming musical accompaniment, and a comprehensive selection of wedding dresses that even included a Victorian dress borrowed from the Tinker’s Cove Historical Society.

  “That was really very enjoyable,” admitted Sue, joining the applause when the show was over.

  “Are you feeling well?” asked Lucy, somewhat concerned that her friend had not made a single snide remark for over two hours. “You don’t seem quite yourself.”

  Just then Sue grabbed her arm and hissed into her ear. “Look at that woman!”

  “Who?”

  “The loud one with the Brooklyn accent.”

  Lucy followed Sue’s gaze and noticed a rather tall woman, dressed to the nines in a tight black sheath, stiletto heels, and a necklace made of dinner-plate sized silver discs. “What about her?”

  “Honestly, Lucy. She’s dressed for a power lunch in New York. She looks like she just got off her private jet. And that makeup! She must scrape it off at night with a putty knife!”

  “It’s certainly not the sort of outfit you usually see in Tinker’s Cove,” said Lucy, who was relieved that Sue was back at the top of her game.

  “So inappropriate,” said Sue with a sniff. “So tell me, how was New York?”

  “Captivating,” said Lucy, inordinately pleased that she could make a joke about her terrifying experience. How far she’d managed to come in just one week!

  “Great,” said Sue, plucking a complimentary goodie bag from the table by the door for herself and one for Lucy, too.

  Once outside Sue delved inside the bag, then snorted her displeasure. “Nothing but a lot of tissue paper, an Orange Blossom Bridal brochure, and a chocolate truffle. Here”—she dug out the tiny bit of foil-wrapped chocolate—“you can have mine, too.”

  “Thanks,” said Lucy, whose eyes were drawn to the tall woman in black who was walking toward the parking lot. She had the oddest feeling she’d seen her somewhere before.

  * * *

  On Sunday morning Lucy and Bill went to the special service at the Community Church, where Silver Anniversary couples were invited to renew their vows. They weren’t regular churchgoers, though they usually managed to go at Christmas and Easter, but Ted had assigned Lucy to cover the service and she didn’t want to go alone.

  “I don’t want to be the only married woman there without her husband. And since it’s practically summer you don’t need to wear a jacket and tie,” she added, to sweeten the deal.

  “I’m not going to do that thing.... You know, renew my vows,” warned Bill, when he’d parked the car and they were walking to the church.

  “Fine with me,” said Lucy. “I’m not renewing mine eit
her because I haven’t broken them. They don’t need renewing.” She gave him a look. “How about yours?”

  “Mine are in good shape, no renewal needed.” Not usually one for public displays of affection, Bill surprised her by taking her hand as they climbed the steps to the church door.

  “That’s good to hear,” said Lucy, as they stepped inside the darkened space, where the sun illuminated the stained glass windows but didn’t provide much bright light in the interior. As her eyes adjusted, Lucy noticed that the church was quite full, which wasn’t usually the case, and she and Bill were lucky to find a couple of places in one of the rear pews behind Lucy’s friend Franny Small. Franny wasn’t married but she was a faithful member of the church and never missed a service.

  The organist, Ruth Lawson, was playing a prelude, and Lucy listened while she got out her reporter’s notebook and pen and studied the order of service. The service was pretty much as usual, she noted, beginning with a hymn, followed by readings, prayers, and a sermon. The sermon was to be followed by the renewal of vows ceremony, and as Lucy looked around the church, she noticed a good number of women were wearing dressy pastel suits and dresses appropriate to such an occasion. Some had even added summery hats or fascinators.

  Reverend Marge Harvey kept the service moving briskly, well aware that it would be longer than usual due to the renewal ceremony. When the big moment came, Lucy was amused to see Sylvia and Warren leading the procession of couples up to the altar. Sylvia was dressed in a silvery lace dress with a little tuft of silver tulle tacked on her head as a sort of mini-veil and was carrying a bouquet of white roses fastened with a silver ribbon; Warren was in a gray suit with a silver silk tie.

  Lucy smiled to see Pam and Ted in the procession; Pam was wearing the orange caftan she was married in and Ted was sporting a bright Hawaiian shirt. The Shahns, who were following them, were more sedately attired. Phil was wearing a blue blazer and chinos and Betty had opted for a summery print sheath. The artists Ben Melfi and Willa Stout looked quite dashing in matching white tuxes; she had added a shocking pink tie and cummerbund while his were electric blue.

  Lucy was busy trying to capture it all in her notebook—the number of couples, the outfits, the flowers, the music—when Franny Small tapped her arm. “Aren’t you going to renew your vows?” she asked, in a tone of voice that struck Lucy as confrontational.

  “Uh, n-n-no,” she stammered in reply.

  “Whyever not?” demanded Franny, whose muddy brown eyes seemed to bore into Lucy’s soul.

  “I don-n-n-n,” was all Lucy managed to say before she began trembling violently. The faces, the walls, the stained glass windows were all a kaleidoscopic jumble, closing in on her. The music was louder and louder and she had to get out of there. Dropping everything, she turned and ran down the carpeted aisle toward the open doors, out into the sunlight.

  She was outside, hanging on to the wobbly wrought iron stair rail, when Bill caught up to her. He’d followed immediately, picking up her bag and notebook and hurrying out after her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Crazy, isn’t it?” said Lucy, aware of her pounding heart and sweating palms. “It just came over me. Something in the way Franny was talking reminded me, you know, of the cult and the way they were always asking questions.”

  “It’s not crazy. It’s a normal reaction. Let’s go home, okay?”

  “Yeah,” said Lucy, allowing him to pry her hands off the railing and leaning on him as he led the way to the car.

  “I really thought I’d beat this thing,” said Lucy, who was shivering as Bill helped her seat herself in the car. He was careful not to slam the door, but closed it gently before hurrying around to the driver’s side.

  “I’ve been studying up on the Internet,” said Bill as he started the car. “It’s one of those two steps forward, one step back sort of things. You’ve made a lot of progress but you have to expect setbacks.”

  “It’s so frustrating,” confessed Lucy. “I never know what’s going to set me off. Poor Franny, all she did was make an innocent comment.”

  “Well, it really wasn’t any of her business.”

  “That’s Franny for you,” said Lucy, managing a little smile.

  When they got home, Lucy made a halfhearted stab at making lunch, which prompted Bill to take over. He made BLTs, one of Lucy’s favorites, but she found it hard to swallow the toasted bread and only took a few bites.

  “Maybe later,” said Bill, suggesting she lie down on the sofa in the family room for a rest.

  That sounded fine to Lucy, and she allowed him to arrange the throw pillows for her and to cover her legs with a light cotton throw. He made sure the TV remote was handy, along with the Sunday papers, and brought her a glass of iced chamomile tea.

  “I feel like a baby,” confessed Lucy, toying with the tassels on the throw.

  “Be a good baby and take a nap,” urged Bill.

  Lucy was once again filled with doubts and feared Bill was planning to leave her alone in the house. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “No. I’m going to stay right here. I’m going to touch up the paint on the porch railing, so I’ll be right outside the kitchen door, keeping you safe.”

  “What about the front door?”

  “It’s locked, Lucy. It hasn’t been opened in years. I’m not even sure it does open anymore.”

  Lucy wanted to ask him to shut and lock the windows but knew it would be a ridiculous request since it was such a hot day. “You’ll be able to hear me if I yell?” she asked.

  “Yup. The windows are open and so’s the kitchen door. I’ll be right outside.”

  “Okay.” Lucy laughed nervously. “I’m sorry to be such a wreck.”

  Bill took her hands and bent down, kissing her cheek. “You’re not a wreck. You’ve been through a traumatic experience and you’re doing remarkably well. Now do as the doctor ordered and get some rest. Okay?”

  “Okay, Doctor.”

  Lucy flipped on the TV, but found herself yawning as the Property Virgins struggled to find an affordable starter home that met their numerous requirements, which included a master bedroom with an en suite bath, a large kitchen with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops, and a walk-in closet large enough to store the wife’s Imelda Marcos–sized shoe collection. She clicked the TV off and, yawning once again, shut her eyes.

  Next thing she knew, her cell phone was ringing. She fumbled a bit trying to answer it, thinking it was probably Franny Small calling to apologize for upsetting her, but it wasn’t Franny. The voice that came through the tiny device sent chills up and down her spine, and she almost threw the phone across the room.

  “Just give me a minute,” said Terry. “I called to say I’m sorry.”

  Lucy didn’t believe her for a minute. “Okay. Thanks. Bye.” She tried to end the call by pounding the end button, but the phone stayed on and she heard Terry’s voice. “I didn’t know. Honest. I’ve been seeing the papers and the news and I’m sick about it. I thought I was saving souls. I really did.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe I wanted to believe so much that I blinded myself to what was really happening.” There was a pause. “Well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for getting you into that mess and everything that happened and, well, I hope you’re doing okay.”

  “I am.” Lucy found she had a lot of questions she wanted to ask Terry, and this was her chance. “What about you? Were you caught in the raid?”

  “No. I was out at the bookstore. I had a couple of souls I was bringing back to the chapel for the service, and there were all these cop cars and lights and everything. They bolted, and I hung around for a while, watching and trying to figure out what to do.”

  “What did you decide?”

  “I rode the subway all night long. I didn’t have money so I jumped the turnstile. I was on the trains for hours, and I was terrified. It was pretty much me and all the
homeless people, and then I realized I was one of the homeless people. When the papers came out I stole one. I couldn’t believe what I was reading about Father Gabe and everyone. I felt like a fool.”

  “What did you do? Did you go to the police?”

  “I’m too afraid.”

  “How are you getting by?”

  “I’m staying with my brother, in New Jersey.”

  “That’s good. Well, thanks for calling.” Again Lucy tried to end the call, but was caught anew by Terry’s pleading voice.

  “There’s something I want you to do for me, okay?”

  Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you crazy?”

  Terry’s voice was indignant. “I’m trying to do the right thing and I need your help.”

  Lucy was skeptical, but curious. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to call the cops for me. Tell them that Father Gabe didn’t kill his wife, that Beth woman. The paper said they’re investigating him and I know he didn’t do it.”

  “That is exactly the last thing I’m prepared to do, Terry. Sorry. Besides, why would they listen to me?”

  “Because I have proof. I was with him that day, the day she fell. We saw the crowd and the ambulance and the cop cars. We’d been proselytizing, handing out pamphlets, and there’s even a photo of us. It was in the newspaper. We’re far off, down the street, but it’s definitely me and Father Gabe. He gave it to me, told me to save it. He said it might come in handy someday. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. He wanted proof that he didn’t, you know, hurt his ex-wife.”