Wedding Day of Murder (9 page)

A truly objective observer might
point to the fact that perhaps Carl Whethers’ digging uncovered something more
nefarious than Frannie Steele’s adoption. Jason knew, however, that there was
nothing else hidden in Lacy’s past, especially nothing sinister. A clever
prosecutor could make things look very bad, however.
How do you know your girlfriend had nothing else hidden in her past? If
she did, do you think she would have told you?
He could almost hear the
prosecutor speaking at Lacy’s trial.

Jason stuffed the photos back in
the bag and tucked them at the back of the shelf, locking the door behind him.
He knew what he needed to do, but he had no idea how to go about it. In
addition to finding the real murderer, he needed to prove that Lacy had nothing
to do with the case. He supposed the best way to do that was to do what Carl
Whether’s had done—immerse himself in the story and start asking questions.

If Carl Whethers had made a
timeline of Lacy’s life, then Jason would do the same. To do that, however, he
needed to start at the beginning with the people who had known her longest.

Her grandmother, Mrs. Craig,
answered the door wearing an apron and an eye patch. “Oh, Jason, how nice to
see you,” she said, smiling. She held a spatula in one hand like some sort of
baking pirate. “I was making some snacks for Lacy. She’ll be hungry when she’s
able to eat again.”

“Hello, Mrs. Craig. How are you
feeling? How is your eye?”

“Goodness, it’s fine,” she said,
waving the spatula dismissively in front of her face. Lacy had once told him
that if her grandmother’s leg fell off, she would pick it up and carry it to
the kitchen—both so no one would notice and so she could keep
cooking.
 

“Can I offer you something to eat?
I only started a little while ago, but I’m sure I can round something up,” she
said. He followed her to the kitchen and saw two types of cupcakes fanned out
to cool on the table. The counter had a plate of cookies and Lacy’s favorite
prune cake.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Lacy said you don’t care for
sweets,” she said. Her tone held a hint of puzzlement. Jason was afraid this
was a ding against him, and he tried to make amends.

“I have to keep in shape,” he said.
“And now that I no longer wrestle with criminals on a nightly basis, I have to
be especially careful about my intake.”

“Oh, you kids and your obsession
with calories. In my day, we ate what we wanted, and it was real food, too.
None of these factory bi-products dressed up to resemble food. You know the
other day, I thought I was buying my favorite butter and realized it had been
blended with margarine. They said it was for softness, but I don’t buy that.
Who doesn’t soften their butter before they bake? I couldn’t pronounce what
half the ingredients were. In
butter
,
for goodness sake. The ingredients on back of the label should have had one
word: cream.” She thumped a mound of dough with a rolling pin. He had never
heard her say so much or be so vehement before. Lacy’s close relationship with
food began to make a little more sense.

“That must have been frustrating,”
he said.

She smiled sweetly at him. “Well,
it’s these eyes. They make me misread things. I’m sure things will pick up now
that I’ve had surgery.” She dusted her hands on a cloth and poured him a cup of
coffee. He was jittery after having drunk Lacy’s coffee in addition to his own,
but he couldn’t refuse her again. Under her watchful supervision, he added
heaping amounts of sugar and real cream. With her, he wasn’t sure how to get
the ball rolling with questions about Lacy. How did he ask the world’s most
innocent and sweetest woman if there might be any dark secrets in her
granddaughter’s past, especially when he was certain that there weren’t?

At that moment, Frannie stumbled
in. She wore a bathrobe, but her hair was perfectly coiffed, her unmade face
wrinkle free. Once again he had the feeling that he was seeing Lacy in thirty
years, and he had no idea why that should make him so uncomfortable. Something
about seeing an older version of Lacy’s pretty face on the woman who was so
vastly different was disconcerting. Was he afraid Lacy would magically turn
into her mother someday? Not likely. She was far more likely to turn into the
sweet and plump Lucinda Craig. He could just see her ranting and raving about
sneaky butter tactics.

“You look happy this morning,”
Frannie observed.

He realized he was smiling and took
a sip of his coffee to cover. “The day is off to a better start than
yesterday,” he commented after he swallowed his coffee.

“Mom’s boyfriend said Lacy’s coming
home today,” she said.

“You heard Tom when he was here?”
Lucinda said.

“How could I not, Mother? Between
your loud chatter and all the baking noise, I couldn’t sleep a wink.”

Lucinda winced and returned to her
dough with a nervous flounce. Jason thought maybe Lacy wasn’t the only one who
was ready for Frannie to go back to Florida. The woman acted as though she
owned the place when it was Mrs. Craig who owned it and Lacy who lived there.
She had even forced Lacy out of her bedroom, claiming back problems as a way to
get the bigger bed and bigger room. Lacy had uncomplainingly taken half of her
wardrobe to the Stakely building and now showered there on most days.
Easy,
he warned himself, trying to
uncurl some of the coiled agitation in his gut. This wasn’t his mom, and these
weren’t his issues. If Lacy wanted to confront her mother, then she would. She
didn’t need him to stick his foot in things.

“I was hoping to talk to you about
Lacy,” he said.

Frannie sank to a chair. “Are you
going to propose? Is this you asking permission?”

“I…uh…we’ve only been dating…”

“Frannie, you’re scaring the poor
boy,” Lucinda said, standing up to her daughter for once. She refilled Jason’s
barely touched coffee mug and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Go on, dear, we’re
listening.”

He had some trouble reeling his
mind in after that. “I had a few questions about Lacy.” They gave him blank
stares. “When she was younger, specifically in high school and beyond.” The
pictures had started in high school. Was that significant or was that as far
back as Carl Whethers had been able to find photographic evidence?

“I thought you knew her in high
school,” Frannie said.

“I did, but not well. We knew each
other by name only. We had different friends.” How did one explain to his
girlfriend’s mother that her child hadn’t been cool enough to be part of his
social circle back then? It was a lifetime ago, and he barely understood it
himself. Everything was a blur from that time except for football and his
miserable home life.

Mrs. Craig seemed to know what he
was getting at. “Lacy was involved in the band. She loved to read, and she
spent a lot of time with me here.”

“That about sums it up,” Frannie
added. “She didn’t get out much. Riley, on the other hand…” She would have gone
into a rapturous soliloquy about Riley’s social perfection if Jason hadn’t
interrupted.

“Riley was very popular, I’m sure,”
he said. “What I’m trying to ask is if anything unusual happened to Lacy during
that time.”

“Lacy’s whole life has been
unusual,” Frannie said. “She’s always been in her own little world. Bad things
happen to her for no apparent reason.”

“But she keeps a chipper attitude,”
Mrs. Craig added. “Lacy’s a sweetheart and always has been. She was such a good
little helper and always so pleasant to have around.”

“Riley was a handful,” Frannie
conceded. “Always looking for trouble, always pushing the limits and testing
us. Then when she got in trouble, she would pout so cutely that none of us
could stay mad at her. Those dimples and that curly hair—she could have
modeled, if my husband had let me pursue that route.” Now it was her turn to
pout.

“Lacy didn’t like to get in
trouble,” Mrs. Craig said. “She wanted to make us happy, to make us feel good.
She’s always been very sensitive to the feelings of those around her. And so
smart and talented. It’s a shame she doesn’t write anymore; she had such
promise as a reporter.”

“I think someday she’ll get back to
it,” Jason said. “Right now her focus is on the town, but once things slow down
here, she’ll want something else to do.”

“Riley is talented, too,” Frannie
said, as if they were having a competition. “I don’t understand why she wanted
to get married so young. She could have done anything, and now she’s having a
baby.”

“A baby’s not the end of the world,
Frannie,” Mrs. Craig said.

“Mom, you were so much older when
you had me. You wouldn’t understand; you don’t know what it’s like to be a young
mom. Riley had so much potential.”

Jason wanted to bang his head on
the desk a few times. Not only was he not getting anywhere with finding out
about anything that might be hidden in Lacy’s past, but he couldn’t seem to
keep the conversation from diverting to Riley. It was as if Frannie had placed
all of her hopes and dreams on Riley, never once considering Lacy’s massive
potential. And now that Riley’s life wasn’t working out as she had planned, she
couldn’t cope. He was tempted to point out all of Lacy’s attributes, but
decided against it. Being the focus of Frannie’s positive attention was as bad
as being the focus of her criticism, maybe worse. Riley was happy, possibly for
the first time in her miserably selfish life, and yet Frannie couldn’t allow
her to enjoy it.
Family is the worst,
he
thought.

“I should go. Thank you for the
coffee, Mrs. Craig. I’m glad you’re feeling well today.”

“Come back anytime,” she said.
“Maybe when Tom is here.” Her tone was laden with something more than
hospitality; he wondered if she was trying to tell him he might have an easier
time getting answers when Mr. Middleton was there.

“Thank you, I may do that.” He
nodded to her and forced a smile for Frannie before letting himself out. If
Lacy hadn’t had her grandmother’s constant love and attention, would she be as
messed up as he was? Which was worse: having a mother who ignored you or having
a mother who picked you apart? Neither was an enticing proposition.

He pulled out his phone and called
Kimber. “I’m on my way to the Stakely building. Can you meet for coffee?”

“Sure,” she said, although her
voice held questions.

“Bring your friend. I haven’t met
him yet,” he said. He also hoped that Andy might be able to fill in some of the
blanks from Lacy’s college years.

“All right. See you in a few.”

They met at the ice cream shop in
the Stakely building, currently the only sit down restaurant in the place.

“Jason, this is Andy Kyun, Andy,
Jason Cantor,” Kimber introduced. Jason and Andy shook hands before they sat.
Andy put his arm around Kimber, and although Jason wasn’t as vested as Lacy in
reading their romantic signals, it seemed obvious to him that any feelings on
Kimber’s part were mutual.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” he
said. “I have few questions about Lacy.”

“Is something wrong with her?” Andy
asked. “I thought she was going to be fine.”

“She is, I just…” He could be
honest with Kimber and trust her not to spread the news of his case. Andy was
an unknown quantity, but he would have to hope for the best and extend the same
trust to him. “Lacy is somehow involved with a case I’m working, and I need to
know how.”

“The murder?” Kimber whispered,
eyes wide.

“Yes,” Jason said. “Without going
into specifics, I can say that there was a link between Lacy and the dead man.
I need to delve into her past a little and see if I can find some connection.”

“You don’t think it could have been
some random thing?” Kimber said.

“Maybe, but I’m not trained to look
at random; I’m trained to find causes and connections and see how they link up.
Right now Lacy is my only lead.”

“What about the other protesters?”
Andy asked. “I mean, they look and smell like a group of wandering serial
killers.”

“I agree, but the victim was new to
their group. It’s possible that this was a random act of violence, induced by
mental illness, but to reach that conclusion, I need to rule out everything
else.”

“What do you need from us?” Kimber
asked.

“I need to ask you a few questions
about Lacy, to figure out if anything ugly is hiding in her past,” Jason said.

Kimber and Andy looked at each
other and burst into such loud laughter that the woman behind the counter
bestowed them with a disapproving frown. “You’ve got to be kidding,” Kimber
said. “Ms. Squeaky Clean couldn’t even take an open-book exam without feeling
guilty for cheating.”

“Remember when her bag spilled and
papers blew away and she turned herself in to campus security for littering?”
Andy asked. “And then wouldn’t leave until they fined her ten dollars?”

“I’m not saying it’s anything
purposeful that Lacy did,” Jason said. “Obviously she isn’t a criminal
mastermind with all kinds of skeletons in her closet. You guys have known her
longer than I have, however. Is it possible that someone connected to her has
something that might be discovered?”

“No,” Kimber said, still amused by
the question. “I mean, we had friends other than the three of us. We hung out
with the multicultural club. A lot of our friends have gone back to their home
countries and we’ve lost contact. The ones we’ve stayed friends with work
boring jobs and lead boring lives.”

“Present exciting company
excluded,” Andy interjected. “Being an accountant is more exciting than it
seems. Or at least more exciting than having your hand repeatedly slammed in a
car door.”

“Can you think of anything, anything
at all about Lacy’s life that someone might find interesting?” Jason asked.

“Her uncanny ability to survive?”
Kimber guessed. “I’m serious,” she added, “the girl is a walking catastrophe.
I’ve seen her tumble down enough steps to equal Machu Picchu, and somehow she
always gets back up again. Then there was the time she almost fell out the
window.”

“I haven’t heard that one,” Jason
said.

“It was scary,” Andy said
seriously.

“Yeah,” Kimber added, sobering.
“She would have died.”

“What happened?” Jason asked,
although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Already he had too many scenes of
Lacy’s impending doom swimming around in his mind; he didn’t want to add
another.

“I don’t even know,” Kimber said.
“Sometimes people fell out of windows because they were drunk, but that wasn’t
Lacy. One minute she was there, and the next she was dangling by her fingertips
from a fourth story windowsill. I freaked, which is not a proud memory for me.
I pride myself on keeping a cool head and not becoming hysterical, but I really
thought she was gone.”