Death in Reel Time Read online

  “So if my math is right, your parents were very young when you were born,” I said.

  “My mother was nineteen,” Olivia said. “Not too unusual for those times, I guess, but she’d be considered too young today. These days the gals are waiting longer to start their families, sometimes too long.” I caught a sidelong glance in Beth’s direction before Olivia went on. “I don’t know my father’s age. I really know very little about him. It was like the whole family just tried to erase him after he showed himself a coward.”

  There was a noise in the front hall and we all turned in unison as Beth’s husband, Blaine, appeared in the doorway, looking preoccupied. “I figured I’d find you here,” he said to Beth.

  “Yes, we’re giving Mom her present,” Beth said, her voice bright.

  “Oh yeah, happy birthday, Olivia,” Blaine said absently.

  “Not my birthday,” Olivia said with a weak smile, “but thanks, Blaine.”

  Most townspeople would say Beth was lucky to have snagged the most eligible bachelor in these parts. Blaine Branch was the scion of a rich family and was handsome to boot. And as the owner of a large sporting goods store called The Sporting Life, he was a pretty big cheese in the Morningside business community. Still, I thought Blaine had gotten the better end of the bargain.

  He’d given the rest of us only a cursory nod when he came in, and he went on conducting his business with Beth as if we weren’t there, which earned him a checkmark for bad form in my tally book.

  “Remember, Alan’s coming in tonight. I promised we’d have a nice supper for him. Could you make one of your good dishes and make sure the guest room’s all squared away?”

  “I will,” Beth said, turning back to her mother. “You remember Alan Corrigan, our college friend? He was Blaine’s fraternity brother. He’s coming for a visit.”

  “Oh, yes, Alan,” Olivia said, managing to pack a lot of ambiguity into those three little words.

  “We’re just wrapping it up here,” Beth assured Blaine. “I think Mom’s about due for a rest. Tony and I have an interview set up with Charlie Martin in about an hour. I’ll be home after we finish that.”

  “Charlie Martin?” Blaine said, searching his mental database. “That old geezer you hired to put the flowers in our front beds?”

  “Charlie Martin,” Olivia jumped in. “The older gentleman who is one of the few remaining World War Two vets around and who is a whiz of a fix-it man and a talented gardener. Plus, he’s a very nice fellow.”

  “Sure,” Blaine said, tipping his head back to accept Olivia’s subtle reprimand, then turning to Tony. “I thought you said this film thing would only involve Beth a few hours a week. This is starting to eat up a big chunk of time.”

  Tony shrugged. “She’s great with people. They open up to her.” He tilted his head, letting his hair fall over his forehead, and fed Blaine a look that could only be described as defiant.

  Blaine dismissed him with a scowl and turned back to Beth. “Just make sure dinner’s done on time. Why don’t you fix that shrimp-and-grits thing you do? Alan likes that.”

  “Sure,” Beth said. “I could do that.” Her smile never faded, but by the way her body tensed I could tell she wasn’t happy.

  I’m no chef, but Esme’s a foodie and I saw her eyebrows raise slightly, so I knew what he was asking was probably not a whip-it-up-quick dish. I was surprised at how different Beth seemed around her husband. The calm, confident woman of five minutes ago had now devolved into a rabbity girl.

  “I’ll help, Beth,” Daniel said. “I’ll shop while you and Tony are filming with Charlie.”

  I noted that Daniel pointedly avoided looking at Blaine.

  “Good, then,” Blaine said, checking his watch. “I gotta get back to work. You all have fun with your”—he hesitated, then gave a vague wave of his hand—“whatever it is you’re doing here.” He gave a general nod to match the one he’d given us in greeting and Beth got up to walk him out. From where I was sitting I could see past the hallway to the front door. I watched as they said their good-byes. Blaine took Beth’s upper arm and pulled her to him for a kiss. After she closed the door behind him she stood for a moment rubbing her arms as if to warm herself. I wondered if the crisp fall day had turned nippy. She looked up and our eyes met. She smiled and dropped her eyes. I felt heat creeping into my face. I’d been caught being a voyeur. I quickly looked away and got back to business.

  “We’re yours for the next two weeks,” I said to Olivia, “then we have a job down in Wilmington and we’ll be away for maybe as long as a month. Esme and I will take three or four of these boxes with us for tonight and archive them for our next session, whenever you’d like that to be.”

  “Could you come again tomorrow?” Olivia asked. “Maybe late morning?”

  We agreed on 11 a.m. and Olivia went upstairs to rest. Beth made a cup of tea to take up to her while Esme and I shuffled through the boxes to decide which ones to take on this trip. Tony had gone off to round up his gear for the afternoon’s filming and Daniel sat at a corner desk scribbling a grocery list for Beth’s dinner party. I sighed. Daniel’s immediate offer to step in and help his sister in a pinch had made me wish, not for the first time, that I had a brother.

  When Beth came back she apologized for the hubbub. “We’ll make sure there aren’t so many interruptions next time, I promise.”

  She’d barely gotten the last word out of her mouth when we heard a car door slam outside. Beth looked out the window and mumbled something under her breath. “I’m so sorry, excuse me,” she said, already heading for the door.

  We watched as she practically ran down the sidewalk to intercept a man getting out of a sporty car. I don’t know modern cars much. Ask me about old autos like Packards, Edsels, ’57 Chevys and I can rattle off makes and models. It’s a skill set I developed while analyzing old family photos. But anything past the fin era and I’m clueless. But I could tell this one looked expensive.

  At first Esme and I tried to look busy and pretend we weren’t watching, but soon we were standing there with Daniel, blatantly staring out the window. When the man turned toward the house I saw it was Peyton Branch, Blaine’s younger brother. He and Beth were by the car and Peyton was gesticulating wildly, his face red. Beth was trying to calm him down, but with little effect.

  “Those damn Branches,” Daniel said, his fists clenched at his sides. “Blaine wants to throw his own sister to the wolves and Peyton’s here bullying mine.”

  Peyton was a history teacher and an assistant coach at our alma mater, Morningside High. He and I had gone through school together, he being a grade ahead of me, and we’d been friends during our undergraduate years in Chapel Hill. He wasn’t as handsome as Blaine and he wasn’t such a smooth operator, but I’d always found him a congenial, down-to-earth guy. I’d never seen him like this. He definitely had a lather up about something.

  “Should one of us go out there?” I asked.

  “Not just yet,” Daniel said with a sigh. “Beth will be ticked off if we don’t let her handle whatever it is. She thinks she ought to be able to handle anything that comes her way.”

  The argument continued but Peyton appeared to simmer down as Beth made calming gestures, smoothing the air with her hands. Finally he got back into his car and drove away. Beth hung her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “You know how Mom’s obsessed about finding out why her father ran off?” Daniel asked, his eyes fixed on his sister. “Well, there’s way worse things than having a man disappear from a woman’s life; sometimes the bad news is he stays.”

  two

  ESME’S ON A SMOOTHIE KICK, so most mornings my alarm clock is preempted by the whir of the blender. Not that I’m complaining; the smoothies are delicious and way healthier than the lumberjack breakfasts she used to serve up. Given my small frame even one extra pound makes my clothes fit funny.

  I crawled out of bed and pulled on my work-at-home uniform of jeans and T-shirt. Normally I try
to dress professionally with clients, but Olivia didn’t need convincing that I’m good at what I do. She was my mother’s friend and she knows what motivates me to do quality work.

  I brushed my teeth and tamed my hair back into a ponytail, the latter no easy task. I’d gotten my unruly auburn hair from my father’s mixed Celtic heritage. From my mother’s side I’d gotten my amber-brown eyes and slight build, though the jury’s still out on where on the globe these traits originated. The circumstances of my mother’s adoption and her ethnic identity remain shrouded in mystery despite all her digging—and all mine. She’d wanted desperately to know where she came from and to find out about her people. Though she searched for her whole adult life, she never found much. I continue her quest, armed with lots more skill and training, and with Esme as my secret weapon. Yet answers elude me as well.

  I slipped on my glasses and gazed out my bedroom window at our backyard. A gust of wind picked up a scattering of multicolored leaves. They lifted and swirled before skittering to the fence and joining up with a pile trying to smother the shrubs. I’d need to take some time this weekend to rake. Maybe I could get Jack to help.

  Jack Ford is another member of our loosely organized genealogy club. He’s also my best male pal. A part of me wishes we were more than that, a realization that has only lately come to me. But I haven’t let on to him. I know what romantic complications can do to a friendship.

  As if thinking about Jack had summoned him, I heard the distinctive growl of his diesel pickup pulling into the driveway. He’s a landscape architect with a growing business, and did I mention he’s really good-looking?

  I headed down the stairs and reached the kitchen just as he did.

  “Hey, you’re up,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you would be, from the way you sounded on the phone last night.”

  “I’m upright and breathing room air, as nurses say, but I’m tired. We organized Olivia’s family artifacts last night and I spent an hour or so on the Internet searching public records. Then we watched a movie, which put us to bed late. Whose idea was that movie anyway?” I asked Esme.

  “Yours, and it wasn’t worth the effort of keeping my eyelids up. No more subtitles.” She handed me a glass of smoothie and lifted the blender jar in Jack’s direction as an offering.

  He put up a hand. “Thanks, but I had a man’s breakfast, steel-cut oatmeal. Sticks to your ribs.” He patted his midsection. Jack is short, for a guy anyway, though he’s still a head taller than me. And in the interest of full reporting I should note he’s well muscled.

  “I’m on my way to work, but I’ve got a few mums left over from that job I did at the town hall,” he said. “You want me to put them on your front porch?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I never turn down free flowers.”

  We heard a “knock, knock” call from the front hall, which was strictly perfunctory since Winston Lovett, the elder in our little tribe of genealogy buffs, was already inside. We have an open-door policy with our close friends, since our private rooms are upstairs and they’re not likely to catch us in our skivvies.

  Winston was carrying something that looked promising, wrapped in a piece of cheesecloth. “I baked this morning,” he said as he came through the kitchen doorway. “Can y’all use a loaf of sourdough?”

  “Sophreena never turns down free flowers and I never turn down free bread. Thank you, Winston,” Esme said, nodding for him to set the loaf on the table. She held up the blender and raised her eyebrows.

  Winston put out his hand in exactly the same way Jack had. “I’m good,” he said. “Already had a big slab of the bread with jam.”

  Old habits die hard. Winston had gotten up before the roosters every morning for nearly thirty years to bake for Sugar Magnolias, the shop he’d owned in downtown Morningside. Though he doesn’t have to do it at ungodly hours anymore, he still gets the urge to bake, for which we are profoundly grateful—he shares generously.

  “Was Olivia surprised when you gave her the present?” he asked.

  “Yes, very,” I said. “She’s really excited about the whole thing. Which makes me want to do as much as we can to get her started, because you’re never really done with your family history; there’s always more to learn.”

  He held up a hand. “I know, as you’ve said many times, it’s a process, not a project. I’m just happy my kids and grandkids have gotten into it; they’ll keep it going long after I’m gone.”

  “With different technologies at their fingertips. In fact, we’re stepping it up a little on this one.” I told him about Beth’s former student’s plan to video our findings. “This’ll be a good opportunity. We’ve had some requests for video scrapbooks in the past, but I haven’t taken the time to learn the craft. Maybe Tony can teach us some stuff.”

  Esme harrumphed. “And maybe we can teach him a thing or two.”

  “What has he done to get you in such a snit?” I asked. “I like him.”

  “Nothing—yet,” Esme said, puckering her lips, “but soon enough he’ll do something that’ll irritate me, I have no doubt.”

  “I remember that kid,” Jack said. “He used to work at the one-hour photo lab at the drugstore when he was in high school. He was trouble looking for a place to happen back then.”

  “Beth has him staying with her mother, so she must think he’s okay,” I said. “He’s interviewing people all around town. Yesterday he and Beth were going out to talk to a World War Two vet named Charlie Martin.”

  “How is old Charlie?” Winston asked. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “You know him?” I asked.

  “Sure I do,” Winston said. “Everybody knows Charlie.”

  “I don’t,” I said. “And I thought I knew nearly everyone in Morningside, or at least knew of them.”

  Winston chuffed a laugh. “He’s a bit of an eccentric. Ask our good friend Detective Denny about Charlie. He’s had to roust him several times about carrying an old rusty pistol around with him. For protection, he says, like Morningside’s Gotham City or something.”

  “I know him, too,” Jack said. “He’s a character. He’s gotta be pushing ninety, though you’d never know it to watch him work a shovel or wield a hoe. He’s self-taught, but the old dude knows more than I do about horticulture and he’s a good handyman. He can fix about anything. He rides a bicycle around town that he’s rigged up to pull a lawn cart behind. I’m not too surprised the name doesn’t register. He keeps pretty much to himself.”

  “Well, apparently he’s willing to talk with Tony and Beth,” Esme said.

  “Oh, Charlie would do ’bout anything for Beth Branch,” Winston said. “She’s sort of adopted him, I think. When she found out he was a World War Two vet she talked him into visiting some of the history classes to speak to the kids. Yep, he’s a strange old bird, but he’s interesting once you can get him talking.”

  “I like that,” Esme said. “Some people are too quick to dismiss old folks. Like Beth’s husband. He didn’t seem to have any respect at all for Charlie Martin.”

  “Or anything, really,” I said. “He was dismissive about the whole idea of the film. And he was pretty condescending about our project with Olivia, too. Maybe he’s just an equal-opportunity thundercloud ready to rain on everybody’s parade.”

  “Blaine can be that,” Winston said with a sigh. “He’s a little full of himself sometimes. But he comes from a good family and gives lots to the community. Donates uniforms to the Little Leaguers and all such as that.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s his doing,” Jack said. “His business partner, Bonnie Foster, lives in the condo next to mine. From what she’s told me I think the community involvement is more her idea than his.”

  I knew Bonnie Foster, but only casually. We’d had a yoga class together, but since social chatting during meditation was frowned upon we hadn’t interacted much. I did know that she was a lanky, athletic blonde with a deep, sultry voice, and I didn’t especially like that she lived right next do
or to Jack.

  “Blaine Branch may be citizen of the year for all I know,” Esme said. “I’m just saying he’s just not keen on Tony’s project. Or ours. Probably because both take up Beth’s time.”

  “He seemed distracted,” I said. “Maybe that’s all it was. A serious illness can put a lot of strain on a family.”

  “Ah, you’re right,” Esme said with a sigh. “How Beth and her husband get on is their business. As my mama used to say, you shouldn’t go poking your nose into other people’s family matters unless you’re willing to get it punched. And what do I do? I go work with a genealogist who makes her living poking her nose in!”

  * * *

  As Beth had promised, the dining room at Olivia’s house was set up for work when we arrived. The scrapbooking supplies Marydale had brought as part of the gift were stacked at the end of the table, the remaining boxes of memorabilia neatly corralled in the corner.

  “Is this okay?” Beth asked.

  “Perfect,” I said. “How’d your shrimp and grits come out last night?”

  “Delicious. And that’s not bragging because it was all Daniel’s doing. He loves to cook and he’s so much better at it than I am. Speaking of which, he wants to have you all over for supper tomorrow as thanks for everything you’ve all done for Mom. He’s already gotten yeses from Marydale, Coco, Winston, and Jack.” She ticked them off on her fingers as she spoke. “I know it’s last minute, but can you two make it?”

  “Count us in,” Esme said, without consulting me.

  Olivia came down just then, eager to get straight to business. Tony had set a camera up in the corner of the room and given Beth instructions about where we were to all sit and how to start the recording. She clicked it on and we began.

  “First off, credit where credit is due,” I said. “The other members of the club are helping with the research and they’ll each be taking a family line. But to get us started I did some preliminary research last night. And here’s what I know so far from the public records available online: Your mother, Irene Damaris Lockwood, married your father, John Lamont Hargett, in October of 1941. Your mother was seventeen and your father was nineteen.”