Paging the Dead Read online

  “Why do you say that?”

  He gave me a look and I was embarrassed at how fake the question sounded now that it was hanging in the air.

  “Okay,” I said, “so I’ve heard things.”

  “Everybody in town has heard things,” he said glumly. “That’s what happens when the police haul you in for questioning. People can’t even look me in the eye.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it? The police didn’t exactly throw you in the back of a paddy wagon in shackles. They just asked you to clear up some things, right?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, sarcastically. “Just clear up a few minor matters and oh, by the way, give us your DNA.”

  I decided I might as well be as blunt as he was. “You’re sure you didn’t go back to Dorothy’s that night after you took Cassidy to your mother’s?”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “You sound just like the cops. That’s what they kept asking.”

  “And what did you tell them?” I pressed.

  “That I think I’d know if I’d gone back to Dorothy’s, that I didn’t and that I’m not sure exactly where I was at any given second for the rest of that afternoon. I dropped Cassidy off with Mom and then I was just, you know, out and about.”

  “Any receipts from anywhere? Run into anybody? Make or get any phone calls?”

  “Don’t think so,” he said. “Didn’t buy anything. Didn’t see anybody I know. No phone calls, not until later. I was just enjoying some time alone. I went to the lake for a short hike and to take some pictures. Photography’s a hobby of mine. I left my phone in the car. I was afraid I’d drop it in the water again. I wanted to get a sunset shot so I was still there when the sun went down. I was on the way back from there when Mom caught up with me to tell me what had happened to Dorothy.”

  “Well, that’s great,” I said, perking up. “I assume the photos are digital. There would be a time stamp. Did you show the police those?”

  “No, I didn’t,” he said, coughing and adjusting his position in the chair. “I don’t have them. I deleted them. None of them were any good.”

  “You deleted them all?”

  “Yeah. They weren’t worth saving.”

  “Well, that’s a shame,” I said.

  Now Jeremy was the one who wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  twenty

  WHEN WE GOT HOME I WAITED UNTIL ESME HAD GONE UPSTAIRS then darted into the workroom to call Hank Spencer. I had to try.

  “I can’t talk to you,” he croaked after I’d identified myself. “The last time I talked to you I got into all kinds of hot water. I had to hire a lawyer, and let me tell you that just went over great with my wife. His fees are astronomical. I may have to sell a kidney on the black market. He’d have a canary if he knew I was talking to you for even this long.”

  “I understand,” I said. “But I—”

  “But nothing,” he said and hung up with a clunk so emphatic I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

  “Told you not to call him,” Esme said as she came into the room, not even bothering to look in my direction. How could a woman who wears a size ten shoe pad about silent as a cat?

  “He wouldn’t talk to me anyway,” I said, chewing at the inside of my cheek as I started doodling on the timeline again.

  “That’s just as well, Sophreena. As you may recall the last time you had a discussion with him he was about to come unglued. You need to stay away from that man. Far away.”

  “Yeah, well, looks like I don’t have any choice. I thought you were going up to take a nap.”

  “I thought so, too,” Esme said, rubbing her temples. “But she has other ideas.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I swear if she shows me the back side of that quilt one more time I’m going to lose my religion.”

  “Still no idea what it means?”

  “Not a clue,” she said with a sigh as she began putting the background papers we hadn’t used for the scrapbooks back into the proper bins.

  I went to the computer and searched for the time of sunset on the day Dorothy died. I made a hash mark at 8:33 p.m. and wrote Sunset, Jeremy taking photos at lake?

  “Who deletes all the pictures they take of something?” I asked, thinking aloud. “I can see getting rid of the ones that aren’t so good, but wouldn’t you save the best two or three? I mean, why not? With digital all it’s costing is a bit of storage space.”

  “Maybe there weren’t any pictures in the first place,” Esme said. “You said he sounded dodgy about it.”

  “But why lie? Why come up with that as an alibi when he knows he can’t produce the evidence? And even if he could that would only prove his camera was at the lake; anybody could have taken the pictures. Unless he was actually in the pictures. Too bad he didn’t get a long-arm shot.”

  “Long-arm shot?”

  “You know, the pictures everybody has on their camera or phone where you take it yourself by holding the camera as far away as you can. That’ll be as iconic a photo style for our generation as a man holding his suit coat lapel was in olden days.”

  “Sophreena, regardless of all that, there is no getting around the DNA on that coffee cup and the fact that Jeremy is Dorothy’s only living male relative.”

  “But that’s the other thing. He’d just been there. He’d just had coffee with Dorothy and Linda. What could have been so important it would have brought him back to the house to see Dorothy again an hour later?”

  “I have no idea,” Esme said. “Did you ask him?”

  “He swears he didn’t come back.”

  “Well,” Esme said with a sigh. “DNA says otherwise.”

  • • •

  I was relieved when the phone rang an hour later, forcing me to get up from my chair. The timeline was getting me nowhere unless utter frustration counted as a destination, but I couldn’t quit it on my own.

  Marydale, sounding unusually chipper, told me she’d just been closing up shop when she got into a conversation with a woman she thought might be a potential client for Esme and me. She wondered if I could pop over for a moment.

  I know Marydale well and I heard the hidden message. She had a live one on the line and if I came now I had a chance of reeling her in.

  I allowed as how I’d be happy to scamper right over. I was glad I hadn’t gotten around to changing back into my at-home work clothes. I went up to my room and spent about thirty seconds tidying up my hair. I kicked off my flip-flops and slid my feet into my Mary Jane flats, then thought better of it. If this was as big a fish as Marydale’s subtext indicated, best to look professional. I put back on the modest pumps I’d worn up to High Ground in the morning. They only have a two-inch heel, but for me this is ultra chic. I slicked on a little lip gloss and made sure my glasses were clean and with that my primping was done. As I say, I’m a minimalist.

  Esme gave me a nod of approval when I came down and wished me well. There was never any question about whether she’d go along. She absolutely despises client meetings, and particularly the ones where I make our pitch. “Here are your keys,” she said, dangling my key ring. “You left them on the kitchen counter again.”

  As organized as I am in other aspects of my life, my keys are mislaid on a regular basis and sometimes the hunt for them has me running late.

  “I’ll walk. I’ll get there quicker if I don’t have to park.”

  Esme looked down. “In those?”

  “They’re perfectly comfortable,” I sniffed, taking an obvious gander at her four-inch spikes. She hadn’t even bothered to kick them off when we came in from High Ground.

  “I’m used to wearing them, you’re not,” she said.

  “I’ll be fine. Wish me luck.”

  We did our ritual touching of palms, a sort of two-handed high five, making it a high ten I suppose, and I was out the door.

  Most of our clients are retirement age or older. They’re the ones with both the interest and the means to hire our services, so I was surprised when Marydale introduced me
to a woman who looked to be about my age.

  Eve Cotes, I learned in the next few minutes, was the great-niece of a legendary former senator from our fair state, Talmadge Lunsford. She’d been sent in his stead for the memorial service for Dorothy. “Uncle Tal would have come himself, but he’s just not able to travel these days,” she said. “I never knew Mrs. Porter, but he had lots of nice things to say about her service to the community. It’s a terrible thing, the way she died.”

  “Eve and I got to talking just as I was closing up,” Mary-dale said, “and I was telling her about how you and Esme had done the heritage scrapbooks for Dorothy. She might be interested in having the same done for her uncle. Let’s go to the back so we can talk.”

  I gave my usual sales pitch with my heart threatening to pound its way out of my chest. I wanted this job so much I was actually salivating. I was afraid I was going to drool on the potential client.

  “That sounds like just what we had in mind,” Eve said when I’d finished my tap dance. “Some of us in the family have been nagging Uncle Tal for years to hire a ghost writer, but he’s completely opposed to writing a book. However, he is a big family history buff and I think I might get him to go for this. Let me talk to the rest of the family and to Uncle Tal and I’ll get back to you.”

  I told her I’d look forward to her call, resisting the urge to break out into a chorus of “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg.”

  She looked at her watch. “Oh, for pity’s sake, I’ve lost track of the time. I’m late for a date. And a first date at that. Guess I’ll be making a great first impression.” She ducked out the back door and double-timed it to her car.

  “She seems really nice,” Marydale mused as we stood in the doorway and waved goodbye.

  “Yeah. I don’t buy that she has any trouble getting dates, or making a good impression. She’s too pretty and too personable.”

  “So are you,” Marydale said dryly. “And when’s the last time you went out on a date?”

  “I date,” I said defensively. “I’m just—particular.”

  “Picky particular, or particularly interested in one guy?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at me.

  “Not you, too,” I groaned. “You and Esme should form a club. Jack and I are friends, period.”

  “Who said anything about Jack?” Marydale said, feigning puzzlement. Or at least I thought she was faking. If she wasn’t I’d just given away too much information.

  “I’ve really gotta go,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the memorial.”

  “It’s dark out, Sophreena. Let me drive you home.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Marydale. It’s only a few blocks.”

  “I know, but with all that’s been going on, I worry,” Marydale said. “You shouldn’t be out walking alone at night.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “We can’t let what happened to Dorothy keep us holed up in our houses.”

  “All the same,” Marydale said hesitantly, “call me on my cell when you get home, will you?”

  “Sure thing,” I said, glad I’d diverted her from the Jack issue.

  Of course, just because I’d distracted her didn’t mean I wasn’t dwelling on it myself. As I started for home I mentally weighed and measured. How did I feel about Jack? I missed him. That was a given. But how much I missed him was startling, especially since I still saw him regularly. It just wasn’t the same now. And if Jack got serious about someone we wouldn’t be hanging out anymore like we did now. I was really disheartened at the thought. I didn’t have to explain myself to Jack; he totally got me. And I did sort of like it that when I was being stupid he called me on it and expected me to do the same for him. Plus he was fun to be around. He was smart and we both found the same things funny. And he had that terrific smile . . .

  Suddenly I was aware of footfalls matching mine. I slowed, and so did they. I stopped and turned, but there was no one there, at least not in the circle of sidewalk the streetlamp illuminated. Outside that circle there were dark, lumpy shapes everywhere, any of which could’ve instantly sprung to life.

  I gave myself a stern talking to for letting other people’s paranoia get to me, but I stayed alert as I passed by a large hedgerow old Miss Etheleen Morganton had planted to separate her property from what she complained was the bustling business district of downtown Morningside. If I’d been willing to allow my imagination full rein I could have made out the shape of a man lurking in the shadows, but I made him go away by forcing myself to keep a tight hold on reality—and my messenger bag—and march on.

  I picked up my pace and I could have sworn I heard the footsteps again. I tried to resist the impulse to turn around, but after a few more steps I couldn’t stand it any longer. I whipped around, sucking in a breath for the loudest scream I could produce.

  Empty sidewalk.

  This time I laughed out loud. I was losing it. Me, the level-headed, practical one. If I was getting this jumpy what must this be doing to the drama queens?

  I turned and ran smack into the chest of a man who’d planted himself in the middle of the sidewalk, his feet wide apart and his arms outstretched.

  I squawked and jumped back but he didn’t move. He waved his arms around and started repeating it’s okay over and over like the words were rounds from a Tommy gun.

  My heart was pounding and there was a terrible buzzing in my ears as blood rushed to my head. I couldn’t decide whether to try to run past him or turn and flee toward Keepsake Corner. Marydale would be gone and everything else was closed, so neither option seemed like a good plan. Plus, I’d worn these stupid shoes and I wasn’t exactly fleet of foot.

  I found myself assuming a defensive karate-style stance, even though I’ve never had one minute of self-defense instruction. Suddenly that seemed like a severe deficiency in my education.

  “Don’t freak,” the man said, and I recognized the voice. Hank Spencer. “I didn’t want to keep following after you; I was afraid you’d think I was stalking you and you’d be scared.”

  “And you thought jumping out in front of me would be better?” I squeaked.

  “Guess I wasn’t thinking at all,” he said, stepping up to where I could see him. “Look. I changed my mind about talking to you. I went to your house, but your partner or friend or whatever she is wouldn’t tell me where you were. I don’t think she likes me. And frankly, she scares the bejesus out of me.” He walked over and sat down heavily on the river rock wall that bordered the sidewalk. “I wanted to tell you I’m really sorry about coming off the spool like that the other night and for being a jerk and hanging up on you earlier. I’m not like that. Really, I’m not. Usually I’m a pretty mellow guy.”

  “Evidence notwithstanding?” I said.

  “I guess,” he said. “It’s just, lately I’m having some stuff going on in my life. My business is down and my wife is scared about that so she takes it out on me. And yeah, I know, times are tough all over. I wasn’t too worried until this business hit me. I can’t believe I’ve gotten myself into this mess. I met Dorothy Porter one time, to talk about something I do as a hobby. Next thing I know I gotta hire a lawyer—with money we don’t have. And people are looking at me like I’m a stone-cold killer.”

  “How did you know where to find me?” I asked, looking around and wondering if I should still make a run for it.

  “What?” he said, as if I’d snapped him out of some profound meditation. “Oh, no mystery there,” he said. “I saw you when I was driving by. I parked down the street and hustled to catch up with you. I figured better here than going back to your house and facing that Esme woman.”

  I relaxed a little but stayed where I was. I decided I enjoyed being out of easy reach. “The reason I called you earlier,” I said, “I wanted to ask you some more questions about that day. Something doesn’t fit, but I can’t seem to figure out what.”

  “That’s why I came,” he said. “I really am sorry about being such a tool earlier, but this lawyer has put the fear of God in me ab
out talking to the police. Course, he didn’t say anything about talking to a genealogist. The way I figure it is if you can sort out all those begets and begots you’re the one I want trying to make sense of this so I can get out from under.”

  I had him go over everything he’d seen and done at Dorothy’s that afternoon. I pressed for information that might help with the timeline, but again he couldn’t tell me much that was helpful. “I was totally messed up after she got so upset,” he said. “Looking back on it now, I should have known better. I mean, half the people on my trips are into family history because they take pride in their distinguished ancestors. I should have kept that in my mind when I went to see Mrs. Porter.”

  “Dorothy could be a little stuffy sometimes,” I said.

  “Now you tell me,” Hank said. “She was trembling and crying and she acted like I’d told her the story to make fun of her or something, which wasn’t the case at all.”

  “And you didn’t say anything to indicate you wanted the ring back?” I asked.

  “Back? What do you mean, back?”

  “Well, it was the Spencer family ring. It was in your family for generations.”

  “Well, yeah, but was is the operative word there, right? And that was ages ago. Plus my ancestor was the one stupid enough to lose the thing in a poker game, and it was never in my direct line anyhow, so even if it had still been in the Spencer family I’d have no right to it. I never said anything about putting any claim on the ring. It was just the story that upset her. And I feel bad about that, I do. I hate thinking the last minutes of the woman’s life were unhappy and that I was the cause of it. But other than that unintended cruelty, I never hurt her. I swear it.”

  I relented and went over to perch on the rock wall with Spencer, though a few feet away. “Look,” I said, “you had no way of knowing she’d react like that. A lot of people enjoy having a little spice in the family stew. An outlaw or a rakish ne’er-do-well. And you’re gonna think I’m obsessing, which I am, but can we go over the timeline just one more time? And this time can you close your eyes and tell me absolutely everything you can remember about that day?”