Suddenly Bill’s face re-formed, alight with laughter. “That’s my girl.”
She was distraught. “It’s crazy for them to suspect you.” He forced a smile. “Don’t worry. Things usually come right. And if they don’t, we’ll have done our best. Now”—he was brisk—“can 143
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you pack up some of that nice lunch for me? I’m late getting out to the Carson ranch. Juanita’s having a bad day.” Kathleen shivered. “There can’t be anything worse than losing a child. Tell her I put a flower on Josie’s grave yesterday.” It took her only a moment to put together a lunch, fill a thermos with coffee.
Bill took the brown bag, bent, kissed her lightly on the lips, but Kathleen held tight, kissed him with a desperate intensity.
Slowly they moved apart. He reached out to touch her cheek. “It’s okay, honey.” But when he reached the door, he looked back. “I hate it that you had to lie for me. If the chief comes back to you, tell him the truth, Daryl inveigled you to go to the cabin so he could quiz you about me, but you didn’t know a thing. And you don’t. Because”—
his frown was ferocious—“I didn’t like some of the chief ’s questions.
He seemed to think you and Daryl . . . Well, I set him straight there.
I told him you didn’t even like the man, and much more to the point, you’re my wife and you would never dishonor your vows.” Suddenly he was serious again. “I love you, Kathleen.”
“Oh, Bill.” She was in his arms. They clung to each other. Their lips met in a passionate kiss.
I left. Some moments are not meant to be shared.
When Father Bill came outside, striding toward his car, I returned to the kitchen.
Tears were streaming down Kathleen’s face. She stumbled to the table, sank into a chair, sobbing.
I brought a box of tissues, placed it at her elbow.
“. . . feel so awful . . . what would he think if he knew . . . and I went to Raoul’s apartment . . . oh, Bill . . . I’ve got to tell him the truth . . .”
I poked her in the shoulder. “Do you want the chief to arrest him?”
She flung up her head, stared at me—well, in my general vicinity—in horror. “Bill? That can’t happen.” 144
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“It could.” I hated to make her day harder, but it was time to face facts. “The chief is already suspicious of Bill. If you suddenly tell the truth about your visit to Daryl, the red nightgown’s enough to convince the chief that Bill had plenty of reason to shoot Daryl. Don’t change your story.” I handed her some tissues. I retrieved my plate and table setting from their hiding place, settled back at the table.
She swiped at her face. “What if the chief finds out Daryl wanted to fire Mamie? Somebody will know. Somebody,” she said bitterly,
“always knows in Adelaide.”
That was small-town truth baldly stated. Someone always knew.
“That’s news to you. All you can report is what Daryl said, so he must have changed his mind.” I was sorry Kathleen had lost her appetite. Stress seemed to increase mine. I enjoyed every mouthful.
Kathleen clasped her hands. “All right. We talked about a present for Mamie. She loves to eat at fancy restaurants. I said I was going up to Oklahoma City next week to shop and I could pick up a gift certificate at Mantel’s. She adores Bricktown.” I bustled to the sink with our plates. This time Kathleen didn’t even complain about the airborne dishes. “Good. Now”—my crisp tone was a call to order—“it’s time to talk turkey.” 145
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If possible, Kathleen looked even more stricken. “You’re going to be here for Thanksgiving?”
Clearly I was not affording her comfort during a difficult time. It’s lonely work to save someone who views you as just one more problem. I resisted the temptation to share my favorite turkey recipe.
Instead I took pity on her obvious despair. “I expect to finish my task before then. That, of course, depends upon you.”
“Me? What can I do?” She wadded damp tissues into a ball.
“Provide information no one else possesses.” I’d never spoken truer words.
Her look of astonishment was genuine.
“Kathleen.” I was patient. “An anonymous caller informed the police that you were at Daryl’s cabin Wednesday night and”—here I spaced my words for emphasis—“you were holding . . . a . . . red . . .
nightgown.”
She waited without a flicker of comprehension.
“What does that tell us?” I remembered my long-ago teaching days and Moby-Dick and the student who couldn’t see why everybody made such a big fuss about a whale.
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Her face crinkled with effort. “Daryl told someone?”
“Very unlikely.” I hadn’t known Daryl Murdoch, but nothing I’d learned about him suggested a man who would reveal an episode that made him look foolish and, possibly worse, ridiculous.
She nibbled at her lower lip, knowing the answer, reluctant to voice a chilling truth. “Someone saw me open that box.” Her eyes rounded in scared realization. “Someone was watching through a window.”
“Try to remember everything about the cabin and the woods around it. When you arrived, it was getting dark. Did you see another car?”
“No.” She was definite. “There was only one car, Daryl’s silver Lincoln. Lights were on in the cabin. I could see inside, so the blinds weren’t closed. Anybody could have seen us.”
“The cabin is off the road. You didn’t see another car. Yet someone watched through a window.” I considered why a stealthy approach, which had included hiding either a car or bicycle, might have been made to that cabin. “I think your arrival gave Daryl one more day to live.”
“One more day to live?” Her voice was faint.
“A visitor with innocent intent doesn’t lurk outside and spy. The murderer stood there, gun in hand. When you opened the gift and quarreled with Daryl, the plan changed. Instead of shooting Daryl there and then, the decision was made to lure him to the rectory. The murderer’s plan was for his body to be found on your back porch and your fingerprints in his cabin. Part of the gift box survived the fire until I burned every scrap. You would have been suspect number one.” Kathleen’s eyes were huge. “That means the murderer knows me.
Bailey Ruth, what am I going to do?”
I wafted up and retrieved the notepad from the top of the china cabinet.
Kathleen was too dazed to object to the airborne notebook and pen.
I sat down opposite her. “You won’t be safe—and Father Bill won’t be safe—until Chief Cobb solves the crime.” 147
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Kathleen frowned. “No one could honestly suspect Bill.” I looked at Kathleen’s tear-streaked face. Was she too fragile to take any more shocks? Or could she be tough? “My dear.” I spoke gently. “Father Bill may end up as the prime suspect. He and Daryl quarreled Thursday morning. Daryl was shot Thursday afternoon on the back porch of the rectory—”
Kathleen gripped the edge of the table. “No one knows that.”
“The murderer does, and Chief Cobb has his suspicions.” I described the cat-fur-laden dust balls on Daryl’s suit jacket and the chief’s plan to get a search warrant. “. . . but I’ve swept up the porch and gotten rid of the tarp.”
Kathleen looked down as Spoofer strolled across the kitchen floor.
“That’s why the chief looked hard at Spoofer, isn’t it?” Abruptly, she sat up straighter in her chair. “I’ll tell the police about finding Daryl’s body.”