Viola Avenue Page 6

  Seated in their usual seats, back by the restrooms, Hannah tucked into a giant banana split, Maggie licked a vanilla cone, and Claire sipped a bottled water.

  “Are you trying to make weight for the wrestling team or something?” Hannah asked Claire, and then to Maggie, “Would you quit kicking me, already?”

  “I’ve got issues,” Claire said, “but I’m working on them.”

  “Is it a starving kind of thing or do you binge and puke?” Hannah asked, and then quickly shifted her legs so that Maggie kicked the booth instead, and then cursed over her stubbed toe.

  “Whatever works,” Claire said. “Right now it’s running a lot and eating very little.”

  “I’ve got the binging part down,” Hannah said, “but I hate to puke. I’d be terrible at it. Lucky for me I’ve got the metabolism of a jackrabbit.”

  “It’s really none of our business,” Maggie said. “I want it noted that I did not mention it.”

  “Duly noted,” Claire said.

  “So, who do you think killed the professor?” Hannah asked.

  “Right now my main suspect is a former student whose photo was on his refrigerator. A racy photograph of the same guy was under the bed. I can’t remember his name, although it’s on the tip of my tongue. I’ll remember eventually, and then we can hunt him down.”

  “According to the drama department secretary,” Maggie said, “Professor Richmond missed the Trustees picnic on Labor Day, didn’t turn up for class on Tuesday or Wednesday, and he didn’t answer his phone, but nobody bothered to go to his apartment and check on him. She’s a temp, and she was afraid to report it to the Human Resources Department because she thought he’d turn up and bawl her out for it.”

  “Ava said she saw him Sunday evening, and he was fine,” Claire said.

  “Ava can kiss a rat’s heiny,” Hannah said.

  “She’s got that billionaire wrapped around her little finger,” Maggie said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we hear wedding bells soon.”

  “Everyone deserves a little happiness,” Claire said.

  “You need to get on board,” Hannah said. “That woman is evil.”

  “Claire won’t believe it until Ava steals Ed out from under her,” Maggie said.

  “As if,” Hannah said.

  “Hey!” Claire said.

  “Oh, he’s cute enough,” Hannah said. “He just has no money.”

  “And what was the attraction to Scott, then?” Claire asked. “He’s no millionaire.”

  “He was useful,” Maggie said. “Until something better came along.”

  “Let’s try to stay on subject,” Hannah said. “We have a murder to solve.”

  “So, whatever happened, happened between the time Ava saw him on Sunday evening and on Wednesday when we found him,” Claire said.

  “Was he cold and stiff?” Maggie asked.

  “Not stiff,” Claire said, “but there was no doubt in my mind he’d been there a while.”

  “Hannah, are you still in good with the medical examiner?” Maggie asked.

  “Let’s find out,” Hannah said, and went outside to make the call.

  “What’s Scott saying about it?” Claire asked Maggie.

  Maggie shrugged.

  “Sarah doesn’t think there’s enough evidence to call the death suspicious,” she said. “You know how she is; unless there’s glory in it for her she could care less.”

  Sarah Albright was the county sheriff’s homicide investigator. She had been known to hit on Scott with frequent regularity, and enjoyed antagonizing Maggie.

  “Maybe I’m wrong about it being foul play,” Claire said. “It’s just so weird that all that stuff was missing.”

  Hannah returned.

  “She’s busy,” Hannah said. “She said rigor mortis passes off 20-30 hours after death and his had passed off. No signs of assault. They’re withholding the autopsy results pending the toxicology report, which will take weeks.”

  “So we’re looking at Monday evening through Tuesday evening,” Maggie said.

  “But if he didn’t show up to class on Tuesday morning,” Claire said, “that means it had to have happened Monday evening.”

  “Labor Day,” Hannah said. “We were out to the lake for a picnic and the fireworks.”

  “That’s a good alibi,” Maggie said. “Especially considering Scott and I were with you guys all day and evening. What about you, Claire?”

  “I spent most of the day trying to convince my father that my mother is not having an affair with Doc Machalvie and we have not stolen all his money,” Claire said. “Although, if you ask him, he’ll tell you it’s 1986 and I’m still in grade school.”

  Maggie shook her head.

  “That’s terrible,” Hannah said. “I’m so sorry about your dad.”

  “Back to the case,” Claire said. “Quickly, before I drown my sorrows in creamy carbohydrates.”

  “I need to call Gail Goodwin,” Maggie said. “She cleans Alan’s apartment and the B&B.”

  Maggie went outside to make the call.

  “Hey,” Hannah said. “Is there anything I can do to help you and your mom?”

  Claire shook her head.

  “It’s getting worse,” Claire said. “We don’t know what to do.”

  “Dad says he’s become more argumentative,” Hannah said. “Some of the old farts are not hanging out at the gas station all day because of it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He doesn’t mind,” Hannah said. “He says he’s sick of listening to them argue about politics, anyway.”

  “I love your dad,” Claire said. “I don’t know what we’d do without him.”

  “I hear Maggie’s dad has even been helping,” Hannah said.

  “He’ll listen to his brothers,” Claire said. “He doesn’t trust mom or me anymore.”

  Maggie came back inside.

  “According to Gail Goodwin, Alan was fine on Monday afternoon, when she cleaned his apartment,” Maggie said. “He said he was expecting guests, so he paid her a little extra to work on the holiday. She cleaned the kitchen, living room, and bathroom but she’s never been allowed to clean the bedroom. She said all the pictures were still on the fridge and the bust of Shakespeare wearing the fez was on top.”

  “Whoever killed him took the photos and the bust,” Claire said. “I knew it.”

  “She also said young, handsome men were always going up and down the stairs of his apartment but she didn’t see anybody that day.”

  “If I get this job at the college, I can snoop around there,” Claire said.

  “They didn’t call you back?” Hannah asked.

  “No,” Claire said. “Not yet.”

  “They’ll call,” Maggie said. “That college doesn’t do anything fast. They probably had to form a committee to consider your proposal, then twenty people will have to sign off on it.”

  “How’s your class?” Claire asked Maggie.

  “It’s good,” Maggie said. “We’re studying Shakespearean sonnets, and I love it. The teacher is this old hippie named Agatha Mappe. She smells like patchouli and pot; she gets so caught up in the poetry that she sighs and drifts away.”

  “Verily you doth jest,” Hannah said. “For tis known that crap is boooooring.”

  “I love it, too,” Claire said. “I’m hoping they’ll put on one of his plays this semester so my class can work on the hair and makeup.”

  Hannah pretended to fall asleep and almost dropped her face into her ice cream.

  “Can we get back to the case?” she asked.

  “So, disgruntled ex-lover or unhappy student?” Maggie said. “We’ll have to find out who was mad at Alan.”

  “It’s been my experience that the secretaries know everything,” Hannah said. “Get in good with them right off.”

  Claire nodded.

  “I’ll ask Agatha if she knows anything,” Maggie said.

  “Hey, here’s some gossip,” Claire said. “Charlotte’
s boyfriend broke up with her.”

  “Rowan Gallaher?” Maggie said. “His father is the new college president.”

  “That boy is fine,” Hannah said. “Her loss.”

  “You know, it’s creepy for you to talk that way about a child young enough to be your son,” Maggie said.

  “In my mind I’m still a nine-year-old,” Hannah said. “But in my loins I am a randy sixteen-year-old with a fast car and a bad reputation. It’s that slutty teenage girl I’m channeling when I say those things.”

  “He is good looking,” Claire said. “They make a cute couple.”

  “They look more like brother and sister than boyfriend and girlfriend,” Maggie said.

  “I guess if being a cute couple were a requirement, I wouldn’t be allowed to be with Sam,” Hannah said. “Then Linda Vorhees would have a clear field.”

  “Linda Vorhees?” Claire asked. “What made you think of her?”

  Hannah told her the story.

  “If you would read our texts, you’d already know all this,” Maggie said. “I don’t know why we bother to include you.”

  “A bear,” Claire said.

  “This is Appalachia,” Maggie said. “We get bears in town at least twice a year.”

  “In town,” Claire said.

  “Yeah,” Hannah said. “They especially love the trash bins at the IGA and P.J.’s Pizza.”

  “In this town,” Claire said.

  “Calm down, city girl,” Hannah said. “As long as you don’t hang out around the trash bins they will not bother you.”

  “But you just said a bear chased you back to your truck,” Claire said.

  “Yeah, but I smell like donuts and cheese doodles,” Hannah said. “You smell like mouthwash and vomit. Ouch!”

  “That was me,” Claire said, and high-fived Maggie.

  “So, you think Linda is after Sam?” Claire asked.

  “I know she had to have heard he was walking before she saw him,” Hannah said. “Her mother is always giving us the hairy eyeball in church.”

  “He’s been walking for a while, though,” Claire said. “Why come after him now?”

  “Linda just dumped her husband,” Hannah said. “She was a lobbyist in D.C., but her husband owned the company she worked for so when they split up she quit. Now she works for Congressman Black, out of an office in Morgantown.”

  “Now there’s a slimeball,” Maggie said.

  “He’s so crooked they’ll have to screw him into the ground when he dies,” Hannah said.

  “What’s he done?” Claire asked.

  “What hasn’t he done?” Maggie asked. “He has multiple non-profits set up all over the northern part of the state. He earmarks funds for them, and then they funnel the money into projects he handpicks, run by his former employees and good ole boys, who hire other former employees and good ole boys as consultants, and they all then make very generous donations to his re-election campaign.”

  “That should be illegal,” Claire said.

  Maggie rolled her eyes and Hannah snorted.

  “That’s just politics,” Hannah said. “Business is just business, but politics is always personal.”

  “Why would he give Sam money?” Claire asked.

  “It’s good public relations,” Maggie said. “He can get his picture taken with the veterans he’s so generously helping.”

  “I’m glad about the money,” Hannah said. “I just want the runaway fiancée to keep her hands off my husband.”

  “Sam would not cheat on you,” Claire said.

  “Since when are you an expert on what my husband would or wouldn’t do?” Hannah asked.

  “All right, girls,” Maggie said. “We’re all on the same team, right?”

  “I don’t need any more pretty cheerleaders on my team,” Hannah said. “Thank you very much.”

  “What did I do?” Claire asked. “I’m on your side.”

  “Listen,” Maggie said to Hannah. “I’ve known Sam as long as you have, and Scott is one of his best friends. The man is not a cheater. He is loyal unto death, that one.”

  “I’m keeping my mouth shut,” Claire said.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Hannah said to Claire. “I know I shouldn’t be worried but I’m worried. I can’t seem to shake this feeling of impending doom.”

  “Have you tried ‘Hee Haw?’ ” Maggie asked.

  “Yes,” Hannah said.

  “What?” Claire asked.

  “Have you tried ‘Jessica?’ ” Maggie asked her.

  “All day today, turned up to eleven,” Hannah said. “It didn’t work.”

  “Who is Jessica?” Claire asked, but they ignored her.

  “This is serious,” Maggie said. “What can we do to help?”

  “I don’t know,” Hannah said. “Just stand by.”

  “I don’t have any idea what you two are talking about,” Claire said. “But if you need me to do something mean to Jessica or Linda, just say the word.”

  Hannah and Maggie laughed at her.

  “Thanks, Claire,” Hannah said. “I’ll let you know.”

  Claire and Ed were in bed at his house, late at night. His black labs, Lucy and Hank, were asleep on the end of the bed, their feet pedaling as they muttered muffled barks from their dreams. His son, Tommy, asleep down the hall, was snoring like an old man.

  Claire traced her finger down Ed’s cheekbone and lightly scratched his cheek through his coarse beard.

  “All you need now is a bow tie and suspenders,” Claire said. “Maybe a wool vest and a pocket watch.”

  “I could be a steampunk-themed publisher,” Ed said. “It might be more marketable than a weekly newspaper.”

  “Those girls in your class are getting on my nerves,” Claire said. “It’s not appropriate for them to come to your house in the evening.”

  “It was Tommy who let them in,” he said. “I promise you, I was very clear with them about professional boundaries out on the front porch as they left.”

  “Tommy’s sixteen,” Claire said. “I guess he can’t help himself.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did he tell you Charlotte’s boyfriend broke up with her?”

  “That kid doesn’t tell me anything,” Ed said. “He’s into privacy and secrecy.”

  “Does that worry you?”

  “He’s got a 4.00 grade point average and is on track to graduate as a junior,” he said. “I’m blessed beyond belief.”

  “Still, shouldn’t you pry a little? See if he’s okay emotionally?”

  Ed rolled his eyes.

  “Guys don’t take each other’s emotional temperature every five minutes,” he said. “If we’re upset, we throw the ball a little harder.”

  “That’s a stereotype,” Claire said. “You’re supposed to be opposed to that kind of thing.”

  “I was kidding,” Ed said. “He knows I’m here for him. If it’s serious enough I’m sure he’d let me know.”

  “Does Melissa interact with him much?”

  He shrugged.

  “I know Tommy sees her,” he said, “and she takes him to buy clothes if he needs them. According to them, I have old man taste in clothing.”

  “Because you do, honey,” Claire said.

  “They spend Sundays together,” he said. “She and Patrick are very supportive.”

  “Then he doesn’t need me to do the mother thing.”

  “You’d be good at the mother thing.”

  “I would,” Claire said. “I’ve been thinking maybe we could adopt a little punkin’.”

  “Let’s do it,” Ed said. “I’m all in.”

  “I know,” Claire said. “I appreciate that.”

  “Let’s get married,” he said. “What are we waiting for?”

  Claire shrugged.

  “I’d kind of like to get this depression thing under control first.”

  “You want to throw some ball?”

  “Very funny.”

  “How’s it going with Re
verend Ben?”

  “He’s very ‘Let go and let God,’ but that’s hard for me. I see a lot of wicked stuff going on in this world and I wonder if God is really in charge. He gets credit for all the good stuff but when things go wrong suddenly it’s some plan we don’t understand. Either God’s staff is very slapdash in their work or this so-called plan was written by Damon Lindelof.”

  “So, maybe a different counselor would be better?”

  “Ugh,” she said. “I don’t know where I’d start to look.”

  “Ask Doc Machalvie, maybe?”

  “I could,” she said. “But I like Reverend Ben. I think it would hurt his feelings if I stopped seeing him. We eat our lunch in the hospice garden and have our little chats. I think he enjoys it.”

  “He would understand,” Ed said. “If it’s not working, you should move on.”

  “It may work if I give it enough time,” she said. “He says it might help if I don’t make depression a check-off item on my to-do list, like something to get sorted as soon as possible. He says you can’t control depression so much as manage it.”

  “I guess it takes as long as it takes.”

  “I guess so,” she said. “I better go.”

  “Noooo,” he groaned.

  “My dad likes it if I’m there in the morning when he wakes up,” she said. “This is a school night, after all. According to him, today I’m in the ninth grade.”

  “I had no idea dating a teenager was going to be so frustrating,” he said.

  Claire playfully smacked his arm.

  “You have no idea,” she said.

  At home the lights were all still on and Claire’s father was asleep in his recliner in the living room. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping herbal tea and reading a magazine. She looked up as Claire came in and Claire gasped at the bruise that bloomed on her cheekbone below her right eye. Both of her eyes were swollen and red from crying.

  “What happened?”

  Claire’s mother hugged her and began to cry. Claire pulled a tissue out of the box on the table and handed it to her, then sat down in the chair nearest to her. Claire was trembling as she formed the question she was afraid to have answered.