Libel to kill, p.5
Libel to Kill, page 5
part #4 of Digital Detective Mystery Series
I backed away from her. "Oh, no, no. I'm not taking in a bird." My mind stumbled around, trying to come up with a reason I couldn't babysit a parrot. Eureka! "My cats would eat it, poor thing." I frowned and shook my head in regret. "What about taking him to a vet. Or a kennel. Are there kennels for birds?"
"There are, but none I've contacted will take him. Apparently, they're all full up."
Now what are the chances of that, I wonder? It sounded to me as though they were familiar with Ezra and didn't want to hear him lecturing them on their sinful ways.
With a sniff, Margery looked at me with wet, watery gray eyes. "But when I thought about who could help me, I just knew you would. You're an animal lover, everyone says so. And you cared about Bernie too, encouraging her to finally write her book. If I could keep him, I would. But you see the shape I'm in."
I felt bad for her, but not bad enough to take the bird. I've never understood birds as pets. You can't cuddle with them, which is, in my opinion, one of the major perks of pet ownership.
With sudden inspiration, I said, "What about Bernie's vet? Or, I know, I could call Dr. Abernathy. He'd probably be willing to help."
She pulled her flowery blouse over her nose and mouth and spoke through it, "Already called. They can't help either."
Can't, or won't? "Why not house it with one of Bernie's friends from the church?"
Margery took a huge breath and dove into the car, retrieved Ezra's cage, and set it on the driveway. Only then did she release the breath. She inhaled deeply and went back into the car to pull out a large box full of parrot paraphernalia.
"There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth," said Ezra.
Apparently, the bird didn't like the idea of staying with me either.
"It's odd, but most of them are also allergic, or their spouses are. I never realized how common bird allergies were."
What a dupe. Of course, they weren't allergic. I mentally facepalmed. Why hadn't I come up with that excuse?
Margery slammed her back door closed.
Nearly screeching like Ezra, I said, "Wait, I can't take the bird. My cats will go crazy. It will be pandemonium. They'll eat it!"
"Just put him in a closed room. I bet you have a spare bedroom in that big house. It'll be fine."
"No. It won't. I cannot take the bird," I enunciated each syllable carefully in case her ears were plugged.
"Well, I can't keep it, as you can plainly see. Bernie's children will be in town soon. I'm sure they'll take him once they arrive."
Margery had much more faith in Bernie's children than I did.
Before I could come up with another credible reason why I couldn't give the bird a home, she was behind the wheel of her car, talking to me through the open window, "Thanks for the tea and chat."
She gave me a finger wave and sped down our long driveway, spraying me with exhaust fume and gravel dust. I was left standing dumbfounded in the driveway with Ezra and all his worldly possessions.
Ezra piped in, "Make no treaty with them, and show them no mercy."
Oh, I have no plans to.
I dragged the cage and box to the porch, grumbling the entire time. Did people think I'm such a soft touch that they can just dump problems and pets on my doorstep? What, they think just because I work from home that I sit around and do nothing all day? Apparently, the good people of Aspen Falls didn't appreciate my investigative talents or how hard I worked. It would serve them right if I figured out who had killed Bernie.
✽✽✽
I was still sitting at the kitchen table, making the last desperate calls to find a home for the orphaned parrot when my daughter came busting in through the back door.
"Mom, why is there a bird in a cage on our front porch?"
"Long story," I sighed. "What are you doing home?"
"Forgot my camera." Ellie opened the refrigerator door, scouting for food. She stuck her head in the fridge. "Or the paper's camera. They want me to use a real camera for the shots of the nudist camp, minus any actual nudists, of course." She pulled her head out and rolled her eyes. "As if my phone doesn't take just as good...no, better, pictures than that ancient Canon."
She pulled out an apple and a cheese stick and flopped down on a kitchen chair. Sneaking my full iced tea glass, she chugged down a third of it before smiling coyly and set it back in front of me.
"You're welcome." I smiled. After our blow-up the other night, she'd reverted to her old, amicable self. Hopefully, this is how we'd spend the rest of the summer. Maybe I'd suggest taking an overnight trip to Cheyenne or even Denver to go back-to-school shopping at the end of the month.
"So seriously, why is there a bird on the porch?" Ellie took a massive bite of the apple and chewed.
"I didn't want to have to bring him into the house if I didn't have to..." I filled her in on Margery's strange visit and how I'd gotten stuck with the bird.
Her open, sunny expression grew pensive. "You're not going to ‘investigate’ though, right?" She made air quotes.
I paused before answering. “No, I'm not.”
She nodded, her coppery curls bouncing. "Good. Besides, who cares what happened to Bernie. She was downright mean. Everyone's glad she's gone. When the news spread that she'd died, you could hear the whole town let out a sigh of relief."
"Ellie Blackwell! How can you say such uncharitable things about a member of our village? I'm disappointed in you."
"Oh, come on. You hated Bernie as much as anyone else. You never shut up about her monopolizing time at WAC."
I drew myself up in my chair. "I did not hate Bernie. I don't hate anyone.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “And I'm sorry if you had to listen to me complain about her. I'll try to keep my opinions to myself from now on, seeing as how you don't want to listen to them. It's not like I've ever had to listen to you complain about someone before."
Okay, maybe that last part sounded just a tiny bit like the twelve-year-old I'd been mentally comparing my daughter to, but darn it, she'd hurt my feelings.
With narrowed eyes, Ellie leaned in to examine my face. "You do, don't you? You really believe it was murder."
In a flash, she jumped up from her chair and grabbed up the over-sized industrial camera and the apple. "Have you ever thought about what Dad and I have to put up with? You can stay in the house until the snickering dies down, but we're out there every day. People stop me to ask what you're up to. You never think of how your actions affect the rest of us."
She moved towards the back door. I hollered at her, "As I recall, you weren't worried about what people said when you asked me to investigate your friend's wife's death—"
The back-screen door slammed shut, and a moment later, she tore out of the driveway in her used Honda.
Hurt and anger dueled for control of my emotions. I angrily punched numbers on my cell phone in a last-ditched effort to rid myself of Ezra, the walking, talking doomsday book of quotes.
✽✽✽
I lugged Ezra’s cage and supplies up the stairs to my office, subjected to Bible quotations featuring hellfire and brimstone the entire way. Didn't the bird know any God-is-love kind of quotes?
I may have been a little rougher getting him up to his temporary housing than I should have been, but I was still fuming. The last thing I wanted was a negative-talking bird in my office, but there was nowhere else suitable. I couldn't put him in Ellie's room since she was home for the summer. And the mudroom didn't have a door I could close so Tommy and Tuppence couldn't eat him. I might not want to house the orphaned parrot, but I didn't want it dead, either.
Why is it that when you're angry, everything seems to go wrong, causing even more frustration? While supplying Ezra with food and water, he repeatedly pecked at my hand.
Through gritted teeth, I said, "You and I will get along much better, Ezra, if you treat me with some respect." He cocked his head and stared me right in the eye as if considering my message.
Sucking on my pecked hand, I researched parrot care, specifically how to keep one quiet. I heaved a sigh of relief when I learned if I covered his cage with a dark cloth, he’d sleep. Hallelujah! That was something to praise a Higher Being for. I was tempted to cover his cage now but knew we’d want to keep him quiet while we slept that night. I resigned myself to a little bird noise as I worked.
No longer distracted by interruptions, I stared at the gray skies through my window. The darkening clouds reflected my mood as I allowed myself to dwell on my feelings. Hurt and anger over how Ellie had been treating me swelled and were replaced with a mother’s concern. We’d never fought like this. What had I done to deserve this treatment? More importantly, what could I do to make it right?
Then there was the News About Town article that had the village laughing behind my back. And someone malicious enough to give a Gazette reporter the idea. Oh, and how could I forget—people I barely knew showed up uninvited and stuck me with annoying pets.
But none of that touched upon the event that had started it all. How did I feel about Bernie’s death? Ellie was right—I wasn’t heartbroken about it. But underlying the anger and hurt of the last few days was guilt. Remorse over giving Bernie enough rope to hang herself by starting WAC and not stamping out her defamation from the get-go. Would she be dead now if I’d given her an ultimatum—to stop or leave the group?
I rested my forehead on my arms situated on my desk, and I let fatigue overwhelm me. What did these nightmares mean? They were consistent, never letting me get more than a few hours sleep each night. Was it possible Bernie was trying to get my attention? Or, as Christian believed, was my mind simply trying to work out her death? If I poked around a little to satisfy myself that Bernie had died of natural causes, would that put a stop to the nightmares and guilt?
If I let them, my baser emotions would lead me to investigate just to show everyone I was right. But that wasn’t a good reason to probe. Besides, what if I came up with nothing and proved them right? Perhaps I simply wanted to feel important at a time when I felt no one was taking me seriously, as Ellie has suggested.
A sudden calm came over me. I lifted my head and knew what I needed to do. I shut down my computer, put on a light jacket, and went out to my labyrinth. As I crept along the path, the churning of emotions faded, replaced by serenity.
Unsure to whom I spoke, I asked questions under my breath. How could I smooth over my relationship with my child? What was causing her anger toward me? Why had someone chosen to take potshots at me in the press? Were these nightmares Bernie’s way of getting my attention? Did she need justice?
As soon as the last question left my mouth, the clouds parted, and a beam of sunshine shown down on me. I stopped in my tracks, barely breathing, noting the wind was completely still. My eyes wide, I glanced around without turning my head. What had just happened?
I took a tentative step and then another. The sunbeam seemed to follow me as the wind began to whisper. As I walked with less trepidation, the sun withdrew behind the clouds. The wind picked back up, tossing my chin-length auburn hair. A shiver ran down my spine, and my skin prickled. In that instant, I knew I must delve back into the world of the detective for Bernie's sake. The feeling of knowing was so strong, it nearly took my breath away.
Chapter Six
Without questioning the revelation I’d received about investigating Bernie’s death, I wandered from the labyrinth back to the house. Sitting at my desk, I contemplated how to go about getting Bernie justice. Where should I start? Holding those questions lightly in my mind, I pulled a notebook and pen out of my desk drawer. Since I was going on the assumption that Bernie had been killed due to her libelous characters, I started there.
There were six people who'd been spelled out as a character in Bernie's book. Two were members of WAC, while the others lived and worked in the village. My mind balked at the idea that any of these people could be capable of murder. I'd known each of them for years. For now, I pushed back my doubt, assuming one of them was the killer. I knew I was short on clues, so I followed my hunches, writing down anything that gave me pause about Bernie’s death.
When I’d found the body, her muscles weren’t rigid. The odor in the room told me she’d been dead long enough for rigor to have passed. There was a lapel pin on the floor beside her. I wasn’t sure if it had been in Bernie’s hand and had dislodged when I’d picked up her arm or if it had been on the carpet all along.
I closed my eyes and imagined what I’d done next. My eyes opened when I remembered the empty blister pack I’d found nearly hidden by the coat closet door in the living room. I’d found it peculiar at the time because the house was otherwise pristine. Leaning over to get a closer look at the trash, I noticed indentations from high-heels in the recently-vacuumed carpet. Bernie had been barefooted when I’d found her. In the kitchen, all her dishes had been washed, except for two coffee mugs setting in the sink.
Staring at the log and mortar wall in front of me, I tapped my pen on the desk, ruminating on the scene. Unable to come up with anything else that might be significant, I flipped the page back to the list of characters in my notebook. Was it possible one of them had flown into a rage and killed?
Without warning, a shrill clanging bolted me out of my chair. I turned towards the birdcage and watched Ezra rapidly banging his beak on the bell hanging in his cage. I glared at his self-satisfied little face. Was he taunting me? Didn't he know you should be kind to someone who rescues you?
Once my heart had returned to its normal rhythm, I directed my attention back to my list. Attempting to stay objective, I wrote the sins Bernie had assigned, along with any details about their motive, means, and opportunity, next to each name.
Phyllis Buckley—Fornicator
Reverend Holt—Gambler; steals from collection plate to feed his habit
Doc Wilson—Performs abortions
Evan Fowler—Sorcery
Ned Walsensky—Necrophilia
???—Writes erotic romance
I couldn’t think of a soul who would secretly write smut, as Bernie had called it. I’d just have to hope I’d find out during the course of my inquiry. For now, I’d ignore it until I knew more.
Both Phyllis and Evan had participated in the sins Bernie had assigned them in her novel. Phyllis was engaged and told me more than I wanted to know about her active love life. And Evan had hired my friend Gwendolyn to channel his late wife in my dining room. I personally didn’t see the problem with either of these activities, but to each his own.
There was no way I believed Ned romanced corpses left in his charge. His family had been running the town’s only funeral parlor for generations. I’d heard the same despicable gossip about his father when he ran things. The family had always been above reproach and had laid our dead to rest with dignity and care.
I could see Doc Wilson performing abortions if he felt the mental or physical health of the patient was in jeopardy. What I couldn’t believe was that he’d perform them willy-nilly for whoever requested it. He was an old-fashioned doctor and cared too much about his patients to take no notice of the possible complications such procedures can cause.
As for Reverend Holt, I didn’t know him well, but I couldn’t imagine him stealing from the church to fund a gambling habit. I didn’t even know if he had a gambling habit. But he was a minister. Gambler or not, would he kill someone? I wasn’t naïve enough to believe there’d never been a murdering pastor in the world. In fact, I regarded anyone capable of murder if the stakes were high enough. And yet, it was hard to picture the Reverend breaking the Sixth Commandment.
If he didn’t gamble or steal, had Bernie taken liberties with some of her characters by creating random sins? Did it matter if she had? The people who the characters were modeled after wouldn’t want readers believing they participated in those transgressions, whether the allegations were true or not. Each of the people on my list had built-in motives but not, in my opinion, of equal severity.
Phyllis and Doc wouldn't lose much if Bernie's book were published. They wouldn't lose business or their job over it. Their spouse or significant other wouldn't leave them, and they wouldn't be arrested for what they'd done.
Evan, Ned, and Reverend Holt could lose their businesses or vocation if their indiscretions came out. Even if Bernie had made them up, people in the village might believe they were true and take their business elsewhere. Anyone from Aspen Falls would know precisely who Bernie meant the characters to be if they read her novel.
Anyone of them could have visited Bernie, though some would be out of character. I’d bet Bernie had been on every church committee, so if the Reverend showed up on her doorstep, no one would have lifted an eyebrow. I couldn’t say the same for the rest of them. Most of the town had stayed away from Bernie as much as possible. They wouldn’t voluntarily seek out her company. At some point, I should talk to Bernie’s neighbors to discover if they’d seen anything that could help.
"Judge not, lest ye be judged," squalled Ezra.
My hand flew to my chest as my heart thumped in double-time. Was he trying to send me to meet my Maker like his mistress? I furrowed my brows. Why had the bird chosen to utter that particular quote? Could he understand I was judging people on the list? Ridiculous.
This would not do. I couldn't have this bird constantly interrupting my train of thought, not to mention scaring the daylights out of me. With pleasure, I reached into his box of belongings and drew out the long, black cloth. With a flourish, I flipped it over Ezra's cage. If he kept this up, he'd be one rested bird by the time I found him a new home.
Taking a cleansing breath, I looked down at what I’d come up with so far. Putting my thoughts on paper was helpful. But it still left a lot of questions. And it didn’t help me with how someone may have killed Bernie.
I was deep in thought about the how when I heard a car pull up to the house. It was too early for Christian, so it had to be Ellie coming home from work. My stomach fluttered, and the sense of peace I'd gained during my walk outside took a hit. How should I handle the situation after our big blow-up this afternoon?
