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I was going to call someone to help Mrs. Murdoch.” He nodded toward Judith.
Meg moved rapidly toward Judith. “I was afraid it was true when I saw the police car. I had a bunch of calls about Daryl and I tried to get you but your cell didn’t answer. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Judith took one step, stopped. Her face crumpled. “Someone killed him.”
Meg was pale. “As soon as I heard, I called Father Abbott. He’s on his way over.” The little woman swung toward the chief. “You go on now, Sam. I’ll take care of Judith.”
The chief pushed up from the chair, dropping the notepad in his pocket. “I’ll be back in touch tomorrow. We may know more by then.”
I watched him go, torn by uncertainty. If I went with the chief, there might be more to learn, but I wanted to meet—so to speak—
Father Abbott.
The two women stood frozen as the chief moved heavily across the room. When the front door closed behind him, Judith whirled and ran from the room. Her face was unguarded, eyes staring, mouth working, a woman consumed by fear.
Meg was shocked. “Judith, wait. Let me help.” But her call was unanswered.
Judith ran into a long room with a fireplace and easy chairs and two sofas and a pool table. She stumbled to the desk, grabbed up a telephone, punched numbers with a shaking hand. She leaned against a tall wingback chair as if her body had no strength.
Meg bustled up to her. “I’ll make any calls—” Judith slashed her hand for quiet, a harsh imperative gesture that brought Meg to a standstill. Finally, her words hurried and uneven, she said, “Lily, please, this is Kirby’s mother. I have dreadful news.
His father is dead. He was shot. When you get this message, tell Kirby to come home. I know he was with you this afternoon from four to 87
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seven. That’s important. The police want to talk to him. Make sure he remembers to tell them that he was with you from four to seven.” She clicked off the phone.
Meg slipped her arm around Judith’s shoulders. “Do you want me to go over there, find him?”
“Oh yes, Meg. What if she doesn’t get the message in time? You’ll tell him—”
“I’ll tell him. From four to seven.”
They exchanged a look of perfect understanding.
“It’s just to protect him. Kirby would never hurt anyone, but the police don’t know him. When they find out Thursday is his day off, they’ll want to know where he was.” Judith’s voice was metal-lic. “Someone might think the wrong things if they knew about everything.”
Meg gave Judith a hug. “It might look bad. Bud and I used to bowl with Sam and Jewell. But after Jewell died, he stopped coming.
Sam’s a swell guy, but pretty black-and-white.” Their words were oblique, hinting at much I didn’t understand.
It was like seeing an old film with subtitles that left out most of the story, but I was a mother and I understood. Kirby and his dad obviously had quarreled ferociously, possibly in a public place, and Judith knew Chief Cobb would discover that fact.
The front doorbell rang. Meg whirled and hurried into the hallway. Her voice rang out: “Come in, Father Abbott. Judith’s in the den.”
Judith held tight to the back of the chair, trying hard to stand taller, smooth out her face, hide her fear.
Brisk steps sounded. Father Abbott stopped in the doorway, his face creased in concern. His sandy hair looked mussed, as if he’d forgotten to comb it. His priestly collar was slightly askew as if he’d tugged at it, his black suit wrinkled. His angular face sagged with 88
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weariness, but his dark blue eyes were kind and empathetic. “I came as soon as I heard.” He walked to her, hands outstretched.
Judith sagged against the chair, her face crumpling, scalded by tears.
This was not a moment for me to observe. I looked away from Judith toward Father Abbott.
As I left, I carried with me an indelible memory of the man most important to Kathleen. Faces reflect character. Even in a quick glance, I saw grace and intelligence, purpose and commitment, sensitivity and determination.
I also saw deep fatigue, perhaps mental as well as physical. A slight tic fluttered one eyelid. His shoulders slumped with weariness. The immensity of life and death and the gulf between was mirrored in his eyes. He was there to offer solace and hope, peace and acceptance.
What a gift that was and what a burden to bear.
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Idrifted deliciously between sleeping and waking, luxuriating in the comfort of the downy feather bed. I stretched and wiggled my toes. Heaven, of course, is always comfortable. Everything is in perfect harmony, so there is never a sense of mental or physical unease. On earth, minds fret, hearts grieve, muscles tire, bodies ache.
Achieving the right balance is a never-ending quest.
My eyes popped open. Was I perhaps being too much of the earth?
I flung back the covers and came to my feet. Quickly I imagined a rather formal blue flannel robe and slipped into it. Just in case. Gradually my tension eased. Wiggins wasn’t here. After all, even Wiggins wouldn’t frown on enjoying the moment. Joy is surely Heaven-sent.
I gazed happily around the charming bedroom. I was sure—
almost sure—that Kathleen would have been delighted to invite me to stay in the guest bedroom upon my return last night. I hadn’t wanted to bother her and certainly morning was time enough to bring my presence to her attention.
Last night I’d prepared for sleep by envisioning pink satin paja-mas. Comfortably attired, I’d slept the sleep of the just. I looked at the mirror. Oh, of course. I wasn’t here.
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I was uncertain how to dress for the day. Nothing too formal, but should I need to appear, should my actual presence be unavoidable and essential (Wiggins, are you listening?), it was important to be appropriately dressed. It wouldn’t do to be garbed in the styles of my day, attractive though they were.
When I observed the church ladies last night, I was enchanted by the new fashions, although a little puzzled that most wore slacks.
Their outfits were quite charming. Except for the shoes. The shoes appalled me, especially those with long upturned toes like an elf or blocky heels that brought Wiggins’s sturdy black shoes to mind. I prefer jaunty shoes with shiny buckles or bright bows.
I wafted to the sewing room. It was rather cold. I rose and pushed up a register, welcoming a draft of warm air and the enticing scent of bacon. I was eager to reach the kitchen, but first I must dress.
I found a stack of clothing catalogs on a worktable. I would have enjoyed looking at everything, but I hastily made a selection, a double-breasted jacket and slacks in gray wool with a herringbone pattern and a Florentine-gold silk blouse. Matching gray leather pumps (with a reasonable heel) and small gold hoop earrings completed a tasteful ensemble.
I’d no more than made my choice when the door burst open and a slender form catapulted inside. Bayroo skidded to a stop halfway across the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here.” Her quick smile was warm. “Your pantsuit is beautiful.” The child had excellent taste. “Good morning, Bayroo. Thank you.” I smiled though I was disconcerted. Once again, even though I wasn’t here, Bayroo saw me.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I need to get my costume out of the closet.” She gestured across the room. “We’re having our class Halloween parties today.”
Bayroo would very likely mention seeing me when she went downstairs for breakfast. “Bayroo, can you keep a secret?” 91
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She folded her arms in an X across her chest. “Sure. Cross my heart and hope to die.”