“I’m not familiar with that, but I’ll Google it back at the station.” Lucy made a brief note on a small pad. “You didn’t touch anything did you?”
“Of course not.”
“Good, because we’re waiting for someone to bring us another camera. Mine’s busted.” She listened as footsteps trod on the floorboards above them. “Donovan thinks she had a heart attack or brain aneurism or something. He’s planning to rule it an accidental death.”
James heard the doubt in her voice. “But you don’t agree?”
“If there were no motives to hurt her, then I might share Donovan’s opinion, but I’m going to ask Huckabee for an autopsy with all the works. It’ll take awhile, and if everything comes out clean, then I’ll look like an idiot. But think about it, James. She made a lot of people angry.”
“No matter what the results are, Milla and the rest of us will be grateful that you followed your instincts and asked for a second opinion.” James stood up and reached for her hand. “Your senses are more fine-tuned than most people’s are, Lucy. Listen to what your gut is telling you. It’s never been wrong.”
Lucy smiled with gratitude and then immediately resumed her professional expression. “You’ve got to leave now, James. You’re going to compromise my authority here and I’ve already got an uphill battle ahead of me.”
“Understood. I’ll tell Milla that this was an accidental death. At least for now.”
“Skip the ‘for now’ part,” Lucy ordered. “Over the next few days I’m going to be interviewing her and Willow and anybody else who spent time with Paulette, and no one needs to know about my personal suspicions.”
James was stunned. “You don’t believe that Milla could actually hurt her own sister, do you?”
But Lucy had turned her back on James as though he hadn’t spoken. He watched her disappear through the swing door into the butler’s pantry. The door flapped several times behind her, as though mocking him, and then fell still.
After zipping up his coat, James pulled his scarf tight around his neck and walked out of the inn. As he drove slowly down the steep driveway, he passed another brown cruiser, driven by Deputy Glenn Truett. A man with a round face, thick neck, and curling gray mustache sat regally in the passenger seat. James glanced at the figure, which strongly reminded him of a walrus, and hoped he wouldn’t be recognized. Sheriff Huckabee wouldn’t be pleased to know that James had been allowed into the inn.
With a sudden jolt of clarity, he realized that Lucy might not be forthcoming with her friends regarding information on Paulette’s death. In fact, it seemed as though she’d be visiting the Henry home in the imminent future not as a friend and potential girlfriend, but in an official capacity as a member of the Shenandoah County Sheriff’s Department.
“We’re not on the same side anymore,” James murmured unhappily.
Driving home he reflected on the number of times he and Lucy and the rest of the supper club members had joined forces in the name of justice. They were a good team-each person possessing unique gifts and abilities. But now, their group seemed to be splintering. Bennett was busy with Jade and Jeopardy! , Gillian was running two businesses and spending time with Officer Harding, Lindy was pining for the absent Luis, Lucy was acutely focused on her career, and what about himself?
Just yesterday he was in a celebratory mood. He was soon to be a homeowner, was taking steps to live a healthier lifestyle, and would witness his father’s nuptials.
“The wedding!” he exclaimed as he parked alongside Milla’s lavender minivan. “I wonder if they’ll still get married on Christmas Eve.”
Once again, to his dismay, life had thrown James and his loved ones off course. With weighted steps he walked toward the house he had lived in for the majority of his years. He had never been so reluctant to go inside, for he knew that his words of comfort would be insufficient. The cold wind seemed to follow him through the door, diminishing the warmth within.
The remainder of Saturday crawled by and the Henry house was markedly silent. Shortly after James’s return, Milla had driven off to the Holiday Inn to break the news to Paulette’s children, and Jackson had pulled on his painter’s overalls and locked himself in the shed. James phoned his friends in order to tell them what had happened, and within two hours of his calls, the women of Quincy’s Gap began to appear on his doorstop bearing casseroles, pies, and bottles of whiskey.
“Is the weddin’ still on?” Dolly inquired as she popped a chicken and sausage casserole in the oven.
James shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Word’s going ’round that Paulette Martine’s family’s in town.” Mrs. Emerson, the minister’s wife, chimed in as she put the kettle on for tea. “An older sister and her two children. You all might be gatherin’ for a different type of service.”
Mrs. Waxman, James’s part-time library employee and his one-time junior high school teacher, shook her head as she unwrapped her famous sweet potato pecan pie and began to cut it into thick wedges. “A funeral instead of a wedding. Now there’s a shame.”
“Maybe not,” Gillian countered as she hung up her coat on a hook near the back door. “Saying a loving farewell to someone whose spirit has moved on to a place of peace shouldn’t be an occasion of sorrow . There’s no reason why Milla and Jackson shouldn’t hold their commitment ceremony afterwards. After all, both services are just the congregating of friends and family in order to pay homage to love , the highest power of all!”
Mrs. Emerson issued Gillian a disapproving frown. “But the tone of each service is quite different.”
Slipping from the room before the two women could embark on one of their regular theological debates, James felt rather envious of his father. Safe within his shed, Jackson was probably painting to the soft strains of the light jazz station. With the space heater churning full force and a thermos of coffee and one of Milla’s cinnamon scones close at hand, Jackson would emerge from the unsettling day with more fortitude and calm than Milla or his son.
James tried to seek a few moments of solitude in his room, but Lindy and Bennett tracked him down as soon as they arrived, just as he was leaving his second message on Lucy’s voicemail.
“Poor Milla,” Lindy said sympathetically as she perched on the end of James’s bed. “So Paulette just collapsed in the middle of baking a cake?”
Replacing the phone on the cradle, James said, “Where did you hear that?”
Bennett jerked his thumb toward the stairs. “The entire Quincy’s Gap gossip network is downstairs, my man, including Mrs. Mintzer’s cousin. By the time they leave, they’ll know what kind of cereal you eat, whether you’re taking any prescriptions, your waist size-you name it!”
“With all that food down there, everyone’s going to know my waist size because my pants will have to be sewn by hand,” James mumbled gloomily.
“They mean well,” Lindy insisted. “And women comfort one another by talking. It’s what we do. Milla’s down there now, just wrapped up in a cocoon of prattle and laughter and tears. After she and the gals get it all out of their systems, they’ll sleep for fourteen hours and wake up, ready to take life by the horns all over again.”
James took Lindy’s hand in his. “I hope you’re right.” He sighed. “But I wish Lucy would call. I keep expecting her to show up with her little notebook and interrogate us all. And that would still be better than not hearing from her.”