Bennett gazed at James intently. “Why would she come over to question you and yours? It was an accidental death.”
“Lucy’s got one of her feelings,” James confessed.
Lindy and Bennett exchanged anxious looks.
“Good thing the women down there brought plenty of liquor,” Bennett said as he rose to leave. “Call us if you need to bust outta here. I’ll be home studying.”
“And I’ve got a phone date with Luis tonight, but I can put it off ’til tomorrow if you need to talk.”
James smiled at his friends. “Thanks to both of you. And thank Gillian too. But right now, I’m warming to that idea of a fourteen-hour nap.”
Lindy kissed him on the cheek and then eased his door closed. However, the wood wasn’t thick enough to keep her hushed words from reaching James’s ears. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out the Diva was murdered, would you?” she asked Bennett. “She brought out the worst in folks.”
“For Milla and the Henry men’s sake, I sure hope that’s not the case,” he answered. “And for mine too. How the hell could I concentrate on trivia if there’s a killer loose in Quincy’s Gap?”
James had never felt such a pull to attend Sunday service at the Methodist church as he did the day after seeing Paulette’s body. He, Milla, and Jackson all awoke early and gathered in the kitchen for morning coffee and stilted conversation.
Sitting across the table from Jackson, Milla appeared sad, tired, and confused, but there was something else to her demeanor that James couldn’t quite comprehend. She seemed nervous, almost frightened, as though she expected more bad news to arrive any moment. Jackson threw her uncertain looks every now and then, and James sympathized with his father’s discomfort. After all, what could be said to console Milla when she had lost the sister she had just begun to reconnect with after years of a relationship sustained by birthday and Christmas cards?
When James suggested they go to church, Milla issued the first genuine smile he’d seen since Friday evening. Ignoring Jackson’s eye rolling and a few grumbles about having to wear a suit, Milla covered James’s hand with her own. “That would be lovely.”
Now, as he stood beside her in the pew, his arm protectively about her shoulder, he tried not to focus on how diminished she looked. He thought back to when his mother had died-at how shrunken Jackson had appeared for many months afterward.
Death lessens us, he thought, and then he tried to empty his mind. Eventually, the simple beauty of the church was able to distract him from his sorrowful musings. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the fresh pine scent from the garlands draping the ends of the pews and resting against each windowsill. Brilliant red poinsettias flamed across the length of the altar, softened by the glow of candlelight from the Advent wreath on the plain wooden table above. Silk banners-handmade by the women of the congregation and depicting scenes of trumpeting angels, a manger sheltering the Holy Family, and the word JOY-were positioned in between the stained-glass windows. The chapel fairly shimmered with color and the sound of joyful singing.
Milla’s soprano, which was light and pure as birdsong, moved everyone seated around her. It was as if she recognized the mixture of blessing and anguish that defined her life and accepted her reality with faith and grace. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and other women smiled at her through wet eyes of their own. To James, this expression of empathy was another example of the kindness and compassion that formed the heart of the community he had come to love with all his being.
The congregation sang on and James let his gaze drift around at the familiar faces. He smiled at children hiding beneath the pews, elderly couples leaning into one another as they shared a hymnal, a husband’s hand resting on the swell of his wife’s belly. He saw the heartfelt jubilation in Reverend Emerson’s flushed cheeks, watched Clint squeeze Dolly in a brief embrace, and heard the intertwining of Megan and Amelia Flowers’s alto voices.
Milla looked up at him and smiled, and James knew that she too felt flooded by peace. Lindy had been right about the resiliency of women. The neighborhood ladies had invaded their home, stuffed the fridge, freezer, and cupboards with food, talked up a storm, and then vanished like a thunderstorm sent scuttling onward by an easterly wind. The members of the household had slept then, but had woken to a morning of fresh uncertainty and grief, which the prayers, music, and fellowship of the Advent service had gently washed away.
After church let out, Milla told Dolly and several other women that the wedding would be postponed until Paulette could be laid to rest. If Jackson was surprised or disappointed by the news, he showed no sign, but bid the women a brusque good morning and hustled off to turn on Milla’s minivan so that he could enjoy the luxurious comfort of its heated seats.
James was just losing the feeling in his toes when he noticed Lucy’s Jeep entering the church parking lot. He told Milla he’d meet her at the van in a few moments and moved off to intercept his friend.
“Why haven’t you called me?” he inquired sharply as soon as she alighted from her car.
She scowled in return. “I’ve been working non-stop. No one wants to dig deeper into Paulette’s death, but I fought tooth and nail to get a second opinion from the ME in Albemarle County, and I’m glad I did. This guy’s the best, and he was just about to close up shop for the holidays but as a favor, he agreed to examine the victim.”
Mind reeling, James asked two questions at once. “A favor to whom? And why are you calling her a victim?”
Lucy kicked at a loose stone in the asphalt. “The ME’s a friend of Sullie’s. We still chat over e-mail every now and then. Just about work stuff.”
James wasn’t pleased by this news. “So you’re communicating with the guy who came between us the first time?” He held up his hand. “Forget I said that. I’m sure it’s all work related.” He jerked his head toward the van. “Milla’s getting ready to leave. Are you planning on questioning her? Why did you say ‘victim’ instead of ‘deceased’?”
“Paulette was probably poisoned. When the ME cleaned her face off… and her eyes…” Lucy looked uncomfortable, but she took a deep breath and continued. “Her eyes were open and the pupils were really small, like little pinpoints. Her throat was really swollen and there was a funny smell inside her mouth. It wasn’t just the batter, which smelled kind of sweet. Something sour. Kind of rotten.”
James leaned against the Jeep as Lucy’s words sank in. “Poison?”
“It’ll take some time to get the lab results back. With Christmas coming this week, we’re not going to know anything soon. Maybe not until after New Year’s.”
“What will you do until then?”
Lucy’s eyes hardened. “I won’t be sitting around twiddling my thumbs. I’m going to look for the killer. Her family, her assistant, Dr. Ruth Wilkins. There are plenty of people with motive, so I need to move fast before alibis get created and people practice their stories on each other.”
“Well, we’re heading home right now, so you’d better come over before we start collaborating over our false testimonies,” James joked, but in truth, he was worried Lucy might view Milla as a genuine suspect.
“That’s not funny, James.” A flicker of sadness appeared in Lucy’s blue eyes. “I’m just doing my job. Someone hurt Milla’s sister. The best way for us to discover who did this is for me to get to know her. That means getting to know her friends and her enemies.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s who,” James muttered.
She touched him briefly on the arm. “Truth has a way of removing people’s masks, James. I won’t give up until everything’s laid bare. Sooner or later, the facts will point to Paulette’s greatest enemy, and then that person will have to face judgment.”