Three Bedrooms, One Corpse(13)

“Considering the occasion . . .”

“Sure, sure. It’s terrible what happened to Tonia Lee. All us females are going to have to be more careful—right, Eileen?” Eileen had just appeared at Terry’s elbow, looking especially impressive in a black- and-white suit and huge black earrings. “I’m glad we took that self-defense course,” Eileen said.

“When was this?” I asked.

“Oh, a year ago, I guess. We drove into Atlanta to take it. And we practice the moves the woman taught us. But I guess, if Tonia let herself be tied up like that, she wouldn’t have had a chance anyway.” Terry shook her head.

Franklin looked startled. He must not have heard that titillating fact. Even worse, Donnie Greenhouse was standing very close, with his back to us, talking to a woman whose hair and glasses were exactly the same gray-blue. But Donnie didn’t turn around, so appar- ently he hadn’t heard Terry. She, too, had spotted Don- nie and was making a horrified face at us to show she realized her gaffe. Eileen gave her the reproving look you give a close friend, the one that says, “You block- head, you did it again, but I love you anyway.” Eileen and Terry were apparently closer than I’d

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realized. Now that I considered it, I believed it was Terry who’d answered the phone at Eileen’s when I’d called this morning. Eileen was at least ten or more years older than Terry, but they had a lot in common, it seemed. They worked for competing real estate firms, but they were the only single female real estate dealers in Lawrenceton. Well, there was Idella, but she hadn’t been divorced very long.

I’d always assumed (along with everyone else in Lawrenceton) that Terry and Franklin were lovers, at least occasionally, because with Franklin’s reputation it was impossible to believe he could share an office with a woman and not try to seduce her, and it was as- sumed in Lawrenceton (especially by the male popula- tion) that almost all of his seduction attempts were successful. But the way Franklin and Terry were stand- ing, the way they spoke to each other, didn’t add up to an intimate relationship. If I’d had to pick a pair of lovers out of our little group, it would have been Eileen and Terry.

This was an idea I had to adjust to. I had no prob- lem with it. I just had to adjust.

Donnie Greenhouse joined our little circle, and my attention was claimed by his doleful face and his strangely exultant eyes. Somewhere behind those pale compressed lips lurked a grin of triumph. I realized I would rather mash the pumpkin pie in his face than have him eat it, and stomped the thought down into my “Examine Later” compartment. That compartment was filling up rapidly today. Donnie put his hand on Franklin’s shoulder.

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“Thanks so much for coming,” the new widower said. “It’s great to know our—my—fellow profession- als are showing such support.”

Embarrassed, we all mumbled appropriate things. “Tonia Lee would have been so pleased to see you all here. Mrs. Queensland was here this morning, and Mark Russell and Jamie Dietrich were here, and I see Idella coming in the door . . . this has meant so much to me and Tonia Lee’s mom. She’s had to lie down in the guest bedroom.”

“Do you have any idea yet when the funeral will be?” Eileen asked.

“Not for sure . . . probably next week sometime. I should be able to get Tonia Lee’s—remains back from the autopsy by then. Now, Terry—you be sure and come to the funeral.”

Terry looked considerably surprised. “Of course I will, Donnie.”

We were all shuffling around trying to figure out what to say when Donnie suddenly burst out, “I know you all will back me up with the police and tell them I couldn’t have hurt Tonia Lee! That woman detective seems to think I could have killed Tonia, but let me tell you”—suddenly he was breathing very fast and other people were turning to look at us—“if I’d been going to do it, I’d have done it long before this!” Now that I could believe.

The room hushed, and everyone tried to find some- where else to look. As if moved by one impulse, we all gazed at the ridiculous glamour photograph blown up to such huge proportions above the fireplace. Tonia

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Lee’s false smoldering eyes stared back at us. Her wid- ower broke out in sobs.

This was undoubtedly a scene that would be forever enshrined in Lawrenceton folklore, but telling about it in a year would be a lot more fun than being here at the actual moment it occurred. We all looked at the front door longingly, and as soon as decently possible, the crowd began to flow out, washing the little cluster of Realtors with it. Donnie had pulled himself together enough to shake the hands of those leaving. I noticed quite a number of them managed to wipe their hands against their clothes, unobtrusively. I know I did.

An hour of reading the newest Joan Hess restored me. I may have dozed off a little, because when I looked at the clock, I found it was past time to get ready for Mother’s dinner party. I dashed up the stairs, took a very brief shower to freshen up, and stood in front of my open closet, faced with a sartorial dilemma. I had to look nice for Aubrey without having it seem as if I was looking my best for Martin Bartell. Well, that was treading a very fine line indeed. What would I have worn if I’d never met Martin? If I were just going to a dinner to greet a new person in town? I’d wear my royal blue dress and matching pumps, with my pearl earrings. Too dressy? Maybe I should wear nice pants and a pretty blouse? I called my mother to find out what she was wearing. A dress, she told me definitely. But the royal blue suddenly looked boring— high-necked and vaguely military with its two rows of

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buttons up the front. Then I caught myself thinking of Martin, and I resolutely pulled the blue dress over my head. My hair crackled as I brushed it back and secured the top part over to one side with a fancy barrette. I popped in the pearl earrings, dabbed on a very little scent, and worked on my makeup until the doorbell rang. Before I went down to let Aubrey in, I examined myself in the full-length mirror I’d inherited from Jane. For the thousandth time, I regretted my inability to wear contact lenses, which I’d finally gotten around to trying the previous month. A corner of my mouth turned down. There I was, short, chesty, with round dark brown eyes and so much wavy hair. And round tortoiseshell glasses, and short plain nails with messy cuticles. It came to me that in my life anything was still pos- sible, but that time might be coming to a close. Aubrey was clerical that evening—all in black, with his reverse collar. And he looked wonderful that way. He’d seen my dress before, but he still compli- mented me.

“That’s your color,” he said, kissing me on the fore- head. “You ready? You know how I am about dinners at your mother’s. Did she hire Mrs. Esther?” “Yes, Aubrey,” I answered with a mocking air of long-suffering. “Let me get my coat, and we’ll go tend to your appetite.”

“It’s really cold,” he warned me.

I kept my coats in a downstairs closet. I looked at them for a second before pulling out the new black one. It was beautifully cut, with a high collar. I handed it to

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Aubrey, who liked to do things like help me on with my coat, even though in my thirty years I’d had plenty of experience. I slid my arms in while he held it, and then he tenderly gathered my hair and pulled it out of the coat and spread it on my shoulders. That was the part he enjoyed. He bent to kiss my ear, and I gave him a sidelong smile.

“Have you seen your new parishioner lately?” I asked.

“Emily, with the little girl?”

There was something a little different in his voice. I knew it.

“Yes. She was in the office yesterday. She’s thinking about buying the house I inherited from Jane.” I’d discovered Aubrey was interested in me the very day I found out Jane had left me her home and her money and a secret, one I’d never told Aubrey . . . or anyone else. Aubrey had always felt a little uncomfort- able about Jane’s legacy, since his sensitive cleric’s an- tennae told him people had talked mightily about that strange bequest.

“It’s a pretty little house. That would be a good place to raise a child.”

Aubrey had that child on the brain. He hadn’t had any with his wife, who had died of cancer. “I didn’t know you were fond of children, Aubrey,” I said very carefully.

“Roe, there’s never a good time to talk about this, so I’ll talk to you about it now.”

I swung around to face him. My hand had actually been on the doorknob. I know I must have looked alarmed.

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“I can’t have children.”

He could see from my expression that I was strug- gling for a response.

“When my wife began to get sick, before we found out what was wrong, we’d been trying, and I went in for tests before her. I found out I was sterile . . . and we found out she had cancer.”

I closed my eyes and leaned against the door for a second. Then I stepped over to Aubrey and put my arms around him and leaned my head against his chest. “Oh, honey,” I said softly, “I’m so sorry.” I stroked his back with one hand.