The Battered Body Read online

  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.”

  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. May
be 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.”

  Once Lucy had driven away, James returned to Milla’s side and offered her his arm. As they made their way to her van, the church bells began to toll. James opened Milla’s door and settled her inside, then paused in the open air, clinging to the remnant of hope delivered to his weary spirit through the ringing bells.

  He then went home to dine on casseroles and a wedge of sweet potato pecan pie that was bound to put him over his daily caloric limit by a count of 531.

  Mrs. Waxman’s Sweet Potato Pecan Pie

  2⁄3 pound sweet potatoes (enough to make 2 cups mashed)

  2 eggs

  3⁄4 cup white sugar

  1⁄2 teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  1⁄2 teaspoon ginger

  1⁄4 teaspoon cloves

  12⁄3 cups cream

  1 (9-inch) unbaked pie crust

  3 tablespoons butter, softened

  2⁄3 cup packed brown sugar

  2⁄3 cup chopped pecans

  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Peel the sweet potatoes and cut them into chunks. Place them on a baking sheet and bake until tender (about 20 to 30 minutes). Mash the potatoes and take care to remove all the lumps.

  Beat the eggs lightly. Mix together the eggs and sweet potatoes. Stir in the white sugar, salt, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. Finally, blend in the cream. Pour the mixture into the pie shell. Bake at 350 degrees for 55 to 60 minutes or until a knife inserted into the center of the pie comes out clean. Allow the pie to cool.

  To make the pecan topping: Combine the butter, brown sugar, and pecans. Carefully drop spoonfuls over the top of the cooled pie. Broil the pie until the mixture begins to bubble—about 2 to 3 minutes depending on the oven. Don’t overbroil, or you’ll end up with syrup! Cool again.

  Serve with homemade whipped cream or a cup of coffee.

  Jackson stood in front of the open refrigerator in a state of befuddlement.

  “There’s so much Tupperware in here I can’t tell if I’m lookin’ at green-bean casserole, lasagna, or a fruit cobbler.”

  In normal circumstances, Milla would have leapt up to assist her fiancé, but she was out of earshot. In the den, she sat in front of the blank gray television screen, knitting an unidentifiable object made of navy blue yarn. The nervous clicking of her needles transmitted her state of mind more than any words could have, and neither of the Henry men had any idea how to console her.

  “I’ll fix you both a plate, Pop.” James shooed his father out of the kitchen and managed to microwave a turkey tetrazzini casserole with a side of green beans mixed with butter and pecans. Carrying two plates into the den, he motioned for Jackson to erect a pair of TV trays while he returned to the kitchen for glasses of water.

  Worriedly, he watched as Milla pushed the food around on her plate. Jackson ate hungrily, of course, asking for seconds by holding his empty plate directly under his son’s nose so that James had to interrupt his own lunch in order to fetch another helping.

  “I just wish those deputies would get here so we could get this over with!” Milla exclaimed suddenly.

  James put his fork down and studied her. “Are you nervous about being interviewed, Milla, or about what you might have to tell them?”

  When she didn’t answer, even Jackson stopped chewing and looked at his fiancée with mild surprise. “It’s those kids of hers, ain’t it? You were actin’ funny after you saw them. I reckon things got nasty.”

  “Have you met them yet?” James asked his father.

  Jackson shook his head. “Nope. Thought I’d let them do their family thing alone, seein’ it’s been awhile since they’ve gathered together. I was paintin’ most of the day. Those baker hands …” He seemed to become lost in the image he held in his thoughts.

  Milla’s expression was pained as she glanced at James. “You’ll see them all this afternoon. We’re meeting Chase, Chloe, and Wheezie for dinner at Dolly’s.”

  The doorbell rang and Milla started in her chair, causing her ball of yarn to fall onto the floor and unravel across the braided rug. James rose, rewound the ball, and then placed it on Milla’s clammy palm. “Just tell the truth, even if it makes someone look bad,” he cautioned. “They’ll find out about Paulette’s children anyway. You know Lucy won’t rest until she discovers what happened to your sister.”

  Both Lucy and Donovan were at the door, dressed in uniform and their espresso brown Sheriff’s Department parkas. After exchanging terse, polite greetings, James led them into the den. He carried in two chairs from the kitchen table and positioned them on either side of Milla. Jackson quickly left his recliner in order to seat himself to her right. With James on her left, the Henry men had created bookends of love and protection for a woman who suddenly seemed so fragile.

  Lucy removed a mini recorder from her pocket and explained to Milla that she and her partner were simply gathering information. “Can you tell me what Paulette did yesterday, Friday, December nineteenth?”

  Milla seemed relieved by the simplicity of the first question. “I don’t know when she got up or anything, but she was here for breakfast by eight thirty.”

  “What did you eat?” Donovan demanded.

  “Scrambled eggs and fried tomatoes.”

  “You sure that’s all?” he prompted.

  Milla shrugged. “Coffee and eggnog. Nothing else.”

  Lucy nodded encouragingly and wrote something in her notebook. “What did you do after breakfast?”

  “We went over the menu for the wedding supper. My sister is, was …” She got up and retrieved the tissue dispenser and quickly blew her nose. “Sorry. Paulette planned to make onion rolls and the wedding cake for us. I’d hired Dolly’s Clint to fix us his chicken in a cognac cream sauce with garlic mashed potatoes and mixed green salads too.” Realizing that last bit was unnecessary, she returned to the point at hand. “After breakfast, we picked up my sister’s assistant, Willow, ran a few errands, and then met our family at the Apple Orchard truck stop for lunch.”

  “State their names please,” Donovan directed.

  “Chase Martin is Paulette’s son, Chloe Martin-Hicks is her daughter, and Louise Rowe is the eldest of us three sisters. My maiden name is Rowe.”

  Donovan narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “But Paulette’s last name is Martine. Why are her kids Martins?”

  Milla issued a derisive snort. “It’s all about marketing. First of all, her real name was Patricia Rowe. Growing up, everybody called her Patty. She married Chase Martin Senior but kept his name after their divorce. She just Frenchified herself is all. Probably ’cause she went to cooking school in Paris before she was married.”

  “Any idea where the ex-husband is at the moment?” Donovan’s eyes gleamed.

  “Across the planet in Hong Kong. He’s a chef there. They’ve been divorced since the kids were in g
rade school, and Chase Senior has lived in Asia ever since.” Milla pointed the sharp end of her needle at Donovan. “Can I ask a question now, or is this a one-sided conversation?” James smiled to see that she was recovering some of her pluck.

  Lucy looked apologetic. “In a minute, if that’s okay. Could you tell us about your family lunch?”

  Stroking the length of knitted yarn, Milla was quiet for a moment. When Donovan opened his mouth to prod her into speech, Lucy placed a restraining hand on his arm and held her fingers to her lips. James felt a rush of gratitude for the gentleness and consideration Lucy was showing Milla.

  “It wasn’t the warm and fuzzy reunion I was dreaming of,” Milla admitted with reluctance. “Paulette was delighted to see Chase. Even though they live in the same city they’re both so busy that they rarely sit down face-to-face. They get along well, though, and they’re very similar. Chase is a wealthy and successful lawyer, and Paulette is real proud of him. She heaped praises on his handsome head the moment we sat down.” She sighed. “I only wish she’d been half as kind to Chloe.”

  “The daughter,” Donovan stated unnecessarily. “So they don’t get along, huh? What’s her story?”

  “Chloe saves manatees in Florida. She’s a widow. Her husband died in a boating accident five years ago.” Milla picked at the yarn. “She and my sister are, were, total opposites. Chloe’s a bit of a hippie. She likes baggy T-shirts, living on the beach, wears her hair long and loose, and is passionate about animal rights.”

  “Bet she wasn’t happy to see her mama’s fur coat,” Jackson murmured lowly, but Donovan obviously heard and exchanged a quick, predatory glance with Lucy.

  “Lucky for us she wasn’t wearing it,” Milla grinned briefly at her fiancé and then continued. “Louise, Wheezie, is our oldest sister. She lives in Natchez, Mississippi. That’s our home town. She and Paulette haven’t seen each other for a really long time, so things were a little strained between them.” Milla held out her hands plaintively. “You know how that can be.”