Family Skeletons Read online

  Well, Sunny, what do you really want? Do you want to break it off? Do you want him to?

  “Like I said,” Ryan went on when she remained silent. “You’re selling yourself short. Give it a chance, Sunny. Give yourself a chance—and him.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Hi, Sunny,” Tom said when she answered the door that evening.

  She noted that he seemed unsure of his welcome, as he should be, considering that she’d got the news of his official removal from a reporter instead of the man himself. Deliberately she let him wait, and then she asked pointedly, “Is there something you forgot to tell me?”

  He lost his tentative look, even seemed relieved. “You heard.”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay. Then you know that the beer I want is legal.” He waited, watching her patiently. Then he said, “I know where the back porch is. If you’ll get out of my way and let me in, I’ll go on out there and you can bring me my beer.”

  “Sunny, get out of his way,” Ryan called from the kitchen. “The man is thirsty.”

  Sunny stepped aside and then followed Tom to the kitchen, and he followed Ryan and the two beers onto the porch. She grabbed a soda and joined them. A beer lover, she wasn’t. They had the webbed chairs, so she pulled up a piece of floor to sit on.

  “Oh,” Tom said and started to rise.

  “No,” Ryan said. “Here, Sunny, take mine. I’ll get another chair.”

  He left and brought back a straight-backed kitchen chair, but she stayed where she was and popped open her can of soda. “Come on. If I’d gotten that cushiony chair before you did, would you have expected me to give it to you and go get a less comfortable one to sit on? I’m fine where I am.”

  He gave her a longsuffering look. “Sunny, I’m just trying to be nice. Will you please get up off your stubborn rear, take the stupid chair, and behave yourself?”

  She shook her head. “That’s not nice. It’s sexist. And you’re supposed to be a psychologist?”

  “You two get along well,” Tom observed.

  Ryan had lost this round, wasn’t used to that circumstance, and clearly didn’t like it. Sunny grinned at the wall. He finally sat on the hard chair, his spine straighter than the wooden back, and the comfortable lawn chair with its foam cushion was left unoccupied.

  “So, Tom,” Sunny prompted. “Was there something you wanted to tell us?”

  “Two things. One you already know, so I won’t waste my breath or your time. The second is that Joyce called today. They’re releasing the hold on Franklin’s remains.”

  She sobered quickly. “Okay. I’ll call Roberta. She has everything set up. All we need to do is choose a date for interment, and then one for the memorial service.” As Sunny sipped from her can of soda, Cat sidled up and appeared interested in the colorful can. Sunny smiled, stroked her back, and directed her toward her water dish.

  “I assume your removal from the case was voluntary,” Ryan said point blank to Tom. Which told the man that Ryan knew the circumstances, and that he believed straight talk was the best policy.

  Tom shrugged, conveying that the fact was history. “My disclosure of information was voluntary, but once I opened my mouth, my removal was imminent.” He looked into his can of beer. “But I have to admit I’m relieved to be relieved. I’m too close to it, to the people, to everything. The truth is I wanted out. And Joyce is both good and fair. He’s not showing me his back. Hence, my visit tonight. He gave me the choice of coming out here if I wanted to, with him or without him.”

  He looked at Sunny, who sat on the floor facing the two men with her jeans-clad knees drawn up. “Can I ask you something?”

  She glanced up questioningly. “Sure.”

  “What are you still doing here?”

  Good question.

  She noticed that she also had Ryan’s attention, though he said nothing. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. “Okay, I’ll try to be as candid as you were. Franklin doesn’t deserve my loyalty or consideration, so it’s not because of him. Neither am I sticking around for my mother’s sake. She’s competent enough to make her own decisions and follow through. So I guess it’s for me. I don’t feel right, just...leaving.”

  She grew quiet, thinking, then continued. “He was murdered, and he was my father, and I can’t just take off and forget all about that. I want to stick around until he’s decently buried. I’d prefer for the whole thing to be resolved before I clear out of here, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. It’s too muddled, too long ago. But I’ll stick around until he’s in the ground and the words have been said. Then I’ll go home.”

  Her chin remained on her knees as she stared at the floor. Ryan’s loafers, black and polished, contrasted with Tom’s scuffed oxfords.

  “Well said.” Ryan gave her a thoughtful look with both pride and admiration in it. “You’re growing up, Sunny.”

  * * *

  “Thanks for bringing this back,” Bev said as she accepted the Pyrex dish from Sunny the next day. She’d been straightening shelves near the back of the store when Sunny found her. “I wanted to make something for Friday, for the reception following the service, and it’s the only casserole dish I’ve got.”

  “I’m the one who should be thanking you.” Sunny wondered what to do with her hands now that they were empty. She stuck them in her jeans pockets. “You were thoughtful to bring that over, and I appreciate it. And as far as the reception goes, I’d wanted to just serve cold cuts and breads and such, but Roberta told me it would be an insult not to allow people to bring food with them if they wanted to.”

  “She’s right. There’s very little any of us can do, but we can do that much and we should be allowed to.” She flashed a small smile. “Somehow, it makes one feel better.”

  Bev was dressed in royal blue sweats and white lace-up shoes with cushioned insteps, the kind that waitresses wore. After putting the casserole dish on top of some cereal boxes, she rested her hands on her waist and stretched her back. “I’m getting old. I don’t bend as well as I used to.” Her gaze returned to Sunny. “Will your cousin be returning for the service?”

  “Uh-huh. That’s why it’s scheduled so late in the day, to give him a chance to get here.”

  The store wasn’t busy. Matthew stood at the counter, watching them and obviously listening to them, and just as obviously not inclined to be included in their conversation. When a woman entered with three young kids, Bev picked up the casserole dish and motioned Sunny outside, then led the way to the Wilkes’ living quarters behind the store. Sunny was glad. She still wanted to have that heart-to-heart with Bev. Privately, and hopefully tactfully.

  The Wilkes’ home was small. The modest living room was adjacent to a little kitchen with a corner dinette, and along one wall of the main room, three doors opened to two bedrooms and what was probably a shared bath in the center.

  The furnishings were no more elaborate than the floor plan. A portable TV sat upon a four-legged brass stand, facing a sofa in a light-blue print and a matching armchair. A sand-colored end table sat between them, supporting a lamp with a brass base. Everything appeared neat and clean.

  Sunny sat on the sofa and accepted a glass of cola over ice. Not knowing how to beat around the bush, she took a sip of the drink and threw tact out the window. “I heard that you and Franklin were romantically involved at one time.”

  The bluntness of the statement threw Bev for an instant. Then she executed a small shrug, admitting the romance, but giving it no present importance. “Yes. That was common knowledge.”

  “With that in mind, telling him a final goodbye now might be difficult.”

  Criminy, Sunny, you sound like that red-haired reporter.

  “You think?” Apparently Bev’s patience had a limit. Her voice was clipped and her dark eyes snapped. Her reaction would’ve been fodder for the tabloids. “Well, you’re wrong—there’s nothing whatsoever difficult about it.” Then she pulled in a breath, drew back
and looked at the blank TV screen. “Excuse me. There’s no need for me to be rude.”

  Sunny wondered which of them was being rude. And she realized that kind of response was characteristic of Bev. Sharp words, even anger, then she’d rein herself in as if uncomfortable with her own outburst.

  “But actually that is the truth,” Bev went on. “I said goodbye to Franklin a long time ago. A lifetime ago. We were never suited for each other, not really.”

  You’re right. You’re not aggressive enough. He would’ve walked all over you.

  Bev continued, “Tim Joyce has been talking to me and everyone else, trying to jog our memories. I knew he was up here—Franklin, I mean. He came in for sandwich meats. That was the last time I ever saw him.”

  Sandwich meats? Then he wasn’t expecting to be cooking for company, or anticipating someone might come in and cook for him. Somebody surprised him? Maybe followed him from Reno?

  Gee, wouldn’t that simplify the whole mess? Dream on.

  When Bev became silent, Sunny decided she’d pushed enough, so she drained her glass of soda and set it down. “By the way, I wanted to tell you that Matthew helped me out the other day. He’s got courage and integrity. But those two boys that—”

  “I know. The Bowers. The problem is that in a small community like this, Matthew doesn’t have much choice of peers.” Bev sighed, appearing weary with the world as well as physically tired. “I’ll probably sell next year and get out of here. The hours we work don’t compare well with the income the store brings in. I’m hoping to realize enough to get him into college. He’s working a second job and putting money away, too.”

  “His father can’t help?”

  Sunny caught the hard glint in Bev’s eyes before her gaze again broke off and darted toward the blank TV. But when she spoke, her voice was mild. “Howard? No, I expect no help from Howard. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with fatherhood.”

  Doesn’t sound like you chose your men in the past any more wisely than I did. But you did the choosing. And so had I.

  Bev looked back at her guest. The older woman’s eyes were a soft and pretty light-brown, the lashes long and dark. With her olive complexion and heart-shaped face, she was attractive with only minimal makeup. In her youth, she’d probably turned plenty of heads.

  “Sunny, I’ve been curious,” she said. “Do you have any idea why Tom was replaced?”

  Sunny shrugged. “Too close to the investigation and the people, I guess.”

  Either you’re a good poker player, or Mavis keeps a damn good secret.

  “That makes sense,” Bev said, and a mask came over her face.

  Sunny’s senses sharpened. You do know something.

  The phone rang. Bev answered, listened and then said, “Okay.” But she appeared irritated as well as resigned when she hung up. “Excuse me, Sunny. Matthew needs me back in there. It’s hard watching the aisles when you get multiple people roaming around. And shoplifting makes the difference between being in the red or staying in the black.”

  * * *

  When Roberta arrived Thursday afternoon, she was solemn, subdued, and obviously uncomfortable at being in the house again. She accepted Ryan’s offer of coffee, but then seemed incapable of sitting and waiting for it. She toured the rooms on the first floor, reacquainting herself with the house. Then she mounted the stairs and looked inside each room up there. It appeared that her mother had ghosts she needed to meet, so Sunny left her alone.

  They met again at the bottom of the stairs. Each bed had fresh sheets on it so Roberta had her choice of rooms, and she chose the front bedroom on the first floor. “We’d always used this as a guest room. It only seems fitting that I sleep in it now.”

  Her gaze traveled to the glossy, refurbished Victrola standing in splendor in front of the windows. “And I’ll enjoy sharing the room with that lovely piece. I’ve never seen anything so exquisite. I can understand how it captivated Jonathan.”

  Sunny smiled to herself, realizing that Jonathan had guessed right when wanting to offer the restored antique to Roberta. But how had he known the woman better than her own daughter did?

  Roberta ran her hand over the ivory chenille bedspread. She might have found it familiar, though she said nothing. Sunny had found several bedspreads, had laundered them and they were in surprisingly good shape. She’d put a gold one on her bed in the corner bedroom and Jonathan had claimed one in powder blue.

  “Where does Cat sleep?” Roberta asked, showing animation for the first time since she’d arrived. “Am I by chance depriving her of her bed?”

  “She sleeps with me. But I leave my door open so she can get out if she needs to, so she might roam. You can close your door if you want to be sure she doesn’t join you in the middle of the night.”

  “Where do you sleep? I saw your suitcase in one room, but some of your things were on the dresser in the front master bedroom that overlooks the ocean.”

  Sunny felt the flush in her cheeks. “Oh, uh...”

  Roberta laughed, a small sound yet it seemed to echo throughout the house. “Oh, Sunny, that look on your face is priceless.” But the touch of lightness didn’t last. Sobering, Roberta walked to the window, and as she stood there it appeared she was looking inward, not outward. She said, so quietly she could have been speaking to herself, “That master bedroom is a beautiful room. It should have life and love and laughter in it, and yet it has had so little of any of those things.”

  Then decisively she turned from the window, as if forcing herself to look to the future instead of the past. “I need that coffee. What happened to Ryan?”

  Sunny was grateful Roberta hadn’t suggested a walk to the beach. She didn’t relish the thought of standing with her mother and looking at the place where her father had lain buried for seven years.

  She’d prepared chicken salad sandwiches and potato salad for a simple, early supper. They ate quietly, then prepared to leave for the first proceeding of the weekend: the interment. Though this part was private, they invited Ryan to join them.

  But he declined. “You don’t need me. You need each other, but you don’t need me. Not tonight.” He ushered them out to the car, gave them each an affectionate peck on the cheek, then saw them off.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sunny stood alone in the middle of the parlor, trying to remember what she’d gone in there for. She couldn’t keep her mind on any one task but was way too fidgety to sit and read, so she was still trying to keep busy—which was impossible when she couldn’t remember what she was doing long enough to get it done.

  She was hopeless. Giving up, she walked to the window and looked outside.

  Jonathan should be arriving any time now. She felt as excited and elated as a teenager before a big date. So no wonder she was such a basket case. She was a bundle of emotions: expectant, joyful, both scared and happy. She didn’t have a handle on anything, and didn’t even care that she didn’t.

  The phone rang and startled her into a jerky leap. Shaking her head at herself, and glad that Ryan the psychologist hadn’t witnessed her little exhibition, she answered it.

  “It’s me,” said Jonathan’s voice. Because he sounded garbled, she guessed he was on his cell phone. He quickly corrected himself. “Uh, I—I mean, it’s I. It is I.”

  She grinned. Nobody but you.

  Then she frowned as a sinking feeling formed in her gut. “Is there a problem? Are you calling because you can’t make it?”

  “I’ll be there, but not on time. I know Friday traffic is supposed to be bad, but this is ridiculous. Don’t wait on me. I’ll meet you at the mortuary. I remember passing by it once so I won’t have trouble finding it.”

  “Okay.” She heard her relief and wondered if it was audible over the line’s static. “I’ll save you a seat.”

  “Right next to you,” he whispered, his tone turning husky and now carrying well over the airwaves. She felt a tingle from her eardrum right to her groin.

  “Yes,” she whispered
back.

  “Soon,” he said, by way of goodbye, and she repeated the word back to him, same promise in her voice as in his. Gently, she replaced the phone in its cradle and then looked at it.

  You’ve got it bad, Sunny.

  * * *

  Roberta’s sedan was roomier than Ryan’s coupe, and was more presentable than his grandmother’s clunker, so they chose to ride in it to the memorial service. She balked at driving, however, so Sunny volunteered.

  As they’d feared, the time and place of the service had leaked out. The mortuary’s parking lot, as well as the whole street, held a carnival atmosphere. Ryan took Roberta’s arm and elbowed his way past the flashbulbs, and Sunny followed in their wake. Each of them knew better than to make eye contact with the news people, or even to reply to the clamored questions with a terse, “No comment.”

  The room filled quickly, but no one bothered them in their pew at the front. Sunny sat at the end, next to the wall aisle and saving the space beside her for Jonathan. Tom and Mavis sat behind them. Sunny suspected that some of his cohorts sat across the center aisle from them as well, for the specific purpose of fending off unwelcome visitors.

  When Jonathan slipped in next to her and squeezed her hand, her breathing quickened, and she broke out in goose bumps all over. Oh, yeah. You’ve got it real bad, Sunny.

  She gave him a lingering look. He was impeccable in a dark-brown suit, cream shirt and oatmeal tie. Those familiar green eyes were filled with expression, longing and questions and concern as they searched hers. His breathing had also quickened.

  The buzz in the room diminished somewhat, but didn’t cease, once the minister appeared and took his place at the podium. She and Jonathan turned their attention to him. The man looked out over the congregation, and remained quiet, and silence fell over the room.

  He was soft-spoken, brief, and respectful as he laid Franklin Corday to rest for the final time. The preceding night at 7:00 p.m., the skeleton, enclosed within a plain wooden coffin, had been lowered into the ground. Only three people had been present: his ex-wife, his daughter, and the same man who stood at the podium. Their faces had been solemn, but dry, as they were today.