Family Skeletons Page 19

  Now, as Sunny thought of the crowd of people behind her—and feeling resentful of most of them—an unwelcome thought broke through her subconscious and gave her a sudden chill. Barely aware of Jonathan’s hand around hers, or of the minister’s voice, she remained frozen for an instant.

  This room was full. Was her father’s murderer in it? Saying his—or her—final goodbye?

  Feeling sick with it, she closed her eyes against her next thought, which was even more unwelcome than the first. Had his murderer been present last night as well?

  Her mother as killer was incomprehensible, yet the possibility had always been there, barely suppressed, waiting to pop up. The only indisputable fact they had was that the killer hadn’t profited. It had been a crime of passion, of impulse, without premeditation. Roberta had said she’d let go. But she might not have done so until she’d seen his body plummet to the bottom of the cove, followed it down, then dragged it into the vines and heaped sand over it.

  When she caught Jonathan’s quick glance, Sunny realized her shudder had carried itself to him. But there was no way he could know that her troubling thoughts concerned her mother, not her father.

  * * *

  For the reception Sunny had invested in more outdoor furniture: two cushioned lounges, a round tempered-glass table equipped with an umbrella, and four matching chairs complete with cushions. She’d given Ryan carte blanche, in both purchasing and placement, and had noted how quickly and totally he’d become immersed in the project. This was an outdoorsy, domesticated side of her smoothly put together housemate and best friend that Sunny had not seen before.

  Only a handful of people were invited to follow them home: Tom and Mavis, Tim Joyce, Bev and Matthew, and they all milled about the house and yard. Matthew stayed outside with his face turned toward the ocean. He was so painfully ill at ease that Sunny wondered why he’d attended at all, and for his sake she hoped Bev would take him home soon.

  A pair of men was stationed outside the house on the road leading in from town. She doubted they were here in an official capacity, however. It was more likely they were doing Tom a favor. She was grateful for their presence; they’d already stopped and turned away several media members. Before she got a chance to send food out to them, she saw that Jonathan had commissioned Matthew to take plates to them. The act served two purposes: telling the men they were appreciated, and it gave the obviously uncomfortable teenager something purposeful to do.

  Because of the late hour, their guests—Sunny had difficulty with the word mourners, though she wasn’t sure why—probably wouldn’t be staying long. She was also grateful for that. Her mother concealed it well, but she was under a strain. Roberta needed peace and quiet and solitude. Sunny was also tired and on edge. And she was acutely, almost painfully, aware of Jonathan Corday.

  He was uppermost in her thoughts, constantly in her vision, and if he didn’t have his hand on hers or his arm around her, it was the other way around. She’d dressed in a dark-green skirt, straight and short, and an ivy-green sweater. She even wore stockings with her conservative pumps, and several times she’d noticed him looking at her legs. She was both flattered and flustered, feeling like a teenager again, raging hormones and all.

  At one point, the kitchen was empty except for the two of them. He saw it first, pushed the porch door closed and then wrapped his arms around her.

  “It’s about time,” he whispered as his lips lowered to hers.

  When they came up for air, either seconds or minutes later—Sunny doubted either of them knew how much time had elapsed—he murmured, “I’ve never seen you in a skirt before.”

  “Maybe not, but I wear shorts all the time.” Her voice was as breathless as his. “You’ve seen my legs before.”

  “Yes, but shorts and skirts are different. Maybe it’s the stockings. Stockings are sexy.” His hands rested on her waist while his teeth nibbled at her lip. “Please note my admirable control. My fingers are itching to check out those stockings, but I’m afraid someone might disturb us.”

  As if on cue, the door opened. “Oops,” Ryan said.

  “Get lost,” Sunny said without looking at him.

  “Please,” Jonathan agreed.

  The door closed.

  Their hands behaved themselves, but their mouths were locked for another long while, then finally Jonathan raised his head. “We need a breather. This is getting, uh...”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. They broke apart and stared at each other.

  He took a deep breath, looked at the outside door and exhaled noisily. “How long do we have to wait before we can graciously tell everybody to go home?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll still have Roberta and Ryan.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” He gave her a cautious, almost panicky look. “That doesn’t mean you want to move back into your old room, does it?”

  She smiled, then laughed.

  “Good,” he said.

  Ryan opened the door again. “Okay, that’s long enough. You make excellent potato salad, Sunny. Got any more?”

  “No.”

  “Actually, the bowl of green salad was the first one emptied. Mavis’s frittata wasn’t bad, either, but I could do without the macaroni and cheese. And that was the only hot dish out there.”

  “You’ll survive,” Jonathan said.

  Ryan grinned. “So will you.” He could be a master of innuendo when he wanted to be, and he was presently pouring it on.

  Jonathan frowned, as if trying to decide if he’d read the comment correctly, and Sunny smiled. “What do you want, Ryan?” she asked. “Besides more potato salad.”

  “I want you both to come out to the porch and sit down with me. I brought up three chairs and positioned them in such a way that no one should take it upon himself or herself to join us.”

  “And why did you do that?” Sunny asked, tilting her head curiously.

  He gave her a level look. “Because I want you back home where it’s safe, and I don’t think you’ll go without a fight until you’ve exhausted every investigative possibility. Your suspects are all here. Come look at them, and we’ll talk about them. Which is exactly what those two deputy sheriffs are doing, or at least what they should be doing.”

  “Except that Tom’s one of the suspects,” Jonathan said dryly. “I admit I’ve not been involved in a murder investigation before, but this one seems quite unorthodox.”

  Ryan’s idea seemed like a good one, so they went outside and sat down. Sunny felt guilty about spying on her friends, and feared that the three of them might be conspicuous sitting up here on the porch surveying the group of people, but neither did she want to forego this chance of looking at everybody at the same time.

  “We’re missing a few players,” she said. “Langley Bowers and his sons, except that his boys would’ve been mere children seven years ago. But his wife, Louise, is definitely in the running. And Roberta said that Bev’s marriage wasn’t a good one. Howard Wilkes might’ve blamed Franklin, her first love, for that.”

  “Okay,” Ryan said. “Anyone else?”

  “Yeah.” She made a face and shook her head. “The murderer. How can we believe that any one of these people actually swung a bat at somebody’s head hard enough to kill him?”

  “Someone did, Sunny. Be quiet and look around. What are your impressions?”

  She did as bidden. Her gaze traveled from person to person, and then she met Matthew’s eyes as he stood alone in the yard, but he didn’t quickly glance away as he usually did. Sullenness darkened his eyes as he looked back at her. His mouth was a harsh, straight line, and his posture was so stiff he appeared wooden. Then he took a half-step to turn toward the ocean, showing her his back, and Sunny wondered if it had been her imagination or if the anger she’d read in his expression had really been there.

  Bev chose that moment to stand. She wore a pearl gray sweater dress that showed off her figure, not bad for over fifty. She’d been seated with Roberta and Mavis, and it appeared she was saying g
oodbye to them. Sunny felt her eyes narrowing as the fact struck her that each of those three women had been physically intimate with Franklin Corday. They each had known of his various involvements, yet they were seated together, out of choice, following his funeral. She shook her head, wondering at the variances of human nature.

  Roberta also stood, elegant as always in a straight brown skirt that reached her calves, and a print over-blouse that was tied at the waist with a cloth belt. Sunny noted how much the women resembled each other. Each was tall and slender and carried herself well. Mavis, in a simple beige sheath, matched them in height. Franklin had been of small stature but had been attracted to tall women. Was that why he’d been compelled to prove himself over and over again? Woman after woman? Had his own insecurity made him a small man emotionally?

  “Quicksilver,” Ryan murmured, and Sunny saw that he meant Bev. “Her moods can turn rapidly, but she doesn’t try to hide them. She just goes with them.”

  “That might make Bev more honest than some,” Jonathan observed. Then he added, as if in afterthought, “And it might not. It certainly doesn’t make her less complex than anyone else.”

  Ryan nodded, his attention on the people in the yard, but casually so. If anyone looked this way, Sunny realized that they most likely wouldn’t realize they were being scrutinized.

  “And Tom,” Ryan mused. “He’s a good man, but sometimes I get the impression he’s trying too hard. Part of his persona is a facade. I just don’t know how much. And I wonder if Mavis knows that next to Roberta, she looks like a maid in waiting.” He paused, then added, “She might know it and just rolls with it. There could be a downside to that...but I don’t see it.”

  Sunny continued to study the three women. Similar in stature, yes, but Roberta carried a regal air that would always outshine others. No wonder she’d caught Franklin’s eye.

  Ryan raised one leg to rest the ankle across the other knee and glanced sideways at Sunny. “And what’s wrong with your friend Matthew?”

  “You saw it, too?” she asked, and from the corner of her eye she caught Jonathan’s nod, which signaled he’d also noted the young boy’s sullen manner.

  “Something’s bothering him,” Ryan said. “Got any idea what?”

  “He obviously doesn’t want to be here,” Jonathan said.

  “Uh-huh,” Ryan agreed. “But why? My gut tells me there’s more to his mood than just reluctance.”

  Sunny stood. “Do me a favor? Looks like Bev’s on her way out. Waylay Matthew for a minute or two, and maybe you can even answer your own question. I want to talk to Bev.”

  Playing the role of hostess bidding a casual goodbye to her guest, Sunny walked Bev out to the pickup. “Thanks for coming. And for the casserole.”

  And that was the end of small talk. There was only one way to get information, Sunny figured: ask for it.

  “I want to talk to you, Bev. Please don’t be offended or clam up on me.”

  Although Bev frowned, and appeared apprehensive, after a short moment she shrugged in acquiescence. “Okay, shoot.”

  “I got the impression the other day that you knew more than you were telling me. Was it about Franklin, and...and anyone around here?”

  “Oh, shit,” Bev said softly. She looked at the pickup, beyond it to the eucalyptus grove, and then her gaze returned to Sunny. “Okay. I already talked to Tim Joyce. If you’re asking, you might as well know.” She laughed wryly. “You may know anyway, and that’s why you’re asking.”

  Then with a sigh, she nodded. “Yes. I saw Franklin one more time after he came into the store that day. He was having dinner at Sal’s that night with Mavis. But the meeting didn’t look like it’d been planned,” she added quickly. “She was almost through eating, and he came in and sat down at her table. Whether invited or uninvited, I wouldn’t know.”

  Still appearing edgy, she glanced away at the expanse of ocean. “That in itself is nothing, of course. But that was at a time when Mavis and Tom were separated, or close to it, and that’s why it caught my attention. His parents were having problems, health wise and even marital, I believe, and it was tearing him apart. He spent as much time out of town as he did at home with his wife.”

  Bev grew quiet, but Sunny sensed there was more. She waited. Bev didn’t seem to know what she wanted to look at; her gaze darted from place to place until it once more settled on her hostess.

  “It bothered me,” Bev confided. “I’d hoped Mavis was smart enough not to get involved with Franklin. She had a good marriage, Tom was—is—a good guy, and then her friendship with your mother, but...whoever knows? Sometimes we go with the moment. You know what I mean?”

  Sunny didn’t doubt that the meeting between Mavis and Franklin had been accidental, but if Bev had sensed something beneath the surface that evening, anyone else in the restaurant could’ve also seen it. Tom might have heard about his wife’s transgression before she’d told him.

  Bev’s attention moved beyond Sunny. “There you are, Matthew.” She seemed relieved. “Are you about ready?”

  He hesitated, gaze traveling uncomfortably between the two women, as if he suspected they’d been talking about him. Then he walked around the pickup to the passenger’s side. He stopped and looked at Sunny over the empty bed of the truck. “Uh, thanks, Sunny, for, uh...” He broke off, as if not sure what to thank her for.

  She nodded and smiled, easing him out of the need for words. He looked grateful for that, but still somewhat wooden. She watched them drive off. As the pickup gained distance, Sunny’s thoughts were no longer of Bev, but of her son instead.

  Where did that hurt and whipped look come from, Matthew? What’s going on with you?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jonathan and Ryan had joined the deputy sheriffs by the time Sunny returned to the backyard. The men sat in chairs in the shade of a eucalyptus tree, and Roberta and Mavis remained at the table under the umbrella.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Sunny put her hands on her hips. “I refuse to allow this to turn into boys over there and girls over here. This is coeducational. Now one of you two groups, pick up your chairs and go mingle.”

  Everybody looked at her, but nobody moved.

  “She may know how to make muffins, but she’s also a bit on the bossy side,” Tim Joyce observed.

  Ryan thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Uh, Sunny, if you’re thinking that we should pick up our chairs and do the moving, isn’t that being just a little bit sexist?”

  “You want me to help you out of that chair, Ryan?”

  He gave her a slow grin. “No, thanks.” He put his hands beneath his head and crossed his ankles as he reclined in the lounger. “I’m quite comfortable right where I am.”

  Roberta picked up her chair, took it to the tree, and plunked it down. “Daughters,” she said, clearly irritated with hers. “I was perfectly comfortable where I was.”

  Mavis followed suit. “Move, Tom. You’re hogging the shade.”

  Sunny was without a chair, didn’t want to sit on the ground in her skirt, and wasn’t inclined to traipse back to the porch to retrieve the one she’d left there. Ryan, quite possibly reading her mind, watched her with smug amusement that she ignored. Jonathan started to pat his knee, signaling that she should sit in his lap, then abruptly aborted the motion as if becoming aware of their audience. He started to rise instead, but Sunny shook her head. She wasn’t going to let anyone, including him, surrender a chair to her. No way would she give Ryan the satisfaction.

  Ryan had one lounger, and Timothy Joyce had the other. At the moment, she preferred the police officer to the psychologist, so she motioned for the deputy to move his legs to make room for her. He did, and after a brief hesitation, Jonathan settled back into his lawn chair.

  Sunny sat modestly and uncomfortably at the end of the lounger with her back straight, knees together, and both feet on the ground. There was so much freedom in pants, and so little in a skirt. She folded her hands in her lap and inclined her head to
ward the man she shared the chair with.

  “So, Joyce, how’s it going? Have you located anyone? Like Louise Bowers or Howard Wilkes, maybe?”

  He gave her a long look. “You don’t mind putting a man on the spot, do you? May I remind you that this is an ongoing investigation?”

  “I certainly hope it is. A simple yes or no will suffice. And while we’re on the subject, have you come across any other interesting possibilities?”

  Contrary to his speech, his expression held no real reticence. He even had a slight smile.

  “Ignore her if you want to,” Tom told him.

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” Ryan said mildly.

  Sunny was aware of Jonathan’s gaze on her. But he seemed more interested in how she was conducting herself than in the conversation, and she realized they’d shared few social situations. Out of necessity, her present pose was prim and proper, but she, the person, wasn’t.

  What you see is what you get, Jonathan. Reserved, I’m not.

  Her eyes nailed the long-legged cop. “I’m not asking for state secrets, Deputy Joyce, just if you’ve located anyone?”

  “Yes.”

  Sunny waited for elaboration, which wasn’t forthcoming. “Which one?” she prompted.

  “Louise.”

  She waited again, then prompted again, “And Howard?”

  “Haven’t pinned him down yet.”

  Carefully, she crossed her legs and clasped her hands around the uppermost knee. “And what did Louise have to say?”

  “About what?” he drawled.

  Ryan burst out laughing. Sunny didn’t. She gave Joyce a long, silent, unkind look.

  “Come on, Tim,” Mavis coaxed. “You’re not jeopardizing anything by talking about it. Your investigation consists of hearsay. You might pick up something from us, too, if you keep the lines of communication open.”

  Joyce nodded at her, then directed his attention back to Sunny. He had a very disarming smile. “Sorry, Sunny. Something about you brings out the worst in me.”