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CHAPTER THIRTY

The staff at the café, who’d already seen us once today, didn’t blink at our return.

Not only that, but they gave us the table in the back corner with the maximum privacy. Clara and I sat side by side facing the room. Both so we could spot Evan Ferguson when he arrived and so he would be harder to spot and overhear for anyone else.

“I was thinking while I was in the shower getting ready to come here...” I wasn’t going to tell her my writing thoughts... or my Teague thoughts. And it wasn’t the most scintillating preamble.

But it did the trick.

“What were you thinking?” she obligingly asked.

“What’s a recurring theme from everyone we’ve talked to who was at the hospice center that morning?” I quickly narrowed it to, “What most surprised them about it?”

“You mean besides a man who was going to die soon anyway being murdered? At least after Rose Gleiner insisted he had been murdered.”

I confirmed her assumption with a nod.

She gave it a sip of water’s worth of contemplation.

“I’m tempted to say Robbie being upset, then leaving. But, really, would that be so unusual? A kid who’d just lost his father, even if that father had been convicted of murder.”

I didn’t intrude on her cogitations as she slowly lifted the glass to her lips again.

“So, I’d have to say what seemed to surprise them most was Dova losing it. Got to admit, I’d sort of like to see that myself. Partly curiosity. But also that mean girl part of me that wants to see the Homecoming Queen break a heel.”

“There is no mean girl part in you, Clara.”

She grinned. “Sure there is. I try not to indulge it much. But why did you ask about what surprised people the most?”

“Wanted to know if you formed the same impression I did from their comments — you did. And then I had this other thought — what if she lost it at the hospice for a reason?”

Clara frowned. “Of course she had a reason. She was upset about Robbie being upset and that the hospice called him. He’s her son and he’s young to have that sort of thing dumped in his lap.”

“I should have said purpose, instead of reason. That she came across as being beside herself for a purpose.”

Clara frowned. “I know you have something in mind, but I don’t see...” After a couple beats, she shook her head. “I don’t see what her purpose could have been.”

In that instant, I regretted bringing it up. She wasn’t ready to see the possibility. She’d say absolutely no way, which would make her resistant to ever seeing the possibility.

Not consciously, because that wasn’t Clara. But resistance to shifting perspective was human nature and the resistance hardened once the human declared another perspective as an impossibility.

It was back to the two-way image of the crone or the young woman from another age in a Derby hat. Some people got stuck on one image and never could refocus to see the existence of the other.

Much less my still murky and unformed third alternative. Or was it fourth? Fifth?

But I couldn’t drop it. Not only would it drive my friend nuts, but it wasn’t partner-like. I’d brought it up, time to spill. At least some.

“What if she was protecting Robbie?”

“Of course she was. From the tragedy of his father’s murder—”

“No. I mean... What if she was distracting everyone from Robbie? How he was reacting.”

“Oh.” She extended the syllable as she absorbed one interpretation. “Because it was so raw for him. Because, being a guy, and specially a young one, he’d be embarrassed later to have been so emotional.”

Not the interpretation I had in mind.

Crossroads.

Did I share the inkling of a thought at the back of my mind? Or did I not, shielding her from something I knew she wouldn’t like?

Or was I shielding the fledgling thought itself? Not ready to have it be smashed, possibly irretrievably by her disbelief.

Clara’s attention shifted to the doorway.

“Here comes Evan,” she said.

Saved from deciding. For now.

He was neatly, but casually dressed. An intermediate step between the suits of a sprinkling of other men eating here and the more common jeans. It set him apart from both groups.

Or maybe it was his hunted expression and slightly jerky movements that set him apart.

He spotted us right away. As he made his way to our corner, his gaze shot around like Gracie searching for squirrels in her territory.

Though I had the impression he’d run, rather than chase if he spotted what he was on guard against.

Before we could say hello, he said apologetically, “I hope you don’t mind meeting here...”

“Not at all.” Clara didn’t add even a drop of wryness into that.

He sat across from her, next to the wall.

“With the baby coming and all, Quebec is feeling rather high-strung and she doesn’t like to hear about sordid matters, especially...”

Sordid matters like murder that raised the memory that her now-hubby had been drawn into that harsh spotlight because he’d cared about another woman.

The efficient wait staff — too efficient in this case — showed up then.

Clara and I ordered quickly. Not only did we know the offerings, but the meal was largely a formality to get to dessert. That gave Evan plenty of time to come up with the dazzling choice of a salad.

I bet he’d skip dessert, too.

“Congratulations on the baby-to-be.”

He flashed a genuine smile, though it didn’t erase all of the hunted expression.

What was behind that? Our impending talk? Issues at home? Habit? Hard to tell.

“How long have you and Quebec been married?”

“Three years.”

“Whirlwind romance, or...” Clara smiled at him guilelessly, while I knew she was guile-filled and checking if Quebec might have overlapped with Jaylynn, been jealous, lured her to a deserted road, and shot her.

“Not whirlwind. Not a romance at first, either. She’d been on the staff for two years before we started dating.”

“Where had she been teaching before coming here?”

He blushed. Truly.

“Nowhere. This is her first school. She’s younger than I am. Quite a bit.”

“How wonderful you found each other. And now to have a baby... You both must be so excited,” Clara said.

He relaxed. Actually, more like he melted like a chocolate chip under the heat lamp of Clara’s warmth.

“We are. Of course, it’s been hard on Quebec. Pregnancy—” He shook his head. “Don’t know how women do it.”

No personal experience here, but from what I’d heard about it, this guy didn’t look like he would make it through the first trimester, much less the delivery. Did that mean he couldn’t pull a trigger, however?

Before our food arrived, Clara took him through the background of his meeting Jaylynn while teaching at the same school, gently enough that he might not have recognized the thoroughness.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t turned up anything we didn’t already know. Though it did seem to soften him up, because after our meals arrived, he made the transition himself.

“She was—Jaylynn was unlike anyone I’d met. An amazing teacher. Drew the children to her. Drew everyone...” His shoulders dropped as he picked at his salad. “We never had a romantic relationship. Not that anyone believed that after she was killed.”

It didn’t seem the time to interrupt to say that Donna might have believed it.

Besides, he pushed himself up in his seat and said more strongly.

“I would have. Would have in a heartbeat. It was all Jaylynn putting on the brakes. She was troubled about their marriage and she thought he was being unfaithful, but she wouldn’t break her vows.

” His mouth went sideways in something closer to a grimace than a grin, though his tone was wry.

“Not sure she was even all that tempted.”

He ate more salad.

“Did she ever talk about who she thought Derrick might have been unfaithful with?”

“Not really. I don’t suppose I should have said she thought he was cheating on her, because she never did say it outright.” More firmly, he added, “But I know that’s what she feared, what she was saying without saying it directly.

“She loved him. Really, really loved him. And she was determined that they’d be a real family, give Robbie a stable, secure home. As much as she loved Derrick, she loved Robbie a hundred times more. It was all about what was best for him.”

“Which put you...?”

“Way, way down the list as a reliable, safe sounding board. Not the man of her dreams, the way the gossip mill started saying after she was killed.”

A frown pulled down his brows. The expression added a new dimension to his face, sharpening the blandness. If he’d frowned a lot at Jaylynn might everything have been different?

“You know, it wasn’t immediately after she was killed, though.

I shouldn’t have said that. That’s how it’s told now, but that wasn’t what happened.

I’ve always wondered about that, in fact.

It was odd. I mean people knew about our friendship — all the other teachers and staff at school, for sure — we never tried to hide it.

Why should we? It never once went beyond what was proper. ”

His gaze went unfocused.

Clara and I held still, watching him.

After a full minute, he twitched one shoulder, pulling himself back to this moment.

“As I said, that was Jaylynn’s choice. And I honored it. So... Never once beyond what was proper. And the rumors about us — that it had been something not proper — didn’t come out until... later...”

Clara waited a couple more beats then said very softly, “Do you remember when?”

Without blinking or looking at us, he said, “Right after Derrick’s arrest.”

A woman’s voice cut across the end of his answer. “So, this is where you disappeared to.”

We all looked, but only Evan gasped.

A young woman who gave new meaning to the phrase hugely pregnant grasped the back of the chair next to Evan with one hand. I seriously doubted she could get both hands on it at the same time because of the baby belly. Possible she also had shorter arms than most, but mostly it was the baby belly.

“Quebec?” He tried to scramble upright, but with little room until the back of his chair connected with the one behind him and his wife blocking his sideways exit, he was caught in an awkward half crouch.

“Who are these women?” she demanded.

“They’re—They’re—” Evan stuttered.

“Hi, I’m Clara Woodrow and this is Sheila Mackey,” Clara slid in smoothly. But, hindered by being the farthest away from Quebec Ferguson, her warmth didn’t appear to penetrate.

As for me, I was fully occupied with preventing myself from gaping at her belly.

“I’m out running errands and then I see my own husband here with two strange women.”

Her voice drew stares.

I was dissecting her words. No way she was out running, even errands. Okay, she probably meant it metaphorically, but how could she drive, either? Reaching the steering wheel with both hands couldn’t be any easier than reaching the back of that chair.

Oh, yeah, and Clara and I were not strange .

The sound of furniture scraping on the floor penetrated and I realized the occupants of the table behind Evan had moved, allowing him to get out of his chair.

“Quebec, honey, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you, sweetheart. That’s all. It’s a little bit of business and—”

“It’s about her , isn’t it. I knew it. I knew it. I’ve always known it. You’ve always wished she lived and don’t care if I die.”

He had his arms around her. “No, no, no, no. Quebec, honey. C’mon. Let me get you out of here where we can talk.”

And not be overheard by every occupant of the café, which meant wildly varying accounts of this would be county-wide in short order.

Still crying and tossing out accusations, Quebec allowed Evan to escort her to the door. During the maneuver to get it open and her through it, he tossed an apologetic look over his shoulder.

Clara gave a reassuring wave. I smiled. Or tried.

Our server swooped in, returning chairs to their rightful spots and clearing Evan’s dishes. She also blocked the view of others, so most turned to watch Evan and Quebec outside.

“My, my, my,” the server said.

“She is very pregnant,” Clara said, excusing the behavior.

“Yeah,” the server said, “except she was like this before, too. What do you want for dessert?”

Interesting she didn’t ask if we wanted dessert. Maybe the assumption of dessert-ordering was found to get more people to order it. Or, maybe, she knew us.

We took care of the important matter of ordering dessert.

We did not discuss what had happened, nor what Evan had said, not with people at nearby tables straining to hear our conversation.

They heard a lot about dog behavior.

I did have the mild satisfaction of knowing my prediction about Evan not getting dessert was right, though it wasn’t entirely his fault.

Only when we were in my car and after Clara quickly checked a message, did she prove we were on the same wavelength. “Could he actually be that good an actor?”

“Probably not.”

“He’s not the likeliest to have killed Jaylynn, but if Derrick really killed her — or if Evan thought he did — that could be a motive to kill Derrick. All in all, we don’t eliminate him.”

“No way,” I agreed.

“You know who we should talk to next?” She didn’t wait for my response. “Payloma. After what Donna said...”

Or didn’t say. Still, I agreed with Clara. Though a return trip to that house did not appeal. And it was that reaction that had me saying, “They might still be at work.”

“Nope. Their shifts start at six a.m. And a friend messaged me they’re home now. We can go back to the café and pick up some desserts to take to them. That should get us in the door no matter what.”

My stomach gurgled in protest at taking on another dessert.

Spoilsport.