Part 4 (1/2)
”You showed us pictures of the place with the candles and the linen tablecloths.”
Sophie leaned forward, her elbows on the table. ”I wanted to impress Nina. I wanted to show her I could be as exciting as she always was. So yes, I lied. For years. And lucky for me, Nina never came to town to visit or I would have had to confess. I'm not proud of what I did, Laurel, but I thought you'd understand. Haven't you ever wanted something so bad that you did the same thing?”
I had. In fact, I'd spent most of my life lying, trying to convince foster family after foster family that I was that ideal kid, the one they'd be crazy not to adopt.
”I get it,” I admitted, and I don't think it was my imagination; some of the heaviness lifted from Sophie's expression. ”But that doesn't mean-”
My words dissolved in a little whoop of surprise when the door next to the fridge popped open.
Sophie laughed. ”Oh, that's just my little m.u.f.fin,” she said.” She leaned back in her chair. ”Here, kitty. Here, sweet m.u.f.fin.” When no cat appeared, she looked back my way. ”I always leave the bas.e.m.e.nt door open just a tad so she can come and go when she pleases. She must have run down when she heard us come in, and now she was coming up to see me. She didn't recognize your voice, though, and she's a little shy. I'm sure that's why she took off again. Don't worry. Once you're here awhile and she gets to know you better . . . Oh. Well.” Sophie's nose twitched and her expression fell. ”Never mind. Maybe you'll have a chance to see her before you leave in the morning. She's a darling little thing.”
Sophie popped out of her chair and went into the living room. She was back in a flash, holding a framed photograph that she handed to me.
The picture showed a short-haired cat that was either black with white markings or white with black markings. Her face was half-and-half, divided almost exactly down the middle. One front leg was white and that foot was black. The other front leg was just the opposite.
”She's a sweetheart,” Sophie said. ”So gentle and well behaved. I hope you get to see her because you'll love her, just like I do. Of course . . .” When I put the photograph on the table, I saw that Sophie had her head c.o.c.ked to one side and her mouth screwed up. ”Now that you won't be here, I'll need to find someone to stop in and feed my dear little m.u.f.fin. But don't you worry about that!” She reached across the table to pat my arm. ”Mr. Butcher down the street might be able to. Except on Wednesdays and Sundays, of course, when he's so busy at his church. Or Joanie Carlyle. She lives that way.” She waved toward the backyard. ”She might be able to come in the mornings, but I don't know about the evenings. And I would like m.u.f.fin checked on at least twice a day. That's the least we can do, don't you think, for the animals we love?”
Since I'd never had a pet, I couldn't say, but rather than be suckered in by the way Sophie's eyes twinkled in a way that told me she was trying to guilt me into staying, I decided to change the subject.
”Do you know that Owen guy?” I asked her.
It took her a moment. ”You mean the murderer?”
”Declan told me Owen is his cousin. But his Uncle Pat and Aunt Kitty's last name is Sheedy and Owen's is Quilligan.”
”Declan has a lot of cousins.”
”And you've never met this one?”
Thinking, Sophie squeezed her eyes shut. ”I don't think so. I would remember his red hair. Maybe he's just pa.s.sing through.”
”To steal your copper?”
”That's what the police said, isn't it?”
It was, but something about the scenario just didn't track with me. I considered it for a moment before I said, ”I guess I can understand the part about stealing the copper, but why would this Owen character kill Jack Lancer?”
Sophie sniffled. ”I guess we'll never know. Poor Jack.”
”But what was he doing there?”
”Stealing my pipes, apparently.”
”Not him.” It was the same question that had been niggling at my brain all night. ”This Lance of Justice guy. What was he doing in the Terminal tonight? The restaurant was closed.”
Sophie took a minute to think this over, her fingers tap, tap, tapping on the wooden table. ”The Lance has been coming in pretty regularly,” she finally said. ”Over the last few . . .” She thought some more. ”I'd say it's been about three weeks. He's been coming in just about every day for three weeks.”
”But never before that?”
”Oh no. I'd remember that. Jack Lancer is . . . that is, he was . . . he was a big TV star. Me and Denice and Inez-Denice and Inez, they're my waitresses-we were just as pleased as punch when Jack showed up the first time. Imagine, having someone like him eating our pie and drinking our coffee! Then he came in the next day and the next and the one after that. I'll tell you what, he created quite a sensation with the regulars. Even had his picture taken with the boys. You know, Stan and Dale and Phil and Ruben, the guys who have lunch at table three every day. That Jack Lancer, he was just the nicest man. And now-”
I saw her tear up and knew if I didn't distract her fast, it would be too late. ”How do you suppose he got in? Through that outside back door with the smashed window? And why was he there in the first place?”
Sophie snuffled. ”Jack? Tonight?” Though this seemed like a critical piece of the puzzle to me, she had apparently not thought about it before. I could understand; Sophie was dealing with the shock and the surprise. She was intimately connected with the restaurant and since she'd met Jack Lancer and seen him on TV, there was a link there, too. One I did not share. To me, Jack Lancer's death was an interesting puzzler and thinking about it gave me something to do other than worry about where I was headed in the morning when I left Hubbard.
”Well, maybe . . .” Sophie considered my question. ”Maybe the Lance of Justice and Owen, maybe they came in together. You know, to take the copper.”
Though I had my opinions about how well-off TV reporters working out of stations in Youngstown, Ohio, were, I couldn't imagine one who would stoop to stealing copper to make ends meet. ”Besides,” I said as if Sophie were in on my thoughts, ”if Jack and Owen were in it together, why would Owen kill Jack?”
Sophie laughed through her tears. ”You're just as curious as Nina always said you were!” Her smile settled. ”She was very fond of you, you know.”
I did, and I still felt guilty that three years earlier, I was in Morocco with Meghan when I heard about Nina's death and I didn't have the time to get back to California for the funeral.
I shook away the thought just in time to see Sophie's face fold into a mask of worry. ”I hope people don't think that the Lance died because he was eating in the restaurant.” Her voice rose and the words tumbled out and she came out of her chair. ”I never thought of that! What if people think the food is bad. Or the place is dirty. Or-”
”All the details will be on the news,” I a.s.sured her. ”They're not going to leave out the part about how the restaurant was closed at the time. That's part of what makes the Lance's death a real mystery.”
”Yes, of course. Of course, you're right.” Sophie settled back down. ”That would be terrible, wouldn't it? I mean, if people thought we did something at the Terminal to kill the Lance of Justice. My goodness!” She fanned her face with one hand. ”That would be the most horrible thing. Of course, that might be the least of my worries. I mean, what with the time I'll be spending in the hospital, then the weeks in rehab. And the new coffee place down the street, of course, with their fancy drinks and their fancy sandwiches.”
Caf-Fiends.
I rolled my eyes at the very thought.
”By the time I get back to work . . .” Sophie's sigh was monumental. ”There probably won't be any work to get back to.”
Really?
I bit my tongue, and while I was at it, I stretched a kink out of my back.
”Take another cookie. It will make you feel better,” Sophie offered, and when I declined, she popped out of her chair. ”Of course, you're tired! You drove a long way today.”
I had.
For nothing.
The thought made me feel more exhausted than ever. I went out to the car for my overnight bag and came back in to find Sophie at the bottom of the stairway in the living room.
”Your room is up here,” she said. ”And there's a half bath, too. You know, so you can have some privacy. My bedroom is downstairs.”
Limping, she led the way up the stairs and into a room that wasn't as much orange as advertised as it was cantaloupe. There were white cafe curtains on the windows and an old-fas.h.i.+oned white chenille bedspread on the double bed.
”You can hang your clothes in here.” Sophie opened the door of a closet that smelled like mothb.a.l.l.s. ”Unless you don't even want to bother. I mean, if you'll be leaving in the morning, anyway. I need to be at the hospital at six and it's in Youngstown. We're going to have to leave early, I'm afraid.”
”Not a problem.” I plunked my suitcase on the bed. ”I'm used to getting up early. Meghan always wanted her vegetable juice before she did her morning run.”
”Meghan Cohan!” Sophie's eyes sparkled. ”She's so beautiful and so talented.”