Part 13 (1/2)
Something he was investigating. Like a certain restaurant where he'd been spending an unusual amount of time?
I didn't dare come right out and ask. Not if I expected any kind of answer that actually might help.
Instead, I went over to the bedside table, poured a gla.s.s of water, and handed it to Sophie. ”You need plenty of water when you're recovering from surgery,” I told her. ”And plenty of time to rest and relax and let all your cares fade away. Maybe if there was something you were worried about . . .” I gave her a knowing look.
She returned it with a blank stare.
I drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. ”I've been talking to the other merchants in the neighborhood,” I told her.
”That's good. That's just the kind of thing I was hoping you'd do. It's a great way to build morale, don't you think?”
”It might be if we were talking about business.”
As if I'd never dropped that not-so-subtle remark, Sophie's eyes twinkled. ”I hope Declan is one of the people you've been talking to. He likes you.”
”He doesn't know me.”
”Not well. Not yet. But when he does, he'll like you even more.”
Chances were, once he really got to know me, he wouldn't. Especially since I wasn't Irish. And he, apparently, wasn't totally on the up-and-up.
”I'm not talking about Declan,” I said.
”The others. Sure. You mean like Carrie at the art gallery. And Myra and Bill and Barb over at Caf-Fiends. Oh, don't look so embarra.s.sed.”
I was pretty sure I didn't, but that didn't matter, because Sophie went right on. ”It makes sense that you'd talk to them. They're our biggest compet.i.tion. It's just too bad, that's what it is. They seem like nice enough people. It's too bad their coffee shop will never be able to compete with the Terminal.”
”It wasn't business we were talking about,” I mentioned again. ”It was the murder.”
”Well, I imagine it was. It's the biggest thing that's happened in the old Traintown neighborhood in as long as anyone can remember. Well, at least since back in the 1930s. You know there was a serial killer working along the railroad lines then. All the way from Cleveland to Pittsburgh. And there are people who say-”
”Someone saw you.” I didn't mean to be impolite, but if I just sat there and listened to Sophie avoid the subject and if I held my tongue and didn't get to the bottom of what was going on, I was going to pop like a champagne cork. ”The night of the murder. Someone saw you at the Terminal, Sophie. Before you and I showed up and found the body.”
Except for her right hand picking at her blue and white hospital gown, Sophie went perfectly still for so long, I was able to tune into the click, click, click of the second hand as it swept around the clock on the wall.
She cleared her throat and looked up at the ceiling. ”Who says?” she asked.
”What difference does it make? Someone said you were there.”
She blinked. ”They're wrong.”
”You let yourself in through the front door.”
”That's not possible and you know it. I was home when you stopped by to collect me.”
”That doesn't mean you weren't out earlier.”
”I was out earlier. To the pet store for food for m.u.f.fin. And to the grocery store so I could make sure the refrigerator was stocked for you. I stopped at church, too. You know, just in case. The night before surgery, I figured it couldn't hurt to light a candle.”
”Then you weren't at the Terminal?”
When she s.h.i.+fted her gaze to me, her eyes were wide. ”Why would I be?”
”I was hoping that's what you'd tell me.”
”Well, of course I would tell you.” Sophie offered me a smile that could have melted b.u.t.ter. ”If there was anything to tell.”
”So you weren't at the Terminal?”
”I was. With you.”
”But not before that.”
”My goodness, Laurel!” Her laugh sounded as fatigued as Sophie looked. ”I don't know why you're going on about this and I don't know . . .” She winced and grabbed her right leg and when I hurried over to see what was wrong, she put out a hand to tell me to keep my distance. ”I'm fine,” she a.s.sured me after a moment. ”I'm just a little tired.”
I offered to call the nurse but Sophie refused. ”I just need to put my mind to feeling better,” she told me. ”I just need to concentrate on getting well again. Once I'm out of this place and in Serenity Oaks, I'll be right as rain in no time at all.”
We'd had this conversation more than once before I ever agreed to come to Hubbard. ”You don't have to go to a long-term care facility to recuperate,” I told her. ”You can come home as soon as you're discharged on Sat.u.r.day. I can help take care of you and-”
”And who will take care of the Terminal if you're home fussing over me?” Her lips pressed together, she shook her head in a way that told me the subject was closed for discussion. ”Besides,” she added, ”Vi and Margaret are over at Serenity Oaks. They're my old bowling buddies. Not to worry.” She gave me a wink. ”Me and Vi and Margaret, we're planning to get in all sorts of trouble once I get there.”
I had no doubt of it. Just like I had no doubts that I was getting nowhere with my questions. That didn't stop me from asking another one.
”Do you know why Jack Lancer had been hanging around the Terminal?”
Sophie's eyes twinkled. ”The food is mighty good.”
”But that doesn't explain why he'd come in every day.”
”Dale and Phil and Ruben and Stan do.”
”Dale and Phil and Ruben and Stan . . . they're not investigative reporters with jobs at a TV station. They stop in to pa.s.s the time. I think . . .” There was no use holding back, not now that I'd committed myself, so I forged on. ”I think maybe Jack Lancer was there because he was doing a story and the Terminal was the only place he could find the information he wanted.”
Sophie's laugh would have been a good sign that she was feeling better if it were even half-convincing. ”What kind of information could he possibly find at the Terminal?”
”I was hoping you'd tell me that.”
”Well . . .” She picked at her hospital gown again. ”There's certainly nothing going on at the restaurant that the Lance of Justice would have been investigating.”
”So, maybe he was trying to pull what he pulled with George. George, he says that the Lance wanted free meals and when George wouldn't provide them, that's when the Lance of Justice trashed his restaurant on TV.” Just thinking about it made me choke on my words. ”He wasn't trying to pull something like that on you, was he? Because if that was the case-”
”It wasn't.” Sophie reached over and patted my hand. ”But thank you for caring.”
Caring wasn't part of my makeup, but before I could remind Sophie, she leaned back in her chair and sighed. ”I think I'll take a bit of a nap.”
”Of course.” I gathered my things and resigned myself to the fact that though I'd satisfied myself in terms of Sophie's recovery, I was still left with plenty of questions and the suspicions that went along with them.
I stopped at the door. ”Does anyone else but you have a key to the Terminal?” I asked.