Liquid Lies Part 11

Flabbergasted I said, "You can buy a house, but not a home. They have homes."

"I wasn't at liberty to tell you about the plans here. We weren't allowed to talk until all the legalities and permits were set. Hey, I'm all for the hospital's growth. This is a win-win. I could be a major player in the new cardiology wing in Phase two. And Estelle and Hazel could end up with bigger houses. They might even get lake views."

My jaw clenched. "They could give a rat's behind about bigger houses or lake views. They just want to keep their homes."

"Why would they want to impede progress? It'll be a big boon for the community. Increased revenue for better schools, roads and more. Round Lake will have enhanced property values and additional jobs. C'mon. You don't want the city to come to a standstill and deteriorate do you?" he asked, sounding righteous.

I was extremely incensed. "But at the cost of people losing their homes."

"Are you kidding? You'd take your aunt and her crazy friend's side before the community's growth?" he asked.

"Well, yes. And they're not crazy. Why would I ever take the side of a business over family?"

Ken's voice rose, "Is that how you really feel? Then you're naive."

"Naive? Are you calling me immature?" I was riled.

"Forget about it. You need to realize that change is a part of life."

"Don't tell me about change. I went from having two parents one minute to being an orphan the next. Don't tell me I don't know about change."

The truth was I detested change.

"Fine. But you have to get Estelle and Hazel to back off. This will come back to bite me," he said.

"Is that all you're worried about? Your reputation?" my voice rose.

"This conversation is going downhill," he shouted.

"Yes it is." My heart sank.

"But I have to tell you, I can't have someone who puts other people before me," he said.

"What other people? Estelle is family, and for all intents and purposes so is Hazel. I'm not putting them before you. I'm putting their homes before the hospital's plans."

"d.a.m.n it." Ken huffed. "I need a break."

Relief flooded over me. We were going to have peace again and let this disagreement slide. "Sure. Go have a cup of coffee and call me back. Then we can talk."

"Not that kind of break," he said.

"Huh?" I asked.

"A break from us." Ken lowered his voice. I heard a long sigh.

My esophagus constricted, my heart felt as though it stopped. "From us?"

"CiCi, it's too much to have all of this going on right now. I thought I could focus on our relationship and put in the hours at work I need to. I'm really sorry. It's just not working. Listen, I have to go, I'm getting paged. Goodbye."

I whispered goodbye into a dead phone line.

Did my fiance just break up with me?

Dumbfounded and heartbroken, I laid there, stomach churning, tears streaming down my cheeks, my body anesthetized. Watching the ceiling fan blades rotate. I tried to make sense of my life. Then I decided against it, for fear I'd stick my head in the oven and turn it on.

"h.e.l.lo, anyone home?" Jacob's voice echoed in the hallway.

I got up from the bed without disturbing Skipper and made my way to the front of the house.

Jacob stood in the half open front door. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, that's fine," I said.

"Please let Estelle know that I'll be back in a little while. I need to get another part to finish the repairs." He paused and surveyed me. "Are you okay?"

My eyes must have been swollen. I uttered, "I'll let her know."

He walked over to me, and put his hand on my forehead. "You look like you might have a fever."

Jacob's hand on my forehead sent goose b.u.mps down my arms.

"No. I'm not sick. Just a little emotional."

He inclined against the door jam. "I don't want to get into your business, but do you want to talk about it?"

This was one of those moments when I did something and had no idea what possessed me to do it. I walked onto the porch and collapsed into one of the yellow wooden Adirondack chairs. Jacob sat down in the other.

I began talking and sniffling at the same time, about Francesca, about the fight with my fiance, about the police, about the eminent domain. As Jacob listened, he placed his hand on top of my knee. When I finished, I felt relieved to let it all out. Well, everything except the blackmailer part and the truck stop incident.

"What can I do for you?" Jacob said as he swept hair from my eyes.

"Nothing. You've done enough. You listened to me babble. I'm so embarra.s.sed," I said.

Pulling his chair closer to me, he looked me in the eyes, "You don't have to be. I was glad to listen. Are you sure you're okay?"

No. "Yes."

Then a thought occurred, about the fight he had with Francesca on the dock yesterday morning. Since I wanted to try to play amateur detective I needed all the information from anyone who knew her. Maybe the pieces would fall together and I could help figure out what happened to her. "This question may seem out of the blue, but why were you fighting with Francesca yesterday? I mean, Mark had pulled me out of the Lake. I was sort of lying there. You were in the crowd. I saw Francesca and you argue or something."

"You're direct aren't you?" Jacob smiled.

"Did you know her well?" I asked.

He looked away. "She was my boss."

"Boss?"

"My crew and I were subcontractors on the work at the hospital. Her father owns part of a commercial construction company that was hired to do the work. I guess since she's been back, he gave her the reins of running the everyday office operation, while he raised money for his gubernatorial campaign," Jacob said.

"But you never answered me, why were you fighting?" I asked.

"It was business related." With that, he stood up and kissed me tenderly on my cheek. "I'll be back later to finish the repairs. Please tell Estelle."

"Sure," I mumbled.

Humiliation spread over me as he walked away. I took advantage of his kindness by pouring out my heart out to him. I wasn't sure what to do next. Perhaps I'd go to the Cathedral and light a candle for Francesca. Maybe while I walked I could start thinking up something to say for Francesca's eulogy. All I had so far is "We're here to honor Francesca Pike." While I was at it I could write eulogies for the death of my engagement to Ken, and of Estelle's and Hazels' homes.

Maybe I'd just fling myself in front of a speeding truck.

The noontime temperature had warmed up from the morning chill. I headed to the Cathedral.

Kids played in their yards, some neighbors gardened, and others mowed gra.s.s or washed cars. People were going about their daily routines, as if an unspeakable tragedy hadn't occurred. Maybe that was what we needed to do, get back to our comforting schedules and habits. To honor the loss of life is to keep living and not cower to death's hand.

Neighbors waved as I pa.s.sed them on the tree lined sidewalk. By now I was sure that everyone knew I found Francesca, and that was easy gossip. But like anything else, like when my parents were killed, it was all anyone could talk about, until the next big event came along.

Yet nothing replaced the loss of my folks. Estelle took over as my mother as best she could. Now that I thought about it, in some way, Ken replaced my dad. Ken was older, in control, protective. Like my dad, except my dad was a big teddy bear, tender in the center of his macho exterior. Ken was like that the first few years we dated. Ken. Now my ex- fiance.

And my best friend Francesca was dead. I felt heavy like I'd been caught in a torrential downpour, where every inch of me was soaked to the bone.

Nearing the Cathedral, I saw Detective Wurkowski talking to a group of people at the end of the sidewalk. I couldn't take any more questioning, I was afraid I was going to say something that might incriminate me before they found the real killer. Ducking into the Cathedral, I dipped my finger in to the cool holy water and then made a sign of the cross.

Taking a deep breath I took in the comforting aroma of incense and polished wood. I gazed at the multi-colored stain gla.s.s windows, and cavernous ceiling. After lighting a candle, I knelt and said a prayer for Francesca's soul. Knowing that I was in deep trouble, I asked G.o.d for a sign, something to tell me what to do next.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the hairless pudgy Father O'Doul waddle into the confessional. Considering it had been years since I went to confession, probably since before Francesca's eighteenth birthday, I took that as a sign. Feeling the weight of a thousand emotions pulling down on my soul, I thought confession might offer some relief.

Entering the confessional, I knelt. "Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been about four years since my last confession. My sins are..." I stopped.

What am I doing in here? Could I really tell him I committed murder? Priests are a link to G.o.d. But they are also human. Would he be obligated to tell authorities of any mortal crimes? I wanted to get all the facts in order before I went to the police. Maybe Francesca's death had nothing to do with the blackmailer from the trucker incident. If it did, and I knew it did for sure, then I would go to the police so they could solve Francesca's death.

"Yes, my child. What are your sins?" Father O'Doul asked from behind the screen. His voice was smooth and low.

Mixing up the order of saying mortal sins first, then venial sins, I began, "I've told some white lies. Not wanting to hurt anyone, but trying to help them. But a lie is a lie, right? Also, I've not always been as patient and understanding with some people as I could be. Oh, and I've not made my share of weekly ma.s.ses and holy days, that's a commandment right? Or maybe that's just Sister Lisa's rule. And, I haven't been great about going to confession either." Halting, I knew that next I needed to confess the murder.

Silence hung in the air like fog.

Father O'Doul cleared his throat, and said, "Is that all?"

"No," I said.

"Go on," he said.

His voice was so gentle and kind. As though in a womb, cradled in the secure quiet dark confines of the confessional, I poured out the whole story of the truck stop. My heart was racing. My palms were sweaty, as I unfolded my sins.

"My child. What a load you've carried all these years. Keep in mind 2 Corinthians 5:19 'In other words, in Christ G.o.d was reconciling the world to himself, not counting people's trespa.s.ses against them, and he has given us the message of reconciliation.' I strongly encourage you to go to the authorities. You only answer to G.o.d, but I do believe that you will do the right thing here on earth. Fill your heart with prayer, and you will know what to do and when the time is right. Please say one Our Father, and two Hail Mary's. May I also suggest that weekly ma.s.s, daily rosaries, and prayer may ease the pain in your soul?"

I doubted that anything could ease the pain in my soul.

Chapter Fourteen.

Maybe there was something to prayer, because I felt a little lighter in my soul as I left the Cathedral. I prayed and lit several candles for Francesca. I said my penance, and made a mental note to pray and attend ma.s.s more often. The priest had also suggested that I say a daily rosary because it would help my soul although I know no amount of prayers would erase the trucker's death.

While heading to the pavilion, my thoughts returned to what Father O'Doul said. Yes, I agreed that sooner or later I needed to go to the authorities and tell them everything that happened. Just not quite yet.

When I arrived at the pavilion, I noticed a few police officers milling about. Among them was Wurkowski.

While Mark and I chatted, Detective Wurkowski approached us.

"Ms. Coe, there are some things that you said that aren't making sense to me. I need your help trying to sort through them," Detective Wurkowski said.

Mark looked at me with his eyebrows raised. I nodded to give him the okay to go.

"Catch you later CiCi," Mark said and then jogged away.

"Why didn't you tell me that you had a fight with the victim, and that she left H&K's restaurant with you? It's strange that it was last time anyone, besides you, saw the victim alive," Detective Wurkowski said as he moved closer to me.

I felt his hot breath on my face. A queasy feeling overtook me as I stepped back. "I believe I've already told you that part. I had gone outside to get fresh air. I sat on a bench."

Detective Wurkowski adjusted his dark sungla.s.ses, and scowled. He flipped open his notebook. "You said you were alone and that you saw no one. Yet, according to eye witnesses, you went outside with the victim."

"Yes, but then she left and I was alone. So actually I saw her and then I saw no one," I said.

"Humph." He shook his head and twisted his mouth. "Why did she leave?"

She was in a hurry to meet someone after she gave me the money for the blackmailer. "I don't know," I said.

"Did you talk to her when you went outside?" he asked.

Not talk, she gave me an ultimatum. I shook my head.

His eyes opened wider. "So you both went outside, but said nothing to each other?"

"Not really." Except that she convinced me that I had to pay off the blackmail because I owed her.

He scrunched his thick eyebrows. "Really? Nothing at all? No small talk? No catching up? No 'how's the weather?'"

I weakly shook my head no as I began to feel lightheaded.

"You do realize we are in the middle of a murder investigation? We need to get everyone's full and honest cooperation to solve this," he said as he tapped his pen on his notepad.

"Yes, sir, I do," I said.