Right of Redemption Read online

  Another nod.

  “Why don’t we drive out there now, and see what’s available? We can grab some lunch on the way, too. My treat.”

  “Sure,” Charlotte said.

  “We’ll just measure the area that needs to be tiled…” I grabbed the nearest measuring tape and stretched it. “Grab the other end… what’s that say? And by how tall? Tile all the way up to the ceiling, don’t you think? It’ll cost a few dollars more…” Or more like a couple hundred dollars more, maybe, depending on the tile, “but it looks so elegant and custom. And we’ll have to make this place look special to sell it.”

  Charlotte nodded and wrote down the measurements I dictated. After that, we braved the den for long enough to measure how much wood it would take to raise the floor, in the way of two-by-fours and plywood, and then we took Carrie and our coats and piled into the Volvo for the trip to the home improvement store.

  “I spoke to a couple of the neighbors yesterday,” I said, once we were in the car and on our way. “Mrs. Oberlin—the lady across the street, who walks Chester the Shih-Tzu—said that Natalie Allen had a boyfriend named Rodney Clark. I’m wondering whether it would be worth talking to him.”

  “About what?” Charlotte said.

  I gave her a look—was that just an insane amount on non-interest, or was it just me? “He might have killed Natalie. It seems like Morris didn’t, so someone else must have. Might have been the boyfriend. And if it wasn’t, maybe he killed Morris, because he thought Morris killed Natalie—even if a jury acquitted him—and he didn’t want Morris to get away with it.”

  “I’m starting to feel really sorry for Steve Morris,” Charlotte said. “Poor guy. First he was accused of a murder he didn’t commit, and spent a couple of years in jail before he was acquitted. And when he finally got out, he’d lost his house. And then someone killed him.”

  And on top of that, his reputation had been shot when everyone thought he was a rapist.

  I nodded. I was feeling sorry for Morris, too. Sorry enough that I would like to figure out who killed him, and who killed Natalie, so at least people could stop thinking he’d done it. It might not be much good to him now, but I felt like I wanted to do something.

  “Mrs. Oberlin said that Rodney and Natalie started dating in high school. We could probably figure out who he was based on that.”

  “We could just ask her parents,” Charlotte said.

  “I knocked on their door yesterday. They weren’t home, and then Officer Enoch showed up and told me to leave them alone.”

  “Maybe he thinks they killed Morris,” Charlotte said.

  “If he thinks they killed Morris, shouldn’t he want to arrest them? Not protect them from me?”

  “Maybe he sympathizes with them,” Charlotte said with a shrug.

  Maybe he did. “Maybe Mrs. Oberlin knows where to find Rodney. Or who his parents are. Where he lives.” I should have asked yesterday, I guess. But that was when I thought I’d be able to talk to the Allens and get some information from them.

  “We can knock on her door when we get back,” Charlotte said. “If we’re coming back here today.”

  “It’s only eleven.” And I didn’t intend to spend more than an hour at the home improvement store. Even if we added lunch, we’d have plenty of time to work in the afternoon. “Besides, your car is parked on Fulton. We’ll have to come back.”

  She didn’t respond to that, but she didn’t protest either. We kept driving in silence.

  At the home improvement store, we settled on white subway tile for the backsplash— “Classic, but this bit of irregularity in the glaze makes it look handmade,”—and a marble-looking slab for the counters.

  “Marble makes everything look better,” I said. And also more expensive, even when it wasn’t.

  “Gold finish for the handles?” Charlotte wanted to know, fondling one she liked.

  I shrugged. “Sure.” Gold has made a comeback after years of brushed nickel and polished bronze, so we might as well take advantage of it to look hip and up-to-date. It’s an easy thing to change out later. “Ten cabinet doors and…” I counted rapidly in my head, “seven drawer pulls.”

  Charlotte gathered gold handles into the basket.

  “Add a few more for the bathroom,” I told her. “Two doors, one drawer for the hall bath, and probably four doors, three or four drawers for the master.” We hadn’t chosen the vanities for either yet, but it sounded reasonable.

  Charlotte scooped more handles into the basket, and we moved on to floor tile.

  “I’d like to restore the wood floors in the kitchen,” I said, “to make them flow from the living room and dining room all the way through the kitchen, down the hallway and into the two smaller bedrooms. But we’ll need tile for the bathrooms. What do you think?”

  We chose tile—concrete look with a stylized design; very elegant with the white subway tile—ordered what we needed to order, and paid for everything. I’m sure I turned pale when I saw the damage to the bottom line. “Darcy’s going to have a fit.”

  “I’m sure she understands that it costs money,” Charlotte said placidly. Which was easy for her, since it wasn’t her money, or her sister. But shrieking about it wasn’t going to make any difference, and we did need everything we’d bought, so I put it out of my mind and headed back to the car.

  We were halfway across the parking lot when I stopped dead—pardon the pun—and turned around. “Marley!”

  Charlotte stopped, too, of course, and so did the woman I thought was Marley. Who turned out, on a second look, to be Marley. If a pale and puny-looking Marley. Markedly better-looking than the first time I’d seen her, when she’d been smoking and drinking herself into an early grave worrying about her missing son and her impending murder trial. But not as bright-eyed as she’d been the last time I’d seen her, which had been sometime in the fall, when she and Todd and Bob Satterfield had caught Darcy, Dix, and me crossing Marley’s backyard with a box of medical files we’d liberated from Denise Seaver’s house on the next street over.

  “Savannah.” She gave me a wan smile.

  “It’s good to see you!” I reached out and gave her a hug. She felt brittle in my arms. “I haven’t congratulated you on the engagement yet. And Todd told me you’re pregnant!”

  She nodded, with a sideways glance at Charlotte.

  “Oh,” I said, “I’m sorry. This is Charlotte Albertson. We grew up together. She’s been living in North Carolina for a few years, but she’s back now.”

  Marley nodded.

  “Charlotte,” I added, “Marley Cartwright. She’s engaged to marry Todd.”

  “Todd Satterfield?” Charlotte sounded shocked.

  “I don’t think we know any other Todds, do we?”

  She had no answer for that, and I wasn’t surprised.

  “I saw Todd the other day,” I told Marley. “He said you’re really sick.”

  She grimaced. “I don’t remember it being this bad with Oliver. But it’s been a few years, so I could have forgotten, I guess.”

  Maybe. I’d had a fair bit of morning sickness with Carrie, but I know it’s different from pregnancy to pregnancy and woman to woman. “Not that long until you’re through the first trimester, though?”

  She didn’t look pregnant yet. Or if she did, it was enough that she was able to hide it under the plaid coat she had on.

  “A few more weeks,” she told me.

  “We should get together. Once you’re interested in eating again.”

  “Oh, I’m interested in eating now,” Marley said. “I just can’t keep anything down. But lunch in a few weeks would be nice.”

  “I’ll call you. Have you set a date for the wedding?”

  If they had, my invitation must have gotten lost in the mail. Not that that was surprising, perhaps. Marley and I were friendly, but given the fact that Todd had taken up with her on the rebound from me, she might not want me to attend the ceremony. Or maybe it was Todd who didn’t want me there.


  Or maybe neither of them cared.

  She shook her head. “It won’t be until after the baby’s born. I’m not walking down the aisle looking like a white whale.”

  I’d walked down the aisle looking like a white whale, but I didn’t point it out. And anyway, Charlotte got in ahead of me, not even attempting to hide her shock. “You don’t care if your baby is born out of wedlock?”

  “I care more about the wedding,” Marley said. “When I’m walking down the aisle to marry Todd, I want him to look at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Not like he’s afraid my water’s going to break at any moment.”

  Charlotte looked, if possible, even more shocked. “Good for you,” I told Marley.

  She shrugged. “What are you doing here?”

  “Picking out finishes for a house we’re renovating. You?”

  “Looking at colors for the nursery,” Marley said. “I’m not allowed to do any painting. I’m not even allowed to lift the paint brush. But I get to pick the color.”

  She smiled. I smiled back. “Doctor’s orders?”

  She shook her head. “Todd’s. I’ve never seen a man so worried about anything bad happening.”

  He’d been there in the hospital two hours after I’d had my miscarriage a year and a half ago. Mother had invited him, in the mistaken belief that if I was pregnant, I must have slept with Todd. Needless to say, Todd knew it wasn’t his baby, but maybe the occasion had had an impact anyway.

  Naturally I didn’t say so. “That’s a good thing, surely.”

  “I’m not complaining,” Marley said, and in spite of the pallor and tired eyes, her grin was bright and infectious. I smiled back.

  “Happy?”

  “So happy.” She beamed. “I’m not in prison. I have my son back, and another baby on the way. And I’m engaged to be married to the greatest guy in the world, who loves me. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

  No reason at all, and I told her so. And then we watched her make her way toward the front of the store while we loaded up the trunk of the Volvo with our purchases, and got back in the car.

  “Prison?” Charlotte said when we were on our way out of the parking lot.

  I glanced at her. “Haven’t you heard the story? Her son disappeared when he was just a baby. From the baby carriage in her backyard. It was a similar situation to the Natalie Allen case, actually, in that someone made it sound like Marley was slightly unhinged after the birth. Postpartum depression or something. The police thought she had killed Oliver and disposed of the body, and the DA’s office—and Todd—were prosecuting her. And it turned out that the baby had been kidnapped and sold to a couple who couldn’t have their own. Sheila figured it out before she died. Dix’s wife. And Marley got Oliver back.”

  “And now she’s marrying Todd?”

  I nodded. “Isn’t it great?”

  Charlotte muttered something.

  “Just goes to show,” I said, “that life isn’t over just because someone thinks you committed a crime.”

  Charlotte looked at me. “You aren’t helping, Savannah.”

  Maybe not. Although I was trying. And I was still smiling as I turned the car toward Fulton Street and Steve Morris’s house. I may not have solved any murders this week, but if nothing else, I could stop worrying about Marley and Todd, because they seemed to be doing just fine.

  Sixteen

  By the time we got back to Fulton, Carrie was in full hunger mode. Charlotte and I had grabbed a quick bite—very quick, and very cheap—to eat along the way, but I hadn’t been able to feed her and drive at the same time, so she had been cheated of her afternoon meal. When I pulled up to the curb outside the house, she was starting to whimper. I knew from experience that the next thing would be a full-blown wail.

  “I’m just going to stay here in the car and feed her,” I told Charlotte. “There’s nothing to sit on inside, other than the floor, so I might as well just stay here, where it’s comfortable.”

  She nodded.

  “Would you mind getting the baby out of the seat and giving her to me?” I was already scooting the driver’s seat back and unbuttoning my coat. “If you want, you can walk across the street and see if Mrs. Oberlin is home, and ask her if she knows where to find Rodney Clark, while I do this. I’ll help you carry the tile and wood inside afterwards.”

  “Sure,” Charlotte said. She unbuckled Carrie from the seat and hauled her around the car, and put her in my arms.

  I turned her and helped her find what she was looking for. When she was latched on and making noises like a hungry piglet, I told Charlotte, “If Mrs. Oberlin doesn’t know where Rodney lives, ask about his parents’ names or where he used to live. He’s probably not in the phone book,” most young people these days aren’t, “but his parents may be.”

  Charlotte nodded. “You going to be all right?”

  “I’m going to be fine,” I said. It was broad daylight, and I was sitting in my own car. I’d just shut the door again once she walked away, and nobody would realize I was here, let alone what I was doing.

  So Charlotte wandered across the street toward Mrs. Oberlin’s house. After a couple of minutes, she came back down the driveway and across the street again. I rolled the window down. “Nobody home?”

  “The dog’s there,” Charlotte said. “I can hear it barking. But nobody’s answering.”

  “She probably went to the store or the library.” Or to lunch with a friend or wherever older ladies go to spend their time. Mother does all those things, in addition to trips to the spa and time with Catherine or Dix or me. “We’ll try again later. Maybe, by the time we’re done for the day, she’ll be back. Would you mind starting to carry in the things we bought while I finish up with Carrie? I’ll help you when I’m done.”

  Charlotte nodded and went around to the trunk. I popped the button, and she started carrying in boxes and bags while I finished tending to Carrie.

  We spent the rest of the afternoon figuring out how to tile the backsplash in the kitchen. It wasn’t a big area, and I’m sure someone who knew what he was doing could have had it done in an hour or so. It took us four, but by then it was done, all the way up to the ceiling around the window.

  “That doesn’t look too bad,” I told Charlotte at the end of it, as we were standing side by side in the middle of the kitchen floor looking at our handiwork. “Maybe it would look more professional if a professional had done it. But once we grout it—tomorrow—that’ll help. And seeing as it’s our first time, I think we did all right.”

  Charlotte nodded. “It’s pretty tile. That helps.”

  It did. And once the new cabinets doors—with the sparkly gold handles—were in, that would help, too. Not to mention the expensive-looking countertops.

  “This is going to look great when it’s done.” I could see it in my mind’s eye, all clean and white and new.

  “So we’re done?” Charlotte asked.

  I nodded. “For now. Tomorrow, we’ll grout. But for now, let’s go home. After we knock on Mrs. Oberlin’s door again.”

  “Like this?” Charlotte looked at me and down at herself. If she was anything to go by, we both looked a bit worse for wear. Not quite as bad as we had Friday night, maybe, but bad enough that paying visits on people was questionable.

  “We won’t go inside,” I told her. “Looking like this, she probably wouldn’t invite us in anyway. Her place was pristine yesterday. Old-fashioned, you know—all dark wood and flowery furniture—but spotless.”

  Charlotte nodded.

  “But it won’t hurt to knock on the door and see if she’s back. I’d like to talk to Rodney Clark. Just in case he killed Natalie. Or Steve Morris.”

  Charlotte shivered. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

  “That’s all right. You don’t have to.” If it had been my head on the chopping block, I’d talk to anyone I had to, to get the suspicion off myself. But to each their own. “Just come across the street with me, and then we’ll
go home.”

  Charlotte agreed, grudgingly, and kept in step with me as we crossed the road.

  The light beside the front door was on now—or maybe it had been on earlier, too, and I just hadn’t noticed in the bright light of day. By now it was going on five, and getting darker.

  “She turned it on yesterday afternoon around this time, when she let me out. I remember that. And she probably shut it off again this morning, when the sun rose. So maybe she’s back home.”

  I put my finger on the doorbell and listened to the sonorous ding-dong from inside. A few seconds passed, and then came the barking and scrabbling from Chester.

  “Hi, Chester,” I told him through the door. It didn’t calm him down at all. In fact, it sounded like it made things worse. Chester was throwing himself at the door, yipping hysterically.

  Other than that, there were no sounds from within. No sign that Mrs. Oberlin was making her way toward the door. I applied my knuckles to the wood—just in case she hadn’t heard the bell—and raised my voice. “Mrs. Oberlin? Are you there? It’s Savannah from across the street.”

  We waited a bit longer. Once I stopped talking and knocking, Chester calmed down, although I could still hear him growling on the other side of the door.

  “I don’t like this,” I told Charlotte.

  She looked around. “She’s probably just out with a friend, like you said earlier. It isn’t that late.”

  It wasn’t. And there wasn’t any reason, or at least none I could put my finger on, why I was feeling uneasy. I just felt like Mrs. Oberlin should be there, that Chester shouldn’t be alone. That if she wasn’t answering the door, it was because she couldn’t.

  Charlotte’s eyes popped when I reached for the door handle. “Savannah, you can’t…!”

  I could, and if the door had been open I would have. It wasn’t, though. The knob turned, and the dog went crazy, but the door was locked.