Page 6 of Murder Will Out
But she couldn’t seem to stop the words she knew Sue would say to her if she were here.You lied to me. That’s not like you either.
“She has no right to you, no right to your affection or forgiveness, no right toanythingof our lives here on the island. God, Sue, it’s been fifteen years—she had plenty of time to come back if she wanted to.”
She came as soon as she could.
“Not quickly enough, was it?” Rina’s voice was hard.
And whose fault was that? Not hers, I think.
Rina’s breath caught, the guilt threatening to swamp her; now the tears came. “Jesus, Sue, how can you welcome her back? How could you even think of writing to her, asking her to come, after what she and her parents did to you?”
And what did she do?
“They broke your heart!”
Imaginary Sue turned her face to Rina and smiled, that rich, full, vulnerable smile so few people had ever seen.And you made it whole again. But that’s not what this is about.
Rina wiped snot from her nose and crossed her arms over her chest; she had never been a woman who could weep attractively and had long since stopped caring. But she wasn’t ready to let go of this. “Why would you have reached out now? Invited her—them—to a day that was supposed to have belonged to us? Why can’t you be happy with the new life you have—had—” She heard the past-tense verb from her own lips, and the tears ran harder. “Dammit, Sue, weren’t we—wasn’t I—enough?”
Sue gave her the Look, the one she remembered, the one that halted every argument in its tracks. Rina called it Sue’scut-the-craplook.Stop it. Just stop. She was a child when all this happened. And now she’s an adult. She came, she’s here. And you were cruel and hurtful to her.
Rina drew breath to retort, then dropped her head. “Okay. Yes. You’re right. Do you ever get tired of being right?”
The corner of Sue’s mouth twisted in a familiar half grin that made Rina’s heart ache.Evidently not.
Rina gave a watery chuckle. “Okay. Okay, I’ll try to—well, to not be horrible to her. It was—oh my God, that bastard Geralt—”
Sue was looking out at the sea again.Rina, please. You know I don’t like that word.
Rina leaped up from her rock, clenching her fists in a suddenburst of anger. “Come back from the dead and tell me to my face, and maybe I’ll—”
But Sue was gone.
And one day, Rina would have to accept that no amount of imagination or memory would bring her back.
CHAPTER FIVE
The church’s pastor had been uncomfortably vague in his emails about Willow playing the organ for Susan’s memorial service, and she had no idea when she was expected. She made a quick stop by the cabin to drop her things off, taking a few minutes to wash up and tame her hair into a short ponytail at her nape. Then, operating under her accustomed musician timetable of “early is on time, and on time is late,” she grabbed the pack with her scores and beat-up organ shoes and hurried to the church, arriving forty-five minutes before the service was to start.
Willow was surprised, despite Rina’s earlier comment, to find not only the church but the organ loft unlocked. She flicked the organ’s toggle switch to the on position, her soul sighing contentedly as the familiarwhooshof air filled the reservoir, ready to push through the pipes as she played. Tentatively, she pulled out a couple of stops—an eight-foot flute coupled to its four-foot partner on the swell—and moved into one of Bach’s simpler fugues, exploring the colors and sounds of the unexpectedly lovely instrument and listening as the imitative voices gently overlapped one another.
Pipe organs, Willow reflected, might be as varied as people, but they were a lot more consistent once you got to know them.
Willow was halfway through her favorite Pachelbel ricercar when she became aware of the petite woman in lavender standing in the doorway of the choir loft watching her. Willow finished the phrase she was playing, managing to come to a cadence in the music within a few bars, and lifted her hands from the keyboard. She looked up at the woman.
The woman was not just watching, she was glaring daggers.
Oh no, Willow thought.What have I done now?
Mrs. Patricia MacFarlaneRamsey checked the delicate gold watch on her left wrist, the one her husband, Hank, had gifted her eleven years ago the first time she caught him with another woman.
As head organist of the historic Little North Congregational Church, Patricia would of course play for this morning’s memorial. She had allowed herself sufficient minutes to walk calmly to the church without untoward exertion—visible perspiration would not be acceptable. She had a certain station to uphold in this village, and appearances were important. Her makeup was smooth and natural, her hair had precisely the right amount of lift but not too much, and her lavender designer suit was appropriately smart and well fitting from all angles.
Patricia MacFarlane Ramsey would not perspire today, but someone would.
She approached the organ console, lips pursing as the unfamiliar young woman awkwardly extricated herself from the high bench, accidentally bumping one of the pedals as she did so, wincing as the misstep sent a blaring sixteen-foot principal tone down the quiet church.
“Good morning,” Patricia said with a frosty smile. “I see you are enjoying our lovely historical pipe organ. You may not knowit is on Maine’s historical organ register, and musicians from all over New England travel here to play it, provided they apply in advance and are given permission to do so.” The girl did not have to know that “all over New England” was approximately three people from Boston and one from New Hampshire over the last ten years. “I am Mrs. Patricia MacFarlane Ramsey, and I am on the Board of Regents as well as being choirmaster and organist here at North Island Congregational. I do not believe we have met?” She extended her hand to the terrified young woman.
