Chapter 17 — Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
Nancy headed for home after closing up the store early again. The idea of Frank sitting up in his car watching out for her had just meant she sat up on the couch, hyper aware of every noise and thinking about him sitting up in his car watching out for her, until she finally dozed off sometime after three. She couldn't keep this up, it was ridiculous. Maybe tonight she should try one of those sleeping pills.
She pulled into her driveway and sat there for a moment. She should have gotten something for lunch. There wasn't much in the house at the moment. Normal things like grocery shopping and cleaning and laundry had fallen by the wayside. But the idea of going out again was too much. She'd have to make do with a scrambled egg or cereal or something.
Her phone buzzed inside her purse, and she dug it out, trying not to drop her keys. "Hello?"
"Nancy, this is Chet Morton. I just wanted to let you know that Iola is with George now, and as soon as those lab results come back and we have some solid evidence that she didn't have anything to do with this, I'm sure they'll release her."
"Thanks for letting me know, Mr. Morton."
The lawyer chuckled. "Well, we know waiting isn't your strong suit. Hey, I left a message for George's grandmother, but if you happen to see her would you let her know what I've told you, and that we'll hopefully be bringing George home this evening."
"I will. Thanks again." Nancy dumped her purse on the countertop and kicked the door closed behind her. Carmen's car was in their driveway. She'd better go over now and talk to her, and worry about lunch after that.
She crossed the few steps to their house and rang the bell. Carmen answered almost immediately. "Nancy! I didn't expect you again. I was just running the vacuum. Come in!"
"My lawyer called and wanted me to let you know they're hopeful George will be home by tonight."
The older woman clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. "I have been praying for George all day, that the Lord would comfort her. She's a good girl, and doesn't deserve these trials. I do not have much faith in this so-called justice system. I must put my trust in the Lord's justice. Blessings on those that bless you and curses on those that curse you, that's what the Scripture says. Look at what happened to you. You and your husband try to help people and those horrible children are barely punished for what they did."
Nancy shrugged half-heartedly. There were not words for how much she did not want to talk about Ned right now. "George has a good lawyer, and the lab reports should confirm that she wasn't involved."
Carmen tutted softly. "I told you they should be looking at that Fernandez boy. Have you had lunch? Come in and have a cup of tea and something to eat. You said the police needed evidence. Maybe you can help me understand what that might mean."
Nancy followed her obediently into the house, thankful that lunch was being offered but dreading a cup of the flowery mess Carmen would call tea and foist upon her. The woman bustled off to the kitchen, and Nancy busied herself looking at the family photographs on the wall and bookshelves. George had been a darling little girl, the spitting image of her father with that sweet smile. Nancy had often wondered what her and Ned's children might look like. Ned had had blue eyes as well, so most likely their children would have them. But would her red-gold hair find its way to the next generation? Or would Ned's light brown cancel it out? She'd never know now. And time was moving on faster than she'd realized. She might not even have children. Her brain traitorously brought up Frank Hardy at that moment, and a chubby, snuggly infant with his dark eyes. She sighed and turned away from the pictures.
On the wall beside the front door hung a large crucifix, Jesus suspended there, his face contorted in agony, flecks of blood on his head and feet. I know how you feel, Nancy thought wearily. How many times had her grief seemed so overwhelmingly painful that she was certain she was dying? Life could be so beautiful, and yet so very, very hard and ugly. She didn't understand the tension in it sometimes.
Carmen returned with her tray loaded down with the teapot, cups and saucers, a plate of sandwiches, and bowls of salad. Nancy quickly took the tray from her while Carmen cleared a spot on the coffee table and they relaxed into the armchairs to eat. "Thank you," Nancy said around a mouthful of sandwich. "I haven't been shopping in days and my cupboards are bare."
"What are neighbors for?" Carmen shrugged. "Now, what can you tell me about that Fernandez boy? Why don't the police have any evidence against him?"
Nancy swallowed and reached for another sandwich. "I don't know exactly what the police have. They won't share much information. But from what I know, they'd need to make sure it fit the timeline, that means his alibis don't cover the time the murder happened. And last I heard they didn't know where the original crime happened, where she was actually murdered."
"It was probably his apartment," Carmen said, frowning. She was wearing another loose dress today in a bright flower pattern, her legs crossed and one bare foot tapping rhythmically.
"Then they'd have physical evidence from his apartment," Nancy said, trying not to breathe as she threw back the entire cup of tea, so she might taste it less. It didn't quite work. There was a strong suggestion of chamomile and that zing at the end that was a tell-tale sign of hibiscus. She forced herself not to shudder. "What I can't understand is why George felt she needed to confess. Do you think she thought that maybe I had done it, and she's trying to protect me?"
"Could be." George's grandmother let out a long sigh, and smoothed back her already perfectly smooth hair, gathered up in a neat bun. "'For He who avenges bloodshed remembers them; He does not forget the cry of the afflicted.' That's in the Psalms."
Nancy didn't know how to respond to that. Her childhood church experience had not particularly helped her navigate her life, nor included most of the things Carmen seemed to talk about. It seemed upside down to think of the Jesus hanging on that crucifix being a god who avenges bloodshed…bloodshed. Nancy glanced quickly over her shoulder at the crucifix. Had there always been flecks of blood on it? She wasn't sure she'd paid any attention to it the other times she'd been in the house. "You know," she said slowly, "even if Micah had tried to clean up his apartment, there are usually traces of blood left behind that the police can find. And if they found the slightest hint that he did try to clean up they can take samples from inside his sink drain, they probably collected his garbage to check for towels…or clothing."
Carmen humphed, clearly skeptical. "In those police shows maybe, but I'm not sure the boys in blue are the best or the brightest this city has to offer."
Nancy finished her second sandwich and washed it down with the rest of the tea. She wasn't sure what to say. She was terribly afraid that somehow, for some unknown reason maybe George had done it. But then if it happened here, if she'd had to clean it up, Carmen would have known for sure. Maybe if she could get another look at the little spots of blood. Without thinking too long about it, Nancy dropped the tea cup against the edge of the coffee table, wincing as it broke into several pieces.
"Oh, goodness! Let me make you another cup of tea, no, don't worry about it, it's an old set," Carmen said over Nancy's apologies. She hurried off into the kitchen and Nancy jumped up from her seat, crossing the room to study the piece more closely. She tentatively picked at one of the flecks of blood, and it flaked off, a dark rusty color. Like the knife in the garden, she thought. I need to tell Frank— she pulled her phone out of her pocket and opened the text messages, tapping quickly.
I think Carmen
Just then Carmen came back in and Nancy quickly slid the phone back into her pocket. Better wait a bit to not make a big fuss. If she doesn't know anything I don't want to upset her. And if she helped cover up something…well, I sure don't want her to know I suspect anything yet.
Nancy returned to her seat and took the oversized mug, drinking it too quickly and burning her tongue. "Thank you," she breathed. "I've probably taken up too much of your time. I should head home."
"You should know better than most, Nancy, there's a great deal of wickedness in this world," Carmen said sagely, taking a sip from her cup. "And sometimes violence begets violence."
"But that's what the police are for," Nancy replied, forcing herself to gulp more of the bitter tea and stay calm. As soon as she could get away she'd call Frank.
Carmen set her cup down and crossed her arms, eyeing Nancy sternly. "What did you hope to accomplish, with all that talk about being able to find traces of blood?" she said. "I didn't want to involve you any more, but honestly you won't leave well enough alone, just like that horrid dog, always digging at where I'd hidden the knife and the shirt. Why couldn't you have just covered that all back up?"
"I…I want to help," Nancy earnestly. "I'm sure the detective on the case would understand if something went wrong…I mean if George and Marisol had an argument or something." She stood up and moved to pull her phone from her pocket, but her head began to spin viciously and she dropped back down into the chair.
"What went wrong is that the stupid Fernandez boy carted Marisol off to your store. Well, and that silliness about the shirt. That was partly my fault. I sent the shirt off with our other things to be cleaned. When George found out she broke into the store to get the shirt back. The goose had lost her key. She just took the money to make it look more like a robbery. I told her to return it, of course. We aren't thieves."
Nancy stared at the woman in shock, trying to process what she was saying.
"But really, this was all their fault," Carmen went on. "Those two…like Jezebel and Ahab. He was wicked enough on his own, I told George so. But together that girl led him even deeper into darkness. And our so-called justice system would put them both back out on the street. I was not going to let them get their hooks into George again."
Nancy tried once more to stand, but stumbled, defeated by the whirling in her brain. She couldn't quite focus on Carmen's face, and her stomach was starting to feel nauseous. "You did this," she whispered.
"Those who shed innocent blood should be cut off from their people," Carmen said primly. "If you weren't so determined to involve the police we maybe could have worked something out."
With every bit of strength she could muster, Nancy pushed herself from the chair and tried to move towards the door. The last thing she remembered seeing was the floor rising up abruptly to meet her.