I figured it was murder either way.
I wasn’t about to share my thoughts around town, though, and whether Eric agreed with me or not, it wouldn’t change his methodology. He would play by the rule book, as usual, gathering evidence, interviewing neighbors, and waiting for the coroner’s autopsy report before drawing any conclusions. It was frustrating, but I was confident in his ability to track down the person responsible for Jesse’s death and bring him to justice.
*
At six o’clock that night, Lizzie showed up at my house with Emily and Marigold and food. Since the three of them owned shops along the town square, it was convenient for them to stop off at Capello’s for pizza and salads. I knew the Capello family through their daughter, Luisa, who was a grade behind Jane and me back in high school. Capello’s made the best pizza in town.
With the salad in the fridge and the pizza keeping warm in the oven, I opened two bottles of wine and began pouring. Marigold’s aunt Daisy stopped by for a few minutes to offer Jane her condolences. She was followed by Mr. and Mrs. Robertson and two more neighbors from down the street who just wanted to give Jane a hug. There were more tears and some sweet stories. Mrs. Robertson recalled the night she was about to give birth to her first child and Mr. Robertson was stuck at a job down in San Francisco. Jesse drove her to the hospital and stayed with her, leading her through her breathing routine and letting her shout obscenities at him until her husband finally showed up.
They’d named their daughter Elizabeth Jesse, E.J. for short.
By the time the Robertsons left, we were all sniffling and dabbing our eyes again.
“Thank goodness there’s more wine,” Lizzie said, and refilled our glasses.
I brought out plates and utensils as the girls took turns playing with Robbie, my West Highland terrier, who helped lighten the mood. My pretty orange-striped cat, Tiger, was also on hand to give comfort by allowing herself to be petted and held by each of us. She was awfully good at sensing human moods and spent most of her time in Jane’s lap, purring softly.
Emily carried the pizza and I brought the salad to the dining room table and we sat to eat and commiserate. Robbie did me proud by staying just outside the dining room, as if held back by the invisible barrier of training, but he couldn’t resist a few soft whines as he watched us eat. Tiger ignored us completely, retiring to the living room to curl up on the couch.
“I didn’t realize Jesse was sick, Jane,” Lizzie began.
“He wasn’t,” Jane said, still looking a little dazed. “It was a complete shock. We think he might’ve had a heart attack, but the police—”
“Police?” Lizzie looked at me for the explanation.
“You haven’t heard about this?” I said. “I thought it would be all over town by now. I gave Vesta all the details.”
“That’s the problem,” Lizzie said with a knowing nod. “Vesta went home sick this afternoon.”
“Well, darn. I went to all that trouble to plant the seeds of gossip, only to have them fall on barren ground.”
Jane filled the girls in on the story. “Jesse’s house was torn apart, so Shannon called the police. We think someone was looking for something.”
Lizzie frowned. “Someone broke into Jesse’s house?”
“A burglar?” Emily moaned. “Not in Lighthouse Cove.”
“Oh, Jane, I’m so sorry,” Marigold said.
I was momentarily distracted by Marigold’s ability to weave her long strawberry blond hair into a neat braid, which stayed out of the way while she ate. If only my hair would be that cooperative.
“Thanks, Marigold,” Jane said. “I . . . I don’t know for certain. . . .”
I could hear her voice growing misty so I jumped in to explain. “We can’t be absolutely sure someone broke in until the police go through the evidence. For all we know, it could’ve been Jesse himself, looking for something he lost. But the place was a mess. It didn’t look like something Jesse would do to his own house.”
Marigold patted Jane’s hand. “It’s horrible not knowing what happened.” Marigold was a true nurturer. She’d been raised in a loving Amish community, although she’d left her family years ago to join our English world, as she called it.
“It is,” Jane said with a nod. “I hate to think poor Jesse might’ve seen an intruder and died of fright.”
“That’s a ghastly thought,” Emily whispered.
“I’m convinced that didn’t happen,” I insisted, attempting to persuade Jane while trying to believe it myself. “He really did look like he died peacefully in his sleep. Maybe while watching TV.”
But the television was turned off, a little voice in my head reminded me. I ignored the voice because it didn’t mean anything. Jesse had probably turned off the set himself.