Free Paula K. Perrin - Small Town Deadly by Paula K. Perrin Page A

campaign?”
    That was easy.  “No.”
    “Do you know if he had any
enemies?”
    “No.”
    “How did Meg feel about
him?”
    “She was angry—” I
stopped, looked down at the ugly black naugahyde chair.  Nasty, personal
comments about Gene swirled in my mind, but I clamped my lips shut.  He’d suckered
me.  All I could do was minimize the damage.  Besides, Jill Ferguson would
surely detail that scene for Gene as soon as she heard about Andre’s death. 
“Andre ran over her cat six weeks ago, and she was angry at the
time.”  I looked up and stared into his eyes, “But she came to
realize it had been an accident and forgave him.”
    Gently he stroked one of the
piggyback plant’s leaves.  “She was late for rehearsal last night, did she
tell you why?”
    “I didn’t think to ask.”
    “Did you see her around the school
before rehearsal started?”
    “No.”
    “Has she ever worked at the
high school?  As a cleaning lady, maybe?”
    “Of course not.  Why on earth
are you asking me that?”
    He ignored my question and said,
“I remember hearing her ask Annamaria at one of the early play meetings if
she’d help her make her costume.  Do you know anything about that?”
    My heart pounded with dread. 
“I didn’t know about that.  She and I bought a black jumpsuit for her to
wear.”
    It was almost a relief when he
asked, “How did Meg feel about your affair with Andre?”
    “She didn’t know about it.  I
was with him after she’d gone away for her first year at Wellesley.  We
suspended our relationship during her vacations.”
    “You don’t think anyone told
her about it?”
    “We were discreet.”
    “I heard about it.”
    I shrugged.  “I didn’t think
anyone knew.”
    “You didn’t tell Fran or your
mother?”
    I laughed.  “No, I did not
tell my mother.  Yes, Fran and I talked about it, but she wouldn’t have told
anyone.  Perhaps people saw us together and drew their own conclusions.”
    He sat down.  “The same way
people have drawn the conclusion that you and Fran are lovers?”
    “Which people are
these?”
    “It’s a rumor that doesn’t go
away.”
    I shrugged.
    “If you and Fran are lovers,
it gives her a motive to kill Andre, especially if there’s a virus
involved.”
    I turned and looked out the glass
door.
    “Are you and Fran lovers,
Liz?”
    “There are so many good
things about living in a small town,” I said.  “But this part I
hate.”
    Rumors could hurt people so
badly.  Like after James died, the rumors that Fran had hastened his death with
a mix of painkillers and sleeping pills.  It was pretty well known that Fran
and James’s marriage was not a happy one.  James was nearly 20 years older than
Fran, a cold, intellectual man used to being catered to. 
    He’d died on a hot summer day when
the doctor had expected him to live for another six weeks or so.  He’d had a
lot of painkillers and sleeping pills in his system, and rumor said that Fran
had given them to him.
    Fran confided only in me.  She
believed James simply couldn’t take any more pain or another look in the mirror
and chose that way out.
    I had said, “It must have
been an accident, Fran, he didn’t leave a note.”
    “No, he wouldn’t have done
that.  He wouldn’t want people to know he’d given up.”
    “But he must have seen that
you’d be blamed.”
    She shrugged, a sad, hurt look in
her green eyes, and I remembered how, near the end, I’d sometimes seen
something close to hatred in James’ face as he looked at her young, beautiful,
vibrant body.
    Now Gene was saying, “People
will talk.”
    I shook my head.  I turned from
the door to look at him.  “You had an affair with Fran, how can you even
ask this?”
    He looked startled, then smiled. 
“If you don’t know if Andre swung both ways, how am I supposed to know
about Fran?”
    “Good point.  Okay, not that
it’s anyone’s business, no, Fran and I are not lovers, never have been, never
will be.