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Page 83“Why?”
“He wasn’t a Catholic. I’m sure she didn’t trust him to pass along the Bible and the rosary. Sometimes he got in a rage and destroyed things.”
“Was that often?”
“More so as time went on. He had no patience with her. She was subject to low days. Migraine headaches, no energy, poor appetite. She had a nervous disposition and it was clear she needed help. By then, my children were grown and I missed having little ones underfoot. Ned was often on the road, so it fell to her to take care of everything. When he was home, she had to be Johnny-on-the-spot. He’d snap his fingers and she was supposed to hop to.”
“You think she was suffering postpartum depression?”
“‘Baby blues’ they called it back then, though that was a personal matter and not something anybody talked about. Lennie would sink into black moods. These days, you read about women killing their own kids, but I don’t believe she ever thought about hurting April. Ned claimed she threatened to, but I never believed a word of it. He’d be all down in the mouth, talking about how worried he was, asking my advice, but it was all done for effect.”
I studied her, wondering how much she might be willing to confide. I picked up a puzzle piece shaped like a one-armed ghost and tried to find a home for it. “Was there a question about how she died? I was told she killed herself.”
“She was a Catholic. Devout. Suicide’s a mortal sin. If she’d killed herself, she’d be condemning her own soul to Hell.”
“So you don’t believe she’d do such a thing.”
“What if she were in unbearable emotional pain?”
“She had Father Xavier and she had her faith. She also had me.”
I tried placing the piece near the left-hand edge and I was startled when it popped into place. “What time of year was it?”
“Spring, which is another reason suicide made no sense. Her favorite holiday was Easter, which fell on April second that year. She passed on Good Friday, two days before. That week, we dyed Easter eggs together and hid them on the church grounds for the children’s Easter egg hunt. We were set to bake cookies and we’d been looking at recipes. She wanted to do bunny shapes with pink and blue icing. Ned hated anything to do with the holiday, but she ignored him and did as she pleased for once.”
“How did she die?”
“Valium. An overdose.”
“How much Valium do you have to take before you overdose?”
“Ned said she mixed it with vodka.”
“A goodly number of housewives took Valium in those days. They referred to it as Vitamin V. If you complained about anything, Valium was the cure. Her family doctor actually suggested it.”
“Did she leave a note?”
Clara shook her head.
“Doesn’t her sending those items to Father Xavier suggest suicide was on her mind?”
“It might have been on her mind, but I don’t believe she would have done such a thing. She was frightened.”
“Of what?”
“Ned, obviously.”
“It may seem obvious now, but it must not have seemed obvious back then or the police would have investigated her death as a homicide.”
“Personal relationships aren’t relevant. I don’t care how clever or charming Ned was in those days. The pathologist’s opinion would have been based on autopsy results, not schmoozing with him.”
“I’m not saying he did anything, so I should refrain from comment. To do otherwise is unchristian.”
“Don’t hesitate on my account. I don’t even go to church.”
“For shame,” she said mildly, still surveying the loose pieces for another fit.
“Was she unhappy?”
“Of course. Divorce was impossible for the same reason suicide was. Marriage is a sacrament. Lennie’s mother was furious she’d gotten pregnant to begin with and scandalized when she talked about leaving him.”
“Really? She told her mother she was leaving him?”
“She hinted at it. There’d never been a divorce in the family, and Marcella said Lenore was not going to be the first.”