Rip Your Heart Out Read online

  Chapter 26

  "What do you mean when you say you were helping Mabel out around this place because you were being blackmailed?" I asked Chase Cumberland as I placed the pan of lasagna on a hot pad on the table.

  "That's all there was to it," the preacher said.

  "But, why in the–" I began.

  Rip, afraid I might offend the religious leader by being too direct, cut me off. "She must've had some kind of leverage on you to be able to force you into performing free labor."

  "Yes. She did," Father Cumberland replied. He seemed unable to make eye contact with either of his dinner companions. After I sat down, he reached his arms out to join hands with us and said, "Let us bless our meal before I explain."

  After saying a prayer of appreciation for the meal we were about to partake in, he continued, "I'm not proud to admit what I've done, but I hope you two won't feel compelled to see me crucified for what I'm about to share with you. No one else knows about the arrangement between Mabel and me prior to her passing."

  "You needn't worry about that, Father," Rip said. "We have no personal vendetta against you. It's really none of our business to begin with if you'd rather not share."

  I gently kicked Rip in the shin. I didn't want the priest to take the easy way out. He had deceived me, and I thought I deserved an explanation. Chase seemed to agree with me. When Rip grimaced and grunted from the blow to his lower leg, our dinner guest smiled.

  "That's all right. I owe Rapella an explanation."

  Chase had taken the words right out of my mouth. I returned his smile. "Thank you, Mr. Cumberland. I was confused by your reluctance to correct me when I misidentified you as Mr. Wickets. It will put my mind to rest to know why you weren't upfront with me, but I certainly wouldn't want you to be crucified, as you put it, over something for which you're not responsible."

  Because the man was a devout Catholic and the leader of an impressive-sized flock, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I'd been assuming he was not accountable for whatever it was that Mabel thought she had on him. Therefore, I was taken aback when he responded.

  "That's just it, Ms. Ripple. I am responsible for the predicament I found myself in. I've no one but myself to blame. I have committed a sin for which I've asked forgiveness from the Lord and repented. But that doesn't mean I've forgiven myself."

  Rip, whose curiosity was pathetically lacking, began to ask him if he was certain he wanted to proceed with his story. I bit my tongue despite the fact I wanted to tell him to zip it and let the man talk.

  "I think getting this off my chest might be therapeutic for me, Mr. Ripple. And, like I said, I need to explain to your beautiful wife why I misled her."

  After a remark like that one, I was ready to forgive him without even hearing his explanation. Anyone who called me "beautiful" was golden in my book. That thought reminded me of a promise I'd made to Sydney. "Before you begin, Mr. Cumberland, I have a question to ask you. Did you leave a threatening note, along with my new gold ring, in a music box upstairs the night you lubricated the door hinges?"

  "Heavens no! I'd never do anything of the sort!" Chase looked stunned, as if I'd poked him in the eye with my salad fork.

  I had tried not to sound as if I was accusing the priest of malice as I'd spoken, but it didn't prevent Rip from returning my kick to the shin. I winced before carrying on with my inquiries. "Ouch! So, tell me, Father. Did you spend any time in the storeroom that night?"

  "Please, call me Chase. And, no, I didn't. I'm sorry, Rapella," he said. "I had time to take care of the hinges on this main floor and on all of the doors upstairs, but it's a time-consuming job. It was almost daybreak when I finished. Why in the world would you think I'd leave you a nasty note?" The priest now appeared as if his feelings had been hurt and I felt terrible for having ever doubted him. It looked as though my customary apology tour was going to commence earlier than it usually did after I'd stuck my nose into a murder investigation.

  "I apologize for being so blunt, but someone tried to frighten me into leaving here not long after you left. Then Sydney told me someone had scoured through her aunt's personal files that evening, as well. I promised her I'd ask you about it, so I felt obligated to do so. Do you recall if there was anyone else in the house that night who might've been responsible for either, or both, incidences?"

  "I could hear someone working on something downstairs," the priest responded thoughtfully. "That's another reason I didn't go down to finish the hinge-lubricating job. I assumed it was one of Mabel's nieces, or her nephew, and I didn't want to disturb them in case they were involved in something important."

  "Of course," I said. "Again, I'm sorry if I offended you. I truly never believed you'd do something so vile, but I was obligated to ask."

  "I understand," Chase replied.

  Rip, who looked as if he'd rather be doing squat thrusts on the kitchen floor than be involved in my conversation with the priest, said, "Why don't you go ahead with what you wanted to share, son? It's getting late, and there's a pan of lasagna calling my name."

  "There's no meat in it, honey." I thought it only fair to warn him. "It's a vegetable lasagna."

  "Oh." Rip muttered. "Well, then, take your time, son."

  "Okay," Chase replied with a knowing smile. "Anyway, just over twelve years ago when I was ordained, I took a vow of chastity, as most Roman Catholic clerics of the Latin-rite are expected to do. I'm ashamed to say I broke that sacred vow. Sydney and I–"

  "Sydney?" Rip and I asked in unison, both of us were nearly shell-shocked. If Sydney wasn't such an unusual name, I'd have thought he was referring to someone other than Mabel's great-niece.

  "Yes," Chase hung his head as he continued. "We didn't actually engage in, er, well, you know, intercourse. I can't honestly say I didn't want to in the heat of the moment, but I came to my senses in time to back away from the temptation."

  "So you didn't really commit a sin, after all. Right?" I asked. I found his shyness about the subject adorable.

  "In the eyes of the church, it is sinful to engage in any sexual activity, or have any sexual thoughts or feelings, whether they result in copulation or not."

  Rip studied the sorrow in the priest's eyes and laid his hand on the man's wrist. "Son, you need to stop beating yourself up over something that happened several years ago. You asked for forgiveness and repented. I'm sure our Lord has forgiven you and is proud of the way you've served him every day since then."

  "How did Sydney feel about it?" I asked. I needed all of the juicy details to satisfy my inquisitive mind.

  "I don't really know, but I hope she understood."

  "So what's Mabel got to do with this?" I asked. I felt bad that the kind man was harboring such guilt over something I thought was quite trivial. But I still had unanswered questions, and he seemed to be willing to answer them.

  "Well, you see, I met Sydney when she accompanied Mabel to an Easter sunrise service about three years ago. I was so drawn to her that I asked her out for supper that evening. I should've given it more thought and canceled the date. When we met for supper a second time, I accompanied her home afterward. We began to make out, but I stopped short of engaging in intercourse. I explained to Sydney why I couldn't go through with it and it seemed at the time as if she understood my plight."

  "Of course, she did, Chase. So what's Mabel got to do with this?" I asked again.

  "It soon became apparent that Sydney had said something about the incident to Mabel. I haven't spoken with Sydney since. I knew it was wrong to avoid her like I did, but I was too embarrassed and ashamed to discuss the matter with her."

  When Chase stopped talking, I could sense there was more to the story, so I prompted him to continue. "Go on, Father."

  "Mabel approached me the week before the fundraiser that included raffling off the Steinway. She nonchalantly mentioned she knew what had happened between Sydney and me, and inferred if she didn't win the raffle she might be persuaded to share the information wi
th the rest of the choir. Just the mention of an incident like that could cause great upheaval within the congregation, and especially with the elders. Can you imagine how quickly the news would have spread if she'd told a dozen or more women in the church choir about it?"

  "That grapevine would've had smoke rolling off of it," Rip said. It irritated me when men assumed every woman loved to gossip. Naturally, a few of them do, but not all of us. There are men who are prone to tittle-tattle, too. But I didn't want the conversation to veer away from the subject at hand, so I didn't respond.

  "What'd you do?" I asked, ignoring the look of aggravation Rip cast my way. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out how he wasn't dying to know how the priest reacted to Mabel's thinly-veiled threat. Did my husband not have one inquisitive bone in his body?

  "The piano's in the drawing room, isn't it?" Chase replied with a distinct tone of bitterness in his voice. I nodded and waited for him to give a more thorough explanation.

  "As the head of the church, I was selected to pull the winning ticket out of the hat. Mabel bought one ticket, which I palmed when I reached into the hat full of folded-up tickets. Lo and behold, Mabel's ticket was the winner of the valuable grand piano. And that bothers me more than anything. A lot of folks bought multiple tickets in hopes of being the lucky winner. I stole every one of their chances to win. I kept that straw basket, still full of the tickets purchased by the others. One of them was the rightful owner of that Steinway piano that's in the drawing room. I keep it on a table at the end of my bed, so every morning when I wake up, I'm reminded of the sin I committed."

  "I understand how you feel, son," Rip said, "but it's time to let it go. Mabel Trumbo is with the Lord now, and all of those who didn't take home the piano that day have moved on. You need to move on, too."

  "I suppose you're right. Wallowing in self-loathing isn't doing me any good. Or anyone else, for that matter. Maybe I'll start by finally getting rid of that basket of tickets."

  "Very good. I hope you do."

  "I agree," I said. "But why don't you put the basket of tickets in your basement and hang on to it for a little bit longer. I have a feeling you might need it in the near future."

  Chase Cumberland gazed at me in puzzlement, but nodded his head anyway. I wasn't satisfied yet, though. I wanted all the juicy details, even if the lasagna became colder than a well-digger's behind before we dug into the rapidly cooling pasta dish. "So, how did that lead to you being her handyman?"

  "Fear, I suppose. To keep her quiet, I was desperate to keep her happy any way I could. The work was simple enough, and I really didn't mind helping out. I have to admit I thought the jig was up when I walked into her kitchen one day and was surrounded by a swarm of women from the church choir. To my relief, Mabel never brought it up. In fact, she was fawning all over me like I was the golden boy, or something."

  You were, Father. She was showing you off to make her friends' envious, I wanted to tell Chase, but thought better of it. Instead I focused on his story as he continued.

  "At some point, as her memory began to fail, I couldn't even be sure she remembered the incident, but I was committed to taking care of the little repair issues by then. And I wasn't going to take a foolish risk on the off chance she remembered the incident clearly. Her official caretaker, Ridley Wickets, was seventy when he first came to work for Mabel, and at his age there were a lot of things he found difficult to handle. By the time I came along, he was more of a fixture in the house than an employee. At his height, even changing light bulbs was a challenge." Chase laughed, and as he did, a light bulb came on over my own head—the imaginary kind powered by an "aha!" moment that never needs changing.

  "So the little fellow who reminded me of a leprechaun truly is the real Ridley Wickets, as he professed to be the day I ran into him in the drawing room, isn't he?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And you realized he was who I was talking about when I mentioned him the day we first met, didn't you?"

  "Once again, I apologize for not telling you about Ridley then."

  "That's okay. I understand your reasoning now."

  "Well, truthfully, I had another reason for keeping mum about him. You see, Ridley came over to America in 2008 on a temporary work visa for a brief stint with the Seattle Symphony, one of the nation's most renowned symphonies. When the short-lived stint ended, he desperately wanted to remain in the U.S., for some reason I was never privy to. Ridley answered an ad for a handyman that Mabel had put in the classifieds in 2009, after the last of the Combs kids moved out, and he's been living here in the house ever since. He was in constant fear of being discovered and returned to Ireland, where he'd likely be banned from returning to the United States for a number of years. Mabel kept Ridley hidden, so to speak, and was content to let him fly under the radar in her home for as long as he wanted. Mabel had to clue me in about him because of my frequent visits to address various issues around the house."

  "Of course," I said. "You were apt to cross paths with him at some point, and Mabel knew it'd be best to forewarn you about her houseguest."

  "Exactly. When you asked about him, Rapella, I didn't want to rat him out and possibly get him evicted from the only place he had to call home or, worse yet, get him deported from the country. Mabel hired the lawn work done all those years, because Ridley was even afraid to go outside, which explains why his skin is the color of typing paper."

  Chase's comments made me wonder three things. First of all, had the old caretaker been playing Mabel like a fiddle all those years? Secondly, with his extremely pale skin, was Ridley the ghostly apparition I thought I'd seen one night when I went downstairs after hearing music? If he played in the Seattle Symphony, he was clearly our nighttime pianist. And, lastly, how much did Itsy know about Mr. Wickets? She seemed to be familiar with him when she talked about him not attending church and behaving like a vampire. I now understood her remark about it being dangerous for him to be seen in the daylight. I was almost afraid to ask Mr. Cumberland my next question.

  "Where is Ridley now?"

  "Somewhere in this house would be my guess. I'd bet Ridley could go undetected for months. He had years of practice at being invisible. And, being so tiny, he moves more quietly than your fat cat."

  "Hush, son," Rip said in a serious manner, with an index finger against his lips. "Dolly could be lurking somewhere in the vicinity. Like her daddy, she's very sensitive about her weight."

  We all laughed at Rip's comment. Even to the priest, who had just met Rip, it was obvious that neither Rip nor Dolly gave a flying fig about their waistlines.

  As the men wolfed down their second helpings of lasagna, I thought about the footsteps I'd heard minutes earlier. The petite and elderly caretaker, who'd be around eighty now, might be more agile than I thought when it came to climbing up into the attic through the access panel. He definitely could disappear from sight in a flash. Perhaps Ridley was the one who wanted us out of the house, and not Mabel or Norma Jean haunting us from beyond. I figured Chase Cumberland, in his handling of repairs in the building, would know about its ins and outs. "Do you know if there is access to the attic other than one in that farthest bathroom upstairs?"

  "Yes," Chase said. "There is access in the maintenance room behind the furnace that heats the top floor. A ladder is propped up against the wall that leads to an opening in the ceiling. That's the ladder I used to take down the draperies for you. Why do you ask?"

  "I heard footsteps coming from the attic and wondered if Ridley could be living up there."

  "He could be. There's a small room with a cot in it on the far west end of the attic. I noticed it when I was up there checking out a furnace duct not long ago."

  "Okay. Good to know," I said. "Now finish up your supper, men, before the peach cobbler I made for dessert gets too cold."

  Rip's head popped up like a prairie dog looking out of the hole above his burrow. "Did you say peach cobbler?"

  "Yes, dear. I thought you deserved a reward t
onight for all the hard work you've been putting into your therapy sessions and exercises at home. I didn't think one piece of cobbler was going to kill you."

  "That's what I've been trying to tell you," he retorted.

  "I said one piece."

  "You'd better listen to her, man. You have an angel in Rapella, and she deserves to have you around for many years to come," Chase said as he picked up a handful of dishes and carried them to the sink.

  "Thanks, but I'll get these." I took the stack of dirty plates from him and motioned for him to go back to the table.

  "Whose side are you on, son?" Rip asked in jest.

  After a hearty laugh, Chase turned serious. "So, Rapella, am I forgiven?"

  "Of course you are. As Rip said, you're not only forgiven by me, but I'm certain by God, as well. Now sit down, pull your ears back, and dig in," I replied as I placed a bowl of cobbler in front of both men.

  Other than small talk, there wasn't much chit-chat as we ate our dessert. I realized a person who felt as if he was being blackmailed might have a motive to eliminate his blackmailer. But I couldn't picture this kind man harming a flea, when a mere flirtation had left him in a state of anguish for so long.

  After supper, we moved to the drawing room. The first thing Chase did was stop and admire the new vertical blinds the heart clinic had sprung for. He nodded his head, and said, "Perfect! The blinds make all the difference in the world. You've done a good job with the place, Rapella."

  "Thank you. I feel comfortable here now." I'd done some redecorating and thought the house felt more inviting. "By the way, Father, you don't have to spend one second worrying about your story going any further than us. As they say, 'what happens in the Heart Shack, stays in the Heart Shack.'"

  "Thank you. That means a lot to me." Chase's relief was evident. He grinned, and added, "Don't you think that 'Heart Shack' is—"

  "A silly name for the place?" I said, finishing the question for him. After his amused nod, I said, "I did, but it's starting to grow on me. Do you mind if I run something by you that also goes no further than the three of us?"