by Meri Allen
“Drinking?”
She raised her eyebrows and adjusted her scarves.
“Does he have a job now?” I asked.
She shrugged. “He says he works with computers.”
“The night of Mike’s murder,” I began. She turned to me, light glinting on her sunglasses. I had the unsettling sensation of talking to two of myself, one reflected in each dark lens. “What did you do after we finished at Udderly?”
She lifted her chin, gathering her thoughts. “After we left—and wasn’t that wonderful, I felt like that was a proper send off for Buzzy—Flo and I returned to the house and ate a light supper. I worked on the genealogy club presentation. Flo watched Real Housewives. We had our nightcaps, Manhattan for me, vodka martini for Flo. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Did you see any unusual cars on the road? A pink Mini?”
She shook her head. “That night? No. But I’ve seen a pink Mini on the lane the last few days. Emily Weinberg’s car. She’s been at Aaron’s house several times.” Gerri’s voice warmed with sympathy. “She was always a driven girl, always wanted her father’s approval. He founded Penniman Properties, you know. I’m sure a psychologist would have a field day. Her father always favored her older brother, and she’s always tried so hard to prove herself.”
“Are you thinking of selling?” I asked.
Gerri’s look said, Are you insane? “Heaven forbid.”
* * *
Gerri said she had an appointment and walked to her car. The bench where we’d been sitting faced the war memorial, and behind it, Penniman Properties and Kyle’s law firm.
I thought of my list of suspects. My pick was Emily, but was it mostly because I didn’t like the way she was pressuring Caroline?
A red Mini turned into the parking lot behind the law office. Moments later, I saw Kyle emerge from the car.
Darwin had said he’d seen a small car. I jumped to my feet, ran across the green, and waved Kyle down.
His eyebrows raised as I dashed across the street to him.
“Hi, Riley,” he said. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to gather my thoughts.
“How’s Caroline?”
“She’s well, thank you.” I flashed onto the papers in the box Kyle had brought over. “She was puzzled about one thing in the mail. The DNA report for Buzzy.”
Kyle chuckled. “Oh, Mike was always helping Buzzy with things that were online. Tech wasn’t her strong point.” His smile faded. “Well, if Caroline has questions about anything, she can call me.”
He wasn’t going to tell me anything. I wondered if he knew that the police had taken Caroline in for questioning and that she’d hired another lawyer. I wasn’t going to tell him.
“Great car,” I nodded toward the Mini.
“Yeah, my wife’s. Mine’s in the shop. Well, if that’s all.”
“Yes, bye now.” I kicked myself as I walked down the sidewalk. Sleuthing was harder than I realized. I hadn’t put Kyle on my list at all. Why would I? He and Mike were longtime friends.… Weren’t they?
Nina? The Mini was her car, but maybe I was making too much of it. Why would she want to kill Mike? If Nina wanted to kill anyone it was probably Kyle, now that she’d learned he’d been having an affair with his secretary.
I searched my memory. In high school, Nina, Kyle, and Mike had all been part of a tight group of football players and cheerleaders. Caroline and I hadn’t moved in that orbit. Mike and Kyle had been best friends since high school. They’d seemed tight at Buzzy’s funeral, but could they have been covering up a rift? Who could I talk to about Mike and Kyle?
Everyone knew Penniman High School’s beloved football coach had opened a sporting goods store when he retired. It was a block from the green. I changed direction and walked on tree-shaded streets to a more commercial strip where Penniman did its banking, filled its prescriptions, and had its oil changed.
Penniman Sports was situated in a brick building on a busy corner. A little bell jangled as I pushed open the door. I was certain this was a wild-goose chase. Do the math. Their football coach had been in his sixties when they played, almost twenty years ago. Would he still be working?
The walls were painted in Penniman High’s colors—forest green and white—and a bobcat, the school’s mascot, was captured in mid leap across the back wall of the shop, ready to pounce on unwary shoppers.
I admired some high-tech running gear then approached a woman at the counter. Her spine curled forward, but she was tanned and wiry, her white hair cut in a shag, her blue eyes friendly. “May I help you?”
“I’m trying to find Coach—” I hesitated. What was his name?
“Coach Valeri. My husband. He passed two years ago.” Her kind look was sympathetic.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.
Her smile and voice were gentle. “Many of my husband’s former athletes come in looking for him. It’s nice to know so many young people looked up to him.”
I introduced myself and told her I was a friend of the Spooners.
“Mike was something special.” She pointed to a plaque on the wall. “He was quarterback on my husband’s first championship team. Tell Caroline I’m very sorry. When is the memorial?”
“She’s planning something in the fall.” I shifted gears. “I just ran into Kyle Aldridge.”
Her gentle grin broadened. “He’s a lovely man, still does so much for the school. Oh, he and Mike were inseparable, but both, of course, very competitive. That competitiveness drove them both to succeed. If one did something, the other had to, although honestly, it was always Kyle following Mike’s lead. Mike was larger than life, even then. I remember they’d race everywhere. They’d even race to the cafeteria, or see who could chug a bottle of sports drink fastest. My husband told me they raced up the flagpoles in front of the school one day.” She chuckled, so did I.
The bell jangled as customers came into the shop.
“Thank you for your time.” As I walked out, I smiled. The whole school had watched Mike and Kyle’s race up the flagpole. Mike had won the climb, but by a hair. Gerri had given them both detention for a week.
Chapter 34
As I walked back to the green, the warm feeling of nostalgia from my conversation with Coach Valeri’s wife evaporated.
Emily fit so perfectly into my theory of spurned high-school love. Her interest in Mike and her jealousy at Angelica had been so obvious. I had to talk to her.
I ran up the steps of Penniman Properties and asked the receptionist if I could see Emily. She escorted me to Emily’s office, a room with high ceilings, a carved wooden fireplace mantel, and a charming window seat. A modern desk with a single white orchid was set into a corner, facing gray chairs with pillows in Emily’s trademark pink. Emily wore a navy blue suit and was stuffing papers into an elegant leather briefcase.
“Riley!” She smiled as if we were friends. “I saw you chatting with Kyle out my window. How’s Caroline?”
“She’s fine,” I said carefully. “I’m sorry, you look busy.” I’d planned to come in with guns blazing, but now I could hardly think of what to say.
“I have to go to a closing. Maybe you can come back later? I hope you’re here to talk about Caroline. That deal for the farm would really benefit her, but she has to act.”
There was one thing I was comfortable saying. “Emily, please stop asking her. She doesn’t want to sell.”
She shrugged. “Changes are coming whether Caroline wants them or not.”
I crossed my arms. “You mean because Aaron’s selling?”
Her voice took on the tiniest edge. “He’s not alone.”
Who? Not the Gravers or the Brightwoods. Dandy? She’s the only one Emily could mean.
I remembered Emily and Kyle going into the Brightwoods’ house. “Leave Darwin alone too.”
Exasperation flared in Emily’s voice. “Mike was trying to help those people. Now Kyle and I are.”
I didn’t like
the way she said “those people,” and my words flew out before I could stop them. “Mike was only helping Mike. Emily, what were you doing on Farm Lane the night Mike died?”
“How did you—” Tears sprang to her eyes with a speed that took me aback. “Mike meant a lot to me, okay? Ever since high school. But I was always second.” She blinked her tears back, then met my eyes, her look defiant. “I’d been drinking, okay? I thought I’d just drive by. I saw Mike’s car. Angelica’s car was gone so I knocked but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t there.” We both knew what “He wasn’t there” meant. She ripped a tissue from her bag and pointed at the door. “You’d better go now.”
* * *
Emily’s emotional outburst threw me off balance. I expected opposition or lies, but not tears. I needed to talk to someone, preferably with Rocky curled up on my lap.
My footsteps led me blindly around the green back to my car. I drove home, trying not to notice the crowd at the shop. Pru waved from her herb garden as I drove past. I parked and walked down to her.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be taking the day off, young lady,” she said.
I blew out a breath. “I’ve made a mess, Pru.”
She patted my arm. “We all do from time to time. Step into my office. Have you eaten?”
I shook my head as I followed her inside.
“I have some sandwiches in the fridge.” She put one on a plate and poured me a glass of lemonade, then we went into her office. The walls were painted a soothing pale yellow and the wooden floors and shelves behind her gleamed. Another bookcase, empty, stood in the corner, hemmed in with cardboard boxes. Framed quilts covered the wall and the shelves behind her were filled with photos of smiling families and children. She sat behind her desk and pointed to the comfortably upholstered chair across from her.
“You just missed your friend Detective Voelker.” Her voice was light, but I could see the worry in her eyes.
I froze. “He was back? What happened?”
“More questions for Darwin. Questions for me. At least he didn’t take us to the station.” She forced a smile that said the subject was closed. “Eat.”
Pru’s desk was clear except for a vase of purple coneflowers, a laptop, and a large leather ledger. I settled in the chair and took a few bites of the sandwich, but soon I pushed away my plate. An open cardboard box behind her was full of books. “New books?”
“Darwin built me some more bookshelves,” she said. “I don’t know where that man found the time. Now I have to get these books on them.”
“Remember I was a librarian,” I said. “I’m happy to help.”
“I’ll take you up on that.” Pru leaned forward. “What’s troubling you, Riley?”
“I went to see Emily Weinberg to tell her to stay away from Caroline. She’s been pressuring her to sell the farm. But when I was talking to her, she started crying.” I swallowed. “I’m sure she called the police on Darwin, and I’d even convinced myself that she’d killed Mike”—Pru’s eyebrows shot up—“but now I’m confused and I feel terrible.”
Pru shook her head. “Even without Emily’s tip, the police would’ve questioned Darwin and me. I found this.” She took a scrap of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. It was the other half of the check I’d found, made out, as I expected, to Darwin. “I found it in Darwin’s pocket when I was doing laundry the day after Mike was killed.”
I put the scrap on her desk. “We found the part with the signature.”
“Darwin told me he tore it up and threw it at Mike,” Pru said. “I don’t know why he stuffed this piece in his pocket. He was probably so angry he didn’t know what he was doing. You know how he always puts his hands in his pockets. When I showed it to him he told me not to worry. But he’s been a wreck. He can’t sleep.”
“I saw Kyle and Emily here,” I said. “So they’ve been bribing him to leave?”
Pru rubbed her arms. “Easier than that, and in a way, worse. They want him to convince Caroline the development’s a good thing. They said he can stay as a consultant, managing the smaller footprint farm, that Caroline can’t run Udderly and the farm from Boston. But you showed up and complicated things. Then they found a way to make Darwin even more vulnerable.”
“How?”
Pru’s hands twisted. “Mike told Darwin that the check was for Willow’s college fund. We don’t have much money in savings. Mike, and now Emily and Kyle—they’ve found the chink in Darwin’s armor. Willow.”
I couldn’t imagine a more painful choice for Darwin. We sat silently together for a few moments, then Pru ran her hand over the old leather book.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A record book that belonged to my friend, Martha Woodley. It’s a diary of all the patients she served as a midwife.” Pru’s voice warmed. “She was a mentor, she taught me everything I know.”
“Flo told me you went to a memorial for her.”
“Yes, her friends gather every year to remember her.” Pru gray eyes held mine. “Well, since we’re telling truths today. Riley, something has been bothering me, but it’s not anything to do with the farm or Mike.” She took a breath. “It’s about Brooke Danforth.”
Brooke Danforth?
“It’s so long ago.” She patted the book. “I had many of Martha’s books packed away because I had nowhere to put them. Now that Darwin built my shelves, I took these out of storage. I was being self-indulgent, missing Martha. So when I found this book in one of the boxes, I started paging through.”
Voices came in through the open window and Pru got up to shut it. “I don’t want anyone to hear us. Martha was very good at keeping secrets, even from me.”
Pru tucked a tendril of silver hair behind her ear as she resumed her seat. I remained still, not wanting to break her train of thought.
“Before I got pregnant with Willow, Martha told me that she knew a girl who might want to give up her baby. She knew we were desperate for a child. The girl was just a few months along and wasn’t married. I got my hopes up”—she sighed—“even started thinking of that baby as mine. But about a month later, Martha told me that the girl wanted to keep it.”
“Brooke Danforth was the girl?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. Brooke had been an elite-level gymnast. A cheerleader. She’d spent most of her time training and traveling to competitions. Plus, her mother had been so strict. “I’d always heard she wasn’t allowed to date.”
Pru turned the ledger so I could see it. “Martha took very good notes.”
Careful penmanship covered the lined pages, the ink faded to gray. In the far-left column were dates, then a column with names. Martha Woodley had listed every meeting, every event, one after the other, followed by short notations, lists of weights, temperatures, and measurements.
Pru turned the pages to each of Brooke’s entries.
“June 5: Rain this morning. When it stopped, I saw a rainbow looped over the lake.
Brooke Danforth. 5′ 1″ 90 lbs. Brooke came to see me today. I wasn’t surprised. I’d seen her walking with a boy by the lake a few times. She’s not sure if she wants to keep the baby, but if she does, I have someone in mind who wants to adopt.
July 18: Brooke was back. She wants to keep the baby herself. Hasn’t told her mother yet. Asked me if she could stay here if there’s trouble when she does. I said yes. It will start a war with her mother, but what else can I do? Poor girl has nowhere else to turn.”
I lifted my eyes as Pru flipped past Brooke’s entries to blank pages. She raised her eyes to mine. “Brooke died from an overdose July twenty-fifth and my friend Martha died a week after.”
Chapter 35
“Did Martha Woodley note the father’s name?” I said.
Pru shook her head. “No, and Martha didn’t tell me either. Brooke might not have told her. It wouldn’t have been like Martha to pry.”
Mike, the Romeo of Penniman High lived right down the road from Brooke’s house. “Did you ever see Mike and Brooke to
gether? Near the barn?” The usual place.
Pru said slowly, “I don’t remember him with Brooke. We hardly ever saw her, even though she lived up the hill. That doesn’t mean they didn’t date. Teenagers are very good at keeping secrets. And the barn? I had no idea it was a rendezvous place.”
Maybe it was only Mike who knew about his rendezvous place. Well, Mike and the girls he met there. My mind flew back to Emily, how unhinged she’d become, how quickly. Was she reliving her past? I heard her words, “I was always second.” Had she felt a surge of anger because Mike had chosen Angelica instead of her? Had Mike once chosen Brooke over her?
Pru cleared her throat. “Sorry, it brought back so many emotions.”
Flo had told me Martha Woodley was killed by a hit-and-run driver. “Where did Martha die?”
“On the road by the lake.” Pru’s voice was thick with tears. “They never found out who did it.”
Never found out who did it. That wouldn’t be the end of Mike’s story. Not if I could help it.
Her look told me that she was wrestling with the same feeling I was, a feeling of helplessness. We were both searching our memories, grasping for the truth, even though those memories caused pain. How much worse for Pru, now knowing that Brooke’s child might’ve been her own.
“I was just going,” Pru said, “to visit the spot where Martha died.”
“Do you want company?”
She nodded.
* * *
Pru ran her fingers through her hair and captured the mass of pewter ringlets into a scrunchie at the top of her head as I drove Sadie to the lake. We turned onto a road that narrowed between towering trees, the green canopy of leaves thickening as we went. At the end of the road we stopped across from the small sandy public beach on Penniman Lake.
“Turn here,” Pru said. I slowly drove the narrow, twisting road that ringed the lake. At one point, I stopped to allow a small parade of children and moms, arms laden with inner tubes, towels, and coolers, to cross in front of us.
