by Liz Turner
“Must have,” Ray whispered, before brushing the pieces into his palm and pocketing them. They glanced at each other, eyes wide. “Lady.”
And like a bolt he was gone. Margie swiped the note into her pocket again before anyone else could see it and tore out the kitchen after him, running up the stairs. Lady’s door was open into the hallway, and both Margie and Ray crashed into the room without pausing.
Lady wasn’t there.
They both glanced around the room, looking for any open drinks. They saw nothing, and Ray turned on his heel, aiming to find Lady as soon as possible. Margie turned too, hoping the found her before the killer did.
She was standing in the doorway, a packed bag in her hand.
There was something about Lady’s very pale face that made it look like she was holding on to consciousness by sheer effort of will. She looked like a dear, ready to bolt, her eyes open too wide.
Ray frowned, looking her up and down. “Were you planning on leaving, Mrs. Withers?”
“Of course,” she snapped, flicking her blonde hair from her face. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Who is after you, Mrs. Withers?” Margie asked, trying desperately to catch her breath.
Lady’s eyes narrowed, her hands closing into fists. “What do you mean?”
“The note. ‘You were meant to die,’” Ray said, his voice monotone as he watched her.
Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. “Exactly what it sounds like,” she cried, her voice breaking. Margie winced in response. “Someone is trying to kill me, but got my...” Dropping her suitcase onto the floor, she sobbed loudly into her hands.
Ray touched her shoulder very gently. “Who would want you dead, Lady?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, I don’t know! Why would anyone hurt him? Why, why, why?”
“Ma’am, we should put you in protective custody,” Margie said, keeping her voice low. “It would be best to keep you as safe as possible if someone is after you.”
She nodded, looking deflated. Ray took her by the arm, escorting her from the winery. Margie hoped she would be safe wherever she ended up. Poor Lady…
After making her slow way back down to the kitchen, Margie sat in silence for a long time, watching the sunlight dance through the windows as she sipped her coffee. How could someone not know that someone else wanted them dead?
Her thoughts, morbid and dark, drifted over the little clues and tried to piece them together. So lost in them, she didn’t hear John come in from the outside, hang his coat on the rack by the door, and grab himself a cup of coffee.
“Good morning, Margie!” he said cheerfully, nearly startling her off of her stool. “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Margie frowned at John, glancing down at herself. She’d spilled coffee all over her blue skirt and the white of her apron. The runny brown liquid slid across the island as Margie ran to grab some towels to clean up. This was the second time today someone had startled her out of her skin; she really hoped this wasn’t going to become a habit.
John, sighing, came forward to help, grabbing a hand towel and mopping up the liquid. “I really am sorry, Margie. I was just...”
“I know, John. It’s not your fault. I just have a lot on my mind.”
He looked worried, thin lines forming on his forehead as he poured her a new cup of coffee. She smiled, even though she knew it looked strained. “Anything you want to talk about?”
Margie made a face. “I’m worried about Lady.”
John nodded, his eyes dark with something akin to sadness. His lips thinned. “I think everyone is, Margie. But she will be fine, I’m sure. Let’s focus on the menu for today, shall we?”
So they did. Margie did her best to keep the case out of her mind, but she couldn’t seem to keep it in the back of her mind where it belonged. After the dinner rush, though she was exhausted, she made her way to the bus with the kids, riding down to the precinct to see Ray.
Margie walked into the police station to a chorus of greetings, the night secretary, and the boys still on duty waving and smiling as she walked by. Walking into the Bristol Police Department was always a little like coming home; she’d spent so much time here over the last eight years that she knew nearly everyone.
Ray, as usual, was sitting at his desk, mulling over stacks of papers. His desk always looked like some sort of natural disaster had just crossed its path and he hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it up yet. There were food boxes and piles of papers as well as piles of evidence boxes next to his desk.
Margie shook her head, still marveling that he could actually find anything in the trash heap he called a desk. “I don’t suppose you have time for some coffee, do you?” Margie glanced around. She would miss this old place. She had spent so many hours here, helping out with cases and keeping Ray company.
Ray looked up from his paperwork, his face lighting up as he saw Margie. “Of course, let me grab my coat.”
It was much warmer down here, off of the mountain. A chill still hung in the air, but there was no snow left on the ground, not even under the bigger trees. Margie was regretting wearing her heaviest coat, but it was certainly too chilly outside to go without completely. The chilly streets were empty, the street lights and moon the only lighting. Margie breathed white puffs of breath into the chilly air, her eyes running over the street in front of her. It filled her with a deep kind of sadness. She already missed Bristol, and she hadn’t even left yet.
“What’s up, Margie?” Ray asked, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He was watching her as they walked.
She shook her head. “I just can’t get the case out of my head, and I was wondering if you had found anything. I can’t stop thinking about Lady.”
Ray rubbed the back of his neck before unlocking the passenger side door of his cruiser for her. “Not much. We have Lady in protective custody, but she’s not talking. She insists she doesn’t know who wants to kill her.”
“And you think she’s lying?” Margie asked, slipping inside the vehicle and putting on her seatbelt. “It was bothering me too; how can anyone not know when someone is out for them?” Margie frowned, pressing her index finger to her lips as she thought. “You think Lady did it.” She didn’t form it as a question; she could tell that he did just from the look on his face.
Ray nodded his head, starting the car and heading off for Margie’s favorite diner, the Big Easy. It was close to her and Camelia’s old apartment. Margie wondered vaguely what Camelia and Ray’s new house looked like before her thoughts returned to the case at hand.
“I have been checking out everyone who was there that evening, looking for criminal records, fake names, or anything else suspicious. Looking for connections to Lady’s family. Kevin’s family. Anything.”
They stepped into the diner together, taking Margie’s usual spot in one of the booths by the window. The waitress was one that neither of them recognized; she looked very young and introduced herself as Jessica. They ordered their coffee and glanced out at the town through the window. The wind tossed a few of fall’s leftover leaves from last year across the street, and Margie’s eyes followed them down the street.
“Let me guess; everyone has a connection to Lady and Kevin’s families,” Margie said, laying her weary head down on her arms. The weight of the case was heavy on her shoulders. It was depressing that Ray was so sure the killer was Lady. “So if Lady was responsible, that means she would have been the one to write that note. Have you tried to compare her handwriting?”
Ray shook his head. “We’ve searched her house, but we didn’t find a sample of it anywhere. I’ll need to get a warrant to force her to give us a sample of her handwriting, and I don’t have anything but a hunch that she did it.” He smiled up at Jessica as she set coffee cups in front of them. He waited until she was out of hearing range again until he started back up.
“You couldn’t find anything she’d handwritten at her house?”
Ray shrugged. “Ho
w many samples of Camelia’s handwriting do you think would be at our house?”
Margie thought for a second, then grinned. “None; she never wrote anything down.”
“Exactly.”
They both sipped their coffees in silence for a second.
“I have a favor to ask you, Margie.” Ray sounded like he had to force the words out around something stuck in his throat. She looked at him, her face full of suspicion. “I know it is incredibly dangerous, Margie, but I need you to talk to people. Get me a hint. I have nothing as it stands. Kevin was a member of town council, and he donated his time to the kid’s football teams every weekend during the season. They are really breathing down my neck to close this fast. I would never usually ask you to put yourself in any danger...” he said, holding out his hands and looking helpless.
“That’s quite the favor you’re asking, Ray,” Margie said, clinging desperately to the heat of her coffee cup.
“Don’t I know it. And I hate myself for asking. But Kevin and Lady need this case solved, before whoever it is, catches Lady too.”
Margie felt the weight of his favor on her shoulders, pressing down along with all of her other obligations. She hung her head a little, her curls falling forward over her shoulders to block her face. It was the right thing to do, helping Ray. But...
Well, the danger had never stopped her before. “All right, Ray, but I can’t promise anything. I’m going to do the best I can to ask questions, but I don’t know what I will be able to find out for you.”
The tense knots in Ray’s shoulders relaxed a little, a small smile crossing his face. “So here’s everything we know.”
Most of what Ray ran through were things Margie already knew. Kevin died from slow-acting poisons in his drink. The killer was most likely hoping that Lady would fall asleep, never wake up, and no one would notice her death was anything but natural. If Kevin hadn’t fallen over, the lab might never have been able to find the traces of poisons. They only found the residues in his glass, not his blood. Margie shivered at how close the killer had gotten to just that. Had someone cleaned up the glasses from that night before the police stopped them, no one would have known his death was a murder at all.
Good thing Ray is so thorough.
Margie held on to her mug, hoping the warmth would seep out into her icy hands. She shivered as Ray continued speaking, interrupted only by the waitress coming by to refill their cups.
“Kevin and Lady had been married only about a year. Both Kevin and Lady’s families are local, and they were both childhood sweethearts,” Ray took a big sip of his coffee, hissing between his teeth as the hot liquid burned his tongue. “Kevin stayed in town all his life, but Lady lived in the city for about a year before returning to Kevin’s side. She wanted to make it as an actress on stage or something, but lost the will to continue after coming up against several hardships.”
Margie nodded; she’d known as much. She and Lady had never been friends, but she remembered when she’d left. It was back before Lady was a Withers. Her name had been Walsh back then, her family as pale, red haired, and Irish as they came. She alone was blonde in her family, but she still had the pale skin and freckles of her heritage.
“Perhaps someone she met in the city is after her, and we’re looking in the wrong place,” Margie mused. “Have you looked into the staff at Heavenly Springs Winery? You should also look into the woman Dolly hired to mind the bakery next door to the police station; she would have had some access to the winery; she delivers pastries to the kitchen every day for the guests.”
Ray’s eyes lifted to the ceiling. “Good thinking, Margie. I don’t know what I’m going to do when you move away from here. You always think differently than I do.”
Margie laughed. “Ray, I guess I’ll take that as a complement. So how is Camelia?”
“Missing you. Tired, hungry, angry. Ready to have the baby.” Ray said, pressing his chin into his hands. Margie felt a touch of something akin to jealousy at the glow of pride and love in his eyes. “Can you come by?”
Margie nodded, fighting the feeling down. “Let me talk to Dolly; we’ll figure out a day. She isn’t a complete tyrant.”
He laughed before throwing some money onto the table. He drove Margie back up the mountain to the winery, dropping her off with a wave. Margie walked back to her cabin, her head filled with ideas. But underneath all that was the hum of ever-present danger. She wondered how this case was going to end. Shivering, Margie wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know.
Chapter 7
“We need three more loaves of bread and the lamb needs to be in the oven for ten minutes!” Margie shouted, watching as her little band of helpers all gasped, then started working faster. Several of the girls dove for the lamb, making way for Karen and her brother to start kneading and forming the bread loaves from yesterday’s risen dough.
Everyone moved around like clockwork, no one trying to do the same chores as the others. John, looking pleased as punch with the kids, winked at her. Her cheeks burned.
Margie turned away from him, focusing instead on pulling together all the ingredients for the mint sauce for the lamb. She knew she had plenty of salt, pepper, and sugar, but she realized the kitchen was running dangerously low on vinegar. The garden had mint in it, but Margie wasn’t one hundred percent sure there would be enough of it for the amount of lamb that was currently being hoisted into the oven.
Dolly glanced in her eyes glittering like diamonds in her pretty face. Her red curls were tied back in a scarf, like usual. Her whole face lit up when she saw the organized chaos inside the kitchen. “Hello, Chef Margie!” she said, saluting her.
Margie laughed, wiping flour from her hands on her apron. “Not a chef yet. Not until after my final internship.”
Dolly nudged her with an elbow, the other hand resting absently on her belly. “Close enough for me. Any particularly good students you have here?”
Margie pointed her chin in the direction of the bread station. “Karen and her brother Steven. They are absolutely the best of the kids. John has been incredibly helpful as well.”
Dolly glanced around the room. “Which one is John again?”
“He’s blonde, older.” Margie meant to point him out, but when she looked around, John had stepped out. “He must have run to the restroom or something; I’m sure he’ll be back in a moment.”
“Oh, yes.” Dolly nodded, her forehead wrinkled up like she was confused. “I remember him now.” She turned around, inhaling deeply. “I’m really looking forward to tonight’s dinner, Margie; it’ll be delicious.”
“It does smell pretty good so far.” The kitchen was filled with the scent of seared meat and dough, which were two of Margie’s favorite aromas.
“Do you need anything?”
“White distilled vinegar. We should have enough for dinner tonight, but then we’ll be all out.”
Dolly nodded. “Then you shall have more, as soon as I can get Roy to run out for us.” Roy was the head of the cleaning staff, and Margie liked his blunt, no-nonsense attitude.
“And we might clean the window sills of all of their mint leaves.”
“Well then. Try to leave some for the next time, would you? Don’t kill my mint plants!” Dolly waved at her, shuffling out of the kitchen.
Margie was continuously impressed by Dolly’s ability to keep going, even while pregnant and running two businesses. How on earth did she do it? It was a mystery.
Margie shook her head to clear her thoughts and headed back into the kitchen. John was there, his hands full of mint leaves. “There you are, I was looking for you.”
He was smiling, the warmth of the smile reaching his sapphire eyes. “Were you? It’s nice to know that I’m missed when I nip off for ingredients.” He winked at Margie and laughed and the surrounding girls laughed. All the girls swooned when John was nearby; Margie didn’t blame them. He was attractive and capable. But her heart belonged so completely to her career, she doubted she would ever be abl
e to feel more than friendship for him. A shame. Sometimes, when she heard love songs, she wondered what all the fuss was about.
It turned out they actually did need more vinegar, mostly because Maria managed to spill a good portion of it onto the floor. Go figure; it was the only thing they were short on.
The poor thing was sobbing, her shoulders shaking as she saw the mess she’d made on the floor. Margie went to comfort her, pressing her hands against Maria’s shoulders. “Oh, dear. It’s not the end of the world, Maria. Please don’t cry.”
“You aren’t mad?” she whimpered, her voice scratchy with tears.
“Of course not.” More like supremely irritated, but she didn’t need to let her know that. “I’ll just find Roy and have him make an emergency run to town. John, can you hold down the fort for me?”
He bowed, almost mocking, making his ponytail fly over his shapely shoulder. “As the lady wishes.”
So Margie went hunting for Roy. If she didn’t find him, she would most likely have to make a run to town herself. That would be the worst case scenario; without a car, her trip would take twice the time. She wasn’t sure the bus could bring her back in time for dinner to be served at seven as requested.
Margie didn’t want to let Dolly down.
She searched the whole main floor, hoping to come across someone who might know where Roy was. A butler named Cody pointed her in the right direction, and she headed out to see if Roy was still in the break room. It was situated underneath the staircase to the left and had a room for the men and women to dress for their duties and take breaks. There was even a servant’s meal served here twice a day that Margie was responsible for.
She didn’t knock before she pushed open the door a little, but what she heard inside made her stop mid-step. Someone was yelling.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you are up to, Roy,” a female voice said, shaking with anger. “Don’t you think for a second, I don’t know what you've done.”
