by Ali Franklin
“What about you?” she asked. “This must be overwhelming.”
The sound of Chase’s ringing phone prevented his answer. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen, frowning. He placed it back in his pocket.
“I’ve spent a fair amount of time talking with the detectives,” he said. “They’ve been calling all morning, but I just can’t find the strength to talk to them right now. They keep asking me about Veronica’s company.”
Ryan looked at him but kept quiet.
“I can’t believe someone would kill her over her business,” Chase continued, “but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Did they tell you they think it’s related to the company?”
“They haven’t told me much since they corroborated my alibi.”
Ryan couldn’t stop her mouth from dropping open.
“I left the house shortly after you all did that night,” he said, lowering his eyes. “I spent the night with a friend.”
“Oh. I mean…That’s good, right? You’ve got someone who can vouch for you.”
“She did vouch for me, though she asked the detectives to keep her identity a secret. Neither one of us wants everyone to know I was with her at the time Veronica was killed.”
“I understand,” said Ryan.
He took a deep breath. “I know it sounds…convenient, but the detectives checked the GPS records from both our cars and the security system in her house. We were both there all night.”
“Chase, you don’t have to prove anything to me. It’s none of my business.”
“I know, but I know people are wondering if I’m to blame. Veronica was my wife.”
“Does your…lady friend have any idea why someone would have hurt Veronica?”
He frowned. “No. She and Veronica were acquaintances, but didn’t know each other well. She thinks it’s related to Veronica’s company.”
He looked down at the floor, then back up at Ryan. “You might as well know. It may get out, or she might even tell you. The woman I’m seeing is Emma.”
Ryan felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She opened her mouth, and the sound that came out was a croak.
“Emma?”
“She and I have been seeing each other for over a year.”
“Oh, Chase. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it.”
He looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t know what happened?”
“Ryan, what are you talking about?”
She took a few steps and plopped down on a piece of outdoor furniture.
“Ryan, what’s going on?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She looked up. “Chase, sit down. I need to tell you something.”
He sat, his eyes narrowed but questioning.
She took both of his hands in hers. “Chase, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Emma’s dead.”
Chase went still. He took a short breath, then gently moved Ryan’s hands back into her lap. He stood and turned his back to her. He stayed that way for almost a minute, then said, “That can’t be right. I just talked with her yesterday afternoon.”
“Nicki and I went to her house last night.” She struggled to continue. “The police found her.”
“I can’t believe it. Wait—what were you doing at her house?”
A wave of ice rushed through her body at his question. She looked up. Something was off. It took her a second to figure out what was, but her many years of training in reading micro-expressions told her Chase was pretending. Pretending to be sad? That didn’t make sense. She took a few deep breaths as she considered her response.
“I’m so sorry you had to find out from me,” she said. “This must be a shock.”
“What happened?”
“The Sheriff’s Office is investigating.”
“You mean they don’t know how she died?” He took a few steps away, then came back. “Was Emma murdered?” He sat down next to her.
“Since you were her…friend, the police are going to want to know where you were when she died.”
“That must be why they’ve been calling,” he said. “Do you know what time she died?”
She shook her head. “They found her about six-thirty.”
“I played golf yesterday afternoon with some friends, then we went to dinner. I got home around seven-thirty.”
He sighed reached into his pocket to get his phone. “I’d better call Lipinski back. The sooner I answer their questions, the better.”
Ryan nodded. “I’ll let you get to it. Please call me if there’s anything I can do.”
He nodded and walked away, his phone held to his ear.
Ryan sat on the bench for a few more minutes, digesting the conversation. Chase had an alibi for Veronica’s murder. His alibi was Emma, who had also been murdered. And he seemed to have an alibi for Emma’s murder as well.
It didn’t make sense. Chase was the connection between the two women. But if he had proof he was somewhere else when each murder occurred, there was no use trying to prove it was him.
She took a deep breath and let it out. In the space of about five minutes, she had determined a connection between the two murder victims, identified the most likely suspect, and learned that he couldn’t have done it.
Investigating murders was mentally exhausting.
Her phone rang. She pulled her from her pocket, expecting it to be Jack or Gus. It was Teddy.
“Hey,” said Teddy. “I just talked to Nicki. She told me what happened yesterday. You okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just a lot to take in. In fact, I just talked to Chase.”
“Oh my. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? It’ll give you a chance to decompress about all of this. We can talk about the show.”
Ryan smiled. Nothing raised her spirits like talking about music. Except playing music, of course.
“That sounds great. Just text me and tell me what to bring when you figure out the menu.” Teddy agreed and they ended the call.
Ryan pushed herself up from the bench and grabbed her cart. Maybe a few hours of working in the garden would help her sort it all out. There had to be another connection between Veronica and Emma—and there had to be another suspect.
Chapter 14
Ryan spent the rest of the afternoon working in her yard. She laid the brick she’d bought, cleaned up all of her flower beds, and checked all the planks on her back fence to make sure they were secure. She had to fortify the planks every month or so in response to the travel patterns of the neighborhood raccoons and possums.
When the back yard was settled to her liking, she went inside to take a shower. She watched as layer after layer of dirt washed down the shower drain, feeling lighter by the minute. By the time she got out of the shower, Chase was out of her mind and she was ready to see her friends. She dressed in cotton shorts and a Boston (the band, not the city) t-shirt and jumped in the car.
She arrived at Teddy and Summer’s house at six o’clock, store-bought apple cobbler in hand. Summer greeted her at the door.
“Thanks for bringing this. Teddy’s attempt at baking failed this afternoon, but don’t let on that I told you.”
Ryan entered the house to the sound of Teddy playing the piano and singing both sides of a duet from the show. She smiled and went into the living room. Teddy jerked her head for her friend to take over at the keyboard. Ryan sat on the bench and scooted Teddy out of the way without losing a beat.
They played and sang for a few minutes, just enjoying the music. Then Teddy flashed a wicked smile and upped the drama. As each verse continued, her gestures became more broad, her voice louder. She ratcheted up the emotion until she sounded like a woman about to burst.
Ryan, always one to rise to a challenge, went the other direction. Her voice got softer and softer, and her vibrato became nonexistent as she faded into the blandest rendition of the song she could accomplish. Just when it seemed there was no way to save the duet, Ryan
changed the lyrics of her line.
Teddy raised an eyebrow but didn’t falter. She changed her words as well, finishing Ryan’s musical phrase. They continued to make up lyrics through the end of the last verse. Ryan ended with a long instrumental flourish.
A slow clap emanated from the kitchen, building into half-hearted (or was that sarcastic?) applause from the audience of two. Summer and Nicki came out of the kitchen.
“Nicki, when did you get here?” asked Teddy.
“Right around when Ryan started singing about…Battlestar Galactica?” she looked at Teddy, her brow furrowed. “Did you really write a song about a sci-fi show?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of a space opera?” asked Teddy.
Ryan laughed. “We’re just playing with the lyrics because we’ve been in rehearsals for weeks and we’re trying to keep it fresh.”
Nicki still looked confused. She wasn’t a musician. She was more of an I-can’t-explain-it-but-I-know-what-I-like kind of listener. She deferred to her friends on everything musical.
“Don’t worry,” said Teddy. “When you come to the show, the lyrics will match the story.”
“And there are no spaceships,” added Ryan.
Summer put an arm around Nicki’s shoulders and led her back into the kitchen, saying, “Don’t worry about them. Their brains have been addled by years of being around loud noises.”
An hour later, the friends sat down to enjoy lemon chicken, asparagus, and cornbread prepared by the resident chef, Summer. One of Summer’s superpowers was being able to cook without a recipe. She also made liberal use of little-known herbs and spices which made every dish unique and delicious.
They talked about the events of the previous night as they ate. Eventually, Summer asked the same question Ryan had been contemplating all day.
“Do you think Veronica’s and Emma’s deaths are related?”
Nicki looked up. “Ryan asked the same question this morning. If they are related, we don’t know how.”
“Oh my gosh, I forgot to tell you,” said Ryan. “I ran into Chase today. Get this: he was having an affair with Emma.”
Silence filled the room as the women gaped at Ryan.
Teddy said, “The connection is Chase?”
“Is he in custody?” asked Summer.
Ryan told them about their interaction at the home-improvement store and how Chase had alibis for both murders. “Unless Emma was killed before noon yesterday.”
“Emma’s body hadn’t gone into rigor yet when we found her,” said Nicki. “That means she was killed within two or three hours of our arrival.”
Ryan put her head in her hands. “If we hadn’t been playing tennis—”
“—Then we might have walked in on a killer,” interrupted Nicki. “And if they had decided to kill Emma, they would’ve figured out a way to do it. Maybe yesterday, maybe tomorrow…”
“What if you’re right about the motive being something to do with the money raised through the FLH?” asked Ryan.
“That’s worth looking into,” said Nicki. “You’re taking over as chairperson. Is someone going to take over for Emma?”
“Who’s left on the committee?” asked Summer.
Ryan frowned. “There’s Father Paul and Danielle Nunez.”
“Do you trust them?” asked Teddy.
Ryan hated to think about either committee member as a suspect, but she had to admit that each of them had a motive—at least for Veronica’s murder. She turned to Teddy and Summer. “Did you hear Father Paul’s good news?”
Summer shook her head.
“He has a son,” said Ryan. “He’s around twenty years old and was conceived before Father Paul became a priest. Paul told me he was going to announce it at mass last night.”
“Has he known about his son this whole time?” asked Teddy.
“He found out when the boy was young, but he didn’t say anything because he thought he’d get in trouble with the church. Veronica threatened to blackmail him about it.”
Teddy and Summer turned to each other with murmurs of, “How terrible” and, “What a witch.”
Nicki looked thoughtful. “Blackmail? That might be a motive against Veronica, but would it be a motive against Emma?”
“I can’t see how,” said Ryan.
“What about Danielle?” asked Nicki.
“I can’t think of a motive,” said Ryan. “But I can think of an excuse to talk to her. I can be nosy when I need to be.”
“Why don’t you take me with you?” asked Nicki. “If it turns out she has a motive against either victim, she may be a suspect. And I don’t want you putting yourself in danger.”
Ryan agreed.
Teddy forced a bright tone into her voice and asked who wanted dessert. Everyone raised a hand. She went into the kitchen and returned with the cobbler and four plates. She looked at Nicki.
“Why don’t you tell us about your date with Becky last week?”
Ryan concentrated on stifling the small pain that awoke in her gut. The discomfort expanded while Nicki talked about eating dinner at the Lake House with her new friend. Ryan pasted a smile on her face as she listened and stridently ignored the question nagging at the edge of her mind. She’d answer it later.
Summer said, “We should all get together for dinner this week. You can bring her. I don’t think Ryan has met her yet, right?”
Ryan looked up, eyes wide. “What?”
“I was saying that I don’t think you’ve met Becky yet.”
Ryan stood quickly. “I don’t know why we’re talking about this right now. Two women have been murdered.” She picked up her dishes and wine glass and walked to the kitchen.
Teddy, Summer, and Nicki looked at each other while they heard dishes being loaded into the dishwasher—a little roughly, from the sounds of it. Nicki pushed herself up from the couch, but Teddy raised a hand.
“I’ll go.”
Teddy joined Ryan in the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” said Ryan. “I guess I’m just…emotionally overwhelmed right now.”
“I can only imagine.”
Ryan loaded miscellaneous pots and pans. Teddy returned to the dining room to get the rest of the dishes while Ryan wiped down the counters.
Ryan and Teddy moved around the kitchen like two people who were used to being around each other. Ryan appreciated that Teddy didn’t push her to talk. Her best friend always knew when Ryan needed space to process whatever was on her mind.
When everything was clean, Teddy offered to make coffee.
“That’s a good idea,” said Ryan. Teddy smiled, glad Ryan seemed to be returning to her normal self.
The two friends carried four cups of coffee into the den a few minutes later. They sat and just sipped for a few minutes. Finally, Summer looked at Ryan and Nicki.
“I’m sorry you’ve had such an awful week. We were hoping you could unwind tonight.”
“I apologize for ruining the mood,” said Ryan.
Nicki nudged her friend. “Ry, it’s okay. Being involved with one murder is traumatic. Having two is even worse.” She smiled. “But Jack and Gus are investigating every possible lead. There’s no need for you to worry about this.”
“I know you’re right,” said Ryan. “But there’s just so much to look into. Chase said he thinks Veronica’s death has something to do with the business.”
“Maybe they’ll find some connection with Emma, too,” said Nicki. “They’re going to get to the bottom of it.”
Ryan leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch and closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax. “I hope you’re right.”
Ryan spent a restless night thinking about Veronica, Emma, Nicki, and a faceless woman named Becky. In her dreams, the four of them banded together to stalk the members of the FLH committee and steal the donations. She woke Monday morning grumpy and still unenlightened.
She went on a three-mile run to try to clear her head. It didn’t work. The images continued to whirl in her
mind, refusing to settle into any kind of pattern.
She reached the office early, planning to immerse herself in work and forget about crime for a while. Somehow, Helen knew about Emma’s death and Ryan’s role in bringing the Sheriff’s Department to the scene of the crime.
“How in the world do you manage to be involved with so many murderers?” asked Helen.
Ryan plopped onto the couch in the reception area. “If I knew, I’d put a stop to it. It’s taking a toll on me.”
“Sounds like you need to unburden your soul,” said a male voice from the doorway. Both women looked up in surprise.
Ryan stood. “Gus, you startled us. We don’t usually have visitors this early.” She introduced Gus to Helen.
“I was just kidding about unburdening your soul, Ms. McCabe,” said the detective. “But I would like to take your statement about what happened Saturday night.”
“Sure,” said Ryan. “Let’s go in my office.” They went in and she closed the door behind them. She sat behind her desk as he walked around the perimeter of the room. He peered at each picture but made no comment. Finally, he sat in one of the chairs facing the desk and pulled a notebook from the pocket of his crisp navy-blue blazer.
He flipped a few pages, then looked at her. “When you called me Saturday evening, you’d had a voicemail from Emma.”
“Two voicemails,” said Ryan.
“Two voicemails. Do you still have them on your phone?”
“Of course.” She laid her phone on the desk and pressed a few buttons.
“Hang on,” said the detective. He pulled out a tiny digital recorder and set it next to Ryan’s phone.
The messages played. Ryan’s head throbbed as soon as she heard Emma’s voice.
“…Please call me as soon as you get this, no matter what time it is. It’s important.”
Gus reached for Ryan’s phone. “May I?” he asked.
She flipped her hand at it like she wished he would take it away. He scrolled through the list of voicemail messages. “Have you ever received any other messages from Emma?”
“Not that I remember. We usually just talked at the meetings, or at The Grove.” Ryan’s head throbbed harder as she thought about the restaurant—and all the other parts of Emma’s life that were now being left to someone else. She ignored the thought of Emma’s children, though she knew she’d have to call them to express her condolences.
