“What did you say to that?” Nate asked in a neutral tone.
Sylvia wiggled her shoulders. “I told her no way was I going anywhere. And I told her when she popped off, Derek and I would get everything. Why should I settle for any less?”
Nate’s eyebrows rose.
Sylvia, as if realizing she had gone too far, shut her mouth. Angrily, she said, “Don’t get any ideas. I didn’t kill her. Plenty of times I wanted to, but it wasn’t me.”
“And your husband? How did he feel about his mother?”
Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Derek loves Mummy. Although why I can’t imagine. She treated him like a lapdog or a servant. He’d spent his whole life trying to please his mother while she put him down in front of other people. It was so pathetic. And he just refused to see it.”
“After you came back to the Drake House, what did you do then?”
“Nothing. I got undressed and fell into bed. It was an absolutely grueling day, believe me. It wasn’t fun being a camp follower for Hilary.”
“Did you hear anything while you were in your room?”
Sylvia shook her platinum blonde head. “Not a thing. I slept like a baby.”
“Hmm,” Nate replied. More likely passed out, he thought. He’d be willing to bet her coffee mug was filled with alcohol.
“And your husband?”
“What about him?”
“What did he do?”
“Oh, he worried about Mummy all night. Popped down to her room a couple of times to make sure she was all tucked up.”
“Did he by any chance argue with his mother?”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Sylvia drawled, “if he had, he would have been in tears and I would have had to listen to him whine half the night.”
“I see. Okay. Could you ask your husband to step in?”
“Sure,” Sylvia replied lazily, rising from the chair. “He’s hiding in his room right now, crying over Mummy.” She floated out of the room.
Nate sighed. All the money in the world wouldn’t tempt him to trade places with Derek Stone.
• • •
“AH I’VE DECIDED TO come back,” Nanette announced in a haughty voice.
“Okay,” Lucky replied cautiously, relieved that the work load would be lighter now that the dinner hour was approaching, but frankly wishing Nanette had stormed out, never to return.
“Ah’ve decided to rise above it all. To take the high road. I don’t know what that dreadful woman’s problem is, but I certainly didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.”
“Well, I agree, Nanette. And I am sorry about what she said to you, but you were wrong to assault her.”
Nanette’s eyes widened. “And what exactly was I supposed to do? Put up with that creature’s nasty mouth? Not on your life!” she exclaimed.
Lucky glanced over at the cash register. Jack had a smile from ear to ear.
“I’m sure she’s just upset your grandfather isn’t interested in her. But that’s not my problem.” She smiled seductively in Jack’s direction. “He’s smart enough to recognize a desirable woman at least.”
Lucky cringed, unwilling to think about her grandfather’s desires. “Well, the dust has settled and hopefully everything will go smoothly now. Did you remember to bring in your social security card and your driver’s license, by any chance?”
“Whaaat?” Nanette shrieked.
Sophie was in the kitchen helping Sage chop vegetables. Lucky in her peripheral vision saw Sophie peer through the kitchen hatch at the sound of Nanette’s voice.
“Y’all told me I had twenty-four hours!”
Lucky took a deep breath. “Yes, you’re right. I did. Please make sure you have them tomorrow then.”
Nanette sniffed and headed for the cash register and Jack.
The bell over the door jingled as Barry entered. He waved to Jack, but Jack only had eyes for Nanette and didn’t notice his arrival. Barry grabbed a stool at the counter, where Lucky was organizing placemats and silverware.
“Lucky,” he whispered.
She smiled and moved closer to his stool. “Why are you whispering?”
“Oh.” He sat up straighter. “Sorry. Wasn’t aware I was.” Then as if remembering why he had wanted to speak, he said, “I have some news.”
Lucky spoke quietly in response. “About Hank?”
“Shhh.” Barry glanced over his shoulder. Jack and Nanette were busy talking at the cash register. Lucky was sure Nanette was bending Jack’s ear in complaint. At the moment, only two people occupied a table by the front window.
Barry nodded. “He called me. I guess with all my calling around, I must have hit the right person. No one admitted to knowing where he was, but somebody must have contacted him.”
“Well, that’s great,” Lucky replied.
Barry shook his head negatively. “Not really.” He leaned closer over the counter. “He refused to come back to town.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But he asked me to meet him this afternoon in Bournmouth. I guess he’s staying there.”
“Well, maybe he’ll tell you more in person. You’ll at least be able to talk to him and maybe talk him into coming back to town and not running away.”
“Is there any way you could come with me?”
“You want me there?”
“Yes,” Barry said in a very serious tone. “You’ll be able to get more out of him. I know him. He’ll get defensive if I ask him questions point blank. Women are always better at that kind of thing.”
Lucky smiled in spite of herself. “That’s true. Men never seem to want to explain the details of anything. But assuming I can get away for a couple of hours, won’t Hank be mad if you show up with me in tow?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But I just have the feeling you’re the right person to ask.”
“Okay. Let me see what I can do.” In truth, she’d be relieved to get away from the Spoonful for a while. Between Nanette’s fight with Flo, Meg’s sulking and Jack’s behavior, she felt ready to throw in the towel. “Let me ask Sophie. See what her schedule is.”
“Thank you, Lucky. I really appreciate the moral support. Something’s just not right with him.”
Chapter 31
DEREK STONE SAT stiffly, his back straight, in the chair across from Nate, his posture the very opposite of his wife’s.
“Once again, Mr. Stone, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Derek nodded. “Call me Derek, please.” His face was pale and covered with a sheen of perspiration. Dark circles under his eyes testified to a sleepless night.
“How are you feeling today?’
“Oh . . .” Derek waved a hand limply in the air. “I just . . . I just can’t accept that she’s gone.” His voice broke as if he were about to burst into tears.
Nate spoke quickly, regretful he had offered sympathy. He hoped to keep the man on track with an explanation of his movements. “I’ll be brief,” he said in a businesslike voice. “I just want to go over your movements again during the day and the night of your mother’s book event.”
“Uh . . . well . . . I . . . we were already here that day, at the Drake House.”
“What day did you arrive?”
“Uh, two days before . . . before the day scheduled for the book signing.”
“Why was that?”
“What?” Derek looked confused.
“Why did you arrive two days before the event was scheduled?”
“Oh, I see. Mother wanted to see the area. Didn’t I tell you all this before? She was planning on purchasing a home here and just wanted to get the lay of the land. I drove her around each day. She wanted to have a look at the town and the scenery and see if she still felt the same.”
“Your mother’s arrival must have generated some interest.”
“Yes, she’s very well known. But we were very private about her coming here before the book signing. She hadn’t had a moment’s peace since her book was released and she felt it important to get some quiet time.”
“I understand someone . . . a woman . . . tried to see your mother.”
Derek eyebrows rose. “What?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
Nate sighed. Was the man suffering memory loss? “A woman came to the Drake House asking to speak to your mother. Mrs. Drake called upstairs to let you know.”
“Oh, yes. That’s right,” Derek agreed.
“What was that about?”
“She was . . . just a fan. She was hoping to get a picture taken with mother and have her book signed.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I wasn’t about to disturb Mother. The woman must have seen the ads in the newspapers and took a chance that we were staying here. I told her she’d have to come to the book signing and Mother would be happy to autograph her book.”
“And did she?”
“Did she what?”
“Did she come to the book signing?” Nate repeated his question patiently.
“Oh. I can’t recall.” Derek stared into space. “At least if she did, I didn’t notice her. There were so many people there that night.”
“What was her name?”
“Her name?”
Nate sighed again. Why was the man repeating every question instead of answering? His patience was wearing thin.
“Yes, did she give you her name?”
“Oh. No. I don’t think I asked her for her name anyway.”
“And then what? What else did you do the day of the book signing?”
Derek rubbed his forehead. “Uh . . . well, we didn’t go for a drive that day. Sylvia slept late, I believe. We had a late lunch downstairs. Then I think Audra went over her notes about Mother’s upcoming schedule and then a little before six o’clock we went over to that restaurant for the event.”
“I see.” Nate scribbled in his notebook. “What else did you do that day?”
Derek shook his head. “Nothing, really. I chatted with Mother a bit. Did some reading. That’s about it.”
“Did anything out of the ordinary happen that day? Anything you recall that could be helpful.”
Derek mopped his forehead. “I can’t think of anything.”
Nate felt as if he were slogging through mud. “And that night, after the event. Several people heard your mother arguing with a man. Was that you?”
“Me?” Derek almost jumped out of the chair. “Oh, no. Mother and I never argued.”
“They heard voices around nine forty-five to ten o’clock and the maid swears she heard an argument closer to ten thirty. That wasn’t you?”
“No. I’ve already told you. I said good night to Mother and went straight to bed.”
“And what time was that?”
“Ten o’clock, I believe.”
“And you never heard any raised voices?”
“Certainly not. If I had, I would have investigated right away if I thought someone else was in Mother’s room.”
Nate sat silent, studying Derek Stone. If Derek had argued with Hilary Stone, he wasn’t going to admit it. Not right now at any rate.
Chapter 32
“THIS ALL FEELS very cloak-and-dagger, Barry. I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” Barry replied. They sat together on the park bench by the duck pond. Barry pulled a paper bag out of his pocket. Reaching in, he threw small hunks of bread onto the surface of the pond. Several ducks swam toward them as soon as the crumbs hit the water. At the far end, model boat enthusiasts stood at the edge cheering as they raced their sailboats in the breeze.
Hank had described to Barry the exact place they should sit and wait for him. Their bench was secluded from the road. Lucky checked her watch. “What time did Hank say he’d be here?”
“Three o’clock. He’s very prompt, I’m sure he’ll show up.” No sooner had the words been spoken than Lucky spotted a tall figure walking slowly around the edge of the pond, a baseball cap pulled low over his head. Hank sauntered over and sat as though completely unaware that two friends sat waiting for him.
“Lucky! What are you doing here?” He spoke without turning his head.
“I asked her to come,” Barry replied. “I wanted some help figuring out what’s going on. What the hell, Hank? You couldn’t tell me you were going out of town? You can’t tell me why or where you’re staying? I thought we were friends.”
“Of course we’re friends.” Hank touched the pocket of his shirt, then shook his head in confusion. He sighed. “My glasses. Can’t seem to find them.” Hank turned to them. “I didn’t think anything through. I was so upset, I had to get out of town. I wasn’t thinking. Then . . . when I heard the news about Hilary . . . after what happened, I didn’t want to come back. I was afraid Nate would think I had something to do with it.”
“Well, this is silly, Hank,” Lucky interjected. “I don’t think Nate really suspects you of anything, but your staying away looks very questionable. Tell us what’s going on.”
Hank took a shaky breath and rested his elbows on his knees. Hilary . . . Hilary Stone, or whatever she’s been calling herself, she’s my ex-wife.”
“We figured that out,” Barry replied.
Hank looked up in surprise. “How did you find out?”
“We went to your house,” Lucky answered. “We knew you weren’t there, but we were hoping to find a clue to tell us where you had gone, what happened. We found the wedding photo.” Lucky waited for a response from Hank, but he remained silent. “You were seen at the Drake House the night of the murder. People there heard an argument between her and some man. Hank, you’ve got to come back and tell Nate what happened.”
“You don’t think I’d do anything like that, do you? Murder my ex-wife?” Hank laughed mirthlessly. “Although to be honest, I’ve thought a lot about doing just that over the years. But believe me, I’m completely innocent.”
“Does this have anything to do with why she chose Snowflake as a place to buy a house?”
Hank nodded. “’Fraid so.” He took a deep breath. “I might as well tell you the whole story. At least the part I know about. Hilary was Hilary Means in those days. Hilary-Means-to-an-End. That’s what I used to call her after we split up.” Hank fell silent for several moments. “I was very much in love with her. She was a smart woman. We worked at the same newspaper in those days. We were married for a few years before I realized things were falling apart. Hilary didn’t think I was ambitious enough. She had her sights set on something higher up the food chain, at least as she perceived it. I was covering a story out of town, and when I came home, there was a note and all her things were gone. She had lined up her next guy . . . this publisher she’d been with all these years. I guess that’s who broke up our marriage.”
“Was she a journalist in those days too?” Lucky asked.
“Hilary? No. She was an assistant to the editor. She wasn’t a writer.”
“Well, she is now. She’s written a bestseller. She’s famous.”
Hank was silent for a moment, then turned to look at his friends. “Hilary never wrote a damn thing.”
“What do you mean?” Barry asked.
“Murder Comes Calling is my book. I wrote it.” Hank laughed bitterly. “Hilary had the foresight to take my only copy of the manuscript with her when she took off. I spent two years of my life writing that book and then I spent the next two years trying to get it published. I didn’t have any résumé as a fiction writer. I didn’t know anybody in that business. Couldn’t get anybody to publish it and the whol
e self-publishing thing hadn’t really started back in those days. At the time, I figured she had just taken everything out of pure meanness. I never figured . . .”
“That one day she’d claim it as her own?” Lucky asked. “But why now? That was years ago. Why did she wait so long?”
“I have no idea. Maybe she thought I’d be dead by now. Or maybe so much time had elapsed, she hoped I’d forgive her or at least not make a fuss. To be honest, I had kind of given up on my book. I lost heart after she left and I shredded all the drafts. I was so broken up then I just couldn’t get the wherewithal to tackle a project like that again. Plus, I was still working at the paper full-time and I just . . . well, I just kind of gave up on ever getting published. Then . . . well, you know the rest.”
“Oh, Hank, how terrible. How could she do that to you?”
Hank shook his head. “The woman is . . . was . . . completely amoral. I didn’t figure all that out at the time. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever met. I figured I was a lucky dog to find someone like her. I just couldn’t see what she was made of. You see, the way Hilary thinks is . . . anything’s fair for the taking. There were never any consequences for her. If she could better her situation in some way, no matter what was involved, no matter who got hurt, well, she’d just brush it off and figure it was her due. Was her due, at any rate. Looks like she stepped on the wrong person’s toes. Maybe she just got what was coming to her.”
“Well, if that’s the case, she must have figured you’d put it together, especially once the book came out.”
Hank laughed. “Hilary never thought too far ahead. I heard all about her husband, the big publishing mogul in New York. I’ll bet he had no idea the woman couldn’t string a sentence together. She figured she’d rest on her laurels, but her husband wants to make money and no doubt she’s been under pressure to produce another book.”
A Clue in the Stew Page 13
