by Emily James
Whatever the reason, the house was so adorable that I wanted to hug it.
“Have you told them yet that you’re staying?”
I hopped out of the truck. “What?”
“Your parents.”
“Oh. No.” I hurried ahead of him so that he wouldn’t press more. I didn’t want to talk about my parents right now. “How’d you find out?”
He unlocked the door and gave me that crooked smile that showed off his dimples. “Small town. Nothing stays secret for very long around here.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Inside the house, I kicked off my shoes in the spot where he pointed and instantly wanted to put them back on. I’d forgotten which socks I’d chosen to wear today. The socks themselves were gray, but they were covered in tiny black monkeys wearing purple bow ties.
I’d always chafed at the “boring” clothes my mom forced me to wear when I was a child and at the professional attire I had to wear once I entered law school. My quirky socks were my silent rebellion against it. No one ever saw my socks, so it hadn’t seemed like a problem. When I got dressed today, I hadn’t counted on what must be a Northern custom of taking off your shoes indoors, and I hadn’t minded Fay seeing my monkey socks earlier.
For a second I thought I caught Mark smirking. He turned away and headed over to the couch in the adjoining living room. I trailed after him, but not before noticing that there weren’t any ladies’ shoes in the entrance way other than mine. Was he married but separated?
The pictures lining the fireplace mantel told a different story. A younger Mark, without gray in his hair, in a tux, kissing a slender blonde in a wedding gown. Mark and the same blonde on horseback, somewhere near mountains.
Mark and a pregnant blonde in a park with a dog that looked at least half lab. His hand was on her belly and the proud grin on his face punctured my heart.
He wasn’t just married. He was a father. So where were they?
I lifted the photo with the dog as casually as I could. “Your wife?”
“Yeah.”
Was that a flinch?
He stepped backward. “I’ve got a laptop and a tablet in the other room that we can use to run searches on these names. I’ll grab them and be right back. If you want anything to drink, help yourself.”
Whatever the situation, he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. I grabbed two sodas from the fridge and settled onto the couch.
When Mark came back, he quickly focused the conversation onto how to divide up the names. Two hours and a delivered pizza later, he held up his tablet.
“I found one that lives in Virginia,” he said, “assuming it’s the same guy. I think it must be. I can’t imagine too many men are named Edgar Poe.”
“Not unless their parents wanted them to be taunted as a child.”
“Or unless it was an alias.”
I hadn’t considered that the man might have left a false name in the guest book. Fingers crossed that wasn’t the case. I pulled out my cell phone. “What’s the number?”
Mark read it off and I dialed. Then he moved in close so that his ear was almost next to mine. My breath caught.
“Edgar Poe,” a voice on the other end of the line said.
“Are you—” My voice cracked and I steadied it. “Are you the Mr. Edgar Poe who recently visited Stan Dawes?”
“I am. Who is this?”
He’d admitted it so easily that my instincts said he’d had nothing to do with Uncle Stan’s death. Either that or he was a practiced liar who knew the best lies were doppelgangers of the truth.
I’d already thought up what tactic I was going to use this time, but I was going to stick as closely to the truth as possible as well. I’d learned my lesson from making up crazy stories on the fly.
“I’m Nicole Fitzhenry.” My dad would be mortified that I’d dropped the Dawes even temporarily, but I thought it was best if Edgar didn’t realize right away that Stan was my uncle. “I’m taking care of a few things for Dr. Dawes, and your name and phone number were on his to-do list. I’m just following up.”
“That’s really good of him.” Edgar’s voice sounded happy. Not at all the way I’d expect someone with a guilty conscience to sound. “My dad’s actually supposed to be able to come home next week, and Dr. Khaw is optimistic about his chances. Could you tell Dr. Dawes how much my family appreciated the favor he called in for us? I’m sure Dad would be dead now if it wasn’t for his help. And…”
I let the silence stretch.
“And…” Edgar cleared his throat. “Could you tell him I’m sorry for blowing up at him the way I did? It wasn’t right of me. He’s retired and he didn’t owe my dad anything even though he was his doctor the first time his heart gave out. Do you think I should send a card or something?”
“That’s okay,” I said softly. “I’ll make sure he knows.”
“Thanks.” Edgar’s exhale came clearly through the phone. “I appreciate it.”
We disconnected the call.
Mark leaned back on the couch.
I flopped back beside him. “I don’t think he’s our guy.”
“Nope,” Mark said. “Sounds like whatever beef he had with Stan got resolved pretty quick.”
Which meant I was back to where I started, without any suspects. Tomorrow I’d continue searching through Uncle Stan’s papers and other files and see if anything turned up.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Mark asked. “Or a cup of coffee?”
I stifled a yawn and clamped the guest book closed with a thump. I glanced at my watch. It wasn’t exactly late, but I was emotionally drained. “Thanks, but I ought to get this thing back.”
Mark went for his keys, and we were back in the parking lot of The Sunburnt Arms within a few minutes.
“Thanks again for your help today.” I pushed open the truck door. “I forgot to ask. Why were you at The Sunburnt Arms this afternoon anyway?”
Mark scrubbed a hand over the fresh stubble on his face. He looked as drained as I felt. “Since I heard you were planning to stay, I was going to offer you a tour of Fair Haven. But then today turned out a little differently then I’d planned.” He grinned. “Maybe tomorrow we could grab a non-pizza dinner and I’ll show you around?”
I missed the truck’s running board, hit the ground hard, and stumbled forward. I was no Bachelorette, but that sounded an awful lot like a date.
Chapter Ten
Monday morning I was sitting in Uncle Stan’s living room, surrounded by my mountainous Keep and Trash piles and the boxes of papers I still needed to sort through, when my cell phone rang. The caller ID flashed Mom.
Since my original departure date was supposed to be tomorrow morning, I really needed to answer and break the news to her. But the timing was terrible. When I closed my eyes, I could still see the confusion on Mark’s face as I turned down his invitation. I didn’t need to disappoint another person so soon.
Telling Mark that I’d already agreed to let Fay show me around and that I’d planned to have dinner with Russ tonight had softened it some, but it was only a matter of time. I didn’t need any more complication in my life, and his martial situation—whatever it was—screamed complication in five languages. He was still wearing his wedding ring, for Pete’s sake. What did he expect? If he and his wife were separated and he still loved her enough to keep wearing his ring, I wasn’t about to become the rebound or time-killer that filled the gap until they got back together.
The phone rang the final time before it would switch to voice mail.
I swiped my finger across the answer key. “Hi Mom.”
“Could you come into the office as soon as you get in tomorrow instead of waiting until Wednesday morning?”
No How was the funeral? No How are you handling it all? Just a How soon can you get back to work?
“What’s going on?” I asked, dodging her question for the moment.
She let out a dramatic sigh. “Evelyn’s doctor put her on bed rest
until the baby’s born. We haven’t had time yet to even interview for a replacement, and now we’re short-handed two months ahead of schedule.”
Few things in life were more annoying to my mother than someone disrupting her schedule.
This did not bode well for my news. I had to think of this like tearing off a Band-Aid. It was going to hurt either way. I might as well make it quick. “I’m not going to be back tomorrow night as planned.”
Dead silence. I glanced at the phone to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. “Mom?”
“What do you mean you won’t be back tomorrow? When will you be back?”
“I won’t be coming back permanently. Uncle Stan left me his business here.”
“Nicole Elizabeth.”
Oh, crap. She’d pulled out the middle name.
“This is not what we do.” I could imagine the look on her face. The one that made even judges tremble. “Your uncle had an illness and it affected his judgment, but you can’t possibly be considering giving up the potential of a successful legal career to chase chickens, or whatever it is he raised there, around a farmyard.”
I bet her lip curled on that last word.
The sign I’d seen multiple times while driving up here popped into my head. “Farmers feed cities, Mom.”
The silence again.
Arg. Giving her lip wasn’t going to make this better. “It’s not that kind of farm anyway. He made maple syrup.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better about my daughter throwing away her career, her life?”
The teenage comeback of It’s my life floated to the tip of my tongue. I swallowed it down. It formed into a lump in my stomach. Was this simply some delayed rebellious phase that I’d regret later?
“I’m not giving up on being a lawyer.” At least not yet. “Think of this more like a sabbatical while I figure out what I want to do with my life.”
“What you want to do with your life.” She said it in the same tone of voice as someone else might say Join a cult or Become a nudist. “I told your father we shouldn’t have let you go alone.”
I recoiled from the phone. She made it sound like I was still an impressionable child who couldn’t make good decisions and needed to be monitored all the time. “I’ll let you know when I’ll be back to pick up my things.”
“Nicole, wait.” Her voice softened. “It’s halfway across the country away from us and from your friends. Are you sure about this?”
No. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Call me regularly to let me know you’re alright. I’ll miss you.”
An unexpected lump formed in my throat. I always knew my parents loved me, but my mom had never been the nurturing type. When I’d scrape my knee as a kid, instead of cuddling away my tears, she’d ask Now what can we learn from this? “I’ll miss you too.”
“And don’t expect me to like what you’re doing or to stop trying to convince you to come back here where you belong.”
Now that sounded more like my mom. “Understood.”
“I’ve got to go. Apparently, I have to hire two temporary replacements.”
She disconnected the call before I could say anything else. At least that was one unpleasant task over with. Soon the dirty laundry Uncle Stan left behind would be done in the washing machine as well.
That’s something no one ever seems to talk about. What do you do about the deceased person’s dirty laundry and toiletries? Where did you dispose of their medications? What about the private knickknacks and other items that meant something to them but nothing to you? It felt wrong to toss it all into the trash or give it away.
I blew out a puff of air, pulled the next banker’s box toward me, and flipped off the lid. The words on the side read BUSINESS PAPERS in Uncle Stan’s clear, boxy print. His handwriting had always been too neat for a doctor’s.
The folders inside the box held employee contracts and ownership papers. I assumed all the rest of the receipts and records would be kept in Russ’ office, wherever that was, since he was the manager.
I opened the last folder to make sure I wasn’t missing anything that would need my prompt attention or would lead to a clue. It wasn’t labeled, but that didn’t mean that what was inside didn’t matter. After yesterday’s phone call crossed my only suspect off the list, I’d decided that I wouldn’t assume anything about Uncle Stan’s papers. I’d examine each one closely just in case. It was either that or admit that Chief Wilson was right and Uncle Stan’s case was a dead end.
I scanned the papers. It was a business partnership agreement between Uncle Stan and Russ, but the papers weren’t signed. Neither Russ nor Tom McClanahan had said anything about it.
This must be why Russ acted so strangely when he learned that I’d inherited the business from Uncle Stan. If they’d been in the middle of negotiating a partnership, he’d probably hoped Uncle Stan would have left him the business in his will.
Guilt fluttered in my stomach. I needed to talk to Russ. It wasn’t fair that I swooped in, knowing nothing about the business, and took it over. Maybe we could still come to some agreement, assuming he’d want to partner with me.
I scooped up the papers along with my purse and phone and left the house. Russ mentioned yesterday that he lived on the grounds, pointing at a trail that led off behind the store. It was almost time for our dinner anyway, and it wouldn’t take me too long to walk there. By now I was used to walking everywhere, though thankfully I should have my car back by tomorrow.
The sun hung low in the sky, stretching emaciated fingers of light over the trees and making it seem like the shadows were reaching out to snatch at me. Shiver spiders crawled across my skin.
I broke into a jog. Why were there no streetlights out here? How did they expect people to function after sunset without streetlights? Who knew what kind of creatures lived in the woods?
I turned the corner, spotted Russ’s house, and sprinted for it. I banged on the door.
It opened and Russ stood in the doorway, backlit. “Nikki? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” My gasping breaths put the lie into my words. “I guess I got a little freaked out by how little light there is here once the sun starts to go down.”
Russ chuckled and stepped out of the way. “Why don’t you come in then? Supper’s just about ready.”
His house smelled like beef, chili peppers, and paprika. My stomach rumbled.
I left my shoes by the door. My smiley face socks were at least a little less embarrassing than the monkey socks I’d been wearing yesterday, and I cared a lot less about Russ seeing my silly socks than Mark. Russ was old enough to be my father.
Russ came out of the kitchen with his arms full. “Supper will be a few minutes still. I didn’t remember to ask what you’d like to drink so I grabbed one of everything that I had in my fridge.”
One of everything turned out to be a bottle of spring water, a can of some sort of generic diet soda, an orange juice box, and a bottle of Beaver Tail beer. It must be a local favorite.
I twisted the cap off the water. “I found a contract while I was going through Uncle Stan’s papers that I wanted to ask you about.”
I slid the business partnership papers across the table.
Russ glanced at them and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was wondering if you’d eventually come across those.”
“Why didn’t you tell me right away? I feel like a jerk for talking about all my big plans of learning the business when you’d planned for this to be your business, yours and Uncle Stan’s.”
Russ pushed the papers back toward me with two fingers. “Did you look at the date?”
I hadn’t. I snuck a peek. The agreement had originally been drafted six weeks ago, plenty of time for them to have finalized it all before Uncle Stan’s death. “So his death wasn’t what stopped the process.”
“No,” Russ said. “It wasn’t.”
He didn’t offer any more. The lawyer part of my brain said I needed to probe further. That there wa
s information here that could speak to Uncle Stan’s death.
But I didn’t believe for a second that Russ would have killed my uncle. They’d been best friends. Almost business partners. And Mark had vouched for him.
Don’t be naïve, Nicole, the lawyerly part of my brain said. You know anyone can be a killer given the right circumstances. And people lie all the time.
True. Mark hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about a lot of things. Well, one thing. But it was one very important thing if he wanted to do date-like activities and confuse me about his intensions.
I licked my dry lips. “Do you mind telling me why?”
Russ jabbed the straw into the juice box and slurped out some juice. It was a weird sight. The box vanished inside his meaty fist. “I’d rather not, but I also don’t want you thinking I had a reason to kill Stan. I know you haven’t stopped digging.”
Oops. I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Am I that easy to read?”
Russ shook his head. “It’s a small town, remember. Word gets around.”
Mark had said almost the same thing. I’d have to keep that in mind. Maybe it was my city-girl mentality, but I liked at least some parts of my private business to stay private. “So why didn’t you finalize the partnership?”
“I was involved in something your uncle didn’t approve of.” Russ sucked the last of the juice from the juice box and crushed it. “Nothing illegal or anything like that, but we had a blow-up over it. We couldn’t finish the agreement because we weren’t even talking when he died.”
Holy cheese and rice. I chugged some of my water to help hide my face. He might have said I wasn’t easy to read, but right now my emotions were probably splattering everywhere.
Russ claimed he’d told me because he didn’t want me thinking he’d had anything to do with Uncle Stan’s death, but it sounded an awful lot like he had a motive.
Russ sighed and I choked on a bit of water. He waited until I stopped hacking.
“This time you were easy to read,” he said.
Yup, I’d figured as much. “It doesn’t sound the greatest admitting to having an argument that serious with someone shortly before they were murdered.”
