by Amanda Lee
“Yes. Although right now, she’s on location in New York.”
“Does she know Sean Connery?” Sylvia asked. “I think he’s marvelous.”
“How about Bob Hope?” Mrs. Trelawney asked.
“He’s dead,” Sylvia said.
“Jack Parr?” Mrs. Trelawney asked.
“Dead.”
“George Burns?”
“Dead,” Sylvia said. “They’re all dead.”
To end the Hollywood obituary, I said, “I’ll speak with Chief Myers to see if he has any new developments in the case.” I patted Mrs. Trelawney’s arm. “I know everyone in Tallulah Falls wants you to come home as soon as possible.”
“And God knows I want that, too,” Sylvia muttered.
When I got home, everyone and his mother—actually, it was everyone and my mother—had left a message on my answering machine, wondering where I was. I always turn off my cell phone when I’m driving. Otherwise, it’s too much of a distraction for me.
Besides Mom, there were messages from Sadie, Todd, Ted Nash, and Reggie. I called Mom first. I didn’t think there would be any surprises coming from her.
“How are you, love?” she asked. “It appears I’ll be wrapping up here in a couple weeks. Maybe then I can pay you a visit.”
“That would be terrific. I’d love to have you pay us a visit, and I know Angus would eat it up.” Literally. Mom is constantly giving him little treats when she’s around.
“What else is going on in your little world?” she asked.
“Sadie and I had an argument.”
“Don’t tell me she’s borrowing your jewelry without asking,” Mom said with a giggle. “That’s what the two of you were always fighting about in college.”
“I know, and it still bugs me that she did that. It only goes to show how inconsiderate she is.”
“Whoa, now. I didn’t intend to bring up past indiscretions. What’s going on between the two of you?”
“She set me up with a guy even though she thinks he’s still pining over his old girlfriend.”
“How old?” Mom asked. “Are we talking days, weeks, months, or years?”
“Three years.”
“Has he mentioned this woman to you?”
“Only when I brought up her name. At that point, I didn’t know they’d ever dated.”
“Ah,” Mom said. “And what did he say about her?”
“Um . . . I think he told me she was fair.”
“Fair as in beautiful, or fair as in just?”
I laughed. “Just, Mom. Who describes pretty women as fair anymore?”
“You’d be surprised. Did he tell you they’d dated?”
“No.”
“Did he go on and on about how great she is?”
“No.”
“Did he say something along the lines of, ‘She’s a selfish hag, but I have to admit she’s fair’?”
“No, Mom, he didn’t say anything like that. All he said was that she was tough but fair.”
“Then he’s over her.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Positive. What I’m not sure about is whether you’re still pining for David.”
“I’m not, Mom. I’m completely over him. . . . You haven’t seen him or anything lately, have you?”
“No. Have you heard from him?”
“No. I wonder if he even knows I’ve moved.”
“He knows. Too many of your friends know for him not to be aware of it. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Absolutely. Hurry and wrap that shoot up, will you?”
“As quickly as I can, love. As quickly as I can.”
After talking with Mom, I felt better about talking with everyone else . . . except maybe Reggie and Detective Nash. I could never be sure of why those two might be calling. And Todd. I wasn’t really ready to talk with him, either. He might be over Riley, but I had to wonder if he was helping Blake cover up something about Four Square Development . . . or vice versa.
So, in reality, the only other person I felt halfway ready to talk with was Sadie. I dialed her number and was greeted with, “Marce, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
“I went to Portland to visit Mrs. Trelawney. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that I came to see you at three thirty this afternoon and saw that you’d closed the shop. I thought maybe you’d caught my stomach bug and gone home. When I called and couldn’t reach you at home, Blake and Todd went out looking for you.”
“Even if you guys thought I had a stomach bug, wouldn’t it make sense that I might’ve gone to the doctor?” I asked. “I mean, I am a grown woman.”
“I know that, Marcy. But with all the crazy stuff that’s been going on, I was worried. Excuse me.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s just that we hadn’t spoken since Tuesday, and I . . . I didn’t think to leave word with anyone that I’d gone to Portland.”
“How is Mrs. Trelawney?” Sadie asked.
“She’s all right. She and Sylvia are driving each other bonkers.”
“Did she say when she’d be coming home?”
“No. She and Sylvia asked whether or not it was safe for her to come home, and I said I didn’t think it was yet.”
“You don’t?” Sadie asked. “Why not?”
“I think there’s someone still out there who believes Mrs. Trelawney knows too much about Four Square Development. And it’s like Ted Nash once told me: This person has already killed to protect his secret twice—well, once if you believe Timothy Enright’s death was an accident. Oh, and hey, guess what?”
“What?”
I told her about seeing John Langhorne in the burger restaurant in Portland and how I’d tried in vain to put it all together until Mrs. Trelawney said she hadn’t realized John had a first wife. We had a good laugh over that.
“I thought he was doing well to get Vera,” Sadie said. “Much less anyone else. What did this first wife look like?”
“She was really attractive. And the boys were good-looking, too.”
“Hmm. Maybe Mr. Langhorne was handsome when he was young,” Sadie said. “Before the pressures of banking got to him.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
We both dissolved into another laughing fit. It was good to have things back to normal between Sadie and me. I hate it when we fight.
After speaking with Sadie, I felt like working on the MacKenzies’ Mochas logo project I’d neglected while she and I were on the outs. I decided to turn in early, work on the project while propped up against the headboard of my bed, and talk with everyone else tomorrow. Stitching and listening to a calming playlist on my MP3 player was sure to relax me and ensure a good night’s rest.
Chapter Twenty
I was overly tired Saturday night and fell asleep before ten p.m. while sitting on the sofa in front of the television. I was watching a detective show; but I fell asleep so quickly, I never even really got the gist of what it was about.
I woke up about eleven o’clock. The detective show had gone off, but a true-crime show was running. I couldn’t quite break through my lethargy long enough to get up and drag myself to bed, so I watched the show.
An elderly woman had killed her husband by giving him alcohol sponge baths to reduce his fever. The show was trying to determine whether his death had been accidental or intentional.
A coroner came on screen. “Doctors once prescribed these sponge baths for patients to reduce fever. However, it was discovered that isopropyl—or rubbing alcohol—absorbs through the skin and suppresses the central nervous system.”
A narrator explained that isopropyl is twice as deadly as ethyl alcohol, the alcohol found in alcoholic beverages, while a couple reenacted the sponge bath.
The show returned to the coroner. “An overdose of isopropyl can cause hemorrhaging in the trachea and bronchial tubes,” he said gravely. “And our victim’s autopsy showed that to be the case in his death.”
I retrieved my wallet and took
out Ted Nash’s business card. He’d written his home number on the back. I snatched up the cordless phone and dialed the home number.
“Nash,” he said.
“Ted, it’s Marcy.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know. I’ve . . . I’m seeing something on television about isopropyl, and I’m wondering whether Timothy Enright’s autopsy report showed signs of hemorrhaging in the trachea or bronchial tubes.”
“I don’t remember. But I’ll look first thing in the morning and see,” he said. “Are you sure everything is all right?”
“Yeah. I just . . . I don’t know. I have a weird feeling. I’m probably wrong, but . . . check that out, would you?”
“I will. And I’ll call or drop by and let you know as soon as I find out.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“You want to share this theory?” he asked.
“Not yet. It’s too far-fetched.” I laughed softly. “I’m really good at far-fetched.”
“Sometimes far-fetched isn’t.”
“Tomorrow,” I said. “After you find out what the autopsy report says, we’ll talk about it.”
“You got it. Get some sleep.”
That would be easier said than done. The true-crime show had me thinking about how someone could have made Timothy Enright inhale, ingest, or absorb enough isopropyl through his skin to kill him.
After talking with Detective Nash, I went upstairs and changed into my pajamas. Angus stayed downstairs for the time being, but I knew he’d be up after the living room got cooler from the gas logs being turned off.
I lay in bed and thought about Timothy Enright. Who would want him dead? Four Square Development’s fifth partner would. Lorraine was a possibility, if she was lying about the fact that her husband was trying to make enough money for the two of them to start anew somewhere else. By all accounts, Timothy cared deeply for his wife; but arguably, he could’ve become tired of her manipulations.
Since that’s all I knew about Mr. Enright, I turned my attention to Mr. Trelawney. Who would want the poor old landlord dead?
Once again, by all accounts, Bill Trelawney had been heavily involved with Four Square Development. But Mr. Trelawney had escaped discovery during the audit that put the other four principals in prison. Why hadn’t they ratted him out?
It was shortly after coming to the shop and looking at the message Timothy Enright had etched into the wall that Mr. Trelawney was found shot to death in his car. Had that been a coincidence, or had he hurried to alert Four Square Development’s fifth partner, who had also previously escaped detection?
If the fifth partner had killed Bill Trelawney, then what was his motivation? Mr. Trelawney had apparently been the only person entrusted with the fifth partner’s identity, so why turn on him now? Was it that Mr. Trelawney realized the fifth partner had killed Timothy Enright? Maybe Mr. Trelawney was willing to put up with real estate fraud, but not murder.
I couldn’t think of anyone else who might want Mr. Trelawney dead. A crazed renter with a leaky faucet? But even that was a stretch.
Still, I’d been stretching my imagination like crazy lately. After seeing Mr. Langhorne in Portland, I’d deduced he was living a double life rather than that he’d been in a previous marriage. And, in my mind, I was accusing Blake of making frightening phone calls to me and breaking into the Trelawney house. There’s no way Blake would do that. Would he? I mean, he readily admitted to Manu that he’d allowed Mr. Trelawney to use his financial information, and he hadn’t gotten into trouble. Everything was fine. Whatever Blake did in the past was in the past.
I needed some sleep. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I’d think about it tomorrow.
I was dreaming I was in a classroom. I was getting ready to take a test when the bell started ringing. In fact, the bell was getting on my nerves, badly. I was searching for a way to turn it off when I awoke and realized it wasn’t a school bell but the telephone ringing.
I clumsily took the phone out of its holder and pressed the Talk button. “Hello.”
“Marcy? Marcy, it’s Vera Langhorne. Something terrible has happened. John has been in a car accident.” She was sobbing.
“Calm down,” I said, pushing myself up in bed. “How bad is it?”
“The California Highway Patrol told me he’s in intensive care. I’m going to the hospital now. I wanted someone to know.”
“Is someone driving you?”
“N-no. I’ll make it all right.”
I thought it was odd that it was me she reached out to, but she really seemed in desperate need of help. “Let me get up and get dressed, and I’ll be right over,” I said. “I can drive you to California.”
“Really? Are . . . are you sure?”
“Positive. You’re in no condition to drive.”
“Thank you, dear.”
I set the phone back in its charger and threw back the covers. Angus groaned.
“Me, too, buddy. I was hoping to sleep in. But this is important, and Vera would do the same for me.”
I schlepped to the shower and quickly bathed and washed my hair. I dried my hair as soon as I got out of the shower and returned to the bedroom to throw on a blue track suit with a white V-neck T-shirt underneath. I had a long drive ahead of me, and I decided I might as well be comfortable.
I hurried downstairs, fed Angus, and let him out into the backyard. The sky was still dark, partly because it was early and partly because there was a major storm heading our way.
I sighed, grabbed a granola bar, and headed for Vera’s house. Before backing out of the driveway, I called MacKenzies’ Mochas and left a voice-mail message.
“Hi, it’s Marcy. It was too early to call you guys at home, but I’m taking Vera Langhorne to California. The highway patrol called and told her John has been in an accident. Anyway, would you please check on Angus? He’s in the backyard, and it looks like it’s going to storm. He hates storms. I’ll call you back when I know more about Mr. Langhorne. Thanks!”
I dropped the phone into my purse and drove to the Langhornes’ house. The porch light was on, but otherwise, the entire neighborhood was dark. I envied those people still asleep, and immediately felt guilty for the thought.
I parked in the driveway beside Vera’s BMW. As I walked to the door, I thought about how strange this all felt. Tallulah Falls seemed like such a close-knit community. And yet the newest person in town was the one who two people had both turned to. Why was that? I understood that neither Vera nor Mrs. Trelawney had children, but one would think they’d lived in Tallulah Falls long enough to have made friends closer than me. Was it that Tallulah Falls wasn’t such a close-knit community after all? Had the recent criminal activity caused the people to shut themselves off from one another and become afraid to trust?
I rang the doorbell. Vera opened the door so quickly, I wondered if she’d been standing there waiting on me since she had first called.
“Come in quickly,” she said, moving aside just enough to allow me entrance.
I noticed she was trembling. “Vera, it’ll be okay.”
She shut the door and turned off the porch light before turning back to me with wide, frightened eyes. “No, it won’t.”
John Langhorne stepped from the hallway into the room. He was holding a gun. I had a sick feeling it was a .38 caliber . . . probably the same one used to kill Bill Trelawney.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Marcy,” Mr. Langhorne said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t bad enough for you to poke your nose into my business dealings, but then you had to follow me to Portland.”
“I didn’t follow you anywhere,” I said. “I went to Portland to visit Margaret Trelawney.”
“Still, it was bad luck for you to run into me, Emma, and the boys. When I got home, Vera said she hadn’t talked with you, but I knew it would be only a matter of time.”
So my worst suspicions were true—it wasn’t my overactive imagination. But I tried to play the inno
cent. “So what if you were having lunch with your ex-wife and sons,” I said. “That’s no big deal. Right?”
“She’s my current wife,” Mr. Langhorne said.
I looked at Vera, who had tears rolling down her face. She’d had a rough night.
“Whatever it is you plan to do,” I said, “leave Vera out of it. You’ve put her through enough.”
“How very noble. But she’s already into it. Too late to leave her out now.” He shook his head again. “I gave you every opportunity to be left out of it, as well, but you just kept on stirring up hornets’ nests.”
“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about your business life or your personal life. I just want to take Vera with me and go home.”
“Please, John,” Vera said. “Just let us leave. We’ll never tell anyone anything, and I’ll never ask anything of you.”
“And what will the fine residents of Tallulah Falls say when they see that we’ve separated, Vera? They’ll say, ‘Why did you two split up? You had such a wonderful marriage. You’d been together for so long.’ And you won’t be able to lie.”
“I will. I will, John. I swear.”
“I’ll help her,” I said. “We’ll say the two of you simply grew apart. You could leave here and go to your family in Portland.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked. “They’d drive me insane if I had to live with them all the time.”
Too late, I thought.
“Then start somewhere fresh,” I said.
“I can’t do that, Marcy. My life is here. I’ve built up a successful business in Tallulah Falls. I’m on the city council. I’m important in this community. A man simply doesn’t throw all that away on a whim.” He waved the gun. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“California. You’re taking Vera to a hospital there, remember?”
I frowned and looked at Vera. She shook her head wearily.
“I don’t understand. I—”
“Just go. You’re driving. We’re all going to hurry outside and get into your vehicle. Vera, make sure there’s no one out there.”
Vera opened the door and peered outside. “I don’t see anyone.”
