The Glass House

by Nancy Lynn Jarvis

  Her calls had been productive to a degree. She had tracked down the woman named Jean who Jonsey Meyers referenced, but for her needs, Jean was as much of a bust as Jonsey had been. Jean said that she remembered some elbow poking she and Jonsey had done about a “thing” between Lillian Wentner and Garryn Monteith. She had nothing to add about Joe’s awareness of it, though. Joe, it seemed, had only impressed her with his cooking.

  Pat did get a few other hits in later classes, but most women were so involved in their work and in admiring the entertaining antics of Garryn Monteith, that they hadn’t paid much attention to Lillian Wentner, let alone to her husband, Joe.

  Those who did speculate about Lillian and Garryn also remembered there being a rumor about them, a rumor that most said was what started them paying attention to the couple. A few attributed the rumor to Suzanne Cummings, just as Jonsey Meyers had.

  Sybil Kreiger, from the first class in the fifth year of Garryn’s courses, had more to say, however. Her information might be useful should Mark go for defense number two.

  She still had the most recent attendees to call tomorrow; fingers crossed one of them would have something useful to add. And then there was Suzanne Cummings. Somehow, she was going to have to do a follow-up with her.

  Pat was finishing her wine when Syda called.

  “So, what’s the news on your love life?”

  Pat turned bright pink. Tim was so clear that they shouldn’t say anything about their date to Syda or Greg. Had he? Was it a slip or intentional?

  “What love life?” Pat asked, trying to keep her voice as level as she could.

  “Has Mark Bellows asked you out yet?”

  Pat inhaled deeply and blew out slowly with her cheeks puffed out to muffle the sound. Syda didn’t know about her Saturday night with Tim.

  “Not yet,” she lied. “He did fire me, though.”

  “He did what?” Syda blasted.

  Pat laughed heartily. As she had hoped, she had put Syda off the hunt. She quickly filled her best friend in on the whole story of her dismissal and the backhanded directions Mark had given her about continuing her investigation.

  “After I left Mark’s office, I spent the rest of the day calling most of the Glass House attendees again pursuing a different angle. I’m beat.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me to help you?” Syda sounded mildly hurt.

  “I didn’t want to make you do calling again.”

  “Friends don’t keep tantalizing inquiries from friends. I’ll forgive you for your oversight if you’ll tell me any good stuff that you found out.”

  Pat told Syda about the infidelity rumors and that it appeared Suzanne Cummings was the source of them. Syda oohed and aahed.

  “The worst, or best, bit of information I picked up, depending on what Mark might make of it, came from a woman named Sybil Kreiger,” Pat continued. “Sybil had taken a class three and a half years ago and said she was sure Lillian Wentner and Garryn Monteith were, as she said in a classic Boston Brahmin accent, ‘carrying on.’ She said she talked to Joe about it, too, and that his reaction was ‘Oh, that.’”

  “So Joe knew?” Syda exclaimed.

  “It sure sounds like he did. She said she remembered the details clearly because Joe’s reaction wouldn’t have been hers if she discovered her husband was fooling around.”

  “Right on. Greg would be in so much trouble if I ever found out he was cheating.”

  “There’s always the possibility that what Sybil Kreiger told him was new information and that he didn’t want to react in front of her. But even if that were true and even if he went ballistic with Lillian in private later, Sybil Kreiger’s statement means Joe knew about Lillian and Garryn for a long time—at least three years and many more classes—and did nothing.”

  “Shuww,” Syda whistled. “I never would have thought that Lillian could have such a secret life, but I guess, even though I’ve known her for a long time, what with both of us artists, I never really knew her. You know what I mean?”

  Pat turned pink again. She was keeping a secret from Syda. It didn’t rise to what Lillian was concealing, but it made her aware that even best friends could—would—sometimes hide important parts of their lives from one another.

  Pat moved on quickly; she didn’t want to think about keeping secrets. “Sybil Kreiger said she would be fine with testifying to what she told me if I could get her travel expenses from Boston paid. She sounded calm, clear-headed, and like a reliable witness over the phone. Most importantly, her information was firsthand, not hearsay.”

  “What do you think it means that Suzanne Cummings was spreading rumors?”

  “I’m not sure, yet. I still have calls to make tomorrow. You might get called on to help after all, too. You may need to talk to Suzanne again because I’m sure she won’t speak to me, and I probably wouldn’t be civil to her even if she did agree to answer my questions.”

  “Not again. Last time we tried double teaming her, your car suffered and we weren’t too happy with one another for a while.”

  “Which is why I’m still hoping to spare you. It may all come down to whether or not Tim…Officer Lindsey,” Pat stammered, “does some of our work for us. We talked. He agreed to conduct his own investigation of Suzanne Cummings. As long as he’s working on finding out more about her, I don’t think we should get in his way.”

  “You talked to Tim again?” Pat could hear the happiness in Syda’s voice. “And? Do you want me to arrange dinner for you two with Greg and me? It will be a little more complicated now that vacations are over and they aren’t partnering any more, but I’m sure I can still manage.”

  “Thanks, Syda, but please let it go for now. I have more work to do and a lot of thinking to do about what I’m discovering. I’m too preoccupied to be good company at the moment.”

  Tim called almost immediately after Pat’s call with Syda ended. “How do you feel about fish tacos?” he asked.

  “First you ask how I feel about Frank Sinatra, and now you want to know how I feel about fish tacos?” she giggled. “Don’t you ever start with, ‘How do you feel about me, Pat? Would you like to go out with me?’”

  “Way too scary. You might not agree to going out with me, but if I invite you to hear Old Blue Eyes or eat fish tacos…well, everybody likes them. I figure the odds are pretty good you’ll say yes.”

  “Don’t be afraid,” Pat said coyly. “Ask me straight up how I feel about going out with you.”

  “Okay. How do you feel about a second date with me? You can’t see me because we’re on the phone, but I’m cowering waiting for your answer.”

  “I like Frank Sinatra and fish tacos, too, but that’s irrelevant. I like you, Tim. I’d like to go out with you again.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he sighed in feigned relief, “because I like you, and I had a great time on Saturday. So, I’ll pick you up around 7:00 tomorrow night and we’ll head up to the Davenport Road House for Tuesday night fish tacos and music.”

  Pat had already decided she wouldn’t contact Mark with any updates until she received payment for her services, although she badly wanted to hear what he thought of her new discoveries. But after talking to Tim, she didn’t give Mark a second thought for the rest of the night.

  Eleven to go. Pat steeled herself to call her classmates. At least she wasn’t bothering them for a second time, since she and Syda skipped them when they made their Suzanne Cummings calls. And then there was Suzanne Cummings. Pat had written her name in all caps at the top of her list. Seeing Suzanne’s name was a repeated cause of anxiety, but with any luck, the call to her could be put off for at least a few more days.

  Her questions were friendly—chatty—in the beginning, using their shared trauma of seeing Garryn Monteith die as a conversation starter. It was easy to work asking what they thought about Joe into the discussion—and also asking whether or not they heard rumors about Lillian and Garryn being a couple—without it seeming like either question was the point
of her interview.

  With a couple of exceptions, the conversations usually ended in the same place: Joe was a sweet man and a great cook, and they were embarrassed to admit it, but there were rumors, not that they believed them.

  Pat tiptoed into asking who told them about Lillian and Garryn, expecting to hear the name Suzanne Cummings, but none of them mentioned her. One woman said she heard it from Patty Osgood, another from Regina Goodman, but all the others named Kandi Crusher as their source.

  That tidbit was unsettling. Yes, it was possible Kandi shared the Same Time Next Year story with others as she had with her, but something didn’t feel right about Kandi spreading rumors. She said she planned to humiliate Garryn Monteith, but a rumor like that damaged Lillian’s reputation, too. Why would she do it? Why embarrass Lillian? Most importantly, why hadn’t she mentioned that she was sharing tales that might give classmates ideas about Lillian and Garryn? It seemed like Kandi had grander plans than she let on.

  Pat didn’t have much time to think about Kandi’s motive because the last call she made blew every other thought out of her mind.

  Roberta Grumm lived in Carmel and hadn’t been to any prior Glass House courses. Background information ready, Pat dialed her number.

  “Hi, Roberta, it’s Pat Pirard from the class at the Wentner…”

  “Oh, my God,” Roberta pounced, “isn’t it awful what happened to Garryn? Our Carmel paper only comes out once a week on Friday, and I was distracted all weekend so I just got to it today, and I saw in the ‘Localish News’ section that Joe Wentner was arrested for murder last week. Is that true?”

  “Yes it is.”

  “Oh, my God,” Roberta’s voice rose an octave and the pace of what she was saying, already fast, got faster. “A Sherriff’s deputy from Santa Cruz called a few days ago and asked me if I had ever had any trouble with Suzanne Cummings. I said no—because I hadn’t—but he didn’t ask me anything about Joe, and I thought since—well, we all were interviewed at the time, weren’t we—that he wasn’t interested in Joe or in what I know about Joe and Lillian. Well, I don’t even know if I know anything about them, but I might, and I’m so glad you called because I wanted to talk to someone, but I didn’t know who, and I didn’t want to call the Sherriff and get them in trouble when I’m probably wrong anyway.”

  Roberta finally paused to gulp air. “I’m so glad you called,” she whimpered, close to tears.

  Listening to Roberta Grumm made Pat feel like she was trying to keep track of a bee buzzing around her head.

  “Please, Roberta, calm down. You can tell me what you think you know and we’ll work out what you should do together? How does that sound?”

  “Oh, my God. It sounds like…that would be wonderful!”

  “Good,” Pat said. She spoke slowly, reassuringly. “Just relax for a bit—take a deep breath—and when you’re ready, start at the beginning and tell me what happened.

  Pat listened patiently to huffing sounds on the other end of the phone.

  “Okay. I live in Carmel and I love anything by Thomas Kinkaid. Do you know who he is?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “A lot of people say he’s overly sentimental, but I appreciate his artistry. Well, I was on my way to one of the Thomas Kinkaid galleries, just to look, because I don’t have any more wall space.”

  Pat despaired that Roberta would ever get to the point.

  “So this van pulls up as I’m walking by and this man and woman get out of it. They each slammed their door, which got my attention. They were not quite yelling at one another, but clearly they were in the middle of a heated discussion. They kept it up while they went to the back of the van, opened the door, and took out a couple of big boxes. I probably shouldn’t have slowed down walking and I should have ignored what they were saying, but you know how it is—and besides, once they got the boxes, we were all walking in the same direction, so I listened in.

  “He said he had had it and wasn’t going to put up with it anymore. She said he wouldn’t have to because she wanted a divorce. Well, I was behind them, and I almost walked into the back of him because he stopped dead in his tracks.

  “‘You don’t mean that,’ he said. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘You always say that before he gets into town,’ he said. ‘Well this time is going to be different,’ she said. ‘He always asks me to leave you and I always say no, but this time I’m going to say yes,’ she said.”

  “And you think the people you walked behind were Lillian and Joe Wentner?”

  “I had no idea who they were at the time, but when I got to the class, I recognized them. At least I think I did. I just wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was them.”

  Pat was about to take a deep breath herself. If true, what Roberta Grumm said would be devastating for Joe’s defense. But Roberta was so doubtful that she could imagine a skilled attorney like Mark Bellows turning her into a wild-eyed unreliable witness and instructing a jury to overlook what she said.

  However, Roberta didn’t stop there.

  “I may not be a hundred percent sure that I recognized them, but I’m sure about recognizing the logo on the boxes they were carrying. It didn’t mean anything to me at the time, but when we were in the studio and took our pieces to the kiln alcove for our first firing, there were dozens of boxes stacked against the side wall—you remember that, don’t you?—with the same logo on them.”

  “You’re absolutely certain the logo was the same one you saw on the boxes in Carmel?” Pat asked.

  “One-hundred-and-ten percent sure.”

  After her conversation with Roberta Grumm, Pat knew she couldn’t wait until she was officially invited back to consult for Mark Bellows’s law firm. He needed to know right away that he better start working on defense number three.

  “Law offices,” the practiced receptionist said in her well-modulated voice. “How may I direct your call?”

  “Mark Bellows, please.” Pat tried to keep from sounding rattled, but to her ear she didn’t seem convincing.

  “Mr. Bellows is in court. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “Yes, please.

  “I’ll transfer you.”

  The sound of Mark stating his name in such a dispassionate manner probably would have soothed her if he had been live, but getting a recorded greeting only flustered her more than she already was.

  “It’s Pat,” she said. “There’s a, I think, rock-solid witness who will say she heard Lillian telling Joe she wanted a divorce right before Garryn Monteith hit town. Call me or not; I thought you should know.”

  Pat kept her phone with her when she took Dot on a longer-than-usual walk in case Mark returned her call. It sat on her desk at the ready while she did a background check of Roberta Grumm, who, it seemed, led a stable and ordinary life.

  Roberta, Pat discovered, was married to the same man for thirty-four years. She had three kids who were grown and seemed to have turned out well. She taught art at the high-school level for forty years until she retired a year ago at sixty-two and began to pursue her artistic interests full-time. She might have seemed scattered on the phone, but on paper she was a perfect witness.

  Pat noted the time on her cell phone as she checked it to make sure it didn’t have a malfunctioning battery. Court never ran later than about four-thirty and it was just past five. Why hadn’t Mark returned her call?

  By six o’clock she had been suckered into answering a telemarketer call with a local number, thinking Mark might be using an alternative number that she didn’t recognize. When her phone rang again at six-thirty, she let it go to the answering function, but sat by, ready to answer it immediately if it was Mark on the line. It wasn’t.

  She finally gave up waiting and left her phone on her desk. It was time to get ready for the welcome distraction of her date with Tim.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Tim said as he drove them up the coast toward Davenport. “Is it something I said? Or didn’t say?”

  “It has nothing to d
o with you, Tim.”

  “Is there another man involved?”

  He was a good detective. “There is, but not in the way you think.”

  “You can tell me the truth. We haven’t had the ‘exclusive’ talk yet, so I can’t complain if you have multiple interests. And I’m not afraid of some competition. I intend to win your heart, no matter who else is trying to as well.”

  Pat considered him with fresh eyes. His smattering of freckles made him look boyish, but they were deceiving. He was a man, sure enough of himself to show vulnerability, and brave enough to let her know his intentions even at the risk of rejection. She impulsively leaned toward him and kissed his cheek.

  When they had parked at the Davenport Roadhouse, Tim opened Pat’s door and offered her his hand to help her out, but he made no attempt to start them walking to the entrance of the restaurant.

  “I think your aim was a little off before, because it’s hard to kiss someone properly in a moving car. Let’s rectify that right now.” He took her face in both of his hands, tilted it up, and kissed her full on the mouth. “Much better,” he said.

  She had to agree.

  Pat enjoyed Tim’s company on their fish taco date even more than she had on their first date listening to Frank Sinatra wannabes crooning romantically. She giggled and flirted, flicked her hair, and stared into his eyes, but, much as she was enjoying herself, she was never totally present—and he noticed.

  “Is it the Monteith case that’s distracting you?” Tim asked. “I hope that’s all it is. Do you want to know what I found out about Suzanne Cummings?”

  Pat knew from talking to Roberta Grumm that someone from the Santa Cruz Sheriff’s Department had contacted her. She was pretty sure the officer was Tim. Now he had confirmed it.

  “If you can tell me, I do.”

  “She’s a stalker, all right, and not only of Garryn Monteith. She followed and annoyed several women, although I couldn’t find any evidence that she ever crossed the line into violence against anything other than inanimate objects like your car.