The Glass House

by Nancy Lynn Jarvis

  “She followed Monteith around, too. That’s probably why she harassed some of the women she did, because she discovered them with Monteith. If charges got pressed against her for stalking, she might spend a few weeks in jail and be put on probation. But charging her with his murder,” Tim shook his head. “I think it would be hard to make a case that she killed him.

  “Thanks for doing what you did.”

  “Hey, it was just part of my job. The fact that I could help out a beautiful woman was just an extra perk.”

  Pat sat in silence after his compliment.

  “I just told you you’re beautiful. I expected some sort of reaction.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “What’s going on?”

  Pat licked her lips. She didn’t know proper protocol, and Mark hadn’t returned her call so she could ask him. Was she obligated to keep her conversation with Roberta Grumm away from the Sheriff’s Department to protect her employer’s client? Or was she obligated to share what she discovered in the interest of getting to the truth about who murdered Garryn Monteith?

  Pat looked into Tim’s concerned blue eyes and made her decision: she wanted truth to prevail.

  “I’ve been doing some research on my own and discovered a witness who will say Lillian Wentner was about to leave her husband for Garryn Monteith.”

  “Holy…”

  “I’m not sure if I should be telling you this…and I wanted to. That’s what’s been in the way all night.”

  ※※※※※※※※※※※

  Pat was up and dressed by the time Mark returned her call the next morning. She heard urgency in his tone.

  “Pat, I need you in my office right away. You dropped quite a bombshell yesterday. I want you to tell me details so I can convince Joe he has to let you back on the case. If you uncovered a witness, it’s just a matter of time until the authorities find your source. He has to start being straight with me so I can mount a viable defense. What you’ve uncovered may be just the kick in the butt he needs to get realistic.”

  Mark listened attentively as Pat related her conversation with Roberta Grumm.

  “I spoke with Joe this morning and warned him about a potentially damaging witness. He’s still spouting defense number one. You said she looks good on paper and sounded believable on the phone, but I’ve got to impeach her identification. You met her in class. Tell me she wears bottle-bottom thick glasses…”

  “She doesn’t, Mark.”

  “…sixty-two, you said…”

  “Sixty-three…”

  “Does she look like an old hippy? I can ask what she was smoking…”

  “She looks like a conservative Carmelite who volunteers her time for useful causes, Mark.”

  He didn’t stop at the sound of his name. If anything, her interruptions made him speak quicker.

  “She was behind them. That means she didn’t get that good a look at them.”

  “Mark, you didn’t let me finish. It’s not as much about her recognizing Lillian and Joe as it is about her recognizing the logo on the boxes they were carrying. She saw the same logo on boxes in the studio kiln room. That’s what convinced me she knew what she had seen.”

  Mark tipped his chair back and intertwined his fingers behind his neck.

  “In that case, maybe it wasn’t them at all. Lillian might use a delivery company to take her pieces to Carmel galleries. I bet with some encouragement, Lillian and Joe will realize that’s exactly how they do business.”

  Mark’s words caught Pat off guard. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you just suggest that Joe and Lillian fabricate a delivery person?”

  “No. Of course not,” he replied nonchalantly. “Attorneys don’t encourage their clients to lie. I just wondered, if they think about it, if they’ll remember that they do use a delivery company sometimes. I hope it’s true because it would make defending Joe so much easier.”

  “What about Sybil Kreiger? Remember she’ll testify that she and Joe talked about Lillian and Garryn Monteith years ago.”

  “The Sheriff’s Department may not find her. Your research has been amazingly thorough. They may not look at everyone you did. She wasn’t at a recent Glass House class, and I doubt they’ll go back years ago and ask students questions. Besides, she only matters if we go to defense number two. She’s looking for a plane ticket out here,” he smiled for the first time since their meeting began, “which I’m not going to send her if we go with defense number one.

  “I think we better make you an official employee again as soon as possible.” His smile was winsome. “We want you committed to the team again. I’ll ask Ben Samson to draw up retainer documents today. He does contract law and he can get them ready for your signature by this afternoon. I’m thinking hourly fees the same as we agreed to when you worked for me and a five-hundred-a-month retainer fee. Is that acceptable?”

  Pat still thought the sprinkling of gray in his hair made him look attractive and distinguished and that he had the most amazing smile she had ever seen. She was still enthralled by his quick mind. But something had changed in the way she regarded him in the last few minutes. She considered him with her head instead of her heart and he didn’t fare as well as he had in the past.

  “I don’t think so, Mark.”

  “Seven-fifty then. You drive a hard bargain,” he laughed.

  “No. I don’t think I want to be on retainer here, or anywhere. I want to keep my options open. I’d be happy—delighted—to work for you and your company anytime you ask me to and I accept the request, but I want to consider what I do when I work. It may be that I want to work for an opposing law firm on behalf of their client and not yours. It may be that I want to make my services available to the police, or sheriff, or some other authority. I need the freedom to decide what I want to do.

  “I will work on Joe Wentner’s case for as long as you need me. I’ll explain what I’ve discovered to Joe and let him know that he better let you work on another defense for him, because the Sheriff’s Department knows all about Roberta Grumm. I’ll tell him they’ve probably already interviewed her.”

  “How did they find her so quickly, I wonder?”

  “They didn’t find her. I told Deputy Sherriff Tim Lindsey about her last night.”

  “Fraternizing with the enemy?”

  “I don’t see it that way. I know how the law works, but I’d rather the truth came out at trials. I’d like to know that the good guys get justice and the bad guys get punished.”

  “We all would prefer that, but that’s a naive hope. Whichever side knows how to use the law wins. That’s the reality of it. I understand that and that’s why I’m so good at my job. Don’t contact Joe. I’ll talk to him and let you know if there’s more work I need you to do. Take care, Pat.”

  When Pat got home she found a clear glass florist’s vase full of yellow daisies in front of her garage door, placed where she was sure to see them. There was a handwritten note attached.

  I know yellow is your favorite color. It’s too late for daffodils and too early for chrysanthemums so daisies are the best I could do. Can I see you again on Friday night (notice I’m straight up asking for a date) or am I rushing you?

  Pat put the daisies on her desk and called the Sheriff’s Department. “May I speak to Deputy Sheriff Lindsey, please.”

  “Lindsey.”

  “Hello, Officer Lindsey. It’s Pat Pirard,” she made her greeting formal, imagining Greg at the next desk eavesdropping. “I have some additional information about the Wentner case that I would like to discuss with you. Could you stop by my house on Friday at the end of your workday so we can go over it? I know that will be right around dinnertime, so I hope you won’t mind working late.”

  Tim’s laughter was quick and good-humored. “You’d make a good code talker. No need, though, I’m here all by myself eating lunch at my desk.”

  “I didn’t know where you’d be or who might be able to hear our conversation. I like the daisies; that was sweet of you.
I want to cook us dinner. Do you have any favorites?”

  “Whatever you cook will make me happy.”

  “I do want to work on the case with you, just so you know.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Friday around 5:30.” Tim was suddenly as proper as she had been.

  “Did Greg just walk in?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Wimsey bounded onto her lap as she put her phone down.

  “You’re in charge, my Lord. Dot and I are going to the beach. I need some up-close-and-personal time with some blue sea and waves,” she explained to her cat as she stroked his fur. “I’ve been fired for real this time and I don’t know how I feel about it.” His purring began immediately and filled the quiet room. “You’re such a good listener, Wimsey, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  He climbed onto her shoulder, kindly not using claws for traction, and made a leap to the back of his sun-spot chair, ready to assume his house-guarding duties.

  Pat changed into yellow high-water pants and a multicolored embroidered top that reminded her of a fiesta and traded her high heels for coral and lime sandals.

  “Dot, dog beach?” she called. Her Dalmatian appeared wagging her tail so hard Pat had to make sure she stayed out of its path or risk being lashed. In the garage she grabbed a woven sack filled with doggie beach toys and a well-worn towel for drying a soaked dog and tossed it into her car after Dot. Dot whined softly as Pat backed out, her way of telling Pat to drive faster.

  Pat took the beach sack down to the sand, but didn’t get out a ball or offer to play tug-a-rope or fetch with Dot. Instead she sat in the sand and watched her pet streak toward the other beach-going dogs, a flash of black and white and wagging tail.

  She wished she had brought a pencil and legal pad so she could make notes, but she hadn’t. She flattened a patch of sand with her palm and used a finger to draw initials and arrows in the cleared area. She recalled conversations and tried to connect her scribbles to find a killer.

  Joe and Lillian said there was nothing going on between her and Garryn Monteith. That wasn’t a believable story; too many sources contradicted it. And yet Joe insisted on basing his defense on that narrative.

  Sybil Kreiger and Kandi Crusher said they flat-out knew Lillian and Garryn were involved. Roberta Grumm said she heard Lillian and Joe arguing because Lillian told him she was leaving him for her long-standing love and wanted a divorce. Even though she hadn’t heard Garryn Monteith’s name mentioned, who else could it have been? What Roberta heard backed up what Sybil said about Joe knowing about his wife and Garryn Monteith for some time.

  What role did Suzanne Cummings, a confirmed stalker who attacked possessions or the work of women she saw as interesting to her former lover, play in the mystery? Why was Kandi Crusher spreading rumors about Lillian and Garryn? Both of those questions troubled her.

  She had pretty much ruled out Angela Grinardi, Kandi, and even Suzanne as Garryn Monteith’s murderer. Had she been too hasty? They all had means and opportunity and varying degrees of motive. Lillian was someone else who had means and opportunity, but if she was about to leave her husband for Garryn Monteith, it didn’t make sense that she would kill him.

  Joe—it always came back to Joe—had means and opportunity and, if she put all the other facts together, motive. In her sand notes, Joe seemed like the most likely killer in the Monteith saga, but something still didn’t sit right with her. Evidence or not, she didn’t believe Joe was a killer. There must be a piece or two that she hadn’t yet put together to complete the puzzle.

  Pat saw Dot running toward her at top speed, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth. Sand stuck to her, and the tiny pink part of her otherwise black nose, the defect that kept her from being a show dog, was brighter than normal. Pat had just enough time to grab the dog towel, pull herself into the smallest ball she could manage, and cover herself with it before Dot slid to a stop beside her and shook water, sand, and beach detritus off of her fur. Pat’s beach notes were obliterated by dog paws and flying dross.

  ※※※※※※※※※※※

  “Syda, best friend, we have to talk to Suzanne Cummings again,” Pat said as they sipped coffee together at Syda’s house on Friday morning.

  “No, please don’t ask me to do that,” Syda wailed. “Why do you even care about her? You said you are officially and permanently off the Monteith case.”

  “I know, and I am, but...”

  “Are you still thinking about your attorney? If he fired you, we both know that probably means Mark Bellows is history, too.”

  “I think that’s right for a lot of reasons.”

  “You know I’d die for you, but talking to Suzanne Cummings is asking too much from even your BFF.”

  “It won’t be too difficult. You call her and set something up and I’ll show up and ambush her.”

  “We tried that and all you got out of it was a broken windshield.”

  “This time you duct tape her to her chair before she notices,” Pat snickered, “so she can’t escape. After I finish with her, I’ll drive home and hide my car in my garage before you release her. Seriously. I have to ask her some questions and I need a way to make sure she answers them. I have no idea how to do it.”

  Syda rolled her eyes. “So now in addition to fixing your broken love life, I have to figure out how to get Suzanne Cummings in the same room with you. I don’t know, could we play some sort of ‘you poor dear, here Garryn was about to come back to you and then he was murdered’ kind of gambit to get her in our clutches?”

  “Maybe. That’s a good idea, BFF. Maybe something like that…wait, I’ve got it,” Pat exclaimed. “You still have to be the one to call her. Tell her that some of the class want to make a ghost memorial at the beach. We all have agreed to donate our peonies—throw out a couple of names of students who live within an hour or so away—warn her that I’ll be bringing my flower, too, and tell her I want to apologize to her for what I said at Gayle’s Bakery. Ham it up about how contrite I am if you have to, and tell her you think she should lead the ceremony because…um…because she was a star pupil and none of the rest of us had that kind of special relationship with Garryn. If you say the right things, she’ll bite.”

  “Great. No pressure. If this works, I demand payback. You have to promise to let me have you and Tim over for dinner within the next two weeks.”

  “Syda,” Pat moaned. “We already met at your house. Remember?”

  “You and Tim were sitting at the kitchen table for less than fifteen minutes, and you weren’t looking your best. I’m talking dinner, wine, maybe some candlelight…it’s non-negotiable.”

  Pat sighed dramatically to cover her amusement. “All right, if that’s what it takes. You’re pretty demanding for a BFF.”

  ※※※※※※※※※※※

  Pat sat curled up next to Tim on her living room sofa; he had his arm around her shoulders. Dot was on the floor at Tim’s feet, pretending to be asleep. It was her position that said: “I like him and approve of him if you do, too, but should you need me to defend you, I’m still ready.” Wimsey was in the room, as well—on a facing chair, but nevertheless, present—unusual for him when other people were in the house.

  “Are we the picture of domestic bliss or what?” Tim spoke softly. “You probably figured out that I like you a lot, what with being a private investigator and all, and my feelings for you came before I knew you could cook. You are such a talented woman.”

  “I have many talents you haven’t discovered yet,” Pat said beguilingly.

  Tim reacted to her words with a huge smile. “I like the word ‘yet.’” He leaned toward her and kissed her. “You realize we have a deadline now. We have to see each other seven more times in the next two weeks for our ten-date disclosure or non-disclosure plan to be ready by Syda’s inducement dinner. Seeing you that much isn’t going to be a problem for me. How do you feel about it?”

  “I like the idea of spending a lot of time with you.
We may even have to throw in a couple of breakfasts down the road if we’re going to make it to ten, though.”

  “I can live with that.”

  Their next kiss was the best one they’d shared. Yet.

  ※※※※※※※※※※※

  “She agreed!” Syda’s voice soared from Pat’s phone as she excitedly told her about the conversation she’d had with Suzanne Cummings. “I called her and told her about the ghost memorial. I said I was going to ask Kandi Crusher and Roberta Grumm and Melany Hanson and Lillian Wentner to come, too. She balked at Lillian. She asked if I had a commitment from her and I said I didn’t have any commitments from anyone yet because I was starting with her, since she was the one who would be leading the ceremony.”

  “Great work,” Pat congratulated her friend.

  “I thought I’d feel guilty lying about inviting the others, but I didn’t, not a bit. I guess what I did is like what Greg has said he’s done when he’s involved in a setup. It’s kind of exciting.”

  “What we’re doing is a sting. We talked about how it had to just be the three of us. You did tell Suzanne I’m coming, didn’t you?”

  “Not immediately. Once she agreed, I told her about you. She almost changed her mind, but I had a well-plotted argument ready to go—I think being a writer has improved my intellectual abilities, which helped me convinced her—and she agreed. ‘Reluctantly agreed,’ she said.”

  “You said she didn’t want Lillian invited. Did you get a sense of why that was?”

  “I didn’t think to ask about it.”

  “No problem. I’m curious, though; I’ll work it into our conversation at the beach. When are we doing it, the ghost memorial?”

  “Suzanne said she could make it on Tuesday. I said that was fine. So Tuesday at sunset at the Davenport Landing Beach. The access is a little dicey, but the sunsets are gorgeous there and the beach is quiet. It’ll make a perfect backdrop for a meaningful ceremony, and if it’s hard to get to, that just means it will be harder for Suzanne to escape,” Syda chuckled.