“And now two of them are dead,” I said.
“Why didn’t they just divorce?” Cassie asked. “That’s what normal people do. Instead they had affairs and pretended to be friends. And why did Brigit have to make that big scene with the flyers? I’ll never understand that.”
“When we find the answers to those questions, they’ll have to do with money,” Julia said. “It always comes down to money.”
“And Wayne has a lot more of it than Charlie,” Cassie said, her expression solemn. “I hate gossiping about the dead, but when I had lunch with Anika and Brigit the day after Christmas, they compared their husbands’ salaries right in front of me. Not in exact figures, but they may as well have. They talked about their prospects for the future, too, like who was going to do even better in the years ahead and who could take early retirement if they wanted to. Brigit looked like the cat that ate the canary. She was all ‘Yeah, I know my husband is a success and yours is a failure’ on Anika. They forgot I was there.”
A solution to the whole puzzle was beginning to take shape in my mind, like a phantom taking on solid form. I knew I had something, but I couldn’t yet take a firm hold of it. “Did Anika agree that Charlie made less money, or did she argue with Brigit?” I asked.
“She wasn’t thrilled about what Brigit was saying, but she couldn’t disagree. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes who has more money. Or had, I guess. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Anyway, Anika must have compared Brigit’s house to hers every time she was there, and working in Town Hall she probably saw the Gundersens’ property taxes and other financial stuff.”
“What sort of friends argue about how much money they have?” I asked.
“Frenemies,” Cassie corrected. “And Brigit wasn’t the only nasty one. Anika got nasty too. She made more money than Brigit at Town Hall and she knew accounting, so I think she felt secure in that. Just before we all went home, she said something like, ‘A plan for the future is more important, and I’ve got a plan worth more than any bank account.’ And then Brigit got super serious and said, ‘Yeah, I know you do. But what’s it worth if you don’t know my plan?’ Something like that. It was weirder than usual.”
Plan. The word sent a chill up my spine. It was the word Brigit had used when I’d told her that plastering Main Street with flyers wasn’t a good idea. They’re not an idea, they’re a plan. And a very clever one. Brigit hadn’t been babbling with whiskey-loosened lips, as I’d assumed. She’d had an actual plan, and the flyers were part of it.
“Do you know if Wayne and Charlie ever argued about money?” I asked.
“Not that I heard, but I’m pretty sure Charlie was envious,” Cassie replied.
“With Anika for a wife, how could he not be?” Julia said. “She must have pestered him all the time to make more money.”
“I do know that Wayne bragged all the time about his new car last summer,” Cassie said, “and Charlie changed the subject every time he started to talk about it.” She grinned. “Of course, we all did that. I don’t know how many times he talked about the genuine leather seats.”
I heard a rustle behind me and saw Royce enter the boardroom. Julia turned too, but an instant later she swung back to Cassie and reached up to finger the garland she had just hung on the wall, pretending great interest in it. “One of these days I’ll learn to make flowers as pretty as these other ones,” she said.
“Royce thinks you’re a great student,” Cassie said.
The hint of a frown crossed Julia’s face. “Oh, does he?”
“Don’t take it wrong. I just meant, you know, I don’t mean student in a bad way.”
“Other people have an artistic eye, not just Royce.”
“Including you and Charlie.”
I leaned in and whispered, “Speaking of which, do you know if Charlie’s at home?”
No doubt puzzled as to why my question required privacy, Cassie gave me a questioning look. “Royce left to pay his condolences,” she said with a nod toward her father-in-law, who was now taping construction-paper hearts to the wall. “He just got back, so I’m sure he knows if Charlie’s there. Royce, can you come here for a second?”
I turned quickly to Julia. “Did you want to wait in my car? We’re about to leave for Charlie’s house.”
Julia stiffened her spine. She wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m fine right here on this very spot.”
Goodness knows what Cassie thought of the pair of us—me whispering, Julia huffing and puffing.
“I didn’t want to interrupt ladies talking,” Royce said, beaming as he strode up to our little group. “My wife used to say that men do that all the time without thinking. When you see ladies huddled, she’d say, don’t interrupt. Julia, how are you? Are you looking forward to tonight?” The second he addressed Julia, she averted her eyes and focused once more on the garland. “You should be proud of that,” he said. “We couldn’t have done it without your help. I can look at that garland and point to every one of the flowers you made.”
“Because they’re not perfect?” Julia said.
The way I saw it, Royce was being kind. But Julia’s take on it? I could almost see her hackles rising.
“They’re not meant to be perfect,” Royce said. “They’re meant to look real.” As a polite afterthought, he pivoted ever so slightly my way. “And how are you, Rachel?”
“Rachel wanted to know if Charlie’s at home,” Cassie broke in.
“Yes, I just talked to him,” Royce replied, “and I think he could use a little company at the moment if you’re planning on visiting him. He’s by himself and probably will be until tonight.”
But I didn’t intend to offer Charlie company. I was going to demand that he answer my questions, in spite of his grief. My phantom solution was taking shape by the second, but for the flimsiest reason: I had a hunch. I felt in my bones that I was onto something. But what I needed was hard proof, and for that, I had to talk to Charlie—and bluff my way to him giving me that proof.
CHAPTER 17
Five minutes later, I pulled to the curb in front of Charlie Mays’s house, a small brick ranch on the south side of town. His front yard was thick with juniper shrubs, some of them running along the mud-brown face of the house, others lining the chipped concrete walk to the front door. There was no white fence, no giant heart fastened to the gate, no front porch on which to string a ribbon festooned with red hearts. An older model red Ford sedan was parked in the driveway. Cassie had been right. It was obvious that Charlie made less money than Wayne.
Julia popped open her door. “I appreciate you getting me out of the boardroom and away from Royce, but you’re not leaving me in the car. I’m going with you.”
I knew from experience that there was little point in arguing with her. In any case, I didn’t think we were in danger. Not if I was right about Charlie. As we headed up the walk, I said, “Follow my lead, okay?”
“I’ll do my best, but keep in mind I haven’t the foggiest idea of what you’re up to.”
I rapped on the house’s green front door and waited. A shadow passed over the peephole, and a moment later Charlie flung open the door. “Rachel Stowe?” he said, squinting doubtfully. “And Julia?”
“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” I said, “but this is extremely important. May we come in?”
With a heavy sigh, Charlie stepped aside to allow us entry and then shut the door with enough force to convey his irritation over our arrival. “Have a seat,” he said, waving vaguely at the two small couches in his living room.
“I’ll stand, thanks,” I said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” he grumbled.
“I only have a few questions, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Questions?” He sighed again and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Why would you ask me anything? I’ve already talked to the police. You do realize my wife’s been dead less than twenty-four hours?”
“That’s why we’re here.” I paused and f
ixed my eyes on his, hoping he’d see confidence and control rather than the trepidation I felt. “I know who killed Anika.”
Charlie’s face went white.
“Her death was a result of Brigit’s,” I continued. “You see, they both had plans, and although they wanted to change places in life, their separate plans put them at odds. They couldn’t both have what they really wanted.”
“Which is?” Charlie said flatly.
“Money, of course.”
Julia gamely chimed in. “It’s always money. People are never satisfied with what they have. They always want more.”
“The thing is,” I said, “Brigit didn’t come up with her plan alone.”
Charlie regained his composure. Or rather, he pretended to by jutting out his chin, dropping onto the nearest couch, and crossing his legs—body language meant to inform me of his superior rank in our conversation. But I saw the fear in his eyes.
“Do tell, Detective Stowe,” he hissed. “But make it fast. I’ve got better things to do.”
I felt a flash on anger. The damage he and Brigit had caused was horrific, and at the very least he could have prevented Anika’s death by admitting what he’d done. “For the longest time I couldn’t figure out why she would publicly declare Wayne a cheater with those flyers,” I said. “It seems to me that most people in town already knew Wayne cheated on her, and a few knew that she cheated on him. So why plaster flyers all over Main Street?”
“You seem to have it all figured out,” Charlie said. “You tell me.”
“Because they were part of her plan,” I replied. “But you know that. The two of you cooked it up together.”
Charlie folded his arms across his chest and chewed nervously at his lower lip before saying, “I don’t know what you mean by plan. Yes, Brigit and I were involved. We loved each other. There’s no point denying that. So what? I’m not ashamed of it. Wayne treated her like dirt. He had affair after affair and didn’t try hard to hide them. Brigit ran to me.”
“Bringing her money with her,” I said. “After all, she never would have left without it.”
He rocketed from his seat and began to pace the small living room, taking only five strides before he had to spin about and pace in the other direction. He was like a metal ball in a pinball machine, striking the same two walls over and over. He glared at me as he strode by, then glared at me again on his return trip before coming to a stop two feet from my face. “Who do you think you are?”
“The sad thing is,” I continued, “Anika thought Brigit’s money was going to be her money.”
Charlie exhaled loudly and made a move for the front door. Thinking Julia and I were about to be shown the exit, I didn’t sugar-coat my next words. “The longer you wait to tell the truth, the more trouble you’re in, Charlie. You contributed to the murder of two women, and you lied to the police about what you knew. You could be looking at jail time.”
He halted in his tracks and turned to me, his broad chest beginning to heave. “No, no. I didn’t kill them. I loved Brigit. I had no reason to kill her. We were going to be happy.”
“And what about your wife, Charlie Mays?” Julia said.
“I didn’t kill Anika. I didn’t.”
“Then be careful how you answer me,” I said. “You might avoid jail by telling the truth now. But if you continue to lie, Gilroy will come down on you like a ton of bricks. Did you tell Brigit to publicly accuse Wayne of cheating on her?”
Charlie took a deep breath before answering. “We talked about it. Yes. Yes, I did. It was only fair after all he’d done to her.”
“And it was financially prudent?” I said.
“Knock it off! Brigit loved me. I don’t have any doubt about that.”
For the first time, I felt a twinge of sympathy for the man, despite his infidelity. He had loved Brigit in his own faithless, self-centered way, and I had misjudged his love for her when we first met, thinking him cold and unfeeling. But looking back, he’d been in shock—and wearing much the same expression he wore now. Perhaps, in an effort to salvage what was left of his marriage to Anika, he’d tried to appear as though he wasn’t moved by Brigit’s death.
“Maybe she did love you,” I said, “but she presented you with a catch. She wanted to take some of Wayne’s money with her or she wasn’t leaving him. So the two of you decided she should drink some whiskey, play the distraught wife, and make sure that the whole town knew Wayne was at it again. Cheating with yet another woman, breaking her heart. Sure, Brigit cheated too, but you could say she did it out of desperation. Wayne drove her to it. Is that about right?”
“She was desperate,” Charlie said.
Julia snorted. “For something new. Just like you, Charlie. You wanted something new, and you didn’t care who you hurt to get it.”
“What’s wrong with something new?” Charlie growled. “If you can’t stand the old anymore, why not go for the new? Aren’t I entitled to some happiness?”
“Happiness?” Julia said. “Look what your demand for happiness has done.”
Charlie cocked his head sideways. “You’re lecturing me, Julia?”
“We’re trying to prevent more murders,” I said. “Like your murder, Charlie.”
Charlie flinched. Finally I had his full attention.
“You still don’t understand the danger you’re in,” I went on. “Your lies . . .” I hesitated. I’d been about to say that his lies had resulted in Anika’s murder, but that would have been cruel. And in time he would come to that sad conclusion on his own. Instead, I asked him one last question. “There was never any dark-haired woman, was there? You lied about seeing her in Wayne’s car.”
To my surprise, Charlie answered me. It seemed he was beginning to grasp what his quest for good times had cost. “That was Brigit’s idea. She wanted to put a face on Wayne’s latest affair. She thought if she gave specifics, people would believe her more. I told her she didn’t have to do that. Everyone knew Wayne had affairs.”
“So why not put the real face on Wayne’s latest affair?” I said.
“That’s a good question,” Julia said.
“I suppose,” Charlie said, his voice uncertain. “I don’t understand. Why am I in danger?”
Julia, who rarely sidestepped a touchy issue, ignored Charlie’s question and put the matter plainly. “Why make up a fake dark-haired woman when you knew it was your wife who was having an affair with Wayne?”
Charlie simply shook his head. His arms dangled at his side, his shoulders sagged. “That was going to come later. I planned to accuse her at the Valentine’s Day dance.”
“So everyone would hear you,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“So Anika, the cheating spouse, wouldn’t get your money.”
“What little I have.”
“But Anika didn’t want your money. She planned to get both Wayne and his money by leaving you and marrying him.”
“But Brigit—”
“Ruined that when she publicly accused Wayne of adultery,” I said. “And Anika knew that. Brigit’s plan destroyed her own.”
“Yes,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “Then I’m partly responsible for Brigit’s murder?”
All four of you are responsible, I thought. Four conniving, vicious people. Four so-called friends. But unlike Julia, I sidestepped his question. “There’s only one person responsible, and that’s Wayne.”
“I knew it was him!” Julia crowed.
But I was taken aback by the look of shock on Charlie’s face. “Wayne?” he breathed.
Was he being deliberately obtuse? “Yes, of course. Wayne murdered Brigit and Anika. Who did you think?”
His body went limp and he grabbed hold of a bookcase to steady his feet. “Anika. I was sure she killed Brigit.”
“Because she realized you and Brigit were working together to get Wayne’s money?”
“Yes. That’s why I lied to the police. I was trying to protect Anika because she was all I had left. Wayn
e killed them both?”
“Listen to me, Charlie,” I said. “In order to get Anika, Wayne had to keep his money. If he’d lost even half of it to Brigit, he would have lost Anika too. Do you understand now? Both women wanted Wayne’s money more than they wanted Wayne, and both women concocted plans to get his money, not knowing that their plans were at odds.”
Charlie groaned.
“You should sit down,” Julia said.
Thinking he might pass out at any moment, I laid a hand on his arm and asked him to sit.
“No,” he growled. He shook away from me, his chest rising and falling as he fought for air. “Wayne? My friend? My friend killed my wife and the woman I loved?”
If they had been one in the same, this never would have happened, I thought. But this wasn’t the time for harsh, punishing words. Inexplicably, Charlie had never suspected Wayne, and hearing me accuse his friend was the third enormous blow he had suffered in two days. “I’m heading to the police station now,” I said. “I think you should come with me and tell Gilroy what you know. I can drive you there and bring you back home.”
A steely resolution washed over Charlie’s face, and a coldness came into his eyes. “I’ll kill him,” he said. “I’ll kill him with my own hands.”
He clenched and unclenched his large fists, and I believed him fully capable of carrying out his threat. And willing to strike me down if I got in his way. A little too late, I was doubting the wisdom of telling Charlie what I knew. “Wayne will go to prison for the rest of his life,” I said. “I’ll call Gilroy now. He can come out here.” I reached into my jeans pocket for my phone.
“No!” His eyes widened with rage as he pushed me backward. I stumbled and managed to grab hold of an end table and keep myself from hitting the floor.
Julia rushed forward. “Charlie Mays, how dare you? Striking a woman!”
Juniper Grove Cozy Mystery Box Set 2 Page 36
