Belinda Blake and the Snake in the Grass

by Heather Day Gilbert

  As I backtracked through the maze of hallways, I caught sight of Jacques as he descended a curved staircase. The preoccupied Frenchman didn’t immediately notice me and I had the distinct impression he had just completed some distasteful job. I was betting it had to do with Stone the elder.

  “Hello, Jacques,” I called.

  The older man turned my way, a smile immediately wreathing his face. “Mademoiselle!” he cried, hurrying down the final steps and taking both my hands in his. “You look like an angel this morning. Tres belle. You remind me of my wife in her younger years.”

  “Thank you.” I wondered if I should ask about Stone the fifth, but I decided to let it rest.

  “What brings you here today?” He released my hands and took a polite step back.

  “I just had brunch with Melly Carrington,” I said.

  “In the conservatory, non? It is her favorite place where she gets away from it all.” He made a sweeping gesture, as if the rest of the house were toxic. Maybe it was.

  My cheeks reddened as I decided to throw myself on Jacques’s good graces, yet again. “I think I’ve gotten myself lost. Would you mind showing me to the door?”

  Jacques offered his arm. “It would be my pleasure to do so.”

  As we finally stepped out into the fresh fall air, I breathed deeply and said goodbye to Jacques. My heels punched a trail of tiny holes in the lawn as I headed for my carriage house. I was already picturing curling up with fuzzy socks, an Agatha Christie mystery, and a cup of hot chocolate. Given the stressful morning I’d just experienced, I knew I wouldn’t venture out of my own yard the rest of the day.

  Chapter 11

  That afternoon, Stone called me numerous times, but each time I let it go to voicemail. I was drained, and I simply couldn’t talk about the disastrous brunch. I disliked conflict—more than once, Katrina had accused me of running from it, and she was right.

  In the early evening, after I’d read quite a bit of Ordeal by Innocence, I ate half a can of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Feeling awash in coziness, I finally picked up the phone and called Stone.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Sometimes Dad gets out of hand. I swear to you, it’s only a once-in-awhile occurrence. Most of the time he is actually quite a respectable gentleman.”

  A respectable gentleman wouldn’t make an appearance when he was completely inebriated, much less voice the rude things Stone’s dad had. But Stone the fifth was looking for consolation, so I lied. “Sure. I understand.”

  “I’m sure you don’t, but you’re sweet for pretending. Listen, I wanted to tell you that I caught up with Ava Fenton and she mentioned something that struck me as unusual. Turns out, over the past several months, Margo went into town a lot to talk with the Episcopal priest, Father Woods. I wonder if she had something to confess—do Episcopalians even do confessions?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But confessions or no confessions, it’s worth looking into. Frannie said Margo was seeing someone older, someone she was trying to keep secret. An Episcopal priest would likely fit that bill. Are their priests allowed to get married?”

  “Obviously, there are quite a few things we don’t know about Episcopalians,” Stone said. “I can look them up tonight and get a little background. How should we approach this? Tomorrow’s Sunday, you know. Should we just visit the service and then casually ask him some questions? Invite him out for a meal?”

  I took a moment to think. “We should probably go right after the service, when we can catch him. Do we need a cover, do you think? Like we’re looking for marriage counseling?”

  “Probably wouldn’t make sense, since we’re not Episcopal. I’m kind of favoring a straightforward approach on this one—maybe knock him off guard? We can ask him if he knew Margo and if he lies, we’ll know he’s hiding something. If he says yes, maybe he’ll explain why she was seeing him.”

  I stirred hot chocolate powder into a mug of hot water. It was a Christmas mug, but by jolly, I was ready for the holidays. “Sounds good.”

  We both hesitated. I wondered if he was thinking about the same thing I was—our kiss on the beach. I wouldn’t apologize for taking the initiative—quite the contrary. I wanted another kiss. But it had been too soon, and in the cold light of day, I had begun to see that. I wasn’t really ready for a relationship with someone I barely knew.

  “About last night—” I started.

  “It was fantastic.” His voice was warm.

  “I agree.” I couldn’t deny the heat on that kiss. But Stone’s dad’s behavior had thrown me for a loop. I didn’t really know much about his family.

  Silence fell again. Finally, Stone said, “Okay, so I’ll find out when the service is tomorrow and text you what time we’ll pick you up. Will that work?”

  “Sure.”

  When I hung up, I sprinkled cinnamon on my hot chocolate, then walked over to Rasputin’s cage. He’d been pretty quiet today. When he did move, he tended to bump into things due to his filmy eyes. It was going to be pretty epic if I could watch him shed his entire skin. I checked the thermometer, then gave his cage another light misting.

  After checking in with Reginald, who sounded like he was having a horrible time with his family in Chicago, I called Katrina. She’d want an update on whether the police had caught Margo’s killer. So far, I had no idea how close they were to nailing a murderer, but I guessed they were probably talking to some of the same people we were.

  It was only after I hit “call” for Katrina’s cell that I realized the police station had likely closed and I’d forgotten to drop off my anonymous note. And tomorrow was Sunday and it probably wouldn’t be open then, either, since it was such a small precinct. I’d have to drop in Monday.

  Sometimes one forgot things when one was flying by the seat of one’s pants.

  * * * *

  The next morning, I was glad I could chill at home a little before we had to visit the Episcopal church. After taking a long shower, I read over my emails. My magazine editor was pleased with my article. He tried once again to persuade me to start my own Twitch stream, where I could share my gaming online. It was something I’d toyed with, but it would take lots of dedicated time to build up a following, and right now I was focusing on growing my pet-sitting business.

  Mom had left a voicemail asking me to bring coffee and bagels for Thanksgiving, so I made a mental note to work that into my schedule. Mom never asked me to bake, and with good reason. I was a notorious bread-burner. Meanwhile, I had no doubt Katrina would bring a stash of her delectable yeast rolls.

  I glanced out the back window. Frost coated the flowerbed, giving it an ethereal air that seemed to wash away any lingering taint from Margo’s dead body. I pulled on a warm sweater and straight-leg pants and boots. I’d have to dig out more warm clothes before my trip to my parents’, since it would be considerably colder up there.

  A light knock sounded on the door and I grabbed my purse and said goodbye to Rasputin. Stone looked a little distracted, but he greeted me with a smile.

  Red stayed put as Stone opened my car door. When I slid into the seat, which was starting to feel like my home away from home, Stone started talking.

  “Episcopal priests can marry,” he said. “We need to figure out if this Father Woods is already married—that would explain why Margo felt she couldn’t even tell Frannie about the relationship, if they had one.”

  I nodded. “Leave that to me.”

  It didn’t take us long to reach the quaint church right near the center of town. Red dropped us off, and we crunched up the leafy sidewalk to the quaint stone church with red doors. The morning church crowd seemed to have dispersed, so we walked into the empty entryway. Stone opened a couple of doors in his search for Father Woods’s office, but they only led to a restroom and broom closet.

  We walked into the main sanctuary and a man I guessed to be in hi
s forties approached us, apparently on his way out. He tilted his blond head and raised an eyebrow. “Could I help you?”

  “We’re looking for Father Woods,” Stone said.

  “You’re looking at him, but please call me Father Jesse.” The enthusiastic man beamed. “What can I help you with this fine Sunday?”

  I couldn’t hide my shock that Father Jesse looked like he’d stepped out of a Tommy Hilfiger ad. He wasn’t wearing a priestly garb, just chinos and a button-down shirt. He seemed preppy, perky, and perpetually undaunted. He was one of those men who’d aged well and probably looked better in his forties than he did in his twenties.

  Stone, who wasn’t above improvising a plausible story, jumped in. “Ava Fenton is a family friend, and she told me her daughter Margo had been visiting your church the past few months. As you probably heard, Margo died recently, and Ava’s grief has been crippling. I wondered if you would ever stop by at the Fentons’, maybe offer some comforting words?”

  Father Jesse seemed to struggle to find the right answer. For a moment, I was sure he was going to lie and say he’d never seen Margo before. Truthfulness seemed to win out.

  “Of course, I would be happy to visit them. Yes, Margo had stopped by a few times for counseling.” He didn’t elaborate.

  I felt a strange urge to prod this handsome man of the cloth. “Do you make a practice of counseling single women one-on-one, Father Jesse? If so, I’m assuming you’re married?”

  His shiny persona faltered for a split second and he gave me a haughty look that would make even Frannie wither. A priest with attitude. Who knew?

  “I’m not married, but I assure you my secretary is always around when I counsel at the church.”

  “And when you’re not at church?” I couldn’t stop myself. My imagination had taken a fast slide to the dark side and all I could picture was this priest, alone with Margo. It was dubious that he wouldn’t have been tempted by her youth and beauty, not to mention her family money.

  Stone gave an audible gasp, but I stood my ground. Father Jesse hadn’t convinced me he wasn’t involved.

  The priest extended a hand and ushered us out. “Much as I’d like to answer your questions, I’m afraid I can’t do that. Margo confided in me because she trusted me. I can’t betray her trust, even in death.”

  “We understand.” Stone went ahead of me down the steps.

  I lingered just inside the church, because I didn’t like being herded around like a sheep. I wasn’t a sheep, and something told me Father Jesse wasn’t the trustworthy shepherd he pretended to be.

  The priest stopped short, one hand on the red door. He didn’t smile anymore.

  I couldn’t think of an adequate parting blow, so I casually grabbed the door from the good father’s hand and shut it firmly behind me.

  I made my way to Stone, who stood at the bottom of the steps, his eyebrows raised.

  “You’re kind of savage, aren’t you, Belinda Blake?”

  “Just a little.” I kicked at a swirl of yellow leaves that had temporarily settled on the sidewalk. “I don’t like him.”

  “You have something against religion in general?”

  “No way. But I can smell fakes, and Father Jesse reeks.”

  Red stood by the car. He gave me a solid half-grin and opened the door. Stone had lingered directly behind me, so I slid all the way across the leather seat to make room for him.

  Stone dropped into his seat and continued. “Smelling fakes is helpful. But don’t you think Frannie reeked, too?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. She’s a total drama queen, of course. And she lied about some things, but I don’t think she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t.”

  He shrugged. “This thing is just too complex. I doubt we’re going to uncover any dastardly secrets that the police can’t figure out on their own.” His gaze shifted out the window as we passed a car dealership with a deep crimson Lamborghini on display. It hit me—did Stone even have a car? Why did we travel everywhere with Red?

  I looked at Stone’s striking profile. He might as well have been sculpted by Michelangelo with that perfect Greek nose and angled jaw line. His dark hair had been freshly trimmed, the ends curling just above his collar, showing off a smooth, tan neck. But who was this man, really? What did he like, besides tennis and billiards?

  I needed to get to know him better, outside our homicide investigation mission. I leaned toward him, tapping his arm. He broke out of his Lamborghini reverie and turned those striking eyes my way.

  “Stone...would you like to come over for a meal sometime?”

  He smiled. “Sure. What are your plans this week? Traveling for Thanksgiving?”

  “I’m heading home to Upstate New York on Tuesday. My dad’s picking me up.”

  “So that’s where you’re from. I guessed you weren’t a city girl.”

  I wasn’t quite sure how to take that comment, so I brushed past it. “What about tomorrow night? I have a pecan-crusted salmon recipe that even my picky brother-in-law eats.”

  He seemed to waver. “It’s the first Monday since Margo’s death, but I wasn’t planning on having a billiards party anyway. It would be great to take my mind off things.” His voice grew more decisive. “You know what, sure, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  I hadn’t thought of it being the one-week anniversary of Margo’s death. I shuddered. We’d be dining very close to the flowerbed where her body had been found, so it might not be the most conducive situation to take our minds off the tragic event.

  But Stone’s captivating smile convinced me. We would have a good meal tomorrow night, and we wouldn’t talk about Margo, if I could help it.

  Chapter 12

  I woke with the sun on Monday morning, anxious to get going on housecleaning and meal prep for our dinner. As I padded out to make coffee, I stopped short next to Rasputin’s cage.

  A long snakeskin was draped over his flowerpot, where he must have scraped it off. I didn’t really care to touch it, but Reginald had said it had to be disposed of, so I lifted the lid and grabbed it with the pincers. I gave Rasputin fresh water and he slithered toward it, moving much faster today.

  I felt the absurd, momentary urge to pet the beautiful gold and blue-black pattern on his back, but I tamped it down. I’d seen online that snakes aren’t really pets; they’re hobbies.

  But Reginald surely treated his snake like a pet.

  I shook my head, walking over to write a list of foods I’d need for this evening. Excitement filled me as I anticipated an evening with Stone, then tomorrow’s car trip home with my dad. Getting a chance to have Dad’s undivided attention for a few hours would be a delight. Though Dad was far more logical than I was, he seemed to understand my need to be on my own and he was always a font of information concerning any new venture I attempted.

  My cell phone rang as I took my first invigorating sip of coffee, and I stared, disbelieving, at the caller ID.

  Frances Rutherford.

  How on earth did she get this number? And why would she have any reason to call me?

  Hesitantly, I picked up. “Hello?”

  “Matilda. This is Frannie. I met you the other day.”

  “It’s Belinda. And yes, I remember you.”

  “Good. Listen, Stone gave me your number. He said you’re going to be cleaning Margo’s room sometime.”

  I’d actually forgotten about that. It was something I should really do today, before my three-day trip to Larches Corner.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Her snooty tone intensified. “I can’t imagine why Ava didn’t ask me to do that. Margo and I were best friends, after all. But regardless, I thought of something.”

  “Yes?” It was hard to get a word in edgewise with Frannie.

  “I remember when we were younger, Margo had this place where she’d hide things f
rom her parents. Cigarettes, fake IDs—don’t ask. Anyway, she had a secret drawer in her grandpa’s old desk. It’s dark wood and so heavy it can hardly be moved. It’s been sitting in her room for years.”

  I was amazed. Frannie was actually being of some help in our unauthorized investigation.

  “Okay. So where’s the drawer?”

  She elaborated on its location and the tricky method of opening it. She bellyached some more about how she hadn’t been chosen to clean the room, but I assured her it was only because she had been so close to Margo. She seemed mollified.

  “Thanks. I’ll keep thinking about things. I feel like there’s something I’m missing, something Margo told me.”

  “Just let us know if you remember,” I said. “And Frannie, be careful.”

  * * * *

  I didn’t want to spend half my day walking to Whole Foods, then lugging groceries back, so I called a car service. In typical form, I hadn’t thought out the logistics before I moved from Manhattan to Greenwich. So far, I’d relied on walking, hiring cars, or on Red, but I couldn’t keep imposing on the Carringtons’ hospitality. And taking taxis or private cars would get expensive fast.

  I needed to buy a car.

  I made a mental note to check around used car dealerships once I got to my parents’. Vehicles would be cheaper up there, and I probably had enough savings to pick up something that wasn’t too junky.

  As I waited for the hired car to arrive, I called Ava Fenton’s home. I was surprised when Ava herself picked up the phone. I was expecting a house secretary like Mrs. Lewis.

  “Belinda. So good to hear from you. I hope you’re calling about coming over?”

  “I am. I’m going to visit today around noon, if that’s okay? I only have about an hour to spare, and I’m heading out of town tomorrow, but if I can’t get the job done, I’ll drop in after Thanksgiving, too.”

  “That sounds perfect. Granted, it’s a large room, and she could be terribly slovenly, but I know a capable girl like yourself could make headway in no time.”