by Joan Hess
She caught her breath. “It didn’t seem right to go inside the house. Maybe someone should have, but we were in mourning. No one was thinking clearly. Charles took care of the funeral arrangements. Despite his antagonism, he was upset to lose a family member in such a horrible way.”
“I’ve noticed how sensitive he is. You may not have been thinking clearly, but Ethan was. He could have been looking for guidance for the funeral service when he found the deed in a desk drawer or folder. It’s public record at the courthouse, but he would have had to know the deed existed in the first place. Which nobody did, from what you said.”
“Maybe Pandora had a vision while she was munching pokeweed berries,” Nattie said. “You’ll have to ask Ethan, Claire. I can’t explain it.”
I put that on my agenda, but I had a feeling I’d have no more luck with him than I’d had with Charles Finnelly. If I included Margaret Louise and Felicia, my batting average would send me back to the minors. Nattie excused herself and went into the Old Tavern. In the vicinity of the nursery, a truck rumbled to life. Minutes later I watched it drive across the bridge and around a bend. The driver must not have been thrilled to spend the remainder of the weekend delivering trees and shrubs to Missouri. I hoped he was getting overtime.
I was wasting time, I told myself sharply. I had less than twenty-four hours to find Terry’s killer. Once Peter was back, it would be trickier to avoid violating his bureaucratic dicta while I sleuthed. There would be an official investigation once food poisoning was ruled out, although there might be a delay until an autopsy eliminated any kind of preexisting condition. Such things as blood clots and aneurisms could kill quickly. I knew perfectly well that Terry had been poisoned, but I also knew the police were sticklers for protocols and procedures. In the fable, the plodding tortoise won the race. I fully intended to be sitting on the finish line, nibbling a carrot, long before the investigation broke into a sweat.
There was one enormous hurdle in my path. No one in Hollow Valley knew that Terry had returned from Key West under the cover of darkness. The headlights of his rental car would not have been visible from the other houses, nor would the interior lights of the house. Billy Bobstay and his friends wouldn’t have alerted any of the members of the family. I certainly hadn’t. How long had the vodka bottle been lurking in the liquor cabinet like a brown recluse? Nattie knew about Moses’s forays into Winston’s house to drink whatever caught his rheumy eye. I’d seen him drink two bottles of wine. His tastes were likely to be eclectic, from absinthe to zinfandel. Other family members must have known, too. He was the reigning patriarch, for better or worse, and therefore to be protected—not poisoned.
I was not so lost in thought that I failed to see movement out of the corner of my eyes. “It must be uncomfortable sitting in that tree, Jordan. Come down before the starlings attack.” In truth, I wasn’t sure that it was Jordan, but it seemed like a logical guess. The Finnellys were having dinner, Margaret Louise was transforming herself from a well-worn flower child to a great-aunt, and Pandora Butterfly wasn’t able to remain silent for more than a few seconds. I heard a thump, but I continued to watch the sunlight shifting on the woods beyond the bridge.
“I can’t believe Terry’s dead,” Jordan said as she sat down in the grass. “I mean, what a bummer. I was thinking that he was cool and that I might survive the summer, as long as I could sneak over to his house sometimes. Now all I can look forward to is watching the geraniums wilt.”
“Every once in a while, Jordan, it’s not about you.”
“Yeah, I know, but I can’t show any weakness. If I do, they’ll pounce on me like a pack of wolves. Terry was cool. He wasn’t all snooty just because he’d lived in New York and hung out with famous people. I guess they’re famous. I’ve never heard of any of them.”
“You might if you go to school,” I said.
“Sure, and sit in a row of identical desks and listen to a teacher drone on and on about stuff that’s never going to have anything to do with my life. When’s the last time you did an algebraic equation, Ms. Malloy? If I have a job that requires me to explain the impact of the Industrial Revolution on current economic policies, I won’t have to hang myself. I’ll slowly disintegrate into a pile of subatomic particles and be blown away by a solar flare.”
“I admit that doesn’t sound too exciting.” I wondered what would have become of me if Peter hadn’t blundered into my life. I’d grow too old to manage the Book Depot and end up in a dusty little apartment with cats and the last remaining book made out of paper.
“You two don’t look very chipper,” Nattie said as she placed a tray on the table. “You’re too young for wine, Jordan. There’s a pitcher of lemonade inside.”
A croak burst out of my mouth. A pitcher of lemonade, a splash of vodka, and an ambulance. “Thank you, Nattie, but I have to drive back to town in a few minutes. My husband will fix a squeaky door, but he refuses to fix my parking tickets. If I were picked up for a DWI, he’d line up to testify against me.”
“Wow,” Jordan murmured. “That’s hard.”
I hoped it wasn’t true, although I wasn’t positive. Peter had arranged for my car to be towed, simply because he was in a snit. He’d stationed an officer to prevent me from leaving my apartment, which had required me to come up with a devious escape plan. There have been moments when he seemed to be picturing me in a holding cell. “I’ve changed my mind, Nattie. I’d love a splash of wine. Would you like a piece of cheese?” I asked Jordan as I held out the plate.
She looked at me as if I’d offered her a ticket to Hawaii (or a get-out-of-jail-free card). She glanced at Nattie, then grabbed the plate. “Hell, yes. All I had for lunch was—” She caught herself. “Thank you.”
Nattie nodded. “I’ll make it my responsibility to see that you have a decent lunch break. Ethan gets so passionate about the plants that he forgets to eat. I’ve seen the workmen huddled behind an outbuilding, eating lunch.”
“And chain-smoking,” Jordan said. “They’re real careful to pick up the butts so Ethan won’t find them. When he caught Mariposa sneaking a quick cigarette near the red maples, he yelled at her until she burst into tears. I don’t know if he fired her, but she never came back. I wouldn’t have.” She produced an admirably dramatic sigh. “I don’t have that option. Ethan yells at me all day, no matter what. If I do a good job, he tells me that I was too slow. If I try to hurry, he tells me that I was sloppy and makes me do it again. When I get incarcerated in that boarding school, I’m going to read up on child labor laws.”
I retrieved the plate of cheese. “Run along, Jordan. Aunt Margaret Louise is expecting you.”
“Expecting me to do what? Clean the bathroom? Scrub the floor on my hands and knees?” She stood up. “I am so out of here. I wonder what language they speak in Oklahoma.”
Nattie waited until Jordan was out of sight. “An idle threat. She stowed away on a delivery truck a while back. After six hours of bouncing into pines and holly trees in the dark, with no air-conditioning, bathroom facilities, food, or water, she concluded that it was a poor idea. She was lucky that the driver let her sit in front on the ride back.”
“The workers loading the truck didn’t see her?”
She carefully poured herself a glass of wine. “Apparently not. She might have crawled in at the last minute, just before they closed the door. For all I know, she could have been wearing a black ski mask to cover those ridiculous rings and studs—and that hair. Looking at her makes me feel old, Claire.”
“I feel sorry for her. It sounds as though she and her parents are trapped in a futile cycle. They get mad at her for something, so she retaliates by doing something even worse. I hope she still has a few square inches of unsullied skin before she reaches maturity.” Thinking about Jordan’s angst-ridden adolescence reminded me of a question. “Nattie, from what I’ve heard, everyone in Hollow Valley knew that Winston was gay by the time he became a teenager. Did he announce it?”
“I knew W
inston better than anyone, including his parents. We were practically soul mates, but I sensed that he wasn’t completely open about … certain things. Some of his poems hinted at his confusion and pain. I still have them in a box in my nightstand. I shall always treasure them.” She realized she’d wandered off track and said, “I only came during summer vacations, so if there was a formal announcement, I missed it. I think maybe there was a vicious rumor at school. Ethan and Esther must have repeated it to their respective parents.”
“Who’s Esther?”
“Charles and Felicia’s daughter. She’s a year older than Ethan.”
I was less than excited to hear that there was yet another Hollow. “Where is she? How did she escape from her parents’ piety?”
“She ran away when she was seventeen. It’s a touchy subject, especially for Felicia, so we never mention it.”
“Nobody knows what happened to her?”
Nattie shook her head. “All I can say is that I don’t know what happened to her. I hope she’s living in a million-dollar condo in Manhattan or with a disgustingly rich marquis in Tuscany. Anyone who survived seventeen years under Charles Finnelly’s tyranny deserves all the worldly wickedness she wants. She and I talked quite a bit. She told me that she had to come straight home from school, wasn’t allowed to participate in any outside activities, and was dragged to church twice a week. She had long braids and wore dresses that covered her arms and knees. I felt just awful when I thought about her, and the other kids, too. They were required to put in fifteen hours a week at the nursery.”
“It sounds pretty dreadful,” I murmured. The last time Caron had worn braids was in kindergarten. I still remembered the day she brought them home in her lunchbox. “Did the police conduct a search?”
“Ethan told me that Esther’s friends were candid with the police, who figured they weren’t going to have much luck tracking down a runaway.”
I sat back and took a discreet sip of wine. Now I had too much information to even begin to assimilate on my own. Peter was not a potential confidant, due to his obsession with the rules. “Okay,” I said as if I were about to say something of profound significance, “what do you think about all this? I know that you believe Winston committed suicide, but Terry was adamant that he didn’t. He said that Winston wasn’t depressed and was looking forward to their trip to Rio. I met someone who played in Winston’s string ensemble, and he told me that Winston was definitely expecting them that weekend. Have you considered the possibility that you caught Winston at a bad moment, or maybe misinterpreted his actions?”
“Two days ago I was convinced that Winston did indeed commit suicide, but after Terry’s death … well, we both know that he didn’t poison himself.” She gave me a perplexed look. “I suppose we know that. I’ve read that combinations of prescription drugs or illegal substances can be toxic. The police have searched the house and his luggage, haven’t they?”
“I’m sure they have. In any case, he didn’t spike the vodka with some caustic cleaning solution; the symptoms would have been immediate and obvious. An overdose of a prescription medication takes time to get into the system. The poison was strong, obviously. The lab will identify it sooner or later.”
“I’ve tried my best to figure out who might have had a motive to kill Terry.” She held up her palms before I could launch into a tirade. “Yes, you’re convinced that everyone out here is so fixated on keeping Hollow Valley in the family that we were lined up at his front door, each with a weapon.”
“Why else would someone kill Terry—and Winston? Did either of them express any interest in the nursery business? Did they expect a share of the profits? They must have been in good financial shape to remodel the house with such style. I can’t picture them in overalls, with dirty fingernails.”
Nattie smiled. “They weren’t good ol’ country boys. When Winston’s parents died, he signed over his interest in the Hollow Valley Nursery to the corporation. He said that he didn’t want any responsibility or liability. The nursery’s profitable, but a percentage goes to maintaining stock, and the remaining profit’s split four ways. Jordan’s father sold his interest to the corporation about five years ago.”
“Why?” I asked.
She glanced over her shoulder, then said in a low voice, “A midlife crisis named Chiffon. Jordan’s mother said that she’d accept either a divorce or a six-bedroom villa in Aruba. Jordan says it has a wonderful view of the beach.”
My head was beginning to ache. I put down the glass and said, “I need to go home and feign sympathy for my daughter, who has a sunburn.”
Nattie stood up to give me a hug. “I’m really sorry about the house, Claire. I know how much you wanted it, and I was looking forward to having someone remotely sane to talk to. I loved it out here, but now it feels … well, menacing. Someone murdered Terry. I don’t see how it could be a random sociopath.” She gave me a heartrending look. “What do I do, Claire?”
“Let the police investigate before you do anything,” I said. “There may be some screwy explanation that we haven’t begun to consider.” I didn’t add that I intended to consider every last screwy explanation, including aliens, delivery truck drivers, and treacherous cave-dwelling mutants from the family tree. I told her that I would keep her informed about the police investigation and went to my car. When I reached the driveway that led to what should have been my house, I couldn’t stop myself from turning. If I found a way to get inside, it was not likely that I’d find a confession on the kitchen island. I could, however, take a quick look in the desk.
Dusk was settling in as I got out of the car. I was on my way to the porch when I heard an outraged screech.
8
I did not go thundering around the corner of the house to rescue some hapless female from the jaws of a bear, nor did I bust through the front door to find an ax before I thundered around the corner of the house to rescue any hapless body. I took the wiser course and stopped where I was. The second screech was more of a yelp. Biting down on my lower lip, I cautiously headed for the back of the house. I heard frantic whispers and splashes. I regret to say that I recognized the voices, so instead of dialing nine-one-one to report a burglary in progress, I merely stepped into sight and said, “What are you two doing here?”
Caron, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, was treading water in the middle of the pool. Inez clutched a long pole with a flat basket on one end. Neither seemed eager to answer me. “Well?” I said.
“Swimming,” Caron said blithely. “Does it look like I’m riding a bicycle?”
Inez held up the pole. “This is in case Caron gets a cramp and I have to pull her out of the water before she drowns. We ate hamburgers on the drive. My mother always makes me wait for an hour before I go in the water.”
I wanted to take the pole and bop Caron on the head. “Swimming while fully dressed? Isn’t it a bit cumbersome? Inez, put down that thing before you poke yourself in the eye.” I watched Caron as she swam to a ladder and pulled herself up. “Let me try again. What are you two doing here?”
Caron shook herself like a wet dog and then meticulously fluffed her hair with her fingers while she concocted a plausible story. She has a talent for mendacity that has been honed since the day she filched her first teething biscuit. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” she began. “I mean, what are you doing here? Aren’t you trespassing?”
“That’s the best you can do?” I asked. “Were you and Inez stalking a unicorn when you lost your balance?”
“It wasn’t a unicorn,” Inez said.
“My mother was being facetious, for pity’s sake,” Caron said to her. “At least I hope she was.” She blinked at me. “You have been acting Quite Odd. Is there something you need to tell me? Does it have anything to do with Peter? You can’t divorce him, Mother. He promised me a new car next June, a convertible if I want. All you’d give me is that pathetic thing you drive.” She buried her face in her hands as though overwhelmed with grief. Her shoulders a
ctually trembled.
“I was thinking about a used bicycle and a helmet. You’ll get to select the color.”
Caron flopped down on a chaise. “Inez told me how really cool the house is, so we came here so I could see it. It really is cool. It’s kind of far, but if I get the car this summer instead of waiting, I won’t care that it takes At Least twenty minutes.”
“Which isn’t that bad,” Inez said, “if you take into consideration the fact that the average commute time for New York City is thirty minutes. In Los Angeles, commuters spend an average of seventy-two hours stuck in traffic every year.”
I looked at her for a moment, then at Caron. “There’s a problem, dear. We can’t have the house. The title is unresolved, but it belonged to either Winston or Terry. Sadly, neither of them can sell or even lease it to us. Winston died three months ago, and Terry died this afternoon.” I turned back at Inez, whose eyes were wide. “I’m sorry. I know you liked him. He lapsed into a coma and never came out of it.”
Caron stood up. “What do you mean we can’t have the house? Just buy it from whoever inherited it from whoever owned it. Did you see the size of the closet? I could hide a dozen unicorns in there! And the shower has so many faucets that I’ll never figure out how to turn them all on at the same time. You never let a murder get in your way. How many hours till Peter gets back? We need to solve this before he starts ordering you to stop meddling.”
“I think we should make a list,” Inez said. “We can have two columns—one for the improbable suspects and another for the probable ones. Then we can categorize them by motive and opportunity, and rank them accordingly.”
I sighed. “We are not going to use the Dewey Decimal System to solve this, Inez. These people aren’t that obliging. Inez, did you tell Caron about Jordan?”
“She sounds egotistical and immature,” Caron opined with a sniff. “She’s probably in one of those gangs where everybody has the same tattoo. She wasn’t here in March when this Winston person drowned. I see no reason to waste time on her.”
