I nodded and pulled into the driveway. “If it can’t be proven scientifically …”
“It’s nonsense,” my mom said, completing her oft-repeated aphorism.
My dad, sitting in the back seat, leaned forward. “That’s my girl.” He patted Mom’s shoulder before shooting me a quick glance as I removed the keys from the ignition. “Surely you aren’t becoming a believer in ghosts and foolishness like that, Ames.”
I smiled at the old nickname. Climbing out of the car, I waited until Dad and Mom did the same before I answered him. “I remain skeptical, although I’ve experienced some events over the past year … Well, let’s just say I’m just trying to keep an open mind.”
“But not so open that your brains fall out,” my dad said, moving to stand beside me.
That was another saying I’d heard a lot as a child. Nicholas Webber, whom everyone called Nick, was a computer programmer. Although we were alike in our preference for jeans and T-shirts, his casual appearance was much more calculated than mine. I always suspected that it was intended to confuse his business rivals, who didn’t understand that his tendency to dress down and keep his opinions to himself didn’t negate the sharpness of his mind.
“I just hope Richard’s parents aren’t so stuffy that they expect us to dress up for this dinner.” Looking up at my dad, who at five feet eleven topped me and Mom by several inches, I wondered what the Muirs would make of his silver-threaded dark hair, which was pulled back into a short ponytail.
Dad shook his head. “I’ll go as far as khakis and a polo shirt, but no further.” He widened his brown eyes, giving me the “puppy-dog look” that my mom claimed he used to get what he wanted.
Not that he really needed to work so hard in that area. Generally quiet and cheerful, he was an easy man to live with. Which was good, since my hyper mother contributed enough excitement to the household. Although a logical and pragmatic scientist, she possessed enough internal energy to fuel a small town’s electrical grid.
As we climbed the porch steps, Mom slid her hand through Dad’s crooked arm. “Too bad Scott couldn’t come along, but he’s off on one of his mysterious trips again.”
Dad tapped her wrist with his other hand. “Now Debbie, you know we shouldn’t talk about that.” He glanced back at me. “More of that government high-security-clearance stuff, so we have to stay hush-hush about where he’s traveling.”
“Scott the spy, who’d have thought?” I called up a mental image of my younger brother. With his short dark hair and tortoiseshell-framed glasses, he was the most unassuming-looking guy on the planet, but I suspected that was why he was so successful at infiltrating organizations to assess and analyze their cybersecurity. Not to mention his missions to stop malicious hacking into the national infrastructure.
Because, although neither he nor my parents would admit it, I knew that’s what he did.
My mother said something about Scott “not actually being a spy, you know,” while my dad just grinned and escorted her into the front hall.
“I set out some drinks in the sunroom,” Aunt Lydia called out.
My parents headed toward the back of the house as I joined my aunt at the kitchen door, noting the joy that sparkled in her blue eyes. “You’re thrilled they’re here, aren’t you?”
“I am. Now we can finally all be together in the family home. Well, except for Scott, but I’m going to make sure he comes at Christmas, you wait and see.”
“If anyone could compel him to drop his work for a few days, it would be you.” I slid my arm around her slender waist and gave her a hug. “Let’s join the others. I hope you brought out the wine. I could use a little afternoon buzz before I face tonight’s lions.”
Aunt Lydia hugged me in return. “They can’t be that bad. And just remember, Richard and your parents and I will have your back.” She tapped her lips with two fingers. “And Kurt too. I believe he’s very fond of you.”
“Strangely, so do I, but that may be due to my connection to Richard.” I dropped my arm and headed for the sunroom.
Aunt Lydia murmured something like “it’s not just about Richard” as she followed me.
My parents had opted for the glider, so I chose the wicker chair with its rose-and-vine-patterned cushions.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful the view was from this porch,” my mom said. “You can just see the mountain ridge peeking over the treetops.”
“Nice garden too,” Dad observed.
“Amy really helps out with that.” Aunt Lydia crossed to the tall side table positioned on the exterior wall. “I couldn’t manage without her.”
“As long as she earns her keep.” My dad gave me a wink.
“She does, and then some,” said my aunt. “Now, what can I get you?” She motioned toward the bottles of wine, soda, and water nestled in an ice-filled bucket.
“Wine for me,” I said.
“Of course.” Aunt Lydia rolled her eyes. “But you need to go easy if you want to remain coherent at the dinner party tonight.”
“Who says I want that?” I leapt up and took the glass from my aunt and set it on the table next to my chair. “Mom and Dad, what’s your poison?”
“Water is fine for me,” Mom said.
“I think I saw a bottle of lemonade—that will do,” said my dad.
“I’m the only lush?” I motioned for Aunt Lydia to sit in the rocker near the table while I handed out the drinks.
My mom pointed toward her sister. “Apparently not.”
Aunt Lydia lifted her wine glass in a little salute. “I know how to pace myself,” she said, before taking a sip.
“Tell me about this new rash of criminal activity in Taylorsford,” Mom said as I took my seat. “It seems odd to have yet another murder.”
“I know. It’s almost like Mona Raymond’s fanciful fae creatures have cursed the town.”
Mom leaned back against the glider cushions. “You don’t really believe that.”
“No, although you have to admit that a girl disappearing followed by her professor getting killed is a peculiar turn of events.” I took a long swallow of my wine. “Then there’s that recent hit-and-run death too, although it was near the university rather than in Taylorsford.”
“I heard about that on the news.” Mom eyed me with interest. “The victim was a girlfriend of Charles Bartos, right?”
“Yeah, Marlis Dupre.” I met my mom’s gaze with narrowed eyes. “So yes, he’s available again, and no, I’m not interested.”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Mom said, tapping her water bottle against her palm. “Not after the way he treated you.”
“Oh, is this that Charles?” Dad asked.
“It is,” Aunt Lydia said, “but I wouldn’t worry. I don’t think Amy intends to run back to him.”
“Hardly.” I finished off my wine and set the empty glass on the end table. “I do feel sorry for him, though. Not only did he lose his lover; he also lost one-third of his trio.”
Dad tapped his chin with one finger. “What exactly happened to the girlfriend?”
“She was hit by a car while out jogging.” I slumped into the chair cushions. “The authorities haven’t located the car or the driver yet, and apparently no one saw anything.”
“Sounds like whoever hit her wasn’t too concerned with her survival,” Dad said thoughtfully. “I mean, usually in an accident like that, the driver would’ve at least notified 911, if only anonymously.”
“That’s what I keep wondering—why did they just leave her there, without even calling for any help?” I pursed my lips as another thought popped into my mind. “It’s almost like the driver was happy to let her to die, or even hit her deliberately.”
My mom wrinkled her brow. “If you look at it that way, wouldn’t it logically follow that the investigation should focus on the person or persons who’d have a motive for such a thing? Which means you’d need to figure out who could possibly want the young woman out of the way. Or, thinking about the other case,
who’d benefit from the professor’s death. How either act was done seems less important than the why.”
Both Aunt Lydia and I slid forward on our seats and focused our attention on Mom.
“You’re absolutely right, Debbie,” my aunt said. “Why indeed.”
“When it comes to the professor, I can think of a couple of reasons,” I said. “One would be her homophobic attitude ticking off Ethan Payne, the boyfriend of one of her students. A guy who does own at least one gun and knows how to shoot.”
“Is that type of slight enough to kill over?” Dad asked.
“Hard to say. You know what happened last summer, with our cousin Sylvia. I didn’t think her motives were that compelling, but apparently she did.”
“True.” Mom took a sip of water. “Okay, so there’s one suspect. Are there more?”
“Sure,” I replied. “Either of her students, Chris Garver or Hope Hodgson, or even her graduate assistant, Trisha Alexander. I mean, I’m not sure what the motives would be for any of them, other than maybe they thought there was the possibility of finding a treasure.”
With my parents gazing at me expectantly, I detailed the contents of the 1879 letter.
“But to kill someone over a mythical cache of gold coins? Especially since it seems just as likely that the young women made off with it to start a new life.” Dad leaned forward, gripping his knees with both hands. “Logically, to imagine any of those coins remaining hidden in this area seems like a stretch.”
“Stranger things have happened. Besides, it appears that the girls probably did die in mountains. And there is another, unrelated, angle. Trish hates the girl who disappeared because she blames Lacey’s dad for a false accusation that forced her to leave her first-choice university. Who’s to say she didn’t follow Lacey into the mountains and then conk her on the head or something? Maybe Mona found out about it somehow, confronted Trish, and Trish killed her.”
“But does this Trish know how to shoot a gun?” my aunt asked.
“She does,” I said, and mentioned my discovery of the skeet club photo.
“But you told me she doesn’t have a car. That would limit her actions, wouldn’t it?” Aunt Lydia finished off her drink before speaking again. “How would she have gotten up to the trail without anyone knowing about it?”
“True.” I sat back in my chair.
“Also, if this Trish person shot Mona, wouldn’t she have hightailed it out of town? She’s still around, from what I’ve heard,” my aunt said.
“You’d think, but who knows? Maybe she’s trying to play it cool.”
“The other case seems unrelated,” my dad said. “The hit-and-run, I mean. What’s your theory on that, Ames?”
I frowned. “Not sure. It seems like that was just a tragic accident, although someone just leaving the poor woman to die is pretty cold.” I tapped the arms of my chair with my fingers. “Of course, getting back to the Mona Raymond case, there’s old Delbert Frye too. He’s been known to chase strangers off his land with a gun. He could’ve shot Mona in a fit of temper.” I tapped my lips with one finger before continuing. “Mona told me she’d uncovered some scandal involving the two girls who went missing back in 1879 and intended to confront Mr. Frye about that. So he’d be more inclined to talk to her, she said.”
My mom made a face. “Blackmail? Not a very nice way to collect information for your research.”
“And a very good motive for old Delbert to shoot her, in my opinion,” Dad said.
“Now in terms of the hit-and-run, there’s always Charles,” my aunt said thoughtfully.
I turned to stare at her. “What do you mean?”
Aunt Lydia shrugged. “Isn’t if often the significant other who’s to blame in these cases? Maybe he decided, for whatever reason, that he wanted to break off the relationship and chose a rather dramatic way to do so. He would’ve known his girlfriend’s schedule and where she normally went jogging and that sort of thing.”
“Yeah, but …” I could feel the questioning looks of the three people in the room land on me. “I just don’t believe he’d kill someone. At least, not for that reason. All right, I admit he’s vain and full of himself, but that’s exactly why I doubt he’d feel it necessary to murder someone to dump them. He’d probably just start up something with a new woman and flaunt it, like he did with me. I can’t imagine Marlis would’ve fought to stay with him in that case.”
I gripped the arms of the chair. Charles might also have had a reason to harm Mona, especially if she had carried through on her threat to confront him with some unspecified wrongdoing, but I decided not to raise that specter. After all, just like her comments concerning a scandal in the Frye family, I only had Mona’s word that she had any dirt on him. She could’ve just as easily been lying to persuade me to take her side.
“It seems like there’s a missing piece or two in all this,” my mom said. “But I don’t think we’re going to solve these mysteries today, so let’s change the subject. I don’t want to discuss murder and death any longer, but one thing I certainly do want to hear more about is this Hugh Chen that you’ve been dating, Lydia.”
A faint blush tinted my aunt’s cheeks. “He’s a good friend.”
I snorted. “Friend with benefits, you mean.”
“Amy!” Aunt Lydia shot me a fierce look.
My mom just laughed. “Good for you, Lydia. Please tell me more.”
My dad stood up. “I think I’ll check out the garden, if you don’t mind.”
I shared a smile with him and excused myself as well, claiming I needed to catch up on emails and texts before the activities of the evening. It was obvious that the sisters wanted some time to dish about personal matters. Following Dad’s lead, I decided to give them an opportunity to do so.
But despite my attempts to quiet my thoughts, the points my parents had raised about recent events set my brain working overtime throughout my shower and my futile attempt to blow-dry my straight hair into a more glamorous style. Finally opting for simple barrettes to hold my shoulder-length bob away from my face, I then pulled at least ten outfits from my closet before settling on a cotton dress with short sleeves and a full skirt. The perfect choice, I thought as I twirled in front of my standing mirror. The print fabric, a deep coral sprigged with turquoise-and-white flowers, provided a bright contrast to my dark hair and eyes.
But the bare legs … I pointed one foot and then the other, admiring my jaunty rope espadrilles. Unfortunately, my legs were frog’s-belly pale. I knew I should tug on some pantyhose but resisted the temptation to give in to conformity. Comfort trumped style. The Muirs would simply have to deal with my bare legs, along with my dad’s ponytail.
True to his word, Dad wore a pair of khaki trousers with an ivory polo shirt while my mom had opted for chestnut-brown slacks and an amber silk blouse. Only Aunt Lydia had chosen to dress more formally for the occasion, donning an elegant linen suit the color of purple hyacinths. She’d even worn her best pearls.
I shook my head. “You’ve outclassed us, I’m afraid.”
My aunt lifted her fine-boned hands. “We’ve all obviously chosen to wear what makes us feel comfortable. I don’t see the problem.”
“Because there isn’t one,” said my dad, offering Aunt Lydia his arm. “Now, shall we go? I’m anxious to meet the young man who’s taken up so much of my daughter’s time over the past year.”
“Ten months,” I said, earning a sharp look from both my mom and my aunt. “I know how you like me to be accurate, Mom.”
“And if I ask you how in love you are with him, are you likely to tell me that with pinpoint accuracy?” my mom asked as we stepped out onto the front porch.
Aunt Lydia, locking the front door, cast a glance over at my parents. “Don’t worry, Debbie, you’ll know. All you have to do is wait until they’re in the same room and look at them.”
Chapter Fourteen
At dinner I was seated between Richard and my dad, facing Richard’s parents across th
e table.
The evening had begun with strained introductions, with Richard’s burly, sandy-haired father loudly announcing that he was “James Muir, but please call me Jim,” while Richard’s mother, Fiona, had stared pointedly at my dad’s ponytail and casual attire.
For my father’s sake, I was glad to see that Kurt had opted for light-gray trousers and a cerulean-blue sweater over a pale-yellow shirt, especially since Richard was dressed more formally than usual, in gray slacks and a navy linen jacket over an ivory shirt. His father was even more severely attired in a charcoal-gray pinstriped suit, white button-down shirt, and a tie.
With his short hair and pewter-framed glasses, Jim Muir looked every inch the investment banker that Richard had informed me he was. He could pose for an advertisement featuring a successful businessman, I thought, especially with his wife by his side. A slender woman whose head barely reached her husband’s shoulder, Fiona Muir was the picture of understated elegance in her midnight-blue silk sheath, navy pumps, and draped silver rope necklaces.
Richard looked nothing like his dad, which didn’t surprise me, since I knew from old photos that he bore a striking resemblance to Fiona’s uncle—the man who’d once owned his house, Paul Dassin.
Fiona, still eyeing my parents with barely concealed disapproval, didn’t meet my gaze. In fact, since our introduction, which had offered all the warmth of a plunge into a frozen pond, she’d studiously ignored me. But her rose-tinted lips did twitch upward when she turned to her left to address my aunt. “Lydia, I do hope we’ll have a chance to get to know one another better. Richard has mentioned you quite often. As did Uncle Paul.”
Aunt Lydia’s appearance and demeanor are obviously more to Fiona’s taste, I thought as I leaned into Richard and whispered, “How did it go earlier today?”
“As expected,” he said under his breath. “Meaning that we’ve almost reached critical mass and an explosion is imminent.”
Past Due for Murder Page 12
