by Krista Davis
The kitchen door slammed open. “I knew I smelled pizza!” Nina sipped from my glass. “Sunset Boulevards without me?”
I made one for her as fast as I could. When I handed it to her, I whispered, “Ixnay on Anne.”
Happily, the rest of the evening seemed like old times before I dug up that stupid purse. While the pizza baked, we snuck out to the backyard to see what changes had taken place. Windows had been installed on the side of the garage, and they had begun the process of laying brick on the walls. A door and another window opened to the rear.
Pallets of stone were clustered near the back of the garage.
Wolf hefted a stone. “I bet they’re building a path to the gate.”
As a rule, I liked stonework. “Maybe this will turn out all right in spite of Natasha.”
Unfortunately, Natasha and Mars woke me at six in the morning. They let themselves in and shouted up the stairs to me.
I clomped downstairs. “Give me my key,” I growled. “Why won’t anyone let me sleep in this week?”
“Don’t mind her, Nat. It takes Soph a while to wake up.” Mars grabbed Daisy’s leash.
“She doesn’t have time this morning.” Natasha shoved papers under my nose. “Here are your lines. See if you can get them right this time.”
I ignored her and asked Mars, “Where are you taking Daisy?”
“She never gets to run when she stays with you.”
“She walks!” I protested. “Besides, shouldn’t you…” I stopped mid-question. Natasha probably didn’t know what was up with Roscoe.
Mars tilted his head and held his palms up, communicating that I wasn’t getting it.
Aha—he was using Daisy as an excuse to go to Roscoe’s house.
Natasha bustled into my kitchen. I could hear her starting coffee. “Right.” I whispered to Mars. “Like Mindy and Violet are really going to think you ran all the way over to their neighborhood?”
“I need an excuse to go there early, and chances are pretty good that they don’t know where I live. Daisy, want to go for a ride?”
They ran out the door, sticking me with Natasha.
“Sophie,” she trilled. “Better shower and do your hair.” She hurried into the foyer. “Should I pick out something for you to wear?”
“That won’t be necessary.” I grumbled. “What are we supposed to be doing?”
She handed me a mug of coffee and pumped her fists on her waist. “Honestly, Sophie, if you would read the script I gave you, you wouldn’t have to ask. Now hurry! You’re on camera with Troy in half an hour, and you’re a mess.”
I returned wearing a summery pink dress that I particularly liked because of the slimming vertical pin tucks all the way around it. The skirt flared out ever so slightly. I’d added a handmade necklace featuring a large pink druzy stone. The tiny, rough quartz crystals on the top shimmered when I moved. I wasn’t going the four-inch-heel route, though, and wore comfortable strappy sandals with low heels.
“I knew I should have picked out your wardrobe.” She sighed like a ten-year-old drama queen and thrust papers in my hand. “You left your lines down here. Troy is waiting.”
I glanced at the paper in my hand. Exclamation marks preceded and ended every single line. I gathered I was supposed to be excited.
They positioned me on the sidewalk in front of my house, and Troy asked a few questions. I answered with what I hoped was the proper blend of doubt and perkiness.
The best part of the whole thing was knowing that it would be over soon. At least I hoped it would. What if it rained? What if they didn’t finish everything?
“Thanks, Sophie. We’ll be wrapping up soon.”
I looked up at Troy. “I’m so sorry about Heath.”
“It came as a big shock. I’d been running around bad-mouthing him and leaving mean messages on his phone like I always do when he takes off—and this time, oh man, some woman must have finally caught up with him. Hey, you were there. Was he really buried under mulch?”
“Everything except his hand.”
Troy gagged. “We’re dedicating this episode to him. You know, he pushed and pushed to do this show, telling us how terrific Old Town is and that an opportunity like this was too good to pass up. He wanted to come back here, and look where it got him.”
“Troy, did Heath have a girlfriend?”
“So, Heath was your type, huh? Women were all over him. Didn’t matter where we went, Heath was never alone.”
“I meant a special girlfriend. Someone he loved? Someone named… Anne?”
“He used to talk about some knockout. What was her name? A kind of bug, I think.”
“Cricket?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dear Natasha,
Every year, my wife plants annuals in containers. Then she makes me cart them around—to our pool for parties, to the driveway for the annual block party—and those things are heavy! There has to be a better way.
—Pooped in Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts
Dear Pooped,
Fill the bottom of large pots with light material, like an upside-down plastic pot or crushed soda cans. Just be sure the water can still drain.
—Natasha
“That’s it—Cricket! He described her like she was centerfold material.”
Eww. What a compliment. My head spun. Heath and Cricket? There was an unlikely couple. Maybe he was infatuated and admired her from afar?
“Sophie? Sophie?” said Troy.
“Sooophie!” Natasha called from somewhere.
I dashed into my house, fed Mochie, retrieved my purse, and left, bolting past everyone outside, walking as fast as I could. I had to get away from the commotion. I had to think.
On King Street, I stopped by my favorite bakery for a croissant and a tall cup of English Breakfast tea with milk and sugar. I took them to a bench overlooking the Potomac River, shared my breakfast with the seagulls, and thought about Heath.
He had worked for Roscoe, so it wasn’t peculiar that he knew Cricket. But I still wasn’t sure about his connection to Anne. I massaged my temples and forced myself to think about a possibility that I didn’t want to consider. If Olive was correct about Heath and Anne having an affair—could Wolf have killed Heath? Surely not. Had they seen each other in my backyard that first day? I hadn’t noticed any awkwardness, but then, I was a little blown away by it all when Troy arrived. There had to be some other explanation. Could it be that Olive lied about Anne’s involvement with Heath to protect Audie? It seemed like every bit of information sent me in a circle. I wasn’t making any progress at all.
I wished Wolf would tell me about his issues with Roscoe. That information might be key. Or maybe it just didn’t matter. Most likely, whatever happened to Anne had nothing to do with Roscoe or his family. Who else had known Anne? Her boss at the accounting firm. Maybe he was still with the company. I pulled out my phone and found the address I’d seen on the Internet. At nine o’clock, I headed over.
The company where Anne had worked occupied a large town house just off King Street. I tapped the brass door knocker and opened the door slightly. A worn oriental carpet covered gleaming hardwood floors. I ventured inside. An umbrella stand and a simple table holding a basket of silk peonies were the only other items in the foyer. Stairs ran up on the left side. “Hello?” I called.
A woman’s voice asked, “How can I help you?”
I finally saw her seated at a desk in a room to my right. “I was wondering if I might talk to someone who knew Anne Fleishman.”
She took a deep breath, stood up, and walked into an adjoining room.
A man shouted, “I don’t have all day to talk to the police. You tell them that if they want any more information, they’ll have to subpoena it. I’m not breaching client privilege. All this garbage should have ended years ago when she died. I rue the day Anne set foot in this office. I will not lose my business because of her.”
I was ready to give up and crawl toward the door when I heard him
say, “Oh, really?”
The woman returned. “Mr. Overton will see you now.”
What could she possibly have said to change his mind? I entered his office, and Mr. Overton rose from his seat. Tall and gangly, his head seemed oddly proportioned—longer than it should have been. Either his eyes were recessed or his brow jutted out, I wasn’t quite sure. Dark brown bangs had been cut too short in a straight line at the top of his forehead.
He shook my hand. “I had no idea that policewomen were so pretty these days.”
I snatched my hand back and worked hard at making sure my smile didn’t fade. He motioned to a chair and perched on his desk, looking down at me like a delighted vulture ready for lunch.
Echhhhh. “I didn’t mean to mislead you. I’m not with the police.” I hurried to stroke his ego, hoping he wouldn’t throw me out immediately. “I’m just so thrilled that you could take a minute out of your busy day to talk to me about Anne.”
“Of course. She was a dear. We certainly miss her.”
“What kind of work did she do for you?”
“She was a corporate auditor. Have you ever considered that field?”
“What is that exactly?”
“They ensure a company’s tax and accounting systems are working correctly. They look for mismanagement and fraud, make sure everything is accurate. It’s a very exciting area.”
I was clearly going to have to lie if I wanted information from him. “I have always been sorry that I didn’t pursue that myself. Anne made the right choice.”
“Actually, it was not the correct path for her, but you seem very bright.”
“Anne wasn’t smart?”
“Not when it came to men, obviously!” He cackled as though we were sharing a joke. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but it gave me the opening I needed.
I forced a weak laugh. “They say she was having an affair.”
He toyed with his suit jacket. “She certainly was beautiful. I cannot fathom what she saw in him. She was shortsighted in that regard. I see you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
In him? Who did he mean? Wolf? Heath? “Not yet.” Better set up any roadblocks that I could lest he get ideas. “I’m still working on my boyfriend.” I took a chance. “Did you know Heath?”
Overton huffed. “I don’t associate with embezzlers. You can imagine that his ilk are exactly what we are paid to guard against. Do you like Mexican food?”
Embezzler? Could Heath have been embezzling? I wished I could ask him straight out. “So, um, I heard that Anne ran into some problems at work because she wasn’t all that bright.”
His arms folded over his chest and the sick smile faded. “I can’t talk about that, Miss… I’m sorry, what did you say your name was? Maybe you could give me your number?”
Out of an abundance of caution, I wrote down Natasha’s name and number and hoped he would never call.
I left his office, certain his eyes were following me, and not in a nice way. I shook like a wet dog when I stepped onto the sidewalk, wishing I could wash off the ickiness Overton projected.
“Overton come on to you?”
I whipped around. Wolf leaned against the brick wall of Overton’s office building, his arms crossed resolutely over his chest.
“Not exactly. He wanted my number, though. No wonder Anne hated her job.”
Wolf rubbed his eyes. “What do I have to do to convince you to stay out of this? I’ve asked you, I’ve told you—Sophie, I’m begging you to knock it off.”
I felt small, like a kid who’d made Dad angry. “Why couldn’t you tell me about Anne’s relationship with Heath? If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have to ask other people. Did Anne get caught up in one of his embezzlement schemes?”
“Is that what he told you? That jerk!” Wolf flung open the door and stormed inside.
I ran after him.
He barged past the receptionist and into Overton’s office. A door slammed shut somewhere.
I dashed into Overton’s office, but it was empty except for Wolf, so I peered out the window in hopes of catching sight of Overton. I was in luck. In the back of the building, Overton looked over his shoulder, walking so fast that he stumbled over his own feet.
When I turned around, I expected Wolf to still be angry with me, but he had fixated on a picture on Overton’s wall. I hadn’t noticed it before because it was behind me when I spoke to Overton.
In it, Overton’s arm looped around Anne’s shoulders. Their heads tilted toward each other and they wore laughing smiles.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dear Sophie,
My wife and I love the flavor of homegrown tomatoes. We both work, and mornings are always a rush. We come home late and are too bushed to spend a lot of time watering plants. How can we make sure our tomato plants are getting the water they need?
—Tomato Sandwich Aficionado in Strawberry Plains, Tennessee
Dear Tomato Sandwich Aficionado,
Cut the bottoms off of plastic one-gallon jugs. Empty vinegar jugs are perfect for this. Stick the small spout end in the ground by each tomato plant. Fill with water and allow it to soak in as needed.
—Sophie
Wolf ripped the photo off the wall. He opened the frame, and slid the picture out. Leaving the empty frame on Overton’s desk like a picked-over chicken carcass, he strode out as though he had forgotten all about me.
From the front door, I watched him blast down the street.
The receptionist stood beside me.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “He’s under a lot of stress.”
“Are you kidding? It’s fun to see that blowhard Overton get his comeuppance.”
I took a harder look at her. Medium height, short curly hair, no makeup, wire-rimmed glasses. She wore a simple short-sleeved blouse and skirt that wouldn’t win any fashion prizes. Birkenstock sandals adorned her feet.
“Did you know Anne?” I asked.
“No. I interviewed for my job on the day she didn’t show up for work. What a madhouse! The tension was terrible.” She smiled sadly. “I always thought I got the job because they were in too much of a panic to give hiring much thought. Accountants are very precise people. Planners, you know? They don’t take disruptions well.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
She shifted her feet uncomfortably. “I can’t divulge anything about clients. That would be a big ethical breach. But between the two of us, I’ll say this, I always wondered if Roscoe Greene didn’t kill her.”
Roscoe! “What did Anne have to do with Roscoe?”
“I can’t say anything more, or I’ll lose my job.”
“There was a picture of Anne and Overton on his wall. There weren’t any, um, rumors about them, were there?”
She cringed as if repulsed by the thought. “None that I ever heard. You must not have studied the other pictures. They’re all of Overton with pretty women. I call it his fantasy wall. Here he comes. I didn’t tell you anything, okay?”
“Not a word! How do you keep him from mauling you?”
She giggled. “I told him my father was a martial arts instructor, and that I knew five easy ways to kill him.”
“And that worked?”
“Like a charm.” She slipped inside and closed the door.
I hurried in the other direction, hoping Overton’s long legs wouldn’t help him catch up to me. I turned the first corner I came to and ducked inside a little store. Feigning an interest in baby clothes, I made my way to the show window and watched the street. I picked up a toddler’s sundress with white ties on the shoulders. A teensy ladybug adorned each tie. They reminded me of Anne and the ladybug she embroidered on the pillow in Wolf’s house. Wolf said she loved ladybugs and praying mantises. I examined the stitches. Flipping the strap over, I decided the outfit was machine embroidered. A person wouldn’t achieve such tight, even stitches.
Would I think of Anne each time I saw a ladybug for the rest of my life? I looked up in time to spy Over
ton striding by on those long legs like Ichabod Crane.
No doubt disappointing the saleswoman who hovered nearby, I put down the dress and peered out the door. When I thought the coast was clear, I headed straight to Nina’s house.
I slipped through the alley and snuck through her back gate so Natasha wouldn’t see me and try to rope me into something that she hoped would impress TV executives.
I knocked on the kitchen door.
Nina opened it cautiously. “Nobody ever comes to this door. You scared me half to death.”
“Ready to check on the cat?”
“You’re going dressed like that?”
“I can’t go home to change. I’ll be so glad when this backyard nightmare is over, and Natasha isn’t at my house all the time. Come on. I want to ask Roscoe a few questions. I’ll tell you all about it on the way over there.”
Birds twittered and butterflies flitted between flowers in the garden Olive had created, but not a soul was in sight.
“I was afraid Kenner’s men might still be camped out here,” whispered Nina. “It’s like a garden paradise. Are those hummingbirds?”
“Looks like a fight over territory.” They zoomed in circles, chasing each other. One flew away, and the other feasted at a plant. Beautiful to watch, but I had a feeling it was very serious business to them. The long, tubular flowers drooping in clusters on tall stems must seem like a buffet to hummingbirds.
“Those would be gorgeous in a tall vase. Think anyone would mind if I snipped a few to take home?” asked Nina.
“I don’t think you want to—they’re poisonous. In fact, those are foxglove. Roscoe said the medicine digitalis comes from foxglove plants. If memory serves, I think Agatha Christie used foxglove leaves to kill people in one of her stories.” I studied the plants. “You know, whoever poisoned Roscoe didn’t have to use medicine.” I gestured toward the garden. “It’s right here for free.”
The pinkish blooms flared at the end like trumpets, revealing little dots of burgundy on the inside. Olive had planted them in large groups. Even with the other stunning plants in her garden, the foxglove stood out in size and brilliant color. The green leaves lower on the stalk resembled basil or young spinach leaves.
