by Jaime Maddox
“She dated a dozen boys, but no one serious. It seems like she enjoyed dating until her senior year. Then she started to focus more on school and her friends, as if she knew she was going away and didn’t want to get involved.”
“So there really is no one who looks guilty, is there?”
“I’m afraid not. But maybe someone will finally come forward with information. Someone out there has to know something.”
Ella squeezed Sophie’s hand. “I really hope it works out and they find the killer.”
“Me, too.”
The waitress interrupted with a query about drinks.
“I’m so happy you called me,” Ella said after perusing the menu for a few moments.
“I’ve been thinking about you since you visited me, Ella. Something you said really resonated with me, and the more I debate it, the more convinced I am that it’s the right thing to do.”
Confused, Ella shook her head. “I’m sorry. I think I missed something. What are you talking about?”
“A scholarship, Ella. I want to start a scholarship at PMU, in memory of my daughter.”
Ella turned and sat back in her chair. This wasn’t the first time someone had said those words to her, but this was different. She’d never been involved in a scholarship memorializing someone she actually knew. Furthermore, she wasn’t sure Mrs. Gates understood exactly what a scholarship involved.
“Thanks,” she said as the waitress placed a vodka and tonic in front of her and then took their dinner orders. After she’d left, Ella took a sip before responding to Mrs. Gates. “Wow, a scholarship. That’s wonderful.”
A huge smile spread across Sophie’s face. “Yes, it is. I’ve been thinking about the word you used. Legacy. Stephanie was my legacy, and now she’s gone. When I’m dead, a few friends will still remember her, but once they’re gone, she’ll be forgotten. But if I give a scholarship in her name, a part of her will live forever. Or at least as long as PMU is around, which I think should be for a considerable amount of time.”
“What a lovely idea,” Ella said as she squeezed Sophie’s hand again. “What sort of scholarship do you have in mind, Mrs. Gates?”
Looking confused, she squinted at Ella. “How many kinds are there?”
Ella tried not to sound too official. This was, after all, a dinner date. “It can be full or partial, or even something as basic as paying for a student’s textbooks.”
Sophie nodded. “I love this idea, Ella. I love the idea of celebrating my daughter like this. Could I choose who gets the scholarship?”
“Not per se. You can’t give it to your neighbor’s cousin, for instance. But you can establish criteria, such as the gender of the recipient, the religion, the ethnicity. It could be for people from your grandmother’s hometown in Bolivia. You can designate it for pre-vet students, since Steph wanted to be a vet. You can give it to children of servicemen and women killed in action. It’s your money, so you can set the parameters. You can make it as vague or specific as you’d like.”
“Specifically, how much would this cost me?”
Ella laughed. “Again, it’s up to you. You can give five hundred dollars or five million. You can pay for books, a portion of tuition, a meal plan, or all of the above.”
“How much would the ‘all of the above’ option be?”
Ella studied her for a moment, looking for some clue to her frame of mind. There was no joking smile. She was serious.
“Whew. Full tuition, room and board, with books, for one student—for example, one student gets the scholarship for four years, and then when they graduate, another student gets the scholarship, as opposed to a new student every year, meaning four students going to school at any one time, which is what you sometimes see with corporate gifts—one student every four years would cost about a million dollars.”
“I didn’t realize PMU was so costly,” she said and sipped her drink.
Her response didn’t surprise or disappoint Ella. Many people inquired about creating scholarships, but most didn’t follow through. Fortunately, she hadn’t come to dinner with Sophie to solicit money but simply to enjoy her company.
“It’s not, really. Our tuition is reasonable for a private school of our size. But that money—the million dollars, for example—is invested. Only the dividends are actually spent on things like housing and meals. The cost of the tuition is theoretical, since the university doesn’t have to pay itself. But in this kind of financial market, the interest on a million dollars isn’t very much money.”
“Don’t I know it? But I think I understand what you’re saying. If I want to give a scholarship to one student every four years, it would cost a million. If I want to give a four-year scholarship every year, it would cost four million. Is that correct?”
Ella sipped her drink and nodded. “You got it. It’s a lot of money.”
“What else am I going to spend it on? Let’s go with the four million.”
Chapter 12: The Loose End
Ella didn’t often have difficulty sleeping because of work, but last night had been one of those times. Her head was spinning so off center she was surprised she made it home in one piece. Even a relaxing bath in Pip’s Jacuzzi tub didn’t quiet her mind.
Out of nowhere, and totally unsolicited, Sophie Gates was donating four million dollars to PMU. The paint was barely dry on Ella’s door, and she’d landed her first multimillion-dollar gift. Sleep was the last thing on her mind. Since she’d left the restaurant she’d been thinking of the scholarship. How they’d announce it. The story they’d tell about Steph. The first student who’d be chosen to memorialize her old friend. She had so much to think about, so much to plan, and since she’d known Steph—although briefly—she was even more excited to be a part of the scholarship.
Ella had stayed late with Sophie at the restaurant, just talking. She really was an amazing woman, and Ella suspected she had a great deal to do with accumulating the fortune she wanted to give to PMU. Although she suspected Steve Gates had gotten much of the credit for the success of their printing company, Sophie seemed to know the business inside and out and had a keen mind as well.
As Ella lay there, still thinking about the Stephanie Gates scholarship, she was grateful she didn’t have to get up and go to work on the little sleep she’d had. The PMU golf tournament was today, and since she’d be there late, she’d scheduled the morning off.
She whacked the snooze button when the alarm sounded for the second time and rolled onto her side, her mind racing. Setting up a scholarship involved a number of steps, and normally, she would have started the process immediately. But this time, she was holding back. Four million dollars was a huge gift, and while Sophie Gates could apparently afford it, Ella wanted to give her the chance to reconsider without any pressure from the university. She’d seemed shocked at the cost of the full package and might decide on another way to spend her money if she had a few days to think it through. On Tuesday, if Ella hadn’t received a call canceling the plan, she’d move ahead with it. For now, she’d have to concentrate on not bouncing around like she’d just won the lottery, because, in the development world, she had. It wasn’t a super, mega jackpot, but it was a big one.
The alarm sounded for the third time, and Ella pulled the mask from her eyes and immediately closed them. If the sun peeking around the blinds was any clue, the rain had cleared. Pulling herself out of bed, she opened the door to the balcony facing the park and stepped outside.
It was indeed clear, with few clouds marring a bright sky. It was cool, but Ella had read the forecast and knew by the time she teed off, the temperature would be in the high seventies. Perfect golf weather.
Glancing down, Ella noticed a man on the sidewalk in front of the Ryans’ house. He wore sunglasses and a navy-blue ball cap, with a green Phillies P. She’d never seen an Irish Phillies cap before, but she supposed that’s what it was. She was surprised when the man turned and walked up the sidewalk and rang the Ryans’ doorbell.
She hadn’t been their neighbor for very long, but Ella knew enough about the Ryan family to be concerned about the stranger. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see their front door from her angle, but she stared in that direction anyway, contemplating what to do. She could go over there and make sure everything was okay, or she could simply call Sharon. She’d decided on the latter course of action when the man reappeared on the sidewalk, talking with both Cass and Sharon. Good! Whoever he was, he obviously knew the Ryans quite well. Ella watched as Sharon retrieved the newspaper from the box, and the stranger and Cass disappeared across the street and into the park.
Exhaling loudly, Ella shook her head. You have to stop watching CSI, she told herself and turned to get ready.
* * *
He’d parked in the same place he had all those years ago, because the spot afforded some anonymity. He looked just like any other visitor to the park, rather than a guest of the Ryans. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know he’d been there.
Mrs. Ryan answered the door and invited him in while she called Cass.
“I was wondering if you’d like to have a doughnut with me.” He held up a bag from Krispy Kreme and waved it at Cass.
The smile on her face nearly melted him. Nearly. This was no longer a world where they could both exist, and he’d come to understand that. And if only one of them could live, he thought he had more to offer than she did. She had to be sacrificed.
Across the street in the park they found an empty bench, and they sat, facing each other.
“What are you up to?” he asked. “Is the baseball season over?”
“Pretty soon,” she said, more interested in the food than the conversation.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled two dollar bills out and placed them on the table. He’d often given her two dollars when he’d seen her. It was sort of his way of hiding in plain sight, making light of what was one of the most important events of his life.
She was interested in the money, and it disappeared into her pocket in a flash.
“How long have I been giving you two dollars?” he asked, beginning the script he’d written and practiced in his mind a dozen times.
Licking her fingers, she shrugged. “A long time.”
“It has been. I think it’s been since I was in college.”
“I don’t remember,” she said.
Sighing with relief, he bit his doughnut, and then did something he rarely did—talked with food in his mouth. “Really? I thought you remember everything. Reese says you never forget a thing.” If she really didn’t remember, maybe he wouldn’t have to kill her.
“Well, I don’t remember exactly, but I know it was the time when Steph died.”
Nearly choking, he swallowed hard. “What makes you say that?”
Looking at him as if he were the one with the intellectual disability, she answered. “First, I had eight dollars. When I gave you two dollars, I only had six. Then I gave one dollar to Reese to buy flowers for Steph, because she died, and I only had five left. Then you gave me two dollars back at graduation, and I had seven, and I was very happy.”
If he wasn’t so sad, he would have laughed. There was no question now. He was going to have to kill Cass.
Chapter 13: Tee Time
Reese pulled up to the bag-drop kiosk in front of Pocono Farms Country Club and popped the hatch of her Jeep.
“Can I have your name, please?” the attendant asked as he appeared at her window.
“Reese Ryan,” she said.
After he scanned the computer sheet, without finding her name, she spoke up. “I believe I’m in group 10A.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Are you psychic?”
“Yes. And I’m also on the tournament committee.”
“Ah, well, that explains it. Welcome to the Farms,” he said, and directed her toward the parking lot.
Only a few cars had pulled in ahead of her, and Reese wasn’t surprised. It was still two hours until the twelve o’clock shotgun start for PMU’s annual alumni golf tournament, and she knew most of the people who’d want to hit balls before playing would arrive an hour or so ahead of time. Since she’d helped organize the event, she was expected to be here before those early birds arrived, to make sure everyone who signed up got here, and to figure out what to do with the people who didn’t register but showed up anyway.
The club was taking care of placing sponsors’ signs on tee boxes and greens, as well as the lunch buffet, and the alumni director had the welcome bags, so all Reese had to do was welcome people, sign them in, and thank them for their support. When the horn blew, she’d tee off with three of her colleagues from the hospital, all PMU grads and great golfers. Not only did her group sponsor a hole for the event, but they usually took home the first-place trophy.
Only one obligation prevented her from heading directly to the driving range—she needed to purchase gift certificates. As a thank-you to the club for all their work toward making the golf tournament a success, she always bought them at the club’s pro shop. They typically offered a variety of men’s and women’s clothing, as well as a large selection of equipment. With a check in hand, she headed for the shop.
It was a magnificent late-summer day, the Friday before Labor Day, and Reese wore black shorts and a white golf shirt. Boring, she knew, but she liked her outfit anyway. Fashion awards were never her goal, and she thought she looked fine while still feeling comfortable in her clothing. If she was fortunate enough to win a prize this year, she planned to use it on a new pair of golf shoes. Black ones.
Stopping just a step inside the pro-shop door, Reese looked around in disbelief. The shop was nearly empty. A clearance rack held a few shirts, most of them hanging between the XL and XXL men’s placards, but the walls and shelves were bare.
“What the fuck?” she asked under her breath as she approached the counter.
A cheerful young man greeted her enthusiastically.
“Where’s all your merchandise?” she asked.
“Oh, we’re doing a big remodeling job over the winter, so we’ve had everything on clearance since the end of July. Then we don’t have to store it.”
Trying to hide her irritation, Reese bit her lip. “Where’s Tom?” she asked.
“I can get him, but I’m sure I can help you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jonah.”
“Okay, Jonah, here’s the problem. Every year I buy gift certificates to use as prizes for the golf tournament. Fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of gift certificates. I don’t think you have fifteen dollars’ worth of merchandise for the winners to buy. So what do I do now?”
Reese had a check, payable to the golf course, just for the prizes. And the players loved this type of award. Rather than getting a putter they didn’t want, or balls they’d never use, they could buy exactly what they wanted with their prize money. But not this year. Since many of them were from out of town, they weren’t likely to come back just to spend a hundred dollars at the shop.
Jonah nodded solemnly. “I’ll get Tom.”
A minute later, the pro was standing in front of her, apologizing for his error.
“Okay, well, I’ve registered my displeasure, but what do I do now? Is there a sporting goods store nearby? Maybe I can get some gift cards there.”
“Reese, I don’t want you to do that. How about this? What if I double the value of the gift certificates, at no additional charge to you? Maybe people won’t mind driving back if they have a little extra money to spend.”
Reese didn’t even have to think about it. Offering her hand, she smiled. “Deal.” She handed him the check and turned at the sound of a voice.
“I hope you bought some extra golf balls, Reese. I hear the rough is knee-high.”
Reese turned and stepped into Senator Josh Nathan’s open arms. “Hi, buddy. How are you?”
“Super. How about you?”
Reese squeezed him tight before stepping back to look at him. “Perfect. How’s yo
ur mom?”
“Doing great. They switched the medication and no more stomach bleeding. Thanks for taking such good care of her.”
“It was my pleasure. How long are you in town? Did you bring your trophy wife and perfect children?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. We’re going to look at some lakefront property to build a house. Something with an in-law suite for my mom. This little bleeding episode was a real wake-up call for me. I don’t know how much time she has, and I want the kids to be able to spend some time with her.”
“It would be nice if you move home.”
He shook his head. “I think so, too. Wanna hit some balls?” he asked.
Reese linked her arm in his, and they headed to the range.
She needed to hit some balls. To practice, yes. But to knock down her anxiety as well. Organizing the golf tournament this year had been especially stressful, with all the talk about Steph’s murder. No one knew that they’d been lovers. In the early nineties, kids didn’t come out in high school. Now that she was out, and Steph’s murder was being investigated, Reese thought it a logical question.
How would she answer it? Convinced that Sophie didn’t know, Reese had never bared her soul about her feelings for Steph. When Steph died, she had lost not only her best friend, but her lover as well. She’d been forced to mourn the woman she loved in silence, because to do otherwise would have been to out herself and her dead girlfriend. She’d seen no point in doing that. Steph had died in the closet, and Reese didn’t want to posthumously drag her out.
Could she lie to the police to protect Steph? Should she? At the back of her mind was the fear that she’d be the number-one suspect. And even though she was home that night, in bed with a terrible migraine, the only one who could testify to that was her sister, the one with a faulty memory and a vivid imagination.
