by Mary Kennedy
“I do remember that.” The whole thing was baffling to me. A sudden thought zinged in my mind. “Persia, this is all in the public record, right?”
“Yes, anyone can look it up if they want,” she replied.
“And the media?”
“The news services haven’t caught on yet, but I know they will. Once the story breaks, I’m sure it’s going to be big.”
“Has anyone tried to contact Trudy?”
“I heard from the grapevine that someone from the Tribune tried, but they haven’t had any luck. I don’t know what it would take to lure her out,” Persia said. Her voice dropped a notch. “I better run. My boss is here and I’m supposed to sit in on a deposition. I’ll text you the most recent address for Trudy. Later, guys.”
“This is getting more and more interesting,” Ali said when the connection was broken.
I made a quick call to Sara while Ali fed Barney and Scout and made herself a strawberry smoothie for breakfast. Sara agreed to contact Trudy and see if she would agree to a brief meeting, and I decided to try another tack.
“Ali, how would you like to take a quick ride with me this morning?” It was almost 9 a.m., and Dana had just arrived to help out with things at the shop. The freezer was stocked with soups and I’d made biscuits and muffins the night before, so I was sure she could manage on her own for a couple of hours.
“Sure, where are we headed?” Ali was already pinning her hair on top of her head, ready to jump into the shower.
“Trudy Carpenter’s parents. Clare Carpenter is Sonia’s sister.” She raised her eyebrows. “Assuming they haven’t moved. Lucinda Macavy gave me their old address from the days when Trudy was a student at the Academy.” I glanced at my watch. “We can be there in an hour or so. We might learn something interesting.”
“Just give me five minutes,” Ali said, zipping down the hall.
She was true to her word, and after she poured her smoothie into a travel mug, we jumped into the car and headed south out of Savannah.
• • •
“Shouldn’t we have called them first?” Ali asked as we zipped along a country road toward Brunswick.
“I think we need the element of surprise,” I told her. “Besides, they have an unlisted number, and we need to strike while the iron’s hot. In a day or so, they’ll be fending off reporters, and they might leave town or barricade themselves inside their house. This could be our only chance to talk with them.”
“How did Lucinda happen to have their address? Was she friendly with them?” Ali asked.
“She had their address from the school records, but that’s a good point.” I heaved a sigh. “I should have asked her how well she knew them; that might have given us a foot in the door. I could have asked her for an introduction.” I was kicking myself for not thinking of this earlier.
“Who knows?” Ali shrugged. “It was a long time ago. We might have to take our chances and play it by ear. Let’s just do the best we can. I have a good feeling about this,” she added. My sister, the optimist.
When we pulled off the main road and headed up a narrow lane overgrown with crepe myrtle, I was already regretting my decision. Why had I thought Trudy’s parents would be interested in talking with us?
Some of Ali’s impulsiveness must be rubbing off on me, I decided. I was acting in a way that was completely out of character for me. I never do anything spontaneously, and I weigh my options carefully. This time I’d jumped in feet first, and I had no idea why.
Then my thoughts screeched to a halt because the house loomed into view, an imposing white brick affair tucked behind towering black wrought iron gates.
“Wow,” Ali said softly, “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Me, either,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s spectacular.” The house reminded me of a Hollywood version of a Southern mansion. Lush foliage, weeping willows, a sprawling veranda, and a long second-floor balcony running the length of the house. I almost expected to spot the Tarleton twins lounging on the front porch sipping mint juleps, waiting for Scarlett to join them.
It appeared the Carpenters were not only wealthy, but “one percent” wealthy. The richest of the rich. I was fascinated by the estate. What in the world was Trudy doing living in a seedy part of town when her parents were living in splendor? Maybe Noah’s instincts had been right when he suggested that Trudy might be the black sheep of the family. I needed to know more, because nothing made sense to me. Questions for the Carpenters were zinging through my brain. But would they answer them? And why should they talk to us at all?
There was a video surveillance box by the gate, and Ali hopped out to pick up the phone. The screen suddenly jumped to life, and I knew someone was checking her out. She put on her most winning smile, said a few words into the microphone, and jumped back in the car.
“Well?” I asked.
“Abracadabra, open sesame,” she said as the massive gates parted. She held her arms straight out in front of her, palms up, like a wizard.
“Ali, you are amazing. What did you tell them?” I pulled through the gates and headed up a curvy driveway framed by live oaks.
“I said we were here to pay a condolence call. People in the South still do that, you know.” She frowned. “We should have brought muffins, or a fresh apple strudel. That would have been a nice touch. People expect it down here; it’s the way they do things.”
“I think you did a brilliant job,” I told her. “With or without pastries. You must have sounded pretty convincing.”
Minutes later, we were seated at a white wicker table on the veranda, which was dotted with pots of lush ferns and tea roses. A uniformed maid served us fresh-squeezed lemonade and assured me “the missus” would be with us shortly. From this vantage point, the grounds were spectacular.
I leaned back in my rocker and admired the wide expanse of green lawn, the neatly kept flower beds filled with impatiens and begonias. I glimpsed a tennis court off to the left and the sparkling blue waters of a kidney-shaped pool to the right. Southern living at its finest.
“Who says money doesn’t buy happiness?” Ali murmured. She tilted her head back, catching some rays.
“Can I help you?” A soft, cultured voice with just a hint of a Southern accent brought me out of my reverie. Ali rocked forward so suddenly she nearly catapulted out of her chair.
“I’m Ali Blake,” she said, jumping to her feet, “and this is my sister Taylor.”
The woman nodded politely but looked puzzled. “I’m Clare Carpenter.” She held out a jewel-encrusted hand, and I noticed she was wearing a diamond the size of a walnut. “Do we know each other?”
“No, ma’am,” Ali said quickly, “but we own the candy store in Savannah where Sonia”—she paused delicately—“passed away. We had invited her for a book signing.”
“Ah yes, the candy store. Oldies But Goodies,” Clare said, sinking into a wicker chair. “I read about it in the news. What a terrible thing that was.” She didn’t seem the least bit upset by her sister’s death, and I wondered what their relationship had been like. Had they been close? It didn’t seem likely. She poured herself a glass of lemonade, her blue eyes flickering. I had the feeling she was stalling for time, planning what she was going to say.
“Yes, ma’am, it certainly was terrible, a real tragedy. We just stopped by to offer our condolences,” Ali said, taking the lead. “We’re so sorry for your loss. Sonia was such an amazing person, and we feel privileged to have known her, even for a brief time. No one could have predicted this, and we’re just so upset about what happened.” She glanced at me and I gave a tiny smile. She had said exactly the right thing.
Clare nodded and brushed a lock of hair back from her porcelain forehead. I figured her to be late fifties, but her skin was so smooth and unlined, I was sure she’d had a series of Botox injections. Or maybe she’d even gone under the knife a
nd had “a little work” done.
Of course, her sister Sonia was well preserved, too, so maybe it was just good genes. I remembered that Sonia was a couple of years older than Clare. There was a remarkable similarity in the two women, except for the hair color. Sonia was a striking redhead and Clare was a platinum blonde.
I had no idea how to bring the conversation around to her daughter, Trudy, and hoped inspiration would strike. When she’d settled herself back in her chair, I took a good look at our hostess. She was wearing a pale lemon-yellow silk blouse with tailored white slacks and espadrilles. Her jewelry was classic, the kind that’s handed down for generations. A triple set of pearls, with pearl button earrings, and her streaky blond hair was swept back into a neat chignon. Her makeup was simple and understated, and she shifted in her chair to guard her face from the sun. With her white-blond hair and pale skin, she looked ethereal.
“I hope you know that I don’t hold either of you responsible in any way,” she said finally. I blinked. I wasn’t sure where she was headed with this. “Sometimes things happen that are out of our control, and as a woman of faith, I believe there must be a purpose to everything that happens in life. There are certain things that are beyond our understanding.”
Ah. So she didn’t blame us for the fatal pastries. I wondered if she’d read the autopsy report or the ME’s findings. Did she really think Sonia’s death was unforeseeable, an act of God? Skeptic that I am, I found that hard to believe.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ali said politely. Ali shot me a look. She obviously wanted me to chime in.
I was at a loss for words and struggled to think of something appropriate to say. “That’s good to know, Mrs. Carpenter. We were all so excited to have Sonia visit our shop, and what happened was just tragic.” I waited a beat. “We don’t know what plans you’ve made for Sonia’s funeral, but we’d certainly like to pay our respects.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid that’s not possible. The funeral will be private.” She looked out over the vast expanse of green lawn as if she was gazing into infinity. It was perfectly still; the only movement was a hummingbird hovering over a red bird feeder filled with sugar water. I remember the Harper sisters telling me the best way to attract the little birds was with water sweetened with sugar.
A long beat passed and I exchanged a look with Ali. Now what? I was about to break the silence when she turned to face me. “We’re having just a few close relatives and friends. I’m sure you understand.” She sighed. “Sonia made her own funeral arrangements, and she was very clear on that. She didn’t want a big production; I’m not sure why.” She gave a wry smile. “Maybe because she was surrounded by so many people all her life? She couldn’t even walk down the street without someone asking for her autograph.”
“The price of fame,” I said quietly.
Clare nodded. “Yes, indeed. A heavy price. Sonia didn’t talk about it much, but sometimes I think she would have been happy to chuck it all and move to a little town in Georgia and have a garden. She was a country girl at heart, you know. She never wanted fanfare.”
“Then her wishes must be honored,” Ali said solemnly. “As you say, just a handful of relatives and friends.”
My ears had perked up at the word “relatives,” and I wondered if I could swing the conversation around to Trudy.
“There’s something you could help us with, Mrs. Carpenter,” I said. “We’d like to send a condolence card to Trudy, but we don’t have an address for her. Is there some way we can get in touch with her? And we’d love it if she could stop by the shop and see our window display. We’ve featured Sonia’s latest books.”
“How did you hear about Trudy?” Clare’s lips tightened into a thin line and her voice had taken on a sharp edge.
“One of our friends was the headmistress at the Academy before her retirement,” I said smoothly. “I understand that both Sonia and your daughter, Trudy, attended the school, and she happened to mention it.” I kept my voice neutral and ignored the fact that a deep red flush was creeping up Clare’s face. She was either embarrassed or angry, I decided.
“Yes, Trudy did spend four years at that pricey school,” Clare said. “Fat lot of good it did her.” I must have looked shocked because she added, “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not myself today. But the truth is, if you met Trudy, you’d know what I’m talking about.”
I pretended to be puzzled and she went on, “Trudy had all the advantages in life, and she’s made some horrible choices. We rarely see her. I do have a phone number for her, and sometimes she actually takes my calls. I don’t even have a current address for her.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “I can tell her that you’d like to contact her. Just call me in a day or two.” She took out a tiny gold pencil from her pocket and scribbled a number on a napkin. “This is my private line.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Ali interjected. I exchanged a look with my sister. Could it be that Trudy no longer lived with Reggie Knox? In any case, I was eager to speak with Trudy as soon as possible.
“But I can’t guarantee she’ll even get back to me. She lives with some lowlife who seems to control her every move. She’s thrown away everything because of him.” The lowlife must be Reggie Knox, I decided.
Ali nodded sympathetically. “It must be very hard for you. Such a difficult situation.”
“It is.” She reached up and undid a gold locket she was wearing. She flipped it open and showed us a photo of a young woman with classic features and flaming red hair. “This is Trudy. She was just nineteen when this picture was taken. I like to think of her as a teenager, instead of the way she is now.” Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes welled up with tears. “Sometimes you do your best and it’s still not good enough.”
“Is Trudy your only child?” I asked politely.
“Yes, she is.” A frown crossed her doll-like features. “And that makes it all the worse.”
Ali murmured how pretty Trudy was and passed me the locket. I took a look and was so startled, I nearly fell back into my seat. Trudy was looking right into the camera, her eyes shining with happiness, her mouth curved in a wide smile. She was a beautiful young woman with a heart-shaped face.
Trudy looked exactly like Sonia.
16
“I wasn’t expecting that,” I said as soon as we were back in the car.
Ali put on her sunglasses and tossed me a wry look. “Trudy is a dead ringer for Sonia. She doesn’t look at all like Clare, not even remotely.” She gunned the engine and took off down the long narrow driveway. “I wish we’d had a chance to chat with Clare’s husband. It might shed some light on what’s really going on here.”
“I think we know what’s going on,” I said mildly. “The question is, can we prove it, and more importantly, does it have anything to do with Sonia’s murder?”
“It could,” Ali said. “I wonder if Lucinda knows more than she let on.” She gave me a speculative look. “If Trudy is actually Sonia’s daughter, Lucinda wouldn’t have any reason to keep it a secret, would she?”
“I don’t think so. She probably doesn’t suspect anything. If Clare and her husband raised Trudy as their own child, no one would have any reason to doubt they’re the parents. Especially if they’ve had her since she was a baby. And offhand, I can’t see how it makes any difference, except it explains why Sonia left her fortune to Trudy.”
“A fortune that will be eaten up by that ex-con she lives with,” Ali said. “No wonder Clare is upset. First she loses her sister and then she realizes Trudy and the ex-con stand to inherit millions.”
“And now we have a new suspect. Reggie Knox is a known criminal and he has a motive to kill Sonia. I’d put him at the top of the suspect list. Can’t the police bring him in for questioning? I’m going to ask Sam Stiles about it. If he’s on parole, I think they can bring him in without much of a reason; at least I hope so
.”
I stared at the marshlands as we drove past. The air was warm and balmy, and I saw whole stretches of forest overgrown with kudzu. Everything is fresh and green in Savannah, and after living in a concrete jungle in Chicago, it feels like paradise to me. I enjoy every new sight and sound and never tire of looking at the landscape.
“The first thing we need to do is run this new development by the Dream Club,” Ali said. “Do you suppose anyone else suspects that Trudy was Sonia’s daughter, and not her niece?”
“We’ll soon find out,” I promised.
• • •
“We paid a condolence call on Sonia’s sister, Clare, and told her we’d like to contact her daughter, Trudy.” Ali waited for a reaction from the group.
“That was the right thing to do,” Lucinda murmured. “Although I’m not really sure how close Sonia was to Clare. They may have been sisters in name only.”
“Why do you say that?” Minerva’s blue eyes were keen with interest.
Lucinda looked flustered and gave a little cough. “Well, I’m not in a position to say,” she said vaguely. Her cheeks took on a flush of pink and I had to bite back a smile. Lucinda really is a terrible liar.
I made a note to circle back to that remark. Just as I suspected, Lucinda knew more than she was letting on.
“Interesting,” Minerva Harper commented. She lifted her eyebrows and pressed her lips together. It was obvious she didn’t believe a word of what Lucinda was saying. She and her sister Rose were sitting side by side, as usual, wearing nearly identical flowered cotton dresses, their wispy white hair framing their faces. “Sonia and Clare might be closer than you think. In the end, I’ve always found that blood is thicker than water.” She leaned forward to help herself to a tiny cherry tart. Ali had defrosted them as soon as we’d returned from Brunswick, and they were still warm from the oven.
“Delicious, my dear,” Minerva said approvingly. “I hope you add these to the menu.”
