by Jane Tesh
“There’s a bridge further down the way where the lake is narrow. I thought it would take me to Westberry, but I got turned around. Then I heard Emmaline’s spirit calling.”
“What did she say?”
“It wasn’t words, as such, but a feeling.”
“A ‘Hello, come over here, stay in this old teepee’ feeling?”
“I merely followed the feeling. I had promised to bring some incense to a friend.” She shrugged. “Another day. Excuse me. I must water my little plants.” She drifted off toward the patio.
Jerry gave me a nudge. “Check out her walking stick.”
The dragon’s head looked battered, and several of its teeth were missing.
“One eyeball. Told you.”
“Are you thinking she used it to bash Harold?”
“We brought her back to town Saturday. Ask her where she was Friday night. I’ll take a look at the plants.”
I waited until Megan had finished tending her plants and wandered back to us. Jerry casually stepped back to the patio. “Megan, after auditions Friday night, where did you go?”
“Oh, around.”
When she didn’t offer any more information, I asked, “Where were you between nine and ten o’clock?”
She gazed off into space. I waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts. Or made up an alibi. “I was meditating.”
“Any place in particular?”
“Around.”
“Was anyone with you?”
“My spirit guide, of course.”
“Anyone visible?”
“There may have been. I don’t know. I was in my own reflection bubble. Would you care to see some crystals? I’ve been very pleased with the quality I find.”
“Maybe later,” I said. “Did you have your walking stick with you?”
“I keep it with me at all times.”
“You didn’t lend it to anyone?”
“Oh, no. It was carved especially for me. It only fits my hand.”
The walking stick looked like anyone could hold it. Hold it and swing it.
Jerry came back from the patio. He gave me a nod.
“We may be back to talk to you, Megan, thanks.”
She smiled at us, unconcerned. “Walk in peace, my friends from the lake.”
***
“Good grief,” I said as we drove from Tinsley Acres. “It’s like talking to a greeting card. What’d you get?”
He took a handful of leaves from his pocket. “I took a leaf from each one. We can compare them to the bushes at home.”
“Now if we only had a motive.”
“If Megan’s the murderer, and she used her walking stick, there might be an eyeball or some teeth left in Harold’s yard—or in his head.”
“I doubt the chief will let me see the autopsy report. I imagine the police have gone over the yard pretty thoroughly, but we could give it a try.”
When we got to Harold’s house, we found a moving van parked out front and a little lady supervising the movers as they boxed and carried out Harold’s few belongings.
I parked across the street. “That must be Harold’s aunt. Chief Brenner said she was coming.”
Harold’s aunt was a spry little woman in her late seventies with wispy white hair and blue eyes magnified behind huge glasses that took up most of her tiny face. She told us her name was Lavinia Lawrence. I introduced myself and Jerry, and said I was investigating Harold’s murder.
“Well, then, young lady, we need to talk.” She took my arm. “There’s not anywhere to sit in the house, so let’s move out to the backyard. It’s much cooler out there, and I can still keep an eye on these boys.”
We stood under the trees in the backyard. Lavinia tilted her head to see into the house. “Harold didn’t have much, but the furniture’s good. I don’t want it scratched or dented.”
“I’ll be glad to watch out for you,” Jerry said.
“Thank you, young man. That way I can give all my attention to your lovely wife.”
Jerry stationed himself by the back door where he had a good view of the movers. Lavinia gave me a big-eyed stare. “So you’re a detective, eh? Excuse me for saying so, but you don’t look like one.”
“And that comes in handy.”
“I would imagine so. Any idea who might’ve done this?”
“I was hoping you could help me. Did Harold have any enemies?”
“None that I know of.” She perched on an old upended bucket that had been left in the yard. “’Course I hadn’t seen him in years. He’d call every now and then. Sometimes he’d remember to send me a card at Christmas or on my birthday. Our whole family wasn’t close. I’m the only one left. That’s pretty sad, isn’t it? Sad business all around. From the fibers the police found in the injury and in Harold’s hair they believe the murder weapon was a heavy piece of wood like a baseball bat. They’ve even checked the larger tree branches in the yard.” She made a tsking sound. “It’s a crazy world, isn’t it?”
“Would you tell me what you know about Harold? Sometimes the slightest detail can be helpful.”
“All right, then. He was my sister’s boy, their only child. Kinda quiet and shy until he got to be about fourteen, and then he started sounding off on anything and everything. Name it, and he had an opinion about it. We decided he’d make a good lawyer, so my sister steered him in that direction, and he did right well.”
“Did he grow up in Celosia?”
“No, we all lived in Knoxville. When he was thirty or so, he moved to Parkland, and last I heard of him, he’d moved here. Well, not last I heard of him. That was when the police called me. Since Harold and I were the last Stovers, we were executors of each other’s wills, so I came to take care of things.” She leaned over to make sure the movers weren’t playing bumper cars in the hallway with Harold’s bedroom suit. Jerry gave her a thumbs-up sign, which satisfied her.
“Any idea why he left Parkland?”
With the giant magnifying glasses, it was hard to tell, but Lavinia seemed to squint in thought. “Something about a woman he was going to marry. He never did, though.”
“Do you recall her name?”
“Marianne, maybe? No, that was her middle name. Megan. That’s it. Megan Marianna Underwood. Always thought that was a mouthful to say. Don’t know what happened, but they never did get married.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Mrs. Lawrence, you’ve just given me a great lead.”
“Did I? Well, good for me.” She stood and dusted off her skirt. “You get out there and solve this. Harold and I might not have been as close as we should’ve been, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want justice for my nephew.” Her big eyes looked uncertain. “I suppose you want payment.”
“No, that’s taken care of. Someone else has already hired me.” People are falling over each other to hire me, I wanted to say.
“Don’t want you to think I’m stingy, but paying for a murder investigation is not something you budget for.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Lawrence. If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll keep you posted on my progress.”
There was a muted crash from inside the house. Her head whipped around. “Oh, now what?”
Jerry hurried to check it out and returned with good news. “It’s okay. One of the slats fell out of a bed frame.”
“Clumsy fellows. I’d better get back in there.” She gave me her phone number and thanked me. “Thank you both. This has been a very strange experience.”
I’ll say. I could hardly wait until Jerry and I were in the car.
“What did she tell you?” he asked. “I saw your eyes light up.”
“We’ve got a connection. Harold was once engaged to Megan.”
Jerry took a moment to process this. “Okay, I did not see that one coming.”
&nb
sp; “Maybe Megan thought Harold and Amanda were getting together, so she killed him in a jealous rage and framed Amanda all in one go.”
“But everyone in town knew Harold and Amanda hated each other.”
“Yes, but Megan, as we’ve seen, is never in town. She’s always drifting about the fringes.”
Jerry wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know. I still think all this wiccan stuff is an act, but otherwise, she seems harmless. Con men and women, con—they don’t murder. If you kill all the marks, then who’s left to swindle?”
***
We couldn’t find Megan. She’d already vacated the house in Tinsley Acres, and there was no sign of her in the park or any other place we thought she might be. Jerry agreed to go back across the lake and look for her tomorrow.
We were welcomed home by the roar of Austin’s four-wheeler as it careened across the meadow and into our front yard. Denisha followed more sedately on her bike. I could tell from her expression she’d had about enough of Austin’s new toy. Austin had added a flag, a large reflective skull, and a horn, which he beeped.
“Must be suppertime,” Jerry said.
Austin hopped off the four-wheeler. “Jerry! There’s a race next Saturday, and I need four sponsors. It’s only twenty-five dollars, and you get your name in the program and everything. I can choose any name I like, so I thought I’d be Speed Demon. Can you and Madeline sponsor me?”
“Aren’t you going to camp?” Jerry asked.
“Yes, but I can miss one day, can’t I? I really want to be in this race! It’s totally safe. It’s kids-only, and I’ve got my helmet and elbow pads and all kinds of safety equipment.”
“What does your mom say about this?”
“She said if I got four sponsors I could do it.”
“Okay. I’ve got twenty-five dollars lying around the house somewhere.”
“Great! Wah-hooo!” Austin jumped on his four-wheeler, revved the engine, and took off across the yard.
Denisha gave Jerry a look. “You really shouldn’t enable him.”
“That’s a twenty-five-dollar word there, Denisha.”
“I know what it means. My aunt says it all the time about her sister who eats too many sweets. She says if people keep giving her pies and cookies, they’re enabling her.”
“Look at this way,” he said. “Austin’s going to drive as fast as he can, right? He’ll be safer racing on a track than on the highway, or down these twisty country roads.”
“You think if he does this race, he’ll get it out of his system?”
“Not completely, but he might not be as wild.”
She thought about this. “It’s worth a try.”
I loved the way Jerry talked to the kids. He’ll talk to his own kids like that. Like they had sense. Like he expected them to understand and act accordingly. Like he appreciated their intelligence. He would be a wonderful father.
Would I be a wonderful mother? I was still working on that.
I tried to get a little painting done, but up in my studio, I found myself staring blankly out the window, puzzling over more than motherhood. This Sunday had been a full day—from Roger Price’s original wife, Tammy; to Double-Dealing Derek, whose icky hand-kiss I’d scrubbed away; to Renee, who believed the black rose tattoos were only for fans of Pagan Desires; to Shadow, who might be helpful; to Megan, still as spacey as ever. Could I make any connections? Shadow said Megan had asked for weeds. Poisonous weeds? Would Megan have reason to kill Eric Levin?
My thoughts circled back to Harold and the sad little box on the mantel. Now more than ever, I wanted in on his case. Was there any way Chief Brenner would let me assist in the investigation? Who would kill Harold in order to implicate Amanda? It didn’t make sense. Why not cut to the chase and kill Amanda? I’d have a boatload of suspects then.
The biggest question was why did I agree to help Amanda? She was irritating, overbearing, antagonistic—but she’d cried, “Help me” in the most pitiful voice.
I was a soft-hearted sap.
Jerry cooked spaghetti and meatballs for supper, which met with Austin’s approval. After supper, the kids went home, and Jerry and I compared the leaves he’d taken from Megan’s plants with the rhododendron bushes at the side of the house. We had a match.
Jerry tossed the leaf away. “Now I’m really glad we didn’t drink that tea.”
Chapter Thirteen
In my office Monday morning, I made a list of what I knew so far. Friday night, between nine and ten o’clock, someone had gone to Harold’s house and killed him with a blow to the head with a heavy piece of wood. Nathan had stopped by around nine-thirty, but when Harold didn’t answer the door, Nathan went home. A short while later, Amanda came in to talk to Harold about the show, came into the house, and found him dead.
Tammy Price, whose husband Roger had been stolen away by Amanda, had a motive to get Amanda in trouble, but she also had an alibi. She’d been at the movies with her daughter and a friend. Plus she had Roger back.
Nathan had a motive, but it was to kill Amanda, not Harold. Unfortunately, he’d been seen at the house. I really didn’t want to believe anything bad about Nathan. He had his inheritance and his camp. Why would he jeopardize all that?
Joanie Raines had a motive, but again, against Amanda, not Harold.
And Megan, well, who knew about Megan? She was the only one who might have been angry with Harold if she truly wanted to marry him and he broke off the engagement. She was also the only one with her own personal rhododendron and a large, hefty stick.
Then there was the problem of Darkrose Coven, versions one and two.
Twenty or twenty-five years ago, Joanie Raines, along with Lauren Garrett and Constance Tate had formed a secret group that met in the woods near Peaceful Meadow, the site of a commune where Amanda and Megan may have spent part of their childhood. According to Nell, one of the coven members had a baby whose body was never found, a secret only a few people knew.
Now, fast-forward to today and the new Darkrose Coven and another group of young women with poor decision-making skills and one of them pregnant. Was it Britney Garrett? Was that the real reason behind her reaction when she found me at the church? Was it her best friend, Clover, or one of the girls I hadn’t been able to talk to?
Or Annie?
I felt cold just thinking about it.
My phone rang. It was Amanda in Demanding Mode. “Madeline, are you any closer to solving this?”
“I’ve got several good leads.”
Her voice was shrill and insistent. “What are they? Who have you talked to? I expect results.”
No wonder people let her have her way. It was so much easier than having to deal with her. “You have to give me time to work.”
“Have you talked to Tammy? What did she say? She has Roger. She has no reason to set me up.”
“She was at the movies Friday night.”
“Did you check on that?”
“Yes, I did. She also said you grew up on a commune. Would that be Peaceful Meadow?”
“Good lord, did she actually drag that up? I have completely blotted that out of my life. My parents were idiots. That’s all I’m going to say about that.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Did you ever see anyone in the woods near Peaceful Meadow? A group of young women?”
“Are you talking about that stupid coven? Yes, I saw them. I told them to keep away or I’d call the police. You can talk to Joanie Raines or Lauren Garrett about that. They were fool enough to take part in that nonsense.”
“Constance Tate was a member, too, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, and a couple of other lunatics. Now what about Nathan Fenton? Why hasn’t he been arrested? I hear he stopped by Harold’s house right before I came.”
Whew. Not my favorite client. “Amanda, you need to calm down and leave this to me.�
��
“I can’t calm down! Our first planning meeting for Flower of the South is tonight, and I have a thousand things to do.”
It didn’t surprise me that the show was the most important thing on her mind. “What about your grant? Has that come through?”
“Yes, the full one hundred thousand, safe in the Society’s bank account. The city won’t have to put up a dime. Now if you’d get to work and clear me of this ridiculous murder charge, I could concentrate on the show.”
“Have you been charged with Harold’s murder?”
“No, but the police chief told me not to leave town, and I do not appreciate that. I can sense everyone believes I killed Harold. It’s unbearable.”
“You can help by answering one more question. How did you convince Britney and Clover to join the Improvement Society? I thought you and Britney’s Aunt Eloise were on the outs because of the silver centerpiece.”
“It’s part of their senior project.”
“What exactly is that?”
“I thought you’d know. Every senior at Parkland High has to have a senior project or they won’t graduate. Usually, it’s some sort of community service or social work, a How I Can Change the World sort of thing. I told the girls this would be perfect and they’d be helping their town.”
Amanda had an answer for everything. “What about Constance Tate? How did you convince her?”
“I didn’t have to convince her. She’s been on board since the beginning.”
“Does this have anything to do with the Darkrose Coven?”
“What she did in her teens doesn’t interest me.”
“She doesn’t have a problem doling out big amounts of cash?”
Amanda made an exasperated sound. “What else is she going to do with her money? Her husband’s an invalid, and she doesn’t have any children. Of course she’d want to spend her money on the arts. I don’t know why you’re wasting my time with these inane questions, Madeline. I think a murder charge is far more important. Get out there and clear my name and don’t keep me waiting.”
