by Maggie Pill
I allowed myself ten minutes each morning (which often stretched to twenty) to catch up on which of my sons’ friends had married (or divorced), had babies, and got new jobs. In each case I either clicked Like or made a brief comment. People want to know their posts are noticed.
As I scrolled, munching on a cinnamon roll I’d taken out of the oven minutes earlier, it occurred to me that Gail Sherman might have had a Facebook page. I typed her name into the search bar, and plenty of Gail Shermans showed up. However, none of them lived in Allport. I tried Gail T. Sherman, Gail Malone Sherman, and Gail Malone, but that didn’t help. Another possibility was Instagram, so I went there. Sure enough, there was Gail, who was apparently a big fan of selfies. There were pictures of her in front of an array of houses that would “not be on the market long.” I scrolled through, looking for more personal photos. There was a shot of Gail in a group of grinning women. Gail was doing the duck-face, which I’ve never understood, but there’s a lot I don’t get about what people consider attractive.
The photo was captioned Bizness Girlz Nite Out. I recognized some of the women, owners or managers of local hair salons, gift shops, and the like. I was about to move on when I noticed one of the names in the caption: Diane Landon. By eliminating the people I knew for sure and guessing at some of the others, I identified the person I thought was Enright Landon’s wife. As Retta said, she was striking, but where Retta saw glamour, I saw what looked like a spoiled Siamese cat. Diane sat off to one side, above mugging for the camera. The word that came to my mind was sleek. I guess that word can be used as a compliment, but you won’t hear me using it that way.
The date on the photo was August 8, 2015.
The two women—not together but present in the same group—got me thinking. Diane Landon would know a little about water bottling plants, having worked in one. Retta thought Diane was sweet and a little dumb. I thought Retta liked almost anyone who could converse on hair color and Gucci bags. Checking the time and deciding just slightly after eight was acceptable, I called one of the other women in the picture, Doris Cizninski.
“We go out once a month,” Doris explained when I asked about the photo. “It’s a chance to socialize and gripe about the economy and men—not necessarily in that order. You girls are welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, Doris. You knew Gail Sherman then?”
“Not well.” Her tone hinted she could have said more. I guessed she didn’t due to the not-speaking-ill-of-the-dead rule.
“How about Diane Landon? I saw her in the picture.”
“She only came the one time. All I know about her is that she and her husband moved here recently and he works at WOZ Industries. The wife doesn’t have a job, but I guess someone invited her so she could meet people.”
“Did she and Gail talk?”
“Yeah. They sat at a table off to one side for a long time.” She paused. “I remember thinking somebody should warn the new girl that Gail was likely to—” She stopped herself. “Anyway, they were talking.”
“I don’t suppose you heard any of it.”
Doris chuckled. “Enough to know Gail was bragging, as usual. All about how she was the only heir to some ‘perfect water’—whatever that means.”
I thought I did. Taking the last delicious bite of my roll, I wadded up the napkin and tossed it into the trash. “Is that the only time you met Mrs. Landon?”
She considered that. “Depends on what you mean by that. I ran into her and her husband at a barbeque on Labor Day, but they didn’t see me.” She chuckled. “That was a good thing.”
“Because?”
“They were fighting.”
“About what?”
“I’m not sure. I came along at the end. She was angry about something he’d done, or maybe something he didn’t do, and he was apologizing all over the place.”
That was intriguing. “You didn’t hear what it was about?”
“No. I backed away, like you do when you don’t want people to know you’ve seen their private moment. It’s just that it gave me a whole different impression of Mrs. Landon. Not all sweetness and light, you know?”
Chapter Forty-five
Retta
Lars’ flight to Albuquerque left just after seven, and mine to Madison was scheduled for nine. We drove separately to the airport, where he turned in his rental car and joined me in the waiting area. Things between us were good, although we were both tired out from a weekend of hiking and foiling crooks.
I wore a navy dress that traveled well, topped with a white, belted coat I’d recently bought online. Hoping I wouldn’t see foul weather, I’d worn red heels with a chunky jasper necklace that set the outfit off nicely.
Billie, the airport’s everything employee and my former classmate at Allport High, checked us in. When Lars wandered away she asked, “How are things going with your hunky friend?”
“Good,” I told her.
“He’s just so—everything. You’re a lucky girl, Retta.”
“Yes,” I murmured. “I guess I am.”
When I sat down next to him on the bench seat, Lars said for the fourth time that morning, “Rory should be okay now. You did a good thing, Retta.” He rubbed the back of my neck fondly.
I nestled closer, liking the feel of it. “When I get back, I’ll make sure April made the phone call like she promised.”
It was nice sitting there together like an old married couple, chatting about things we’d done and watching the staff ready the clunky little shuttle that would carry Lars to O’Hare to board a much larger plane.
He must have been thinking something similar, because he asked, “Maybe this winter you could fly down to New Mexico for a week or so and get out of the cold for a while.”
“That would be nice.”
My phone rang, and when I saw the caller ID, I rose and moved away. “Hello, Rick.”
“Retta, I tried to reach you all weekend and couldn’t.”
I paused for a second, making sure I had control of my voice. Fibbing isn’t something I like to do, but sometimes it’s completely necessary. “My sisters and I went away for the day on Saturday, and I was tied up with business yesterday.”
“Did it go well?”
I glanced at Lars, who was gazing out the window. Looking at one handsome man who wanted to be with me and talking to another. It should have felt great, but somehow it didn’t.
“Everything went well.”
“And you’re going to meet Candice today?”
“I’m at the airport now, as a matter of fact.”
“You should have called me. I’d have given you a ride.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
Rick cleared his throat, signaling an important message. “I called to say I’ll be leaving Allport on Wednesday. Once you get back with the papers, I can close the deal on the property, and I have to go home and catch up on some things.” He paused. “I wanted to offer one last chance at the Deluxe Rick Experience.”
I glanced again at Lars, who was checking his phone. He looked so sweet with his wide forehead creased in concentration.
“It seems like each time we’ve gotten together things haven’t been quite right for romance,” Rick was saying. “I’d like to give it one more try. No business, no bar fights, no other commitments, just you and me and the harvest moon. How about it?”
Lars looked up, caught my eye, and smiled. “I’ll get back to you when you’re no longer a client,” I told him. “I think that will make a world of difference in how we proceed.”
“I can’t wait.”
The scratchy speaker voice called for boarding of Lars’ flight, and he stood, stretching to get the kinks out of his back.
“Retta,” Rick said in a lower tone, “I want to warn you again about Candice. She’s liable to say anything about me. She can’t help herself. When you and I get together, we can talk about it. Until then just trust me, okay?”
Lars turned to look at me, and I said, “I trust you, Ric
k. I’ll call as soon as I get back to Allport.”
The flight didn’t take long, and because of the time difference, I arrived in Wisconsin at about the same time I left Michigan. Searching the crowd for the red blazer Candice Chou had said she’d be wearing, I found her, wearing a tentative smile and all black except for the jacket.
“Ms. Chou?” I put out a hand. “Margaretta Stilson, Smart Detective Agency.”
She shook hands, her smile a little nervous. “I took back my maiden name, Edmonds.”
“Ms. Edmonds,” I corrected. I looked her over, guessing she was doing the same to me. She was pretty, with shiny-black hair, dark eyes, and perfect olive skin.
“There’s a coffee shop that way.” She pointed down the concourse. “Shall we sit?”
I followed her to the place and bought drinks for both of us, a cappuccino with cinnamon for me and a chocolate latte for her. Cups in hand, we settled at a table with two high stools.
“So Rick needs my signature, huh?”
Though Barbara had explained the situation in the emails, I explained again that Rick was selling their vacation home in Allport. “We need your signature here—” I pointed to a sticky note on the document I’d brought along before turning to the second page. “—and here.”
She read every bit of the document, her lips moving when she got to the difficult parts. When she finished, Candice stared at it for a few seconds. “I don’t see any way this can hurt me.” Looking up at me she asked, “Do you?”
“No, Ms. Edmonds. I honestly don’t. My sister, who’s a retired attorney, looked it over and says it’s simply correcting the mistake that was made at the time of your divorce.”
Nodding, she took up the pen and began scratching her name in the places sticky notes indicated. “I was so anxious to get away that I never once thought about the vacation house.”
“Tough divorce?” I really didn’t expect more than an affirming word, but she seemed to take the question as an invitation.
“The divorce was the easy part. You’d have to know what I went through before that to really understand.”
Taking the papers, I slid them into the envelope Faye had provided. Candice didn’t seem crazy, but Rick had said she appeared normal at first. “I guess no one else understands what goes on between a husband and wife.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Has Rick made a pass at you yet? You’re definitely his type.”
“Oh, no!” I waved one hand a little too widely, and ended up feeling like one of those animated clowns. “I’m—I’m with someone. A man. He’s with the FBI.” I was babbling, but I couldn’t stop myself. “His name is Lars.”
“Then you’re lucky.” Setting her hands on the table, Candice folded her fingers together and stared at them for a few seconds. “When we started dating, I didn’t know Rick was married. When I found out, he swore that his wife was insane. He kept telling me all this crazy stuff she said and did. She sounded horrible.”
She sounded like what Rick claimed Candice was.
“After a few months, she found out about us. When she filed for divorce I was relieved. I never wanted to be the Other Woman, but Rick said we couldn’t help it. We were in love, and he’d been unhappy for so long.”
Though not at all a fan of adultery, I tried to picture it from Rick’s side. He’d been caught in a bad marriage. Candice was pretty, and she seemed like the understanding type. “It must have been hard for both of you.”
She smiled knowingly. “Maybe you haven’t slept with him yet, but you’re a member of the Rick Chou Fan Club.” When I looked away she went on, “It’s okay. That’s what he does.”
I licked my lips. “Tell me what it is that he does, um, did.”
“Okay.” Blowing into the foam on her drink, Candice took a sip. “Rick and Marilyn divorced. Somewhere along the line I found out she was dying of some awful disease, kidney cysts or something. Six months after our wedding, she was gone.”
She paused again, sipping at her drink without seeming to notice its taste or temperature. “For reasons I don’t really understand, I went to the funeral. What I learned there—and heaven knows I didn’t tell them who I was—was that Marilyn Chou was the neighborhood saint, funny, intelligent, kind, and hard-working, at least until she got sick.”
“Wow.”
She held up a hand. “I told myself what you said a few minutes ago. Nobody knows how a spouse acts at home, when it’s just the two of them. She might have treated Rick like dirt.” She gave her cup a quarter turn on the tabletop. “Then I found out about Doreen.”
“Doreen?”
“A woman at Rick’s office. I happened to see some emails she sent him, and they were pretty slutty.”
“Really?”
Candice smiled grimly and wriggled her brows. “I asked him, ‘Rick, what’s up with this?’ and he says, ‘Don’t pay any attention to Doreen. She thinks she’s funny.’” Her lips tightened. “He acted like it was a big joke.”
I was beginning to get it, and after sipping my drink to wet my dry mouth, I said, “That wasn’t the end of it.”
“Well, I never heard about Doreen again, but a few months later I got a call from Stephanie, who told me I should, ‘Let Rick go.’” She made quotation marks in the air with her fingers. “It wasn’t fair of me to keep him in a loveless marriage. I should be a big girl and admit he didn’t want me anymore.”
“Did you confront him?”
The snort she made wasn’t really laughter, though it’s what she was trying for. “Rick said I must be really paranoid to believe some anonymous woman who made up terrible lies about him.” She paused, but I couldn’t think of a thing to say. After a moment she went on. “What grinds me is that I believed him—again. It took two more incidents like that to convince me. Heaven knows how many women there were I never learned about.”
Candice sipped her drink then wiped a bit of foam from her lip with a bright red fingertip. “The kicker was Marci, who came right to our front door. She said Rick was afraid to leave me for fear I’d slash my wrists. I should get professional help, she said. A man shouldn’t have to live with a wife as crazy as me.” She sighed. “I packed my stuff, drove all night, and moved in with my mother until I could find a job and a place of my own again.”
“I’m a little confused.” I gestured at the airport around us. “You were determined not to let Rick find out where you live. My um—coworkers think he abused you.”
“Not the way they’re thinking.” Pressing her lips together, Candice confessed, “I just can’t afford to be tempted again.”
“Tempted?”
Her expression turned wistful. “If Rick knew where I live—if he could show up at my door and if for his own twisted reasons he did that, I’m not sure I wouldn’t let him in.”
“You’re kidding.”
She gathered our trash and deposited it in a nearby receptacle, leaving the flap swinging. “I know how dumb it is, but don’t you feel it? When you’re listening to him, and especially when you’re looking at him, everything the S.O.B. says sounds like the truth.”
What could I say? “Then it’s good you’re staying strong.”
Candice grimaced. “I guess, but how will I ever be able to trust another man?”
“I think you will, in time.” Checking my watch, I saw that my flight would be boarding soon. I rose and gave Candice a hug. “It was so nice to meet you.”
As I walked away, I told myself I’d have seen through Rick Chou eventually. He wasn’t that good, especially when I had a man like Lars to compare him to.
Chapter Forty-six
Barb
After some thought, which I had lots of time for on the long drive home from Bay City, I pulled over at a county park shaded by very tall pines. The day had warmed, so I rolled down the window and took in their fragrance as I called Stan Wozniak a second time. “I’d like to know more about the illegal use of Landon’s credit card at the plant in Florida.”
“I’ll
be glad to check into it, but I have to say I’ve become doubtful that Landon could be a criminal. I’ve been watching him closely, and he’s like a robot. No ambition, no ego. He just wants to do his scientific thing.”
“But this all started when he showed up in Allport,” I argued. “We have to ask ourselves why. I’d like you to call the bottling plant in Florida and ask one more question.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to know if Landon’s wife ever came to visit him at his work place.”
Stan was sharp, so I didn’t have to explain. After only a brief hesitation he said, “You think she took the company credit card out of his wallet, dressed up like a hoodlum, took as much as she could get out of the ATMs, and then returned the card.”
“Landon probably didn’t suspect her at the time, but I think his view has changed.” I told him about Landon’s odd phone call.
“I’ll try to reach that plant right away,” Wozniak promised.”
“Thanks, Stan.”
While I waited for his call, I drove on. When I saw a McDonalds I went to the drive-through, got an iced tea, and parked off to one side. Sipping at my drink, I used my iPad to research Diane Landon. From what Retta said, the wedding had taken place in Florida. In the state’s marriage records I typed in Enright Landon’s name. Sure enough, a certificate had been issued a little over a year earlier for Enright S. Landon to wed Diane S. Mellon. Her maiden name struck a chord in my memory, and I started a new search. She’d listed her place of birth as Toms River, New Jersey, so I switched to that state’s records and typed in Diane S. Mellon. When the page loaded, I made a guttural hum of surprise. Diane Sydney Mellon was Sydney Mellon, the contact person for the corporation that had bought the Clausen property on Sweet Springs.
I wanted to tell Faye what I’d learned, but she’d gone to the Meadows. Knowing the doctor visited on Mondays, she was determined to speak with him about Clara, and she’d warned me that her phone would be silenced. I texted her a short message that said simply, DL not what she seems.
