Ben held my other hand and stood behind my head, out of the way. “It’ll be done soon,” he whispered.
Even after the first layer of tape was applied I kept my eyes shut, determined to just get through the whole experience.
“It’s not camouflage,” Ben said, but I heard the humor in his voice.
“What color is it?” I asked, afraid to look.
“Let’s just say it’s the opposite of camouflage.”
I didn’t even want to think about what that meant. When the doctor and tech were done, I opened my eyes and saw nothing but highlighter orange. My arm was like the sun, a giant ball of fire.
“Wow,” I said, sitting up. “That’s bright.”
“It’s not forever,” the doctor said. “We’ll need you back here in a couple weeks to see how it’s mending.”
The cast reached my elbow, but I didn’t need a sling anymore. I rebuffed Ben’s attempts to help me with my coat and put it on myself without struggling for the first time in days. “Easy peasy,” I said.
“You’re a pro.” He opened the door and we walked out through the office and back into the waiting room where I would schedule my follow up appointment.
A veritable army of medical receptionists sat in a row behind a long counter with half wall dividers. I sat in the chair at the first available spot with Ben standing behind me. As the receptionist searched the doctor’s available appointment times, I overheard the woman beside her talking to a patient.
“You need to come in for a refill … Yes, I know you lost your blood pressure pills, but you didn’t have any refills left, so you’ll need to come in. How long has it been since you last took your medication? … About a week? … Okay, Mrs. Buntley let me look for a time to squeeze you in today. Please hold.”
I jerked my head up to look at Ben. Had he heard the conversation? By the look on his face, he had. “Don’t even think about it, Cam,” he said. “I’ll follow up on this.”
“A little coincidental, don’t you think?” I asked.
“Very.”
Lana Buntley lost her blood pressure pills about a week ago, around the same time when a blood pressure medication that was not Clayton’s was found in his system. Could Lana be Clayton’s killer?
• Thirteen •
She killed him,” Monica said, tossing popcorn in her mouth. Ben was working late and Quinn was busy with bookkeeping, so she and I decided to go to see a movie on Friday night instead of staying home. “There’s no other explanation.”
I fought with the cellophane around my peanut M&M’s box. “But where’s the proof? I mean, what if she does take the same kind of medication that was found in Clayton’s system and she lost her pills the same time he was murdered? How do we know he didn’t take them and commit suicide? How do we know they were her pills in his system and she didn’t just drop them at the hair salon or somewhere?”
“It fits too well. You know she did it. I know she did it. Now we just have to prove it.”
“How?”
She tapped her fingers on the side of the popcorn box. “I don’t know yet.”
We watched a romantic comedy about a woman who moved back to her small hometown and juggled her old high school sweetheart and the new guy in town. It was cute and funny, but not enough to draw my thoughts away from Lana. What would her motive be for killing Clayton?
Did Clayton and Starnes have a falling out and Lana was getting revenge? Did he know something about Lana and Starnes that they needed to keep quiet? Betty said it wasn’t about the moonshine; that Clayton actually helped them get customers. Maybe he wanted a cut and threatened to turn them in to the cops if they didn’t agree? It was a possibility.
“Hey,” Monica said, nudging me. I realized the credits were rolling. “Did you see any of the movie, or were you too busy calculating and plotting, Miss Marple?”
“You know this will drive me crazy until I figure it out.” I told her about the moonshine angle, and she agreed it was worth finding out about.
“You need to talk to Lana Buntley,” she said.
“I can’t just call her and ask her if she killed Clayton with her blood pressure pills, and if I tell her what I heard at the doctor’s office, she’ll know Ben’s on to her and it might ruin his investigation.”
“That’s why you have to be sneaky about it.”
“It’s hard to be sneaky when you have a traffic cone around your arm,” I said, holding up my cast.
“A glow-in-the-dark traffic cone. It was hard to see the movie screen with that beside me.”
“Next time bring sunglasses.”
We left the theater and got in Monica’s car. “Why don’t we drive by the car dealership while we’re in Brookville?” she asked. “They’re closed, but we won’t be harassed by salesmen while we look around.”
“Okay. Can’t hurt to look.” I really missed my ancient hatchback that saw me through college, my job, and a move to Metamora before Mia killed it. It was the only car I’d ever owned. I didn’t even know where to begin when looking for a new one.
“Change is good, Cam,” Monica said.
“I don’t have an issue with change.”
She seemed to think otherwise. “You definitely don’t like it.”
“Who does?”
The first dealership she stopped at had a chain blocking the entrance, but Monica pulled over to the side of the road anyway. “We can step over it. I doubt anyone will mind if there are two women looking around at cars.”
“Ben’s going to have to get us out of jail tonight,” I said. “I can feel it.”
“Just tug your coat sleeve down over your day-glow cast and come on.”
We hustled out of the car and over the chain. “This way,” Monica called, hurrying around to the side of the building. “We’ll start with the used cars.”
“We’ll end there, too. I can’t afford a new one. I don’t even think I can afford a used one.”
“You have a job now. You can afford a car.”
“Says the successful dog treat entrepreneur.”
“Oh, please. I have to live in your house.”
“Until Quinn whisks you away to Ireland and doesn’t bring you back.”
She stopped in her tracks. “Do you think he’ll want to live there?”
“I was only kidding, Mon.”
“But really, do you think he will?”
Standing under the bright lights of the dealership lot, panic seemed to take over her features. “He has a business here and he knows you do, too,” I said. “Of course he’s not going to want to move back to Ireland.”
She blinked a few times, considering. “Yeah, why would he want to move back?” But she didn’t sound convinced.
I wasn’t, either. He’d always planned on going back before meeting Monica. What if they got married and had kids and he wanted to be near his family? What if she moved all the way to Ireland?
“You’re right,” I said. “I have a problem with change.”
The panic started to slip back over her face, so I amended my statement. “I don’t want a different car. I want my old one back.”
“Oh,” she said, “well, you can’t have it back, so pick a different one.”
We walked up and down aisles full of SUVs and minivans. Most looked just like the last. “They have no character,” I said.
“Character? They don’t need to have character. They need to get you from point A to point B.”
“No,” I said. “They bore me. I don’t want any of these.”
“They bore you?”
“Monica, a car is a commitment, like a spouse. You’re going to be with that car for a long time. Maybe for the rest of your life. It needs to be The One.”
She threw her hands in the air. “You’re not supposed to have one car for the rest of your life!”
<
br /> “If I can, I will,” I said.
“There’s not one car on this lot that you like enough to commit to driving?”
I glanced around again, but nothing stood out to me. “It’s not here.”
“Sometimes I think you were adopted.”
“Sometimes I do, too.”
“All right, let’s get out of here.”
We made our way back to the chain, stepped over, and got in the car. Monica pulled her phone out of her pocket to see if Quinn had called or sent her a text message. “I forgot to take it off silent when we left the theater,” she said.
“I forgot mine, too.”
I opened my handbag and surprised myself by finding my phone sitting right on top of my wallet. No rummaging around required for once. I turned my ringer back on and noticed a text from Brenda.
I found something interesting. Call me ASAP!
“Whoa,” I said. “Brenda was helping me track the property records of Clayton’s land, and she’s found something.” I dialed her number.
Monica turned toward me in anticipation. “Put it on speaker.”
I nodded and hit the speaker button. It rang a couple of times and Brenda answered.
“Hey,” I said. “I’ve got Monica here, too. What did you find out?”
“Nothing on the property. Something more interesting.”
“What?”
“Jason’s mom isn’t Clayton’s ex-wife.”
“Who’s his mom?”
“Robin Banks. Richard’s wife.”
“Holy!” Monica said, and covered her mouth with her hands.
“No wonder Clayton and Richard had a falling out,” I said.
“How’d she end up with Richard, though?” Brenda asked. “Did Robin dump Clayton to be with his older brother? Is that why she left Jason with Clayton?”
“I don’t know.”
“I once heard my mom say that Clayton and his wife had the wedding and the baby backwards,” Brenda said. “He must have gotten custody right from the start.”
Monica nodded in agreement. “That seems like the most likely scenario. How do we find out?”
“More importantly,” I said, “how does this tie in with his murder? Or does it tie in at all?”
“It might still have something to do with the property,” Brenda said. “Robin might use that connection to convince him to sell. If it’s a lot of money—millions—he’ll most likely give them a cut. I’d help out my family if I got that much.”
“Most people would,” I said. “But would Jason want to help the mom who didn’t raise him? It’s a solid theory to look into.”
We told Brenda thanks and goodbye and hung up.
“How do Lana and her pills fit into this?” Monica asked. “How would Robin or Richard kill Clayton with Lana’s pills?”
“I don’t know. There are a lot of threads that have to be knit together still.”
“Is that where Johnna comes in? The knitting?”
“Ha ha. Very funny. I do need to find out what she and Roy think of these new developments, though. They have a lot of insight that I don’t.”
“Looks like the Metamora Action Agency is closing in on the case.”
“I hope so.” Soapy was right, secrets did want to come out, and as long as they kept giving themselves up, we’d find out what happened to Clayton and Dixon.
“I don’t believe it,” Roy said, dumping a quarter of his flask into his coffee. “Anybody can put whatever they want on those computers and people believe it. Not me. I’m not falling for it.”
“I’m on the website Brenda used,” Logan said. We’d all convened at my house for a Saturday-morning meeting. “A photo of Jason’s birth certificate was uploaded to his profile on the Banks family tree. It seems legit.” He spun his laptop around to show us.
“Could be a forgery,” Johnna said, looking up from her yarn and needles. “Clayton got married after Jason was already here, sure, but no one ever suggested his wife wasn’t the mother. Of course, she wasn’t from around here.”
“Whether it’s real or fake,” Anna—who had shocked us all by showing up this morning—said, “Robin and Richard still have the same motive: the money from the property sale.” She sat across the table from Logan and hadn’t looked at him once.
“As long as people believe it,” Roy said.
“As long as Jason believes it,” Monica chimed in from behind the kitchen counter where she was mixing the first batch of treats for the day. “He’s the key to them getting any money if he sells the land.”
Gus was glued to Roy’s side and kept sniffing him, nudging his leg. “Gus, stop,” I said. “What is with you today?”
“How do we even know John and Paul want that land?” Johnna asked.
“I’m sure if land that has an earth mound on it comes up for sale they’ll buy it—or the association will,” I said.
“What about Lana’s pills?” Roy asked. “Seems like a more logical path to go down than worrying about who Jason’s birth mom is and all this ancient business.”
“How is that more logical?” Logan asked.
“When you hear hoof beats, think horse not zebra,” he said.
“What does that even mean?” Anna said, taking his spiked coffee away from him.
“Listen, miss,” he said, reaching for his mug, “you can’t just show back up and start bossing me around.”
“You’ve had enough of this,” she said, getting up and darting to the sink. “I’m dumping it and pouring you a cup without the booze.”
Roy rested his head on his hand, resigned. “Fine, but I liked these meetings better when you weren’t around.”
“Roy!” Johnna said, poking him with a knitting needle. “You say you’re sorry.”
“I’m not!” he barked, making Gus do the same. “Where’s she been anyway? Not coming around and then thinks she can just show back up with no apology or explanation. Just because she’s got boy troubles.”
Monica gasped. Logan blushed a deep scarlet, and Anna dropped the mug into the sink and dashed for her coat.
“Wait,” Logan pleaded, standing up. “I have something to say.” His face drained of all color, going from red to a ghostly white. I said a silent prayer that he didn’t pass out in my kitchen.
“So everyone knows,” Logan began, “I want to explain myself and what I was thinking about me and Anna going to college. I didn’t talk to her about it, or worry about it, because I had it worked out in my head already. I didn’t think I needed to talk about it. But she didn’t have it worked out the same way in her head.”
“What did you have all figured out?” Anna asked, with only a slight edge to her voice.
“I took it for granted that we’d stay together no matter where you went to school. We’ll be home for holidays and summers, at least to start, and we’d text and video chat when we were doing homework at night, like we’ve done all year. Or at least until I upset you.”
Anna took a deep breath. “You can’t just plan things in your head and think that everybody else is thinking the same, Logan. You have to communicate. That’s what people do. We talk. Try it sometime.”
“The fella just did that,” Roy said. “Now it’s you who’s trying to cause a problem. Booze might not be good for me, but that high horse won’t be good for you, girlie. Climb on down and give him a break.”
Anna’s chin quivered, her eyes got glassy and she blinked a few times. She was a strong young lady who was brilliant in her own right, and not used to being vulnerable to her emotions. “I’m sorry, Logan.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he said. “I’m the one who didn’t—”
“I was so mean to you,” she said. “I know you don’t get it sometimes, that relationship things need to be spelled out for you.
I shouldn�
�t have expected you to start a conversation about where ours was heading.”
“No, it’s my fault,” he said. “I need to do better. I’ll do better.”
“Okay, kiddos,” Johnna said. “Sounds like a truce to me. Let’s get back to why we’re here at the crack of dawn.”
Anna and Logan sat back down, but it was clear from the googly eyes they were giving each other that being across the table wasn’t going to work.
“Here,” Roy said to Anna, standing up. “Take my chair and try not to make me sick with your lovey dovey junk.”
They swapped seats, Gus right on top of Roy’s every move, and Logan took Anna’s hand. The smiles on their faces could’ve powered the town for a decade.
“So back to Lana,” I said. “How does she fit in?”
“We need to find out where she thinks she lost those pills and when,” Johnna said.
“How are we going to do that?” Roy asked, patting Gus’s giant head as he sniffed him from toe to thigh. “Call her and say, ‘We heard you lost your pills, think they found their way into Clayton’s stomach?’ ”
My mind latched onto an idea. “Calling isn’t a bad idea,” I said.
“That was a terrible idea,” Monica said.
“Just … hold on. I have a plan.”
“One of Cameron’s plans,” Roy said. “This should be good.”
I picked up the phone and asked Johnna for Lana’s number. She knew everything, so surely she’d have that. Sure enough, she took a little address book out of her knitting bag and rattled off the phone number. I dialed while Logan looked up which county Hamilton, Ohio, was in.
When Lana answered, I tried to change my voice enough for it to not be familiar, but not enough to sound like I was disguising it. “Is this Mrs. Lana Buntley?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“I’m calling from the Lost Drugs Recovery Department of Butler County. We’ve been informed that you’ve misplaced your blood pressure medication. Do you have any idea where you were when you misplaced it?”
Fatal Festival Days Page 13
