by Ellery Adams
“May I bring Bennett? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Gillian, but neither do I want to exclude him.” James had crossed his fingers while Gillian took a moment to think about it.
“Yes, he’s part of our club no matter what happens between the two of us personally. Please ask him to come. Lindy and I will fix supper for everyone. Let Lucy know.”
“Thank you, Gillian,” James said and hung up. He called Bennett, who sounded half asleep when he answered. James said, “There’s been another murder. We’re meeting at Gillian’s. She said it was okay for you to come.”
Those words served as a shot of espresso to Bennett. “Who’s dead? Gillian invited me? Oh, man, I have to shower and put on something spiffy.”
“Kitty Walters. Now, play it cool with Gillian. She included you because this is an emergency and we’re a team. Don’t push it.”
“I can be the epitome of cool. Watch me.”
While he waited for Lucy, James sat at the kitchen table. He called Jane and filled her in on Kitty Walters’s murder and the secret passage. “Honey, I feel bad about leaving you, but I should be home by eight or eight thirty.”
“There’s no reason to feel bad, James. I’m perfectly capable of heating up some vegetable soup for Eliot and myself. Just think, our son unwittingly gave you a clue that might help your investigation.”
James smiled. “Smart little guy.”
“He’s excited at the moment. We went outside to the mailbox together earlier. He saw that the copy of Mary Poppins I ordered came. He hasn’t let the DVD out of his sight since then. I’m afraid that, before I knew you wouldn’t be here, I promised him we’d watch it tonight.”
James groaned. “I wanted to see it with him. Any chance he’ll wait until tomorrow night?”
Jane chuckled. “You wanted to watch it yourself, James Henry. Admit it.”
“Guilty as charged. I loved Mary Poppins when I was a kid. I was looking forward to seeing it again.”
“Don’t worry. Eliot will want to watch it over and over. You’ll get another chance.”
James had just ended the call when the pantry door swung open, startling him. Lucy, Sheriff Huckabee, and Keith Donovan entered the kitchen and closed the pantry door behind them. The secret passage! It must lead from the third-floor suite to the kitchen via the pantry.
James stood and looked at Lucy expectantly. She gave him a tiny shake of her head.
Sheriff Huckabee tugged on his walrus mustache. “Henry, Lucy tells me you gave her the idea of a secret passage.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I appreciate it, but I need you to keep the information to yourself for now.”
“Yes, sir,” James answered, thinking that his promise did not apply to his wife or the members of the supper club.
Lucy drove him back to the library, tight-lipped. As she waited for him to exit the patrol car, she said, “I have to go to the courthouse. If I’m not going to make it to Gillian’s, I’ll call.”
• • •
James finished his day at the library and drove to Gillian’s. He parked the Bronco and crossed the street to Gillian’s pink house. From the corner of his eye he saw a man in a dark, pin-striped three-piece suit carrying a bunch of flowers wrapped in plastic walking toward him.
“Bennett! I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to wear this suit. Picked it up on sale after Christmas. Fits good, doesn’t it? I only had to have the pants hemmed.”
“It’s handsome. You look great,” James said. He didn’t have the heart to ask Bennett if he didn’t think he was a mite overdressed. Was this his friend’s idea of the “epitome of cool”?
“You think these flowers will be okay?” Bennett asked, studying the bouquet critically. “They’re the kind you get at Winn-Dixie. Half the men in Quincy’s Gap were at the regular flower shop placing last-minute Valentine’s orders. I couldn’t wait.”
“Gillian will love them. You know how she is about all things to do with nature. Let’s go inside before we freeze.”
They walked up the steps to the wraparound porch. A voice behind them said, “Who died, Bennett?”
Bennett scowled at Lucy. “Can’t a man look his best without being accused of going to a funeral? Besides, you already know who died. That’s why we’re meeting tonight.”
Gillian opened the door. She wore a cream-colored tunic with embroidered yellow and red flowers over leggings. Her eyes darted over Bennett’s suit, but she didn’t comment. “Come in, friends. Lindy and I have dinner almost ready.”
They went inside and James inhaled the enticing smells coming from the kitchen.
“These are for you, Gillian,” Bennett said, holding out the bouquet. “I know you like flowers. I mean, look at the top you’re wearing. A flower lady. That’s what you are. Flowers are your thing.”
James nudged him.
“Thank you, Bennett. I’ll go put them in water,” Gillian said politely.
They walked through to the periwinkle kitchen.
“Hey, Dalai Lama,” Bennett said to Gillian’s tabby cat where he sprawled on the hutch.
The cat hissed at him.
Lindy turned from the stove. “Hi, everyone. Food’s ready.”
The supper club members sat around the table while Lindy passed plates of Florentine ravioli around. At each place setting, there was a bowl containing a salad of beets and kale. Bennett shot James a panicked look, but said, “That salad is colorful.”
Beets were right there with rhubarb and green peppers on James’s short but firm “no eat” list, but he said nothing.
While they ate, James filled Lindy, Gillian, and Bennett in on his theory of a secret passage. When he finished, Lucy confirmed that the passage was there.
“But that means anyone staying at the Red Bird could have killed Ray Edwards,” Lindy said.
“Anyone who knew about the passage,” James said, sprinkling a little extra parmesan cheese on his ravioli. “I figure the only people who knew were the Lydells and Kitty Walters.” He then explained how he came to find out that Kitty Walters was actually Kathy Richardson.
Lucy told them that she and James had their suspicions about Kitty’s motives because of Murphy’s romantic relationship with Ray Edwards, but when they arrived at the Red Bird to question her, they found she’d been murdered.
“How was she killed?” Gillian asked.
“Blow to the head. Someone first tried to choke her, then shoved her hard against the brick fireplace hearth,” Lucy said. “Sheriff Huckabee had Murphy in a holding cell when I left. You know, when Edwards was killed, I was certain Murphy had done it. I guess the tricks she’s pulled on us, the unflattering way she writes about us in her novels . . . especially the way she disfigured my character . . . I let that cloud my judgment. I refused to even consider another suspect until James told me about the secret passage. But a little while ago, at the courthouse, I talked to Murphy. It’s like she’s accepted that she’ll be wrongfully imprisoned for these murders.”
“That doesn’t sound like her,” Bennett said.
Lucy said, “She’s been through a lot in a short period of time, and maybe I’m gullible, but I think it’s changed her. One of the things she says she regrets is not being able to preserve the Hayes House and Tavern. She said that she’d imagined that schoolchildren would take field trips there one day to learn more about Quincy’s Gap history.”
“Murphy Alistair didn’t suddenly become a killing machine,” Gillian said. “She’s a lot of things, as we’ve all agreed, but murderer is not one of them.”
Lucy took the bottle of white wine in the center of the table and poured herself a glass. “Don’t anyone faint, but now I agree with Gillian. Murphy also told me that she’s consulting with her lawyer as soon as she can about selling Buford Lydell’s land back to him.”
Lindy said, “Because I didn’t like her either, I thought Murphy could have killed Edwards in a drunken fi
t of passion. But I can’t picture her coldly walking up the stairs of the Red Bird, knocking on Kitty Walters’s door, trying to strangle her, and then shoving her into the brick hearth. No.”
“Who would want to kill both Edwards and Walters?” Bennett asked. “And that someone had to know about the secret passage.”
“There has to be a connection between Edwards and Kitty. I mean besides their alleged engagement, which I need to confirm,” Lucy said. “As far as the secret passage goes, Mrs. Anderson and her husband claim that they didn’t even know about it. So other than the Lydells, it’s anyone’s guess as to who was aware of it.”
“If we assume that Kitty discovered it when she was a child and remembered it, can we also assume that she told someone of its existence?” James asked. “If she was engaged to Edwards and knew he would be staying there, could she have told him?”
“And then he unwittingly told the person who killed him?” Lucy mused, adding pepper to her ravioli. “That’s possible. I think the killer is one of those actors.”
“Murphy thinks Valerie Norris killed Edwards,” James said.
“Valerie strikes me as a cold woman,” Gillian said. “Both of these murders were committed with passion. I don’t think Valerie’s capable of strong feelings. Remember when the subject of love came up at the reunion, Valerie scoffed at the idea of love’s very existence.”
“She did,” Bennett agreed.
“If we rule out Valerie, then who’s left?” Lindy asked. “Amber Ross can’t stop looking at herself in the mirror long enough to care about anyone else. Certainly not enough to drive her to murder.”
James looked at Lucy. “Lindy’s right. Lucy, I told you that Amber doesn’t care two pennies about Sullie.”
“Whatever,” Lucy said. “That Brandon is dreamy. He asked me for my phone number.”
“What does Brandon do for a living now, Lucy, did he say?” Gillian asked. “I wonder if, like Doug Moore, he needs money. His face practically glowed with happiness when that TV executive announced the reboot of Hearth and Home.”
“That could be ego,” James said. “Being on television again. Being adored by women across the country.”
Lucy put her wineglass down. “You know, Brandon didn’t say he had any kind of job. From the description he gave me of the house he lives in—complete with in-ground pool—I assumed that he’s independently wealthy.”
James had that feeling that he should remember something. He thought hard.
“Where does Brandon live, Lucy?” Lindy asked. “Out in Los Angeles?”
“No, he’s in Louisville. That’s why I gave him my number. It’s possible we could get together for dates since he’s not across the country.”
“Louisville! That’s it!” James said. “I remember!”
“Remember what?” Lucy asked.
“When I went out to Arthur Pritchard’s horse farm, he kept me waiting in his study a long time before he would see me. He had a copy of the Louisville Courier-Journal on his desk. I read almost the whole issue.”
“And,” Bennett prompted.
“I saw an ad, a large ad, maybe a quarter of a page, for Walters and Jensen Realty. How much you want to bet that’s Kitty Walters and Brandon Jensen?”
Lucy whipped out her cell phone and began tapping on the keyboard. “He never said anything about being a Realtor, much less being in business with Kitty.”
“But he did seem to know her,” Gillian said. “He went so far as to offer her his room at the Red Bird so that she wouldn’t have to stay in the suite where Edwards was murdered.”
Lucy turned the screen of her phone so that the other supper club members could see it. “Here it is. Walters and Jensen Realty. There’s a photo of Kitty, but none of Brandon. The only phone numbers listed are under her name. You’d think they’d put up Brandon’s photo to draw in clients.”
“Kitty suggested that Brandon might buy into the Honeybee Heaven Farms Corporation. I wonder why he didn’t do so before,” James said. “If Brandon lives in Louisville and knows Kitty, he’s bound to be in touch with his former cast-mate, Joel Foster. It stands to reason he knew Ray Edwards too.”
“They’re all connected to real estate,” Lindy said. “But what would Brandon’s motive be for killing Edwards. Or Kitty, for that matter?”
“I need to question him,” Lucy said. “First I’ll find out what he told Truett in his formal statement about Kitty Walters’s murder, then I’ll talk to him.”
“Guess dating him is off the table then,” James said.
“Don’t be silly,” Lucy said with a toss of her hair. “I might get more out of him over a candlelit dinner.”
Gillian had finished eating and held a crystal in her hand. “I feel it has to do with the Honeybee Heaven Farms Corporation. Money is one of the top reasons why people murder. We can’t rule out Joel Foster.”
“What about Doug Moore?” Bennett asked. “He’s a drunk, a thief, we know he needs money.”
“What’s his motive?” Lucy asked. “If he’s broke, he can’t buy into the corporation. Still, he bears investigating. So we’re down to Joel Foster, Doug Moore, and Brandon Jensen? Do we all agree that we can rule Valerie and Amber out?”
Everyone nodded.
“Lucy, can you get the handwritten will Kitty claimed Edwards had written?” James asked. “We need to know if he actually wrote it, if Kitty was really the beneficiary of a large life insurance policy and all of Edwards’s holdings. If we find out the answer to that, maybe it will help narrow down the suspects.”
“That’s true. I’ll check and see who Ray Edwards’s lawyer was,” Lucy said. “Murphy will know. Sheriff Huckabee would have the information, but I’d rather ask Murphy.”
“Is that because the sheriff thinks Murphy’s guilty?” James asked.
“I can’t comment, James,” Lucy said. “Go with it.”
“We still don’t know who had knowledge of the secret passage,” James said to his friends. “Lucy has said all along that someone had to have the opportunity to kill Edwards. Which one of those actors knew about the passage?”
No one had an answer.
“We may not have the answer to that question, but can we agree that the same person who killed Edwards killed Kitty Walters?” Gillian asked.
Everyone nodded again. Then Gillian got up to clear plates. Bennett jumped to his feet to help.
Lindy said, “Okay, everybody, I’ve made dessert. It’s not on our diet, but I thought since the rest of the meal was, we could have a treat.”
“Yes!” Lucy exclaimed.
Lindy brought out a large plate with a golden, custard-type mold. “This is Mexican flan with caramel sauce.”
James’s mouth watered.
“Oh, Lindy,” Lucy breathed. “That looks incredible. You made it yourself?”
Lindy cut slices of the confection and put them on plates. As she passed the plates around, she said, “I did. Alma taught me how to make it.”
James forked a piece of the smooth, creamy dessert into his mouth and let it melt on his tongue, savoring the texture and caramel flavor. He was determined to make the delicacy last. After he swallowed, he said, “I’ll say one thing for Alma: she knows some tasty recipes.”
“Thank you for making this, Lindy,” Lucy said. “I’ve never had anything like it.”
“You know,” Bennett said, pointing his fork at Lindy. “When I went to Winn-Dixie tonight to get flowers for my wom—for Gillian,” he said and then cleared his throat. “I saw that the French restaurant in the shopping center has finally closed.”
“I’m not surprised,” James said. “Who could afford to eat there unless it was a special occasion?”
“True,” Bennett said. “But, Lindy, what if Luis arranged for Alma to open a Mexican restaurant in that location? Luis could get tips on running a restaurant from Luigi. He’s done well with his pizza place. And what about this: There’s no Mexican restaurant in Quincy’s Gap now. The closest one is in Har
risonburg. Could be profitable. And I happen to know from delivering the mail that there’s an apartment above the restaurant.”
Everyone had stopped eating and looked at Bennett.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
Lindy jumped up and ran around the table and hugged Bennett. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong! Luis has wanted to invest in a business. This could be the very thing. Plus, it would give Alma somewhere to live and something to do other than interfere with my marriage! I love you, Bennett!”
For the first time that night, Gillian looked at Bennett and smiled.
Everyone started talking about how popular Mexican food was. They reminisced about meeting Milla when she offered classes on Mexican cooking and the scrumptious enchiladas they’d made.
Bennett sat in his chair staring at Gillian. But she didn’t smile at him again, James noted. In fact, she looked sad and kept her eyes downcast. She made tiny folds in the bright yellow tablecloth and adjusted the dolphin figurine.
Gradually, as the supper club members noticed the tension between Bennett and Gillian, their chatter ceased. An uncomfortable silence grew.
“Gillian,” Bennett said, “I want to talk with you.”
“Not now, Bennett,” she said.
“Yes, woman, now. I want to explain why I can’t hold your hand or show you any affection in public like you want. I need the strength and support of my friends around me while I do it.” This last part came out as a croak, as if Bennett’s mouth had gone dry.
Chapter Nineteen
James spotted Bennett’s empty glass and said, “Let me get you some more water before you start.”
Gillian got to her feet. “I have a diet Dr. Pepper in the fridge.” She got it and, when she handed Bennett’s favorite to him, James saw that their fingers touched.
Bennett took a deep drink, then said, “I’ve told you before that I’m the eldest of eight kids. We grew up in Maddox Heights, which is a tiny town, smaller than Quincy’s Gap, down near Lynchburg. Back in the late seventies, black folks lived on one side of town, white folks the other. Mama and Daddy worked on the farms. I eventually helped out with money, but that came much later. What I’m gonna tell you about happened when I was a couple of years older than Eliot is now,” Bennett said, nodding at James and taking another drink of his Dr. Pepper.
