Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie

by Marianne Stillings

  He pulled back and looked at her, as though to reassure himself that she was there in the flesh, and she looked at him.

  When on earth had Edmunds grown old? For years he had been her friend and confidant, her chauffeur and occasional rainy day playmate. He’d attended tea parties with her dolls and pushed her on the swing that hung from the ancient maple tree behind the house. He had always been so energetic and vital, so much younger than his years.

  But today every line in his face seemed etched that much deeper. His eyes, always so alert and intelligent, appeared faded. His spine and shoulders, normally erect and squared, were bent.

  He was no longer the Edmunds who had greeted her at the door fifteen years ago, a strawberry lemonade in his hand and a sparkle in his eye. Time had passed, had worn him away, and she simply hadn’t noticed.

  Evie put her hand on his cool cheek. Her eyes filled with tears and she did nothing to wipe them away.

  “Hello, darling,” she whispered. “Thank you for worrying about me, but I guess I’m made of pretty stern stuff.”

  He blinked at that, and his smile wavered for a fraction of a second. Then he said, “Can I get you something to eat, my dear? You must be half starved.”

  “In a minute,” she replied. “I just want to sit and enjoy your company. For a while, there, I was worried I’d never be able to do that again.”

  Max returned then and placed a big bucket of water in front of Fernando, who began to drink greedily. Next to the water bucket, he set a large bowl of oats.

  “The search has been called off,” he said, “but the police are going to continue the investigation. Detective McKennitt wants to talk to you, but he’s stuck on something in Seattle and may not be able to get back up here until tomorrow.”

  Edmunds said, “Where have you been, Evangeline? We searched the island and found no trace of you.”

  “Fernando must either have known which direction our island was or we lucked out,” she said wearily. “When I woke up, we were in a kind of cave behind a jumble of rocks and driftwood, which may be why you didn’t find us. I kept phasing in and out of sleep, so I don’t remember hearing anybody or anything.”

  “Evie,” Max said, “when we were hit, did you see any markings on the boat? Did you get a glimpse of the pilot? Anything?”

  “I heard the engine,” she murmured. “Heard you blast the horn. Then, this huge bow just appeared out of the fog. I jumped back, yanking Fernando with me. The runabout split in half and we went into the water.”

  She took another sip from the tumbler. “It didn’t have any lights on, and I didn’t see any markings.” She shook her head as chills of fear overtook her once again. “It all happened so fast.”

  “So that overgrown dust bunny saved your life?” Max said, glancing back at Fernando.

  “We sort of saved each other,” she corrected him. “Oh, and one more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “As I was fading in and out of consciousness, it came to me.”

  “What came to you?”

  “It,” she said. “The location of Clue Number Four. It’s actually quite brilliant.”

  Max narrowed his eyes and flattened his lips. “I must say I’m impressed,” he said dryly. “Despite a third attempt on your life, you swim to safety during a storm. Then you go comatose for several hours, yet, in your lucid moments, you have the wherewithal to decipher an ambiguous clue penned by a lunatic which may or may not lead to millions of dollars and the identity of a murderer.” He took a breath. “Tell me, while you were comatose in that cave, did you happen to hit on the solution to the unified field theory?”

  She scowled at him, then said, “You want to know where the clue is, or not?”

  “Okay, Scout,” he said, a glint of mischief in his eye. “Shoot. Where is Clue Number Four?”

  She leaned back in the chair and took another drink of water. As Edmunds wrapped a warm blanket around her shoulders, she set the tumbler on the table next to her, closed her sore eyes and said, “Get ready for a big shock, Detective. Unless I miss my guess, Clue Number Four is hidden somewhere… in your house.”

  Chapter 16

  Dear Diary:

  My class went on a field trip today to Olympia, the capitol of Washington. We saw where they make the laws, and the governor’s house, which is truly beautiful! Edmunds came on the trip as a chaperone and he was in charge of me, Lindsay, Sarah, Amanda, Barbara, and Theresa. We sat on the steps and ate sack lunches. Amanda accidentally spilled Cream Soda all over Edmunds’ suit, but he didn't get angry at all. Edmunds is wonderful!

  Evangeline—age 12

  Even though his brain was on fire with the possibility that Thomas Heyworth had somehow hidden something inside his own home, Max was skeptical as to how the old guy might have managed it. He was a cop, he had a security system, a good one. It seemed unlikely there’d been any way in hell someone could have clandestinely planted anything of any kind inside his house. Yet Evie felt convinced, and so far she’d been right about nearly everything.

  But Max was stuck with the others who’d been instructed not to leave the area while the police investigated—and either cleared or implicated—one of the guests or staff of Mayhem Manor.

  Until the collision that had nearly drowned both Evie and him, Max had been forced to take a minor role in the investigation of Thomas Heyworth’s death, but with this newest threat to Evie’s life, he felt that reading official reports was no longer good enough. It was time to get his hands dirty.

  He checked his notes, then went to the kitchen where Mrs. Stanley was busy preparing Saturday’s dinner. The room was filled with the fragrant scent of spices and roasting meat. His stomach began to growl.

  “Mrs. Stanley?” She nodded and continued to peel potatoes as he looked on. The cook was a slender woman in her mid-fifties. Her curly gray hair had been pulled away from her face into a loose knot at her nape. She had probably been a knockout in her youth and was still a fine-looking woman, with clear skin and bright gray eyes. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

  She sent him a quick look. “Already told the police everything I know.”

  “Then you won’t mind simply repeating what you said to them.” He gave her his most charming grin. “It won’t take long.”

  Forming her mouth into a long frown, she said, “Fine. So long as it don’t interfere with my work.”

  “Where’s Mr. Stanley?”

  Her eyes darted for a second to the back door, then she said, “Around someplace.”

  Max picked up a bite-sized carrot stick from a tray on the counter and popped it into his mouth. She scowled at him and set the tray out of his reach. “How long did you work for Mr. Heyworth?”

  A potato in one hand, peeler in the other, her work never slowed as she said, “Close to eleven years.”

  “How did you feel about him?”

  She shrugged as she plopped the naked potato in a pot of water. Picking up another, she began attacking its peel. “Meat and potatoes man,” she said. “Nothing fancy. Chocolate cake, plain. Suited me fine.”

  “Did you ever overhear anybody threaten to kill him? Did he ever argue with anyone that you can recall?”

  She dropped the peeled potato into the pot and grabbed another. “Argued with everybody.”

  “What about?”

  “Everything.”

  Well, this was a lot of help. “Tell me about the rest of the people at Mayhem.”

  Never looking up from her potato peeler, she said, “Edmunds, he’s the sandwich sort, corned beef on rye, pickle on the side, glass of milk. My Earl, he’s stew and dumplings. Lots of gravy.” Tossing the potato into the pot, she reached for another. “Miss Whitney, she’s chicken and rice, you see. Delicate, the tea and petit fours type.”

  “And Miss Randall?”

  “Evie?” Another quick glance at the back door, then, “I’d, uh, I’d say she’s more of a smorgasbord.” Max fought hard to suppress the image of Evie’s naked bo
dy stretched out on a linen tablecloth for him to sample.

  Swallowing, he said, “Smorgasbord?”

  The cook raised her shoulder in a shrug. “None too picky. Little of this, little of that. Variety, see? Takes what she likes, ignores the rest.”

  “Can you think of any reason somebody would want to kill her?”

  “Nope.”

  Plop, in went another naked potato.

  “When Heyworth was killed, were you on the island?”

  “Nope. In town. Groceries.”

  “What about Tuesday night?”

  “Home. Watching the TV with Earl.”

  “What do you think of Felix Barlow?”

  She reacted with several rapid blinks, then said, “That tall, skinny lawyer? I figure him for champagne and watercress sandwiches. Elegant. Real expensive.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have killed Heyworth, or why?”

  She quickly denuded the last spud then tossed it into the pot, added some salt, set the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner. “Can’t say I ever thought much about it.”

  “Your employer was murdered right here in the house, somebody tried to kill Evie in the barn and in a boat on the way to the island, and you haven’t given any of this much thought?”

  “Told the police all I know,” she said, turning to the sink to wash her hands. “It’s their job to think about it, not mine.”

  Flipping his notebook closed, he said, “Thanks for your time.” As he turned to go, he said, “Mrs. Stanley?”

  She looked up from the sink.

  “How do you figure me?”

  Narrowing one eye on him, she said, “Game hen. Plump, juicy. Breasts and thighs. All the trimmings. That’d be my guess.”

  “Evangeline?”

  “Over here,” she said, guiding Edmunds with her voice through the tall racks of dusty bottles in the wine cellar.

  As he came around the last rack to where she stood, he said, “Is there something I can help you find, my dear?”

  Evie smiled at the butler, then stared at the wine rack in front of her. Picking up a bottle, she held it in her arms, as one might cradle an infant.

  “I just wanted something nice for after dinner,” she explained. “This sherry ought to do it. Were you looking for me?”

  “Detective McKennitt called to say we are all free to leave the island in the morning if we wish.”

  “They didn’t find anything?” Disappointment furrowed her brow. “This is all so incredibly frustrating.” She let go a long slow sigh. “I have to admit, though, I can’t imagine anybody here on the island wanting to kill me, nor do I think any of us murdered Thomas. But there must be some kind of evidence somewhere that points to somebody.”

  She leaned against the cream plaster wall and lifted a brow. Clutching the bottle a little closer to her bosom, she said thoughtfully, “Edmunds, you know I’ve always trusted your opinion.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” He frowned. “They say a burden shared is a burden eased, so, if that remark is a prelude to an emotional liberation of some kind, please feel free.”

  The man was such a darling. Since the day she arrived at Mayhem, he’d made sure she was always cared for, always comfortable, never wanting for anything. He would have been like a second father to her, had she ever known the true identity of her first one, that is.

  She turned and walked to the large oval mirror hanging on the wall at the end of the row. Reaching up, she smoothed away the thin film of dust to see her own reflection in the thick glass. Meeting the butler’s gaze in the mirror, she said, “May I ask you a question? It’s about my mother.”

  Though he didn’t react overtly, there was a subtle shift in his demeanor. He didn’t blink or clear his throat. He didn’t move at all, but his normally rosy cheeks seemed to pale.

  “I believe I’ve told you all I know of her, Evangeline,” he said. “However, I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

  Turning to face him, she set the bottle of sherry on the table next to the mirror then looked into Edmunds’s eyes.

  “How well did you know her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you were here when she worked at Mayhem.”

  “Yes.”

  Evie crossed her arms over her stomach. “Did you get to know her at all?”

  He made a slight shrug. “Very little. I recall she was beautiful, young, headstrong. She stayed on the island for a time working as a maid, then became restless to leave. One day, she simply flew away, I suppose you’d say. Mayhem never shone quite so brightly after that—until you came here, my dear.” Evie turned again to the mirror, her own reflection and Edmunds’s behind her, watery images in the ancient glass.

  “I have so many questions,” she said. “What kind of relationship did my mother have with Thomas? She never spoke of him or her time here at Mayhem, yet he came for me after she died. Whenever I tried to broach the subject with Thomas, he put me off with some excuse or other.”

  Edmunds took a step toward her. “Evangeline,” he said, his voice low and solemn. “The year before you came here, Mr. Heyworth’s only wife had died—”

  “Max’s mother.”

  “Yes. He loved her deeply, I believe. After her death, I sensed in him a great change, as though he were sorry he’d waited so long to wed. When he brought you back with him, I was quite surprised. I was not aware Maggie had… a child.” He shrugged. “I was glad he’d brought you, though, since he was not usually a man given to public displays of altruism.”

  Evie laughed a little at that. “No, he wasn’t. You know,” she said, taking a deep breath, “for a long time I thought he was my real father. Since he was an unmarried, middle-aged man, I figured he must have been my real father, otherwise, they wouldn’t have let him have me.”

  The butler cleared his throat and advanced another half step. “You were earmarked for foster care, but Mr. Heyworth was an extremely persuasive man.”

  “You mean, he bought somebody off.”

  “Exactly. You were eleven, in all likelihood too old for anyone to adopt you, give you the kind of home you needed. An alternative was the foster care system, which Mr. Heyworth denounced, as he felt you would have been shuffled from one place to another. You’d had eleven years of that already. He didn’t want that for you, and since he knew he would never be allowed to adopt you outright, he saw to it that your paperwork, er, became lost in the system, so to speak.”

  Evie’s eyes widened. “Why that scoundrel!”

  The lines around his eyes deeply creased with worry, Edmunds said, “Have you been unhappy at Mayhem, Evangeline? Was it a mistake for Mr. Heyworth to bring you here?”

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly, placing her hand on his arm. “God, no. I’ve been insanely happy with Thomas and with you, and of course the llamas. I adore you all. Living on the island has been like a fairy tale.”

  Edmunds shifted his gaze away for a moment, then, “If I may say it, you’ve grown from a compassionate, shy little girl into an exceedingly lovely young woman, yet there exists a dearth of suitors at your door which I do not comprehend. Perhaps an island isn’t the best place for a beautiful and intelligent young lady who is seeking a marriageable gentleman.”

  Evie picked up the bottle of sherry. Focusing on the label, she said, “I have my own house and live in town during the school year. And I have friends, and—”

  “Detective Galloway seems quite taken with you.”

  She lifted her head and locked gazes with him. “He does? Do you think so? Did he say something? Do you like him? I used to dislike him… well, hate him, but lately, I’ve… oh, damn. I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Her cheeks heated in embarrassment at her girlish silliness.

  “He does. I do. He has not. I do. I know. And yes, you are.” He winked at her and tapped her on the tip of her nose with his finger as he had all those years ago when she’d first come to Heyworth Island. Leaning forward, he whispered, “Ain’t love grand?”
>
  Her heart skidded to a stop. “Who said anything about love?”

  “Nobody,” he replied, straightening his shoulders. “But I imagine the topic will come up soon enough, of its own accord.”

  Evie felt her cheeks warm as chills skittered down her arms. If falling in love made you feel like you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown all the time, then she was definitely headed in that direction.

  * * * * *

  The white dress Evie chose to wear to dinner was soft and silky, and hugged her body without being obvious. She wore her hair down around her shoulders because she figured he’d like it like that. Besides, the feel of it against her neck made her feel sexy.

  When she entered the dining room, Max was in the corner talking to Edmunds. The two men stopped and turned toward her. Edmunds smiled and she scrunched her nose at him. He gave a little wave and headed into the kitchen.

  As for Max, he seemed to freeze in place. His gaze raked her from head to toe, and she was certain by the flush of his cheek, his blood pressure had gone up a notch or two. His eyes took on a smoky quality.

  He stood there a moment longer, then slowly crossed the room to her. Without saying a word, he took her arm and escorted her around the corner and into the office, where he closed the door firmly behind them.

  Turning, he took her by the shoulders and pushed her against the closed door.

  “Nice dress,” he murmured, letting his eyes devour every inch of her. “If I said you had a luscious body, would you hold it against me?”

  He didn’t say anything else, just stared into her eyes. She watched as the muscle in his jaw worked.

  “I suppose that’s your idea of a good pickup line?”

  He glared down at her, his eyes hot with interest.

  Leaning forward, he put his hands on either side of her head. His hard chest teased her suddenly sensitive breasts. “It’s no line, Evie—”

  With that, pressing her against the door, he took her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep.

  She made a soft crying sound at the back of her throat as she moved her hands up his chest and around his neck. His hands moved down, to glide over her sides, over her breasts, down the curve of her hips until his splayed fingers gripped her bottom. Pleasure pooled deep inside her as he began to slowly rub himself against her.