by Jessa Archer
“He did.”
“Classes okay? Making friends?”
Paige rolled her eyes, exactly as I had known she would.
“Hey. Those are my lines, sweetie. I didn’t write the Mom Handbook, but the rules clearly state that when your daughter is starting a new school three thousand miles away from her previous one, these are the questions that must be asked.”
The waitress, a short, thin girl in her early twenties, showed up with a basket of garlic rolls. When she left, Paige adeptly changed the subject away from school. “So…getting back to our murder mystery. You think this Melissa Barry person was angry that she was replaced by one of her boyfriend’s students, so she yells at him here, then follows him back to the theater and kills him?”
“Melinda Barry. And I don’t know. People have killed for less. To be honest, I really don’t want it to be her. She was nice to me when I was a kid, and I hope she has an alibi. But I do want to show that it wasn’t me so that Alicia will get off my case. And I’m guessing it would be a lot easier for you to blend in at school if your mom wasn’t on the front page of The Clarion every morning.”
Paige shrugged. “It’s not like kids my age read the local paper over breakfast. But yes…I’d be happier if things were a bit more low-key. One less thing for Emily and her friends to use as ammo.”
“I take it Emily is the girl Nathan was dating?”
“They weren’t dating,” Paige says. “Aside from the Homecoming Dance and some country club thing she invited him to. Or at least that’s Nathan’s side. When Emily’s friends tell the story, Emily and Nathan have been married since second grade and have five small children.”
“For shame. You little home-wrecker.” I grinned at her, thinking how familiar all of this sounded. I hadn’t exactly been new in town, since we moved to the Outer Banks when I was eight. But Caratoke is one of those towns where you are always a bit of an outsider unless you were born there. I’d entered the doors of Caratoke High with an entire group of freshmen, and Travis hadn’t noticed me in the slightest until one day in the cafeteria line when his fruit cup slid off the tray and onto my sneaker. The chemistry had been instantaneous. I wasn’t even allowed to date yet, aside from group trips to the beach or movies and the occasional school dance. Travis had happily put up with these restrictions. And Alicia, who was the same age as Travis, had spent the next two years trying every evil scheme in the book to split us up.
When the waitress arrived with our entrees, Paige said, “Excuse me. Are you the only waiter on duty?”
“For the next half hour, yes.” The girl’s brow creased, and I got the feeling she was wondering if she’d done something to endanger her tip. “Why? Is there a problem?”
I shot Paige an annoyed look. The plan had been to wait until after we finished eating, but it looked like I’d have to dive in now.
“Not at all,” I said. “I just had some questions for a guy who works here—”
“Wow. Twice in one week. You another reporter writing about that dead professor?”
“I am writing something about him.” I ignored Paige’s eye roll, hoping the waitress hadn’t caught it. It wasn’t exactly a lie. I didn’t say I was a newspaper reporter, although Dean Prendergast’s request to summarize statements from some of Amundsen’s students would require reporting back to the dean. And it would definitely require some writing on my part.
“Well,” the waitress said, “Dallas worked the lunch shift today, but I can tell you at least as much as he told that other reporter. And the police, I guess, since Carmen back in the kitchen said they were here earlier today. Anyway, I seated the two of them that night, and…” She glanced around, lowering her voice. “Just between you and me, I did half the work on that table just like I do with most of Dallas’s customers when we’re on the same shift because that boy is pure lazy. He’d have been fired three days into this job if his granddaddy didn’t own this place. Anyway, I seated them. Brought them a bottle of wine. They ordered a second bottle later. I got the sense the woman drank most of it. The man…I don’t remember his name, but the dead guy? He kept refilling her glass. If I hadn’t seen him here before, I’d have been a little worried he was…you know…” Her eyes slid over to Paige, suggesting she was reluctant to go into the details.
Paige nodded sagely. “Trying to get her trashed so he could take advantage of her?”
“Yeah,” the waitress said. “But then halfway through that second bottle, she starts screaming at him. He must have said the wrong thing, because she wasn’t having any of it. Tossed that last glass of wine right in his face, snatched up her purse, and left. He would have run out after her if I hadn’t stepped out in front of him and reminded him about the check. By the time he fished out his credit card and Dallas ran it, the woman was gone. They must’ve come in her car, because he had to call a cab. Stomped around out there for a good fifteen minutes before it finally showed up.”
“Did you hear what they were arguing about?” I asked.
“Not until the very end. I was coming out of the kitchen with a bread basket for another table, and I heard the woman say, ‘I’ll see you in hell before I sign that.’”
I pulled the cast photo out of the envelope. “Is the woman you saw with Dr. Amundsen in this picture?”
The girl peered down at the photograph for a moment and then, just as I had feared, she tapped the picture of Melinda Barry. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure this is her. She had on a lot less makeup and her hair was a little different. But I’m almost positive. Do you want my name?”
“Your…name?”
“For your article,” Paige said with a sly note to her voice.
The waitress jotted her name and an email address onto the envelope, asking me to send her a link once the article was posted. I agreed, adding that I still wasn’t certain my editor would go with the story. The girl nodded, looking a little disappointed, and retreated back to the kitchen.
“You know, for an actress, you’re really a lousy liar,” Paige said.
“I must not be too terrible, since she believed me, even with you rolling your eyes the entire time.” I stabbed one of my shrimps and took a bite. While I was relieved to have someone who could clear me as Amundsen’s dinner date, I still had a hard time picturing Melinda Barry killing him. Which was stupid. People could change a lot over the course of decades, and I didn’t really even know the woman even back then. And while I generally prided myself on my ability to read people, there were obviously glaring exceptions to that rule. If not, Paige Alden-Padgett would never have been conceived.
But the image of Melinda with the little girl at the cancer ward kept flashing before my eyes. She seemed…genuine.
“Are you going to call Nathan’s dad and let him know?”
“Yes. Probably. I don’t know.” I sighed and pulled up the interview I’d read earlier on my phone, then pushed it across the table to Paige. “Does that seem like someone who goes around killing people?”
Paige scrolled through. “Geez. They even have one of her with a puppy.”
“Yep. She apparently worked with the ASPCA to spearhead a campaign against puppy mills up in New Jersey. I guess she could be faking the whole nice-person thing…”
“No,” Paige said. “I don’t think so. The smile goes all the way to her eyes in these pictures. But maybe she didn’t mean to kill him. Maybe it was an accident or she just…snapped. That happens sometimes if you push a good person too far.”
“True.” I slipped the envelope back into my bag, and we focused on our food for a few minutes.
Then Paige said, “So…are you going to tell him?”
“Maybe. I’ll think it over tonight. I don’t have to decide right now.”
“Um…” Paige’s eyes shot toward the entrance, and she gave me a grim smile. “Actually, I’m thinking you probably do need to decide right now. Because we’re about to have company.”
Chapter Ten
Twenty years ago, I’d have be
en able to read Travis’s mood the moment he stepped into the restaurant. But time had dulled that ability, and now I wasn’t quite sure.
He wasn’t exactly stomping. It was more of a purposeful stride, really. And yes, he looked a bit annoyed, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. Not, however, the full-face, crinkle-up-the-eyes smile he’d worn the other two times I’d seen him since we arrived in Caratoke. Travis Lamm was annoyed, but he was also amused.
In fact, his expression seemed almost patronizing. This wasn’t a new element of his personality. In fact, it had been the cause of most of our relationship problems.
One thing was for certain, however. Travis could clearly still read my expressions. The tiny smirk vanished when he caught my eye and his pace slowed as he drew closer to the table.
“Good evening, ladies.” Travis nodded first at Paige and then at me. “Fancy meeting you here.”
I rolled my eyes, and was about to ask why he couldn’t do better than a worn-out cliché, but Paige surprised me by speaking first.
“I suspect you’ll meet a lot of people here tonight,” she said. “I mean, after that free advertisement in The Clarion, the Blue Lagoon should be extra busy. I’ve been craving their scallops all day.”
Travis’s smile widened. “And you had to twist your mama’s arm into bringing you here for dinner?”
“That’s right.” Paige popped the last scallop into her mouth.
“You are most definitely your mother’s daughter,” Travis said, shaking his head. Then he turned his attention to me. “I’m guessing you’ve been way too busy eating your shrimp scampi to strike up any casual conversations with the waitress?”
“Of course, we spoke to the waitress,” I said. “You know me. I’m a people person.”
Travis snorted at that comment. As much as I love acting, I was never keen on parties or social chitchat. Neither was he. The fact that he preferred a walk on the beach to a nightclub was one of the things that had been really nice about our relationship.
“So…just a chat about the weather? Sports?”
“Travis, as I told you earlier, I was never here with Amundsen.”
“And as I told you earlier, I believe you. Trouble is, you popping in like this might lead someone—someone who doesn’t know you or who might hold a grudge from years ago—to think you were here trying to buy off a witness.”
There was a certain element of truth to his words. They still annoyed me. Alicia had all but accused me of murder in a public forum. Was I supposed to sit at home and wait for someone else to clear my name?
“Why should Alicia’s insinuations limit my freedom of movement when I haven’t done anything?”
Travis was quiet for a moment, and then nodded at one of the two empty chairs. “Mind if I sit?”
I shrugged. “As long as you’re not worried about fraternizing with a suspect.”
“She has a point,” Paige said. “I considered asking for a table on the patio to avoid being seen with her. But Mom is paying…and she bribed me with the possibility of a shared dessert, so I kind of had to risk it.”
Travis ignored Paige’s snarky comment. “All I’m saying is that it would make things easier if you stayed out of this. Just for a few days?”
“So…let’s say Alicia decides to print a story tomorrow accusing me of tripping old ladies down at The Fresh Market. Are you going to tell me I can’t go grocery shopping?”
“Not at all,” he said. “But in that scenario, I might suggest that you shop at Food Lion or Harris Teeter instead for a few days. Seriously, Tig…I’m looking into this lead. I sent a deputy over earlier, and now I’m following up. You’re not a detective. You simply played one…on TV.”
Travis, who had clearly intended that to be a humorous comment, trailed off at the end, correctly gauging that Paige and I were not amused.
“Sorry. Just a joke. My point is that I will find out who killed Amundsen. And while I don’t believe for one minute that it was you, it would be a lot easier for me to prove that if you kept a low profile.”
Again, I knew that Travis was making sense. But I hate leaving my fate in the hands of anyone else, even someone I trust. It makes me feel helpless and anxious.
Plus, I am cursed with an overabundance of curiosity. If there is a loose string, I have to tug at it and follow to see where it leads. If there is a missing piece of a puzzle, I can’t rest until I track it down and snap it into place. It’s just who I am. I’m simply not capable of calmly sitting back and waiting for others to sort things out.
“You need a menu, officer?” the waitress asked after refilling our water glasses.
“No, thanks,” Travis said. “But I may need to ask you a couple of questions before I go.”
“About the murder?”
When he nodded in response, the waitress looked over at me. “Did you show him that picture? Like I said, that woman was pissed when she left.”
I gave her a weak smile. She was just trying to help.
“I’ll do that,” I said. “Could you bring us a dessert menu, please?”
Paige took several minutes to decide between the five options on the menu, weighing the pros and cons. I had the distinct sense that she was dragging it out on purpose, because it was pretty clear that Travis was itching to ask about the picture, but didn’t want to do it in front of the waitress.
She finally settled on a fudge pie and ice cream concoction. Once the waitress headed to the kitchen with the order, Travis immediately asked the question he’d been holding back.
“What picture?”
I was still reluctant to point a finger at Melinda Barry, but I was very much enjoying the look on Travis’s face right now. After his snide comment about my detective skills, it was nice having a piece of the puzzle that he didn’t. I exchanged a look with Paige over the table and then took another bite of my pasta. I chewed slowly, savoring both the flavor and Travis’s impatience.
Then I handed him the picture. “I was acting on a hunch. Something Ben, my teaching assistant, said connected in my mind with something that one of the other professors said. I really don’t think that she killed him. But the waitress seems pretty confident that the woman who was here with Amundsen that night was Melinda Barry Eastland.”
I tapped the woman’s face in the photo and Travis stared at it for a moment. Then he looked back up at me. “I guess there’s a slight resemblance.”
“But that’s not really the point, Travis. The point is that someone gave Alicia a vague description and she decided to attach to me, for whatever reason.” I emphasized the words to let him know that I had a pretty solid guess as to what Alicia’s reasons had been. “But then I realized that the same description also fits Ms. Eastland, who might have been…involved with Amundsen.”
I gave him a brief overview of what Ben had said about the fight between Bethany and Melinda, and Amundsen’s general womanizing tendencies.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that vague description fit a half dozen other women, too,” I concluded. “And Melinda seemed really surprised to hear he was dead.”
“You talked to her?”
“Yes. Regardless of whether the rumors are true, Melinda worked at the Playhouse with Amundsen for years. Someone needed to let her know.”
“You have her number?”
“Not on me.” That was only partly true, something I really hoped Travis couldn’t tell from my expression. Melinda’s business card was back at the Playhouse, but I’d made the call this afternoon on my phone, so it would be in my call log. The phone was not technically on me, but it was in my purse.
He could get the number without my help, though, and I felt guilty enough already.
Which was ridiculous and irrational. I shouldn’t be making decisions based on a gut feeling that Melinda Barry wasn’t a killer. And did I really think Travis would railroad an innocent woman simply because he wanted to solve a case?
No. I didn’t.
So I added, “You can probab
ly talk to her in person. She told me she’d be attending the memorial service on Friday. If she could change some things around in her schedule.”
“Mind if I make a copy of that cast photo?” he asked. “I’d like to show it to the other waiter.”
I agreed, and he snapped a picture of the photo with his cellphone. Then he pulled out the little notebook he’d used when taking my statement, and jotted something down. “Okay then. I’ll leave you ladies to your dinner. And, Tig, I guess I’ll see you at the memorial service. It’s at the campus chapel, I assume?”
“I think so. They probably have details on the school website by now, but I haven’t had time to check.”
Travis motioned to the waitress. She placed Paige’s chocolate fix in the middle of the table, along with our check, then followed him to the front of the restaurant.
I snagged a few bites while watching their conversation from the side of my eye.
“Are you still going out with him Friday?” Paige asked, nearly causing me to choke on a spoonful of ice cream.
“I was going to tell you,” I said, feeling as though our roles had somehow gotten reversed. Wasn’t this the sort of question the mom was supposed to be asking the daughter?
“Sure you were.” Paige gave me a little smirk.
“Really. I just wanted to give you a day or two to get accustomed to our dating in the past before I mentioned a date in the present. Because you seemed a little weirded out.”
Paige shrugged. “I was. But then I realized it was kind of silly. He’s not Nathan’s biological dad. And even if he was Nathan’s biological dad, he’s not mine. I had a long chat with Delaney last night, and she’s right. The ick factor isn’t really there if you think about it logically. And she said it wasn’t a fight I’d be likely to win anyway, when I told her how he looks at you.”
Delaney Foster, Paige’s mostly virtual best friend, is a self-proclaimed relationship expert. Actually, a self-proclaimed expert in pretty much everything, which means most adults find her more than a little obnoxious. I’ve known the girl long enough, however, to realize that she really is extraordinarily bright and perceptive. Maybe not quite as bright and perceptive as she thinks she is, but that’s true of most sixteen-year-olds.
