by Jessa Archer
After we were seated in the living room, Melinda took a few deep breaths before she began. “It was just that one summer,” she said. “When I married Philip, he said from the beginning that it would be an open arrangement, given our age difference. That he wouldn’t blame me if…you know. He’s nearly thirty years my senior, and what he really wanted was someone he could trust to manage the Foundation without running it into the ground. His son from his first marriage is…well, nobody uses the word feckless anymore, but that really is the best word for Evan. The wealth that the Eastland family accumulated over the past three generations would have been blown on yachts and drugs and fancy cars within five years, and Phil wanted the money to do some good.
“Somewhere along the way, though, we actually fell in love, so it was kind of a moot point. But all marriages go through ups and downs, and that year—it was five summers ago—Phil and I were in a bit of a down cycle. Both working too many hours. I was here for the summer, as usual, and things just sort of…happened. He was always so kind. Funny, too.”
Travis nodded sympathetically. “From what Tig just told us, it sounds like you weren’t alone. A lot of women fell for his line. He was a handsome guy.”
Melinda looked confused, but her expression quickly shifted to disgust. “You mean Jerry? Oh…dear God, no. He certainly tried plenty of times, and he was more than happy to let people think we were involved. That poor kid he was stringing along last summer was absolutely convinced that I was sleeping with him. I meant Martin.”
“The video is of you and Peele?” Travis asked.
“Yes. He and Jerry had invested in a condo complex over in Duck earlier that year. Jerry was still living there, last I heard. He’d started out in one of the smaller units—the one Martin eventually bought. I think there’s a good chance he just left video equipment in that unit when he sold it to Martin. Marty was more of a candlelight kind of guy than lights, cameras, and mirrored ceilings. I don’t…I don’t think Marty knew. At least, I don’t want to believe that. But he lied to me about the repairs at the Playhouse, so…I don’t know. Maybe he was in on it all along.”
“How does the damage to the Playhouse tie into this?” I asked.
“Jerry said some outside developers were interested in the property. He’s been pushing me to sell the place for the past two years, especially after the restaurant next door closed down. Apparently, the developers wanted the full parcel. They’ve upped their offer twice now, and Jerry even offered to cut me in as a full partner in this ARDI thing—Amundsen Realty something or other. But I don’t need the money, and I look forward to summers here with the Playhouse, so I told him no. When I came out of the chapel today, I asked Martin about the pictures, and he admitted it. They used pictures from a previous flood, which happened a few years before I bought the place. The idea was to collect the insurance money and then sell.”
“Wait, could we go back to the part about the restaurant?” Travis said. “You’re talking about Duck Soup?”
Melinda nodded. “That was the name when it closed down, yes. It cycled through two or three before that.”
“Cycled through several owners, too,” Travis said with narrowed eyes as he glanced through the window toward the curb. “Pretty sure that’s one of Alicia’s properties, since her parents ran the place the past couple of years. She said they were scaling back to just two restaurants, gradually heading for retirement. If she was planning to sell the place, that could explain a few things.”
“So could the fact that her name is on one of Amundsen’s folders,” I told him.
“Whoa,” Travis said. “You think he was blackmailing her?”
“I think it’s possible. So…” I turned to Melinda. “You didn’t want to sell the Playhouse, and then…?”
“He pulled Marty in as a partner. Marty must have sunk all of his savings into ARDI. I didn’t understand why at the time. Marty began pushing me to sell, too. We’d broken things off after that summer. It was a mutual decision. Both of us agreed that we were better off just being friends.”
I smiled and nodded. But thinking back to the way Martin looked at the photo of Melinda in my office, I was pretty sure the just-friends decision hadn’t been as mutual as Melinda thought.
“And since we were friends, I couldn’t understand why he kept pushing me to sell. Martin and I had an argument about it when Phil and I were down at our beach house for the holidays. That’s why I agreed to meet him and Jerry at the restaurant. I explained that part in my statement.”
“You kind of skipped the bit about Martin Peele,” Travis said with an annoyed huff.
Melinda blushed. “Marty didn’t show up, so I didn’t see the point in getting him involved if I could avoid it. Looking back, I’m not sure he even knew about the meeting. Jerry organized it. Told me that we all needed to patch things up. Look at the situation rationally. Which, for Jerald Amundsen, meant seeing things his way. After I got to the Blue Lagoon, he told me Martin had purchased the little strip mall near the Playhouse…the third parcel his buyers were interested in obtaining. The deal would fall through if I didn’t sell. And did I really want to do that to poor Marty?”
She frowned and finished off her bottle of water before continuing. “I told him there was an easy solution. Martin would eventually find a buyer for that one parcel, and if it was less than what he’d paid, I’d make up the difference. And while I wasn’t entirely happy about that idea, at that point, I was angry at Jerry for putting both of us in this situation. I was just about to leave the restaurant and stick him with the tab, since this was all his idea. Then he pulled out his phone and showed me the video. Said that if I didn’t sell the Playhouse, he’d leak it to Phil’s opponent in the upcoming election. Or to the tabloids. They’re owned by the mob up there, and Phil isn’t exactly their favorite person in the state legislature, so I’m sure my bare behind would be plastered on the front page for weeks.”
“And that’s why you were so angry when you left the restaurant?” I asked.
When Melinda nodded, Travis followed up with, “Could you tell us exactly what happened after he showed you the video?”
“I tossed a glass of wine in his face. All over the bill of sale he’d had drawn up, too. My lawyer would probably kick me for admitting this, but I was showing a great deal of restraint. What I really wanted to do was crack that bottle over his head. And then I left, which probably meant he had a long walk home, because he’d asked me to pick him up on campus since it was on my way. I called Martin on my way back to the beach house. He didn’t answer, so I left an angry message. Told him about the videos—although, I’m guessing he already knew and that’s the reason he’d gotten himself tangled up in Jerry’s stupid company anyway. He probably did it to protect me.”
Travis jotted something down and then asked, “Do you remember what you said as you left the restaurant?”
“Not verbatim. But it was something along the lines of seeing him in hell before I’d sign those papers. That…wasn’t entirely true, though. I hadn’t really decided what to do yet. When I got back to the beach house, I told Phil about the videos. He already knew about the affair. If he’d asked me to sell the Playhouse to avoid a scandal, I’d have done it. But he didn’t. He was furious. Said no way we were caving in to blackmail. If he’d been twenty years younger, I think he’d have tracked Jerry down himself. Then the next morning, I got an email from Jerry. He was soooo, so sorry. Didn’t know what had come over him. He was just desperate, there were a lot of investors depending on him, etc. But that was no excuse, he said. And he promised he’d send me the video files. Begged me not to tell anyone he’d stooped so low.”
Travis’s phone rang. He glanced down at the display and then held up a finger, indicating that he’d be right back.
While he was in the kitchen, Melinda leaned forward and whispered, “He’s not going to turn the files over to that Alicia woman, is he?”
“I don’t think he’d do that. To be honest, though, I can
’t imagine Alicia would want this to go public either. Her folder had five files. And no, I didn’t watch any of the videos on that drive. The thumbnails told the story.”
Something about what Melinda had said just as the phone began ringing wasn’t sitting right in my head, though. I thought for a minute, and then asked, “You said Jerry sent the email the next morning. Do you remember what time?”
“No, but I can check. If nothing else, it’s in my recently deleted folder.” She turned on her phone and began scrolling through.
“Here. It was sent at 10:22 a.m. From his university account.”
That seemed odd. Everything I’d heard suggested that Amundsen’s death had been on the night of the 27th.
“You should probably mention that to Travis,” I told her. “Did the email say anything about him resigning from SCU?”
“No. But even if it had that wouldn’t have been remarkable. Jerry said stuff like that constantly. He was all bluster. If I hadn’t known that I probably would have whacked him over the head with the wine bottle rather than tossing it in his face. I didn’t believe he’d really release the video.”
She was quiet for a moment, and then added, “You can’t really think Martin killed him. If Jerry taped dozens of people, then maybe it was one of them.”
“She has a point,” Travis said as he came back into the room. “I mean, Peele isn’t stupid. You think he’d have realized someone would find the body eventually.”
“Eventually,” I said. “But Muncey Auditorium was locked over break. The choir risers were covering the trap door. If things had gone according to schedule, he’d have been in Italy before the semester began. And I’m thinking there’s a good chance he wasn’t planning on sticking around with the students.”
“Well, if that’s the case, we may have a problem. That was Grady, one of my officers. Peele apparently took the back road.”
“What back road?” I asked. “You’re telling me there’s a way to avoid the traffic on Route 12?”
He rolled his eyes. “You realize you just lost all credibility as a local, right? Although I guess a few of those roads might have still been dirt trails when you left. Anyway, Grady didn’t see him on Route 12 and he’s not at his house. Guess he might have stopped at the store or something, unless he knows we’re on to him.”
“Hold on. I have an idea. And I need to call Tandy Mercer anyway, just in case someone rats me out about being late for class.”
When Tandy answered, I gave her a vague-but-true excuse about having to talk to the police about the Amundsen case. The old woman drew a long breath, making it clear that I was about to get an earful, so I jumped in first. “We need to get in touch with Dr. Peele. It’s urgent. Do you know if he’s flying out of Raleigh or Norfolk?”
“Norfolk. He flies to New York tonight, and they’ll leave as a group out of JFK in the morning. Took me a solid week to get this organized. So inconsiderate—”
“Great. Do you have his cell number?”
“Of course I do. But I’m not giving it out. That’s private information, Ms. Alden. If Dr. Peele wanted you to have his number he’d have given it to you himself.”
I was tempted to press the point, or to hand the phone to Travis to see if he could wave the Cop Card and get her cooperation. But I had a gut feeling that a third option might be even better. I just hoped that my mother had been right about Tandy Mercer not being a gossip.
“That’s okay, Ms. Mercer. I completely understand. But I need to get an important message to him. Could you please call his cell and tell him that Melinda Barry Eastland has been charged with the murder of Dr. Amundsen? This is strictly confidential, okay?”
Both Travis and Melinda gave me incredulous looks, but I held up a hand.
There was a brief silence on the other end, before she said, “I’ll pass the message along to Dr. Peele. But in regard to your class, please remember that your first year is a probationary period. Tardiness is bad enough, but absences will be logged in your file for possible action by the Faculty Review Board. Are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. We are crystal clear.”
“Why did you tell her that?” Travis asked after I hung up. “No one has been charged. I’m not even—”
“If Peele killed Amundsen, he’s not going to answer a call from the police. Or from me, since my neighbor caught him skulking around the house. Maybe not even from Melinda, because he knows she’s upset that he lied to her about the damage to the Playhouse. But he will answer a call from Tandy Mercer, because she’s handling the arrangements to get his group to Italy.”
“Do you think she’ll deliver the message?” Melinda asked.
“I know she’ll deliver the message. You are…” I gave her a sheepish look. “Listen. Tandy is the dean’s assistant. She knows who you are and she knows that you’ve been more than generous to the university. And…I’m almost certain that once she delivers that message, Peele will turn his car around and head back to Caratoke. I think he’ll turn himself in, Travis. He won’t let Melinda be blamed for killing Amundsen, because he’s still in love with her.”
She gave me a skeptical look. But I could tell that deep down she knew what I’d told her was true, no matter how hard she’d tried to convince herself that the just-friends decision was truly mutual.
“I saw the way he looked at your picture a few days ago. The one that my dad took of the two of us back when I was a kid. I didn’t have all of the pieces then, so it didn’t click, but…Martin Peele isn’t going to let you take the fall for this. He was apparently willing to let me take the fall, but not you.” I turned to Travis. “If he doesn’t come back, then all you have to do is put out the all-points bulletin you were about to issue. You can have police waiting for him when he arrives at the airport. This way will just be easier…and maybe things will go easier for Martin, too, if he turns himself in. If I’m wrong, dinner’s on me.”
I glanced toward the window seat, where my mother’s ghost was barely visible. Caroline tapped her wrist to remind me of the time and then dissolved into nothing. And she was right. It was already after three, so I grabbed my bag from the spot where I’d tossed it when I came inside.
“I’d love to go down to the station with the two of you and see how this turns out,” I said. “But if I don’t get back on campus, Tandy Mercer will skin me alive. And since you’re parked behind me…” I waved them toward the door.
Alicia was still leaning against her vehicle, and even though I was certain that she would be tailing Travis and Melinda when they left, I called out, “You need to go, Leash. Paige will be back from school soon and she’s already had to deal with you harassing her once.”
I locked the front door behind us.
Travis stopped halfway to his car and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Lamm. What’s up?” After a couple of seconds, he said, “Copy that. I’m on my way.”
Then he glanced back at me and gave a slow laugh. “Peele just called the station. Guess you were right. Looks like I’ll be buying dinner after all.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Mom!” Paige yelled. “It’s for you.”
Which meant my date was early. This was a bit of a surprise, since Travis had always been the type to be ten minutes late. Maybe he’d learned to stick to a schedule. I gave a quick final glance at the mirror and headed downstairs.
We’d been forced to postpone last night’s dinner because Travis had been too swamped dealing with Martin Peele’s confession to do more than grab a burger. Paige and Nathan had made plans to drive to Kitty Hawk to join some friends for a movie, so I dined alone on a Lean Cuisine.
Well, not entirely alone. Attila was there, and Caroline had hung out with me for a bit. I’d turned on the television and caught up on the never-ending saga of The Sands of Time, where my father’s character and the town of Amberly were currently battling a raging snowstorm and a possible werewolf. It was actually one of their tamer storylines over the past few years, and it had taken my
mind off real life for a bit. I was glad that Amundsen’s killer was in custody, but I was not glad that the killer was Martin Peele. And I also felt a little guilty for setting the trap by claiming Melinda was in jeopardy, since I was pretty sure Melinda being in jeopardy was what led Martin to kill Amundsen in the first place.
Paige passed me on the stairs. “It’s not Nathan’s dad. It’s the woman from that picture of you at the Playhouse.”
Melinda Barry Eastland was standing in the foyer with a small bouquet of peach-colored roses. “I’m sorry for stopping by unannounced,” she said, glancing at my dress. “Were you heading out?”
“Oh, it’s no problem. He’s not due for about fifteen minutes.”
“Chief Lamm?”
“Yes. We’re old friends. Just…an early dinner to catch up on the past few decades.”
Melinda smiled knowingly. “The sunset over the sound is beautiful this time of year. You should go for a walk on the beach afterward. You know…if you haven’t finished catching up by then.” She handed me the flowers. “Anyway, these are for you. A little thank-you before I head to the airport.”
“A thank-you for…what?”
“For being perceptive enough to realize Martin would turn himself in to save me. I called my attorney on the way to the station—something I’m not entirely sure that your friend the police chief appreciated. Anyway, we’ve found a local firm that comes highly recommended. They’re hoping to get his charge reduced to voluntary manslaughter. I’m not sure they’ll be successful, given Martin’s efforts to cover up the crime, but…if he’d actually run, there wouldn’t have been any chance at all. Jerry’s criminal video enterprise is a mitigating circumstance and it’s not like Martin went to the theater planning to kill him. He was already there—and he can prove that because he logged into his office computer a few minutes before he headed down to pack up the gear he was taking to Europe.”
