by Wendy Tyson
Mrs. Janice Dilworth Jenner.
Sisters? Megan kept scanning the article. And there she was, listed as the maid of honor—one Ophelia Dilworth, looking glorious in pale-peach chiffon.
So Jenner hadn’t had an affair with Ophelia. She was his sister-in-law.
Had that connection been disclosed to the Oktoberfest Committee? And did it matter—this was a small affair for a small town, after all. Jenner was doing Winsome a favor. As was Ophelia.
Megan went to bed that night thinking of strange bedfellows and weird alliances—and wondering whether any of this would ever make sense.
Twenty-Six
Megan was at Ophelia’s headquarters before it opened, so she waited in the shade for the PR expert to arrive. At 8:46, Ophelia’s sporty Miata pulled into the lot and screeched to a stop in front of the building. Megan accosted her at the door.
“Can we chat?” Megan asked sweetly.
Ophelia, dressed neatly in a long black skirt, ankle boots, and a deep plum sweater, gave Megan a cursory glance. “I have a nine o’clock meeting,” she said.
“This won’t take long.”
Ophelia unlocked the front door as she said, “I don’t want to rehash the Sauer farm.”
“Nor do I.”
Ophelia looked marginally relieved. “Fine. Five minutes.”
When the door had closed behind them, Megan cut right to the core. “Marty Jenner.”
Ophelia looked ready to protest, but she settled on, “What about him?”
“He’s your brother-in-law.”
“So?”
“So does the Oktoberfest committee know that?”
“Oh my lord, Megan, what is your problem? I have no idea what Marty may or may not have told your little backwoods committee, but does it really matter?” She spun around on her black high heels. “Seriously. They’re getting my firm’s reputation for a steal. They’re getting me for a steal.”
“How well did you know Otto?”
This seemed to stymie Ophelia. She looked sideways at Megan, then frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean how well did you know Otto? Friends? Business colleagues?” Megan knew she was on fragile ground here. These were prying questions, and under normal circumstances, none of her business. But these were not normal circumstances, and so she persisted.
“You sound like her,” Ophelia said. “And I think you should leave.”
Megan assumed her was Lana Vance. “It’s a fair question, all things considered.”
In almost a growl, Ophelia said, “Is it? A younger woman comes to town and suddenly no one can see past her age or the way she looks? Forget that I have an Ivy League degree. Never mind that I had offers from big firms all over the country. No, it’s my status as an attractive single woman that everyone focuses on. You simply assume I would stoop to sleeping with another woman’s husband.” She shook her head. “You of all people should understand the harm in that way of thinking.”
Megan stood there, chagrined. She was right, of course. Ophelia seemed to use her flirtatiousness to get what she wanted, but that was no excuse. Megan had engaged in just the type of stereotyping she hated.
“I’ll let myself out,” Megan said finally. She didn’t wait to hear Ophelia’s response.
“Come on now, Megs, ye are being a bit hard on yourself, don’t ye think?”
No, Megan didn’t think, and she said as much. “I saw heels and designer threads and a flirty personality and I assumed she was a man-eater.”
Denver looked bemused. “She still may be.” Denver lifted Megan’s chin and smiled. They were at his aunt’s house, outside with her horses. Denver was finishing up so they could head into town for tonight’s Concert by the Canal. The café was serving Alvaro’s caramel popcorn balls and hot apple cider to the concert-goers. “Look, the woman is a PR specialist. She excels at making bad things look good. She used her skills to turn your decency against you.”
Now Megan felt even worse. Either she was a small-minded chauvinist or easily fooled. “Either way, I look like an idiot.”
Denver laughed. “Just a poor detective, perhaps.” He ran a brush down the length of one of his aunt’s Palominos, a striking animal with a testy disposition. The horse stomped and brayed. Denver spoke to her, firmly but kindly. He turned his attention back to Megan. “Have you found out anything new?”
Megan shared what she’d found on the internet.
“Jenner’s sister-in-law, huh? Feels like something that should have been disclosed.”
“That’s what I said. Ophelia didn’t agree.”
“Maybe Jenner told the committee and they didn’t care.”
Megan nodded. “I guess. Especially if they were getting a deal.” Megan picked up a brush and started grooming the other horse, a large male Quarter Horse with a white star on his muzzle. Unlike his companion, he was a gentle giant. He leaned in to the brush, clearly enjoying the attention.
“Why would Jenner care enough to bring in his high-paid sister-in-law?” Denver asked. “Doesn’t strike me as the civic-minded type.”
“I don’t know. That’s what bothers me too.”
“Maybe he’s just being kind.”
“Perhaps.” Megan frowned. “Honestly, I don’t know him that well. My guess is that he’s trying to win some political points with the town.”
“Or maybe Ophelia isn’t the catch she pretends to be.” Denver stopped brushing and turned around. “Maybe Jenner was doing his wife a favor by finding some work for her sister.”
Megan hadn’t thought of that angle. Yale grad, big firm? But you never knew. Perhaps Ophelia was having trouble drumming up business. Megan remembered her own days at the law firm. It wasn’t enough to work hard and well. To move up, you needed to make rain. And if Ophelia really wasn’t that great an employee, then her demand to have Sauer sponsor the event could have simply constituted bad judgment on her part. Nothing more.
The Palomino pushed at Denver’s back with her nose. Denver caught her face gently with his hand. “Now, now, we’ll have none of that,” he said to the horse. The Palomino gave him a look of brazen disregard.
“She doesn’t care what you have to say,” Megan said with a smile. She reached out to pet the Palomino. The horse closed her eyes, then flicked her head.
“She likes you. Here—you can brush her.” Denver handed the grooming brush to Megan. “Just watch out. She looks sweet, but she kicks.” He leaned back against the fence rail and took a long sip of water from a bottle. “Ye know, Megs, there’s another explanation as well. One that is less pleasant to consider.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Maybe Ophelia is a spy.”
“I think this girl kicked you in the head.”
“Hear me out. Not the international intrigue sort of spy. What if Jenner planted her here for a reason?”
“What reason could Jenner possibly have to plant a spy?”
“Figure that out and maybe you have your motive.”
“Easier said than done.”
Denver smiled. “You’re the detective, Megs. I’m just the dashing country vet.”
Twenty-Seven
Night came early to Winsome, or at least that’s how it seemed. The streetlights had been dimmed for the concert, which was taking place on the green near the canal. The committee had set up a makeshift stage with seating for about a hundred guests who required something other than a grassy hill. The rest of the concert-goers were sitting on blankets on the lawn.
Driving down Canal Street, Megan saw that the downtown area had been transformed. Volunteers were selling Alvaro’s popcorn balls, soda, water, and apple cider from small carts. The Historical Society was hawking hot dogs—donated by Sauer Farms—from a small booth on the south side of the lawn. Carmine Roy and the Revelers were playing cover tunes from the ’70s, ’80s, and
’90s, and a dance floor had been set up under a large tent strewn with lights near the new statue of George Washington. At ten, there would be fireworks.
Parking was tight, but Megan crammed the truck in the alley behind the café. She and Denver helped Alvaro and Clay load the remainder of the popcorn balls and apple cider on two carts. Because volunteers were handling tonight’s event, Clover would be able to enjoy the rest of the concert. They’d decided to close the store early, and the café had stopped serving at noon. Still, Clover waited until the carts were on their way down to the green before gathering her belongings to leave.
“Bobby meeting you?” Megan asked Clover.
“He’s here already, keeping an eye on things down there.” She pointed to the concert area. A shadow fell across her pretty features.
Clover was wearing an ankle-skimming brown sarong, boots, and a white blouse. A leather jacket hugged her curves. She looked beautiful and Megan told her so.
Clover beamed. “Hoping to distract Bobby a little tonight. He’s been so stressed.”
“Understandable.”
Megan had no doubt Clover would succeed in distracting King. She and Denver watched the younger woman weave through the crowd on the way to the stage.
“How about you, Alvaro?” Denver said. “Sticking around for some music?”
“Ah, I don’t listen to this stuff.” Alvaro waved a gnarled hand toward the throngs of revelers. It was a school night, and there were fewer people than on the weekends. But still, Megan was shocked by the numbers. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
“You’ve been a trooper,” Megan said. “I know it’s been a ton of work. We appreciate it.”
Alvaro grunted something unintelligible. Then, “The kitchen’s clean. Keep it like that.”
“We will,” Megan said.
Alvaro eyed Denver up and down. “Make sure you lock up. So many people here this week.” He grunted again. “Strangers.”
“Yes, sir,” Denver said without an ounce of condescension.
Alvaro studied him for a moment longer. He nodded to Megan and touched Denver’s arm before leaving.
“Quite a character,” Denver said when Alvaro had left. “You lucked out.”
“Don’t I know it? He’s the best thing that could’ve happened for the café.”
Denver pulled Megan close. “Shall we go down and see what the fuss is all about?”
“Sure.”
But before Megan could turn the key in the lock on their way out of the café, Denver’s cell phone rang. “Hold on,” he said. He walked back inside to take the call. When he came back out, his brow was creased with worry. “I’m sorry, Megan. That was Mark Gregario. That horse is worse. I’m afraid I need to make a house call.”
Megan tried to flash a smile that said understanding, but she was afraid it came off as anything but. She’d been looking forward to a night with Denver—and she knew he had too. “No problem. Let me grab the truck. I’ll take you over.”
“No need. Ann’s here with some of their kids. She’s driving me to the farm.” He kissed Megan. “Stay. Try to relax. Have a Vance Big Time Ale and think about something other than what’s been plaguing ye.” He glanced toward the green. Below him, at the bottom of the grassy hill, the band was warming up. The sound of the Beach Boys drowned out the collective voices of the crowd and made it hard to hear. “If all goes well, we’ll be back in an hour.”
Megan nodded.
“The life of a country vet.”
“Aye, you’re right.” He gave her that dimpled smile and then he was off.
Megan wandered down toward the green. Bibi, worried about Emily, had opted to stay home, and Clay had taken a well-deserved night off. The air was dry and chilly, and a cool breeze blew through Winsome’s center. Around her, families huddled on blankets, eating popcorn and hot dogs and drinking hot spiced cider from small paper cups. Children chased one another, playing tag or simply being kids, noisy and energetic. Megan recognized only a fraction of the faces. She climbed back up to Canal Street and sat on a sidewalk bench—an addition paid for by the Historical Society’s Beautification Board. The crowds amplified a sudden and overwhelming feeling of loneliness.
At seven thirty, Megan decided to get some paperwork finished back at the store. She didn’t feel much like partying alone. She was hurrying down the sidewalk, coat pulled tight against the creeping cold, when her own phone rang. She paused by Nel’s Hair Salon to pull her cell from her pocket. It was Bibi. Emily needed a box of the baby’s things from Emily’s grandmother’s house.
“I don’t think she should go over there herself,” Bibi whispered. “Can you and Denver go on your way home from the concert?”
“Of course. Does she need the stuff right away?”
“I think it contains extra bottles and clothes and things. So probably not a rush.” She explained to Megan where the key and the box could be found. “Later should be okay.”
Only Bibi didn’t sound like later would be okay, and Megan didn’t have the heart to tell her Denver was gone. Megan glanced at her watch; paperwork could wait.
“No worries, Bibi. I’ll grab what she needs. Everything else okay there?”
“I guess.”
“You can’t talk?”
“Correct.”
“Emily still seem off?”
“Correct again.”
“Okay. Hang tight. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Be careful,” Bibi said. “Lots of Oktoberfest concert-goers means lots of beer. Be alert on the roads.”
“Of course.”
Megan clicked off her phone. She pushed her dark hair back from her face and glanced around. Maybe Clover would want to go with her. But she sighted Clover by the hot dog booth with Bobby. They were laughing, arms wrapped around one another’s waists. Winsome’s police chief seemed to be having a good time. Deciding she was being paranoid again, Megan decided to go alone.
She walked back through the café, relocking the front and back doors, and climbed into her truck. She was just pulling out onto Canal when a figure emerged from the shadows.
It took Megan a moment to realize it was her Aunt Sarah. She was accompanied by Merry Chance. Both women wore heavy black coats and jeans, but Sarah had a bright pink and orange scarf wrapped around her neck. Her long thick braid made her easy to recognize.
Megan rolled her window down and greeted the women. “Heading to the concert?”
“We are,” Merry said. “We’ll be attending to the hot dog booth. Little will people know a famous novelist is serving their food.” Merry looked quite thrilled at the prospect of deception.
“Are you leaving?” Aunt Sarah asked, ignoring Merry’s comments.
“For a little while. I have to run an errand.”
With a quick glance at her companion, Sarah said, “We need to talk.”
“Tonight’s not good, Aunt Sarah.”
“I’ve called you twice.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“How about tomorrow?”
Megan figured Sarah wanted to continue the conversation about her mother. While she wanted to know more, she really didn’t have the heart or stomach for confronting that particular issue. Soon…maybe. But not right now.
“We have a lot to do around the farm. Maybe in a few weeks when the harvest is completely over and we have the beds ready for winter—”
“It can’t wait,” Sarah said.
“It’ll have to.” Megan started rolling up her window. Sarah looked like she wanted to stop her. Whatever else she had to say would have to wait until another day. Megan accelerated away from the curb. She’d stop by the Kuhl property, grab the baby’s stuff, and then give Denver a call. She was feeling tired. If he was going to be working much later, perhaps she’d just go home and go to bed.
Emily’s grandmother�
��s house was dark, illuminated only by the moon and the feeble milky light thrown by Megan’s phone. Megan kept a flashlight in the back of the truck and she went to dig it out. Bibi had explained where the key was hidden—within a fake rock in the unkempt flower bed—and Megan found it quickly.
She fumbled with the front door, heart a pounding jackhammer in her chest. The property was deserted, the two trailers just ghostly sentinels in the shadows, and the small Cape seemed anything but inviting this October evening. After the third try, the door finally opened. Megan held the flashlight out in front of her, sweeping the light back and forth against the blackness. It took her a moment to find a light switch. She flipped it on and nothing happened. She made her way through the hallway and into the kitchen, relieved when that overhead light worked.
It was only 8:08, but it felt like the Witching Hour. Perhaps it was the dark—or knowing that most of Winsome was a few miles away at the concert. Whatever the reason, Megan wanted to get in and out quickly.
She located the boxes just where Emily said they would be, in the living room. Three cardboard containers sat stacked one on top of the other. There was no light in the living room, so Megan held the flashlight under one arm while she struggled with the large boxes, pulling each onto the floor and undoing the taped tops. The second one held what she was looking for: baby clothes, bottles, diapers, and toys. She taped it back up, returned the others to a neat pile, and pushed the box toward the entrance.
Feeling only slightly calmer, Megan left the box by the front door so she could turn off the kitchen light. The sudden darkness felt oppressive.
A sound stopped her. Scratching, scurrying…just a mouse in the cabinets. Megan let out her breath, only just realizing she’d been holding it. She hustled toward the front door. There, she lifted the box and went back outside, locking the door behind her. She’d keep the key. She didn’t relish the idea of spending more time hunting around the yard.
