by Wendy Tyson
They both laughed. The sound was brittle, forced.
“How did your grandmother handle what happened last night?”
“Okay. I spared her most of the details. Focused on the book.”
Sarah frowned. “You could get hurt in all of this, Megan.”
“Now you sound like Denver.”
“Denver is a smart man.”
Megan stabbed a forkful of gingerbread, moist and richly scented. She debated how much to tell Aunt Sarah. King had made it clear every former patient on that list was still a suspect—including Megan’s aunt. She didn’t want to tip any hands.
Behind her, a child laughed and talked excitedly about Santa. Megan leaned in toward Sarah. “Did Becca try to contact you?”
Sarah looked surprised by the question. “Paul’s daughter? No, why?”
“Just curious. But Paul did?”
Sarah nodded. “He called me when he arrived in town. Came to the house under the guise of a friendly visit. But as with everything Paul does, he couldn’t maintain the façade.” She rubbed her wrist absentmindedly.
“Did he hurt you?”
Sarah looked away, toward the family with the little girl. “He came on to me.”
“And he hurt you.”
Sarah bit her bottom lip, her bright blue eyes heavy lidded with disgust. “He pushed me up against a wall and kissed me. Or tried to kiss me.” She sneered. “It was a hollow ploy to manipulate me. Make the old woman feel wanted so she’ll stay quiet. He was banking on his charm being enough.”
“Assaulting you doesn’t sound very charming.”
“It’s all in the way he did things. As though he was passionate and couldn’t control himself. I didn’t see through it then. I did—do—now. Rejection made him angry. He grabbed my wrist, twisted. Told me I’d better stay quiet.”
“Or?”
Sarah picked up her mug and stared at drops of coffee dried on the side, brown stains against light blue ceramic. Quietly, she said, “There was no ‘or.’”
Sarah was an award-winning mystery writer. She knew as well as any cop that admitting to an “or” was tantamount to providing a motive. If Paul Fox had threatened her life, her livelihood, she would have reason to kill him. If there was an “or,” she wasn’t trusting Megan with it, a fact that gave Megan pause. Perhaps her aunt didn’t trust her yet after all.
Perhaps she simply had something to hide.
Becca Fox was released from police custody later that day. Megan received a call from Bobby a little after two to let her know—and to ask that she keep her ear to the ground at the café. “People talk. Maybe you’ll overhear something that will be a lead in this case.”
Megan agreed. “I guess you didn’t have enough to hold her?”
“She’s still a person of interest, but most of it was circumstantial.”
“Have you had any luck looking into Paul’s former patients?”
“We’re going through Becca’s list, one by one. There are a lot of people on that list. It’ll take some time. We’re hoping to find someone who lives around here. Someone with access to Winsome.”
Megan was washing pots in the kitchen. She finished rinsing the large stock pot and turned it over to dry. With a glance around, she snuck into the pantry and closed the door. “I’ve been thinking about Sarah’s books, Bobby. I keep coming back to the same question: what relationship does the killer have to Sarah?”
“If any.”
“If any, true. And what does the killer think these books show.”
“He’s committing crimes based on the crimes in those books. The phosgene, the attack at your car.”
“Maybe.” The pantry was lined with canned and dry goods. On the floor was a stool that Alvaro used to reach the highest shelves. Megan sat on the stool, relieved for a moment’s rest. She’d been on her feet all day. “But what if there’s more to it. What if the books aren’t just reflective of what’s already happened? What if the killer is playing with you, taunting you?”
“Giving us clues.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“You asked about the killer’s relationship with Sarah, Megan. What if there is one? What if the killer knows something we don’t about your aunt?”
“Or is obsessed with her for a reason we haven’t figured out.”
“Right.” King was quiet for a moment. Megan heard a door open, the sound of hushed voices. Soon he was back on the line. “Forensics came back positive for phosgene, Megan. So we know that much for sure. What we don’t know is where it came from.”
“You haven’t found a source?”
“Nothing tying Becca—or anyone—to an industrial amount of the chemical.”
Something clicked and Megan sat forward on the stool, her mind racing. “Did you know paint thinner can turn into phosgene gas when heated? I saw that back when I was researching phosgene.”
“Paint thinner? So? What does that mean?”
“It means whoever killed Paul didn’t necessarily have to have access to large amounts of industrial phosgene. They could have produced it on their own.”
“Our expert effectively said the same thing—that the poison can be manufactured on site. He didn’t elaborate though.” A moment of silence. “So paint thinner, huh? That sure expands the number of possible suspects. Anyone could have done it.”
Megan rubbed the tension from her neck with hard, biting strokes. “If by anybody you mean someone with some basic knowledge of chemistry, a beef against Paul Fox, and a penchant for crime fiction, yes, we could be looking for anybody.”
King said something that sounded like “shit.”
“There’s a bright side, Bobby.”
“Oh, yeah, Megan? I’m not seeing lemonade being made out of these lemons.”
“Whoever your killer is wants to keep playing this game. Killing Paul wasn’t enough. I think whoever did it wants credit for the kill. Hence the book last night.”
King snorted. “So he or she will keep going. How is that a bright side?”
Megan stood, stretching. “Because sooner or later your killer will get cocky and show their hand. And that’s when you’ll swoop in for the kill.”
The more Megan considered the book angle, the more she believed she was right. While scrubbing the kitchen for that night’s event, she found herself thinking about Aunt Sarah’s novels, especially To Kill Again. What about that novel had spoken to the murderer? The means of death? The setting? Or something about the character, plot, theme? The only real similarities that stood out were the phosgene, the locked room, the duct tape.
The desire for revenge.
Megan headed back to her office, where she booted up the ancient computer she used to order stock for the store, and searched the rest of Sarah’s novels. Suspicions confirmed, Megan called King back. He didn’t answer his cell, but rang her back twenty minutes later.
“Check the libraries, Bobby. See if anyone has been requesting Sarah’s books.”
“Good idea. We’re checking the local libraries and local bookstores.”
“To Kill Again is out of print. It would be a special order, especially for a bookstore.”
“You don’t think whoever did this had their own copy?” King sounded out of breath. “An old time fan?”
Like Merry. “Maybe. Or maybe someone set the murder up to mirror what happened in the book.” Megan paused, realizing this next statement would sound goofy to someone like Bobby. “There are two things that bind the two books together—To Kill Again and The Killing Time.”
“For one, the word ‘kill’ in the title.”
“Yep, that’s number one. I did a quick search of Sarah’s books. Four titles contain the word kill. In addition to the two we know about, there are Love Kills and The Killing Spree.”
“That last one isn’t promising.”
“So we have two books with the word ‘kill’ and both focus on getting revenge?”
“Yes.”
“And let me guess. The other two books—Killing Spree and the other one—they also deal with revenge.”
“Yes.”
King sighed. “What a twisted way of seeing the world. Okay, so we need to read the other two books.”
“On it already. I ordered one, and I’m trying to find the other. I’m going to have Bibi read them too. She has the time and she’s an avid fiction reader.”
“An avid fiction reader,” King repeated. “They never mentioned that as a necessary skill at the police academy.”
Megan laughed. “I don’t imagine they did.”
“So libraries, bookstores, and reading those two books. What else?”
“If we’re right about the motive—revenge—then it helps narrow the scope of your investigation. Someone wanted to get back at Paul Fox for something. Figure out that something and you have your killer.”
“You make it sound easy.”
There was a knock at the office door. “Megs? Santa’s here,” came Denver’s deep voice.
“I have to go, Bobby. Let me know what you find and I’ll report on these books.”
“Okay.” King sounded skeptical. “But Paul sounded like a pretty awful guy. The number of people seeking revenge could be quite large.”
“This killer has a showman streak. This is no quiet revenge killer. Think like him, Bobby. What would he do next?”
“Killing Spree, huh?” Bobby’s voice sounded tight. “I don’t like this at all.”
Twenty-Two
Denver made a fine Santa. A little on the thin side, perhaps. And with a recognizable accent that had all but the youngest of the café visitors saying “Is that Dr. Finn?” But he had fun doing it, and Megan had fun watching him with Winsome’s children. He was funny but gentle, firm but caring. And everyone walked away from his lap with a package of Alvaro’s “Mrs. Claus” cookies and a dog or cat treat for any pets at home.
“You shouldn’t be asking me to do this next year,” Denver said afterwards, when he was no longer incognito and could enjoy a café mocha and a piece of gingerbread with the rest of Winsome’s residents. “I don’t think the kids appreciated a Santa who called them ‘laddie’ and ‘lassie.’”
“You were wonderful.” Megan kissed him on the cheek. “And very patient. I don’t think I could be that patient, especially when Millie Donovan’s son bit you on the shoulder.”
“What’s a little bite when you’re wearing a thick layer of Santa suit? And as for patience, once you’ve sat up all night waiting for a cow to birth one calf, waiting for Ben Donovan to end his endless list of wants is nothing.”
“Dr. Finn,” a voice behind them said. They were at the café counter, near Clover and the eggnog, and Roger Becker was returning for a refill. “Nicely done.”
“Thank you, Roger. It’s my new calling.”
Roger ladled more eggnog into his cup. Megan watched as he topped it off with a nip of brandy from a flask in his pocket. He returned the flask to its hiding place and joined Megan and Denver by the counter, seemingly unaware that he’d been caught.
“Where’s Eloise tonight?” Roger asked Denver.
“She couldn’t make it, I guess. You know my aunt. She’s not always up for social engagements.”
“True, true. Come to think of it, she wasn’t at the Historical Society dinner either.” Becker turned to Megan. “And how about Merry? I don’t see her here. Were you able to check in with her?”
“I did, Roger. She seemed a little out of it, but okay. She promised she’d get herself out of bed and back to her routine and she has.”
Becker frowned. “Then I would have thought she’d come tonight.”
“Don’t forget, Becca was released today. She may be spending some time with her niece.”
Becker brightened. “You’re right. I’m sure she’s busy with Becca, poor thing.” He squinted, the expression on his long face conspiratorial. “I don’t believe for a moment that her perfumes are love potions. Fantasy, at best. That girl has…issues. I applaud Merry for helping her.”
“Helping her in what way?” Denver asked casually.
“Why, every way. It was Merry who gave her the money for The Love Chemist. Silly idea, if you ask me, but Merry wanted Becca to have something of her own. And then bringing her here to jumpstart the business. And the open house. And of course, the emotional support over the years.”
Denver took a long sip of mocha, looking at Roger over the rim. “I never heard her mention her niece until recently. You, Megan?”
Megan shook her head. “No. As a matter of fact, I didn’t know Merry had a niece until I picked her up on the side of the road.”
Roger looked from one to the other, trying to determine, Megan figured, whether they were somehow insulting Merry. Seeming to decide they were not, his face relaxed. “You don’t remember the family because you’d already left for college when the Foxes arrived, Megan. And they were here only a few short years. Not even two, I don’t think. This is the first time Becca and Luke visited Winsome since.”
Roger glanced at Denver. “And you would never have had the opportunity to meet the kids. But Eloise knew them. My wife, Anita, knew Merry’s sister quite well. They were close friends.”
Megan was about to respond when the older man slammed a hand down on the table, surprising them. “Speak of the devil!”
Megan and Denver looked up at the same time. They saw Becca and Merry enter the café. Each wore a red coat over jeans. Becca, her hair tamed into a pair of braided pigtails, looked like a little girl. Merry, her hair washed but still unkempt, looked like she’d aged a decade.
Roger smiled. “Thank goodness she’s back up and around. You have no idea how much Merry does for the Historical Society, Megan. She’s a one-person action committee.”
As he walked away, Denver leaned in to whisper in Megan’s ear. “Merry’s a one-person judge, jury, newspaper…you name it.”
Megan was swallowing a giggle when she saw Becca making her way in their direction.
“If you’re nice to me,” Denver whispered to Megan, his facial hair tickling her ear. “I’ll let you sit on Santa’s lap.”
Megan play swatted him and pulled away, sitting up straight when Becca arrived.
“You’ve been wearing the pheromones, I see,” Becca said. She gave Denver an appraising glance. “Are they working?”
Megan did have the perfume on. She liked the floral scent. “Yeah, Denver, what do you think? Is it working?”
Denver glanced from Becca to Megan and back again. “I think this is a loaded question and I can only get myself into trouble. The truth is, I always find Ms. Sawyer a pleasant lady to be around, whether she smells like flowers, as she does now, or goat, as she does on occasion.” His dimpled face barely held back a grin.
Becca seemed not to know how to take this, so Megan said quickly, “It’s working, Becca. Clearly the love potion is working.”
Denver kissed Megan on the cheek. “Aye, it’s working.” To Becca, “Ta, lassie. The men of Winsome are most grateful.” The look he threw Megan as he walked away said this one is all yours.
Megan watched Denver head over to Bibi, who was holding court in front of Mona Desai and Geraldine Keller, the women who owned the local sewing shop. All female eyes followed his progress, but the vet seemed oblivious to their attention—or how sexy he looked in his thermal shirt, his hair messed and curled from the Santa wig.
“He’s a good-looking ma
n,” Becca said. She, too, was watching Denver, who was now sitting with Bibi, who gazed at him with affection. Bibi had dabbed on some of the pheromone perfume too, although it seemed to be working in reverse. “You’re lucky.”
Megan turned her full attention to the younger woman. “How are you, Becca? I know it’s been a rough few days. Are you getting along?”
“I’m mostly embarrassed.”
“There’s no need to be.”
The corners of Becca’s mouth turned up on the ends, but her eyes remained hooded in sadness. “Oh, I disagree.” She pushed a stray hair behind her ear, her gaze wandering to Merry, who was standing by the store counter talking with Clover. “I got you involved in this mess.”
“Who says I’m involved?”
“My brother. He said you came by. You were asking questions about my father.”
“Did he also tell you that I was there to check on your aunt? That she seemed to be in some sort of funk?”
Becca nodded. “He said you were worried about Aunt Merry.”
Megan mulled over her next words. She decided to be direct. “What happened, Becca? You came smashing into our house claiming that someone was following you, that someone was after you. You seemed genuinely terrified.”
Becca hung her head. “I’m sorry.”
“What happened?”
Becca looked up. Again her eyes searched for Merry. “I don’t know. I remember reading at the house—research for my pheromones. Next thing I know, I heard a knock at the door. The police were there. And then…something else. Someone else.” She probed Megan’s eyes for understanding. “I had this overwhelming need to escape to somewhere safe. I grabbed Aunt Merry’s keys and ended up at your place.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s the first place I thought of.” Becca shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“I understand the police confiscated your computer. That you had lists of your dad’s patients on it.”
Becca squirmed on her stool. “So?”
“So, why did you need that?”
“I was hoping they would sue my dad. Come forward with their allegations of abuse.”
