by Liz Mugavero
But that ring stuffed in Eleanor’s mouth seemed symbolic of something.
Stan didn’t know anything about Eleanor’s family but it wasn’t a stretch to believe she brought her demanding, perfectionist personality home at the end of the workday. She’d seen a glimpse of how Monica and Eleanor interacted on Saturday. It hadn’t reeked of love and compassion. Was Eleanor the type of mother who treated her kids the same way she treated her employees and coworkers? Did she run her house as a ruthless CEO would run a Fortune 500 company? And did that mean Stan was barking up the wrong tree focusing on Tony? Had Monica killed her own mother, drunk herself into a stupor, then called someone she trusted—a friend, or possibly a beau—to come get her? Like Scott? Or had this person been in it with her? If she worked at Tony’s, she’d have a good lay of the land and could find an easy way in and out for an accomplice.
Stan took a deep breath and tried to shake off this insane train of thought. Her imagination had completely gone off the rails. Jessie would offer some perspective.
But when she burst through the town hall entrance and yanked open the door to the stairwell, Tony Falco blocked her path. She skidded to a stop to avoid slamming into him.
“Tony. I . . . was coming up in a minute.”
“We need to find somewhere else to talk. There’s a reporter and a photographer camped out in my hallway.” He looked a lot more frazzled than when she’d seen him an hour ago. His hair was rumpled, as if he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly, and his shirt wrinkled and wilted. He had the start of a five o’clock shadow. She could see black cat fur clinging to his clothing in clumps. She found that strangely endearing and tried to block it out.
“Did you get your cat back?” she asked.
“I did, thank goodness. Sammy isn’t an outdoor cat, and three days is a long time.” He glanced around. “We should get out of the stairwell. Let’s go to Joe Rizzo’s office. He’s out of town this week.” The town manager’s office was at the end of the second-floor hallway.
Stan hesitated.
“If you’re looking for Trooper Pasquale, she’s not there,” Tony said. “I was looking for you and I tried the door. It’s locked.”
Locked. Great. Was Quigley in there yelling at her again? Then another thought struck her. What if Jessie ran the license plate and found out it was Scott’s? She could’ve gone to talk to him. Stan itched to know what was going on.
But Tony waited impatiently, so she followed him. Once they reached Rizzo’s office, Tony knocked and stuck his head in to make sure it was empty. He closed it firmly behind them. “So who are these reporters and why are they here?” he asked, leaning against the large wooden desk in the center of the room.
“Because someone was murdered in your house and the story’s getting around,” Stan said. She didn’t sit, either.
“They arrested someone,” Tony pointed out.
“They did,” Stan said. “But that person is innocent until proven guilty, and I guess they still have questions.”
They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Tony looked away. “How do I get rid of them?”
“You can’t. They’ll keep writing about it and saying you haven’t returned calls for comment. I think it’s wise to put out a statement.”
“I was advised not to speak to any media,” Tony said.
“Advised by whom?”
“The police,” he said.
Sure. The corrupt ones. Stan shrugged. “It’s your choice, Tony. But if you want my help, that’s the advice I’m giving you.” She played her next hand. “If they can’t reach you, they’re going to ramp up their efforts to get someone close to you. Like they did to my mother earlier today.”
Tony’s head shot up and Stan saw the first glimpse of real emotion she’d seen since this whole thing began. “They’re bothering Patricia?”
Stan nodded. “Hiding in the bushes at Char’s.” Did he really care, or was he simply worried Patricia would say the wrong thing?
“Did they . . .”
“I was there. I got rid of them.”
His breath came out in a whoosh. “Thank you. I don’t want this terrible situation to reflect badly on her.”
“Well,” Stan said. “They’re going to keep going after her. And it could get worse. I know the word’s out around town about the ring. It’s only a matter of time before the media hears about it. I’m sure Cyril already has, and hasn’t played the card yet. Then things are really going to get ugly for her.”
Every last bit of color drained from his face. “H-how? How would they know about that?” Which meant he did know. Captain Quigley must’ve filled him in.
“I couldn’t tell you, given the amount of effort the police put into keeping this quiet. The media doesn’t simply accept when you don’t want to comment, especially in something high-profile like this,” she said.
Tony’s jaw set. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll put out a statement. What do we need to do?”
“First we need to get your story straight. Which means you, me, my mother, and anyone else who may be asked a question on your behalf.”
“There wouldn’t be anyone else,” he said tightly.
“Aside from the hundred or so people at your party,” she pointed out. “Who are already telling their own versions of the story. There was a whole crowd debating the real killer over fresh bread at the general store.” She reached into her bag and pulled out the small notebook she’d begun carrying around to keep track of her ever-growing to-do list. She flipped through the pages with hastily scrawled lists, sketches of the café’s doggie seating area, and other numerous to-dos, and found a clean sheet while she let that sink in. When she raised her head, Tony looked green.
“Listen. I told my mother I would help you, and I will. But I won’t—I can’t—help you if you’re going to be hiding things and lying to me. Someone died, Tony. And there’s still a lot of mystery around it, no matter who they have in custody.” She waited a beat. “So are you going to talk to me or not?”
He sank down into the chair opposite her and nodded slowly.
Stan braced herself, then asked the question again. “Was that my mother’s ring?”
“Yes. It was your mother’s ring.”
Chapter 47
Stan leaned back in her chair, her heart dropping into her stomach. Was she right about an affair? “Why?” she said finally. “Why would Mom’s ring be . . .”
Tony met her eyes. “I have no idea,” he said. “And your mother doesn’t, either. She swears the ring was in our room. Waiting for me to present it to her.”
“If Richard killed Eleanor, why on earth would he stuff another woman’s diamond ring in her mouth? How would he have known where to get it?”
Tony was silent.
“Tony.” Stan stepped directly in front of him. “The only way the ring makes any sense is if the rumors are true.” She took a deep breath. “Were you having an affair with Eleanor?”
He looked up, real surprise on his face. “No! God, no. Is that what people think?” He barked out a laugh. “Of course it is,” he said, answering his own question. “It’s always about sex, isn’t it? It’s not true, Kristan. Eleanor and I . . . have been friends for many years. We worked together in Washington. She was just out of school, and I was mid-career. She was always quite ambitious. I left that firm a few years later, and down the road we wound up working together again. We weren’t having an affair. Your mother didn’t think we were, either. At least I hope not. She knew we were old friends.”
Stan didn’t mention that she already knew about his history with her. “So you’d still been in touch.”
“On and off for years, mostly off. In recent times she’d reconnected with me. Through LinkedIn.”
“When was this?”
He thought. “Around the time I started my campaign for mayor here in Frog Ledge.”
That made sense, given what Michelle had told her. “So it wasn’t true that my mother found her through my ol
d connections,” Stan said.
“I’m afraid not.” Tony shoved off the desk and walked slowly around the room, hands buried deep in his pockets. “Your mother was adamant that I needed an executive coach. That part was true. I didn’t feel as strongly. That’s why she asked you for help last winter. When you weren’t interested, she let it go. I thought the subject was closed. Then Eleanor contacted us.”
“Why’d she lie to me about how Eleanor came to be working with you?”
“Eleanor approached me with an offer to help. She was quite motivated. Eleanor was . . . very intense.”
“Tell me about it,” Stan muttered.
“You can’t tell your mother you know this,” he said. “She’s sensitive about these things. Patricia simply wasn’t comfortable with Eleanor appearing at my doorstep offering to help. She wasn’t sure of her motivations. And your mother likes to feel . . . in control.”
“Again, tell me about it.” For the first time, Stan felt a wave of compassion for Tony, caught between those two giant personalities. While he could play the role of enigmatic leader well when he wanted to, she’d gotten the sense someone else made the decisions. Not because he was stupid, but because he lacked the strong personality most successful politicians were born with. Meanwhile, Patricia and Eleanor both had those personalities, in spades. And as a woman in the cutthroat corporate world, Eleanor’s mission had been to make hers even stronger.
“So what were her motivations?” she asked casually.
“She simply wanted to help.”
“What was the goal?” Stan pressed. “Why’d you need her? No offense, but being mayor in a town like this doesn’t require you to be a political rock star. And you just won an election less than a year ago. No one spends three years campaigning for a small-town mayor job.”
Tony looked away. “It wasn’t all about campaigning. It was about me developing more polish. Having more experience with serious politics.”
Still nothing about his gubernatorial ambitions. “Okay. So you guys came up with this story about how she started working with you. When did she start? How was it going?”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “Kristan. Are we writing a statement or are you interrogating me for some reason?”
Oops. She detoured smoothly back to the matter at hand. “Just making sure you have answers to the questions that will surely come your way,” she said.
“I thought I was sending a statement, not taking questions,” he said.
“They’ll have follow-ups.”
“And I won’t feel compelled to answer them. Now, let’s get this done.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting tonight about my upcoming wedding.”
Stan’s stomach turned at that. “Fine. Here’s how I would do this. The statement should basically say how troubled you are about this situation, and how you’ve been trying to protect the family’s privacy by staying out of the spotlight. You reiterate how sorry you are for Eleanor’s family, how this sort of violence is unthinkable. You’re shocked and saddened, and horrified this happened in your home during what was supposed to be a joyous occasion. You can also mention the fundraiser you started for her daughters.”
Tony nodded. “That sounds reasonable. Will you write it?”
Stan nodded.
“And we’ll send it to the media outlets?”
“Yes.”
“Which ones?”
“To Cyril, of course. All the major outlets covering the story here in Connecticut. Your friends upstairs from the Gazette. We’ll see from there.”
“Fine. Will you send me a draft?”
“Sure. Later tonight. To your town e-mail?”
“My personal e-mail.” He recited it. “Anything else?”
She closed her notebook. “Not about this. I do have one other question.”
He looked at her, wary. “Go ahead.”
“Curtis Wallace,” she said.
Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “What about him?”
“Why does he have it out for you?”
He paused. “I didn’t realize he did.”
“He sounded like it at the pub on Sunday. Talking about impeaching you.”
Tony’s face turned red for the second time that day, although this time it was an angry red. “Did he, now.”
Stan nodded.
“Curtis called me two years ago about running for mayor here,” Tony said. “He thought the leadership was stale, and that this town needed a lift. Someone who could help bring it back to its focus on farming and agriculture and its roots. So I find it hard to believe he’d change his mind so soon into my appointment.”
“You said he called you?” Stan asked. “So you knew him already?”
Tony hesitated, then nodded. He didn’t offer other details.
“How did you know him?” she pressed.
“I’m not sure why this is important, but through his brother. He’s an old family friend. Kristan, I really have to get going. I’ll look forward to reviewing the statement later tonight.” He strode out of the office and shut the door behind him, leaving Stan alone.
She wasn’t sure why it was important, either, but somewhere along the way something had gone wrong between Tony and Curtis. When? Why? Did it have to do with Eleanor, or did Tony really not know Curtis knew Eleanor? How did Curtis know Eleanor? So many questions. And since Curtis had fought with Eleanor in the weeks leading up to her death, she needed answers.
Stan made her way back to Jessie’s office, but the door remained locked. Frustrated, she turned the corner and walked toward the stairwell, head bent over her phone as she texted her again. She jumped when she heard her name. Francie Tucker held the stairwell door open, smiling.
“Hey, Francie.”
“What brings you to town hall?” Francie asked.
“I, uh, had to drop something off for Jessie,” Stan said. “You?”
Francie wrinkled her nose. “Paying my motor vehicle taxes. You wonder how they get away with charging us taxes on something we already bought and paid taxes on, wouldn’t you? I swear, these politicians are the real criminals.”
“I hear you,” Stan said. “Isn’t that office on the first floor?”
Francie looked around, surprised. “Oh, my. You’re right, of course. I’m losing it,” she said with a little laugh.
“Happens to me all the time. The bakery closed for the day?”
She laughed. “Yes. Brenna had to run, so we packed it up early. We got a lot done, though. Three dozen cookies baked and boxed for the new account.”
Stan wanted to kiss her. “You guys are amazing. Thanks so much again, Francie.”
“You’re welcome, dear. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight for meditation? I can take you through some exercises. Tomorrow’s my day at the church, but I don’t have to go in until eleven.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Stan said. “I’ll be there.”
“Good! I left my address on your whiteboard. By the way, did you talk to your mother?”
“I didn’t,” she lied. “But I’m going to see if I can catch her tonight.”
“Fantastic. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She waved and dashed down the stairs.
Stan checked her phone again. Nothing from Jessie. May as well head home while she waited to hear from her. She had a million things to do anyway, and she had to figure out how she was going to run a fundraiser for Trooper Colby and his dog.
Chapter 48
This day had been exhausting, and it wasn’t even three o’clock. Stan dialed her mother’s cell once she got back in her car.
“So you’re writing Tony a statement?” Patricia said by way of greeting.
“Hi to you, too. Yes, I am. But I had a quick question for you. I didn’t know Tony had cats.”
“Yes, there are two cats. Why?”
“Do you know where they were during the party?”
“They were supposed to be locked upstairs, but something happened. One of them even got out the front door.”
<
br /> “But where were they locked up?”
“Kristan, really? Why is this important? I think I closed them up in the master bedroom, if you must know.”
Stan thanked her and hung up. Why had Eleanor been snooping in her mother’s room?
She leaned back against her seat and closed her eyes. Every answer led to another question. All she wanted to do was go home, make herself something decent to eat that didn’t involve carbs or sugar, and work on her café. Three months seemed far away now, but her grand opening hurtled toward her like a speeding meteor, and at the rate she was going, she wouldn’t be ready for it.
But instead of pointing her car toward her house, she took a left out of the town hall lot and drove the short distance down Main Street to the newly renovated building that would soon be home to the town’s first real bookstore. The building was the Frog Ledge Library’s first home, so it was especially fitting. It might even have a ghost or two, but that hadn’t been 100 percent confirmed.
The renovations took her breath away. Stan parked out front and admired Frank and team’s handiwork. They’d managed to keep the look and feel of the original design while giving it a modern makeover, bringing the safety standards up to speed and ensuring it would hold up against the elements for another hundred years or more. Granted, Frank could be a pain in the patootie, but he did nice work. She could hardly wait to see what he did for her shop.
Stan went in the front entrance and paused in the foyer. The door directly in front of her leading to the bookstore was still blocked off. Izzy had a ways to go, much like Stan herself, to get ready for her grand opening. Instead, Stan followed the typewriter-shaped sign on the wall pointing to the stairs heading down to the Frog Ledge Holler offices. Cyril might not be back from poking around town hall yet. She reached for the knob, but the door flew open. She jumped back. Tyler Hoffman looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
