by Liz Mugavero
An aha! look crossed Wallace’s face. “I see. So you’re looking for someone to vouch for him,” he said with a grin.
Stan flushed. “I heard you two were friends. That you told him to run for mayor and asked your brother to help. Your brother isn’t a fan of Tony’s lately, it appears.”
Matthew Wallace grimaced. “My brother is a horse’s behind. Pardon the expression. He goes whichever way the wind blows. I suspect he anticipated Tony would catch some fallout from Saturday’s events and was positioning himself accordingly.”
“Oh,” Stan said, not sure what to say to that.
Wallace got up and went to the window. He took the OPEN sign down and put it out of view, then returned to his chair. He sipped his coffee, his eyes on Stan over the rim of the cup. “Ms. Connor,” he said. “I get the sense there’s something else you want to ask me.”
Stan fidgeted in her chair. “I do. I just didn’t figure you’d talk to me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I talk to you?”
“You’re a lawyer,” Stan said. “And you’re friends with Tony.”
He laughed. “You’re right on both counts. Tony’s not my client. He’s my friend. I don’t practice criminal law, though. I practice real estate law.”
“Oh.” Stan thought about that. “Here’s the deal, Mr. Wallace—”
“Matthew,” he said. “Mr. Wallace is my father. My real first name is Eli, which I despise. So please, call me Matthew.”
Stan smiled. She liked E. Matthew Wallace. “Matthew. This woman who was killed at Tony’s house. She knew him for a long time, turns out. And Tony allegedly wasn’t at the party—his own engagement party—when she was killed. But no one will say where he was, and the cops . . .” She swallowed. She was still taking a chance here. “The cops arrested someone and he . . . couldn’t have done it. It feels like they’re protecting Tony. And I need to know if he had something to do with this.”
But Matthew didn’t clam up or get angry. Instead, he laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair, a troubled look on his face. “I told him this was going to happen,” he said quietly. “I told Tony he should just tell people his story. Frankly, it would help in the political realm. But he’s so darn stubborn.”
Stan frowned, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll tell you this in confidence, Ms. Connor, only because I’ve heard so much about you and I know your heart’s in the right place,” he said. “But you can’t tell Tony you know.”
“You’ve heard about me?” This was getting freaky.
“Yes. Tony’s told me about you. How talented you are, and how you embraced his relationship with your mother despite your difficulties with her. How welcoming you were when he came to town.”
Jeez. And here she’d thought Tony didn’t like her much at all. She waited for Matthew to continue.
“Tony’s been my friend since law school. He’s a good man. If you’re worried about your mom, don’t be,” he said. “I wanted to say that first. Now, I’ll tell you about Tony’s sister, Natalie. She was a good person, too, but she had some problems. I won’t go into the details, but she went to jail five years ago, leaving two teenagers behind. The entire family was devastated. Tony took the kids to live with him in Washington. Their father was useless. It was tough but he made it work. A few years ago, he said he wanted to get out of the Washington scene, but still wanted to work in politics—as long as he could do so without his niece and nephew being dragged into any mudslinging. My brother was on the council in Frog Ledge. We talked about it. Curtis suggested he run for mayor, that the incumbent needed a challenger. Tony liked the idea, so he pursued it—if the kids were on board.”
“So he stayed close to them?” Stan asked. She wondered if her mother knew this story. If she did, she certainly hadn’t shared it.
“Oh, absolutely,” Wallace said. “He took full responsibility for them. His nephew was in college at that point, but his niece agreed to move with him if he came up here. Allison was seventeen then. She’s going to college now, too, but she’s at UConn. She wanted to stay close to home. To her uncle, that is.”
“What did Tony’s sister go to jail for?” Stan asked.
Wallace hesitated. “A federal crime.”
“Okay. So he runs for mayor. How’d this not come up in the campaign?”
“Because he’d been working with someone to make sure nothing connected him to his sister’s name. He wanted to protect her kids from any dirty politics. She’d been married so it was a bit easier name-wise, but he had someone who was helping to erase the connections.”
“Eleanor Chang,” Stan said.
Wallace nodded. “She was very eager to work on his campaign.”
Sure she was. So it could benefit her. “So she pays people to get rid of this black mark, he wins, and moves here. With his niece.” She hesitated. “Does he have a lot of money?”
Wallace smiled. “I’m afraid not, although he’s comfortable.”
“He lives in a nice house,” Stan said.
“A family member’s home, from what I understand,” Wallace said. “On his mother’s side.”
Tony was related to the Trumbulls? Could also explain why the police had been so accommodating.
“The person couldn’t take care of the house anymore and let Tony live there when he won the campaign,” Wallace continued. “With one condition. That he take care of the man’s cats.”
“The cats,” Stan murmured. “I wondered. Matthew, thank you for telling me this. But do you know anything about Saturday night?”
“I do,” Wallace said. “Tony called and told me the whole story. He was late for the party because he was with his niece, Allison. She’d been in a car accident earlier that day and he’d rushed off to see her.”
“Oh, no,” Stan said, dismayed. “Is she okay?”
Wallace nodded. “She was brought to the hospital up near the college. He hated being late for the party. Hadn’t even told your mother what happened, just that he had to go see Allison. Understandably, she was upset because she didn’t know.”
“So he really wasn’t around,” Stan said.
Wallace shook his head. “He doesn’t lie, Ms. Connor. If he said he was with his niece, that’s where he was. Whatever trouble Ms. Chang found herself, it wasn’t with him.”
“What about running for governor?” Stan asked.
Wallace laughed. “That was Ms. Chang’s push, not his. Tony didn’t want to be governor. He told her this many times. In fact, he was about to fire her. He didn’t think he needed her help any longer, and she’d become quite insistent about what she thought he should do. He thought it was time for her to move on.”
Chapter 56
Stan left Wallace’s and headed back to Frog Ledge. While she drove, she used her Bluetooth to call Jessie. Who, of course, didn’t pick up the phone. With a frustrated sigh, she hit the Disconnect button and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Tony wanted to fire Eleanor. Or maybe he’d already tried. What if, like with Curtis Wallace, she didn’t want to be fired and a fight ensued? But if Tony had really been at the hospital with his niece, they couldn’t have fought that night. At least not in person.
Every answer led to another question. Of course, there was still the possibility that Tony’s old friend was protecting him, and the whole story about the niece had been fabricated.
She called Jessie’s office. Colby answered. “Can you have someone find out if a college student named Allison got admitted to a hospital near UConn on Saturday?”
Colby hesitated. “Why?”
“Colby. Jessie would just do it.”
Colby sighed. “Allison what?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Which hospital?”
“I don’t know that either. But you guys are good at this detecting stuff. It’s important. I swear.”
She hung up while he was still protesting and called her mother. When she got h
er voice mail, she left a message. “Mom. It’s me. Are you planning on going to the wedding meeting at the church? I’m heading over there. Francie said you wanted me and Caitlyn to go. I’m not sure if Caitlyn can make it, but I can be there. Let me know.” It was one o’clock now; she’d have plenty of time. She figured Caitlyn was still dealing with Kyle and the banner. Maybe if she got there early she’d have a chance to talk to Pastor Ellis about Saturday, too, and what his alleged fight with Eleanor had been about. If Curtis Wallace was to be believed.
* * *
Stan walked up the front steps of the Unitarian Church and pushed the heavy door open, entering the small chapel room with its stained-glass windows, beautiful woodwork, and theater-style seats in a half circle facing the altar. Pastor Ellis sat alone in a back pew. He rose when he saw her. “Hi, Kristan,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”
“Hi, Pastor. Please, call me Stan,” she said. “I didn’t see my mother’s or Tony’s cars. Are they here yet?”
Pastor Ellis sighed. “No. And I can’t reach your mother. Tony confirmed he was coming. They’re my last meeting before I head up to Vermont for my retreat tonight, otherwise I would’ve left earlier. We can wait in the meeting room.”
Stan followed him down the hall, past an office and another room marked DONATIONS. Which reminded her of Monica’s bag. Maybe she could take another look at it. Or grab it and bring it to Jessie. “I saw the lovely items from the town hall donation bin,” she said casually. “Have you seen them yet?”
Pastor Ellis frowned. “Town hall?”
“Yes, the ones Francie picked up. They were in her car when she came over.”
“That’s odd,” he said. “We don’t have donation pickups at the town hall. Perhaps she meant from the schools. We often get items when the teachers hold clothing drives.”
No pickup at the town hall? Maybe someone had organized an unofficial collection. Stan made a note to ask her. Who knew—maybe whoever took the purse in the first place, to cover their tracks.
He led her to a small sitting room. A comfy but worn-looking couch faced two chairs. A small bookcase leaned crookedly against the wall with only three books in it. “Can I get you anything?” he asked.
Stan shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“I’m glad you came,” he said, crossing to a small refrigerator and taking out a water bottle. “How is your mother holding up?”
“She’s surviving.”
Pastor Ellis nodded. “I hope so. Such a devastating end to what began as a happy night.” He uncapped the water.
“It sure was. It must’ve been hard for you, too, since you knew Eleanor and Monica,” Stan said, watching him carefully.
He slowly lowered the bottle without taking a sip. “I wondered how long it would be before that got out,” he said. “I try extremely hard to keep my outside activities separate from my life here in Frog Ledge, but in this case, clearly that wasn’t meant to be.”
“You worked with Monica Chang,” Stan said.
“I did. The poor woman had a terrible time. Her mother was desperate to get her help. And her counselor knew of our new program and thought she would be a good fit.”
“Scott Grayson,” Stan said.
Ellis nodded. “Small world, isn’t it?” he said with a sad laugh, echoing Stan’s comments from earlier today.
“What was so special about this program?” Stan asked.
“Our high success rate with young adults. That’s our focus. It’s a progressive facility, with very innovative leaders. And the center was piloting a new program. They’d just bought a facility down by the shore. A former convent. Quiet, removed, and combined with some cutting-edge treatments that had great outcomes with the test groups.”
“Yet Monica relapsed,” Stan pointed out.
“So I’ve heard.” Ellis smiled, but there was no mirth. “We’re not miracle workers. Sometimes our patients are up against insurmountable odds and their personalities . . . make it difficult for them to enjoy continued success.”
“Her mother got in the way,” Stan said bluntly.
“That sounds so judgmental.”
“Did you know before Saturday night that Monica relapsed?” Stan asked.
Ellis nodded slowly. “Eleanor contacted me about a month ago. She had concerns but no hard proof, so she didn’t contact the treatment center. She was angry about it, given the money she’d spent to get Monica into that program.”
“Pastor Ellis,” Stan said. “Did you and Eleanor have a fight Saturday night?”
Now the pastor’s face went ashen. “How did you—”
“It doesn’t matter. Someone heard you,” Stan said. “What were you fighting about?”
Pastor Ellis drank some water. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he carefully capped the bottle and placed it on the floor next to his chair. “I’m ashamed that I lost my temper,” he said. “But I couldn’t stand her using her money and imagined influence again to solve a problem without taking time to fully understand what was driving the problem.”
Stan didn’t know what he was talking about. “Pastor, it’s been a long week, and Tony’s going to show up any minute. Can you please not speak in riddles?”
Ellis sat up straighter. “Fine. Eleanor wanted me to pull strings and get her daughter back in the same program she’d participated in previously. She felt I owed it to her, since the treatment failed.” He shook his head, pressing his lips so tightly together they nearly disappeared. “A ludicrous statement. But, that was her modus operandi.”
“So you said you wouldn’t help her.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to help Monica. Of course I did. I want to help all of them.” He looked away, but not before Stan saw tears glinting in his eyes. He swallowed and took a minute to steady his voice. “But I wanted Eleanor to understand that she was part of the problem. At least according to her daughter. And rehab wasn’t going to work if Monica was just going to be released into the same environment. You know,” he said, turning back to Stan, “people think addicts only have to fear going back to their addict friends. But if they’re in living situations that are inherently stressful, it’s just as bad. Anyway, I wanted her to know that if she tried to pull any of the shenanigans like last time, I’d put a stop to it myself.”
“A stop to it how?”
He grimaced. “Not like that. I meant I’d speak to the directors and let them know what she was doing. There’s no reason deserving people should be denied treatment simply because she had more money to throw around.”
Stan frowned. “What do you mean?”
Ellis hesitated. Stan leaned forward in her chair. “Someone’s been accused of this murder who shouldn’t be. There’s a chance they’re going to reopen this case.” She prayed it was true. “You were seen fighting with Eleanor.”
“I hope you’re not insinuating—”
“I’m just trying to find out what happened,” Stan said. “Tell me why you were angry with her.”
Ellis sank back into his chair. “I shouldn’t be talking about any of this. But I’ll tell you,” he said as Stan opened her mouth to protest. “The first time, when she approached us about the program, it was full. The next one wasn’t scheduled for six months, and she felt Monica couldn’t wait. She pulled every string she could think of, but they had a strict cutoff for participants.” He hesitated. “But Eleanor was very . . . resourceful. She found that one of the people on the list was not self-funding, that their participation was negotiated at a reduced rate as a gesture of goodwill. She went to the director and offered double the original fees for her daughter to attend. I’m ashamed to say the board voted to take the money. It was a new program and they were on a shoestring.”
“They just tossed the other person out?” Stan asked. “They couldn’t make an exception for one person?”
“They only had a certain number of counselors. Based on the structure of the program they’d built and gotten approval for, they couldn’t devi
ate from the structure they developed. Believe me,” he said. “I live with the guilt every day. They tried to find other accommodations for the person, but it didn’t pan out. And a month later, the boy overdosed and died.”
Stan sucked in a breath. What a tragedy. For everyone involved.
“I can see why you wouldn’t want to live through that again,” Stan said.
Ellis nodded. “I didn’t kill that woman, Stan. God forgive me, but I was very angry with her. And it didn’t help that I have to see every day what happened to that other family. I was blind with rage Saturday night, thinking of it happening to someone else. But I would never stray that far from my faith.”
“What do you mean, you have to see it every day?” Stan asked.
He looked at her quizzically, then his face fell. “You don’t know.”
Stan shook her head. “Know what?”
“The boy who died after not getting into the program was Francie’s son.”
Stan felt like she’d been punched in the gut. As she tried to process that development, a voice came from the doorway. They both jumped, startled. She spun around and saw Tony Falco hovering in the doorway.
He stared at both of them. “Sorry, I thought you heard me come in. Have you seen my fiancée?”
Chapter 57
Stan, Tony, and Pastor Ellis waited half an hour for Patricia. When she didn’t show up, Tony wanted to look for her but Stan said she’d go. She left the church and drove to the B&B, her heart in her chest, her gut twisted into knots. Francie’s son died of a drug overdose after Eleanor used her money and influence to steal his seat in a rehab program.
So what did that mean? Francie was at the party, too. But that was absurd. Francie, the sweet, sad woman who’d lost her family and worked three jobs—one of them at a church, for heaven’s sake—could not be a cold-blooded killer. It was insane.
Was it? She had Monica’s purse and lied about where it came from.
With shaking hands, she took out her cell phone and dialed Jessie. Voice mail. She left a hurried message for Jessie to call her—no details—as she pulled into the B&B parking lot. Before she got out of the car she took a quick look around for any reporters or camera people hiding in the bushes, then bolted for the front door. She had an hour before the fundraiser.
