Final Chapter: A Megan Montaigne Mystery (Megan Montaigne Mysteries)

by Pam Stucky

  Megan noticed that Romy’s expression changed on seeing the pool. “Did they get the construction on the pool wrong?” she asked.

  Romy straightened her back. “This pool is my cross to bear,” she said. “I shouldn’t have had it put in, but I did. It was an emotional decision, not a logical one.” She took a sip of her wine. With her other arm still linked in Megan's, she pivoted them around to return to the party area. “Gus used to swim,” Romy said. “Still does, I guess. I swam a bit, too. I like it but I was never any good. I had the contractor put in a pool because … well, I suppose because old habits die hard.”

  She trailed off, her mind lost in her memories. Megan wondered if the old habit Romy was referring to was swimming, or Gus.

  “Roooooooommmmyyyyy!” A woman’s high-pitched voice cut through the air. Romy and Megan turned to see where the voice was coming from. A lean, lanky woman was approaching them, her wild and curly hair, a mix of light and dark blonde, flying out as if she’d just shuffled across the carpet in her wool socks and held a balloon to her head. A bright red scarf was tied in complex knots around her neck, standing out in stark contrast to the long-sleeved black sheath dress beneath it. Her heels were precariously high and too sharp for walking on grass, which was causing the woman to inch awkwardly forward on her toes. Behind her trailed a shorter man, dressed in a gray twill suit and thick-rimmed glasses.

  “Oh, it’s the fill-in agent,” said Romy under her breath, just loud enough for Megan to hear, before plastering on a smile. “Emlyn!” she called out to the woman. “So good of you to come! I hope the trip was all right?”

  Emlyn stopped and balanced her weight over her toes. She quickly seized a glass of red wine off a tray as a server walked by. The man with her looked down his nose at the offerings and asked the server if she could get him a Rusty Nail. “Do you know what that is?” he said. With a slightly annoyed nod, the server clipped off toward the bar.

  “Megan Montaigne,” said Romy, holding out her hands toward Megan as though she were serving up a prize on a game show, “this is my temporary agent, Emlyn Cooper.” She moved her hands to indicate the woman in heels. “And Emlyn, I’m afraid I’m at a loss. This is …?” She nodded at the man in the twill.

  Emlyn held out her hand, smooth and perfectly manicured, to shake Megan’s. “This is my husband, Baz Scurlock.”

  “Sherlock?” said Megan, who had misheard.

  “Scurlock,” said Baz sourly. It seemed he had heard it before and was not amused.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Megan. “Nice to meet you both.”

  Emlyn instantly dismissed Megan and talked breathlessly to Romy. “The flight was unpleasant at best. JFK, you know, always a madhouse, and the first class line didn’t have enough staff. I had to wait! Can you imagine? But, such as it was, we got here last night and had a lovely cocktail downtown in Seattle at the top of that Smith Tower, have you been? At the speakeasy? Charming, almost nice enough that it could be out east. Maybe not New York but at least Philadelphia. And the drive up here! What a rural place you live in!” It was clear that “rural” was the kindest word Emlyn could think of for the area.

  Megan caught Romy’s eye and mouthed that she was going to go find Lily. “Nice to meet you both,” she said to Emlyn and Baz, and she headed over to the food. She looked back over her shoulder at the trio she was leaving, and it seemed only Romy noticed she had left. Megan was glad she’d offered up a room at her library, giving her a chance to get to know the author as a person. Romy was the kind of woman whose good heart would help her age gracefully. Her short, straight hair, now in a layered bob that curved in delicately to frame her chin, would, of course, turn to a snowy white rather than a muddy gray. The wrinkles she acquired, already starting to show at the corners of her eyes, would grant her the visage of venerable wisdom rather than withered dotage. Her posture would remain regal and her mind sharp, all the way through her nineties. Romy saw Megan looking at her and winked ever so slightly, a tiny smile curling the corner of her lip.

  Lily saw Megan coming and was beaming with delight before her friend reached the table. Being in Lily’s presence always felt like coming home for Megan; like exhaling after holding her breath too long. Megan and Lily had met shortly after Megan had moved to Emerson Falls, and had instantly recognized each other as long-lost friends.

  “Lily Bell!” said Megan with joy. She loved the combination of Lily’s first and last names and often used them both.

  Lily reached out to give Megan a gentle hug, careful not to contaminate her hands in their food-grade latex-free gloves. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was carefully gathered at the nape of her neck with a wide gold clip, and a crisp white apron covered her sleek knee-length periwinkle dress. Unlike Emlyn, Lily had chosen more practical, almost-flat heels in a coordinating but slightly darker blue. “How are you? I’m so glad you’re here!” Lily said as she went back to arranging the food trays. Other guests had started to arrive for the party, and Lily was keeping a watchful eye on the platters of delectable appetizers to make sure none was empty.

  “Look at you, biggest party in Emerson Falls of the year, and here you are in charge!” Megan said.

  Lily brushed off the praise with a giant smile and a wave of her gloved hand. “You are so silly. It’s just hors d’oeuvres. And it doesn’t take much to make it the biggest party in Emerson Falls! But look over here! Look at this! This is amazing!” She led Megan to the end of the very long table where several large cakes lay, enticing the eyes with their intricate decorations. One was a perfect replica of Romy’s new house; around it were several smaller, rectangular cakes, each decorated in an exact likeness of the covers of Romy’s most popular books.

  “Wow,” said Megan. “Did you make these? These are incredible!” She leaned in for a closer look at the cakes with the book covers. The reproductions were precise, down to the tiniest details, but the work had all been painstakingly done by hand.

  “No, Courtney did.” She looked around trying to find the woman she was referring to. “Romy’s assistant. Have you met her?”

  Megan looked around, too, though she had no idea who she was looking for. “I haven’t, but Kevin mentioned that he’s dating Romy’s assistant. Same person?” she said. The yard was starting to fill up with people, most of whom were strangers to Megan, but some she knew from town.

  “Yes, that’s the one,” said Lily. “Average height, long blonde hair, not a thing out of place,” Lily said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that aside from the hair color, a person could describe Lily the same way. She squinted into the crowd. “I can’t see her. Maybe she’s inside. Anyway, she lives out in Rockport. Moved there when Romy moved here. As it turns out, she’s an amazing graphic designer and artist. Can you believe she did that freehand?” she said, indicating the cakes. “That’s talent.”

  “Well, sure,” said Megan, “But not like making enough appetizers to feed an army! No wonder I haven’t seen you for so long. You’ve been busy! Are you managing with the B&B too?”

  Lily sighed heavily but without losing her smile. “Steve’s been pitching in big time. I’d be lost without him. He’s been doing almost everything this last week,” she said. Steve Bell was her husband of fifteen years; they’d met in grade school and married the day after they’d graduated from the same college. “Hopefully he’s got it all together. Romy’s agent is staying with us tonight.”

  “Emlyn?” Megan said. “I just met her. And her husband. Temporary agent, I think Romy would tell you. She seems … well, I think she might think our little town is not quite up to par.” Megan scanned the crowd for the woman in black with the red scarf, and found her still plastered at Romy’s side. A look at Lily’s face told Megan that tomorrow morning, whatever Lily cooked up for breakfast, she was going to make sure it was going to be the best thing Emlyn had ever tasted. Unlike Megan, Lily was born and raised in this area. Her hometown loyalty was fierce.

  “Two o’clock,” said Lily suddenly, her eyes
darting to her right, Megan's left.

  “What?” said Megan, but before Lily could explain, Megan felt a warm hand on her upper arm, a gentle but confident touch.

  “Megan! Megan Montaigne!” Edison said, his smile bright, his presence strong.

  “Edison! Edison Finley Wright!” Megan replied, seeing the library’s patron saint standing by her side. For a moment, as Edison’s hand lingered on her arm, her thoughts lingered there with it. She was just starting to feel ready to date again. Edison was a handsome man. He was far more of an extrovert than she, but that would be a good balance, wouldn’t it? Zeus had been an extrovert, too. She tried to remember if she knew Edison’s age. Forty-something, which wasn’t too old, really, for her late-thirty-something. His two kids were grown, one in high school and one just starting college, so there would be no diapers for a step-mother … Megan caught herself before almost whispering out loud: “Slow down, Megan, slow down.”

  “Megan, I can’t tell you how grateful I am you put Romy up in the house,” Edison said. He dropped his hand, but Megan's shoulder tingled with residual heat. “How’s the old monstrosity working out for you?” On seeing the look on Megan's face, he clarified. “The mansion. It was always a monstrosity. It was my ex’s idea to build that thing. She always wanted the biggest everything. She also is the type who can’t stand if other people have things she can’t have, which is why I gave the house away. It was my greatest act of compassion, I think.” His face was serious but his eyes twinkled with self-amusement, and with something else that Megan couldn’t identify.

  “Your generosity is greatly appreciated,” said Megan. “I appreciate it. The library and the apartments are perfect. I couldn’t be more grateful.”

  “Now, now, now,” said Edison, stopping her before she stumbled into a valley of platitudes. “You’re welcome. Least I could do for such a fine town. I’m a fan of books. Speaking of which, have you seen Romy?” His green-blue eyes scanned the growing crowd.

  Megan looked for a dark black dress and a bright red scarf, and quickly found Emlyn. Sure enough, she was still next to Romy, hanging on her every word while trying to look aloof and indifferent. “There,” Megan said, pointing.

  “Ah, with the agent and Courtney,” Edison said. “Thanks.” He patted Megan's shoulder again and nodded at Lily. “Great food, well done, Lily. Megan, I’ll see you later,” he said, and was off at a trot to see the hostess. When he reached Romy, his hand didn’t go to her shoulder but instead to the small of her back. Megan felt a pang of jealousy as Romy’s arm reached around Edison’s waist and she briefly dipped her head onto his shoulder.

  “Well,” said Megan, not realizing Lily had been watching her watch the episode unfold.

  “Hmmm?” said Lily.

  “Nothing,” said Megan. “Romy told me Edison was interested in her, but she didn’t say she was interested in him. Sometimes … sometimes I feel really ready to have someone in my life again.” She sighed.

  “You will,” said Lily. “When the time is right.”

  Megan hoped so, which somewhat surprised her. Maybe she would be ready one day, after all. But she knew now was not a time Lily could put on the best friend hat. They would have time to talk about all those hopes and woes later. She looked around again at the still-growing crowd. “Who are all these people? Do you know?”

  “Lots of literary people up from Seattle, I think,” Lily said. “Fellow authors. Wanna-be authors. Friends from out of town. I have no idea.”

  “So that’s Courtney?” Megan said, looking again at the woman who was now talking to Emlyn, Romy’s attention having been captured by Edison. “Kevin’s girlfriend?” The woman was polished, sleek. Tailored form-fitting suit, looking more like a New York CEO than a personal assistant. Even from a distance she looked standoffish and cold. And yet, she and Emlyn seemed to be engaged in easy conversation. “Like attracts like, I guess,” Megan said.

  “That’s her,” said Lily, committing herself to no opinion on the subject matter. “We’ll chat later,” she said with a wink.

  “How late are you here?” Megan asked. She suddenly felt like heading home to curl up with a good book.

  “As long as it takes to clean up. I suspect the party might go late. Want me to come by after?”

  “No, I’ll probably be in bed early,” said Megan, knowing that all this socializing would leave her exhausted. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” She grabbed another glass of wine off a passing tray, and left Lily to her work.

  For a break from the small talk, Megan took herself on a tour of Romy’s estate, this time self-guided. The rambling house itself was large but not obscenely so; nothing like the behemoth Edison Finley Wright’s wife had created. Exterior walls painted in shades of beige with crisp off-white trimmings blended in with the tall cottonwoods that surrounded the grounds. The small lawn on the south side of the house still bore evidence of having been planted in pre-grown mats of grass, but with the spring rains, the seams were growing together nicely. At this point in the Skagit River’s journey, for a short distance it coursed south to north rather than east to west. Although the front of the house faced the road to the west, the wide and deep back yard, on the river side, was the true focal point, and that was where everyone had gathered. The pool Romy had expressed such reservations about ran along the north side of the house and into the edge of the back yard, tucked in at the perimeter of the lot by the forest. Megan saw now that there was a small hot tub, too, close to the river with a perfect view of the mountains. She could imagine sitting out here on a warm summer’s evening, listening to the owls as they welcomed the night, the sound of the river tumbling over rocks, the rustle of the wind high in the trees. The library was grand, but the home Romy had built somehow managed to be cozy as well. Maybe Megan would make some suggestions to Edison about how they might improve the library grounds. For the patrons, of course. For the patrons.

  “Quite a place, eh?” said a voice behind Megan, making her jump. She turned and saw Edison there, as if she’d conjured him up out of her imagination.

  Megan looked up at the trees over the pool. “It’s a gorgeous setting. But the pool boy is going to have a full-time job keeping this thing clean.” A few leaves were already floating on the surface, though Megan guessed Romy had had it cleaned for the party.

  “Romy probably likes the pool boy,” said Edison with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Maybe she did that by design.”

  Megan laughed. “I always forget how pretty this side of the river is. It’s so different from the north side. Quieter. I think of the south side as the cottonwood side and the north side as the evergreen side, but I know that’s not completely true.” She paused. Did Edison know who Zeus was? Probably, but she wasn’t sure. She’d wanted to say how she used to rely on Zeus to tell her what she needed to know about nature: no, those weren’t alders; they were cottonwoods, for example. That was one of the earliest lessons. Or how you could tell a Douglas fir by its bottlebrush needles, sticking out on all sides, and its thick, furrowed bark. And of course the fact that it’s not a true fir at all; unlike true firs, he had told her, the cones of Douglas firs hang down from their branches rather than standing up. But Megan's favorite trees, once she knew what they were, were the cedars, mostly Western Red Cedars in this area. She could instantly recognize them from their flat, scaly leaves and their unmistakable, stringy bark. Zeus had joked that Megan liked cedars because they were tidy and unambiguous. Megan would never acknowledge it, but there was something about the organized, calm look of cedars that appealed to her. That and their scent. The thought of it now made Megan wish for a hike out through the park by Emerson Falls. Maybe tomorrow.

  “It’s beautiful, for sure,” said Edison. “If the ex-wife had bothered to look beyond the first thing she saw, we might have ended up on this side.” His face clouded with memories.

  “The library setting is perfect where it is,” said Megan. “I can’t believe you were willing to give it up.
I mean, of course we’re all grateful. But it’s an amazing house, and amazing grounds.”

  Edison’s nose twitched. “If those walls ever start to talk, you’ll understand,” he said, and he walked away.

  * * *

  After a few hours, Megan decided she’d put in enough time at the party. She’d talked to numerous authors of varying obscurity, many of whom had shoved business cards or bookmarks into her hands asking that she make sure her library stocked their books. She’d found herself standing again next to Emlyn, and listened for a short time to a monologue about how the west coast could never match the east coast in sophistication, prestige, beauty, class of people, driving ability, weather, public transportation, bagels, food in general … and by then Megan stopped listening but she assumed the list included smartness of babies and the talent of dogs and everything else under the sun (which of course was sure to be better on the east coast, as well). Megan chatted for a while with Lily again, and then decided it was time to go.

  Her goodbye to Romy was brief. Always the way it was with the center of attention, Megan thought. Pulled in so many directions by so many people; never time to devote to just one person. Megan hoped they would have a chance to chat again soon. “Remember to plan Romy’s author visit to the library,” she muttered to herself as she took a final look around the gorgeous grounds, sneaking in to admire Romy’s library one more time before heading out. Kevin quickly got her car for her, and after a brief hug, she left.

  When she got back to the library, the peace of the river called to her. Megan ran upstairs to change into jeans and a sweater, then headed back outside, carrying a screw-top bottle of wine and no glass to go with it. She walked to the river along a path that led from the library down to what was meant to serve as a reading area. The area had been leveled and covered in crushed stone; a few benches, tables, and chairs were placed strategically to give the best view. Megan sat in her favorite chair and watched the river flow by. The people she’d met at the party had been interesting, but she was glad for some time alone.