by Pam Stucky
“I did,” said Max. “Tell me more. You saw a sorority picture of them together?”
“Yes. I mean, I know that’s not incriminating in and of itself. It seems weird that Emlyn didn’t mention that she knew Courtney, but then she and I weren’t close. And—” she paused again.
Max shook his head with a combination of amusement and impatience. “And?” he said. “Go on?”
“I’ve been thinking. I had this thought yesterday, before I even knew the checks were written out to Emlyn, and before I knew that Emlyn and Courtney have known each other a long time. You weren’t at Romy’s party, so you didn’t see the cakes Courtney made. The art was perfect on them. Each one looked exactly like the covers of Romy’s books. Like, exactly. Someone who can replicate a book cover that closely …”
“… Might be able to forge a signature,” Max said, nodding slowly.
“Exactly. That’s exactly what I was thinking. What if Courtney wrote out those checks? What if she and Emlyn were … conspiring? And maybe Romy found out so Courtney had to kill her, and now Emlyn’s dead because she was a liability? Maybe if you look into Romy’s accounts, I wonder if you’d find Courtney’s been taking a little off the top the whole time she’s been there? Romy didn’t pay attention to that sort of thing, Gus told me. She might never have noticed. She was making money from her books hand over fist. If she trusted Courtney, she wouldn’t have paid attention. And then with Emlyn taking over Romy’s account temporarily, well, the time was right, wasn’t it, to do something big? Except maybe it got out of hand—”
Max’s sparkling smile was growing as the wheels started to turn in his head as well. “Megan, you may be on to something here. You may well be on to something. I’m going to get someone over to Courtney’s right now.” He turned away and got on his walkie-talkie to make the call.
Megan crept up to the edge of the doorway to look in one more time. Luckily, she thought, Emlyn’s body hadn’t begun to decompose and smell yet. She couldn’t imagine how awful that smell would be and she didn’t ever want to find out. Much less to be responsible for getting the stench out of the room. She shuddered.
She looked around the room to see if there were any more clues. The forensics team was sure to take away all evidence and shut the room down soon, so this was her only chance. What to look for, she wondered. The bed was unmade, but that was how it had been the other day. A mess all over, she remembered. Papers spread around everywhere, and the laptop … “Wait,” Megan said out loud.
Done with his call, Max turned around. “Wait what?” he said.
“Papers. When I came by the other day … yesterday? Was it yesterday? Anyway, when I came by, the room was a mess. There were papers everywhere. All over the desk. And her laptop …” Megan looked around the room again, trying to peek around the door without touching anything. “Where’s her laptop?” she said.
Max put his arm on Megan's back as he stepped gingerly around her, also avoiding disturbing any evidence. He scanned the room from the doorway. “I don’t see one, either. I’ll tell forensics to check for it,” he said. “There were papers all over?”
“All over,” Megan nodded. “And a giant stack of papers, with a huge red binder clip. I don’t see that now.” She got down on the floor outside the door, trying to see the room better from that angle without going inside. “Nothing under the bed, as far as I can see, but the comforter is hiding part of my view.”
“What about that food?” Max said, pointing to the gift basket across the room on the table. “Do you know where that came from?”
A rush of warmth spread up Megan's neck. “Oh, that’s from me. I put together gift baskets for Emlyn and for Sylvie and Wade, too. Lily—” She stopped.
Max raised his eyebrows.
Megan shook her head. “Lily brought some stuff for it too, when I asked her to help me, but you know Lily. I’m a thousand percent certain that anything she brought was delicious, but not poisonous.”
Max looked across at the basket. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said. “But we’d still better check.” He sighed heavily. “And if you could stick around a bit, I’ll need to ask you some questions.”
His serious tone made Megan's blood run cold. “Me?” she said. “I mean, of course, I’ll be around.” Her mouth hung open for a few seconds, held by words that wanted to come out. But she kept them in. You have the right to remain silent, she told herself. She cleared her throat and studied Max’s face to see if she could tell what he was thinking, but he’d put on a mask of detachment. Megan shivered. “Let me know when you’re ready,” she said.
As she walked back to her apartment, the door to Sylvia and Wade’s room crept open, eventually revealing Wade standing there, looking down the hall toward Emlyn’s room and Max. His face had gone pale. Behind him, Megan could see Sylvie lying on the bed, fully clothed, completely still, eyes closed, her breath measured and slow, her hands clasped across her stomach.
Wade brought his focus from the scene down the hall back to Megan. “Does he know anything?” he said.
Why did it seem like Wade knew something he hoped Max wouldn’t find out? “Forensics is coming,” Megan said. “He’ll know more then. You might—” she looked back at Max. “I think Max will want to talk to all of us,” she said. “I’m sure he won’t mind if you go to the memorial, but you might want to check in with him. So he knows where you are. Where you’ll be.”
“We’ve decided to leave tomorrow,” Wade said, a rush of blood putting the color back to his face.
Megan shrugged. “Just a suggestion,” she said. “I have no authority here.” She turned and went back into her home. Without really thinking about what she was doing, she headed to the kitchen, quickly brewed up some very strong coffee, then went and sat on her balcony.
She felt numb. Before Max had said he wanted to talk with her, she’d been full of adrenaline. Now, she felt numb. And nauseated. She drank in a sip of the brew, closing her eyes as the almost-too-hot liquid trickled down her throat.
Who could have done this? Who could have killed Emlyn? Had the same person killed both Emlyn and Romy? And why? Was it Wade? If so, what could he have had against his sister-in-law, and Emlyn? Were the murders connected, or was there someone in town, some psychopath lurking in the shadows, unnoticed and invisible, who was just targeting random women for his own sick pleasure? Instinctively, Megan looked back toward her front door. Had she locked it when she came in? She was the type who usually locked doors, but she was also the type who thought locking doors wasn’t really necessary here in Emerson Falls. Megan stood and walked over to the railing. Holding tight, she craned her neck to look over the side. Could a person climb up from below? Up onto this balcony, or onto the one outside her bedroom? It wouldn’t be easy, she decided. But it would be possible. What’s more, the same isolation that let her sleep with the curtains open at night would give cover to anyone who might want to try their hand at scaling the wall. Someone could even drive in with a ladder and go unnoticed. And what about all the other doors and windows in this monstrosity of a house? Megan decided she would need to talk with Owen. For her own peace of mind, they were going to need to create a better security system. And maybe she’d talk to Edison about it, too.
That is, if he didn’t turn out to be the killer.
Megan's phone vibrated in her pocket, startling her and making her almost spill her coffee. A text from Max: “Are you inside? I’m at your door.”
Without texting back, she went to the front door and opened it to find Max standing there, looking even more grim. She steeled herself for the conversation they were about to have. I’m innocent, she reminded herself. Just tell the truth.
“I’m going to have to talk to you later,” Max said. “Courtney’s dead, too.”
FOURTEEN
Max rushed off without another word. Down the hallway, Emlyn’s door was open and people in disposable white forensics suits were milling about, muttering quietly amongst themselves. Hesitating
only a moment, Megan ambled slowly down the hall, trying to look nonchalant and innocent.
“Hi,” she said to the first man she encountered. He was about her height, slim, with wire-rimmed glasses and a look of focus and concentration. “I’m the Library Director. Do you, uh, are you guys all good here?”
“We’re fine, miss,” he said, and walked away.
“Nothing?” A voice behind her made Megan jump. She turned and saw Wade, a slight smile on his face. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have crept up like that.”
Megan put her hand on her chest as though she could calm her heart that way. “Nothing yet,” she said.
“Max came by,” Wade said. “Asked us to stick around.” He wasn’t looking at Megan but past her, into Emlyn’s room. Emlyn’s body was being transferred into a thick black body bag. Wade seemed transfixed by the spectacle, but Megan couldn’t watch. She turned away.
“Did he say anything else?” Megan asked.
Wade turned his gaze to Megan. “He said Courtney is dead.” He paused, seeming to watch for Megan's reaction.
“Yeah, he told me that, too,” Megan said. “I suppose he wanted to see our faces when we found out.” She was studying Wade’s facial expressions as much as he was studying hers. “Oh come on,” she said finally. “How can anyone suspect me? Who is Emlyn to me? What do I know?” she said.
“Of course they want to talk to you. It is your house, after all,” Wade said, keeping his eyes on Megan in a way that was quickly becoming unnerving.
“But I didn’t know her,” Megan objected. “I didn’t even know Romy, for that matter, hardly at all. What about you? How well did you know Emlyn?” she asked.
“Never met her before the housewarming,” Wade insisted. “And neither had Sylvie.”
Exhaustion suddenly washed over Megan, and she wanted nothing more than to get away from that house. The very air seemed stifling, and the nearness of a dead body was more than she could take. “I’m sorry. I have to go. Please be sure you lock the doors behind you,” she said, and headed back to her apartment.
Just then, Sylvie opened the door to their room, and stepped out. She looked as if she’d aged ten years in the time Megan had known her.
“Wade,” said Sylvie softly, “we need to be heading out soon.” She walked back into her room and shut the door.
Megan's heart filled with compassion for this woman who had lost her sister and yet was carrying on with such grace. Surely such a woman wouldn’t be married to a murderer. “You guys can stay here, of course, as long as you need,” she said to Wade. “If I can do anything …” she trailed off. There wasn’t much that she could do, she knew. Clean sheets and towels couldn’t go very far toward healing a broken heart.
Wade’s face softened. “Thanks, Megan. You’ve been very kind. Sylvie enjoyed talking with you the other night. She appreciated that you listened.”
Tears started to fill Megan's eyes, so she quickly looked away. “Of course. Anytime. You know where to find me.”
Wade gently held Megan's shoulder for a moment, then turned to return to his wife.
Megan inhaled deeply; exhaled slowly and loudly.
“I need a burger,” she said to the hallway. A man in a white disposable suit looked up. Megan waved, and returned to her home. She grabbed her purse and coat, and headed out the front door. Then she went back inside, checked that all the windows and balconies were locked, and headed out once again.
She walked down the hall, just to check that everyone had what they needed, or so she told herself. “Hi, I’m the Library Director, Megan Montaigne. Everything going okay?” she said to a short white-suited woman.
The woman gave her a patronizing smile. “We’re fine, thank you. It’ll be a few more hours. We’ll want you to keep clear of the room for a while longer, though.” She stepped aside to let another of her team walk by. He was carrying the gift basket Megan and Lily had put together, encased carefully in a sealed, large, clear plastic bag.
On seeing her effort at being a good hostess carried away as evidence, Megan felt her heart sink. What’s more, she thought, it was such a waste of Lily’s good cookies. She looked into the bag, not really focusing, but then something caught her eye. “Wait!” she said.
The man stopped. He looked at his colleague, who shrugged her shoulders.
“Yes?” the man said.
“Those biscuits,” she said, pointing into the plastic bag. “Where did those come from? Were those in the basket? We didn’t put those in there. Those aren’t from Lily and me.” She wracked her brain to remember everything Lily had brought. “I’m sure of it,” she said. “Lily didn’t make those, and I didn’t put anything homemade in. Those look homemade.”
The man straightened a bit. She’d caught his attention. “Which ones?” he said, holding out the basket.
“Those,” Megan said, tapping on the outside of the bag. She leaned over and scrutinized the biscuits. They were small, and flecked with some herb. They looked delicious. But where had they come from? “Were they in the gift basket?” she repeated.
“I’m afraid we can’t say anything yet, ma’am,” said the short woman.
“But those aren’t from us. We didn’t put them in there. Those aren’t from us.” She felt herself starting to sweat. If Emlyn had been poisoned, could the poison have been delivered in a biscuit? “Tell Max those aren’t from us.”
“All right, ma’am,” said the short woman, casting a meaningful glance at her colleague. “Are you headed out for a few hours?” She made her face open and bright, but Megan could tell she was fishing for information.
“I’m going to Rae’s,” Megan said. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving town.” Heart in her throat and the feeling of blood rushing through her ears, she turned and walked away.
To help calm her nerves, Megan took a long detour on her way to Rae’s, walking alongside the river on the trail to the waterfront memorial for poor Addie Emerson before heading back north to the pub. When she reached the memorial park, she decided to go in. Opening the gate, she gave silent thanks to the garden club that kept up this little space. Footprints drying in the mud told her others had visited recently. The space was appreciated by the community, and it was well used. The gate opened easily, and the bench, which she now went to sit on, was clean. The plants were neatly pruned and the grass had been recently cut. The quiet space felt like a sanctuary.
As Megan sat, she felt like every cell in her body was rushing as fast as the river. She tried to take deep breaths. Nothing to worry about, she told herself. Nothing to worry about. Max knows me. All is fine.
She looked at her phone to check the time: just before eleven. She quickly texted Lily to tell her she was headed to Rae’s, and then texted Rae: “Are you at the pub? I am in desperate need of a Rae’s burger and good company.”
Thirty seconds later, Rae texted back: “Just got in. Heating up the grill. I’ve heard the news. Come on by.”
A laugh escaped Megan's lips. Of course Rae had already heard. How the news got to her so fast, Megan had no idea, but it always did. By the time Megan got to Rae’s, Rae would know more than Megan did, if she didn’t already. Her energy restored by the prospect of having someone to confer with on the day’s events, Megan hopped off the bench and quickly walked the rest of the way to the pub.
When she got there, the scent of a juicy burger greeted her at the door. “Hello!” she called into the dimly lit room. “I’m here!”
Rae poked her blonde-white head out of the kitchen. “Burger’s almost ready. Sit down and I’ll be out in two shakes.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.
Megan sat at the bar and took off her coat. She noticed someone had carved the initials “L+C” into the edge of the countertop, and idly searched her brain to see if she knew what local L was in love with what C. Before she could come up with an answer, Rae brought out the much-anticipated burger and a heap of fries. She put it on the counter in front of Megan, and stole a fry off her plate.
&
nbsp; “Okay,” said Megan. “What have you heard?” She took a bite of the burger. “Oh, yes, Rae. No one but you. So good.”
Rae shook her head. “Go on,” she laughed, then her expression turned to a combination of seriousness and gossip. “Well, I’ve heard that agent is dead,” she said. “And that assistant, too. Romy’s assistant.”
“Courtney. Are there any more details on her yet? That’s pretty much all I know,” said Megan. “Honestly, I’m a little freaked out. How did someone get into my house to kill Emlyn?” An involuntary shudder passed through her.
“Haven’t heard much about Courtney,” said Rae. “She lives over in Rockport. Police found her. That’s about it.”
Megan nodded and wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I was telling Max that I’d been searching online, and found out Courtney and Emlyn knew each other. Sorority sisters, from what I can tell. He sent someone over to ask her some questions.”
“They were sorority sisters?” said Rae.
“Yeah. Well, maybe. They were in the same picture anyway. And when Max told me that some big checks were being written from Romy’s account to Emlyn, it occurred to me that Courtney was in a perfect position to do so. She was a terrific artist. She could easily have forged that signature.”
“Art and forging aren’t the same thing,” said Rae, looking out the window as someone passed by.
“No, but you could see that a person who could perfectly imitate a photo could also perfectly imitate a signature,” Megan said.
“True,” said Rae, eating another fry. “Were all the big checks to Emlyn? You’d think if Courtney was forging checks she’d write some to herself, too.”
“I haven’t heard either way. Things were a little crazy this morning. Max wants to question me.”
“That’s his job, honey. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know, but it’s terrifying,” said Megan.
“Well, you’ve got nothing to be scared of. Just tell the truth. He knows you. But he still has to do his job. When is he going to talk to you?” said Rae. Seeing a spot on the counter, she whisked a towel from the waist band of her apron and wiped it down. She then pulled out two glasses from behind the counter, and poured each of them a glass of water.
