by Linda Wiken
She looked up at J.J. “Over the years, our paths have crossed a few times. It’s hard not to with him being in the media and my job with the foundation. Everything has been very cordial. I left all that behind a long time ago, as I told the police.”
“But I don’t understand why you’d want both Connor and Miranda to cohost the event in that case.”
“Well, a board member suggested Miranda, but I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. Then I thought, she and Connor had parted on bad terms, or so I’d heard, and I guess I just wanted to rub salt in their wounds by throwing them together. I realized I wasn’t as much past all those negative feelings as I had thought.” She sat chewing on her bottom lip and, to J.J.’s horror, looked like she might cry.
J.J. cleared her throat. “That was taking quite a chance. What if they started arguing onstage or something and ruined the event?”
“I was pretty certain that wouldn’t happen.” Megan sighed. “They’re both professionals, after all. But I guess a small part of me was hoping for something like that.” She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I acted in such a mean and petty way. I really did want to be totally over it all.”
J.J. took a few minutes to consider what she’d heard. “And what do you feel now?”
“I feel so ashamed, and horrified that Miranda died. And poor Connor. I feel so very sorry for him. If it turns out that he did it and if I pushed him to that point, I’ll be mortified.”
“You can’t believe he did it.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m pretty sure he couldn’t commit murder. But how well do we really know anyone? Even ourselves?”
J.J. didn’t have an answer for that. “Megan, do you know if he had any friends in the islands area or someone with a cottage there?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because his car was spotted on South Hero earlier this week.”
Megan smiled. “So that’s why the police were back. They wouldn’t tell me. I guess he’s all right, then. I’d also been worried that something had happened to him. But no, it’s been a long time since Connor shared anything about his life with me. And I don’t recall anyone from the past who lives around there. Sorry.”
• • •
J.J. drove back to her office almost in a daze. She was trying to process what she’d just learned and wasn’t sure what shocked her more. The fact that Megan had once been engaged to Connor or that Megan wasn’t totally prepared to believe him innocent.
She hoped Evan was in his office and alone. She needed to talk this out.
He took one look at her face and suggested they have a coffee at the Chatterbox across the street. She headed for a bistro table for two while he grabbed their espressos at the counter. She finished hers before telling Evan what she’d learned.
“Oh boy. This just keeps getting messier,” Evan said when she’d finished. “Don’t get me wrong. I like Connor a lot. He’s a good pal. But, boy, he’s just not very clever when it comes to women. Sorry to say that to you.”
J.J. nodded. “It’s okay. I totally agree. But it still doesn’t get us any closer to finding him. I think I’ll just head back to South Hero tonight and do some door knocking.”
“You can’t do that alone, and I don’t think you should call that private eye guy in on this. I think he has designs on you, and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. I’m going with you. No ifs, ands, or buts. But you can drive.”
“Thanks, Evan. I won’t fight you on this.” She smiled, relieved. It would be good to have some company. “I’ll pick you up at six thirty. Is that okay? We want to get a good start before dark.”
“No problem.”
She thought about Evan’s assessment of Devine on her way up the stairs. And smiled.
• • •
J.J. pulled up to the curb in front of Evan’s small two-story white clapboard house at the appointed time. The house looked very similar to the one where he set up office and rented out the second floor. Only this one was quite a bit smaller. The front yard looked the same, though—white picket fence, colorful dahlias, mums, and a mixture of short green shrubs lining the porch that wrapped around the house, with a very neat and tidy patch of green lawn out front.
Evan was halfway down the stairs when the front door opened again and Michael Cole, his partner, came out and caught up to Evan.
Evan whispered as he slid into the passenger seat. “We do have a slight problem, after all.”
Michael took the backseat. “Hi, J.J. I hope you don’t mind if I tag along. I have this feeling that the two of you on your own might just get into a little hot water with this outing.”
J.J. turned to face him. “Huh. Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m happy to have more helping hands along.”
There wasn’t much traffic, so the drive seemed to take no time at all. They were on the bridge over to South Hero when Evan asked if she had a plan.
“Uh, not really. I thought we’d just ask a whole lot of people if they’ve seen Connor or even know him. And if anyone knows him, whether they know if he has a place somewhere close by.”
“That’s not much of a plan,” Michael said from the backseat.
“It is rather hit or miss,” Evan commented. “But I also can’t see what else we’d do. I had no idea how easy it is for people to just disappear. No wonder so many crimes go unsolved.”
“Not a good thought, Evan,” Michael said.
J.J. stopped by the side of the road across from the gas station where Connor’s car had been seen at least once. “I looked up the area on the Internet, and there are several cottages along the shoreline. Wouldn’t you think he’d be hiding out in one of those? In fact, all of the islands have spots that would work equally well. I’m not quite sure where to start.”
“He wouldn’t just break in. Does he know someone around here or maybe it’s a rental?” Evan pulled up Google on his smartphone. “I’ll check for any listings. Maybe he found one he knows is vacant and broke in.”
“I thought you said he wouldn’t break in,” Michael pointed out.
“Just covering all bases. Mainly because I can’t think of anything else.”
J.J. grabbed her purse. “Let’s start in the gas station.”
The three of them walked in and found a boy, probably in his midteens, sitting at the messy desk. A cash register took up about half the space while the rest was a mixture of office supplies, various sizes of papers, and Twizzlers, none in neat piles.
He looked up when they walked in. “You want gas? My dad’s just gone in the back. Shouldn’t be more than a minute or so.”
They heard a toilet flush, and the kid went back to watching a small TV screen perched on a shelf to the right of the main door. In a few seconds, the door to the back opened and a taller, older version of the boy walked in, adjusting his belt.
“Gas?”
“No. Questions,” J.J. said, trying to sound pleasant. And not at all desperate. She pulled out the photo of the group that she’d printed out. She pointed to Connor. “Have you seen this man in here or in the area in the last little while?”
“Are you cops?”
“No.”
Evan and Michael both chimed in, too.
‘We’re friends and we’re worried about him,” Evan answered.
“Why do you think he’s hereabout?”
“His car was spotted in this area a few days ago. We’re just wondering if he’s staying someplace around here.”
“The cops were in asking, but they wouldn’t say anything. Is he wanted by the law?”
J.J. crossed her fingers in her pocket and shook her head. “As I said, we’re worried about him. He’s had a bit of a shock, and we want to make sure he’s handling it all right. Please, if you’ve seen him, tell us.”
She knew she sounded like she was pleading, but that might be to their advantage.
“He drives a fairly new red Mazda CX-3, if that helps,” Evan added.
The fat
her scratched his balding head and took another look at the photo that lay on the desk. “Like I told them, he looks sort of familiar although I’m not always working here. My brother’s part owner, so, like I told the cops, he might have seen the guy.”
“Have you heard of any cottages that have been rented out recently?”
He scratched again. “No, nothing around here. You could try the other islands, although there’s not another gas station until you get to the upper North.” He handed the photo back to J.J. “Sorry.”
“That’s all right. It was a long shot.”
They left but sat in the car several minutes before driving off.
“What now?” Michael asked.
“I really don’t know. It’s getting dark sooner than I thought, so I guess there’s not much more we can do tonight. I thought we’d get to some door knocking. I should have thought this through a bit more before dragging you both out here.” She started the car as the father came hurrying up to her window.
“I just remembered where I saw him. Not here but at the gas station on North Hero. I was on my way back from Rouses Point and stopped in. That would have been a week ago, though.”
J.J. felt dejected on the way back to Half Moon Bay. Secretly, way down deep, she’d been hoping they’d find Connor and he’d talk to them, his friends. Now she didn’t know what her next step should be.
CHAPTER 19
The answer to that question was waiting for her when she arrived home. Hennie Ferguson had left a phone message. Simple and to the point. She’d suggested J.J. talk to Miranda’s sister-in-law, Yolande Myers, about the argument they’d had at the TV station the week before the murder. Too bad she hadn’t supplied a phone number or, better yet, an address. She went online in search of both but found the Myerses were unlisted. That made sense for someone in politics.
J.J. wondered if Hennie was trying to help or to divert suspicion from herself. Then she wondered when she herself had become so untrusting.
She also had a message from Beth stating that another coffee mug had disappeared that day. How can I be so blind? She didn’t have an answer to that so she opted for a good night’s sleep instead.
She tried phoning Hennie at the station the next morning from the office but was told she’d called in sick. Another one?
What J.J. had wanted was some background info on the sister-in-law and maybe a bit more about Miranda’s relationship with her. Had there been other arguments? About what? She also needed to know more about the married cop.
She decided to put Hennie on the back burner and drive out to Gary Myers’s campaign office. Fortunately, that address was readily available. Surely someone there would have a home address for the Myerses. But would they be likely to give it out? She’d have to come up with a cover story on the way there.
It took her less than twenty minutes to locate the office that had taken over a deserted store on the outskirts of the busy downtown district. There wasn’t much commercial activity going on, so that had probably guaranteed a low rental fee, and there was lots of free parking, an encouragement for constituents and volunteers to stop in.
The brightness of the overhead lights in the office startled her, after the shade provided by an umbrella of maple trees outdoors. She’d taken a few seconds to appreciate the foliage that was at its best at this time of year. Only a few leaves had started to fall so the effect had been quite surprising.
She blinked a couple of times and then took in the busy scene before her. Six desks, the type she’d associated with school teachers, hugged both walls in the large room, and a center aisle led toward the back, where a series of offices had been hived off. Those all had half walls of glass. Most desks had a young person, phone receiver to ear, reading from a small recipe-sized card or making notes on a pad. The din from six voices of different volumes was pronounced.
The walls were decorated with a combination of campaign posters for Gary Myers, Vermont tourism posters, the odd campaign cartoon, and a large display of photos taken at various campaign stops. A tall flagpole with the American flag attached stood in one corner and a smaller Vermont state flag in another.
J.J. spotted a couple of teenagers in one of the offices, their attention on whatever was on the desk in front of them. It looked like they were folding paper.
She smiled back at a young woman sitting at the desk nearest the front, on the right side, stuffing envelopes. She looked to be in her early twenties, lean and athletic-looking, her long auburn hair framing her pale face. A welcoming face. J.J. walked over to her.
“That looks like it will take all day.” She indicated the box full of folded flyers sitting on the floor beside the table.
“That’s okay. That’s what I’m here for. Are you a new volunteer?” She looked hopeful.
“Sorry, not today.”
“No problem. If you decide you want to help …” She waved her hand over the boxes of envelopes and flyers, and smiled.
“I’ll remember that. My name is J.J. Tanner.”
“I’m Dawn Reese.” She stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you. What can I do for you?”
“I’m the person who hired Miranda Myers as an emcee at the casino night.”
A slight gasp escaped Dawn’s lips. “OMG, that was so terrible. Gary, Mr. Myers, is so devastated.”
“It was very tragic. I’m hoping someone here can give me the Myerses’ home address. I’d like to extend my condolences in person and bring them some flowers.” She’d realized that not only was it a good cover story, it also made a lot of sense to actually do it.
Dawn looked to be giving it a lot of thought, and then smiled as she reached into the top drawer of the desk. “I’m sure it will be all right to give it to you. That’s such a nice thing for you to do.” She consulted a laminated sheet of paper and wrote the address down on a telephone message page.
As she handed it over to J.J. she said, “Don’t forget, we’d be happy to have your help on the campaign.”
J.J. thanked her and quickly left before she’d be cornered into filling out an application or something.
She stopped by a florist and chose a modest bouquet, then headed to the south end of Burlington, just a few notches on the price scale below Forest Grove, where she’d planned a twenty-first birthday party not long ago. That, too, had ended not as planned.
The impressive sprawling brick Tudor home was tucked into a large wooded lot with a circular driveway framing a well-tended lawn. She couldn’t help admiring the tasteful lawn ornaments that lined the paving-blocks sidewalk. It looked like someone had been accumulating paving stones from around the world. Or else someone had a very good landscaper.
She rang the doorbell and waited, trying to peer through the stained glass window in the door but appear not to be doing so. She heard footsteps and shifted her gaze to the rhodora bush in the left-hand corner of the house.
“Can I help you?” An attractive tall woman in her midforties was walking toward her from the garage attached to the left side of the house, a Shaw’s Supermarket bag in one hand, her purse in the other. Her shoulder-length brown hair was swept back with a headband of crocheted flowers. It spoke of someone confident in her style and contrasted the turquoise sateen long-sleeved blouse over beige skinny ankle-length pants. Her height had been aided by the multicolored fabric platform sandals on her feet.
J.J. hadn’t thought to peer in the garage even though the door was open. “I’m looking for Yolande Myers.”
“That’s me. And you are?” Yolande shifted the cloth bag to her purse hand as she positioned the key.
“J.J. Tanner. I’m an event planner. I organized the charity casino night. We wanted to extend our condolences.” She tilted the bouquet toward Yolande.
“Oh.” Yolande looked so sad that J.J. wanted to kick herself for even suspecting her. “That’s so kind. Please come in.”
J.J. followed her into a formal-looking entry, the dark hardwood floors showing off two large white and black area rugs.
J.J. wondered about removing her shoes but noticed her hostess hadn’t bothered. On a metal and glass credenza placed near the stairs lay a stack of colorful campaign brochures for Yolande’s husband. J.J. waited while Yolande deposited her bags, accepted the flowers, and put them in a vase filled with water.
“I’m sorry,” J.J. said as she watched. “I know it’s a hard time for you, but I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Miranda, if it’s not too difficult.”
“Why?”
J.J. squared her shoulders. “Because a good friend of mine, Connor Mac, is a suspect, and he’s disappeared. I’m trying to find him and maybe clear him at the same time.”
Yolande studied her a few seconds before saying, “I don’t mind talking to you, but I’m not sure how much I can help. I didn’t really know her friends or much about her personal life. She didn’t really share—she was too busy trying to run our lives.”
J.J. didn’t know what to say to that.
“Have a seat and we’ll have some tea.”
Yolande indicated the counter and six tall barstools. J.J. sat on the one closest to her. So, it was to be a friendly, casual gab. She wondered what that meant, if anything. J.J. would have preferred coffee at this hour of the morning, but she’d drink anything in order to quiz the lady. She picked up one of the brochures and scanned it. “Is this your husband?”
“Yes. He’s a candidate for state attorney in a few months. He could use your vote. Sorry, I’m in campaign mode, even now, and I’d do anything to help his cause. Do you take sugar or milk?”
“Neither.”
“A puritan,” Yolande said with a chuckle. “Me, too.” She set a Spode china mug in front of each of them and a teapot in between. “So, ask me some questions.”
“I guess I just wanted to get a feel for Miranda and learn a bit about her friends. But if you can’t help me with that, can you suggest who could? Your husband maybe?”
Yolande shook her head vigorously. “I don’t want you bothering him with this. Not now. He’s pretty torn up, and he has to get his head straight for the campaign. I’ll try to answer your questions.”
