Vince winced. "Do you think she did it?"
"Ya know, in other circumstances, I might, but there's something about her openness and honesty that makes me think otherwise."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "If you were anyone else, I wouldn't pay much attention to what you just said, but from what I can see, you're pretty good at reading people."
That was definitely my strength, but I'd been fooled before … not often, but a few times. "Don't take her off your suspect list. I only spoke with her for a few minutes."
Vince and I chatted some more about the case before he finally stood. "Let's go get something to eat, my treat."
"You don't have to—"
"But I want to. It's the least I can do for all the work you're doing for us. I really don't know why you're willing to come all the way to Atlanta, but I'm glad you did."
I leveled him with a glare. "You're the one who called me, remember?"
"I know, but I didn't think you'd actually come … unless you were thinking about working here."
"That's not gonna happen," I said. "If I ever decide to go back into law enforcement, I'll go back to Nashville where I know the people."
"You can't always go back," he said. "In fact, it's often easier to start fresh in a place where people don't already have opinions."
"Looks to me like people already have opinions of me here."
He contorted his mouth. "True. Where do you want to eat?"
"I don't care, as long as we can be finished in time for me to meet with Darla."
Since I didn't want to waste time coming back to get my car, I followed Vince to a small diner in a shopping strip. There were a couple of uniformed cops sitting at the counter and a young woman with two small children in a booth.
"Are you sure this place is any good?" I asked.
"It's wonderful if you like canned soup and bargain sandwich meat." He nodded toward a booth in the corner. "Let's sit there."
Throughout our mediocre lunch, we chatted about his sister and her family. Vince seemed to get that I was tired of discussing and rehashing the same old information about the murder. I knew it was something we needed to talk about, but there didn't seem to be any point in it until we had more to go on.
After I finished my soup, I looked up at the wall clock. "Want me to meet you back at the station after I'm done?"
Vince shook his head. "I won't be there, so why don't we just wait until tonight." He stood and picked up the check. "By the way, my sister is serving beef stew for dinner. Since you'll be there, she invited me." He chuckled. "I'm thinking you should stay with her more often so I can get some decent food."
"I'm sure she wouldn't mind having you over."
"You're probably right," he said. "But it's better when you're there."
"Thanks for lunch, Vince. See you tonight." I scooted out of the diner to escape his gaze that had started making me squirm. Sure, I felt a little bit of attraction between us, but there was no way I'd get involved.
My outdated GPS took me directly to Darla's house with no problem. Her neighborhood was on a grid with straight roads and tiny tract houses, green yards, and carports. Darla opened the front door and walked out onto the porch as I drove up.
"I thought you might not come," she said once I was within hearing distance. "Come on in."
"Thanks. I don't want to take up your whole afternoon."
She shrugged. "I don't really have any place else to go, now that I'm unemployed. I was going to try to find a job, but my daughter told me I should wait to see what the police do with me first."
"What they do with you?" I tilted my head and studied her somber expression.
"Yeah, my daughter seems to think I'll probably be arrested soon." She let out a sigh of resignation. "At least I won't have to worry about bills while I'm behind bars."
My heart ached as I realized I was looking at a woman who felt beaten down. I still didn't think she'd murdered Mr. Van Houghton, but unfortunately her daughter was right.
When I walked inside, I noticed threadbare furniture, very few knickknacks, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She pointed to the nicest chair in the room, and I sat.
"Coffee?" she asked. When I nodded, she asked how I liked it.
"Black," I said. As she went to get my coffee, I pulled a notepad and pen from my purse to take notes.
Two minutes later, she sat down on the edge of the sofa adjacent to me. "What did you want to talk about?"
"I'm going to ask you some questions, point blank, even though I think I know the answers. I just want to get a few things out of the way before we dig any deeper."
"Okay, ask away." She swallowed hard and looked me in the eye.
"Did you kill Mr. Van Houghton?"
She shook her head. "No, I didn't kill him."
"When was the last time you saw him … before you found him dead, that is?"
She glanced away and blinked as she thought for a few seconds before turning back to me. "Mid-afternoon the day before. I went in to ask about the money, and while I was there, I asked for some supplies for the pre-kindergarten class."
"Tell me how that went," I said as I sat back to jot down her answers.
"Basically the same as always. He asked me whether I absolutely had to have the supplies, and he told me to give him a list. I'd already done that, so I put it on his desk." She shrugged. "That's pretty much it."
"Did he say anything else?"
"He just reminded me to give him the schedule of who was opening and closing the next week."
"Do you have any idea what time he left that afternoon?"
She started to shake her head, but she stopped. "I'm not 100 percent sure when he left, but about an hour and a half after I was in his office, I saw a car pull around to the back. Then a minute or two later, the window in the back classroom rattled, so I'm pretty sure that whoever was in that car went into his office."
I remembered how that window rattled any time someone opened and closed the director's office door. "Could you make out any features of the person in the car?"
She shook her head. "There was glare on the window."
"How about the car?"
"I don't know much about cars, so I'm not sure of the make and model, but it was a blue convertible," she said. "And I think it might have been vintage."
"Dark blue or light blue?" I asked.
"It sort of shimmered, so I think more of a light, metallic blue."
I wrote down the description. "Anything else you can remember?"
She shook her head. "It didn't dawn on me at the time that I needed a more thorough description."
"It never does," I agreed. "Unfortunately, we can always look back and wish we'd taken more time to see things better."
"That's what I plan to do in the future."
I'd heard that same comment in the past, but it wouldn't do Darla much good now. "Can you tell me more about the other teachers?"
"There's not really all that much to say." She fidgeted in her seat. "I don't think any of them killed him either."
I wanted to talk about Julie, but I didn't want her to think Julie might have pointed her finger. So I chose to ask about all of the teachers. "Tell me what you know about all of the teachers."
"I don't know much about the assistants because they didn't stick around long, but the head classroom teachers all got along just fine."
"So you get along well with Angela, Beth, and Julie?" I watched for any sign of disdain, but she didn't show it.
"Angela is really sweet but reserved. She married a former priest, and because it upset so many people in her church, she kept a low profile, left the Catholic church, and became Episcopalian." Darla pursed her lips and rolled her eyes upward as she thought before looking back at me. "Julie has always been the clown of the bunch, making everyone laugh. She's amazing. In fact, I think she might be my closest friend at the center."
I forced myself not to show surprise. I hoped that if there wasn't a reason to find
out, that she would never know that Julie had indicted her.
"And that leaves Beth." Darla smiled. "She's such a sweet young woman, but she's strong too. Her former boyfriend beat her up, even after she got a restraining order. She lived in a shelter until she found out he died."
"Any idea how he died?" I asked.
"Beth just said it had something to do with drugs. The rest of us assumed he was a dealer."
"Do you know anything about Mr. Van Houghton's personal life?" I wanted to find out if she knew Esther, but I didn't want her to know I'd already spoken with the woman.
"He and his wife had problems," she said.
"Did he tell you that?"
"He alluded to it a few times, but he never came right out and told us."
"What did he say?"
Darla licked her lips, indicating that she was still nervous. "He once mentioned that his brother tried to buy him out of the house they inherited."
"They inherited it?" I said. "As in both of them?"
"Yes." Darla nodded. "Their parents left them the house, all of the antiques in it, and a rather large investment portfolio."
"How does that have anything to do with problems between him and his wife?"
"He wanted to sell out to his brother, but his wife refused to move. And apparently there was some reason he didn't press."
I thought about the woman I'd seen moving out of the mansion, and it was easy to picture her putting her foot down. And based on what she'd said about the house being an albatross, something else was going on.
Chapter 6
The mental image of Esther having all of the furniture moved out of the house lingered in my mind. "Do you know if Mr. Van Houghton owned any other property … that is, property that didn't also belong to his brother?"
"I think he did, but since we rarely talked about his personal life, with the exception of a comment here and there, I don't know anything about it."
It was time to leave so I could tell Vince what I'd just learned, but I didn't want to be rude to Darla who now obviously felt the need to vent. I listened to her talk about putting all of her affairs in order and hoping that being arrested wouldn't embarrass or humiliate her family too much.
"I'm sure your family will be fine," I said.
Tears once again sprang to her eyes. "No one in my family has ever been arrested," she said. "I'll be the first."
I wanted to comfort her. "Maybe you won't be arrested. The police might figure out who did it before that happens."
She locked gazes with me. "You really do believe me, don't you?"
"I do." The sadness in her eyes tugged at my heart. "But finding out who killed someone is a difficult process because the police have so many things to get through to satisfy the court."
A nervous giggle escaped her throat, startling me for a moment. "That's probably why I haven't been thrown in jail already."
She was right. Instead of verbally agreeing with her, I stood and gave her the most comforting look I could manage. "I really need to go now. If you need anything or remember something that might help with the case, please call."
"Before you go," she said as she stood and followed me to the door, "I have a question."
"What's that?"
"Why did you come back and get involved in this mess?" She glanced down and then back up at me. "Was it because I called, or is there another reason?"
"Your call had a lot to do with it."
Now she smiled as we stopped at the door. "Thank you so much, Summer. I have to admit that I didn't much care for you when Mr. Van Houghton first hired you. But it didn't take long to see that you were a decent person. Now I wish you hadn't left."
"I thought you wanted to be the director."
She shrugged. "I thought I did too, but it was more tedious than I realized."
"Unfortunately many things aren't as they seem, and you don't know that until it's too late." I placed my hand on her shoulder, squeezed, and then let go and stepped outside. "I'll talk to you again soon."
I left her standing there watching me as I pulled away from the curb. Darla was one of those women whose vulnerabilities outweighed her abilities, and I had a feeling this wasn't the first time she'd been stomped on. It probably wouldn't be her last either.
Since it was still early in the day, I decided to drive around, starting with checking out the Van Houghton mansion. To my surprise, there was another moving truck, only instead of Esther Van Houghton giving orders to men taking furniture out of the house, a guy who appeared to be in his fifties stood at the door talking on his cell phone while a couple of burly men unloaded the truck and brought things into the house.
I pondered stopping but decided to keep driving since I wasn't sure who that man was. Then I remembered Esther mentioning that she'd found a townhouse a couple of miles away. I figured that if I drove up and down the streets within a five-mile radius, I just might stumble upon them. And I did. In fact, I saw her standing beside the very same truck, hollering at the driver and his passenger.
She spotted me at the very same time, and she motioned for me to join her. As I stopped and got out of my car, I considered texting Vince to let him know where I was. But I decided against it, just in case he didn't want me doing this.
"Summer, tell these guys to just unload the truck." She shook her overly-coiffed hair. "They refuse to release a stick of furniture until I pay them, but I refuse to give them a dime until I know everything is there."
I looked over at the driver. "Can you at least get started while we figure something out?"
He shook his head. "Sorry, ma'am, but we've already broken the company policy. We weren't supposed to load this truck, until we had half of the payment."
"That's just absurd," Esther said. "Tell them how absurd that is."
"I hear you, Mrs. Van Houghton," he said, "but I can't break the policy again. I might lose my job."
Her face turned red with rage as she started shaking her finger at him. She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a scratchy shriek that didn't sound threatening at all.
"Mrs. Van Houghton," I said softly as I motioned for her to step away. "Can I talk to you for just a minute?"
As she walked toward me, she made the gesture with her fingers pointing to her eyes and then toward the drivers. "I'm watching you." Then she planted a fist on her hip. "What do you want?"
"Do you have the money to pay them?" I asked point blank.
"I …" She started out with her attitude, but as I stared at her without so much as a single blink, she finally hung her head. "No, I'm afraid I don't. I was hoping that I could let them each pick out something nice instead of monetary payment. Everything I own is in that truck." She sniffled, glanced over at the truck, and then looked back at me. "A couple of those pieces are worth many thousands of dollars."
"That's a lot of money."
"I know." She glanced down at the pavement.
I took a step closer to her and lowered my voice. "Didn't your husband leave you anything?"
She shook her head. "Just the townhouse and a small household account. Thank goodness this place is paid for." She blinked a couple of times before her eyes lit up. "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't you pay those guys, and I'll pay you back later?"
"I'm sorry, but I—"
"You're just like everyone else I know—selfish to a fault. What's yours is yours and you're not about to part with a dime of it to help a poor little widow."
"I'd like to help," I said, "but it'll have to be non-monetary."
"If you really want to help, why don't you run back over to my old house and pick up a few things for me?" She leaned over and took a look at my car. "It might take a couple of trips since your car is so small."
"That might be awkward since I saw someone who appeared to be moving in."
Rage filled her eyes. "That sorry—" She quickly clamped her mouth shut tight and shuddered. "Blake couldn't wait to get that place, and he didn't waste a single solitary minute moving in."
"Blake?"
"Blake Van Houghton. Claude's brother." She made a face. "Remember? I told you about him."
I nodded. "Why don't you ask him if he can lend you the money?"
She let out a very sick sounding laugh. "He squeezes money so hard it bleeds. He wouldn't give me anything if my life depended on it."
I looked over at the moving truck driver who seemed amused as he watched us. "Why don't you at least try? The worst thing he can do is say no."
Esther lifted her chin. "I have pride, you know."
Her pride obviously stopped at me, and for some odd reason, I found that flattering. "Okay, I tell you what. I'll go talk to him … that is, if it is Blake." I wasn't sure how she could justify my talking to him or how she thought she was being less prideful than if she were to ask him for the money.
"Thanks, Summer." Without another word to me, she went right up to the driver's side of the truck. "My assistant is going to go get the money for me. She'll be back in a little while, so why don't you and your friend start unloading so we don't waste any more time?"
I was out of hearing distance when he responded, but based on what I saw in my rearview mirror as I pulled away, he still didn't trust her. On the way back to the mansion, I thought about what to say to Mr. Van Houghton. This wouldn't be easy, but at least it gave me an opportunity to talk to him.
He was still standing in front of his house, chatting away on his cell phone when I pulled into the driveway, stopping short of the roundabout directly in front of the house. When he spotted me, he gave me a questioning glance, said something into his phone and then shoved it into his pocket.
"Who are you?" he asked. "My brother doesn't live here anymore."
I swallowed hard at his gruff demeanor that reminded me of the other Mr. Van Houghton. "Yes, I know, and I'm very sorry to hear about what happened." I reached out to shake his hand. "My name is Summer Walsh, and I used to work for him at Tiddly Winks."
He glanced at my hand, but he didn't offer his. Instead, he made a low gurgling sound. "How much did he owe you?"
"Wha—?"
"Knowing how my brother was, I figure everyone from the daycare center will come asking for money he owed them." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a checkbook. "How much?"
Summer Walsh Mystery Collection (Boxed Set) (Omnibus): Murder Under the Mistletoe, Gun in the Garden, and Offed at the office (Summer Walsh Mysteries) Page 20
