She stood, holding her mug and looking down into it, for a long minute. Finally, she said, “Wait here. I’ll come back out in a few minutes, and I’ll tell you some stuff if you promise to keep me out of everything.”
She was true to her word. When I left a half hour later, my brain was buzzing like I’d had five espressos and a shot of adrenaline. I now had an idea of what Crystal was up to, but I wasn’t sure how to stop it. Aimee hedged and hemmed and hawed her way through much of her story, but she told me enough that I could guess there was worse she wasn’t talking about. If I was right, Emerald would be dragged down in something so nasty that when it was exposed, she’d be lucky if she wasn’t forced to leave town, hauling Lizzie away again just as the kid was getting settled into her new life.
I took my car to my genius, Ford Hayes, a funny old dude in overalls who loved cars like some men love the ladies. He was horrified by what had happened to my back end . . . the car’s back end, rather. He spent a few minutes crooning over her, stroking her bumper, and telling her it would be all right, then said he could do some of what the car needed right away. Some people would call his place a junkyard, but he called it home, and had the lot neatly laid out, with dirt lanes between areas of junk separated by car manufacturer. He could fix the taillight from his vast array of car parts if I wanted to wait.
Where else was I going to go? When you find a mechanic as good as Mr. Hayes, you let him do whatever he wants, whenever he wants.
I sat cross-legged in the scrubby dry grass under a spreading chestnut tree (I’m not making that up, though there was no village smithy) and checked my phone. I had missed a few calls and texts, one from Hannah, so I leaned back against the tree trunk, stretched my legs out, and called her.
After salutations, she said, “I talked to Zeke and passed on your message. I guess they were supposed to kick Karl out of their apartment, right?”
“That’s what Binny told them; she said she’d take the blame, if they wanted, as their landlady.”
“Well, neither he nor Gordy seem to like him much, but they’re too sweet to do it. He said he’d bring Karl out tomorrow to work with Gordy on the grass, if you want.”
“Yes, please. I’ll pay them and give the boys supper.”
“I’ll let him know. He’s coming over to my house later, after work, to help me with my computer.”
I suspect that Zeke has a thing for Hannah. He treated her with reverent solicitude that seemed beyond friendship, but she had been in love with Tom, Lizzie’s father, and even a year after his death I didn’t think she’d recovered wholly.
“Have you spoken with Brianna yet?”
“She’s at work right now, but she’s coming to the library tomorrow morning. Do you want me to handle this end of the investigation?”
I smiled at her eagerness. “That’s probably wise. She didn’t react well when I asked about Minnie and Karl. I think Crystal’s hostility toward me is probably one of the reasons.” I gave her a list of questions to ask, a tangle of ones about Brianna herself, her apparent love interest, Logan, Crystal, and Minnie. “But please, Hannah . . . be careful. There is a killer out there, and there’s no guarantee it’s not Brianna!”
I then texted Lizzie a quick question: where were they all the morning Minnie was killed? Given that she must have been in class, I was surprised by how quickly the answer came back. She said they were all at the house having breakfast that morning. Cereal and skim milk, if I needed to know, with fruit, thanks to Emerald’s new health kick because of Crystal, she added. I jokingly texted back, poor kid!, but got a text back immediately that said, why u want to know?
Just wondering, I texted back. Gotta go. Getting my car fixed after some jerk tried to run me off the road last night . . . poor Caddy! I sent a smiley face emoji. She’d probably hear about the incident at some point, I figured, and I didn’t want her to worry. There was text silence after that. I hoped she hadn’t gotten in trouble for texting during class.
Mr. Hayes came toward me wiping his perpetually grease-stained hands on an orange rag and smiling a gap-toothed grin. “She’s settled down some and is happier now,” he said. “But I’ll need to have her for a day or two to get the dings out. Or I can replace it—the bumper, I mean.” He nodded and whipped the rag over his shoulder. “Tell ya what: I’ll check around for a new bumper—an old new bumper—and maybe it’ll be even cheaper than fixing this one. Meantime I checked out the oil pan and gas line, brake fluid, tranny, carb, everything. She’s okay, but don’t go getting run off the road again,” he said, waggling an admonitory finger at me. “She don’t like it!”
“I’ll take that into consideration next time a homicidal maniac comes gunning for me.”
He paused and knit his shaggy brows. They were interesting brows, with stray hairs that stuck out at random angles, like a bird’s nest. “How about I call your sheriff honey? I can give him a good heads-up on the kind of car it might be. Seen a lot of wrecks in my day.”
I wrote down Virgil’s office number and Dewayne’s contact information on the back of a receipt and handed it to him, telling him who Dewayne was. “I’d appreciate anything you can tell them.”
I drove back through town and parked on main street. The post office was still closed and crime scene tape circled it. There was a grim-faced fellow in an FBI shirt at the front, and I thought I could see a car at the back, as well as the command center vehicle.
Janice was outside of her shop, fussing with a display of wrought iron patio furniture. A couple went into the Vale Variety and Lunch. Otherwise, on this hot September afternoon, there were few folks on the street. I needed to talk to Emerald alone, and there was no time like the present. She was in her shop—I could see her moving about—and Crystal was nowhere in sight. I locked the car and climbed the steps into Emerald Illusions. “Hi, Em. How are you today?”
She turned from her task, dusting the shelves that lined the wall, and eyed me warily. “I’m fine.”
“How is Lizzie? She wasn’t too happy last night.”
“She’s fine.” Emerald checked her watch and glanced out the window.
“You waiting for someone?”
“A delivery. It was supposed to be here this morning.”
I plucked one of the Consciousness Calling pamphlets off the table near the window and perused it, then looked at my friend. “I have to admit, I didn’t understand Consciousness Calling from last evening’s presentation. Maybe you could explain it to me?”
“Crystal says some people aren’t ready to receive the message. It takes a certain kind of person to get it.”
“Patricia didn’t get it, either, she told me.”
She shrugged.
I sighed and stared. How could I break through to Emerald? “How is your mother doing lately?”
“I haven’t seen her in a while. She doesn’t understand all of this,” she said, waving her hand around the shop. “She doesn’t approve.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You were mending your fences nicely, I thought.”
“Crystal says we need to cut out of our lives the people who cause us grief or try to pull us down.”
So the CC way of dealing with life was that at the first sign of difficulty in a relationship you cut and run? You’d be left with no one, eventually. I strode to her and grabbed her hand, staring into her eyes. “Em, is that what she’s telling you about me? That you need to cut me out of your life? I’m your friend and want what’s best for you, but I won’t stand by and see you going the wrong way.” I knew I had put my foot in my mouth the moment I said it. “I didn’t mean that Consciousness Calling—”
“Yes, you did,” she said, snatching her hands away and putting them behind her back. “You’re like my mother, thinking I can’t manage my life and Lizzie’s. Crystal understands. All she wants is for me to be happy.”
“Then why is she trying to pull
you away from those of us who care?”
“She’s not!”
“Em, she’s got you working back at that sleazy bar, and you’re not even seeing your mother. Lizzie’s having trouble in school again.”
“And that’s all my fault?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You are saying it. Crystal is right; you interfere everywhere, stick your nose in everyone’s business.” She glared at me. “Consciousness Calling and Crystal are the best things that have happened to me in a long time. I finally own a business!”
For which she was working in a bar to pay.
“I’m on my way up, and none of you can see it.” She was quivering with rage. “You’re trying to pull me back down. Crystal’s right; you’re a DTP. Mom, too. You’re all bitter and want me to stay suppressed so you all can feel better about yourselves.”
I was stunned and angry, but kept a tight rein on my emotions. I found Crystal and the whole Consciousness Calling thing irritating, but it was unfair to take that out on Emerald, who was more impressionable than I had thought. Crystal was manipulating her. At this point I couldn’t hit my friend with the full weight of what I suspected, but I could take another tack. “Let’s not argue. But about the business . . . I notice you’re using photocopied Consciousness Calling materials with their logo. Em, I’m concerned. If Crystal is not a proper franchisee, this could all be illegal.”
“Shows how much you know,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve seen the contract; it’s all legal. She’s paying off the franchise fee monthly.”
I was sure I was right, but if I trod too heavily I risked losing Emerald completely.
My pause and silence must have given her some hope. She uncrossed her arms and clasped her hands together as if pleading. “Merry, I know you can’t see it, but Crystal is wonderful! She’s given me direction for the first time in my life. With her help I’m going to be rich! I mean, super rich, like helicopters-and-private-jets rich. This is just the beginning,” she said, waving a hand around at the shop. “Crystal is going to help me get there. She’s misunderstood. You can see that, can’t you?”
The dream every con artist sells: easy wealth, riches beyond imagining. “I’m a little curious; what has she said to you about me?”
Emerald’s eager expression died. “She doesn’t know you. She thinks you’re trying to destroy everything she’s building here in Autumn Vale.”
“She’s labeled me a DTP, isn’t that right? Are you supposed to even be talking to me?” I saw the truth in her eyes; Crystal had told her to shun me. “Emerald, you have to know this: my only hope is that you and Lizzie find peace and happiness. If you’re truly happy, tell me now.”
She blinked. If this was a hostage situation I’d think she was signaling me—blink once for Help me.
“Happiness isn’t something handed to you, Merry. You should know that,” she said, in a tight voice. “It’s something you work for, hard. Something you suffer for. Something that you need to go through tests to get to.”
“Em, no,” I said softly, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Happiness isn’t a prize at the end of some gauntlet, where you’re battered senseless in the name of getting to a magical goal.”
She had pulled her hand from my grasp but was silent, fiddling with the hem of her pale blue tunic top; the garment was unusual for her, making her look like an acolyte.
“I’ve thought about this a lot lately,” I continued, watching her eyes. “Happiness is being surrounded by people who love you. Bad things will still happen. People will get sick. You may lose loved ones. But when that happens, the love of your friends and family will keep you sane. I know. That’s what Pish and Shilo did for me when I lost Miguel. Don’t let anyone separate you from those people. Lizzie. Your mother. Me.”
She was still silent.
I longed to reach out to her, but I was afraid of scaring her off. At least she was listening. “Em, I’ve had a lot on my plate in the last year. I worry about money all the time. There have been the awful murders. I don’t know what to do with the castle, and if I can’t figure it out, I don’t know how I’m going to pay the taxes. But what I’ve found here in Autumn Vale . . .”
I shook my head. Start again, Merry.
“What I’m trying to say is, life in Spain was easy. I spent over two months in the lap of luxury with decent people. But what I found instead of happiness was numbness. It was all very nice, but I didn’t feel anything. Happiness ebbs and flows. Sadness invades. Pain happens. Happiness is being with the people you care about and who love you, even amidst the worry, tension, and pain we all live through.”
Crystal entered and eyed us. “Merry. Are you here for a session?”
“No, I was talking to my friend.”
We had an awkward conversation about the town and the weather as I examined her, trying to decide if what I suspected was true. I thought of how Aimee had stiffened up, how she had seemed so wary and had refused to criticize Crystal or confirm much of what I suspected. She had hinted, alluded, and skirted around interesting accusations, though.
Aimee was scared, and it occurred to me why. I already knew Crystal’s semihypnosis, likely learned at the CC seminar in San Diego, caused some people to tell things they wouldn’t otherwise. Patricia had confirmed that. I was willing to bet that Aimee had told Crystal things she shouldn’t have. The other possibility was that she had done something in San Diego at the conference that only Crystal knew about, and of which Aimee was ashamed.
It was all I could do not to tell the woman off, but I had plans. At the end of it all Emerald may not be speaking to me, but if I got rid of Crystal and saved Emerald from eventual humiliation or worse, it would be worth it.
I headed back to Wynter Castle. As I pulled up to my usual spot in the parking area, Esposito came out of the castle hauling Roma with him, her arm tightly clasped in his hand. I got out of my car as Pish rocketed out of the castle after them, phone up to his ear.
“What’s going on?” I asked, racing to Pish’s side.
Pish put the phone against his chest. “They’re taking Roma in for more questioning.”
“But they questioned her already.”
“They’ve found something, but they won’t tell me what.”
“Found something?”
“In her clothes that they took away, or something. I don’t know; they’re not saying. I’m on the phone with Stoddart, and then I’m calling a lawyer friend in New York.”
Roma looked over to me, her beautiful eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t do anything. Merry, please, believe me!”
Esposito, his expression dead, said, “We’re taking her to the command center for further questioning.”
“So she’s not under arrest?”
There was warning in his dead eyes. “Not at this time.”
We could tell him to release her immediately. She didn’t have to answer more questions. But without knowing what they had on her, I hesitated; to protest could force Esposito’s hand and make him place her under arrest. I didn’t say a word as he put her in a car and drove away.
Chapter Fifteen
I don’t like Stoddart, Pish’s last boyfriend and a regional something or other in the financial crimes investigation division of the FBI. They had met almost a year before during the federal investigation of the Autumn Vale bank, and hit it off. He was snarky, superior, smug, and a bunch of other stuff, but Pish liked him a lot, so the guy must have had some redeeming qualities. And he must have had some lingering feelings for Pish; even as Roma’s high-powered attorney, renowned for getting clearly guilty people off the hook, was ensuring her silence and release from questioning, Stoddart found out what it was they had on her.
It was almost midnight by the time we got everything sorted out. Roma was asleep after taking a sedative with a glass of merlot. I wouldn’t suggest t
hat, but nobody asked me. Pish and I were in his sitting room, since he was e-mailing and messaging and who knew what else. I’d made tea and brought up two mugs with a wedge of double cream Brie, cranberry preserves, and some water biscuits. When Pish is anxious he forgets to eat.
“I still don’t know what to think, Pish,” I said about the shocking news of what the FBI had uncovered that made them detain Roma for questioning. “How did Minnie Urquhart’s blood get on an article of Roma’s clothing?”
He shook his head. “Do you think they’re telling the truth?”
I put one hand over my heart and fluttered my lashes. “I’m shocked you would suggest that the FBI would lie to anyone about evidence they may—or may not—have uncovered!”
He didn’t even crack a smile at my jest. “You don’t really believe Roma murdered Minnie, do you?” he asked, his expression troubled, frown marks etching deep lines under his eyes.
I thought about it. Roma was vain, needy, emotional, high-strung, borderline hysterical at times. She was also talented; I’d heard her sing beautifully. Though she had apparently threatened the music director at her opera company, she was the dramatic type who often said things she didn’t mean. Long ago I’d heard her threaten to poison a rival and take a dagger to her own breast; her threats were operatic in their fervor and were not followed by violent actions.
Similar was her dramatic scene when she flew down the stairs, letter opener in hand, threatening to kill Minnie. It was reckless and stupid, but still, I didn’t believe she intended to hurt Minnie, nor did I think she’d killed her. Reluctantly I shook my head; I say reluctantly because I didn’t have another single idea of who had done it, using, apparently, Roma’s letter opener. Plenty of folks were angry with Minnie, but to kill her using the letter opener? “No, Pish, I don’t believe Roma did it. But if not her, then who? And Minnie’s blood . . .” I shook my head in puzzlement. “Esposito is too careful an agent to lie about something like that.” Even though the police can and will lie to you to get a confession or for other reasons. They just can’t lie in court.
Much Ado About Muffin Page 18
