YOU SHOULD NOT BE AFRAID! I’M ALWAYS WITH YOU. GOD HAS PUT US TOGETHER. WHY ARE YOU HIDING? IT WON’T WORK. I KNOW YOU ARE IN THE WOODS. COME OUT, MY DARLING. GO BACK TO THE LIGHT FOR ME.
Maggie’s gaze jerked up. Lily crossed her arms, biting her lower lip. “They came today,” she said, her voice trembling. “My agent sent them so I would either be more careful or come back to L.A.”
“Oh, no. How many?”
Lily shook her head. “I don’t know. Six or seven. He sounds crazier than ever. Says we’re meant to be together, the usual stuff.”
Maggie took her sister in her arms. Lily sagged against her. “Did he threaten you?”
Lily’s voice was muffled. “Not unless you count that line about ‘I’m the only man on the planet who can please you.’ I just wish they could make him leave me alone!”
The back door opened, and Lily stepped away, wiping her face. She smiled at Fletcher, then turned and opened the fridge.
The detective wasn’t fooled. “What’s wrong?” he asked Maggie.
She nodded at the letters. He gathered them up to read as Maggie looked him over. His hair was wet from a shower, and there was a red mark on his cheek that was beginning to turn dark. “What happened to you?” she asked.
“Wayward branch,” he said. “Where were these mailed from?”
“Manchester,” Lily said, scrounging around in the back of the fridge and pulling out a bottle of champagne she had obviously stored there earlier.
Maggie heart sank. “Lily, when did you—”
Lily’s eyes were cold. “Don’t. Just don’t.” She worked on the cork with a fury Maggie had not seen in a long time. It popped, and her elegant-looking sister drank straight from the bottle.
“It won’t help,” Maggie said softly.
“Maybe not,” Lily replied, pulling down a flute from the overhead rack. “But I won’t care as much.” She poured, then took both toward the back door. “I’m going for a walk. Maybe he’ll pop out from behind a tree and I can whack him with a bottle.”
“Lily!”
Her sister responded only with a slamming of the door. Maggie looked up at Fletcher, a tight feeling in her stomach. “She didn’t mean—”
“I don’t think Lily killed Aaron,” Fletcher said flatly, still looking over the letters. “I’m assuming these are copies.”
“Yes, I think her agent always gives the originals to the police. What do you mean you don’t think—”
“Why do they think these are different from any other obsessed fan who just spends too much time in the basement with the DVD player?”
“The frequency. Some have been threatening, just not to the point the cops can act. They also have come from places close to wherever she’s been on location, so they think he’s following her. Why don’t you think she’s the killer?”
Fletcher put down the letters and looked at Maggie. “Mostly because someone tried too hard to make it look like she did it. Her only motive is weak, and she’d gain nothing by his death. Probably. I’m thinking clearer, but I won’t know anything for certain until the will is read and I’ve followed the money. You understand that, right?”
Maggie nodded, surprised by his renewed fervor about the case. “When are you going to New York?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight!”
“I’m going to catch the train about midnight, be at Edward’s office in the morning. I called him a little bit ago, and he’s agreed to see me.” He looked around at the lodge. “Do you think Scott would agree to let Lily move in here with you? I think you’d both be safer, especially with Tyler’s guy still around.”
“I think so. He was in a better mood after she stayed on the couch last night. Fletcher, what’s going on? What happened after you dropped me off?”
Fletcher reached out and took her hand, a gesture that made Maggie’s throat constrict. “Nothing I want to talk about,” he said softly, pulling her a bit closer.
Maggie realized she was focusing solely on him, his eyes, his words.
“Maggie, I realize that there’s something between us, some connection. But it can’t be. Not right now. Because unlike your sister, you are a suspect in this.”
A wave of cold washed over Maggie. “What? But what about the attempt—”
“The attempt is not evidence. They could have been aiming at me or Tyler and missed. I have to follow the evidence, and right now it’s pointing to a number of people, including you.”
Maggie stepped back, pulling her hand away. She felt numb. This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? To distract from Lily? To muddy…
“Listen to me,” Fletcher insisted. “Listen!”
Maggie returned her focus to him.
“I’ve got to clear some things up, which I hope to in New York. You’re a strong woman, Maggie, and I don’t want you to give up on this.”
A small glimpse of hope came out of his words, but there was still a nagging in her heart. “I won’t. But we need to talk.”
“We will, later. Right now, I’m still listening to the evidence. Not my feelings. I have to.”
“No, I mean about—”
“And I want you to come to Aaron’s service.”
Maggie snapped out of her fog. “You want me in New York?”
He nodded.
“What happened to ‘Don’t leave town, stranger’?”
“Extradition laws.”
A burst of laughter escaped Maggie, and she covered her mouth. “Sorry.”
He grinned. “Don’t be.” He glanced over her shoulder, then stepped away from her. She heard the back door open, and the sounds of her writers piling in.
Her writers?
She turned to greet them. Some things had to go on.
Her writers.
After dinner, Fletcher walked back toward his cabin with confidence. The conversation over the table had flowed smoothly. The writers were getting used to his presence, his sense of humor. Good. He would need that if he finally had to sit down to talk to them. He was waiting. His instincts told him that they needed time to think, to absorb fully the impact of Aaron’s death. And that was if they knew anything at all about the murder, which he doubted. Most seemed to be caught up in their own world and wouldn’t have realized it if a bomb had dropped on Portsmouth. He was beginning to believe that his best clues would be found outside of the retreat.
He pushed open the cabin door, his mind on packing the few things he would need to take with him and wondering how his apartment would smell after so long away. As the door shut behind him, he stopped, all thoughts leaving him.
Lily Dunne was asleep in his bed.
TEN
Scott surprised her.
When Maggie knocked on his cabin door, he let her in without a word. He walked in front of her to the little kitchenette and poured a cup of coffee. “Want one?” he asked.
Maggie shook her head, and he returned to the chair by his desk. Unlike the other cabins, this one was older and had a bedroom that was separate from the living area. Maggie perched uneasily on the edge of a low love seat, glancing around at the room. Everything was spotless, as she knew it would be, except for Scott’s desk. His computer was surrounded by stacks of paper and history books focusing on the first part of the twentieth century. One of his novels was set in 1920.
Scott glanced at the closed bedroom door. “If you’re looking for Lily, she isn’t here. Again.”
Maggie crossed her arms and took a deep breath. “Actually, I came to ask a favor of you.”
Scott was silent, waiting. He sipped.
Maggie fought the urge to stand up and fidget. Scott had been at the retreat almost from the time it opened, yet she had never gotten comfortable with him. “I was wondering if you would mind if Lily stayed at the lodge house a few more nights.”
Scott’s eyebrows arched for a moment, then he pushed a stack of papers away from the edge of his desk and set the cup on it. “That’s it? That’s the favor?”
Maggie nodded.
Scott looked at his computer, then back to her. “Last night, I did some of my best work in weeks.”
After a pause, Maggie asked quietly, “Does that mean yes?”
Scott stood up suddenly, causing Maggie to jump. He turned his back on her and started tossing books on the floor, letting them land with loud plops. As he moved things around on the desk, clearing a workspace, he spoke, his voice clipped. “Yes. You need her right now. I don’t. It might be better for everyone involved if she stayed with you for a while.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said. She waited, but Scott didn’t continue. She started to leave, then hesitated.
“You can go now,” Scott said. “Small talk doesn’t become either one of us, and I have work to do.”
Maggie left, walking back down the narrow, well-worn path to the lodge. The cabin was original to the land, and when Aaron had the lodge built, the construction foreman had used it as his office. Maggie had stayed in it while the lodge was being decorated, overseeing all the interior design. She knew this path so well she didn’t even think about where she was putting her feet. Instead, she pulled her light sweater tighter around her as she walked, her mind wandering.
Her whole world felt like it was spinning away from her. Life had been so good, with the retreat under control and everything in her life settled. She’d been content to stay here, grow old here. She’d certainly had the same deep longings most women have for a home and family, but she’d always thought there would be time for that later. She’d been settled and ready for things to move along, one day the same as the next, for a long time to come.
Now, nothing is the same. She stepped over a fallen log and around a moonlit birch tree, letting her hand slide over the smooth trunk. I can’t even tell how people I’ve known for years are going to act. Maggie had truly thought Scott would object to Lily moving into the lodge house.
She looked up at the stars through a break in some low-hanging clouds. “Nothing is ever truly under our control, is it?” she asked, wishing once again that God would drop a neon sign on the lawn with ready-made instructions.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Maggie avoided the bottom tread of the deck stairs, then slowly entered the house, grateful for its fragrant warmth. She stood by the fire a moment, warming her feet and hands, then slipped out of her sweater. She went to her room, fighting the urge to get into a snug gown and curl up under her comforter. Dropping the sweater on her bed, she headed for her office, her mind still locked on Scott and Lily. Her chest ached with love for her sister, and she longed once again for a panacea for all Lily’s pain.
Pain. Scott. Maybe he needed a break from her as much as she needed a divorce from him. Maggie cringed at the thought. As she settled in her office, blinds down, to do some paperwork and wait for Lily, she hated thinking about Lily and Scott breaking up. But he hit her. Only once, according to Lily, but in Maggie’s mind, even once was too much. It was only a promise to her sister that kept Maggie from siccing Tyler on Scott.
Now what?
Is divorce ever in Your plans, God? Maggie looked at the Bible on the corner of her desk. Doesn’t it say that divorce is never allowed, except for adultery?
Well, there was Lily and Aaron. That qualifies.
No! Maggie squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists until the nails bit into her palms. Tears burned her eyes. It was all going so wrong. All wrong! She’d had everything in place— her life, her world, even her sister—here so she could get help, but it just got worse. The drinking, the time she had spent with Aaron…
“You know what your problem is, Little Maggie?” Aaron asked, half teasing, half not. “It’s not that you’re a control freak. That title would go to my darling wife. No, babe, you just have this illusion that you already have everything under control.”
“It looks pretty good from here,” Maggie responded, grinning. They were standing in front of the lodge’s fireplace after a cold walk through the woods from Cookie’s, who had invited them for tea and gingersnaps.
Aaron reached out and took her hand. “So it does.”
It was a move that had so often led her into his arms. This time, she didn’t feel even a tiny draw toward him. She pulled her hand back and shook her head. “It was your decision, Aaron. You know how I feel. You’re married. I don’t even want you flirting with me.”
Aaron looked her over, head to toe, then nodded. “Okay, babe.” He backed up, then stopped. “I blew it, didn’t I?”
She had loved him so much. If only he hadn’t pushed…. “Yes, you did.”
He shrugged, then smiled. “I usually do.” He stepped backward again, then broke into a quick two-step. “But I’m a writer. I’ll write my way out of it.” He tipped an imaginary hat to her, then left.
Maggie opened her eyes. “Write your way out?” Her attention turned to the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. She walked over, but as she bent to open the drawer, she hesitated. There was something else, something she’d seen but that hadn’t quite registered.
Instead, she jerked open the top drawer and flipped through the folders of manuscripts. Carter, Mick, Dan, Scott, Tonya. Several weeks’ worth. Maggie stopped and backed up, pulling out Scott’s folders. Two of them were empty.
She put the folders back and closed the drawer. Where would they be? She propped her elbow on the cabinet and closed her eyes, trying to envision when and where Aaron would work.
Here, in this office, obviously. At night, downstairs, after everyone had left. Sometimes, in the bedroom that he used.
She tried to remember if he’d ever taken manuscripts back to his house. He was not someone who usually carried any kind of case or notebook. He didn’t like the burden of anything, although he would carry a briefcase to meetings. So they had to be here somewhere, right?
Maggie left her office and went to the bedroom across the hall from hers, which was the one where Aaron usually stayed. Stopping in the hallway, she peered through the main room and down the opposing hall. All was quiet. Tim’s door was shut, as usual, but his light was still on. She smiled affectionately. Her groundskeeper fit in well here because he was good at his job and a bit of a night owl, so the late prowlings of the other residents didn’t disturb him. In fact, the late-night rounds he always made around the property had added to Maggie’s sense of safety and security. He kept to himself, and she knew he loved online chatrooms. She’d given him a laptop last Christmas, and she didn’t think he’d have reacted more strongly if she’d made him President.
Tyler’s officer, a soft-spoken giant of a man named Ray Carpenter, slept in the other bedroom, and his door was open, light on. Maggie still wasn’t used to him being here. He ate with them and was a nice enough fellow, but it was just strange to hear sounds in the house. Tonya’s door was closed, light off.
Stepping into Aaron’s room, Maggie stopped, looking around. It wasn’t really “his” room…but it was. She’d decorated it, and he had not used it often at first—only when he worked late on the submissions or had fought with Korie. In the past eight months, however, he’d been there almost every night, and the room had his presence, his smell—tobacco, whiskey, cologne. It was hard to believe he’d only been dead three days.
Dead. Maggie weaved from the unexpected wave of grief that washed over her, and a low moan echoed in the room. She backed up, holding on to the door frame. Why hadn’t this happened at the house? Why now? She blinked away the sting of tears. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can,” Aaron said, as somber as she’d ever seen him. “I need you to do this.”
Maggie leaned back in her chair, glad that they’d met on the neutral turf of a sushi bar down on Second Avenue. They’d eaten well; now was time for the proposal and the questions. “Writers can have pretty strong personalities,” she said. “I’m not sure I can enforce the rules you’re proposing.”
“Yes, you can,” he replied, and motioned to the waitress for another pot of tea.
She raise
d her eyebrows. “No beer? Not even a sake or plum wine?”
He grinned. “Not tonight.” He reached over and took her hand. “I’m serious about this, babe. I want to leave more behind in my life than a few trashy novels about an emotionally dead detective. I have no family. This is my only legacy. I want you in charge. You can do this.”
Maggie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, she looked around the room again. “I can do this.” For Aaron.
The room was decorated in muted earth tones, with furniture that had clean, elegant lines—a bed, narrow dresser, two bedside tables with lamps. Aaron’s favorite chair was here, a Stickley he’d rescued when Korie had redone their penthouse in New York. He would turn it toward the window and prop his feet on the sill while he worked on a manuscript.
Maggie squared her shoulders and started with one of the bedside tables, but found only a few books and a notebook filled with story notes and character sketches. And a Bible. Picking it up slowly, Maggie turned it over and realized it was a study Bible she had given him during the first month of their romance. She smiled, then flipped through a few pages, pausing when she saw notes in the margin. She stared, turning more pages. Lots of notes.
“I can’t believe you read it,” she said softly, then put it back in the drawer, her mind awhirl with the contradictions that were Aaron. He was an alcoholic womanizer who read the Bible, went to church and had encouraged his writers to explore their own faiths, saying it would help inform their hearts as well as their talents. Somewhere buried in that mix was the real Aaron Jackson.
The closet held nothing spectacular either, only more boxes of books, old magazines and a few clothes. Maggie started to leave, then turned and took one last look around. Where she’d sat on the bed had rumpled the spread, and she went back to smooth it down, then realized that she needed to change the sheets in case Lily wanted to stay in here instead of on the couch. She turned back the spread and reached to pull the sheets off. As she yanked the bottom fitted sheet off, the mattress shifted and Maggie grabbed the corner to pull it back into place. As she looked down to make sure they were aligned, the tip of something beige caught her eye.
A Murder Among Friends Page 10
