A Murder Among Friends

by Ramona Richards

  He shook his head. “It’s all circumstantial. It gives motive, but not proof. And it’s less motive than you have. If an arrest had to be made today…” His voice trailed off.

  Her shoulders dropped. “It would be me.”

  He nodded.

  “So what do we do?”

  “I need Scott’s DNA.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s not a problem. He eats at my table every night. What else?”

  He shrugged. “We wait. See if Edward finds anything in the financials. See what the DNA shows. If Scott’s DNA is on the bottle, Tyler could get a warrant for his cabin. We can do more work with Aaron’s computer, but I don’t know if we’ll find anything that constitutes proof.”

  “I could search his cabin.”

  Fletcher shook his head. “No. We’re pushing the envelope being here, but Aaron is the victim. With Scott, it’d never make it to court.”

  She stared at him a moment, her mind still flying. Then she grinned. “I have an idea.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Judson looked over Lee’s notes. His young partner fidgeted and paced, trying not to hover over Judson’s shoulder. “So, do you think it’ll work? It’s not entrapment. Not even close.”

  Judson looked up at him, somber. “Do you realize what a risk this is to you?”

  Lee froze. “Well, yes!” He leaned over the desk and tapped the paper. “But isn’t it worth it? Isn’t getting this woman’s family justice worth any risk?”

  Judson stood up. “No, it’s not. If this doesn’t work, you could get hurt. So could her sister. That alone makes this foolhardy. I don’t want you to go through with it.”

  Lee crossed his arms. “Her sister wants this.”

  “She’s a civilian. She has blinders on. You should have a more objective point of view.”

  “This will work.”

  Judson stepped away from the desk. “Whether it will work isn’t the point.”

  Fletcher stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling of the cabin and trying to get his head straight. He didn’t like Maggie’s plan, but there wasn’t a lot of choice between it and waiting for something else to happen.

  Like another attack on her.

  He closed his eyes. The injuries to her face were still prominent, and she could barely breathe with that broken rib. All because he couldn’t figure out who’d slammed Aaron with a champagne bottle. Despite how close they were, he still felt inadequate, as if his skills had been absorbed by his grief over his best friend.

  Inadequate. Except, he realized, when Maggie looked up at him. Her eyes were a rich blue, and they seemed to hold all the innocence in the world. She had dated the most worldly man he had ever known, yet the word “worldly” would be the last one he would assign to her. Her fire, her belief in her sister, her adoration for Aaron were all tempered by an unawareness of how devious and evil people could be. Fletcher didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forget the shock on her face when he told her Aaron had planned to kill her.

  He shouldn’t have, but the realization had caught him almost as off guard as it had her. Aaron wasn’t that kind of man. Or he hadn’t been. Fletcher searched through his memories of the last few months, looking for any clue during their visits that Aaron had stepped over the edge. He didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence they’d found betrayed that belief. Aaron had been stressed beyond the breaking point, and he had become almost a Jekyll and Hyde character—normal around most people, crazed with a few and certainly while alone.

  Fletcher sat up, running his hand through his hair. This was going nowhere.

  Pray.

  The thought came out of nowhere, and Fletcher hesitated a moment before his obstinance kicked in. “No,” he said aloud. “I do not need to pray. It’s been too long and I certainly don’t need to start now.” Instead, he reached for his cell phone and flipped it open. Dialing Tyler’s number, he walked to the desk, searching the drawers for a pen, until the young police chief answered. “Did Maggie call you?” Fletcher asked.

  “Yep. Are you two sure this will pull Scott into the open?”

  Fletcher sighed. “Nope. It’s a gamble, but it’s better than sitting on our hands. Did you get those papers off to Edward?”

  “Sure did. I grabbed Judge Baker after church yesterday, put through the request, and Edward pulled what he had, then I had the banks courier over everything else this morning.”

  “You had them sent by courier?”

  “You said you were in a hurry.”

  Fletcher grinned. “Thanks. When did Edward say he’d be through?”

  “Maybe as early as this evening. You might want to give him a call.”

  “I will. Anything else?”

  “Not really.”

  “Thanks. See you in an hour or so.”

  “You got it.”

  Fletcher folded over the phone and set it aside. He resisted pacing, but the inaction was driving him nuts, and he didn’t feel like attacking another tree.

  “You work out too much.”

  Fletcher rolled his shoulders and rubbed a sore spot at the base of his neck. “And you don’t do enough.”

  “Too old. Hurts too much. Why do I want to work that hard in the short time I have left?”

  “Why do you keep talking about dying?” Fletcher tossed Aaron a towel and grabbed one of his own. They settled into the sauna and eased back against the hot wood. Fletcher cherished the feeling.

  “This is probably not good for my blood pressure,” Aaron grumbled.

  “Considering your liver probably looks like a block of iron,I’m not exactly surprised you have high blood pressure. The workouts could help that, you know, along with whatever other problems you’re hiding. But none of them are going to kill you anytime soon. Now hush and enjoy the baking.”

  “How do you know I’m hiding problems?”

  “Because you talk more when you’re drunk than you do sober.”

  Aaron paused, then burst out laughing. “Okay, me boyo. Point well made. Obviously, I need to stop drinking. The doctors love me. Want my picture in their textbooks.” He wiped the sweat off his face with one hand. “But don’t be surprised if I don’t live much longer.”

  Fletcher opened one eye. “Why do you say that?”

  The older man shrugged. “I’m Irish. We just know these things.” He paused and looked over at his friend. “I’m serious, Fletcher. Don’t be surprised.”

  Fletcher opened both eyes. “You almost sound as if you’re planning something.”

  Aaron shook his head. “No. Just a feeling.”

  Fletcher walked onto the cabin porch and looked out through the dusky light of sunset. “What were you trying to tell me, Aaron? And why didn’t I follow up with you?” He turned and went back in. Time to follow up now. He picked up his cell and dialed Edward’s number.

  Maggie paid the rest of the bills she had forgotten on Thursday night. She checked her e-mail, to see if she had responses from the three she’d sent. There were two, and she read them with a smile. Good news. It would help set the stage for tonight. She printed them out and carried them to the main room where she left them at her place on the table. She also dusted her office. She dressed, then re-dressed, trying to find something businesslike, that didn’t constrict her breathing any more than it already was. She finally decided on one of her favorite long skirts with an elastic waist, and a shell with a matching sweater.

  I can’t believe how nervous I am. When she tried to sit, she merely bounced both feet and twirled strands of her hair around one finger. Getting up, she went to the kitchen to prepare for the evening meal, which would be delivered in a few minutes.

  “You are so obsessive sometimes. Relax.”

  Maggie froze. The voice was so clear, she could have sworn she actually heard it. But, no. Not really. He was still very much dead. Her spirit deflated, and she leaned against the refrigerator.

  Flashbacks. That’s what her mom had called them when her stepfather had died. She’
d gathered her and Lily together to talk to them about death and grief and what to expect. Even though they were both grown, she cuddled them as if they were still children. Flashbacks, she had explained, are tiny memories of someone who’s gone. They hit when you least expect them, and they can hurt like crazy. All over again. And her mom had been right. Maggie had had plenty of them about Bobby Dunne. Even more when her mom had died.

  Now Aaron.

  “You gonna haunt me forever, old man?” she said to the ceiling.

  “Just so you never forget me, doll. Just never forget me.”

  “Little chance of that.”

  Maggie walked out on the deck and looked up at the first stars of the evening. “Look at me! I’m having a chat with a dead man.” She’d rather have one with a man who was alive. Very alive. Maggie bit her lip, remembering how strong Fletcher had felt as he’d picked her up after she’d collapsed in Aaron’s office.

  She blushed at the thought, but it also excited her. What was this…chemistry…that they seemed to have? As much as she had loved Aaron and wanted to be with him, she’d never felt this kind of irrational draw to him. And it was irrational. They should be enemies. Fletcher could easily change his mind and have her arrested. She should resent him, want him to leave this alone and let Aaron rest in peace. But there were the attacks, and…she just didn’t want him to go away.

  Maggie rubbed her arms, shivering a bit in the cold. It smelled like snow, although there were no clouds in the sky. Soon. Thanksgiving was not far away. Maybe when it’s all white and pristine again—

  “You’re wandering again, babe. Stay focused.”

  Maggie stamped her foot, causing a mild wave of pain to shoot through her torso. “Aaron, shut up! I’m doing the best I can!”

  “You, too, huh?”

  Maggie yelped, then turned her wrath on the man standing at the foot of the deck stairs. “This is impossible! How do you walk through dry leaves and not make a sound?”

  Fletcher grinned. “Practice. And they aren’t that dry.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  He laughed. “I know. I thought you could use some help with the food.”

  She looked down her nose at him. “The food?”

  “And your nerves.”

  “My nerves?”

  “Woman, do you want help or not?”

  Maggie turned to look over her shoulder. “Your timing is pretty good. I think I hear the truck.”

  Fletcher climbed the steps and held the door open for her. “My dear, my timing is always excellent.”

  She grinned and took his arm briefly as they walked through the room. She opened the front door for the caterer, and Fletcher helped her bring in the food, since she was forbidden to lift anything heavy. After the caterers left, she started a pot of coffee, then poured some for both of them.

  Fletcher walked to the fireplace and stared at the flames. Maggie joined him, wishing once again she could read his mind. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  He sipped the coffee. “I want to say some things about Aaron tonight at dinner. They’re not good.”

  “Worse than him wanting to kill me?”

  Fletcher looked intently at her, his eyes dark. “No.” He leaned against the mantel. “Medical things. I don’t want you to be surprised.” He told her what he’d learned from Edward.

  Maggie took them in stoically. They explained a lot, but nothing would ever truly salve the last wounds that Aaron had laid on her. He’d wanted her dead.

  “I have something I need to tell them,” she said. “Then you can have the floor.”

  He nodded, and they fell silent. They were still standing in front of the fire, cups in hand, when the first of the writers arrived for dinner.

  Fletcher looked down at her. “Let the games begin.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  It was a quiet entry. Frank and Laura arrived first, holding hands. They declined coffee, but Laura asked if she could help, and Maggie gave her bottles of water to put at everyone’s place. Dan and Patrick arrived together, chattering a bit about a game they had watched the night before. The men were already into the food when Scott and Lily arrived, exchanging tender looks and soft touches as they went down the buffet line. Carter and Mick followed them in, not speaking at all as they loaded plates with food and joined the others at the table. Fletcher and Tim went through the line together. Tonya finally emerged from her room, just as everyone else was getting seated. Maggie sat down last after kissing her sister, not wasting any time. “I have a lot to say. To all of you.”

  Scott cleared his throat. “Where’s your guard dog?” Lily put a hand on his wrist and he looked away.

  Maggie took a deep breath, trying to gather a bit more courage. “Ray has gone home to eat with his family. We don’t think there’s any more danger to me at this time.”

  Laura leaned forward. “How can you say that? I’m terrified to walk up here by myself.”

  “I know,” Maggie said, “especially after Sunday. And I apologize for not filling all of you in on what’s been happening. It’s just all happened so fast—” For a second, her courage failed.

  “I miss him,” Tonya said.

  Maggie looked up at her, grateful. “Me, too. Sometimes I get the feeling he’s just in the next room, waiting to come out and scream at me.”

  Most of the writers smiled. Scott stared out over her left shoulder.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “I wanted to talk about the Retreat for a few minutes, then get on with some other details, which I hope will help.” She twisted the cap off her bottle of water and took a sip.

  “Most of you were at the funeral. You heard what Edward said about me inheriting.” There was a light murmur around the table. “Well, nothing’s settled yet. Korie will most likely contest the will. And I promise all of you I had no idea that he was going to leave it this way.” Dan started to speak and Maggie held up her hand. “However, one provision of the will that Edward didn’t mention had to do with the review process. When Aaron made out the will, he’d asked three of the best authors he knew if they would take over if something happened to him. They had all agreed, in principle, to act as an advisory board for the retreat. I’m sure none of them thought it would be this soon.”

  Even Fletcher was surprised. Scott glared at her. “Who?”

  “Katie Matthews, Martin Scudder and Thomas Banks.”

  Dan yelped. “Are you serious? Banks just won the Pulitzer!”

  Maggie nodded. “Today I e-mailed them for confirmation. Katie and Martin have already replied, saying they would assume the review duties.”

  The burst of enthusiasm spread up and down the table, just as she had expected. Even Scott leaned back in his chair, stunned. Maggie held up her hand for quiet. “But they are busy people, so the process will change some. Admission requirements to the retreat will become more stringent, although everyone here will be grandfathered in, if you wish. Residency will be limited to five—the other cabins will be opened for rental to other writers, although their work will not be part of the process and whatever work they do here will not carry the retreat’s imprimatur. The critiques will be done monthly, instead of weekly, with evaluations for continued residency done on a quarterly basis. Once you’re in, you have at least three months guaranteed.”

  They loved it. Scott leaned over to speak above the chatter. “Why did he do this? After all he’d done.”

  Silence fell. Maggie bit her lip and started to reply, but she couldn’t. It would give too much away. Instead, she looked at Fletcher, who nodded.

  “Because he knew he was going to die,” he said.

  “What?” Patrick asked.

  Fletcher leaned back in his chair and toyed with his coffee cup, not looking at anyone for a moment. “A few weeks ago, some things happened in Aaron’s life that he wasn’t prepared for emotionally. He wasn’t able to handle it, and it pushed him over the edge. He collapsed in Edward’s office one afternoon, ranting like a madman. Edward wasn’
t sure what happened, so he called his doctor and they checked Aaron in to St. Vincent’s, under an assumed name. No one knew.”

  The writers looked at one another, then waited as Fletcher continued. “They thought at first it was just exhaustion, or perhaps depression. Depression does seem to have been part of it it, but not all. St. Vincent’s only confirmed what Aaron’s own doctor had already told him.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Aaron had been diagnosed with alcoholic cardiomyopathy. His heart wasn’t pumping enough blood to his organs and his brain. His doc had told him to reduce his stress, get more exercise and stop drinking. He started seeing a therapist, who put him on some antidepressants. Aaron, however, was still Aaron, and wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t stick to a schedule with the meds, so he wound up having some vicious mood swings, especially when he would pick up the bottle again.”

  Scott set his water down hard. “You are not going to tell me this explains all the trash he pulled.”

  Fletcher shook his head. “No. It really only explains one thing—his plans to disappear.”

  Patrick spread his hands on each side of his plate. “He was going to vanish?”

  Fletcher nodded. “And take at least two people down with him.” He nodded at Scott and Maggie. “He may have lost perspective, but Aaron still knew right from wrong. Everything else was just because of his anger at life. And fear.”

  Dan frowned. “I knew he had a temper. Didn’t realize it was that bad.”

  “I suspect that’s why he believed he wouldn’t live much longer. His anger. His flaring out at other people. His depression.”

  Tonya said, “So he took steps to protect the Retreat.”

  Maggie spoke up. “Yes. No matter what, he still wanted this to be his legacy.”

  Laura shook her head. “Maggie, I’m sorry. But I’m still scared. I was already planning to tell you tonight that we—Frank and I—are leaving tomorrow.”

  Lily sighed. “I don’t blame you, Laura. I’m leaving, too. Going back to L.A.”

  Tim dropped his fork. “What? You’re leaving?”