RIPE FOR VENGEANCE

by Wendy Tyson

  “Megan,” she said, stepping back. “Come in. I assume Bonnie gave you my message? Thank you for stopping by.”

  “No problem.” Megan stepped over the threshold and into a firestorm of paper. There were stacks on the kitchen counters, on the dining room table, and from what Megan could see, on the living room floor and every available furniture surface. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

  Sarah laughed—it was deep and guttural and rather infectious. “Understatement. Two book deadlines, different stages in the editing cycle. I like to print off my manuscripts and read them in hard copy. I’m old-fashioned that way. Somewhere along the line, I got my edits mixed up and I’m just now sorting through.” She waved toward the living room loveseat, one of the few places where you could still see fabric. “Come, have a seat.”

  Sarah sat cross-legged on the floor across from Megan. One of her cats, a large orange tabby, took up residence in her lap.

  “Dr. Star called me,” Sarah said. “Benjamin Star. Ring a bell?”

  “The psychologist at Pioneer Village School?”

  Sarah nodded. “He and I have known each other for a while. I used him as a reference when I was writing a book. Remember Murder at Lehman Hall? The school in that book was fashioned after Pioneer Village. Benjamin and I met a few times, I bought him dinner, he gave me great insight into schools for the gifted.”

  Megan let this sink in. Her aunt—and her aunt’s wide network—never ceased to amaze her. Nevertheless, why would she know Megan had visited the school?

  “Don’t look surprised, Megan. Benjamin called me after you left the school. He recognized your name from events last year. Didn’t take him long to connect the dots. He called me thinking that you had a relative you wanted to be considered for the school.”

  “You didn’t dispel him of that, did you?”

  Sarah smiled. “No. Your secret is safe. I know full well you went there because of the murder. You wanted to see what the fuss was about, and why Eloise Kent put the boy in that school to begin with.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t get very far in my quest for information.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. Benjamin is very careful about patient privacy. Although I don’t see where the school fits in, perhaps I can help you?”

  Megan squirmed in her seat. She was expecting an argument. She wasn’t expecting her aunt to be helpful. “Has the school had any history of issues?”

  “What kind of issues?”

  “Kids with violent tendencies? Allegations of abuse?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “How do kids get into that school?”

  “It’s private. Most students pay tuition. Those who are worthy of admission, that is.”

  “‘Worthy of admission?’ You make it sound like a prestigious prep school, not a school for kids with delinquency issues.”

  Sarah raised her pointer finger and wiggled it back and forth. “Not so fast. Very few of the kids have criminal histories or tendencies. They have to be smart, and they have to have what Benjamin calls adjustment problems. Social anxieties. Phobias. Some of the kids have Asperger’s or Attention Deficit Disorder. There is a range, but generally these students are functioning and non-violent.”

  “Kids like Dillon Brown.”

  “Yes, kids exactly like Dillon.”

  “Dillon clearly has some adjustment issues likely stemming from family trauma. But if he’s there, he would by definition also be smart.”

  “Benjamin doesn’t bend that rule.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Megan rubbed her eyes. “Dr. Harriet Mantra, a principle at BOLD Pharmaceuticals, wanted this mentor outing as a way of paying the school back. She wanted each kid to have a mentor in the worlds of science or business. She was even offering full college tuition to kids who stuck with the mentoring program through the end of high school.”

  “Yes,” Sarah said, “I’d read that. She was especially interested in attracting students to STEM careers.”

  “Right. All very good. But if the school is private, why would these kids need scholarships? Does their parents’ ability to pay tuition mean they have money—and could pay for college? It feels like an empty gesture.”

  “Not if it gave the company exposure.”

  Megan had been thinking the same thing. More and more, this appeared to be a publicity boon for BOLD more than an actual attempt to pay back a school.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Sarah said. “The school can accept some underprivileged youth, and it uses a scholarship fund for those kids who can’t pay and who otherwise meet the criteria.”

  “But Mantra wasn’t offering to add cash to the scholarship fund, or to send poor kids to college. She said she’d send anyone who couldn’t afford it and finished the program to college.”

  “Convenient. Most of the kids who go to Pioneer Village are from wealthy families.” Sarah stretched her long legs out in front of her, disturbing the cat. He jumped up onto the loveseat and made a spot for himself behind a stack of files. “Harriet Mantra, huh? I suppose her daughter was Cat Mantra?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, Cat was one of the few students who did have a history of criminal behavior.”

  “That meshes with what I’ve heard about Harriet’s daughter. Mantra basically chose this place to avoid juvie for her daughter.”

  Sarah nodded. “Sounds like Cat. Only reason I know about her is that Benjamin confided that a particular student was causing issues. He didn’t name names, of course, but I read the papers and it was easy to put two and two together. Cat would run away frequently and cause problems with the locals.”

  “That must have sparked tension between the town and the school.”

  “You would think, but I suspect money was flowing, if you know what I mean.”

  “Not quite.”

  Another cat was slinking behind Sarah. This one was a sleek silver tabby. She looked young, and when she pounced on Sarah’s back, Sarah grinned. “Matilda,” Sarah purred, “did you finally come out to say hello?” She lifted the tabby onto her lap. “Found this one outside. Just a wee kitten. Romeo over there wants nothing to do with her, but she’s starting to come out of her shell.”

  As though proving the point, Matilda leapt off Sarah’s lap and onto Megan’s. She curled into a tight ball, one paw out, and purred.

  “Don’t pet her,” Sarah said. “She doesn’t like attention. Wants things on her own terms.” Sarah grabbed a pillow from a chair behind her and tucked it under her knees. “Where were we? Ah, the school and money. Did you happen to see the bird sanctuary? After someone from the school vandalized the town’s small bird watching area, everyone was upset. Gorgeous birds, I hear. Something about the plant life.”

  Sarah readjusted again. “Iced tea?” she asked Megan.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself. Anyway, two months later this bird sanctuary appeared. There’s a heated observation house with benches and windows, bird feeders for dozens of species of birds, gardens, and a part-time ‘ranger.’” Sarah put air quotes around the word ranger. “No one said Cat’s parents footed the bill, but after that the townspeople of Blessings stopped bitching about the school.”

  “And Cat graduated?”

  “My research finished mid-way through her senior year. I have no idea what happened to the girl, but I did see that a nature center went up in Blessings as well. Coincidence?”

  “Hmm. Harriet Mantra credits the school with saving her daughter, yet it sounds like the kid’s behaviors continued throughout school.”

  Sarah said, “Sounds that way. That was years ago. Maybe something clicked, and Cat went on to make something of herself. Stranger things have happened.”

  “For sure.” Matilda started kneading Megan’s leg with her claws. Megan tried to move her, so her claws would dig into a less tend
er area, and the cat jumped down, indignant.

  “Told you. Mind of her own.” Sarah stood and stretched. “Did I help?”

  “You did—thanks.”

  “Will you leave Benjamin—Dr. Star—out of it, then?”

  Megan looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “No need to talk with the school if your curiosity is satisfied. They hardly need the attention right now.”

  Megan could feel her face heat up. Typical Sarah. “Is that why you called Bibi? To keep me from the school? Was this some type of quid pro quo with Dr. Star?”

  Sarah’s smile tilted toward condescending. “Hardly. I told you, your secret is safe. But that horrible reporter from The Bucks County Times did a terrible piece on the school this morning. Did you see it? I feel I owe Benjamin, and if you show up asking questions, it’s bound to attract more attention.”

  Megan took a deep breath. “Has it occurred to you that perhaps the school is complicit somehow? From what you’ve told me, they took Cat—a kid with delinquent tendencies—and then possibly participated in the cover-up when she vandalized parts of the town. What if the school is doing that now? What if there is more to Dillon’s story than they’re willing to say?”

  Sarah seemed unmoved. “Nonsense. Don’t make a simple situation more complicated than it needs to be. I need to get back to editing, Megan. Can you see yourself out?”

  “Did you hear a word I said?”

  “Of course. Did it occur to me? Yes. Do I believe it? No. Benjamin Star is a wonderful man. Caring, intelligent, generous. He understands that bright kids have special needs, and he views himself as protector and advocate. The world could use more Dr. Stars.”

  “That doesn’t mean the school isn’t somehow involved. That at the very least, they’re hiding information about Dillon.”

  “That man died because someone was very, very angry at him. An adult did that, Megan. I write mysteries for a living, and there is no mystery here. Look for a grown-up with a grudge and you’ll have your killer.”

  “You’re that sure?”

  “Yes.” Sarah opened the back door, ushering her niece out with a saccharine smile. “I’m that sure.”

  “Everyone has an opinion,” Megan said to Bibi later that night. They were eating vegetable soup and freshly-baked sourdough bread, and Bibi had asked about the Chase Mars murder. “Some seem to feel it’s Dillon, others that it’s absolutely not. I’m just trying to deal in facts.”

  Bibi dunked a small slice of bread into the little amount of broth left in her bowl. “The police are on it?”

  Megan told her grandmother about King’s visit to the café earlier that day. “That’s the thing, Bibi, this occurred at a state park. Bobby doesn’t feel like he has control of the investigation. I think he’s worried they’re going to steamroll the boy because he’s easy and they want this closed.”

  “He’s a child. Surely that won’t happen.”

  They both ate, aware that much worse things happen all of the time.

  Bibi finished her soup and pushed the bowl away. “How well did Denver know this man, Chase.”

  “Very well, years ago. They hadn’t really stayed in touch.”

  “So effectively he was a stranger?”

  “I guess, at least on some levels.”

  “As you learned with Thana Moore, people change.” Bibi frowned, clearly thinking about the murder that had occurred the year before. “Or maybe they become more themselves over time.” She picked at a piece of bread, twisting bits between arthritic fingers before popping them into her mouth.

  Megan nodded. “We meet people at a point in time. Sometimes we grow together, other times we grow apart. My sense is that Denver and his friends—all of them—grew apart.”

  Bibi waited until Megan was also finished before clearing the bowls from the table. She and Megan washed dishes and cleaned the kitchen side by side, a comfortable routine made more comfortable by silence.

  When the kitchen sparkled and the clock on the wall read 8:37, Bibi announced she was turning in early. “Have to keep my girlish complexion,” she joked. “Besides, I feel tired. Maybe sleep will meet me half way.”

  Megan kissed her grandmother good night. She wasn’t tired. She would return to her computer and information about Chase Mars.

  It was 9:18 when Denver called. “Ready for some company?” he asked.

  “Always,” Megan had just homed in on an article of interest and was lingering over a photograph.

  “You sound distracted.”

  “Do I?” Megan scanned the page. She needed another source—and bingo, she knew where to find it. “Can you come now?”

  “Wow, I’m glad you want to see me—”

  “Bring your social media passcodes.”

  Pregnant pause, then, “Is this some kinky new game, Megs? Because I’ve had a long day of animal husbandry and surgery and—”

  Megan laughed. “Not a kinky new game. Just found something interesting. Come now?”

  “I’m at your service.”

  Denver arrived at 9:44. He smelled clean and male, like bath soap and spicy after shave, and Megan resisted the urge to fall into his embrace. Instead, she pulled another chair over to her laptop and directed him to sit.

  “Take a look at this,” Megan said.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “This is an archived article about what it’s like to be a roadie. Look at the last two paragraphs.”

  She watched Denver skim the words, reading over his shoulder.

  “Okay, they quoted Chase. He played with The Rolling Stones. We all know that—he talked about it incessantly.”

  “Keep going.”

  When he got to the grainy photos at the end, he squinted at the screen. Running a hand through his tousled hair, he said, “I don’t see what this proves.”

  “Look at the photo again.”

  After a few seconds of staring at it, his eyes narrowed further. “Huh.”

  “Right?”

  Between the final two paragraphs was a photo of the musicians and roadies who toured with the Stones on that particular evening years ago. Chase was in the picture, carrying his guitar. Next to him, staring up at Chase’s face like it was the face of God, was Martine Pringle. Her hair was a frizzy mass of waves, her eyes heavily made-up, and she was wearing an off-the-shoulder top. Megan might have missed her, but her name was listed in the caption under the photo.

  “Chase never mentioned that he knew Martine.” Megan said.

  “No, and Martine never mentioned it either.”

  Denver glanced at the laptop screen again. “And clearly they knew each other. Look at the way she’s ogling him.” Denver shook his head. “She was crazy about him. Seems strange that neither of them mentioned knowing one another, at least to me.”

  “Maybe not. Can you pull up your Facebook page?” Megan waited while Denver found his page and plugged in his password. “Clearly you’re not on here often.” The photo of him was years old, and his cover image was a black rectangle.

  “I’m not fond of social media.”

  “I see that. But you’re friends with Chase on here, right?” When Denver nodded, Megan said, “May I?” He handed control of the page to her.

  Megan searched through his fifty friends. He and Martine weren’t Facebook friends, but she found Chase on the list. “You know he’s divorced, right?”

  “Yes. He and his wife Diana split a long time ago. They got married right out of college. They’re still good friends.”

  “Did they divorce while he was traveling as a musician?”

  Denver said, “I don’t really remember, but I think it was after that. You think his relationship with Martine broke up his marriage?”

  Megan sorted and skimmed and followed the dots until she had what she was looking for. Photo
s Chase had been tagged in, visible only to his friends. Photos from Martine. Chase made no mention of the woman on his site, but she had catalogued her time as a groupie with numerous photos, many of them quite good. She tagged Chase in over a dozen, and most of the pictures were dated after his marriage.

  “How would you feel if I was on the road with a man who looked at me the way Martine is looking at Chase in many of these pictures?”

  “Like I want to punch the guy in the face.”

  Megan laughed. “How stereotypically manly man of you.” She turned to Denver, her expression somber again. “Can you friend Martine?”

  “Why?”

  “Then we can see what she’s posted aside from her tags of Chase.”

  Denver’s expression darkened. “Again, why? I don’t want to encourage her, Megs.”

  Megan had seen the way Martine looked at Denver as well. She seemed to attach strongly to men—something that made Megan wonder. Denver had a point, though. If Martine was feeling pressed, now wasn’t a good time for Denver to encourage her, even with something as simple as a friend request.

  Megan said, “Never mind.”

  Denver stared at the screen. “You’re investigating again?”

  “I’m thinking through the patterns.”

  Denver pulled Megan onto his lap. He kissed her. “If you dig enough around the edges of Chase’s life, who knows what you’ll find.”

  “Including bits about one Daniel ‘Denver’ Finn?”

  Another kiss, but his demeanor had changed. “Maybe.”

  “I’ll take the risk.”

  “I’m an open book.”

  “Are you?” Megan stood. She grabbed Denver’s hand and pulled him upright. “Come with me.”

  “Here?”

  “I understand the barn is nice this time of year.”

  Denver smiled. “You’re full of surprises.”

  The night air was still warm and muggy. Stars shown faintly overhead in the muted light of a waxing moon, tufts of haze like cotton candy here and there in the night sky. Megan tugged on Denver’s hand, clinging to it until they reached the barn’s small office. Inside, she kept the light off but fell against him in the dark.