by Anne Canadeo
She could see her words had stung, and she felt sorry. But she had to be honest. She had to say what she knew in her heart was true.
He pulled on his hat and stepped back, his expression blank and hard. “I knew you’d argue with me. It was foolish to come here. I guess there’s nothing more for us to talk about.” He turned and headed for the door. “Good-bye, Maggie,” he called over his shoulder.
Maggie was stunned. She couldn’t reply. She couldn’t say good-bye to him. Not in such a final-sounding way.
Chapter 10
After visiting her attorney, Suzanne had done her best to carry on a normal day—a quick, surreptitious stop at the supermarket, some work for the office at home, chauffeuring the kids to sports practice and music lessons, then picking everyone up again, and cooking dinner.
All the while, one eye was on her phone, checking for a message from Helen Forbes. The lawyer had promised to let Suzanne know the minute she heard if the police were taking any action on the newly discovered note.
It had been a challenge not to reveal Maggie’s and Lucy’s identities. Suzanne had simply said the note was passed to her by “people on my side” and assured Helen they would come forward if needed.
“It’s the real thing. I swear. It was found in Liza’s belongings.”
She thought Helen was going to ask more questions, or maybe even balk about handing it in. But to Suzanne’s great relief, she accepted the bit of evidence, and promised she would do what she could.
“I can’t guarantee the police will take this seriously. But if we ever go to trial—and I’m not saying this will go that far, so don’t get that terrified expression on your face—but if we do, we can always say that the investigation neglected to explore all possible leads, and that would poke a nice hole in the prosecution’s argument.”
More legal jargon and courtroom scenarios. Suzanne felt a rash coming on. Talk about strange allergies.
“I understand, Helen. How will you know if they follow through?”
“I’ll know, don’t worry.” Helen offered her calm, confident smile and Suzanne felt reassured. At least at that moment.
As the hours passed with no word from the attorney, Suzanne started to worry. She’d pinned her hopes on this new clue, but what if it didn’t make any difference at all?
Then where will I be? She didn’t want her thoughts to go in that direction. She moved through her day in fear that the police might be at her doorstep again at any moment, announcing some new bit of damning evidence they had discovered.
That evening, she sat next to Kevin, her knitting in her lap as she blindly stared at the TV. She suddenly realized that a basketball game was on and she hadn’t even noticed.
“I’m watching sports with you. How did that happen?”
He glanced at her. “I thought it was strange. But I didn’t want to say anything. Are you all right?”
She shrugged. “It was hard to be in town today. I feel like everyone’s talking about me. I met Beth Birney in the hair salon. You know what she had the nerve to say?” Suzanne paused. “‘Innocent until proven guilty.’ I know she thought she was being nice. But I’m sure she thinks I’m guilty and it’s just a matter of time before I’m locked up forever.”
Kevin’s gaze had been fixed on the players stomping up and down the court. He suddenly turned to her.
“Don’t even say that, honey. Don’t even say those words out loud. And don’t pay any attention to people like that. What does she know?” He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Nothing like that is ever going to happen. We just have to grit our teeth and get through this.”
She nodded and took a breath, trying not to cry. “I know. Guess I’ll just stick around the house a little longer until it’s over. I don’t know what else to do.”
“That note your friends found is going to be something big. I have a good feeling.”
“I hope so.” She leaned her head on Kevin’s chest and sighed.
Her husband was such an optimist. He always made her see the positive side when life looked bleak.
“You’re such a good person, Suzanne. So sweet and loving and nice to everybody. Such a great mom and a terrific wife. You are not going to be arrested. It’s just not going to happen.”
Suzanne was touched. “That’s so sweet, Kev. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too. You know I do.” They sat quietly a moment. Suzanne took some calming breaths, feeling a bit better about things. Then he said, very quietly, “Would you make me some popcorn for the second half?”
She pulled away and stared at him. Talk about killing the mood. “Did you really just say that? Really?”
He stared back sheepishly. Her phone buzzed with a text, saving him from a stronger scolding. Suzanne was surprised to see the message was from Dana.
Jack heard Sutton was just brought in for questioning. Good news for our team.
Suzanne sat back, her eyes squeezed closed. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she murmured to some mysterious power above. When she opened them again, Kevin was watching her.
“Good news?”
“Liza’s sleazy, not-quite-former husband is being questioned by the police.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Fingers crossed.” She showed him her crossed fingers as she jumped off the couch. “I do think we need some popcorn for the second half.”
* * *
Kevin went to bed right after the game. Suzanne stayed up, trolling the multiple listings on her laptop, looking for properties that might appeal to a few hard to please clients. Some of them just loved looking . . . and looking. But she had to act as if they would buy something eventually. If I ever get back to work again.
She was really waiting for further word from Helen or Dana, about the fate of Nick Sutton. Finally, at nearly one AM, another text came through. This time, from her attorney:
Sorry, Suzanne. Sutton was released.
Highly unlikely he was able to plant the drink, unless he had help.
Forensics say now the toxins would break down within twenty four hours and not be potent enough to kill. That’s our new timeline. Will explain more tomorrow. Call me.
Suzanne wanted to scream and throw her phone across the room. But she held tight to her temper. She was too tired for an explosion and could not afford a new phone right now. No way.
She dragged herself up to her room and crawled under the quilt. On the other side of the bed, Kevin slept peacefully. She lay back, tears squeezing out the corners of her eyes. She knew she wasn’t going to sleep a wink.
* * *
Maggie set out early Thursday morning, before she would be needed in the shop. The low clouds and nickel-colored sky matched her mood perfectly. She passed through the big iron gates and slowly drove down the gravel drive, under the tall trees, heading for the far section of headstones.
It was an old cemetery, established when the area was first settled, over two hundred years ago. The granite markers near the entrance were covered with moss, cracked and crumbling around the edges, the inscriptions faded, as if the stones had lost their power to remember, like old people do. Leaning to one side, struggling against the weight of time passing.
The timing was uncanny. What were the chances she and Charles would have such an awful falling out the day before the anniversary of her husband Bill’s passing? On this day, Maggie always visited the cemetery and left flowers on the grave, every year since, without fail.
She had brought a few garden tools, a watering can, and three small pots of mums, dark red, burnt orange, and yellow. Bill had loved to work in the garden almost as much as she did. She had taken for granted the long afternoons they’d toiled side by side, weeding and planting. A satisfying pastime that didn’t feel like hard work, though it often was. Afterward, she’d cook a good dinner and they’d relax at home, too tired to go anywhere.
Charles was a sailor, not a gardener. She never thought she would enjoy being out on the wat
er all day, but the long, sunny afternoons and warm, breezy evenings, where the sky and sea seemed one, had opened up a whole new world. She’d taken their time together for granted, too, she realized. Now consigned to the memory box, along with the rest.
She found the grave easily. She knew the way by now. She knelt down, pulled on garden gloves, and picked up the hand rake. Then tugged at weeds and dead vegetation of some former offering. Geraniums on his birthday?
Once the patch in front of the headstone was clear, she dug three holes, filled them with water, and carefully planted the mums. Then she sat back and brushed the stone with her gloved hand. William James Messina. The date he was born and the date he’d died, etched in her heart.
She closed her eyes and said a prayer. Then with her eyes open, she spoke to him. Not out loud, but inside, though she was sure he could hear her.
Bill . . . I need your help. What have I done? Is there something wrong with me? Do I want to be alone forever, living on your memory? I know that you, of all people, would want me to be happy. To have companionship. To have love. But I messed things up. Big time. Maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I secretly prefer to be a solitary creature and I’ve purposely sabotaged things with Charles. Maybe I’m afraid of being hurt again, of losing someone I love. So I pushed him away, to get it over with.
It’s positively pathological. Who else will ever put up with me? The odds were slim enough before he showed up. Next to nothing now, I’d say.
Maybe you even sent Charles my way, if such a thing is possible. And now you must be as frustrated with me as he is.
Please tell me what to do? You always had such sound advice.
She knew that Bill would not answer. Not in the conventional way. But she closed her eyes and pictured him, his gentle smile and soft eyes, amused at her foibles. Most of the time.
After a long moment, Maggie took a breath and came to her feet. She still didn’t know what to do, but she did feel a certain peace. The right choice would come to her.
She gathered her things and headed for her car. As she placed the gardening supplies in the hatch, she noticed a woman standing alone at a graveside only a few rows away.
Instead of the traditional headstone, Maggie saw a statue of an angel marking the spot. The woman looked forlorn, her eyes closed and shoulders sagging. She whisked a strand of hair, or maybe a tear, off her cheek, then crouched to drop a bouquet of pink roses on the ground.
As the mourner turned away from the statue, Maggie recognized her—Claire Prentiss, the wife of Suzanne’s boss at the realty company. Claire walked toward a parked car, climbed in, and drove away.
Maggie got behind the wheel of her car and headed for the gates. She had to pass the statue and paused to read the inscription: CHELSEA JANE PRENTISS. The date she was born, about fifteen years ago. The year she died, only two years more. Maggie felt a pang. The ultimate tragedy, to lose a child so young. She didn’t know much about the couple, but they had endured a great heartbreak, one powerful enough to break up even the strongest marriage.
She wondered if Suzanne knew about this sad page in Harry’s history. Perhaps this was the real reason he had not left his wife for Liza Devereaux.
* * *
Suzanne didn’t feel much better when she woke up Thursday morning, but was quickly swept up in the daily rush of making breakfast, packing lunches, finding lost loose-leaf binders and lacrosse sticks.
When she’d told Kevin that Sutton was released without charges, she could see that he was disappointed, too. But he quickly rallied, offering her a comforting hug as he headed off to work.
“Don’t worry, babe. Maybe they can’t pin it on Sutton. But that note made the police take a second look at things, right? They must see someone else is involved.”
Suzanne wasn’t so sure. Maybe the police thought the car vandalism and murder were separate situations. Or maybe they now thought she had some reason to tell Liza to keep her mouth shut and had left the note at some other time and location.
But she nodded anyway. “Sure . . . they must be taking a new look at things. Helen says they have to now.”
She clung to that slim hope as she kissed her husband good-bye, drove the kids to school, and pretended for their sake it was just an ordinary day.
All the while, she heard a clock ticking and wondered if the police were tightening their net. Coming for her soon.
After the drop-off, Suzanne swung through the village. She decided to stop at the knitting shop, even though her friends were gathering that night for their meeting.
When they heard Sutton was let go, Maggie and Phoebe would give her a dose of sympathy and another cup of coffee. She needed that.
She pulled into a space near the shop and suddenly noticed the familiar white Mercedes parked in the driveway of Maggie’s shop. Kira stood at the back and took a brown carton out of the hatch. She slammed the back shut, then opened the rear passenger side door and leaned in toward Emma’s car seat.
Suzanne grabbed her purse, got out of her car, and quickly walked up the drive. Her boots made a crunching sound on the gravel that startled Kira.
“Listen . . . I know you hate me. I know you don’t even want to talk to me. . . .”
Kira’s eyes widened and she took a quick step back.
“Yes, I hate you. You killed my sister! Get away from us. I’ll call the police.”
Her words stopped Suzanne in her tracks. Kira looked so much like Liza. The resemblance at close range was unnerving.
“I’m surprised you aren’t locked up already. I don’t know why it’s taking so long.”
Suzanne was surprised, too, but didn’t dare admit it. And she didn’t care if Kira did call the police. She was desperate.
“I swear on my children, I never harmed your sister. We exchanged harsh words, plenty of times. I’m sorry for that. I can see now she was not the person I thought.”
Kira rolled her eyes. “Give me a break. Do you think I have a drop of sympathy for you?”
“I’m sure you don’t. But I’m willing to beg. I’m fighting for my life. Just the way your sister did, the night she died. I’m not the one, Kira. Please just open your mind to the possibility?”
When she didn’t answer, Suzanne said, “Did you know that someone left a note? ‘Keep your mouth shut or you’ll be sorry.’ They probably put it on her car, when it was vandalized.”
“I heard about that mysterious message.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Convenient for it to pop up now. Turned in by an anonymous source?”
Suzanne felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “Was someone threatening your sister? She must have mentioned it.”
“I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police. I think your friends cooked that note up, but it’s not going to save you.”
Suzanne swallowed hard. She couldn’t lose her temper. This was too important. “I just need to know one thing. The safety deposit box . . . There might be something in there that can help me. That can help the police figure out who really did this.”
Kira’s expression turned smug. “You heard about that from your snooping friends, too, I guess. There was nothing in it that would help your case. Thank goodness.”
Suzanne’s hopes fell. But she persisted. “Please, just tell me what you found. I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
“I doubt it.” Kira’s tone was sharp. She didn’t answer. She leaned in the car and handed Emma a toy that had dropped on the seat. Finally she said, “It was jewelry, as I’d suspected. And some papers—copies of bank statements. From the realty office. I have no idea why she put them there.”
Suzanne had no idea either. Why would Liza keep statements from Prestige Properties under lock and key? Was she helping Beth and Harry with the accounts? Why all the secrecy?
Emma was fussing. Squirming in her seat and reaching out her little arms. “K-k! . . . K-k!”
Kira’s expression softened. “Just a second, baby.” She looked back at Suzanne. “I think we’re done her
e.”
Suzanne nodded bleakly. “Thank you. I mean that.”
The information hadn’t been the lifeline Suzanne had hoped. But she knew it had been hard for Kira to even face her. No less carry on this brief conversation.
“Now you can do me a favor.” Kira glanced at the carton. Suzanne could see it was full of knitted baby clothes. “My mother asked me to drop this off at your friend’s shop. She and Liza made them. Your friend is putting together some sort of donation in my sister’s name.”
“That’s right.” Suzanne picked up the box and stepped back. “Tell your Mom we said thank you.”
Kira had no response. She got behind the wheel and quickly backed the car into the street.
Suzanne saw Emma’s little face through the passenger side window. She held up a stuffed dog and waved it.
Suzanne watched the car disappear down Main Street.
AMEYMOXI. What in the world did that mean? The answer to that question has probably died with Liza, Suzanne thought. Like so many answers to so many questions. Including the one that can save me.
Maggie was not in the shop and Phoebe was busy with a customer. Suzanne waved to her and left the box behind the counter with a note. She headed home, wondering how she’d make it through the hours before the knitting group met without jumping out of her skin.
Extreme cleaning. Her go-to, mind-numbing activity whenever she was over the top, crazy stressed. Scrub the bathroom tile? Wash windows? Rent a machine at the hardware store and shampoo the rugs?
She sighed, wondering where she’d left the plastic bucket and rubber gloves.
Might as well have a clean house when they drag me off to jail....
* * *
It was the only time Suzanne could recall being early for the meeting. Except, when it had been held at her own house. She helped Maggie and Phoebe set up for dinner.
“I’ve been so busy this week, I wasn’t able to cook. I ordered a big tray of sushi. I hope that works for everyone,” Maggie said.
“If they don’t like it, I brought a chocolate cake. Definitely a crowd pleaser,” Suzanne said.
