by Linda Reilly
“We know exactly what you meant, Ms. Marby.”
If you call me Ms. Marby one more time, she was tempted to say, you’ll be wearing those polished shoes of yours as earmuffs.
Oh, who was she kidding? She didn’t have an aggressive cell in her body.
Derek finally took pity on her. “Talia,” he said gently, “we realize you’re trying to help, but you have to trust that we know what we’re doing.”
“I do, and I appreciate it,” Talia said. Not. They were treating her like a child, and it was seriously ticking her off. “But I’m willing to bet neither of you has ever indulged in a spa experience. For example, there are times when someone is left alone in a room, lying on a table with cream glopped all over her face. Think how easy it would be for that person to dash out the back entrance, drive to the lighting shop to murder Turnbull, and be back before anyone noticed she was gone.”
Not that easy, Talia suddenly realized. Running it through her head that way made her see how silly it sounded.
If only she could tell them about Misty’s phone call.
“Or perhaps,” O’Donnell said, “she could claim she was having gastrointestinal issues and needed to use the head. Why, she could drag that out for almost an hour, couldn’t she?”
Talia felt her face flame. They already knew. But how?
“Yes,” Talia said quietly. “Yes, she could.”
“By the way, Ms. Marby, how did you know about Ms. LaPlante’s visit to the spa Wednesday evening?” O’Donnell asked her.
Okay, that one was easy. “Her stepson told me. He stopped by Lambert’s for our fish and chips special yesterday, and we had a brief chat. He just happened to mention Kendra’s spa visit that night.”
“He just happened to mention it?” O’Donnell said.
“Yes.” Talia felt her cheeks flush into two ripe tomatoes. Her dignity in shreds, she rose from her chair. “I have one last comment, along with a question. I’ve known Bea Lambert for nearly twenty years. She’s funny, she’s quirky, and she’s a character and a half. But she is not, by any stretch, a killer. I will stake my own life on that.”
O’Donnell narrowed his eyes at her. Derek picked at something on his desk blotter. “And your question?” O’Donnell said.
“My question is this: do you have any solid evidence against Bea, or is it all as circumstantial as it appears? I mean, really, whitefish on the knife? Is that what you’re hanging your hats on?”
Uh-oh. That did sound pretty incriminating, didn’t it? Realizing her mistake, she said, “It’s obvious someone set her up to take the blame. No killer with more than five brain cells would use a weapon that would so clearly implicate her, or him, in the crime. You have to see that.” She stopped short of pounding her small fist on Derek’s desk.
Derek ran a hand over his brush cut, while O’Donnell stood. “Ms. Marby,” O’Donnell said, “it seems you have a keen interest in police work, an interest I heartily applaud. I strongly suggest, however, that until such time as you are wearing your own badge, you leave it to the professionals. Have a good day.”
Talia left quickly, nearly stumbling over her own heels as she motored out of Derek’s office. Talk about humiliating, she thought, as she fled to her car.
She jumped inside her Fiat and saw that it was ten past eleven. She texted Rachel. On my way. Be there in a jif.
Rachel’s reply came instantly. Faster the better. Brom Bones antsy. Ichabod ready to puke.
18
The large conference room at the Wrensdale Pines overlooked the rear of the facility, where the carefully tended lawn sloped downhill to the narrow stream forming the property line. In the distance was Mount Greylock, the tallest point in Massachusetts, its summit clear and crisp against the azure sky.
In the mid-1800s, this same view had attracted Herman Melville to the area. He bought a farmhouse in Pittsfield and named it Arrowhead. It was from that house, with its spectacular view of the rolling hills, that he wrote some of his famous works, including Moby Dick.
Inside the conference room, chaos reigned. Early on Saturday, Rachel had delivered three huge boxes of props and costumes to the Pines, making one less chore to accomplish on Sunday. Talia’s mom, Natalie, had suggested she store them in the conference room for safekeeping. All three boxes were now upended, with kids scrabbling through them in search of their respective accessories. Talia was helping as best she could, but with the decibel level rising and the boxes getting more jumbled every second, she felt as if she’d been dropped into one of those cages full of plastic balls at a kids’ amusement center.
“All right, everyone.” Rachel clapped her hands over the din. “One at a time, please. No grabbing, no pushing, no—”
“Ms. Ostroski, I can’t find my scarf!” A plump little girl with huge brown eyes and a sweet, freckled face tugged urgently on Rachel’s arm. “It’s pink and has chipmunks on it, and it’s my favorite, and now it’s gone!”
Rachel knelt before the child, who looked ready to burst into tears. “It can’t be gone, Hannah. It probably just got buried in all the other stuff. Come on, I’ll help you look for it.”
Talia tapped Rachel’s shoulder. “Why don’t I do that, Ra … I mean, Ms. Ostroski,” Talia offered. “You’ve got enough to do.”
“Oh, that would be a huge help,” Rachel breathed. “Hannah, this is Ms. Marby, and she’s going to help you look for the scarf.” Rachel winked at Talia. “Thanks,” she whispered. “Ichabod and his mom are in one of the visitors’ rooms. She’s got him calmed down, but I want to make sure everything’s still a go.”
Ichabod—aka Tyler Crowley—was suffering from a crippling bout of stage fright. Between his mom and Rachel they’d managed to settle his nerves, but from what Talia understood it was touch and go.
After Rachel dashed off, Talia and Hannah methodically went through every prop and accessory in the room. The missing scarf was just that—missing.
Hannah, looking adorable in a smocked peasant dress and white bonnet, folded her chubby arms over her chest. “Someone stole it, Ms. Marby. I just know it.” Her brown eyes welled with tears.
Talia was at a loss, and then an idea struck her. “I know what we can do, Hannah.” She untied the knot of her own scarf. “How about if you wear mine. Do you like ladybugs?”
Hannah nodded vigorously, and Talia arranged her ladybug scarf around the little girl’s neck.
“Oh, thank you, Ms. Marby. It’s beautiful!” Hannah raced off to find a mirror, just as Natalie Marby poked her expertly coiffed dark-blond head into the room. “Hey, sweetie, need any help in here?”
Talia picked her way over to her mom and, as she did so, tripped over a plastic horse’s head perched on a pole. She couldn’t resist a giggle. “What is this, ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’ or The Godfather?”
“That’s Gunpowder, Ichabod’s horse,” her mom said, “or maybe that one’s Daredevil. I can’t remember which is which.”
Talia hugged her mom for about the tenth time since she’d arrived at the Pines. The scent of her mom’s Chanel wrapped around her like a warm, familiar blanket. She’d missed her parents more than she realized over the past week. Turnbull’s murder, along with the secrets and the lies and the craziness that followed, had done a number on her psyche. She swallowed and said, “I’m so happy to see you, Mom.”
“I’m glad to see you, too,” her mom said, tenderness beaming in green eyes only a shade darker than Talia’s. She fluffed a few strands of Talia’s pixie haircut. “I hate it that you’ve been staying alone at Nana’s since this awful murder. I wish you’d move in with us, at least until there’s an arrest.”
“I’m not in any danger,” Talia assured her. “Phil Turnbull had a lot of enemies, and one of them obviously took a grudge too far.”
She conveniently omitted telling her mom about the creepy guy she’d caught watching her, or about any of the other weird encounters she’d had since Phil’s unfortunate demise.
“Hey, where’s D
ad?” Talia asked. “I thought he’d be here by now.”
“He should be along any minute,” her mom said. “The dryer went on the fritz this morning, and he headed down to the hardware store to see if he could get some parts.”
For the next hour or so, Talia helped Rachel set up the facility’s dining room, where the play was going to be performed. Several of the parents pitched in, and they managed to get a makeshift stage constructed along one wall. Tables were moved to the back of the room to make way for several rows of chairs, and an area off to one side was cleared for wheelchair occupants. Talia was putting the last leafy touches on a cardboard tree when a towering, round-faced man with a full head of lush white hair entered the room.
“Dad—you made it!”
“Pixie pie!” Peter Marby rushed over to Talia and threw his thick arms around her. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you in a week.”
“A week isn’t very long, Dad.”
He kissed her on both cheeks. “I know, but to us it is.” He lowered his voice to avoid being overheard. “Especially with this nasty murder business going on. How’s Bea holding up?”
Talia let out a sigh. “She’s hanging in there, but it hasn’t been easy. It doesn’t help that Howie’s been laid up for so long. Hey, want to help me stick a moon in the sky? You seem to be the tallest person here, so you’re just the man for the job.”
He gave out a belly laugh. “Strangest thing I’ve ever been asked, but sure, I’ll do it.”
• • •
At three minutes past one, Rachel walked out and stood before the audience. All eyes were glued to her as she read a short introductory passage.
Seated in a folding chair between her mom and dad, Talia leveled a quick glance around the room. On the side of the room nearest the window sat three wheelchair occupants. The remaining chairs had been set up in a semicircle to allow everyone the best view. The audience consisted primarily of the kids’ parents and the elderly residents of the Pines. Fortunately the dining room was large enough to seat everyone comfortably.
Talia and her folks had chosen to sit in the back row to give as many visitors as possible an unobstructed view. She grinned when Ichabod strode onto the scene. With his oversized top hat and camel-colored, tuxedo-style jacket, he indeed looked like a scarecrow.
“Spare the rod and spoil the child,” Ichabod cried out, his stern gaze floating over the “students” in his mock classroom. His voice was strong, without a trace of the stage fright he’d suffered earlier. From her front-row seat his mom gazed at him, nodding and moving her lips as he recited his lines with the skill of a veteran actor.
Natalie Marby squeezed her daughter’s hand. “He’s so good!” she whispered.
Talia nodded. She was impressed with the clever job Rachel had done with the staging. As the scene segued from the classroom to the farmhouse of Baltus Van Tassel, two boys emerged from the shadows and moved silently onto the stage. One carried a tray laden with various waxed fruits and cardboard cakes. He set it down on the table that had been Ichabod’s desk in the first scene. The other boy quietly rearranged the chairs to form a parlor of sorts, and then both boys made a fast exit.
Everyone in the audience grinned when Katrina Van Tassel bounded onto the scene. She was thin and even taller than Ichabod, with a wig of sausage curls framing her red-cheeked face. In her long, lacy dress with puffed sleeves, she looked every bit the coquettish daughter of the wealthy Baltus.
Talia smiled when Hannah, as one of the Dutch wives, strolled into the fake parlor. The ladybug scarf looked so sweet on her. With her arm looped through the arm of another “Dutch wife,” Hannah pretended to giggle as Ichabod plied the lovely Katrina with his questionable charms.
Talia peeked briefly at her program. In doing so, she caught the eye of a bespectacled man with thick curly hair staring at her from the end of her row. He winked at her and gave her a little wave, then immediately sobered and turned back to the play.
He looks so familiar, she thought. Who is he?
The rest of the performance went along almost without a hitch. Brom Bones, Ichabod’s rival for the affections of Katrina, tripped over his own horse much the way Talia had earlier. He recovered quickly, and with a dazzling grin persuaded the audience that it was all part of the act. In the final scene, everyone’s eyes were on the headless horseman as he galloped across the stage. By the time the grinning pumpkin head rolled across the floor, everyone was clapping and cheering.
Rachel returned, and with a few final words wrapped up the narrative. The audience went into another round of applause. Parents surged toward the stage, hugging and congratulating their kids.
“Hey, that was terrific,” Talia told Rachel. She gave her friend a hug. “Very impressive.”
Rachel swiped a hand over her forehead as if whisking away perspiration. “Thank heaven, right? Once Tyler got out there, he really kicked himself into gear, didn’t he. He was fabulous.”
Abby Kingston, the administrator for the Wrensdale Police Department, wended her way over to Rachel with her son, Jacob, in tow. Jacob had been one of the two boys who’d rearranged the set in between scenes. Bright but extremely bashful, he’d told Rachel he wanted a nonspeaking part. He’d been thrilled when she asked if he’d like to be in charge of stage setting. Talia suspected Rachel saw traces of her own brother in Jacob, since she went out of her way to make him feel good about himself.
“Great job all around, Rachel,” Abby gushed, smiling down at her son.
Rachel accepted her praise and then hurried off to mingle with other parents. Hannah trotted over to Talia just then. Trailing in her wake was a roundish woman with sparkling brown eyes and a dazzling smile.
“Here, Ms. Marby,” Hannah said. She removed the ladybug scarf, rolled it into a ball, and gave it to Talia. “Thank you for letting me use your scarf. It’s even prettier than the one I was going to wear.”
“Yes, thank you for saving the day,” her mom whispered. “I can’t imagine what became of her scarf. She really didn’t need to leave it here overnight, but all the other kids left something in the prop box, so she wanted to do the same. You know how kids are.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Talia said, sliding the scarf around her own neck. Of all her scarves, she favored this one the most. She’d have hated to see anything happen to it.
Food was brought in, including a tray piled with the yummy goodies Talia had picked up at the bakery. One of the attendants rolled a large stainless-steel cart into the room. Small paper cups filled with apple cider lined one side of the cart. On the other side rested a coffee urn, along with cups, sugar, and milk. A pile of Halloween-themed napkins sat fanned out in the middle, along with matching paper plates. Talia grabbed a napkin, along with a cup of cider and a few cookies. She was munching on a raspberry bar when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She swiveled to see a tall, thirtysomething man with rimless glasses and a playful smile beaming at her. He was the same man who’d waved at her during the performance.
“Oh my gosh,” Talia said, suddenly recognizing him. “Ryan Collins.”
“In the flesh,” he said, his voice as deep and distinctive as she remembered. Careful not to spill her cider, he leaned down and gave her a brief hug.
Ryan had been one of Talia’s classmates at Wrensdale High. Back then he’d been the quintessential nerd—quiet, unassuming, brilliant. His shoulders were broader now, and the dimple next to his cheek had deepened. The unruly mop of dark curls that used to tumble over his thick glasses was now professionally cut and styled.
“It’s great to see you, Ryan,” Talia said with a grin. “Was one of your kids in the play?”
He returned her smile. “No, nothing like that. In fact, I’m not even married.” Was it Talia’s imagination, or did she detect a gleam in his eye when he said that?
“Actually, I’m here with my dad,” Ryan explained. “He’s a resident here now. He was only fifty-nine when he began to show symptoms of early-onset Alzh
eimer’s. Then his mind got worse quite suddenly, and … well, my mother’s job takes up most of her time, so she’s not in a position to care for him.”
“Oh, Ryan, I’m so sorry,” Talia said.
“Thanks. He’s been here seven months, and he’s adjusted pretty well. I work in software design, so luckily I have flexible hours and can visit him when I want. Dad’s always been somewhat of an insomniac, so when all the other residents are sound asleep he’s usually up late watching something on PBS. So why are you here?” he asked, changing the subject. “I thought I heard from someone that you lived in the Boston area.”
Talia nodded. “I did, but then a lot of things changed for me all at once, so I’m back in Wrensdale, at least for a while. Right now I’m working at Lambert’s Fish and Chips helping out my old friend Bea.”
“Oh heck, wait till I tell Dad that. He loves Lambert’s! They’ve got a great chef here, but she’s not big on fried food and Dad really misses his fried haddock. Would you like to meet him? Today’s been one of his more lucid days. I think the play brought back memories of his days as a professor of English lit at the community college.”
“I’d love to meet him,” Talia said. She found Ryan’s chattiness endearing. He seemed so different from the reserved boy he’d been in high school. She followed him to the area near the window where several senior residents were seated.
Ryan leaned over a distinguished-looking man with thinning hair and faded gray eyes. “Dad,” he said softly, “I ran into an old friend here—Talia Marby. Talia, this is my dad, Arthur Collins.”
Talia moved a step closer. She reached down and took Arthur’s hand in hers. “Professor Collins, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
At the word professor, Arthur’s face lit up. “The pleasure is all mine, my dear,” he said, squeezing her hand.
“Dad, Talia works at Lambert’s Fish and Chips with Bea,” Ryan said.
Arthur’s expression turned pensive. “Lovely lady, Bea is.” He gave Talia a childlike smile. “I miss her cooking.”
