by Wendy Tyson
Megan nodded, unsure how much was public.
“Becca always blamed Dr. Kent for uprooting our family. She liked Winsome, especially being near Aunt Merry. They were always close. When Dr. Kent broke my dad’s contract, we had to move again. It was hard on my sister.”
“Do you think Becca went to Eloise Kent’s house?” Clay asked. Megan understood the underlying meaning of his words. Do you think your sister hurt Eloise Kent?
“I hope not,” Luke said. He glanced back at the Marshall property. “But I just don’t know.”
While Luke was in the kitchen with Bibi drinking chamomile tea, Clay pulled Megan aside and into the front parlor.
“I found Luke at the old Marshall property. He seemed upset, was banging around over there. Kept insisting his sister was hiding in that dilapidated house. When I confronted him, he became agitated.” Clay glanced toward the French doors as though waiting for Luke to come barging in at any moment.
“Think about it. He lost his dad, and now his sister is missing. And everyone in that family is under suspicion. From what I can see, Merry’s not holding it together too well either. I don’t particularly care for his methods, but I can understand his angst about calling Bobby.”
Clay nodded. His tight jaw indicated that he didn’t agree with her, but he didn’t argue. His head tilted at the sound of knocking coming from the direction of the kitchen.
“Sounds like Bobby’s here,” Clay said.
“Good. He can talk to Luke.” Megan turned her focus onto Clay. “Are you okay? You don’t seem yourself.”
“Just frustrated. Another murder in Winsome? And now Eloise?” He shook his head. “I can’t help feeling like the Fox family brought this here. That Paul’s reconciliation attempt is at the root of the problem.”
Megan had to agree.
Clay was heading out the door when he spun around suddenly. “I almost forgot. You got a call while you were out. Patricia Smith, that farm to table chef from Philadelphia. She was happy with the samples. She wants to order baby spinach and mixed microgreens for the restaurant.”
Megan clapped her hands. Hallelujah. Patricia Smith had been passionate about buying only local, chemical-free ingredients, and out of everyone she’d met that day, the chef had seemed the most interested in giving Washington Acres’ produce a try. Megan said, “I’m glad one good thing came out of that fateful snowy trip into the city.”
“Given all that’s happened since, I thought you’d appreciate that. It may just be the opportunity we need to get Washington Acres on the Philly map.”
“I’ll give Patricia a call later.”
“I already let her know we could fill the order.”
Something was banging into the wall in the kitchen. Megan sprinted toward the parlor door. “Never a dull moment around here.”
Clay was right behind her. “Would you want it any other way?”
Megan stopped just short of the kitchen. She could see through the doorway that Bobby had things—things being Luke—under control. “Yes,” she said in answer to Clay’s rhetorical question. “I really, really would.”
Twenty-Eight
“You’re just upset right now. Sit down and stay down.” King was looking at Luke Fox. He had his hand on his holster and a warning in his eyes. “I am not the enemy.”
“You need to find Becca.”
“And we will. But first I have a few questions for you. You need to come with me down to the station.”
“You’ll be wasting my time and yours. In the meantime, something could have happened to Becca.”
“Luke,” Bibi’s voice broke in, “where’s Merry?”
Luke looked momentarily confused by the question. “Looking for Becca. When I left, she was making calls.”
“She didn’t call me or Megan.”
Annoyance flashed across Luke’s face. “How should I know what Aunt Merry does or why? For as long as I can remember, it’s been Becca and me. I need to find her and you need to help me.” He looked pointedly at King. “Please.”
King beckoned for Luke to follow him. “We may have a lead, but I need your input, okay? While you’re with me, my officers will look for Becca. Do you have any idea where she could be?”
“Here. But we looked and didn’t find her here. Otherwise, no.”
King shot Megan a look of exasperation. He managed to maintain his professional composure. “Megan, Clay, Bonnie. Thanks for helping us out.”
“They weren’t helping you out—” Megan heard Luke say as they were leaving.
Once the door closed, Clay let out a long, low sigh. “He really is upset.”
“Becca is all he has left,” Bibi said. “Perhaps it’s a case of like father, like son.”
Megan looked at her, a thought taking shape. “Truer words, Bibi.” She kissed her grandmother on the cheek, said good-bye to Clay, and walked toward the hallway.
“Where are you going?” Bibi called after her. “I want to know how Eloise is doing.”
“No word yet,” Megan called back, and closed her office door.
“Like father, like son,” Bibi had said. Becca demanded so much attention, but Luke was their father’s favorite. He seemed so different from his father in many ways—quiet, responsible, and lacking in the charm that had won Paul the affection of some. But maybe there was something in Luke’s past, some connection to Paul or Becca, that could be key.
Megan did what free searches she could on Luke Fox, but she turned up empty-handed. Engineering degree from Drexel University, Master’s Degree from RPI. According to LinkedIn and other social media sites, Luke had spent most of his career traveling for one consulting firm or another before starting his own. He helped start up factories in developing nations. Nothing telling or unusual in his background, and he was listed on alumni sites for his respective colleges. Megan couldn’t find any indication of relationship status. And no obvious criminal activity.
And so Megan paid for a criminal search. She was sure the police had done this as well, but it never hurt to have fresh eyes, a fresh perspective. Only the criminal checks turned up nothing. Luke Fox was clean.
Like father, like son. Maybe the key existed in their relationship to one another. The competition Becca had mentioned. The testosterone-driven rivalry.
Megan found Luke’s Facebook site. She studied his photos. A smiling man holding a fishing pole. A smiling man sitting with three friends at a bar in Mexico. A good-natured man wearing a sombrero next to a rather plain woman at a street fair in San Diego. A grinning man petting a large Labrador outside a museum in what looked like San Francisco. In every picture, Luke Fox looked like a confident, happy man. That wasn’t the man she saw in her kitchen just now.
Luke did just lose his father, Megan thought. And his sister had been accused of murder. It was enough to make anyone a little crazy.
Megan scanned Facebook and other social media sites for pictures of Luke Fox in the hope that she’d find something more provocative. After a few minutes of viewing irrelevant photos, she decided to search for Sherry Lynn Booker. She finally found a few of interest on Sherry Lynn’s Facebook page. Sherry Lynn with Paul—Paul was staring at the camera, Sherry Lynn was staring adoringly at Paul. Another of Sherry Lynn and Paul on a boat. It was sunset, and her long tan legs were stretched out on the deck, her bikini top just barely covering her ample breasts. Paul had his hand on her shoulder protectively, and she wore a grin that matched the price of the boat. The perfect couple. Or so one would think.
Another photo caught Megan’s attention. It was older, and in this one Luke had been tagged. The photo caught Sherry Lynn, Paul, Blanche, and the Fox kids at what looked like a barbeque. It had been taken when Becca was in her late teens, maybe a year or two before Blanche died, during Fourth of July or some other summer occasion. Sherry Lynn and Blanche were standing near one end of a picnic table, ho
lding Samuel Adams beers and smiling. Paul and his son stood on the other end. Paul had his arm around a grinning, baby-faced Luke. Both Paul and Blanche were looking at Becca. Sherry Lynn was looking at Paul. And Luke was staring at his father. Only Becca stood by herself, her wavy blonde hair tucked under a baseball cap, her fingers clutching a giant soft pretzel. Her eyes were dark angry orbs gazing straight ahead at the camera.
Blanche and Sherry Lynn. Paul and Luke. And Becca, all alone.
The phone rang. Bobby King. Megan turned off her computer, her concern for Becca Fox deepening with every second.
“It’s a hit,” King said over the phone. “Luke admitted to knowing him. Identified him as William Dorset.”
“So that was the guy who I saw Luke with outside of the café.”
“Looks that way.”
Megan tapped the eraser tip of a pencil against the wooden desk, thinking. “How does Luke know William?”
“He says Becca contacted William as part of her plot to have former patients go after her father. Luke met William through Becca. Luke claims there is no acquaintance between him and William or between William and his sister beyond that.”
Megan thought it odd that Luke knew William at all. He had told her that he didn’t know who his sister was acquainted with. “Was Luke part of the plot to go after Paul in court? I thought it was only Becca who wanted to get back at Paul.”
“Luke claims it was all Becca. He found out about it, confronted her, and she introduced him to William hoping to sway Luke to her side.”
Megan had seen the early interactions between Becca and her brother, the way he tried to convince her to give their father a chance, the way Becca resisted—so that Megan could believe. “Does he think William could have anything to do with the murder of his father?”
“You mean like Becca stirred up a hornet’s nest? Contacted this guy, reminded him of all the ways Paul had done him wrong, and suddenly he wants to kill Paul?”
Megan stood and walked to the window. She opened it a crack, letting the cold air wake her up. “I guess. I’m not sure I see William Dorset as a literary mystery reader though. So where would the books fit in?”
“He could be acting in tandem with Becca.” King sighed. “But your question was whether Luke thought William did this. The answer is he doesn’t know. Luke said William seemed angry and not terribly bright. That the thought of a lawsuit seemed to trigger visions of easy money. Maybe William went rogue and tried to blackmail Paul. Maybe Becca and William blackmailed him together.”
“And Luke claims he knew about the lawsuit but had nothing to do with it.”
“That’s right.”
Megan considered what King was telling her. “He knew his father had been murdered. Why didn’t he come forward with this information?”
“Luke said he didn’t want to implicate his sister. He didn’t think this guy was a true threat, and he knew it would make Becca look bad.”
That made a certain sense—although it didn’t excuse the omission. “Did Luke know what Paul had done to this guy to make him think he even had a case?”
“He didn’t know.”
“Yet he went along with this anyway?”
“He says he tried to talk them both out of it.”
Megan wasn’t buying that. “Why wouldn’t he have warned his father about Becca’s plot? Tried to stop it?”
“Says he was about to do that when Paul was killed.”
Megan shut the window harder than she intended and returned to her desk. Staring at the photo of the Fox family with Sherry Lynn, Megan said, “Do you believe Luke?”
King took a moment to respond. “He seemed sincere. That’s the most I can say.” There was a firm knock on King’s door. Megan heard him answer it, and he was back a few moments later with, “Megan, I have to go.”
“Is everything okay?”
“They found Becca.” King’s voice sounded strained. “She’s not well.”
Megan could feel her heart begin to race. “Where was she?”
Bobby barked orders at someone in his office. In almost a whisper, he said to Megan, “At Emily’s house.”
“Oh, no—”
“I don’t have time to explain now. If you want to help, find Emily. Bring her to the house. We may need her. But stay in your car until I get you. No matter what.”
King’s tone was starting to scare her. “Is it such a good idea to bring Emily over? She already has a lot of baggage tied to that house.”
Megan heard more shouts, the wail of sirens in the background. A door slammed.
“Just meet me there, Megan,” King said. “I have to go.”
Twenty-Nine
Emily was working at the spa and unable to leave right away. Megan was afraid of what Emily might see, so she arranged for Clay to pick Emily up after her shift and bring her to the house. Megan would meet them there.
“I’ll call you and let you know what to expect so you can forewarn her,” Megan had said.
Nothing had prepared Megan for this, though.
Fire engines and police cars surrounded the property. The right side of Emily’s house was stained black from smoke. As Megan pulled up to the driveway, she could see part of the roof missing around the back side of the Cape Cod. Rafters stuck out like charred bones in an oversized skeleton. The gutters on the right side hung off the house, and the newly painted windows were gaping dark holes. Tendrils of smoke rose into the sky, melding with the gray sky above.
The house was all but destroyed.
It took Megan a moment to catch her breath. The air was acrid, and her chest felt heavy. She knew the smell was only part of the problem.
Megan had promised Bobby she’d wait in the car. She dialed Clay’s number and explained what she saw.
“Oh, god,” he said. “She’ll be distraught.”
“I know. You should tell her beforehand. Otherwise it will be too much of a shock.”
“I’m heading over now,” Clay said. “After I fill in Bonnie. We’ll see you in about forty minutes.”
Megan clicked off her phone and watched as an ambulance pulled away from the house. Had Becca been hurt? What was Becca doing at Emily’s house in the first place? And who had set the fire?
“Where’s Emily?” King asked.
Megan had climbed out of the truck when she saw King approaching. She leaned against the bed of the truck and watched the firefighters inspect the remains of Emily’s house.
“On her way. Clay’s picking her up from work.”
King joined Megan. His gaze followed hers. “Shame about the house. The inside is a shell.”
“Where did it start?”
King turned to her. Megan saw streaks of soot across his forehead and down one cheek. “The downstairs bedroom.”
Megan frowned. “Where Paul died?”
King nodded. “Where her father was murdered. Creepy, right?”
“I have a lot of questions, Bobby. But first, how is Becca? I saw the ambulance. Was she hurt?”
“Burns on her hands and arms, smoke inhalation, but she’ll be okay. It’s more her state of mind. She seems very out of it.”
“She set the fire?”
“She says she did.”
Megan cocked her head. “You don’t believe her?”
King sighed. “There’s little doubt she did it. We found her sitting outside, watching the flames, her hands and arms red from the heat. She had a gas can and a torch with her. She seemed mesmerized by the blaze. But without her lawyer present, and with her state of mind, I didn’t want to ask too many questions.” He shrugged. “Maybe everything has been Becca all along.”
“Don’t forget. I was attacked while Becca was being held.”
“Becca plus one, then. It seems likely she didn’t act alone.”
“Speaking of plus on
e, have you located William Dorset?”
King made a sound like a strangled laugh. He unfurled his arm and waved it in the direction of the house. “We’re a small-town department. I’m lucky I had enough human power to handle this, much less locate Dorset. But we’re on it.”
Megan smiled. “So no luck so far.”
King’s smile back was wry. “No, no luck so far.”
“Have you told Luke?”
“Oh, yeah. Got an earful there. He’s on his way now.”
“And Merry?”
“I left a message.”
Poor Merry, Megan thought. She tried to do a good thing—misguided, perhaps, but well-intended—by bringing them all together for the holidays. And then this happens. If she was disheartened before, this would only make it worse.
“I can stop by to see her,” Megan said.
“You’ve been so good. I tell you more than I should perhaps. Next I’ll be getting you on the payroll.”
“A police consultant. Grows tomatoes, solves crimes.”
“Sounds like a perfect profession for you.”
Two of the firetrucks were pulling out of the driveway just as a new car was arriving—Clay’s pickup truck. Megan and King watched as shock, then grief registered on Emily’s face. Clay pulled to a stop and Emily tumbled out, her hands shaking, her face bunched in fear and frustration.
“I have to question her,” King said. “And it won’t be fun.”
“Because she owns the house?”
“Assuming she has insurance, she stands to profit from the fire. We need her statement on record.” His head turned to follow Emily’s progress toward them. “Doesn’t look like she’s taking it well.”
“Oh my god, Bobby. What happened? Is anyone hurt?” Emily cried when she arrived at Megan’s truck. Tears streaked down her face. “I can’t believe this.”
Clay put a calming hand on her shoulder while King explained the bare bones of what they knew. Emily kept nodding, but her gaze never left the burnt remnants of her house. Megan reminded herself that Emily had lost her father just a few short months ago. This house had been his. Having a murder take place here, and now losing the house—devastating.
