by Wendy Tyson
Megan kissed him. “Of course.”
“I could make an honest lassie out of ye someday, ye know.”
“I’m not an honest woman now?”
Denver’s eyes smiled. He kissed the top of her head, then breathed in her scent. “Aye, as honest as they come, I suspect. Except for preying on strange women named Sherry Lynn. You and your grandmother are two peas, ye are.”
Knowing Bibi was busy reading Sarah’s novels, searching for clues they’d missed, Megan nodded. “That we are.”
Roger Becker lived in an older stone Colonial on the edge of Canal Street, not far from where the canal walking path began. Like many of the homes along that stretch, the Beckers had a large stately house that sat atop a small yard. What the yard lacked in size, it more than made up for in landscaping. In the summer the white picket fence along the street was lined on either side with colorful perennial gardens, and Roger and Anita tended an elaborate potager alongside the house—a kitchen garden filled with flowers for cutting, culinary herbs, and vegetables. Even in the winter, their care showed. Wreathes had been placed at intervals along the fence and single electric candles burned in every window. Megan hated to disturb this cozy domestic scene with talk of murder, but she felt she had no choice. She rang the doorbell and waited.
Anita answered immediately. She was a short round woman with ebony black hair and enviably smooth mocha-colored skin. Megan saw her occasionally at the café, but usually Anita was there to buy groceries when she needed something in a hurry. Anita had been a special education teacher at a neighboring district for as long as Megan could remember, and she was as well known for her compassion as her amazing culinary skills.
“Megan, hello. Come in out of the cold.” Anita stepped back to let Megan inside. “Is everything okay?”
“We’re fine, Anita. I’m here for sort of an odd reason. Did I come at a bad time?”
“No, no, not at all. I’m just making dinner. You’re welcome to stay and eat with us.” When Megan politely declined, Anita said, “Then if you don’t mind, come into the kitchen. We can chat there.”
Megan followed Anita and sat down at a stool by the island. Her kitchen felt small, but warm and inviting. A blocky wooden island with a cooktop center sat in the middle of the rectangular room. Two banks of counters lined the rear and north sides of the kitchen. The appliances were high-end but well-used, the counters stainless steel. It was a cook’s kitchen, and Anita was busily chopping vegetables for what looked like a stir fry.
“I love what you’re doing with the farm and the café, Megan. Alvaro is a gem of a chef.” Anita chopped an onion with a stainless steel chef’s knife, her strokes strong and sure. “But I doubt you came to talk about the café.”
“No, unfortunately.” After a few more minutes of chit chat, Megan explained that she was here about Blanche Fox. “Roger said the two of you were close friends up until she died.”
“That’s true. And even afterwards, I kept in contact with the family…for a while.” She shook her head. “I heard Bobby arrested Becca for Paul’s murder. So incredibly sad.”
“Do you think Becca is capable of something like that?”
Anita seemed startled by the question. “No. Or at least I would have said no last week. I don’t know what to think. After everything she’s been through, now this.”
“Then you know Becca claims her father killed Blanche.”
“Yes, of course. She’s been saying it for years.”
“Do you think there’s any truth to that, Anita?”
Anita’s eyes looked sad when she said, “I just don’t know. Becca is a troubled girl. She spent her childhood trying to please her father, and when her mother died, everything changed. And then the tables turned. The whole situation was heartbreaking.”
“What do you mean ‘everything changed’?”
Anita used a pastry scraper to transfer the onions into a glass bowl. “It was like she was suddenly seeing her father for who he was. His lies, his narcissism, his false bravado. She used to make excuses for him, and it all ended the second Blanche passed away.” She tilted her head, thinking. “Becca didn’t allow him to control her anymore.”
“Control her in what way?”
Anita put down the scraper. She met Megan’s gaze. “Paul was a master at manipulation, as you might have guessed. Especially with women. If he wanted to charm you, watch out. He could make even the most hardened libido feel desired. That’s how he got his way. And if you didn’t fall for it? Then he would try lies and bullying. But when it came to Blanche and Becca, his tactics were different.”
“Different in what way?”
Anita took a moment before speaking. She looked around the room, searching, it seemed, for the right words. “It was as if he held their self-esteem hostage. He’d give just enough praise to make them believe him, but most of the time he degraded them—their looks, their intelligence, their ability to accomplish even little things.” Anita regarded Megan, and Megan saw rage and remorse. “It took me years to realize what he was doing to them. By then, I urged Blanche to leave him, for the kids’ sake as well as her own.”
“I heard she was on the verge of divorce when she died.”
“It’s true.” Anita sighed. She picked up the knife and began peeling the outer bark off a knuckle of ginger root. “She’d finally gotten the courage to end it.”
“Do you think—”
“That he killed her so she couldn’t leave him? I don’t know, Megan. I’d hate to think that of anyone. But the truth is, she was no dummy. And she was quite knowledgeable when it came to the house. She’d even taken a class. It stumped me and Roger—how could she have left the gas on?”
But Megan was no longer listening. She was thinking about that home improvement class—and about someone else who admitted to being handy: Sherry Lynn Booker. She’d suspected Sherry Lynn of killing Paul, but now she wondered if Blanche had been a target too.
How much effort would it have taken Sherry Lynn to kill her competition? If Blanche sued for divorce, she would have received a good portion of Paul’s estate and tied the couple up in a messy lawsuit. No Blanche meant Sherry Lynn could have Paul to herself. And a handy woman could figure out how to create a leaky stove—and might just know her way around paint thinner, or some other means of creating the gas that killed Paul Fox.
And conveniently inherit Paul’s money.
So many things were clicking into place. Sherry Lynn’s lack of mourning. The Sarah Estelle mystery novel in that bag. Megan’s pulse picked up. Could that be right? Could Sherry Lynn be the missing link? The first time they’d met her, her worry over Paul had seemed genuine. But what if the emotion they were sensing was guilt? What if she had orchestrated this whole thing knowing she’d get everything in the end?
“What do you know about Sherry Lynn Booker?” Megan asked.
Anita’s pleasant features twisted in disgust. “What about her?”
“I take it she’s not your favorite person.”
“I’m a churchgoing woman, Megan, and I believe in living the Lord’s word, not just giving lip service, so I’m not going to express my full feelings for that woman. Suffice it to say I would not want to break bread with her, nor would I trust her with our hamster much less my husband.”
“So you know about Sherry Lynn and Paul?”
“You’d have to be blind not to see the chemistry between the two of them. Well before they got together, I warned Blanche. But she was too blind or trusting or naïve to see what was happening.”
“Merry too?”
“Merry? Our Merry?” Anita looked confused.
“Was Merry too blind or trusting or naïve to see what was happening between Paul and Sherry Lynn?”
Anita took her time answering. She pulled two carrots out of the refrigerator and placed them on the counter. Then she crushed a clove of
garlic with the back of her knife. “Merry knew. She must have.”
Megan told her about the photo, about realizing that Merry had taken a photo of Sherry Lynn at Paul’s shore house.
“That trip was an effort to mend the family,” Anita said. “In her own way, Merry was as blind to Paul’s shortcomings as Sherry Lynn. She truly believed she could bring him and Becca together again. And he pushed her to believe that. This trip—coming here at Christmas—was Paul’s idea.”
“He thought he could get Becca back?”
“He said he wanted a relationship with his daughter. I’m afraid he thought he could buy it.”
Megan frowned. “What do you mean?”
Anita took a deep breath. She shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling disloyal. “He gave Becca money for The Love Chemist. Funded her operation with a sizable investment.”
Megan shook her head. “Merry gave her that money.”
“Merry was the conduit. Paul was the financier.”
Megan stared at her, open-mouthed. “Merry was acting on his behalf?”
Anita wacked another clove of garlic. “She thought she was doing the right thing, I guess. I told her it wasn’t right, but you know how she can be.” Anita shrugged. “She said Paul just wanted a relationship with his girl. Ask me? He wanted her to stop accusing him of Blanche’s death. If Becca took his money, she’d owe him. That meant control.”
Megan’s head swam with the new information. Could that have been the investment he’d approached Sarah about? And could Sherry Lynn have killed him to stop more money from going to his daughter? But he was a wealthy man…why would he need Sarah’s money?
Megan thanked Anita and said she would let herself out.
“Don’t be silly, Megan.” Anita led her back to the front door. “Here in Winsome, we still look after one another.” She looked outside, squinting against the glow of the porch light. “It’s starting to sleet or snow or something. You sure you don’t want to stay?”
“I really can’t. I have to feed Denver’s dogs.”
“Be careful.”
Megan agreed, knowing Anita was thinking of the weather. It wasn’t snow that scared Megan, though. It was things that went bump in the night.
Megan made her way outside and back to the truck. It was going to be a long evening.
Thirty-Five
Megan drove slowly to Merry’s house, conscious of slick roads and a rising feeling of dread. She was certain she’d be met with the same lukewarm reception she’d received the last several times she showed up, but she wanted to confirm what Anita had told her with Merry. She also wanted to ask Luke if he knew anything about his father’s investments—or Paul’s paramour.
This time when Megan arrived, the house was lit for the holidays. The outside lights were on, the window candles glowed, and even the Christmas tree twinkled and sparkled from its perch inside Merry’s formal living space. Megan took a certain amount of comfort in that. Maybe Merry was back to her old self.
Luke answered the door on the second doorbell ring. He looked more rested and alert. His beard had been trimmed, and he wore a button-down blue gingham shirt with a gray vest, gray pants, and gray socks. He was carrying a newspaper.
“Hi, Megan. Looking for my aunt?”
“Is she up?”
“I can check. She was sleeping earlier.”
“No change?”
Luke took a step back, inviting Megan into the center hall. “Better, I think. She’s still not feeling one hundred percent. The doctor says she has a flu that might knock her out for a week or two. And then there’s my sister.” Luke’s eyes clouded. “I’m sure you heard she’s been formally charged.”
“I did. I’m sorry. I imagine it’s very upsetting to both of you.”
Luke nodded. “I don’t think they have the right person, but if this leads to Becca getting some help, then something positive will have come out of it. At least that’s what I keep telling Aunt Merry.”
Megan slid her coat off her shoulders. “May I come in?”
“Oh, sure. Please.” Luke took her coat and hung it in the closet. “Let me check on Aunt Merry.”
“Before you go, can I ask you a few questions?”
Impatience flashed across Luke’s face. “I’m actually getting ready to head out.”
“Oh? Something special?” Megan knew she was bordering on intrusive, but she didn’t care. “I don’t want to hold you up, but it will only take a few minutes.”
“I’m meeting with Becca’s attorney.” He glanced at his watch—a Cartier or a Cartier rip-off. “Fifteen minutes. Looks like it’s starting to sleet. I want to get to the lawyer before she leaves.”
Megan thanked him for his time. “I was wondering about your dad’s investment business, Luke.” She told him about Paul’s request that Sarah make a sizable investment. “Do you know whether that was for Becca’s business?”
Luke laughed. “The Love Chemist? Doubtful. If ever there was a business set to fail, that was it. Love potions? Pheromones?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“But your dad was trying to support Becca.”
“Look, Becca hated Dad. I told you that, she told you that. My sister had this irrational belief that my father killed my mother. She wouldn’t let it go. Why would he want to fund her business?”
They were still standing in the foyer. Megan shifted her weight so she could glance around the house. For what, she didn’t know. “What if I told you your father had been married before? That his first wife died accidentally too.”
Luke narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit.”
“It’s a matter of public record.”
“I want to check that out for myself. Dad would have told us if he’d been married before.”
“He was young, there were no kids, so not necessarily. And maybe your sister found out. Maybe that fueled her belief about your dad’s guilt. Two deceased wives seems like quite a coincidence.”
Luke looked skeptical. “Becca would have said something.”
Megan hesitated before asking her next question. She knew she was walking on brittle glass, but she’d come too far to turn back. She’d push forward. “Is it possible Sherry Lynn found out?”
“Sherry Lynn?” His confusion appeared genuine. “Why would she care?”
“She had been your mother’s best friend. I know things changed after her death, but if she caught wind that your father hadn’t been completely honest—”
Luke waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I really have to go. It’s getting late, and none of this is going to help my sister.”
“Do you know Sherry Lynn well?”
“If you’re asking me whether she could have killed my father, the answer is no. Who should that joker King and his merry band of idiots be looking for? William Dorset…or some other disgruntled patient of my father’s.” Luke walked toward the stairs. “Now do you want to see Aunt Merry or not?”
“Yes, please.” Megan started to follow him, but he motioned for her to stay put.
“Let me see if she’s even awake. The doctor gave her a prescription that knocks her out.”
Megan stood in the center hall while Luke disappeared outside. Megan was about to head into the living room for a quick peek around when Luke came barreling back down the stairs.
“She’s really groggy, Megan. You may want to come back tomorrow.”
“I’d like to see her now.”
“I don’t think—”
“I do.” Megan pushed past him and up the steps. “I won’t stay for more than five minutes.”
“Then let yourself out,” Luke called after her. “I’m not waiting around.”
Megan expected to find Merry in bed, a repeat of the last visit. She was pleased to see her sitting in a chair by the window, a dark shawl around her frail-looking s
houlders. The light in the room was dim, but Merry was awash in the soft glow from a table lamp. She turned her head to look at Megan when she entered. Her smile seemed wistful.
“Merry, we’ve been so worried about you. How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Merry’s voice was soft, raspy as though from disuse.
“I wanted to talk to you. First, to check on you, and second…well, I have some questions.” But even as Megan spoke, she realized it was fruitless. Merry maintained the same wistful smile, the same glassy stare. Megan walked to the table and looked down at what Merry was doing. She had a pen and crossword in front of her, but only one word was filled in—and incorrectly.
Megan felt Merry’s head. It was cool and clammy. She studied her friend. Her skin was pale, her hair unwashed. She wore a pink dressing gown under the shawl, and she smelled of Becca’s rose perfume. “Do you want some ice water? Maybe a bite to eat?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Maybe a walk? Get out of this room for a spell?”
Merry looked up at her. Her eyes seemed faraway. “I’m fine, Megan.”
“Can we talk about Becca? About her relationship with Paul? I think it may be important, Merry. It might help your niece.”
Merry closed her eyes slowly, then opened them again. It took her a moment to refocus. Her voice stronger but ignoring the question, she said, “Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“I’m worried about the business. I’ve felt so ill.”
“I understand. Whatever you need.”
“My reputation is on the line. I can’t afford to lose customers or suppliers.”
Merry ripped a piece of paper out of the crossword book. “I need to cancel an order of trees and wreaths. I’m not feeling up to opening the store tomorrow. If I give you the name of the farm, will you cancel for me?”
“Sure, Merry.”
Merry scribbled on the paper, folded it with shaking hands, and then handed it to Megan. “Thank you.”
