by Wendy Tyson
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Easy to say.”
True, Megan thought. “So you told the police about Elliot?”
“Lewis and Clark?” He smiled at his own joke. “Yeah, they were here. Asking all kinds of questions about Thana. Her lifestyle. Did she take drugs? Had she pissed someone off lately? Did she sleep with strange men? As though she was the one on trial.”
“That’s often how these things go, Mr. Moore. Sometimes the victim’s life holds the key to what happened.”
He regarded Megan as though he were just seeing her for the first time. “I forgot that you went off to law school.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you and Thana ever patch things up? I was sad to see your friendship end, you know. You were good for her. After you ended your friendship, she wasn’t the same. I hope you were able to let go of your grudge.”
“I never held a grudge.”
“Then why didn’t you call her? Try to see her? She never forgot you, Megan.”
“Things changed. I was sorry for what happened back then.” Megan didn’t want to go there. She didn’t want to get into a discussion about who had hurt whom. She figured they’d both done their fair share of damage. “I’m sorry we lost touch.”
“She never did tell us what happened. We figured it was some silly teenage thing.” His eyes searched Megan’s for an indication that this was the case. “Me and Konstantina, we hoped you’d patch things up.”
“I always liked Thana’s mother. She was like a parent to me.”
Wesley’s eyes looked far away. His attention turned to the lake. “She’s gone three years now.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“And now my daughter.”
“Mr. Moore, why do you think Elliot hurt your daughter?”
The mention of Elliot’s name seemed to return him to the present. “They were always fighting. Elliot liked to pretend he was Mr. Casual, never a care in the world, but he is as controlling as they come. Got to the point that he didn’t even want Thana to come here.”
“She told you that?”
“She told me, and I witnessed it.”
“Was he ever aggressive with Thana in front of you?”
Wesley’s hand flew to his face. He dabbed his sweaty skin with the handkerchief he’d used on the fishing rod. “Not exactly.” He hesitated. “It was more like possessiveness. She’d stand where you are, and he’d be standing over her. She’d get a phone call and he’d want to know who it was right away. I even caught him reading her text messages.” Wesley tucked the handkerchief in his pants pocket and examined the rod handle. “It was like he didn’t trust her.”
“Did Thana ever complain to you? Express fear of Elliot?”
“The police asked me the same thing. No, not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
“Once I saw a hint of it. More than a hint, I guess.” Wesley looked uncomfortable. “They’d stayed at the house for a night. It was after my surgery—I had to have a hip replaced and needed some help for a week or so. Thana came and he joined her one evening. I didn’t like that, not that she asked me.” Wesley’s skin flushed. “They were in the room next to mine. I…I heard them.”
Wesley’s obvious discomfort was making Megan squirm. “It’s okay, Mr. Moore. You don’t need to say anything else.” Megan could imagine what he’d heard.
“No, it wasn’t like that. And it needs to be said.” He scrunched his face into a visage of resolve. “She was crying out. I heard a thump, arguing. Something smashed against the wall and shattered. Finally I had to bang on the wall and threaten to call the police. You know what that’s like? I couldn’t walk. I had to bang on the wall to help my daughter.” He sat straighter, gripping the fishing rod so that his knuckles were white. “He left the next morning before I was up. It was the last time I saw them together. She left him a few days later.”
Slowly, wearily, Wesley rose from the chair, his awkward movements underscoring the long healing process. “I asked her the next day if she was alright. She said Elliot was just angry about one of her paintings. That he wanted her to sell it to someone she didn’t want to sell it to.”
“I heard Elliot was an artist as well.”
Wesley’s laugh lacked any discernable humor. “So he said. Never saw anything he made except some tin can garbage he called modern art.” Wesley scowled. “He saw himself as her manager—part of that controlling thing. That’s ultimately why Thana left him. The truth was my daughter paid him to frame her work. That’s how he made money.”
“Did he frame others’ work as well?”
“Don’t know. Maybe. Had to pay the bills somehow.”
Megan thought about this. An up and coming artist dates someone who’s been described as rough around the edges—at best. Maybe abusive. And an aspiring artist whose career was going nowhere. Was her success enough to set him off?
“What about Ray Cruise, Mr. Moore? Was Thana still friends with him?”
“Ray who?” Wesley looked genuinely confused.
“The man who owned the Center in Dartville. We were all friends in high school. Thana, me, Mick Sawyer, and Ray Cruise.”
“Thana never mentioned him.” Wesley started to fold his chair. “I’m going inside for a bite to eat. Would you like to join me? I made meatloaf, and it’s not half bad.”
Megan smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Moore. Maybe another time.”
He nodded, already shuffling toward the walkway that led to his house. “Don’t be a stranger, Megan,” he called over his shoulder.
“I won’t.” She watched her old friend’s father disappear inside, his chair and fishing rod left behind on the porch.
Megan got into her truck and glanced at the clock on her dashboard. Almost dinner time. Bibi, Clover, and Emily could hold down the fort at the café, and the farm was in the capable hands of Clay and Porter. She wanted to call Denver but realized he was likely asleep. She sent him a quick email telling him how much she missed him and then decided to make one more stop for the evening.
Elliot Craddock. Although an internet search only turned up an address in Philadelphia, she had a general idea of where she might find him. A text to Clover gave her an exact address for his beer-loving buddies. Megan pulled out of Deer Meadow Estates battling a feeling of sadness. For her childhood. For Wesley Moore and his lost family.
Evening was pressing down and the blue sky was beginning to darken. The air, thankfully, had cooled a few degrees and the humidity had lessened. Megan rolled down her window, grateful for the rush of air against her skin, and thought about Wesley Moore. Such a lonely figure. He’d said Elliot was abusive, but could his impressions be trusted? He’d also had no recollection of Ray Cruise, but yet he remembered Megan immediately. Ray, Megan, and Thana had once been the three Winsome musketeers. Had Ray made less of an impression, or was Wesley an unreliable witness? He certainly loathed Elliot—and his story held the ring of truth. Clover didn’t seem to care for Elliot either, but Bobby King said he was an okay guy.
She needed to see for herself.
Clover and Bobby King shared a Colonial-style duplex in a neighborhood off Canal Street, in the busier section of town. Their house was painted gray and white, and both sides were uniformly neat. Trimmed lawns, mended fence, newly painted trim. Bobby’s parents lived in the other half of the duplex, and they rented half to King so he could save for his own home. In return, Bobby and Clover kept up the shared yard and exterior maintenance. It was an arrangement that seemed to work. Except, according to Clover, for their neighbors.
The Kings’ home abutted an apartment complex, one of the few in Winsome. More specifically, it abutted a sprawling Victorian that had been added on to in haphazard ways over the years, before Winsome’s Gestapo-like zoning board took over. The result was a peach-colored monstrosity with multiple balconies and a yard consumed by parkin
g spaces. As Megan pulled in front of Clover’s house, she saw a group of men sitting on one of those balconies, drinking Budweiser and tossing pennies into a can on the ground. Megan took a deep breath. She never liked dealing with drunk people—especially groups of drunk men barely out of adolescence.
Nevertheless, she marched forward.
One of them cat-called. “Coming to party?”
“Hey, bring our pennies up here?” another yelled. “And we’ll give you a beer.”
“No thanks,” Megan yelled up. She tried to see their faces, but the low-lying sun shone in her eyes. She cupped a hand over her brow and shouted, “But if you can tell me where to find Elliot Craddock, I’ll buy you a case of Bud.”
The group went silent. Megan could make out six guys, all in their twenties. Two wore baseball caps. One wore a Drexel t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. Another had on a ripped black Rush t-shirt that framed heavily tattooed arms. The other two were leaning up against the exterior wall of the house, faces in the shadows.
“Who wants to know?” Drexel yelled.
“A friend of Thana Moore’s.”
More silence.
“What friend?” Drexel yelled. He leaned over the balcony railing. “I didn’t think Thana had female friends.”
“I was a school mate of Thana’s. I’d really like to talk to Elliot.”
Drexel said, “Sorry. No Elliot here.”
“Yeah, well, I just want to give him my condolences,” Megan said. “If he shows up, can you tell him Megan Sawyer stopped by? Thana knew me as Megan Birch.”
No response. Drexel moved back, under the awning.
Realizing she wasn’t going to get anymore from these guys, Megan walked back to her truck. It wasn’t until she’d pulled away from the curb that she realized the pennies had stopped flying and the men had disappeared inside. Suddenly the party was over.
Fourteen
Megan stopped at her Aunt Sarah’s cottage on the way back to the farm. Sarah Birch, who wrote award-winning mystery novels under the pen name Sarah Estelle, lived on the outskirts of Winsome in a cottage nestled in the woods. The house and yard had storybook charm, with their masses of perennial gardens, tiny fairy villages, and brightly painted bird houses. As Megan walked up the steps toward her aunt’s house, she felt some of the day’s anxiety wash away.
No one answered her knock, but eventually her aunt called from somewhere inside the house and told her to come in. Megan twisted the knob and found it unlocked. She wandered through the small house until she spotted her aunt sitting at her dining room table, laptop open, typing madly away. An orange tabby sat placidly next to the computer, bathing himself in a slice of sunlight. The cat opened its eyes when Megan entered, then closed them languidly once more.
“Sit,” Aunt Sarah said. “Let me finish this scene.”
Megan accepted a chair. She pulled out her phone.
“No phone,” Sarah said without taking her eyes off the screen or her fingers off the keyboard. “Distracting. And don’t pet Harley. He’ll start purring again and that will distract me.”
And so Megan sat at the table listening to the click, click of Sarah’s short nails hitting the keys. After a few minutes, her aunt removed her yellow-and-black-striped readers and rubbed her eyes.
“I apologize for that,” she said. “Deadline.”
“Sorry to have disturbed you.”
Sarah smiled. “Nonsense. I’m always happy to see you.” And she did look happy. Sarah Birch was her great aunt—her grandfather’s younger sister. A tall, sturdy woman, Sarah had long gray hair she often wore in a braid or pinned up on her head. She was fond of shapeless, comfortable clothes and kaftans, and this evening she wore a yellow linen kaftan embroidered with tiny red, blue, and black flowers, and a pair of flowing black pants. Her size ten feet were bare, nails painted red. Her hands were large and strong, and unlike her toenails, her fingernails were clear of polish and had been trimmed almost to her fingertips. She wore no rings.
“Do you ever think of dating again?” Megan asked, the question surprising her as much as it did her aunt.
Sarah laughed. “No. Men my age are looking for women twenty years younger, and men older than me need more care than I’m willing to give.” She leaned in, giving Megan that piercing stare that Megan had become accustomed to. “Why are you asking me this?”
“No particular reason.”
Sarah stood, stretched, and walked out of the dining room. Harley followed her. From the kitchen, she said, “There’s always a reason, Megan. You just might not know it yet—or want to admit it.”
Sarah returned with two glasses of iced tea. “So what brings you by on a Friday night?” She sat back down in a different seat, away from her computer. “And where’s that handsome doctor of yours? Have you had a falling out?”
Megan smiled. “No, he’s traveling.” She told her Aunt Sarah about Denver’s sister in Scotland. “He wanted me to go, but—”
“But you’re far too needed and important to leave for a week.”
Megan smiled at the implied rebuke. “Something like that.”
“Life is short.” Sarah took a sip of iced tea. “Which is why I’m having a steak for dinner. Would you care to join me? We can throw two on the grill. I have some nice broccoli from your farm, as it happens. And a good Pinot Noir.”
“I can’t stay.”
“You can. You choose not to.”
“Were you always like this?”
Sarah laughed. “You’re thinking it may be why I’m no longer married? Well, I tell it like it is. I guess I’ve done it my whole life, but as one gets older, they grow more like themselves. At least that’s my belief.” She pushed her tea away and steepled her fingers. “Okay, so I’ll be eating alone and you’ll be missing your beau. What else?”
“Did you get my message?”
Sarah looked momentarily confused, and Megan thought perhaps she’d forgotten to leave a message. Then Sarah brightened. “Ah, the pizza restaurant opening night! I did, but I was on page 346, a pivotal scene, and couldn’t respond right then.”
“Did you have a chance to call my—”
Megan couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word.
“Mother? Unfortunately she’s about to be a grandmother. Not a good time.”
The words were wounding. A grandmother. From a sibling Megan had never met. And Aunt Sarah said this all so matter-of-factly, as though Charlotte needed to buy pantyhose or wash her car.
“I see.”
Sarah frowned. “Megan, you and your mother haven’t had a relationship in almost twenty-five years. You can’t get upset now. This—the baby—has nothing to do with you.” Sarah’s expression softened. “You’re feeling left out. I’m sure this continues to be a shock. Little Sean should be born tomorrow. C-section. After that, I’ll call her.”
“You never called her?”
“Of course I never called her. She would drop everything to see you, and she has other obligations right now. Surely you see that.”
Surely. Megan looked out the window. She watched a fat Robin perched on a branch outside Sarah’s house. The bird cocked its head and flew away.
Megan stood. “Thanks, Aunt Sarah.”
“I always upset you.”
“That’s not true.” Yes, you do.
“Your mother wants a relationship with you. She’s made that clear. She’s waiting on you, Megan, but it’s not fair to expect her world to stop when you’re ready to get onboard.”
“I just wanted to invite her to the farm. I had no idea about the baby.”
“I know you didn’t.” Sarah took a deep breath. “How about if we try to schedule something later. Maybe a brunch or a tea? We could do it here.”
Megan couldn’t think of a worse idea. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll wait a week or so and reach out to her
myself.”
Sarah nodded, but the worried look remained in her eyes. “I’ll be there tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Thank you.”
Sarah walked Megan out to her truck. “I heard about that young woman, Thana Moore. Bonnie said she’d been your childhood friend. That must be hard.”
“I hadn’t seen her in years.”
“It doesn’t make it not hard.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Megan opened the truck door. “Did Bibi also tell you about my father’s wife? The police suspect Sylvia could have had something to do with Thana’s death.”
“Bonnie left that part out. But you know your grandmother when it comes to her son.”
Megan didn’t need to say anything. Bonnie Birch’s soft spot for her only child was notorious. “And Alvaro’s wife, Maria, is on the hot seat as well.”
At this, Sarah’s eyes widened. “Maria Hernandez? Whatever for?”
“She worked there. Had a disagreement with Thana over some art work—at least that’s the word on the street.” Megan dared say no more.
“Hmm. Maria’s no killer. The papers aren’t saying much, but it sounds like whoever did this did it in cold blood.”
“Yes. Strangulation. With a woman’s scarf.” Sylvia’s scarf to be exact.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know that and you know that,” Megan said. “But try telling it to Starsky and Hutch over at the Dartville PD.”
Sarah smiled. “I write mysteries, remember.”
“Well, maybe you’d like to help solve a real one.”
Sarah seemed to consider this. She pushed an invisible hair away from her face and looked around the yard. “I don’t have time to get involved, the deadline and all, but I will tell you that Thana was doing some work for the New Beginnings Ministry in Brightonburg. You might want to talk to the pastor there. Her name is Elizabeth Yee. Maybe she can tell you something about Thana that will help.”
