by Wendy Tyson
“Will this be a regular thing?” Anita Becker asked.
“We hope so.” Megan picked up the remainder of Anita’s plain pie. “Just on Saturday nights during the summer. Maybe more often as the weather gets colder. At least that’s the thought now.”
“Well, Clay did a great job,” Roger said. He glanced around. They were on the second seating, and the barn was full of people, chatter, and laughter. “Where’s Alvaro? Not interested in moonlighting at the farm?”
“He couldn’t make it tonight.” Megan’s stomach churned. She’d checked her phone a dozen times—no call from her chef. “Hopefully he’ll be here next week.”
“Doesn’t look like his absence hurt sales.” Bruce pointed toward the line at the reception counter.
Five people were standing at the counter, talking to Bibi. Others were milling about, looking at the décor or the art on the wall or talking to neighbors at nearby tables. The atmosphere was festive, the smells from the wood stove intoxicatingly delicious. Megan just wished she could enjoy it. The spots she’d saved for her mother, father, and Sylvia sat empty. Sylvia had a headache and Eddie was tending to her. Sarah had stopped by, stayed for a quick bite, and left. And then there was Alvaro.
Bibi’s wave caught Megan’s eye.
Megan gave her a one-second signal, handed Anita and Merry’s pizzas to Emily to wrap, and made her way through the crowded barn to Bibi. The barn door opened and another group of people walked in.
“What’s up?”
Bibi nodded toward the couple standing in front of her. “They heard about the event tonight and were wondering if we had any seats left.”
“Or maybe we can get a pizza to go,” the woman said.
Megan glanced at her watch. 8:16. The last of the pizzas had been served and patrons were beginning to leave, but Clay was still back at ovens. “Let me check with my chef.”
As she made her way through the picnic tables, she let herself enjoy this moment. Everyone seemed to love Clay’s cheesy wood-fired creations, and the restaurant was a great way to showcase the farm’s vegetables and other ingredients from small, local farms. She’d resisted this idea for so long, and now it seemed to be part of the financial answer they were looking for.
This farm was a treasure, but it was also a money pit. Megan smiled at the use of the word treasure. Hadn’t Simon Duvall died because of a supposedly buried treasure on this property? Megan had thought perhaps the real treasure lay under the new section of the barn, but the renovations hadn’t turned up anything. Ah, well. Old-fashioned hard work—and this pizza farm—and maybe the Marshall property would be theirs someday.
Megan’s thoughts returned to the here and now when she saw Clay at the oven. His face was red, his forehead covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, but he looked happy. Megan explained what the customers requested.
“No problem,” Clay said. “I can throw a few more in. Just let me know what they want.”
As Megan made her way back toward Bibi and the small crowd of new customers, she heard the front door slam and a deep voice say, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Another voice said, “I could ask the same about you.”
“I belong here.”
Megan couldn’t see the speakers, but she recognized the source of one of the voices. Alvaro. She pushed between the people standing between the picnic tables until she was at the front of the room. Alvaro stood by the door. White hair was in disarray. Plaid shirt stained and untucked. Days’ worth of beard shadowing his chin.
“Get out.” Alvaro wasn’t yelling, but the tone of his voice—practically dripping with threat—left little about his state of mind to the imagination. “Now.”
Megan caught a glimpse of the man Alvaro was reacting to. Broad and muscular, he had dark, wavy hair that had been combed up, away from his face. Chiseled chin, dark eyes under heavy brows. He wore cargo shorts and a slim-fitting gray t-shirt, and tattoos snaked up his arms, around his biceps, and disappeared underneath tight sleeves.
Undaunted, Alvaro marched up to the taller man until his face was just inches from his chest. He let out a string of what Megan assumed were expletives in Spanish.
That’s when Megan intervened. Long used to dealing with hostile witnesses, Megan kept her voice calm and her shoulders strong—projecting tranquility, strength, and confidence. Aware of all the eyes on her, and the sudden hush in the room, Megan inserted herself between Alvaro and the younger man. She placed a hand on Alvaro and quietly but firmly told him to come with her.
Alvaro’s gaze locked on the man.
The guy started to speak. Megan silenced him with her stare. He backed away, hands up.
“Come on, Alvaro. Let’s let Clay deal with this guy. I need to talk to you. Come with me.”
After another moment, Alvaro’s gaze wavered. He seemed to see Megan for the first time, and a flush crept over his face and neck. “Yes, yes, okay.”
Megan and Clay exchanged a look. He immediately walked over to the younger man.
“Who else wanted pizza?” Clover asked, speaking to the huddle of new guests by the door. She clapped her hands. “We’ll make some to go. On the house.”
The younger man called out to Megan. “You wanted to see me,” he said to Megan as though he needed to get in the last word. “I’m Elliot.”
Megan, who by now was near the back of the dining area, nodded but didn’t stop leading Alvaro toward the small kitchen. She could feel Alvaro tense under her touch, and she knew pausing to answer Elliot meant risking another outburst. She had no idea whether Elliot saw her nod over bodies standing between them. She just hoped he was still there when she came back out.
Porter was in the small kitchen washing dishes at the deep stainless steel sink, but he left without a word when Megan and Alvaro entered. Megan closed the door and turned to her friend and chef.
“What just happened in there…that’s not you, Alvaro. What’s going on?”
Megan stood with her back against the door. She looked down, realized her arms were across her chest, and placed them down by her sides. She waded through Alvaro’s stony silence, aware that pressuring him wouldn’t help.
She could hear nervous laughter through the door. The sound of Clover’s voice above the fray. The clanking of silverware against the trays as Clover and Emily cleared the tables.
Finally, Alvaro said, “Maria was arrested at 5:17 today.”
Megan’s breath stuck in her lungs. So many things crossed her mind. Anger for Alvaro and Maria. Confusion at the detectives’ decision. And, she hated to admit it, relief that they weren’t arresting Sylvia. “I’m sorry, Alvaro. This must be a shock.”
“They’re wrong about Maria.” He punched a fist into his other hand and closed his eyes. “With the very last breath I take, I will insist that they’re making a grave error. Whatever they think Maria did, they’re wrong.”
There was no seat in the stuffy kitchen, and Alvaro looked like a man who needed to sit down. Megan led him out the back door of the kitchen, into the older part of the barn. From there they found the rear barn entrance and escaped outside. The night air felt good against Megan’s skin, and after hours in the barn, she felt grateful for the fresh air.
She walked to the hill in front of the old oak and sat on the ground. From this vantage point, she could see the side of the renovated portion of the barn, the greenhouses, and the old Marshall property, but not the entrance or the comings and goings of the evening’s guests. She and Alvaro had some privacy, at least. After a moment, Alvaro joined her on the ground. He sat with his legs crossed, his body pin-straight, facing the old Marshall house.
“That pair of knit-wits showed up today and arrested Maria. She didn’t react, but that’s Maria. I, on the other hand, did not control myself so well.” Alvaro turned to Megan. Even in the murky evening light she could see the pain portrayed i
n his features. “I told the cops exactly what I thought of their actions. Idiots.”
“Do you know why they arrested her?”
“Because they think she killed that artist.”
“Why do they think that, Alvaro?”
“They didn’t tell me anything. Maria says it’s because of the painting.”
“What painting?” Megan thought she knew—the same painting Bobby King had told her about—but she wanted to hear it from him.
“Some painting that Thana did. Thana wanted more floor space at the Center. Maria told her no, she was already getting more than anyone else. Maria wanted things to be fair. That is her way, to look after everyone, not just the privileged. Thana got mad. They argued. Thana got Maria in trouble.” He scrunched his eyes tighter, then opened them. Their intensity startled Megan. “Thana claimed Maria stole a painting. Ruined it. Had her fired.”
“So the detectives think Maria acted in retaliation?” Exactly what King had said.
“According to my wife. Like someone would kill over a job. Like Maria would kill anyone. Me? Someone could believe that I might do such a thing, a crabby old man like me. Maria? No way.”
Sitting now, watching her friend literally writhe in anger, Megan thought he had a point. “Surely she had an alibi.”
“What alibi? She was supposed to be working, and then she was supposed to be gone. She’d been fired that morning. But she’s a perfectionist, so she stayed to get things together, make sure everything was okay for the artists. It wasn’t their fault, she said. But how could she prove that she was working if she was alone.”
“Computer records?”
“She was organizing her paperwork. Getting things in order.”
“We saw her, Alvaro. At lunch later that day.” But even as Megan said the words, she realized how lame they sounded. She’d also seen Sylvia. Either could have done the deed and been back in time for lunchtime cocktails.
“It is all that bastard’s fault. Elliot. I can’t believe he had the nerve to show up here. I should have never trusted him. He’s changed, Zaneta said. He’s making good now, she said. Bullshit.”
“Zaneta?”
“My sister. Elliot is her stepson. A head case. A thief.” Alvaro shook his fist in the air. “I should have never listened to Zaneta. She has the judgment of a drunk college student.” He swung his head around. “I blame him. I blame me.”
From somewhere down toward the house, laughter rang out. Megan heard car engines starting up, the sounds of people leaving. The event was over. She felt torn. No, she thought. She should be here, with Alvaro. She should be helping her friend. It was really Clay and Clover’s night—and they could see it to the end.
Megan said, “Elliot was Thana’s boyfriend, right? What did he have to do with Maria and the Center?”
But Alvaro was finished speaking about his wife. His expression obstinate, he locked his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth on the small hill. “You should put some benches out here,” he said. “Maybe a patio. Facing the hills and that old house. It’s calming.”
“Alvaro, what did Elliot have to do with Maria’s arrest?”
“If I hadn’t come out here, I may have hurt him. The fresh air is calming.” Alvaro stood. “A patio, some tables. In the fall it will be nice to eat warming pizza on a patio overlooking the hills.”
Megan watched Alvaro wander down the hill toward his car. She’d forgotten to ask him if Maria had a lawyer.
Seventeen
By the time Megan made it back inside, Elliot was gone.
“I tried to get him to stay,” Clover said. “He was agitated. I couldn’t very well keep him against his will.”
The place had cleared out. Clover, Emily, Bibi, Porter, and Clay had cleaned up most of the barn. Bibi had since returned to the house, Porter had gone home, and Clay had driven Emily back to her house. That left Megan and Clover to complete the final touches. Megan was tired. She had mixed feelings about the night. Some of the joy at seeing the success of Clay’s endeavor had been wiped away by Alvaro’s pain and the scene between him and Elliot.
Clover propped the broom against a wall, next to Thana Moore’s landscape painting. “Before I forget, Elliot left this for you.”
She handed Megan a business card that had been folded in half. It was plain white with a phone number and the initials “EC” above the digits. “He said you could call him.”
Disappointed, Megan tucked the card in her pocket. “Did he say anything else?”
“Not a word. He was obviously shaken by Alvaro’s temper flare-up. How about Alvaro? Is he okay? I’ve never seen him like that.”
“They’ve arrested Maria for Thana’s murder.”
Clover gasped. Her face turned pale, her eyes widened. “No.”
“I’m afraid so.” Megan double checked the large pizza oven to make sure the fire was out. Satisfied, she began shutting off lights. “The police think Maria was angry at being fired. She retaliated against Thana for losing her job.”
“That’s utter nonsense.” Clover sat down on the nearest bench, hard. “Poor Alvaro.”
“Poor Maria.”
“Maria is tough as diamonds. Alvaro is the one I’m worried about.” Clover tapped her nails against a table top. “We need to help him.”
“I’m one step ahead of you. I made an appointment at the Center for a manicure and hand massage tomorrow. I figured I’d snoop around a little while I’m there. Want to join me?”
“I can’t. Work.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. You’re done at noon. My appointment is at two.”
Clover gave a half-hearted smile. “In that case, let’s go.” She held out her hands. “You’ve been working me hard these days. I could really use a manicure. And if I happen to get lost on the grounds?” She placed a hand over her mouth in an “oh, my” gesture. “I’m just not that smart.”
Megan laughed. She thought about the card in her pocket. She’d finish her farm chores by ten, then try to find Elliot. Sunday’s dance card was quickly loading up.
Clover yawned, and Megan suggested she leave. “Thanks for everything you did today. I can finish up here and lock up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Just be careful going home. You never know.”
Megan felt drained. She took a last glance around the barn to make sure everything looked clean and in place, and her gaze locked on Thana’s paintings. Denver was right; the face depicted in the portrait echoed her own. Why had Thana used her as a subject? This painting had been done years after she and Thana lost touch. Had Thana simply needed a model and she pulled out some old photo of the two of them to use for inspiration? Had it been an unconscious act on Thana’s part? Or was there something more sentimental about the painting’s genesis?
She would never know.
Megan took a deep breath, shut the lights, and went outside. The night air felt oppressive against her skin. The sky was clear, a sprinkling of stars like pinpricks overhead. Megan decided to check on the goats before heading back to the house. She could see the kitchen and parlor lights on; Bibi was still up.
As Megan crossed the threshold that led from the barn to the goats’ pen, she heard a rustle behind her. The skin on the back of her neck prickled, and she felt goosebumps erupt along the length of her arms despite the heat. She slowed down, her body tense, ready to fight or run.
Another rustle.
Slowly, she gripped the keys in her pocket, and pulled one between two fingers, point out, the way they taught in self-defense at the senior center. She spun around. No one was there.
“Megan?” It was a woman’s voice. Tentative. Melodic.
“Charlotte?”
A woman stepped out of the shadows beyond the barn. Megan recognized her from their encounter over Christmas, only this time she was dressed like a Ninja. Sh
e wore black pants and a sleeveless black tunic, belted at the waist. Her hair was pulled back and pinned up with a tortoiseshell comb. Her face remained undecipherable, hidden as it were by the darkness.
“You came,” Megan managed. “But why…why are you out here?”
“I arrived while things were going on. I didn’t want to distract you—you seemed to have your hands full—but I was afraid if you’d spotted me in the crowd and I left, you’d be hurt. So I waited.”
“You startled me.” So many questions, Megan thought, and that’s what comes out of my mouth.
“I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay.” Megan looked toward the house. The lights were still on. “Do you want to come down and have some tea? Or a drink? We could steal some of my grandmother’s brandy.”
Charlotte smiled. “She still drinks tea with a shot of the hard stuff? Bonnie’s done that since I…well, you know.” She shook her head, as though warding off painful memories. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”
Megan agreed. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this. Bibi? She wasn’t sure her grandmother would ever be ready.
“I can’t stay, Megan. I have to drive back to New Jersey, and I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”
“I was just on my way to check on Heidi and Dimples, our goats. Want to join me?”
“How can I say no to that invitation?”
The girls were curled up in the enclosure, Heidi on the ground with Mutton Chops, the barn cat, and Dimples on a hay bale. Dimples jumped down, stretched, and greeted them at the gate.
Megan watched as her mother knelt down to pet Dimples. The goat rubbed her tiny head against Charlotte’s leg, leaving a smear of dirt and hay on her pants.
“Dimples!”
Charlotte smiled. “She’s fine. I love animals.” She tickled Dimples under the chin, where the skin was soft and punctuated by wiry hairs. Dimples leaned into her harder.
