by Wendy Tyson
Twenty-Two
By the time Megan reached the old ice cream stand, clouds had begun to move in and the blue sky was now an angry pewter. Rain, Megan thought as she parked the truck in the empty lot. Hallelujah. She locked the doors, picked up her phone, and dialed Clover’s number.
“Is he there?” Clover whispered.
“You don’t need to whisper,” Megan said. “He wouldn’t be able to hear you even if he were here, which he’s not.”
Megan scanned the area, looking for signs of a car. She remembered coming to this ice cream spot when she was younger. The parking lot would be full, teenagers would be sitting on the picnic tables—gone now—and the woods surrounding the parking lot would provide cover for illicit teen trysts. Now the shop was a burned-down shell and the parking lot pitted and gray.
She heard engine noise, then saw a silver sedan snaking its way down the road. It pulled into the lot.
“Okay, I’m going to put you in my pocket. I’ll keep the sound on.”
Megan watched as the driver of the silver sedan parked about ten feet away from her truck. He climbed out of his car and walked over. He was tall and muscular. His hair was black and slightly spiky, with just a few streaks of premature gray that made him look older than he was. He wore a black tank, faded jeans, and checked Vans. Sunglasses hid his eyes.
Megan rolled down the window.
“I’m sorry for the odd location,” Elliot said. He glanced around the abandoned lot. “Last time Thana and I were here it was still intact. I guess someone burned it down.”
“Looks that way.”
“You don’t need to get out of your truck. I’m actually heading to Philadelphia, then on to LA. I have some business there, and with Thana gone, well, the distraction will be good.”
“I was sorry to hear about Thana.”
Elliot nodded. “Look, my friends said you stopped by?”
“I was hoping to get more information.” Megan debated how much to say. She decided on, “My father’s wife was one of the people who’d argued with Thana the day she died. I don’t understand what transpired between them—or why. I thought maybe you could shed some light on what happened.”
“I wish I knew.” Elliot’s jaw clenched. “Thana was a free spirit. If she liked someone, things would be great, but the moment she turned—watch out.”
“Thana’s father mentioned that she’d had some trouble recently. Maybe financial issues?” Not true, Megan knew, but she wanted to see how Elliot reacted to the mention of Thana’s dad.
Elliot laughed. “We’re artists. We always have financial troubles. But Thana? She was on the way up, man. Her money woes were behind her. Did her dad tell you she’d been paying his mortgage for the last few months? That’s the kind of person she was.”
“Very generous.’
“I’ll say. Thana had a big heart.”
“I knew her a long time ago—back in school.”
“I had no idea. Here in Winsome?”
Megan nodded. “We went to junior high and high school together.”
“Huh. No, she never mentioned that.”
“Ray Cruise went to school with us as well.”
Elliot’s jaw clenched again. He leaned backwards, as though distancing himself from the name. “You want to talk to someone, it should be that guy. He’s bad news.” Elliot shook his head vehemently. It was then that Megan noticed his shaking hands, the sweat above his lip, the red bumps on his arms. “Things changed when Ray got back in touch with Thana. She changed.”
“In what way?”
“She became more demanding. Suddenly our life together wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”
“Because of the Center?”
Elliot took a deep breath. He seemed to will himself to calm down. “The Center offered her the opportunity to get her work in front of some higher class people. You know, the kind of people who’ll pay five grand for a painting because they like the color or have heard of the artist. Of course she’d jump at that.”
“But it came with strings.”
“You could say that.”
“Did Ray set the rules?”
Elliot didn’t respond, but he wrapped his arms around his chest and rocked forward. Elliot was a handsome man who practically dripped with virility, and Megan could understand the attraction. He and Ray Cruise were night and day. Testosterone and danger versus drive and sophistication. How had Thana ended up in that love triangle?
The same way she ended up in Megan’s?
“How did Thana get involved in the Center? Did Ray invite her?”
“Yeah, he reached out, but I was all for it. I have to own that.” Elliot looked around the parking lot. “I knew they’d been friends and figured he could give her a leg up, maybe buy some of her art for his project. She wasn’t as popular when they first started talking about this.”
“And she was open to being part of the Center?”
“Not at first. I had to push her. She told me how Ray used her to get to another woman. How he cheated on her. I figured it was kid stuff, so I kept pushing. Man, I regret it now.”
Interesting, Megan thought, how Thana had turned it around when she told the story to Elliot. “So she called Ray back.”
“I called Ray back, and he invited her to meet with him and his business partner, Carly Stevenson. Thana brought some work with her. They bought a piece for the spa, but it was Ray’s idea to have the art show. As an added attraction for the opening month.”
“A good idea.”
“He wanted to look cosmopolitan. He wanted that damn suffocating place to seem hip. Not happening. It’s a stuffy resort in the tradition of stuffy resorts.”
Overhead, thunder grumbled. In the distance, pewter was turning to black. Elliot looked up. “Oh man, I gotta go. I’m sorry. I can’t miss this flight.”
“I understand,” Megan said. “But just one last thing. Maria Hernandez. She was working at the Center the day Thana left in that van. Did you meet Maria?”
“Yeah, she seemed okay.”
“Can you tell me what happened between Thana and Maria?”
Elliot shrugged. “Thana wanted more room for her artwork. Ray had promised her more. Maria couldn’t do it. She had other artists to work with too.” Elliot shook his head again. “Thana was good people. She could get worked up, though. Hot and cold. I should know.”
The rain started, sprinkles at first, then harder.
Elliot ran to his car. Once inside, he rolled down the window. “Look, I don’t know what happened, but whoever killed Thana will pay. They should just hope the police get to them first.”
Elliot rolled the window back up and sped off.
Megan pulled out her phone. “Well, that was a waste of time,” she said to Clover. “Mostly.”
“Yeah. He actually sounded like a nice enough guy.”
“A little on edge, but more polite than I thought.” Megan pictured his posture, the way he fidgeted and rocked. “Maybe more than a little on edge.”
“Drugs? It wouldn’t surprise me. You should hear him and his buddies when they’re drinking,” Clover said. “Alvaro’s back, by the way. He and I are cleaning up the kitchen.” She lowered her voice. “He’s so relieved they released Maria that he’s actually in a good mood. Want to stop by?”
“I’d love to, Clover, but I’m going to have to beg off—unless you need me. I promised Bibi some girl time tonight.”
“Girl time with your grandmother. Bibi’s scones dripping with butter, iced tea spiked with honey and brandy, some fresh peach cobbler. Talk about relaxing. I’m jealous.”
Megan knew she meant it, but after this morning’s conversation, Megan wasn’t so sure relaxing was on the menu.
Maria Hernandez was home alone—part of the reason for Megan’s detour. She knew with Alvaro at the café, his wi
fe might be willing to chat. Maria answered the door with a wide but weary smile. She ushered Megan inside to a kitchen fragrant with the smells of garlic and roasting meat. “Alvaro thinks he’s the chef in the family.” She winked. “He’s wrong.”
Megan smiled. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”
“Of course. Let me stir the pasta sauce and I’ll meet you in the living room. Make yourself at home.”
Megan wandered into a cozy living room full of overstuffed furniture, crowded bookshelves, and framed family photos. Maria joined her a few minutes later carrying two glasses of iced tea.
“Would you like some cookies? An apple?”
Megan laughed. Maria could rival Bibi. “No, I’m okay. I was wondering how you are?”
“I’d be better if my husband wasn’t such a basket case.”
“He’s been okay at work.”
“Thank God for work. I think it’s the only thing grounding him.” She pointed to a plaid couch. “Sit, please. I’m happy for the company.”
Megan obliged. “Maria, what happened at the Center? With Thana, I mean?”
“They fired me. The police tried to use that as evidence that I killed Maria as retribution.”
“Yes, but why? Why did they fire you?”
“Thana and Elliot, Alvaro’s nephew, wanted more real estate during the event. We had committed to a number of artists and I couldn’t accommodate that. It was never the agreement.”
“And they became angry?”
Maria’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t anger as much as desperation. As though the amount of floor space Thana’s work received would somehow make or break them. In retrospect, I should have known something was going on. I think Elliot was using drugs, not thinking straight.”
“But the argument wasn’t what caused Carly to fire you?”
“No, it was Thana’s painting. She’d brought a rather lovely painting of a young girl walking through a meadow. Beautiful colors—a rich palette. Thana had a gift. It’s such a shame, a waste.” Maria looked pained. “The painting was destroyed and they blamed me.”
“Who do you think destroyed it?”
“I’ve been racking my brains trying to figure that out. My first thought was Thana herself, out of spite. Or Elliot. He got me that job—he and Thana pulled some strings with Carly and another owner, Ray—and I figured they were using the painting to get back at me. Now I question whether that’s accurate.”
“Could it have been Carly or Ray?”
“It could have been anyone.”
“And there was no surveillance.” Megan frowned. “Have Jones and Lewis let up at all?”
“They call to check in, always letting me know they’re watching me.” Maria forced a smile. “It’s their job.”
“I guess. For what it’s worth, they’ve been doing that with my stepmother, Sylvia, as well.”
“Ah, Sylvia.” Maria’s smile was less benevolent. “She’s a handful.”
“She had issues with Thana too?”
“She was a guest, so we needed to be accommodating, but never have I met a guest with so many demands. Your father must be a patient man.”
“That’s one way to describe him.”
Maria’s laugh was warm and throaty. “We often choose our opposite, Megan. Alvaro is the sand to my ocean. Perhaps your father has found his forever match, the one who will create balance.”
Megan left with that thought in her head. Forever match. She liked the sound of it.
Megan returned home to an empty house. No sign of Bibi’s Subaru and no sign of her father’s rental car. Even the dogs seemed reluctant to greet her. Gunther’s tail thumped from his spot on the kitchen floor, and it took Sadie to come yawning and stretching into the room. Only half amused, Megan dumped her purse on the kitchen table but not before grabbing her cell phone from inside.
Upstairs, she changed into sweatpants and a Penn State t-shirt while dialing Denver’s number. It was late in Scotland—too late to be calling him—but he’d called earlier and she didn’t want him to worry. Plus, if she was honest with herself, she wanted to hear his voice.
After several rings, she was about to give up when a woman’s voice chirped “Daniel’s phone.”
“Hello?” Megan said, suddenly feeling unsure. “Is Denver there?”
“He’s occupied at the moment, love. Can I take a message?” The voice was young and cheerful—not the voice you want answering your boyfriend’s phone late at night.
“Just tell him Megan called.”
“Will do, love.” No further ado. No questions. And no apparent recognition of the name. Megan felt worse than she had before the call.
She laid on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She didn’t like feeling insecure—who did?—and she especially didn’t like the old emotions it brought up.
Mick had been the first real love of her life, but she had been infatuated with Ray once upon a time. The days when she, Thana, and Ray had hung out had been some of the best times of her youth. They’d been inseparable. Until Mick came along.
Megan’s friendship with Mick Sawyer had started innocently enough. He’d been on Ray’s baseball and basketball teams, and eventually familiarity turned to conversation. He didn’t have an interest in Thana despite her persistence, and while Megan had found him attractive, she’d done nothing about it. Until Thana stole her boyfriend Ray. Then she’d turn to Mick for support, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Kids’ stuff. But often kids’ stuff is the basis for character development, and it always bothered Megan that a ten-year friendship had ended on those terms.
Megan heard Sadie padding down the wood-floored hallway toward her room. She sat up, remembering her grandmother’s memory drawer. She wondered if her own childhood treasures were still buried amongst the school photos and math awards.
Megan nearly ran out of her bedroom, almost tripping over Sadie and Gunther in the process. Bibi used to keep her memory drawer in one of her bedroom dressers, but a few years ago she moved it to a cabinet in her sewing room. Megan hoped it remained.
The sewing room was a drafty bedroom next to the guest room. It consisted of a quilting frame, an antique wood cabinet, a sewing machine, and a small chest of drawers. Megan bee-lined for the cabinet. She opened it, but all that was inside were folded remnants of material and quilting and knitting supplies. Disappointed, she looked around the room, her gaze falling on the dresser.
She found what she was looking for in the bottom two drawers: her entire childhood.
Megan closed the door before sitting down, Sadie and Gunther laying behind her. She began digging through old crayon drawings, report cards, school pictures, and classroom awards until she spotted the box she was looking for. The top was covered with a collage of photos of her and her friends—mainly Thana and Ray. Smiling faces in awkward states of puberty. Thana had made her the box and given it as a gift when they matriculated from ninth grade. It was big enough to keep the notes they’d passed and the photos they’d saved. As Megan opened it, she realized she’d been holding her breath.
Inside was a handmade scrapbook. Megan removed its yellowing pages and carefully placed it on the floor beside her. Underneath that was a letter. She took this out of the box.
She stared at the scrapbook.
Thana had worked on it all throughout ninth grade and given it to her at the end of the year as a surprise. Painstakingly, she’d cut out Polaroids and snapshots of the three of them and glued them alongside little captions, snippets of notes passed between them, and other memorabilia. Megan paged through it slowly, thinking of the young woman who’d made more of a splash in the newspapers in death than in life. And in these photos were proof that perhaps she’d wanted some form of fame or recognition all along.
In almost every photo, Thana was at front and center. Wedged between Megan and Ray
on a park bench. At the Jersey shore. Getting ice cream at the Dairy Cow. Megan on the sidelines looking plain and boyish in her jeans and sweatshirts and oversized sweaters. Ray, handsome back then in a boyish, charming sort of way. Even a few photos of Mick, with his reticent smile and long-lashed eyes. Mick had been more of an afterthought back then, before all the drama. Before he became Megan’s life.
Megan realized she was gripping the book so hard her fingers ached. What had she hoped to find in its pages? She wasn’t sure. Some inkling, perhaps, of the woman Thana would become. Some proof that none of this was Megan’s fault.
But she saw three lives—four lives, really—full of promise. A war on foreign soil had stolen Mick’s, and now someone had robbed Thana of hers just when she was finally getting the acclaim she wanted.
Megan placed the scrapbook back in its box and opened the letter. It was from her to Thana, a note she’d never delivered. Megan read the thoughts of a sixteen-year-old Megan, explaining to Thana how she was trustworthy, how she would have never stepped out of line and stolen another girl’s boyfriend. So full of angst and remorse—yet it remained in the box, an empty apology.
She tried to remember why she hadn’t sent it. Lingering anger, maybe. Thana had stolen her boyfriend, Ray, after all. Back then it had felt like the ultimate betrayal. Or a realization that Thana would not have accepted the apology?
Or maybe, deeper, the understanding that Thana Moore had been looking for an opportunity to go after Ray Cruise. That Mick had been a handy excuse. That Thana had been waiting for the chance to go after what she felt was rightfully hers. Megan glanced back at the pictures. Thana, staring at Ray. Thana, basking in his attention.
Abruptly, Megan put everything back and slammed the box shut. It was bad enough that she and Thana had ended their friendship, but she refused to sully her old friend’s memory with such an opportunistic view of her.
