by Wendy Tyson
“Yes,” Clover said, “He checked in online and then didn’t arrive at the gate.”
“Another decoy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Hold on.” Megan covered the mouthpiece of her phone. “Clay, I’m heading out. You okay here?”
Clay nodded. “I’ll be weeding this afternoon. Porter and I may also start to prepare the garlic beds.” Gunther barked and Clay patted the dog on the head. “We’ll be fine.”
Megan climbed in the truck and started the engine. She waited while the phone connected to her vehicle before resuming the conversation with Clover.
“What I mean by a decoy is that maybe all of this—the trip to LA, the robbery—was a decoy. He told me he was leaving so he could break in to my barn without anyone suspecting it was him. He made it look like a random robbery even though the paintings were the target to try and shift suspicion. He never got on that flight, but by the time the authorities figure that out he’s driven half way to Mexico.”
Clover said, “Pretty smart.”
“Or desperate.”
Clover snorted. “Desperate people do desperate things. This should help allay suspicions against Maria and Sylvia.”
“I hope so.”
Elliot did seem the most likely candidate for murder, but as Megan clicked off the phone, she couldn’t shake a nagging suspicion that this was a little too neat, a little too convenient.
Fiddlehead, a farm-to-table restaurant near the University of Pennsylvania, was Megan’s last stop. She dropped off the restaurant’s order of Yukon Gold potatoes, garlic, arugula, and baby lettuces, and met briefly with the chef while the woman inspected the produce. Happy that every restaurant seemed satisfied, Megan drove north, out of the city. Using the magic of the internet, she’d managed to find an address for Elliot’s mother on Crescent Avenue, and she decided to stop by before going home. If his parents wouldn’t talk with her, so be it, but maybe they could shed some light on his current whereabouts and his relationship with Thana.
Becky and Leroy Smith lived in a brick rowhome in a neighborhood of other rowhomes bookended by a check cashing business and a Dollar Store. Litter blew across a wide street and under cars parked on either side of Crescent Avenue. Some of those cars looked like they hadn’t been moved in years. The Smith home was distinguishable only by its updates—new windows, fresh white trim, pristine white wicker furniture on the front porch, on which a fifty-something woman relaxed now.
Megan turned off the engine and took a deep breath, bracing herself to face a stranger. She considered herself fundamentally an introvert, and these sorts of things never seemed to get any easier.
The woman watched Megan walk up to the house. Megan’s first estimation of her age seemed off. Up close, she seemed older—maybe early sixties. She had a wedge of gray-streaked straight, black hair that framed a round, sweet face. She held an orange tabby on her lap and stroked the cat with short, nervous strokes.
“He’s not here,” she said before Megan could utter a word.
“I’m looking for Elliot, Mrs. Smith.”
“I know, and he ain’t here.”
“He does live here, though?”
“When he feels like it.” She titled her head at an angle, studying Megan. “You one of his girlfriends?”
One of his girlfriends? Megan shook her head. “I knew Thana Moore.”
“Oh, the artist.” She seemed to relax a little. “Shame about Thana. People these days. No one seems to know right from wrong. I had high hopes for Elliot and Thana. Wasn’t meant to be.”
“Mrs. Smith, I talked to Elliot two days ago and he mentioned flying to Los Angeles. Do you know anything about that trip?”
“He doesn’t tell me where he’s going. Maybe ask his father.” She frowned. “Why do you want to know anyway?”
“I’m trying to locate him. I have some things of Thana’s he might want.”
“Things like what? Paintings?”
“Yes.” Megan hated to lie and the words stuck there in her throat. “Do you know how I might contact him?”
Becky shrugged. “Call him. Text him. You have his number?”
“He’s not answering.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” Becky looked up and the smile she gave was sad. “Elliot’s been gone to us for a long time.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Do you have kids?”
“No.”
They both watched a young boy soar down the sidewalk on a bicycle, no helmet.
“Some kids leave you physically,” Becky said. “They fly away, make lives for themselves, and fly home on occasion as full adults. I think, as a parent, that’s what you want. Other kids? They stick around but they’re not connected. See you only for what you can give them. Leroy calls it parasitic behavior.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’s right.” She seemed to remember she was talking to a stranger. “Try Elliot’s dad, Oliver Craddock. He may know where Elliot is. Elliot lives here when it suits him, but mostly he treats his room like a hotel suite. Always has.”
Megan left Elliot’s family home feeling off-centered and melancholy. Once she’d navigated back onto a main road, she dialed Clover’s cell number.
“Can you tell me where Zaneta and her new husband live?”
“I don’t know offhand, but I can get the address for you. Why?”
“I just visited Elliot’s mom. Another dead end. She doesn’t know where he is either.”
“Doesn’t know or won’t tell?”
Megan sped around yet another car going under the speed limit in the left lane. “Unless she’s an amazing actress I’d say the former, but either way it doesn’t matter. Dead end.”
“Okay, hold on. Here’s Zaneta’s address.” She rattled off a place just a few miles from Winsome. “She’s local.”
“Thanks. Did you get it from Alvaro?”
Clover laughed. “Are you kidding? I know better. I went to his better half, Maria.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Sounds okay, but she’d never admit to anything else.”
Megan pictured Alvaro and Maria the day Lewis and Jones took Maria away. Alvaro with his visage of outrage, Maria in a state of calm. She understood what Clover meant. “I’m going to swing by Zaneta’s house and then I’ll head home. I have some evening chores to do tonight, and I want to help Clay with the barn door.”
“Be safe, Megan.”
Megan laughed, but the sound seemed forced even to her. “Tell Bobby to call me tonight. I want to know where things are with the theft.”
“I’ll tell him. He’s out on a call now. I don’t expect him back until late.” Clover sighed. “The life of a cop. There are much easier professions out there. Why did he pick this one?”
“Protect and serve,” Megan said. “And the good ones do.”
“He’s a keeper,” Clover said. “Ugh, Merry’s here picking up eggs. I have to go.”
Merry Chance and her eggs. Megan needed an entire brood just for her neighbor. “Bobby, don’t forget to tell him,” Megan repeated. “I’ll have my cell on.”
The Craddock home was a far cry from Elliot’s mother’s place—in distance and in style. A sprawling seventies-type ranch on several acres, it boasted an in-ground pool and a tennis court. Megan pulled into the driveway behind a Mercedes and killed the engine. The door swung open before she had a chance to ring the bell.
An attractive older woman wearing a black swim cover-up and flip flops stared out at her. “Yes?”
“Zaneta Craddock?”
“I’m Zaneta. Zaneta Hernandez.” She had a soft Spanish accent and a high-pitched voice. “And you are?”
“Megan Sawyer. I work with Alvaro.”
“Ah, yes, your name is familiar.” The corners of her mouth turned up in a faint smile befor
e alarm colored her complexion. “Is Alvaro alright?”
“He’s fine, Ms. Hernandez. It’s really Elliot I came to talk about. Is Elliot’s father here?”
Zaneta regarded her coolly. “Did my brother send you?”
“No, I’m here on my own.”
“Does my brother even know you’re here?”
“No, Ms. Hernandez. I met with Elliot two days ago. He told me he was leaving for LA. I need to reach him, but he hasn’t returned my calls. I spoke with his mother, Becky, and she suggested I reach out to Oliver.”
Zaneta looked like she was debating whether or not to let Megan in. Manners eventually won out over suspicion and she pushed the door open farther to allow entry. “Please, come in. Oliver is at a meeting for a nonprofit board he’s on, but he should be here soon.”
“Thank you.”
Megan followed Zaneta through a dark hallway and into a large, open family room-kitchen combination that looked out over the backyard and the pool. The floors were hardwood, the walls white-painted paneling, and the furniture beach chic. Zaneta pointed to the patio and pool outside. “Let’s go out there and wait. Would you like a drink?”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“No trouble whatsoever. Go on out and I’ll join you in a minute.”
True to her word, Zaneta came outside almost immediately carrying two glasses of iced tea. She took a seat under a large blue striped umbrella and offered the other chair to Megan. The pool was hour-glass shaped and inviting. Megan couldn’t remember the last time she gone swimming for fun. That she’d done anything for pure fun.
“Elliot is special,” Zaneta was saying. “My brother never liked him. Never trusted him. But that’s Alvaro—a bit of a misanthrope. A lovable misanthrope.” She smiled. “You of all people probably understand.”
Megan returned the smile. “Do you know where Elliot might be?”
“I’m afraid I don’t, but Oliver might.” Zaneta took a sip of iced tea. “He and Elliot are close. At least they have been in recent years.”
“Zaneta, I was friends with Thana, Elliot’s girlfriend. Did you ever meet her?”
“A few times. Elliot likes to keep his personal life personal, even with family. She seemed like a nice young woman, though. What happened to her was atrocious.”
“They’d broken up recently?”
“Had they? Oliver never mentioned anything.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“That they broke up?” Zaneta seemed to take the question seriously. “No, I suppose not. Thana was on an upward trajectory with her art. Elliot just doesn’t have the talent for a career in art.”
“You told Alvaro he had gotten his life together?”
Zaneta rolled her eyes. “My brother can be so dramatic. He thinks he’s Mr. Practical, but he’s the opposite at times. I told Alvaro that Elliot was a good businessman, and he is. He’s a good businessman and a good craftsman. Have you seen those frames he made for Thana’s work? Marvelous. Come here, I’ll show you one.”
They reentered the house and walked through the family room, past the galley kitchen, and into a room decorated completely in white. White rugs, white furniture, white pillows. The only color was a painting of a young girl holding the hand of an older woman in the midst of a snowstorm. The painting was poignant and colorful and a perfect focal point for the room. The frame was also a work of art. The cherry wood was carved and sanded until it shone, a rich counterpoint to the painting.
“This is Elliot’s gift. This, and running the business. He’s done well for himself. He did well by Thana. I wanted my brother to give him a chance.”
“And yet something happened between him and Maria.”
“Alvaro blames Elliot for Maria’s firing. He thinks Elliot and Thana set her up.” Zaneta shook her head vehemently. “That’s why I wanted you to see this. Elliot has talent. He seems to finally be figuring out what he’s capable of. I don’t want Thana’s murder to undo everything that’s happening for him.”
Megan stared at the painting. Like the portrait she had hanging in her pizza farm restaurant, the faces consisted of tiny strokes of color, color that up close seemed abstract, but as the beholder moved backward, the faces—in all of their glorious individuality—became clear.
“Thana definitely had talent, and this frame is gorgeous. But something happened, Zaneta. A young woman was murdered in her van, and the police seem to be looking at two middle-age women whose connections seem tenuous at best. Your sister-in-law and my father’s wife.”
“Sylvia Altamura is your stepmother?” Zaneta looked surprised.
“My father’s wife. Do you know her?”
“I know of her. Through Maria. Sylvia was at the spa during the opening.”
Before Megan could ask additional questions, Zaneta’s cell phone chimed. She pulled it from her cover-up and answered with a crisp hello. When she hung up, she looked troubled.
“I’m afraid Oliver is delayed. He didn’t say why, but he sounded stressed. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to wait for him.” Zaneta put a hand on Megan’s arm. “My brother is a good person, Megan. Don’t let his crust fool you. He’s soft underneath. Too soft, perhaps.”
“I know, Zaneta. Which is why I hope the police get to the bottom of this, and soon.”
Zaneta’s eyebrows shot up in alarm, realization dawning on her face. “You think Elliot is somehow involved?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
Zaneta moved toward the front door, Megan trailing behind. “My stepson had a tough life. His mother is flighty—you said you talked to her, so perhaps you understand—and she struggled with relationship problems. Men in and out of the home, Elliot on his own half the time until eventually he ran away. My husband Oliver holds a lot of guilt, feels like he should have gotten involved sooner. I think that’s why he’s so involved with charities. It’s his way of giving back.”
“Someone told me Elliot could be controlling with Thana. Violent, even.”
“Was that someone Thana’s father?”
When Megan didn’t respond, Zaneta snorted derisively. “You don’t need to say. Wesley called here making the same claims. Elliot is many things but violent isn’t one of them.”
They had moved to the front door, and Zaneta opened it. The contrast between the heavily air conditioned house and the heat and humidity outside tightened Megan’s chest and made the very act of breathing hard.
“If you see Elliot, please ask him to call me.” Megan removed a card from her purse and handed it to Zaneta. “My cell number is on there.”
Zaneta nodded. “I’ll talk to Oliver when he gets home. Putting this murder to rest will be good for my brother, and good for Elliot.”
Twenty-Six
Within a half a block from Washington Acres, Megan knew her productive evening was not to be. She still wanted to help Clay with the damaged restaurant, and even with two detours, she still had a few hours of daylight, but King’s car and a black and white sat in the driveway, and King and Bibi were standing outside. King’s hands waved in an animated fashion; Bibi looked upset.
“What’s going on?” Megan asked as she jogged up the driveway. “Did you find out who broke in to the barn?”
King and Bibi exchanged a look. “Can we go into the house?” King asked.
“Of course.”
King followed Megan into the house while Bibi remained outside. Once settled in the relative privacy of the parlor, King cut right to the chase. “Elliot is dead.”
Megan put her hand over her mouth. “Elliot Craddock? But—” Realizing she was about to say “but I thought he was the murderer,” she stopped talking. “How? When?”
“When he didn’t show up for his flight, we started looking for him. Found his car in the long-term parking lot at the Winsome train station. Found Elliot i
n the trunk.”
“Strangled?”
“Shot. Small caliber pistol.”
Megan let that sink in. “I don’t know what to say.”
“From what we can piece together, he left the parking lot of the old Dairy Cow and that was the last anyone saw him.”
“So his conversation with me—”
“Seems to have been his last.” King was sitting on the couch. He leaned forward, studying Megan’s face. He looked large amidst Bibi’s needlework pillows and dainty doilies. “The coroner’s working on a time of death, but preliminary reports indicate he died between nine and midnight that night.”
“So he could have broken into the barn.”
“Could have, yes, but we didn’t find any evidence to support that it was him.”
“So if not Elliot, then who?”
“The million dollar question, Megan.”
Megan heard noises coming from outside. She walked to the window and saw two uniformed officers talking to Clay in the yard. “Did you have any luck with the old Marshall property?” Megan asked.
“Trampled vegetation, some tire tracks that appeared to have been gone over with a rake or other tool.”
“Careful thief.”
“Not your average teenager looking to score some petty cash, that’s for sure.”
Megan sat down in Bibi’s recliner. Her hands hurt suddenly and she realized she was gripping them together until her knuckles were sore. “Do Elliot’s parents know?”
“Yes. We contacted them a short while ago.”
Megan shared her conversation with both Becky and Zaneta. “Little did I know that he was dead. I feel awful.”
King didn’t say anything. She’d seen the flash of disapproval on his face when Megan mentioned visiting Elliot’s parents, but they both knew she’d been instrumental in solving several crimes. They had an unspoken agreement. She tried not to cross any legal lines, and he tried not to become territorial. It was an uneasy truce and Megan hoped it held.
“Megan, I’d like to say this absolves Sylvia, but I’m afraid that’s not the case. Sylvia, Maria, you…we will need statements.”
