by Wendy Tyson
She watched Denver skim the words, reading over his shoulder.
“Okay, they quoted Chase. He played with The Rolling Stones. We all know that—he talked about it incessantly.”
“Keep going.”
When he got to the grainy photos at the end, he squinted at the screen. Running a hand through his tousled hair, he said, “I don’t see what this proves.”
“Look at the photo again.”
After a few seconds of staring at it, his eyes narrowed further. “Huh.”
“Right?”
Between the final two paragraphs was a photo of the musicians and roadies who toured with the Stones on that particular evening years ago. Chase was in the picture, carrying his guitar. Next to him, staring up at Chase’s face like it was the face of God, was Martine Pringle. Her hair was a frizzy mass of waves, her eyes heavily made-up, and she was wearing an off-the-shoulder top. Megan might have missed her, but her name was listed in the caption under the photo.
“Chase never mentioned that he knew Martine.” Megan said.
“No, and Martine never mentioned it either.”
Denver glanced at the laptop screen again. “And clearly they knew each other. Look at the way she’s ogling him.” Denver shook his head. “She was crazy about him. Seems strange that neither of them mentioned knowing one another, at least to me.”
“Maybe not. Can you pull up your Facebook page?” Megan waited while Denver found his page and plugged in his password. “Clearly you’re not on here often.” The photo of him was years old, and his cover image was a black rectangle.
“I’m not fond of social media.”
“I see that. But you’re friends with Chase on here, right?” When Denver nodded, Megan said, “May I?” He handed control of the page to her.
Megan searched through his fifty friends. He and Martine weren’t Facebook friends, but she found Chase on the list. “You know he’s divorced, right?”
“Yes. He and his wife Diana split a long time ago. They got married right out of college. They’re still good friends.”
“Did they divorce while he was traveling as a musician?”
Denver said, “I don’t really remember, but I think it was after that. You think his relationship with Martine broke up his marriage?”
Megan sorted and skimmed and followed the dots until she had what she was looking for. Photos Chase had been tagged in, visible only to his friends. Photos from Martine. Chase made no mention of the woman on his site, but she had catalogued her time as a groupie with numerous photos, many of them quite good. She tagged Chase in over a dozen, and most of the pictures were dated after his marriage.
“How would you feel if I was on the road with a man who looked at me the way Martine is looking at Chase in many of these pictures?”
“Like I want to punch the guy in the face.”
Megan laughed. “How stereotypically manly man of you.” She turned to Denver, her expression somber again. “Can you friend Martine?”
“Why?”
“Then we can see what she’s posted aside from her tags of Chase.”
Denver’s expression darkened. “Again, why? I don’t want to encourage her, Megs.”
Megan had seen the way Martine looked at Denver as well. She seemed to attach strongly to men—something that made Megan wonder. Denver had a point, though. If Martine was feeling pressed, now wasn’t a good time for Denver to encourage her, even with something as simple as a friend request.
Megan said, “Never mind.”
Denver stared at the screen. “You’re investigating again?”
“I’m thinking through the patterns.”
Denver pulled Megan onto his lap. He kissed her. “If you dig enough around the edges of Chase’s life, who knows what you’ll find.”
“Including bits about one Daniel ‘Denver’ Finn?”
Another kiss, but his demeanor had changed. “Maybe.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“I’m an open book.”
“Are you?” Megan stood. She grabbed Denver’s hand and pulled him upright. “Come with me.”
“Here?”
“I understand the barn is nice this time of year.”
Denver smiled. “You’re full of surprises.”
The night air was still warm and muggy. Stars shown faintly overhead in the muted light of a waxing moon, tufts of haze like cotton candy here and there in the night sky. Megan tugged on Denver’s hand, clinging to it until they reached the barn’s small office. Inside, she kept the light off but fell against him in the dark.
“Don’t disturb Camilla,” she murmured. “I hear she’s a light sleeper.”
“You smell nice,” Denver whispered against her ear.
Megan reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck, thoughts of Martine and Chase vanquished for the night.
Sixteen
“Hold your hand out straight.” Megan placed her own hand flat and showed Dillon how to feed the goats the apple slices. “They have strong jaws, and they’re very happy to put your fingers in the back of their mouths. Don’t let their size and cuteness fool you. They have the ability to break a small finger.” She smiled to soften her words. “Just keep your fingers out of their mouths and you’ll be fine.”
Dillon didn’t need to be shown twice. Within minutes he and the goats were the best of friends. Megan and Eloise stood against the pen wall and watched them play. The tiny goats clearly adored the boy, and it was nice to see him smile.
“Want some tea?” Megan asked. “I think Dillon is just fine for now.”
Eloise looked torn. “I know I’m being a worrywart,” she whispered. “I feel like I can’t let him out of my sight. He’s probably sick of me by now.”
Megan smiled. “You’re not a worrywart, Eloise, but he looks like he’s doing better.”
“Less moping, although he still doesn’t talk much.” Eloise walked over to Dillon and whispered something. He nodded, and Eloise said, “Tea it is. Dillon will keep an eye on the goats.”
“There’s a super friendly pig in the barn, Dillon. Her name is Camilla. I bet she’d like some company as well.”
“Does she bite?” Eloise asked.
“Camilla? No, she’s a sweetheart. She may try to crawl into your lap, though. If you want to meet her, I’ll let my farm manager know. His name is Clay. He can make introductions.”
Dillon gave a solemn nod. “Okay,” he mumbled.
“Well, that was one more word than I got out of him all morning,” Eloise said as they headed through the courtyard toward the farmhouse. “He just doesn’t communicate.”
“How’s he been otherwise?” Megan asked.
“Same, I guess.”
Megan placed a quick call to Clay to ask him to keep an eye on Dillon. To Eloise, she said, “Any breakthroughs?”
“Breakthroughs?” Eloise stood by the kitchen window, her gaze on the barn. “Would you consider nightmares, unexplained shakes, and fits of immobility to be breakthroughs?”
Megan filled the teapot and placed it on the stove. “It sounds like he could use some help.”
“He’s getting help. I just don’t know if it’s enough.” Eloise turned away from the window, but only for a moment. “His therapist thinks he has post-traumatic stress disorder. From what happened with his parents, and now…this.”
“That makes sense.”
“It doesn’t make it any easier to help him. To know what to do.”
“The therapist should be able to guide you.”
“He’s doing his best, but I can’t help but think he’s out of his element as well.”
“Have you seen a change since…since Dillon found Chase?”
Despite the heat, Eloise wore a pair of gray dress pants, a gray tank, and an ivory cardigan. She pulled the open cardigan ti
ght against her now, as though warding off Megan’s question…or the very fact of Chase’s murder.
“He’s never been a chatty kid, but the nightmares are worse, and the fits of immobility, as I’ve been calling them, are new.” Eloise sighed. “The police questioning him every freaking day doesn’t help.”
The tea kettle whistled, and Megan poured the hot water into a tea pot containing Earl Grey tea. While it steeped, she pulled some of Bibi’s ginger snaps from the cupboard and placed them on a plate. “Think Dillon would like a snack?”
“Yes—his appetite is one thing that hasn’t changed.”
“We can bring him some treats after tea. The goats and Camilla love ginger cookies too.”
“Is that good for the animals?”
“Is that good for the humans?”
Eloise smiled. “Touché.”
Megan poured two cups of tea. When it became apparent Eloise wasn’t leaving the window, Megan put the tea on the table near her and the cookies next to the cup. When in doubt, feed people—that seemed to be the Birch family motto.
Megan said, “Maybe Dillon just needs time.”
“You know, when he finally did speak, he was very clinical with the police about what happened. He told them he saw Chase lying there, went over and picked up the knife, checked Chase for a pulse, and then he realized Chase was dead. He said he freaked out. He told them all of this in a strange monotone, as though he were relaying what happened to someone else.” Eloise picked up the teacup and her hand was shaking so badly that tea sloshed over the side. “It was strange to hear him talk that way.”
Megan sat at the table. She mixed raw honey into her tea, thinking about Brian “Brick” Porter, her farm hand who suffered from PTSD from his time in the military. He would often talk about his time overseas in a flat manner, as though describing events on television. “I’m no psychologist, but it sounds like maybe that’s the only way he can deal with this. Separating himself emotionally by pretending, perhaps, that it happened to someone else. Isn’t that common with PTSD patients?”
“That’s what his therapist says.”
“You don’t buy it?”
It was a while before Eloise responded. “I guess. Despite what I told my nephew, sometimes Dillon spooks me.”
Megan put down her teacup. “Spooks you how?”
Eloise tapped her fingers against the windowpane. “I’ll hear a noise at night. When I get up, I’ll find him…standing by the window, or outside on the porch…almost like he’s in a trance.”
“Maybe he’s sleepwalking.”
“Maybe.” Eloise turned around. “I’m a doctor, Megan. I’m familiar with night terrors, sleepwalking, PTSD. There is something about Dillon I just can’t put my finger on. It’s as though…as though he’s only half there most of the time.”
“He’s been through a lot, Eloise.”
“I know, I know.” Eloise’s face reddened. “I don’t know how to explain it. He says the right things—when he talks. The animals love him. I’ve never seen anything but kindness toward the horses or the dogs.” She scrunched her features. “Yet I can’t seem to reach him.”
Megan regarded Denver’s aunt. She didn’t know the woman well, but she did know Eloise had been Winsome’s primary pediatrician prior to her retirement a few years ago. Certainly, she’d been there for Denver after his parents died. Maybe this was guilt talking. Dillon was in her care when the murder occurred. Or maybe this was personal: deep down she was frustrated that she couldn’t give the boy the home he needed. She was frustrated that he wasn’t responding to her attempts to help him, and it made her feel helpless.
Or maybe there was something going on with Dillon.
“Eloise, if Dillon were your patient instead of your foster son, what would you think?”
“I would think he’s dealing with grief. I would send him to a—”
Before Eloise could finish her sentence, Clay came into the kitchen through the porch door. He glanced from Megan to Eloise and back to Megan again. “Have a moment, Megan?”
Eloise’s eyes widened. “What’s happened with Dillon? I knew I shouldn’t—”
“Nothing with the boy, Dr. Kent.” To Megan, he said, “Bobby’s here.”
“Bobby?” Megan frowned. “What does he need?”
Clay shrugged. “He asked me to find you.”
“Thanks, Clay.” Megan turned to her guest. “Eloise, I may be a few minutes.”
Eloise had already placed her tea cup in the sink. “I think that’s our cue, Megan. I’m going to fetch Dillon, and we’ll be off.”
Megan studied Denver’s aunt. “Will you be okay?”
“We’ll be fine.”
Megan placed her own cup in the sink and rinsed her hands. “I’d love for Dillon to come back. He can help me with the animals.”
“Perhaps.” Eloise looked distracted. “Tell my nephew I’ll call him.”
“He’d like that.”
Eloise gave a curt nod. Megan followed her outside and watched as Eloise disappeared into the barn to get Dillon.
“She okay?” Clay asked, his gaze also on the barn.
It was Megan’s turn to shrug. “How okay can you be in a situation like this?”
“True.”
“Where’s Bobby?”
“In his car, taking a call. He said he’d be back in a few.”
Megan waited while Eloise and Dillon walked through the courtyard and down to her car. They paused to say goodbye.
“Thanks,” Dillon mumbled.
“Did Camilla behave for you?”
The tiniest hint of a smile. “She was fine.”
Megan’s eyebrows shot up. “Just fine?”
Dillon looked down at his shoes, a pair of brand new Nike sneakers. “Pretty nice pig, I guess.”
Megan laughed. “As pigs go, she’s a winner. Come back again, Dillon. We could use the help.”
He looked up at Eloise. “Would that be okay, Dr. Kent?”
“I don’t see why not.”
A door slammed and out of the corner of her eye, Megan saw King climb out of his car. Eloise must have seen it as well, because she placed a hand on Dillon and urged him to their own car, saying goodbye as she went.
When Eloise and Dillon were safely in her Lexus, Clay whispered, “I guess having the boy see Bobby would be upsetting.”
“He’d think he’d done something wrong.” While King walked toward them, Megan asked, “How did he do with Camilla?”
“Great. Camilla treated him like a long-lost littermate.”
“Megan.” King crossed the final few yards of the driveway with giant steps befitting his height. “Sorry to bother you.”
“No bother. Want to come in for some coffee?”
“No time.” He looked at Clay. “A few minutes?”
Clay took the cue. “I’ll be in the greenhouse if you need me.” He gave King, also his sister’s boyfriend, an appraising glance. “You’ve lost weight.”
“It’s this case.”
“My sister is worried about you.”
When King didn’t respond, Clay left. His slim form sprinted toward the greenhouses beyond the barn.
“What’s up, Bobby? Clearly, you’re not here about Dillon. He was just here with Eloise.”
“I saw him from my car. Friendly visit?”
“Friendly enough. Thought time with the animals might do him some good.”
King rocked back on his heels. His gaze meandered toward the old Marshall property and the half a dozen workers hammering away at the new building. “Time with other people might do him some good. Not so sure he and Dr. Kent are the best fit.”
“She seems to genuinely care about him. And she is a doctor.”
“I guess.”
“That’s not why you’re here, though.”<
br />
King met her gaze. “No, it’s not. We had an issue this morning at the inn where the BOLD employees are staying.”
“An issue?”
King nodded. The hammering at the Marshall place stopped and King turned his head sharply in that direction. “Break-in.”
Megan felt her own pulse racing. This was good news for Dillon—who’d been home, under the watchful eye of Eloise.
“What happened?” Megan forced her voice to sound casual.
“I don’t have time to go into detail now, but have you met Harriet Mantra?”
“Dr. Mantra? Yes.”
“Someone stole papers from her room.”
“What kind of papers?”
“Work documents.”
Megan thought about the inn, about the old-fashioned locks for the rooms. “Someone physically broke the door lock?”
“That’s just it. Mantra claims the papers are missing, but there were no signs of a break in. No broken locks, no torn apart room. Just Dr. Mantra’s word that her room was violated and work product was removed.”
Megan considered the layout of the inn. “Mantra was in one of the apartments. Did anyone see anything?”
“No one has owned up to it.”
The hammering next door resumed. Megan watched one of the construction crew as he stood on a platform, balanced precariously against the frame, his body attached to structure with ropes and a cantilever. “Are only BOLD employees staying at the inn?”
“There was another guest, but he checked out yesterday. We’re looking into him too.” King closed his eyes and rubbed his shadowed jaw with one paw-sized hand. “Look, I didn’t come to talk through the break-in. I came to ask about your conversation with Martine.”
Surprised, Megan said, “What about it?”
“She told me that she went to you and Denver about her concerns related to her coworker, Jatin.”
Megan nodded. “And you talked to her about it.” Megan frowned. “Why are you asking about this again now?”
King stood in the driveway, his large frame turned toward the Marshall property, his gaze on the workers in the distance. He shuffled one foot and drew a line in the gravel.
