by Wendy Tyson
Under BOLD, they had Martine, Xavier, Jatin, and Barbara.
“Add Harriet Mantra too,” Megan said.
Denver looked at her sharply. “Why? She wasn’t even in town when Chase was killed.”
“True, but this whole thing was her idea. As we very well know, you don’t need to be present to be the mastermind behind murder.”
Bibi added Harriet’s name to the board in purple. “We’ll omit you,” she said to Denver. Megan couldn’t tell if she was being cheeky.
“Is there anyone else you can think of who should be on this list?” Megan asked.
“I mean, Chase has an ex-wife. Diana. It’s possible she came into town and killed him. Possible, but doubtful.”
“I remember you telling me about her,” Megan said.
Bibi added Diana’s name to the board.
Megan recalled the rest of that conversation with Denver. “Don’t forget about the photos I found of Chase and Martine during his Rolling Stones days. They knew each other before BOLD. We should add a second line—maybe a dotted line—between Martine and Chase to indicate that connection.”
“But all of them, other than Harriet, had a preexisting relationship with Chase.”
“One that was obvious. The connection between Chase and Martine wasn’t known. At least by us.”
Denver nodded. “True.”
Bibi added the dotted line to the board. “This is a good start. We have two avenues: the school and the company. Who wants to do what?”
Megan studied her grandmother. While Bibi was no stranger to action when she thought someone from Winsome needed her, she generally didn’t seem so enthusiastic about getting involved.
“What’s your angle here, Bibi?” Megan asked. “Why are you going all Nancy Drew on us?”
Denver laughed. He rubbed his chin with a calloused hand. “I rather think it suits you, Bonnie.”
“You’re both very funny.” Bibi sat down on the chair she’d placed in front of the board. She rubbed her neck. “This one is a puzzle. Someone killed that man in an act of passion. Or at least that’s what we’re meant to believe. I hear the townspeople at Bridge. They all think the boy did it.” She shook her head. “He is the obvious choice. But what’s his motive?”
“Sometimes people don’t need a motive,” Denver said. “He could have snapped.”
Bibi said, “He could have. But I don’t think he did.”
Megan walked over to the board. Bibi was right: Dillon was the obvious choice. She grabbed a pen and started a new graph at the bottom of the surface.
“We have connections at BOLD Pharmaceuticals, the school, and then personal connections like Diana and Denver.” Megan drew a circle and put Chase’s name in the center. She drew a box to the left and labeled it “BOLD” and a box to the right and labeled it “School.” Under the school, she wrote Dillon’s name, Harriet’s daughter’s name, and Dr. Star. She drew a line between Dillon and Chase. She repeated the exercise with BOLD, including Martine, Harriet, Xavier, and Jatin’s name. She drew a line from each of them to Chase—denoting a direct connection. She also drew a line from Harriet to the school, Harriet to her daughter, and Harriet to Dr. Star. Beneath Chase’s name, she wrote his wife’s name and Denver’s name and drew lines to each.
“Not because you’re a suspect,” she explained. “But because we’re looking for connections.”
With that in mind, Megan added her Aunt Sarah to the board and drew a line between her and Dr. Star. She explained the connection to Bibi and Denver.
“I think we have a place to start,” Bibi said.
Megan nodded.
“Someone going to clue me in?” Denver said. “I’m not sure how this diagram helps us.”
“Somewhere in here is the connection that got Chase killed,” Megan explained. “If Dillon did it, then the connection will be simple. He snapped, or Chase did something to anger him. But if Dillon didn’t do it—”
“In there somewhere is the real motive for murder. The company. The school.”
“Or a personal vendetta,” Megan said.
Denver stared at the board for a moment. “Or both.”
“I’ll look into Dillon,” Bibi said. “I’m not as adept at the computer as you two are, but I can cook, and I can talk, and I can listen, so I’ll have him and Eloise over for dinner. I’d rather like to meet him.”
Megan nodded. “I can look into the company. Do some research, maybe contact my accountant to see what he can dig up. I’ll also talk to Sarah again and see if I can’t get in front of Dr. Star.” Megan thought about her last discussion with the psychologist. She snapped her fingers. “Even better. When I was at the school last time, there was a reporter there. Donna something or other. I’ll connect with her.”
Denver looked from Megan to Bibi and back again. “Megs, I’m afraid I won’t be much help.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Bibi said. “We’re a team. You can talk to your friends. See what they’ll spill about one another.”
Denver frowned. “That seems a bit…wrong.”
Bibi pushed herself up from her chair. The look she gave Denver could have frozen Niagara Falls. “Murder is wrong. Letting an innocent boy go to jail is wrong. Sorting through the who-did-whats-to-whom is justice.”
The caffeine was wearing off and exhaustion lurked underneath. Despite the descending fog, Megan smiled. Leave it to Bibi to cut right to the heart of the matter.
If Denver was offended, he didn’t show it. “I’m all for justice,” he said to Bonnie. He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll start with our missing Jatin and see just what had him so upset when he was talking with Chase.”
“Be careful,” Megan said. “Sorting through the who-did-whats-to-whoms can be the most dangerous job of all.”
Nineteen
Megan had promised Alvaro she’d help at the café the following day, so she packed up her laptop and headed for Winsome proper. The morning was dark and overcast. It had rained overnight, and Mother Nature left a muddy mess in the courtyard. The weather forecasters were calling for afternoon thunderstorms, but Megan wasn’t so sure they would hold off until later in the day.
Canal Street was empty. Megan parked and climbed out of the truck. She walked into the café carrying her computer in a bag over her shoulder and a large bag of veggies from the farm: garlic scapes, peas, kale, and a variety of lettuces. The handwritten menu board at the café entrance said Alvaro was making a spring salad as an entrée. She hoped she’d remembered everything he’d asked for.
“Morning,” her chef mumbled. He pointed to the large chopping block where a stack of carrots, celery, hot peppers, cilantro, parsley, and onions were sitting, washed and waiting. “Can you chop those?”
“I thought you were making salad?”
“It’s for tonight. I’m serving a sofrito chicken stew over rice. Comfort food.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“I need a lot because I’m also…” He mumbled something Megan couldn’t hear.
“What was that, Alvaro?”
The chef stopped what he was doing and turned around. His white hair was disheveled, his bushy eyebrows gave his stern expression an almost comical look. “I’m also making a vegan version with pozole. Okay?”
Megan laughed. “You don’t need to get defensive. I like that you’re doing more plant-based dishes.”
Alvaro threw a towel down on the table. “Yeah, well, my mother, who taught me to cook, is rolling over in her grave. Vegan sofrito stew?” He shook his head. “What next? Vegan tamales?”
“You could stuff them with squash and sweet corn. I think that sounds pretty good.”
Alvaro glared at her.
“You must really love Clover.”
Alvaro’s expression softened. “Ah, just chop the vegetables. I need quiet when I work.”
&n
bsp; Megan set to dicing the vegetables and herbs, thinking all the while about family. Alvaro had been the chef at the commune where Clover and Clay grew up. He and his wife had been their quiet champions when they were children, and now they were their surrogate parents. People would go to great lengths for the people they loved.
Was that an angle she was missing in the case of Chase’s murder? Was someone angry at Chase, not because of what he did to them, but because of what he had done to someone else?
It was mid-morning before Megan could disappear into the office with her laptop. By then, Emily had shown up to handle the late breakfast crowd, and Clover had taken over at the store’s register. The whole place was perfumed by Alvaro’s sofrito stew and the chicken roasting in the ovens. Alvaro, surly as ever, was putting the finishing touches on his spring salad ingredients, which included a choice of local chicken breast, Alaskan wild salmon, or barbequed tofu.
As she closed the door, Megan could hear Alvaro and Clover bickering about whether the honey he’d put into the barbeque sauce was vegan. No good deed, she thought. They’d work it out.
In the privacy of her office, Megan pulled up the article about the Pioneer Village School by Donna Lewis, the writer for The Bucks County Times. She skimmed the content, then went back and re-read it. It certainly wasn’t a love note to the school. Lewis had done her research. The school had started out as an orphanage. Eventually the building was sold to an unknown benefactor who turned it into a school and hired Benjamin Star to run the admissions program and oversee the counseling services. Star had been there since inception.
Lewis acknowledged the school’s lofty goals: to service an underserved population of at-risk, intellectually gifted students. She also underscored that the tuition was high and a majority of the kids who attended were from wealthy homes. Scholarships were few and far between.
Her parting shot had to do with Dillon. She blamed the school for covering up serious emotional and behavioral issues, issues that led to destruction in the community and even violence. She never came out and accused Dillon of Chase’s death, but she insisted that the school didn’t follow proper safety or security procedures. She gave no indication of what procedures they were failing to follow.
Megan scribbled down the little information she could find about Donna Lewis. Donna knew something about the school, that much was apparent. Maybe she knew more about the murder than she was letting on. Megan called the paper, which was headquartered in nearby New Hope, and left a message for the reporter. She also sent her an email at the address listed in her byline, providing her cell phone number too. She kept it simple, asking only for a few minutes of her time to discuss the school. After witnessing her dogged approach at the school, Megan suspected any mention of Dr. Star and his program would be enough. She’d hear back from Donna Lewis.
Megan sat back in her chair. Now she’d wait. Megan closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, trying to decide whether to make another visit to the school or whether to hit up Sarah for more information. Sarah could be stubbornly unhelpful when she wanted to be. She’d go straight to the school.
Megan was about to pull up BOLD’s corporate page when her phone dinged. It was Donna Lewis already, agreeing to meet.
Megan texted back. How about an hour from now? I’ll treat you to coffee in New Hope. She named a spot on the main road. She had an ulterior motive for wanting to meet in New Hope. Her accountant was there, and she thought maybe he could do some digging into BOLD’s corporate structure and financial dealings.
Lewis agreed to her offer. Megan packed up her bag and tucked her briefcase in a desk drawer. She’d come back. To help Alvaro with the dinner rush, and to sample his vegan sofrito stew.
Coffee on Main was a quaint reminder that not all great coffee shops were chains. Tucked between an independent bookstore and a jewelry boutique, the café offered comfortable, upholstered chairs, plenty of table space, baked goods, and a rich array of fresh-roasted coffees. Megan ordered and then grabbed a pair of armchairs that sat across from each other in a cozy, sunny corner.
Within twenty minutes, Lewis arrived. Megan recognized her from the school. Today her silver hair was hidden under a teal beret. She wore a magenta shirt dress and a pair of thick-heeled, ivory sandals. The sour look on her face clashed with the cheeriness of her clothes.
“Megan Sawyer.” Lewis placed her bag on the second armchair.
“Order whatever you want. They’re running a tab for me,” Megan said.
Donna Lewis came back ten minutes later carrying a toasted muffin, a large cup of coffee, and a croissant. “First meal of the day,” she said as she sat. “And after all these carbs, I’ll need a nap.”
Megan smiled. She sipped at the coffee in her own mug and took a bite of her blueberry muffin. It was good, but she found she wasn’t very hungry and put it aside.
“Your note said you want to talk about the Pioneer Village School.” Lewis took a large bite out of her muffin and wiped her face with a crumpled napkin. “Right?”
“I read your article. I have a friend whose kid may go there. I was curious about what you said.”
Megan waited while Lewis finished her muffin. She ate methodically, slowly, as though she was unaware that Megan was waiting for her to finish. Finally, she put the plate on a side table and sighed.
“You realize I’m a journalist, right?”
Megan nodded.
“Then you know part of my job is researching things and people? And I have access to all sorts of databases and information.”
Megan nodded again.
“In that case, because we’re now on the same page, do you want to start again?”
Megan studied her. “You’re saying you know who I am.”
“I know your boy toy is Dr. Daniel Finn, most eligible bachelor in Winsome and voted best looking veterinarian in a kilt. Didn’t take me long to figure out that Finn was friends with the deceased Charles Mars. Or that his aunt is Eloise Kent, foster mother to the accused.”
“He’s not been formally accused.”
“The investigation is still underway.” Lewis picked up her cup and sloshed its contents. “Just a matter of time.”
Megan didn’t like the way Lewis was staring at her with a “gotcha” expression on her face. “You did your research well,” Megan said. “But I’ve done some of my own. I know that you were once a reporter for The New York Times. That you were fired when they found out you’d fabricated sources for a piece you did on local law enforcement. I know since then you’ve pieced together a career with bit assignments for local news outlets. Dog bite stories. Robberies. The occasional wedding announcement.” Megan matched stare for stare. “And I know you have a bug up your ass when it comes to the Pioneer Village School. I want to know why.”
Lewis sat openmouthed. Eventually the edges of her mouth turned up into a smile, and she began clapping slowly. “Excellent. Your reputation as a local sleuth is well-deserved. You forgot, of course, to mention my messy divorce a year ago and the fact that I’m suing my chiropractor.”
“I chose not to mention the former,” Megan said. “And I had no idea about the latter.”
“Because it’s not true, and neither is the allegation about fabricating witnesses. They didn’t like my witness, they couldn’t take the heat, and so they fired me.” Lewis put her cup on the table. She slapped her hands down on her ample thighs. “I like you. You have ovaries. What do you want, Megan Sawyer of Winsome? Dirt on the investigation? Information about Dillon Brown? The real story behind Dr. Benjamin Star’s little fiefdom for smart, rich kids? Why did you want to see me today?”
“I wanted to hear about any and all of these topics, if you can deliver.”
“What are you trying to do?”
“I just want an understanding of what’s going on.” Megan decided to be honest. It was a risk—she didn’t trust this woman—but wh
at did she have to lose? “As you said, my boyfriend was friends with Chase Mars. Now his aunt’s foster son is a suspect.”
“He most likely did it—”
Megan held up a hand. “He’s a suspect. And while everyone is focused on him, the real killer could be getting away, quite literally, with murder.”
Lewis crossed her arms across her chest. “Why do you care?”
“Really? He’s a kid.”
Lewis openly studied her, her face inscrutable. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll help you, but if you find out something that leads to an arrest, I get to use you as a source.”
Megan considered the offer. She saw the kind of slam job Donna had done on the school. She didn’t want to be on the other end of that typewriter.
“I will be your neutral source. You can use information I give you, but you must use it verbatim—as I give it. No twisting my words.”
“Deal. So now that we’re pals, what do you want to know?”
“In the article you wrote on the school, you accused them of not following certain safety or security standards. What did you mean?”
“For one, I’ve heard they don’t follow internal safety standards. Schools like that use psychiatrists to monitor medications. Parents have complained that the structure is lax, and kids are able to get their hands on others’ meds.”
“That’s not good. Were you able to verify that?”
“No,” Lewis said, “which is why I didn’t include it. But there’s more. Those kids were out in public, on state lands, without the proper adult to student ratio.”
“By law?”
“By common sense. There were four staff members there with twenty-six kids. Not enough when you’re dealing with potentially dangerous youth.”
“What about the mentors from BOLD?”
Lewis laughed so hard that spit sprayed from her mouth. “You have got to be kidding. Have you seen that bunch? Not one of them went through training—self-defense, CPR, safe restraint, nothing.”
She had a point. “You said dangerous youth. I didn’t think the kids at the Pioneer Village School were dangerous. Troubled, perhaps. Anxious. Mood or attention disorders. But not violent.”
