by Wendy Tyson
“Near the Marshall house.”
“Near the crime scene?”
“Yes.” Megan reached into her purse. “There’s more.” She slid the print-out from the legal database across the table to him. He picked it up.
“I don’t understand, Megan. This is just information about you when you used to work for the law firm. Was this with Mick’s…with the other thing?”
“No. The print-out about me was found at Merry’s store the day Claire and her sisters picked up flowers for the memorial.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
King’s eyes lit up with understanding. “The obituary, the print-out—you think Penny’s body on your property is no coincidence.”
Megan knew it sounded flimsy, but why else would these documents be floating around? “Look,” she said, “I’m just sharing what we found. If Penny’s body hadn’t turned up on my property, I wouldn’t be here. But it did. Information about me—information about a life I haven’t led in years—was found at Merry’s the same day Penny happened to be there, and now Mick’s obituary. Don’t you think it’s awfully coincidental?”
“You’re sure none of this belongs to Bonnie?”
“I’m certain.”
“Maybe someone in town wants to meet you, Megan. Maybe they’re researching you for an article or a podcast. Small town girl makes it big before returning to her roots, something like that.” He shrugged. “It could be as simple as someone doing their homework.”
Megan sat back against the couch. It smelled of patchouli and lavender, comforting scents that gave her no comfort. “Or maybe someone is stalking me or my family.”
“We searched that whole property. If this had fallen out of the killer’s belongings, don’t you think we would have found it before now?”
Megan had thought of that. “It’s not necessarily something the killer had, Bobby. What if someone dropped it there to intimidate. Someone who would know we’d be on edge and wanted to drive home the point that we’re not safe.” She met King’s gaze. “You said it yourself the night you urged me to call a security company.”
“Everything should be considered, but this seems tenuous. Nevertheless, Penelope Greenleaf was found on your property.” King chewed on his bottom lip. “I just don’t know.”
“Take a harder look at it.”
Megan handed him her gloves, and he slipped them on. He peered at the paper, holding it close to his face. “This mud—”
“Has a reddish coloring, I know. It’s not the red of our clay soil.”
King nodded. “You think it’s blood? We’ll take this and have it analyzed. In the meantime, if you see or hear anything—anything—call me. Please.”
“Was there blood on Penny’s body?”
“She’d been strangled, that was the official cause of death, but there had been a struggle. Whoever killed her had subdued her, and whatever blood we found was Penny’s.” King nodded toward the obituary, now tucked into its envelop. “You’re thinking that’s Penny’s blood?”
Megan nodded.
King took an audible breath. He stood up stiffly and walked to the kitchen. He placed the envelope on the counter before opening the refrigerator. “Soda? Beer?”
“No thanks. I need to get back to the farm.”
“I was hoping you could stay a few more minutes. Hold on a sec.” He returned a moment later with a Pepsi and a bag of chips in his hand. “Sure you don’t want anything?”
“I’m fine.”
King nodded. He seemed to be searching for a way to say something. Finally, “That woman, Claire, she hasn’t turned up.”
“I know. Her sister Olive confronted me at the farmers market this morning.”
“Confronted you how?” King took a swig of soda before placing the can on a coaster on the coffee table. “Was she belligerent?”
“More like erratic. Emotional one minute, cold the next.”
“She did just lose her sister.”
“And another one is missing,” Megan said. “Reasons to be abrasive and emotional. Why would you think she’d been belligerent?”
“Because she keeps telling us to check you out, that you were the last one to have seen her sister.”
“And I keep telling her that I dropped Claire off at the von Tressler house.”
King frowned. “It’s been several days since anyone has seen Claire. Right now, we have no evidence of foul play, but her disappearance is suspect given her sister’s death.”
“Any leads on what happened to Penny?” Megan knew she was treading on fragile ground. King often looked to her for help, but he was a public servant—and a good one—and he would guard information if he had to, even from her. She didn’t want to put him in a compromising position.
“Nothing so far. My people have talked to Melanie and her staff. We interviewed others who may have seen or talked with Penny before her death, including family members. Nothing concrete—yet.”
“Do you think it could have been random, Bobby? Wrong place, wrong time sort of thing?”
King shook his head. “No signs of rape or robbery. Her car was found where she was staying, so we believe whoever killed her knew her schedule or had been following her.”
Making it less likely it was a random killing, Megan thought. “How about some of the guests who were in from out of town for the memorial?”
“We talked with those we could track down based on the registry. It was helpful that Merry showed up.”
Megan’s eyes widened in amusement. “So she did go? She was threatening to attend.”
“Yes, she went, although she was late.” King’s scrunched up scowl told Megan exactly what he thought about Merry attending the memorial reception. “She very definitely did not see Claire there, but she did see Penny. Penny and Olive went to pay their respects and pick up their sister, only as we both know, Claire never showed up.”
“So Penny was at the memorial—and then what? She left to go to which hotel?”
“She and her sister stayed overnight at the Bucks County Inn.”
Megan remembered that inn well; it was a local place, convenient to Winsome, where Denver’s friends had stayed during the tragedy last summer. “I’m sure the proprietor remembers her.”
King nodded. “We spoke to her. Says nothing odd happened. Penny got to her room the evening of the memorial, she and her sister went to bed in separate but neighboring rooms, she rose the next morning to leave for home.”
“And then she was murdered.”
King lowered his head. “And then she was murdered.”
“And her body placed on my property.”
King didn’t respond to the last statement. Instead he asked, “Did Olive say anything else that could be helpful?”
Megan replayed their conversation in her head. “She talked about the von Tressler fortune and the fact that Claire deserved the inheritance from Martin. I tried to find the will but couldn’t. Have you seen it?”
King shook his head. “It’s one of the things we’re working on.”
“Seems like Claire should have inherited already.”
“Older man marries younger woman. Maybe there was a prenup, and the son got everything.”
“Maybe.” Megan wasn’t convinced. “And now that David’s dead, perhaps things get even messier.”
King said, “I thought David was a partner in the business. Wouldn’t his half go to Melanie?”
“That’s what I would think, too, but clearly there was some bad blood over von Tressler Senior’s death.” Megan rubbed her forehead, forcing herself to remember the details of the conversation with Olive. “Olive made it sound as though Claire is flighty and unstable. Our whole conversation made me wonder who was pulling the strings in the family. Olive waffled bet
ween caring older sister and drill sergeant.”
“You think someone is controlling Claire? Someone in her family?”
“I got the distinct feeling that she’s being pushed to fight for a share of the von Tressler family fortune.”
“Estate dispute, huh?”
“A prime motive for murder.” Megan decided to give voice to the thing that had been bothering her. “There’s something else, Bobby. When I first saw the sisters at Merry’s, Claire was upset, distraught even. I had the distinct sense that she was mourning someone very close to her. Very close.”
“You think Claire and David were having an affair?”
“Penny stopped short of saying so, but I think it’s a possibility we can’t ignore.”
“Another motive for murder.”
“But Penny’s murder?”
King looked away, chewing at his lip again. “One sister dead, the other missing. Definitely things we need to follow up on. If there’s a connection, if Penny’s death is related to a fight over money, how do you fit in?”
Megan stared at the print-out of her short legal career, which still sat on the coffee table next to King’s drink. “I have no idea, Bobby. None at all.” She looked up. “But I’d really like to find out.”
Eight
Megan drove to the café, all the while thinking about her conversation with King. She knew he would be all over this, but she couldn’t help feeling that he wasn’t taking the connection to her or her family seriously. Maybe she was nuts. But maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t. The fact that Penny’s body had been found at Washington Acres left her feeling vulnerable. Worse, it left her feeling like Bibi was vulnerable. She needed to help King, whether he wanted her help or not.
She decided to start with the beginning: the von Tresslers. She had only half paid attention to the rumors before now because she didn’t really care—and they didn’t affect her. First, she needed to make absolutely certain the obituary and legal database print out didn’t belong to her grandmother.
She found Bibi in the back of the kitchen, washing knives in hot, soapy water in the café’s three-basin sink. She gave her grandmother a hug.
“Your goats escaped again,” Bibi said. “I had to send Porter in the woods after them.”
“How come when they do something mischievous, they’re my goats?” Megan asked. She could tell from Bibi’s tone that the goats were fine—now, at least.
“They’re always your goats. They just happen to like me better.” Bibi flashed a cheeky smile.
“That’s because you feed them things they’re not supposed to have.”
Bibi dismissed the accusation with a wave of one soapy hand. “Why are you here? I thought you were planting more lettuce this afternoon, at least that’s what Porter told me.”
Megan asked her grandmother if she’d misplaced anything lately. “Paperwork? Maybe a copy of Mick’s obituary?”
“No. Why?”
“No reason.” Megan thanked her grandmother and was about to head to the dining area to find Clover when she heard her grandmother clear her throat—always a precursor to a lecture.
“You’re doing it again,” Bibi said.
“Doing what?”
“Trying to protect me. Stop it. What’s going on?”
Reluctantly, Megan told Bibi about the two papers. “Bobby’s submitting the obituary for tests. Ryan’s crew touched it, but there’s a reddish stain that could be blood.”
Bibi’s face was stony-still. “That explains Porter.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw him putting a sleeping bag and stuff in the new barn. I was wondering.” Bibi was drying a chef’s knife on a white towel. She stopped drying. “Please stop hiding things. The alarm system company called you back. I do not want an alarm system—two dogs are enough of an alarm.” She lowered her voice. “I know security is an issue after what happened, and I can tell you’re worried, Megan. We’re a team. You need to be able to tell me when you’re worried. I can help.”
Eyeing the knife, which was bouncing up and down in Bibi’s hand in Megan’s direction, Megan said, “Maybe we can start with you putting down the knife.”
Bibi looked down at her hand, murmured “oh,” and placed the knife on the chopping block alongside a pile of herbs. “Do you hear me, Megan?” Her voice kinder, she said, “We’ve been through a lot. I know you worry about me, but I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit for.”
“Oh, I know you’re tough, Bibi. Why do you think I asked you to put the knife down?”
“I’m not kidding.”
Megan nodded. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’m not kidding, either. I know how strong you are. But aside from Denver…well, you’re my family.”
“You have Aunt Sarah, and your mother.”
Megan’s relationships with her grandfather’s sister Sarah and Megan’s estranged mother had improved over the past years, but when Megan thought of family, she thought of Bibi. “Not the same and you know it.”
Bibi began chopping herbs—chives and mint and cilantro—with deft strokes. “Tell me about the flowers,” she said.
“The flowers?”
“You thought the woman found on the Marshall property was Claire von Tressler because of the flowers, right?”
“Right. Flowers and designer shoes.”
“When you dropped Claire off, did she have the flowers with her?”
The flowers! Megan threw her head back, exasperated with herself. “The flowers. Of course. She did have them in the car, so she must have taken them with her. I was in such a hurry, I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“And then they ended up with the woman who was murdered.”
“Penny—Penelope Greenleaf.”
“Penny.” Bibi stopped what she was doing before whamming down on a pile of chives with a strong chop. “Greenleaf.”
“Recognize the name?”
“I don’t think so. But the fact remains: if Claire took those flowers out of your truck, somewhere between then and Friday when her body was found, someone else got a hold of those flowers.”
“Likely the same someone who killed Penny.”
Bibi used a pastry cutter to sweep up the chopped herbs and place them into a stainless-steel bowl. “Old man!” she yelled to Alvaro. “Here are the herbs you were whining about.”
“Always nagging,” Alvaro said. No one was fooled by his feigned grouchiness, though—least of all Megan. “Took you long enough.” Something fragrant was bubbling away on the stove, and he sprinkled a handful of the mint and cilantro on top.
Megan snapped her fingers. “Bibi, you’re absolutely right. The flowers are a link. Claire had them. If they made it into poor Penny’s makeshift grave, and if Olive is to be believed and they never found Claire, then whomever killed Penny knows where Claire is.”
“Unless Claire is the killer.”
Megan stared at her grandmother. It would explain both Claire’s disappearance and the flowers.
Bibi washed her hands and dried them with a fresh towel. “I think I’m through here, Megan. And you know what I haven’t done yet?”
“What’s that?” Megan asked cautiously.
“I haven’t paid my respects to the von Tressler family. As an old woman in this town, I should probably do that, don’t you think?”
Megan grinned. Leave it to Bibi. “I think that’s a swell idea. In fact, propriety demands it.”
While Bibi got changed, Megan headed up to the Marshall place to speak with Ryan. Despite the fact that it was nearly three o’clock on a Saturday, she knew she’d find her contractor and his crew working. They were under a deadline, and she had paid a premium to get the work done this summer. She was surprised to find Ryan alone in the house’s center hall. He was taking window measurements, a small notebook, and a pencil on a ladder nearby
. He looked up in surprise when Megan entered the room, squinting those piercing blue eyes.
“What brings you here? I figured you’d be doing farm-y things on a gorgeous day like today.”
Megan smiled. “I went to the farmers market this morning, but since then, I’ve been a little distracted, as you can imagine.”
“Farm work waits for no one.”
“Indeed.” Megan walked around the entry hall, inspecting the work. Ryan and his team had replastered the walls, sanded and refinished the original quarter-sawn oak floors, and now he was putting new period-appropriate trim around the replacement windows. The center hall led into a living room on one side and a small dining room on the other. Behind the living room was a tiny kitchen that the contractors had blown out to make it larger and more modern. The caretaker’s apartment was being constructed off the kitchen—two bedrooms and a large kitchen/dining area/living area. It was all coming together—slowly. “I like what you’ve done.”
Ryan wiped his hands on dusty cargo pants. “It does look better, doesn’t it?” He glanced around the room, his gaze trailing into the living room. “This will be nice when it’s finished.” He eyed Megan with a sideways glance. “But I’m guessing you’re not here about the work.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Brian Porter told you what we found?”
Megan nodded. “Can you show me where you found it?”
“One of my men actually found it, but I can show you the general vicinity.”
Ryan arranged the notebook and pencil neatly next to one another on the ladder before wiping his hands again with the towel. “Follow me.”
Megan trailed her contractor out the front door and around to the side of the house where the Bilco doors were. Ryan pointed at the area near the doors. “There.”
Megan examined the spot. The area was a main thoroughfare for the construction crew, and the little grass there was had been trampled on. Bald patches of clay-like mud dotted the area, and in those patches, Megan could make out scores of tread marks. So much for getting shoe prints.
“Just sitting there?”
“Yep. A little crumpled and dirty. Lou, that’s one of my guys, was about to toss it when I noticed what he was doing. Figured since that body showed up, we should tell you about it. Then when I opened it…well, I’m sorry. It’s not right to find something sentimental discarded that way.”
