by Wendy Tyson
“Let’s walk the other way, on the far side of the pool.”
Megan’s light was stronger, so she picked her way through the overgrown gardens first, adhering to a narrow path along the rear of the stone wall. The smell of gardenia and lilies, normally scents she liked, overwhelmed her. Her exposed ankles stung from the grasses and nettles along the path. She was beginning to regret her idea.
They walked slowly, carefully, along the eastern wall. The pool area was visible beyond another row of untended hedges. On this side, a rose garden opened up to a square, rustic patio, its large stones swallowed by the grass and weeds that grew in between.
“Watch out for the thorns,” Denver said. “They’re catching my pants.”
“Too late.” Megan could feel warm blood on her exposed ankle.
Another shuffle and a shriek came from the darkness beyond the garage. Megan turned toward the sound and fell against a stone half-wall in the patio. She landed on both knees, hard.
“What the hell?” Her phone had fallen. She felt for it, found it in a nest of grass, and pointed it toward the stone object. “What was that?”
Denver knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. What was that noise?”
“A bunny shrieking is my guess. Definitely animal, not human.”
“You’re sure?”
Denver hesitated. Only for a second, but she caught it. “I’m sure.”
“What did I trip over?”
Denver helped her up. He shined his light on her legs. Torn capri pants, torn knees.
“Nothing urgent,” Megan said. “I’m fine.”
“We should get that cleaned up and disinfected.”
“We will—later. What did I trip over?”
“Whatever it is, it smells.”
Megan and Denver shined their lights into the structure. Stonework surrounded a small pool, its surface thick with rotting leaves and detritus. The whole thing was only about four feet by ten feet.
“It’s a small lily pond. Probably pretty in its day,” Denver said.
“Not pretty anymore.”
Megan searched the ground for a stick. She found one lying in the rose bushes. Extracting it carefully, she used it to poke down into the pond. Bubbles rose to the surface—smelly bubbles.
“Methane.” Denver took a step back.
“Surprisingly deep.”
“Probably filled it with carp in the summer. Clearly no one’s taking care of it now.”
Megan dropped the stick back into the roses. “This whole place…what a waste.”
A few minutes later, they made it to the back of the house. A sunroom lined half of its width, its windows shuttered to the outside world. A window to the left of the sunroom was closed and locked, but the shades weren’t fully drawn.
“Shine a light in there,” Denver said.
Megan obliged.
Denver used his height to peek into the window. “Can’t really see anything. Seems empty.”
Megan nodded. No signs of Claire. No signs of anyone.
Back in the 4Runner, Denver used his veterinarian supplies to clean and treat her wounded knees and ankle. “Flesh wounds,” he said. “I’m more worried about your ankles. And we should check for ticks when we get back to the farm.”
Megan agreed. Although her legs stung, she was glad they’d stopped by. The house had been beautiful once upon a time, she was sure, but although Martin von Tressler had only been dead a short time, it looked as though the house and gardens had been on the decline for a while. She had expected it to be empty. She hadn’t expected it to look abandoned.
“These old houses are expensive to keep up,” Denver said. “The roofs alone—all that slate.” He made a whistling noise. “A small fortune. And the gardens and the pool? The house would take money most people will never see.”
Megan didn’t much care for fancy houses. Although grand, the place gave her the heebie-jeebies. She twisted around to give it a final glance. As she was turning back to face the road, something caught her eye. She drew a sharp breath. Was that a light in an upstairs window? Or a figment of her imagination? When she looked again, it was gone.
“Ye okay, Megs?” Denver asked. “Did ye see something?”
“No,” Megan said. “Yes…I thought maybe…it was nothing.”
“It’s an evening for seeing things, for sure.” Denver merged onto a main thoroughfare, then glanced over at her. “A haunted house like that? A person could go crazy living there alone.”
Thirteen
July Fourth was to be a bittersweet holiday. That morning, Megan tucked the box of party favors she was going to use for the barn’s grand opening into a cabinet in Bibi’s sewing room. Maybe they could use them over Labor Day weekend, but she didn’t think the red, white, and blue favors would work for the eventual opening. Her heart was heavy—she’d been looking forward to starting classes, and delaying the opening hit her wallet, too. The weather was clear so far, but Mother Nature could be cruel, and the weather predictors were promising thunderstorms just in time for all of those BBQs and picnics.
Megan could hear Bibi rustling around in her room. She closed the cabinet door and padded down the hall toward Bibi’s quarters. It was after eight, and Bibi hadn’t come downstairs yet—very unlike her. Megan knocked softly.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine, Megan.”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
Megan opened the door slowly. Bibi was sitting in her recliner by the window, a brown and beige afghan over her legs and her knitting in her lap. When Megan entered, she smiled, eyes shining brightly.
“Good morning,” Bibi said. “You look pretty this morning.”
In lieu of the grand opening, Megan had agreed to set up a tent at the Winsome Canal Street sidewalk sale. She had changed from jeans and a grubby t-shirt to a lavender-colored vintage sundress for the event, and her shoulder-length brown hair, usually in a ponytail or pulled back from her face, was down and brushed today.
“I showered,” she said.
Bibi laughed. “That’s a start.”
Megan settled on Bibi’s bed. Her gaze was drawn to the cane, which was propped up against one of her bedside tables. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Just spending some quiet time in my room.”
“You missed my French toast this morning. I even made whipped cream.”
“It smelled good.”
“Why didn’t you come down? Because Denver was here?”
Bibi picked up her knitting. The click, click, click of her knitting needles, normally a pleasant sound, felt intrusive.
“Bibi?”
Bibi paused her knitting. “My legs ache, Megan. Somedays when the rain is coming, I can feel it in my bones. Today is one of those days.” She glanced down at the afghan before adjusting it with arthritic fingers. “The steps can feel like a lot to navigate. I didn’t want to go down and up again.”
The old house had steep, narrow steps—typical for the period. Megan had been concerned for a while that at some point they would be too much for her grandmother. “Do you want me to put a lift in? Or maybe we could make the parlor into a bedroom.”
“Oh gosh, no. I’m fine. I’ve just learned to be patient with my body.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t because of Denver?”
Bibi tilted her head and gave Megan a look that married amusement and concern. “I adore Denver. You know that. And I always feel welcome with the two of you. He’s become like a grandson to me. Stop fretting over me, Megan. When you hide things or fret it only makes me feel old.”
“That wasn’t my intent.”
“I know. It’s never anyone’s intent.” She sighed. “Look, I’ll tell you when I need something, and you’ll believe me when I do. That’s all
I ask.” She smiled. “Okay?”
For the second time in two days, Megan felt emotionally off-kilter: first with Denver, now with Bibi. But Bibi was right, and she owed her the respect of taking her at her word. “Yes, of course. That’s fair.”
Bibi turned her attention back to the window. “It’s nice out there now, but the weather will go awry soon. I feel it. What time are we expected at the Canal Street hoopla?”
“Sidewalk festivities start at ten.”
“Then we should get ready.”
Happily, Megan said, “You’re still coming?”
“Did I tell you I wasn’t?”
Megan stood and gave her grandmother a peck on the cheek. “You’re getting cantankerous in your upper years.”
“Not true,” Bibi said. “I’ve been cantankerous for as long as I can remember.”
Megan jogged up to the Marshall property before heading into town. Ryan was there, alone, working on the inside of the house. Entering, Megan felt like she was in a whole different space. The windows and trim were finished, the painting was complete, and Ryan was in the process of installing light fixtures—top hats and wall sconces. The overall effect was one of the past meets modern. Spacious and solid. Bright, but historically appropriate.
“Wow,” Megan said. “Just wow.”
“Like it?” Ryan couldn’t hide his smile.
“Love it.”
“Come here.” He led Megan around to the back of the staircase. A small wooden desk had been built into the cubby underneath. “I even made you a check-in desk, with locking drawers for keys and files.”
The desk was beautiful. Made of quarter sawn oak like the floors, it was simple in design but professionally crafted.
“And the top folds out, into the center hall, to create a small writing area for the guests while the innkeeper can sit comfortably in the cubby.”
“I didn’t ask for this, Ryan,” Megan said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I can take it out of you don’t want it—”
“No, no, please don’t. It’s perfect. So thoughtful. It looks like it belongs with this old house.”
“I felt bad…about everything you’ve been through.”
“You’re spending so much time here. I feel bad. You must have people at home who miss you.”
Ryan picked up a broom and started sweeping invisible dirt on the floor. “I’m fine. Just a perfectionist.”
Megan regarded her contractor. No ring, but she knew he had a significant other and at least one child. She wouldn’t pry—it was none of her business. Still, she was curious.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” Megan said.
“I know you want all of this done, and frankly, things aren’t great at home. Being here takes my mind off of it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Ryan shrugged. “Life.” He placed the broom against the wall. “You staying?”
His way of telling me to get lost, Megan thought. “No, I’m heading into town. Need anything?”
“Nah, but thanks for asking.”
Megan thought of Duke, Melanie’s contractor. Maybe Veronica had been right—she was lucky things had worked out the way they had.
As Megan was leaving, Ryan called after her. “That woman came back.”
Megan spun around. “The red head?”
“Yes. I saw her standing outside the barn last night. Must have been around seven, eight o’clock.”
“I thought you were going to call me.”
Ryan looked chagrined. “I tried. Your phone rang straight through to voicemail. I called your house, and your grandmother answered. She didn’t seem too concerned. Then your farm help arrived, and the woman left.”
“What did she want? Did she say?”
“She was asking about the crime scene. Truth is, I felt kind of bad for her, losing her sister and all. She looked devastated.”
“Yeah, she looked rough last time I saw her. She stopped here around eight you said?” When I was in the concert, Megan thought. I should never have gone. She’d turned her phone off. It went straight to voicemail, and somehow, she missed the missed call. I should have never left Bibi in the house alone, she thought—dogs or no dogs.
“Yeah, seven or eight.” His eyes narrowed in concentration. “She did ask about you, come to think of it. How long you’ve lived here, whether you grew up in the area, other places you’d lived.”
“What an odd thing to ask.”
Ryan nodded. “I thought so, too. Didn’t answer her, of course. I think that woman is a little off. Maybe you should tell King. Let him check up on her.”
“I’m sure he’s already doing that.” Megan’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Clover asking when she would be at the café. “I have to go. If she returns, you know the routine.”
Ryan saluted. “Enjoy your holiday.”
“You, too.”
Ryan had already turned back to his work, but Megan could hear him say, “Doubt it,” as she left the house.
“You’re late” Clover said. “I put out the beeswax candles, the locally-made soaps and lotions, those scarves your aunt wove, Bibi’s hats—although they’re out of season—and an assortment of organic and fair-trade chocolate. So far, so good. Want to put the jams and jellies out?”
“Sure, why not. And the pickled goods.” Megan surveyed Canal Street. Downtown Winsome was a misnomer. There was only Canal Street, and on Canal there were only a dozen or so shops. But they were all leaning in today. Megan saw an impressive array of colorful tents, and even a salsa band outside the shoe store.
“Since when does Mrs. McCreeley play bongos?” Megan asked.
“Since Mr. McCreeley took up with their housekeeper.”
“Ah.”
Megan turned back to their table. It was sparse, but Clover had arranged things nicely. “Mind if I check on Alvaro and Bibi?”
“Go for it.”
Inside, the atmosphere was festive. The café was crowded with people drinking coffee and iced drinks and eating the fresh doughnuts Alvaro had made for the occasion. The shop smelled of cinnamon and suntan lotion. Megan felt her mood lift.
“Fireworks tonight,” Emily called from the register. “Clay and I are going. Want to join us?”
“I don’t think so,” Megan said.
“They’re just along the canal. Should be fun.”
Megan simply smiled. After the events of the last week, she wasn’t sure her nerves could take the crowds or the explosions, but if Bibi wanted to go…she’d ask her.
Back in the kitchen, she found Bibi sitting on a chair, chopping scallions while Alvaro mixed his homemade masa harina with water to make tortillas.
“Mexican tonight?”
“Tacos. Fish, chicken, and cauliflower.” Alvaro rolled the springy dough into a ball on a huge slab of marble. “Homemade tortillas, homemade salsa, homemade guacamole salad, and a side of beans and rice.”
“Sounds delicious,” Megan said.
Still kneading the tortilla dough, Alvaro nodded his head toward Bibi. “If Bibi will help me, churros for dessert.”
“I’ll help you, although none of this is very Fourth of July.”
“Barbeque is overrated,” Alvaro grumbled. “Besides, I have all that beautiful cauliflower Megan brought me. Cauliflower tacos, yes. Cauliflower burgers, no.”
Megan couldn’t argue. She gave her grandmother’s arm a squeeze. “You want to stay for the fireworks tonight?”
“Maybe. By the time Alvaro is finished with all this non-traditional cooking, I may be exhausted.”
Megan laughed. She was exhausted just listening to the menu.
“Megan,” Emily said, popping her head into the kitchen, “Clover’s looking for you.”
“Be right there.”
Bibi said, “Call Clay when you have time. He rang the café phone about ten minutes ago. Said your cell was off.”
Damn. She’d forgotten to turn it back on this morning. Megan made a mental note to call Clay. Then she headed back outside to see what Clover wanted. She found her employee talking with Bobby King by the café’s sidewalk table. Three customers were browsing the soaps, and one was waiting to pay for blackberry jam, a five-dollar bill hanging from his hand.
“Just who I need,” King said. “Can we talk.”
Megan looked from King to Clover. “You’ll be okay by yourself?”
Clover smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
“Ten minutes, Bobby. I have customers to take care of. It’s a holiday, after all.”
King nodded. Megan saw the stress play out in his clenched hands and rigid jaw, and she felt her own body tense.
“Your office or the canal.” King shifted impatiently.
“You tell me.”
King glanced around. The town center was busy, and even by the canal, small groups had gathered for picnics and to play catch. “Office.”
Megan and King went around the back of the building, and Megan let them into the kitchen. When Bibi saw them together, her eyebrows shot up in question. Megan shrugged. In the office, she closed the door behind her and sat behind her desk, motioning for King to take the chair opposite.
“What’s up? You look stressed for a Fourth of July.”
“I’ll cut right to the chase, Megan. You need to tell me how you knew the deceased, Penelope Greenleaf. Please. It’ll save us both a lot of heartache and headaches.”
“I’ve already told you, Bobby. I didn’t know her. I saw her all of three times—at Merry’s Flower Shop, in the car when she and her sisters had a flat, and then again at the restaurant. Other than those three times, I have never set eyes on the woman. Well, other than…you know.”
“Never?”
“No, never.”
King rubbed his temple, never taking his gaze off Megan. “Then how the hell did she know you?”
“Why are you asking me this? What’s happened.”
King leaned in and steepled his hands in front of his face. “We searched Penelope’s belongings. As I told you before, she and her sisters were staying at the Bucks County Inn. We found…information.”
