by Wendy Tyson
“Where’s your car?” she asked her grandmother.
“I have a flat tire.”
“Really? Those are new tires.” Megan always put snow tires on her grandmother’s car in winter and all season tires back on in the spring. “Did you run over something?”
“It looked questionable,” Aunt Sarah said. “We called the police.”
“Why would someone slash your tires?” Megan said.
“Tire,” Bibi responded. “Just one.”
“What did the cops say?” Megan asked.
“We didn’t wait for them. They were apparently busy.” Bibi sipped her tea and took another bite of bread. Megan could tell by the way she eyed the plate that she was debating a third slice.
“They said they would come by when they could,” Aunt Sarah said. “I guess with the Fourth of July festivities plus whatever else nonsense people do on holiday weekends—drinking and driving and such—a flat was low on their list.”
As though on cue, sirens wailed in the distance. “You probably should have waited to give a statement.”
“I didn’t feel like waiting,” Bibi snapped. “I was ready to go home.”
Megan studied her grandmother. Bibi looked tired: bags under her eyes, skin a little pale, shoulders not quite as pin-straight as usual. Maybe Aunt Sarah was right and this was too much for her.
“Tell her about that woman,” Bibi said to Aunt Sarah.
“Right.” She turned toward Megan. “You know the woman who died on the old Marshall property?”
“Penny Greenleaf.”
“Yes, her. She asked to speak with me two days before she died. She had found out that I’m your aunt, and she wanted to know about you—where you live, how long you’ve lived here, etc.”
Megan wasn’t surprised given what King had told her, but she was surprised that Penny had found out Sarah was her aunt. That wasn’t common knowledge outside the Winsome circle. Megan said as much to Aunt Sarah.
“I was surprised, too, and frankly rather taken aback.”
“Did she say why she wanted to know about me?”
“No, she didn’t. She seemed very focused on you, though, and was annoyingly insistent with her questions.”
“What did you tell her?”
Bibi and Aunt Sarah exchanged a glance.
“To talk to you herself,” Aunt Sarah said.
Megan could feel a headache creeping around the edges of her skull. Penelope Greenleaf—what the hell did she want with me, Megan thought.
“Does her name ring a bell to you?” Bibi asked Aunt Sarah. “Maybe an old relative or family friend?”
Aunt Sarah shook her head. “Never heard of her before. She said she was a distant relative of the von Tresslers. Do you know if that’s right?”
Megan told her aunt the little she knew about Penny. “Why she was interested in me remains a mystery.”
“Someone knows,” Aunt Sarah said.
“What do you mean?” Bibi asked.
“Penny’s body was found on Megan’s property. I’m sure that wasn’t a coincidence.”
Someone…but who? Megan felt the tension headache growing and throbbing, tightening like a vise around her temples. She rose to find some pain reliever, which Bibi usually kept in the cabinet over the sink.
“If you had to guess, would you say Penny was asking questions in order to blackmail me about something? That’s what her sister seems to think.”
Sarah seemed to consider this. While she waited for a response, Megan sifted through the pill bottles to find the Tylenol. She saw it, grabbed the bottle, and was about to pull it out when her attention settled on the other pill bottles in the cabinet. Prescription painkillers with Bibi’s name on them. Prescriptions Megan didn’t know about. She closed the door, took her Tylenol, and sat back down, wondering again whether Bibi was being fully honest with her.
“So what do you think?” she asked her aunt. “Nefarious intent?”
“She told me she was interested in your work. I neither believed nor disbelieved her. I don’t think she was up to something illegal, but she is dead, so I supposed there may have been more than meets the eye.”
Aunt Sarah spoke with her usual matter-of-fact tone, but Megan thought she could hear the tiniest bit of worry. If unflappable Sarah Birch was worried, that worried Megan even more. And now the tire on Bibi’s car. Sinister—or coincidence?
“She did say something that made me like her a little. She was a huge mystery fan. Rattled off all the greats.”
“Including yours?” Bibi asked without a trace of irony.
Sarah threw her head back and laughed. “She’d read every one of my books. Said she and her brother were huge fans.”
Her brother, Megan thought. The same brother who had been living with Claire? “Did she mention this brother’s name?”
Aunt Sarah drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Hmmm…yes, she did, I think. Said he was a writer, too, and had I heard of him. First name Ethan or Evan or something like that. Last name James.”
Ethan or Evan James from New Jersey. Someone else who might know where Claire was.
“I’m pretty certain it’s Evan.” Aunt Sarah nodded emphatically. “Yes, Evan.”
“Thank you,” Megan said.
“For what?”
“For stopping by.” She kissed her grandmother and aunt on the head and grabbed her purse. It was not too late to find Merry in town. Her phone rang and she glanced at it. Denver. She answered. “Yes?”
“Still at the farm, Megs?”
“I am.”
“Still alone?” Voice a shade huskier.
“No.”
“Darn. But I can still come by?”
Megan dropped her purse. Fireworks and Merry were not meant to happen. “I would love that.”
“Give me thirty to shower and change. Tell Bibi I’ll pick up some Ben & Jerry’s on the way.”
Megan glanced at her grandmother, who was nearly finished with her third slice of banana bread. “Don’t worry about stopping,” she said. “Bibi is sweet enough.”
Seventeen
By midday Tuesday, the temperatures and humidity felt oppressive, which was especially unpleasant after the beautiful holiday Mother Nature had granted. Megan took the weather in stride—it was part of farming after all—but Bibi wasn’t quite as serene. Megan found her in the parlor with their small window air conditioner turned up to full blast and a fan on.
“Hot?” Megan asked. She’d just returned from the greenhouse, and her fingernails were caked with dirt. “I can get you a cold iced tea. Let me wash up.”
“I think I might need to bathe in cold iced tea. What is it? A hundred and twenty degrees out there?”
“Ninety-four with a hundred percent humidity.”
“It’s like swimming in a vat of sweat.”
Megan laughed. Her grandmother was right. “I’m heading to Merry’s. Need anything?”
“Some more potting soil? I want to transplant a few of the house plants later, when it’s cooler.”
Megan agreed—it would give her a good excuse to be at Merry’s, anyway. She considered asking Bibi about the painkiller prescriptions but decided to wait. Bibi seemed in a good mood. She didn’t want to ruin it.
“I may be gone a while. I have a few other errands to make.”
Bibi’s mouth twisted. “Do you think you can let Alvaro know I’ll be late today? I may just go over for a few hours in the afternoon.”
Megan paused by the door. “Tuesdays are pretty slow, Bibi. I’m sure he’ll manage if you’d prefer to stay here. Yesterday was a busy day for you.”
“It’s not because I’m tired. Emily’s picking me up. She can’t get here until one.”
Bibi’s car. Megan had completely forgotten. “Yes, I’ll tell him. Shall I call the garage
to see if they can get your car?”
“Already done. I also spoke to King. He said a police report was drafted. He wants you to call him, by the way. And so does Clay. You never called him back.
Forgetful, back aches…I’m the one slipping, not Bibi, Megan thought. “Will do. See you later. Call me if anything comes up.”
Outside, the heat was stifling. The house had no central air, but at least the window air conditioners and the deep stone sills kept the interior moderately cool. Megan started the truck and turned the air on high. As she pulled out of the driveway, she called Clay, who was off today. No answer. Next, she rang King. He answered on the fourth ring.
“Megan, I’m glad you called. Did Bibi tell you about her car?”
“She sure did. Accident?”
“Probably. Looks like she drove over something sharp.”
“May be worth looking into another flat.”
“You mean the sisters’ flat the day of the memorial?”
“Yep. May have been a true accident, but maybe Olive would know. Or maybe she can tell you who fixed it.”
“Good idea.”
Megan stopped at a stop sign and waited for King to end the call. Instead, he said, “There was a break in at the von Tressler residence last night.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Melanie and her mother were in town for the festivities. Someone broke a window into the basement. Alarm was triggered, but the police found a rock with a typed note inside.”
“What did it say?”
“Get out.”
Megan pictured the layout of the house. “Did the person throw it through the back window or around front?”
“The back. Why?”
“Just curious. The place seemed like Fort Knox. Seems odd that someone would make it to the back of that huge property, have time to throw the rock, and leave the hillside before the alarm was triggered and the cops arrived.”
“There are trees all around, and it was dark out. They could have hidden in the woods. Plus, whoever it was took advantage of the fireworks. The town and the police were distracted.”
“True.” Megan realized he wasn’t telling her this for nothing. “Why are you letting me know?”
“Because Melanie thinks whoever did this is tied to Penny’s death. She and her mother are convinced that the same person is after Melanie. If that’s true—”
“They may be after me, too.”
“Right.” He paused. “Penny’s body was on your property.”
Megan rubbed her temples. It’s not as though she hadn’t thought of it herself, of course. But the fact that it happened yesterday means that if Melanie was right, the person responsible was still in Winsome.
King asked, “Did anything odd happen at the farm? Anymore Olive visits or papers left behind.”
“Not that I’m aware of. Just Bibi’s car.”
King was silent. Then, “Be careful, Megan.”
“Before you get off the line, Olive mentioned that before her disappearance, Claire had been staying with her older brother, a man named Evan James. Have you talked to him?”
“We have. Kind of a deadbeat. Has a record of his own. Theft, possession—petty stuff. Been in prison a few times. Not very helpful when it came to Claire.”
“I looked him up. He says he’s a writer. Didn’t mention Claire, but his writing was very stream-of-consciousness stuff. Maybe that’s how he processes. Did you talk to him in person?” Another voice came through the phone. King being paged.
“I have to go, Megan. And no, we didn’t talk to him in person. Between the murder and Claire’s disappearance, we’re spread pretty thin. Talked to him, he had an alibi and no clue where his sister is.” More static-y voices through the line. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Megan hung up. At a stop sign, she glanced down at the paper on the passenger seat. Evan James, forty-four years old, Flemington, New Jersey.
First Merry, then a road trip to New Jersey. Maybe she’d pick up a few clues along the way.
Merry’s Flowers was unusually busy, and once again Megan found herself waiting in line to pay. When the checkout counter was finally empty, Megan approached. She put Bibi’s potting soil and a pair of gardening gloves on the counter.
“We missed you last night,” Merry said, looking at Megan over aquamarine readers that matched a plaid aquamarine and navy checked dress. “Everyone was at the fireworks. Well, almost everyone.”
“I tried to go, but we had visitors.”
Merry flashed her a knowing smile. “That handsome boyfriend of yours?”
“Eventually. Before that, Aunt Sarah.”
Merry let out a dramatic sigh. “Sarah and I used to walk two miles every other day. Now she’s facing a deadline and it’s excuse after excuse.” She glanced at the register and announced the price. “Cash or credit?”
Megan handed her a twenty. While Merry made change, Megan switched the subject to the memorial. “How was it? Bobby King told me you made it over.”
“Oh, that? Yes, I figured someone should be there to represent the town. Roger was busy, so I went alone.”
“How was it?”
Raised, heavily tweezed eyebrows gave Merry’s face a comical look. “Now you’re curious?”
“I spoke to Melanie a few days ago. She said it was well attended.” A lie, but Megan figured Merry would take the bait.
“Is that what Melanie said? Perhaps to her that was a big crowd. A bunch of corporate types, some wannabe socialites, and those sisters.”
“Yes, Melanie mentioned that they were there.”
Merry nodded. “All but the youngest. But you know that—you supposedly dropped her off.”
“Supposedly?” Megan wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be offended. “Next you’ll say I allegedly kidnapped her.”
Merry’s combination of an eyeroll and shoulder shrug proclaimed that anything could happen.
“Melanie said you were chatting with the sisters.” Another fib, but Merry was annoying her, so she decided to go all in.
“Hardly. I spoke to them for a few minutes, tops. The blond was downright rude. Kept looking around when I spoke to her. The other one seemed more concerned with finding her sister, Claire. It was like talking to teenage boys at a junior high dance. No focus.”
“You said the blond, Penny, seemed distracted? Was she looking for Claire, too?”
“How should I know?”
“How about a young guy named Dominick von Tressler. Kind of short, wiry. David’s nephew. Looks like David.”
Merry’s forehead creased in thought. “Maybe. I seem to recall seeing him, but I can’t say for sure.” Merry handed Megan her change. “Why all the questions?”
“As you noted, I dropped Claire off at that memorial. Allegedly, she never showed up. I think I have a right to ask questions.”
“The police don’t suspect you, do they?” Merry asked, perking up behind a façade of concern.
“No, of course not, but I can’t help but feel bad.” Megan pocketed the change. No one was nearby, and she leaned in. “Did Melanie seem distraught?”
“Distraught? I wouldn’t say that. I really didn’t see much of her. Her mother, that Veronica woman, seemed to be running the show. She greeted people at the door, kept the drinks flowing. Melanie showed up later, said her hellos, and disappeared again.”
“Disappeared?”
“Into the bowels of that ghastly house.”
“Did you see her with the sisters?”
“Not that I recall. My, this is like Bobby King’s interrogation. Are you working for the police now?”
Megan smiled. “Merry, can you think of any Winsome people who were working there that day? Anyone who might remember something useful?”
A customer was approaching the cash register, and Merry
glanced their way. “From Winsome? I don’t think so.” The customer, an elderly man with a full gray beard, placed a bird feeder and some birdseed on the counter. Merry started ringing him up, dismissing Megan with a curt nod.
Megan was halfway out the door when she heard Merry say, “Jenny Clark, Roger’s niece. She was serving appetizers and drinks. May want to give her a ring.”
“Thanks,” Megan said. She knew Jenny, a college student who was living with her uncle for the summer.
“Anything to keep you out of trouble. What would Bibi do without you?”
Eighteen
Flemington, New Jersey was a traffic-filled forty minutes from Winsome. Megan left Merry’s and figured she could be in Flemington and back before anyone missed her. She followed Route 202 through Pennsylvania, over the bridge to New Jersey, and kept going. The address she had for Evan James took her to a renovated Victorian on the back side of town. Wedged between a WaWa and a service station, the house’s mint green paint was peeling off the trim like curls of ribbon. The body of the house looked as though it hadn’t been touched up in a decade. Three kids’ bikes sat locked to a net-less basketball hoop. An old Buick sat in the driveway, one tire noticeably flat.
Megan knocked on the ground floor apartment. She could hear someone talking on the other side of the door, but it took four loud knocks before the door opened. A man in stained gray sweatpants and a once-white ribbed tank top peeked out from behind the door. Uncombed salt-and-pepper hair, three-days’ worth of stubble, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He looked Megan up and down.
“Yeah.”
“Evan James?”
“Yeah.”
“My name is Megan Sawyer. I know your sister, Claire. May I talk to you for a few minutes?”
The man took one step outside. Megan saw bright white gym socks and, above that, a band of leg about the same color.
“You gotta be friggin kidding me. This again? Are you a cop?”
“No, I’m just someone concerned about Claire’s welfare.”
“Claire’s a big girl.”
“Just a few questions.”
“I’m busy working.”
When Megan didn’t budge, Evan’s expression softened. He threw the cigarette on the ground outside and left it there. Megan stepped on it, resisting the urge to pick it up.
