by Wendy Tyson
“Fine. Come on in. Don’t mind the mess. My maid has the day off.” He laughed heartily at his own joke. “Want some water? I don’t drink—recovery—so I can’t offer you a beer.”
It was only eleven thirty in the morning, but Megan chose not to point that out. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“How’d you find me?”
“Your sisters.”
“Big mouths, all of them. Come this way.”
Mess was an understatement. The door opened into a cramped kitchen. A row of cheap oak cabinets with plywood countertops lined one wall. The sink was piled with dirty dishes, and newspapers and dishes took up every inch of the counter. The stove was topped with a thick layer of grime, and on top of that, a half dozen dirty pots and frying pans. Only the refrigerator—stainless steel and smudge free—seemed clean or new.
Evan led her through the kitchen and into a dining room/living room. If it was hot outside, it was worse in here. A single fan on a side table blew warm air and cigarette smoke. The furniture consisted of a ripped loveseat, a recliner, and a Formica-topped table littered with newspapers, magazines, and balls of crushed printer paper. A laptop sat in the middle of the mess. The place stunk of cat urine and cigarette smoke.
“My writing cave,” Evan said. “Sit, please.”
Megan perched on the edge of the couch. Evan sank into the recliner. He lit another cigarette. Sweat beaded along his upper lip, above his hairline. Megan could feel it trickling between her breasts and down her back.
“How do you know Claire?”
“We met in Winsome.”
“Pennsylvania? Nice. I told the cops I haven’t heard from her in almost two weeks. They didn’t seem to believe me, so I thought maybe you were here to follow up.” He threw his arms up in the air. “Look around. Her bedroom is back there,” he pointed to a door that led from the living room to the rear of the apartment, “and I can assure you, the only things she left here are some old clothes and a worthless set of CDs.” He shrugged bony shoulders. “Besides, the house wouldn’t look like this if Claire were here. She’s a neat freak. Used to a fancy life.”
“I’m not with the police, and I’m not here to check up on you. I was just hoping to ask you a few questions.”
“Ask away. Can’t promise I’ll answer.”
“How long has Claire been living here?”
“I don’t know. I told the cops, maybe nine months? A year? Off and on since her old man croaked.”
“Why didn’t she stay at the Philadelphia estate?”
“You gotta ask her. My opinion? It’s a creepy place. Who’d want to stay there alone?”
Echoing Denver, Megan thought. And they were both right; it was creepy.
“You said off and on, Evan. Where else was she staying?”
Evan shifted in his seat. His gaze danced around. “My sisters’ places. Mostly Penny.”
“I’m sorry about Penny.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Evan took a long drag of his cigarette. “Penny was the oldest. Our dad died when she was young. Penny was never the same, my ma says. She became like a parent to Claire. Her death, Claire missing, it’s too much.” He held up his cigarette. “I can’t afford to drink no more. My PO—that’s my probation officer—says it will be a slippery slope to the slammer. I’m getting my life back now. Don’t need another complication.”
“I can understand.”
“Can you?” Nearly shouting. His sudden mood swing caught Megan off guard. “You prance in here smelling good and looking like you ain’t missed a meal in ten years. Know what Claire had to do to make ends meet? Hustle. She hustled men until she met Martin. It was Martin who settled her down.” He pointed his cigarette at Megan. “You can’t understand what it was like. Living off some measly monthly amount. Watching your ma work two, three jobs. Having an older sister give up her dreams to take care of us.” He glanced at his own hand, seem to regard it as though it was something alien and apart. “Watch your own world fall apart.”
“No, I can’t know. You’re right. And I’m sorry to have barged in here, Evan. I shouldn’t have come.”
Only by now, Evan had calmed down. He gave her an apologetic smile. “Now you see why I used to drink. Anger management issues—that’s what my PO says.” He waved at Megan. “You’re fine, you’re fine. I miss my sisters, that’s all. It’s nice to have some company.”
“I want to help find Claire.”
He regarded her with an even look. “I believe you do.” Evan stubbed out his cigarette into a glass Mason jar filled halfway with water and lit another. “When Claire was little, she used to want to act. Ma had an old sewing machine. Claire taught herself to sew. She made costumes and dresses, even shirts for me. She had a creative streak. Would put on little plays, show off.”
A thing for acting that morphed into conning as an adult? It was possible. “What can you tell me about her relationship with David von Tressler?”
Megan braced herself for another outburst. Instead, Evan sat back against the recliner and looked thoughtful.
“David was a mixed bag. In some ways, he was good for Claire. I think she genuinely loved him. Or thought she did.”
“Did he love her?”
Evan seemed surprised by the question. “Did he love Claire? Well, he lost his position at the company for her, so maybe.” He took two puffs of his cigarette and blew the smoke out in concentric circles, watching them fade into the air. “Yes, I think David loved my sister. His own wife—have you met her, she’s his second—is a real witch. She always has to have her way. Tried to bully Claire. Even had her mother calling my sister.”
Megan’s impression after meeting Veronica was that she was likely the one whom Claire was really afraid of. Evan seemed to be supporting that conclusion.
“How did they bully your sister?”
“Threats, mostly.”
“Did Claire’s affair with David continue after they were found out?”
“I don’t know. Does it really matter?”
“She’s missing. Your sister Penny has been murdered. Don’t you think it all matters?”
The anger started to flare in Evan’s eyes again. This time, though, he sucked on his cigarette until it was a slow simmer. “I don’t know. She comes and goes as she pleases. Sometimes she stays here, sometimes she doesn’t. I don’t ask questions. That’s probably why she likes staying with me best of all.” He waved a hand. “But I ain’t seen her since any of this started.”
“Before Penny…before things happened, did you hear from Penny or Olive while they were in Winsome?”
Evan nodded. “Penny called me all excited. She met a famous mystery author. She thought I would think that was cool.” Evan smiled. “She was always worrying about me, trying to make me feel better about myself. I think she even told this woman about me.”
“Pretty cool.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Did your sister ever mention me? Megan Sawyer?”
Evan shook his head. “Nah. I would have remembered. Why?”
Megan decided to be honest. “She seemed to be researching me before she died. But no one knows why. Any ideas?”
Evan spent a minute lighting up another cigarette before responding. He seemed to be thinking about the question.
“Penny was always into something. I know she was working on some project, but I have no idea what it was.”
“Do you know anyone who might know? A husband? Kids? From the little I could tell about your sister, she lived alone.”
“Penny divorced years ago. Husband was a nice enough guy, but no ambition, works a few miles from here, at the wine store. Doubt he’d know much, but you could ask. They stayed friendly.” He shrugged shrunken shoulders. “No kids, though. Claire would be a better bet. She told Claire a lot of things. But I guess you can’t ask Claire.” He shook his head. Rubbe
d watery eyes. “I just want Claire to be okay.”
“You and Claire are close,” Megan said softly.
“Not really. But we’re family. In this crazy world, that’s gotta be worth something.”
Nineteen
The Wine Library was a sommelier’s dream. Situated on a busy corner of Route 202 in Flemington, the mega-store provided a tour around the globe through its bottled offerings. Megan started with the front help desk and asked a petite silver-haired woman for Mr. Greenleaf.
“Spain,” she said without looking up. “Or Argentina.”
The aisle that housed the Spanish wines was empty, so Megan found her way to Argentina. A plump twenty-something in a plaid mini skirt was bending over the Malbecs; otherwise, that aisle was empty, too. Megan moved on to Chile. There she spotted a sixty-ish man wearing The Wine Library’s requisite maroon uniform. He seemed focused on hanging a sign over a row of wines, so she approached him slowly.
“Mr. Greenleaf?”
It took the man a moment to acknowledge her. When he did, his gaze went from blank to wary in seconds. Once likely a blonde, he now had a full head of white hair and a yellowing beard that hid pock-marked skin. Sloping shoulders gave way to wiry arms and a round mid-section. He was a few inches taller than Megan, but he had a way of slouching that made him seem shorter.
“I need this job,” he hissed. “Please. Not sure who sent you, but I don’t do that here.”
Megan shook her head. “I’m just here to talk to you about your ex-wife, Penny. My name is Megan Sawyer.”
“You’re not looking for…no, well, that’s good…anyway, I’m working. I can’t afford to lose this job…you know. Penny, huh? Poor Penny.” He spoke in a meandering monotone that made him hard to follow.
“I just need a few minutes of your time.”
“You with the police? I already told them what I know, which is nothing.”
“No, I’m not. Penny’s body was found on my farm. I’m anxious to find who did it.”
Greenleaf smoothed his mustache with a nicotine-stained pointer finger. “What I said before, about my job? I really can’t lose it…bills, liens…you get it.”
“Of course.” The twenty-something moved into the Chile aisle carrying a bottle of white wine. Megan glanced at her and said, “Any chance you can take a break, Mr. Greenleaf? Happy to buy you a soda or something.”
“Barry. Call me Barry.” He rubbed at his mustache again, absentmindedly, while he watched the twenty-something woman. “I could sure use a cigarette. Smoker…you know…can’t quit. We could go out back for five. I’m due that. Just give me…I need a few minutes to finish.”
Megan waited for Barry at the end of the aisle. When he was finished, he went behind the help desk, murmured something to the woman behind the counter, and nodded at whatever she said in reply. The woman gave Megan the once over before returning to a computer kiosk.
“Got five, that’s it.” Barry walked ahead of Megan to the far exit. “Have to smoke out here. You know how it is.” Outside, at the end of the parking lot, he said, “Want one?” He held out the packet.
Megan shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t smoke.”
Barry leaned against a cement pole. He took a cigarette out of the packet and lit it. “So Penny was found at your place. Police question you?”
“Of course.”
Eyes narrowed. “You under suspicion and now you’re trying to find someone else to pin it on?”
“That’s not it at all. I live with my grandmother. We don’t feel safe. I want this nightmare to be over.”
Barry tilted his head while he took another puff. His eyes were bloodshot, and in the harsh glare of the sunlight, Megan noticed that what wasn’t red was a jaundiced yellow. Liver disease? Maybe healthcare was the reason Barry Greenleaf needed his job so badly.
Barry huffed out a sigh and said, “Penny and I were married forever ago. We stayed friends, but we weren’t close. No kids. Not even a dog to share.” He laughed, a faraway look in his eyes. “She had a wicked sense of humor and a mean sense of justice.” He dropped the cigarette and stomped on it. “We met at a rally in New York City. Put an end to chlorofluorocarbons, or something like that. CFCs…they burn a hole in the ozone layer. You know about CFCs? Not cool.”
Megan nodded. She knew about CFCs. “Not cool at all. So you met at a protest, and then you got married?”
“Married two years, divorced thirty.”
“That’s a long time to stay friends.”
Barry smiled. “Penny and I had chemistry, but we quickly found that’s where it ended. I thought I wanted a family, she definitely didn’t. She was devoted to her music, I wasn’t devoted to anything.” Another faraway smile. “We parted amicably, as they say. Few years ago, I lost my job at the pharmaceutical company up the road. Maintenance. Have some health issues, needed insurance. Penny hooked me up with this place.”
“That was nice.”
“That was Penny. She cared about people.”
“She never remarried?”
“Nah. She was more interested in ideals and missions that marriage.” Barry pulled out another cigarette, stared at it longingly, then put it back. “Supposed to quit. Doc says it’s killing me.” He rubbed at his mustache. “I’m sorry, but I need to get back in there.”
“I understand. I appreciate your time. Anything else you can think of before you go? Something she was working on? A project?”
Barry sighed. “Penny was always working on something. Last we spoke, she said something about tying up loose ends.”
Loose ends? That sounded ominous. “Any idea what she meant by that?”
“No idea whatsoever. I asked her, and she told me to mind my business.” He chuckled. “She was always telling me to mind my business and focus on my health. Would have made a good mother. Always mothering someone.”
“Mr. Greenleaf…Barry, did you know that Penny’s sister, Claire, is missing?”
Barry’s eyes widened and his mouth went slack. “I didn’t know.” He shook his head. “The cops asked me if I’d seen her. They never told me she was missing. Is it possible…could she be…maybe the same killer who got Penny got her?”
“Now you understand my worry.”
Barry tucked the pack of cigarettes in his pants pocket. Sloped shoulders even more slumped, he looked up at the sky. “CFCs, murder, now this. The world is not a just place.”
“No, it isn’t always just,” Megan said.
He turned to go without another word. She watched as Barry Greenleaf went back into The Wine Library, her mind on protests and chlorofluorocarbons and one woman’s “loose ends.”
It was after three when Megan finally returned to Winsome. The heat and humidity of the morning had reached a crescendo, with violent thunderstorms that made her return nerve-racking and slow. She had stopped by the café to check on Bibi and Bibi’s car, and, satisfied that both were fine, went back to the farm. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, although the sudden torrent left the fields and walkways muddy.
She found Porter in the barn, washing kale and arugula for Alvaro. “The king needs ten pounds of kale and three of arugula,” Porter said, making a face. “Who wants ten pounds of kale?”
Megan smiled. “Alvaro.”
“Said he’s making some twist on spanakopita for tomorrow’s dinner special. Should be interesting.”
“Always is. Have you heard from Clay?” Megan asked.
“It’s his day off, so I wouldn’t expect to. Have heard from Ryan, though. He asked for you to pop up to the Marshall house when you have time.”
Curious, Megan made her way there. The field between the two properties was rain-soaked and fragrant with the scents of wildflowers. Megan stepped carefully, avoiding nettles and heavy grasses. She reminded herself to have Clay and Porter put a path in between the properties—a real sto
ne path, so no one needed to get muddy or tick-covered when traveling between the houses.
Ryan was outside putting down sod. He waved when he saw Megan.
“Figured the rain was over for a spell. Look nice?”
It did, and Megan said so. “Everything looks great. How’s the septic coming?”
“We should have that fixed up in another few days. Then the house will be pretty much ready to go.” He smiled. “Want to see inside? The caretaker apartment is finished.”
Megan followed Ryan through the front door.
“Sorry about the heat. Central air should be installed later this week.”
Megan fanned herself with a piece of paper she found on a stool. “Once that happens, I’ll have to come up here to cool down.”
Ryan nodded. “We’ve modernized everything. Put in new ducking so that the whole house will have air.” He led her through the kitchen, which was white and shiny and perfect for commercial cooking, and to a locked door.
“Voila.” He fiddled with the lock and held the door open for Megan.
She stepped through the threshold and took in a sharp breath. It was amazing to see their plans come to life. A small slate-floored foyer with a closet and bench opened up to a large living room, dining room, kitchen combination. Hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, white Shaker kitchen cabinets, and picture windows made the open space feel cozy and modern. A fireplace with flanking bookshelves matched the Colonial style of the house.
“Come through here,” Ryan said.
He led Megan into a modest bedroom with a walk-in closet and small en-suite bathroom with a large shower stall. “On the other side is another small closet and a half bath.”
“It’s perfect.”
Ryan pointed to a control panel on the wall. “Zoned heating and cooling for this apartment. If you have guests, you can maintain separate temperature zones.”
“What can I say? I love it.”
Ryan grinned. “I hoped you would. I put in extra insulation for sound proofing for dogs or kids or whatever, and made sure there was plenty of storage.”
