by Wendy Tyson
“Not exactly. I feel obligated to do something, all things considered. You seemed like a good person to talk to given your own history with David and Melanie.”
“That’s one way to put it.” He rolled his cup between his hands. “What is it you want to know about my grandfather and Uncle David? Why they were both such difficult men?” He smiled again to soften his words.
Megan’s eyes widened. Right to it, then. “Your grandfather made you head of a very lucrative company. He must have had some redeeming qualities.”
Dom laughed—a bitter sound. “Let’s see. I was second choice to run the company. Actually, I was probably fifth or sixth choice, but I was family and therefore more manipulatable, which made me more desirable. I don’t really own anything—not in official terms, anyway. And everyone both hates me and kisses my bony arse.” He held up his cup in a toast. “Thank you, Grandpa.”
“There’s a lot to unpack there.”
“Not really.” Dom placed his cup down and ran a hand over his stubbled chin. He had intelligent eyes, and they bore into Megan’s with a startling candor. “My grandfather liked to play games with people. He chased my mother away at a young age with his nonsense. If you understand that about him, then everything makes sense.”
“He was playing a game with you?”
“Not me. I was—am—a convenient pawn. He was playing games—still is—with Claire and David.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Because you’re probably sane, and the actions of cruel people don’t make sense.”
Megan waited while he sipped his coffee. He was staring miserably down at his cup, as though it were the reason for all of his problems.
“The truth is very simple. At first I thought my grandfather saw something great in me and I was honored. He paid for my graduate school, mentored me through my career decisions. After he died…well, his will said it all.”
“He left the business to his son, David?”
“No. Nor did he leave it to Claire. Games, remember?”
Megan was starting to feel as though Dom was playing games with her. “Games. I got it.”
“In a fit of anger, my grandfather stripped David from his position as head of the company and installed me, with the Board’s permission, of course—permission I’m sure he strong-armed from them. When he died, I thought why not? My mother was his daughter. I deserve a break. But it wasn’t to be. My grandfather played a game from beyond. He left the business and everything else to the person I choose—but my only choices are Claire or David. I have three years to decide who is more deserving. Three years that are almost up. If I do what he asks, I stay on as CEO and get a 10 percent stake in the business.”
Megan said, “But Claire or David are the real owners, and if you pick David, you have someone more qualified looking over your shoulder.”
“Older, not more qualified.” He pushed his cup across the table, flicked it with his fingers. “Pick Claire, and I have someone who has no idea how to run a business. But my grandfather wasn’t finished there. His will mandates documentation submitted to his attorneys about who would be better—and why. And if I fail to make an appropriate choice, bye-bye Dom.”
“Who decides what is the appropriate choice?”
Dom shrugged. “See the catch?”
It really was a game—one with no real winner other than Claire or David. She said, “Which is why you were in Winsome.”
“Yes. David and Mel were very good at treating me like family. They made it clear who the better choice would be.” He sneered. “David.”
“And Claire?”
“Claire just wanted David—and the house and the wealth and everything that went with being a Mrs. von Tressler.”
“She didn’t try to convince you?”
Dom’s smile was smug. “She tried a number of things, but her heart wasn’t in it. I had decided on David.”
Realization dawned on Megan. “And when David died? What did Martin’s will say?”
“David’s opportunity went to Melanie.”
Which would make it a more even playing field for Claire.
As though reading her thoughts, Dom said, “Suddenly a harder decision. Claire had been with Martin for years. Knew his business preferences, acted as his personal assistant. Had a closer connection to Martin. Melanie had been a salesperson for the furniture business. She has more education.” He shrugged. “With Claire missing, maybe my decision will be easier.”
Megan wasn’t so sure. “You’ve been put in a tough position,” Megan said. “Feels like a lose/lose.”
Dom nodded. He looked again like a young man—too young for such a burden. “But don’t feel too sorry for me. With the experience I’ve gained, I can go anywhere. Nothing ties me here, especially with my mother, uncle, and grandfather gone.”
“And if you leave von Tressler investments?”
“When I leave, it will be someone else’s problem.” Reproach colored his cheeks, soured his expression. “Claire’s or Melanie’s.”
Megan tried King again on the way home. No answer. She left another voicemail message, this one more urgent. Martin’s will was telling, but so was each party’s response. David and Melanie, assuming they were the best candidates, trying to cajole a “win.” Claire doing who knows what to convince him—and then giving up. Now that David was gone, who would be the better owner? If Veronica had her way, her daughter would walk away with the von Tressler fortune, that was clear. If Olive had her way, Claire would claim what was hers.
Who had more to lose? Melanie was set. If David had left her the house and whatever assets he had, even without the company, she could survive. But there was a prenup to consider. Claire, on the other hand, had been living with a destitute brother. Losing this battle meant she, perhaps, had nothing.
What an unimaginable mess.
Megan got back to the farm at four. There was a note on the table from Bibi: Taking a nap, then having dinner with my Bridge group. Denver called. Be safe.
Megan found her grandmother snoozing in the parlor, the recliner back, another of her afghans across her legs, snoring softly. The air conditioner had been set to low, and sweat beaded Bibi’s forehead. Megan turned up the air and went upstairs to change and call Denver.
“Have dinner with me tonight,” he said. “I’ll cook.”
“Annie’s squash soup?” Megan asked, harkening back to their first date.
Denver laughed. The sound warmed her. “I’ve progressed.”
“What time?”
“Six?”
Megan glanced at the clock on her dresser. That would give her an hour to clean things up here and check on those names King had given her the day before. “See you then.”
“And Megan?”
“Yes?”
“Will you be staying?”
Megan thought of her grandmother asleep on the recliner, of the painkillers, of Serenity Manor. “I don’t think so. Bibi and the steps…I’d be worried, with everything happening…you could come here.”
“No one to let the dogs out this evening.” A beat went by, and Megan read disappointment into that beat. “It’s okay, Megs. As long as you don’t have to be home right away, it’ll work out.”
Six o’clock was approaching fast. Megan had searched all of the names King had given her, and she still didn’t come up with any immediate answers. Edwin Tyler seemed to be an operations manager living in Tennessee. Ned Buttons was a retired factory worker from New Jersey. Mack McGready and Len Salvo were deceased. Mitchell Barski, as well as she could tell, was either a schoolteacher in New Hampshire or an industrial safety specialist in Detroit. Either way, she didn’t recognize him. She didn’t recognize any of them.
At five forty-five, Megan packed up her laptop, grabbed a bottle of wine she had chilling in the refrigerator, bid good-bye to the dogs, a
nd left. A few hours away from this mess was what she needed. A few hours away—and Denver.
Twenty-Four
The first thing Megan noticed were the candles. She opened the door to Denver’s house and saw the glow of twenty flames along the fireplace mantel and on the cabinets, above the dogs’ reach. The air smelled heavenly—vanilla spice and garlic and roasting meat. Denver had put a champagne flute and a bottle of champagne on the coffee table, and a book by Megan’s favorite author next to the champagne.
“In the kitchen, Megs. Put your feet up and relax. Read a book. I’ll be in soon.”
Smiling, Megan slipped off her sandals and cuddled up on the couch. Denver had five dogs, and his blind beagle and his Golden Retriever joined her. The beagle snuggled against her hip, and Megan leaned over to kiss her sweet head.
“To start.” Denver placed a plate of cheese, grapes, and crackers on the table, next to the champagne. He leaned down to kiss her.
“This is lovely. And I love you in that apron.”
“Ta.” He spun around. He wore a “Winsome is winsome” apron that Bibi had given him. “It suits me.” Denver poured two glasses of champagne.
“What are we toasting.”
“Life. Us. Dogs. You make the call.”
“Us. I like that.” She touched the tip of his flute with her own. “What’s on the menu?”
Denver pulled Megan up from the couch gently. He tilted her head up and kissed her lips softly. She felt the press of his chest against her, the comfort of his arms around her waist, and she leaned into the kiss.
“That sounds good,” she whispered. “I’ll have another.”
As he peeled off his own shirt, Denver said, “I’ll tell you what’s not on the menu.” He kissed her. “Murder.” Another kiss. “The von Tressler family.” A whispery kiss on her ear. “Bobby King.” He unhooked the clasp on Megan’s sundress. “Or anything with the word ‘police’ in it.” He pulled her dress over her shoulders, kissing each side of her collarbone and sending a frisson of pleasure down her spine.
“Mmm,” was all Megan said.
Denver took her hand. Her dress fell to the floor around her feet and she left it there, a puddle of scarlet floral cotton.
Denver pushed the hair back from her face. “First course, this way.”
“What about actual dinner?” Megan asked. They’d returned to the living room, relieved to find Denver’s well-trained dogs hadn’t eaten the cheese or knocked over the champagne. “Whatever you’re making smells delicious.”
“Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, fresh peas, and a wonderful kale spanakopita I scored from the Washington Acres café.”
Megan punched his arm lightly. “Did Alvaro make the entire meal?”
Denver feigned offense. “Hardly. I’ll have you know I made the chicken and the peas. Alvaro may have kicked in the potatoes.”
“I’m sure it will be delicious.”
They chatted over dinner in his dining room, avoiding the topics he’d said were off limits. When they were finished, he topped off the champagne in each flute and brought out the dessert—a berry crisp.
“With ice cream?” Megan asked.
“Is there any other way to eat it? Then a movie, if you’ll stay.”
“I’ll stay.”
By the time Megan left, it was almost midnight. She was feeling full and happy and grateful to escape reality, if for a little while.
But when she pulled into her driveway, she saw the light on in the parlor. That meant Bibi was still up. Maybe they could have a conversation that was long overdue.
The house was quiet, though. Bibi was asleep on her recliner in much the same position she’d been in earlier in the day. Sadie was curled in a ball by the chair, and Gunther and Sarge were lying by the stairs, probably wondering why their charge hadn’t gone up for the night.
“Come on, Bibi,” Megan whispered. She touched her grandmother’s arm lightly. “If you sleep here, you’ll get a stiff neck.”
Bibi murmured something unintelligible before opening her eyes. When she saw Megan, she smiled. “How was your date?”
“Wonderful.”
“I’m so glad.”
“Come on, I’ll help you up the steps.”
It took them fifteen minutes to make it to the top. “I’m sorry,” Bibi said when they got to her bedroom. “You must be tired. Sometimes my legs just don’t cooperate. They get so stiff.”
Megan sat on her grandmother’s bed. “Is that why you have the painkiller prescriptions?”
“You saw that.”
“You didn’t exactly hide them. Why didn’t you tell me? And what’s this about you and Gertie going to see Serenity Manor? It sounds like the name for a cemetery.”
Both she and Bibi laughed.
“It really does,” Bibi said.
“Don’t you want to live here anymore? This is your house. You raised a family here.”
“It’s only a house, Megan. Remember that. Houses don’t matter. Stuff doesn’t matter.” She yawned. “People matter.” She sat next to Megan on the bed, easing herself down with obvious discomfort. “And I don’t want to leave. I’m a practical woman. You know that. If this house isn’t working for me, I owe it to myself to at least explore other options. Gertie and some others were looking at Serenity. Nice place, but not for me.” She made a face. “You can’t have a crockpot. Can you imagine me without a crockpot?”
“No, Bibi, I can’t.” She pushed a hair back from her grandmother’s face. How long would they have together? The thought brought about an ache in her chest. “I can’t imagine you not here, either.”
“Well, you don’t have to. I’m not ready for Serenity Manor. I am, however, ready for sleep. Speaking of Gertie, I endured two hours of Gertie reminiscing about her husband, a litigator in the city. How smart he was, how dapper. How he’d go after the big companies when no one else would. I didn’t mind the first thirty minutes, but after that it got old.”
Only Megan was no longer listening. In a flash, she understood the connection between her and Penny Greenleaf.
“Good night, Bibi,” she said hurriedly. “I have to take care of something before I go to bed.”
Back in her room, she looked up those names again. She knew why they were in Penny’s file next to her own. She knew what the number 3 on the paper Merry had found meant as well.
She called King’s number. This time he answered.
“Do you know how late it is, Megan?”
“I know why Penny was looking for me. I can’t believe I missed it before.”
“You have my attention.”
Megan carried the cell phone to the window. She looked out on the farm, at the light Porter had on in the Marshall house barn. Her next words would give her no sense of victory.
“My first year out of law school, well before I came to Winsome, I was an associate on a big case. It was a class action suit that had dragged on for years. The plaintiffs alleged that a company had recklessly used a toxic chemical in the plant. People died, others suffered irreversible side effects. It was ugly. There was lots of evidence, but the company got off on a technicality. A technicality the law firm I worked for unearthed.” Megan lowered her voice. “A technicality I discovered.”
“Oh, wow—”
“The company settled for a pittance. The men on that list were plaintiffs in the case. I bet if we scrub that list, Penny’s father was on there, too—or his wife was, as his representative.”
“Megan—”
“Claire’s father died when she was young,” the words were coming out in a jumble now. “Penny mothered her. Finding me must have been some sort of revenge, some type of closure.”
“How could Penny have known?”
“I’m sure she didn’t know I’d found the technicality. But Penny was an amateur sleuth. She loved myst
eries, loved projects, loved her family. She must have seen my name on some of the documentation and knew I’d been involved. There were three attorneys from the firm. I was the third.” Megan paused. “I said there are no coincidences, Bobby, but I think this may very well be one.”
“The fact that you live in the same town where the memorial was held?”
“Yes. She had her chance to speak with me.” Megan remembered the look she’d given her at the Indian restaurant. Simmering rage. Now Megan knew why. “Only she died before she could confront me.”
“Her burial on your property?”
“Clearly someone else knew about her vendetta.”
“Olive?” King asked.
“I’m thinking Claire.”
“Claire?”
“Penny felt bad for Claire after all she’s been through. I met Evan, I’ve seen his lifestyle firsthand. I know how Claire was living.”
“You visited Evan?”
Megan ignored the question. “Claire knows about Penny. She knows Penny can be obsessive about a cause. She probably wanted Penny off her back. You said it yourself, she was still in love with David.”
“Maybe it’s just late, Megan, and I’m not thinking straight, but that doesn’t seem like enough to kill your own sister.”
“What if a big inheritance was at stake? What if you were plotting to get rid of your competition and your sister found out. Remember, Penny was buried with the flowers. The last person to see that bouquet was Claire.”
“A big inheritance. You mean the crazy will Martin set up.”
“You knew?”
“We talked to his lawyers this afternoon. They said Martin wanted Dominick to choose between David and Claire.”
“And submit back-up for his decision. Yes, I talked to Dom. He really got the crappy end of things. Here’s what I’ve been thinking.” Megan forced herself to slow down, realizing she sounded manic. “Claire has everything to lose. The house. The money. The prestige. She’s already lost David. What if she plotted against Melanie and was found out? She goes into hiding, but her sister, the unstoppable sleuth, has already put five and five together. Penny confronts Claire, things get heated, and one thing leads to another.”
