by Sharon Pape
“Shall I put your goodies in a bag or a box?” Connie inquired now that she was able to speak.
“A bag will do,” I said, knowing we’d attack them the moment we left there. If not for the fact that I wanted to engage Connie in conversation, I would have told her not to even bother with the bag.
She handed me the change from my purchase. “You folks down from Portland? We’ve been getting more and more customers from there every day. Twelve miles is nothing when you’ve got a craving.”
“We’re from out of state,” Travis said.
Connie bobbed her head, but continued on without missing a beat. “Our business is growing by the day—word of mouth to be sure. Ashley…she’s the owner—she has quite a following. I keep asking her why she doesn’t invest in a bigger space. With the money coming in, this is the time to expand, maybe even open a tiny branch in Portland. She just shrugs and says she likes things fine the way they are. But she deserves more than fine, poor girl.”
We could simply let Connie keep talking. Sooner or later she was bound to tell us everything we might ever want to know. But in the interest of saving time, I jumped in.
“Poor girl?”
“I guess you wouldn’t know.” She leaned over the counter, her voice dropping to low and confidential. “Ashley’s high school sweetheart drowned the night of their prom.” She wagged her head. “So tragic.”
I copied her spy-like whisper. “What happened?”
“No one knows for sure, but Ashley doesn’t believe it was an accident,” Connie said ominously. “And if it wasn’t an accident, it must have been murder.” All that was missing was melodramatic music in the background.
“Does she have a theory about who’s guilty?”
“She’s never said, but if you ask me, I think she’s finally figured it out.”
“What’s she planning to do about it?” Travis was trying to mimic us, but his delivery was jarring. It broke the mood. Connie straightened, morphing seamlessly back into the kindly purveyor of baked goods. She’d missed her calling. She could have had a career on the stage or screen.
“You folks enjoy your stay here in Yarmouth,” she said, handing me the bag of pastries with a smile.
Chapter 26
We found a bench and sat down to devour our sugary lunch.
“Don’t ever leave your day job,” I said, wiping the last of the éclair off my mouth with the napkins Connie had put in the bag. Travis looked confused, but his mouth was too full of cream puff to question me.
“Leave the acting to naturals like Connie.”
“Yeah,” he said when he could speak. “I was pretty bad—I heard it myself.” Travis was more self-aware than most men I’d known. It was one of the things I loved about him. He never saw himself through rose-colored glasses. “Connie is quite a character. She’d be perfect for a local acting troupe. And based on the cream puff I just inhaled, Ashley’s one hell of a baker.”
“Not to mention a good candidate for the role of revenge killer,” I added. “I think it’s safe to say she has no idea about the gossip well-meaning Connie is spreading.” We wandered through the rest of the Village Center, before heading back to the hotel. Travis sank into the armchair facing the TV and grabbed the remote off the nearby table. He clicked through the channels until he found a baseball game.
After I unpacked my toiletries, I went over and perched on the arm of his chair. “So watching baseball is your idea of a vacation?”
“It certainly is. I bet I can even make you a fan.”
“Not likely.”
“We’ll see,” he said. “Step one, find a comfortable seat.” He snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me into his lap. “Comfy?” I nodded.
“I’m beginning to see what you mean. What’s step two?”
“Don’t get pushy. Step two, relax until your team gets on base.” He moved my hair aside and kissed the nape of my neck. He was right, I was becoming invested in the game. A few minutes later, the batter hit a ground ball past the shortstop and outran the throw to first base.
“Step three?” I asked.
“We celebrate.”
“How does one celebrate a base hit?” In response Travis turned off the TV.
* * * *
I didn’t feel bad about leaving Travis behind the next day, when I left to see Ashley. He had his whole afternoon planned. He’d hit the gym, swim laps in the pool and watch another baseball game, although he said it wouldn’t be as much fun without me.
I arrived at Ashley’s house at the designated time. The house was a small Cape Cod that hadn’t been dormered like its neighbors. The front yard was tidy. The bushes had been trimmed, although not recently, and the lawn was mowed. On closer inspection, there were as many weeds as there were blades of grass, but since they were all green, it worked. This was the house of someone who had more work to do than hours in which to do it. I gave her a mental thumbs-up for effort. I was about to ring the bell, when she opened the door.
“Ashley, hi,” I said. “Good to see you!”
“You too, Kailyn,” she said, but without any real warmth. “Come on in.”
We touched cheeks, but I didn’t try to draw her into a hug. Our relationship had never been that close. The only interest we’d had in common was Scott. Maybe she regretted agreeing to see me. She might have found out I was investigating Genna’s death, but was afraid if she canceled it would raise my suspicions about her. Speculating wasn’t going to net me any answers, so I dialed up my smile and walked inside.
The foyer was barely big enough to hold the two of us. Directly in front of us was a steep narrow staircase that bisected the house, with the living room to the right and the dining room to the left. Ashley led the way through the dining room, where a folding table was piled high with papers, and into a small, but updated kitchen with white shaker cabinets and a gray and black granite countertop. She’d set the breakfast bar for two with cups, spoons, napkins and a plate with chocolate chip cookies that smelled like they’d just come out of the oven.
It was a cozy setup with the two of us sitting side by side. The only other option would have meant cleaning off the folding table, but even I could see that would have been a huge undertaking.
She poured the coffee and urged me to try the cookies. It didn’t take a lot of coaxing. They were better than Tilly’s, both chewy and crisp. If I ever mentioned that to my aunt, she would fly into a tizzy and start baking around the clock until I said hers were better.
The conversation was slow in starting. Ashley spent a lot of time adding sweetener and milk to her cup until she was satisfied with the taste. I asked the usual inane questions. How was she doing? Where in Florida had her parents settled? Why had she chosen Yarmouth for her bakery?”
She sipped her coffee. “Finances. I couldn’t afford to live in Portland and rent a place for the bakery there. A friend suggested Yarmouth, because it’s a quick fifteen minute drive south on I-295.”
I reached for another cookie. “My friend and I stopped in your bakery yesterday and it’s no surprise why you’re succeeding.” My compliment was sincere, even though I was using it so she would let down her guard.
She smiled, a blush rising in her cheeks. “My parents warned me I’d wind up in debt, but I was determined to make a go of it, even if I had to peddle my wares on a street corner.”
“Scott would have been proud of you.”
Her smile dimmed and she looked down into her coffee. “Thank you. I like to think so too.” When she looked up again, there was a sheen of tears in her eyes.
“You know,” I said, “it’s always bothered me that his death was deemed an accidental drowning.”
“Me too,” she murmured. “It wasn’t like Scott to go swimming alone at night. He used to talk me out of reckless behavior. But the ME found alcohol in his blood—a lot of it.”
&nb
sp; “That wasn’t like him either,” I said.
Ashley tucked her hair behind her ears. “The questions still haunt me.”
“But you’ve managed to move on with your life.” I lay my hand on her forearm. “That’s huge—impressive.”
A smile flickered across her face, but didn’t take hold. “I’ve moved on in my career, yes, but not in my life.”
“Have you put yourself out there to meet people?”
“Friends fixed me up a couple of times with blind dates,” she said with a short joyless laugh. “The guys were nice enough, but I couldn’t wait for the dates to be over.” She swiveled in her seat to face me. “I actually felt disloyal.”
“I knew Scott for almost all of his eighteen years and I can tell you that he would want you to live your life to the fullest.”
“Believe me, I’d like to. I get really lonely sometimes. But I think I need to see him get justice first.”
“What if the ME was right, and Scott’s death was simply the result of tragic decisions?” Although she was a suspect, I couldn’t help wanting to ease her mind. “He wasn’t a drinker, but he drank too much that night—like he was trying to prove something to himself. And he knew better than to go into the water in the dark, but the alcohol messed with his thinking.”
“But why did he drink so much? Maybe if I’d been there…”
“Don’t do that, Ashley. No way was it your fault.”
She finished her coffee and made a face. “Coffee should either be piping hot or ice cold, not room temperature.” She rinsed her cup at the sink and refilled it. “Can I refresh yours?” She held up the carafe that was still half full. I declined. “Have you made any progress in finding Genna’s killer?” she asked, returning to her seat.
I shook my head. “We’re working with the theory that her murder is related to Scott’s death.” I watched for her reaction.
“You mean like a revenge killing? That would mean the killer knew Genna was to blame.” Connie had said her boss had finally figured out who was responsible for Scott’s death. Did Ashley think if she spoke openly about it, I would conclude she had to be innocent? For now it served my purposes to let her believe she’d succeeded.
“What we can’t figure out is why Genna would have wanted to harm Scott in the first place,” I said, “or why her killer believed that she had. It’s a puzzle with a lot of missing pieces.” I thought I saw relief cross Ashley’s face, softening her features. Her back that had been ramrod straight, relaxed into the curve of the barstool. I wished Travis could have been there to corroborate my insight or tell me I was projecting what I was thinking. “Not to worry,” I added with an optimistic uptick in my voice, “I’m pretty good at solving puzzles. It’s just a matter of time before I figure out this one. Maybe then you’ll be able to move on.” Or into a prison cell.
Ashley produced a wry smile. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
Our visit was winding down. Any minute she would excuse herself to run errands or do any of a dozen things that needed doing. “I’m curious what you would consider justice served for Scott?”
“The guilty party tried and properly punished. No early release for good behavior.”
“I assume you mean a prison term. There’s no death penalty in New York.”
“I know, but maybe there should be.”
* * * *
Tilly called when I was on my way back to the hotel. “I spent the whole day debating whether or not to call you. I didn’t want to interrupt your time with Travis or your investigation, but I can’t seem to get it out of my mind.”
“Get what out of your mind?”
“The dream I had last night. You know what, forget I called. It’s probably nothing. I’ll let you go.”
“No, Aunt Tilly, wait.” I found a place to pull over to the curb so I could concentrate on what she was saying. “I really want to know what’s troubling you.”
“Well if you insist. I had another one of those dreams—like the ones that have predicted death.” There was a nervous hitch in her voice like a single hiccough. I wasn’t psychic, but I knew what was coming. “This time it was about somebody away on vacation.” A sob punctuated her words.
“I think worry and fear planted that dream. Do you remember telling me that whenever I had a nightmare as a kid?”
“Yes, but this is different. I can’t explain it. Just promise me that you’ll be careful on the road and wherever you go. I have no idea where or when this danger will strike. I love you.” She hung up before I could try to reassure her, although I suspected that would have been an exercise in futility.
Chapter 27
I called Tony Russo on our way home from Yarmouth to see if we could stop by for a chat. I try to avoid the word interview whenever possible. It immediately puts a person on edge and a person on edge is preoccupied with saving their butt, not helping you solve a murder case.
Courtney answered the phone and sounded happy to hear from us. We’d established a friendship of sorts with them through phone calls to check on Tony’s progress. When I asked if we could visit them that afternoon, there was no hesitation or reluctance in her answer. That easy trust made me feel like a traitor. There were times I wondered if I was cut out for this type of work, despite the fact that I was good at it.
“You picked the right day to be passing by,” Courtney said, ushering us into their home, an L-shaped ranch nestled among beds of brilliant flowers. “Tony is back at work part-time now, but he’s always home on weekends.” She took us into the family room, where Tony was ensconced in a brown leather armchair, his injured leg propped up on a hassock. His face split into a grin when he saw us.
“Please don’t get up,” I said before he had a chance to make the effort.
“Thanks. Good to see you guys! Make yourselves comfortable,” he said after I’d leaned down to kiss his cheek and he and Travis had clasped hands. We sat on the end of the curved couch that was closest to him. Courtney brought us tall glasses of iced tea, before joining us on the couch. We asked Tony how his recovery was going and commiserated with Courtney about the difficulty of trying to keep him from doing too much too soon.
He shrugged. “What can I do? I’m not a sitter. I can’t binge a whole season of TV shows like some people. I get antsy. I’m used to being active.”
“And you will be again,” Courtney said as if she was reading a script she knew by heart. “As long as you stick to the doctor’s schedule. Push it and you may be stuck in that chair for another month or two.”
“See what I have to put up—wait a second,” he interrupted himself, his voice dropping to a more serious register. “You probably haven’t heard the latest.”
“What’s that?” Travis and I said in unison.
“The other night someone disabled the brakes in my car. I pulled out of the driveway to go to work—scary as hell when you put your foot on the brake and it flatlines. I totaled the mailbox across the street and took out a couple of their bushes.”
“He might have gone into their house if not for the boulders in their rock garden,” Courtney added. “The police were swarming all over the place, searching for evidence. They towed the car away too.” Her voice was tightening as she spoke. “First Tony was run down and nearly killed and now this. What’s next?” Her voice cracked. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, hurrying out of the room.
Tony sighed and shook his head. “It’s been tough on her. We were just starting to put the first incident behind us…”
“Can you think of any reason why someone might blame you and Genna for Scott’s death?” I asked bluntly. The time for mincing words was past and then some. “There haven’t been attempts on anyone else’s life.” We’d talked to a lot of people in this case, but Tony was the ultimate source, the horse’s mouth so to speak. If I hit a sore spot with my question, he’d be smart to admit it. “Help me fi
nd the killer, Tony, before he succeeds in taking you down.”
“Believe me, I’ve wracked my brain over it. Being laid up, I had plenty of time to think—too much time. That’s why I needed to get back to work.”
Travis was studying him. “And?”
“Nothing really, but if I had to take a wild guess, maybe it was the booze. A bunch of us were egging each other on to drink more. Stupid stuff, you know.”
“Whose idea was it to go swimming?” Travis asked.
“I’m not sure about that. A lot of the details are hazy. Scott wasn’t the only one who drank way too much that night. I remember hearing someone say, ‘why did we come to the lake if no one’s going in?’ In my memory, the voice sounds like it could have been Genna’s. But it was so long ago…”
Travis jumped in with another question. “Did you actually see Scott or anyone else go in?”
Tony’s eyebrows pinched together. “You’re beginning to sound an awful lot like a reporter. This is just between friends, completely off the record, right?”
“Sorry—absolutely off the record.”
“All right. I didn’t realize anyone had gone into the lake, until I heard splashing. It couldn’t have been more than another minute or two, before the screaming started.”
Courtney returned looking more composed, despite the red rimming her eyes. “I have a favor to ask,” she said, taking her seat beside me. “I’ve been listening to you guys talk and I know how important this is, but can we please change the subject? The kids will be home from a birthday party soon. The brake incident was traumatic for them and it’s still fresh in their minds. If Tony and I don’t have it together, they’re going to pick up on that and be even more frightened.”
It wasn’t an easy shift, but Tony dredged up every silly memory he had from high school. He’d loved being the class clown, even though he’d gotten into plenty of trouble because of his antics. I laughed harder than I had in a long time. Good therapy for us as well as them.
