Murder by Page One

by Olivia Matthews

  Grant angled his head and shared an inquiring look between Spence and me. “Young lady, are you married?”

  I bit my tongue to keep from asking why my marital status was relevant to our conversation. “No, sir, I’m not.”

  Grant gave Spence a pointed look before returning his attention to me. “My wife and I have been married for more than thirty-seven years. She’s a saint. Yet I assure you we wouldn’t have made it to our second wedding anniversary if I’d had an ex-wife who said even half of the scurrilous things about my wife that Ms. Betty said of Ms. Fiona.”

  I exchanged a look with Spence. It seems we’d found another Fiona supporter. I turned back to Grant. His executive chair was positioned in front of a large window that let in an abundance of natural light. It overlooked the front of the building, which made me think his office had once been someone’s master bedroom. “We understand you were Buddy’s lawyer. Did you also work with Fiona on her will?”

  Grant arched a thick dark eyebrow. “Yes, I did, young lady. But I will remind you that information falls under attorney-client privilege. I cannot divulge the details of any of my clients’ last wills and testaments.”

  I nodded. “Of course, we understand. It’s just that Deputies Whatley and Cole seem overly focused on a friend of ours for Fiona’s murder, and we’re trying to help clear her name.”

  Grant spread his hands. “I’ll answer any question I can. I also want justice for Fiona. Buddy was a friend. We’d known each other for years. I remember when Buddy told me he and Fiona were getting married, he’d bragged he’d ‘stolen’ Fiona from a much younger man.”

  Spence sat straighter on his black leather visitor’s chair. “We understand you can’t give us any details about Buddy’s or Fiona’s wills but, in your personal opinion, how was Fiona’s relationship with Bobby?”

  A thoughtful expression settled over Grant’s classically handsome features. His cream dress shirt, navy suit jacket, and matching tie suggested high-quality tailoring. “Fiona and Bobby seemed to get on very well enough.” His words were measured as he rocked back on his chair. “Though they didn’t spend much time together. Bobby’s very loyal to his mama.”

  “Well enough” for Fiona to name him in her will?

  I searched my mind for a way to dig for more information without implying I wanted Grant to violate his clients’ privacy. “You sound as though Fiona was more than a client. You seemed to have known her personally as well.”

  Grant’s smile was faint. “Buddy and Fiona, and my wife and I, did some socializing together. After Buddy died, my wife and I checked on Fiona a few times. She didn’t have close friends or family in town. We wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. We were here for her.”

  I was impressed. “That’s very kind of you.”

  Grant spread his broad hands. “That’s what friends do.”

  I smiled at the familiar phrase.

  Spence’s eyebrows knitted. “You said Fiona didn’t have friends or family in town. Do you know whether she had any family or friends back in Beaufort or anywhere else?”

  Grant cocked his head as he considered his question. “She never mentioned anyone to my wife or me.”

  That seemed strange. “Is the name Willy Pelt familiar?”

  Grant shook his head. “No. Who’s that?”

  I froze. “Fiona’s uncle’s lawyer. He’s also her friend.”

  Grant shook his head again, even more certain. “No, she never mentioned him.”

  Spence and I exchanged a quick look. Willy claimed Fiona had left her uncle’s property to him in her will. If that was true, why didn’t Grant recognize his name?

  “About the Cobbler Crawl.” Spence hesitated as he escorted me to my door after our meeting with Grant Gillis Monday evening. “I understand if you want to withdraw. You have a lot on your mind with this investigation.”

  Surprised, I almost tripped over my feet. Spence steadied me before I planted a facer on my cobblestone walkway. He had one hand on my elbow and the other around my waist.

  “Thank you.” I stepped back and turned to him. “I have no intention of backing out. You’ve kept your word to help with this investigation. I’ll keep my word to be your partner for the event. But I’m warning you now—eating all that pie during a race might make me sick.”

  Spence chuckled. “You’ll be fine. And thank you.”

  “No. Thank you.” I mounted my porch steps. “A good run usually helps clear my mind. It might be just what I need to figure out how to keep the deputies from charging Jo with murder.”

  “The event’s still five days away. You may have solved the case by then.” Spence smiled, but his eyes were serious. His faith in me was just the energy boost I needed. It was better than chocolate or caffeine.

  “Thank you for saying that, and for seeing me home. Good night.” I opened my door, stepped inside.

  “Have a good night.” Spence inclined his head before turning away.

  I watched him get back into his car and drive off before locking my door and setting my alarm. Phoenix greeted me at the entryway. It was just like old times.

  I scooped him into my arms and wandered farther into our home. “I’m so happy you’re feeling more like your old self.” In the kitchen, I was gratified to see his half-empty water bowl and practically clean food bowl. I set him on the ground. “Well, this is wonderful news. Let me know if you’d like any changes that’ll help make you feel even more comfortable in our new home. Perhaps you’d prefer to have your bowl moved to the French doors. Or maybe you want your own room upstairs?”

  Phoenix turned from his water bowl to give me a look that was a perfect blend of incredulity and condescension. I interpreted his expression to mean that if he indeed wanted a change or two to his current setup, he was perfectly capable of handling them himself.

  “Point taken, buddy.” I crossed to the sink to wash my hands. “All right, let’s see if I can find some food for myself. I’m getting weak at the knees.” I surveyed my fridge and cupboards for inspiration. “Grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of hot tea it is.”

  Phoenix and I chatted about our days as I cooked dinner. He wandered closer, executing graceful figure eights around my ankles. Just like old times. He made me smile. Once my dinner was ready, I carried my meal and tea to the dining room table. Phoenix followed me.

  “I may have put too many expectations on Buddy and Fiona’s lawyer.” I settled onto the chair at the head of the table. Phoenix gave a long, luxurious stretch, then laid near my feet to groom himself.

  “I should’ve known better than to have done that. I mean, I knew he wouldn’t be able to share any business or legal information with us. Maybe subconsciously, I was hoping he’d let something slip. Well, actually, there’s no maybe about it.”

  I glanced at Phoenix as I took a bite of my sandwich. I suspected he was only half listening to me—typical male—but I continued anyway. “Perhaps I subconsciously thought Grant would share some earth-shattering revelation about Fiona or Buddy—or both—that would break this case wide open. But of course, that only happens in books, movies, and TV.”

  I took another bite of my sandwich as I mulled over the recent meeting Spence and I had had with Grant. “Grant didn’t recognize Willy’s name. Maybe Fiona never told him about her past in South Carolina. After all, Corrinne said she was a very private person. But if, as Willy claimed, he was a beneficiary of Fiona’s will, then Grant would’ve recognized his name, wouldn’t he? The question, Phoenix, is why would Willy lie about Fiona’s will?”

  Phoenix’s right ear flicked at the sound of his name, but otherwise he still had nothing to contribute to the brainstorming.

  I ate in silence for a while, recalling bits and pieces of the evening’s conversation with Grant and Spence. Part of me wished I’d thought to record our interview or at the very least had taken notes. Then I recalled
something Grant had said about Buddy.

  When Buddy told me he and Fiona were getting married, he’d bragged that he’d stolen Fiona from a much younger man.

  “What younger man? Had Fiona been engaged to someone when she’d met Buddy? If so, how had this mysterious younger man handled her breaking up with him?” I directed my stream of questions to Phoenix. He aimed a brief and vaguely curious look in my direction before returning to his grooming.

  Not wanting to take him away from his toilette, I excused myself from the living room and climbed the stairs to my study. Logging on to my laptop, I did an internet search for “Fiona Lyle Engagement.” The screen filled with the query results. The first link took me to an article posted to the electronic platform of Beaufort’s local weekly newspaper.

  As I waited for the article to upload onto my computer, Phoenix wandered into the room. He gave me an impassive nod of greeting, then proceeded to stalk the study’s perimeter. Was he pacing out the space to decide whether to claim this room as his own?

  “You look fabulous, Phoenix.” I spun my black ergonomic desk chair to track his progress around the study. “Not a hair out of place.”

  I turned back to my computer. The article had finished uploading. Its headline read, “A Whirlwind Romance in Beaufort.” The article’s dateline was Beaufort, South Carolina. It ran a little more than two years ago. I was intrigued. It would be fair to refer to Fiona’s marriage to Buddy Hayes as a whirlwind romance. She and Buddy had married six months after his divorce from Betty.

  “Okay, Fiona, whose heart had you broken?” I used the touchpad to scroll down the screen. Slowly, a small photo came into view between the headline and the story.

  My hand froze.

  The image showed a tall, slender woman in her late-thirties/early forties. She posed in a rose, knee-length, center-fold sheath dress she’d accessorized with pearl jewelry. Waves of honey-blond hair framed her strong porcelain features. Her green eyes were serious as they returned the camera’s stare. Fiona. She didn’t look like someone in a whirlwind romance in Beaufort or anywhere else. She seemed like someone announcing a business deal.

  But it was the man beside her who’d caused my mind to stutter and my hand to stiffen above my keyboard. I recognized that tall, lanky man with the piercing gray eyes and shock of red hair.

  “Willy hadn’t been Fiona’s friend. He’d been her fiancé. And she’d dumped him. To marry Buddy.” I swung my chair to face Phoenix again. “Question—how had he handled their breakup?”

  Chapter 30

  “Fiona had dumped Willy to marry Buddy?” Jo sounded scandalized. I’d called her Monday evening, right after discussing this latest development with Phoenix. “It must’ve been love at first sight. I wonder how she broke the news to Willy?”

  I shook my head at the tangent Jo had taken. I needed to keep her focused on Fiona’s murder rather than the deceased woman’s romantic entanglements. “I don’t think we’ve given Willy as much attention as we should’ve during our inquiry.”

  “But I thought we’d agreed he wouldn’t have driven all the way from Beaufort just to kill Fiona.” Jo’s voice kept raising and dropping in volume as though she’d left her cell phone on a table as she wondered around a room. Did she have me on speaker phone?

  “It’s a distance.” I made the concession reluctantly. “It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive. Willy said he’d made the trip in less than two hours, though. And if he could make the trip in less than two hours, don’t you think it’s strange he’s never visited Fiona before?”

  Jo hesitated as though considering my question. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that.”

  I rose from my desk. “Remember the morning we went to retrieve Bobby’s trash?”

  “You mean the day we went dumpster diving before dawn? Yes. What about it?”

  I rolled my eyes at my friend’s dramatics. “Stella Lowry was going to drive five hours to Tampa to cheer up a friend. Willy knew Betty was giving Fiona a hard time, but he never came to visit, even though he’s less than two hours away. Isn’t that strange? Neither did he come to comfort his friend while she was grieving her husband’s death. Also strange.”

  “But still, to drive all that way just to kill someone?” Jo’s voice drew closer to her phone. She definitely had me on speaker. “Wouldn’t his temper have cooled off by the time he arrived in Peach Coast?”

  “But Willy hadn’t come to Peach Coast to kill Fiona. He’d come because of her book signing. Or at least that’s what he said.” Holding my phone with my left hand, I collected Phoenix with my right and returned to my living room downstairs. “Remember the coroner said the description of the scene fits a crime of passion. The killer probably hadn’t planned to kill Fiona.”

  Jo was silent for several long seconds. As I gave her time to draw her own conclusions, I fiddled with my book pendant and paced my living room.

  Finally, Jo came to a decision. “All right, let’s say we investigate Willy. He’s leaving tomorrow. That doesn’t give us much time. Where do we even start? There’s no way he’s keeping the murder weapon or his incriminating clothes in that hotel room.”

  “You’re right. Housekeeping would’ve stumbled across them by now.”

  Jo gasped. “We’re not going to go dumpster-diving in the hotel’s trash, are we? I thought Bobby’s trash was bad. I can only imagine the hotel’s would be a million times worse.”

  I could hear her gag reflex over the phone. “Willy wouldn’t have put such incriminating evidence in the hotel’s dumpster. They would’ve been discovered.”

  She breathed a gusty sigh of relief. “Okay, so if not his hotel room or the hotel’s trash, where do you think we should search for the box cutter and Willy’s bloody clothes?”

  “Fiona’s uncle’s property.”

  Although seemingly not as enthusiastic over my response as I was, Jo at least sounded like she was considering the possibility. “What makes you think that?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” I allowed my pacing to carry me out of the living room and around the dining room table. Certainty flowed through me like a superpower. “First, Willy seems familiar with the property.”

  “And second?”

  “He lied about Fiona leaving the property to him in her will.”

  “How do you know that?” Jo’s question and tone were cautious, but I could sense my argument winning her over.

  “I strongly suspect it, because Grant Gillis drew up Fiona’s will.” I stopped pacing, standing still in the space between the living and dining rooms. “Spence and I spoke with him this evening. When I asked him about Willy Pelt, he didn’t recognize Willy’s name. Surely, if you’d recently written a will that named Willy Pelt as a beneficiary, you would’ve recognized his name.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “I’ll pick you up, but first, I need to make a call.”

  “Dumpster diving. Breaking and entering. I didn’t realize I’d have to commit crimes in order to clear myself of suspicion of one.” Jo’s low hissing sounded more like nervous chatter than endless complaints. Either way, I did my best to tune it out as we crept closer to Fiona’s uncle’s property. Or, rather, Fiona’s property. Well, whoever-owned-it-now’s property.

  “Dumpster diving isn’t a crime.” I felt compelled to point that out. “And we’re not exactly breaking and entering.”

  “Are you sure?” Her low hissing became a stage whisper. “Because it feels like breaking and entering.”

  “We’re inquiring,” I whispered back.

  Jo absorbed that in silence. “So, it feels like breaking and entering to you too?”

  “A little.” I scanned the area as I adjusted the gloves I wore to prevent leaving my fingerprints behind. Jo wore gloves also. Perhaps they were a bit much. “But the cabin’s empty, and we’re not going to take anything. We’re just going to have a lo
ok around. Floyd said it’s at the end of this dirt path.”

  “It’s a road.”

  “It’s not much of a road.” I gave her a sharp look. The Brooklynite in me was sure I was being pranked. The path wasn’t wide enough for a bicycle.

  We’d opted to leave my car a distance away and approach the—hopefully empty—cabin on foot. Parking in front of the structure hadn’t been an option. That would’ve been tantamount to shining a spotlight on our borderline illegal activities and alerting any neighborhood patrol, the deputies, not to mention the killer to our presence.

  Before picking up Jo, I’d called Floyd. As I suspected, he knew how to get to the cabin. The grumpy Saint Nick really was a treasure trove of local information. In fact, he’d driven out here several times. He’d said something about enjoying the solitude, and that the nearby lake was a good fishing spot.

  His familiarity with the location enabled him to provide vivid and detailed instructions for the directionally challenged. Turn right onto Squirrel’s Hunt, which means you’ll turn toward the weathered black-and-white cabin that’s seen better days. About half a mile after that, you’ll see three fat Sugar Maples. They should be on your right. Once you’ve past the Jesus Saves sign on your left, take the next left. I’d only made one wrong turn. Instead of turning left at the Jesus Saves sign, I’d turned right. Fortunately, our course correction had been quick.

  “Oh, this is beautiful.” Mesmerized, I stopped in my tracks as Fiona’s family’s cabin appeared before us. “Did you know it was this beautiful?”

  “No, I’d never seen it before.” Jo sounded equally enchanted.

  I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. The two-story cabin was perhaps fifteen hundred square feet, built from live edge cedar. Three steps led from a graveled walkway to a front porch with a couple of chairs and a pine log swing. To the right was a masonry chimney covered in live river rock. To the left was an empty cedar carport spacious enough to accommodate two cars.