by Rickie Blair
“You see? So, it’s not surprising you didn’t realize what Lucy was up to.”
Emy chimed in. “And even if you had, you couldn’t have stopped her.”
Thérèse rallied, tucking the tissue into her purse and decisively snapping it shut. “Maybe not, but I can put things right. With the money Lucy left me, I can repay the book club charity fund and return the blackmail payments. Without anyone else knowing.”
I nodded, but my expression gave me away.
“Verity?” Emy asked.
“We have to tell the police about Lucy’s sideline. I’m sorry, Thérèse, but one of those unidentified accounts could be her killer.”
Thérèse got to her feet. “I’m leaving that up to you two. Meanwhile, I’m going to ask Wilf about transferring Lucy’s money as soon as the estate clears.” She headed for the door, but paused with her hand on the handle. “I think I know why Sue was paying Lucy, and it wasn’t blackmail.” She pulled open the door and stepped through.
“What was it?”
“Ask her,” Thérèse called over her shoulder as the door closed.
Emy and I exchanged puzzled glances.
My cell phone thrummed on the table and I picked it up to read the text. “Our rumor’s making the rounds,” I said. “The Originals are all over it.” I placed the phone down.
Too late to call it off now.
“What rumor?” Lorne asked.
“Verity saw someone up on the Peak the morning Lucy died.” Emy’s lips twitched in a smirk. “And she’s going to the police station tomorrow to report it.” She turned to me. “You can identify them, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, hoping a bit of mock hilarity would ease my jitters about our new plan. “I had binoculars, remember?”
Lorne looked puzzled. “But you didn’t—”
Patty leaned over my shoulder, cutting him off. “I’ll tell you later, Lorne. Are we still meeting for the fireworks?”
Fireworks. My face lit up. I loved fireworks. How had I forgotten about Founder’s Day? “Definitely. I’ll be there at nine.”
Emy gave me a sharp look. “Not alone, I hope.”
“Lorne’s taking the truck to our last job of the day, while I run one last errand. Then he’s going to pick me up at Rose Cottage and we’ll join you at the park.”
Emy frowned. “Rose Cottage? I thought it was still being repaired.”
“There are a few things to do, but the roof’s watertight again and we’ve aired everything out. I’m desperate to move out of that inn,” I said, rubbing my head ruefully. “I’ll be fine, Emy. Carson’s trailer is right outside my front door.”
“But where will you be in the meantime? What errand?”
“Visiting Sue.”
“Alone?”
“Oh, come on, Emy. Sue can protect me if necessary. She’s a big girl. Between the two of us, we could fight off a pack of grizzlies.”
Well, raccoons maybe. If they weren’t hungry.
Emy opened her mouth to object, but Patty cut her off.
“Sounds great,” she said, still leaning in. “See you at nine. Meanwhile, I promised Carson I’d drop by the hardware store to pick up some of those fancy nails he likes. He’s not happy with the ones the crew’s been using on your roof. He’s very particular, is Carson. He explained all about your built-in eavestroughs when Clark and I went up there yesterday. It was really fascinating.” Patty headed for the door.
I watched her go, trying to remember when Carson had complained about the nails. He told me he was happy with the finished job. Maybe I should stop Patty from making a useless purchase.
But she loved to be helpful, and a visit to the hardware store would get her out of Emy’s hair for a while. I decided against going after her, although I hoped the real reason for her visit wasn’t to buy the aluminum cookie sheets she’d pointed out when we were there a day earlier.
“Those would make a nice gift for Emy,” she had said.
Derek had been serving us and I could tell he anticipated a sale, so I hadn’t wanted to discourage her. But Emy was particular about her baking equipment. “Probably best to buy her something else,” I said.
Patty nodded, a hand on her chin, while she studied the stocked shelves. “Can I see one of those?” she asked, pointing to a locked cabinet full of kitchen cleavers and chef’s knives.
Derek selected a key from the chain jangling at his waist and leaned over to open the cabinet. “There must be a lot of stuff in Lucy’s old house,” he said. “Thérèse should hold a yard sale.”
Patty brightened. “That house is packed. I sold Verity’s belongings in Vancouver. I’d be happy to help out at a yard sale.”
“You were in Lucy’s house?” he asked.
“Sure. I saw that burglar too, the one who broke in and ransacked the place.”
“Well,” I muttered, “that’s not quite—”
Derek seemed fascinated by Patty’s disclosure. “Do you realize you may have seen her killer?”
“Oooh,” Patty said. “I guess I did.” She turned to me with an air of triumph. “Think of that, Verity.”
“Let’s not,” I said, gently guiding her out of the store. “Thanks, Derek.”
“No problem,” he said, jangling the TPB bobble head on his key chain. “Let me know if there’s a yard sale. I could use another bookcase.”
At the door, Patty turned to look back at the store and narrowed her eyes. “You know…”
I shoved her through the doorway. “No time. You can shop tomorrow.”
When I had reached behind to shut the door, Derek was staring after Patty, his mouth oddly twisted. When he noticed my gaze, he had turned back to the cabinet with the key in his hand and locked the door.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The doorbell on Sue’s massive front door was the strangest I’d ever heard.
“Caw. Caw. CAW,” sounded inside the house when I pressed the buzzer. Fearing I’d developed a hearing problem, I held it down again.
“Caw. Caw. CAW.”
And I thought Reuben was annoying. On the other hand, Sue probably didn’t get a lot of visitors. I peered through the sidelight, shading my eyes with one hand, watching a figure approach in the darkened hallway.
The door swung open.
Sue stood on the threshold, glaring, her left hand holding the door ajar. In her right hand, she held an enormous pipe wrench.
I took an involuntary step back.
“Oh. It’s you. Come in, then,” she muttered, brandishing the wrench at the hall behind her.
I exhaled, then stepped over the threshold.
Sue closed the door and set off down the hall. “I’m in the kitchen,” she called over her shoulder without waiting to see if I was behind her.
I followed her to the rear of the house. Banks of windows overlooked a full-length deck with breathtaking views of Pine Hill Valley. The kitchen cabinets were white, the counters were white, the floor was white, and everything was… immaculate.
Except for the area around the double kitchen sink, where a tool box, an empty pail, and an assortment of wrenches were laid out on a quilted mover’s blanket.
“Did you have a leak?” I asked.
“A leak?” Sue looked confused. I pointed to the toolbox.
“Oh, you meant the sink. No, I never have leaks.”
“Then why are you…”
“I change all the fittings on a regular basis. To keep my hand in.” She dropped to her knees outside the open cabinet doors and twisted around to duck her head under. “Didn’t Emy tell you I was a plumber?” she asked, her voice muffled.
“It never really came up,” I lied. “Although we did hear that you’d been to Costa Rica. Was it fun?”
Sue slid back out and dropped the wrench onto the blanket. “Woulda been—if it hadn’t been for the blasted police insisting I return.” She assessed the selection of wrenches and picked up a new one. Even bigger than the first. “Why the honor of a third visit, Verity?
I didn’t think we were this close.”
I wondered what to say to that, until I realized she was kidding. Sue’s sense of humor often left me confused. Which explained my next question.
“When you mentioned Derek’s girlfriends, you were kidding, right?”
She shrugged. “Lucy said something once that made me think he was involved with someone.” She ducked under the cabinet again and tightened the second wrench on a pipe.
“So you and Lucy were friends.”
“You know we were. Or perhaps acquaintances is a better word.” She gave the wrench a last twist and slid out of the cabinet.
“Was Lucy always so… difficult? I mean, when she was younger?”
Sue looked surprised by the question. “No,” she said thoughtfully. “She wasn’t. She was more fun.”
“So what happened?”
“Don’t know. Some guy, I think.” She snorted. “It’s always a guy.”
“Someone she was involved with years ago?”
Sue shrugged impatiently. “I’m not sure why you’re asking me this. Are you here for a reason?” Her tone implied that she would not be extending a dinner invitation.
I reached for my purse and pulled out a folded sheet. “Because of this,” I said, handing her the list of book titles.
Her face flushed as she scanned the list. “Where did you get this?”
“Emy and I found it in Lucy’s office.”
We locked glances, and I held my breath as Sue’s brow tightened.
Nervously, I noticed that she hadn’t put down the second wrench.
“Nothing to do with me,” she said, tossing the paper on the floor between us.
“Oh, come on, Sue.” I pointed to the paper. “This has something to do with Lucy and her blackmail scheme. What did the two of you discuss when you pulled her aside at those book club meetings?”
Her mouth gaped. “Blackmail? What are you talking about?” Her knuckles turned white as her fist tightened around the wrench.
“Did you help Lucy with it? Is that where you got all your money?”
“Are you insane? I have no idea what you’re prattling on about. And my money is none of your business.” Glowering at me, she barked, “Get out.”
I swallowed hard, aware that the pulsating vein in my throat might be about to burst. Nevertheless, I persisted. Like I’ve always said—not a Mensa member. “Two people are dead. Whatever you’re hiding, Sue, it will come out.”
She took a step toward me, her expression black.
I tensed, hoping I wouldn’t have to fight my way out of there. Sue was a big girl. I anchored both feet, planning my defense and remembering Emy’s words. Not alone, I hope.
Why hadn’t I listened?
Sue halted, still glaring.
Blood pounded in my ears.
We stood there a while, glaring at each other.
Then Sue tilted her head back in a burst of laughter.
I took a hasty step back, not certain if this was an improvement in her mood, or an indication she’d finally cracked.
“All right, I’ll tell you,” she said, wiping a hand over her face and dropping the second wrench onto the blanket. “We discussed plots.”
“Book plots?” I asked, insight dawning.
“I knew about Lucy’s ghostwriting sideline, but I stayed out of it. None of my business.” She paused. “I swear, I didn’t know she was blackmailing anybody. Thing is, Lucy told me stories about her clients. Anonymously, of course. They were perfect for my purposes.” She picked the printed list off the floor where she’d dropped it and held it out to me. “I write romance novels. The really steamy kind.”
At my raised eyebrows, she added, “It’s quite lucrative.”
“That’s why you were paying Lucy?”
She nodded. “Plot consultations. When you’ve written as many novels as I have, you appreciate new insights.”
I took the paper and refolded it. “But why are your books a secret?”
“Lucy worried Leafy Hollow residents might recognize my characters. She was probably right.”
“Which would have been bad for her blackmail business.”
“I guess. Although, like I said, I knew nothing about that. I just didn’t want Thérèse and the book club to know about my writing.”
“Why?”
“Can you imagine the snickering, once people read them? Like I said—they’re really steamy. And I’m not exactly… the type.” She made a face.
I slid the list back into my purse. “Your secret’s safe with me. Although, if I were you—I’d tell the club members that your books are meant to be ironic. And give them all free copies. I think they’d love them.”
She shrugged. “I might. Anyway, this latest development would make a great plot. Maybe I’ll branch out into thrillers.”
Back at Rose Cottage, I was seated at my aunt’s desk, puzzling over the last two mystery aliases on Lucy’s spreadsheet, when my phone buzzed again. After ignoring its pings for the past hour, I thought I’d better pick up. The latest text was from Clark. Apparently he’d looked away from the soccer game on his phone long enough to realize his wife wasn’t with him at the park.
U seen Patty?
Lorne had taken the truck to our last appointment of the day, but he’d promised to drop by and drive me to the fireworks display. I rose to stretch my legs, walking toward the front windows, as I messaged Clark.
No. Did U text her?
I peered out the window as a copper convertible cruised past with Fritz at the wheel. It was the third time today he’d checked up on me. His car disappeared up the road. Lilac Lane was a dead end, so he’d be back. My phone pinged.
No answer, Clark replied.
I returned to my aunt’s desk and put the phone aside. Patty would show up. She could be at the hardware store, buying Emy a hostess gift. I hoped it wouldn’t be a chef’s knife. I smiled at the memory of Derek jingling his bobble-head Trailer Park Boys key chain in front of the store’s locked cabinet.
At least the protesters were gone, so Derek wasn’t arguing with them anymore. Although he probably missed blue-haired girl. In my horror at finding Marjorie’s body, I’d forgotten their cozy circle of three. What had Sue said?
Derek lined up for half an hour at the corner store to buy us cold drinks.
It hadn’t struck me as odd at the time, but it did now. It took two minutes, tops, to grab Cokes from the convenience store’s cooler and pay for them. Occasionally, you got stuck in line behind someone buying a dozen lottery tickets. But still—half an hour?
With a sudden chill, I realized half an hour was long enough for Derek to duck around the corner and up the fire escape to Marjorie’s apartment—with plenty of time left to buy Cokes on the return trip.
That’s ridiculous. Derek Talbot was no more a killer than I was.
I remembered the heart-to-heart I’d shared with him in Thérèse’s bathroom the night of the book club meeting. I also recalled the scratches on his hands. Not the ones inflicted by smashing Thérèse’s favorite vase, but the other, older ones. Those could have been caused by pebbles and sticks and bits of bark. Especially if Derek had been grappling with someone on the Peak. Flattening the bushes. Even…
I puffed out a breath. My imagination was carrying me away.
Unless… With a shiver of foreboding, I traced a finger down the spreadsheet to the first of the mystery aliases—TPB.
I stared at it.
TPB. Trailer Park Boys.
Why hadn’t I made the connection before?
Sue had mentioned Derek’s “girlfriends,” but I assumed it was a jest. If he’d found a girlfriend online, why would he hide it? Online dating was common these days. If anything, the book club members would be impressed. It showed… initiative.
I fluttered my fingers against my mouth, studying the spreadsheet. It must be something about the girlfriend, then—something Derek didn’t want anyone to know. Could “she” be a “he”? Or married? Or a Montr
éal Canadiens fan?
Drawing my finger back up the spreadsheet, I stopped beside its last remaining mystery, the alias BWS. Initially, I suspected the two accounts were connected because their payments were made on the same day every month. I had dismissed that as wishful thinking. Now I studied the initials again. BWS. Why was that so familiar? What did it mean?
Tilting back on the wheeled chair, I gazed idly at the ceiling. A tiny spider was building a web in one corner. I watched, marveling how quickly insect life returned after a disruption. Even a fire hadn’t dissuaded this insistent creature from returning to track his prey. I chuckled. What made me think it was a male? This could just as easily be a female stalking her prey.
My next breath caught in my throat.
I slammed the chair down and swiveled it around until I faced my aunt’s bookcase, scanning the spines.
Risk Mitigation and Threat Assessment.
The English Garden, a Social History.
The World’s Deadliest Insects.
I leapt from my chair, sending it spinning, and yanked Deadliest Insects from the shelf. With my hand shaking, I flipped through its pages, searching for the turned-down corner that marked that scary childhood encounter in my aunt’s garden. I set the book on the desk and stepped back.
A bigger-than-life arachnid, with a brilliant red hourglass on its bulging black torso, filled the left-hand page. The title above it read, “Black Widow Spider.” My hand went limp, remembering Emy’s words. Black widow spiders kill their mates.
BWS. Black Widow Spider.
Or—Black Widow Killer.
With a shudder, I closed the book and dropped back into the chair.
No wonder Derek didn’t tell his friends about his girlfriend. He couldn’t, because she’d spent the last eight years in prison. Lucy must have introduced them online. Which meant Derek had been corresponding with one of the village’s most-hated ex-residents. He probably arranged for her to rent the apartment over the hardware store, too.
No wonder he paid Lucy to keep quiet.
And now, the only people who knew his secret—Lucy and the Black Widow herself—were both dead.
My phone pinged again, and I reached for it without taking my eyes from the desk. The last time I’d seen Derek, he gave Patty a very odd look. But why?