Arabella knew they should get there sooner rather than later, but a clean-shaven Levon would be more believable than the vagrant version standing before her. And Beecham did say that all they wanted to do was talk to Levon. He wasn’t an actual suspect—yet.
“Fine. We’ll stop at your house on the way. But don’t screw me over on this, Levon. If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I promise. Believe me, I just want this nightmare to be over with.”
So did Arabella, but she had a feeling the nightmare was just beginning.
40
The nightmare started as soon as they were back in the car. “Trent called me three days ago,” Levon said while Arabella drove. “He claimed to have information about my father that I should know about.”
“And so you arranged to meet him on the walking trail behind the golf course?”
“No. I was supposed to meet him at the Miakoda Falls Golf and Country Club, in the clubhouse restaurant, at noon. I went there and waited for him, but he never showed up.”
“Maybe he changed his mind about talking to you.”
“That’s what I thought. Now I figure he was already dead. Anyway, when I got back to the golf course parking lot, Luke was standing outside the clubhouse, talking to Gilly and Robbie Andrews, the head pro. They were in a deep discussion, but I wasn’t close enough to hear and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I got in my car and hightailed it out of there.”
“Could they have seen you?”
“Yes. Even if they hadn’t, the waitress definitely saw me, so the police will be able to trace me to the area.”
Arabella bit her lip. “What about Luke? Was he dressed for golf?”
“Now that you mention it, no. But he could have been there for any number of reasons. I know he’s good friends with Robbie.”
The question was, who had called Trent? Because, whoever it was, they’d obviously asked to meet him on the trail by the third hole. Maybe they had pretended to be Levon. But then they would have known the two were planning to meet. Arabella was still mulling over the possibilities when she pulled into Levon’s driveway. She’d been half expecting to find the police waiting at his house, and was relieved to find no sign of them.
“We’re here. Time to clean up. I’ll call Isla Kempenfelt while you shower, shave, and change.”
Levon nodded and got out of the car. Arabella followed him into the house, blushing slightly at the memory of her last visit. There would be no repeating that, not today and not ever again. They were friends; strictly platonic. Arabella called Kempenfelt’s emergency number while Levon headed into the shower. She told the night receptionist it really was an emergency situation and was transferred promptly, no questions asked. A brief recap of the events was enough for the lawyer to agree to meet them at the Miakoda Falls Police Station within the hour.
“I’ll let Detective Merryfield know we’re coming,” Kempenfelt said, before hanging up.
Levon was quick to clean up, his hair slightly damp, his clothes changed, dirty denim for fresh.
Arabella filled him in on her conversation with the lawyer. “Thank you…for everything.”
“I haven’t done anything you wouldn’t have done for me,” Arabella said.
They were halfway to Miakoda Falls when she spotted a white Honda CRV behind them. “Damn it,” Arabella said. Maybe if she’d taken the direct route, she wouldn’t even have noticed the car following them. The graveled back road leading into town was usually only used by local residents. It was a dark and almost moonless night, but the license plate was lit. Arabella knew who it belonged to. It could only spell one thing: trouble.
“Kerri St. Amour is following us,” Arabella said, instinctively speeding up.
Levon turned around. “What? Pull over. I don’t want a confrontation outside the cop shop. I can just imagine the headlines.”
Pulling over was the last thing Arabella wanted to do, but Levon had a point. She turned on her indicator signal, slowed down, and made her way onto the shoulder of the road. Kerri slid in behind her and hopped out of the car, phone in hand.
“Stay here,” Arabella said, too late. Levon was already out of the car.
“Ditch the phone, Kerri,” Levon said. “I’m not interested in taking a selfie with either one of you, and I’m definitely not interested in seeing my face splashed on the front page.”
To Arabella’s surprise, Kerri put the phone away.
“How long have you been following me?” Levon asked.
“I’ve been waiting outside of your house for hours. I knew you’d be home eventually.”
“I didn’t notice your car,” Arabella said.
“Please, that’s for amateurs,” Kerri said, rolling her eyes. “I parked down the street and waited inside Levon’s garage.”
“So you were trespassing,” Levon said.
Kerri shrugged. “Prove it. I’m not there now. In case you weren’t aware, the police have been looking for you.”
“I’m aware.” Levon kicked a stone and watched it trickle into the ditch. “We’re on our way to the station in Miakoda Falls now. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t follow us.”
“What’s in it for me if I don’t?”
Not getting a black eye, Arabella thought.
Levon smiled and turned on the charm. “I promise to give you first dibs on what might be an exclusive story.”
“So you admit there is a story.” Kerri smirked. “I’m thinking it would be breaking news to see you enter the police station in the dark of night.”
“Half the town can see the very well-lit police station. It will be no secret I’m going in to speak with the police. That’s hardly an exclusive story.”
“How do I know that I can trust you?”
“You don’t. Come on, Arabella. We’re running late.” Levon turned away from Kerri and marched back to the car.
Arabella started to follow him, then stopped and walked back. “He’s a good man, Kerri. Don’t screw him over. If Levon says he’ll give you first dibs on his story, he will.”
Kerri pressed her lips together. “I want your story, too—yours and Emily’s.”
“Everyone knows our story. It was front-page news not long ago,” Arabella said, deliberately misunderstanding Kerri. “But we can talk later.”
Like in ten years.
41
Isla Kempenfelt was waiting for them at the Miakoda Falls Police Station. Once again, Isla’s fine- boned features struck Arabella; she looked more like a ballerina than a criminal lawyer. Maybe that was part of her success. You didn’t expect a pit bull in a whippet’s body.
“You’ll have to wait here, Arabella,” Kempenfelt said, pointing to an uncomfortable looking bench.
The thought of sitting there waiting for Levon was unappealing. “I can leave and come back when Levon’s ready. It’s only a thirty-minute drive from Lount’s Landing.”
“I don’t think Officer Beecham will approve. He asked me to let him know when you arrived.
Detective Merryfield will be questioning Levon.”
Arabella was trying to figure a way out when Aaron entered the lobby. She followed him without a word, knowing it was pointless to argue.
The interview room wasn’t much bigger than a broom closet.
“I’m going to be taping our conversation,” Beecham said. “Do you want to have a lawyer present?
I’m afraid Ms. Kempenfelt is otherwise engaged.”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
Beecham smiled. “Only you know the answer to that. But you can stop the interview at any time and ask for one.”
“Then I’ll pass. For now.”
Beecham nodded and started the tape recorder. After setting up the time, date, and other particulars, he started. “The last time I saw you, you were driving back to Lount’s Landing. Where did you find Levon?”
“I saw him walking along the road.” Arabella crossed her fingers underneath the table, hoping Beecham wouldn’t ask which road.
No such luck. “Which road?”
Arabella sighed. She wasn’t cut out for this. A lifetime of telling it as it was didn’t prepare her for fabricating a story. She just hoped Levon told Merryfield the same story.
They hadn’t discussed it, which, in retrospect, was stupid. Then again, Levon knew her. He knew she would have to tell the truth.
Wouldn’t he?
“I knew, instinctively, that Levon was at the camp.”
“So you saw him when I was with you and didn’t say anything.”
“No, I didn’t see him. But I knew he was there. Levon and I were married, we have a connection.” Time to fabricate, just a bit. “I tried to ignore the feeling, and I started back home. But by the time I got to the turn-off for Lount’s Landing, I’d second- and third-guessed myself and had to turn back. And so I did.” She filled Beecham in on the rest.
“So Levon’s story is that he had an appointment to meet with Trent Norland. When he didn’t show, he left. Does that about sum it up?”
“Perfectly.”
“What about his gun?”
“He said it had gone missing. He didn’t notice until after Marc Larroquette was found dead.”
“How convenient.”
“It’s far from convenient. If he’d discovered the gun missing earlier, he would have reported it. As it was, he knew you’d suspect him. When Kerri told him about Trent Norland’s death, his instinct was to run. It was a shortsighted, poor decision on his part, but he’s innocent.”
Sarah Byrne popped her head into the room and gestured to Beecham. He followed her out into the hallway. He was back within a couple of minutes.
“Interview with Arabella Carpenter concluded.” Beecham turned off the tape recorder. “You’re free to go.”
“I’m free to go?” What had Byrne told Beecham?
“Unless you want to spend more quality time with me. That can be arranged.”
Arabella took the hint and had barely made it to the lobby when Levon joined her. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, but there was a spring to his step that hadn’t been there earlier.
“Where’s Isla Kempenfelt?” Arabella asked.
“She’s chatting with Merryfield and I don’t think it’s entirely about police business,” Levon said.
He pushed open the door. “Let’s get out of here before they change their mind about letting me go.”
Arabella peppered Levon with questions on the way to his house. Did he tell the same story as she had? Why did he think they let him go? Did they think he was innocent?
He’d told them about the missing gun, about arranging to meet Trent and getting stood up. He’d just gotten to the part about Gilly, Robbie, and Luke in the parking lot when Sarah Byrne had come in. Merryfield had gone out in the hall to talk to her. When he came back, he thanked Levon and Kempenfelt for their time and stopped the interview.
“The same thing happened to me,” Arabella said, pulling into Levon’s driveway. “Whatever Byrne told them must have cleared you of any wrongdoing.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Arabella grinned. “There is an even brighter side.”
“Which is?”
“You don’t have much of a story to tell Kerri.”
“Yeah. I feel terrible about that.” Levon laughed, and then Arabella started laughing too, the tension of the past two days melting away. Before she knew it, they were heading into his house, and he was pouring them each a cognac.
“I really shouldn’t,” Arabella said, taking a sip and feeling the liquid warm her belly. “I’m driving.”
“I’ll make you some coffee and a snack before you go. I even have shortbread.” He would.
“I’m trying to give up cookies, and coffee will keep me up. Plus I really need to sleep. I’m exhausted.”
“Then finish your cognac and stay here.”
“I thought we agreed—”
“We did. I meant in the spare bedroom.”
Arabella felt an irrational surge of disappointment. She held out her brandy snifter, the amber liquid already drained. “One more and then I really need to get some sleep. In the spare bedroom.”
It was three o’clock in the morning when Arabella woke up. Just like the last time she’d stayed over, her head was pounding and her mouth felt as though it was filled with cotton batten.
At least she was in the spare bedroom. There was just one problem.
Levon was lying there next to her, the duvet tucked under his chin, his breathing slow and easy, his hair falling softly over his eyes. She pulled the pillow out from under her head, placed it over her head, and let out a silent scream.
Damn cognac did it every single time.
42
Arabella was showered and dressed by six a.m., an ungodly hour, but she wanted to get home, change, and get to the Glass Dolphin before Emily arrived. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss the previous evening’s events with Emily, and straggling in late was sure to start up a conversation. She rummaged through the cupboards, found a stainless steel travel mug, popped a coffee pod into Levon’s one-cup coffeemaker, and pressed the button, comforted by the gurgling sound. His pantry cupboard revealed a box of quinoa oatmeal granola bars—whoever thought that combination was a good idea had some serious rethinking to do—unsalted soda crackers, a box of no-name bran flakes, and two tins of chicken noodle soup.
The refrigerator’s contents were equally dire: milk that didn’t quite pass the sniff test, a small bar of corner-hardened white cheese, which might have been cheddar or mozzarella in a past life, and a couple of Granny Smith apples. The thought of a sour apple on top of last night’s cognac turned her stomach, but no more than the thought of a sickly sweet granola bar. She reopened the pantry door and grabbed a handful of soda crackers. It would have to do until she could get a proper breakfast at the Sunrise Café. She grabbed the mug and was just about out the door when Levon sauntered into the kitchen.
“You were going to leave without saying good-bye.” It was a statement, not a question. “You’re starting to make a habit out of that. I’m starting to take it personally.”
“I need to get home and change before I go to the shop.”
“So it’s not personal?”
Arabella shook her head. “No. Yes. We can’t go down this road again, Levon. It always ends up badly.”
“Maybe this time will be different.”
“I don’t have time to debate this right now.”
“How about dinner tonight? We can meet at The Hanged Man’s Noose. You’ll be perfectly safe there. I won’t even let Betsy serve you cognac. A glass of chardonnay is the strongest you’ll get. I know you love her Full Noose Nachos.”
It was a tempting offer. She was just about to say yes when the sound of the front door opening stopped her. Who had a key? Arabella glanced at Levon and watched as the color drained from his face.
“That will be Gilly Germaine,” Levon said. “She has a key. How convenient.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“It never is with you, Levon. It never is.” Arabella slammed the travel mug onto the counter and stormed out of the room. A surprised looking Gilly was hanging up her jacket on the coat rack.
“Arabella?”
“In the flesh. And in case you were wondering, it’s exactly what it seems.”
By the time Arabella arrived at the Sunrise Café she was almost calm, almost being the operative word. A long, hot shower had helped, as had two ibuprofen and three antacid tablets. But she was still mad, more at herself than at Levon. He hadn’t promised her a damn thing, hadn’t led her astray, unless you counted the cognac, and she was her own liquor control board, as that old LCBO liquor store ad had said.
The restaurant was almost full, with Fran bustling from one table to the other, pouring coffee and taking orders. Arabella thought the chatter had quieted when she took a seat, but she shook off the feeling. The morning’s events had left her feeli
ng raw and exposed.
“What’ll it be, hon?” Fran smiled. “Let me guess. Cinnamon raisin bagel with peanut butter, and coffee, black and strong. To go.”
“Coffee, black and strong, in a mug, the biggest one you’ve got. Two eggs over easy, home fries, rye toast, light on the butter, and bacon, well done. To stay.”
Fran grinned. “Does someone have another hangover?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“I’ll be right back. I know an emergency situation when I see one.”
Arabella finished her coffee and the last of her breakfast.
“You want some coffee in a to-go cup?” Fran placed the check on the table. “Yeah, that would be great, thank you.”
“I guess you two were celebrating last night. You and Levon.”
“Celebrating?”
“I thought you knew. Levon is officially in the clear. The police have another suspect in the Trent Norland murder. They brought the guy in late last night.”
That would explain the quick exit from the police station but… “How do you know?”
“Kerri’s blog, of course, even if she won’t admit to writing it. It’s all anyone can talk about. Of course, there’s no evidence the same person killed Levon’s dad, but this Kerri—I mean, ‘this blogger’—seems to think it’s a given.”
“How did Kerri find out?”
Fran shrugged. “Who knows? She seems to have eyes and ears everywhere. Anyway, I know you and Levon have remained friends. So I figured you were celebrating.”
Was there an emphasis on the word “friends?” Arabella would have loved to dwell on that thought a little while longer, but the latest news gave her a momentary sense of relief: she knew Levon wasn’t guilty. Then who was?
“Who did the police arrest?”
“The owner of that marina in Lakeside. Luke Surmanski.”
The greasy breakfast roiled in her stomach and Arabella wished she’d stuck with her usual dry toast. First Kevin, then Johnny Porter, and now Luke. When it came to men, Emily sure could pick them.
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