Felicia couldn’t understand it. Melanie’s older sister was just average. She was sturdy in a way that Felicia worked hard to never be, and she rarely spent any time on clothes or makeup. When she did, the transformation was remarkable, and Felicia guessed that was the image Heath held in his mind when he took Whitney to bed. He never had to use his imagination with Felicia. She made sure of that.
For all the good it did her now.
If she’d just let him talk Sunday night. Helped him work everything out. If she’d kept her eye on the finish line and been patient. But he was a fool, and she’d lost her temper. Now look where she was.
She couldn’t stand the chaos another minute.
“I said,” she yelled, “It’s time to talk.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
McNamara and Banks wrapped up the day’s work without their usual banter. Banks didn’t change his mind about quitting, and McNamara didn’t mention it again.
“Have you checked on Grace this morning?” Banks asked as they were leaving.
McNamara locked the door of the station and followed the corporal out into the small parking lot. Muggy air enveloped them and, for a few seconds, felt good on their artificially chilled skin. “I don’t do daily checks on Grace,” he said and wondered if Banks knew where he’d been earlier.
“I asked because Niki called and broke our date for tonight. Said she had to stay home with Grace because she was sick. Some kind of bug. She passed out this afternoon.”
“Grace passed out?” McNamara stopped walking. “Did they get her to the ER?”
“Nik said she hadn’t eaten anything today and then got overheated. Don’t worry, she’s fine.” He stopped talking, but it was obvious he had more to say.
“What?” McNamara demanded, irritated at Banks for making him ask.
“Nik also said Grace and David had a major fight, and that’s why Grace feels bad. You know Nik — she’ll want to be right there, digging up all the details.” Banks added a mock salute, then got into the patrol car for a last ride around the village for the day.
By the time he was home, McNamara had decided he was finished with women. Whatever Grace did as a result of what he’d said, was on her. She was a big girl, and he was tired of pretending that he thought her life choices were fine. Not that she’d ever asked him. Not that it was any of his business who she married. Who she loved.
“Not my problem,” he said out loud and winced as the words bounced around his empty house. He’d missed a call from Ashley when he was racing up and down Route 50 after Grace. He’d ignored it all afternoon but played it now as he rooted around in his freezer for dinner. He set a container of chili in the microwave to defrost and listened to Ashley explain why she needed to cancel their dinner plans. He didn’t remember making any dinner plans, but it was her reason for canceling that stopped him short.
“I hope you don’t have me on speaker,” she paused. “I’m a coward doing this on voice mail, but I’ve finally gotten my nerve up, so I’m just going to get on with it. I like you, actually more than like. I think I’ve made that clear.” There was another pause where he was horrified to hear her sniffling. Had he managed to upset two women in one day? Three, if you counted weepy Melanie Overton. A stellar personal best.
“This isn’t working for me, Lee. I would say it’s me, not you, but we both know better. You’re a great guy, but you’re not my guy. If you ever figure out what you want, and it happens to be me, get in touch. But for now, let’s call it done, okay? Take care of yourself.”
For a man whose workdays were rife with drama and crisis containment, McNamara maintained an even keel in his personal life. Usually. He stood next to the beeping microwave and asked himself how everything had gone so wrong. The introspection didn’t sit well. One word covered all of his problems. Women.
There wasn’t a damned thing he could do about any of them.
The Nats’ game did nothing to improve his mood and staying up after midnight to see the last heartbreaking minute of play started Saturday morning off with a headache and a rare temper. As he was leaving for work, an explosive thunderstorm opened the sky, driving him back inside for rain gear.
It had been weeks since he’d taken a whole day off, he grumbled to himself. A man ought to be able to sleep past five and read the paper in peace on a Saturday. But the paper was at the end of the driveway, wet.
He should retire. The thought surprised him so much that he stopped, raincoat in hand, and watched the rain pound the front steps. Retirement. Where had that come from? He’d turned out in hurricane conditions, and snowdrifts up to his waist. He’d held dying people, and then their grieving loved ones. On his worst day, he’d never considered doing anything but police work. What the hell was happening to him?
Staying home wasn’t the answer. His house, a nineteenth-century waterman’s cottage, was usually a safe harbor in an uncertain world. Everything he loved was in this house. Or had been. Today it felt empty.
His cell rang, ending his unhappy thoughts, and reminding him he wasn’t retired yet. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to get to work.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Grace woke early to sirens. She barely had both eyes open when the house phone and her cell erupted at the same time. Minutes later, Grace, Niki, and a not even slightly embarrassed Aidan Banks raced out the kitchen door and ran through the wet woods toward Avril’s house.
They found her standing at the edge of her garden, huddled under a huge umbrella. She was facing the Overton house, but for once, she wasn’t elbowing her way into the action. “Someone’s dead,” she said and pulled the neck of her robe up tight under her chin.
That much they already knew.
Avril grabbed Aidan’s arm. “Lee made me leave. You get over there and make sure they don’t traumatize those poor children. They shouldn’t say anyone’s dead where the kids can hear.” Avril shook her finger at Banks. “You take care of them.”
Banks asked Niki to stay with Avril and waved for Grace to follow him. McNamara had summoned both of them — Aidan to work on his morning off, and Grace to tend to her clients.
The den was packed with Overtons large and small, but it didn’t take Grace long to determine that Felicia was missing. Whitney and Melanie settled the children they were holding, told Hallie to start breakfast, and pulled Grace into the dining room to talk.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Whitney said. “I was worried about asking the police to call you, but I was more worried about doing something wrong. Do you think it makes us look guilty that I asked Chief McNamara to call you?”
“Of course, it does!” Melanie snapped, then glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “You keep calling her as if she’s your fairy godmother or something. You’re always saying you’ll handle everything, but you don’t.”
“I’m also your neighbor, Melanie,” Grace said. “So, it’s okay. But somebody needs to tell me what’s happened.”
“You mean your police friends didn’t fill you in?” Melanie’s terrified-of-everything persona was gone. Anger, or fear, had transformed her. “I thought everyone knew everything around here. Felicia’s dead.”
“Lower your voice, Mel,” Whitney begged. “I’m sorry, Grace. I’m pretty sure we’ll need a lawyer. We think Felicia died in her sleep, but since she’s so young, there are questions.”
“Tell her about the argument we had while you’re at it,” Melanie said. “Felicia told us how you hit her and then called the police on her. You’re supposed to be our lawyer, not make trouble for us.”
“No, that’s not what happened,” Grace said, then stopped, hard-pressed to explain what actually had happened with Felicia. “She didn’t want me involved with your family.”
“I’m not sure I do, either,” Melanie said. “She didn’t talk about anything else after she and Hallie got home, and last night she was unbelievable. The windows were open, and I’m sure that old biddy next door heard everything.”
Whitn
ey groaned. “Stop it. I mean it. Just shut up, Mel! Every word out of your mouth makes us look worse. And I swear if you ask for a death certificate one more time — ”
“What?” Grace stared at Melanie. “You didn’t, did you?”
“Well, we’ll need one,” Melanie said. “Each of the adults has a life insurance policy payable to the other three to compensate for the loss of income. It was actually Felicia’s idea. She said we’d lose the show if one of us died, and five million split three ways really isn’t that much. I’m only being practical. Our show is as good as gone, and we have to face facts. Lightning Strike could stop our money today, and what will we pay the bills with? Felicia’s insurance may be all we have if Heath doesn’t come back.”
“Mrs. Overton?”
They all turned to see that McNamara and Banks had joined them.
“What happened to Felicia?” Grace asked before Melanie could say anything else.
“That will be up to the Medical Examiner to determine,” McNamara said.
“But do you have any ideas?” Grace pressed. “If there’s any danger, we need to know.”
“There’s no obvious cause of death, and that’s all I can share with you. However, we might learn something when we take your client’s statements.” The brief smile McNamara aimed at her clients held no warmth at all.
It was Desiree Marbury who took their statements with Banks standing by for assistance. After seeing the proceedings underway, McNamara disappeared. For the next hour, Grace didn’t have time to process why things were unfolding as they were. She was busy representing first Melanie, then Whitney, and finally Hallie as each met with the MSP Detective Sergeant.
At first, Grace was impressed with the change in Aidan as he stood behind Marbury and took notes. He still wore the rumpled tee shirt and jeans he’d thrown on before racing out of Niki’s room, but everything else about him said COP. It soon became clear that the soft-hearted man who’d soothed the children and tried to avoid assignments from McNamara had changed. There was nothing comforting about his presence.
Melanie trotted out her trademark tears but changed tactics when Marbury just rephrased and repeated her questions until she got answers. A dozen versions of ‘I was asleep’ was all Melanie would say about Felicia’s death. She was forthright about the arguments with Felicia, but not as descriptive as when she’d been with Grace.
“Are you finished?” Melanie demanded when Marbury paused to confer with Banks. “I want to see that all the kids eat, and I need to make some calls. Oh, and don’t forget about the death certificate. I know you’re supposed to give it to our husband, but I’ll see that he gets it.”
Marbury’s only response was to give Grace a pitying look.
It was Whitney who broke under questioning.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” she said in a shaky voice when Marbury repeated a request for details about the discovery of Felicia’s body. “Using different words doesn’t change what happened. Felicia was supposed to get up with the children and start breakfast. The kids woke me, I went to get Felicia and couldn’t wake her.”
Grace put a supportive hand on Whitney’s shoulder and found herself caught up in a bear hug.
“Help me!” Whitney hissed into Grace’s ear before releasing her.
“Unless you have something new to ask my client, I’d like to bring this to a close,” Grace said. “Mrs. Overton needs to lie down.” She expected Marbury to refuse, but instead she asked Banks to escort Whitney to her room.
Hallie’s questioning didn’t go any better.
“It’s not my fault,” the girl said before she was even asked anything. “It was my turn to sleep in. Mom and Aunt Whitney said Felicia had to be on the schedule and put her on breakfast duty. I told Mom she’d do something to get out of it.”
Marbury nodded and said, “She did that a lot? Pushed her responsibilities off on other people?”
“On me? All the time. Back in Atlanta, when she came to our house, she’d order me around like her personal maid. She doesn’t dare do it to Mom, and when she tries it with Aunt Whitney, you should see the fireworks, but me? I have to be polite.”
“And are you?” Marbury asked. “Polite, that is?”
“Sure.” Hallie’s tone said she was anything but.
“What happened to your mouth?”
Hallie gingerly touched her swollen bottom lip. “It’s stupid. One of the little kids bopped me a good one when I was trying to dress her. Why do you care?”
“Looks like it hurts,” Marbury said. On the surface, the MSP detective seemed sympathetic, a friendly shoulder for an upset girl.
“Desiree,” Grace interrupted, deliberately using the detective’s first name. “Do you have any more questions about this morning’s events for Hallie?”
“Oh, stop it,” Hallie said. “You work for Aunt Whitney. I can talk to whoever I want. Aidan’s here, and he’s my friend.”
It was a toss up as to who was more surprised, but Grace jumped in before Banks could respond. “I’m your attorney, and Aidan is a police officer. We need to have your Mom join us.”
“I don’t need my Mom.”
“Then you have me, and that’s the end of the discussion,” Grace turned back to the officers. “If we’re all on the same page, I want to speak to my client for a moment.”
Hallie looked annoyed but kept silent while the officers stepped out of the room.
As soon as they were alone, Hallie said, “I’m sorry. I mean, you’re cool and all, but I don’t need you. Felicia’s horrible, and if she’s overdosed or something, well, at least it’ll get her out of here for a while.”
“You think she overdosed?” Grace asked.
“There are pills by her bed. Maybe she took too many? She’s certainly dumb enough to do that. Aunt Whitney said she shook Felicia hard, but she was too out of it to wake up.”
Was it possible? Grace got up to find Melanie. She or Whitney could just climb out of their own drama and handle this child. She checked the kitchen and den and saw only children.
“What?” Hallie demanded. “What’s going on?”
Grace couldn’t decide how much to say. “What have you heard?” she asked.
“You’re acting as if I did something wrong, but this isn’t my fault. It isn’t! I’m not responsible for Felicia, or any stupid thing she does.”
“Hallie, at some point during the night, Felicia died. I think everyone assumes you know that.”
Grace wanted to hug the girl, but didn’t think it would be welcomed. It turned out that no one managing the morning’s crisis had thought to tell Hallie her tormentor was dead.
Chapter Thirty
By noon, medical and police personnel were gone, and Whitney and Melanie had closed ranks, packed up all the children. In what Grace thought might be their last act of professional courtesy, Lightning Strike agreed to put the Overton brood up in an Easton hotel while Melanie and Whitney faced their corporate sponsors and tried to save The Plurals Next Door from cancelation.
“Maybe they can get a show called Two Women, Eleven Children, and No Prospects,” Lily said.
Grace groaned. She’d come into the office hoping for something resembling peace, only to find both Lily and Cyrus working.
“It’s raining, so no golf,” Mosley said. “Besides, what choice do I have but to be here on Saturday?” He eyed Grace’s denim shorts and Parrothead T-shirt critically. “I have work that isn’t getting done.”
Grace was surprised he had any work at all after the last load he’d dumped on her, but she let it go.
“He doesn’t suffer alone,” Lily muttered.
“I can hear you, young lady,” Mosley said..
Grace left them picking at each other, wondering when her work life had gone as screwy as her personal one. She made a large mug of peppermint tea and took it to her office. The Provence lavender fields greeted her on her monitor screen. She sipped her tea and waited for the picture change. Up next was the Pa
ris sidewalk cafe shot. The Musée d’Orsay followed, then the cathedral at Rouen. She would be there soon.
“You’re drinking herbal tea?”
Grace looked up to see Lily in the doorway, and after waving her in, found Cyrus was right behind her. They took chairs and appeared to be waiting for a response to the tea question.
“It’s mint, and I’m a grownup. I’m allowed,” she said to Lily. “But I should bring both of you up to date.”
“Thank you for the consideration, but there’s no need,” Mosley said. “Avril called me right after you got there, and I called Lily.”
That explained Cyrus’ snit, Grace thought.
“Do you know yet if the young lady’s death was natural?” he asked.
“No. There’ll be an autopsy.”
Grace had an appointment at three to give her statement at the police station. Marbury had agreed to the delay only because she and McNamara had their hands full.
“And before you ask,” Grace continued, “I’m not dropping the Overtons as clients, but they may not be needing me much longer. I don’t see any way to salvage the film contract, and I’m sure they’ll return to Atlanta as soon as the police let them.”
“If the police let them,” Mosley said. “But I agree. They don’t need you anymore. I, however, do. Jake can’t start for a month.”
It was all Grace could do not to groan. Lily’s glare was hot enough to scorch her boss’s bald head, but Mosley talked on as if both women were on board with his plan.
“I need this place ship-shape when he gets here. I’ll have my hands full with my own work and mentoring him, and I don’t want any oddball cases to gum up the works.”
Grace couldn’t contain herself. “Cyrus, this is a law firm, not a factory. The law is all about oddball cases.” As soon as she said it, she saw she’d given him his opening. The law Mosley practiced was all about factory-like efficiency. It was Grace’s cases that were odd and Grace herself who gummed things up.
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