She had trusted her gut before, and had been wrong. Then again, she had also trusted it and been right. She had to make a decision about whether to continue digging around for evidence, or to let it go. Her eyes slid to the slip of paper upon which she had written Brenda’s phone number, and knew that the latter choice wasn’t an option.
After the rush of confidence that she gotten from making up her mind, it was a letdown when her call went through to voicemail. She had been all set to make an appointment to meet the woman and figure out who had really killed Brody. Now she wasn’t sure what to do. Leave a message, or just let David handle it when he was less busy.
“This is Brenda Ryan, from Brenda’s Tea Place. Please leave your name, number, and a short message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Moira hung up. She could always leave a message later, but the woman’s message had given her an idea. Maybe she didn’t need to meet with the woman to learn about her. She could take a page out of David’s book and start tailing her. If Brenda went somewhere public, maybe she could stage an “accidental” meeting, and she wouldn’t have to bring David’s name into her secret investigation at all.
A quick internet search showed her that Brenda’s Tea Place was a small, relatively new business on the outskirts of Lake Marion. She was prepared to bet that was where Brenda Ryan could be found during business hours. It wouldn’t be odd at all for her to go in and start up a conversation with the woman, and she wouldn’t have to mention David’s name at all. She didn’t want anyone to think that he handed out information about his clients willy-nilly, so she would rather keep the fact that she had gotten the woman’s number from his answering machine a secret if possible.
Moira pulled into the tiny lot in front of the tea shop just in time to see a woman that she recognized immediately as Brenda get into a car. Annoyed that her plan had been foiled so quickly, the deli owner pulled up the tea shop’s website on her phone. It closed at five; she had gotten there only minutes too late. It looked like she was back to her original plan of tailing the woman. Maybe she would stop at a store or a restaurant on the way home and Moira could bump into her then. While she drove, she could use the extra time to come up with a natural way to get the woman talking about Brody’s death.
Careful not to drive so closely that Brenda would notice that something was off, Moira followed her through town. She was quickly losing hope that the woman would stop to do errands somewhere as she passed by store after store. When she turned onto a small side street that led to a neighborhood, Moira knew that she wasn’t going to get the chance that she wanted to orchestrate a casual encounter.
Still, feeling like ought to stick this out to the end, she followed a few car lengths behind Brenda. When they woman parked in front of a house that already had multiple cars in the driveway and a few more parked along the road, Moira’s curiosity was piqued. What sort of gathering was the woman going to? Surely she wouldn’t attend a party so soon after her boyfriend’s death, but that was exactly what it looked like she was doing. As Moira watched, Brenda pulled a large plastic container out of the passenger seat of her vehicle filled with what Moira would bet were cookies. She went inside without a backwards glance.
“Okay, I’ve got to find out what’s going on,” Moira said aloud to herself. She knew it was a bad idea, but she figured she was already in this deep — it couldn’t hurt to just take a peek.
She parked her car around the corner, just out of sight of the house. She tried to look casual as she walked down the sidewalk. It was a good thing that the sun was beginning to set. The clouds made it darker than usual, which made her confident that anyone looking out the window from the brightly lit house wouldn’t be able to see her clearly unless they were right up against the pane.
Her eyes traveled over the cars, trying to figure out what everyone was there for. She glanced at the street sign. Maple Street. She frowned. The words rang a bell in her mind, but she didn’t remember why. This very well might not have anything to do with Brody’s death, but her gut was telling her otherwise.
With a surreptitious glance around the empty street, Moira left the sidewalk and walked through the snow to a large bush that was pressed up against one of the side windows. She pushed a branch aside and looked in. The window showed her a view of the kitchen. There were containers of food on the counter, and numerous flower bouquets. She saw Brenda walk in and put her container of cookies down before turning to say something to another woman who was standing right behind her.
“What are you doing out here?”
Moira jumped and slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking in surprise. The voice had come from right behind her. Standing just inches away was a woman that she recognized immediately; Paula Beaker, Brody’s wife.
Chapter Fourteen
* * *
Moira’s face was bright red with embarrassment as she followed the other woman inside. Caught spying from the bushes? What had she been thinking? She was surprised that the other woman was taking it in such good humor. She knew that she had overstepped, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself from giving into her curiosity.
I’m just glad that David wasn’t here to see this, she thought. She would tell him later, of course — she didn’t believe in having secrets between them — but she might put just enough of a spin on the tale to make it less embarrassing for her. With any luck, they would be laughing about it by this time next week.
“I’m so sorry,” she said for what must have been the third time.
“No, it’s okay. I get it. You wanted to check us out first. What’s your name?”
“Um, Moira,” she said, feeling more out of place by the minute. Why was this woman acting like they had been expecting her?
“I’m Paula. How long have you known Brody?” the other woman asked. “Don’t worry, we all agreed not to get mad at each other. I know how he can be.”
“I didn’t really know him,” Moira said, confused.
“Yeah, I felt that way too when I found out about all of his side women.”
Paula sighed and Moira shot her a sideways glance. What on earth did the woman think she was doing there? She felt completely unsettled by the conversation.
“Go on in. The living room’s to your left. I’ll close up behind you.”
Moira hesitated for only a second before she obeyed. It was that darned curiosity again, always getting her in trouble.
The interior of the house was nice and smelled faintly like lemon cleaner. She was reassured by the familiar smell and began to relax. Whatever this was, it didn’t seem dangerous. A bit off, maybe, yes, but she was sure there would be a good explanation… eventually.
“Take your coat off if you want. You can just hang it over the banister. The closet’s pretty full.”
The deli owner reached for her zipper automatically, then hesitated. If she had to leave quickly, she didn’t want to have to worry about her coat.
“I’m actually a little bit chilly. I think I’ll keep it on,” she said.
The woman shrugged. “Suit yourself. Come on, meet the other gals. I know this is kind of weird, but I got to know some of these women pretty well over the years.”
Moira stared at her. She was struggling to try to make sense of everything, but couldn’t. Instead, she followed the woman’s directions and went down the hall to the left, passing by the kitchen and entering the living room. What she found inside made her pause mid-step.
A group of women, Brenda included, were lounging on the furniture. Some of them looked nervous, others looked faintly amused. One or two looked decidedly annoyed. Moira was beginning to realize what was going on.
“You’re all women that Brody had an affair with,” she said before she could stop herself.
“Well, yes,” Paula said from behind her, sounding surprised. “What did you expect?”
It was time to come clean. “I wasn’t invited to whatever this is. I’m sorry. I just panicked when you found m
e and went along with it.”
“Why were you looking in the window, then?” Paula asked, looking confused.
“I was curious,” Moira admitted. “I shouldn’t have done it. I recognized Brenda and wondered what sort of party she was going to so soon after what happened on Valentine’s Day.” It was all the truth, but it wasn’t all of the truth. She didn’t think the women needed to know that she had been following Brenda, or that she was looking for Brody’s killer. “I’ll just go now.”
To her surprise, Paula laughed. “This must seem extremely odd to you. Come on, sit down and at least have a cup of coffee. I’ll explain.”
A few minutes later, Moira was seated in a plush armchair with a mug of sweetened hazelnut coffee in her hands. She couldn’t take her eyes off of Paula. The woman seemed so vibrant and happy, not at all like she expected a recent widow to act like. Well, Brody wasn’t exactly a great husband, she thought. Though she must have loved him. Why else would she have stayed with him all of these years?
“I promise this isn’t as strange as it probably looks,” Paula began. “You see, the first time I found out my husband was cheating on me, I confronted the woman he was with. I was extremely upset, obviously, but when I found all of the lies he had told to her — that he was single, that he had recently moved to town — I couldn’t blame her. She had been just as hurt by his betrayal as I had. A few weeks later I found out that he was still seeing other women, so I went to go tell them the truth. He had lied to all of them; none of them knew that he was married. Some didn’t even know his real last name.”
“Wow,” Moira said. “It sounds like he was almost living completely separate lives.”
Paula nodded. “He pretty much was. So, whenever I found out about a new woman of his, I made sure to tell her, and most of them were completely horrified by what he had done and stopped seeing him immediately. A few of the gals actually became my friends.” A couple of the women in the living room nodded.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why you stayed with him,” Moira said.
“Where else would I go?” the other woman asked. “I don’t work. He brought in all of our money. If I left him, I would have been a single middle aged woman with no college degree and no money. Some women have spent the last twenty years building a career; I spent all of that time trying to be a good wife. I was too embarrassed to ask for help from my family. For a while I thought there was something wrong with me — like it was my fault for not being enough for him. Eventually I realized that he was the one that had something wrong with him. The time just slipped by, and before I knew it I had spent ten years living with a man who lied to me every time he spoke.”
“That’s horrible,” Moira said. “No one should have to go through that.”
“When things change gradually, it can be hard to realize how bad they have gotten,” the other woman said with a shrug. “Anyway, that’s what all of this is about. It’s a sort of memorial service, I guess. We all knew Brody. And honestly, not all of the memories are bad. But he wasted our time, and for some of us it was years. I decided us ladies might as well get something good out of knowing him — that’s why I decided to sue the restaurant where he died. The eight of us will split the money, and we can put all thoughts of Brody Beaker far behind us.”
The deli owner felt her blood turn to ice. During the conversation, it had been easy to forget that Paula was the one suing Denise. After that reminder, she didn’t feel anywhere near as badly for the woman as she had just a few seconds ago.
“That’s not fair at all,” she said, her tone sharp. “Suing the Redwood Grill isn’t getting back at Brody — it’s punishing an innocent woman for something she had no part in. The owner of the grill could lose everything if you go through with this.”
“I wasted almost half of my life with that man,” Paula snapped, her eyes flashing. “I’m not going to let him leave me with nothing.”
“Don’t wreck someone else’s life over it,” Moira said. “Hasn’t he caused enough damage? If you go through with this, you’re no better than him.”
“I think you should leave now,” Paula said coldly.
“I’ll show her to the door,” Brenda said, standing up quickly.
Moira followed the woman through the house, fuming. Paula had no right to take everything from Denise just because she felt entitled for some payment for the years she had wasted on her husband. She hoped her friend had a stellar lawyer, and that Paula ended up wasting all of her money on a suit that went nowhere.
“You were there the night he died, weren’t you?” Brenda whispered suddenly, grabbing her arm.
“I was,” Moira said, wincing as the woman’s claw-like fingers dug into her skin. She remembered Brenda’s call suddenly, and the whole reason she had decided to follow the woman. “You called my husband, David Morris. The private investigator.”
Brenda nodded. “I don’t want them to know about this, so I can’t talk for long. But I think the chef that cooked Brody’s food killed him on purpose. He seemed to know Brody personally, and he was rude when he came to our table to warn Brody about the possible allergen contamination. He’s related to Paula, I think — she must have put him up to it. She wanted her husband’s life insurance money. It wasn’t until after she learned that the insurance wouldn’t pay out because he died from his allergy that she came up with this whole lawsuit plot. Please tell your husband to look into it. I know Brody was kind of a slimy guy, but he didn’t deserve to die the way he did.”
With that, Brenda released her arm and a very shocked Moira found herself outside on the cold porch alone.
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
Moira got in her car and started the engine, rubbing her hands together in front of the lukewarm heat coming out of the vents as she thought about what she had just heard. Brenda had been adamant since the beginning that Brody had been murdered. She had obviously been off the mark when she pointed her finger at Denise, but Moira’s gut told her she was on to something this time. David definitely needed to hear about this.
Her phone started ringing even as she reached for it. The caller ID told her that it was Denise. She hesitated for only an instant. Her friend was going through a lot right now; her conversation with David could wait for a few minutes.
“Hello?” she said, fiddling with the thermostat controls with one hand.
“Moira…” the phone made a loud static sound, making the deli owner wince, “… screen is cracked. Glad you answered. I’m at the grill. Need you to…” more static, “…ice… come here yourself.”
“What? I can hardly hear you,” the deli owner said. “What do you need me to do?”
The static increased in volume, but she heard enough to make out the word “hurry.” She had no idea what was going on, but Denise needed her. She wanted her to come by herself — that meant that she probably didn’t want David along for whatever reason. Well, she was already in her car. It wouldn’t take long to swing by the grill and see what was going on.
She was surprised to see that the parking lot was nearly empty when she got there. It was evening, the place should have been busy. Instead, there were only three cars there. Moira parked in the closest spot to the door that she could and got out. She approached the restaurant’s main entrance and pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. Frowning, Moira peered through. It was dark inside the dining area, but she didn’t see her friend.
“Denise?” she called, knocking on the door. Nothing.
Confused, she returned to the warmth of her vehicle and pulled out her phone to redial the number. It went straight to voicemail. Her friend’s phone was either dead, or in an area that didn’t get cell service — which wasn’t that rare of an occurrence in such a small, northern town.
She did say she was at the grill, didn’t she? she wondered. Yes, she must be here; Moira recognized her friend’s car among the small number parked in the lot. Maybe she was in the kitchen cleaning up or experimenting with a new r
ecipe. The deli owner decided to go around to the back of the building and try the delivery entrance.
With a sigh, she got out of the SUV again and shoved her hands in her pockets. It was even colder now that it was dark out. She wanted to be home by the fire, or maybe in a nice, warm bath, but she knew her friend needed her.
She trudged through the snow to the rear entrance and tried the door. It opened, thankfully. She let herself in, shutting the door tightly behind her to keep out the cold. She had never been back here before, and it took her a moment to orient herself. She decided to follow her nose towards the kitchen; that was where her friend would be.
“Denise?” she called out. “Are you here?”
She thought she heard a noise ahead of her, and wondered if her friend was okay. She couldn’t possibly have received more bad news, could she? She heard the noise again; it sounded like muffled crying.
A Side of Murder: Book 18 in The Darling Deli Series Page 6