“From what we were able to discover,” Jesse added, “apart from being puzzled about the sudden trip, no one seemed unhappy with either Amanda or with their lives in general. And from what we understand, Trisha is about to complete her Associate’s Degree and is engaged to a boy who will be graduating this semester.”
Fisher took a drink of coffee and set his cup down. “Which leaves you with the people here as possible suspects for dispatching Amanda. If anyone actually did, that is, something you have absolutely no proof of. Has anyone other than Bethany even considered it as a possibility?”
“No one we’ve found,” Jesse admitted before switching subjects completely. “What would the walls here be made of?”
“Plaster? Wood?” Fisher’s narrowed gaze held suspicion. “You know old houses better than I do, and unless they’ve done repairs, it wouldn’t be sheetrock. So, why are you asking?”
“Confirmation. I keep thinking of that blood pool on the landing.”
“Head wounds bleed a lot,” he said.
“I know, but tripping on the stairs and falling into the wall, how big a cut would you get? That much blood doesn’t seem reasonable unless someone had a sizeable wound.”
“Are you saying that you think someone bashed her in the head?” Fisher demanded. “Really?”
Vivian tipped her head. “Hmm-m-m.”
“I’m just thinking out loud, that’s all,” Jesse said. “But if she fell from high on the stairs, she would have tumbled and wouldn’t have gone head first into that wall at that same height. And if she tripped at the bottom of the stairs, how did she manage to get all the way across the landing and still hit her head hard enough to do that much damage? That was a lot of blood.”
Vivian shoved her plate away, stood and walked to the window. The first rays of dawn slanted across the tabletop, sharpening the colors in the room.
“She would have hit the wall lower,” Vivian said after a pause. With her back turned, still looking out the window, she went on, “Unless Amanda tripped and fell on the last step, or on the landing itself, she would have hit the wall lower down.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Jesse’s heart pumped with excitement. This was the first concrete thing they had discovered. “We would have to reenact it, but…”
“She would need to have been on the landing, half a body length away and been hurled into the wall with considerable momentum to have impacted like that,” Vivian said, finishing Jesse’s thought.
“She could have tripped on the dog,” Fisher argued.
Jesse shook her head. “She would have been close enough to the wall to catch herself. Or at least to slow her fall. She had to have hit the wall at an angle in order for the blood pool to be where it is.”
“We need to go back to that landing in the light of day,” Vivian said.
Fisher finished his coffee and set the cup and saucer in his empty plate. “And I was so happy to see you two here. I should have known better.”
“Don’t be an old fuddy-duddy, Fisher,” Jesse said. “Your life is about to get exciting.”
“Which is exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter Twenty
The door from the kitchen swung open, and a woman walked into the room. Jesse twisted around for a better view and saw Celeste Landon lift her gaze and stop dead two feet inside the doorway, a glass of milk in one hand and a bowl in the other.
“Oh!”
The word sounded more distressed than surprised, and Jesse’s first reaction was to put the girl at ease.
“I’m sorry,” Jesse said. “Are we intruding on your morning routine?”
“I…uh…well…” Celeste motioned toward the French doors with the bowl of what looked like yogurt and granola. “I’ll just go out to the terrace to eat.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it,” Vivian said in a voice few argued with. “I’m done. I’ll just carry my things into the kitchen, and you can have my spot.” She stacked her cup and saucer onto her plate and picked them up.
Even though there was a fourth chair at the table, Jesse pulled out the chair Vivian had just vacated. “Please. Sit,” she said to the girl who still hovered uncertainly in the doorway. “Viv, why don’t you grab another cup of coffee and take this other chair.”
“Yes, please,” Celeste urged. “I’d feel so much better. I didn’t mean to run anyone off. I’m just in the habit of getting up earlier than everyone else.”
She slowly made her way to the chair Jesse had indicated, and by the time Celeste was seated, Vivian was back.
Fisher stood and pulled out the chair for Vivian. “I’ll bring the coffee pot back with me,” he said as he gathered up his dishes and started toward the kitchen. “Would you like a cup, Miss Landon?”
Celeste looked up and blinked. “Why, Mr. Daniels, what a surprise. I didn’t… When…why…oh, my heavens, you’re the executor, aren’t you?” She rose halfway out of her chair, then remembered herself and sat back down. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. It’s only that, well, Mr. Hardy is…um, well, it’s just that I don’t know him, and it’s so good to see a face I recognize, Mr. Daniels.”
Tears began to roll down the girl’s cheeks. “It’s silly of me, but this is all so terribly upsetting. It’s been like one long nightmare since we got here.”
“I’ll bring the coffee pot,” Fisher repeated and disappeared into the kitchen.
“There, there, dear, we all feel that way.” Jesse put one hand on the girl’s shoulder and patted her arm with the other. “It’s such a shock. We had a meeting scheduled with Amanda the day she left. And we headed here immediately when we heard the news. It’s such a terrible loss. So sad.”
Vivian handed a paper napkin across the table. Jesse took it and pressed it into Celeste’s hand.
The girl mumbled something that might have been thank you, buried her face in the napkin and blew her nose. Jesse quickly found a second napkin and handed it to her.
Fisher returned with a mug in one hand and a half-filled coffee pot in the other. Setting the pot in the middle of the table, he returned to his chair and took a healthy swig from his mug. Jesse half suspected there was more than just coffee in there but didn’t ask.
Celeste Landon’s blonde hair was in a neat French braid, twisted and pinned into a figure eight on the back of her head. With her golden tan and light hazel eyes, she was as fair as her black-haired, brown-eyed brother Frankie was dark. Tall, slim, and toned, Celeste was a clear counterpoint to her mother’s curvaceous shape and to the shorter stature and coloring of both her mother and sibling. Jesse could only assume that Celeste’s coloring and statuesque build were genetic gifts from her father.
Without warning, Celeste heaved a sigh and set the napkins aside. “I’m so sorry. That was rude of me. I…”
Vivian stopped her there. “Grief is never rude, dear. And you have no need to apologize. When someone dies, there should be tears. I understand that you and Amanda were close.”
Celeste nodded. “I spent a lot of time with her when I was growing up. When she wasn’t traveling, of course. But even when she was gone a lot, Amanda liked to spend her springs at home in Myrtle Grove.”
Her expression softened and Celeste’s smile became a laugh. “Amanda always said that springtime was never so exciting anywhere else as it was in Oklahoma. You know, with the weather and all… but I think she really wanted to see everything poking its head up as winter turned to spring. And she never left until we’d harvested the first bunches of lettuce, started pulling radishes and gotten a ripe tomato or two. According to Amanda, once it got hot enough for tomatoes, it was time for her to go.”
In another quicksilver change of mood, Celeste’s green-and-amber eyes filled with tears that trembled at the edge but didn’t spill over. “Of course, once I wasn’t a kid anymore, we lost a lot of our closeness. Amanda didn’t believe in having favorites.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and eat,” Jesse suggested. “I’m sure you’ve got a fu
ll day ahead of you.”
Celeste’s glance darted to Fisher and then dropped to her bowl of yogurt. She lifted her milk glass and drank. Then she stirred the granola into the yogurt and began to eat in earnest. While she chewed, her attention returned to Fisher.
“You are the executor, aren’t you?” she asked after swallowing. “I was right about that?”
“Yes, I am,” Fisher acknowledged.
She took another bite. Careful to keep her lips closed as she chewed, she flashed a quick smile, nodded and swallowed again. “Good. I know that Amanda trusted you, and we certainly need somebody to explain what’s going on. I couldn’t understand a word that attorney was saying yesterday. I can’t believe Amanda didn’t leave anything to anybody but that dog.”
Celeste set her spoon in her bowl and leaned forward, her forearms resting on the edge of the table. “And the bed and breakfast thing… What was that? Amanda always threatened to cut anybody off if they so much as got a boyfriend, so there was no chance of having a normal life. And now we’re all supposed to move up here in the middle of nowhere and be happy living as glorified maids and cooks?”
Jesse flinched and noticed that Fisher looked uncomfortable. Apparently, what some would view as an opportunity, others might see as virtual imprisonment, especially after they’d had a night to think about it.
“Do others feel that way?” Fisher asked.
“How else would anyone feel? This can’t be what Amanda really meant, is it? Nobody ever liked this place but her. There are no stores, no shopping, and no people. You can’t get off of here without a boat or a seaplane. And the water’s too cold to do anything but look at it.”
“A lot of people consider this paradise,” Fisher pointed out. “And there are all kinds of water sports up here—fishing, for instance, and kayaking, paddle boards, whale watching.”
“Look, I’m from Oklahoma. I know this is nice, but it’s not home. And I don’t know if it will ever be. Oh, Lord, I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”
The last word ended in a wail, and Celeste began to cry again. Jesse found it rather alarming that this girl was the one everyone considered to be levelheaded and contented with whatever Amanda wanted. This did not bode well for the reactions of everyone else.
At least Nettie Shoemacher had no desire to leave, and Gordon Pitts seemed to have found his nirvana on this island. Bethany had been on the move since going to work as Amanda Carmichael’s companion, which would indicate that she could adjust to even the most foreign locations. This only left five other people with the potential to be as upset as Celeste seemed to be. Thankfully, four of those were still in Oklahoma.
When Celeste sniffled and raised her head, Fisher handed her another napkin. Again, she mumbled her thanks, blew her nose and dabbed at her swollen eyes.
Her pretty face was puffy and blotched when she looked at Fisher and asked, “Is it true? What Mr. Hardy said yesterday? Is our only choice to stay here and claim part ownership in this place? Or to leave with nothing?”
“Well, to my way of reckoning,” a caustic voice challenged from the doorway, “the whole lot of you have spent your lives suckling from the teat of Mrs. Carmichael’s generosity. And now you have the gall to bellyache when she offers you part ownership in a grand estate like Drake’s Rest?”
Halfway through the speech, Jesse turned in shock to find Mrs. Shoemacher in the doorway, bright patches of red on her otherwise pale cheeks.
“It’s not a gift!” Celeste argued. “It’s one more way to control us, just like she’s been doing our whole lives!”
“See here,” Vivian said, only to be overridden by the housekeeper’s wrath.
“You ungrateful little crybaby!” Nettie Shoemacher shouted. “You didn’t appreciate her, and you don’t appreciate this gift. People will come from all over the world to stay here, you silly girl. This estate was like a fairytale when I first saw it as a child. And with a little effort, it can be again. That was what Amanda wanted for it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. This is your home. You don’t have to move halfway across the country and leave behind everything you’ve ever known.”
“Oh, wa-a-a, poor baby. I’m just happy poor Mrs. Carmichael isn’t here to see your gratitude for her fine gift. She was trying to teach you to stand on your own two feet, and all you can do is whine.”
“Ladies.” Fisher set down the mug of coffee he had been sipping while he watched the argument go back and forth over him like a tennis match. “If I might be allowed to interrupt. Once everyone has had a chance to have breakfast, there will be a meeting to discuss all the various concerns and what the options are.”
“Options?” yet another voice called from the kitchen. “There are no options.” Each word grew louder until Treena Oglethorpe appeared in the doorway. “We all heard the terms of Amanda’s will and the strangling ribbons she tied it up in. And we all know our option…” She paused to wave her hand in the air with a dramatic sweep. “…is to accept the terms or to walk away with nothing.”
“I was under the impression you were planning to contest,” Vivian said, twisting in her chair to face the young woman who was so straight from bed that she still had a pillow crease on her cheek.
With her orange-red hair, ice blue eyes, brows so pale as to be invisible, and milk-white skin, the girl looked nothing like her mother Helen who had plain brown hair and a face tanned by the Oklahoma sun. Standing without makeup, still in her robe and house shoes, Treena’s unadorned features teetered between bland and startlingly beautiful in a ghostly sort of way that made it hard for Jesse to stop staring.
“That remains to be seen. My grandmother is contacting an attorney, and I’m waiting to hear from him.”
“Would that be the same grandmother who abandoned your mother to her fate when she became pregnant with you and your sister?” Vivian asked.
“My grandmother has been very good to me,” Treena answered with a toss of her head. “And her remembrance of that time is very different from my mother’s.”
“And, of course, you trust the woman who had nothing to do with your upbringing.” Vivian’s voice was a soft purr that usually meant she was struggling to control her temper. “Rather than, say, your mother. Or the woman who took your mother in and gave her, and you, and your sister, a home. Those are the ones you choose not to trust?”
“You don’t know anything about my life!” Treena’s skin became, if possible, even paler. The faint, blue thread of a vein throbbed at her temple.
“Perhaps.” Vivian rose and placed her napkin next to her teacup. “But it would seem that neither do you, my dear.” She turned to leave, pausing for an instant to look deeply into the younger woman’s eyes. “Neither do you.”
With that, Vivian swept into the kitchen and out of sight. Jesse’s startled gaze moved to Fisher’s exasperated face. Then she pushed away from the table and hurried after Vivian, whose dramatic exit had brought the room to silence.
“Ten o’clock. In the library.” Behind her Fisher’s words boomed with authority. “All of you.”
By the time Jesse reached the butler’s pantry, Vivian was nowhere in sight, but Fisher had caught up and was right behind her. His hand closed around Jesse’s elbow.
“What a revolting mess,” he muttered. “Where’s Viv?”
“I don’t know. But there’s no need to worry. Is there?” In spite of her brave words, Jesse’s heart pounded.
“Of all people in the world, we don’t have to worry about Vivian,” Fisher assured her. He even managed to sound sincere.
“We have to find her,” Jesse said.
“Yes.”
Fisher still held her elbow as they emerged into the main entry and looked around. Still no Vivian anywhere in sight.
“She never gets upset like that.” Jesse nibbled at her lower lip, then realized what she was doing and forced herself to stop. “Irritating as Treena is, I don’t know why Vivian reacted that way. Something about Amanda’
s death is really bothering her.”
“Perhaps because if someone actually murdered Amanda,” Fisher suggested gently, “it was most likely someone she trusted and had shown great generosity to.”
“Good point.”
“Did I mention that this is a revolting mess?” He slipped his hand down and linked his fingers with hers.
“Good grief, Fisher, what are we going to do? What am I going to do? I have no idea how to fix this.” Jesse squeezed his hand, comforted by the reassuring warmth of his palm against hers.
Fisher tightened his fingers and squeezed back. “We start by figuring out just what the hell went on here. But first, we find Vivian.”
“Right.” There was no need to panic, Jesse reminded herself. Vivian was okay. They would find her.
“I know how you feel.” Fisher’s voice was soft as a whisper. The side of his head touched hers in a reassuring nudge and then withdrew.
“How could you possibly know how I feel? I don’t even know how I feel.” Jesse wasn’t sure if the unbecoming wobble in her voice was fear or petulance. It sounded a lot like petulance to her, but it felt a lot like fear.
Other than her mother, Vivian and Fisher were the only two people left who stretched back over Jesse’s life as far as she could remember. With her grandfather’s death a few years earlier, everyone else was gone.
“You’re scared,” Fisher said. “The day is coming, faster than we’d like, when Vivian won’t be here anymore. And when that day comes, we’ll both have a hole in our lives that nothing’s going to fill. And we’re not either one ready to face that day.”
“Well, that’s blunt.” Jesse stopped and turned to look up at him. She suddenly wanted to laugh and was absolutely positive that she shouldn’t.
“If there are any two people on earth who know all the gnarly bits about each other, Jesse, it’s the two of us. We left polite lies behind us a long time ago.”
Murder on a Silver Sea (Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery Book 3) Page 15