Jonas’s arm shot out and his hand gripped my sleeve. “Don’t go yet—I want to talk to you a second. Let me load Gerald’s hay and I’ll come right in. You can wait in the study where it’s warm.”
Drying my wet clothes by the fireplace sounded good. “Okay,” I said.
I tiptoed inside, carrying my coat into the study to warm it up before I had to leave again.
I perused the book titles on Jonas’s shelves—mostly classics, thrillers, and farm manuals—then I segued over behind his desk. He had quite a few pictures of his parents, as well as old pictures of the farmhouse. He had a picture of him and his older brother, Levi, running a lemonade stand when they were children. Levi had moved to Alaska a few years ago, where he worked on oil rigs and pretty much eschewed human interaction, from what I could tell.
The front door shut and I scuttled over to the couch just as Jonas strode into the room. He walked straight over and dropped to the couch next to me. He placed his calloused hand over both of mine, which were demurely clasped in my lap. “You didn’t have to help us. I could tell you were scared.”
“Was not,” I said childishly.
“You were,” he said, brooking no argument. “You don’t mind living dangerously, do you, Belinda?”
I shook my head.
He leaned back and met my eyes. “According to your mom, you’ve been looking into that girl’s murder. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve found out so far?”
I hesitated, then gave in. If anyone could assimilate the facts into something that made sense, it would be Jonas. He was used to fixing unfixable problems on the farm, so maybe he could take the information I’d gathered and arrange it into something cohesive.
Yet when I finally finished speaking, he made the one suggestion I didn’t want to hear.
Chapter 19
“You need to look at Stone,” Jonas repeated.
He’d listened patiently as I’d rehashed our interviews with Dietrich, Frannie, Father Jesse, and Val. I’d filled him in on all I knew about Margo and her family, as well.
But for some reason, he’d decided to come back around to Stone?
“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing full well what he meant.
“Stone the fifth. He’s the most obvious suspect. She was at his house—probably in his yard—the night she was killed. Stone said he’d wanted to date Margo, but she wasn’t interested.”
“That was a while ago. And why would he lead me all over creation to look for the killer?”
Jonas leaned forward. “Yes, why would he?”
He was probing for an answer, making me dig deeper.
Like a bolt, it hit me. “You mean he’s trying to make himself look innocent—”
“While getting closer to you,” Jonas finished. He rubbed a hand over his shaved head. “You might be next, Belinda. What if this has nothing to do with Margo’s hidden pregnancy and everything to do with Stone being a serial killer?”
I stood and turned my back to Jonas, grabbing my coat from in front of the fire. “I need to go.”
In a heartbeat, he was standing right behind me. He didn’t touch me, but his presence was so strong, he might as well have.
“Don’t run off like this. You know I’m right. You have to keep your distance from Stone Carrington the fifth. He’s already been busted for drunk driving, he can hide behind his wealth and family name, and he’s been using you, Belinda.”
I yanked my hat over my ears in an attempt to muffle not only Jonas, but the accusatory thoughts he’d set loose in my own mind. Stone, a murderer? No way.
“I have to get back,” I said, shoving the honey jars into my deep inside pockets. I fumbled for the cash Mom had sent and thrust the bills toward Jonas, ignoring his suggestion that the honey was a gift. “Thanks for the honey and happy Thanksgiving to you and your mom. Tell her I said hello.”
I clomped out the front door, closing it behind me. Jonas didn’t open it, but as I drove away, I could see his face in the narrow window by the door.
I’d hurt his feelings, but I didn’t care. He’d hurt mine, by suggesting I’d let Stone lead me around on a wild goose chase.
I wasn’t that stupid. Was I?
* * * *
By the time I got back, Mom was asleep on the couch, HGTV blaring in the background. I clicked the TV off and went to look for Katrina. She was curled up next to Tyler, who was still watching the ballgame.
Katrina uncurled and gave me a hug. “Sis! Where’ve you been? Were you at Jonas’s this whole time?”
I nodded, unable to explain. Tears had probably frozen to my cheeks on the way home, but I didn’t care. Jonas Hawthorne was too nosy. Jonas Hawthorne was too cautious. Jonas Hawthorne might be right.
Tyler stood and stretched. “I’m hungry, how about you two?”
Katrina pointed to her stomach. “Always hungry. There’s probably a little mini-Tyler in there.”
Tyler laughed and kissed Katrina’s cheek. “How about I run get some pizzas for tonight? Mom’s wiped out, and Dad’s showering after that house call.”
I’d always thought it was sweet how Tyler spoke about our parents like they were his own mom and dad. Effectively they were, but he didn’t call them “Drew and Leanne,” like he could have.
“Pizza sounds amazing. I’m going to shower and get into some dry clothes,” I said.
Katrina gave me a long look. “Then we can talk.”
Sometimes having a psychologist sister who seemed to see into your brain was rough.
* * * *
Once the pizza was in the house, Mom and Dad materialized and we sat around the farmhouse table to eat and talk. After an hour or two, we moved into the living room and played a few rounds of Trivial Pursuit, which were pretty much dominated by my dad and Tyler.
When our parents started yawning and making their way to bed, Katrina suggested we go to my room to check on the snake. I knew she had no such intent—she wanted to cross-examine me about the day—but I was too tired to argue.
Katrina closed the door behind us. “All night slumber party!” she shouted.
“Are you hopped up on hormones? I’m pooped. Don’t forget, I helped butcher a turkey today,” I said.
“And you visited Jonas,” she said slyly. “Don’t think I couldn’t tell you’d been crying. What in the world happened? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him.”
I grinned. “Of course not. Well, maybe a little. I mean in a different way—”
“Just spit it out,” she said.
I fell face-first into my pillow, turning my head only slightly to say, “He thinks Stone’s a serial killer.”
I expected Katrina to laugh at the implausibility of it all, but she said, “I’d thought of that, too.”
I twisted around and glared at her. “What?”
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re so gullible sometimes, BB. Remember that time you bought into a pyramid scheme?”
“That was a legitimate phone card business,” I retorted.
“Or when we were kids—remember when Mom gave us the huge box from her new oven? We wrote Grandma’s address on the outside, and I told you we were going to mail ourselves to her in Colorado. You totally believed it! You managed to lure Blitz in there—poor bewildered dog—then you poured us a couple of cups of Kool-Aid and got some cookies and you thought we were really shipping out. Mom played along and taped some of the box and dragged it into the living room.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I distinctly remember the tantrum I’d thrown when I’d finally poked my head out and discovered we weren’t even at the post office, much less in transit to Colorado.
Katrina’s voice softened. “So if Stone recognized that about you, he could play on it. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Ugh. Why do you and Jonas have to be so suspicious of everyone?”
Katrina patted my leg. “We all let our experiences shape us to a certain degree. The thing is some look at the rosy side of said experiences, while some see the more...aubergine side.” She laughed. “Dietrich was telling me about his masterpiece portrait of Margo.”
“Oh, mercy.”
“Exactly. I mean, his artwork is good—very fresh and unique—but he talks like he’s in love with himself,” she said.
“Would a guy like that kill someone?”
Katrina raised an eyebrow. “Oh, sure. But what I keep coming back to is what we talked about yesterday. Who was Margo? That’ll give us the answer.”
I sat up, ticking things off on my fingers. “I already told you. Spoiled, loveable, eclectic—”
Katrina placed a hand over mine. “Not her characteristics. I’m wondering what appealed to her. What kind of man would’ve pulled her in? Think about the men she talked to—Father Jesse and Val. Seems like she was more open to them, for whatever reason. But what do they have in common?”
“They’re not wealthy,” I said.
“True...but what I’m seeing is that they’re older. She wasn’t really interested in Dietrich or in Stone, right? Think about it—they’re younger. So what if our Margo had a father complex?”
“Like she wanted to fall for a father figure?” I shook my head. “Kind of a long shot.”
“But not outside the realm of possibility,” Katrina said. “I’ve counseled girls like Margo before. For whatever reason, they crave the love and approval of an older man. Or conversely, they’ll allow older men to take advantage of them—maybe even abuse them—to assuage guilt or sadness. Maybe their dad wanted a son instead of a daughter, or maybe they never felt they lived up to their dad’s standards, that kind of thing.”
I hadn’t met Adam Fenton yet, but I had to admit a father complex might explain some things about Margo.
“So you don’t think it’s Stone the fifth?” I asked hopefully.
She took a slow sip on her water bottle. “I didn’t say that. It’s still wise to watch your back.”
Chapter 20
The sounds of melting snow streaming through the gutters woke me on Thanksgiving morning. I pushed back my curtains to see that the sun was out in full force. Rasputin shifted a bit in his crate, but compared to a week ago, he seemed pretty docile. His last feeding, coupled with his earlier shed cycle, seemed to have worn him out.
I pulled on my nut-brown turtleneck sweater and slim plaid pants and felt a little Audrey Hepburn-esque as I followed the mouthwatering smell of roasting turkey to the kitchen. Today would be hectic and tiring, and I didn’t want to miss a minute of it.
* * * *
I’d forgotten all about used car shopping until Dad brought it up after our meal. A woman at his office had decided to sell her seventeen year-old Volvo, and he’d mentioned I might be interested. I agreed to look at it, hoping it was somewhere within my budget. Dad gave her a call and she said we could come over in an hour.
The car turned out to be more than just practical—it was so pretty, I fell for it immediately. A dark, metallic blue with tan leather seats, I wouldn’t be the least bit embarrassed driving it in Greenwich. Of course, it had some issues, but the owner explained them to Dad and he thought it was a good deal for the price.
I drove my new old car home, pleased as punch to finally have my own wheels. Tyler had to take it for a spin to see if the tires were snow-worthy (they were), and Katrina dug up a few music CDs for my trip home, since it had a CD player.
I’d always named our family cars, so I dubbed this beauty “Bluebell.” I had a feeling Bluebell and I were going to be fast friends.
* * * *
Several hugs and desserts later, Katrina and Tyler headed back to Albany, because they’d scheduled appointments on Friday. I was reluctant to watch my big sis go, knowing she had already slipped into a whole new era of her life.
Since I had my own car, I revised our earlier plans of having Dad drive me back to Greenwich this afternoon. Instead, I kicked back and reveled in having Mom and Dad to myself for a while. Even though Dad watched TV and Mom mostly talked about her need for solar panels, I felt thoroughly loved.
My phone rang around ten thirty, which was rather late for a social call. When I saw it was Stone, I wondered if he’d missed me.
But his first words dispelled that notion. “Something terrible has happened.”
Possibilities of things that could be deemed “terrible” paraded through my head. Val had killed himself. Stone the fourth had beaten up Melly. Ava Fenton had put out a hit on Father Jesse. Stone the fifth was calling me from jail after driving drunk.
Instead, the only words I could manage were, “On Thanksgiving?”
Stone’s voice was dulled, like he was pressing his phone to his face. He gave a sniffle. “She’s dead.”
“What? Who’s dead?” My stomach lurched.
“Frannie. Police are saying she was strangled, too.”
“Oh, no!”
He continued. “Trust me, it gets worse. She was here with us for Thanksgiving. Her parents were vacationing on the Riviera and she wanted a home-cooked meal, she said. I thought she was just trying to get close to me. But once she got here, I could tell she wasn’t herself. She couldn’t sit still, and finally she excused herself to use the restroom. It literally took her forever to return to the table, so Lani went ahead and cleared things for dessert.”
“And?”
“And Frannie came back, all right, but she looked paler than ever.”
“But what happened? When was she killed? Where was she?”
He dropped his voice. “This is where things take an odd turn. Belinda, I hate to say it, but after she left, she was found out in your flowerbed, right near where Margo was.”
I sucked in a breath. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Jacques found her—Mom had asked him to check on the carriage house while you were away.”
He fell silent. I could hear people rustling around in the background. Probably police.
“Obviously, you’re not a suspect.” He was trying to appease me.
“Well, of course I’m not,” I snapped. “I’m in Upstate New York.”
“I know.” His voice grew a little stronger. “If it’s any comfort, they’re saying she must’ve put up a fight. She had some hair in her hand.”
Good for Frannie. I didn’t even have to speculate—I knew why she was killed. She’d remembered something, something that would’ve pointed to the killer. Had she confronted him, I wondered? Was she actually strangled in my back yard or somewhere else?
Stone rambled on about Frannie’s fighting spirit and I was only half-listening until he said, “Mom was wondering if you were coming back soon. The police are crawling everywhere today, but she really wants someone in your house, to keep an eye on things.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Does she want someone in there tonight?”
He took a moment to murmur something to Melly, who must’ve been sitting right behind him. I could hear the desperation in her voice as she answered, “It’s just not safe sitting empty. If she’s not coming back tonight, I’ll have Mrs. Lewis housesit.”
Stone returned to the phone. “She said—”
“I heard. That’ll be fine.” Although I wasn’t super-comfortable with anyone staying in my house, Mrs. Lewis was better than no one.
Stone spoke with Melly again, then said, “Thanks. Mom will give her a call.”
I hung up with Stone, trying to formulate my plan of action. I couldn’t tell my parents about the latest murder or they’d beg me to stay home longer. And I had to get Rasputin back to the city, because Reginald would freak out if he wasn’t there on his return.
I could hole up at Reginald’s place until Sunday, but it could still take weeks or months to find the killer—or t
he police might never find him at all. I couldn’t afford booking a hotel until they nailed the murderer. Anyway, Mrs. Lewis couldn’t stay at my place indefinitely. I needed to be there, to hold down the fort and maybe, if I was honest, to do a little more sleuthing.
Because Jonas was right. It was time for me to face the facts and take a closer look at Stone Carrington the fifth.
Chapter 21
Mom gave me a jar of honey as I left on Friday morning. “It might help your allergies. Just eat some every day.”
I thought it only worked against allergies if it was local honey, but I didn’t mention it. I’d still savor that golden taste of home on my morning toast.
After Rasputin was loaded into Bluebell and goodbyes were said, I pulled out. As I drove onto the main road, I had an impulse to turn left and run by Jonas’s house again so I could offer a proper goodbye. I’d been curt and snippy when I left him, but what he’d suggested had wounded me. I didn’t like people interfering in my relationships, telling me I’d made a poor choice in friends.
More than that, I had to admit Jonas had shattered my illusions. I had believed that Stone the fifth felt something for me, that our attraction was mutual. But if he had been using me, as Jonas and Katrina both suspected he was, I needed to end our snoop sessions and branch out on my own.
Stone claimed he’d lied since he feared I’d suspect him if I knew he’d been interested in Margo. Now I suspected him because of the lies he’d told.
I was thankful we hadn’t rushed into a relationship, although I couldn’t deny I’d harbored feelings for Stone. The man had a level of natural perfection rarely seen, but more importantly, he had acted like a true gentleman at every turn. That impressed me more than his good looks or his wealth ever would. Most people liked him, from Red to Dietrich to Frannie. He had seemed genuinely thankful that I’d joined him in the hunt for Margo’s killer.
Whether it was all an act or not, I wasn’t sure. But I would treat it as such, stepping carefully and not giving away too much.
It was time for gullible Belinda to grow up.
Belinda Blake and the Snake in the Grass Page 12