Preston watched Hillary leave and scratched his head. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he felt like he’d missed something. Hillary had been very interested in the case, excited and alive when she spoke to him about it, and he was sure she liked him, judging by how she responded to him.
As soon as he’d changed the subject, she ran away. Maybe she needed to hurry back to the shop—they had been talking for quite some time—but Preston suspected there was more to it than that.
He had never understood women. It was one reason he was still single. Women made no sense to him at all, and he always thought he read one thing when they meant something else. His work was easier. It was ironic, but he could deal with criminals and false leads and missing alibis much better than he could handle any woman. And after something like Reginald’s death, it made him even more unsure.
Women were a mystery Preston knew he could never solve.
6
Rosemary Harbor had something of everything. It had tried to be a tourist location, but there hadn’t been a great rush of tourists since the start. After that, they’d opted to be a retirement town, but too many families with younger kids had moved in. They had a place that catered to the young and old, for those who were bored and those who pursued a career, and Rosemary Harbor was now home to a tight community.
One of the initial tourist attractions was a scenic walking route through botanical gardens with indigenous plant life. It was peaceful and curved around the bottom part of town with hills and benches that catered to both those who wanted a workout and those who wanted to sit and enjoy the view.
Twice a week, Hillary and Annabelle walked or jogged the route, depending on the week they’d had.
“So, when are you going to see Preston again?” Annabelle asked. The two women scurried up a hill, pushing themselves.
“I don’t know. I don’t get the feeling he’s excited about me wanting to get involved with this case.” Hillary had filled Annabelle in on what she’d been thinking after she’d gone to see Preston at the coffee shop. Annabelle had only listened, but Hillary knew that her daughter had put everything away to refer to later. Hillary had also told her what Preston had said about Lauren. “He was so vague about Jessica’s alibi, too. I told you, I think something’s up.”
“I meant, when are you going to see Preston for a date,” Annabelle pushed. She knew her mom had developed a little obsession about the case, but she was on a different track, and she didn’t want the topic to change.
Annabelle glanced at her mother, waiting for her to respond. Hillary hadn’t told her anything about her dinner with Preston the other night. Annabelle suspected it was because of how she had reacted to the whole date thing. Maybe she had overreacted a little, but her father’s death would be a touchy subject for a long time, and she felt that Hillary dating someone new was like forgetting all about him.
“Maybe you should take it slow with him, Mom,” Annabelle said. If her mother insisted on dating, she should at least keep it casual.
Hillary glanced at Annabelle. “I don’t want to date him. At least, not now.”
Annabelle’s steps faltered as she looked at Hillary.
“Are you serious?” she asked.
Hillary nodded. “I like the guy, sure. If things were different, maybe I would consider it. But I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.”
They carried on, keeping up the pace. Annabelle didn’t want to look overjoyed that Hillary wasn’t going after Preston, but it relieved her.
“I think this is good,” she said.
Hillary smiled. She knew Annabelle was happy that she wasn’t thinking about dating right now. She understood her daughter even though they didn’t always see eye to eye.
“What I mean,” Annabelle added, “is that it’s natural to know that you’re not ready yet and to wait.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Hillary said.
“Maybe it’s a good idea not to mess with the perfection of your first marriage, you know? You were lucky to have it so good with Daddy.”
The conversation had gone well until Annabelle said that. Hillary’s back was up the moment she said it.
Hillary stopped walking, and Annabelle paused beside her. “Sweetheart, I know you’re worried about me and I appreciate it. But I am capable of—”
She stopped mid-sentence, spotting someone ahead of them.
“What?” Annabelle asked. “You’re capable of what?”
Hillary shook her head, lifting her hand. “That’s Jessica,” she said.
Annabelle glanced in the direction Hillary was looking and nodded, confirming.
“It looks like it,” she said. “She’s probably out for a walk just like we are.”
“With her focus on her phone?” Jessica’s eyes were glued to her screen. “Some workout. Come on.”
Hillary started walking again, heading down the road at a stiff pace to catch up with Jessica. Annabelle tried to get her to tell her what she was doing, but Hillary just shook her head. She marched ahead, gaining on Jessica.
Hillary was curious about Jessica. Since the conversation with Preston on Monday night about the gift basket exploding, she had been turning it over and over in her mind. The basket had come from her store, and it worried her that she had somehow assisted in the murder. She didn’t know at which point the basket had turned deadly, and it ate at her. What if it had been before it left the shop? What if she was responsible for the death of a man she hardly knew?
A woman had lost her husband. Hillary couldn’t bear the thought that she might have helped something so terrible along. What if she could have done more to stop it from happening? Although, who would have guessed that checking for explosives was the responsibility of a gift basket shop owner?
Hillary was very close to Jessica now, and she looked ahead, marching past Jessica. She bumped against her in passing, but it was enough to knock Jessica’s phone off her hands. Jessica stumbled.
“Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry!” Hillary cried, grabbing onto Jessica to stabilize her before she fell. Annabelle reached for the phone and picked it up, glancing at the screen.
“Are you all right? I was so deep in thought and didn’t notice I was so close to you,” Hillary said.
Jessica nodded. “I’m okay,” she said. Her blond hair was perfect; no gray at the roots, as if the dye job was fresh, not a hair out of place. She wore expensive workout clothes, as if she trained every day, but the outfit looked brand new. Her face had a haunted look to it, out of place against the rest of her body, which had a rich sheen to it. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked like she’d aged overnight.
It was something Hillary could talk to her about. She wouldn’t be rude—losing someone was painful—but maybe Jessica would say something that was useful if Hillary pushed the topic.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Hillary said, and she meant it.
“Thank you,” Jessica said, and the answer was automatic and empty, as if she’d said it a million times.
“You probably get told that a lot. That’s what I struggled with the most, not knowing what to say when people were direct, or handling people that had no idea what to say.”
Jessica blinked at Hillary. Hillary knew that Jessica wanted peace and quiet, that she didn’t want to handle people who wanted to say how sorry they were when they had no idea what it was like. The hardest part for Hillary had been to put on a smile after Matthew died when she’d felt like she would cry forever. The last thing Jessica would want, she guessed, was to talk about it.
And if it were any other situation, Hillary would have respected the woman and given her that. But she was curious about Jessica’s alibi. Hillary wanted to know if she herself had somehow helped the murder along. She wanted to know the facts.
“Have you lost someone?” Jessica asked.
Hillary nodded. “My husband died a few years ago. I know the pain of losing the man you built your world around.”
Jess
ica looked like she would cry. For a recent widow, she held it together very well. “It’s nice to talk to someone who understands what it’s like. So many people tell me they know what I’m going through, but how can they? How can they know what it’s like to go home after a hard day and find your husband dead on the floor?”
Hillary put her hand on Jessica’s shoulder. She felt bad for probing, for trying to find information when this was so hard on Jessica. Her life would never be the same, and she hadn’t had time to prepare herself, to be strong for when it had happened.
“Grief is hard,” Hillary said. “And it’s lonely. I’m so sorry that you have to go through this.”
“Having the police involved doesn’t make it any easier,” Jessica said. “I can’t just lay it to rest, forget about the whole thing and try to keep my head above water. They keep bringing the whole thing up again and again.”
She pressed her fingers to her mouth and swallowed hard. Hillary leaned forward and hugged her. Jessica hesitated a moment before hugging Hillary back, and the two women stood together in the middle of the walkway, holding onto the grief that anchored them both.
Hillary let go and Jessica stepped back, collected and emotionless again. It was an art to do that. It came with being hurt often enough and not being able to show it, Hillary knew. Annabelle handed Jessica her phone.
“Thank you,” Jessica said, looking at Annabelle as if she’d forgotten she was there. She turned the phone around in her hands to check for damage. “I drop this stupid thing all the time.”
Annabelle didn’t know what to say. She’d seen the screen, had a moment to look at it while Hillary spoke to Jessica. The screen was scratched—apparently, she dropped it a lot—but that wasn’t the only thing Annabelle noticed. She folded her arms around herself and paid attention to the conversation.
“I feel horrible that something may have been planted in the gift basket,” Hillary said.
Jessica frowned and looked at Hillary and then at Annabelle.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Hillary glanced at Annabelle, too. Jessica didn’t seem to know what she was talking about. Maybe it was because of the grief—when the world felt like it was falling apart, nothing made sense. But, with the pending investigation, surely Jessica knew the details of the case. Unless Preston hadn’t told her. It was strange to think that Preston would withhold something like this from Jessica, Reginald’s wife.
“Maybe I have it wrong,” Hillary said. “There are so many stories doing the rounds.”
Jessica sighed. “Yes, I think that’s just as bad as everyone asking me if I’m okay. Everyone has some version of what happened, and I don’t know what to believe anymore. Sometimes I think they’re all talking nonsense. Sometimes I’m scared every version is true.”
Hillary nodded. When Matthew had died, they’d lived in Miami. In a big city, there was so much going on, a death wasn’t as talked about as in a place like Rosemary Harbor. There was also nothing to speculate about with her husband’s death, whereas Reginald’s death could very well be murder. Hillary could imagine how much harder it was for Jessica to mourn the loss of her loved one with everyone in her business all the time.
“If I can give you any advice,” Hillary said, “it’s to only focus on today. I know it’s not the same as when my husband died, and it’s much easier said than done, but what got me through was compartmentalizing. The only thing you need to worry about, from the moment you open your eyes, is the next step. And then the next after that, and the next…until you go to bed. That’s the only way you will get through this. Handle only what comes across your path on any day and leave the rest for another day.”
It had gotten her through Matthew’s death, and even though Hillary’s sympathy was to get more answers, she felt like it was her duty to help Jessica somehow, even if it was just with something as small as this. Something Special was her shop, dedicated to making people happy. Who would Hillary be if she didn’t do it in person as well?
“Thank you, Hillary,” Jessica said after she finished. “You can’t imagine how good it is to know that I’m not alone.”
Hillary nodded.
“I’ll let you get back to your workouts,” Jessica said. “I think I’m over walking today.”
She said goodbye to both Hillary and Annabelle before she turned around and walked away from them.
Annabelle turned to Hillary when they were a safe distance away from Jessica to not be overheard.
“That was nice of you, Mom,” she said.
Hillary sighed. “When I see women who struggle like this I’m reminded of what it was like just after your dad died. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”
Annabelle nodded. They’d come a very long way. When Matthew had been diagnosed with cancer, she’d felt like her world was ending and she was sure her mother had felt the same. Somehow, they’d gotten through the chemo, the deterioration, the goodbyes, the death. They had picked themselves up and started a new life.
Jessica still had a long road ahead of her.
Annabelle knew that Hillary had spoken to Jessica intending to find out something about the murder—it was all she spoke about when the two of them were alone. Hillary would never discuss it all in front of Rose, of course. That would be just like posting it on the evening news. But Hillary and Annabelle had both lived their lives in a place where they had learned how to keep secrets.
So, even though she realized her mother’s true intentions with the conversation, Annabelle also knew that Hillary felt sympathy for Jessica and that’s why she was so sweet to her. Owning Something Special was right up Hillary’s alley, Annabelle thought.
“I may have been nice, but we didn’t find out anything worth knowing,” Hillary said with a sigh. “I was hoping Jessica would mention something—anything—that would help us figure out what’s going on. I guess I’m not cut out for this sleuthing.”
Annabelle shook her head. “Sometimes it’s not about what’s being said,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
Annabelle shrugged. “I picked up her phone. While you two were talking, I looked at the screen to make sure it wasn’t cracked, and the calendar app popped open. You know, the way yours does, too?”
Hillary nodded. “It’s frustrating.”
“Well, it’s also lucky, this time. Jessica’s alibi is in the calendar.”
Hillary stopped and stared at Annabelle.
“You know her alibi?” she asked.
Annabelle smiled, looking pleased with herself. “While Reginald was meeting his premature demise through death-by-date-night, Jessica was at a lawyer’s office.”
Hillary swelled with excitement. “That’s something,” she said.
“It is,” Annabelle answered.
“And you figured it out. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Annabelle rolled her eyes at her mother, but she was pleased with what she found out. She was happy Hillary was putting her energy into mystery solving rather than dating, and doing this together was almost a bonding experience. It was good to see her mom this alive again. It had been a while.
7
Hillary was finding out more and more information, and even though she’d never been much of a gossip—at least, not until she moved to Rosemary Harbor—it was getting harder and harder to keep to herself. She had to know who had killed Reginald.
The more she found out, the more she realized it hadn’t been an accident; it had been cold-blooded murder. Reginald Danvers had done something—knowingly or unknowingly—to make someone angry, and he had paid for it with his life.
Hillary tried to put the pieces together. At first, she’d thought it was Lauren. It had been her candle, and she’d had an affair with Reginald. It was a good enough reason for her to want to off him if she discovered Reginald and Jessica were trying to make their marriage work. And then there had been the part where Lauren had tried to skip town after she’d turned dow
n so many opportunities before.
But she had an alibi, and Lauren had turned up as a dead end.
The more Hillary found out, the more curious she got. Who would have wanted Reginald dead? He’d had a string of lovers on the side, so it might have been Jessica herself. But why would she have arranged a date night? Unless it was to kill him.
And then there was that Reginald was the one who had set up the gift basket, which made little sense at all. It didn’t fit into the picture.
In the shop, she talked to Annabelle about it.
“I can’t figure it out,” she said. “Jessica doesn’t seem like she could have done something like this. She’s mourning, and it looks real to me.”
“How do you know it’s real?” Annabelle asked. “What if she’s playing a part? What if she wanted him dead?”
Hillary shook her head. It made little sense—none of it did.
“I wish I knew what she was at the lawyer’s for,” Hillary said.
“I looked it up,” Annabelle said. “It’s the offices of Newmark & Lewis and they handle divorce. They do other things, too, but I doubt Jessica was there for advice on property law.”
Annabelle had done a little digging of her own. It made little sense to her that Jessica would keep quiet about visiting a lawyer unless it had been something that would look bad. And it looked bad, all right. Why would a woman want to divorce her husband if she was in love with him the way she’d led Annabelle and Hillary to believe? Then again, why would she file for divorce if she’d planned on killing him? It made little sense.
“I know Mr. Lewis,” Rose said, coming into the shop. She’d overheard the entire conversation even though Hillary and Annabelle had been trying to whisper. Rose missed nothing, remembered everything, and wasn’t shy to tell people what was on her mind.
“If you ask me,” she added, “that fight they had the night before doesn’t look good, either.”
Hillary and Annabelle both frowned at Rose.
Wine's Up? Page 5