Josiah Reynolds Box Set 4

by Abigail Keam

  “This is costing a pretty penny.”

  “I had my lawyer petition the court to have Meriah psychologically evaluated before she could see Emmeline again.”

  I peered around Matt at Meriah. I was still miffed about my tussle with her and my broken finger. I didn’t want Meriah on the property, but I wasn’t going to make waves at the moment. I could tell Matt was very tense.

  “What did the evaluation say?”

  “Never happened. That slick piece of work over there had the petition thrown out.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Oh, dear, indeed. The only consolation I got was that the visits must be in Lexington and supervised. Your police report on Meriah is the reason the judge agreed to that. Without it, Meriah would have had carte blanche to do as she pleases.”

  “This must be costing Meriah a fortune.”

  “She’s rich, remember. Josiah, I don’t have the money to fight her. I’ve got to find a way to solve this custody issue without spending myself into the poorhouse, but if that is what it takes, I’ll gladly do it.”

  “You should have another witness while Meriah is here. She and her lawyer could say anything they wanted to the court about this visit. I’m sure that’s why he’s here. Let me pull over. I’ll just sit in my car, but at least you’ll have someone on your side if something goes haywire.”

  Matt looked relieved. “You can sit on the porch where it’s cooler.”

  “No, thank you. It might disturb Meriah.”

  Matt glanced back at Meriah playing with Emmeline on a blanket in the yard. “I know you never cared much for Meriah, but she is, in truth, an amazing person. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her help after I was shot. I regret that we are at cross-purposes over Emmeline. Bitterly regret it.”

  “I warned you she might change her mind about Emmeline.”

  “I remember.”

  “If Meriah is such a wonderful person, why didn’t you marry her when you were in California recuperating?”

  “I thought about it, but I realized I was bound to walk away at some point. I hated Los Angeles and missed the Bluegrass.” Matt paused for a moment. “I also missed Franklin.”

  “Then you need to do something about him.”

  “I intend to, as soon as this custody issue is over.”

  “I hope it won’t be too late, Matt. Some people get one chance at love. You are way over your limit.” I didn’t want to talk to Matt anymore, so I rolled up my window and pulled my car over to keep an eye out until Meriah left.

  Matt went back to lean on the limousine.

  I could tell he was thinking about what I had said. I do hope he took it to heart and didn’t throw away his chance at happiness. Whether it be Meriah or Franklin, Matt had to make a decision—and soon.

  34

  Asa handed each man a sealed envelope. “Make sure you hand-deliver these invitations to the person whose name is on the envelope and wait. It is of vital importance that they show up at the time listed on the invitation.”

  “What if they resist?” asked one of the men wearing aviator sunglasses, a black suit, and black tie.

  “You know what to do. Make sure they arrive on time.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they replied in unison.

  35

  I was sitting next to Deliah in the very room where Madison Smythe died. The room had been taped off, but the yellow tape now lay on the floor in a careless mess. Nine chairs were arranged in a circle. So far, Deliah and I were the only ones present.

  Deliah leaned over and whispered, “What’s this all about?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Deliah sniffed the air and turned her nose up as though smelling something unpleasant like cow manure on the bottom of her pointy shoes.

  We sat quietly reflecting until we heard a car pull up. Swiveling, we looked toward the front door, which had been left open. In stomped Zion, looking drained. He paused in the hallway, glanced about, and, upon seeing us, trudged over. “I was told that if I didn’t show up, I’d be arrested.”

  “Some guy appeared at my work and handed me a note saying I had to come. He unnerved me, to say the least,” Deliah commiserated.

  “Josiah?” Zion inquired.

  “I haven’t a clue.” I pulled an invitation out of my purse. “I got the same summons as you two did.”

  “Who’s behind this?” Zion asked.

  “I don’t know.” I did know who was behind this, but I didn’t want to get yelled at by these two, so I played dumb. Wasn’t hard for me.

  Zion took a seat across from us.

  Another car pulled up.

  The three of us waited silently.

  In strode Ashley Moore.

  Upon seeing him, Deliah’s face lit up. She beckoned him to sit beside her. They were whispering to each other, which irritated Zion no end. “What are you two going on about? You’re making more noise than a couple of screeching mockingbirds.”

  “Mind your own business,” Ashley warned.

  “Or what?” Zion countered.

  Realizing that Zion was unnerved by being in the room where Madison had died, I rose and sat beside him.

  Zion barked, “Can you believe those two?”

  “How have you been?”

  Zion confessed, “Mostly drunk since Madison died.”

  “It will get better, I promise.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Another car pulled up in front of Wickliffe Manor.

  Deliah went to the window. “It’s Robin and her husband.”

  Zion said, “I heard she was in the hospital.”

  “They must have released her,” I said.

  “She looks terrible,” Deliah remarked before hurrying into the hallway.

  With his arms around Robin, Peter helped her up the portico steps into the house. They paused momentarily in the hallway, getting their bearings as Zion had done.

  Deliah rushed up to Robin and gave her a big hug. “Oh, Robin, I heard you were in the hospital.”

  Robin, still clinging to her husband and trying to push Deliah away, said, “I was released this morning.”

  “I’m so glad. You look great,” Deliah gushed.

  Zion and I exchanged glances, because Robin did look awful. There were dark circles under her eyes, her skin was the color of gray water, her unwashed hair hung in greasy strands, and she had lost a great deal of weight.

  I leaned over and whispered, “See, things are looking up.”

  “Deliah was always good at comedy,” Zion chimed in.

  I repressed an urge to giggle. I guess it was the absurdity of Deliah’s claim. What I did not find funny was that Ashley stayed in his seat when Robin came in. Wasn’t Robin his birth mother? Why did he not greet her—a woman so obviously ill?

  I saw Robin notice that Ashley was in the parlor, and her face fell when he did not rise to greet her—the jerk.

  Both Zion and I got up and went over to Robin.

  Seeing us, Peter groused, “This is beyond belief.” He handed us the note.

  “We all got one,” Zion confided.

  “I need to take Robin home. She’s not feeling well.”

  Robin shushed Peter. “No, honey. I wanted to come. This must be about Madison.” She looked at me expectantly.

  I nodded. “Sit over here, Robin. Might as well make yourself comfortable.” I extended my hand toward a chair.

  “This better be fast. Robin needs her rest,” Peter growled.

  John walked into the room. Upon seeing Zion, he paused, but then strode over to Robin. “Feeling better, Robin?”

  “Yes, much. I know I don’t look it, but I do feel much better. John, thank you for the beautiful flowers. They were lovely.”

  John bent over and kissed Robin’s hand. “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady.”

  Robin blushed. It was the first hint of color since she had entered in the room.

  “Hi, Peter,” John greeted.

  “Yes, thank you fo
r the flowers. Robin enjoyed them very much,” Peter replied.

  John sat down after greeting Deliah and Ashley while ignoring Zion and me.

  Deliah plopped down next to him, and pretended to be enthralled with whatever John uttered.

  Zion paced the room while I fidgeted impatiently in my seat. I wanted to get this show on the road.

  Hearing footfalls on the grand staircase, everyone grew quiet. Into the parlor walked Franklin with his hands in his pockets. Behind him strode Hunter.

  John jumped up and pointed at Franklin. “What is this about? Why is he here?”

  “Because I asked Franklin to be here, as I did all of you,” Asa said, pushing past the brothers. “Please sit, gentlemen.”

  “I will not!” John complained. “This is unseemly. First, I am accosted by a goon who threatened and forced me to come back to this wretched house. Now I have to share the same room with my wife’s murderer. This is too much. Too much.”

  Unperturbed by his outburst, Asa asked, “Mr. Smythe, don’t you want to know who murdered your wife?”

  “I know who killed my wife. That miserable little man,” John Smythe said, pointing at Franklin.

  Asa claimed, “Actually, Franklin didn’t kill Miss Madison, but the real perpetrator is sitting in this room.”

  “Ridiculous,” scoffed John Smythe. “The police have him dead to rights.”

  “If you want to leave, you may, but I may end up accusing you for the murder of your wife.”

  John drew back, clearly astonished. “I wouldn’t harm Madison. I loved her. Worshipped the ground she walked on.”

  “If you truly loved her, then stick round. That goes for all of you. I’m not going to hold anyone against their will, but the name of the murderer will be revealed in a few minutes,” Asa said.

  “What’s she saying?” Robin asked her husband Peter.

  “I’m not leaving,” stated Zion, who plopped down on a chair with his arms folded. “We all know Franklin didn’t kill Madison. Why would he? John had more motive than any of us.”

  I could tell by the way Zion and John looked at each other, we were going to have to separate those two before this was over.

  John stomped his feet. “How dare you! How dare you!”

  Asa shouted, “BE QUIET!”

  Everyone stopped chattering and gave Asa their full attention.

  “That’s better. Franklin and Hunter, please be seated.”

  Shaking with excitement, Deliah pointed with a forefinger tipped by an extremely long fingernail with blue glitter fingernail polish. “You’re the lady who bought the expensive cookware from me. I got a huge commission.”

  “It’s gratifying that you remember me.” Asa looked around the group. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Asa Reynolds, and I’ve been asked by Franklin’s legal counsel to look into Madison Smythe’s demise.”

  Ashley asked, “Your last name is Reynolds? Are you any relation to Josiah?”

  “She’s my daughter,” I said.

  Ashley guffawed, “Whatever we hear will be a biased rehearsal for the trial. We all know Josiah and Franklin are the best of friends. Of course Josiah’s daughter is going to proclaim Franklin innocent.”

  “Perhaps,” Asa said calmly. “It doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I can prove that a person present in this room murdered Madison Smythe, and that it wasn’t Franklin.”

  Deliah looked downcast. “Then you don’t own a horse farm, do you? You don’t want to act in our little theater group. You lied to me.”

  Bemused at Deliah’s naivety, Asa said, “I’m a troubleshooter. Companies and people with lots of money hire me to take care of problems that are best kept quiet and out of the public eye. Mainly theft and fraud.”

  Ashley spoke up, “So you’re not the police. I don’t know why we’re staying for this charade. This woman has no power over us.” He rose.

  Zion threatened, “Sit down, boy.”

  “This woman has no authority.”

  Zion glared at Ashley. “I’m gonna tell you one more time. Sit down, or I’ll break your skull wide open.” He looked hopefully at Asa, who was standing in the middle of the circle of chairs. “You know who killed Madison?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  Zion threatened, “No one is leaving this room until the lady is finished.”

  “This is just like the play we were going to perform where all the suspects are gathered in Lady Elton’s ballroom, and Detective Weatherby uncovers the real murderer,” Deliah rhapsodized, her eyes bright.

  Disgusted, Hunter spoke up. “This is no play, Miss Deliah. An innocent woman was killed in my house. I want to know who did it and bring him to justice.”

  “Your brother killed my wife. I don’t care what trick this woman is trying to pull,” John snarled.

  “Let’s start with you, Mr. Smythe,” Asa ventured.

  John drew back in his chair. “Me?”

  “You keep insisting Franklin murdered your wife because of the bad blood between them. Let’s start with the evidence, shall we? You filled the goblets that night. Did you fill them from the cranberry juice bottle or the decanter?”

  “Let me think now.”

  “Don’t be cagey, Mr. Smythe. Your police statement said, and I quote, ‘I took the decanter from the refrigerator and filled the goblets already on the table. I placed the decanter on the table as well. I later saw Franklin dusting the table, having removed the decanter and goblets.’”

  “That sounds right. Yes, that’s what I said.”

  “Whose job was it to fill the decanter and goblets?”

  “Franklin’s, I guess.”

  “He was the props manager, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeessss.”

  “It was his job to fill the goblets?”

  John took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.

  Asa asked again, “Whose job was it to fill the decanter and goblets?”

  “Franklin’s.”

  “Had you ever filled the goblets before?”

  “No.”

  “Then why, on the night of your wife’s death, did you take it upon yourself to fill them?”

  Zion suddenly leapt from his chair, wrapping his hands around John’s neck. “You killed her! You killed her!”

  Franklin and Hunter jumped up and pulled Zion away from John, who was gasping for air as he slid to the floor. Hunter shoved Zion into his chair, warning, “Do not move from that seat again.”

  Asa helped John back into his chair. “You’re all right, Mr. Smythe.”

  “I think I need a doctor.”

  “No, you don’t, Mr. Smythe. Let’s continue. Why on this particular night did you fill the goblets?”

  “I wanted to start rehearsal and saw they weren’t filled, so I did it myself. That’s all there was to it. I swear to God, there was no other reason.” He began wheezing. “I do think I need a doctor.”

  “You’re feeling adrenaline kicking in, Mr. Smythe. That’s all. Let’s move on to the script. Where did you get the manuscript for The Murder Trap?”

  “I purchased it from an internet agency that handles copyrighted plays.”

  “Did you have to pay royalties to use the play?”

  “Yes, but the fee was nominal.”

  “So you purchased the right to use The Murder Trap script from an agency?”

  “Correct.”

  “Did you make any changes to the script?”

  “No. I would never do that. The play is good. Doesn’t need any fixing.”

  Asa picked up a copy of the script from a side table and handed it to John. “Is this one of the scripts distributed to the cast?”

  John thumbed through it, coughing now and then. “It’s Madison’s copy. That’s her handwriting in the margins.”

  “It is indeed your wife’s copy. Now, will you turn to page seventeen, please?”

  Deliah took the manuscript from John and opene
d to page seventeen before handing the manuscript back.

  “Are you on page seventeen, Mr. Smythe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you please read out loud the stage instructions for the protagonist, which was played by Miss Madison, as to which goblet she was to drink from.”

  John took out bifocals from a case in his pocket and put the glasses on. Using his finger, he found the passage Asa requested. “It reads that the leading lady is to pick up the goblet from the left.”

  “And you still maintain that nothing was changed from the original manuscript you received from the agency?”

  “I already told you, nothing was changed.”

  Asa picked up two more scripts and handed one to Zion and the other to Ashley. “How do you explain that these scripts have no such instructions regarding which goblet the female protagonist is to drink from? One I purchased from the agency, and the other one downloaded off the internet.”

  Deliah snatched the script from Ashley and flipped through until she came to page seventeen. “There are no such instructions in this rendition of the play. John, did you put those instructions into the script?”

  “Mr. Foley, what about your copy of the script?” Asa asked, walking in a circle with her head bowed.

  Zion threw the heavy, bound script on the floor. “No such instruction in this one either.”

  John remained silent, using the time to carefully consider his answer. Finally, he spoke, “It’s true that I made a few little changes here and there, but Madison was having difficulty remembering stage directions and her lines. I was trying to help, that’s all.”

  “I told you he did it,” Zion accused.

  “Mr. Foley, please restrain yourself,” my daughter said.

  “What motive did I have to kill Madison?” asked John, looking helplessly about the room.

  Zion started to speak, but I pinched him to keep quiet.

  Asa replied, “I can think of two motives: one is money and the other is jealousy. It has been reported to me that it was Miss Madison who held the purse strings, and you had signed a disadvantageous prenup that would leave you penniless if the two of you divorced.”

  “I loved her.”

  “Then there was the fact she was having an affair with someone in this group.”