“Let’s hope the other evidence will lead to an arrest, then.”
In my opinion, Don looked far too pleased with Brad’s comment. I noticed Brad studying Don intently and wondered if his thoughts matched mine.
It was possible that Don had killed his mother in a way that appeared far too messy and public just because it would seem stupid of him to do so. Maybe he wanted it to look like a theft gone wrong . . .
You’re not a detective, Amy, even if you know some investigative techniques. You shouldn’t be speculating on things without facts.
Which meant I needed to discover some actual information. For starters, I could check court records to see whether there were any lawsuits pending against Dr. Donald Virts or anything else that could be adversely affecting his finances. Of course, then I’d have to investigate whether there might be insurance policies or other hidden inheritances that could drive Don to murder Doris. All things I could probably find out with some carefully designed Internet searches and a few conversations.
I unlinked my arm from Sunny’s and forced a smile. “Yes, let’s hope the culprit is found soon. I hate to think of a murderer freely roaming the streets of Taylorsford.”
“Great, hadn’t thought of that,” Sunny said with a shudder.
Brad tapped his chin with one finger. “I honestly doubt anyone else is in danger. This seems like a crime focused on one victim. Although why is baffling.”
“That makes no sense. My mother had no enemies,” Don said. “Maybe it was some nutjob passing through town or something? I’m actually thinking Mom was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
A convenient scenario to suggest if you were a murder. I uncurled my clenched fingers. I really had to stop thinking this way. Just because I didn’t like Don didn’t mean he was a killer.
But it did mean I needed to conduct that research.
“Unlikely.” Brad straightened to his full impressive height. “Is that all you wanted, Dr. Virts? Because I really must ask you to leave now. I am heading out along with Sunny and Amy. My colleague here will guard the perimeter for a few more hours until his relief shows up. I really don’t want him to have to deal with extra folks milling about.”
Don threw up his hands. “All right, all right. I’ll go. Just hope you people will have some real news for me soon.”
“Like I said, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Guess that will have to do for now.” Don turned on his heel and marched toward the parking lot exit. “But just remember this”—he called over his shoulder—“I have plenty of lawyer friends who’d be happy to make a case against the town, the library, the sheriff’s office, or whoever else.”
“Jackass,” Brad said under his breath as Don disappeared. He glanced at Sunny and me. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to the office. I see Sunny’s car, but do you need a ride home, Amy? I can easily drop you off.”
“No, Sunny will take me home.”
“It’s the opposite direction.”
“Sunny doesn’t mind. She picked me up, and you know, ‘Always go home with the one who brought you.’”
I could see my attempt at levity fell as flat as my attempts at biscuits. Hockey pucks were more appetizing. Apparently they would be more appealing than my jokes too, if Brad’s expression was any indication.
“Fine. Good day, then. Thanks for your help.” Brad turned away and began talking shop with the other deputy, leaving Sunny and me to share a conspiratorial glance.
“He wanted to drive you home,” Sunny whispered as we reached her car.
“People in hell want ice water.” I yanked open the passenger-side door.
“Poor guy. At least I gave him a chance.” Sunny settled in behind the wheel. As she leaned forward, her hair veiled her profile but didn’t quite hide her grin.
“And dumped him soon thereafter.”
“True.”
“So why push him on me? Besides, you know I’ve sworn off dating for the foreseeable future.”
“Oh, I know”—Sunny fired up the ignition—“but I bet that’s not going to last.”
I shot her a sharp glance. “Why do you say that?”
Sunny skillfully maneuvered the car around Brad’s cruiser, waving at him as we passed. “Your new neighbor is far too big a temptation.”
“Hah—like he would look at me when you’re available.”
“He was certainly looking the other day.”
“Nonsense.” I stared down at my hands, which for some reason I had clenched in my lap.
“Just saying, you might need to save some of that ice water for yourself.”
I didn’t reply, preferring to flip on the radio and turn up the volume. Fortunately, it was preset to a station that played classic rock, which made Sunny sing along in her loud—and tuneless—voice.
But that was fine. I even joined in, happy to add some harmony even though Sunny kept changing the key.
Chapter Seven
On Sunday, Aunt Lydia always attended services at the local Episcopal church. I occasionally accompanied her but decided to stay home the Sunday after the murder, primarily because I couldn’t face the curious stares and questions I was bound to receive.
Besides, the garden needed weeding.
Remembering Richard’s view, I pulled on a pair of lightweight pants instead of shorts but still threw on a tattered T-shirt and my floppy straw hat.
It was quiet and warm in the garden, and I allowed my thoughts to wander as I pulled clumps of orchard grass from the iris bed. I’d spent much of the previous evening on my laptop, digging through layers of public court documents to see if I could find any evidence against Don Virts, but I had found nothing. As far as I could tell, there’d never been a lawsuit or any legal action leveled against him or his practice. Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t need extra cash for other reasons, but it did puncture my first theory about why he might wish his own mother dead.
As I considered other avenues of research, I paused from time to time to wipe away the salty sweat that trickled from my damp hairline into my eyes. After a particularly stinging episode made me blink away tears, I shoved back my hat and straightened.
A robin, perched on the rim of the concrete birdbath that sat at the center of one of the crossed paths, dipped its beak into the water and flapped its wings before taking off toward the woods. I allowed my gaze to follow the bird’s flight until it disappeared into the mosaic of leaves.
“Hello, Amy,” said a voice off to my left.
I turned on my heel, causing my hat to sail off my head. Richard Muir stood behind the picket fence that separated his property from ours. He held back a spray of pale-pink roses with one hand and lifted his other hand in greeting.
“Richard—hello.” I knelt down to retrieve my straw hat and swiftly stood back up, jamming the hat over my tangled hair.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I was just out doing yard work and saw you and thought . . . Well, I wondered if you might want to take a little break and see what I’ve done with the place.” He motioned toward his house.
“Um, sure, I guess.” I stared at my neighbor, who smiled in return.
“Thought you might be interested. Town history and all.”
I dabbed at the sweat beading on my upper lip with a tissue. “Okay, just give me a minute to swing around to the front yard. No gate here,” I said, pointing at the rose-draped fence before stuffing the tissue in my pants pocket.
“No, wait, I’ll meet you in your garden.” Richard headed for the back edge of his property, which was also swathed in trees.
“But there’s no gate,” I said as he disappeared into the woods.
He reappeared shortly, emerging from the trees on Aunt Lydia’s side of the fence.
I took a few steps toward him. “How did you do that?”
He motioned for me to join him at the edge of the woods. “Didn’t you know the properties are connected?”
“No. Never really wa
ndered into the trees. Too much underbrush back there. But Aunt Lydia likes to allow the area to stay natural. Better for the wild creatures, she says.”
“It is, but apparently at one time, someone tried to tame these woods.” Richard waited until I reached him before turning and heading into the trees. “Watch your step. There is an old path, but it’s pretty overgrown.”
Entering the woods was like diving into deep water. I stumbled once as my eyes adjusted to the dim light filtered through layers of leaves.
“Just follow me.” Richard batted aside a vine blocking the path.
There was a path, which surprised me. I’d visited Aunt Lydia for years, even before living with her, but had never realized the woods were anything but a refuge for the wild creatures who roamed in from the mountains.
“I think maybe this dates back to Daniel Cooper’s time.” Richard turned his head. The jade-tinged light gave his face a mysterious quality that suited his angular features.
“Oh, it’s an arbor!” I exclaimed as I reached his side. Before us, an arched wooden lattice tunnel, silvered with age, groaned under the weight of wisteria.
“Ready to fall down, I’m afraid. I think the vines are the only thing holding it together at this point.”
“It must’ve been beautiful back in the day.” I glanced down the arbor, noticing that the beaten-earth path was clear beneath its vine-laden arched roof. “Look, there are even benches.”
“Yeah, a romantic spot. Can’t you just see Daniel and Eleanora Cooper spooning, as they called it, right here?” Richard’s gray eyes were very bright.
I shook my head. “Maybe. But their story ended so sadly, I don’t like to think about it.”
“Not a fan of tragic love stories? That rules out a lot of ballet and a good bit of contemporary dance too.” Richard grinned and pointed toward the other end of the arbor. “This way, then,” he called out, passing through the arbor in a few long strides. “The path comes out in the woods behind my house. But watch your step.” He turned at the other end of the arbor and held up one hand. “There’s an old well along the path. Covered now, but the boards are rotten. Stay clear of that.”
I walked under the arbor, glancing up once as a breeze stirred the wisteria and the old wood groaned. I quickened my pace to reach Richard.
“So where’s this well?”
He pointed to his right. “Just off the path, there.”
I glanced at what looked like pieces of weathered lumber. As I peered closer, I could tell the boards covered a short stack of stones poking out of the ground.
Something about that circle of stones covered by rotting planks made me shiver. I rubbed my upper arms. “That was Daniel Cooper’s well?”
“No, older than that.” Richard held back a spray of blackberry vines, his fingers carefully placed to avoid the thorns, so that I could walk out of the woods. “I’m using Daniel’s newer well. Had the pump upgraded, of course.”
“Can’t you get town water service? Aunt Lydia does.”
“I could, and actually Great-Uncle Paul had the house hooked up to the town system, but I decided if I had access to a well, why not use it? Why pay an extra bill?” Richard strode past me, crossing from the woods onto his short-cropped lawn.
I blinked rapidly and pulled my hat down on my forehead as I stepped out of the shady trees. The sudden blaze of sunlight was blinding. “Wait, you have another well? So what was that old one for?”
Richard waited for me to join him before walking toward the back of his house. “Not really sure. My well was apparently dug when the house was built back in 1923. That old one is dry, as far as I know. I need to have it filled in and permanently covered over.” He lifted his hands. “It’s on the never-ending list of things to do.”
“I see.” I stared at the back porch of the farmhouse. “You had that built, didn’t you? I remember just a crumbling stoop.”
“Yeah. Come, I’ll show you the rest.”
I trailed him up the few steps and onto the back porch, which was light and airy but devoid of any furniture.
“I need to buy some things,” Richard said, opening the back door into the house. “I was thinking wicker.”
“That would work.” As I stepped through the door, a blast of cool air greeted me. “You put in central air?”
“Didn’t care for those window units sticking out all over.” Richard flicked on a light switch. “Kitchen,” he said, although it was obvious.
He had opted for a style that paid homage to the farmhouse’s roots—beadboard cabinetry with simple pewter pulls and built-ins that mimicked the stand-alone kitchen furniture of the early twentieth century. Soapstone countertops and an old oak kitchen table instead of an island completed the look.
“Nice.” I pulled off my hat and gripped it with both hands. “Did you have a designer?”
“Nope, just me and Google”—he grinned—“and a library book or two.”
“Well, good job.” I bit the inside of my mouth. Good job? Sounds like praising a dog, you idiot.
But Richard didn’t seem bothered by my flippant words. He led the way out of the kitchen. “Hall and staircase like in your house, only not quite so grand. A bathroom to your right. I had that added, of course. Back in the day, they seemed to think one per house was enough.”
“Upgrade from an outhouse.” I glanced into the simple but elegant half bath.
“True enough. On your left, storage closet with laundry—also added—and . . . now the front room. A little different, as you see.”
I stepped into what had probably been a parlor and a bedroom separated by a continuation of the hall. But the hall had been obliterated. The front door opened immediately upon one large room.
“Very different,” I said.
Part of the space was set up as a living room with the usual components—a sofa, some chairs and end tables, a bookcase, and a large television hanging on the wall above a rack of audiovisual equipment. But that only comprised one-third of the room. The rest was an area devoid of furniture with a floor of smooth wood planks. The one solid wall was covered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A ballet barre ran the entire length of the mirrors. On the far wall, under one of the windows, a sophisticated audio system was housed in a plain wooden rack.
“A dance studio?”
He shrugged. “I know it doesn’t match the house, but I need a place to practice. I have a studio at the university, but as Sunny observed, it is a bit of a drive. I needed a place to dance every day whether I was teaching or not.”
“It is unusual.”
“But it works for me. Thank goodness for tall ceilings in these old houses. Wouldn’t have been much use otherwise.”
“So all the bedrooms are upstairs?”
“Yeah, would you like to see?”
Richard asked this quite innocently, but I took a step back. “Maybe some other time.”
“Not that spectacular, really. Just three rooms and two bathrooms. I live here alone, so even that seemed excessive, but my contractor suggested it. Planning for the future and all that.” He kicked off his sneakers and walked onto the gleaming wooden planks. “Of course, the biggest expense was the floor.”
“A sprung dance floor?” I asked, remembering this detail from my time at Clarion.
“Cost a small fortune. But necessary if I want to do any real work in here.” Richard executed a simple but elegant movement that brought to mind one of Charles’s impromptu lectures while we had watched a dance performance on television. Pas des cat or something. No, pas des chat. That was it.
“You still dance?”
“Of course. I will always dance. I may not always perform, but I will always dance.”
“You must love it.”
“Always have.” Richard smiled and turned in some sort of spin—a beautiful movement that made my mouth fall open.
“How the hell do you do that?”
“Practice. Lots of practice.”
I shook my head. “I could prac
tice from now to the end of days and not be able to do that. But then, I am the world’s worst dancer.”
“I doubt it,” Richard said.
“Oh, trust me, it’s true.” I dropped my hat on a side table and leaned against the back of one of the living room armchairs. “So dance has always been your passion?”
Richard walked toward me. “Yeah, and the reason I need to prove Eleanora Cooper’s innocence. For my great-uncle’s sake.”
“How are those two things connected?”
Richard moved next to me. “Well, without him, I’d never have become a dancer.”
“Really?” I took two steps to the left and turned to face him. “But he didn’t have anything to do with the dance world, did he?”
“No.” A little smile tugged the corners of Richard’s mouth as he met my gaze. “But you see, my parents never wanted me to study dance. My father thinks it isn’t . . . ‘manly’ enough, and my mother always supports my father’s opinions. Or says she does, anyway.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “So they’d never have paid for lessons, or taken me to them, or anything, except they had to.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Had to?”
“Remember me mentioning that I only visited Great-Uncle Paul once, right before he died? And I didn’t recall much because I was only four? Well, my dad’s sister, Carol, tagged along on the visit, and she told me all about it later. Apparently, Great-Uncle Paul put on some music during the visit, and while the adults were chatting, I started dancing. Jumping around like dancers I’d seen on TV, anyway.” Richard smiled at this memory. “My mom loved old musicals and television variety shows, so I’d seen people dancing in those. Apparently I liked to imitate them. Drove my dad nuts. Anyway, Paul saw what I was doing and asked me if I wanted to be a dancer when I grew up, and Aunt Carol claims I very enthusiastically said I did.”
“Your dad must’ve hated that.”
“He did and, according to Aunt Carol, brushed the whole thing off. Until Paul’s lawyers told him that Mom would only inherit her uncle’s money and property if my parents followed certain stipulations in his will.”
“He left money to you for dance lessons, I bet.”
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