“Not exactly.” He drew the words out.
Oh. So this needed to be a special gift, for a very serious conversation.
“Greg,” I said quietly. “How long have you known you were Ashley’s biological father?”
He exhaled slowly. “Merrily was holding the picture, the one in the frame, when I walked into the bookkeeping office about two weeks ago. She stuck it back in her desk like she hadn’t wanted me to see it.” He poked his tongue into his cheek and gave a slight shake of the head. “The picture bugged me. You know my family—we all look alike. The girl looked like Wendy, or how I think my daughter will look when she’s a teenager.”
He shifted his weight slightly, as if he felt boxed in. Good. That might keep him honest.
“After she was killed,” Greg continued, “I had to get her personnel file for the cops. I found the forms designating the beneficiary of her life insurance policy, part of our benefits plan. It’s supposed to be confidential—I’d never seen it. Her sole beneficiary was Ashley Larson, also known as Ashley Thornton. I counted back from the date of birth. It works. I have a daughter I didn’t know about.”
I’d guessed right, both about paternity and about the reason for the gift for his wife.
“Did you tell Bello?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? That will clinch it for him. He’ll be convinced I killed Merrily to keep her quiet. That she was stealing to put pressure on me, get back child support—I don’t know what else.”
“You didn’t know you were the girl’s father before Merrily died.”
“No,” Greg said. “But I’d started to think I might be.”
“A gift might help you break the news to your wife,” I said, “but you’re going to have to tell the detectives, too. And Ashley. She’s on her way here, to join her father.”
“Brad Larson may have raised her,” Greg said swiftly, “but he couldn’t have adopted her. I would not have given up my parental rights. If I’d known …” He trailed off.
I had no doubt that Brad viewed Ashley as his daughter, legally adopted or not.
“I never did believe Merrily stole Sally’s money,” Greg said. “But I’m having a hard time understanding why going to prison pregnant was better than telling me.”
“I suspect that she believed her parents would have insisted she either get married or give the baby up. Despite all her plans for college and a career, she was willing to keep the truth from you so she could keep the baby. We may never know for sure.”
But I did know she’d received a short sentence, allowing her to protect her sister from Cliff Grimes’s threats and keep her baby with her. Though her actions had protected Greg, too, from both a high school marriage and criminal accusations for drug manufacturing.
“One more thing,” I said. “Where were you Sunday afternoon? Not at the basketball tournament.”
His cheeks pinked. He opened his mouth, but we were interrupted before he could speak.
“Hey, you two.” Donna, the owner, bustled out of the back room. “Last call. Need any help?”
I stifled my usual reply—No, thanks, I’m beyond help—and grabbed a bottle of Grand Marnier from the shelf.
“Greg needs a gift to butter up his wife,” I said, a playful tone in my voice. As if anything could ease the pain of telling her he had another child, one he hadn’t known about.
∞
“That is one giant mound of tomatoes,” Adam said as I chopped a fat red slicer from the winter greenhouse at Rainbow Lake Gardens. “What army is going to eat them all?”
“Mom said ‘family dinner.’ Your guess is as good as mine.”
“She does remember that this is our house now, right?”
“Are we too close for you? My family, I mean?” A far cry from his—too far? “Could you please scrub those cucumbers? We need a green salad.”
“No.” He reached for the cuke. “About the family, I mean. Well, maybe. I like the Sunday-afternoon tradition, and you did the cookie party last Sunday. This month is messed up by the wedding and you working extra hours. But twice in one weekend is a bit much, as a regular thing. In the future, I’d like Friday nights to be ours.”
“It’s a date.” I reached for another tomato. “Hey, I talked with Tanner today. He sounds great. Says his blood counts are good and he’s got lots of energy. I’m eager to see him.”
You can tell when someone’s gone still, even without looking.
“Sometimes, I can’t believe you love me.” Adam’s dark eyes filled, and he waved the cucumber at the kitchen we’d designed ourselves. “I can’t believe all this is real.”
“What?” I put down my knife and turned to him. “I am the luckiest girl alive. This smart, gorgeous, funny guy got a thing for me fifteen years ago, and gave me another chance.”
“If you’d actually paid any attention to me back then, I’d have freaked out and run for the hills. You were so out of my league. You still are.”
“Adam, no.” I put one hand on his arm, the other on his chest. “I mean, it’s sweet of you to say that, but I’ve never met anyone as strong and honest and loyal as you. You grew up with nothing, and look what you’ve made of yourself.”
“Right,” he said, in a sarcastic tone. “I’m so loyal, I didn’t want my own brothers to come to our wedding.”
“They’re probably not going to put an M-80 in the toilet at the reception.” Tanner had told me a few tales of the twins’ boyhood pranks. The tomatoes done, I dug out the garlic press and a few cloves. “You left home at eighteen. You’ve changed. Sounds like they have, too.”
“You asked if I think your family is too close. And no, I don’t. I admire it. I see how you became who you are, because of them. But …” His voice trailed off. “Sometimes, I feel such a sense of loss when I see what you grew up with. And I wonder if I can be a decent husband, and a decent dad.”
My eyes teared up. I felt a little selfish, not having grasped what he was feeling, and I took his hands. “Adam, you might doubt yourself, but I don’t doubt you, not for one minute. I know the love and commitment in your heart from the way you treat me, and my family. And Tanner. That’s proof enough.”
I gazed up into those beautiful black-coffee eyes, capable of so much compassion, and my throat went dry. I could never find the words. Adam pulled me close and our arms wrapped around each other and our lips touched, deeply, there in the new-old kitchen that had served up so many meals, so many memories, and if the stars shone, would serve up many more.
“Ciao, bella!” my mother called from the front entry. “We’re here!”
Adam ran his fingers over my bruised face. “Even with a black eye, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. And I will do everything I can to make you happy, always.”
“Me, too,” I whispered.
“Oh, we’re intruding,” my mother said from the kitchen door, a mischievous lilt in her voice.
“It is their house, my dear,” Bill said, teasing.
Adam laughed. “Let me take that, Fresca.” She handed him a tray with something wrapped in dish towels. Bill set a galvanized bucket filled with snow and bottles of white wine on the counter. My mother might send me to the liquor store for emergency after-dinner drinks to go with her dessert, but she chooses the wine herself.
Chiara and her family arrived just as we finished tossing the salad.
A few minutes later, I set a platter of shrimp Florentine over rotilli on the dining room table, next to a giant bowl of green salad. A pair of headlights caught my eye, winding up the long drive from the highway. Not the sheriff, I pleaded silently.
It was, and it wasn’t. It was obvious the moment Kim stood in our doorway, Nick grinning behind her, that Sheriff’s Detective Kim Caldwell was not here on official business. She scanned our faces with a tremulous smile, and I realized how intimidating we might seem, the extended Murphy clan seeing her not as my best friend, the girl they’d known since she and I were ten, or even as a deputy sheriff, but as Ni
ck’s girlfriend. As part of the family in a whole new way.
At least now I knew why Nick had been too busy to help me with the building.
Nick put a hand on the small of Kim’s back and nudged her forward. I threw my arms around her, then him, and led them to the dining room.
My mother reached for the chair at one end of the table and Bill quietly said her name. She slipped into the chair he held out for her instead, leaving the end seats for Adam and me.
We poured wine and passed around the food. As we ate and talked, Landon filled my mother in on the first grade doings. Chiara didn’t eat much, her skin clammy and pale. Kim glowed, and Nick looked, finally, content.
The clink and clatter of silver on plates died down, and my mother cleared her throat. “Erin, darling, Adam, you’ve done wonders with this house. I was a bit concerned about some of the changes—these windows, for example.” She crooked a finger toward the double windows we’d installed at the end of the dining room, framing a section of wall where our Christmas tree stood. “But they’re perfect.”
“They look like they’ve always been there,” Bill added.
“And I owe you an apology,” she said.
“No, you don’t, Mom,” I said.
“I’ve been a hair too possessive about the place.” She spread her hands. “Such as inviting you all to have dinner here. But we’ll have plenty of gatherings at the River House, and I wanted to see all three of you here, in this house, before the big day.”
Her voice trembled, and her gaze settled briefly on Kim, in a welcoming way, before circling around the table. Bill took her hand, and Chiara let out a soft moan and patted her belly.
I glanced at Adam, who gave me that crooked grin I love. Despite her words, my mother would never not see this place as home to the whole family. And why not? We were the third generation to live here. Three makes a tradition.
“Adam, when do I get to call you Uncle?” Landon asked.
“Any time you like, little buddy.”
I started to clear the table, and Kim joined me in the kitchen.
“You okay with this?” she said. “Nick and me, I mean.”
I set the empty salad bowl on the counter. “Are you kidding? I’m thrilled. I wish I could say I saw it coming, but I didn’t, even though I always knew you liked him.”
“Yeah.” Her cheeks reddened. “But then about a month ago, everything changed between us, you know?”
“I know.” We hugged, and I wiped a tear from my eye. “By the way, I hope you have a great dress for the wedding, because I might need a stand-in for my stand-up.”
“Now you know why I didn’t want to investigate your crash,” she said. “That, and the Santa suit thefts turned out to be a front for a drug smuggling ring across three states and two provinces. They hid cocaine in the costumes.”
I gasped. “And I gave you a hard time about it. I’m so sorry.”
“No worries.”
“But about this case. Has Nick told you—” I stopped at the sound of someone in the doorway.
My mother. “Kim, I can’t tell you how happy I am.” They hugged, and the tears ran down my cheeks. “Darling,” Mom said to me. “May I use your broiler?”
I laughed. “Mi casa è tu casa.” That might not be good Italian, but it made the point.
A few minutes later, we were all back at the table with freshly heated lemon-almond tart on our plates. Some of us poured small glasses of Grand Marnier. Chiara had fled to the bathroom—again.
“You made that?” Kim said. “It’s gorgeous.”
“I wanted something besides cookies,” Fresca replied.
“I can never get enough cookies,” Adam said.
My mother gave me a wink. There was one Italian wedding tradition we hadn’t mentioned.
“Erin, I followed up on that list you gave me,” Jason said, changing the subject. “Every supplier Merrily asked Brad about had a name close to that of a company the Building Supply bought from, but not quite the same. And the payments were sent automatically to bank accounts with a routing number I don’t recognize—not a bank around here. It goes back years.”
“Did they all go to the same account?” I asked.
“No. Multiple banks, too.”
Kim’s brow furrowed, her dessert fork hovering midair. “What are you talking about?”
I filled her in. “Merrily figured out that Cary Lenhardt had created false suppliers to redirect money from the Building Supply to himself. He also created fake invoices to account for the purchases.”
She flicked her eyes between us. “You tell Bello?”
“Yeah,” I said, “and he’s on it, but he’s convinced Lenhardt didn’t kill Merrily.”
What if, when Merrily called to ask Brad if he recognized the names of the suppliers she was questioning, he’d spotted a prime reason the thief might kill her—and he’d taken the opportunity, knowing Greg or Lenhardt would be blamed?
But—why? Fear that his wife had left him for her teenage sweetheart seemed far-fetched. A reason to finalize that divorce, sure, but not a reason to kill. I couldn’t fathom a credible motive for Brad Larson. And if his alibi—a weekend of ice dams and burst pipes—didn’t hold water, pun intended, Bello would find out.
You never know, I thought, seeing my brother and my BFF. Some things can be plain as day, right before your eyes, and you never know.
Chiara returned, yellow-green around the gills, and sat down heavily. “This baby can’t come too soon.”
After dessert, Adam invited the guys to head downstairs and check out the new tech set-up. Jason rose to follow him, Landon already out of the room. Nick pushed his chair back.
“Brother, would you stay a moment?” I said, and he stayed put, a question on his face. I refreshed his wineglass. “You and Chiara were good friends in high school with Greg and Wendy Taylor. Holly Thornton was a year behind you, and Merrily a year ahead.”
Nick nodded, long fingers loose around the stem of his glass. “Yeah, we talked about this yesterday.”
“Yes, but Holly told me things today that I’d never heard before. You figure on the edge of them.” Would he want Mom to hear this? I couldn’t help it. Plus, I’d seen how toxic family secrets can be.
I fished the Bijou movie token out of my pocket and pushed it toward him.
After a long moment, in which he had to be very conscious of the deputy sheriff sitting next to him, Nick spoke. “Holly was headed down a dangerous road, with nothing to stop her. It was self-destruction. But then, almost overnight, she changed. After Merrily pled guilty and went to prison.”
“This is what you didn’t want to tell me the other night?” Kim asked. “When Erin called back while I was out of the room, and you said she had questions about the car?”
Nick studied the table, his lips tight. They were going to have to work that one out themselves.
“But that’s all in the past,” I said. “No point bringing it up now. I don’t think it has anything to do with the murder.”
Chiara picked up her water goblet. “Isn’t it strange how different Holly and Merrily were? Both desperately trying to get their parents’ attention, in completely opposite ways.”
“I never thought of it that way,” my mother said. “I figured they were one of those families where one kid follows the rules and the other tests the limits.”
“Have Walt and Taya always been so close?” I asked. “You hardly ever see one without the other.”
“Living in each other’s back pockets,” Bill said. “As the saying goes.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Heidi told me you treated Walt for diabetes. She thinks he wouldn’t be alive if not for you.”
“Acupuncture was a big part of his treatment, for sure,” Bill said. “Taya wanted him off the drugs, and she got her way.”
“Mom knows,” I said, “but did the rest of you know Merrily went to prison pregnant?”
“What? No.” My brother and sister spoke in unison.
Chiara asked my mom, “How did you know?”
“A few years ago, while we were working on a fundraiser, Taya let it slip. I’m sure she thinks of that as her moment of weakness. Holly found out somehow, and thought it would change their minds about writing off Merrily. It was the only time I know of that Walt and Taya disagreed.”
“Who wanted to do what?” Kim asked.
“Walt wanted to reconcile with Merrily and be part of their granddaughter’s life. But Taya insisted she made her own bed, she had to lie in it.” My mother’s jaw tightened. “I told her to stop being so proud.”
“Did she think Cliff Grimes was the father?”
“Yes, of course,” Mom said. “Are you suggesting he isn’t? Wasn’t?”
“Greg Taylor,” Chiara said.
“You knew?” I said. “He swears he never guessed until last week.”
“Not until right now.” Her eyes met mine. “It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? Merrily came back to Jewel Bay to reconcile with the past. All of it.”
“Now the question is, who should tell Sally that Cliff Grimes didn’t have an affair with a teenager?” I asked. “Ashley is coming to town tonight.”
“That man,” my mother said. “If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him.”
I choked back a laugh.
“We can talk to Sally,” she continued, taking Bill’s hand. “I would be happy to ease that woman’s burden.”
We fell silent, and I sipped my wine, relieved, even though we still didn’t know who had killed Merrily Thornton.
Nick reached for the token and played it in his fingers. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it in your secret stash forever ago, up in the homesteader’s shack.” The migrant workers’ shack from the 1930s, when this place had been a bustling cherry orchard. Nick’s hideout. “It made me feel like one of the big kids. It’s time I gave it back.”
He closed it in his palm. “Thanks.”
Twenty-Seven
Bells, bells, bells. The ringing and the singing of the bells.
Why was I dreaming an Edgar Allan Poe poem?
More bells rang, and I emerged from sleep to realize that the first set of bells had been the landline upstairs. The second came from Adam’s cell.
As the Christmas Cookie Crumbles Page 20