by V. M. Burns
Joe grinned. “At one point, he denied being in a relationship with anyone, but he must have realized how that sounded, and he backtracked and said he was married and hadn’t been involved in any relationships outside of his marriage.”
“There are plenty of people who know that isn’t true,” Dixie said. “He has to realize you’ll figure out the truth.”
Joe shrugged.
“But didn’t you tell him that his wife actually showed up at the dog show and confronted Naomi Keller in front of you?” I stared at Red. “She told us that he was having an affair with Naomi Keller and that he planned to get divorced.”
“When I told him that, he blanched and said that I must have been confused.”
“You have got to be joking.”
“When he realized that he couldn’t convince me I was wrong, he said his wife must have been confused.”
“He completely threw his wife under the bus,” Joe added.
“He claimed she was ‘high-strung’ and jealous and often got confused.” Red barely had the words out of his mouth before Dixie, Stephanie, and I were ready to pounce.
“High-strung!”
“Don’t shoot the messengers. We’re just reporting what the man said.”
“Why that slimy, bald-faced liar.” Dixie folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “I wish I had been there. I’d have grabbed that little weasel by the short hairs and helped him understand what high-strung really means.”
We glanced at Dixie until she looked up and smiled. “Sorry, but that just burns my biscuits when someone accuses a woman of being high-strung simply because she is passionate.”
“Or, in this case, honest,” Stephanie said. “It’s insulting and belittling and—”
David held up a hand. “We get it. Dixon Vannover is a liar, but they’re just relaying what happened.”
I took a deep breath and turned to Red. “David’s right. What else did he say?”
“That’s pretty much it. He denied having ‘carnal knowledge’ of both Naomi Keller and Brittney Keller.” He used air quotes to indicate the choice of words belonged to Dixon Vannover. “He also threatened to sue me, the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, and anyone who accused him of infidelity if this ‘pack of lies’ made its way into the newspapers.”
“I’d love to see him try,” Stephanie said. “I’d wipe the floor with him.”
Our waitress and two others, all laden with plates, made their way to our table. When the waitress placed Red’s plate in front of him, I knew I was in trouble. His two pancakes covered the entire surface of the plate and were each at least an inch tall.
When the mountain of pancakes was placed in front of me, I was blown away by their size. There was no way I would be able to make the slightest dent in those. I glanced at Red, who smiled. “I tried to warn you.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He chuckled and then switched his plate with mine. He gave me a look that asked, Is that better? I nodded and mouthed, Thank you.
Everything looked and smelled delicious. We took a break from our recaps to dig into our food.
I wasn’t able to finish even one of the two pancakes on my plate. Red fared better and managed to eat about half of the three pancakes. No one managed to eat everything, although Joe came the closest and finished three-quarters of his Belgian waffle.
When the waitress came back to check on us and to find out how we wanted our bills distributed, Dixie handed her a credit card and told her she was paying the entire bill. I was accustomed to Dixie’s generosity, but Red and Joe put up a bit of an argument.
Dixie waved away all protests. “I’m paying for this, and I don’t want any arguments. You’re all here because of me.” She glanced at David, Joe, and Stephanie and choked up. “If I wasn’t under suspicion, Red would have turned this case over to the Chattanooga Police or allowed that troll to arrest whoever he wanted.” She took her napkin and dabbed at her eyes. “Please, let me do this.”
I reached over and gave her arm a squeeze.
She pulled herself together and took a deep breath. “Besides, if you hadn’t noticed, we like to feed people in the South.”
We chuckled. When Dixie had signed her bill, I asked, “What now?”
Red glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work. I need to find out if I’m going to need to issue a warrant to get Dixon Vannover back or if his attorney wants him to voluntarily come in to make a statement.”
Stephanie was going to meet Theodore Jordan at the courthouse. Joe and Dixie had plans to go to the Greyhound rescue. I wanted to go home and change clothes. David said he was headed to Vannover campaign headquarters, which was only a block away from the Vannovers’ house. He offered to take me home so I could change, and then he’d drop me off to talk to June. That meant Dixie wouldn’t have to go out of her way. We made our way to our respective vehicles and set out to tackle our suspects. Normally, Dixie would be teaching obedience on Tuesday nights, but at last night’s meeting, we agreed to forego the class and meet for pizza at my house.
David offered to bring the car up to get me, but I needed the exercise and decided to accompany him. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I enjoyed looking at the older homes in this neighborhood.
It didn’t take long to get home. David let Aggie, Rex, and Lucky out while I changed, which didn’t take long at all. Aggie wasn’t thrilled about the fact that we were leaving again so quickly, but when I pulled out my secret weapon, string cheese, she was attentive. I was amazed at the power a stick of string cheese had on such a little dog. One minute, she was chasing Rex around the house, but now she was sitting by my side, waiting for her cheese. I took the time to cut the cheese into small pieces. Rex and Aggie were small, so the two of them shared half a piece of cheese. Lucky was much bigger, but I didn’t want him to be bound up later, so I cut only a half piece of cheese for him too.
When I was done, Aggie and Rex raced to the bedroom and were standing in their crate, ready for their treat. After I finished, David drove to the Vannover campaign.
Dixon Vannover had rented a small retail store in a strip mall for his campaign headquarters. David turned down a side street to a gated community. Dixie had given me the address last night, so when David pulled up to the gate, he punched in the house numbers, which rang the Vannover intercom.
I recognized June Vannover’s voice. “Mrs. Vannover, it’s Lilly Echosby. We met at the dog show over the weekend. I wanted to check on you and make sure you’re okay.”
“Yes, I remember you. That’s so nice of you.” She quickly gave me directions to her house and then buzzed the gate, which opened to admit us.
David followed her directions and pulled up to a large, Georgian brick home that looked big enough to house a small army. We pulled up the circular driveway.
David gazed up at the McMansion and whistled. “You could fit my entire New York brownstone inside and still have room left over.”
The house was huge. It was a new brick house that was meant to look like an older New England Georgian that had been added onto over the years.
“It’s certainly massive.”
“Do they have a large family?” David asked.
“It’s just the two of them. I suppose they entertain a lot.” I sat and stared at the house. A shiver went down my spine.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” My son looked concerned.
“I’ll be fine. You go to the campaign headquarters and see what you can find.” I got out of the car, closed the door, and marched toward the front door.
I wasn’t intimidated by the size of the house or the gated community. Dixie didn’t live in a gated community, but her house was most likely bigger and more expensive. Yet I couldn’t deny there was something that made me uneasy.
By the time I got to the front door, it was opened by an older woman I assumed
was the housekeeper. She smiled. “Mrs. Vannover is expecting you.”
I stepped into the two-story entry, which had a curved staircase leading to the second floor, hardwood floors, and a wingback chair that looked as though it had never been sat in. The housekeeper led me past a formal living room to a family room at the back of the house. The room was decorated in a monochromatic color scheme with light, almost white, carpet, walls, and furniture. The sofa where June Vannover sat was a rich dark espresso leather that looked worn but comfortable. Despite the cool color palette, the room felt warm and inviting, whether due to the bright pops of color that were placed around the room, including the bright red swag set atop the floor-to-ceiling windows, the bright pillows, and the large fireplace that June Vannover had lit despite the warm day.
“Lilly, what an . . . unexpected surprise.”
Her face, body language, and tone indicated that my unexpected visit wasn’t necessarily a welcome one. Nevertheless, I put a fake smile on my face and thought about Dixie. This was for Dixie. After a few moments of awkward smiles and silence, June caved into good manners and asked me to sit.
She was stretched out on the sofa and didn’t get up, so my seating options were limited. I chose an oversized chair placed near the opposite end of the sofa where she was sitting and perched on the edge.
Now that I was seated, my own good manners required me to start the conversation. “I was worried about you and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Worried? Why on earth would you worry about me?” She flashed a smile that said, Now that my rival for my husband’s affectations is dead, there’s no need to worry about me.
“You were so distressed Saturday when we talked.”
She gazed at me as though she had no recollection of who I was, what I was talking about, or what day of the week it was. June Vannover was a better actress than I gave her credit for because I was almost sure she couldn’t be as clueless as her face indicated.
The housekeeper who had shown me inside returned with a tea tray, which she placed on the coffee table near Mrs. Vannover. June swung her legs down and poured. “I love a good cup of tea. Would you care for one?”
I honestly didn’t want tea, but refusing would only end my visit sooner than I wanted. “I’d love some.”
She handed me the filled cup and poured herself another. We sat sipping tea for a few moments in silence, June Vannover probably thinking she’d successfully convinced me that she was indeed fine, without a care in the world, and me wondering how I could shock her into telling me that her husband had murdered Naomi Keller.
I placed my teacup on a coaster. “June, I’m going to assume by your attitude that now that Naomi Keller is dead, your husband has decided to stay and you feel your marriage is safe, but I can assure you—”
June Vannover leapt to her feet. “I . . . I can’t believe . . . you have no right.”
“You’re right. I have no right to come into your home and poke holes into the fake bubble of lies that you’ve chosen to surround yourself with.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re denying that your husband cheated.”
“Dixon is a wonderful man. He would never do anything so despicable and low.” She leaned forward and pointed her finger. “Just because you weren’t able to keep your own husband satisfied doesn’t mean that other women are in the same boat.” She glared down at me. “I won’t stand by while you make slanderous statements about Dixon intended to ruin his good name and political career.”
I felt the heat rise up my neck, but not because I cared about Albert. I was well over my late husband. If he hadn’t cheated and left me, I would have been stuck in a loveless marriage, and I might never have found happiness in Tennessee with Red. No, I was angry at the smug look on her face when she, of all people, had no right to it. “Don’t you think you should have thought about this before you drove to the dog show, where you were seen and heard screaming at Naomi Keller in front of a crowd of people, including a TBI officer?”
She blanched.
“You told me, in front of witnesses, that your husband was leaving you for Naomi Keller because she was pregnant with his child. Did you know that she wasn’t?”
If I thought her face was pale before, that was nothing to the way it looked now. She went completely white.
“Wasn’t what?” she whispered.
“Pregnant.”
She flopped down onto the sofa and stared up at me. “Are you sure?”
“According to the autopsy, she not only wasn’t pregnant, but she’d had a hysterectomy. So she couldn’t have children.”
June Vannover burst into tears. I sat down next to her and comforted her the best I could. After a few moments, she looked up. “You don’t know . . . what this means. I was so afraid, because of the baby . . . Dixon wanted children but . . . I wanted to adopt, but he didn’t want to raise someone else’s children. The doctors said it was Dixon, but then when Naomi Keller got pregnant, he said it couldn’t have been him.” She sobbed. “We had a horrible fight, and then I followed him to the dog show and—”
Chapter 18
As soon as the words were spoken, she knew she’d blown it and slapped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and frightened. When she was able to speak, she mumbled, “He’s right. I’m a dumb, stupid, idiot who is going to ruin his political career.”
I pulled her hands off her mouth and stared into her eyes. “You are not. You’re not dumb or stupid, and you’re not an idiot. You’re not the one who cheated. You’re not the one who risked ruining a political career by having an adulterous affair. Your only fault is that you love someone who doesn’t respect you.”
She stared at me for several moments and then burst into tears.
The housekeeper came back to see what the ruckus was about.
“Mrs. Vannover has had a bit of a shock. Do you have some brandy?”
She nodded and hurried out of the room. She was back quickly with a tray bearing a crystal decanter and two glasses. She placed them on the coffee table next to the tea tray and hurried out.
I poured some of the amber liquid into the tea and handed it to my hostess.
She gulped it down so quickly I knew this wasn’t her first exposure to spirits. When she finished her brandy-laced tea, she refilled her cup with just the brandy and tossed it back.
I knew she wasn’t ready to hear this truth, but I had to at least try. “You need to tell the police he was there.” She started to shake her head before I finished talking. “You have to tell the truth.”
“I can’t. He’s my husband.” She held a pillow to her chest. “He said I wouldn’t have to. A wife doesn’t have to testify against her husband.”
“That’s only true when it comes to court. He hasn’t been charged with anything. I’m not asking you to testify against him. I’m only asking you to tell the police the truth, that he was at the dog show.” She looked leery. “If he’s innocent, then he has nothing to worry about.”
After a few moments, she glanced at me. “Do you have a job?” She hurried to add, “Outside the home?”
I smiled. “I’m a certified public accountant, a CPA. I work at the Hopewell Museum.”
“You have a career. You know how to do things—support yourself. The only thing I’ve ever been trained to is to be a wife and mother.” She dropped her gaze. “And I couldn’t even do that right.”
It took all of the inner strength I could muster not to grab her shoulders and try to shake some sense into her. Instead, I took a deep breath and chose to shock her out of self-doubt. “If you were tested and your doctor said there’s no reason you can’t have children, then it would seem logical that Dixon is the problem, not you.”
“But he said . . . I mean, he’s so virile . . . and . . .”
“That has nothing to do with it
.” I hoped to get away from talking about Dixon Vannover’s manhood by focusing the conversation in a different direction. I glanced around the room. “You’ve created a lovely home. This room is beautiful. I absolutely love the artwork and pops of color.”
She beamed. “Those are mine.”
“You’re joking. You painted those?”
“I love art.” She got up and walked to the paintings. “These are acrylics, but I’ve been dabbling in watercolors lately.” She picked up a brightly painted vase. “I took a pottery class, which was a lot of fun.” She returned the pot and shrugged. “Dixon didn’t like it. He said art has to be bought from an art dealer.”
“Dixon is wrong. You’re talented. I’m not an expert, but since I started working at the museum, I have learned that art doesn’t have to be expensive.”
She smiled. “Would you like to see more?”
“Absolutely.”
She took me on a tour of the house. Most of the rooms were meticulously decorated and looked as though they belonged in a designer showroom. The living room was picture-perfect, but cold. However, June had always found a way to provide one touch of her own by adding a small pot or miniature picture, giving the rooms life. When we’d finished the grand tour of the six-bedroom, five-bathroom house, she took me outside to her artist’s shed.
“Dixon and I fought over the shed. He said it would look like a hillbilly outhouse.” She smiled. “However, when the neighbors all started getting man caves or she-sheds, then he gave in.”
The exterior of the artist’s shed matched the house, which I guessed was Dixon’s requirement. Inside, the room was a true artist’s studio, with paint, clay, and a pottery wheel and kiln. One side of the shed was all glass sliding doors, providing light and allowing nature into the room. The remaining walls were covered with brightly colored canvases that reminded me of the Caribbean. A large orange cat was curled up on a bench, where a ray of sunlight shone into the room. The cat opened an eye as we entered but must have deemed us unworthy of further consideration and went back to sleep.
June walked over and picked up the cat. “This is Rembrandt.”