Bearly Departed

by Meg Macy

  “Not much,” I admitted. “Did they really have an affair?”

  “Cissy saw them having dinner over in Ann Arbor. Why else would Will Taylor take Jenny to the Gandy Dancer? That place is expensive.”

  My parents often celebrated their anniversary there, so I couldn’t deny that. But Jenny Woodley? With her mousy hair, an apron around her waist, weeding in her garden? Will Taylor would be far more tempted by sultry Cissy Davison.

  “Don’t take this wrong, but did Will ever make a move on your sister?”

  Debbie clapped a hand over her mouth. Giggling, or was she shocked? She kept her voice low, although we were the only ones in the shop. “Gosh, yes! Cissy refuses to date married men, though. It’s against her personal code. Did you see her latest selfie?”

  “No.”

  “Here, take a peek. The guy’s a real hottie.” Debbie retrieved her phone, swiped it several times, and then held it out for my perusal. “He’s the new sous chef at Flambé. Gustavo Antonini. Sexy, and such a nice guy. Very sweet.”

  Whoa. I swiped through a dozen selfies of Cissy with her new boyfriend and a few photos showing only him. He had dark curling hair, deep brown eyes, and a smoking-hot body given his sculpted muscles. Gus wore his swim shorts low enough to show off rock-hard abs, while Cissy’s red silk bikini also left nothing to the imagination. On that white sandy beach, I figured they had to be enjoying the Gulf side of Florida.

  “Looks like Siesta Key. How long have they been dating?”

  “About six months. We laughed so hard last Thursday, at Quinn’s Pub. Some guy sent over the bottle of champagne to our table, hoping to pick up Cissy. I usually don’t like the bubbly, but that stuff was great.”

  I decided to throw caution to the wind and pose a question. “Hey, while you ladies were all together that night, didn’t you take a bunch of selfies? I saw one or two. Usually Carolyn posts a dozen or more on Facebook.”

  “Ha, we were all pretty wasted,” Debbie said. “We got to talking, I guess. We all had a tough week.”

  “Talking about Will?”

  “I don’t remember much of it. I had a martini at first, then switched to a Mai Tai. Maybe I should have eaten before starting to booze it up,” she said. “Then, out of the blue, Brian Quinn brought over that bottle of champagne. You should have seen how mad the guy was after we drank it all and then Cissy wouldn’t leave with him. Claimed he had a Mercedes and was new to the area. She blew him off.”

  “A Mercedes?” My stomach knotted at the thought.

  “Yeah. Never saw him before. Gray hair and glasses.” She laughed. “Sometime before eleven o’clock, I felt really sick from mixing drinks.”

  Relieved that Flynn hadn’t been the guy hitting on Cissy Davison, I nodded. While the Davisons had heard about my brief marital adventure and divorce, I had no idea if they ever met my ex. I steered our chat back to the real matter.

  “If she was that drunk, Carolyn must have felt sick and spent a lot of time in the bathroom.”

  “I sure did. But I didn’t see her come in while I was there for over an hour. On that bench, which wasn’t comfortable at all. I was not gonna pass out. Otherwise, someone could have ripped off my purse.” Debbie plucked it from behind the counter, showing off a Dooney & Bourke leather satchel in a lovely pink hydrangea print. “Cost me almost two hundred bucks.”

  “Nice.” I had a purse fetish myself, and I could tell hers wasn’t a knockoff. “But you didn’t see her? What time was that again? Say, right before midnight?”

  “Oh, it had to be eleven or right after when I went to the restroom. I was so woozy. Isabel French brought me some coffee around eleven thirty. I was supposed to be the designated driver, ya know? I always am. But I couldn’t do it that night. Cissy had to drive us all home. Around one o’clock. But Carolyn was the worst I’d ever seen her. Bombed.”

  Huh. She’d been drunk, yet had never gone to the bathroom. My newest theory seemed to make sense—it might have been possible for Carolyn to slip out. Would anyone have noticed? Even for fifteen minutes. Isabel usually opened the Silver Scoop, so she’d be long gone—and lived in Chelsea. I couldn’t take the time to drive all the way there to ask her.

  I headed for the door. “Thanks. See you later.”

  “Sure thing,” Debbie called out. The door banged shut behind me.

  I walked back to the parking lot across the street. Flynn’s Mercedes was gone. Thank goodness. I climbed behind the wheel of my car, wracking my brain. Someone had said that Carolyn went to the restroom. Not Debbie. I snapped my fingers. Devonna Walsh, that was who. She’d said Carolyn rushed off, holding a hand over her mouth, at some point. And Kristen Bloom’s words floated back to me. Kristen, who’d joined the group later and taken a few selfies with her phone. She’d said something that hadn’t hit me at first.

  I thought maybe she’d fallen into the john. . . . That must have meant Carolyn was absent long enough to be noticed. Kristen thought she’d gone off to be sick. Yet Debbie Davison had not seen Carolyn between eleven and midnight.

  The pub’s restroom, the one place Carolyn should have been but wasn’t. How long would it take her to run over to the factory? Had she known Will would be there? Had she planned to murder him and faked being smashed from the start? Did she have the strength to drag her woozy or unconscious husband under the stuffing machine? She must have wanted revenge for his affair.... And that prenup agreement would be another strong motive.

  I pulled out my cell and checked Facebook again. Peered closer at the photos Kristen had uploaded. In one, Carolyn and Debbie sat together, their lips pouting for the camera. Nickie and Isabel laughed over their drinks in another. I went back to the first photo. Was that Carolyn with Debbie, or Cissy? Both had curly blond hair, unless Cissy straightened hers.

  Both had curvy figures, similar facial features, and wore red lipstick. Maybe I was wrong. But maybe that photo had been taken after Carolyn snuck out of the pub. What had Kristen said again? I’d have taken more photos, but my phone died.

  I called Detective Mason’s number, but it went straight to voice mail. Dang. “Hi, it’s Sasha Silverman. I found out a little more about that ‘pity party’ at Quinn’s Pub. Last Thursday night. Call me as soon as you can.”

  After hanging up, I debated sending him a text. Mason could be juggling multiple cases. He might not check his voice mail for several days. I wondered if he’d escorted Vivian home or to her bakery, all while typing with my thumbs.

  Carolyn Taylor may have left pub between 11 and 12 Thu night. Going to ask Qs at her house.

  I set my phone in the car’s vinyl cup holder. Mason wouldn’t be happy if he saw my text. He’d warned me to let the police handle things. But he wasn’t quick enough for my taste; he hadn’t nailed down Teddy Hartman’s alibi, and who knows when he’d get back to me. I couldn’t wait until our business was dead and gone for him to solve the case. I had to find out from the source.

  That meant talking to Carolyn, who might not answer my questions anyway. She might not be home. I might have missed her by now if she’d gone back to her shop.

  But I had to take that chance.

  Chapter 28

  I drove slowly past Kermit Street and turned right on Archibald. Since I’d forgotten my sunglasses, I squinted past the Courthouse Square to Delano Street. Half a mile from the village proper, the Taylors’ colonial residence stood in a row of newer homes set back from the road. The lush oaks before each house had leaves barely stippled with gold and orange. I parked next door at the curb. Carolyn’s car had to be in the attached garage, since the blue compact car on the street in front of her house looked too new. And it didn’t leak oil.

  Delano Street was far from the high school and elementary. No kids played outside. Then again, they might be inside with their video games. One car sped past over the residential speed limit. Was Carolyn at home? Or had I missed her?

  There was only way to find out.

  A few dry leaves scudded over the sidewalk.
The house with its black shutters had two shrubs near the foundation. It looked naked compared to the Holly Jolly Christmas shop with its twinkling lights, red and green sparkly sign, and the excess of merchandise inside. I was surprised by the lack of flowerpots. Not even a petunia or geranium to add color. And I heard loud voices closer to the porch. The door was half-open, and a man and a woman argued beyond the screen.

  I crept alongside the garage. Glanced back at the street—that had to be Glen Woodley’s car, given his voice. If Jenny and Will had an affair, then why would Glen be here talking to Carolyn? Unless . . . I flattened myself against the door’s edge, mere steps from the front porch, and listened. Not that I had to listen hard.

  “—know how much that cost me? Adding on half-price dinners at Flambé across the street, when we already give them a free gourmet breakfast!”

  “You could have given them a ten percent discount instead.”

  “That wasn’t the deal. I had to pay for every meal, even for kids. And I bet Will got a kickback from the owner. They were college friends, after all,” Glen spat out. “I’m gonna lose the bed-and-breakfast due to his stupid advice.”

  “Don’t expect me to save you.” Carolyn’s sour tone reverberated. “I listened to him, too. That was my biggest mistake.”

  “But we’re in a bind—”

  “Quit your whining. I paid you already.”

  “It’s like this.” Glen must have backed closer to the screen, since I saw his shoulder straining the mesh when I took a quick peek. “Sasha Silverman texted Jenny. She wants to know if we saw any cars that night. What if Tyler or Mary Walsh saw me on foot going into the factory?”

  Carolyn snorted. “They could have seen me, too. Don’t worry. They’d have said so by now. I’m not paying you any more, so get that out of your head.”

  “You’re sitting on a huge inheritance! We just need a little more.”

  “No.”

  “I might have to call that detective. Drop a few hints about the real story of what happened. Anonymously, of course.” Glen’s threat got a quick reaction.

  “You scheming son of a—” Carolyn spewed more curses in one string than Uncle Ross at his worst. “Get out!”

  “You tricked me. I didn’t think you wanted to kill him. Just scare him.”

  “I didn’t think you’d chicken out at the last minute.”

  “I need five thousand. That’s all, I won’t ask for more—Hey!” Glen sounded surprised. “There’s no need to get crazy.”

  I figured I’d better sneak off while the going was good. It wouldn’t be easy, though. My SUV was too conspicuous on the wrong side of the house. I couldn’t duck for cover behind any shrubs. If only Glen had parked in the driveway.

  Unfortunately, an old station wagon cruising down the street turned into the driveway and screeched to a stop—hemming me against the garage. Jenny Woodley tossed her loose brown hair over a shoulder, climbed out of the car and slammed the driver’s door.

  “Why are you here, Sasha? What is Glen up to? That’s his car in front.”

  “Shh!”

  “He’s having an affair, isn’t he? With Carolyn,” Jenny snapped. “Revenge doesn’t do any good. I told him I never slept with Will. I swear it.”

  “It doesn’t matter—”

  “It does, too! Just because Will took me to Ann Arbor once for dinner,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know what he wanted. He asked about buying our bed-and-breakfast, and said that he wanted to control everything on Theodore Lane. I turned him down. Called a cab to get home—”

  “Shut up, Jenny!” Before I could move, I heard a loud click behind me. I swiveled to see Glen beside Carolyn. “Damn.”

  “Come inside, both of you,” Carolyn said. She pushed Glen forward, her other hand hidden by a draped newspaper, but I saw the pistol’s muzzle sticking out beneath the pages. “Right now.”

  Jenny’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “Are you that stupid?” Carolyn motioned again with the weapon. “Yeah, Glen said you were dense. Get up here and you won’t get hurt.”

  “Is this a joke? What’s going on?”

  “She’s got a gun, Jenny,” I hissed. “Move.”

  “Get inside.” Glen motioned toward the door. “Do what she says.”

  I shoved Jenny ahead of me. When she stumbled against her husband, I had an urge to run. But the risk of being shot in the back—it wasn’t worth it. I’d bleed out before help could come, if anyone heard at all. Better to go along. Stay quiet, see if one of us could defuse the situation. Jenny and Glen had disappeared inside. I wiped my clammy palms on my shorts and passed Carolyn, ignoring her self-satisfied smirk.

  “Not so smart, are you?”

  “Look, it doesn’t have to be this way—”

  “Cut the crap and get inside.”

  Carolyn prodded me up the steps with a hard jab to my spine. How had this happened? I’d only planned on asking her a few questions. My hand lingered near my pocket, but no bulky cell was there. I’d left it in the car.

  Inside, the stark white décor surprised me. Everything—walls, furniture, carpet—was all white except for a pale gold sofa and two patterned Queen Anne chairs beside the white-painted brick fireplace. Even the lamps were white. The box filled with honey jars from Debbie Davison stood open on a side table, next to a large eight-by-ten wedding photo of Will and Carolyn in a white resin frame. She’d worn a white dress and carried calla lilies. It masked her black heart. She had murdered her husband after all.

  But she couldn’t shoot us. The blood spatter would ruin all this purity.

  Jenny stepped closer to Glen, shivering. “So are you having an affair?” She sounded timid. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Please. Not even if he was the last man on earth,” Carolyn said.

  Glen looked affronted. “I wouldn’t cheat on my wife.”

  “Good for you,” Carolyn sneered. “I’ve had enough of men. My first husband was no prize, either. At least I got enough money to start my business, but Will was a genuine bastard. Besides cheating on me, he kept a secret bank account.”

  “For his drug money,” I said. “We found out he was selling drugs to the kids in Silver Hollow, along with Alan Grant and Pete Fox.”

  Both Glen and Jenny gasped. Carolyn laughed. “Sick, isn’t it? He didn’t have a shred of remorse using your teddy bears in the scheme. Will deserved to die.”

  “No one deserves murder.”

  She didn’t hear me, sailing on with her complaints. “He didn’t think I knew what he was doing! I saw those gym bags in his car. Looked inside once. Even followed him to the park. He always came back empty-handed, though.”

  “Why didn’t you report him to the police?” Jenny asked.

  “I found out about the bank account while he was in New Jersey.” Carolyn waved her gun at me. I deliberately bumped into Jenny, who stepped backward. “Will returned Tuesday, did you know? He shacked up with Vivian that night. Wednesday, too.”

  “And he met with Teddy Hartman,” I said. “He offered to sell our bear pattern, send our production overseas, and then merge with Bears of the Heart, our biggest rival.”

  “Yeah, go figure! Hartman offered him half a million if he could get all that done. That’s why he wanted to celebrate Thursday night, but not with me! He bragged that he was filing for divorce. All this time, I’d been talking with a marriage counselor and thinking we could salvage things. And for what? For him to go off with that bakery bimbo, and leave me behind in the dust! I’m glad he’s dead.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “So you did kill him.”

  “Once he got rid of me, he’d marry that tramp.” Carolyn looked close to tears. “Will paid off a loan she’d taken out after she had to clean up the bakery from the food fight, too. He said it was all my fault. Yeah, right! She suckered him good.”

  “That prenup would prevent you from getting anything after a divorce.”

  “He forced me to sign that.
I wasn’t gonna go empty-handed, not after putting up with him that long—”

  A blast from Carolyn’s pistol deafened me. I’d jumped toward the side table in shock, hitting my knee. Pain shot through my leg. My heart pounded in my chest and ears. Jenny Woodley had fallen over a low ottoman. Glen pulled her to her feet and kicked aside shattered pieces of her cell. Carolyn cursed, but he drowned her out.

  “What the hell, Jenny!”

  “I was calling 9-1-1,” she yelled back. I could barely hear either of them.

  “The next one goes through your head,” Carolyn warned. “I’ve gotten plenty of practice at the shooting range, so don’t try anything else.”

  “You can’t kill us,” Glen said. “It was easy with Will. He was stoned.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for dragging him across the factory for me,” she said. “But I had to manage that stuffing machine myself, since you chickened out.”

  “You helped her?” I stared at Glen, whose face flushed beet red. “So you thought he slept with Jenny. Is that why?”

  “How was I supposed to know he was more interested in buying us out?”

  “Bingo,” Carolyn said. “Will wanted his finger in every pie around here.”

  I faced her. “But you took the biggest risk. Pretending all night you were drunk, and then sneaking out. Someone might have noticed—”

  “No one paid attention. Except you, and you weren’t even there.”

  I hoped someone in the neighborhood had heard the gunshot and not just dismissed it as a car backfiring. “I checked your Facebook timeline and all of your friends’ posts. It was odd that only one or two photos showed up. You love selfies.”

  “Cissy didn’t want photos taken. She hadn’t straightened her hair that night.” Carolyn sniffed. “You know how vain she is. Especially now that she’s got a new man. He’ll be just as bad as Will. Wait and see if I’m right.”

  “So that was her, not you, in the photo Kristen took late that night. I couldn’t tell until today.” My voice cracked and my knees shook. “Glen’s right. You can’t kill three people and get away with it.”