by Beth Byers
Simon must have woken because he joined me in the darkened kitchen where I was skipping through Gertrude’s life and, from her, to Kylie and then Kylie’s children. When Simon took my hand, I was looking through the grandchildren’s pictures. Most of them were security conscious enough to have their pages blocked, but I could still see profile pictures on a lot of them. It wasn’t a lot of information, but interesting all the same.
“Hey,” he said, setting his chin on my shoulder to look see what I was doing on the iPad.
He was entirely unsurprised when he saw me looking at the Longman family. The girl who had spoken to me about her grandpa had been Heather Longman. She went to high school in Gresham and seemed to have spent a lot of time with her grandpa until about a year ago. I showed Simon the screenshot I’d taken of Keith Longman and then Margaret’s son George.
“Those eyes,” Simon said before I had to point it out.
“I think he’s in his late 30s, like us,” I said to Simon.
“That’s a long time to have a secret relationship with your sister’s husband,” Simon said.
“From what I can tell,” I flicked to the screenshot of Hank Parsons’ funeral program, “Keith and Margaret didn’t get together officially until after this. Looks to me like, Hank died about two years ago. Margaret and Keith…” I flicked to the wedding picture, “married about a year ago. And this is the first family reunion that has happened since then.”
Again, I flicked to the screen shot from about 5 years ago with a family reunion showing Margaret and Hank together and Keith and Kylie together. The children and grandchildren were all lined up and George Parsons, aka Keith’s likely son, was standing next to his cousin-brother, one of Kylie’s kids.
“The resemblance between these two is astounding,” Simon said. “There’s not really any question they’re related.”
I zoomed in on their faces and sighed, “Especially since they look so much like Keith. It would maybe be questionable if they looked like their mothers.”
“But they don’t. Hardly at all.”
Simon tangled his fingers with mine and took a sip of my tea. “You need rest,” he said.
“I was having nightmares,” I admitted.
“About the fire?”
I hesitated, because I didn’t want to worry him. But I also couldn’t lie to him, so I said, “No. About someone poisoning you.”
His mouth twitched, and I could see that he was both touched and worried. “I love you, Rose. No one is taking me away.”
I didn’t tell him how I’d been thinking that we didn’t get to vote on being murdered. Or even when our time was over. I was greedy for time. Time with Simon. The idea of losing him, now that I’d finally found him was terrible. I wasn’t sure that I believed in the idea that it was better to have loved and lost. I remembered too well what it was like before I had loved anyone and I’d been bored but content.
Now…now that things had changed and I loved, my life was richer beyond belief. I would, however, be destroyed if anyone took Simon from me.
“I love you too, Simon,” I said. We went back upstairs and I tried to sleep. I wasn’t able to though. I couldn’t help but think of all the people I’d seen die since coming to Silver Falls. We really did need a break, I thought. We were, all of us, exhausted. Zee and Carver, me and Simon, even Az though he tended to the diner and watched from the outskirts. He was tired of it all too, I thought. We needed to take a break and get some sleep and have a period of time where we weren’t worried about being snatched away from each other. Because if murderers taught you anything, it was that your happiness could be over in a second. One stab of a knife, one sip of the wrong cup, one push from a window, one light of a match, and it could all be taken away.
* * * * *
I went in for a breathing treatment not because I really needed one, but because Simon wanted me to have one or at least be checked out before we went back to our house with the possibility of paint fumes. I bet it was fine. If anything, I bet that Az had left the windows open, had fans running, and it was better aired than it had been since I’d moved in.
Jane squeezed me in before her lunch, so we could eat together.
“It’s not a great idea to get too used to these treatments,” Jane said. “Your lungs need to be able to function without steroids.”
“Simon is worried,” I said. “He wants to be sure it’s ok before we go home since I he hired Az to paint while we were gone.”
“Are there still fumes?”
I shrugged and then said, “I seriously doubt it. But Simon will overreact if I have a coughing fit when we get there. Az is pretty protective, so I bet no.”
Jane grinned and then said, “Az does treat you like his little sister.”
He had just been the cook when I’d purchased The 2nd Chance Diner, but he’d also been the first of the staff to accept me and help me with my vision. He’d also become one of my closest friends. There was something about cooking together every day and playing with recipes that had switched us from coworkers to friends to near-siblings.
Probably because Az also didn’t have much of a family beyond The 2nd Chance Diner. His only brother had lived in Silver Falls when we’d arrived, but when he’d gotten caught up in the first murder investigation, it became apparent that his brother was here illegally from Jamaica. He’d taken off before he got deported, and we were working on either getting him in the United States legally or at least in Canada, so it would be easier for them to be close. Vancouver B.C. was a short flight or a mere days drive.
“He’s working on buying property, so Simon has Az doing a bunch of stuff at our place. Especially since the fire. I want to paint, but…”
“But you can’t,” Jane told me seriously. Her hair was pulled back in a chignon, and she watched me with eyes that matched Simon’s. Not surprising since they were cousins.
“You and Simon have the same color eyes,” I told her, thinking of Margaret’s son and Keith.
“Well, so did our moms,” Jane said. Her gaze darted over my face and then she asked, “Does this have to do with the murder?”
I nodded and told her about the eye color of Keith and George Parsons, Margaret’s son. Jane looked at the picture and then admitted, “With such an unusual eye color, it seems pretty unlikely that George’s father is anyone other than Keith.”
She glanced away, looking uncomfortable and I realized how insensitive I was being. When Jane and I were just becoming friends, I’d learned that she had an affair while she and her husband were separated for work. Her husband didn’t know that their youngest son wasn’t his biologically. Jane had been blackmailed over it, and I knew she still wrestled with telling her husband. She was convinced that their marriage would be over, and I wasn’t sure she was wrong.
I still felt like both her husband and her son deserved to know. Jane, I was pretty sure, felt the same. She just hadn’t found the courage to act on it. And in moments like these, I couldn’t blame her. Margaret’s situation had led to her murder.
“I need to tell him,” Jane said, under her breath. “I know I do. He knows something is up. I can’t…act…like I did before. Before, I just tucked it away and pretended, and I started to believe my own lie. Now…”
I couldn’t tell her what to do, and I wouldn’t. She was my friend either way. It made me realize that Margaret’s situation was complicated as well. It was different, more extreme. Jane had legitimately only cheated for a short time, not over decades. Her husband had been out of town, and the person she cheated with had not been his brother.
It was ugly, but it wasn’t quite the same thing. The correlation was there, though, and I could see that Jane felt it. I felt it for her. I wanted to comfort her, but I wasn’t going to pretend that I didn’t think her history wasn’t wrong.
What a mess. What a mess we make of our lives. Even smart and kind people like Jane. Probably like Margaret.
Chapter 9
“Hey,” Zee said as I answer
ed the phone. I was standing in the backyard, under the massive evergreen trees watching the dogs play. Mama Dog was chasing a ball while Daisy and Duke were sniffing around at the edge of the fenced area. They howled here and there at the scent of squirrels. Seeing as how our property was surrounded by state forests, there could really be anything in the trees. I preferred to assume squirrels. Though a cougar, bobcat, or even a black bear wasn’t out of the realm on possibility. We saw deer all the time, elk often enough, and once in a blue moon, we saw something like a fox or one of the big predators. Mostly, we just saw signs of the big predators and that was how I preferred it.
My fear for the dogs was why we kept them inside unless we were out with them. I wasn’t sure Simon agreed we needed to be so careful during the day, but he indulged me all the same. The puppies were chasing each other through the grass, yipping up a storm while Simon’s ancient lab lay in the sun on the porch.
“Hey,” I said, grabbing a stick to throw for the pups. Two of them reached it at the same time, and the game of fetch became a squeaky game of tug of war.
“What are you doing?”
“Playing with the dogs, considering making some soup.”
“Az made you a big pot today at work and left it in your fridge when he took the dogs out,” Zee said.
“Of course he did,” I said.
“He also brought over some new flavors of tea, I got you at the boutique. Try ‘em out. Let me know if I should get more.”
“You guys…” I trailed off since I knew that neither of them really wanted me to make a big deal of how well they were taking care of me since the fire.
“Shut it,” Zee said. “So, I went over to the cottages and invited Kylie Longman over to The 2nd Chance Diner. I thought you might want to come.”
“How?” I asked even as I whistled for the dogs to bring them back inside.
“I’m convincing,” Zee said, “And I might have lied to her a little.”
I shook my head, but I was going to go anyway. I was going to tell Simon about it too. I didn’t want to find myself near death again because I’d gotten wrapped up in something I shouldn’t. I glanced at my watch and then added, “Have Az stay, if he wants, and I’ll pay him OT.”
“You afraid?”
“I can’t breathe from being stupidly sure that I’d be ok last time. Better to be safe.”
“Besides, Az is getting really close to enough for his property. He’ll love having his own place that is his to upgrade and tinker around.”
I took the dogs inside, changed into fresh jeans and a t-shirt since I’d come home and put my pajamas on, and then I put the soup in the crockpot to warm. I messaged Simon what I was doing and suggested he grab a loaf of bread or rolls for dinner and then got into my car. It had been a while since I’d driven since everyone had been so careful of me lately, but she started right up.
My pretty little Subaru dealt with the rain and occasional snow without a problem and made traversing over the gravel roads up by our place easy. I drove down to The 2nd Chance Diner and parked in the lot in the back. When I went in through the backdoor, Az was in the kitchen. I could see he’d already prepped for the next day with a quick glance.
“What ya doing?”
He was stirring a bowl of batter and said, “I was trying to make banana snickerdoodle pancakes.”
“Oooh,” I leaned into the batter and sniffed it and then thanked him for the soup. “Is she here yet?”
Az shook his head. “She’s late, but Zee is convinced she’ll come.”
I figured Zee was probably right. She was near-magical in her capacity to manipulate people. I watched Az make the pancakes and suggested that we served them with cinnamon whipped cream if they turned out ok. I loved pancakes and waffles far more than I should. Since I’d come to The 2nd Chance Diner, me and Az had played with variations endlessly, and it had become so much fun.
“I have cookies in the oven for tomorrow,” Az said. “And the chicken fried steaks prepped for frying. Zee did the cakes and the pies, so you don’t need to come in early. It would be better if you didn’t come until after 9:00 am.”
He didn’t meet my gaze, so I knew he was trying to manipulate me but not get caught at manipulating me. I wasn’t going to argue. If I had learned anything the last few days of resting, it was that I needed the rest.
“I’m not coming in,” I told him. Simon said that Margaret’s children were driving in together the next day to meet with the police and take their mom home. I intended to be at the police station when they got there. I knew that Carver would never let me in the official interview, but I might get one of them to talk to me while they separate the kids out to speak with individually.
I wouldn’t even be surprised if Carver deliberately overlooked me. Sometimes, it was way easier to get information when you were just a comforting ear than an official inquiry.
“Oh?”
“I’m going to sleep in, rearrange my bedroom with the new stuff, and meet Margaret’s children.”
“Not alone?” The snip of concern warmed me, and I agreed, “Not alone.”
The bell over the door rang, and I looked up to see a woman who looked a lot like Margaret come into the diner. If I’d seen Kylie at the tearoom, I didn’t recognize her now. I did, however, recognize her from the slew of pictures I’d examined of her and her family on Facebook.
“Hello,” Zee said. She had prepared a table, and I went out of the kitchen and joined them.
I sat down and let Zee introduce me, Kylie nodded once and then said, “You said you had some information for me about my sister.”
I flinched internally at that. We didn’t have anything, and Kylie had to suspect it.
“This is all very irregular,” Kylie added when neither of us said anything.
Zee nudged me as if telling me to take over when I wasn’t sure what to say. I fumbled for a second and then said, “Um. So.”
Kylie’s gaze narrowed on me, and I just decided to throw it all out there, “Listen…a member of your family killed Margaret.”
Kylie’s face spread into a sheet of nothing. She leaned back and it looked as if she were about to scoot out, but she didn’t quite do it.
“I was there when Margaret died,” I said. And because I was angry about the death and the insanity of this family I added, “I watched her puke up the poison, I watched her seize and shake, and I watched your ex-husband beg her not to die.”
I felt like a monster as I added, “She was your sister, and she did you wrong, but did she deserve to miss out on her grandchildren’s lives? Did she deserve to die in pain? Surely not.”
Kylie pressed her lips together as she strived to not react to what I was saying.
“She slept with my husband. Mine.”
I nodded and then I took her hand, gently and said, “There is no part of me that thinks that is ok.”
A tear rolled down Kylie’s face and she said, “She had a baby with him.” Kylie was openly crying now, and I was a monster for dumping lemon juice in all of her pain.
“It wasn’t right. What she and Keith did to you.” My voice was so very gentle. My hand squeezed lightly, and I tried to convey that I was on her side. Even if she was the murderer, I was on her side as far as what Margaret and Keith had done.
“It wasn’t,” I said. I wanted her to believe that I cared, and I did, but I also cared very much that Margaret died.
“I didn’t kill my sister,” Kylie said. Her gaze didn’t meet mine as she said it. Did I think she had killed Margaret? I thought she might have.
“Who else was in the tearoom?”
Kylie’s face smoothed into nothing, and I was fully convinced that she knew exactly who killed Margaret.
“This can’t just be left hanging, Kylie. Whoever killed Margaret…that can’t just…”
Kylie stood at that. She said, “I don’t know why I came here. You aren’t going to make me help you by telling me how wrong it was for Margaret to die. You think I don’
t know? You think I haven’t spent the last few days remembering laying in the bed with her on Christmas Eve? Or helping her learn to ride her bike? Or being with her when she got married? Or holding her hand while she had her first baby? Any of it? She was my sister!”
I felt like a monster yet again. A terrible monster who was hurting someone while they were down.
“Margaret made her own bed,” Kylie said. “She made the bed and she died in it.”
Kylie left before we could say anything else and I looked at Zee and then said, “What a mess.”
“She’s hurt,” Zee answered. “I’d be broken if I thought my sister had slept with my husband.”
“I can’t even imagine,” I said. “Just thinking about it with Simon and someone I cared about. You know? It makes me want to puke. But a sister? Over decades? Maybe the killer is Kylie. Maybe she just had enough.”
Zee cleared the table she’d prepped with cookies and coffee. None of it had been touched. We worked together and then I took a few minutes to help decorate the cakes that Zee had baked, cooled and stacked. A few minutes with the lazy susan, frosting, and a decorating spatula, and I was feeling a bit soothed.
“All we confirmed,” I said as we locked up the diner, “Is that Kylie is either the killer or knows who it is.”
Simon met us at the door of the diner with Carver just behind him, so we invited everyone back to my place even though Az had done the cooking. Zee smirked at me and grabbed one of the cakes at the diner, and I didn’t care a bit. Sure, the diner would need another chocolate cake the next day—it was our best seller, but I’d rather see my friends enjoy it than not.
Chapter 10
George Parsons looked like Keith had rolled back in time. He had those brilliant eyes but his hair wasn’t thinning. His face wasn’t so lined.