“Oh yes,” Maddie said, “and I know how talkative she becomes when she imbibes. I shall allow dear Lenora to chatter to her heart’s content, with perhaps a wee bit of direction from me.”
As Olivia turned off the ignition, Gwen Tucker emerged from the barn and waved to them. Waving back, Olivia said quietly, “Showtime.”
* * *
Gwen and Herbie Tucker cared for a growing family of orphaned, injured, or abandoned animals of all types, in addition to their own little son and, now, Herbie’s widowed Aunt Len. Gwen led Olivia and Maddie through a cluttered living room to their family room, equally cluttered, where Lenora Dove sat curled up on a comfortable sofa. Her long hair, dyed auburn, was wound like a turban around her head, and a pale pink satin sheath hugged her waif-thin body. Lenora looked like a stand-in for an elderly Audrey Hepburn.
“Oh, Dougie, look who’s come calling! It’s Livie and Maddie.” Lenora held out a self-manicured hand in greeting. With her other hand, she retrieved a large wineglass from a table next to the sofa. Her eyes strayed to a television showing a black-and-white movie, which Olivia recognized as one of the Thin Man stories, starring William Powell and Myrna Loy. The dimmed overhead lights created a movie theater ambiance.
Dougie Adair sat in a deep plush armchair, ignoring the movie. Instead, he read a newspaper by the light of a lamp on a side table. The banner identified the paper as the current Los Angeles Times. Olivia wondered how Dougie had managed to find a daily copy in little Chatterley Heights. Even the Chatterley Café offered only the Baltimore Sun. Perhaps Dougie had driven to one of the bigger nearby towns to buy the paper.
Dougie seemed momentarily irritated when they walked into the room. He quickly composed himself, smiled, and put aside his newspaper. “Lenora, darling,” he said, “perhaps we could interrupt Nick and Nora for a bit? We have guests.”
“Oh, and you’ve brought sweet little Spunky, too.” Lenora picked up the television remote but made no effort to mute the sound. “Gwen, be a dear and bring our guests some wine. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to open another bottle, so we won’t run short?”
With a quick wink at Olivia, Gwen excused herself.
Maddie scrunched onto the sofa next to Lenora. “I love Nick and Nora Charles,” Maddie gushed. “Is this the one where Nick shoots the ornaments on the Christmas tree? I never get tired of that scene.”
Lenora smiled indulgently. “No, my dear, this is Another Thin Man, the one where little Nicky tags along.” With a long sigh, Lenora said, “I’m devastated by dear Trevor’s death, and little Nicky always seems to lift my spirits.”
“I love little Nicky.” Maddie kicked off her shoes and settled against the back of the sofa, her legs snuggled up against her chest. “Oh, and there’s Asta. I love Asta.” Sensing a threat to his status as number-one terrier, Spunky jumped onto Maddie’s lap and yapped at the television. “But not as much as I love you, Spunks. I promise.”
Olivia worried that Maddie might be overacting, though one look at Lenora’s contented expression reassured her.
“My dear, the truly adorable one was William Powell,” Lenora said with a sigh. “I so hoped to meet him after I moved to California. Although I was already married to my darling Bernie, I was still young and quite the romantic. I’d seen so many William Powell movies, only I hadn’t quite grasped the age difference between us. I was still an ingenue, you see, and dear William Powell…well, when he died in 1984, he was ninety-one. It was not meant to be. But he will always be handsome and dashing to me.” Lenora sighed as she watched her lost love down yet another martini.
Olivia did some rough calculations and concluded that Lenora must have been an ingenue for a long, long time.
Maddie gave Olivia a quick wink that said, We’ll do just fine, Lenora and I. Run along and question Dougie.
Olivia glanced at Dougie, who’d given up trying to read the paper. He stared at the floor, clearly bored. “I hear you’ll be leaving us soon,” Olivia said to him.
“If the sheriff will let me. There’s nothing for me here. I need to make arrangements back in California.”
“Understandable,” Olivia said. “How about a walk outdoors? I’ve seen this movie several times.”
With evident relief, Dougie put aside his newspaper. “I’ll see you later, Lenora, dear.”
Lenora stared at the television screen, attentive only to William Powell’s presence. A parade of emotions molded her features as best they could, given the limiting effects of plastic surgery.
Dougie followed Olivia from the room. Closing the door behind them, he said, “It’s sad, really. Lenora, I mean. She lives in a past of her own imagining.”
As they stepped outside, the sun floated from behind a cloud and warmed Olivia’s face. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair. She had to remind herself she was pressed for time. “I didn’t get to know Trevor well,” she said, “but to me it seemed his world was much like Lenora’s. They both grew up in small towns. Lenora isn’t adapting well to being back, and from what I observed, I doubt Trevor would have adjusted any better. Do you?”
Dougie gave her a startled look, and Olivia noticed gold flecks in his light brown eyes. Del’s eyes were much the same, yet somehow warmer. “That’s an intriguing question,” Dougie said. “Trevor lived and breathed Hollywood. Sometimes it seemed as if Hollywood was the only reality in his life. People didn’t count. Don’t get me wrong; Trevor had scores of relationships, but he didn’t have friends.”
Dougie opened the barn door and waited for Olivia to pass through. She felt a moment of discomfort, as if she were entering a danger zone. She tossed it off and entered the cool, dark interior of the old barn. The smell of hay and the cacophony of animal sounds comforted her, made her feel safe. In addition to the barks and meows of dogs and cats, Olivia heard the lowing of cattle, a sheep baaing, and several animal sounds she couldn’t identify. Everyone within a fifty-mile radius knew that Herbie and Gwen welcomed any and all homeless animals, so creatures appeared on their doorstep with overwhelming regularity. Gwen often insisted they’d reached capacity, but somehow the next abandoned animal always found a home with them.
A half-grown black kitten poked its head around a hay bale to check out the new arrivals. Without hesitation, it ran up to Olivia and rubbed against her ankle. When she picked it up, the kitten purred and cuddled against her. Olivia wondered how Spunky would feel about a feline companion.
“You wouldn’t see this sort of place in Hollywood.” Dougie stopped at a stall and produced an apple from his jacket pocket. A chestnut mare clopped over to him for a nibble. “Old habits…,” Dougie said. “I grew up in Twiterton and worked summers on several farms. I always kept my jacket pockets filled with treats.” When the mare had finished her snack, Dougie turned to Olivia, and said, “I suspect you and Maddie didn’t stop by to be neighborly. What’s on your mind?”
Olivia lowered the kitten to the barn floor and watched it streak off after something she was glad she couldn’t see. “I’m curious,” she said. “You mentioned Trevor didn’t have friends. Didn’t you count yourself as his friend?”
Stroking the horse’s forelock, Dougie said, “Trevor and I went to high school together, and we played football together. But that was high school. Trevor was the handsome star, even then. I was the tagalong and, if necessary, the muscle. I was also the better student. Trevor got by on C’s. I’d make him study harder when the coach got after him to raise his grades. Not that I didn’t benefit from the association. Trevor usually passed his girlfriends on to me when he grew bored with them. In return, I made him look good on the football field.” Dougie’s matter-of-fact tone made the arrangement sound unremarkable, merely a business deal. “Trevor was quarterback, but I was the better strategist. I set up plays for him, so he could be the hero.” Dougie leaned against the stall. The powerful muscles of his upper body strained against his cotton shirt as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Olivia’s own muscles tightened against a vague sense of danger.
She told herself there’d been no personal threat in Dougie’s comments. When he relaxed his stance and gave the mare a final pat, Olivia began to feel silly…until he focused those intense, nearly translucent eyes on her face. She shivered in spite of herself.
“Now, Livie, I have a question for you,” Dougie said. “How much do you think you know already about Trevor? And about me?”
“I—” Olivia’s mastery of language took a sudden hike.
Dougie chuckled. “Okay, I suppose that wasn’t fair. However, you might want to bear in mind that you and Maddie aren’t the only ones on the planet who have computers. I’m a writer. My laptop travels with me wherever I go. I have access to the Internet, and I use it often. It seems you two have gained quite a reputation as sleuths, at least locally.”
“I see,” Olivia said. “Then I won’t beat around the bush.”
“I have no intention of sharing any personal information with you, if that’s what you’re hoping.” Dougie momentarily closed his eyes and took a quick breath. More calmly, he added, “Sorry, Livie. Even though I wasn’t deeply fond of Trevor, this has all been a shock for me. I’ve been thoroughly grilled by the police. All I want to do now is go home. I didn’t kill Trevor. Period.” When Olivia didn’t respond, Dougie said, “By the way, I heard that Wade Harald was arrested for Trevor’s murder. I vaguely remember him from our high school football days, when he played for the Chatterly Heights team. He’s the ex-husband of a good friend of yours and Maddie’s, isn’t he? So that gives you two a powerful motive to finger another suspect.”
Despite his light, conversational tone and the absence of any overt threat, Dougie’s blunt observation couldn’t have been clearer. He was warning Olivia to back off. She felt a chill and suddenly longed for sunshine…and maybe a nearby witness or two. However, this might be her only chance to question Dougie before he left town. “I suspect your memory of Wade is clearer than you’re willing to admit, since you and Trevor drugged him to get back at him for besting Trevor on the football field.”
Dougie didn’t flinch. “Not according to the police. I’m sure you’re aware of that fact.”
“You’re wrong about one thing,” Olivia said. “If Maddie and I found evidence that Wade Harald was guilty of murder, we wouldn’t hesitate to turn him in to the authorities. We’re concerned only about our friend, Stacey Harald. It looks like someone is trying to implicate her in Trevor’s murder, and we won’t allow that to happen.”
“If that’s a threat,” Dougie said, “it is misdirected. I had nothing to do with Trevor’s death, and I don’t much care who did kill him. I came back here to the farm right after our impromptu meeting at the band shell. And before you bring up those photos that appeared in that amusing little blog, yes, Wade did wander into the band shell the night Trevor died. Wade was drunk, of course. He threatened Trevor and stalked off.
Olivia sensed that Dougie was on the verge of cutting off their conversation, so she decided against pushing the issue. “That night in the band shell,” she said, “Trevor and Howie didn’t appear to be old friends. Why were the three of you there together?”
With a throaty snicker, Dougie said, “Those two never pretended to be civil. Howie simply showed up at the band shell while Trevor and I were relaxing. Trevor was bored, so he was already in a foul mood. Howie’s presence didn’t help any. I couldn’t understand why Howie stuck around. He knew Trevor’s abuse would only escalate.”
“Did the three of you leave the band shell together?”
“I’ve told all this to the police.”
“I know,” Olivia said, “but Trevor’s body was left on my porch. I take that personally.”
Dougie shrugged. “Howie left soon after you and Maddie did. Trevor decided to stay in town for a while, so I took off in the rental car. That’s the last time I saw him alive.”
“How was Trevor planning to get back to the farm without a car?”
“I didn’t much care. I assumed he had found another place to sleep.” Dougie scooped up a stone from the barn floor and heaved it with such force that it lodged in a bale of hay.
“So are you suggesting Trevor had a friend in town? Perhaps a woman friend?”
“How delicate of you,” Dougie said with a mirthless chuckle. “I wouldn’t know. Trevor wooed and deserted women ‘friends’ with remarkable speed.” Dougie’s casual tone contrasted with his tight jaw. “In answer to your earlier question,” he said, “no, I did not consider myself to be Trevor’s friend. He paid me well to do exactly what I’d done in high school: to make him look good. I managed to keep his reputation more or less intact, no matter how big a mess he got himself into, and I tolerated whatever abuse he felt like hurling at me. I didn’t like it. However, I was highly compensated for my calm forbearance.”
“What will you do now?” Olivia asked.
“Celebrate.”
“Trevor’s death?”
“Trevor’s exit from my life. But I did not kill him.”
“Look, I’m not here to accuse you. It’s just that…” Olivia decided to change her tactics. Dougie might be more willing to share information that could implicate someone else in Trevor’s murder. “I’m really not trying to set you up as a suspect,” Olivia said, “but you are my best source of information about Trevor’s past. It seems he alienated a number of people during his life. Since he was murdered here and not in Hollywood, I can’t help thinking his killer might be someone from his youth in Twiterton, or even someone here in Chatterley Heights. You’re the only one I can think of who might be able to fill me in about people from that period of his life.”
“Like who?”
“You tell me.”
Dougie appeared to sink into his thoughts. As he headed toward the barn door, Olivia followed, wondering if he were sifting through memories or calculating how to transform someone else into the prime suspect for Trevor’s murder. Dougie remained silent as he closed the barn door behind them and led the way to a barnyard pasture where a small herd of sheep grazed on grass. To protect the sheep while maintaining the traditional look of their farm, Gwen and Herbie had added wire mesh to the bottom half of an old, but still functional, rail fence. Dougie leaned against a fence post and gazed at the pasture. A sheep munched its way closer until Dougie could reach out and lightly stroke its fleece.
“By the time I started high school,” Dougie said, “I was one of the few farm kids left in Twiterton. Trevor’s family moved to town from Baltimore, where his father worked as an attorney. They were well-to-do, and I was…well, we did fine, but developers were rapidly eating up family farms. Most of the kids I knew in high school were from DC or Baltimore or even farther away.”
Olivia felt a prick of irritation. Was Dougie reminiscing so she would give up and leave him alone? Hoping to get a reaction, she said, “It sounds like Trevor might have fit in at school better than you did.”
Dougie hesitated, as if he were giving her suggestion serious thought. “Funny thing is, he didn’t fit in well at all, not really. Trevor was Trevor, always and forever. He wasn’t chronically nasty on purpose; he just didn’t know how to be anything else. I’m not saying Trevor wasn’t one of the popular kids. Girls went crazy over him, other boys wanted to hang out with him…. He could turn on the charm when he wanted, but it didn’t take long to realize that if Trevor bothered to be charming it was because he wanted something. If you were unlucky enough to become what he called a friend, he dropped the facade. Everyone saw through him, anyway. Trevor wasn’t a complex character. He knew how to embarrass another student in public, but he didn’t have the follow-through to, say, blackmail someone.”
“Doesn’t sound like Trevor was much fun to be around,” Olivia said. “Why did you put up with him all those years?”
“It was a living,” Dougie said as he shrugged one muscular shoulder. “I’m afraid I can’t think of anyone from Trevor’s distant past who would go to the bother of killing him. Including me.”
“What about How
ie Upton?” Olivia said.
“Howie?” Dougie sounded genuinely surprised. Maybe even hopeful? “Have the police been questioning him, too?”
“I really don’t know,” Olivia said. “That night in the band shell, Trevor was quite hard on Howie, and Howie didn’t take it well. I wondered if there was bad blood between them. Perhaps, in the past, Trevor did or said something that Howie couldn’t simply laugh off?”
Dougie watched a determined English sheepdog herd an errant sheep back toward the others. “I’m envious of Gwen and Herbie. I could write in a place like this. On the other hand, the animals would eventually starve,” he said. “About Howie. Back in high school, I probably wasn’t as sensitive as I should have been, and good old Trevor was but a younger version of the man he became. Howie and Trevor were dueling egos. Howie was probably the smartest kid ever to grace the halls of Twiterton High, and he knew it. He was a genius when it came to anything involving numbers. We were in the same calculus class. Howie would correct the teacher, and he’d be right every time.”
“Was Howie arrogant about his superior talents?” Olivia asked.
“There should be a stronger word than ‘arrogant.’ Even the teachers disliked him, although they predicted a great future for him. Now, if Howie had looked and sounded like Trevor, high school would have gone much better for him, but he was pudgy and whiny. The girls sneered at him. Boys beat him up. It was sad…or it would have been if Howie had possessed even one appealing personal quality.”
“In the band shell,” Olivia said, “you were kind to Howie when Trevor insulted him.”
“Not out of sympathy for Howie, believe me. I was just doing my job. When Trevor went out of bounds, I was to pull him back and remind him that he had an image to sustain. That evening it didn’t work. Howie was one of Trevor’s preferred whipping boys.”
“Really? Why?”
“Howie was so easy to pick on. Trevor couldn’t resist. I have to admit, I wasn’t fond of Howie, either, so I wasn’t really exerting myself much in his defense.”
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