Scoop to Kill

by Wendy Lyn Watson

  We trudged out to the parking lot, dejected.

  “That got us exactly nowhere,” Finn complained.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “At least now we know that she was working on her grant the night she died. She was making plans for the future. Which means she thought she had a future to plan for.”

  Finn stopped in his tracks and lowered his head.

  “She didn’t plan to die,” he said softly.

  “No. She planned to live.”

  He pulled me close, wrapped me in his arms. “Thank you,” he whispered into my hair.

  I just hugged him closer.

  chapter 23

  Emily’s parents claimed their daughter and returned to Minnesota. Finn asked if they wanted to stay with him, to linger long enough for a memorial service, but they declined. They were eager to whisk their child away from the place that took her life, and I couldn’t blame them.

  Ultimately, it became clear that Emily Clowper had no ties to Dalliance beyond the Dickerson campus, and the faculty, staff, and students of the university were ready to put the whole sordid situation behind them. No one wanted to dwell on Emily Clowper’s death, and that meant no one particularly wanted to remember her life.

  Instead of a memorial service, which would have been all the sadder for the lack of attendants, we decided to honor Emily by helping her parents pack up her earthly possessions.

  That Thursday morning, ominous clouds roiled on the horizon, boding a powerful early-summer storm. By the time Alice and I got out of class and piled into the van, fat raindrops hit the windshield with an almost purposeful smack, not just falling but diving to earth. We drove slowly through the veils of water to Emily’s house.

  Finn and Bree were already parked in her driveway. I could just barely make out their shadows in the front seat of Finn’s Jeep. When my headlights sliced the gloom, their forms stirred and soon we were all darting through the torrential downpour to the shelter of Emily’s wide front porch.

  Finn led the way into Emily’s living room. I shuddered as the visceral memory of the night of her death welled up inside me. The strange silver-green light of the stormy afternoon cast few shadows in the near-empty room. It felt otherworldly, a mournful dreamscape.

  Alice wandered over to a cardboard box next to the faded velvet sofa. She sank down to sit on the bare wood floor tailor-style, her thin pale legs folded beneath her so that I could see the faded scars on her knees, the familiar traces of her childish mishaps. She wore a hint of color on her lips and mascara darkened her golden lashes, but she sprawled on the floor with the artless inelegance of a child.

  Without a word, she pulled the box closer, pulled the flaps on top open, and began lifting out books and binders.

  “Her parents asked us to send anything that looked personal. Jewelry, photos, scrapbooks. And they said that Emily had a set of china that belonged to her grandmother. They’d like to pass that on to her sister. Everything else, we can donate.”

  Bree pulled a box of trash bags out of her mammoth purse, pulled a handful of them out of the slit across the top, and set the box on the floor by the front door. “I’ll start in the bathroom,” she said. “Most of that will be stuff to pitch or donate.”

  Alice nodded absently, still not saying a word. She kept her head down as she thumbed through a large book that might be a photo album. I didn’t see any tears, but something about the brittle set of her shoulders made me think she wept.

  Finn bent down and retrieved a couple of trash bags, handed them to me, and picked up a stack of flattened packing boxes. “Bedroom or kitchen?”

  A wave of dizziness hit me hard at the very thought of going back into Emily’s bedroom. “Kitchen.”

  He followed me through an empty room that might have held a dining table and into the kitchen. I noticed more this time. The white-painted cabinets with their whimsical handles shaped like eating utensils, the black-and-white checkered vinyl floor, the frilly lavender curtains on the window over the enamel sink. There was something so playful and girly about Emily’s kitchen; I wondered if she’d inherited this decor. It seemed inconsistent with her brusque attitude, sharply angled hair, and androgynous eyeglasses.

  But then I thought of her flowing dresses and the petal pink of her bicycle, and I could imagine her choosing these items carefully, tiny acts of feminine defiance committed by a woman who refused to fit into a mold.

  Finn pulled open a kitchen cupboard and revealed a few boxes of cereal, some canned beans, and a handful of spice jars.

  “This isn’t going to take long,” he said sadly.

  I walked past him, pausing to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and opened a pantry filled with instant soup containers and unopened rolls of paper towels.

  “She struck me as someone who didn’t place much stock in material possessions,” I said.

  Finn laughed. “You’ve always been a master of understatement, Tally.”

  We worked quietly for a bit, throwing away opened packages of food and perishables, boxing up unopened cans and packets for the local food bank, sifting through kitchen gadgets and utensils for those that were worth donating and those that weren’t.

  Then, out of the clear blue sky, Finn said, “Tell me about this place Peachy’s staying.”

  I paused in the act of stacking a set of plastic measuring cups together, wondering what prompted that question. “It’s nice,” I said, tucking the neatly nested stack into a box for the local thrift store. “Peachy’s in a wing for active seniors. They all have their own apartments with sitting rooms and kitchenettes and separate bedrooms. She can fix her own dinner if she wants, or go down to the dining room. They have game nights and field trips to the movies, and Peachy already has a regular euchre game in her room.”

  “So she likes it?”

  I chuckled. “As much as Peachy likes anything. You know how she is. She’s not happy unless she’s raising Cain about something or another.”

  Grandma Peachy had a sweet name but a salty disposition. She swore like a sailor, smoked a pipe, and could shoot straighter than the most grizzled cowboy. She’d had to manage a good-sized ranch and raise a couple of hell-raising daughters all on her own after my grandpa Clem got sent to the federal pen. It took grit, which Peachy had in spades.

  “What about people who can’t cook for themselves?” Finn asked.

  I shrugged. “That’s one of the reasons we wanted Peachy to move into this place now. They have more involved care for people who have physical problems or even dementia. She’s healthy as a stoat right now, but if something changes she’ll be able to stay put. It was hard enough moving her out of the farmhouse. We’re not moving her again until we haul her cranky butt out to the cemetery.”

  Finn didn’t respond. He pulled open the doors of a mint green-painted breakfront. Emily’s floral china was stacked neatly inside. I could see the film of dust on them from where I stood.

  He silently constructed a cardboard box and secured the bottom with packing tape. He grabbed a roll of paper towels, tossed another one to me. We began pulling dishes out of the cupboard, wrapping them in towels, and tucking them into the box.

  “I’m thinking of leaving Dalliance.”

  He said it so quietly, so matter-of-factly, that his meaning didn’t register at first.

  I froze, my hands wrapped around a delicate tea-cup.

  “What?”

  “I’m thinking of leaving town. Moving on.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “This was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, just until she got back on her feet. My mom had another checkup with her neurologist. It’s been over a year since her last stroke, and she’s not getting any better. She’s not going to get any better.”

  He blew out a frustrated breath, pulled the last few dishes out of the box and started to repack them more securely. I watched his big hands manipulate the feminine saucers and bowls. It seemed so intimate, him pulling Emily’s treasures from their hiding spot.


  “I can’t take care of Mom on my own. The home- health care workers are great, but there’s no continuity there. It’s a different woman almost every day. Mom should have people who know her situation taking care of her, people who will notice subtle changes from day to day.”

  I forced myself to move, to continue packing Emily’s dishes.

  “Where would you go? Back to Minneapolis?”

  “No. There’s nothing waiting for me there. Maybe Chicago or Atlanta.”

  “I see.”

  “Dammit, Tally, don’t take that tone with me.”

  “What tone?” I asked, genuinely confused. The thought of Finn leaving town left me bereft. But more than hurt, I had a sense of déjà vu.

  With Finn’s chin set at a defiant angle and a fire burning behind his moss-green eyes, his expression transported me through the years to a sultry summer evening during our senior year in high school. Finn telling me he was going to travel the world instead of staying in Texas for college. Me telling Finn that I couldn’t go with him. That it was over. Finn tearing off into the darkness, lost to me until he showed up on my doorstep the autumn after my divorce.

  Here we go again, I thought.

  “You’ve got that tone like I’ve disappointed you,” Finn snapped.

  I tore a sheaf of paper towels from the roll. “Of course I’m disappointed,” I said. “Dalliance is a better place with you in it. But you didn’t disappoint me.”

  He grunted.

  “Really. I’m not in a position to have any expectations of you, Finn.”

  He cut his eyes to the side, studying me.

  “Is that so?”

  I sighed. “Isn’t it? Dang, Finn. You disappeared for seventeen years, and when you pop back up, you act like you never left. Like we can just pick right up and be buddies. But we’ve changed, both of us. I think I like the man you became, but I don’t even really know you anymore.”

  “Do you want to?”

  His question stopped me in my tracks. I knew that my answer mattered. A lot.

  I sighed. “Of course I want to know you, Finn. But it’ll take time. Are you willing to give it time?”

  He stepped away, pulled open the refrigerator and began tossing cartons of yogurt and half-used jars of salad dressing into a garbage bag.

  “I don’t feel like I have time, Tally.”

  I could barely hear his words, but the thread of pain in his voice was clear as day.

  I set down the half-wrapped plate I held and crossed the few steps to his side. “Finn, none of us know how much time we have, which is why we need to relish every minute. Maybe you need to get out of this town to be happy. Maybe you need a big city and an exciting job. That’s okay. I won’t hold you back. I’ll miss you, but I would never begrudge you going after your dream.”

  I hugged him, but he stayed stiff in my arms.

  “Just promise me you won’t make a decision about your future while you’re in the midst of this grief. Let yourself mourn for Emily. Get on your feet before you take a step.”

  For a second, he sagged in my grasp. Then he cleared his throat of tears.

  “I’m going to clean out her bedroom,” he said. “Can you finish in here?”

  I was torn between relief that he didn’t want me to accompany him into the room where she died and hurt that he didn’t need me by his side.

  “Sure, Finn. You go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

  As he walked away, I wondered if he’d come back. And I wondered how long I could wait.

  chapter 24

  Thanks to the condensed schedule of the May-term class, we had our final exam a mere three weeks after we started class, on the last day of May. I’d been trying to keep up with the work. Alice wouldn’t grade my test, of course, but she’d see my grades, and I didn’t want to look like an idgit.

  Cal and I had all the plans for Bryan’s benefit sewn up, and after our strikeout in Emily’s office, Finn had left me alone about Bryan and Emily’s murders. But between class time and keeping the A-la-mode afloat, I was in the weeds. When Ashley asked me if I wanted to study with her, I jumped on the chance.

  She stopped by the store at ten, as we were closing up. I sent Bree and Kyle on home, so we’d have quiet, and we settled into a booth in the dining room.

  Ashley pulled a couple of cans out of her bag, tall beverage cans, black with orange flames licking up the sides and acid-green lettering. “For energy,” she said, pushing one toward me. “Can’t study without it.”

  Curious, I read the label. The can promised me lasting energy with no crash, but caffeine and sugar were pretty high on the list of ingredients.

  I cracked open the can and took a sip. It tasted like pure evil. I let the liquid dribble back into the can rather than swallow it. That sort of crap might be fine for young people, but my stomach couldn’t handle it. I’d stick to good ol’ diet soda.

  I didn’t want to be rude, though, so for the first couple of hours of our study session, I’d occasionally lift the can to my lips and pretend to take a drink. Finally, though, I needed some caffeine for real, so I offered to get us sodas.

  Ashley tipped her head back to drain the last dregs of her energy drink. “That would be great.”

  While I got our drinks, I made small talk. “Your folks must be really proud of you, almost ready to graduate.”

  “Hunh,” she grunted noncommittally. “They’d be a lot prouder if I’d graduated on time.”

  I didn’t challenge her, but she went on as though I had. “I know I’m not the smartest person in the world,” Ashley said. “I didn’t even want to go to college. But you can’t get a good job without a degree anymore.”

  I guessed that depended on your definition of a “good job.” My friend Angel didn’t have a college degree and she’d just started a new job at Erma’s Fry by Night Diner, but I imagined “short-order cook” would not make the cut in Ashley’s world.

  “I had it all figured out,” she continued.

  “Yeah? What are you planning to do when you graduate?” I handed a can of diet soda to Ashley and popped open my own.

  “When we were freshmen, we had to take all these personality tests to find our strengths and figure out what we were passionate about.” Ashley took a sip of her drink. “I’m good at motivating other people and organization, and I really love health and fitness. So I decided I wanted to work in the fitness industry.”

  “And that’s why you got that job at the Lady Shapers?”

  “Right. I started off working at the desk and doing personal training, but I did an unpaid internship last summer in their corporate office. And I’m double-majoring in kinesiology and marketing.” She set down the can, picked up her pen, and started doodling on the open page of her notebook. “I’ve been working hard, trying to get good grades, and doing all the networking stuff we’re supposed to do so we know the right people.”

  I had to hand it to her. Ashley Henderson might not be destined for a Nobel Prize, but she seemed to have a grip on what she wanted to do with her life and how to go about getting it. When I was her age, I wasn’t nearly so focused.

  Heck, I still wasn’t.

  “So do you have a job lined up for after graduation? I know it’s a tough market out there.”

  Her lower lip quivered, but then she took a deep breath, narrowing her eyes as she exhaled. Misery or anger, and she chose anger.

  “I did have a job,” she said. “A spot opened up in the management trainee program at FitFab. But not anymore.” A muscle in her jaw twitched.

  “Oh, dear. What happened?”

  “This stupid class happened,” she spat. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She punctuated each “stupid” by stabbing her notebook with her pen.

  “I have to take this dumb class for my degree. Who even cares about this stuff? A bunch of boring books written by guys who are dead. If I really wanted to know this story”—she picked up her copy of The Age of Innocence and waved it around—“I would watch the m
ovie, right? I looked it up. It has that lady from that Johnny Depp movie in it.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, but I nodded along. The girl had lost a job, and she was plenty pissed.

  “This class is an intro class. Intro! But that . . . that . . . man wanted us to know all sorts of stuff about these books. Like about symbols and shit. I just couldn’t do what he wanted and do well in my real classes and do well at the Lady Shapers.”

  I assumed “that man” was Bryan Campbell. Alice had said Ashley took the class from Bryan during the fall semester, and both Alice and Emily said he had unreasonable expectations of his students.

  “Sure,” I said soothingly. “You’re only one girl.”

  That took some of the starch out of her sails, and her lip pooched out in a childish pout.

  “Exactly. I asked him for help, and he said I could have an incomplete. I thought, ‘Great, I’ll write an extra couple of papers and then he’ll give me my C minus, and it will be okay.’ ”

  Her emotions were rocketing all over the place, making me extra glad I hadn’t consumed that so-called energy drink. Now, tears welled up in her eyes. She was close enough to Alice’s age that I had to fight the urge to wrap my arms around her and mother her.

  “I worked all term on those papers—three of them!—and he still said my class average was a 69.49. Can you believe it? Just a smidge higher, 69.5, and he would have rounded up to 70 and I would have passed. But instead, I got a D plus.”

  “That’s not passing? I thought anything more than an F was passing.”

  “Not for requirements. You have to get a C minus or higher for it to count. Stupid!” Her pen attacked her notebook with sudden ferocity. “I begged him—begged him!—to give me the C minus. I was so close!”

  I nodded again and made a soothing sound in the back of my throat.

  “But he said no. I told him it was—what’s the word?—arbitrary? To say that a 69.49 was failing and a 69.5 was passing, but he said that everything was arbitrary.” She scrunched up her face and spoke in a mocking, whining voice that was clearly supposed to be Bryan’s. “Why do your shoes cost eighty dollars instead of seventy-nine ninety-nine? Why does the bank give you 2.99 percent interest instead of 3 percent? It’s just a fraction of a percent on paper, but that tiny fraction can represent a real difference.” She shook her head and slipped back into her own voice. “Maybe it’s a real difference when it’s money, but this wasn’t money. Just points, and those aren’t real things.”