by Wendy Tyson
“Spoken like a lawyer,” Nunez growled. “Ted felt like he got the short end of the stick and he was sore about it. That’s it.”
Brazzi stared pensively toward the Sauers. Megan stood. Clearly she wasn’t getting anything new out of this crew. She left them and joined Clover at the checkout counter.
“What do you think?” Clover asked staring at the Sauers. “Why are they here?”
“Looks like they want Lou.”
Indeed, Glen was making his way to Brazzi, Irene’s shoulder still in his grasp. Neither looked happy. Megan and Clover stocked lip balms on the counter, all the while watching the Sauers with quick furtive glances.
“Is it just me, or does Lou Brazzi look carsick?” Clover whispered.
“As long as it wasn’t Alvaro’s omelet.”
Clover laughed. “Lou’s a good egg, but he doesn’t look thrilled to be talking with Glen.”
“I wonder what that’s all about.”
Megan saw Alvaro watching the conversation too. At one point, the cook leaned over the counter and asked Irene if she wanted some coffee. She shook her head, features pinched in distaste.
“Oh, no, she didn’t,” Clover whispered. “She just dissed Alvaro.” Alvaro was the closest thing Clover had to a father figure, and she was fiercely protective. “I don’t like the Sauers. Never have.”
Megan felt the urge to escort them out of her café. She didn’t have to make a choice. After a few minutes, Glen gave Brazzi a curt nod and he and Irene left.
The Kuhl property looked much less threatening in the daylight. It was a cool, sunny October morning, the kind of morning that made you want to sit outside on your porch watching the town awaken with a hot coffee in your hand and a warm blanket around your shoulders. Instead, Megan and Emily traipsed across town in Megan’s truck, leaving little Lily with Bibi and Clay at the farm. When they pulled into the Cape Cod’s driveway, they saw two police cars and King’s unmarked.
Emily climbed out of the truck with trepidation, her slim face a mask of dread. Megan put a hand on her arm.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“I wish I knew what they wanted.” She glanced around. “Why are there so many cops here?”
“I’m sure they just want to give you an update.”
But that wasn’t it. King walked over and handed Emily a warrant to search the property, the brewery, and the apartment on the other side of town.
“I need your father’s laptop too. I believe you have it.”
Emily nodded. “What are you looking for?”
King didn’t answer. He glanced at Emily and said, “Come with me.” Apologetically, he added, “Megan, you’ll have to stay here.”
Emily stopped walking. “I want her to come.”
“She’s not your attorney, Emily.”
“But she could be.” Emily looked at Megan. “You are an attorney, right?”
Megan said, “I’m not a criminal lawyer, Emily. And I’m not licensed in Pennsylvania.” To King, she said, “Does she even need a lawyer, Bobby?”
Bobby sighed. “No, she doesn’t. Fine, you can come too.” He walked off, inside the house, and Megan and Emily followed him. When they got to the kitchen, King pulled some photos from a manila envelope and placed them on the stained Formica countertop. He stepped back.
“Do you have something you want to tell us, Emily?”
Emily studied the photos. Her face went from pink to fire engine red. She started to cry. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.” She gulped. “I should have told you.”
“Yes, you should have.”
Megan looked at the photos over Emily’s shoulder. They were murky black and whites. “Security footage?”
King nodded. “From the industrial park where the brewery is. Seems Emily was not completely truthful with us.”
The pictures were damning. They showed Emily and a man who looked like Ted Kuhl sitting in Emily’s old Pontiac. Ted’s profile was clearly visible in the third photo. Each photo was time stamped—a match for the day before Ted’s body was found in Mrs. Kennedy’s tool shed.
“I was honest about everything else. Everything. But when I realized where he’d been hiding, I had to talk to him. There’s an abandoned business near the brewery. He was there. The prior owner had given him a key. I found a copy in the safe deposit box.” Emily’s voice was shrill. She looked at Megan, eyes searching desperately for understanding. “Other than Lily, he’s all I had.”
Emily sobbed uncontrollably. Megan left in search of tissues while King stayed with his charge. When Megan returned, the police chief had an arm around Emily and was holding her close. His eyes met Megan’s over the tall woman’s head. They said “help me.”
“Emily,” Megan said sternly. “You saw your father before he died. You need to help us understand what happened after that.”
Emily swallowed. Nodded. “Okay.”
“What did he say to you?” King asked.
“Nothing. He wouldn’t tell me anything.”
King frowned. “You said you’d be honest.”
“He just kept saying ‘they’ll be after you too,’ and telling me to leave and not come back.”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“I have no idea. He wouldn’t say.”
“That was all?” King repeated. “That was the extent of your interaction?”
Emily was quiet for a moment. “I was happy to see him. I hugged him, just so relieved he was still alive. He scolded me for finding him, said it would have been better had I left him alone.” More tears. Emily brushed them away with the back of her hand. When she could continue, she said, “I asked him what had happened, to help me understand why he left. He said he would tell me eventually, but for now, the less I knew, the better.”
“He didn’t give you any indication of who was after him?” King bent over so his face was level with Emily’s. “Think. Picture the entire conversation.”
Emily nodded.
“Okay, okay.” She took a step back, widening the space between her and King, and then looked at Megan. “He touched the baby, and said Otto lost everything because of him.” Her eyes widened. “That was it. ‘Otto lost everything because of me. I won’t put you in danger.’”
Megan and King exchanged a glance. “Whatever he told Otto, he felt that was the reason Otto died,” Megan said.
“But Ted wasn’t the one who killed him,” King replied. “At least not based on this.”
“My father wouldn’t have hurt anyone,” Emily said. “I told you that before.” The tears started again, flowing down her face, creating a river of mascara and foundation. “But don’t you see? I’m the reason my father died.”
King and Megan looked at her. Around them, uniformed officers searched and sorted and fingerprinted, but Emily seemed oblivious to their presence. She stared at the white kitchen ceiling, tears still coming down.
King bent down slightly so they were eye to eye. “Why do you believe that? What else happened?”
Emily turned toward Megan. “That day at the farm, when you and Chief King were talking in the living room? I heard what was said. I didn’t mean to listen…well, maybe I did. I heard about the Honda that had been following me.”
Megan remembered. And she recalled how odd Emily had acted afterwards. “You think you led whoever that was to your father.”
“Clearly I did. They must have found him and…well, you know the rest.”
“It’s not your fault.” King called over a uniformed police officer. “Can you stay with Emily for a few minutes? Show her some of the photos you pulled. I need to talk with Megan.”
Megan followed King outside into the unkempt backyard between the Cape and the broken-down trailer. King stopped in front of a rusty lawnmower so overgrown with weeds that it seemed part of the natural landscape.
“She’s right. She probably led the killer right to Ted.” King kept his voice low—barely audible. “Whoever was driving that Honda is our man.”
“Nothing from the car?”
“Not a hair. But we did get some preliminary results from Forensics. Ted’s last meal was likely some saltines and a bag of pretzels.”
“No peanuts?”
King shook his head.
“Then what caused the anaphylactic shock?”
“Peanut oil. Injected directly into his bloodstream. We’re still waiting on the toxicology reports to see if there was anything else in his system.”
Megan let that sink in. So cruel. So premeditated. “Again, someone who knew him.”
“Or who was able to find that out about him. He did occasionally wear a bracelet.”
Megan thought about the Breakfast Club. Brazzi and Nunez. Was it possible they knew more than they’d let on?
As though reading her thoughts, King said, “We’ll be interviewing King’s buddies from the café, anyone with a nexus between Otto and Ted.”
“Did whoever did this need medical training?”
“No. The coroner said anyone with access to needles and who’s seen M*A*S*H or CSI or ER—and that’s pretty much everyone—could have done it.”
“Oktoberfest.”
King cocked his head to the side. “What about it?”
“I’ve been thinking all along that the key is the Oktoberfest celebration. It seems really petty that two men could die over the beer sponsorship, but what if it’s something different? Something unrelated to beer?”
“Like what?”
“I have no idea.” Megan repeated what she’d learned about Ophelia’s connection with Jenner. She thought about Denver’s offhand suggestion—that Ophelia was a spy. “Ophelia may deserve some attention, Bobby. Things have been pretty weird since she came along.”
“I can’t see Ophelia killing two men.”
“Perhaps not directly. Lana Vance told us both that she suspected Ophelia and Otto of having an affair. Maybe the deaths were personal. Ted found out what happened, and the killer took him out to keep him quiet too.”
“We’d thought of that, of course.” He paused. “Are you suggesting Lana?”
She had acted oddly when Megan went to see her. “Maybe. But not necessarily. Think about who has something to lose, Bobby. Right now we know of Lana—assuming the affair was more than a figment of her imagination. But even if it was, if she thought it was real, she could have acted.”
“True.”
“But besides Lana, who else could have benefitted or been harmed by Otto’s and/or Ted’s deaths?”
King sighed. “I guess that’s exactly what we need to figure out.”
The farm was quiet upon their return. Baby Lily was asleep in her playpen and Bibi was dozing on the armchair beside her, Sadie at her feet. Gunther, too, was resting—out by the barn where Megan found Clay and Porter.
Upon seeing her, Porter stepped back, wiped his hands on his jeans, and smiled. “We have something for you.”
Clay, who was on a ladder in the main portion of the barn, stepped down. Sammy the dog was in her pen area, tail wagging. She jumped up on the gate and gave two quick barks at Megan. Mutton Chops, the barn cat, had curled into a ball beside Sammy’s pen—clearly Sammy was used to cats.
“What’s all this?” Megan asked. She scratched Sammy behind the ears, her eyes drawn to the rafters above her where Clay apparently had been working.
“I rigged a camera. This way, if whoever owns Sammy comes here looking for her, we’ll get a photo.”
“What a smart idea.”
Clay climbed back on the ladder. He pointed to a tiny little device tucked above him. Megan never would have noticed it, even in daylight. “It’s small and motion sensing,” Clay said. “If someone comes in at night and startles the dog it will start recording. It’s attached to an alarm, which we’ll give you. You can put it beside your bed while you’re sleeping.”
“I love it.” Porter handed her the small alarm. It looked like an egg timer, but heavier. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Clay swung down off the ladder. “It was Porter’s idea.”
Megan turned to the younger man. He was chewing on a thumbnail, looking at her, his expression tight. His first defense was always to lash out, and even now he seemed to be waiting for Megan to say something before letting his guard down. She smiled and thanked him. His frame and features relaxed.
“I can sleep here,” he said. “I’ll bed down at the back of the barn in that small room.” He gestured toward the oldest part of the barn, where just months ago men had trespassed, rooting for their own riches. “If someone comes—”
“Won’t be necessary, Brian. But I really appreciate your concern. Both of you.” She was touched by Porter’s protectiveness and Clay’s creativity, but she didn’t want anyone staying there. She had to feel safe in her own home—and she and Bibi needed to do this on their own. “We have Gunther and Sadie, and with this camera and alarm, I think we’ll be all set.”
They both stood there, hands on hips, exchanging a look.
“Clover told me about Ted. That his death was no accident. Or suicide.” Clay rubbed long-fingered strong hands against his pants. “And whoever owns that dog could be part of what’s going on.”
So much for secrets. At least Megan hadn’t been the one to spill the coffee beans.
Megan gave Clay a hard look. “Gentlemen, we have a lot to do. The back bed needs to be mulched, the greens watered, and if we don’t finish planting garlic bulbs soon we’ll have no garlic for next year. Clay, please see to the garlic. Porter, you can help me mulch.”
Neither said a word, but each heeded her requests, going off on their own in different directions.
Thirty
By mid-afternoon, clouds had settled in, blanketing Winsome once again in a shroud of muted gray. This time, the clouds didn’t dissipate. Weather forecasters predicted a quick rain, but the storm stalled, pouring buckets of cold, stinging precipitation on the area, filling up creek beds and causing local flooding. At four o’clock, Ophelia and the Oktoberfest committee made the call to move the beer tasting inside Vance Brewery.
Megan wasn’t going to go. While the tasting sounded fun, she was in no mood for a party, and she had too much to do at the farm. Alvaro was trying to finish the chili for the cook-off on Friday, so help was needed at the café. But the weather had dampened the desire to go out, and the café and store remained empty most of the day. Clover called at five to say she didn’t need any backup. So when Denver offered to buy her a drink at Vance’s brew pub, Megan agreed. Maybe she would have the opportunity to dig up more dirt on what was going on.
Despite the weather, the brewery was packed. The tasting was against the far wall, and a crowd was milling about between tables laid out with appetizers and beer samples. Over the speakers, the Rolling Stones crooned about getting satisfaction. A young businessman in a light wool gray suit nodded at Megan from two stools down. She smiled back noncommittally and took a seat at the bar, avoiding his probing gaze.
Pulling her wallet out of her purse, she said, “Hedy, a lager please. Whatever is on tap.”
The youngest Vance nodded. She tipped a glass under a spigot and poured a straw-colored brew into a frosted mug. She placed it in front of Megan, reached beneath the counter, and grabbed a bowl of mixed nuts. This too she put in front of Megan.
“Decent crowd?”
“Pretty good, all things considered.” Hedy wiped the bar down, her eyes on the crowd by the tasting. “I have to hand it to Ophelia, as much as I loathe her, she knows how to plan an event.”
“That she does.” Megan smiled. “Your mom around?”
“Nah. She’s done here. It’ll be me from now on.” Hedy’s smile seemed sad. “I’m taking over the ma
nagement of the brewery.”
“You’ll be great. Is your mom okay?”
“Okay as she can be.”
Hedy wandered down the bar, stopping to refill the beer for the young businessman. Megan drank her beer slowly while she waited for Denver to arrive. He texted her at five forty-five to say that he was running late. He was back at Mark’s with their injured horse, but would be there soon.
“Another beer?” Hedy asked. She seemed more pleasant tonight, sparing a smile now and again and keeping the mixed nuts refilled. Maybe it was the prospect of running the restaurant.
“She’ll have one,” said a voice from over Megan’s shoulder. “And I’ll have whatever she’s having.”
Megan looked up to see Lou Brazzi behind her. The attorney had changed into dress pants and a tie since she’d seen him that morning, and his salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back from his face. He straddled the bar seat next to Megan and said, “Clover told me I could find you here.”
Megan watched Brazzi from over the rim of her glass. She hadn’t eaten dinner and lunch had been a baguette and cheese on the road, so she didn’t want to imbibe too quickly. She needed her wits about her.
“What’s up, Lou?” Megan asked.
“I wanted to revisit the conversation we had this morning. About Ted and Otto.”
Megan’s pulse picked up. She waited for him to say more.
Hedy came by with two beers and Brazzi handed her a twenty. “Keep the change.” When the bartender left, Brazzi said, “I have no idea—beyond Oktoberfest—what was going on between those two. But I did have an odd conversation with Ted I thought I would tell you about. Just in case.”
Megan nodded. “I’m all ears.” The Stones had been replaced by Springsteen, and “Born in the USA” blared from loudspeakers. One high-pitched “yes!” rose above the rest of the hubbub back by where the tasting was taking place.