The place was filled with people drinking, laughing and eating. There had to be a hundred people crammed near the bar. And every table was full. I pointed to a sign that said, “Please Seat Yourself.”
“Should we try to grab one of these tables when they open up?”
“Way ahead of you,” said Teeny. She darted across the room just as a group of four stood up from a booth. She slid into the booth before the group even had a chance to gather their things from the bench. She smiled. “Sorry. No hurry. Just wanted to make sure we got a seat.”
The group of four hurried away, perplexed. Miss May and I joined Teeny in the booth.
“Alright. Now will you finally tell us why we’re here?” I asked.
Miss May raised her eyebrows. “You tell me. Look around.” I looked around the room, trying to gather clues. First, I scanned the patrons, looking for Lillian. I didn’t see her. Then I looked at the walls. There were portraits of the Founding Fathers, but with a modern twist. There was an image of George Washington wearing a silly hat. There was a group of soldiers eating fast food. Then I saw a painting that caught my eye. It was, once again, George Washington. He was at the foot of a rainbow, collecting treasure. He and another man were laughing like they had just heard the funniest joke in their lives. “Laughter at the edge of the rainbow,” I said. “Lillian referenced that painting in her eulogy.”
Next I spotted a portrait of a woman. She looked practical and reasonable except her fingernails were long and painted bright pink with polkadots. I chuckled. “And there’s the painted lady with gorgeous nails.”
Miss May touched her nose to indicate that I had gotten the question right. “You’re missing one more clue,” she said.
I shrugged. “What?”
Miss May pointed at the bar. “The traitor at the end of the bar. Look closely.”
I looked back at the bar. It was all smiling, joking faces. Nothing of note particularly. Then I noticed one person at the bar wasn’t moving at all. He was, in fact, as still as a statue, dressed in Revolutionary War-era attire. “Is that a statue of Benedict Arnold at the end of the bar?”
“You got it,” said Miss May.
“What a creep,” said Teeny. “Who wants a statue of that loser in their bar?”
Miss May shrugged. “It’s kitschy. More importantly, this is clearly the spot where Beth and Lillian hung out. I’ve got a feeling Lillian might be here tonight if we wait long enough. And if not, we might find someone to talk to that will have valuable information.”
“Good idea. I love it. But first, somebody needs to get us some drinks, Chelsea.” Teeny said. She and Miss May looked right at me.
I groaned. “There’s like one million people at that bar. I’ll never get through to order drinks.”
“You will if you try hard enough,” said Miss May. “I believe in you.”
Teeny grinned. “So do I, Chelsea. You can do anything if you put your mind to it. I’ll have a giant glass of white wine with ice in it.”
Miss May laughed. “I’ll have some kind of British beer. Keep with the theme of the place.”
After five minutes of pushing and mumbling “excuse me,” I finally made it to the front of the bar. Then began the complicated ritual of trying to catch the bartender’s eye long enough to place an order. Every time he looked in my direction I held up my pointer finger and leaned forward. But he looked past me like I wasn’t even there. Finally, a gruff woman appeared at the bar next to me and barked toward the bartender. “Hey. Can we get some help over here? Ladies need to drink, too.”
I turned to thank the lady, but my gratitude lodged somewhere in the middle of my throat. I was standing at the bar right next to Lillian Edwards, our number one suspect.
I just wanted some icy wine…not a confrontation with a possible killer.
31
Revere Beer
“This place is so ridiculous. You have to wait forever for them to serve you. It drives me crazy. I just want a drink, you know? To take the edge off. I hate the edge more than anything.” Lillian did not seem to recognize me. She slurred her words a bit when she spoke. I assumed she was already pretty tipsy. I would be tipsy too if I were on the run from a mental institution after having killed my former roommate. Allegedly.
“Yeah. It’s hard to get served at bars sometimes. Especially if you’re a woman. So annoying.”
“Annoying. Right. That’s the perfect word. I’m annoyed by this. That’s why whenever I come up here, I get two or three drinks at a time so I won’t have to come back. And I’m a regular at this place. This is my spot. They ought to respect me.”
I swallowed. “Oh. You come here a lot? I’m just visiting. I run a…milk farm upstate. We make lots of milk and sometimes we deliver down here. It’s the best milk in the world.”
Note to self: don’t make up weird lies about milk when you don’t know anything about milk.
“OK. So you’re into milk, I guess. No offense, but I’m not really in the mood for milk right now. I want alcohol.”
I saw a flicker of sadness in Lillian’s eyes and decided to steer the conversation toward Beth. “Alcohol is superior to milk in many ways. I particularly enjoy alcohol when I’m upset or angry or hurt. It’s not healthy but sometimes you need to numb the senses, you know? Especially if life has been stressful.”
“Right on.” Lillian tried to flag down the bartender and failed. “I hate this guy.”
I leaned toward Lillian. “Are you feeling stressed? What’s going on? We might as well talk it out if we’re going to be waiting for these drinks.”
“I’m not stressed. Nothing’s wrong.” Lillian looked away and I saw her chin quiver. She wiped her face on her sleeve then turned back to me. “OK fine. Yeah, I’m feeling some stress. My best friend just died. It was a tragedy. She was killed.”
I gasped (a little too loud) to feign shock. “That’s terrible. She was murdered? In a small town like this?”
Lillian shook her head. “No. Someone killed her a couple towns over. On a dumpy little apple orchard apparently.”
“It’s not dumpy.” I cleared my throat. “I mean…I like apple orchards. They aren’t usually dumpy. I’m not sure which one you’re talking about.”
“The worst part is I think I know who killed her.”
“You do?”
The bartender trundled over to us. He was a big guy with thin-rimmed glasses and a goatee. “Hey, ladies. What will it be?”
“Mikey. I’ve been here for ten minutes,” Lillian said. “This is crazy.”
Mikey shrugged. “Busy night. I’m doing my best. I’m alone back here.”
“We’re all alone in the world,” Lillian said. “That’s no excuse.”
The bartender turned to me. “Do you know what you want?”
Lillian shoved her way between me and the bartender. “Two pitchers of beer please. Something light and cheap. And I want full pitchers not those three-quarter pours like you normally do.”
The bartender rolled his eyes and turned to me. “And you?”
“Can I have some kind of British beer, please? And two big glasses of white wine with ice cubes in ‘em.”
“You want to pay now or do you want to start a tab?”
I handed the bartender cash. “I’ll take care of all the drinks. Mine and hers.”
The bartender took the money without saying a word and walked away. I expected Lillian to thank me for buying her drinks, and hopefully loosening her lips, but she was too caught up in other things.
“I hate that guy,” Lillian said. “The bartender who used to work here was so sweet. She was such an airhead, she forgot to charge me half the time. It was amazing. This guy never forgets. And he doesn’t give me any discounts even though he knows my best friend just got killed.”
“Oh yeah. You were saying…you think you know who killed her? That’s so crazy. Who was it?”
“Why are you asking so many questions?” Lillian glanced around and a paranoid look drifted ac
ross her eyes. “Who are you? What do you care?
“I’m just a humble milk lady. I’m nice. I bought your drink.” Uh-oh. My foot was dancing near my mouth again…
“Oh yeah. What was up with that? Why would you buy my drink? I don’t like that.”
“You said you had lost a friend. I was just…trying to offer a kindness. That’s all. It’s nothing to read into. I thought you might like a friendly gesture in your time of need.”
Lillian scowled. “Kindness. I don’t need kindness. I need my beers. I need to get outta here!”
Lillian’s breathing quickened. I suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be living in a mental institution, and that she might be dangerous or unpredictable. I tried to soften my tone. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Stay away from me, milkmaid. Stay away.”
Lillian elbowed me aside and started making her way through the crowd, toward the tavern exit. “Hold on. I’m sorry,” I called after her.
Lillian picked up her pace and shoved an older man aside. She weaved between patrons with violent determination. I took a few steps to try to catch up, but the gaps Lillian created immediately sealed back up with people.
I watched as she exploded out of the tavern and onto the street. I got out to the street about thirty seconds later, but she had disappeared.
I threw my hands up in exasperation. I had just gotten close to gathering an essential clue in our investigation.
But I had never felt further from the truth.
32
The One That Got Away
I turned to reenter the restaurant just as Miss May and Teeny exited onto the street. “Chelsea. What happened in there?” Miss May’s brows were knitted with concern.
“Lillian.” I shook my head. “She was in there. She was talking to me. I let her get away.”
I put my head in my hands. My eyes were pulsing and hot in my head. I had blown my moment to wrap up the investigation. Just because I was bad at telling people to move.
Miss May wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “Hey. You did a good job. It’s crazy in that tavern. Don’t be upset.”
I nodded, although I didn’t feel better. “OK. Thank you.”
“What did she say?” Teeny asked. “Did she confess? Is Lillian the killer?”
“I don’t think she’s the killer.” I said. I shook my head. “She told me she thinks she knows who murdered Beth. I don’t think she would have said that if she was guilty.”
“Maybe Lillian recognized you from the funeral?” Miss May suggested. “People are starting to know our faces in Pine Grove and in surrounding towns. If Lillian knew who you were, she might have given you a bogus story and run away.”
“I didn’t see any recognition in her eyes. She talked to me for a long time before she freaked out and left. I guess you could be right. But I think she was telling the truth,” I said. “At least about her innocence. I don’t think she knew me and I don’t think she had any reason to lie. I mean, unless she was trying to misdirect us. But I don’t know. My gut says Lillian didn’t kill Beth.”
“Do you think she really knows who the killer is?” Teeny asked.
I looked down Main Street off toward the horizon as though I might still spot Lillian in the distance. She wasn’t there. “I’m not sure. She reminded me of Beth in some ways. Paranoid, scared.”
“Perhaps delusional?” Miss May’s mouth turned down in sympathy. “They were roommates in a mental institution, after all.”
I nodded. “I thought that. Lillian is clearly going through a hard time. Maybe she murdered Beth, maybe she didn’t. Either way, her roommate is dead. She’s a fugitive from Five Pines. I think she’s been drinking a lot.”
“So we’re at a crossroads,” said Miss May. “If we think Lillian is a reputable source the wisest decision would be to try and find her. She claims she has information on the killer and if that’s true, it’s the best lead we have.”
“But if we don’t think Lillian is a reputable source…” I sighed. “There might be better avenues for us to pursue at this moment.”
Miss May nodded. “That’s right. Especially, of course, if you truly believe Lillian is innocent.”
I held up my hands. “I mean, I can’t know for sure. You can never know anything for sure in these investigations. But the way she was talking…I don’t know. She was all over the place. I think we should keep her on the list of suspects but we don’t need to hurry to find her right now. I’m not sure what that would entail and I think we might be able to spend our time more wisely.”
Teeny pouted. “That’s too bad. I’m in the mood for a big, wild chase. Jenna and Mr. Flowers-style…on horseback, galloping through the grassy knolls, on the heels of the killer.”
“That will come later,” said Miss May. “But we need to be rational right now. If we make a big scene or start looking around for Lillian, that might scare her anyway. We don’t want her to leave Peekskill. We want her to stay where she is in case we need to talk to her later.”
“So what do we do now?” Teeny asked.
“Well, what other clues do we have? We know the brothers were financially strapped… I’m not exactly sure how that’s motive, but Beth had debt and money makes people do crazy things,” Miss May said.
“Yeah, but I think we need to give them a pretty wide berth right now…” I said. “I mean, since Jonathan almost shot at us and I had to spend three-quarters of a night in jail.”
“So what do you think we should do?” Miss May asked.
“I think we should go back to those tarot cards,” I said. “I’m convinced there was a message in those cards, the way they were laid out in front of Beth. If we can translate that message I think it might help us crack this case.”
“Maybe we should get a book and learn about our cards. Or look it up online,” said Miss May.
I shook my head. “I had a friend in college who loved this kind of psychic stuff. She always insisted that there was such grace and nuance to the art of tarot. She complained that people think they can read about it in books and ‘learn the craft,’ and they misinterpret what they see all the time.”
“So we need to find a real tarot card reader.” Miss May ran her lips across her teeth. “I don’t know any other than Salazar and he doesn’t want to help us.”
“I agree,” I said with a sigh. “Salazar or Big Jim are the only people who might be able to read the spread in town. We shouldn’t go to either of them anyway. One of them might be involved in all this. I don’t think we can trust a potential suspect to give us an accurate interpretation of the cards if what the spread meant was, ‘Hey Beth I’m going to kill you and my name is Jim.’”
“That’s a bit literal,” Miss May said.
“Yeah, I don’t know tarot,” I said. “And I was exaggerating for effect.”
Teeny cleared her throat. “I have an idea.”
Miss May and I both turned to look at Teeny. “Go on,” I said.
“We can go to this celebrity tarot card reader I heard about,” she said.
“How did you hear about a celebrity tarot card reader?” I asked.
Teeny pointed to a flier in the window of Revere’s Tavern. It was an ad for a celebrity tarot card reader in New York City. “Local advertising.”
Miss May laughed. “Good eye, T.”
“Do you think we can get an appointment with a famous tarot reader?” I asked.
Teeny shrugged. “Who needs appointments. She probably already knows we’re on our way to see her.”
33
Not in the Cards
We piled out of Teeny’s convertible and onto the sidewalk in New York City’s Greenwich Village.
Back when I had lived in the city with my ex-fiancé Mike, the Village had been one of my favorite places for a Friday night walk in summer. Even though I’d often been in the middle of an argument with Mike, I still thought there was an undeniable romanticism about the cobblestone streets
, charming townhouses, and tree-lined sidewalks of the Village.
The good memories outweighed the bad. And that night, when I took a deep breath of the summer air in the city, I exhaled with a smile. “I love it here.”
Miss May and Teeny both wore the same placid smiles on their faces. “Me too,” said Miss May. “I remember back when I was a prosecutor for the city, we’d come to the Village for drinks after a tough case. Sometimes stay out till two or three in the morning.”
Teeny giggled. “Only two or three? When I was running around with those magicians in my 20’s we would stay out till five or six. And that’s before the after-hours clubs.”
I laughed. “You two were crazy.”
Miss May shook her head. “We were crazy. We were young.”
“Same thing,” said Teeny. “Anyway, I’m still young. I’ve just changed my office hours.”
“We’re lucky we got a parking spot so close to the tarot card reader,” I said. “My phone says we should be right on top of it. But do either of you see the storefront?”
Miss May muttered as she looked around. “Elaine the psychic, Elaine the psychic, Elaine the psychic…”
Teeny jumped a foot in the air and pointed. “I found it. See?”
I followed Teeny’s finger across the street. She was pointing at an elegant restaurant called Dirt and Salt.
“That’s a restaurant,” I said.
“In the basement.” Teeny turned to me with a grin. “Down the little stairs. You can see the neon sign and the symbol of a palm opening up.”
I stepped into the street and squinted. Sure enough, I could spot the glowing neon lights from the basement beneath Dirt and Salt. The neon cast a warm, inviting glow across the cement steps. I took another step toward the shop. A yellow cab sped past me, honking its horn.
“Be careful, Chelsea.”
I looked back at Miss May and Teeny with wide eyes. “All this time living in Pine Grove, I’ve forgotten how to walk in New York City. Gotta look both ways.”
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