“Your compliance probably didn’t matter,” Miles pointed out. “Will’s success was contingent on selling the idea itself, not on following through. Once he had his money, there’d always be a reason why he couldn’t deliver what he’d promised. Luckily, Peyton Hancock was smart enough not to fall for Will’s meaningless twaddle.”
“Meaningless twaddle,” Emily said with a small smile. “I’ll have to remember that. It describes Will Grace’s life to a tee.”
A bell rang in the other building, signaling that the camp day had come to an end. Emily stood up. She gathered our empty plastic bottles to throw in the recycling bin. There was one more thing I wanted to mention before we left.
Detective Sturgill suspected Emily had been responsible for the suspicious incidents that had taken place at the school. I disagreed with his assessment, but I didn’t have a better idea. Maybe Emily or Miles did.
“In the days leading up to Will’s death, odd things were happening around here,” I said. “But now another week has passed, and nothing has gone wrong since. Why do you think that is?”
“For the first few days, the police were all over the place,” Emily replied. “And now Miles is here keeping an eye on things.”
“It still seems curious,” I mused.
“Not to me,” Miles said. “I think it makes perfect sense.”
“How?” I asked.
“Obviously, those things stopped happening because of Will’s death. He must have been the person behind all of it.”
“But why would he want to do that?” Emily looked confused. I felt the same way.
Miles shrugged and offered a guess. “Maybe he was trying to get your attention for some reason.”
“It would have been easier to call her on the phone,” I said shortly.
Miles frowned, then voiced a sentiment we all agreed with.
“I’m just glad it’s over,” he said.
* * *
The next morning, after I dropped the boys off at camp, I drove half a mile down the road and turned in the entrance to the Greenfields subdivision.
When I’d met Steve Lambert the previous week, the man had been red in the face and making threats. Now that he’d had a few days to calm down, I hoped the head of the development’s HOA would be more amenable to holding a civil conversation.
Ornate brick walls with GREENFIELDS etched in block lettering flanked both sides of the wide entrance. A profusion of colorful summer flowers decorated the beds in front of them. Just inside was a small, unmanned gatehouse that appeared to be merely decorative. A sign beside it announced that Greenfields was private property, and that no trespassing, soliciting, or skateboarding was allowed.
Feeling duly warned, I entered the development and coasted slowly up a wide, tree-lined avenue. On either side of the road were rows of matching ranch style houses with cross gabled roofs and well-tended lawns. The homes’ colors had all been chosen from the same muted palette. Individual landscaping appeared to be limited to a few low bushes and a single tree.
No one had hung up a decorative flag or put a flowered wreath on their front door. There were no toys or bikes scattered around the yards. Garage doors were closed. No cars were parked in driveways or at the curb.
Everything I saw looked perfect. And perfectly sterile. It was like driving through a Stepford neighborhood.
If this was Steve Lambert’s preferred way to live, no wonder he hated Graceland School—where children ran and played, people made noise, and sometimes things got messy. Graceland was real life with all its glorious joys and complications displayed in plain view. To me, Greenfields looked bleak and colorless by comparison.
A discreet sign identified a large building as both the subdivision’s office and its clubhouse. Not surprisingly, the design of that structure matched all the rest. As I drove past, I saw a swimming pool and cabana behind the clubhouse. A few people were sitting beside the pool on lounge chairs, but otherwise the place was deserted.
GPS directed me to Steve Lambert’s address. That was a good thing because now that I was in the subdivision, every lane and byway looked alike to me. A number on the mailbox beside Lambert’s driveway assured me I was in the right place. As I parked beside the curb and got out of my car, I saw a curtain twitch in a front window across the street.
One of Lambert’s neighbors was checking me out. Discreetly, of course. Maybe that was what passed for entertainment around here.
Lambert’s house was painted gray. So was his front door. I didn’t see a doorbell. Maybe they were considered too noisy for this quiet neighborhood? The thought nearly made me laugh. Until it occurred to me that maybe that was prohibited here too.
I lifted the cast iron knocker on the door and let it drop. A heavy thud reverberated inside the house. After what seemed like a long time, the door finally cracked opened.
Steve Lambert stood framed in the small space he’d allowed for us to see each other. A pair of reading glasses was perched low on his nose, and he was holding a newspaper in one hand. The expression on his face wasn’t friendly.
With not a hint of recognition, he said, “We don’t allow soliciting in this neighborhood. You should have seen the sign when you came in. If you don’t leave immediately, I will call the police.”
“I’m not selling anything,” I told him. “My name is Melanie Travis. We met last week.”
Lambert stared at me. He blinked several times. It didn’t appear to help. Obviously I was still a mystery to him.
“Where did we meet?” he demanded.
“Next door, at Graceland School.”
“Next door.” He grunted unhappily. “That place is a travesty. Are you a friend of the Grace woman?”
“Yes.” Since he was already working on riling himself up, it seemed smarter not to elaborate.
“Too bad for you, then. Any day now she’ll be going to jail, and that ramshackle bunch of buildings she calls a school will be closing down.”
“I don’t think so,” I said firmly.
“No?” He squinted at me through the slender opening. It would be much easier to talk if he’d invite me in. Or at least open the door a little wider. “Maybe you didn’t hear then. That lady murdered her ex-husband.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“That’s not what the paper says. I’m reading about it right here.” The pages rattled in his hand as he shook them for emphasis. “The police are hot on her trail.”
That was utter garbage. I had nothing to gain by pointing that out, however. And it might cause him to slam the door in my face. So instead, I tried a less direct approach.
“That’s actually what I was hoping to talk to you about.”
Lambert frowned. “Go ahead. Talk.”
“Out here?”
“Well, you’re not coming in.”
I glanced back in the direction of that twitching curtain. “I guess I don’t mind if your neighbors hear what I have to say if you don’t.”
Abruptly, the door eased open somewhat. Lambert stuck his head out. He took a cautious look around. No one else was outside to be seen.
Maybe they were all dead, I thought cynically.
Lambert’s gaze returned to me. Now his body barred the opening. It looked as though we would be holding this conversation on his front step.
“Why would I care about what you have to say?” he asked.
“You should care,” I told him. “As you’ve made clear to Emily, everything that happens in this neighborhood impacts you. And a man was shot to death not far from here. That has to be a concern.”
“He was killed at that damn school,” Lambert growled.
“Actually, he was killed on state property,” I corrected him. “But his body was found by someone who lives right here in this subdivision. With you.”
“Get rid of the school, get rid of the problem,” he snapped.
I swallowed a sigh. It was like talking to a brick wall.
“I understand that’s been your rallying c
ry for a while,” I said.
“With good reason. Because now I’ve been proven right. A man is dead. Murdered. Right under our very noses.”
“And you think that bolsters your case that the school needs to be shut down?”
“It sure as hell does.”
“Then perhaps it also gives you a motive for the murder,” I said mildly.
“Me?” Lambert hooted. “You must be joking. I’m an upstanding, law-abiding citizen.”
“So is Emily Grace.”
“Try telling that to her ex-husband.”
“Ex,” I said, “as in gone from her life. Emily had no reason to want to kill him.”
Lambert shrugged. “That will be up to the police to decide. And they already think she did it. Once they arrest her, all us neighbors will finally be that much closer to getting that school shut down.”
“You mean you and the other Greenfields residents?”
“Of course. Every time we hold a meeting, the problem is raised for discussion. We’re all in agreement.”
I doubted that. Lambert seemed like he would be a hard man to agree with on almost any topic. Still, there didn’t seem to be much point in continuing our conversation. It was time for me to go.
“The neighbors on the other side too,” Lambert said.
I turned back to him. “The other side?”
“That older couple, Jeff and Linda Earley. They’re every bit as mad about the situation as I am.”
That certainly wasn’t what they’d told me.
“Are you’re sure about that?”
“Of course I’m sure. Their property value is suffering just like mine. They signed my petition. Both of them did.”
The surprise I felt must have shown on my face, because Lambert suddenly looked quite pleased with himself. That alone was enough to make me reconsider. Obviously the man had a vested interest in making me believe that the entire neighborhood was on his side. Maybe I shouldn’t accept everything he told me at face value.
“Can I have a look at your petition?” I asked.
Lambert stepped briefly away from the doorway. When he returned, he thrust two, clipped-together sheets of paper into my hand. “Here. See for yourself.”
I only had to skim through the first few lines to know that he’d handed me the right document. After that, I didn’t bother to read the whole thing. My gaze dropped to the bottom of the page, where there were several lines of signatures.
Not all of them were legible. I didn’t see the Earleys’ names.
“Not there.” Lambert grabbed the petition back, flipped it to the second page, and pointed to a middle line with a pudgy finger. “Jeff and Linda Early. Signed and dated.”
He was right. The Earleys’ names had been added to his petition.
Well, damn. I hadn’t expected that. And to think I’d helped Jeff rebuild his stone wall.
The sound of the door closing jerked me back to the present. I heard Lambert’s lock click into place. That was fine by me. I was ready to be done with him too.
I walked back to my car, my posture stiff with annoyance. Once again, the flicker of a curtain in the window across the street caught my eye. I lifted a hand and aimed a brisk wave in that direction.
This whole eerily quiet place was starting to creep me out. I hoped Lambert and I had given our furtive audience an eyeful.
Chapter 25
“I hate it when people lie to me,” I said to Sam later that night.
Kevin was in bed, and Davey was in his room with his door closed, which probably meant he was texting with his friends. Bud, Augie, and Tar were upstairs with the boys.
Sam had wandered into the living room and turned on the TV. When I joined him on the couch, Faith, Eve, and Raven jumped up to fit themselves on and around us. Sam and I each ended up with a big Poodle on our lap, while Eve was wedged into the space between us. Way to kill the romance, guys.
Sam picked up the remote and flipped through the channels. He settled on a game show with lots of flashing lights and clanging bells. Yet another romance deterrent.
That was when I’d decided that I might as well talk instead.
“I hope you’re not referring to Peg,” Sam replied. His eyes left the screen just long enough to glance my way.
We were both aware that Aunt Peg had been known to shade the truth when it suited her purposes. And occasionally just for fun, because she liked to keep her relatives on their toes.
We were also aware, however, that now was not a good time to take Aunt Peg to task. The next day, we’d all be attending the dog show in northern New Jersey. Considering what was at stake, the outing was bound to be fraught with nerves for everyone involved. It was vital that we at least begin the day in Aunt Peg’s good graces.
“No, it wasn’t Aunt Peg,” I said. “Not this time.”
“It better not have been Davey.”
“Of course not.” I smiled. “He’s a really good kid.” I considered for a few seconds, then added, “Most of the time, anyway.”
“He’s a teenager,” Sam said easily. “He’s allowed a few lapses.”
I ran a hand down the length of Faith’s back, and she snuggled her body closer. If we weren’t in such tight quarters, I knew her tail would be wagging. “The people I’m talking about are a couple I met earlier in the week, Jeff and Linda Earley. They live next door to Graceland School. They seemed like such nice people.”
Another glance flicked my way. “Until?”
“Until I talked to Steve Lambert this morning and found out they’d lied to me about signing his petition to get the Graceland property rezoned so Emily can be ousted from the neighborhood.”
“Isn’t Steve Lambert the HOA guy who’s had Emily’s school in his sights for a while?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Then maybe he’s the one who isn’t telling you the truth.”
Now Sam was watching cards flip over to reveal the answers. The category on the screen was prehistoric winged creatures. Was he even interested in that stuff?
“I wish,” I said. “Because Lambert is a perfectly odious man. Nothing would make me happier than for the police to pin Will Grace’s murder on him. But he showed me his petition. Jeff and Linda’s names were there.”
Sam pressed the PAUSE button on the remote. The screen froze. When he turned to face me, Raven shifted sideways on his lap. Now they were both looking at me.
“The whole reason you’re talking to these people is because you’re hoping that they’ll point you in the direction of a murderer, right?”
I nodded.
“So it’s pretty much inevitable that some of them will be lying to you.”
He had a point.
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I grumbled.
Sam reached over Eve’s back and gave my knee a comforting pat. If it weren’t for the three big black dogs in the way, that might have developed into something more interesting. Instead Sam unpaused the screen. Bells began to ring. Lights began to flash.
“Look,” he said happily, “it’s an Ambopteryx. They had webbed wings, like bats.”
I peered at the TV. Apparently, Sam knew more about the subject than I’d thought. “That’s a creepy looking animal,” I said.
“Reptile,” he noted, before returning to our former topic. “Think about it this way. The good guys aren’t lying to you. And the bad guys don’t matter. In the end, they’ll get what they deserve.”
I hoped Sam was right about that. Because what concerned me more than anything was the niggling fear that Emily might be the one who wasn’t telling me the truth.
* * *
At the dog show two weeks earlier, we’d been blessed with a beautiful outdoor location and superb summer weather. This time around, we weren’t as lucky. The Branchville Kennel Club had chosen a lovely, park-like setting for its event. But skies that were merely cloudy when we left Connecticut were pouring rain by the time we arrived in northern New Jersey.
Of cou
rse we’d all brought our rain gear. The one thing that couldn’t be water-proofed, however, was Coral’s meticulously blown dry—and soon to be hair-sprayed—coiffure. The Poodle would have to be carefully managed all day to ensure she didn’t reach the show ring looking like a wet mop.
The inclement weather meant that the handlers’ tent was even more crowded than usual. This time there was no dawdling when we unloaded our supplies. We were as intent on nabbing our own small bit of grooming space as everyone else. When Terry saw us coming, he moved some of Crawford’s tables into a closer configuration. Fortunately, there was just enough room for us to wedge our things in beside their larger setup.
Aunt Peg arrived five minutes later with Coral. She carried the Standard Poodle from the unloading area to our spot beneath the tent, so that not even the dog’s feet would touch the wet ground. She placed Coral gently on the tabletop.
“Well, this is cozy,” she said, surveying the arrangements. “Thank you, Crawford.”
The handler, busy brushing a Standard of his own, turned and nodded in our direction. “Any time.”
“Just so you know, we intend to repay your largesse by beating you today in the ring,” she told him.
This time Crawford flashed us a quick grin. “Maybe. But I’m going to make you work for it.”
“Did you hear that?” Aunt Peg poked Davey in the shoulder. “I believe Crawford has thrown down the gauntlet.”
Davey, unpacking the tack box, snuck Crawford a glance. “That’s nothing new. Crawford makes everybody work for it. We’d be disappointed if he didn’t.”
“Not me.” Sam laughed. “I’d enjoy an easy win every now and then.”
Aunt Peg harrumphed under her breath. “With this rain, no one will have an easy time of it today.”
Terry shrugged. As always, he was in a good mood. Even bad weather didn’t have a dampening effect on that. “At least we all have to deal with the same conditions.”
“I’m going to go park the car,” Sam said. “I’ll take Kevin with me. Davey, you’ll get started brushing Coral?”
Davey was lining up his pin brush, greyhound comb, and slicker brush along the edge of the grooming table. “I’m on it.”
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