Seeds of Revenge

by Wendy Tyson

  “Speaking of plus one, have you located William Dorset?”

  King made a sound like a strangled laugh. He unfurled his arm and waved it in the direction of the house. “We’re a small-town department. I’m lucky I had enough human power to handle this, much less locate Dorset. But we’re on it.”

  Megan smiled. “So no luck so far.”

  King’s smile back was wry. “No, no luck so far.”

  “Have you told Luke?”

  “Oh, yeah. Got an earful there. He’s on his way now.”

  “And Merry?”

  “I left a message.”

  Poor Merry, Megan thought. She tried to do a good thing—misguided, perhaps, but well-intended—by bringing them all together for the holidays. And then this happens. If she was disheartened before, this would only make it worse.

  “I can stop by to see her,” Megan said.

  “You’ve been so good. I tell you more than I should perhaps. Next I’ll be getting you on the payroll.”

  “A police consultant. Grows tomatoes, solves crimes.”

  “Sounds like a perfect profession for you.”

  Two of the firetrucks were pulling out of the driveway just as a new car was arriving—Clay’s pickup truck. Megan and King watched as shock, then grief registered on Emily’s face. Clay pulled to a stop and Emily tumbled out, her hands shaking, her face bunched in fear and frustration.

  “I have to question her,” King said. “And it won’t be fun.”

  “Because she owns the house?”

  “Assuming she has insurance, she stands to profit from the fire. We need her statement on record.” His head turned to follow Emily’s progress toward them. “Doesn’t look like she’s taking it well.”

  “Oh my god, Bobby. What happened? Is anyone hurt?” Emily cried when she arrived at Megan’s truck. Tears streaked down her face. “I can’t believe this.”

  Clay put a calming hand on her shoulder while King explained the bare bones of what they knew. Emily kept nodding, but her gaze never left the burnt remnants of her house. Megan reminded herself that Emily had lost her father just a few short months ago. This house had been his. Having a murder take place here, and now losing the house—devastating.

  “If you could come with me, Emily, I’d like to ask you a few questions. And then you’ll want to get your insurance agent on the phone immediately. You do have insurance, right?”

  Emily nodded forlornly. As she and King started to walk toward his car, another car pulled up to the site. Megan recognized Luke Fox’s Mustang. She and Clay watched as Luke rolled down his window.

  “Hold it, Chief!” Luke called from his vehicle. He climbed out and jogged over to Bobby King and Emily. Megan heard a few expletives and an “if you did your job” before King demanded that he quiet down.

  After a few minutes of hushed discussion and flailing hand gestures, Luke marched away, leaving King to continue his discussion with Emily. Spying them across the yard, Luke turned and aimed for their direction.

  “Oh, shit, here he comes,” Clay muttered.

  Before Megan could respond, Luke was by their side. He stared at the old Cape, mouth ajar. “Becca did this?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “I told them,” Luke said quietly. “I told them she needed help. I told Merry she needed help. When she came up with the idea to sue my father, I knew this wasn’t going to end well.” He turned slowly from the house toward Megan and Clay. “I know she paints herself as a victim, and my father wasn’t nice to her, that’s true, but this?”

  “I’m sorry,” was all Megan could manage.

  Luke rubbed his bearded chin. Turning back toward the house, he took three steps forward into the snow. “Do you know where they took her?”

  “Bobby should know.”

  “I’d like to see her.”

  “Why did she run in the first place?” Megan asked.

  Luke reached down and picked up a handful of snow in his bare hand. He rubbed it between his fingers as though it were grainy sand. “The fire might have been worse if not for all the snow.” His gaze traveled to the decrepit farm across the street, and then to the trailer behind the house. Seeming to remember that Megan had asked him a question, he said, “Why does Becca do anything? Because she can.”

  “She just set a house on fire,” Clay said. “The woman I met at Merry’s nursery selling love potions didn’t seem like someone who’d commit arson.”

  Luke kicked at the snow beneath his feet. He met Clay’s gaze, one eye half closed to ward off the bright sun. “Well, Clay, looks can be deceiving—can’t they?”

  Thirty

  Megan stopped by Merry’s house, but no one seemed to be at home. She knocked, hit the doorbell, even yelled Merry’s name—no response. Perhaps someone took her to the hospital to see Becca, Megan thought. She called Merry and left a message. Then she left one for Denver telling him she would take care of the dogs while he was with Eloise. Merry didn’t call her back. Denver did.

  “No need, Megs,” he said. “I just fed them and let them out. I’m heading down to Philly now and won’t be there for long. I just want to talk to her doctors and let her know I’m there.” He quieted. “She can feel my presence, I think.”

  “I have no doubt.” Megan considered bringing up the topic Denver had broached earlier that day. She decided against it. He sounded fine, and it really wasn’t something that needed to be dealt with right now. Instead she asked if he’d heard about the fire at Emily’s house.

  “Aye, word travels fast around here. So Becca set it?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “I’m wondering if she attacked my Aunt Eloise.” His words were iron. She understood.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see it, but…I just don’t know.”

  “I’m turning into the hospital lot now, Megan. I think I had better shut down the phone. Will you be all right?”

  “I miss you.”

  Denver didn’t respond right away, but Megan heard a catch in his breath. “Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked.

  “If you’d like.”

  “It’s hard to plan with Eloise down here. We’ll play it by ear?”

  “You can always come by the farm on your way home.”

  Denver laughed. “That won’t be too much scandal for the good people of Winsome? Local vet makes house calls to young female farmer? I can see the headlines now.”

  Megan turned the truck’s ignition. She pushed it into reverse and started backing out of Merry’s driveway. “Considering all Winsome is dealing with, I’d say a house call from Winsome’s handsome Scottish vet is the least of our town’s worries.”

  “I saw Winsome mentioned in the Philly paper today. I’d say you’re right.”

  Megan was at the café helping Clover and Alvaro with the dinner rush when Aunt Sarah showed up. Emily, understandably upset after what happened, had called out for the night, and although the crowds were light, the café needed all the help it could get.

  Alvaro placed a bowl of Irish stew on the serving counter. Megan picked it up and set it before Roger Becker, who’d come in with a few other members of the Winsome Historical Society.

  “Good stuff,” Roger said. “Tell Alvaro it needs more meat.”

  “You tell him,” Megan said. “I’m sure he’d love to hear your opinion.”

  Benny Rothman laughed. “I’d rather tell my mother-in-law I don’t like her lamb. At least then I could justify my divorce.”

  The men laughed—all except Roger. He leaned in and asked Megan if she’d heard from Merry. “You know, since the fire incident.”

  Megan shook her head. Word did travel fast in this small town. “No, I’m sorry, Roger. I stopped by but she wasn’t home. You?”

  He nodded. “Just briefly this morning. Before everything happened, though.”


  “How did she sound?”

  “Well, she called me to say she wouldn’t be at tonight’s special meeting of the Beautification Board. At least she called this time. We’re discussing which homes will be featured in the holiday light tour on Saturday.”

  “Isn’t it a little late to be deciding that?”

  “We had some recent entries. We want to be fair.” Becker frowned. “Normally Merry would be all over that. She loves a good light show. Especially one that will raise money for the cause.”

  Clover walked by and refilled Roger’s soda. She smiled at him, but he was still lost in the discussion and didn’t smile back.

  “As for how she sounded?” Becker continued. “Better, I guess. More chipper. She’s been hit with a stomach bug, which is never pleasant.”

  Megan felt a sense of relief. While she didn’t want Merry to be ill, it explained her conspicuous absence from work and the fact that she never called Megan back.

  Clover came by a second time to refill glasses. She paused by Megan and whispered, “You have a visitor.”

  Megan turned. In the glow of the holiday lights, Sarah Birch appeared an apparition, hovering in the corner by the door. She wore a soft gray knitted cap, a soft gray coat, and charcoal gray gloves. When she spotted Megan, she waved.

  “Excuse me, Roger,” Megan said. “Clover, can you hold down the fort?”

  “Of course.”

  Megan met her aunt by the front of the store.

  “Get your coat and come for a walk with me?” Sarah asked.

  Megan glanced back at the café. Only the Historical Society men and a few singles. Nothing Clover and Alvaro couldn’t handle. “Sure,” she said. She grabbed her coat and scarf from her office and followed her aunt into the cold.

  Sarah was walking briskly, her arms swinging by her side. She turned left down Canal Street and headed for the canal bike path, a favorite with walkers, runners, and cyclists in the summer but deserted now. The air outside was crisp and cold, the night sky dark. Megan found herself watching for shadows out of the corner of her eye. Everything felt ominous.

  “You look nice this evening,” Sarah said.

  It seemed an odd opener, especially because Megan was dressed in jeans and a plain black turtleneck sweater. Nothing special. She could smell her aunt’s sweet scent from here, though, so she said the first thing that came to mind. “You smell nice. New perfume?”

  “Love Potion. Rose scented. Is it working? The man at the deli didn’t seem to think so. He barely glanced at me while slicing my Havarti.”

  Megan laughed. “I’m not sure that’s the litmus test. Deli Hank can barely smell anything over the lingering stink of old salami.”

  Sarah chuckled. After a few more yards, she said, “How are things with the investigation into Paul’s death?”

  “Have you talked to Bobby King?”

  “Not since he questioned me. He wants me to come down again tomorrow.”

  Megan stopped to re-tie her scarf. “Is that why you came by?” She sensed an agitated energy coming from her aunt. “To see what’s happening before you speak with Bobby?” Megan felt a little hurt. It was Christmastime and she realized part of her hoped Sarah was here for another reason. More information about her maternal grandfather. Or better yet, news that her mother wanted to see her.

  Even if Megan wasn’t so sure she’d want to see her mother.

  “Yes and no. I’m afraid I have a confession to make. I wanted to do it before I talk to Bobby in case you hear it from him.”

  Sarah spoke with her normal matter-of-fact directness. Megan had realized months ago that her great aunt was a woman for whom right and wrong were black and white. For Sarah Birch, even the gray areas could somehow be cast as absolutes. That sense of conviction lent strength to her writing, but it could be infuriating to someone like Megan, a lawyer who understood nothing was so simple.

  Megan waited quietly for Aunt Sarah to continue. The canal path jogged right, then left beside a row of low hedges. The snow had accumulated two feet on top of the edges, and Megan strained to see beyond them.

  Aunt Sarah said, “I told you that Paul visited me when he arrived in Winsome, right?”

  “You did.”

  “And I told you that he became…physical.”

  “Yes.” Megan kept her voice noncommittal, afraid where this was going.

  “There was more to it, Megan. For one, I lied when I said I broke it off and never saw Paul again. I did refuse to sleep with him again—that part was true. But he continued to write to me, to call me after the family moved away. He said he loved me. That we had something special.”

  Megan stopped walking. “And you believed him?”

  “Is it so hard to believe someone would love someone like me, Megan?”

  Megan flushed despite the cold. “No, no. That’s not what I mean. You’re so savvy and he was such a…womanizer.”

  “Ah, but I didn’t know that at the time. Remember, I was coming out of an ugly divorce. I was looking for affirmation, someone to care. As much as it pains me to admit it, I enjoyed the attention.”

  Megan resumed the walk. She needed something to occupy her hands, her feet. This wasn’t quite the conversation she’d expected to have with Bibi’s sister-in-law. How could two women be so very different? A large part of Megan admired her aunt’s worldliness, her take-no-prisoners, make no apologies attitude toward life. The other part of her just wasn’t sure what to do with this information.

  “That’s it?” she said finally. “You kept in touch with Paul?”

  “For years.”

  “For years? As in—”

  “On and off since he left Winsome.” Seeing the expression on Megan’s face, Aunt Sarah followed it quickly with, “We weren’t friends, by any means. But we did maintain contact. Often that meant Paul complaining about Blanche, his gout, the ways in which the world was treating him unfairly. Over time it became rather fatiguing and I actively discouraged it.” Sarah quieted. “I see in your eyes that you don’t understand. But this is all just context for what came next.”

  This time, it was Sarah who stopped walking. They stood on the far side of Canal Street, near Roman’s Bakery. Sarah glanced at a bench by the path, but seemed to think better of it. Megan was glad. It was too cold to be still for long.

  “I’m convinced what Paul really wanted was money.”

  That surprised Megan. “What makes you say that?”

  “He asked for it.”

  Megan started to laugh and Sarah soon followed suit. “That’s what you didn’t want to say? That Paul asked you for money?”

  “Think about it, Megan. Who do you ask for money? People you’re close to. If I had told you or Bobby or anyone that Paul came into town, hit on me—that part was true, by the way—and then hit me up for fifty grand—”

  “Fifty thousand dollars?”

  Sarah nodded. “I know.”

  Megan sat on the bench, cold be damned. “What did he need the money for?”

  “An investment. That’s all he’d tell me. He tried to convince me I’d make money off the deal.”

  Megan remembered seeing the investor information on his professional website and LinkedIn account, the conversation she’d had with Sherry Lynn. “That was his new profession. Investment consulting or some such nonsense.”

  “Yes, he told me. I knew he was expanding his career options, as he put it, but this was still unexpected.”

  “You should definitely tell Bobby tomorrow. It may mean something, fit together with something else King has learned. Maybe Paul needed money to pay off a loan shark or someone else who ultimately came after him.” Or maybe he needed the cash to pay off a blackmailer, Megan thought, but kept that to herself.

  The wind picked up and Sarah hugged her coat tighter around her chest. Her long hair blew across her
face, and Megan got a glimpse of the girl she might have once been.

  “You look like Charlotte,” Sarah said.

  The comment, made when Megan’s guard was down, made her fumble for words. “Oh,” is all she managed.

  “Your mother was a beautiful girl. Now she’s a beautiful woman. Inside and out. Like you, Megan.” Sarah reached a hand out to push Megan’s hair away from her face.

  It was a gentle touch, full of warmth and concern. Megan couldn’t help it; she flinched.

  “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Sarah said. She stood abruptly and, turning back toward the Washington Acres Cafe and Larder, started walking. “It seems I keep doing that,” she called over her shoulder.

  After a full minute of uncomfortable silence, Megan said, “I’m sorry. Talking about my mother makes me feel angry and sad at the same time.”

  “I’m sorry for bringing her up. You’re not ready.”

  Megan pressed her lips together in a bid to stay quiet. It wasn’t up to Sarah to decide when she was ready. She might never be ready. But it was her choice.

  Not wanting to fight, Megan said what had been on her mind since she left Emily’s ruined house hours ago. “Did you ever write a novel about arson?”

  Sarah frowned. “Several. Why?”

  “There was an incident today. I’m sure you heard about it—with Becca?”

  “No, I didn’t hear anything. What about Becca?”

  Megan explained how Becca had been missing, and that she had been squatting in Emily’s house. How she set fire in the room Paul had died in. “I didn’t see Becca before she was carted off to the hospital, but Bobby said she was in a bad way. Mentally. I know it’s a long shot, but I thought maybe it fit in with the books.”

  Sarah turned to Megan. She placed a hand on each of Megan’s shoulders and leaned in. The scent of rose love potion was overwhelming.

  “A young woman went to an abandoned house and lit the place on fire?”

  “Yes. Becca went to Emily’s house. She broke in and started a fire from the room in which Paul was killed.”