by Liz Mugavero
She knocked. No answer, but she heard voices inside. She tried the door. Open, so she stepped in. “Char?” she called, following the noise to the kitchen. When she got there, she stopped in amazement. No Char. Instead, her mother and Kyle McLeod sat at the kitchen table together with two empty bottles of wine. Kyle held a half-full bottle mid-pour over her mother’s glass.
“Mom?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
They both turned in her direction. “Stan!” Kyle jumped up and gave her a sloppy hug. “So glad you came.”
Stan shoved him off her and turned to her mother. “We were at the church waiting for you. What’s going on?”
Her mother waved her hand, sloshing wine. “I’m not getting married,” she announced.
Oh, good Lord. She did not have time for this. “What are you talking about? Of course you are.”
“No,” her mother said. “I’m not. I’ve decided.”
Kyle nodded. “I’ve decided, too. I’m gonna go home. Your sister hates my guts.” He slurred the last words. “She ripped my banner down.”
Stan closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, they were both still in front of her, both drunk. “You know, this is great,” she said, her hands going to her hips. “Really great. You’re both quitters now? Kyle,” she said, turning and pointing a finger at him. “I thought you said you’d changed.”
He raised his hands as if she’d pointed a gun at him. “I am. I did.”
“No, you didn’t. You’re still running away from your problems. You told Char you’d be here as long as it took. It’s been four days. If you love my sister, then act like it. Stop behaving like you’re five and go convince her. And you,” she said, whirling and pointing the same finger at her mother, who looked equally as startled. “If you’re worried that Tony killed someone, you should ask him. Or call the cops on him. But if you really know where he was Saturday, and it’s true, then you have no reason to be upset with him. Get over yourself, Mom. For once, try to see how hard other people are trying to please you. And that’s all I have to say to both of you. I have bigger fish to fry tonight.”
Stan stormed back down the hall to the front door, almost knocking Char off the front stoop. “They’re in there getting drunk and being stupid,” she said, before Char could say anything. “Can you please talk sense into them?” Without waiting for an answer, she hurried to her car and drove to the clinic and the fundraiser.
* * *
“You look frazzled,” Amara said immediately when she got out of the car and joined the setup crew. “Have you gotten any rest since last weekend?”
Stan didn’t want to think about it. “I’m fine.”
Amara snorted. “Right. And I’m a contestant on The Voice. The dog cookies are awesome, though.” She picked one up off the tray and admired it. “So creative.”
They were. Brenna and Francie went all out with the designs. The one Amara held was shaped like a police badge. “Brenna and Francie get all the credit for those,” Stan said. “What can I do? I’m sorry I’m late.”
“No worries, we’re almost all set up. Your trooper is here with his dog.” She winked. “He’s a hottie.”
“I won’t tell Vince you said that. Is Jessie here, too?”
Amara shook her head. “Haven’t seen her.”
Stan resisted the urge to curse out loud as Eva ran up to her. “Hi Auntie Krissie! I’m helping the dogs!” her niece exclaimed. “I’m gonna have a job here!”
“That’s so sweet, Eva,” Stan said.
Caitlyn came up behind her. “She’s in love with this place. I swear, she’s going to follow in one of your footsteps,” she said.
“I think she’s better off doing food then vet care,” Amara said.
Stan walked away a few steps to call Jessie again. Voice mail, again. She felt a hand on her arm and turned. Colby, with Rosie by his side. Rosie wagged her tail.
“Hey,” he said. “This is great, Stan. Thank you so much.”
“You’re very welcome.” She crouched to say hello to Rosie. “Can I pet her?”
“Of course.”
Stan crouched and rubbed Rosie’s head. The dog rewarded her with a big kiss.
“And look.” Colby reached into his pocket and pulled out a check.
Stan looked at it, then at him. “A thousand bucks? From Diane?”
He nodded. “Her brother is a K9 handler in the military. Said she’s in awe of our dogs. This is so great. I love this town already.”
“I learn something new about this place every day,” Stan said. “I’m glad. Hey, have you heard from Jessie?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Trooper Colby!” Amara called from across the parking lot. “Can you bring Rosie over here?”
He looked at her, apologetic. “I have to run. Talk to you in a few.”
She nodded and watched him go, then tried Marty’s house again in hopes of tracking down Jessie. No answer there. Being suspended was one thing, but going dark every time Stan needed her was quite another. She didn’t want to tell anyone about what she’d learned before talking to her. Jessie would probably tell her she was nuts. That everyone in town could vouch for Francie.
And yet . . .
She’d been at the party. A grieving mother with a motive. Stan kept coming back to that simple point. In that state, she imagined how easy it could be to lose sight of reality and blame someone who, granted, had acted selfishly, but couldn’t be held responsible for another person’s choices.
Her cell phone startled her out of her reverie. She glanced at the number. No one in her contacts list. “Hello.”
“Stan. It’s Scott.”
“Scott,” she repeated. “What’s up? Is Brenna okay?”
“She’s fine. But I think Monica’s in trouble.”
“Monica?” Stan asked, her voice sounding far away even to her own ears. “What do you mean?”
“I got a message a little while ago from Monica that she was going to be in Frog Ledge tonight. Said she got a text message from Pastor Ellis to attend a group session at the church. She must be feeling lousy because she said she wanted to go and asked if we could meet for coffee afterward. But Pastor Ellis told me—unless I’ve got my dates screwed up—that he was going away tonight on a retreat. The church voice mail says he’s out of town,” Scott said. “By the time I got the message and called both their phones, neither of them are answering.”
“He is out of town,” Stan said slowly. “I saw him this afternoon, right before he left. My mother and Tony were supposed to be his last meeting.”
Silence. “So then, what’s going on?” he asked.
“Meet me at the church in ten minutes,” Stan said. “And try to call Jessie. I’ve been calling her all day with no luck.”
Stan tried Jessie’s cell once more to no avail. Frustrated, she went looking for Trooper Colby. He stood with two state police K9 officers and their dogs, a black Lab and a German shepherd. And Captain Quigley stood with them. Great. She couldn’t exactly break up their little party with the revelation that she may know who’d killed Eleanor Chang with Quigley the Cover-Upper in the vicinity. She could text Colby, but he’d likely not see it. His demo was starting any minute and the crowd had multiplied, with people anxious to meet the dogs.
She and Scott would have to deal with it. She hurried to her car and hopped in, pulling out as inconspicuously as possible, and headed for the church.
Chapter 58
When Stan arrived, she cruised slowly though the parking lot. Parked at the very back, an old BMW that looked like the one Monica Chang was driving the other day. No other cars were present. Dread coursed through Stan’s veins. Was she inside? Or had she been taken somewhere?
She drove back around and parked out front, hoping her car might serve as an SOS signal if Jessie happened by. She raced up the front steps and grabbed the door handle. Locked. She went back down the steps and circled to the back of the building. There was a basement entra
nce she remembered from last winter’s Groundhog Day celebration that led to a meeting room, bathroom and a kitchen. She tried that door.
Also locked.
If Monica was in trouble, she couldn’t get to her.
She went back around front in time to see Scott careening into the parking lot. He was out of the car and running toward her without even shutting the door. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
“The doors are locked, but her car’s here. Out back. I think she’s in trouble,” she said flatly. “I think the woman who works here killed her mother.”
Scott frowned. “What woman?”
“Francie Tucker.” Stan gave him an abridged version of Pastor Ellis’s story.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. And we don’t have time to talk about it. If Monica’s here and Pastor Ellis didn’t call her, then something’s wrong.”
“Is there a back door?” Scott asked.
Stan nodded and led him around back.
He pulled something out of his pocket and positioned himself so he blocked her view of the door. “Don’t look.”
“Really?” she muttered. “The least you could do is show me how to break in. It could come in handy.”
He ignored her and went to work on the lock. It took less than a minute before it turned in his hand. “Cheesy lock,” he said, then shrugged. “You pick up skills along the way.” Scott shoved the door open and stepped inside.
Stan didn’t ask. She followed him in, shining the flashlight app from her iPhone. The meeting room was dark. She pointed to the bathroom. They took up positions like cops in a TV show. Stan stood to the side with her phone while Scott shoved the door open. Also empty. The Keystone Kops came to mind, and Stan clenched her jaw to avoid bursting into a hysterical fit of laughter.
They moved side by side down the hall, sweeping the light in front of them, until they got to the stairs. Stan paused and dimmed the light. They both listened. Nothing.
“I’ll go first,” Scott whispered.
Stan protested, but he slipped in front of her, leaving no room for argument. Chivalry was still alive in Frog Ledge.
She followed him as quietly as possible to the top of the steps. He pushed the door open a crack and listened. Hearing nothing, he nudged it open enough that they could step through. They were in the hall, directly across from the meeting room where she’d met with Pastor Ellis earlier today. The door was closed. Stan pointed to the chapel and jerked her thumb at Scott, indicating he should look there. Scott nodded and slipped down the hall. Stan went to the meeting room door and nudged it open. At first glance, empty. Then she realized one of the chairs was at a different angle than it had been earlier, its back facing the door. The chair was tall, and she might have closed the door and gone on her way if she hadn’t noticed what looked like black fringe dangling over the arm.
Taking a tentative step into the room, she peered over the edge of the chair. And gasped when she realized the fringe was hair. And it belonged to Monica Chang, who was slumped over in the chair.
“Oh, no,” she cried, rushing to her side and dropping to her knees next to Monica, desperate to see her chest rising and falling, feel a pulse, anything. It seemed like five minutes, or an eternity, before she saw the faintest movement that said she was at least still alive.
“No, no, no,” she murmured, hands shaking as she fumbled for her cell phone.
“Don’t bother.” The familiar voice came from the doorway, and Stan felt her own heart nearly stop when she turned and saw Francie Tucker in the doorway. Holding a pistol.
Chapter 59
“Francie.” Stan rose slowly, holding her hands out. “What happened to her? What are you doing with a gun?”
Francie looked down at her hand like she hadn’t even realized the weapon was there. “It’s Pastor Ellis’s,” she said with a shrug. “He spends a lot of nights in the inner city. Have to protect yourself these days. He thought he’d hid it well, but I saw him tuck it away in a hidden compartment in his desk.” She stepped forward and snatched Stan’s phone out of her hand. “And don’t bother looking for your friend,” she said. “We’ve already bumped into each other.”
Fear clutched Stan’s chest. “Is he . . .”
“I didn’t shoot him, if that’s what you mean,” she said. “I don’t believe in killing people for the sake of it, Stan. I thought you could figure that much out. Since we’ve gotten so close lately.” She smiled, but her eyes were flat. Dead, Stan realized with a chill. “He’s indisposed, though. I had no choice. I’m leaving here tonight without interference. So you can decide how this goes.”
Stan looked down at Monica, desperate to see her still breathing. “What did you do to her? Did you give her something? We need to call an ambulance, Francie. Now. Look. I’m sure whatever happened, you didn’t mean it. Let’s just get her some help and we can get it sorted out later, okay?”
“Do to her?” Francie sneered. “She’s an addict. She loves to drink. And take whatever poison she can get her hands on. She got very upset when she realized Pastor Ellis wasn’t here. So I simply gave her some liquor to calm her nerves, with some of her own pills mixed in. The ones she had in her purse Saturday night when she was throwing it in my face that she’d wasted her opportunity to get better. Wasted it while my son didn’t even get a chance to get better and paid with his life!” Her voice rose to a fevered pitch, and Stan could see the glint of madness in her eyes. Despite the fear clutching her like a vise, she felt compassion for this woman. She was so broken.
“Francie,” she said, taking a step forward, trying to speak calmly. “I’m so sorry about your son. I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through. But this is not you. You’re a good person. I love working with you. You rebuilt your life after something so tragic. Don’t throw it away now. Please, let me call for help.”
But Francie jerked the gun up higher. “Don’t move,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “You’re right. You have no idea what I went through. The struggles my beautiful Andrew faced. He wasn’t an addict. They did this to him. Those doctors. He got hurt playing sports. They gave him those terrible pills. For pain, they said. Just for a few months. But a few months later he was doing heroin.”
Stan sucked in a breath. “Francie. I’m so—”
Francie cut her off. “You have no idea,” she said again. “My husband left me to deal with it because he couldn’t do it anymore. Then one day Andrew didn’t come home.” Tears rolled down her face now, but she held the gun steady. “The Hartford police came to tell me they’d found him two days later, and how the drugs he bought were laced with something toxic. You have no idea. Neither does she.” She jerked her head toward Monica’s still form. “And that mother of hers. She deserved what she got. She had no remorse. She didn’t even remember me, or my son. She didn’t care that she’d used her money to toss his life aside.” She shrugged. “So I didn’t care that I tossed hers aside.”
“You killed her,” Stan said softly.
Francie’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I did. I didn’t intend to. I went to tell her that Monica was drinking. She didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t even know who I was.”
“Were you trying to frame my mother? By leaving her ring . . . where you did?”
“Frame her?” Francie looked shocked, like she hadn’t even thought of that. “My goodness, no. I’d gone to get your mother’s ring for her when I happened upon Eleanor, upstairs where she wasn’t even supposed to be. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but herself. She told me to mind my own business. She was surprised, though. When she finally realized who I was.” She smiled coldly. “At about the same time as she realized I wasn’t going to let go of the scarf around her neck. Your mother’s ring—I’d put it on the bathroom counter. And it seemed so fitting. Such a token of wealth and power. No offense to your mother, of course. But I wanted to silence that horrid woman with something she could relate to.”
Stan’s entire
body went cold as ice. Francie’d gone from sounding like a brokenhearted mother to a cold-blooded killer within seconds. And she had a very bad feeling about her chances of getting out of here to find Monica help in time.
“So what are you planning to do to us?” she asked. “Are you just going to let her die, Francie? That makes you just as bad as Eleanor.”
Francie’s face went blank with rage. “Shut up! You don’t know anything.” She motioned with the gun. Did she even know how to shoot it? Stan thought maybe she should try to grab it.
“I put enough pills in her Jack Daniel’s that she should be out of her misery soon,” Francie said. “Good thing the good pastor keeps a stash of booze. I didn’t even have to go buy any. It took a little bit to get her to drink it all, but in the end she gave in. She wanted it.” Francie shrugged. “I’m going to leave. It’s up to you whether you’re going to cause a problem or not. I don’t want to hurt you, Stan, but I can’t stay in Frog Ledge.” She looked around, dropping the gun to her side. “Too many memories.”
“Francie. I’ll let you go. Just give me the phone so I can get help for Monica. Please,” Stan begged. “Trooper Pasquale knows I’m here,” she lied. “She’ll figure it out soon enough. You should go. Now.”
The gun was back, pointing at her again. “She doesn’t need help. She needs to be put out of her misery. Like they said about my son. He’s happier now,” she mimicked, her voice taking on that frenzied pitch again. “He’s not sick anymore. Well, what about me? What about me?” The last word turned into a scream of anguish, then everything happened so fast.
Scott dove through the door, throwing himself at Francie’s legs in an attempt to surprise tackle her. She went down. Stan heard the gun clatter to the floor, miraculously not going off and shooting her. She dove, casting about desperately, but couldn’t find it. On the edges of her vision she saw Francie reach for it, getting to her feet, everything slow motion. Scott was already up and yelling something, the syllables crashing together in an onslaught of words she couldn’t grasp. And then she heard a crack and felt something shatter behind her as she dropped her head and heard the sound of a body thudding to the floor.