Pressing the Issue

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  I gripped Bailey’s arm and put a finger to my lips. Sean was saying something to Melody. I caught the words Honey and Dolly. “Why are they talking about Dolly?”

  “Maybe they plan to frame her?”

  To hear better, I tiptoed to the tent wall. Bailey followed me.

  Sean said, “When I return, I’ll strap the boxes to the dolly to transport them.”

  “Dolly as in dolly,” I muttered to my pal. “Not Dolly. What a dolt I am.”

  “It was an honest mistake.”

  Suddenly, Sean took off at a run. Bailey and I dropped to the ground to hide. Tigger squirmed in my arms but didn’t make a sound. Smart cat.

  When I saw Sean’s feet disappear beyond the center aisle of stalls, I scrambled to a stand and hitched my purse higher on my shoulder. “Come with me.” I raced into Melody’s booth.

  Bailey followed and positioned herself at the edge of the tent to keep watch.

  “Hi, Melody,” I said.

  She was positioned between the two display tables, a piece of pottery in one hand and a sheet of bubble wrap in the other. The front table still held pottery. More bubble wrap and reels of shipping tape occupied the rear table. Towers of packed boxes stood on either side of the sales counter. More boxes rested on the floor of the stall and beneath the tables, creating an unmanageable maze.

  “Hello,” Melody rasped. She sounded near exhaustion. With the hand holding the bubble wrap she smoothed her rumpled plaid shirt. “How can I help you?”

  “Sean came to the shop to return the swan salt and pepper shakers, but he didn’t look for anything to replace them. I thought you might like these.” I offered her the hastily prepared gift. “They’re not swans, but they have long necks, like your pottery.”

  “Thanks. That was sweet of you. You can set the bag . . .” Her gaze swung from the tables that held the pottery, to the steamer trunk near the sales desk with its lid open and upper compartments empty, to the worktable on the right side of the tent that held pottery tools, its pale blue tablecloth removed. “There,” she said, choosing the latter.

  I set the bag down. “May I ask you a question? It’s about Nick Baldini and Ren Camp.” It wasn’t a smooth segue, but it would have to do. With Sean on-site, time was of the essence.

  Melody stiffened, her hands poised above the box of bubble wrap. “Ren Camp? What’s that?”

  “You know what it is, where kids learn to playact for the Renaissance Fair. You and Nick attended for years. There are pictures of you as a young girl on his Facebook page, and more photographs of you in albums at his house. Back then, you were known as Melody Shannon.”

  Her face paled.

  I set Tigger on the ground. He immediately vaulted into the steamer trunk. “Tigger, no.”

  “Let him roam,” Melody snapped. “Cats are curious. It appears some cat owners are, too.”

  “You were the Ren Camp queen a number of times. You had dark hair back then.” Seeing as she didn’t deny anything, I continued. “Alan said you moved away when you were fourteen.”

  “Alan—” She glanced toward the boardwalk and back at me. Under her breath, she said, “Alan knows who I am? Why hasn’t he said anything?”

  “He didn’t recognize you because he had a sporting accident years ago that left him with face blindness.”

  “Then how—”

  “I told him.”

  She kept mum. The truth, without Alan’s ability to verify it, wasn’t going to scare her into a lengthier confession.

  “Alan said Nick lost touch with you after college. Why?”

  “Lots of people lose touch. We didn’t have a future.” Melody jutted a hip. “If that’s all, please leave. I’m in a hurry to finish up and get out of here.” She covered the pottery with bubble wrap and pivoted to fetch the shipping tape.

  “When did you meet Sean?”

  The question must have caught her off guard because she glanced over her shoulder at me, blinking as if trying to remember. “A year . . .” She shook her head. “No, a year and a half after I graduated. I was working as an art teacher at an elementary school.”

  “In Columbus, Ohio.”

  She spun around, a reel of shipping tape hooked on a finger. “How did you—”

  “Was it a long romance?”

  “More like a speed train.” A bittersweet memory glimmered in her eyes and quickly vanished. She tore off shipping tape, set the reel on the table with the pottery, and secured her package. She stowed it in an opened box beneath the table and then picked up an azure-colored vase and a fresh piece of bubble wrap. “He saw my potential as an artist and offered to support me so I could take more classes.”

  “Did he encourage you to enter competitions?”

  “No, that was my—”

  “Professor? The one you said was complicated? I believe his name was J. Daniel Loveland.”

  Melody’s hands started to shake. She nearly dropped the vase.

  I caught sight of Tigger’s tail rising from the steamer trunk and heard his claws digging. I ignored whatever damage he was doing and continued. “I saw a picture of you on the Internet with Professor Loveland, when you won the ceramics award for Ohio’s Future Artists.”

  Melody moaned.

  I said, “I’m sure you thought that if you changed your identity your past would vanish, but you can’t expunge everything in the ether. Your sister’s review on Yelp, for example. That’s how I figured out your maiden name.”

  Melody’s panicked gaze swung to the exit and back to me. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I want to know who killed Nick Baldini. I want justice for him.”

  “I told you the other day that I didn’t kill him.”

  “At the time, you claimed you barely knew him. That was a lie.”

  Bailey said, “Psst,” and made a gesture to hurry up.

  Adrenaline zinged through my veins. “Is Sean coming?”

  “I don’t see him,” Bailey whispered, “but c’mon. Get moving.”

  “Why are you worried about Sean showing up?” Melody’s voice trembled.

  I met her gaze. “When Nick saw you on the Pier the first day of the fair, he knew you instantly. He pursued you at the fair-speak taping. He called you by your maiden name, Shannon, but you rebuffed him.”

  “Because I’m married.”

  “I didn’t put two and two together until it dawned on me that the Post-it note he’d stuck on his computer with the word Get MEDS and a heart symbol wasn’t a reminder to pick up heart medication; it was your nickname, one he used during the taping. Nick also wrote a note to Fix it. I think he hoped to fix whatever had happened between you two. Why did you lose touch? The truth. Was it Sean’s idea?”

  Melody shook her head. “No, it was mine. Nick wanted a normal life. I craved celebrity and fame. I intended to be a world-renowned ceramics potter, like Carol Long or Annie Woodford. Sean understood that. Now, really, it’s time for you to leave.” She dismissed me with a flick of her hand.

  “You went to see Nick on the afternoon he died, didn’t you? Around four thirty. What did the two of you talk about? Did you admit who you were?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You took him a vase like the one you’re holding. You also brought him tomatoes from Pepper’s garden. Why the tomatoes?”

  She looked at me, eyes wide, and suddenly exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath for a long time and desperately needed oxygen.

  “Melody?” I asked softly.

  “He loved tomatoes. When we were kids, he . . . he . . .” Tears trickled from her eyes. She wiped them away. “Yes, I saw him. It was intense. Insane. The chemistry . . .” She shook her head. “When we kissed, I knew I never wanted to leave him. But I had to.”

  “Did you tell him why? Did you tell him that Melody Shannon needed to remain buried because she killed a professor? That was when your dream of fame evaporated, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s not true. You don’t understand. It was an accide
nt. Professor Loveland was . . .” She hugged the vase and bubble wrap like they were her lifeline. “He was always groping me. What could I do? He ran the art school. He made the ultimate decision which work was featured and which items were entered in competitions. I . . .” She licked her lips. “When I admitted what was happening to Sean, he suggested that I teach Loveland a lesson. He said I should knock him out using sleeping pills, and added that if he ever tried to paw me again, I should tell him what I’d done and threaten to do worse.”

  “Sleeping pills?”

  “Yes. I thought it was a brilliant plan, so I arranged a lunch meeting with Loveland when his secretary was out. Of course, he assumed I would be throwing myself at him.” Bitter memories flickered in her eyes. “Sean sneaked into the office with me, to give me courage. I dosed Loveland’s tea—he fancied a cup after lunch—and entered his office. We ate sandwiches and drank tea. Before I had to stomach another unwanted kiss, he fell asleep.”

  Melody batted the air and continued. “He was alive when I left his office, Jenna. I swear it. But the next thing I knew, I heard on the radio that he was dead. I’m not sure how it happened. Maybe he was allergic to the sleeping pills.” She swallowed hard. “I wanted to go to the police, but Sean said we had to run. No one would believe me. He quit his job and we fled that night.”

  “The professor didn’t die from an allergic reaction, Melody. He was poisoned with arsenic.”

  “Are you kidding?” She gagged. “I had no clue. Sean forbade me to listen to the radio after that. He didn’t want me to relive the horror. He . . .” She paused; her face brightened. “Wait. If Loveland died from arsenic, then that means I didn’t kill him.”

  Maybe not, but I knew who did. All Sean would have had to do was a sleight-of-hand trick like Tito had with the magic funnel. “Melody, you said Sean was with you, to give you courage. Is it possible that he added arsenic to the tea while you weren’t looking?”

  “He wouldn’t have. He—”

  “Why did Sean change his name to Beaufort after the professor died?”

  “He said if we changed our names and got married, no one would find me. Ever. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared.” She moaned and wrapped her arms around her body. “We drove to Reno and eloped.”

  “Melody”—I touched her shoulder—“after arguing with Sean about Nick, you went for a walk on the beach. Did anyone see you?”

  She shook her head. “No one was there because the queen’s procession was taking place on the Pier.”

  “Sean claims he went to the beach with you.”

  “He didn’t, but he didn’t go to Nick’s, either, if that’s what you’re suggesting. Our car was parked at Pepper’s when I came back. He must have taken a walk, too.”

  Tigger sprang from the steamer trunk with something in his mouth. A ribbon that was attached to a shredded blue scroll.

  “Tigger, stop.” I leaped toward him and took the document. As if to avoid a scolding, he dove back into the steamer trunk. “Melody, I’m sorry—”

  She snatched the document from me and a moan surged from deep within her.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Poetry.”

  “From Nick?”

  She nodded. “Sean was so angry when it was delivered. I’d wondered what he’d done with it.”

  “Jenna,” Bailey hissed. “I see Sean. Coming this way. Let’s go.”

  When I heard the spanking of shoes on the boardwalk, my heart began to pummel my rib cage. At the same time, a theory occurred to me. “Melody, Sean is a long-distance runner, isn’t he?”

  She bobbed her head.

  I whispered, “He could have run to Baldini Vineyards and back in less than an hour.”

  Chapter 24

  Bailey eeked gleefully. “Whew! The mayor waylaid Sean. Saved by the bell.”

  I held up a finger. “One more quick question. Melody, Pepper said your husband was wearing his blue-and-gold costume when she saw the two of you arguing. Was he wearing it when you came back from your walk?”

  “Why would you care?”

  “Because if he killed Nick . . .” I twirled a hand, encouraging her to figure it out.

  “It would be bloody,” she finished, the words catching in her throat.

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “No.” Melody squeezed the sheet of bubble wrap so hard a bubble burst. The pop made us both jump.

  Tigger leaped out of the steamer trunk, a glove hanging from his mouth. Not any glove—a gauntlet.

  I bolted to him and said, “Drop it.” He did. I noticed something that looked like dried blood on it. Was it Nick’s or Crow’s? I scooped Tigger into my arms and caught a glimpse of something dark blue with gold trim at the bottom of the trunk. It was wedged beneath layers of pale blue tablecloths.

  I set Tigger on the floor and dug my cell phone from my purse. “Bailey, there’s evidence in the trunk.”

  “Evidence?”

  “I think it’s Sean’s costume.”

  Melody keened. Her skin turned ash white, her eyelids fluttered, and she swooned.

  I threw an arm around her and walked-dragged her through the labyrinth of boxes and display tables to the pottery wheel stations. I settled her onto a stool and steadied her with a hand. “Bailey, call Cinnamon.” I flipped my cell phone to her. “Her number is in my speed-dial list.”

  After a moment, Bailey said, “She isn’t answering.”

  “Call the precinct. Have them track her down now!”

  I did my best to minister to Melody, patting her cheeks and rubbing her shoulders. She was as limp as a wet noodle.

  Bailey said, “Cinnamon and Bucky are at Mum’s the Word having dinner with my mom and your dad.”

  “To announce their engagement. Find them.”

  “But—”

  “Go. I can’t leave Melody. When Sean shows up, I’ll think of something. Promise.”

  Bailey dashed off.

  “Melody, c’mon, wake up,” I whispered. “We’ve got to leave.”

  Languidly, she roused. “Wh-where am I?”

  “In your stall on the Pier. You fainted. Let’s get you on your feet.”

  “Thirsty. Water.” She smacked her lips. “Thermos. On the sales desk.”

  “Can you sit by yourself?”

  “Think so.”

  I propped her against the table, fetched the thermos, and sped back. I whisked off the top and handed the thermos to her. She drank greedily.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” I said. “On your feet. We—”

  The sound of creaky wheels paused outside. Sean. He must have broken free of the mayor. In an instant, he rounded the edge of the tent with the dolly. He seared me with his gaze, and my insides snarled like Tigger’s ribbon.

  “What’s going on, Jenna?” he asked. “Why are you here?”

  Faster than you could spell lie, I said, “I brought Melody a replacement set of salt and pepper shakers.” I pointed to the gift bag. “I think the sentiment made her faint.” I stroked Melody’s upper back. “Are you feeling better?”

  Her eyes betrayed her; she was scared spitless.

  Sean set the dolly near the stack of boxes by the sales desk, locked the wheels, and gazed at me like a raptor assessing its prey. Then he glanced at Melody. Her shoulders were trembling. “What did you tell her, honey?”

  “N-nothing.”

  “The truth.”

  Melody stared at him as if mesmerized. “You lied to Jenna.”

  “About?”

  “About your alibi for the night Nick was killed. You didn’t go to the beach with me.”

  Swell. I’d hoped she was made of sturdier stuff and wouldn’t crack.

  I met Sean’s cruel gaze and raised my chin. As far back as elementary school, my father had told me to face my adversaries with defiance. “You didn’t believe she was going to the beach, did you, Sean? You were certain she’d sneaked off to see Nick. You were jealous, so you hightailed it up there.”

/>   “Me, jealous?”

  “Like you were of Professor Loveland.”

  “Professor Who?”

  “She knows,” Melody rasped.

  “Knows what?” His gaze swung to me.

  “I know you used to be Sean Ballantyne,” I said. “And Melody was born Melody Shannon.”

  He cut a harsh look at his wife. She bowed her head.

  “I found evidence about the professor’s death online,” I went on. “I copied the links and sent them to the police.” The moment the words spilled out of my mouth, I mentally kicked myself for not having done exactly that. Next time, I promised. If I lived to see a next time.

  “But I’m getting ahead of myself,” I said. “When you arrived at the vineyard, Hannah was there, so you waited until she left. Maybe, in the meantime, you scoped out the place, believing you might spy your wife holed up inside the house. Even though you didn’t, you stole inside. You wanted to take on Nick. How dare he flirt with your wife and send her poetry? How dare he screw up your life? You entered through the utility room. You saw the vase your wife made as well as the tomatoes from Pepper’s garden in the kitchen. If you hadn’t lost it yet, that put you over the edge. Those items confirmed your suspicion. Melody had been there. Am I warm?”

  Sean grunted. His eyes narrowed. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something. To confess or to brag?

  Banking on the latter, I said, “You were worried that she had revealed your secret, so you hunted down Nick. Where was he?”

  “On the verandah.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him I’d fix him.”

  The word fix made me think of Nick’s note: Fix it. Maybe I hadn’t been the only person investigating the Beauforts. Maybe Nick had discovered everything I had and hoped to fix or repair Melody’s past. If Cinnamon studied Nick’s Internet history, would she find links to Melody and Sean and the professor?

  I said, “Nick figured out the truth, didn’t he, Sean?”

  His eyes flickered with irritation. Oh, yeah, I was right.