by Madelyn Alt
At least the book accomplished one thing. It kept me from thinking about my new boss, and whether the police were serious in questioning her about the circumstances surrounding her sister's death.
When Felicity finally emerged, dusk was casting long shadows across the institutional brown carpet. Two uniformed officers escorted her from the back room, that mysterious place they took all potential miscreants for questioning. Our town boys prided themselves on a ninety-five percent arrest rate. In my humble opinion that seemed a bit high, but if exaggeration kept the citizens of Stony Mill happy, who was I to quibble? Placation has its advantages. Just ask my mom. I've been placating her for years.
As I watched from my hidden vantage point in the corner, Felicity swung her wrap around her slender shoulders with her signature savoir faire before turning to her escorts.
"My thanks, lads. I appreciate your efforts. Truly I do. Despite your regretful tendencies to believe the worst of me."
Her eyes twinkled and she might as well have twitched her nose, a la Samantha on TV's Bewitched. One of the officers, fortyish and with the kind of ramrod comportment that screamed ex-military, flushed to his thinning hairline and shifted uneasily from foot to foot.
"Ms. Dow. I hope… I'm very sorry for your loss today. Very sorry. But God, God will see justice is done."
His voice trailed away, but I didn't need to hear his ineffectual stammering to realize the man was a little sweet on her. I wondered if Felicity knew. Then I noticed the little smile playing around her lips and the speculative glances she cast through her eyelashes. Oh yeah, Felicity knew, and she was playing it up. To the hilt.
Smart woman.
The second cop, whom I recognized as Jim Cowpin, Stony Mill High class of '88, stepped in to save him with a steadying hand to his shoulder. "We appreciate you coming in, ma'am. I'm sorry it has to come to this, but of course you realize we're only doing our jobs."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
Cowpin paused. Cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, afraid we'll have to ask you to remain in the area."
Felicity's laugh was throaty and warm. "Don't leave town, is that it, boys?"
He held his ground. "I'm afraid so, ma'am."
"Very well, then. In the event that my presence is required elsewhere, I shall dutifully obtain the approval of the Stony Mill Police Department first. Fair enough? Then I bid you good evening, gentlemen."
She caught sight of me as she turned toward the door. Surprise flickered across her face, followed closely by gratitude. "Maggie! I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to see you! But you shouldn't have come, my dear. Nasty business, this lot."
The mother of all understatements. "How are you holding up, Felicity?" I asked politely.
She cast a barely perceptible glance over her left shoulder at the two uniformed officers who watched on, then gave me a meaningful look. "Let's get away from here, shall we? It's been rather a long day."
Outside, the evening air was crisp and smelled faintly of burning leaves. The yellow glow of the street lamps made our shadows stretch in front of us, unnaturally long and slender. Silence followed us out of the police station, broken only by the faraway buzz of a leaf blower. Now that we were away from the watchful eye of the police, I felt a little funny and more than a little uncertain. Questions kept popping into my head. Questions like, was I right to trust Felicity; and was I doing the right thing?
Get a grip, Maggie.
"Is your car here?" I asked to distract myself.
"My… ?" Felicity blinked at me. "No. My goodness, I'd nearly forgotten. It's at… the house. My sister's, I mean." She gave me a rueful smile. "I must be getting dotty in my old age."
My natural wariness thawed, just a bit. "Who wouldn't be a bit out of sorts after what you've been through today?" I soothed. I patted her on the arm. "My car's down this way. Come on. I'll take you home."
Some might question my afternoon vigil, much less my offer of a ride home to a murder suspect. But realistically I knew that if Felicity Dow had offed her sister, she wouldn't be likely to add fuel to the coals of suspicion by going on a deadly rampage. I mean, who would mind the store? Besides, I didn't want to believe she could be guilty. I liked her. And there was no way I was just going to leave her stranded. Not when she was standing there, lost and utterly alone. I would take her home, because that was the decent thing to do.
Not to get her car, though. Even if we were able to gain access to her late (I tried not to gulp) sister's property, I wasn't at all sure that I wanted to find myself at the scene of a murder a scant eight hours after it took place. Indiana might be cornfields and apple pie to everyone else, but it could be damned eerie after dark with the moon rising high and a fresh wind kicking at the trees. And with a killer running loose…
I shivered involuntarily, and my gaze slid sideways. Just for a second.
Oblivious to my nervousness, Felicity stood by while I unlocked her door, then she slid immediately into the old bucket seat with a sigh of relief and closed her eyes. Just as quickly my moment of unease was replaced by concern. She had been so composed before, and was so silent now. I hurried around to the driver's side and got in, locking the door behind me. Christine started on the first try for once. I fiddled with the radio dials in an attempt to tune in something calming, but tonight the only thing coming from the antique radio was static. Giving up, I turned at last to Felicity and touched her neatly folded hands.
"Liss?" The shortened version of her name flowed easily from my lips, as if I'd been calling her that for years. "Liss, you're going to have to tell me where you live."
"Hmm? Oh, sorry, dear. Victoria Park Road
. About six miles out."
I tried to keep my protective instincts in check as I put Christine into gear and steered her up the hill toward Main Street. They tended to rear up whenever I saw an MLV (Most Likely Victim) singled out. That's me: Maggie O'Neill, Queen of the Underdogs. I just couldn't seem to help it. In light of recent events and by virtue of her spiritual beliefs, Felicity was in great danger of becoming Most Likely #1 in my book. Instinct told me I could trust her, but common sense was telling me to move slowly. I needed more information.
Victoria Park was a former Indian trail, a winding country road that meandered through farm fields and pockets of woods. It was lovely in the summer, with a shelter of leafy bowers overhead, breathtaking in autumn with a gold red shower of falling leaves, austere and commanding in winter and spring. I knew it fairly well, having discovered it on one of my solitary sojourns through the countryside on yet another date-challenged Saturday night. Not that I have a lot of those. All right, okay, so I do. Sue me.
I stopped at the railroad tracks to look for trains. We were approaching my favorite part of the road, where two expensive properties rested side by side, delineated by long lengths of elaborate limestone and iron fencing and grand security gates. The fencing styles had changed several times over the last few years, each time advancing in expense and splendor until the competition ended last September with the current models. Rumors had long circulated town about the quarreling neighbors, each trying to outdo the other. Like Dueling Banjos, on a more grandiose scale.
"There. Just there—turn right."
So of course it stood to reason that my new boss was one of the sparring fence owners. Good thing I hadn't spouted off about them.
Obediently, I cranked the wheel hard right and pulled onto a paved asphalt drive until the curlicued gate halted my progress. I paused uncertainly, wondering whether we needed to call someone, somewhere, to unlock it. Before I could ask, Felicity delved into the depths of her bag and pulled out a tiny handheld gadget. It made a funny ptchew-ptchew sound that reminded me a little of Space Invaders, then the scissorlike gates swung slowly open.
"You'll need to hurry through once they're open, dear. They won't remain so for long."
I managed to conquer this new challenge and eased up the winding wooded drive, through a darkness that was nearly
complete. In the glow of my high-beams, the trees and under-brush writhed and twisted in the rising wind, like pale and spindly kokopelli ghosts dancing eerily around us.
Our destination remained hidden until I guided Christine round the last bend in the drive. A second soft ptchew-ptchew sounded to my right and security lights blazed to life. My mouth fell open. Situated in a shallow bowl behind the screen of trees was an enormous home reminiscent of an old English manor, complete with mellow brick and Gothic-style windows.
"This is yours?" I squeaked.
Felicity gave an odd half-smile. "Home sweet home."
"Nice place."
I tried not to think of my basement apartment, which in the cold light of day looked like, well, a basement.
We parked beneath a carriage port that sheltered a rear entrance. Poor old Christine looked desperately shabby in such exalted surroundings. I gave her a loyal, if consoling, pat on the hood and hovered nearby as Felicity unlocked the door.
"Well…" I said, not wanting her to think I was trying to overstay my welcome. I mean, I was dying to see inside her gorgeous house, and I wanted even more to hear what had happened today, but I wasn't about to foist myself upon her at a time like this.
"You will be staying, of course," Felicity cut in before I could finish my thought. Her tone brooked no refusal and displayed a bit of the strength that had slipped away from her for a time. "I'd appreciate the company."
"If you're sure…"
She smiled and swept her arm toward the door. "Welcome to The Gables."
We stepped into a large foyer, expensively finished with gleaming woods and sky-high ceiling beams. A single lamp cast a pale circle of light that barely touched the airy space. In awe, I tipped my head back to gaze at a chandelier that hovered high above our heads. Dripping with crystals, it shimmered and sparkled in the faint moonlight that drifted through a window above the door.
I was about to comment on the beauty of the room when a shadow peeled away from a deeper well of blackness near the stairs. In what felt like slow motion, I snapped my head forward, brought my hands up, and opened my mouth to scream before I realized that Felicity had also noticed the intruder and didn't seem at all alarmed.
"Marcus," she said, the pleasure in her voice understated, but very much in evidence. "I might have expected as much."
She moved forward to greet him with a tight hug that had me inspecting the details on the molding and wondering if I should announce my departure. It was one thing to suspect my boss of having an affair with a studly young bohunk. It was quite another to be faced with outright proof of it.
"Are you all right, Liss?" he asked, staring into her eyes.
She laughed softly and pressed her palm to his cheek. "Right as rain, ducks."
"I don't believe that for a minute. Hey, I parked my bike in the garage, as usual. You don't mind, do you?"
That would explain why I hadn't seen anything when I pulled Christine up underneath the carriage port.
"Of course not. Have I ever?"
He muttered something under his breath for her ears alone, and she nodded; then she turned and held out her hand to me. "Good heavens, we're being rude. Marcus, why don't you show Maggie around while I fix drinks. Maggie, what will you have?"
"Um, well, iced tea?" I felt myself blush, but I stood my ground. I didn't feel comfortable enough with the situation to lower my guard. If only to assuage my own uneasiness, I needed to keep my wits about me.
"Iced tea it is. Marcus?"
His fingertips lingered as he slipped her wrap from her shoulders. "Tea sounds good."
"Three for tea, then."
She disappeared through a door to our right, leaving me alone with her young studmuffin. In true guy form, Marcus tossed the cashmere shawl casually over an antique Windsor chair and held out his hands for my jacket, waiting. I took an involuntary step backward. The prospect of giving it up, of relinquishing even a shred of my security, heightened my already niggling feelings of vulnerability, and I didn't like it. I shook my head. "Thanks, but I'll keep it for now," I told him vaguely. "I'm a little cold."
He shrugged. "Suit yourself." But I couldn't mistake the speculative glance that he swept down my body, nor could I misinterpret the amusement that flickered in his eyes. "So. Would you like a look-see?"
I would. I did.
I had grown up firmly entrenched in middle-class America, with middle-class values and aspirations (although my mother would be the first to tell you I'm a habitual underachiever). What I found in Felicity's home left me boggled. Outside, it was all English Renaissance. Inside the mellow brick home it was simply fine living. The house was decorated in hunting prints and heavy moldings, massive hearths, and a masculine sort of elegance that didn't seem to fit Felicity's natural chintz-and-sunshine chic but was beautiful nonetheless. Straight from the ritziest decorating journals, the rooms were enormous, the ceilings high, and the furniture out of this world. Martha Stewart, eat your heart out.
"Nice," was all I could think to say.
"Yeah."
We were standing in the middle of an upstairs guestroom, near a massive bed with a velvet canopy and curtains, the fairytale room of a princess from a faraway land. I stretched out a finger to stroke the midnight blue velvet and caught sight of myself in the dressing table mirror, across the room. My face was alight with awe and wide-eyed amazement.
I shook my head. "Clearly I am out of my league here."
He arched a brow and gave me a quizzical smirk. "You mean the fancy trappings?"
A little embarrassed, I shrugged.
"Liss isn't like that. This house was her husband's dream. I think she'd be just as happy in a little cottage somewhere, just doing her own thing."
"Ah." I latched on to the nugget of information greedily. I knew so little about her. This was my chance for some inside info from someone who knew her intimately. I wasn't about to let it pass me by. "Why does she stay?"
"I suppose she feels she owes it to him. To his memory." He rested a hip against the high mattress and crossed his arms. The briefest glimpse of a tattoo tantalized me from beneath the sleeve of his black T-shirt, but it was his eyes that made me shiver. As blue as blue could be, clear as crystal, all-knowing. "Never mind why Liss is here. I want to know why you're here."
The directness of his approach took me off guard. I'd never been very good with confrontation. I stared at him while all of the smart answers flew right out of my head and I was left with nothing more than the truth to fill the empty space. "I don't know exactly," I admitted.
"I mean, I guess I'm here to find out the truth. And because I feel sorry for Felicity. Today had to be total hell."
"Yeah."
I let my eyes drop to his folded arms, to where I'd seen the tattoo peek out. It was a stylized Celtic knot, I could see now, with a star at its center. Something clicked in my head, just beyond my grasp.
"Liss is…" He paused as though struggling with his thoughts. "She's strong, but too independent. She won't ask for help. She likes to think she can take care of everything on her own. That's one of the reasons she made me leave her when the police wanted to question her further down at the station. I can be pretty opinionated, I guess, and she knew I'd have a hard time waiting around without kicking up some trouble. I guess she knows me pretty well, at that."
Ah. That explained why he had let her go through all of that on her own. I had wondered. At least I knew now that it hadn't been his choice after all to abandon Liss to the wolves.
"You're worried about her." I voiced the thought aloud before I knew what I was doing, but I knew instantly that it was true. I knew a lot of things that way. Always had. It was a particular talent of mine. I liked to call it reading people. Body language, eyes—both tell the undercurrents of a story most people are simply too busy to listen to. The times when I knew details I shouldn't were what really bothered me. Usually I chalked it up to luck, but sometimes I couldn't help wondering…
"She's been t
hrough a lot this year. She handles it well, but—"
He broke off abruptly as Felicity appeared in the door.
"There you are!" She beamed at us. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Drinks are ready belowstairs, whenever you are."
I smiled at her use of the Queen's English. I couldn't help myself.
"Have you eaten anything?" she went on, leading the way toward the stairs.
"You mean besides the LifeSavers I found in my pocket?" I quipped.
"No one should be forced to eat lint-covered LifeSavers at a time like this," she countered, proving she hadn't lost her sense of humor. "Come, come. Do you care for eggs? I scramble a splendid cheese omelet, if I do say so myself. Marcus?"
"I'd kill for one of your omelets. Kidding!" he said, holding up his hands in surrender when he saw my face. "Bad joke, never mind. I'm right behind you."
We followed her to one of the best-equipped private kitchens I had ever seen. Clean lines, slick surfaces, stainless-steel appliances that gleamed in the bright lighting. This was not your everyday Hoosier kitchen. Professional grade all the way.
"Cooking was my husband's favorite hobby," she said, catching the upward drift of my eyebrows. "He loved this room. I, on the other hand, scarcely know my way around a hotplate. Except for eggs and a good cup of tea, of course. Everyone should have at least one specialty."
And she wasn't exaggerating about hers. Within minutes I was wrapping my tongue around buttery soft eggs that made my tastebuds sing. I gorged myself like I hadn't eaten in weeks, reveling in the experience, then leaned back against my chair, satiated and happy. Marcus, on the other hand, scarcely touched his. All his attention was focused on the woman opposite him.
"You're not eating," Felicity said in a quiet voice.
Marcus glanced down at her plate. "Neither are you."
"It's been a rather trying day."
Typical English understatement, that stiff-upper-lip mentality we Americans found so alien, so… coolly detached. What secrets did it hide from the casual observer?