by Pam Stucky
The man’s face turned smug, pleased to think finally someone believed him. “I live over in Sedro-Woolley,” he said. “She came to my office when she was looking for someone to build her house. Couple of years ago. I’m in construction, see,” he said.
“I thought you were a writer?” Megan said.
“I am,” the man said, scowling. “At nights. Construction during the day. She wanted a bid on her house. She came to us and I told her I was a writer, too. We had something in common. Thought I’d butter her up, build a rapport. Told her about my idea. She thought it was amazing. Then she picked another company to do her house and she stole my idea.”
The timeline seemed short, Megan thought, but then, Romy had been a fast writer. She’d published two or three books per year, every year, at least. It was possible. Megan wished she could take a photo of the man without him seeing, but instead she focused on remembering what he looked like. Would someone murder over a stolen idea? Or a lost building bid? Or both? But Megan was at a loss of what to do next. She had neither reason nor authority to detain the man. The best she could do would be to pass the information on to Max. “I’m sorry I can’t help you, Mr. Foster.” She repeated his name in hopes it would help her remember it long enough to write it down after he left.
He grunted and shook his head, as though it was all her fault. Probably, to this sort of man, everything was everyone else’s fault; he was the sole innocent victim of the world. He walked away, shaking his head and muttering angrily under his breath as patrons around him exchanged glances and averted their eyes. Megan shuddered as she watched him leave. Did any of his story have merit? Did it matter? How could she find out?
A young girl walked past Megan's desk, a stack of books in her arms, their bright yellow spines standing out against the girl’s bright pink jacket. “The girl detective,” Megan said to herself, the books’ iconic covers instantly recognizable. “What would Nancy Drew do?”
FIVE
Later that afternoon, another familiar face walked in the library’s main doors, strolling in with a confidence of a man who owned the place. Of course, he once had. Edison had changed his clothes since the party the day before, but he looked so bedraggled he may as well not have.
Megan saw him before he saw her, his eyes to the rafters, looking around the building like he was seeing ghosts. He seemed haunted, and Megan wondered whether it was recent events or the more distant past that was causing the haggard look on his face. When he saw her, he walked swiftly over.
“Megan,” he said. “Terrible news. Just …” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Shook his head and composed himself. “I’m here on library business. Sort of. Romy’s …” He shook his head again. “Romy’s sister and brother-in-law were staying with her. They can’t bear to stay in the house but they don’t want to leave town just yet. Can you … can they stay here?”
“Of course, of course,” said Megan, wanting to reach out for his hand. “As long as they need. We close in an hour. Tell them to come around to the back door and I’ll let them in.”
Edison tapped his fingers twice on Megan's desk, his mind a million miles away, and left.
A few minutes later, Megan's cell rang. Caller ID identified the call: Lily. “Hey, what’s up?” Megan said on answering.
“Things are crazy here,” said Lily, sounding unusually frazzled. Normally she was the calm in the storm, the friend everyone could rely on in any emergency. “There is no room at the inn. Literally. The word is out about Romy and fans are heading to town, and they all want a room. Rae says people have asked to park camper vans in her parking lot, and set up tents on the lawn out back of the pub. It’s insane.”
“It’s crazy all over,” said Megan. “I’ll have to tell you about this guy who came by here earlier. Creepy. He said Romy had stolen his idea for a book.”
“What?” said Lily. “Ah crap, another call coming in. Quick question: Can I send Romy’s agent and her husband to stay in one of your guest rooms? With fans staying here it could get weird. I don’t want them to feel uncomfortable.”
“Of course,” said Megan, though she hoped this would be the last such request. There were three guest suites upstairs; with Romy’s sister and brother-in-law in one, and now the agent in another, things were starting to get crowded. “Plenty of room. Whatever I can do to help.”
“Okay, I’ll send them over now. I don’t think I can come see you tonight. I’ll call as soon as I can. Gotta go. Love you!”
“Love you, too! Hang in there!” said Megan, but Lily had already moved on to her other call.
“Well then,” Megan said to her desk, “someone had better make sure all those guest rooms are set up for guests.” After notifying an assistant, she headed up the grand staircase to get ready for company.
* * *
It felt wrong to have people stay in the suite Romy had been in so recently, so Megan prepared the other two suites instead and then went back to her own apartment. Guessing that the arriving company wouldn’t want to go out to dinner that night, she rummaged through her cupboards to see if she could provide some sort of a meal. When she’d accepted the offer to live over the library she hadn’t expected so many B&B duties, but it seemed a small price to pay for what she was getting in return.
However, “go to the grocery store” had been on Megan's to-do list for more than a week. The cupboards were nearly bare. “It’ll have to be spaghetti,” she said to the kitchen, grabbing pasta and sauce from the pantry shelves. “Maybe I have the makings for meatballs?” she speculated. On rummaging around some more she decided she did, if she improvised a bit.
Emlyn and Baz, Romy’s agent and her husband, arrived first, shortly after five. Half an hour later, Romy’s sister, Sylvie, and Sylvie’s husband, Wade, showed up. Megan got everyone settled into their rooms. When she saw Emlyn’s pristine Louis Vuitton suitcase, she had second thoughts about whether her spaghetti dinner would be good enough, but Emlyn seemed distracted and happy to be served. Megan showed them the way to her own apartment, and told them to come over whenever they liked.
As Megan was laying the table, the outside doorbell rang once again. “But everyone’s here,” said Megan to the kitchen as she answered her phone to buzz the visitor in. “Hello?” she said, her voice raising an extra level at the end in question.
“Megan? It’s Edison. Thought I’d come over and help with the guests if you need help. Should I come up?” Edison said, sounding more uncertain than Megan had ever heard him.
“Of course. We’re having dinner here in a bit. You should join us. Come on up.” She buzzed him in. A few minutes later he was up the elevator from the downstairs back lobby, and at her door.
“I brought wine,” Edison said by way of greeting, lifting the bag he was holding. He had indeed brought wine: six bottles.
“That should be enough,” Megan said with a grin. “So thoughtful. Thank you. Please, come in.” She suddenly felt so awkward. Hosting a dinner party for people she didn’t know, all of whom were mourning someone she’d only just met. What kind of small talk could she hope to make that would be in any way appropriate? She should have left them alone. They would have found food on their own. Instead she was forcing everyone together for an uncomfortable dinner. Her intentions had been good, but the execution left something to be desired.
“They’re all coming here for dinner,” Megan blurted out. “I’m not sure this was a good idea. I wasn’t thinking.” The look in her eyes was one of panic.
Edison put the wine down. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, pulling her in for an unexpected hug. Ordinarily Megan might have stiffened at the familiarity, but she collapsed into his warmth. It seemed they both needed the comfort. After a few moments, Edison pulled away, held her at arms’ length, and looked in her eyes. “There’s no right or wrong here. There’s just people doing their best. When I called to check that everything was okay, Sylvie told me you’d invited them to dinner. I could hear in her voice how grateful she was. You�
�ve done good. And I’m here to offer support, to you or to whoever needs it.”
Tears started to rise in Megan's eyes and she blinked them away. “Thank you, Edison,” she said with a heavy sigh. “And the same goes for you. You knew Romy well?” she said, her voice making the statement into a question.
Edison dropped his hands and picked up the wine, turning away from Megan and heading to the kitchen. “Do you have a bottle opener?” he said.
Out of bounds, Megan thought, and she let the subject go.
She thought back on her previous interactions with Edison. She’d been living in Emerson Falls for about a dozen years now, and she knew that Edison—and, until the divorce about three years ago, his wife—had been living in the area on and off for years, a few weeks at a time. After the divorce, Edison had moved to the area permanently. He’d earned his millions long ago, back in his twenties, in software. More recently he’d created a game app that had brought him another influx of income. It was after that that he’d decided his wife should become his ex-wife. She hadn’t taken to the idea all that well, especially considering the prenup she’d signed when they got married which left her with almost nothing. The divorce had provided the town with triple scoops of gossip on a near-daily basis for a good while.
But while divorces could bring out the worst in people, that didn’t mean those people were inherently awful. She remembered Romy’s thoughts on the man: charming, but dangerous. Megan agreed with the former, but was less convinced on the latter. Electric, certainly; before he’d moved to town full time, she’d always felt she could tell when he was in the area. It was like he carried with him a charge that energized everything anywhere near him. He was a man of ideas, and those ideas seemed to be generated from physical activity. He never sat still. Every morning, and sometimes again in the evening, he could be found running down the highway that ran past town. Even while sitting in a meeting he’d have a toe tapping in time to his unspoken thoughts, as ideas formed and internal brainstorms brewed. In library planning meetings he would jump out of his chair when he had a sudden idea, or when anyone said anything that excited him. It was hard not to feel a sense of excitement around him, an eagerness, a burgeoning of possibilities.
Megan liked him.
As Edison opened a bottle of red, there was another knock at the door. Megan let in Emlyn and Baz, and then just as she was about to close the door saw Sylvie and Wade heading down the hallway. She waited with the door open, and let them in as well.
Sylvie’s eyes were red and puffy. Megan looked her over and could see the resemblance to Romy. Sylvie was three years older, Megan had read, and was slightly taller, but sported a similar bob haircut on her pure white hair. Just as I suspected, Megan thought, recalling that she’d imagined this is how Romy’s hair would look as she aged. But she’ll never age now. Where Romy had been bubbly, Sylvie seemed introspective. It was impossible to know at this point whether that was her normal demeanor, or a reaction to the tragedy. Sylvie’s husband, Wade, was an inch or so taller than Sylvie. He had a thick head of graying hair, and bright blue-gray eyes that were somewhat aloof or distracted as he greeted Megan and thanked her for her kindness. “We appreciate the hospitality,” Wade said. “Romy had told us how gracious you were, letting her stay here. We just couldn’t be at her house right now.” As he said it, he reached his arm protectively around Sylvie’s waist.
“Of course, anything,” said Megan. “Whatever you need, please, let me know. Anything.” She mentally halted her babbling and showed them the way to the living room.
Edison was already serving the wine, and Emlyn and Baz were seated on the couch. The living room was not tiny, but neither was it huge. Megan was just glad she had enough chairs and couches for everyone. The weight of Romy’s death—murder—filled the room and started to stifle Megan. Recognizing that this was a meal for sustenance, not socializing, Megan excused herself once everyone was settled. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, and headed to the kitchen.
The murmur of voices from the living room was muted and interspersed with long silences as Megan finished preparing the meal. She quickly brought the dishes out to the dining room. “We’re ready,” she said, and the group found places at the table. As the host of the meal, Megan felt like she should be leading the conversation, but she was at a loss and the evening was quiet and strained. Finally, Wade broke the silence. “Megan, this is an unusual situation you have here. Is it common for a librarian to live over the library?”
Small talk, to be sure, but Megan was glad for something to cling to. “No, actually.” She nodded her head at Edison. “This used to be Edison’s vacation home. He donated it to the county to be used as a library, but it’s so enormous that they decided to make the top floor into living space for the Library Director and guests.”
This sparked Wade’s interest. He turned to Edison. “A spectacular home. What made you decide to give it up?” he asked.
Edison smiled, his tired eyes brightening just the slightest. “I’ve never been one for ostentatiousness. If it had been up to me, this house would have been a tenth of this size, at most. It’s ridiculous. It shouldn’t take several minutes to get from one end of a house to the other. You feel like you need a search party sometimes to find the other person. My ex-wife, Daphne, wanted this house. ‘I’ve always wanted a big vacation home, Ed,’ she said.” His upper lip curled slightly at the memory. “I hate being called Ed, and she knew it, but she did it because it amused her to irritate me. ‘Make me a big vacation home, Ed.’ The marriage was already on rocky ground, and I wanted to try to … make her happy, so I said yes. I had no interest in it, and at the time I was busy with work, so she was in charge of the whole thing. Next thing I know, she comes to me with the blueprints for this.” He looked around the room, seeing beyond the walls. “I was too exhausted to argue, and at that point I still thought there might be something I could do to … to save us.” He twirled some spaghetti around on his fork, watching the pale strands loop over themselves and make tiny splatters of sauce. “I never could make her happy. I’m not sure she ever wanted to actually be happy. Looking back, I think all she wanted was for everyone around her to keep trying to make her happy. She didn’t love people. She didn’t love me. She loved attention. She loved the attention I showered on her, doing everything I could to convince her to finally love me back. That was her idea of love.” He paused to take a bite of his food, and sat staring at his fork a while before he continued. “Finally I’d had enough. Filed for divorce. Luckily for me, my dad had been very insistent that I have Daphne sign a prenup,” a small, satisfied smile turned up the corners of his lips. “She got next to nothing. Knowing how much the county could use a nice new library, I thought the best thing I could do would be to sign this building over.” His smile grew. “Daphne hated reading.”
Wade shook his head in mild admiration at Edison’s audacity. “Was she angry?”
A burst of caustic laughter erupted from Edison. “Was she angry!” He reached for the wine and refilled his glass, then held up the bottle to see if anyone else wanted more. Megan nodded, and he passed the wine down to her. “Like I said, however she may have looked on the outside, Daphne was never happy. I don’t know if it bothered her more that I gave away the house or that I stopped trying to make her happy.”
“Does she still live around here?” Wade asked.
Edison shuddered. “Can’t get rid of her,” he said. “She doesn’t live here in Emerson Falls, but she’s a few towns over. Always watching,” he said. “Never gave much attention to me when we were married, but now that I’m gone, she won’t go away. Anything I do, I hear about three days later. When I trace the source, it always comes back to her. No idea how she finds out, but she does.”
“How long ago was the divorce?” asked Baz, doing his part to keep the conversation going. Sylvie was silent and listless, seemingly unaware of the conversation going on around her. Wade’s attention seemed to be more centered on his wife. Emlyn w
as listening, but she seemed unfocused as well.
“Two years,” said Edison. “I’m a new man. Life’s never been better.” He winked at Megan. Her heart fluttered, not from attraction but from uncertainty: why was he winking at her?
“Did your ex-remarry?” asked Baz. A sidelong glance at his wife made Megan wonder if Baz found the idea of being a free man again appealing.
“No,” Edison said, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Not yet. I don’t think she’s even dated. Apparently the rest of the men in the world are smarter than I was.” He put his napkin down. “But, not my concern.”
By this time, everyone had stopped eating. Megan stood to gather plates. “I don’t have much for dessert,” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to get to the store. I think there’s some ice cream if anyone wants some?”
Wade looked over at his wife. Clearly her attention was not in the room. “I think we’re good,” he said. “All we needed was a little something to keep us going. You were good to invite us, but I think we’ll head back to our rooms and rest.”
“Of course, yes,” said Megan. She quickly whisked the dishes to the kitchen, noticing Sylvie had hardly eaten. When she returned, Wade and Sylvie had made their way to the front door.