Oh, what a ticklish, interesting, revealing question.
I smiled at him. “It would take a bit of genealogy to figure that one out, Captain. I’m more of a distant cousin treated as an honorary aunt.”
He leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms over his chest. “Just where were you, Mrs. Collins, when Patty Kay Matthews was killed?” His eyes were lethal as stilettos.
“Late Saturday afternoon I was en route to Monteagle.”
“You can’t prove it.”
“No.” I smiled gently. “But you can’t prove otherwise.”
“And you don’t have an alibi for the murder of Amy Foss.” Again that piercing stare.
“When,” I asked quietly, “was Amy killed?”
He didn’t have to check his notes. “Between two-forty and three this afternoon.”
“At that time, I was driving back from Nashville to my nephew’s home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
His eyes said it all: Same song, second verse.
“Was Amy shot?” I asked abruptly. Where was Patty Kay’s gun now?
There was a flicker in his chilly eyes. He gazed at me thoughtfully, then shook his head. “No. Somebody knocked her unconscious. Then he—or she—strangled her.”
Oh, God. Poor Amy. Poor kid. “It’s hideous,” I said angrily.
But Chief Walsh wasn’t interested in my expressions of concern.
Instead, he snapped, “Was Craig Matthews’s arrival at your cabin Saturday evening prearranged, Mrs. Collins?”
It’s always nice to be able to tell the truth. “No.” I thought it had a ring of veracity.
“How did he know you were there?”
This was tricky.
“I always keep my family informed of my vacation plans.” Which I do.
Captain Walsh rubbed a bristly cheek; his eyes never left my face. “I want a copy of recent letters you and Craig Matthews exchanged.”
“I don’t keep letters, Captain.”
The assistant D.A. scooted her chair forward. She studied me like Bacall eyeing a bad guy. Her tone was cool as she spelled it out. “Craig Matthews is going to be extremely rich if he inherits his wife’s estate. He won’t inherit a cent if he’s convicted of her murder. And you’ve come to Fair Haven and repeatedly tried to divert police suspicion from him. We have to wonder if the circumstances of his wife’s murder weren’t arranged to look as though someone was trying to place the blame on Matthews.”
I met her gaze steadily. “Interesting thesis. But you’re going a little fast, aren’t you, Ms. Nichols? There are still some items to be explained. To whom did the beige sweater belong, the one Craig wrapped the murder weapon in?”
Walsh didn’t need to consult his notes. “Mr. Matthews said it was his wife’s sweater.”
Damn Craig. He was going to wrap a noose of lies around his own neck.
I handled it as well as I could. “Really? I suppose most men don’t pay too much attention to clothes. In fact, he could have made a mistake.” I looked at the assistant D.A. “I imagine you know quite a bit about clothes, Ms. Nichols. Suffice it to say, the bloodied sweater came from Lands’ End. If you check Mrs. Matthews’s closet, you’ll find a lot of far more expensive designer outfits.”
Captain Walsh looked faintly bewildered, but quick understanding flickered in Nichols’s eyes.
“Actually, Captain, Ms. Nichols, I recommend that you take a look at the clothing worn by others who knew—or worked for—Mrs. Matthews.”
“More distraction, Mrs. Collins?” Walsh sniped.
I was pleasant but crisp. “I’m not into conspiracy, Captain Walsh. I’m just trying to get at the facts. I suggest you do the same.”
17
I was grateful I had the second Baby Ruth in my bag. I made it out to Walden School with two minutes to spare, the candy wrapper crumpled on the car seat, a surge of sugar in my blood.
I was torn.
I desperately wanted to know more about Amy’s last day at the bookstore. To whom did the girl talk? What did she do? I wanted to know what the others in the store had seen. I wanted to ask each of the customers when they last saw Amy, if they talked to her.
I didn’t know a damn thing. The last to be interviewed, the last out the door, I was left with all the unanswered questions and nobody there to ask.
Did Amy have a desk, a drawer, a cubbyhole, anything where she kept her things?
Where was Stevie when Amy disappeared?
Where, most important, most emphatic, was Craig?
Twenty-four hours, that’s all I’d give him.
And I keep my promises.
But I couldn’t miss the meeting of the trustees of Walden School. Amy was killed because she was a threat to Patty Kay’s murderer. To avenge Amy, I had to find out why Patty Kay was furious on Friday, the day after she went out to Walden School for her files. Walden School—its trustees were invited to a dinner canceled by Patty Kay’s murder. Walden School—its headmaster knew more than he was telling.
Walden School. Suddenly every path led to it.
Light spilled cheerfully from the tall windows on the first floor of the beautiful Greek Revival mansion.
I hurried up the steps, opened the front door—and cannoned into Chuck Selwyn.
The headmaster jerked back. Again he wore the navy blazer, Oxford cloth button-down shirt, khaki slacks, and tasseled oxblood loafers. But there was nothing boyish about the look he gave me.
“Mrs. Collins, the school is closed to visitors at the moment. I’ll have to ask you—”
“Henrie O, glad you could make it!”
Desmond’s welcome was warm, loud, and genial. He ducked around the headmaster, hand outstretched, to greet me, then looked toward Selwyn. “Mrs. Collins is here to represent the Matthews family tonight.” His tone was pleasant but final.
Brooke Forrest hurried in. “Oh, I hope I’m not late.” Her smile faltered. The dark smudges beneath her eyes emphasized her paleness. She actually looked ill. Her apple-green silk blouse was elegant with the charcoal linen skirt, but not perhaps the best color choice for her wan face.
“Hello, Brooke. I was telling Chuck that Henrie O’s here to give us some help on an appropriate memorial for Patty Kay.”
“Oh, yes, yes. I’m so glad you could come.” Her hand touched my arm. “It’s so important.”
Every word Desmond and Brooke said made it more difficult for Selwyn to object.
The headmaster nodded grudgingly. “Very good of you to take the time, Mrs. Collins,” he said stiffly.
As the grandfather clock in the corner chimed seven, Stuart Pierce and Willis Guthrie entered together. Cheryl Kraft was the last to arrive. For once she didn’t appear elegant. Her silk dress was crumpled, her too-thin face distressed.
“God,” she said to me, “you made it too. God, what a dreadful thing.” If the others heard her husky, subdued voice, they gave no sign of it.
Selwyn waved us toward his office. “Please find a comfortable chair. And I have coffee—”
I slipped up beside Desmond. “I’ve been at the bookstore. Did you—”
He cut me off. “Yes. Craig’s home now. I think he’s okay.”
That wasn’t my first concern, but Desmond had no way of knowing that.
“—and sodas if anyone would like one.”
Selwyn had no takers. This was one board meeting that would have no aura of a social gathering.
Desmond quickly brought the meeting to order.
The somber-faced trustees watched and listened as Desmond spoke.
“… a double toll on our faculty and students and patrons. I know that we …”
Selwyn was trying hard to appear appropriately sorrowful, yet calmly in charge. But it was a struggle. He gave me a final sharp glance, then looked away. His mouth turned down. He looked more like a petulant schoolboy than a schoolmaster.
Desmond paused, his voice choking. “… all of you know that Patty Kay and I were suc
h old and …”
Desmond’s grief was reflected in Stuart Pierce’s grim face. Patty Kay’s lover and former husband stared morosely down at his tightly clasped hands, his gaze bleak and despairing.
“… difficult for our students to cope with the demise of a classmate. It is very important that we emphasize how all of us—students, faculty, parents, trustees—are available at any time to those in despair. We can’t …”
Willis Guthrie smothered a yawn. It was probably as well for him that neither Stuart nor Desmond was looking his way.
“… at the assembly tomorrow I will describe the counseling services that …”
Brooke watched Desmond with anguished eyes. Once again I recognized a mother’s terror, the unspoken fear that one young suicide might trigger another and another and another. Everyone in this room knew the turmoil and uncertainty and depression that tumultuous hormone levels can create. All too well we knew that no teenager could be considered immune, no matter how outwardly happy or well-adjusted.
The passions and fears and heartbreaks of the young burn brighter and fiercer than those tempered by age and experience.
I hoped that experienced eyes were watching all the young people in Fair Haven for the next few weeks.
“… necessary for all of us to present a reassuring face to the world.”
Cheryl Kraft broke in sharply. “That’s easy enough for you to say, Desmond! I can’t believe what’s happened to our lovely, lovely town. Two hideous murders in Fair Haven in less than a week—”
At the shocked looks from around the table, her eyes blazed. “The poor dear little clerk at Patty Kay’s bookstore, found this afternoon in a dumpster! I feel that we must demand more capable police protection, and I intend—”
“Dumpster!” Stuart’s handsome head jerked toward her.
The meeting halted as Cheryl described the afternoon.
Selwyn’s face puckered in distaste.
Brooke pressed a slender hand hard against her mouth.
Even Willis Guthrie appeared shaken.
Finally, Desmond interrupted firmly. “Wait, please. We’re all appalled at what’s happened, but, please, let’s focus on Walden School’s situation. There’s nothing we can do about the murder at the bookstore except support Captain Walsh in his investigation. And certainly we will do that. But we have extremely serious matters to discuss tonight. Before we get into our work, I want to welcome Mrs. Collins, who is visiting us tonight to represent Patty Kay and Craig.”
“Thank you, Desmond.” I looked at each trustee in turn. “I’ll be brief. I know the board has much to discuss. But I understand a memorial to Patty Kay is under consideration. Both Craig and I believe the finest memorial Walden School could make would be to honor Patty Kay’s last request. The problem, of course, is that although we know she considered the dinner meeting at her house to be very important, we don’t know why. So, I’ll ask each of you to help if you can.”
Selwyn jumped in. “I can’t be certain, of course, Mrs. Collins, but I do think it was the flying project. I’d told her I was absolutely opposed to it. We’d had a sharp exchange about it Friday morning, and it was Friday afternoon that my secretary took the message saying the dinner was scheduled.” He flipped that boyish lock of hair back from his forehead. “I’ll have to admit I wasn’t happy with Patty Kay.” His voice oozed the regret of hindsight. “I felt she should at least look into the aspects I’d brought up. Especially the legal liability. We all know how little waivers can mean. But once Patty Kay got an idea in her head, it was hard to get her attention.” A rueful smile. “As everyone here well knows.”
Stuart Pierce scowled. “She didn’t say a word about flying to me. Her call came just as I was going into a meeting with out-of-town clients. She said, ‘Stuart, I’m having the trustees for dinner Saturday night at seven. We’ve got a problem out at school.’ Before she could continue, I said I had to get into a meeting, but I’d come.”
The anguish in his eyes told me he was recalling that conversation as the last time he’d spoken to Patty Kay—as the last time he would ever speak to Patty Kay.
“A problem out at school,” I repeated. I looked at Selwyn. “That doesn’t sound like a disagreement over a course. And I find it quite interesting that there was not a single mention of a flying course in any of Patty Kay’s papers. I know. I looked.”
“Of course not.” Selwyn was bland. “1 told you. She’d come up with this plan only this week. And of course she saw it as a problem.” Irritation sharpened his voice. “Anytime anyone disagreed with Patty Kay, it was a problem. The problem was that I opposed her.”
“What Patty Kay wanted or didn’t want doesn’t matter.” Willis Guthrie’s tone was querulous. His pale blue eyes skewed me with dislike. “What matters is that you’re causing trouble for all of us. You’re running around town stirring things up, Mrs. Collins, telling the police lies.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” I gave him stare for stare. “I hope to cause a lot of trouble. I’m going to find out who killed Patty Kay and why. I thought those close to her would not only understand but approve my actions.”
“I certainly applaud them.” Cheryl Kraft’s earrings made their ghostly chime. “And I must say I think it’s very odd—odd indeed—that no one knows why Patty Kay called this meeting. She wouldn’t tell me. I asked her and she said the matter would be made clear at our dinner. But I certainly stand behind your efforts to find out what happened, Mrs. Collins. We owe it to Patty Kay.” She gave a determined nod, and the earrings tinkled.
“So you want to encourage this old woman to stir up trouble, send the police after us?” Guthrie’s voice was savage.
Cheryl lifted a finely penciled eyebrow. “Mrs. Collins should do whatever is necessary.” Her gaze was imperious.
“Well, my wife and I don’t appreciate being treated like suspects.” Guthrie slammed a hand on the table.
I knew that the police inquiry that prompted Guthrie’s outburst was caused by Desmond’s honesty and not my probing, but I was quite willing to take the responsibility. And I was delighted at the uneasiness I sensed. Good oh, as an Australian friend loved to shout when news conferences turned rowdy.
I pressed on. “The truth is, Willis, your wife and her sister were quarreling, and Patty Kay’s death brings a lot of money to Pamela.”
“That didn’t mean a thing,” he sputtered. “I told Captain Walsh you’re nothing but a troublemaker. It’s obvious what happened. Craig got mad and shot Patty Kay. Everyone knows it.”
“No!” Stuart Pierce shoved back his chair. It crashed to the floor as he surged to his feet, his eyes blazing. “Everybody doesn’t know it, Willis. The whole setup stinks. Patty Kay never ran from anybody. Especially not from Craig. And that stuff was thrown around the kitchen after she was dead. That lets out Craig.”
“Unless it’s a double bluff.” Willis’s face flushed an unkind hue. “Be just like him. Thinks he’s so damn clever.”
So that was where Captain Walsh had gotten his theory.
During this heated exchange Brooke had looked from Willis to Stuart to Willis as if at a tennis match. Now she shook her head decisively, a touch of color in her pale cheeks, her lovely black hair swirling around her face. “No, no, it can’t be Craig. We’d have known if Patty Kay and Craig weren’t happy. Women know these kinds of things about their friends,” she explained earnestly.
Stuart leaned down, jerked the chair upright, then stalked to the mantel. He faced the wall, his back to the others.
There was no hint that Brooke knew about Stuart and Patty Kay’s secret trysts. So much for feminine intuition.
Of course, Brooke was right on one count. Patty Kay and Craig hadn’t been unhappy. But they hadn’t been passionately in love either. Perhaps that made for a certain kind of happiness. But that wasn’t my focus right now.
Willis Guthrie was angry and flustered. So I kept after him. “Mr. Guthrie, what did Patty Kay tell you about the Saturday evening d
inner?”
“I didn’t talk to her.” He bit off the words, his sallow face twisted in a furious frown. “My secretary took the message. I didn’t want to go—but Pamela thought I should. Patty Kay kept trying to give that land from the estate to the school. We’ve given Walden School a great deal—but there are limits.” His pale eyes locked with Selwyn’s.
The headmaster fingered his rep tie. “Mr. Guthrie, this school owes its very existence to the Prentiss family. Certainly we understand that you and Mrs. Guthrie have other interests too. But I wonder if it would help achieve peace in your hearts—at the loss of Mrs. Guthrie’s sister—if you might be willing now to agree to reserving that land for Walden School. Why”—eagerness lifted his voice—“we could agree tonight—I know the board would be happy to do so—to name the wilderness preserve the Patty Kay Prentiss Matthews and Pamela Prentiss Guthrie Nature Preserve. Such a gift to our present students and to future generations of Walden students …”
I hoped Selwyn wasn’t holding his breath on this one.
Guthrie didn’t even bother to answer. Instead, he glared at me. “I don’t have any idea what my sister-in-law had in mind. But I know for sure it had nothing to do with the land. That deal’s been cooking for a year. Nothing new’s happened.”
“Actually, Mr. Guthrie, that’s not accurate.”
The derisive note in my voice caught their attention.
Stuart Pierce turned to listen.
Brooke Forrest’s hands trembled, and she caught them together in a hard grasp.
Chuck Selwyn brushed back that lock of hair.
Desmond’s dark eyes were puzzled.
Patty Kay’s weedy brother-in-law tensed. “What do you mean?”
“The situation is profoundly different—because Patty Kay died. That land is now in the sole control of your wife.”
Guthrie couldn’t quite keep the gleam of satisfaction out of his eye. But he said nothing.
I persisted. “Isn’t it?”
“Actually”—he used the word as a taunt—“I’d not even thought about it until you brought it up. My wife and I have been much too upset over Patty Kay’s death to have given any thought at all to the disposition of her estate.”
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