Jessica sat to my right, with her back to the kitchen, and opened the bottle of white wine. She had her long red hair down in loose ringlets. She had some chafed, dry skin around her nose, but was over the cold she'd gotten after the Polar Bear Dip.
Marcy, seated to the right of Jessica and across from me, looked nearly as pale as Jessica, but in a sickly way. She reached for her glass of wine like she hoped an answer, or maybe a nicotine patch, was at the bottom.
Marvin, who'd waited until I was sitting before choosing his spot next to me, couldn't take his eyes off the space eight inches above my dinner plate. My blouse was unbuttoned, exposing a bit more cleavage than I would typically have on display for a dinner party with friends.
“Cheers,” I said, and we clinked our wine glasses.
“Delicious,” Jessica said. “Not too sweet, either.”
“Extraordinary,” Marvin said in agreement.
I'd chosen an off-dry Riesling that would complement the spicy noodle dishes, because, contrary to what Marcy wanted, I hoped people would drink like fishes, as the saying goes. I'd even gone so far as to hide the real white wine glasses, so our only option was the enormous globes I usually reserved for red.
I took another sip of the flavorless Riesling, noting to myself that my glass wasn't as tasty as theirs. Stress can make you lose your sense of taste, so you need more of everything to compensate. It's one of the reasons why people drink too many martinis at business lunches. Having an expense account doesn't hurt, either.
Marvin finished his first glass just as the doorbell rang.
“Someone's early for the knitting club,” Jessica said. “It's a good thing we have enough to share!”
I kept my eyes down as I rose from my chair and went to the door. It should not have been someone early for the club meeting, because I'd canceled it a few hours earlier, citing stomach flu. I'd spoken to everyone personally, so whoever stood on the other side of my door either wanted to either sell me something or ruin everything.
Close. It was my father.
“Dad. How did you get here?”
“Rode my trusty cane like it was a broomstick. How do you think I got here? I took a taxi.” He stepped inside and kicked off his slip-on boots. “Smells good. Golden Wok?”
With a loud, clear voice, I said, “I'm so glad you decided to join us, Dad. This is very unexpected, but perhaps Jessica can find you a plate.”
He grabbed one of the folding chairs I had leaning against the wall for the meeting that wasn't happening, unfolded it with a snap, and joined us, parking himself between my chair and Jessica's.
He reached across the table and shook Marvin's hand, then Marcy's. He either didn't see, or was ignoring, my dirty look.
We'd barely spoken over the last four days, ever since he'd fired me as his apprentice. I'd used the time to count inventory during the day, and then go over my notes for the case in the evening. I'd spent much of my time looking at photos, zooming in and out, or running slideshows with images coming up in random order.
In addition to my crime scene pictures, I'd logged into some social media and downloaded pictures taken by local residents on and around New Year's Day. I'd found very few photos of Voula Varga, which made her seem—to me, anyway—like she'd been a ghost long before she passed away.
The night before Marcy dropped in looking for gossip, I'd been looking at pictures from the Polar Bear Dip. When I saw Marcy's mother-of-pearl buttons, something had tickled the back of my brain.
And then… to my utter delight… she had lied. Marcy said she and Marvin had stayed home all day, but that wasn't true. One of them had been at the Polar Bear Dip, because I'd seen their dog, Stanley, in photos from the chilly event. He wasn't the only brown Labradoodle in town, but he was the only one with a distinctive rainbow collar and leash. I couldn't see the person holding his leash, but if it had been Marvin, that meant Marcy lied to me so she'd have an alibi.
We passed the dishes of takeout food around the table, and I studied Marcy when she wasn't looking. Was it her who shot Voula? Could it have been over Marvin? No, Marvin wasn't the sort of catch you'd kill someone over. It had to be about money.
In a few minutes, when the opportunity came up, I'd back Marcy into a corner and turn on the heat.
Jessica and Marcy kept on talking about their holiday weight gains, and attempts at new fitness routines. My father and Marvin discussed computer viruses.
Now? Was it time?
I looked into my father's eyes. In his expression, I felt his support. He understood what I was about to do, and he had my back.
I took another breath, and then I went for it.
Chapter 34
I waved my hand to get Marcy's attention, then asked, “Did you ever get the report for that domain name I asked you about last week?”
She slowly pulled her purse from the back of her chair. My heart pounded while she rummaged in the bag. Marcy's shoulder bag was big enough to easily conceal a handgun, and I hadn't exactly frisked her on the way in.
She pulled out something rainbow-hued. It was the blanket she'd been crocheting.
“Cute!” Jessica exclaimed.
“You don't think it's too loose?” Marcy asked. “I made the loops so big, it's not much of a blanket. The holes let the heat out.”
“But it's so cute,” Jessica said. “And you don't need to use it as a blanket. It would look so cheerful draped over a piece of bland furniture.”
“I guess so,” Marcy said glumly.
Jessica got up, took the loopy rainbow blanket from Marcy's hands, and draped it loosely over the comfy chair by my sofa. Jessica was right; the chair did look more cheerful now.
Marcy set her bag aside and went back to eating her Golden Wok.
I crumpled inside from disappointment. Now everybody was talking about crochet projects and their favorite colors.
I eyed Marcy's bag. Did she have the information about the domain name or not? I wanted it so bad, I could barely restrain myself from grabbing the bag. Perhaps I could distract her with an errand? Not to the basement, but maybe I could ask for her help with my hair or makeup. Or I could try flirting with Marvin again. (Gross.)
“Earth to Stormy,” Marcy said. “What's going—oh, you wanted that domain name information, didn't you? Hang on, I've got it right here.”
She reached into her voluminous bag, then handed me a sheet of paper. It was an official-looking printout of the registrant of the fake movie production company. I'd been expecting Marcy to say her contact couldn't get the private information after all, but here it was.
It was the registration record, all right, but not the real one.
I excused myself for a minute, while the table continued their conversation about crocheted blankets and other things that didn't seem nearly as important to me. I walked into the washroom, closed and locked the door, opened the below-sink cupboard, and pulled out a sheet of paper I'd hidden between the towels.
Marcy wasn't the only one who knew hackers who could get information. I'd made a few calls and gotten my own report. This one hadn't been edited, though.
After a brief pep talk in the mirror—Stormy, you can do this! You've closed multimillion-dollar deals in the boardroom with sharks and sociopaths. You may not be an investigator, but you've got skills. Plus there's more wine in the fridge to wipe everyone's memories if you blow this thing. Not that you'll blow it. You probably won't. Go get 'em, champ!—I walked back out to the dining table and placed both of the sheets of paper next to Marvin.
“Marvin,” I said sweetly. “Why do you suppose your wife is telling lies about her involvement with this company? It's a fake business set up to convince some foolish investors to put their life savings up for a movie that will never get made.”
Everyone at the table fell silent. I heard the wood-on-wood sound of someone dropping their chopsticks.
“The movie's called House of Love and Lies,” I said. “Isn't that the funniest thing? I do enjoy a bit of irony.
Marvin, why do you suppose your loving wife would be lying? She gave me this printout for a domain name registration. Nothing too scandalous, right, but here's the real one.” I pointed to the email address on the real registration. “That's the customer service email for the computer store, isn't it?”
Marvin's eyes flicked back and forth between the two papers. Nobody made a peep. I could feel the heat coming from Marcy's end of the table, but I didn't dare look over at her face. It wasn't time yet.
I looked at my father, sitting to my right and across from Marvin. He said, with gentle authority, “Son, if you know something, now's the time to speak up. Don't cover for your wife. She's the one who's going down for this. Don't let her drag you into the nightmare. Speak up for yourself.”
Marvin slowly looked up from the papers and turned to his wife. “Marcy, how could you? I told you that woman was dangerous. I told you to stay away, but you got greedy. I was never enough for you.”
Now.
Now the entire focus of the table turned to Marcy, all at once.
Marcy's jaw worked up and down for several seconds before she squeaked out words. “I didn't… I would never… just shut up, Marvin! Shut up!”
Marvin glared at his wife. “When I woke up on New Year's Day, you weren't in bed. You were at Voula's house, weren't you?” He covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh my God, you killed her. Marcy, how could you?”
“Shut up!” she yelled. “Marvin, shut up!”
Marvin did shut up. We all waited. The two white sheets of paper screamed their damning evidence in the silence.
Marvin looked weirdly relaxed. He had no more expression on his face than he'd had on New Year's Eve, in the masquerade mask.
Marcy, however, looked like she was holding her breath underwater.
Jessica was white as the sheets of paper on the table, visibly recoiling from Marcy while leaning toward my father.
And Finnegan Day was… helping himself to a second round of noodles. I heard the greasy suction sound of the food's surface tension breaking as he scooped three clumps of the glistening food onto his plate.
I kicked him under the table.
He took a bite anyway. Around the food in his mouth, he said, “Calm down, everyone. We all know Marcy here wouldn't hurt a fly.” He gave Marvin a pointed look. “You, however, may not be so fortunate when she gets you home tonight.” He chuckled at his joke.
Jessica came out of her daze and jerkily reached for the wine bottle. She sloppily refilled the glasses, then drank hers, still leaning close to my father and keeping her eyes on Marcy.
I looked down at my plate, hoping the noodles would spell out something to guide me. If I squinted, one of the noodles looked like the letter g. That didn't help.
Apply the pressure, Stormy. Nothing happens in business without passion and pressure!
I poked at my food, tilted my head to the side, and let the next question come without force.
“Marcy, I'm sure there's a logical explanation for why you tried to cover up your connection to Voula's investment scheme. I'm thinking you started off trying to help her, then backed away when you realized she was trying to rip off the good people of Misty Falls.”
“Yes,” Marcy said, lunging at my explanation. “That's exactly what happened. I never did anything illegal.” She lifted her wine glass with a trembling hand and splashed most of the Riesling into her mouth.
My father reached for the broccoli. “Anyone mind if I snag these greens?”
The group murmured that he could go ahead.
I turned and gave Marvin the sweetest smile I could muster. “Tonight's been so interesting,” I said huskily as I gazed into his eyes. “We're all learning so much about each other.”
He swallowed hard enough for me to hear the gulp. He finished his glass of wine, then said, directly to my father, “Mr. Day, don't worry about this nonsense with my wife. I was overreacting before. She didn't know Voula that well. Nobody did.”
“You'll handle the situation,” my father said. “That's what we men have to do, when the women get themselves in trouble.”
“Women,” Marvin said with a shrug. “Can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em.”
My father laughed, but Jessica gasped, “Marvin, what a terrible thing to say! It's no joking matter.”
Marvin looked pleased that he'd annoyed Jessica. “What? It's just an expression.”
“I'm not an idiot,” someone said.
It was Marcy speaking. Her voice sounded disembodied, mechanical. She stared into the middle of the table, at nothing.
The lifeless voice came again: “Marvin, I know about your secret bank account, and your indiscretions.”
Marvin's face reddened. “Uh-oh. I'm in trouble,” he said, while chuckling, to my father.
A breaded chicken ball flew through the air, whizzing through the space between me and Marvin. Marcy had thrown it, and had another chicken ball in her hand, ready to toss.
Marvin's careful mask slipped into anger, and his brown eyes grew very dark. Through clenched teeth, he practically growled, “I think it's time for us to go now, Marcy.”
“I don't want to go.” She lobbed the chicken ball at him. This one struck his chest, and he jerked his body, as though shot.
He pushed his chair back, but didn't stand.
Marcy turned to Jessica. “He thinks he's smarter than me. He thinks he's smarter than all women, but he isn't.”
Jessica looked like she was about to throw up, but she managed to reply, “I thought things had been going better for you two lately.”
“I guess I am stupid,” Marcy said sadly. “I thought we had a chance, but now I can see he's trying to set me up for what I did.” She lifted her chin and addressed my father. “Mr. Day, the GPS tracking on our car will put it at the edge of town, near Voula Varga's house, on New Year's Day. I've found long, black, curly strands of that woman's hair in my vehicle, on Marvin's clothes, and even in our bed. Do you think the police would be interested in that information?”
Marvin stood. “We're done here.”
“Not so fast,” I said. “I've got a beautiful lemon mousse chilling in the fridge for dessert, and I think we'd all like to hear what you were doing the morning Voula Varga was shot. Was it self-defense, Marvin?”
“What?” He looked at me like I was nuts, and maybe I was.
“Were you stalking her?” I asked. “Did you sneak into her house to watch her get dressed, then shoot her when she caught you being a pervert? Marvin, that's what you are, right? A dirty little pervert? Even right now, you keep looking down my shirt, when your wife is sitting four feet away.”
His eyes as dark as night, he spat at me, “She said she was in love with me, but she was just using me. It meant nothing to her.”
Marcy began sobbing noisily.
“Ha ha!” Marvin boomed. “I was just joking. Everyone, look how quick my wife is at jumping to conclusions. This is why we've been having some relationship issues. Private issues.” He started moving toward the door. “Marcy, get your boots on. We're going.”
My father got to his feet and moved between Marvin and the door. “You're not going anywhere. You've had a lot of wine and shouldn't be driving. Let's get some coffee in you first.”
Marvin growled, “Out of my way, old man,” and pushed my father to the floor.
“Logan!” I yelled. “Logan, help! Now!”
Logan Sanderson came bounding into the room from where he'd been hiding, on the other side of the basement door. He ran toward Marvin, then stopped abruptly, his hands in the air.
“Easy now,” Logan said, breathing heavily. “Nobody else needs to get hurt today.”
From where he was groaning on the floor in my kitchen, my father said, “Careful. It's as sharp as it looks.”
I joined Marcy and Jessica at the far edge of the room, with the table between us and Marvin, who was now wielding the sword that had been concealed inside my father's cane. The sword wasn't long, but it was sharp, an
d dangerous.
Marvin lunged at Logan, sword flashing. Logan staggered back, bumping into our huddle.
“Uh-oh,” Logan said.
That wasn't something I wanted to hear. Uh-oh was not part of the plan. My father was right about plans. They do go wrong.
Logan clutched his stomach. The fabric of his shirt had been sliced, and red blood wicked at the edges. His eyes were wide and fearful as he said to me, “We didn't plan for this.”
Marcy, who'd been stunned into silence since the revelation, sprang into action like a small but aggressive dog who thinks she's bigger than she is.
She marched toward her husband. “Marvin, put the sword down!”
“No.”
“Put it down!” she barked, walking around him in a wide circle, until she, Marvin, and my father were in a straight line along the exterior wall. “NOW! Marvin! DROP IT!”
Her husband cowered, leaning down with the sword limp in his hand, but then he looked around at the rest of us. He straightened up and held the sword high, pointing at his wife.
“Marcy, you're drunk,” he said evenly. “Listen to me. These people are trying to trick us into turning on each other. Marcy, I love you.”
“You… you love me?” Her angry-dog posture softened.
“Of course I do. Get over here and open the door for me while I hold these crazy people off. We're leaving this place, leaving this whole backwoods town. We should never have come here. This whole place is—”
He stopped talking, distracted by the rainbow-hued crocheted blanket—the one I'd grabbed from the chair and tossed over him like a net. While Marvin struggled to comprehend what was happening, my father reached out from his position on the floor, grabbed a corner of the loopy rainbow blanket, and yanked hard.
Marvin tried to escape, but his anger worked against him. The slim sword had passed through the wide, airy loops, and was now outside of the net. He couldn't cut his way free without risking cuts to himself. In his rage, he tore at the blanket, trying to rip his way out, but it was a strong yarn, strong enough to make dog collars and leashes. He only got himself more tangled.
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