Gone with the Twins

by Kylie Logan

  It wasn’t until he asked that I realized I’d really stepped in it. Darn, with all we’d said to each other about always telling the truth, I had to put up or shut up. “There were pictures of your bar there, all right,” I told him, deftly sidestepping the advice of my conscience. “From before you bought it. Your apartment was a mess back then.”

  “So was the bar. It took a lot of work to get that place in shape. But then, you know all about that. I remember seeing this place before you started the renovations. It was a wreck.”

  I could have changed the subject. Or at least deflected it to the investigation and kept it firmly there.

  But there was that whole thing about the truth.

  “What?” Levi glanced over in time to see me squinch up my face. “What’s the problem?”

  “It’s not a problem. It’s a moral dilemma.”

  “We’re talking about photographs in real estate files. The same photographs Estelle took, then posted on her website when she listed a property. How much moral dilemma can there be?”

  “It all depends on if the person who saw the photographs maybe saw something else in someone’s file.”

  “Something that has to do with the murder?” There was so much hope in Levi’s question, I couldn’t help but feel shamefaced when the truth hit and his eyes got wide and his mouth fell open. That would be right before he flushed a color that reminded me of a summer sunset.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I told him, because it was true and because I felt awful for outing him like this. “I’m sure you needed the money and you worked very hard and—”

  There was only so much empathizing I could manage before I burst out laughing and had to brace a hand against the nearest chair to stay upright.

  Levi groaned. “All right, I get it. We said we’d tell each other the truth. I should have told you.”

  I fought to control my laughter. “And I should have told you I knew. Sorry! Really. I was waiting for the right moment.”

  He scraped both his hands through his hair. “And when would that have been?”

  I did my best to look the picture of innocence. “Oh, I don’t know. Like maybe when you could demonstrate?”

  Both our smiles dissolved at the same time and my gaze locked with his.

  “Now would be a really good time,” I suggested.

  “Oh, no!” As if I was on fire, Levi backed away. “You heard what the paramedic said. And the doc, too. No physical exertion. Not for a few days.”

  “They were talking about me, not you.”

  The tips of his ears turned red. “I guarantee you, if I demonstrate, there will be physical exertion involved. For both of us.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  He didn’t have to say a word—he just gave me a wink.

  And I needed to change the subject fast or I was going to ignore the paramedic’s advice and the doctor’s warning and then who knew what would happen to my head!

  I shook away the feeling that my veins had filled with lava and led Levi into the kitchen. “So here’s the strange thing about looking through your file,” I told him. “I mean, the other strange thing.” I made it look as casual as can be when I went to the fridge and got a glass of nice, cold water. Not exactly the cold shower I needed but it would have to do. “See, in addition to looking through your file, I glanced through all the other files, too. And they all had pictures in them. Every one except mine.”

  Considering this, Levi pursed his lips. “What do you think it means?”

  “Well, I can’t imagine anyone would want to take the pictures out of the file and keep them for any reason. Unless they wanted to prove what a total and complete mess this place was, and everybody already knows that. I know Estelle took pictures. I saw them online, and the first time I talked to her on the phone and mentioned the house, she told me I should look at them again long and hard before I flew from New York to Ohio to check out the property. She was sure the pictures would scare me away. She wanted the pictures to scare me away. She was afraid I’d get in over my head and have this albatross of a disastrous house on my hands.”

  Levi shrugged. “It’s been a couple years. Maybe Estelle lost the pictures. Maybe she tossed them out.”

  “But why mine and no one else’s?” I reminded myself that I could go on asking that question all day long and it would only frustrate me. Rather than think about it, I went over to the counter and started rolling silverware in the linen napkins I’d put on the buffet table that evening.

  “You don’t suppose whoever was in the office was looking for those pictures, do you?” I asked.

  “I don’t see why.” Levi moved to the other side of the kitchen island, grabbed a stack of napkins, and started rolling silverware, too. “What would those pictures show that anybody doesn’t already know about the place? Hey!” An idea struck and his hands stilled over his task. “You weren’t in any of them, were you? You think someone’s onto the fact that a famous author is on the island and they want to prove it?”

  “I hope not!” I shivered. “The last thing I want is publicity and people coming over here to ogle me. Besides, I know Estelle didn’t take any pictures the day I finally got here to look over the house. It was a gray, rainy, miserable day and the electricity in the house wasn’t working, so she wouldn’t have gotten any good pictures, anyway.”

  “You don’t suppose those pictures are the reason someone killed Vivien, do you?” he asked, then immediately answered the question for himself. “That’s just too weird to even be possible.”

  “There’s a lot weird about this case.” I weighed the wisdom of saying more and decided I had to. After all, we had promised to tell each other the truth. “I think Chandra was at Vivien’s the day Vivien was killed.” I went to the cupboard where I’d tucked an envelope with that little piece of gauzy fabric in it and showed it to Levi. “Chandra was wearing white that day, and this was caught on the doorjamb at Vivien’s.”

  “Well, that’s great, right? I mean, if Chandra was at Vivien’s, then she couldn’t have been at Estelle’s killing Vivien.”

  “Unless she was at Vivien’s looking for Vivien and when she didn’t find her there . . .”

  “Yeah.” His hopeful expression melted. “You going to tell Hank?”

  I always knew I would show him what I’d found, I just didn’t want to admit it. I put the envelope back. “He’ll take it the wrong way.”

  “Or he’ll take it the right way, which is the way you’re not taking it.”

  “Maybe.” I rolled a half dozen more sets of silverware. “She’s up to something.”

  He knew who I was talking about. “She had a good excuse for hating Vivien.”

  “Yeah. That’s what worries me.”

  • • •

  There was a lot to talk about at the Chamber meeting that night, so I wasn’t surprised when most of the members showed. Then again, that was the whole point, wasn’t it? They ate my food. They drank the wine Kate brought over from her winery. I saw more than a couple of them read over those health department certificates we’d framed, and I sent up a silent, “Hallelujah!” Now if only they’d spread the word (and more than a few of them were friends, so I knew they would), we could squash (sorry, couldn’t resist!) the bedbug issue once and for all.

  Once the fudge samples were passed around, we got down to business and talked about things like the renovation at the marina and a stop sign in a far corner of the island that been knocked down by a granny in a golf cart and had yet to be replaced. The last item on the agenda was Saturday’s gala.

  “The high school band from the mainland will be joining our kids over at the ferry dock at six.” Andrew Gray, who was spearheading the Civil War gala on behalf of the historical society, had the floor. “They’ll play and march from the ferry all the way to Tara.”

  “Oh, it’s goin
g to be something, isn’t it?” Joan Battera from the grocery store could barely sit still on the couch in my parlor. “With the Twins hosting the event, I knew we’d draw a crowd. We’ve already sold all the tickets, and there are thirty people on the waiting list. Oh, and I’ve got everything arranged with Chief Florentine regarding the no-cars rule.” Joan didn’t have to explain. The Chamber had talked long (and sometimes loud) about trying to make the event more authentic by banning the driving of cars on the island Saturday night. Hank was not convinced it was necessary, but he’d finally capitulated. Except for emergency vehicles, it would be golf-carts-only on Saturday from five until midnight.

  “The news coverage is going to be terrific.” Al Marks, from our local newspaper, stood near the fireplace and he rubbed his hands together. “I’ve had inquiries from the TV stations on the mainland. Everything those Twins do is news. And the whole no-cars thing is causing a sensation. We’re going to get a lot of good publicity out of this.”

  “They’ll be wishing they added more rooms to Tara!” Gil Lester, who owned one of the biggest bars on the island didn’t have the sense to blush or look embarrassed to say this in front of me. “The more people who see Tara, the more people will want to stay there!”

  “And speaking of seeing things . . .” I’d been standing back in the corner near the bookcases I’d had built to accommodate my collection of antique books, and I stepped forward. “Since some of you have never been here, I thought we could finish the evening with tours of the inn. You’re welcome to bring your wine or your coffee and—”

  “Oh my gosh, it’s them!”

  Joan’s shrilled pronouncement cut me off, and when she popped out of her chair and pointed out the front windows, every Chamber member in the room sat up and paid attention.

  We were just in time to see the Twins walk up to my front door.

  They didn’t need to ring the bell. Both Joan and Al darted out of the parlor and into the hallway. Joan got there first, opened the front door, and beamed the Twins a smile. I was surprised she didn’t curtsy.

  “Hey, everyone!” Like she was on the runway in Milan, Riva sauntered in, resplendent that evening in a royal blue sleeveless dress cut up to here and down to there. Her radiant smile made up for the sullen expression on her brother’s face, which (I couldn’t help but notice) brightened the moment he set eyes on Kate.

  “We just thought we’d pop in,” Riva said. “You know, while our producer gets settled in back at Tara. Our producer!” She clapped both her hands to her heart. “There’s so much we need to tell you all about the movie. We want to share every last detail with all of you. But not until all the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed.” She wagged a finger and added this last bit like it was all some big secret and we were all foaming at the mouth to get the juicy details. From the looks on the faces of the people gathered around me, a lot of them were.

  “Then, Mark”—since he was standing nearby, Riva had the perfect opportunity to wind an arm through that of the local newspaperman’s and he blushed like a prom queen—“we’ll give you the exclusive story so you can tell the world. So . . .” She took us all in with one gleaming glance. “Does anyone have any questions about Saturday?”

  “That gala’s going to be the biggest thing to hit the island since the blizzard of seventy-eight,” Gil Lester said.

  “And you know we’re all going to be there.” Joan squeezed back into the room. “You’re sure you don’t need help with anything? We’d all . . .” She was so sure of herself, Joan didn’t bother to consult with the rest of us. “We’d all be more than willing to take time away from our own businesses and do whatever needs to be done over at Tara.”

  “That’s so nice. Isn’t that nice, Quentin?” Riva asked her brother. He’d been lounging in the doorway between the hallway and the parlor, and at the sound of his name, he winced and looked as if he hoped he hadn’t been asked a question that he was actually expected to answer. “We’ve got everything under control and we’re so looking forward to hosting the event. All our rooms are booked for the night, of course, and that’s a pity, because we were thinking that if there was at least one room open, we could have people go up and have a look at it. You know, just to give everyone a peek at what our rooms are like. There have been so many poor people”—she sighed—“who we’ve had to turn away because we just don’t have any openings.”

  “Speaking of that . . .” Levi stepped forward, effectively cutting Riva off at the knees. “We were just about to let everyone have a look around here at Bea’s. Ladies and gentlemen”—he motioned toward the double doors that led into the front hallway—“let’s start upstairs in groups of five or six. When you’re finished looking around, you can go out to the garden. It’s a perfect night to be on the patio, and I hear Wilder Winery is pouring ice wine as a nightcap.” He stepped back and waved toward the door. “Let’s get started!”

  From my spot in the corner, I sent him a silent look of thanks, and Levi led the first group out the parlor and up the stairs. I couldn’t help but notice that Riva tagged along.

  “Well, that little girl is about as subtle as a brick thrown in a greenhouse.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, Luella joined me, and together we watched the first group leave the room. “You think she could be any ruder?”

  “I think she’s lived a life of privilege and she doesn’t even realize how she tramples everyone in her path,” I said—quietly, of course, so the people gathering in the doorway to go upstairs couldn’t hear me.

  “That gala is going to be a nonstop orgy of Twins adoration.” Kate had been at my side throughout the meeting and she finished the wine in her glass. “Maybe we should all stay home.”

  I pretended like I hadn’t thought of this myself a time or two. Or three. “And miss the excitement? Come on . . .” I excused my way through the crowd and, with Kate and Luella tagging along, went through to the kitchen and out to the patio to get things ready when our first group of people were done with their tour.

  Ice wine, for the uninitiated, is something of a specialty in these parts, and one of the true benefits of having a winery in the snowbelt. The wine is made from grapes harvested when the weather is at or below seventeen degrees. Yes, the grapes are frozen when they’re picked, and because of that, the sugars, the flavor, and the aroma are concentrated and a very sweet dessert wine results.

  Kate poured tiny glasses and as our guests came outside we handed them around.

  “The inn looks wonderful.” Okay, so Luella hadn’t been on the tour with the rest of them, but that didn’t stop her from putting in a good word on my behalf. And just loud enough for everyone to hear, too. “You’ve got a great eye for decorating, Bea.”

  “And it’s so wonderfully quiet here.” Kate made sure she added a sigh that rippled the still evening air. “I can’t imagine a more relaxing place on the island.”

  “Unless Chandra’s burning and chanting, of course,” Luella added under her breath.

  Not for the first time that day, I looked toward Chandra’s and wondered what she was up to. There wasn’t a light on in the house and she hadn’t responded to my invitation to the meeting.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have much of a chance to brood or to worry. The groups who’d toured the house came out to the patio and each and every person stopped to thank me and tell me how wonderful the inn was. Now all I could do was hope they spread the word.

  They sipped their ice wine and gathered in little groups on the patio and in the garden, chatting and enjoying the perfect evening.

  Except . . .

  I am not a big fan of sweet wines but I’d had a tiny sip of the ice wine so as not to offend Kate, and I set down my glass. “Have the Twins come back out yet?” I asked.

  No one could tell me.

  I went back into the house, and though he’d been up front saying good-bye to a fellow bar owner who had to leave, Lev
i noticed and joined me just as I got to the stairway that led to the second floor.

  “Twins,” I said without any preamble, and headed upstairs.

  As soon as I got to the top of the stairs, I saw that the door to Suite 6 was closed and I scrambled to get there before Levi, but I should have known he’d beat me to it. He swung open the door, I walked in right behind him, and we found the Twins, all right—Quentin near the window and Riva in front of the door that led to the attic.

  “Hi!” She smiled and waved.

  And yeah, okay, call me suspicious, but I automatically darted a look around to make sure every book, lamp, and lace doily was right where it was supposed to be.

  Certain that nothing had been touched, I turned my attention to the Twins. “The door was closed,” I said.

  “Well . . .” Riva raised her slim shoulders and rolled her blue eyes heavenward. “Quentin and I were having a little argument. You know, about how quiet a place like this could actually be. And he said”—she looked his way—“he said he bet that even if the door was closed, we’d hear everybody downstairs. And I said . . .” Really, it wasn’t like she had to point a finger at herself; we knew who she was talking about. “I said, I bet we wouldn’t hear a peep. And I was right!” Her chin raised, she marched out of the room, and Quentin followed behind.

  “That was weird,” I told Levi once they were gone.

  “They’re weird,” he said.

  “Why would they want to . . .” I looked around the room again, and sure that nothing had been touched, Levi and I checked out the other rooms, too, and now that the tours were over, locked each door before we went back downstairs.

  We were just in time to hear Riva call out a jaunty “Ciao!” to anyone who was listening—which turned out to be everyone, of course. “We’ve got to get back and talk about our movie!” She kissed the tips of her fingers and waved, and she and Quentin left.