A quiet murmur echoed uncomfortably around the crowd. Maggie pressed harder into the wall at her back. Korie turned her face into the neck of the young man, whose shoulders stiffened as he whispered something into her ear. She nodded, then held her head up, taking a deep breath and wiping one eye dramatically.
Fletcher refrained from sneering. Instead, he looked around, taking in the faces of the celebrants, noting how easy it was to spot the genuine mourners from those who were there from a sense of duty or the scent of free food—or free press. The writers from the retreat seemed sad, but honest about their lack of true grief. Tim just looked lost. Edward and the others who had worked either for or with Aaron were the most affected.
“Aaron’s beloved bride, Korie, doesn’t think she’s up to speaking, so I’ve asked his editor, William Davis, to start with a few words about Aaron, the writer.”
Bill set a glass of water on a nearby table and stepped up next to the pastor. He cleared his throat, then took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief as he began.
“I’ve been Aaron’s editor for the past ten novels. But I was also his friend. We hit it off on the first day we met, which started with a story conference about ten in the morning and ended somewhere near Orchard Street just after midnight. My wife even started dreading my meetings with Aaron, knowing she’d not see me for at least twenty-four hours. I’m convinced Aaron is the real reason she bought me a cell phone.”
Modest bits of mirth rewarded him. Fletcher watched him for a moment before returning to his scanning. He liked Bill. A lot. The man was a true lover of books and as honest as anyone Aaron had around him. Aaron had also adored Bill, claiming that if the work was junk, Bill wouldn’t pull any punches or flatter him to death. But Bill had catered to Aaron some, going to bat for him when the publisher had wanted to drop Aaron, just because of his behavior.
Bill replaced his glasses and tugged on his graying beard. “Aaron could definitely party. But he was also a professional, caring a great deal about his craft. He was constantly studying other writers and their work, absorbing techniques, trying things out. He never wanted to stop growing. There was going to be a huge announcement when the next Judson book came out. It was going to be his last, although I didn’t think of that prophetically when he told me.”
The room was still for a moment, except for the flashes of the cameras. Bill took a deep breath. “Aaron had brought me two proposals for other novels. Other types of novels. We’d contracted the first one, and he is scheduled to finish early next—” Bill’s voice broke, and he swallowed hard. As he did, there was a slow undercurrent of chatter in the crowd. This was obviously a surprise.
It wasn’t to Fletcher, since Aaron had told him about it the day before he died. They’d talked about the loss of Judson—something Fletcher was actually relieved about—and the new, more literary direction Aaron wanted to take. He’d even mentioned using a pseudonym, since he wasn’t sure that “Aaron Jackson” would be taken seriously.
Bill cleared his throat again and continued. “At first, I kidded Aaron about the whole midlife crisis. I mean, why not do another Judson book and just buy the Porsche?” He paused for a few laughs to die away. “But he was serious about staying on top while he could. Getting better instead of just older. I think that’s why he wanted to start the retreat. I see that some of the current residents are here, and we’re glad. I’m in the process of contracting two books from this group. Incredible stuff. But the person who probably knows more about his work there is Margaret Weston, who runs the retreat. I’ve asked her to say—”
“No!” Korie’s screech echoed, followed by a wave of murmuring.
Bill looked stunned. “What? Korie—”
Korie stepped away from her young man, every bit the incensed, grieving widow. “No! I won’t have her speaking. I don’t even want her here!” Her voice rose with the last words, ending in a hysterical scream. She looked around wildly. “You don’t know what she’s done!” Spotting Maggie against the back wall, she pointed at her, her hand quivering in a crazed palsy. “You! Get out!” She stalked toward Maggie, her arm still outstretched. “You’ve ruined everything! You took it all! You killed him! You killed—” Color drained from Korie’s face, and she went down in a quiet slump to the floor.
Her young man rushed to her side, pulling her over on her back and patting her cheeks lightly. He helped her sit up as a crowd gathered around her, chattering. Finally he swooped her up in his arms and carried her out, led by one of the publishing house employees.
Maggie still stood against the back wall, motionless. Not a muscle had moved during Korie’s accusations, although her eyes lost all alertness, as if she were staring into a spot far beyond the walls of the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please. Please!” The pastor raised his arms as well as his voice, in hopes of restoring order. Bill stood at his side, his mouth slightly open. “Please. Remember why we are here. We’re here to remember Aaron and celebrate the life that he lived and the people he loved.”
Some of the chatter settled down, and Bill tried to resume. “I don’t really know what happened,” he said, his hands shaking as he pulled down on his beard. “I had told Korie that Maggie would speak. I don’t know what happened, what she was referring to—”
“What she’s referring to,” Edward said loudly as he stepped forward and took command of the room, “is that Aaron left her bereft. Nothing.”
This time, the silence in the room was complete. Edward took Bill’s place beside the pastor. “For the past two days, Korie has been pressuring Aaron’s lawyer to reveal the contents of the will. He wouldn’t, so she came to me. Aaron had told me about it, and I’m aware he told a number of his closer friends the same thing.
“So it shouldn’t be any surprise to some of you to hear that Aaron recently changed his will completely. All of his assets will go into the trust that supports the retreat, and Korie is not a trustee. The retreat gets everything.” He paused, almost as if he relished the drama of the moment.
“So who gets the retreat?” one of the reporters called out.
Edward cleared his throat. “No one. The trust will be self-sustaining, administered by a board of trustees.”
“Who’s the head trustee?”
Edward hesitated, and Fletcher saw him focus on Maggie’s face. Neither of them moved, but Fletcher watched as all eyes turned to Maggie. Edward shook his head and came back to earth, quickly, however, and his voice boomed out over the crowd. “Doesn’t matter. I say we forget the readings and send Aaron off with a bang, because he, once again, had the greatest last word.” He raised his glass. “May you rest in peace, Aaron, wherever you are!”
The room seemed to explode with salutes, cheers and startled conversation. The pastor gave up, said a quick prayer, then blended into a group of businessmen. The two reporters made a beeline for Maggie, but Fletcher got there first, trying to ward off their questions.
“Maggie—”
“No!” She moved for the first time, shaking her hands in front of her as if trying to throw off the grief. “I can’t do this. I can’t.” She looked up at Fletcher, her eyes flooded with tears. “I’m sorry.” She turned and fled.
The reporters started to follow her, but Fletcher grabbed them by the coats. “Don’t,” he said firmly. “You both know her number. Call her later.”
One started to protest, but a good look at Fletcher’s face stopped any words, and they slipped away from him.
He followed Maggie into the long hallway, but she was just disappearing around a corner toward the front of the building. He didn’t know much about women, but he sensed that this one was not up to a chase tonight. He stuck his hands in his pockets, wishing it were different. Wishing that he did not have to follow up on Korie’s accusations. Maggie had not seemed surprised by the news of her inheritance. This was not a good thing….
His fingers searched for his pen but curled around the business card instead, and he pulled it out. T
he woman, Susan Thomas, worked for the PR firm that handled most of Aaron’s press. She’d written her home phone on the back of the card. He’d call her later, too. For now…he took a deep breath and turned.
Bill Davis was walking down the hall in front of him, deeper into the building and away from what had turned into a party.
Fletcher followed him, his long strides soon overtaking Bill’s slow shuffle. He caught up just as Aaron’s editor turned into his office. “Bill?”
He turned, looking only a bit startled, then motioned toward a chair. “Greetings, Fletcher. Come in, have a seat.”
Fletcher watched the older man sit carefully, cough, then run his hand through his thinning strands of hair that were still mostly black. “You okay?” Fletcher asked.
Bill nodded. “For the most part. I couldn’t stay after all that. The whole money business depresses me, and I thought Edward was out of place to bring it up, especially in front of the reporters. It was unseemly. It takes away from why we were really there.”
“You miss him.”
Bill tilted his head to one side, his expression clearly indicating that he thought that was a statement of the obvious. “Oh, yeah. More than most people will ever realize. Aaron was a friend. Crazed…but still a good friend.” He started to fiddle with a small paperweight on his desk. “Did you know that he was the godfather to two of my kids?”
Fletcher shook his head, though he wasn’t surprised. Aaron had a serious tender spot for children, even though he couldn’t have any. He’d seen Aaron with kids on occasion. They brought something special out in him. “He must have had a blast with them.”
Bill nodded. He stared down at the desk.
“What is it, Bill?” Fletcher asked gently.
Bill shook his head, then wiped one eye. “I knew things were bad with him and Korie. Knew that when he changed the deposits to a different bank.” He stopped and stared at a shelf of books, as if searching the titles for help.
Fletcher leaned back in his chair and waited. As much as he wanted to yank the information out of Bill with a hook, he knew the editor was more savvy than he acted, and more careful about people’s reputations. He knew something. So Fletcher waited.
Bill cleared his throat. “Did you read his new book?”
“Yes, I did.” Fletcher nodded. “I thought it was good.”
Bill sniffed. “Possibly great. Award-winning great. He worried about it. That it wouldn’t be taken seriously coming from him. We talked about a pseudonym, but finally rejected it. Talked to the marketing people about making a big splash of it instead. The new Aaron Jackson. The first feedback on the novel was extremely positive.”
Bill stopped again, running his finger up and down the edge of a manuscript.
“Bill, I know Aaron was thinking about disappearing.”
“Ah. Yes. I thought he might confide in you. He loved you like a brother. Talked about you a lot, even when he was sober.”
Fletcher wiped his mouth with one hand. “He also talked about Elvis as if they were brothers.”
“Yes,” Bill replied, “but only when he was not sober.” They both grinned, and after a moment Bill’s shoulders slumped a bit. “I don’t want people to misunderstand what he was going through. This wasn’t sour grapes. We’d made him famous, and he didn’t regret that. Couldn’t. He cherished the dream too much. I think it was more that he wished he had been able to handle it better when the dream did come true.”
Bill paused. “That’s one reason he built the retreat. Did you know that?”
Fletcher shook his head, not wanting to interrupt.
“He wanted to guide other writers through it. Make sure they made choices that would help, not hurt. But things had gotten so bad with Korie that he just wanted to start over. He’d made a mess of it, but he thought he’d finally found someone to start over with. I’m not sure who, but he sat in my office and talked about getting away.”
“How serious do you really think he was?”
Bill sighed. “Very. At first I thought…maybe not. He was all over the place, as if he were brainstorming a story. Talked about adopting a couple of kids, finding a new place of his own. Then he sat down in that chair, the one you’re in, and asked me to help him.” Bill leaned back in his chair. “I couldn’t, of course, but I wasn’t surprised he’d asked. As much as Aaron thought of himself as ‘regular people,’ he’d gotten used to other people doing things for him without question.”
“The perks of fame.”
Bill nodded. “He wasn’t happy I’d refused. Told me that I had no idea what it was like to have someone willing to do anything for me. That he’d found that. That loyalty was priceless.”
Fletcher frowned. “What did he mean by anything?”
The office was silent for a moment, then Bill swallowed hard. “He asked me if my wife would be willing to die for me.”
Fletcher sat up straight. “Say what?”
Bill finally met Fletcher’s eyes. “I didn’t know what to make of the question. I still don’t,” he said quietly. “But he said that he knew at least one person who would be willing to die for him.”
“Who?”
“Maggie.”
Fletcher returned to the hall in a daze, trying to process all that Bill had told him.
The party was now in full swing, and Edward brought him a club soda, which Fletcher accepted but did not sip. Edward munched on hors d’oeuvres. “Did you go see what happened to our drama queen?”
Fletcher blinked, coming back to the present. He grinned at Edward. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
Edward laughed. “It showed that much, huh?” Fletcher raised his eyebrows, and Edward laughed. “Yes, I did. You should have seen the fit she threw in my office yesterday after you left. She fainted then, too, but she woke up in a hurry when I told her that if she didn’t, I was going to pour a pot of coffee on her silk dress.”
“So who’s the guy—”
“Artist, probably of the starving variety, probably in it for the money as well. I doubt you’ll see much of him after tonight.”
“I can understand Aaron wanting to protect the Retreat, as you said yesterday, but he really left her nothing at all?”
Edward shrugged and popped an olive in his mouth. “A small allowance, which will end in six months. Something to help her until she finds another man or—shockers!—a job.”
“I’ve seen her art, Edward. She really is talented.”
“Then she’d better find a patron…or a sugar daddy. I’m sure she’s got a heart, too. Let’s hope she remembers where she put it.” Edward paused and rested his hand on Fletcher’s arm. “Look, I know you want to find out who killed him, and I’d like nothing better than to hand you Korie on a silver platter. Truth is, I’m not sure she could do it and then hide it. You’d probably find her standing over the body claiming ‘He deserved it’ as her defense.”
Fletcher coughed a laugh into his hand.
“See? You know I’m right.”
“What about Maggie?”
Edward paused. “I don’t know.” He dropped a piece of cheese back on his plate. “If she did, it wasn’t for the money. Aaron only signed that will last week. There’s no way Maggie could have known she’d inherit. What other motive could she have?”
“Do you think she still loved Aaron?”
Edward resumed eating. “Only as a friend. I think that if he believed he had another shot with her, he wouldn’t have been skirting around all over the place. You know he was seeing another woman? Have you seen her?”
Fletcher nodded, slipping one hand into his pocket.
“She looks like Maggie. But she’s not Maggie. Not by a long shot. Anyway, Maggie doesn’t seem like the type who would kill, does she?”
Fletcher had to admit, “No.”
“Still…” Edward leaned a little closer to him. “Aren’t those the ones that usually do?”
Fletcher turned and looked out over the room. “Usually. Yes, they are.”
SIXTEEN
Lee flipped through his notebook again, then shut it with a frustrated grunt.
Judson looked up from the report he was reading. “This much emotion is never good. What’s going on?”
Lee shrugged and tossed the notebook to one side. “I think I have too much information. It’s all a jumble. I can’t see a clear pattern of evidence in any of it.”
Judson flipped over another sheet of paper and began to read again. “Then I suggest that the problem is not too much information. It’s too little of the right information. Keep digging. And get some rest. You may be foggy in the head simply because you haven’t slept enough.”
The person Fletcher most wanted to interview—Susan Thomas—was gone, so he circulated, chatting a bit with people he knew, and taking the opportunity to speak briefly with the writers from the retreat. Most had similar stories about Monday night—a tense meal, after which they had gone back to the cabins. Only Dan and Patrick had more to add.
They had gone downstairs to play air hockey, when two fights broke out—first Maggie, Lily and Aaron upstairs, then another one in the yard.
Dan grimaced. “We were afraid to leave the room or the house. We weren’t surprised to hear that Maggie and Aaron were into it. They did that a lot.”
Patrick agreed. “They fought quite a bit in the last few months. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were married.”
Inside his coat pocket, Fletcher’s hand closed around his pen. “What about the one outside?”
Dan shook his head. “Aaron, without a doubt. I think the other one was a man, but I couldn’t say it in court.”
“Me either,” Patrick said. “It didn’t last long.”
“But that’s not when he was killed.”
A Murder Among Friends Page 14