They looked at one another, then Fletcher shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Whoever killed Aaron is still here, still part of the retreat and still very much interested in killing you.”
Lily took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now what?”
Maggie looked up at Fletcher and nodded. He crossed his arms. “Tyler got a subpoena for Aaron’s financial records. He doesn’t really have anyone on staff who can help, so he’s sending them to Edward. Edward said he’d go through them immediately, so we should have an idea of what’s going on there fairly soon.”
Cookie coughed, then looked from Maggie to Fletcher. “So you don’t think this is personal?”
Fletcher shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But we’re not going to know until we have all the pieces.” He looked at Lily. “And at least one piece involves some missing manuscripts.”
Lily reddened. “I’m sorry I did that. I had no idea that Aaron would take it—” She stopped, staring at Fletcher. “Are you saying that Scott is a suspect?”
Fletcher didn’t blink. “Everyone still is, Lily. I’m sorry. We still don’t know enough to eliminate anyone.”
She looked at her sister. “You don’t think—”
Maggie shrugged. “No one knows for sure. Thank about it. If this was a crime of passion, anything—anyone—is possible.”
“I can’t think of Scott like that.”
“Then don’t,” Fletcher said. “He’s your husband. You shouldn’t, unless you know something.”
Lily shook her head. “I don’t. I don’t remember much of Monday night. The only thing I can remember is the sound of thunder.”
Maggie looked at Fletcher, startled. He caught the look, then went to Lily. “Thunder? Where were you?”
Lily wiped at one eye. “At the cabin. We’d fought, as usual. He walked out, said he had to get some air. Sometime later, I woke up, from the thunder, I thought. Then went back to sleep.”
Maggie started to speak, but Fletcher motioned for her silence. He took Lily’s hand. “You keep that in mind. If you think of anything else, voices, wind, anything, you find me. Okay?”
Lily nodded.
Maggie pushed back the afghan. “I love you all, but I need to talk to Fletcher alone. Please.” She looked at Ray. “Get some rest. He and I will be together for a while. I’ll be safe with him.”
Cookie hugged her again. “If you need me, I’m here,” she whispered.
Maggie hugged her back, as tightly as she dared. “I know. I love you. And thank you.”
The three left and she turned to Fletcher, who tilted his head to the left and raised his eyebrow. “You know it was not thundering last Monday,” she said.
He pointed to his ear. “She heard something. Let it ferment. Time to go to Aaron’s?”
She sighed. “Most definitely.”
He walked her to his rental car in silence. They sat as she struggled with the seat belt for a few moments, her sore wrist preventing her from fastening it securely.
“May I?” he finally asked. With a sigh of resignation, she nodded. He clicked it into place, then started the car. As she tightened her seat belt, he said evenly, “You really don’t like people hovering over you, do you?”
She smiled. “That obvious, huh?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I’m not surprised. It always makes me feel as if I’m inadequate, like I can’t take care of myself.”
“You know it’s not. People care about you.”
Maggie nodded. “I know. I just can’t—”
“Accepting help is hard. We think we should be able to do it all ourselves.”
She looked at him. “Yes, it is hard.”
“But that’s a myth. We’re all dependent on other people in a variety of ways, from the guy who signs our paycheck to the grocer who stocks the shelves.” He paused. “Let me ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“You’re a Christian, right?”
“Yes,” she answered slowly. Where was he going with this?
“Well, doesn’t Christianity preach that you should help others?”
“Yes.”
“And don’t you get a kind of blessing when you do? It makes you feel good?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“So why deny that feeling, that blessing, to the people who love you?”
She stared at him. “What did you say?”
“You don’t think Cookie gets a blessing for bringing you soup and tea?”
“Of course, but she—”
“So why wouldn’t you let her help you? Want her to do it, in fact?”
“I don’t believe—”
“I mean,” he went on, ignoring her interruption, “what if she hadn’t been there last night?”
Maggie slumped down in her seat, recognition setting in. She didn’t want to think about what would have happened. She glared at him, and he chuckled. “Don’t hate me because I’m right.”
She sniffed, then gestured royally at her bruised and cut face. “I won’t, as long as you don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”
Aaron’s house was still chilly, although not as bad as before. Maggie adjusted the thermostat up a couple more degrees, then led Fletcher upstairs. He grinned when she told him the password, but his smile faded as they started to work through the layers of files on Aaron’s hard drive.
Fletcher stood behind her as Maggie sat in the desk chair, clicking on the file program. “I didn’t get a chance to go through everything on Saturday,” she said. “But enough that I realized that something had happened to Aaron. I still don’t know what. But it was clear that he was getting ready to—”
“Disappear.”
Maggie froze, then turned in the chair to look up at him. “You knew?”
He crossed his arms. “Edward told me on Friday. We haven’t had a chance to talk.”
“Do you know the details?”
He shook his head. “From the way you looked Saturday night, I thought you might have found a few things.”
She nodded, then looked down. I don’t want to do this, she thought.
Fletcher squatted down in front of her, taking one hand in his. “Maggie, look at me.”
She did. His expression was tender, and she was caught by the affection she could see in his eyes. Her throat tightened, and she wished he would just hold her. Just for a moment. Make this go away, she thought, if only for a few minutes.
“Maggie,” he said softly. “You can’t hurt Aaron anymore. And what he did is going to come out. It’s going to hurt. Now. Or later.”
“It already hurts,” she replied, wishing that she didn’t like holding his hand so much. “You have no idea what he’s done.”
“Then show me. Let’s get this out of the way.”
She nodded and slipped her hand away, turning her back. Reaching for the mouse, she opened the first layer of files. “Aaron liked games,” she said slowly, her eyes bouncing from one file to the other. “And he loved to layer things. He considered it organizing. For instance, here’s a file called ‘The Vineyard.’ Confused me at first, but it also made me curious. When I opened it, I found information he’d researched for one of the novels, the one he set in the wine country in California.”
“I remember.”
She grinned. “Judson was great in that one.”
Fletcher coughed. Maggie cleared her throat and went on, her mind swirling. There was so much to tell, to show, yet none of it made sense, not in regards to the man she knew. Or thought she knew. She took a deep breath and opened a series of folders. Again, the top layer looked like research. The final file contained Scott’s manuscripts, as rewritten by Aaron.
“These are Scott’s,” she said. “Or they were. I found the originals in the bedroom that Aaron uses at the lodge. I wanted to show you all this first before telling you the rest of it.” She explained finding the money and the passport in her office. “I thought maybe he was going to disappear and ask me to go with h
im, or frame me for his disappearance.”
He looked puzzled. “Who’s Chris Taylor?”
“Another one of Aaron’s jokes. She’s a character that Lily wants to play in a film. Someone who disappears and takes a lot of money with her.”
The color drained from Fletcher’s face, and he backed away from the desk. He walked to the window, his mouth over his hand. He stared out over the landscape of the retreat, slowly shaking his head. “No,” he said quietly. “You couldn’t. Please.”
Maggie followed him, a tight, scared feeling in her chest. “Fletcher?” She reached for his arm, but he backed away.
“I don’t believe it,” he muttered, his gaze moving around the room wildly, from one object to another.
“Tell me!” she insisted.
He froze, looking at her. “I can’t. I don’t know—”
Maggie grabbed both his wrists. “Fletcher! On Friday I found enough information on that computer to prove that a man who was my friend—a man I had once loved!—had made false documents with my information without telling me, and it looks as if he was trying to steal another writer’s work! He betrayed his wife and Scott! And me! What could be worse?”
Fletcher looked down at her, his face twisted in disbelief. “Aaron wasn’t just going to betray you.” His low voice was harsh. “He was going to kill you.”
TWENTY-ONE
Maggie couldn’t breathe. She tried to gasp for air, but nothing moved, as if her lungs were frozen.
“Maggie,” Fletcher said. “Breathe.”
She shook her head, feeling dizzy. Fletcher grabbed her arms and shook them. “Baby, breathe!” he insisted.
Her body finally took over, desperate for oxygen, and she inhaled sharply, which made her even dizzier. She felt her knees giving way. Fletcher scooped her up and carried her out of the office and down the hall to the bedroom he’d stayed in. He pushed the door open with his foot and stretched her out on the bed, then turned toward the bathroom. “I’ll get you some water.”
Maggie’s eyes took in the pristine elegance of the room, decorated with a slightly masculine flavor and early American furniture, but she felt like a fish suddenly cast upon a dry bank gasping for air. Fletcher returned with the water and slid one arm under her shoulders, helping her to sit up. The coolness of the water finally broke through her senses, and she sipped, once, twice. Then the third sip turned into a choke, followed by a sob.
Fletcher set the water aside and took her in his arms. She clung to him, burying her face against his shoulder. But the tears never came. The gasps of her few sobs were dry, and as she caught her breath again, her senses seemed to move from numb to hypersensitive, as if every nerve were exposed. She felt the cloth of Fletcher’s coat as she dug her nails into his arm and shoulder, aware that what felt soft under her hands was slightly rough on her cheek. There was a hint of dry-cleaning fluid in his jacket, but even more powerful was the exotic scent of his cologne.
Slowly, the tension eased away from her.
“Maggie?” he asked softly.
“Please,” she whispered. “Just hold me.”
She felt him take a deep breath, then close his arms tighter around her. She let go of his arm and shoulder and slid her arms around his back. His chest was firm, and his warmth seemed to envelope her.
After a moment, she pushed back, and he released her easily. She looked up at him. “Thank you.”
“Glad I could help.”
She released a great breath, then she put one hand on his arm. “I don’t want it to be true.”
“Neither do I. But I don’t seen another reason.” He told her about Susan, then Korie and the baby. And Scott. All of it in the name of revenge.
Maggie took it in with a silent prayer. “All that pain,” she whispered. “If they had only talked to each other. Do you think Aaron went to Lily because of Korie and Scott?”
Fletcher paused. “I should have told you sooner. I thought Lily would have. Maybe she didn’t realize…”
Maggie’s forehead creased. “What?”
“Lily and Aaron weren’t sleeping together.”
“What?”
He took her hands. “Your sister is struggling, Maggie. All the downsides of fame hit her pretty hard. Aaron helped her with that, listened to her about her marriage. He used her to get back at Scott, but only through the work, not her bed. And I don’t think she knows about Scott and Korie.”
At that moment, Maggie wanted nothing more than to hug her little sister. And slap Aaron. Or hug him one more time, try to talk some sense into his thick head. She looked down at their hands for a moment, comforted by the sight of Fletcher’s long, broad fingers cradling hers. She finally looked up. “I still don’t understand why he would want to kill me?”
“Several reasons, although the most prominent is to blame you for his disappearance—set it up to look as if you’d murdered him. That way, no one—especially Korie—would come looking for him. Then the passport and money in your office would explain your own plans to disappear after you killed him.”
“Which just gives me more motive for killing him.” Maggie had never felt so lost.
Fletcher paused and looked her over. “Yes.”
Maggie turned to stare at the wall. “I really thought he still loved me. Or at least liked me.”
“He did.”
Maggie squinted, her mind confused. It refused to accept both possibilities—love and murder. “I don’t see—”
“You and I both know how different Aaron really was from what most people thought,” Fletcher said. “That public persona he had—so liberal, womanizing, easygoing—was a front. He was some of that, but it was only a little bit of his surface. He was a complex man.”
Maggie nodded. “He once told me that few people knew him as he really was and even fewer of them really liked him.”
“You were one of them.”
Her heart twisted again. “Yes.”
“He thought you’d want to help him.”
Maggie stared at him. “By dying?”
Fletcher licked his lips. “There’s a lot of evidence here that Aaron wasn’t exactly rational during his last days.” He told her about Bill’s comments. “Even people who weren’t around him all the time noticed that something was terribly wrong.”
Maggie’s mind skimmed again over the last weeks of Aaron’s life. Fletcher certainly had a point there. Aaron’s anger had been out of control. He’d hit Lily, and Maggie had never known him to hit a woman. There was the fight with Jamie—so convenient for her when she needed another suspect, but now…
“Jamie. He’d never thrown anyone out before. Asked them to leave, yes, but not a fight, nothing physical.”
“If you think about it, other things will pop up in your mind as well.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Do you think it was the baby?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe the long-term effects of the booze finally kicked in. Maybe what happened with Korie was the last straw. I do think he would have loved that child, once he got over the shock of it, no matter who the father was. Her abortion may have just pushed him over an edge he was already tottering on. And I know that the man we were with before he died was not the same person I had been friends with for all these years.”
Maggie pushed off the bed and paced a bit, pressing her hand to her injured ribs. “So by being that way, he took someone with him. Pushed someone else over the edge enough to kill him.”
“That’s what seems likely.”
“But who?”
Fletcher paused. “You know the players, Maggie. You tell me.”
She smiled. “Want me to do your job for you?”
Fletcher sat straighter on the bed and grinned. “No. I want to hear how you think.”
She stopped. “You care about how I think?”
He looked down for a second, and his fingers twitched, missing his pen. “Just talk to me, Maggie.”
So she did, starting with the day Aa
ron died. “Seeing the bottle, I really thought Lily might have done it at first, which is why I hid the bottle when I found it. It was just my impulse.”
“To protect her.”
Maggie nodded, then watched as another realization came over Fletcher’s face.
“You settled her case out of court.”
Surprise flashed through her. “You know about that?” At his nod, she grinned. “Maybe you are Judson after all.”
Fletcher cleared his throat and she continued, more seriously. “Then I came to my senses. She couldn’t. When she’s angry, she’s like a mad cat, more spit than claws. Even holding a bottle, her impulse would have been to leap on him with her nails or throw it at him, not turn into a home-run slugger.”
She started to pace again. Fletcher, almost amused, crossed his arms and waited. “For a while, I thought it was Korie, but she’s just money. She would have gone for a lawyer.” She stopped, looking at him. “I told you this, didn’t I?”
“Keep talking.”
She paced again. “Then all the motives kept pointing at me, so I started thinking of other people who might have a logical motive. He’d certainly made people angry, but enough to kill him? He’d fired Edward. No biggie there. I’m sure he’s lost clients before. If Lily wasn’t sleeping with him, that rules out any feelings on her part, and Scott wouldn’t fight for her, not while he was spending time with Korie. It would need to be someone who would either benefit only from his death, or suffer greatly if he continued to live. That really just leaves me—” She stopped. “And Scott.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“You think Scott killed him over the manuscripts?”
“With what we know now, yes. From what Susan told me, Aaron may have just stolen them to punish Scott, with no real intention of publishing them. Although Scott wouldn’t have known that. But nothing is certain yet.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
He stood up and reached for her hand. “It means we can prove nothing.”
Her mouth dropped, and she waved one hand in the direction of Aaron’s office. “But we have all this stuff!”
A Murder Among Friends Page 19