ROOTED IN DECEIT
Page 5
Not on Megan’s watch. It was time for her father to…be a father.
Megan stood. “I’m heading there now. I’ll call you.”
“I’m coming too.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Bibi pursed her lips, giving her the recalcitrant expression of a teenager Megan knew all too well. Megan hung her head. “Fine. I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.”
Megan’s head started to throb. Dramatic father, obstinate grandmother, and Sylvia. What could ever go wrong?
“Where’s my son, Eddie Birch?” Bibi asked one of the two women running the front desk. “Please tell me where I can find my son.”
The younger of the two women looked at her colleague over ivory-rimmed glasses. The pair wore matching aqua suits—the hue of which coordinated with the pillows and window treatments in the welcome area and had the effect of making them blend with their surroundings. A wave of aqua.
In a flat voice, the younger one asked, “Is he a guest here?”
Bibi crossed her arms over her chest. “He is.”
“My father is here with his wife, Sylvia Altamura. They’ve been staying since Sunday.” Megan spelled their last names. “I think Sylvia has been involved with the art show you have going on.”
“Ah, I see them here.” The representative punched a few keys on her computer before looking up. “I can’t give you their room number, but I can call them for you. Privacy.”
“Yes, call their room please. My father isn’t answering his cell. Tell Mr. Birch his daughter is here.”
“And his mother,” Bibi chimed in. She rocked back and forth on her toes, pulling herself straighter with each motion.
Megan glanced at Bibi, frowning “And his mother.”
A few seconds later, the young woman hung up the phone. “I’m sorry. They’re not answering their room phone. He’s probably in a treatment or at the fitness center.”
Megan tried him on his cell again. No answer. She debated whether to mention the police. She’d seen the black and whites parked around the side of the main building and figured the Center had tried to keep their activities quiet. She didn’t want her father and stepmother branded by the staff, assuming they were unaware of what was going on—which seemed unlikely.
As Megan was deciding what to do, Bibi said to the aqua minions, “Sylvia is being questioned by the police.” She lowered her voice. “About that young woman who was killed. Thana Moore.”
Megan saw the representatives exchange another look, this one loaded. “Give me a minute,” the younger one said. She disappeared somewhere behind reception.
The older one contemplated Megan and Bibi with a frosty gaze. She had long, gray-streaked hair pinned back with a black barrette. She tugged at a strand of hair with a multi-ringed finger and looked like she was about to say something when a young couple approached the counter. Megan took advantage of the distraction and stepped away from the desk.
“What do you think of this place?” Bibi whispered. She glanced around and then jutted her chin toward one of the ivory couches. A woman sat cross-legged on the cushions. She wore fuchsia and royal blue yoga pants and was studying a Kindle. Her face was pulled so tight that her eyes began nearly at her hairline. “These people have too much money and not enough to do.”
“I imagine the rooms are expensive.”
Bibi harrumphed. “I don’t know why Eddie and Sylvia needed to stay here. We have a perfectly good guest room at the farm. And breakfast better than what they serve here, I bet.”
“I bet you’re right about the breakfast, Bibi. As for why they stayed here, you heard Sylvia—business.”
“Nonsense. That was just her excuse. That woman has Eddie wrapped around her finger. Eddie can’t do anything for himself, and now he has her to make decisions for him.”
Megan bit her lip so hard she could taste the metallic drops of blood. Who was to blame for Eddie’s lack of independence? The younger spa receptionist finally arrived—not a moment too soon.
“If you want to come with me, Ms. Sawyer, I’ll bring you to Mr. Birch.” With a sidelong glance at her colleague, she sashayed away for Megan and Bibi to follow.
They went through the door behind reception and into an inner chamber of sorts. Down a long hallway, they passed four glass-enclosed offices, all currently empty of people but filled with boxes. At the end of a hallway was a conference room devoid of furniture. The receptionist waited for them by the conference room. When they joined her, she opened the door to the office across the way—a larger room whose glass was obscured by blinds.
She remained in the hallway. “Mr. Cruise will see you now.”
Mr. Cruise. Mr. Ray Cruise.
“We want to see Eddie, not Mr. Cruise,” Bibi said.
“Mr. Cruise will help you.”
Megan and Bibi entered a spacious office. The room sported a wall of windows, which looked out upon the tennis courts and the hills beyond. Unlike the other rooms, this one was fully furnished. State of the art standing desk. Large, flat computer monitors. Streamlined keyboard. Three chrome and white chairs with a chrome table between. A sound system currently playing Blues. No aqua here—just shades of white and all that metal.
“Megan.” The man standing behind the desk walked around to the other side and leaned against it. He held out his hand. “It’s been a long time.”
Megan shook Ray’s hand. Firm grip, smooth fingers. He held her hand for a beat too long before moving on to Bibi. If Bibi recognized Megan’s old friend, she didn’t let on.
“Excuse our appearance,” Ray said. “Our investors demanded a certain opening date and we had to prioritize. I’m afraid some of the backroom stuff isn’t finished yet.”
“It’s quite something. The Center, I mean.”
Ray nodded. “Been in the works for years. This area needed something like the Center. Something to bring in upscale clientele. Tourists benefit all the businesses. The locals don’t always like it, but with tourists come money. And jobs.”
Megan studied her old friend. He’d been a lanky teenager. Now he was medium height and very toned. The biceps under the pressed French-blue button down strained against the expensive material, the breadth of his chest said he was no stranger to bench presses. His hair, still brown but flecked with gray, had thinned, but he kept it short. His once-angular face had gotten a little fleshier, his eyes a little lined, but overall, time had been kind to Ray Cruise. Megan was surprised to realize she was glad.
Cruise said, “Megan, Mrs. Birch, please sit.”
Bibi protested. “We’re looking for Megan’s father, Eddie—”
“I know, Mrs. Birch. And I’ll take you to him in just a few minutes. I just want to ask you and Megan a few questions first.”
Bibi sat, but Megan chose to stand. “We’d really like to see my father now, Ray, if you don’t mind.”
Ray held a hand up. “Water? Coffee?”
When neither woman responded, Ray smiled. “Mr. Birch is talking to Detective Lewis. I know this is awkward, but it seems that your stepmother, Ms. Altamura, was the last person to have seen Thana yesterday.”
Megan tensed at the mention of Thana, especially from this man’s mouth. Memories flashed again, unbidden and confused—a collage of childhood images and feelings.
“Once she tells this Detective Lewis what she knows, she should be finished, right?” Bibi sat on the edge of her seat, her tone challenging. “Being the last to see Thana is not a crime.”
“No, it isn’t.” Ray looked faintly amused, a fact that irritated Megan. “But Thana and Ms. Altamura had words.”
“Words?” Megan asked. “What does that mean?”
“Other patrons heard them arguing. They saw Ms. Altamura storm out.”
“That still doesn’t mean anything,” Bibi said. “People argue. So what?”
Ray—this composed, self-assured Ray, so different than the boy she’d known—made a phone call. He said nothing, but rather he listened and hung up quickly. “Your father will be down in a moment.”
“Thank you.”
They waited, the room blanketed by a stiff silence. Finally Ray said, “Thana told me you’d moved back to Winsome. To start an organic farm.” That look of amusement again.
“Thana told you that?”
“Yes. She followed your career.”
Megan pulled her gaze away. “It’s been two growing seasons now.”
“I never saw you as a farmer.”
“I never saw you as the owner of a health resort.”
“A ‘health resort.’ I like it.” Ray walked toward a framed painting that sat propped on a box toward the back of the office. It was one of Thana’s landscapes—Megan recognized the style. The subject was a small house, a hovel really. The building sat on a hill. Around it were the vertical lines of a broken-down fence and, in the near distance, the looming presence of a water tower. The sky had been painted in purple and gray pigment, with only the faintest suggestion of the sun hovering behind the clouds. Gloomy—yet not altogether devoid of beauty. Or hope.
Megan recognized the house. She could tell by the expression on Ray’s face that he knew she knew Thana had captured his childhood home. One painting said a lot about Ray’s upbringing. Lay-offs. Divorce. Alcoholism. If one looked closely enough, Megan thought, it was all there, laid bare on canvas.
Before either could say anything, the door swung open. Another young, aqua-clad staff member walked in with Eddie behind her. Bibi rushed over to her son and gave him a hug before sitting back down.
“Thank you, Delilah.” Ray dismissed his employee and offered Eddie a seat.
Eddie sat heavily in the chair. He wore expensive, tailored gray pants and a white button-down linen shirt, but his shirt was rumpled and his pants creased. Worry lines marred the skin around his eyes, which looked deep-set and shadowed. His mouth was pressed into a resolute line.
Ray moved toward the door. “I’ll give you some time to talk to your father in private.”
Surprised by the courtesy, Megan thanked him. Once he’d left, Eddie placed his face in his hands and sat that way, bent over.
“Eddie—” Bibi started to rise again and Megan motioned for her to stay put. She was afraid her grandmother’s attempt to assuage whatever Eddie was going through would derail his train of thought.
“Dad, what happened?”
Eddie sat straight in his chair and took a deep breath. “Sylvia’s been with the police most of the morning. They’re not telling me much.”
Megan frowned. “Surely they’ve told you something.”
Eddie shook his head.
“Ray mentioned that Sylvia had an argument with Thana. Is that true?”
“I don’t know. If she did, she never mentioned it to me.”
Megan said, “Did Sylvia say anything about Thana? About her paintings? I know she wanted to purchase some for her boutique.”
“Not a word. She seemed subdued last night, not really herself. I was worried she had a migraine—she gets those occasionally—but she denied it. I suggested we skip the sweat lodge couples night and to my surprise, she agreed. We watched television and ate in our room.” He looked at Bibi. “We didn’t find out about Thana until this morning when Ray and a detective knocked on our door.” Eddie started to rock back and forth in his chair, and with each movement Bibi looked more distressed. “They told us then, while we sat in our suite wearing nothing but robes and slippers.”
“How did Sylvia react?”
Eddie threw up his hands. “How would you react if someone interrupted you at seven a.m. and that someone was a cop?”
He had a point. Megan tried a different tact. “Ray said there was more to the story than the argument, Dad. What else happened?”
Eddie stayed silent for a long moment. Megan could hear voices outside, in the hallway. Through the window, she watched as an older couple in matching whites volleyed a ball back and forth on the tennis courts. They looked red and sweaty. Inside, the air was so chilled she shivered.
Eddie said, “I don’t know where Sylvia was yesterday morning.”
Megan said, “Before our lunch?”
Eddie nodded. “Sylvia told me she met with Thana at eight thirty at the Meditation Gallery. They argued—or so people say. Then Sylvia just sort of…disappeared. I tried her cell, I called the room. I even asked the concierge to help me find her.” He closed his eyes. “No one could locate her. And then out of the blue, she showed up at lunch.” He reopened his eyes and stared at Megan. “You can see how that looks given the timing.”
“She told us she’d never met Thana.” Megan frowned. Why had Sylvia lied? “I’m sure she can explain.”
“Can she?” Bibi asked.
Eddie’s face paled. “She claims she went for a walk in the woods. To clear her mind.”
Megan remembered the mud and pine needles she’d seen on Sylvia’s expensive shoes. She mentioned it to Eddie.
Eddie shrugged. “Makes sense her shoes would get dirty. She says she was on the path in the woods.”
“Remember,” Bibi said, “the news said Thana died on an unnamed road not far from the Center.”
“A wooded road,” Megan added. “That may be why they’re talking with her. It doesn’t mean anything, Dad. Sylvia was outside around the time this happened. She could have seen something important. They have to be thorough.”
“Aren’t there security cameras on the property?” Bibi asked. “They should show that Sylvia’s telling the truth.”
Megan snapped her fingers. “Good thinking.” She’d seen a camera in the reception area. Surely there were others.
Eddie sighed. “Afraid not. The Center struggled to open on time. Some things were put off.”
“Like security?” Bibi looked aghast.
“It’s scheduled for next week.” Eddie’s smile was weak. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
Indeed. Megan leaned against the window, watching the couple who were now playing a serious game of tennis. The woman had a powerful serve. “Sylvia is an intelligent woman,” Megan said. “I guess we’ll just have to see what she says about yesterday.”
When Megan turned around, her grandmother was holding Eddie’s hand. He seemed not to notice.
“Have the police questioned you?” Megan asked.
“Briefly—shortly after they came to our room. Mostly they asked questions about my recollection of the day Thana died.”
Hoping he’d contradict Sylvia’s accounts, Megan thought. She watched her father sitting there in his white shirt and his wrinkled linen pants and hoped that he and his wife hadn’t done something unforgivable.
Six
It was Ray Cruise rather than one of his aqua minions who led Megan, Bibi, and Eddie across the main building and out to the Meditation Gallery.
“This is where the police have set up temporary headquarters,” Ray said. He looked pained. “We have private rooms for individual instruction. They’re borrowing them.” He used finger quotes around “borrowing.”
“I bet that’s not great for business,” Bibi said.
“No, it’s not ideal.”
Megan had to hand it to Ray—he seemed to be maintaining his composure. She knew what it was like to be a new business and dealing with police activity. It wasn’t that long ago that a dead body appeared in her own barn, where the new pizza farm would be. And it wasn’t until now, until Clay reclaimed the structure with fresh purpose and fresh paint, that she could feel some of the emotional ghosts dissipating.
Thana hadn’t died on Center property, but people wouldn’t remember that. They’d
remember her association with the Center just as the deceased Simon Duvall would always be tied to Washington Acres.
Megan looked at Ray with renewed empathy.
They walked across an open courtyard planted with tall sunflowers and dotted with birdfeeders and ornate stone bird baths. It was a lovely spot and would have been a nice retreat were it not for the police tape strung across the entrance to the adjacent building. A wooden monolithic building tucked toward the back of the property behind the courtyard, the Meditation Gallery was more Asian revival than New England Colonial. Ray went through a set of large wooden doors and the group followed.
Inside, they made their way through a vaulted entryway. The building had slate floors and richly stained wooden walls. A velvet rope cordoned off the vestibule from the main portion of the gallery. A single slate-topped table stood against one wall of the entry and on it were brochures—for horseback riding, yoga, and any number of special spa treatments. Mats had been laid out on the slate and several pairs of shoes sat on the mats. Eddie was already slipping off his loafers.
Ray flashed him a smile of appreciation. “I’m sorry, but no shoes inside.”
“We figured that,” Bibi quipped. She bent to untie her sneakers and Megan felt for her grandmother. At her age, nothing was as easy as it once had been.
Shoes removed, Ray continued into the main hall. Megan held her breath and let it out in a slow whistle. The meditation hall was a soaring wooden room. The floors, the ceilings, the walls—all were made of the same tropical wood. One wall consisted entirely of windows, and the windows had been strategically positioned to take advantage of the majestic view. With the monochrome walls and floor, it was as though the meadows, sloping woods, and pastures beyond were part of this great room. The effect was breathtaking. Or would be once the room was empty.