by Wendy Tyson
She decided to call first. Maria had enough on her plate without a drive-by, however well-intentioned. Megan tried their home number and when no one answered, she got Maria’s cell phone number from Clover. Only Maria didn’t answer that, either. Megan left a message. She hoped Maria would call her back.
It didn’t help that Thana Moore’s death was all over the news. The media portrayed Thana as a local artist who had been on the verge of a blossoming career. They noted her packed shows, the interest of larger art houses and wealthy patrons, the commissions she had been receiving for many of her paintings, especially her unusual portraits. But every article Megan read said very little about Thana Moore as a person.
Budding artist? Local hero? Relationship addict? Vocal complainer? All of the above?
The problem was none of these sides of Thana Moore matched the girl Megan had known. Megan knew people could change, but they had already been young adults when they parted ways. By that age, certain aspects of a personality were formed. Megan could remember Thana doodling on the notes she’d pass to her in class. Or drawing the ski club mascot. But significant paintings? Works that would be considered true contributions to the art world? Even the paintings hanging up in the pizza farm were less sophisticated than what Megan had seen at the Center. Clearly Thana’s work had been evolving. But where did the passion come from?
Thana must have found her calling later in life, and it saddened Megan that she knew so little about someone who had once been her best friend.
A little before noon, Megan left the barn and headed back to the house. She found Bibi gone—presumably helping out at the café—and her father and Sylvia in the kitchen drinking coffee. Sylvia wore a long turquoise, red, and yellow skirt and a silk turquoise tank top. Her hair hung loose around her face, which was minimally made up. She looked tired, but some of the feistiness had returned to her expression.
Eddie, on the other hand, seemed distracted. He barely glanced at Megan but was staring down at the local paper, which had Thana’s elfin face plastered on the front page.
“Well, good morning,” Megan said. She poured herself a large mug of coffee, added cream, and sat down at the table with them. “Nice to see you two up and around.”
“We’re going to the Dartville Police Station,” Sylvia said drily. She took a long sip of coffee while watching Megan over the rim of her mug, as though daring Megan to challenge her.
Eddie brought a mug to his lips before lowering it without drinking. “They want to talk to Sylvia again.”
Megan reiterated the name of the attorney she’d sent her father. “She’s the best I know in the area.”
“Sylvia doesn’t need an attorney.” There was a slight whine to Eddie’s voice. He placed a hand over his wife’s. “Right, sweetheart?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t need an attorney. I didn’t do anything.” Sylvia disentangled her hand from her husband’s. “We should get going, Edward. We don’t want to be late.”
Eddie stood up obediently.
“Do you need a ride?” Megan asked.
“No. We have the rental.” Eddie patted his pocket, then looked to his wife. “We’re hoping they’ll tell us she’s been cleared. After everything, I think we both just want to go home.”
Go home. The words stabbed at Megan. This was no longer home for her father.
“I understand,” she said. “It’s been difficult, I’m sure. Not the vacation you were planning.”
“Business trip,” Sylvia said. “While it is lovely to see you, Megan, and meet your friends, this was always meant to be a business trip. And I’m afraid we haven’t done much business.”
Sylvia drew close to Megan. Even with the three-inch strappy heels Sylvia was wearing she didn’t clear Megan’s shoulder. And Megan wasn’t particularly tall.
“Perhaps next time you’ll visit us in Italy.” Sylvia’s words were more command then request. “And you can see how well your father is doing.”
Doing what? She didn’t realize her father was doing anything. But Megan nodded. “Sure.” She figured she was as likely to get away to Italy as she was to Scotland.
“Good.” Sylvia grabbed her expensive handbag and slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses. She looked more like a movie star posing for the paparazzi than a woman on her way to a police station. “We’ll be back for our bags.”
Eddie turned around and gave her a long hug. “I’m sorry, Megan. I’m making a mess of things again, aren’t I?”
“You’re fine, Dad. Go deal with your wife.”
Eddie’s look was wistful. “You have your mother’s patience.”
It seemed an odd thing to say about a woman who had run away from home, but Megan simply replied, “Do I?”
Eddie nodded. “I’ll let you know what happens. Sylvia thinks we’ll be done with this. I’m not so sure.”
Megan watched them climb into their rented Ford. She wasn’t so sure either.
Twelve
Friday afternoon at the café was slow, in part because Alvaro was once again missing, having departed unexpectedly at one that afternoon. He’d left Megan a message, but her return calls went unanswered. Bibi had graciously taken over as the cook and had limited the menu to grilled chicken and cheddar Paninis with red-skinned potato salad, a black bean soup that Alvaro had stored in the freezer, and her ubiquitous grilled cheese. Bibi was an excellent cook in Megan’s opinion, but the local customers had come to expect Alvaro’s creative flair, and a simple grilled cheese with potato chips was not quite up to par.
Bibi didn’t take it personally. “I cook food that nourishes,” she said as she placed carrot sticks on a plate next to a grilled cheese and tomato on whole wheat. “They want fancy, let them go to that yoga center.”
Megan forced her eyes not to roll. The whole point was that she didn’t want them to go to the Center. Megan washed a dirty pot, then hung it above the work station. The café’s kitchen wasn’t huge, but it was a comfortable size and had ample storage. She pulled a smaller pot from a cupboard.
“Do you want me to make more potato salad?” she asked her grandmother.
“No, I think we have plenty in the refrigerator.”
Megan checked and sure enough, Alvaro had left them well-stocked. “Alvaro’s Mexican coleslaw is in here too. That would go well with the Panini.” Megan loved Alvaro’s take on coleslaw. Red and green cabbage. Red peppers. Black beans. Fresh corn. Cilantro. Just a few dices of jalapeño. A little mayonnaise, sour cream, lime juice, and his secret seasonings. Every vegetable sang.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with plain old coleslaw,” Bibi said. “I’ve been making it the same way for sixty years and not once has anyone complained.”
Megan hung her head. “Your coleslaw is delicious too.” And it was. But Megan needed her chef back.
Megan said, “Do you need me here, Bibi?”
They both glanced out past the lunch counter, toward the café’s small dining room. Merry Chance, the town nursery’s owner, sat chatting with Roger Becker and his wife Anita. All three were eating black bean soup. None of them seemed in any hurry.
Bibi shook her head. “Clover’s here. I think we can hold down the fort. Emily is coming to run the register in an hour.”
Megan thanked her grandmother for stepping in. She had somewhere to go, so she excused herself. She’d decided not to wait for Maria to call her back. While her head screamed “invasion of privacy,” her heart had a different take on the matter. Picturing Alvaro’s deadened stare, Megan climbed into the truck and set out for another town.
Alvaro lived about seven miles outside of Winsome, in a small hamlet called Brightonburg. Brightonburg was closer to Dartville than Winsome, and the entire town consisted of a handful of large working farms, a convenience store, an old mill, and a spattering of fifties-style brick ranch homes. The Hernandez family lived in
one of the brick ranch homes, on a two-acre lot off the main road. The house was a tidy replica of its neighbors’ homes, except that a huge garden took up much of the side yard. Megan could make out potato plants, corn, and Swiss chard alongside rows of bean vines growing up ornate trellises. Flowers lined a path to the front door, and the side beds overflowed with late summer color. It was a quiet home on a quiet street—except for the cars parked in the lot.
Megan had never been to her chef’s home. Alvaro was a private man, and she respected that. But given what she knew from Bobby King, she was concerned—about him, about Maria, and about the effect on Clover and Clay should something happen. Megan parked the truck several houses down from Alvaro’s place, parallel to the curb. She recognized Alvaro’s older Saab and his wife’s Honda. Behind their cars was a plain black sedan with official plates. An unmarked. Megan’s worries were confirmed.
She killed the engine and was debating what to do when the front door of the Hernandez home opened. Detectives Lewis and Jones came outside with Maria between them. She wore no handcuffs, and her attractive face was a mask of indifference. Behind her stood Alvaro, short frame rigid, hands clasped in fists.
Lewis walked ahead. Detective Jones hovered next to Maria, as though afraid her charge would run. Only Maria walked slowly, shoulders back, not hurrying, even when Detective Jones prodded her along. An arrest or more questioning? It wasn’t clear. The older woman climbed into the back seat, retaining her regal posture despite the situation. Megan saw her turn to Alvaro and smile lovingly before Lewis closed the door.
The police car pulled away.
Alvaro stood in the doorway a long time, watching an empty road. If he saw Megan’s truck, he didn’t react. But Megan suspected he only had eyes for his wife, who was by now long gone.
After a drawn-out internal debate, Megan decided to leave Alvaro alone. She watched as he re-entered their home and closed the door, and then she called her father’s cell phone. If Detectives Lewis and Jones were here, they were no longer with Sylvia. And if they were still questioning Maria, they had not arrested her father’s wife. So what was going on?
Eddie didn’t answer on the first try. Megan hung up and called again. And again.
When Eddie finally picked up, he sounded weary. “This is never-ending, Megan. She certainly hasn’t been cleared. Is it alright if we remain at the farm?”
“Of course.”
“And that attorney…we may need her.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” Megan gave him her name and number again and paused while he recorded the information. “Did the police give you any indication of what was happening?”
“Not really. But they questioned Sylvia for more than two hours. And they had a warrant for her phone and computer.”
“I’m sure she has nothing to hide.”
Eddie didn’t respond. Megan heard a dog bark, and she figured they were back at Washington Acres. “Do you need me to come home?” Megan asked.
“No,” Eddie said quickly. “We’re fine. I think we may go for a walk. I’d like to get Sylvia out for some fresh air.”
Another call rang in. Megan recognized her Aunt Sarah’s number. Stomach tightening, she let it go to voicemail.
“Call the lawyer, Dad. It will make you both feel better. Especially if they’ve taken Sylvia’s phone.”
“I will. I will.” He sounded noncommittal and Megan thought she’d have to call the lawyer herself. “Okay, I’ll see you later? I should be with Sylvia now.”
“Yes, of course. The pizza restaurant opens tomorrow, so it’s a big day. Come, be part of it. Maybe it will help take your mind off things.”
“Yeah, sure.” Megan heard a door close, the hiss of water. Then her father said softly, voice barely a whisper, “I’m afraid she’s not telling me everything, Megan. Sylvia’s not acting right. I think something happened between her and Thana, something she’s hiding.” The water stopped and Eddie’s voice lowered even further. “Thana was your friend. What could it have been? Can you think of a reason someone would want her dead?”
Megan wondered the same thing. “I just don’t know.”
A door opened and Eddie’s voice became unnaturally cheerful. “Okay, then, Snickerdoodle. We’ll see you tonight.” He clicked off.
Eddie Birch hadn’t called Megan Snickerdoodle in twenty years. Something was definitely going on.
Thirteen
Megan still knew the route by heart. Through Winsome by way of Canal Street, past the post office, left at Winnie’s Hair Loft, down Long Mill Road, past Vinnie’s Coffee Shack and Car Wash, and through the gated entrance to Deer Meadow Estates. The gate had long since gone the way of Vinnie’s Coffee Shack and Car Wash, and it sat in rotted pieces by the side of the pitted drive. The Moore home was the last house on Winter Road, near Deer Meadow Pond. And if history was any predictor, Wesley Moore would be sitting outside on the porch of his modular. Or he’d be down at the pond.
It didn’t take long to see him. Same hulking shoulders. Same full beard.
The day was hot and soupy, with no rain in sight. The pond, like much of Winsome, was suffering under the drought, and rings now marked the previous water lines. A dock extended into the water like a hand on a clock, only it now sat two feet above the surface. A man sat on the dock in a hunter green folding chair, a thermos by his side, a fishing rod in his hand, the line dangling into the murky water below.
Megan approached slowly.
“I was wondering when you’d come around,” Wesley said. He reeled in the line, then cast it right back out. It was then that Megan noticed the absence of bait on the hook. “I see you made good here in Winsome.”
“I’m sorry about Thana.”
“I’m sure you are.”
There was no hint of rebuke or sarcasm in Wesley Moore’s tone. He wound in the line again, but this time he attached the empty hook to the reel and placed the rod on the wooden dock. He turned his chair around so it was facing Megan.
Thana’s father had to be in his early sixties now, but he looked like a man two decades older. His once shaggy gray curls were white and thinning. His beard was spotty in places, and red, irritated skin shone through in patches. His eyes looked rheumy, and his nose bore the bulbous, reddened veins of an alcoholic. Megan felt her resolve wane. How could she add to this man’s troubles?
“I’m glad you came by, Megan. I haven’t seen anyone from Thana’s old days. Not one person.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Wesley looked out, over the woodland that surrounded the pond and toward his own home. Deer Meadow Estates had been built in the eighties to look like a mountain vacation resort. Unlike the gate that once protected it, the woods and pond had remained, but now only about half of the faux log cabins seemed to be occupied. Like his neighbors’ homes, Wesley’s was a modular with cheap vinyl log cabin siding and red window trim. His lawn was brown and uncut, and a mess of weedy perennials lay in various states of decay around his front porch.
“The missus has been gone three years now,” Wesley said, following her gaze. “Those were her flower beds. I haven’t had the heart or the back to maintain them.” He turned to look at Megan. “My daughter was murdered.”
“I know.”
“I told the police it was that boyfriend of hers, Elliot.” Wesley picked up the fishing rod and began polishing the wooden handle with a handkerchief, as though it was a gun. “I’d been telling Thana to leave him for months. She finally did it. And this is what happened.” His voice stayed steady, but the rheumy eyes moistened. “For once she listened to me and it got her killed.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Easy to say.”
True, Megan thought. “So you told the police about Elliot?”
“Lewis and Clark?” He smiled at his own joke. “Yeah, they were here. Asking all kinds of questions ab
out Thana. Her lifestyle. Did she take drugs? Had she pissed someone off lately? Did she sleep with strange men? As though she was the one on trial.”
“That’s often how these things go, Mr. Moore. Sometimes the victim’s life holds the key to what happened.”
He regarded Megan as though he were just seeing her for the first time. “I forgot that you went off to law school.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you and Thana ever patch things up? I was sad to see your friendship end, you know. You were good for her. After you ended your friendship, she wasn’t the same. I hope you were able to let go of your grudge.”
“I never held a grudge.”
“Then why didn’t you call her? Try to see her? She never forgot you, Megan.”
“Things changed. I was sorry for what happened back then.” Megan didn’t want to go there. She didn’t want to get into a discussion about who had hurt whom. She figured they’d both done their fair share of damage. “I’m sorry we lost touch.”
“She never did tell us what happened. We figured it was some silly teenage thing.” His eyes searched Megan’s for an indication that this was the case. “Me and Konstantina, we hoped you’d patch things up.”
“I always liked Thana’s mother. She was like a parent to me.”
Wesley’s eyes looked far away. His attention turned to the lake. “She’s gone three years now.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“And now my daughter.”
“Mr. Moore, why do you think Elliot hurt your daughter?”
The mention of Elliot’s name seemed to return him to the present. “They were always fighting. Elliot liked to pretend he was Mr. Casual, never a care in the world, but he is as controlling as they come. Got to the point that he didn’t even want Thana to come here.”