ROOTED IN DECEIT

by Wendy Tyson

  “So, it bothers me that Jones and Lewis barely interviewed her. She’s the one who brought Thana in to begin with.”

  Megan looked at him sharply. “Ray Cruise brought her in.”

  “That’s not what Carly told me. It was her idea.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I think the detectives should have spoken to her. Gotten her perspective.”

  “So you interviewed Carly, then?” Megan asked.

  King nodded. “Related to the break-in. Given everything that happened, it feels like there could be a connection.” He paused. “Interesting woman.”

  “Did she tell you the Center’s having problems making ends meet since Thana’s murder?”

  “She told me business has been so-so.”

  “I think it’s worse than that.” Megan shared what she witnessed between Carly and Ray. “Carly seems desperate to keep their investors happy.”

  “Hmm. Anger at poor business dealings could be a motive for murder.”

  “Are you thinking perhaps Carly blamed Elliot? Took care of him in her own way?”

  “Maybe. The murder weapon was never found, but I think Carly deserves an extra look.” King frowned. “It became apparent to me in talking to Carly and Ray that these people have no lives other than the Center. No family, no hobbies. And when business goes south, well, what else is there?” He brightened. “I, for one, am going to go home to Clover. She should be off work soon, and I’ll let her make me her absolutely awful meatloaf and pretend to like it.”

  “Made easier by the fact that you ate a dozen cookies.”

  King laughed. “There is that.”

  Megan walked King out. As unhappy as she was that another murder had taken place in Winsome, she welcomed the comradery. King was only here on an unofficial basis, but she was glad he valued her opinion, and she in turn admired his willingness to be open minded. In her years in law, she realized that the best cops were those who knew they didn’t know everything.

  After King left, Megan went back inside to shower and call Denver. Her head hurt, her back ached, and she had a splinter in her left hand that was driving her crazy, but she felt grateful for the people in her life.

  When she rang Denver, he didn’t answer. On impulse, King’s words echoing in her head, she pulled up a search engine and looked for flights to Scotland. She found a reasonably priced one that left a week from Saturday and booked it. She’d surprise him. After all, life was short.

  In her excitement, Megan couldn’t sleep. She tried to ring Sylvia’s Aunt Chiara again with no luck. She returned to her computer and made some half-hearted searches into Steve Stewart. His name was so common that she had trouble finding him on social media. She searched for Elliot again, and once again she saw the same collage of party pictures: a sea of mostly male faces drinking and playing games late into the night.

  Had heroin been on the menu?

  Before she logged off, Megan turned her search to Carly Stevenson. Lots of stuff about her speaking engagements, business ventures, and high profile design projects. And a wedding announcement from four years ago in the Philly papers. Followed by a few pieces that mentioned her “imminent divorce” and then her “recent divorce.”

  Based on what Megan could piece together, they’d been married for three years. Nothing in the papers said whether or not the divorce was amicable.

  Megan let that sink in: Carly Stevenson had been married to Ray Cruise.

  Carly and Ray as an item. The scene she’d witnessed—the passion poorly disguised as anger—made more sense. As did the conversation Megan had overheard between the staff near the spa. Ray and Carly weren’t simply business partners; they had been life partners. And from what Megan saw, there could still be feelings there. A person scorned could be a killer. Perhaps she’d visit Carly again tomorrow. Not to ask the official sorts of questions King would ask, but to get to the heart of Carly’s heart.

  Would she kill to get back a man?

  Thirty-One

  Megan slipped out of the house early, before anyone could ask where she was going. She grabbed Bibi’s mail off the table—the post office was as good an excuse as any—and made it to the Center shortly after dawn—early enough to watch the sun make the rest of its appearance over the hills. The Center was beautiful this time of day. A moist dew reflected the sun’s rays in a million tiny shards of glass, forming baby rainbows promising a brighter tomorrow.

  The parking lot was only partially full, but a line of yoga-pants-clad women were run-walking from the main building toward the pool house. Early morning workouts.

  Megan took a deep breath and settled into her truck. She was waiting on one person in particular and would stay put until she arrived. In the meantime, she thought about haggis and casseroles and telling a bubbly blonde named Dolores where to stick it.

  The phone rang at seven. Denver. She welcomed his call but kept her eyes on the “reserved” parking spots—in particular, the one marked “C. Stevenson.” Both that one and the one for “R. Cruise” were empty.

  “Hey,” Megan said. “How’s your sister?”

  “Better, thank you. She’s home again and complaining up a storm.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. The home part anyway.”

  “With her, feeling better and mouthing off go hand in hand.” Denver’s voice softened. “How are you? I spoke with my aunt earlier and she told me there’s been more happenings in Winsome.”

  “Yeah, not good.” Megan shared the news about Elliot’s death. “This is a weird one.”

  “Is his death connected to the break-in?”

  “We think so, but until we know more it’s all speculation.”

  Denver became quiet. Megan watched a small Miata wind its way up the driveway toward the Center, holding her breath.

  “I don’t like it, Megs. It’s bad enough when I’m there, but from here I feel like I can’t be any help at all.”

  “I’m fine, Denver.” Megan watched the Miata pull into “C. Stevenson.” “Although I need to get off the phone. Can I call you later?”

  “Megan, I—”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Megan, but—”

  Megan clicked off. She watched as Carly’s long, bare legs appeared from the passenger seat, one at a time, before another figure emerged from the driver’s side. Ray Cruise. Before going into the Center, they paused for a deep kiss. Carly went toward the front entrance, and Ray walked around the side, toward the Meditation Gallery.

  Megan hurried out of the truck. She arrived in the Center just as Carly was getting ready to walk through the doors that led to the offices.

  “Ms. Stevenson?”

  Carly stopped walking. She turned around slowly, her face registering surprise. When she saw Megan she let out a sigh of annoyance.

  “You sounded like Thana for a moment. Nothing like being visited by a ghost to get your heart pumping.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes.”

  “I have a meeting—”

  “I checked with your assistant and she said you were free this early. I’d like to discuss the fundraiser you’re holding with New Beginnings Mission.” The lies were flying now. Megan didn’t know whether to feel pride or shame.

  Carly seemed to be making up her mind. She made a show of looking at her watchless wrist before giving a curt nod. “Ten minutes.”

  She led Megan to her office, which was much larger and more posh than Ray’s. Glass walls with inset privacy screens. A large glass desk. Original artwork. A Tiffany lamp. A beautiful handwoven rug that incorporated the aqua the Center held so sacred. No skimping for this woman.

  “Sit, please.” Carly moved around the desk until her tiny butt was perched in its edge, just a few feet from Megan. A power move Megan recognized from her law firm days.

  “The fundraiser you�
��re having with New Beginnings, when will that be?”

  “Three weeks from Saturday. Why? Are you with the press?”

  “No, but I have connections at New Beginnings. I thought perhaps I could try and help. It’s for a good cause, after all.”

  “Indeed. That’s very generous of you.” Carly leaned slightly forward. “So why are you really here?”

  “To ask you about Thana.”

  “I thought so.” Carly stood and walked to the glass walls. She hit a button and the privacy screens turned the walls opaque. “What about Thana Moore? Between the press inquiries and news coverage, our nervous investors, and the staff’s questions, she’s done more harm in death than any single person could do.” Carly spun around. “Marcy told me you were up there asking questions. We don’t have secrets at the Center.”

  “You make it sound like a cult.”

  “More like a family.”

  “Is that what you and Ray are? Family?”

  Carly’s pretty face darkened. “None of your business. Next question.”

  “Did Thana know you two were married?”

  “Divorced.”

  “Only recently.”

  “You did your homework.” Carly smiled. “Ray and I are best when we’re not committed to one another. His little tryst with Thana made me remember how cute he is in bed. I call, he comes.” She laughed at her own pun. “But I don’t see how any of this is relevant.”

  “Just following the trail, Carly. And it just keeps leading back to the Center.” Before Carly could respond, Megan said, “Whose idea was it to bring Thana in for opening week?”

  “The art show was my idea. Actually, one of my staff made an off-hand suggestion and I ran with it. A poor choice in hindsight.”

  “Ray said it was his idea to bring Thana in.”

  Carly dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “I asked Ray to contact her once I found out they’d been friends.”

  Megan thought about that. “Did Ray tell you they knew each other?”

  “No. I don’t recall how I found out, a staff member perhaps, but Ray confirmed it and was only too happy to rekindle that friendship.” She put air quotes around the word friendship. “I understand you had a friendship with Ray once as well.” More air quotes. “He gets around.”

  Annoyed, Megan had the urge to ask Carly where she was the day Thana died, but she knew King would have already asked that question. Instead she asked how well Carly knew Elliot.

  “Her manager? He’s the main person I dealt with. Scrappy. I like that.”

  “And when your employee Maria got into an argument with Elliot and Thana, you took their side.”

  This time Carly look troubled. “That was a hard decision. Maria was a good worker, but the destroyed painting was worth eight thousand dollars. I couldn’t tolerate that.”

  “How do you know she destroyed it?”

  “It was locked away from the public. Who else would have done it?”

  “Did you investigate?”

  “As best we could. That said, Maria had access and reason. Common sense.”

  “If it were so common, more people would display it.” She held Carly’s gaze until the other woman opened the door.

  Megan nodded. She’d outworn her welcome, she was sure. She tried to picture Carly as the killer. She had the ambition, but doing it herself seemed too messy, too personal. Megan rose to leave.

  “Megan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please don’t come back to the Center. You’re not welcome here anymore.”

  “What happened to your open, inclusive policy?”

  Carly’s smile sent a chill up Megan’s spine. “It’s exclusive of you.”

  Thirty-Two

  The café was quiet, so Megan took the pile of mail and walked to the post office. The skies were overcast and darkening rapidly, so she hurried her gait. When she reached the small stucco building, she heard the crack of thunder. She ducked inside.

  Bibi had placed stamps on all of the mail, but still Megan slid them in the slot one by one. She got to the end of the pile and realized two thick brochures had made their way in. She recognized one as the paper Bibi had used to fan herself. She was about to toss it in the recycling bin when the front caught her eye. It was a brochure for New Beginnings. She took it and left.

  Outside the sky had darkened to the color of overripe plums. Megan stuck the brochure in her bag and sprinted back to the truck, arriving just as the sky opened up and rain poured down. She looked up at the drenching sheets of precipitation, grateful, and let it pelt her face for a moment before seeking the safety of the car. Thunder boomed followed by a bright flash of lightening.

  Megan opened the brochure. Elizabeth Yee’s face was inside, next to a Letter to Those Who Care. Megan skimmed the parts about the church, focusing in on the mission. Helping runaways. Getting kids off drugs and off the streets. Offering a caring environment to those with nowhere else to go. Such noble quests. The back of the brochure listed the nonprofit status and the names of the board members.

  Megan called home, and Bibi answered on the fourth ring. “Megan, Clay’s been looking for you.”

  “The New Beginnings brochure—where did you get that?”

  “It was at the café. I grabbed it because it made a fine fan. Did you take it? I hope you didn’t throw it away. It was just the right thickness—”

  “Why was it at the café?”

  “I think Alvaro brought a stack in. Something about his brother-in-law.”

  Megan stared at the board members’ names. Dr. J. Oliver Craddock. “Thanks, Bibi. I’ll call Clay later.” She hung up, another memory niggling at the corners of her mind, one she couldn’t quite catch.

  This time, the New Beginnings Mission Church was empty. Megan found the front door open. She walked through, calling “hello” as she went. Elizabeth Yee met her in the worship room. The pastor wore a long, gray skirt made of sweatshirt material, flat sandals, and a thin, black, short-sleeved shirt. A silver cross hung around her neck. She looked as though she’d been reading—her eyes were red, her forehead creased, and glasses hung from a lanyard around her neck.

  “Megan,” she said, her smile warm but worn, “what brings you back?”

  “I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk about Elliot Craddock.”

  “Elliot!” Yee’s face lit up and then quickly fell. “Dr. Craddock’s son. Of course, come in.”

  In Yee’s office, Megan found herself once again sitting in the chair across from Elizabeth. She reminded herself that Yee had known her mother, that the pastor had been a lay person before finding this calling.

  “What do you want to know about Elliot? I can’t believe he’s gone. Poor man. Poor Oliver.”

  “It’s awful,” Megan agreed. “I spoke with his father. I know he’s looking for answers.”

  “He won’t find them out there.” Yee’s tone was firm but kind.

  “Was Elliot someone the Mission helped?”

  “I can’t really talk about that, Megan. I will say that Elliot has a long history here. It’s why his father supports our program.”

  “Was that why Thana agreed to do the mural?”

  “Part of the reason, I’m sure.”

  Megan regarded the other woman. “Did Elliot visit regularly? Have any special connections?”

  “He knew most everyone. We’re having a special service for him next Sunday if you’d like to come.”

  “I’ll be out of the country, but thank you.”

  The front door opened and closed, and Yee stood up to see who’d come in. “Joseph, we’re back here. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” To Megan, Yee said, “Joseph and I are going into Allentown tonight to look for homeless kids. We try to go into the same city every week for two months. We hand out pillows, water, toiletries, and snacks.
Eventually they come to trust us and we can help them.” She smiled. “We’re always looking for volunteers if the spirit moves you.”

  “Maybe one day. Is anyone else going with you tonight? I think I saw Joseph and another volunteer recently. They were getting gas. I didn’t have a chance to say hello, but I assumed they were on their way to do work for the Mission. Such zeal.” Megan wasn’t actually sure they were doing mission work, but she hoped Yee would confirm the identity of the woman Joseph was with.

  Yee smiled. “All the volunteers are passionate. Tonight it’s just us, but sometimes other alumni or members join us, or occasionally ministers from other churches.”

  “This was an older woman. She works at the new yoga center. Graying hair, interesting dresser.”

  Yee smiled. “That would be Gina. She’s not a volunteer, she’s Joseph’s mother.” Yee glanced at the doorway, toward where Joseph was waiting. “He’s been trying to get her to join us for years. I don’t see it happening. Frustrating when one of your own doesn’t share your beliefs. Now if you’ll excuse me, we need to get packed for this evening.” Yee stood.

  Megan thanked her for her time. On the way out, she ran into Joseph, who was stuffing quart-sized baggies with travel-sized toothpaste, mouthwash, shampoo, soap, and granola bars. He smiled as Megan passed.

  She stopped short, trying not to share. Her mind flashed to a series of photos on Elliot’s social media sites. Men partying. Drexel—a.k.a Steve Stewart—was there. And so was Joseph Muller. Megan was sure of it.

  She said a quick good-bye and ran back into the rain.

  Thirty-Three

  In the truck, Megan tried to process what this meant, if anything. Elliot knew Steve—that Megan already knew. Elliot was connected to the Mission—that she hadn’t known. The Mission and the Center were connected through Joseph and his mother—that she hadn’t known. And Elliot, Joseph, and Steve all knew each other—that she hadn’t known, either.

  But what did it all mean?

  Megan closed her eyes, listening to the patter of the rain and sifting through the random bits of information in her mind, looking for connections.