by Wendy Tyson
Megan waited.
“Not having control. Now that we’re fighting over jurisdiction, who knows what direction the investigation could take.”
“Denver had nothing to do with any of this.”
To the disappointment of the dogs, King stood straight and stopped petting them. “I know that, you know that. A wealthy scientist is dead, and the killer is unknown. This will become a witch hunt. If history has taught us anything, it’s that witch hunts rarely result in justice being served.”
Seventeen
“I don’t know what King was talking about.” Denver placed a cloth bag of groceries on his counter. One by one, he pulled out bags of rice and beans and cans of soup, his back to Megan. “Chase and I never had an argument. I hadn’t seen the guy in years.”
“Since your divorce.”
Denver took the last can out of the bag and pushed it along the concrete countertop. Megan watched the slight hunch of his broad shoulders, the clench of his jaw, the impatient way he pushed his unruly hair away from his face.
“Denver?”
Denver crammed the dog food cans into his pantry cabinet. “No. I’ve seen him since then.”
Megan tensed. “When?”
Denver worked for a minute without speaking. Finally, he said, “About a year ago. He, Martine, and Xavier came up for a weekend. I couldn’t join them because I was working, but we met one night for drinks.”
Megan heard the hitch in his voice. A year ago, Megan and Denver were already dating. Megan braced herself for more…the more being a night spent with the elegant Martine. She thought of the way Martine had stared at Denver during dinner, at his obvious reluctance to meet Martine’s gaze. Megan’s breath caught in her chest. She couldn’t bring herself to speak.
Denver’s kitchen, like the house itself, was a study in clean lines. Megan slid a stool out from beneath a Craftsmen-style island and sat down heavily. Denver continued to put away groceries, his body language under his t-shirt and jeans matching the rigidity of her own.
Denver’s five dogs broke the silence. The doorbell rang and all five started to bark and howl. Denver glanced at Megan apologetically, and she saw tears in his eyes.
“Denver—”
“Megs, I need to get the door.”
“Wait.”
“It’s King, I’m sure. He’ll be wanting to ask his own set of questions.”
He disappeared into the hallway. It wasn’t Bobby King he returned with; it was Martine. Martine looked ashen and afraid. Her slim frame was draped in a black silk wrap dress. She wore red wedge heels and a cream scarf was knotted around her stalk-like neck. Wide eyes fell on Denver.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“It’s okay. I was just leaving.” Megan stood and grabbed her purse, hating the waves of jealousy washing over her. Denver could talk to whomever he wanted. It didn’t mean anything.
“Megs, don’t leave.” Denver’s voice was a command.
“I—”
“Stay. Please.”
Megan nodded. She sat back down on the stool. She felt frustrated and confused by Denver’s behavior, but curiosity won out. She wanted to know why Martine was here.
Denver fixed Martine a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. He poured one for Megan as well and grabbed a beer for himself. “Let’s go into the living room.”
The women followed Denver into a cozy living space. Sparsely decorated, but warm and inviting, it smelled faintly of wood smoke and citrus cleaner. Megan sat on the couch across from the fireplace. All five dogs crowded around her, on the seats beside her, and by her feet. Megan felt a wall of canine protectiveness.
Again, she waited.
This time Denver broke the silence. “Martine, what do you want?” His tone was harsh, and Megan looked at him in surprise.
“Have you heard from Jatin?”
“No.”
“Xavier?”
“I’ve heard from the police. Do you want to know why? Because apparently one of you told our Chief that I had a fallout with Chase and should also be considered a suspect.” Denver’s Scottish brogue had become more pronounced, and he was in full dialect now. “Do ye want to tell me about that, Martine?”
“I never said anything to the police about you.”
“No? Then maybe it was that boyfriend of yours, Xavier?”
Martine flushed. “Xavier isn’t my boyfriend.”
“No? I can’t keep up with who is shagging whom. You all are like your own small version of Peyton Place.” Denver looked away, disgust marring his handsome features. “Just keep me and Megan out of the drama.”
“I’m sorry…I didn’t realize you were being pulled into any drama.”
“It’s always drama where you are involved.” He turned away. “Or Chase, for that matter.”
Megan again glanced at Denver in surprise. This bitterness was a side to the veterinarian she hadn’t seen before.
Martine’s voice was barely a whisper when she said, “Whatever Chase did in life, Daniel, he’s dead. And someone murdered him. I don’t think it was that boy. I think someone within BOLD wanted Chase dead. Something was going on in the weeks before we came here.”
“How do you know that?”
Martine seemed to shrink back into her seat. “It’s a gut feeling.”
“You realize I’ve known these people for years? That all of them—including Jatin—are friends.”
The implication Megan heard was that Martine was not his friend. Megan wondered what had happened between Martine and Denver…and between Denver and Chase…to cause so much hostility in her good-natured lover.
Martine looked down at her hands, which were twisted in her lap. “I know. This pains me, Daniel, but I don’t know who else to talk to.”
“How about Harriet?” Megan asked.
Martine’s laugh came out as a snort. “Harriet hears only what Harriet wants to hear. Right now, she’s all about damage control. For BOLD and for the school.”
“I asked you before, what do you think Jatin and Chase were arguing about?” Denver’s voice was cold. “You must have heard something that made you suspicious.”
“I really didn’t. It was the fact of their arguing. The shouting. Maybe I would expect it from Chase, but not Jatin.”
Megan recalled King’s question about Martine. “Are you afraid?” She asked now. “For your own safety?”
Martine’s hands flitted to the scarf around her neck. She unraveled the knot slowly, revealing a neck covered in an angry pink rash, worse than the lacy rash Megan had seen on her neck at the Inn. “When I get stressed, I get rashes. Does this answer your question?”
“Stress is not the same as fear,” Denver said quietly.
“Fear is a type of stress. And yes, I’m afraid.” Martine put the scarf on a square coffee table and stood. She walked to the window, five pairs of canine eyes following her every movement. “Jatin hasn’t come back today. Xavier is a raving madman. Harriet is preoccupied and not listening to anyone.”
Denver asked, “And Barbara?”
Martine turned from the window, a small smile flirting with the bottom half of her face. “You know Barbara’s feelings toward me. Even if we were the last two standing, she wouldn’t give me more than the time of day.”
Martine and Denver held a stare that seemed to last a beat too long. “Aye. She doesn’t much fancy you.”
“Isn’t it your job to do damage control?” Megan asked. “As the public relations person, shouldn’t Harriet be asking you for help?”
“Harriet is far too proud to ask anyone for help. She has me making statements and calling various media outlets, but I’m her gopher, not her go-to person.”
“What do you need from me?” Denver asked. His voice had warmed marginally, but he still looked like a man who
had swallowed nails.
“I want you to talk to Jatin. Find out what happened that night. Even if he’s told the police what happened, they won’t tell me. I want to know if I am making more of this than there is.”
Denver regarded his guest with disdain. He stood, walked into the kitchen, and returned with a fresh beer. He pulled the tab and took a long swallow.
When he was done, he said, “How do we know you’re not the killer, Martine? Enough anger and those arms could bash in a man’s head, no problem. And I suspect you had enough anger to handle the deed.”
“Nonsense.”
“Photographs, as they say, are much more telling than words.”
The silence in the room grew heavy until it was nearly palpable. Megan didn’t know what game Denver and Martine were playing, but she’d had enough. She stood.
“Denver, call me when you have this sorted out.”
Denver shook his head. “It’s Martine who is leaving.”
Martine grabbed her scarf. Without putting it back on, she hurried toward the front door.
“I guess we’re leaving together,” Megan said. She gave Denver look of reproach. “Call me when you’re ready to be honest.”
Megan held back tears the entire way home. She trusted Denver. It wasn’t that she thought for even a moment that he’d had something to do with Chase’s death, but he did seem weird around Martine. The fact that he was hiding something from her—never mind the police—upped her angst. There was a strange wounded quality about Martine Pringle, and beneath Denver’s Renaissance man exterior lived a chivalrous soul. He liked to help—people and animals. And Martine had the feminine quality of movie stars from yesteryear.
Even so, Megan believed Denver that there was nothing between them now. But then? And how long ago was then? Five years ago, when he divorced his wife? Or a year ago, when Martine was last in the area?
This line of thinking was doing her no good. Megan cranked the radio until it was loud enough to drown her anxieties. On impulse, she pulled over to the side of the road and dug out her phone. She ignored the four texts from Denver asking her to come back and instead pulled up the text Martine had sent her. She clicked the phone number. Martine picked up immediately.
“Megan?” she said. Her voice sounded hesitant, as though she was afraid she’d be reprimanded.
Megan asked if they could meet, there were some additional questions she’d like to ask her.
“It’s late,” Martine said.
“Please. Just a few minutes?”
“I’m tired. I think we’ve all had enough for one night.”
Megan said she understood. She hung up, feeling discouraged and empty.
Megan was just pulling into the driveway when her phone rang.
“Do you still want to meet?” Martine asked.
Megan was home. She pictured her warm bed, the dogs. “Yes,” she sighed. Sleep wouldn’t come without resolution. “Same place as before?”
It felt like Groundhog Day. Megan pulled into the parking lot and swerved around to the back of the lot, in the shadows. Why, she couldn’t say, but the anxiety she’d been feeling all night hadn’t left her. No use being conspicuous.
Martine was one of four people in the Starbucks. All except one sat in front of a laptop, working away. Martine’s laptop was a sleek Mac, and she was staring at the screen intently. When Megan came up beside her, she saw a series of photographs. All of people. None the polished kind you’d see on a corporate website.
Martine slammed down the screen. “Megan. Sorry, you startled me.”
“My apologies. Can I get you some coffee or tea?”
Martine pointed to a cup of hot tea. Megan ordered a decaf for herself before sliding onto the bench across from her. Next to them, a twenty-ish man in army fatigues was watching something on his phone while drinking something frothy and caloric-looking.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” Martine said. “About barging in on you and Daniel that way. He seemed angry.”
Megan weighed her next words. She didn’t trust Martine. Denver had called her a liar, and her behavior seemed, at best, erratic. She’d left out the fact that she’d been there when Chase played back-up for the Stones. What else was she leaving out? But beggars couldn’t be choosers, as the saying went, and right now, Megan didn’t have much to go on.
“That’s actually why I wanted to talk with you,” Megan said finally. “To understand the relationship between Chase and the others. They all say they’re friends, but they don’t seem to like each other much.”
Martine smiled. “You noticed?”
“Hard to miss.”
“It makes working with them interesting.” Martine pushed her laptop forward. She drummed manicured fingers on its metallic top. “I guess you heard that someone broke into Dr. Mantra’s room at the inn?”
“Any idea who it was?”
“No.” Martine shrugged. “I doubt it was related to Chase. Someone upset about their bonus this year? Or a maid Dr. Mantra managed to piss off.”
“I wonder what they were after.”
Martine smiled. “Money. Trade secrets they could sell. Who knows?”
“Harriet—Dr. Mantra—seems like she could easily anger staff.”
Martine laughed. “Any of them could.”
“Rough crowd.”
Martine blinked. “They’re not so bad. Well, yes they are.” She smiled. “Problem is, they have known each other for such a long time. What Daniel says is true: they are a bit like Peyton Place. Barbara’s dated most of them. They’ve known each other’s wives and husbands, been to one another’s weddings. In some cases, they were the reason for divorce.” A shadow crossed Martine’s face. “Yet they work well together. The four of them have a quality that cannot be denied. They’re visionaries. They’re the reason BOLD came to be.”
“I thought the visionary was Harriet Mantra.”
“She and her husband financed much of the company’s start-up. But Chase and Barbara had the idea for the drug that was the basis for the company. Jatin helped to get the financing, and Xavier was the force behind selling the concept. He still is.”
“Yet Harriet is the boss?”
“Follow the money.” Martine took a sip of her tea. “Great ideas are worth nothing without execution. Harriet’s money made it all possible.”
“How big is the company now?”
“A few dozen employees.”
“Isn’t all this—” Megan waved her hand around “—a bit much for such a small company?”
“We’re small, but we have a big idea. Several big ideas, in fact. Once the FDA approves one of our drugs, we’ll get bigger.”
“When will that be?”
“Soon, I hope. We all hope.”
“All?”
Martine met Megan’s gaze with a contemplative one of her own. She seemed to be deciding how much to share. “BOLD is not a public company. Right now, we rely on private investors, a few grants, Harriet’s husband’s family money. A lot of pharma companies start out this way. The money comes when the product goes live. Until then, we work hard and hope. And that’s where this team comes in. They’re amazing. Maddening, but amazing. Now, without Chase…I’m not sure where the company will be. At first glance, he may not seem like a science whiz, but he had that rare mix of science smarts and business know-how.”
Megan had a hard time matching the man she’d met to a scientific visionary. But she’d been wrong about people in the past. She tried not to repeat mistakes.
“Martine, I’m curious about Jatin. Your admission to Denver that he has you nervous. Has Jatin ever done anything in the past that’s made you fearful? Anything to give you an indication that he could be violent?”
Martine hesitated. Only for a second, but Megan caught it. “No.”
“Really?”
&n
bsp; Martine looked down at her hands. She traced the edge of her paper cup with one red nail. “Okay, maybe once. He can be protective of Barbara. Barbara and I…well, as I mentioned, there’s no love lost there. He thought I’d done something terrible and he confronted me. This was a while ago, not now.” She rubbed her arms in short, hard strokes. “There’s a lot of pent up passion beneath that calm exterior. He was more forceful in his confrontation than he needed to be.”
“He hurt you?”
“He could have been gentler.”
“What did he think you’d done?”
Martine didn’t answer the question. Instead, she said, “Daniel’s not immune to the bad blood in the group. Did he tell you what happened with him and Chase?”
“No, he didn’t.” A sore spot. Megan tried to shake her annoyance and concentrate on the conversation with Martine, but she couldn’t get rid of the lump in her gut. Even as they sat here, she could feel her phone buzzing.
“It was my fault, I’m afraid. Or at least he blames me.” Martine stirred her tea, thinking. “Daniel and I met in New York about five years ago. I knew he was married, but Chase told me the marriage between his friend and Lilian was basically over. I was single. Daniel was handsome, honest, educated. Kind.” Martine gave Megan an apologetic smile. “All the things that are hard to come by in a single man, it seems. You’re a very lucky woman.”
Megan waited for more. This part she knew from what Denver had told her.
Martine sipped her tea, wiped her mouth with a neatly-folded napkin. “Daniel agreed to meet me for drinks or coffee—I can’t remember which. Anyway, we went out, and I had a blast. He was so warm and attentive. I may have mistaken his kindness for genuine interest. Chase met up with us. I took some photos of Denver, Chase took photos of the two of us. It was all in good fun. Until Chase posted them on social media.”
Understanding dawned on Megan. “Denver’s wife, Lilian, saw them and thought he was cheating.”
Martine nodded. “I called him after that, and his wife answered. I’m sure it made things worse. He refused to talk to me.”
Megan understood the bitterness—toward Martine and even Chase. Chase the clown who didn’t think through the consequences of his actions, or the impact on other people. Megan was starting to get a clearer picture of what Chase was about: Chase. And Martine the seductress, on the sidelines, looking for love. A cliché, perhaps. How to see beyond the cliché?