by Wendy Tyson
No one, not Becca, Luke, or Merry, had mentioned divorce. Did it matter? Megan wasn’t sure.
“There’s more,” Bibi said. She lowered herself onto one of the café chairs and fanned herself with a brochure that someone had left on the table. “Becker also said Paul was carrying on with a woman who lived near him. A woman named Sherry Lynn Booker.”
“Should we know of her?” Clover asked.
“No, but according to Roger, she lives in northern New Jersey.” Bibi threw Megan a probing glance. “Not far from here. And there’s more.”
“Bibi.” Megan sighed. “Just tell us.”
“Sherry Lynn had been Blanche’s best friend. Blanche found out just weeks before she died that Sherry Lynn had betrayed her.”
“That’s horrible!” Clover smacked a hand over her mouth. “Talk about backstabbing.”
“That is pretty awful,” Megan said. “I wonder if Becca knew.”
“So this Sherry Lynn would have known something about the family dynamics,” Denver said. “Insight into how Becca was as a child, whether her accounts of Paul’s behavior were accurate.”
“And maybe information about how Blanche died,” Megan added. “Or another suspect.” She thought about this. If they were looking for clues about Paul, who better to ask than his mistress—and his wife’s former BFF. “Who wants to take a road trip to New Jersey this weekend?”
“I will,” Bibi said. She tilted her head to the side. “Who is more likely to be a trustworthy person, someone you want to spill your guts to, than a little old lady?” she asked with a devious smile.
“Yeah, a little old lady who knows how to wield a gun,” Clay said.
“Exactly.” Bibi clapped. “Bonnie Birch, undercover agent. Tell Sarah to put that in one of her novels.”
Twenty-Three
Sherry Lynn Booker lived on a quiet street corner on the edge of Breakwater, New Jersey, a small blue-collar town about an hour west of New York City. Her house was a faded green one-story with freshly painted white trim. A new Honda Accord sat in the driveway. Two gray tabbies perched on the porch, one on a weathered white wicker armchair, the other on a matching end table. The cats watched Megan and Bibi with mild curiosity.
“You know the drill,” Bibi said. “I’m Becca’s aunt and I’m worried about her. You’re her cousin. We’re trying to find out where Paul is.”
“You really want to lie?”
“I want to find who killed Paul before someone else in Winsome dies,” Bibi said. “I want to help Merry before she comes looking for eggs one more time and I kill her.” She straightened her elastic waist beige skirt. “God will forgive the lie.” She glanced at Megan. “Do I look the part?”
Bibi was wearing the beige skirt, an oversized white blouse tied at the neck with a bow, knee-highs, the elastic bands showing right beneath the skirt hem, and thick-soled walking shoes her podiatrist had prescribed two years ago that she’d never worn.
“I’d say you look the part,” Megan said, holding back a smile. Bibi pulled a cane out of the truck and Megan shook her head. “Going all out on this one?”
“Just having some fun. It’s for a cause.”
As they climbed the three steps to the door, the cats scattered. Megan was about to raise her hand to the doorbell when the front door flew open. A woman stood before them, her hand held to her mouth. She looked momentarily hopeful before her face fell.
“Yes?”
“I’m looking for Sherry Lynn Booker. Can you tell me if I have the right house?”
The woman stared at her, then at Bibi. “What do you want?” Sultry voice, low and mellow, with just a hint of Southern accent. She had long, full, dyed-blonde hair, a set of fake double Ds, and wore enough gold to support a developing nation. Her heavily lined eyes were red, and her skin looked mottled from crying, something even thick pancake makeup couldn’t hide. “Why are you here?”
Bibi had made it up the steps. She leaned on her cane, breathing hard. Or pretending to. “Are you Sherry Lynn?”
“Yes—”
Bibi moved forward, toward the door. “I sure could use a glass of juice or something sweet. Maybe some maple syrup if you don’t have juice? It’s my hypoglycemia. You know how that is, don’t you?” Bibi waved the cane toward the interior of the house. “I’m Becca’s aunt. Well, more of a great aunt. You know Meredith? Blanche’s sister? Of course you do.”
Bibi kept moving slowly, using that cane to clear away Sherry Lynn’s resistance. Sherry Lynn moved backwards and let them in.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” she said.
“Oh, we won’t stay. Just a glass of juice and then maybe you can help us. You see, we’re looking for Paul.”
At the mention of Paul’s name, Sherry Lynn stopped moving. Not just her legs, her entire body. Her face froze mid-syllable, her hand froze mid-air, even her fingers froze mid-wave.
“Dear, are you okay?” Bibi asked.
“I’m fine,” she said finally. “Y’all are here about Paul?”
Bibi nodded. “We’re worried about his daughter, Becca. We know you were close friends with Blanche, God bless her soul. We thought maybe you could help us.”
Sherry Lynn nodded absently, her mind clearly elsewhere. “Please. Sit. I’ll get you that juice.”
The interior of the house was clean and cluttered with bric-a-brac. It was the home of a woman with banal taste, a midsize budget, and the desire to impress. Lots of shiny brass, lots of cut glass, lots of knock-off knick-knacks. Megan sat on a brown micro suede couch. Bibi lowered herself down on an upholstered beige armchair. She put the cane in front of her, between her legs, and leaned on it, displaying her knee highs, which had now rolled down to her ankles.
“Laying it on a little thick,” Megan hissed.
Bibi pretended not to hear her. “Hummels,” she said pointing to a cherry wood curio cabinet. “They’re not cheap.”
“Those aren’t real. You just forgot your glasses.”
Bibi gave Megan an exasperated look that morphed into a gracious smile when Sherry Lynn reentered the room.
“Here’s your juice.” Sherry Lynn handed Bibi a glass of red liquid. “No orange juice, but that’s sweetened cranberry. I hope that will do.”
“Thank you, dear.”
“I brought you some ice water,” she said to Megan, handing her a tall glass.
Megan thanked her. “We’ll only take a minute of your time. As my aunt said, we’re worried about Becca. It’s our hope you can give us some information that might give Becca some peace.”
“You want to know where her father is.”
“Yes.” Bibi smiled warmly. “If you know.”
Sherry Lynn’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in weeks.”
“Weeks?”
Sherry Lynn nodded. “He took off for a business trip. He was very secretive about the whole thing. I thought for sure I would hear from him, but he hasn’t returned my calls. Nothing.” A moan escaped her. “It’s been twenty-six days.”
“There, there.” Bibi reached over and patted Sherry Lynn on the back. “You and Paul are in a relationship.” It was a statement, not a question.
The woman nodded. “We’ve been together since…since after Blanche passed away.”
Bibi gave Megan a look; Megan matched it with a warning look of her own. Don’t push or confront, it said.
Bibi ignored her. “I heard Blanche thought you and Paul had started a relationship before…perhaps while they were married.”
“She wanted a divorce.” When Bibi didn’t say anything—and Megan had to hand it to her grandmother, she managed to keep her expression blank—Sherry Lynn continued as though the thoughts had been building without release for some time. “They had an awful marriage. Awful. Paul’s a strong man. Virile, smart. A visionary. Blanche didn’t see tha
t. She didn’t see his potential.”
Bibi nodded. “He had trouble with his career?”
“Only because of her!” Sherry Lynn shot forward. “I’m sorry to yell, but she never believed in him. She emasculated him by doubting him, making him doubt himself.”
Megan said, “You were her friend, Sherry Lynn. Surely she shared her version of things?”
Sherry Lynn answered Megan with a bewildered stare. “I guess. But Blanche was depressed so much of the time. She often didn’t have the energy for me or him. They hadn’t had sex in over two years. Two years.” Sherry Lynn’s eyes begged for acceptance, some sign of understanding. “She didn’t have the energy for me either. That’s how we got together. I guess both of us felt rejected.”
“Is that what he told you?” Megan asked. “That Blanche had rejected him?”
“What would you call it when a wife ignores you? Refuses to sleep in the same bed, much less make love? Paul felt rejected.”
“Becca, my niece, keeps insisting Paul hurt her mother. Could there be truth to that, Sherry Lynn?”
“Becca has been saying that since Blanche died.”
“You don’t believe it?”
Sherry Lynn’s eyes shifted to the window. “No, of course not.”
Bibi pushed herself up using her cane. “Well, if you see Paul, tell him to contact his daughter.”
“I thought Becca hated her father. Becca and he fought since I can remember. But I’m sure you know that.”
“Becca says her father was emotionally abusive.” Megan kept her tone light, as though she didn’t quite believe that.
Sherry Lynn looked at her sharply. “Of course he wasn’t.”
“We just want Becca to reconcile with Paul, but that can’t happen if we can’t find him.” Bibi gave her a knowing look. “She needs peace in her life. Blanche’s sister, Merry, wants that too.”
Sherry Lynn said, “Don’t we all?”
As they headed back outside, Megan said to Sherry Lynn, “So Paul is on a business trip?
Sherry Lynn nodded. “He’s meeting with investors. People who could put money into a new company he’s supporting.”
“We heard he’d recently switched from private psychology practice to investment consulting.” Megan watched as Sherry Lynn’s eyes darkened. Megan added, “Do you know why he changed course?”
“Tired of dealing with whiny patients and their whiny parents? Counseling can be a draining occupation. He’ll make more in the financial industry.”
“And what exactly does he do?” Bibi asked. “It sounds fascinating.”
“Stuff. Match businesses with investors. That’s all I know.” Sherry Lynn shrugged and smiled coquettishly—the epitome of the little woman who didn’t need to know what her man was up to. “You know, businessman stuff.”
“Oh, it’s best to mind your business when it comes to that hard stuff, right?” Bibi’s gaze was warm. “And what do you do, dear?”
“I’m a bookkeeper.”
“Is that how you met Blanche?”
Sherry Lynn smiled. “Blanche never worked outside the home once Paul was established in his career. Paul had strong feelings about that. He still does. When we marry, I’ll probably quit too. Can’t wait.”
Megan did her best to keep her eyes from rolling into the back of her head at the tone of Sherry Lynn’s voice, and her misplaced faith in a dead man. “How did you meet Blanche?”
By now they were back on the porch. It was a sunny day, and the sun was melting the mounds of dirty snow that had collected in piles along Sherry Lynn’s street.
“We took a class together. It was a silly class about home repair. As a single woman, I thought maybe I’d meet someone there.” She shrugged. “At worst, I’d learn how to fix my leaky faucet. Which I did learn, by the way. I’m pretty handy around the house.”
Bibi frowned. “And what about Blanche? That sounds like a funny class for her to take.”
“Paul thought she was taking a cooking class. When I finally told him the truth last year, boy did he get angry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mad.”
“Then why did she take it?” Megan was curious.
“Money. Paul made her ask for money—every cent, to hear her tell it. If something broke and she could fix it herself, she didn’t have to bother him. Or she could fix it herself and tuck the funds away. She never admitted to doing that, but that’s what I think she did. Lied and then kept the money.”
Bibi looked around the front entry. “You have a lot of beautiful things here. Is that how he is with you, Sherry Lynn?” Bibi asked. “Frugal?”
Sherry Lynn blushed. “He buys me presents all the time.” She held out her arms, shaking the gold bangles. “I think Blanche must have had a money problem. He was helping her. She needed the help in order to learn to be disciplined.”
“You think that was it?” Bibi asked sweetly. “It was her fault?”
“I’m certain.” Sherry Lynn’s voice had gotten an octave higher.
Bibi studied her. Then she turned to Megan. “Can you get the truck warmed up, dear? These old legs can’t take the cold anymore.”
Megan knew a hint when she heard it. Or more like an order. She nodded her agreement and went out to start the truck.
“So what did you say to her?”
Bibi was back in the truck, and they were pulling away from the curb. Sherry Lynn was standing on the porch, watching them leave.
“I told her that men don’t change their feathers. If a man is mean to one woman, he will be mean to the next.”
“Just like that? You told her that nicely?”
“I may have told her not to be a fool.”
That sounded more like Bibi. “But Paul’s dead.”
“With women like her, there will always be another Paul.”
True. Megan hit the gas and drove through an intersection just as the light was turning yellow. “Bibi,” she said, “do you think Sherry Lynn could have had something to do with Paul’s murder?”
“I don’t know.”
“She acted as though she didn’t know about Paul’s death. The tears and all.”
“Quite the act.” Bibi frowned. “A pretty good cover up if you were the killer.”
“But then she could have known we were lying.”
“Or she may have thought we didn’t know he was dead. I wouldn’t cross her off our list. We need more information. Like who will inherit Paul’s estate?”
Megan laughed. Her grandmother was pretty good at this. “You did well.”
“Think Angela Fletcher would be proud?”
“If she were a real person, Bibi, I think she would be very proud.”
Twenty-Four
When they got back to Winsome early Saturday evening, Megan had to feed the goats and the chickens. She let Sadie and Gunther out and watched them chase each other around the yard, enjoying the thick snow that blanketed the hillside. With his heavy white coat and undercoat, Gunther, a Polish Tatra Sheepdog, was made for the winter weather. Sadie, a rescue who’d long ago rescued Megan, looked like a cross between a Golden, a Collie, and a hamster. She wasn’t quite as fond of the cold and soon asked to go inside.
So Gunther made the rounds with Megan. He enjoyed the goats almost as much as he enjoyed his adopted sister, and he allowed them to nibble his collar and butt him in the chest. Megan could have watched them play all night. But she had work to do—year-end accounting and internet holiday shopping. She called Gunther and headed back to the farmhouse.
She found Bobby King sitting on the porch step, waiting for her.
“People are actually going to talk, Bobby. They’re going to think I’m under suspicion.”
“What makes you so sure you’re not?”
“The amount of pie you’ve eaten in our kitchen. Way I see it, it looks pre
tty bad if you’re taking food from a suspect.”
Bobby smiled. “Can I come in?”
“Of course. Bibi’s inside. You could have gone in.”
“I saw you up by the barn. I figured I’d take a minute to clear my head.”
“The farm does that—helps you clear your head.” Megan smiled. “I was going to call you anyway.”
Bibi was in the kitchen kneading bread dough. She’d changed out of her “disguise” and was wearing jeans and a gray “Winsome Warriors” sweatshirt. She nodded when she saw King. “There’s apple pie in the refrigerator, Bobby. Megan can heat you up a piece if you want.”
“Bonnie, I’m getting fat.” He rubbed his stomach. “Clover put me on a diet.”
Bibi shook her head. “You’re letting that girl push you around, Robert King.” She slammed the dough onto her marble slab and pummeled it with her small fist. “You’re getting soft.”
“Yeah, well. I like this one. I don’t want her to run away because I’m letting myself go.”
“I’m sure she knows what she has in you.” Bibi punched the dough into a round ball and placed it back in the bowl. She laid a cotton dishtowel over the bowl.
“You missed Bibi’s big performance today,” Megan said.
“What was that?”
“Come in the living room. I’ll fill you in, and you can tell me what you wanted to say.”
In Bibi’s parlor, Bobby sat on the couch. Megan stood by the fireplace, her back against the mantle.
“What were you and your grandmother up to today? I looked for you at the café. Alvaro said you had an errand in New Jersey.”
Megan explained their road trip to King. “Bibi was wonderful. I don’t think I could have gotten Sherry Lynn to open up at all on my own.” When King’s eyes darkened, she added, “We didn’t interfere with police work. We didn’t tell her Paul was dead—didn’t even mention Winsome.”
“You should have told me you were going.”