by Wendy Tyson
“For the most part. Why?”
“Just curious. I read an article today that was very disparaging of the school.”
Eloise smiled. “Ah. That must’ve been by Donna Lewis. She hates Star. Says the school is for spoiled rich kids.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, who is paying for Dillon to attend?”
“I don’t mind, and he has a trust set up by the pro-wrestling foundation. They gave it to him when his father was incarcerated. He can use it for college too.”
Another kid who didn’t need the scholarship promise.
“Did the school contact you, or did you contact the school?”
Eloise looked surprised by the question. “Neither. It was arranged through the agency.” She paused, her forehead bisected by a thinker’s crease. “Come to think of it, his social worker mentioned that they approached the agency. Maybe they read about Dillon in the news.”
Just like Dee Dee’s son, Megan thought. The Pioneer Village School’s recruitment program. Good thing Lewis hadn’t gotten a hold of that tidbit.
Megan walked Eloise out. Dillon seemed reluctant to leave, but he followed his foster mother back to the car.
“Goodbye, Dillon,” Bibi called.
Dillon’s nod was barely perceptible, but even in the shadows, Megan saw the smile on his face.
Twenty-Two
Denver met them for breakfast at the farm. He showed up at six, just as Megan was making her list for tomorrow’s farmers market. Bibi was still upstairs, and Megan had made coffee and heated bread in the oven. She put the bread on the table with butter and peach preserves. Denver piled a few slices on his plate after giving Megan a long kiss.
“Where’s your first appointment?” Megan asked.
“Home,” Denver said between bites. “I haven’t slept yet.”
Megan’s eyes widened. “That bad last night?”
“Aye. I told you, the animal world went daft. How did Camilla fare?”
Megan related the tale of last night…her nap, the watch Bibi and Dillon shared, and the fact that Megan spent another two hours curled up with a pig.
“And that is why my marriage to Lilian didn’t work,” Denver said. “She would never spend her evening on the floor of a barn with a pig named Camilla.”
Megan laughed. “Who knew I was such a catch.”
“I did.” Bibi walked into the kitchen with purpose. She wore jeans and an oversized, button down white shirt. A blue scarf was tied around her neck and she had sandals on her feet. “I’ll be out most of today, so don’t worry about me.”
“You look nice, Bonnie. Where are you going?”
“To talk with Dillon’s counselor. I think he’s overmedicated.”
Megan slapped a hand down on the table. “Bibi, you can’t do that. There are rules…the psychologist—he’s a psychologist, not a counselor—won’t talk to you.” Megan felt her head throbbing. When Bibi was on a mission, there was no stopping her. “You can’t just barge into the school.”
“Eloise agrees with me. She’s taking me with her for support.”
Megan sat back, stunned. “Well, that’s a different story.”
“He’s so medicated that he can’t emote. That was Eloise’s word. He doesn’t feel anything.”
“Don’t you think that may be a good thing right now?” Denver asked.
“No. I think it’s a terrible thing to do to a child. He needs to work through what happened to him, not suppress it.” Bibi waved a hand. “It will be up to the doctor. I’m going as moral support.”
Megan wasn’t sure when this conversation took place between Eloise and her grandmother, but she wasn’t going to waste breath arguing. They had other issues. Megan filled them in briefly about her discussions with the reporter and Lou’s neighbor, Dee Dee.
“I spoke with Martine later. One thing seems clear: the kids at the Pioneer Village School are from wealthy families. They don’t need scholarship money.”
“So what? It still looks good to offer it,” Bibi said.
“Exactly.”
“This really bothers you, Megs. Why? Why are you so focused on the event? It’s no different than events done by companies all over the country.”
“Yes and no. Making such a long-term commitment is unusual. But think about it, they set up this wonderful mentoring opportunity for troubled kids. A great photo op, right? We all know the public has short memories, and at the end of the day, why do they care about the altruism of some small private pharmaceutical company?”
“They don’t,” Denver said.
“Right. But what if you wanted to show the financial strength of your company?”
“Then making a long-term promise could underscore your company’s confidence in its own future.” Denver’s eyes narrowed. “Where are ye going with this, Megs?”
“Martine told me that the company relies on investors—current and future—to keep the lights on until the FDA approves its drugs. I’m saying this whole thing was a ploy to lull investors into thinking the company is in great financial shape.”
“Meanwhile, it’s an empty promise because the kids who go there don’t need scholarships.” Bibi frowned. “Seems like a lot of trouble.”
“Not if you’re also a founder of the school. Now you get to make your company look good and do something for the school you help to finance. A PR win-win.”
Denver and Bibi were silent. The sun had come out, bathing the kitchen in a golden glow. From outside, Megan could hear the din of the tractor. Soon the construction crew would be back out, working on the Marshall place barn. I need to stop thinking of it as the old Marshall place, Megan thought. It’s ours now.
“I’m following ye, Megs, but I still come back to so what? What does this all mean in the context of Chase’s death?”
“Everyone is focused on Dillon, but what if someone had a motive to kill Chase? And what better motive than financial gain.”
Denver shook his head. “Still too many unconnected dots. Sorry.”
Megan took a deep breath. Both Denver and Bibi looked confused but intrigued. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. What if the company is doing poorly? What if investors are unhappy and Harriet is trying desperately to raise funds. What if Chase was part of that—and someone gains if the company goes under?”
Denver sat back. “Like a competitor?”
“Perhaps.”
Bibi said, “Or what if the company is on the brink of something big?”
Denver asked, “What do ye mean, Bonnie?”
“What if Harriet is trying to raise funds not because the company is doing poorly, but because they have a great idea they’re trying to bring to fruition?”
“Martine did say ‘products,’ not ‘product,’” Megan said.
Bibi sat forward, excited. “Someone could have wanted Chase out of the way so they could either get credit or financial gain from whatever this new product is.”
“One way or another, we need more information on BOLD,” Denver said. He still didn’t sound convinced.
“I asked Lou, our accountant, to do some digging. It’s a private company, so there isn’t a lot online. I’ll poke around, see if this PR stunt is part of a pattern.”
“What did you find out yesterday?” Bibi asked Denver. “When you stopped by the inn?”
“I didn’t get over there.”
“Why ever not?” Bibi scolded.
“As I told Megan, the animals were crazed during the storm. I had appointments steadily from early afternoon on.”
Megan knew he was busy. She also knew he felt awkward questioning his friends.
“Do you want me to talk to them?” Megan asked. “We can even go together, and I can ask questions.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll go today.”
“It might be easier this
way. Lawyer background and all.”
“True. You lawyers can be bulldogs.” Denver looked relieved. “Would you?”
“Of course.”
Denver pulled his cell from his pocket. “Let me text Jatin and tell him we’re coming. From what Barbara told me yesterday, he leaves most days. She thinks he’s having a hard time and is trying to avoid Harriet.” He punched in a message.
Bibi began clearing the table. “It seems like we have two options: a personal vendetta against Chase. Or a business reason. And that could be any of them.”
“Or Dillon,” Denver said. To Megan, “Jatin can meet us at the Bucks County Inn at two. Will that work?”
“It will.”
“What are you going to do in the meantime?”
“I have farm chores. I need to get ready for the farmers market. Clay can’t go, so it will just be Porter and me. I may also make some calls to see what I can find out about BOLD.”
“Focus there, Megan.” Bibi pursed her mouth in the stubborn set Megan knew so well. “We have two options. Personal vendetta by an adult, or pure business greed.”
It was after eleven when the construction crew manager, a stocky blond in his thirties, found Megan in the barn, washing and sorting vegetables.
“Have a few minutes? I’d like to show you something.”
“Sure. Give me five.”
Megan finished washing the rainbow Swiss chard. She’d set it aside to dry before packaging it into bundles. Reluctantly, she washed her hands and headed down to the adjoining property to meet with the construction foreman.
“We got some of the preliminary reports back from the structural engineer,” the foreman said. “Doesn’t look good.”
Megan followed the foreman into the old house and down to the basement. The layout was a simple center hall with a dining room and kitchen on one side and a living room on the other. Upstairs were four bedrooms and two baths. In its glory, the house boasted deep sills and high ceilings—it was younger than its neighbor, which housed the farm. Now it was a mess of water damaged walls and scarred wood floors.
The foreman led Megan deeper into the basement. She ducked to get under the entryway without getting her hair caught in a series of cobwebs. The basement had been emptied of the years’ worth of detritus it had contained when she bought the property. The clutter had hidden plenty of flaws, including a nasty black mold in one corner and a series of cracks in the foundation.
“Obviously you need mold remediation,” he said. “But it looks like the house may need to be raised and the foundation fixed.”
Megan listened to his technical explanations of what that would entail. Suddenly the money they’d set aside for the new barn—the teaching kitchen and classrooms—was shrinking by the second.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you want us to continue with the barn?”
The work on the house had to be completed before they could open the bed and breakfast, but the barn could operate independently. That said, she only had enough money to complete one of these projects this year.
“Keep going for now,” she said finally. The smell in the basement was getting to her and her head was starting to throb. Next time, she’d wear a mask. “I’ll have to think this over.”
“You could tackle the house next spring,” the foreman said. “That will give you time to save.” He patted a concrete wall. “This baby has been standing for more than a century. I don’t think a year will make a difference.”
Megan was still thinking about the new property and the foreman’s news while she got ready to meet Denver. What had she been thinking? A new storefront and café had been hard enough to pull off. The farm and café were finally in the black and now she was going to create another money pit? But she’d gone this far…and she’d promised her father last year when he sent her that money. Plus, Mick would have told her to have faith.
Although, if Mick were still alive, she’d probably be back in Chicago, working long hours at the law firm and living in a modern condo downtown. Life had a funny way of diverting you from your original path.
Bibi still wasn’t back from her trip to the school with Eloise, so Megan scribbled her a note. She traded her overalls for a knee-length black pencil skirt, a patterned blouse she’d found at a thrift shop in SoHo, and strappy black sandals. A touch of lipstick and mascara and she was ready to go.
She opened the porch door to leave and was greeted by Bobby King. He stood with his arm raised, ready to knock. A young female officer stood beside her. She carried a camera.
“Bobby,” Megan said, closing the door. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’m sorry to just swing by. Clover told me you were still here, and I figured I’d take a chance.”
“What’s up? Did something happen?”
“No, no, Megan. I just need to take a few photos of Camilla.”
It took Megan a moment to realize he was talking about the pig. “Why?”
“We’re still trying to find out who rented that storage unit. Camilla is evidence.”
“You’re not taking her, are you?”
“Just a few pictures, that’s all.”
“Any leads on who Saul Bones might be?” Megan asked.
King shook his head. “Afraid not.”
Megan sent Denver a text to say she’d be a few minutes late, and she led King and the officer up to the barn. While the officer was shooting Camilla’s good side, Megan asked King why he’d come.
“Seems overkill to send you out for a photo shoot,” Megan said.
“I wanted an excuse to get out here. Anyway, the state folks are doing most of the murder investigation now. They’re pulling rank.”
Megan didn’t like the sound of that. “Are they still focused on Dillon?”
“They’re doing their jobs, but he’s the most prominent suspect.”
When Megan didn’t say anything, Bobby whispered, “I found out the press lady—Martine— and Chase were having an affair.”
Megan’s eyes widened. “Recently?”
“As in, they slept together the night before he died.”
Megan looked up at him in surprise. “Really? Who told you that?”
“She did.”
Megan’s frown deepened. During all of their conversations, Martine never mentioned an affair with Chase. “Denver says she lies.”
“Well, I only have her word since her sparring partner has met his maker. She says Chase and Jatin fought, Chase came to her all upset, and they had sex.”
“Funny she never told me that.”
King gave her a quizzical look. “Why would she have?”
“Because I’ve had four talks with her now and she failed to mention her relationship each time.” Megan filled King in on the photos she discovered—Chase and Martine as groupies twenty years ago. “She never mentioned that either.”
“Hmm. I take it you think that means something?”
King’s officer had returned. “Cute pig,” she said. “I think she was posing.”
Megan smiled. “We’ve all become attached. Maybe too attached, given that she’s not ours yet.”
King’s face said he was still thinking about Martine. “Lying to the police is serious business.”
Megan held up her purse. “I have to leave, Bobby, but I will say this before I go. Martine should stay on the ‘maybe’ list. In fact, I’d move her up to the ‘highly possible’ category. She lied about Denver years ago, and that pattern hasn’t seemed to have changed. She doesn’t seem to do well with the other women in the group, and she seems to obsess about men. I may be drawing too many conclusions from too few data points, but that’s all I have. Martine and the truth are not friends.” Megan clutched her bag to her side. “She may very well be the key to the mystery of who killed Chase Mars.”
“If not the killer?”
“Don’t let a pretty face fool you.”
Twenty-Three
Megan found Denver and Jatin sitting outside in the courtyard under a teak umbrella table. Jatin was sitting in the shade, his legs stretched out before him, a glass of something amber-colored in his hand. He wore khaki shorts and a pink Polo shirt tucked in. His hair was neatly combed, but he’d grown a beard in the days since Megan had last seen him. The beard accentuated his eyes, and Megan noticed he had deep amber eyes and long, dark lashes. Those eyes were his best feature.
Denver was still in his work clothes: jeans and a t-shirt. He smiled when he saw Megan and pointed to the other seat under the umbrella. He’d taken the sunny spot and sweat was running down his face.
“Jatin thought we’d have more privacy out here.”
“You’re going to give yourself heatstroke.” She kissed Denver, shook Jatin’s hand, and sat down. “Good to see you again, Jatin.”
“Likewise.”
“Jatin was just filling me in on the investigation.”
Jatin placed his empty glass on the table. “I was saying that it should be wrapped up soon. Hopefully we can leave in the next day or so.”
Megan glanced at Denver. “They’re ready to make an arrest?”
“From what I understand.” Jatin pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pants’ pocket. “Want one?” he asked Megan. “Nasty habit. I thought I’d given it up, but it seems my mind had other ideas.”
When no one wanted one, Jatin lit the cigarette and took a deep inhalation. He watched as the smoke left his mouth. “I will only have one. I promise.” He glanced around. “Harriet is out, or I wouldn’t have this one.” He waved the cigarette with slender fingers. The fingers of his left hand. “Between her and the innkeeper, I’m lucky I’m allowed to talk. It’s like a damn mausoleum in here.”
Megan asked, “Have the police been questioning you?”
“Again and again and again. I tell them the same story every time. Yes, I was in the camping area. No, I didn’t see Chase leave. No, I wasn’t with anyone. Yes, I arrived late, but that doesn’t make me a murderer.”