by Wendy Tyson
Megan scanned the yard for any other items, but Ryan was a meticulous contractor and she only saw a few tools stacked neatly against the side of the house.
“Nothing else near that paper, huh? No other items, no discernable footprints, nothing.”
“Nothing. Just the paper.”
Megan felt her shoulders tighten. She had no reason to doubt Ryan, but she felt at her core like she was overlooking something.
“The police been by yet?” she asked. “If not, expect one of King’s officers to come by to check up on the obituary.”
“No police since yesterday. Only person I saw here was that woman.”
“That woman?”
“The woman who came by on Wednesday. The one with the red hair.”
Olive Dunkel? “When was she here?”
“This morning. I told her you were at the farmers market. She find you?”
“She found me alright.” Megan said, “You said she came by on Wednesday?”
“Yeah, she was with the other woman, the one who…the one who died. They were looking for you then, too.”
That was the night Penny and her sister Olive showed up at the restaurant to ask about Claire. “Bibi said they called.”
“I don’t know anything about a call. They pulled up, asked where you were, and left. They seemed agitated, especially the blonde. I told them I had no idea where you were.”
“Is it possible the redhead left this here this morning when she came by?”
Ryan stared off in the distance, hands on his hips, considering Megan’s question. “I don’t think so. I was outside with Lou and Maurice when she drove up. She got out of her car and yelled at us from across the yard. Then she left. She wasn’t walking around or anything.”
But she knew where Megan’s house was. And she knew where the Marshall property was. And she probably knew where her sister’s body had been placed. How many times had she come by when no one was there? Or when Bibi was home alone?
“What do you want me to say if she comes back again?” Ryan asked.
“Nothing,” Megan said. “Tell her nothing. Just call me right away.”
Nine
“Remember, Megan, we’re here to pay our respects. I couldn’t come on Wednesday because I was under the weather so you agreed to bring me by today.” Bibi elbowed Megan. “Got it?” She winked.
“Got it.”
“Let me do the talking.”
“You’ve said that several times, Bibi. I understand.”
Bibi had changed into a black dress and a pair of black low heels. She’d even put on her best faux pearls for the occasion. On her lap was a basket of baked goods she’d thawed from the freezer—cookies and pumpkin bread and a loaf of her coveted sourdough. Megan would have been impressed except for the cane her grandmother had also brought along, a cane she only seemed to use when she wanted people to underestimate her.
“You’re really getting into this role playing,” Megan said. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring your walker and stash a gun in your handbag.”
“I thought about it.” She glanced across the truck’s cabin at Megan, a disapproving frown on her face. “You could have done a more convincing job.”
She was referring to Megan’s choice of clothes—plain black pants and a dusty pink sleeveless blouse. Bibi had wanted her to change into mourning clothes before leaving the house but finally agreed to go when Megan promised they’d stop for ice cream on the way home.
Megan pulled in front of the von Tressler house. She got a clearer view in the sunnier weather. The house’s beige façade was fronted by a white porch that ran the width of the house. White columns stretched to a second story piazza, and beyond that, a flat roofline. A gardener standing by a potting shed was taking advantage of the weather and planting a line of shrubs around the perimeter of the house. The circular driveway was clear of vehicles today. Nevertheless, it felt like déjà vu.
“Wow,” Bibi said, “who thought building this place was a good idea?”
“The von Tresslers.”
“These are the people who stole our contractor.”
“In a manner of speaking.” Megan glanced at her grandmother. “Please don’t bring that up.”
“Little old helpless me?” Bibi waved her hand in front of her face. “I would never do anything contrary.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Just let me do the talking.”
The uniformed woman who answered the door regarded Megan and her grandmother with polite disdain.
“I’m afraid Mrs. von Tressler is not accepting company today.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I brought her this and was hoping to give it to her in person.” Bibi glanced at Megan. On cue, Megan held up the basket. Bibi leaned on her cane and touched the basket with a free hand. “I made everything myself.”
The woman’s expression softened. “Well, that was kind of you. I can give it to Mrs. von Tressler on your behalf. As I’m sure you can understand, she’s still in mourning—”
“Let them in, Margot,” said a voice from inside.
It was a surprisingly deep voice, almost sultry, and Megan strained to see beyond the maid.
The woman named Margot gave a curt nod and held the door open. Megan helped Bibi navigate the step up into the foyer. They entered into a white tiled, two-story hall. A circular staircase wound off to the right. In the center of the room sat a single round table, and on it, an arrangement of white and yellow flowers. No art adorned the walls.
A small Cavalier King Charles Spaniel trotted out to meet them. She sniffed Megan, then Bibi, before plopping herself down at Bibi’s feet.
“She already knows who the easy one is,” Megan whispered.
Bibi elbowed her gently in the side.
“Lulu, come here.”
The dog ran to the far end of the hall. Standing in the entryway to what appeared to be a library or office was a woman in her early sixties wearing a tailored gray sheath dress and matching cardigan. Layered, short white hair framed a strong, boxy jawline and sharp nose. Probing green eyes hinted at an iron will even as the woman smiled a welcome, a smile meant for Bibi although her gaze was on Megan. The woman crossed the room in three strides and held out her hand to Bibi.
“I’m Veronica Maplewood, Melanie’s mother. Are you friends of my daughter?”
“Bonnie Birch. We’re from town,” Bibi said. “We own Washington Acres, the farm and café.”
“Nice that you came to see Melanie.” Her speech was ever so slightly slurred. Megan caught the unmistakable scent of bourbon on her breath.
Bibi hunched over her cane. “I’m afraid I couldn’t make the memorial because of my sciatica and my gout, so we thought we would come by today. My granddaughter, Megan, drove me over. I can’t drive because of my sciatica and my gout, you see.”
Megan fought hard not to roll her eyes. She shook hands with Veronica, noting the dry, limp grasp, and shot her grandmother an exasperated sideways glare.
“Is Melanie here?” Bibi asked. “We brought her a basket of goodies, and I would just love to give her this in person. She’s such a dear.” Bibi flashed a warming smile and added, “We just adore her.”
Veronica’s eyebrows knit together. She looked at Bibi as though she were trying to figure out whether she was being sincere. “My daughter has a migraine, I’m afraid. Margot will put the basket in the kitchen. Melanie will enjoy these later, when she’s up.”
“Oh, I’m sure things have been difficult for her,” Bibi said. “What with David and then everything.”
“Everything?” Veronica asked. She made a small hiccup and covered her mouth with her hand. “What do you mean by everything?”
“The move, construction. We all know how very stressful that can be. And then with that woman just disappearing out of thin air? Troubling for any
one, much less a woman who just lost her beloved.” Bibi shuffled her feet and leaned harder on her cane. “Do you mind if I sit? My legs aren’t what they used to be.”
“Of course.”
Megan followed Veronica and her grandmother into a white and ecru-decorated living room. Bibi hobbled along as though she would topple over at any moment. Megan hoped Veronica never stopped by the café to witness the same Bonnie Birch standing in a hot kitchen for hours on end, cover blown.
“Sit, please.” Veronica motioned toward the couch
“Thank you, my dear. You young people don’t know what it’s like.” She shook her head. “Getting old is so tiresome.”
“I’m not that young,” Veronica said, but the slightest smile had broken through the brittle veneer.
“Oh, you’re young.” Bibi rubbed at her right leg for effect. “Very young.”
“Would either of you like something to drink?” asked the maid. “Iced tea, perhaps?”
“I’d love an iced tea,” Bibi said to Veronica. “Thank you.”
“I’ll have my usual,” Veronica said. “On the rocks. And an iced tea for Mrs. Birch.”
Bibi nodded approvingly. After a moment, she said, “Your daughter—does she get migraines frequently?”
“Not really, but the stress of the last week has gotten to her. That’s why I’m here.”
“We feel so bad for your daughter. To lose the love of your life at such a tender age. It must be so hard.”
“She’s doing what she can. Focusing on the dog, the house. Her future.”
Bibi made a show of looking around. “This house. It’s so lovely.” Bibi smiled. “Just grand.”
Veronica frowned. “It’s a lot of house. Too much, if you ask me. But no one did.”
“Melanie must have had fun designing it,” Bibi said.
“It was mostly David, her husband.” Veronica glanced around the living room. “And the décor was done by his designer. Very austere and a bit ostentatious, if you ask me. But again, no one did.” She kneaded her hands together, glanced toward the entry hall as though looking for the maid.
“Is this your first time in Winsome?” Bibi asked.
“Oh, no. I came when they first chose this town. Why, I asked them. It’s quaint, but you’ll both get bored. They were used to the city life, to a penthouse apartment downtown.” She smiled, and Megan saw the first hint of maternal pride. “They were living well in Philadelphia.”
“Are you from Pennsylvania?” Megan asked.
“Oh, lord, no. I was born in Chicago and raised in California.”
“And now?” Bibi asked. “Where is home?”
Veronica crossed her legs. “New Jersey, outside of New York City. I prefer cities. The culture, the arts. So does my daughter.”
“Then why Winsome?” Bibi asked.
“Why, indeed? Because this is what David wanted.”
“It must be refreshing to enjoy the country life for a bit,” Bibi said. She looked at Megan, eyebrows arched. “Getting away from it all and such.”
“I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘refreshing.’” Veronica pursed thin lips. “Anyway, I came for a few days to help with David’s memorial, and I hope to leave this week.”
Margot returned with a tray of iced teas, ginger cookies, napkins, silver spoons, one caramel-colored drink, and Sugar in the Raw. Bibi accepted an iced tea. Megan could see her grandmother eyeing up the cookies. Her sweet tooth knew no bounds.
“So how do you two know Melanie?” Veronica asked. She took a long sip of her drink, her shoulders relaxing as she drank. “I know you said you’re from Winsome, Bonnie, but did you know David?”
“David was a regular customer at our café. I’d see him there often.”
Megan watched her grandmother fib without batting an eye.
“Oh, really?” Veronica said. “David seemed like a bit of a hermit to me. Maybe your café is really good.”
“I don’t like to brag,” Bibi said. She took a dainty swallow of tea. “But it is.”
“So you only knew him as a customer?”
“That, and he and your daughter stole our contractor.” Bibi’s voice was maple syrup sweet. Megan’s neck snapped in her grandmother’s direction.
After recovering from her obvious surprise, Veronica said, “Would that be the contractor who disappeared with funds that didn’t belong to him? I’d say my daughter and David did you a favor.”
“No one knew that at the time.” Bibi took another sip of iced tea. “But that was then. Now Melanie is a neighbor and Winsome community member and we’re here to support her.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
Somewhere in the house, a phone rang.
“Okay, then.” Veronica started to rise—clearly, Megan thought, she’s had enough of this charade—when Bibi beat her to it.
“Do you have a bathroom nearby?” Bibi asked. “I’m afraid this tea has gone right through me.”
Veronica glanced at Bibi’s glass, which was still full. “Of course,” she said stiffly. “Margot can show you where it is. Margot!”
The maid appeared out of nowhere, and while she led Bibi back out into the hall, Megan busied her hands by taking a glass of tea. “It’s a lovely house,” Megan said. “Very peaceful.”
“Oh, please. It’s an awful house,” Veronica said. “David wanted Greek Revival, Melanie wanted French Colonial, and the offspring of their unforgivable compromise is this architectural bastard.” She shook her head. “Look, I appreciate that you and your grandmother came to pay your respects to Melanie, but I’m well aware that the town of Winsome holds no love for the von Tressler family.”
“That’s not true,” Megan said. The words sounded flaccid, even to her.
“David wasn’t a people person. He moved here to get away from family drama and because, frankly, property is cheaper. My daughter went along for the ride.”
“Winsome is a nice place to live and raise a family.”
“It’s also a nice place to feel superior. When you have too much of Daddy’s money and zero humility, you can convince yourself that you’re better than those with fewer dollars in the bank. The von Tressler men were very good at placing themselves in little ponds. They liked being the big fish, and although they were rich, it didn’t take much in places like New York City or even Philadelphia to remind them that others were richer.”
Her words came out with such vehemence that Megan moved physically backwards against the couch. Clearly there was little love lost between Veronica Maplewood and her daughter’s family, and with alcohol in her hand and her belly, Veronica seemed only too happy to voice her opinions. Megan thought back to the scene at Merry’s where this all began. Was it possible that the woman who would “eat Claire alive” was Veronica, not Melanie?
“Mrs. Maplewood—”
“Ms. Maplewood. I haven’t been a missus in over fifteen years.”
“Ms. Maplewood, did you know Claire, David’s stepmother?”
Veronica’s face seemed to shrink in on itself in anger. Her mouth twisted into a sneer. “Of course.”
“I dropped her off at this house the day of the memorial, but her sister Olive says she never arrived.”
Veronica stood. She walked stiffly toward the built-in bookshelves at the back of the room. A set of silver-framed wedding photos sat next to a stack of pristine coffee table books.
“Claire wasn’t here. I would have known had she been here.” Veronica turned quickly. “Where is your grandmother?” she asked, shifting the topic. “Do you think she’s okay?”
“She’s fine. Things take her longer these days.”
“Perhaps we should check on her. Margot!”
While Veronica left the room to ask Margot to check on Bibi, Megan studied the photographs. The first was of Melanie and David in a white-en
sconced horse drawn carriage. The young bride wore a pale pink sleeveless dress, very chic and very expensive-looking. The groom, many years her senior, wore a black tuxedo and sported a closely-cropped beard. The second photo was of the bride and groom with what Megan could only assume were their parents: Veronica and another couple next to Melanie and Claire and a hunched over gentleman in his seventies or eighties next to David. Only David was smiling.
“That’s Melanie’s father—my ex-husband—and his fourth wife. Karma got the best of him. At sixty-six, he and his Viagra fathered another baby.” Veronica had returned. She laughed bitterly from behind Megan. “While I fly to Maui, he’s mopping up vomit.”
Megan didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.
“Your grandmother got confused. Margot found her in the kitchen. They’re coming now.”
Megan thanked her. “We’ll get going. Please give Melanie our condolences.”
Veronica stood by Megan, looking at the family wedding photos from behind Megan’s back. Megan could hear the shuffle-clomp of Bibi and her cane heading their way across the tile floor.
“You look lovely in that picture,” Megan said. She meant it. Veronica seemed young and vivacious, especially next to David and his father.
“We were happy then. The union between Melanie and David held such promise. A new beginning for my daughter, a new opportunity to make something of herself.” She shook her head. “Karma again, I guess.”
Megan glanced at Veronica. “Karma?”
Veronica looked reluctant to elaborate. She twirled her glass, watching as the ice cubes floated in the brown liquid. She brought the glass to her lips and drained it in one long swallow.
“Karma?” Megan repeated.
Veronica waved her glass at Margot, asking for another. “David doesn’t have a history of being faithful. Melanie was neither his first nor his last affair.”
“Ah.”