by Wendy Tyson
“Sure.”
Melanie sank down on the bench with a huff. “The official reason he retired is that he wanted to spend more time with me. Younger wife, older man, maximizing time together. David had some health issues—bad ticker, high cholesterol, nothing major. He said he was ready to take things slow, enjoy life. You get it.”
Megan got it. “And the real reason?”
Another sigh, this one louder. “He’d had an affair with his own stepmother.” Melanie closed her eyes. “Everyone at the headquarters knew it. So much gossip. It soured his relationship with Martin, made both of them miserable. He couldn’t stay. His nephew took over as CEO.”
“His nephew?”
“His late sister’s son, Dominick von Tressler. Martin and his daughter never got along, but Dominick is a lot like Martin. It all worked out eventually.”
Melanie recited this as though she hadn’t been involved at the time. “And you?” Megan asked gently. “Did it work out for you?”
Melanie’s laugh sounded forced. “Claire really loved him. I mean, she really loved David. Too bad he didn’t love her in the same way.” Melanie stretched long, lean legs out in front of her. “If you ask me, she’d fallen in love with David before she married Martin. The von Tressler men must have seemed larger than life to an uneducated girl like Claire. But Claire is feisty. And vindictive. I’ll give her that—she has spirit.”
“How did they meet?”
“Through Martin. Claire had been Martin’s assistant. Cliché, maybe, but sometimes things happen. He married the help. I don’t know that Claire ever really loved Martin. When he got bored with her—how could he not?—she got angry. What better way to get back at your husband than by bedding his son?”
“You don’t seem terribly upset.”
“I was at the time. My husband and his stepmother? I mean seriously, how much more humiliating can it get? I threatened to leave David, but we had a prenup, and you know how that goes. I leave, I get nothing.” She shrugged. “Anyway, he apologized, we left Philadelphia, and we came here.” Her expression soured. “To paradise.”
“You don’t love it here.”
“We may only be an hour from the city, but if feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere somedays.”
Megan picked a maple leaf off the bench beside her. She ran a finger across its surface, taking some solace in its simplicity. Listening to Melanie made her sad. She seemed like a woman trapped in her world of excess.
Megan said, “You have a lot of options. You could sell the house and do something you’ve always wanted to do. You could volunteer. You could invest in a new career. You’re not helpless.”
Melanie laughed. “I can’t really sell that house. We spent way more on it than it would sell for. I know that. Especially because our contractor,” she had the decency to flush, “especially because Duke never finished the recreation room in the basement, the landscaping, or the master suite.” She threw her head back. “Three and a half million dollars and it’s not done.”
“So you take a loss.”
“I told you I had a prenup. I can’t afford a loss.”
Megan chose her next words carefully. “David passed away. Surely you’ll inherit his portion of the business.”
Melanie stood up, stretched, and made a show of looking at her watch. “I need to get back before my mother has a stroke.”
“It’s nice that she worries about you.”
Melanie didn’t miss a beat. “Veronica Maplewood worries about no one but herself.”
Eleven
“Fish and chips,” Denver said, staring at the small menu in front of him. He and Megan were at Lou’s, a mom and pop out of the way restaurant that specialized in two things: fish and fried foods. Their fish and chips was killer, as were their fish tacos.
“Fish tacos, please,” Megan said. “Broiled.” She watched as the waiter made his way across the small shack-like establishment, a place of scarred wood tables, mismatched chairs, and plastic-coated menus. There was always a crowd, but if you were willing to wait, you could get a table and a little Philadelphia ambiance to go with it.
“What time is the concert?” Megan asked.
“Doors open at eight.” Denver took a long swig of beer. “First time at the Kimmel Center?”
Megan shook her head. She’d been there with Bibi before. Bibi loved orchestra music, and while she’d been reluctant to travel into the city lately, they’d gone a few times when Megan first moved to Winsome. Tonight was bittersweet. Megan had left Bibi dozing in front of the television, her knitting untouched by her side. She wished her grandmother would have agreed to join them, but more and more she seemed intent on giving them what she called “alone time.”
“It’s a nice night for a concert,” Denver said. He reached across the small corner table and took Megan’s hand. “No thunder and lightning, aye Megs?”
“What?”
“You’re very distracted tonight. Everything okay?”
Megan smiled. “Things are fine. I think I’m just…it’s just been a rough week.”
“You’re thinking of the woman who was found at your property.”
“Am I that transparent?” Megan rubbed Denver’s hand. Such large hands, she thought. Large and calloused and strong. “I’m thinking about Penny and why someone left her at the Marshall house. I’m thinking about Melanie von Tressler and how miserable she seemed today. I’m thinking about when I can get the Marshall house inn and barn up and running.” She sighed. “And truth be told, I’m thinking about Claire, the woman I left at the memorial. No one has seen her, Denver. I know she was there. She had the flowers…the flowers that turned up in Penny’s makeshift grave.”
Denver didn’t say anything. He turned Megan’s hand over and traced the lines of her fingers and palm with his pointer finger. His touch was warm, comforting.
The waiter returned with some vinegar and ketchup and another beer for Denver. After he was gone, Denver said, “How is Bonnie faring?”
“Tough as nails—at least on the outside.” Megan shared their visit to the von Tresslers. “She’s like Nancy Drew’s grandmother. If the situation didn’t feel dire, I would be more amused.”
“You’re worried about her?”
“She’s with Sadie, Gunther, and Sarge. That’s a combined three-hundred-plus pounds of dog, two of whom are trained guard dogs. She’ll be fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Megan looked into Denver’s eyes. She saw her own worry reflected in his bright blues. “Yes. She’s aging, I can see that. This is a lot for her, and sometimes I can tell she’s in pain. At the same time, she resents my ministrations. She’s an independent lady.”
“I heard Porter is sleeping in the Marshall barn for a few nights. He asked me to take Sarge, but it sounds like Sarge would rather guard Bonnie down at the house.”
It was true. When Megan left the house, Porter’s German Shepherd had been sharing space with Sadie, next to Bibi. Megan wasn’t sure if it was Bibi or Sadie the Shepherd preferred.
“Porter insisted. I didn’t have the heart to say ‘no.’”
Denver smiled, the dimples she loved so much in full view. “Maybe it’s time to think about alternative arrangements.”
Megan’s stomach clenched, and her own smiled faded. She knew where this was headed. “Denver—”
“Hear me out.” Denver removed his hand from hers and ran it through his thick hair, pushing it away from his face. “We’ve been together for a while now, and I think it’s been a fine relationship.”
Megan smiled. “Fine?”
Denver pressed on. “Maybe it’s time to think about the next step.”
Megan turned her head so she was looking at the table beside them. A man sat alone, staring at the menu. She shifted her gaze to the ground. She couldn’t bear the need and want in D
enver’s eyes. She knew what he was getting at—marriage, kids. He’d hinted often enough. She loved him, but she couldn’t take that next step. Not now. She’d been married once and look what happened. Soldier Mick, stolen from her in the prime of their life together. Mick, so full of youthful spirit and strength—until he wasn’t. Megan believed herself to be a logical woman, and she knew this undercurrent of fear—terror, really—was just that, fear, but she felt helpless to control it.
“I have to think about Bibi.”
“Your grandmother would always have a place with us, Megs. Or we could live with her at the farm. She would want this for you.”
“You’re a good man, Daniel.”
“Ta,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “I never trust what’s going to come from your mouth when you use my God-given name.”
“Nothing. You’re a good man, and I love you. There is no one in this world I’d rather be with. Can’t that be enough for now?”
“Two homes, sneaking around at night…the worry. If we were together, ye wouldn’t need Porter living in your barn.”
“I don’t need Porter living in my barn now, and you know it.” He’d hit a nerve, and Megan bit down to control the anger she was feeling, anger she knew was misplaced. “I don’t need anyone.”
“Oh, Megs, you’re turning things around on me. That’s not fair. Ye know what I mean.” He lowered his voice. “I love ye, Megan Sawyer, as hard-headed as ye are. I accept you for who ye are, and I hope ye can see that. Moving in together, marriage, they won’t change that.”
Megan couldn’t look him in the eye. The waiter arrived, and perhaps sensing the tension, quietly placed their meals in front of them and left without a word.
“Forget I said anything,” Denver said after a pregnant pause. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready for something more.” He reached for her hand, touched it lightly, and released it. “Okay? I’ll trust that when the time is right, you’ll let me know. Let’s just let it go.”
Megan stabbed a piece of red cabbage with a fork, stealing a glance at her boyfriend. Denver’s words were kind, but she knew him well enough to feel the steel in his tone, see the obstinate look in his eyes. She wasn’t ready, and accepting that about herself had been a challenge. If he really did love her for who she was, he would need to accept it too. She shouldn’t have to apologize for who she was.
So why did she feel so crappy?
“Forgotten,” she said. “How’s your fish?”
Denver, chowing down on haddock, didn’t seem to hear her.
Twelve
The concert finished at eleven. It was a beautiful night, warm with just a touch of a breeze, lit by a blazing moon, and Megan didn’t feel like going home just yet. The tension between them had gradually abated until they seemed back to normal. Still, Denver’s words echoed in her head. She felt like she was failing him if she said no to taking the next step; she felt like she was failing herself if she said yes.
She told herself she would know when the time was right.
Outside the Kimmel Center, Megan turned on her phone, which had been off for the duration of the concert. No texts from Bibi, but she did have a text from Bobby King. Call me, was all it said. Sent at 9:19.
“Give me a minute,” Megan told Denver. She dialed King’s cell, but he didn’t answer. “I wonder what he wanted.”
“Maybe he has a lead on Penny’s killer.”
“Maybe.”
Thinking about Penny made Megan think about Claire. When they were back in Denver’s 4Runner, Megan said, “Would you mind a detour on the way home?”
“Sure. Where did ye want to go?”
She told him. His eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Okay,” he said, “but I want something in return.”
“How about a sleepover?” Megan said.
Denver gave Megan a knowing half smile. “Tempting, but I thought I was getting a sleepover anyway.”
“Breakfast in the morning? I’ll personally make you French toast and fresh squeezed juice.”
Denver smiled. Those dimples were back. “With real maple syrup—not that bottled imposter.”
“With real maple syrup and some cinnamon on top.”
“Maybe some whipped cream?”
She fake shoved him. “Now you’re pushing it. But yes, real whipped cream. And butter. And any other artery-clogging substance you and my grandmother will insist on.”
“Ta, I like you’re cooking, so yes, we can take your detour. I just need an address.”
That was more of a problem. “Give me a few minutes. I need to find it online.”
Denver tapped his fingers on the dashboard. “I’m a patient man, Megs, but not that patient.”
As Megan searched for Martin and Claire von Tressler’s Philadelphia residence, she wondered whether she was projecting—or was there a double meaning behind Denver’s words?
The von Tressler estate was in the Chestnut Hill area of Philadelphia. A three-story stone Colonial, it sat on a corner next to a historic Tudor with half as much acreage and twice the footprint. The house had a massive slate roof and a fieldstone wall that encircled a densely-landscaped property. Overgrown bushes reached out to the wide entry steps and kissed the front door. Perennial flower beds had returned to their wild roots and were rangy and overgrown. Someone was maintaining the lawn—but that was it. The streetlights and the glow from the moon provided enough light to the house to see by, but the dim light and moon shadows gave a spooky feel to the home’s surroundings.
Denver parked along the street. Megan rolled down her window to get a better look. The neighborhood was dead quiet; most of the homes were dark except for outdoor lights and solar garden sconces. She didn’t see a car in the von Tressler driveway, but then the driveway ran behind the house to a two-car detached garage shielded by shrubbery.
“The place looks haunted,” Denver joked. “No lights on inside. No lights on outside.”
Megan rolled up the window and opened the door to the 4Runner. Denver grabbed her arm gently. “Where are you going?”
“To look around.”
“What if there’s an alarm?”
“Then we’ll hightail it out of here.” She glanced around. “Besides, I don’t see an alarm sign.”
“I can’t imagine there’s no alarm.”
“I don’t think anyone lives here. Doesn’t appear anyone has lived here for a while.”
Denver frowned. “I’m coming with you.”
Denver joined her on the sidewalk. Quickly, Megan walked to the side of the property, where the gate led behind the house. The gate was unlocked—in fact, it didn’t seem to have a lock—and Megan opened it, holding it for Denver. Once inside the backyard, she started her phone’s flashlight. The glow was weak, but between the moon and the flashlight, she could see several yards in every direction.
The backyard was as overgrown as the front. What must have once been a beautiful English-style garden with lush gardens, patches of grass, and welcoming stone benches, was now a mess of weeds and moss-covered furniture. The garage, a perfect miniature of the house, lay ahead, its doors closed and lights off. To their left was another fenced area. Inside was what looked like a pool—or a hole in the ground that used to be a pool. Megan shined her light on the hole. Ornate blue tiles stared up from under a few inches of slimy green water.
“What’s that?” Denver hissed. He pointed to part of the property well beyond the garage and the pool, to an area surrounded by another fence, this one low to the ground and made of what looked to be wrought iron.
“Let’s go see.”
The sound of shuffling stopped her in her tracks.
“Rodents. Probably rats,” Denver said. “Inside the garage. They won’t hurt you.”
They walked quietly to the edge of the garage. The yard seemed to stretch on forever, all of
it reclaimed by nature. Megan hopped over an old wagon and followed a semi-hidden path between flower beds. No one was upkeeping the back of the property, presumably because it wasn’t as visible to the neighbors and the gardens made it hard to manage. The grass was at least a foot high in places.
“Watch the glass over there,” Denver whispered. “Broken window. Here.” He took her hand. “Come this way.”
Megan followed Denver through another small garden area. He skirted around a stone bench, then reached down and lifted Megan over it, too.
“Some of the stone is really slimy. I wouldn’t touch it.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
They reached the wrought iron fence and looked on in awe. It was a small graveyard. The stones were of varying sizes, but all encased by moss that came with age and the Philly humidity.
“It must be a family plot,” Denver said.
“Is that even allowed?”
“I guess if it was here already.”
“Now I know why this place feels so creepy.” Megan shivered. She wrapped her arms around her chest and took a deep breath to calm her shaken nerves. “A graveyard, an overgrown garden, an empty pool.”
“Not that this isn’t fun, but what are you looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Very helpful.”
Megan grabbed his hand. “This was Claire’s house, the woman who disappeared. I guess I was hoping we’d find her here. Mystery solved and all that.”
“If she’s here, she’s hiding. It looks like this place has been neglected for a while.”
“I wonder why,” Megan said, staring at the small graveyard. Who was buried here? Had this been the von Tressler family plot? “Who would purchase an estate with a cemetery on the premises?”
“A vampire?” When Megan didn’t laugh, Denver said, “Not exactly welcoming.” He scanned the rest of the immediate area with his own phone flashlight. “Want to check out the back of the house?”
Megan smiled. “I thought you were worried about an alarm system.”
“No sirens yet.”