Murder at the Moonshine Inn

by Maggie King

  “But you did have something, didn’t you? You mentioned pictures.”

  “Ah! There I go again, getting ahead of myself.” Evangeline leaned forward, eager to keep dishing about Rox. “Rox had this close friend named Marcie who died from pancreatic cancer. And Marcie and Brad were cousins, but Marcie picked Rox, a non-relative, to be her POA. Rox was cleaning out Marcie’s house and invited some folks from work over to help. Said she’d get us pizza and gift cards. She did follow through on the pizza, but I never saw any gift cards.” Evangeline tore confetti-sized squares from the napkin strips.

  “The room she assigned to me was full of clothes, knee-deep in clothes, piles of clothes everywhere. Rox wanted everything folded and separated out so she could see if she wanted to consign stuff or just give it to charity for a write-off. I started in on the piles and discovered that the piles weren’t just clothes: underneath a top layer of clothes were dishes, jewelry, loose photos, outdated bills, books, more clothes. I found the same assortment in the other piles. I found a book, get this, Lesbian Erotica. As you can imagine, I was quite curious. Inside Rox had written ‘To Marcie, a gift to you and to me! Love, Rox.’”

  “Are you sure it was the same Rox?” I knew as I asked the question that it sounded stupid.

  “Absolutely. I knew the woman’s handwriting—she signed the checks at the Hamlin Group. I can show you the book, I have it at home.”

  “No, I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I also found a photo of Rox and Marcie. Kissing.” Evangeline looked at me meaningfully. I caught a nasty gleam in her washed-out eyes.

  This revelation signaled questions that I left unasked: How do we know you didn’t forge Rox’s name on the book? As for the photo, there was Photoshop. Evangeline could well have the photo editing skills needed to combine separate photos of Rox and Marcie into one.

  “I guess Rox didn’t know these books and pictures were there in Marcie’s place?”

  “Guess not.” Evangeline sounded proud of her accomplishments. “I tucked the book and photo in my bag. Just in case I ever needed them. Later I found a similar book and took that as well. If some of those board members ever found out that Rox was a lesbian, she could have kissed that job goodbye.”

  “In this day and age?”

  “Oh, some of those board members don’t live in this day and age. Pretty conservative folks, believe me. Especially Harold the weasel.” Evangeline shook her head. “But I don’t know why Rox was even worried. She could have sweet-talked her way into another job. Although she was over fifty, so she might have been worried about age discrimination.”

  “I think non-profits are more open to older employees.” I didn’t digress into a discussion about the laws protecting older job seekers against age discrimination. I suspected that employers found ways to sidestep the laws.

  “I’m sure she didn’t have to work,” Evangeline said. “Wouldn’t Brad rake in plenty of dough from his dental practice?”

  My feminist side bristled. “Possibly she didn’t want to rely on her husband for money. Plus she sounds like someone who liked the power she got from working.”

  “Could be. She did like her power.”

  Evangeline fumed in silence for a moment before going on. “According to Nichole, Rox didn’t say a thing about my leaving. Just went on like nothing happened.”

  “Unbelievable,” I said. But apparently Rox had done the same hiding-her-head-in-the-sand thing over the lunatic.

  “Speaking of Nichole, where did she go off to?”

  I pointed towards the window. “She’s right outside.”

  Evangeline tried to turn to see her friend, but the effort was too much so she took my word for it.

  “When did all this happen?” I asked.

  “I was fired last November.” Evangeline pushed away her pyramid of napkin squares and burst into tears. “Now I have no job, no prospects, and I’m stuck with Mother who constantly ridicules me about losing my job.”

  The pizza arrived. Avila asked Evangeline if there was anything she could do for her. But Evangeline managed a tremulous smile and said she was fine. She grabbed the nearest pizza slice and set to battling a network of hot cheese strings and about every topping Italian Delight offered. Avila looked unsure but moved away.

  Nichole and Trudy magically appeared in time for the pizza. This time Trudy perched sideways on the edge of the booth and turned her body to face me.

  “What a jerk!” Nichole exclaimed, adding a few expletives for good measure. I took it she referred to her ex. Her look of anger transformed to one of concern when she saw the tears streaming down Evangeline’s face. “Evangeline! Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be okay. I was telling Hazel about that last day at the Hamlin Group.”

  “Unbelievable!” Nichole commiserated. “Well, let’s enjoy our pizza and forget all about that.”

  We took time out to eat. Could Evangeline have killed Rox? Probably not by herself, not if she was really disabled. But getting fired gave her a powerful motive. And hadn’t Nichole said that Rox claimed to have something on Evangeline? If Evangeline had shared a shameful secret with Rox—I thought it might have happened over drinks—I didn’t know how I’d worm it out of her. I shelved the idea. But if Rox had resorted to blackmail, it supplied Evangeline with yet another motive to kill.

  “I know I’m making myself out to be a suspect. But can you see me stabbing someone in the parking lot of a bar?”

  No, but you could have hired someone.

  “And I didn’t hire someone, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Evangeline gave me a smug smile that made me want to squirm. I didn’t feel comfortable with a suspect echoing my thoughts.

  Evangeline went on. “I certainly had a motive. But someone beat me to it. I’m glad. Believe me, I didn’t shed any tears when I heard about her death. Anyway, the burden of proof is on the police. The D.A. Whomever.”

  Was arthritis one of those diseases brought on by bitterness and negative emotions? Who knew what the stress of living with an abusive mother could do?

  Avila presented our checks and we busied ourselves with fishing for debit cards and figuring out tips. Evangeline scrounged through her purse and found enough change to pay her bill in coin.

  When we finally left, getting to Nichole’s car was a laborious process for Evangeline. Once she settled in the passenger seat I pressed one of Lucy’s business cards in her hand. “This is my cousin, Lucy Hooper. She runs a placement agency and has lots of temp jobs. She specializes in people who are difficult to place.” I ad-libbed that last part, but it sounded good. “She can’t guarantee anything and probably can’t get you a job handling money.”

  Evangeline thanked me profusely as she took the card and said she wanted me to sign some books for her. I assured her that I would. Trudy and I waved until Nichole’s car left the parking lot.

  Trudy said eagerly, “So tell me what Evangeline said.”

  “Wow,” Trudy said when I finished. “That’s some story. Especially about Rox and Marcie. But we only have Evangeline’s word for any of it. Rox isn’t here to say anything different.”

  “True.”

  “Evangeline definitely needs professional help. And as for her murdering Rox or getting someone to do it for her—it’s pretty unlikely.”

  “Who were you talking to over there?”

  “My sister.” Trudy grinned. “I prolonged the conversation to give you quality time with Evangeline.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Want to come to O’Toole’s with me and hear Dave perform?”

  “You bet. We need some entertainment after that experience.”

  •••

  It only took a few minutes to reach O’Toole’s, a neighborhood Irish pub and restaurant that featured a sports bar and musical entertainment. Lucy’s husband, Dave Considine, often participated in the monthly Songwriters Showcase, playing his guitar and singing. As always, we enjoyed his performance.

  At home, Vince and I s
at on the screen porch with the cats.

  “Did you tell Lucy about your mammogram?” Vince asked.

  “Yeah, I did.” I didn’t want to talk about my mammogram. Or think about it. “And I told her about my conversation with Evangeline. Wait’ll you hear this.”

  “That’s sure a lot to take in,” Vince said when I finished.

  “So, Evangeline had motives galore, but means and opportunity not so much. Maybe her mother did it. She sounds pretty spry.”

  “All we need is proof,” Vince said.

  I ignored the relentless proof reminder. “I didn’t know that Marcie was a lesbian. I wonder if Nina knew. Or Patty. And did either of them ever see that erotica book, or anything else like it? Assuming there even was such a book.”

  “Being Rox’s sister, Nina might have known about her relationship with Marcie. As for Patty, I don’t have the impression that she was close to Marcie, despite their being cousins.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said. “Still, she might have known or at least have wondered about it.” I didn’t know Nina or Patty’s views on same-sex relationships. Would it have been bad news or ho-hum news? Knowing Patty, she’d cloak any negative feelings with assurances that it was all fine and dandy.

  “They probably kept their relationship hidden,” Vince said. “Marcie was a stockbroker and they’re a pretty conservative bunch. Her being a woman in a traditionally man’s field would have made her even more cautious about standing out from the crowd. She’d want to appear as conventional as possible. And Rox might have had to consider her career as well. Even today, not everyone’s on board with same-sex relationships.”

  “Yes, Evangeline indicated that the Hamlin Group is especially conservative.” We were making a good case for Rox and Marcie remaining deep in the closet.

  “It kind of threw me for a loop, hearing about this relationship. I mean, Rox has had so many affairs with men. There’s Foster. And Brad. Maybe the lunatic. And some of the guys from the Moonshine Inn.”

  Vince started, “Was Marcie—”

  “Oh,” I cut in, “And Rox was married before Brad. To that guy who lives in Australia. They had a daughter together.”

  “Was Marcie ever married?”

  “Yes, according to the family tree that Ruth gave me, Marcie was married long ago when she was quite young, still in college. No children.”

  “Lots of gay folks marry to mask their sexuality, to bow to social expectations.”

  “Or maybe they’re in deep denial, even to themselves.”

  “Did Marcie know about Rox’s other relationships? What did she think about her affair with Foster? And with Brad?”

  “I’m not clear on whether Rox and Brad were just friends or if they were lovers before they got married. As for Marcie, maybe she had her own diversions.”

  “And maybe the intimate part of her relationship with Rox didn’t last long, so they ended it and became friends. Do you know how long they were lovers?”

  “I don’t,” I said. “But they must have been very good friends for Rox to be Marcie’s POA.”

  “We can only speculate at this point,” Vince said. “And Evangeline could be making up the whole thing—the book, the photos, Brad coming to her house and threatening her. We don’t have an easy way of verifying any of this. And didn’t those women at the Hamlin Group say Rox had something on Evangeline?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know what. According to Evangeline, when they went out for drinks Rox tried to pump her for information, but she had nothing to spill. Said her life was boring. Now I wonder.” Olive jumped in my lap and I petted her soft, silky fur. “It seems to me that Evangeline would have been so thrilled to be invited for drinks by her boss that she’d have willingly shared secrets about herself, even if she had to make up something.”

  “Well—”.

  “Evangeline offered to show me those books and photos, but a clever person could fake them. And I think she’s clever enough. Her threatening Rox when she got fired is probably real—she was overheard making threats—but it could have been just hot air. Evangeline could well be delusional, what with her situation and all—the health problems, her mother, the whole bit.”

  Vince considered. “It’s all possible.”

  That was the problem. Too many possibilities.

  FOURTEEN

  ON TUESDAY I e-mailed the book group about my meeting with Evangeline. Then I started researching my calcification issue. I found nothing new since my last round of research years before. There was still that 80 to 90 percent chance that the biopsy would produce benign results. Was there a way to prevent or reverse this calcification, stop it in its tracks? I saw nothing that said there was, or wasn’t. I was still looking for answers when Sarah called.

  “I talked to Maisie Atwater. When she heard that you and I are in the same book group she got all excited, saying how much she loved your books, how she has your latest and would love for you to sign it. Can you come by later? She lives nearby so she’ll run home and get the book.”

  “Okay. What time?”

  “How about noon? And if you go for a walk with her I think you’ll learn some interesting tidbits about our Rox.”

  “Well, I’m not much for walking in this heat, but if she has some worthwhile information, I can sweat it out. Do you think she does?”

  “She’s bound to. I told her that you met Nina recently. When Nina talked about her sister is when you started thinking about writing a romance about women in the non-profit world. Which means you need to interview people. She said she’d not only love to talk to you but she could tell you plenty about women and non-profits.”

  “Excellent. Good job, Sarah.” I felt my spirits lift.

  “Maisie says it’s cooler by the lake. That’s where she wants to walk. It’s right across the road from here. She wants to lose weight and is starting this new regime. So is noon okay?”

  “Sounds good to me.” That was an understatement. I was getting nowhere on my breast cancer research, and I was eager for a firsthand account of Rox’s stint at the Alzheimer’s Research Society.

  After writing down the ARS address in the Innsbrook office park, I changed into something business-casual but still cool enough for a hot and muggy midday walk. It was only eleven, too early to leave, so I scanned Facebook and Twitter to kill time. Thinking I might record my talk with Maisie, I did a practice session with the voice recorder app on my phone. To be safe, I also charged my phone.

  Nichole called, asking about my conversation with Evangeline. “Did she tell you anything useful?”

  “Yes, she was certainly interesting. But I’m not sure she was entirely truthful.”

  To my surprise, Nichole got huffy and hung up on me. I stared at the phone for a minute like I expected it to explain the young woman’s attitude.

  En route to Innsbrook in Glen Allen, a suburb northwest of Richmond, I crossed the falls of the James River on the S-shaped Edward E. Willey Bridge, glancing out my window at Bosher Dam. Thick stands of trees hid from view a number of high-priced homes that overlooked the dam. Mr. Willey was a Virginia politician and the father-in-law of Kathleen Willey, a former White House aide who once alleged on 60 Minutes that Bill Clinton sexually assaulted her during his presidency.

  The Innsbrook office park included residential areas and boasted three lakes, walking trails, and high standards in landscape design. I had no trouble finding the ARS, housed in a wood-shingled building with large glass windows. After parking under a tree, I donned a hat and sunglasses and locked my purse in the trunk.

  Sarah and another woman sat on the front patio at a wooden table, a wide umbrella shading them. They leaned close to each other, deep in conversation, and didn’t see me until I hovered over them.

  “Hazel!” Sarah looked up. She wore her long hair in a single braid that trailed down her back. “I didn’t see you drive in. We’re so glad you could make it. This is Maisie Atwater. Maisie, Hazel Rose.”

  “Hazel!” Maisie eff
used in a charming British accent. “Oh, I just adore your books.” Maisie had a cloud of jet black hair and blue eyeshadow streaked across her eyelids, recalling my Moonshine Inn getup. Her glittery blue knit top looked hot, despite its short sleeves. “I have your latest with me, it’s right inside. Will you sign it before we leave?”

  When I assured her that I would, she went on, “I love how you have us old folks enjoying a good roll in the hay.”

  I regarded my characters as mature, not old. But I preferred the tell-it-better-than-it-is approach to the tell-it-like-it-is one.

  Maisie stood. “Sarah says you’re up for a walk around the lake.”

  “Oh yes, I love to walk.”

  “I can’t say I like it too much, not yet anyway. But I have to get rid of these love handles.” She pinched a roll that circled her midsection. “Too much fish and chips,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s go over to the lake.”

  “Sarah, are you coming with us?” I asked.

  “No, I have a lot to do here. Besides, those walking paths are too narrow for three people.”

  Maisie and I crossed Cox Road and started along a path that wound around a small lake. We briefly discussed Maisie’s recent trip to visit her family in Leeds. That segued into a back-and-forth on the DCI Banks TV series, set in Yorkshire and inspired by the novels by Peter Robinson.

  Small talk over, Maisie said, “So, Sarah tells me that you met Roxanne Howard’s sister, Nina.”

  “Yes, I did. She told me she’s not happy with what the police are doing and wanted to know if I knew of any private investigators she could hire to solve Roxanne’s murder. I guess she figures that since I’m in a mystery group I might know about such things.” I assumed a look of deep regret. “Unfortunately, I don’t.”

  Maisie shook her head. “Yes, the whole thing was tragic. Rox used to be our executive director. She was first the development director and then she got promoted. And her husband is one of our board members.”

  “I’m thinking of using someone like Rox in my next novel, something about women and romance in a non-profit.”