The Last Thing She Said

by Lauren Carr

  “Adkins claimed Livingston accused Del Vecchio of taking kickbacks from contractors in exchange for lucrative contracts with Billingsley, Inc,” Chris said. “Del Vecchio had negotiated for what she called a consulting fee from the company that organized the conference.”

  “Fallon and Baker’s company,” Bruce said.

  Chris nodded his head. “Del Vecchio negotiated the fee with Fallon. However, Livingston worked on the conference with Patricia Baker, the other partner. She told Livingston about the consulting fee that Del Vecchio had insisted on them paying. Livingston went through the roof, told Del Vecchio that she was fired, and said he was calling for a full audit.”

  “Suddenly, Livingston disappears and Del Vecchio ends up saving the day by doing the big presentation,” Helen said. “Talk about timing.”

  “If Livingston had evidence that Del Vecchio was taking kickbacks, then she would have had a huge motive for getting rid of him,” Bruce said. “We’re not just talking about her losing her career, we’re talking about criminal charges.”

  “Did anything come of George’s accusation?” Jacqui asked.

  Chris shook his head. “Never mentioned again.”

  “Del Vecchio stated that she did see Livingston about three-forty that afternoon,” Elliott said. “She had received an important call from Europe that she knew he’d want to take. She went to his suite and knocked on the door. Patricia Baker answered but wouldn’t let Del Vecchio inside. She claimed Livingston was changing his clothes and said she’d pass on the message.”

  “If he was changing his clothes, what was Baker doing in the room?” Doris asked.

  “I think we’ve identified the mistress,” Jacqui said.

  “Not necessarily,” Francine said. “Livingston had a suite. Before I had retired, I’d spent many an interview in the sitting room while the subject was changing his clothes in the bedroom.”

  “That’s the excuse Del Vecchio said Baker gave for her being in the room,” Chris said. “She stated that Baker had claimed she and Livingston were going over details for that night’s banquet while he was changing. It’s also why Del Vecchio said it was so strange that he was going out to dinner with his wife. The banquet was an important part of the conference. Livingston was to do a presentation and had ordered all employees to attend the dinner. Del Vecchio had no idea he wasn’t going to the banquet until she’d arrived at the dining room and his secretary told her.”

  “Adkins stated that Livingston had left a note with the concierge for her saying that his wife had invited him to join her for a dinner date at a little place in historic Shepherdstown,” Elliott said. “She thought it was strange for a couple of reasons. One, he didn’t call her room. Two, the banquet and Livingston’s presentation afterwards were the main event for the entire weekend. His secretary insisted he would not have blown it off.”

  “Livingston didn’t make it back in time for the presentation,” Chris said, “and Del Vecchio, who he had fired that afternoon, ended up doing it.”

  “What happened to Del Vecchio after Livingston never returned?” Bruce asked with a knowing grin.

  “The accusation of taking kickbacks never saw the light of day, and she got his job.”

  There was a collective “hmmm” around the table.

  “Where is Carla Atkins’ now?” Chris asked.

  “Dead,” Ray said. “She died after a long illness twenty-seven years ago.”

  “Tell me Del Vecchio is still alive and available,” Chris said with a sigh.

  “She’s retired and living in Spencer, Maryland,” Ray said.

  “I guess we can make our trip to Deep Creek Lake a twofer.” Chris bumped fists with Helen. “Jacqui, did you find anything interesting in the autopsy?”

  “They’d found his hyoid bone among his remains. It was broken. The cause of death was strangulation.”

  “Crane did tell me that.” Chris wrote the cause of death under George’s picture.

  “Did he also tell you that George had a fractured skull?” Jacqui asked.

  “He must have put up a fight,” Elliott said.

  “Back of the head,” Jacqui said while scanning the report. “The medical examiner wrote that the victim would have been knocked unconscious, but it would not have been fatal if he had received medical care. There most likely would have been cranial bleeding.”

  “What was he struck with?” Chris asked. “Did the ME have any ideas?”

  “Something smooth, round, and hard.”

  With a questioning look, Bruce held up a wine bottle from the middle of the table.

  “That would do it,” Jacqui said.

  “Something readily available on a date that went horribly wrong,” Doris said.

  “Would anyone object if I talked to Kevin Crane again?” Chris asked those around the table. “I want to find out why he failed to put Fallon’s murder and Baker’s disappearance in the file.”

  In silence, they exchanged glances—even Sterling paused from where he was eating his fourth slice of pizza to gaze up at Chris.

  Wordlessly, Bruce was chosen to respond. “Only if you don’t tell him anything that we’ve uncovered so far.”

  “Scout’s honor.” Chris held up his hand.

  Bruce narrowed his eyes and looked across at Doris.

  “He was an eagle scout.”

  “Okay,” Bruce said. “We’ll trust you—for now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning, Chris waved farewell to Katelyn and Sierra from the top step of their porch. At the end of the lane, Sierra turned her SUV out onto the road and raced along the river. Seconds later, they were out of sight.

  His stomach flipped and then flopped as he envisioned every potential catastrophe that could occur during the ten-minute drive to the high school—from drunk drivers to serial killing carjackers to zombies to space alien kidnappers. They all crossed his mind.

  It took every fiber of his being to allow Sierra to drive Katelyn to school. The offer was kind and made total sense. The Matheson farm was on Sierra’s way, and the two girls did attend the same high school. If Chris had his way, he’d wrap them in bubble wrap, strap them into the back seat of his dual cab truck, and drive them himself at ten miles below the speed limit.

  With two teenaged girls who thought they knew it all, that wasn’t happening.

  He whispered a prayer for their safety, patted the top of Sterling’s head, and went inside to have a cup of coffee.

  Clad in her silky hot pink nightgown and robe, Doris drank the fresh brew in a big mug while nibbling on a croissant. She dabbed a bit of cream cheese and strawberry jam on each bite as she ate it. Always near their charge, Mocha and Sadie lay on either side of her chair.

  Yapping up a storm, Chompers hopped around Thor, who was watching the birds outside from her bed. Clad in her fuchsia romper with matching booties, she looked bored with it all.

  Sterling found a bone to chew on and sprawled out on the floor between Chris and the coffeemaker—forcing him to reach across the large body for the carafe.

  “What time are you picking up, Helen?” Doris asked.

  “I’m picking her up at the police barracks at nine-thirty. She wanted to check her emails before we left.” Chris picked up the pot to pour his coffee into the mug. While he was pouring the hot liquid, Chompers dug his needle-like teeth into his ankle. With a curse, Chris fought to keep control of the carafe and mug.

  Yelping at the hot coffee splashed onto his back, Sterling grabbed his bone and ran for cover under the kitchen table.

  Chris fought the pain of the tiny teeth gnawing on his ankle to get the pot and mug onto the counter without dropping them. The mission was made more difficult by the creature attached to his leg. By the time he managed to reach the kitchen counter, he had a brown stain down the front of his shirt and jeans.

 
“What are you doing?” Doris turned in her chair to watch her son dancing on the other side of the breakfast bar.

  “I’m being attacked by our baby hound from hell!” Chris detached the snarling pup from his leg, carried him over to his mother, and dropped him into her lap.

  “Really, Christopher.” She petted the pup. “You know as well as anyone that animals truly desire to please humans. Once Chompers learns that biting is unacceptable, then he’ll become a good dog.”

  “If you know so much, you communicate to the devil dog why we humans don’t like being chewed on.” He peeled the hot wet shirt from his burning flesh.

  “I will.” With a slim grin, she noted the dark stain on the front of his pants. “Good thing you didn’t spill that coffee on your good jeans.”

  “These are my good jeans!”

  “Oh.” Doris’s eyes grew wide. “Well, I mean …” She paused and pasted a big smile on her face. “At least it didn’t happen to the clothes you’re wearing to Spencer Manor.”

  “These are the clothes I’m wearing to Spencer Manor.” With a growl, Chris went to the sink and wet a sponge to clean up the spilt coffee. “Next time he bites me, I’m going to bite him back.”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right.” She whispered to the pup sitting sedately in her lap, “Ignore him. He’s always grumpy before he gets caffeine pumping through his veins.” She gave Chompers the last bite of her croissant, much to the big dogs’ dismay.

  The security system dinged to notify them that the button for the main gate had been pressed. They had visitors.

  “Who is that?” Chris asked while Doris put Chompers on the floor and went to check the monitor on the wall console next to the mud room.

  She put on her reading glasses to study the image of an SUV parked outside the gate. The dark-haired man hung out of the window to speak into the camera’s microphone. “Matheson! It’s me. Thomas Clarke, Helen’s husband. We met the other day. I’d like to talk to you—man-to-man. It’s important. Can you let me in?”

  Doris uttered an audible gasp and turned to the kitchen. Chris, who had been on his knees cleaning up the floor, slowly rose up onto his knees to peer over the counter at her. She could only see the top of his head and eyeballs filled with surprise.

  “What does he want?” Chris’s tone revealed irritation.

  “What do you think he wants? He wants Helen back and he’s going to tell you to back off.”

  The system dinged to signal that Thomas had pressed the button a second time when he didn’t receive a response.

  With a gasp, Doris backed away from the console as if she feared he could see her through the monitor. “We’ll pretend we’re not home.”

  “We can’t pretend we’re not home.” Chris rose to his feet and tossed the sponge into the sink. “Our vehicles are in the driveway. Anyone can see them from the road. Press the button and let him in.”

  She threw herself in front of the console to block him when he approached it. “I can tell you right now that if he tells you to back off from Helen, things won’t end well.”

  “Mom, I have no intention of fighting Helen’s ex-husband.” Chris tried to reach around her.

  “I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about me.”

  The security system dinged once more. Chris stabbed the button to open the gate. He then wagged his finger at Doris like a parent to a naughty child. “You mind your manners. I’m going upstairs to change. Let him in and” –he picked up Chompers in mid-strike of his leg and shoved him into her arms— “keep Chompers away from him.”

  Chris galloped up the stairs to his room, leaving a stewing Doris alone with the dogs watching her for instructions on what to do next. “I wonder how much lye we have in the gardening shed.”

  On his way up to his room, Chris considered texting Helen to let her know about the visit—half to tell on her ex, the other half to ask if she knew what he wanted. He typed it out. His finger lingered over the “send” button.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why Thomas was there. He wanted Chris out of the picture to allow him the chance to win Helen back.

  Chris deleted the message and tossed the phone onto his bed.

  Not wanting to risk Thomas’s life by leaving him alone with Doris for too long, he left his pants on the floor where they landed, yanked his shirt up over his head, and hurled it in the direction of the laundry chute. He then grabbed a pair of khaki slacks and a blue button-down shirt from the closet to put on.

  Downstairs, Doris ushered Thomas into the living room. She offered him a seat in a mustard-yellow cloth chair tucked in the corner of the room.

  Called the Seat of Shame, the chair was used exclusively for the children’s timeouts. The eighty-year-old antique was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the house. The only reason it hadn’t ended up in a landfill was because it was of sentimental value to a dead Matheson. Which one? No one knew. But whoever it was, someone in the family had promised to never throw out the ugly, torturous chair.

  Doris neglected to offer Thomas anything to drink. In truth, it wasn’t negligence on her part.

  Because he had no choice in the Seat of Shame, Thomas sat up straight and glanced around the room filled with family photographs and mementoes occupying the walls, cabinets, and fireplace mantle. Sadie, Mocha, and Sterling surrounded and watched him with unblinking eyes. Even the pup in Doris’s lap stared at him—waiting for the opportunity to attach himself to a tasty ankle.

  From a seat in a wing-backed chair, Doris, still clad in her hot pink nightgown and robe, regarded the visitor with her gray eyes narrowed to slits. “So … you’re Helen’s ex-husband.”

  “Yes, I am. But despite everything that’s happened, we’re still close. We both love Sierra.”

  “If you love her so much, why did you abandon her for a woman half your age?”

  Before Thomas could answer, Chris, still buckling the belt on his pants, ran down the stairs. “Mom! Stop it! What did I tell you?”

  “I was only making conversation.”

  Chris jumped the last few steps in his hurry to save Thomas. “Stop it. Just stop.” He pointed up the stairs. “Go to your room and get dressed.”

  “But—”

  “Do it!”

  Tucking Chompers under her arm, Doris called for Mocha and Sadie to follow her. Halfway up the stairs, she turned around to see Chris watching to ensure she did indeed leave. Once again, he pointed in the direction of her room.

  “Well, if you need me, I’ll be upstairs cleaning my Smith and Wesson pearl-handled revolver.” Doris gathered up the front of her floor-length robe and continued up the stairs.

  Once Chris heard her bedroom door close, he returned to the living room where Sterling still had Thomas cornered in the Seat of Shame. After ordering Sterling to stand down, Chris shook Thomas’s hand and offered him a seat on the more comfortable sofa. Sterling backed up to the middle of the room, positioning himself between the two men.

  “You have to forgive my family,” Chris said while sitting across from him on the loveseat. “We’re crazy.”

  With the ice broken, Thomas chuckled. “Good to know.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have very long. I have an appointment that I’m running late for.”

  “You’re going to pick up Helen for a day out in Deep Creek Lake,” Thomas said. “She mentioned that this morning when she told me that she wouldn’t be home for dinner.” He sucked in a deep breath. “She also missed dinner last night because she said she was meeting you for a book club meeting.” He scoffed. “Yeah. Right.”

  “That was an actual book club meeting that she went to,” Chris said. “My mother is director at the library. She was there along with a half dozen other people. It wasn’t as sorted as you may think.”

  “A book club meeting that lasts until eleven o’clock
at night?”

  “We dive very deep into analyzing our books,” Chris said. “Does it really matter? Helen’s a free woman. She can come and go as she wishes.”

  “Not as free as you think,” Thomas said. “While she’s out running around with you, Sierra is home alone.”

  “Not last night,” Chris said. “You were there. That’s why Helen stayed until the meeting ended. Isn’t that why you came? To reconnect with Sierra? Helen thought she was doing you a favor by spending the evening out. It gave the two of you a chance to hash things out. Normally, when our book club runs long, Helen leaves at nine o’clock. As a matter of fact, when a case she’s working on means she has to spend the night out, Sierra comes over here, which”—He gestured at Sterling. —“Helen knows is secure.”

  Thomas sat in silence for a long moment.

  “Anything else?” Chris asked.

  “Does Helen ever spend the night here?” Thomas studied him for his response.

  “With all due respect,” Chris said in a steady tone, “that’s not any of your business.”

  “Do you spend the night at Helen’s place—under the same roof as my daughter? That is my business.”

  “Never.” The thought that Thomas was attempting to make a case for a custody battle crossed Chris’s mind. Remembering that Sierra, at sixteen, was free to decide which parent she lived with, he dismissed that idea. “I don’t think you came here to beat my chops about having Helen out late.”

  “You’ve been with her every day since I got here,” Thomas said. “You’re texting my daughter—”

  Chris held up a hand. “Only about horse stuff and I never send a text to Sierra without copying Helen. Look, I understand where you’re coming from. I have three daughters of my own. If some grown man who was not family started getting close and personal with one of them, I’d be suspicious, too. It’s an occupational hazard. We’ve seen how sick some people can be and we want to do whatever we can to protect our family.” He nodded his head. “If it makes you feel any better, I make it a point to never be alone with Sierra. One of my daughters is always with us when I give Sierra a riding lesson. She doesn’t come to the farm when no one else is here.”