Murder by Page One

by Olivia Matthews

  “I can understand.” His response was sober. “I know what it’s like to be far from home.”

  “I know you do. Going to school in California and New York. Those years must’ve been rough.”

  “It was, although the experiences were worth it. I wouldn’t change a thing. But how did you get around New York without any sense of direction?”

  I was still getting accustomed to Spence’s unsubtle change of topics when conversations drifted toward him. “I rarely drove in Brooklyn. I used public transportation or walked.”

  I rarely drove in Peach Coast, either. I walked everywhere. Usually, Jo or Spence drove if we were going somewhere far or needed to get somewhere fast. Like this trip to Nolan’s office. I suspected we could’ve walked it, but since we were meeting Nolan during an early lunch break, time was of the essence.

  Spence returned to my geographical challenges. “You definitely need to have a sense of direction when you’re walking. And I’m sure you need it to use public transportation too.”

  “I suppose.” I divided my attention between our conversation and the scenery outside of Spence’s car. He’d turned off Main Street and into a neighborhood that was more residential than commercial. The trees were older here. “But it wasn’t a matter of whether I was traveling east or west. The directions were more like, ‘two blocks over or three blocks up or turn around you’ve gone too far.’ Anyway, I can assure you I got lost plenty of times in New York too.”

  Spence slowed his car for a left-hand turn into what appeared to be either a very narrow, unnamed road or one of the best-maintained alleys I’d ever seen. “We’re going to have to do something to improve your sense of direction. We can’t have you wandering around town not knowing where you are.”

  “Don’t worry. I never stay lost for long.”

  He entered a little asphalt parking lot behind what appeared to be a gingerbread house, relocated from a Hans Christian Andersen fairytale. It was surrounded by lush leafy plants and flowers, only some of which I recognized: chicory, Japanese maples, hostas and, of course, black-eyed Susans. They lured me out of his vehicle in search of fairies and talking birds.

  “What are you doing?” His voice came from close behind me. He sounded startled.

  Confused, I turned back to him. “Isn’t this Nolan’s office?”

  “Yes, it is.” He glanced at it, then back at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was at a loss for words.

  Now I was even more confused. “Shouldn’t we go in, then?”

  “Well, yes, but…” Spence gestured toward his car. “You’re supposed to wait for me to open the door for you.”

  I looked at his parked car, then back to him. “Why?”

  He seemed momentarily thrown by my question. “It’s customary. Men open doors for women.”

  He wasn’t joking. In fact, he seemed very earnest. I bit my lips to restrain a smile. “If only that was figurative as well as literal.” I turned toward the gingerbread house. “Come on, Mr. Spence. You said Nolan doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “I know you’re laughing at me.” Spence caught up with me. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  Not for the first time, I regretted that my eyes were so transparent. My father always said I had my mother’s eyes. He called them “wide molasses pools of your every thought and emotion.” It was a poetic yet frustrating truth.

  “I’ll tell you what.” I strode with Spence to the front of the building up the walkway to the entrance. “I’ll take the door situation under advisement, but I can’t really see myself waiting for other people to hold doors open for me.”

  He reached around me to open the door to Nolan’s office building. “When in Rome, Marvey. When in Rome…”

  Chapter 21

  The administrative assistant for Duggan & Lyle CPA was an older woman whose cherubic peaches-and-cream complexion spoke of expensive moisturizers. She’d accessorized her warm gold blouse with a green-and-white patterned scarf. Pearl stud earrings decorated her ears. Her shock of golden-red hair was salon styled into a perfectly sculpted flip that sat on her slim shoulders. Her periwinkle eyes reminded me of Anna May Weekley, the owner and operator of On A Roll. Her nameplate read Lisa May DuVeaux. Surely her name and features weren’t a coincidence.

  “Well, Mr. Spencer Holt! As I live and breathe. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Lisa May’s gruff voice boomed a greeting as Spence and I approached her desk late Thursday morning. “How’re you doin’? How’s your mama?”

  Spence flashed his celebrity smile and added a wink. “My mama and I are fine. Thank you for asking, Ms. Lisa May. How are you and your family?”

  “Glad to hear it.” Lisa May clapped her hands. “And me and my family are doing just fine and dandy. Thank you, Spencer. Although me and the mister aren’t ready to retire just yet. I’m fixin’ to work till the day I die, and then Nolan can just prop me up behind this desk and carry on.” Her laughter rolled around the room, full and infectious.

  The brownstone was just as warm and charming on the inside as it was outside. Lisa May’s area must’ve been the home’s great room. Area rugs were positioned under her desk and the coffee table, which stood in front of the overstuffed armchairs in the waiting area. Their matching brown-and-gold patterns were echoed in the furniture upholstery, wallpaper, and doilies.

  The peaches-and-vanilla scent that perfumed the air came from the bowl of potpourri on the coffee table. A selection of current magazines, including the University of Georgia Bulldog alumni magazine, was arranged alongside the bowl.

  Spence gestured toward me. “Ms. Lisa May, this is my friend, Marvella Harris. She’s the new director of community engagement for the Peach Coast Library. Marvey, this is Lisa May DuVeaux. And in case you’re wondering, yes, she is Anna May Weekley’s sister.”

  I smiled with pleasure. “I had been wondering. I really enjoy your sister’s coffee shop. I stop in every morning on my way to work.”

  Lisa May blushed. “That’s mighty kind of you to say, Ms. Marvella. Thank you.”

  “Please call me Marvey.”

  Lisa May’s periwinkle eyes sparkled. “Thank you.”

  Spence slipped his hands into the front pockets of his gray suit pants. “Is Nolan available? I’d called him earlier to ask if Marvey and I could stop by.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he would just love to see you. He’d love it. It’ll help to lift his spirits after the tragedy with Fiona. Let me just double check.” Lisa May raised her left index finger. She used her other hand to claim her telephone receiver and tap in Nolan’s extension. “Hi, there. Nolan?” Her voice was low and empathetic. “Spencer and Marvella are here to see you. Do you have time to meet with them?” She paused. “Oh, good. Good. Then I’ll just send them through, then. Uh-huh. Bye now.” Lisa May cradled her receiver. “Y’all can go on up now to Nolan’s office. You remember where it is, don’t ya, Spencer?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.” Spence nodded.

  Her warm smile fanned out laugh lines from her eyes. “I just know he’ll be real happy to see you. He was just devastated by Fiona’s murder. We both were.”

  “Were he and Fiona close?” I asked.

  Lisa May looked to Spence as though expecting him to clarify my question.

  Spence rested his right palm against the small of my back. “Marvey’s from New York City.”

  Her confusion cleared as though those five words had unlocked the key to her understanding me. “Well, Nolan and Fiona weren’t exactly friends, but I could tell they just liked and respected each other as professionals, you understand?”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Yes, well, they were real professional toward each other.” Lisa May folded her hands on her desk. “There was never a cross word between them, at least not in front of me.”

  “Thank you, Lisa May.” I met her eyes with
somber sincerity. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Her eyes clouded over. “Thank you, Marvella. I appreciate the kindness.”

  Spence gestured for me to precede him up the dark hardwood staircase. It creaked comfortably under our weight. The wood bannister was smooth beneath my palm.

  Lisa May had stated Fiona and Nolan had never exchanged a cross word in front of her. That didn’t mean they hadn’t had cross words when she wasn’t around. Everyone argued, though. It was human nature. No two people agreed all the time. That didn’t mean everyone was a killer. Besides, Spence vouched for Nolan’s character. I shot a glance at Spence behind me. I had a hard time believing anyone he’d consider a friend could be a killer.

  I crested the staircase and found Nolan waiting for us outside one of the offices near the end of the hall.

  “Spence!” A grin split his warm brown face. His close-cropped dark brown hair shone under the hallway’s florescent lighting. His conservative white dress shirt, blue-and-red striped tie, and navy pants were a far cry from the jeans and jersey he’d worn to the signing.

  “Nolan!”

  I stood back while the two men exchanged man-hugs and preliminary greetings. There was no denying the affection between the two.

  Nolan turned to me. His brown eyes were warm but tired. “Marvey, it’s nice to see you again.”

  I returned his smile. “Thank you very much for agreeing to meet with us, Nolan. You must be very busy. I appreciate your time.”

  “It’s not a problem.” He stepped back, gesturing us into his office.

  The contrast between the interior decorating downstairs and Nolan’s office was so stark I almost stumbled across the doorway. The furniture in Nolan’s room was shockingly modern and impersonal, considering the homey décor in the firm’s reception area. Downstairs, everything was warm woods, patterned fabrics, and cushioning. In here, there was only silver metal, clear glass, and black vinyl. In a past life, the space must’ve been a bedroom. The office supply closet to the right probably had been a walk-in closet. The windows across the room offered a view of the front of the house. They were bare, flooding the space with natural light.

  Spence waited for me to settle onto one of the two metal and vinyl guest chairs in front of Nolan’s tan modular desk before taking the one closest to the door.

  Nolan claimed his black padded executive chair and rolled it under his desk. “How’re y’all getting along?” He directed his question to Spence and me.

  Here we go. I suppressed a sigh. “We’re fine. Thank you, Nolan.”

  “Everything’s fine.” Spence braced his right ankle on his left knee. “But more importantly, how’re you?”

  Nolan settled back against his chair with a sigh. “Busy. There’s a lot involved in transitioning Fiona’s accounts. Thankfully, her clients want to remain with the firm, but I’m going to have to bring in another CPA to help with the workload.”

  “Of course.” Quick glimpses around his office didn’t reveal any personal insights about Nolan the man. His office was all business, from the publications and binders packed into his black metal bookcase to the community plaques and commendations displayed on his stark white walls. “Did the two of you have a survivorship agreement?”

  Nolan gave me a cautious look. “Yes, it’s simply a sound business practice. That way, the surviving partner can take over the business without having to negotiate with the other partner’s family or with the courts.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss.” I looked at Spence before continuing. “I understand you and Fiona worked well together. I hate to intrude on this very sad and stressful time, but the deputies suspect a dear friend, Jo Gomez, of Fiona’s murder. I know Jo couldn’t have killed her.”

  Nolan frowned. “I’d heard the deputies were investigating Jo in connection with Fiona’s murder. That doesn’t make any sense to me. I’m pretty sure Fiona didn’t know her. I’d never heard Fiona mention her until she started planning her book event, so I can’t imagine Jo killing her, either.”

  I took a quick breath in relief and thought I’d inhaled a trace of peppermint. My gaze dropped to the brown porcelain mug on Nolan’s desk. Was he drinking peppermint tea? “Did you mention that to Deputy Whatley or Deputy Cole?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” Nolan nodded. “They came to my office the other day with some follow-up questions for their investigation. They asked if I knew whether there were any tensions between Fiona and Jo. I told them what I just told you—Fiona barely knew Jo.”

  I gave him a grateful smile. At least the deputies were asking questions about their theory of Jo as the killer. How long would it take them to accept they didn’t have any evidence to support it? “Was Fiona having problems with anyone?”

  Nolan shook his head. He dropped his gaze to his desk and the stacks of papers piled neatly across its surface. “I can’t think of anyone who’d want to kill her. I’m sure you’ve heard about the troubles she’d had with Betty Rodgers-Hayes and Bobby Hayes. But they’d been causing Fiona problems for years. Why would they suddenly up and kill her?”

  The point could be made that was exactly what a crime of passion was. It wasn’t a planned event. It was sudden, unexpected, and emotional.

  Spence gestured toward the other man. “We were hoping you could give us some insights into Fiona so we could understand her better.”

  “Fiona and I weren’t friends, but I liked her.” Nolan shifted on his chair. “She was a considerate person and a good business partner.”

  He was holding back. I didn’t want to think that. Nolan was Spence’s good friend and he seemed like a nice person, but he was definitely sending out I-have-a-secret signals. Why? What didn’t he want us to know? More importantly, how could I get him to open up? “What made you decide to go into business with Fiona? Weren’t you concerned the vicious gossip that followed her around town would hurt your firm?”

  Nolan shifted on his seat. Again. It was a signal he was uncomfortable about something—and it wasn’t the chair. Did Spence also have the impression his friend was being evasive? At a glance, I couldn’t tell what Spence was thinking, though he seemed to be watching the other man closely.

  Propping his elbows on the arms of his chair, Nolan linked his fingers together over his flat abdomen. “I’m not comfortable speaking ill of Fiona. We may not have been friends, but I did care about her.”

  Spence spread his hands. “We understand. We don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, but you worked closely with Fiona for almost two years. You could give us insights that could help shed some light on her murder and perhaps help identify her killer.”

  Nolan cocked his head. “Are you doing a follow-up story on her murder?”

  Say yes! Say yes! I fisted my hands, willing Spence to read my mind.

  He nodded. “We’re gathering information in preparation for a series of articles. Murders don’t happen often in Peach Coast, fortunately. This is a big story.”

  Knowing Spence, that was the truth. He had too much integrity to lie to a friend.

  Nolan switched his attention to me. I sensed him wondering why Spence had brought a librarian along to the interview, rather than one of his newspaper’s reporters. For whatever reason, he didn’t ask the question.

  He turned his attention back to Spence. “I’ve told the deputies everything I know about Fiona, which unfortunately isn’t much. Have you spoken with them?”

  Mention of the deputies and their handling of this case triggered a rush of frustration. “Their investigation seems to be stalled on Jo. Please, anything you can tell us at all about Fiona could help us persuade the deputies they’re focusing on the wrong person. We’re after justice for Fiona, for Jo, and for the community.”

  Nolan’s reluctance to speak was almost like another presence in his office, seated on the table between us. If I didn’t know better,
I’d think he’d taken a vow of silence. When he finally spoke, the words seemed to be dragged from him. “All right. Fiona had a secret. I think Buddy and I were the only ones in town who knew about it. Buddy didn’t find out until after they were married. Fiona was rich.”

  I blinked. “How rich?”

  Nolan smiled. “Very.”

  I frowned, jabbing a thumb toward Spence seated beside me. “Like, Holt rich?”

  Nolan shook his head. “Close, but not quite. The reason she didn’t want people to know is she’s had a lot of bad experiences with personal relationships in the past. Friends who wanted her to invest in phony businesses. Boyfriends who tried to pressure her into marriage, thinking they’d have access to her accounts. Moving to Peach Coast allowed her to get away from those mistakes and start over.”

  “I can understand that.” Spence’s voice was low, as though he was wading through memories as he spoke. “People pretending to like you so they can use you. It takes time to learn the signs that let you know who you can trust.”

  Reading his eyes, I saw the hurts from Spence’s past. “That’s a lot of pressure to grow up with.”

  He forced a smile. “It’s a different kind of pressure. Everyone has something they’re struggling with.”

  I nodded my agreement before returning my attention to Nolan. “That’s why Fiona was so distant. Well, that and I’m sure she resented the gossip Betty was spreading. But you’re saying Buddy didn’t know Fiona was rich until after they were married?”

  “That’s what Fiona told me.” Nolan seemed much more relaxed now that he’d shared his insights. With both Fiona and Buddy dead, neither would be hurt by his revelations. “And she only revealed it to him because his business was failing. She wanted to help him save it.”

  “When did you find out?” Spence asked.

  Nolan spread his arms. “When Fiona approached me about forming a partnership.” He switched his attention to me. His voice was somber. “Fiona didn’t have to work. She wanted to work. She knew who was spreading the lies about her, and knew she could’ve stopped it. She chose not to because she didn’t want to hurt someone she loved. You asked what made me agree to go into business with someone who had so much baggage. It’s because her actions showed me who she was. Our actions always do.”