by Tess Rothery
“Do you think that girl out there….”
“Her name was Molly Kay. She’s been to the house several times. She was a teacher’s aide for the kindergarten.” Grandma Quinny’s shoulders slumped. “But I think she was probably also ‘dating generous men.’”
“We’ll have to tell the police.” Taylor felt like a rat, or a fink, for turning in her cousin. But what else could she do? One of these generous men may be a murderer.
“I’ve already shared my fears. It was good of Boggy to get Coco settled. I needed to be able to talk to them before she did. Who knows what she would have said?”
“How do the girls meet these men? And how would the police find them?”
Grandma Quinny glanced at Taylor’s Apple Watch in rose gold, a recent gift from John Hancock. Taylor squirmed. John Hancock was generous, but that was different. Anyway, it wasn’t as though she was sleeping with him for gifts. She was just casually dating him, and sometimes that included gifts.
It was absolutely different.
Her hand mindlessly went up to the diamond stud earrings she was wearing. John had sworn they were a bonus from the bank for meeting a sales quota, and that giving them to her was more fun than giving them to his mom or his spoiled sister.
“The line can be very thin,” Grandma Quinny said. “I don’t know how Coco meets the men she’s been dating, but I think we’d better figure it out. I promised her parents I’d look after her.”
“Have you ever just asked her?”
“Once, but she deflected. Said the world was full of lonely people. She’s smooth, Taylor. Much more sophisticated than one would expect of a girl her age.”
“I’ll talk to her. Not about this directly, but about Molly. Maybe I can hint that I’m feeling the pinch, financially, and a little bored with the men around here.”
“Poor Hudson.” Grandma Quinny sighed.
Poor Hudson, indeed.
The perfect man.
So perfect, that she had only imperfectly broken up with him.
He had stayed in Comfort the whole winter.
And winter is long and dark and lonely.
And his A frame cabin was cozy. So cozy.
He was in Montana right now, setting up another senior apartment-hotel combo. But he was planning on coming back—there were two other senior apartment-hotels in the works in Oregon and a potential in Southwest Washington as well.
He knew they weren’t a couple.
She knew they weren’t a couple.
But over the winter, when the rest of the town saw them eating together or saw his truck outside of her little house on Love Street late into the evening, they thought the two were probably a couple still.
Love, Taylor had to admit, was complicated.
Graham Dawson, the journalist in Portland, had triggered her instinct to cut Hudson free. She’d seen Graham exactly three times since they met. Each time had been exactly as sizzling hot and full of promise as the first, but a long-distance commitment felt nearly impossible. Especially when good-natured and generous John Hancock was always around for dinner at one of the nicer restaurants in the area. Or when Hudson had been around and doing his best to romance her. She had to admit, lonely men did seem to be fairly easy to find.
“I’ll talk to Belle. Maybe Coco’s confided in her. They’ve been spending a little time together.”
“Very good idea. And tell her and that Jonah to come by for dinner soon. It’s been too long.”
Grandma Quinny, the woman who welcomed the world’s cast offs, had only recently opened her heart to Taylor’s sister. Taylor had suspected that Grandma Quinny resented the girl who had only come into their lives after Todd, Taylor’s dad and Grandma Quinny’s son, had passed away. Baby Belle had been a great comfort to Taylor and her mom, but Grandma Quinny hadn’t wanted comfort. Or at least, that’s how it had seemed.
But that was in the past. In recent months, Belle and Jonah had haunted the Quinn family strawberry farm, spending almost as much time there as at the rambling old Victorian they had purchased over Christmas.
“I think I’ll go there now. To Belle’s place.” Taylor fidgeted with her Apple Watch, hunting for her schedule. “I’ll come back by this evening to collect Grandpa Ernie.”
“Darling.” Grandma Quinny squared her shoulders. Her voice had raised to its normal, confident resonance. “I don’t think you should be alone tonight. Why don’t you run home and pack some bags and then stay with us? Just until we find out what happened.”
By find out what happened, Taylor knew Grandma Quinny meant till she caught the murderer. Her shoulder twinged. The pain was psychosomatic, the counselor had said, but the name didn’t matter to Taylor. It still hurt. The break had healed as well as could be expected, and after beating a MRSA infection not once but twice, the bullet wound to her shoulder and the wound from where she’d been stabbed in the thigh with a pair of sewing sheers had healed too.
But they still hurt.
Before a heavy rain or snow, her shoulder ached.
In times of stress, like Christmas morning, which is both a positive event and a stressful one, her shoulder ached.
Her leg ached when she walked more than a mile, but she did her best to ignore that. She was a walker and neither the hilly nature of the town of Comfort, nor her wound were going to stop her.
Chapter Two
The Queen Anne Victorian that Belle and Jonah had been remodeling for the sake of having their own mansion full of millionaire influencers was empty when Taylor got there. The impressive edifice brought that old Tom Hanks movie—The Money Pit—to mind. Every time it seemed like they were ready to start their content house business, some other huge project came up. Belle said now all she had to do were finishing touches, such as painting the ballroom, but Taylor wondered.
She parked her mom’s old Audi in the alley between the house and the garage and took a long walk around the historic neighborhood.
It was one of many walks where she determined she was going to take her relationships more seriously and stop leading men on. Cut them all off and wait for the right man to come along. But as so often happened when she was trying to get herself together, John Hancock called with an offer she couldn’t refuse.
Later that night they met at Legends—the sit-down restaurant at the Spirit Mountain Casino.
He was dressed for work, still, khakis and a plaid button down, but that didn’t matter. Taylor was casual as well. “Best comp tickets of the season,” John said after passing Taylor her glass of wine.
“Another bank perk?”
“Not exactly. One of my investment clients sent it along as a thanks.”
“And this isn’t a tribute deal, right? It’s not like, Saul Simon? Or Peter Simon or something?”
“I swear. The real Paul Simon. Two tickets. Second row of section two.”
“It’s not actually Art Garfunkel?”
“Would you have come for Art?”
“Definitely.” Taylor sipped her drink, happy in her friend’s company. Who else would call with surprise tickets to hear one of the greatest song writers of all time? “Who turned you down?”
“Ouch. If you don’t know that you’re my first choice by now….” His eyes laughed despite the false sadness in his voice.
“First choice of many.”
“If I’m lucky. It’s not like we live in a big town with a hopping singles’ scene. But what’s brought this on? Don’t say you feel grateful or think you owe me or something.”
Her hand went to her earrings again.
“The next time you touch those damn things, I’m taking them back.” He reached across the table for her hand. “We’re friends, Taylor. I like to eat with friends and go to restaurants with friends. And I don’t need benefits.”
Taylor was glad she’d put her Apple Watch back in its box. She might never wear it again. At least not till she was sure about why she’d accepted it. “You’re one in a million, John Hancock.”
�
�One of at least three, if you count my dad.” He laughed. “I just hope they serve us before the concert starts.”
Their meal came, and they discussed their favorite Paul Simon songs, both admitting that they recognized them on the radio, but didn’t actually have any of his albums. When the check came, Taylor reached for it first.
“Is Hudson bothering you?” John asked after the waiter had taken the last of Taylor’s cash.
“What do you mean?”
“You seem tense. Worried about me treating you to dinner and a show. Usually, we go out. We have a good time. You kiss my cheek goodbye, and all is well. It’s always just been fun, you and me. I was just wondering.”
“He’s not bothering me, per se.” Taylor didn’t want to get into her thoughts on “generous men” and the question nagging at the back of her mind.
“I know everyone thinks he’s the greatest thing in Comfort, but I don’t trust that kid.”
She smiled. Hudson was a few years from thirty and John just a couple years over. It was cute to see the baby-faced suit try and diminish the much manlier contractor.
“We go out sometimes…” Taylor said with a shrug.
“When Tatiana left me, I left her alone.”
“She moved to Silicon Valley, didn’t she?”
“I could have been sending her pics.” He sat up a little. Though he wasn’t a schlub by any means, he wasn’t built like Hudson, whose photos Taylor didn’t hate receiving, usually. “Or texting or calling. But when she said it was over, it was over.”
Taylor set her drink down. People really did love to tell her who she could share a romantic evening with. What had happened to “dating?” When had it been replaced with immediate, exclusive relationship status? What was the point of liberation if you weren’t at liberty to enjoy yourself?
“That was probably smart.” She quirked her eyebrow, a habit she had picked up from her far too rare times with Graham.
If Graham Dawson lived in the area, maybe she wouldn’t sometimes take Hudson up on his invitations. Or John, for that matter.
He laughed. “But seriously.” He turned the corners of his friendly smile down. “Am I not your best friend? We’re about to go hear Paul freaking Simon.”
She smiled warmly. Life would have been pretty easy if she had fallen in love with John Hancock. Easy laughs. Lots of money. But he’d never made her heart shiver the way Graham Dawson had. Hudson had come close….
“Speaking of Hudson…” Taylor squinted at a table just beyond theirs. She blinked a few times too. She wasn’t looking forward to a future trip to the eye doctor and wasn’t sure she could trust what she was seeing. But at that table, sat a familiar, slender, gray haired gentleman who had only recently turned eighty. His dinner partner was a shockingly young woman in a spaghetti strapped cocktail dress.
“Were we still?” John sipped his glass of burgundy.
“That’s his grandpa. And what do you want to bet he’s with an escort?”
John turned and stared longer than was strictly polite. “How rich is he?”
“Boggy? I don’t know. I’ve never asked.” She wracked her brains for facts about the man who was her own Grandpa Ernie’s best friend.
Boggy Hudson was a few years younger than Grandpa Ernie. When he’d married the love of his life, he’d inherited her family, Hudson’s mom being the oldest daughter of the bunch. But apart from loving step-kids like his own—and never admitting to anyone that he was much too young to be their dad—Taylor didn’t know much about the man. Widowed. If not rich, at least comfortable.
John turned back to Taylor. “Ever heard of sugar babies?”
“Those candies that pull your fillings out?”
“Young women looking for older men to finance their education or small business in exchange for a relationship.”
“So, escorts,” Taylor repeated.
He shook his head. “It’s more like…online shopping for trophy wives without the commitment.”
“Young women who entertain rich old men for gifts and money.” Taylor narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t sure if John was just being hard-headed or if he meant this was somehow different than good old prostitution.
“Sure. And sometimes that entertainment is in a long term, committed relationship. He pays her bills, she pursues her future, and they enjoy each other’s company. It’s like if Uber was a dating site.” He spoke with such an earnest expression, that Taylor broke out laughing.
“I cannot. I just can’t.”
“I have you to entertain me, so I don’t have to sign up with a Sugar Daddy site, but rich men get lonely too.” John smiled with a look of such innocence that Taylor had to roll her eyes.
She dismissed his teasing and turned to her phone. “Smile and pretend I’m taking a picture of you.”
He smiled.
She snapped a shot of Boggy Hudson with his young date, then sent it quickly in a text to his grandson.
“If Hudson sends you a shirtless selfie during Paul Simon,” John laid heavy emphasis on the illustrious singer’s name, “I probably won’t do anything about it, but I will be jealous.”
She laughed again. It was time to go to the concert, but she was afraid her mind wasn’t on the music anymore. Boggy was a dear old fellow. Taylor cared about him, and the idea that some little “thot” was out there bilking him for money made her angry.
Since Hudson was still in Montana, the shirtless selfie he sent later that night did not come with an invitation to drop by his place. And it didn’t include an answer to her questions about Boggy, either. She stared at it in disgust. Handsome, yes. But for someone who was such a good listener, he could be so immature.
The next morning over breakfast she gave her ex a call. “Taylor.” His low morning growl was still sexy, and still gave her a moment’s pause. But she shook it off.
“Who was that girl with your grandfather?”
“Hard to tell from the back.”
“Do you have a young cousin who might have taken him out?”
“Sure. Several. We’re a big family. Too short to be Dayton. Might be Eloise. Possibly Molly.”
She paused at the name and swallowed nervously before speaking. “Do you mean Molly Kay?”
“Yeah.” He paused for a few beats.
Taylor was impatient and wanted to interrupt his train of thought but knew better.
“She’s Aunt Brenda’s niece. She just moved to Comfort.” Aunt Brenda was fictive kin—Hudson’s mom’s best friend. Not her real sister. Molly wasn’t actually Hudson’s relative.
“Oh, Hudson. It…” She shivered and felt her leg tighten in cramp. That wound to her quad that was supposed to be completely healed and leave no lasting damage. “Molly Kay was killed two nights ago.”
There was silence. Then, “Not Molly.” His voice was tense, angry even.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you knew her. She was like family to you?”
“Yeah…” His voice was far away.
“They left her body, whoever did this, they left her at the strawberry farm. In the back field.”
Hudson was slow to respond, and when he did, each word was hard like a punch—as though he were beating himself up for failing somehow. “I can’t leave yet.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure your mom will do everything she can for her friend.”
“Shara shouldn’t have been using murder like a tourist attraction.” A door shut somewhere in Montana. Perhaps Hudson needed to get out under the big sky to pull himself together.
“This wasn’t Shara’s fault.” As far as Taylor knew at least, Shara wasn’t the one running a gig economy escort service.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Please, be careful.”
Taylor didn’t respond.
“I know I’m not…I don’t have a right to say that. But I will always love you, and if you got hurt again, I don’t know what I’d do. Just, be careful. Stay away from the investigation. Keep yourself safe. Don’t go out alone.”
She wrinkled her nose at her phone. That was the real reason she’d broken up with Hudson. She’d have had to, even if someone more attractive hadn’t come along. A man who’d tell her to keep out of the investigation of a murder that so closely involved her grandparents was no man for her.
Taylor interrupted his monologue. “If you think of who that girl with your grandpa is, please let me know.”
He ignored her request. “I’m coming back. It might be a while…no. It can’t wait. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Goodbye, Hudson.” Taylor hung up. She stared at her phone, annoyed. His reaction was too strong. Too angry. She didn’t want him to come back. She wished she hadn’t given him reason to feel like he could come back and…protect her. If that’s what he wanted to do.
She washed her dishes like she was mad at them and then paced the small kitchen while she planned her next steps.
Her agenda for the day included talking to her sister Belle, interviewing Coco, and dropping by to see Brenda on a condolence call. The visit to Brenda wasn’t about the investigation. She honestly liked the woman and thought it must be terrible to have a niece killed like that.
She called her sister first. Belle was in the middle of painting the old ballroom at her new mansion and was happy to talk so long as Taylor would help paint. She called Coco next but got voice mail. She weighed painting verses the condolence call, and decided compassion was more important.
Brenda’s house was walking distance from Loggers, the bar on the far side of town. Usually, Taylor would have walked for the sake of the fresh air. She adored the exercise, and the way walking, even with the on and off pain in her thigh, reminded her that she was strong and capable. Walking meant she could rely on herself. A child who loses a parent often seeks stability and safety wherever they can find it. Her counselor had helped her understand why she needed to walk so badly, though she lived in a hilly town t rained so many months of the year. She liked the explanation. But today she was going to run all over the place and decided the old family Audi was a better idea. As she buckled up, she reminded herself that choosing to drive wasn’t a failure and didn’t mean she was weak. Anyone would have laughed in her face if they’d have known what kind of mental gymnastics she had to do for such a normal decision, but it was real, and it worked. Taking two seconds to say out loud that this was a good choice helped.