Peony Street (13 page)

“I don’t know,” Claire said. “There are no texts or calls after that from her management team, either.”

“They wouldn’t need to,” Scott said, “if they knew he was dead.”

“Someone could have followed him from the airport. But why wait until he got here to kill him?”

“Maybe they wanted to see where he was going.”

“None of this makes any sense,” Claire said. “He was just an employee who quit in a huff. Why kill him at all?”

“I wish I knew what happened after he left your parents’ house. Look at the timeline. He may have been hit right after his last call and text to you.”

“It would be so like him to walk into traffic while texting someone,” Claire said, “or while reading a text.”

“There’s not a lot of traffic on Peony Street in the middle of the night.”

“Then it had to be a drunken hit and run. It was so foggy it could be they just didn’t see him crossing the street. No one in Rose Hill knows him, and nobody knew he was here unless they followed him, or had him under some kind of surveillance.”

“Or had your phone.”

“I left it in a cab in
London. It’s probably been sold three times by now.”

“And if by some miracle the cabdriver returned it to your last known address, who would have it?”

“The estate agent; but I didn’t make the best impression on them.”

“Give me their address.”

Claire took her address book out of her handbag, looked up the estate agent’s contact information, and wrote it down for him.

“Did you give them a forwarding address?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t they then put your phone in the mail to you? Or at the very least, contact you?”

“That gives way too many people the benefit of the doubt.”

“
Hollywood has made you cynical.”

“Life has made me cynical,” Claire said. “Why aren’t you?”

“I’m tempted daily,” he said, “but there are still a lot of good people left in Rose Hill.”

“But someone in Rose Hill ran over Tuppy and didn’t call 911.”

“It was either someone who had a lot to lose by taking responsibility for the accident or someone who intended to kill him.”

“Do you really think it could have been murder?”

“I haven’t had that many murders to investigate, but in every one there was a motive, and it was either money or revenge. Your employer seemed to have a great deal of animosity toward your friend.”

“Nasty threats are not unusual for Sloan, so those don’t necessarily mean anything. I’ve heard her threaten to do outrageous things to lots of people, but that’s just her way. It sounds to me like she’s just mad that he quit and took off with no notice.”

“What about the book?”

“He was always saying he ought to write a book,” Claire said. “Maybe he was meeting with a publisher in
New York. Maybe that’s who Morty is.”

“So he may have secretly written a book, and left a copy with your Dad for you to read.”

“Not just to read, but to keep safe.”

“Because there weren’t many copies?”

“Or because of what the book was about,” Claire said.

“Blackmail is a strong motive.”

“Except we have iron clad confidentiality agreements with Sloan. Tuppy couldn’t tell anyone anything about her. No book advance could cover the penalty he’d have to pay. Plus …” she started to say, but stopped.

“What?” Scott asked.

“Sloan’s attorney is not someone you want to mess around with,” Claire said. “He’s pretty scary.”

Scott took the phone from Claire, turned it over, and looked at the back of it.

“Are you familiar with what one of these is supposed to look like inside?”

“Sure,” Claire said. “I’m the one who always installed the batteries and smartcards. Sloan can’t be bothered to do anything like that.”

Scott handed the phone back to Claire.

“Let’s look inside,” he said.

Claire pried off the back cover.

“Pop the battery out,” Scott instructed her.

“That’s strange,” she said as soon as it was out.

“What’s that?”

“There’s an extra piece in here that my phone doesn’t have,” she said, “and it certainly wasn’t in here when I set up this phone for Tuppy.”

“Don’t touch it,” Scott said, looking at the small flat square piece that looked like a tiny circuitry board. “I think it may be a bug or a tracking device. If it’s a bug we just gave the whole game away.”

“Oh, no,” Claire whispered. “All that stuff I told you about Sam and me!”

“The phone was dead and charging while you told me all that,” Scott said. “I’m pretty sure the phone would need to be charged up in order for it to work, but I’ll have to ask Sam.”

The door to the salon opened with a bang on a gust of cold air. Scott and Claire both jumped. Scott quickly gathered the pieces of the phone and tucked them in his pocket.

“Hello?” a woman called out in an irritated tone. “Is anyone even here?”

Claire groaned, and went to greet the owner of the tea room from which she had fled earlier in the day.

“Where’s Denise?” the woman demanded. “What are you doing here?”

Claire explained what was going on but did not offer to take the appointment.

“I couldn’t read the name on her appointment book and there was no phone number,” Claire said, “so I couldn’t call you to cancel.”

“It’s Huckle,” the woman said. “Meredith Stanhope Huckle.”

“Her late father was a famous senator,” Scott said.

“As was my late husband,” Meredith said.

“She’s married to Knox Rodefeffer,” Scott said, “the bank president.”

“He’s running for the U.S. Senate,” Meredith said.

“I know Knox,” Claire said. “I also know his ex-wife Anne Marie; very well, as a matter of fact.”

Meredith ignored this.

“My son Peyton is at Eldridge,” Meredith said, “in Humanities.”

“Ah,” said Claire. “I know something else about you.”

“What’s that?” Meredith asked.

“You’ve been having an affair with my ex-husband.”

“That’s a slanderous lie,” Meredith huffed.

“Not if it’s true,” Claire said.

Meredith Stanhope Huckle turned on her heel and stalked out of The Bee Hive Hair Salon with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Pip?” Scott asked. “Really?”

“I overheard them and then saw them.”

“Well, well, well,” Scott said. “Just what Knox needs, another scandal.”

“Another scandal?”

“I think he tried to kill Anne Marie before they were divorced. She was running around with college students and getting into all sorts of trouble, embarrassing Knox. She was in a car wreck, and even though Knox had an alibi, I always suspected he had something to do with it. It was freezing cold outside but she wasn’t wearing a coat and had no ID or handbag. She was in a coma for several days. When she woke up Knox put her in a rehab where she had a nervous breakdown. When she got back here she acted really crazy, and Caroline Eldridge took her out to California, to some ashram or commune. She decided she was a psychic or something. They got divorced soon after.”

“I know the rest of this story,” Claire said. “I ran into Anne Marie’s sister out in
Los Angeles a couple years ago and she took me to see Anne Marie, who did a psychic reading for me. I thought it was really accurate. I took my boss to see her and although she wasn’t happy with what Anne Marie said it turned out to be true. She spread the word about Anne Marie’s talent and now lots of people go to her. She has a huge following. My boss has her on speed dial.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Scott said. “This is just like a movie.”

“The problem is it’s my life,” Claire said, “and I’d much prefer a romantic comedy to a murder mystery.”

Claire cleaned up, locked up, and Scott walked with her down to the station to pick up her carry-on bag and rental car. He then rode home with her.

“I’ll call the realty company and see if someone returned your phone,” he said as he got out of the car.

“You’re such an optimist,” she said. “Hasn’t life beaten that out of you yet?”

“It’s my biggest weakness,” he said. “But I’m also a thief. I didn’t pay for my haircut.”

“That one’s on me,” Claire said, “Lucky for you we aren’t in
L.A. where it would cost several hundred dollars.”

“It’s all about context, isn’t it?”

“Kind of like how in Rose Hill being Ian Fitzpatrick’s daughter is more valuable than being a movie star’s hairdresser. It’s probably saving me from doing hard time.”

Scott touched her arm and said, “I don’t want you to worry. I think everything’s going to be alright.”

Claire said goodbye to Scott, went inside, and was surprised when Mackie Pea didn’t run to greet her as she opened the front door. Then she saw her father was sound asleep in his recliner, with Mackie Pea cuddled up on one side of his protruding belly with the evil black and white Chester on the other. The TV was on with the volume turned up high. Claire turned it down and searched the house for her mother, but she wasn’t home.

Claire went to the kitchen and seriously considered eating some of the cinnamon rolls that were on the counter. She knew they were from her Aunt Bonnie’s bakery and would be full of buttery, sugary calories. She hid them in the microwave so she wouldn’t have to look at them. As she sat down to eat a lettuce and tomato wrap instead, her mother came in the back door. Claire was struck by how haggard she looked.

‘Hannah was right,’ she thought. ‘Our parents have begun to look old.’

“Hi sweetheart,” her mother said, and kissed the top of her head.

Claire jumped up.

“What can I fix you?” she asked.

Delia took off her coat and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Some tea would be lovely,” she said.

While Claire made tea Delia told her about her day.

“I went to church, where the Robinson’s new baby Georgia was christened. She’s named after her grandmother, who you went to school with. She’s as bald as a cue ball and screamed the whole time. Afterward there was a reception in the fellowship hall; I helped serve and then stayed to clean up. Then I went to the
Inn and covered the front desk so the desk clerk could go to the store. I can’t wait for you to see what Gwyneth has done to the Inn; it’s completely restored. After that I went to Hannah’s and chased after Sammy while Sam and Hannah cleaned out the barn. Everyone seems to be spring cleaning this weekend.

“The farm looks great,” Claire said. “They’ve really made it their own.”

“The bulbs Lily planted years ago at the farm are all peeking out of the ground. She always had such lovely flowers,” Delia continued. “I went to Bonnie and Fitz’s, where we turned all her mattresses and took the curtains down and laundered them. I starched and ironed them while she mended Fitz’s socks. For someone who walks as little as that man does you’d be surprised how he goes through socks. Then I stopped at Alice’s to pick up your father and they gave us dinner: it was that chicken casserole with the water chestnuts that Ian hates so much. I brought your father home and got him settled in his chair. I just ran some aspirin over to Alice; another one of her headaches. I knew your father would be fine for a few minutes.”

“You must be exhausted,” Claire said. “Why do all these people have you working for them but none of them are over here helping you?”

“They help,” Delia said. “This tea hits the spot.”

Claire told her mother all about her day, concluding with, “why didn’t you tell me Pip was back?”

“I thought you’d high-tail it out of here if I did,” Delia said.

“I’m legally obligated to remain within the city limits until Sarah says I can go.”

“I’m sorry if you feel stuck.”

“It’s nothing against you or Dad,” Claire said. “I love seeing you, but Rose Hill just feels so small. It’s like wearing a turtleneck with a too-tight neck.”

“You think Pip’s involved with Meredith?”

“Oh, yeah,” Claire said. “There’s no doubt in my mind. That man is a serial seducer; he can’t help himself.”

“Meredith’s not exactly a femme fatale.”

“It doesn’t matter to him. He will bed anything.”

“Your father never liked him,” Delia said.

“Neither did you,” Claire pointed out.

“It wasn’t so much that I disliked Pip; I never knew him that well. It was more that I didn’t like who you were when you were with him.”

“Ouch,” Claire said.

“I love you, sweetie,” Delia said, taking Claire’s hands in hers across the table. “But it was like you became someone else when you were with him. Everything he liked you liked, everything he wanted, you wanted. It was always all about him and what he thought, and you changed yourself to suit him. When I think about all that blonde hair…”