Wound Up In Murder (17 page)

Maggie stopped for a minute to collect her thoughts. “Now it's coming back to me. Diana didn't stay around here long. She went off to live with her father. He had some kind
of interesting job in sports and traveled a lot. Kevin was just a small kid when Diana left. I suppose she probably came back to visit. I don't know
everything
that goes on in town.”

I was processing what she'd said and thought she was done, but then she added the kicker. “There's something else about Kevin St. John,” she said. “Kevin's grandmother died when he was in high school. The story is that when he came home from school, he found her lying at the bottom of the stairs. Her cause of death was listed as a blow to the head as a result of the fall, but there was no way to tell if she'd fallen or was pushed. It was listed as inconclusive.”

None of us said anything, but I am pretty sure we were all thinking the same thing. Did Kevin find her or did he push her?

“Did everyone in town give their daughters a name that started with an
M
?” Lucinda said, trying to lighten the mood as we pulled into my driveway. Then I heard her suck in her breath. “Her name was Muriel St. John. Don't you get it? It's not exactly M.J., but it's pretty close. And that could make Kevin's mother Edmund's love child?”

“Don't even say that,” I said.

“Look, I can see my shadow,” Lucinda said as she got out of the Mini Cooper. With all the flat light and white skies around here, seeing your shadow was a big deal. I looked up at the sky, which had an apricot cast to it, as if the sun was burning through the clouds.

The lunch bell had just begun to ring as I unloaded Sammy's belongings from my car while Lucinda stood at the front of the driveway acting as my lookout. I went back to the window I'd used before to pass things to Sammy. I
knocked softly, and a moment later, the shutters opened a crack. Once he saw it was me, he pulled them back and opened the window.

I handed in the trash bag full of his belongings. He was still wearing the tuxedo shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He'd gone from stubble to the beginning of a beard. “Case, thank you,” he said as he pulled it inside. Afterward I handed him a shopping bag.

“Wow, more food,” Sammy said, checking the contents of the bag. He was licking his lips as he opened the containers and looked at their contents. One held a grilled sandwich with four kinds of cheese and tomato on thick-cut rustic bread that smelled of browned butter. The others had mixed green salad, cold sliced garlic potatoes and sliced mixed fruit. Then suddenly he looked worried. “Where'd this come from?”

I explained that Tag had intercepted Lucinda and me as we'd headed back to the car after our stop at Maggie's. He'd handed me the shopping bag without a word. “Tag knows, but he doesn't know,” I said, but Sammy still seemed worried. “As long as he doesn't know for sure, he's okay.”

“How's it going with your investigation?” His soulful eyes looked hopeful.

I told him what I'd found out. “Wow, Kevin St. John was related to the victim.” He thought for a moment. “That's it. He was probably angry at her about something and killed her.”

“I'm not sure that Kevin St. John realized who she was.” Then I told him the rest of what I'd heard from Maggie. “Diana went to live with her father. His lifestyle appealed to her a lot more than staying in a small town. The point is that Kevin was a small kid when she left and Maggie didn't know if Diana ever came back.”

“What about Kevin's grandmother? That would be Diana's mother, right? You could talk to her,” Sammy said.

“No. She's dead.” Then I told Sammy about her “accident.”

Sammy was listening intently. “That could be it. Maybe Diana knew that Kevin St. John really pushed his grandmother down the stairs. Maybe she came looking for hush money from him and he killed her instead.”

I wasn't a big fan of Kevin St. John's so I could certainly believe that was possible, but when Sammy wanted me to take the information to Lieutenant Borgnine, I had to explain that the cop would ignore my conjecture. “If I'm going to get his attention, I need proof.”

I heard Lucinda start whistling, which was our agreed signal that someone was coming. I backed out quickly and Sammy pulled the window shut.

As we walked down the driveway, Dane's red Ford 150 pulled to a stop.

“Hey,” he said in greeting.

I swallowed hard. “Hey,” I said, hoping I didn't look guilty.

“What have you two been up to?” he asked, looking from Lucinda to me. “I'm surprised you're not across the street.” He left it hanging like he was expecting some kind of explanation.

Lucinda mumbled something about us coming over because she needed to use her cell phone. “All done now,” Lucinda said, holding up her phone and then dropping it into the pocket of her Ralph Lauren jacket. “I'm going to head back. No rush—I'll act as the host at lunch until you get there.”

Dane's truck was blocking my driveway and he cut the motor. “You want to tell me what's going on? I saw you two coming out of Maggie's.”

I brightened. He'd just made it easy. I simply left out the
first part of our trip to town and told him about Diana's identity.

“Hmm, she was Kevin St. John's half aunt,” he said thoughtfully.

“Do you think Lieutenant Borgnine knows who she really was?” Hoping he'd pass along the info without mentioning where he'd heard it.

“I'd rather talk about something more pleasant. Like how about we give dinner another try?”

“Haven't we been over that and decided that it was a bad idea?”

“You decided that on your own. It was a mistake to do it in Cadbury. And who says it has to be dinner?” He reminded me how he was willing to take the night shift forever rather than do what the lieutenant had demanded. Dane didn't have to try to flirt. It was second nature to him.

“C'mon, Casey, you know you want to go,” he said, touching my arm. “It'll be fun.”

The best I could do was say I'd think about it. I hoped Sammy hadn't heard the whole conversation through the door.

I caught up with Lucinda as she headed to the dining hall.

“It doesn't look like Dane is giving up,” she said. I heard the motor of his truck as he drove down the street to his place.

“He really should. It's the best for everyone. If it didn't work out, it would make it so awkward for both of us.”

“But did you ever consider that it might work out?”

“Actually, no,” I said.

Our retreat people had automatically gone to the same tables and we joined them. Lucinda grabbed the pitcher of ice tea and we made the rounds, talking to everyone. The early birds had spread themselves out into the group and
were acting like sub hosts. I wanted to hug Bree, Scott and Olivia for all they were doing.

Finally I got plates of food for Lucinda and me and we sat down. I was having a hard time joining in the conversations. I kept looking over at the tables of people from the other retreat. Norman Rathman was talking to his whole table. His assistant, Sally Winston, was seated at another table, but she kept her eyes on him.

Dotty Night was holding court at a table near the windows. She had the attention of all the people as she performed. I say performed because she seemed very animated. Her hands and arms moved as she talked, and her blond hair bounced.

Jimmie Phelps was the center of attention at his table. He still had the ease of an athlete even though I was sure he was well into his sixties. He was holding up a can of the energy drink. I remembered overhearing that the company was paying him to push the drinks at the retreat. As I watched him, I began to make all these connections to Diana. Her father had been the announcer for the Giants, and Jimmie played for the Giants. Diana had traveled with her father, so chances were good that she had met the baseball player. And hadn't somebody said they saw Jimmie and Diana talking and it seemed like they knew each other from before? Yes, I definitely wanted to talk to him.

Bobbie Listorie was hosting a table by the window. He seemed to have gotten rid of the headache and the sweats. He was back in the sharkskin suit. It appeared he was quite the storyteller. The whole table was hanging on to his every word.

“Ridiculous, isn't it,” Wanda said, pulling out the chair next to me. “It's the same at the resort. He's always got an entourage of guests around him. He's not even that good a
golfer, but the guests don't care. They go home saying they hung out with him.”

Crystal took the chair on the other side of Wanda. I was glad that my two leaders had decided to join us for lunch. It was too bad they didn't mix in with the group, but I remembered from before that Wanda had a thing about not letting the retreaters see behind the curtain. Like she was the Great Oz or something. Crystal heard what we were talking about.

“He's lucky to still have a career. My ex is barely hanging on. Or at least that's what I hear when he's supposed to pay child support.” In case Wanda didn't know, Crystal explained that she'd been married to a self-proclaimed rock god.

“I could understand it more if the resort hired him,” Wanda said, indicating Jimmie Phelps. “He's at least an athlete.”

The three of us turned our attention to the table the retreat leader was hosting. “It's amazing how they're all going on like it's business as usual,” Crystal said, shaking her head. “I mean, that guy's wife died a couple of nights ago.”

Lucinda joined in. “Maybe Norman Rathman is just going through the motions.”

I wondered what the truth was and knew the only way to find out was to talk to him directly.

Lunch ended and the dining hall cleared out. Lucinda and I walked outside together. People from the 1963 group were going in different directions for their afternoon activities. Our people stayed together and headed up the slope toward our meeting room. Lucinda excused herself and went on ahead because she wanted to pick up something from her room. As I passed the deck outside the Lodge, Kevin St. John and Lieutenant Borgnine came outside and stopped on the wooden expanse. The cop appeared more agitated
than usual. The two men looked in my direction and I felt their stares settle on me.

It is such a weird feeling to know people are talking about you and know for sure they're not saying anything good. After a moment the lieutenant came down the stairs and stopped in front of me.

“I don't suppose you know anything about an anonymous tip that Dr. Glickner is hiding out in Castorville.”

“What?” My surprise was honest.

“Yeah, some no-name called it in. I wasted the morning checking it out.” I noticed his hand had started to massage one of his temples. “You wouldn't have any aspirin on you, would you?”

Here was my chance to redeem myself with him. “As a matter of fact I do.” I pulled out the bottle I'd put in my purse when I brought it over for Bobbie Listorie's middle-of-the-night headache. I poured a pair of white pills into his cupped hand.

He seemed almost disappointed that I'd met his request and grumbled a thank-you. “If I find out who made that false tip, there are going to be consequences,” he said in a threatening voice.

I put up my hands. “It wasn't me.” The rumble of his sigh sounded like he didn't believe it. Naturally, I immediately wondered who had done it and ran through the possibilities. Sammy could have done it himself. Tag seemed to be loosening up, but would he actually call in a false tip? There was Lucinda, but I thought she would tell me. What about Madeleine? She really liked Sammy and she seemed entranced with the idea of playing detective. Dane? No way, he was a cop.

There was still some time before the activities were to begin, and when I saw Norman Rathman come out of the
Lodge, I realized this was an opportunity to talk to him. I tried to appear casual as I went up to him.

“I'm sorry I didn't say anything before,” I began, “but I'm very sorry about your wife.” This time it was different talking to him. The first time had only been for a moment when he thought I was one of his retreaters. This time I was studying him as we spoke.

He certainly knew how to relate to people and make them feel comfortable. He looked at me directly and he touched my arm as he spoke. Not in a graspy sort of way, more like he was making a connection with me. Between his manner and the good looks, I figured he must be a killer on campus.

If I started asking questions about his wife, it would seem odd or worse—like I was investigating. Instead I started talking about the retreat business. “I don't know how you're managing so well. I have much less to deal with and I'm a wreck.”

He smiled warmly. “I'm sure you're doing better than you think. You've already spirited away a couple of my people and the knitting sessions are the talk of my group.” He leaned a little closer as if he was going to impart a secret. “The way I'm getting through this weekend is by thinking of my people and not wanting to let them down.” He paused for a beat. “It helps that the police have a suspect, though I'd feel better if they just arrested him.” He let out his breath and then continued. “I regret that I handled things so poorly during the mixer. Diana caught me by surprise and I overreacted.”

“So you weren't expecting to see her?” I said, feigning ignorance.

“Diana used to be very active in the retreats. We actually developed the idea together. But she hadn't come to one for
years.” Several of his people passed by us and waved as they did. “Here's a little hint for your retreat business. Be very careful who you go in business with and definitely have an exit strategy in case it doesn't go well.”

I seized the moment. “Then I'm guessing that it wasn't working out and breaking up the partnership was hard.”

He didn't answer and I had the feeling he might have regretted what he'd just said, considering the problem was solved by her death. He seemed like he was about to walk away. I quickly continued the conversation. “If your wife wasn't coming to the retreats, why did she decide to come to this one?”