Tangle of Lies, page 12
“What sort of business?”
“Flipping houses. But it was more Amanda’s dream than Dean’s. Dean liked his job. He resented being pushed and he told Rene—that’s my boyfriend—that he didn’t think Amanda was right for him after all.” Lisa sighed. “I feel awful for Amanda, obviously, but I’m not sure what I can do to help her. Dean was a friend too. In fact, he was one of my boyfriend’s closest friends. I hate what happened to him. I wish Amanda cared more about that. Instead, all she seems to talk about is his house and whether she’ll inherit anything from his estate.”
“I wonder if Dean had a will,” Bobbie said, not really expecting that he did. Most young men didn’t think about setting a will until they were married and had children.
“If he didn’t, his parents will inherit everything,” Lisa said. “That’s what Rene told me.”
In which case, Bobbie reflected, that didn’t leave Amanda with much of a motive for killing Dean. But when it came to matters of the heart, logic did not always rule, so she wouldn’t rule out Amanda as suspect. At least not yet.
Chapter Eighteen
On Tuesday morning, Bobbie and her mother were drinking their morning tea in the gazebo, and sharing the latest weekly issue of the Chronicle, when Henri waved to them from his back door.
“Mind if I join you ladies for a minute?”
Bobbie hesitated. During all their years as neighbors, she’d never been able to warm up to Henri. She wanted to like her best friend’s husband. But she simply didn’t.
Her friendly mother, however, had already waved him over. Bringing a travel mug of coffee with him, Henri settled into one of the vacant chairs. “Beautiful morning, no? Monique and I enjoyed the street party so much, we want to throw another one. A small summer solstice dinner party. Will you come?”
Bobbie perked up. The summer solstice was her favorite day of the year. She’d always thought it should be a national holiday, celebrated with the same fervor as Christmas or American Thanksgiving.
“We’d love to,” Riko said. “What can we bring?”
“I’m planning a midsummer’s eve picnic theme. Al fresco, obviously. We’ll eat on the back patio. I’ll decorate with flowers and lanterns, and we’ll eat cold roasted chicken, smoked salmon with lemon and capers, and shrimp salad.”
Bobbie could picture it already. “Sounds lovely. We’ll make a salad. Are you inviting anyone else? Mac and Angie?” During the pandemic, the six of them had been cohorts, getting together at least once a month, when restrictions allowed, for a semblance of a social life.
“Yes. And Leif, too, if you wish.”
“Leif and I aren’t dating, we’re just friends.”
Henri raised his eyebrows but didn’t challenge her.
“If you want to even out the numbers why not invite Fern Sinclair.”
Henri’s brow wrinkled. “Really? Don’t you find her a little dull?”
“I hardly know her.” But Bobbie knew what he meant. Fern did come across as rather anxious and awkward. “This would be a good opportunity for her to meet Mac and Angie. After all they’re her closest neighbors.”
“Then let Mac and Angie invite her to their next party.”
“I’d like the chance to talk to Fern, too,” Riko said. “Hear more about her plans for Odette’s gardens.”
Henri threw up his hands. “I can’t fight the two of you. Certainment, let’s add her to the mix.”
“Speaking of mixes, how about I come up with a solstice cocktail?” Riko offered. “Something with lemon and orange, bright and sunshiny.”
“You do that,” Henri said. “But I won’t be drinking. I added a bit too much rum to my fruit punch the night of the street party. Now I have to get back into Monique’s good graces, no?”
Bobbie exchanged a glance with her mother. Over the years Monique had put up with a lot from her husband. In his twenties and thirties, he’d been a philanderer. Then shortly after he was voted out as mayor he’d taken up drinking and gambling.
Bobbie wouldn’t have tolerated such behavior. But her smart, talented, and beautiful friend was also a strict Catholic when it came to values like marriage. Bobbie hoped, for Monique’s sake, Henri wasn’t taking up his old vices.
*
Later that morning Bobbie had her secateurs in hand and was snipping the old blooms from her roses, when she noticed George on the sidewalk, watching her. Though he had a husky build now, she would always think of him as he’d been in her class when he was thirteen, skinny and awkward, standing on the sidelines, always observing, never participating.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Can I talk to you a minute?”
“Sure. I need a break from this sun anyway.” She waved for him to join her on the porch. He settled awkwardly on the cushioned wicker seat. Bobbie set her gardening gloves and secateurs next to the pitcher of water she’d brought out earlier. “Are you thirsty? I could get another glass.”
“I’m fine.”
She studied his face. He did not have his father’s lazy eye, nor did he have his mother’s stutter. There had never been anything to set him apart from other boys his age. It was purely because of his family, and their turkey farm, that he’d been a target for bullies when he was younger.
That abuse had scarred him. He had trouble looking people in the eye. But she waited for him to do it, before speaking. “What’s wrong George?”
“I wondered if you would help me plant a rosebush in the cemetery. Near my family. I always take fresh flowers, but they die too fast. It would be nice to have something living.”
“That’s an excellent idea. We can do it right now, if you like. I was just thinking the roses could be thinned out. Pick something you like, and I’ll dig it up for you.”
“I wasn’t asking for one of your roses. I can buy one at the nursery. I only wanted help planting it because I tried this a few years ago and the rose didn’t survive the winter.”
“You need to choose a variety suitable for our climate. Which all of mine are, obviously.” She waved her hand. “Come with me.”
Bobbie strode to the garden where she grabbed a black pail. She handed a spade to George. “Our town is in zone 5b which means plants can survive winters that drop down to about negative fifteen degrees Fahrenheit or minus twenty-six Celsius.”
She waved a hand for him to follow her to the rose garden. “See anything you like?”
George seemed overwhelmed. “They’re all beautiful.”
“Did your mother have a favorite color?”
He thought. “I don’t know. But my sister loved white.”
The color of purity. Bobbie’s heart wept for the young girl who hadn’t seen her sixteenth birthday. “Good choice.” She bent to touch a perfect bloom on a nearby shrub. “This is a Sugar Moon hybrid tea rose. I’m going to trim it a little—that will give us a better chance at a successful transplanting—and then I’ll dig it out, being careful to get the entire root ball.”
“Let me do the digging Ms. G.”
“Okay, dig away.” She stepped aside to make room for him, and as she watched him work, she couldn’t help noticing his strong bicep and tricep muscles. She pushed aside an unwanted image of him wielding a tire iron. “You made that look too easy.”
“It is easy compared to my regular job.”
Digging graves. Maybe the next grave George had to dig would be for Dean. Bobbie shook her head. She seemed to have a one-track mind this morning.
“Now what?” George asked once he had the plant in the black tub.
“Let’s go to the cemetery and you can show me where you want it. We’ll dig a hole, add some compost, water well, and that will be it.” She gathered what they needed, then with George carrying the rose and a second pail of fresh compost, they headed down the street toward the shortcut to the cemetery.
“It’s going to be the summer solstice soon,” George noted as they walked along. “I remember you saying it was your favorite day of the year.”
Bobbie was flattered. “Do you remember why it has the most daylight hours of any day in the calendar year?”
George smiled faintly. “How could I forget? You made Rene hold a flashlight and pretend to be the sun while Fallon walked around him with a big beach ball held at an angle.”
“Yes! And?”
“It’s because of that angle that the earth has seasons. If our planet wasn’t rotated, every location on earth would always get the same hours of sun every day of the year. On the summer solstice the north pole is the closest it will get to the sun, which is why in the northern hemisphere we have our longest day.”
“A plus George. That’s a really good explanation.”
He gave her an embarrassed smile. “You made learning science fun.”
“And you have just made my entire teaching career feel worthwhile.”
When they reached the family plot with the three headstones for his father, mother, and sister, Bobbie paused for a moment of reflection. After all these years, her memories of the family had faded. The Lindermans had moved to Tangle Falls when their children were small. She recalled them coming to Sunday school the first time. Their poverty had been apparent in every detail, from their do-it-yourself haircuts to their worn clothes and shoes. Steve with his lazy eye and Jean with her stutter, had been shy and ill-at-ease. How polite their minister and the rest of them had been, Bobbie reflected with shame, as they carefully kept their distance.
George selected the spot for the rose, then set to digging again. Once they had a proper-sized hole, Bobbie worked in some compost, then gently set the rose into its new home. George fetched water from a connection in the irrigation system and soaked the rose thoroughly. Then Bobbie filled the rest of the hole with the original soil and patted it down firmly.
“In the fall I’ll show you how to mound some soil around the rose and then we’ll cover it with dead leaves to help it survive the winter.”
The two of them stood back to admire the results of their effort.
“In a few weeks it should start blooming again.”
“Thank you. And I hope you enjoy the summer solstice.”
Bobbie brushed the dirt from her hands. “I will. Our neighbors are throwing a party.” On impulse she added, “You should drop in, George. You know Monique, she helped you with the purchase of your home. Have you met her husband?”
“Henri? We haven’t met exactly. But I remember back when he was the mayor. He tried to shut down our turkey farm. Said the neighbors were complaining about the smell. He was pretty insulting.”
“I’m sorry, George. I didn’t realize.”
George shrugged.
Bobbie wondered what else she hadn’t realized.
On the walk home, Bobbie decided to broach the subject that was most on her mind.
“I’m not sure if you know this, but I was the one who first spotted Dean’s body in the river last week. The day after a Constable Kowalski came to interview me. Have the RCMP talked to you about Dean yet?”
George stopped dead and stared at her. “Why would they?”
“I heard he and Rene helped you change a flat tire the day before…the day before Dean died. So I assumed the RCMP would want to talk to you about that.”
George shook his head. “If by help you mean they stopped and laughed at me for fifteen minutes before Dean finally tossed me a tire iron, I guess that’s right.” He resumed walking, kicking aside a large pinecone in his path. “Still don’t know what happened to my own tire iron.”
Bobbie put a hand on his arm. “Did you return the tire iron once you’d changed the tire?”
“Yeah. Of course I did.” He paused again and looked at her intently. “Why are you asking?”
Bobbie hesitated. She wasn’t sure if the information about the tire iron was public knowledge or if Jesse had been sharing information he was privy to by means of his volunteer work and his connections. But it seemed to her that no one else was going to look out for George’s interests if she didn’t.
“Because it was the murder weapon George.”
“What?” George gazed vacantly about the forest as he processed this information. Then his expression hardened. “Is Rene saying I kept the tire iron? Is that what this is about? It’s not good enough to bully me all my life, now he needs to frame me for murder?”
Bobbie wanted to believe him. She really did. But while George had dug out and transplanted the rosebush without breaking a sweat, there was now a glistening sheen of moisture across his brow.
Chapter Nineteen
“Stella, can I ask you something?” It was Tuesday, almost closing time. Hadley had cleaned and disinfected all the tables. Only a few customers remained at the bar, savoring their coffees and slices of pie.
“Always. Can’t promise an answer though.”
Hadley was grateful Stella hadn’t mentioned Jesse’s Monday visit, of which her boss had clearly disapproved. If Jesse came in again, she’d have to be careful not to linger at his table. She needed to keep this job. Perhaps even more than that, she cared about Stella’s good opinion.
“My cousin Jeff had us over for Sunday dinner last week. I’d like to return the favor. But I don’t cook. I mean I do cook. But it’s to suit a three-year-old’s taste buds.”
Stella’s eyes, framed as always with black eyeliner and thick mascara-coated lashes, were penetrating. “Your mom would be glad you’re making the effort with the Bombinis. She hated the bad blood between her and her brother.”
“Hang on. I thought Mom was the one who was mad at Uncle Anthony. For getting all of Uncle Frank’s inheritance.”
“Nope. After Frank died Anthony cut off all contact with your mother. I figure he felt too guilty to see her anymore. As for Denise she always said she never helped Frank to get his money. She just felt unappreciated when he left everything to Anthony.”
“But that was all manipulation! Uncle Anthony never came to visit Uncle Frank until near the end. He must have bad mouthed Mom or something, to convince him to change his will.”
“No one knows that for sure.”
“What other explanation could there be for Uncle Frank cutting Mom out of his will just five days before he died?”
“I hear you. But your mom never talked that way. She said Frank had the right to leave his money to whoever he wanted.”
“Come on. She must have been hurt.” Hadley had only been thirteen when her great-uncle died, but she’d heard talk from Jesse and Fallon’s parents when she was visiting her friends. She knew everyone in town felt that her mother had deserved that money. Not bloody Anthony.
Stella lifted a shoulder. “All I know for sure is that your mother would be pleased to see you making an effort with Jeff.”
If it was only up to her, Hadley wouldn’t be. But she was hardly going to admit that. “What do I make for dinner? Carly served this amazing lasagna last week. I can’t top that. Or match it, for that matter.”
“You don’t need to. The weather is great. It’s barbecue season. Talk to Moe and get some tips on grilling the perfect burger. Then take a pie out of my freezer for dessert. Dinner doesn’t have to be fancy, Hadley. Just good.”
*
Three thirty was Hadley’s favorite time of the day. She loved the way Madison would drop whatever she was playing with and come running into her arms for a big hug. She knew these precious days wouldn’t last much longer and was determined to enjoy them while she could.
Jesse, Fallon, and the twins lived in a roomy double-story house on Church Avenue, just two blocks from the elementary school. Hadley dropped her daughter off and picked her up from the entrance at the back of the house. As she opened the gate, she admired anew the generous yard which had everything a child could want. A tree house for older children, a playhouse for the younger ones. Lots of grass for running and games and a tire swing off the big maple tree in the back corner.
It was a backyard made for children and playing and fun. For a while Hadley stood on the sidelines, watching. Two little girls a bit older than Madison were dipping long, pink, plastic wands into a soapy concoction then waving them above their heads to create streams of glossy bubbles, while Madison danced with delight under the shimmering spheres.
Such total focus. Such joy. This was living in the moment, as only a three-year-old could.
“Three is such a wonderful age,” Fallon said. “The simplest things make them happy.”
She was sitting at a picnic table in the shade, helping a little boy piece together a puzzle. As usual her thick curly hair was held off her face with a colorful bandana, her curvy figure disguised by an unstructured floral dress.
“It sure is.”
Hearing her mother’s voice, Madison looked over and grinned. Hadley set down the paper bag containing Stella’s pie and a bottle of Amos’s special spice blend, so she could reciprocate the hug and it came at her hard. She buried her face into the back of her daughter’s neck, smelling the sweetness of little girl and baby shampoo.
“Ready to go home baby girl?”
Madison nodded vigorously. She obviously enjoyed being here and playing with the other children. But being with her mother at home was her favorite. Hadley knew she didn’t deserve the miraculous gift, but she cherished it.
Fallon handed a piece of the puzzle to the little boy, then got up from the table.
“As far as I’m concerned the trial period is over. If you and Madison are happy, we can make our arrangement permanent.” Fallon smiled at the little girl, placing a hand briefly on the top of her head. “I love having you here, Madison.”
Madison’s shy smile was answer enough for Hadley. “Awesome. I’ll set up a recurring payment from my bank account to yours.”
“Sounds good.”
Madison moved closer to her mother, wrapping her arms around one of Hadley’s legs and Hadley imagined herself as a goose, tucking her duckling under her wing. The closeness gave her such a primal pleasure. She must have shared this connection with her own mother once. Sad that she couldn’t remember those days. That meant Madison probably wouldn’t remember either.
“Flipping houses. But it was more Amanda’s dream than Dean’s. Dean liked his job. He resented being pushed and he told Rene—that’s my boyfriend—that he didn’t think Amanda was right for him after all.” Lisa sighed. “I feel awful for Amanda, obviously, but I’m not sure what I can do to help her. Dean was a friend too. In fact, he was one of my boyfriend’s closest friends. I hate what happened to him. I wish Amanda cared more about that. Instead, all she seems to talk about is his house and whether she’ll inherit anything from his estate.”
“I wonder if Dean had a will,” Bobbie said, not really expecting that he did. Most young men didn’t think about setting a will until they were married and had children.
“If he didn’t, his parents will inherit everything,” Lisa said. “That’s what Rene told me.”
In which case, Bobbie reflected, that didn’t leave Amanda with much of a motive for killing Dean. But when it came to matters of the heart, logic did not always rule, so she wouldn’t rule out Amanda as suspect. At least not yet.
Chapter Eighteen
On Tuesday morning, Bobbie and her mother were drinking their morning tea in the gazebo, and sharing the latest weekly issue of the Chronicle, when Henri waved to them from his back door.
“Mind if I join you ladies for a minute?”
Bobbie hesitated. During all their years as neighbors, she’d never been able to warm up to Henri. She wanted to like her best friend’s husband. But she simply didn’t.
Her friendly mother, however, had already waved him over. Bringing a travel mug of coffee with him, Henri settled into one of the vacant chairs. “Beautiful morning, no? Monique and I enjoyed the street party so much, we want to throw another one. A small summer solstice dinner party. Will you come?”
Bobbie perked up. The summer solstice was her favorite day of the year. She’d always thought it should be a national holiday, celebrated with the same fervor as Christmas or American Thanksgiving.
“We’d love to,” Riko said. “What can we bring?”
“I’m planning a midsummer’s eve picnic theme. Al fresco, obviously. We’ll eat on the back patio. I’ll decorate with flowers and lanterns, and we’ll eat cold roasted chicken, smoked salmon with lemon and capers, and shrimp salad.”
Bobbie could picture it already. “Sounds lovely. We’ll make a salad. Are you inviting anyone else? Mac and Angie?” During the pandemic, the six of them had been cohorts, getting together at least once a month, when restrictions allowed, for a semblance of a social life.
“Yes. And Leif, too, if you wish.”
“Leif and I aren’t dating, we’re just friends.”
Henri raised his eyebrows but didn’t challenge her.
“If you want to even out the numbers why not invite Fern Sinclair.”
Henri’s brow wrinkled. “Really? Don’t you find her a little dull?”
“I hardly know her.” But Bobbie knew what he meant. Fern did come across as rather anxious and awkward. “This would be a good opportunity for her to meet Mac and Angie. After all they’re her closest neighbors.”
“Then let Mac and Angie invite her to their next party.”
“I’d like the chance to talk to Fern, too,” Riko said. “Hear more about her plans for Odette’s gardens.”
Henri threw up his hands. “I can’t fight the two of you. Certainment, let’s add her to the mix.”
“Speaking of mixes, how about I come up with a solstice cocktail?” Riko offered. “Something with lemon and orange, bright and sunshiny.”
“You do that,” Henri said. “But I won’t be drinking. I added a bit too much rum to my fruit punch the night of the street party. Now I have to get back into Monique’s good graces, no?”
Bobbie exchanged a glance with her mother. Over the years Monique had put up with a lot from her husband. In his twenties and thirties, he’d been a philanderer. Then shortly after he was voted out as mayor he’d taken up drinking and gambling.
Bobbie wouldn’t have tolerated such behavior. But her smart, talented, and beautiful friend was also a strict Catholic when it came to values like marriage. Bobbie hoped, for Monique’s sake, Henri wasn’t taking up his old vices.
*
Later that morning Bobbie had her secateurs in hand and was snipping the old blooms from her roses, when she noticed George on the sidewalk, watching her. Though he had a husky build now, she would always think of him as he’d been in her class when he was thirteen, skinny and awkward, standing on the sidelines, always observing, never participating.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Can I talk to you a minute?”
“Sure. I need a break from this sun anyway.” She waved for him to join her on the porch. He settled awkwardly on the cushioned wicker seat. Bobbie set her gardening gloves and secateurs next to the pitcher of water she’d brought out earlier. “Are you thirsty? I could get another glass.”
“I’m fine.”
She studied his face. He did not have his father’s lazy eye, nor did he have his mother’s stutter. There had never been anything to set him apart from other boys his age. It was purely because of his family, and their turkey farm, that he’d been a target for bullies when he was younger.
That abuse had scarred him. He had trouble looking people in the eye. But she waited for him to do it, before speaking. “What’s wrong George?”
“I wondered if you would help me plant a rosebush in the cemetery. Near my family. I always take fresh flowers, but they die too fast. It would be nice to have something living.”
“That’s an excellent idea. We can do it right now, if you like. I was just thinking the roses could be thinned out. Pick something you like, and I’ll dig it up for you.”
“I wasn’t asking for one of your roses. I can buy one at the nursery. I only wanted help planting it because I tried this a few years ago and the rose didn’t survive the winter.”
“You need to choose a variety suitable for our climate. Which all of mine are, obviously.” She waved her hand. “Come with me.”
Bobbie strode to the garden where she grabbed a black pail. She handed a spade to George. “Our town is in zone 5b which means plants can survive winters that drop down to about negative fifteen degrees Fahrenheit or minus twenty-six Celsius.”
She waved a hand for him to follow her to the rose garden. “See anything you like?”
George seemed overwhelmed. “They’re all beautiful.”
“Did your mother have a favorite color?”
He thought. “I don’t know. But my sister loved white.”
The color of purity. Bobbie’s heart wept for the young girl who hadn’t seen her sixteenth birthday. “Good choice.” She bent to touch a perfect bloom on a nearby shrub. “This is a Sugar Moon hybrid tea rose. I’m going to trim it a little—that will give us a better chance at a successful transplanting—and then I’ll dig it out, being careful to get the entire root ball.”
“Let me do the digging Ms. G.”
“Okay, dig away.” She stepped aside to make room for him, and as she watched him work, she couldn’t help noticing his strong bicep and tricep muscles. She pushed aside an unwanted image of him wielding a tire iron. “You made that look too easy.”
“It is easy compared to my regular job.”
Digging graves. Maybe the next grave George had to dig would be for Dean. Bobbie shook her head. She seemed to have a one-track mind this morning.
“Now what?” George asked once he had the plant in the black tub.
“Let’s go to the cemetery and you can show me where you want it. We’ll dig a hole, add some compost, water well, and that will be it.” She gathered what they needed, then with George carrying the rose and a second pail of fresh compost, they headed down the street toward the shortcut to the cemetery.
“It’s going to be the summer solstice soon,” George noted as they walked along. “I remember you saying it was your favorite day of the year.”
Bobbie was flattered. “Do you remember why it has the most daylight hours of any day in the calendar year?”
George smiled faintly. “How could I forget? You made Rene hold a flashlight and pretend to be the sun while Fallon walked around him with a big beach ball held at an angle.”
“Yes! And?”
“It’s because of that angle that the earth has seasons. If our planet wasn’t rotated, every location on earth would always get the same hours of sun every day of the year. On the summer solstice the north pole is the closest it will get to the sun, which is why in the northern hemisphere we have our longest day.”
“A plus George. That’s a really good explanation.”
He gave her an embarrassed smile. “You made learning science fun.”
“And you have just made my entire teaching career feel worthwhile.”
When they reached the family plot with the three headstones for his father, mother, and sister, Bobbie paused for a moment of reflection. After all these years, her memories of the family had faded. The Lindermans had moved to Tangle Falls when their children were small. She recalled them coming to Sunday school the first time. Their poverty had been apparent in every detail, from their do-it-yourself haircuts to their worn clothes and shoes. Steve with his lazy eye and Jean with her stutter, had been shy and ill-at-ease. How polite their minister and the rest of them had been, Bobbie reflected with shame, as they carefully kept their distance.
George selected the spot for the rose, then set to digging again. Once they had a proper-sized hole, Bobbie worked in some compost, then gently set the rose into its new home. George fetched water from a connection in the irrigation system and soaked the rose thoroughly. Then Bobbie filled the rest of the hole with the original soil and patted it down firmly.
“In the fall I’ll show you how to mound some soil around the rose and then we’ll cover it with dead leaves to help it survive the winter.”
The two of them stood back to admire the results of their effort.
“In a few weeks it should start blooming again.”
“Thank you. And I hope you enjoy the summer solstice.”
Bobbie brushed the dirt from her hands. “I will. Our neighbors are throwing a party.” On impulse she added, “You should drop in, George. You know Monique, she helped you with the purchase of your home. Have you met her husband?”
“Henri? We haven’t met exactly. But I remember back when he was the mayor. He tried to shut down our turkey farm. Said the neighbors were complaining about the smell. He was pretty insulting.”
“I’m sorry, George. I didn’t realize.”
George shrugged.
Bobbie wondered what else she hadn’t realized.
On the walk home, Bobbie decided to broach the subject that was most on her mind.
“I’m not sure if you know this, but I was the one who first spotted Dean’s body in the river last week. The day after a Constable Kowalski came to interview me. Have the RCMP talked to you about Dean yet?”
George stopped dead and stared at her. “Why would they?”
“I heard he and Rene helped you change a flat tire the day before…the day before Dean died. So I assumed the RCMP would want to talk to you about that.”
George shook his head. “If by help you mean they stopped and laughed at me for fifteen minutes before Dean finally tossed me a tire iron, I guess that’s right.” He resumed walking, kicking aside a large pinecone in his path. “Still don’t know what happened to my own tire iron.”
Bobbie put a hand on his arm. “Did you return the tire iron once you’d changed the tire?”
“Yeah. Of course I did.” He paused again and looked at her intently. “Why are you asking?”
Bobbie hesitated. She wasn’t sure if the information about the tire iron was public knowledge or if Jesse had been sharing information he was privy to by means of his volunteer work and his connections. But it seemed to her that no one else was going to look out for George’s interests if she didn’t.
“Because it was the murder weapon George.”
“What?” George gazed vacantly about the forest as he processed this information. Then his expression hardened. “Is Rene saying I kept the tire iron? Is that what this is about? It’s not good enough to bully me all my life, now he needs to frame me for murder?”
Bobbie wanted to believe him. She really did. But while George had dug out and transplanted the rosebush without breaking a sweat, there was now a glistening sheen of moisture across his brow.
Chapter Nineteen
“Stella, can I ask you something?” It was Tuesday, almost closing time. Hadley had cleaned and disinfected all the tables. Only a few customers remained at the bar, savoring their coffees and slices of pie.
“Always. Can’t promise an answer though.”
Hadley was grateful Stella hadn’t mentioned Jesse’s Monday visit, of which her boss had clearly disapproved. If Jesse came in again, she’d have to be careful not to linger at his table. She needed to keep this job. Perhaps even more than that, she cared about Stella’s good opinion.
“My cousin Jeff had us over for Sunday dinner last week. I’d like to return the favor. But I don’t cook. I mean I do cook. But it’s to suit a three-year-old’s taste buds.”
Stella’s eyes, framed as always with black eyeliner and thick mascara-coated lashes, were penetrating. “Your mom would be glad you’re making the effort with the Bombinis. She hated the bad blood between her and her brother.”
“Hang on. I thought Mom was the one who was mad at Uncle Anthony. For getting all of Uncle Frank’s inheritance.”
“Nope. After Frank died Anthony cut off all contact with your mother. I figure he felt too guilty to see her anymore. As for Denise she always said she never helped Frank to get his money. She just felt unappreciated when he left everything to Anthony.”
“But that was all manipulation! Uncle Anthony never came to visit Uncle Frank until near the end. He must have bad mouthed Mom or something, to convince him to change his will.”
“No one knows that for sure.”
“What other explanation could there be for Uncle Frank cutting Mom out of his will just five days before he died?”
“I hear you. But your mom never talked that way. She said Frank had the right to leave his money to whoever he wanted.”
“Come on. She must have been hurt.” Hadley had only been thirteen when her great-uncle died, but she’d heard talk from Jesse and Fallon’s parents when she was visiting her friends. She knew everyone in town felt that her mother had deserved that money. Not bloody Anthony.
Stella lifted a shoulder. “All I know for sure is that your mother would be pleased to see you making an effort with Jeff.”
If it was only up to her, Hadley wouldn’t be. But she was hardly going to admit that. “What do I make for dinner? Carly served this amazing lasagna last week. I can’t top that. Or match it, for that matter.”
“You don’t need to. The weather is great. It’s barbecue season. Talk to Moe and get some tips on grilling the perfect burger. Then take a pie out of my freezer for dessert. Dinner doesn’t have to be fancy, Hadley. Just good.”
*
Three thirty was Hadley’s favorite time of the day. She loved the way Madison would drop whatever she was playing with and come running into her arms for a big hug. She knew these precious days wouldn’t last much longer and was determined to enjoy them while she could.
Jesse, Fallon, and the twins lived in a roomy double-story house on Church Avenue, just two blocks from the elementary school. Hadley dropped her daughter off and picked her up from the entrance at the back of the house. As she opened the gate, she admired anew the generous yard which had everything a child could want. A tree house for older children, a playhouse for the younger ones. Lots of grass for running and games and a tire swing off the big maple tree in the back corner.
It was a backyard made for children and playing and fun. For a while Hadley stood on the sidelines, watching. Two little girls a bit older than Madison were dipping long, pink, plastic wands into a soapy concoction then waving them above their heads to create streams of glossy bubbles, while Madison danced with delight under the shimmering spheres.
Such total focus. Such joy. This was living in the moment, as only a three-year-old could.
“Three is such a wonderful age,” Fallon said. “The simplest things make them happy.”
She was sitting at a picnic table in the shade, helping a little boy piece together a puzzle. As usual her thick curly hair was held off her face with a colorful bandana, her curvy figure disguised by an unstructured floral dress.
“It sure is.”
Hearing her mother’s voice, Madison looked over and grinned. Hadley set down the paper bag containing Stella’s pie and a bottle of Amos’s special spice blend, so she could reciprocate the hug and it came at her hard. She buried her face into the back of her daughter’s neck, smelling the sweetness of little girl and baby shampoo.
“Ready to go home baby girl?”
Madison nodded vigorously. She obviously enjoyed being here and playing with the other children. But being with her mother at home was her favorite. Hadley knew she didn’t deserve the miraculous gift, but she cherished it.
Fallon handed a piece of the puzzle to the little boy, then got up from the table.
“As far as I’m concerned the trial period is over. If you and Madison are happy, we can make our arrangement permanent.” Fallon smiled at the little girl, placing a hand briefly on the top of her head. “I love having you here, Madison.”
Madison’s shy smile was answer enough for Hadley. “Awesome. I’ll set up a recurring payment from my bank account to yours.”
“Sounds good.”
Madison moved closer to her mother, wrapping her arms around one of Hadley’s legs and Hadley imagined herself as a goose, tucking her duckling under her wing. The closeness gave her such a primal pleasure. She must have shared this connection with her own mother once. Sad that she couldn’t remember those days. That meant Madison probably wouldn’t remember either.
