The Fool Dies Last, page 15
She brightened. ‘Are you sure? Don’t you want anything?’
In truth, Hope wasn’t hungry, but she knew that such a response would only make her sister anxious, so instead she answered, ‘OK. Bring me a croissant, or a muffin, or something else easy to carry.’
Without further ado, Megan and Summer dashed after the departing platters of food. Based on the lack of waitstaff remaining in the dining area, it looked as though they were going to have stiff competition in the back room. Hope watched them disappear, then she headed toward Morris. Aside from a coffee cup the color of a robin’s egg and a matching saucer, his table was empty, covered by a white linen tablecloth that was wrinkled and spotted from a heavy morning’s use.
‘Hi, Morris,’ she greeted him. ‘How’s the coffee today?’
Morris jumped in surprise, nearly knocking the cup out of its saucer.
‘I’m sorry if I startled you,’ Hope apologized. ‘I thought you saw me.’
He seemed to have been looking at her as she had approached the table, but now that Hope was closer, she realized that Morris had been dozing with his eyes open. Either Amethyst’s coffee was unduly weak, or the man had had a poor night’s sleep. She guessed that it was the latter, because with the bright light reflecting on his face from the windows, his skin appeared sallow and deeply creased.
‘Forgive me for saying so, Morris, but you look tired.’
‘That’s because I am tired, Hope. Exhausted, really.’ He shifted clumsily in his chair, wincing with pain.
‘Your back’s bothering you?’
Morris nodded. ‘It’s bad. So bad that it’s been keeping me up half the night. Which in turn makes the pain worse, and then I sleep even less. It’s a vicious cycle.’
Hope nodded back at him sympathetically.
‘Dylan recommended a pair of new pain medications for me to try, but I told him that I didn’t want any more drugs. I’m already uneasy with some of the dosages that I’ve been taking. Dylan says my concerns are unfounded. Nevertheless, I don’t feel comfortable with such high levels of—’ Morris cut himself off abruptly and glanced around the dining room. ‘Is Dylan here with you? That’s proof of how tired I am. I didn’t recall until just now that you and he were planning on going with Summer to her house this morning. How did that turn out?’
‘Well, um …’ Hope hesitated, debating how much information to give him. Considering the circumstances, she thought that maybe it would be better to talk to Gram first.
Morris seemed to forget his own question, because instead of waiting for her answer, he motioned toward the empty chairs at the table. ‘Apparently, I also can’t recall my manners. Won’t you have a seat? Would you like a cup of coffee, or some tea, perhaps?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ She remained standing. ‘I wanted to have a quick chat with Gram. Is she—’
‘Speaking of tea,’ Morris continued distractedly, ‘Olivia suggested that I talk to you and Summer about getting one of the boutique’s teas. One that might improve my sleep?’
‘Certainly,’ Hope said. ‘Summer makes her own blend. It’s primarily linden and lavender blossoms, with a few other herbal additions …’ Morris looked at her with such eagerness – almost desperation – that she felt compelled to add, ‘I don’t want you to have unrealistic expectations. The tea isn’t an analgesic, so it can’t offer much in the way of pain relief. But it will provide some help with sleep, inflammation, and general relaxation.’
‘I understand. I’ll take any help I can get.’
‘Then I’ll let Summer know that you need a batch, and unless she’s missing one of the ingredients, it shouldn’t take her long to put it together. We’ll do our best to get it to you before tonight, with instructions on how to brew it properly, so you can make yourself a cup whenever you need to. How does that sound?’
Morris grasped her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m exceedingly grateful, Hope. Exceedingly grateful.’
He appeared so relieved that it brought a lump to Hope’s throat. ‘You’re very welcome. Summer and I are always happy to—’
Dropping her hand and his voice, Morris glanced around the dining room once more. ‘Only … please don’t tell Dylan.’
‘About the ongoing pain?’
‘No, the tea. Please don’t tell Dylan about the tea. I don’t want another long argument with him regarding the course of my treatment. He’s a skeptic and tends to discount natural remedies.’
Hope suppressed a laugh. That was a bit of an understatement. Considering that Dylan had accused her and Summer of trying to kill Betsy Hughes with lemon balm, heaven only knows how he would react if he learned that they were giving linden and lavender to his father. ‘My lips are sealed,’ she promised Morris. ‘Your tea is your business.’
The discussion of tea must have made Morris thirsty, because he reached for his coffee cup. As she watched him pick it up, it occurred to Hope that there should have been a second cup and saucer on the table.
‘Where is Gram?’ she asked him.
Morris gave a weighty exhalation. ‘Your grandmother abandoned me, I’m afraid.’
Hope smiled. ‘You mean she went to the ladies’ room?’
‘No. She told me to go away and not come back.’
‘Huh?’
Taking a drink, Morris’s mouth curled with displeasure at the tepid beverage. ‘I’m supposed to close my eyes and cover my ears, so I don’t see or hear anything.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Hope said.
‘Olivia is over there.’ Morris gestured across the room.
Turning to where he had indicated, she spotted Gram tucked in the far back corner of the restaurant, sitting at a small, shadowy table away from the windows and the lobby entrance. To Hope’s further surprise, she saw that Gram wasn’t alone. There were two people seated at the table with her, their backs toward Hope. With the shadows and the distance, she couldn’t make out who they were.
‘Why is Gram huddled in the corner?’ she asked Morris. ‘And who is that with her?’
‘Olivia has her secrets,’ he said, ‘and she has no intention of sharing them with me.’
Hope frowned at him in confusion. Morris drained the remainder of his cup and frowned back at her. She waited for him to offer some additional information or explanation, but he didn’t. That confused her even more, because although Morris was rarely garrulous, he also wasn’t usually cagey. Perhaps it was simply fatigue.
‘Well, I’ll go over and say hi to Gram …’ she began.
Morris’s chin sagged, and his eyelids drooped. Hope turned quietly and started to walk away, figuring that it was best to let him sleep if he could.
‘She won’t share them with you, either,’ Morris murmured after her.
SIXTEEN
Hope had no idea what secrets Morris was referring to, and her initial inclination was to disregard his remarks as weary, incoherent ramblings. She had more pressing concerns on her mind, namely whether Gram knew anything about Marilyn and Roberta’s pasts that could help explain why the murderer would consider the two women foolish. But as Hope headed toward the back corner of the restaurant, she began to wonder if she had been too quick to discount Morris’s comments. Gram looked directly at her as she approached the table, and her expression was not welcoming. She offered no smile, no cheerful greeting, no friendly recognition whatsoever. Unlike Morris, Gram was wide awake and fully alert, and her gaze was so stern that Hope’s pace reflexively slowed. She couldn’t remember the last time that Gram had given her such a disapproving stare. Even when she had misbehaved as a child, Gram had always been more of a hugger than a scolder.
Gram shook her head slightly, and Hope stopped walking. Something wasn’t right. Did Gram really have secrets that she was concealing from Morris – and from her, too? Not sure whether she should continue forward or withdraw instead, Hope wavered. The decision was made for her a moment later when one of the people at the table with Gram turned around in her chair. It was Sylvia Norquist.
There was nothing startling about Sylvia being at the restaurant. On the contrary, it was exactly the sort of place that Hope expected to find her. Sylvia Norquist was a social butterfly, continually flitting from one group and activity to the next. It was why she attended the bingo and spaghetti supper at the community center and why she could tell Marilyn Smoltz about Kirsten Willport’s divine skin courtesy of the French green clay at the hotel spa. Sylvia liked to see and be seen, and she participated in almost everything. Amethyst’s Sunday brunch was the perfect opportunity for her to learn what matters of local interest had occurred during the previous week and what was on the calendar for the coming week.
Sylvia’s choice of table, however, surprised Hope. The dark corner of the dining room, far away from all the windows and the lobby entrance, where nobody could notice her and she couldn’t notice them in return, was out of character for the woman. It couldn’t be because she was embarrassed by her appearance that day. Sylvia – who was around the same age as Gram, maybe a year or two younger – was as neat and collected as always, revealing neither a strand of gray in her jet-black hair nor a blemish in her burgundy lipstick. She wore a cherry-red sweater set and double strand of cultured pearls with pleated gingham trousers. The only indication that she might not have been as composed internally as her polished façade otherwise suggested was her hands. They were clenched together so tightly in her lap that the skin on her knuckles was translucent white.
‘Hmm. Hope,’ Sylvia said.
It wasn’t much of a salutation. Sylvia looked even less pleased to see her arrive at their table than Gram did. Although Hope didn’t know what exactly had transpired with Morris, she could now understand from the chilly reception she received why he would think they wanted him to go away and not come back.
Hope mustered a small smile. ‘Hi, Gram. Hello, Sylvia. Hello …’
Her voice faded as she turned toward the third person at the table, a man seated next to Sylvia. Hope didn’t recognize him, but he seemed strangely familiar somehow. He was in his early to mid-forties, dressed in a rumpled navy shirt and shorts, with a bald spot on the crown of his head surrounded by a scraggly brown bird’s nest.
There was a heavy pause. Both Gram and Sylvia frowned. The man sucked on his teeth. Hope had the distinct impression that she was supposed to turn around and walk away, closing her eyes and covering her ears as she went, so that she didn’t see or hear anything, just as Morris had said.
‘Hmm,’ Sylvia remarked again.
The man grunted as though he agreed with an unspoken sentiment.
Hope looked at him. He seemed out of place at the table with Sylvia and Gram, who were both trim and tidy, while he appeared to have just stumbled from his bed. And then suddenly Hope realized why he felt familiar to her. At Summer’s house that morning, Rosemarie had mentioned seeing Sylvia on a bench in the park with a man who wasn’t Sylvia’s type. Rosemarie had said he was the opposite of Sylvia, with shaggy hair, a flabby belly, and a sloppy shirt and shorts. That description matched this man perfectly.
As the uncomfortable silence lengthened, Hope was tempted to retreat and return to Morris, but at the same time, she was worried about Gram. It wasn’t that Gram appeared to be in danger or under duress. Quite the reverse. Gram looked calm, composed, and more or less in control of the situation. Except Hope was concerned about what exactly that situation was. For starters, Gram had never before given her – or Morris, either, as far as Hope was aware – the cold shoulder as she was doing now. And second, Hope remembered what else Rosemarie had said about Sylvia and the man sitting next to her. Rosemarie had overheard them talking about Gram, about some paper they assumed she had. Hope hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but considering how oddly they were behaving, it seemed suddenly relevant.
Hope turned toward Sylvia. ‘Have you found that paper you were interested in?’
Sylvia didn’t immediately respond, but from the way that her already clenched hands tightened further – the skin on her knuckles looked ready to split – Hope could see that she had hit a nerve.
‘How did you hear about it?’ the man demanded from Hope. Not waiting for her answer, he growled at Sylvia, ‘Did you tell her?’ Then he barked at Gram, ‘I thought you said nobody else knew.’
‘Silence, Gerald!’
Sylvia’s command was so sharp and forceful, like a professional trainer handling a security dog, that Hope took a startled step backward.
Gerald began to protest, but Sylvia shot him a blistering look, and his mouth closed with a whimper. Based on his abashed expression, if the man had been a canine, he would have tucked his tail between his legs and scurried to the security of his crate. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and slouched petulantly in his chair.
Another awkward silence followed, although this one was short-lived.
‘What are you doing here, Hope?’ Gram said, after a protracted sigh. ‘I thought that you and Summer were going to her house this morning.’
Gram’s voice was tense but not unkind. She didn’t seem angry that Hope was there; she seemed uneasy.
‘We did go to her house,’ Hope replied. ‘But then Summer … Summer found …’
Hope hesitated. She had intended to tell Gram about the Tarot card in Summer’s mail, but she wasn’t sure whether she should also tell Sylvia and Gerald. So far, only a handful of people knew about the third Fool: her and Summer, Dylan and Megan, Nate and the police. Hope was beginning to think that maybe it would be better to keep the number small. Perhaps it could even work to their advantage. Someone might slip up and reveal themselves to be the murderer simply by knowing that there had been a third card. It was a long shot, but Hope figured that if Gram was keeping secrets, then she could, too, at least from Sylvia and Gerald; after all, she had no idea if she could trust them.
‘What did Summer find?’ Gram prompted her after a moment.
‘Summer found it stressful,’ Hope said. It was the truth, albeit a rather truncated version. ‘She started to get anxious, so we left.’
‘That’s too bad. I hope she’s feeling better now.’
Although Gram’s tone was sympathetic, it was also somewhat stilted, an indication to Hope that Gram knew she wasn’t telling the whole story. Gram didn’t pursue the matter, however, and Hope wondered if she should take that as a sign Gram didn’t trust Sylvia and Gerald, either.
‘Where is your sister now?’ Sylvia inquired, her narrow gaze surveying the nearly empty dining room.
‘Tracking down lunch,’ Hope answered vaguely.
Gram surveyed the room also. Her expression grew increasingly pensive when she saw Morris sitting along the wall of windows. Whatever secrets she had, she didn’t appear happy to be keeping them from him.
‘Well, Sylvia,’ Gram said, after another protracted sigh, ‘I believe the time has come to tell her.’
Sylvia’s gaze narrowed further. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘I think it is,’ Gram rejoined quietly but firmly.
‘If you want my opinion—’ Gerald began.
Sylvia pursed her burgundy lips at him, and Gerald didn’t conclude his opinion.
‘Clearly, she already knows something about it,’ Gram continued. She cast a quizzical glance at Hope, perplexed as to where she had gotten her information.
‘And whose fault is that?’ Gerald muttered.
‘One more word from you—’ Sylvia hissed.
Gerald harrumphed and slouched lower in his chair.
Sylvia turned her narrow gaze on Hope. ‘I’m curious who told you about the paper.’
Hope didn’t respond. She had no intention of squealing on Rosemarie, the more so because she was grateful to her. Without Rosemarie eavesdropping in the park with Percy, she wouldn’t have known that there was any paper at issue. Considering how agitated Gerald had become at the mere mention of it, and how reticent Sylvia and Gram were on the subject, Hope was inclined to think that Dylan’s initial guess was correct. The paper was some sort of a document. A secretive one, apparently.
‘I want to know who told you,’ Sylvia pressed her impatiently.
‘And I want to know why you’re making it so cloak-and-dagger,’ Hope countered. ‘I assume that’s why you’re huddled here in the corner, hiding and whispering among the shadows.’
‘We’re not hiding and whispering,’ Gram said.
‘Morris certainly thinks you are,’ Hope replied. ‘Granted, he’s only half lucid from his back pain and lack of sleep, but he was talking about you abandoning him in favor of your secrets.’
‘Oh, good heavens.’ Gram clucked her tongue with exasperation. ‘I haven’t abandoned him. I simply encouraged him to rest while I took care of some business. I was trying not to burden him with all of this. I was trying not to burden you or your sister with it, either,’ she added.
‘We promised not to tell anyone about it,’ Sylvia reminded her.
‘We did indeed,’ Gram agreed. ‘But you, evidently, haven’t abided by that promise.’ She motioned toward Gerald.
Sylvia sniffled and shifted in her chair. ‘Yes, well, that promise was made a long time ago. And, well, he is my son.’
Hope’s eyes widened in surprise. Gerald was Sylvia’s son? That explained why he submitted so docilely to her high-handedness.
‘Considering everything that’s happened over the past week,’ Sylvia went on, ‘Gerald is entitled to know.’
‘By the same logic,’ Gram responded, ‘Hope – as my granddaughter – is also entitled to know.’
Sylvia sniffled and shifted again. ‘But what assurances do I have that she isn’t the one who killed Marilyn and Roberta?’
Hope’s eyes stretched wider. Sylvia was accusing her of being the murderer? She started to laugh.
‘I do not find it humorous,’ Sylvia snapped.
‘You should,’ Hope returned, still laughing,’ because what you said is absolutely absurd.’
‘It’s not absurd in the least,’ Sylvia retorted indignantly. ‘You were at the community center; I saw you there. And you were at the spa; Gerald watched you leave the hotel lobby and go down the stairs. You were in both locations. You can’t dispute that.’
