Death Rides a Pony, page 16
Contrary to the warning, her head snapped toward the flap doors. Although Larkin and the other woman were still conferring with Nate, Dylan was no longer focused on them. Instead, he was looking directly at Hope. She winced slightly, expecting to see a considerable amount of ire in his face due to her and Summer’s unannounced exit from their booth earlier. But to Hope’s relief, Dylan’s expression was less resentful and more inquisitive, as though he could discern that she and Megan were discussing something important and he was trying to figure out what it was. To her further relief, it didn’t appear as though he had pointed them out to Nate yet.
Taking his silence as a promising sign, Hope met Dylan’s gaze straight on, and after a moment, she gave a small shake of her head. He responded with a questioning frown and tilted his own head toward Nate. She shook her head again, and this time, Dylan replied with a nod.
Keeping her eyes cautiously on his, Hope said to Megan, ‘I seem to have established an understanding with Dylan. Or maybe it’s a détente. I’m not quite certain which. In either case, I think this would be an excellent time for you to leave the tent. Is there any way to get out of here other than that main entrance?’
‘Yes!’ Megan answered with quiet excitement. ‘The perfect opportunity has just presented itself. Two of the guys who work with Daniel and helped bring in the tubs of ice earlier are right now coming through one of the side flaps by the stage with the remainder of the food and drink Daniel promised to supply. I can slip out that way, pretending to be with them. If I turn my back and do it fast, no one – fingers crossed – at the entrance of the tent will take any notice of me.’
Although Hope was tempted to glance over her shoulder at the side flap and the two men, she stopped herself. She didn’t want to break Dylan’s gaze and risk revealing their plan in advance.
Megan laughed lightly. ‘Considering the brevity of our acquaintance, Daniel Drexler is proving himself to be very useful: eye candy, beer, and temporary protection from the long arm of the law.’
Hope couldn’t help but laugh, too. Dylan’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though he didn’t appreciate missing out on the joke.
‘You’d better hurry,’ Hope cautioned her. ‘I’m sensing that Dylan’s patience is growing thin.’
‘Wish me luck,’ Megan said. Then, in one swift movement, she stood up, spun around, and dashed toward the rear of the tent.
Hope didn’t look after her, but Dylan did, and she could see that Megan’s abrupt departure surprised him. He raised an eyebrow at Hope. She wasn’t sure how to interpret it. If he was expecting her to promptly march over to him and provide him with a detailed explanation, then he was going to be disappointed, because her next task now that Megan had succeeded in escaping was to similarly assist Sean. That was going to be substantially more difficult, however, considering that she had to get to Sean without attracting Nate’s attention.
Once again, Hope met Dylan’s gaze. But this time, she gave him an indication of her intentions. With a subtle wave of her hand, she motioned toward the group in the center of the tent. Dylan’s eyes followed the gesture, and after a minute, he found Summer and Sean on their folding chairs. Looking at the pair, his brow furrowed, and he began to frown. Puzzled by his reaction, Hope looked at the pair, too. They hadn’t changed. They were still sitting together, laughing and drinking. And then Hope realized what Dylan was seeing that she hadn’t. Summer and Sean looked chummy. Really chummy. Too chummy. Their chairs were close. Their smiles were warm. Their conversation was intimate.
There was nothing behind it, of course. Hope knew that instantly. Summer and Sean had not the slightest romantic interest in each other. Both of them were simply relieving stress and enjoying some pleasant company for the evening. But it was easy to understand how the scene could be misinterpreted by an outsider to mean more than it actually did. Hope found herself smiling. It was a shame that she couldn’t direct Nate’s gaze to Summer and Sean at that moment. If Nate made the same faulty assumption that Dylan did, then it might spark a bit of jealousy in him and finally jolt him into romantic action.
As Hope smiled, Dylan’s frown deepened. Larkin frowned also, having apparently at long last realized that the man against whose arm she was leaning wasn’t listening to a word she said. She looked around, seeking the cause of Dylan’s distraction, and when her eyes landed on Hope, they were cold and unfriendly. Hope could see Larkin hesitate, as though she was debating whether it would be more advantageous for her to point Hope out to the others in a critical fashion or to ignore her existence altogether. But a minute later, it became a moot issue, because Nate discovered Hope of his own accord. Although his eyes were considerably more cordial than Larkin’s, they remained on her only briefly before commencing a thorough examination of the tent, no doubt in search of Summer.
While Hope hastily considered how to distract Nate, it occurred to her that even if he located Summer, he might not automatically recognize Sean. Just because Nate wanted to question Sean, it didn’t mean that he could identify him by sight. If that was the case, then there was still a possibility that Hope could get Sean out of the tent. But she had to do it quickly, and she had to be the one to reach him and Summer first.
Without further delay or making any attempt to conceal her direction, Hope turned and headed toward the pair on their folding chairs. To her surprise, they were no longer laughing and drinking. Summer and Sean were sitting close enough together that their bodies nearly touched, but rather than looking amorous, they were now engaged in what appeared to be a grave discussion. Both of their expressions were somber, and their conversation was in a low, hushed tone that was clearly not intended to be overheard by others. Was Sean telling Summer about his sister and nephew? At one point, Summer’s face grew so grim and her cheeks so ashen that a feeling of dread began to creep through Hope. Could Sean be confessing to Davis Scott’s murder?
Then, all of a sudden, the conversation ended. Summer nodded at something Sean said. He nodded in return, rose from his chair, and moved with brisk steps to the side flap by the stage. For a moment, Hope was too astonished to react. Without any endeavor or explanation from her, Sean was leaving the tent the same way Megan had. Did he know that he needed to avoid the police? Had Summer told him about Rosemarie’s accusations? Was Sean fleeing out of guilt, or anger, or fear?
For her part, Summer remained seated, and her face remained pale. She was visibly disturbed by whatever she and Sean had discussed. Hope tried to catch her sister’s eye, but Summer kept her gaze firmly on the ground. She appeared to be mumbling to herself, with an occasional, frustrated shake of her head. Hope’s feet moved faster, but there were now so many people inside the tent that she was continually forced to stop and shift around one boisterous, beer-swilling group after another. Although she was curious whether Nate had spotted Summer or Dylan had noticed Sean’s departure, she didn’t check on them. It would have required her to stop and turn around, and Hope didn’t want to take the chance of losing sight of Summer in the crowd.
Finally, Hope neared her and called out over the din. ‘Summer!’
Startled, Summer looked up. The instant she saw her sister, Summer leaped from her chair and rushed toward her. ‘Oh, Hope, you were right! Everything you said was right.’
‘It was?’ Hope responded in confusion. She didn’t remember ever telling Summer that she thought Sean might be responsible for Davis’s death.
‘I didn’t want to believe it.’ Summer’s words tumbled out almost frantically. ‘But it’s true. Terribly, terribly true!’
‘So he confessed to you?’ Hope asked her, still somewhat confused. ‘Sean admitted to killing Davis?’
‘If he has, I’ll be the first one to get in line and shake the man’s hand,’ an unexpected voice said.
SEVENTEEN
The voice belonged to Stanley Palmer, and he was standing beside them, a bottle of beer in one hand and a broad smile on his face. Hope didn’t know how long Stanley had been there or where he had come from. She also didn’t know how to react to his remark. Based on his smile, it seemed to have been a joke, but considering that it was in relation to a murder, it certainly wasn’t a funny one.
As though he could guess the direction of her thoughts, Stanley said, ‘No, it wasn’t an attempt at humor. I meant it seriously. Davis Scott was a plague on this earth. I apologize to anybody whose sensibilities might be offended, but that’s the truth of the matter, and no one will convince me otherwise. Ever since Amelia and I started telling people about the problems we had with the man, we’ve heard a hundred and one similarly troubled stories in return – and some of them have been much worse than ours.’
Hope remembered Sean’s story and silently agreed.
‘Amelia realized it from the very beginning,’ Stanley went on. ‘She warned me that he was a slippery fish.’
Summer gave Hope a nudge with her elbow as if to say, Ha! I told you Davis was the Palmers’ real estate agent.
‘At least there’s been a happy ending for us.’ Stanley took a swig of his beer. ‘Amelia’s headaches are gone. The instant she heard about the death, her migraine vanished, and it hasn’t shown any sign of returning. But I hate to think of all the people who have suffered lasting problems because of that miserable man.’
Again, Hope’s mind went to Sean and his little nephew.
‘Amelia is around here somewhere’ – Stanley craned his neck to look above the sea of chattering bodies in search of his wife – ‘and she’ll tell you what a tremendous relief it’s been. It’s almost hard to believe. Davis has been gone for less than a day, but in that short period of time, it’s already been remarkably freeing. Strange, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not strange in the least,’ Summer said. ‘I understand completely, because I feel the same way.’
‘So you had problems with him, too?’ Stanley was sympathetic. ‘I hope he hasn’t caused you any permanent damage.’
‘Nothing that a new realtor can’t fix.’
‘I’m glad to hear it! Amelia and I have adopted a similar attitude. Any new realtor will seem like an angel in comparison. We’ve even been discussing whether we should change our minds and not sell the house, after all.’
‘That isn’t an option for me,’ Summer told him. ‘My house has to sell – the sooner, the better.’
Stanley nodded and took another swig. ‘I understand. No doubt there are many others in a similar position. And I must admit to being curious about the fellow you mentioned a minute ago.’ He looked from Summer to Hope. ‘Did you say his name was Sean? I assume that he also had his share of difficulties with Davis?’
Based on their conversation so far – and Stanley’s drinking – Hope had the impression that his lips might be even looser than Morris’s. Not wanting Sean’s personal details spread about to all and sundry, she deliberately chose a noncommittal answer. ‘As you said before, there are a hundred and one troubled stories when it comes to Davis Scott.’
‘I’m afraid that’s correct.’ Stanley nodded again. ‘But with this fellow Sean in particular …’ He spoke haltingly. ‘When you talked about him confessing … Did he actually admit … I mean, if you know something about the death or have any concrete suspicions, you really should talk to the police.’
‘Of course. You’re absolutely right.’ Hope feigned both innocence and ignorance. ‘We would definitely talk to the police if we knew something about the death or had any concrete suspicions.’
Her response evidently didn’t satisfy Stanley, because he pressed the matter further. ‘You need to realize how serious this situation is. Murder is not some trifling matter. If you have relevant information, you must share it with the proper authorities.’
Hope frowned, finding the statement odd. Stanley had made it amply clear that he wasn’t spilling tears over Davis’s untimely demise. He had even said – joking or not – that he wanted to shake the killer’s hand. So why did he care whether she and Summer shared relevant information with the proper authorities?
Taking one last large swallow, Stanley finished off his beer. ‘If Morris and Olivia were standing here right now, I’m sure they would agree with me. They would worry and tell you that it was imperative to speak up about this Sean fellow.’
Her frown deepened. Stanley was being strangely insistent. He also seemed to be growing somewhat agitated. It was almost as though he was anxious for them to go to the police and point an accusatory finger at Sean. But maybe she was reading too much into it. It had been another long day for everybody, and Stanley wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. When the startling news about Davis was combined with all the booths he had fixed in the intense sun and heat, and then joined with perhaps one bottle of beer too many, it all added up to Stanley saying things that sounded off.
Summer echoed her sister from a moment earlier. ‘Of course. You’re absolutely right. We don’t want to worry Morris and Gram.’ Then she blinked at Stanley ingenuously and added, ‘Speaking of matters that aren’t trifling, I see that you’ve hurt your knee. It looks like a nasty gash.’
Hope’s gaze snapped to Stanley’s leg. She had been so surprised by his abrupt arrival and subsequent comments that she hadn’t taken any notice of his appearance. Stanley was wearing a mustard-yellow shirt and a slightly stained pair of shorts. His legs were as reed-thin as the rest of him. One knee was wrinkled and boney, while the other knee was wrapped with a thick bandage. It was the type of bandage used to protect wounds, not to provide support, and it had an underlying tinge of pink as though he’d had a difficult time getting the cut to stop bleeding.
‘I hope it isn’t too painful,’ Summer said to him.
Stanley looked down at his knee. ‘Oh, no. It stings a little, but nothing unbearable. I’ve had worse.’
‘Is it a recent injury?’ Summer pursued, blinking some more. ‘I don’t remember you having that bandage on yesterday when you so kindly set up the lights and decorations in our booth.’
Although she did an excellent job of concealing it, Hope could tell that her sister’s questions were far more than friendly politeness or mere idle curiosity. Did Summer think that it might be Stanley’s blood on the carousel platform? Could Stanley have been involved in Davis’s death?
Still looking at his knee, Stanley answered, ‘It was laziness that got me into trouble this morning. I was on the ladder attaching a cable to hang up a collection of sweetgrass baskets for better showing in one of the booths. I knew that I was in the wrong position, but I didn’t want to climb down, adjust the ladder, and then climb back up again, so I foolishly stretched too far and slipped. As I fell, I smashed into the side rail and sliced open my knee. It bled like a gusher. Amelia was so worried that she nearly began hyperventilating. I told her the cut looked much deeper than it actually was, but she didn’t believe me. She kept shouting that we needed to go to the hospital for sutures. It took me quite a while to convince her that I was really all right. We were the only ones in the booth at the time, so I think that somehow made her more panicky than she otherwise would have been.’
Hope raised an eyebrow. Stanley and Amelia were the only ones in the booth? That meant there were no witnesses to the accident and no proof as to how and when he had sustained the injury. Stanley gave the impression of being truthful, but should she trust his story? Hope wasn’t sure, partly because she was still thinking about his remarks concerning Sean. Could it be that Stanley wanted her and Summer to talk to the police about Sean’s possible confession and guilt as a way to shift any potential suspicion from himself? Pushing the blame on to someone else was a good strategy for avoiding a murder charge.
‘It wasn’t until Amelia had finally calmed down,’ Stanley continued, ‘that we realized she was hurt, too. She had been holding the ladder while I was on it, and when I tumbled off, I crashed against her. She hit her hand on the opposite side rail and cut open her palm. Let me tell you, those metal edges are sharp! At first, Amelia was bleeding even more than I was, but after applying some pressure, it eventually stopped. She’s got her hand wrapped up as though she’s about to jump into the ring for a boxing match.’
Both of Hope’s eyebrows were now raised. Amelia had a bandage also? Did every person with a connection to Davis Scott have a bloody wound? There was Rosemarie’s ankle, Melody’s wrist, Sean’s elbow, Stanley’s knee, and Amelia’s palm. Of the group, it was only with Rosemarie and her strappy sandals that Hope knew for certain how and when the injury had occurred. For the rest, it was just their word.
‘There she is. I’ve spotted her. Amelia!’ Stanley raised his arm and waved through the multitude. ‘Here! We’re over here!’ He waved once more before returning his attention to Hope and Summer. ‘She’s seen me and is headed this way. Before I forget, you mentioned the lights in your booth a moment ago. I’m sorry that I haven’t fixed the broken strand. Between my knee and Amelia’s palm and an infestation of ants in another booth, I simply didn’t have the chance to stop by.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ Summer replied. ‘In fact, having only one functioning strand might be advantageous. The sweetgrass baskets need extra light to showcase their beauty; for us, a bit of darkness provides atmosphere.’
Although she spoke the words casually, there was a slight stiffness in Summer’s tone that made Hope wonder if her sister was also having some doubts about the timing and cause of the Palmers’ injuries.
For his part, Stanley didn’t seem to notice their misgivings. On the contrary, his broad smile resurfaced. ‘I would urge you not to say that in front of Amelia. She takes her decorating skills quite seriously. If she finds out that having one strand of twinkle lights in your booth looks just as good as – or, heaven forbid, even better than – the two strands she arranged, she won’t take it well.’
Summer smiled in return. ‘Understood. She won’t hear it from me.’
