Murder Checks Out, page 6
“I bet,” I said, joining them at the car. “It has been a record-breaking span of days. I can’t remember the last time it was so cold in December.”
“Years ago, according to the weather reports.” Sunny stared at the tree. “You brought rope or bungee cords or something, I hope?”
“In the trunk.” Richard fished his keys out of the pocket of his jeans and hit the button that opened the lock. “If you can grab those straps, Amy, I think Sunny and I can lift the tree up onto the roof rack.”
“I can help with that too,” I said, jogging over to the trunk.
Richard hoisted the trunk end of the tree while Sunny lifted the crown. “You’re a little too short, sweetheart,” he said.
I opened my mouth but snapped it shut again when I realized he was right. Grabbing the bungee cords, I draped several over Richard’s bent arm.
“Thanks,” he said, “but it might be better if you took them to Sunny. Tell her to attach the ends on her side and then fling the cords over the tree. I’ll pull them tight on this side.”
I took back the ties and carried them around the car. “Richard says—”
Sunny took the cords from my hands. “I heard. Maybe step back, Amy. I don’t want one of these things to pop loose and fly off. It could hit you.”
“What about you and Richard?” I asked, moving out of the way.
Sunny cast me a grin. “We have good reflexes.”
“Oh, and I don’t?” I made a face at her but didn’t step any closer. Her statement might sting my pride, but it wasn’t wrong.
The clang of the axe rang out from around the back of the farmhouse, accompanying a few grunts and several strings of swear words as Richard and Sunny wrestled the tree into submission.
When it was finally firmly anchored, Brad appeared, dragging a tall pine tree.
“I suppose we should help him secure that to Lydia’s car,” Richard said, brushing the needles from his coat.
Sunny tossed her braids over her shoulder. “I’ll do that. You go on inside. No, don’t protest,” she added, as Richard made a disapproving noise. “You don’t want to get too worn out before your rehearsal this evening.”
“Well, if you put it that way.” Richard shot her a grateful smile. “I saw that Lydia has some rope. It’s in the back seat. Her car’s unlocked, of course.”
I grinned. We had a running argument with my aunt about her tendency to leave her vehicle unlocked, even in locations more risky than the parking lot at Vista View.
“We’ll take care of it,” Brad said, pulling the tree next to Aunt Lydia’s car. “Like Sunny said, you don’t want to overdo it when you have to direct as well as dance tonight, Richard.”
“Well, since I’m playing Drosselmeyer, the dancing isn’t too overwhelming. But corralling all the other dancers, especially the children …” Richard grinned. “That’s another story.”
“I bet,” Brad said. His six-year-old son, Noah, was participating in the production, so I was sure he’d heard plenty about it.
“Fortunately, I have my stalwart partner by my side, or it truly would be chaos.”
“Is Karla performing too?” Sunny asked. “I know you’re mostly trying to use dancers from your college and studio classes, but I thought maybe, like you, she’d be doing some smaller part.”
“Mother Ginger,” Richard said. “It’s a slightly different take on the role. I think you’ll enjoy it. Of course, the entire production is somewhat different, since we’ve choreographed it for contemporary rather than ballet dancers.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” Sunny said, glancing toward Brad. He nodded but didn’t chime in.
Probably isn’t as thrilled, I thought with a smile. But of course, he’d be in the audience, especially with his son onstage for a few scenes.
“All right, let’s head inside. The twins will be hyped up on sugar by now. We might need to rescue the older folks.”
“A solid plan,” Richard said, lifting one foot and then the other to examine the soles of his shoes. “Thought I’d better check for mud before I headed inside, but I guess one advantage to this frigid weather is that even the dirt is frozen.”
We wished Sunny and Brad good luck with Aunt Lydia’s tree and strolled to the porch. “Funny how well they get along after Sunny basically dumped him,” I said.
“You know Sunny. She never holds a grudge and won’t allow anyone else to do so either.” Richard held the front door open for me. “After you, madame.”
“Thank you, kind sir,” I replied, leaning back into him for a moment after the door closed behind us. I glanced down the entry hall of the farmhouse, the lower half of which was paneled in pale-yellow beadboard. The walls above the wainscoting were painted sky blue and included a long row of hooks hung with coats, hats, and other outdoor clothing, while the staircase that hugged one wall had a white balustrade and worn wooden treads.
A shriek pierced the rumble of low voices rolling out from the kitchen. I knew that had to be either Ella or Nicky.
Richard wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck where my scarf had fallen down and exposed my bare skin. “Maybe we should wait a minute or two? Just to give the kids’ sugar high time to start to fade.”
“Ha-ha, like that will happen until we remove them from the vicinity of cookies.” I turned in his arms and looked up into his face. “But if you wanted to kiss me again before we head into the kitchen, I wouldn’t complain.”
“I should hope not,” Richard said, before complying, quite thoroughly, with my request.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Excuse me,” said a voice from the stairs.
Richard and I broke apart. We turned in unison to look up at the young woman standing on a middle step.
I immediately recognized her. Her fluffy mane of rose-gold hair and blue glasses were unmistakable. “Hello, Ms. Campbell,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m staying here for a little while.” Megan descended the stairs slowly, her gloved hand gripping the rail. She was dressed to go outside in a down coat and winter boots. “Didn’t Sunny tell you? She said you’re close friends.”
“No, she hadn’t shared that news yet.” I cast Richard a swift glance. “I’m Amy Muir, as you probably already know. This is my husband, Richard.”
Megan reached the bottom of the stairs. “Nice to meet you,” she said in a tone that made me question the truthfulness of her statement. She pressed her palm against the rounded newel post. “You’re the dancer,” she added, looking Richard over. “I’ve seen you on YouTube and TV. But you seem a little older than I expected.”
Richard slipped his arm around my waist. “You saw earlier productions, I expect. I don’t do a lot of professional performing these days, unless it’s for charity. I’m focused on choreography and teaching now.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Megan pressed her fingers to her lips for a second. “Sometimes I just blurt out what I’m thinking. It’s a bad habit.”
“No harm done. We all get older,” Richard said, his tone bright.
Glancing up at his face, I noticed that his lips were thinned. While Richard wasn’t overly concerned about being over forty, I knew he still mourned the loss of his peak performance ability—not from vanity, but because he enjoyed dancing so much.
“So you’re staying here as a guest?” I asked Megan.
“Yeah. Sunny told the out-of-town protesters that she’d be willing to house a few of us at her family farm. I was the only one to take her up on it.” Megan shoved her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t see the point in paying for a motel room when I had another option.”
“Smart,” Richard said, just as another squeal of laughter rolled out of the kitchen. “But if you’ll excuse us, we need to go and wrangle a couple of overexcited children.” He dropped his arm from my waist and motioned toward the end of the hall.
“Those are your kids?” Megan asked, meeting my gaze. “They’re cute.”
“And now hyped up on sugar,” I said, giving her a smile. “Nice to officially meet you, Megan. I saw you the other day at Winterfest, but of course we weren’t introduced.”
Megan stared down at her feet. “I was working. Environmental Advocates is my job, not just a side gig.”
“Yes, I know. Anyway, good luck with everything,” I said, before following Richard down the hall.
As we entered the warm, sunny room, I was struck by two things—the fact that Aunt Lydia and Hugh were seated at the yellow Formica-topped table next to the twins, and that each of my children was gripping a large sugar cookie.
“And just how many cookies have you eaten?” I asked them, my lips quirking at the sight of the smears of chocolate and marshmallow streaking their upper lips.
“First one,” Ella said, waving the cookie through the air.
“Uh-huh, why don’t I believe that?” Richard asked. He turned his gaze onto Aunt Lydia and Hugh. “How many?”
“Three since I’ve been sitting here,” my aunt said. “I don’t know how many before that.”
“Oh, pishposh, who keeps count? Especially during the holidays.” Carol bustled over from the stove, gripping a steaming mug of cocoa in each hand. “Now sit down and warm yourselves up.” She set the mugs down on the table across from my aunt, Hugh, and the twins. “P.J., pull up some more chairs.”
P.J. muttered something under his breath but dragged a couple of folding metal chairs over to the table. Richard and I thanked him as we sat down.
I shrugged off my coat, hanging it on the back of the chair, and slipped off my gloves before taking a seat. “Now what’s this I hear about Vista View being turned into a B and B for a few weeks?” Wrapping my hands around the mug, I enjoyed the warmth seeping into my fingers. “We met Ms. Campbell out in the hall,” I added when Aunt Lydia raised her eyebrows at me.
“Oh, Sunny’s just trying to do her bit to help keep that horrible company from building a subdivision on the mountain,” Carol said, laying a fresh platter of cookies on the table.
Richard grabbed one. “To be polite,” he murmured.
Inhaling the spicy scent of cinnamon and the tang of lemon rising from the plate, I picked up a cookie as well. “Why a horrible company? I mean, I don’t like what they’re doing either, but I don’t think they’re criminals or anything.”
P.J., who was leaning back against the pantry door, his thumbs hooked around the straps of his loose overalls, snorted. “Blackstone Properties? Well, I’ve heard some tales, let me tell you. Horrible is a perfect word.”
“What do you mean?” Aunt Lydia asked, grabbing the back of Nicky’s pants and pulling him into his seat as he leaned his entire torso across the table, reaching for the cookies.
“Yes, spill the dirt,” I said, pulling the platter closer to my edge of the table. “Quick, before Brad shows up.”
“He’s not coming in.” Sunny appeared in the doorway. Stripping off her coat and gloves, she tossed them on top of a small cabinet. “We got your tree secured on your car rack,” she told Aunt Lydia and Hugh as she crossed to the stove. “And then Brad said he was going to cut his own tree and load it up in his truck and just head home. I think he was worried about taking too much time away from the office.”
“I’ll have to call and thank him later, then.” Aunt Lydia turned to Ella. “If you’re done with that cocoa, please wipe your mouth. You too,” she added, speaking to Nicky.
Sunny poured herself a mug of hot chocolate. “Anyway, Granddad already told me all about Blackstone Properties. That’s one reason I was so eager to help Jaden and Megan and their cause.” She turned, leaning back against the edge of the counter, and surveyed us. “The company seems to have no problem overriding the rights of regular people to build their fancy developments, right, Granddad?”
P.J. nodded. “They pay off planning boards and bribe inspectors is what I’ve heard. I don’t have any details, but it’s common knowledge in the farming community. And if someone doesn’t want to sell their property, they don’t hesitate to play hardball.”
“I can see where that could make them enemies.” I set down my mug and straightened in my chair. “Which means there could be plenty more people out there who’d have wanted Wendy dead.”
“Who’s dead?” Ella, lifted her drooping head to stare at me. “Somebody died, Mommy?”
Richard nudged my foot under the table. “Yes, but no one you know,” I told my daughter, hoping to head off any more questions.
“Did they get shot?” Nicky’s brown eyes widened.
“No, they did not. Now, enough talk about people dying,” Richard said, sending me a warning look. “It’s time we headed home anyway. We need to set up the tree before we go to rehearsal this evening.”
“Are we going to decorate it too?” Ella asked, clapping her crumb-covered hands.
At least the topic of dead people had been abandoned. I shook my head. “Not today. We’ll just get it in the stand and make sure it’s ready to decorate another day.”
Ella’s lower lip rolled into a pout.
“All right,” I said, pushing back my chair and rising to my feet. “Let’s get your coats and gloves and all that. And thank Ms. Fields for the goodies.”
“Thank you!” the twins called out in unison.
“You’re quite welcome,” Carol said. “Maybe some cookies to take home?”
I waved my hands. “No, no. They’re delicious, but we have enough sweets at home.”
This time, both my children pouted. Ignoring this with all the haughtiness she could muster, my aunt joined Hugh in collecting the twins’ coats and hats and helped Richard get them ready for the outdoors, while I crossed to Sunny and thanked her for offering up the tree.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “I mean, why wouldn’t I do that for my godchildren? I know I share the honor of godmother with Karla, but I do take it seriously.”
“You spoil them rotten,” I said as I gave her a quick hug.
“Well, she loves them. No one can doubt that.” Carol tapped her finger on her apron, right above her heart. “Sure you don’t want some of your own, Sunny girl?”
“Nope.” Sunny motioned toward the kids, who were fussing about having to wear scarves and hats. She wrinkled her nose. “These two are perfect. I can spoil them and then give them right back.”
Chapter Seven
I was glad I was scheduled to work at the library on Wednesday. I wanted to find out more about Wendy Blackstone and her development company and knew I’d probably have time to do a little sleuthing through digital resources while covering the circulation desk.
After an influx of patrons returning and checking out books earlier in the day, there was a lull in the early afternoon. While Samantha took her lunch break and our volunteer Denise shelved books, I took the opportunity to commandeer the desk computer.
I’d already spent the morning thinking through the problem. I knew that was a necessary first step, because there were so many resources available and numerous ways to tackle any specific research question. If I didn’t want to waste time, I had to narrow down my research path before I began.
My initial search pulled up the website for Blackstone Properties. Not only would that give me a better sense of the company, it would probably also list past and current projects.
The website was slick and dynamic, the kind that cost a good chunk of change to develop and maintain. There were biographies—glowing, of course—of all the principal players, including Wendy, Timothy Thompson, and Wendy’s daughter, Nadia. Reading through background information, I realized that the company had actually been founded by Wendy’s husband, Roger, who’d been the older brother of Taylorsford’s former mayor, Bob Blackstone. But he seemed to have died young.
Leaving the website open, I clicked on another tab to search out more details on Roger Blackstone’s death. “That’s really tragic,” I said aloud.
Samantha, returning from her lunch break, peeked over my shoulder. “What’s that?”
“Just a little personal research.”
“You’re doing some digging to help Ethan?” Samantha met my wide-eyed gaze with a smile. “Not too hard to figure out. I’ve worked with you for a while now. I expected you to use your research skills to figure out more details about Wendy and determine who else could possibly be a suspect in the case.”
“I haven’t gotten quite that far,” I replied, sliding over so Samantha could stand next to me. “Just looking at some background info now. On the company, mainly. One thing I’ve discovered is that Wendy experienced a tragic loss when her children were pretty young. Apparently Wendy’s husband, Roger, was an amateur pilot. He died at thirty-nine when he crashed his Cessna while flying solo over the Blue Ridge Mountains.”
“That is sad.” Samantha peered at the digitized article still filling the screen. “His daughter was ten and his son only four at the time.”
“Yeah.” I closed that tab, revealing the Blackstone Properties website. “Now the daughter, Nadia, is twenty-nine. And, like you mentioned before, she works for the family business.” I clicked on her biography. “She doesn’t resemble Wendy at all, does she?”
“No, she must take after her dad. The Blackstones do tend to have dark hair and eyes. I wonder if the son looks more like his mom. He isn’t listed on the website, of course.”
I studied Nadia Blackstone’s photo. She possessed the coiffed hair and blindingly white, perfectly straight teeth all real estate professionals seemed to have. Staring into her dark eyes, I wondered if her conflict with her mother could’ve led to murder. It wouldn’t be the first time family issues caused such a tragedy, I thought, before looking up at Samantha. “You said Dylan was estranged from the family and rejected joining the business. Do you know what career he pursued instead?”
Samantha shook her head. “I think he just graduated from college a year or so ago. He’s still in his early twenties. Cicely said something about him living in Maryland, but she didn’t mention what he was doing now.”
“I guess the sheriff’s department will talk with him. At least,” I said, clicking another link on the website, “I hope so.”
