Текст книги "Crowned and Moldering"

Автор книги: Kate Carlisle

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Eight

My breath caught. I tried to remind myself that Whitney wasn’t really as awful as I sometimes painted her to be. But then there were times like this when the woman was truly Satan’s spawn.

I had to swallow a few times before I could respond, and even then my voice sounded raspy and slow, like I’d caught the plague or something. “Cliff can get the blueprints himself from the Planning Commission.”

“Of course he can,” Whitney said reasonably. “But he’s been away from town so long that he doesn’t know all the ins and outs and all the right players. And since your father built the house, I know you can get ahold of them so much faster than he could. Would you mind?”

“My father built the house,” I murmured, staring at my hands. “And I do the work.”

“I know, but—”

I looked up at Whitney. “That’s how it’s always been.”

She tossed her hair back. “I know, Shannon. But Cliff is an old friend, so I wanted to help him out. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“If Cliff wants a favor from me he can ask me himself,” I told her, and kept to myself the part about how I’d do him a favor when hell froze over.

“Well,” Whitney answered with a tiny wince that didn’t cause any nasty frown lines between her eyebrows. “He probably would, but he told me he’s worried that you’re feeling threatened by him being back in town.”

“You should ask yourself why I might feel that way,” I said. I might have said more, but, thankfully, Wade dragged me away from her before I could snap her skinny neck like a twig.

I hated that she sounded so sensible when I came across like a petulant child.

I’d never had a true homicidal thought, but around Whitney, all bets were off. The more I stewed over how she’d tried to manipulate me, the more enraged I grew. Sure, maybe she only wanted to help Cliff, but she was earning extra bonus points for screwing with me.

“Get the blueprints, huh? When pigs fly.” My breath was coming fast and heavy, like a prize bull catching sight of the flashing red cape of a bullfighter. It wasn’t a pretty analogy but it worked for my current situation.

Wade grabbed the keys from my hand and opened my truck door. “It’ll be okay, boss.” He gave my arm a light shake. “You need to chill out.”

“I’ve always done the work on Tommy’s house,” I explained haltingly. “That was the deal my dad made when he sold it to him.”

“Your dad sold the house to Tommy?”

I nodded, not sure why I’d never mentioned that fact to Wade. Dad had been both owner and builder of many of the beautiful Victorian-style homes that studded the dramatic Alisal Cliffs. He’d always been fond of Tommy, even though he’d broken my heart when he dumped me, so Dad had given him a good deal on a lovely home. One that Tommy couldn’t really afford at the time.

At first I’d been horrified that my own father had gone behind my back to help Tommy, but in the end, I was glad he did. I wanted Tommy to be happy—I really did. Just not with Whitney.

“We don’t need the work, boss,” Wade said.

“You know it’s not about the work or the money. It’s about Cliff Hogarth. He’s a bloodsucker, going after my clients behind my back. And Whitney’s so clueless, she doesn’t get that he’s manipulating her. Meanwhile, she turns around and tries to do the same to me.”

“You’re right,” Wade said calmly. “But you can’t do anything about it right now.”

“I can’t hunt him down and punch him in the nose?”

He smiled. “Not right now. You’re too flipped out. You need to get in your truck and leave. Go home and pour yourself a glass of wine. Or go visit your girlfriends. Do something. Just let this go for now. We’ll deal with it later.”

“Oh, God.” I felt so powerless and that wasn’t like me. I was a fighter. But right now, I was just plain tired. “Okay, I’ll go home for now. But we’ll find a way to get back at him.”

“Yeah, we will.” Wade gave me a comforting hug and rubbed my back. “We will.”

*   *   *

I stopped by the house to feed Robbie and Tiger and play with them for a few minutes, but I knew I was too agitated to stay home alone. Wade was right about visiting friends. I needed a friendly face. I ran upstairs to grab a warmer jacket, then drove over to Hennessey House, my friend Jane’s elegant new bed-and-breakfast, hoping she would have some time to spend with a friend in need. Namely, me.

Jane and I had been BFFs since we were babies. Her uncle had lived next door to me until recently. We were the same age and had gone from first grade to senior graduation together. She knew all the players, especially Whitney, although Jane had never been the target of as much scorn as I had. Probably because she hadn’t been Tommy’s girlfriend.

I walked inside the massive Victorian B and B and found Jane sipping wine in the well-appointed front parlor, surrounded by her guests. She was describing some of the restaurants on the pier to them, but looked up when I entered the room.

“Shannon.”

“Sorry if I’m interrupting.”

“No, no, your timing is perfect.” She glanced at her guests. “This is Shannon Hammer, the friend I told you about. The one who renovated my B and B.”

One of the women gasped in delight. “Oh, you did the most fabulous job. We travel a lot, but I’ve never been in such a gorgeous home before. The Victorian details are fantastic.”

“Jane chose all the furnishings,” I said. “I just hammered and painted and all that stuff.”

Jane laughed. “She’s being far too modest. Believe me, the place would still be a shambles if Shannon hadn’t been around to whip it into shape.”

Jane handed me a glass of pinot noir, and I sipped it while she spent a few more minutes making small talk with her guests. We both made suggestions about the best places to shop in the town square and the easiest, fastest route to get to the Anderson Valley wine country.

I had to admire my friend, who certainly looked the part of elegant innkeeper with her hair swept back in a French twist and her understated makeup. She wore brown silk trousers and a simple white silk shirt with a pair of Kenneth Cole brown flats. I knew the brand because I had the same pair in my closet. Gold earrings and a thin gold lariat completed Jane’s outfit.

Finally she excused herself and latched onto my arm as we left the sitting room. We walked down the hall to the kitchen, where Jane grabbed a small tray and filled it with a basket of crackers, a plate of cheese, and a bowl of olives. Then she practically dragged me up the stairs and into the sitting room of her private suite.

She opened a bottle of wine from her small stash on the shelf, poured two glasses, and handed me one.

As soon as I sat down on the love seat, she said, “What happened to you? You look terrible.”

“Sadly, you’re not the first person to notice.”

“Really?” She sat in the chair across from me.

“Yeah, Emily said something similar yesterday. I guess I should appreciate your honesty.”

“Don’t be a dolt. You always look ravishing, but I can tell something’s wrong. Spill it.”

I took a serious gulp of wine and grabbed a few crackers. Then I unloaded on my best friend and told her everything, starting with finding Lily’s bones and dealing with Sean’s pain. I went into my long interview with Eric and how I ran into Mr. Jones. I ranted on about Dismal Dain and my hope that he would spend time in jail. And I ended with my feelings of horror at the thought that Whitney and Cliff Hogarth might be in cahoots.

“You’ve been busy,” Jane said mildly, relaxing in the overstuffed chintz chair.

“That’s one way to spin it,” I said with a sheepish smile. “Switching topics, I saw Emily last night. She seems pretty happy in her new house.”

“I ran into her at the market a few days ago. But let’s not change the subject just yet.”

“But I’m so tired of whining about me.”

“Have you talked to Tommy?”

I had to think about it as I took another sip of wine. “Not since I saw him at the mansion on Monday. Why?”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Shannon, Tommy would never renege on the deal he made with your father. Whitney has no such scruples, unfortunately. Her problem is that she’s so self-centered, she doesn’t even realize how much she’s hurting you.”

“No, my pain is just a happy consequence.”

She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Talk to Tommy.”

“I hate to be a snitch.” I grimaced at the memory of Whitney accusing me of being that very thing.

“Oh, please.” Jane brushed my words aside. “Who cares? This is a good-faith contract between Tommy and your dad we’re talking about here. The fact is, Whitney’s pulling something on you, and Tommy needs to fix it right away.” She grabbed her wineglass. “So think about it. There must be all sorts of reasons why you’d be at City Hall and happen to run into Tommy in the parking lot. And when you see him, you can be the snitch you always wanted to be.” She took a sip of her wine. “Besides, if the work is done on his house and you’re not there, don’t you think he’ll notice?”

I laughed, but Jane was right. City Hall shared a parking lot with the police department. It would be easy to track down Tommy and pretend I just happened to be passing by. But what would I tell him? I didn’t want to whine to Tommy about Cliff Hogarth. There had to be a way. . . .

Then a simple yet brilliant idea struck. I jumped up from my chair and did a little happy dance. “I know what I’m going to do. Yay! Thank you.” I leaned down and squeezed her knees. “You’re a genius.”

“I am,” she said, grinning. “And someday you’ll tell me all about your diabolical plan.”

“I will, I promise. I need to think it through first, but it’ll work—I’m sure of it.” I sank down into the chair and sighed contentedly. “I feel so much better now.”

“Good.” She finished her wine. “I’d feel better, too, if we went out for pasta.”

*   *   *

The next morning was Saturday, and I worked for a few hours at Emily’s house, scraping more wallpaper off the living room walls. I think the stuff was alive and reproducing in the night, because I never seemed to make much progress. But I didn’t really care. Basically I just needed more time to think, and lately wallpaper was my go-to drudge work that gave me the opportunity.

At noon, I took a lunch break and drove to the police department, taking a chance that Tommy might be working that day. At the front counter, I asked the desk officer if Tommy was around. “You bet, Shannon. Just have a seat.”

A minute later, Tommy walked out and greeted me with a hug.

“How are you?”

“I’m great. I came by to drop off the blueprints.”

He looked around. “What blueprints?”

“The ones for your house,” I said with every strand of innocence I possessed. “I’ve got them out in the car.”

“Why?”

I batted my eyelashes virtuously. “Because Whitney said Cliff Hogarth would need them to do the work on your powder room.”

“Cliff Hogarth?” His eyes narrowed. “Powder room? Wait. Aren’t you doing the work?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, huh.” He scratched his head. “Hmm. Okay, I guess I was supposed to ask you when you’d have time to do it, but . . . shoot. With everything that’s happened since finding the skeleton and all, it must’ve slipped my mind. But you’ll do it, right?”

“You know I’d love to. But Whitney told me she hired Cliff to do the job. That’s why he needs the blueprints.”

Tommy clenched his jaw. He hated conflict, so I knew he was aggravated. “Shannon, we only work with you. Whitney must’ve forgotten. I’ll talk to her.”

I patted his arm. “It’s totally understandable that she’d forget, what with all she has to do every day.”

“I know,” he said, relaxing slightly. “She never stops.”

“You’re so lucky.” I pulled my keys out of my purse. “Okay, I’ll be happy to do the work. Just let me check my calendar and I’ll get back to you with some dates when we can meet to discuss exactly what you’d like to have done.”

“Great. Super.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Thanks, Shannon. I’m sorry about the mix-up.”

“No problem, Tommy. I’ll talk to you later.” I gave him a big hug and a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek and walked out smiling. With any luck, Whitney would hear all about that kiss.

*   *   *

An hour later, back at Emily’s, I held the steaming iron against the wallpaper and thought about Tommy and his reaction to the news that his wife had tried to hire Cliff Hogarth. Tommy was possibly the mildest-mannered, most happy-go-lucky person I’d ever known, so seeing him react with even that small amount of negativity was a rare sight.

And I didn’t feel a single ounce of remorse for manipulating the situation toward my own ends.

Why should I? Yes, Tommy would try to read Whitney the riot act, but she would make up some excuse and wind up wrapping him around her little finger all over again. But that didn’t mean she would get her way when it came to hiring Cliff as their new contractor. Tommy and my father had shaken hands on the deal all those years ago, and Tommy was too honorable a man—despite Whitney—to ever go back on his word.

Besides, I thought, this isn’t even about Tommy and Whitney. This is about getting back at Cliff Hogarth, who has apparently decided it would be fun to ruin my life.

*   *   *

Sunday morning, our town Festival Committee met at my house to put the finishing touches on the St. Patrick’s Day parade and Spring Festival scheduled for three weeks from now. We had tried to find another day to meet, but the festivities were fast approaching, and this Sunday was the only time we were all available.

I made everyone happy by serving bagels and cream cheese with a pretty platter of fruit.

Lighthouse Cove was becoming famous for its festivals and parades. We had something scheduled every month, and the whole town got involved. Last year Jane and I had volunteered to work on the committee, already comprised of Ellie Stewart, Pat Miles, and Sylvia Davis, all of whom we’d known for years. The five of us had been having so much fun putting the events together, it didn’t feel like work at all.

That is, until Whitney and her equally annoying friend Jennifer decided to join the committee a few weeks before the Valentine’s Day Festival. They had done what they could to sabotage our efforts, but hadn’t succeeded and had finally quit. It was a happy day when we no longer had to deal with their abrasive personalities.

“We’ve got eight vendors that plan to sell green beer in the town-square park,” Jane said.

“Eight?” I exclaimed, a little shocked.

Ellie laughed. “Is that all?”

“The park isn’t that big,” Pat said. “But I guess green beer is a tradition.”

Jane went down her list. “Let’s go over what we’ve got for the kids.”

Planning events for St. Patrick’s Day was a little trickier than some other celebrations, since the main purpose of the holiday seemed to be to get drunk and stay that way. But our committee was tasked with making all the festivals family – and kid-friendly. Some months it was more of a challenge than others.

I raised my hand. “Emily has offered to make a big batch of green soda. Either that or she can do green tea. Not the healthy stuff. I mean, really green.”

“I like the idea of green tea,” Ellie said.

“Me, too,” Pat said, waving her hand. “I’ll bet I can get one of the vendors to make green lemonade, too.”

“Okay, green lemonade and green tea,” Jane said. “Sounds perfect for anyone who doesn’t want beer.”

Ellie leaned in. “There’s always water, too.”

“Okay, we’re covered on the beverage front.”

“We’ve got a green cotton-candy truck coming,” Ellie said. “They’ll park on the street. They also make green popcorn.”

“Yummy.” Sylvia studied her notes. “And, by the way, I just received those five hundred green bowler hats in the mail. We’ll hand them out along the parade route.”

“That’ll be perfect,” Jane said.

“And shamrocks,” Ellie added. “They’re on sticks and you wave them like little flags. I think there’s a couple thousand of those.”

“Emily’s tearoom staff is also making green mini cupcakes,” I said. “And we’ve got all of our usual food vendors returning. So there’ll be hot dogs and ribs and the usual fare.”

Sylvia reached for a strawberry. “We’ll also have the face-paint lady and a puppeteer for the kids.”

“Okay, good,” Jane said. “Moving on. I’ve got the pep squad set to decorate the fire trucks Friday afternoon.”

“Hopefully there won’t be any fires,” Pat murmured.

Ellie raised her hand. “Um, I’ve got a new entry in the parade, if you all don’t mind. It’s a skateboard brigade. Twelve boys will skateboard along the parade route, and at the end they’ll have a double ramp set up where they’ll do lots of tricks.”

“That sounds like fun,” I said.

Jane frowned. “I don’t want them to hurt themselves.”

Ellie chuckled. “Since one of them is my son, I agree with you. He swears they’ll be fine. First of all, they’ll be padded to the hilt, and I’m making them all wear helmets. Plus we’ll surround the ramps with that bouncy rubber stuff, so there shouldn’t be any injuries. I’ll have the other parents sign our general release, so we should be okay on all fronts.”

“You’ll take care of that?” Jane asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Sounds like they’ll be safe enough,” Jane said with a sigh, and wrote something down. “And, personally, I think they’ll be a big hit.”

“Me, too,” I said.

Jane continued scanning her clipboard for another few seconds, then looked up. “How about if we put the skateboarders in the parade right after the cheerleaders?”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Ellie said quickly. “I wouldn’t trust my son not to torment one of those cute little cheerleaders.”

“Good point,” Jane muttered. “I’ll put them after one of the marching bands instead.”

“I’ll make sure they’re all dressed in green with the hair combed and ready to go,” Ellie said.

Sylvia piped up. “We’ve got the veterans lined up to go first, and the classic-car club members coming at the end.”

“Are they okay with going last this time?”

“They love it,” Sylvia said. “The crowd will be able to follow them to the parking lot, where they’ll show off their low-rider stuff for everyone.”

“Okay. On to the advertising,” Jane said, nodding at Pat.

“I’ve been to every store and restaurant on the town square,” Pat said. “The restaurants all plan to offer a St. Patrick’s Day special and the stores will push a few sales items. The town square retail association is running ads in this Sunday’s paper and next week’s, listing every business that’s offering a deal. We should have quite a nice turnout.”

Jane stared at her list for a long moment, then looked up at us. “I think we’re ready.”

Sylvia grinned. “We’re ready.”

*   *   *

After the girls left, I went outside to the garden and walked around, studying my plants, examining pots, checking for bugs, and pruning here and there. I made a list of everything I wanted to buy at the nursery. And I mentally planned out my conversation with Denise. Once I spoke to her, I wanted to be able to tell Sean what was going on. I just hoped Denise would be willing to talk to me about Lily.

“Hello, Irish,” Mac said.

I gazed up at the balcony, where he stood outside his apartment, looking dark and dangerously handsome in a T-shirt, jeans, and socks. “Good morning, Mac.”

“You look thoughtful. What’re you doing?”

“I’m making a list.”

“Making lists is one of my favorite things to do,” he said, grinning back at me.

“I’m about to go to the nursery. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

He leaned his elbows on the railing. “Since I asked you to go out with me sometime this weekend, why don’t I go with you now?”

I smiled. “Why don’t you?”

He raised his arm in a victory gesture and I laughed. I don’t know how he did it, but I always felt happier when he was around.

He went inside his place to grab his wallet, shoes, and a jacket, and was back outside in seconds, locking his door and bounding down the stairs.

I met him at the gate and he grabbed my hand. “This feels like an adventure.”

“It will be—I promise.”

We took my truck because I’d be able to fit more bags of soil and plants in the back.

I drove east to Highway 101 and then headed north.

“I’ve never been to the nursery out here,” he said. “Haven’t had any reason to yet. I guess once I move, I’ll want to get into landscaping.”

“You’ll love this place.”

“Maybe they’ll help me out. I like the look of lots of plants around the yard, but I’d rather pay someone else to do it for me.” He glanced over at me. “I know I sound like a lazy slug with my first-world problems.”

I laughed. “I’m not judging. If you don’t love gardening, you shouldn’t do it. The reason I do it is because I love it.”

“And I love watching you in the garden,” he said, reaching over and squeezing my hand.

I felt myself blushing. “You’re sweet.”

“No, I’m not. I told you I’m a slug.”

“And lazy,” I reminded him. “Don’t forget lazy.”

He laughed and I grinned at the sound of it.

We chatted for six more miles, until I turned off the highway and wound my way up the hill to the Gardens. I parked the truck, but before Mac could open his door, I grabbed his arm. “I should tell you, I have an ulterior motive for coming here today.”

“Excellent,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Tell me all about it.”

I gave him a quick explanation of what had happened at the school when Mr. Jones got the call from Denise about the police arriving to interrogate her.

“So her family owns this nursery?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to grill Denise if she’s here.”

“I’ll hardly be grilling her,” I said, objecting to the word grill even though, okay, it was fairly accurate. “We’ll just talk.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” he said. “It’ll be fun to watch either way.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll probably end up saying nothing.”

“Whatever happens, I’ll follow your lead.” With a wink, he jumped out of the truck. “Wow. Great view from up here.”

It was true, and I rarely stopped to notice. Now I took a long moment to gaze at the coastline spread out before us. The lighthouse was in plain view, of course, but I could also see the dark red roof of the mansion next door.

“What’s that pagoda-looking thing over there?” he asked, pointing toward a small structure with an Asian-style roofline a mile or so down the highway.

“It’s a Chinese temple and museum, one of the oldest buildings in the county. It was built by a group of Chinese immigrants who constructed the railroads during the gold rush.”

“For real? Is it open to the public?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ve got to go there.”

“You should. It’s a peaceful place. And really tiny.”

“So much to see.” He gestured toward the nursery entrance. “Let’s go check things out.”

“Let’s.”

He pushed open the wide wooden gate and let me lead the way into a tangled, rambling garden of beautiful colors and amazing plants. The nursery meandered up the hillside and stretched out over ten acres. There were hidden ponds and a babbling brook or two along the way.

“Oh, man. This place is cool,” he said. “I like the way everything seems overgrown and the plants blend into one another.”

“It looks overgrown, but it’s actually well planned. Each plant complements the one next to it. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“I would love to look at something like this every day.”

“You could hire one of their landscapers to design your new property.”

“I just might do that.” He turned his head one way and the other, checking out everything.

Twenty feet inside the gate, we came to a stop and stared at three different pathways. I turned to him. “Which way do you want to go?”

He grinned. “This really is an adventure. Let’s go this way.”

We headed off to the left, and a few hundred yards later found ourselves in the middle of a wild English garden. Slender foxglove and gladioli wavered in the slight breeze. Yellow bearded irises contrasted with graceful stalks of blue delphiniums and fat pink peonies. In the middle of it all was a brass sundial surrounded by lavender and rosemary.

Twenty yards farther along the path, a jumble of rocks had been pressed together to create the semblance of a terraced hillside. Moss-covered stone steps led up to a koi pond. Beyond the pond, hedgerows separated this area from one of the other gardens.

“I kind of want to live here,” Mac said. “It’s like some sort of hippie fantasy land.”

“Next time we come, we’ll take the path that runs along the creek. It feeds into a lily pond, and you would swear you’re in a fairy tale.”

“The Frog Prince?”

“That’s the one,” I said with a laugh. “I always expect to see a big, fat toad hop up and start talking.”

We strolled for another few minutes.

“Why are there three separate paths?” he asked.

“They each showcase different types of plants and flowers. For instance, closer to the pond, there are grasses and tropical plants. The third path features a lot of cacti and succulents. It’s got a real Zen feeling to it.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes. Mac stopped to look at a statue of Buddha perched in the middle of a verdant mound surrounded by ferns and cyclamen.

“I get a lot of inspiration when I come here,” I said.

He nodded. “I can see why.”

We rounded a small copse of bay laurel trees and I grabbed his arm to stop him, pointing toward the woman digging up a withered azalea a few yards ahead.

“That’s Denise,” I whispered.

“Go for it,” he murmured.

I didn’t know why I was so nervous. Probably because I had no plan and no idea what to say. I took a deep breath and tried to school my features, whatever that meant. “Hi, Denise.”

She whipped around, clutching her shovel, until she recognized me. “Oh. Hi, Shannon. You snuck up on me.” She chuckled self-consciously and added, “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I know. I was here a few weeks ago, but it must’ve been your day off.”

“Probably. I do get them once in a blue moon.” She pulled off the Australian-bush-style canvas sun hat she was wearing and brushed a few strands of her light brown hair off her face. “Everything going okay with you?”

I shrugged. “It’s been a weird week.”

“You’re telling me.” She seemed to brace herself as she gripped the long handle of her shovel. “I heard you were at the mansion when they found Lily.”

“Yeah. It was pretty bad.” I glanced at Mac. “This is Mac Sullivan. He’s the one who bought the lighthouse mansion.”

“Nice to meet you. I’ve read all your books.”

“I appreciate it, thanks. Nice to meet you, too.”

She pulled off her right glove, wiped her hand on her jeans, and reached over to shake his hand. “Sorry if I got dirt on you.”

“I don’t mind at all,” he said. “Your garden is fantastic.”

She beamed a smile. “Thank you. We love it.”

“So, I guess you’ve talked to the police,” I said, plunging forward.

“Yeah.” She shook her head, looking a little dazed. “Not a fun experience.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “No matter how innocent you are, their mere presence makes you wonder if you did something wrong.”

“That’s exactly how I felt.” She chuckled ruefully and added, “You would know about that, I guess.”

She was referring to my recent involvement in several murders and Eric’s suspicions about me. And while I hated to think about those circumstances, I was willing to use them to get Denise to talk. “I know all about it. But the police would never suspect you.”

“Right. Chief Jensen said I could be a lot of help to him, so I just tried to think back to that time and told him everything I could remember.”

“I talked to him, too. All I could remember about Lily was that you and she were such good friends. She was lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, Shannon.” Denise sniffled, obviously getting a little choked up. She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose delicately. “It’s still a shock to me. I spent so many years feeling angry and worried and confused. I couldn’t understand how Lily could leave when she had everything going for her. I mean, it seemed so selfish somehow.”

“I knew her a little,” I said. “Not like you did, of course. But when she disappeared, I took it so personally. And it hurt.”

“Exactly.” Denise struggled to gulp back tears. “Do you remember how she had the lead in the school play our senior year? And she’d applied for a bunch of scholarships because she was determined to escape those parents of hers and make a good life for herself.”

“That’s what Sean told me.”

“I felt betrayed. Abandoned.” Denise stared up at the sky, lost in thought. Finally, she said, “And now to find out that she never left. I feel so awful for thinking all those things about her. That she was only concerned about herself, or that maybe she just gave up on everything.”

“I remember thinking, How could she run away before the Spring Festival? Her understudy had to take over her role in Grease.”

Denise nodded. “I was so mad at her.”

We stood in silence for a long moment until I said, “If you ever need to talk about anything, I’m around.”

“You’re sweet, Shannon. I really appreciate it.”

“Did you know the police talked to Mr. Dain?”

Her eyes darkened and her lips tightened with resentment. “Good. Maybe they’ll arrest him.”

“Was he your counselor?”

“No, thank goodness. But he was Lily’s.” She grabbed the shovel handle and thrust the steel cutting blade over and over into the soft ground, as though she were attacking the dirt. “I could kill him for the things he said to her.”

*   *   *

Once Denise and I were finished talking, I had to shake off the sad vibes and get down to the business of shopping. I bought three heavy bags of potting soil, six colorful pots with bases, a new trowel, a pair of gloves, and a dozen four-inch containers of herbs I planned to keep inside, next to my kitchen window, until the weather turned warmer.

Mac had a long talk with one of the landscapers and set up an appointment to meet at the mansion the following week. Then he bought a hardy outdoor plant for his balcony table and a few herbs for his kitchenette. “They’ll keep the place smelling nice,” he said.

We paid for our purchases and used a flatbed cart to carry them out to the truck.

“It’s always a good time with you, Irish,” Mac said, as I drove back to town.

I shook my head in frustration. “We didn’t get any information from her at all.”

“Yeah, but it was interesting to see her working that shovel blade.”

“I was mesmerized,” I admitted.

“I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that anger.”

“I know.” I stared thoughtfully at the road. “I’m not sure she realized what she was doing.”