Fruit of All Evil (5 page)

Shawn laughed uncomfortably, his smile returning and working its magic, making him once again seem more youthful. “Actually, Mid, that's not it. You're an artist of sorts. I thought you might want to talk to Ian, who makes his living with art. You seemed too into the roast beef to ask questions.”

“Oh,” Mid said.

Shawn's tone was unmistakable. He was irritated at his brother for something, and used conversation about Ian's chosen way to make a living to cover up whatever the real problem was.

We were early into the dinner, and it was already an adventure. I couldn't wait for what would come next.

“You're an artist?” Ian said easily. “What kind of art?”

Ian and my sister are very much alike when it comes to the world of social graces. Ian's tone magically brought the atmosphere of the dinner back to cordial. I was slightly disappointed, but couldn't help but think how good it was that he could make up for one of my weaknesses.

“I sculpt,” Mid said, as though he was giving up the fight. “I'm not very good at it, but I enjoy it.”

“What kind of things do you sculpt?” Ian asked.

“Animals, mostly.”

“I'd love to see some of your work.”

I glanced at Sally, whose eyes were squinted in doubt. She looked at her brothers as though they were speaking a foreign language. My gut suddenly told me that we were all being fed a line, but why? I glanced at Drew. He seemed interested, but there was no doubt showing on his handsome face. Linda looked just fine, too.

Ian knew something was up, too, and though he had great people skills, I could tell that, like me, he was very curious as to what would happen next.

“I might like showing my work to a real artist,” Mid finally said before he put more roast beef into his mouth.

For a moment the room was quiet. I caught Alan staring at Linda. It wasn't a curious stare as much as it was an uncomfortable one. Drew didn't seem to notice it, but I wished he had. I had the urge to nudge Linda under the table and point out what was going on, but instead I said, “Alan, earlier you mentioned that you're in between things at the moment.”

“Yes.” He blinked and looked in my direction.

“What sort of things?” I asked.

Alan shrugged. “I'm
so
in between, I'm not sure. I've done lots of things, mostly with numbers. I'm a CPA, but a few years back I decided to look for another passion. I haven't found it yet. I wish I had some sort of artistic ability.” He nodded toward Ian and Mid. Even though Alan didn't look physically superior like Drew, I wondered if maybe he was also a part of the
military.
It had taken Drew a long time to trust me enough to give me even the slightest of details about what he does, so maybe he and Alan both did the same thing, or the same sort of thing.

“It's hard work, but I do enjoy getting up every day,” Ian said, smoothing the atmosphere again.

“Our world at Bailey's is unique,” Linda said, changing the subject. “Most of us enjoy what we do, we get to be entrepreneurs, and we work with creative and hardworking people.”

“Hmm, maybe Mid and I should look into getting a booth there,” Shawn said.

“Oh? For your art or something else?” Ian asked.

“Something else. We own Loder Dairy,” Shawn replied.

“
The
Loder Dairy?” I asked, my fork halting in midair.

Shawn laughed lightly. “I think there's only one in South Carolina.”

My childhood memories of Loder Dairy were vast, almost all-encompassing—and fond and happy. I hadn't thought about the dairy for years, though. When Allison and I were little, we anticipated the twice-weekly truck that brought us Loder milk, butter, and sometimes special candy treats. I was about to wax nostalgic about Loder Dairy and the happy memories it had given me when Levi flew into the room.

He was dressed all in white, his final layer being a food-stained apron. He had a head of blond bushy curls and the thickest glasses I'd ever seen.

“Mr. Drew, I think we have a problem,” he said in a thick Southern accent.

“What is it, Levi?” Drew asked.

“I don't . . . I wonder . . . well, I think something must have happened to the missus.”

“What do you mean, Levi?” Drew asked as he put down his
knife and fork, placed his napkin on the table, and stood.

“Her car is here,” Levi said.

The words he spoke weren't alarming in themselves. In fact, they were quite innocuous. The tone in which he spoke them, however, sent chills down my spine.

“I don't understand,” Drew said. “Has my mother returned?”

“That's just it,” Levi replied. “I don't think she ever left. I had to go out to the garage—to check the freezer for some more pastries—and her car was still in the garage. The missus is not in the car, not in the garage, and I didn't see her come back into the house.”

“Did you see her leave?” I interrupted, thinking I wouldn't have put it past her to return home, sneak into the house, and hide from the party just to make Linda angry.

He shook his head. “I'm not sure. She said she was leaving, but I was so busy I don't know if I actually saw her go.”

“Please, everyone, stay seated. I'll check the garage. Excuse me.” Drew took long strides out of the room and followed Levi into the kitchen.

For a moment the rest of us remained in our seats. I glanced at Ian, who was staring at the doorway through which Drew had disappeared; Linda held on to the table as though debating whether she should use it to push herself out of the chair; Sally looked to be on the verge of tears again. Alan, Mid, and Shawn all looked concerned, but were deep in their own thoughts. Shawn pushed his glasses up his nose.

I didn't understand any of their reactions. There was probably a reasonable explanation for Madeline's car being in the garage, but these people knew her much better than I did. Perhaps this behavior was something to be concerned about, but at the moment I was more irritated than concerned. Later, I would regret my reaction.

“Well, excuse me, I think I'm going to see what's going on,” Linda said as she stood.

“Want me to come?” I asked.

“Sure.”

I stood, and followed my friend as she made her way through the large restaurant-type kitchen and out a back door. By the time we were on a walkway headed toward the garage, the rest of the group was behind us. If Linda stopped, we'd bump together like a group of misdirected Keystone Kops.

I caught Ian's gaze, and he mouthed a “be careful.” I didn't understand the need to be careful or wary, but I nodded.

Just as we reached the four-stall garage, the automatic door rolled up, revealing Drew and Levi peering into a newer model silver Mercedes sedan.

“She's not in the car?” Linda asked.

“No,” Drew answered. “It doesn't look like it's been driven recently. And the hood is cool.”

The garage was huge, but clean and mostly empty. A large freezer—the kind you find in restaurants—took up half of one stall. The Mercedes and a bicycle were the only other items in the huge space.

“Is that the only car she has?” I asked Linda.

“Yes.”

“Check the freezer,” Sally suggested.

In sync, we all turned to look at her as though we weren't sure we'd heard her correctly. But Drew went to the freezer and pulled the door handle. Once a cloud of icy vapor dissipated, it was clear that there was nothing but food inside the thick walls.

“Well, that's good. She didn't go in there and hit her head, fall down, and die, or anything,” Sally said.

“Where's your car, Levi?” I asked.

“Over there.” He pointed to an old blue VW Bug that was around the other side of the house. The back of the Bug stuck out from behind a corner of the brick mansion.

I took it upon myself to hurry over and glance in Levi's car. There were a couple of old paperbacks on the front passenger seat, but other than that, it was empty. I rejoined the crowd just as everyone was heading back into the house.

“She must be inside somewhere,” Ian said as I merged next to him at the back of the parade of people.

“She's probably fine. Just being difficult, you know. But this is beginning to feel weird,” I said quietly.
Something
wasn't right, that much I was beginning to understand.

“I agree. Really, Becca, be careful. Other than Linda and Drew, we don't know these people. And you're right, this is definitely weird.”

“Yeah.”

We didn't split up to search for Madeline, which is something I would later wonder about. Why didn't we? Were we all feeling the heebie-jeebies that Ian and I had acknowledged? Was there, maybe, a killer among us who wanted people around all the time, so they could confirm an alibi or something? Was there more than one killer?

The mansion was as huge as it seemed, with three floors, long hallways, and big rooms. Madeline had great decorating taste, but it was mostly her fondness for purple that I noticed: purple pillows, random purple walls, upholstery, and so on.

We moved along the halls and through rooms together. Despite the largeness of the spaces, our big search party was crowded and uncomfortable. The only person who said much of anything was Drew, as he called “Mom” or “Madeline” over and over again.

There was never one word of response, not the sound of a television or radio on somewhere. The house was as silent as a tomb.

Finally, on the third floor, in the back corner, as far from the kitchen and dining room as we could get, we approached Madeline's suite.

This was it—the last real spot to search. If she wasn't in there, she wasn't in the house.

Drew looked back as the rest of us watched him expectantly. For the first time since I'd met him at the Fall Equinox Dinner in September, he looked real, vulnerable, and worried, not the squared-away paragon of military perfection he was. He ran his hands through his mussed-up hair, and Linda stepped to his side, taking his hand.

Drew knocked on the door.

“Mom? You in there?”

No answer.

Drew turned the knob and pushed the door open wide. He and Linda stepped into the room. One of them gasped, and the rest of us hurried into horror.

Madeline Forsyth was on her back on her bed, a black-and-white checkered scarf pulled tight around her neck. One hand lay in a puddle of blood on the bed, and the other hand hung over the side, dripping blood from what looked like wounds on her palm. Her gray face and vacant eyes told the rest of the story: she was way dead.

Someone screamed, someone yelled, and someone fainted, but I'm not sure exactly who did what. I had seen Matt Simonsen's dead body last fall, but this was different. I was physically closer to Madeline than I had ever let myself get to Matt, and I was part of the group discovering the body, not part of the group coming in later.

My stomach turned and I got light-headed. Someone took my arm and led me to the side of the room.

“Becca, you okay?” Ian asked.

I looked at his concerned expression, and nodded.

“Take a deep breath.”

I did as he instructed, and kept my eyes away from the gruesome scene. It was because I was purposely looking away that I happened to see something on the floor at Ian's feet, next to a chaise.

I suddenly crouched.

“Becca?” Ian crouched with me and held tight to my arm. “Let me get you out of here.”

“I'm okay. I just . . . well . . .” I looked around at everyone else. No one was paying me or Ian a bit of attention. Everyone was in a state of shock or panic, or comforting or helping someone else.

“What?”

“Look.” I nodded toward the floor.

“Oh. Okay, we'll show the police. Come on.”

But that wouldn't do. I needed the object I saw. I had some questions that I wanted answered, and the most efficient way to get those answers was to take the object and inspect it myself.

I reached down, picked up Madeline's cell phone, and put it in my pocket, all without using the tips of my fingers.

To his credit, though Ian did look shocked and displeased, he didn't tell on me.