Gourdfellas (13 page)

“Just so you know—I suggested that Castro check that attic window, as you asked me to. She found clothing fibers on the window frame. Maybe they’re old, but maybe someone did get into your house that way.”

I nodded and I drew my chair closer to the table. When I looked into his dark eyes, I caught a flicker, a frisson of . . .
something
that made me forget the matter at hand for a second. I pulled myself back to business and said, “So, why did she take my computer and my printer, and when will I get them back?”

“You wrote a note to Marjorie Mellon telling her that you had no intention of letting a casino come into Walden Corners to spoil your new home.” He sat with his back straight and his hands folded on the gleaming mahogany table. The air smelled vaguely of balsam and furniture polish.

“I
what?
” I would have been less surprised if he’d told me that I’d won the lottery. And certainly more pleased.

“That’s why they took your computer and printer. Someone found a note folded into a small square in Wonderland Toy Town. In the bathroom, to be precise. Right near the supplies that Marjorie used every Tuesday to clean the place. Castro says it probably fell out of her pocket the last time she was there.” He never took his eyes off mine, even when I failed to say anything in response to the news he’d just dropped as casually as a beekeeper drops a swarming hive.

Finally, I said, “I didn’t write any note. Wonderland toys—maybe she should check with the people who work there or shop there. It’s a great store, all those wooden train sets and great old board games. Lots of people are in and out of Wonderland. Don’t they cater to the city crowd?”

He picked up his gold pen, and turned it between lean, strong fingers. “They’ll examine the print on the note and run some tests and then they’ll determine whether or not it came from your computer or your printer. That’s the easy part. They won’t get a match. And they won’t find your prints.”

What was the hard part, then? Why wouldn’t that clear me? “So, if there’s no match and no prints on the note, then why—”

I didn’t need to finish my own question. The answer was obvious. I might have written it somewhere else. After all, I’d said that I was in the city for several days before Marjorie was killed. And if I did write the note on another computer, I might have been careful enough to make sure my fingerprints didn’t turn up on the paper. Which meant that I was still a suspect.

“Okay, I get it. Listen, someone is setting me up. I know everyone must say the same thing, but this time it’s true.” I sank wearily into my chair. “What did the note say?”

Hovanian smiled with angelic amusement. “Now, that’s such a good question. But since you haven’t been arrested yet, I don’t get to demand that the sheriff’s office tell me the contents of the note, and they’re not volunteering. If we can find out what the note says, then maybe we’ll be able to shift the spotlight away from you to someone else. Another person who clashed with Marjorie.”

“I didn’t clash with Marjorie.” I bristled at the thought that he believed even that part of the sheriff ’s wrongheaded theory. “Not any more than any other opponent of the casino, probably less. Look, this is really starting to worry me. Why would someone pick me to blame?”

“You know,” he said, “I’ve been asking myself the very same question. From what I gather, you’ve been accepted by most of the residents of Walden Corners, because of your connection to Nora Johnson and that gang she hangs out with.”

Was this tall, rugged-looking man suggesting that I was an uninteresting, unappealing, asocial misfit who would have been shunned if Nora hadn’t been my friend? That I wouldn’t have been tolerated unless someone had vetted me to the satisfaction of the long-time movers and shakers—such as they were—of this inconsequential little cross-roads that called itself a town?

Then I caught myself and laughed at how quickly my defensiveness had colored my thinking. His take was probably right on, given the nature of small towns. Even in Brooklyn, where each neighborhood functioned a bit like a separate village, it had helped when I’d first arrived in Car-roll Gardens to have Karen as a guide to ease my entry into new situations.

“Okay, so if Nora and Elizabeth and Susan and Melissa granted me the Walden Corners seal of approval, why would someone think that I’d be an easy target? I mean, wouldn’t it make sense to think I’d have backers and resources?” My mind raced, trying to see myself from the perspective of a murderer looking for a patsy. It was harder than I would have imagined.

I was a mediator because I disliked conflict—I wanted to help make life a little easier or more fun for the people around me. I worked hard and kept my lawn trimmed. I was a pretty good daughter, sister, and friend, usually. None of these qualities was especially remarkable. The thing that set me apart from some of my neighbors was a factor of timing: thirteen months in Columbia County, instead of eight generations. But this was a community that relied on weekenders from New York City to drive its economic engine at least partway down the road to prosperity, so even that part of my background was unremarkable.

“Maybe it wasn’t a conscious decision.” My lawyer took off his dark-framed glasses and rubbed his eyes, then squinted across the table at me before putting the glasses back on. This time, his gaze was steady. “Maybe your house just happened to be near where Marjorie was killed, and it turned out to be a convenient spot to hide the murder weapon. Once the rifle was discovered, the opportunity to shore up the case against you was too good to pass up. Theoretically.”

I sank back into my chair. “Fine. So we’re back where we started. Someone put a gun in my house. Then they said, ‘Aha! Let’s make it look like Lili Marino killed Marjorie Mellon.’ Which, in a fit of creativity, led them to cleverly forge a note that appeared to be from me and drop it in the bathroom of the local toy store. To make sure the fickle finger of fate—and Michele Castro—continue to camp out on my stoop.”

His laugh, more like a bark than a giggle, startled me. “That’s a very original job of mixing metaphors,” he said. “I just hope that finger doesn’t drop anything else on your doorstep.”

Maybe my time would have been better spent staying home and working on Neil’s computer on the forty-page summary of health care options for one of my longstanding New York City corporate clients, but I put the task aside and prepared to go off into the night in my what-you-see-is-what-you-get persona.

Instead of wearing a trench coat, dark glasses, and a shoe phone, I deliberately chose plain, dark clothing so that I would draw as little attention to myself as possible—I would be just another interested citizen attending the anti-casino meeting, and maybe I’d stumble across a nugget of information that would help me clear my name.

At least I had companions in deception. Nora, Elizabeth, and Melissa would be there too, extra eyes and ears to cover the large crowd and poke into dark corners that hid secrets and lies, while Susan put in an appearance at the pro-casino gathering. It seemed like an unbalanced use of person-power, but Susan was the only one of us who could go to Nathaniel’s bowling alley without standing out like a pineapple in a tomato patch.

“Scooter and Armel get there on time?” Nora asked. “Those boys were so excited. A professional baseball player. My son and his best friend, going to spend the evening with a pro. They must have said it at least a zillion times.”

“Ten minutes early.” I smiled at the memory of how Scooter’s usual cool had evaporated under Neil’s high wattage smile. Armel, his best buddy, had been speechless until Neil told a joke I only half heard, about third basemen and chewing tobacco. “By the time I left they were talking NASCAR and making bets on whether Mike Piazza would be a Hall of Famer.”

Nora stared down at her shoes. “He really misses his father. It’s good for him, hanging out with Neil.”

“Good for all of them. I’m glad my brother’s getting a taste of the adulation that he would have had if he were playing.”

“He’ll get to have that, only a little later than he thought.” Nora looked around, her eyes fixing on a corner of the barn where two gourds sat on a wood plank. “It’s great that Connie and Mel have this big barn. Good place for a meeting. Are those the gourds she worked on with you? Who would have thought of putting Art Deco designs on a gourd?”

I nodded, trying not to let my pride show too much. They
were
good—Connie was a quick study, and I loved teaching her.

“They’re wonderful.” Melissa clutched her jacket closer. “It could be ten degrees warmer in here, but at least it’s not February. They’re talking about sunshine and sixty degrees again tomorrow. Well, at least Marjorie had a nice day last week for her farewell.”

We were all quiet. The service in the plain white church had been jammed, mourners and the merely curious vying for seats. I had put on my invisible shield and slipped into a pew next to Nora, even though the thought of sitting around with Marjorie’s family made me feel like an imposter. The stares and whispers of suspicion subsided when the preacher began his talk, except for an occasional glance that only reminded me to sit up straight.

Elizabeth nodded. “I heard that Connie had breakfast with Marjorie’s daughter that day. Anita Mellon—she’s always been the last person I’d expect to be Connie’s friend.”

“Other way around, I’d say.” Melissa brushed her silky hair off her shoulder. “Connie’s the one who was always trying to get Anita to go to school or to dress more . . . conservatively.”

Before I could ask what she meant, Melissa turned to me and said, “Listen, I forgot to tell you something.”

Those were not words I wanted to hear. Nora, Elizabeth, and I leaned in closer. I smelled lilac shampoo, cinnamon breath mints, and a citrusy scent that reminded me of my favorite bubble bath. Melissa put an arm around me and said, “Watch out for Seth. Someone said he’s written a big check to the pro-casino group. He may be a double agent. You know, showing up here just to see what we’re up to, so he can report back.”

“Who’s someone?” I demanded. If the already small dating pool were to be cut by one, I wanted to be the one to do the slashing for my own reasons, not because I’d believed a rumor about one of the few eligible and interesting men around. Seth had declared himself as against the casino . . . or, at least that’s how I’d interpreted what he’d said. The idea that he’d give money to the other side was disturbing—if it were true.

“Two different sources. That’s all I can say.” Melissa looked directly at me. “You can find out, right? Don’t you think he’d tell you things the rest of us couldn’t ask?”

I groaned. Now they were suggesting that I spy on the man I was dating. If I didn’t do it, the seed of doubt might continue to grow, but I’d have to take my chances.

“Not my style to lead a man on.” I hoped my smile communicated a what-me-worry attitude. “If it comes up, fine, I’ll have an opening. But I won’t manipulate Seth into—”

“Speak of the devil,” Elizabeth said, her eyes tracking a path from the door to a point about two feet from the four of us.

“Ladies.” Seth’s brown eyes crinkled as he smiled. He leaned toward me and brushed my cheek with a kiss. “Ready with some good strategies?”

“Ready to listen and see what sounds good and what doesn’t.” Which was truly what I was doing at this meeting. He smelled good, a fresh herbal scent that didn’t overpower, and he looked good, in his white sweater and jeans. “What about you?”

One of Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. Nora blinked and turned away.

“We need to counter all the negatives with positive proposals. Think of responses that would satisfy the long list of concerns the other guys have developed. Problem is, anything we come up with is bound to be more complicated and take a lot more effort, and it can’t be reduced to a slogan that we can plaster all over town.” His voice had risen in volume as he spoke, and his eyes shone with excitement. “We need to find a way to bring more compatible businesses to town, and convince the casino supporters that the projected revenues are offset by some tangible, predictable costs and, more important, by some intangible and unanticipated costs.”

“Such as?” Melissa cocked her head and smiled, but her crossed arms sent the message that she wasn’t completely convinced by what he was saying.

Seth smiled back at her, then looked past us to a group gathered near a rusting plow. “That’s one of the things I’m going to talk about in a bit. Listen, I have to check something out. See you later.”

When he was ten steps away, Nora whispered, “If he’s on the other side, he’s a pretty damn good actor.”

“Well,
I
haven’t ever thought of him as performing.” I blushed, realizing how many different ways my friends could take that statement. Seth Selinsky might hold back some of his feelings on occasion—he certainly imposed limits and boundaries, which was not only fine with me but definitely in sync with the way I operated in this relationship. But despite a baloney radar system in fine working order, I’d never worried that he was pretending about anything.

That didn’t mean I was right.

“We’d better mingle,” Nora said, looking over the crowd, “or the only goods we’ll get will be on each other.”

It would have been nice if we all clasped hands and touched foreheads in a huddle again, but instead everyone nodded and walked off in different directions. The smell of old hay wafted up to me as I made my way to the closest knot of people. Joseph Trent, Trisha Stern, and Sue Evans, the owner of Wonderland Toy Town, nodded their hellos as I joined the small circle.

“Lili, hi, we were just talking about a new idea.” Trisha brushed her pixie bangs away from her forehead. “It’s an original, all right.”

Sue Evans didn’t respond to my inquiring look, and I bit back questions about who had found the note and what it said. With her brightly colored patchwork jacket, broom-stick skirt, and long silver earrings, she was declaring herself Creative. I wondered what else she might have invented in the past couple of days. A note, perhaps, that had somehow made its way to the store bathroom?