Much Ado About Muffin (24 page)

They were coming back.

I had intended to confront Roma in front of Pish the moment they came home, but recalled my dear friend's gray, weary face. After dinner out—as much as he likely loved it—he would only be more tired. He needed to rest, and this was between me and her. I also didn't want him defending her; not this time. I raced upstairs, closing my door and waiting by it. I heard the downstairs door swing shut—it's so big that the sound when it closes echoes through the whole castle—and then they both ascended to the gallery, talking loud at first, then whispering.

Finally, after a few minutes, I trusted that Pish was in his room and showering, as he always does, before slipping into his pajamas. He habitually wears what are called kurta pajamas, an Indian style of long top over pajama pants, very
elegant in linen or more often silk, Pish's preference. I slipped from my room and down the hall, tapping on Roma's door.

“En-ter,” she sang, likely thinking it would be Pish.

I heeded her offer. She had thrown off her dress and wore a silk dressing gown, pale pink, and pom-pom mule slippers, satin, the very image of a 1950s star, which was how she saw herself in her better moments. She sat at her dressing table and efficiently wiped makeup from her face using makeup remover cream and cosmetic pads.

“I was thinking, Pishie darling, that if we are to go on with
Much Ado About Nothing
we should film it and upload it to YouTube, given how many views
Sola
is getting.”

“I'm sure he'll agree with you when you tell him that in the morning, Roma.”

She jumped and shrieked, tipping over her bottle of makeup remover and hastily wiping up the spill with a tissue. “Merry, you startled me,” she finally said, tossing the tissue at the garbage can under the dressing table but missing. “What do you want?”

“To ask you again where you were the morning Minnie was murdered. Did you go to the post office to discuss her love life? Blackmail her? Minnie was never easy to get along with—I know that from experience. Did it break out into an argument and you lost your temper, saw the letter opener, and went for it?” That wasn't quite how it must have gone, given that I knew the letter opener was not the only weapon, but I had to ask.

Her face in the dim light from the sconce was deathly white, a bit of the makeup remover still visible in a line along her jaw, her visage bizarre, with one eye still made-up and the other bare. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

I crossed the room and sat on the end of her bed, staring at her, my gaze never leaving her face. “I know you were plotting, Roma, but plotting
what
?”

She shook her head and opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“I've heard it, you know; you taped a phone conversation between Minnie and her new love interest. I don't know how. I don't know why. But you did it.”

Her dark eyes widened. She leaped to her feet, dashed to her closet, and fell to her knees, pushing aside her luggage and pulling the canvas bag out, rooting around in it. She whirled and sat down with a thump, glaring across the room at me. “You searched my room! How
could
you? You're so self-righteous, but you're a nasty piece of . . . I'll tell Pishie right this minute unless you give it back. I'll let him know how despicable—”

“Don't even
try
to destroy my relationship with Pish,” I said, my tone frosty. “I could have done this in front of Pish. Instead I decided to give you a chance to explain yourself.”

“I never explain.
Ever
.”

“Then we have a problem.”

We bantered like that for a few minutes more: threats and wheedling on her side, demands and ultimatums on mine. She returned to her dressing table and took off the rest of her makeup. She was trying to figure out what to do, given my refusal to go away or be silent.

“Fine. I'll tell you what happened, since you're being such a witch about it,” she finally said, turning and facing me, all the blotches and blemishes of a normal woman's skin now evident.

“That's all I want. How did you get a tape of Minnie talking to a lover?”

She bit her lip and smothered a smile. “That is
not
a lover,” she trilled, her voice musical with suppressed laughter. “That's an actor friend of mine who is doing a cabaret show in Rochester right now.”

Stunned at her smirk, I was silent for a moment. An actor.
It took me a minute, but I got there. “You hired an actor to romance her on the phone. But why?”

She gave me a withering look. “She was planning on making my life miserable if I stayed. I thought I'd beat her to the punch.”

I recognized that given the circumstances, it would have seemed completely reasonable to Roma. Minnie had attacked the only thing she cared about, her identity as an opera singer, so she would attack back. Women can be vicious when their children are threatened; Roma's singing career was her child. Making Minnie a laughingstock in Autumn Vale would have been a return ten times for the damage Roma had suffered. I spared a thought for the dead woman; poor Minnie, two lovers, and neither one genuine.

The explanation was not satisfactory, though, in so many ways. “Roma, where were you the morning Minnie was murdered?”

“I was getting that tape from my actor friend. Think about it, for heaven's sake. I didn't know she was
dead
. I had planned to confront her with the tape and all the ridiculous things she said, or . . . or play it in the coffee shop, or something! If I knew how to use the Internet I'd have loaded it up there, or whatever you call it, with a photo of her so everyone in the world could hear that
pathetic
woman spout love poetry.” She had the grace to look slightly guilty at that, clasping her hands between her knees. “Once she was dead, of course, I had no use for it.”

“What about the night I was run off the road?”

“Merry, dear, you
do
need to stop being so dramatic,” she said, casting me a snide glance. “Why would I do something so dreary to you? I simply went for a drive and met my friend for drinks, that's all.”

“So your actor friend is actually a
lover
!”

“On occasion. I don't have any money, but Bertram is easygoing. It amused him to play Minnie's ‘phonamour,'
and the price was merely my company. He finds me entertaining. We had some wine and went to a motel; I
may
have had a wee tipple too much and ran into a parking lot barricade. The motel will tell you everything. As a matter of fact, they'll be contacting Pish about it.” She glanced at herself in the mirror, pinched some color into her cheeks, and smiled. The smile faded. “I suppose I need to tell him what happened.” Her gaze switched to me, in the mirror. “I wanted to wait until after . . .”

She didn't need to finish. She wasn't going to tell him until after they'd finished the video, in case it put him off and he refused to do it. How little faith she had in Pish. She bit her lip and smiled at me. “I don't suppose
you'd
—”

“No, Roma. It's up to you to tell Pish what you did to his car and everything else, even about Minnie. Have fun.” I stood. “I'll be checking this all out, you know.”

Now that I had refused to help her, she was back to being snotty. “Go ahead, you suspicion little peon. He'll be amused. I have told him
so
much about you.”

I headed to the door, but turned and eyed her with dislike. “Tell Pish why his car is dinged the moment you're up tomorrow. If you don't, I will, and I won't sugarcoat the whole sick little plan, like you will.” I would be talking to him anyway, to make sure he confirmed her story, but I'd let her tell him her own way first.

“All right,
okay
.”

She muttered to herself and flung some clothes around as I left. In my room my cell phone had a voice message on it from Hannah, telling me to call her right away. I did, and found her breathless with excitement.

“What's going on? Is everything all right?”

“Merry, I couldn't wait, and I didn't think you'd want to, either. I have news.”

“What is it?”

“I started with Minnie's child.”

“Yes . . .”

“We figured out that the kid would be late forties by now if Minnie had the baby as a teenager.”

I sighed with exaggerated impatience. “Are you going to make me go through every step of your investigation?”

“I am,” she said, with a laugh. “You know me by now, Merry. I want you to hear it all, so you know how clever I am.”

I laughed. “I already know that, but go ahead. We'll get there.” I lay on the bed and put my hand on Becket, feeling him purr.

“So, I started from the information we had. I had a name, and an approximate date of birth, from Minnie's friend.”

“Right. But no one around here seemed to know about the baby except her friend.”

“Yes, but everything we do in life is tracked and recorded.”

I remembered her mysterious need to wait until government offices were open. “You didn't go all the way to . . .
wherever
for birth records, did you?”

“Not exactly. I used the power of the Internet.”

“How did that help you?”

“It took a lot of cross-referencing, but I started with Minnie, and children in the area born around then, and the name we know she gave the child.”

“Casey Urquhart,” I supplied.

“Uh-huh. For a price you can search databases that hold all of our information, and I mean
everything
: date of birth, marriages, licenses. Adoption. Change of name.” She paused, then said, “Death.”

“Oh.
Oh!
Is Casey Urquhart dead?”

“She died a long time ago, when she was just nineteen.”

“That's so sad. Did Minnie know?”

“I think so.”

“I can't believe you found all this out in one day.” Hannah is an extraordinary researcher, like many librarians: part researcher, part human resources, part Internet goddess, and
part rat terrier fixated on one task until it is mastered and defeated. I would never have figured out all she did, nor stuck with it as long. There had to be something more, judging by the excitement in Hannah's voice at first. “So what's got you jumping?”

“Merry, the poor girl died in childbirth, but the baby
survived
.”

I was silent for a moment, stunned. “Minnie had a grandchild?”

“She did.”

“Did she know that?”

“Oh yes, she certainly did.
And
changed her will accordingly. The baby was adopted at birth and given a different last name from Urquhart. Not a name anyone around here would know, you see.”

“Oh.
Oh!
Do we . . . no, that's too much to ask.” I paused. “Or maybe not. Do we have a name?”

“We do.”

“Do I know the individual?”

“You do.”

And then she told me who it was, and everything fell into place.

T
he FBI had
caused quite a stir in town, with exhaustive interviews and searches. The gossip mill was grinding exceedingly fine, with every bit of minutiae available from every person who had been questioned, every neighbor who had been canvassed, every single little bit discussed and microdiscussed down to the finest grain of detail. I heard it all as I did the rounds of muffin deliveries. I had purposely left early, giving Roma enough time to fess up to Pish what she had planned to do to Minnie, but I knew darn well she'd sugarcoat it, and that Pish was a pushover.

I didn't expect any major blowouts, but my friend is a kind man, and I thought he'd be disappointed with the diva. The way she'd planned on humiliating Minnie was particularly female and vicious. Though in life I had disliked Minnie intensely, in death I felt nothing but pity for her, especially after hearing the latest news from Hannah. The least we could do was find her murderer because she had been
slaughtered, if I was right, by someone for whom she cared. It must have been awful.

I visited the library, got the information that Hannah had printed for me, and insisted on reimbursing her for the services for which she had paid. Perhaps there was some way I could charge it to my taxes under medical, as a treatment for SD, snooping disorder.

Then I stopped at the FBI trailer and spoke to Esposito. As I climbed up into the vehicle I asked about Minnie's car and he confirmed that it had been impounded the day of her death. That was the answer to my question, then, about Karl's access to it after Minnie's death: he didn't have any. The inside of the command center was dull gray and lined with computer terminals, mostly dead, with one fellow doing something official-looking. Or maybe playing Candy Crush. Esposito had me sit in the passenger seat while I told him everything I knew. He nodded. A lot.

“Did you know any of this? All of it?”

He smiled. “You know I can't divulge what I did or didn't know, Ms. Wynter.”

I restrained the urge to roll my eyes like Lizzie talking to her mother. “Have you, perchance, been to one of Crystal Rouse's Consciousness Calling introductory meetings?”

“That's beyond the scope of our murder investigation, though we have looked into both Emerald Proctor and Crystal Rouse, of course, as two suspects who Minnie Urquhart had run-ins with.”

I squinted and eyed him. “I don't suppose you'll tell me what you've found out about Crystal.”

“Of course not. However, I will say we've been contacted by a young woman at Consciousness Calling in San Diego. She said she had spoken with you, and was very concerned about Crystal Rouse's misappropriation of the CC brand and methodology, as she called it.”

That was good. “They've advertised another introductory meeting tonight, and I'm going. Maybe you should have someone there. I think interesting things are going to happen.”

He watched me for a moment, perhaps digesting the subtext of what I was saying. “I don't have a single agent in this town who would not be recognized instantly.”

“Well, that's a problem, isn't it?” I said, opening the vehicle door, slipping from the seat, and looking back at him. “I would imagine you have lots of other agents within an hour's drive.”

“I'll take that under advisement, Ms. Wynter. We greatly appreciate your intimate involvement in our investigation.”

He might have been joking, but I'll confess I wasn't sure. I went on my merry way. Every way is my Merry way; that was a joke my grandmother used to make.

I hadn't forgotten my dear friend, Shilo. I had called the evening before but got their machine, a jaunty new message with Shilo singing off tune “We Are Family.” I drove to their new house with the last of the muffins to find Jezebel haphazardly backed into the drive and the trunk open. The front door of the house was open, too.
Everything
was open.

I hesitantly climbed up the steps and poked my head in the front door, inhaling the odor of paint and sawdust. “Hello?” I called.

I heard something fall and a laugh, followed by a slightly lower laugh that was very similar. I followed the sound. Shilo was in the kitchen doing dishes with Lido. “Hi!” I said.

“Merry!” She raced at me and hit me with the full force of her slender frame. Luckily I am sturdy and not easily sent flying.

Lido smiled and nodded, softly saying, “Howdy, Merry.”

“Hi, Lido. What's going on?” I asked, my gaze returning to Shilo, who had returned to the dishes. “Jezebel's sitting out in the lane with her trunk wide-open.” I heard a noise in the other part of the house like someone clattering down stairs.

“Jack is loading up the old girl,” Shilo replied. “Can you give him a hand, Lido?” Her brother nodded and raced through the house, joining Jack, who I could hear shout a welcome to his brother-in-law. “Oh, Merry, it's so wonderful!” Shilo said, taking my arm and clutching it against her. “Jack and Lido had a long talk. We're going to go see my granny!”

I was relieved, if a bit miffed that no one had bothered to tell me. However, Shilo was free-spirited Shilo. “I'm so happy, honey. I told you Jack would be okay with it.”

“And his mama was even better! She hugged me and told me she was worried about me, and happy now that I was okay. She was afraid I was sick or something. I said that other than being a little ralphie, I was fine.”

“Ralphie?” That was a new one. “What does that mean?”

“Ralphie . . . like I want to ralph all the time. The girls I knew in New York always said they were going to visit Uncle Ralph when they were getting rid of a meal. I can't keep food down the last few days.”

My mind immediately went
there
, and I stared at her, the glitter in her eyes, her pearly skin, and her pink cheeks. “Shilo, honey, have you taken a pregnancy test lately?”

She stilled and her eyes widened. “Do you think . . . Is that why I'm sick?”

“I'd check it out if I were you.”

She promised she would. I told her to call me the moment she knew one way or the other. In the meantime, we decided not to say a word to Jack or Lido. Jack, happier than I had ever seen him, was jovial and scattered and erratic with love. He and Shilo would celebrate their first anniversary in December; I hoped by then I'd be well on my way to being an honorary aunt. I helped them pack Magic, her bunny, in his cage in the backseat with Lido, got a spare set of keys, promised to water Shilo's plants, and waved good-bye to them.

It happened that quickly. I checked that the doors were
locked securely and drove back to Wynter Castle to find out if Roma had done what she promised to do. The place was silent and chilly. Becket, who had gone out at dawn, followed me in, went to his food bowl, then climbed the stairs and disappeared into my room. I found Pish in his study, where he was listening to Bartok and reading Shakespeare. I closed the door behind me and sat in the other club chair, watching him.

He met my gaze and smiled, then reached out and took my hand. “Yes, to your unspoken question, my darling; Roma told me what she was about to do to Minnie, though with much railing about how you forced her into telling me, and that she hated to hurt me, but had decided it was for the best. But that you
forced
her into telling me.”

I nodded. “And what exactly did she say?”

“That she intended to pull a harmless little prank on Minnie by setting up a lover, recording the conversations, and then playing them in a public and embarrassing way.”

“And what did you think when she told you that?”

He looked down at the Shakespeare volume he held, a beautifully gilt-bound edition, and was silent for a long moment. He closed it, set it aside, and took my hand. “I thought that I will forever be grateful that you are my best girl and always will be.”

Emotion welled up in me. I had been jealous of Roma's hold on Pish, true, but what I felt now was not triumph but gratitude. He was so important to me, and I feared that I had changed our relationship by my months of self-absorption in Spain. “I've been searching my heart to try to figure out if some part of me wanted her to tell you about it so I'd gain some edge, appear superior, but I think I can honestly say that was not my intent. I wanted you to hear it from her, because it may come out in some other way. I didn't want you to be blindsided by the revelation.”

He squeezed and released my hand. “I know that.
Fortunately, I was never blind to her faults. I want to help her get back to where she needs to be: the stage.”

“And you've done that beautifully.” I changed the subject and told him what I had planned for that evening. “I told the FBI what's going on; now it's up to them if they set something up and have a presence.”

“Is it wise, my dear?”

“I think there's safety in numbers. That's why I'm going to make sure I have backup. I can't ask Virgil; the FBI could give him grief, and I don't want to jeopardize his future career. But Dewayne may help me out.”

“I'll be relieved if you have stalwart Dewayne there.” He paused and watched me for a moment. “And now, what
about
Virgil? Have you sorted out your problems?”

“I don't know. He was taking care of something this weekend, but he hasn't talked to me about it yet.”

“I'm assuming it had to do with his ex-wife?”

I nodded. “It's something that's private to Virgil, so I can't talk about it. I think it's a bad sign that he hasn't called or visited yet. Or maybe it's taking longer to resolve.”

Pish took up my hand and squeezed. “One thing I can say for sure: that man loves you.”

“I hope so, because I love him, too.”

“Do you love him enough to wait while he does the FBI thing?”

“I do. I'll be here for him. I can't say I'll move where he goes, but we'll work it out somehow.”

The rest of the afternoon flew by as I prepared to unmask a killer. Or killer
s
. Dewayne agreed to be there, and he thought Patricia might want to come, too. She would be good cover for him; he had attended just the once, but hadn't stayed, nor had he talked to Crystal that evening. She might think it odd, him returning, but not if he attended with Patricia. I spoke to Zeke, and he agreed to have Gordy and Karl there. I saw Roma briefly, but she ignored me and crept around the
castle avoiding Pish. If she understood him at all, she'd know that the best way to get back in his good graces would be to fully accept responsibility for her wrongdoing and move forward, like an adult. I didn't have high hopes of that.

I made a light dinner, we all ate separately, and I drove off into the twilight toward town. I got a half mile and saw the flashing lights of a cruiser in my rearview mirror. I slowed, pulling off to the edge of the road.

Deputy Urquhart came to my window and shone his flashlight in at me. “License and registration, ma'am,” he said.

“Oh, come on, Urquhart,” I said, shielding my eyes against the light. “You know who I am and you know this vehicle is mine.”

“Sheriff Grace told me to stop you and bring you in, ma'am.”

I was stunned. “I beg your pardon?”

He repeated his command.

“That's ridiculous. Who does Virgil think he is? What's the charge?”

“No charge, ma'am. Protective custody, he says.”

Aha! Dewayne—the traitor—must have spoken to him. Of
course
he would; they were buddies. Bro code, and all that. What an
idiot
I was for not foreseeing this. I looked out my window and examined the deputy by the dome light in my car. “You tell Virgil that if he wants something, he has to come to me directly. If you want to take me in, you'll have to get me out of this car and carry me. I wouldn't advise trying. Good evening, Officer.”

I rolled up my window and drove away at a sedate pace, smiling as I imagined Urquhart's frustration, and how he was going to have to confess to Virgil his failure. What I
didn't
count on, as I pulled down a side street and parked, was Virgil also being parked there. He got out of his cruiser and approached.

“Sheriff, how are you? Long time, no hear,” I said, hoisting my purse over my shoulder and crossing my arms over my chest. He crossed his arms over his chest, too. We both have impressive chests in different ways.

“Come on, Merry, don't be like that.”

Of course,
that
lit my fuse.
Don't be like that
? “How
dare
you send your lackey to try to stop me from doing what I need to do?” I said, my hands going to my hips and my purse sliding down. “And how
dare
Dewayne call you and inform on me!”

He got that alert, hesitant look men get when they unexpectedly infuriate their lady friends. “Dewayne thought I should know. And he's right.”

“Virgil, this isn't your case. There's nothing you can do. Did Dewayne tell you that I
did
let the FBI in on my plans?”