The next morning, Beatrice had just gotten dressed and was on the point of taking Noo-noo for a stroll when the phone rang.
It was Harper, and she sounded especially cheerful this morning. Actually, it sounded more like Harper was trying to fake cheerfulness. “Beatrice? Hi. It’s me, Harper. I was thinking that I’d love to catch up with you over coffee.” Some hesitation, and then Harper’s voice didn’t sound quite as cheerful. “Unless— Well, I know you’re probably busy.”
“Oh no, I’d love to have coffee and a visit,” said Beatrice.
“Great! Um . . . we could meet at the coffee shop downtown. Or, well, there’s a breakfast place over on the state highway—have you been there? It’s pretty good, although it would be more of a drive.” Harper sounded very unlike her usual confident self. “Or we could meet somewhere else, if you want. There’s the doughnut shop.”
Beatrice said quickly, “Why don’t you just drop by here? I’ve got a good French-roast coffee that I can perk for us. If you don’t mind the fact that the newspaper is all over the living room, I’d love to have you come by.”
“Perfect.” Harper’s voice sounded relieved. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Beatrice made another pot of coffee and set out the coffee cups, half-and-half, and sugars. “I promise we’ll walk in a little while,” she told Noo-noo. The corgi seemed to understand, because soon she gave up her post at the front door and curled contently near Beatrice on the floor of the kitchen.
The knock at the door sent Noo-noo into startled barking. When she saw Harper, though, she apparently judged her as nonthreatening and immediately flopped over on her back to ask for a tummy rub.
Harper laughed and crouched over to rub the corgi’s belly. “Quite the guard dog you have here, Beatrice.”
“Oh, Noo-noo’s talents lie in being a watchdog. She watches and barks. The guarding? It’s not really her forte.”
The two women settled into the living room. Noo-noo was so impressed with her new friend that she lay on top of Harper’s feet.
Beatrice could see that Harper was reticent to talk about whatever was on her mind, so she asked how the house was coming along and filled Harper in on the workshop. Harper looked directly at Beatrice and nodded at intervals, but Beatrice could tell that her mind was miles away.
Finally, at a break in the conversation, Harper said, “It’s been so nice visiting with you, Beatrice. I’ve been in such a state the past couple of days, and I was really looking for some perspective. I spoke with Wyatt briefly, and he suggested that I might want to talk things over with you. He said that you were such a good listener and so levelheaded and thoughtful. I decided I’d run this problem by you. You can tell me whether I’m off in left field or not.”
Beatrice nodded encouragingly at her. Harper took a deep breath and continued. “Daniel has been acting kind of funny since that night when we had supper and saw Trevor arguing with that other man. I figured at first that it simply upset him that he had to remove Trevor as best man. Daniel was so preoccupied after that night at the restaurant. He’s always been really good about texting me back or returning my calls, but after that?” Harper shrugged a slim shoulder.
Beatrice said, “Why do you think he became so removed after that?”
“I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it, honestly. We were so close to the wedding date then, and I was frantically busy. I think part of me wondered if Daniel was sad about losing his bachelor status after so many years. You know?” Harper gave a short laugh.
“And now you’ve had more time to think about it,” guessed Beatrice.
“Right.” Harper took a sip of her coffee and seemed to be considering her words carefully. “I don’t know, Beatrice. Sometimes it seems that Daniel is holding something back from me. Of course, I know he’s a very private person. I understand that. I can be private, too. But I’m his wife. I thought he might open up to me more after we were married—or, at least, I hoped that he would.”
Beatrice frowned. “Is there a particular subject that he usually shuts you out of? Like his childhood or friendships or work?”
Harper nodded. “His mother. Or his family, I guess I should say. Whenever I start asking questions, it’s like a door closes shut. It’s immediate.”
“What kinds of questions are you asking? Are they very personal?” asked Beatrice.
“Not at all. Very general questions. You know, just making conversation: ‘How old was your mother when you were born?’ Things like that.” Noo-noo, who seemed to sense their guest’s pain, stood up so that she could lean against Harper’s leg in a show of solidarity. Harper absently rubbed the corgi.
“As I recall, Daniel’s mother lives locally, doesn’t she? I think I met her for a few minutes at the wedding.”
Harper said, “Yes, she lives in Mountain Vistas retirement home, outside of Dappled Hills. I’ve met her several times and she seems very nice, but rather reserved. I could tell that Daniel dotes on her . . . Well, a lot of mother-son relationships are like that. He’s obviously very protective of her, and that’s great. But I think he’s hiding something. I hate to say that,” she said quickly. “It’s just that he closes up at her name, and then for him to have been acting so oddly after that night he talked to Trevor—it’s almost as if those two things are connected.”
Beatrice said slowly, “Do you think Trevor might have known something about Daniel? Or his mother? Something that maybe Daniel didn’t want to get out?”
“Yes,” said Harper quickly, sounding relieved. “That’s exactly what I was wondering. At first I told myself that I must be imagining things, that it was only the stress of the wedding getting to me. But the more I thought about it all, the more I wondered. I know Trevor was in debt. I know he was making bad choices. What if he knew something about Daniel—even some information from long ago—and was using it as leverage to get money from Daniel? What if . . .” But Harper broke off, clutching her coffee cup until her knuckles turned white.
Harper’s hands started shaking, and she carefully placed the coffee cup on Beatrice’s coffee table. “I know this must sound crazy to you, Beatrice. Trevor was having problems, but what I’m talking about is criminal. It’s quite a leap to getting into criminal behavior, even if you are in debt.”
Beatrice shook her head. “Daniel may not have told you that he and I met up when we were out walking the dogs. I told him that I’d learned that Trevor was extorting money from the mystery man that I’d seen at the wedding and the funeral. Remember? I thought he resembled the man that we saw arguing with Trevor that night at supper.”
“Was that who it was?” asked Harper. The fine lines etched on the sides of her eyes stood out in sharp relief against her features, pale from the stress.
“It was,” said Beatrice. She paused and then added, “The thing was, Daniel didn’t seem very surprised to hear about it. He said that Trevor had mentioned that he knew something about Patrick that would cause Patrick Finley to lose his medical license. And he didn’t seem at all surprised about the blackmail.”
Harper briefly closed her eyes. “Maybe the reason he wasn’t surprised is because Trevor was trying to pull the same trick on him.” Her expression grew more calculated. “So, this Patrick was at the reception, too. Maybe he was the one who murdered Trevor. It would make sense. Why else would he have been there?”
Beatrice gave a small shrug. “It could be that he was there to persuade Trevor to stop blackmailing him. Maybe Trevor was avoiding him, and he was simply looking for a time to be able to connect with him in person. It seemed like he was trying to talk to Trevor at that restaurant, but he was too far gone to make any sense that night. Or, yes, maybe Patrick was behind Trevor’s death. That would certainly have eliminated the blackmail.”
Harper said in a hollow voice, “Or maybe Daniel was behind his death. That would have solved Daniel’s problem, too.” She covered her face with her hands.
“Have you asked Daniel about this?” asked Beatrice. “Have you pointed out that you know he’s keeping things from you and you’re worried about him?”
“Beatrice, I’d love to have that conversation with him, but I feel like our marriage is so young . . . I don’t want him to feel that I don’t trust him.” Harper sighed. “It sounds like I really don’t trust him, but I certainly don’t want him to get that impression. It’s simply so early in our marriage to have the issue of trust looming over us.”
“Would you like me to talk with him?” asked Beatrice. “I wouldn’t even have to mention you at all. I could say that I’d gotten the feeling that Daniel might be holding something back. Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m going to say, but I can definitely tread softly there.”
“Maybe the next time you run into him?” asked Harper, eyes worried. “I don’t want him to feel as if you made a special trip over to ask him about it. That will seem like an interrogation, I think.”
“I’ll wait until we accidentally meet up, then. And, Harper? Try not to worry. I’m sure there’s a very logical explanation for this. Daniel is, after all, a lawyer. Maybe Trevor did try to see if he could somehow pressure Daniel for money. Maybe Daniel blew him off and didn’t want to bring the episode to the police because he felt it might make him look bad.”
“And he already looks bad because he dumped Trevor as his best man,” added Harper.
“Right. So he wouldn’t want to appear any more suspicious. Besides, think about it: it would have been very tough for him to pull this off at his own wedding. I’m not going to say that it couldn’t happen, just that it would be a real feat.” Beatrice smiled at Harper, and slowly she smiled back in return.
Beatrice wished she could only convince herself.
* * *
After Harper left, Beatrice was mulling over Daniel’s possible involvement in Trevor’s death when there was another knock at her front door. Noo-noo cocked her head to one side in surprise, which was mirrored by Beatrice. Had Harper left something behind? Beatrice quickly scanned the room, seeing nothing, as she walked to the door.
It was Meadow, wearing binoculars and a camera around her neck and a dark, un-Meadow-like top and pants. “Ready to spy on my doctor?” she asked. Then Meadow frowned and looked at Beatrice’s white button-down and khaki pants in dismay. “Do you call that the kind of outfit that an undercover operative would wear?”
Beatrice groaned. “Is it Friday already? I’ve been losing track of the days. I could have sworn today was Thursday. And then Harper and I had coffee together, and I guess I got distracted and never looked at my calendar.” She blinked at Meadow. “Meadow, I don’t think that’s the kind of operation we were talking about, was it? We’re not trying to be private eyes catching Dr. Finley in any wrongdoing or illicit relationship. We’re just hanging out near his car in the community-center parking lot, right? So we can ask him questions when he finishes playing racquetball.”
“You’re correct, Beatrice, but I think it’s very important that we get into the mind-set of a stakeout. Having all the right equipment and dressing the part will help us feel more confident and ultimately obtain more information from the good doctor. Who may not be a good doctor.” Meadow looked at her bulky wristwatch. “By my calculations, though, we need to be leaving . . . now.”
Beatrice picked up her pocketbook and gave a rather sad glance into the kitchen. “I never did have a chance to eat breakfast.”
“What? Beatrice, that’s the most important meal of the day. You know that,” said Meadow, waving her hands around.
“Well, my morning sort of got hijacked,” said Beatrice dryly.
“Lucky for you,” said Meadow archly, “that this stakeout happens to be the highlight of my week. So I put a lot of thought and planning into it. I packed us a picnic basket full of breakfast foods and other goodies, in case we wanted a snack. Oh, I packed thermoses of coffee and lemonade, too.”
Meadow grinned with pride and took a bow as Beatrice applauded her.
“Sounds like the morning will be a success even if we don’t see Patrick Finley’s car in the parking lot,” said Beatrice, smiling at Meadow.
But they found, as they pulled into the community-center parking lot, that a Mercedes with the license plate DOCTOR#1 was indeed parked outside the recreation building. Meadow didn’t even have to use her binoculars to spot it.
Meadow’s voice was smug. “See? How easy is this? Like taking candy from a baby. So let’s hang out in the van, eat some muffins and breakfast pastries, and wait for him to finish exercising. I’ve even got bacon, Beatrice. We’re living the high life here.”
Meadow was never one to skimp on food. She had filled the basket with egg-salad sandwiches, muffins, pastries, fruit, croissants, and the promised bacon. Beatrice and Meadow could have probably survived in the community-center parking lot for at least a week.
“So, how exactly are we planning to carry this off?” asked Beatrice slowly as she helped herself to some of the mixed fruit. “If we go running toward him, we’re going to look like investigative reporters attempting gonzo journalism or something.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” demurred Meadow. “It’ll just be like we’re so eager to get into the community center and start exercising that we can’t contain ourselves.”
“I think we should make it seem like a chance encounter,” said Beatrice, fishing out a fork from the huge picnic basket. “Then maybe I can look thoughtful and say, ‘Didn’t I see you at Harper and Daniel’s wedding reception?’”
“You always look thoughtful, Beatrice, so that’s not going to be a stretch for you. Then I can follow up quickly and say, ‘I think I spotted you at the funeral, too, Doctor Finley,’” said Meadow.
“Which means a very slow intro to our questioning,” said Beatrice, staring absently out the windshield in the direction of the community-center entrance.
“To keep him from being suspicious of our motives. Like you were saying.”
Beatrice said, “The only problem is that he’s going to be in a hurry, won’t he? He’s been playing racquetball. He’s likely going to be pretty sweaty and ready to hit the showers before he takes patients in the afternoon. Much as I hate to say it, we’re probably going to have to take the direct approach.”
Meadow grinned. “Where I explain that you’re helping Ramsay with his inquiries? I’ve always wanted to say that. It makes both of us sound official. You’re the detective, and I’m your loyal sidekick.”
“I suppose that’s what we should do. There aren’t a lot of good options. But no running at him. I think that will scare the man to death,” said Beatrice.
Of course, it was at the moment when Beatrice had her mouth completely full of blueberry muffin that Meadow plastered herself across the window and said, “He’s here! He’s coming out.”
Meadow, naturally, completely forgot their no-running plan and was immediately out of the van and trotting toward the sweaty Patrick Finley. Beatrice frantically grabbed her thermos of lemonade in an attempt to quickly wash down the blueberry muffin. Unfortunately, the lemonade set off a coughing fit, which took a minute to clear. Eyes watering from the coughing and feeling as if she were covered in muffin crumbs, Beatrice hurried to join Meadow, wondering what Meadow might be telling the doctor and how far away it veered from their planned script.
Meadow filled her in. “I was just telling Doctor Finley that you were a superb investigator, Beatrice. Hardworking and astute, and really much more into police work than my policeman husband. And that you had a few questions for the doctor and that I knew where to find him.”
Patrick Finley was wearing a white T-shirt and blue workout shorts. Despite this weekly exercise, he had a figure that was trending toward stout. His shaggy hair was plastered to his head from perspiration, except for the bit that was standing on end from where he’d pushed it out of his face. His deep-set eyes, which already had a tendency to appear concerned, regarded them warily.
Beatrice decided not to extend her hand for a handshake. She cleared her throat, hoping the coughing fit wouldn’t return. “I’m sure you’re probably needing to get ready for work, so I’ll keep this short. I’ve seen you several times lately, although I didn’t know who you were until Meadow identified you. You were arguing with Trevor Garber the night that I was out to dinner with friends of mine.”
Patrick interrupted. “Trevor Garber was arguing. I was being very even-keeled and trying to make him see my point of view.” He swatted the air a few times with his racket, as if swatting away annoying flies.
“Obviously, your discussion with him ended poorly, because Trevor was incapacitated by that point. But you continued trying to see him, didn’t you?”
Patrick said stiffly, “Trevor was a colleague. All the doctors on staff were very concerned by his behavior. I was one of the doctors who cared enough to follow up—that’s all.”
“I don’t think so,” said Beatrice. “Why would you have followed up at a stranger’s wedding, for instance? Surely that seems like an odd place and time.”
Patrick frowned and studied his tennis shoe with rapt attention. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw you at my friends’ wedding. Harper and Daniel were also friends of Trevor’s—in fact, he was supposed to be Daniel’s best man until Trevor’s erratic behavior made Daniel change course. But you were there at the reception, standing outside the tent and looking in from the shadows,” said Beatrice.
Patrick drawled, “That’s rather fanciful of you, isn’t it? It all sounds very mysterious. I can tell you that I most certainly wasn’t at . . . whoever’s wedding. I’m not much of a fan of weddings in general and surely wouldn’t attend one when I wasn’t even invited. It’s hard enough to get me to attend a wedding that I’m supposed to go to.”
Beatrice gave him a piercing look. “And you were at Trevor’s funeral, too.”
“Naturally. To pay my respects to Eleanor. And because Trevor was a colleague . . . formerly a respected one.” Patrick looked longingly at his Mercedes.
Meadow opened her eyes wide and made a get on with it gesture with her hand.
Beatrice took a deep breath. It was time to prevaricate to try to get some real answers. “There are two people who can identify you as having been at that wedding.”
“Then those are two people who are wrong,” said Patrick simply.
“One of them is Eleanor Garber. She certainly knew you well enough to correctly be able to identify you, didn’t she?” asked Beatrice.
Patrick made a choking sound, and a momentary rage stained his cheeks red. “What?” His voice was furious. Beatrice could see that he was working hard to control his temper. Patrick took a few deep breaths and released them after a short interval. It had the effect of making him sound like a locomotive.
Finally, he calmed down enough to respond. “Let’s say that I was there. At that wedding of those people that I didn’t even know. What possible reason would I have to kill Trevor?” As he spoke in an angry whisper, his gaze darted around the parking lot, making sure that no one could overhear their conversation. Satisfied, he whispered again, “What motive could I possibly have?”
His stunned expression told Beatrice that she had stumbled onto the correct answer. Some of the wind had definitely come out of Patrick’s sails at the word, and he slumped ever so slightly. “What do you mean?” he asked, without looking Beatrice in the eyes. But by his voice, Beatrice could tell that he knew exactly what she meant.
Meadow nodded encouragingly at her.
“I mean that Trevor Garber knew something about you. And Trevor was in a dangerous place. Although he had been a respected doctor, he’d abruptly strayed off course and started making a series of bad decisions: an affair, stalking the woman after she’d broken up with him, drinking too much, not going to work. And blackmail.”
Patrick’s face, still flushed from exercise, went white underneath.
“Trevor knew that you’d made a terrible mistake during surgery. You and he had been drinking together. He was the anesthesiologist in the operating room, and you botched a surgery because you weren’t clearheaded enough to have operated on the patient. Trevor saw what happened and figured it would be a great way to use leverage to force you to pay him hush money. Trevor really needed the money. He and Eleanor had a lot of debt. Blackmail became a logical means to an end for him.”
Patrick shook his head. “You’ll never, never be able to prove it. If it were true, which it’s not, then Trevor was the only witness to any of the behavior you’ve mentioned. And Trevor, of course, isn’t around to tell what he saw.”
“Conveniently,” said Meadow succinctly.
“Look, I’m not going to admit to anything,” said Patrick. He pulled out his car keys and hit the Unlock button for the Mercedes, still casting it longing looks. “But I can tell you one thing: You’re way off track here. There are other people with more motive than I have. Lyla Wales, for instance—she was having an affair with Trevor, and he wouldn’t leave her alone after she tried ending it. And I even saw Eleanor around Trevor’s drink.”
Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “Eleanor around Trevor’s drink? At a wedding reception you deny attending.”
Patrick shrugged, looking flustered. “Okay, maybe I was there. But I had other reasons, all right? Maybe I still wanted to talk to Trevor about his behavior—wanted to persuade him to clean up his act and get back to work. You know?”