Chapter Twelve
When I made a second attempt to see him, Greg Willet’s neighbor, Erik Poole, was home. There was a car parked in the driveway, and this time when I rang the doorbell, it was answered almost immediately.
“Erik Poole—?” I began.
“Now what?”
The man who’d opened the door was tall and skinny. His shoulders were as narrow as his hips. He had shaggy brown hair and a scruffy beard to match. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and waited for me to reply.
“I don’t know,” I said, flustered by the unexpected question. “What does that mean?”
“I’ve already spoken to the police, regional media, and two national correspondents. Surely all the bases must be covered by now.”
“National news?” His answer hadn’t helped. I was still confused. “Gregory Willet’s death is a national story?”
Erik shrugged. “You can blame the internet for that. The twenty-four hour news cycle is always hungry for new information. So, what’s your angle?”
“I don’t have an angle.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, the nonchalant stance only adding to the impression that he was toying with me. “You must, or you wouldn’t be here. Local?”
“Stamford,” I replied, then belatedly realized he wasn’t asking where I lived, but which news outlet I worked for.
“Good enough,” he said, stepping back out of the doorway. “You might as well come in.”
The door opened directly into a living room that had been decorated by someone who liked bright colors. Floral prints covered almost everything. The walls were painted apple green, and the carpet beneath our feet was a sunny shade of yellow. It was a bit much to take in all at once.
“My wife designed the room,” Erik said. He must have noticed me looking around. “She’s at work now.”
“Oh?” I sat down on a Scandinavian-style sofa that was more comfortable than it looked. “What does she do?”
“Admin work at a dentist’s office.” The remark was offhand. “But that’s only temporary. Until my book sells.”
“Your book?”
“It’s a true crime thriller.” A smile lit up Erik’s face. “Based on events that took place more than a hundred years ago. A real-life historical crime spree. Readers are going to lap it up. There may even be a movie.”
“Good for you.” I hadn’t expected that. “When does your book come out?”
“That remains to be seen.” Erik dropped into a chair on the other side of the room. “At the moment, I’m still looking for an agent.”
No wonder Erik had been so busy giving interviews. He had a manuscript to sell. This opportunity to build name recognition must have seemed like a real stroke of serendipity.
“True crime,” I said. “What are the chances?”
“I know. Right?” He was almost bouncing in his seat. “Maybe this will be my lucky break.”
Not so lucky for Greg Willet, I thought.
“Erik Poole.” He reminded me of his name. Another minute, and he’d be spelling it for me. “It’s a writer’s name, don’t you think? Short and punchy. It’ll look great on a book cover.”
“Or a best-seller list,” I said.
That earned me an even bigger smile. He was sure we were on the same page now.
“So, what do you need to know?” he asked.
“I want to talk to you about your neighbor.”
“Sure, Greg. Great guy.”
“Really? That’s not what I heard.” I took out my phone and set it to record. I figured that was a nice touch.
“Well . . . you know . . . he’s dead.” Erik adopted a sad face. “So obviously not everyone thought so.”
“I understand there was a problem with his dogs?”
“Chow Chows,” he said. “You ever seen one of those?”
Chows were in the Non-Sporting Group along with Miniature and Standard Poodles, so I’d seen many of those. But Erik didn’t wait for me to reply.
“It’s some kind of Chinese breed with hair all over it. They look like lions. One of those things racing at you at full speed is enough to scare a person half to death.”
“I can imagine,” I said. “Did that happen often?”
“Too often,” Erik muttered. “Greg thought of himself as some kind of Chow rescuer. He took in all these dogs that other people had dumped, then tried to find homes for them.”
“That sounds like a noble idea.”
His eyes narrowed.
“But probably hard to live next to,” I added.
“Damn straight. And they bark all the time too. Woof! Woof! Woof!” Erik demonstrated, apparently in case I’d never heard a dog bark before.
“That must have been annoying for you.”
“Annoying isn’t the half of it. I work at home, so I’m here all day. Imagine trying to write a best-seller with all that noise going on next door. Some days, the aggravation was enough to make me want to—”
Abruptly he stopped speaking, then snapped his mouth shut. Too bad. I’d have been interested to hear how that sentence ended.
“I can understand why you were angry,” I said.
“In my shoes, anyone would have felt the same way. I even filed a complaint with the police.”
That was interesting. “What did they do?”
“Nothing.”
“At all?”
“Some cop stopped by and had a talk with Greg, who crossed his heart and promised to do better. Lying scum. He didn’t change a thing. The same damn problem continued right up until the day he died.”
I remembered what Greg’s other neighbor had told me about someone coming to pick up the remaining Chows. “You must have been happy when Greg and his Chows were gone.”
“You better believe it,” Erik agreed grimly.
* * *
I had one more stop to make before I headed home.
The timing of Julia Geist’s donation to the Howard Academy fundraiser felt worrisome to me. Harriet’s reference to the gift as “hush money” seemed overly dramatic, but perhaps not entirely unwarranted. If Julia had another motivation for making the significant gift, I wanted to know what it was.
“I’m home now,” she said when I called and asked if we could get together. “I’ll be here all afternoon. I’ll text you the address.”
Julia lived in Old Greenwich. Nearing her house, I turned onto the road that led to the beach at Tod’s Point. Properties on the water in Greenwich were generally fabulous to look at and had price tags to match. As I’d suspected, Julia Geist’s house didn’t disappoint.
It was a three-story colonial with a widow’s walk in the middle of its peaked roof. Ivy wound around the Doric columns that supported an oversized portico covering the front entrance. Numerous windows sparkled in the autumn sunlight. It was a house with character—imposing without being showy, grand but not ostentatious.
When I parked on the far side of the turnaround, I could see the lawn behind the house. It went back at least a hundred feet before ending at Long Island Sound. From there, a small jetty extended out over the water. The view was stunning.
When I presented myself at the front door, I was quickly admitted to the house by a young woman with long blond hair, delicate features, and a ready smile. “Hi, I’m Lucia,” she said. “You must be Ms. Travis. Come on in. My mom’s expecting you.”
I tried not to gawk as we made our way to an enclosed porch that ran almost the length of the back of the house. It was filled with groupings of wicker and chintz-covered furniture, and decorated with large ferns and a dozen different hanging plants. Despite the cold November breeze blowing off the Sound, the porch was warm and cozy. When I slipped off my coat, Lucia took it from me and hung it on a hook.
“How nice of you to drop by,” Julia said, rising gracefully from a settee. A tea tray and a plate of cookies were set out on a table in front of her. “I see you’ve met my daughter.”
“Yes. Although we haven’t yet had a chance to talk.” I turned and addressed Lucia, who was nabbing a cookie from the plate. “I heard you’re job hunting. What kinds of things are you interested in?”
“My bachelor’s degree is in early child development, so naturally I’m hoping to find something that allows me to use what I’ve learned,” she told me. “I understand that you work in education too.”
“I do. I’m a special needs tutor at Howard Academy. Like your mother, I’m a strong proponent of educational programs that offer young students lots of support and early guidance.”
Lucia glanced at Julia, then back to me. “Please tell me if this is an imposition, but I’d love to have the opportunity to come to Howard Academy and shadow you for a day or two. It would be wonderful to be able to watch some of your sessions. I know it would help me decide if that’s a career path I should consider following.”
“I’d be delighted to have you visit my classroom,” I said with a smile. “But before I say yes, I’ll need to check with Mr. Hanover, the school’s headmaster. I doubt if he’ll have any objections, but I’ll talk to him and get back to you. Is that okay?”
Lucia squealed happily. “Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you so much!”
Seeing how excited her daughter was, Julia was smiling too. “You can run along now, Lulu. Ms. Travis and I have some things to discuss.”
“She’s lovely,” I said when Lucia had left the porch and closed the door behind her. Julia and I took seats across from each other.
“Yes, she is,” Julia said fondly. “Smart, too, and eager to do well. I like to think Lucia takes after me, although I suppose I should give Gregory a modicum of credit. Tea?”
“I’ll just have a cookie, if that’s all right.” She nodded and I helped myself. The cookies were oatmeal and liberally studded with fat, juicy raisins. They made a pleasant change from all the pumpkin spice I’d consumed recently.
Julia poured herself a cup of tea, then settled back in her seat. “I assume that whatever you wanted to talk to me about has something to do with my ex. Am I correct?”
“You are. I’d like to thank you for recommending that I speak with his neighbors. It was very helpful. Among other things, Mr. Hamm mentioned that someone came and removed the dogs from Mr. Willet’s house. Did you arrange that?”
“No, that was Trevor Pine’s doing. He’s the young man who’s in charge of the store now. It was fortunate he realized that we needed to take responsibility for Gregory’s other Chows. Have you met Trevor?”
I nodded and took another bite of my cookie. “Yes, when I was at the store earlier in the week. He told me he’s also taking care of Cider. It’s great that he was willing to step in.”
“Trevor is an industrious young man,” Julia said. “I like people who volunteer to be helpful, rather than waiting to be conscripted. Trevor has been a real asset to the business. He’s done wonderful things for us on social media. He even shoots the occasional Tik-Tok video in the store.”
“It sounds as though you’ll be keeping him on as manager.”
“I certainly don’t foresee making any changes soon.” She paused to sip her tea. “Do you have children, Melanie?”
The abrupt change in subject came as a surprise. But I was learning that Julia didn’t do anything without a good reason. So I was happy to follow along.
“I have two sons,” I told her. “One’s fifteen, and the other is five.”
“Then you’ll understand, as only a mother can, how much your children’s happiness means to you. Trevor and Lucia have been seeing each other for nearly a year. They make a truly lovely couple. Privately, I’ll admit that I have hopes it could turn into a long term situation. Not that I have any intention of meddling, mind you . . .”
I huffed under my breath. Julia looked over at me and winked.
“But if it happens that their relationship is that serious, it wouldn’t hurt for Trevor to have a stable job, now would it?”
“Not at all,” I agreed.
It occurred to me that Julia was like Machiavelli, pulling strings and manipulating events behind the scenes until people fell into place and did what she wanted them to. The thought might have been alarming. Instead, it suddenly made me feel better as another realization clicked into place. Now I just needed to confirm my guess.
“I wanted to ask you about a donation you made yesterday to the Howard Academy fundraiser,” I said.
“What about it?” Julia regarded me over the rim of her teacup.
“First of all, thank you. That was very generous.”
“You’re welcome. I was happy to do it. I’m sure HA will put the funds to good use.”
“They will,” I assured her. “Initially, however, the timing of your donation seemed slightly . . . suspicious.”
“Did it?” I’d hoped Julia wouldn’t be offended. To my relief, she sounded amused. “In what way?”
“Arriving as it did, just one day after you and I had been discussing Mr. Willet’s untimely death—”
“You mean his murder.”
That was the second time she’d corrected my terminology with regard to the incident. Julia was remarkably blasé about her ex-husband’s demise.
“Yes—his murder—which I was looking into. I imagine you can understand how a significant donation coming on the heels of that conversation might be interpreted as an incentive for me to look elsewhere.”
“A bribe, then,” Julia said.
I winced at the inference, but she still didn’t look perturbed. At least she hadn’t called it payola. “Precisely.”
“Melanie, the need for better and more accessible education is my most personal cause. I applaud Howard Academy’s goals and their accomplishments. Though my timing could have been better, I assure you that the donation arrived with no special conditions attached.”
That wasn’t entirely true, I thought. Only its condition wasn’t the one I’d originally suspected.
“However,” I said, “if the donation were to make Mr. Hanover more amenable to the idea of Lucia exploring a career in education by spending time in my classroom at Howard Academy, I assume that would just be a happy coincidence?”
“Indeed it would.”
This time when Julia winked at me, I found myself laughing with her.