Carroll and I returned to the B&B and to our respective research tasks there. There was no sign of Josh, so I figured he had returned to the carriage house, perhaps feeling less spooked about the place now that Steve’s body and the authorities were gone. I would’ve liked a heads-up, but I wasn’t about to call and harangue him about it; we were both adults and could sleep wherever we wanted to, I thought somewhat bitterly. I turned in early, feeling unresolved, and slept a deep and dreamless sleep.
On waking, a single and unshakable thought popped into my mind: I needed to talk to Morgan. The town feud story was too big to ignore given recent events, and based on our previous conversations, I thought he’d be honest with me. But was he still at the police station? I’d heard no update from the authorities on the status of the case. But would Reynolds, an intelligence professional but not an Asheboro native, know anything about the bad blood between Steve’s and Morgan’s families? Heck, I hadn’t even known about it until an hour ago, and I grew up here.
I sat up straight in bed, picked up my phone, and dialed Morgan’s number. This time, he picked up, sounding weary. He must’ve been having a hard week too.
“Hello, Kate?”
“Morgan, are you all right? I heard you were down at the police station yesterday.”
“I was. I’m home now.” He wasn’t forthcoming with further details. I felt a pang of fear—at the strangeness of the whole situation, the new sense that the town and its buildings were haunted, and at the nagging feeling that I couldn’t trust the man I was coming to like and in fact depending on for the whole Barton project. But I knew I needed to hear the truth—or Morgan’s version of it.
“Morgan, can we meet up? I’d like to talk to you.”
“I thought you might say as much. Name the time and place.”
I told him to meet me at the Barton mansion in an hour. We wouldn’t go in—the house was still an active crime scene—but I wanted to walk the grounds with him, and find out what he knew. I dressed and went downstairs, finding Josh reading quietly in an armchair in the parlor; he must have come over early. Carroll was seated with her laptop at the kitchen island, engrossed in a document. I addressed them both from the hallway between the rooms, hoping to sound casual and slip off to my errand without sparking any worry.
“Hey, folks, I’m heading out for a bit. I have some errands to do. Can you hold down the fort?”
“Of course,” Carroll said. “Is everything all right?” Josh looked at me from his seat in the parlor, but didn’t speak.
“Yes. Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal. I’m just feeling stymied as far as actual work right now, with the mansion being off limits for a few days. But I can scout out some businesses Morgan referred me to who might do replicas of antique furnishings.”
“Oh, great,” Carroll said, returning to her work.
I had almost made it out the front door when Josh approached and caught me lightly by the elbow, his voice hushed.
“All right, Carroll might’ve believed that story about running errands, but I don’t buy it for a second. Where are you actually going, Kate?”
“Listen, I don’t want you to worry. But I need to talk to Morgan.”
“Morgan, who was in the house when someone died less than twenty-four hours ago? Carroll told me about the town feud thing Frances briefed you on. Do you even know what happened the night Steve died? Did the detective call you with news?”
“He didn’t, no, but that’s what I’m hoping to learn about. Morgan’s home now. They let him go after questioning, so—”
“That might not mean anything,” Josh nearly hissed.
“I don’t think Morgan is a killer,” I said, uncertain I fully believed myself. I’d heard those heated voices in the Barton kitchen. “And I appreciate the concern, but I have an appointment soon, so I’ve got to get going.”
“Fine,” Josh shot back. “But I’m coming with you.”
“Fine.” We both stood in the doorway for a moment, each of us hoping the other would crack. No such luck—we were two stubborn people. But I had an idea. “Listen, Josh, how about this: when we get there, you head over to the carriage house and stay put for now. You and Morgan don’t know each other well, and I think he’ll be more inclined to speak frankly if it’s just me. But you’ll be nearby, and I can call you if things go south.”
“If you’ve got enough time to make a phone call when things go south, that is.”
“What, you think he’s going to come at me with a wrench, in broad daylight?”
“Barton’s house is way out in the country—who would be there to see it if he did? I don’t know him well, Kate. And honestly—neither do you.”
That statement gave me pause, but I was undeterred. Josh and I hashed out a rough plan in which I’d speak with Morgan on the mansion’s lawn, in full view of the carriage house windows, where Josh could watch for any signs of trouble. We drove in silence to the Barton property, and at the last minute, I took the unmarked side road to approach from the back side of the land—to the same broken patch of fence where local teens snuck in—and dropped Josh there, to hoof his own way toward the carriage house. If anything was up with Morgan, I didn’t want him to get spooked and keep it from me in our conversation.
When I had circled back and finally arrived at the house, I saw Morgan’s truck out front. I parked beside it, but there was no sign of him. I got out and walked around to the back of the house. About fifty feet ahead, off to the side of the carriage house, I could see a man sitting on a low stone bench at the periphery of where the garden had been. Morgan. When I was near enough to shake hands—though we didn’t—I stopped, looking down at him on the bench, and he tipped his cap and stood. I spoke first.
“Morgan. Good morning. Listen, you and I both know you’ve been a great help on this job so far. Bringing Asheboro back to life through its antique architecture must look like a fool’s errand to a lot of people. Some days I have to remind myself what the heck I think I’m doing. The first two guys I talked to for the contractor job all but ran screaming off the property. But not you. You looked at the place with a serious eye and dove in. Thank you for that. Sometimes it just takes one other person to believe something can work, to say yes, to keep things afloat. Beyond that, you really impressed the board members, and I could tell from the way you described your plans that you love old houses. That’s rare. I’ve really been looking forward to seeing what you do with the place. And I think we get along well—”
“Kate, just say it, please.” Morgan had been listening patiently while rolling his weathered green cap between his hands, and he now spoke up, sounding resigned. “You won’t need me on the project anymore. I’m fired. You can say it.”
“What?” I sputtered, taken aback. I was prepared to question the man in front of me about an old town feud in connection to a present-day death, but I wasn’t planning to fire him. “No, I wasn’t going to say that. But there’s something I need to know. Or—maybe I’d better tell you some things I know first.” I glanced up at the carriage house windows again. They were dark. Was Josh in there somewhere?
“Very well, then,” he said, eyeing me warily.
“I know about the old local feud going back generations between your family and Steve’s—”
“Now, that’s something I’ve never put much stock by, Kate,” Morgan interjected. His tone was even, but it was clear this was a subject he didn’t care to dwell on. “That’s in the past—and I’m living here, in the present.”
“That’s all very well, but memories are long in the country, I know, and some fights don’t just dissolve, or … Let me just come out and say it. What happened to Steve on Thursday night? How did he end up at the bottom of those stairs? I want the truth.”
Morgan took a long pause, turning his head slightly to the right and left, examining the gently sloping countryside—or looking around for witnesses? I shifted my weight onto one foot, prepared to move quickly if I needed to. The sweat on the back of my neck felt prickly and cool in the still air. Morgan stuffed his old green cap into the pocket of his work pants and then put his hand into his other pocket. What was he reaching for? And did I have anything on me with which to defend myself, if that’s what it was coming to? I patted the outside of my pants. A pen? A Swiss Army knife? The big ring of keys to the Barton house was about the best I could do in the moment. Did I really think this man was dangerous? My eyes darted once again to the carriage house. A tall figure had appeared on the stoop leading up to the front door—Josh. And he was heading this way. Had he read a threat in Morgan’s body language that had only now become apparent to me? Morgan was still fumbling in his pocket, speaking quietly as he did so. I leaned in slightly to hear him—against my better judgment—while gripping the keys tightly in my own pocket.
“I didn’t want to have to show you this, Kate. I was hoping to just let this go past.”
And then he withdrew an object from his pocket and handed it to me. I took it without thinking, stunned to see that it wasn’t a weapon of some sort. It was a small, dark rectangle, with flecks of gold along one side. It was a book.
“What’s this?”
“It’s from Barton’s library. I was hoping to put it back without having to tell you the whole thing, but next time I got down there, the police had arrived. I didn’t think that was a good time to go snooping into some other room under their noses, and they wanted to talk to me anyway. I’m sorry, Kate.”
“Why do you have it? These things are valuable, you know. I’d appreciate it if they didn’t just go walking out of the building.”
“I know that, Kate. I hope you’ll believe me. I had no intent to take it for myself, honest, though I have read a share of Trollope in my time—interesting guy.”
“Morgan, get to the point. Why is this in your pocket?” And why, I still wondered, was its companion volume in Steve’s?
“After you left us at the mansion the other night, I stepped out for dinner with my wife, as I told you. Well, first I dropped young Lars off at the train station for his date in the city, then a quick meal at home, and I came right back here to make sure all was well before Bethany and Steve wrapped up for the evening. But all was not well. I found Steve in the library. Snooping, it looked to me. He had no business there regarding the plumbing work. And the man wasn’t much of a reader, far as I could tell. I saw him before he heard me enter the room, and he was pocketing this. I confronted him, took back the book, told him to get back to work.”
“That explains something. He had another one of these books in his pocket when they found him.”
“I must’ve missed that. But I locked the door to the library with the key you gave me, so he wouldn’t sneak back in when I went upstairs. Looking back on it, I wish I’d kicked him out of the house right then—something about him wasn’t right. Like maybe he’d been drinking. Not in his right mind. Eyes a little too big, speech blurry around the edges.”
“What happened then?”
“I went back upstairs and returned to working on my floor plan of the house. Shortly after that, I heard a slam, which I took to be the front door. I walked from the back bedroom to the front and looked out onto the lawn. Someone had just left and was walking toward the vehicles. It was Bethany. It was getting dark at this point, but I could see her. She got into her truck and drove away. I thought perhaps she was heading home—now, I appreciate it when people inform me if they’re going to clock out for the day, but I do trust Bethany’s judgment. Steve’s … less so. But I went back to my work, and didn’t think too much about it—until I heard the sirens.
“Sirens?”
“The Asheboro PD arrived and parked out front. One car at first, and then more were called after they found Steve. I ran downstairs as soon as I saw them coming. They took me to the station and kept me there all night, until Detective Reynolds could be rustled up to speak with me in the morning. It was an awfully long time.”
“So you didn’t see what happened? And how did the cops even know to show up?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t see it, and I don’t know who called the police. I thought I heard a thud just after the front door slammed, but in that moment, I assumed it was just one of the many sounds an old wood house makes. Now I’m not sure. I don’t want to believe Bethany had anything to do with Steve’s death, but … I don’t know.”
Josh had made his way to within earshot of us. He was almost panting. Morgan saw me watching and turned; we both stared at Josh as he began to speak.
“Detective Reynolds just called on the landline at the carriage house. He’s been trying to reach you, Kate, but you seem to have left your cell phone in the car.” He gave me a pointed look as if to say, Good job, junior sleuth. “They’re still looking for Bethany. No one’s seen her since the night of Steve’s death. Reynolds wants us to contact him with any information, or if Bethany calls you.”
Morgan and I looked at each other. Was Bethany all right—or had she fled the scene of something? I didn’t want to think Bethany had had any part in Steve’s death, but we didn’t even know her side of the story. A kernel of memory opened up in my mind. I turned to Morgan and Josh, pulling out the keys I was still unconsciously gripping in my pocket.
“Get in the car. I have an idea.”