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Beverly studied Fern Gery as Fern studied the menu. She was quite striking, with her natural blond hair and pale blue eyes. Just like at the flower shop, she was also dressed sensibly. Jeans, albeit a designer brand, knee-high brown boots, and a yellow cable knit sweater—Ralph Lauren? Eileen Fisher?—which set off her hair nicely. What had this woman seen in Wallace Ryall? Well, they do say opposites attract.
Fern ordered some ale and seafood chowder. Beverly opted for a soda, since she was driving, and a vegetarian Reuben. She said, “This is my first time here. It’s huge, but the crowd makes it look small.”
Fern leaned over the table. “And loud. To be honest, this is my first visit, too. Wallace hated eating out, and my Italian Stallion prefers quiet romantic dinners. We tried the new French bistro in Windsor last weekend. I highly recommend it. Both for the food and for getting your man in the mood.”
Beverly smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“That handsome detective you were with. Adam Dutton, wasn’t it? Are you and he—”
“We’re not.” Beverly rushed to reply. “We’re associates. And friends.” She grabbed the soda as the waitress delivered it and took several gulps. Why had she said that? Why didn’t she rush right in there and stake out her territory?
“I wondered. A hottie like that shouldn’t go to waste. And I didn’t spy a wedding ring.”
“He’s divorced. His ex married the mayor of Ironwood Junction.”
Fern scrunched up her nose. “I’ve seen the mayor of Ironwood Junction. Definitely not a hottie. She must be a gold digger.”
“I’ve never met her.” Beverly didn’t add, And I hope I never do.
“Her loss is the world’s gain. Nice to know your detective is on the market in case my relationship with Bruno doesn’t last.”
“But Bruno is a big step up from Wallace, isn’t he?” Beverly was glad for the segue into the real reason she’d asked Fern to join her at the pub, trying not to appear too eager to discuss the topic.
“Believe it or not, I still miss Wally. After my first marriage, which ended disastrously after my ex cheated on me, I’d hoped Wally was The One. Guess I’m unlucky in love. Maybe I’d do better as a gambler. Isn’t it unlucky in love, lucky in cards?”
“I thought the saying was ‘lucky at life, unlucky at love.’”
Fern laughed. “Or, in my case, both.”
“I don’t know, you’ve got a nice job you enjoy.”
“That was another sticking point between Wally and me. With his OCD and fear of bugs and germs, he was always worried I’d track some dirt to his home.”
“How did he justify being part of the SCA? Running around in a field, playing with swords and all.”
“They wear armor. Not full-blown armor like ye olde days of yore, but I guess he thought it enough to ward off men and microbes. Well, that and all the scrubbing and long showers he took after SCA get-togethers.”
“You said you weren’t into all that SCA business, yourself.”
“Not at all. I tolerated it for Wally’s sake.”
“What people do for love.”
“You got that right.” Fern swigged some more of the beer and uttered a satisfied burp.
“Did he talk about Braddon Hopper much? I understand they didn’t get along one bit.”
“Ranted and raved about him all the time. Braddon was after Wally’s Rapier Marshal gig. But Wally thought he was too immature. I must admit, from what Wally said, I sometimes thought Wally was a teensy bit jealous.”
Beverly’s ears picked up at that. “Jealous?”
“Of Braddon’s Olympics bid. And Braddon had more friends than Wally.”
“Why didn’t the ACA folk vote Wally out and Braddon in?”
“Doesn’t quite work like that. They’ve got this incredibly complex hierarchy. More layers of bureaucracy and ‘royal’ appointments and decrees than the real thing.”
Beverly wrinkled her nose. “More bureaucracy doesn’t sound like fun to me.”
“Wally liked the structure. And being Rapier Marshal made him feel important. He needed that.”
“Were there any other reasons Braddon might have disliked Wally?”
Fern toyed with her spoon on the table. “Something about Braddon’s girlfriend, Jane Campen. I guess I should say, ex-girlfriend. I heard them arguing once, but they shut up when I arrived. I heard some rumors.”
“Rumors?”
“I discounted them. They were about Wally and Jane.”
“An affair?”
Fern started to reply, but a woman’s shrill laugh stole their attention. The sound wasn’t exactly hard to miss, practically shaking the rafters. Fern stared at the source of the laugh, a young blonde woman. “You can tell a lot from a person’s laugh. And that woman is uncomfortable. Or fearful. Guys and bars, you know. Not always a good mix.”
“Sounds like you speak from personal experience.”
Fern took her time answering. “Have you ever been assaulted, Beverly?”
Beverly was startled by the suddenness of the question. And then she had a moment of panic as dark images she’d thought were suppressed punched through her subconscious. She clenched her fists by her sides, willing the images away again. “What woman hasn’t experienced unwanted advances?”
“I mean truly assaulted, as in rape.”
“If you count marital rape, perhaps.”
Fern’s eyes widened. “That would almost be worse.”
“It’s ancient history. Did Wally assault you?”
“No, not even close. Let’s just say he wasn’t a confident lover.”
Beverly waited for the waitress to put down the newly arrived Reuben sandwich and took a tiny bite. Pretty good. She took a bigger bite and munched for a moment, then picked up her cream soda and enjoyed the sweet-tart taste. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way. But you and Wally seem like an odd match.”
Fern sighed. “We got that all the time. When I was a girl, I was the kid in the neighborhood who picked up the strays. Cats, dogs, a couple of mice. I guess Wally struck me as another stray I needed to protect.” She grabbed a wallet from her purse and slid out a photo which she handed over.
“That’s you in the middle, with Wallace on one side. Who’s the other man?”
“That’s his brother, Ramsay. At our engagement party. One of the few times the two brothers were in the same room at the same time.”
Beverly studied the photo. They may have been in the same room and same photo, but the way they stood unsmiling with tense body language, facing slightly away from each other, spoke volumes. “Was Wallace’s father there?”
“He was invited, but he didn’t show. I only met him once, and he was friendly to me. But I think he was going downhill fast. Neither of our fathers was there, his being ill, mine long gone.”
“You said your father taught you how to ice skate?”
“You have a good memory. But that was from better days. He left me and my mother when I was only ten. Mom threw all his belongings out on the lawn and set fire to them. A huge bonfire of lies, she called it.”
“Lies?”
Fern rubbed her finger around her glass. “I hated her for a long time, thinking it was all her fault. Later, I learned my father was seeing another woman. I felt sorrier for Mom after that. My father and I didn’t stay in touch, and I found out later he’d died of a heart attack. Like Wally’s father.”
“That’s awful. When you’re young like that, it’s hard to make sense of it all.”
“I’m not sure I can make sense of it now.”
Beverly hadn’t had to deal with unfaithful fathers or spouses, like Fern. But learning your grandfather was a crook and your uncle a murdering son of a bitch wasn’t Father Knows Best family territory, either. “Wallace’s murder must have hit you pretty hard. Even though you’re no longer together.”
“The word ‘shock’ doesn’t begin to explain it. And when I heard they arrested that antiques shop owner, I was floored. Why would he do that?”
“It’s not clear he was the actual murderer. It’s a very circumstantial case.”
“But didn’t Wallace’s father leave his estate to that man? That’s what Vernon Atkinson said.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Vernon Atkinson. He’s Wally’s neighbor. He and Wally weren’t on speaking terms lately, but when Wally and I first started dating, I chatted a few times with Atkinson and his wife. Nice people. I ran into him yesterday, and he told me about the will. I think it was in the newspapers, too.”
Adam had warned her there would be a write-up in the Herald-Post, if not the Boston Globe. He’d talked to his reporter friend, Sam Cowie, about it, trying to be as professional and fair as he could. But something like that couldn’t or shouldn’t be kept out of the press.
She said, “I’m sorry to hear Wallace seems to have lost yet another friend. This neighbor of his. Dr. Atkinson, did you say?”
“He’s a very distinguished-looking guy. Brown curly hair. Has these unusual half-frame eyeglasses. Wears tweed with patches on the elbows.”
Beverly tried not to roll her eyes at the professorial cliché. “And yet, they didn’t get along?”
“At first.”
Fern didn’t appear to want to discuss it further, so Beverly didn’t press her about it. But it did make her wonder. What was so horrible it had caused the neighbors to stop speaking to each other? Beverly asked, “So if the antiques owner didn’t end up killing Wallace, this neighbor could be a suspect?”
“It’s not impossible. He seems too mild-mannered for it. They say it’s always the quiet ones, though, right?”
“Can you think of anyone else who hated Wallace? Enough to kill him?”
Fern laughed. “You got all night? He pissed off a lot of people. People who hated him. But enough to murder him? Wow. That’s so hard to wrap my head around.”
Beverly prompted her, “Surely someone comes to mind.”
“His brother. I think they started hating each other when they were still in diapers.”
“Sibling rivalry?”
“Their mother died of an aneurysm, I think, when they were boys. Guess trying to compete for their father’s affections was what did it. As you yourself said, when you’re young like that, it’s hard to make sense of it all.”
Another woman’s loud laugh caught their attention, and they looked toward the door where a woman with short red hair was batting her eyelashes at her male companion. The woman was clearly Zelda Lehmann, and the man was equally clearly Adam Dutton.
Beverly gritted her teeth and didn’t say anything but did take note of another man who seemed to be with them, a large bear-of-a-man she didn’t recognize. Maybe a business thing?
Fern noticed them, too. “Who’s that with Detective Dutton?”
“His ex-wife.”
“The new Mrs. Mayor?”
“She and Adam parted on good terms. Well, amicable enough.”
“From his expression and hers, looks like his ex thinks they parted on much better terms than he does.”
Suddenly, Beverly wasn’t interested in the rest of her sandwich, and she pushed it away. Too bad she was driving. Fern’s Maria von Trappist ale was sounding pretty good.
