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Beverly woke up early, after having dreams of confronting a ghost in a field of red flowers. She tumbled out of bed toward the shower, wondering what had prompted that bit of nocturnal theater. Ghosts from her past haunting her subconscious? Reliving the very real nightmare of her villainous uncle shooting himself?
Then she realized the ghost was a sad-faced woman with olive skin who looked a lot like Nyssa Atkinson. The red flowers must be taken from the new paint in their living room.
She’d obsessed about Nyssa after her visit to the Atkinson home with Adam. That woman was hiding something but wasn’t about to speak up with her husband around. Or any man, especially a police detective.
It was Monday, so the Professor would be in classes, wouldn’t he? With her post-shower hair in a towel, Beverly munched on a room-service breakfast sandwich and checked out the college website on her laptop. Atkinson had a class at ten. Perfect.
Beverly hadn’t paid attention to the garden behind the Atkinson’s house on her first visit. Dormant, brown stubs of plants and layers of straw mulch filled the planters. Not much to look at now. Was there purple monkshood next to the strawberries and basil when the yard was in full summer bloom?
She briefly debated about sneaking around looking for a shed or peering into any basement windows looking for dried purple flowers. That would have to wait for Adam. All official and logged into evidence.
Beverly hopped in her rental car and headed for the address, wearing the blond wig again. Nyssa Atkinson was surprised to see her but didn’t turn her away. She graciously invited Beverly in, offering her some homemade herbal tea. “That’s a mix of violet flowers, chamomile flowers, dandelion petals, and calendula petals.”
Beverly took a sip. Surprisingly good, if a touch odd. She looked around. The wall painting was finished, everything back in its place. It was every bit as red as the flowers in her dream. Blood red.
On the way over, she’d tried to decide what question to open with, and the Atkinson’s former neighbor seemed a safe bet. “It must have been frightening to have such an unpredictable man next door. Wondering what he might do next.”
A cute, fluffy dog wandered into the room, and Nyssa called out to him. “This is Muttley, a Golden Retriever, Corgi mix.”
“That’s the dog who was poisoned?”
“Fortunately, he hadn’t eaten much of whatever it was. He’ll eat anything, won’t you, boy?” She reached down to stroke his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s both family and my best friend.”
“Since you and your husband both suspect Wallace of poisoning Muttley, I’m surprised your husband wanted anything to do with Wallace’s brother, Ramsay. Seems like he’d rather make friends with a snake.”
“I have no idea why. They’re so unalike. But my husband’s ways are pretty mysterious.” Nyssa took a sip of tea, lost in thought.
Beverly wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, but sometimes direct was the best. “I understand you have an open marriage. That must be. . .interesting. Very Bohemian.”
The other woman put her tea cup down on a table next to her chair and squeezed her hands together in her lap. “Interesting? More like devastating.”
“It wasn’t your idea?”
“My husband can get very loud and forceful and doesn’t take no for an answer. He kept badgering me about this ‘experiment,’ saying it would save our marriage. I finally gave in.”
“Did your husband or Wally ever assault you?”
“Vernon is too aloof with me for that. Wally scared me once when he was drunk, and my husband wasn’t home.”
“How so?”
“Threw himself on me, but I managed to get away. And he’d also say sexually suggestive things from time to time. I never told my husband for fear of what he would do. I mean, he was already upset with Wally.”
Beverly thought back to what Fern had told her—that the reason Nyssa turned around on seeing Fern at the Apple Peel was because Nyssa was the one who’d come on to Wally. So who was telling the truth? “If you’re unhappy in your marriage, could you try some counseling?”
“Vernon would never go. I could go on my own, but what good would that do?”
“Well, maybe get a job, then, something outside the home?”
“I haven’t worked since the year before we got married. Ten years without a job or experience or references. Who would want me?”
Perhaps sensing his owner’s distress, Muttley jumped up on her lap and licked Nyssa’s chin. “At least I have good ole Muttley.”
“Do you think Wallace Ryall poisoned Muttley?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore. But since you asked, it bothers me very much Vernon is friends with Ramsay Ryall.”
“It’s bound to be awkward for you.”
“It’s not just that. I overheard a conversation between Ramsay and Vernon. About Ramsay’s father’s collection and how he used to lord it over his son. That the father had something valuable Ramsay would never get his hands on.”
“Something valuable? Like what?”
“I didn’t get that part. But when I first heard about Wallace’s murder, guess I jumped to the conclusion Ramsay killed Wallace after he’d inherited this valuable whatever and stole it from him.”
She muttered, “Maybe with help.”
Beverly’s ears perked up. “With help?”
Nyssa hugged Muttley to her. “Why else would my husband suddenly be friends with the man?”
“You really think your husband helped Ramsay commit murder?”
“In my undergrad days, I majored in psychology. You’d think after all that, I would have noticed I was dating a man with Narcissistic Personality Disorder.”
Beverly had taken some psych classes herself. Vernon Atkinson certainly fit the narcissism profile. Excessively vain, check. Lacking in empathy, check. Obsessed with prestige, check. “If your husband and Wallace did steal this item, whatever it is, perhaps they’ve sold it. Has your husband been spending more lately?”
“If anything, he’s spent less. We hardly ever go out anymore. Not even to restaurants. But I guess in an ‘open marriage,’ he takes whoever out whenever. I’m one of many.”
Beverly finished her tea, noticing it had a somewhat bitter aftertaste. “You know, Nyssa, I’ve been staying at the Apple Valley Resort. There’s a job opening waiting tables in the tea room. Not very lucrative, but it would be something. I could put in a good word for you.”
Nyssa’s expression grew thoughtful, and then she sat up a straighter, making Muttley reach up to lick her face again. “That’s such a lovely place. And it would be a change from these dull four walls. But we only have the one car, and I’m afraid my husband would say no.”
“I would say no to what, dear?” Vernon walked in from the kitchen. Beverly looked at her watch. She and Nyssa had talked for an hour, and Vernon’s class must be over.
Nyssa patted Muttley and put him on the floor. “Oh, trying out that new Italian restaurant in Woodstock.”
He sniffed. “You know how I hate pasta. It’d be a waste of money.”
Beverly stood up, thinking she didn’t want to be here in the middle of these two, then noticed Vernon was giving her a thorough once over. “You were here with Detective Dutton, weren’t you? You’re a lovely creature. I haven’t seen you around before. If you’re new to town, I could give you the grand tour.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m not new to town, and I hate tours. Too overbearing and dull.” Beverly winked at Nyssa and hurried to her car, away from the clouds of unhappiness inside and into the gray clouds of the winter day.
“Arrogant prick,” she said to herself.
Eager to tell Adam about this “valuable item” Nyssa had mentioned, she dialed Adam on her phone. But all she got was his voice mail, which made her worried. Was he in an interview and couldn’t be interrupted? Or perhaps he and Jinks were on the road, and he was driving?
She continued to fret, imagining all the various possibilities, some not so pleasant. Where the hell was he and what was he up to? This must be what Zelda had experienced as a cop’s wife, right? Every day he went to work, he might come home. . .or not. Although Beverly didn’t want to admit it to herself, she had a sudden moment of sympathy for Zelda Lehmann.
