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A new wedding venue is opening in Maryville today, Cottage Grove, and I’m grateful to cover the opening after last night at Chelsea’s. I’m going to do a live broadcast from the grand opening and interview the owner to capture the vibe of the upscale indoor-outdoor venue. For the interview, I change into a black sequined gown with a slit up the middle of my right leg, just past my knee. I don’t recall being this dolled up since my wedding, and I enjoy feeling fancy, even if it is just for work.
At the conclusion of my coverage, which draws two thousand live viewers, I reach my car, still feeling like a million bucks—except that I can no longer feel my toes, which are crammed into four-inch-high heels.
A familiar voice calls out from across the parking lot. “Hey, friend. Is it too soon to need to talk?”
I turn to see Connor, who’s wearing a tuxedo. “Wow!” I accidentally say aloud for God and everyone else to hear. My face grows warm. “I mean, you look...”
“A tad overdressed? Ridiculously handsome? Like a penguin?” Connor laughs as he makes his way across the parking lot.
I giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher. He reaches me and bows like a gentleman. “Can I show you something, since we both happen to be so dressed up? I caught your story on my phone while I was getting fitted for my new tux and thought I’d ask if I can take you somewhere cool and see what you think of it. So here I am.” He laughs at his silliness.
I place my hand in his and grin as he pulls me to his car. “Now I know that at least one of my friends watches my live news broadcasts.”
As he drives to an unknown location, I wonder what Connor has in store, but all he’ll say is that it’s a surprise. Perhaps an important clue awaits at this secret destination. But judging by his happy demeanor, this doesn’t feel like research at all. My stomach knots up as my conscience tells me I’d better get back to work and focus on Allegra’s story before something bad happens.
After a car ride full of nonstop conversation about our mutual love of everything from HGTV and old homes to pickles and the Dave Matthews Band, we reach a large, rustic barn in the countryside of Powell. We pull into the spacious gravel driveway in front of it, and Connor takes a deep breath. A majestic willow tree stands in the back yard, next to a small stream among rolling hills of gated farmland and an old farmhouse in the distance. The views are amazing.
“I know what you’re thinking. An old barn is the last place you’d want to go in a formal dress, but just bear with me. Stay here.” He runs inside the barn for a few minutes then rushes to my door and opens it for me. “Okay. Come on in.”
We make our way to the enormous chipped red barn door, which he also opens for me. As it creaks open, lively music comes from inside. I peek in, expecting to see a party, but find only empty black rustic tables, elegant white chairs, and a lonely black-and-white-checkered dance floor. Like icicles, lights trickle down from the rafters, and the scene takes my breath away. “Wow! What is this place?”
Connor beams as I take in the view. “This is a real wedding venue. Maybe you can cover it when it finally opens to the public.”
“Is this yours?” I spin in a circle, absorbing it all. From the outside, I would never have expected the interior to be so modern.
“Yeah. Allegra and I fell in love with it. I renovated it and never got around to finishing the exterior. There’s a hundred-plus-year-old farmhouse a few thousand feet away that we wanted to restore as well. At one point, we thought maybe we’d live here and have a mini farm with the boys. But Sequoyah Hills happened instead, and this got placed on the back burner. What do you think? Is this perfect for weddings or what?” Connor regards the barn as if it’s a long-lost child.
“I absolutely adore it. Truly.” My eyes widen.
Ever since our fireside chat yesterday, Connor seems to have more interest in me. Maybe it’s because he knew someone who knew Clayton or because he found out I have a child, too, or because the whole thing with Clayton humanized me. Nevertheless, I think of Ivy and Allegra and how hurt they would be over Connor and me growing closer. I’m a girl’s girl, through and through, so the thought of being untrustworthy really hits me in the gut. What if I’m the shark?
When an upbeat eighties tune plays, Connor walks out onto the dance floor and motions for me to join him. I reluctantly walk out and allow him to spin me once then twice, but when I lose my balance on the third spin, he grabs me midfall and holds me upright.
When he starts to lift me back up, Connor and I lock eyes like two teenagers. I fear we’re in dangerous territory as our bodies touch in all the wrong places. After we stare at each other for the longest two seconds in history, I stand, say thanks, and pull away before we make a huge mistake.
Connor clears his throat awkwardly as I wander around the barn.
“Thank you so much for bringing me here. It’s such a magical place.” I mosey around the tables and finger the white table runners.
“I guess that’s my cue to wrap it up, huh?” Connor replies with a look of disappointment I can’t quite figure out.
“I really do need to get back. I’d hate to have to pick Graham up from preschool while I’m wearing a black sequined gown.” I laugh, stroking my dress.
***
ON OUR WAY INTO TOWN, we get stuck at the notorious train tracks in Karns. No cars are around, and we’ve stopped anyway, so Connor suggests we do a quick Chinese car drill in our formal attire, just because it seems ridiculous.
“Are you serious?” I ask with a furrowed brow. Aren’t you, like, forty years old?
Connor looks at me like I’m the old one. “Oh, come on. I haven’t done it in years, and I’m feeling like living a little in this ridiculous getup. You may need someone to force you to have some fun even more than I do. Come on.”
A smile grows on my face, and with a nod, we’re off. We laugh and run toward the front of the car, smacking into each other like a couple of dim-witted kids. We continue to cackle as a car approaches from behind, likely thinking we’re both insane or on something, and we run into each other again as we attempt to pass on the same side. Finally, he plants his hands on my waist and steers me to the driver’s seat of his car to avoid another collision as we continue to laugh.
I drive to the lot of Cottage Grove, where we left my car, and my shoulders fall as soon as I realize we must part ways. Our conversations flowed like rushing water all afternoon, without those awkward, cringe-inducing lulls when getting to know someone new. When I put his car in Park and pull on the emergency brake, Connor turns to me and continues a conversation about Clayton and Allegra. “I think they’d want us to have fun and be happy. You know? And maybe we were put in each other’s path to help us do that.”
My eyes grow large. I wonder whether he’s insinuating we become a couple or just friends.
He holds up a hand. “As friends, I mean. I know you’re working on the case as well, and we have to communicate with each other to an extent anyway, but beyond that, I enjoy your company and understanding,” he clarifies, and I smile at his compliment. “It’d just be nice to hang out with a friend who gets the fact that I feel like dying with grief one minute and living my life without dwelling on Allegra’s death the next, because that’s what she’d want me to do.”
I cock my head and give him a frown full of sympathy. “That, I do understand. And I kind of already consider us friends.”
“Good.” He smiles.
I open my door and turn to Connor. “I had fun today, by the way. And I’d love to cover the barn for you when it’s ready. Whatever I can do to help out.” I hop out of his car and leave it running, hoping it’ll set a breezy tone for our departure. He meets me at the driver’s door and shuts it behind me.
“This is one of the best days I’ve had in... in a long time,” Connor confesses with his arm propped on the car. “It was nice to act like an idiot again.” He opens his arms for a hug. I feel heat and tension between us as his warm breath reaches my neck. It may be all in my head, but it feels as if the universe is trying to pull us together.
***
LATER, I ACTUALLY DO have to pick up Graham in my sequined gown; my impromptu friend day with Connor didn’t allow me enough time to go home and change. Beaming, I drive toward the school and walk into Graham’s classroom, where the other moms give me loads of compliments on my gown.
When he spots me, Graham leaps into my arms at his classroom door, and his dirty shoes leave two perfect footprints on my dark sparkles. I wince but don’t push him away. What’s done is done, so we might as well enjoy the moment. Then I realize the same applies to my new friendship with Connor. We might as well enjoy what we have while we have it, despite the obvious mess it’s sure to cause.
***
AS MOM, GRAHAM, AND I enjoy homemade tacos at home that evening, I receive a scathing text from Ivy.
Remember our conversation this morning? It was so easy for you to lie about you and Connor. You know, easy, like you obviously are.
My head spins in bewilderment, and I can’t swallow my mouthful of taco. Acid finds its way up to my mouth from the pit of my stomach. Did she really just call me easy? For a second, I wonder if maybe she sent the text to the wrong person, but we did meet this morning, and we did discuss Connor.
Ivy, what are you talking about? I brace myself.
Really? You’re going to play it that way? Don’t worry. I won’t beat around the bush—you and Connor were clearly playing on the wrong side of the tracks today.
Oh, shit! Ivy must’ve been in that car behind us. Neither of us paid any attention to the vehicle or the driver inside. I cringe at the image of Ivy fuming in her Highlander as Connor led me around his car by the waist, both of us giggling in formal attire. This looks really bad. So bad.
That was not what it looked like. Can we talk? I cross my fingers and wait, assuming the worst but hoping for the best. This is such a horrible misunderstanding, and I don’t have a clue how to fix it.
No, I know all I need to, and now you do too. You can consider our friendship “off the rails.” You almost had me fooled, Madeleine.
I repeatedly try turning the three ellipses in my text box into actual words but hit Delete every time. There’s nothing I can say right now to cool her down, and nothing can come close to explaining what happened with Connor and me this week. Our connection is something I don’t know how to explain to myself, let alone anyone else.
***
ANOTHER STABBING HEADACHE awakens me that night, so I reach for some medicine in my nightstand only to remember I’m out. I roll out of bed and scuffle to the kitchen for some more, and the beeps in my head begin, growing louder with every step. I see flashes of the dream I was having before I woke. It’s the same dream I’ve had before: the hospital corridor engulfed with a blinding fog, finally finding room 101, the rush of frigid air as I open the door, the machines beeping inside, and the foot of the bed with a blanket covering the patient I can’t see.
Despite my pain and nausea, I tuck myself back into bed and close my eyes, and I drift to sleep, only to have my recurring dream once again. This time, I’m in the hospital, hooked up to all kinds of machines, not knowing why I’m there or why I’m all alone. The disturbing dream keeps me awake most of the night, and I can’t shake the sense of familiarity. It makes me feel... haunted.
The next morning, Graham and I are about to head out the front door when someone knocks on it from the other side. I approach the peep hole with my finger over my lips so Graham will shush, then I see if it’s anyone I recognize. In the circle, I see Wentworth and another police officer and instantly panic. I duck and motion for Graham to shush, but he doesn’t see me in time.
“Mommy, are you going to answer the door? Is it Meems?” he yells loudly enough for them to hear on the other side of my cheap, thin front door. My palm hits my face hard, then I turn the dead bolt and twist the knob. Here we go.
The door cracks open, and I stick my head out.
“Hi, Madeleine.” Wentworth gives me a smug grin as the other cop scrolls on his iPad. Maybe he really is going after me.
“Um, yes. Can I help you?” I narrow my eyes. Is “a source” setting me up for something I didn’t do?
“Yes, ma’am. We just have a few questions to ask, if you don’t mind,” Wentworth says.
“We’re on our way out the door right now. Can we do it later?” I anxiously tug on Allegra’s scarf that Connor gave me.
The other officer chimes in, “Sorry, ma’am. We’ll only be a few minutes, we hope. I’m Officer Hunt, by the way. If you need to have a friend take your son to school, you can certainly arrange that. We’ll wait.” He doesn’t look up from the iPad he’s typing on.
Wentworth checks his watch.
“Um, it’s okay. It’s just preschool, so I guess we can be a little late. Come on in. Let’s go ahead and do whatever this is. Graham, you can go play in your room for a few minutes. Okay?”
Graham drops his backpack onto the carpet and runs to his room, probably thinking the police are going to haul him off to jail if he doesn’t do what I ask. It’s a threat I now regret using in rare moments of desperation. I take a seat on the recliner across from the officers, who are now parked on my sofa. “What’s this all about?” I ask with crossed arms.
“It’s come to our attention that you’re working on your own story on Allegra Hudson, per request of the family. Is that correct?” Officer Hunt asks.
I exhale slowly, desperately trying to assure myself I haven’t done anything wrong. “Yes, the family and a close friend of the family asked me to, like I told Wentworth before. Is that a problem?”
“No, ma’am. We’re just trying to get all the facts straight,” Officer Hunt says as Wentworth now takes notes on the iPad.
“We were also informed you and Mr. Hudson may have some romantic relationship. Is that correct?” Wentworth cocks his head and appears ecstatic to see what my response will be.
I rub my chin, flabbergasted, feeling like I have committed a crime now. What the hell kind of question is this? Ivy must’ve called the police on me!
“We’re friends only,” I say with a clenched jaw.
Officer Hunt reluctantly reads the next question on the iPad while Wentworth types. “So you were never romantic with Mr. Hudson during your outing yesterday? And you only met him after the death of Mrs. Hudson, is that right?”
“No, I wasn’t. And yes, of course. You were there in the restaurant the day we met, sir.”
Steam builds inside my head. If I could get to Ivy Richards right this second... I don’t know what I would do, but it wouldn’t be good. Suddenly, after being grilled, I can relate to Lane and his hot temper. “And I know who’s feeding you all this crap too. She’s the one who asked me to investigate all of this, and she introduced me to Mr. Hudson, so she knows good and well we just met.”
Officer Hunt responds, “We have to check out every lead like this, ma’am. It’s nothing personal against you. As of right now, we have to take all allegations seriously.”
“Are you going to question everyone all over town about this?” I huff at how this speculation will tarnish my reputation. How could Ivy do this to Connor and me? Can’t she see how this will affect Connor’s children if they hear about it?
Hunt chimes in, clearly trying to calm me. “There will only be a tight-knit circle of people needed for questioning. Nothing to worry about there, Ms. Barton.”
The men look at one another and nod.
“All right, ma’am. Thanks for answering our questions. We’ll be in touch if we have anything further to ask,” Hunt says as they head out the front door. Wentworth continues to type with a smirk on his face.
Wentworth passes the iPad to Hunt, reaches in his pocket, and turns to me with a confused expression. “Oh, this postcard was lying outside your door, by the way,” he says in the tone of an experienced smart-ass before they walk off.
I look at the picture, which is a painted scene of railroad tracks with a red dot on one side of it, a dot labeled Madeleine. I flip it over, and it reads, “There you are, Madeleine, on the wrong side of the tracks. Better get back on the other side and leave Connor to his family—remember what I said—a source.”
Now that they’ve left, I’m forced to go through the mom motions required for taking Graham to school, although the postcard and Ivy’s betrayal consume my thoughts the entire way there. I wonder whether Ivy could be “a source.” Both she and the source did mention the train tracks and don’t want me getting sidetracked by romance.
Their motives seem to line up, and I can’t ignore that. But I can hardly think straight, and I don’t know if I’m more angry or embarrassed about my visit from the police. Ivy’s lit a fire under me, and she’s about to understand what it means to get in my wrath path. It takes a lot to make me angry, but when I finally get there, I see red.
Wentworth couldn’t have been happier to see me squirm. Maybe he’s the one who left the doll with the note down its neck, the one warning me to stop looking.
I text Connor. Hey, it’s Mad. Just wanted to warn you Ivy has started a huge ruckus with the police because she saw us together at the train tracks yesterday. They may question you, so be warned.
Two minutes later, he replies. Two officers just left my place. When I called my lawyer, he didn’t want me to answer any of their questions, but I did. I guess they went after us at the same time so we wouldn’t be able to coordinate our stories. It’s probably good for us that we both went ahead and told the truth. Did you answer all of their questions?
I reply. I did, well, most of them were just about yesterday and how I got involved with the story. That’s really it. P.S. I’m so sorry this happened.
I think that’s perfect. No reason to be sorry. I’m not. And they’re just doing their job. I don’t think anyone is really taking Ivy’s claims to heart. Now, the real question is... what are we going to do about Ivy and her vivid imagination? She’s not going to believe us.
That’s one question I definitely have a good answer for. I’ll handle her.
And I’ll let you... I’m home today, by the way. Come by if you’re in the neighborhood and say hey.
Will do. But all I want right now is to find Ivy and tell her off. If Wentworth uses Ivy’s wild imaginings as a way to suggest there was an affair between Connor and me before Allegra died, then I have my Chelsea Knight card to play against him. If only I’d thought to have a camera on me while I was at her house.