Chapter 4
Dear Natasha,
I’m trying to put up a gallery wall with words for my daughter’s bedroom. Should the words all be the same size and font? How big should it be?
Loving Mom in Font Hill, Maryland
Dear Loving Mom,
Don’t bother. Wall words are out. Everyone knows it’s the laundry. You don’t have to put up a sign saying so. Instead, hang a bookshelf. Use it to show off the things that are important to your daughter.
Natasha
The man whistled as he strolled back. It sounded like Pharrell Williams’s “Happy.” He looked happy as he walked along with almost a bounce to his stride.
“Hi,” I said. “Sophie Winston. I’m in charge of the festival.”
“Toby Wallace,” he said. “Terrible what happened to Paisley’s mom. I had offered to help Frank unload the van this morning, but I was running a little late. And then I had to call my girlfriend. She’s Paisley’s cousin, Maddy. Do you know her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s awful having to tell someone that her aunt died. I never had to do that before. Hope I don’t have to do it again! Lark seemed like a nice lady.”
At that moment, a slender woman with long strawberry blond hair ran toward us and flung herself into Toby’s arms. She sobbed on his shoulder. I presumed she was Maddy. A couple in their fifties trundled along behind her. I might have thought they were here for the festival, but their expressions were anything but festive. The woman sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Her auburn hair was cut short and styled well. She wore a long gauzy skirt with a matching blouse and a diamond on a short chain that lay in the hollow of her neck.
The man with her had lost most of his hair. He was stout and walked with a slightly stiff penguin wobble, as though he might suffer from arthritis. His face was red as a Christmas candle.
“Where is Paisley?” asked Maddy.
“Dunno,” said Toby.
The older couple had reached us.
“Paisley and Frank are in the crowd just outside Lark’s front door.”
“What happened?” asked the man. “I was told she fell. Why are the police here?”
“Who are you?” the woman asked.
I introduced myself and explained my presence.
“Frank thought he should stay here with Paisley, but I refused to take those kids of his back to their house and babysit,” said Toby. “I helped him unload the van and I’ve been watching the stuff in their tent.”
“Why Toby!” The woman sounded shocked. “I had no idea that you don’t like children. You mean I’ll never have grandchildren?”
“Not six of them. I can promise you that. I would have wrecked the van with all of them crying at the same time.”
“I understand you’re related to Lark?” I asked politely.
The woman gave me a harsh look. “We are her in-laws, Cal and Doralee Bickford. My husband is . . . was her husband’s brother. He passed a few years ago. Poor Paisley was so close to her mother. I don’t know how she’ll manage without her.”
“We should go check on her,” said Cal.
“I’ll make some coffee,” said Doralee. “What’s Paisley doing outside anyway? We should move her into the house where she can sit down and be with family.”
“They may not let you in the house,” I pointed out. “The police are all suited up so they won’t contaminate the crime scene.”
“Crime scene?” shrieked Doralee.
It was like a cue for Maddy to start crying again.
Throwing me a smug glance, Cal said, “Oh, they’ll let me inside the house.” He stalked through the gate and disappeared.
“Is he with the police?” I asked.
His wife seemed surprised by my question. “No, he’s just Cal.”
It wasn’t much of an explanation. But since they were Lark’s family and there wasn’t anything I could do, I said goodbye and got back to work.
I tried to focus on the DIY Festival but found it to be a struggle. I had dealt with several murders in my life, but this one felt oddly personal. She lived only a few blocks away and someone had killed her in her own home. She was sweet and kind. And she’d been away! Surely her absence had been long enough for any hot tempers to cool off. Was that why she had gone on the three-week trip? Had someone been waiting eagerly for her return to murder her? It all seemed so cold and horrible.
Nina ran down the middle of the street toward me. “Is it true?” she gasped.
“I’m afraid so. How did you hear about it?”
“One of my friends lives on this block. I knew something awful had happened when she said she saw Wolf going into Lark’s yard.”
I told her what little I knew.
“I can’t believe this. She was on my flight yesterday.” Nina’s eyes narrowed. “Of all the people in the world who could be murdered, Lark would be way down at the bottom of the list. What could she possibly have done to tick someone off like this?”
“I don’t know. Poor Paisley is in shock.” I checked the time. “I’m running late. I need to walk over to Market Square to be sure the do-it-yourself demonstrations are in progress.”
Nina fell in step with me. “I should call Dulci. The three of us spent a lot of time together in Portugal. She’ll be as devastated as we are.”
I was pleased to see Ari Hoffmann under the demonstration tent, showing people how to reupholster a chair. I had tried it myself once and given up. In fact, the poor chair was naked down to the frame and still in my basement. He asked people from the audience to come up and try stapling materials on the dining chair he had brought with him. He had wisely provided a matching chair that was mostly stripped and another that was finished. I was inspired to try reupholstering my chair again.
I saw the woman who was next preparing her material for a gallery wall with words. We had arranged for folding chairs to be available, which turned out to be a good move. They were packed. I was pleased to see people drinking lattes and watching the live DIY demonstration.
“Good turnout,” said Nina. “There’s Dulci!” Nina waved her over to us.
Dulci Chapman had retired early from her career as an art therapist for troubled children to become a food blogger. No one could figure out how she remained slim while her husband’s girth expanded.
She had sharp brown eyes that seemed to catch everything. Maybe that was because her eyebrows dipped down toward her eyes near her nose, which always made me think of an owl. Her hair, the color of dark chocolate, hung just past her shoulders in the latest simple style. She had always been lovely to me, but she often wore an expression that said don’t-mess-with-me. As far as I could tell, she usually got what she wanted.
She clasped Nina’s arm. “Did you hear? I’m just sick about it. We haven’t even been home for twenty-four hours. How was there even enough time for someone to murder Lark?”
“Did she seem worried about anything on your trip?” I asked.
“Not anything unusual. She’s concerned about Paisley, but what mother doesn’t worry about her kids? Six boys under the age of ten! I would be out of my mind.” Dulci widened her eyes.
“Two children were a lot for me to keep up with and mine were actually very good. The stories I’ve heard from other moms are enough to make me grateful for the two I raised.”
“Was she seeing anyone?”
Nina and Dulci exchanged a look.
“What?” I asked.
“She was evasive,” said Dulci. “To the extent that I became suspicious. I remember telling my husband that something was up with Lark.”
“Dulci’s right, Soph. That adorable Dr. Chryssos teamed up with her a few times—”
“Of course, they were the only two single people on the tour,” Dulci interjected. “It only made sense for them to couple up. I don’t think it meant anything.”
“But if Lark wasn’t seeing someone, wouldn’t she have snapped him up?” asked Nina. She eyed me with a mischievous glint. “You really need to meet him.”
“I have. Just this morning. He’s the medical examiner on Lark’s case.”
They shot me inquisitive looks.
“He’s very attractive. But I’m not so desperate that I have to jump a guy when poor Lark is sprawled on the ground dead.”
“Ugh.” Nina grimaced. “Nothing like bringing us back to reality.”
“Three weeks is a long trip. Think back. Was Lark relieved to be away? Did she seem hesitant about returning?”
“Lark acted perfectly normal. She talked a little bit about her son-in-law being of Portuguese heritage and how she hoped he and Paisley could go on a tour like ours one day,” said Dulci.
“She bought endless toys and trinkets for the boys,” said Nina. “She seemed perfectly happy.”
“It has to have been a random attack,” said Dulci with conviction. “It won’t make me sleep any better to think that, but maybe she was an easy target because she lives alone.”
That didn’t make me feel better.
Dulci realized her mistake. “But you have Daisy. Or maybe a burglar had been watching her house and didn’t know she had returned.”
Nina groaned. “I’m on my way to the rescue to pick up a foster dog right now. The biggest one I can find. Growly with giant jowls.”
Dulci laughed at her. “Want to borrow my husband?”
Dr. Chapman did sort of fit that description. Nina and I chuckled.
“I’m going to watch this next lady with the photo gallery and inspirational words. I want to make a wall like that for my grandchildren.” Dulci took a seat in the front row and Nina hurried off to the animal shelter.
Satisfied that things were going well, I headed home to drop Daisy off. She needed a decent breakfast and a nap. I hurried through the street where Lark lived so I wouldn’t be detained by anyone. But that didn’t work out quite as well as I had hoped.
I had almost left the area of the tents when I heard my name being called. I knew that voice and the irritated tone she used. It could only be Natasha—friend, neighbor, and nemesis. Natasha thought she knew best and that it was her obligation to inform everyone of their shortcomings so they could better themselves. She could be highly annoying. And then, when I least expected it, she would do something so thoughtful and kind that I thought I had been wrong about her.
We had known each other since we were children in the same little town of Berrysville, Virginia. We had grown up competing at everything except for the beauty pageants she loved. I don’t find competition particularly entertaining. I’m quite happy to do my thing without having to battle with anyone. But Natasha thrived on it and continually sought to challenge me. Sadly, we now wrote competing advice columns on all things domestic, which had only fueled her determination to best me.
She caught up to me. I had no choice.
Natasha was as tall as I was short. My clothes might be snug, but she was beginning to look too thin. Her collarbones jutted out above the neckline of her soft white top. Naturally, her exquisite slim white trousers hung on her like on a mannikin. A jacket in Burberry plaid hung over her shoulders, and large golden chain bracelets circled her bony wrists.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said huffily, impatiently tapping her forefinger against her arm.