“Engaged?” I squeaked in a voice high enough that it should have brought Mattie running. “As in, the two of you are getting married?”
“That’s usually how it goes,” Harry replied. “Fortunately, as her new fiancé is some washed-up ballplayer named Harold Anderson, I’m pretty sure the wedding will never happen.”
Now it was my turn to hold my head in my hands. In the short time I’d known the man, I’d seen him accused of murder, threatened by a knife-wielding stalker, and even cast in a rewritten version of Hamlet to help catch a murderer. But impulsive marriage proposals were a whole other level of bizarre, even for him.
Well, except for his original lapse into matrimony back when he was eighteen.
I sunk onto the sofa opposite him and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Harry shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I played my role as doting boyfriend to perfection, and I found sufficient non-meat products on the buffet to make a tolerable meal. Best of all, none of the family knew anything about baseball, but all of them were thrilled to meet a former professional athlete. Bottom line, the reunion went swimmingly for the first hour or so.”
“Until…?” I prompted.
“Until the slew of family good news.” He raised a hand and started ticking off fingers. “First, cousin Bobby and his wife Glenda announced they were expecting baby number three. Then sister Jen and husband Phil started showing pictures of the new mansion they’d just bought in Savannah. Uncle Lester had to brag about his son Pembroke’s making partner at some law firm in Atlanta. Oh, Meredith’s father and her Aunt Miranda got into dueling photos of their respective Galapagos Islands vacations last spring.”
“Sounds pretty grim,” I agreed, feeling a little sorry for the good doctor having to compete against a family of one-uppers. “I guess having a new boyfriend”—I gave the word finger quotes—“wasn’t enough to win her the ‘Best in Family’ competition.”
“Exactly. I suggested she try a brag or two about her daughter, but apparently Buddy’s accomplishments can’t trump giant tortoises and law partnerships. No, she needed something that would put the spotlight solely on her. So she offered me a nice bonus if I would propose to her during the family’s annual croquet tournament.”
I gave him a hard look. “Really, Harry, you’d stoop to fake-asking a woman to marry her for cash? I thought the whole escort thing was kind of smarmy already, but this bogus engagement is really beyond the pale, even for you.”
“For your information, the only stooping was when I got down on one knee in the center of the croquet court,” he loftily replied, brushing imaginary grass from his trouser leg. “Don’t worry, I gave Meredith her money’s worth when I pledged my undying love.”
While I waited expectantly, he continued, “I stole the paper ring off Uncle Lester’s cigar and used that instead of a diamond. The proposal was a mash-up of Romeo and Juliet meets The Wedding Singer meets Little Women—the Winona Ryder version, of course. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house when I was finished.”
“I’ll bet there wasn’t,” was my wry response, not that I doubted him. I’d seen Harry onstage, and he was pretty memorable.
He continued, “As soon as Merry—that’s what I call her, by the way—said yes, her father broke out the case of champagne they were saving for dessert. Everyone started offering toasts and congratulating her for landing such a great guy. After about an hour of guzzling Dom and being slapped on the back by every man there, I decided it was time to exit stage right.”
Exit, pursued by a bear, I wryly thought, recalling that memorable, tragicomic stage direction from The Winter’s Tale (hey, Harry wasn’t the only one who read Shakespeare). The sentiment seemed appropriate. I had a suspicion that Harry had released a figurative grizzly with his little stunt…not that it was my problem.
Aloud, I merely asked, “So how are you going to get out of the engagement?”
“The usual way. When a decent enough amount of time has passed, she’ll let her family know I did something outrageous—probably cheated on her with another woman—and that she called it off.”
Then something else occurred to me. “Wait, what about Buddy? She was at the reunion, right? She knows who you are from the expo. How did she not blow your cover?”
Harry gave a sheepish shrug. “Actually, Meredith bribed her with a new smartphone if she kept her mouth shut. But I’ve still got burn spots on my back from where she glared lasers at me the whole time.”
I suppressed a snort. “That takes care of Buddy, then, but you’d better hope none of her male relatives are the vengeful sorts. They might come after you with shotguns once they hear you’re a low-down dog.”
I grinned a little. Any family that played croquet and featured cases of Dom Pérignon at their family reunions probably didn’t track down cheating fiancés with loaded firearms. That wouldn’t stop me from ribbing Harry about it, however.
And he did look a bit alarmed as he replied, “I didn’t think about that. Maybe it will look better if I do the breaking up, not her.”
Then, holding up his now-empty plate up, he added, “Nina, would you be a lamb and make me another toasted PB&J?”
After a second sandwich—which I grudgingly made for him, but only because I decided I wanted one for myself—Harry rallied enough to take himself upstairs. I told him I had a potential guest coming in the morning at ten, and he agreed to make himself scarce during the tour. So I wouldn’t have to rush in the morning, I did a little final tweaking of the rooms and made sure I refilled my little rack of brochures and business cards at the front door. That accomplished, the pups and I made an early night of it too.
I was up later than usual in the morning, as I didn’t have breakfast to lay out for guests. Mattie and Gus were content to sleep in as well, and so it was almost eight when, still dressed in gray sweats, I finally made my way with the pups to the kitchen. To my surprise, Harry was already there, sitting at the kitchen island drinking his tea. Like me, he was wearing sweats. Unlike me, he looked less like he’d just crawled from bed and more like he’d stepped from a sportswear catalog.
“Feeling better?” I asked as, leaving the pups to pester him for some head scritches, I pulled down their bowls from an upper cabinet and then retrieved the dog food bag from the pantry.
“Much improved,” he confirmed, “despite the fact that you force-fed me peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.”
“Toasted PB&Js,” I clarified. “Not only are they guaranteed to help sober you up, they take the edge off any hangover. And you couldn’t have hated them that much or you wouldn’t have eaten two of them.”
I poured the dog kibble, which Mattie and Gus polished off in a few gulps once I’d set down their bowls.
Harry, meanwhile, gave an exaggerated shudder. “I must have been drunker than I thought.” And then, tone turning contrite, he added, “Sorry for all the trouble I put you through.”
“That’s okay,” I told him, and realized I meant it. “It’s been a difficult couple of days. But on the bright side, at least you made a nice chunk of change with this whole escort thing yesterday.”
“Yeah, well, about that…”
He stared down for a moment at his teacup. When he looked up again, his expression was sober.
“I suppose it’s confession time,” he told me. “I’ve been mulling over the whole proposal thing this morning. And much as it pains me to say this, even though the fake engagement was Meredith’s idea, I think you were right. Proposing to her like that was pretty smarmy. So I’m going to call her later this morning and make arrangements to return her checks. Both of them.”
I stared at him, uncertain which shocked me more—Harry Westcott admitting that I was right, or Harry Westcott giving back hard-earned cash. Definitely not in character for the man. Maybe he was feeling more charitable because he’d been mulling over his ill-fated marriage to Roxanna…which bit of history I was still going to confront him with at some point. But what I said was, “If it helps, I think you’re doing the right thing. And I’m proud of you too.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, that certainly makes up for losing first and last months’ rent on a new apartment,” was his ironic reply.
I smiled a little. “What are you going to do if someone else calls you to be a plus one?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I plan to revise my terms of contract to include no wedding proposals.” Then, switching subjects, he asked, “What about your day yesterday? Did you put Roxanna’s cash back where you found it?”
I grimaced. “That’s right, I didn’t get to tell you what happened when I went back to her place with the money.”
While Harry huddled over his rooibos and I made myself a cup of coffee, I related my unfortunate encounter with the local sheriff’s department, along with my discovery that Roxanna’s house had apparently been broken into before I’d done my own B&E. And though the sheriff had dismissed it, I told him my theory that the burglar had likely used the same spare key I’d left under the Uga statue, meaning he—or she—probably knew Roxanna more than casually.
One thing I didn’t mention was my visit to Dr. Bishop’s church and his comments about the oddly-tied scarf. Neither did I tell Harry about Sheriff Lamb’s unspoken message that, in her opinion, Roxanna’s death had been something other than an accident. For one thing, I didn’t want to plant painful images in his brain about the final minutes of a woman I was certain had once been his wife. For another, willingly or not, I’d promised the sheriff to keep my mouth shut. I was pretty sure that if she found out I had I broken my word, she wouldn’t hesitate to toss me in the clink—oops, more outdated slang!—for obstruction or something.
By the time I finished my tale, Harry’s expression had gone from mildly surprised to intensely concerned. And not only because I’d made sure to repeat Lamb’s acerbic jab about not taking legal advice from an actor.
“Sure, your burglar didn’t find the cash,” he agreed, “but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still looking for it. Think about it. If they’re the same person in that silver car you saw the other day, chances are they’ll figure out you took more than Gus when we left the place. And since they’d have no reason to know you gave the money to Connie for safekeeping, they might come here looking for it.”
I set down my coffee mug with an unintended bang. True, the thought had already crossed my mind on a hypothetical basis, but having Harry say it out loud made it suddenly and frighteningly an actual possibility.
“But how would they know I was the one who took the canister?” I demanded, hoping to poke holes in both our arguments. “I doubt they could recognize me through the upstairs window.”
He gave me a pitying look. “Every other car on the streets these days is silver, but you’re the only one I’ve seen in Cymbeline driving a green Mini Cooper. If the burglar knew Roxanna, chances are they know you—or at least know of you. You won’t be hard to track down.”
So much for holes. My hands were trembling just a bit as I picked up my mug again and took a steadying sip. “What are you saying? Do I need police protection or something?”
“Probably not…but I’d definitely watch your back for a while. What do you have planned for today?”
“Not much. I already told you about that kid named Ryan stopping by at ten to decide if he and his fiancée want to book their wedding here. And I’m attending a flower-arranging seminar at John Klingel’s florist shop tonight at seven.”
“Maybe I should go with you.”
“No need for that,” I assured him. “Including John, there should be fifteen of us crammed into his shop. No crazy guy in a silver car is going to come after me with that sort of crowd. It’s probably better if you stay here and keep an eye on the house. I know I have a security system, but—”
“But security systems can be breeched,” he said, finishing my thought. “All right, Mattie and Gus and I will stand guard while you get all artistic with flowers. And I’ll give Connie a call too. You know, see if she can have her deputies step up their patrols around here.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” I told him, feeling marginally better about the situation. But only marginally.
Much as I wanted to talk things through with Harry, I couldn’t, not knowing what I did about him and Roxanna. And particularly not after our argument over Dr. Bishop yesterday, when I’d seen the pain her death had caused him. True, things had seemingly been patched up between us without any discussion—taking care of someone when they’re drunk and vulnerable tends to do that—but my peace of mind now wasn’t worth ruining his again. All I could do for the moment was take his advice and watch my back.
That, or break my promise to Sheriff Lamb and do a little investigating of my own.
I left Harry and the pups to hang together while I grabbed a quick shower. Time to take off my Secret Squirrel hat—that being Harry’s sardonic nickname for me when I theorized about murder. I wanted to be at my innkeeper best when I talked to Ryan.
I focused my thoughts on business while I let the hot water beat down on me. If Ryan and his fiancée agreed to hold their wedding at my B&B, it would open whole new horizons for me. I’d have actual wedding pictures to post on my website and add to my brochure, which hopefully would attract other future brides and grooms.
Tourist town that it was, the B&B game in Cymbeline was competitive, particularly in these uncertain times. I had no illusions I could make a significant living as an innkeeper without stepping up my game. And while I wouldn’t be hurting for cash anytime soon—my divorce settlement had made sure of that—I truly wanted this venture to be a success. Even one wedding party a month would make a huge difference to my bottom line.
Mentally and physically refreshed after the shower, I pulled on black jeans and one of my logoed oxfords, this one pale pink with the logo in black. I made a quick email check, glad to see an automated notice from my website booking tool showing another three-day reservation for the coming weekend.
A little before ten, Harry departed via Uber for Dr. Garvin’s office, where he had confirmed she would be on a Monday morning. I put Mattie and Gus in my room—while my promo clearly stated we had an official B&B dog, some guests weren’t too keen on that—and then killed time playing word games on my phone. I’d already opened the gate so Ryan could drive right in.
At ten past ten, I finally heard a car outside and peeked out the front window. But rather than seeing my expected potential customer, I glimpsed Sheriff Connie Lamb climbing out of her patrol car.
Forgetting about Ryan, I hurried out to meet her. She wasn’t heading up the walk to the porch, however; instead, she had popped her trunk and was leaning into it.
“Hello, Sheriff,” I called. “Is everything all right?”
The woman straightened and turned toward me, mirrored sunglasses flashing in the morning sun.
“Good morning,” she greeted me. “I’ve brought you the dog crate from Ms. Quarry’s place.”
“Right, thanks so much,” I exclaimed, having forgotten that she had promised to send it over. I would have expected one of the deputies to be handling the task, however, and not the sheriff herself. Which meant she was either big on customer service or had an ulterior motive for stopping by.
With luck, it would be the first.
I suspected it might be the second.
By now, she had pulled the crate from the trunk. Like the one I had for Mattie, it collapsed into a nice flat package. But since Gus was quite a bit taller than the Aussie, his crate was larger and a heck of a lot heavier. Not that one would guess that from the way the sheriff hefted it with one hand and set it beside her car.
“Would you like me to carry it inside for you?” she asked, closing the trunk.
I shook my head. I might throw out my back carting the darned thing to the house, but no way was I going to play helpless female and let her do the lifting for me.
“I’ve got it,” I told her, hoisting the crate just enough to drag it away from the patrol car and lean it against my knee. “Could I offer you a cup of coffee for your trouble?”
“Thanks, but I’m actually on my way to the ME’s office. I want to light a fire under them about your friend.”
“I see.”
I paused, meeting her mirrored gaze and waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, after a moment, it did.
“I know you gave Deputy Jackson your statement at the bridal expo, and you and I chatted at Ms. Quarry’s house yesterday, but I was wondering if you’d mind answering a couple of more questions concerning Ms. Quarry’s death.”
I frowned a little—as far as I knew, I’d given all the answers I could—but nodded. “Sure. I’m not sure what more I can tell you, but I’ll help if I can.”
“Excellent.” She pulled the ever-present notebook and pencil from her shirt pocket and immediately caught me off guard. “Did Ms. Quarry ever mention anything about an ex-husband to you?”
“You mean, Harry Westcott?” I exclaimed without thinking, then slapped my free hand over my mouth. But, of course, it was too late to call back the words.
And apparently that wasn’t the answer Sheriff Lamb was expecting. She lowered her sunglasses so that I could see her pale-blue eyes.
“Excuse me? Would you mind repeating that?”
“Actually, I’d rather take the Fifth,” I replied with a weak smile.
The sheriff didn’t smile back.
“You’re not on trial, Ms. Fleet, so the Fifth Amendment doesn’t apply here,” was her dry response. “We’re just having a little friendly conversation. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out. Now, are you telling me that Mr. Westcott and Ms. Quarry used to be married?”
“Maybe. I think so. I mean, I’m not one hundred percent certain.”
I hesitated. I’d already spilled the tea, so I might as well justify my theory. And so I continued, “Harry told me the other day that he got married right out of high school and that the marriage was annulled a few weeks later. But he never actually admitted that it was Roxanna he married. I put two and two together later on from a few other comments he made.”
“I see. So we’re talking an annulled marriage from two decades ago, but no actual corroboration from Mr. Westcott as to who the woman he married was.”
“Exactly. And I really hope you won’t ask him about it. He’s having a hard time right now, and Roxanna’s death hit him pretty hard.”
“Yeah, well, it hit me too. Roxie and I were friends back in high school.”
I stared at her in dismay. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Though I really should have put two and two together on this one as well. I knew that Harry and the sheriff had gone to high school together. If Roxanna had been in the same class, it made sense that she’d also have known Connie Lamb, and vice versa.
Lamb, meanwhile, slid her sunglasses back into place and scratched out something on her notepad. She went on, “While that’s an interesting bit of trivia for our next reunion, for the moment I don’t think it has any bearing on this case. Unless that changes, how about we pretend that the subject never came up?”
I sighed in relief. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Fine. Now, let’s try this again. My info says that Ms. Quarry was married and divorced twice. The phone number I have is for the second ex-husband, who’s out of Atlanta. They split right before she moved back to Cymbeline a couple of years ago.”
I shook my head. “Roxanna told me that she had an ex, but that’s about it. She didn’t mention there were two of them. And she never said anything about the most recent guy, good or bad. I don’t even know his name.”
“Maybe you’d recognize it if you heard it. It’s Slater. First name Bryan. No, wait.”
The sheriff pursed her pale lips and flipped back a couple of pages in her notebook, then gave a satisfied nod. “Sorry, it’s not Bryan…it’s Ryan. Ryan Slater.”