Chapter 50

“There are some interesting characters out there.” Sarah sat next to Frances Noonan at the older woman’s kitchen table, gazing out at the San Francisco Bay and the beginnings of the sunset. Camouflage rested on the floor between her feet and Mrs. Noonan’s. Sarah took a cookie from the plate in front of them.

“Well,” said Mrs. Noonan, “where in life aren’t there?”

“Oh, my gosh, this cookie is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Sarah chewed and swallowed. “What are they?”

“Molasses,” Mrs. Noonan said.

“Molasses. Of course.” Sarah took another bite, savoring the chewiness and the spices. She hadn’t had a molasses cookie in years. Maybe since her childhood. It reminded her of her mother. She felt no sadness thinking of her. How could she when she sat next to Mrs. Noonan, with her gentle manner and her twinkly blue eyes just like Sarah’s mother’s.

“Is this a new recipe? They’re fabulous.”

“No.” Mrs. Noonan spoke softly. “No, this is an old recipe.”

“Well, I love them,” Sarah told her.

“So did Bill,” Mrs. Noonan said. “I haven’t made them in a long time.”

She didn’t say anything else. Sarah leaned over in her chair so their shoulders touched.

After a moment, Mrs. Noonan said, “I hope you brought me pictures of the babies. It’s a little lonely around here because Alma agreed to let Baby Owen go with Chantrelle for the weekend to her sisters’. Chantrelle and her sister apparently patched things up.”

“Poor Mrs. Gordon.”

“Poor Mrs. Gordon is right. I hope she’s having a well-deserved rest.”

“Well, I’ll show you Helen’s babies. They’re tiny compared to Owen.”

“Is this the resort? What a pretty spot.” Mrs. Noonan nodded at a picture of Sarah and Helen in the garden of the resort.

“Yes, these were all taken there.”

“And is this one of those men? He doesn’t look very pleasant.” Mrs. Noonan had moved on to a picture of Scott looking back over his shoulder, a nasty scowl on his face.

“Oops, no, that’s Scott. Helen’s husband. You’ve met him. That’s not a very flattering picture. Maybe I should delete it,” Sarah said.

“Oh, yes, of course, I remember him now. I think he’s put on a little weight. He certainly doesn’t look like a man on vacation.”

“He looked better by the end. That was the first day.” Sarah told her about the incident with the diapers, laughing despite herself as she remembered him covered in baby poo. She told Mrs. Noonan about Scott being a stay-at-home dad and about his Japanese history PhD.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Noonan took a bite of cookie.

“They really had a good time. I think it was exactly what they needed. Although getting the babies into the car was a problem. I don’t think anyone wanted to leave. The babies thrashed around, and Scott and Helen couldn’t get them buckled in. Scott hit his head on the trunk of the car and swore up a storm. The proprietor had to tell him to keep his voice down, with all the families present.”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Noonan said again.

“I think it will be all right. Scott’s really very good with the babies. He’s just worried…”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Babies have a way of growing on you and making other things less important.” Mrs. Noonan looked at the next picture. “How about this one? Is this one of the men?” The picture showed the babies in their stroller in the dining room in front of the half wall. The chef stood above, and in the picture, he stared straight down at them.

“Yep, that’s the chef, Marco. He’s the one with the kids he never sees.” Sarah told Mrs. Noonan how angry he’d seemed.

“That must be hard, never getting to see his young children,” Mrs. Noonan said.

“Wait, I just remembered who wears rose perfume!” Sarah exclaimed. “It was Andrea Blackwell! You don’t think her perfume could have set this man off, do you?”

“Andrea Blackwell? Oh, my. Who knows what could set off an angry man? I’ve heard of stranger things. Bill once told me about a case where a man attacked anyone wearing a baseball cap with another teams’ logo. Though that may be different. You know how worked up men get about their sporting teams.”

“This is really far-fetched. But do you think Shelley Stalk wore rose-scented perfume?”

“Or Serena Evans, for that matter. I’ll see what I can find out. You know, maybe we should also think about this man’s wife and children.”

Sarah put her cookie down and stared at Mrs. Noonan. “You mean they might not be safe in France awaiting his visits?”

“We’d just better make sure,” Mrs. Noonan said.

“I’ll ask Andy. He may be able to find out.”

Mrs. Noonan nodded and turned back to the pictures. “This must be the housekeepers.”

Sarah had taken a picture of the pink flowering bush, and Glenda and George were somehow standing in the background, passing by with their cart.

“That’s them,” she said.

“And this wouldn’t be the pool boy, would it?” Mrs. Noonan pointed to a picture with Sarah and Helen.

Sarah leaned in and squinted over the picture. In the left corner, behind an empty flowerbed, Dylan hovered, hose in hand. Perfectly innocent.

“Yes, that’s him. And this one has Emanuel.”

“You don’t have one of the proprietor, do you?”

Sarah quickly flipped through the pictures. “No, he’s not in any of them. Wait, I think I still have the brochure. He’s on the back.”

“That’s right. I have one, too, from Evelyn Ringley.” Mrs. Noonan went to her desk and came back instantly with the Paradise Cove Resort brochure. “Here he is.” She tapped the back.

“That’s him,” Sarah said.

“Can I make print copies of your pictures?” Mrs. Noonan asked. “I think I’ll mail these to Serena Evans and make certain she doesn’t know these people. I’ll find out about her perfume. I wanted to write to ask her more about Spencer Tremaine anyway. The more I remember about him, the stranger it seems. He contacted Serena. And he contacted Julia, after all, not the other way around. Why did he single out Paul Blackwell’s crime?”

“Gosh, I hope we’re wrong. I truly hope that these crimes are just what they appear,” Sarah said. “It would be even more tragic if there were two victims each time, the dead and the accused.”

“Yes, well I hope we’re right. It’s the accused that we can still salvage. That’s why I want to know more about Spencer Tremaine. I just don’t like the man.”

“Remember what a hard sell he had?” Sarah said. “Mrs. Blackwell felt like she had no choice but to change to him after the claims he made.”

“It was the same with Serena. Not that he seems to have helped either one of them.”

“Did he ever explain why he never told Julia Blackwell about Serena Evans and her case?” Sarah asked.

“Julia did ask him,” Mrs. Noonan said. “He said he didn’t like to advertise that case since he didn’t get her off. Julia was pretty peeved since the circumstances are so similar.”

“So similar,” said Sarah.

“How many people out there have million-dollar life insurance policies, after all?”

“Well, we do,” said Sarah.

“What?” said Mrs. Noonan.

“Well, not me exactly. But the hospital covers a five hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy as one of our benefits, and we can all increase to one million dollars if we pay more. Helen told me. She increased hers this year because of the babies.”

“She told you?”

Sarah told her about being the guardian. Mrs. Noonan beamed. Then her smile vanished.

“If Olivia Honeycut were here, she’d say Helen and Scott had better watch out. They fit the profile,” Mrs. Noonan said.

“No, no they don’t,” Sarah insisted. “They’re just having a little trouble because the babies are so much work. They’re already sorting things out.” At least Sarah hoped this was true. The twins’ birthday, El Dia de los Angelitos, flashed into her mind and she shivered. Then she remembered how normal Helen and Scott looked after sleeping through the night. And how miserable Sarah had felt. Helen and Scott would be fine. “Anyway, I think a lot of jobs offer life insurance. We’re not the only ones.”

“That’s interesting,” said Mrs. Noonan. “Maybe lots of people have these big policies. Maybe it’s not so unusual.”

“Right. And Helen isn’t dead,” Sarah said and shivered again. “What’s unique about all these cases, Joseph and Shelley Stalk, David and Serena Evans and Paul and Andrea Blackwell, they all have million-dollar insurance policies and a dead spouse. That is unusual.” Sarah vowed to check in with Helen to make sure she and Scott were sleeping, were coping, and to see if she could help.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Noonan. “So I’m going to write to Serena and ask if she wears rose perfume. I’ll send her these pictures from the resort and see if she knows how Spencer Tremaine heard about her case. His main offices are here in California, but he has other locations. I wonder if he had an office in Illinois already. Or not. I think it would make a difference in how skeptical of him I am.”

“Skeptical’s not the word I’d use,” said Sarah. “He’s downright disturbing. Plus, he met Helen and Scott, and not at their best.”