Chapter 8
Oh, lordy, I thought. Had she just said what I thought
I’d heard?
Judging by the expressions on Sam’s and Bob’s faces, she had indeed.
“You think that Aunt Peg had something to do with Nick’s murder?” I asked incredulously.
Now let’s get something straight. Aunt Peg is no angel. She can be tough, and manipulative, and sometimes downright scary. But murder? Even for her, that was pushing credibility. Besides, my aunt had adored Nick. She’d promised him her support. She’d even talked about throwing him a party.
I’ve been related to Aunt Peg for decades and she’s never thrown a party for me. Just so we know where we all stand.
“That’s crazy,” I said flatly.
“Maybe,” Claire replied. “And maybe not. All I know is that the police asked me if anything had changed recently in Nick’s life and the only thing I could come up with was that he’d gotten involved with your aunt.”
“You told the police you thought Peg Turnbull would make a good suspect?” Sam was biting his lip. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“Not in so many words. To tell the truth, I don’t remember much of what I said. I had just found out that my brother was dead and I’m sure I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Claire looked around the room, her gaze resting on each of us in turn. “But I thought about it afterward. The police seemed to think something like that—a new friend, a new business associate—was important. So maybe it is.”
In spite of myself, I liked her for that. Claire was obviously upset and in pain. She was surrounded by the very people most likely to disagree with her opinion. And yet she still didn’t back down. I had to admire her determination.
“You’ve come to the wrong place,” I said to Bob. “You should have taken Claire to see Aunt Peg.”
“No way.” He shook his head vehemently. “I have too high a regard for my own good health for that. I figured you guys can break the news to Peg.”
That was so not happening, I thought.
“And besides,” said Bob. “There’s the other thing.”
The day wasn’t even half over yet, I thought. How could there possibly be something else? Maybe a local outbreak of the plague? Or perhaps a tsunami bearing down on the Connecticut coast?
“What other thing?” I asked.
“You know,” Bob said. “The mystery thing. You like to solve them. I told Claire that you could help.”
I heard a low growl beside me. I was pretty sure that it had come from Sam. His patience with my ex-husband’s antics tends to be even shorter than my own.
“That was nice of you, Bob,” I said mildly. “But I doubt that Claire would want help . . . from the chief suspect’s family.”
Bob blanched. I guessed he hadn’t thought about that.
“Well, yeah,” he stammered. “But Peg is probably innocent, right?”
There was no point in responding. I couldn’t even believe that he’d felt the need to ask.
“Thank you, Bob,” Sam answered for me. His tone was frosty but at least he didn’t have his fingers wrapped around my ex-husband’s neck. “Melanie and I will take your idea under advisement.”
“I think I’d better be going,” said Claire.
She stood up and we all walked her to the door. When Bob attempted to slip out with her, I laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and held him firmly in place.
“Not so fast,” I muttered under my breath.
“I’ll phone you later,” Bob called after Claire.
She nodded and kept on walking. I waited until she’d gotten into her car and started down the driveway before closing the door. Then I used my grip on Bob’s shoulder to steer him back into the living room. Left with little choice, he sat back down on the couch.
“Now,” I said. “Suppose you tell us what that was all about?”
“What do you mean?” Bob managed a look of baffled innocence.
Like that was going to get him off the hook.
I stood next to the couch and glared down at him. “For starters, what’s your relationship with Claire Walden? Why did you bring her here today? And most importantly, how does she know Davey?”
“Those are all good questions,” Bob replied.
He cast a quick glance at Sam for support. I intercepted the look they shared and felt myself grow cold. For the second time, I found myself wondering what the two of them knew that I didn’t.
Had my husband and my ex-husband been complicit in keeping secrets from me? I couldn’t even fathom the possibility. And quite frankly, if I was about to discover that that appalling notion was true, I would rather have weathered the tsunami.
Since Bob seemed to have been struck dumb, I swung my gaze in Sam’s direction. “Maybe you’d like to start,” I said.
He held up both hands and took a step back. A gesture denoting innocence or an attempt to ward off bad news? It was hard to tell.
“No, thank you,” Sam said quickly. “This is all on Bob.”
Now there were two of us staring at my ex-husband. Or eight, if you count the Poodles. They seemed anxious to hear what he had to say too.
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Bob said. “This conversation has gone spinning off the rails for no reason. Claire is my girlfriend, okay? We’ve been together since spring. It’s no big deal.”
He was right, I thought. It was no big deal. So why all the subterfuge?
“And?” I asked.
Bob shrugged. “That’s it, there’s nothing more to tell. Claire and I are having a great time together. End of story.”
“And where does Davey fit in?”
“Just where you’d expect, if you stopped and thought about it.”
I would most certainly have done so. That is, if anyone had done me the courtesy of letting me know there was something that needed thinking about.
“Davey’s my son,” said Bob. “And Claire’s my girlfriend. I spend as much time with both of them as I can. So it’s kind of inevitable that those times would overlap. Davey and Claire met at my house a couple of months ago. They get along great.”
A couple of months ago? Not only was Bob’s explanation not helping, it was having the opposite effect instead. My head was starting to spin with the implications.
I sank into a chair opposite him. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that Davey would meet a woman at your house, apparently spend a significant amount of time in her company, and yet never think to mention her to me?”
Bob frowned uncomfortably. “Yeah, well . . . about that. I might have told him that talking to you about Claire was a bad idea.”
And the other shoe dropped.
I sighed. It was either that or shriek. “Bob, why would you have done that?”
“I was trying to spare you.”
“Spare me?”
“I didn’t want you to be upset.”
“Well, clearly that isn’t working,” I snapped. “How could I not find the fact that you told Davey to keep secrets from me, upsetting?”
“I guess I didn’t look at it that way,” Bob admitted. Then he brightened. “I told him he could tell Sam.”
“Right.” I turned and directed a frown at the second culprit. “You were in on this deception too. Just tell me one thing. Why?”
“Oh pish,” said Aunt Peg, standing in the doorway. “Do we really have to explain this to you?”
I swiveled around in my seat. “Who let you in?”
“The door was unlocked. I let myself in. Eve and Augie were kind enough to come and greet me. Which is more than can be said for my relatives.”
Vaguely I’d noticed that several Poodles had left the room. Too distracted by the conversation, I hadn’t thought to stop and wonder why.
Sam hopped up and offered Aunt Peg his chair. Delighted to have my attention deflected away from him, he looked inordinately pleased by her arrival. Not that he was going to escape that easily.
“Your relatives were too busy arguing to answer the door,” I told her.
“So I heard,” Aunt Peg replied tartly. “Somehow— despite the truly appalling news we’ve had today—Bob’s relationship with Claire seems to be the issue under discussion?”
“You knew about her too?”
“Oh please.” Peg sniffed. “You needn’t sound so shocked. We all knew about Claire. You were the only one who was oblivious.”
“Or kept in the dark,” I muttered. “Depending on how you look at it.”
“Bob had good reason for that. Even I understood.”
“Then I wish you would explain it to me.”
“It’s really very simple,” Aunt Peg said. “The other two times Bob was involved in a serious relationship, you became all out of sorts. None of us wanted to deal with that turmoil again.”
My jaw fell open. Aunt Peg had to be joking. I looked around the room. Amazingly, I seemed to be the only one who found that blithe summation of past events absurdly simplistic. All out of sorts indeed.
“Bob’s last girlfriend shot me,” I pointed out.
“There was that,” Sam agreed.
I was not impressed. His support was too little, too late.
“And the one before that was eighteen.”
“Twenty,” Bob corrected.
“Same difference!”
“Not really”
I silenced Bob with a glare. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I had valid objections to both those women. And the only reason I care about that is because any woman who is in your life, is also in Davey’s. As you yourself just pointed out.”
Bob nodded. “I feel much better having this is all out in the open,” he said. “So what did you think of Claire?”
Seriously? He wanted to know that now? Hadn’t he been listening to anything I’d said?
Apparently not. Because my ex-husband was sitting there, awaiting my reply.
“I’ve barely even had a chance to meet the poor woman,” I told him shortly. “And that was under the worst possible circumstances. I’m still reserving judgment.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Aunt Peg muttered.
It turned out nobody had to break the news to her that she was a suspect in Nick Walden’s murder. The police had already performed that duty for us.
Aunt Peg was not amused. “I hardly had time to assimilate the news myself before the police were knocking on my door and asking what I knew about it.”
“What did you tell them?” I asked.
“The only thing I could. That Nick was a wonderful young man and I hadn’t any idea who might have wanted to harm him. Then I advised them that they’d better hurry and get things sorted out, otherwise I might have to put my niece on the case.”
“Oh, Aunt Peg, you did not say that!” I was horrified by the thought. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
The local authorities and I shared an uneasy and sometimes contentious relationship. Even when I managed to turn up information that they wouldn’t otherwise have had, the professionals were never happy to hear that an amateur had been asking questions about one of their cases. And they really hated it when I beat them to the punch.
“Of course I did. There’s nothing like the threat of a little competition to keep people on their toes.”
“I’m sure the police are every bit as eager to solve this murder as you are to see it solved,” said Sam. “There’s no need to goad them along.”
“That’s precisely what Detective O’Malley told me.”
“O’Malley?” I said faintly.
Aunt Peg nodded. “Do you know him?”
“We met several years ago,” I said. “It’s not a particularly happy memory.”
“I can understand why. He had the nerve to ask me whether I possessed an alibi for the time in question. And unfortunately the good detective was not the slightest bit impressed by my answer. Apparently the law does not consider Standard Poodles to be reliable witnesses.”
“You may not have an alibi,” I pointed out. “But you don’t have a motive either. Surely that has to count in your favor.”
“I suppose it would have,” Aunt Peg said slyly,“ if I’d gotten around to mentioning it.”
Sam shook his head. “Peg, what are you up to now?”
“Since I was thrust into this situation without my consent, I’ve decided to take advantage of it,” Aunt Peg replied. “Nick’s death is more than a personal loss; it’s also a blow to the local dog community. I want to see that his killer is brought to justice. And I can’t think of a better way to keep tabs on the investigation than to allow myself to continue as one of the suspects.”
For a minute there was only silence in the room. I think the three of us were too stunned to speak. Even the Poodles looked surprised by this turn of events.
Aunt Peg glanced in my direction. “Don’t bother to thank me. It’s the least I can do. You know I like to make myself useful.”
“Thank you?” I echoed. “For what?”
“For keeping you in the loop, of course. Your own investigation will proceed much more smoothly if you know what the police are doing.”
Really, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Aunt Peg is the queen of ulterior motives. As soon as she appeared in the doorway, I should have known that she was up to something.
“What a great idea,” Bob said enthusiastically. “Well done, Peg!”
Somewhere pigs were taking flight. Or perhaps there was a blue moon in the offing. Those were the only explanations I could come up with for this apparent detente between my ex-husband and my aunt.
“Everyone seems to have decided that I’m going to look into Nick’s death,” I said. “No one has bothered to ask my opinion. Doesn’t anybody want to hear what I think?”
“Not particularly,” Aunt Peg informed me.
To my surprise, it was Bob who took my question seriously. He reached his hands across the gap between us and placed them on top of mine. His eyes focused on mine with unnerving intensity.
“Here’s what I need you to know,” he said. “Claire is devastated by Nick’s death. It’s not just that her brother is gone, but also that she can’t make sense of how or why it happened. She needs answers, and I’m betting you can find them.”
I started to speak, but Bob didn’t let me. He squeezed my hands and kept talking. “If you’re willing to help me help Claire get through this, that’s great. And if you’re not . . . Then I guess I’ll just have to do whatever it takes to change your mind.”
This time when Bob paused, I found I had nothing to say. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my ex-husband so resolute about anything. This was a whole new side to him, one clearly prompted by his relationship with Claire. It looked like things might be more serious between them than I had initially thought.
“Let me think about it,” I said. “Okay?”
“Sure. Just know that Claire will be very grateful for any help you can give us. And so will I.” Bob released my hand and stood. He looked at the door, then looked back at me and arched a brow. “Am I clear to go now?”
“All clear,” I agreed. “I’ll walk you out.”
On the way, I asked him if the Morris family had returned from vacation yet.
“Now that you mention it, they should be back in town by now. I’ll give them another call and see if I can set up a meeting. The sooner we get that ring back with its rightful owner, the sooner James will stop driving me crazy.”
Aunt Peg has ears like a bat. “James?” she said, following us out into the hallway. “Is that the man who was in jail?”
“He wasn’t in jail,” Sam corrected. “He just traveled a lot.”
“Well, I wish he’d start traveling again,” said Bob. “He comes over to my house every day now. Suddenly he’s dying to help with the renovations.”
“What’s wrong with that?” asked Sam.
“For one thing, I don’t need his help—especially since what that really means is that he stands around and supervises. And when he’s not doing that, he wanders around the house poking into everything. I know he and Amber are short on funds. I’m guessing he thinks he’s going to stumble upon another ring that he can stuff in his pocket and sell.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Tell James he’d be better off buying lottery tickets.”
“Or put a hammer in his hands and make him useful,” Sam advised.
“Tell him to go home to his own house,” Aunt Peg said firmly. “And then shut the door behind him.”
As usual, she had the last word.