Everything about Rambler Farm was welcoming — the graceful tree-lined drive, the crisp white paint, the wide porch with pots of bright yellow pansies flanking forest green steps.
Everything was welcoming except the woman who opened the gleaming black front door.
Charlotte Blankenship.
Charlotte Blankenship Smith, Maggie corrected herself, remembering the sheriff’s news that Ed Smith had married the judge’s older daughter.
Charlotte stared at the trio on the threshold with the blank expression of someone whose mind was a million miles away and wanted to keep it that way.
Expected at Rambler Farm, her ass. Dallas Monroe would lie about what color the sky was.
Charlotte’s green boiled wool jacket matched the porch steps but added an unpleasant cast to her complexion. The cropped jacket focused attention on where a black watch plaid skirt bunched around a thick waist. Maggie was no clotheshorse, but she suspected a supermodel would look dumpy in that outfit.
“Oh, Charlotte, my dear…” Dallas took the woman’s stiff shoulders between his hands, and kissed her cheek, while her arms remained at her sides, a tablet in one hand. At the same time Dallas pivoted her, gaining entry to the house. “Words cannot express how deeply we feel for you in this tragedy.”
To the accompaniment of continued murmurs of condolence, Dallas maneuvered himself and Charlotte deeper into the hallway.
Smooth, Maggie thought.
Carson gave a nod, signaling her to go ahead of him. The motion cast a shadow on his lower face that might have been mistaken for a smile.
“Charlotte, my dear, you remember Maggie, don’t you? Maggie Frye, she appeared before the judge a while back. And you know J.D., of course.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said simply.
“Real sorry about Laurel, Charlotte,” Carson said.
Charlotte’s gaze flicked to him, then Maggie. “I remember you.”
The tone was impossible to read. Maggie got to the point, “We’re here to talk to Judge Blankenship.”
Charlotte’s gaze went to a door down the hall. “The judge can’t see anyone.”
“We need to—”
Dallas spoke over Maggie. “We understand, Charlotte. Perhaps later this afternoon he’ll be ready to receive us.”
“Yes, that should give me time.”
That comment made no sense.
Not happy, Maggie said, “In the meantime, we have questions for you, Charlotte.”
“I spoke with the sheriff already, and I have a great deal to do.”
“I’m sure you do,” Dallas said. “You are the judge’s rock.”
“Yes. I am.”
Maggie clamped down on the desire to tell him to shut up, and focused on Charlotte. “Surely you have time for questions concerning your sister’s murder.”
Without another word, Charlotte pivoted and strode deeper into the house.
Maggie followed, not caring if her passengers did or not. They couldn’t leave. She had the car keys.
A door on the right opened as Maggie passed.
Judge Blankenship emerged from gloom — she got an impression of dark bookshelves, dark leather, dark wood.
“Charlotte?” he blinked as he stepped into the hallway.
“I’ll take care of it, Judge. No need to trouble yourself.”
“I thought I heard…”
“Judge.” Dallas stepped forward, gripping the taller man’s arm. “We can’t begin to tell you how our hearts are breakin’ for you.”
Another blink, then a gradual straightening, like a deflated balloon granted a puff of air. “Oh. Yes.”
“Judge—” his daughter started.
“I’ll see them.” It held a trace of the authority Maggie remembered from Courtroom One. “Nice of you to come, Dallas, J.D.”
Carson stepped forward, murmuring something Maggie didn’t hear. The judge shook Carson’s offered hand and placed his other hand on Carson’s shoulder.
Carson showed every sign of respecting the man who had presided over his trial for murder, that feeling appeared mutual, and no one but her seemed surprised.
“Very well.” Charlotte maneuvered around her father and closed the door behind him. “Come this way.”
She led them to a sitting room looking over the side lawn. Charlotte, the judge, and Dallas sat on the sofa, Maggie and Carson took chairs at opposite ends of the coffee table.
“And perhaps you remember Ms. Frye, Maggie Frye,” Dallas said to Blankenship, his tone gentle. “She appeared before you several years ago.”
“Ms. Frye, yes. Pan Wade.”
“I’m sorry for your family’s loss. In fact, we hoped to ask you—”
“I saw Laurel just Thursday at the Café,” Dallas cut in. “As bright and beautiful as ever. Did she show any change Friday or Saturday? If anything happened, or you saw a change…?”
“Not at all. She was, as you say, her bright and beautiful self. That morning, before she went out for the day, she hugged me and said how much she loved me.”
Parallel tracks formed between Charlotte’s eyebrows.
They didn’t disappear as Dallas proceeded to ask gentle questions for ten solid minutes.
Perhaps to allow a grieving friend an opportunity to talk about his daughter. But to Maggie they added up to a subtle investigation of Laurel’s murder.
The judge didn’t give them a single piece of new information.
Dallas pulled in a breath, and Maggie slid in.
“Judge Blankenship, were you aware of any connection between the case that brought me here before — Pan Wade’s murder — and your daughter, Laurel.”
He stared off into the distance. Beside him, Dallas gave her a heavy-lidded smile. Could have been genuine, but she doubted it.
Just as Maggie was about to repeat her question, the judge said softly, “No… No, I wouldn’t think so. She was at the trial, of course, as everyone was.”
“Did she and Carson have a relationship?”
“J.D.?” The grieving father turned to him, as if trying to get his thoughts straight. Then he said, “Knew each other, of course. Nothing more.”
“Did she talk about his trial?” Maggie pursued.
“At the time, certainly there was discussion — nothing untoward, you understand. My family knows not to discuss a case. But I’m certain Laurel commented about who was in the audience and such. She is — was — a social person.”
“Anything more recent about the trial or Pan Wade’s murder?” He started to shake his head. Maggie broadened the question. “Anything about Pan at all?”
The head-shake continued.
“I know of no connection. Pan was Charlotte’s friend, not Laurel’s. Laurel’s several years younger and had her own set. But Charlotte and Pan were always close.”
If she hadn’t been watching the judge, sitting next to Carson, Maggie would have missed the flicker across Carson’s eyes. He didn’t share that assessment of Pan and Charlotte’s relationship.
“Charlotte?” Maggie prompted. “Do you know of any connection between Pan’s death and your sister? Anything at all.”
“No.”
Maggie wasn’t ready to be cut off with that bland negative. “But there was at least one, Charlotte. You went to Carson’s trial for the murder of Pan Addington Wade.” No one even blinked at the mention of Carson being tried for murder. It wasn’t so much that they ignored the gorilla in the room as none of them seemed to recognize it was a gorilla. “Every day, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why did you go every day? Because your friend had been murdered, because you wanted justice for her?”
Charlotte regarded Maggie as if she weren’t very bright. “Everyone went.”
“It’s where Charlotte met Ed — Ed Smith — her husband,” Judge Blankenship inserted.
A pleased expression replaced Charlotte’s frown. “That’s right, Judge.”
“Yes, I heard. Congratulations, Charlotte,” Maggie said. “Ed’s a great guy.”
The other woman’s pleasure smoothed out to nothing. “He has a fine legal mind.”
“Yes, of course.” Maggie hadn’t seen signs of legal excellence from Ed. On the other hand, that wasn’t normally why people got married.
“Judge, if you don’t mind, I have a question,” Carson said. The older man nodded permission. “Had Laurel been receiving odd phone calls?”
“Odd?”
“Calls that might have made her uneasy or didn’t make sense to her.”
The judge shook his head, then stopped to look at his older daughter.
She said, “She frequently got calls she didn’t want us to know about.”
Charlotte clearly put Laurel on the outside of the us she created with a tip of her head toward her father. Maggie wondered how Ed fit with that us?
Charlotte rose.
“It’s time you rest, Judge.”
* * * *
Maggie didn’t fault Carson for asking about the calls, she decided as they followed Charlotte to the front door.
On the surface, trying to confirm Tagner’s account was good sense.
But was there more? Had Carson truly made a lucky strike asking Tagner about the calls or did he know more than he was saying?
If he made the calls, it wouldn’t make sense to bring attention to them. But if someone else did, focusing on the calls would be a fine diversion.
As for the judge saying there’d been nothing between Laurel and J.D., that wasn’t definitive. Lovers were known to keep their relationships secret for all sorts of reasons.
They had descended the porch stairs when a voice stopped them.
“Maggie? Maggie Frye? It is you!” Ed Smith came across the drive with his hand outstretched and a smile lighting his plain face. “I was at Second House and I thought it was you. It’s good to see you.”
Maggie met his hand. He clasped it in both of his.
“Hi, Ed. Good to see you, too. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
“It is tragic, just tragic. Such a vibrant personality. The judge is devastated.”
“And your wife?”
Ed responded as if it she’d made a statement, rather than asked a question. “You’re right. It’s the worst thing imaginable. But, Maggie, to see you again — how long are you here for?” He still had her hand.
“That’s not clear.”
“She’s assistin’ the sheriff with his inquiries, along with J.D. and me,” Dallas said from the passenger side of the car.
“I see.” Though it was clear Ed didn’t. “We’ll have to get together, Maggie.”
“I’d like that.”
Carson stepped forward, his hand out to Ed. “Sorry for your loss.”
Ed finally released her hand to shake Carson’s. As he did, he looked beyond Carson to the house. Following his gaze, Maggie saw Charlotte standing at the door, watching.
Good-byes quickly followed. Ed went to the house as they got in her car.
Driving away from Rambler Farm, Maggie glanced back.
Charlotte and Ed stood together. Ed appeared to be talking earnestly.
* * * *
Other than keeping an eye on Carson, the next two hours were a waste.
Dallas Monroe had to have known all they’d gather at the hardware store, grocery store, and a private home where twelve women had a bridge group were impressions, character assessments, and outright gossip.
Not a single fact. Not about Laurel Blankenship Tagner, not about Pan Addington Wade, not about a connection between their murders.
By the time Dallas directed her to park near a café for lunch, she’d had her fill of chit-chat. She finished her salad well before the men were done and took herself and her phone across the street to the small park beside the courthouse, where she could call the office in privacy.
Nancy wasn’t there. Maggie left a message asking for info on Henry Zales of Lynchburg — Why did that name seem familiar? — and when she could expect the files.
She retrieved messages, noting two items concerning upcoming cases, erasing whatever Roy said, and, finally, hearing Nancy’s voice.
First, Nancy said the files were on their way. Then she reminded Maggie that today was early release for the schools, which meant she’d left.
As a preliminary report on Chester Bondelle of Roanoke, Nancy listed where he’d received his degrees, said he was a member of the bar in good standing, and had a solid record as a defense attorney. She’d keep digging.
Carson exited the café, holding the door as Dallas faced back inside, continuing a conversation.
Maggie angled across the corner of the square, heading for her car parked on the other side of the café.
“Ah, Maggie,” Dallas called. “You missed an interestin’ conversation.”
“More gossip,” she muttered.
“Buildin’ a portrait of the victim.” Dallas had good hearing. “You know how important it is to understand the victim in order to understand the crime.”
The portrait of Laurel was of a self-centered, materialistic, spoiled young woman who left her husband because he hadn’t paid — as in dollar signs — enough attention to her.
How did that connect Laurel’s murder to Pan Wade’s murder?
From what Maggie could tell, what they had in common was each had left her husband and there was talk she was — possibly — going back to him.
The source for the about-to-return was Tagner for Laurel and Carson for Pan. Could either or both be lying to minimize his apparent motive? Oh, yes.
As Maggie unlocked the car her phone rang.
Recognizing the number, she slid the phone in her purse unanswered. Voice mail would pick up if her cousin Jamie chose to leave a message.
Dallas didn’t appear to notice. Carson studied her as she got in the driver’s seat.