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Fletcher reached for the salt. “Not exactly.”
“Fletcher is going to be our guest for a while,” Maggie said, setting a plate of food on the table and slipping into her chair. She glanced around, wondering who looked the most guilty. “Fletcher, meet our current retreat residents. To my left are Lily Dunne and Scott Jonas. Next is Patrick Stanfield, cabin three. Dan Jameson, cabin—” She stopped and smiled weakly. “I’ll give you those later. Carter Everson, Tonya Marino, Frank Petersen, Laura Baker and Mick Lovett. And down at the end there is Tim Miller.” Maggie went through the names of the nine residents and the groundskeeper slowly, noticing that Fletcher made distinct eye contact with each of them. “Fletcher is here, at the request of Korie, to look into Aaron’s death.” The table fell silent as they all stared at Fletcher.
“I thought it was an accident,” said Patrick, a writer who’d been at the retreat almost as long as Scott and Lily.
Fletcher opened his mouth to speak, but Maggie beat him to it. “It was, Patrick. But you know Korie and her drama-queen ways. We just want to make sure there are no loose ends. Don’t be surprised if Fletcher asks you about Monday night, just to see what you remember.”
“But I don’t remember anything,” Lily said.
“You never do,” responded Scott.
Dual pink flushes colored Lily’s cheeks, and there was a brightness to her eyes that everyone tried to ignore. She picked up her fork in her left hand and tried to eat, but mostly moved food from one side of the plate to the other. Maggie knew from long experience that she would probably be silent the rest of the night.
At the far end of the table, Tim Miller stood up suddenly, taking his plate back to the bar. Second helpings hit his plate with mushy slaps, as Fletcher said evenly, “I won’t bother anyone unnecessarily. Tyler has completed his report. This is just for Korie’s peace of mind.”
“In other words,” Scott said hoarsely, “she thinks one of us killed him.”
Maggie bristled. “Scott, I don’t think—”
“Oh, Maggie, just shut up,” Scott said. “Stop protecting her. You know what she’s like. She wants us out of here. What better way than to stir up the idea that we’re all killers?”
Maggie flared. “No, Scott, I will not shut up. You’re being obnoxious. Again. No one knows what’s going to happen to the retreat, but Korie has said nothing at all about closing it.”
“What about that offer?” Scott demanded.
“What offer?” asked Dan.
“Yeah, Maggie,” Scott continued. “Why don’t you tell us all about the offer? Especially Korie’s point man here.”
Maggie took a deep, calming breath. She looked at Fletcher, but he showed no emotion in response to Scott’s gibe. He merely looked at her, waiting.
“A few weeks ago, Aaron and Korie received an offer from a developer who wants this property. It was a fairly good one, but Aaron turned it down flat. He doesn’t—didn’t—need the money, and he wanted to keep the retreat up and going.”
“But Korie didn’t agree.”
Maggie looked at Scott patiently. “Korie knows what this place means—meant—to him, Scott. Even more, Korie is all about image, and the awards associated with this place mean image to her. She may change it, but I can’t see her closing it.”
“She’s also about money,” Scott answered.
“She will have plenty of money,” Maggie answered. “Aaron was heavily insured.”
“Enough to run this place?” asked Dan.
“Probably not,” Scott snapped, “but enough for Korie to want him dead.”
Maggie took a deep breath but ignored Scott. This is getting out of hand. “The retreat is self-supporting. Aaron set up an escrow account large enough that the operating expenses are covered by the interest earned every year. He once told me that he was having that handled separately in his will, but I don’t know for sure what that meant.”
“Maybe he meant he’d leave it to you. He does seem to take care of all his toys.”
Maggie slammed her hand down on the table. “Scott!”
“So who else do you think would profit from his death?” Fletcher asked quietly.
Scott slid down in his chair and took a swig of water. “Certainly none of the ones he’s tortured over the years.” He paused, then looked at Maggie. “Who’ll be the judge of the requirements now?” he asked. “Surely not you or Korie. Neither one of you knows diddly about literature. Or did you plan to claim that part of his fame, too?”
Lily looked up sharply, first at her husband, then at Maggie, who sat without answering. Fletcher cleared his throat and addressed Maggie. “I thought you had worked in the publishing industry.”
Scott made a gargling sound. “Yeah, in retail. She managed a bookstore. That’s like asking a fast-food manager to judge the food at a gourmet four-star restaurant.”
Lily slapped her napkin into her plate, then stood, picked up the plate and her glass, and went to the kitchen. Silence ruled as she left, then Dan chuckled. “Got a couch for tonight, Scott?”
Scott pushed away from the table. “I don’t need her. And I don’t need this.” He stood up and pointed at Fletcher. “Whoever did it should get a reward. Aaron got what he deserved.” He strode across the room and left, slamming the door behind him. Tim got up and went to the window, watching Scott disappear through the trees. Then he turned and watched Lily as she started cleaning up in the kitchen.
Dan lifted his glass and toasted Maggie. “Now I see why you spend so much time at Cookie’s, Maggie. We are a temperamental lot.”
Maggie frowned, then forced herself to smile. She really hadn’t wanted Fletcher to know about Cookie. “Dessert, Dan? They sent Boston cream pie and strawberry sorbet.”
Dan laughed. “Are you suggesting I eat and not talk?”
Maggie looked innocent. “Moi?” she asked, pointing at her chest. “Why, Dan, I never get tired of all my lovely writers. They keep things so lively around here.”
Fletcher stood up. “I think I’d like some of that sorbet.”
Everyone else wandered away from the table. Some to get dessert, some to get coffee and stand by the fire. A few went downstairs to the game room. Frank and Laura left, holding hands, and Tonya returned to her room. As Maggie started to the kitchen, Tim caught her by the arm. “Is she going to be all right?” he asked, nodding toward Lily.
Maggie touched his cheek. “They’ll work it through.”
“He shouldn’t hurt her like that.”
Maggie shook her head. “No, but she’ll be fine.” Maggie glanced at Lily, then back at her groundskeeper. “She always is.”
Tim nodded, then retreated to the fire, where he poked at the flames, keeping constant watch on Lily. Maggie paused, then said softly, “I had to get two of the cups out of your room tonight.”
He looked surprised, then shrugged and looked back at the fire. “That’s okay, Miss Maggie. It’s your house.”
Maggie shifted her shoulders, feeling weary. Tim sounded unusually Southern tonight. Must be her imagination. “Still, I promised I wouldn’t go into your room without telling you.”
He shrugged again, poking harder at the logs. Sighing, Maggie went into the kitchen, took a dishrag out of Lily’s hands and clutched her fingers in her own, shaking them gently. Lily’s green eyes met her blue, and Maggie wished she could pass some of her own stubbornness and strength through their mere touch. The pain and anger in those green eyes seared her heart.
“Did he hit you today?” she whispered.
Lily shook her head. “Still just that one time…” Her eyes glistened.
Maggie frowned. “No tears, not tonight. Okay?”
Lily bit her lip and nodded.
“Good girl.” Maggie took a deep breath and Lily followed her example. An old routine that gave them new resolve. “Go bring some of the dishes off the table. We’ll put them in the dishwasher, and I’ll run it in the morning. I’m going to see if the guys downstairs need coffee.”
Air hockey occupied the two men downstairs, however, and Maggie returned as Lily was loading the last of the dishes. She looked around the room, making one more check. The room was almost clean, and Dan and Patrick were finishing their coffee near the fire. Tim must have gone out for his nightly walk around the grounds. But there was still one other body missing.
Maggie frowned. “Where’s Fletcher? Did he go back to his cabin?”
Dan shook his head. “Nope. He helped Lily for a bit, then took out the trash.”
Maggie froze, a slice of fear in her stomach. “He did what?”
Dan didn’t even look up. “Garbage. He’ll be back in a few.”
Maggie turned toward the kitchen to find Lily staring at her, puzzled. Maggie just mouthed, Oh, no, when the door opened and Fletcher walked in, his face a dark mask and one gloved hand holding an empty Dom Perignon bottle. He stopped, then looked from Maggie to Lily, and back. “Call Tyler, Maggie. Tell him I’ve found the murder weapon.”
From the kitchen came a small gasp as Lily sank to the floor.
THREE
Judson was insistent that the crime scene be secured, since it was far too easy for forensic evidence to be contaminated. He’d seen too many cases lost simply because the investigators had been careless. Catching a criminal was hard enough without sloppy procedure.
“It was in the trash can,” Fletcher said.
Maggie sat on the deck steps, huddled in an oversize coat, as Fletcher explained to police chief Tyler Madison how he’d found the bottle. Inside, Lily was stretched out on a couch with an ice pack on her head, but the other residents had returned to their cabins, puzzled and annoyed.
Fletcher frenetically demonstrated his actions as he talked. Tyler’s eyes tried to follow him, but Maggie just stared, amazed at the sudden burst of energy in the detective. She now realized his calm demeanor, his control, was a part of his work. Underneath was a strong passion, just waiting to break through. No wonder he and Aaron had been so close, she thought. They’d both shared the same love of life, of their work.
The lights from the house cast long golden pools across the deck and down through the yard, with the rails and slats of the deck creating lines of darkness on the ground. Fletcher walked in and out of the shadows with his pacing, like a large dog behind a fence. “I went to put the bag of garbage in the can,” Fletcher said, “and I noticed the neck sticking up. I thought it might poke a hole in the bag, so I went to move it and saw the blood, then the fact that the label was damaged. That’s when I realized the flakes found in Aaron’s wound might be from the label.”
Tyler nodded, his hat a little unstable on his head. “We’ll have to send them off for analysis. We’re not set up for anything like this here.”
“The blood, too.”
“Of course.” Tyler crossed his arms, and Maggie looked from him to Fletcher, as if they were tennis players. The younger man had gotten his job six months ago when the previous chief had died, since he was the senior member of the five-officer police force. Yet he was still not quite thirty, and his inexperience seemed to shine.
Fletcher paced back and forth a few minutes, then stopped in front of Maggie. “Maggie, why?”
Tyler stepped in. “Now, wait a minute, MacAllister—”
Fletcher exploded. “Can’t you see? She was alone with him for over half an hour. She threw the bottle away. She moved the body. I want to know why.”
Maggie finally exploded in the face of his building temper, his relentless accusations. “I did not move his body! He was like that when I found him. He was dead! I couldn’t even bring myself to touch him. I barely remember what happened! How could I move him?” She stood up. “Don’t you dare blame me just because you’re hurting, too!”
Fletcher stopped, clenching his fists as he stared at her. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, obviously trying to regain control. “Then why hide the bottle?”
Maggie threw up her hands. “Why do you even ask? You know why!”
Fletcher’s words were crisp. “So why are you protecting Lily?”
Maggie froze. “Because she didn’t kill him!”
“Didn’t she? Don’t you think so?” Fletcher bent over her, his questions flying fast, directly at her face.
“No! She couldn’t!”
“Why not? Aaron was hit on the right side of the head. That means it was most likely a left-handed assailant. Lily’s the only one here who’s left-handed.”
Maggie shook her head furiously. “No! You don’t understand. There’s no way!”
“Then why did you toss out the bottle?”
Tears filled Maggie’s eyes. “Because I knew how it looked. The blood—but the blood was already on the bottle we’d had earlier. I knew everyone would think like you do—”
“How long has she called you Mitten?”
“Since we were kids—” Maggie stepped back, eyes wide, her hand over her mouth.
Fletcher backed off, staring at her. She watched as he blinked rapidly, studying her, and saw the understanding come over his face. “You’re sisters.”
“Say what?” Tyler demanded.
“Is that why you’re protecting her, Maggie?”
Maggie shook her head, an overwhelming weakness settling over her. She sank down on the steps. “Yes. No. No! You don’t understand. It’s the other way around. And it’s not.”
Fletcher sat down next to her. “Explain it to me.”
Maggie took a deep breath, resolved for it to come out. “I went to college. Lily went to Broadway. Bit parts, a few films, a show here and there, not a lot of money but enough, for about five years. We didn’t see each other much, even though we were in the same city. And there was no press. No one cared. Then she made Ramsey Place, then Blue Ribbon Winner, then—” Maggie stopped and wiped her face with her hands. “Her career went up and her personal life went down the drain. She was followed everywhere she went. She was stalked. People broke into her home to steal her clothes!” Maggie sat up straighter and motioned around her. “By the time things really got hot, I was already here. This place has no security, but it’s remote and hard to find. She had lied and said she had no family. My dad died before I was born and my mom married Bobby Dunne when I was only one, but they never changed my name—” She stopped, her hand waving away the past. “It’s a long story, but it worked. The press left me alone. But we traded off. Sometimes I would hide her here for weeks. That’s how she met Scott. She’s still being stalked, in fact, which is why she’s staying here with him. It’s one reason she started drinking. She can’t handle the fame, much less the fear.”
“What about her career?”
Maggie shrugged. “Right now it’s in the drunk tank. Her agent stays in touch, sends her scripts, begs her to go to rehab before it’s too late. I hoped being here would help. She’s got to stop drinking.”
“Who knows you’re her sister?”
Maggie buried her face in her hands. “No one. Not even Scott.”
Tyler crossed his arms. “But you look so different.”
Fletcher waved away the objection. “Just the hair and eyes.” He made a circular motion around his face. “Here is the same.”
Maggie sighed. “My dad had red hair—I got the auburn from him. Lily has her hair straightened.”
Fletcher stared out into the woods. “How long has she been drinking?”
Maggie shrugged. “I’m not sure. Not long, I know. We didn’t drink when we were younger. That wasn’t how we were raised, and I know she didn’t drink until she left the church. Even then it was nothing like this. Sometimes she goes through a bottle a day.”
Tyler stared at her. “A bottle a day!”
Maggie looked up at him. “You think we do that much celebrating that we need two cases of champagne a month?”
“How would I know—”
