Quilty as Charged, page 10
Lydia managed to say, “Oh.”
“Fran and some of the others wanted to turn the house into a nature center. There was a coalition in support of Hillside. And then I put a bid in to turn the house into a split commercial and residential property. I would live there but also have my woodworking studio there. And sell the furniture I made.”
“Oh. I am so sorry that didn’t work out, Auden. That sounds amazing, but I don’t really see …”
Auden cut her off, speaking with more passion than she had seen from him yet, “It’s money, Lydia. Money and dreams. She convinced me she had the majority backing her nature center. I lost the money I’d spent trying to get the place zoned for residential and commercial use. But I believed in the nature center. But she didn’t. She didn’t have the vote. Lumpkin County Wildlife needed a sizeable donation to make the center work. She told people she would give the money. But she didn’t. And now we have Hillside. She should have told you. Things like that have consequences.”
And with that, Auden opened the door and let the poor dog out into the stormy night.
Charlie was a lazy dog, so he happily took care of business quickly and ran back in to sit by the warmth of the fire.
Lydia scrambled for the right response. It had all felt so … raw. He seemed exhausted by the conversation, with nothing left to say.
“Thanks, Auden. And thanks for telling me. For telling me about Fran. About Hillside. Thanks for keeping watch tonight.” With that, Lydia started toward the hallway to her bedroom.
“I’m here if you need anything,” Auden answered as she walked away.
She had never had that “important” talk with Fran. And now, even though she knew what Fran had wanted to tell her, she couldn’t help but wish she’d found the time before it was too late. She crawled back into bed. There was no point in rattling off a litany of fabrics. No point in counting. Turning off the flashlight, Lydia stared into the darkness. Fran was gone. The retreat was a disaster. She’d been invited to her ex-husband’s wedding. Amy thought she was a killer. There was no more lasagna. Some part of her recognized these problems were on very different scales, but it just felt like opening a hall closet and getting hit by an avalanche of crap. Worst of all, somehow, Lydia feared the worst was yet to come.
Sleep evaded her. Had Lydia made a mistake not confiding in Auden about the M’s? Was Auden right about “the vote”? Was a crushed dream enough to drive someone to murder? Charlie snored away, oblivious to her turmoil. Throwing her quilt off again, Lydia grabbed the flashlight and headed back to the living room. He had been honest with her. She owed him the same. She’d tell Auden everything.
It took Lydia a minute to realize what she was seeing. Her late-night confession to Auden died on her lips. There he was, the too-handsome caretaker she had expected. But sitting next to him was Heather. Heather.
Heather’s red hair shone in the firelight. She perched on the couch that Auden had been using as his bed, her whole body turned toward him in the half-dark. Lydia didn’t mean to spy, but she found herself at the edge of the firelight, watching the whispered conversation, unable to force herself forward.
Auden nodded his head as Heather tucked her hair behind her ear, multiple cartilage piercings sparkling. Heather said something Lydia couldn’t hear, and then Auden patted Heather on her knee.
Lydia had no right whatsoever to be jealous. None. But she did feel a small prick of satisfaction when Auden’s hand left Heather’s knee the minute Lydia stepped into view. She wasn’t above ruining the moment.
“Oh, Lydia,” was all Heather said.
What had they been talking about? Why was Heather out of her room? Hadn’t they agreed to stay in their rooms until the morning?
“Hey, Heather. Hi, Auden. Sorry to interrupt you guys.” No, she wasn’t. “I couldn’t sleep so thought I would get a glass of water, so, um …” Lydia forced herself to walk past them to the kitchen, using her flashlight to illuminate a path. She filled a heavy clear glass with cold water, took a sip, then steeled herself for the return trip past the strange tête-a-tête in the living room. Glass in hand she walked back toward her room, trying to act naturally.
“I’m going to hit the hay. See you two in the morning,” she said, flatly. She sounded like a mom at a sleepover party.
“Good night, Lydia,” Auden replied, awkwardly standing as he said it. He turned to Heather, who was still sitting on the couch, “Heather, I’m glad we got to talk. But it’s getting late. See you in the morning?”
Lydia hid the smile she felt at his polite but firm dismissal of the young woman.
“Thanks for listening, Auden. Thanks for … everything. Sorry you can’t sleep, Lydia,” Heather added sharply, as she stood as well and turned to leave the room and head upstairs.
Lydia took another sip of her water, trying to find an excuse to linger until Heather was gone. Auden seemed to do the same as he walked over to the fireplace and grabbed the poker and jabbed at the dying embers, stirring up a little more flame.
“Everything okay?” Lydia asked, hoping she sounded concerned rather than nosey, when in reality she felt equal amounts of both.
“Heather’s just freaked out. She’ll be all right.” Auden waited, seemingly unsure if Lydia wanted to talk or head back to bed.
“Good. That’s good,” Lydia replied. “Are you good?”
“I’m good,” Auden said and paused again. “Did you want to talk about anything, Lydia?”
“Me? No. I’m good. Good night!” and, flinching at her dorky response, she headed back to her room.
Back in bed, again, Lydia wondered what Heather had meant when she said, “Thanks for everything.” She wondered why Auden had put his hand on her knee like that. She wondered why she was wondering. Even sleep, when it finally came, felt tangled and heavy.
Chapter Nine
Sunday
The morning air felt like a splash of cold water as she turned in her sleep and her face came free from her quilt cocoon. Auden had kept the fire going in the main room, so it wasn’t exactly freezing, but there was no doubt that the generator was still out. The day before came rolling back to her, more brutal than the cold air.
Fran was gone. Murdered. The M’s, crying at Fran’s betrayal through the thin wall of the bathroom. The whole nasty story about “the vote.” Heather and Auden in the firelight. She still hadn’t said anything about the M’s to Auden, which was surely the right call. Surely. Did she really believe the M’s could commit murder?
No. Fran’s death had nothing to do with the M’s. Which meant she hadn’t solved anything yet. Did knowing about “the vote” change anything? Lydia couldn’t be sure. They had to get help and they had to get out of that house. Lydia untangled herself from her bed and threw on yet another pair of black leggings and a T-shirt; this one read, COFFEE FABRIC THREAD. Which were her essentials, more or less in order. The first thing she needed to face the day was coffee. True, she had told the group not to leave their rooms until eight. But glancing at her watch, she realized it was only seven. She couldn’t spend an hour in her room, waiting and worrying. Wanting coffee. If she got up early and made coffee and breakfast, that just meant that she was being thoughtful, not reckless. Surely. Besides, she really, really needed coffee.
After Graham, Lydia had ditched most of the traditions that had marked her married life. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been to a tapas restaurant, much less ordered a wine flight. But Graham had gotten her hooked on good coffee, and she still couldn’t bring herself to go back to the pumpkin spice instant coffee pods of the long-gone past.
The house had a French press, and she had brought ground beans from PeriDOUGH, the local donut shop, so she was prepared, even without power, to start her day the right way. Coffee was truly an addiction, but this morning she needed the comfort of the ritual as much as anything else.
Thankfully, although the cabin was far up the mountain, it was still on the municipal water line, so she had tap water and a kettle on the stove to use, even in the ice storm. And she had always liked her coffee black anyway. The pan of cinnamon rolls from the morning before still had a few scraps that she piled onto a plate.
Blue-and-white mug steaming, she sat down facing one of the huge picture windows. Auden was still asleep on the couch. She noticed how long his eyelashes looked against his cheeks. She willed herself to look out at the mountains. Early in the morning, with the sleet still falling, most of the long vantage was lost to haze. But the closest ridge line still offered the texture of winter, the promise of more mountains and more forests just behind it. She willed the sun to rise bright and hot, but she knew it was hopeless. It was already seven in the morning, and it felt more like late afternoon as the icy rain slashed down.
She knew she had to get breakfast ready for everyone else, but she gave herself just a little longer in front of the window, even though her coffee cup was empty now. She wanted to pretend yesterday hadn’t happened, just for a moment more. Suddenly, as if it had simply materialized there, a deer appeared on the grass. It was small, but not exactly a baby. Surprisingly more gray than brown. Lydia had always loved deer. Growing up in New England, she had seen them all the time, but since her family didn’t hunt, they felt more like forest friends than anything else. Her general response was to say, “Aww!” each time she saw one, even though down in Georgia that tended to make people laugh, even sneer a little. It felt like the first good omen, that slender pale deer on the small yard—something gentle and wild and not a threat. But why was it out in the storm? Not such a good omen, after all. As if in response to her fears, the deer started and darted back into the dark woods. Lydia shook her head.
Auden was up, rubbing his face, and she tried not to notice how cute his disheveled hair looked. It was time to get breakfast ready, she reminded herself, smiling at him and standing to head toward the kitchen. Surely that small deer had shelter somewhere?
“Hey, Lydia, could I get your help?”
She started. She had been so engrossed in that small deer, and that handsome man nearby, that she had completely failed to hear Heather walk up and stand beside her chair. Heather looked at her expectantly and then repeated herself, “Lydia. Can I get your help?”
Lydia brushed the crumbs of day-old cinnamon rolls off of her shirt and simply replied, “Sure. What do you need?”
“Do you mind coming up to my room?” Heather asked, but before Lydia could answer, she had turned and started toward the staircase. It seemed that everyone had tacitly agreed that staying in groups for nighttime, not daytime. The wan light coming through the windows did help to make the house feel less menacing. She would be fine with Heather.
Lydia shrugged her shoulders and followed. Breakfast for the others would have to wait. When they went upstairs to the Rainbow Room, Heather ushered her in and then closed the door and started to whisper.
“Listen,” Heather hissed, “you need to hear this. Last night, after dinner, after, well, after everything, I just couldn’t fall asleep. This room has its own fireplace with a gas starter, and I thought a fire would make me feel … well … safer, I guess. But when I went to turn on the gas to start the fire …,” Heather pointed at the pipe that fed the fireplace, “… that was unscrewed.”
Was that why Heather had been talking to Auden? Why didn’t Auden tell her that? Why didn’t they tell her that in the moment?
Heather stared at Lydia, clearly expecting a shocked response.
When Lydia didn’t offer the reaction she was expecting, Heather huffed in frustration and continued, “Someone opened this. Gas was pouring into my room. I had the windows shut tight because of the storm. If I had gone to sleep, with that valve open.… Lydia, do you see what I’m saying? I think someone was trying to … hurt me.”
They were both silent. And they both knew the word Heather meant was “kill” not “hurt.” Had whoever killed Fran tried to kill Heather next? Given Heather’s white face and hands twisted together in front of her, Lydia could tell that was the conclusion that Heather had reached.
“But why?” Lydia sputtered. She knew she should have been comforting Heather, but it just didn’t make sense.
“What do you think I stayed up all last night thinking about?” Heather sat down on the edge of her colorful bed. “Here’s the thing, Lydia. I know you loved Fran. We all loved Fran. It’s just that there was more to Fran than you knew. Does that make sense?”
Twenty-four hours ago, Lydia would have vehemently denied the idea that she didn’t know everything about Fran, her fairy godmother, her magical life-changing friend. But now? After what Auden had told her last night? After what she’d heard from the M’s? What else didn’t she know?
Lydia nodded, and it was enough to prompt Heather to continue.
“Before you showed up, Fran was frantic to find a way to keep Measure Twice afloat. She’d been encouraging friends to invest in the store. And I’m not sure those conversations were always pleasant. I’ve been weirded out by Clark lately,”
Clark? Lydia had been sure Heather was about to mention the M’s.
“It is a big leap to go from being weirded out by someone to accusing them of murder,” Lydia pointed out, trying to adjust to the idea of Clark as a murderer.
“You don’t know the whole story. You know how Fran would still come to help with openings sometimes, even though she moved out to this house? Well, a few weeks ago, it was just me and Fran opening the store. Before we were even technically open, Clark came roaring into the store, practically spitting nails. I was so curious, but Fran took one look at him and ushered him straight back to the break room.” Heather paused, sensing Lydia was still unconvinced.
She continued. “That’s when it got weird. I could hear raised voices, but I couldn’t hear anything specific. I just chalked it up to Clark being hot and bothered about something pointless, and I went back into the storeroom to get the new needle minders. But they were still arguing when they walked to the front door. I heard Clark say to Fran, ‘You have no right. You’re playing with fire, Fran. This is the sort of business that gets people killed.’”
Heather stopped and looked at Lydia. Killed? Clark had said that to Fran?
“Heather, that sounds like a threat,” Lydia admitted.
“I know, right? And if Fran had said something about it, laughed it off, I wouldn’t have been so struck by it. But just as they got to the front door of the store, Clark noticed me. I had come out of the storeroom to set up the new accessories display.
Clark just looked at me and said, “‘You heard me,’ and walked out the door, got in his car, and drove off,” and with that, Heather held up her hands, echoing her disbelief from the time.
“What did Fran say?” Lydia asked, shocked by the latest twist in the story.
“That’s what I was trying to say before. Fran didn’t say a thing! She just went right back to work, opening the store as if nothing had happened. Every time I tried to bring it up, she just changed the topic.”
“Okay,” Lydia admitted, “I see your point. I think there were things I didn’t know. And Fran had been really desperate to find a way to keep the shop from going bankrupt. Somehow Clark got involved. But she sold the shop to me, Heather.…”
Was Lydia imagining it, or did Heather flinch at that pronouncement?
“So, why murder? Now? And even if I bought that idea, which I’m not sure I even do, how does that get us here, to Clark’s trying to hurt you?” Lydia gestured back to the offending valve.
Heather put her head in her hands, her bold red hair horribly bright against her skin. The room felt dark and close even though it was technically morning.
Raising her head, Heather said, “Lydia, I don’t know. But what if Fran knew something? Or did something? And Clark thought I was in on it? Maybe he thought I was in on it from the beginning; maybe he thought she filled me in that morning after their confrontation. Maybe he just knew I would suspect him and wanted to keep me quiet. I don’t have all the answers. But I don’t think we’re safe here. And I had to tell you. You need to be careful. We both do. Don’t tell anyone what I just told you. Promise me, Lydia,” Heather added, staring straight into Lydia’s eyes. Heather didn’t say a word about Auden, and Lydia had no idea why, but she played along.
“Heather, I won’t tell anyone what you told me if that’s what you really want, but don’t you think it would be better to get this out in the open? Tell the group about the fireplace, at least. Maybe even confront Clark?” Lydia offered. There were already too many secrets in the Laurels, and Lydia was starting to think secrets were far too dangerous. Plus, there had to be a good explanation for the scene with Clark, and they owed him a chance to tell his side.
“No,” Heather hissed. “That just means he knows that you know, and you could be next. God, Lydia, I know you’re such a sweetheart,” but the way she said “sweetheart” made it sound like an insult, “but you need to be realistic. Don’t. Tell. Anyone.” With that, Heather stood up, tucked her flame-red hair behind her ears, and left the room, Lydia trailing behind, bewildered. How was she supposed to go about the day as if she were none the wiser about Clark? Lydia had a hard time keeping secrets under the best of circumstances, but now she felt overstuffed with them, worried that at any moment she’d blurt out the wrong confidence.
When they got back to the main room, Lydia realized most of the house was still asleep. Quietly, she went into the kitchen and put some muffins Fran had brought into the oven to warm and got another French press of coffee started.
Heather stayed in the living room, working on her EPP, seemingly her ordinary self. Lydia marveled at the young woman’s composure.
The power outage had seemed to slow time itself. The light was always somewhere between dusk and twilight. The only sounds were the never-ending patter of the icy rain and the creaking of the old house in the storm, complemented by the even older grandfather clock, marking the hours. Lydia tried to pull together a sense of an agenda for the day, almost laughing when she thought of her printed-out itinerary from only a day before.
