Софи Келли: A Night's Tail

Susan nudged her cat’s-eye glasses up her nose. “Kathleen, she reminded you to clean the screens of all of our computers the week of the festival so there would be no unsightly fingerprints.” She said the last few words in perfect mimicry of Patricia. “The only reason that wasn’t a problem is because you would have done that anyway!”

I felt my face get red as Susan laughed.

“Seriously,” I said. “I owe both of you. How about I babysit the boys so you and Eric can go out?”

Susan regarded me with a fair amount of skepticism, one hand on her hip. “Are you insane? Not that I’m not taking you up on the offer.”

I assured her about my mental health and the genuineness of my offer to watch the boys. She headed up to get coffee.

Just before lunch I called Melanie and explained about the maple cookies and how I had Eric’s recipe for the St. James chef to use with Eric’s permission. “The cookies are traditional enough for Patricia, with enough of a different twist for people to remark on them—and I’ve already cleared the change with Patricia.”

Melanie thanked me profusely. “I owe you,” she said. “A kidney, help moving, I’m your woman.”

I wondered what she’d say if I just asked her for the truth about Lewis Wallace.

Marcus stopped by with lunch about quarter after twelve. “How did you know I forgot mine?” I asked.

“I talked to your brother.” He handed me a brown paper bag. “Meatloaf sandwich from Fern’s with a chopped apple and carrot salad on the side.”

My stomach growled in appreciation. “Where did you see Ethan?” I asked.

“He was at the co-op store. He and his friends are putting a couple of new locks on the doors.”

Ethan was still trying to make points with Maggie. Hearing about the door reminded me that I needed to tell Marcus what I’d figured out about Melanie. I left out the part about crawling up the ventilation shaft. My shoulders still ached.

Marcus made a face. “Why would she lie about something like that? She admitted she knew the man. Why not just say they knew each other in college?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Wallace played football. A lot of people would have known who he was. And I think if she’d wanted to kill the man she wouldn’t have done it in her own hotel. So why keep that secret?”

“People have done a lot stupider things than that,” he said.

“Wallace struggled with the person who killed him.” I gestured with the bag holding my lunch. “It couldn’t have been Melanie. He must have had a hundred and fifty pounds on her.”

“Not so fast,” Marcus said. “Wallace was bigger, but he was more fat than muscle and he had asthma. Plus, he was having a reaction to the peanut butter. Melanie Davis is in much better shape. She runs and she boxes. In theory she could have killed him.”

The question was, had she?

When I got to class that evening Maggie and Roma were standing by the tea table talking. Maggie was smiling and gesturing with one hand. Whatever the topic of conversation was it seemed to be making her happy.

I walked over to join them. “Hi,” I said.

Roma smiled. “Hi,” she said. “I’m supposed to tell you volume nine. Sydney said that would mean something to you.”

I nodded. “It does. We’re both reading a young adult fantasy series that has fourteen books. Syd is now officially ahead of me.” I smiled. “We’ve been imagining the books turned into a movie and e-mailing each other our picks for the cast.”

“Thank you for encouraging her,” Roma said.

“First of all, she’s a great kid. And second, I’m happy to have someone to talk about the books with. No one else I know has been reading them.”

Maggie took a sip of her tea, which smelled like cranberries and honey, and set her mug on the table. “Roma suggested we all go out to Wisteria Hill Friday night. I know Ethan is leaving on Saturday. Do you have anything planned?”

I shook my head. “I don’t. And Ethan didn’t mention any plans to me.”

“Then it’s settled,” Maggie said. “I’ll make pizza.”

I looked at Roma. “Then I’ll do the dishes.” I gave her a hug. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it.” It would be good not to think about Lewis Wallace for a change.

I was changing my shoes after class when Rebecca came and sat next to me.

“Are you having any luck figuring out who might have killed Mr. Wallace?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said.

Her expression softened. “I’m going to share a little secret with you, Kathleen. I’m not anywhere close to being as skilled as you are at using a computer to find things out, but I’ve met a lot of people in my life. That happens when you’re a hairdresser.” She smiled. “So I have my own way of learning things.”

I knew that was true. Rebecca was genuinely interested in people.

“And Everett does business with a lot of different people, which means I’ve had the opportunity to get to know many people’s staff members, the people who know where the bodies are buried, so to speak. After you came over, I wanted to learn a little bit more about Lewis Wallace. I’d heard a lot of negative things. I wanted to know if anyone had anything positive to say.”

“Did they?” I asked. She answered my question with a question of her own.

“Did you know that Lewis Wallace lost both of his parents when he was barely an adult?”

I nodded. “I did.” I pulled on my left boot and started to tighten the laces.

“Did you know his mother died from a very aggressive brain tumor?”

“I didn’t know that,” I said. I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sympathy for Wallace. What had it been like to watch his mother die that way?

Rebecca folded her hands in her lap. “Two months ago, Mr. Wallace made a substantial donation to a group that’s doing research into brain cancer, into the type of brain cancer that killed his mother. No fanfare, Kathleen. No public acknowledgment. Just money to fund research that someday might save someone else’s mother.”

It was the last thing I’d expected her to tell me.

Rebecca patted my arm. “Most people are not all one thing,” she said. “You might want to keep that in mind.”

“I will,” I said.

She smiled then. “I had a lovely visit with your brother yesterday. He showed me some delightful pictures of you.” Her eyes twinkled.

“I’m going to kill him,” I said matter-of-factly, gesturing with the boot I was holding. “No. Marcus is too good a detective. He’ll figure it out. I’m going to wait until Ethan’s asleep and shave his head.”

For Ethan that would be a fate worse than death.

Rebecca put her shoes in her canvas bag. “Don’t give your brother a hard time, now. I’m the one who asked if he had any photos of you when you were a child.” She gave me a sideways glance. “I didn’t know you knew how to twirl a baton.”

I sent her a daggers look. “That settles it. I’m not going to just shave his head. I’m going to shave every part of his body.”

Rebecca stood up and pulled on her jacket. “You were adorable.”

“I almost burned down my elementary school. Who thought it was a good idea to let an eight-year-old twirl a baton that was on fire?” I laughed in spite of myself. “My mother had to draw on my eyebrows for the next two months.”

She reached down and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I still think you were adorable. With or without eyebrows.” She started down the stairs. “If you shave Ethan’s head make sure you stroke the razor in the direction of the hair growth,” she said over her shoulder. “You wouldn’t want him to end up with a rash.”

I pulled on my other boot, stuffed my towel and shoes into my backpack and grabbed my jacket. I’d found a parking space right out front. I slid behind the wheel and looked down the street in the direction of the hotel. I could just walk down there, see if Melanie was still around and ask her what her connection to Lewis Wallace was. I sat there for a minute or so, trying to come up with a good reason not to. But I couldn’t.