CHAPTER FIVE

Back at home, Bette was trying to win Newhart’s favor with some crunchy kitty snacks, which he devoured happily—then he would always wind up back in Margo’s lap.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Bette groused.

“If you were chopped liver, you would definitely be his favorite,” Margo noted.

“Hmmph! So, Russell Knox. Bottle of poison in his car? Sounds guilty.”

“But why? What could possibly be the motive? It’s just bad for business, especially for a food business, for a man to get poisoned by his food. It’s dumb. It’s not a smart way to commit murder. It’s guaranteed to lose business.”

“It’s a shame. That tapas place. Yummy tapas. Now I guess we’ll never go.”

“He says he was framed. I guess everyone says that. But Bette, what if he was?”

“Like you said, he’s a bullied guy who finally snapped.”

“I’m no detective, but seriously, where is the motive? A man was deliberately killed by someone who hated him.”

“Nothing you can do. The police are on it, so stop obsessing. It’s been so nice to see you in a good mood and feeling so healthy. Let’s just be happy about that.”

“You’re right. Absolutely right. My life is finally great.”

Newhart flipped over in her lap and waited for his tummy rub. Margo scoffed, but obliged.

“This is your third tummy rub today. I hope you know this is it.”

Newhart was no longer scared or hungry. At least Margo had been able to rescue a cat. Russell Knox was beyond her help. A hopeless case.

*****

Margo had gotten in the habit of taking Newhart to work. After the last shows began, she would let him run around the lobby. Not much choice, really. He couldn’t be left at home alone. She tried it once, and boy, did he go crazy. He threw pillows all over the place and got into the hall closet and started ripping things up. The vet had warned her about this behavior. Apparently, animals generally hate being left alone.

For the past few years, Margo had taken a cab home, partially to save herself from overexertion but also because nighttime is when all the scary, bad things happened, wasn’t it? In Oyster Cove, the crime rate ran to extremes. It was murder or nothing. Still, the long walk home had felt so ominous that she could never attempt it.

But tonight, the darkness, the moon, and the cool breeze were irresistible.

“You sure?” The cab driver asked. “Someone gonna pick you up?”

“I’m walking. I’m fine.”

“That’s an awful long walk.”

Margo was getting impatient. “I’m never going to need a cab again. Never. Ever. Not even in the pouring rain.” She nodded emphatically.

The driver shrugged. Oh, well. The steady fare had been good while it lasted. But it sure was nice to see her so energetic.

Lilith nodded approvingly. “Rightfully so. There’s nothing like the night.” Her own powers had always been at their peak in the dead of night. It was likely the same would be true for Margo. But where was that Delphine? Shirking her orders. Lilith was getting very impatient for Margo’s education to begin.

The beach looked so lovely and different at night. Margo stopped to see the moonlight sparkle across the waves. Filled with euphoria, she was so happy that she could . . . she could do a cartwheel. Not that she had ever been able to do a cartwheel, but that was her old life. Today, she refused to be daunted by simple ordinary things.

And so she gave it a try. How hard could it be? She landed on her butt. Ouch! She laughed at what a ridiculous sight she must have made. Yes, she could feel the pain. But pain didn’t scare her anymore. She was willing to go for another try. Followed by another rough landing. Thank goodness for the sand.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Can I help you?”

Margo swirled around, startled. It was ‘Mark Ruffalo’ from the police station. She looked at him skeptically.

“I don’t know. Can you do a cartwheel?”

“Umm. I can’t say that is in my area of expertise.”

“Then no, you can’t help me.”

“I can do . . . other things. I can wrestle a man twice my size to the ground. I can hit the carotid artery with just the right amount of force to disable someone without killing them.”

“Impressive. Have you thought about hiring yourself out for children’s parties?”

“Well, it’s just all part of my practical training.”

“Listen, Mr. Lethal Weapon. Clearly, we are not on the same page. I was in a cartwheel kind of mood and having a lovely evening.”

“It was just so dark . . . and late. Probably not a good idea for young ladies to be walking around late at night.”

Margo bristled. She had been trying so hard to shake off all of those old fears and paranoias. The last thing she needed was someone telling her that she couldn’t walk home alone at night. Margo never allowed herself to get this annoyed. She’d always been worried that getting mad would stress her old heart. Now, she had to admit, it felt good to let it fly without censoring herself.

“I know the police like to send someone to patrol the beach at night. But that’s to make the tourists feel better. I’ve lived in this town my whole life. It’s perfectly safe. Except the occasional murder. Which never happens on the beach. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Finn Cochran is the name. Yeah, I just took an early retirement from federal service after failing to dodge one too many bullets. Thought I’d try something a little quiet and uneventful, which Oyster Cove is, except for the poisoning murder.” He cleared his throat. “I take it that Russell Knox is a friend of yours? I was there when you stopped by for a visit.”

“Not a good friend. Just old acquaintances. Sort of. Not really. I don’t think we ever even spoke to one to one another before that day at the jail. By the way, how’s that whole case going?”

“Date for trial should be set by the end of the week.”

“No, I mean, how are things progressing with locating other suspects?”

“Well, there aren’t any.”

“What if someone else did it?”

“It seems we have pretty conclusive evidence.”

“He says someone is framing him.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

Margo glared at him and grabbed Newhart’s cage.

“I know it must be hard to think about a friend doing something like that,” Finn conceded.

“He’s not my friend. Which I just told you. If you can’t pay attention to something like that, how can you possibly be conducting a careful investigation? Russell’s life is at stake. He hasn’t been proven guilty, and you’re not even looking for other suspects.”

“Perhaps we could discuss this matter over a latte.”

Margo scoffed and stormed away, clutching Newhart’s case. Finn flinched. No wonder he was still single.

*****

The big question Margo had was, did Julian Meeks have any enemies? Only his family would know for sure. Apparently, they owned a huge six-bedroom house, and the multi-generational clan spent much of every summer there, with a few excursions back to Boston for business.

Margo needed to talk to them. But not as Russell’s friend. That, she would have to keep under wraps. She pulled her normally loose hair into a tight bun and pulled out a navy linen suit normally relegated for small business conferences and meetings with her banker. This was going to be sad, no doubt. The family would still be shocked and grieving. But this was for their benefit as well. They would want the rightful person to be behind bars.

The man who opened the door bore a strong resemblance to John Goodman.

“Yeah?” he said gruffly.

“Hi. I’m Margo Bailey. I’m so sorry to disturb you at such a difficult time. I was hoping you could provide a little information about Julian Meeks. It’s so important that his rightful killer be punished.”

“You from the police?”

“No, no. I’m not. I’m just trying to get the facts straight.”

“Reporter, huh? What paper you with?”

As it so happened, Margo did actually have an online rag called Margo’s Movie House Gazette. It alerted people about coming attractions, film reviews, and discounts and provided a little movie trivia.

“The Gazette. Could I just have a few moments of your time?”

He let Margo into the spacious house. It was a decidedly old-fashioned place, with orange, brown, and yellow flowery wallpaper, macramé wall hangings, and crocheted granny square throws—very 1970s. No doubt, its designer was matriarch Trudy Quinn, sixty-two, who sat in the living room and was either bursting into frequent sobs or dabbing her eyes dry.

“My nephew! My nephew!”

The rest of the family included Julian’s brother, Carson Meeks, their cousin, Lester Quinn, who had answered the door, and his wife, Rowena Quinn, nine months pregnant. All four had been present the horrible night in question, when they saw their loved one get poisoned.

“Hey, listen up. This lady is doing a story on Jules. Just tell her what she needs to know.”

“I really do apologize to all of you,” Margo said sincerely. “A lot of people in Oyster Cove didn’t have the chance to know Julian Meeks and it would be wonderful to see his life through his family’s eyes.”

“So what do you want to know?” Carson asked warily. “Favorite color? Red. Favorite team? Patriots. Height—six foot two. Blood type—B positive. Sisters—two. Brothers—one. And I’m down from one brother to none.” He stopped, distraught.

“My sister’s boy,” Trudy agonized. “Such a sweet, sweet guy.”

“Why don’t we start with the basics? What was his profession?”

“We’ve got a big family business, the Quinns and the Meekses—we got a lot going on,” Lester Quinn bragged. “We got a company that imports lumber over the border and we get it ready for builders.”

“Ah, Julian worked in lumber?”

“No, I handle most of that,” Lester said.

“Jules was the money guy,” his brother Carson said proudly. “He was wicked smart with money.”

“That’s right,” Lester chimed in. “He was going to be godfather to our baby because we knew if anything happened, he’d be a good provider. He knew about interest rates and all that kind of stuff.”

“He was an investor?” Margo asked.

“No, well, I don’t think so. He loaned money,” Carson explained. “That’s the biggest thing we do. Not just in Boston, but all up and down the Cape. We are the family everyone turns to. And if someone’s not having any luck with the banks, they turn to us. We’ll work out a good deal. Julian was the one who wrote up contracts. Had a good head for that. Lester and I were more responsible for collecting the money and straightening out the troublemakers.”

Holy crap. They were loan sharks. Family business? Organized family business, perhaps? All of a sudden, John Goodman was starting to look a bit more like James Gandalfini. Not that Margo had ever seen a full episode of The Sopranos. It was too scary.

“These troublemaker people who didn’t stick to your agreements. Is it possible that one of them might have somehow been involved in the . . . poisoning?”

“Don’t see how that would be possible,” Carson scoffed. “It was that restaurant owner. They caught him red-handed.”

“Oh, no doubt. But . . . maybe he was in cahoots. Maybe he was used by someone else. Did Julian have any enemies?”

“He was a saint,” Trudy insisted. “Lester, you and Rowena ought to name the baby after him. You really should.”

Lester shook his head. “I don’t think that is a good idea, ma. You’d cry every time you heard his name. It would make us all sad.”

He may have had a point. Trudy burst into tears.

“I should probably go,” Margo said, rising to her feet.

“That’s it? Don’t you have more questions?” Carson wondered.

“I already know the most important things. He was a well-loved man who was devoted to his family.”

Everyone nodded, momentarily silent in their agreement.

Margo couldn’t keep up the ruse any longer. She didn’t want to learn what Julian Meeks’s favorite colors or books were, or the fraternities he belonged to, or how much he loved football. She had far more important questions and a far more urgent interrogation to conduct.

*****

Russell was happy to see Margo again. Always good to see a friendly face, except . . . right at that moment, she wasn’t looking quite as friendly as he had anticipated.

“So, Russell, you were able to start a terrific restaurant. That doesn’t sound easy. I could never have started my business without my great-aunt leaving me her estate. I can’t help but wonder, forgive me for saying so, but your family didn’t have a lot of money. Which just makes starting your own restaurant even more of a tremendous accomplishment. I don’t mean to pry, but how on earth did you raise the money to do it?”

“I borrowed it.”

“From whom?”

“What?”

“From whom did you borrow it?” Margo cocked her head and stared Russell down, daring him to lie.

“Okay, okay. I knew the dead guy. I borrowed thirty thousand dollars from him. And I had twelve months to pay it back, with interest. Fifty thousand was the amount that I had to pay back.”

“Russell!”

“It was doable. I mean, I had to make it work. It was the only way. Only, there was this huge snafu with my liquor license. They said I filled the application out wrong and they’d sent me a notice about that. But I never got it. And eventually, I had to re-apply. That cost me three months. My second application—same thing! How does that happen? I was frantic. I worked it out eventually, but I opened the restaurant six months later than expected. And it wasn’t enough time to get fifty grand together.”

“What did they say? The loan sharks?”

“I went to Julian Meeks myself to ask for more time. He asked me if I had fire insurance. I said, of course. And he said, ‘if we don’t get our fifty grand on the agreed upon date, your place will burn to the ground. You’ll collect the insurance, and you’re gonna hand over that check to me. In its entirety. Then, no broken bones. No trip to the hospital. Not everyone’s cut out to be a businessman.’ That’s what he told me.”

“Russell, you knew him. You lied.”

“’Course I lied. Everyone is just going to see this as . . .”

“Motive? Ya think?”

Russell flinched. “My lawyer told me not to tell anyone. He said no one would be able to see past it. Was he right?”

Margo shook her head in unhappy confusion. Why was it so difficult to accept what was so glaringly obvious right before her? No doubt, it was because of the years of guilt she had carried from that day so long ago when she was unable to help him. The case against Russell hadn’t made much sense to her, previously, because it was lacking motive. She had to get away from those sad, pleading Ewan McGregor eyes before they turned her into a sap.

“I’ve gotta go.”

Russell slumped back in his seat, defeated.

*****

Russell’s secret was unlikely to remain one for long. The fact that he lied to the police about his connection to the victim—after than became known, neither the police nor jury would have any doubts about his guilt. Nor should she. Margo was well and truly bummed out. She hadn’t had a clear idea about how she could help Russell, but she had wanted so badly to believe in his innocence.

She wandered distractedly down a cheerful retail street past shops like She Sells Sea Shells and Pirate Mania, with its life-sized devilishly handsome pirate mannequin greeting guests at the entrance with a drawn sword—not exactly historically correct, but the tourists didn’t care. A glance across the street rewarded her with the sight of Walter Knox and a woman Margo assumed to be his wife heading into a fish and chips pub.

Walter, who had impressed her as a horribly vindictive guy, was willing to let his brother rot in jail. Margo had completely pegged him as the villain. But now, she didn’t know what to think. What if she got it all wrong? At this point, she had to entertain the possibility that Russell was lying to her. Was it possible that Walter Knox might be able to supply the truth?

By the time she entered, Walter and his wife were already seated, munching on chips and chugging down tall beers. Walter was also on his cellphone. Margo quietly slipped into the adjoining booth. She wouldn’t interrupt their meal but would wait till they were ready to leave. Which meant she should order something.

“Lunch special?” The waitress asked.

That would be fish and chips—fried food, which had always been a no-no. The old heart demanded a pristine diet. But Lilith Hazelwood’s heart could certainly handle a little fish fry from time to time. Besides, she was hungry, and the smell from the kitchen was mouthwatering.

“Sure, and a mango sparkler.”

Most people tend to raise their voices on a cellphone. Walter was no exception.

“Well, we can’t pull the plug till next Wednesday. Have to wait for ten days after signing the papers. Then the doctor says he can’t possibly last more than forty-eight hours after that. Which puts us at Friday. No, no. I got medical power of attorney. So all that’s going to go off without a hitch. I just want to make sure there’s no delay in the reading of the will, and how soon I can get a check from his estate. Could take a few weeks to sell his house. That’s the big payoff for sure. But how soon can we get cash up front? Okay, I leave that in your hands. Don’t let me down. Talk to you next week.”

He hung up and clinked beer mugs with his wife.

“So, we good?” she asked eagerly.

“Just a few things to iron out. Harry’s a good lawyer. He’s on top of it. You know, the sooner the better. The important thing is that Grandpa kicks the bucket, and then you and I are on easy street.”

His wife nodded. “Yeah, but what if your brother is innocent?”

“Say that happens. He goes to court and he’s found innocent. Good for him. But Grandpa’s six feet under, his estate is mine, and Russell is out of luck. That works for me.”

Behind them, Margo had been becoming increasingly livid. So, this was the devoted grandson who had scolded Russell for wanting to stop the life-support and was so indifferent to whether his brother was guilty. Just as long as the matter was decided after the grandpa was no longer around to change his will. What sort of family loyalty was that? If there were one person in the world Russell should have been able to rely on, it was this greedy, selfish, insensitive, loutish, disloyal, poor excuse for a brother.

This final grim thought was accompanied by the unexpected shattering of Margo’s dinner plate and glass. Heavy ceramic and glass, filled with food and drink, just exploded on the table, untouched by anything or anyone! Margo’s mouth dropped. What just happened? She looked around sharply. Earthquake? There had never been an earthquake in their neck of the woods, but if other people’s plates were shattering, then perhaps there was some rational explanation.

The waitress hurried over and looked as confused as Margo felt. “What on earth happened?” She looked accusingly at Margo, who was obviously suspected of having a tantrum and destroying property.

Margo pulled $25 out of her purse, and mumbling apologies, got out as quickly as possible. Good explanation. Reasonable explanation. Rational explanation. Because the irrational and intuitive explanation was completely berserk. Her anger at Walter Knox . . . had become the shattered glass. Which made so little sense, she would never be able to mention it to anyone, not even Bette.

And then out of nowhere, a memory of something someone said recently that she hadn’t been able to make head nor tails of at the time. “My dear, I had no idea you were one of us.”

Margo awoke after a near-sleepless night. “My dear, I had no idea you were one of us . . . one of us . . . one of us. Her new heart beat wildly. She was about to be faced with the mother of all red pill, blue pill choices, a scene she was only familiar with secondhand, as she had previously deemed The Matrix as one of those films that was too heart-pounding for her.