“How did you figure it out?” she said in a low voice.
“Chloe told me you were working on a script when the two of you were rehearsing Yesterday’s Children. She said it was based on your volunteer work with a program for teenage alcoholics.”
Hannah nodded. “Hester’s Girls. It was a terrible script,” she said softly.
“But it was a winning article.”
She gave me a small smile. “They’d all heard about the Share the Change, Be the Change contest, where people could vote online for the most deserving project. They needed the money so badly.” She chewed the corner of her lip. “There’s never enough money. It’s a program for teenage drunks. There’re no cute little puppies or big-eyed seals, just kids who get into fights and puke on their shoes.”
She shrugged. “Deidre—the piece was her story—had them all convinced she could write an article that would get Hester’s Girls enough votes to win. When I read what she’d written, I knew it was a pipe dream. And I knew I could do better.”
“How did Hugh find out?”
“He didn’t. Not for sure. He’d seen a rough draft of the piece I was working on back when I was in Yesterday’s Children. He read the article that won. He was suspicious.” She shook her head. “The thing was, he didn’t need proof. All he had to do was raise the suspicion. Deidre would have caved. They would have lost the money.”
“He thought you would help him get the directing job before you’d let Hester’s Girls lose the money,” I said. Hugh had been willing to blackmail Abigail for money. Why not Hannah?
Hannah closed her eyes for a moment and nodded. Then she looked at Marcus. “I couldn’t tell you.”
He reached over and grabbed her hand. “You could have,” he said, his voice raspy. “I’m sorry you didn’t know you could.”
“Hannah, what happened the night Hugh was killed?” I asked.
“I got back from Red Wing sometime between five thirty and six. I came in the side entrance and I heard Hugh and Abigail talking. It was like she was flirting with him. I knew there was something going on between them—I’d seen them whispering about something more than once. I followed them. I thought maybe I’d catch them in some kind of compromising situation and I could . . . hold that over Hugh’s head.”
“Except you didn’t,” I said.
“I didn’t even drive into the marina parking lot. I like Abigail. I couldn’t do that to her. I pulled over and sat on the side of the road for a while. You’re right—I did drive past the marina. And I really did go up to that bar and get drunk. I thought . . . I thought it was all going to come out.”
She looked at me, tight lines around her eyes and mouth. “You’re really certain it was Chloe who killed him?”
I nodded. “I just don’t know how to prove it.”
22
Hannah went to take a bath. Before she left, Marcus wrapped her in a hug.
“I’m in trouble,” she said. “What I did was fraud.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Marcus said, kissing the top of her head.
Hannah turned to me. “If Chloe killed Hugh, it’s because she’s sick.”
I nodded.
“I’m not making excuses for her, or saying he deserved what happened, but Hugh helped make her that way.”
“I know that,” I said.
“Thank you for . . .” She shrugged. “Thank you.”
After she left the room, Marcus turned to me. “What are you going to do?”
I rubbed my wrist. It was starting to ache, which meant rain no matter what the forecast said. “I don’t know. I don’t have any real proof, just a lot of maybes and guesses.”
My cell phone rang then. “I better check that,” I said. “I left my mother home with Owen and Hercules. Who knows what the three of them could get into.”
I pulled the phone out of my bag. CHLOE MILLER, the screen read. I held it up so Marcus could see as well.
He frowned. “Why is she calling you?”
“Let’s find out,” I said.
“Hi, Kathleen. It’s Chloe,” she said. She sounded warm and friendly and I wondered how much work it took to keep up the act.
I sank down onto the arm of the sofa where Marcus had been sitting. “Hi,” I said.
“At lunchtime you mentioned you were thinking about putting up a display with photos and background on some of the people involved in the festival. Are you still going to do that?”
“I think so,” I said. “I have a friend who’s an artist and I think she’ll help.”
“I have something you might be interested in,” she said. “I found some pictures in my bag. I have no idea how long they’ve been there. They’re from a rehearsal of Yesterday’s Children. There are a couple with Hugh and Hannah and me. If you’d like to use them, it’s fine with me.”
“I would,” I said. “Thank you.”
“I’m sitting in the lounge at the hotel. Could you join me right now?”
“I could be there in about fifteen minutes,” I said.
“Perfect,” she said. “I’ll see you soon.”
I ended the call and looked at Marcus. “I know what you’re going to say. There’s something off about Chloe calling me now. And then we’re going to argue back and forth about whether I should go and whether you should go with me.”
“That pretty much sums it up,” he said.
“So can we just fast-forward through all that and go?”
He hesitated. I had no idea what I was going to say if he said no.
But he didn’t.
• • •
Chloe was sitting at the hotel bar talking to the bartender. I could tell by the goofy smile on his face that he was charmed. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Hannah was right. Chloe wasn’t a bad person. She was sick. Part of me hated that I was about to go knock down all the walls she’d worked so hard to put up around herself. But she had killed someone. I knew I was right about that. And no matter what Hugh Davis had done, he hadn’t deserved that.
I walked over to Chloe and touched her shoulder. “Hi,” I said.
She turned. “Hi, Kathleen,” she said. “I’m glad you came.” She looked back at the bartender and flashed him a smile that probably made his week. I thought about Andrew, who did the same thing to women. “Thanks, Charlie,” she said. “You have a good night.” She slid off the stool and said, “Let’s go.”
I looked at her uncertainly. “Where are we going?” I said. “You said you had some pictures for me.”
She nodded. “I do. I left my briefcase in the car. C’mon.”
She knew. Somehow she’d guessed that I had figured out she’d killed Hugh. I knew it was a very bad idea to go anywhere with Chloe Miller.
“It’s been a long day, Chloe,” I said. “I’ll just order a cup of coffee and wait here while you go get them.”
She moved a step closer to me so her arm was pressed against my side. She looked at me and smiled. “I have a gun in my pocket,” she said, just the same way she might have said, “I like crème brûlée.”
I swallowed down the sour taste in my throat. “Are you going to shoot me?”
She shook her head. “As long as you come with me, I’m not going to shoot anyone. If you don’t, I’m going to have to turn around and shoot Charlie, the very nice bartender.” She smiled again. “I don’t think you’d want that on your conscience.”
Chloe was a lot sicker than I’d realized. But Marcus was waiting outside. Once he saw us come out the front doors he’d know something was wrong. All I had to do was stay calm. “I’ll come with you,” I said.
We moved toward the door. To anyone who noticed us we probably looked like two good friends, heads together, catching up on old times.
“This way,” Chloe said, turning toward the back of the hotel when we stepped into the lobby.