“Came after her? She hadn’t already applied?”
“Nope. The owner himself asked her, is what she said. Wyler greased it, I figure.” She flipped back to the page where Tally and her new husband stood in their finery, eternally young, eternally happy. “He had his faults, but he was good to her. He always said he wouldn’t have his job with BWI Opperman if not for her.”
Clare’s phone rang as she was rattling down Route 137 on her way back to town. A number she didn’t recognize. Maybe Eric had uncovered something good already? “Clare here,” she answered.
“Clare Fergusson? This is Dr. Stillman’s office. We’ve scheduled your tests at the Washington County Hospital Outpatient Clinic. Are you available at one this afternoon?”
Oh, God. Her brain whited out. How many pills had she had this morning? Did she drink last night? No, she’d come home from group and fallen asleep.
“Ma’am?”
Clare snapped to. “What?”
“Are you available?”
“Yes. Of course.” Her voice sounded scratchy in her ears. “Where is that, exactly?”
The receptionist gave her directions to the outpatient clinic. She thanked the woman automatically and let her phone drop unnoticed onto the passenger seat. She stared sightlessly through the windshield at the still-green pastures ahead, bordered with lichen-stained stone walls or sagging barbwire fences. She was over the dosage on the Dexedrine, she knew she was. She had been going to call Trip, let him know what she and Will and Eric had talked about at last night’s meeting. Now… She bit her lip. She’d have to think of what to say. Maybe she could get him to postpone the test for twenty-four hours. Which completely obviated the purpose of the test, so she’d have to have a damn good reason. Which would be what, exactly?
The phone ringing again cut off her downward-spiraling thoughts. She opened it without checking the number. “Clare Fergusson here.”
“Hey, Reverend Clare, it’s Will.”
Clare chucked her own issues into the backseat and focused on Will. “Hey. What’s up?”
“I talked to Olivia last night. After our meeting. I told her it looked like her mom might have been involved with Tally McNabb and her husband.”
Clare slowed for a truck lumbering toward her across the narrow span of Veterans Bridge. “How did she feel about that?”
“She was kind of upset. I mean, I tried to soft-pedal it and all, but there’s no nice way to say your mom could have been on the take. Anyway, she gave me permission to look in her house for anything that might tell us more.” He paused. “I mean, for you and Eric to look in the house.” His voice faded. “I don’t think the place is handicapped-accessible for me.”
“How do we get in if she’s away at college? Spare key?”
“She said you could call Roxanne Lunt, the Realtor. She’ll let you in.”
“The house is up for sale?” Her heart sank. Lord knows what had been tossed out to prepare the place to be shown.
“What’s she going to do with a house? Even if her mom had lived, Olivia probably wasn’t going to be living there anymore except for a few weeks in the summer.”
“No, I understand. It’s just…” She shook the explanation away. “I know Roxanne. I’ll call her.” If her mom had lived. “Will, it would have been an awkward question to ask, but were you able to get a sense of how well-off her mother left her? Was there an unexpected amount?”
“I thought of that,” Will said. “There wasn’t much. Some retirement stuff and the house. If she hadn’t gotten the scholarship, she’d be carrying a ton of student loans right now.”
“Mmm. Of course, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t payoff money. Just that it’s somewhere Olivia and the estate executor couldn’t find it.”
“Or maybe it’s like you and Eric said. Maybe she was set up to have an accident so nobody would have to pay her anything.”
Ellen and Olivia Bain’s house was one of a string of 1920s workingmen’s cottages along Meersham Street, small, pretty, with deep yards and spreading, now leafless, trees. Roxanne Lunt waved to Clare from a front porch decorated with corn shocks and pumpkins. Clare had offered to pick up the key from the Realtor’s office, but Roxanne turned her down. Clare sensed a sales pitch in the making. Roxanne had been showing properties on and off to Russ since he had gotten rid of his house- the house he shared with Linda, her brain helpfully supplied. Clare and Russ were planning on living in the rectory for the time being, but he had to invest the money from the sale of his last home soon or pay taxes on it. A fact the Realtor was well aware of.
Roxanne held out her arms as Clare mounted the porch steps. “There you are! Only four more days to go, am I right?”
“Till what?”
Roxanne stared at her. “Until the wedding?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Clare said. “Don’t remind me. I’ve got-” An MKPD squad car turning onto Meersham caught her eye. It swooped down the street, scattering dry leaves in its wake, and tucked in behind her Jeep. She knew, before he got out of the cruiser, that Russ was the driver. He always parked in a way that suggested the vehicle in front of him was about to get ticketed.
“And here comes the groom,” Roxanne caroled as Russ crossed the corner of the lawn and climbed the porch steps.
“What are you doing here?” Clare realized she could have sounded more gracious.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Good question. Roxanne called me. She said you wanted to look at a house?” The crunch of more tires against the curb made them all turn. Clare watched with a sinking heart as Eric McCrea got out of his SUV dressed in his Guard uniform for some reason. He stopped halfway around the hood of his truck, looking at the assembly on the porch.
“With… Eric? Gee, Clare, is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Clare began.
Roxanne smiled brightly. “I’ll just open up and turn the lights on, shall I?” She unlocked the front door and whisked out of sight.
Russ glanced up at the flawless blue sky. “Yeah, we’d better have the lights on.”
“I’m sorry she called you,” Clare said. “You can go on patrolling or whatever.” She flapped her hand toward his squad car. “This has nothing to do with you.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Why do I have the feeling that’s not entirely true?”
Eric had squared his shoulders and walked up the driveway. He climbed the porch steps like a man climbing to the guillotine. “Chief.” He cut his eyes toward Clare. “Will called. Said I should join you.”
“Will?” Russ said.
“Will Ellis.” Clare crossed her arms.
Russ frowned. “Will Ellis.” He looked at her. Then at Eric. Then back at her. His face changed. “Oh, for God’s sake. This isn’t some sort of-this isn’t about Tally McNabb, is it?”
“What if it is?” Clare knew she sounded like a five-year-old, but she couldn’t help it.
“Whose house is this?”
“It belonged to Ellen Bain,” Eric said to the floorboards.
Russ frowned. “Who?”
“Ellen Bain.” Eric lifted his head. “She was the fatal auto accident back in July. Out at the juncture of Sacandaga and the resort road?”
“I remember. What’s the connection?”
“She and Tally had the same job,” Clare said. “Keeping books for the construction crews that went overseas.”
“Tally was hired three days after Ellen Bain died,” Eric said. “Because the job was so critical, the human resources director said.”