Chapter Twenty-Two
Deputy John Flaherty sang along to Mumford and Sons while sipping from the black Japanese travel mug that his fiancée, Katie, had given him for his last birthday. She had made fancy coffee that morning, adding orange peel and cinnamon to the brew. He took cautious sips, disliking the bitterness and wishing she would just let him add the cream and sugar he actually preferred.
John pulled his cruiser into the long driveway leading up to a three-story red brick Tudor with wide, black window shutters and framed in the front with large hydrangea bushes just starting to bud. Around the rear of the house, there was the outline of a red barn with a white roof, and he spied the glimmer off the surface of a pool in the backyard. A gardener, busily planting bulbs at the base of an oak tree, eyed the police cruiser warily. John just nodded to him.
He knew Melanie Templeton’s husband worked for one of the pharmaceutical companies, but this house was practically palatial, even for Lewis. Rich people. Erecting nouveau plantations in the Pennsylvania woods.
He parked beside a paneled truck full of gardening tools and two white SUVs, one a slightly older version of the other. He made a note of the makes, models, license plates. He would check with Anita and Patrick later, see if either of them could identify the vehicle that had chased Anita. Privately, he doubted it. White SUVs were a dime a dozen in Lewis.
He made his way up the shingled path to the front door and pushed the buzzer beside the seemingly-freshly painted bright red door. A gargoyle-shaped door knocker? Jeez.
Melanie Templeton herself opened the door, in a thin, white cashmere Dolman tunic that hugged her narrow hips, expensive-looking black leggings, and three-inch heeled boots with metallic details. Her blonde hair was blown out in waves around her face. She smelled like gin and jasmine, and she held a new phone in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other. “Can I help you?” she slurred slightly.
“Hello, Mrs. Templeton. I’m Deputy John Flaherty of the Lewis Police Department. I have a few questions for you. May I come in?”
She didn’t move from the door, but her body seemed to tense slightly. “Is this about my husband?”
Her husband? He kept his expression bland. “I’ll explain inside, ma’am.”
“God, don’t ma’am me. Call me Melanie.” She appraised him quickly. “All right. Come in, but take off your shoes. I literally just had the floors waxed.”
He stepped inside, removed his shoes, and placed them next to the door. The foyer was spacious, dominated overhead by a large crystal chandelier. He followed the path of a fluffy white carpet runner along the highly polished wood floors.
Melanie led him into the kitchen, sipping from her wine glass. “My friend Kim is here, too.” At the island there were two high-backed bar stools, and in one of them was a muscular, short blonde woman wearing a slim white top and black jeans. The woman did not smile but eyed him with immediate suspicion. Interesting.
“Kim,” Melanie said. The other woman was all smiles for Melanie. “This is Deputy, I don’t know, something or other.”
“John Flaherty, Mrs. Templeton.” He resisted the urge to tap at his prominently displayed name tag. “And you are?”
The other woman glanced quickly at Melanie, then leveled her gaze at him. Her brown eyes narrowed. “Kim Smith,” she replied, her voice tight.
“Thank you.” He jotted down her name with a question mark next to it in his notepad. God, he fucking loved a spiral notepad. “Mrs. Templeton, would you prefer to speak in private?”
“I don’t see why we should bother. Kim knows practically everything.”
The woman—Kim—seemed to glow under Melanie’s praise. Interesting. Always follow your instincts, Sheriff Forbes had told him. His instincts were telling him that something was not right in this house. What was it Melanie had said about her husband?
“As you wish. I’ll make a note that you declined to speak privately.”
“Whatever.” Melanie tipped her wine glass toward her mouth, clearly realized it was empty and headed to the massive subzero refrigerator. No doubt for a refill.
He could not stomach watching her drink herself into a stupor. That was no way to conduct an investigation. “Mrs. Templeton, could you please tell me your relationship with Patrick O’Leary?”
She startled, but he would have missed it if she hadn’t spilled the wine she was pouring. “Patrick?” She mopped up the spill with a brisk twist of a hand towel. “He teaches our Zumba class sometimes. Kim and I go to the same Zumba class.”
John would wager the cost of his wedding that Kim did more than share the Zumba class with Melanie.
“Have you ever met Mr. O’Leary outside the class?”
“Once or twice. I think we ran into him downtown, and then of course we saw him at the party last Saturday.” She was being careful with her words, clipping each one, as only a day drunk can when trying to appear soberer.
“Did anything happen Saturday night?”
A shadow passed briefly over Melanie’s face. Kim watched the proceedings from her bar stool, a carefully schooled bland look on her face. She swirled the wine in her glass but didn’t drink.
John made another mental note.
“Not really,” Melanie finally replied. “We went. There were too many women. I danced a couple of times, but it was boring. So we left to find something more fun to do.”
“Do you recall what time you left?”
“No. A watch didn’t really match my outfit.”
“You would have had your phone with you. Didn’t you need to text or call anyone that you were leaving the Saturday night party early?”
Melanie’s eyes narrowed in an attempt at looking seductive. “There wasn’t anyone I really needed to tell.”
“Did you attend the party with anyone else?”
“Just Kim.” Melanie yawned and examined her expensive French manicure.
“What did the two of you do after you left the party?”
“We came back here. Had a few glasses of wine, gossiped, watched TV.” She gestured vaguely with one bejeweled hand. Katie would have killed for a diamond like that. “Not my best Saturday night, for sure.”
“Where were you last Thursday?”
Melanie set her wine glass down hard on the marble island, the ring of the glass sharp and trilling. “I don’t remember. Was that the night after the snowstorm?”
“Yeah,” Kim interjected. Her voice grated, mouselike and affected. “There was a huge storm Wednesday night. I remember Melanie telling me how she couldn’t even get out of her driveway.”
Melanie shot Kim a cutting look, but because she was more than a little tipsy, it came off looking like a caricature.
One more sip of wine and this woman would not be able to hold the conversation. He turned to Kim. “And Miss Smith? What is your relationship with Mr. O’Leary?”
She rearranged her features into studied nonchalance. “Same as Melanie. We’re acquaintances, I suppose.” She took a sip of wine. At last. “And before you ask, I was snowbound last Thursday. They couldn’t clear my driveway for ages.”
“And where do you live?”
She had nondescript features, neither pretty nor plain, though she had clearly been shopping through Melanie’s castoffs. “Not far from here. Just a short drive down a country lane.”
“Are you from this area?”
Melanie drunkenly slapped the marble island, missed, and hit her thigh. “I thought you came here to speak to me.”
“Yes, Mrs. Templeton.” He pasted on a patient smile. “But it’s my job to conduct this investigation, and I thought I might avail myself of the opportunity to speak to Miss Smith while I’m already here.”
Melanie rolled her eyes again and dropped dramatically and inelegantly into the other bar stool, nearly missing the edge. He was simultaneously glad and bereft that she hadn’t fallen straight onto her ass.
Kim eyed her friend, but not with concern. “I don’t think this is a good time, Deputy,” Kim clipped, her dark-brown eyes staring straight at him. “I need to help my friend to bed.”
Sure she did. “Of course. We’ll be in touch.”
Kim nodded. Melanie would have as well, but she had lain her cheek on the cold marble of the kitchen island. She had the aura of someone who had mixed her medications. He made a note to check with the pharmacy for prescription information.
John took down their phone numbers, and Kim moved toward Melanie in an overly solicitous manner. “I’ll be fine here, Deputy,” she said pointedly. “Safe drive.”
He glanced around surreptitiously as he moved toward the door. Where was the husband? He saw a glass of water, condensation pooling on its sides, on a coaster in the living room between the kitchen and foyer. There was a black wool woman’s coat hanging next to his on the coat rack. He didn’t know much about women’s fashion, but took note of the brand, color, size.
He walked back out to his cruiser, again looking around, trying to be casual. The recent snow had melted with the spring thaw that had closely followed. He didn’t see anything overtly suspicious, but he wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. Just a vibe. He was a man who definitely believed in vibes.