Chapter 18
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
When I arrived at the history museum, Reika was on the front porch, sweeping with a besom broom. She’d wrapped a bandanna around her hair. Her denim overalls were filthy with dust. Her bulldog was lying on the porch swing, a silly-looking Covid mask covering her mouth.
“Hi.” I climbed the steps, carrying bakery boxes. “Hello, Princess.”
The bulldog yipped in greeting.
I pointed to the dog’s mask. “For the dust?”
Reika replied, “I’m free to roam inside the museum without her attending to my every move, but when I go outside, she refuses to leave my side. She gets clogged up and coughs incessantly if I don’t mask her. Are those our goodies?”
I nodded. “Where would you like me to put them?”
“Let’s go to the kitchen.” She propped the broom against the wall, removed the dog’s mask, scratched the pup’s ears with affection, and ordered her to follow us.
Amira loped behind, her tongue lolling from her mouth.
“Here we are,” Reika said, entering the kitchen.
“I love this room.” As a girl, I’d wanted to live in a Victorian house. I’d imagined myself in a room on the top floor, isolated from the rest of the world and letting my hair grow so long Rapunzel would be jealous. “It’s charming.”
“Thank you. I had a hand in the redo.”
The space was in keeping with the design of the original house, though the appliances had been updated and the dark woodwork had been refinished.
“Is the white tile original?” I asked.
“No, but as close as it could be. Put the boxes there.” She indicated the island’s marble countertop, which was definitely new. “I’ll plate them later.”
I obeyed and then leaned my back against the counter’s edge. “Read any good books lately?”
“Too many to count.”
“How about The Falcon at the Portal?”
“Of course. One of Peters’s best. I read it for the fifth time last year.”
“And The Course of all Treasons?”
“I haven’t browsed it in quite a while. Not since book club.”
I gawked at her. “Um, you said it was the book you were reading last Monday night.”
“Did I?” Her face pinched with concentration. “Did … I … Ooh…” She paled and faltered.
I gripped her elbow and guided her to a chair by the vintage dining table. “Do you need water?”
“Yes, please. I’m …” Tears flooded her eyes. “Allie, I’m so embarrassed.”
Amira hurried to her human and nudged her knee. Instinctively, Reika petted the dog’s head.
I fetched the water and brought it to her.
She drank greedily and plunked the glass down. “So very, very embarrassed,” she muttered.
“Why?” I took a seat and placed both hands on the table as a gesture of trust.
“Thirty years ago, after I was attacked, I started drinking heavily. Before I knew it, I was an alcoholic. It took me ten years to break free. My ESA dogs have been my saving grace.” A tear leaked down her cheek.
“Books, too, of course. They are my greatest refuge. As for my weakness, years passed before I went to AA, but I did, and I beat the addiction, and I was doing fine until Monday afternoon, when my boyfriend …” More tears slipped from her eyes.
She swiped them with her knuckles. “When my boyfriend of three years ended our relationship. Rather than call my sponsor, I succumbed. I got so drunk, I went to bed and stayed there with the covers over my head, hating myself for being weak.”
I reflected on the article I’d read about the inebriated incident at the conference in Charlotte.
“When you came here Tuesday, I noticed you staring at me,” she said. “I brushed off your concern and claimed I had a sour stomach. I didn’t want to admit what I’d done.”
I recalled the aroma of her pungent perfume wafting to me. Had she donned the scent to cover the noxious odor of a binge?
Reika sighed. “I’ve never been one to need a man. I’ve always stood on my own two feet.”
“Weren’t you married once?”
“Yes. He died over twenty years ago. He overdosed.”
That was the piece of information I couldn’t remember. Tegan had told me after book club one night. No one had known he was addicted to pills. Rumors had abounded about whether he’d taken his life or someone had helped him along.
“We were quite a pair.” Reika chuckled with self-deprecating sadness.
“Days of Wine and Roses had nothing on us.” She rubbed Amira’s scruff.
“After he passed, I started going to AA. His parents had money. They helped me financially and buried the story about his addiction. I never thought I’d fall in love again, but getting sober helped me greet the world with open arms. Fast-forward to three years ago.
I met Roy when he brought his history class to the museum for a field trip, and he and I hit it off, but on Monday he …
” A sob caught in her throat. “I can’t go on. ”
“Reika, if you have an alibi for that night, the police will need to hear this.”
“Why?”
“Because you have a strong motive to have killed Jason. You wanted the Bramblewood Historical Preservation Society to secure the properties he was bidding on.”
“Heavens. I wouldn’t kill him for such a shallow reason.”
“You said you sent him vicious texts and emails.”
She didn’t respond.
“Also …” My voice trailed off.
“Also what?” Her gaze hardened.
“A dog was heard barking Monday night, around eleven thirty, near the estate where Jason was staying. Amira has a very distinctive growly yip. If you and she were out walking—”
“We weren’t. We were home. I swear.”
“The police are searching for the source of the barking.” It was a fib. I didn’t know if it was true.
“Hold on. Roy can solve this.” She fetched her cell phone and tapped in a text message. She showed the text to me. It read: Please answer. Then she typed in his phone number and pressed speaker.
“What now?” a man asked with a surly edge to his voice.
“It’s me,” Reika said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but a friend is with me—she’s listening in—and I need you to verify I was drunk Monday night and could barely talk to you when you phoned me.”
He sighed.
“Please, Roy. This friend …” She regarded me. “She’s questioning whether I killed Jason Gardner.”
“You couldn’t have,” Roy said. “You were totally plastered that night. Who’s the friend?”
“Allie Catt.”
“Of Dream Cuisine?”
“The same.”
“You’re good at what you do, Miss Catt,” he said. “I attended a benefit you catered last year. Best desserts I’ve ever tasted.”
“Thank you.” I’d helmed at least six benefits, so I wasn’t sure which one he meant.
“Reika is telling the truth,” he went on. “She was in bed Monday night.”
“Because you broke it off with me.”
He grunted.
“Roy, tell her why,” Reika pleaded. “Every sordid detail. She needs to believe me.”
“Fine.” His voice softened. “Now that I’m retired, I asked Reika to retire so we could sail the world. She refused.”
“I’m afraid of water,” she argued.
“You could get over your issue with hypnosis,” I whispered.
“The real truth,” Roy continued, “is you’re married to your work, and you chose it over me, and I blew up. I never wanted to see you again. I called you selfish and a big tease. I’d hoped to spend my best years with you, but obviously, I wasn’t good enough.”
“You are,” Reika said meekly. “You’re more than enough. You’re wonderful.”
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“An hour later, I sought comfort in a bottle of vodka,” Reika said to me.
Roy made a dismissive sound. “Starting around eleven, she drunk texted me every three or four minutes for nearly an hour. I finally phoned to make her stop. She answered and was slurring her words.”
After a long silence, Reika said, “Thank you, Roy. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Sure.”
“I am,” she stressed. “And I’m already back at AA and working on the issue.”
“Glad to hear it. I wish you well.” He ended the call.
Reika pressed her cell phone to her chest, clearly heartbroken. “Do you believe me, Allie? Do you believe him?”
“Yes.” I squeezed her arm and offered a supportive smile. “Give him time. He’ll come around. At the end of the call, I heard longing in his voice.”
She sucked back a sob. “Let me cut you a check for the goodies you brought.” She hurried from the kitchen and came back in a matter of minutes.
I left the museum, still pondering who had killed Jason. If both Iggie and Reika were absolved, only Patrick was left with a strong enough motive.
For the next two hours, I visited the places where I purchased all the ingredients I’d be needing over the next few days. Eggs from Garden Greene Farm. Butter from Butting Heads Farm. Fruits and veggies from the farmers’ market, which convened on Thursday mornings.
By the time I breezed into Feast for the Eyes, I was ready for a snack.
I set the pineapple upside-down cake on the desk behind the sales counter, ate one of the deviled eggs before placing a platter of them beside the cake, and then waved to Chloe, who was assisting a pair of women I didn’t recognize.
“Where’s Tegan?” I asked.
“In here,” she cried from the stockroom.
I followed her voice and found her bent over a huge box, unpacking even more copies of The Great Gatsby.
“Mom texted and said ten more people responded.” Tegan paused to catch her breath. “This event is going to be huge! I hope Lillian has enough costumes on hand.”
“I’m sure she’ll figure out how to accommodate everyone. She knows theater people all over North Carolina.”