CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 27
If Someone Dies on Your Doorstep, Are They Giving You a Clue?
“Wait, what ?” I say, my brain spinning like a top that might fall over at any minute.
“It’s Fred,” David repeats. “It must be.”
“Why do you think that?” Oliver asks.
“Stands to reason. Means, motive, opportunity...”
My heart starts to race. “You’re stealing my lines now?”
David is unfazed. “I thought you complained when I didn’t use your words.”
“Stop it, you two. Just explain, David,” Allison says.
“I’m sorry, my dear. But Fred is definitely the prime suspect. He’s the one who needs money. And he’s marrying a rich woman who he stole from Tyler.”
“That’s not right,” I say. “He didn’t steal Emma. She’s not a painting. And things were never serious between her and Tyler. Plus, it was over long before filming started.”
Allison gives me a look. “Is that what she said?”
“What do you know?”
“Just what I’ve heard.”
“Which is?”
“That it was serious. They were on and off for years. And then Fred came along...”
My stomach twists. Would Emma lie to me about her and Tyler? Then again, she didn’t tell me about it in the first place. Not until she had to. But there are lots of things I haven’t told Emma. That doesn’t mean anything nefarious. It doesn’t mean anything at all.
Besides, there’s one important thing David hasn’t thought of.
“Tyler isn’t dead,” I say. “So none of that matters.”
David makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “But he is in jail.”
“What does Fred get out of that?”
“If Tyler is blamed for José’s and Ken’s deaths, he’s not going to be focused on collecting on his debts, is he? And Fred rides off into the sunset with Emma. Who would think Fred Winter would kill anyone? It’s kind of brilliant, really.”
“Don’t write the sequel just yet.”
“You must admit it makes a certain amount of sense,” Allison says.
I think it over. It does on the surface, but it doesn’t explain another crucial detail.
Two.
“Why bring in Crazy Cathy?”
“To add to the suspect list. Emma knew about her, yes? She could have told Fred about her.”
“Okay, but...what about Shawna? How does she fit in?”
David doesn’t look concerned. “They planned it together.”
“Fred and Shawna?”
“Yes.”
“Why? How?”
“Maybe she’s a red herring,” Oliver says. “The thing that seems like it fits but doesn’t.”
“No. She’s involved. So why would Fred bring her into this?”
“She’s unobtrusive. No one notices her and she has access to everything.”
“And Fred came up with this plan?” My voice can only be described as incredulous. “Does he strike you as a criminal mastermind?”
“No, but—”
“We should talk to Fred,” Oliver says.
“Now you want to investigate?”
“Hey, now, I’m not the enemy.”
“I’m sorry. But you were so against it earlier.”
“We’re here, aren’t we? In for a penny...” 100 , 101
We stare at each other, and I can’t read his expression. But there’s a sense of urgency emanating from him, and I feel it, too.
The solution is just out of reach.
We need to grab on to it while we still can.
“All right, let’s go see them.” I check outside. The rain finally seems to be letting up, but the wind is still howling. “We need to be careful. David, Allison, you should come with us. The more people we are, the less likely someone will try to harm us.”
“Aren’t we supposed to stay in our rooms?” David says.
“I don’t personally have any desire to sit here and wait until a murderer comes knocking, you?”
“Why would the murderer knock?”
Lord preserve me from pedantic writers.
I convince them to follow me to Emma and Fred’s room, which is not far away as the crow flies. 102 It’s still wet and very windy outside, but the worst of the storm seems to have passed us by. Some of the lights are out, so it’s very dark, and we pick our way along the path quietly, our phone flashlights lighting our way.
“Where are you going?” a stern voice says when we’re a couple of hundred yards away, startling us.
“Connor. Jesus. What are you doing out here?”
He steps out of the shadows. He’s wearing a long black rain jacket, the kind of thing Dexter might’ve worn if he was committing a murder in a rainstorm. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“You did ,” Allison points out.
“We’re going to Fred and Emma’s room, if you must know,” Oliver says. “You?”
“Same.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because Fred did it.”
“See,” David says. “I told you.”
“We’re not taking his word for it,” I say.
“Could you be making any more noise?”
“Harper?” She’s standing there in a red rain jacket with a light illuminating her face like she’s the villain in a horror movie. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was . And then you guys were banging around the room asking about candles and flashlights.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m used to it.”
“Should we get a move on?” Connor says. “I, for one, do not want to get caught out here by Officer Anderson.”
“He never did like authority,” Allison says.
“Can you blame me?”
“ Yes. ”
“Enough of this,” Oliver says. “Let’s go.”
We follow along behind him, tripping over branches and slipping on the wet path, but we make it to Fred and Emma’s door without getting accosted. All the lights are on in their villa, so we don’t need to worry about waking them up, even though it’s almost midnight.
I get it.
It’s not the kind of day when you tuck yourself in early.
And they got married today.
Shit. Somehow I lost track of that even though I just changed out of my bridesmaid dress.
Is Emma married to a murderer? That can’t be right, can it?
Is her judgment that bad?
I mean, she did get involved with Tyler.
But we’re all entitled to one mistake.
Or two. Whatever. Bygones.
Oliver knocks on the door and there’s a long pause, and then Fred’s voice. “Who is it?”
“Oliver and Eleanor...and just open up, Fred.”
“Why?”
“We want to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“It will be easier to explain inside,” I say, coming up next to Oliver. I try to look through the peephole, but it just gives me a telescoped view of Fred’s face. “Emma? You in there?”
“I’m here.”
“Tell Fred to let us in.”
“Fred, let them in, for God’s sake. Oliver and El are not here to murder us.”
“All right, hold on.”
A chair scrapes back and then the bolts are turned and the chain rattles. The door opens slowly. Fred’s still in his tux pants and shirt, but he’s lost the jacket. “What’s all this about? And...what are you all doing here?”
Oliver pushes open the door and walks inside, everyone following him. Emma’s out of her wedding dress and is in the bathrobe she was wearing when we were doing her makeup earlier today. Her hair is down and her face is free of makeup.
“We wanted to talk to Fred,” I say.
“Why?” Emma asks, but then she looks at our faces and she knows. “No, no, no. El. Fred didn’t do it.”
“Do what?” Fred says.
Is he the world’s best actor or simply an innocent?
Why are those the only two possibilities?
“Kill Ken and José,” Connor says.
“What? No. I didn’t.”
“You had the means and the opportunity,” David says.
“What did I ever do to you?” Fred asks.
David shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not about me.”
“El?” Emma’s eyes are pleading with me.
“He’s in a lot of debt.”
“But José?”
“His accomplice.”
“And Ken?”
“A diversion.” I think it over. “To make him look like the victim.”
“I would never do that.”
“Me thinks the lord doth protest too much,” Connor says.
“It’s ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks,’ you dolt,” Fred says. “ Hamlet .”
“Does that mean you can’t be a murderer? Just because you’ve memorized some Shakespeare?”
“You’re the one working for Tyler. And I thought we’d decided Shawna was trying to kill you . You and El .”
“I don’t think so, Fred,” I say.
Fred looks around desperately. “Emma, please. You’re not buying this, are you?”
“I...”
“I love you,” Fred says to Emma. “I do.”
“I know.”
“Oh!” Harper says.
“What?”
“I just thought of something...those texts. The texts on Fred’s burner phone. The ones about meeting up at all those dates and times. Those could’ve been with Shawna .”
Why didn’t I think of that?
I take out my phone and pull up the photographs I made of the texts. “What’s Shawna’s number?”
She recites it from memory. It’s the same number.
“I’m sorry, Harper.”
Her eyes fill with tears.
“What are you talking about?” Fred says. “I never texted Shawna. Never. ”
“I have photographs of the texts, Fred. It’s the same number.”
Fred’s shaking his head slowly from side to side, but the performance isn’t convincing.
“Just tell us, Fred,” Emma says, taking his hands.
“I didn’t do it.”
“You told me the texts were from an ex-girlfriend. Did you mean Shawna?”
“No, I told you who it was.”
“But it’s not her number.”
“I don’t know how to explain that. Someone must’ve tampered with the phone. I wasn’t involved with Shawna. I’d never. I’ve barely even spoken to her.”
“Then who, Fred? Who did you think you were texting?”
He meets Emma’s eyes, and maybe he’s going to say something, offer up some excuse, but before he can, there’s a hard KNOCK against the door.
“What the hell?” Allison says. “Does everyone want to talk to Fred tonight?”
She reaches for the door and swings it open.
Shawna’s standing there. Pale as a ghost and wet to the bone.
She takes a step into the room, then falls to the floor.
“Shawna!” Harper rushes to her, turning her over. There’s a bloodstain blooming on her chest and she’s gasping for breath. “Someone call for help!”
“There isn’t anyone,” Allison reminds her.
“Shawna, what happened? Who did this to you?”
“I...” Shawna gasps out. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just tell us.”
Shawna’s eyes pool with tears. “I...was...”
“Yes?”
“Doing...what...I...was...told...” Her head slumps to the side and the light goes out in her eyes, and there’s no escaping it.
Shawna is dead. 103
100 In for a penny, in for a pound. But why, though? You could just put the penny in, couldn’t you?
101 Oh, I see. It’s about people without money. So if you owe a penny you might as well owe a pound. And apparently a synonym is “hanged for a sheep.” Um, what?
102 I’m going to stop pointing out the origins of these kinds of expressions, but the English language truly is fascinating.
103 Yes, a murder victim did just give a clue with her last words. Deal with it. I told you the chapter titles were rhetorical questions.