Chapter Thirty-One
Carol lived in an older area of Haines Tavern, where decades’ worth of naturalized daffodils bobbed in waning swaths of yellow.
She met us at the door with an order: “You go back and get those puppies right now. Bring them inside.”
Linda grinned at us over Carol’s shoulder.
“They can get pretty wild—” I tried.
“Nonsense.”
Clara, wisely, turned back to the van. “Yes’m,”
After letting the dogs out in Carol’s back garden to massacre a few daffodils, we brought them into her bright kitchen, where she gave them water and salmon.
Not salmon treats. Salmon.
Carol then put out a fluffy rug for each of the dogs.
When they all piled onto one, she moved the other two up against the chosen one in case they wanted to stretch out.
I got a look from Gracie that clearly said this was her new standard for acceptable care.
With the dogs settled, we moved to a bay window sitting area looking out on the back yard.
Carol offered cold or hot tea, coffee, and layered cookies that could have been the offspring of chocolate chips and Snickers candy bars.
We might have to find excuses to meet the ladies here from now on.
“Now,” Carol said, clearly transitioning from dogs and goodies to the matter at hand, “we — Linda, me, or the rest — can’t tell you much about Damon Swindell’s business—”
“Businesses,” Linda interpolated. “He was always switching to a new one.”
Carol nodded, then picked up what she’d been saying. “—except that he never has had a good reputation. We’re sorry we don’t have more details about that, but there is another matter. I wasn’t sure—”
“I was. I am,” Linda said. “I understand your hesitation bringing it up at lunch, but now we’ve discussed it and you agreed Clara and Sheila need to hear this. It’s background. Insight. Go on, tell them.”
Carol put down her tea. “As you might be aware, Pammy and Zoley knew each other from their hometown. Then they enrolled at the same college in Georgia.”
“Not UK?” Clara asked.
Zoley and Pammy had left the impression that was the only place they went to college.
“That came later. There’s no sense saying precisely where in Georgia they started college—”
“Because her grandson’s starting there in the fall and she’s suddenly a big fan,” Linda said. “No smudges allowed on the school’s reputation.”
“The specific school is not pertinent to what Clara and Sheila have asked.” Carol looked around with challenge.
Not getting oral argument — though Linda threw her a teasingly skeptical look — she continued.
“It’s a dismaying story, as a matter of fact.
They were freshmen there when a horrible rumor spread about another freshman girl.
Pammy was doing extremely well in her business classes, a real star, and Zoley .
. . well, she was doing okay. The woman who ran the B&B where we stayed learned all about that from a neighbor of hers. ”
“Forget their grades. Tell Clara and Sheila what the rumor was,” Linda said.
Carol’s mouth twisted with distaste, reminding me of Willow Yost. “The rumor was that this freshman girl was working in adult films. There was absolutely no truth in it. But the rumor went viral. You know what they say about lies going around the world before the truth can get a start. That poor, poor girl. Thankfully, her family and friends supported her. They got experts to investigate and discovered the origin of the rumor.”
She left a pause.
We all knew the answer. Clara gave her the satisfaction of saying, “Pammy and Zoley?”
Carol nodded. “Or Zoley and Pammy. They couldn’t tell which. Not from the original message, not from messages that came from different accounts and kept the fires stoked any time it looked like the furor might die down.
“It was the end of the school year. They were allowed to leave the school without official action. That opened the way for them to transfer to UK.”
“What about Damon Swindell? Or Bryon Georger?” I asked.
Carol frowned. “What about them?”
“Were they involved?”
“Oh.” That obviously never occurred to her. “The woman in Georgia didn’t mention boys being involved. Only the two girls.” She looked at Linda. “Unless you’ve heard something different?”
Linda shook her head. “Don’t know any more about the business in Georgia than what you’ve said. And what I’ve heard was the two couples met at UK.”
“But you do know about Damon Swindell, right? I mean when he was younger.”
I faded out because she was shaking her head.
“He wasn’t one of those kids who was widely known.
Not in sports or anything else I heard of.
His people have been in the county a long time, but don’t mix much.
” She brightened. “You know who you should talk to? Urban Parham. He knows all that history.”
Clara’s sound of stifled amusement did not tempt me to comment on the suggestion, instead, asking, “Was this incident that happened at the Georgia school known at the University of Kentucky?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Carol said. “I learned of this only because we visited there when my grandson was considering schools. The lovely woman who ran the B&B told me after we’d formed a connection.
I’m sure she doesn’t tell other people about it.
In fact, she said that to me. We got talking about the pressures on students these days. ”
Got talking my eye. Grandma Carol dug around to know about her grandchild’s surroundings.
“And the woman said that’s the one scandal in all the years she’d been there. When she started talking . . . well, Zoley and Pammy are not the most common names. Also, the dates lined up with their years at UK.”
“Smart to put that together,” Clara said.
The older woman partially suppressed a satisfied smile. “If you want, I can find my notes. You can contact the woman from the B&B.”
“That would be terrific,” Clara said.
* * * *
In the van after prying the dogs out of nirvana, I said, “If you want to follow up with the B&B woman, that’s your call, but I don’t see how this advances us any, do you?”
“No,” she agreed, more cheerfully than I felt. “I thought it was interesting, but with Damon and Bryon not yet in the picture it feels like a dead end. I will see if that woman will talk to me, to tie a bow on it, but . . .”
I sighed. “We need to talk to Pammy and Zoley again.”
“About what happened in Georgia?”
“Maybe. Though I was thinking more generally about Damon. Also,” I said slowly, while a recognition tickling at the back of my mind took its sweet time surfacing. “I think Willow might know or suspect about Damon having an affair with Zoley. Possibly Blanche, too.”
I explained about her different shade of rosy and saying I don’t know anything about that.
Hearing this scant support for my guess aloud, I finished with, “It’s thin, I admit— No, wait. She didn’t say I don’t know anything about that. She said, I don’t know anything about that man.”
Clara pounced on it. “That man — William. Has to be. And if Willow saw him hanging around, how could she miss Blanche? Plus, if the dog-walker knows or suspects, that must raise the odds of the wife knowing. So, there’s more motive for Pammy. Zoley, too.”
“We’ll have to figure out a way to get back in to talk to them. It could help us with Willow if we’ve pinned down what Pammy and Zoley knew.”
“No problem,” Clara said. “Let’s go.”
* * * *
Clara parked the van at the curb across the street from the Georgers’ house. She turned to look out the driver’s window.
“Look, Bryon’s leaving and he has—”
“Something’s going on.”
I’d turned farther around in response to the sound of rapidly approaching vehicles. Shifting to see between dog heads on alert over the activity, I recognized North Bend County Sheriff’s Department vehicles.
One pulled into the driveway, next to Bryon.
Another pulled across the end of the driveway, blocking it. More kept coming.
“—a suitcase,” Clara said. “Oh, my gosh. Are they arresting him? Are they charging him with murdering Damon?”
“I have no idea. I can’t see—” Despite straining and craning. “—if they’ve handcuffed him.”
“Me, either. All these vehicles and bodies in the way.”
“It looks like— Yes. They’ve put him in the back of one of their vehicles.”
The one blocking the end of the driveway moved forward.
“I see him.” The one he was in backed up into the street, coming alongside us.
Bryon Georger looked over at us, his face blank.
Then the sheriff’s department vehicle pulled away.
“Uh-oh,” Clara said. “Look who’s at the door.”
Deputy Eckles stood at the open front door, talking to someone I guessed was Zoley, but couldn’t say for sure.
He went in. More deputies and forensic types followed him.
“They must have a search warrant. If Eckles sees us here . . .”
Clara sighed at my implicit warning. “Don’t suppose there’s anything more for us to do here anyway.”
* * * *
My stomach declared that brunch had been a million years ago.
We picked up a pizza and returned to my house.
Clara volunteered to feed the dogs while I gathered napkins, plates, and silverware, in case we went formal.
I finished first, leaving me time to message Teague that the sheriff’s department had picked up Bryon Georger.
If he happened to want to share details—
He didn’t. He replied: I know. Why am I not surprised you do. . . . Sorry, won’t be able to call tonight.
No conversation tonight meant I didn’t have to purposefully not tell him about tomorrow’s lunch.
Did it make me a bad significant other that my reaction was equal parts disappointment and relief not to talk to him tonight?
To avoid thinking about that too much, I focused on my earlier reaction to the North Bend County Sheriff’s Department scooping up Bryon Georger.
I’d been surprised.
Surprised at exactly what, though?
Did my surprise mean I didn’t think he was the murderer?
Not so sure of that.
Yet it seemed . . . early.
Was I also reacting to the sheriff’s department making this move while Teague was away, as if they didn’t need his input?
Or was I resisting this being the solution because Clara and I hadn’t come to a conclusion?