Chapter 7
CHAPTER
Jordyn
Present
AFTER A LONG day, Jordyn pulled into the driveway of the carriage house she’d rented and saw a man standing on the front step.
He held a covered plate in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
He turned to look at her as she parked on the gravel outside the white-washed brick building, and she recognized him from Kaitlin’s block party.
Brad Reynolds.
She might not have recalled his name if she hadn’t written copious notes about every single interaction she’d had with members of Tara’s book club since she’d arrived in town.
While she hadn’t had enough time to speak to him at the block party, she recalled him saying that he lived two doors down from her.
“Looking for me?” she called over the hood of the silver coupe she’d bought the same week she’d moved into the carriage house.
She hadn’t wanted out of state license plates to raise questions about her time in Texas.
Instead of transferring the registration to her old car—a well-used compact that would have stood out like a sore thumb—she’d traded it in for something a little newer and scored New York plates in the bargain.
“Hello, neighbor. I come bearing gifts.” The man lifted his hands to show his offerings.
He wore a navy-blue sweater with honest-to-goodness leather patches on the elbows and tan corduroys.
Between the outfit and the perfectly coiffed light brown hair, he looked like an elite New Englander on a country weekend outing.
“We met at Kaitlin’s house. I’m Brad Reynolds from—”
“The white Federalist house.” Jordyn pointed toward the house just visible through a boxwood hedge on the far side of the Solomon’s neighbors. “I remember meeting you. I happen to love the kinds of gifts that come with a cork.”
Locking her vehicle, Jordyn left her box of files about the hit and run accident on the floor of the backseat, safely out of view.
“Excellent. I didn’t know your wine preferences, so I went with a white they recommended at Putnam Market.
” Brad stared dubiously at the label. “I’m not a connoisseur, so I have to trust others.
The cookies, however, I stand behind one hundred percent.
No one has ever not liked my salted caramel chocolate chips. ”
“Brad, you’re already my favorite neighbor.” Jordyn took the plate before gesturing to two loungers near a firepit. “Do you have time to sit for a minute and join me in a glass while I sample these?”
At his nod, Jordyn hurried into the carriage house to search for a corkscrew and glasses, things that came provided in the furnished rental.
Whoever had done the remodel had taken care to preserve the character of the structure with reclaimed wood flooring and white shiplap walls.
Pockmarked wood beams ran the length of the living area, and painted black sliding doors leading outside maintained the feel of a converted barn.
Old horseshoes hung over every arch and doorway.
Her art supplies had been scattered haphazardly since she’d only worked on the most pressing client projects to finance her mission in Saratoga.
A small safe held more of her notes on Tara’s case, the one thing she’d taken care to secure at all times.
A few minutes later, after another trip inside to retrieve a log to toss into the firepit for an atmospheric flame, Jordyn claimed one of the outdoor Adirondack chairs and Brad took the other.
She helped herself to a cookie from the china plate that looked like an heirloom and then passed it to him.
For a few minutes they exchanged the usual pleasantries.
He was divorced from an actor on a popular daytime soap opera who spent his weeks filming in New York City but came to Saratoga on the weekends as part of their custody arrangement.
They had two small children, a boy and a girl, whom Brad didn’t get to see enough. Brad was working on a literary novel.
For her part, Jordyn dodged more questions than she answered but shared the rough outline of her cover story.
That she’d ended a relationship (thanks to Ezra, that part was true enough) and needed a change, so she’d left an apartment in the Bushwick neighborhood of Brooklyn to check out upstate.
The foster home she and Tara had shared had been two neighborhoods over from Bushwick, so Jordyn had a working knowledge of the area if anyone quizzed her. Brad did not.
“It’s easy for me to move since I can do my graphic design jobs remotely.
” Another true point, though she tacked on a fictional detail as she reached for the pinot grigio to top off Brad’s drink.
“I did some design work as a subcontractor for the racetrack a couple of years ago and thought the photos of Saratoga looked beautiful. I figured now was as good a time as any to check it out for myself.”
“Thoughts now that you’re here in person? Having experienced your first block party?” Brad asked, lifting an eyebrow as he gave her a sideways glance. “Still beautiful?”
She sensed a man ready to dish some gossip, but she sure wasn’t giving away her impressions as a means to get him to spill his own. She needed to play this diplomatically.
“Honestly, there wasn’t anything about the block party that wasn’t gorgeous. What you’re all calling homes are more like mansions in my mind, so it was fun getting a peek behind the facades.”
Brad tilted his wine glass toward her, his hazel eyes narrowing. “Right. Easier to see inside the houses than the people.”
“Do tell,” she goaded him with a smile. “Are you suggesting the locals might not be as lovely behind closed doors?”
“I said no such thing,” he protested, lifting his feet to rest on the stones surrounding the firepit. “But talk to me a month from now after your first book club and then tell me what you think about Saratoga’s most glamorous residents.”
“Seriously, Brad? I thought we were friends after you brought the salted caramel chocolate chips. You can’t leave me hanging now.” Shifting in her seat, she tucked one foot under her thigh so she could turn to see him better. “Tell me more about book club. What are they like?”
“Cliquey.” He tipped his head back against the wooden slats of the Adirondack chair and seemed to admire the orange and marigold colors of the sky as the sun set. “And that’s not giving away any big secret. Sophie would say we’re exclusive, but isn’t that just another way of saying the same thing?”
“I’m surprised I got in,” she admitted, even though she’d done her level best to connect with Kaitlin as soon as she walked onto the other woman’s property.
“They like artsy types,” he said candidly, gesturing with the wineglass again as he seemed to indicate her outfit.
Something in the looseness of his gestures suggested he was feeling the wine.
“The vintage clothes and quirky style would appeal to them. One of our former members was a Fashion Institute grad. Your style reminds me of hers. A little, anyway.”
Jordyn tried not to show her interest even though her whole body went on high alert, tension making her muscles go taut.
“You mean Tara?” She lowered her voice. “Her name came up the other day, but I noticed Destiny shut down discussion of her in a hurry.”
“She would.” There was an edge to his tone, but he seemed to catch himself then and softened the remark with a smile.
“She knows that talking about Tara upsets Sophie, so she tends to stifle all discussion of her. But I like remembering Tara. She brought a lot of life to our group, and I, for one, really miss her.”
A few bats chased through the yard as the twilight fell, and Jordyn tried to choose her words carefully. She didn’t want to push too hard and end the conversation prematurely.
Or raise suspicion.
“You don’t think the others miss her much?” Reaching for the wine bottle, she tipped the last of it into the glass that he had emptied once more.
“Maybe they do, I don’t know.” He shrugged apologetically. “Don’t mind me as I drift into a melancholy wine-haze. I’m sure everyone loved Tara, but since she worked on The Clean Break with Sophie, she was bound to ruffle feathers too.”
Meaning Sophie was the great feather-ruffler, and Tara was secondarily to blame. Jordyn appreciated his take.
“But I assumed everyone enjoyed the podcast. Sophie’s sort of a local celebrity, isn’t she?”
“Oh, that’s a whole other bottle of wine right there.” He shook his head as if to dismiss the question. “I’m not touching that one tonight, but I’m not the only person who has been hurt by The Clean Break.”
“How so?” She knew from Tara that Sophie had shut Kaitlin out of a creative credit on the show when they’d first developed it.
As a family therapist, Kaitlin had offered ideas on how to interview guests in a sensitive way, so she’d been a little involved in the early days of hammering out the production’s style and approach.
And angry to be excluded later on.
But if the podcast had hurt anyone else in the group, Jordyn was in the dark.
“My ex-husband and I were two of the earliest guests on the show,” he admitted, swirling the newly poured wine around his glass a little too aggressively so that a bit splashed out onto his hand.
He hardly seemed to notice. “It was foolish of me to assume maybe Sophie would take our friendship into account when she helped Carlo and me with our split. I signed off on the arbitration option, naively thinking Sophie would at least be fair about it. But now, Carlo has the day-to-day care of the kids while I’m the weekend dad. ”
Could that be a motive to kill Tara? Revenge for stripping Brad of the larger share of parental rights? Tara was cocreator of The Clean Break, after all. Brad could blame her as much or more than Sophie, no matter what he said about missing her.
She made a mental note to dive deeper into the old podcasts and review the content more closely.
Had she missed anyone else who might have an axe to grind because of The Clean Break?
She had her reasons for believing Tara’s killer was a book club member, thanks to an exchange with her foster sister the night before she died.
But what if there was an outsider holding a grudge about an unpopular decision made on the podcast?
That sounded like motive to her.
“I’m really sorry that happened to you.” She couldn’t imagine the pain of missing your kids. Though she did understand the pain of losing parents.
Her mom and dad might have been addicts, but she’d loved them. Or maybe she’d loved the consistency of having a single home. By contrast, the uncertainty of the foster world had rattled her, even when she’d landed in a good placement. She’d never known how long it would last.
“You know, Tara said the same thing to me afterward.” He leaned forward in his chair as if ready to stand. “But she also claimed to have no power to rein Sophie in once she made her mind up, so … who knows?”
Jordyn would have liked to have continued their conversation, but Brad drank the last of his wine and placed his glass on the edge of the firepit before getting to his feet.
“But I should get going now. I made a New Year’s resolution not to dwell on things I can’t control, and since it’s only October, I still have two months to try and actually accomplish that.”
Jordyn rose to say good night. “Well now that I know about the resolution, I will ask less provocative questions the next time you join me for wine at sunset.”
The lights had come on in the sprawling Victorian mansion belonging to the family who’d rented her the carriage house. The security light over the driveway illuminated Brad as he backed up a few steps, his hands in the pockets of his corduroys.
“Don’t you dare. Although next time, maybe it will be my turn to do the question-asking.”
Did he suspect her of not being the person she claimed? Her personal radar beeped mildly, but she dismissed the comment as something he’d said to reciprocate interest.
“I’m far too boring,” she insisted. “You’ll be asleep two minutes into my life story.”
He laughed quietly before turning. “Night, neighbor.”
Jordyn waited until he was out of sight before returning to her vehicle. Unlocking it, she pulled out the box of files related to Tara’s death and then carried it inside. She had a lot of work to do, starting with reviewing a list of The Clean Break episodes.
Who else had Sophie and Tara ticked off with that show? The box felt heavier with each step toward her front door.