Chapter Nineteen
Sam slept like a rock. Arlo was similarly out after his agility club exertions, sleeping hard right next to her. The next morning, she woke before dawn and prepared to head to church. She found the services seemed to really reset her for the week ahead. She left Arlo still dozing on her bed.
As the class started, she saw Claire quietly hurrying in, looking exhausted and drawn. She looked across the room, saw Sam there and nodded a greeting. Sam gave her a smile in return.
The professor, Marvin, started talking about “what has been will be again . . . that there was nothing new under the sun.” He discussed cycles of human behavior, the patterns that repeat themselves.
Marvin said, “The Hebrew word here, yesh, implies ‘already exists.’ Not that nothing can be new, but that human experience keeps circling back.”
A woman in her sixties said, “My grandma used to say ‘different day, same foolishness.’”
There was laughter around the room.
A younger member of the class said, “But doesn’t that make everything kind of meaningless? If we’re just repeating cycles?”
“I think that’s the tension we need to sit with. Observe the patterns, but don’t despair of them.”
The class continued as Sam glanced over at Claire from time to time. She was usually a lot more animated in Sunday school, asking questions and contributing to the discussion. When the class ended, Claire just quietly gathered her things.
Before Sam could come up with an excuse to speak with her, she walked over to Sam.
“Hey there,” she said. “Do you want to grab a coffee? I think I’m going to skip the service today.”
“Sure. I’ll meet you over there.”
A few minutes later, they met at Mountain Perk. It was late-morning now and moderately busy at the coffeehouse. They both ordered coffee and muffins and sat down at a booth in the corner. Sofia wasn’t there, so must have had the day off.
Claire gave her a sympathetic look. “I heard you’d spoken to Gerald shortly before he died.”
Sam nodded. “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry. I know the two of you were friends.”
The words made Claire choke up for a few moments. Sam waited until Claire felt she could speak again. “Thanks. I feel bad for you, too. First Margaret, then Gerald. I don’t know what’s going on. Is our whole club getting targeted? I couldn’t even sleep last night, worrying about it.”
Sam said carefully, “I don’t think that’s the case. I think whoever murdered Margaret is scared. Maybe they thought Gerald knew something. That he saw something. They got rid of him in order to protect themselves.”
Claire took a deep, steadying breath. “Right. You’re right. I’ve just gotten all wound up about it. You know how everything seems different at night. It’s easy to start imagining things. Maybe if I actually got some sleep, I wouldn’t be this paranoid.”
“It’s only natural,” said Sam gently. “These were two people you saw regularly.”
Claire nodded. “Did the police talk to you about Gerald?”
“They did. I’d seen him right before he died.” Now Sam was the one swallowing and trying to maintain her composure. “I was talking to him about his writing.”
Claire gave a small smile. “He and I talked a lot about writing. He was trying to work on a historical novel of some kind. We gave each other tips we’d read online.”
“Did you hear that he was already published?” asked Sam carefully.
“What? No. He was? Did he publish it himself?”
Sam shook her head. “He’d actually published quite a few books through a major publisher. Historical romances.” She studied Claire’s reaction. But there was no mistaking the shock that crossed her features.
“You’re kidding. I had no idea.” Claire sat back in her chair, looking stunned. “But why wouldn’t he tell me about that?”
“It sounded like he was trying to keep it under his hat. He had a woman’s pen name. Maybe he thought he wouldn’t be taken seriously by readers if he wrote as a man. Or maybe he just wanted to keep it private. But it sounds like he was pretty successful.”
Claire just shook her head quietly. “He was really supportive of my writing. But when I suggested we critique each other’s work, he told me he wasn’t ready to do that. I guess that’s why.”
Sam said, “I had something else I wanted to ask you. You know how people in Sunset Ridge talk.”
Claire now looked apprehensive. “You can say that again.”
“I spoke with someone who mentioned seeing you have an argument with Margaret shortly before her death. Outside of Mountain Perk, actually.”
Claire closed her eyes. “I wondered if anyone noticed.”
“Can you tell me what happened? And you should probably mention it to the police, too. If I know about it, the police are sure to find out soon.” Sam left out the part where Lucy said she was going to report it directly.
Claire took another deep breath. “It was just Margaret being Margaret. Trying to make everyone feel small.”
“Was it about that critique she gave you for your manuscript?”
Claire shook her head. “I mean, that was bad enough, obviously. I really wanted an objective opinion of my manuscript before I started sending it off. Gerald had already told me no, like I mentioned. So I asked Margaret.” She winced, remembering.
“I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have handed it to Charlotte, instead.
She’s read a ton of books and should know if something needs more work or not. ”
Sam said, “I’m guessing you thought to ask Margaret because she was used to marking students’ papers. She’d get right to the point about what wasn’t working.”
“Right. That’s true. I was a little worried that Charlotte wouldn’t want to make me feel bad.
That she’d try to pump me up by telling me what a great job I’d done.
But I wanted some honest criticism.” She sighed.
“I got that in spades from Margaret. But our argument was about more than that. Margaret had some publishing connections.”
Sam frowned. “Did she?”
“From her academic career. She’d published herself, you know.
You pretty much have to in order to get tenure at colleges.
Anyway, she loved going to conferences and that kind of thing.
She knew a few people. A few months ago, I told Margaret I was going to submit my manuscript to Red Mountain Books.
It’s this small independent press in Western North Carolina. ”
Sam asked, “This was after Margaret had given you ideas for revision?”
“After she tore it apart, you mean. It gutted me, but she had valid points. I worked night and day on those revisions. Anyway, Margaret offered to send an email along with the book to her contact over there. I was delighted. I couldn’t believe Margaret was actually being helpful for once.”
Sam said slowly, “Let me guess. She totally torpedoed your submission.”
“Bingo. I got a rejection from the publisher just a week later. It was a kind rejection, but definitely a no. The editor sent along Margaret’s notes, as a ‘courtesy.’ So I knew what to work on.
” Claire’s voice was bitter. “She’d questioned my genre understanding, called my work ‘amateur,’ and said I ‘lacked the capacity for sustained narrative.’” Claire’s face was red and blotchy, and she looked as if she might start crying again.
“I’m so sorry,” said Sam gently. “I hope you’ll try to submit the manuscript again to another publisher. It sounds like Margaret just wanted to sabotage you. Maybe she was jealous.”
Claire shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to open myself back up again to rejection. It’s pretty tough.”
“You’d confronted Margaret about it? Outside the coffee shop?”
“That’s right,” said Claire. “I knew her coffee routine, so I waited for her. When she came up, I asked for an explanation. Why she’d done it. She said she wanted to save them from publishing trash.”
“What happened then?”
“I yelled at her,” said Claire. “I mean, I knew how Margaret was. But it was hard to believe she’d gone the extra mile to ruin my chances with Red Mountain.
She just looked so smug. So self-satisfied.
I let her have it. But I didn’t kill her.
I would never do anything violent. I was furious and devastated and definitely angry.
But after that one big tirade, I was done.
” She shook her head. “I went home and considered quitting writing. My husband talked me down. And later, Gerald did. He told me just what you did. That Margaret might be jealous.”
They were quiet for a few moments, Sam drinking her coffee and Claire taking a bite of her muffin. Then Claire said quietly, “Can you tell me more about what happened to Gerald?”
“I wanted to talk with him about him having a pen name. It sounded like Margaret had found out.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh, that would have been a nightmare. Margaret would have dangled that over his head. Or she’d have made all kinds of cutting comments during book club meetings while looking at him.
” She stopped. “Is that what you were thinking? That Gerald murdered Margaret to stop her from revealing his secret?”
“It was something I was worried about.” She paused. “Clearly, that doesn’t seem to be the case.”
Claire frowned. “Well, it doesn’t look like Gerald killed her.
But now that I think about it, Margaret did keep making these sorts of smug references to ‘secret identities’ and ‘secrets’ during book club.
Like she was baiting someone. I didn’t know what the point was at the time.
But I guess she was blackmailing him, in a way.
Maybe not extorting real money from him, but emotional blackmail, for sure.
” She shook her head. “That woman was a piece of work.”
“Do you have any ideas about who might be behind this?”
Claire considered this. “I hate to think anybody in our club had anything to do with either death. I’m the club president, you know and its biggest booster. Even with Margaret, I’ve always thought the club was a wonderfully supportive environment.”
“The last time we spoke, you thought maybe Gerald could have done it.”
Claire winced at this. “Yeah. And he was my friend,” she said bitterly.
“Obviously, I was wrong. If I had to pick someone, I guess I’d say Pamela or Sofia.
I’ve seen them look at Margaret. I could tell neither of them liked her much.
But like I said, I can’t picture either of them murdering anybody.
” She gave a bitter laugh. “It sounds like I had the bigger motive, didn’t I?
But I didn’t do it. And I would never have hurt Gerald.
He was my biggest cheerleader besides my husband.
” She said quietly, “How did he die? Do you think he suffered?”
“No. No, I think it was quick.” She didn’t mention how he’d died.
Claire nodded. “Okay. I know it was yesterday afternoon. I was out running errands, which isn’t helpful at all. I’m sure the police, whenever they talk to me again, are going to think that’s not much of an alibi.”
“Just tell the police exactly what you told me. The truth is your best defense.”