Murder on the Bride's Side (16 page)

“So you spent the entire night there?”

“Yes. We stayed up late talking. Then Bobby said he was going to head home. I don’t know what time it was. I didn’t want to go back to the house yet, so after he left, I went to sleep. When I woke up, I came back and, well, you know the rest.”

“So you stayed in the summerhouse?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Megan.

Blythe glanced at me. I knew she was thinking the same thing I was.

Megan didn’t have an alibi.

Before I could process this latest twist, the door opened. With an impatient yelp, Anna burst through the doorway and leaped onto my bed; specifically, she leaped onto me. Thrusting her furry face into mine, she licked my neck with an enthusiasm that made me rethink my perfume choice. A second later, Elsie’s head popped around the corner, her face lined with worry. “Megan, honey? How are you?” Not waiting for an answer, she moved into the room and pushed onto the bed next to Megan. “Would you rather have a glass of wine than tea? I have a bottle of an excellent Shiraz downstairs—it was Walter’s favorite, actually. He always drank a glass when his sciatica acted up.”

Megan rejected the offer with a shake of her head, while I wondered at the vastly different complaints for which Shiraz could be recommended.

Pulling Megan into a hug, Elsie continued. “Sorry I didn’t come up sooner, but I had to make a few phone calls about Detective Grant and call in some favors from a few friends. I told them that I wanted this cleared up as soon as possible and I didn’t want our family to be the sole focus of the investigation. But in the meantime, we do need to give him our statements. Do you think you’re ready to talk to him now, Megan? If you’re not, just say so. I’m more than happy to tell him to go cool his heels for a while longer.”

Megan shook her head. “No, I’ll be okay.”

Elsie nodded and opened her mouth to speak, as Megan continued with a sigh, “Besides, I can’t put this off any longer.”

Megan’s words had an odd effect on Elsie. Her mouth still
open, she gave Megan a searching look, seeming to rethink whatever it was that she was going to say. In a soft voice, she said, “Whatever you think is best.”

Megan looked at Elsie, her expression firm. “Let’s go,” she said.

Not without difficulty, I pushed Anna off me and we followed Megan downstairs in uneasy silence. Everyone was still in the living room. I noticed that Peter and Chloe stood together by the window, a little distance off from the rest of the group. Detective Grant stood stiffly near the room’s doorway, his mouth set in a hard line. Seeing Megan’s red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin, his expression softened. “I know this is a hard time for you, Miss Matthews,” he said quietly. “I’ll make this as brief as possible.”

It was a good thing that he didn’t know that Megan’s tears were for her father and not Roni. Otherwise, I suspect his generous treatment of her would come to a screeching halt.

Megan sat down in a chair next to Avery and grabbed his hand. Taking a steadying breath, she said, “I expect you want to know where I was last night.”

Detective Grant tipped his gray head in acknowledgment.

Megan took another breath and closed her eyes. “I stayed out with Bobby, one of the boys in the band,” she said in a rush. “We sat talking at one of the tables and then went to the summerhouse. He left around dawn, but I . . . I didn’t want to go back to the house. I stayed in the summerhouse and went to sleep on one of the cots.”

A long, uncomfortable pause followed these words. Surprisingly, Detective Grant did not follow up with this line of questioning.
Instead, switching gears, he asked, “How was your relationship with your mother?”

Megan’s eyes slid to mine. They were followed by Detective Grant’s. I met his gaze with what I hoped was an expression of concerned innocence, but I suspected I probably only looked constipated. Megan focused again on Detective Grant. “It wasn’t very good. She didn’t like me much and—”

Avery interrupted. “Now, Megan. That isn’t true. She adored you. I know you two had your differences, but—”

Megan turned to him. “No, Avery. She hated me. And . . . and I hated her.”

“Megan!” Avery burst out. “That simply isn’t true! None of it is true! Roni wanted only the best for you!”

Megan shook her head and looked sadly at Avery. “No. She didn’t. I’m sorry. I know that you loved her, but she didn’t love me.”

“Megan . . .”

“No!” Megan stood up, roughly jerking her hand from his grasp. “Please! This is hard enough without you pretending that we were one big happy family! She never forgave me for wanting to live with my dad and not her. She never even wanted me in the first place—didn’t she ever tell you that? Because she sure told me enough times! She did everything she could to make me miserable. I hated her! I hated her so much I don’t even know if I
care
that she’s dead!” A half sob, half laugh escaped her lips. “Hell, I really don’t know if I care
who
did it!”

“Megan!” Elsie snapped, her tone commanding. “Stop this
nonsense right now. You’re hysterical. You’ve no idea what you’re saying.”

At the sound of Elsie’s voice, Megan jerked and faced Elsie. Seeing Elsie’s stern expression, her shoulders slumped and she covered her face with her hands.

Detective Grant continued to watch her, his hooded eyes appraising. After a minute, Megan spoke again, her voice calmer. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. You all must think I’m a terrible person.” Pulling her hands away, she met Detective Grant’s level gaze. “I had a horrible relationship with my mother, Detective. But I didn’t kill her. I hated her, but then so did most everyone else.”

“Everyone else?” prompted Detective Grant in a silky voice.

Megan paled with the realization that she’d said more than she intended.

“Miss Matthews?” continued Detective Grant. “Who exactly is everyone else?”

Megan gulped. “Well, David for one,” she said, with a feeble gesture in his direction.

At the sound of his name, David tensed and sputtered loud denials.

“I’ll get to you in a minute, Mr. Cook,” Detective Grant said curtly. “Why do you think David hated your mother, Megan?”

Megan paused. “I heard them fighting yesterday before breakfast.”

“About?”

Megan stared at the carpet. “About money, I think. David wanted money and my mom laughed at him. He was mad. Really mad.”

Detective Grant’s gaze slid toward David. “Is this true, Mr. Cook?”

David struggled to regain his composure. Giving a small shrug, he said, “It was a minor disagreement, that’s all. I assure you, nothing more. You know how children exaggerate things,” he added with a patronizing smile.

“You called her a hateful bitch,” countered Megan.

David flushed as heads turned his way. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “I had no reason to kill Roni!” No one spoke. Seeing the doubt on our faces, something akin to fear crept into David’s eyes. “I didn’t do it!” His eyes darted around the room in panic. Then he met Harry’s gaze. Like a rat backed into a corner, he attacked. Desperately pointing his finger at Harry, he yelled, “Why don’t you ask Harry about killing Roni? After all, he’s the one who threatened to do just that!”

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

—
BENJAMIN DISRAELI

The room fell silent at David’s accusation. Next to him, Claire gasped. “David!” she cried in dismay.

“Shut up, Claire. It’s the truth and you know it.” Turning to Detective Grant, he continued. “Harry threatened Roni last night in this very room.”

“That’s bullshit!” Harry shouted. Seeming to forget his epic hangover, he jumped out of his chair. The sudden movement cost him and he swayed slightly. Stretching his hand out, he grabbed the back of the chair. His face was pale and his frame seemed as if it might collapse in on itself. “That’s bullshit,” he repeated, in a quieter, less sure voice.

“No, it’s not!” David replied, his voice rising. “Harry got stinking drunk last night. Claire and I were getting ready to go to bed when he came lurching in, slurring his words, completely belligerent. Then Roni came in looking for Megan and Harry went crazy. He started screaming at her. Not only did he threaten her, but he tried to hit her! If we hadn’t restrained him, I don’t know what would have happened.”

“We?” I blurted. “Peter stopped him. You had nothing to do with it!” Too late, I snapped my mouth shut, but the damage was done.

His cold eyes bearing down on me with laserlike intensity, Detective Grant cleared his throat. “You were here for this altercation, as well? How interesting. Exactly how many interviews do I need to conduct with you before I get the whole story?”

I assumed that this was one of those snarky, rhetorical questions and so did not answer. I was right. He continued without missing a beat. “Perhaps you could be so kind as to tell me your version of events, Ms. Parker.” He made no attempt to downplay the anger in his voice.

I looked over at Harry’s curiously blank face and I wondered how much of the exchange he even remembered.

“Well, um.” I glanced to where Peter stood with Chloe by the window. He moved away from them both and stood by my side. “We were talking to Harry when Roni came in.”

Detective Grant cut in. “Who is ‘we’?”

I gestured to Peter. “Peter,” I said feebly.

Detective Grant’s eyes slid to Peter. “I see. Go on.”

“Well, we were talking with Harry, who was a little drunk, but I wouldn’t call him belligerent. It was only when Roni came in looking for Megan that he got upset. We’d seen Roni yelling at Megan earlier, and it was pretty brutal.” I paused, hoping I could stop there, but Detective Grant nodded at me to continue. Great. “Harry told Roni that he didn’t like how she treated Megan.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Megan raise her head and face Harry. “Roni got mad and said that it was none of
Harry’s business. Words were exchanged, but it was Roni who slapped Harry. Just to make sure that the argument didn’t escalate further, Peter pulled Harry away. But Harry didn’t threaten Roni. Not really. If anything, it was Roni who threatened Harry.”

“How so?”

“She said that she was going to tell Avery and . . .” Crap, now what was I doing? I was getting Harry into deeper trouble.

“She said she was going to tell Avery and make sure that Avery cut Harry off,” David finished.

“This is preposterous!” Avery bellowed, glaring at David. “I know my son, David. How dare you insinuate that he would hurt Roni! What would you know, anyway? You go through life half drunk! Asking you to recall anything past your first drink of the night is a waste of time!”

David’s complexion, normally mottled, became one solid blotch of red. “If you don’t believe me, ask Claire. She was there, too,” he shot back.

Detective Grant turned to Claire. “Yes, Mrs. Cook. We haven’t heard from you yet. Please give us your version of events.”

Claire closed her eyes and sighed. She’d always had a soft spot for Harry, doting on him like a son. She sat fidgeting—a trapped animal. Would she back up David’s version of events or would she try to soften the blow? David shifted in his chair and stared at her. I couldn’t see his face from where I sat, but his posture was nothing short of aggressive. He leaned in close, his shoulders hunched forward. I thought he whispered something to her, but I wasn’t sure.

I tried to catch Claire’s eye, but she averted her glance. I knew that she’d made her decision.

“Harry was drunk,” she said, her voice miserable. She didn’t look at Harry or anyone else. She squeezed her eyes shut as if to block out what she was saying. “He called Roni a bitch and she slapped him. Hard. I thought that Harry was going to strike her as well, but Peter grabbed Harry’s hand. That’s when Roni said that she’d ruin Harry. She was going to tell Avery what had happened and make sure that Harry was cut off.”

“I see,” said Detective Grant, sizing up Harry with obvious interest. “Is this true?”

Harry glanced uneasily at Avery before answering. “I’m not going to lie to you, Detective,” he said. “I didn’t like Roni and I didn’t like the way she treated Megan. She was particularly nasty to her this weekend. Last night, I had too much to drink and said some things I shouldn’t have. I’m not sure of all the details, but I know I told Roni that she was hurting Megan.”

“Did you threaten her?”

Harry spread his hands out. “I honestly don’t know. If they say I did, then I guess I did.”

Claire cleared her throat—twice. We all looked at her. “There’s something else you should know,” she said.

“I’m listening,” replied Detective Grant.

Taking a deep breath, Claire said, “After Roni’s fight with Harry, I took David upstairs and put him to bed.” She glanced briefly at David with an oddly challenging look. “I was . . . upset. I didn’t like the way Roni was behaving and I didn’t think she was being . . . fair to Harry.” Claire seemed to be choosing her words with care. “I went back downstairs to talk to Avery. I
thought he should hear what had happened and not just from Roni.”

“I see,” said Detective Grant. “And did you talk to Mr. Matthews?”