Clean Getaway (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 13) Read online

  What in the world?

  The person on the boat made no move to take the light off me. It was as if he wanted me to know he’d seen me.

  A chill suddenly ran down my spine.

  I needed to get back inside. Now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  First thing in the morning, Evie and I visited Talmadge and Carol Banks, the aunt and uncle who’d raised Jessie after her parents were killed. I was interested in hearing their perspective on what had happened.

  On the way there, I told Evie about the light last night while I’d been outside.

  “It could have just been some fisherman,” she said. “They use bright lights sometimes.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” But the incident still left me feeling unsettled. I had to admit that Evie was right—it could have been nothing, just my overactive imagination turning everything into something suspect.

  It wasn’t like my life experiences had any influence on my overactive imagination or anything.

  I was surprised when I pulled up to Talmadge’s and Carol’s place and saw that the two lived in a huge house on the bay. It had three stories, all white brick, with a massive porch and a wraparound driveway. A huge boat sat beside a garage to the side.

  “They’re wealthy,” Evie stated, staring at the building. “Extremely wealthy.”

  “That’s how it appears.”

  “I can almost assure you that they couldn’t afford this house otherwise. I’m not sure what housing prices are in this area, but I’d guess this place cost at least a million.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Yet the woman who lives here—Mrs. Banks—and Jessie’s mom were sisters?”

  “That’s my understanding.”

  Her eyebrows pushed up to the sky. “They were obviously sisters who made different choices.”

  I wanted to ask her what that meant. Did she think the sister who was rich chose more wisely? There was so much we didn’t know and so much we couldn’t assume. And I couldn’t waste my energy trying to figure out what kind of judgment Evie was making right now.

  Remember the learning curve, Gabby, I told myself. Sometimes it takes time for two people to learn how to work together. As a fun movie involving interlocking plastic blocks had taught me: it was cool being part of a team. More than cool. It was awesome.

  “Well, let’s go do this.” I grabbed my purse and stepped outside. As soon as I did, the wind coming over the bay hit me, and the moisture in my eyes seemed to freeze.

  Why couldn’t this cold case have been brought up during the summer?

  It didn’t matter. I would battle the cold weather with my own “Fight Song,” courtesy of Rachel Platten.

  With Evie by my side—a choice I was continually second-guessing—we strode toward the red front door. I pushed the bell and braced myself for this conversation.

  A moment later a woman with bleached blonde hair answered. She was a cute woman, in her late forties probably, who still appeared to keep herself in excellent shape. She was trim, her hair was neat and to her chin, and her clothes were both stylish and expensive. She seemed slightly like the prissy, snobby type.

  “You must be Gabby.” Her tone wasn’t necessarily warm, nor was it hostile as she looked me up and down.

  “I am. And you’re Carol?”

  “That’s correct.”

  I stepped back and held a hand out toward Evie. “This is my friend, Evie. She’s assisting me on this case.”

  “I’m a colleague,” Evie corrected.

  “A colleague who’s assisting me.” I kept my smile even, even though I wanted to scowl.

  “We’re equals,” Evie said.

  “I never said we weren’t,” I whispered with clenched teeth.

  “Assisting gives that impression.”

  I forced an even wider smile and turned back toward Carol, hating that she’d just seen that exchange. It wasn’t professional . . . or pleasant. “Could we come in?”

  “Of course. My husband should be home any time. He’d like to be here to answer your questions as well.”

  “That sounds good,” I said.

  Once in the warmth of the grand foyer—I’d named it that, not Carol—our hostess paused and clasped her hands in front of her. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Coffee would be great,” I said.

  “Could I have coffee with half-and-half and stevia?” Evie asked. “Is your coffee organic or is it run-of-the-mill grocery store variety? Because I’m not a fan—”

  “She’ll have coffee with whatever you have to put in it,” I quickly interjected, giving Evie a look.

  She either didn’t notice or didn’t care, but she did quiet down instead of making insane demands. She’d almost made it sound as if we were patrons at an upscale restaurant or a rock band with an unreasonable rider. I want M&Ms—but only the green ones. I’d like three assistants, and each of them must only wear 100-percent cotton. I need fifty roses trimmed to a precise six-inch stem.

  A moment later we were seated in the living room with warm cups of coffee in our hands and a plate of sugar cookies in front of us. Evie had the good sense not to ask if the cookies were whole wheat or vegan or organic or whatever kind of insane specifics she preferred.

  I glanced around the house, which was just as lovely inside as it was outside.

  The wooden floors were oak and shiny and clean. The furniture was mostly beige with very few knickknacks. The high ceiling made the room feel even larger and more open. Huge picture windows displayed the bay in the distance. Plus, there was the scent of the place. It smelled like magnolia. I’d never thought I liked the scent before, but now I knew I did.

  The other thing I’d noticed about the place was the pictures of Jessie that were everywhere: on the fireplace mantel, on bookshelves, on the breakfast bar.

  Talmadge and Carol had obviously loved her very much. While no one could replace Ron and Margie, these two had clearly doted over their niece.

  “What a beautiful home,” I said.

  “We like it here.”

  “Did you grow up in this area?” I needed to find some common ground and help Carol to loosen up some. She looked tenser than my high school chemistry teacher after I’d caught an experiment on fire in class. By accident, of course.

  “I did as a child. I went away to college and would come home during the summer. When Talmadge and I got married, we moved away for a job opportunity and didn’t come back after that. Not until eleven years ago.”

  I did some quick calculations. “So you moved back about a year before Ron and Margie died?”

  She nodded. “That’s correct.”

  “What brought you back this way?” I continued.

  “My husband designs golf courses for a living. He’s done several award-winning greens throughout the world. They asked him to come back to this area and plan another one that would be in addition to the two award-winning courses they already had. So that’s what we did.”

  “It sounds like your timing couldn’t have been any better.”

  Carol perched on the stiff couch across from us, her entirely proper manners reminding me a touch of Martha Stewart. “I guess you could say that. You just never know what kind of turn your life will take. Of course, we never expected any of this. In fact, this was just going to be another stop along the way. We didn’t intend on staying, but we thought it would be the best thing for Jessie.”

  “Do you have children of your own?” Evie balanced her coffee cup on the saucer in front of her, her face puckered like she’d just sucked a lemon . . . a lemon full of vinegar.

  “No, we were never blessed with any children of our own. Jessie was like the daughter I’d always wanted. Of course, I didn’t want her to come into my home under those circumstances.” Her gaze clouded. “But she was a gift.”

  “Jessie seems like a very special girl,” I said.

  “She is. I like to see her as often as I can. But, of course, now she’s trying to ma
ke her own way in the world. There comes a time when you have to let your children do that. You have to let go. Do either of you have children?” Carol’s gaze shot back and forth between Evie and me.

  Both Evie and I shook our heads.

  “You’ll understand one day. Children are the most precious gift of all.”

  Her question got me thinking about my own future. Riley and I hadn’t been married that long. Not even a year. We’d talked about trying to start a family in a couple years. I knew having children would change things—it would change our lives.

  I wanted my children to have a better upbringing than I’d had. I wanted them to have stability and love. For that reason, I wanted to plan carefully.

  Just then the door opened, and Talmadge stepped inside. At least, I assumed it was Talmadge.

  He looked like the golf-course-designing type with his pale-blue sweater vest, a fedora, and khakis. His skin was ruddy, and he had the gait of someone who chased tiny white balls across the green for a living.

  As he pulled off his hat, he revealed a bald head underneath. He smiled and nodded our way.

  Introductions went around. He sat across from us as Carol hurried to get him some coffee. I was sure Evie thought the act was archaic and that a man was perfectly capable of getting his own coffee. But, thankfully, she said nothing.

  His expression was serious—not serious in a mournful, grieving demeanor. There was something else there, another emotion that I couldn’t quite place. But I was going to try my Nancy Drew best to figure it out.

  “Look, I told Jessie this, and I think it’s worth mentioning to you two also.” He leaned forward like a father about to bestow wisdom on his children. “Sometimes, the past is best left in the past.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “What do you mean, Mr. Banks?” I asked, more curious than ever. The way he said it made me feel slightly creeped out and mildly forewarned. I didn’t like either of those feelings.

  “I just mean that I don’t want to see the people I love get hurt. I don’t want to see Jessie get her hopes up, all for nothing. This has been very hard on her, obviously. She seems to be moving on, and stirring something like this up could set her back.”

  “Has she had problems in the years since her parents were killed?” Evie’s eagle-eyed gaze clicked back and forth from Carol to Talmadge.

  The sharp tone to her voice made me cringe—again. She might be brilliant, but she had no people skills. I needed to make a mental note of that for my next case. Solve the case more quickly but offend everyone involved, or solve the case more slowly and keep the peace? Hmm . . . choices, choices.

  “I wouldn’t label them problems.” Talmadge straightened and tugged at his pant leg. “But Jessie was grieving. She was looking for outlets to express her grief, and not all of them were healthy. She got into drugs for quite a bit. Thankfully, we were able to pull her back before she was in over her head.”

  “She turned from focusing on drugs to focusing on academics,” Carol added. “Jessie was obsessed with getting good grades, with achieving. She graduated as valedictorian from high school, which was no small feat considering everything that happened. She got into college at UVA. When she was offered the chance to intern with Global Coffee Initiative and then given a full-time job opportunity, she was over the moon.”

  “That’s great to hear how well she’s doing,” I said. “I can only imagine how tough this was on all of you. You lost a sister.” I looked at Carol and watched her expression carefully.

  She pressed her lips together, as if trying to formulate her thoughts. I sensed remorse in her spirit.

  “I have many regrets,” she stated. “My sister and I didn’t speak for years, unfortunately. Looking back, I wish I’d swallowed my pride. I wish I would have made things right. But it’s too late for any of that now. I have to live with the consequences of my choices.”

  Her coffee cup trembled in her hands.

  “What happened?” Evie asked, not missing a beat or pausing for compassion.

  Her lips pressed together again. “We let a boy come between us.”

  Mark Miller, I told myself mentally. The police report, as well as Detective Hanson, had mentioned him as a suspect, that he’d come back in to town and tried to win Margie back.

  “Margie and I stopped speaking,” Carol continued. “And we let our anger grow and fester until we never spoke again, not even when I moved here.”

  “Yet Jessie came to live with you?” I clarified. “Even though you had no prior relationship with her?”

  “That’s correct,” Talmadge said. “I know it sounds strange, but we were the only next of kin. She had no one else, and we couldn’t see her get placed in the foster system. Of course, we took her in. Honestly, I wish we’d swallowed our pride enough to get to know her when she was younger. We missed so much of her life.”

  Burning bridges and holding grudges had a tendency to make people feel that way later in life.

  “What happened to Jessie’s grandparents?” Evie asked.

  “Ron was raised by a single mom,” Carol said. “She died of cancer when Jessie was probably five. It was a shame. My parents were killed in a car accident when Margie and I were in our late teens. Such a tragic life—and Margie’s ended with more tragedy.”

  My gaze was drawn to the gray water outside and the whitecaps that dotted the surface. They matched the gloomy mood of this conversation. “I guess Jessie adjusted well to living with you.”

  “As well as could be expected.” Talmadge leaned back and sighed, appearing to mentally switch gears. “Now, I promised Jessie that I would talk to you, and I’ll honor my word to her. But I just had to state my feelings first. Since I have the feeling you’re not going to back off, what can I help you with?”

  I leaned forward, trying to appear casual and unassuming—anything to take the edge away. It was obvious both Carol and Talmadge were already anxious.

  “I’m curious. You said you were estranged from your sister. After you moved back and before she died . . . did you reconnect?”

  Carol’s face drew into even tighter lines. “No, we didn’t, unfortunately.”

  “So, the two of you avoided each other if you ran into the other while out and about?” Evie clarified.

  “That’s correct. Thankfully it happened only a couple of times. They weren’t my best moments. But Margie was just as stubborn as I was. She wasn’t eager to make amends either.”

  I turned to Talmadge. “Same for you? Were you estranged from them by default?”

  “I didn’t want to be in the middle, so I tried to stay out of it. I was polite. I said hello. But we didn’t have any conversations. Looking back, it was all rather . . .” He cleared his throat. “Unfortunate, to say the least.”

  “Did you grow up in this area also?” Evie asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m from Connecticut.”

  “How did the two of you meet then?”

  “I was in college to study landscape architecture. One summer, I got a job working at one of the golf courses down here. That’s where I met Carol.”

  I turned to her. “Did you like to golf?”

  She laughed. “Oh, no. I worked behind the front desk. I was smitten with Talmadge from day one, though.”

  “What did you do at the golf course?” I asked Talmadge.

  “I started helping with grounds and maintenance, but I liked it so much there that I worked as the assistant superintendent for a while—until I could get my foot in the door with one of the golf course architect firms.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” I said. And I meant it. I’d never thought before about how golf courses came to be. I shifted in my seat, knowing I needed to move from casual conversation and get down to business. “Mr. Banks, we’ve talked to the lead detective on the case and to Jessie. But I wanted to hear your take on all this. Did you ever have suspicions about who was behind the crime?”

  “Dewey Witherspoon,” he said. “He’s been my number one s
uspect from day one.”

  “Dewey Witherspoon?” It was the first time I’d heard the man’s name.

  “That’s right. He’s a farmer in the area.”

  That had my full attention. “And why did you think he was guilty?”

  Talmadge’s face darkened. “I’m sure you heard that ten thousand dollars was missing from Ron and Margie’s savings. That’s a lot of money, but it was an especially large amount for the two of them. At least, that’s what I surmised after talking to Jessie and going through the legal process after their deaths.”

  “I did read about the missing money,” I said. “I thought a migrant worker was seen with her purse.”

  Talmadge grimaced. “Yes, the rumor was that one of the migrant workers—Emilio Perez—was seen with Carol’s purse. He disappeared before the police could ever question him. About the same time, Dewey started driving all over town and asking people if they’d ever seen ten thousand dollars. He kept a suitcase in the back of his Cadillac, and he’d show people the cash.”

  How obnoxious could someone be? “The police never suspected him?”

  “Oh, they suspected him.” Carol’s features squeezed in disgust. “Suspected him of helping to sneak drugs into the country. They could never prove it, though. The man’s eccentric, to say the least. He apparently had an alibi for the evening of the murder. He was with some woman, but I always thought he could have paid her off.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Besides, everyone thought that migrant worker had taken the money and run,” Talmadge continued. “Why look at Dewey—a local—when people could blame an outsider?”

  “Is this Dewey still alive?” Evie’s gaze still clicked back and forth.

  “He is,” Talmadge said. “He lives at the same place. A farm, oceanside. Everyone knows boats pull up there at night and deliver the goods. Dewey distributes them and gets a cut. No one is under the assumption that his farm is that profitable on its own. I’ve said for years that he was guilty, but no one has listened to me.”

  “I’m surprised the police didn’t at least check him out,” Evie said. “It would be irresponsible not to.”