Page 108 of Murder By the Millions
On another occasion, Finette had asserted that she never regretted not having money growing up, because her parents were such good people. According to her, they donated readily to charities, and they kindly took in her great-aunt and cared for her. When they passed on, did Finette opt to leave her great-aunt in the family home to honor her parents? Did she buy herself someplace new, ultimately stretching her pocketbook to the max? Supposedly, her father had said, ‘Do not save what is left after spending, but spend what is left after saving.’ Was it possible she hadn’t heeded his words?
I mulled over Jay Gatsby’s obsession with money. With class. With status. When Finette first met Jason Gardner, did she believe she could climb the social ladder with him on her arm? Did she think she’d be able to abandon her meager lifestyle, give up working, and become a lady of leisure? When a love affair didn’t ignite, did she resolve to press him for money to end her financial woes?
I fished my cell phone from the pocket of my capris and pulled up Finette’s contact. Tegan had shared an entire roster of regular bookshop customers when I’d taken part ownership. I dialed Finette, but when she didn’t answer, I recalled Vanna mentioning that a town council meeting would take place tonight. No doubt Finette would be there. She never missed a meeting, not even for illness.
I waited for her message to finish and, after the beep, said, “Hi, Finette. It’s Allie. I …” I paused. Taunting her about finding the bracelet would be foolish. Outright accusing her of murder would be, too. “I’m coming to the town council meeting. I’ll bring cookies. See you there.”
I ended the call and stared at the phone’s screen. Yes, contacting her had been rash. Luckily, I’d put on the brakes in time. I slipped her ankle bracelet into my pocket and texted Zach.
Me:I know you’re ticked at me. Sorry. A girl’s gotta do …
I erased the text, muttered, “C’mon, Allie. Use your brain,” and I started over.
Me:I wish you would return my call. I have some news you’ll want to hear. I promise I won’t be wasting your valuable time.
I moaned softly, admitting it was a sarcastic use of the wordvaluable,and erased the message.
Me:I hope you’ll be at the town council meeting tonight. I’m bringing sugar cookies. Maybe we could chat afterward. Get caught up.
Good. Friendly and bland. So be it.Heaven forbid I texted my intention to confront the woman I suspected of killing Jason.
The Bramblewood Park and Rec Center was located at the intersection of Main Street and North Mountain Road. It housed a gymnasium for sporting events; an auditorium, where the town held concerts and indoor festivals; and a few smaller rooms, one of which was where the town council convened.
Before entering the room, I drew in a deep breath.You can do this, Allie.
The meeting was already in session. All fifty chairs were filled. A few onlookers were standing by the right-hand wall, including Vanna and Tegan. Vanna was rocking it in a creamcolored suit and a soft blue blouse, but I could tell she was nervous, because she kept checking her fingernails. Tegan caught sight of me and offered a supremely bored face. I was wound too tightly to laugh. She eyed me, concerned, and tapped something on her cell phone.
I felt my phone ping and scanned the screen. Tegan had sent a text.
Tegan:Meeting with divorce attorney went well. Winston is handled.
Me:Good. Talk later.
I pocketed the phone.
At the front of the room, Reika Moore was standing at the lectern, speaking into the microphone as she discussed her role in the Bramblewood Historical Preservation Society. Three councilmen sat at each of the tables positioned on either side of the lectern. In front of the men sat white placards scrawled with the particular person’s name. To the left stood Finette, in profile. She was clad in the white skirt suit she’d worn earlier in the week and came across self-assured and serene. Was I mistaken about Darcy and her getting into a squabble? Wrong about the ankle bracelet belonging to her? Wrong about her need for money?
No. I didn’t think I was, but my gut was roiling with doubt.
Tamping down my angst, I strolled to the beverage and treats station in the rear right corner. I placed the platter of cookies I’d brought beside the coffee urn, removed the saran wrap, and tossed it into the garbage pail.
Reika said, “The preservation society has a long-standing relationship with this town. Because of the work we do …”
A few people were checking their watches. Finette looked itchy to move on.
“We are prepared to offer top dollar for the Yeagers’ historic properties,” Reika said. “The town will reap the benefits. There will be no loss.”
“Hold on!” Patrick, who was sitting beside the mayor in the front row of chairs, jumped to his feet. “I want to make a bid. I secured the financing.”
I wondered if he knew Mr. Ott had vouched for him and he was no longer a suspect. Maybe he had never thought he was under suspicion.
“Not so fast,” Iggie said, bounding to a stand. “I’ve already been told I won the bid.”
“Gentlemen, decorum!” Finette bellowed. “You’ll have your turn to make a pitch. Sit, please.”
Iggie spotted me, inched out of the row, and moseyed to the food table. He picked up a cookie, ate half, and wiped his mouth free of crumbs. “Evening, Allie. I heard the bookshop hosted my wife’s book club at the last minute.”
“We did.”
