CHAPTER FIFTEEN

C HAPTER F IFTEEN

Shannon and Mac arrived at Chloe’s house at six thirty. Chloe greeted them at the door. “Blake and Ridley are in the playroom with the little ones,” she said, prompting Mac to head in the direction she pointed.

The foyer was spacious, and five or six women had gathered in the dining room already. Shannon took a moment to admire the floors, which were adorned with intricate, handmade ceramic tiles. From where she stood, she saw an enormous oak dining table surrounded by beautifully carved chairs with leather seats. And overhead was a magnificent wrought iron chandelier that cast a warm glow over the room. “Your house is stunning.”

“Thank you.”

Chloe pulled her into the dining room, introduced her to the women she had yet to meet, lots of names and faces she would do her best to remember. Chloe handed her a glass of red wine before running off to the foyer. A few more women arrived, including Kaylynn Alcozar, whom Shannon had met the other day. They made eye contact and waved at one another as Kaylynn passed by, taking her little boy to the playroom to join the others.

A few minutes later, Chloe clanked a piece of silverware against her crystal glass. “I’d like to get everyone’s attention. There are a few ladies here tonight who can’t stay long, so I’d like to make a couple of announcements. At this time, we have a dozen homes included in the tour. Balancing the number of houses ensures participants have enough time to appreciate each property. We might try to add a few more so we can showcase different architectural styles, interior designs, and so on. Last year, as many of you know, we attracted a few dozen participants, but this year, we’ve already sold over a hundred tickets.”

“I’m going to have to decline,” one of the women said.

Chloe looked straight at her. “What do you mean, decline , Peggy?”

“Demure. Reject. Send my regrets and pull my house from the tour,” Peggy said, clearly exasperated. “I can’t have hundreds of people walking through my home.”

“But you have the oldest home in the area,” Chloe said, clearly distraught. “It’s one of the main attractions every year.”

Peggy shook her head. “I never should have come tonight.”

“Of course you should have come,” Chloe said. “You are the pillar of the community. We look up to you as a role model and a leader.”

“What if we get volunteers to stand, sit, whatever in every room of your house throughout the tour?” Becky asked.

“We can do that,” Chloe said, her voice hopeful.

“Have you all lost your minds?” Peggy asked in a high-pitched voice. “A woman has been murdered. Does anyone care?” Her hands shook as she spoke. In her midseventies, Shannon guessed, she was a tiny woman, small-boned, with wispy silver hair and a weathered face.

“How is it possible that so many tickets have been sold already?” another woman asked. “I believe three dozen was the most participants we’ve ever had over the past decade.”

“Sex and murder,” Dianne said. “It’s popular. Click on Netflix and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

Dianne was Jason’s wife. Another woman Shannon had met in her driveway the other day. She made a good point.

“Horrible,” Peggy said. “If most of the people buying tickets are only there because Rosella Marlow was killed in the grisliest of fashions, I want no part of this.” With a shaky hand, she set her wineglass on the table, hitched her purse higher on her shoulder, and headed for the door.

Chloe let her go without putting up a fight. “The good news is,” Chloe said after Peggy left, “Shannon Gibbons has agreed to be a judge. And ... the mayor’s wife will also be a judge.”

There was a mixture of groans along with claps of praise.

Chloe sighed. “About scheduling—”

“Nobody cares about the house tour,” Dianne said. “Can we please talk about the elephant in the room?”

“I agree,” a woman named Liliana said. “That’s why I’m here.”

Holly raised a hand as if she were in a classroom. “I heard Rosella was stabbed in the neck with a letter opener.”

Becky stiffened.

“I can say whatever I want,” Holly said in a whispered sneer, making Shannon think they were not happy with each other at the moment.

“You heard correctly,” Chloe said. “Rosella was stabbed with her own letter opener. Whoever killed her must have snuck up from behind.”

“If they snuck up from behind, that would tell me the killer already had the weapon in their possession?” Dianne wondered out loud.

Liliana said, “They could have grabbed the letter opener and struck fast before Rosella could react.”

Shannon winced.

“I guess the detectives will have their work cut out for them,” Dianne said. “Who do you think killed her?”

“That’s the question we need answered,” Chloe said. “How can we possibly move on with our lives, knowing there might be a killer in our midst?”

Holly paled. “You really think it might be someone in the neighborhood? Someone we know?”

“Of course it’s someone in the neighborhood,” Becky blurted, as if the two women hadn’t already discussed this in the privacy of their own home. “She was a horrible person, and nobody liked her.”

“I liked her.”

All heads turned toward the squeaky voice across the room. Two boys were close to the table, gathering goodies. It was the smaller boy with three cookies clutched in his hand who had spoken. Shannon wasn’t sure whose little boy it was until Kaylynn rushed over to him. “Of course you did,” she said, taking his free hand and leading him back to the playroom.

“Rowan,” Chloe said. “Is there something you need?”

Shannon knew Chloe had a twelve-year-old son. His light-brown hair was shaved around the ears. His bangs were thick and long, covering one of his eyes. “I liked Rosella, too.”

“Rowan,” Chloe admonished, “you only liked her because she handed out the big candy bars at Halloween.”

“That’s not the only reason,” he told his mom, his cheeks turning red.

“What did you like about her?” Holly asked with genuine interest.

Rowan squared his small shoulders. “She was nice to me. And she would talk to me when I was sad.” He teared up. “She made me cookies sometimes, and she gave me all of Daniel’s video games after he died. She said I reminded her of him.”

A strained silence settled around the room. Chloe went to him, but he turned and rushed from the room. After Rowan disappeared, she said, “I had no idea.”

“I’m sorry,” Becky said to the group, keeping her voice low enough so the children wouldn’t hear, “but I’m sure Rosella was nice to Rowan for a reason, possibly to cause friction. You know, to drive a wedge between you and Rowan.” Becky rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m sorry Rowan overheard us talking, but I know I’m not the only one in this room who didn’t like Rosella Marlow. Please raise your hand if you did like her and I’ve got it all wrong.”

Nobody made a move.

Becky said, “I don’t think we need to hear the details of Rosella’s murder. Word gets around fast. We’ve all heard about what happened. What we need to discuss is neighborhood safety.”

“Monitoring the streets and reporting suspicious behavior is time consuming. Who’s going to volunteer to be in charge of that?” Dianne asked. “Not me.”

Liliana said, “I agree we need to do something. But we can’t have my husband monitoring the streets, because he would be the first to run if he even glimpsed someone hiding in the shrubs.”

Shannon thought of Trey, who was rarely home.

“How do we protect our kids?” Greta Knightley asked. “My daughter won’t even go outside anymore. My husband is home with her right now, but she wouldn’t come with me, and she cried when I left because she was afraid I might be killed. Her words, not mine.”

Liliana nodded in agreement. “This sort of thing affects children physically and mentally.”

“They need to suck it up,” Dianne said, eliciting disgruntled murmurs.

“That’s not how it works,” Holly told her.

“I need to go,” Greta said. “Maybe we can all think on it and discuss over Zoom.” She headed for the door. Liliana and another woman Shannon hadn’t met followed close behind.

“Why are we even discussing the murder?” Dianne asked Chloe after they left.

“I don’t know,” Chloe said. “I guess I thought it would be a good idea for us to all talk about what happened.”

Dianne’s eyebrows furrowed. “I know you. You were hoping to get us all together in hopes we could solve the murder somehow, weren’t you?”

Kaylynn had returned to the room a while ago. She said, “I think we’re all getting ahead of ourselves. The killer could be anyone, someone we’ve never heard of—a stranger from another city.”

Holly jumped in. “I thought the same thing! It could have been a break-in that went horribly wrong.”

Kaylynn nodded.

Becky spoke next. “I, for one, appreciate you bringing us all together tonight, Chloe, but I am perplexed by what you thought or still think this discussion will accomplish. As I already made clear, I did not like Rosella. But I didn’t kill her, and neither did Holly.” She raised her arms in exasperation. “God, I feel like I’m playing a game of Clue.”

“Right?” Holly said. “I’m pretty sure it was Professor Plum, and he was in the conservatory.”

Holly and Becky smiled at one another. Shannon smiled, too, glad there was no more tension between the two of them.

“What about Jason?” Chloe blurted.

“What about him?” Kaylynn asked.

Dianne’s face reddened. “Yeah. What about him?” She stabbed a finger in the air in Chloe’s direction. “Seriously? You think Jason might have killed Rosella? What the hell? How dare you.”

Chloe set her wineglass on the table and walked over to Dianne. She rested her hands on Dianne’s shoulders. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t touch me!” Dianne pushed Chloe away.

Chloe stumbled backward, right smack into Holly. Red wine sloshed out of Holly’s glass and onto her blouse and the dining room rug.

Dianne was livid, her eyes dark, her face a maze of angry lines as she pointed a finger at Chloe. “How dare you accuse my husband of being a murderer when it’s your husband who had the most to gain by her death.”

Wide-eyed, Becky looked at Dianne, but Dianne was in another world and didn’t seem to notice. What did Becky know that the rest of them didn’t?

Chloe’s face scrunched together. “What are you talking about?”

“Maybe you should ask Wesley why he’s been making payments to Rosella every month,” Dianne said. “If you can locate him. At least I know exactly where Jason is at this very moment.”

Holly gave up on trying to get the wine out of her blouse and dropped the cloth napkin she’d been using on the table. “Stop,” she said. “This is exactly what Rosella would have wanted, for all of us to start attacking one another. The truth is anyone in this room could be the killer. Rosella was downright evil.” She shot a look toward the playroom, as if to make sure no kids were listening in.

There were murmurs of agreement before Holly added, “And there’s something else. You should all know there are two detectives working the case, and they paid me a visit this morning. They asked a lot of questions and took notes. They even pulled out an evidence bag and showed me a doll with walnut shells for eyes and a nail stuck through its head. Whoever made it even took the time to apply red nail polish around the nail to make it look like blood. And guess what? I didn’t make that doll, and I certainly didn’t leave it inside Rosella’s house. But someone in this room might have. If you did, be prepared to answer a few questions, because those detectives told me they were going to talk to everyone on the block.”

“I saw it, too,” Kaylynn said. “The detectives caught me outside in my driveway as I was packing up before work. I can’t deny it—the doll gave me the creeps.”

“If we start pointing fingers at one another,” Becky said, “it will only cause animosity between us. I feel confident we’re all safe.”

“Says the woman with five dead bolts on her door,” Chloe muttered.

“I agree with Becky.” It was Kaylynn speaking again. “Let the detectives do their job.”

“How can we assume we’re all safe?” Chloe asked. “Just because Rosella was a nasty person and an obvious target?” She paused as if she wanted whatever she was about to say to sink in for a minute. “Nobody deserves to be murdered in cold blood. And what makes anyone in this room think the killer won’t kill again?” She crossed her arms. “Because I really would like to know.”

Nobody said a word.

Shannon spoke up for the first time. “I won’t feel safe until someone is behind bars.”

Chloe agreed before she turned to face Dianne. “I am sorry for accusing Jason. That was thoughtless and irresponsible of me to say. I don’t think he’s capable of killing anyone. I was trying to use him to stimulate more conversation, and it was stupid of me.”

Dianne nodded, letting Chloe know she heard what she said, but she did not reply in kind with an apology of her own.

“I think we should take a vote,” Becky said. “Who agrees that we should let the detectives solve Rosella’s murder?”

Everyone raised a hand except for Shannon and Chloe.

“Okay,” Chloe said, swiping two fingers across her mouth as if zipping her lips together.

Shannon took note of who was left: Dianne, Becky, Holly, Chloe, and Kaylynn. Women she hardly knew, but with whom she already felt a bizarre sort of connection, as if she were bonded to them by a disturbing event. Strangely, she did feel safe—at least, in this room. The thought of one of these ladies being a killer seemed implausible, and yet what would anyone do if they were pushed to the brink, left with no choice but to silence Rosella?

Shannon knew detectives were trained to approach investigations with open minds. To do their job correctly, they had to consider various possibilities and potential motivations behind a crime. They understood that people’s actions were influenced by complex factors and that first appearances may not always reflect the truth of a situation. They had to gather information and evidence before drawing any conclusions. For that reason alone, Shannon knew she could not make assumptions based on outward appearance or initial impressions. Everyone in this room was suspect.

After Chloe apologized, they attempted small talk about kids, sports, anything other than Rosella Marlow. But the mood had been set, and it wasn’t long before Dianne said goodbye and went to get Finn from the other room. Everyone else followed close behind, their kids in tow as they walked out the door.

Shannon started cleaning up by stacking dishes.

“That didn’t go as I had hoped.” Chloe sighed. “Accusing Dianne’s husband probably wasn’t the best way to get everyone to open up.”

“No,” Shannon agreed. “Probably not.”

“I wanted to get people talking, and I got way more than I bargained for. Serves me right.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Shannon said. “You invited everyone to your house tonight because you wanted to give all of us a chance to talk about what happened to Rosella. I think it was a smart decision to try and get it all out in the open.”

“Thanks,” Chloe said. “Becky did ask a good question, though.”

“What question was that?”

“She asked what I’d hoped to accomplish by discussing Rosella’s murder. It’s one thing to talk to a detective and answer as truthfully as possible, but why would any of the women here tonight want to share details about their lives or their friends’ lives?” She exhaled. “It was a stupid idea.”

“I disagree. In fact, I think you and I should do our own investigation.” Shannon had come to the meeting with the notion that the ladies on the block might want to work together to try and figure out who might have a motive to end Rosella’s life. She had already decided she was going to do what she could to investigate Rosella’s murder. Despite what she thought about not being able to judge a person by first impressions, for better or worse, she trusted Chloe. “Not liking Rosella is one thing,” Shannon said, “but killing her? And who sent Rosella the note that said I know what you did ?”

“What are you talking about?”

Shannon realized her mistake. “I didn’t mention the note before?”

“No. You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Shannon said.

“Don’t be. We hardly know each other. You probably don’t know who to trust.” Chloe sighed. “Tell me about this note.”

“Rosella showed me the note and said it had been left in her mailbox a few weeks ago. It was written using a red marker. It could have been one of those paint pens, now that I think about it.”

“That’s so strange.”

“Yes,” Shannon agreed. “Rosella wanted me to help her figure out who wrote the note. She seemed sure the author of the note was the same person who was watching her.”

Chloe was biting her lip.

“What are you thinking?” Shannon asked.

“To try and solve the murder as a collective group made sense to me. But if any of the women here tonight found out I was doing my own little investigation, some of them, probably most, would never talk to me again.”

“You know these people better than me,” Shannon said. “Do what you feel is best. As for me, I refuse to let it go. Rosella wanted my help. Attempting to figure out who left the note is the least I can do.” She felt a sense of conviction, a deep-seated belief that she was doing the right thing, despite it not being a popular decision or even in her best interest.

“You’re right.” Chloe was fidgeting, as if an internal battle were happening. “I don’t think I can move past this. Not without at least trying to do something about it,” she said. “And truthfully, when you think about it, does anyone ever really know their neighbors or friends?”

“No,” Shannon agreed, excited at the idea of working with Chloe. “Everyone has the right to keep certain aspects of their lives private, but together we might be able to determine who, if anyone, had a motive to kill Rosella.”

Chloe nodded along. “Maybe you’re right. If you and I are going to try and figure out who killed Rosella, or at least, determine who didn’t kill Rosella, we’re going to have to trust each other.”

“No argument here.”

Chloe offered a hand, and they sealed the deal with a handshake, which Shannon found endearing. “I do think it would be safe to say somebody living on this block knows something about what happened to Rosella.”

“You’re probably right,” Chloe said. “And Dianne seems to know more than most ... Accusing my husband of making payments to Rosella? What did she even mean?”

“I took it to mean one of two things: Either Rosella did work for him, maybe a writing project he was paying her for? What does he do?”

“He’s an account executive for a tech company.”

“Okay,” Shannon said. “Rosella was a talented writer. Maybe she assisted him with crafting a clear and compelling proposal or report of some kind.”

Chloe looked doubtful. “Or?”

“Or he was being blackmailed—making payments to her to keep her from revealing any damaging information,” Shannon said.

“Wesley would have told me if she had ever done any work for him.” Chloe stiffened as the alternative Shannon had mentioned appeared to strike her like a brick to the head.

Shannon picked up a pile of dishes to bring to the kitchen.

“Leave those,” Chloe said. “I’ll clean it up later.”

Shannon quickly set the plates back on the table when she noticed Chloe tearing up. “It’s okay. I was theorizing. Maybe Dianne is wrong about your husband making payments to Rosella. She seemed pretty upset with you.”

Chloe used a napkin to wipe the corner of her eye. “It’s not just that. It’s everything. I didn’t mean to upset Dianne. I wish I had kept my mouth shut. And what about Rowan? I had no idea he’d been talking to Rosella. I’m worried about Ridley ... and I can’t believe Rosella is dead.”

Chloe began to cry in earnest. Shannon set a pile of plates back on the table and put her arms around her. “You’re a wonderful mom. Blake is charming and sweet. And Ridley has been nothing but kind to Mac, welcoming her to the neighborhood and to her new school with open arms.”

Chloe pulled away, sniffling as she talked. “Thank you. I didn’t know Rowan had been talking to Rosella, but I do know Ridley has been struggling. She used to be so full of joy, but lately it’s as if she has a black cloud hanging over her head. I don’t know what to do about it. Is it normal teenage stuff—hormonal shifts, peer pressure, emotional growth? Or does her recent behavior indicate a mental health condition?”

Shannon had noticed the contrast between Ridley and Blake, but she hardly knew the girl, so she kept quiet.

“It’s a tough balancing act,” Chloe continued. “I don’t know how to convince my daughter to see a therapist without giving her ultimatums.”

“Maybe explain how worried you are, tell her you have to insist she talk to someone, at least a few times. After that, she can decide for herself if she would rather not continue. And if she doesn’t want to talk to someone in person, there’s always online counseling.”

Chloe smiled. “The other day you thanked me for being a sounding board. Now it’s my turn. Thank you, Shannon Gibbons, for listening and for being a good friend. I couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor.”