Kale glanced at his father, whose wheelchair already had been parked at the head of the table. “He’s doing the best he can,” Kale reminded him. “There’s not a lot to go on.”
Peter Conner made a disparaging sound. “He’ll do about like he did the last time.”
Kale divided a look between his father and Newton, who had turned her attention from the cook and the dinner rolls in the oven to listen in. “Let’s hope not,” he commented, hoping to defuse the conceivably volatile topic.
“What do you say, Sarah?” his father asked their guest. That was exactly what Kale had hoped to avoid.
Peter Conner never had been friends with Ben Willard. Kale hadn’t been able to get the story from his father about what had gone wrong between the two men, but something was there, and it went back as far as Kale could recall.
Newton walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. “This could take some time, Mr. Conner,” she said.
“Obviously I’ve got nothing better to do.” Peter gestured to the wheelchair that was his prison. Although he was paralyzed from the waist down, the devastating injury hadn’t altered his sharp intelligence in the slightest. The man didn’t miss a thing, and he never thought twice about having his say. Who was going to slug a guy in a wheelchair?
Newton nodded. “Valerie Gerard was murdered by someone she knew who had a vendetta against her. The act was personal. The grudge deep and fierce. This was no random act.”
“I’ll bet you’ve been telling Willard this since you got here.”
She smiled, not that indifferent gesture she’d tossed around on first arriving. This one was full-lipped and completely genuine. “You would be right.”
Peter shook his head. “That hardheaded man never listens. He’s got to do every damned thing his own way.”
“Watch it,” Ellen warned.
“It’s the truth.” Peter dismissed his wife’s counsel with a wave of his hand. “The only reason he’s still the chief is because that’s what folks think they’re expected to do. Elect or commission a Willard. They’ve been doing it for four generations.”
“Dad,” Kale pressed, “let’s not make tonight about bashing the good guys.”
His father harrumphed and promptly ignored his son. He was clearly enjoying the pretty lady’s attention. “And Alicia Appleton?” he queried. “You have a theory about her as well?”
Polly suddenly adopted a model pose. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” she crooned. “I can’t help myself. I was born that way.”
“Polly!” The reprimanding tone of his mother’s voice was nothing to compare with the admonishing stare that accompanied it. “You should be praying for that girl, not making cruel remarks.”
“It’s true,” Polly sassed, “and you know it. Alicia thinks she’s all that and nobody else in the world matters. She’s a snob. Nobody at school will tell her because they’re afraid of being shunned. But they all secretly say it behind her back. I don’t know why Brady follows her around like a stupid puppy. Alicia thought I liked Brady and got all mad at me. It’s Jerri Lynn Pope she should be worried about. If Alicia gets killed, Jerri Lynn will dance on her grave.”
“That’s enough, young lady,” her father growled. “It’s one thing to discuss the flaws in the investigation but quite another to speak unkindly about the victims.”
Polly rolled her eyes and shuffled off to get the water glasses.
Peter turned his attention back to Newton. “As much as I hate to speak ill of the poor girl, Polly’s got a valid point. Alicia Appleton’s mother has spoiled her beyond all reason.”
“Peter,” Ellen scolded him as she tossed her oven mitt aside. “You’re as bad as Polly.”
“According to Brady Harvey, Alicia has no enemies.” Newton draped one arm over the back of her chair and crossed those shapely legs. “Under the circumstances, I find that a little odd.”
“You mean”—Kale pulled out the chair next to her—“because she wins everything and all the kids orient their social lives around what she’s doing or planning.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. Jealousy is a part of human nature. Enemies go with the territory when you’re the most popular girl in school.” She looked from Kale to his father. “There is no way Valerie Gerard was murdered and Alicia Appleton was taken hostage by a person who hated them both enough to carry out that kind of action without someone noticing something. People see, sense, and ultimately talk. All we need is for those who know to start speaking up.”
“Unless it’s the devil,” Polly tossed in as she settled a glass at each plate. “Matilda Calder says it’s the devil.”
Kale groaned. His father’s brow furrowed. But it was his mother who came unglued. “Don’t tell me you’ve been talking to that girl again.”
“Tell me about Matilda.” Newton addressed her question to the room at large. “I ran into her at the cemetery today. What’s her story?”
“She’s nice but weird,” Polly said despite her mother shaking her head in abject disapproval.
“That little girl,” Ellen explained, “is a fifth-generation illegitimate child. Those Calder women have repeated the same mistake time and time again. None ever married and barely bothered to raise their offspring.”
