Kay nodded. “I’ll talk to Shannon.” She glanced down at her notes, then, her voice encouraging, she said, “I suppose you and Jack had a great deal of catching up to do.”
I nodded my unseen approval at Kay’s question.
Evelyn’s milky eyes narrowed. “Jack left his family behind. The burden of caring for my father was left to me. Jack spent his life running away from his failures, from the death of his first wife, from the responsibility for Hume Oil, from his country. He was a great disappointment to our father.”
“He spoke with affection for his father in an e-mail to me.”
I thought Kay was generous in her interpretation of Jack’s comment about his father’s funeral.
Slowly, Evelyn’s face softened. “I thank you for sharing that with me. In some respects”—her tone was grudging—“I believe Jack regretted his dismissal of his past. We had a very genial conversation one morning. He evinced great interest in some of the family heirlooms.” For the first time, she sounded enthusiastic. “We spent more than an hour walking the hallways, talking about some of the art our mother had collected. She was a woman of great refinement and taste. We have a Holbein, several Reynoldses, a Chase, a Metcalf, and two Rockwell paintings.” She made a spreading gesture with her hand. “And many others. Mother also collected Cherokee artworks. Jack was very attentive.”
Kay smiled. “I’m glad you have that happy memory.”
Evelyn took a quick breath. “Being Jack, he had to ruin the moment. He blamed me”—there was a quiver of fury in her voice—“for Laverne and Ronald Phillips. As I told him”—the words were harsh—“I do not control my brother’s widow. This is her home as well as mine. If she chooses to invite charlatans to share it with her, it isn’t my place to object.” Her thin lips pressed together, then, unexpectedly, flared in a grim smile. “Besides, fools deserve to reap what they sow.”
Shannon Taylor came around a pillar, clutching an armload of sheets. Golden brown hair framed an appealing round face with bright blue eyes, a snub nose, and a trace of dimples in smooth cheeks flushed from heat. She looked surprised and not pleased. She stared at Kay with no hint of friendliness.
Kay’s face was kind. “I hoped you might have a moment to visit with me.”
“I don’t know if that’s in my job description.” Her tone bordered on rudeness. “I’m the laundress today.”
Kay walked nearer. “Let me help. Those look clean. I’ll fold.”
Shannon shrugged. “They’re hot.”
Kay strode around the pillar and moved to a dryer with an open door. She carried another mound of hot sheets to a folding table. “I didn’t know The Castle had such a huge basement.”
“There’s a lot that the family and guests never see. Or probably even know about. Mom is in charge. She arranges for the cleaning service that comes twice a week and a landscaping company that does the grounds.”
“Everything is certainly well kept. Your mother has done an excellent job.” Kay folded quickly, efficiently. “Evelyn suggested I visit with you. You know about the book I’m writing.”
“Why talk to me?” Shannon’s voice was ragged. “What’s the point?”
Kay’s voice was pleasant. “I hope you can tell me something about Jack’s last days, the people he saw, what he might have said about them.”
Shannon whirled toward a heavy-duty washing machine, blindly picked up clothes from a basket, dropped them into the machine, added soap. “When he first came, he was so much fun. Then Mother told him to keep away from me. Like I was some kind of stupid kid. He was nice after that, but he avoided being alone with me. I know he liked me. He really did.” Tears streaked her smooth cheeks.
Kay started a second stack of clean towels. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was gentle.
Shannon’s face creased in hot, unreasoning anger. “Don’t patronize me. I know all about you. You were one of his old flames.” She emphasized the adjective, made it ugly. “Maybe you think he still cared about you. I can tell you he didn’t. I followed him Friday night. He sneaked out of the house.” She looked miserable and defiant. “I was watching the windows of his room, and when the lights went out, I waited by the side of the house. I thought he was coming out for his car. But he looked around and I could tell he didn’t want anyone to see him. Of course, he was sneaking. She’s a married woman. I guess that didn’t matter to him. He met her in the gazebo by the stream. I saw his face in the moonlight. He was angry. She paced up and down, up and down. I tried to get close enough to hear, but Diane’s old cocker spaniel came running up and yipping. They heard the noise and she came down the steps and ran toward the path to her house. I saw her in one of the garden lights. Then Saturday night at dinner, he called her Gwen as if the name meant nothing to him. She acted like she hardly knew him. But people don’t quarrel like that unless they are lovers.” She turned and ran sobbing toward the stairs.
Kay didn’t react to my physical presence. She stood in the middle of the gazebo, hands on her hips. “I’m going to talk to Jimmy next.”
Sycamores shaded the gazebo, but offered little respite from the heat. However, I like hot weather, and I adore the rasp of cicadas. “Gwen Dunham is more important.”
“Who’s in charge?” Kay demanded.
I smiled. “Heaven.” I spoke the simple truth.
Kay did not smile.
I observed her with a kindly expression. “Even your fine bone structure lacks charm when your features are set in what can only be described as mulish obstinacy.”
She ignored me and paced the perimeter of the gazebo, muttering to herself, “Idiotic imagination. Why do I
