Page 81 of Welcome to Murder Week

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Wyatt waits until the crowd is completely quiet before opening his arms like a benevolent minister greeting his flock. If he’s nervous about being in the spotlight, he’s hiding it well.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as Jane Marple said about an English village, ‘turn over a stone and you have no idea what will crawl out.’ Willowthrop, in this regard, is no exception. The pleasant facade of your quiet village hides dark secrets and forbidden passions. This evening, I will explain how and why your own Tracy Penny was murdered and by whom. You will not be surprised to know that the murderer is in this room at this moment. Allow me, however, to reassure you, or perhaps warn you, there is no escape. The doors are locked.”

Laughter and light applause as everyone looks around and tries to spot the guilty party.

Wyatt starts to pace. As he nears the kitchen, I see someone peeking out the door. I catch only a glimpse, but I think it’s Tracy Penny herself, who I imagine is eager for justice.

“Tracy Penny was well known in Willowthrop, not just as a talented hairstylist, but as a woman of many passions and complicatedrelations,” Wyatt says, moving smoothly through the crowd as he speaks. “She was not without enemies or people who have reason to want her dead. The first, and most obvious, suspect is her ex-husband, Gordon Penny.”

“Not ex,” shouts Gordon, loud enough to suggest he’s not entirely sober. “Separated, not divorced.”

“Yes, Gordon and Tracy were still married,” Wyatt says. “And Gordon remains in Tracy’s will, thereby standing to inherit the sum of ten thousand pounds upon her death.”

Suitable oohs and aahs from the assembled.

“In addition to needing money for his dance studio and probably to repay debts from his gambling habit, Gordon had to suffer the humiliation of seeking a weekly allowance from his more successful, estranged wife. Obviously, her death would not only bring him into substantial money but also spare him this indignity. Gordon Penny had the motive to kill Tracy Penny and, still in possession of a key to the building, he had the means.”

Wyatt lets that sit for a moment, a sly smile on his face as people start whispering and looking at Gordon like he’s the culprit.

“But there is one simple reason why Gordon Penny would not murder Tracy.” Here, Wyatt demonstrates the power of a good pause. We wait, until people start glancing at one another to see if anyone else has noticed that Wyatt is still silent. Only after a few more beats, as the rustling among the guests suggests restlessness, does he continue. “And that reason is that Gordon was still in love with his soon-to-be ex-wife.”

“Now how’d you know that?” Bix says. Oddly, Bix is the only man not in a suit or a jacket. He’s wearing stretchy yoga pants and a fleece vest. I guess that counts as cocktail wear in Silicon Valley.

Wyatt explains about the calla lilies that Gordon sent to Tracy,the same flowers that were in her wedding bouquet, and describes the note that accompanied them, in which he pledged his eternal love for Tracy and which was cruelly tossed in the waste bin.

“Gordon Penny,” Wyatt says, “you are guilty, not of murder but of unrequited love. You as much as admitted it yourself when you told us that you bet on a horse called Hopeless Romantic and you lost. My condolences, but you are not our man.”

More laughter and an elegant ballet dancer’s bow from Gordon. When the audience quiets down, Wyatt walks to the center of the room, turning slowly as if he’s delivering a soliloquy in a theater in the round.

“If the next of kin is not guilty, then the next most obvious person would be the last person known to have seen Tracy on the evening of her death. And that is you, Lady Magnolia Blanders.”

She looks stunning, her red hair flowing over a dark green silk dress, and appears pained to be among such a plebeian crowd.

“You came to Hair’s Looking at You salon for the first time ever on the last day of Tracy Penny’s life. You had your hair blown out, and you departed. You have spent little time in Willowthrop and know no one here. You have no obvious motive to have killed Tracy. Your involvement, it seems, was a classic red herring and an amusement. Even detectives like the opportunity to nose around a grand home, and Hadley Hall was not a disappointment.”

Lady Magnolia steps toward the door, waving to Mrs. Crone, still in her white blouse and black skirt, to follow, but Wyatt says, “Not so fast, Your Ladyship. We’re not done with you yet.

“Who else had access to Tracy’s salon and also a reason to want her dead?” Wyatt asks. “Bert Lott, you were desperate to get Tracy out of the salon.”

Bert, leaning against a back wall with his arms folded, cleans up nicely. He’s wearing a navy suit and looks good enough that it’sentirely possible that my mother matched with him on her dating app in hopes of setting up a rendezvous during our visit.

“You created complaints—about the plumbing, and the toxic fumes, and hair in the drains,” Wyatt says. “But the salon was in tip-top shape. Why were you trying to build a case against your tenant? Because you wanted to win back the love of your daughter, Claire. You were prepared to give her the salon space for free so she could open the vegan café of her dreams. Would you kill for Claire? You might. But did you? Alas, you did not. You were pursuing legal proceedings and had made a court date, as evidenced by the legal notice among Tracy’s papers. A court date during the weekafterthe murder. You’re no fool, Bert Lott. You knew that a potential murder charge was not the way to get your daughter back. However dishonestly, you opted for legal recourse. Claire Lott, to you I say, note your father’s love and abandon your business plan. Willowthrop may lack some of the fame of its neighbors, but it will not be vegan cheesecake that puts this village on the map.”

More laughter. Claire, who has taken out her braids but is still in hiking boots, throws her arms around Bert and plants a kiss on his cheek. I hadn’t noticed the resemblance before, but I think they may be father and daughter in real life.

“Now we turn to someone who spent a great deal of time with Tracy Penny and had good reason to resent her. Dinda Roost, as Tracy’s assistant, you had access to the salon. And you owed her money, money that you thought Tracy bestowed as a gift only to discover she meant it as a loan. Even worse, the money was for much-needed alternative therapies for someone near and dear to your heart, your beloved pooch, Petunia. This is what Edwina Flasher, the nosy neighbor, overheard you and Tracy arguing about the morning before the murder. You wanted to keep the money, and Tracy wanted it paid back.”

Dinda curtsies, but nearly falls over, no doubt because bundled in her arms is her date for the evening, her dog.

“Yes, Dinda, you were in a financial bind because of Tracy. But you didn’t kill her, because a dead Tracy would be worse for your finances than a living Tracy. True, you wouldn’t have to pay back the loan, but you would have no job and no income. You’ve tried several jobs in Willowthrop, none of which have worked out. This job was your last resort, and you had to keep it.”

“It’s true,” Dinda says over the yapping of Petunia. “I’m no murderer.”

Wyatt brings his palms together, bows his head, and waits for silence. Clearly, he’s loving the attention. He starts up again, speaking so quietly that everyone leans in.

“What do we know about the night of Tracy’s murder?” Wyatt says. “Who might have visited the salon? Perhaps it was Tracy’s ‘Monday lover,’ as observed by Edwina Flasher from across the street.”

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