Tilly frowned at me. “What does the stylist do?”
“I believe they re-create the recipe so it can be photographed. They focus on making it appear fabulous.”
“I’ve heard of that. Oh no! They are not using motor oil on my food!”
“I don’t think that’s the norm, although I understand they use some unconventional methods to make food look great.”
“Like what?”
“They might use a red jelly to give something a reddish glaze, or maybe soy sauce can add to the browned look on a roast. Things like that. You’ll have to take it up with your stylist.”
Tilly looked me in the eyes. “I didn’t know how to put this, but I want you to know that I’m devastated that Wesley fired Mars. We’re both very fond of Mars.” She leaned toward me and whispered, “I don’t trust Stu Jericho, and I have said as much to Wesley. He wanted Mars out for some reason, and it troubles me no end.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Wesley hasn’t been himself. He’s not sleeping, and he barely eats. It won’t do him any harm to lose a few pounds, but I feel like there’s something very bad going on. He’s been so short-tempered, which is very unlike him. It started when Abby left and has grown progressively worse, especially after Mars was fired.”
“Do you think Jericho is giving him bad advice?”
“I wish Wesley would talk to me about that.”
“Could Jericho have had anything to do with Abby?” I wondered if I should ask what I wanted to know. Maybe this was the right time to put it out there. “I know Abby was dating Mars. Is it possible that she had something going on with Wesley?”
Tilly didn’t react the way I had expected. There was no shock, feigned or otherwise. She didn’t protest or cry. “Don’t think I haven’t considered that possibility. Abby was very fond of Wesley. A lot of people are. He’s an extremely approachable and affable person. It’s what makes him a good politician. Everyone feels like they know him. But I have wondered if Abby’s interest in Wesley got out of hand. I don’t relish the thought. Mia warned me about it. I thought she was exaggerating. But now I’m not so sure.”
“Have you asked him?”
“Asked him what? ‘Dear, did you have an affair with Abby and murder her to get rid of her or did you pay her off?’”
I chuckled. “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind, but it would certainly get his attention!” She’d told me before, but I wanted to see if she stuck to her story. And specifically, I wanted to know where Wesley was that evening. “What did you and Wesley do the Friday night that Mia was murdered?”
“Abby left here around four in the afternoon. She was agitated. Oh my. Do you think she and Wesley had a fight? Right under my nose?”
I tried to steer her back to Wesley’s whereabouts. “What else happened?”
“There was a football game that night, so I drove Briley and some of her friends.” Her words slowed as if she was mulling something over while she spoke. “Wesley wasn’t interested, but I thought it was important for at least one parent to keep an eye on them. Afterward I took them all out for pizza and burgers. I love hearing them chatter. They’re at that age where they think they’re grown up and they know everything. It was at least eleven or so by the time we got home.”
“Was Jericho still here?”
“No. But neither was Wesley. He came home about fifteen minutes later.”
“Oh?”
Her eyes met mine. “That means he has no alibi.” She shook her head vigorously and covered her eyes for a moment. “No. I’m sure he was with someone. I shall ask him tonight. Wesley had no reason to kill Mia. That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said as soothingly as I could, even if I wasn’t as convinced as she wanted to be. “I’ll give you a call when I’m done with these pages.”
I walked home feeling sad for Tilly. She was a lovely person, but she had some sort of major problem with Wesley. I hoped they would sort it out and that it didn’t involve murder.
I passed my own house and went straight to Francie’s side door.
“We were just talking about Abby,” she said. “Come join us.”
Eunice sat at the long farmhouse table in the dining room that was part of Francie’s kitchen. Her laptop was open in front of her. “I know that was her dress. Do you think we could ask Benton to look at the contents? He might recognize other clothes.”
I slid into a chair at the table. “I believe he would agree to that. But . . . there’s something weird about Benton.”
Chapter 27
Dear Natasha,
My little boy complains about the sandwiches I make for him to take to school. He says the bread is always soggy. How does one avoid that?
Billy’s Mom in Toast, North Carolina
Dear Billy’s Mom,
Spread both slices of bread with mayonnaise or a dressing. The fat keeps any water inside from being absorbed by the bread.
Natasha
Francie leaned toward me. “Do tell!”
I explained about seeing him pick a soda can out of a public trash can. “And today he hid something in a brick wall, and as he walked along the street, he marked a lamppost with chalk.”
Eunice laughed as if I’d told her something very amusing. “That’s called a dead drop.”
“That’s what Wolf said.”
“Sure. You leave a message for someone, but you never actually interact with that person. Though I must say I’m surprised you noticed him doing that. He’ll be caught in no time if he’s that poor at his job.” Eunice lay a finger across her lips. “Shh. Let’s not mention that to him, shall we?”
“Why Eunice Crenshaw! You little sneak. How do you know so much about spying?” I leaned back against the chair, beginning to form my own suspicions about her.
“I read a lot.”
“About spies?” I asked.
“That and other things. Sophie, sweetheart, Washington is full of people who know secrets and have boring covers. We are silly with spies in this town. There must be at least ten agencies in Washington with spies. The CIA is loaded with employees. Not to mention all the embassies and consulates that belong to countries all over the world. And don’t forget the foreigners who are spies with no diplomatic cover, leading normal lives like they’re Americans. They can be quite difficult to spot.”
“You seem to know a lot about this, Eunice. Where did you and Sam work?” I asked.
Eunice smiled. “It was a long time ago. We were so young and eager.” She lifted her forefinger and waved it. “Here’s how you recognize a spy. First and foremost, with a few exceptions, they won’t be eye-catching people. Your friend Natasha, for instance. We know she’s not a spy because she does her level best to draw attention to herself. A spy will live quietly and be somewhat plain in the sense that they don’t wear fancy watches or drive Ferraris.”
“That makes sense,” said Francie.
“They are often gone for long periods of time, so you won’t find them involved in anything that could tie them down like the PTA or a condo association. Sometimes they need to leave quickly. Oh! And you’ll never see them on Facebook. No cutesy shots of them at the Eiffel Tower or eating fondue in Switzerland.”