A Willing Murder (Medlar Mystery 1)

Kate got up, and as she passed Jack on her way to the kitchen, she murmured, “Money sings a new song.”

Jack was smiling at Alastair too broadly to pay any attention to her snarkiness. Minutes later they moved to the outdoor kitchen and the big grill. Jack went with Alastair and left the women to bring out the food and drinks.

Once they were outside, Jack became the ultimate host. He crushed ice in a big blender and made a pitcher of margaritas. He served Alastair first.

“This is a nice layout.” Alastair swerved around on his stool to look at the pool and covered lanai. “Mom and her ladies would love this. When I lived here—” He waved his hand. “You don’t want to hear about the olden days.”

Kate and Sara were sipping their drinks. “We’d love to hear.”

“Everything in the house was very formal. Mom was raised in a family in Philadelphia that sat down every night to a dinner with three forks. To her, the Florida lifestyle was almost too informal to bear.”

“And now?” Kate asked.

“She’s adjusted well. Yesterday I had lunch at her condo and each plate had just one fork—with a bamboo handle!”

“Downright decadent.” Kate was looking at him over her glass.

“And what about Hamish?” Sara was on a stool beside Kate.

Alastair shrugged. “You know what Dad was like. He was at home anywhere. Very easygoing, affable man. Everyone liked him.”

“That’s true.” Sara was smiling in memory. “He used to visit Cal and me at our houses.”

No one said it aloud but the thought that the man who’d grown up in the Stewart Mansion would visit the run-down houses of the Wyatts and Medlars said a lot about him.

“He sounds nice,” Kate said.

“And so is my mother,” Alastair said. “Except when she’s nagging me to get married and give her grandchildren. Then she’s a terror.”

There was silence as Alastair and Kate smiled at each other over their drinks.

Jack’s voice, so loud the birds stopped singing, broke the silence. “So how much say do you want in the remodeling? If you buy the houses, that is?”

Alastair whirled his stool to face him. “I’d love to say none. From what I see of this place, I’d give you carte blanche. But four rich widows with empty days... Sorry, but I’m sure they’ll drive you insane. Think you can handle it?”

“Easily,” Jack said.

“Mind if I look at this?” Sara asked. The envelope he’d brought was on the bar.

“Please do,” Alastair said. “I think I should warn you that Sheriff Flynn has kept my mother informed of everything he knows.” He looked at Jack. “Sorry to tell you this, but your stepmother and grandmother have practically camped out in his office. They want Roy’s name cleared. And Gena Upton has come out of the woodwork to set herself up as someone who needs 24/7 protection. She suggested Deputy Pete for the job.”

“The hunk at the desk,” Sara said.

“That’s the one. Anyway, once the sheriff gave us a date for the murder, it was easy to find out where I was at the time.” When Kate started to speak, he smiled. “It’s okay. It didn’t take much deduction to realize that every person in the school is a suspect. But then, everyone on the planet who was alive then remembers that weekend.”

Kate wasn’t sure what he meant, but Sara’s and Jack’s faces were also blank. They had no idea what he was talking about.

“The funeral of Princess Diana,” Alastair said. “I remember it clearly. The team and I were in Naples that weekend for a training boot camp. The coaches were having fun seeing how much they could put us through before we fell down dead.” He looked at Jack. “You remember those camps, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Sara had pulled out the contents of the envelope. There were two newspaper clippings inside plastic slipcovers. Some of the players, like Alastair, were preparing for college in the fall, and they were the best from three counties. There was a banquet photo for the Friday night they were pretty sure Cheryl and her mother were murdered. The next morning Roy and Krystal had gone to the house. It was open and empty, the packed van in the driveway. It was possible that the bodies were buried just a few feet away. Had the tree been planted already?

Sara flipped through the pages. There was a copy of the week’s schedule. It went hour by hour, from early to late. The last page was a certificate saying that Alastair

Stewart had attended every class every day. It was signed and had a gold seal on it.

“I guess it’s my alibi.”