Page 170 of Hello, Summer
“Anything at all, as long as you’re there by seven.”
64
The bird dogs announced her presence at Oak Springs Farm before she’d even climbed out of the Subaru.
Toddie was seated on a rocking chair in the shade of the porch, sipping from an ice-frosted glass. “Hush!” she hollered. The three dogs ceased their barking and settled themselves in a semicircle around their mistress.
“Hi there,” she called as Conley climbed the steps. “What brings you all the way out here to the country? Heard you had some excitement in town last night.”
“Excitementis one word for it,” Conley said. She pointed at the chair next to Toddie, who had not invited her to sit. “I’ve got something on my mind, and I wanted to run it by you,” Conley said.
“Go ahead.”
Conley sat down anyway. “I spoke to the sheriff this morning about how Symmes was killed.”
“Damn deer.”
“Well, that and the fentanyl. Mixed with a pretty substantial amount of alcohol in his bloodstream,” Conley said.
Toddie rocked backward in her chair and crossed a slender leg. She was still dressed for work, in blue jeans and a polo shirt withOAK SPRINGSFARMembroidered above her breast. With her deeply tanned complexion and snow-white hair held back with a knotted bandanna headband, she looked like something from aGarden and Gunad.
“Did you come all the way out here to tell me how my ex-husband died? I could have saved you the trip, because I talked to the sheriff myself today.”
“No, I came out here because I have a theory—not about how he died but why.”
“Symmes died because he had end-stage non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He was an old man, and his body was worn out from all the meds,” Toddie said. She reached out a hand and scratched the nearest dog’s ear.
“I think there was more to it than that,” Conley said.
“Do tell.”
“A man I know in Silver Bay—a man who blamed his mom’s death on Symmes Robinette—told me he spotted Symmes a while back, sitting in a Waffle House just down the road here, holding hands with a pretty, much younger woman. This man—who has a good reason for hating your ex—snapped a picture of the couple with his smartphone. And then, because he assumed the young woman was Symmes’s new girlfriend, he emailed the photo, out of spite, to Vanessa.”
“I’ll bet that frosted her fanny,” Toddie said, chuckling.
“I’m sure it did, but only because she recognized the younger woman as your daughter Rebecca, whom Symmes had been seeing on the sly,” Conley said. “Vanessa is nothing if not intuitive, and I think she figured out pretty fast that the old fox had outfoxed her.”
“Vanessa told you all this?”
“No, but I’m pretty good at putting stuff together.”
“You seem good at spinning an entertaining yarn, I’ll give you that.”
“It gets better,” Conley promised. “Vanessa had already tightened the screws and cut him off from Charlie, but she didn’t count on Symmes and his midnight rambles. I think after she saw that photo, she confronted him about seeing you and the kids.”
“This story is getting pretty wild,” Toddie said. “Sounds like a novel. Not that I have time to read a lot of fiction. Because unlike the lovely Vanessa, I have to work for a living.”
“It would make a good novel, wouldn’t it? Anyway, here’s how I think it played out. I think Vanessa somehow found out Symmes deeded the farm over to you. Now, I admit, I’m not surehowshe found out. I wouldn’t put it past the Little Prince telling her, just to rub her nose in it.”
“The Little Prince?”
“Charlie.”
“Hahaha,” Toddie laughed hoarsely. “That fits.”
“Glad you agree. Of course, it could be that Symmes confessed it himself. I hear he was looking for redemption in those last days. However it happened, here’s what I think went down that night. I think Vanessa flipped all the way out when Symmes admitted he’d literally signed away the farm to you. As you say, he was sick and weak. Maybe she begged, maybe she threatened, but I’m wondering if Vanessa didn’t wear Symmes down to the point that he changed his mind about giving away a piece of real estate worth close to two million.”
Toddie kept rocking and sipping her drink. “Does this story of yours have an ending? ’Cause I’m getting pretty bored with all these theories of yours.”
