Peach Clobbered

by Anna Gerard

  For a few frightening moments, I feared he’d done worse than a simple bump on the head. Visions of lawsuits flashed through my mind, and I prayed my B&B insurance policy covered criminals injured in the commission of their crimes.

  “I asked the dispatcher to send an ambulance, too, just in case,” Sister Mary George assured us as she tucked away her phone. “Someone his age, you can’t be too careful.”

  Harry, however, was faster on the uptake than I.

  “Your skull? You mean this?” he asked, retrieving the bag Travis had dropped when Mattie bowled him over.

  “Yes, yes,” the man choked out, struggling free of the nun and dragging himself into a seated position against the foyer wall. “Let me have it!”

  Mother Superior gave a little head shake that I interpreted to mean he wasn’t going to suffer any further injury. She took the hand Sister Mary George proffered and stood.

  Feeling more than a bit responsible for his situation, I remained beside Travis while Harry shook the bag containing the ersatz skull. I heard something inside shifting about, the telltale sound signaling obvious irreparable damage to the piece. With a flourish, Harry poured the bag’s contents onto the floor beside the old man, who frantically picked up one broken piece and then another.

  Of course, the shards didn’t belong to anyone’s skull, let alone the one Travis had once hidden in the tower room closet. The giveaway, had it not already been blatantly obvious, was the yellow glaze on each broken piece.

  “Candy dish,” Harry confirmed as I recalled where I’d seen that bright color before. “It was the only thing I could find on short notice up there that was about the right size and weight.”

  “So where’s my skull?” Travis demanded with a cough. “You had to of seen it, or you wouldn’t know what you were supposed to find.”

  “Harry found it the other day,” I explained. “Don’t worry, the skull is safe with the Cymbeline sheriff’s department now. I’m sure they’d appreciate any information you can give them to help establish its provenance. Though I’m pretty sure you won’t get it back.”

  “It don’t matter anymore,” the old man muttered, letting the pottery shard he held drop to his lap. “That was my insurance policy. I coulda sold it for enough to move to Tahiti … but it’s too late now to cash it in.”

  As he spoke, I could hear the faint sound of emergency vehicle sirens growing louder. Mattie gave a sympathetic howl in return.

  Leaving Harry to keep an eye on Travis, I scrambled to my feet and went to the front door. As I opened it, I could see red and blue lights flashing at my gate before two sheriff’s department vehicles followed by an EMT truck slid into the driveway.

  The lights remained flashing while paramedics wrestled a gurney from the emergency vehicle’s rear doors. Deputies Mullins and Jackson piled out of one car, followed by Sheriff Lamb from the second. The trio didn’t wait on the EMTs but rushed up the front steps. I pointed them in Travis’s direction.

  Deputy Jackson squatted beside the man and gave him a quick once-over, though by then the paramedics were rolling the stretcher filled with portable equipment through the front door.

  While they checked out Travis, Harry directed Mullins to the pistol he’d confiscated and I gave Sheriff Lamb a brief rundown of the night’s events.

  “That explains a few things.” She glanced over at Travis, who was hooked up to various machines. “Does he need to be transported?” she asked the female EMT.

  The paramedic nodded. “We’ll run him by the ER to make sure he’s okay. Just a precaution because of his age.”

  Lamb waited while they lowered the gurney and moved the old man onto it. But when they raised the gurney again, she put out a restraining hand. “My deputy will need to go along for the ride.”

  And, then to my surprise, she pulled a set of handcuffs from her belt.

  I stared from her to Travis, who looked very old and beaten. “Is all this really necessary? I mean, he might be in trouble about the skull, but what happened tonight was pretty much a misunderstanding. I know Mr. Gleason didn’t have any intention of hurting us. I don’t want to press charges … and Harry doesn’t, either.”

  I looked over at the actor, who nodded. “What she said.”

  The sheriff shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s not up to you. There’s more going on with Mr. Gleason than what happened here tonight.”

  My earlier suspicion returned, full blown. And so I was dismayed but not overly surprised when the sheriff fastened a cuff on one of his wrists and then clamped the other to the gurney railing.

  “Travis Gleason, you’re under arrest for the murder of Gregory Bainbridge.”

  * * *

  “Believe it or not, the skull is what set everything into motion,” I explained.

  It was eight o’clock Saturday morning, and the sisters, Harry, and I were sharing a final breakfast from Peaches and Java. Four of us—me, Harry, Mother Superior, and Sister Mary George—looked more than a bit bedraggled following the evening’s excitement.

  It had been a long night. After giving our statements to Sheriff Lamb, we’d stayed up late comparing notes and theories. Fortunately, Harry had convinced the sheriff to return our cell phones that Travis had taken before the EMTs rolled the old man out, since we were minus landline and Internet service. Around midnight the sheriff gave me a call—a courtesy heads-up to let me know that Travis had confessed to Bainbridge’s murder.

  Mother Superior and Sister Mary George had stayed the night at the house. As for the other sisters, they had heard nothing about the arrest until Melissa Jane picked them up for the ride back to the B&B. Being the mayor, she’d already had the scoop on Travis Gleason.

  “I’d stick around to chat,” Melissa Jane had excitedly told me as she idled at the curb waiting for the nuns to exit her SUV, “but we have a news conference at nine AM sharp to announce that the Penguin Suit Murder is officially solved!”

  Still, she’d taken a moment to whisper a few bits of what probably was confidential information regarding Travis’s confession. And I had eagerly listened.

  Now, I unabashedly shared that gossip.

  “The mayor told me that Travis said he’d found the skull a few years ago while he was doing handyman work at the convent. He was reconstructing a dilapidated well house, and he literally dug it up while he was putting in a new foundation.”

  “I remember that,” Sister Mary Christopher exclaimed, earning nods from the rest of the sisters. “We were worried that the goats might wander into that shack and get hurt, so we had it fixed. But I never heard anything about a skull!”

  “Travis knew if he reported his find, the sheriff’s department would investigate. If it was a recent death, they’d declare the area a crime scene. If it turned out the skull was older, maybe Native American, the state would send in people to do a dig. But either way, he’d lose the skull.”

  “But why keep it?” Sister Mary George asked with a frown. “I mean, there’s such a thing as having respect for ancestors, even if they aren’t your own.”

  “He told us it was his insurance policy.”

  This from Harry, who was wearing the same T-shirt and sweat pants as the night before.

  Downing a fortifying swallow of tea, he went on, “I had a little chat with Connie last night after the rest of you went to bed. She was pretty tight-lipped about the murder, but she did tell me that Gleason’s original idea was to use the skull against Gregory Bainbridge. You know, revenge for cheating him and the others out of their homes when he built Southbridge.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What, he was going to go all Poltergeist and claim Bainbridge was building on sacred Indian burial grounds?”

  “Close. Bainbridge had been waiting years for the convent lease to expire so he could break ground on the golf community. Gleason told him that if he tried to move forward, he’d tell the state where he’d found the skull and get them to shut Bainbridge down. Because it turns out there are all sorts of prehistoric s
ites in Georgia. We’re talking a couple of thousand years old … some twice that. Apparently, Gleason had an expert confirm the skull was a true relic, which probably means there’s an old burial mound on the convent property.”

  “You’re kidding.” I hadn’t heard this part of the story. “You mean I was carrying around the head of someone who’d died back around the time of Christ? That’s unbelievable.”

  Harry shrugged. “That’s pretty much what Bainbridge told him. He figured Gleason was scamming him, and without the skull as proof, he refused to be intimidated. And just to be a bigger jerk about it, Bainbridge was in process of buying the building on the square where Gleason’s daughter has her printing shop. He said if Gleason tried to blackmail him with the skull, he’d evict Becca.”

  “Shameful,” Sister Mary Julian bellowed.

  Sister Mary Thomas nodded. “It is. But I still don’t understand how Mr. Bainbridge ended up in the penguin suit.”

  “That’s the easy part,” I assured her, recalling how I’d offered the same explanation to Sheriff Lamb. “The day before you sisters checked in, Bainbridge stopped by for a visit. He told me that he was so unpopular with everyone in town that he’d started wearing disguises. According to the statement from Travis, he caught Bainbridge taking a shortcut through the Taste-Tee-Freeze, and he watched Bainbridge put on the costume. Travis followed him out into the alley, and that’s when things went … well, bad.”

  Harry added, “That was when Jill locked me in the walk-in freezer.”

  “You mean Jill Hill?” I asked in surprise. “I thought she was the one who let you out. Are you saying she’s the one who trapped you in there in the first place?”

  He nodded. “She finally admitted all this to Connie. The day Bainbridge was murdered, she’d been pushing Jack harder than usual. You know, deliberately flirting with me, and then making fun of him for taking it. He finally snapped, and she was afraid he was going to do something drastic. So when she saw me come back into the shop, instead of giving me a heads-up like any rational person would do, she decided to hide me in the freezer until her husband cooled down.”

  “Uh, she does realize you could have died in there, doesn’t she?” I asked, unsure whether to be amused or appalled.

  Harry shrugged. “Who knows. But that’s not the worst of it. You want to know why Connie dragged me in for some one-on-one questioning the other day? Turns out she got an anonymous tip that someone had seen me arguing with Bainbridge right before the murder.”

  “Don’t tell me. Jill again?”

  He nodded. “Turns out she’d made the whole thing up because she was afraid that Jack stabbed Bainbridge, thinking he was me. She was trying to divert suspicion off him by throwing me under the bus.”

  Conversation petered out after that, until Mother Superior finally pushed back from the table.

  “Sisters, the bus from the archdiocese will arrive at noon. We should go upstairs to finish our packing. Nina, perhaps we can prevail upon you a final time to wrap the leftovers for us?”

  “Of course, Reverend Mother.”

  While they returned upstairs, I squared away the remaining food, then grabbed my cell and called my phone and Internet provider, invoking Melissa Jane’s name to get a promise of a repair guy by Sunday. Of Harry, I saw no sign.

  The one positive note was a text that popped up midmorning from Mason Denman.

  HEY NINA. GOT UR # FROM JACK. WANTED U 2 KNOW I FOUND THAT KNIFE IN A ROSEVILLE VASE. TOURISTS!

  A second message followed. BTW HEARD ABOUT TRAVIS GLEASON. COME BY THE SHOP NEXT WEEK AND TELL ALL!

  It was ten minutes to noon when the nuns came downstairs again, dragging their rolling bags behind them. All six wore composed expressions, although more than one of the women sported suspiciously red eyes. They assembled at the front door, lined up like the first time I’d met them from shortest to tallest. Harry and Matilda rounded out the somber gathering.

  “I’ve had a call from the driver,” Mother Superior said. “His ETA is approximately two minutes. I suggest that we walk to the front gate and wait there.”

  I gave Sister Mary George the breakfast leftovers, then handed a reusable grocery bag that I’d filled with half a dozen bottles of chilled water to Sister Mary Christopher. “And here’s something to drink.”

  Both women smiled their thanks, Mary Christopher’s lips trembling noticeably. By the time we reached the front gate, a big three-row van was pulling up along the curb. Harry helped the driver load the luggage while the sisters gathered around me for a final goodbye.

  “You were the best first guests I could ever have,” I told them as we exchanged hugs. “Please, let me know when you’re settled somewhere.”

  “We will, we will,” the nuns agreed as, the farewells made, they began loading into the van. Sister Mary Thomas paused long enough to give Mattie a final hug, not caring when the pup left a scattering of gray-and-white fur on the woman’s black habit.

  “Thank you again, Nina,” Sister Mary George said as we exchanged a final embrace before she took her seat in the van. “It has been a pleasure to know you.”

  That left Mother Superior standing alone on the curb. The old woman smiled, glasses flashing in the sunlight.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done for us, my child. I’ll pray for you and for the success of your business. I believe we promised you five stars on TripAdvisor.”

  She held out her hand, and we solemnly shook before Harry helped her into the van. And then the vehicle was pulling away, Mary Christopher and Mary Thomas waving frantically from the back window while Harry and I waved back and Mattie yipped her farewells.

  “Well, that’s that,” I told Harry as they turned a corner and vanished from our sight. “My first official B&B guests have come and gone.”

  “And no,” I lied as we started back up the walk, Mattie trotting ahead, “I’m not crying.”

  “Correction. You’re not crying yet.”

  Since that was all too true, I didn’t bother replying. I’d already cleaned the kitchen, so I decided to tackle the guest rooms next. I wasn’t much surprised to find that the sisters had stripped the beds and neatly folded the used sheets. As for the bathrooms, the glass and tile literally gleamed. All I’d have to do was bring in new towels and linens and the place would be ready for more guests.

  With Mattie supervising, I hauled everything down to the laundry room and started a wash. That accomplished, I headed to the kitchen for some bottled water and all but barreled into Harry. An overstuffed duffle bag hung over one shoulder, while both arms juggled a stack of lidded boxes.

  “Mind getting the door?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Then, curious, I told Mattie to stay and followed him outside.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as he opened the bus’s back door and loaded duffle and boxes inside. “You look like you’re packing to leave.”

  “I am.”

  “But you paid for a full week.”

  He set the last box inside and straightened, then gave me a triumphant grin.

  “So give me a credit on my account. I got a call from my agent right after breakfast. You know that pilot I shot last year in Mexico? She called to tell me that it just sold to one of the cable networks. Filming for Season One of John Cover, Undercover starts in Baja in one week. Once I’m finished packing, I’m heading west.”

  “That’s fantastic news. I promise I’ll watch the show. I’m really happy for you, Harry.”

  “Thanks. And that solves the problem of my stalker, too. I’ll be halfway to California before Lana knows I left town.”

  Lana. I’d almost forgotten about her. “So, do you think she’s still waiting on the love spell to work?”

  “Actually, that why Connie called me last night. While the EMTs were loading Travis into the ambulance, the deputies spotted a woman matching Lana’s description lurking around the front gate. She took off before anyone could question her, but at least now she’s on the sheriff department’s r
adar.”

  He gave an exaggerated shiver, as if shaking off the woman’s presence. “No time to chat. There’s still more to load.”

  I followed him back inside. I really was happy for Harry. Starring in an actual series on television—even on a minor network—was huge. And if the series took off, surely he could afford to buy his own place … hopefully far from Cymbeline.

  So why was I swept by sudden regret at the realization that Harry was leaving town?

  “Snap out of it,” I scolded myself. What I needed was to start advertising for new B&B guests in earnest. Though something told me I might need a new printing company, since I suspected Becca Gleason would be closing shop for a while.

  I was leaning against the kitchen counter scrolling through names of local printing services on my cell phone when Harry came strolling back in.

  “Well, I guess this is goodbye,” he said, giving the Aussie a scratch behind the ears. “I made a last sweep of the tower room. You’ll never know I was there.”

  Smiling, he added, “Do you want the parting is such sweet sorrow farewell? Or maybe you’re in the mood for So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night, from The Sound of Music. Or we can do a little Casablanca. Here’s looking at you, kid.”

  “How about we stick with a good old-fashioned handshake?” I suggested, smiling a little, too.

  “Works for me.” He stuck out his hand, and we shook. “Thanks for your hospitality, Nina Fleet. This has been an … interesting stay.”

  “Interesting,” I agreed; then, realizing the handshake had gone on for longer than was strictly necessary, I disengaged my fingers from his grasp. “So, have a safe trip.”

  I followed him outside, relieved that no press hordes were hanging about the front gate. Hopefully, that meant my name had been kept out of the morning’s news conference … would stay out of it, too.

  And, hopefully, that also meant the whole penguin theme of the past couple of weeks had officially run its course.

  Somewhat to my surprise, the bus started up the first time. Harry had settled in his seat and started to close the door when a thought occurred to me.