by Sarah Fox
“The museum’s closed,” Eleanor said, glaring at us through the narrow opening.
“We were hoping to speak with you for a moment,” I said before she could slam the door shut. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“It is too much trouble,” she grumbled. “I have boxes of documents to get sorted.”
Grayson spoke up for the first time. “Mrs. Grimes, I’m Grayson Blake.”
“I know who you are,” she said before he could add anything further. “You run the brewery on Spirit Hill.” She said the word “brewery” like it tasted bitter. “Feeding the depraved appetites of Shady Creek’s morally feeble citizens.”
I fought the bubble of laughter that tried to work its way out of me. Eleanor was so over-the-top with her disapproval that it verged on comical. Still, I knew that laughing at her would only get the door slammed in our faces.
“I hear you’ve written a book about Shady Creek,” Grayson continued, unfazed by what Eleanor had said. “I know it’s after museum hours, but I’m heading out of town tomorrow and I was really hoping to have a copy to read on my trip.”
To my surprise, Eleanor’s churlish expression eased slightly. “You’re interested in the town’s history?” Surprise laced her words.
“Absolutely,” Grayson said, sounding completely sincere.
For all I knew, maybe he was being honest.
“You’re not even from here.” It sounded like an accusation.
Grayson wasn’t the least bit bothered. “That’s true. I wish I had a chance to grow up in this town, but I’m glad I’ve been able to make a life here as an adult. I know Shady Creek has a rich history, and I’d like to learn more about it.”
I really couldn’t tell if he was feeding her a load of donkey dust. He sounded so sincere. That ignited a flicker of worry inside of me. If he was lying to Eleanor so convincingly, how would I ever know if he was lying to me?
To my surprise, Eleanor stepped back and opened the door farther so we could enter the museum. I shoved my worries aside, realizing that Grayson was waiting for me to precede him through the door.
Eleanor crossed the creaking hardwood floors to a wire rack that held a selection of brochures and several copies of her book. She picked up one of the paperbacks and held it out to Grayson.
“Thirty dollars,” she told him.
I raised my eyebrows at the price.
Eleanor must have noticed because she glared at me. “All profits go to the museum.” It sounded like she was daring me to object.
“A very worthy cause.” Grayson already had his wallet out.
When he handed over thirty dollars, she relinquished the copy of her book.
“There’s information in there about Edwin Vallencourt and the history of Shady Creek Manor, right?” I asked.
“Chapter nine.” Her response was grudging and I sensed she was about to dismiss us.
Pure curiosity spurred my next question. “Does it include anything about the hidden treasure?”
“Hidden treasure?” Grayson echoed.
“Some say Edwin hid valuables in the manor,” I explained.
Eleanor scoffed. “Fanciful stories! My book is based on historical facts.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if she had a narrow view of what the facts were, but that wasn’t my concern at the moment. “You were at the manor when Marcie Kent died, weren’t you?” I hoped the question sounded casual rather than accusatory.
“You’re bringing up that dreadful business again?” Eleanor sniffed. “I was not. I’m glad I left before it happened.”
“You left? I thought maybe you’d hung around after talking to Linnea Bliss.”
“What on earth for? Mrs. Honeywell treated me with utter disrespect. I didn’t stay one minute longer. Besides, I had to get back to the thrift shop. I volunteer there every Wednesday. I am not a suspect, and I don’t appreciate you insinuating otherwise. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
I wasn’t ready to give up on my questioning. “The other day, Marcie suggested there was some incorrect information about Vallencourt in your book.”
I nearly withered in the face of the icy glare she directed at me.
“What would she know about Shady Creek’s history?” Eleanor asked. “This is my town. She was just a city girl.”
The vitriol behind her response took me aback.
Grayson stepped into the conversation again. “And she didn’t have the best reputation. So I heard, anyway.”
“Darn right,” Eleanor said. “She had a criminal past!”
“She had one conviction for trespassing,” I said.
She whirled on me. “Isn’t that enough?”
“I just don’t think that made her a bad person.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Eleanor grumbled. “You young people don’t have any sense.”
I was about to protest when Grayson jumped in.
“I’m sure you’ve done a great job of recounting the town’s history.” He held up the book. “I’m looking forward to reading this.”
Eleanor harrumphed and I suddenly longed to be out in the fresh evening air, away from her bitterness.
“We won’t trouble you any longer,” Grayson said.
As eager as I was to leave, I had one more issue to address. Eleanor wore a short-sleeved blouse and the scratches I’d noticed on her arms the other day were still an angry shade of red.
“Those scratches look painful,” I said. “What happened?”
She glanced at the scrapes. “I was cleaning up my rose garden. I usually wear long leather gloves to protect my arms from the thorns, but my neighbor’s darn dog stole them. If that man doesn’t replace them soon, I’m taking my complaint to the police.”
She ushered us toward the door as she spoke and by the time she finished, we were out on the sidewalk.
“Don’t bother me after hours again,” she ordered.
The door slammed with a resounding thud.
I shook my head. “It must be terrible being so grumpy all the time.”
“I’m glad you’re my neighbor and not her,” Grayson said.
“You and me both.”
We started walking along the street, back the way we’d come.
“You were very convincing,” I said, with a sidelong glance his way. Now that I wasn’t in the midst of trying to get information out of Eleanor, the worry that had taken shape back in the museum loomed large in my mind.
“About my interest in Shady Creek’s history?”
I nodded.
“That’s because I really am interested. I can’t say I like spending time with Eleanor, but I do plan to read her book.”
Relief loosened the tension that had spread through my muscles. That made me realize how much I wanted to be able to trust him.
“What do you think about Eleanor as a suspect?” I asked.
“I think there must be stronger ones.”
“Same. She’s so concerned about morality and character that her mind would have to be incredibly twisted to believe she was living up to her own standard when murdering someone. And even though Marcie ticked Eleanor off by pointing out a possible error in her book, killing her couldn’t have undone that accusation. I guess if Eleanor wanted pure revenge, she could have done it, but I still have trouble picturing her overpowering Marcie in a fight.”
“It’s not impossible, but unlikely,” Grayson agreed.
“Plus, I believe what she said about the scratches on her arms.”
“I think she was telling the truth about that too.”
“Still,” I said, “I won’t take her name off the suspect list until I’ve checked her alibi. I have a friend who works at the thrift shop. She might be able to confirm if Eleanor was there when Marcie died.”
“That would be good information to have,” Grayson said.
We’d nearly arrived at the Inkwell. As we reached the footbridge, we slowed our pace.
“So you’re heading out of town tomorrow?” I
asked.
As if by some unspoken agreement, we both came to a stop in the middle of the bridge.
“First thing in the morning. I’ve got a lunch meeting in Boston. The first of several.” Grayson leaned against the bridge railing.
The creek babbled below us and in the distance crickets chirped.
“Have a good trip,” I said. “And thank you for dinner. I really enjoyed it.”
“So did I.” Grayson touched a hand to mine and moved closer.
My pulse quickened.
“Sadie, I want you to promise me something.”
“What’s that?” I asked, relieved that I didn’t sound as breathless as I felt.
“That you’ll be careful. You’ve tangled with killers twice now, and I don’t even want to think about anything bad happening to you.”
His concern for me warmed me on the inside.
“I don’t plan to go looking for danger,” I assured him.
“Sometimes it finds you anyway.” He touched my cheek. “Promise me?”
It took a second for me to focus on what he’d said. I was too distracted by his touch.
“I promise,” I said, the words coming out as a whisper.
Grayson leaned in and I closed my eyes, my heart skipping a beat in anticipation.
A burst of loud laughter sent my eyes flying open again.
Grayson pulled back, his gaze on something over my shoulder. I glanced that way and saw a group of four customers exiting the pub and coming our way. I scooted off the bridge so they could go past, Grayson following me.
“Have a good night,” I called to the customers as they crossed the bridge.
They waved and continued on their way, their voices gradually growing quieter as they disappeared down the street.
For a second I thought Grayson and I might be able to recapture our interrupted moment, but then the pub’s door opened again and two more patrons came out into the night.
Grayson took my hand and gave me a regretful smile. “Maybe we can have dinner again once I’m back in town.”
“I’d like that.”
The pub patrons passed us with smiles and wishes for us to have a good evening.
Once they were on their way across the bridge, Grayson gave my hand a squeeze. “See you soon then.”
“Thanks again for dinner,” I said.
He met my gaze. “It was my pleasure.”
He gave me one last smile, this one not quite so regretful, before he set off down the darkened road.
Chapter 19
I phoned my friend Alma Potts soon after I got up in the morning. She’d worked the same shift as Eleanor at the charity shop on the previous Wednesday and confirmed that the other woman had indeed been present at the shop during the critical time frame. I tried not to let on that I was attempting to confirm an alibi, but I got the sense that Alma suspected what I was up to.
After overseeing a delivery of beer from Grayson’s brewery, I had one more item on my morning’s to-do list.
I cut across the northeastern corner of the green, determined to pass right by the Village Bean. After all my indulgences over the past week or so, the last thing I needed was a mocha latte, no matter how much I wanted one. I was even wondering if I should have had the cup of coffee I’d enjoyed with my breakfast. Nervousness already tickled at my stomach and my fingers drummed against my leg, driven by anxious energy that needed a release. I hoped Aunt Gilda would have time to chat. I hadn’t been able to rid myself of a lingering sense of unease and uncertainty since we’d last spoken.
When I arrived at the salon, Betty and Gilda were both busy with clients, but Gilda waved to me as she picked up a hairdryer.
“Morning, hon. Can you stick around for a few minutes? I’ll be done here soon.”
“I can wait,” I said.
I waved to Betty as she snipped away at her client’s long brown hair. I sank down onto the loveseat and grabbed a copy of the day’s edition of the Shady Creek Tribune. Since the paper came out only once per week, this was the first issue since Marcie’s death. Unsurprisingly, her murder had made the front page.
AUTHOR’S ASSISTANT FALLS TO HER DEATH. POLICE SUSPECT FOUL PLAY.
The headline alone sent an unpleasant quiver up my spine. Nevertheless, I read the accompanying article from start to finish, as well as a companion piece on one of the inner pages about Linnea’s event at the Inkwell. Joey had done a great job with both articles, but the only thing I learned that I hadn’t already known was that Marcie was originally from Wildwood, New Jersey.
With a deep sigh, I set the paper back on the table, the shadow of Marcie’s death darkening my mood. I needed to keep control of my emotions. If Aunt Gilda was about to tell me she was moving away, I couldn’t come apart at the seams. I wanted her to know I’d be happy for her, despite my own disappointment at losing her from my daily life.
Aunt Gilda shut off the hairdryer and her client, Mrs. Winslow, patted her new hairdo, smiling with satisfaction. Gilda slipped the cape off of Mrs. Winslow’s shoulders and followed her over to the counter.
“I have tickets for the masquerade,” Mrs. Winslow was saying as she dug out her wallet, “but I’m not sure about going anymore. I was talking with the ladies at the seniors’ center and we’re all unsure about it.”
“But the masquerade is always such a fun event,” Aunt Gilda said with surprise.
“Will it be the same, though?” Mrs. Winslow handed some money over to Gilda. “The thought of that poor woman dying there at the manor . . .” She gave an exaggerated shiver. “And what about the murderer? The police haven’t arrested anyone yet. Would we be putting ourselves in danger by going to the scene of the crime?”
I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from interrupting their conversation to add my two cents, but Aunt Gilda ended up saying what I was thinking anyway.
“I doubt the killer will be lurking around the ballroom, waiting to strike again. The murder was terrible, of course, but it was probably targeted. The rumor is that it was a lovers’ spat that turned deadly. If that’s true, there’s no reason for the killer to harm any of us.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Mrs. Winslow tucked her wallet back into her purse. “I’ll talk it over with my bridge club tonight.”
With that declaration, Mrs. Winslow said her goodbyes and left the salon.
“She’s the third person who’s told me they’re not sure if they want to go to the masquerade anymore,” Aunt Gilda said to me. “I feel terrible for the Honeywells. They put so much effort into the masquerade each year. It’ll be such a shame if it’s a flop. I imagine it would be a financial hit for them too.”
“I’m still planning to go,” I said as I got up from the loveseat. “I think you’re right that the murder wasn’t random, so we’re not likely to be at risk. Besides, I’m not letting my new dress go to waste.”
“It’s a gorgeous dress,” Aunt Gilda said with approval. I’d texted her a picture of it the day I’d bought it. “Such a shame that Grayson won’t be there to see you in it. Speaking of which . . .” She tucked her arm through mine. “Let’s go upstairs so you can tell me all about your date.”
“I was hoping you’d have something to tell me,” I said as we headed up the stairway to her apartment.
“I do.” The words came out on a heavy sigh.
Since I was following her up the stairs, I couldn’t see her face and couldn’t figure out the source of the sadness behind her sigh. Was she sad that she’d turned down Louie, or that she was moving away from Shady Creek?
“Don’t leave me in suspense any longer,” I pleaded as soon as we were in her kitchen. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“I have.”
She filled the kettle with water before saying anything further. After she shut off the faucet and set the kettle on the stove, she turned to face me. My heart nearly broke when I saw the tears in her eyes.
“I turned him down.” She blinked back her tears and switched o
n the stove.
“Do you regret it?” I asked, trying to interpret her almost-tears while fighting back my own. I couldn’t stand to see her upset.
She drew in a deep breath. “No.” Her response was firm, free of uncertainty. “I know I made the right decision. I care for Louie very much, and I enjoy his company, but I’m not in love with him. I thought perhaps I was simply comparing him unfairly to your uncle, that maybe I cared enough to marry him even if my feelings weren’t anything like those I had for Houston. But after taking time to think about it, I know that’s not the case. I doubt what I had with Houston could ever be matched, but even so, my heart isn’t in the place it would need to be to marry Louie.” Tears welled in her eyes again. “I’m just sad that I had to let him down.”
I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her hard. “I’m sorry, Aunt Gilda.”
She returned my hug and patted my back. “Don’t be. I’ll be fine. And I’m relieved, really. I didn’t want to leave Shady Creek, and I didn’t want to leave you.”
I could no longer keep my own tears at bay. “I didn’t want you to leave either, but I did want you to do what would make you happy.”
“The life I have here makes me happy,” she assured me as she gave me a squeeze. “Very happy.”
When she pulled back, we both had wet cheeks.
“Look at the two of us,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ve got half an hour until my next client. Let’s have a cup of tea and you can tell me about your date with Grayson.”
“Speaking of which,” I said over the whistling of the kettle, “it seems someone showed him pictures of me when I was younger. Including that seriously embarrassing prom picture of me with Wesley Lambert.”
I kept my tone light, so she’d know I wasn’t really mad.
Aunt Gilda took the kettle off the stove and poured the water into the teapot. “There’s nothing embarrassing about that photo.”
