Jam, Jelly and Just Desserts

by Carolyn L. Dean

  Meg leaned over, her plate of cake forgotten. “Don’t apologize. I’m completely envious,” she said, her frankness apparently surprising Jennifer. “If I had a chance to travel around the world working for someone who looked like Gable, well…” she sighed. “Don’t tell Truman, but I’d jump on it in a minute.”

  Lisa’s eyebrows went up in shock. “You’d leave your boyfriend for a plane ticket to go overseas?” she asked, and Meg grinned.

  “Couldn’t I take him with me?” she teased, but Jennifer didn’t see the humor.

  “It’s not about how Gable…looks. It’s about his vision for his company and the sort of things he’s involved in. I know that sounds lame, but he’s going to have me do a bunch of legwork for him all over the world.”

  Mrs. Granger looked confused and pushed her glasses up her nose, as if better vision might somehow help her follow the conversation. “I don’t understand. You’re going to be buying stuff for him?”

  “I’m going to be looking for items and properties he can invest in,” Jennifer said, handing a third slice of pizza to Columbia, who eagerly accepted it. “Antiques. Things like that, so he can sell them for a profit. He thinks I’d be good at it, and I’m going to give it a try.”

  Amanda smiled as she stacked another present on the table next to Columbia. “He’ll be lucky to have you,” she said, which earned her a grateful smile from Jennifer. “Does he know about all your… skills?”

  “He has a full resume and I’ve filled in some of the gaps,” Jennifer assured her, then turned brightly to Columbia. “Now, that’s enough about me. Can we give you a hand getting all this loot home for you?”

  Columbia looked at the mound of presents piled on two tables and a portable crib that had been set up on the floor. “That would be great,” she said with a happy sigh. “Thank you, everyone, for all you’ve done. This baby is going to have clothes for the next two years, and I have all of you to thank for that.” There was a note of sudden emotion in her voice. “I…I can tell I moved to the right town.”

  Mrs. Granger reached over and patted her hand in sympathy. “That’s okay, sweetie. We all know this must be very rough for you, with Ruben gone and all and …” she suddenly stopped, as if realizing that she’d strolled into a very dangerous conversation, but Columbia immediately corrected her.

  “Oh, no. No way! You thought Ruben was the father? Is that what people have been saying?” She gave a long, loud chuckle, actually clutching her belly as she laughed. Finally, she wiped her eyes and looked at the old lady, still chuckling. “Don’t make me laugh that loud or I’ll have to pee again. Ruben’s not the father. My ex-boyfriend Damon is. He doesn’t want anything to do with either me or this baby, and that suits me just fine. Trust me, this little guy is going to be much better off without having Damon anywhere near him.”

  There was a general murmur of sympathy and affirmation as the assembled women mulled over Columbia’s statement, settling the question of who the father was. It had been a topic of unending interest for the past several months.

  “So,” Columbia said suddenly as she turned toward Amanda, “how do you keep getting caught up in these mysteries around here? I know you’re married to a detective and all, but I was hearing about some of the things that have happened to you and I’m absolutely amazed.”

  Amanda could feel the eyes on her from every woman in the pizza parlor within hearing distance. Finally, she shrugged. “You know, some of it has to be just a roll of the dice, I guess,” she said. “I keep winding up being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Truth is, though, I have to admit I get a kick out of solving a puzzle.”

  “I knew it!” Mrs. Granger crowed enthusiastically. “Pay up, Meg. You owe me five bucks. I said she liked puzzles, and you said she liked that hint of danger. I win the bet.”

  “Maybe I do,” Amanda said, almost defensively, and Meg gave her grandmother a look of triumph.

  “Hear that? She said she likes danger. There. I don’t owe you five bucks. It’s a tie.”

  Mrs. Granger grumbled a bit but finally seemed to accept the fact she hadn’t won any cash. She hefted herself to her feet and put a hand out for Amanda.

  “Come on, Danger Girl. You can help your old Gran to the potty.”

  Chapter 22

  That went well, Amanda thought happily as she waved goodbye to the new manager at the Cannery restaurant. She’d had a good time getting to know Rosalyn, and when they’d gone over opportunities for cross-promoting with other business owners and how the new seafood restaurant could participate in the spring opening of the town’s well-loved farmers’ market, Rosalyn had been eager to be part of it all. Since she’d been hired the food had really improved, and Amanda had been happy to point her guests toward the oceanside restaurant for dinners.

  She was just getting in her car in front of the row of rental cottages next door when she heard someone next door hosing off their sidewalk. As she peeked over her shoulder she caught a glimpse of her father's back as he walked toward his little side yard, a spraying hose in his hand.

  Her hand was frozen on the car's door handle as she debated what she should do. She was almost certain he hadn't seen her, or he would've probably waited in the front yard. If she just got in and drove off she wouldn’t have to talk to him.

  But, if she got in and drove off, she wouldn’t get to talk to him, either.

  Maybe this was the opportunity Pastor Fox had been talking about. Something casual and as easy as possible.

  She thought for a split second, then dropped her hand off the handle and walked toward the row of tiny cottages.

  As she walked up she could see Bob Fairfax loading tools in his car at the little house next door to her father’s place, and he gave her a friendly wave. She smiled and waved back, then took a deep breath to gather her courage and walked around the corner of her father's place.

  He looked up as he was spraying the sidewalk, his eyes widening in surprise. Quickly, he twisted the nozzle to turn the water off and they looked at each other for a moment, the sound of dripping water the only interruption.

  "Um, I just saw you outside and thought I'd swing by to say hello," she said, trying to sound casual, but somehow it came out sounding a bit small and strangled.

  Her father's eyebrows went up and he looked nervous, but pleased. "Well, I’m really glad you did." He paused, as if trying to think of what to say. "I've been trying to clean up the place a bit."

  "I see," she said, feeling completely out of place, then rushed to say, "How are you?"

  "All right. Still upright and breathing so I can't complain," Wendell said. He cleared his throat. "How are you?"

  "Fine." An awkward silence hung between them. Wendell finally pointed to a mound of junk at the corner of the house. "I'm getting ready to take some of this stuff to the dump. It's amazing how much garbage people just left here. Bunch of bums," he said. Leaning over he grabbed something in the pile and pulled, coming up with a large metal stockpot, dull and pitted.

  "See this? It's been discolored because it's been outside, and it's really too bad," Wendell said with a sigh. "It would've been great for spaghetti sauce or soup and now it's unusable. This salt air is tough on a lot of metals, but I guess it's especially corrosive on aluminum. It's kinda killed the pot."

  Amanda looked at the pitted cooking pot and a sudden, horrible realization hit her.

  Corrosion.

  Metal.

  Her mouth dropped open as the pieces started falling into place. "Dad, do you have a cell phone?" she asked, and her father's face broke into a rare, genuine smile.

  "You called me Dad," he said happily, but she was busy frantically digging her phone out of her purse. She unlocked it and then tossed it to Wendell.

  "You need to call 911 and get help down here, right away. Do it now, Dad," she said, watching him punch in the numbers before she turned and walked quickly toward the street again. Standing on the sidewalk, she could see Fairfax loading his truck.

&
nbsp; "So, it looks like you're going somewhere," Amanda said, watching him heft a packed duffle bag into the back of his small pickup.

  Fairfax picked up a bucket of work tools and smiled at her. "Yep, no more work in this town now that Radcliffe's bought it. I mean, I know you have Greeley come out and help you at the Inn sometimes, but that's not enough work to keep all of us tradesmen going, you know." He set the heavy bucket on the tailgate. "A guy like me's gotta follow where the money is. Don't have time to sit and wait for something to happen." He pushed the bucket farther back under the canopy.

  Amanda's voice was deceptively calm, even as her heart was racing. "The ceiling."

  Fairfax stopped as if suddenly frozen, his back still to her. "What did you say?"

  "The tin ceiling, in his room. You put that in, right?"

  At her words, spoken as if she was just making conversation, Fairfax slowly turned toward her.

  "It's just a ceiling," was his quick answer, but Amanda pressed her lips together, then continued.

  "No, it's not just a ceiling,” she insisted. “It's a murder weapon, isn't it?"

  She could see Fairfax's face flush, his eyes darting around.

  "You don't know what you're talking about." He pulled out his car keys. "Look, I've got to go, and I don't have time to just sit here and talk with you."

  As he flipped up the tailgate to his truck to slam it shut, Amanda raised her voice loud enough that he could hear her.

  "Radcliffe was poisoned by thallium. I’ve read up on it. Thallium looks a lot like tin, but it gets discolored when it's exposed to air," she said, and Fairfax turned to look at her.

  And he had the eyes of a killer.

  "So, when you put that ceiling in his bedroom, you painted it with thallium, knowing that it would just look like an old tin ceiling, maybe with water damage. What was really happening, though, was that every breath of air Radcliffe took in that bedroom was exposing him to thallium, right above where he slept all night. That's the truth, isn't it?

  "So, what if I did?" he said, his voice flat and low. "Maybe it was a mercy killing. Maybe whoever killed him did the world a big fat favor by getting rid of a guy like that."

  She watched his feet carefully, ready to turn and run if he made any move toward her. "You can say what you want, but I don't think the police would see it that way. He would've had to do something really terrible to make someone mad enough to kill him, don't you think?"

  Fairfax gave a snort of dismissal. "Terrible? Like stealing everything a family's owned for the last hundred years? Like offering them a pittance for the best patch of farmland along the coast and then turning around and selling it to the highest bidder, one of the old boys’ club from Ravenwood Cove?" His voice broke with suppressed emotion. "Like taking away anything that can be passed down from generation to generation?" He straightened himself up and swallowed hard. "Yeah, why would someone kill a guy like that, huh?" He looked at Amanda for a moment, as if studying her, and she had the definite impression he was considering whether to rush at her or not. "Look, I've got to go, " he said, pulling out his car keys and turning toward his truck, but Amanda could hear the rush of heavy footsteps behind her. She turned just in time to see her father run past her, the huge stockpot in his hands, raised over his head.

  "You're not going anywhere, young man," Wendell said, huffing with exertion and standing in front of Amanda. "You need to be accountable for your actions."

  Fairfax glared at Wendell. "Look, if I was the one who killed him I had my reasons, okay? That man was a huge problem for a lot of people. You wouldn’t believe the things he masterminded. He was a horrible person."

  "And you used thallium to solve that problem, didn’t you?" she asked.

  "Look, I’m not going to stay here and talk to you about this anymore.” Fairfax’s voice was nearly a shout. “You can’t make me….”

  Amanda opened her mouth in rebuttal, but Fairfax cut her off.

  “And don’t try to stop me!”

  The tinge of anger and threat in his voice was raw was emotion, and Wendell had heard enough. With a rush of frantic motion, Wendell charged suddenly at Fairfax. The contractor’s eyes widened in sudden alarm, right before Wendell raised the metal stockpot in both hands and swung it as hard as he could at the side of Fairfax's head.

  There was a loud crack as it hit him. His face contracted in pain as he staggered backward, his mouth hanging slack as he finally dropped like a stringless marionette onto the gravel drive, unconscious.

  Wendell leaned over him, breathing quickly with exertion and fear, holding the dented pot in both hands and watching to see if he was going to get up.

  "I killed him," Wendell said, as if he were talking to himself. "I killed him dead. I had to do it, or he might have hurt you." He looked up at Amanda, his eyes ringed with white, his face frozen with desperation. " Don't let them take me back to prison, Amanda. I'm begging you. I can't go back to prison again!"

  She took a hesitant step forward, then another and slowly reached for the stockpot. He was gripping it so tightly it took her a moment to pull it from his clutching fingers. As she set it down and put a gentle hand on his, she could hear the far-off sounds of sirens racing toward them. It was a relief to her but absolutely terrifying for her father, and he started to pull away, as if to run.

  "Don't, Dad," she begged. "They’re going to help. It'll be all right."

  As she spoke, Fairfax stirred, then groaned loudly, his eyes still shut in pain.

  "See?" Amanda said, pointing to the contractor, now twitching on the ground. "He's not dead. You didn't kill him." She put her hand around her father's. "You stopped a murderer, who was probably going to attack me."

  "I did?" Wendell said, looking confused at the thought.

  George Ortiz's police car was the first onsite, siren still blaring before it growled down into sudden silence. His car slid to a stop on the road beside them, and he was out of the car before it seemed to even be parked. Running up, he put his hand on his gun, his years of training helping him evaluate the situation even before someone told him what had happened.

  "Need an ambulance?" he asked, sliding to a stop by Amanda and looking down at Fairfax, who was trying to open his eyes.

  Amanda nodded, finally feeling the rush of adrenaline from her confrontation. "Yes, he got hit in the head." She gulped cool air before she continued. "He's the one who killed Radcliffe. I can prove it, and my father heard him confess to it, too.” She looked proudly at Wendell. “He protected both of us, and hit him in self-defense.”

  “Good job,” George said, pulling out his radio, and calling for an ambulance.

  Amanda could feel her father’s hand relax a bit in hers, and he gave her a timid smile.

  “See?” Amanda said. “You stopped a murderer. No one’s going to take you back to prison.”

  Wendell nodded, watching the police chief put his radio away, call completed. "I hope you told that ambulance crew to take its time,” he said, poking Fairfax with the toe of his worn boot. "He deserves every bit of pain he gets, for what he's done." He turned to Amanda, his eyes full of emotion. "And for what he was going to do."

  George shook his head. "I couldn’t tell the ambulance to wait, Mr. Smith. They’d have my badge for that, and you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?"

  Wendell looked at the police chief, as if sizing him up. Finally, he answered. "No. No, I don't think I would."

  George double checked Fairfax’s breathing, then straightened up and put a friendly hand on Amanda's shoulder. "What am I going to do with you?” he said with a small laugh. “You know the grief your husband is going to give us both when he hears the sort of adventures you've been having while he's away?”

  Amanda sighed. “I have a pretty good idea, yes.”

  Chapter 23

  “I definitely need to get outside more,” Amanda commented, loving the feel of the fresh ocean breeze tugging at her ponytail. “You know, when I lived in LA I had no idea how beau
tiful the Oregon coast would be.” She propped her feet up on the bench opposite her, leaning back and looking up at the Inn’s pergola roof. “Even if it’s just in my own backyard.”

  “Here, come help me pass these out,” Meg told Lisa, who got up and unpacked the picnic basket they’d hauled outside from the kitchen. Mrs. Granger smacked her lips in happy anticipation as gourmet sandwiches and potato salad were set out on the picnic table, followed by freshly scrubbed oranges and a pack of white chocolate and macadamia cookies.

  “This was a great idea,” the old lady said as she accepted a plate Meg handed her. “Amanda, I’d been meaning to ask you, how did James take all that happened with Radcliffe dying?”

  Amanda gave a short bark of laughter. “I’ll let you guess. He said something about how he wasn’t willing to have his wife in danger all the time, and then we had a discussion about it.”

  “A good discussion? A discussion where you get to make up afterward?” Mrs. Granger asked puckishly, and Amanda could hear the insinuation in her voice.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” she said with a grin, and the women chuckled.

  Meg held up her hand. “Okay, I have a question.” She turned to Amanda. “How did you know Fairfax was the killer? What about that red yarn you talked about, on the back fence? I don’t get it.”

  Amanda started peeling her orange, knowing all eyes were on her as she cleared her throat and started to explain. “It turns out Elizabeth Porter was in the house when Radcliffe died from thallium poisoning. She was the one I heard in the room when I was waiting outside on the front porch, and she saw Radcliffe’s collapse. She told George she panicked and ran out the back door when she heard me knocking and coming into the house. The yarn was from her favorite sweater, when it got snagged as she went over the fence.”