by Bree Baker
Grady squinted. Slowly, his expression morphed into a mask of shock and understanding. “No.” He leaned low over the table, voice firm. “No. No. Not like that.”
“Okay,” I said with a shrug that was intended to look casual but felt more like rusty gears working up and down. “I’m just repeating what was said to me.”
Grady was still for a long beat, then his jaw flung open and his eyes went slightly unfocused. He laughed, deep and genuine. When he looked at me again, his face was as red as mine felt. “There were times early on,” he began, then stopped. “She acted strangely when I came in from a run or out from a shower, anytime I didn’t have a shirt on. Mowing grass. Cleaning stables. I was never sure what to make of it, so I learned to keep my distance and wear all my clothes. All the time.” He groaned. “Olivia must’ve scared her half to death. I spent months trying to figure out how to make her comfortable, worried she might leave. She was the glue keeping things together while I got my life back on track.” He pressed his lips tight. “She must’ve thought Olivia and I had some kind of agreement.” He hung his head. “I owe her so many apologies.”
I laughed. “I’m sure she’ll understand. I think after three years of living with you, she’s figured things out.”
Grady leaned back, relenting his intense position and stretching his long legs beneath the table. “I’m sure Olivia meant well, but she can’t replace Amy.”
“No one can,” I said. “No one should want to.”
He drew in a breath and his eyes softened at the corners.
It might’ve been all the time I’d spent at the Giving Tree earlier, but there seemed to be a measure of hope in the expression.
He shifted a moment later, pulling his phone from his coat pocket and scowling at it. “It’s the mayor’s office. I’ve got to get back there and talk to Vanders and the receptionist. See if they know anything about who might’ve set up the angry gnomes.” His lids slid shut. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
I stood and pulled the strap of my purse over my head. “Have fun. You should ask Chairman Vanders if trying to fill Mayor Dunfree’s shoes has been a challenge.”
“All right,” Grady agreed slowly. “When I finish there, I’m headed to the post office to ask about the glitter bomb. Any other advice before I talk to Vanders?”
“Yeah. Don’t watch him unwrap anything.”
Chapter Fifteen
I checked my watch as I pulled up to the Dunfrees’ house. The morning had taken some unanticipated turns, and Aunt Clara was going to have to open Sun, Sand, and Tea without me. I wasn’t ready to tell her about what had happened to the final round of gnomes we’d finished together last night. And I couldn’t bring myself to head home until I’d at least tried to talk with Mrs. Dunfree about her feud with the neighbor. I’d even packed an extra box of cookies to soften the blow of my appearance on her doorstep. I made her box with extra peppermint fudge since she thought my aunt had recently killed her husband.
I slowed at the end of her packed driveway and gawked as a small crowd of huggers said hellos on the porch. Mrs. Dunfree’s face was red and streaked with tears as she accepted a covered dish and welcomed the group into her home. I gave my cookies a sideways glance. It was probably not the best time to visit, even with the gift. She was clearly in the middle of a wake or memorial of some kind, and I didn’t want to make a difficult day worse. Not to mention, she’d likely call the cops, and I didn’t want to push Grady. He was still dealing with the last Everly-related mess.
I moved on, crunching over tightly packed snow a plow had flattened to the road and eyeballing the houses on either side of the Dunfrees. Both were still and silent, but one belonged to an offending neighbor. I circled the block to determine which. A narrow, pitted alley provided the perfect venue for scoping the backyards. A particularly tall strip of fencing came immediately into view, sticking out like a sore thumb among the shorter rows of white-picket planks along the alley.
A string bean of a man, out walking a little dog, watched me as I turned Blue around. I had no idea what I’d say when I knocked on the front door.
The man paused at the rear gate of the home in question. He had a dog leash in one hand and a little baggie, presumably for his pet’s business, in the other. The dog was small and white with puffy ears and a dinky pom-pom-topped tail that resembled a lollipop. She wore a pale pink quilted coat and matching collar with rhinestone accents connected to the long retractable leash. Without the coat and leash, the poor little dog would blend into the piles of snow lining the alley. And without a lift from the man guiding her, she probably couldn’t have gotten through her unplowed yard on her own. The man tossed the little baggie into a trash bin at the curb. His bin, I realized as he lifted the little poodle into his arms.
“Hello!” I chirped, parking Blue and hopping out before the pair could get away. “Merry Christmas! Good morning,” I greeted. “I’m Everly Swan. I own and operate Sun, Sand, and Tea, the iced tea shop on the beach.”
He smiled. “Gene Birkhouse.” He offered me a hand, and I accepted with a shake. “Out enjoying the scenery? We don’t see snow like this often.”
“True, and it’s beautiful, but I’m actually making my rounds. I wanted to say happy holidays to everyone I missed at my party a few nights ago. I don’t think I saw you there.”
He chuckled and reached for the knitted hat on his head, shifting it around before leaving it where it had started. “Meg and I weren’t prepared for the weather, and most of the shops in town had been wiped out of their snow gear, so we were homebound until our online deliveries came in.”
I brightened up my smile. “Well, I’m glad to see you got your deliveries.” I lifted the white bakery box with the pretty gold-and-scarlet bow. “Would you and your wife like some cookies? They’re made fresh daily at my shop.”
He accepted the box with a quizzical look. “I’m not married.”
My gaze flicked to the dog. A little silver charm dangled from her collar. A three-letter inscription explained the mix-up. Meg.
“Oh, sorry. My mistake,” I apologized and leaped for another subject. “I wish I had a good pet-friendly recipe for times like these. Even the drive-through attendants at the bank have treats on hand for island fur babies.”
The man’s smile warmed. “I think I can help you. I have a growing collection of canine biscuit recipes for Meg. I’ve been making her birthday cakes for a decade.” He gave the dog’s small head a loving pat. “Would you like to come inside? I’d love to share one with you. If you like it, maybe you can offer it at your café. A little something to-go for guests to take home to their pups. I’ve been thinking of selling my biscuits on consignment through a few of the shops on Main Street to see what folks think.”
“Smart,” I said, appraising his size before accepting the offer. I wanted to continue the conversation until I found an opportunity to ask the questions I’d come to get answers for, but I wasn’t in a hurry to go inside alone. It was hard to judge what kind of physique might be hidden under the ski coat, but his legs were long and narrow like a stork and his face was gaunt. I suspected that without the winter coat, hat, and gloves, Gene Birkhouse probably looked a lot like Ichabod Crane. I was guessing I could get away from him in a hurry if needed. “Thank you,” I said confidently. “I’d love to.”
I followed him along a narrow path that had been shoveled through the backyard snow, surrounded by a too-tall and partially unfinished fence. Most of the completed sections had been painted barn red, and I imagined the weather was the only reason the last few sections hadn’t been set into place and painted to match the rest.
I stomped snow off my boots before stepping into his small, warm home. A collection of paint cans and supplies lined the wall inside the door. “Painting?” I asked, curious about the unfinished work outside.
“I was,” he said. “The weather ruined that.”
/> He crossed into a small kitchen and motioned for me to join him. A round oak table with two chairs and a simple white cloth anchored the room. Similarly basic curtains hung in the windows. The appliances were new, but the cabinets were old. A typical work in progress. I could relate.
He gave Meg a treat from an antique container with a small bone painted on the front, then opened the bakery box and arranged my cookies on a small glass serving tray. “Would you like a hot cup of tea while I dig up those recipes?”
“Oh, no,” I said as sweetly as I could, in case he didn’t take kindly to rejection. “I don’t want to impose, and I have to keep an eye on the time. I’ve got to open my tea shop soon, but I would love to know your secret to delicious doggy-safe treats.” I smiled. “You bake and you paint. Sounds like you have a creative streak. Maybe even an artist’s heart?”
I cast my gaze around his shabby-chic decor. Neat as a pin, with an eclectic mix of old and new. I could appreciate his style, though unlike my place, where twinkly lights and holiday decor engulfed everything, Gene had opted for a lone, sensibly decorated tree in the front window.
He set the cookies on his kitchen table. “I try,” he said, stripping off his coat and scarf to reveal exactly what I’d expected. A long-limbed, slow-moving man who had a foot on me in height, and nothing on me in weight. A center of gravity like that had to be a curse. I could definitely knock him down if he tried anything funny. Moreover, any man with a ten-year-old female purse poodle who served cookies on glass trays probably didn’t have a murderous bone in his body.
I blew out a sigh of relief and refocused on my fact-gathering mission. “I noticed you started to paint your fence out back before you finished putting it all up. That was an unusual choice.”
His lips turned down in distaste. “That’s a long story,” he said.
I smiled. “I’ll bet it’s an interesting one.”
Gene’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment I wondered if I was wrong about his potentially murderous bones. “My neighbor had a problem with the tall fencing. He said it was against regulation and I couldn’t enclose my yard with it, so I only used the six-foot pieces along the alley. Those were the most important. They block Meg’s view of the people and traffic that bothers her when she goes out to tinkle. I’d put up shorter fencing along the sides of the yard where she was only visible to the neighbors.”
That explained the partial paint job. The pieces that were already in place along the alley had been painted when they went in. The newer pieces, still being erected along each side of Gene’s yard, would need the paint when he finished. “You’re changing out the short pieces for tall ones now?” I asked.
“Yeah, and I’m getting it finished before anyone can stop me.”
“Why would anyone stop you?” I asked, attempting to look mystified.
His eyes lit. “The mayor lives next door, or he did.”
I let my jaw drop.
He grimaced. “I’ve wanted a proper fence out back for years. I wanted Meg to be able to run free on our property, but Mayor Dunfree nixed my permit request every time. He made Charmers get permits before doing anything because he wanted to control us. He wouldn’t sign off on my request unless I adhered to some outdated mandates on height and style. Apparently, every fence on the island has to be wrought iron or white picket and stumpy. Nothing over thirty-four inches tall. It’s ridiculous.”
I thought of the low scalloped fence surrounding the elaborate gardens on my property and the very similar one serving the same purpose at Aunt Clara and Aunt Fran’s house. Both white. Both picket. “I didn’t realize,” I said, stepping close and selecting a cookie. “How frustrating.”
“You have no idea,” he said, looking suddenly livid. It seemed that just talking about the situation was enough to get him riled up, even if the mayor was dead and the wife, who Grady said he had the beef with, was nowhere to be seen.
“At least you were able to put up some tall pieces in the back,” I offered.
He hacked out a throaty derisive sound. “Dunfree left a loophole in the wording on the permits. No fence taller than thirty-four inches shall be installed around a yard or property perimeter,” he quoted in a scathing tone. “I didn’t install tall sections around the entire yard. I only used those pieces where they mattered most. I adhered to the rules for the rest.”
“How did that go over?” I asked, certain I already knew.
He turned his attention to the window facing the Dunfrees’ home. “He lost his mind, and his wife went nuts, but I hadn’t done anything wrong and he knew it.” His mouth curled into a wicked grin. “They came over here screaming about how my fence blocked their view of the coast, but I didn’t care. Then, he claimed there was a rule against it. Shocker. I demanded to see this magical book of rules he always used to get his way, but he couldn’t produce it. Probably because it doesn’t exist. So they went home, and the cold war began.”
“Why was it so important to have a six-foot fence?” I asked. I raised my palms in surrender when he spun on me, eyes flashing hot. “I’m just curious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a tall backyard fence before, and it eliminates your view of the coast too. Don’t you miss it?”
“No, because I can walk outside and see the coast anytime I want, as long as I’m not in my backyard. I live on an island for criminy sakes. And so did he.”
He must’ve seen the alarm or confusion on my brow because he went on. “Meg needs a fence tall enough to protect her from a dognapper. She could be seen over a thirty-four-inch fence and through the bars of an iron one. Besides, if people could see in, then she could see out, and she’d bark at everything. Then the Dunfrees would’ve been back to fine me for some made-up noise ordinance violation.”
Meg was asleep on a plaid pillow bed near the fireplace in the next room. Photos of her life lined the mantel. Clearly this poodle was important to Gene, but would he kill for a private place for her to run?
“He was such a pretentious bully,” Gene boomed. “He made Meg spend the best years of her life on a leash because he was too power hungry to give in on one little thing, or too lazy to stand up and see the coast on the rare occasion he even went into his backyard.” His face turned deep red and he slammed his palms against the table. “Dunfree’s wife and that spineless council are going to have to live with what they stole from Meg, but I’m done letting local politicians run over me. I’m building that fence and I’m giving Meg the life she deserves, even if she has fewer years ahead of her than behind. I’d like to see someone try to stop me.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and pretended to check an incoming message “Oh, look. My great-aunt is looking for me,” I said, tapping the screen of my phone in an equally fake response. I’d been wrong to assume the lanky man before me couldn’t be dangerous. I hadn’t considered he might be hiding a wild temper. “There.” I smiled up at him. “I let her know I’m with you now, but I’ll be there to open the café in ten minutes.” I hoped if Gene was a killer, he could read between the lines. Someone knows I’m with you, so don’t try anything stupid.
“I’d better grab that recipe,” he said, collecting himself.
“No worries,” I said. “Email me.” I rushed back outside and nearly dove into Blue, my heart hammering wildly. Could Gene have killed Mayor Dunfree? If so, I hated to think of what his real intentions had been for inviting me inside.
I pressed my foot to the floor and raced back around the block. The number of vehicles parked at the mayor’s house had grown, and I didn’t dare slow down. I was too shaken to ask another question. Instead, I pointed Blue down Middletown Road, toward the boardwalk and my home.
Grady’s truck came into view as I approached the mayor’s office. For a moment, I considered stopping to tell him about Gene Birkhouse’s temper, but I wasn’t in the mood to be scolded for having questioned the Dunfrees’ neighbor. I’d had a massive fright fo
r my effort and that was punishment enough.
I tried to keep my eyes on the road, begging them not to linger on Grady’s truck or search for the detective, but my will was weak when it came to warm pastries and Grady Hays.
His gaze flicked to mine as I drew near, as if he’d somehow sensed my approach. The fierce expression on his face sent a quiver of fear down my spine.
Beside him, the words Charmers for Change had been graffitied over Vanders’s Jeep in sloppy red paint—the same red paint that had been splattered on the gnomes.
The same shade I’d seen in Gene’s mudroom.
Chapter Sixteen
I swung Blue around and parked beside Grady and the Jeep.
“What happened?” I asked, vaulting into the slushy lot. Was this why the mayor’s office had called while Grady and I were having hot chocolates? “Who did this?”
“No witnesses,” Grady said, “but I’m going to take a guess on the guilty party.” He pointed a ballpoint pen at the messy red words.
Charmers for Change.
“Okay,” I agreed slowly, “but who is that?”
Grady tucked the pen and a small notebook into his inside jacket pocket, then lifted the free hand toward his truck. “Got a minute?”
I followed him to the passenger side where he opened the door for me. I climbed inside with the weight of unanswered questions flattening my lungs. The truck was running and warm. Delicious scents of cologne, vanilla, and spice circled my head as I waited impatiently for him to join me.
Grady folded himself behind the wheel a moment later and rubbed his hands briskly in the stream of air spilling from the vents. “Any idea where your Aunt Fran is right now?” He worked the cell phone from his pocket and cast me a tentative look.
“Considering it’s nearly eleven on a workday, she’s probably at Blessed Bee,” I said, letting a little venom drip over the words in fair warning.
