"Oh, don't feel badly about that aspect of it," he said. "Any love I'd felt for Alma had gone by the wayside a long time ago. It didn't bother me in the least the two of them were having an affair, other than the fact I was being played for a fool. I'm just glad Boris wasn't aware of the tenuous relationship I had with my wife, or I might have lost my leverage in this deal. I've been unhappy with Alma for many years, but I think that's all about to change. I spoke with her a few minutes ago in the library, right before you did, in fact. She was mortified beyond belief, and hiding behind some large, boring tome about Hitler. She was afraid of what I might do or say and couldn't bring herself to look me in the eye."
"Go on," I said, encouraging him.
"She agreed to file for a divorce—a quiet, uncontested divorce. We would split our assets equally and go our separate ways. The assets are all essentially hers, but she's agreed to give up half of them as her end of the deal. For my end of the deal, I promised to never mention what I observed this morning. I knew the last thing Alma would want is the rumor going around about her having an affair with Boris Dack. It wouldn't fare well with her quilting club buddies."
As I listened to Harry Turner, it occurred to me he was now blackmailing his wife in much the same manner as Horatio had blackmailed him all those years. Does one bad turn really deserve another? I didn't really think so. But despite it all, I couldn't help feeling pleased about the way things had turned out for Harry.
I told him I was happy to know the defamatory photo would no longer be an issue for him and expressed condolences on the dissolution of his marriage, all in one breath. He thanked me once again for giving him the push he needed to confront Boris about the photo in the first place. "Without your encouragement, my dear, things could have gone on in the same intolerable fashion as before. I'd have stayed with Alma, hating every minute I spent with her. And I'd have continued to pay Boris to keep my shameful secret from the rest of the world, while he and my wife were keeping their shameful secret from me."
Yes, that was it! Harry had just, in one sentence, explained to me why I felt pleased with myself for helping Harry find an answer to his dilemma. What Harry had done wasn't right, but it wasn't quite as despicable as what others had done to him. Wasn't that some kind of twisted version of the Golden Rule? I wondered.
I congratulated Harry once more before leaving to take tea and cookies to Alma in the library and then find Stone. I was anxious to relate this latest development to him. I just prayed the conjured-up vision of Alma Turner "cavorting butt-naked" with Boris Dack wasn't something that would linger in my mind for very long.
Chapter 18
"Hey there, Mom!" I heard when I picked up the ringing phone as I stepped into the kitchen.
"Hi, Wendy."
I glanced out the window over the sink and saw Stone in the backyard. He was talking to Otto Poffenbarger. It was the first time I'd ever seen Otto without his spouse. Always before he'd been following in Patty's wake, like a puppy waiting for her to hand him a bone to chew on. I turned my attention back to Wendy.
"Anything new?" she asked. "Stone called and told me you were pushed down the staircase last night. Were you injured? I couldn't believe what he was saying. Any ideas about who might have shoved you? Didn't anybody see anything? Didn't you get a glimpse of the culprit yourself? Are you feeling okay today? Why are you still intermingling with any of them, anyway? Didn't Stone tell you to back off on your personal investigation? Didn't he say the success of the inn was not worth your getting injured, or worse? How could you even think about—?"
"Yes, Wendy, I'm fine." As usual, Wendy was firing questions at me like a pitching machine throwing balls at warp speed to a batter. I selected the most innocuous question to answer and hoped it would satisfy her. "Just ended up with a few bumps and bruises, that's all."
"I'll certainly be relieved when all those damn Historical Society people leave the inn. This is really starting to scare me. Somebody there is obviously determined to harm you and, given enough time and opportunities, they will!"
"It does seem as if someone wants me out of the way, doesn't it?" I wanted to derail the conversation away from the current subject. Wendy had an annoying propensity to treat me as if I had the intelligence of a barnacle. Maybe it was true I hadn't exhibited much common sense recently, but it didn't mean I wanted to be lectured about it by my own daughter. She didn't seem to think I could survive without a lot of help and advice, mainly from her. I changed the subject before she could get up on the soapbox I knew she was steering toward. "So what's new with you?"
"I just got home from work and thought I'd call to check on you and tell you what I learned regarding the Prescott homicide."
"Oh? What'd you learn?" The distraction ploy had worked, veering Wendy away from discussing her mother and her mother's erratic and irrational behavior.
"The county homicide investigators came and spoke with Nate and me today. They discovered the only place in the entire region selling tansy oil is the Dunsten Drug Store in St. Joseph."
Dunsten Drug Store. Why did the name sound so familiar? I knew I'd heard of it before, but I couldn't remember where or when. "So the tansy oil was purchased there?" I asked my daughter.
"No," Wendy said. "Mr. Dunsten checked himself but found no record of having sold any tansy oil in months. Dunsten Drug is a small, old-fashioned, family-owned drug store and has been known to carry a lot of unusual, off-the-wall items in their inventory. It's the place to look if you can't find something anywhere else, and that's probably what's kept them in business for so many years."
"That'd be a good thing to remember. So it would appear the tansy oil was purchased outside of the Kansas City area?"
"That's the assumption at this point."
"Everything else okay at home? I feel like I haven't been there in weeks."
"Everything's fine. And Andy called last night with some great news. He's very seriously considering selling out in Myrtle Beach and moving back to this area. Andy's always wanted to own a farm, and he found some acreage just west of Rockdale listed in a classified ad on the Internet. The property has an old farmhouse on it, a nice barn, and several out buildings. It also comes with a John Deere tractor, a rooster and chickens, a handful of hogs, a goat, and seventy-three head of Black Angus. It's exactly what he's been dreaming about and at a price he thinks he can swing. I promised Andy I'd run by the property and take some digital photos to e-mail to him."
"Oh, Wendy, that's great news. But can he make a living at farming?"
"He's not sure, but he wants to try, and I promised I'd help him any way I can," Wendy said. "He's planning to keep his five-passenger Cessna so he can still take on charter flights out of the industrial airport here."
"Stone will be so pleased to hear the news. There's nothing he'd like more than to see his favorite nephew relocate to this area. That's really the only reservation Stone had about leaving Myrtle Beach."
"There's nothing I'd like more, either, Mom, than to have Andy move back here like Stone did. Andy's such a great guy, just like his uncle."
"I know. He's so much like Stone it's uncanny. Listen, Wendy, I need to get off the phone. Speaking of Stone, I see him visiting with Mr. Poffenbarger in the backyard, and I'd like to go out and talk to them."
"Mom," Wendy said, dragging the three-letter word out like it had five syllables. "Can't you just drop it? How do you know Mr. Poffenbarger's not the one who shoved you down the stairs? Who's to say he didn't shoot Mr. Prescott?"
"Oh, I really don't think Otto would—"
"Didn't you say he and Prescott were both writing books about the same subject? Isn't there bound to be a lot of competition between them to get their own book published first?"
"Yes, of course, dear. But I'll be perfectly safe. Stone will be here with me. Try not to worry so much. It's not good for your health to be under so much stress," I cautioned. I sighed as I hung up the phone and went out the back door of the kitchen to speak to Stone and Ott
o.
* * *
"Hi, hon."
"Hello, Ms. Starr."
The two men, standing over an empty raised flowerbed, greeted me in unison. The soil had been tilled in preparation for planting flowers after the frost-free date had passed. Otto gestured toward the flowerbed as he spoke.
"I was just giving Stone some tips on how to make the soil more fertile. Fertile soil will help your flowers grow and stay healthy."
"Oh? I'd like to discuss it with you sometime, too. I have some landscaping ideas I'm anxious to experiment with this spring," I said. It was then I noticed a large manuscript lying on one of the patio tables to the left of the two gentlemen. Stone caught my surprised expression.
"I just brought it out to show to Otto," he said. He shot me a meaningful look. "It's the book Mr. Prescott had been working on. I was telling Otto how Mr. Prescott's manuscript had been found in Otto's suitcase, and he's assured me he has absolutely no idea how it got there. He's concerned someone was attempting to frame him by planting it there. I agree it's possible."
"It sure looks like it, doesn't it?" I picked up the stack of loose pages, probably three or four hundred in all, and flipped through them.
With a look of discomfort, Otto said, "Stone allowed me to scan through the first couple of chapters. I was eager to get a sense of Horatio's writing style, just out of curiosity, of course. I have to admit, it's very good—much better than mine. It deserves to be published, and my book pales in comparison, I'm afraid. For my book to have any prayer of being published, I'd have to completely revise it. I'd need to add humor and make it a lot less dry and more interesting. And frankly, I don't believe I have the capacity, the talent, or the patience to do it."
"So what are you saying, Otto?" I asked.
"I'm going to put my manuscript on the shelf for now and offer to help Horatio's daughter, Veronica, get her father's book published. He put a lot of effort into it, and even if his book were published posthumously, it'd be better than it not being published at all. His expertise really shines through in his writing, and this how-to book would be quite an asset to people attempting to restore historic homes a proper and accurate way. I'm man enough to admit my book couldn't hold a candle to his. It's a shame he won't be around to enjoy any success with it."
"Otto, I think that's a wonderful idea," I said. Stone nodded his agreement. I set the manuscript back on the table and continued, "It says a lot about your character and integrity. And I'm sure your writing is not as bad as you make it sound."
"Well, thanks, but I'm just doing what anyone with an ounce of common sense would do," Otto said. "Now I should go upstairs and leave you two alone. Stone, I trust you'll see this manuscript is turned over to the authorities?"
"Yes, of course," Stone said.
We watched Otto Poffenbarger walk up to the back deck and then open the door into the parlor. Once he was out of view I turned to Stone. "That's thoughtful of him. Isn't it? Otto seems different to me. Does he to you?"
"Uh-huh," Stone agreed. "Something clicked in him last night after Patty choked on the chicken bone at the supper table. It was like the proverbial straw breaking the camel's back. Before you came out here he told me he and Patty had engaged in an argument after supper, a battle of wills he called it. Otto told her he couldn't tolerate the situation any longer and threatened to file for divorce. By the time the dust settled, Patty had agreed to stop treating Otto as a subordinate and also to make a formidable effort to lose weight."
"That will be the day."
"Well, it won't be easy for her, but she's considering gastric bypass surgery, like Al Roker on the Today Show had done. And Crystal told me Patty turned down doughnuts with her coffee this morning and requested just grapefruit for breakfast and a small salad for lunch. That's certainly a good start."
"I'll say! Good for her! I'm proud of her. We'll have to encourage Patty and offer whatever support we can. If she doesn't do something drastic soon, her heart could give out from having to work too hard. Her arteries have to be pretty clogged too, I'd imagine."
"Otto did tell me Patty's cholesterol level was dangerously high. She's a borderline diabetic and has high blood pressure, too. And she really does have a thyroid condition, but one little iodine tablet a day controls it and keeps it at a normal level. Being grossly obese only exacerbates all of her medical problems, Otto said. Anyway, I hope Patty's willpower holds out, and that everything works out for them."
"Yeah, me too," I agreed.
"And how are you doing, Lexie? Feel okay?"
"I feel pretty good, actually. And I just talked to Wendy on the phone before I came out here."
"What'd she have to say?" Stone asked.
"She had some great news about Andy, for one thing. But let's go inside and get a cup of coffee. It's cold out here. We can talk in the kitchen. I have an interesting story to tell you about Boris Dack and the Turners, too."
Placing one arm around my shoulder, Stone picked up Horatio's manuscript with the other. "I'm sure you do. Oh, and don't worry," he said. "I didn't tell Otto who discovered the manuscript in his luggage."
I nodded in relief as Stone guided me into the inn. As we passed through the parlor we saw Robert Fischer lay the newspaper on the coffee table. We then overheard him say to his wife Ernestine, "You know, I've always said things happen for a reason, haven't I? Now we finally know why our attempt to buy the property downtown never came to fruition. Thank God for unanswered prayers."
The last thing we heard as we walked through the kitchen door was Ernestine's gleeful laughter. "I guess Bert and Ernie got the last laugh after all, didn't they?" she said.
Chapter 19
Harry Turner returned with my Jeep at about ten minutes before four. He pulled me aside to show me the photo he'd snapped of his wife in a compromising position with Boris Dack. Boris's hairy, naked butt, which was as chalky white as the snow outside, filled most of the photo—and it wasn't a pretty sight. Both he and Alma's faces were turned toward the camera. The looks on their faces indicated pure terror and shock. Harry's photograph left no doubt as to the situation or the participants. I could feel my last sip of coffee rising back up to my throat. Geez, there was five minutes of my life I'd never get back.
I gave Harry a faint smile and a thumbs-up as I reached for my car keys. He thanked me for lending him my vehicle and again for encouraging him to approach Boris about the blackmail extortion he'd been subjected to for years.
I told Harry that although Mr. Dack had already had a bad day, there was a good chance it was going to get much, much worse before it was over. Not wanting to take a chance word of the sting operation could leak out, I promised Harry I'd give him a thorough explanation the following day. He was intrigued and hardly able to contain his curiosity.
"How exciting," he said. "Now I'll be like a kid waiting impatiently for Santa Claus to come down the chimney on Christmas Eve. This has been a most eventful few days."
I left Harry, took the keys to my Jeep, and went straight to Boris Dack's room. Boris appeared even more agitated than Alma had when I'd spoken to her earlier in the library. He was almost pathetic as he reached out with a trembling hand for the keys. He mumbled a curt, "Thanks," and nearly shut his door in my face. I felt nothing but disdain for this rude, repulsive man. If I weren't in the process of setting him up, I wouldn't have lent him my car.
I was as giddy in anticipation as Harry Turner was. I could hardly wait to hear what transpired at Boris Dack's six o'clock meeting with Pablo Pikstone, Shorty, four endangered kakapo parrots—and an uninvited SWAT team.
* * *
As expected, everyone but Boris Dack appeared for supper. Crystal and I served a rack of lamb with new potatoes and asparagus. Crystal had even baked a red velvet cake for dessert. I noticed Alma staring down at her plate, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. She ate her meal systematically, like a programmed robot, and excused herself from the table before dessert was served.
Patty Poffenba
rger spoke sparingly and merely played with her food, rearranging it on her plate to appear as if she'd eaten the bulk of it, when actually she'd only taken about a half dozen small bites. She ate all of her tossed salad, but declined a serving of the red velvet cake, although she stared at Otto's plate the entire time he ate his dessert. She was nearly salivating as she asked him if Crystal's cake was as good as the red velvet cake she often made.
Otto judiciously told Patty that both recipes were delicious. Otto was exhibiting a much more assertive personality than anyone could have anticipated. This new attitude must have been hidden deep within him for all the years he'd allowed his wife to control his every move. He even seemed surprised at himself as he then told a slightly off-color joke. Patty laughed louder than anyone else at the table did. The punch line made no sense to me, so she was apparently trying to placate her husband.
Harry laughed politely at Otto's pathetic attempt at humor. Harry was in high spirits. He winked at me across the table. I noticed he sat two chairs down from Alma and didn't even blink when she left the table early. He was as emotionally detached from Alma as he could be. It was not love that had kept them together all these years but a fear of embarrassment, I concluded.
Cornelius was seated next to Rosalinda Swift. He held her chair for her as she sat down at the table. Rosalinda, for once, appeared to be completely sober. She was clearly wallowing in Cornelius's attention.
Robert and Ernestine Fischer were also buoyant, as if a heavy weight had been lifted off their shoulders. Bert and Ernie were thanking their lucky stars that Horatio Prescott had screwed them out of a land deal years ago and saved them from a financial catastrophe.
All in all, it was a vastly transformed group that sat down for their last supper at Alexandria Inn. The death of Horatio Prescott III had set in motion a chain of events precipitating a metamorphosis within the Historical Society. And more life-altering events were probable, I realized, as I looked at my watch and saw it was half past six. Boris might already be in custody, I realized with a start. What I wouldn't give to be a mouse at that little get-together.
Lexie Starr Cozy Mysteries Boxed Set Page 33
