“Natasha is convinced Katrina has wonderful ideas for her spa. She won’t believe me. Not without proof.” I bit my lip. “And if Natasha learns we suspect Katrina of being unethical, she might say something to her. Not deliberately. But Natasha is nothing if not indiscreet.”
“I wish Natasha would tell her,” Piper said. “And she should do it when she fires her.”
I ran over the possible consequences in my mind. “I’ll advise Natasha not to trust Katrina with too much responsibility. And I’ll find out if Katrina is passing on any ghostly messages that might take advantage of Natasha. But I don’t want to overreact and put Natasha in the middle of a deadly situation.”
“Deadly?” Lionel asked. “Katrina is likely a thief and a liar, but there’s no evidence she ever physically harmed anyone.”
“All I know is Everett Hostetter, his nephew Anthony, Janelle, and Katrina all showed up in Oriole Point around the same time. And that there’s a connection between them.”
“So?” Piper asked.
“So I’m wondering if Everett Hostetter was murdered.”
Chapter Seven
A row of ducks watched me as I made my way into Holmes Duck Decoys.
Although Gareth Holmes opened his store six months ago, I’d never made the time to stop by. I also had no use for a wooden decoy since I didn’t hunt.
I took a deep breath. The building smelled of fresh paint and new wood. A fragrance I wish they could bottle.
For a moment, I wondered if ducks were the only occupants of the shop until a door opened near the back, revealing Gareth Holmes. He held an unpainted wooden duck, examining it with concern.
“Hi, Gareth,” I said softly, not wanting to startle him.
He looked up with a wide smile. “Hello there, young Marlee.”
Gareth invariably greeted me with “young Marlee”, which I found rather sweet.
As he frequently did, Gareth wore a rumpled flannel shirt tucked into faded jeans held up by suspenders. Those jeans were tucked into scuffed work boots. In addition, Gareth boasted a Santa-like girth, the shirt stretched tight over his stomach. As Dean had noted, Gareth’s cheeks were ruddy above his thick, white beard. I expected him to greet me with a “Ho, ho, ho.”
“Are you here on OPBA business?” He set the duck decoy beneath the counter.
The town shopkeepers belonged to the Oriole Point Business Association, otherwise referred to as OPBA. As members, Gareth and I attended the monthly meetings. I was also membership secretary, which involved more paperwork than I cared for. I knew Gareth primarily from these meetings. But we were no more than casual acquaintances.
“No, I had a favor to ask. Also I’ve never been inside your shop.” I scanned the shelves of painted decoys and framed photographs of ducks on the walls. “You have ducks in here I haven’t seen in Michigan. And I’m a member of the Lakeshore Birders.”
He winked at me. “I bet you thought I spent all my time carving mallards.”
“I assumed you’d sell bufflehead decoys, too. Along with goldeneyes, scoters, greater scaups, ring-necks. But you have duck species not native to the state.”
“My customers come from all over the country,” he said with a note of pride. “Sportsmen who appreciate the craftsmanship of a handmade decoy. Here, let me show you.”
Since I knew they were used to lure actual birds into the line of fire, I didn’t mention that I found duck decoys disturbing. However, I didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm.
Luckily, the shop was small, with only so much room for all those decoys and Gareth’s portly figure. I listened for the next fifteen minutes as he gave me the name and details of each duck decoy, down to what shade of paint he had used.
When he began to describe the type of ribbon epoxy he recommended for the duck eyes, I broke in, “I don’t want to take up your time, especially in the middle of a workday. I haven’t even been to my own store yet. Gillian opened at ten, but I promised to be there by noon.”
In the distance, the tower clock above city hall began to toll the eleventh hour. I couldn’t help but smile with relief at the gentle sound. The previous bell in the tower had been louder than Big Ben. After its destruction this past autumn, the town insisted the new bell be less deafening.
He gestured at his empty shop. “Until the snow slows down, neither of us is likely to see many customers.”
Although the lake-effect snow had stopped earlier, allowing Katrina to head back home, the white stuff was back. Not blizzard strength, but strong enough to discourage cautious drivers.
“I still have to get ready for this weekend’s Hollyberry Festival.” My glance fell on one of the festival posters Piper’s assistants had distributed around town.
“I heard The Berry Basket is serving free hot chocolate at the Hollyberry Market.” His smile turned even more benevolent. “That’s kind of you.”
This year Piper added an open-air market to the long list of festival events. For five hours on Sunday, local vendors agreed to sell winter-themed products in the park along the river.
“It promises to be a busy weekend,” I said. “Theo and I also have to decide on recipes for Christmas cookies. All berry flavored, of course.”
Gareth chuckled. “Of course.”
“And I ordered lanterns to put outside for the festival. They arrive today. As soon as they do, I’ll paint berries on them. Finally, Dean and I agreed to take part in the street caroling Sunday evening. When the festival mercifully comes to a close.”
“You’re more ambitious than I am.” Gareth returned to the front counter. “I’m content to carve my decoys and run the shop. Even then, I’m open shorter hours than everyone else.”
“Actually, that’s why I’m here. You always close at three o’clock, even on weekends. I assume you’re doing the same for the festival.”
“That I am.” Gareth sat down on the metal stool behind the counter. Above him hung a large glossy photograph of a merganser duck. “Most of my regular customers are sportsmen or wooden-decoy collectors. All early risers. I don’t see much traffic later in the day.”
“I wondered if you’d be willing to come to The Berry Basket on Saturday after you close. Just for an hour or two.” I hesitated before going on. “You see, I bought a Santa suit and can’t think of anyone in Oriole County who looks more like jolly Saint Nick than you. There will be children here because of the parade. Since you resemble Santa so much, I thought it would be fun if . . .” My voice trailed off. This may have been too presumptuous even for me.
Gareth looked puzzled. “I look like Santa?”
Oops. Did the man not know he was Santa’s twin? Embarrassed, I opened my mouth to speak, when he burst into a hearty laugh.
“I’d love to play Santa for the kids. And it won’t be the first time.”
“Really?”
“I’ve dressed as Santa every year since I retired. In fact, I only came alive after I retired and met my wife. That’s when we moved to South Haven.”
South Haven was another beach resort town along Lake Michigan, just a few miles south.
“My wife was delighted when the local VFW asked if I would play Santa at their annual Christmas party for kids. Didn’t see how I could refuse.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a wife.”
“Annette died last year.” His voice grew husky. “After that I relocated to Oriole Point. Too many memories in South Haven. And I’ve always found Oriole Point charming. That’s when I also decided to make a little money woodworking. It’s been my hobby for decades.”
Although his shop did fit in with our eclectic commercial mix, I marveled he had enough customers to keep it solvent.
He picked up the decoy he’d held earlier and gave it a gentle pat. “Besides, I don’t do it for the money. I like working with my hands and watching ducks. Not a bad way to spend the rest of my life. And Oriole Point is special. A perfect place for a fresh start.”
“Oriole Point does have a quality about
it that few places do. The energy here embraces you.” Katrina probably knew the feng shui explanation for it.
Gareth suddenly looked taken aback. “I can’t believe I’ve had you here all this time and not offered you anything. I keep a half-gallon jug of apple cider in my fridge.” He pointed at the back room. “Also have a plateful of Christmas cookies brought to me by a widow in town. She’s taken a fancy to me. Given my figure, she must hope the cookies will grab my attention.”
“No thanks. I’m sure I’ll eat my weight in cookies by the time Theo and I bake our batch for this weekend.”
“You wouldn’t believe the people who stop by to drop off cookies. I must look like I enjoy them. I might have to cut back before I burst out of my suspenders.” He took a bag of cashews from beneath the counter. “Can’t see myself giving up cashews though. Not even to slim down my Santa figure.”
“Speaking of that, I’ll bring the Santa suit over today. I’m confident it will fit. And thank you for agreeing to play Santa for me.”
“My pleasure. And I mean that. Who doesn’t love Santa Claus?”
I chuckled. “I have a hard time seeing you in a business suit. Where did you practice law before you retired? Chicago? Grand Rapids?”
“The Detroit area. My law office was in Bloomfield Hills, which means my clients had far too much money. Along with the determination not to part with a cent of it. Sometimes that determination led their accountants to push boundaries.”
“Prompting the necessity for a lawyer,” I guessed.
“And often the IRS.”
We laughed.
“Even with all their money, they still tried to push the limits of the law,” he went on. “Many hid assets from family members and business partners. I kept my own clients from going to prison, but it wasn’t easy. I was happy to retire. Although I wonder what happened to a few of my greedier clients.”
“Still planning tax-evasion strategies with their accountants and lawyers?”
“No doubt.” He opened the bag of cashews and held it out.
I took several. Like Minnie, I found it hard to resist cashews.
“I do know what happened to at least one of my clients before he died.” Gareth tossed back a couple cashews. “Since you live here, you probably knew him.”
“Who?”
“Everett Hostetter.”
* * *
Five minutes later I had pulled up a spare stool to the front counter, a glass of cider in one hand, a fistful of cashews in the other.
“Please tell me what you know about Everett,” I said.
“You look serious. Did the two of you have a disagreement?”
“I didn’t know him personally. But after Gillian and I found his body at the museum, I’ve discovered some strange coincidences.”
I quickly related what I had learned about Everett’s sister, Janelle, and Katrina May.
Gareth’s expression grew worried.
“Don’t you find it odd that Everett, Janelle, Anthony, and Katrina all moved here nine years ago?” I concluded. “Katrina said his nephew lived in California before this. Janelle moved here from Milwaukee. Katrina relocated from Detroit. What brought all of them to the area at the same time?”
He crossed his arms over his belly. “I don’t know about the others, but Everett moved to Oriole Point because of Diane Cleverly, the curator at the historical museum. And I was the one who told him that she was here.”
“When?”
“Shortly after I moved to this side of the state. There was an article in one of the local papers about your historical museum, and I saw Diane’s name. I knew Everett would be interested.”
“Were Everett and Diane a romantic couple?”
“Depends on how you define romance. And I don’t know how Diane viewed the situation. In 1970, Everett took over a steel company. Diane was hired to archive the corporation’s documents.”
“Diane mentioned it was her first job after earning a PhD.”
“She was almost twenty years younger than Everett and made a strong impression. Everett always spoke of her highly. Something he did with few others. Back then, there weren’t a lot of women in the workforce with PhDs. He admired her.”
“Because she was an early feminist?”
Gareth laughed. “No. Because Diane was an orphan. Raised by the state. Yet she worked her way through university all on her own. With honors, too. He was struck by how nice she was. Kind and generous. Everett didn’t understand that.”
“Why?”
“He wondered why she wasn’t angry and bitter at the world. Like he was.”
“What did Everett Hostetter have to be bitter and angry about? I heard he once lived in Grosse Pointe Shores. I assume that meant he was rich.”
“Oh, yes. Born rich, too. But he believed his father neither respected nor loved him. From what I know of his father, I suspect that’s true. It made Everett cynical. Hard. He thought anyone who tried to be his friend only wanted his money. The same with women. Everett never trusted people, not even me.” Gareth ate another cashew. “Only I think he trusted Diane. And she trusted him, which I thought unwise. Everett was not a nice man.”
“It sounds like Beauty and the Beast.”
“There was even a mansion that looked like a castle. Everett let her get as close as anyone could. I think he was in love with her.” Gareth frowned. “As much in love as a man like Everett Hostetter could be.”
“I wonder why they never married.”
“He did propose. Diane turned him down. She left the company right after. I was there the day she packed up her office. I tried to convince her to stay. She was the only cheerful person in the building. Things got much grimmer after she left.”
“And Everett?”
“He got much grimmer, too.”
“No wonder he was obsessed with A Christmas Carol. Except Scrooge seems a better fit for him than Jacob Marley. In the story, Scrooge lost his first love as well.”
Gareth shook his head. “You’re wrong. Scrooge is a changed man in the end. Jacob Marley is the character who died loveless and alone.”
He impressed me with his close reading of Dickens. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s Marley whose life was ruined by the love of money. How sad.”
“And I was like him for most of my life. It cost me two marriages. I’m still estranged from my children.” Gareth sighed. “With reason.”
“I never would have guessed such a thing. You’re such a jolly person.”
“Oh, I was a terrible workaholic. If a person or endeavor didn’t put money in my pocket, I ignored them. Thanks to my third wife, I got off that joyless path.” He smiled. “It is a shame Everett couldn’t persuade Diane Cleverly to marry him.”
“Maybe that’s why he proposed to Katrina May. Because he regretted losing his chance with Diane.”
“Katrina May,” Gareth said with an actual curled lip. “How did you even learn about that?”
“Piper told me.”
He rolled his eyes. “That woman should work for the CIA.”
“It’s interesting that he moved to Oriole Point because of Diane. It shows Everett didn’t only think about money.”
Gareth grabbed more cashews. “Everett had a change of heart after his sister died. He took her death hard. That’s when he retired.”
“Seems long past due. He would have been eighty-six.”
“If you knew what tight control he kept on his business empire, you’d appreciate how shocking it was when he handed over the reins to a new CFO and board of directors.”
I thought back to my recent conversation with Diane. “He must have known Diane’s husband had passed away by then. Do you think he hoped to make a life with her?”
Gareth looked skeptical. “Everett could only change so much. Certainly not enough to persuade a woman like Diane Cleverly to marry him.”
“They appear to have been friends.”
“Her good opinion was important to him. I only knew one other
person he valued that highly. His sister.”
“Anthony’s mother?”
He nodded. “The Hostetter clan were a cold-blooded bunch, except for Sarah. A shy woman, but high-strung, nervous. Prone to panic attacks, heart palpitations. Too sensitive for the family she was born into. Luckily, she married a decent man. Although Everett was disappointed she chose a doctor, rather than someone with a portfolio to match the Hostetters’.”
“Then Everett and his sister were close at one time.”
Gareth considered this. “Sarah was much younger than Everett, and he felt protective of her. Until his controlling instincts took over.”
“How so?”
“When Everett offered her husband a position in the family business, Dr. Thorne turned it down. To make it worse, Sarah took her husband’s side. Everett never forgave her for that.”
“Seems harsh.”
“Everett was a harsh man. It galled him when his baby sister chose love over money. Only he couldn’t ignore her. Everett and Sarah owned controlling shares in the family corporation. He hesitated to alienate her too much. Shortly before she died, he convinced her to sign those shares over to him. So he got what he wanted.” Gareth smirked. “He usually did.”
“Since he moved here with Anthony, I assume he took her son under his wing.”
Gareth wore an inscrutable look. “The past is a hard thing to make amends for. Everett tried. In his fashion.”
I glanced up at the decoy ducks, their dark eyes cold and lifeless. It appeared Everett had had much in common with them. “As his longtime attorney, the two of you must have spent a lot of time together. And you both retired to the same lakeshore. Did you view him as a friend?”
“He remained my client, never my friend.”
“Everett lived with his nephew for almost a decade. There must have been familial feeling between them.”
Gareth leaned over the counter. “I suspect it’s a case of mutual guilt over Sarah. Anthony was a neglectful son. Everett, an unfeeling brother.”
I munched on some cashews. Nine years was a long time to share a house out of a sense of guilt. And we had forgotten another member of the Hostetter family.
Hollyberry Homicide Page 7
