“It’s such a weird combination of methods, trying to kill her. It seems to me that it must be Morgan, even though I don’t want it to be her. Who else could get into the house to put pills in the case? And string a wire across the stairs?”
“But what about the gunshot? Does Morgan shoot?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that was random.”
“Along the river is not a likely place for a hunter or sport shooter, though, Jaymie.”
“You’re right about that. But someone could be taking potshots at cans or something.”
Valetta took a long, deep breath, settling her nerves. “Let’s think this through. Who else would have access to the house on a regular basis?”
Jaymie thought. “I know she doesn’t have a housekeeper or cleaner; Morgan told me she does all the housework for her aunt. But there must be others. And Morgan’s husband, Saunders Wallace. Other people come in to get paid, maybe, like the yard guy Skip told me about. A handyman? Insurance agent? We had our agent out a few weeks ago.”
“What about . . .” Valetta stared into the distance for a long moment. “Her home was broken into months ago; was that a cover-up for anything else? Like . . . stealing a house key?”
Jaymie felt her stomach tighten. “That is clever,” she said, gazing at her friend with admiration. “You’d make a great evil genius, Val.” That possibility unfortunately left it wide open as to who could be making the murder attempts, and why they would do it. Fergus Baird’s words rang in her ears; he had said in his tirade that it was best if Miss Perry die and pass the property on to Morgan, who would sell to him so he could develop the property. Was Baird behind it after all? If so, who killed him and why? A coconspirator? Bev Hastings, maybe?
Jaymie relayed her thoughts to Valetta, then said, “Maybe Nan’s reporter has found something out. I suppose I’d better make contact.”
Valetta took a deep breath and worked the tension out of her shoulders. “On a lighter note, if you’re going into Wolverhampton, check out Dan’s thrift store and find out if he’ll be doing a closeout sale.”
“Good thought.” Jaymie got up as Brock came out of the house on the village green with a wiry fellow and presumably his wife; they stood talking by the real estate agent’s Caddy. “I’ll leave you my mug and get moving.”
“Remember . . . tell the police about the murder attempts! I expect a call before the end of the day about the pills in the dosette.”
Jaymie looked at her cell phone once she got back in her Explorer. There was a text from Jakob saying he’d be late. Jocie was taking the bus home, so could Jaymie be there to meet her? She texted back an affirmative.
It was still plaguing her who else Miss Perry was supposed to see that day. Had anyone checked with Estelle Arden? she wondered. She’d do it herself. She punched in the number and Estelle answered with a chipper tone. Jaymie made conversation about how the pamphlet for the walking tours was going. The heritage society wasn’t only planning the river walk; they were also doing a couple of different ones for the tour of the village itself and its most notable heritage homes, like Stowe House, still for sale since Jaymie’s ex, Daniel, had given up on Queensville. There would be walking tours taking in the marina, too, as well as the American half of Heartbreak Island. “Estelle, I was wondering, though I suppose the police have already asked this: the day Miss Perry was hurt you actually had an appointment with her and did show up.”
“Ye-es,” she answered cautiously, wariness creeping into her tone.
“She was surprised you kept it. After you and she had the run-in on TV she figured you’d assume the appointment was canceled.”
“I never assume anything. I thought it would be an opportunity to talk to her one on one, to change her mind. I was still hoping to persuade her. As a woman alone I understand her nervousness, but I hoped she’d see that those of us on the heritage committee would ensure her safety.” She paused, then said, with laughter in her voice, “So does that mean she was watching me?”
“She was, from an upstairs window.”
“I’m relieved. I kept thinking maybe she was lying injured in there the whole time, and I could have done something for her if I’d gone in. I did check the door, but it was locked.”
Oh. Oh! “What time was that?”
“Nine in the morning. I’m always prompt.”
So the trap was laid after that, but by whom? “Estelle, did you see anyone there that day, any neighbors or strangers?”
“Why?”
“Just wondering.” Jaymie held her breath, hoping Estelle wouldn’t ask any more questions.
“Not a soul. What’s this about, Jaymie?”
But she wasn’t ready to tell anyone what she was thinking. “I was curious. You know me.” She said goodbye hurriedly and hit the button to hang up.
She kept examining her phone. Another text was from Heidi. Her date went well, and she was happy. Jaymie called her. “Hey, you want to go to a thrift store with me?” she asked.
“Can Bernie come with?” Heidi asked. “We’re meeting for lunch.”
“That would be perfect. I wasn’t sure when her days off were.” Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone. “I’ll meet you outside Thrifty Dan’s at two.”
Jaymie returned home and took Hoppy for a long walk while she thought about the attempts on Miss Perry’s life, then threw together a casserole, covering it and putting it in the fridge. She checked her email briefly, and was pleased to find one from Sid Farrell confirming her podcast appearance date. Now she could honestly tell Nan that she had set it up. She locked up and headed toward Wolverhampton, knowing she had to fit everything in and be home by four.
She caught her editor in the newspaper parking lot getting into her sports car. Nan’s wild and frizzy graying red hair got tossed around in the gusty wind that was sending whirlwinds of dust spiraling around the parking lot.
“Well, I did it,” Jaymie said. “I emailed Sid Farrell and we’ve agreed on a day and time for my appearance on his show. Now I need to calm my nerves.”
With the casual manner of every person who doesn’t understand the public speaking fears of another, Nan breezily waved one hand and said, “You’ll be fine!” She pushed her hair back and held it out of her eyes. “Sid’s a nice guy. Joe listens to his radio show all the time.”
“Has your reporter found anything out yet, about Fergus Baird’s murder?”
“Yes, I have some stuff. I’ll get it to you. But right now I have to go. There’s a town council meeting, kind of connected to Baird, actually. Now that he’s dead some of his projects are up in the air.”
“He had a lot going on. Did he have a good reputation as a developer?”
“As good as any, I guess. Not everyone agrees. He bought several buildings in Wolverhampton and was forcing out the tenants. I suppose you could say he was ruthless. The guy who owns Thrifty Dan’s probably doesn’t have a good word to say about him. His is one of the tenancies that was canceled when Fergus bought the building.”
“I’m going there now, actually, with friends. I’ll ask him what he thinks of Fergus’s death. If I get a colorful quote, I’ll let you know.”
• • •
JAYMIE PARKED AND WALKED TO MEET HER FRIENDS in front of Thrifty Dan’s, a combination liquidation and thrift store. She had always liked it, since Dan made sure his stuff was clean and he didn’t overcharge. She had bought, over the years, books, bookcases and other vintage items, especially items for her all-consuming passion, vintage kitchen junk. He had been trying to go a little more upscale of late, with locked cases of statuary—mostly Hummel, Doulton, Wedgwood and Lladró—vintage costume jewelry, and silver.
Heidi and Bernie came toward her, their heads together, chattering nonstop as they bent into the wind. Both looked up and Heidi gave a glad cry when she saw Jaymie.
“Jaymsie, this is so nice and spontaneous!”
All three hugged. “It’s so good to see you looking happier!” Jaymie exclaimed,
examining her friend’s lovely smiling face. “I was worried about you.”
“I gave myself a swift kick in the butterooni,” she said. “I have a home. I have money. But most of all . . . I have friends.”
“Who love you!” Bernie said, arm around her shoulders.
They entered Thrifty Dan’s, a long, low building that stretched from the main street all the way back to the parallel street, where the back door and loading dock were located. The three friends parted ways, Heidi and Bernie heading to the vintage furniture section. At a thrift store Jaymie always went into a zone, as Valetta called it. The music over the radio, seventies soul and R&B, was a counterpoint, and she hummed to herself as she grabbed a grocery cart and started loading it with books—several old Mary Baloghs and Jo Beverlys that she had probably already read but would read again, as well as two by a romance author friend of hers, Melody Heath, and some kids’ books for Jocie. She also found a cute but sturdy wooden step stool that had been painted white and had kitten decals that looked like they were from the fifties. It would help Jocie reach the top shelf of the bookcase in her room.
She glanced up. Bernie and Heidi were now going through the racks of liquidation clothes, exclaiming and holding things up to each other. Jaymie wandered over to one of the glass cases, and Dan himself came to see if he could help her.
Dan was in his mid-forties, bulky, with sparse hair and many chins, all clean-shaven. A Wolverhampton native, he was good-natured and helpful. “Hey, Jaymie. Good to see you. How’s that handsome husband of yours?”
She smiled. “Just as handsome as ever. Say . . . I heard you had a Going Out of Business sign up, and then I heard it was because Fergus Baird bought your building. But today the sign is gone. What’s up?”
Wide-eyed, he shrugged. “You tell me. I couldn’t get a straight answer when I called his office, so I took it down. I guess we won’t know until we find out who owns the building now that he’s gone whether I need to close up shop or not.”
“He had kids, right? But his children live in Maryland, I’ve heard. Presumably they’ll inherit his assets. I can imagine you didn’t like him too much, right?”
“Business is business,” Dan said, his tone equable. “I wasn’t thrilled at being turfed out, but unless you own property that’s always a possibility.”
“True.” Jaymie started examining the items in the glass case. There were some china pieces she recognized from her lessons with Georgina; she identified the maker and pattern from memory. She was getting better at this! “As my grandma says, it’s an ill wind that blows no good. His death is a tragedy for some, but I suppose it’s a blessing for others. Bev and Jon Hastings, down at the bait shop in Queensville, would have lost their business if Fergus had managed to buy the buildings, but he died before he had the chance.”
“Those two would have been fine,” Dan said, a disgusted look on his face. “I heard all about it through the grapevine, trust me! By people who know them all. Baird promised the Hastings that if they helped him get the property he’d set them up in business here, downtown Wolverhampton.”
Jaymie stopped dead in her perusal of the silver in the case. “How do you know that?”
“Like I said . . . I know people. Bev herself told a friend of mine. She’s always hated the bait store. I don’t know how Jon felt about this, but apparently Baird was going to set them up in a flower shop in one of his Wolverhampton properties.”
Jaymie examined Dan’s guileless expression; he was known to be honest, and in this case had no reason to lie. Dan and Jakob were friendly competitors in a way, but her husband always said that Dan’s appraisals were spot-on. In Jaymie’s experience if someone was honest in business, they were probably trustworthy in other ways. “I’m not sure I understand,” she said slowly. “How could the Hastings help him get the property?”
Dan looked around: Bernie and Heidi were now in the farthest reaches of the store rummaging through boxes of cupboard and door hardware. Another customer had come in, but she headed directly for the liquidation appliances at the back on the opposite side. Dan leaned heavily on the glass counter. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I heard from a source I will not reveal that they were going to find a way to sue Miss Perry, or something along those lines. That would make the poor old gal want to sell the property, they figured, and would net them a pretty penny as well. Bev especially is all about the Benjamins, you know?” He straightened.
“Is that so?” Jaymie’s mind spun at the news. So the lawsuit was, as she suspected, a fraud.
“And Bev was sweet on Fergus. I saw them in Wellington’s Retreat one day and she was cooing over him like a pigeon. Poor old Jon was oblivious, of course.”
“How long had the plan to harass Miss Perry been in the works? Do you know?”
“Well, I heard about it first some time ago, but I wrote it off as gossip, you know? It wasn’t obvious then what Baird was planning.”
So if the plan went back a while maybe Bev had done the robbery, stolen the silver to make it look legit, and took the door key at the same time. Then she would have a way into the house easily to plan the other assaults. Baird may have planned to scare Miss Perry into selling, but it was possible that what he said on the dock that day had confirmed to Bev that Miss Perry had to die. The other murder attempts, if that’s what they were, had been half-hearted, but the wire across the stairs . . . that was more pointed and almost successful.
“Earth to Jaymie . . . you’re fascinated by the silver sugar tongs?” he said.
She shook her head. “No, I . . . I was daydreaming. What is that?” she asked, pointing at a little silver box.
“Well, I think it’s a snuff box,” Dan said, unlocking the case and bringing it out. “I got a lot of things from an estate sale once, silver items, and I had them displayed in my home for a while, but I’m trying to clear the clutter. This is the last of a bunch of smalls I got,” he said, using industry jargon for the small vintage and antique items that made up an antique dealer’s bread and butter. “All sterling.”
He handed it over. She opened it and gazed down at the perforated insert. “Dan, this isn’t a snuff box, it’s a nutmeg grater.”
Seventeen
“A NUTMEG GRATER? You sure?”
“I’m certain,” she said, her voice trembling. “You had a bunch of smalls kind of like this, you said?”
“Sure . . . sterling silver, little boxes and egg-shaped doodads. I knew some of them were graters of some sort, but I didn’t even consider that this one was, it looked so different. It’s not my era; I’m more into mid-century modern, as you know. But they’re so pretty, and I got the whole collection kind of cheap.”
“How long have you had them to sell?”
“I brought them in and have been selling them since . . . oh, summer, I guess?”
Now she knew where Baird’s killer had gotten the silver walnut-shaped nutmeg grater found in his mouth. It hadn’t come from Miss Perry’s collection at all, but from Dan’s. “Do you keep track of who bought these things?”
“Nope.”
“Do you remember one shaped like a walnut?”
“I do.”
“Do you happen to remember who bought that one?”
“Actually, yes, I do.”
“Who?” she asked.
“Do you know Saunders and Morgan Wallace? He’s quite well known, a used car salesman here in town. On TV all the time, ginger hair, big cheesy grin. He fancies himself a man-about-town and collects vintage automobiles as well as selling them. Morgan is a cutey . . . one of those cuddly pudgy blondes, cherubic, wears a lot of pink when she’s not forced to wear Saunders’s gawdawful tartan clothes. Which do not suit her, by the way. She’s office manager of her husband’s company. I think she’s related to Miss Perry, right?”
“So . . . Saunders or Morgan?”
“Morgan, natch. Saunders has bought some vintage barware, but he’s not into doodads.”
Dan talked more, but there was
a buzzing in Jaymie’s ears and she couldn’t hear. She needed to think. She made her purchases and moved toward the door, deep in thought.
“Are you okay, Jaymie?” That was Bernie, who had also checked out.
Jaymie met her eyes. “We need to talk.” On impulse, she invited both Bernie and Heidi to come out to the cabin for coffee, since she needed to be home when Jocie got there. “In fact, stay for dinner. I think it’s going to take me a while to explain everything.”
“What do you have for dinner?” Heidi asked.
“Oh, dear . . . nothing vegan. Cabbage roll casserole,” Jaymie admitted. “Made with ground beef. It’s a recipe I’m trying for my ‘Vintage Eats’ column.”
Bernie rolled her eyes. “We can do better than that. Can you save it for another day and we’ll bring dinner?”
They all agreed to meet at Jaymie’s and parted ways. As soon as she got home she called Detective Vestry to leave a message about Miss Perry’s dosette and Valetta’s concerns. She then put on coffee and went out to sit on the porch. Jocie’s bus was right on time; Jaymie sat in one of the Adirondack chairs and watched her stepdaughter trudge up the lane, book bag over her shoulder.
At first she had worried about being responsible for the little girl. Life wasn’t always easy for Jocie, whose classmates were swiftly growing so much taller. She had faced her unfair share of teasing. Jakob, with more years of parenting behind him, was more philosophical.
“Lots of kids face teasing, liebchen,” he told her, calling her the pet name he saved for private moments. “I won’t let her be bullied, but I also don’t want to make her into someone who always needs outside interference and I will not teach her to see herself as a victim. In life, she’s going to face hurdles, and will need to handle things on her own. Our job is to help her deal with each instance. Sometimes that means doing nothing, and sometimes that means getting the school or parent involved. I like her to have a say in how we handle it.”
No Grater Danger Page 18
