“No, Morgan, I can come back another time if—”
“Never mind,” she said, pushing past Jaymie. “I’m in the way here anyway.”
“Don’t you leave in the middle of this, Morgan!” Miss Perry said, twisting in her chair. “I have a right to my opinion, and I will not be bullied out of it.”
Jaymie took a deep breath. “What’s going on?”
“It’s not just an opinion,” the young woman said, turning and looking back at her aunt, her voice guttural with unshed tears. “You have no right to tell me what to do with my life.”
“I’m not telling you what to do with your life,” Miss Perry said, looking put out. “You are free to head straight to perdition, if that’s what you want. But if you get a divorce, you’re out of my will. It’s your choice, young lady!”
Jaymie felt a tinge of unease. “Miss Perry—”
“Don’t even bother,” Morgan said, her voice thick. “She’s only listening to herself.” She stomped off and headed directly to the front door. It slammed behind her.
Jaymie moved the low stool to Miss Perry’s chair and sat down, looking up at the woman, whose eyes were clouded with tears. “How did that fight start?”
“She waltzes in here and announces she’s getting a divorce. Tired of marriage. Tired of Saunders, who has been nothing but sweet and attentive, far as I can see.”
“As far as you can see,” Jaymie said.
“Maybe that’s what he wanted to talk about. He was supposed to come see me, but he never did.”
Jaymie was about to ask Miss Perry about that, but Skip came to the door, wiping his hands dry on a towel. “You two like some tea?”
“I know I would,” Jaymie said.
“You want to help me?” Skip asked, motioning toward the kitchen.
She followed him. “What was that all about, the argument between Morgan and Miss Perry?”
“Morgan was upset when she came in,” he murmured, putting the kettle on the burner. “I didn’t catch it all, but the police had been to the car dealership to see them about the Baird murder.”
Jaymie didn’t offer that she may have been the genesis of that visit, with her revelation about Morgan buying the nutmeg grater. From what Detective Vestry had said, she knew that the police had likely given the couple a heavy-handed warning about Miss Perry, too. “And . . . ?”
“And as I understand it, she and Saunders got into a quarrel and she said she wanted a divorce. He said he wasn’t going to give it to her, and told her her aunt would never countenance it. She came here to explain to Miss Perry and ask for her support.”
“Which it sounds like she’s not getting.” Jaymie’s mind was speeding over the news. She hadn’t heard the conversation with the police, nor had she heard the argument between husband and wife. Maybe Morgan’s husband knew she had tried to kill her aunt, and perhaps had killed Baird for some reason, and was holding her to their marriage out of spite, or . . . a host of other possible reasons. Maybe he was trying to blackmail her into staying. But then, why was she talking about divorce to her aunt?
“I guess not. Poor girl is distraught.”
Jaymie picked up the tray, troubled, but not sure how to handle it.
“It’s not your problem, Jaymie,” Skip said. “In my business I hear all kinds of stuff, and can’t interfere unless my patient is being abused or bullied. Most of the time it’s not my business.”
“I’d make a terrible nurse,” Jaymie admitted ruefully. “I can’t seem to keep my nose out of other folks’ business. It’s weird, but I feel bad for Morgan, even though . . .” She shook her head, unwilling to say more.
“Me too. She’s deeply upset. I guess all we can do is keep Miss Perry safe and hope the police tie up the investigation. Things will sort themselves out. They usually do.” He sighed. “You know, I didn’t get the sense that the detective took the other attempts on her life—the gunshot and the car—seriously. I’m worried it has nothing to do with Baird’s murder, so finding his killer won’t protect Miss Perry.”
“That’s scary,” Jaymie said. “But you’re right.”
She carried the tea tray into the sitting room.
Miss Perry sat in sullen silence. She looked over at Jaymie. “I suppose you’re going to side with Morgan.”
“Miss Perry, I don’t know the answers,” she said, setting the tray down. “But if Morgan is unhappy with Saunders, if their marriage is irrevocably broken, what is the point of her staying in it? That isn’t good for anyone.” She poured tea in a mug. “Why does she want to divorce him?”
“She said he’s not who she thought he was when they married.”
“What did she mean by that?”
“I don’t know. She kept saying it over and over, that he wasn’t who he said he was.”
“Wait . . . did she say that he wasn’t who she thought he was when they got married, or that he wasn’t who he said he was?”
“There’s a difference?”
Jaymie thought about it for a long few minutes as she fixed their mugs of tea. “Yes, I think there is. The first means that she was mistaken, the second that he lied.”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think she should throw it all away.”
“Miss Perry, it might not be a good idea to use inclusion or exclusion in your will as a bargaining point,” she said gently. How to tell her that it painted a target on her? That it made it more likely inheritors would think of her simply in terms of her money? “It’s damaging to a relationship to try to make someone behave as you want using threats.”
Her eyes watered and she set her cup down. “You may be right. I’ve never done that before.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.” If that was true, then Morgan would have had no reason to hasten Miss Perry’s death. “Is she your only heir?”
“No, not at all. In fact, ask Haskell Lockland . . . I’m giving a lot of my collection to the heritage society on the understanding it will be displayed as a part of local history. The Perry family is important to this town and its development. Some of the Perry furniture and most of the spice relics will go to the society.”
“But no other family member will inherit.”
“She’s the only one who doesn’t have close family. Poor Morgan . . . she was an only child and lost her parents when she was twenty-two and still in college. I was so happy when she married Saunders a few years ago. If she divorces him, she might never get married again.” She met Jaymie’s gaze. “It’s a lonely life without someone to live it with.”
“It’s even lonelier if you live it with the wrong person,” Jaymie said gently. “I could easily be in her shoes. I wanted desperately to marry the wrong man, and I’m grateful every day that I didn’t. I don’t think you want Morgan to suffer the rest of her life through an unhappy marriage.”
After a moment, Jaymie changed the topic and asked Miss Perry Kevin’s question about the silver flatware, and wrote down everything Miss Perry could remember, which was quite a bit. One of the serving forks had a bent tine; one of the knives had a nick in the serration; a fish fork had a dark stain; there were other faults she listed. Jaymie tucked that paper in her purse, then gathered the spice graters, labeling each one. She left an hour later with a case full of the graters, each wrapped in tissue in a plastic baggie. She stowed it in her car as Haskell Lockland pulled up. They greeted each other.
“Have you convinced Miss Perry to allow walkers across her land?” he asked.
She stared at him, incredulous. “Even though her home was broken into, someone tried to kill her, and a man was murdered on her property? I think that ship has sailed, Haskell.”
He sighed. “None of that has anything to do with tourists.”
“You can try and convince her of that, but I’m not helping.”
“Jaymie, I intend to protect her and myself; I’m her next-door neighbor, after all. Do you think I’d expose myself to danger?”
She knew that was true. She debated asking him about
Bev Hastings and the damage she had done to his car, but she would wait on that. “Show me what you intend. If I think it’s worth it, I’ll try to sway her, but I won’t bully her, Haskell. Wait a moment and I’ll let her nurse know we’re going to go to the backyard.” Jaymie raced back to the door, let Skip know she and Haskell would be in the backyard, then returned. She led him around the side and through the gate between their two properties.
She was tempted, as she led Haskell through the backyard, to tell him about the shot fired from the approximate area, but now was not the time to reveal that information. He grumbled as they went about Miss Perry’s population of stray cats.
“I feel like I’m preparing them a buffet meal every time I fill my bird feeder.”
Jaymie was familiar with the argument that stray cats killed legions of birds every year, but the only way to truly solve the problem without killing the strays—not an option in her mind—was to spay or neuter every animal so they wouldn’t keep contributing to the stray problem. There was never going to be one hundred percent eradication of stray cats because people weren’t responsible enough when they adopted a cat to fix the poor things. A fixed cat was a happier, longer-lived cat, even strays. So she didn’t respond.
It was a windy day. She wrapped her jacket around her and slipped through the rose arbor to stand on the hillside above the river, rippled and gray on a blustery, sullen day. Townsfolk watched warily every winter as ice built up, and coast guard boats were dispatched to break up the ice and shepherd ships upriver. An ice buildup could raise the river levels dramatically and swiftly, threatening riverside parks and homes, as well as those on the island.
But thoughts of ice and snow were far off yet, as October cooled with the winds of autumn. Haskell joined her, and both looked south at a rust-colored cargo ship that cruised along in the shipping lane. She did get why the heritage society was supporting creating a walking trail along the St. Clair; this spot in particular was a wonderful vantage point for photographers, and it was evident that despite this being private property, folks had climbed up here even since the police had found the body. There was a gum wrapper and an empty Red Bull can left behind.
“This is one thing Miss Perry is upset about,” Jaymie said, indicating the garbage. “How are you going to handle it if people are given the freedom to walk the cliff? Who’s going to clean up the mess? Along the boardwalk it’s cleaned by municipal employees, but what about along a walking trail?”
“I know, I know. My place gets the same thing. Worse, probably, because that’s where the slope is that people use to climb up the bank.”
Jaymie paused and looked south to Haskell’s property. His yard was fenced, but on the river side of the fence there was indeed a sloped path down to a flat area. She headed that way and followed the sloping path toward the river, stopping halfway when something caught her attention.
Haskell, panting, followed and stopped behind her to rest his hands on his knees. “Gosh, if we do a walking trail here we’ll have to come out and clear all this brush away!”
Jaymie examined a sumac bush that had reached out over the path; sumacs were used on almost vertical cliffsides because they grew quickly and their roots offered good soil retention. The recent winds had torn the brilliant crimson leaves from the bush, and she spotted a torn bit of fabric on a branch. She plucked it off and turned it over in her hands. It was red, with a square of black at the edge and a yellow line running through it. With that coloration it would have blended with the sumac leaves. Where had she seen that fabric before?
“Maybe this whole walking path idea isn’t so good,” Haskell said. “I’m going back. I don’t know what you wanted to see, but this is enough.”
He trudged back along the path and Jaymie turned to follow him. That was when she remembered where she had seen the fabric. On TV. Quite often. As she followed Haskell, things that puzzled her fell into place and she knew who killed Baird, suspected why, and how it tied in with the attempts on Miss Perry. She returned to the house and spoke to Skip again, warning him about one certain person. She wanted to be sure of a couple of things before she went to Detective Vestry, so she asked for Morgan’s cell phone number and he gave it to her by memory.
• • •
Back in town, she stopped at the antique store, where she knew Kevin and Becca were giving Georgina an afternoon off before they returned to Canada that evening.
“Jaymie . . . I thought we said our goodbyes!” Becca said, looking up from some last-minute china display tidying. She was setting the gorgeous dining table in the window with a more fallish pattern, Johnson Brothers Harvest Time, an inexpensive but attractive pattern in tones of brown and green. She had hand-lettered a sign that told of the availability of a full set with serving pieces.
“I have some information for Kevin.” Her brother-in-law came out of the back storeroom at the sound of his name. “I have a list of imperfections Miss Perry remembers,” she said, pulling the sheet out of her purse. “I thought you’d like to take a look.” She handed it to him.
He perused it, putting on his glasses and squinting at the list. His expression became more sober and he nodded at the end. “I’m afraid the lady is correct,” he said, looking up and pulling his glasses off, letting them dangle on their leather string. “I was examining the pieces, and I recognize these imperfections. I’m afraid Beverly Hastings sold us stolen goods. Which means she faked the will she showed as provenance, and is a thief and a con artist. Georgina is not going to be happy.”
Jaymie sighed. “I’ll leave that list with you. Call in the police, I suppose, but give me half an hour. I want to talk to Beverly Hastings about something else first, and she’ll never speak to me after the cops are done with her. Heck, she’ll probably be in jail after the police speak to her.”
She headed directly for the bait shop, wondering as she went if Jon Hastings was involved as well. Hard to tell, and that would be for the police to figure out. A stream of folks were heading up from the ferry, along with a couple of cars. She waited a moment, wondering if Bev was in the bait shop, and if she was, how to get her away so she could talk to her. But the woman left the bait shop, limping with the boot and a cane.
Jaymie headed her off and said, “Hey, Bev, can we talk?”
She looked dreadful, her normally nicely styled hair a rat’s nest, deep bags under her eyes. It’s like she had stopped caring how she looked in the last few days. “I don’t have time,” she growled. “I have a doctor’s appointment in Wolverhampton.”
“I won’t take long, Bev.” Herring gulls in the parking lot, where they gathered to beg for treats from tourists, were disturbed and took off in a screeching soaring flock, sending some mallards into a similar flight. The cars from the ferry slowly ascended and took off through the parking lot. “I think you should listen to me,” Jaymie added with a steely tone. “It’s about Fergus Baird’s death.”
The woman stopped, her eyes wide, her expression solemn. “Okay. But I’m going to sit down. My leg is killing me.”
They sat together on a bench on the walkway above the marina, looking out across the river. There was a lot Jaymie wanted to ask but wouldn’t, like, how and why did she break into Miss Perry’s house? Why did she sell the silver flatware to the Queensville Fine Antiques store, so close to home? The answer probably was she couldn’t find anyone to buy it and got desperate for cash, but Jaymie would let the police handle all of that.
Instead, a more important question: “Who do you think killed Fergus Baird?”
“Morgan Wallace,” Bev said, spitting the name out like it was poison.
Jaymie nodded. “Why would she do that?”
“Why do you think? She was having a fling with Fergus and he threatened to tell her precious aunt if she didn’t help him get the marina property.”
“How do you know?”
For a moment, a fleeting wistful expression clouded her face. She pursed her lips and looked down at the boot on her foot. “He told
me he was going to blackmail her. That day you saw us in the restaurant. What a dick! He as good as promised . . .” She shook her head.
“That you and he would be together?”
Her eyes welled and one tear trailed down her cheek and splashed on her hand.
“But you thought that about Haskell Lockland too, didn’t you?”
The woman turned an angry face to her. “What do you want from me?”
“Just the truth. Do you know something you’re not telling anyone?”
“You’re an awful snoop, aren’t you?” She stood. “A horrible horrible girl. I have to go.”
Jaymie almost felt bad for the woman, given what she was going to face in the coming days. But giving her the heads-up that they knew she had stolen the silver was out of the question. She’d have to face the music. Bev Hastings stumped away to a rusted silver sedan parked beside the bait store truck, a small dark pickup, in the municipal parking lot. The woman got out her keys, her keychain flashing silver in the sunlight.
A dark pickup . . . Jaymie stared at the bait shop truck. Was that the vehicle that had come at her on the day she found Miss Perry injured? And was that from marking Haskell’s truck? If so, who was driving? Jon wouldn’t be the first man to take it out on a competitor when their woman strayed. Interesting idea.
And thinking of Haskell . . . she remembered what she had figured out while walking with the heritage society president. She got her phone out of her purse and dialed Morgan’s number. No answer. It went to voice mail. “Hey, Morgan, there’s something important I need to talk to you about. It’s a question I have about Fergus Baird’s death. Give me a call, would you?”
She was about to go back to her car when her phone buzzed with a text message from Morgan. Sorry. In a meeting. Meet me at Roth Park in Wolverhampton; got to tell you something important.
Roth Park? She knew where it was, but it was an odd place to meet. She called Detective Vestry and left a message on her voice mail, telling her where she was going and why, and about the torn bit of fabric. She then retrieved her car and drove off, noting the police car at Queensville Fine Antiques. She sighed. She was definitely going to be on Georgina’s naughty list, but the truth was the truth. The shadows were long this time of day, and it got chilly quickly. The highway wasn’t crowded but there was a fair share of traffic, folks heading home after a long day.
No Grater Danger Page 20
