He almost rolled his eyes, and I said, “You’re not doubting my connection with Clancy, are you?”
“Not really, but sometimes I wonder if you use her to outnumber me.”
My eyes must have flashed a warning, because he quickly changed the subject.
“Anyway, Jonah certainly had a motive,” George said. “He’ll inherit the factory, as long as he had nothing to do with the murder.”
I nodded, preoccupied with my growling stomach instead of my pique at George, so I missed his next couple of words. But I tuned in immediately when I heard, “… Louise Shannon. Weren’t you surprised? I sort of expected a response from you.”
“What? What does Louise Shannon have to do with Jonah Henderson?”
George laughed, “So you didn’t pay attention to the entire interview?”
“You know I get bored easily. Sorry.” And I really was. “But tell me, where does Louise Shannon fit in?”
“She’s Jonah’s wife.”
If I’d been drinking something, I’d have done a spit-take. “Jonah’s wife?” I repeated like a parrot.
“Yeah. What do you make of that?”
“Well, I already have her classified as a villain in my head. She manipulates people and takes advantage of them. This makes me even more suspicious of Jonah.”
George thought a moment. “Yeah, but sometimes only one-half of the couple is rotten and the other one is nice.”
I turned on him, “Are you teasing me? Or are you meaning that you’re nice and I’m not?” There went my insecurities again. I tried to keep my voice light, but he could tell that I was not completely joking.
“Sam, stop it. You tease all the time, but when I do you make out like I’m putting you down. It gets old. Really old.”
I wanted to argue, but couldn’t this time. “You’re right,” I said, although somewhat reluctantly, and then quickly changed the subject. “My vibes didn’t go crazy around anyone, but I had a few odd feelings around the Mayor, his wife, and his brother, Jonah. I didn’t get close enough to Louise Shannon to feel anything physically, but I’m smart enough to know a con-woman when I see one. She is slick, and she had all the women in the room bamboozled. I don’t know how many other ‘associates’ she has, but I was the only non-associate in the room. She’s built a pyramid scheme around water from a nearby spring. I’d like to get it tested.”
“We can’t get it tested just because you don’t like her. There’s nothing to connect her to the murder. So I can’t justify the expense.”
I felt a pout coming on so excused myself to go talk to Nibby. I found him where I’d seen him last, in the kitchen. He looked up from a flour-covered board and smiled as I walked in.
“You almost have to bend over to reach the table from your height. Isn’t that uncomfortable for you?”
He shrugged. “Nothing is built for my height, so I’m used to it.” He looked back at the dough he was kneading.
“Is this the same thing you were working on earlier?”
He laughed, “No, of course not. If I worked that slowly I’d never get done.”
“I’d offer to help but that would just slow you down,” I said as I found a stool and pulled it near enough to him to talk comfortably. “Tell me about the house.”
His smile increased exponentially. As he continued working he said, “When you said this was a copy of the house in Quincy, you were wrong. The house in Quincy is a copy of this one. This house was built in 1883. Doctor Peter Henderson built it as a wedding gift for his daughter, Doctor Sarah Jo Henderson. She married her long-time love, Roman Pendergast.”
“Hmm, not a Henderson,” I said as I grabbed a piece of dough and savored it.
“Nope. In fact he wasn’t from here. Don’t know where he came from. Anyway, they married and she kept her maiden name. A rebel. It was unheard of then, but apparently it was something she felt strongly about.”
As he spoke, he formed the current dough into a ball, covered it with a tea towel, and put it on the counter to rest. “Tea?” he asked me.
“Of course. Thanks.”
As he made the tea, he continued, “The newspaper archives describe their wedding in glowing terms, and nearly everyone in town was invited. Apparently they were happy, but unfortunately shortly after their return from a honeymoon in Europe, Roman died. Tragically, the paper said, although there were no details. Sarah Jo was inconsolable. Almost immediately she packed up and left town.”
“Suicide,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“People don’t even like to talk about it now. Imagine back then. I’m not positive of course, but if the paper said he died tragically, but didn’t say anything else, it might have been by his own hand.”
“Interesting,” was all Nibby said.
He put a hot cup of tea in front of me. I inhaled the flowery fragrance, then cautiously took a sip. “So then…” I said, wanting Nibby to continue the story.
“So then Sarah Jo went to Quincy, Illinois. She’d seen an advertisement that the city was in need of doctors, so she went. For some reason she wanted the same house she’d been so fleetingly happy in, and she hired the same architect from Henderson, and had him build it on Quincy’s north side.”
“I’ve never been inside the one in Quincy. Is it the same as yours? Exactly?”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
“Cool,” I said, and set back to enjoy the tea. “Maybe I can find out who the current owner is, and check out the place.” Suddenly I sat forward, “George!” And I quickly explained to Nibby that George was waiting for me back in the parlor.
By the time I finished apologizing to George, I was famished. George and I decided to go back to the Henderson Commonwealth Kitchen again since it was nearby and they had a lot of choices.
We guiltily left Clancy in our bedroom and strolled the few blocks to the restaurant. Even though we were in the midst of a murder investigation, I felt content. My life was turning out much better than I’d hoped. I turned to look at George’s profile, outlined handsomely by a streetlight.
“I love you,” I said softly.
“Back atcha,” he said.
I leaned against his arm as we walked. It got a little uncomfortable because of the uneven brick sidewalk, so I straightened. “Do you think we could find a private corner of the restaurant and you could—”
“Why, Sam Darling, you little minx.”
I play-slapped his arm and continued my sentence, “… and you could tell me what you’ve found out so far? I’d also tell you more about what I think about Louise Shannon.”
“Sounds good. Except let’s wait until we get home for that talk. I’d like to sit and just talk to you while we eat. About anything except why we’re here. Okay?”
How could I say no to that? “Okay,” and I promised myself I wouldn’t let him forget to tell me what he knew.
NINE
Dinner once again was lovely. I’d asked for two orders of fried green tomatoes and ate them as my entree. I found I loved them nearly as much as fried pickles. When dessert was offered, I had plenty of room left, and had bread pudding with a whiskey/vanilla sauce that nearly had me swooning. George didn’t order dessert, but enjoyed a whiskey, neat and stole a few bites of my bread pudding.
Throughout our meal, I noticed people whispering and nodding toward us. I guess we were big news, since we came into town to investigate a leading citizen’s murder.
We strolled home and held hands as we did. Talk wasn’t necessary, but the closer we got to the B&B, the more I thought, “I want to talk about the case.” I managed to hold my tongue until after we’d arrived home and I’d taken Clancy out for a short walk. When I returned, there was no reason to stop myself from asking George, “Okay, what don’t I know yet?”
He laughed at me, but went to his coat that he’d flung on a chair, and took out the notebook from the side pocket. He didn’t say anything until after he’d flipped through some pages. Then George looked up at
me and said, “There’s not much else to say. People at the factory thought Cash was okay, and liked him personally as I told you earlier, but some of them resented that he worked side by side with them but would be the owner some day. He liked to go out with them for a beer after work, and the guys didn’t like that too much. It was hard for them to be themselves. Is that enough of a motive to kill someone? Doesn’t sound like it, but people have killed for less.”
He moved to the next page, “The sheriff and detective don’t have any real suspects in mind. The murder came as a shock. And the fact Cash was put on a train and then fell off in Quincy was another surprise.” He flipped to the next page. “I didn’t get a lot from Cash’s parents, the mayor and his wife, or Jonah. Out of the three of them, Jonah has a motive. He basically went from managing the place to being the owner-in-waiting. At least he’ll own it when his brother Caleb dies. And that’s about it,” he said as he put away the notebook.
“Okay. Nothing really new. You just need to add about Louise Shannon being married to Jonah and being a crook.”
“You don’t know she’s a crook.”
I looked at him with an arched eyebrow.
“Okay, you know it in a Sam sort of way.”
That was good enough for me, and I made no comment.
“Oh,” George added, “Conrad called and said it appears Cash was hit in the head with some sort of a resin-based object, and he was put in the boxcar after he’d already died. Conrad had them uncouple the boxcar from the train and kept it in Quincy so forensics could check it out. There were only a very few drops of blood in it. So it’s likely more blood would be found wherever Cash was killed.” He opened his notebook again to read, “Conrad also said that the bloodstains on the back of Cash’s shirt look like they were blotted or wiped or something, like someone was trying to clean up the mess.”
“That’s interesting,” I said, but I didn’t know why it was interesting. It just was.
I’d looked down and saw that Clancy was moving her head back and forth between us as she followed our conversation. “Any ideas, girl?” I asked.
She looked at me and cocked her head.
“She thinks it was someone who was close to him,” I interpreted for George.
“Close how?” he asked. “We already know it was close because someone hit him over the head.”
“Close both by relationship and by proximity,” I answered. “If they stood really close there’s a good chance Chance knew the person, to allow the person that close.” I turned to him. “Guess you know all that already.”
“Yeah,” he smiled at me. “That’s what I thought.” He leaned down to pet Clancy. “Good job, girl.”
I really didn’t know if he was talking to Clancy or me, but decided not to ask. For a fleeting moment I wondered if George really believed that Clancy communicated with me or if he was just humoring me. I shook off the thought.
“So, I want to tell you why I think Louise Shannon is a crook.” I looked at him to see if it was okay. At his nod, I began, and was pleased he took out his notebook. “First of all, she’s charismatic. Not in a John F. Kennedy kind of way, but in a Jim Jones kind of way. And believe me, I think most of those women would drink any Kool-Aid she put in front of them. People seemed mesmerized, and they didn’t take their eyes off her. I thought she was a really good speaker, with energy and enthusiasm for her product. But she felt ‘oily’ to me.” I looked at George and continued at his second nod. “She sells spring water for $5 for a small bottle. However, if you sign up as an associate you get it for $4. Then you sell it for $5 and make a little profit. If you buy a gross of the water, it’s even cheaper, so you make more of a profit. I bet Louise pays 50 cents for the Happy Acres water, or something ridiculously close to it. She also tells her associates they can sign up others and they can make money when their people sell water. Sounds like a pyramid scheme to me, or multi-level marketing, or whatever it’s called.”
George took my arm because I’d been flailing it around. “The way she’s doing it doesn’t sound illegal though.”
“No. Not illegal, but she sure is taking advantage of gullible people.” Then I remembered. “And someone told me that Louise told her grandmother she didn’t need to take her meds anymore because the water would be enough. And my source’s grandmother died.”
“If that’s true, then she might have committed an illegal act. Probably only a misdemeanor, making false claims, or something like that, but nonetheless…”
“I know there’s more, George. I just know it.”
“I know you do, hon.” He stroked my hair.
If anyone else had said that and done that, I’d have thought they were being condescending. From George, it was a loving gesture. But once again I wondered if George were humoring me. Just like with my communication with Clancy, did George truly believe in my vibes? Or did he pretend, because it was a nice way to shut me up? My curiosity demanded I find out.
I didn’t have time to worry about those things, because it was bedtime. When we got to our room, George looked at Clancy and said, “Clancy, go into the bathroom please.” Clancy sulked, but obeyed.
I knew what George meant by that, and I smiled.
TEN
I normally wake up early, always afraid I’m going to miss something. However, when I finally opened my eyes, it was because George’s voice was loud. He was pacing the floor of the bedroom, talking on the phone.
“It doesn’t matter what the Feds say. It’s my case, and I’m going to keep investigating.” A pause in the conversation, but not in the pacing. “Yeah, but—” A repeat of the pause. “Yeah, but—” Then finally, “Yeah, I’ll hold.”
I cleared my throat to let him know I was listening. He walked over to me, gave me a perfunctory kiss on the top of my bedhead, then resumed his pacing.
“What’s going on, honey?” I wanted to be supportive, but of course I was also curious.
“The FBI said they have jurisdiction because the body was transported over state lines, even if it was inadvertent. But they aren’t taking over. I won’t let them.” The stubborn version of George appeared and seemed to have taken up residence in my beloved’s body.
“Does it really matter that you ‘won’t let them’? Don’t they get to decide?”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours. Always yours,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. Then my honesty surfaced. “Well, not always yours. Sometimes I see the other side better than you do. Remember when—”
He interrupted by holding his hand up in that dratted “stop sign” he tended to use to shut me up.
It made me mad, but I stopped anyway.
He got back into his conversation. “Glad to hear it. Yeah. Tell him to call me.” He listened for a brief moment. “I said ‘yeah’ didn’t I?” He pressed the End Call button and sat on the edge of the bed.
I scooted over so I was lying behind him and touched his back. “So what happened?”
“They saw it my way.”
“There’s probably more to it than that,” I said.
“Okay, there is,” he said. “The Feds agreed to let me continue to do my work here. But they’re going to send someone to ‘assist’ me. You know what that means.”
I wisely stayed silent for a change.
George continued. “It means they’ll try to take over. So we need to finish this up before some peach-fuzz Fibbie jumps in and takes our information and solves the crime.” He leaned back and looked into my eyes. “I’m so mad I could spit.”
That’s when I started laughing. “I’m sorry, George, but when you said ‘spit’ a little bit of spittle escaped from the side of your mouth. It just looked funny.”
His angry face remained for a few more seconds and then he smiled, but it looked like he did so reluctantly.
After my laughter subsided, he gave me a brief hug, then stood up. “I’m glad for the distraction, but that doesn’t change things. We’ve got to solve this murder. Get up.
Let’s get to work.”
I’d never felt more like his real associate than at that moment. “Yes, sir. Would you take Clancy outside while I jump in the shower?” I didn’t hear his answer, but he hooked the leash on Clancy’s collar and took off.
While I showered I tried to figure out the pieces of the puzzle and the relationships between the people I had some negative vibes about. Caleb and Joan Henderson, the mayor and his wife, parents of the deceased—what was it about them that stuck in my craw? Clancy liked Joan or at least stayed near her. I don’t think Clancy would do that if someone were a murderer. Or maybe Clancy was responding to Joan’s grief, whether or not she killed her own son. My hackles had been up a little with that couple, but I hadn’t doubled over with psychic pain like I had being around my boss’s wife last year when I started my job in Quincy.
Of course that was the first murderer I’d knowingly encountered. Maybe I was more used to it by now, and my vibes had lessened in intensity.
As I toweled off I thought about Jonah Henderson and Louise Shannon, another married couple. I had vibes about them as well, but of the two, Louise was someone who really struck me as a villain. Jonah was certainly a logical suspect, since he was the only one of the four who would benefit financially from Cash’s death. I guess Louise would too, since she’d improve her style of living if her husband owned the factory.
“That reminds me,” I said aloud, though no one was there to listen. I needed to check on Louise’s finances. If she were wealthy from her nefarious activities, money wouldn’t be a motive for her. I rifled through the bureau drawer I’d taken as mine, and realized that if we didn’t solve the murder today I’d have to do laundry. “Ugh,” again aloud.
I shook out a no-iron shirt, and put on a pair of jeans. George entered at that time and I said, “I ran out of good pants. Sorry.”
“What?”
“You’re so sweet,” I said. “You didn’t even notice I had on blue jeans.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he said, completely preoccupied, so much so that he forgot to unhook Clancy’s leash.
Where Is Henderson? (Sam Darling mystery #5) Page 7
