A Vintage Death

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “Yes.” Jane’s eyes misted briefly, but she lifted her chin. “I miss them terribly. They’re the most important people in my life since my husband’s death, especially now that Emily is expecting my first grandchild. But I can’t abandon Dorothy at a time like this.”

  She handed back her empty water bottle and bid the three women goodbye. As the door closed behind her, Callie said, “I think there’s a toughness in her that’s just starting to show.”

  “I hope so,” Delia said. “She might need it.”

  Later that day, Callie was considering following Delia’s lead and closing early when she got a call from Laurie Hart.

  “Did you know Dorothy’s back home?” she asked.

  “I did. Jane stopped in to tell me.”

  “We were in our back room most of the day, polishing up our latest toy acquisitions, so we didn’t notice until a little while ago that Jane’s opened the shop.”

  “She said she intended to. It was important to both of them. I hope she didn’t have any trouble.”

  “I don’t think so. But then she might have had help heading it off.”

  “Oh?”

  “An older gentleman left just a little while ago. From the look on Jane’s face and the lingering hand clasps at the door, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a customer.”

  From Laurie’s description, Callie recognized George Cole. What was going on there? Renata’s murder had pushed the questions that had arisen about Cole to the back of her mind. She wanted the answers now. After a quick lockup of House of Melody, she went after them.

  Stitches Thru Time was one of the few shops open, since the crime investigation at the park continued to either draw the curious or drive away potential customers. Even Howard Graham’s Christmas shop was dark, unusual for Howard, who rarely gave up hope for one more sale. A peek through Dorothy’s window showed Jane inside, alone, dusting the shelves. Callie went in.

  “Oh!” Jane cried, surprised but not displeased. “If you came to see Dorothy, I’m afraid she’s resting, though she might—”

  “No, I came to see you,” Callie said, noticing that Jane had changed from her sweater and jeans into a pretty blouse and skirt. The woman set down her duster and looked at Callie expectantly.

  “Jane, you know we’ve been trying to help Dorothy in every way we can. But we need honesty.” She paused. “From both of you.”

  “Both … ?”

  “Yes. From you, too, Jane. You’re an essential part of the picture, you see, because you’re Dorothy’s alibi. So it’s important that we understand everything that’s going on. You haven’t been totally open with us, have you?” She watched as Jane flushed, just as she had on that first day when Callie had asked the reason for her sudden visit.

  “What do you mean?” Jane asked.

  “I mean George Cole.”

  “Oh!” The flush remained but a small smile appeared with it. “What about George?”

  “Neither one of you mentioned to us that you knew each other. Why not? Is he the reason you came to Keepsake Cove?”

  “No, I had no idea George was here. We haven’t seen or heard from each other for decades. Running into one another here was a total surprise.”

  “But you knew George in Greenock?”

  Jane blinked, apparently surprised Callie knew that. “Only briefly,” she said after a moment. She picked up a wooden darning egg from a nearby shelf and looked down at it as she rubbed her fingers over its smooth surface. “We met at Dorothy’s wedding,” she said, glancing up briefly. “He was a little older, so we hadn’t been in high school at the same time, and he went away for college afterward. We danced a few times at the reception, and I was very flattered when he asked me out. But it wasn’t long before he had to leave for a new job, and I … I became involved with someone else. We lost touch—until now. It was unexpected but lovely to see him again. He seems to feel the same.”

  She returned the darning egg to its spot on the shelf and gazed steadily at Callie, who struggled to read her expression. Did Jane expect skepticism at the possibility of romance at her current age? Or was she challenging Callie to believe her account?

  “I thought I heard voices!” Dorothy emerged from the back room. “I wondered if we actually had a customer, but this is even better. I’m so glad I cut my rest time short. It’s good to see you,” she said, going up to give Callie a hug.

  “How are you doing?” Callie asked. Dorothy looked better than the last time she’d seen her. Surprisingly so, since Jane had described her as shaken. It appeared to Callie that a second grilling by police had somehow reinvigorated her.

  “I’m good,” Dorothy said. “Good and mad. I decided I’m tired of being cowed by other people’s assumptions about me. They can think what they want, but I know who and what I am, and it’s not a murderer. No more hiding as if I’m guilty.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Callie said, though the flash in Dorothy’s eyes made her uneasy. Perhaps her eagerness to take charge was natural after feeling so beaten down. “Is that what prompted you to call Renata on Monday?” she asked. Jerry’s story needed to be either confirmed or denied.

  Dorothy nodded firmly. “I knew what lies she’d been spreading about me lately. I’d had enough, and I told her so.”

  “Exactly how did you tell her? Her husband said he could hear you screaming.”

  Dorothy’s lip curled. “I might have. I probably shouldn’t have, but I’ve held so much back for so long that it all came rushing out. But,” she hurriedly added, “I didn’t threaten. And I definitely didn’t kill Renata. Jane can back me up on the fact that I never left the cottage that entire day and night.”

  Jane nodded vigorously, though, Callie remembered, she previously hadn’t been aware of Dorothy’s call to Renata. “I tried to reach you, both on your shop phone and your cottage line, but only got the recording. I did leave a message.”

  “And I heard it. I’m sorry. I should have called you back.”

  “I’ve since learned what I wanted to ask you about,” Callie said. “The man who’s been staying at the Foxwood Inn, George Cole. I found out he attended your wedding.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes, he did,” Jane said quickly. “I meant to tell you, Dorothy. You probably don’t remember him. But he remembered us, and he stopped in here to offer his support. He’s been very kind.”

  Dorothy blinked but didn’t ask for more explanation. Another subject concerned her more, and she turned to it. “Those scissors,” she said to Callie, “were definitely not mine. They were junk, total junk! I would never have stocked anything like that, and I told the police so.”

  She ranted on about the murder weapon, seeming more upset to be accused of carrying bad merchandise than of killing Renata. Was that a good sign or not, Callie wondered as she let Dorothy go on. Was there a right way to react, after all Dorothy had had to deal with? Callie didn’t know and decided the important thing was to concentrate on facts, not impressions.

  Which was exactly what she was mulling over as she headed back home. While on the way, she heard her phone signal a call.

  “Feel like hitting a few golf balls tonight?” Lyssa asked.

  “Golf balls? Why? What’s up?”

  “Remember that caddy I overheard when I went to the park incognito? The young guy who said Jerry Moore was golfing with the police chief when Cliff Ashby was murdered? I managed to track him down. I got him to caddy for us.”

  Twenty-Three

  Don’t you need to be a member to play at this country club?” Callie thought to ask this only after they were already halfway there and she’d filled Lyssa in on the latest developments. She sat in the passenger seat of Lyssa’s Corvette, having left her own car at the Foxwood Inn, and was mostly enjoying her ride, only occasionally grabbing onto the door during fast turns.

  “It’s semi-private
. Luckily this isn’t their peak time.”

  “I did tell you I’ve barely hit a dozen golf balls in my life, right?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Our story is that I’m introducing you to the game. Just try not to hit anyone.”

  Lyssa had advised Callie on golf-appropriate clothing, and she’d found a white polo shirt in decent shape to top a pair of khaki cutoffs. She’d added a light sweater to ward off the chill. Lyssa had dressed much more colorfully—no surprise to Callie, who’d already picked up on the author’s more eye-catching preferences, except when going incognito.

  “So,” Callie said, “Parks, Moore, and the police chief were playing in a golf tournament the day Cliff Ashby was murdered.”

  “I’m not sure if they were in the tournament,” Lyssa said. “They might have been there as spectators but got in a round themselves.”

  “With our soon-to-be-caddy.”

  “Right.”

  “And what do we hope to learn from him?” Callie asked.

  “Beats me. You’re the detective. I’m just going for the golf.” Lyssa glanced over at Callie and grinned.

  “I’m going to assume you’re joking, since I’ll need a lot of help, in more ways than one. For instance, are caddies likely to talk about what they overhear from their clients?”

  “It’s in their best interests to be discreet. But this guy seemed like a talker, so it might not be hard to get him started.”

  “Good.”

  “And a little flirting might help.”

  “From who?” Callie asked.

  “You, of course. I’ll be concentrating on my game.” Lyssa grinned again, though Callie wasn’t sure she was entirely joking this time. She sighed, wondering what she’d agreed to. Best case, they’d learn something important about both Vernon Parks and Jerry Moore. Worst? They’d end up with nothing, she’d look like an idiot on the golf course, and a pimply-faced teenaged caddy would call her twice a day for the next six months.

  The Abbotsville Country Club was impressive, beautifully landscaped with not a single autumn leaf to be seen on its manicured lawns. Lyssa drove through its open wrought-iron gate toward the Tara-like clubhouse, passing tennis courts and a swimming pool that was closed for the season. Callie gazed longingly at the tennis courts, which she at least knew her way around enough to play a decent game. But they disappeared in the side mirror as Lyssa continued on to the pro shop.

  “I didn’t bring my clubs with me to the B&B,” Lyssa said. “Didn’t expect to need them. So I’ll rent a set we can both use. We’re about the same height, right? We can rent shoes, too.”

  “And share those, too?” Callie asked wryly.

  “Ha-ha. Save your jokes for Travis.”

  “Who?”

  “Our caddy. Travis Campbell. He’ll probably laugh at all our jokes, good or bad.”

  “But not our game, I presume.”

  “Not if he knows what’s good for him.” Lyssa parked and led the way into the shop, winding her way between racks of golf apparel. “Hi,” she said to the man standing behind the counter. “Tracy Hamilton. I called for a five o’clock tee time?”

  Tracy Hamilton? Lyssa hadn’t mentioned being incognito again, but Callie, though surprised, rolled with it, sure that there must be times that Lyssa just didn’t want to be asked about her books.

  The fifty-something man with thinning hair ran a finger down the page of his scheduling book. “Yes, Ms. Hamilton. Oh, but I see we have a small problem.”

  “We?”

  “Well, our mistake but your problem, I’m afraid, depending on how important it is for Travis to caddy for you.”

  Uh-oh. Callie winced. Had they come all that way for nothing?

  “Travis is very important,” Lyssa said. “I was told he was available.”

  “I’m extremely sorry. It’s our fault entirely. Somehow he was double-booked. He’s out on the links right now with another group.”

  “When will he be done?” Callie asked.

  The desk attendant did some quick calculation and estimated twenty to thirty minutes. “We do have another excellent caddy available if you’d like—”

  “No,” Lyssa declared. “That won’t do.” She turned to Callie. “How about we go to the driving range instead?” She explained to the desk man, “My friend is learning the game. Perhaps Travis could come over when he’s back and give her a quick lesson?”

  “Absolutely!” The man’s face brightened, and he penciled that in. “A large bucket of balls?”

  “And two drivers.”

  They worked out the sizes of the clubs and picked up their balls. Lyssa paid in cash, waving away Callie’s effort to chip in, and they headed toward the driving range. Callie was pleased not to have to actually play a game. After Lyssa watched her hit a couple of dribbling balls and miss the next, she was probably pleased as well. She gave Callie a couple of tips, then moved over to hit a few balls herself, all of which soared beautifully.

  By the time Travis Campbell showed up, Callie’s swing had improved to the point where she was actually enjoying herself. Tall, red-haired, and not much older than the teenager she’d expected, Travis apologized for the mix-up and offered a knowledgeable-sounding critique of both women’s swings.

  “Thanks,” Lyssa said. “But we’re not actually here for a lesson.”

  “You’re not?” Travis looked as surprised as Callie at this sudden switch.

  “No. We’ve been asked to look into the activities of a couple of people.” Lyssa’s voice had turned no-nonsense investigator. “Vernon Parks and Jerry Moore. You’ve caddied for them in the last week or so, right?”

  “Uh, yeah! Hey, Moore’s the guy whose wife was just murdered. What, is he a suspect or something?” Travis’s eyes were wide with excitement. Luckily for them, he was young and naïve enough not to think of asking for credentials, though Callie wondered how much trouble Lyssa could be getting them into.

  “Just standard procedure,” Lyssa assured him. “Have to check on everyone, you understand.”

  “Yeah, sure, so what do you want to know?”

  “Dates and times they were here.”

  “Uh … ” Travis pulled a notebook from his back pocket and thumbed through it. “The day of the tournament, I was here on the driving range with them. Vernon Parks with Jerry Moore and Ben Sommers.”

  “Our chief,” Callie said. “We know about that one. When else?”

  He read off two more dates from the past week. “Just Parks and Moore, these times.”

  Callie tapped the information into her phone, hoping it looked official enough to Travis. “What did they talk about?”

  Travis thought hard. “Uh, lots of stuff, I guess.”

  “Just what you think might be important,” Callie prompted. “Did Cliff Ashby’s name come up?”

  “Oh, yeah! But they were both here when he was murdered.”

  “The day of the tournament, yes,” Callie said. “And the chief got the call the next morning. We’re aware of that.”

  “Right. They all left quickly, and their tee time that day was canceled. So Ashby’s name never came up then.” Callie was drawing a breath when Travis added, “But it came up a lot during the times Parks and Moore were here after that.”

  “Go on,” Lyssa said.

  Travis’s eyes turned skyward as he searched his memory, which Callie hoped was a good one. “Something about buying Ashby’s B&B together.”

  Wow. Callie was glad the caddy was looking at Lyssa, who, unlike her, managed to stay stone-faced.

  “Details,” Lyssa said.

  “Uh, I don’t remember all that much. Business talk mostly goes right over my head.” Travis cleared his throat. “But I do remember Parks going on about what a fantastic opportunity it was, and that they could get it for a song when the widow got charged.”

 
; “Uh-hum.” Lyssa managed to sound matter-of-fact as Callie’s blood started to boil. “What did Moore have to say to that?”

  “He seemed to be holding back, which I guess was why Parks kept at him about it. Maybe he didn’t have the money? I dunno.”

  “Anything else?” Callie asked.

  “Uh, this isn’t going to get me in trouble with them, is it? I mean, I need the jobs.”

  “Totally confidential,” Lyssa promised.

  “Okay, then. Uh, Vernon Parks talked a lot about how tight he was with the mayor, the police chief, and other higher-ups at the statehouse. He said his connections would guarantee they’d have a full house at the B&B, and that they’d be looking to expand the place within a year.”

  “Big plans, huh?”

  “Sure sounded like it.”

  “Are you sure Vernon Parks left with the chief that morning?” Callie asked. “Could he have left the night before?” As she said it, she hoped it wouldn’t occur to Travis that they should know this if they were who they pretended to be. The chief, unfortunately, hadn’t confided in either Lyssa or her. With the negative opinion she had of Parks, though, Callie needed to be reassured that he hadn’t had the opportunity to kill Cliff Ashby.

  “Pretty sure,” Travis said. “They all arrived in one car. A sweet one!” He rhapsodized for a while about the Lincoln Navigator that the chief had driven up in, with its twin turbo-charged engine and other features. “’Course, you can always grab a ride with Uber.”

  Yes! There were several ways Parks could have made it to Keepsake Cove and back to murder Ashby while maintaining his alibi.

  Travis’s cell phone signaled a text. “Hey, got another job waiting for me. I gotta go.” He looked up with a worried face. “Is that okay?”

  “Fine,” Lyssa said. “Keep all this to yourself, of course. And if you think of anything else … ” She searched through her purse. “Damn. Where’s my cards?” She scribbled on the back of the receipt for the golf balls and drivers and handed it to him. “You can reach me direct with that number. Don’t lose it.”