A Vintage Death

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  The rush of cold air was bracing. But the thought of trusting her life to something that she had no way of judging for strength or condition was terrifying. She leaned out to grab the closest branch and pressed on it. It barely moved. A good sign, perhaps. But could she get her whole self onto it? Swinging from it by her hands twenty feet from the ground was terrifying. Plus she realized, as she peered downward, that she was directly over a basement window well. If she slipped and fell, there was no soft landing below.

  She waited, screwing up her courage to make that first move, and had just about reached it when she heard the siren. Then she saw the flashing lights coming around a curve. A fire truck! And it was moving toward her.

  “Over here, over here!” She screamed and waved, knowing they were still much too far away to see or hear her. But they were coming! And they would find her. She would be okay.

  Thirty-Two

  A passing motorist saw flames coming from the inn and called it in,” one of the firefighters told Callie as she perched at the back of an ambulance. Despite her protests that she was fine beyond a few scrapes and bruises, an EMT had insisted on checking her out. She was exceedingly glad not to have had to attempt a Tarzan-like escape from the inn via the tree and grateful to her rescuers, including the alert motorist.

  “How bad is the damage?” she asked as the smoke-smudged firefighter took a well-earned water break. The hoses had stopped pumping and were being rolled up.

  “Looks like it’ll be salvageable,” he said, which she was glad to hear. She didn’t know what insurance would cover in a situation like this, but with luck Dorothy might have a structure to repair and then either reopen or sell. Callie had given her account to a police officer of what had happened inside the Foxwood Inn that led to the fire, and was assured by him that Paula would almost certainly be found soon. That meant the truth of Cliff Ashby’s murder would come out and Dorothy’s ordeal would be over.

  But then Callie thought of Renata Moore’s murder. Paula had only admitted to killing Ashby. Could she have been responsible for both murders? Callie grimaced, unable to see how that was likely, and doubted the police would be able to connect Paula to it. That meant Dorothy might still be labeled a murder suspect.

  On her return home, Callie was fussed over first by Delia, then by Brian, and urged by both to take the next day off. Though reluctant at first, she was glad she’d agreed to it when she woke the next morning to stiff and sore muscles. Some of that, she was sure, had come from agitated dreams that had replayed her ordeal. She had just poured a mug of coffee after getting up when she heard a knock on her door and went to answer it, half expecting that Delia had come to check on her. Much to her surprise, it was Lyssa.

  “Hi,” Lyssa said in an uncharacteristically subdued manner. Her hair lay flat against her head instead of rising in its usual perky spikes, and she appeared to be wearing the same clothes from the previous day. She looked as though she’d spent the night in her car. “Got another one of those?” she asked, pointing to the coffee mug.

  “Of course. Come in.” Callie quickly led the way to the kitchen and filled a second mug. “Where have you been?” she asked, handing it over. “Didn’t you go back to your house?”

  Lyssa shook her head before taking a tentative sip from her mug, then turned back to the living room. “I’ve got a lot to say, so you might as well get comfortable.”

  Callie took a seat across from the author and waited.

  “First of all,” Lyssa said, “I heard about Paula and the B&B. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. And at least Dorothy’s off the hook for Cliff’s murder.”

  “And maybe for Renata’s, too. That’s partly what I came to tell you.” Lyssa took another sip, then drew a tired breath. “God, how did we miss that it was Paula?” she asked, shaking her head. “There I was, seeing her every day but apparently looking right through her.”

  “I don’t know. Looking back, I can see signs. But we just didn’t pick up on them. You said you had something to share about Renata?”

  “Right. Well, after we talked yesterday morning—geesh, it seems like a month ago!—I didn’t go back home. I drove around a while. I was upset. But once I got over feeling sorry for myself, I started thinking about the person who was worse off—Dorothy. She’s been going through a lot of what I went through. I couldn’t fix anything for myself, but I thought maybe I could do something for her. So I went back to Easton.”

  “Easton? To talk to Doug Moore?”

  “Actually, I spoke with Gayle Hawkins.”

  “The woman in his office,” Callie said.

  “Doug was out, and she was free, so we had a good long chat. When we were there the first time, I could see that she was aware of Doug’s memory problems. She was trying her best to cover for him as well as keep him on track. So I told her about how Jerry was using his brother as an alibi for his wife’s murder and how someone else was the chief suspect because of that. Gayle said she’d never liked Jerry, that she’d watched him take advantage of Doug’s good nature far too often. She knew about the murder, but she didn’t know details like timing and such, and she didn’t know Jerry had claimed Doug as an alibi.”

  “So what does that change?” Callie asked.

  “What changes is that Gayle can attest to the fact that Jerry arrived at Doug’s house much later than he said.”

  “Really! How?”

  “She happened to be driving past Doug’s house late Tuesday evening, the night of the book event and Renata’s murder. She’d been out with friends, and her way home took her past Doug’s house. She’s been concerned about him for a while since she’s been aware of his memory slips, and she automatically slowed down to glance over at his house, just to see if everything looked all right—like, that he hadn’t left his front door wide open or his car running. She saw Jerry getting out of his car in the driveway and Doug coming out to greet him. Jerry had just arrived, and it was nearly eleven.”

  “Eleven! Renata’s time of death was put as early as ten. So Jerry could have done it.”

  “I’ve reported this to the police, and they’re probably talking to Jerry right now. Or maybe Gayle first, I don’t know. But I think it looks pretty bad for Jerry and a lot better for Dorothy.”

  “Absolutely. That was terrific of you, Lyssa. If this gets Dorothy off the hook, she’ll have her life back.”

  Lyssa made a small, tired smile, and swallowed more of her coffee. She drew a deep breath. “I think I owe you an explanation about that other thing. You know, the anonymous letter.”

  Callie drew in a breath. “That probably came from Paula,” she said. “And I’ve been thinking of all the other things she must have caused—the canceled book order, the hay wagon fire, and your stomach illness. She wanted to get rid of you to stop all the probing into Ashby’s murder.”

  “You were a target, too.”

  “She came after me next. After she’d taken you out of the picture. Or thought she did.”

  “Well, she didn’t make up the stuff about me in that letter. And that’s what I need to talk about.”

  Callie grew quiet. Did she want to hear what Lyssa was going to say? This could change a lot between them. But the door had been opened by the letter. The truth had to come out. She waited.

  “It happened in my teens,” Lyssa began, “one summer, near where I grew up in Eldersburg. A bunch of us were driving around one night, bored. At least, I was bored. I wanted excitement. I always did.” She’d started speaking faster now as if she needed to get it all out before she lost her courage. “I talked everyone into going swimming in the reservoir. I was a good swimmer and didn’t think twice about it. Justin wasn’t, and I knew that. I should never have urged him to jump in that night.” She hesitated. “I was the first. The others held back, but I called them chickens, over and over. Justin finally couldn’t stand it anymore. He took a running j
ump and sank. Maybe he hit his head on something. I don’t know. But he didn’t come up.”

  Tears had sprung to her eyes. “At first I thought he was fooling around. Then the kids on the bank started screaming at me to help him. But I couldn’t. I tried, I really tried, but I couldn’t find him in time to save him. He drowned, and it was all my fault.”

  A long silence followed as Callie absorbed this. “You were in your teens?”

  Lyssa nodded. “Sixteen.”

  “Kids that age don’t think things out so well.”

  “His parents filed a wrongful death suit. They blamed me, and they were right. They said that I”—she looked up as though reading the words on the ceiling—“had knowingly coerced their son into extremely risky action that ended up causing his death.” She paused. “It was dismissed a year later.”

  “So you weren’t responsible.”

  Lyssa shook her head. “Not legally, but I knew it was my fault. And a lot of other people back home thought so, too.” She wiped away her tears. “Anyway, when I started writing, I decided not to be Alissa Hanson anymore. I didn’t like her very much.” She shrugged. “So there you are.”

  Callie looked at the misery on Lyssa’s face and the effort it had taken for her to talk about an incident that continued to pain her after so many years. She got up and went over to kneel in front of her. “I’m sorry this had to come out, and that I thought—just a little because of what Paula wrote—that Cliff might have been blackmailing you with it. But I think you need to forgive yourself, don’t you? I believe it was truly accidental, and besides the name change, you’re not the same person you were at sixteen. You’re a good and responsible person. I’ve seen that.” She reached up to hug her friend, feeling her shivering until finally Lyssa pulled back.

  “Thank you,” Lyssa said softly. After a few gulps of coffee she managed a weak smile. They stayed silent for a long while until Callie felt a nudge at her side. Jagger had come down from the bedroom to join them. He put his paws up on Lyssa’s knees, and after a moment she scratched his head, only blocking his efforts to jump onto her lap. Lyssa was not a cat person. She did, however, smile a little more strongly.

  When Callie scooped Jagger up and carried him to the sofa, Lyssa stood as well. “Hey, can I use your shower?” she asked. “And maybe run a couple of things through your washer? If any of my stuff at the inn wasn’t burned up, it’s probably either smoky or melted.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh, and got any hair gel?”

  Callie smiled and led her up the stairs. Her friend was back. She was happy to lend her anything she needed.

  Later, when Lyssa had left, Callie had a second visitor. It was Dorothy, and she’d arrived holding a casserole.

  “I know it’s nothing compared to what you did,” Dorothy said, looking down at the foil-covered dish, “but it’s the most I could manage on short notice. Besides, it’s what I do when I’m excited.”

  Callie happily accepted the dish as well as a long hug from Dorothy. “I’m just so glad your ordeal is over,” she said, waving Dorothy in.

  “Except for Renata,” Dorothy said, stepping into the cottage. “From what I understand, Paula had nothing to do with her murder.”

  “She didn’t, but I think there’s a good possibility you’ll be cleared on that one very soon.” Callie went to the kitchen and slipped Dorothy’s casserole into the refrigerator. “Coffee? Tea?”

  “Just water, please, with ice if you have it.” Dorothy took a seat on the sofa. “What do you mean?”

  Callie ran a tall glass under the tap and added several ice cubes. “I mean that Jerry’s alibi has been blown, and the police are looking more closely at him now.” She brought the glass to Dorothy and took the nearby chair. “We will probably hear more before too long.”

  “Oh, it will be such a relief to have it all washed away. Of course, it won’t be, not totally. Such terrible crimes don’t go away without leaving their mark.” She took a tiny sip of her water, then said, “Jane has told me all.”

  Callie nodded and waited to learn what sort of mark that might have left on Dorothy.

  “I wish she’d told me long ago about what happened with Cliff. It was a painful secret for her to keep for so long. She said she felt she’d betrayed me and couldn’t bear to hurt me further by telling me. And then there were her children, who never knew about their older sibling.” Dorothy shook her head. “You may find it all hard to understand, hiding such things, but it was a different time. Plus, after a person has buried something deep inside for years, it becomes nearly impossible to speak of it.”

  “Cliff must have counted on that,” Callie said.

  “I blame myself for bringing Cliff into both our lives,” Dorothy said, her eyes downcast.

  “The blame, I think, is his,” Callie said.

  “If you’re right, he was more than punished.” Dorothy drew a long breath. “Jane told me she took the scissors with her at the last minute that night for her own defense. She was, after all, going out alone in the middle of the night. She didn’t know what she was thinking when she actually pulled them out. She was so upset and frightened. When he took them from her, she ran off. She said she was horrified when they said the scissors were what killed him, and she couldn’t understand it. But she felt too paralyzed to say anything. If she admitted she’d left the scissors there, she’d most likely be charged with a murder she didn’t commit. She said it was tearing her up inside. And as things grew worse and worse for me, she was on the verge of going to the police. But then Renata Moore was murdered, and with another pair of scissors! She couldn’t believe it and thought she was going crazy.”

  Dorothy paused to take a deep breath. “I truly believe she would have spoken up very soon if you hadn’t brought things to a head as you did. You have to understand how difficult this was for Jane. She’s never been a strong person, and Richard’s death was a blow that left her floundering. She’d relied on him for so much. Oh, her children stepped in to help where they could, but it isn’t the same as a husband, is it?”

  Dorothy appeared to be excusing Jane’s inaction and ready to forgive it. Callie wasn’t sure she could be as generous, but it was Dorothy’s choice, not hers. She knew the two had grown up more like sisters than cousins, which meant a lot. Dorothy might also have sympathized with Jane’s struggle because of the paralysis she herself had felt during much of her married life before she finally found the strength to leave Cliff.

  “I don’t know where things will lead with her and George Cole,” Dorothy said, “but I have my hopes up. He could be just what Jane needs.”

  “Has she heard from him?”

  “She has. His granddaughter is better, and he intends to drive back in a day or so. They’ll probably have a lot to work out,” she admitted.

  Callie nodded agreement. But she remembered the care with which George had chosen his music box gift for Jane, and the years that Jane’s memory had apparently lingered in his heart. She had a feeling things would come together for them.

  Thinking of the music box reminded her of the part it had played when she was struggling to find her way out of the dark, smoky passageway at the inn. She’d set all thought of it aside in the heat of the moment but since then had mulled it over. This didn’t mean she’d come to any conclusion. Far from it. But Grandpa Reed’s music box had seemed to send her messages and warnings ever since Aunt Mel died, and now George’s new music box had led her out of a very tight spot by its playing. Coincidence? Or had her “guardian angel,” whoever that might be, taken to music box hopping?

  The image made her smile, and she realized she’d likely never know. Or know for sure. Best not to overthink some things and just be grateful. Getting a little help now and then, however it comes, isn’t such a bad thing.

  “Trick-or-treat!” The three-foot-tall astronaut waddled through House of Melody’s doorway in his moon boots
and bubble helmet, stiffly holding out his plastic pumpkin as a diminutive Wonder Woman followed behind.

  “Wow, neat costumes,” Tabitha cried. Though it wasn’t her usual time to be at the shop, no way was she going to miss being a part of the biggest dress-up day of the year. She had taken one of Callie’s musical globes for children as inspiration and transformed herself into Mary Poppins, complete with umbrella and flower-trimmed hat, which earned her open-mouthed stares from the younger trick-or-treaters. Callie had decided to keep it simple and dress only as a shop owner and official candy dispenser.

  Halloween night was the high point of Keepsake Cove’s fall celebration, which had officially begun with Lyssa’s book event, and it had drawn scores of families with their costumed little ones to wander streets filled with live music and shop. Things had started to wind down, with these latest two trick-or-treaters looking to be their last, and Tabitha had started to eye the packaged M&Ms and Milk Duds that remained.

  “Help yourself,” Callie encouraged her, grateful to have had Tabitha’s help on that busy night. She’d already opened a box of Gummy Bears for herself, a treat she hadn’t had since she was a kid, and soon remembered why as the rubbery candies quickly stuck to her teeth.

  Brian wandered over from his café, which she saw he’d closed up. “I’m done,” he announced, and within a minute Delia joined them as well.

  “A successful night!” she exclaimed. “Looks like Keepsake Cove has managed to hold on to its reputation as a family destination, thank goodness.”

  “It’s because Jerry’s arrest for Renata’s murder was overshadowed two days later by that major earthquake in Mexico,” Brian said. “That’s all people have heard or thought about since. It’s amazing how quickly something can become old news.”