It was comforting to talk to someone who knew how she felt, but Valetta was right about one thing. Jaymie had to call Becca and tell her all, so she didn’t hear it from Dee or some other well-intentioned Queensvillian just looking out for Jaymie.
“So . . . what is this all about, Jaymie? Why two break-ins? You hiding Lazarus Stowe’s missing fortune in here or something?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Valetta, but the woman was the gossip pipeline to the rest of the village. She may as well hire a town crier and tell the world, if she told Valetta. Instead, she shrugged and said, “Whoever it is, is looking for something.”
“But what?” Valetta peered at her directly. “Give it up, girl. You know something, I can see it in those baby blue eyes of yours.”
“I’ve got to get going to help Anna next door, and so do you have to get a move-on, if you’re going to open the pharmacy on time. Isn’t there something in your contract about your hours of operation?” Jaymie said.
“Yeah, yeah, so after all these years you still don’t trust me,” she grumbled, rising and putting her coffee cup in the sink. “Speaking of Anna Jones, talk about a woman needing help,” Valetta said dryly. “She takes the coffee cake in the helplessness department, and she’s got a handsome hubby to boot. Why she thought she could run a business on her own, I’ll never know.”
Moved to defend Anna, Jaymie said, “She’s not stupid or helpless, Valetta; she’s indecisive. There is a difference. Indecisiveness seems to be part of her personality.” They left the house together, Valetta striding off toward the center of town to open up the Emporium, and Jaymie next door to help Anna.
Anna was wide-eyed and fearful. “I lived in Toronto for years,” she said, as they sat in the kitchen with coffee, “and always worried about crime. Then I move my little girl to a small town to get away from the worry, only to wind up next to a murder, a violent attack and a couple of break-ins!”
“You can’t treat them like separate incidents, though,” Jaymie responded. She got out a recipe for lemon cranberry muffins and rooted around in Anna’s freezer for a bag of frozen cranberries she knew was there. “I think they’re all tied in to the same thing.”
Anna shrugged, clearly not really buying it. “What are we making?” she asked, sitting at the table and sipping coffee.
Jaymie told her, as Elaine Carter came into the kitchen to ask Anna a question about local wineries. Anna turned to Jaymie, who supplied the names of a couple that also had cafés that served dinner. When the woman left, Jaymie asked, as she chopped walnuts for the muffin batter, “So, has Brett’s boyfriend, Ted, returned yet?”
“Not yet,” Anna said, getting down the tub of flour and a bottle of oil.
“It’s strange that he hasn’t gone looking for him. Wouldn’t you, if you had a fight, and Clive stormed off?”
“Clive would never do that,” Anna said placidly.
“Never? Doesn’t he have any temper?”
“Not with me. I’ve seen him chew out a coworker who didn’t get something right, but he has never raised his voice in our home.”
“Isn’t there anything about him that irritates you?” Jaymie asked, sidetracked by her friends’ marriage. “I just can’t believe that.” She tossed the walnuts in the flour; that would keep them suspended in the muffin batter so they didn’t sink to the bottom.
Anna shrugged. “We’ve been married for years, and have never had a real fight. We’ve bickered a little, I guess, but no actual fights.”
“I guess Ted and Brett can’t say that, after the fight they had the night of the murder.”
“Now that you mention it, it’s odd how Brett just doesn’t seem upset. I mean, he did at first, but now he’s just going about his business. Whatever that is.”
Jaymie thought back to what Brett said. “After they fought, Brett said Ted stormed out, but he just went to bed and to sleep. I have never in my life been able to sleep after a fight. I always lay awake for hours going over what I should have said, what I’m going to say next time and wondering where he is.” She realized that she had forgotten or blocked out all those fights with Joel. It was so clear to her now that their time together had not been as idyllic as she had once thought.
“Their car was parked down by the marina,” Anna said. “Brett says he figures Ted went over to Johnsonville and is waiting for Brett to come looking for him.”
“But he hasn’t yet. That we know of, anyway. Wonder why? And why is he even in Queensville? It’s not like there’s a lot here to see, much as I love the town.” Jaymie shook her head. “Not our business, I guess.” But still, it gave her pause and deserved some thought. Brett had been at the auction, and knew exactly where the Hoosier was, on her summer porch. In fact . . . putting it on the summer porch had been his suggestion. Was he, perhaps, Standish’s coconspirator? But then, who was Ted in all of this? And why had the fellow disappeared? “What does Brett do all day?”
Anna shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. He goes out every day, but he’s back every evening.”
Jaymie thought about that as she finished whipping up the muffin batter. Why was he still in Queensville? She told Anna that she could leave the batter in the fridge until the next morning, then bake it like the Morning Glory muffins. She gave her friend a hug and headed home.
She paused at her front door before going in, though, and examined the façade. Looking after a home as old as theirs was a constant battle to ward off decrepitude. The paint on the trim had begun to crack and peel from years of lashing rain and blistering sun. It was time to have it scraped and painted, but not until the fall. The place was looking a little empty and bleak. She would definitely need to get on top of the gardening, maybe even today. Memorial Day weekend was her deadline to have the outdoor baskets and beds fitted out with annuals, so that meant getting to work.
She glanced over past the B&B and saw Brett Delgado down the block, talking to someone who was in a big black car, a Lincoln or Cadillac, from the looks of it. If she knew cars better she’d have been able to tell. He leaned in the open window, having what looked from a distance to be an intense conversation. She supposed it caught her attention because she had just been thinking of Brett and Ted. If it was all on the level, and Brett was really who he said he was, then why was he in no hurry to go after Ted Abernathy, who he was supposedly marrying within days? Of course, if Abernathy was already in Canada, maybe the two had talked on their cell phones, or maybe they often had this kind of quarrel and took a few days to cool down and reconcile.
She shrugged; it was irritating being in the middle of so many mysteries, major and minor, and not having the answers to any of them. The cops could already have a suspect in mind, and she would never know until they made an arrest. Her stomach twisted again as she thought of the Button letter; what was she going to do about it? Was the killer the same person who had broken into her house the night before? Did Daniel Collins have anything to do with it? He seemed to be so fortuitously on the scene last night as she was dismantling the Hoosier.
Brett straightened and headed toward the B&B, and so did Jaymie. He appeared deep in thought and didn’t see her until she was standing in front of him.
“Hi there. How are you?” she asked.
“Jaymie, how are you?” he said. “I hear there was another commotion at your place last night. What was that all about?”
“Someone broke in. Again.”
“What were they after? Did they get whatever it is?”
“Actually, they did,” she said. Mendacity came surprisingly easy to her after all she had been through.
“Really?” he said. His eyes narrowed. “They got what they were after?”
“Yes.” She examined his expression and wondered if she read consternation in his shifting gaze. He seemed surprised, that was for sure. She was suspicious of everyone now. His lack
of concern over his boyfriend’s disappearance allied with his being at the auction, but not buying anything, made her wary of him. “So, have you heard from Ted? Did he call you after all?”
“Actually, no. I’m beginning to get worried,” he replied.
“Who was that you were talking to? In the big car?”
He raised his brows at her direct questioning. “That? Someone asking directions. Why?”
She wasn’t very good at subterfuge after all, it appeared. She shrugged. “I thought I recognized the car, that’s all.” It hadn’t looked like a simple conversation about directions.
“It was a woman driving. I recognized her. I think she was at the same auction we were at the other night, but I didn’t catch her name.”
“I wonder if that was Lynn Foster?” Jaymie said. She was the only woman Jaymie had seen at the auction who was staying in Queensville. Odd that she had stopped to ask Brett directions.
He shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know her name.”
“What did she want directions to?”
“Uh, Wolverhampton. I have to go in now,” he said, and opened the front door of the Shady Rest.
The phone was ringing as Jaymie entered the house; it was DeeDee, checking up on her, berating her for not coming to stay with her after the break-in, and asking about Grandma Leighton. They talked for a while, but Jaymie was still distracted by thoughts of the tangled mystery of the Button letter, so when DeeDee said something, Jaymie caught just part of it.
“What did you just say about your brother-in-law, Dee?” she asked.
“Lyle’s in a tizzy. That Lachlan McIntosh, who it now seems was really Trevor Standish, tricked Lyle into charging another guest for his room.”
“Another guest? Who?”
“You know that tall couple at the auction, the Fosters? You saw them again at the Queen’s Tea.”
“I know who you’re talking about.”
“Well, it seems that this Standish—or McIntosh, or whoever—told Lyle that the Fosters were to be billed for his room on their credit card. Lyle made an inquiry—this was before the Fosters arrived—and it came up all right. But now they’re saying they don’t know the guy from Adam. Told Lyle they don’t know who he talked to to confirm, but it wasn’t them.”
The Fosters again! “Wow, what a mess. Lyle must be beside himself.”
“He’s in a bind, all right. The guy ran up quite a bill. Now he’s going to have to charge the guy’s estate. He’ll probably never see the money.”
After hanging up, Jaymie puttered in the kitchen, trying to clear her mind. It was all such a muddle. The list of those she didn’t trust was now as long as her arm. The Fosters, who kept popping up in a multiplicity of spots, were now on her list, as were Ted Abernathy and Brett Delgado. Trevor Standish seemed to have connections to all of them, in one way or another.
And then there were Daniel and Zell McIntosh. Could Daniel have done something so dastardly as break in to steal the book? It was pretty powerful evidence that he was the only one who knew about the letter, and the book in which it had been hidden disappeared that very same night. Could he, Zell McIntosh and their friend, Trevor Standish, all be mixed up in the tangled mess? Was a frat brother reunion their cover story?
Daniel Collins, she deeply felt, could be trusted, and it wasn’t just because she liked him. He had an aura of calm competence. He was solid, dependable, and she wanted to believe he had nothing to do with the Button letter mess. If Trevor had organized the reunion as an excuse to be in Queensville, he could have dragged Zell into it as a fall guy or coconspirator, and Daniel could have been left out of the loop. As she hid the letter in the Hoosier book, she’d had a feeling she was being watched, the uneasy sensation lifting her neck hair and creeping down her spine; had Zell followed Daniel, and had he been watching the house? Was he the one who’d knocked Heidi out and stolen the book? If that was the case, then he was probably the murderer, too, intent on getting all the money for the Button letter. Still . . . she couldn’t rule Daniel out entirely. She had a definite sense that he was interested in her, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about it yet. She just knew she wanted time to figure it all out, and she didn’t want to be wrong about a guy this time. It was vital that she not let her interest in him mislead her about his character or motives. He could be feigning interest to get close to the Button.
She sighed, then sat down at the kitchen table and called Becca, who, as she expected, chastised her severely about not going to stay with Dee. Her sister was distracted, though, when she told her about the Button Gwinnett letter hidden in the Hoosier.
“So the most valuable thing about that piece is something you can’t even keep! That just about fits with you, Jaymie.” Becca had always said that her little sister had an eye for making money . . . for other people. She said it every single time Jaymie found a Spode platter or Minton gravy boat in some dusty old junk shop and turned it over to Becca to sell.
Then Jaymie phoned the hospital in Wolverhampton to try to get news on Heidi, but they wouldn’t tell her anything. She called Joel’s cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail, so she left a message to let her know how his girlfriend was doing. She felt some responsibility; if she had listened more closely to Heidi, she would have been looking out for her. As she did all of that and ate lunch, she moved the Button letter several times. She was uneasy about it, but undecided.
She was going to have to take it to the police station. It was most definitely not going to spend another night in her house, even if a cop was sitting in her lap. She finally took it out to the van with her, sticking it in the glove compartment, then starting up the ancient vehicle. How she was going to present the letter to the police, without admitting she had held it back, was what was troubling her now. And so she procrastinated a bit, knowing she couldn’t put off the unpleasantness forever.
Her first stop was a garden center out on the highway, where she loaded the van with annuals and a few new perennials. She was going to try bee balm in the corner near the garage, both for its beauty and for its other properties, as an attractor of bees and butterflies. Bee balm, a kind of bergamot—though not the same as the flavoring used in Earl Grey tea—had pretty red flowers that, as its name suggested, attracted bees. She was tempted by a tall, feathery bamboo plant, but decided to stick to her planting ideals; in her perennial garden, she would try to keep native plants predominant.
The police station was in the opposite direction from the nursery, though, so she decided to go home first and unload the plants. Procrastinating again, yes, but Detective Christian was a daunting guy: too good-looking by far, enough to make her blush, but with a cool demeanor. She would fuss around a little and work up her flagging nerve.
As she pulled the van around the back, she saw the tattered remains of the yellow police tape that surrounded the spot where Heidi had been found and noted that a couple of locals were eyeing it and even taking photos. One was Kathy Cooper’s husband, Craig, and he gave her a sarcastic thumbs-
up, and held up his cell phone, taking a photo of her standing gaping at him. Great, now she knew what his new Facebook photo was going to be! Kathy had found the perfect husband, one willing to be as jerky as she could be.
She slammed the van door shut and pelted up the back path and into the house. What was wrong with Kathy and her husband? What had Jaymie ever done to her to justify the rumors and ill will? When this was all over, she was going to confront her onetime friend and have it out.
She stared out the back summer porch door and thought about Anna’s concerns about the violence that had tainted their quiet little town in the last few days, as Hoppy bounced around, barking at a squirrel on the shed roof and the gawkers near the fence. Delivering the Button letter to police headquarters would give her the opportunity to ask the detective what exactly was being done to catch the murderer of Trevor St
andish. Hopefully that also meant nabbing the attacker who had hurt Heidi and broken in to her home.
It was late afternoon, but she finally decided she was not going to be intimidated by the occasional lookie-loo. She’d take the Button letter to the police before evening fell, even though she was worried that the first person the cops would look at with suspicion would be Daniel. It was one thing for her to vaguely suspect him, but quite another to see him raked over the coals, when all he had done was to be helpful. Her stomach churned. This dithering was unlike her, but then, this whole mess was like nothing she’d ever experienced.
So first, while she worked up her guts to face the Queensville police with the Button letter and all she feared and suspected about it, she was going to get her plants in. She changed into appropriate clothes for the dirty task of gardening; for her that meant cutoffs and an old T-shirt of Joel’s with Green Day’s “heart grenade” American Idiot album cover on it. Maybe the two of them had never been much of a fit. He liked alt rock; she was into girly Brit pop. He favored local microbrew beer; she preferred tea or wine. But surely being together had been more than the sum of their differences? Even after talking to him, she had no real clue why he had left.
It still hurt a bit, but it was better. Definitely better. At least now she could remember all the things about him that drove her nuts. It wasn’t exactly a short list.
She confined Hoppy to the house—one thing she did not need was his help in digging—and removed the flats of plants from the van and set them in the shade of the garage; some were wilting after too long in the heat of the vehicle, so she turned on the hose and gave them a good long drink. A week or so ago she had been ambitious enough to dig the garden beds, preparing them for the new perennials and annuals. One stretched the length of the far side of the yard, shaded in mid-summer by the trumpet vine that grew in lush profusion over the edge of the ancient garage. A second narrow bed fronted the summer porch. It would be in full sun most of the day, and needed heat tolerant flowers.
A Deadly Grind Page 20
