“Texas. They never said what part of the state. He sure didn’t sound like he hailed from there.”
Val agreed. She was no expert on regional speech differences, but he clearly didn’t come from that far south.
Granddad sat back. “He ever say what line of work he was in?”
“No, but I found out what he was doing here.” Irene paused for a drink of water, increasing the suspense. “He was trying to buy up some old houses on Brook Lane. He created a lot of bad blood between neighbors.”
Val’s friend, Bethany, just starting out as an elementary school teacher, rented a tiny house in that area. It was one of the few sections in town where people with modest incomes could afford a roof over their heads. “Why bad blood?”
“He made offers on several houses on the same block. When one person accepted his offer, Jake wouldn’t go through with the sale unless the owner could convince his neighbors to sell too.”
If Jake did that in Texas, Val would suspect an oil well under the houses, but what did Jake want with a bunch of small old houses in Bayport?
Granddad snapped his fingers. “He was going to tear down those houses and put up more expensive ones. That’s why he’s been cozying up to the town council members. He needed their support for his redevelopment plans.”
Irene put her water glass down with a bang. “I get why he’d destroy houses to line his pockets, but what did he gain by killing my azaleas? I wasn’t here when he cut them down, but Jeremy was. He told Jake to stop chopping down the azaleas because they were his mother’s. Jake ridiculed Jeremy and said he had no reason to listen to a dumb kid.”
Val knew how protective Irene was of Jeremy, who’d struggled with a learning disability. No wonder she detested Jake. Destroying her shrubs paled in comparison to dissing her son.
Irene continued. “Jake apologized and claimed he thought the shrubs were his. I told him I’d send before-and-after pictures of my garden to the newspaper and file a police complaint against him for vandalism.”
“Did you do that?” Granddad said.
“No, because he said he’d pay for planting new bushes, but there’s no way to replace mature plantings. It’ll take years for any azaleas you plant now to grow as tall and full as the ones I had.”
“Did he clear-cut on the other side of his house?” Granddad said.
“Yes, and behind it down to the creek. He said he had nothing against flowers, just against high bushes. I don’t usually speak ill of the dead, but that man was a nasty piece of work.”
Five minutes later, when Granddad and Val were in the car going home, he said, “That’s one angry lady.”
Val viewed Irene’s obvious anger as a sign of innocence. “That doesn’t mean she killed Jake. She did nothing to hide her hatred of him. Wouldn’t the killer hide the motive for the murder?”
“After she told you and probably a lot of other folks what Jake did to her, she couldn’t pretend to like him.”
Once Granddad got an idea in his head, it was hard to dislodge it, but Val would try. “Irene doesn’t gain anything by killing Jake. It doesn’t bring her azaleas back to life or erase his insult to her son.” But the satisfaction of revenge was often its own reward.
“You’re right. I’m not taking her off the list, but I’ll move her to the bottom of it for now. Jewel stood to benefit most from his death, assuming that she’s his wife or that he made out a will in her favor. I’ll pay her a condolence visit tomorrow. You want to come along?”
“I’m serving brunch at the café until one. Then I have to get the food ready for the dinner I’m catering tomorrow night. I can squeeze in a visit with Jewel in between, but you’ll have to bake something. She’ll be more inclined to talk to us if our condolences come with cookies.”
“I like that plan. It’s a win-win for us. If she turns us away, we’ll have lots of cookies to eat.” He grinned. “We should also talk to the woman who could have poisoned Jake when she was down on the floor supposedly trying to help him.”
“I’ll tackle Holly Atherson on Monday.” But Val would need an excuse to get together with her.
“You’ll have to do it without me. I’m gonna be working all day on the recipes for my column.”
Val had never convinced Granddad to finalize his recipes before the newspaper’s Monday evening deadline.
* * *
On Sunday morning Val arrived at the café at ten. She relieved her teenage assistant, who’d served coffee and bagels to the athletic club’s early birds. Still racking her brains for a pretext to visit Holly, Val had just emptied the old coffee from the carafe when Holly glided into the café. She was as graceful in leggings and a quilted jacket as in the bridal gown she’d worn last night.
She approached the eating bar, her elfin face pinched. She glanced back at the club’s reception desk outside the café alcove. “Is it okay for me to come here even if I’m not a club member?”
“Of course. The café is open to the public.” Val was grateful she no longer needed an excuse to approach Holly, who apparently had a reason to talk to her. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
Holly climbed onto a stool at the eating bar, which separated the food counter from the café’s bistro tables. Her nose twitched. “The coffee smells good, but I’ve already had my cup for the day.”
She had a sensitive nose, smelling coffee after Val had emptied the carafe. “Would you like tea?”
“Herbal tea would be good. I don’t care what kind. I couldn’t reach Franetta this morning, so I came here, hoping you had news about Jake.”
“I thought you were bringing me news about him.” Val put a chamomile tea bag in a mug and added hot water from the dispenser. “Didn’t you go to the hospital with Jewel?”
“No, I didn’t. She wanted me to take her home so she could change out of the Mrs. Claus costume. She asked for directions to the hospital and said she’d drive herself.” Holly’s eyes narrowed. “You know what happened to him, don’t you?”
Val hesitated. The police hadn’t yet made it public that Jake was poisoned, but surely the news of his death would be all over town before long. She put the tea in front of Holly. “Jake died last night.”
Holly sighed. “I was afraid of that.” She blinked rapidly, her eyes glistening.
Tears for a man she’d just met? Val resisted the temptation to conclude that Holly and Jake had known each other before last night. After all, the finality of death can bring anyone to tears. “Everyone else assumed that once Jake got emergency help, he would pull through. What made you afraid that he wouldn’t?”
Holly shrugged and blew on her tea.
A nonanswer always motivated Val to persist. “Maybe you were afraid because you were a lot closer to Jake than anyone else.”
Holly bit her lip, looking nervous. “What do you mean by that?”
“You might have noticed something that made you think he was beyond help. You were down on the floor, hovering over him, so the rest of us couldn’t see him.”
If Holly had slipped him some poison, she’d probably have taken those words as a veiled accusation and become defensive. Instead, she relaxed. Maybe Holly had interpreted being closer to Jake than anyone else as implying intimacy and was relieved to hear an alternate interpretation. Val now suspected Holly had known Jake much better than either of them had let on.
“I wasn’t hovering over him,” Holly snapped. “I was trying to help him when no one else was.”
Not even his wife. “You certainly acted fast.” But Holly hadn’t continued her efforts for long. “Then, all of a sudden, you turned pale and gave up.”
“Did I?” Holly’s nose twitched, as it had earlier when she sniffed coffee even after it had gone down the drain.
Was the nose twitching now at the memory of an aroma? Perhaps the distinctive odor of cyanide? “Did you smell something when you leaned close to Jake?”
Holly stared past Val. “I smelled death.”
Val
had trouble reading Holly. With her waiflike face, she resembled a little girl whose wrapped gift had been snatched before she could open it.
She put a few dollars on the eating bar, slid off the stool, and hurried out of the café, leaving her steaming tea untouched.
Val had more questions now than she’d had when Holly had sat down. What does death smell like? How long had she known Jake? And why hadn’t she asked how he died?
Chapter 6
Val returned home in the early afternoon and parked in the driveway. She was about to go into the side vestibule when Granddad came out, ready to go visit Jewel. He carried a quiche in one hand and a cookie tin in the other. Val put both on the floor behind the driver’s seat and climbed back into the car.
She waited until Granddad buckled his seat belt and then reversed out the driveway. “What’s in the tin?”
“Leftover brownies and some coconut cookies I just made in case Jewel doesn’t care for chocolate.”
Val turned onto Main Street, where few signs remained of Victorian London. It was back to being a small town on the Eastern Shore with a steady stream of gasoline-powered traffic. “What have you heard from the chief?”
“Nothing directly from him. Today’s police bulletin said that an ambulance took a man from a business in Bayport to the hospital, where the man was pronounced dead. His death was under investigation. The bulletin also reported a burglary and a fender bender that happened yesterday. The final item was a police request for information about a person wearing a long black garment and walking unsteadily last evening in Bayport.”
The lack of details surprised Val. Why had the police left out Jake’s name? An explanation dawned on her. “Jake might have relatives besides his wife who need to be notified before the police make his identity public.”
“News is spreading. After church this morning I heard people talking about Jake being dead. Someone said I didn’t get along with him. Once word gets out that he was poisoned and you were serving the food—”
“The chief knows us too well to think we had anything to do with it.” Yet town gossip could be brutal.
“We’d better figure out who killed Jake before tongues start wagging. Don’t bring up poison when we talk to Jewel. The chief might not have told her how Jake died, especially if he suspects her of the murder. He’d be hoping she’d give herself away by blurting out something the police didn’t reveal.”
“You can give yourself away, not just by what you say, but by what you don’t say. Holly Atherson stopped by the café this morning. She hadn’t heard Jake was dead, but when I told her, she didn’t ask how he died.”
Val summarized their conversation for Granddad. By the time she finished, she was on Creek Road. She slowed down as she passed Irene’s house and parked in front of the next house.
She and Granddad walked up the driveway to the Smiths’ garage and then on the lawn to a small covered porch. The one-story house was similar in style to Irene’s, but without the beautiful landscaping in the front yard. The yard here looked barren. The only bushes between the street and the house were low foundation plantings beneath the windows—Japanese barberries, invasive shrubs with sharp spines. There was no welcome mat at the front door.
Val rang the bell.
Jewel cracked the door open as if wary of anyone on her doorstep. “Yes?”
Val might not have recognized her if she hadn’t known who lived in the house. Jewel’s dark hair, brushed and sleek yesterday, now hung down uncombed and limp. She looked sickly pale without the pink blush she’d worn as Mrs. Claus.
“We were sorry to hear the bad news about Jake,” Granddad said. “We brought you a meal, figuring you might not feel up to cooking.”
Jewel glanced at the quiche he was carrying. “Thank you very much.” She opened the door wider to reach out for it.
“We’ve got other food too. We’ll take it inside for you.” He stepped across the threshold past her and into the house. She couldn’t stop him without using physical force. Val followed him inside.
They both gaped at the front room. The combination living-and-dining space looked as if a burglar had come through. Throw pillows littered the floor. Sofa cushions were upended and drawers left open.
Jewel couldn’t miss their amazed looks. “Jake was sloppy. After what happened, I just couldn’t bring myself to clean up. I thought of all the times we argued about his mess, and now he’s gone.”
Her dry eyes, with no hint of redness, didn’t give the impression of someone sad and sentimental. And the room appeared to have been ransacked rather than left untidy.
Granddad strode across the living room to the dining table. The drawers in the sideboard next to it were open and papers strewn on the table. “Should I set the food here or take it to the kitchen?”
“Just leave it there.” Jewel’s hands fluttered as if shooing her visitors away.
She suddenly stopped and put her hands behind her back, but not before Val noticed two broken crimson fingernails, their pointy ends blunted, the tiny bows painted on them sliced through. What had Jewel been doing to break an index fingernail on each hand?
Val broke her nails most often when she was in a hurry and didn’t pay attention to what she was doing. Judging by the state of this room, the person who’d gone through it had been rushed.
“I hate to trouble you,” Granddad said, “but nature calls. Hope you don’t mind if I use the facilities.”
He hurried past the front door to what looked like a hall, the only place the bathroom could be in the small house.
The longer Val could keep the widow talking, the more time he’d have to poke around. “Do you have family coming to help you get through the next few days?”
“Family?” Jewel’s voice dripped with scorn. “Haven’t seen mine for years, and Jake’s kin are dead.”
So much for the idea that Jewel would talk about her relatives. “Where did you meet him?”
“Vegas. I was working at a casino.”
“I’ve never been there.” Val hoped Jewel would gush about Las Vegas and its attractions. Didn’t happen. Val had no choice but to talk about herself. “I haven’t been to that part of the country at all. Closest I came was California. We were a military family and moved every few years. Mostly we ended up near a coast, which makes sense because Dad was in the Navy.” Val babbled about the various places her family had lived, aware that Jewel was paying no attention. Val continued. “When my father retired from the military, my parents moved to Florida—near the water, of course.”
Jewel stood up. “I hope your grandfather’s okay. He’s taking a while.”
“He’s slow at his age.” Val raised her voice to alert him. “I’m sure he’ll join us in a second.”
As she’d predicted, he appeared in the hall. They said their goodbyes to Jewel and again offered their sympathies.
Granddad handed Jewel a business card. “If you need help, just give me a call. I’m good at locating things folks have lost and in burglar-proofing their houses. Without Jake here, you may want to beef up your security. Whatever problem you have, if I can’t fix it, I probably know someone who can.”
Val could tell by the spring in his step as he went back to the car that his snooping had yielded some results.
As she pulled away from the curb, she said, “What did you discover?”
“The bathroom cabinet had a supply of cream bleach for facial hair and some gunk you can comb into your hair and beard to whiten it. The receipt for that came from an outfit called Santa Supplies.”
Having noticed Jake’s dark roots, Val wasn’t surprised. “He must have really wanted to play Santa.”
“He didn’t do it just for that. His hair was white when he moved here six months ago, but it might not have been before that. If you’re clean-shaven and dark-haired, dying your hair white and growing a full white beard would make you look totally different. I figure he changed his appearance because he was hiding from the law.”
V
al thought of a less dramatic reason for Jake to bolt. “He might have been running away from his wife. She didn’t show up in Bayport until he’d been here three months. It could have taken her that long to find him.”
“Why wouldn’t he just divorce her?”
“That might have cost him more money than bolting.” Val slowed down for a stop sign. “Jewel told me they met when she worked in a Las Vegas casino. Maybe he was a gambler with unpaid debts. He moved to an obscure little town on the Eastern Shore to avoid a collection agent or a mob enforcer. That would explain why he cut down all the bushes. He didn’t want anyone to hide behind the shrubs and sneak up on him.”
Granddad peered at her over his bifocals as if she’d lost her mind. “Hit men hide in plain sight and use guns with silencers. They don’t need bushes, they don’t dress like Dickens characters, and they don’t kill with poisoned cookies.”
“I’m not suggesting a hit man killed Jake with a cookie.” She turned onto Main Street. “I’m saying he could have been afraid of someone. If you disagree, let’s hear your explanation of why he aged himself, moved across the country, and got rid of all the hiding places near his house.”
Granddad stroked his chin. “I think Jake did those things so he could spy on someone who lives here.”
“Who? Irene and Roger Pritchard? I doubt they’re secret agents from decades ago or major crime figures now.”
“They aren’t the only neighbors. Maybe he was watching the ones on the other side. He had to cut down the bushes on both sides so it wouldn’t be obvious who he was spying on.”
“We can’t do anything but guess what Jake was up to because we know almost nothing about him.” Val turned onto Grace Street and slowed as she approached Granddad’s house. His investigation course had taught him how to dig out information on the Internet. “While I’m cooking tonight’s dinner for the Naimans, you could do online research on Jake and Jewel.”
“First I’m going to the bookshop to see how Dorothy is coping with the shock of a customer dying there. I’ll research Jake after that, if I have time.”
Gingerdead Man Page 5
