by Gayle Leeson
“Everything is fine.” I explained what had happened with Aunt Bess.
“Oh, good gravy. Granny steering a two-ton projectile is a nightmare going somewhere to happen.” She expelled a breath. “Aunt Jenna has got to start hiding her keys.”
“I believe she’s aware of that fact now.”
Jackie was quiet for a moment. “On the other hand, I can hardly wait to see those photos.”
I laughed. “You and me both.” I then asked Jackie about the concert. Once she’d given me all the details, we hung up.
After talking with Jackie, I went into the fancy room, got my laptop, and stretched out on the fainting couch. I didn’t know whether Aunt Bess had uploaded her photos to the Crime Scene board yet, but given how excited she’d been about her adventure, I thought there was an excellent chance that she’d either done so or was in the process. Since I had Aunt Bess’s Pinterest page bookmarked, I clicked the link and my screen filled with the 1940s pinup she used as her profile picture and a list of her boards. I opened Crime Scenes.
She’d been busy.
I smiled at the photo of Aunt Bess with the fireman. What a sweet guy to have taken time to accommodate an inquisitive elderly woman. I made a mental note to drop off some cookies at the fire station.
There was an image of Ivy, unaware she was being photographed. She was grimly looking straight ahead, thoroughly focused on her task. Ivy was such a serious person. She seemed to be constantly on the defensive. I wondered if she harbored some secret pain and, if so, how I might help.
Aunt Bess had taken some impressive shots of the Pridemore house, especially given the fact that they were taken using a cell phone. I was certain the firemen had kept her as far away from the blaze as they possibly could, so she’d apparently used her zoom feature in some instances to make her subjects appear closer. Unfortunately, that had resulted in some blurred images; but, overall, they were pretty good.
One photo showed a man running away. I clicked on the image and enlarged it, but the figure was especially blurry because the man was in motion. Still, something about the guy seemed vaguely familiar to me.
I exited the frame and examined the other photos Aunt Bess had taken at the Pridemore house. If she’d captured the man once, maybe she’d taken another—clearer—picture of him.
She had.
After carefully scrutinizing each of the photographs, I found one additional shot of the mystery man. His back was to the camera, and he was at the edge of the photo, but there was definitely something about him...something rang a bell in my head...triggered a memory...
Dude!
That was it! The hair, the build... Of course, I couldn’t be certain, but I thought there was a strong possibility that this man was Scott, the actor HJ had introduced me to earlier today at the café.
I called Ryan.
“Hi, there,” he said. “I was just about to call you.”
“Do you think the fire at the Pridemore house was set deliberately?”
“We haven’t got any reported findings yet. Why?”
“Because if it was,” I said, “I believe Aunt Bess might have a photograph of your arsonist.”
“Let me call Ivy and get her impressions on the fire. I’ll call you right back.”
Ryan called me back less than twenty minutes later.
“I’ve talked with Ivy,” he said. “I’m on the way to pick you up. You and I are going to talk with her—off the record.”
Off the record. That sounded exciting. I was possibly going to learn something that I, as a civilian wasn’t supposed to know. I could understand Aunt Bess’s fascination with being in the thick of things...especially if I could be in them with Ryan and Ivy by my side and in no danger whatsoever.
I was watching for Ryan when he pulled into my driveway. I hurried to the car, got in, and gave him a quick kiss.
“So, where does Ivy live?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. We’re meeting her at a coffee shop in Abingdon.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” he said, with a chuckle.
“I’d just like to know more about Ivy. She’s an attractive woman. Is she single? Married? Divorced? Widowed? Does she have children?”
“I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, and my advice to you is not to ask. Ivy is an extremely private person. At work, we talk about work. Period.” He shrugged. “That’s the way she wants it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her just pass the day with someone.”
I suddenly felt privileged because Ivy had accepted my invitation to come to girls’ night. Granted, she hadn’t said anything of a personal nature while she was there, but she had appeared to enjoy herself. I didn’t want to overstep my bounds, but I did want to know more about Ivy.
“Do you think she’s been hurt in the past?” I asked Ryan.
“More than likely. Haven’t we all?”
“I suppose so. There’s just something haunted about her...don’t you think?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t think about it. She’s an excellent crime scene investigator. As a deputy, that’s all I need to know.”
I guess he was right. Ivy’s personal life was no one’s business but her own. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to know about it.
When we arrived at the coffee shop, Ivy waved to us from a booth in the corner. There were no other patrons in that area of the shop, and I knew she’d chosen it to give us privacy.
“How are you?” I asked Ivy, as I sat across from her. “That couldn’t have been good for you, inhaling that smoke.”
“I wore a mask,” she said.
“Right.” I felt ridiculous. Sure, she’d worn a mask, plus she hadn’t been fighting the fire like the firefighters. I needed to get out of my own head. Ryan was right—I had to stop worrying about Ivy...her life...her happiness, or lack thereof.
“Do you think we’re dealing with an arsonist?” Ryan asked.
That’s what we needed. No small talk. Straight to the point, talking about the job. But that couldn’t be all there was to Ivy’s life. Could it?
“I do. I can’t make that official yet because the arson investigator who arrived on the scene hasn’t submitted his report.” Ivy sipped her coffee. “There were multiple points of origin, the presence of an accelerant, and the fire pretty much remained on the floor.”
I frowned. “What do you mean—the fire remained on the floor?”
“One point of origin was near a heater,” Ivy explained. “However, it was obvious the heater didn’t short out and cause the fire. For one thing, no one is currently living in the Pridemore house to our knowledge. And, for another, with very few exceptions, accidental heater fires start at the floor and travel upward.”
“Wow.” I smiled. “You’re really observant.”
She shrugged. “It’s my job. You said you thought your aunt photographed a suspect?”
“I do.” I took my phone out of my purse, opened the Pinterest app, and showed Ivy the photos.
“Even if we enhance the photos, we’re not going to be sure this is the person you think it is, Amy,” Ivy said. “His face is turned away.”
“He doesn’t know that,” I said.
Ryan grinned. “You both know there will be no living with Aunt Bess if she’s responsible for our nabbing an arsonist, don’t you?”
I laughed. “No matter the outcome, in her mind, she’ll have solved the case...and she knew it all along.”
{ }
Chapter Ten
W
hen my alarm went off, I groaned and smacked the snooze button. I rarely take advantage of the snooze button because I know continuing to lie in bed will make me feel worse in the long run. But I hadn’t slept well at all last night. Nana would’ve said I’d spent the hours scheming instead of dreaming, and that was exactly what I’d done.
I hadn’t voiced my thoughts to Ryan or Ivy, but I’d gotten the idea while the three of us were sitting at the coffee shop—what if
I invited Scott to join the Down South Café staff on an as-needed basis? I could truly use an extra pair of hands tomorrow during the farmers’ market. And although it was unreasonable to expect him to confess to setting a fire in Gladys Pridemore’s basement—if, in fact, he did—he might say something to someone to confirm that he was the person in Aunt Bess’s photo. At that point, we could confront him...or, well, Ryan could.
The alarm sounded again. This time, Rory heard it and bounded into the bedroom to pounce on my chest. No more rest for me.
LUIS WAS IN THE KITCHEN refilling condiment bottles, and I was readying the coffee pots when Jackie arrived.
“I need to ask your opinion on something,” I said.
She put her purse behind the counter. “I’ve already told you, I’ll go to the Pridemore house tonight, but I won’t go through that stupid corn maze.”
“It’s not about the corn maze. It’s about Scott. I’m thinking of asking him to work here tomorrow.”
“Who’s Scott?” she asked.
“The guy who was in here yesterday with HJ Ostermann.”
“Dude?”
“That’s the one,” I confirmed. “I think he might’ve set the fire at the Pridemore house, and I’m hoping that if we talk with him, he might give something away.”
“Or—and I’m going out on a limb here—if the guy is a pyromaniac, he might set fire to this place.”
I pressed the button to make the French vanilla coffee brew. “That thought did cross my mind.”
“It crossed your mind?” Jackie asked. “It pulled up a chair, got a snack, and made itself right at home in my mind.”
I laughed. “Jackie, what reason could Scott possibly have for wanting to set the Down South Café on fire?”
“I don’t know. What reason would he have for setting the Pridemore house on fire?”
“That’s what I want to find out,” I said.
“Amy, this is a bad idea.”
“He’ll be here one day...and that’s if he accepts my offer to work tomorrow. You’ve got to admit we could use the help, and it’s possible the man wound up in Aunt Bess’s photograph because he simply happened to be on the property visiting the Ostermanns.” I shrugged. “He’s HJ’s friend. Plus, I think he’s making some shelves or something for Nadine.”
Jackie held up her hands in mock surrender. “You’re the boss.”
I heard the door open and turned, expecting to see Dilly since Shelly was off today, and Donna wouldn’t be in until ten. Instead, Malcolm Pridemore strolled in wearing a seersucker suit and carrying a silver-handled cane.
“A pleasant morning to you, miss,” Mr. Pridemore said to Jackie as he took a seat at a table in the middle of the dining room. He caught my eye and nodded.
“Good morning,” I said.
“May I start you off with some coffee?” Jackie asked.
“Please.”
The man was much nicer this morning, but I still didn’t trust him. Had he altered his behavior because he realized he’d acted like a jerk the last time he was here or was he trying to present a cordial façade to hide the fact that he’d killed Gladys Pridemore?
As Jackie got Mr. Pridemore’s coffee, Dilly and Walter came in. The pair had on matching neon green t-shirts this morning.
“Here comes the sun,” I said, with a smile.
“No chance of our losing each other in a crowd this way.” Walter wagged his eyebrows. “If I lose my girl, I can ask people to help me find a beauty wearing the same shirt as me.”
Dilly blushed and rolled her eyes. “Then you’d better hope I don’t switch shirts with Dolly!”
“She’s a looker, but she’s not in it with you, my sweet,” Walter told her.
“I take it you two are headed to Dollywood,” Jackie said.
“We sure are.” Dilly looked at Malcolm Pridemore. “Unlike you, sir. From the looks of that suit, you must be off to somewhere way more somber than Dollywood.”
“My sister-in-law’s will is being read this morning,” Mr. Pridemore said.
“Oh, well. I’m sorry for your loss.” Dilly brightened. “But I hope you get something good.”
Walter shook with suppressed laughter as he led Dilly to a table. “This one is in rare form today.”
“She sure is.” Jackie brought the coffee pot over to their table after filling Mr. Pridemore’s cup.
I went into the kitchen, wondering what exactly it meant for him that Gladys’s will was being read today. Did he expect to receive a bequest? Or did Mr. Pridemore merely hope that Harry and Nadine Ostermann would sell to him as soon as they took possession of the property?
AS I PREPARED THE LUNCH special—a white fish Pomodoro dish designed by my friend Sommer Collier of A Spicy Perspective blog—I preheated the oven for cookies. I had the cookies on baking sheets ready to go into the oven as soon as I heard the click alerting me that the oven had reached the desired temperature. I needed to replenish the chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies anyway, and I wanted to make an assortment to take to the fire station after work.
I placed grouper fillets in a large skillet seasoned with basil-infused olive oil I’d bought at the Olive Oil Company in Abingdon. I remembered Sommer’s caution about fish: "Never, ever buy the fish that has been thawed and sitting out in the display case all day.” She’d advised that if I couldn’t buy wild, fresh-caught fish, I should ask the person at the seafood counter for completely frozen fish fillets.
“You’d be proud of me, Sommer,” I murmured to myself, as the fillets sizzled in the skillet.
I hoped either Scott or HJ would come in for lunch today so I could ask Scott if he’d work with us tomorrow. But since yesterday was the first time Scott had ever visited the café and HJ didn’t come in often either, I knew I needed a better plan than hoping and waiting.
I flipped the fish fillets and heard the oven click. I glanced over to confirm that the temperature indicator light had gone off, and I slid the cookies into the oven. Then I phoned Nadine Ostermann.
“Hi, Nadine. This is Amy Flowers. Could you please tell me how to get in touch with HJ’s friend Scott?”
“Scott? Why do you want to get in touch with him?”
Nadine sounded defensive.
“I can assure you I’m not trying to take him away from you,” I said.
“What?”
“I know Scott works at the corn maze, and I don’t want to interfere with that in the least...but if he’d be free to help out at the café during the farmers’ market tomorrow, that would be fantastic.”
“Oh,” she said. “Right.”
“When he was here yesterday with HJ, he told me he has experience as a server.”
“Sure...yes.” She gave a slight laugh. “Please excuse me, Amy. You caught me off guard. My mind is a million miles away today.”
“I can imagine. I understand it wasn’t a devastating fire, but it must’ve been terrifying nonetheless.”
“It was,” Nadine said. “And then we had the will reading this morning, and Malcolm Pridemore tried again to buy the place.”
“He certainly is persistent.”
“After the fire and everything, I’m about half tempted to try to talk Harry into selling.” She sighed. “But then again I don’t want to give Mr. Pridemore the satisfaction. As it is, he’s going to keep us out of the house for as long as he possibly can.”
“How can he do that?” I asked.
“He was named the executor of Ms. Pridemore’s estate. We can’t move in until he dispenses with all her personal property.”
“But doesn’t he have to do that within a reasonable amount of time?” I made a mental note to ask Sarah about the duties of an executor.
“I don’t know.” Nadine sounded tired. “I’ll look up Scott’s number, call him, and have him either give you a ring or come by the café. Will that be all right?”
“That’ll be good. Thanks, Nadine.”
I DIDN’T HEAR FROM Scott until the end of the day when I was carr
ying the box of cookies to my car. He was parking a beat-up sedan that looked as if it had been pieced together from several different makes and models of vehicles.
“Amy!” he called when he got out of Frankenstein’s monster mobile. “Need any help?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” I pressed the button on my key fob and unlocked the Bug. I opened the passenger door and gingerly placed the box on the seat.
Scott closed the distance between us. “Nadine told me you were hoping I could help you out tomorrow.”
“That’s right.” I turned back to face him. “Is there any way you could work here at the café from six tomorrow morning until three in the afternoon? If those times don’t work out around your duties with the Ostermanns, then we—”
“No, I can make it work.” He was frowning slightly.
I felt sorry for him. If the Frankenmobile was any indication, he needed the money. But he also needed a little rest between jobs.
“I’m guessing you stay fairly late at the corn maze,” I said. “If you could be here from nine a.m. until one p.m., that would really help.”
“Our last group starts at ten o’clock, so I should get home around midnight,” he said. “I can be here at eight in the morning and work until three if that’s all right with you.”
I hesitated. “I don’t want to push you too hard.”
“Please. I’m going through some stuff right now and need all the work I can get.”
“Okay.” I told him how much I could pay, and he seemed happy with the amount. Then I told him I needed to go. “I’m taking some cookies to the fire station before I go home. The crew was super nice to my Aunt Bess last night.”
“Your aunt was involved in a fire?” Scott asked.
“Only because she put herself there. She learned about the incident at the Pridemore house and went there to take photographs.” I watched him carefully, but he gave nothing away. “The firefighters were awfully sweet to her despite the fact that she had to have been in their way.”
“Aw, I’m sure she wasn’t. I believe they have to be careful not to let civilians get in harm’s way.”
“Right.” I smiled. “She did get some awfully interesting shots.”
