by Price, Cate
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” I clipped the leash on the dog. “Okay, come on, Jasper.”
It was all so very pleasant and polite. I wanted to cry.
The puppy trotted behind me, peeing on every tree from the house to the store. He peed on the geranium-filled cauldron on the porch for good luck.
What the hell was I supposed to do with a rambunctious dog inside a sewing notions store filled with valuable antiques and precious fabrics?
Calm down, Daisy.
If there was one thing I’d learned from being around Jasper, it was that he was hypersensitive to my moods. If I was happy, he was ecstatic. If I was down, he was miserable. He was like some kind of canine empath.
I brought him into the store, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and took a long, cooling swig.
As he casually sniffed at the dollhouse, I decided he needed some kind of toy. I stuffed an old sack with scraps of fabric and tied a tight double knot at the end. He grabbed it and happily lay down next to me as I went on-line and checked out the latest web orders. I updated the site by removing the sold items, and made a list of the new items I needed to photograph and upload.
On a whim, I typed Robin Tague into my browser. His official website popped up, a Wikipedia listing, several newspaper articles, a fan site, and an interview he’d done a couple of years ago with BBC Music magazine.
I took another deep swallow of my water and settled down to read. Mr. Tague was fairly cagey. He didn’t give the juicy uninhibited answers that celebrities usually did in these interviews. If he decided to change careers, he could be a politician.
I was skimming through toward the end when I found one answer that made me grip the water bottle and lean closer to the screen.
They’d asked about his creative process and how he set about composing some of the wonderful, haunting pieces for violin that were fast becoming classics.
First, he said he needed a room where there was no color. Everything had to be in shades of gray or black. Not even a red flower or a blue coffee mug.
I rolled my eyes. Sounded like a bit of a nut to me. Second, he had to have absolute quiet. He’d added soundproofing and a second interior wall to his home so no outside noise could penetrate. Third, he fasted for three days before working on a new piece.
And fourth, it turned out he was very superstitious and only ever used one particular type of writing instrument to compose—a rare Magical Black Widow fountain pen.
*
“Around 4 p.m., the weather reports were calling for another thunderstorm, and since I hadn’t had a customer in over an hour, I decided to close early.
Cyril’s words about going back to the scene of the crime still resonated inside my head. Knowing that Ramsbottom would not have been thorough in his search, to say the least, was it too much to hope I’d spot something the police had missed?
I gently pulled the soggy sack from Jasper’s mouth, took him outside, and let him water all the trees on Main Street between the store and the house.
“Jasper, you can come with me to Reenie’s, but I’m begging you, please don’t pee in the car?”
He looked up at me panting, his mouth split open in a wide grin.
I opened the passenger-side door to the Subaru and he hopped in. I walked around to the driver’s side, only to find him sitting in my seat.
“Come on, buddy, move over.” I opened the door a crack and slid in, not giving him room to escape, and nudged him over to the passenger side.
When I started the engine, I watched him carefully for any reaction to the unfamiliar noise, but he sat up, his ruffled chest held high, gazing out the window as I eased away from the curb.
When we got to the Kratz farm, Jimmy’s pickup truck was gone. The cornflower blue sky darkened as somber clouds swept in, passing over the sun. I’d need to make this fast.
I stepped out of the car and Jasper jumped out after me. I grabbed hold of his leash and knocked on the kitchen door, but there was no answer.
Jasper pulled hard, going crazy from the barnyard scents. He was straining to explore, wrenching at my shoulder, so I let him have his head, zigzagging across the farmyard, which still hadn’t dried out from the torrential rain the day before. I grimaced as his oversized paws made deep prints in the mud. I tried to step on the drier patches, glad that I was wearing boots with my jeans, not sandals. Hopefully I still had an old blanket in the trunk.
I wanted to take another look inside the barn and was trying to steer him in that direction, but he seemed determined to head for the henhouse. The chickens protested, squawking at the sight of the enthusiastic golden puppy. I stopped him a couple of feet away so he could look and smell but not get pecked.
The chickens were immaculate and healthy looking. White leghorns with red coxcombs, black cochins with their gorgeous plumage, Rhode Island Reds and pretty grayspeckled Sussex chickens all milled around inside the wooden structure.
Reenie took better care of these guys than she did her own kids.
Suddenly Jasper starting digging furiously at the ground, mud flying up behind him in a high spray. I stepped to one side to avoid the gritty shower.
“Jasper, stop it!” In a few seconds of scrabbling, he’d turned up an impressive pile of dirt.
I was kicking it back into the hole he’d made and smoothing it down with the sole of my boot when a dot of yellow caught my eye. I bent over and picked up a slim, dirt-encrusted object.
With shaking fingers, I brushed the muck off as best as I could. Fresh in my memory from the visit with Fiona was her description of a Parker Duofold Lucky Curve mandarin yellow pen.
The killer must have dropped it in his haste, and it had been squished down unnoticed into the mud. Until now.
I grinned at my dog. “Good boy!”
Jasper wagged his tail so hard his whole gangly body swayed back and forth.
I stood there for a moment staring at this new development. A crack of thunder sounded in the distance. “Jeez. I guess we’d better get going.”
I wrapped the pen in my handkerchief and stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans. I opened the trunk of the car and thankfully there was a blanket stuffed in between the reusable grocery bags, flashlight, and umbrellas. I laid it on the passenger seat and installed the panting puppy with his mud-caked paws carefully on top. This time he stayed put as I got in on the driver’s side.
As I was turning the car to head back down the driveway, Reenie raced up in the pickup truck, not slowing down, as if she hadn’t even seen me.
I swerved to avoid her and crashed into a recycle container at the end of the row of garbage cans outside the barn. It fell over, spilling its contents onto the ground. I jammed the car in park and got out to start picking up the empty milk jugs, beer bottles, empty peanut butter container, and soda cans.
“Oh my God! Look what you’ve done! Oh my God!” Reenie jumped out of the truck and ran her fingers through her baby fine hair, skewing it into short tufts.
“I’m sorry, Reenie, I’ll put everything back. It’s okay.”
Her distress seemed a bit out of proportion to the situation, seeing as it was only a few recyclables that spilled, but who could blame her? She’d had a lot to deal with lately.
“Why are you poking around here?”
I cringed inside at my arrogant interference. She was right. Why was I trespassing on someone’s private property? I’d definitely gone too far this time.
“I just thought that maybe I could find some kind of clue or—”
She flung her hands out in front of her. “Oh, Daisy, Jimmy’s dead. Nothing will bring him back. I’m trying to forget he was murdered and put it behind me, but you keep bringing it up again!”
The two kids were sitting in the front seat of the truck, their eyes wide. Neither was wearing a seat belt.
She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to help us with the country fair and all and I appreciate it—I really do—but I can’t take much more. I w
ant to move on with my life.”
“I’m sorry, too, Reenie. The last thing I want to do is upset you.”
She sniffed and stared past me for a moment at the barn. “You know, I didn’t say nothing to the police, and I didn’t want to tell you this before, seeing as you and Angus are good friends, but I did hear a car pulling up outside our house early that morning. I can’t be sure, but I think what happened is Angus slept off his drunk, found the pens missing, and then came back here and whacked Jimmy.”
“No, you see, I checked the odometer and—”
The little boy started wailing inside the truck.
Reenie turned around. “Please. No more, Daisy. Just go. Please.”
She seemed so upset that I hurriedly got back in the Subaru and bumped back out to the main road as fast as I could over the potholes.
Fat raindrops splattered the windshield, and a bright finger of lightning raked the sky.
Jasper slumped down on his seat, his eyes fixed on me. I reached over and stroked his narrow back with one hand as I drove, the thunk of the wipers an uneasy rhythm punctuated by distant rumbles of thunder.
I wondered if there were any fingerprints left on the pen, although between the wet mud, Jasper’s slobber, and me wiping the dirt off, I seriously doubted it. I should take it to the police, but I didn’t trust Ramsbottom. I was getting to be like Reenie with my mistrust of authority.
I could go over Ramsbottom’s head and contact his supervisor, but I didn’t want to make things worse for Angus. And if I did give it to the police, it didn’t prove anything anyway. It wouldn’t get Angus out of jail.
Jasper fell asleep before we got to River Road and I kept stroking his back in a gentle massage, the skin loose on his skinny body.
I’d ask Joe and see what he thought I should do. Although then I’d have to admit I’d been on Reenie’s property without her permission. Crap.
But when Jasper and I arrived home, the house was deserted. There was a note on the table in the ripped-apart kitchen that said Joe and Sarah had gone to the movies and would catch dinner in Sheepville afterward.
I glanced at my cell phone. No messages. Guess no one had bothered to see if I’d wanted to go.
What a darkly serious day.
“Oh, stop being such a baby, Daisy Buchanan. You should be able to make dinner for yourself once in a while,” I said out loud.
Jasper’s tail instantly began wagging at the sound of my voice.
“Guess they abandoned you, too, huh? Never mind, we’ll manage.” I fed him a scoop of his dry puppy food, and then opened the fridge and stared inside, not knowing what I wanted.
I shut the door again and then, in defiance, went down into the wine cellar and picked out a very nice bottle of Shiraz. It was another of those special-occasion wines that Joe and I had purchased in the wine store in Lambertville.
Maybe I’d give the pen to Fiona, I mused as I cut the foil seal around the top of the bottle. Or maybe I’d do nothing with it until I figured things out.
I spied some juice glasses teetering at the top of a nearby pile of dishes. I grabbed one, rinsed the dust out of it, and poured in a couple of inches of the crimson elixir. I took a fortifying swallow and sighed in satisfaction as the essence of crushed raspberries swirled over my tongue.
“I know. A grilled cheese sandwich. If I can find a frying pan,” I said to Jasper. “How does that sound?”
Thunder boomed outside, getting closer now. He rolled his eyes anxiously toward the window.
“It’s okay, buddy.” I set the bottle down and smoothed out the worried wrinkles on his forehead.
I maneuvered a few feet into the sunporch, through the stacks of new hardwood flooring and kitchen paraphernalia, and was searching for a pan when the phone rang. I hurried back out to the kitchen and grabbed the cordless receiver. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Buchanan?”
I recognized the same pleasant-sounding voice from the other evening. “Yes,” I said, gratified he got my name right. Obviously the type who paid attention. “You must be Peter.”
“I hope you don’t mind me calling this number again but I’ve been trying Sarah’s cell all day and she doesn’t answer.”
I retraced my steps into the sunporch, stepping over a mound of dinner plates and cereal bowls. “She went out with her father to the movies.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in his voice was evident in that one simple syllable.
I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder and, balancing on my left leg, took a huge stride with my right toward an open space. I thought I saw the edge of my red frying pan in a heap against the back wall.
“I’ll tell her you called.” I knew Sarah would be pissed off that I was talking to him, but I wasn’t going to live in fear of her reactions anymore. Sarah was obviously in pain, too. She needed to face up to reality and try to work things out with this guy. Or if they couldn’t, at least they’d both be able to move on.
“Um—I don’t want to put you in the middle of anything,” he said, “but I’d really appreciate it. I need to talk to her.”
I was tempted to encourage him to spill the beans, but I’d overstepped enough.
And then he bared his soul to me anyway.
While I listened patiently, I stretched as far as I could and hooked my finger in the hole at the end of the pan’s handle. My heart went out to him. I knew how hard Sarah could be to deal with at times. I murmured that I hoped they’d be able to connect soon.
Peter cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to unload on you like this. Could you give me your address there, please?”
“It’s 327 Main Street, Millbury, Pennsylvania.” I eased the pan slowly close enough to grab, hoping the pile didn’t collapse with an almighty crash. He was probably planning to send Sarah flowers or something.
“Well, I’d better let you go,” he said. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Nice talking to you, Peter.”
“You, too.”
Clutching the prized pan, I hung up the phone and made my way back into the kitchen that had no cabinets, or countertops, or floor.
I poured some more wine and filled the dog’s water bowl. A few minutes later, the smell of bread frying in butter went a long way toward soothing my frazzled nerves.
As the storm pounded the windows outside, I curled up on the couch, gave Jasper a corner of my sandwich, and discovered that a forty-five-dollar 2006 Sonoma Valley Syrah actually went quite well with grilled cheese.
Chapter Fifteen
I got up early the next morning and took Jasper for a walk.
It was a clear, sunny morning, as if the storm had washed the world and left it fresh and clean again.
At the intersection of Main Street and Grist Mill Road, next to the Historical Society in its one-room schoolhouse, Jasper sniffed intently at the massive oak tree. Sort of like a message board for dogs.
I couldn’t bear the thought of him shut up in a New York apartment all day. Would Sarah make the proper arrangements for him while she worked late, or would he be sitting there in the dark, patiently waiting while his bladder was fit to burst?
Damn it.
Sarah and Joe had come in last night around 10 p.m., full of tales about the movie and the neighbors they’d seen having dinner at the Bridgewater Inn. Sounded like she and Debby had had fun at the concert, too. They’d met Robin Tague at the reception afterward and he’d signed autographs for them. I’d asked if he had used a fountain pen, but it was only a regular ballpoint.
Two kids were throwing a football to each other in the middle of the street. As I waited for Jasper to finish his business, I remembered the old photos of Ramsbottom in his football uniform standing proudly next to his father. Had Angus’s actions ruined his character? How would he have turned out otherwise?
You’d like to think life would get clearer as you got older, but it never did.
Friday was another busy day at the store. I’d definitely decided to give the dollhouse t
o Claire for her birthday at the end of October. It was rather an expensive present for a child, but Patsy couldn’t afford to buy her much, and I knew Claire would treasure it. It would be a fun project to fix up, and I made a list of the items I’d need to keep an eye out for. There was some furniture already inside, but it needed a dining table and chairs and accessories for the bedrooms, such as bedspreads and lamps.
I scanned the local paper for upcoming auctions. The ads often listed the types of items that would be up for bid, and even specific descriptions of particularly nice pieces. There were a couple that looked promising. There should be plenty of yard sales going on tomorrow, too.
Patsy came flying in around 3 p.m.
“Hey, Daisy, I have a huge favor to ask you! Sarah and I want to go to the pub tonight, and I thought my sister could babysit, but it turns out she has plans. Would you mind watching Claire for a couple of hours?”
Sarah certainly has an active social life all of a sudden.
“Sure, no problem. I’ll come over to your sister’s house, though. Our place is a disaster right now with the kitchen remodel.”
Patsy’s sister lived in a nice end-unit townhome in a development called Quarry Ridge. She was the one who watched Claire in the mornings before school when Patsy had to be at the diner by 6 a.m.
“Thanks, Daisy. And guess what? Betty asked me to do an auction with her on Sunday at a house on Swamp Pike.”
I raised an eyebrow. Betty hadn’t even asked for my help this time. She must really be taking over the reins of the business.
I’d been to a few whole house auctions with Angus. I liked them, often more so than the regular ones. The auctioneer would bring everything necessary with him to the house—tables to display the items, a microphone, cash register, and even a snack trailer and Porta-Potties for the larger auctions. Some had quite the party atmosphere going on.
After Patsy left, I called Joe to let him know about the babysitting.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll be busy working on the kitchen anyway.”
“I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“You know I don’t, but . . .”
