“And we’ll keep you up to date on any developments. We promise,” added Daisy.
“Oh, all right. I was looking forward to our poker game tonight. We discovered a new game last week and it was so much fun. Seven card stud, red threes, all sevens and black nines wild and an extra down card dealt if you have a six or a two showing. I won a bundle.”
“I’ll bet you did. So that’s settled. You go to your poker game and we’ll call you if something comes up.”
Angela gave each of her girls a hug and said, “You know I worry. Did you call the alarm people?”
Rose said, “First thing this morning. They’re coming out tomorrow to see what they can do to prevent the same thing happening again.”
“Good. Well, if you really don’t need me right now, I’ll be off. I like to take a little nap before our game. Oh, I did borrow your Ann George mystery the other night. I’m taking it with me.” Angela went off to gather up Percy and her bag.
Daisy chuckled, “How can they possibly figure out who wins?”
Later that afternoon, Daisy sat down at the computer to begin her search into Brad’s background.
Rose said, “What are you looking for exactly?”
“Anything I can find.” Fifteen minutes later she said, “Look at this.” She hit print, then pulled a sheet from the printer and handed Rose an article from The Washington Post dated April 18, 1953.
Next to the story headlined ‘Mantle’s 565 foot Home Run Clears Left Field Stands’ was a picture of a little kid holding a baseball card. The caption read, “Nine year old Bobby Lee Dove and his autographed Mantle rookie card. ‘Mr. Mantle was really nice and signed my card on my birthday. He even said he’d try to hit one out for me,’ said Bobby. And, boy, did the Mick come through!”
“So this must be Brad’s father. But they don’t have the same last name.”
“Maybe his mother remarried or something. Let’s Google Bobby Lee Dove and see what we can find.”
After another half hour of searching with Rose looking over her shoulder, Daisy had found a reference to the picture in the Post and a death notice.
“Here he is. Bobby Lee Dove died November 12, 1996. It says he was survived by his wife of twenty-two years, Elyse Dove, his son Carl Lee, and his daughter, Margaret Ann. No mention of a son named Brad. Maybe this isn’t the same card. Maybe Brad’s father had another one.”
Rose said, “Oh come on, that’s crazy; two kids, same April 17th birthday, same story about asking Mantle to hit a home run for him. No, this has to be Brad’s card. Where did Bobby Lee live?” asked Rose.
“The same place Dad grew up - Fredericksburg, Virginia.”
“Hmm. I wonder if Elyse still lives there.”
“Let’s see.” Daisy brought up the White Pages and found six Doves living in Fredericksburg. “There’s only one E. Dove, age sixty-two. That could be his wife.” She wrote the address and phone number down. “No Margaret or Carl.”
“Margaret Dove? That sounds familiar for some reason,” said Rose. “Check and see if Google has anything to say about Margaret.”
Daisy typed in a few lines, got a hit in The Washington Post, read for a minute and said, “Oh my God. Of course the name sounds familiar. Margaret Dove disappeared in 2008 when she was on vacation with friends on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We were down there the week after it happened. The whole island was still looking for her.”
“That’s right. Posters were up everywhere. Did they ever find her? I don’t remember.”
Daisy thought a minute and said, “This article doesn’t say much other than she’s a missing girl from Virginia.”
Rose said, “The Outer Banks? That’s a coincidence.”
“What is?”
“Brad goes to a big card show on the Outer Banks every year. I really want to know how he got that card.”
“Me, too. And I’d like to find out more about Elyse Dove’s disappearance. I wonder if Tom Willis has any contacts down there. I’m calling him.” Tom was out, so Daisy left a message. “Well, that’s all I can do for now. We should probably tell Bill about this.”
“Yes. We should,” answered Rose.
“But then again, if I can find this stuff on Google, so can he. I mean he has all the resources of the state police at his disposal. So, I say tough cookies if he hasn’t got the brains to look.”
Rose thought a moment. “I’ll agree for right now. But I’m telling him if we find out anything concrete linking Brad to this Margaret Dove or her family. And I’m guessing there is a link, and that the blackmailer knows what it is.”
“What! You think Brad murdered her?”
“No. Not really. I don’t know. I have no idea. I just figure that if the baseball card belonged to this Bobby Lee Dove and now Brad has it, he must have gotten it from one of the Doves somehow. And if he had gotten it legitimately, he wouldn’t be telling the family heirloom story.”
Daisy was chewing her thumbnail. “I wonder if Elyse Dove would talk to us.”
Rose answered, “Maybe we could call her later, but let’s see what Tom can find out first.”
Tom got back to Daisy Monday night. As it happened a friend of his from the police academy worked down there. It took a little persuading on her part, but Daisy managed to convince him to make the call.
“Just why do you want to know about this girl?”
“Basically, I’m just being nosy. Rose and I were there on vacation the week after she disappeared. I want to see if they ever found her. You know how the news drops the story when it gets old.”
“Daisy, I think you’re up to something.”
“Me? Not up to anything. I’m just curious. It was a big deal.”
Tom laughed, “Well, this seems harmless enough. I’ll give Mike a call and see what I can find out. But, if this has anything to do with what’s been going on around here – although I can’t see how it would – you had better tell me.”
“Absolutely! If there’s anything to tell, you’ll be the first to know.”
Daisy could picture Tom shaking his head. He just said, “Why don’t I believe that?” and hung up.
Rose’s wish for a quiet week lasted all the way until Wednesday. For two whole days no fires lit up the night, no one got hit on the head, no unsightly body parts were being displayed.
But Wednesday morning when she let the pets out onto the back porch, she stepped onto a sopping wet doormat. Water was everywhere. Someone had turned the garden hose on full force and left it running. Rose ran to the spigot and turned the water off, then came back and called upstairs, “Daisy, come here. Hurry!”
Daisy bounded down the stairs and out the door, stepped onto the wet mat, and yelped, “Dammit, I just bought these sandals. Where did all this water come from?”
“Someone turned the hose on. Look at the scratch marks on the dog door. I think they were trying to flood the house!”
Daisy looked at the door and said, “You’re right. It looks like someone was trying to wedge the hose under the flap. Thank God we’ve been locking it at night. It could have been a real nightmare. It’s bad enough as it is. Look at this mess!”
The porch was scattered with soaking wet deck-furniture cushions. Normally they were kept stacked in a storage closet on the porch next to the back door. But the closet door had been wrenched off its hinges and the cushions had been laid out end to end and soaked through.
The small zinnia bed next to the little patio had been totally drowned and the flowers had been pulled up and tossed over the yard.
“What in blue blazes is going on?” cried Rose. “Who does this sort of thing? Who in his right mind goes after defenseless zinnias for crying out loud?”
“Beats me. Who in her right mind says ‘blue blazes’?” said Daisy as she took off her sandals and put them in the sun. “Let’s get these cushions out on the patio so they can dry. We’ll have to get new ones if they get moldy.”
She stood looking at the chaos around her and said, “You kn
ow what? This is getting really old. If I find the little fiend who’s doing this, I might just ram that hose right up his…”
Rose cut her off, “Daisy!”
“I was going to say nose.”
Rose bent over to pick up the wet door mat. A piece of bluish fuzz was stuck under a nail in the decking. She picked it up, studied it for a minute, and showed it to Daisy. “What do you think this is?”
“I don’t know. Where was it?” asked Daisy as she took the fiber and looked at it in the sunshine.
“Caught on a nail under the welcome mat.”
“It could just be part of Malcolm’s chew-baby.”
“Chew-baby’s not blue.”
“Then it’s probably lint from the drier vent.”
“I don’t think so. I think this is our first real clue. Even though I don’t know exactly what it is.”
“Okay Nancy Drew, it’s a clue. Now let’s clean this mess up.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Aaaaaaaaaaa! I do not believe this!” Daisy was standing at the kitchen table in her nightshirt, Thursday’s Bostwick Bulletin clenched in her hands. “He’s done it again, that little worm.”
Rose walked into the kitchen carrying a load of laundry. “What?”
Daisy shoved the paper at Rose so hard she knocked the laundry basket out of Rose’s hands. “Daisy, calm down and pick up my nightgown.” Rose studied the paper for a moment and said resignedly, “Well, Mother’s going to love it.”
There on the front page was Angela Forrest in her cat woman suit. She appeared to be staring raptly at the picture in the adjacent column which was a blurry photo of, according to the caption, the ‘bobber’ running away from the camera. There was no way of knowing who it was, of course. A man jogging in shorts and a tee shirt in the middle of summer was hardly extraordinary.
Two stories accompanied the pictures: One, the tale of Roscoe being hanged in effigy and the on-going crime spree in Old Towne; the other, the elusive streaker that was ruining ‘the peace of our little town’ to use the reporter’s words.
Daisy groused, “It makes Mother look like a lascivious lunatic. And the story draws everybody’s attention right back to us! And where did he get the story? We didn’t tell anyone but Bill about Roscoe.”
Rose put the paper down and gathered her laundry and said, “I think that reporter lurks.”
“He does, doesn’t he? He always seems to be there, taking pictures and poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. I think that’s more than coincidence.”
They heard a knocking at the front door and Rose said, “What now? I just want to do a load of wash. Is that too much to ask?”
She put the basket down again and tramped off to the front of the house. Daisy heard two sets of footsteps coming back up the stairs and thought, “Mother forgot her key.”
But it wasn’t Angela. It was Peter Fleming. Rose muttered something to Peter and hurried to the back stairs and up to her room.
Daisy quickly pulled down her nightshirt to cover as much as possible and said, “Peter! What a surprise. Just give me a minute and I’ll get you some coffee.” Then she hastily joined her sister.
Rose was fuming. “What kind of deranged mind thinks it’s appropriate to drop in on people at the crack of dawn? Who does this?”
She was quickly washing her face and swiping on a bit of make up while Daisy changed into shorts and a top.
“Apparently Peter’s deranged mind thinks it’s just ducky.”
“Well, he’s nuts. Can I borrow your yellow blouse? All my tops are in the laundry basket.”
“Sure.”
“Okay, how do I look? I need to wash my hair.”
Daisy looked her sister over and said, “You’re fine. It’s eight o’clock in the morning, he can’t expect much. Besides the last time you saw him, he was bent over like a pretzel.”
Daisy brightened, “Look at it like this. You won’t have to worry about those first awkward mornings after you sleep together. You know, when you sneak out of bed to brush your teeth and put your make-up on before he’s up, so he’ll think you always wake up dewy-eyed and minty fresh. You’ve already seen each other at your crummiest.”
“Probably guaranteeing there won’t be any sleepovers.”
Peter was holding the paper and looking out the window when they came back down. “Why are all of your cushions lying out on the patio?”
“Our little prankster was out again the other night.”
“The one they wrote about in today’s paper?”
Rose said, “That’s the one. At least it had better be. I really hope there’s only one stinker out there trying to drive us crazy. He tried to flood our basement, but couldn’t. So he just soaked anything he could find.”
“Your mother looks rather odd,” said Peter.
Rose bristled a little. “She likes to dress for the occasion.”
“And for what occasion might she be dressing in that?”
Daisy looked at Rose. “Actually, we were walking the dogs. Peter, you seem to be on a high-ish sort of horse this morning. Come down and just enjoy my mother’s eccentricities, like we do.”
“I’m sorry you think so. I must say I just don’t understand people most of the time.”
Daisy shook her head. “No, you really don’t, do you? And yet you teach philosophy. Oh well, mystery is the spice of life!”
Rose added, “Not that we’re not pleased to see you, but what are you doing here at this hour?”
“Oh, ah. Actually, I was hoping for a cup of coffee. I spent the last few nights at the bookstore. When I got up this morning I found that I’d run out. And I wanted to thank you for the other night.”
Rose looked at him for a moment, smiled and said, “Sure, you can have a cup of coffee. And you’re welcome. Actually, I should be thanking you. It was a lovely evening for the most part.”
Daisy was getting a little tired of this weird off-and-on flirtation. She said, “How’s your back? And how come you’ve been sleeping at the shop?”
“It’s better, thank you.”
“Because sleeping on a cot in the attic probably isn’t the best thing for a bad back.”
“No, it’s probably not. But I want to get the place in order so I can open by the Fourth. And the only time I have is at night.”
Daisy handed Peter a cup of coffee. “So you were here Wednesday night?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Were you up late? Did you happen to notice anyone hanging around our house?” asked Rose.
“No. I was busy cataloging. I didn’t see anyone.”
“Rats! I’d really like to catch this guy.”
“Do you have any idea who would do these sorts of things?” asked Peter. “This sounds a bit dramatic, but do you have any enemies?”
Rose thought a moment and said, “I really don’t think we do. I guess I’m a little afraid it’s the same person who broke in here. Or that it might be related to the murder.”
“But why would it be? Do you know anything about that woman’s murder?”
Daisy said, “Nothing at all. We just found her.”
“But everybody says that you and Rose solved that murder last year. Maybe the killer is afraid you’re investigating this one and wants to put you off the idea.”
Rose started to answer him, but caught a look from Daisy, so she just said, “I hardly think so. The killer last year sort of landed in our laps. We don’t investigate things. We simply run a gift shop.”
Daisy chimed in, “Speaking of which, we’d better get a move on. We open at ten.”
Peter stood and said, “Of course. I’ll be going. Thank you for the coffee.”
Rose walked him to the door. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “I would like to see you again.”
She smiled, “That would be nice. Maybe next weekend.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Rose shook her head as she watched him walk across the street. She was turning to go back into the
house when she noticed a familiar figure in a baseball cap, red shorts and a tee shirt jogging toward her.
She yelled up the steps, “Daisy, come out here. The pervert’s back!”
Daisy came running down the steps in time to see Rose step onto the sidewalk and block his way. She launched into a tirade yelling at him to cover himself up for crying out loud. Asking what kind of pervert was he, anyway, and telling him to wait right there, she was calling the police.
Daisy quickly shook her shoulder and said in a low voice, “It’s not him.”
“What!” yelled Rose.
“It’s not him. He’s completely covered, Rose. Nothing hanging out. Wrong hat. No sunglasses.”
Rose looked down, then up, and said, “Oh my lord in Cincinnati, I am so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
The poor sap looked horrified as he backed away from Rose and Daisy. He shouted, “You’re a lunatic,” as he turned and ran back the way he came.
Rose and Daisy got back into the house and Daisy burst out laughing. “That man must think you’re completely insane. What were you doing, Rose?”
Rose said, “Look, I’ve had it this morning. First, that idiotic article in the newspaper. Then Peter just dropping in and being, you know, Peter! All I wanted to do was wash my underwear. When I saw that guy jogging down the street, I just lost it. And how do you know he isn’t the bobber? He could have been and he just wasn’t airing out the old ding-dong this morning.”
“I don’t think so. Every time he’s been seen, the bobber’s been wearing a John Deere hat and sunglasses. Why would he change? And he never gets close enough to anyone to get caught. No, you just made an ass out of yourself in front of a totally innocent stranger.”
“Shove it, Daisy. I don’t need this this morning. I’m doing my laundry.” She picked up her basket and stomped down the stairs.
She stomped back up the stairs in less than a minute. She put the basket down and demanded, “Hey, what was with the smoke signals when we were talking to Peter?”
“Um, nothing really. I just don’t think you should tell him too much. I don’t know if we can trust him.”
Roses are Dead My Love Page 11
