Heaven Preserve Us: A Home Crafting Mystery (A Home Crafting Mystery)

by Cricket McRae

  Meghan said something as I clattered pans in the cupboard.

  "What?" I came up for air holding the old cast-iron frying pan that had belonged to my grandmother.

  "I've got a date tonight. You can watch Erin this evening, can't you?" she repeated, turning to the editorial section of the Seattle Times and feigning what I knew wasn't really nonchalance. Meghan Bly, cute and lithe and intelligent Meghan, hadn't gone on a date for at least two years.

  "That guy you were with at the preserves exchange?"

  "Mmm hmmm." She licked her finger, and as she turned the page I saw the headline Cadyville Creep Continues Attacks. Was that the same jerk who assaulted the woman in the alley, the one Barr had told me about on the phone? I thought about the lurker in the pea coat and tasseled earflappy hat from the night before. He'd looked pretty creepy in my opinion, all sneaking around in the fog.

   

  "Kelly O'Connell," Meghan said, still not looking at me.

  I refocused on our conversation. Crap. Erin had told me at the preserves exchange that Meghan and Kelly were finally going out on Friday, and I'd completely forgotten.

  "Oh, no. I'm so sorry," I said.

  She looked up. "What? You can take Erin to the hospital, can't you? She'd love to see Barr."

  "I'll go see him this afternoon," I said. "They're letting him go home tomorrow."

  Her face lost all animation, and she examined the floor, radiating disappointment.

  "It's okay, Megs. We'll work it out. Tonight is my night to volunteer for the Helpline at HH, is all. Can't Erin go over there with me? She can hang out and do her homework, and then dink around with that silly pinball game until I'm done. It'll only be nine-thirty when we leave. And tomorrow's Saturday."

  Her expression alternated between relief and hesitation. "I ... I don't think so, Sophie Mae. Maybe she could stay with Tootie tonight."

  "What? Why?"

  She bit her lip. "That guy. The one who's been bugging you. He knows you were at Heaven House on Tuesday. He might look for you there again. And what about this whole theory you have about someone deliberately killing Philip?"

  "I thought you said I was nuts to think that."

   

  "I didn't say that. Not exactly. And the more I think about itand I've been thinking about it all night-the more possible it sounds. Tell me again what he said when he got so sick."

  "Philip?"

  "Yes, Philip." She sounded exasperated.

  I repeated his whispered words to me. "Threat. Meant it."

  "That's all?"

  "He passed out then"

  "Sounds like he was really afraid."

  "He was terrified. He knew something was wrong, and seemed to know who did it."

  "Well, even if you are completely wrong-"

  "Thanks a lot."

  "-I know you. I don't want Erin dragged into some crazy investigation."

  I was stunned. And hurt. "You think I'd put her in danger?"

  "Not on purpose. Besides, it'd be a pain for you to have to watch her while you're answering the phone."

  "The Helpline doesn't ring that much, and you know it. I'm happy to bring her with me, and you know Caladia Acres isn't set up for overnight guests. But you do what you feel is right. You're her mother, after all."

  Her smile was tentative. "Don't be mad"

  "I'm not."

  "Of course she can go with you. Just, you know, be careful. Okay?"

  "I promise. So, what are you doing on your date with this Kelly character?"

   

  She tried to hide the grin that came to her face at the mention of his name, but couldn't. Oh, Lord. But I knew that giddiness myself lately, and found myself grinning back at her.

  "We're going out for Thai food and then over to Monroe for a movie."

  "What are you going to see?"

  "I have no idea." There was that grin again.

  "Gotcha. I'll be here by five to take over Erin."

  "Thanks. But we're not leaving until six."

  "Bet you wouldn't mind the time to do a little primping, eh?"

  "Um, no, I guess not."

  "What's he do?" I asked.

  "He's a financial consultant."

  "That sounds ... interesting."

  She laughed. "More like really boring. But he doesn't talk much about his work, so I haven't nodded off yet."

  "What's his association with Heaven House?"

  "He's a volunteer there, just like us. I met him when we were both working on the free legal aid project. It took a lot of research."

  "Whatever happened with that?"

  She shook her head and stood up. "I don't know. We gave our report to Philip and never heard another word. Anyway, Kelly wanted to get away from the rat race in Seattle, and he conducts a lot of his business online. So he moved up here about three months ago. When he heard about Heaven House, he saw it as a chance to give something to his new community, and thought it might be a good way to meet people."

  I smiled. "Turns out it was a good way to meet someone."

   

  She blushed, swear to God, and ducked her head. It was pretty cute, seeing her all flustered. She stepped out of the kitchen, then turned around and met my eyes. "Thanks, Sophie Mae."

  "No problem," I said. "I hope you guys have a great time."

  She turned back and headed toward the stairs. "We will," she called over her shoulder.

  Sighing, I put the egg carton back in the fridge. Breakfast seemed like too much work now. I'd muddle through on coffee until lunch.

  I was happy for my friend. Heck, my best friend. But I couldn't help but wonder about this Kelly guy. Meghan's past taste in men wasn't much of a recommendation for him. And he was so new to town; how much did anyone here know about him?

  Down in my workroom, I packed another dozen boxes with retail orders off the Winding Road website. Then I went back upstairs to put out the sign I used to alert Joe Allingham, our trusty UPS driver, that I needed him to stop. It was so nice to have that service that I tried at least weekly to have a treat for him, even if he was only doing his job. I wrapped up some of the lemon cookies that Meghan, Erin, and I had made the past weekend so Joe could have them for an afternoon snack.

  Cookies encased in foil, I opened the front door to put my makeshift sign out by the sidewalk and found Luke unloading a bale of chicken wire from the back of their work truck. Luke hefted it onto his shoulder and came up the sidewalk toward me. Seth met my eyes through the window of the pickup, blinked rapidly a couple of times, then turned his attention to the street as he pulled away from the curb.

  "Wouldn't it be easier to go around to the alley with that stuff?" I asked Luke as he veered toward the side of the house.

   

  "Hey, Sophie Mae. Yeah, probably, but it's pretty light. 'Sides, Seth has to run back to the hardware store to get more fence staples."

  This was going to be the best-built chicken coop for miles around, I thought as I went back inside and headed for the phone. I'd made enough inroads on my workload for the morning. Now I could take a break and find out more about the people Philip Heaven had angered with his ineptitude.

   

  FOURTEEN

  I LEANED AGAINST THE reception desk at Caladia Acres and watched two snow-haired men play a hot game of checkers, waiting for the young volunteer to track down Ann Dunning. After I'd confirmed that she was ad@caladiaacres.com, she'd agreed to talk with me over a cup of coffee. Her puzzlement at my request had filtered through the phone line. Maybe she thought I wanted to talk about Nana Tootie, as Erin called Petunia Hanover, or perhaps something concerning the massage-related work Meghan did at the retirement home. My roommate offered gentle rubdowns to the residents as well as training the nursing staff in therapeutic massage techniques. I'd managed to verbally duck and weave my way through the conversation with Ann, and I was pretty sure she had no idea I wanted to talk to her about the nasty email she'd sent to Philip Heaven.

/>   "King me!" crowed the taller player, waving a red checker in his companion's face.

   

  "Yeah, yeah, here ya go," his friend said, handing over a previously captured piece.

  The clatter of dishes anticipated the early lunch soon to be served in the dining room, and the scent of something warm and savory rode the air. None of the residents paid any mind to me, though I saw a few I knew in passing, having spent many hours on the premises with Tootie and her friends. Then I remembered this was when Tootie et al had their weekly mah jong tournament in the activities room toward the back of the building. No wonder none of her particular cronies were wandering about.

  The muscles in the back of my neck and shoulders relaxed an iota. I'd been afraid I'd have to explain my presence to Betsy Maher. I didn't want her to know I was investigating Philip's death. It's a well known fact among my friends that I'm a terrible liar. I fidget and fuss and flush and stutter. If we exchanged more than five words, the Chief's mother would be on me like a cat leaps on a particularly enticing, wiggly bug.

  The mah jong would keep them busy through the first seating in the dining room. I crossed my fingers anyway.

  A woman with a pair of silver barrettes holding her long brown hair away from her face lugged a karaoke machine through the front door. In her other hand, she juggled a large notebook and microphone. I smiled at her and she smiled back. Must be the new activities director Tootie and Betsy had been talking about. I wanted to be there when they started in on the singing. Knowing the folks who lived at Caladia Acres, Frank Sinatra and Lena Horne would have some serious competition.

  My thoughts returned to Ann. Her email had been angry, very angry, yet well thought out and to the point. Furthermore, it seemed to me that she was right to be upset about how Philip had effectively scrapped the senior visitation project, leaving so many people high and dry and Ann scrambling to see it through on her own. I could see drafting such a missive under the same circumstances, but certainly didn't consider myself capable of killing anyone over such a thing.

   

  But I was me, and Ann was Ann. I didn't know her well enough to judge whether she had a temper or tended to hold a grudge. For now she was a viable suspect.

  As I pondered her ability to commit murder, Ann emerged from the hallway that led to the residents' rooms. "Sophie Maehi! Want to go in the dining room?"

  I shook her cool, plump hand and said, "I've been standing here smelling something wonderful cooking for the last few minutes, and my mouth is positively watering." My stomach growled right then, punctuating my words.

  Ann flashed a smile, showing off two cherubic dimples in her pink cheeks. "We're not serving the early lunch for another half an hour, but there might be some pastries left over from breakfast. I'll see what I can dig up" She nodded toward the source of the clattering dishes, and her glossy dark hair swung forward and back in one smooth motion.

  "I won't say no," I said, following behind her ample backside, unfortunately clad in classic nurse-white. This cheerful woman had written that vitriolic email. It was a stretch, but from our past interactions I knew she was intelligent, capable, and brooked no B.S. from anyone.

  Ann led me to a table in the corner, well away from two women lingering over cups of tea on the other side of the room. I was happy for the privacy. At least I wouldn't have to be coy; according to Meghan, subtlety wasn't exactly my strong point.

   

  "Have a seat," she said. "I'll be right back. Do you want coffee? Or tea? We have a nice herbal blend."

  "Coffee would be great. Black."

  She walked away, and I belatedly covered a gigantic yawn with my hand. I was too darn old to handle two nights with next to no sleep with any kind of grace.

  Ann returned with a small tray holding two steaming cups and a plate of fruit Danish. She watched with amusement as I dug in, suddenly starving. Yum.

  "These are fabulous Danish," I mumbled.

  "We get them fresh from Cadyville Loaf and Latte," she said, referring to a recently opened bakery and coffee shop. "You're lucky any are left today. Usually they're gone by ten." She took a bite of her own Danish, and we chewed contentedly for a few moments as I mused on how to start.

  "You know Philip Heaven died a couple of days ago?" I asked, and took a big swig of the strong, hot coffee.

  Ann looked startled. "Um, I heard something about it."

  "It was botulism." I licked cherry goo from my fork.

  She grimaced and put her cup down. "That's a terrible way to die."

  "I guess you know how that would work, being a nurse and all."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Very painful. And extremely frightening. The mental faculties remain, but the botulism toxin progressively paralyzes the muscles."

  "Mm hmm. He got sick really fast."

   

  "Have they found the source?" she asked

  Watching her carefully, I nodded once. "Presumably. The Health Department discovered a jar of unsavory beets in his kitchen."

  She leaned back in her chair, ignoring her half-eaten pastry. I took another bite of mine.

  "Is that why you wanted to talk to me?" she asked. "To find out more about botulism?"

  I swallowed. "I found an email on Philip's computer, and it made me curious. You must have really hated the guy."

  If I'd been expecting a big reaction, I didn't get it. Ann just looked confused. "What?"

  "The email you wrote him was very angry. You even threatened to inform the board of the Heaven Foundation about his ineptitude."

  She grimaced and waved her hand in the air as if dispersing a foul odor. "That man had horrible delusions of adequacy, and fell far short of even that. I know he's dead, but that doesn't change what he was when he was alive, so I'm not going to sugar-coat it. And I did more than threaten to report him to the board; I did it."

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "You read my email? You know about the senior-to-senior project?"

  "I pieced together an understanding of it, I believe."

  She ignored me. "Seniors over at the high school were paired with residents here who wanted to take part in the program. They had to spend a requisite number of hours with `their resident,' talking, reading to them, etc., but we also encouraged the high school kids to get the seniors here to talk about their lives. I ended up adding another incentive to the program, a kind of extra credit that would look good on college applications even if it wasn't a graduation requirement.

   

  "Several of the students participated. They brought tape recorders and took notes, interviewing some of the men and women here about how things were a half century or more ago. Then they wrote down the stories, or at least transcribed the tapes. It was terrific for the kids to hear some of the stories about World War I and Korea, and to learn about how much things have changed in recent decades. These are kids who have never heard a record, have always had cell phones and microwaves and computers. A few of the residents ... well, I'm going on and on. You can tell how excited I was about the project."

  I smiled. Her palpable enthusiasm had chased away much of my own weariness. "From what you say it doesn't sound like the program fell through."

  Her empty coffee cup clinked loudly against the saucer as she put it down with just a tad too much force. "It did, though. Philip completely dropped the ball, didn't call any of the people he needed to, never followed up on any of his promises, never actually did anything except talk about how great it would be. There were hoops to jump through with the school board to get it approved as an official program, paperwork to fill out, and then the coordination and supervision of the kids themselves. I expected to be involved peripherally with the latter, but I ended up having to step in and take care of the whole shebang."

  Her voice had begun to rise. I kept my mouth shut, willing to let her own momentum carry her forward.

  "If I'd wanted to do it on my own, I wouldn't have submitted the idea to Philip. He'd sent
a letter out-do you know this?"

   

  I shook my head.

  "When he first opened Heaven House he sent a letter out to businesses, volunteer agencies, the library, medical institutions, all over Cadyville, announcing that the foundation was looking for ways to invest in the community and asking for program ideas. There was a formal submission process, and then he supposedly went through and chose. I don't know how many people or organizations responded, or how many possible programs were voted on by the foundation's board of directors, but my senior-to-senior project was finally given the go ahead."

  "Did the Heaven Foundation provide you with any money?" I asked.

  Ann looked sour. "I asked for resources to coordinate and handle the application to the school board, all that stuff I ended up doing myself. The foundation approved funds for someone to help with all that, but no one involved with the program at either Caladia Acres or Cadyville High saw any money-or any help."

  I felt bad, getting her upset all over again. She had good reason for the email she'd sent to Philip, and good reason to report him to the foundation. They needed to know if he was that incompetent.

  And what had happened to the money the foundation had provided for the program?

  I took one last bite of Danish, stuffed to the gills now. "What was the foundation's response when you told them what happened?"

  "They apologized. In writing. Which was nice, but didn't help in any practical way."

  I stared unseeing at the innocuous watercolor decorating the wall next to our table. Why hadn't the board of directors done something about Philip?

   

  "I have to say," Ann interrupted my internal musings. "I still don't understand why you're here. Are they trying to decide whether or not to keep Heaven House open? I didn't realize you were involved with them to that degree"

  "Er, no. Not really. Those beets I mentioned? There's some question as to where they came from. Whether it could have been intentional."

  The incredulous look on her face made me regret stating it so blatantly. Meghan was right about my lack of tact.