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

by Cricket McRae

  "Some"

  "Here. At least eat this."

  "Oh, Meghan, I don't need-"

  "Eat it."

  I took the proffered slab of banana bread, slathered with cream cheese. "Thanks. Um, Meghan?"

  She put her coffee cup in the sink. "Yeah?"

  "Just be careful, okay?"

  A pause, then she looked at me and nodded. "I know you have my best interests at heart. I just wish you knew Kelly. He's one of the good ones."

  "But, still."

  "I'll be careful. I promise."

   

  NINETEEN

  THE SUN TRIED To break through the crumpled clouds above, mere hints of yellow light touching a patch of wet grass here, a moss-covered tree limb there. Anywhere else in the country they'd laugh, but in the Northwest in February we counted that as a partly sunny day. I was just happy to have a brief reprieve from the rain, despite the bite that remained in the air.

  I drove past Caladia Acres, following Pine Street as it narrowed and veered north, soon turning into County Road 18. Five minutes later I was well out of Cadyville and winding among small acreages. Llamas and alpacas peered over fences, dogs lay on front porches surveying their territories, and red barns reached gray slate roofs toward the brightening sky. Watching the numbers painted on mailboxes at the end of the driveways, I found 18223 and turned onto the bladed gravel road.

  Ahead, the Kollers' putty-colored manufactured home was surrounded by a neat, well-maintained fence made from recycled plastic the same dull beige of the house. Nearer the structure, the encouraging green spikes of bulbs in the precise flower beds promised spring was indeed on the way, despite Puxatawny Phil's usual failure to spy his shadow. A tiny two-stall horse barn sat diagonally back from the house four hundred yards or so, with one end open to a small paddock where a huge white horse with shaggy feet the size of hubcaps watched my pickup approach with laconic disinterest.

   

  I stopped the vehicle and turned off the engine, got out, and slammed the door. Stood there for at least a minute, facing the house with my hands on my hips, telling myself I was giving Mandy a chance to notice I was there, but in reality gathering enough moxie to interview a stranger about her daughter.

  Then I thought of Barr the first time I'd seen him in the hospital bed, and of Philip, gray and struggling for breath and now very, very dead.

  Across the road, crows began to gather on the bare branches of a lone alder tree. Their harsh calls raked the clear air like claws on a blackboard.

  Following up on the emails Philip had received had to be done, and no one else seemed willing to do it. Galvanized, I crunched across the driveway, but before I reached the front step the door opened, and a dark-haired woman wearing jeans and an orange fleece zipper-front warm-up jacket stepped out to meet me. Freckles sprinkled her upturned nose, and her lips turned up in a grin that revealed perfect white teeth.

  "Hi," she said.

  "Hi" I stood looking up at her, and at that moment it seemed that the lack of sleep over the last three days would crush me into the gravel beneath. Taking a deep breath, I said, "I'm Sophie Mae Reynolds. I have a nine-forty appointment to talk about my business accounting needs."

   

  She beckoned me in. "Of course you are. Coffee's on. Let's see what I can do to help you out."

  The living room was overstuffed and comfortable, the kitchen floor worn, the decor overall unimaginative and far more about function than aesthetic. But the coffee was hot and strong enough to strip tar off a roof, just the way I needed it, and the air smelled of bacon and onions and other good things. We settled into the breakfast nook tucked into the end of the kitchen, steaming cups between us, and with a view of the muddy paddock. It was so bucolic and soothing I didn't know if I'd be able to haul my sorry carcass out of there when my hour was up.

  "Tell me about your business."

  I did, explaining that I'd designed, manufactured, and marketed handmade toiletry items for a little over two years, and that my wholesale and internet business had picked up to the point where I really needed some help with the bookkeeping. "Taxes are such a pain that I've been farming them out from the beginning, but I'd really prefer someone with a better understanding of my business do them."

  She nodded her understanding. "You make soap? Like from lye?"

  "That, and melt-and-pour"

  "I've done some of that, too. It's so much fun-and fascinating how you mix a bunch of oils and butters and beeswax and stuff together with a little lye from the cleaning aisle at the grocery store, and you end up with something that gets you clean in the shower."

   

  Her enthusiasm made me smile. I knew other people who made soap, had in fact taught several classes, but it was always nice to meet someone who was interested. We talked about soap making for a bit, and she asked several pertinent questions about the particulars of how I did business.

  "Well, I can help you take care of the accounting side of things. We'd work out just how much or how little help you want," she said and quoted me her rates. They weren't too cheap, which would have been a red flag, but they seemed manageable. I asked for and got the names of three clients and permission to call them for references.

  "Rhea Waters gave you a huge thumbs-up," I said. "Couldn't say enough nice things about you."

  "Oh, Rhea's a sweetie, she really is. I don't think I've had a bigger cheerleader since I decided to start my own business."

  "Her daughters help me out," I said. "They said they go to school with your daughter. Lisa, isn't it?"

  A shadow crossed her face, and she looked down at her cup. "That's right. She's a senior at Cadyville High." "

  I also volunteer at Heaven House."

  "Really." Now she looked wary.

  "I heard about someone named Lisa who'd called in on the Helpline, and the guy who ran the place got in some kind of trouble for the advice he gave her. Then when Kyla and Cyan were talking about your Lisa the other day it sounded like they might be one and the same girl."

  "Philip Heaven overstepped his bounds," she said, getting up and grabbing the coffeepot. She brought it back to the built-in table and topped off my cup. "She ran away. Well, what she called running away, which was to go stay at her boyfriend's house for a few days without telling me where she was. I don't even remember what her reason was that time. We've had a lot of problems ever since her dad died a couple years ago." She slid back into the seat across from me and took a sip from her cup. "Drunk driver."

   

  I nodded. "I remember that. I'm so sorry. I lost my husband several years ago, but it was to cancer."

  "I'm sorry, too, and for you. I had to try and keep things together for Lisa and her little brother and me, and it was ... hard. I missed Steve so much-still do. Things are better now; I went back to school and got my CPA license and I'm finally getting my feet under me, at least financially." She took another sip of coffee and looked out the window at her massive white horse. "Lisa had a hard time, though. And I didn't know what to do to help. She seemed to hate me. Still does, most of the time." Mandy sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe he was right. Maybe she is better off away from me."

  That darn near broke my heart. I hardened my resolve and plunged on. "Did you report Philip Heaven at the time?"

  "Sort of. Not that I heard anything back, but I did write a letter to the muckety-mucks at the foundation that funded that place. Don't think it did any good. I imagine he still answers the Helpline himself and tells anyone who calls whatever he pleases."

  "Not exactly."

  Something in my tone made her sit back. "What do you mean?"

  "He's dead."

  Her hand flew to her mouth. "What happened?"

  "Botulism poisoning. A few days ago."

   

  She grimaced. "Oh, man. That sucks. I don't care what a jerk he was, no one deserves that."

  As I drove down Mandy Koller's driveway to the count
y road, I considered our conversation. Not only did she genuinely seem to be unaware that Philip had died, but it apparently never occurred to her that I was sitting in her home more because of his death than because I needed help with my accounting. I'd never met anyone so non-defensive in my life.

  It was my good luck she could be a real help to Winding Road Bath Products. That was the upside. The downside was that I was still no closer to discovering Philip Heaven's murderer than I had been a couple days ago.

  Or was that really true? Finding out more about the email threats from Ann and Mandy had led me to discount them as real suspects. They hadn't threatened him physically, after all, only threatened to report him to the foundation. And both of them had done exactly that.

  It didn't sound like the foundation cared much about what Philip did with his little community center brainchild. Their apathy was no doubt due in large part to his last name being Heaven, and the favorite grandchild of the foundation's founder. It was such a shame, because Heaven House had a lot of potential. Now, with Jude in charge, I hoped it would finally live up to it and become an institution that provided real help to the citizens of Cadyville.

  Anyway, I was pretty sure Ann hadn't killed Philip, and after talking with Mandy, I was pretty sure she hadn't either. And no, the latter opinion was not influenced in the least by the fact that I was looking forward to having her take over a big chunk of my accounting. Honest.

   

  So who was left?

  I took a deep breath. I could go home and take a quick nap before I picked Barr up, or I could drop by HH yet again and see what I could dig up.

  Oh, but a nap. The thought held magical appeal. I veered toward home.

   

  TWENTY

  "I CAN'T FIGURE OUT how the killer did it," I said.

  Brodie cocked his corgi head at me and made a noise low in his throat. Meghan and Erin were gone by the time I got home, presumably out in the wilds of yurtdom in the Cascade Mountains.

  That left me and Brodie. I was going to take a nap, really, I was, but my nerves were kind of jangled from all the coffee, and I was a little afraid if I fell asleep I'd be down for the count. I had to pick up Barr in half an hour, after all.

  Now that it was right there in my face, I kept thinking about what it would be like to have my boyfriend around the house on a constant basis.

  Good. Right? Sure. Besides, it would only be for a little while.

  I sat in a rocking chair on the covered front porch, wrapped up in a big down coat. The rain spattered down onto the pavement of the street, causing minute movements of the grass blades in the front yard. I'd pulled a black wool watch cap down over my ears and no doubt presented a very pretty picture.

   

  And I talked to the dog. He was a very good listener.

  "So whoever killed Philip had to get the botulism laden beets to him in the first place. How, exactly, do you do that? Do you have access to his apartment? Do you give them to him personally and take the risk he'll tell someone where he got them? How could you be sure he'd eat them? Did he really like beets? A lot of people don't."

  Brodie did that gruff throat thing again.

  "Trust me, they can be scrumptious, steamed and tossed with butter and a little fresh tarragon," I said. "But I don't think I'll be able to bring myself to eat any for quite a while."

  But Brodie couldn't have cared less about my culinary preferences. He was looking toward the side yard. Seeing the fur along his spine ruffled up all stiff made my own adrenaline pump, and I scrambled to my feet. He started barking, sharp, alarmed barks.

  Luke and Seth walked around the corner.

  "Hey, dog. How's it goin'?" Luke said easily.

  Brodie shut up and wiggled his butt.

  My own hand was shaking a bit as I waved. "You boys must be nearly finished."

  "Just spread the last of the gravel. You're all set."

  "That's great!" My enthusiasm for getting the chicks had been weighed down by the events of the past few days, but now it surfaced again. "How much do we owe you?"

  Luke held up a finger and walked over to his brother. They conferred for a few moments, then Luke called out a figure to me. "You don't have to give it to us right now," he added. "Sometime next week'll be fine."

  Relieved, I bobbed my head. "We'll track you down."

   

  "Sounds good," Luke said and walked out to the street. Now I saw their truck parked down the block, in front of their house. Seth followed and paused as he shut the front gate. He lifted a hand and a shy smile lit his face.

  I waved back. "We sure appreciate all your hard work. Those chickens are going to be the happiest in town, thanks to you two."

  His head ducked in embarrassed acknowledgment, and he followed Luke home.

  I should go look at how it all turned out, I thought, pulling the down coat tighter around me and sitting back down in the rocker. In just a minute or two ...

  I was freezing when I woke up. Old, arthritic Brodie didn't seem very happy either, having been stuck out on the porch with me. My back was stiff, my eyes puffy, and my hands felt like ice cubes. I reached up to feel a cool streak on my face and found a little trail of drool.

  Nice. What must the neighbors think?

  The rocker was tucked far back under the porch overhang, so maybe no one had noticed me slumbering all slumped over it. At least I hoped so. I liked to think that at least one or two of them might have been interested enough to come check on me. I wondered whether Allen had come to stalk me and found me slobbering on my front porch. That would be a turnoff, no doubt.

  I could only hope.

  Oh, God. What time was it?

  Inside, the phone was ringing. I staggered in to pick it up.

   

  "Sophie Mae? Are you all right?" Worry infused Barr's voice.

  "I'm so sorry. I had a fight with Meghan last night, and I didn't sleep very well and had an appointment this morning and came home all exhausted and fell asleep on the front porch-can you believe that, the front porch? And I just woke up, and I'm on my way. You're still at the hospital, aren't you?"

  A brief silence as he absorbed all that.

  "I'm still here."

  "Be there in a jiffy, I promise. Leaving right now."

  "Hey, slow down," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. But for the record, you scared me, not showing up when you said you would."

  "Sorry, really, really I am."

  "I'm just glad you're okay. See you soon."

  I hung up, loaded with guilt. Brodie waddled over to his bed by the door, directing a baleful look in my direction before curling up and putting his head on his cold paws.

  I didn't blame him.

  When I got to the hospital, Barr was dressed and impatient to leave. I grabbed his stuff and followed behind as the nurse wheeled him to the entrance, much to his muttering chagrin.

  Outside, it had finally begun to snow.

  Big, fat, fluffy flakes drifted down from the heavy clouds above. Already a scant layer of white covered everything except the pavement, dark and wet-slick against the dazzling alabaster blanket. Barr had stopped his grumbling as soon as we went outside, and I looked down to see an expression of pure delight on his face. I realized it was reflected on my own. We were both from a part of the country-Wyoming for him, Colorado for me-where it seriously snowed in the winter. While I might have complained about it when I lived there, at heart I missed the white stuff after all.

   

  I retrieved my Toyota from the parking garage. Once Barr was ensconced in the passenger seat, I flipped the heater switch on high and maneuvered through the panicked drivers toward the highway that led to Cadyville. It would take us a while to get to his little house on the edge of town, what with the crazies on the road who thought snowflakes in the air meant they had to drive as erratically as possible. I concentrated on avoiding them. Barr watched out the window for several minutes.

  Out of the blue, he
turned to me and said, "Kelly O'Connell doesn't seem to exist."

  A minivan cut in front of me. I braked and switched lanes, forming my response: "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "Owens was on last night. I called him and had him do a preliminary check. He got back to me almost right away-no record of any males named Kelly O'Connell in Washington state."

  "When you say `record,' do you mean he hasn't done anything illegal?"

  Barr took a deep breath. "I mean he doesn't have a phone number, an address, a car registration, or a driver's license."

  My heart bucked, and I had to remind myself to pay attention to the traffic. "Are you saying he's using a fake name?"

  "Maybe. Or he's not really from Seattle. Owens will try to do a more in-depth check when he comes in for his shift today. As a favor to me, I might add."

   

  "And a favor to me. I understand. But, Barr, Meghan's dating this guy, whoever he is. In fact, she's out in a freakin' yurt with Erin and him right now."

  "I'll find out more when I can," he assured me. "Do you know where they are?"

  I shook my head. "Someplace in the Cascades." My hands were white on the wheel, only unlike the other drivers around me, it wasn't because of the weather.

  At Barr's house I helped him find a suitcase and a big duffel bag, and we filled them with everything we thought he might need during his sojourn at the Bly-Reynolds homestead. Traffic was bumper to bumper by then, and it took half an hour to get across town. He was gray with exhaustion when I helped him inside and up the stairs to Erin's bedroom. I went back down to unload his things from the car.

  When I hauled them up to his new, if temporary home, he was reclining on the bed, propped up by the big purple hippo. He looked upset to see me carrying the heavy bags, but I waved off any apology before he could speak.

  "Don't start. That's why you're here, after all. So we can take care of you. Do you want help getting into your pajamas so you can get some sleep?"

  His answering look told me just what he thought of that idea. "I'm fine in my sweats. Just going to take a quick nap."