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

by Cricket McRae

  "To what do we owe this pleasure?" I asked Lane. Just because I looked like a slob didn't mean I couldn't behave with a little class.

  Barr answered me. "Robin caught the guy who's been terrorizing women in Cadyville. The one they've been calling the Creep."

  Robin? I buried my desire to bristle. He hadn't given me any indication I needed to worry about this woman-this incredibly beautiful woman he had so much in common with. Then again, he'd been sick as a dog most of the time he'd known her. My eyes flicked between them, but they only looked at me, pleased as punch.

   

  And who could blame them? "That's great news," I said. "How did you manage it?"

  Lane proceeded to tell us how she'd interviewed over a hundred people in the neighborhoods where the attacks had taken place, then cross-referenced information she'd gathered about cars parked on the street. In this way she'd tracked down the Creep's car and put him under surveillance. In the end she'd caught him red-handed, just as he was about to attack another woman.

  "You did all that? By yourself?" I realized how condescending the words sounded as they left my mouth. Oops.

  "I had a lot of help. This is a great department. And I've really come to like your little town here."

  I showed some teeth. "That's nice. We always like to hear from the converts."

  "Robin likes it so much she's going to stay," Barr said.

  "Stay," I said.

  "She'll be a great addition to the department."

  Lane was watching my reaction with a glint of amusement in her eyes. Not mean, though. More like we were both in on the same joke. And the joke was somehow on her. In a lot of ways it was hard not to like her.

  I turned to Barr. "So you won't have to work so hard? Chief Maher found the funding?"

  "Yep. Just needed the right incentive, I guess"

  A glance at Lane rewarded me with another amused look, this time the joke being on Andrew Maher. How did she do that?

  "Well, I'm all for it," I said. "Less work for you, so you can have a real life."

  "Bingo. I knew you'd be pleased."

   

  "What an understatement. And what a relief that the Creep is off the streets."

  "Well," Lane said, "it's both good and bad for you"

  "What do you mean?"

  "He's not your stalker."

  I sat back against the arm of the sofa. "You're sure?"

  "Yes. I have phone records, and he gave a full confession. I'm not exactly surprised, since your stalker behaved differently from the very beginning. But it does mean someone else is still interested in you."

  "But not the scary guy. Not the violent one."

  "Hard to tell. Just because he's not the violent one we caught doesn't mean he's not violent at all."

  I sighed. "Great"

  Barr looked concerned all over again. Almost like nothing had changed. I was getting sick of feeling like I was spinning my wheels on all fronts.

  So I couldn't help sounding cranky when I said, "Now that you've caught your major bad guy, are you going to investigate Philip Heaven's death?"

  Lane looked at Barr. He said, "Robin, it really does look suspicious."

  Her forehead wrinkled. "Have you talked to the Chief? Or to Zahn?"

  He grimaced. "Of course. Neither want to deal with it. As far as they're concerned, unless the Health Department tells them there's something fishy with Heaven's death, everything is copasetic." "

  I can't investigate something like that without their buy-off," Lane said.

   

  "What about justice? Does that enter into the equation at all?" I asked.

  She looked upset. "I have to stick with the assignments I'm given.

  I stared at her. All that glamour and so by-the-book. Barr and I exchanged looks. We weren't getting anywhere with this.

  But I couldn't help trying one more time. "What if there's actual evidence? Something you could show your bosses, something they couldn't ignore?"

  Her expression was momentarily hopeful, until she realized what I might be implying. "What did you have in mind?" she asked, her tone full of warning. "I know you have a tendency to go do things on your own. I can't let you do that."

  "Oh, I didn't have anything in particular in mind," I said. "I was just curious about what it might take to open a case that's been deemed closed. Or, rather, never open in the first place."

  "Ms. Reynolds," she began.

  But Barr interrupted her with, "Maybe we could go over some of the other cases that are still pending? I'll be back in a week or so, but I'd sure like to keep up with what you're doing in the meantime."

  One last wary look at me, and she turned back to him. "Sure. After all, we're partners now."

  I pasted a smile on my face and took a sip of my rapidly cooling coffee.

  Partners. Great.

   

  Detective Robin Lane had been gone for an hour, and Barr was back watching his basketball game, looking more content than ever. I'd called the references Mandy Koller had given me, and had decided to take the plunge and hire her. Feeling a little giddy at the notion that I'd soon have more time to do what I thought of as "the fun stuff" for Winding Road-playing with recipes, cooking up batches of soap, and figuring out creative ways to sell my products-I folded a pile of laundry while Meghan worked in her office and Erin plugged away at her math homework.

  I was happy Barr would have help at work, and I'd finally get to spend more time with him, but it was tempered with a vague sense of unease at the thought of him working with that gorgeous, smart woman day in and day out. She didn't wear a ring, and she seemed to be footloose and fancy free enough to make the decision to move to Cadyville from Seattle without having to consider the effects on her family.

  I didn't have to worry about Barr. I knew that. He was a good guy, an honest straight-shooter who'd never been anything but affectionate.

  Still. Day in and day out. Bleah.

  The phone rang. Adding a towel to the mounting stack of folded laundry, I went out to the hall to answer it.

  "Sophie Mae. It's me. Allen. Don't hang up!"

  Gawd. "Why not?"

  "Are you really scared of me?"

  "Is that what this is all about? Some power trip you get from trying to scare me? Because I've got to tell you, that'd really make me mad."

  "No! I just wanted to talk."

   

  "I know you're not the Cadyville Creep. I know you're just some guy who likes to push buttons on the phone. And I'm going to get the police to track you down, just like they did the Creep. When they do, they're going to throw your butt in jail so fast you won't have time to say `death threat"'

  "What? Death threat? Who's this Creep dude? Are you okay? You sound really uptight."

  I kind of lost it then. "I sound uptight? Really? Did it ever occur to you that you're the one making me `uptight'? That you're driving me nuts, not because I'm afraid, not because you're scary, but because you and your stupid phone calls are a real pain in the patootie!"

  The phone made a nice loud crashing noise when I slammed it down on the cradle.

  "You have to hit the Off button," Barr said from the doorway to the living room.

  "What?"

  "It's still on."

  I looked down. Slamming the phone down hadn't disconnected it. Allen could still hear me. How embarrassing. Barr picked up the receiver.

  "Don't call here anymore. She really will go to the police. In fact, I am the police." A pause, then, "Hello?"

  He turned off the phone and returned it to the cradle much more gently than I had. "Hmmm. Seems to have hung up. I'd be surprised if you heard from him again."

  "Good," I said, and rubbed both hands over my face. "I'm going to bed."

  "Want some company?"

   

  I looked up at him and grinned. "Of course. But it's probably not a good idea."

  "Erin."

  "Right"

  "I'd like to put a su
ggestion on the table."

  "What's that?"

  "I'd like you to consider a living situation that wouldn't involve Meghan and Erin."

  My breath stuttered in my chest. Carefully, I asked, "You mean a living situation that would include you?"

  "Oh, absolutely it would include me. And there would be no reason for us to be in separate beds. Ever."

  Wow. The idea thrilled me. Terrified me. But I'd have to give up living with Meghan and Erin, and over the years they'd become my family. I was so confused I couldn't speak.

  He seemed to understand, gathering me into his arms and resting his chin on the top of my head. "Just think about it."

  Mute, I nodded. I doubted I'd be thinking about anything else all night.

  I did, though. Think about something else, I mean. After everyone had gone to bed, I slipped out from under my warm covers and went to the closet. Fumbling around in the dark, I finally felt the pint canning jar in my hand. By the streetlight coming in the window, I could see the vague outlines of the preserved beets inside.

  Ruth's beets, saved from destruction by the Health Department. Maybe they'd come in handy some day. I could only hope.

   

  Was I being an idiot, going to help Jude move? Was he really dangerous? He seemed so ... innocuous. It would probably be a boring morning spent hauling boxes.

  No reason to make it into a big deal. Just be careful.

  And if I did come across some information that could help convince the powers that be in the Cadyville Police Department that there was a case worth investigating, so much the better.

  Tootie was right. I couldn't walk away from this.

   

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ERIN HAD LEFT FOR school, Meghan was working at the hospital, and Barr had dozed off. I thought about waking him before I left, but that just seemed mean. All that sleep seemed to help him regain his strength and wind. He knew where I'd be, plus I'd leave him a note downstairs to remind him, so he wouldn't be worried when he awoke to find me gone. Still, I couldn't help myself. Brushing aside a lock of chestnut hair from his forehead, I kissed the fine web of wrinkles at the corner of his eye. He stirred and made a snorting sound. I tiptoed out and shut the door softly behind me. Downstairs, Brodie toddled over to the foot of the stairs and lay down in habitual guard mode.

  My mood bordered on giddy. The Winding Road invoicing was done for a while, and I'd found a wholesale order for a full display rack of soaps-a gross in all-waiting in my email inbox that morning. Mandy Koller would soon be dealing with a significant portion of my bookwork. The Cadyville Creep was no longer a threat. I'd given Allen what-for the night before on the phone, and maybe this time it had taken-I almost felt bad about hurting his feelings-but not quite. Barr's health was steadily improving, Erin was going to compete in her spelling bee in spite of Jonathan Bell's defection, and Meghan had gotten over being mad at me for investigating Kelly O'Connell. And even though the thought made me crazy nervous, Barr obviously wanted to take our relationship to the next level.

   

  Outside, the sun peered through a clear blue hole in the clouds, and the air smelled green. A big grin split my face as I strode down the front sidewalk to my little truck parked by the curb.

  Detective Lane and I would never be best friends, but after her visit last evening I felt I had a good chance of convincing her to investigate Philip's murder. She'd caught the Cadyville Creep and proved she could do the job. Now I just needed the smallest piece of evidence to push her over the edge. In the cheerful light of morning and my present state of mind, all my doubts from the night before had vanished. I would be very careful, I'd find something for Detective Lane to run with, and I'd happily hang up any notions of investigating on my own forever.

  Jude's little car hugged the curb in front of Heaven House, but the place looked empty when I walked into the main room from the street. I squinted in the comparative dimness after the bright sun outside, waiting for my eyes to adjust. A banging noise issued from the game room, followed by a yelp. Then silence. Curious, I crossed to the open doorway.

  Inside, Jude stood with a hammer in his right hand and the index finger of his left hand in his mouth. His face was pinched with pain and his eyes were closed. A nail protruded at an angle out of the freshly painted wall just above his head, and a framed black-and-white picture of an elderly, white-haired gentleman in garb from a century earlier leaned against the floor molding.

   

  "Who's that?" I asked.

  Jude jumped and opened his eyes. "Gosh, you startled me."

  "Sorry. I thought you heard me come in."

  "Not with the racket I was making," he said, sounding quite proud of his lame handiwork. Still, pounding a nail in the wall was more than I'd ever seen Philip do for Heaven House. He glanced down at the picture I'd indicated with my question.

  "Don't you recognize him? That's Edgar Cady."

  "As in, Cadyville?"

  "Of course."

  I shook my head. "I never knew why it was called Cadyville."

  "That's exactly why I decided to put his picture up. Maybe it'll inspire some of the kids who come in here to read about our little town. I've already acquired some materials from the historical society."

  "That's very laudable;" I said, taking a good look at the old gent. Mr. Cady had been a severe looking man. I looked back at Jude and changed the subject. "When will Kelly and Bette be here?"

  "Oh, they'll meet us over at my place." He turned and hung the picture, fussing with getting the angle right. "We can go now, if you want."

  "Urn, okay. I'll follow you."

  He walked past me and I heard the clank of metal hitting metal behind me as he returned the hammer."I can't fit much in my car. I'll just ride with you in your truck, if that's okay."

  But that wasn't okay. "You'd be surprised at how much you can fit in your car." 01' Edgar's stern gaze seemed to agree with me.

   

  "Nah. It'd be awkward getting things in and out. Anyway. It's only a two-door." He walked past me, toward the front door. "Let's go.

  His insistence surprised me. It seemed out of character. But did I really know that? I mean, it wasn't like I'd spent a lot of time with the guy. Perhaps he had a stronger personality once he started getting past his shyness with people.

  Turning and walking out to the main room again, I still didn't like it. I scrambled for a reasonable excuse to make him take his own car. He had no reason to imagine I thought of him as a threat, or that I hoped to find proof he'd been involved in Philip's murder. At the front door, I hesitated.

  "They're probably waiting for us." He looked bewildered. He looked bewildered better than anyone I'd ever met. "What's wrong?"

  My reluctance could make him suspicious. I made a decision and stepped outside. Jude turned to lock the door.

  "Nothing," I said. "What if somebody comes by?"

  Waving his hand, he said. "It'll be fine. Anyone who sees it's closed will try again later. Phones are already forwarded."

  He sure seemed to forward those phones a lot.

  "Why isn't Maryjake here?" I asked.

  "She has Sunday and Monday off."

  But she'd been in yesterday, Sunday, when I'd stopped by, and Jude had been upset when she'd left, so he must have expected her to be there.

  Or she'd been covering for Ruth.

  "When does Ruth answer the Helpline?" I asked.

  One shoulder lifted and dropped. "The schedule for the volunteers changes all the time."

   

  He opened the door and slid into the passenger seat of my pickup. His look through the window was expectant. I went around to the other side, got in and started the engine.

  As I pulled away from the curb, I asked, "Where to?"

  "Starling Lane."

  It was a little cul-de-sac off 8th Street. A series of old, Craftsman-style two stories marched neatly around the perimeter. I didn't know anyone who lived there, but Ca
dyville was small enough that I still knew where it was.

  Turning left on Maple, I accelerated to twenty-five. "I'm really impressed you know so much about Cadyville history. I've lived here for years, and you know way more than I do. How long have you been in the area?"

  "About six months. I like to know about where I live."

  A little jab there. Fine.

  "Turn here," he said.

  I did as I was told, and Jude directed me to a white house at the end of the cul-de-sac. I parked in the driveway, and we got out.

  "I don't see Bette's car," I said. "And doesn't Kelly drive an SUV?" None of those parked in the cul-de-sac, either. The various late model sedans and inexpensive mid-range cars indicated that retirees made up most of this little neighborhood.

  "They'll be here soon enough. We're probably a little early." He went up the front steps and let himself inside with a key. "Coming?"

  We weren't early. But maybe they were late. If I refused to go inside with Jude, I'd look foolish and paranoid and probably insult him. Now, I've seen Oprah, and I've read the books, and I know I should follow my instincts, and my instincts told me not to go into a house, alone, with someone I thought might be dan gerous. Besides, I'd sworn-to Tootie, to Barr, but mostly to myself-to be careful. I scrambled for a rational reason, or even a fair excuse, not to go inside.

   

  A large form filled the doorway. "Jude! There you are. I was hoping we could talk about-Oh, you have a friend with you. Welcome, my dear."

  With a whoosh of relief, I recognized the deep baritone of Jude's landlord. He'd answered the phone when I'd been trying to find the errant beet canner for Ruth. He was tall, with a face that looked like slabs of granite overlaid with well weathered skin. He wore brown slacks, a yellow-on-beige checked shirt, and a light tan polyester jacket that zipped up the front.

  I held out my hand. "You must be Mr. Oxford. I'm Sophie Mae Reynolds. It's very nice to meet you."

  He gracefully took my hand and, instead of shaking it, turned it over and raised it to his lips. His palms were warm, the skin like a dry leaf, and his fingers were long and tapered, giving him a sensitive air despite the rest of his chiseled appearance.