Jo stopped at the end of the driveway, thinking. Unfortunately, neither Jack McKendry nor Rick Gurney were knowledgeable about what Kevin had hinted to Meg. She decided she might as well keep trying and crossed back over the street to talk to the neighbors on the other side of Meg. She followed that with knocks on more doors up and down the block. The responses she got from all were, surprisingly, nearly identical in substance: nobody knew Meg or Kevin beyond having exchanged a few words here and there, and nobody seemed to have the impression that Kevin was a difficult man to get along with.
Was that simply because they didn’t know him well? Jo wondered. The darker side of people, she knew, could be easily hidden in casual encounters. But Rick and Susan Gurney, who may have interacted with Kevin the most, had actually scoffed at the idea of Kevin being overbearing. Jo thought back to how she had formed the idea and thought it might have been mostly due to Ruthie’s comments. Jo had already decided to pick up lunch for Carrie and herself on her way back to the shop, and thought she’d ask Ruthie about it.
Chapter 26
“Ruthie,” Jo called out as she entered the shop, glad to see it empty for the moment of other customers, “can I get our regular sandwich and salad to go?”
Ruthie looked up and smiled. “Sure thing. You find Meg’s place all right?”
“No problem.” Jo waited until the older woman gave the order to Bert, in the back, then asked, “Didn’t you tell me once that Meg’s husband was a controlling kind of guy?”
Ruthie nodded. “That I did. From things Meg let drop now and then, it was hard to miss.”
“What kind of things?”
“Oh, just little things. Hints, kind of.” Ruthie slipped her pencil into her gray hair. “Let me think.” She scratched a bit, then said, “Meg told me once, when she came in a few minutes late one time, that she was held up because her husband needed his shirt ironed before she left. I remember I asked her why he couldn’t have ironed his own shirt and she got a kind of shocked, scared look on her face. She said something like, ‘Kevin doesn’t do women’s work,’ or something like that.”
Ruthie thought a bit more. “Then there was a time I saw her chopping up onions kind of slowlike and she was rubbing her wrist like it was sore. When I asked her if she’d hurt it, she said, ‘It was my fault, I shouldn’t have said—’ and then she stopped real suddenlike, as though she’d said too much. I got the feeling he maybe got mad at her and twisted it. I asked her was there something she wanted to talk about, but she said no and got that closed-down look on her face, so I let it drop and told Bert he should do the chopping and let Meg do something else.”
Ruthie looked at Jo. “Why do you ask?”
“I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood. Talking to some of Meg’s neighbors, I was getting a different impression of Kevin.”
“They wouldn’t see him like she does.”
“I thought of that possibility too.”
“Working here with us,” Ruthie said, “Meg might be letting things out about him for the very first time. You can’t help feeling sorry for the woman, and I am glad to have given her the chance to get out and assert herself some.” Ruthie let out a big sigh. “But I have to tell you, she has a ways to go to learn how to do that, especially dealing with the public like we do here. But I’m sure living in a situation like hers takes its toll on you.”
“I guess it would, but what do you mean as far as dealing with the public? Does she have a problem with it?”
“Well, you know, if you’ve been living under someone’s thumb for a long time, it must make you afraid to stand up for yourself. And unfortunately we run into situations here, once in a while, with certain customers who never learned that you don’t treat service people like they’re something to walk all over. If anyone tries to give me a hard time, though, I just give them my icy stare and let them know they have a choice of cleaning up their act or leaving. I shoulda known that Meg wasn’t up to that when I let her work the front counter for me.”
“What happened?”
“Darryl Feggins—not my favorite customer by any means—came in, and when Meg didn’t wait on him to his satisfaction, he let loose with some nasty stuff. I was taking a break in back, and next thing I know Meg’s stomping in, eyes blazing and muttering all sorts of things under her breath. She was mad as Hades, and she paced around the kitchen back there looking like she wanted to pick up something breakable and throw it against the wall. She didn’t, of course, just paced all madlike until we calmed her down. But I had to take over out front and have her stay back with Bert, though my legs were killing me that day and I sure could have used a little more sittin-down time.
“Was this the man who called her a fat retard?”
“She told you about that? Yeah, that was Darryl. Never one for sweet-talkin’, was Darryl.”
“That’s too bad. I guess she just wasn’t ready to handle that sort of thing.” Jo thought back to Meg mentioning the incident to her when she’d stopped in at the Craft Corner. Her version had ended somewhat differently, putting her in a much better light. Jo wondered if that might be attributed to Meg’s desire for being better able to handle such situations in the future. Kind of a ‘this is how I wished it had ended.’
“So I’ve kept her working in the back since then,” Ruthie said. “But with not being able to get help from her up front, and her being less than reliable sometimes in back, I was beginning to think maybe we should let her go. But I can’t do that now, of course, with her husband in the hospital and all.”
Ruthie’s phone rang, and as she took an order for a takeout, Jo noticed that Meg’s application was still sitting on the counter, anchored down and partially covered by a metal napkin dispenser. Jo went over to pick it up, glancing over the form once again as she did. Meg had clearly filled it out in a hurry, with some letters scribbled over and at least one misspelling apparent. Jo pictured her nervously trying to write as customers crowded the little shop, possibly distracting her. When Ruthie hung up, Jo handed the sheet to her.
“You might want to file this away,” she said, and Ruthie, seeing what it was, laughed deprecatingly.
“A lot of senior moments seem to be happening to me lately,” she said. Jo’s order slid through the slot on the back counter and Ruthie picked it up. “Did you put an extra dab of sauce on Jo’s?” she asked her husband.
“Sure did,” Bert’s answer floated back, and Jo smiled, feeling her salivary glands kick in. Life could often get bumpy, but Bert’s turkey and bacon smothered in his special sauce always managed to mellow it out for her, at least for a while.
“I brought you something to eat,” Jo called out as she walked into the exceedingly quiet Craft Corner. Apparently the curiosity of the noncustomers that they’d dealt with yesterday had been satisfied for the time being.
Carrie looked up from the knitting she worked on as she sat behind the counter. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, smiling. “But thank you. That will save me a little time.”
“Does Amanda have a soccer game this afternoon?” Jo set her bag on the counter and pulled out Carrie’s salad and her own sandwich.
“Yes, and Dan will be there, of course, since he’s coaching. But I’d love to run over and watch it for a few minutes. Unless,” Carrie quickly amended, “you need to go out again?”
“Not at all,” Jo said, which was true. But it was also true that Jo would sooner close up the Craft Corner altogether for the day than keep Carrie from attending one of her child’s activities. Carrie did enough for her as it was, for which Jo was exceedingly grateful.
“Did you have any luck this morning? Find any confidantes of Kevin Boyer?” Carrie carefully tossed her salad, which was chock-full of hearty items beyond the usual lettuce and tomatoes, coating all with the spicy, but low-fat, dressing.
“I’m afraid not. And I’d sure like to know what he might have had on Bill Ewing.”
“Why would Kevin have agreed to meet with Bill Ewing,�
� Carrie asked, “if he knew something about the man that might put himself in danger?”
“That’s a good question. I don’t know Kevin Boyer at all, and I’ve been getting conflicting opinions of him, so it’s hard to say. He’s either a bully or a decent guy, and if he’s a bully, maybe he hoped to blackmail Ewing.”
“Could be.”
Jo chewed on her sandwich a bit. “Or perhaps he just didn’t think what he knew about Ewing was all that harmful. Maybe he simply thought it was a way to get a conversation going that might lead to more interesting things.”
“It’s frustrating, isn’t it? I mean, to only be able to speculate but not really know.” Carrie had by then picked out most of her favorite things from her salad—egg slices, artichoke pieces—and was searching under lettuce leaves for more.
“It’s also frustrating not to hear back from my craft show friend, Gabe. His wife told me he planned to see Bill Ewing on his drive to the Richmond Michicomi. If he did, he might have helpful information.”
Carrie had finished her lunch and was picking up her things. “This Gabe has been getting extra Michicomi shows after Linda died, hasn’t he? From what you told me about Bill Ewing’s frustration at losing spots, how do you suppose that would sit with him?”
“I had the impression Gabe and Bill always got along pretty well. But that’s a another good question.”
Carrie glanced at her watch. “I’d better go if I’m going to get over to the park in time. Thanks very much for the salad. Are you sure you’ll be okay here on your own?”
Jo glanced around the empty shop and grinned. “Since not a single customer has come in since I’ve been back, I think I’ll be able to handle things.”
“Oh, Jo. I don’t know what kind of horrible things are going through people’s heads lately about you. But it will clear up. It has to. And all your old customers will be back in droves, full of apologies.”
“Thanks, Carrie. From your lips to God’s ears.” Along with a lot more work to nail down Linda Weeks’s killer, Jo added silently. She waved off her friend then looked down at her sandwich, which was nearly gone. Jo realized forlornly that she had barely tasted it, so absorbed had she been in the problems of Kevin, Bill, Gabe, and others.
With so few pleasures coming her way lately, it was annoying to have wasted this one. She glanced around, wondering if Carrie had possibly left behind a cookie or two.
Chapter 27
Jo was dusting off the plastic wrappings of some of her origami papers when her phone rang. She put down her lamb’s wool duster and went over to answer it.
A familiar voice said, “Jo, I understand you’ve been trying to reach me.”
“Gabe!”
“Sorry to take so long to get back to you, but you know how busy it can be setting up at a new show.”
“Yes, I do, which is why I so appreciate your taking the time to squeeze in this call. I’ll get right down to what I need from you. First of all, when I spoke to your wife, she said you wanted to meet with Bill Ewing on your drive down to Richmond. Did that happen?”
“Afraid not,” Gabe said. “Guess I should have planned ahead more, but this Richmond thing popped up at the last minute. Anyway, I tried to reach Bill while I was on the road but couldn’t get through to his phone. I did stop at that diner I told you about—Ginger’s—but all she could tell me was that Bill was out, probably with his camera, but nothing more helpful for tracking him down.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Jo explained what had happened to Kevin Boyer after he’d returned from a meeting with Bill, possibly around the time Gabe had been trying to find the photographer.
Gabe predictably reacted with horror, then asked, “You said this man Kevin wasn’t able to tell anyone what had occurred?”
“No, he was found unconscious and has remained so.”
“I just can’t believe Bill would do anything of that sort.”
Jo told Gabe about Kevin’s hints about Ewing. “Gabe, do you know anything about Bill’s time in the army? Anything at all?”
“I do remember he mentioned that he learned quite a bit about photography while he was in the military.”
“Did he tell you about anything he wouldn’t want generally known, perhaps after a couple of late night beers?”
“No, nothing, Jo. Bill could get mad pretty quick, but at the same time he was quite closed mouthed about himself. A drink or two only made him close up tighter, not start blabbing.”
Jo sighed.
“Do the doctors know yet what put this man into a coma?” Gabe asked.
“No, not that I’ve heard.”
“Perhaps it will turn out to be something completely unconnected to Bill,” Gabe said, sounding faintly hopeful.
“Perhaps, though I’m pretty sure they’ve ruled out all the natural causes at this point.”
It was Gabe’s turn to sigh. “Please keep me informed, will you, Jo?”
Jo promised, and ended the call feeling discouraged. Even the arrival of an honest-to-goodness customer—Mary Chatsky, who was in need of scrapbooking papers for her ongoing project—wasn’t enough to perk her up, though Jo put on her best “cheerful shopkeeper” face.
Mary was a down-to-earth woman who enjoyed doing a variety of crafts and caring for her family, and didn’t seem to worry much about what her neighbors did or said, which, Jo figured, was probably why she still patronized Jo’s Craft Corner. She asked Jo’s opinion on one or two points of her scrapbook, paid for her purchases, and pleasantly wished Jo a good day. This helped to chase off a bit of Jo’s gloom, but it returned as she noticed a few people peering curiously into her shop but not deigning to come in.
Jo halfheartedly picked up her duster and returned to her cleaning and shelf straightening, two activities that left her mind free enough to mull over the many bits and pieces of information she had packed into it in the last few days. She thought back to the candy box that had been left on her counter at Michicomi. Why her booth? Was that accidental—her jewelry booth being mistaken for Linda’s? Or was it deliberate?
Then she thought about how Linda had alienated so many people during her short lifetime, going as far back—from what Jo knew—to high school and the boyfriend Linda had married and later dumped, on through her years in New York, then her connections at Michicomi. How many others did Jo not know of? Had she scraped off only the tip of the iceberg of Linda’s enemies?
Jo realized she had cleaned just about every surface in her shop that could hold dust and headed toward the stockroom to pick up the very few items she had noticed needed replacing. As she did, the phone rang, and Jo veered off her path to pick it up.
“Jo, it’s Mary Chatsky. When I was at your shop, I was intrigued with a vase you had there, a really pretty, multicolored one. It was over near the window and I loved the way it caught the light. Anyway, on the way home I talked myself into getting it—an early birthday present to myself,” she said, chuckling. “But I can’t get back there right away. How late are you open?”
“I close at six on Saturdays. I know which vase you mean. I love it myself. Would you like me to put it aside for you?”
“Please do. I can get there a few minutes before six for sure, but I don’t like the idea of somebody maybe snatching it up before I do.”
“Not to worry, Mary. I’ll hold it for you,” Jo said, not mentioning the extreme unlikelihood that another customer would be in before Mary returned. She went over to pull the vase off the shelf as promised and was setting it beside the register when the phone rang again. Had Mary had a change of heart? To Jo’s surprise, it was Gabe, and he sounded excited.
“Did you remember something?” Jo asked hopefully.
“No, I just heard from my wife, who got a call from Amy Witherspoon. Do you remember Amy? She ran the leatherworks booth that was next to mine at the Hammond County show.”
Jo did remember. How could she forget that hard, accusing look Amy had given her after Linda was carried off on the stretcher?
>
“Amy wanted to know how to get in touch with you, which my wife, of course, didn’t know. Amy’s cell phone battery unfortunately was running low, but she managed to ask my wife to pass on the information that she was heading back to the Hammond County Fairgrounds to pick up an item she’d left behind that they were holding for her. She hoped you could meet her at the office there, at six.”
“Me? Did she say why?”
“Amy’s phone, as I said, was getting weak, but my wife said she understood that Amy wanted to apologize to you. That she’d learned something that convinced her you had nothing to do with Linda’s death.”
Paper-Thin Alibi Page 20
