“Um, okay. Sure.”
Petsy must have seen him walk up, because she suddenly whipped open the French doors. “What is this all about?”
Matthew and Lindsey rushed over and stood behind her.
“What is it, Mother?” Lindsey asked. “I heard you running.”
“I’ll handle this,” Petsy said, and pointed at Scully. “Are you here to inspect something else?”
“He wants to check the foundation,” I said before Joe could say anything.
“It looks perfectly suitable to me,” Petsy said regally. “A bit messy, but that’s to be expected of construction workers.”
“It’s fine, Petsy,” Matthew murmured.
“You would think so,” Scully drawled. “But you’re not an expert like I am.”
Expert? Ugh. Where was that barf bag when you needed it?
I exchanged a look with Wade, whose expression was thunderous.
I started to say something that would stop him from blowing up at Scully, but at that moment, Amanda appeared from the front of the house. “I’m finished for the day, Shannon. Do you guys need any help out here?”
“No, we’re finished, too,” I said. “We’re just waiting for the inspector to do his thing.”
Scully made a show of hunching down to study the pattern of the concrete. It was ridiculous. The concrete foundation was perfect.
He squinted up at me. “Are you installing a water barrier?”
“Of course we are,” Wade said, and I could tell he was trying not to be snide. “We’ll insert a polyethylene moisture barrier when we start laying down the interior blocks.”
The only layer we’d done so far was the pretty outer ring of dark red bricks that matched the house. Inside that ring, we would lay heavy eight-by-four-by-two-inch concrete bricks that would provide extra protection from the elements, but wouldn’t be seen from any angle. We would drape the moisture barrier sheets around those bricks and stretch them across the ground to seal the space.
“Really, Mr. Scully,” Petsy said, “what can you possibly dispute at this point in the procedure?”
“Ma’am, I told you. I’m just here to do my job.”
“I don’t think you are,” she said with just the right touch of peevish emotionality. “I think you’re here to antagonize me. I’ve had a long, busy day and now I have a headache. So if you don’t mind, I would like you to leave.”
I watched his jaw moving as he clenched his teeth. “Sorry you’re feeling bad, ma’am. I’ll be going now.” His gaze narrowed in on me. “But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Why did that sound like a threat? What had I done to him? I couldn’t recall. I decided I would call Dad when I got home. Maybe he’d had a run-in with Scully once upon a time and the man was taking it out on me.
We all watched him walk away.
“What a horrible man,” Petsy murmured, then turned and disappeared into the bowels of her house.
Matthew and Lindsey looked as if they might’ve wanted to snicker but didn’t dare.
Finally Matthew broke the silence. “Well, that’s enough excitement for one day. Have a good evening, everyone.” And he and his daughter walked back into the house.
• • •
The next morning, Amanda and I were able to get a lot more accomplished than usual. I couldn’t say why, since the workday began so pleasantly, with Petsy glaring and giving us her usual warning to get to work and stop dillydallying so much. Then she flounced past us, announcing that she had a breakfast meeting and would be gone for several hours. Watching her go, I felt a wave of relief and I imagined Amanda felt the same way.
Just before lunch, my cell phone rang and I grabbed it from the pocket of my tool belt.
“Jane,” I said, after seeing her picture on the phone screen. “Hi. What’s up?”
“Shannon, some guy is here saying that he wants to inspect my garage.” She was whispering into the phone, but I could understand her—and I knew who she was talking about. Joe Scully. How dared he go behind my back and harass my friends?
“I’ve got guests sitting in the front parlor,” she continued, “and he won’t be quiet. I explained that the garage renovation won’t begin for another few weeks, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s incredibly rude. Can you talk to him?”
“I’ll try.” Not that he would listen to me. Or anyone else, for that matter, I thought, clenching my teeth.
“What’s his problem?” she asked.
“His problem is, I’m going to kill him,” I muttered. “I’ll be right there.”
• • •
I jogged up to the front door of Jane’s inn and walked in. The smell of baked goods and lemon furniture wax enveloped me, and despite the imminent confrontation with Scully, I smiled as I gazed around the beautifully furnished room.
Jane was talking to a guest, and when she saw me, she walked the woman over to where I was standing. The woman had wavy dark hair worn just below her shoulders. I couldn’t be certain, but I would guess that her pink, gray, and black plaid business suit was pure cashmere. She exuded charm and class.
“Shannon, I wanted to introduce you to my guest. This is Loretta Samson. Ms. Samson, this is my dear friend Shannon Hammer.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Shannon,” she said, smiling sincerely.
“It’s my pleasure,” I said.
“Ms. Samson,” Jane said, “if you ever need a contractor, Shannon is the best in the country.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far, but thank you, Jane.”
Jane turned to Loretta Samson. “It’s true. Shannon completely renovated this building and all of the rooms. Everything from floor to ceiling. The place was about to fall apart when she took the job.”
“Oh my goodness.” The woman’s eyes widened. “I was just telling Jane for the umpteenth time how beautiful her inn is. And now I get to meet the person responsible for all this beauty.”
“That’s very sweet of you. I’m pretty proud of our work here.”
“You should be. It’s just wonderful.” She squeezed Jane’s arm lightly. “I’ll let you two girls get on with your conversation. I’m going to change into something more casual and take a walk to the pier.”
“It’s a beautiful day for a walk,” I said.
“I know. I just love it here.”
“Enjoy your afternoon,” I said.
She waved and walked away, her low heels echoing lightly on the richly stained hardwood floor.
I turned back to Jane. “She’s so nice.”
“I know,” Jane said. “That’s why I wanted to introduce you.”
I glanced around. “So, I hate to bring up a sore subject, but where’s Scully, the man who was bugging you?”
She sighed. “He just left.”
“What?” That didn’t make sense. “Why did he leave?” I couldn’t believe it. There was nothing Scully liked better than to cause grief and then hang around to watch it play out. Why would he leave before he had the opportunity to screw with me?
“I don’t know,” Jane said, “but listen to this. When I told him you were on your way, he got really cocky about it.” She scowled. “Like he was pleased that he was causing you trouble. What a troll.”
I laughed. “That’s a perfect description.”
“But here’s what’s weird. He was strutting around, pretending to be important, and he happened to glance down the hall toward the stairs. And all of a sudden it was like he’d seen a ghost.”
“What did he see?”
“He saw Loretta Samson. The woman you just met. Anyway, Scully blinked a few times, then whispered, ‘Loretta?’ and started walking toward her.”
“What did she do?”
“She was just walking her friend, another woman, to the door. Loretta noticed him and looked puzzled at first. Then she smiled and waved. But he
r friend just sort of glared at him.”
“Did he go and talk to them?”
“No. He stopped in his tracks, then glanced around as though he’d been caught stealing something. Then he took off running, right out the door.”
“Really?” I frowned. “You’re right. That’s weird.”
“I know.” Jane nodded. “It only happened a few minutes ago. After her friend left, Loretta stopped me in the front room to talk. Otherwise, I would’ve called right away to tell you not to bother coming over.”
I scratched my head, not knowing what to think. How did Joe Scully know Loretta Samson? And who was the woman with her? Did it even matter? “It doesn’t sound like Joe was afraid to see me. Something else scared him away.”
“Well, you can be very frightening,” she said lightly. “But I think it was more about that other woman shooting daggers at him.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“No, but I could ask Loretta. It would be nice to find out who the woman is so I can thank her for getting rid of that awful man.” Jane shook her head. “I don’t say this about a lot of people, Shannon, but that guy is just awful.”
“I’m really sorry he showed up here. He knows you’re my friend and he knows I plan to renovate your garage. Since he keeps getting kicked off the Jorgensens’ property, he’s finding other ways to aggravate me. I’m afraid you paid the price for his lunacy.”
But now I had another worry. Since Scully had been chased away from Jane’s place, how did he plan to mess with my work and my crew next time?
Jane wove her arm through mine as we walked down the hall toward the kitchen and the small, comfortable space that served as a bar and lounge. Jane nodded at the two good-looking men sitting at the bar, having a quiet drink. Once we’d passed them, she nudged me and whispered, “That guy on the left is Loretta Samson’s boyfriend.”
I smiled at that little bit of gossip. “Good to know.”
“Oh, Shannon,” Jane said, “I’m so sorry you have to deal with horrible people like Scully.”
“Me, too.” I smiled tightly. “He’s like termites. Always destructive and almost impossible to get rid of. Scully shows up on jobsites just to make our lives miserable.” And I was certain that since he’d been chased off the Jorgensens’ site by Petsy, he had deliberately shown up at Jane’s to get back at me. So why wasn’t he here? It didn’t make sense, but this was Scully we were talking about. Nothing he did made a lot of sense to me.
“I swear, people like that . . . ,” she said, squeezing my arm. “Well, you obviously know him, so I don’t have to say anything else.”
“No, you don’t. I know exactly what he’s like.”
“Then that’s enough about that horrible man.” She came to a stop outside the kitchen door. “My chef just baked a few hundred shortbread cookies. Would you like a snack?”
I smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
• • •
Later, as I drove back to work with a half dozen of Jane’s delicate shortbread cookies in a doggie bag on the passenger seat beside me, I wondered again why Joe Scully had run off so abruptly. Had he suddenly remembered that I was on my way over to smack him until he cried for mercy? Or had it been something else? It was a strange little mystery and I wanted answers.
For perhaps the first time in my life, I actually hoped I would run into Scully in the next day or two so I could try to find out what had spooked him so badly at Jane’s place.
• • •
The following morning I parked in front of the Jorgensens’ house. I glanced around the neighborhood, looking for Amanda’s red truck, then realized that for the first time, I had beaten her to the jobsite. She always showed up early and I appreciated that quality in a worker.
Taking advantage of whatever time I would have to wait, I took a sip of my latte, pulled my tablet out, and started going over the schedule for next week. We had less than three weeks until the tour began. The Spaulding kitchen would be finished in plenty of time, and I was also feeling pretty good about the Jorgensens’ projects—despite Petsy’s attitude. Actually, I supposed I had her to thank for chasing Joe Scully away. He was the one person who could hold up our work schedule if he wanted to.
In the rearview mirror I saw Amanda’s truck pull up and park behind me. I closed my tablet and set my latte back in the cup holder. Climbing out of the truck, I grabbed my bag and waved at her.
Without warning, I heard an earsplitting scream.
I spun around, looking in every direction to find out where the trouble was. Suddenly Joan Derry came running down her side walkway, still screaming. “Somebody help! Help me! He’s dead!”
I ran over and grabbed her. “Joan! What happened?”
“He’s back there!” She pointed toward her backyard. “Oh my God. He’s . . . I think he’s . . .” She shivered uncontrollably and couldn’t say another word.
I let her go and dashed around the side of the house, reaching the backyard in seconds. Joan’s lovely antique orangery glinted in the morning sunlight. There were flowers everywhere and even the trees were blooming with fragrant blossoms. It was no wonder she’d won the grand prize last year.
The orangery door had been left open and I ventured closer—and immediately regretted it. Joe Scully was sprawled across the floor with his eyes bulging out. Blood stained the sisal carpet underneath his lifeless body. I blinked once to clear my vision so I could figure out where the blood had come from, and that’s when I saw the one-quarter-inch heavy-duty high-carbon-steel-bladed wood chisel sticking out of his belly.
I jolted when Amanda touched my shoulder. “Is he . . . is he . . . ?”
“He is,” I said bluntly. Joe Scully was most assuredly dead.
Chapter Four
I quickly sent Amanda off to call the police and check on Joan. Then, after making sure no one else was around, I took one careful step inside the Derrys’ orangery and scanned the room. The pillows from the window bench were scattered on the floor. Had Scully bumped against the bench when he fell? Or was he sitting there when the killer attacked?
I remembered that I had taken pictures of the space when Joan showed it to me Tuesday morning, so I pulled my phone from my bag to study them. There had been a plant hanging from a hook over the window bench. Now it was on the floor, too, and dirt was spread across the thickly woven rug.
And I hadn’t noticed it until now, but one of the beautiful beveled windows on the opposite side was cracked. I checked my photos again and couldn’t see any cracks, so I guessed that it had probably happened from Scully bumping—or being pushed—into the wall of glass. Had there been a fight?
I moved closer to study the crack and saw a minuscule spattering of blood on the glass. I stepped away, wishing I hadn’t seen that.
It took me a few seconds to screw up my courage and calm my stomach before I hunched down to get a closer look at Scully. His face didn’t look particularly bruised or battered, so maybe there hadn’t been a fight. Had the killer surprised him? The chisel sticking out of his stomach belied that theory since Scully would have been facing his attacker. I studied the handle, a nicely sculpted dark wood. A custom-made tool. It might have been selfish of me, but I couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief that it wasn’t one of my chisels.
But now I was worried that the chisel might belong to Colin or Johnny. I didn’t want my guys being accused of murder simply because they’d been working in the house and someone had stolen one of their tools.
Been there, done that, I thought. It wasn’t much fun.
“Oh dear,” I muttered, as I suddenly realized I was way more concerned about myself and my crew than about poor old Joe Scully. The man had been reviled in life, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be sprawled out on the floor of the Derrys’ orangery, dead as could be.
There was a lot of blood soaked into his shirt, and more had
spread out on the floor beneath him. It had to have been a fluke that whoever attacked him had managed to strike his abdominal artery. Of course, that was only a guess on my part, but given the amount of blood that had seeped out of him, the chisel had to have hit a major artery.
It was unnerving to realize how much I knew about this death stuff.
I took one last look around and caught sight of Johnny’s stainless steel tool chest tucked behind the partially opened door leading into the house from the orangery. What was it doing here? I peeked around the doorjamb and saw a second tool chest sitting next to Johnny’s. Did that one belong to Colin? Had Joan offered to let the guys keep their tools here overnight? If so, that was very nice of her, but it made things a little too convenient for Scully’s killer. All he had to do was grab one of their chisels—or a screwdriver, or a hammer, or any number of dangerous tools we carried around with us—and kill the building inspector.
Running that scenario through my mind, I realized that the killer had to have been lying in wait for Scully. Because I honestly couldn’t see someone in the heat of a confrontation casually walk over to the French doors, discover a partially hidden tool chest sitting on the floor, open it up, and select the perfect tool to jam into Scully’s stomach.
And if my theory was correct, then Scully’s death was premeditated murder.
Shivers erupted on my arms and shoulders and I rubbed them briskly as I left the orangery.
• • •
Thirty minutes later, Police Chief Eric Jensen appeared from the side of the Derrys’ house. He stopped and sighed when he saw me sitting on the front porch. “Shannon, what are you doing here?”
I had to admit, one of the worst parts about finding a body was having to face our local police chief. Eric was usually understanding and ever since that first time had never really suspected me of being a murderer or anything. But it was just so embarrassing to always be in this situation.
I frowned at him. “If I could be anywhere else, you know I’d be there.”
“Yeah, I know. Me, too.” He patted my shoulder sympathetically but continued to stand, glancing around the neighborhood and taking in the scene.
Eaves of Destruction Page 7
