by Jean Flowers
The closer I got, the clearer it became that I knew the woman and her cascading blond hair. I arrived at the table and greeted Terry Thornton, who’d settled in with a coffee and a brownie.
“Hey, Cassie. I was sitting over there”—Terry pointed to a long communal table along the street side of the shop—“and I saw you come in, so I figured I’d join you. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” I said, thrilled that at least one person in North Ashcot appeared eager to talk to me. So what if Terry wasn’t high on my list of suspects? She was a quilter and, therefore, on my assignment sheet. And she’d handed herself to me. That, and there was an excellent cappuccino in front of me. Maybe my luck was changing.
Terry reached down to a shopping bag on the floor and pulled out a white, semicircular headband, a narrow crown of sorts. “What do you think?” she asked. “I just picked it up. The trend these days seems to be minimalist.”
“Minimalist?” I echoed, giving myself time to adjust to the issue on Terry’s mind: her own wedding, not Daisy’s murder. Without preamble, we were into wedding talk. I realized it might take a while to transition to homicide. I took in the sequins, tiny crystals, and pieces of shiny ribbon wrapped around the band. “Lovely,” I said.
“So simple, right? No more wreaths or spikes sticking out of your hair or long, complicated veils. Most brides don’t wear veils at all now. Course, styles change, which is why I’m not settling on a dress yet.”
To my chagrin, I was on my second cappuccino, this time accompanied by a few small biscotti, and we were still discussing bridal issues. The cake (in fact, she was considering cupcakes, arranged like a multitiered cake), the attendants (there was some unfortunate tension, since one of her best girlfriends was on the chubby side and balked at wearing a sleeveless dress even though it was a summer wedding), the caterer (tastings with three companies were scheduled, with her mom and sister as advisers), and the rehearsal dinner (it was hard to choose between a casual, youth-oriented, fun place, and a fancy restaurant in one of Boston’s finest hotels).
“Don’t you have almost a year to get all this together?” I asked.
Terry’s eyes widened, as if I’d said her crown was ugly or that she ought to elope. “Ten months and two weeks. It’s closer than you think,” she said. “We already have the church and the hall, naturally. It’s going to be in Boston, where we both come from, down by the waterfront, and you wouldn’t believe how everything gets booked even two years in advance.”
I assured her I believed it, and sipped through one more wedding topic—shoes. Terry showed me transparent strips she’d bought to put on the soles of her wedding shoes. She wiggled the strips to show me how flexible they were. “They’re for walking on the lawn, which we’ll have to do, you know, for pictures. I’ve heard horror stories of brides slipping on the grass.”
I tried to be suitably horrified, but I’d reached my limit and had to make an attempt to derail the wedding talk. I excused myself to get a refill, with an extra shot, and when I got back to the table, I was ready.
“I ran into Molly Boyd earlier today,” I said. “We were talking about how we miss Daisy Harmon, how much help she was at our quilting meetings.”
“Absolutely. Daisy was a cool old gal.”
I cleared my throat, and kept silent, approaching cool old galhood myself.
Terry nibbled on her brownie, then shook her head, eyes toward the ceiling, as if recalling a scene from the past. “That is, unless she’d had a fight with her husband right before.”
I leaned in toward Terry and assumed a do-tell position. “I haven’t heard about that,” I said, and decided immediately afterward that I was officially a bad person, capitalizing on Terry’s immaturity and gossipy tendencies to get information. I hoped the result would be useful enough to justify my questionable means.
Terry waved her hand. “Well, you’re sort of new to the group, you know, so you may not have heard as much. But she was always complaining about Cliff and his lack of ambition.”
“I thought he had a pretty secure job.”
Terry failed my private test—she didn’t seem to get the pun. “Yes, but, as I’m sure you know, he tried out for the police force and didn’t make it.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” There I was, defending Cliff again. I had to be careful not to dissuade my companion from sharing further tidbits. “It was his eyesight, I think.”
“I didn’t mean that he’s a loser or anything. It’s just that there’s not much opportunity for advancement in a private security firm. Justin, my fiancé, is in marketing, for example, and he’s going for his master’s in business administration. Really, you can go almost anywhere from there if you apply yourself.” She paused for a sip of coffee. “Which he does. He’s going for a promotion as soon as we’re settled.”
“What about you, Terry? What are your career goals?”
“Me? Oh, I’m happy in the school office, right now. There’s always something new to learn, like new policies and procedures in the district. Maybe after all this is over”—she pointed to the bag at her feet, and I assumed she meant wedding prep—“I’ll go back and finish my degree. It all depends.” Terry had a slightly pained expression on her face, as if it hurt to think too far ahead.
Before we took a complete detour to a conversation about careers, I inserted a little gossip as a distraction. “I heard that Cliff wasn’t happy with Daisy’s activism,” I said, cringing inwardly.
Terry rose to the bait. “Oh, no kidding? I heard Daisy say once—I think it was to Eileen at a quilting meeting—that Cliff was trying to get her to pull back on being so outspoken. ‘It’s not good for business,’ he’d told her over and over.”
Now I was absorbing not only hearsay, but tales with at least three degrees of separation from the source. “Really?” was my only contribution. I knew that was all it would take for Terry to continue.
“Daisy’s point was that if it wasn’t for her, always pushing to grow the business and work to make the conditions in town favorable to small merchants, their shop would have folded long ago. That’s what she said to Eileen; she didn’t talk about it with me directly.”
I could see why Daisy might not have used Terry as a confidante. But I had to admit that for a young woman, Terry seemed to have her pulse on the community. Her vantage point was the office in the town’s only school, K through six, where she interacted with the teachers, parents, and staff. Ripe for information. And she knew how to spin a good tale.
I’d thought about asking Eileen if she’d had any direct information about the tension between Cliff and Daisy, but Eileen was not the type to gossip. I gulped. Unlike me. When had I become the Queen of Scuttlebutt? Was it still gossiping if you’d been charged with uncovering chatter that might help the police in a homicide investigation? I could only hope.
Before I could intervene, Terry switched back to talk of her impending nuptials. I let her go on for about ten minutes, listening to reviews of the various bridal magazines Terry subscribed to, the catering catalogues she’d picked up this afternoon, and the choices of designer wedding apparel. When she took a break for a sip of coffee, I looked at my watch.
“I can’t believe it’s this late,” I said, barely noting the actual time. “I’d better get going.”
“Oh, me, too. I’m supposed to be going over all the samples of favors I’ve collected. Big decisions coming up.”
I wished her good luck with the high-stakes verdicts and left Mahican’s, wondering how I could manage to be left off Terry’s guest list.
* * *
When I finally did check my watch, I saw that it was only four forty. A little more than thirty minutes since I’d met Terry. I could have sworn I’d spent a couple of hours with her. I sat in my car behind the bank and thought about Andrea, whom I hadn’t spoken to since quilting night. Main Street was still busy with shoppers. Sho
uld I wander into the hardware store where she worked part-time, on the off chance I’d meet her? I tried to think of some use I might have for nails or a soldering gun and came up empty. An unplanned meeting had worked with Terry, but it was unlikely to happen a second time.
I pulled out my phone and checked my contacts, where all the quilters were listed. My finger was in midair over Andrea Harris’s number when my phone rang. I said hello to Cliff.
“I’m really worried about Jules,” he said. “I’ve been calling him ever since I heard I could take Daisy to Miami and he hasn’t answered.”
I felt compelled to remind Cliff again that it was Saturday. “Maybe he has a date,” I suggested.
“Yeah, but he’s never off the clock this long, you know. I’m outside his house now. I was thinking, what if he’s sick or he fell or something?”
I realized I didn’t know much about Jules’s personal life, whether he had a family, lived alone, who his close friends were.
Cliff clearly knew where he lived at least. “I knocked and rang the bell and looked in all the windows I could. Then I checked the garage. His car isn’t there, so he must be holed up in his office, not wanting to be disturbed. I’m going to check.”
Thus thwarting Jules’s plans to hole up. Didn’t Cliff hear me the first six times? “It’s the weekend, Cliff.” I knew I sounded like a scolding parent. “Hard as it will be, you might have to wait until Monday. Don’t you have access to other funds?”
“Not as much as I’ll need for the trip and all the logistics. The shop’s account is in Daisy’s name only. I have the paperwork I need to access it, but I can’t do that until the banks open on Monday.”
“I wish I could help you, Cliff, but I’m not in a position—”
“No, no, Cassie. I’m not asking for that. I’m going to Jules’s office. I’ll call you from there.”
The “there” Cliff referred to was two doorways from where I sat in my car. The lot covered the whole block from First Street to Second Street, encompassing the back properties of the bank, Molly’s salon, and the hardware store above which Jules had his office. If I were a good friend, I’d offer to check the accountant’s office myself. I took a deep breath and allowed my better self to come forward. “I’m in the neighborhood already. I can run up and check.”
“Would you? Thanks, Cassie. I owe you.”
“One question first, Cliff. Did you tell Chief Smargon about my car’s break-in?”
“Uh, yes, I did. I’d never be able to live with myself if anything happened to you just because you were helping me out. Never. The chief said she was glad to know.”
“I’m sure she was.”
“I’m sorry. I knew you wouldn’t do it yourself, and, like I said, it would kill me if I’d put you in danger. Whatever nutcase killed Daisy, I don’t want him after you.”
I should have been more grateful than annoyed, but it was neck and neck. Cliff had set himself up as protector, perhaps for Jules, too. I believed him when he said he was concerned for Jules’s welfare as well as for accessing the money he needed. There was nothing like a murder in town to set a security guard to high alert.
I clicked off with Cliff, regretting that I hadn’t found a way to ask him about the rumored tension between him and his late wife. As I climbed out of my car, parked directly behind the bank, I glanced at the salon windows next to it, into Molly’s back room, and couldn’t help thinking of the secret (to me) meeting held there last evening, one that Jules had attended.
There were few cars left here this evening, since stores were closing. The parking lot, devoid of people, was unpaved, a mixture of gravel, dirt, and puddles, with a few large rocks in the mix, plus debris that still hadn’t been cleared from Monday’s storm. Just like the lot across the street, behind Daisy’s shop. The yard where Daisy met her death.
The shortest route to Jules’s office was across the lot and into the back entrance to the hardware store, and up the stairs. Though it was still daylight, the lone walk through the rubble was unappealing and instead I took the long way around, over to First Street, then down Main; past the front of the bank, all closed up now; past the salon, still bustling inside; and into the front of the hardware store. I welcomed the coolness of the air-conditioning. It would be a couple of hours before the temperature dropped enough to be comfortable outside.
I opened the door to the building just as Pete, the manager, exited the side door of his store, pushing a broom, corralling sawdust, a few nails, and tiny pieces of wood. We nearly bumped into each other in the small lobby. A short, middle-aged man, but very muscular, Pete would have come out on top in any such collision.
“Hi, Cassie. Good to see you. But another minute and you wouldn’t have gotten in. I came to lock that door.” He tucked the broom handle under his arm and showed me a ring of keys as an offer of proof. “If you’re headed upstairs, you won’t find anyone. Dr. Hotte came down with her last client of the day a few minutes ago.”
Did Pete think I needed a therapy session with Dr. Hotte? I ran my fingers through my hair, as if it weren’t too late to make a more put-together impression. “I thought Jules might be up there,” I said. “I’ve been trying to reach him all day.” Close enough to the truth.
Pete shook his head. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing him for a while.”
“Oh?”
“I was in real early this morning and he came bounding down the stairs in back with one of those rolling suitcases behind him.”
I frowned, disappointed. “Did he say where he was going, or how long he’d be away?”
Pete scratched his nearly bald head. “Now that I think of it, not really. Andrea was here—you know, my sister helps me out part-time, though she certainly doesn’t need the money. Andrea asked Jules if he was going somewhere for a little getaway, and Jules just answered her vaguely, like ‘Yeah, right,’ or something like that. Then later I noticed he’d already put next month’s rent in my box.”
I thanked Pete for his help and was almost out the door when I stopped and turned, Columbo-style, and addressed him. “Is Andrea in the store now? There’s something I wanted to talk to her about.”
“No, she comes in mornings.”
I jumped on it. “So you were both working during the awful storm? I know a lot of shops closed up early. I hope you kept safe.”
“I sent everyone home and hung out in the back, actually. Figured it was better to be on the spot, protect my investment, in case anything happened.”
“That was brave of you,” I said. Pete sounded oblivious of the irony of his statement. Something had happened, right across the street, but he seemed to have forgotten. I felt I’d get nothing of value from him without a too-direct question, like “Where were you and your sister at the time of Daisy’s murder?”
“Is there something I can do for you? Do you want to leave a message for Andrea?” Pete asked, perhaps noticing my distraction.
I shook my head. “Thanks, anyway, Pete. I wanted to find out about that meeting you were all at last night in Molly’s back room, but it can wait.”
Pete blew out a breath and leaned on his broom. “Believe me—you’re better off keeping out of things.”
I uttered my usual, brilliant, “Oh?” and put on my best expression of casual interest.
“That brother-in-law of mine, you know, Reggie. Things are heating up, getting out of control, if you ask me. Not in a physical way, but more political, if you know what I mean.” He shook his head. “Reggie’s getting greedy. But you didn’t hear it from me.” He held the outside door open, a signal for me to be on my way. I took the hint. I zipped my lip and exited the lobby.
“Thanks, Pete,” I said, knowing neither what I was keeping secret nor what I was thanking him for.
I headed back to my car, scrolling for Cliff’s cell phone number on the way. Jules’s departure was bad news for him, an
d maybe even more serious than a small delay in gathering his travel funds. I bumped into a newspaper vending box, and felt as if I’d joined the Z generation (or had we circled back to Gen A?), with my eyes on my smartphone screen and not on where I was going.
Cliff answered right away. I pictured him waiting by his phone, though that had a different meaning these days when phones could be with you at all times.
“Is he there, Cassie? Did you find Jules?” Cliff asked.
I briefed Cliff, trying at the same time to soften the blow, that his source of funding was not available, and might not be for a while, at least not for the rest of this month. Then I had a thought. “Did you happen to tell Jules that we’d talked about having the books audited?” The way you talked to Sunni, I meant, unable to keep much to yourself.
“Yeah, I did.” He paused. “Are you thinking he skipped town because he’s stolen from us and he’s afraid it would come out?” Before I could reply, Cliff went on. “I don’t think he’d do that. He didn’t say he’d be gone long, right? I mean, Andrea didn’t actually get an answer from him.”
I understood why Cliff couldn’t let his mind go to a place where he’d been cheated out of his investment.
“No,” I said, “but he had a suitcase and—”
“And, besides, why pay a month’s rent if you’re never coming back?”
“That’s a good point, Cliff,” I said, though I didn’t believe it. Jules was smart enough to know how to cover his tracks, to make it look as though he’d be back. A way to delay a search for him. I marveled at my new ability to come up so readily with something nefarious. “Does he have family?” I asked.
“Not that I know of, but I never paid any attention, really. He’s always been a loner, works all the time. I just figured he’s a numbers guy, you know, not that social.”
I didn’t voice the thought that it wouldn’t hurt to have one of Sunni’s officers check out Jules’s home and office, to see if there were any signs that he’d gone for good, on a trip to a different future, financed by his unwitting clients.
