Before long, Jo’s oil change was finished, and Pete came over to check on the job. “Looks like your oil wasn’t too dirty, which is good. You might want to think about replacing that muffler and exhaust pipe pretty soon, though. We could do it while you’re here, if you like.”
“I guess I’ll wait on that.”
“Okay.” Pete nodded agreeably. “No pressure.”
He directed the car to be lowered, and guided her into the office, where he wrote up the bill. As he waited for Jo to sign the credit-card slip, the young mechanic who had spoken to Jo earlier poked his head through the door.
“Hey, Pete, is it all right if I run over to the vet’s for a minute?”
“Yeah, sure, Del. Not too long, though, okay?”
Del ducked back, and Jo glanced up at Pete.
“His dog’s been real sick,” he explained. “Kid had him since he was in kindergarten.”
“That’s a shame,” Jo said. She picked up her receipts and tucked the papers into her purse. “A friend of mine has a cat who’s in a bad way, but she can’t bring herself to put it out of its misery yet.”
“Yeah, it can be tough. Del’s going to be all broke up when the time comes. Might have to give him the day off.” Pete opened the door for Jo. “Let me know if you decide on the muffler and exhaust pipe. I wouldn’t let it go too long, if I were you. And don’t worry, we’ll give you a real fair price.”
“Thanks.” Jo looked into a face that, at the moment, appeared as open and honest as any she’d ever seen. And likeable. Was it a salesman’s mask, though, or a true reading of the man within? As she drove off, Jo realized meeting Pete face-to-face had raised as many questions as it had answered. She had seen his temper, but how far would it carry him? Was he capable of murder? At this point, after spending a good chunk of her afternoon in a garage watching the man at work, Jo knew only one thing for sure: he had given her possibly the cheapest oil change she’d ever had in her life.
And the coffee wasn’t bad either.
Chapter 16
“Ooh, I do like that melon-colored paper around your picture,” Loralee said, glancing at the page Ina Mae was working on. “It brings out the beautiful sunset streaks in your photo.”
“I took that shot at Red Rock Canyon,” said Ina Mae. “We had a wonderful time hiking through the area.”
“You weren’t worried about snakes?” Deirdre asked. She sat on the other side of Ina Mae tonight, well away from Mindy and her piles of twin pictures.
Jo doubted there was much at all that Ina Mae worried about, a fact the older woman confirmed by the look she threw Deirdre. “I try not to interfere with their lives, and they don’t interfere with mine. Jo,” she said, turning away, “you suggested we decorate our pages to the theme of the photo. Do you have any stamps with a southwestern look, like maybe a cactus?”
“I think we just might. Let me check. And, for another idea,” Jo reached for a raffia bundle, “you might like to attach a few strands of this, artfully, to your page to add a desert feel.”
“Oh, I like that,” Mindy chimed in. “What can I do to this page I’m putting together on the twins at the Fourth of July picnic?”
Jo helped Mindy look through several possibilities until she found a combination that satisfied her. At least for the moment. Jo had seen Mindy change her mind, and her pages, dozens of times, so progress on her scrapbook was moving at glacial speed—which didn’t seem to worry her in the least. Mindy clearly enjoyed the process as much as the result.
Deirdre had finished a page or two on her scrapbook. Looking them over, Jo noticed that though the scrapbook’s stated purpose was to memorialize her husband’s career, the photos she had chosen so far all had Deirdre in them as well: Deirdre smiling beside Alden as he received an award from the local chamber of commerce; Deirdre at his side as he shook hands with the Governor. Right now Deirdre had pulled out a couple of photos of the two of them dressed formally—Alden in a tux and Deirdre in a knock-out red gown—possibly for a charity ball. The theme of the scrapbook certainly seemed to be turning into “Deirdre and Alden’s Excellent Adventure” rather than “Alden’s Career,” but Jo wasn’t about to comment on it.
“Oh, Jo,” Deirdre said, “I spoke to Alden about the way Lieutenant Morgan treated you. He promised to talk to Russ about it.”
“Thanks, Deirdre,” Jo said, not hoping for any miracles to come from that but appreciating the effort.
“Have you had any luck looking into this jealous boyfriend, Jo?” Ina Mae asked. She was experimenting with the looks of a few western-style stamps Jo had found for her.
“Yes, I have,” Jo said. All hands around the table collectively paused as the workshop women waited for Jo’s latest report. She recounted her talk with Genna, followed by her eavesdropping on Genna and Pete’s conversation outside the playhouse.
“That sounds like a problem boyfriend to me,” Mindy stated firmly.
“Definitely,” Deirdre agreed.
Jo then told them about going to Hanson’s Garage, and the phone argument she overheard between Pete and Genna.
“What do you suppose he meant about ‘finding a place’?” Loralee asked.
“I’m guessing, since Genna’s cousin mentioned Pete has wanted Genna to move in with him, that it was about that.”
“That he found a place for the two of them?” Ina Mae asked, her raised eyebrows signaling both absorption of the information and disapproval of it.
“I assume so. And it sounded like Genna wasn’t going for it, so Pete got pretty mad and stomped around kicking things.”
“A violent temper.” Deirdre nodded, sounding convinced.
“Violent enough for murder, though?” Ina Mae asked. “Was he jealous enough of Kyle to kill him?”
“That’s the question I’m struggling with,” Jo said. “From what I overheard outside the playhouse, his jealousy of Genna is easily inflamed. Genna, however, insisted Pete would never fight unfairly, or catch an enemy off guard, which is what happened to Kyle. Kyle was drugged, remember? So he was woozy by the time he was stabbed in my stockroom.”
“Are you sure, though, that Kyle didn’t take this sedative himself?” Deirdre asked.
“No, but it just doesn’t seem likely, does it, when he’s on a job that needed lots of energy? So if it was the killer who slipped it to him, I can’t see Pete doing that. I see him confronting Kyle head on, out in the open, and giving Kyle a fighting chance.”
“I don’t know about that sedative,” Mindy said. “Maybe Kyle would have taken it himself. Think about it. He hated playing a clown; he probably felt stressed with all the kids coming around him—and believe me, I know how aggravating kids can be sometimes, even when you love them like crazy—so maybe this sedative was something he felt he needed to keep from snapping.”
“That’s very possible,” Loralee agreed, excited. “And Pete came along—maybe he just had an argument with Genna and was all fired up—and he saw his opportunity and took it.”
“But to stab Kyle with a knitting needle?” Jo asked, skeptically. “And wouldn’t there have been an argument, something loud enough that we would have heard?”
“You said the store was very busy by then, didn’t you, Jo?” Ina Mae put in. “They might have had words, but it wouldn’t necessarily have to be shouting. Sometimes the angriest, the most dangerous words will be muttered so low as to scarcely be heard. Then, the knitting needle was at hand, grabbed in the heat of the moment, and . . . there you are.”
Her ladies nodded, agreeing with the scenario. Jo, however, was not ready to join them. She found it difficult to picture the man she watched and conversed with at Hanson’s Garage acting that way. Perhaps she had been just one more woman charmed by a skilled manipulator, but at this point she didn’t think so. She saw the respect the other workers had for him, and the way he treated them while she was there. She just wasn’t convinced he was someone capable of such artifice.
“Maybe, Ina Mae,” Jo said. “Ma
ybe. But I have a lead on someone else too, which bears looking in to, before I focus only on Pete.” Jo explained about Hank Schroder and what Charlie had found out.
“Oh, my, now there’s a motive,” Loralee cried, ready, apparently, in an instant to switch her vote on suspects.
“It does sound serious,” Ina Mae agreed.
“But Jo, would someone like this Hank Schroder be likely to show up at your craft shop opening?” Deirdre protested.
“He might if he knew he’d find Kyle here,” Mindy pointed out.
“But that’s ridiculous. He can find him right at the country club!” Deirdre argued.
“Nobody said murderers are always logical!”
“Ladies, ladies, first things first. Let Jo look into this Hank Schroder situation and see what she finds out. Then we can argue about what he might do.”
“You’re quite right, Ina Mae,” Loralee said.
Deirdre, Jo thought, looked a bit miffed, and she moved to soothe any ruffled feathers. “I really appreciate all your input on this,” she said. “It helps more than you know, to hear discussions of all sides of a point. I planned to go to the country club anyway, to talk to Bob Gordon about the progress on the craft show plans. Hank Schroder will be only one of the people I’ll be looking into while I’m there. I want to dig a little more deeply into some of the things Kyle was doing in the tennis area.”
“Good idea, Jo,” Ina Mae said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s quite a bit still to be found out.”
“Goodness, look at the time,” Deirdre exclaimed, tidying up her work area. “I promised Alden I’d be home when he brings back one of his colleagues after their business dinner.”
“How are you keeping your scrapbook a surprise?” Mindy asked.
“Oh, I stash everything in one of the cupboards in the laundry room. Alden never goes in there.”
“I used to hide Martin’s birthday and Christmas presents in the basement,” Loralee said. “The easiest way to make sure he stayed out of there was to suggest it needed cleaning up.” The ladies laughed, adding their own husband stories, and Jo was glad to see Deirdre smiling along with them, her little snit apparently forgotten.
Deirdre took off, and the others began to pack up their things too. As Loralee slid photos and papers into separate compartments of her huge tote, she commented, “You know, all Deirdre needs to do to hide her scrapbook is to keep it wherever her dogs are.”
Mindy grinned. “I know, she told me she has a special room just for her two Afghan hounds, because Alden doesn’t care for them much. She really dotes on them, though. Have you seen those dogs? They’re gorgeous.”
“Yes, I’ve seen her walking them. Or maybe they were walking her, they’re so big. And all that long fur. She must have to get them groomed constantly.”
“Humph. Expensive pets.” Ina Mae sniffed. Jo knew that Ina Mae volunteered at the local SPCA and had heard her once or twice comment negatively on buying dogs from breeders when so many were available for and needful of adoption.
“Yes,” Loralee agreed, “but of course, that might be their appeal to Deirdre.”
Jo looked at Loralee, whose normally sweet face seemed to have turned just a bit sour. Was there some history between Loralee and Deirdre that Jo wasn’t aware of? Perhaps Carrie would know. And if Jo ever got to the point of having enough leisure to look into the finer details of her workshop ladies’ lives, she just might ask. There was still so much to learn about this newly adopted home of hers.
“Thanks, Jo,” Mindy called, on her way out. “Another great night.” Ina Mae and Loralee followed, and Jo soon turned off the lights, locked up, and headed to her quiet home. She planned to heat up something from her freezer, watch a bit of late-night TV, and try to sleep, before tackling another day of “keep Jo out of jail” activities.
Jo woke early the next morning, restless dreams pulling her out of the deep oblivion where she would have preferred to remain, for at least a while. She had vague memories of Russ Morgan arresting her for a rusted tail pipe, Mike trying to fix it with his acetylene torch, and Kyle, in his clown suit, running with an umbrella through the sprinklers on the golf course.
The thought of sinking back into that mess with all the emotions they stirred outweighed any lingering urge to remain curled around her pillow, and Jo crawled out to face the day. Wrapped in her terry robe, she padded into the kitchen and started coffee, then pulled out orange juice from the refrigerator. She debated over bagels or cereal until she remembered how her newish black slacks had begun to bag at the waist. She reached for the bagels and grabbed a tub of cream cheese along with them.
Jo never remembered having a problem with keeping on weight before—quite the opposite, in fact. But the recent stresses piled atop the older ones were taking their toll. That, plus hating the bother of cooking for one, had the pounds slipping away. She would have to do something about that, or the face that looked back at her from the mirror would soon turn haggard. In other words, it would reflect more accurately how she felt inside, lately.
Enough of that, she ordered herself briskly, a vision of Ina Mae surfacing as she did so, and dropped a split bagel into the toaster. She clicked on the small television to chase away the gloomy thoughts with cheery news anchor chatter, and poured out a glass of juice.
Jo carried her breakfast into the living room, set her coffee on an end table, and bit into her cheese-slathered bagel as she settled into the sofa. A spring in the cushion of her secondhand sofa poked uncomfortably at her, and she wriggled over, wondering how she had failed to notice the wayward wire at purchase time. Had it possibly been those artistically arranged pillows clustered so densely as to prevent her sitting there? And that couple had seemed so nice.
A voice on the screen talked about traffic tie-ups in the Baltimore area, as graphics depicted roadways, and flashing red arrows pointed to trouble spots. What a relief, Jo thought, to at least not have to face that kind of daily commute. She swallowed the bagel bite and took a careful sip of her hot coffee. The TV station went to commercial, and Jo worked the remote to switch stations.
A navy-suited African-American man appeared on the screen, welcoming her to the Channel Four newsbreak, and Jo set down the remote and picked up her bagel. She listened to his smooth voice announcing the day and time, then moving on to talk of Mayor Phelp’s latest battle with his Washington, D.C., city council members. With barely a pause for breath, the newsman moved on to his next story.
“Police are looking into the death of a young woman in Hammond County last night.”
Jo dropped the bagel to the plate.
“The woman’s body was discovered around 11 P.M. at the base of a rocky cliff, as her dog’s frantic barking caused a neighbor to investigate. Police are uncertain at this time if the death was accidental, saying only that they are investigating. This is the second violent death in less than two weeks in the small town of Abbotsville. The woman, twenty-two-year-old Genna Hunt, was . . .”
Jo could hear her phone ringing, but barely. She knew she should be moving, reacting, but all she could do was stare at the television screen, which had changed in a flash to show a weather map. No rain was predicted, and the temperature at Reagan National, it seemed, as well as much of the surrounding area, was presently 61 degrees and climbing. Not an unusually chilly morning for this time of year.
But Jo felt cold, very cold.
Chapter 17
Jo took another sip of coffee. Her shivering had finally stopped, some time after Carrie had arrived at her place and insisted on bringing her back to her house. The kids had been sent safely off to school, unaware of the latest incident, but Dan was home.
“Dan knows people in fire and rescue,” Carrie had explained. “He might be able to find out more than was on television.”
“I just keep seeing her face,” Jo mused, setting down her cup, “that delicate face. And it keeps asking me, ‘Why didn’t you do something?’”
“Jo, there’s nothing
you could have done. Don’t do that to yourself.” Carrie edged a plate of oatmeal muffins closer to her friend, although Jo had already refused them twice. When at a loss for what to do, Carrie seemed to say: eat.
“What did you find out?” Jo asked Dan, who came back to the kitchen after making his phone calls.
“Not too much. She was found at the base of the Highpoint Road cliff, which is a pretty steep drop down to Abbot’s Creek, about thirty, forty feet, and rocky. It’s not far from the Wildwood apartments, where you said she lived. It’s a nice area, and a lot of people walk their dogs there because of the view, plus there’s plenty of grass and shrubs.”
“She walked her dog at eleven o’clock at night?”
“She was found then. We don’t know when she actually went out. They only found her because a neighbor came by and recognized the dog, which was barking frantically. An odd thing, though . . .” Dan rubbed his chin.
“What?”
“Her dog was tied to a tree near the edge.”
“Tied that way when they found it barking?”
Dan nodded.
Jo looked at Carrie, who seemed to be having the same thought. If there had been any faint hopes that this had been an accident, the secured dog erased them.
“I have to talk to Lieutenant Morgan,” Jo said.
Carrie nodded, but Dan looked surprised. “What? Why?”
“I have to tell him what I know about Pete Tober. I hate to, because I still hold out the hope that he’s a decent guy, but this is just too coincidental.”
“Wait a minute, you lost me. Who’s this Pete Tober and what does he have to do with this?”
Jo hesitated. Obviously Carrie hadn’t told Dan about Pete. She glanced at her friend who shrugged somewhat guiltily.
“Jo’s been checking out Pete,” Carrie explained, “who is Genna Hunt’s boyfriend. She had heard that he was pretty possessive, had a temper, and didn’t at all like Genna playing love scenes with Kyle. He was just one possibility that showed up as someone who might have, ah, killed Kyle.”
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