“Got some errands to run, and some people to see.”
“What’s the talk around town about Jason? Do people think he did it?”
Monica shot me a side glance, but Johnna didn’t bat a lash. “Nobody thinks Jason killed David,” she said. “It’s ludicrous.”
“Then who did it?” I sipped my coffee, like our conversation was about the weather. In a way, talking about murder was like talking about the weather now for the Action Agency. Unfortunately, it was becoming old hat for us.
“I’m just an old lady, what do I know?”
It wasn’t the response I expected, not from Johnna. “You know a lot. You have to have some suspicion.”
“Maybe I do. I don’t know.” She took the plastic bowl of treats from Monica and turned to head back to the front door. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Who was she kidding? She had her ear to the ground and her nose to the wind and was practically a lightning rod for the talk in town. If anyone would hear what was being said, it was Johnna.
As she left, I wondered why she was acting so strange lately. Almost like she was keeping something from me. First Anna pulled away, and now Johnna. What would happen to our team if we couldn’t lure them back in?
I wasn’t fooling myself to think it would last forever. Anna and Logan were graduating in a few months and would leave for college. Johnna and Roy were older and even though they had time to spend with the Action Agency, they might want to sit back and enjoy being retired.
I was faced with knowing that I might need to find a new crew someday to help with town events and the occasional mystery.
It wasn’t something I liked to think about.
“What’s wrong?” Monica asked, eyeing me with a worried expression.
“Just thinking about how fast things can change.”
“Change isn’t something to fear,” she said. “I’m proof of that.”
“That’s true,” I said, smiling. “Change has been nothing but positive for you.”
“And Mom and Dad,” she said. “Like it or not, they’re both very happy now that they’re not together.”
“Yeah.” I looked into the bottom of my empty coffee cup.
“And you,” she said.
I looked up at her. She put her hand on my arm in the sling. “You have Ben and Mia, this beautiful home, a town full of friends, and a job you love even if it’s the craziest job in the world.”
It was true. Things would always change, but so far, change had been good to me. “We’re pretty lucky, aren’t we?”
“Very lucky,” she said, leaning her head against mine. “Now help me make another three batches of treats.”
I dug in, mixing dough with my good arm and filling her in on what I’d learned about the murders in the last day or so.
“I think Roy might be on to something,” she said.
“With Richard? What makes you think that?”
“Well, if he’s an opportunist who never got along with his brother, there might be a connection. He might have something to gain.”
“But that’s all speculation at this point. Jason owns the house. As far as I know, Richard didn’t inherit anything from Clayton’s death.”
“As far as you know.” She pointed a wooden spoon at me. “I think it needs to be looked into more. What do you know about Clayton’s possessions?”
“Nothing. I mean, nothing other than he owned his house and property. And of course, what came out the day he was killed about the hill on his land being a Native American burial mound.”
“Okay, so start there. What would that mean for Clayton that Richard might stand to benefit from?”
“My mind goes straight to John Bridgemaker and Paul Foxtracker, but I know they didn’t kill Clayton. They aren’t even suspects this time, thankfully. I can’t believe they were ever suspects in Butch Landow’s murder just because they wanted to buy his farm to build a casino.”
“What ever happened to that idea, anyway?” she asked, cutting bone shapes into the dough.
“I don’t know. They haven’t found land that I’ve heard.”
In the silence that fell between us, I knew we were thinking the same thing. Call it sisterly intuition.
“Clayton owned a Native American burial mound,” she said, not even looking up from her cookie cutter.
“Someone stands to make a lot of money if they sell that land,” I said.
“Do you know for sure that Jason inherited that property?”
“I don’t know anything for sure,” I said, wiping my hand on a tea towel. “But I plan to find out.”
“You need to borrow my car?” she asked, smirking.
“When I do, I’ll put gas in it.” I said. “And help you make more treats.”
“I’ll leave the keys on the hall table.”
“Thanks, Mon.”
“Cam, just be careful. Whoever did this has already killed two people. Don’t let anyone catch you snooping around.”
“Don’t worry. There’s one person I haven’t talked to yet who knows everything about this town, and he’s not going to kill me. Soapy. I’ll be back soon.”
“Alright. Just do me a favor? Change out of your pajamas first, okay?”
I looked down at the flannel pants and sweatshirt I’d slept in, and laughed. The dogs started their yippy laughter again, bounding around us.
Good gravy. “Maybe I’ll have another cup of coffee first.”
• Twelve •
Soapy was in the back room concocting a coffee bean, goat milk soap, a new product for them to sell. “I’ve tried and tried to make one of these over the years, but I haven’t been able to get it right. It’s the first soap I tried to make when we opened. I wanted it to be our signature soap. One of these days, I’ll get it right.”
The combination of both of the product lines they were known for seemed like a logical idea. “Bob from the bobsled team called me,” I said. “We have to pay him even though we canceled, or reschedule.”
“We’ll reschedule then. I’m not paying for nothing.”
“I’ll find a date that works. I should probably wait until after the murders are solved, though. It might seem insensitive otherwise.”
“You’re probably right. I was so looking forward to that hockey match, too. Maybe we’ll reschedule that as well.”
“Do you think Jason Banks really killed Dixon because he was angry that he went ahead with hosting the festival?”
Soapy put down the tweezers he was using to strategically place coffee beans into the soap mold, and leaned back from the counter. “That boy has had a hot head ever since he was little. Now, that doesn’t mean I think he killed anyone, but it doesn’t mean I don’t. It’s a tough call to make, and all I know is that they found the ice pick under his sofa.”
“I’ve been thinking about that ice pick, and about Clayton’s death. Who would want to kill him? Who had something to gain from it?”
“Who says anyone had something to gain?”
“There has to be a motive, right?”
“A motive, yes, but where are you going with this, Cameron?” He pushed his glasses up farther on his nose, eyeing me.
“How would I find out about Clayton’s house? His property? Did Jason inherit it? Was there a will?”
He shook his head. “If there wasn’t a will, then Jason inherits everything as his only child. If there was a will, then I can’t be sure who got the house.”
“If he had a will, what are the odds he left anything to his brother?”
“Well, I tell you what, if he did leave something to Richard in his will, he was blackmailed to do it. Those two have had bad blood between them since high school when Richard took Robin from Clayton.”
“What? Robin and Clayton?”
“Ah, it was a long time ago.” H
e picked his tweezers back up. “Puppy love.”
“But it’s what caused the rift between them?”
“As far as I know, it is.”
“I got the impression that he met her in Kentucky.”
“Oh, no. She’s from Metamora, too, but briefly. Her family moved here and then away again after only a year.”
“And she and Richard stayed together?”
“Well, they must have.” He chuckled.
I tapped my fingers on the counter. “Something doesn’t add up.”
“Murder never does add up,” he said.
“In the end the motive becomes clear, though. So far, nothing is clear to me about any of this.”
“Maybe you’re looking too closely. Maybe if you stand back a bit and look from another angle?”
I nodded. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was trying to fit pieces together that weren’t even part of the puzzle.
“If you must investigate on your own—and I know you have a good track record to stand by—take it one step at a time. If there’s a connection between the murders, it’ll reveal itself.”
“That’s good advice. Thanks, Soapy.”
“I believe that secrets want to be found out, which is why they usually are.” He picked up a bar of soap wrapped in the Soapy Savant packaging. “Theresa made this. Citrus and sage. It smells good enough to eat.” He handed it to me. “Take that home with you and have a nice soak. I always do my best thinking in the tub.”
I bought a hot peach ginger tea with honey before I left and ecided to stop in to Read and ReRead next door to see Brenda. She was reading a children’s book to a circle of five preschoolers when I walked in the door. I sat down in a comfy chair between two of the book stacks to wait.
Sipping my tea, I perused the shelves beside me. On my right was a section on local history, books written by townspeople over the years that weren’t for sale, only for reference. There was a book written on the grist mill, one on the founders of Metamora, and another on the schoolhouse next door to Ellsworth House. I pulled the one about the schoolhouse off the shelf and started flipping through it.
I found a list of students that included Daniel Gardner—Old Dan—and Elaina Nelson, aka Grandma Diggity. Few other last names stood out. Brooks, who would be an ancestor of Fiona Stein, and Ellsworth, ancestor of my husband on his maternal side of the family.
Scanning through a list of teachers I came across Cordelia Banks, the first female teacher at the school. She could be an ancestor of Clayton, Richard, and Jason. I wondered just how long the Banks family had lived in Metamora, and more importantly, how long they’d owned the property with the burial mound. Had there been some Hatfield and McCoy type of feud brewing over the decades due to the ownership of that land?
“Hello!” Brenda said, popping around the corner of the stacks. “I’m finished with story time. What are you reading?”
“The history of the schoolhouse. Do you know where I can find pubic records for Metamora?” I stood up and slid the book back on the shelf.
“Probably at the Franklin County Court House, why?”
“I’m just curious about that Native American burial mound Clayton Banks owned.”
“You think it has something to do with his murder?”
“I don’t know, but I’m leaving no stone unturned.”
“Well, I think you can find all of the public records online. Do you want me to help you look?”
“I’ll take any help I can get.”
I followed Brenda to the main area of the store. She pointed to a table. “Go ahead and sit there. I’ll get my laptop.”
Brenda set up her laptop on the table, and I rifled through my bag for a pen and paper. “What do I hear? Breath mints?” she asked.
“That or my pain pills rattling around.”
“Are you still in pain?”
“No, but I haven’t taken the bottle out of my purse yet.”
“When do you get a hard cast?”
“I have to go back tomorrow morning.”
“Can I be the first to sign it?”
I smiled at her. “If you can beat the people I live with.”
“Okay, I’ll settle for first nonresident of Ellsworth House to sign it.”
Brenda pulled up the page for public records and we began to weed through. After about twenty minutes of not finding much, she said, “One of those ancestry websites might be easier to use. Sometimes they link to legal documents. There’s a lot of legal mumbo jumbo on here.”
“Let’s try that.”
After only a few minutes on the ancestry site, we found the Banks family tree that ran through Metamora. “Cordelia is listed in the schoolhouse history book. She was the first female teacher in town.”
“Let’s see who she married.” Brenda clicked on Cordelia’s name, expanding the tree. “Earnest Banks. They had seven kids! Boy people had big families back then.”
“Do you see anything linking to a property deed?”
“Nothing tying them to that address yet.” She followed different rabbit trails down the Banks family line. The door opened, and two women came inside. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
“That’s okay,” I told her. “I’ve taken enough of your time. It was just an idea I had.”
“I’ll keep looking and let you know if I find anything.”
Brenda greeted her customers, and I took my leave. I could do what would be easy and ask John and Paul the history of the land. I was certain they would know. But I didn’t want to drag them into it. They’d been the objects of suspicion enough in the past few months, and I was the wife of the town’s police officer. If I went around asking them questions, they might get the wrong idea.
Something was sure to turn up soon. A clue, a motive, or an idea in my brain. In the meantime, I’d take Soapy’s advice and have a nice long soak in the tub with my new bar of soap.
Ben helped me into my coat the next day. “You don’t have to come with me,” I told him. “I can take Monica’s car. I know you have a ton of work to do.”
“I’m coming with you to get your cast put on,” he said, slipping the sling back over my head. “Work can wait a few hours.” He turned to Brutus. “You’re in charge. Don’t let that cat sneak in.”
“Good luck with that,” I said, laughing. “The dogs never even know when Spook’s in the house.”
“He’s probably all curled up in Finch’s castle, anyway.”
“I know I would be. I mean, if I were that cat.” I sneered. “Or my mother.”
Ben let out a sharp laugh. “I’m glad you’re not either of those.”
We went out to the driveway and he helped me up onto the passenger seat of Metamora One. “Still no sign of Mike?” I asked, hoping he’d heard something.
“Nobody’s seen him. Don’t worry, he’ll show up in the spring. He’s a smart duck.”
On our way out of town, we passed Roy’s trailer. I pointed and told Ben that was where he lived. “Did you know he’s a retired Army vet?”
“I was born here, Cam, and Irene Hayman’s my mom. I know all about everybody.” He grinned and shook his head.
“Right, of course you do. The only way you’d know more is if Johnna was your mom.”
“Then I’d be broke from bailing her out of jail every time she steals a ball of yarn.”
“Speaking of broke, I think Roy is. Johnna’s been giving him food. I’ve seen her do it twice now, and he came into Betty’s asking for day-old bakery items.”
“Well that’s strange. He has enough to spend in the Cornerstone bar every night. If he was having trouble, Carl, Jim, and those guys would know and help him out with money.”
“Maybe they don’t know.”
Ben’s brows drew in. “I’ll ask around. Johnna can’t afford to feed him and herself, that much I’m s
ure of.” He patted my knee. “I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
We got to the professional building attached to the hospital where the doctor’s office was. We sat in a giant waiting room that was used by all the doctors in the building. We didn’t have to wait long before we were ushered to a room by a nurse. “I have to apologize,” she said, starting out making me feel not so comfortable about this experience. “We only have one color of fiberglass tape left. Our new supply comes tomorrow if you’d like to reschedule.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “It’s okay. I don’t care what color it is.”
“Great, I’ll let the doctor know. He’ll be right in.”
Ben looked at me with a sly smile. “I hope its camouflage.”
“Camouflage? Good gravy! I didn’t know they had camouflage!”
“It’s probably not a color they run out of either,” he said, starting to chuckle.
“Ben! What if I have a camouflage cast? This is serious!”
“You’ll be all set for duck hunting.” He laughed like he was watching Chris Rock on TV. “Get it? Mike.”
“I get it.” I couldn’t help but laugh with him.
The doctor came in and looked at us with wide eyes and a huge smile. “Nobody’s this happy on cast day,” he said.
“My husband thinks he’s a comedian,” I said.
“He had you laughing,” the doc said, “so maybe he found his calling.”
“Don’t encourage him, please.”
We settled down and the doctor explained what would happen. “My orthopedic tech will come in and cast your arm, but first we’ll want to take x-rays to make sure it’s still aligned properly. We don’t want it to mend crooked, do we?”
“Definitely, not.”
“When I unwrap it and remove the splint, it’s going to move your arm a bit. We’ll do our best to keep it immobile, but it’s going to give you some pain.”
He wasn’t lying. When they took the splint off, my arm felt like a rubber band being pulled all kinds of directions it wasn’t supposed to go in. I gritted my teeth and tried not to cry.
The x-rays came back fine, so they went ahead with the cast. I lay on the exam table and closed my eyes tight, focusing on something other than the pain while the doctor held my arm in the correct position and the technician began to wrap it in the fiberglass casting tape. “Once we get the first layer on, it’ll feel better,” the tech said.
Fatal Festival Days Page 12
