The Trickster (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 3)

by R. Lanier Clemons

  CHAPTER 11

  Except for some minor turbulence, the flight into Detroit’s Wayne County airport posed no problems. Jonelle made it to her connecting flight’s gate with forty-five minutes to spare. She used the time to power up her laptop and familiarize herself with the area where Susanna grew up and rose to prominence as city treasurer.

  A cloudless sky greeted Jonelle as she left the Sault Ste. Marie terminal and headed out to the rental car lot. She buttoned up her wool parka against the sharp chill in the air. The bright sun caused a sneezing fit. She dug in her bag for tissues and sunglasses, plugged in the address of the bed and breakfast Finkleberg had emailed her into the SUV’s GPS and headed out.

  In Baltimore, the trees were just beginning to change color. Here, in the Upper Peninsula, the leaves were vibrant, the air more crisp and clean smelling. Jonelle tried to find a radio station that played soft jazz but soon gave up and turned it off. She settled back in her seat and with one hand on the wheel relaxed into the drive.

  “Girl, you are definitely not in Baltimore anymore,” she said as she admired the view in front of her. A quick glance at the vehicle’s clock assured Jonelle she had plenty of time before her agreed check-in time at the B and B, so she pulled over onto a scenic overlook turnoff. After a few moments admiring the view, she reached into her bag and pulled out her digital camera. Once outside, she snapped photos of a waterfall cascading between trees hugging both sides of the shoreline. The deep reds and yellows of the leaves reminded Jonelle of colored balls of cotton. A short distance away, a wooden bridge snaked low over the river and connected to the opposite bank. A small carved sign warned of black bears in the area.

  Jonelle’s mind wandered to the last conversation she had with Sophia. She’d informed Sophia where she was going and when she’d return. “You’re not going to bother my mother, are you? I said she wasn’t well,” Sophia had said.

  “You did tell her about Susanna, right?” Jonelle had thought for one awful moment that Sophia still hadn’t informed her mother of Susanna’s death.

  “Of course, I have,” she’d said, an edge of impatience in her voice. “It’s just that … I don’t want her upset.”

  Jonelle was a little peeved that Sophia had assumed she wouldn’t know how to handle herself. “I’m not planning to interrogate your mother, but I do have questions and she may have some of the answers,” Jonelle had said, dismissing Sophia’s words as the reaction of a still grieving sister. “If I see that your mom is getting upset, I’ll back off. I have no desire to cause her undue stress.”

  Sophia wanted Jonelle to promise to let her know all about the meeting as soon as possible. Jonelle agreed and reminded Sophia that she’d produce a report on what transpired on the Michigan trip and how Susanna ended up in Baltimore.

  After several more miles of good highway and better scenery, a “Welcome to Moose Country,” sign greeted Jonelle as she entered the town of Oldenberry where Susanna had lived and worked. Most of the hotels and lodges she passed had signs out front depicting anglers landing fish in pristine lakes and rivers, and snowmobiles barreling through the snow. Other signs displayed on both sides of the road advertised wildlife refuges and bear ranches. Jonelle wasn’t sure what a bear ranch was. She smiled as she thought that if Adrienne were with her, her friend would make some kind of crack about saddling up a grizzly.

  A quick glance at the GPS reminded Jonelle she had approximately five miles to cover to reach the bed and breakfast. Deep rumbling in her stomach prompted her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. A log cabin style restaurant appeared on the right and she pulled in and parked.

  Jonelle entered the eatery, noted the “Seat Yourself” sign and immediately drew stares not only from three men occupying space at the counter but also two women seated at a corner table. From the look of things, she was the only person of color. Jonelle selected a booth near the front.

  “Just visitin’?” the waitress asked, not meeting Jonelle’s eyes and setting a paper placemat and napkin covered utensils on the table. She didn’t wear a name tag over her regular street clothes.

  For a brief moment, Jonelle thought of telling the woman she was thinking of moving there, just to get a reaction. She decided against it. Best not to antagonize people who might provide needed information.

  “Yes, I am,” Jonelle said. She pulled a menu from the wire holder on the table.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes,” the waitress said. As she walked away Jonelle realized the woman hadn’t given her name. The restaurant’s polished wood décor gave off a warm feeling in stark contrast to the chilly reception she’d received. Jonelle thought about selecting a salad and maybe a bowl of soup, then decided to hell with it. She was hungry.

  The waitress approached the table again with an expression somewhere between gastric upset and migraine headache. After ordering a “Benjy’s Special Burger” done medium well with the works, fries and coffee, Jonelle decided she might as well begin her investigation with the forty-something woman standing in front of her.

  “Before you go, I’d like to ask you a quick question.”

  The waitress hesitated. The look on her face said questions weren’t in her job description, but being polite to customers was. “Okay,” she said, drawing out the word.

  “I’m here to see Norman Finkleberg,” Jonelle said. “Do you know him?”

  The waitress visibly relaxed. “Sure,” she said with a warmer smile. “Norm’s a regular customer. He always orders the steak and cheese sand with onion rings and large coke.”

  “That’s nice,” Jonelle said, not really caring what the man’s eating habits were. “I’m here to talk to him about Susanna Quinley. Was she also a regular?” No need explaining the woman was dead, at least not yet.

  The waitress blanched. Her eyes darted all around the restaurant, finally landing somewhere behind the counter. Jonelle turned in time to see a heavyset balding man shake his head. Mumbling, “Gotta get your order in,” the woman hurried off. The bald man followed the waitress through swinging doors behind the counter.

  Jonelle spent the next fifteen minutes checking emails on her phone and playing digital scrabble. She looked up as the scent of fried meat and potatoes announced the arrival of her meal. The waitress placed the food on the table. “Smells good,” she said. From the pockets of a washed out brown cardigan came small plastic bottles of ketchup, mustard and relish. She tore the check with the words, “pay the cashier,” and dashed off before Jonelle had a chance to say anything else.

  The first bite of the burger reinforced how hungry she was. Although delicious, there was something a little different about the flavor. For one awful moment Jonelle conjured up images of all the signs she’d seen around about black bear. Hunger won out against the possibility that what was between the buns wasn’t beef. That and the fact the food she was eating was the best she’d tasted in a long while almost took away her curiosity about the waitress’ reaction at the mention of Susanna’s name.

  Jonelle finished her coffee and held up the cup. The waitress hurried over with the pot. As she filled the cup, Jonelle asked, “I didn’t offend you before, did I? You seemed upset when I mentioned Susanna’s name.”

  “Nope. No problem. No worries. Norm will answer all your questions. I don’t know nuthin’.” She scurried away again.

  Jonelle sighed and shook her head. She sat back and slowly drank the hot, soothing coffee. As she did, she glanced around, amused that the remaining two men in the café kept whispering and stealing glances at her over their shoulders. Each time she caught them looking, she flashed them a smile.

  Finished with the meal, Jonelle left a generous tip and walked over to the cash register next to the entrance to pay her bill. Instead of the waitress, the bald man took her money and gave her change without comment.

  “Please tell the waitress I didn’t mean to upset her,” she said.

  “She ain’t upset,” he replied, looking at a point beyond Jonelle’s left shoulder
.

  “That’s good ’cause all I wanted was to find out if she knew Susanna Quinley.” She studied the man’s face, looking for a reaction.

  His eyes slowly came back to Jonelle. “Everybody knew Susanna. This is a small town and she was pretty high up in the government. She always had a smile and a good word for everyone she met. That is, until …” He clamped his mouth shut.

  Jonelle waited for him to finish.

  He shook his head. “You need somethin’ else?”

  “You started to say something about Susanna,” Jonelle persisted. “Can’t you at least tell me what happened? Do you have any idea why she left?”

  His knuckles turned white as he gripped the sides of the small counter. A slight redness crept up his neck.

  “You best talk to Norm Finkleberg. I shouldn’t even have told you what I did. We all made a pact never to talk about that woman again. Not until she’s dead and buried.” He held Jonelle’s gaze. His fingers relaxed and the corners of his mouth curled up. In that moment, Jonelle knew that he knew Susanna’s fate.

  CHAPTER 12

  The trip from the restaurant to the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast took less than ten minutes. Finkleberg said the proprietors, Joshua and Michelle Hunt, had reserved one of their best rooms for her.

  A gravel driveway curved away from the Victorian home. In front of the peach colored, wood-sided structure, a wraparound porch contained three white-washed rocking chairs and a swing. As Jonelle sat in the rental she counted three stories and four gables in the front of the house. A large stone chimney crept up the northwest corner of the outside of the home. She left her vehicle and grabbed her tote bag from the back seat. The open gate to the white picket fence welcomed Jonelle down a flagstone walk with mulched flower beds on either side. She paused and imagined how pretty the effect would be in spring and summer, then continued onto the porch.

  She used the anchor-shaped brass knocker to tap twice on the door. A few moments later, a young woman with shoulder length, softly curled auburn hair and light brown eyes opened the door. “Hi. I’m Jonelle Sweet and I believe Norman Finkleberg made reservations for me to stay a few nights.”

  “Of course. Welcome and please come in. I’m Michelle Hunt.”

  “Thank you,” Jonelle said as Michelle ushered her into the foyer. “What a lovely home you have. I think wood walls and floors give a place such a nice, warm feel.”

  Michelle nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind when all this needs polishing.” As the two shared a laugh, Jonelle decided this young woman was a vast improvement over the locals she’d met so far.

  Michelle led the way up highly glossed stairs. “Red oak” was the answer to Jonelle’s question about the kind of wood. On the landing Michelle removed an old fashioned skeleton key from her skirt pocket, opened the first door on the left and stepped aside. Jonelle entered a large room dominated by a king-sized four-poster bed, marble-topped vanity and a sitting room situated in an alcove. Two hunter green wing chairs flanked a small round table.

  “Hope you’re comfortable here,” Michelle said. “I usually serve tea and coffee in the parlor around four, and you’re invited to sit by the fire. If you’d like something stronger, I have red and white wine. Tomorrow’s breakfast includes French toast and waffles, juice and coffee or tea. You’re welcome any time between seven and nine. The only other guests we have are a couple who are visiting us for the fifth time and they’re late risers. I only mention this for you to decide if you want company for breakfast.”

  Jonelle placed her overnight bag on an antique wooden trunk at the foot of the bed. “I like getting an early start, so breakfast for me is closer to seven,” she said. “However, I may take you up on that offer of afternoon coffee.”

  Michelle nodded. “I’ll leave you to get settled then.” With that, she smiled and left the room.

  Jonelle pulled off her shoes and flopped down on the bed. In all probability in a town this size, Finkleberg had spread the word about Susanna and the reason for Jonelle’s visit. She hoped Michelle wouldn’t shut down when she started asking questions.

  After a brief nap, followed by a splash of water on her face, Jonelle changed into a blue, crewneck sweater. A quick comb through her shoulder-length hair, and she was presentable enough to go downstairs.

  Halfway down, Jonelle heard voices. She plastered a smile on her face and descended the rest of the way. On the left was the sitting room where the smell of coffee greeted her. Michelle stood next to a couple seated together on a large, leather couch.

  “Glad you could join us, Jonelle. This is Mr. and Mrs. Wickham. Bernie and Beatrice this is Ms. Jonelle Sweet.” Michelle lifted an eyebrow.

  To her credit, Jonelle continued smiling as she faced two adults dressed alike. Husband and wife wore matching yellow long sleeve shirts, brown corduroy pants and black clogs. Bernie wore his black hair short and parted down the middle, while Beatrice sported her brown shoulder length hair teased on top and flipped up at the bottom. Both looked to be somewhere in their early thirties. Jonelle glanced at Michelle whose eyes had widened slightly. The corners of Michelle’s mouth twitched. She excused herself and left the room.

  “Coffee smells good,” Jonelle said, trying to retain her composure.

  “It is,” the Wickhams said in unison.

  After pouring herself a cup and selecting a piece of pound cake, Jonelle sat in an armchair and pretended to be interested in Bernie and Beatrice’s bird watching exploits. A few minutes after explaining the mating habits of the Gray Jay and Yellow Warbler, Bernie and Beatrice excused themselves saying they had more adventures planned the next day.

  Jonelle closed her eyes and settled deep into the leather chair. While the couple seemed nice, their constant repeating of each other’s words grated heavily on her nerves. As she was about to doze off, Jonelle heard someone moving about. She opened her eyes, somewhat disoriented until she remembered where she was.

  “Hope I didn’t disturb you,” Michelle said. She carried a tray with the silver coffee service and the remaining cake.

  “Not at all. Didn’t realize I was this tired. I should be upstairs.” She stretched her arms above her head. “Tell me something,” Jonelle said as Michelle started to leave. “Do the Wickhams always dress alike?”

  Michelle smiled. “From the very first time they came here. In spite of their little, uh, habit, they are two of the nicest people you could meet.”

  “They seemed pleasant enough once you got beyond that whole lookalike thing.” Which reminded her of why she came to this part of Michigan in the first place. “Can you sit for a minute? I don’t know how much Mr. Finkleberg told you about why I’m here.” Jonelle took a deep breath. “Susanna Quinley was found dead in Baltimore and her sister, Sophia, would like me to investigate how she came to live in Maryland. Sophia gave me permission to ask questions about her sister from everyone who knew her.”

  From the look on Michelle’s face, the news about the death came as no surprise.

  Jonelle continued. “The police are investigating the murder, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to find out what you know about Susanna, to get some idea of what kind of person she was.”

  “I don’t know anything about what happened with Susanna or why she left,” Michelle said, gripping the sides of the tray.

  There was that attitude again. First the waitress and now Michelle. “What about Susanna in general. Did you know her personally?”

  Michelle sighed and positioned the tray on the coffee table. She sat in the middle of the sofa.

  Jonelle waited.

  “We grew up together,” Michelle said in a voice so soft Jonelle had to lean forward to hear. “I’ve known the twins since we were all in the fifth grade.”

  “What was she like growing up?”

  Michelle studied her hands clasped tightly in her lap before answering. “Everything we did was typical kid stuff … at first.” Michelle paused. The grandfather clock ticked steadily as Jonelle waited for Michelle to
continue.

  “I mean, the only thing that really stuck out was that they didn’t dress the same. You know how mothers are, especially back then. Twins not only looked alike, they dressed alike. But not those two.”

  “Maybe the parents wanted them to express their individuality. I can see that.”

  Michelle leaned back against the sofa. “Oh, they expressed themselves all right,” Michelle said. “In fact, their ‘expressions’ got them in a boat load of trouble over the years.” She stared up at the ceiling. “I remember this one time, they grabbed little Jimmy Turner on his way home from school. They dragged him into the woods, stripped off his clothes and left him to run home naked.”

  “Well, jeeze,” Jonelle said, fingering her necklace. “How old were they?”

  “About eleven or thereabouts. Jimmy musta been six, seven at the time.”

  “Did they hurt him?” Jonelle asked.

  “I don’t know for sure, but rumor was they forced him to play ring around the rosy with nothing on for quite a while.” Michelle shook her head. “Their daddy found out and made them apologize. But that was just the beginning. Other people accused them of doing, uh, weird stuff over the years.” Michelle grabbed a rust-colored throw pillow and hugged it to her chest.

  Jonelle needed to hear more. “Like what?”

  “Well. One time one of their neighbors accused the girls of mutilating some chickens. She claimed she saw the twins hanging around her chicken coop acting strangely. After she chased them off, she found three of her best laying hens with their necks broken. The girls denied everything, but their daddy paid for the dead birds.” Michelle tucked her legs under her body.

  “Oh, they could be all sweetness and light when they wanted to, but if they suspected they were wronged in some way, well, they tried to get even.”