Hollyhock Ridge

by Pamela Grandstaff

  “And what goes around comes around,” Claire said.

  “We’ll still see you for Scrabble, I trust,” he said. “And down the pub, as they say.”

  “Of course,” Claire said. “Thank you for coming to tell me in person.”

  “Fare thee well, sweet ladybird,” he said. “Don’t let the bloody buggers get you down.”

  Ruthie Postlethwaite had been helping out at the bakery while the majority of the Fitzpatrick women were at the beach, and she was glad to see Claire show up to relieve her.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” she said as she left, rubbing her lower back.

  Claire spent the afternoon making sales and prepping for the next morning. It was hot, hard work, and by four o’clock her back ached and her arms were weak from lifting heavy trays. When the four-thirty rush commenced, she raced around waiting on customers and filling phone orders. By six-thirty it was quiet again, so she started the evening clean-up chores.

  Claire was filling a box with leftover baked goods for the City Mission when the bells on the front door jingled. She looked up to see Marigold Lawson, her face bright red with anger.

  Marigold was a tall woman with strong features and an Amazonian figure. Unfortunately, she dressed herself in clothing more appropriate to a much more petite and girlish young woman. The end result was that she looked both uncomfortable and foolish.

  Claire, as was her habit, mentally cut the woman’s hair into a shorter style, dyed it dark red, and dressed her in jewel-toned, long, flowing tunic separates, with bold, chunky jewelry and more subtle make-up. There. That was better.

  “Your husband had the temerity to come to my house and ask me for money,” Marigold said. “I have half a mind to call the police and have him arrested for extortion.”

  Claire’s whole body sagged and she moaned.

  “Pip?”

  “He looks like a dirty hippie,” Marigold said. “He’s lucky my husband wasn’t home.”

  “First of all, he’s my ex-husband,” Claire said. “Second of all, I’m sorry, but I can’t control what Pip does with his time, or what kind of hare-brained schemes he comes up with to get money.”

  “He insinuated that he could make things difficult for me with the police,” she said.

  “He doesn’t mean it,” Claire said. “Pip has smoked so much marijuana he has brain damage. Just take a broom to his backside and chase him off your porch. If he comes back, tell him you’re calling the police and he’ll run away.”

  “It’s bad enough that the police have been to my house,” Marigold said. “A squad car parked right out in front, like I’m some kind of criminal.”

  “I guess you were one of the last people to see Knox alive …”

  “He was alive when I left his house,” Marigold said. “Not that anyone seems to believe me.”

  “Meredith was there after you,” Claire said. “I’m sure she’ll clear things up when they talk to her.”

  “Unless she killed him and blames me!”

  Marigold’s face was so red Claire thought she might have a stroke.

  “Can I get you a cup of tea or something?” Claire asked her. “I really am sorry about Pip.”

  Marigold sniffed.

  “You’re Kay’s friend,” she said. “You’ll probably call her as soon as I leave. I’m sure she’s enjoying my predicament.”

  “Kay’s a good person,” Claire said. “If you took the time to get to know her, you would think so, too. She hasn’t said one unkind word about you to the press, now, has she?”

  Marigold looked as if she were about to cry.

  “No,” she said. “She never has.”

  Her chin trembled, her lower lip turned down, and the tears fell.

  “Come and sit down,” Claire said. “Have a cup of tea and eat one of these leftover muffins while I clean up. We don’t even have to talk. Just catch your breath. I promise you, Pip cannot hurt you, and Kay is not out to get you.”

  Marigold sat down, sniffed a few times, blew her nose, and then peeled the paper off one of the muffins Claire had put in front of her. Meanwhile, Claire made her a cup of strong hot tea with a generous spoonful of sugar.

  Claire filled three large bakery boxes and stacked them on a table near the door, completely ignoring her guest, and eventually, after she ate four muffins, Marigold regained her composure.

  “I saw Stuart at Kay’s house,” Marigold said as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “He’s supposed to be on my side.”

  “I wouldn’t want him anywhere near my side,” Claire said. “That man’s one federal indictment away from a prison sentence.”

  “He said Kay did most of the things he and Knox were accused of.”

  “Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” Claire said. “Fortunately for Kay, she kept documentation that proves she had nothing to do with any of it.”

  “Really?” Marigold said. “So she’s not under investigation?”

  “Nope,” Claire said. “She’s helping the FBI with their investigation.”

  “That’s not what Stuart said,” Marigold said. “He said it was just a matter of time before she was in jail and he was exonerated.”

  “Stuart Machalvie is lying to you,” Claire said. “He’s lying to everyone. It’s what he does.”

  Marigold was quiet for a few moments, as if considering this new information.

  “So you don’t think Kay is going to use Knox’s death to discredit me?”

  “What’s to use?” Claire asked. “You went to visit a neighbor for some reason and he died after you left.”

  “There’s more to it,” Marigold said. “It’ll all come out eventually.”

  “So tell Kay your side of the story, and ask her to fight a fair fight.”

  “Fat lot of good that’ll do,” Marigold said. “She’ll probably laugh in my face.”

  “You really don’t know her at all, do you? Kay Templeton has the most well-developed conscience of anyone I know. It’s like there’s a flippin’ cricket on her shoulder. I’ve known her my whole life and I’m telling you she’s a decent person.”

  “Except my son spray-painted her house. It was just youthful high jinx that got out of hand, of course, but nonetheless, I’m sure she holds me responsible.”

  “She doesn’t,” Claire said. “She holds your son responsible, and she wants him to get counseling, not jail time.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my son,” Marigold said, drawing her shoulders up in a huff.

  “We’re being honest here, Marigold,” Claire said. “Your son is a mean bully and pretty soon he’s going to seriously hurt someone.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “You can kid yourself about him, but not me,” Claire said. “I saw what he wrote on those houses. That kid needs an anger intervention.”

  “I took him to our minister,” Marigold said, as her shoulders collapsed. “I’ve sent him to a private Christian school; I don’t know what else to do.”

  “I don’t know, either,” Claire said. “But Kay is not your enemy. Go see her. Be honest with her and she will be fair with you.”

  “It’s probably pointless,” Marigold said.

  “Here’s something you can do,” Claire said. “Take these boxes of leftovers to the Pendleton City Mission and make sure someone from the paper is there to photograph you doing it. It’ll save me a trip and be good P.R. for you.”

  “Thank you,” Marigold said. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Just something I’m learning,” Claire said. “You know the saying: be kind, for everyone is fighting some kind of battle.”

  “Well, I’m touched,” Marigold said. “I think after I drop these off I will go and see Kay, and have a heart-to-heart talk with her.”

  “Maybe you two could go to the mission together,” Claire said. “Show the public you’re willing to put politics aside to help those in need.”

  “I won’t bother her,” Marigold said. “No need to muddy the message.
”

  Claire wanted to laugh but held it in until Marigold left.

  Even bitches have sorrows.

  Gwyneth Eldridge came in right as Claire was closing up for the night.

  “We’re closing,” Claire told her.

  “I didn’t come to buy anything,” Gwyneth said. “I want to talk to you.”

  Claire sighed, flipped the lights back on, and sat down.

  “I’m so tired, Gwyneth,” Claire said. “Could you go ahead and say whatever it is you came to say so I can disagree with you or tell you ‘no’ and then we can both go home?”

  “There’s no need to be so rude,” Gwyneth said. “I’m offering to do you a favor.”

  “Do me a favor?” Claire said. “And why would you do that?”

  “Because I need your help,” Gwyneth said. “My back’s against the wall on this spa issue, and I’ve come here, checkbook in hand, to beg you to help me.”

  “I don’t need the money,” Claire said, even though visions of online shopping expeditions were dancing in her head.

  “But you do need to get rid of Pip.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Nothing like that,” Gwyneth said. “Although he did only half-build some bookshelves for me after I paid him for the whole job, and I think he may have stolen an antique silver letter opener off of my desk.”

  “Cut to the chase, Gwyneth.”

  “My sister Caroline is living in Hawaii, where she’s building a sort of ashram for her spiritual community.”

  “I heard something about that.”

  “She needs someone who can do all sorts of handyman work, not only building the place, but to reside there afterward as a sort of jack-of-all-trades.”

  “I’m sure there are people in Hawaii who can do that sort of work.”

  “Unfortunately, Caroline has made some social gaffs which have alienated the locals. Something about wanting to barter for work using spiritual lessons instead of money. Although she can afford to pay, she doesn’t have her non-profit status yet, so she’d prefer not to hire someone. Pip would ostensibly be a volunteer, but she’d take care of him under the table.”

  “Which would suit him to a tee.”

  “I’m willing to pay for a one-way ticket, and vouch for him with whatever parole officer is unlucky enough to be in charge of him, so that he can help Caroline with her project.”

  “And in return, I help you set up a spa in the basement of the Eldridge Inn.”

  “Exactly.”

  Claire was tempted. It would be so wonderful not to have Pip underfoot for a while. Knowing Pip, she had no illusions about it being a permanent placement, but it might last six months.

  “Can I think about it?”

  “I’ll give you twenty-four hours,” Gwyneth said.

  Claire’s feet were so sore she wanted nothing more than to go home, take a hot shower, and go straight to bed. As she passed the newspaper office, however, Ed came outside and stopped her.

  “Can you come in for a minute?” he asked her. “I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Is Eve here?” Claire asked.

  “No,” Ed said. “She’s working.”

  Claire came inside and sat down at the work table in the middle of the front room. She was so tired she could barely function.

  “Bakery work is brutal, I’m guessing,” he said.

  “I’m out of shape,” Claire said. “I need to start running again.”

  “Anytime you’re ready I’m ready,” Ed said.

  “Let’s say tomorrow,” Claire said. “I may cancel, but let’s pretend I’ll follow through and see what happens.”

  “I wanted to thank you for the information you got from Knox’s phone. I was able to get to the person he talked to at the bank before Sarah did. He was checking on an application he had made for a loan against his home. He was denied, of course. You don’t fire someone for misappropriating funds and coercing a bank board for personal gain and then turn around and give him a loan.”

  “Only Knox was arrogant enough to think that could work for him.”

  Claire told Ed about her phone call to Anne Marie, and he took notes. She did not tell him about the vision Anne Marie had.

  “Neither the bank or the attorneys will talk to me, of course,” Ed said, “and neither Stuart nor Trick will return my phone calls.”

  “That leaves Marigold,” Claire said.

  “She said her call was about a committee Knox and she are on,” Ed said. “He didn’t answer, she didn’t leave a message, and he didn’t return her call.”

  “So we know he was alive at 12:20 p.m., when he called his brother,” Claire said. “The call Pip made to Knox was at 12:52. When I called Frieda, she said Pip had left five minutes before, and it only takes about five minutes to get from her house to Knox’s, so sometime between 12:20 a.m. and around 1:00 p.m., when Pip found him, someone killed Knox.”

  “Unless Trick killed him, and then had Sandy call from Knox’s cell phone to give him an alibi.”

  “You don’t really think Trick is smart enough to think that up, or that Sandy would go along with it.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “At least that narrows it down,” Claire said. “I’d like to know where Meredith was during those 40 minutes.”

  They were both quiet for a few moments, thinking through the series of events on Knox’s last day.

  “My brain hurts,” Claire said. “I need to go home, take a shower, and go to bed.”

  “Eve told me about the senator,” Ed said.

  Claire was taken aback, and it took her a moment to organize her thoughts.

  “What did she say?”

  “The affair started when she spent a week with him working on a profile piece,” he said. “She said she didn’t want there to be any secrets between us.”

  “That’s admirable.”

  “You aren’t surprised, I see.”

  “No, I knew all about it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It felt like tattling,” Claire said. “It felt like a petty thing a jealous ex-girlfriend would do, and not a good friend.”

  “There’s still a chance the child’s mine,” Ed said. “And even if it isn’t, I want it to be raised as mine.”

  “I understand,” Claire said. “I do. I understand it, I accept it, and I support your decision, if not 100 percent wholeheartedly, then at least 85 percent, which, I’m sorry, is probably the best I can do.”

  “I appreciate that you were looking out for me.”

  “We’re friends, Ed,” Claire said. “At least I hope we still are.”

  “Of course we are.”

  “Before I go, I want to say this, and you can take my advice or leave it,” Claire said. “You’re more valuable to Eve than she wants you to think.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “It’s true,” Claire said. “Right now you have all the power in the relationship, and you don’t even realize it. If you tell her how you want it to be, and she doesn’t agree, you don’t have to cooperate.”

  “But I want the kid.”

  “Tell her you’re prepared to sue for custody and demand a DNA test,” Claire said. “That should get her maternity panties in a twist.”

  “Wow,” he said. “You seem very sweet, Claire, but underneath you’re actually a cutthroat pirate of a girl, aren’t you?”

  “There are some things I need to tell you about my own past,” Claire said. “Some things I’m not too proud of. Since we’re putting everything out here on the table, I’d like to get that over with.”

  “You’re entitled to your privacy,” Ed said.

  “No,” Claire said. “My father used to say you shouldn’t complain about being robbed if you make your living as a thief.”

  “I have a hard time picturing you as even a metaphorical thief.”

  “That’s what I want to address,” Claire said. “I want you to know who I am.”

  “D
o you want a beer, first?”

  “Yeah, I think I better have one,” Claire said. “Bring two, actually; I may need them both.”

  After she left the newspaper office, Claire went back down Rose Hill Avenue, and just happened to look into the tea room to see if Meredith was there. She had her nose pressed to the window and didn’t hear Laurie until he was right next to her.

  “Hey,” he said. “Find any dead executives lately?”

  Claire jumped, her heart thumping, and she must have been down to her last nerve, because it infuriated her all out of proportion.

  “Been to the bottom of any vodka bottles lately?” she asked him.

  “The office was covered.”

  “You could have died, Laurie.”

  “It’s a lot like Russian roulette,” he said. “I just prefer spirits to firearms.”

  “That’s not funny,” Claire said. “You can’t go on this way.”

  “A momentary lapse of focus,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

  Claire took a deep breath, and reminded herself how compassionate she had planned to be in regard to other people’s battles. It wasn’t always easy.

  “I’m concerned,” she said. “What did happen?”

  “My life,” Laurie said. “Do we have to talk about this? Can’t I just buy you some flowers or a pair of shoes with some Italian man’s name on them, and we can put this behind us?”

  “Yeah, because I’m just some shallow, stupid little woman,” Claire said.

  “I’d apologize,” he said, “but what I’d really like to do is change the subject.”

  “Fine,” Claire said. “Your alcoholism is beginning to bore me, anyway.”

  There were a few moments of tense silence, heavy as a thundercloud. She crossed her arms, sighed, and rolled her eyes. Laurie looked as if he were counting to ten, as if he felt the same. If they were each so mad, so fed up with each other, then why didn’t one of them just walk away?

  “So, you went up to Knox’s house to stop Pip from blackmailing Knox …” he finally said.

  His tone was quiet, detached, and polite, but barely so.

  “I thought Knox might do something to Pip, like shoot him and then say it was in self-defense or something. I don’t know; it was an impulse.”