by Annie Irvin
The Harts lived in a neat brick ranch on a street known in town as Ministers’ Row since two other pastors and their families lived in the same block. Up and down the street numerous wooden swing sets, bicycles, and barking dogs confirmed this was a family neighborhood. Harper found it hard to believe a pastor living on this quiet street in the pleasant little town of Bittersweet Hollow could have committed a murder. Yet she was sure someone in Bittersweet Hollow had done just that.
Harper pulled into a driveway in the middle of the block and parked the truck. While she pressed the doorbell she hoped Lawrence wasn’t home.
Daphne opened the door with a sunny smile on her face and a toddler on her hip. Her dark blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail and she wore blue jeans and a faded University of Iowa sweatshirt over her slender frame. Harper wondered how in the world the minister’s wife handled two small children, several church committees, and a couple of weekly women’s groups, yet managed to look so young and so rested. Standing next to Daphne, Harper suddenly felt every one of her fifty-three years.
“Hi,” the young woman smiled warmly, “it’s Harper Reed, right? I’m afraid my husband isn’t here now but won’t you come in anyway?”
“I’m not here to see Pastor Hart,” Harper told her, stepping into the living room. “I’m actually here to see you if you could give me five minutes.”
Harper grinned at the chubby little girl squirming in Daphne’s arms.
Motioning for Harper to follow, Daphne led the way into a clean, cheerful kitchen where she plopped the toddler into her highchair. Grabbing a couple of bowls from the table she shoved them into the dishwasher.
“I was just finishing up some dishes,” Daphne said, wiping off the tray of the highchair.
Harper admired the pudgy little girl’s curly blond hair and round blue eyes.
“Her name is Chloe.”
“She’s adorable.”
“Would you like some coffee?” Daphne inquired, reaching for the pot at the stove.
“No thanks, I’m fine. I dropped by because I’m asking some of the folks I know who were at the Pumpkin Patch Festival if they might have observed anything out of the ordinary that Sunday, especially in the evening and especially concerning Grace Potter.”
Daphne filled a sippy cup of juice for Chloe and said slowly, “I do remember the day very well. Not that my memory is so great but since Grace was murdered that day, well, a lot sticks in my head. It must be really horrible for your mother, a murder happening right on her property. Is she doing okay?”
“She’s all right, although it’s been difficult for her, someone getting murdered a few hundred feet from the house.”
“I would imagine so. Well, to get back to Sunday and Grace. Dusk was coming on when Lawrence and I stopped by the wagon with all the pumpkins on it. One of your helpers was there––the Albertson girl, I believe. Are you sure you won’t have a cup of coffee or maybe some tea?”
“Thanks, I’m still good,” Harper assured her as Daphne wiped juice trickles off Chloe’s chin. A little boy ran into the kitchen carrying a toy truck.
Daphne laid her hand on the chunky boy’s blond curls. “This is Danny.” Making truck sounds, the boy ran out of the kitchen and Daphne continued.
“Anyway, Grace walked by and actually bumped into Lawrence. It was starting to get dark so I’m sure she didn’t intend to, and she apologized, saying something like ‘oh, I don’t know how I couldn’t see you since you were right there in front of my eyes.’
Harper cringed inwardly, knowing the true meaning of Grace’s callous remark. No wonder Carly thought Lawrence acted in such a hurry to get his wife away.
“Had the bonfire started, do you remember?”
“No, it wasn’t quite dark enough yet.”
“I hope your little ones enjoyed the bonfire,” Harper said. “I assume you and Lawrence did stay for that?”
“Oh yes, we did. The children were intrigued by the flames. I enjoyed it, too. Lawrence wandered off a bit before the bonfire started. He wanted to get a glass of cider but later he told me an urgent matter he needed to take care of cropped up on his way back—it seems he always finds someone who wants to bend his ear about something. So he was gone around an hour and missed watching Mr. Sanders light up the blaze. He met us at the car after the bonfire was over but he said it was the best one he’d ever seen. We were getting ready to leave when we heard sirens and saw flashing lights heading toward the Inn. Then the sheriff and deputy cars pulled into the driveway and parked. I told Lawrence he should go see if someone needed a clergyman. Maybe there had been an accident or an illness. But Lawrence said we needed to get the children away and it was certainly past their bedtime. So he slipped out of the car for a minute, spoke with one of the deputies who said we could leave the area, and we came home.”
Daphne wiped up a juice spill on the highchair tray. “I didn’t learn about Grace until the next morning. Wagner Potter called and told Lawrence about Grace and asked him to stop by Marshall’s house later that day.”
Interesting, thought Harper.
Daphne rinsed out Chloe’s washcloth in the sink and said, “Your mother has always been so hospitable and done such a wonderful job with the festival. We’ll miss the gathering next year.”
“The new owners plan to carry on the tradition. You’ll be able to enjoy it next year, too.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
“I won’t keep you any longer,” Harper said. Daphne had told her exactly what she’d come here to find out. “Thanks for your input.”
Daphne followed Harper to the door. “Tell your mother she’s in our thoughts and prayers. I hope they catch Grace’s murderer soon.”
As Harper drove away, Daphne stood in the doorway and waved, her little boy standing beside her waving, too.
“What a shame if that family’s torn apart,” Harper mumbled under her breath, trying not to judge Fannie and Lawrence, yet wanting to smack them both good and hard.
After Harper arrived back at her shop, she shut herself in the office and sat at her desk, staring down at the notepad where she’d written her suspects’ names. She needed some alone time to sort out her thoughts.
Roy and Glennis. Let’s face it, Harper thought. Some parents might do whatever it took to protect their child’s past as well as their child’s future.
Summer and Mickey. Two lovers might attempt to keep their dalliance secret at all costs, especially if it gave new meaning to the expression ‘family affair.’
Pastor Lawrence Hart and Fannie. Even a man of the cloth might reach a moral breaking point and figure one more broken commandment wouldn’t make much difference in Hell.
If Alice had any moxie at all, Harper thought, instead of worrying about Grace’s ghost, she’d conjure up a vision or two of Grace’s murderer.
Chapter Fifteen
“That’s the last of the customers today,” Helen announced, flipping the sign hanging on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed.’ “I’ll see you in the morning. Thank the Lord we don’t open until ten tomorrow and I can enjoy a Friday night at the movies. You want to join Marylou and me? It’s a chick flick.”
“Maybe next time,” Harper said, waving her hand at Helen. She needed to call Lonnie and fill her in on the dirt she’d dug up at Daphne Hart’s. A nice glass of wine wouldn’t be out of the question either. Why not kill two birds with one stone and meet at Rubino’s?
“Sure,” Lonnie agreed. “Paul won’t be home until seven or so. I’m getting ready to leave work, so I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
Harper beat Lonnie to Rubino’s parking lot and hurried inside. The doors swished shut behind her as she entered the bar and slid onto a padded stool. She noticed Jimmy Rubino and two county deputies huddled in conversation at the far end of the bar.
Max the bartender threw his bar towel over his shoulder and asked jovially, “What’ll you have?”
“Better give me a glass of white wine.”
/> “Make it two,” Lonnie said, scooting up to the bar and plopping onto the stool next to Harper. “And why are the cops here?”
Max placed two glasses on the bar and reached for a wine bottle.
“It has something to do with Grace Potter,” he answered. Narrowing his eyes, he lowered his voice. “They’re discussing a person of interest.”
Max filled their wine glasses before turning his attention to another customer.
While the sisters tried to eavesdrop on Jimmy’s conversation without appearing to do so, Kay Rubino joined her husband at the end of the bar.
“You’d think they could talk a little louder,” Lonnie complained, nodding toward the quartet deep in conversation.
“I should have sat closer to that end of the bar,” Harper scolded herself.
After the cops finished their powwow and headed for the door, Jimmy motioned to Max who opened a couple of cans of soda, sliding them across the bar to his boss. Handing one can to his wife, the Rubinos ambled toward Harper and Lonnie.
Jimmy and Kay’s waistlines were walking proof of Rubino’s By the River’s excellent food. Jimmy liked to tell people he worked out daily at the fitness gym in order to save himself to some extent from the customary result of eating too many deep fried foods. Kay, on the other hand, liked to say her downfall was the pasta and desserts, and at fifty-seven she wasn’t trying to impress anyone with a svelte body so why work out?
Both Rubinos had lively brown eyes framed by distinct laugh lines. Harper had never seen either one in a bad mood. Running her hands down the sides of her apron, Kay greeted the sisters with, “Hey, ladies! How are you two?” while Jimmy stood behind his wife, his hands resting on her shoulders. Jimmy, a head taller than Kay, rested his chin on top of her head, ruffling up her sable brown hair which she wore twisted into a topknot. Over the years she’d been a blond, a redhead, and a brunette. She didn’t care what color her tresses were so long as they weren’t gray because––Kay told folks––she didn’t think Jimmy’s dark black locks would ever get very gray.
“We’re doing great,” Harper answered Kay’s question. Nodding toward the backs of the retreating uniforms, she asked, “You guys got trouble?”
“The county guys were asking about some folks who stayed at your mother’s bed and breakfast the weekend Grace bought the farm,” Jimmy answered, gently nudging Kay to one side so he could perch on a stool.
“Why were they asking you?” Lonnie wanted to know.
“She’s not the least bit nosy,” Harper interjected, giving Lonnie a look that told her she was exactly that but it was a good thing.
“It’s kind of a long story,” Jimmy said, pointing to the far side of the lounge. “Let’s go sit at a table.”
After everyone scooted around a cloth-covered table nestled in a relatively quiet corner, Jimmy began talking. “It goes all the way back to the early eighties when Kay’s uncle was murdered on the south side of Chicago. It’s a piece of our past we decided not to broadcast after we moved here. But now, with Grace’s murder, I expect you’ll hear about it anyway.”
Harper interrupted. “What does Grace have to do with Kay’s dead uncle?”
Kay cut in. “Like Jimmy said, it’s a long story. We moved away from Chicago right after Uncle Vito’s murder. Jimmy and I each come from a large family. We love them, sure, but we wanted kids and we didn’t think staying in the big city was such a good idea, especially in light of Uncle Vito’s sudden death at the hands of a shady partner of his. The two of them were bookmakers, did loan sharking and were tangled up in some petty larceny, too.”
Jimmy set his can of soda aside and took over the story. “Eventually they got mixed up with drugs, money laundering, and crooked real estate deals. Vito’s partner wasn’t happy with his perception of how the profits were being split between the two of them. One day, Uncle Vito took a little swim in the Chicago River. Problem was, he couldn’t swim, especially with a forty pound weight strapped on his legs and his arms tied behind his back.”
“The murder evidence pointed clearly to the partner,” Kay continued. “But the cops never located him. My family has kept us up-to-date on the details over the years. Apparently, the partner has done a good job remaining hidden, or he may even be dead by now, but his son still lives in Chicago and has kept the illegal and lucrative family ‘business’ going.”
“And the family name is?” Harper asked but she already knew the answer.
“Simon,” Jimmy replied. “Vito’s partner was Aldo Simon. Jersey is Aldo’s son and he and his wife were looking to purchase some property in this area. Grace Potter was their real estate agent. The authorities in Chicago have been watching him for some time on suspicion of money laundering related to some commercial real estate. The Simons were looking at buying a couple of apartment complexes in St. Andrews. You know, go into the property management business out here, launder some drug money through it, and stay away from Chicago when it suited them.”
“Holy cow,” Lonnie gasped. “Do they think Jersey Simon killed Grace because she found out something about his illegal business?”
Jimmy shrugged his broad shoulders, “They’re looking into anything they think might tie him to her murder. They were hoping Kay and I could give them some information about the Simons, but honestly, we didn’t even know they were looking at property around here.”
Kay nodded in agreement. “It’s not like I really knew Aldo. I’d met him a few times is all. And I barely remember Jersey. Neither one of us were much help to the deputies, I’m afraid.”
The restaurant started to get busy with customers and Jimmy and Kay left to attend to their lucrative, legal business.
“I met the Simons at the Inn,” Lonnie told her sister. “They seemed polite and quiet. They’ve stayed several times during this past year.”
“I remember them, too, and you’re right, they seemed okay,” Harper agreed, “but it doesn’t mean they didn’t have issues with Grace.”
Lonnie took a long sip of her wine. “Do you think this Jersey Simon had anything to do with Grace ending up dead?”
“Maybe. This is probably one reason the cops haven’t been looking at the locals too hard. I mean, if you were a cop and had to look at someone like Roy Turnbuckle or a mobster from Chicago, even a small time mobster, who would you go after? You know, the ‘no guts no glory’ sort of thing. Something like that would ring the cops’ bell. But I still say there are plenty of people here in Bittersweet Hollow who wanted her dead.”
“Which brings us to why we’re here drinking wine in the first place—your chat with Daphne Hart.”
“Right, my chat with Daphne.” Harper switched her thoughts from Chicago mobsters to what she believed was the real issue. “It seems there was a lengthy stretch of time on Sunday night when Daphne and her husband weren’t together. She and the kids watched the bonfire without him.”
Lonnie nodded her head, not in agreement with Harper but at Marni Krohn, one of the bar waitresses. She wanted a refill.
“When will Paul be home?” Harper asked while Marni scurried off to the bar to get Lonnie’s wine.
“Apparently right now,” Lonnie smiled as her husband crossed the room and slipped into the chair Jimmy had vacated.
“Thought this is where I’d find you, you wino,” Paul laughed at Lonnie. “I finished up early for a change. How about we just have dinner since we’re here. And you and Harper can fill me in on what I’ve missed the past few days.”
“Better bring us menus,” Lonnie told Marni when she returned with the wine.
“And a bottle of Bud,” Paul added.
“And I’ll have a refill. By the way, isn’t Summer working tonight?” Harper asked before Marni left to fill their drink orders. “I figured she’d be here on a Friday night.”
“She called in earlier, said she’s still sick.”
“What do you mean ‘still sick’?”
“She’s called in sick the last three days,” Marni said, spri
nting away.
During supper, the sisters updated Paul on Jersey Simon. Like his wife and sister-in-law, Paul didn’t think much of the Jersey Simon angle. “I think that’s a real long shot but I can see where the thrill of chasing a mobster would appeal to the county cops. I just don’t know what they would do with him if they caught him.”
They moved on to Harper’s suspect list. Paul was aware of the picture Grace took of Mickey and Summer since Lonnie let him in on it.
“Mickey has fooled around for so many years, one more notch in his belt wouldn’t make a lot of difference to him,” Paul reasoned.
