by Annie Irvin
“But this time he got caught with his sister-in-law,” Lonnie said.
“That does put a different spin on it,” he admitted.
Then he almost choked on a bite of steak when Harper decided to share the reason she believed Roy and Glennis had a first-rate motive to murder Grace.
“I wouldn’t have told you, except sometimes a man’s viewpoint can be helpful,” Harper said, blinking her eyes in mock flattery.
“Are you sure Mona told you the truth about Rachel?” Paul questioned, washing the bite of steak down with a swig of beer.
“I don’t think Mona would lie about something as big as Rachel’s pregnancy,” Harper replied, not sure if she was defending Mona for telling or herself for believing.
“I don’t mean to imply Mona is a liar. But look who she got her information from,” Paul pointed out. “Grace loved to upset people and this could have been just another one of her vicious stories.”
“But Fred saw Roy and Glennis heading out toward the shed on Sunday night,” Lonnie said.
“Yes, but a lot of folks were roaming all over the place on Sunday night. Did anyone actually see them enter the shed?”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t consider the Turnbuckles?” Harper asked Paul.
Before he answered, he finished the last few bites of food on his plate and then motioned to Marni for a refill on his Bud.
“No, not at all, I’m just saying you have to be careful. There’s a killer out there and you, Harper Reed, are poking around with a sharp stick.”
After Marni delivered another round of drinks and cleared away the dirty dishes, Lonnie leaned toward her sister and whispered conspiratorially, “Tell him about Lawrence Hart.”
Harper wasn’t sure she wanted to impart that information to Paul. If he asked how she’d learned about Lawrence and Fannie’s affair, it would be uncomfortable to tell him she’d pilfered the evidence. If she kept her mouth shut until she found out who killed Grace, she wouldn’t have to tell anyone about the letters in Grace’s office desk.
Paul stared at her over his beer and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Harper frowned at Lonnie.
“What was that look for?” Lonnie demanded.
“You might as well tell me,” Paul said. “If you don’t, Lonnie will.”
“Oh, all right. But only on the condition you don’t ask me or Lonnie how I came by my information.”
Paul frowned slightly and held Harper’s gaze in his. “I won’t ask if you promise to not do anything reckless or crazy.”
“Now why would I do anything reckless? Okay, okay, I promise. So, it’s like this. I discovered Pastor Hart and Fannie Abbott were having an affair. I confronted Fannie and she admitted it to me.”
Paul emitted a long, low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“You and Pastor Hart,” Lonnie couldn’t help saying.
“And Grace was going to expose the affair. If she had accomplished that, it would have been incredibly destructive to Lawrence and Fannie.”
“And you believe one of them could have killed Grace?”
“I think Fannie can be ruled out. She said she was with Bruce all evening and they left the festival well before eight o’clock. I don’t have any reason to doubt her. It would be easy to check out. Daphne Hart, on the other hand, told me her husband’s whereabouts were unknown during the time Grace was murdered.”
“Harper.” Paul laid his hand over hers. “I know you’re worried about Olivia and want to get on with the sale of the Inn and move your mother to town where she’ll be safer, but remember you’re dealing with a real murderer here. Someone who won’t take kindly to you sniffing around and asking questions. You don’t want to end up like Grace because you stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Harper smiled. “I’ll watch it. Besides, once I’m sure who did it, I’ll give the cops all the information they’ll need to make an arrest.”
“Don’t forget your promise to me. And stay out of sheds,” Paul advised as he motioned for the waitress to bring the guest check.
At the coat rack, Paul help Lonnie into her jacket, then offered to help Harper into hers.
“How do you tell whose jacket is whose?” Paul asked. “They’re exactly alike.”
Lonnie laughed. “I ordered mine online without knowing Harper was ordering one just like it. It’s nice and cozy on a chilly night.”
“We’re both partial to the same style,” Harper said.
“And you’re both a little crazy,” Paul added as he and Lonnie headed for their vehicles. “Just saying.”
Sitting in Rubino’s parking lot with the truck engine running, Harper mulled over the fact that Summer had called in sick for the past three days. She’d really like to get the lowdown on the young woman’s disappearing act during the time of Grace’s murder.
If Summer could account for her actions, Harper could possibly rule her out. She and Mickey might have hooked up and messed around while someone else met up with Grace and murdered her.
Fifteen minutes later, Harper stood in front of Summer’s apartment door and rang the bell.
“Well, take a look who’s shere,” Summer slurred, opening the door wearing a pair of old sweats laced with holes and a faded sweatshirt stained down the front. Her dark hair tumbled around her face and she didn’t have on a speck of makeup.
“Jush come on in, why don’tcha.”
Stepping backwards, Summer swayed to her left, then to her right, and then fell flat on her rear end. She giggled.
“Are you okay?” Harper leaned over the younger woman and helped her to her feet. The smell of booze slammed her in the face.
“Coursh I’m okay. I’m jush frickin’ dandy.” Summer tried to focus her eyes. She teetered on her feet and weaved across the kitchen to the sink with Harper holding on to her arm. Cut limes, spilled salt, and a puddle of Margarita mix oozed around a nearly empty bottle of tequila.
“Join me for a little drinksy?” Summer asked while she splashed straight tequila into a glass. Twice she tried to grasp a wedge of lime and both times the piece of fruit slipped away from her fingers and slid across the countertop. The third time was the charm and Summer plopped the lime into the glass of tequila, raised the straight shot to her lips, and in one smooth movement tilted her head back and drained the glass. Harper held her breath, hoping the girl wouldn’t choke on the lime. But Summer slogged down the tequila with the flourish of a professional boozer.
“Damn, thash good,” she mumbled, tossing the empty glass into the sink where it broke into several jagged pieces.
Harper groaned. She hadn’t bargained on finding an exceedingly drunk Summer Storm.
“Let’s go sit down in the living room,” she sighed. Maybe I can get her to discuss Mickey and the festival, she thought. She might not be too drunk to talk, yet drunk enough to spill the beans.
After steering the inebriated woman into the living room, Harper navigated the two of them through discarded piles of clothing strewn across the living room floor, stepping around a greasy pizza box and over crumpled fast food bags until they reached the sofa.
“Sit,” Harper commanded.
“No problemo,” Summer belched, plopping heavily onto the overstuffed couch.
“No wonder you called in sick to work.”
“Shick? You bet I’m shick. I’m heart shick.” Summer’s lips trembled and she began sobbing.
Oh, no, Harper thought. Not a crying jag.
“I gave him everything,” Summer sobbed, “and he took it! Mickey took and took and he never gave back.”
Harper spotted a box of tissues on an end table. After clearing a space from the cluttered coffee table so she could sit on it and face Summer, she placed the box of tissues on the weeping girl’s lap.
Summer hiccupped. “I did it all for him, you know. I did the unthinkable for Mickey. Yesh, the unthinkable, and he jush walked away from me.”
“What unthinkable thing did you do for Mickey?”
&nbs
p; “Oh, oh,” Summer slobbered and gripped the arm of the sofa. “I gotta puke.”
Harper sprang into action. Grabbing Summer under the arms, she managed to pull her to an almost upright position. Stepping quickly behind her, Harper threw her arms around Summer’s waist and marched the wobbly woman into the bathroom where Summer sank to her knees and draped herself across the john. Harper wisely jumped back as Summer ejected pizza and tequila from her system.
After a few minutes of trying to ignore the sound of vomiting, Harper ran cold water on a washcloth and wiped Summer’s face. Knowing she had only a few minutes before the girl passed out cold, Harper got her to her feet and half dragged her into the bedroom, dumping her unceremoniously on the bed.
“Summer, tell me what you did for Mickey.” Harper sat on the edge of the bed and shook the girl’s shoulders.
“Everything,” Summer muttered. “I did it ‘cause I luff him.” Turning her head into the pillow she passed out.
Damn, I won’t find out anything tonight, Harper grumbled and waited another twenty minutes to make sure Summer wasn’t going to get sick again. She considered picking up the mess in the living room but decided against it. It would do Summer good to clean up her own mess in the morning.
Leaving the snoring woman to sleep it off, Harper drove home and took a hot bubble bath before crawling into her soft bed.
Slipping under the quilt, she tried to get the sound of Summer’s vomiting out of her head so she could get some sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
At ten thirty, Saturday morning, Harper decided to shop for some wood screws.
“Screws? What for?” Helen asked, not bothering to look up as she unpacked a box of salt and pepper shakers just delivered from an antique dealer in Des Moines.
“I’m putting up a shelf in the back room. Got brackets, no screws.”
“Well, as long as you’re going to the store, pick up some light bulbs. We’re burning out. Get those twirly ones.”
Dashing down the street, Harper waved at Naylor, who was standing in the big front window of A Different Wrinkle carefully arranging a display of sweaters. He looked right out of the Age of Aquarius in a lavender shirt and deep purple bell bottoms.
Harper had debated with herself all morning whether or not to confront Roy Turnbuckle with the fact that he and Glennis had the opportunity as well as a motive for murdering Grace. A motive stemming from a secret they’d kept for almost thirty years.
Bells jingled overhead as Harper pushed open the front door of the hardware store. Benny Fuller, the nineteen year old stock boy, looked up from unpacking a cardboard box filled with spray paint cans, pushed a stray lock of long hair away from his eyes, and asked, “Sup?”
I must be getting old, Harper thought as she stifled the urge to tell Benny to stand up and speak proper English.
“Is Roy here?” she asked instead.
“He and the missus are in the back, in his office,” Benny answered, pointing in the general vicinity of the back room before returning to his unpacking.
Harper navigated down an aisle of shelves filled with metal bins full of screws, washers, and galvanized nails. At the end of the aisle, she spotted a door marked ‘Office.” The door was slightly ajar so gave a quick knock and poked her head inside.
“Don't get up,” she told Roy, who was nimbly operating a calculator while sitting behind a cluttered desk as Glennis busily shoved papers into a gray metal filing cabinet in the corner.
“Hello, Harper. What can I do for you?” Roy asked, looking up at Harper.
“I just wanted to stop by and tell you how much we enjoyed Rachel on Sunday. She’s always such a terrific help.”
Roy and Glennis smiled at Harper’s compliment. Roy said, “Thanks. She’s worked with customers here at the store since she was in grade school and she gets along with folks. Usually she’s here bright and early every morning, but with the wedding coming up she’s had a ton of other things to do. We’ll be sure and pass on your kind words.”
“It’s nice to have someone mature around to keep the younger employees in line,” Harper said.
“Sometimes you need that,” Roy agreed, flinching as the sound of several spray cans of paint tumbling onto the floor reached the office.
Harper tossed out a little bait. “It’s too bad about Grace Potter, isn’t it? Our family feels terrible she came to such an end out at our place.”
Roy stiffened his back and swiftly sucked in his breath, while Glennis seemed to freeze with one hand reaching toward a file folder, reactions not lost on Harper. She added, “She was an easy person to tangle with. I know I ended up pretty mad at her a few times.”
“Yes, she had a way with words. She never knew when to quit speaking them,” Roy said, bitterness in his voice.
Harper cleared her throat. “I suppose you had your share of run-ins with Grace same as most of the merchants in town.”
Roy stared for a long minute at a spot on the wall directly above Harper’s head, declining to answer.
Harper changed the subject.
“Glennis, did you enjoy the festival?”
“Yes,” Glennis answered, turning her back to the filing cabinet to face Harper. “We had Roger with us.”
“Do either of you remember seeing Grace on Sunday?”
“Well, yes,” Roy hesitantly admitted, “we did see her but we didn’t stop to speak with her.”
“What time was that?”
“A little before the bonfire started, I guess.”
“You didn’t notice her arguing with anyone?”
“I tried not to notice Grace Potter at all,” Roy said. “So to answer your question, no, I did not.”
Glennis cleared her throat and changed the subject. “How’s your mother doing?”
“Mom’s doing okay,” Harper answered. She took a deep breath, telling herself it was time to ask the hard questions. She needed to plunge in with both feet and deal with the consequences as they came.
“I hear you two were spotted near the shed where Grace was murdered. As a matter of fact, you were seen there around the time she was killed.”
She swung her gaze to Glennis who stood in silence while Roy raised his eyebrows and looked uncomfortable.
“I don’t guess I remember that,” he remarked cautiously.
“Someone very reliable saw you and Glennis in the vicinity of the shed. It gives you opportunity and I know you had motive because of, well, I’m sorry to have to say this, but because of Rachel’s past.”
Glennis turned pale. “I don’t know what you mean about Rachel’s past and we don’t know anything about that horrible woman,” she sputtered, shoving the filing cabinet drawer shut.
Roy pushed back the desk chair and stood up, slipping his arm around his wife’s waist. Glennis swayed a bit and Roy held her tighter.
Harper felt a small twinge of guilt by blurting out Rachel’s name this way—yet Rachel was the reason for the Turnbuckle’s motive for murder.
“Grace always had a nasty way of nosing about until she found out some horrible story to hold over a person,” Harper said. “She’d dig around and uncover ugly details people didn’t want her exposing. Then she’d threaten to tell what she knew. That’s what happened with you, isn’t it? She found out Rachel got pregnant years ago and threatened to tell Roger if you didn’t tell him. Am I right?”
Roy turned beet red and Glennis moaned, “God help us,” before wobbling out of the office.
Roy’s hands began to shake. In a trembling voice he lashed out, “That woman deserved to die, but I’m not about to let you accuse Glennis or me of killing her.”
Harper swallowed hard. She practically felt the fire in Roy’s eyes scorch her face.
“I’ll tell you this, Harper Reed,” Roy growled, glaring into her eyes, “if Grace stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, found out things she didn’t need to know, and died because of it, don’t think for a minute it couldn’t happen to you.”
Abruptly tu
rning on his heels Roy stormed off after Glennis and disappeared among the aisles of hardware.
Harper, shaken, made a beeline out the front door, moving Roy to the top of her suspect list.
Rush hour traffic in Bittersweet Hollow could hardly be described as bumper-to-bumper so Harper’s rush across the street had less to do with dodging cars than it had with putting some distance between herself and Roy Turnbuckle’s outrage. He gave her new insight into the meaning “if looks could kill.”
I guess it’s one thing to blame a murder on someone behind their back and a completely different thing to accuse them of it face-to-face, Harper told herself. She remembered Paul’s words. Stay out of sheds. Good advice.
