“Wow, more food,” Sammy said, checking the contents of the bag. He was licking his lips as he opened the containers and looked at their contents. One held a grilled sandwich with four kinds of cheese and tomato on thick-cut rustic bread that smelled of browned butter. The others had mixed green salad, cold sliced garlic potatoes and sliced mixed fruit. Then suddenly he looked worried. “Where’d this come from?”
I explained that Tag had intercepted Lucinda and me as we’d headed back to the car after our stop at Maggie’s. He’d handed me the shopping bag without a word. “Tag knows, but he doesn’t know,” I said, but Sammy still seemed worried. “As long as he doesn’t know for sure, he’s okay.”
“How’s it going with your investigation?” His soulful eyes looked hopeful.
I told him what I’d found out. “Wow, Kevin St. John was related to the victim.” He thought for a moment. “That’s it. He was probably angry at her about something and killed her.”
“I’m not sure that Kevin St. John realized who she was.” Then I told him the rest of what I’d heard from Maggie. “Diana went to live with her father. His lifestyle appealed to her a lot more than staying in a small town. The point is that Kevin was a small kid when she left and Maggie didn’t know if Diana ever came back.”
“What about Kevin’s grandmother? That would be Diana’s mother, right? You could talk to her,” Sammy said.
“No. She’s dead.” Then I told Sammy about her “accident.”
Sammy was listening intently. “That could be it. Maybe Diana knew that Kevin St. John really pushed his grandmother down the stairs. Maybe she came looking for hush money from him and he killed her instead.”
I wasn’t a big fan of Kevin St. John’s so I could certainly believe that was possible, but when Sammy wanted me to take the information to Lieutenant Borgnine, I had to explain that the cop would ignore my conjecture. “If I’m going to get his attention, I need proof.”
I heard Lucinda start whistling, which was our agreed signal that someone was coming. I backed out quickly and Sammy pulled the window shut.
As we walked down the driveway, Dane’s red Ford 150 pulled to a stop.
“Hey,” he said in greeting.
I swallowed hard. “Hey,” I said, hoping I didn’t look guilty.
“What have you two been up to?” he asked, looking from Lucinda to me. “I’m surprised you’re not across the street.” He left it hanging like he was expecting some kind of explanation.
Lucinda mumbled something about us coming over because she needed to use her cell phone. “All done now,” Lucinda said, holding up her phone and then dropping it into the pocket of her Ralph Lauren jacket. “I’m going to head back. No rush—I’ll act as the host at lunch until you get there.”
Dane’s truck was blocking my driveway and he cut the motor. “You want to tell me what’s going on? I saw you two coming out of Maggie’s.”
I brightened. He’d just made it easy. I simply left out the first part of our trip to town and told him about Diana’s identity.
“Hmm, she was Kevin St. John’s half aunt,” he said thoughtfully.
“Do you think Lieutenant Borgnine knows who she really was?” Hoping he’d pass along the info without mentioning where he’d heard it.
“I’d rather talk about something more pleasant. Like how about we give dinner another try?”
“Haven’t we been over that and decided that it was a bad idea?”
“You decided that on your own. It was a mistake to do it in Cadbury. And who says it has to be dinner?” He reminded me how he was willing to take the night shift forever rather than do what the lieutenant had demanded. Dane didn’t have to try to flirt. It was second nature to him.
“C’mon, Casey, you know you want to go,” he said, touching my arm. “It’ll be fun.”
The best I could do was say I’d think about it. I hoped Sammy hadn’t heard the whole conversation through the door.
I caught up with Lucinda as she headed to the dining hall.
“It doesn’t look like Dane is giving up,” she said. I heard the motor of his truck as he drove down the street to his place.
“He really should. It’s the best for everyone. If it didn’t work out, it would make it so awkward for both of us.”
“But did you ever consider that it might work out?”
“Actually, no,” I said.
Our retreat people had automatically gone to the same tables and we joined them. Lucinda grabbed the pitcher of ice tea and we made the rounds, talking to everyone. The early birds had spread themselves out into the group and were acting like sub hosts. I wanted to hug Bree, Scott and Olivia for all they were doing.
Finally I got plates of food for Lucinda and me and we sat down. I was having a hard time joining in the conversations. I kept looking over at the tables of people from the other retreat. Norman Rathman was talking to his whole table. His assistant, Sally Winston, was seated at another table, but she kept her eyes on him.
Dotty Night was holding court at a table near the windows. She had the attention of all the people as she performed. I say performed because she seemed very animated. Her hands and arms moved as she talked, and her blond hair bounced.
Jimmie Phelps was the center of attention at his table. He still had the ease of an athlete even though I was sure he was well into his sixties. He was holding up a can of the energy drink. I remembered overhearing that the company was paying him to push the drinks at the retreat. As I watched him, I began to make all these connections to Diana. Her father had been the announcer for the Giants, and Jimmie played for the Giants. Diana had traveled with her father, so chances were good that she had met the baseball player. And hadn’t somebody said they saw Jimmie and Diana talking and it seemed like they knew each other from before? Yes, I definitely wanted to talk to him.
Bobbie Listorie was hosting a table by the window. He seemed to have gotten rid of the headache and the sweats. He was back in the sharkskin suit. It appeared he was quite the storyteller. The whole table was hanging on to his every word.
“Ridiculous, isn’t it,” Wanda said, pulling out the chair next to me. “It’s the same at the resort. He’s always got an entourage of guests around him. He’s not even that good a golfer, but the guests don’t care. They go home saying they hung out with him.”
Crystal took the chair on the other side of Wanda. I was glad that my two leaders had decided to join us for lunch. It was too bad they didn’t mix in with the group, but I remembered from before that Wanda had a thing about not letting the retreaters see behind the curtain. Like she was the Great Oz or something. Crystal heard what we were talking about.
“He’s lucky to still have a career. My ex is barely hanging on. Or at least that’s what I hear when he’s supposed to pay child support.” In case Wanda didn’t know, Crystal explained that she’d been married to a self-proclaimed rock god.
“I could understand it more if the resort hired him,” Wanda said, indicating Jimmie Phelps. “He’s at least an athlete.”
The three of us turned our attention to the table the retreat leader was hosting. “It’s amazing how they’re all going on like it’s business as usual,” Crystal said, shaking her head. “I mean, that guy’s wife died a couple of nights ago.”
Lucinda joined in. “Maybe Norman Rathman is just going through the motions.”
I wondered what the truth was and knew the only way to find out was to talk to him directly.
Lunch ended and the dining hall cleared out. Lucinda and I walked outside together. People from the 1963 group were going in different directions for their afternoon activities. Our people stayed together and headed up the slope toward our meeting room. Lucinda excused herself and went on ahead because she wanted to pick up something from her room. As I passed the deck outside the Lodge, Kevin St. John and Lieutenant Borgnine came outside and stoppe
d on the wooden expanse. The cop appeared more agitated than usual. The two men looked in my direction and I felt their stares settle on me.
It is such a weird feeling to know people are talking about you and know for sure they’re not saying anything good. After a moment the lieutenant came down the stairs and stopped in front of me.
“I don’t suppose you know anything about an anonymous tip that Dr. Glickner is hiding out in Castorville.”
“What?” My surprise was honest.
“Yeah, some no-name called it in. I wasted the morning checking it out.” I noticed his hand had started to massage one of his temples. “You wouldn’t have any aspirin on you, would you?”
Here was my chance to redeem myself with him. “As a matter of fact I do.” I pulled out the bottle I’d put in my purse when I brought it over for Bobbie Listorie’s middle-of-the-night headache. I poured a pair of white pills into his cupped hand.
He seemed almost disappointed that I’d met his request and grumbled a thank-you. “If I find out who made that false tip, there are going to be consequences,” he said in a threatening voice.
I put up my hands. “It wasn’t me.” The rumble of his sigh sounded like he didn’t believe it. Naturally, I immediately wondered who had done it and ran through the possibilities. Sammy could have done it himself. Tag seemed to be loosening up, but would he actually call in a false tip? There was Lucinda, but I thought she would tell me. What about Madeleine? She really liked Sammy and she seemed entranced with the idea of playing detective. Dane? No way, he was a cop.
There was still some time before the activities were to begin, and when I saw Norman Rathman come out of the Lodge, I realized this was an opportunity to talk to him. I tried to appear casual as I went up to him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before,” I began, “but I’m very sorry about your wife.” This time it was different talking to him. The first time had only been for a moment when he thought I was one of his retreaters. This time I was studying him as we spoke.
He certainly knew how to relate to people and make them feel comfortable. He looked at me directly and he touched my arm as he spoke. Not in a graspy sort of way, more like he was making a connection with me. Between his manner and the good looks, I figured he must be a killer on campus.
If I started asking questions about his wife, it would seem odd or worse—like I was investigating. Instead I started talking about the retreat business. “I don’t know how you’re managing so well. I have much less to deal with and I’m a wreck.”
He smiled warmly. “I’m sure you’re doing better than you think. You’ve already spirited away a couple of my people and the knitting sessions are the talk of my group.” He leaned a little closer as if he was going to impart a secret. “The way I’m getting through this weekend is by thinking of my people and not wanting to let them down.” He paused for a beat. “It helps that the police have a suspect, though I’d feel better if they just arrested him.” He let out his breath and then continued. “I regret that I handled things so poorly during the mixer. Diana caught me by surprise and I overreacted.”
“So you weren’t expecting to see her?” I said, feigning ignorance.
“Diana used to be very active in the retreats. We actually developed the idea together. But she hadn’t come to one for years.” Several of his people passed by us and waved as they did. “Here’s a little hint for your retreat business. Be very careful who you go in business with and definitely have an exit strategy in case it doesn’t go well.”
I seized the moment. “Then I’m guessing that it wasn’t working out and breaking up the partnership was hard.”
He didn’t answer and I had the feeling he might have regretted what he’d just said, considering the problem was solved by her death. He seemed like he was about to walk away. I quickly continued the conversation. “If your wife wasn’t coming to the retreats, why did she decide to come to this one?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t even know how she knew the details until Scarlett Miller told me that she’d run into Diana last week and told her about it.”
“They must be good friends.”
“Hardly. I think Scarlett hoped Diana would come and do what she did—make a scene. I don’t know if you have any people putting on workshops for you, but be careful if you do. They can think they deserve a piece of the business.”
It didn’t take much reading between the lines that he meant Scarlett’s husband. I could tell he was really going to leave this time so I quickly threw out another comment. “I understand your wife was from Cadbury.”
My comment caught him off guard. “I’d forgotten about that. She told everybody she came from San Francisco because that’s where she and her father lived.”
“Does she have any family in Cadbury?”
He looked at me oddly as if he suddenly noticed I was asking too many questions. “The magician is a friend of yours, isn’t he?” I noticed the friendliness had drained from his face. “Well, have a good afternoon.” He left before I could wish him the same.
By now I was on mental overload. There was too much swirling in my mind. Someone had called in a false sighting of Sammy. Was Scarlett more than an innocent bystander? What about Kevin St. John and the mysterious death of his grandmother, who also happened to be Diana’s mother?
21
It was time to focus on my retreat. I took the long way to get to our meeting room, hoping I could clear my head. I had hoped my people would be much further along on their projects by now, but the first session had gotten interrupted by Scarlett finding Diana Rathman’s earring in her bag and all that ensued afterward. I hadn’t anticipated how long it would take everyone to decide what they wanted to make. And who knew they would start swapping their yarn and supplies? If there was one thing I had learned, it was that things never seemed to go as planned.
All I really wanted was for everyone to have a satisfying time. Not that anyone had complained. If anything, they seemed to like all the excitement.
Whatever else Norman Rathman might have done, he certainly knew how to organize their retreat. I had seen their schedule, and his people had a number of choices. They could take dancing lessons for the popular dances of 1963. It was interesting how they all had names, such as the Hully Gully, the Mashed Potato and the Monkey. Not that I danced much, but I didn’t think the current ones were called anything more than slow or fast.
There was a hike along the beach to the lighthouse. That activity worked for almost any year they were celebrating since it was built in 1855. And for the more sedentary, there was a discussion and screening of episodes of the Dick Van Dyke Show and a bridge tournament in the lobby of one of the guest room buildings.
The brief hint of sun had disappeared and now fingers of fog were blowing in, making it feel like I was walking through gossamer. Up ahead the small white building that housed our meeting room seemed to be disappearing in the mist.
The walk there had done the trick and I felt refreshed when I went inside The Pines. Thanks to the fire glowing in the brick fireplace, the meeting room seemed cozy and bright after the gray sky outside. Some women were already sitting at the long tables. They were working on projects they’d brought with them and talking.
When I saw the coffee and tea service set up on a counter, I realized I still hadn’t brought over any cookies. I also noticed Madeleine staring at the tea bags and urn of hot water.
“You do know how to make a cup of tea,” I said, noting her confused expression.
“Of course. Cora and I don’t have the staff my mother had. I just can’t remember if you put the hot water in the cup first or the tea bag?”
“Let me,” I said. “Which kind do you want?” There was a selection of different kinds of tea bags in a wicker basket.
“I didn’t realize there were so many kinds. We always just had Lipton’s tea. What do you recommen
d?”
I picked the aged Earl Grey and showed her how to put the bag in first and then the hot water. The fragrance drifted up from the cup immediately, and her face lit up. “That smells wonderful,” she said with a delighted smile. I explained the lovely scent came from the oil of bergamot that the tea was sprayed with. The Delacorte sister’s eyes were bright. “Casey, I can’t thank you enough. I never would have thought that at this time of my life, the world would be opening up for me.” She glanced around the room and out the window. “And it was right here all along.” She suddenly turned wistful. “If Edmund hadn’t died, everything would have been different. I would have done more brave things than just that one time.”
I didn’t know what she was talking about, and I guess it must have showed on my face. Her eyes flashed and she made an impatient tsk sound. “I told you about it before. Bobbie Listorie did a show after a Giants game at Candlestick Park. I thought it would be the same as when I saw him with my brother.”
Now I remembered she had said something about seeing the singer a second time, but I hadn’t really been listening. “You mean you went on your own?”
She nodded, but when she gave me the details, I realized she wasn’t quite on her own. She and Cora had been in San Francisco with the Cadbury Women’s Club. “Our orders were to stay with the group but there was another woman with us who was a big fan of Bobbie’s.” Madeleine giggled when she called him by his first name. “We got the concierge of the Mark Hopkins Hotel to get us tickets and arrange for transportation. We got there too late for the baseball game, but in time to see Bobbie and the fireworks.”
She shook her head with regret. “I was about your age. What a silly timid mouse I was. Look at you. You’ve done all kinds of things. Moved to a new town and started a new life and now you’re even sort of a detective.”
I loved her perspective on my life and wondered if there was any way I could get her to talk to my mother.
In the meantime everyone else had arrived for the afternoon workshop. Crystal and Wanda had taken their spots at the front of the two tables and there was someone else. I waved a greeting at Gwen Selwyn, Crystal’s mother and the owner of Cadbury Yarn. She had a bin on wheels with her and had started putting out yarn on the end of Crystal’s table.
Wound Up In Murder Page 17
