“Yes, you’re Eric Demblowski?”
“I am.” He rose to his feet.
“You knew an awful lot about Ken Johnson’s death,” she said and he quickly ushered her into a room she hadn’t noticed. It had no windows and was cluttered with boxes, most of which said “Archive” with a year written on its side.
“This will give us some privacy,” he said, closing the door.
Eric was young for being a reporter, or so she thought. He looked in his early thirties and his style of dress—tight jeans, fashionable boots, and a casual sweater—made him look even younger.
“I assume you’re still reporting on Ken’s murder?”
“It’s the hot story right now,” he said easily.
“Who leaked the facts of the case to you?”
“Ha,” he laughed. “You know I can’t give you my source.”
She’d like to think it was someone in the police department, but he knew so many details. It was as if he’d committed the crime himself.
“I hear you’re from New York.”
“I am, though I’m not from there, not raised there. I worked there a few years.”
“Another New Yorker came to town recently. Lily van der Tramp.”
His expression told her he was drawing a blank, or rather trying to appear as though he was drawing a blank.
“Do you know her?” she pressed.
“I’ve certainly heard of her,” he admitted but folded his arms, brow furrowing as though he wasn’t sure where this was going or was uncomfortable with the conversation.
“You knew Ken was poisoned and that I was there, even though I didn’t see or talk to you. And yet you didn’t print that Lily van der Tramp had been there.”
He had no discernible reaction, which was odd. If this were new information, Kate thought he would’ve had a reaction.
“How would I know she was there?” he challenged then quickly added, “It wasn’t in the police report, which, by the way, is public information.”
“The police report wasn’t released until after your article had been printed.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m curious how you got your information and why you printed select facts and not the whole picture.”
“I’m a good reporter.” Before she could ask anything else, he took over the role off interrogator. “You have quite the reputation. I think it’s interesting that people turn up dead around you.”
That was phrasing it cleverly.
“And yet no one’s looked at you as a serious suspect.”
“They wouldn’t. I had nothing to do with any of the murders.”
“And yet you just happen to stumble upon them?” It was a rhetorical question. “I think you have everything to do with them.”
“I’m all over town because of my line of work, more than anyone else, probably.”
“I know about your husband,” he said. “That’s the story I’m interested in. I don’t necessarily care about these small-town murders, except that they filter into a much bigger picture.”
Curious what he might know, though she doubted it was more than she knew, she cocked her head.
“The development,” he stated plainly. “I think there’s a much bigger story here.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The murders are all stemming from it. I can’t print anything yet. Obviously I can’t throw around gossip and speculation, but I’ll have something soon. I’ll print it. And you and your husband will be at the very center of it.”
“I have nothing to do with my husband anymore. If you were a worthwhile reporter, you’d know that. I haven’t seen a trace of him in almost six years. Plus, I’m in the midst of divorcing him.”
“Yes, I know. I work at the paper that's been running your ad,” he said dryly.
“Do you think Ken was killed because of the development?”
“In fact, I do. And I think you do, as well,” he said, no longer her adversary but sounding more like a confidant. “Maybe we should compare notes sometime.”
“I’m not going to feed you information,” she said. “I’m not going to be one of your unethical sources.”
“At this point I’m confident I know much more than you.”
“Like what?”
“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll have to make a deal. You tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, “but it won’t be in that order. You’ll have to tell me what you know first.”
“Just tell me when and where,” he said, handing her his card.
She glanced at it then tucked it into the front pocket of her overalls next to her cell phone.
As she turned to pull the door open, he said, “Be careful, Kate. This all ties back to Greg and you know it. Because you’re married to him, people think you know way more than you do. They assume Greg confided in you about everything, and because they think that they view you as a threat.”
She stared at him. “Who’s they?”
“When we sit down, I’ll tell you. Give me a call.”
Kate hadn’t seen that coming, and she didn’t like playing games, but she also knew he was onto something.
She walked through the busy offices and passed through the exit into the crisp autumn afternoon when she noticed Celia hurrying down the sidewalk. Celia was buried in her cell phone, so Kate tucked out of sight around the corner then spied Celia rounding into the Tribune. Kate would’ve liked to have told herself that Celia was marching in to give Eric Demblowski a piece of her mind for having printed all that he had, but that wasn’t the sense Kate got from her.
Celia was wearing large sunglasses and her head was wrapped in a scarf as though she were trying to disguise herself.
After a moment, Kate crept towards the glass entrance door of the Tribune. She saw Celia look around the office. Celia’s back was to Kate. Then Eric rushed up to Celia. It didn’t seem like the reaction of a stranger, but was actually quite intimate. They spoke and it appeared heated, then Eric ushered her by the arm deeper into the offices.
Did they know each other?
Was Celia having an affair with Eric?
“Kate!” shouted Officer Garrison from behind her. “Got that report for you!”
As she walked to meet him on the sidewalk, she saw that the ambulance was gone and a man from the towing company was hitching the VW to his truck.
“Clearly, the kid was in the wrong,” said Garrison. “Send this to your insurance company, and I’m sure they’ll get the damage covered.”
“Okay, thanks,” she said, reading over the report. When she found the driver’s name of the car that had rear-ended her, she asked, “Toby Marks?”
“I don’t know him,” said Garrison, “but he listed his home address as the campsite out east.”
“Thanks, Garrison,” she said, as he walked her to the driver’s side of her truck.
When she climbed in, he shut the door for her and said “drive safe” through the open window.
Chapter Six
Later that afternoon, after dedicating a good three hours to getting Brent Townsend’s house in tip-top shape, she called Justina to let her know that the house was ready to show. Justina thanked her and mentioned she could come by for her check. Kate thought that sounded like perfect timing since it was just past four and she’d have time to deposit it at the bank. There was one more house to stage on Justina’s list, and Kate wasn’t sure how much work she’d get done.
She drove to Carnegie Real Estate where Justina was seated at her desk with Lily van der Tramp. It appeared as though Justina was walking her through mortgage paperwork, as Kate came through the office.
One of the other agents Tammy—a tall, blond woman whose face belonged on the side of a bus advertisement for real estate—cut her off.
“Hey, Kate,” she said, speaking quietly so they wouldn’t disturb Justina’s sale. “I have your check for y
ou.”
“Thanks,” said Kate, taking it. Then she nodded towards Lily van der Tramp. “Did she buy Jessica’s house?”
Tammy smirked but rolled her eyes. “Quite a handful,” she explained. “Justina had to drop everything, Lily is so demanding, but she is, in fact, buying the house.”
“Well, someone had to buy it,” said Kate, disappointed. She was hoping Lily would find something wrong with it and move on to a different town. “Tell Justina I said thanks,” she mentioned then walked back to her truck.
Her bank, Rock Ridge Savings & Trust, was a few blocks away, but she decided to walk. She wanted to enjoy the fresh air and the light. Daylight savings was just around the corner and soon it would be dark at 4:30 p.m. As she made her way over, she composed a text message to Scott. He’d been hard at work on Ken’s murder, not that she agreed with his arrest, and she’d barely seen him. Dinner tonight might be nice, if he had the time.
Let’s get Thai tonight. You free?
She tucked her cell in her overalls and entered the bank. At the counter, she endorsed her check then made out a deposit slip and approached the teller at the window.
After some pleasantries about the weather, the teller deposited Kate’s check into her account and then handed her a receipt. Then she was off again.
Realistically, she wouldn’t have time to stage another house, and if she were being honest with herself, the last item on Justina’s list was daunting. Set off on the wayside near the west side of town, Meredith Joste’s house was a strange, angular, art deco home that had been stripped bare of all its furniture. If she wanted to do the style justice, she needed to pick up a reference book or two at the library.
She settled in behind the wheel of her truck and turned the key. Her cell vibrated right away. It was Scott.
Sounds good. My place?
She texted right back.
Great. Seven?
That would give her just enough time to shower and change into something a bit cozier.
Perfect. See you then, he wrote back.
She drove over to the library as the sun was waning in the sky, causing dusk to settle over Rock Ridge. Once she parked, her cell vibrated, but it wasn’t Scott.
“Larry?”
“I’m out on bail,” he said with a sigh of relief.
“I’m so glad to hear it. How are you holding up?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m anxious. I don’t see how I’m going to carry on. Who’s going to want to shop at Grayson’s when they think a murderer, a cop kill no less, is behind the counter?”
“Try not to worry about that,” she said. “I’ll certainly stop in multiple times a day.”
He sighed into the receiver. “Carly isn’t speaking to me.”
“You mean she actually believes you could’ve done it?”
“I don’t know. Her mother thinks so. Maybe Carly doesn’t want to upset Celia.”
“That could be true, but it’s no excuse. Celia doesn’t have to know.”
“And she’s been with her mother ever since Ken died, so it’s not like I can stop by. Think of how that would look.”
“This will all blow over soon enough,” she said, but it did little to reassure him, she could tell by his groan. “Hey, let me ask you. Do you know that reporter Eric Demblowski?”
“Not really, no.”
“Do you know if Celia knows him? Did you ever see them together?”
“I couldn’t say. Why do you ask?”
She didn’t want to get his hopes up, so she kept her explanation brief. “I just get a weird feeling from him, and I saw them talking. It didn’t sit right with me.”
“None of this is sitting right with me. Oh, here’s my cab. I’m heading home.”
“All right. I’ll talk to you later.”
Inside the library, Mrs. Briar was grumbling her way around a round table where a number of elementary kids were huddled around their schoolbooks, whispering through their homework. Mrs. Briar glared at them and kept hushing them even though, from Kate’s perspective, the kids weren’t making any noise.
Then Hazel approached with a stack of books in her arms.
“Let me help you,” said Kate. As soon as she saw Hazel, she relieved her of the books she was carrying. “How’s it going?”
“Well enough,” said Hazel. “I’m feeling much better. I drove here myself. And aside from the thirty-minute overlap with Mrs. Briar, I really enjoy working here, though it’s only been a day. So far so good, I’d say.”
“I had a few books reserved on staging houses, but I need one that deals with art deco architecture specifically. Do you have anything like that?”
“Hmm,” said Hazel, as she led Kate through the library. When they came up to the librarian counter, Hazel tapped her hand on its surface, indicating Kate could set the stack of books there. She did and then followed Hazel down one of the aisles. “All of our architecture and interior design books are down here.”
Hazel ran her finger across the spines of books then plucked one from the shelf and handed it to Kate. As Kate looked it over, Hazel pulled another book out and kept searching.
“Those are probably your best options,” she said. “Sorry, not the widest selection.”
“No, these are perfect,” she said, flipping through the first book. She wondered if she could drive to the Ikea store in the next county. Its furniture seemed to fit the style.
“Did you want to get those reserved books, as well?” Hazel asked, leading her through the library to the counter.
“Actually, these two should do it. Too much information will only confuse me.”
Hazel chuckled, collected Kate’s library card, and scanned the books into the system.
“We can only keep books on the reserved list for four days, so I’ll renew them for you in the system. Otherwise, Mrs. Briar will put them back on the shelf and we’ll have the hassle of having to find them all over again.”
“Thanks,” said Kate. “Really appreciate it.”
“I’m so torn up about poor Ken Johnson,” she said, looking grim. “What’s this town coming to?”
“I know. It’s just shocking.”
“And that Lily van der Tramp,” Hazel exclaimed, though quietly so as not to draw Mrs. Briar’s attention. “I heard Dean had plans to shut down that awful development, and then that woman swoops in and invests.”
“She did what?”
“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Hazel leaned over the counter in a secretive manner. “Word around town was that Clem Tully was fed up with the development. He didn’t have the funds. Well, whoever’s in charge over there pulled in Lily as a new investor. The woman is loaded, but what she’d want with a bunch of anarchists is beyond me. Anyway, she put up the money. Dean’s at a loss, and the development is back on track. I heard it will be fully erect by Christmas.”
“Christmas? That’s unheard of. No one can build that fast.”
“I wouldn’t think so, either, but that’s what they’re saying.”
Kate thanked her for the information, wished her good evening, and started off for her truck.
Everything was starting to make more sense. Ken probably turned his back on whatever form of help he was offering Clem. Lily, who was either preparing to invest or had already, felt threatened that her investment would be all for naught if Ken wasn’t aiding, and she killed him. Ah, but the timeline was off. She believed Scott that Ken had been poisoned, and unfortunately, she believed that Larry had done it on accident using poisonous ingredients in the house. Could Lily have gotten in there sooner? Who’s to say how long she’d been parked in that driveway?
How all this related to the Celia-Eric connection was still foggy, but she’d get to the bottom of this.
As she set her library books in the passenger’s seat, her cell phone began to vibrate in quick pulses. She glanced at the screen.
“Shoot!”
It was a reminder to paint Dean Wentworth’s office. She hadn’t even picked up
the paint!
Quickly, she dialed up Dean.
“I’m supposed to paint your office!” she blurted out as soon as he picked up.
“I’m still here,” he said easily.
“Okay.” She checked the time. She might have to move her dinner with Scott back by a half hour, but she could make it work. “I just have to swing by Grayson’s and I’ll be there.”
“No problem,” he said. “See you then.”
She tried not to speed as she raced over to Grayson’s Hardware. Larry’s assistant manager, Ned Armstrong, was just locking the front door as she pulled into a parking spot out front.
“Wait!” she said, jogging up to him. “I’m so sorry. I need two cans of paint.”
As she caught her breath, Ned looked anything but pleased, though he obliged her and unlocked the door. “Please tell me you know exactly what you want. I’m late for my kid’s little league game.”
“I do,” she promised, though it wasn’t entirely true.
She hurried down the paint aisle, and wasted no time scanning the colors. Dean had mentioned he’d like a soft blue, nothing too dark and nothing too bright. She found a pale blue can called Lazy River and thought it looked good, so she pulled two from the shelf and met Ned at the register.
“I’ll throw it on your tab since I already closed out the register,” he told her, as he quickly jotted down the SKUs.
“Thanks a million,” she told him then started off for her truck where she set the cans in the bed.
It took her less than ten minutes to get over to the mayor’s office. The paint cans were heavy, but she muscled them out of the truck bed and set them down when she stepped inside the elevator.
“I need to make one more trip,” she told Dean, as she placed the paint cans just inside his office. He seemed to be pulling his hair out over something he was looking at on his computer, not at all the easygoing, composed mayor he’d sounded like on the phone.
After going back down to her truck to get her paint tins, rollers, brushes, and cloth, she started laying out the cloth over his office carpet.
“How’s it going?” she asked Dean, who was grumbling at his computer.
Mrs. Fix It Mysteries: The Complete 15-Books Cozy Mystery Series Page 43
