Victoria Hamilton - Vintage Kitchen 04 - No Mallets Intended

by Victoria Hamilton

  Jaymie was silent; she supposed if his research was accurate, he had a right to uncover anything of the sort he liked, which was pretty much what she had said to him. However, if he was the kind of author to smear folks without adequate research… it was something the committee ought to be concerned about. Was he the right guy for their project after all?

  Cynthia turned to look at Jaymie. “And just why does it seem so unbelievable that Isolde might fall for him, when I did?”

  Realizing she had blundered, Jaymie stuttered, saying, “Uh, I… I didn’t even know you’d gone out with him until today. I’m sorry if I was insensitive.”

  “Whatever,” the woman said.

  Jaymie hesitated, but could not refrain from asking something else. “I heard that he was arrested not long ago. What was that all about?” When that fact came out, the society was scandalized, but Carson had just shrugged and said “no comment,” which effectively stopped the chatter.

  “That wasn’t Theo’s fault,” Cynthia said. “It was that girl’s fault,” she sniffed, staring with malevolence at Isolde. “I heard all about it. Her former fiancé didn’t like the fact that Theo was dating her, and took a swing at him. He was just defending himself, and the charges against him were dropped. It’s the other guy who ended up in jail, not Theo.”

  “Theo Carson sure does seem to get a lot of folks upset,” Jaymie muttered, surprised that Cynthia was still defending him, even though she seemed to see him for what he was. How did the guy get such great women to fall for him? He was kind of a jerk, and his attempt to flirt with her had left her feeling queasy.

  Cynthia’s eyes glimmered with tears.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Cynthia shook her head, staring at the author. But she swiped the tears away with one manicured hand and turned to Jaymie with a determined smile. “So, it sounds like you’ve got great plans for the kitchen. But why green and cream? I would think you’d do something a little more fun for Christmas, like red and white.”

  Jaymie sighed but restrained herself from rolling her eyes, an urge she frequently felt when talking to society members. “I need to go with something that’s going to be relevant all year long. Red and white would have been fine—a lot of the tools I’ve been buying for my own collection come with red and white handles—and I may even use some, but the green and cream color scheme just seemed more fitting for the house. You heard Mrs. Stubbs; it’s authentic to the house. I’ve already bought some Jadeite to use for a display, and I may be able to get a Hoosier cabinet to suit the color scheme.”

  Cynthia had already lost interest and was watching Theo Carson again. The writer was holding court with his arm slung casually over Isolde’s shoulder. Cynthia may have said she saw him for what he was, but her eyes still held tears and she was clearly in pain. Jewel hustled over and led Cynthia away to talk sense to her and hopefully to cheer her up. Jaymie knew from experience just how painful a broken heart could be. It had taken her months to get past Joel’s betrayal, time she wasted feeling sorry for herself, hating Heidi and driving past the girl’s home, hoping to catch a glimpse of her ex.

  Prentiss Dumpe strolled over and put his arm over Cynthia’s shoulders. Jewel cast him a look of dislike, but Cynthia turned in to a hug from the psychiatrist, clinging to him like a buoy in rough waters, and he pulled her away to a corner, where they sat down on a bench. The woman looked like she was pouring her heart out to the man, who popped a candy from a roll and tossed it into his mouth, munching away as he listened; strange confidant, Jaymie thought. Jewel shrugged and moved to another group of chatting folks, who sipped coffee and punch and munched on treats.

  Heidi Lockland bounced over to Jaymie. “This is actually fun! I can’t believe I’m saying that. I thought it would be just a bunch of dry old sticks talking about history, but everyone here likes to gossip.”

  “What are they gossiping about?” Jaymie asked, strolling with Heidi to the refreshments table. There were some of Tansy’s butter tarts, and she took one, letting the sugary goodness dance on her tongue. “I wouldn’t think you’d know anyone enough to care what they were saying.”

  “I know, right? But thanks to you, folks are really opening up to me now.” She threaded her slim arm through Jaymie’s. “I’m so lucky you forgave me for taking Joel away from you.”

  Jaymie restrained herself from replying and just choked a little on the butter tart. She swallowed and said, “So, what gossip are you hearing?”

  Heidi glanced around and leaned in. “I know you’re super good friends with Valetta, but her brother… he’s a pill, right? Well, I heard he’s having an affair with a married woman.”

  “Really?” Brock Nibley, a widower, was not her favorite person in the world, but she hadn’t thought he’d stoop to adultery. Still… it was just gossip and he was her friend’s brother. She had been accused in the past of being a murderess, so she should really give him the benefit of the doubt. Against her better judgment, she asked, “Who is his supposed amour?”

  “Some woman he works with.”

  “Oh.” That could be anyone: another real estate agent, a client or even one of his commercial clients. He also managed properties in Queensville and Wolverhampton, making a whole other list of those who could be considered coworkers. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Jaymie said, to change the subject. “What do you think of your cousin?”

  Heidi glanced over at Haskell Lockland, who was enchanting the ladies with his oft-repeated tales of travel to far-flung places. “I don’t know yet. Haskell and I are going to get together tomorrow to compare notes on family history,” she said. “He’s glad I approached him. I guess there were some bad feelings between the Queensville Locklands and the New York Locklands over the years, and he says it’s time to mend fences.”

  “That’s great,” Jaymie said. “How are you and Joel doing? Have you pinned him down to a date?”

  Her expression dimmed, and she shook her head. In August Heidi and Joel Anderson had announced plans to marry in December, but had still not settled on a day nor chosen a venue. It would soon be too late, if it wasn’t already, Jaymie thought, for anything but a quickie city hall kind of wedding. Jaymie wondered if Joel’s perennial cold feet were to blame.

  Her forehead pinched in a troubled frown, Heidi said, “I just don’t know, Jaymsie. What am I going to do? He’s avoiding me now, out of town on another freaking sales trip. And when he’s home he’s tired and distracted.” She pouted, her lipsticked mouth puckered, her arms crossed over her chest. “He’s the one who said he wanted to get married. I sure as heck didn’t corner him into it!”

  This was more information than Jaymie wanted, but Heidi had become a friend, and Jaymie knew Joel as well as or better than she did. “He has seemed a little off lately, hasn’t he? What does he say when you push him about a date?”

  Heidi sighed, her narrow shoulders slumped. She relaxed her stance, picked up one of Jaymie’s mini scones and turned it into a pile of crumbs at her feet. “Just that I need to quit pressuring him.”

  “Vintage Joel.” Heidi was too good for Joel—the girl was truly a sweetheart—but Jaymie didn’t say that. “One thing I’ve always wondered was why he never took me to meet his parents,” she mused. “I know they’re still living, because I’ve been there when he’s called them, and he had to go to visit his mother once when she was sick. Has he taken you to meet them?”

  “No; I don’t even know where they live. He just says he’s not that close to them.”

  “Still, he should want them to meet you and come to the wedding.” Jaymie paused and eyed her friend. “By the way, have you told your folks yet?”

  Heidi’s eyes welled and she shook her head. “How can I when I don’t even know when the wedding is?”

  Jaymie didn’t see why that mattered; she should have told her parents about Joel long ago. Why spring him on them with a
marriage announcement? But it wasn’t her business. She glanced around the room; Prentiss was giving Cynthia another hug, and the woman seemed better. The Cottage Shoppe owner headed toward the washroom.

  “Why do you think a woman like Cynthia would find comfort from a guy like Prentiss Dumpe?” She explained to Heidi what she had seen.

  “Just because he’s a sleazy creep doesn’t mean he’s not a good psychiatrist.”

  Jaymie shuddered. “How can that be?”

  She frowned, her forehead puckering, and played with a dangly earring. “I don’t know, but my mom’s psychiatrist is the creepiest, handsiest dude you ever did know, but my mom thinks he’s just the best. She says if it wasn’t for him, she would have left Daddy years ago.”

  Jaymie could think of no appropriate comment for that.

  Just then a commotion broke out across the room, and both women whirled to see what was going on. Haskell Lockland was holding Theo Carson and Prentiss Dumpe away from each other by the scruff of their necks as Dick Schuster looked on, an expression of utter glee twisting his face. Jaymie bolted over and heard Bill Waterman telling what he saw.

  “These two jackasses were jawing at each other, then Carson took a swipe at Prentiss.”

  “I did not! He tried to hit me first,” the writer howled.

  “Carson, it’s time for you to cool off,” Haskell said, his tone firm.

  “I told you not to hire that hothead,” Dick Schuster said, hopping from foot to foot in delight, rubbing his hands together as a bandage peeled off one. “He’s trouble. All kinds of trouble. Buckets of trouble!”

  “Shut up, Schuster, you jealous wannabe!” Carson bellowed.

  “Wannabe? Wannabe?” Schuster’s pale face was turning red.

  Prentiss, who had pulled himself away from Lockland’s grip, began to chuckle, a sly snicker with all the oily ooze of a B-movie villain. He was watching Schuster with an unpleasant sneer, and Jaymie remembered the earlier confrontation between Schuster and Prentiss; the psychiatrist clearly didn’t like the fellow any more than Carson did.

  Dick launched himself at Carson, screaming, “You stole my war book! You know you did… stole it and made a mint off it! I oughta sue you.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a new approach for you, you old fraud!” Carson said, sidestepping the attack. Schuster tripped, tumbled to the floor and cried out in pain.

  Suddenly there was a thud-thud-thud and a loud, cranky voice exclaimed, “Both of you settle down this instant!”

  The crowd parted to reveal who was talking; it was Mrs. Stubbs in her wheelchair, and she had used her elaborate walking stick to bring everyone to attention. Dee, eyes wide with excitement, moved the old woman forward into the center of the dispute. “Dickie Schuster, you always were a bad egg, a cheating schemer from the time you were in short pants,” Mrs. Stubbs said, shaking one arthritic finger. “I knew your father and he was the same bad apple, spoiling the barrel for everyone.” She turned to the psychiatrist, who had backed off when the other two men began to squabble. “And Prentiss Dumpe, your grandmother was plain ashamed of you. That’s really why she left the house to Hazel Frump. Wasn’t going to say it, but you got no business here anymore and ought to leave us all alone. These young folks want to make something of Dumpe Manor, and that’s more than any of the families that owned it could do.”

  Dee, eyes sparkling with mischief, said, “I think it’s time to go, Mama, before you get yourself in trouble.”

  “You’re right, DeeDee. Take me home. Got no time for this tomfoolery anymore.”

  Prentiss left immediately after, grumbling again, while Haskell Lockland was able to talk Dick Schuster and Theo Carson into retiring to opposite corners of the room.

  Valetta rejoined Jaymie. “This has definitely been the most exciting heritage meeting we’ve ever had!” she exclaimed.

  “I know!” Jaymie said, and she filled her friend in on what she had heard. “What is the deal between Prentiss Dumpe and Dick Schuster?”

  “Those two hate each other. Brock works with Schuster’s wife in real estate,” Valetta said, referencing her brother. “And she told him all about some kind of double-cross Prentiss did to Dick over something involving his and his wife’s relationship. You know, don’t you, that Prentiss Dumpe’s psychiatry license was suspended a few months ago?”

  Jaymie was startled. “No, I didn’t know that. What for?”

  She shrugged, but said, “I don’t know all the details, but I do know that Schuster and some of his other patients are launching a class action suit for malpractice.”

  “Malpractice in psychiatry? I guess I didn’t know there even was such a thing. So Dick Schuster saw him in his professional capacity?” Jaymie said, watching Dumpe across the room as he followed Haskell Lockland around, talking at him.

  “I guess so. The wife told Brock that Dick was seeing him for anxiety and that they both went to him for marital help, but I guess he flubbed it big-time, and the couple is separated now.”

  “That’s all private information,” Jaymie said uneasily.

  Valetta shrugged. “She told Brock all of that and didn’t seem too concerned, or not enough to ask him to keep it to himself, anyway. You know me… I wouldn’t talk about it if it was told to me in confidence.”

  Since Valetta’s brother was one of Jaymie’s least favorite people, she didn’t feel comfortable with the source of the information, though she couldn’t tell Valetta that. Brock had a tendency to twist things and make assumptions, which could totally alter the meaning of a situation.

  “Anyway, that’s why Prentiss’s license has been suspended until the suit is settled,” Valetta said.

  Mrs. Bellwood and Imogene Frump crossed the parlor floor toward the two younger women and cornered Jaymie. Valetta slipped away with an evil grin on her face—how could she abandon Jaymie to two formidable women?—and headed over to Cynthia and Jewel, who were talking to Bill Waterman, clearly consulting about the wall colors being chosen for the parlor as Jewel patted the surface and gestured at the crown molding.

  “We want to know what happened to you and who is responsible,” Mrs. Bellwood said, hands clasped together under her impressive shelf of bosom. “We cannot have people being bashed over the head in our house.”

  Jaymie bit her lip, looking between the two seniors.

  “Do the police have any clues? Do you think we should investigate?” Imogene Frump added, her protuberant eyes boring into Jaymie’s. She was arrayed in a dress similar to that of her archnemesis, a tweedy jumper and sweater, with a Red Hat Society pin holding the sweater together at the neck.

  Both women stared at her intently, and Jaymie had a sudden vision of the two donning deerstalker caps and holding magnifying glasses. She was hard-pressed not to snort in laughter. It was easier to restrain herself once she realized that the two women getting along might mean a mathematical squaring of their busybodyness. She suppressed a shudder at the vivid foreshadowing of trouble to come. “The police don’t have anything to go on, so far.”

  “What was taken?” Mrs. Bellwood asked.

  “Yes, what was taken?” Mrs. Frump echoed.

  “Nothing, as far as we know.”

  “So why were you bopped?” Mrs. Frump asked.

  “Yes, why?” Mrs. Bellwood repeated.

  She looked from one lined and querying face to the other. “I… I don’t know. We think that because the back door is still blocked, the person had no way out but the front door. He… or she… got scared and hit me on the head with one of the mallets from the kitchen.”

  The two women looked at each other and nodded. It was weird, considering that until that night they had been enemies, but their speech and mannerisms had synced, and now they appeared to think and talk as one.

  “We wonder if there is something in the house they were looking for,” Mrs. Bellwood said.

&nbs
p; “Yes. When we were little girls…”

  Jaymie temporarily lost track of the conversation as she tried to imagine the octogenarians in front of her as little girls in ringlets and frilly dresses. “I beg your pardon?” she asked.

  “Aren’t you listening, Jaymie? Lucille would be most disappointed at your dullness tonight,” Mrs. Bellwood said sharply, referring to Jaymie’s grandma Leighton. “She always said you were the brightest of her granddaughters but…” The woman shook her head in disappointment.

  “Listen, child,” Mrs. Frump said. “There was a rumor that before my aunt Hazel died she said she had a special something that she was going to give the historical society, but then she passed on and there was nothing left in her will. We think she may have hid it in the house somewhere, and someone was looking for it. That’s why you were hit over the head.”

  “Yes, hit over the head,” Mrs. Bellwood said. She leaned forward, her gimlet stare focused on Jaymie. “Struck down for the Sultan’s Eye.”

  Six

  “THE SULTAN’S EYE? What on earth is that?” Jaymie asked.

  “Girls today,” Mrs. Frump said, shaking her head.

  “No knowledge of the finer things in life,” Mrs. Bellwood said, also shaking her head. “You would think at least Jaymie would know, with a background in antiques.”

  “Well, not antiques,” Mrs. Frump demurred. “Just junk.”

  Fascinated by the transformation in the two archenemies since they had so swiftly made up in front of the whole heritage society, Jaymie stared at them, still mystified. “But what is it?”

  Mrs. Bellwood said, “The Sultan’s Eye is a brooch, a fine small painting of an eye—”

  “Surrounded by pearls or gemstones,” Mrs. Frump continued. “Many, many years ago it was the fashion to have a portrait done of your lover’s eye, or a famous eye, and made into jewelry.”