Victoria Hamilton - Vintage Kitchen 04 - No Mallets Intended

by Victoria Hamilton

  “But you have ample reason to speak with her, right?”

  “Sure. She keeps popping up at the house, though I don’t know if she will anymore.” She watched him for a moment. “Are you saying you don’t believe Isolde was attacked and put in the trunk?”

  “I didn’t say that, now.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We couldn’t find much proof of her story. No one saw her except your friend Valetta Nibley, and by then she was already staggering down the lane.”

  “So it could have been as she says, or she could be making it all up to cover herself, if she was the one who killed Theo.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  “I did have a feeling, when we found her and looked after her, that she was hiding something, but I really don’t know what. If I figure it out, I’ll tell you, I promise.”

  “Whoever killed him would have had blood on their hands and clothes, but hers didn’t… not the ones she was wearing when you found her that morning, anyway,” the chief admitted. “She is a person of interest, but so is the whole damn hysterical society, as my wife calls the one she belongs to.” He frowned and touched Hoppy’s ears, his demeanor relaxed, the folksiness with which he hid his acumen gone. “Just let me know if she says anything you think odd or interesting. But be careful, especially given her proximity to the violence each time a mallet has been used. We’re watching her, but I don’t have the manpower to keep an eye on her every moment of the day.”

  It was beginning to become clearer to her what the chief was asking. He wanted her to keep her eyes and ears open and report back to him. Bernie was watching him, occasionally glancing Jaymie’s way but mostly watching her boss. They appeared to have a good rapport, and Jaymie wondered if that boded well for her ambition to advance to sergeant. It was telling that his most recent advancements had been women, his assistant chief and his new detective, Angela Vestry.

  Hoppy gazed up at him adoringly, and the chief scruffed behind his ears, getting the little Yorkie-Poo’s back leg going. Ledbetter chuckled as he petted the little dog. One thing Jaymie had not appreciated about Zack was that he didn’t seem to have any patience with or liking for animals. That was a must for her, but he had always gently but persistently pushed Hoppy away. It was a minor irritant, but there nonetheless.

  The chief cleared his throat. “Now, that Dick Schuster: we interviewed him and he’s a tad volatile, seems to me. Kept talking about how Karma was responsible for Carson’s murder. Don’t know who this Karma is, but he must be a violent sort.”

  Jaymie bit her lip, but the chief winked at her, and she smiled. There was that side of him again; he played up his folksiness to keep folks off-kilter, and it probably worked. It was a good technique, Jaymie thought, to let people underestimate you.

  “And Prentiss Dumpe.” The chief frowned. “I don’t like him. Do you?”

  “Uh, no. I don’t think anyone does. In fact, I was just thinking that if he had ended up dead, it wouldn’t have surprised me as much as Theo’s murder.” She told him what she knew about his practice, but it appeared the chief knew all about it already.

  “But none of that means he’s a killer. However, seems to me this writer, Carson, may have been about to do some damage to the Dumpe family name. I’ve heard tell his little booklet was shaping up to be a hatchet job… or should I say mallet job?” He chuckled. “Could be enough to set a fellow like that off.”

  “I talked to Theo at the heritage society meeting. He made a comment about some ancestor of the Dumpe family being a slaver. And he said he thought there would be some material there for his book, Nazi in the USA, or Nazi in America, whatever it was going to be called.”

  “Interesting. Now, I wonder what you think of this Prentiss fellow’s son?”

  “Iago? Who would name their kid after a Shakespeare villain?” Jaymie suddenly remembered something. “Oh, wait! Someone said they saw him climbing out of a window on an upstairs floor of the Dumpe Manor. That was a comment in the Wolverhampton Howler. I called Haskell Lockland about it, and we have a security guy coming to install an alarm system.” She’d have to check with him in the morning to see what was being done.

  Chief Ledbetter made a motion with his head and Bernie jotted something down. Jaymie shared her thoughts about how the anonymous commenter could simply be someone trying to get Iago Dumpe in trouble, and her suspicion of the odd misspellings.

  “It wouldn’t take much to get that guy in trouble,” Bernie said, the first she had actually spoken. “He’s got a record and he isn’t afraid to add to it.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I watch him every time I’m working at the Emporium and he comes in.” Her thoughts clicked into sync and she looked between the chief and Bernie. “Wait… could Iago have something to do with that stash of stolen stuff in the root cellar? Can you find out?”

  The chief nodded. “We’ll look into it, check the tire tracks against any vehicle he might have access to. Make a note of that, Jenkins.”

  She jotted some more on her pad. She glanced at the chief, seeming to wait, but he didn’t say any more.

  Jaymie chewed her cheek and thought of something. “Chief, has anyone tracked down Isolde Rasmussen’s missing cell phone yet?”

  He shook his head. “We’re working with the cell phone company to trace it, but no, it hasn’t shown up yet. Why?” He leaned sideways and dug in his pants pocket.

  “Well, I just wondered… who do you think texted me if it wasn’t Isolde?”

  The chief pulled Jaymie’s cell phone out of his pocket and handed it over. “That’s something we don’t know. If you have any ideas, let’s hear ’em.”

  “Well, I guess it would be whoever killed Theo, right? But… why text me to come out there?” She took the cell phone, but didn’t look at it.

  “What do you think?”

  “A couple of possibilities occurred to me… maybe someone was setting me up.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “Or they wanted me to find the body, which would mean the timing of the text was important. Maybe someone had an alibi set up and needed the body found at that time.”

  “Go on.”

  “Or they planned to attack me, too, and me bringing Valetta spoiled the plan.”

  He nodded. “Very good. You have a creative mind. That’s a good attribute for a detective, isn’t it, Officer Jenkins?”

  Bernie smiled and nodded. “It is, sir, but some folks don’t think so.”

  “You’re lucky I do, aren’t you?” he said to her.

  “Did she say when her cell phone went missing?” Jaymie asked. “Did she have it when she left the house? Or did she lose it or have it stolen earlier?”

  “She claims not to know,” he said, with careful emphasis. “Says she only knows she didn’t have it when she left the house, if she remembers correctly. Told us the stress of the attack is making her forget things.” He set Hoppy gently on the floor and heaved himself to his feet. “I’d better be going. Mrs. Police Chief doesn’t like me being too late. She worries.” He lumbered from the room to the hallway, putting one hand to his back. “Getting old,” he commented. He turned at the door. “You be sure to look at your cell phone tonight, young lady. There is a fellow who very much wants to talk to you.”

  Daniel must have texted her back, and maybe more than once. She colored, feeling the heat in her cheeks. She caught Bernie’s eye and raised her brows, but her friend just smiled back.

  “Now, you listen to me good and be careful,” the chief said, his bloodhound eyes serious. He took one of her hands and cradled it, patting it as he spoke. “Don’t do anything alone and don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I’ve learned my lesson, sir. That’s why I took Valetta with me that night I found Carson’s body.”

  He nodded. “Good girl. That may have saved your life, if one of your guesses is right about why
you were texted to come out to that place.”

  That gave her much to think about. “But I can’t avoid being at the house alone sometimes,” she insisted. “I have a lot of work to do, and I can’t drag someone along with me every time I go out.”

  He nodded. “I know that, but be careful. Be smart.”

  Bernie waved behind the police chief’s back and mouthed that she’d see her soon, as Jaymie closed the door behind them. She climbed the stairs and got ready for bed in a fog of thought, frowning into the mirror while she brushed her teeth, then crawling under several layers of blankets, since she had turned the heat down before bed, as usual. She picked Hoppy up and deposited him at her side. Having the police chief visit her home had her in a bit of a spin. Why had he come? Was it really just a friendly visit to pick her brain, or were there other reasons?

  She picked up her bedside book, this time a Christmas historical romance anthology with several of her favorite authors represented. The words kept jumbling in front of her eyes and the story just would not make sense. The house was quiet, so quiet! Too quiet to sleep. She got up and padded down the stairs, followed by the clickety-click of Hoppy’s claws, into the kitchen. Denver was snoozing in the basket by the stove, his way of claiming it from Hoppy. Jaymie grabbed a handful of treats and sat down cross-legged on the chilly floor. Denver stretched, yawned and climbed out of the basket, sauntering over to Jaymie and sitting next to her, staring up at her with a quizzical expression. Hoppy sat on the other side, staring up at her, too.

  As she fed them treats, first Hoppy, then Denver, she considered what was keeping her awake. There was something she hadn’t mentioned to the police chief: the will she had found. It still troubled and puzzled her. Was it on the level? Would it destroy all the hard work she and her friends had done to make Dumpe Manor over into Queensville Historic Manor?

  “But the will doesn’t have a thing to do with Theo Carson’s death, right, animules?” she said to the quizzical dog and cat on either side of her. She shivered. It was too cold to be sitting on the floor, so she stood and stretched.

  Was there anything else bothering her? She stood stock-still and stared down at her slippered feet. Carson—she thought about something he had said at the meeting and that she had not thought of since. He said there was no way he would go out to Dumpe Manor alone. She had been left with the impression that he was afraid of ghosts or something, but no… he had then gone on to say something about a man like him making enemies, people who didn’t have her appreciation for the truth.

  What truth? What was it that had him afraid to go to Dumpe Manor alone, and why had he broken that resolve to go to his death? Or had he gone to the house with someone he trusted? That was what he had done before, when she caught him and Isolde in the house together. She definitely needed to follow up with Isolde Rasmussen, but she also needed to explore other options. Unfortunately, one of those options included finding out where Cynthia Turbridge was the night Theo Carson was killed.

  Thirteen

  THE PHONE RANG very early. In mid-November, even though daylight savings time had disappeared and the time had “fallen” back, it was barely light at seven fifteen. Jaymie was already up, though still half-asleep after a restless night when nothing—not warm milk, not a romance novel, nothing—had helped her sleep. “H’lo?” she murmured, padding around the kitchen in her jammies and socks and slippers, making tea.

  “Jaymie, my son is sick and I need to take him to the doctor, but I have two sets of guests!” It was Pam Driscoll, who was looking after the bed-and-breakfast next door. “Could you do breakfast this morning?”

  “Of course,” Jaymie said without hesitation. “You take care of Noah; go on and do what you need to do. I have my key, so I’ll get dressed and come over right away to make breakfast.” She had worried that the woman was going to be a continual pest, but Pam Driscoll was actually a very hard worker and a much better housekeeper than Anna, her cousin and Jaymie’s friend, had ever been. Though she wasn’t perfect with the guests—she had a tendency to share far too much of her personal life—she had only called Jaymie a few times with problems. Most guests actually seemed to like her and appreciated her anxious tending to their every need.

  “You’re a lifesaver!”

  That started Jaymie’s day on a hurried note. She headed over to the bed-and-breakfast, let herself in, turned on the oven and cooked the bacon, sausages, ham and pancakes for breakfast as she whipped up some muffins. The first pair she served were a senior husband and wife who were on their way out to Seattle for Thanksgiving, but were taking a leisurely drive to see the country as they did so. She chatted to them about the village, and guided them to some of the local places of interest, after which they ascended to shower and clear out their room.

  The other guest was Theo Carson’s mother, and when she came down, tissue in hand, she didn’t appear to notice Jaymie. She sat at the dining table, asking for just coffee, and stared idly out the window that overlooked the street. Jaymie pulled out a chair and sat down next to the woman, saying, “Mrs. Carson, we met yesterday. I’m Jaymie Leighton, remember? I’m filling in for Pam, as she had to take her son to the doctor.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sorry for how abrupt I was yesterday,” she said with a sad smile. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. “I’m just so upset.”

  “Are you here alone? Can I help in any way?”

  The woman pursed her lips. “I already asked if you’d help figure out who killed my son. That is the only thing I want help with.” She drained her coffee mug and banged it down on the table.

  Jaymie jumped up, retrieved the thermal carafe and refilled the woman’s coffee cup. “I know, Mrs. Carson, but I’m not sure what I can do.” She hesitated, but then went on. “Maybe if you could tell me… was your son superstitious in any way? Like, did he believe in ghosts?”

  “No, not at all. Why?”

  Jaymie sat across from Mrs. Carson and explained her conversation with the writer. “I don’t believe he would have gone there alone. He almost had a dread of the place. The only time I saw him there other than at the meetings,” Jaymie said, not explaining that he seemed to be looking for something, “he was with his new girlfriend.”

  “That Isolde Rasmussen,” the woman said, her eyes narrowed. “I found it odd; the police say she told them she followed Theo there, to that house—that he went alone to look for something, and she went after him, but was jumped. Do you believe her?”

  “I have no reason not to, except it’s strange, after what he told me, that he went alone,” Jaymie said. “Maybe if you look through his papers you’ll find out what he was looking for at Dumpe Manor.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m meeting his landlord today to decide what to do about his things. He was renting an apartment from some fellow, a Brock Nibler or some such name.”

  “Brock Nibley? That’s my best friend’s brother.”

  “Doesn’t that just figure?” she said with a contemptuous sniff. “Seems everyone knows everyone in this place. I’m not used to that. My home is Cleveland, and I prefer the city. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. The police have said I can go through his things, that I c-can…” She trailed off, shook her head and stared straight ahead as tears welled in her eyes. She ripped her tissue into shreds as they ran down her cheeks. Exhaustion and sorrow appeared to be taking their toll on her, and the very skin covering her cheekbones was sagging.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Carson,” Jaymie said softly, wanting to physically reach out to the woman, but knowing it would not be welcome. “Did Theo ever say anything about his work: what he was doing, how much he had written, anything he had discovered?”

  “Not much; he was researching, that’s all I know. He said that folks in the society might be shocked at what he’d discovered. That the Dumpe family—ridiculous name!—was not as saintly as they had been made out to be.”

  That w
as no surprise. He had said as much to Jaymie the night of the meeting. “But what was his proof?”

  The woman shrugged. “I don’t know, and frankly I don’t care.”

  Jaymie couldn’t answer, couldn’t say that he may have angered someone enough that they killed him for it. “Have you met Isolde yet?”

  “No. I doubt that I will. What would I have to say to her?”

  “Aren’t you curious why she followed Theo out to the house? And what she saw? I know I am.”

  She sighed. “I suppose. I wouldn’t know what to ask.” Her expression hardened. “But if I meet that Cynthia woman, I’ll have a thing or two to say to her, I’ll tell you!”

  Jaymie was nonplussed by the woman’s focus on Cynthia, who had really done nothing, as opposed to Isolde, whose actions were still a puzzle. Jaymie stood. “Please let me know if I can help in any way.”

  “I’ll be all right,” she said, calming. “My sister is coming to town to help and will stay with me.”

  “That’s good. You shouldn’t be alone. I’m home every evening, next door in the yellow brick, if you ever need to talk.” She touched the other woman’s shoulder, then went back to the kitchen to wash up the breakfast dishes. She cleaned the evacuated room and left a note for Pam about what Mrs. Carson had said about expecting her sister. She also offered to fill in again, if Pam needed help, and hoped that Noah was okay.

  She didn’t have a single chance to breathe after that because she had to make a quick run out to Heartbreak Island to check up on their vacation property, Rose Tree Cottage, since she was renting it out for the week of Thanksgiving to a local family who needed a place to put extra guests over the holiday. She couldn’t even take Hoppy with her, because when she returned in midafternoon she headed straight from the ferry dock to Jewel’s Junk to work for a few hours while Jewel and Cynthia went shopping to fill their inventory needs.

  Shopping, for a junkster, could be anything from investigating the local dump to a complete perusal of thrift stores. Jewel’s Junk was an eclectic store that stocked the best “junk” money could buy, but also sold higher-ticket items that Jewel cleverly altered from their original purpose to a more modern-day application. Thus she had a fifties dresser that she had taken all the drawers out of, fitted with wine bottle compartments and painted a glossy white. It would be someone’s chic little wine bar and rack for thirty or forty bottles. She had taken an old wood lecture desk from a college and repurposed it to be a laptop workstation; it was the third or fourth of its kind, and she had more of them in Bill’s workshop waiting to be fixed up, since they seemed to be hot items. Jewel had rescued a high school locker from the scrapyard, took the doors off, installed shelves and painted it a gorgeous chocolate brown, and it became a cool bookshelf for a wandering urbanite.