Bowled Over

by Victoria Hamilton

  “I know people are going to think that. I suppose it’s possible. He’s been trying so hard to change, but everyone has their breaking point. Why would Kathy meet him behind the washroom, though, of all people?”

  “I was wondering about that as Heidi and I walked along there tonight. So you think that Kathy went there purposely—like a planned meeting—and met her killer? That she was going there to talk to someone?”

  “I do.”

  She eyed Valetta speculatively. “You have tomorrow off, right?”

  “I do.” Valetta waited, watching Jaymie’s face, a look of hope in her eyes.

  “Do you think we might be able to find Johnny Stanko if we gave it a shot tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” she said, with a sigh of relief. “I’m worried about him. I want him to go to the police, and I don’t want it to turn into a bad situation. I was going to go alone, but I’d love company.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  “Come on over after you’re done at the Shady Rest.”

  Nine

  WITH A FLURRY of warnings to Jaymie to stay out of trouble, Becca left on the ferry the next morning. She wasn’t taking her car because she was meeting Kevin in Johnsonville, and he was driving her to London. They were all going to meet on Heartbreak Island on Sunday to do some needed work on Rose Tree Cottage before their next renters arrived.

  Jaymie and Hoppy had walked Becca down to the dock, and she threaded her way back through the village toward Valetta’s. Valetta Nibley’s cottage was in the old section of town, as were those of many of the “founding villagers,” the homes of families who had been in Queensville for generations. Mrs. Trelawney Bellwood, who played Queen Victoria in the Tea with the Queen Heritage Society fundraising event every May during Victoria Day weekend, was in her back garden, which bordered a lane named after her husband’s family, when Jaymie walked Hoppy past her property.

  Roary, Mrs. Bellwood’s pug, rushed the fence, yapping and snuffling and making a huge racket for a pug. This was a game Hoppy and Roary played, so Hoppy lunged at the fence too and they pretended to hate each other. Hoppy wobbled and lunged, while Roary yapped with asthmatic snuffles between each string of hoarse barklets. Put together, the two played amicably, but put a fence between them and they acted like tiny maniacs.

  Mrs. Bellwood, who had only been visible as a rounded, madras plaid bottom wedged between her shed and the fence, straightened, hand to her back, and hobbled toward the chain-link fence, her face red. Her hands were shielded by garden gloves and she had a fistful of berry-laden vines. “How are you this morning, Jaymie? I hear you were out walking with that Lockland girl yesterday evening.”

  It was surprising that Mrs. Imogene Frump’s information had made it all the way to her mortal enemy, Mrs. Bellwood, but they had connections in common among the ladies of the village. “So you and Mrs. Frump have been talking?” Jaymie said, teasing her elderly friend.

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Bellwood said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Imogene and I have nothing to say to each other. Trip Findley was on his walk this morning and stopped to talk to me.”

  So that explained it. “Heidi is a nice girl,” Jaymie said, pulling Hoppy back from the fence to give Roary time to recover from his fit. The pug sneezed, snuffled and wheezed, then flopped on his back and rolled in the sun-warmed grass. “She and Joel are getting married, and I thought I’d tell her a little about the village. She’s been here a while, but hasn’t really met anyone.”

  People had shut Heidi out of village life for months because she had “stolen” Jaymie’s beau, but it was time the foolishness stopped. Jaymie was determined to right the wrong that had been done to the young woman. Yes, Heidi had “stolen” Joel, in one sense, but he was not a necklace left out to tempt a thief; he was a man, and if it hadn’t been Heidi, it would have been someone else, Jaymie had decided. It was his way out of a relationship he was no longer invested in.

  “One of those modern girls: fake tans, fake white teeth, fake everything,” the old woman grumbled.

  “So, you’re ripping out the deadly nightshade?” Jaymie said, to change the subject.

  Mrs. Bellwood waved the clump of weedy vines toward her potting shed. “It’s growing up behind the shed, and I didn’t even know it! Don’t want Roary to get a mouthful. My boy will eat anything, even the deadly stuff.”

  “Is it dangerous for pets?” Given its name, Jaymie realized, that was probably so.

  “It is. Millie Dickons’s cat ate some last summer and died,” she said baldly. “Started drooling all over her, swatted her with his claws, and then he was gone. They found a quarter pound of deadly nightshade berries in that greedy cat’s stomach!”

  “Wow, I didn’t know that. I’ll have to make sure there’s none growing up in the trumpet vine. I don’t think Denver or Hoppy would go for it, but you never know. I have to go now…meeting Valetta this morning.” Jaymie tugged on Hoppy’s leash.

  “You tell her I’m waiting for that recipe she promised me for cranberry chutney!” the woman said, waving the handful of weeds.

  “Okay, I’ll let her know.” She gave Hoppy another tug, and he obediently trotted back to the path.

  They headed on down to Valetta’s cottage, which was tucked at the other end of Bellwood Lane. It was a frame cottage with a front porch that stretched the width of the house, and was painted olive green with darker green trim. Jaymie thought the color was ugly, but Valetta was proud of her handiwork, so she never criticized. Becca claimed the color was modern and fit the Arts and Crafts–influenced style of the house. Valetta met her at the gate, and the women exchanged hellos.

  “So, where do you think Johnny is?” Jaymie asked.

  Valetta, dressed in a pair of black shorts, a black T-shirt and sunglasses, closed the gate behind her and darted her gaze up and down the street, as if looking for detectives lurking behind trees. “Follow me.”

  So, it was somewhere they could walk to, Jaymie surmised. However, after twenty minutes of walking in circles, down drive lanes, along the main street, into the newer section of town and then back to the old, Jaymie finally said, “Valetta, can we get there on foot or what? I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re now walking past Jewel’s Junk for the second time.” She waved to Jewel Dandridge, the proprietor of the junk shop that Jaymie frequented and sometimes looked after. Junk Junior, Jewel’s bichon mix, barked at Hoppy from the wooden deck outside the shop; Hoppy yapped back and tugged at his leash, longing to go over and sniff butts with the other dog, his best canine buddy. Jewel watched them from her spot in the window of the shop.

  “I’m just wandering in case anyone is following us,” Valetta mumbled.

  Well, that explained Valetta’s version of undercover spy wear, shades and all. Jaymie glanced around at the quiet streets and lanes. The tourists who were in town were likely still lingering over coffee and beignets at the Queensville Inn’s coffee shop. A police officer would have shown up as clearly as a tattoo on a church lady.

  “Okay,” Valetta said, after a final look around. “I think it’s safe.”

  Now they set off at a blistering pace, Valetta’s long legs taking strides that Jaymie had to trot to keep up with. She dashed down a parking alley behind a row of Queen Anne–style homes, then cut down a sloped side street toward the neighborhood near the docks. There, the houses were a little rickety, slightly off kilter, some neat and rimmed in gardens, some decrepit and looking the worse for wear. She followed Valetta to the end of the street as even Hoppy began to tire, and stood beside her friend, staring at a small frame cottage that was painted a funky shade of lavender.

  “This is Johnny Stanko’s house?”

  Valetta nodded and squinted at it through her sunglasses.

  “And you think he’s here, even though the police haven’t been able to get him to come to the door?”

  Valetta nodded again, looked both ways, and headed up the gravel laneway, past the house, to the overgrown backyard, where a s
lanted stoop sagged wearily against the back. A screen door stood open, though the inside door was closed, and an array of cigarette butts and paper coffee cups littered the lengthy grass around the porch. Weeds squeezed through the porch boards, and weed vines—mostly bindweed and nightshade—climbed the uprights that held the roof of the tiny porch. Jaymie kept Hoppy back from the nightshade, mindful of Mrs. Bellwood’s warning, and waited while Valetta carefully climbed the rickety steps to the back door.

  She pounded on it and called out, “Johnny, it’s Valetta. Let me in!” When there was no answer, she pounded again and said, loudly, “I’m not leaving, so you’d better let me in.” She rattled the doorknob, but the door was jerked out of her hand and Johnny Stanko stood in the open doorway, bleary-eyed, staring moodily at her.

  Pushing past him, she motioned Jaymie to follow, saying, “Shut the door after us. I want to talk to you, Johnny.”

  This wasn’t what Jaymie had expected, but she followed. The house was musty and smelled of cigarette smoke, but it wasn’t filthy, like she had expected. She followed her friend into the kitchen, a small gray room lined in dirty white cupboards stained with a yellow overlay of nicotine. Johnny, dressed only in shorts, his huge feet bare and slapping the gray linoleum like swim fins, padded over to the sink, got a mug down from the cupboard and spooned instant coffee into it from a jar. He ran the hot water, filled his mug and drank the “brew” down in a couple of gulps.

  “Coffee?” he asked, holding up his mug.

  “No, we’re not here on a social call,” Valetta snapped, hands on her hips. She had taken off her sunglasses and donned her usual thick, clear glasses. “Have you been here since the murder of Kathy Cooper?”

  He warily shrugged, his gaze sliding away to settle on the old Arborite dinette set.

  “A shrug is not an answer. Johnny, I know the police have been here knocking on your door and that you haven’t answered. Why?”

  Hoppy busily sniffed around Stanko’s bare feet, but the man didn’t move. He watched Valetta like she might lunge and bite him, but otherwise didn’t say a word. Jaymie watched him in turn, wondering if he was the one who had murdered Kathy. Valetta glanced around the kitchen, her gaze pausing on the pie plate full of cigarette butts, and asked, “Do you have any food here?”

  “You hungry?” He turned and padded into the next room, and Valetta and Jaymie followed. “I got Cheetos, and Slim Jims and some corn chips left,” he said, rustling through some shopping bags on the sofa.

  Valetta, her charm bracelet jingling on her bony wrist, grabbed the man’s shoulder. “Johnny, what did you do with the heavy glass bowl I gave you at the picnic, the one that had the potato salad in it? What did you do with it after you finished the salad?”

  “I didn’t kill Kathy Cooper with it, if that’s what they’re saying,” he growled.

  So he had heard about the murder weapon? How? Jaymie wondered.

  “So what did you do with it? I told you to bring it back.”

  “And I did. I…” He trailed off, and his gaze slid sideways, then he continued, saying, “I put it back on the table.”

  Jaymie would have staked her life on the fact that Johnny Stanko was lying, and if he was, why? What had he really done with the bowl? “Are you sure?” she asked, examining his expression.

  He glared at her. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “You’ve got to tell the police that, Johnny,” Valetta commanded. “Promise me you’ll go to the station and tell them.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Good. Do it today.”

  Jaymie glanced at Valetta in surprise. Did her normally skeptical friend really think Stanko was a) telling the truth, and b) going to actually go to the police?

  “You know, I was standing at the railing trying to work up the guts to apologize to Craig for all the crappy things I did to him in school, the swirlies, the pantsings, the noogies, the name-calling. And then that witch, Kathy, lit into me like I was some slug she was going to squash. She got me upset.” His rumbling voice had a defeated whine to it.

  “But you did the right thing, Johnny, you walked away,” Valetta said. “I told you how proud I was of you.”

  Of course, he hadn’t walked away until after he had threatened them, Jaymie thought, remembering his comment about whacking them both.

  He nodded, looking like he was going to cry. “You’ve been real good to me, Val, not like most people in this town.”

  “I promised your sister I’d look after you if you came back to Queensville.”

  He nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “Poor Tammy! I miss her.”

  “I have to go,” Jaymie said, uneasily. “Hoppy has to piddle.” It was far too possible that they were standing in the home of a murderer, but Valetta seemed to have a blind spot where Stanko was concerned, so she was not about to say it.

  “Okay, I have to go, too.” Valetta put both hands on Stanko’s broad shoulders and shook him. “Go to the cops, Johnny. I know you’re scared, and I know you think they’re out to get you, but that’s not true. You need to go tell them everything so they can eliminate you as a suspect.”

  He looked sullen and unconvinced, which would be natural enough if he was really guilty of Kathy’s murder.

  Jaymie and Valetta walked back toward Jaymie’s house in silence. Jaymie wished she could find a way to probe Valetta about Stanko’s criminal past, but she was so protective of him! “Do you really think he’s going to go to the police?”

  Valetta shook her head. “I wish I could be sure. I’ll check in on him later.”

  She headed home, and Jaymie let Hoppy into the backyard, while she checked the answering machine; there was a message from the police asking her to drop in to the station. Oops! She was supposed to go and sign her statement.

  After an early lunch, Jaymie took Becca’s car—it was a smoother ride than her rattletrap van—and headed out to the highway, where the new chrome-and-glass police department was. It shouldn’t take long to simply sign a statement, she figured; then she’d go on with her afternoon. She had to work at the Emporium the next day, so any errands had to be done now.

  But it seemed it wasn’t going to be so simple. Instead of being given her statement to sign at the reception desk, she was escorted back to an interview room and deposited there. When she asked what she was waiting for, the officer said that Detective Christian had a couple more questions for her. She was given a clipboard with some departmental paper, in case she wanted to write an amendment to her statement with things she had forgotten about the time surrounding the murder.

  Should she tell them where Johnny Stanko was? As much as she wanted to, it seemed like a betrayal of Valetta’s trust. She tapped the pen on the paper and thought. She had lots of questions but no real new information.

  The detective finally came in and sat down opposite her, but was reading a paper while he did so. He finally looked up. “Hello, Ms. Leighton. How are you today?”

  Detective Christian had retreated from Jaymie to Ms. Leighton. Her stomach twisted into a queasy knot as she got a bad feeling about the interview. “I’m fine.”

  “We asked you to come in today to answer a few more questions about July Fourth and the murder of Kathy Cooper.”

  “Uh, no, I came in today to sign my statement.”

  “And to answer a few more questions.”

  “Okay. I’ve tried to think about anything more I know, but nothing is coming to mind.”

  He scanned down a sheet he had in his hand and looked back up. “You told us you had a run-in with the victim a few hours before her murder, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “But according to one witness, you’ve omitted a fairly important bit of information.” His gray eyes were cold. “We have a signed statement that you warned the victim.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Do you recall saying to the victim that she had better shut her mouth, or you would make her sorry?”

  Jaymie opened
her mouth, but nothing came out. What exactly had she said, and who would have told the police about it? “I might have said…I don’t know, something like that. Who told you about that?”

  “That doesn’t matter. Did you say it? You must have been very angry; the victim had just insulted you in front of the man you’re dating and implied that you were only dating him for his money. So how angry were you?”

  “This is ridiculous,” Jaymie said, her cheeks flaming. “Yes, Kathy insulted me in front of Daniel, and it irritated me. It was rude! And untrue. And I said something, but I don’t think it was quite that ominous.” Who would have told the police? Who had the most to gain from making her look bad?

  He sat and watched her.

  It came to her in that moment that it had to be Craig Cooper who’d told the police what she said, making it sound much worse than it was. He had just been approaching, and must have heard her. She thought for a moment, her temper cooling, then said, “I told Kathy she shouldn’t say such nasty things to me or she’d be sorry. I don’t know what I meant, but I have never in my life even hit another person, much less murdered someone. Would you like me to add that to my statement?”

  “If you would. Exactly how you remember it, please.” He glanced up near the ceiling.

  They must be on video. She had seen enough cop shows to know about that. Restraining her urge to poke her tongue out at the camera, she read her statement through, made the amendment and signed it, then stood. If she was going to tell them about Johnny Stanko, she should do it now.

  “Anything you want to add?”

  She hesitated. “No.” It wasn’t turning in Johnny Stanko that would have bothered her, but the betrayal of the trust Valetta put in her. She’d give him some time to go to the police, then press Valetta, make her see that Stanko may well have snapped and killed Kathy. It made her uneasy to leave him free, but she would give him twenty-four hours. “No, I’m done. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”