Freezer Burn: A Maggie Mercer Mystery

by Jill Behe

  “What I meant was, did she actually see any construction going on?”

  “Oh. Well, no. Not actually.”

  “All right. Continue.”

  “She thought he was remodeling. Which would be PRIT-ty darned ballsy, especially as he’s only renting. Anyway, I went right over there ready to snap his neck.”

  The last few words echoed around the room.

  Realizing what she’d said, eyes horrified but imploring, Magnolia stared at Wyatt.

  He stared back, unblinking, and only very, very, slightly amused.

  CHAPTER 22

  ONE DOWN, ONE TO GO

  “SO TO SPEAK. Seriously, you do understand that’s only a figure of speech, right? I, I don’t have the strength, or the stomach, to lay a hand on the man.” She took a breath, warily eyeing the presence of the law. “Any man, for that matter.”

  He didn’t say a word.

  She cleared her throat and plowed on. “Needless to say, there was no sawdust, no lumber lying around, no tools, either. When I confronted him, he admitted to building a crate for his dog—which I saw neither hide nor hair of—in the basement. And that right there made me wonder, because if he had been making a ruckus in the cellar, Evelyn wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

  “Besides that, he hadn’t mentioned having a pet when he signed the lease. Since I wasn’t able to find any visible evidence of…. Well, that he’d been doing any kind of construction, I told him I would have to check with Mr. Watts about having pets on the premises, and get back to him. He apologized for the oversight and thanked me for coming by.”

  “You never saw any building materials, or tools?”

  “No. Still, it’s odd. I don’t know that I believe his story.”

  “What’s this man’s name?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? Well, for heaven’s sake.” She rummaged through the file drawer in her desk and withdrew a bright orange folder. “William Brandt. B-R-A-N-D-T.”

  My pen stopped moving.

  That wasn’t the name of the man from the post office.

  Wyatt was jotting things down, too, in the little notebook he always carries in his front shirt pocket. “Would you describe him for me?”

  Magnolia thought about it. “Medium height. Shorter than you, taller than Maggie. Reddish brown hair, more red than brown. A moustache, and that thing they grow on their chins—a goatee, I think it’s called. Short and trim, all around. His eyes were brown, from what I can recall, light brown. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention. Mid-twenties, early 30s, maybe? Not much older than that, and most surely not any younger.”

  “Anything about him stand out?”

  “Stand out?”

  “Like a tattoo or birthmark? A scar, maybe? Earrings? Glasses?”

  “No glasses.” She settled back, the chair creaking in protest. “Yes. Yes, he had a scar.”

  “Where? What did it look like?”

  She ran her finger down across the right side of her face, from the middle of her cheekbone to just under her ear. “It wasn’t a real recent injury, but was a puffy-pinky red, like it was still healing.”

  Okay, well that clinched it. He wasn’t the man I’d seen and Dandy would certainly have mentioned a scar. Though she did say she hadn’t been able to see his whole face.

  “Where’s he from?”

  Another glance at the file. “Cleveland.”

  My head jerked up. That sounded familiar. These men had to be together. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Could it?

  “Was he…? Was anyone with him?”

  “No. He was by himself. The lease was for one tenant.”

  “How long does he plan on being here?”

  She shuffled to the back page. “Six weeks.”

  “All right.” Wyatt flipped his little book shut. “I think that’s all I need.”

  “Wyatt—”

  He ignored me, standing to shake hands with Magnolia. “Thanks for your time.”

  “You’re very welcome, Chief Madison.”

  Without comment, not wanting to cause a scene in front of her, I too, shook hands, then followed Wyatt out to the cruiser.

  He fastened his seatbelt, and turned to face me. “Sorry I interrupted you, hon. But I’m pretty sure, without you having to say so, that this guy isn’t the same one you told us about. Am I right?”

  “That wasn’t the reason…. Never mind, I can’t remember now.” I buckled my seatbelt. “But yes, there’s definitely a difference between the two.”

  He started the SUV and we pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Something’s sure out of whack.” I needed to get back to the office where I could concentrate and mull it over, but it was good to bounce things off Wyatt, too. “The man at the post office said he’d rented the house from Magnolia. Mentioned her by name. There was no scar on his face, but then, I didn’t get to see the whole thing. Maybe he was wearing a disguise? That would be pretty silly, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Why wear a disguise if no one knows you?”

  “How do you know no one knows him? Besides, maybe he doesn’t want anyone to be able to identify him later.”

  Hmm. I glanced over. “You could be right. Why lease a house? He could have stayed at the Inn. Then again, maybe someone does know him, but why use a different name? If he’s being that cautious, he must have something to hide, or someone to hide from. So why make a point of saying Magnolia would know about the lease?”

  “Is that all?”

  I shook my head. “He had to know Magnolia’s description would be different than her sister’s.”

  “Could have been his intent. Confuse the masses, so to speak. Or he doesn’t know they’re sisters.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. The man with the scar told Magnolia he would be the sole occupant. The man at the post office said he signed the lease.”

  “Quite the quandary, I agree.”

  “And what does any of it, or either of them, have to do with the missing girl?” I looked over, my head leaned against the window. “What do you think?”

  “I agree. There’s not much to tie them to her. An interesting development, certainly. I’m withholding comment until I can think about it more fully. The other, more puzzling aspect, is why someone doesn’t want us asking questions. You, especially.”

  Shoot. He’s still trying to make a connection with my scare. “Well, if all of it is related to me, it’s probably because you and Ricky weren’t the ones who started poking around.” But wake up, Wyatt. My scary phone call doesn’t have anything to do with anybody’s poking. I frowned at the man. Seemed like he was deliberately making round facts fit into his square scenario, in order to justify his opinion.

  “True, but whoever this is has to know, or at least suspect, that you’d tell us about it.”

  He wasn’t going to give up beating on it until all the bees were circling the wagons, or something like that. For now, I’d go along with it. “How would he know? He and this other guy aren’t from here. How would they know I work for the police department? Why would he suspect anyone would call the cops?

  “I can understand reporting a possible break-in, but even then, Dandy chased him off before he got the door open. She had no reason to call, except to assuage Ed’s blood pressure.”

  There was silence from the other side of the vehicle. I think I made him mad. Or he was being even more obtuse than usual.

  He is smarter than that.

  Turning left on Pepper Ridge Avenue, Wyatt called the office.

  “Dispatch. Go ahead, Chief.”

  “Anything going on?”

  “Nope. All quiet.”

  “Good. We’re about at our next stop. Should be back by noon.”

  “Roger that. I saved you two each a donut.”

  I looked over.

  Uh oh.

  Wyatt was grinning. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t mad.

  “Son, you’d best be careful. Lancy won’t be able to get her arms ar
ound you.”

  My eyes went wide.

  “I didn’t— There’s still—”

  Poor Ricky.

  Wyatt laughed into the mic.

  CHAPTER 23

  A LITTLE INSIGHT

  THERE WAS a quiet moment from the other end. Then, “Dispatch out.”

  I could imagine the look on Rick’s face, and punched Wyatt’s arm. “You hurt his feelings.”

  “Nah. He’s tough.”

  “You were a bully when you were a child, weren’t you?”

  “He’s a big boy. He’ll get over it.”

  Poor Ricky, indeed. And I thought I had it bad with the macho stuff. Guess he didn’t reserve it just for me.

  “I’ve been thinking, babe. We should have your parents over for supper one night soon.”

  I studied him before answering. “Okay.” It was a good suggestion, but completely out of left field, and that made me suspicious. It also confirmed my theory that he was being stubbornly thickheaded about what was really going on. “When? And whose house?”

  He shrugged. “Your parents, your house. And it doesn’t matter when.”

  “Interesting.” I leaned back in my seat. “Anything in particular on the menu?”

  “Not in particular, no.”

  I had an idea.

  “Okay, good.” I smiled, a crafty one. “I have just the thing.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “My meal, my secret.”

  “Huh. You turned that right around on me now, didn’t you? Whatever it is that you have in mind, you’re going to have to repeat for my parents when they come up.”

  What? Wait. When?

  Crud.

  “Are they? It will be … nice, to see them again.”

  Yes, that was hesitation you heard.

  They’d been up for Thanksgiving, with Wyatt and I looking forward to a combined family get-together.

  His mother had other ideas.

  I’d overheard her talking to Wyatt, the night she and Wyatt’s dad had arrived. “Why should we have to share our holiday meal with them? We came up to spend time with you, Wyatt dear. I’m sure your … girlfriend, can do without you for a few days.”

  Sheesh. Can you believe that?

  And Wyatt went along with it.

  Yeah, I know.

  He gave me a plausible explanation, and like a good … girlfriend, I went along with it.

  But I wasn’t happy.

  Not one little bit.

  Oblivious to my reminiscing, Wyatt made a right turn. “I don’t know whether they’re coming or not. They’re on a cruise at the moment. But if they hear that you cooked a meal, with your parents in attendance, my mother will need to even the score, so to speak.”

  I could imagine that, too. “How are they going to find out about it unless you tell your mother? Besides, she doesn’t even like me.” She really doesn’t, and that might be too mild a definition. I haven’t got the foggiest notion why, either.

  “How could you possible think that?”

  “Really?” I tilted my head. “Did you forget Thanksgiving?”

  He frowned as we turned another corner. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t she like you?”

  I shook my head—code for never mind—and changed the subject. “Remember how you suggested we do something Friday night?” His eyes lit. “Yes, I do. It’s not too short a notice, is it?”

  Huh. Sure. No problem. I only have to make sure the house is presentable, and then cook a meal for six people after getting home from work.

  Growling would have felt good.

  We girls have to keep up the myth, though, right? “Not at all. I just have to make a trip to the store.”

  “Your parents might already have other plans.”

  I laughed. “My parents? Have plans?”

  He shrugged. “Y’never know.”

  “Believe me, I know. I’ll call Mom this afternoon.”

  “Excellent. Thanks.”

  I frowned. He was up to something. I could feel it. What was that phrase Gladiola had used?

  Ah, yes. I bet my left upper bicuspid. Yeah. That.

  At the next stop sign, we made a right onto Market Street, our downtown street. The antique store was on the far corner. Wyatt turned down Gunderson Avenue, made a right into the alley, and parked in the back lot.

  Needing to refocus my attention on our mission, I made a mental note to call my mom later this afternoon.

  Hey. It’s not polite to snicker behind your hand. You know my brain can only hold so much info at one time.

  Wyatt was right about my inability to resist the pretty things on display at Hidden Treasures. It didn’t help that Lavender never charged me full price—no matter how many times I protested.

  Inevitably, once I got my purchases home, though, and put them out for show on a shelf or side table, they needed to be dusted, at least once a week. I’m not a fan of housework, never have been. That’s not to say I don’t do it. It does get done. I’d just rather be doing something else. Anything else. And every time I flip the dust rag over each one of those little figurines, I vow to never ever buy another dust-attracting trinket.

  Unfortunately, never seems to always come as soon as I set foot in the store again.

  Today, I vowed something different, to not give in to temptation.

  Mentally, I crossed my fingers.

  Halfway across the showroom floor, in the midst of berating a hapless red-faced sales clerk, Lavender Grayson spotted us. The flailing arms changed direction, and she came at us like a two-armed octopus.

  “Oh my heavens, it’s true, isn’t it?”

  CHAPTER 24

  ANOTHER SISTER WITH A BIG PROBLEM

  I LOOKED AT WYATT.

  He shrugged. “Is what true?”

  “That there’s been a kidnapping, of course.” Lavender’s signature scent arrived before she did, a pleasant yet overpowering cloud of purple fragrance. “Good Lord, what’s this town coming to, Chief Madison? We just get past an awful murder, and now another horrible crime. This is unacceptable. Mossy Creek is, is.…” She shifted into high gear. “We’ve always been a peaceful town. How can this be happening? That someone could grab a visitor, a virtual stranger to our town, from our most prestigious hotel.… It’s preposterous. Inconceivable. Unconscionable.”

  If Wyatt hadn’t raised his hands to stem the tide of her runaway rant, she’d probably still be … ranting.

  “Now, Miz Grayson, calm yourself. Who said anything about a kidnapping?”

  She huffed, hands fisted on ample hips. “Well, EV-eryone is talking about it.”

  “Who, exactly, is everyone? And who started it?”

  It’d be a good bet that Wyatt had his suspicions. I know I did, but he’d never outright accuse anyone unless he could prove it. Tell you what, though, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that her elder sister, one Miz Forsythia Morgan, had been on the phone spreading the news.

  Then again, maybe not.

  You’re right. I did say she’d been refraining from being loose-lipped recently.

  Miz Grayson blinked up at Wyatt, her mouth open, slightly.

  I ran a gentle hand down her arm, alarmed that she didn’t seem to be breathing.

  No matter what I was thinking, as a representative of the police department, diplomacy was always required. “Miz Grayson? Do you remember, specifically, from whom you heard it first?” Grammatically correct doesn’t hurt, either.

  She inhaled deeply and swallowed. “I, uh, I believe it was that annoying young man who’s been coming by every day. He was here yesterday morning, just as I opened, talking about it.”

  Now wasn’t that interesting.

  Wyatt, unbuttoning his heavy sheepskin coat, continued his line of questioning. “Would you happen to remember this young man’s name?”

  “Why, yes. Yes, I do. Not likely I’ll forget anytime soon. And besides, he gave me his card. Just a moment, I’ll get it for you.” Heels clacking on the hardwood, she disappeared t
hrough a door in the back of the building.

  I removed my gloves and hat before unzipping my parka and using the open flap to fan myself. “She sure keeps it warm in here.”

  Wyatt agreed as I watched a trickle of sweat run down his neck and beneath his collar. “That she does.”

  “So are you thinking what I’m thinking about this young man? I would have thought her sister started the rumor. But who better to start it than the one who’s involved in the actual crime? I also think it’s interesting that he knew it about an hour after I heard it from Bruce.”

  He nodded. “Unless I miss my guess, if we don’t head her off, our Miss Lavender is going to be making a phone call as soon as we leave. Then it’ll spread like a match to dry kindling.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Forsythia may be—have been—the ring leader, but I’m thinking all the sisters do their share of sharing information with anyone willing to listen. If she asks, we can say that Sybil is missing, but we don’t know that she was kidnapped. We wouldn’t be lying.”

  He nodded. “Then again, if we play our cards from the bottom of the deck, we won’t even have to mention it.”

  Hah. How clever he was.

  “Here we are,” Lavender Grayson sang out, waving the little card in the air. Breathless by the time she reached us, she handed it to Wyatt.

  He studied the small off-white piece of cardstock, then glanced at me. “Jarrod Sorenson. Owner-operator of Arts and Antiquities, out of Cleveland, Ohio.”

  Huh. Not the one from the realty office, and not the one from the Post Office. How intriguing. Three gentlemen from Cleveland who just happen to be in our small community at the same time.

  Something’s up with that.

  You’re right. Too much of a coincidence.

  “Thank you, Miz Grayson. I’d like to hang on to this, if I may. I’ll get it back to you.”

  “You can keep it, for all I care. And will you two, please, as I’ve asked several hundred times over the years, call me Lavender?”

  With an amused quirk to his mouth, Wyatt nodded. “Thank you, Miss Lavender. Did this Jarrod have any distinguishing characteristics? Anything that stood out?”

  “Well, I’ve seen the fellow quite often, but I don’t know about distinguishing marks. He’s probably in his mid-to-late 20s, early 30s, maybe. Dark hair, longish. Needs a good haircut. In the artistic community, his look may be the norm, but for me it’s a bit too … bohemian. Handsome enough, I suppose. Walks with a slight limp. Says he’s recovering from a fall down some stairs. Dislocated his knee and broke his leg.”