Played by the Book (A Novel Idea Mystery 4)

by Lucy Arlington

  From what I’d gathered, the Walker land was located a few miles out of town. Normally, I would need a ride, although since I was hoping to meet with Peggy Cobb before the appointment, I planned to borrow Trey’s car. “Actually, I think I’ll check with Trey and see if I can use his car. I have quite a few errands to run this afternoon,” I told Franklin. “I’ll get directions from Vicky and meet you there.”

  “Fine,” he said. Then holding his tie in place, he bent forward and with a gleam in his eye, whispered, “Vicky told me about your sleuthing plans. I’ll be looking forward to being a part of the detecting team this afternoon.” He straightened and spoke in a normal tone. “Well, I’ll let you get on with your morning. See you at three o’clock.”

  I stared after him, wondering how much Vicky had told him. I hated the idea of her spreading unfounded rumors about Grant Walker. Sure, the guy was a jerk, but whether or not he was a murderer hadn’t been proven yet. And I was barely comfortable with this clandestine interview/interrogation as it was, let alone with having someone else anxious to watch me “in action”! Plus Sean was upset enough with me without Vicky making me head of a team for her unauthorized detecting purposes.

  I took another swallow of caramel heaven to soothe my apprehension, then dialed Espresso Yourself. I thanked Makayla for the coffee before asking to speak to Trey. After sweetening the deal with the promise of topping off his gas tank, he agreed to loan me his “ride,” as he called it. “Just promise to have it back by five. I’ve got plans with a couple of the guys tonight. And take it easy on the clutch.”

  I readily promised and made arrangements to pick up the keys in a couple of hours. I filled the rest of the morning with answering emails and reading proposals, none of which caught my eye this time. Before I knew it, I was walking out of Espresso Yourself with another caramel latte and Trey’s car keys, getting ready to head for Dunston.

  “Oh, Lila!” came a voice from behind, just as I was juggling my shoulder bag and coffee, trying to turn the lock on the Honda. I turned to see Alice Peabody fast approaching.

  I sighed and faced her head-on. “Mrs. Peabody,” I greeted, mustering the most pleasant tone I could manage. She looked more presentable than she had the other day at Catcher in the Rye. Today, her silver hair was swept up in a neat twist and secured with a jeweled comb and her cheeks were tinted with bright pink circles of rouge.

  “I was just stopping by to see if Damian was at the agency.”

  I glanced at the steps leading to the agency door. “No, I’m afraid he’s not. Why? Is there a message you want me to give him?”

  She patted her hair. “Why, no. I was just hoping to meet him and perhaps discuss the criteria for judging the garden walk entrants.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Speaking of which, what will you do now that Fannie has … has …”

  “Passed,” she completed for me. I swear I noticed a little upturn of her lips as she said the word. “Horrible, isn’t it?” she continued, shaking her head and making a clucking sound with her tongue. “Poor Fannie. So unfortunate.” Then switching gears faster than an uphill cyclist, she donned a bright smile. “Don’t worry, though. As soon as I heard the news, I was able to get right over to the printers and eliminate her garden from the map. Luckily, I caught the printer just in the nick of time. Can you imagine how much it would cost to reprint all those brochures?”

  Unable to think of any sort of suitable reply, I simply nodded and bid her a terse good-bye. As I headed down the road toward Dunston, I couldn’t help but wonder just how much luck was involved with Alice’s timing—or was it a premeditated manipulation of the worst kind? The woman rubbed me the wrong way. I was apt to think she was much more than just an overzealous garden club organizer. In my mind, Alice Peabody was a cutthroat competitor who would stop at nothing to win this year’s van Gogh award, including squashing the competition like a pesky garden bug.

  *

  THE RESIDENTIAL GROUP home where Peggy supposedly lived was located in a neighborhood just a couple of blocks from the Dunston Police Department. As I passed the station, I couldn’t help but scan the parking lot to see if Sean’s vehicle was there. I briefly considered giving him a call to see if he had time for a quick lunch, but decided that I’d better let him cool down for a spell. He’d seemed pretty steamed after finding Damian at my house. Of course he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, but that was mostly my doing. I’d foolishly planted seeds of doubt in Sean’s head. It wasn’t his fault they’d grown into an ugly green monster.

  I located the home, a sprawling ranch-style house surrounded by colorful gardens, with a discreet sign out front that read: Dunston Manor: Adult Care Home. After parking at the curb, I took a path lined with well-tended flower beds to the home’s entrance. A well-dressed middle-aged woman answered the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I’m Lila Wilkins. I’m here to see Mrs. Peggy Cobb.”

  The woman hedged. “Are you family?”

  “No, I purchased my home from her a while back and wanted to ask a few questions.”

  After a quick up and down, the woman opened the door and waved me in. I followed her through a charming entry area and into a cozy living room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll find Ms. Martin, our director, and tell her you’re here.”

  While she went to fetch Ms. Martin, I took the opportunity to check out the place. It was a lovely older home that had been nicely renovated to accommodate the physical needs of its senior residents while still maintaining a homey feel. I admired the décor, with freshly painted walls in cheerful hues of yellow, rich drapery framing large sunny windows, and upholstered furniture in coordinating blue and yellow floral patterns. To me, the whole room felt like an inviting garden. If a time ever came that I wouldn’t be able to manage completely on my own, I would hope to be able to live in a place just like this one.

  A group of jovial seniors walked in, one of them carrying a deck of cards. “Good evening, young lady,” a pink-cheeked woman greeted, her sharp blue eyes inspecting me with a discerning gaze. “Would you be interested in joining us in a game of five-card draw?”

  “Oh, I’d love to, but I’m waiting for Ms. Martin.”

  “Aw, that’s too bad,” one of the gentlemen chimed in as they settled around a small card table. He was mostly bald and sported shiny wire-rimmed glasses. “We always appreciate fresh blood.”

  That garnished a round of chuckles from the group. Another man, this one much shorter and with a full head of hair, jumped into the spirit of things. “You’re just looking for another pocket to pick, Frank.” Then looking at me, he added with a wink, “Frank’s won the last five games. He’s about cleaned me out.”

  I watched as they all anted up a couple of quarters. The pink-cheeked woman started shuffling the deck, her nubby-knuckled hands working the deck like a pro. I watched in amazement as she did a one-handed cut and spread the deck faceup on the table. Then, with one finger, and a sly glance my way, she deftly flipped the deck and gathered it again before passing the cards at whirlwind speed. I became so engrossed in watching their game I didn’t even hear the director approach.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Wilkins?” I looked up to see a woman wearing a pinstripe pantsuit with a badge clipped around her neck. “Hi, I’m Janet Martin. I understand you’d like to visit Mrs. Cobb.”

  I stood and reached out to take her hand and took a closer look at her badge. It showed a long list of initialed credentials behind her name. “That’s right,” I replied. “I just have a couple of quick questions for her about her old house on Walden Woods Circle.”

  “Are you with the police?”

  “The police?” I shook my head. “No, I bought the house from her and her husband a while back.” Apparently the police had already questioned Mrs. Cobb. Strange that Sean hadn’t mentioned it. Of course, we hadn’t really talked much in the past couple of days and even if we had, I wasn’t privy, as he liked to remind me, to all the details of his cases.

  Janet no
dded. “I see. Well, I’d be glad to take you back to see Mrs. Cobb, but I should warn you that she’s not having a very good day. Some days are good, some not.”

  Frank spoke up from across the room. “Peggy just gets a little confused, that’s all.” He laid out his hand with a smug look. “Gotcha,” he announced, raking in the pile of change. The others threw down their cards and groaned.

  “Frank’s right,” Janet agreed. “Peggy may or may not be able to answer your questions.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. She’s due to have lunch in about ten minutes, so if you could keep it short, I would appreciate it.”

  I followed Janet down a long hallway with polished wood floors and tasteful art on the walls. As we neared the back of the house, my nose was treated to the tantalizing smell of spicy meat wafting from the kitchen area. My stomach grumbled in response.

  We were halfway down the hall when I heard a whirring sound. Janet inhaled sharply and grasped the wall for support. “Watch out!” she warned just as a man in a power scooter came whizzing toward us. “Buck Cartwright, you slow down right this instant!”

  “Can’t,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Late for a card game.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Janet apologized, recomposing herself after our near collision. “That was our resident speedster. If I could fine him for every time I caught him speeding, I’d make a fortune.” She waved toward an open door. “Here’s Peggy’s room.”

  We found Mrs. Cobb in her room, sitting in a worn recliner with a navy blue blanket tucked tightly around her legs, working a pair of knitting needles. She was a tiny woman with short white wispy hair and lively eyes, which she fixed on me. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Lila Wilkins,” I started, settling into a pretty patterned chair next to her. Her room was simple, with only a bed, a couple of chairs, and a coffee table. Despite the lack of space, it was nicely decorated in a pleasing palate of beige and mauve. “I live in your old cottage on Walden Woods Circle.”

  Mrs. Cobb worked her jaw back and forth a few times before actually speaking. “Walden Woods Circle, you say?”

  I nodded. “Yes, your old house. Do you remember it?”

  Her eyes took on a dreamy look as her fingers worked the needles. “Walden Woods Circle? I used to live there?”

  I wasn’t sure what she was making, but it was a lot wider at the top than the bottom and seemed to curl in on itself. “That’s right. You lived there with your husband, Doug.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Doug?” She glanced toward Janet then back to me, her lower lip trembling slightly. “He’s passed away.”

  Janet moved to place a hand on Peggy’s shoulder and shot me a weary look. I wished I had chosen my words more carefully. “I’m sorry about your husband, Mrs. Cobb. Do you remember the cottage you lived in? It’s yellow with periwinkle shutters and has an English garden out front.” Well, it used to, anyway. “You must have enjoyed gardening,” I added, trying to steer the conversation toward something more pleasant.

  Her eyes moved past me and gazed out the window on the far wall. I turned to see what had captured her attention and saw she was admiring a border planting in the backyard. My eyes lingered a second, taking in the striking combination of yellow coreopsis, gray dusty miller, and blue lily of the Nile.

  Janet interjected, “Peggy loves to walk through our gardens, don’t you, Peggy?”

  Peggy nodded and peeled her eyes from the window view and focused on me once again. A slight smile formed on her lips.

  Encouraged, I started my questioning. “My son and I live in your old cottage now and we’re so happy there. I can tell that you took good care of it. Do you have any children, Mrs. Cobb?”

  Her smile vanished as quickly as it came. Clamping her lips tightly, she shook her head and shifted in her seat until her shoulder was turned toward me.

  Janet patted her back. “It’s okay, Peggy. We’ll let you get back to your knitting. Someone will be by to take you to lunch in a few minutes.”

  At the mention of lunch, Peggy’s expression lightened a little, but she still refused to look my way, turning her focus instead back to her knitting. She began quietly humming a tune I didn’t recognize, her needles making light clicking sounds as she worked.

  I thanked her and stood, following Janet toward the door. We paused for a second and looked back. “Like I said, this isn’t a good day for Mrs. Cobb,” Janet told me in a low voice. “The police came by asking questions yesterday and it upset her terribly. We had to give her extra meds just to get her settled into bed last night.”

  “Does she get many visitors?”

  “Rarely. Some of her old neighbors used to come by, but their visits have been few and far between. I suppose it’s not easy for them. Oftentimes she’s confused and becomes easily agitated with them.”

  My heart went out to her, this poor woman with few visitors. “Doesn’t she have family around?”

  Janet shook her head. “Her husband passed last year and she lost her only sibling, a sister, a few months back. She doesn’t have any children.”

  “Oh, that’s so sad.”

  Suddenly Mrs. Cobb spoke out, a spark of energy alighting in her eyes. “My children? They left me. I don’t know where they are.”

  I walked back to her. “What do you mean, Mrs. Cobb? What children?”

  “I’m afraid she’s confused,” Janet said from across the room. “You don’t have any children, Mrs. Cobb. Remember?”

  The old woman reached toward me, her wrinkled hands trembling outward until they landed on my arm. “Where are my children?” she asked, her eyes pleading with me for just a heartbeat before breaking away to focus on a young man entering the room. He was wearing jeans and a polo. I guessed him to be a little younger than Trey. A volunteer badge swung from a cord around his neck.

  “Time for lunch, Mrs. Cobb,” he declared, his voice upbeat and the smile on his face genuine. “May I walk you to the dining room?”

  Immediately Peggy set aside her knitting and started working her way out of the recliner. The young man sprang into action, gently lifting her and looping her arm in his. “It’s one of your favorites today, beef and noodles,” he said as they shuffled toward the door.

  “How long has she been this way?” I asked as soon as we were down the hall and out of earshot.

  She shrugged. “A year or so, maybe. I’ve only worked here for six months.”

  “Are you sure she doesn’t have children? She seemed to think she did.”

  “I’m afraid Peggy is prone to confusion. Most days she’s fine, just a little forgetful, but the police visit yesterday really upset her. She’s been a little distracted ever since.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said, although a trickle of doubt entered my mind. She didn’t seem confused when she asked about her children. In fact, she seemed determined that I find where they were. Or maybe I already had. Did the skeleton in my yard belong to one of Mrs. Cobb’s children? While I wanted to find the identity of the young woman in my yard, I hoped it didn’t turn out to be one of Peggy’s children.

  Chapter 12

  I double checked my directions several times before I hit on the right road leading to the Walker place. I was running about ten minutes late when I finally located the Sherlock Holmes Realty sign marking the acreage.

  Franklin, Damian, and Grant were already waiting for me. “You made it,” Franklin said, greeting me at my car door. Stepping onto the grass, I surveyed the area. I could see why the acreage had been so appealing to the Walkers. Located on a high ridge, just outside the Valley, the wooded land offered pristine vistas, privacy, and the convenience of not being too far from all of Inspiration Valley’s amenities. “It’s beautiful up here!”

  “Yes, it is,” Damian said, approaching with his usual charming smile. “Thank you so much for taking time out of your schedule to join us, Lila.” Grant, looking a little less charming, was standing off to the side, kicking his boots in the dirt.

/>   “Lila,” Franklin began, “this is Grant Walker. Grant, Lila Wilkins, another one of the agents from Novel Idea. She’s helping me take care of Damian this week. I hope you don’t mind that she’s joined us. Damian values her opinion as much as mine.”

  Damian nodded enthusiastically. “Am I right in thinking this would be a perfect locale to build my design home?” He pointed to the road. “Easy access for construction workers and my film crew. I’m thinking the setting is just right, too—slightly primitive with a beautiful view and almost twenty acres to showcase my gardens.”

  “I think your fans will love watching you transform this plot of land into a showcase home,” Franklin added, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. “And there’s more than enough room to create a dozen or more garden themes out here.”

  Grant’s dark eyes were practically dancing with dollar signs. “It can be yours, Mr. York. All you have to do is make a good offer.”

  “Let’s wait on Ms. Watson to get here with the paperwork before we start discussing numbers,” Damian replied, a hint of his business savvy coming through. “But, this is promising. Very promising,” he said as he started to pace off the land, spewing his plans for construction. As he and Franklin walked the acreage and talked garden design, I stayed behind with Grant, waiting on Ruthie’s arrival.

  “I was so sorry to hear about your recent loss,” I said, hoping to start a conversation about Fannie.

  Grant shoved his hands into the pockets of his torn jeans and shrugged. “Yeah, well … we weren’t all that close.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Franklin and Damian were looking at a cluster of wild olive trees, probably trying to decide how to tame the woody growth, which had invaded a large portion of the back of the property.

  “Still, it’s tragic the way she died. So senseless,” I offered, trying to keep him interested. “Have the police made any progress yet?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “How would I know?”

  I took a step backward. “I just thought you might be keeping up on the case, since she was your stepmother.”