All Murders Final!

by Sherry Harris

  I’d heard Hennessy used to be an actress and had even had some minor success on Broadway. With this performance I wondered why she’d given up acting. The customers eating swung their heads toward me. I wished I had a script, but I’d already had enough drama for the day.

  I looked up at her and held my ground. I spouted a line I’d read over and over when I worked for a financial planning company years ago, during one of CJ and my assignments. “Past performance is no guarantee of future success.”

  “What does that mean?” Hennessy asked.

  A few people nodded, but most returned to their food.

  “Just because you were successful doesn’t mean you’ll always be.”

  “So you think it’s okay to just steal business from me?” Hennessy asked.

  “I really don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Margaret. I’m talking about Margaret.” Hennessy humphed, grabbed her to-go order, slapped some money on the counter, and exited stage left in a performance worthy of Meryl Streep. As she left, I saw a glimpse of a red sole. Her shoes were Christian Louboutins. How hard up could she be if she could afford those? If that was the kind of merchandise she now had in her store, maybe I needed to go back. I hadn’t been in a while.

  “Any truth to that?” Lois asked me.

  “I’m not sure what she’s talking about. But business is always about the competition.” But why the heck did she bring up Margaret?

  “Let me get your order.” Lois grabbed my salad and handed it to me.

  “Thanks.” I scooted over to a table that a group had just left, even though it hadn’t been bused yet. I stacked some of the dishes to the side and tried to catch Rosalie’s eye.

  Ryan Jones came over and started loading the dishes into a big rubber tub. He had a round Irish face sprinkled with freckles and light hair that looked more red than blond. “That Hennessy,” he said, shaking his head. “Trying to blame you for her problems. Last time I was over there, the place smelled musty and didn’t look organized.” Ryan had worked for the DiNapolis for years, although he was around my age. He not only bused tables but was also their all-around handyman, one of those guys who could fix anything.

  “I thought the same thing. But if she’s shopping in her own store, maybe things have picked back up.”

  “Naw. The quality has gone downhill faster than a skier in Vermont. I was there recently, looking for a gift for my girlfriend.”

  “She’s a lucky girl, Ryan.”

  He turned a little red. “Thanks. I’ve done some work at Hennessy’s shop. She’s always blaming someone else for her problems. No matter what the problem is. So don’t let her get to you.”

  Angelo came up behind Ryan and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Let her eat.”

  “Sorry,” Ryan said.

  “No worries,” I said. “I always enjoy talking to you.” And I’d found out something interesting.

  Angelo sat across from me. “Eat,” he said and watched as I took a few bites.

  I put my fork down, even though the salad was delicious, full of sweet tomatoes, kalamata olives, feta, and Angelo’s secret dressing. “You ought to bottle this dressing, Angelo.” That way I could have it anytime I wanted.

  Angelo got a far-off look. “A lot of competition in the area, what with the Cape Cod brand, Newman’s Own, and Ken’s Foods just down the road in Marlborough.”

  “Can’t you just picture a bottle with ‘DiNapoli’s’ written across it and your picture?” I asked him.

  “Rosalie’s picture might sell more dressing than my ugly mug.” He looked at me in a way that made me think he had something on his mind.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. Angelo wasn’t one to sit during the lunch rush.

  “There’s something I need to tell you. Rosalie doesn’t think I should.”

  “You two were back there arguing about me?” I looked toward the kitchen to see Rosalie watching us with an anxious look on her face.

  “Discussing. We were discussing you.”

  “I saw the look you two exchanged last night in the car. I came over to find out what it was about.”

  Angelo rubbed a hand over his face. “You know how some of the people in this town can be.”

  I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

  “And a lot of them are related to Margaret.”

  I nodded again, hoping he’d get to the point. When it came to Angelo, not getting to the point quickly was an anomaly. One of the things I loved about him was you always knew where you stood. He might be opinionated, but he had a big heart. “Who was the woman who told me I had my nerve being at the viewing?”

  “One of Margaret’s sisters. She has a ‘kill the messenger’ attitude.” He said the last words fast and then leaned back.

  I thought for a minute about what he’d said. “So because I found Margaret, I’m somehow in the wrong.”

  “Exactly, kid. And she’s been sharing her opinion all over town.”

  I gasped, my appetite gone. “She thinks I killed her.” Sometimes I didn’t understand this close-knit town. “Thanks for telling me, Angelo.” I looked over and smiled at Rosalie so she’d think I was okay. “I think I’ll take the rest of this home with me.” I waved at my salad. I realized town gossip would kill my business faster than anything. I knew I didn’t kill Margaret, but now I was even more determined to find out who did.

  Chapter 15

  I pulled up in front of Orchard House around four, hoping Kathy Brasheler would be volunteering this afternoon. I wanted to ask her what she meant last night, when she’d mentioned people owing favors to Margaret. When I walked in, she was just getting ready to start a tour.

  “Join us,” she said, a smile on her heart-shaped face. “I’ll have time to talk after.”

  I bought a ticket, even though I’d been through the house many times. It was one of my favorite places to take people who came to visit. The hardships the Alcott family had endured and the love between Louisa and her sisters always warmed my heart. The group was mostly retirees, but there were a couple of school-aged kids with a mom. First, we watched a short film in a room that had drawings on the wall done by May, Louisa’s youngest sister. At one point in her life May, an accomplished artist, gave Daniel Chester French his first art lessons. He went on to sculpt The Minute Man statue in Concord, which honored the men of the colonial militia who fought the British regulars at the Old North Bridge in the first battle of the Revolutionary War. But he was more famous for carving Abraham Lincoln, the statue in the Lincoln Memorial on the National Mall in Washington, D.C.

  After the film was over, we roamed through the kitchen and then upstairs to the bedrooms. Louisa’s room was my favorite. It was at the front of the house, and she must have had a fine view. There were several drawings on her bedroom walls, too—also done by May. But I loved her desk above all else. It was more of a horseshoe-shaped piece of wood attached around a beam than something I’d picture as a desk. But it was there that she wrote Little Women, and it seemed special to me.

  We finished the tour in the parlor, where the Alcott sisters had put on plays and played the piano. Some lovely oil paintings by May hung on the walls. The group then exited through the front door, but I stayed behind with Kathy.

  “What can I do you for?” Kathy asked when we sat on chairs in a staff office.

  “I was curious what you meant about people owing Margaret favors.”

  Kathy fiddled with a pencil she’d picked up off a desk. “Do you know anything about Lyndon Johnson?”

  “The president?” I asked. “Not really, other than he was sworn in after Kennedy was killed.”

  “He liked to do people favors—congressmen and senators. Then, when he wanted something done, he’d collect. He got a lot done while he was president.”

  “Margaret did the same?”

  “Yep. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. She got a lot done. Towns need people like Margaret.”

  “But
someone might not have liked owing her.”

  “Exactly.”

  * * *

  I drove west on the 2A because I liked to drive through Concord. I loved the old colonial homes, some of which dated back to the 1600s. I looked longingly down the main street, but I didn’t have the time or the money to go antiquing. Instead, I drove through the two rotaries, past the Colonial Inn, and headed back to Ellington. I realized it would be easy to swing by Hennessy’s shop on my way home. Our earlier encounter had left a bad taste in my mouth. We were grown-ups, and businesswomen at that. We should be supporting each other, not arguing like middle school girls. Plus, after my talk with Kathy, I wondered if she was one of the people who had owed Margaret a favor. Hennessy didn’t seem the type to want to owe anyone anything.

  When I pulled into the parking lot, there was only one car, Hennessy’s, parked in it. I straightened my shoulders and walked in the shop but stopped right inside the door. Ryan had been right; things did look run-down. The air was filled with a floral scent that had to be from some kind of air freshener. I wondered what odors it masked.

  “You have your nerve showing up here,” Hennessy said. She stood behind the counter, fingers posed on a laptop.

  That’s the second time I had heard that line in two days. I moved forward, anyway. “Look, I feel bad about the scene at DiNapoli’s. We’re both businesswomen. Maybe we can find a way to help each other.”

  Hennessy’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not sure I want to help you after you snatched Margaret’s business away from me.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?” Her eyebrows popped up.

  “Really. Margaret called me up one day and asked how the virtual garage sale worked. She had some things she wanted to sell. I went over and helped her set up an account. Showed her how the whole thing worked.” Now that I thought about it, Margaret had told me as I left that she owed me one. I’d assured her that she didn’t, that I was happy to help. Now I pictured her sitting at her desk with a ledger. One column was who she owed, and the other was who owed her. I was guessing that the second one was a much longer column. “Margaret didn’t mention she’d talked to you.”

  “Well, she did. She was going to consign her things here. But I guess she decided she didn’t want to pay me the thirty percent commission. I even went over and priced some things for her. She owed me.” Hennessy looked down when she said the last bit, which made me wonder who owed whom and if there was any way to find out.

  “I heard Margaret liked people to owe her.”

  “You said we could help each other. What did you have in mind?” Hennessy asked.

  Okay, change of subject. That in itself was intriguing. “I could push business your way when people can’t sell things on my site. They could bring them here. And I’ll let you post items you want sold on my site.”

  Hennessy squinted her eyes. “You don’t get a commission on the sales, right?”

  “Only when a client hires me to sell stuff for them.” Which wasn’t as often as I wished.

  “What’s in it for you? Why help me?”

  “You’ll call me first if you get any size seven Christian Louboutin shoes in.”

  Hennessy laughed and put out her hand. We shook. “It’s a deal,” she said.

  * * *

  I stopped by Stella’s when I got home. I could hear someone singing an aria from an opera. Stella taught private lessons in her apartment, but I knocked lightly on the door, anyway. The singing went on as Stella answered. The girl singing had her eyes closed, and her hands clasped to her heart. Her voice was pure and clear. I stood there, mesmerized. When she finished, she opened her eyes.

  “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was here,” she said.

  “This is Chelsea Pellner,” Stella said. “Sarah knows your dad.”

  “You have a beautiful voice, Chelsea. Sorry to interrupt. I was just wondering if you could come up later, Stella.”

  “Sure.” She lowered her voice. “Anything urgent?”

  “No. Just girl talk and a glass of wine.”

  “I’ll be up at seven.”

  I trotted up the stairs and waved to the brother sitting outside Mike’s door. I had to wonder if something else was going on, that Mike needed so much protection. But I’d been sleeping well ever since he moved in, so I wouldn’t complain.

  I opened my computer to check the site. I had a message from a woman who had items she wanted to get rid of and asked if I could help. I sent her a note about what I could do and how much I’d charge.

  At seven Stella showed up. I heard her talking to whoever was sitting out in the hall, and opened the door before she could knock.

  “That guy’s hot,” she said once we settled on the couch with our wine.

  “He’s one of Mike’s brothers. With all the protection, I wonder if something’s going on that they haven’t mentioned.”

  “Not that I know of. So what’d you want to talk about that you didn’t want to mention in front of Chelsea?” Stella was exceptional at reading people, until it came to men. Then she was a disaster.

  “Hennessy Hamilton.” I filled her in on what had happened at DiNapoli’s and on my conversation with Hennessy at her store.

  “That was nice of you to stop by and try to clear things up.”

  “I try to be an adult on Thursdays. But what’s her story? What’s with her name?”

  “She was the sixth kid in a family that could barely afford one. Although there was always money for alcohol. At least according to my aunt Nancy.”

  Nancy Elder was not only Stella’s aunt but also the town manager, the one who’d hired me to run New England’s Largest Yard Sale last fall. Nancy had political aspirations beyond Ellington and, now that I thought about it, was dating one of Margaret’s sons.

  “Someone had given Hennessy’s dad a bottle of cognac, and when it came to picking another name, her mom was too worn out to bother,” Stella said.

  “Wow. That’s sad.”

  “But it explains a lot about who she is. Why she went into acting. She needed the attention, and that was the only way to get it.”

  “I asked her if she owed Margaret, but she changed the subject.”

  “Half the people in this town owed Margaret, or at least Margaret thought they did.” Stella took a long drink of her wine. “Look, I’m glad you and Hennessy worked things out. But she’s known around town for her grudges, and taking Margaret’s business away from her seems grudge-worthy to me.”

  “She seemed fine when I left her. We shook hands.”

  “That’s lovely. But I’m not sure you should trust her.” Stella sipped her wine. “Any news about the robbery? Have they found your stuff or caught who did it?”

  “Not that I know of.” Surely, CJ would have let me know if they’d found any of my stuff.

  “I saw you come in the building this morning . . . early and all dressed up but looking a bit, um, bedraggled.”

  “Did you see anyone else? Someone out on the common, taking pictures?”

  Stella thought for a moment. “No. Why?”

  I told Stella about the photos. “I think I have a stalker.” It sounded a bit ridiculous when I said it out loud. I was hoping Stella would laugh, but she didn’t. She frowned.

  “Have you told CJ?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone with the police?”

  “No. Because if I do, I’m going to have to mention my being out all night. And I don’t want to do that if I don’t have to.”

  “Do you have any ideas who the stalker could be?”

  I didn’t want Stella to take this seriously. I wanted her to tell me I was nuts. “None. Who would stalk me? It’s crazy.”

  “That’s the problem. It is crazy.”

  Chapter 16

  A few minutes after Stella left, my phone rang. It was Hennessy.

  “So you come by my store, play all nice to me, and then you go out and slash all my tires.”


  “Someone slashed your tires?”

  “Don’t play all sweet and innocent. I can’t believe I bought your whole ‘Let’s work together’ spiel.”

  “Why would you think it was me? I didn’t do it.”

  “Because you are the only person who came by the shop today. So it had to be you. I’ve already called the police.”

  Argh. That was the last thing I needed. “Where are you?”

  “At my shop, waiting for a tow and the police.”

  “I’m coming over.” I might as well get it straightened out while I could.

  * * *

  I got to Hennessy before the police or the tow truck. “I didn’t do this, Hennessy.” I could tell in the dim light filtering out of her store that the tires were flat. I got a heavy-duty flashlight out of my trunk and walked around the car. The tires on the side away from the store weren’t just flat but also slashed almost to shreds. “I couldn’t have done this when I was here. Someone would have seen me. And I’ve been home since I left here.”

  “So you could have come back.”

  “I didn’t, and I have witnesses that can prove it.” I guessed that was another advantage of having Mike living next door to me. Someone always knew when I was home. “Besides, it seems like it would take someone stronger than me and someone very angry to do this much damage.”

  A police car pulled up, and Pellner hopped out. “You’re here?”

  “Hennessy called me and told me about the tires. I didn’t do it and thought it would save time to show up and hash this out now.”

  “Do you have any proof Sarah did this?” he asked Hennessy.

  “She’s the only one who was here today. She says she has an alibi. Like her friends would be reliable.”

  Hennessy’s business had to be really slow if I was the only one who was there today. I wasn’t sure I’d consider Mike and his brothers friends or if anyone would think they were reliable.

  “Pellner, I couldn’t have done this while I was here.” I gestured to the road in front of the store. “Someone would have seen me.” Although I realized now that very little traffic came by here—another problem for Hennessy’s business. “And I have people who can account for where I was right up until Hennessy called and accused me of doing this.”