“Dr. Maggie hasn’t emerged at all yet,” Angela said. “I hope it’s going OK.”
“Is there anything to worry about?” Po asked.
“I hope not,” Angela said. “This is a good group of people. And we can’t really work too much harder. So that consultant better not be preaching too much belt tightening.”
“Oh, surely when Maggie said she’d look at efficiency, she wouldn’t mean cutting back people or hours,” Po said, with sudden understanding.
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Angela said. “I don’t think Dr. Maggie would do that. But I don’t know the consultant. She might not realize how hard everyone around here is working already.”
Po smiled at her. “You do a great job,” she said. “All of you. And I know Maggie knows that. She says so all the time.”
Angela gave her a tight smile. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “I’ll try to stop worrying.”
“Well, it’s not like there hasn’t been plenty to worry about lately, right?” Po said with a little laugh. “I appreciate your help today.”
“Well, the sooner we can get back to normal the better,” Angela said, with a more natural smile. “It’s our mission to help people. And we can’t do that if we’re tied up in a police investigation.”
“No one does that better than you do,” Po said, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s unusual for Angela to prickle,” she thought. “Still,” she shrugged, “who wouldn’t with the week they’ve had?”
Maggie was still sequestered with the consultant when Po left, and Po debated what to do. She was dying to leave another “call me” note in Maggie’s truck. She’d just leave the message on Maggie’s cell phone, except she wasn’t sure Maggie had remembered to turn it off. “The last thing I want to do is interrupt that meeting,” Po thought. In the end, she decided she’d just have to hope Maggie would call to give her an update when she got free.
Po tried not to get in the habit of going to Marla’s all the time. When she walked through the door, it was too hard to resist all the delicious offerings. Fresh-from-the-oven scones and croissants and apricot Danish. She wasn’t opposed to a nice fruit tart with her coffee. Or, if it were late morning, a slice of quiche or her all-time favorite, eggs Benedict.
Max teased her that her idea of variety in breakfast was to substitute smoked salmon for smoked ham. And he wasn’t all wrong. She could easily make that rich meal a daily ritual.
And that would be a bad trade in the long-term health world from her typical fruit or oatmeal. So she tried not to go except with Leah on Sundays. Today, however, she deserved a treat. Needed one, in fact. Badly.
So after she left the clinic, she parked down by Daisy’s flower shop, the closest spot she could find to the bakery. “I know it was a tough conversation,” she thought as she eyed the planters outside, “but boy, the mums sure look so much nicer.” In the early days, Daisy would leave dilapidated plastic daisies in her outdoor planters for months at a time. The Elderberry Shop Owners’ Corporation finally appointed Owen Hill to talk to her about maintaining a little higher standard for her displays. That was just days before Po herself found Owen’s dead body in the alley behind Selma’s fabric store. She shook off the thought.
Two minutes later, Po found herself at Marla’s bakery and went in for some coffee and to peruse the pastry counter. “Breakfast is always a good option for lunch,” she thought to herself.
“Hi, Po,” welcomed Marla from behind the counter.
“Hi, Marla,” returned Po. “Beautiful weather we’re having, don’t you think?”
“This warm fall weather is great for business,” Marla agreed. “It’s so nice to be out in it. People are happy to walk around down here.”
“Well, who can blame them?” Po said with a smile.
“I wish I weren’t so short-handed,” Marla said with a frown. “One of my girls called in sick. I bet she was out partying too late. Disgraceful, the lack of responsibility in this next generation. Into the party scene. Loyalty to a boss always comes second to their personal agendas, I say.”
Marla leaned a little closer as she rang up Po’s coffee and the sinful cream cheese Danish that she hadn’t been able to resist at the last moment. “Here it comes,” Po thought.
“I heard that young boy working for Maggie found the missing dog,” she said knowingly.
“Yes, that’s true,” Po confirmed. “Aaron was so wonderful. He simply would not quit looking until he found Fitzgerald.”
“It was just a couple days before that Mercedes gave him a big dressing down for letting the dog get hurt, though,” Marla rejoined. “At least that’s the way I heard it. And now she’s gone missing.… That’ll be $6.32.”
“Hmm,” Po said, trying not to commit herself to anything concrete as she handed over her debit card.
“Well, that’s all interesting, isn’t it,” Marla said. “You’ve got to wonder.”
“Wonder what?” Po asked, in spite of herself.
“Wonder what he had to gain by stealing the dog, of course,” Marla said, looking at her surprised.
“Aaron couldn’t have done that,” Po said. “He’s so kind, and has been such a help to Maggie.”
“You’re such a wonderful person, Po,” Marla said, handing her the coffee and pastry and clearly dismissing her. “You never think anything bad about anyone. But I have an inside source on this one.”
“Really?” Po said. “Who is that?”
“Why, Mrs. Abernathe was at the clinic that day, when Mercedes told that young man never to come near her dogagain. And she saw the look on his face. She said, sure as the day she was born, he decided right that minute to get revenge on her for embarrassing him that way.”
Po was too shocked to even respond, and Marla went right on.
“Maybe Mercedes figured it out about the dog, and that’s why he kidnapped her.”
“Aaron?”
“Why, of course. That’s what everyone is saying.”
“But …” Po tried to get her footing in the conversation, but not in time. Marla had moved on to her next customer with her conviction of Aaron firmly in place in her mind.
“Shoot,” Po thought. “And I bet she’s right. I’m sure that’s what a lot of people are thinking.”
Po took a deep breath and settled into her booth, vowing to drink what was left of her coffee and enjoy it. “Good thing I got the grande,” she muttered to herself. “There will be time to muddle and stew after.” And she was as good as her word, enjoying the Zen-like focus on each swallow of the rich, full flavor and the robust steam that wafted up from the bowl-sized mug as she sipped.
The comings and goings of people in and out of the bakery didn’t rouse her. At least, not until she happened to notice Jarrod Richardson at the front of the line, buying the same large latte she’d chosen, but to go, and two muffins. It was the discussion of the muffins that flagged her subconscious about his presence.
As he left the bakery and walked back through her field of vision past the large front window, Po noticed his tall carriage and brisk stride. And he had a gentle-seeming smile, just as she had when he passed the window of Selma’s. Po did a quick calculation. Less than a week ago. “But, my,” she thought. “What a terrible week. And worse for him than us.”
Po chewed on this thought. Then, acting on impulse, she maneuvered into her jacket, grabbed the handles of her handbag and scooted across the bench to the aisle, slugging down one last greedy glug of coffee and looking somewhat regretfully at the last third. “Oh, well,” she sighed. And she headed out onto the street.
“This is crazy,” she thought. “It’s Kate who’s out following people and getting into trouble. Not me.” But there she was. Jarrod was moving quickly. He’d taken a couple of quick drinks of the hot coffee before he left Marla’s and was making good time, now that there was no danger of it splashing down his hand as he went.
Po followed him down the road, trying to seem casual. She was surprised when he strod
e past the hardware store. “Hmm,” she thought. “That’s where I assumed he was headed. And he’s beginning to run out of options.”
And then with a quick look around, he ducked through the door of the stationery shop. “Well, I don’t really want to go in there with him,” thought Po. So she slid into Selma’s instead, waved a cheery hello to Susan, who was busy cutting swaths from three bolts of fabric for a customer, and busied herself pretending to look at the bolts of chintz near the window, while she really watched the sidewalk for Jarrod to emerge. She hadn’t been at her post for long, when suddenly a furious looking Jack Francis materialized on the sidewalk rightin front of her, scowling. He pushed his way through the door of Elderberry Road’s upscale stationery store, The Ink Spot, and disappeared from her view. She watched just a moment longer and then followed her impulse for the second time in less than 20 minutes. “I really am getting to be as bad as Kate,” she thought as she left the fabric store and headed into the stationery shop after him.
As she walked in, she saw Helen, the storeowner, behind the counter. Then her eyes fixed, as Helen’s were, on the two men standing in the center of the small shop, both red-faced, hands clenched.
“You did it, didn’t you?” Jack Francis was shouting at Jarrod as the door swung shut behind Po. Po felt the eyes of the stray shopper in one corner flicker her way, but only for a second. And the circling men didn’t even notice that she’d joined them.
“You did it. And you’re trying to pin it on me!”
“I am not the one grubbing for an inheritance,” Jarrod growled back. “And it’s not my fault that you can’t make it on your own. Don’t blame me for your failures.” He narrowed his eyes. “No one would be looking at you if you could support yourself without your mother-in-law there to give you free rent and bail out your business ventures every two years.”
“Hey, shut your mouth!” Jack Francis said.
“Just so you get that you messed this one up yourself,” Jarrod scowled as he took a step that put him nose to nose with the younger, shorter man. “You talked too much about your next big step, and then she turned you down. Half the town knows. And they know exactly how mad you were. It’s your lack of judgment and your blabbing that got you in trouble, not me.”
Jack Francis seemed momentarily taken aback, and Jarrod took advantage of his confusion. “I’m done talking about this,” he said, “and you’d better be, too.” And with that he walked out with only a quick look at Helen and a sweep of the store that made Po feel as if he’d cataloged the people inside.
In the wake of his exit, Jack Francis turned white and then red again by turns. Then he slammed his fist down on the counter, making all three women jump. Helen, backed against the wall, watched him warily, but said nothing. Finally, he squared his shoulders and strode out. Po watched him hesitate on the sidewalk outside and then head for his Pontiac, which was parked two doors down.
Po returned her attention to the inside of the shop and felt a surge of gratitude toward the salt-and-pepper-haired woman who’d clearly been shopping when the confrontation occurred. She picked up a silver pen to use on the elegant note cards she was carrying and walked up to Helen to check out, saying, “Well, nothing like a little excitement.” With this friendly effort toward normalization, Helen managed a nod and a small smile and checked her out, handing her a crisp black-and-white bag with her choices nicely packaged inside.
Just as the woman left, the shop phone rang, and Po watched out of the corner of her eye as Helen took a deep breath and answered it, “Hello, this is The Ink Spot.” Clearly it was a personal call. She seemed to recognize the caller’svoice immediately, saying, “Well, hi there,” with a slightly shaky smile. And then her end of the conversation dropped into short responses, limited to, “Uh huh.” “Yes, I know.” “OK.” “Yes, that sounds good.” “Yeah, thanks.” And “bye.”
Po used this time to look around and think as quickly as she could about the next step. She knew Helen, although not well, and liked her. Selma had created a quilt for the store. It hung on the wall behind the counter. And during the process of working out the design, Helen had often been in Selma’s while Po was there. Po had found Helen easygoing and friendly, with a quirky sense of humor. She’d been excited about the quilt, and even hung a small placard next to it, with Selma’s name, the name of the piece and a note about the materials.
It was an all-white, whole-cloth quilt, with a delicate feather pen and a scroll of paper stitched in the center. A cable pattern framed the focal point, and then a grid formed of thousands and thousands of tiny stitches filled the background. “Selma did a beautiful job on it,” thought Po.
As Helen wrapped up her conversation, Po chose some note cards herself, a set that featured a black-and-white drawing of a woman and her Dalmatian, riding in a red convertible. Even in her hurry to make a choice, the dog spoke to her, nose in the air and ears flying. She chose a dark red pen from the enticing selection of colorful writing utensils and made her way to the counter.
“Hi, Helen,” she said with a gentle smile. “Quite a scene. I bet that doesn’t happen here often.”
Helen laughed, a bit shakily. “No,” she agreed. “Maybe I need to hire a bouncer.”
Then she sobered. “I really shouldn’t make jokes,” she said. “Not with what’s happening. Poor Mercedes …”
“It’s so sad,” Po agreed. “And so hard to believe that anyone in Crestwood would harm anyone else.”
Helen nodded vigorously. “And the nerve of Jack Francis suggesting that Jarrod had anything to do with her murder. Like he cares about her money. He would never —” In the middle of an angry headshake, she stopped short. And with her next sentence she returned to her normal, business like manner, giving Po the total and taking her credit card, as if nothing extraordinary had happened that morning.
But during the time she stood at the counter, she’d noticed that the tall latte Jarrod had walked down with was sitting right by the register, next to an uneaten muffin. “I wonder.…” Po thought. “It could be.”
CHAPTER 14
On Thursday morning, Po was just formulating her mental plan for the day, when the phone rang and her plan suddenly changed.
“Hi, Po,” Phoebe said. “Do you still want my country club report?”
“Of course,” she said. “And even if I didn’t, I would never pass up the opportunity to see you.”
And with that, they arranged for Phoebe to come by in an hour or so.
“I dropped the boys off with a friend of mine,” Phoebe said when she arrived at the front door. “They adore her son, and they’re going to play for a bit, but I can’t take too long. It’s not easy to herd three boys. At any age. And these three are all 4. That’s not a walk in the park, even for an experienced mom.”
“You could have brought them,” Po said. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen them.”
“You’re the best, of course,” Phoebe said as they settled into the chairs by the fire. Po started a fresh pot of coffee. “But I wanted to be able to just give you my report without my brain being split worrying about what they might be into.” Phoebe ran her fingers through her short hair, rumpling it even more, if that were possible. “It’s hard to decide where to start,” she said. “OK, well … my mother-in-law was thrilled that I showed some interest in the Women’s Club, of course. She wishes I would go all the time. And she was all into it because they were doing the planning for their Halloween gala.” Phoebe sniffed. “Whatever,” she said. “Halloween is the best holiday of the year. Lots of candy. Freedom to enjoy some fantasy. No stuffy family dinner. And that creaky crew wants to go and ruin the whole thing by stealing the theme for a stuffy ‘get together.’”
Po smiled and poured Phoebe her piping-hot, rich-smelling coffee. Phoebe really only managed-truce with her stuffy in-laws because of real devotion to her tall-dark-and-handsome lawyer husband. Well, that and being tired of her experience with a lifetime of family conflict. She vowed never to p
ut her beloved little boys in the role of referee that she’d played so often as a child. Still, her free spirit bubbled out. Happily it normally bubbled out in a cheery sort of way.
“So, we arrived right on time, of course. And everybody was standing around in the corners talking about Mercedes’ disappearance.”
“What were they saying?” Po asked.
“Well, word seems to have leaked that the police are investigating,” Phoebe said. “They were mostly getting the stragglers up to speed about how long she’d been gone. And there was some catty commentary thrown in about how many people hated her, but that nasty manners isn’t something that generally got you killed. I didn’t get to hear much, because they called the meeting to order just a minute or two after we arrived.”
Phoebe stopped a moment, and looked intently at Po. “But really, none of that is the interesting part.”
“Well,” Po said with some surprise, “get to the interesting part then.”
“Well, I went to the bathroom during the social period. I worried at the time that I’d miss something key. All the talking during the meeting was dull, and I was sure there was going to be some good information exchanged sometime.”
Po thought she might be overly optimistic, having been to many women’s meetings in her day, but she didn’t want to interrupt.
“But I had, had, had to go,” Phoebe said. “I’ve been really trying to get the recommended 64 ounces of water a day, you know. And I took a wrong turn on my way back. I got about halfway the wrong direction up the hall, and I heard people talking in one of the rooms.”
“What were they talking about?” Po asked. “Could you tell?”
“I wasn’t sure at first,” Phoebe said. “I stopped because it sounded like a woman was in trouble. I heard a thump, and she kind of shrieked. I thought at first he’d hit her.”
“Who’d hit her?” Po said, suddenly concerned.
“I think it was Jack Francis,” Phoebe said. “But I didn’t guess that until later. And he didn’t really hit her. I think he smacked a table or the wall or something. But for sure he scared her. I think they heard me, because they stopped talking. I must have made a noise.”
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