“Accident,” I answered without hesitation.
“Perhaps. But let’s act it out anyhow. Your stapler can be the gun. I’ll be Gaynor; you be Grace.” His face transformed into an angry mask. “You mean this key?” He knocked a pen against the counter, scattering papers like the broken glass must have rained on the floor.
What did the mayor say happened next? He reached for the gun to prevent an accident. I grabbed the stapler. Audie’s hands came down on top of mine. The pressure released a staple.
“That was an accident,” I said.
“Let’s try it again,” Audie suggested. He reached for the stapler without warning and pointed it toward his left forearm before my hands made contact.
“Suggestive,” Audie murmured. “Even if the mayor’s finger pulled the trigger—”
“Mitch could have directed the gun at himself. But why would he do that?” We looked at each other. “And does this have anything to do with Penn’s murder?”
“We know the mayor had a motive. A couple of motives.”
I shook my head a single time.
“Yes, he did,” Audie insisted. “I agree that the issue about the last election seems a trifle slim. But preserving the Grace family honor—the mayor takes that very seriously.”
“But if we’re suspecting the mayor of the murder, why would Mitch shoot himself?”
“Can you help me?” A soft voice interrupted our conversation. Absorbed by our discussion, I hadn’t heard the customer enter. How much had the lady overheard? My ears burned.
“Why don’t we sleep on it and discuss it in the morning,” Audie said. “Good day, Mrs. Beresford.” With a nod, he left my store.
I turned my attention to my customer. Patti Beresford was a sweet, grandmotherly type, hard of hearing, but sharp as a tack. She glanced at the stapler still in my hands, but didn’t ask. She wouldn’t spread gossip, either, a rarity in the town’s rumor mill.
“My granddaughter is getting married in December,” she said.
“Congratulations!” I scrambled through my mental files. I had met the young woman when Patti brought her to church events over the years. “That must be Terry. Who is the lucky man?”
“An accountant, over Arcadia way.”
I drove to Arcadia, home of a round barn and Hillbillies, a fun little café on Old Route 66, fairly often.
“So how can I help you today?”
She plunged into a description of Terry’s plan for a costume wedding and her need for an outfit. “Something from the ’50s, but not too expensive, dear.” We made arrangements for Terry to come in with her grandmother and discuss her plans.
The remainder of the morning passed quickly. I was ready to close the store for lunch when the doorbell jangled. For a second time, I set aside the tuna salad sandwich I had brought from home. Would this be one of those days when I could only eat in small bites?
Suzanne peeked out from beneath an umbrella. Her face looked pinched, her hair, flat. Not a good day.
Oh, no, I never mended her dress. She needed to return it to Audie, and he would understand the delay. Still, it wasn’t smart business to forget a client. I swallowed my bite of salad and brushed a napkin across my mouth.
“Don’t let me interrupt your lunch.” Suzanne started to back out the door.
“I’m fine.” I rewrapped my sandwich and stood up. “How can I help you today? I’m afraid that I haven’t finished the repairs to your dress yet.”
“Oh, that.” She waved ringed fingers in dismissal. “I’m not worried about that. In fact, I’m not here about business at all. I wanted to talk, that’s all. Or should I come back another time?”
“Now is fine.” My heart skipped a beat. I turned my store sign to Closed. “Do you mind if I finish eating while we talk?”
Suzanne shook her head.
“Would you like some coffee? A muffin?” I handed her the open box of muffins.
“I’ll take a cup of coffee. Black.” She reached for a muffin. That was a surprise. I had never seen Suzanne eat anything at rehearsal or elsewhere. She took as good care of her figure as a Hollywood starlet.
I poured her coffee in a disposable cup. She picked pecans off the top of her muffin and chewed each one. She broke off tiny pieces of bread and ate them with evident pleasure.
I finished my sandwich, watching Suzanne carefully. Something was wrong with my guest. On Monday, when we first learned about her affair with Penn, she had been upset. Time had not improved her spirits. If anything, she seemed worse.
Suzanne set aside the bottom half of her muffin. “I heard about what happened at the mayor’s office this morning.”
That didn’t surprise me. There might be a few people left in Lincoln County who hadn’t heard about the shooting, but I doubted it. But why did that bring her to my store this afternoon?
“You were there?” A slight rise in her voice made it a question.
“In the outer office, yes. We didn’t actually witness. . .anything.”
“So you don’t know what they were arguing about?”
I shook my head.
“I was hoping you could tell me what made them angry enough to start shooting.”
My hackles rose in defense of the mayor. “We don’t know what happened. It sounds like it was an accident.”
She dismissed that with another wave of red fingernails. “There was an argument. A gun was fired. I don’t care who shot whom.” In spite of the casual words, her face betrayed the gravity of her emotions. “That could have been me with the gun. I don’t mean that I had a disagreement with either the mayor or Mr. Gaynor. I mean. . .” She buried her nose in her cup of coffee, as if gathering courage to continue. “I mean with Penn. I was so angry that if I’d had a gun, I would have shot him.”
I sat back in my chair. Was I listening to a murder confession? Why had I locked the door? Could I reach my phone and dial 911?
Suzanne’s hand trembled and she dropped the cup, coffee spreading in a small black puddle in the same spot as my previous spill. At least the plastic cup couldn’t shatter.
“I’m so sorry.” She fell to her knees and began sopping up the liquid with a napkin. I considered taking advantage of the distraction to call the police, but I didn’t think she was dangerous. I grabbed a towel and bent next to her. Warm liquid splashed on my hand. Tears.
My last doubts fled. This woman could not have committed murder. Her heart was broken. I helped her back into her chair and handed her a box of tissues.
“I’m a mess.” She sniffed. “I’ve been thinking about it all week. First, I let myself get involved with a married man. When he refused to leave his family for me and tried to end things, I was so angry. I hated him.”
What did people say? The opposite of love wasn’t hate; it was indifference. She wouldn’t have hated Penn if she hadn’t loved him.
She cried, but it was different than her tears on Monday. In retrospect, that day seemed more like a stage performance of grief. Today, sobs like a child’s racked her body, heartbroken gulps. When she spoke, I couldn’t understand her words. “Shh.” I patted her back. I didn’t know what else to do for a woman in turmoil, unless it was my little sister. “Go ahead and cry it out.”
It felt like an hour before Suzanne’s sobs slowed down, but in reality the clock indicated only five minutes had passed. She used half the box of tissues to blow her nose and wipe the tears from her face.
“I feel so dirty and guilty. I didn’t pull the trigger on Penn, but I was so mad that I could have. You must hate me. I know I hate myself.”
I thought back to my judgmental attitude on Monday. No wonder she thought I hated her. Of course she turned to Audie for comfort. How little like Jesus I had acted. I felt a degree of the shame I saw etched on Suzanne’s face. Thank God that He had given me a second chance to help. This time, I would try to make a difference.
“Oh, Suzanne.” I sighed. “I’m ashamed of myself. I was so busy blaming you that I didn’t stop to think how you must feel.�
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She smiled weakly, tears dimming the deep sea green of her eyes. “You had every right.”
Lord, help me. I sent up a prayer and opened my mouth to explain. “Yes, what you did was wrong. Sin, to use that old-fashioned word. But we all sin, every day. And God loves us anyway, and He wants His children to love others the way He loves us. That’s why I’m ashamed of myself. I judged you instead of showing you God’s love.”
“I don’t deserve God’s love. You don’t know everything I’ve done.”
“I don’t deserve God’s love either. Nobody does. The Bible says that we are separated from God—His enemies. But even though we are God’s enemies, He sent His Son Jesus to die for us. I can’t imagine that. But God—God sent His Son to take my place. Jesus took the punishment that I deserved. He loves me that much. And He loves you that much.” I took Suzanne’s trembling fingers between my own. “He’s wrapped up that love like a birthday present, in His Son Jesus. All you have to do is accept His gift.”
“I’d like to think that’s possible.” Suzanne wiped another tissue across her face. The pain lines around her mouth had eased a little. She stood up to leave. I could only pray that the words I’d shared would take root. She tucked into the restroom and emerged a few minutes later with her makeup retouched.
“Thank you for taking the time to talk with me today.” A degree of assurance had returned to her voice.
“Any time.” We hugged and said good-bye. God had presented me with an unlikely new friendship. “I’ll have your dress ready by Saturday, for sure.”
A few minutes later, I opened the store for the afternoon. My attitude had changed. I found myself praying for Suzanne, that she would understand that God loved her. I prayed for Mitch Gaynor, that his wound would not be serious. I spoke with God about everyone involved in the investigation, for both my sisters, without a trace of jealousy for once, for every customer who came into the shop. The hours sped by, fast-forwarded by prayer. The worries about the murder, and what to do about it, dropped away in my own personal praise concert.
My good mood lasted into the evening. I browned a chicken breast in butter, flavored with a mixture of paprika and cumin, and steamed fresh asparagus spears—an indulgence I allowed myself at the grocery store. I should call Cord. He must have heard about what happened at the city offices by now.
He picked up the phone on the third ring. “What’s up?”
I explained what we had seen and heard and surmised—everything except the fact that the mayor was still a solid suspect in Penn’s death. “It looks like Mitch might have aimed the gun at himself.”
“I suppose that city slicker came up with that harebrained idea.”
“Would you rather think that your cousin shot Mitch on purpose?” Cord was my friend, but sometimes he was so thick headed.
“Of course not.” Cord drew in a deep breath. “Thanks for filling in the details.” He asked me what I wanted to do on the weekend. He agreed to escort me to a couple of estate sales.
I felt so good that I even decided to enter my store accounts on my computer. While online, I checked the status of the stock market. Something about stocks niggled at my mind. Something Dina had said. What was it? I wonder if someone is cooking the books. Dina had said the Sequoian might be in financial trouble.
The paper was a publicly traded company. I remembered when Mitch first put it on the market and published daily updates as the shares rose in value. In fact, that’s what started my interest in the stock market. I tracked the price for an economics class in high school. I hadn’t checked its stock value for a long time, though.
I confirmed the paper’s symbol, SEQ, on their Web site and checked the NASDAQ listings. The price had spiked recently. I frowned. That didn’t seem possible. I browsed through the history of the stock and discovered that the price had started a steady increase about six months ago. What had triggered the upward trend?
Further investigation revealed that there had been a lot of movement in the stock, pushing the price up. Mitch Gaynor held on to a slim majority of fifty-one percent. Was any one party behind the purchase of falling stock? As in a hostile takeover?
Time sped by while I chased the elusive stock. One site led to another until the minute hand on my office clock ticked past midnight. At last I tracked down the person behind the takeover attempt.
Penn Hardy.
Mitch Gaynor had a whopper of a motive to stop his rival in his tracks.
17
September 21, 1891 Excerpt B
I was foolish to think I could find peace apart from God. I confessed my sinful thoughts of cheating and stealing to make my dream come true. After that, sleep came easily.
I had the strangest dream. You and I founded a town on land including the very cave where I slept. It was a place where God’s grace reigned. When bad times came—I saw some awful droughts in years ahead, ground so dry that the wind carried the very dust in the air—we survived and overcame.
I awoke refreshed before dawn, moved aside the bushes, and rode Patches back to the waiting crowds at the border. This may not be our time—although I pray that it is—but I trust God to fulfill His word.
Your loving fiancé,
Robert Grace
~
Friday, September 27
I retired to bed about one in the morning but couldn’t fall asleep. Suzanne, Gwen, Ron, Mitch. Their four names repeated in my head like a murderous refrain. Each of them had motive and opportunity to kill Penn Hardy. Who wanted his death badly enough to kill him? God, You’re going to have to show me what happened. With that simple prayer, I nodded off and slept soundly until the alarm buzzed at half past seven.
I chose my simplest outfit for Friday—western jeans, silver buckle, hair in a no-nonsense braid down my back, and a red plaid blouse with a silver button on the breast pocket—grabbed a ready-to-go box of donuts from the grocery store and made it to the store by nine with a minute to spare.
Had only a week passed since the Race for Grace Gulch reenactment kicked off this year’s Land Run Days? The past weekend seemed as much a part of ancient history as the original feud, not a mere seven days.
One glazed donut and a cup of hazelnut coffee later, I felt ready to greet my first customers. The goods I had gathered for sales during Land Run Days were depleted; the time for a clearance sale had arrived. It would encourage people to buy less popular items. I looked through my wares and decided on rock-bottom prices. Some people tried to barter me down to a giveaway price. I refused to do that. What didn’t sell today would sell eventually. Everything old is new again; styles cycled through fashions like the earth rotated on its axis.
That kept me busy until noon. I found a few minutes to complete the repair of Suzanne’s dress and wrapped it up for her. The bell rang, and Dina and Audie entered. Dina danced, excitement popping from her pores. Or maybe it was the red dye she used to touch up her hair since I saw her last.
“I hope you’re hungry for a ham salad croissant.” Audie held up a bag from Gaynor Goodies. I had to smile. At him. At his thoughtfulness.
“Wait till you hear what we’ve been doing.” Dina took a huge bite of croissant and swallowed it, closing her eyes in appreciation. “We’ve been down at the MGM.”
Since the theater was Audie’s workplace and Dina volunteered there, I wondered why she thought that would surprise me. “And?”
“We wanted to see if we could figure out who had access to the guns in the prop box. Who could have taken the third gun, the one that’s missing?”
“A lot of people did.” How does this help the investigation?
“Don’t you want to know what we found out?” My smart-alecky sister fussed at me.
“Okay, what? Anyone from our list of suspects?”
“Suzanne”—when Dina turned eighteen, she decided she could drop the childhood formality of calling all adults Miss or Mister—“had access, of course, since she’s in the theater troupe.”
“But she’
s often said she dislikes handling weapons.”
“Don’t argue.” Audie wagged a finger at me when I started to protest. “She mentioned it when she joined the theater. She said she hoped she never had to play a cop or a murderer because she doesn’t like even touching the things.”
I didn’t bother to suggest the idea of misdirection. I agreed that it didn’t seem likely. After our talk yesterday, I knew her anger at Penn only came to a boil in the last month. “Let’s stick to the facts. We’re looking for the big three, right? Means, motive, opportunity? And the ones who had the best opportunity were the Mayor, Mitch, Penn’s widow, and Suzanne.”
“If we’re being totally honest, we probably should include Cord,” Audie said.
“Audie’s right.” Dina grinned at me. “Close your mouth. Or else a fly might go in. Cord did have opportunity, although we know he didn’t do it.”
I gritted my teeth. “All right. We’ll add Cord to the list.”
“Suzanne has all three.” Audie spoke the words calmly enough. “Besides opportunity, we know she had a motive. She was having an affair with Penn, but he wanted to break it off. And Dina already knows about that, so I’m not spreading gossip. Number two, the means. She had access to the gun. . .if she knows how to work the thing.”
“So Suzanne stays on the list.” Dina whipped out a steno book and pencil; she looked like a regular cub reporter. “How about the mayor? The guns belonged to him. He might have another Colt in his collection.”
My memory flashed to the gun case in his office. I didn’t get a close enough look at the gun used in yesterday’s shooting to identify it as the same model.
“And he certainly knows how to shoot,” Dina said. “What Oklahoma boy doesn’t? But he doesn’t have a motive, does he?”
Audie and I looked at each other. We hadn’t told Dina about the letter we had found. I thought about the three days between the last letter and the land run and wondered if Grace had changed his mind. We still might not know the whole story.
“Penn opposed his reelection.” I reminded her. “And we think Penn might have uncovered some skeletons in the Grace family tree that the mayor wanted to keep quiet.”
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 01 - Gunfight at Grace Gulch Page 16
