Mrs. Stubbs was a remarkable woman, elderly, yes, but with a clearer mind than many half her age. She listened and commented, and then was silent for a few moments when Jaymie had told her all. It had helped to go through it all with Mrs. Stubbs, because it made it clearer in her own mind.
“We seem to have a few possibilities here, don’t we?” Mrs. Stubbs finally said. “Poor Shelby may have been killed by someone close to her for personal reasons.”
“Right. It could be Cody, or her brother, Travis, who has a mean streak, and who I saw arguing with her right before she died.”
“Or even her mother,” Mrs. Stubbs said. “Don’t write her off because she’s upset about it. If I was a mystery writer, I’d make the mother the murderess, just once!”
“You do have a gruesome imagination, don’t you?” It was a possibility, but remote. “I don’t see it being Lori. The other strong possibility, if I discount Cody, is that Shelby was killed because of what she was looking into: Natalie Roth’s disappearance and probable death.”
“If Mabel’s daughter is right about what Shelby told her, that she knew who had killed Natalie and was going to the police about it, then it seems likely the two are connected. Two young women dead, and all involved with the same people? Not likely a coincidence.” She held up the book she was reading. “In this idiot mystery the stupid girl investigating never figures things out, she just stumbles across answers. And people tell her things for no earthly reason! She doesn’t even have to ask questions, they just babble to her!”
Jaymie smothered a smile. The woman was an avid reader, but not an uncritical one. “I wish people would just babble to me. Most of the time people clam up and won’t say a word.”
“Yes, well, also in this idiot book no one lies to the girl detective, nor does she even consider that folks are lying to her. But people lie all the time. The more important something is, the more likely they are to lie about it. My point is, Jaymie, I know you have a real reason for looking into this, but it doesn’t mean those you talk to will be any more receptive to your snooping, nor will they necessarily volunteer information, nor will they tell you the truth. You’re going on to this Delaney Meadows’ place of business after this, right?” Mrs. Stubbs said.
Jaymie nodded.
“Be careful, dear,” she said, putting one arthritic hand over Jaymie’s where it clutched the edge of the mattress. “I have some information. I’m a little afraid to share it with you because it may get you in trouble. But . . . I trust your brains. You will do with it what you must.”
Jaymie waited as Mrs. Stubbs ordered her thoughts.
“I know Delaney Meadows by sight. His wife is a dear girl, one of the library volunteers that brings me my monthly quota of books. A few days ago when she came with my books, she was later than usual and visibly upset. I made her sit down and asked what was wrong, but she wasn’t going to tell me. I winkled it out of her, though. She saw her husband coming out of one of the inn rooms with a young woman. The young woman, she told me, was Shelby Fretter, an employee of her husband’s.”
Jaymie was stunned, and immediately saw that it introduced another suspect into the spectrum. Many a woman had slain a competitor for her husband’s affections. She was silent a moment too long.
Mrs. Stubbs, agitated, moved restlessly. “I know what you’re likely thinking,” she said, her voice creaky and clogged with emotion. “But Lily Meadows is a darling girl. She could not possibly kill someone. Even with extreme provocation. She’s just a tiny little dab of a thing, sweet natured. For heaven’s sake, she volunteers to bring library books to shut-ins! That makes her a saint.”
“Lily Meadows,” Jaymie mused. “Lily . . . I know someone with that name. Ah, she’s in my historical romance book club! It’s likely the same woman.” She thought for a moment more. “I have one sure way of eliminating her as a suspect. Book club met on Friday night, the night Shelby was murdered. If it’s the same girl and she was at it, she can’t be guilty because it never breaks up before ten.”
“I don’t need that to know she’s not guilty,” Mrs. Stubbs said. “She’s a sweet girl and even if her husband is a low-life cheating scum, there is no way on God’s green earth she would do anything so vulgar about it as murder.”
Lost in thought, Jaymie let Mrs. Stubbs ramble. Lily Meadows was a possible new line of inquiry, and she could approach her as a friend. But Lily was not likely to open up about her husband’s supposed extramarital activities. However, just because Delaney was at the inn with Shelby did not necessarily mean they were having an affair. Though it did make some sense of Lynnsey Bloombury’s remark about Shelby asking who said anything about ex-wives. Did she mean she was into dating married men even if they stayed married? And was dating the boss her way of climbing the ladder?
As in every investigation she had been involved in during the last seven months, things got far more complicated before the truth began to glimmer like a faint light in the distance. This was a complication she’d need to explore. She made a mental note to check in with someone else in book club to see if Lily Meadows was there that night.
“When was this that Lily Meadows saw her husband and Shelby Fretter together?”
The elderly woman frowned down at her hands, massaging the knobby joints. “Let’s see . . . she always brings me my books on Thursday evenings. This was the last time she brought me books, because she had a Christmas treat she had baked using a recipe from one of the mysteries, so it was just last week.”
“Thursday evening, just one day before Shelby was murdered,” Jaymie said. “What a coincidence.” She would not say it aloud to Mrs. Stubbs, because it would upset her to know the direction of Jaymie’s thoughts, but was it possible that Shelby’s murder was the result of a woman scorned? Jaymie hugged Mrs. Stubbs good-bye, then left the inn by a back door and headed to the Belcker Building on Munroe Street. It was a converted old house, as were most office spaces in Queensville. This was a large two-story yellow brick, with a glass entrance foyer added on the front and a modern addition on the back, where the property sloped to a ravine.
Jaymie entered and read the business list in the front lobby. There was a chiropractor, a dentist, two law offices, a call center and Delaney Meadows’ headhunting agency, Meadows Employment Agency. There was also a café called the Bean & Leaf. She descended the terrazzo tile stairs to the basement and followed signs past the chiropractor and one law office.
The café was tiny and filled to bursting with folks at that time, midmorning. By the door there was a divider with a cafeteria-style counter where sandwiches, soups, coffee and tea were doled out. A plastic Christmas tree was taped to the top of the glass divider and foil streamers were draped from ceiling duct to ceiling duct. She turned and surveyed the room, which was jammed with small tables and iron chairs; at the far end natural light drifted in through a large plate glass window overlooking a small enclosed terrace.
This was likely exactly where Shelby had spoken to Lynnsey from that day. If she was speaking of confidential matters it was not the best place, since the tables and chairs were crammed together with very little room in between. Perhaps someone overheard her speaking of her investigation of Natalie Roth’s disappearance. Would that matter? Not unless that someone was involved in said disappearance, or talked to someone who was.
As one of the servers looked at her and was about to speak, Jaymie smiled, turned and left. She found Queensville Direct Call Center upstairs on the main floor. She pushed through the nondescript steel door. There was a long reception desk, beyond which were six-foot-high fabric dividers. She could hear a steady murmur of voices and ringing phones. She approached the reception desk, got the attention of the receptionist, who was hunched over her computer keyboard, and asked if she might have a moment of Austin Calhoun’s time. The young woman stared at her with an assessing gaze.
“You wanna complain about a call from the call center
? Or service from one of our clients?” she asked.
“No, not at all. I just have a question to ask Austin.”
“You a friend? Family?”
“No, he doesn’t know me. This is about a mutual friend of ours,” she said, skating perilously close to blatant lies. “Could he speak with me for five minutes?”
“Your name?”
She gave it and the receptionist made a call, eyeing Jaymie as she did so. She hung up. “He’ll be out in a minute. Have a seat,” she said, waving toward three plastic chairs lined up against a wall under a giant poster reminding folks to smile, since a smile came across in your voice.
Jaymie smiled. “Thank you.” It did actually come through in her voice, she thought.
Moments later a young man came out from beyond the dividers. He was plump and fair-haired, wearing a pale-blue shirt and argyle sweater with tan pants. She stood and introduced herself.
His eyes widened. “I know who you are,” he said, pointing one finger at her. “You’re the one who finds the dead bodies. You found Shelby!” He covered his mouth with one plump beringed hand and his eyes watered. “Oh, my,” he muttered. “Do you want to talk to me about Shelby?”
She nodded, not sure what to say to the effusive fellow.
He turned to the receptionist and said, “Tell Rudy that I’m taking an early lunch. I’ll be half an hour, but if I’m more, then he can just dock my pay, the old Grinch.” He whirled back, ducked around the open end of the reception desk and grabbed Jaymie’s arm. “Come with me.” He led her out of the office.
“Are we going to the Bean & Leaf? It’s pretty crowded.”
“Somewhere more private.” He led her down the hallway to a door labeled “Conference Room,” and pushed through. It was dark and cold. He flicked a bank of switches that created a pool of light at one end, where there were two black leather retro-looking pod chairs by a wall of faux cherrywood polished cabinetry. He led her past a long scarred black conference table and pushed her into one of the chairs, then turned to a counter on the wall of cabinets, switching on a single-serve coffee machine. It gurgled and heated up. “Tea okay?” he said over his shoulder. When she said yes, he pulled some pods out of a little drawer under the machine and grabbed some mugs. He made two cups. “Hope you like it black.”
“Black is fine,” she said, bemused, as he handed her the mug and plunked down into the other chair. It was clear that this was a conference room for the joint use of the companies in the building, but probably not for the casual use of employees. She felt faintly guilty even though this wasn’t her workplace, and then reflected that it certainly indicated the difference between her and Austin. She was the kind of person who felt the need to ask consent, and he seemed to be the kind who believed it was easier to apologize than ask permission.
“How did you know Shelby?” she asked.
He curled up in the chair, his hands wrapped around the black mug, regarding her avidly over the rim. “How horrible was it for you, finding her? I can’t imagine. It breaks my heart, you know. Did you ever meet Shelby?”
Jaymie thought of her one brief meeting. “Uh, kind of.”
“She was just one of a kind.” His eyes teared up. “She was like my best girlfriend, you know? We always took lunch together, and gossiped like crazy. I kind of felt like I was living my life through her, sometimes, all the boyfriends and parties, and she was so ambitious. She was amazing!”
“I’m so sorry, Austin. I didn’t know you were so close.”
He slurped a long drink of tea and took in a deep shuddering breath. “I guess I kind of hero-worshipped her. When I came to work for Delaney—”
“So that’s how you knew her? You worked for Delaney Meadows, too?”
“I didn’t say that, did I? Sure, that’s how we met. I worked for him for a few months.”
“Doing what?”
He waved one hand. “Data entry, filing . . . whatever! Anyway, Shelby and I got so close during that time, like this,” he said, crossing one finger over the other. “Not everyone was so fond of her though, you know?”
Jaymie had questions she wanted to ask, but if there was anything she had learned it was to not shut down a free-flowing tap of information when it was in mid gush. “Why?”
He cocked his head to one side. “She was . . . brash. Yeah, that’s the word . . . brash. She’d tell you the truth, no varnish, and if you didn’t like it, then, buh-bye!” he said, waving one hand.
“Sounds like the type who would make enemies.”
“I guess.” He examined her. “I never did ask . . . What do you want with me? I guess I just ran off my mouth and didn’t even think.”
“I’m looking into it, informally.” She explained her work for Nan Goodenough. “She, of course, doesn’t think her son did it. I’m investigating just to see if there are viable alternatives, and maybe get at the truth. I was reading online postings and I saw your name. You were defending her, and seemed to know her. I thought I’d talk to you.”
Austin’s blue eyes widened. He looked remarkably like a baby, with a round cherubic face and a lick of pale hair that curled on his forehead. He was only about twenty, Jaymie judged.
“People are awful! But she could get a gal’s back up. She was not afraid to tell you where to get off.”
“You hinted online that she was investigating something dangerous, that she was into something dark and she was gotten rid of. What did you mean?”
He shifted uncomfortably and his cheeks pinked as he rolled his eyes. “I may have been just . . . you know, exaggerating. I can be the teensiest bit dramatic at times. She was very mysterious, was Shelby, but when I think back I wonder if she may have been teasing me, you know, about being into something dangerous.”
“You said you talked about her boyfriends. I’ve heard she was dating more than one guy.” This was part test; did Austin really know Shelby, or was he a publicity hound attaching himself to a sensational murder case?
“She liked Cody, but thought he was way too attached, like . . . scary attached. She was afraid of him.”
Jaymie recalled how passionate Cody was in his defense of Shelby to his mom. Yes, that may have been too attached given their actual relationship. It didn’t bode well that a friend knew she was afraid of him; it sure wouldn’t look good in court if Austin was called as a witness. “Did she talk about that, about being afraid of him?”
He nodded. “Said he was the kind who flew off the handle too quick. She said she never knew what would set him off, that he was unpredictable. She had a bruise on her cheek one day, and said he’d done that. She told me one of these days he would hit her hard, and she’d never know it was coming.”
Jaymie shut her eyes. That sounded scarily close to what probably happened. But was it not odd that she would put up with it, given what Lynnsey had to say about her being angry at those who beat women?
“She was going to break it off with Cody,” Austin said. “She was seeing some other dude, too, though, some pharma representative. I remember that because I joked that there was this new weight-loss drug out, and could she get me some.”
That had to be Glenn Brennan. “What did she think of him?”
He shuddered. “She said he was creepy . . . handsy. I asked was he sexy, and she said no, he was a jerk. I asked why she kept seeing him, but she wouldn’t say.”
Interesting. “Anyone else?”
“Maybe.” He took another sip of tea and watched her. “Look, if I tell you something in confidence, will you tell your boss or the police?”
This was one of those moments, the ones you look back on and wish you’d handled differently, Jaymie thought. What could she say? “I probably won’t unless it exonerates Cody, how about that? That’s the only thing I’m interested in, ultimately.”
He was silent. “This has been bugging me, and I have to tell someone. Maybe
you can tell me what to do about it.”
“What’s up?”
“It’s true, what I said online; I do think that Shelby Fretter was involved in some deep stuff, and I think that she was writing it all down. She was always reading a novel—she liked thrillers—or writing. She wrote in some kind of journal or diary every single day, and she always hid what she was writing when I joined her. And sometimes . . . sometimes she had this smile on her face. It was haunting. Like she was enjoying something shady waaay too much.”
Eighteen
HE COULDN’T EXPLAIN more, just that there must be a diary or journal somewhere with something written in it. Jaymie made a note of that. She had a sense that it could be the one thing that would crack the investigation wide open, so . . . to tell the police about it or not? Not at this point, she decided, since she didn’t actually know it held anything more than shopping lists for Christmas.
“Austin, what was Shelby and Delaney Meadows’ relationship like?”
His hand jerked and he spilled some tea on his sweater. “Crap!” He jumped up, went to the wet bar and got a paper towel and blotted the tea stain. “That surprised me. I didn’t know anyone else suspected. I had a feeling they were involved, but she told me no way, that she didn’t like him that way.” He shrugged and sat back down, picking up his mug. “I don’t know. I just saw them together outside of work way too much, and him with that vindictive cat of a wife of his.”
Vindictive cat? Didn’t sound like the same saintly book-deliverer-to-shut-ins that Mrs. Stubbs spoke of. “I’ve heard of Lily Meadows,” Jaymie admitted. “What makes you say she was vindictive?”
He paused, eyeing her, then said, “She’s the one got me fired. She looks like the kind who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but she heard some joke I made, and that was it. Delaney fired me. Shelby tried to stick up for me, but little miss wife-of-the-boss wasn’t having it.”
“What was the joke?”
He hung his head in mock shame, then looked up at Jaymie, his blue eyes sparkling with malicious humor. “She had a new dress, Chanel couture, and all I said was, Matthew six, twenty-eight. A meadow is a field, right? Who knew she’d know her Good Book so well?”
White Colander Crime Page 19
