Died in the Wool

by Melinda Mullet

  Senior care caught my attention. “I don’t suppose Winterpoint owns a chain called Manorcare?”

  Patrick dug out his phone and ran a quick search. “They do indeed. Is that relevant?”

  I wrote Winterpoint on Urquhart’s card. “Jenny Woodyard had a card in her purse from the employment office at Manorcare,” I said, writing the company name on Jenny’s card. “The girls at the shelter said she was talking to them about a job. I wonder if Jenny learned something about Urquhart’s business dealings while she was there. Something he’d rather she didn’t know. If it was relevant to the shelter, she would’ve told Sheila.”

  “And you think Sheila might’ve confronted Urquhart with what she knew after Jenny was found dead? Maybe even accused him of being responsible?”

  “It would give Urquhart a motive for killing Sheila, and possibly Jenny, too.”

  Patrick unwound his legs from beneath him and went for a refill, moving Urquhart’s card squarely into the space between Jenny and Sheila on his way past. “Hard to prove, though,” he noted.

  “It’s a convoluted mess,” I agreed. The smell of the curried chicken pasties was wafting its way into the library. Liam nudged us both to our feet and followed along expectantly as we shuffled back to the kitchen.

  I set out a bowl of kibble that he glanced at with disdain before settling himself at Patrick’s feet, watching his every mouthful with guilt-inducing intensity. “Can’t you make him stop?”

  “Not unless you have a spare bit of steak or chicken hidden about your person somewhere. Just ignore him.”

  “Easy for you to say. He’s not staring at you while you’re eating.”

  “He knows the weak link,” I replied.

  Patrick rolled his eyes. “Thanks. Have you had your solicitor take a look at the shelter’s lease with Urquhart?” he asked, attempting to distract my attention from the fact that he was slipping Liam a piece of meat under the table.

  “He sent a translation into English late this afternoon. He says there’s some wiggle room, but it would be a long-winded battle of semantics. All turning on the definition of ‘suitable.’ Pretty turgid legal stuff. Meanwhile, I’ve got your inspector looking over the proposed property. Hopefully, he comes up with something egregious that we can use for leverage before the end of the month.”

  Patrick looked up from his crumbling pastry. “But, that’s less than two weeks away.”

  “That’s what makes me so sure Urquhart is pulling a fast one. He needs to close this deal quickly and he’s not going to let anyone stand in his way. Certainly not the likes of Sheila Kincaid.”

  “Or the likes of you,” Patrick stressed. “Be very careful. You really know how to find trouble, don’t you? And all because you needed to get rid of a few fleeces.” Patrick grinned. “And now someone is trying to pull the wool over your eyes.”

  I tossed a napkin at his head. “No bad sheep puns allowed.”

  “There are no baa-d sheep puns,” Patrick retorted.

  “Enough. This is serious.”

  “What about the wool lady, Amanda. Are you sure she’s not involved in any way?”

  I knew Patrick better than to think he was trying to be unfair to Amanda. It was a legitimate question any reporter worth their salt would ask. Strictly speaking, I didn’t really know that much about Amanda. I’d taken her at face value because she was Reverend Craig’s friend and he’d asked me to help. From what I’d seen so far, she genuinely cared about the girls at the shelter, and as far as I could tell she had nothing to gain from Sheila’s disappearance. “I feel strongly that Amanda isn’t involved,” I said, finally.

  Patrick continued to watch me, waiting for more. “But there’s something about her you’re not sure about.”

  I nodded. “I feel there are things she hasn’t told me yet, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s hiding something bad.”

  Patrick tried to stifle a yawn behind his hand. “Come on, get yourself off to bed,” I said. “You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

  He rose and planted a kiss on the top of my head before stumbling out of the kitchen in the direction of the hall. I noticed he made a quick detour into the library on his way past to top off his glass before drifting up the stairs to bed.

  I was exhausted, too, but wasn’t quite ready for sleep. I put our plates in the sink and went back to the library, flopping into the chair Patrick had vacated. I looked at the index cards on the glass and noticed that a new one had been added in Patrick’s hand. Other Board Members? We’d discussed Urquhart, Ross, and Amanda, but I hadn’t mentioned the Templeton twins, although neither of them had a motive to want to hurt Sheila. The only other board member was the one I was replacing, Chris Burley. Until a week ago he was a part of the group. Had he left willingly, as Amanda said, or had he been forced out to shift the vote on the move? If Amanda hadn’t recruited me on the spot, the vote would have been 3–2, and Urquhart would’ve been on his way to moving the shelter. I sent Patrick a text with Burley’s name asking for an address. He’d find it when he woke up in the morning. I knew that Michaelson would tell me not to interfere, but the police couldn’t fault me for simply having a chat with my predecessor. He might have some helpful insight into the politics of the board, and besides, it gave me a concrete plan for tomorrow.

  Tomorrow would be twenty-four hours since Sheila had gone missing. I could feel a rising sense of panic creeping over me. Whichever scenario proved to be correct, the odds were not in Sheila’s favor. Someone wanted to shut her up, and killing her would be the best way. I hated the thought that we were looking for a body and not a victim, but I had to keep looking. For Nora’s sake and for the sake of justice.

  Chapter 11

  Friday was my day with no class, yet I was still in Edinburgh by late morning. I prayed all the way into town that somehow Sheila had reappeared overnight, but when Amanda opened the door to the Rest, her face ashen, her eyes panicked, I knew something had changed, and not for the better.

  “Thank God it’s you.” She pulled me inside, steered me into her tiny office, and shut the door. “This just came through the letterbox.” She handed me a folded sheet of printer paper with childish, cutout magazine letters spelling out a terse message.

  £20,000

  Tell no one or you’ll never see Sheila again.

  Instructions in twenty-four hours.

  Amanda yanked the front of her loose sweater tightly around herself. “I don’t have that kind of money. I mean, look at this place. Where on earth would they think I could get £20,000?”

  “Did it come like this, or in an envelope?” I asked.

  “In this.” Amanda handed over a white envelope and continued to pace restlessly around the small space. The writing on the front was little more than a smudged scrawl, but seeing it, I suspected Amanda hadn’t looked past the first letter of the addressee’s name.

  “Look closer,” I said, handing the envelope back.

  Amanda squinted at the lettering. “Abigail? Why would someone deliver something to you here, and why would they think you’d be able to come up with twenty thousand pounds to ransom a perfect stranger.”

  “Maybe because I could,” I replied.

  “Really?” Amanda stopped pacing and looked at me.

  “You didn’t check me out before you asked me to join your board?” I asked.

  “Reverend Craig told us to let you help and I figured that was good enough. I certainly didn’t run a credit check on you.” Amanda’s voice was steadily rising in pitch.

  My brain was spinning into overdrive. Whoever made this demand had to know I was on the board and had resources at my disposal. That was a small group of people. “Who knew I’d taken a spot on the board?”

  “All the other members, plus Sheila, of course. We talked about it after you left. I suppose one of the other reside
nts could’ve overheard. Other than that, no one.”

  “Okay, sit down and let me think for a moment.” I was tempted to say ‘Relax,’ but that wasn’t possible. I walked to the window and stared down at the street.

  “At least if someone is trying to get money for her, that must mean Sheila’s still okay,” Amanda said, blowing her nose.

  I hoped Amanda was right, but I wasn’t as confident as she was. “Have you called the police?”

  “No,” Amanda snapped. “No cops. I don’t want to put her at greater risk.”

  I tried not to look exasperated. “But the police already know she’s missing.”

  “And they were here this morning.” Amanda blanched. “What if the kidnapper thinks I called the police about the ransom?” She rose and began pacing again.

  “You didn’t mention the note to the police when they were here?”

  Amanda shook her head. “I told you it just arrived. The police were here first thing this morning.”

  What a mess. In spite of the ransom note, I was still convinced Sheila had been taken by Urquhart or Ross because she knew too much. So why the demand for money? Urquhart didn’t need money, and neither did Ross.

  “I hate to say it,” I began gently, “but it’s possible that this is just a scam. Whoever sent the demand might not even have Sheila.”

  “Then why send a ransom note?” Amanda demanded.

  “Trying to cash in on the situation,” I suggested. “It could just be an opportunist out to make some money.”

  Amanda’s face fell, but she squared her shoulders and looked up at me. “The only way to find out for sure is to pay the ransom.”

  “I can front the money to set a trap, but to find out who’s behind this, I’ll need help.”

  “I can help,” Amanda insisted.

  “No. I don’t want to put you in danger. Whoever sent the ransom note is likely to recognize you immediately if you’re hanging around. We need professional help. We need to call the police.”

  Amanda faced me fiercely. “Tell no one, that’s what they said. No one. We have to follow the instructions. If you can pay the money, we will get her back safely and have done with this.”

  Amanda was either naïve or being purposely obtuse. “It’s usually not that simple,” I pointed out. “Even if you hand the money over, there’s no guarantee Sheila will be returned.”

  “But we have to try—for Nora’s sake,” Amanda pleaded. “Sheila may not come back to us, no matter what, but if we don’t follow the instructions, we’re absolutely lost.” There was a panic in her eyes that made me feel we were touching on a particularly raw nerve for some reason. Rationalizing with her on this point wasn’t an option. I decided to switch tracks. “How’s Nora holding up?”

  “Frightened,” Amanda said, continuing to pace in the confined space. “I stayed with her last night and insisted she go to school today, just to try to keep things as normal as possible.”

  “I think we need to get her away from here as soon as we can,” I insisted. “Any word from social services?”

  Amanda took a deep breath and forced herself to be still for a moment, holding the back of the chair. “They weren’t thrilled with the idea of moving her out of the area, but they don’t have many foster families on their rolls and they finally agreed after your police friend called them and weighed in.”

  “Good, that’s something at least. When can she come up?”

  “I planned to bring her up later this afternoon after school, if we hadn’t heard from Sheila.” Amanda grabbed a tissue from the box on her desk and blotted at her eyes. The tears that had been threatening were now rolling down her cheeks. “I was sure she’d be back by now. You will keep trying to find her, won’t you? Reverend Craig believes in you, and so do I.”

  I groaned inwardly. No pressure at all. “I don’t know if I can help,” I said finally, “but I’ll try. Let’s start with who’s been in and out of the Rest over the past two days.”

  Amanda took a deep breath and shut her eyes. “All the residents obviously, and me. Then you, of course, and Sam.”

  “Sam?”

  “Urquhart’s handyman. He comes over to fix things when we need it. He’s not much good, but he’s cheap.”

  “Was that who Sheila was waiting for on Wednesday?”

  Amanda nodded. “Dishwasher was leaking again.”

  “So Sam would’ve spoken to Sheila the day she went missing.”

  “Briefly. He’s not at all social. Talks as little as possible and usually says the wrong thing when he does. He makes some of the girls a bit uncomfortable, but I think he’s harmless enough.”

  “I hope so.” People who don’t talk much often listen a lot. I’d be interested to know what Sam saw or heard that afternoon. Not only that, he was an employee of Urquhart’s. What other odd jobs might he be willing to do for a price? Abduction? Murder?

  Amanda stood watching me, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. A compact bundle of nerves. “Anyone else around who doesn’t live here, other than Sam?”

  “No. The girls are very private. They don’t exactly invite people over.”

  “Who has keys to the Rest?”

  “Richard obviously. He owns the place. Me. All the residents.”

  “Do you change the locks after a resident moves out?”

  “No, we just get the key back.”

  “Easy enough then to make a copy before giving a key back.” I hated to point this out, but it could be relevant.

  “No, the keys are inscribed with DO NOT DUPLICATE. You have to give a special code to get it recut.”

  Not easy to reproduce, but not impossible, I thought. “What about Ross. Does he have one?”

  “No, he doesn’t need one.”

  “The Templetons?”

  “They have a key to the coal chute door in the basement. They go in and out to leave veg and pick up supplies for their other clients.”

  “Are the doors usually kept locked?”

  “Yes. We’re extremely careful about that. There’s even a lock on the door between the basement and the kitchen. We want the girls to feel safe here.” Amanda was watching me expectantly, as if she thought I might suddenly pull a rabbit out of a hat.

  “The door to the cellar wasn’t locked the morning after Sheila disappeared when we went down,” I pointed out. If the door wasn’t locked, Sheila must have opened it herself to go down.

  Amanda’s response was overshadowed by a loud knock on the front door. She scurried off to answer it and came back with a young woman in a nurse’s uniform.

  “Abi, this is Jenny’s friend Beth,” Amanda explained. “You gave me her name, but she called yesterday before I even had a chance to reach out to her.”

  I turned to Beth and offered the empty, but ubiquitous, “I’m sorry for your loss.” Her big brown eyes filled with tears.

  “I couldn’t believe it when I saw it in the paper,” Beth said softly. “I tried to talk to her mum but she cut me off. Gave me the number here. I was hoping you’d know something about the funeral arrangements.”

  “We haven’t been able to make any yet,” Amanda said. “The police are still trying to—”

  I intervened to spin the conversation away from the grim realities of the postmortem investigations. “How long had you and Jenny been friends?”

  “We both worked for the same home health service when we came out of school. Been nearly six years now. We went on to other jobs since but we stayed in touch.”

  “Had you heard much from Jenny recently?”

  “She dropped off the map after she finally made up her mind to walk out on Rob. Stopped posting and such. I was worried about her, thinking maybe something bad had happened.” Beth pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands. “She was okay at that point. She got in touch
with me again after about four weeks and told me she’d switched her social media to another name and we got back into sync.”

  “Did she sound happy?”

  “She was scared but determined. I was so proud of her for standing up and walking out. It’s not easy, you know. Especially with a bloke like that who thinks he’s God’s gift to the planet and has every right to treat his wife like dirt.”

  “Did she say if she’d heard from her husband lately?”

  “He’s military. She told me he was off on a training course in Spain for three months. That was part of the reason that she was feeling stronger and more in control of her life. We all worried what would happen when he got back, but I guess that’s not a problem now,” Beth said sadly.

  “Had she said anything to you about her future plans? What she was going to do next?”

  “Well, she was interviewing for a full-time job.”

  “With Manorcare?”

  “Aye, that was one of them. I worked with Manorcare in Stirling for a bit and our friend Margie works for their facility in Glasgow. She suggested that Jenny come out and interview. They’re always looking for reliable caregivers.”

  “So she was interviewing in Glasgow?”

  “She went out there to meet with the head of personnel, but they tried to talk her into taking a position at the new facility they’re opening here.”

  “In Edinburgh?”

  Beth nodded. “But like I said, Jenny was interested in moving away. Especially as this place would be closing.”

  “Closing?” Amanda interjected. “Why would she think we were closing?”

  Beth suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Jenny was told the new Manorcare facility was taking over this building.”

  “This building?” Amanda looked at Beth in amazement.

  “Jenny was shocked, too. That’s why I figured she would’ve told you. She didn’t even know that this place was closing. But the renovation plans were on the wall in the Manorcare offices in Glasgow clear as day. Jenny noticed it special ’cause it was this address.”