Jesse nodded, a shock of iron-gray hair falling onto his forehead. I realized with a start that I’d barely ever seen him without a Pittsburgh Penguins hat firmly affixed to his head.
“And now that I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, too, I think plan C is the winner.” Jesse held forth for a good twenty minutes, pointing out the minutiae of each line on the blueprint. “It mirrors the elaborate Italianate architecture of Thistle Park, but on a tiny scale. Summer would have her own tower. What girl wouldn’t want that?”
I was convinced, and fairly sure Garrett would be, too.
“Fine.” I grudgingly acquiesced. “But I’ll only let you start on this if your doctor OKs it.” I crossed my arms, brooking no wiggle room.
Jesse’s happy visage dimmed by a thousand watts. “Oh, crumb on a cracker.”
I tried to stifle a giggle at the emergence of one of his usual malaprops. He must truly be on the mend.
“You’re an exacting customer, Mallory. But much easier to work with than Helene Pierce.” Jesse seemed to give an inward shudder.
I frowned at his admission, not because I disagreed, but because I hadn’t known him to do any work for Helene.
“You renovated stuff for that witch?”
“Oh, no. She would never deign to work with me on a construction project. And the feeling’s mutual. No, I’m talking about twenty-five years ago, when I was saving up to start Flowers Restoration.” Jesse seemed to peer straight into the past, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “I did some work for Helene and Richard Pierce twenty-five years ago.” Jesse winced outright. “Sort of a loosely styled security job. I might have the heart of a lamb, but people didn’t want to mess with a big guy like me.”
It was true. Jesse couldn’t hurt a fly, but his imposing build telegraphed otherwise.
He sighed with regret. “I worked for Richard in particular, up until the week he died. The Pierces were always trying to get something for nothing. Richard was chiseling me, knocking off minutes here and there to avoid paying me the agreed-upon rate. I quit the day before his accident.” Jesse’s hearty complexion, already weakened somewhat by his stay in the hospital, paled a degree more. “Helene never forgave me. She claimed that if I’d been there the day he died, he wouldn’t have been in that accident.”
Interesting. Jesse called the hit-and-run an accident. There truly were very few people on the planet who knew the truth about Richard’s death, besides Helene, Truman, Tabitha, and now myself.
“You knew about the affair.” I blurted out my statement before I could stop and think. Tabitha made it sound like it could have been obvious for people to observe the same dalliance she’d caught Richard in. Who would know better than his de facto bodyguard, Jesse?
But the man had a strange look on his face. “No, no affair. But that would make sense, in retrospect. The random places he advised me to take him, and an order to immediately scram. I always obeyed. His payments were fair in the beginning, and I was focused on building up a nest egg to start my current business. I didn’t look too hard at Richard Pierce’s dealings, if you catch my drift.”
A thought struck me with such force, I wished I had been sitting down. The last piece of the puzzle had appeared. I now knew of a motive for Helene to try to execute Jesse. Although, it would have been weird for her to carry her ire for a quarter of a century, and only act on it now. Still, she was my number one suspect to have enough genuine motive to have gone after Claudia, Jesse, and to have accidentally grazed Doug.
“Just promise me one thing, Mallory.” Jesse broke me from my thoughts. “You’re getting that sleuthy look in your eyes. Don’t go poking around in things that don’t concern you. Bev and I worry.”
I laughed out loud at the now third person to warn me not to do some amateur investigating. “OK, Jesse.”
But my friend wasn’t done. “I can’t wait to marry Bev and make it official for Preston, too. I love that kid like my own. I’m going to vow to be the best stepdad ever. And you need to think about Summer now, too, Mallory.” Jesse’s plea was heartfelt, and not at all a chastisement. “You need to stay safe, and stay alive, so you can be a presence in her life.”
I took a serious gulp.
“You’re right,” I whispered. “This is about more people than just me. Of course, I want to be around for her.”
I gave my exhausted friend a big hug and quietly slipped from the room as he began to doze off. While I wanted him to continue on his swift road to recovery, I wouldn’t mind if his doctors forbade him from managing my quick housing project.
“Oof.” I ran straight into Preston Mitchell as he exited the elevator. “Sorry, Preston.”
Bev’s son rewarded me with a grin. “Summer told me you helped pick out her dress for the Founder’s Day dance.”
She’s not the only smitten one.
Preston was a goner. His face lit up in an incandescent smile as he mentioned Garrett’s daughter.
“I did. She’s so excited to go to the dance with you.” We made our way to Jesse’s room, where Preston replicated my initial move by peeking in to find Jesse sleeping.
“I’m sorry about Cordials and Cannonballs,” he stammered. “It was a great event before all of that went down on the battlefield.”
“Thank you, Preston.” I realized with a start that Rachel, Pia, and I hadn’t heard a single scrap of praise for the event. Not that I was complaining in light of what had happened. It was enough to recall the initial joyous looks on the faces of the denizens of Port Quincy before the carnage had begun. The event would forever live in my mind like a bizarre split-screen movie, the before portion joyous and carefree, the aftermath an irrevocable shift in all of our lives.
“Something, um, is bothering me, though.” Preston took off his Quincy High ball cap and ran a hand with a nervous motion through his locks.
Uh-oh.
“Sit down. What’s up?” I didn’t want to startle the boy, and he clearly had something to say. He sank into a vinyl couch three doors down from Jesse’s room and looked up and down the hall before he spoke.
“I remembered something else about that day. Summer and I were so busy slinging vegan sandwiches.” His bright smile returned for a moment at the memory. “I noticed about halfway through our shift that someone had left a bag of little metal balls at the foot of the table.”
Musket shot.
“Did you tell Chief Truman? Or your mom?” I tried to keep my voice even.
Preston had the good graces to blush before he answered. “My mom is a bit of a . . . talker.” He’d generously refused to label Bev as an outright gossip, but his point was made, loud and clear. “And Truman did question me, but I forgot that detail.” He slapped his ball cap atop his head. “The weirdest part? When the police were done questioning everyone, hours later, Summer and I went back to the booth. Our backpacks were still under the table. But the little bag of metal balls was gone.”
I had to play this right. But there was no time for finesse. “Preston, is it OK if I tell Truman what you just told me?”
I was relieved to see Preston’s face relax. “Will you please?”
I nodded my promise and gave the teen a hug. He walked back to Jesse’s room, his step a little lighter.
I made my way out of the McGavitt-Pierce Memorial Hospital and headed home. I was getting excited about Jesse’s plans. As soon as Garrett signed off on blueprint C, we would be in business. And I didn’t care whether that was in a few weeks, or later this fall. Jesse was right about one thing. Sticking around for my family was the most important thing. I realized now that we were a family, and I didn’t need a ceremony to make it so.
I nearly flew to my office to dash off an email to my beau. Jesse’s enthusiasm had cast a spell on me. And when I was done with the more fun aspects of my visit to the hospital, I would call Truman and tell him Preston’s clue. Though the boy’s revelation about the ammunition was nowhere near as fraught as the murder Tabitha had witnessed as a young teen,
I didn’t think it was healthy for any of the kids to be harboring secrets.
Hm.
The handle to my office was loose. I recoiled and realized the fixture had definitely been monkeyed with. I hated that all of the strange crimes around Port Quincy led to thoughts like the one I had next: Get a tissue to open the door, so as not to mar any potential fingerprints left behind.
I returned with a small tissue and tentatively wrapped it around the barely functioning knob. I pushed open the door and couldn’t stifle the yelp I distantly heard emanate from my throat.
My beloved office was completely tossed. Chairs and loveseats lay on their sides, their legs hanging all akimbo, some broken off. My files as well as Rachel’s had been emptied all over the floor, so the space looked like a demented rendition of a winter wonderland full of fat, rectangle snowflakes. We’d gotten Pia her own desk, and the top of her workspace was strangely untouched. But she’d only been working with us a few days, and most of those were spent with her family in the wake of Claudia’s murder. But the worst was yet to come.
Holy moly.
The distinct, solder-like smell of melted metal led me to the safe. Or what was left of it. The delicate carvings of birds, leaves, and whimsical insects gracing the original teak mantel were decimated. It looked like the perpetrator had used a hacksaw to get into the safe nested behind. I quickly assumed that the perpetrator knew the safe was behind the mantel, but not which carving to push to make the wooden panel magically swing open.
The keypad was blown to smithereens, a closely delivered shot of ammunition leaving a jagged hole in its wake. I shivered when I realized Truman had said Jesse and Claudia were shot in the same manner, a close-range shot. I reached into the tiny, charred rectangle, already knowing what I’d find. And what I wouldn’t.
The veil was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Whoever did this wanted to send a message.” Truman stood in the middle of the office shaking his head in disgust. “It would have been enough to hack through the mantel and steal the veil. But this is personal.”
The pretty if somewhat intentionally fusty yet cozy office space felt irrevocably violated. The acrid smell of melted metal still hung in the air.
“I can’t have this.” My voice sounded tinny and far away. “We’re going to host a baby shower at Thistle Park in a few days. I want this to be a safe space.”
“Too late for that.” My sister’s voice was hoarse and gravelly. Tears coursed down Rachel’s cheeks. Her skill as her own makeup artist was on full display. Despite the waterworks, her gorgeous smoky eye and mascaraed lashes stayed perfectly intact.
“It’s happening again.” I gestured all around me. “Whatever curse that veil brought upon Port Quincy a quarter of a century ago is back.”
Truman raised one brow in response.
“Okay, fine. Not, like, a literal curse. But whoever killed Richard Pierce over the veil is back at it again. And I’m certain what happened at Cordials and Cannonballs is tied to the veil.”
Truman ushered us out of the office as two techs arrived to process the scene. He led us to the safe, pristine confines of the library. “That’s an interesting theory, Mallory. I only wish we were able to discern some kind of grand cosmic pattern and tie up all these loose ends, some of which, as you mentioned, are twenty-five years old.”
I didn’t think Truman was mocking me, but I was impatient. I keenly valued my safety, especially after my talk with Jesse. And my home and Rachel’s, and our place of business, had been violated. I took the plunge.
“Fine. Let me lay it all out. Richard Pierce was killed in a hit that was cleverly disguised as a hit-and-run. The famed Betsy Ross veil was taken from his back seat, only to resurface in a hatbox at the Antique Emporium over two decades later. In the present, Claudia, Jesse, and Doug were all shot on the reenactment field. What do these incidents have in common?” I let my question hang in the air. “Helene Pierce.”
Truman let out a gust of air, now clearly annoyed. “Mallory, I know there’s no love lost—”
“Let me finish,” I begged. “Helene, who was wearing gloves the day of Cordials and Cannonballs, has a motive for each crime. She fought recently with Claudia about women being allowed on the battlefield. She will forever blame Jesse for resigning as Richard’s bodyguard the day before he was murdered. And she knew Doug wanted to put her in her place regarding women on the battlefield as well. And she may have known about Richard’s affair all those years ago, and called in the hit on her husband herself.”
Now I had Truman’s attention. “Who the heck told you about the affair?” His hazel eyes bored into mine.
“None of your beeswax. Although I wouldn’t mind a bit of information swapping. Do you know who the woman was?”
Rachel let out a shaky laugh at my answer and new query, but Truman was far from amused.
“Mallory, I order you to tell me who told you about that. Barely anyone over two decades ago even knew about Richard’s affair.”
“I have my sources.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“When will you learn to stop sleuthing!” Truman stood, his stack about to blow. He jabbed his finger toward the wreckage down the hall. “Hello! Earth to Mallory! Your life is in danger!”
I nearly felt like weeping. He was right. But for once, I hadn’t engaged in much initial fact-finding. “I can’t help it if people tell me things. And the best I can do is pass something along if I think it will help.”
Truman let out a gust of air and fell back into his chair with disgust. Whiskey sensed the tension in the room, and the cute calico kitty darted from her favorite window seat and took her exit. “There’s more you’re not telling me. At least I know that much.”
I wasn’t going to waste his time. “Preston Mitchell found a bag of what appeared to be musket shot at the foot of his and Summer’s vegan food table at Cordials and Cannonballs. He didn’t think it was significant until he remembered today. When he and Summer got back to the table, it was gone.”
And so was Truman. He called out a gruff note of thanks as he flew out of the library, his phone already affixed to his ear.
“I guess that last bit was pretty important,” Rachel drily observed.
I gave my sister a sheepish shrug, and together we made the trek to the safety of our third-floor apartment.
* * *
The next day I performed the gut-wrenching task of informing my friend Olivia that Thistle Park had been broken into. I brought my sister for backup, and together we sat facing Olivia in the suite of offices she shared with Garrett for their joint law practice.
“You don’t have to have your baby shower there, Liv.” I winced. “Maybe somewhere safer. Though you’re running out of time.” I gestured toward her giant belly.
Olivia placed her hand on her chin, pondering her options. “I don’t know. The veil is gone, poor thing.” She spoke of the troublesome lace as if it were a person with feelings and agency. “If the people who wanted the veil trashed the room to find it, then they won’t be coming back.” She swiveled her chair around to regard a large wall calendar. Nearly every cell of the grid was filled, right up until her baby’s due date. Then the appointments stopped, and each rectangle was a sea of white. But the most celebratory rectangle was decked out in highlighter, designating the day of her baby shower. “I think I want to do it.” Olivia’s lips parted into a giant grin. “I’m sure it will still be lovely.”
Rachel and I praised her decision, yet exchanged a subtle shrug. I was partially relieved that my friend had enough faith in my business that she still wanted her shower.
“She didn’t see the office,” Rachel muttered as we exited Olivia’s office.
“She’s an amazing attorney, but I’ll agree with your judgment of her judgment on this one.” Garrett exited his own office and gave me a lovely kiss. “Just be careful, ladies.”
“We always are.” I bade him goodbye and felt a stab of guilt. What Jesse ha
d said about sticking around for my loved ones kept hitting home. I hoped Truman and Faith could solve the scary Tilt-A-Whirl of incidents spanning the length of twenty-five years and put the murderer away for good.
Or murderers.
Rachel and I made our way out into the sunshine. I cursed my decision not to bring sunglasses. But they had disappeared around Thistle Park just like a dryer mysteriously eating socks. The midday light was blinding as it struck the tiny shards of mica embedded in Main Street’s sidewalks. Rachel donned a pair of Gucci shades I’d purchased for her years ago when I was an attorney as well. She opened her bag and handed me another pair of considerably less pricey sunglasses.
“Um, Rach. These were my favorite pair of glasses. Emphasis on mine. Ones that mysteriously disappeared at the beginning of May.”
My sister answered me with a careless shrug. “I’ve got a big bag, Mallory. Things go in here, and you never know when they’re going to resurface.”
I shook my head ruefully at my sister, then ended up laughing with her. I got my sunglasses back just in time, and that was something.
“Pierces at ten o’clock. I repeat, Pierces at ten o’clock.” Rachel attempted to steer me away from an outside café, but it was too late. Keith Pierce and his wife, Becca Cunningham, had spotted us walking down the sidewalk.
“Rachel. Mallory.” Becca slid down her own pair of designer shades and gave us appraising once-overs. “Do sit down.”
Come again?
My enmity with Becca was well-known. Not as flagrant as my mother and Bev’s incompatibility, but not far behind. I should have held it against Becca that she was the woman Keith was having an affair with that prompted me to cancel our wedding three summers ago. But I rightfully laid the blame for that transgression on Keith and his poor choices. No, I was not fond of Becca for other reasons. Namely, her presumptuous orders and commandeering of my time, to do her bidding. Needless to say, an impromptu invitation to lunch was setting off fervent alarm bells.
Veiled in Death Page 17
