by Shelly West
Grandma nodded. “An out-of-towner. Reginald Grimes.”
Piper’s eyes seemed to glow redder than her hair. “Reginald! I hate that grimy little—” She stopped herself before she said something uncouth. She then let out a nervous laugh. “Heh, way to incriminate myself, huh? But Netflix will confirm I have indeed been watching nothing but British dramas the past week, so I have an alibi, albeit an embarrassing one.”
“You’re not under any suspicion,” Grandma assured her. “But maybe you could enlighten us regarding why you despise Reginald?”
Piper let out an incredulous laugh at the thought of him. “He comes storming down here, looking to buy up historical artifacts, ones tied heavily to our local history, right? My family’s history. You know how I feel about that, so of course I wasn’t kind to him. I don’t trust some big city boy to treat these antiques with the reverence they deserve. It’s not even like he runs a museum or something. I do, and he comes here telling me, ‘Everybody’s got a price,’ wanting this and that. I told him to shove it and get off my property before I loaded up my musket!”
Grandma shot Abigail an amused look before turning back to Piper. “So he got nothing off you?”
“No.”
“No chance he broke in after?”
“What? I-I don’t think so. He’d have to be a master thief to get past this home’s security system.”
“I ask because it seems he broke into my store. So you have no family member you think he could have talked into selling him a piece instead?”
“You should know. The whole Fischer family is as protective of our estate as a dragon on its mound of gold. It’s what’s preserved our way of life as long as it has.” She paused. “Except…”
Abigail and Grandma leaned forward.
“Well, you know. The Lebeaus inexplicably had a couple of Fischer artifacts in their possession. Letters that my great great grandfather had written his pirate rival long ago. And of course that ship in a bottle. Reginald, that smarmy little… He was flaunting the fact that he had bought those letters off Ernest, and that I’d never get to see them unless I opened up the archives for his perusal.”
Grandma asked, “Well, did you?”
“No. I denied his offer, but boy, was it tempting. Who knows what historical information those letters could have provided? Can you imagine how juicy an exchange between a world-famous whaler and a notorious pirate could be?”
Grandma clarified, “If he had the Fischer side of the letter exchange, wouldn’t that mean you have the Lebeau side of it?”
Piper nodded. “In fact, I do. But the letters are rather cryptic. I could never understand them, and thought that maybe if I had the full exchange, it’d all make more sense. Seems Reginald thought the same thing. It’s a shame Ernest sold them, because I know if Lee had inherited the letters, he’d have been a lot more willing to let me have a look at them. He’s not caught up in this silly rivalry.”
“Such a pity,” Grandma commented.
Abigail grew silent. She wasn’t so sure of Lee’s innocence. If Lee was the last Lebeau around, maybe that was motive enough to plot something against the Fischers. It all came back to the broken ship bottle and the open front door. Lee had a key to the store…
When Piper turned to wipe a speck of dust off a decorative plate, Abigail glanced at Grandma, who responded to her with a sneaky wink. Without a word exchanged between them, they both seemed to understand that they had gotten more than enough information from this trip.
“Oh dear,” Grandma said in an exaggerated elderly voice, catching Piper’s attention again. “It’s past time for my afternoon nap.”
Piper straightened up. “Oh, don’t let me keep you! I’ve been known to ramble on and on when you get me on the right topic.” She showed the two of them out, saying in farewell, “Feel free to stop by any time. You know you’re welcomed.”
Grandma’s eyes twinkled at Piper. “Of course. You stay safe now. There’s a murderer on the loose.”
As they headed down the steps, Abigail laughed in disbelief. “Way to say goodbye to someone, Grandma.”
Just before Grandma tucked into the passenger seat, she stated, “I need her alive. She’s a great source of information.”
Abigail laughed again, not expecting such a gingerly old woman to be so macabre.
She was starting to see where she got it from.
Chapter 18
The drive back gave Abigail and Grandma time to digest all the new information. Abigail started, “So Piper really hates Reginald’s guts, doesn’t she?”
“Yes. I suspect she must be tickled pink to know he’s no longer amongst the living.”
“You don’t think she has a good motive for murder?”
“Piper’s a firecracker, but I highly doubt she’s a murderer on top of that. Sure, I wouldn’t put it past her to kick a man in his nether regions, but she doesn’t have the disposition to murder someone.”
“I dunno. She has the money. Even if she couldn’t stomach it, she could’ve hired someone.”
“If a squabble between two strangers was all it took to drive one to murder, then we’d all be dead. We’ll need better evidence than what we have.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Abigail stopped at a red light and thoughtfully ran her hands around the oversized steering wheel. “Well, you might not want to hear it, but I think we should look into Lee next.”
“I’ll hear it. What’s your theory?”
“Whoever was in your store that night, they didn’t force their way in. Lee has a key to the place, doesn’t he? That, and his father Ernest had sold some letters to Reginald—letters Lee might have felt entitled to.”
“What are you getting at?”
“A motive for Lee to kill the man. And another thing: How did Ernest die? Could Reginald have had something to do with it?”
“Sounds like a bit of a leap. Ernest had a huge drinking problem, and eventually it caught up to him.”
“How?”
“He’d often get terribly drunk when he fished, and so one day the inevitable happened. His boat washed up on shore empty, without its captain.”
“That’s not a nice way to go. But I still think Lee could have it out for Reginald. The letters Ernest sold him could be worth something, considering their history. Lee hates doing boat repair. Maybe he saw those letters as a way out? A way to pursue something else he’d rather be doing? I mean, I keep going back to him having a key to the place. When I was staying at your store by myself, he had tried to return early in the morning. Maybe he wanted to tie up loose ends.”
Grandma’s brows furrowed at she tapped on her lips. Finally she relented. “Oh, all right. Now you’ve got me curious. But we need to be casual about it. If he’s innocent and he realizes I suspected him, I don’t think he’d ever forgive me.”
“We don’t have to ask him directly. I remember him saying he had an employee.”
“Oh, right. The young man he works with, Antonio. Good thinking.” Grandma’s eyes lit up. “And lucky us, Thursday is one of Lee’s days off from the repair shop, leaving Antonio to take the reins. Let’s first stop by the house. I’ll grab some cookies to butter him up.”
Abigail smirked. “The game is afoot!”
*
After retrieving her cookies, Grandma directed Abigail to the marina. As Abigail pulled down the small road, she commented, “Thought this place would be a bit more happening.”
Aside from a few small boats in a dry storage warehouse, the entire marina looked long abandoned.
Grandma said, “Just wait until tourist season. Then you can’t find a place to park.”
Abigail came to a stop in front of the Lebeau Boat Repair shop, seeing only a small truck parked in the lot. “I’m guessing that’s Antonio’s truck?”
“Must be. I never come down here.”
They got out of the car, Grandma carrying a small plate of her homemade cookies. They made their way to the shop, finding a young tanne
d man smoking by the water. He had a faraway look, his sleeves rolled up to reveal some nautical tattoos.
The man looked dead tired and none too friendly, but when he heard their approach, his attitude changed. He turned to see Grandma, perking up when he saw she had brought baked goods. “Mrs. Lane,” he said in greeting, and he tossed his cigarette into the water. “You do delivery now?”
“Only since my granddaughter came into town,” Grandma answered with a wink, handing the plate over to him.
Antonio dug straight into the pile of cookies. “Mm, you gotta tell me the recipe one of these days.”
Grandma smiled. “You’ll have to strangle it out of me.”
Antonio laughed awkwardly, then nodded at Abigail. “So, the granddaughter?”
Abigail held a hand out, knowing full well it’d be difficult for him to shake it with the plate in his grip. Still, he managed to balance it in one hand and return the gesture. “Abigail,” she said in introduction.
“Antonio. Nice of you to take my place as the new person in town.”
“New, huh?” Abigail asked, her head cocked.
Grandma explained, “We don’t get many new residents. Only tourists. So even though he’s been here for a good six months now, he’s still the new guy in town.”
Abigail eyed him. “I see. Well, you still are, since I’m only here temporarily.”
“Oh, that so?” Antonio asked as he downed another cookie. “Too bad. Not a lot of new blood around here. At least not during the off-season.”
“What brought you here?” Abigail asked, watching his face closely.
Antonio shrugged. “You know. Work.”
“You moved all the way down to this quiet old town to fix boats?”
Antonio nodded, having trouble swallowing his cookie. “Yeah, Lee couldn’t run the place all by himself ever since his father… you know. So he advertised for help. I used to live an hour away, but when I saw the ad and looked up Wallace Point, the town just called out to me. Guess I was fed up with the big city, you know? So I applied, got the job, and made the move.”
Abigail’s eyes narrowed as Grandma changed the subject. “So how has business been?”
Antonio used a cookie to point at a medium-sized ship in dry dock. “Working on her right now. The moron who owns it crashed into a bunch of rocks. He thinks yelling at us every couple of hours over the phone will make things go faster, but that just ain’t how it works.”
“Out of towner?” Grandma inquired.
“Yeah, on his way to Maine. Never planned on getting caught up in this little town. Maybe he shoulda thought about it before sailing drunk. I been working on it almost nonstop, but these things take time, ya know? Ruined my Friday night fixing just half of what’s wrong with the boat.”
Grandma and Abigail shared a look. Friday was the night of the incident. Abigail asked, “Did Lee ruin his Friday night too?”
“Yup. Well, maybe it wasn’t ruined for him, per se. He ain’t gotta nightlife like I do. Doubt the owner cares about ruining my weekend either.”
Grandma nodded. “Oh, I know the type. You just can’t please some customers. I had someone come in not that long ago thinking he could buy something that wasn’t for sale. Put up quite the fuss about it too. Imagine my surprise when a few days later his body washed up on shore!”
Both Grandma and Abigail waited for a reaction. Antonio merely blinked at them before lighting up in realization. “Oh, that Reginald guy that was in the newspaper?”
“That’s the one.”
Antonio paused, looking around as if to make sure they were alone. Seeing there wasn’t another soul for miles, he said in a lowered voice, “You know, I was at the bowling alley last week. Not that bowling’s my scene, but it’s the cheapest place in town for a beer.”
Abigail and Grandma listened, waiting for something relevant.
Antonio continued, “And so that Reginald guy was there. He and Kirby got into a rip-roaring argument. Most exciting thing to happen here for a month!”
Grandma leaned in closer. “You don’t say?”
“Yeah. Kirby always had a short temper. It’s not like it’s the first time he kicked a belligerent drunk out of the place, but this was something else. I never saw him upset like that before.”
Abigail asked, “Any idea what they were arguing about?”
“I don’t know. Neither of ‘em were making much sense. Reginald was drunk, and Kirby’s got an accent, so it was hard to tell. Something about that old ship, and Reginald questioning why Kirby had donated so much money toward its preservation.”
“The Lafayette?” Grandma asked.
“Yeah, that’s the one. I guess Reginald thinks Kirby has some ulterior motive. Some big plan for the ship. What he could possibly be planning for some ancient boat’s beyond me, though.”
“That’s odd,” Abigail said. She tried to rack her brain for what little she knew about the ship, but she drew a blank.
“You’re telling me. Eventually Kirby had enough, got beet red, then physically picked Reginald up and threw him out to the curb. Seems like a dumb thing to get mad about, but I guess Vikings have a temper!”
Abigail briefly recalled what Sally had told her, now that she heard the word ‘Viking.’ Both Kirby and his brother… Dag, was it? They had Viking roots. Scandinavian. But what significance could the Lafayette have to them? It was a ship from an era long after the Vikings.
Grandma looked at her wrist, seeing the time. “Oh dear! It’s past time for my afternoon nap!”
Abigail suppressed a snort. Was that how Grandma got out of every social engagement? Either way, it was an effective tactic, as nobody wanted to keep someone as elderly as Grandma from taking a nap.
“Oh, I’ll let you go then,” Antonio said, finishing the last cookie and handing Grandma the plate. “It’s been nice talking to you. And nice meeting you, Abigail.” He smiled at her. “Maybe I’ll see you around at the bowling alley?”
“Yeah, sure,” Abigail said, having no intention of that happening. She knew his type.
The two of them headed back to the car, Abigail wondering if Kirby really could have something to do with what had transpired. He had seemed like a nice guy when Sally introduced him to her. Quiet and odd, but nice.
Either way, she figured Grandma would have more to say on the topic once they were in the privacy of her car.
Chapter 19
Abigail made her way back to the antique store, starting to get familiar with the main roads now. Grandma looked deep in thought, gazing out the window as she undoubtedly pondered everything Antonio had said.
Abigail decided to start first. “So, Kirby’s got some major beef with Reginald. More than anyone else we’ve talked to, it seems.”
“I’m not surprised. A strong, quiet type like Kirby isn’t about to humor someone as sordid as Reginald.”
“But the fight they had, it sounds like a bit more than just being annoyed at the guy. I wonder if Sheriff Wilson knows about this scuffle?”
“And why should he know?”
Abigail wasn’t sure why that was even a question. “He’s the one on the case, isn’t he? We should inform him about any potential suspects.”
“Kirby’s a hard-working man. I wouldn’t want to give him any trouble unless we had more on him. Reginald made enemies everywhere he went, so I’m not so sure Kirby is a special case.”
“Yeah, but there’s the connection with his brother working on the Lafayette, the same ship your broken model’s based off… Things are starting to add up a bit.”
“To what? Piper is connected to the Lafayette too. And so am I, I suppose. We need more than that.”
As they parked back at the antique store, Grandma turned to Abigail and suggested, “You know, Kirby’s very close to his younger brother, Dag. Dag’s a nice young man—scrappy, but a person of strong character. I don’t see him burying any bodies for his brother, as close as they are. Viking though he may be, he hasn’t the heart for that so
rt of business.”
“So you think we should talk to Dag?”
“No, I think you should talk to him. I’m a bit tired after two interviews.”
Though Grandma unbuckled and opened her door, Abigail remained seated. “I don’t want to go nosing around by myself. Don’t you think we make a good team?”
Missy’s hysterical screaming began, followed soon by Thor’s moaning. Grandma shook her head and stepped out of the car. “I can’t leave Missy by herself for too long.”
Abigail groaned.
“And besides,” Grandma said, ducking down to peer into the car at a very reluctant Abigail. “A beautiful young woman like yourself, inquiring all about Dag… He’ll open up like a well-read book.”
Abigail saw she had lost this battle. “If you say so. But I don’t have the pretense of a cookie delivery to meet up with him. Where do I even begin?”
“Just pretend you’re there for a tour of the ship, then get him talking. I doubt there will be many tourists around on a weekday, so you’ll have him and the ship all to yourself. Go. I’ll take care of our dogs.”
By now, Missy’s wailing had reached new heights of ear-piercing. Grandma hurried up the porch stairs, not giving Abigail a chance to say much else. Oh well, Abigail had already interviewed two people today. Why not make it three? She didn’t have much time anyhow.
This murder needed to be solved fast, and if it was all up to Abigail, then so be it.
*
Abigail made it to downtown Wallace Point in under two minutes. “I could have probably just walked,” she mumbled to herself as she looked for somewhere to park. It was starting to make sense how Grandma managed to get around with only a golf cart, since everything was so close by.
Abigail parked within eyesight of the Lafayette. “Here goes,” she said to herself in an attempt to gather up her courage.
Her stomach growled in protest. She looked at the time. 4 o’clock, and she hadn’t eaten anything but a small sandwich.
