by Donna Doyle
“I see.” It was all very interesting. While the fact that Julia was related to Harold would seem to keep her off the list of suspects, Sammy wasn’t ready to cross her off just yet. She could’ve told Sammy all these stories to get her to look to someone else as the murderer. The truth was that she seemed like more of town gossip than a killer, but Sammy was learning not to assume anything about anyone. “I appreciate you spending a little time talking to me.”
“Anytime, dear. If you have questions or you need me to go on a covert mission, you just let me know. I don’t have a whole lot filling up my social calendar these days, and I could use a little excitement.” She winked as she handed Sammy her check and her payment.
* * *
That evening, once she’d finished closing up the restaurant and was headed upstairs to make a few notes on her list and add Tracy Woodland to it, Sammy’s phone rang. She recognized the number, but it wasn’t one she’d saved in her phone. “Hello?”
“Samantha, this is Ken Lowry. How are you?”
“Fine, thank you.” It was one of the other contractors, one she hadn’t hired and who’d been rather upset when he found out about it. Sammy paused on the steps. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s more a matter of what I can do for you. I heard about what happened to Harold, and I thought you might need someone to come finish up the work at the theater. I’m available, if you need me.”
Sammy slowly started walking up the steps again, thinking. The couple of pieces of trim that had yet to be put up weren’t too much work. She could do it, or she could find someone willing to spend a few minutes on it. Maybe even Rob knew how to do that sort of thing, though she doubted it. Still, Lowry was on her list of suspects, and this could provide the perfect opportunity for her to talk to him. “There’s not much, but a little help would be great. I can meet you at the Stargazer at eight tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there!” He sounded happy as he rang off, but Sammy had to wonder if this was a mistake. If the contractor was a killer, then she was putting herself in danger. Jones had explained that Woodland’s death was a potential suicide, and he’d told her to stay out of it, but she hadn’t exactly made it a habit to follow his directions.
7
An Ounce of Rivalry
Sunny Cove Services looked much the same as it had when Sammy had come in Monday morning planning to have an opening party, but it certainly had a different feel to it. The excitement she’d experienced was replaced by apprehension and even a little fear. Sammy turned on the lights, wishing she’d thought to bring someone with her. On the other hand, if Ken Lowry turned out to be dangerous, then she would only be risking the safety of anyone she asked to come. And she certainly couldn’t have brought Sheriff Jones, considering he didn’t want her to be involved at all.
Lowry showed up only a couple of minutes later, carrying an old-fashioned wooden toolbox in one hand. He strode into the room and held out his hand to shake Sammy’s. He looked to be about the same age as Harold had been, perhaps in his late forties, but he’d retained much more of his hair. “It’s good to see you again. Tell me what still needs to be done.”
“Honestly, there isn’t much. There are just a few pieces of trim that need to go in here by the bathroom. I don’t think there was a whole lot else.”
The contractor frowned as she examined the doorway she pointed to. “I see. Yeah, that wouldn’t take much. Looks like the drywall wasn’t done very well around the light switches and outlets. I also would’ve gone with a higher quality flooring. That can’t be changed now, not reasonably, but you’ll end up needing to get new flooring within just a few years. Only a little more money would’ve gotten you something with a lifetime warranty.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sammy frowned at the floor, wishing she’d known to ask such questions of Harold.
Ken plucked a small level out of his toolbox and set it on a windowsill, bending down to see where the bubble landed. “Not too bad, but it could’ve been better.”
Remembering what Mrs. Richardson had said, Sammy cleared her throat. “Has it been your experience that Mr. Woodland usually did inferior work?”
The contractor ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair. “Harold and I had quite the rivalry, but it was always in a good-natured way. This town isn’t really big enough for the number of contractors we have here, but that never stopped any of us from trying to live our dreams. You know, he and I even had wood shop together back in high school. We were always competing to see who could build the best stool or birdhouse.”
“I got the impression there was a bit more animosity between the two of you. You seemed quite upset when I hired him.” Sammy held her breath, wondering what he would say.
“I’m sorry about that,” came his genuine reply. Lowry’s drooping brown eyes looked into hers pleadingly. “I hope you’ll forgive me for being so unprofessional. It’s been a tough year, and I haven’t gotten nearly enough work to keep all my creditors at bay. I overreacted.”
Sammy smiled, starting to feel that her life wasn’t in danger with this man around. “It’s all right. I understand. We all have our days.”
He pointed at the bathroom doorway. “I can have that trim put up for you in no time. There are a few things I would’ve done differently with the remodel, but I don’t think any of it is a big enough deal to worry about. Do you have anything else you need me to do?”
Mr. Lowry was really trying to be kind to her, and Sammy wished she did have more work for him, but the truth was that Woodland had fairly well taken care of all of it. “Honestly, no. But I’ll be sure to keep your card in case we need anything in the future.”
“Thanks. I’ll get this taken care of right now.” He picked up the pieces of trim where they were propped up near the wall and set them in place to see how they fit.
Sammy’s phone rang. “Excuse me a moment.” She stepped into the office to answer.
“Ms. Baker, this is Beau Jackson from Jackson and Sons Contracting in Oak Grove. I understand you might be needing our services.”
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, praying for patience. “I can’t say that I do, I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure? I heard about what happened to Woodland, and I know he was working for you. That must’ve cut the job short, and he had quite the reputation for not finishing his jobs.”
Sammy could see Ken from where she stood, finishing up the trim. “Everything is taken care of, but thank you.”
The man on the other end of the line sighed. “If you’re sure. But I’m more than happy to come take a look at the place. There might be some things that still need to be done that you aren’t aware of.”
“With all due respect, I’ve got it figured out. But thanks again.” She made a few polite excuses and hung up, feeling irritated.
“All done,” Lowry announced as she came out of the office.
“What do I owe you?”
He shook his head. “Not a thing. This didn’t take much time, and I’m sure I owed Harold a favor anyway. I wish you the best of luck with this place. It’ll be a good thing for our town.”
As he walked out the door, Rob Hewitt walked in. “Hey, Sammy. I saw your car and that guy’s van out front. What’s going on?”
She briefly explained the situation, but only the part about getting the trim finished. He didn’t need to know about her list of suspected killers. “And I just had a call from Jackson and Sons. I feel like I should be happy that we have people willing to step in, but I can’t help but feel like they’re just trying to take advantage of the situation.”
Rob nodded. “I’m sure, at least in some way, they are. Everyone knows about the grant we got, and it probably sounds like a lot of money to anyone who hasn’t tried to start up a business. They want to get a piece of the pie, so to speak, and things are a little tight for everyone around here lately. I should know, considering quite a few of my clients are behind on making their payments.”
Thi
s caught her off-guard. “You let them make payments to you?” Rob was a very prominent attorney, and he handled all the biggest cases. Sammy hadn’t imagined that he would run his business like that.
“Of course. If I didn’t, they’d never be able to pay me at all. That wouldn’t be very good business, especially not in a place like Sunny Cove.”
Sammy smiled. She’d definitely misjudged Rob when she’d first come back to town. He was a much kinder, more generous man than she’d thought. Still, the sheriff’s suspicions about the two of them were way off. She liked him as a friend, but she knew they were completely different people. “Do you think we’ll ever get to open?”
“Oh yeah. Just give it a little time. Let Jones and his boys get this whole thing cleared up, and then we can get back on track. I don’t mean to sound cold about it, but we also can’t let this get in the way of what we want to do here. There are a lot of people counting on us.”
Sammy thought of Austin and how disappointed he’d been when he’d found out they couldn’t have the opening party and that he couldn’t get started on his new job right away. She’d sent him home with two big boxes of the cookies he’d helped to make, but that wasn’t the same for him. “You’re right. There are. I just wish there was something we could do right now to help things along.”
Rob bobbed his head in agreement. “I do, too, but I think we just have to stand back and wait for the moment.”
8
A Pint of Patience
The weather was rainy and miserable again the next day, and it affected business at Just Like Grandma’s. A few people came in to get a bowl of soup or a cup of coffee to warm up, but those who did stop in didn’t stay long or get very chatty. They pulled on their raincoats and trudged back out the door, ducking into doorways and diving into their cars to get away from the wetness. Small rivers had formed in the gutters, and the only people who seemed to enjoy the weather were small children in rubber boots.
Sammy had been eager for a distraction the first few days after Harold’s death, but today she was glad for the relief. She was completely exhausted. She’d been emotionally wrung out from trying to open Sunny Cove Services and finding the contractor’s body, and it hadn’t helped that she’d been staying up far too late at night while she thought about her list. She’d crossed off Ken Lowry and Julia Richardson, but she knew there was still work to do. Several times, Sammy had considered calling Sheriff Jones to ask him if they’d discovered any more about the note, but she’d stopped herself. He would let her know if they found anything important. Wouldn’t he?
The lunch rush wasn’t much of a rush at all, but it brought in a man who looked vaguely familiar to Sammy. He had dark hair and a muscular build, and he sat alone at the counter to scarf down a burger and fries.
“You look down,” she said as she refilled his iced tea. Helen often made conversation with the customers, and Sammy had come to realize this was not only good business but quite fun. She like chatting with both strangers and the locals she’d come to know. “If Johnny botched your burger, I’d be happy to have him make a new one.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’m just out of work right now.” He picked up a French fry and lazily poked his ketchup with it.
“I’ve heard that a lot around town lately. Oh, wait. You worked for Harold Woodland, didn’t you?” The words came out before she had a chance to think about them, since that might not have been the smartest thing to say. “Garrett, right?”
He lifted his eyebrows for a moment, as if to say his identity wasn’t anything to get excited about. “That’s me.”
“I’m very sorry about what happened to your boss. Can’t you get work with one of the other contractors in town?”
Garrett sighed. “Not too likely. I don’t think they have any work for me, and they wouldn’t want me anyway.”
“That’s not a very positive attitude to have about it. Why wouldn’t they want you?” Sammy always felt the need to help others, even if it was just discussing their problems with them. It shouldn’t affect her at all if this guy didn’t have a job, but she didn’t like to think that anyone might be sad.
“It’s a long story, and I won’t go into it.”
“I would think your time with Mr. Woodland would mean something.”
He glared at her for a moment before looking down at his plate again. “Not likely.”
“So what are you going to do?” she pressed.
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to get out of this tiny town and head to a bigger city, one with more opportunities and where people don’t know me so well.” He pulled a few bills and put them on the counter. “Thanks for lunch.”
Sammy wanted to call him back and tell him she would help him find a place. It deeply bothered her to see someone so down in the dumps, and she wanted to do something about it. But as she watched him slink off to his car, which was parked along the street in front of the diner, she could see that he was serious about leaving town. His vehicle was packed to the gills, the windows blocked by boxes and bags. Garrett had already gathered all of his belongings, and he was ready to get out of Sunny Cove.
She sighed. He probably wasn’t the first person to get tired of small-town life and decide there was something better for him elsewhere. But Garrett had been one of the suspects on her list after the way Harold had treated him.
If he was leaving town, then Sheriff Jones should probably know. But Sammy didn’t have any definitive evidence that he’d done anything wrong, and she’d better have some solid proof if she was going to let him know that she was pursuing this case. Even though the sheriff had sat down and gone over his list with her, he had insisted that she leave the investigating up to him. Sammy sighed. She would have to wait.
“I don’t think he’s your type,” Helen said over her shoulder.
“What?” Sammy turned to look at her boss.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you staring at someone that hard,” Helen said with a wink.
Sammy laughed. “No, nothing like that. I was just thinking.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with Harold Woodland, does it? I mean, I’m sure Alfie doesn’t want you sniffing around his case.” She raised an eyebrow as she picked up Garrett’s plate.
“He says that, but if it’s true, then maybe he needs to work his cases a little harder.” Sammy hadn’t confronted her boss about letting the sheriff into the diner the other night, but she wasn’t sure she was going to. It’d been fun to sit down with Jones and talk about the suspects, and she’d needed the company more than she’d realized.
“Maybe he should. Who’s next on your list?”
Sammy followed Helen to the kitchen, wondering how much Jones had told his former neighbor. “Who says I have a list?”
The older woman laughed as she rinsed the plate. “Oh, honey. Don’t you think I know you better than that? In fact, I think just about everyone knows you better than that.”
“All right, then. I do have a few people I’d like to talk to about the matter.”
Helen patted her shoulder. “I’d like to tell you that you should listen to Alfie and leave this matter alone, and that it’s no place for a woman. Not because I really feel that way, but because I don’t want you getting yourself into trouble. Still, I know I can’t stop you from doing anything you’ve set your mind to. Just be careful, all right?”
Sammy nodded. “I will,” she promised. “You want to be the Watson to my Sherlock? You know a lot of people in this town, and far better than I do.”
“I think I’ll pass this time. I’m tired and I’m ready to go put my feet up and catch up on my soaps. Besides, I know the case is in good hands.” She headed back out to the dining floor.
“Is it?” Sammy mused to herself. She shifted her weight on her feet, considering whether or not she should call Jones. If the note had proven to be a suicide note, then there was no point in Sammy pursuing this mystery. It would mean there really wasn’t a mystery at al
l, and all of her efforts would just be a waste of time.
She needed to do something, and there was one thing she was very good at. Sammy got out the flour and the butter and started baking.
9
One Quart of Understanding
The rain had stopped, but the puddles that had gathered on the sidewalks had yet to dissipate. The air was cold and humid, and Sammy hunched her shoulders up around her neck as she loaded up her SUV. She thought of her grandmother as she bundled the packages into the back of the vehicle, wondering if that was where she’d gotten her knack for food. Grandma Beaumont had always been so eager to feed anyone who was at her house, even if they didn’t plan to stay for very long. The scent of fresh cookies or bread constantly hung in the air, and she insisted that her guests come in to sit down.
While her grandma didn’t get out of the house much in her old age, the one thing she did do was take food to those who’d been through rough times. When the Marshalls had lost their home to a fire, Grandma B had tracked them down at a nearby hotel and brought them a large casserole and a cake. When someone she went to church with lost a family member, Grandma headed to the kitchen before doing anything else. She supplied all the grieving and downtrodden with nourishment.
Sammy had questioned this once when she was about thirteen. “A pie isn’t going to bring Mr. Reynolds back from the dead,” she’d sassed from the breakfast bar.
Grandma had raised one gray eyebrow, looking like she was ready to pop Sammy’s cheek for such impertinence. Instead, she leaned heavily on the counter and took her granddaughter’s hand. “Of course, it won’t. I don’t for a moment deceive myself that it will. But it might make them feel a little better to know that I’m thinking about them and praying for them. At the very least, Mrs. Reynolds won’t have to worry about cooking while she’s mourning her husband. You’ll understand it when you’re older.”
