Fruit Basket Upset: A Taylor Quinn Quilt Shop Mystery

by Tess Rothery

  Taylor pictured her grandmother hounding her business class students and didn’t doubt at all that she’d been good at getting answers from people.

  “She doesn’t think Jack Groening killed Molly.” Taylor warmed her hands on the mug.

  “Who’s Jack Groening?” Grandma Quinny’s question was clipped, like she had been surprised.

  “The um, man Molly was seeing. A friend of Coco’s boyfriend Robert. Did you know this Robert is paying for Coco’s college?”

  “Coco’s boyfriend Robert, you say?” Grandma Quinny sucked her bottom lip. College, usually a word that her grandma latched onto and didn’t let go of, seemed to have gone over her head. “Robert…” She drummed her fingers on the table.

  “Yeah, she said he was in his fifties and they met…online….in the fall.” Taylor sanitized Coco’s actual admission.

  “Dirty old dog. I swear. I wonder if Evelyn knows.” Grandma picked her cup up and wandered from the summer kitchen to the hall that connected it to the rest of the house.

  Taylor followed her, but Grandma Quinny grabbed a cell phone from the table in the breakfast nook and then went upstairs.

  Maybe the trip to the farm had been worth it for learning more about Molly’s sugar daddy Jack, but Taylor was dissatisfied. She wanted more. She took herself back to her guest room and settled in with her phone. The only way to get the info she was after was to learn as much as she could and come up with the right questions. Preparation and persistence. She knew she could do this. She’d done it before. Her thigh ached from the last trip up the stairs. She’d done it before and suffered the consequences. But Owen Brown, the jealous ex-lover turned serial killer, was awaiting his trial and would spend the rest of his life off the streets where he couldn’t murder anyone else. So whatever aches and pains she had now, and whether they were psychosomatic or not, had been worth it.

  Evelyn Jessup had a lot of explaining to do. To toss around her brother-in-law’s name like he wasn’t the nasty old man corrupting Ingrid Quinn’s great niece was unfathomable.

  As she’d just said to her granddaughter Taylor, trying to get answers out of Coco had made her feel as though she’d lost her touch. In the old days…but she didn’t have time to reminisce right now. She was on her way to see Evelyn again. She would smile and be sweet right now because, though she could have skinned the woman alive, she wasn’t after her. She was after her brother-in-law Robert.

  The Yarnery was chockablock full of women knitting and gossiping. Ingrid Quinn knew it was gossip because it got so very quiet as soon as she stepped in. “Is Evelyn around?” she asked the group in general.

  Her own daughter Susan piped up, “Mom!” She hustled to her feet and a ball of yarn rolled away from her.

  Lorraine Love who ran the Flour Mill Museum nudged it back with the toe of her shiny black clog.

  “Mom, what do you need? Evelyn will be right back. I’m sure. She was just getting another tray of cookies. Did you mean to come today? We’re working on afghans for the winter overflow shelters.”

  “Bit late for that, isn’t it? It’s March already.” Ingrid’s brows were pulled tight as she scanned the room. Most of the women her age and half of the ones who were the age of her kids seemed to have gathered with their colorful yarn. Knitters clacked their needles and crocheters spilled row after row from their hooks. “I’ll wait.” She crossed her arms and forced a smile.

  It was only a moment before Evelyn returned, skinny arms laden with a cookie filled tray. “Oh! Ingrid. Nice to see you again. Did you bring something to work on? They were especially asking for lap rugs. Easier to keep clean but still warm.”

  “No, I came hoping we could have a little word.”

  Evelyn set the tray of store-bought cookies on a lace covered table. “Why don’t we come around here.” Evelyn led Ingrid to a private corner near the back of the store.

  The volume in the other room indicated the women had resumed their previous activity. “How can I help you?”

  “I need to get in touch with Robert.” Ingrid fought to keep a calm, quiet tone in her voice. “Can you help?”

  Evelyn laughed in relief. “Oh! I thought something was wrong. He’s likely at work today. Not retired yet, though I tell him over and over again he ought to be.”

  “He’s retirement age?” Ingrid was disgusted at him telling poor Coco he was only fifty.

  Evelyn smiled fondly. “He’ll be sixty in a year, but he could afford to retire if he wanted. Not like me, crazy as I am opening a store at my age.”

  Ingrid nodded, basically dismissing the digression. “Do you suggest I contact him at work?”

  “You might as well call. His assistant will make sure he gets the message. I’m sure you’re worried to death about the murder. I was surprised you didn’t ask for how to get ahold of him when we spoke yesterday.”

  “Indeed. Where is it he works again?”

  Evelyn lifted an eyebrow. “At Jessup’s, darling, like always.” Jessup’s was the family business. Even as a busybody who liked business, Ingrid had never really understood what it was they did. Investments, yes, but no one she knew used his services. She had always assumed there was something shady about it. Possibly something along the lines of those subprime mortgage investments that had caused the 2008 housing market crash. But Jessup’s had stayed strong over the last twelve years almost as though nothing had happened.

  Ingrid laughed, a forced laugh, but it was the best she could do. “Ah yes. Silly of me. Are they still based in McMinnville?”

  “Yes, and he and Charlotte still live there.”

  “Oh! I had thought they’d divorced.”

  “I don’t know where you got that idea. They are the most successful second marriage of all time. About to hit their thirtieth, well, two years from now anyway.”

  “Lovely for them.” Ingrid cleared her throat. “When you said he might know something about what Coco is doing on the internet, I suspected marriage trouble.”

  This time Evelyn laughed. “Oh goodness. That was the wrong end of the stick to grab. It’s merely that he’s been so lucky with Charlotte, he’s become a brand ambassador for the May December romance. And…” She looked around then lowered her voice. “They didn’t call it anything fancy back then, but he did put her through college. They married just as soon as she graduated. But anyway, he’s taken to suggesting his friends try out Coco’s website. And that’s why I thought you’d want to talk to him.”

  “I wish you would have been direct.” Ingrid frowned.

  Evelyn lowered her eyelids. But when she looked up, it was as though she’d gathered strength. “Ingrid, have I known you for ages and ages?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then surely you can understand why I wanted to feel you out a little before just throwing my brother-in-law and his family life at you. You can be a real dog with a bone, you know that? It’s no wonder that Taylor of yours can’t keep out of everyone’s business.”

  Ingrid bolted up like a soldier. She flung the shimmery silk of her light pashmina over her shoulder. “Well!” And with that, she stormed out.

  McMinnville wasn’t far away. Who needed to call when you could ambush instead?

  Ingrid thought better of her intention and called from the highway. She did love the Bluetooth built into her car’s dash. Even though her Prius was hardly new, it was so well equipped. The receptionist was happy to direct Ingrid’s call straight to Jack’s assistant.

  “You’re in luck,” the perky assistant said. “Robert’s lunch meeting cancelled. He was just saying now he didn’t have an excuse for a good meal. You say you’re an old friend?”

  Ingrid agreed.

  “Then let me propose he take you to lunch. It might cheer him right up. If you give me your name and number, I’ll call back as soon as I can.”

  Ingrid couldn’t ask for better. She suspected he’d see her name and say absolutely not, but hoped he’d want to see her in person to see how much trouble he might be in.


  She found the address for “Jessup Financial” and headed over. Far from being a pillar of financial strength, it was a small, single story brown building next to a rather dilapidated strip mall. She parked in the strip mall and kept her eye on the business. But the assistant called right back. “Robert’s delighted. Can you meet him at Elemental’s?”

  “Actually, I’m here now, if he doesn’t mind riding with me.”

  “Sure, that’s fine. I’ll let him know.”

  Robert Jessup met her in the small reception area of the family financial firm. It was a clean building with new carpets and freshly painted walls. The interior décor was the Italianate vineyard look that had been popular some twenty years ago, but it wasn’t faded or dirty. Just out of style.

  Similarly, Robert had been given a bit of a face lift since she had last seen him. Literally. It was a decent job, if you hadn’t known him before. He’d been smart to let his hair grow gray. It made you question if he had done his face or not.

  “Ingrid, by god. What luck! I suspect Chelsea told you I was pouting about missing a good lunch. You’ve saved my day.”

  “I’m so glad.” Ingrid knew how to coo and coax, and generally make a man feel like he was highly admired. She did her best, though she suspected it wasn’t perfect. “You might think I’m here to worry you about that poor girl on the farm.”

  He folded his hands in front of him and looked down as though for a moment of silence.

  “But I’m not. One of our investments has come to maturity and I did so hope I could work with you.”

  He looked up in surprise, both eyebrows lifted. “Well! My treat then. Let’s go to Elementals.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll drive.” Ingrid led him to her car, and he didn’t argue.

  Chapter Eight

  Elementals Brew had the casual elegance of an Oregon Brew Pub. Quality hand hewn wood tables, brass light fixtures, highly polished concrete floors, and cowboy boots with jeans under the table. Hamburgers with toppings like roasted beet and peanut butter as well as beer that hadn’t traveled off the property from the moment it was conceived of till it was pulled from the tap. The fact that it was a brew pub made ordering a beer in the middle of a workday seem respectable. And that made the rest of her plans easier.

  She knew she needed him to loosen up. A little bit looser than one beer would be best.

  She patted the side of her large purse. The full bottle of an unflavored cough syrup that she favored rested in the side pocket. Once, many moons ago, her darling Angus had gotten himself more than a little loopy taking swigs of the stuff for a cough.

  Shortly after Robert had sucked the foam off the top of his stout, his phone rang. “Will you excuse me?” He looked sincerely sorry to step away from the table.

  “Don’t mind me.” She took a demure sip of her peach sour. This was her chance, her only chance, to dose up his drink. It had to be just enough. If he even suspected she’d tried to over-the-counter roofie him she was toast. That was a crime with a serious punishment. Being a grandma wouldn’t get her out of this trouble.

  She glanced around the room, but no one was paying attention to the gray-haired woman in the booth at the back. She twisted the lid off her medicine with a shaking hand but took a moment to steady herself before moving any further. This would be worth it.

  Even if she got caught.

  “Everything okay over here?” the chirpy voice of their server asked.

  Ingrid twisted the bottle shut. “We’re just fine. Thanks.” She smiled brightly at the girl. But left the bottle in her purse.

  The girl nodded and went on her way.

  A moment later, Robert was back, and the opportunity had passed. “My apologies. When money talks, I listen.” He chuckled as if his joke was funny and sat down.

  “Oh, I only sent the waitress away twice, nothing to worry about.”

  He laughed with the kind of bark that made heads turn, and for a moment, Ingrid’s heart stopped. But no one looked. Just two old folks in the pub. Nothing to see here. And anyway, it wasn’t a crime to carry cough syrup in your purse.

  The server came back, they ordered their lunches, and they chatted about nothing while they ate, but soon Robert’s beer was empty, and his posture a little looser. “You’re still driving, right?” he asked as he waved the server down.

  “Can I get you another?” the friendly server in the black polo asked.

  “Yes, please!” His face was flushed.

  “Sure enough.” The waitress lifted an eyebrow at Ingrid.

  “I’m driving, it’s no worry,” she reassured the waitress.

  “One beer, Ingrid. One beer. When did we get this old?”

  Ingrid let out a slow throaty laugh.

  “It’s the Zelapar. Charlotte won’t let me drink. But business isn’t great and none of the other meds worked to get me out of the dumps. But one beer.” He shook his head again. “And you’re letting me have two. You’re a nice lady.”

  The waitress returned with his second pint. She assessed him as she set it down, then shrugged. It was just a second beer, after all.

  “You’re just a child.” Ingrid sipped her own drink, glad she’d asked for a virgin.

  “Nah…. nah. Used to be though, right?” He took a long swallow of his beer, set the glass down, pushed it forward and looked at it in admiration. “This is my first drink of the year. And it’s March fifth.”

  Ingrid’s stomach clenched. How had she lucked into this? She couldn’t have planned this better if she tried. Now she had to hope he wouldn’t pass out. She just needed all of his inhibitions down so she could get him to answer questions he’d otherwise have dodged. “I don’t see that youth is much of a boon to men. Not really. Experience and money are what really matters.”

  He leaned forward, his elbow thumping the table as he did so, and poked a finger at her. “You are so right. Money and Experience.”

  “And you have both in spades.”

  “That’s right. And people respect that. Real respect, you know? Got an award from the city just last year.”

  “Well done, Robert,” she almost rolled her R as she said his name. “You never did have trouble impressing people. Family, business, women. Everyone has always looked up to you.”

  “I worked for it.” He pulled himself back up to sitting, but his elbow seemed cemented to the table. “I worked for it, and it shows.”

  “Like a body builder.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Charlotte was impressed. Back when she was just a girl, and now too.”

  “That’s right.” His eyelids drooped, and his smile softened. “My girl Charlotte. Lucky, me, right?”

  “And generous you too. Didn’t you put her through college before she married you?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “She was just a kid when she fell for you.”

  “Money and….” He stared into the distance.

  “Experience,” Ingrid supplied. He was like putty, really. Malleable. She felt like she could sculpt him into anything right now.

  “Experience,” he repeated. “Silly kid. I wasn’t much older than her back then. Not even ten years, but the way she looked at me.”

  “Felt nice, didn’t it?”

  He picked up that second beer and finished it off. “Best feeling in the world. Especially after Margot left.”

  “I remember Margot. She was young when you married her, wasn’t she?” Ingrid asked.

  “We were babies, fresh out of high school.”

  “And Charlotte? Fresh out of high school when you started dating?”

  He hummed in satisfaction. “Such a treat she was too.”

  “Not so much fun now that she’s fifty, I guess.” Ingrid asked.

  “Charlotte will always be my baby doll.” He leaned on his fist. His eyes were already getting sleepy. Though he was clearly experiencing the interaction of his anti-depressant and alcohol on both an empty stomach and a system that hadn’t had a drin
k in a while, he seemed deeply sincere. It shook Ingrid for a moment. Then again, he could still love his wife, and also love the company of very young women.

  “Fifty was a long time ago for me.” Ingrid waved her diamond-clad hand elegantly. “She is a baby girl. Younger than some of my children.”

  “That’s right.” He gave her a sloppy nod. “You know, I wanted to take that Laura out. She was a pretty kid.”

  “Yes, Laura was always a beauty. It’s no wonder she and my son married as young as they did. Eighteen. But then, that’s just about right, isn’t it?”

  He made that satisfied hum again. “Nothing like it. Youth, beauty, confidence…” His words were a little blurry.

  She had to work hard not to cringe, but she was running out of time. If he lost the plot entirely, it would have been a wasted trip.

  “Harder to meet eighteen-year-olds nowadays, isn’t it, Robert?”

  “Nah. Easier.” He nodded. Then paused and looked around the restaurant. “You’ve caught me a little indiscreet, haven’t you?” He chuckled low.

  “I won’t tell Charlotte. A man can’t help admiring people, can he?”

  “Never met a more understanding woman than you, Ingrid. You’re as good as a teenager any day of the week. Always have been.”

  Ingrid dipped forward, resting her cheek on her hand. “How old was Coco when you first took her out?”

  He shook his head slowly back and forth. “There’s a pretty girl for you. Coco, Coco, Coco. She’s a treat.”

  “Eighteen is a lovely age, as it’s legal. But anything younger, even a day younger…that’s not legal, Robert.” She kept her face slightly tilted and her voice soft. He wouldn’t know what had hit him, if she could help it.

  “Ahh. Age is just a number, though. Right?”

  “Not to the police it’s not. So…how old was she?”

  Robert frowned. “Coco…. Coco’s your great niece, isn’t she?” He reached for his napkin and fumbled with it as though he couldn’t remember what you used them for.