The Ashford Place

by Jean Copeland

  Belle reluctantly shook it. “I guess I can let it slide in light of the ambiguity of tonight’s theme.”

  “You’re a sport.” Ally leveled a playful punch against her arm. “By the way, before I go, do you have any nieces you forgot to mention?”

  Belle smiled coyly. “Only one. My sister’s eighteen-year-old daughter.”

  “Good to know. Well, thanks for an interesting evening,” Ally said as they walked across the creaky wood in the hall heading to the foyer. “Planning to check out the strawberry festival tomorrow?”

  “I didn’t know about it, although I certainly should have.”

  Ally stopped at the door and turned toward Belle. “It starts at noon. There’ll be music, games, vendors, and all the strawberry products you can possibly consume.” She suddenly seemed shy, with her hands in her pocket and her head tilted downward.

  Belle liked that side of her. “Someone’s coming first thing in the morning to work in the kitchen,” she said, “but I suppose I could run out for a bit.”

  “Good. Hope to see you there.”

  They stood for an awkward moment at the door. As badly as Belle wanted a good-night kiss for real, she restrained herself. The date issue remained unresolved, and the signs from Ally weren’t clear enough through their banter.

  Besides, the last thing she needed was an emotional entanglement to derail her from her original purpose. And ultimately leaving without any unnecessary drama.

  “What do you say, Red?” Belle asked the dog, who was watching them from the kitchen. “I think Deputy Yates misses you and tried to hide it by putting it on her niece.”

  “That’s not true, Red,” Ally said in a sober tone. “It’s entirely your choice. If you want to stay here and keep this out-of-towner company, I won’t mind. It’s mighty hospitable of you.”

  Belle laughed. “Red, if you want to go home with Ally, I’m okay with that. I’d rather be alone here than have your pity.”

  “He’s a loyal son of a gun,” Ally said. “He must still miss Marion.”

  “Aww, I bet he does.”

  “Although she’s been gone for years, he must find familiarity here.”

  Belle absently scratched his head. “If that’s how it is, I better add dog food to the grocery list. Right, Red?”

  He lay down on a tattered throw rug near them.

  “Thanks again,” Ally said. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Belle smiled. “I think you will.”

  She watched Ally’s car roll down the driveway and finally exhaled as it drove off.

  Not a moment too soon.

  ***

  After spending the morning watching a pair of burly contractors install a culinary island in the center of the kitchen and remove cabinet doors for sanding, Belle was ready for a bike ride to stimulate her endorphins. She needed the distraction to stop obsessing about how much money she was sinking into the house. She reminded herself that the finished product would look so fierce once she’d christened it with her creative vision, buyers would scramble to meet or exceed her asking price. By next summer, she’d be in her new home in Old Saybrook or some other picturesque coastline locale, hosting friends and family for cookouts on her own private slice of beach heaven.

  With the addition of a basket to the front of her bicycle that made her feel like Elmira Gulch, she arrived in town at the height of the strawberry-festival revelry. She propped her bike against a tree and crossed the street to Mrs. Morgan’s fruit and veggie stand.

  “What’s good today, Shirley?”

  “’Afternoon, Belle. All things strawberry and or rhubarb,” she said. “Pies, jams and preserves, and my special strawberry-rhubarb salsa. I make it with my own secret blend of spices, so don’t try to finagle the recipe of out me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Here, try some.” Shirley offered a basket of tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa.

  “Wow, this is fantastic,” Belle said, trying to prevent a piece of tortilla from escaping her lips. “I’ll take two jars. And a pie.”

  “Coming right up.” Shirley filled the cloth sack Belle handed her.

  Munching on another salsa-heaped chip, Belle glanced around at the crowd. Like a hologram postcard from the tourism department, people played cornhole, sampled festival fare, and lounged in lawn chairs as an acoustic duo harmonized their rendition of Patsy Cline’s “I’ve Got Your Picture.”

  After completing the transaction, Belle capitalized on the lull in customer traffic at Shirley’s stand.

  “So, Shirley, remember we talked the other day about Judy and Marion Ashford?”

  “Yep.”

  “What can you tell me about Judy?”

  Shirley slowly wiped her hands on a checkered hand towel.

  “I remember her being a sweet little girl. Smart and respectful. When I was dating Bob, sometimes Judy and the other girls would hang around after catechism class if I was over at the house.” She smiled as she seemed to drift back. “I was about twenty years old, so they liked talking with me about boys and how to do their hair and how to dress. You know how little girls always look up to fashionable older ones.”

  The word fashionable prompted Belle to take note of Shirley’s frumpy denim culottes, plaid blouse, and frizzy gray hair.

  “I think Judy stayed because she didn’t want to go home, you know? With her father dead, she was alone a lot of the time until her mother came home from her part-time job.”

  Shirley was repeating some of the info Belle had gleaned from her previously. Her well of knowledge didn’t appear to be as deep as Belle had hoped.

  “Are any of Judy’s childhood friends still here?”

  “’Suppose it’s possible, but I don’t think I could help you out there. I could ask Bob if he remembers any names, or you can ask him yourself. He’s over there playing cornhole.”

  “I don’t want to bother him today. But if it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you to ask him, I’d sure appreciate it.” Belle smiled and wondered why she was starting to talk like a character on The Andy Griffith Show.

  “Oh sure, honey. I do remember a boy she dated for a while. Carl, no, Craig. He was bad news, always getting into trouble for something. The Wheelers were a bad family.”

  “Bad how?”

  “You know, trashy. Bob was always going over there and breaking up some kind of row either between the father and the wife or the father and the son. He was a mean drunk, Mr. Wheeler was.”

  “Do any of them still live here?”

  “I don’t think so. When the husband went to jail, the wife finally got up the nerve to divorce him. I think I heard she took the kids out of state.”

  “Craig Wheeler.” Belle was already reviewing the plethora of online people-search options available. Hopefully, this one wasn’t dead, too. “Okay, thanks, Shirley. If your husband can remember anything about Judy’s friends, would you let me know?”

  “Sure thing. Enjoy the jams.”

  Belle strolled through the festival grounds, keeping her eye out for Ally. Although she’d had a vivid, blush-worthy dream about her the night before, Belle would vehemently argue with anyone that her motive for wanting to see Ally was purely professional.

  She happened along the cornhole tournament and noticed that light-brown uniform and a flash of sunlight reflecting off her highway-patrol sunglasses. Strolling closer, Belle shivered at the sweat glistening on Ally’s forearms. She lurked behind some spectators so she could enjoy another moment of clandestine leering.

  “Belle,” Ally shouted as she waved wildly from across the cornhole lane.

  Her cover blown, she waved back and walked toward Ally, who’d already started coming to her.

  “Don’t you ever get a day off?” she asked.

  “Someone has to keep law and order at the strawberry fest.” Ally gave her a wink. “Things have been known to get out of hand when Ethel breaks out the sassy strawberry wine from last year’s crop.”

  �
��Looks like I got here just in time.”

  “Right,” Ally said. “Besides, I like to give Bob a break whenever I can. He’s slowed down quite a bit over the last year, but he does love the cornhole.”

  Belle watched him toss the bean bag into the air as the group of young players cheered him on.

  “So, soon there’s gonna be a new sheriff in town?”

  “By next summer,” Ally said. “He said seventy-five is a good age to hang up his hat.”

  Belle let out a whistle of surprise. “If I’m still teaching freshman comp at that age, please have me put in a home.”

  “You may be a successful real estate developer by that time and not want to retire.”

  “Only if I can do business by phone from a beach chair with my feet in the water.”

  “It’s important to have goals.”

  Belle smiled at Ally’s easy way despite her commanding presence. Then she remembered…chocolate sauce. They were doing something naughty with chocolate sauce in her dream.

  “Uhhh,” she said, stalling to regain focus. “So I was told by my contractor this morning that I should see a guy named Angelo about getting a new stone patio.”

  “Oh, yeah. He does great work. Loves to bet on the ponies, but the only time that matters is during Triple Crown season. He and the wife vacation in New York for the Belmont Stakes.”

  Belle smiled.

  “What?” Ally asked innocently.

  “You’re gonna make a great sheriff.”

  “God, it’s true.” Ally covered her face in embarrassment. “I officially know everything about everyone in town.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” Belle said. “I got the name of Judy’s high school boyfriend out of Shirley.”

  “Impressive.” Ally pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. “Coincidentally, I’m gonna need a deputy next year.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. If we nail the dirtbag who molested Judy, I’ll consider sticking around.”

  “Oh?” Ally’s smile shriveled in the sun. “You weren’t planning to live here?”

  Belle suddenly felt like every bit of the infiltrator Ally’s tone suggested. “Um, no, not really, but you never know how things will work out.”

  “You might finish the house and fall in love with it.”

  “I just might,” Belle said. However, if she were to fall in love that summer, something told her it wouldn’t only be with the house.

  “Would you have a long commute to the university from here?”

  “About an hour—without traffic.”

  “Eww, that’s ugly,” Ally said. “Well, I guess I can’t blame you.”

  Was Belle wishful thinking, or did Ally seem disappointed that she wasn’t planning to be a permanent transplant?

  “Anyway,” Ally said with a more professional demeanor. “What was the name Shirley gave you?”

  “Wheeler. The boy’s name was Craig.”

  Ally pursed her lips. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “Shirley said the father was a drunk, and when he went to prison, the family moved away. I wonder if he could be our first person of interest. We have motive and opportunity.”

  Ally laughed almost condescendingly. “We have opportunity only if Judy knew the family when she was ten.”

  “She might have.”

  “And at this moment, we don’t have a motive because being an alcoholic doesn’t automatically mean someone’s a sex offender.”

  Belle rolled her eyes. “You might want to ask some of the young women around my campus about that one.”

  “Point taken, but this situation is entirely different. I know how ramped up you are about this, but you really should prepare yourself for the likely event that we’ll never find the perp or, worse, that we will find him but not have enough evidence for a conviction.”

  Belle had grown impatient with Ally’s dismissiveness. “Do you not care about what happened to Judy because she’s dead?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Ally’s eyes were volcanos on the verge of eruption.

  “I don’t know,” Belle said, suddenly feeling like a fool. “If you won’t have enough evidence even if you find the guy, why bother at all?”

  “Belle, of course I care about her. But I know how these cold cases work. I absolutely will dig around the records dungeon on Monday and also look into the Wheeler family, but I can’t make any promises about the outcome.”

  “Whatever,” Belle said dryly. “Just doing my job as a concerned citizen.”

  “I certainly appreciate that.”

  “I mean if you folks don’t mind a sociopath joining you at your ice cream socials, that’s fine with me.”

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Ashford. We’ll manage fine. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be here for long.” Ally slipped her sunglasses down over her eyes and added, “You enjoy your day now,” before heading back to the cornhole game.

  “You, too, Deputy Yates,” she yelled back.

  She trudged off, muttering to herself, “I’ll try not to get murdered so you won’t have to tear yourself away from the corndog-eating contest later.”

  After locating Angelo, the mason, and setting up an appointment for next week, she headed back to the house to check the status of the kitchen.

  She pedaled harder along the winding road, still annoyed. Ally was supposed to be a public servant, but as soon as Belle asked her to do something more involved than giving directions to the bank of Porto-lets at the festival, she couldn’t have appeared less willing to serve.

  Making matters worse was Belle’s attraction to her, which only seemed to grow stronger each time they met. That defiant attitude that infuriated her was also extremely appealing.

  Hadn’t she learned anything from the series of bad decisions she affectionately referred to as “ex-girlfriends?”

  Chapter Four

  When Belle arrived home and walked her bike up the patchy driveway, the contractors were packing their tools and depositing construction scraps into her rented refuse container.

  “All done?” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Ralph Jr. of Ralph Jr.’s General Contracting. “Go have a look.”

  Red followed them in, presumably to see if Ralph Jr. had returned his new dog-treat jar to the new counter before leaving.

  She walked into the kitchen and gasped when she saw the new culinary island and shimmering granite counters. That stylish, modern kitchen couldn’t possibly be part of the rest of the house.

  “Oh, Ralph, it’s gorgeous. And you got it done so fast without having to come back a million times.”

  “When I start a project, I make sure and see it through.” He threw his shoulders back with a smile. “So you’re pleased?”

  “Very,” she said, taking it all in.

  “Your cabinet doors are ready for you to paint. They’re still in good condition. Sturdy craftsmanship of the early nineteen-hundreds.”

  Suddenly, a spark of innovation began dancing around her mind. “Ralph, how do you feel about coming back and knocking out this wall for an open kitchen-dining-room floor plan?”

  “How’s Thursday?”

  “You’re on,” she said as she wrote him a check.

  After he left and Red received his dog cookie, Belle took her iPad out to the back porch and began her search for Craig Wheeler. The first hit was for Wheeler and Son Automotive in West Haven. He was still in the state after all.

  Without a clue as to what she’d say if he answered, she dialed the phone number and asked for Craig.

  “He’s not here on Saturdays,” the guy said. “Can I help you?”

  “Uh, no, thanks. When will he be in?”

  “Monday.”

  This is too easy, Belle thought. This dude was probably referring to the son. “Are you talking about Craig Junior or Senior?”

  “There is no junior. You want the old man or his son, Rick?”

  “The old man,” Belle said, as though he were the confused one.


  “Call back Monday then.”

  Her heart pounding, Belle ended the call and sighed with satisfaction. Finally, someone with a direct tie to Judy who wasn’t dead.

  She thought about calling Ally, if for no other reason than to gloat over her kick-ass detective skills. Then she remembered they still hadn’t exchanged cell numbers. Oh well. She’d rather see the look on Ally’s face when she threw the information in it like a pie at a carnival midway.

  ***

  Around eight o’clock Belle showered, blew dry her hair, and pulled it up in a messy bun. Although she was tired from running around all day, she was restless. As endearing as Red and his sympathetic brown eyes were, conversations with him were rather one-sided unless they involved the topic of treats. Curious to see what nighttime happenings could possibly top the orgiastic excitement of the strawberry festival, she dabbed on some lip gloss and drove into town.

  She parked her SUV and strolled along Main Street. Not surprisingly, nearly everything was closed except for the Italian restaurant and an ice cream-coffeehouse type deal.

  Maybe she’d underestimated the charm of staying at the house and drinking a bottle of cab with Red’s chin in her lap. Except she’d have to drive about a half hour to somewhere with a liquor store that kept normal business hours.

  Just as she was about to write off Saturday nights in Danville, the neon glow from an antique Bar and Grille sign and the illuminated pool cue and eight ball under it lured her like a grifter to a con.

  After ordering one of the local tap beers, she perched on a bar stool and scanned the crowd. To her surprise and delight, Ally was bent over a pool table lining up her shot. Belle hung back for a while and admired the view, using a group of young guys near her doing shooters for cover.

  For her next shot, Ally was positioned directly across from Belle, who’d strategically lowered her V-neck shirt with a tug as she attempted to strike an alluring pose. Ally cracked the cue ball against one of hers, and her eyes followed the trajectory of the cue right up to Belle.

  When Belle saw her smirk before pretending not to see her, she headed toward the pool table.

  “I guess I was wrong about this place,” Belle said.