Killer Words

by V. M. Burns

  “Nothing. I just wondered if you could find out from the tribal council how far she was in debt.”

  “You think Sharon killed John?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. We have to investigate everyone that might have had a motive. This is just one of the lines of inquiry we’re following. I doubt that the Pontoloma Tribal Council would provide that information if I asked, so I thought as John’s wife, maybe you . . .”

  “I see. Well, I suppose I could ask. Although John was the enrolled member of the Pontolomas, not me.”

  “What’s an enrolled member?”

  “Technically, anyone can claim an identity as a Native American, or any other ethnicity for that matter. My great-grandmother was Irish. So, technically, I can identify as Irish. However, recognized tribes like the Pontolomas, the Lakota, and the Apache have been granted special privileges and rights. To ensure that everyone doesn’t claim to be a Pontoloma just so they can benefit from those rights, recognized tribes have an enrollment process.”

  “That’s fascinating. What’s involved in becoming an enrolled member?”

  “Each tribe establishes their unique criteria for membership based on shared customs, traditions, language, and tribal blood. However, two common criteria are lineal descendants from the tribe’s original membership and tribal blood. So, if you could prove you’re a direct descendant of Geronimo, Sacajawea, or Crazy Horse, then chances are good you’re going to meet the criteria to be an enrolled member.”

  “Fascinating.”

  She shrugged. “I guess. John was very proud of his Native American roots. Are you sure getting this information will help to find John’s killer?”

  “I can’t see that there’s a direct correlation, but we’ve found that once we get all of the evidence, that usually helps us figure out whodunit.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll go and see if they’ll give it to me.” She pulled her purse on her shoulder. “Is there anything else? Do you want me to come back here?”

  “No, I can swing by your house later. We’re also planning a going-away party for my mom, and I need to pick up some decorations.”

  I could see from the look on her face that I’d slipped about fifteen slots down in her esteem for my sleuthing ability.

  She left, and I found myself breathing a sigh of relief. The last thing we needed was a vengeful wife looking for retribution in the middle of our investigation.

  I felt guilty about taking up too much of Frank’s time, so rather than meeting at his restaurant, we had arranged to meet here. I ordered a gallon of soup, sandwiches, and a gallon of tea from his restaurant online. That way, I could pay online and not have to argue with Frank, who was overly generous when it came to supporting me and my family.

  Dawson said he’d pick up the food for us, but I was shocked when Nana Jo said she was going with him. Apparently, she planned to have it out with Frank about the bill for the party food. Frank refused to give us a bill and wanted to provide the food free of charge for my mom and Harold. However, Nana Jo was having none of it. She marched down to his restaurant with Dawson. I’m not sure what she said, but she came back with a price quote.

  I sent Frank a text to see if he was okay. His response put a smile on my face.

  “What are you grinning about?” Nana Jo asked.

  “Did you really threaten to put Frank over your knee and spank him?”

  “I did. Crazy fool winked at me and said he might enjoy it. I thought I was going to have to hog-tie him.” She chuckled. “It won’t be the first time, but he came to his senses and wrote a quote.”

  By teatime, everyone had arrived, and we piled into the conference room that was in the back of the bookstore. Dawson arranged the sandwiches on a two-tiered plate along with tea cookies.

  “When did you have time to make tea cookies?” I asked. “I thought you were baking a cake?”

  “I’m practicing.”

  I popped one of the tea cookies into my mouth and moaned as it dissolved on my tongue. “Hmmm, these are delicious.”

  Nana Jo munched. “What are these things?”

  “Russian tea cookies. The other day, Christopher and I were talking about Mrs. W.’s book launch party, and he suggested we have a tea-themed party with tea cookies, pastries, and tea sandwiches. You know, like a traditional British tea, like you had when you were in England. He thought since your books are British historical mysteries, that we could use that as a theme.”

  I reached over and pulled him into a hug. “That is so nice. I hadn’t even thought about my release party. I think British tea is an excellent idea.”

  He smiled. “Great. I’ve got some time, but Christopher is really good with marketing, and he has tons of ideas.” He halted. “I hope it wasn’t supposed to be a secret.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t meant to be. After all, I will need to be there for it.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Dawson stayed a few minutes longer but then hurried back to take care of customers so we could get our meeting started.

  Nana Jo sat at the head of the table. She pulled out her iPad and looked around the room. “Does anyone want to volunteer to go first?”

  I raised my hand and filled everyone in on what I’d learned from Detective Pitt and also that Mildred Cloverton was going to the casino to see if she could get some data on how much Sharon Carpenter really owed. I also warned them that Mildred wanted to help, but I wasn’t sure that was the best idea.

  “Don’t you trust her?” Dorothy asked.

  “I don’t know, I guess I’ve been more worried that she might take justice into her own hands.”

  We discussed it, and the general consensus was that I should trust my instincts. After that, Ruby Mae looked up from her knitting. “If no one else wants to go, then I’ll go.” She looked around, but no one else was itching to report. “Abigail told me that she got questioned by one of the members of the city council. Apparently, all of the publicity has the council asking a lot of questions. They’re in the middle of auditing the chief of police’s books.”

  “Wow!” Dorothy said. “Have they found anything?”

  Ruby Mae leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Abigail says the councilman who questioned her implied that they were going to be getting a lawyer. They’ve been working with someone from the governor’s office. It sounds like the governor is going to send down someone from the Auditor General’s office and maybe even the reserves to maintain law and order in case the chief is removed from office.”

  “John Cloverton sure opened a can of worms,” Nana Jo said.

  We discussed this bombshell a bit more, but when the comments slowed down, Irma raised her hand. “I went out with Smithy last night. He’s a real hands-on instructor, let me tell you.”

  Nana Jo rolled her eyes, and I think I heard Dorothy groan.

  Irma reapplied her lipstick before she continued. “He didn’t have much to add to what I’ve already told you, except that he thinks Chastity Drummond is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

  “Because of Cloverton’s murder?”

  “I guess. He said she has memory lapses, and he’s worried about her. She has large blocks of time that she can’t account for. She was a very promising student, but her grades have slipped. He tried to get her to see a doctor, but she’s refused. He’s going to talk to a medical professional because he’s afraid she’ll harm herself.”

  “That’s bad,” Ruby Mae said. “That poor girl. I sure hope someone gets help for her.”

  “That’s all I know. We’re going out again tonight, so if there’s any more news, I’ll do my best to work it out of him.”

  Nana Jo mumbled, “I’ll bet you will.”

  “I guess that just leaves me,” Dorothy said. “I didn’t find out much today. I talked to a friend who worked at an antique store. I described the items that your mom mentioned had been pawned. According to my friend, those items might have been extremely valuable.”

  “How valuable?” I
asked.

  “Now, she gave all types of disclaimers. She hadn’t seen the items in person. They could be fake. Yada yada. So, I reached out to Grace to see if her friend had any details that might help identify the items. It turns out, she had taken pictures of them because she was going to have them insured.”

  “You mean they weren’t insured?” Ruby Mae asked.

  Dorothy shook her head. “Based on the pictures and if the items really were from companies like Tiffany and Company and S.T. Dupont, and if they really are vintage, then the emerald earrings could have been as much as fifty thousand dollars.”

  Nana Jo whistled.

  Dorothy read from a list she pulled from her purse. “The glass dish was fifteen thousand, and the silver lighter could have been worth around five thousand dollars.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” Nana Jo said. “I’m sure a pawnshop wouldn’t have given top dollar for the stuff, but surely Sharon Carpenter hadn’t racked up debts to the casino in excess of that?”

  “Hopefully, Mildred is able to get the number,” I said, “but . . .”

  “But what?” Nana Jo asked.

  “If her debt wasn’t that high, then why was she still making payments to the casino?”

  By the time our meeting was finished, I had more questions than answers. My brain was swirling around like a washing machine, and I needed to steady things. I relieved Dawson from store duty so he could bake. The routine of the store helped settle my brain a bit.

  At closing time, my guilt sent me to the party store to pick up decorations. Initially, I started to buy some generic items that would have been appropriate for a birthday, anniversary, or retirement party. However, when I wandered down the children’s party aisle I found some really colorful Australia-themed decorations that included pin-up koala bears. Torn between fun and practical, I chose both and walked out spending twice as much as I had originally intended, and I still needed to get a gift.

  I swung by Mildred Cloverton’s gingerbread house on my way home. She opened the door and said, “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

  Inside, I braced myself against sensory overload. I glanced around her overcrowded room with knickknacks on every flat surface. “I’m sorry. I had to wait until the store closed, and then it took longer than expected at the party store.” I forced my voice to maintain a friendly, pleasant tone despite the fact that I felt like I was being interrogated.

  I must not have been as good at hiding my emotions as I thought, because she immediately flipped a switch. Suddenly she was all smiles and pleasantness. “I’m sorry. I just want to help so badly, and well . . . you understand, don’t you?”

  Actually, I didn’t, but I figured her question was rhetorical, so I ignored it. I glanced around, looking for a distraction, and my eyes bounced around from one knickknack to another. “What a fascinating home you have and so many amazing. . . heirlooms.”

  “Thank you. I collect Victorian antiques that go with the house.”

  “Hmm, I don’t see any Native American influence. Was your husband into decorating?”

  “John and I both liked nice things. Frankly, I wasn’t interested in ethnic arts and crafts.”

  That got my back up. “I’m not an art expert, but I have seen some really amazing Native American artwork. A few years ago, my late husband and I attended an exhibition of Native American art and sculpture at MISU. It was breathtaking, and the last time I went to the Four Feathers I was astonished by a wood carving that looked as though it belonged in a museum. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She shrugged. “I’m just not into that . . . type of stuff.”

  Mildred’s face indicated that anything that wasn’t Victorian and expensive was beneath her, and I found it hard to look at her. I turned away. “Well, I should probably be on my way. Do you have the printout about Sharon Carpenter?”

  “I thought we could have tea and talk. I want to know if you’ve found out anything else in your investigation?”

  “I’m sorry, but I really can’t stay. My mom is moving to Australia, and we’re planning a going-away party.”

  Mildred didn’t try to hide her disappointment as she headed toward the kitchen. “It’s just in here.”

  I waited in the living room. In the corner of the room was a triangular curio cabinet that was built into the wall. I sidestepped an ottoman, a coffee table, and a floor lamp to get a better look. In the cabinet were some of Mildred’s collectibles. One shelf held pocket watches, glass dishes, and music boxes. Another shelf was crammed full of old-fashioned black-and-white photos, while yet another held ivory letter openers, lighters, pipes, and tobacco tins. I felt uneasy and turned to find Mildred staring at me. “You have some amazing things. Oh, is that it?” I extended my hand.

  Mildred gave me a hard stare but handed me the paper.

  I took a moment and glanced at it and then folded the paper and put it in my purse. I smiled. “Thank you. I’ll look it over more closely later, but now I’d better get home.”

  Mildred stepped back, and I sidestepped her along with the other large pieces of furniture crammed into the room to get to the door.

  I opened the door but turned around to ask, “When is the funeral service?”

  “Tomorrow at four.” She mentioned a prominent South Harbor funeral home.

  “If I can get someone to watch the store, I’ll be there.” I turned to leave. “Thank you so much.”

  Outside, I took a deep breath. I felt like I’d just been enclosed in a closet and was finally able to escape the claustrophobic monument to Victorian excess.

  When I got home, I could smell the wonderful aroma of cake as soon as I opened the door. Dawson’s exams were over, and he was excited to try some new technique he’d researched. There was a multitiered cake on my kitchen counter and multiple bowls of icing that he was experimenting with by making various designs.

  I stared at a plate that held something brown that resembled what the poodles might have left outside. I raised a brow and stared. “What exactly . . . ?”

  Dawson shook his head. “My first attempt at making a koala. I can’t seem to get the color right. They’re more gray than brown.”

  He looked stressed, and I didn’t want to bother him. So, I dumped my bags on the sofa and made my way to my bedroom. My brain was churning. Something flitted around in my head, but I didn’t know what it was or how to get it. I decided writing might help me sort through my brain clutter.

  Thompkins entered the large kitchen. He couldn’t help but compare it to the one at the Marsh estate, Wickfield Lodge. Even though the kitchen at Chequers was slightly larger, he noted that the Marshes’ kitchen had been modernized with the latest equipment to make the servants’ workload as easy as possible. The most recent addition was a modern icebox that worked without ice and the new cast-iron AGA stove, which Mrs. Anderson had initially railed against but now loved more than anything. The Marshes had even upgraded the entire mansion’s plumbing and installed a telephone. Change was always tricky, but the new additions made working at Wickfield Lodge a pleasure.

  Mrs. Ridley, the housekeeper Thompkins engaged on the duke’s behalf, was a local woman. She was a widow. After her husband’s sudden death, she found herself in need of money and was only suited for domestic service. This was one of her first positions as a housekeeper, and she was still a bit rough around the edges. When he entered the room, she stood. Thompkins’s lips twitched at the thought of how the Marshes’ housekeeper, Mrs. McDuffie, would react to seeing that. “Please, don’t trouble yourself with formality.”

  Thompkins was prim and proper and believed in tradition and protocol, but over the years he’d learned to relax a bit and found that the staff was more open to sharing information when they were more at ease, and information was what he sought.

  “Please, sit down. I’m hoping you could assist me with something.”

  Mrs. Ridley was a mature woman with curly gray hair, dark eyes, and a kind mouth. �
�Yes, sir. I’ll be happy to help with anything I can.”

  “I was wondering what you could tell me about the area and the people here.” Thompkins smiled. “You see, Lord William and Lady Elizabeth raised their nieces as their own daughters. So, naturally, they are anxious for her safety, and I’m afraid they’ve heard some alarming tales about lunatics running wild and killing people in the village.”

  Mrs. Ridley gave a broad smile. “Pshaw. You tell her ladyship there’s no cause to worry. I’ve lived in Buckinghamshire my entire life, and I can tell you, it’s a peaceful enough place.”

  The teakettle whistled, and she rose to get it. She brought a cup to the butler. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  She poured the tea and then brought over a plate covered with a tea towel. “I made a seed cake, and it’s right tasty if I do say so myself.”

  When she was finished providing tea and cake, she sat. “I’ve lived here my entire life and never a safer place in all of England, but I do say there have been some strange goings-on since those young people started going over to The Park. My son, Errol, works there. He’s head groundskeeper,” she said with pride.

  “I didn’t know that. Congratulations.”

  She smiled. “Well, Errol tells me that it’s just a lot of young folks working and having fun. He says there’s nothing to be worried about. Some of the women . . . well, they come from the best families in England. My neighbor, Mrs. Hastings, she showed me the letter her boarder provided and the references.” She shook her head. “Lady this and Duchess that, why, they were all members of the aristocracy, and her boarder is a lady herself. Why, I can tell you Mrs. Hastings was beside herself. She didn’t know if she should curtsy to the girl or not.” She laughed.

  “Lady Elizabeth is well acquainted with all of the best families in Britain. She is, I think, going to invite the young ladies over for tea.”

  Mrs. Ridley smiled. “Ah, that’s nice. I’ll need to make sure we do her ladyship proud. It’s a good thing I started baking the second I arrived.”