A Wrinkle in Thyme

by Sarah Fox

  “I will,” I assured him.

  I texted Brett, and he replied right away, telling me that he was at home, letting Bentley outside. He said he’d be by to pick me up in a matter of minutes. He was true to his word. I didn’t have to wait long outside the pancake house before he drove up in his truck. Half an hour later, we pulled into the hospital’s parking lot.

  Anxiety squeezed my stomach on our way into the building. I’d assured Ivan, Leigh, and Sienna that Tommy would be fine, but until I knew that with absolute certainty, I couldn’t stop worrying.

  We asked about Tommy at the information desk and found out that he’d been admitted. That heightened my anxiety. In the elevator, Brett calmed me down a bit by pointing out that Tommy wasn’t in surgery or the intensive care unit. That meant he couldn’t be too badly off.

  Still, I couldn’t relax entirely, and my stomach twisted as we stepped off the elevator.

  We found Tommy in a room with one other patient—an elderly man who was currently asleep. I thought Tommy was sleeping too, but when we reached his bedside, he opened his eyes.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice croaky.

  “Hey,” I returned, taking his hand. I kept my voice low so we wouldn’t disturb his roommate. “How are you feeling?”

  As I asked the question, my gaze swept over him, taking in details I’d missed at the roadside. He had bruising and abrasions on his other arm, and his lips were dry and cracked. There was also a large bruise and a bright red scratch over his left cheekbone. Although he had a blanket covering him, I could tell that his left leg was in a cast.

  “I’ve been better,” he said, “but it could have been way worse.”

  “Your leg didn’t need surgery?” Brett asked.

  “Nope. Just a cast.” He managed a tired grin. “I’ll be zooming around on crutches in no time.”

  That got a smile out of me. He was probably right.

  “What about your chest?” Brett asked.

  “My lungs are all good,” Tommy said. “I’ve got three cracked ribs, though. That’s why it hurts to breathe deeply.”

  Blinking back tears, I squeezed his hand. “We’re so glad it wasn’t any worse.”

  “Hey.” He noticed the tears in my eyes and gave my hand a squeeze in return. “I’m going to be fine, Marley. I promise.”

  I nodded and tried to get my emotions under control.

  Tommy looked at both of us. “I wanted to thank you guys. If you hadn’t come looking for me, who knows how long I would have been lying in that ditch?”

  I didn’t even want to think about that. “Of course, we came looking for you.”

  This time his grin was livelier. “I figured once you realized I was missing, you wouldn’t rest until the mystery of my disappearance had been solved. I knew I could count on Wildwood Cove’s Nancy Drew.”

  “Even if I didn’t have a penchant for solving mysteries, we would have come looking for you,” I assured him.

  He squeezed my hand again. “I know. Thank you.”

  I blinked back another round of tears and cleared my throat. “What about your family? Has anyone contacted them for you?”

  “The hospital did. My parents are on their way. My sister and brother-in-law will look after the restaurant for a few days.”

  Tommy’s parents owned a Korean restaurant in Seattle. That’s where he’d learned to cook.

  With his free hand, Tommy reached for the plastic cup of ice water on the bedside table. Brett grabbed it and handed it to him. Tommy took a long sip through the straw before passing it back to Brett. Once the cup was back on the bedside table, I couldn’t wait any longer to ask my next question.

  “What happened, Tommy? Do you have any idea who hit you?”

  He shifted against his pillows, and I finally relinquished his hand so he could move his weight more easily.

  “I haven’t got a clue,” he said once he seemed comfortable. “The car came from behind me, so it crossed onto the wrong side of the road. One second I heard an engine and saw lights on the road, and the next I was flying through the air into the ditch. When the driver was out of the car, all I saw was a shadowy figure.”

  “Hold on,” Brett said before I had a chance. “The driver stopped?”

  Tommy rubbed his forehead. “For a moment. But not to help me.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Whoever it was, they climbed down into the ditch and went through my pockets. I was face down at the time and not really with it. I managed to roll over, but by that time, the driver was getting back in the car. Then they drove off.”

  “Why did the driver go through your pockets?” That baffled me.

  “I guess I was an easy target. They took my wallet, my phone, and my camera.” He frowned as he finished his sentence.

  I knew how much his camera meant to him. Photography was a passion of his.

  “That’s why I couldn’t call for help,” Tommy said. “No phone. I tried crawling out of the ditch, but the bank was too steep, and I rolled back down. The pain in my leg and chest made me pass out.” He seemed embarrassed by that admission.

  “I’m not surprised,” Brett said. “I’m impressed you were even able to try to get out.”

  “Me too,” I added.

  My heart ached, knowing what he’d gone through before we’d found him. A rush of anger swirled through me too. It was bad enough that someone had hit Tommy and driven away without getting help for him. Taking advantage of his injuries to rob him was about the lowliest thing the driver could have done.

  “What about the car?” I asked, fighting to keep my anger contained. “Did you get a look at it?”

  “Only as it was driving off, and it was so dark that I couldn’t see much.”

  That stretch of road had no streetlights, so the car’s headlights would have been the only illumination.

  “I know it was a car, rather than a truck or van,” he continued. “Average size and shape. But that’s about it.”

  I could tell that our conversation had sapped him of energy, and I knew we needed to wrap it up soon.

  “Maybe the police will find the car’s paint chips on your clothes, or maybe they’ll be able to narrow down the make of the car from the skid marks.”

  If there were skid marks. We had to hold onto any hope we could. The thought of the driver getting away with what they’d done was too bitter a pill to swallow.

  “Maybe,” Tommy said, exhaustion weighing down the smile he tried to give us.

  Brett noticed that too. “We should let you rest.”

  “Thanks for coming. And thanks again for finding me.”

  “Any idea when you’ll be discharged?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow, probably. My parents will drive me back to Wildwood Cove. Once I’m home, I’ll have my tablet and laptop, so I’ll stay in touch by email until I get a new phone.”

  “All right.” I kissed him on the forehead. “Get some rest. We’ll all be thinking of you.”

  On our way out of the room, I glanced back. Tommy’s eyes had already closed.

  I hoped he’d sleep well. After what he’d told us, I knew I wouldn’t.

  Chapter Ten

  I was right about not sleeping well that night. I tossed and turned, my mind going around in circles. Whoever had struck Tommy had to be cold-hearted. No decent person could have hit him, robbed him, and left him there at the side of the road.

  Had the driver hit Tommy on purpose, planning to rob him?

  That seemed unlikely. There was no guarantee that Tommy would have anything on him worth stealing. I doubted the driver could have seen Tommy’s camera, considering how dark it was and the fact that the car approached him from behind. So maybe the decision to steal Tommy’s belongings was a spur of the moment one. That didn’t change the fact that the thief was heartless and crue
l.

  My thoughts were so wound up in what happened to Tommy I almost forgot about the murder. That sent a wave of guilt crashing over me. Poor Jane was dead, murdered, and I’d hardly spared her a thought all day.

  As my mind turned over the events at the museum as well as what had happened to Tommy, the chance of getting any real sleep drifted further out of my grasp.

  Eventually, I got out of bed and curled up on the window seat, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. At least I wouldn’t be disturbing Brett’s sleep that way. He’d already woken up a couple of times and tried to comfort me.

  Sitting by the window and gazing out into the darkness didn’t stop my mind from spinning. It was only once I cracked open the window to hear the rhythmical sound of the waves crashing ashore that I finally relaxed. Flapjack hopped up onto the window seat with me and curled up on my lap. I stroked his fur as I listened to the ocean. My thoughts slowed, and my mind grew hazy.

  When I crawled back into bed a while later, leaving Flapjack on the window seat, I finally fell asleep. I didn’t wake up until Flapjack walked onto my stomach and lay down, purring. Sunlight streamed in through the gap in the curtains, which fluttered slightly in the breeze. I hadn’t shut the window when I’d returned to bed, and I could hear the crashing surf and the cry of a seagull.

  Brett’s side of the bed was empty. No wonder, I realized, when I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly nine o’clock. Brett and I were both early risers, and even though The Flip Side was closed on Mondays, I usually got up by seven.

  My day got off to a slow start and never really picked up speed. I heard from Tommy in the afternoon via email, which perked me up a little bit. His parents had arrived from Seattle a few hours after Brett and I visited him. At the moment, he was staying with his parents in a ground-floor room at the motel by the Wildwood River. His roommates were in the process of converting a tiny room on the main floor of their house for Tommy to use as a temporary bedroom, so he wouldn’t have to take the stairs so much while on crutches. When the room was ready, he’d move back home, and his parents would return to Seattle. He felt bad about the fact that he wouldn’t be back at work anytime soon, but I assured him in my reply that we’d manage, although we looked forward to having him back with us.

  Losing Tommy temporarily did leave us in a bit of a bind, though I downplayed that in my email. I needed to get busy hiring more staff, now more than ever, so I drafted help-wanted ads that evening and sent them off to the local newspaper, the Wildwood Cove Weekly. When I arrived at the pancake house on Wednesday morning, a small stack of newspapers sat waiting for me by the front door. I moved them to the rack inside the restaurant and checked out the one on top. Both the murder and the hit-and-run had made the front page.

  First, I read the article about Tommy’s accident, hoping for new developments in the case that had made it into the paper. There didn’t seem to be any. The article outlined what I already knew and included a couple of quotes from Tommy. In one, he mentioned how grateful he was to Brett and me for finding him. My eyes grew misty as I read the article, mostly because it caused me to relive the moment of discovering Tommy in the ditch.

  At the time the paper was printed, the driver still hadn’t been identified. I hoped that would change soon, but I knew it likely wouldn’t be an easy investigation with so little to go on. Not to mention the fact that the sheriff’s department also had a murder to investigate.

  I read that article next, but again the paper didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. I flipped through the pages and confirmed that the help-wanted ads for the pancake house were there, letting people know we needed a server and a cook. Hopefully I’d receive some responses soon.

  Dropping the newspaper onto the top of the stack, I joined Ivan in the kitchen and helped him with some of his prep work. I’d texted everyone after visiting Tommy, but Ivan still asked after him, and I filled him in on what Tommy had told me. I filled in Leigh as well, once she arrived. We were so relieved that Tommy was safe and would recover from his injuries, but we’d all miss him terribly in the meantime, and not just because of our staffing shortage. Tommy was part of our family, and his easygoing, upbeat personality made him a joy to work with.

  Around midmorning, Sienna’s mom, Patricia, arrived at The Flip Side with her friend Sue.

  “How’s Sienna doing?” I asked when Sue headed for the washroom. “I know the news about Tommy really shook her.”

  Patricia wrapped her hands around her mug of tea. “She’s still shaken, but it helped her settle down when she knew you’d visited him and said he was doing as well as could be expected.”

  “Hopefully she’ll have a chance to visit him soon,” I said. “Then she can see for herself that he’s going to bounce back.”

  Patricia nodded, but she had a frown on her face.

  “Is anything else wrong?” I asked.

  Patricia let out a barely perceptible sigh. “Sienna hasn’t been herself lately. And it started before Tommy’s accident.”

  “I noticed that the other day,” I said. “Do you know why?”

  “When I asked her, she said she’s just stressed about school and graduation.”

  “It can be a tough time.” I rested the coffee pot on the table. “Final exams and college on the horizon.”

  “That’s true.” Her frown hadn’t disappeared.

  “How are you doing?” I asked. “It can’t be easy for you either, knowing your only child will be leaving home in a few months.”

  Patricia managed a weak smile. “I’ve been trying not to think about it too much, but of course, that’s impossible. Over the past eighteen years, Sienna and I haven’t been apart for more than a week at a time. I have a feeling she’ll handle it far better than I will.”

  “It’ll be an adjustment, for sure, but at least she’s not going to be too far away.”

  Sienna would be attending my alma mater, the University of Washington in Seattle.

  “You’re right,” Patricia said. “I never said anything, but I was a bit worried that she’d set her heart on going somewhere all the way across the country. I’m relieved that’s not the case. I’m sure we’ll get used to the new normal in time.”

  “You will,” I said as her friend returned to the table.

  I took their orders and then left them to chat while I headed for the kitchen.

  Shortly before the start of the lunch rush, I emerged from the office to see Winnifred Woodcombe sitting at a table by the window, a cup of coffee in front of her. I checked in with Ivan to make sure he wasn’t too swamped at the moment, and then I delivered plates of Thyme for Breakfast Frittata and churro waffles to a middle-aged couple on the far side of the dining room.

  On my way back, I paused by Winnifred’s table. “Good morning, Mrs. Woodcombe. I’m so glad you stopped by.”

  She returned my greeting with a smile. “I decided I really shouldn’t wait any longer to visit your pancake house. I’ve been here before, of course, but not since Jimmy passed away. I’m meeting a friend for an early lunch.”

  “Is there anything else you need while you’re waiting?” I asked.

  “No, thank you, dear.” She tapped her mug. “I’m fine with my cup of coffee.” Her smile faded. “I was so sorry to hear about your employee. What a terrible thing for the driver to hit him and leave him lying there in the ditch.”

  “I don’t know how anyone could have done that,” I said with a brief flicker of anger at the unknown culprit. “I’m just so thankful that Tommy will recover.”

  “That’s a blessing,” Winnifred agreed. “But I don’t know what’s happening with this town. A hit-and-run and a murder!”

  “I know. It’s terrible. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m managing,” she said. “It’s hard to get the picture of poor Jane out of my head, but I’m doing my best to remember her
as she was when she was alive. And while there’s no way I could possibly fill her shoes, I hope I’ll do a decent job of taking the helm until Nancy Welch returns in a couple of months.”

  “You’re taking over at the museum?”

  “I volunteered, and the Board agreed. Of course, it will be better for everyone when Nancy’s back in charge. She knows everything about the museum. I’ll do my best to hold things together until her return.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do a great job,” I said. “Have you had a chance to see the letters Jane wanted to show you?”

  Winnifred pursed her lips. “It’s a funny thing about that. The police allowed me to enter the museum this morning to see if I could tell if anything was amiss.”

  I guessed what she was going to say next. “And you couldn’t find the letters?”

  “Not a single one. Of course, I didn’t have a chance to go through the boxes upstairs, so if Jane packed them away again, they could still be up there.”

  “She told me she was going to keep them in her office,” I said. “I saw her lock them away in her desk drawer. And at the time, they still had the ribbon around them.”

  Winnifred’s expression grew puzzled. “I checked every drawer of her desk, even the locked one, but I didn’t find any letters. Apparently, Jane’s cell phone is missing too. The police haven’t been able to locate it.”

  “That’s odd, on both counts,” I said. “And too bad about the letters. I was hoping to learn more about them, and I’m sure you were too.”

  “Very much so,” Winnifred agreed.

  Her friend showed up then, so I got back to work, even though my mind didn’t stray far from thoughts of the letters. As I helped Ivan in the kitchen between serving meals with Leigh, questions swirled around in my head.

  Did the presence of the ribbon with Jane’s body mean that she’d had the letters out when she was killed? And if the letters were truly missing, had the killer taken them?

  I couldn’t think of a reason why the person who’d killed Jane would steal some old letters, as interesting as they might be. Maybe Jane had moved the letters to a new location in the museum right before she was killed and didn’t bother to leave the ribbon with them. That seemed a more likely explanation. She’d mentioned that she planned to flatten them out. Perhaps that was why she’d moved them. Hopefully they were still at the museum, and Winnifred would find them soon.