A Wrinkle in Thyme

by Sarah Fox

* * * *

  Dolly Maxwell lived in a cute, powder blue Victorian not far from Main Street. White wicker furniture sat on the front porch, and wind chimes tinkled in the gentle breeze. Winnifred rapped on the front door with the head of her cane and opened the mail slot.

  “Dolly, it’s Winnifred,” she called out.

  “Coming,” a thin voice replied from somewhere within the house.

  “She doesn’t move as fast as she used to,” Winnifred said to me as we waited on the porch.

  Several seconds later, the lock turned, and the door opened.

  Although the two elderly women were cousins, I couldn’t see much in the way of a family resemblance. While Winnifred was tall, with blue eyes, straight hair, and a regal bearing, Dolly couldn’t have been much taller than five feet. Her eyes were brown, and she had a head of curly gray hair. I guessed that Dolly was in her eighties, a few years older than Winnifred.

  “Come on in, Winnie.” Dolly moved back so she could open the door wider. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”

  “This is Marley,” Winnifred said as she stepped over the threshold. “She owns the local pancake house.”

  I said hello and followed Winnifred into the foyer.

  Dolly shut the door. “My Harold used to make the most delicious pancakes.” She slowly made her way into the living room to the left of the foyer. “Come in, come in. Make yourselves comfortable. Shall I make tea?”

  “Leave that to me.” Winnifred leaned her cane against the wall and strode toward the back of the house.

  Dolly sat down in an armchair and peered at me through the lenses of her round, wire-rimmed spectacles. “Do sit down, dear. Are you Frances Whittle’s granddaughter?”

  I sat on a pale peach loveseat. “No, ma’am. No relation.”

  “Who’s are you?”

  “I’m not from Wildwood Cove originally,” I said. “I moved here from Seattle a couple of years ago. Jimmy Coulson was my grandmother’s cousin, and I’m married to Brett Collins.”

  Dolly smiled. “I remember Jimmy. Always a fun fellow.” Her gaze became unfocused. “Collins…that rings a bell.”

  “Brett’s parents are Frank and Elaine Collins. Sheriff Ray Georgeson is his uncle.”

  “Ah.” Dolly nodded. “The sheriff is a good man. My Harold thought of running for sheriff at one time. Unfortunately, his ticker was never all that sound. It took him away from me far too soon.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “I’ll have the tea ready in a moment,” Winnifred called out from the kitchen.

  I jumped up. “Is there anything I can help with?”

  Winnifred appeared carrying a tray laden with a teapot, cups and saucers, and cream and sugar. I quickly freed her of the burden.

  “Thank you, Marley,” Winnifred said. “Just set it on the coffee table.”

  I did as she requested. Winnifred pulled up a straight-backed chair and poured the tea. When we all had a cup in hand, with cream and sugar added, we got down to the reason for our visit.

  “Marley and I would like to know more about the letters you donated to the museum,” Winnifred told her cousin.

  “I donated letters to the museum?” Dolly took a sip of her tea. “How lovely.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was referring to the donation or the tea.

  “You donated a box full of papers several months ago,” Winnifred reminded her. “There was a stack of letters, tied with a ribbon. Jane Fassbender believed they were written by Jack O’Malley.”

  “Jack?” Dolly repeated vaguely. “Is that the same Jack who used to tug on your pigtails?”

  “That was Jack Haversmith. Jack O’Malley lived before our time. You remember, he’s more commonly known as the Jack of Diamonds. The thief.”

  Dolly smiled. “The Jack of Diamonds. There are some great stories about him.”

  “Likely with a liberal dose of fiction mixed in with the facts,” Winnifred said, “but, yes, we did enjoy those stories as youngsters.” Winnifred took a drink of her tea and then set the cup back on the saucer resting on her lap. “Do you know why you would have had letters from the Jack of Diamonds?”

  “Dear heavens,” Dolly said. “I have no idea.”

  My hopes of finding out more about the letters withered away. Dolly was a sweet old woman, but it didn’t seem like her memory was sharp enough to help us.

  If Winnifred was exasperated with her cousin, she didn’t let on. “Where did you find the box that you donated?” she asked.

  “Hmmm.” Dolly thought over the question while sipping at her tea. “The attic. Krista was cleaning up there and brought it down one day. She thought the people at the museum might find the papers interesting, and I certainly had no use for them.”

  “Krista is Dolly’s granddaughter,” Winnifred said for my benefit.

  “Did you read the letters before the box was donated?” I asked Dolly, my hopes fighting to resurface.

  “Oh no. My eyesight isn’t great, I’m afraid. I have to get the large print books out of the library. Anything else is simply too small for me to make out.”

  Winnifred let out a small sigh. It was the first sign of any disappointment on her part. “Do you remember where the box came from in the first place?”

  “Goodness.” Dolly took a moment to think. “I don’t know. The attic hadn’t been cleaned out in decades. Maybe generations. It could have been sitting up there since before I was born.”

  “This is the house Dolly grew up in,” Winnifred said to me.

  Dolly smiled. “And my mother and Winnie’s father before me.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry I’m not more helpful.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Winnifred said.

  We finished our tea while chatting about unrelated topics. I kept my disappointment hidden, but when I parted ways with Winnifred on the front porch a while later, I wondered if we would ever know the contents of the missing letters.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After closing The Flip Side the next day, I put two leftover sticky rolls in a paper bag, and Ivan cooked up a stack of bacon cheddar waffles, which I then placed in a take-out box, along with smaller containers of butter and maple syrup. Armed with the food, I set off on the short walk across town to visit Tommy.

  As I walked along Wildwood Road, a dark blue car approached. The driver slowed down and waved at me. It took half a second for me to realize that the driver was Frankie Zhou. I’d only ever seen him driving the white cube truck he’d used to help move the museum’s furniture. I’d heard it belonged to his family’s small moving company.

  I waved back as the car picked up speed again, but my feet had become rooted to the spot. Right before Frankie had captured my attention by waving, I’d noticed a good-sized dent in the front bumper of his vehicle. Now my mind was spinning. I’d discounted Frankie as a murder suspect, but could he be the one who’d hit Tommy and left him at the side of the road?

  Another car sped past me, pulling me out of my thoughts, at least enough to get me walking again. When I arrived at Tommy’s place a few minutes later, the image of Frankie’s dented bumper was still imprinted on my mind.

  I knocked on the front door and heard Tommy call out, “Coming!”

  Several seconds passed. I heard some shuffling noises, and a moment later, Tommy opened the door, bringing a smile to my face.

  “You’re looking better,” I remarked.

  He laughed but cut off abruptly with a wince. “I’m pretty sure I could get hired as an extra on a horror movie with this face.”

  The bruising on his left cheekbone had changed from blue-black to greenish-yellow.

  “I still think you’re looking better,” I assured him. “Definitely more alert.”

  “That much I’ll agree with.” He slowly backed up on his crutches so I could enter the house.

 
“You’re getting around on those, okay?” I asked with a nod at the crutches.

  “I’m more of a tortoise than a hare these days, but I’m managing. Come on in.”

  I shut the front door and followed as he made his way carefully into the living room.

  “I’ve brought gifts,” I said as Tommy lowered himself into an armchair and eased his broken leg up onto a footstool.

  He eyed the packages I’d brought, his expression hopeful. “Of the edible variety?”

  “Of course,” I said. “The waffles are probably cold by now, though.”

  His eyes lit up. “Bacon cheddar waffles?”

  “Ivan said they’re your favorite.”

  Tommy grinned. “The man knows his stuff.”

  “Do you have a microwave?” I asked.

  “It’s the only kitchen appliance my roommates know how to use. Well, that and the coffeemaker.”

  “I’ll heat them up then.” I headed toward the kitchen at the back of the house. “Where do I find a plate?”

  “In the cupboard to the left of the sink,” Tommy called out.

  I found a clean plate easily, which was fortunate, considering how many dirty ones were stacked haphazardly in the sink. The kitchen was actually tidier than I’d expected, knowing as I did that four guys in their twenties lived in the house.

  “What about cutlery?” I called over my shoulder.

  “The drawer to the right of the stove.”

  I grabbed a knife and fork and tipped the waffles from the take-out container onto the plate. After zapping the waffles in the microwave, I added the small cups of butter and maple syrup to the plate and carried it all back to Tommy in the living room.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked as I handed him the plate.

  “I wouldn’t say no to an orange crush. Grab one for yourself too, if you want.”

  I fetched two cans of soda from the fridge and returned to the living room.

  “You’re the best, Marley,” Tommy said as I gave him one of the cans. He set it on the small table next to his chair and started spreading butter over the waffles. “I didn’t eat much for a couple of days after the accident, but my appetite has come back with a vengeance.”

  I sank down on the couch across from him. “I’m glad to hear that. I also brought you two sticky buns.”

  “You’re spoiling me.”

  “Hardly,” I said, popping open my can of orange crush. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Tommy poured the maple syrup over his waffles. “Help yourself to one of the sticky buns.”

  “That’s okay, thanks. I ate not too long ago, and I brought them for you.”

  “I’ll have to hide them,” Tommy said after enjoying a large bite of his waffles. “They won’t be safe once my roommates get home.”

  “Will there be any left by the time they get home?” I asked with a smile.

  “Good point. It’s not likely.”

  “Is Ray keeping you informed about the hit-and-run investigation?” I asked once Tommy had eaten a few more bites. “Has there been any progress?”

  “He called this morning, actually. A guy was out walking his dog yesterday and found my wallet and phone. Lucky for me, he turned them in to the sheriff’s office.”

  “That’s good news,” I said. “Is your phone still in working order?”

  “Sheriff Georgeson said it seemed to be. I guess I’ll find out for sure once I get it back. He said he’d bring it by this evening on his way home.”

  The sheriff’s office was located in Port Angeles, but Ray and his wife lived in Wildwood Cove.

  “What about your wallet?” I asked. “Was it cleaned out?”

  Tommy shook his head as he swallowed. “That’s the weird thing. The cash is gone—just forty bucks, so it’s not a huge deal—but my credit cards are still there. Unfortunately,” he added, his face falling, “my camera is still missing.”

  “I’m sorry.” I knew how much his camera meant to him, and I was sure it was worth a pretty penny.

  “I wish whoever it was had taken my phone instead of my camera,” Tommy said morosely before digging into his waffles again.

  “It’s odd that the driver only kept the cash and camera,” I said. “But they probably weren’t a seasoned thief, and there’s a good chance they weren’t thinking clearly after hitting you.”

  Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know what to make of it. I’d like to hope that there’s still a chance of getting my camera back, but I don’t think it would be a good idea to hold my breath.”

  Unfortunately, I had to agree with him.

  Tommy had already polished off the waffles, so I took his plate and added it to the stack in the sink.

  “Did Ray say where the dog walker found your phone and wallet?” I asked when I’d returned to the couch.

  “In some bushes at the side of Wildwood Road, not far from where it joins up with the highway.”

  “So the driver must have stopped and tossed out your phone and wallet a couple of minutes after leaving the scene.” I had to swallow back a wave of emotion when I thought about the driver leaving Tommy lying injured in the ditch. “Is Ray any closer to figuring out the identity of the driver?”

  “I don’t think so. There’s not much to go on. I’ll be surprised if the driver ever gets tracked down.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should say anything more on the subject or not. My uncertainty must have shown on my face.

  “What’s up?” Tommy asked.

  I played with the tab on the top of my soda can. “The car that hit you…could it have been a Ferrari convertible?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It wasn’t the right shape.”

  That was the answer I’d expected.

  “Could it have been a two-door, dark blue sedan?” I asked.

  “It could have,” Tommy said slowly. “Why?”

  “I don’t know if it means anything, but there’s this guy who’s been helping out at the museum a lot lately. On my way over here, I saw him in his car—dark blue, two doors—and there was a dent in the front bumper.”

  “So, you think this guy could be the one who hit me?”

  “It’s a possibility,” I said. “I’ll report it to Ray, and he can figure that out.”

  Tommy ran a hand through his short dark hair. “So maybe there is a chance the driver will be identified. Did you get the plate number?”

  “No, but I recognized the driver,” I said. “I don’t want to get your hopes up too much, but I wanted to check and see if you thought it was possible.”

  “Don’t worry,” he assured me. “My hopes aren’t flying off in any direction. Who’s the driver you saw?”

  “His name is Frankie Zhou. He’s in his late twenties, and…” I trailed off as Tommy shook his head.

  “No way. I know Frankie. He’s not the guy who hit me.”

  “How can you be sure?” I asked. “I thought you didn’t get a good look at the driver.”

  “I didn’t, but I know Frankie from the skate park. He’s a good guy. If he’d hit me—or anyone—with his car, he wouldn’t have taken off. And he wouldn’t have robbed me.”

  Tommy seemed so certain that I knew I wouldn’t be able to dissuade him, and I didn’t try. As far as I knew, he could be right. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation for how Frankie got that dent in his bumper. At the same time, it was possible that Frankie had accidentally hit Tommy and then acted out of character because he’d panicked. It wasn’t for me to decide whether Frankie should be arrested for the crime, but I did feel I had a duty to tell Ray what I’d seen. He’d take the matter from there.

  “You’re probably right,” I said, hoping that was the case.

  Frankie seemed like a nice guy. Even though I didn’t know him well, I didn’t want him to be the guilty par
ty.

  Tommy took a long drink of his orange crush before setting the can on the table next to his chair. “I’m preparing myself for the possibility that the driver will never be found. I think that’s the most likely scenario.”

  It probably was, though that thought didn’t sit well with me. The driver should have to pay for his or her crimes, and Tommy deserved both closure and justice.

  I didn’t voice those thoughts. “The important thing is that you’ll be okay,” I said instead.

  Tommy grinned. “I’m pretty good at bouncing back.”

  I returned his smile. “Thank goodness.”

  “Tell me about the murder case,” Tommy requested. “I’m sure you’ve got some theories.”

  “I do, but I don’t know enough to finger the culprit yet.”

  I told him about my suspects and the information I’d gathered.

  “Do you know anything about Angus Achenbach?” I asked after filling him in.

  “Never heard of him before,” Tommy said.

  “I hadn’t either, until recently.”

  Soon we turned the conversation to The Flip Side. After an hour had passed since my arrival, I decided to head out. Tommy seemed happy to have company, but I could tell he was getting tired. It couldn’t be easy dealing with all those broken bones, no matter how well he’d bounced back.

  “You don’t need to get up,” I said after I’d taken our empty drink cans to the kitchen. “I can show myself out.”

  “Nah.” Tommy eased out of the chair and grabbed his crutches. “I’m going to lie down for a bit, and the front door is on the way.”

  He followed me out to the foyer.

  “I’ll keep in touch,” I said as I opened the front door. “Maybe all of us from The Flip Side can get together sometime soon.”

  “That would be awesome,” Tommy said. “I miss everyone already. Sienna is coming over tomorrow, but I’d love to hang out with all of you.”

  “We’ll make it happen,” I promised.

  After exchanging a few more words, I set off for home, my enjoyment of the warm spring weather marred only by thoughts of Frankie’s dented bumper and what it might mean. When I turned a corner a few minutes later, Jane’s murder elbowed its way to the front of my mind.