A Wrinkle in Thyme

by Sarah Fox

  “That was generous of her.” Maybe I needed to revise my opinion of Evangeline. Clearly, she wasn’t entirely wrapped up in herself.

  I set the takeout container and paper bags next to the envelope.

  “I’ll say.” Tommy sank into an armchair and set his crutches aside. “She’d already paid me well for the photos.”

  I smacked a hand to my forehead. “Of course! The photos! I can’t believe I never asked you about that before. Were you still able to deliver them, even though your camera was stolen?”

  Tommy eased his broken leg onto a footstool. “Fortunately. I uploaded all the photos to my cloud before I left the gala.”

  A thought began to take shape in my mind. “You don’t think…”

  “What?” Tommy asked. Before I had a chance to respond, he added another question. “Is that food you’ve got there?”

  I’d almost forgotten about the crêpes and other treats I’d brought for him.

  “S’mores crêpes, a muffin, and a scone.”

  “You know, you’re welcome to visit me any time.”

  I laughed. “I’m guessing you want the crêpes right away.”

  “Please.”

  I fetched him a plate and some cutlery from the kitchen.

  “So, what were you thinking?” he asked after he’d enjoyed his first bite of the crêpes.

  “It’s probably a long shot, but what if your camera was stolen because of the photos on it?”

  Tommy paused before digging into his crêpes again. “Then the driver probably would have been someone who was at the gala. And they might have hit me on purpose.” After I nodded in agreement, he continued. “And they took my phone and wallet to make it look like a general robbery?”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I said.

  Tommy didn’t appear convinced by the theory. “What would anyone want with my pictures from the gala? They aren’t very exciting, to be honest. Just a bunch of people in formalwear mingling, eating, and drinking.”

  I sank back on the couch. “You’re right. It doesn’t sound likely that anyone would be worried about the photos.” I sat up straight again. “Could we take a look at them, just in case?” I wasn’t quite ready to give up on the theory, even if it was full of holes.

  “Sure,” Tommy said. “Could you grab my tablet? It’s in the room across the hall.”

  I jumped up and fetched the tablet, which I found on the bedside table in Tommy’s temporary main floor bedroom. I handed the device to him, and he woke it up and accessed the photos.

  “Here you go.” He handed the tablet back to me. “There’s a whole bunch of them.”

  I pulled a chair over so I could sit next to Tommy while I scrolled through the photos. I soon saw that his assessment was accurate; the photos weren’t very exciting. They showed various gala attendees, all dressed in tuxedos and gowns, mingling and enjoying the food and drinks. Two waiters dressed in black and white were visible in the background of some of the pictures. Frankie Zhou was one of them. I didn’t know the other.

  I kept my eye out for anyone else I recognized. A few people had familiar faces, but I didn’t know their names. In between two batches of photos of mingling guests were pictures of Evangeline up on a raised platform, apparently giving a speech. Some of the photos were close-ups, and others provided a wider view, showing a few people standing to the side of the stage, applauding.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” Tommy asked once I’d scrolled through dozens of pictures.

  “I really don’t know.” I sighed as I reached the end of the photos. “I was hoping for a clue of some sort, but I’m not surprised there isn’t one.” I set the tablet on the coffee table.

  “The hit-and-run probably didn’t have anything to do with the gala,” Tommy said. “It might have been one of the guests who ran me down, but I doubt there’s any deeper connection than that.”

  He was most likely right.

  We spent the rest of our visit talking about other things. After his trip out to Wild West Days, he’d spoken on the phone with his mom, and she’d convinced him to go and stay with his parents in Seattle for a week or two. I’d miss him while he was gone, but I was glad he’d have someone to help him out on a daily basis.

  “My sister’s coming to pick me up on Monday,” he said. “So I can still make it to the museum’s reopening party tomorrow.”

  “Remember not to overdo it this time,” I cautioned him.

  “I’ll be careful,” he assured me. “But I didn’t want to pass up an opportunity for free food.”

  That brought a smile to my face. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  I gave him a gentle hug and then set off for home, wishing I’d been able to do more to bring the hit-and-run driver to justice.

  * * * *

  I stayed at home long enough to let Bentley out in the yard for a few minutes and give him and Flapjack fresh water. With that done, I grabbed the scrap of paper I’d jotted the mystery phone number on and dashed out the door again. The museum’s reopening party was scheduled for the next evening, and I’d promised Winnifred that I’d help set up for the event.

  For the most part, the party would take place in the front and back yards of the museum, although people would be able to stroll through the main floor of the building to get a look at how the renovations had turned out. Thankfully, the weather forecast was promising blue skies and sunshine yet again. If a storm were to roll in, the party would likely have to be postponed.

  Frankie was supposed to be helping out with the preparations, but when I arrived at the museum, Winnifred informed me that he’d come down with a bad case of the stomach flu and wouldn’t be able to help out after all. Fortunately, Sienna’s mom, Patricia, had promised to lend a hand, and she arrived soon after I did. We started with mowing the lawn, which had grown quite tall since Brett had last cut it, and sweeping the porches.

  Then we strung twinkle lights and colored lanterns in the yard, with the help of a stepladder we’d found in the museum’s basement. I knew the lights and lanterns would make the yard look magical once the sun set on the night of the party. While we worked, I could hear the occasional strain of country music drifting over from Wildwood Park, where Wild West Days was still in full swing. The organizers had booked a couple of country music bands to provide entertainment on the weekend. I’d heard there would also be square dancing and line dancing in the evenings.

  “I’m afraid I have to run home now,” Patricia said once we’d finished with the lights and lanterns. “I’ve got guests checking in this evening.”

  Patricia ran a bed-and-breakfast out of her family’s beachfront Victorian.

  “No worries,” I said. “I think we got all the hardest jobs done.”

  After a few parting words, Patricia hopped in her car and drove off.

  “How’s Dolly doing?” I asked Winnifred when I found her in the museum’s kitchen.

  “Much better, I’m relieved to say. She’s out of the hospital now, and she’ll be coming to the party tomorrow, at least for a little while.”

  “That’s great.” I was glad to hear she was on the mend. It was bad enough that someone had attacked her. If she’d suffered permanent injuries as a result, it would have been even worse.

  “Speaking of which,” Winnifred said, “I promised to cook her dinner tonight.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll have to head over to her place now.”

  “Is there anything else you want me to do here?” I asked.

  “You’ve already done so much. The volunteers coming tomorrow can handle everything else.”

  I checked the time on my phone. “My husband won’t be done at work for another hour, so I really don’t mind sticking around.”

  “In that case, I did want to give the kitchen and washroom a good cleaning.”

  “I can take care of tha
t,” I assured her.

  “Thank you so much, Marley. I really appreciate your help.”

  She directed me to some cleaning supplies located in a cupboard in the main floor powder room. She left me a key to the museum so I could lock up later, and I promised to put the key through the mail slot of her house on my way home.

  As soon as Winnifred was gone, I got busy with cleaning. I finished the washroom and was about to start on the kitchen when a knock on the back door startled me. I peeled off my rubber gloves, spotting Krista through the window.

  “Winnifred’s gone over to Dolly’s place,” I said once I’d let her in and said hello.

  “Darn. I probably left just before she arrived,” Krista said. “I went to the grocery store on my way here. I would have come right away, but I really needed to grab a few things before the store closed.”

  “She’s probably still at Dolly’s house,” I said. “She was going to cook dinner for her.”

  “Right. I forgot about that in all my excitement. I guess grandma did too.”

  “Excitement?”

  Krista pulled a sheaf of papers out of her purse.

  I noticed right away that they looked familiar. “Are those…?”

  “More letters from Jack to Flora?” Krista finished for me. She smiled, her eyes bright with excitement. “Yes, that’s exactly what they are.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “For real?” I hardly dared believe what Krista had said.

  “A hundred percent.” She handed me the papers.

  The handwriting matched that of the other letters. “Where did you find them?”

  “In my grandma’s attic, tucked away in one of the few boxes the intruder didn’t touch.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” I sifted through the papers Krista had given me. There appeared to be at least three multi-page letters. “This is so exciting!”

  “Even more exciting than you think.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked, curious. “Do they reveal more family secrets?”

  “You could say so, but not my family’s secrets.”

  “Who’s then?”

  Krista almost answered but then snapped her mouth shut and shook her head. “You should read them. Jack tells the story better than I can.”

  I glanced with reluctance at the counter I’d yet to wash down. “I promised Winnifred I’d clean the kitchen.”

  Krista grabbed the rubber gloves I’d left by the sink. “I’ll work on that while you read.”

  “I can’t leave you to do all the work,” I protested.

  “Please do. I really want you to read what’s in the letters.”

  She had me so intrigued by then that I couldn’t argue any further. I took a seat at the small kitchen table and lost myself in the first letter, barely aware of Krista washing the counters and mopping the floor.

  Although I got caught up anew in Jack and Flora’s love story, I didn’t notice anything in the first letter that would have made Krista so excited.

  She looked over my shoulder as I started in on the next one.

  “This is where it gets interesting,” she said, before going back to mopping the floor.

  Eager to know what she knew, I continued to read.

  My darling, you asked how I came to know the Oldershaw family’s secret, so I will share the story with you now. These events took place more than a year ago, before that fateful day when we met. I’m sure you remember when Charles Becker’s widow, Elizabeth, passed away. I recall you saying that she and your mother were fast friends. Shortly after she passed, I was out after nightfall, on my way to pay a clandestine visit to the home of a gentleman with far more money than he needed. He was, as luck would have it, out of town for the week.

  This gentleman’s home was next door to Elizabeth Becker’s vacant one. As I slipped from shadow to shadow, I noticed Millicent Oldershaw approach the late Mrs. Becker’s house. She moved with an attempt at stealth, as if trying to remain unseen. She was not particularly skilled in that regard, though I suppose that is to be expected of a proper lady. Most definitely not proper myself, I was able to follow her unobserved. She uncovered a key from beneath a stone in the back garden and entered the Becker house through the kitchen door.

  If she’d done that during the day, unconcerned about being seen, I would have thought nothing of it. However, her suspicious behavior piqued my curiosity, and I waited in the garden until she emerged several minutes later. She hid the key back under the rock and hurried off home. I didn’t fail to notice that she was gripping a book which was not in her possession when she entered the house.

  I tried to put the matter out of my mind, but I have always been an inquisitive fellow. The following night I paid a visit to the Oldershaw residence while the family was out at a party. When I searched the Oldershaws’ bedroom, I found, secreted beneath the mattress, a book of the same size as the one I’d seen Millicent carrying the night before.

  When I studied the first few pages of the book by moonlight, I saw that it contained handwritten recipes. A note on the first page declared that the recipes were Mrs. Elizabeth Becker’s creations. At the time, I assumed that Millicent Oldershaw had wanted the recipes as a keepsake to remember her friend by, though I did find it odd that she had retrieved the book under the cover of darkness and hid it away. I returned the book to its spot beneath the mattress, helped myself to a few jewels, and made a quick exit.

  I didn’t think of the matter again until recently, with the establishment of Oldershaw Confections. As I perused the candy company’s offerings, it took me by great surprise to find that the names of the candies matched those of the recipes I’d seen in Mrs. Becker’s book. I’ve always had a very sharp memory, and I remain convinced that the confections sold by the Oldershaws’ new company were made from Mrs. Becker’s recipes.

  Yet I have not found any indication that Mrs. Becker has been acknowledged as the author of the recipes, nor that her heirs have been in any way compensated. On the contrary, I understand that the company claims that all its recipes are Oldershaw family recipes.

  Of course, I am not one to cast stones, considering my less than honorable profession, but I thought you would find it most interesting to note that Millicent Oldershaw, whom you have described as imperious and haughty, is not quite so respectable as she would like you and the rest of society to believe.

  The rest of the letter talked about how eager Jack was to see Flora again, but the last couple of paragraphs barely registered in my mind.

  I set the letters on the table, my thoughts spinning.

  Krista tugged off the rubber gloves and dropped them in the sink. “See what I mean?” she asked, her eyes bright with excitement again.

  “Oh my gosh!” I was still furiously connecting dots in my head. “If Jack was right about the Oldershaws stealing Elizabeth Becker’s recipes, that’s…”

  “Scandalous?” Krista offered. “Unscrupulous? Damaging?”

  “All of the above,” I said.

  Krista dropped into the chair across from me. “Right? It happened more than a hundred years ago, but if this got out it could still damage the company today.”

  “Do the Beckers have any descendants?” I asked.

  “I did a quick online search before I came over here. They didn’t have any children, but they have indirect descendants through Mrs. Becker’s niece, Georgina.”

  “Who might not have known about the recipes,” I said.

  That would explain why, as far as I knew, no fuss about the recipes’ source had ever been kicked up before.

  “The niece’s descendants are scattered around the country now,” Krista said. “But I’m sure they’d be interested to know that they might have a claim to some of the Oldershaw family’s wealth.”

  “I think Sheriff Georgeson would be interested too.”

  Even if it
turned out that Mrs. Becker’s descendants had no legal leg to stand on after all this time, the resulting scandal could damage the company’s reputation if the information were to go public.

  There was something I wanted to do before getting in touch with Ray. Maybe I had a way of testing the theory taking shape in my head. As I told Krista about the last phone call Jane had made before her death, I dug the scrap of paper out of the pocket of my jeans and smoothed it out so I could read the number. I entered the digits on my phone.

  I thought I was about to satisfy my curiosity and get some proof for my new theory, but instead of reaching a person or voice mail, a recorded message told me the number I’d dialed was not in service.

  Disconnecting, I frowned at my phone.

  “What’s wrong?” Krista asked.

  “The number’s not in service.”

  I studied the scrap of paper again. Maybe I’d mixed up the last two digits. I hadn’t been completely sure about them when I’d jotted down the number the other night.

  I tried the call again, this time switching the last two numbers.

  I heard three rings before someone picked up. A woman’s voice sounded in my ear.

  “Hello, you’ve reached Oldershaw Confections. How may I help you?”

  “Sorry, wrong number,” I said and hung up.

  Krista leaned forward. “What is it?”

  She hadn’t failed to notice my wide eyes.

  I was going to tell her about the call and my theory when a sharp knock on the back door nearly sent me falling out of my chair.

  Before either of us could get to the door, it burst open, and Evangeline Oldershaw walked into the museum like she owned the place.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I plunked my phone on top of the letters and jumped out of my chair, turning to face Evangeline while trying to hide the letters from view with my body. My heart pounded in my chest.