The Grave Truth

by Rickie Blair

  “He’s apparently searching for a bequest he claims my mother left him. Neither Adeline nor I have any idea what he’s talking about. Meanwhile, he’s following me around.” That was an exaggeration, but harmless, I figured. “And insisting that I let him search Rose Cottage.”

  “I see.” Wilf, who had been listening intently, nodded again. “And you want him to stop following you? I could try for a restraining order, but—”

  “I don’t care if Frank follows me. I only want to know why he visited you.”

  Wilf’s expression changed, and he sat back. “Who told you he did?”

  “He was observed.”

  Wilf picked up a pencil shaped like a sausage—a remnant of an ill-conceived promotional scheme for the Water Park—and balanced it between his fingers. “You know I can’t tell you why he was here.”

  “I’m a client of yours. Adeline’s a client. And Mom was a client. If Frank’s visit has anything to do with my mother’s will, I have a right to know.”

  He wriggled the sausage back and forth between his fingers. “It’s tricky.”

  “Did Frank actually hire you? Because if no money changed hands, he’s not a client. And therefore—no lawyer-client privilege.”

  Wilf regarded me fondly, his mouth slowly forming a smile. “I remember an anxious young woman sitting in that chair not long ago, insisting on selling her inheritance. And now, you’re a confident young woman running a successful business.” He grinned. “Not to mention your”—he waggled his eyebrows—“romantic entanglement.”

  I’m not that confident, I thought. Considering the way my stomach is churning. Still, I was determined not to let him change the subject. Or extract any details about my “entanglement.” For a lawyer, Wilf was surprisingly fond of gossip.

  “I appreciate the compliment, Wilf, but you’re not answering my question.”

  Slowly, he put down the sausage-pencil and picked up an eraser shaped like a pickle. He tapped it absently on his desk blotter. “Mr. Thorne did ask about your mother’s will, as it happens. He was insistent. Therefore—because he was once married to your mother—I showed it to him. I merely wanted to assure him that it contained no mention of a bequest for a Frank Thorne.”

  Wilf’s phone rang and he picked it up. After a moment, he covered it with his hand and whispered, with a look of surprise, “It’s the credit card company.” As he listened, his face resumed its earlier reddish hue. “I did not order a twenty-thousand-dollar rainbow-themed cruise of the Caribbean,” Wilf barked into the phone. Pause. “I don’t care what it says. I’m not paying for it.” Pause. “I don’t know anybody named Andy.”

  I rose, crossed the room, and closed the door softly behind me.

  Chapter Nine

  I had nothing much to report to Emy, but I promised to stop by once I’d talked to Wilf, so I headed to the 5X. Maybe I’d pick up a latte for Wilf after all—along with a few of Emy’s new biscuits. That might jog more useful recollections. I couldn’t help but suspect Wilf was holding something back. Jeff didn’t specify how long my father was in the office. My mother’s will was only a few pages long, most of it boilerplate. It wouldn’t take long to read it. In fact, it could have been done over the phone. Why the face-to-face meeting?

  I was mulling this over when I pushed open the bakery door, then halted in surprise.

  Frank was leaning over the counter, talking to Emy in low tones.

  With a jangle of the overhead bell, I let the door swing shut. “Fancy meeting you here,” I said.

  Frank straightened, then turned around and leaned one elbow behind him on the counter. He was holding an Anzac biscuit in his other hand. After taking a bite, he chewed it carefully before replying. “Verity.” Watching me, he bit off another chunk. There appeared to be a twinkle in his eyes, but that could have been the overhead lighting. He chewed, swallowed, and reached for his coffee. “What brings you in?” he asked, raising the mug to his mouth.

  “Me?” I gasped a note of disgust. “I’m here all the time. I live here, remember? The question is—what brings you here?”

  “Are you talking Leafy Hollow in general, or Emy’s fine bakery in particular?”

  “Either. And while you’re at it, explain why you found it necessary to visit my lawyer.”

  He scowled, put down the mug, and straightened to his full height. “Who told you that?” he asked tersely. “Your do-gooder boyfriend?”

  “Doesn’t matter who told me. Why were you there?”

  “Wilf was my lawyer at one time. In fact, I’ve known him longer than you have. Much longer.”

  “Are you saying Wilf did legal work for you while you were out of the country? Because that’s the first I’ve heard of it. As far as I know, he has no license to practice in Australia.”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m only pointing out I have every right to speak to him. And that it’s none of your business.”

  “You asked to see my mother’s will. That makes it my business.”

  “Who told you—” He bristled before shaking his head in disgust. “This village never changes. Once an outsider, always an outsider.” Puffing air through his lips, he pulled out his wallet and threw a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “Thank you, Emy. You’ve been very kind.” While sliding the wallet into the back pocket of his jeans, he added, “Maybe you can teach your friend here a few manners.”

  It was my turn to bristle. “My manners are none of your concern. You weren’t worried about them twenty years ago, so they shouldn’t bother you now.”

  We glared at each other until Emy broke the impasse.

  “For what it’s worth,” she said, leaning in and lowering her voice. “I’ve always found Verity’s manners to be a bit uneven.” She winked at me.

  Frank visibly relaxed, and a corner of his mouth turned up. “My daughter has one good friend, at least.”

  Before that twitch could turn into a full-blown smile, I snapped, “I have plenty of friends. And speaking of friends—I don’t see any old acquaintances lining up to reconnect with you.”

  His mouth settled into a straight line. “You see what you want to see. Just like your aunt.”

  While I watched, he strode to the door, yanked it open, and left.

  The door slowly closed. The bell’s jangle faded. The black cat tick-tocked on the wall. Emy wiped down the counter.

  And I stood still, staring at the door.

  I regretted losing my temper. It wouldn’t bring me closer to the truth about my mother. But I also realized that when I entered the bakery and saw my father, something in my chest had turned over and I’d felt—happy.

  Well, that didn’t last. I gave an irritated snort.

  “Verity?” Emy asked softly.

  With a sigh, I turned to the counter. “Why do I let him get under my skin like that?”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She plunked an Anzac biscuit on a plate before sliding it toward me.

  I held up a hand. “Sorry, no. Anything but that.”

  With a smile, Emy pushed the plate away. “Coffee?”

  “I’ve already had too much today. Green tea, maybe?”

  Nodding, she reached for the tea bags and tossed one into a mug. “What did Wilf tell you?” After pouring hot water from the kettle into the mug, she handed it over.

  Between sips, I related our conversation. “On the other hand,” I said in summation, “given that Wilf has spent most of the day battling with an overly enthusiastic electronic assistant, his judgment might be off.”

  Emy chuckled. “Wilf gave Lorne a panicked call this morning.” She mimicked the lawyer’s outraged tone. ‘Alicia will be the death of me.’ Lorne went over to his office to see if he could help. It only made things worse. Between the two of them, they somehow managed to make an X-rated purchase.”

  I clapped a hand to my mouth to prevent my snort of laughter from propelling tea across the counter. “How is that possible?”

  “Wilf wanted to buy a gift for Harriet.
Apparently, when Lorne asked for a shawl, Alicia thought he was asking her to order a certain type of doll. After that, things went rapidly sideways.”

  I pulled the mug toward me with a wry smile. “It’s not a dead loss. You could set it up in the front window. Might bring in customers.”

  With a peal of laughter, Emy swatted my arm. “Lorne’s at the bank right now trying to convince them to take the transaction off his credit card. I’ve never seen his face that red.”

  “But seriously, Emy, you shouldn’t let Frank come in here. I don’t trust his motives. He’s after more than biscuits.”

  “I did promise to make meat pies.” With a smile, she turned to flick off the burner under the kettle.

  Ignoring her attempt at frivolity, I said, “I think he’s trying to get to me through you.”

  “Get to you?” She tossed me an incredulous look over her shoulder. “What does that mean?”

  “Whatever he’s looking for in Rose Cottage, I bet it’s valuable.”

  “Isn’t it possible he feels guilty about the past and simply wants to reconnect?”

  “No,” I said brusquely. “It’s not possible. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Emy’s back stiffened. Then she turned to face me.

  I winced. “I’m sorry, Emy. You’re only trying to help. It’s just… no one wants to answer my questions. I’m sorry I took it out on you. Maybe I should drop the whole thing.”

  “You’re forgiven. As for the case, you have to look harder, that’s all.” She shrugged. “And I should apologize, too. The truth is I may be a little jealous.”

  “Jealous? Why?”

  She nodded at the bakery’s entrance. “If my father walked through that door, I wouldn’t even recognize him.”

  We both stared at the front door and the plate-glass window beside it, with 5x bakery embossed in gold on the glass. Midmorning traffic streamed past on Main Street, with a thirty-second gap every time the streetlight changed on the corner.

  I gave a start. “Hang on—you called this a case.”

  “Well, isn’t it?”

  “No. It’s a… family thing.”

  Emy tapped her fingers on the countertop. “Maybe if you considered this a mystery to solve, Frank wouldn’t get under your skin as much. Think of it as an investigation. You’ve already made headway.”

  “You’re trying to get me into trouble again.”

  “Moi?” Emy’s wide eyes flashed astonishment. “I’m only pointing out that you know more than you think.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How so?”

  “You found photos hidden by your mother that no one knew existed. Photos that suggest a relationship of some kind—which may have triggered your father’s departure. Within twenty-four hours of unearthing those photographs, you identified the subject and learned he disappeared shortly after the photo was taken. That sounds like one heck of a case to me.”

  “But it can’t be. The police dropped their investigation.”

  “Gosh. And they’re never wrong, are they?” She raised her eyebrows. “Verity, whatever your father’s looking for, it must be important.”

  I made a face. “Didn’t you just suggest he’s here to reconnect with his estranged daughter?”

  “No reason he can’t do two things at once.” Noting my expression, Emy frowned. “Would you like to know why Frank was in here just now?”

  Suspiciously, I asked, “Why?”

  “He was waiting for you. I told him you’d gone off to do an errand, but I expected you back shortly. While he was waiting, he launched into this long tale about taking you to the zoo in Strathcona when you were five and how you insisted he buy you a stuffed monkey. Then you dropped it into a water fountain, and he had to wave it out the window all the way home so it would dry.”

  I eyed her warily. “What’s your point?”

  “Isn’t that the same stuffed monkey I’ve seen on your dresser?” she asked softly.

  Before I could answer, something caught my eye. A black SUV was coming out of the alley across the street, moving quickly. I assumed the driver was trying to beat the light at the corner, but he was going too fast to make the turn.

  Tires screeched as the SUV fishtailed out of the alley and onto Main Street. The vehicle barreled across the street, then mounted the sidewalk in front of our eyes.

  “Look at that.” I pointed in alarm. “He’s going to—”

  The SUV rammed into the bakery’s plate-glass window with a thunderous crash that sent us sprawling to the floor.

  Chapter Ten

  There was no time to yell a warning. By the time my brain got around to screaming Run! it was too late. For a moment—it seemed to go on forever—I thought we were going to die.

  The window shattered with a convulsive heave, showering the bakery in a hailstorm of safety glass. From my prone position on the floor, I watched pebbles of tempered glass bounce in slow motion around me before coming to rest.

  Everything went silent.

  I took a mental inventory of my body parts. No broken bones. I shakily rose to my feet, brushing glass off my clothes to stare dumbfounded at the SUV, whose front end was now parked in the bakery. The vehicle had staved in the brick wall under the window, but it stopped there. The rest of it, from the windshield back, was on the sidewalk outside.

  Two shaky hands clasped the far edge of the counter, and Emy rose behind it. We exchanged horrified glances. I saw her lips move, but I couldn’t make out the words. I slapped my hands over my ears to try to stop their ringing.

  “What did you say?”

  Wordlessly, she pointed to the SUV. I swiveled to face the window, then realized the driver’s door had opened.

  A man stepped out, dressed in a windbreaker with a hoodie underneath it that partially hid his face.

  My feet crunched on the glass as I stepped to the front door. But my tugs wouldn’t open the bent metal frame. For some reason, this confused me more than the SUV parked in the bakery. How could we reach the injured driver if we couldn’t go out the door?

  Later, I realized we could have simply stepped through the window and onto the sidewalk. Or walked out the bakery’s back door to come up the alley. But in that moment, I continued to clutch uselessly at the door handle.

  The SUV driver stared straight at me for a split second before running off down the street.

  “Where is he going?” Emy cried.

  I had no answer. Vaguely, I considered calling 9-1-1. Wind swept through the broken window, chilling my face. It was too cold for Emy to open a sidewalk café, I thought—somewhat hysterically.

  Numbly, I watched a gloved hand brush away glass that clung to the window frame. A man’s head poked through.

  “Is anyone hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

  I glanced at Emy, who shook her head.

  “We’re fine,” I croaked. “More or less.”

  “Sit tight, then. Don’t try to climb out. Help’s on the way.”

  After righting an overturned chair, I slumped onto it. Emy brushed glass pebbles from another chair before lowering herself slowly. Together, we stared numbly at the SUV, the broken window, the staved-in bricks, and the glass pebbles covering the floor.

  Her shoulders slumped. “What am I going to do?” she asked dully.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said, with more conviction than I felt. I scanned around for my shoulder bag. After plucking it from the floor, I took out my phone to text Jeff.

  on my way, he replied. I held onto the phone, not wanting to let it go. And stared again at the SUV’s crumpled front end.

  Outside, people milled about, pointing. The sharp blast of a siren parted the crowd, and a fire truck pulled up in front of the shattered window.

  Captain Bob Valens and his crew had arrived.

  I was desperately glad to see them, but my gratitude was tinged with mixed feelings. Normally, I was all in favor of being rescued by a crew of burly firefighters. Sadly, this group had rescued me before. That situation had been,
well, embarrassing. And the crew could be counted on to remind me of it whenever we met.

  Sure enough, after the captain stepped over the broken window frame and into the bakery, the first words out of his mouth were, “Verity Hawkes—what have you done now?” Accompanied by a broad grin and a wink.

  Rolling my eyes, I uttered a heartfelt sigh. “Not funny, Bob.”

  Daniela, the crew’s sole female member, ducked around the captain, shaking her head. “Sorry, Verity. Captain Bob doesn’t always know when to curb his immense charm.” She crouched beside me. “How are you feeling? Emy, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Emy said morosely, looking as if a puppy had died. The 5X Bakery was her baby, and it was devastating to see it gutted in front of her eyes.

  Daniela glanced at the ceiling. “Anybody in your apartment upstairs?

  Emy shook her head.

  “All right, then. Once we get you out of here, we’ll board off the front of the bakery, then we’ll get a building inspector to assess the damage before we let you back in.”

  Emy’s eyes welled up. “Will the building have to come down?”

  “No, no. It’s only a precaution. Everything will be fine.”

  Captain Bob leaned over Daniela’s shoulder. “We’ve seen this plenty of times, Emy. It’s not as bad as it looks. But before the SUV’s pulled away from the wall, we want you two out of the way. Grab your coats, and we’ll go out the back door.”

  By the time we’d navigated the alley and emerged on Main Street, the crowd had spilled onto the pavement. Traffic was backed up in both directions. Steam billowed from tailpipes, horns blared, and voices shouted.

  “Emy?” a frantic voice called. Lorne burst through the crowd, his parka unzipped and his short brown hair even more tousled than usual.

  Emy collapsed into his arms with a sob. “The bakery…” she blubbered. “It’s ruined.”

  “We’ll fix it,” he said, rubbing her back. “The important thing is that you’re okay.”

  I loudly cleared my throat.

  “Verity,” he said brightly. “I meant you, too.”