by B. T. Alive
“Frannie?” I said. “What was she doing here?”
“Ask her,” he said. He turned away.
“But sheriff!” I said. “You’ve got to let us help! This is personal!”
“To you?” he said, and he turned back with an eyebrow arched. “Why you? Tina’s back safe, and all the suspects are from out-of-town. You’ve got no interest in this case.”
“Of course I do!” I said. “I—”
But then I stopped. I clamped my mouth shut.
“Ms. Sassafras?” the sheriff said.
“You’re right,” I said. “Good luck.”
And I turned and strode away down the hill.
As I crunched down the wet gravel, Tina ran up beside me. “That’s it?” she said, surprised and hurt. “You’re just going to walk away? You don’t care?”
“Tina, think,” I said, quietly. “The guy was killed with his own stolen grapes. Who’s the one person we know stole those grapes? Who actually admitted it?”
Tina stared. “But…”
“Fiona,” I insisted. “And she just happens to be the sheriff’s daughter.”
Chapter 24
We trudged back toward the Inn, cold and wet in the dreary gray. I felt numb, thrashed back and forth with emotional whiplash. The guy drowns, then he crashes his funeral, then I see his white foot jutting dead on the gravel… I was ready to sleep for a week.
Plus, not to be a whiner, but the sudden cold turn was going to give me a cold. An ominous itch was tickling the back of my throat. Maybe I really should go to bed.
But then I saw Tina’s face, and I knew I wasn’t going anywhere until my bestie was at least functional. If I thought the emotional roller coaster of the last few days had been tough on me, she was looking like she’d been riding it dangling by her ankles.
“Fiona wouldn’t kill someone,” she said, for the fourth or fifth time, as we clattered up the cobblestones of Main Street. “Not even Dante.”
“You did see her face, right?” I said. “At the ‘funeral’?”
“Of course I did!” she snapped. “So did everyone else! That’s why we’ve got to really solve this, right now, because the second Sheriff Jake thinks he’s got to treat her as the prime suspect, he’s going to get so locked into doing due diligence—”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Believe me, I remember how he fixated on Cade. Geez. You’d think a sheriff would do a better job raising his kids.”
“Summer! She didn’t do it!”
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “But do we have any proof? We don’t have anything… in fact, all the work we did when we thought he’d drowned is now pointless. We traipsed around collecting alibis for a crime that hadn’t happened yet! I hate this guy!”
Tina glared. “Well, he’s definitely dead now. I hope you’re satisfied.”
“Come on, Tina,” I said. “Think about how he treated you all. I mean, he stood up there and admitted that he proposed to some other woman, the night before his wedding! Who does that? I bet that’s who killed him. He didn’t just do it, he had to announce it to the world…”
I trailed off. Because Tina looked ghastly.
“Oh… no,” I said. “Oh my gosh. It was you?”
But I felt like an idiot. Of course he’d chosen Tina! This was Dante Radcliff we were talking about. Tina was gorgeous and at least ten years younger than all his other exes, even Fiona.
No wonder she’d run off and hid for a couple days after he’d tried to propose. I wouldn’t have been able to face that wedding either.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said. “What happened?”
Tina wouldn’t meet my gaze. “He texted. The night before the wedding. To come talk,” she muttered. “He didn’t say why, but I was already feeling wretched for storming off like that earlier in the day, and I was relieved that I could apologize in person. He met me on a path we used to walk together in the orchard. When I saw him there in the woods, waiting for me… all the old feelings came back. He must have seen it in my face—”
“Oh my gosh. Do not tell me you’re blaming yourself!” I snapped. “He’s the one who proposed. What did you even say?”
“I said no.” She looked so miserable. “But the feelings were real.”
“He was a telempath!” I said, exasperated. “Why is this so hard to grasp?”
“I know how I felt,” Tina said. “Me. I can tell the difference, Summer!”
I snorted.
She looked really angry now, but I cut her off. “Tina, I’m not even sure I can tell the difference with me.”
“You’re not an empath!” she snapped. “If I don’t have my feelings, what’s left?”
“I don’t know! Maybe choices?”
“And maybe Fiona’s right about you,” Tina muttered.
That hurt.
We walked in silence for a bit. In my foul mood, even the perky Main Street shops were looking gaudy and gauche in the gray.
Finally, I said, “Okay. So much for the proposal as a motive. You ran off to dodge the wedding, and then, what, you finally came back the next night to confront him, only to find the broken bridge?”
She nodded. “I hadn’t even heard what had happened with the grapes,” she said, trying to sound friendly but with her own edge of hurt. “I’d just been obsessing about everything, and I finally decided that Lee deserved to know.”
“Okay,” I said. “So that leaves… everyone else. Fiona, Glynis, Adora, Rhonda… any one of them could have been jealous enough to just lose it after the funeral when Lee took him back.”
“Not Fiona,” Tina said.
“He was killed with the grapes,” I said. “Who else would have even known where they were hidden?”
But even as I said it, I realized exactly who.
The Masked Cutter. Whoever had masterminded the vineyard sabotage in the first place.
And I also realized something else.
“What is it?” Tina said, watching my face.
“All our work wasn’t wasted after all,” I said. “If you really think it wasn’t Fiona, then it must have been whoever helped her that night. Whoever had the idea in the first place.”
Tina frowned, thoughtful. “But didn’t we already find alibis for that night? Adora had that migraine, remember?”
“What about Rhonda?” I said. “She told us all that dirt about Lee, but did she actually give us any alibi for herself?”
“I don’t think so,” Tina said.
“And then there’s Glynis,” I said. “Who knows what she was doing that night they trashed the vineyard? We haven’t even talked to her. And given she was secretly obsessed with Dante all along…”
“I’m not sure about all this,” Tina said. “Couldn’t anyone have found those grapes and used them? Like, to make Fiona look guilty? They might even be different grapes.”
“Sure, someone just quietly got themselves a second dump truck full of grapes somewhere,” I said. “Maybe Wal-Mart was having a sale.”
“I’m just saying, all we know is that it happened last night,” Tina said. “That’s the alibi that matters.”
I opened my mouth to argue. Instead, I clapped it right back shut.
“Summer?” Tina said.
“I hate to keep saying this to everyone,” I said, “but… you’re right. And this time I mean it.”
Tina arched an eyebrow. “Then why do you look so excited?”
“Because there’s a whole other person we’re forgetting about. Someone who was also here last night, with a major grudge against Dante Radcliff.”
Tina frowned. “Who?”
“Who else?” I said. “Noreen Quigg. His less-than-affectionate mother-in-law.”
Chapter 25
Tina was skeptical, but she agreed that, considering that Noreen had been hunting down her deadbeat son-in-law for months, if not years, and had found him only to discover that he was marrying someone else and had no intention of paying her daughter child support, ever, it was a
t least worth noting that he’d proceeded to die that night.
We hustled up to the Inn. Tina knew she was staying there, and we had a good chance of catching the woman in the dining room. Even killers needed breakfast.
But the dining room was practically empty. Not only was there no Noreen, but nobody else from yesterday’s ‘funeral’ was present either, neither Adora nor Rhonda. Odd.
Before we could investigate too long, however, we were spotted. By Grandma. She was standing at the greeter podium, impeccably made up as always, and eyeing us with a wary gaze. She nodded us to come over.
“I heard the news,” she said, speaking low as we drew close. “Who might you two be prowling around for?” She looked at Tina, and her face softened to concern. “I suspect you both might benefit from a little rest.”
Tina’s face went hard. “There’s a killer loose,” she muttered.
Grandma sighed.
“We were hoping to talk to Noreen Quigg,” I said.
Grandma’s face soured, like she’d bitten into a lemon. “That woman. Checked in here days ago, and she hasn’t eaten here once.”
“Days? Really?” Tina said. “I only noticed her yesterday.”
“She’s barely been in,” Grandma said, with a sniff. “Comes in at all hours, then leaves before breakfast.”
I was getting excited. If she’d been here for days… “Did you hear why she’s here?” I said. “Who she is?”
“Oh, yes,” Grandma said. “But that’s no excuse for persistently avoiding Vladik’s cooking. Somehow the poor man’s gotten wind of it, and now he’s moping around that kitchen like a bedraggled rooster. It’s affecting his performance; he made me two poached eggs this morning, and the second egg was absolutely shapeless—”
“I’m sorry about your egg, but she might be a killer,” I cut in. “Where is she eating? We’ve got to talk to her!”
“Oh, Arthur’s, of course,” she said. “I expect he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
“Arthur? Who’s Arthur?” I said.
But Tina was nodding. “The pub. Makes sense.”
“Wonder Springs has a pub?” I cried. “Why did nobody tell me this?”
“Oh, you too?” Grandma sniffed. “I can appreciate a well-crafted pint now and then, but considering that our selection of wines here, both local and imported, is truly extraordinary—”
“See you later, Grandma,” Tina said. “Thanks.” And she darted for the door.
Before I could join her, Grandma’s cold hand clasped my sleeved arm.
“Watch her,” she said. All the genteel petulance of her previous complaints had vanished utterly; her voice was grim and hard.
“Of course,” I said, willing myself not to squirm in her grip. “Always.”
“But now, especially,” she said. Her gaze was so serious I could barely meet it. “Barnaby told me he spoke with you about my dream.”
“The drowning?” I said. Grandma’s face flickered with something—worry?—and I said, “But he said you didn’t see who it was.”
“That is correct.”
“Don’t you think it must have been Dante, then?” I said. “I mean, I know he faked it, but everyone thought he’d drowned, right? And now he really is dead. Couldn’t that all have gotten mixed up in your dream?”
“I think not,” Grandma said.
“Why?”
“Because I had a sense, a very strong sense… that the victim was a woman.”
A cold dread settled into my chest. “A woman?” I said. “Someone else? Tina?”
“I don’t know,” Grandma said. “Just… watch her. Please.”
And she nodded me toward the door.
Outside, I caught up with Tina, and she quickly led the way, through a maze of side streets, to the one and only pub in Wonder Springs. By now, I thought I’d walked every alley of the little town, but when we got there, I consoled myself that at least this entrance was certainly tucked away.
We were in one of the oldest parts of town, with tall brick townhouses that dated back to the colonial era, and we’d walked a narrow alley that I would have assumed was private, the walls so close that my elbows brushed the brick. At the alley’s end, a surprising little courtyard, hemmed in on every side by colonial brick, was catching a rare burst of sunlight, giving a warm glow to a low, arched passage that opened to a thick wooden door. Above the passage hung an ancient sign: THE OLD INKLING.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you have a pub,” I said. “This place looks legit.”
Tina shrugged. “It’s pretty nice. But it’s only been here since 1750 or so.”
She was serious.
We creaked open the door and went in. The low ceiling of exposed old joists and the bare, battered stone walls seemed to have watched the passing of the centuries with a merry indifference; while the Inn was ceaselessly cared for down to the last dusted sconce, maintaining the best parts of the past into the present, this dark room, with its pools of light and tiny windows, made you feel like its owners had always been a bit too busy for such niceties, instead maintaining their own good cheer. Some might have found it shabby, even decrepit, but I couldn’t deny that the place felt cozy. Cozy and very male.
I don’t know how big a crowd I’d expected in a pub in the morning, but it was still quite gratifying to find Noreen so easily. She sat alone at a rough wooden table near the wide high counter of the bar, and her breakfast looked truly astounding.
Multiple plates were heaped high with breakfast glory: an enormous pile of golden eggs was crowned with both bacon and sausages, further accompanied by grilled tomato, fried onions, mushrooms, and, carefully quarantined on its own plate, a tottering tower of toast that was positively slathered in orange marmalade.
“The full English breakfast,” Tina murmured, and whatever ancient rivalry she’d inherited between the Pub and the Inn, she couldn’t quite conceal a note of awe.
Behind the breakfast, working away with her massive jaw and gleaming teeth, Noreen Quigg looked… truly happy. It was startling; given her appearance yesterday, I hadn’t know that her face could do that.
Then she saw us, and her large eyes brightened even further. Still chewing, she waved us over with both hands, her arms almost flailing with camaraderie.
Tina and I shared a surprised glance, but we each took a chair at her table without a word. True, the woman was gripping a large knife, but whatever she might have done to Dante, she was radiating such overbearing good cheer just now that I couldn’t believe she’d actually hurt us. At least, not until she polished off those sausages.
They really did smell amazing. I totally needed to start insisting on breakfast before we sallied forth on these interminable interviews. Stupid murders.
“I am so glad to see you both,” she said, the second she’d finished chewing. Actually, earlier. “You rushed out so quick yesterday. I was hoping to catch you.”
“Really?” I said. “Why?”
“I just felt so awful for all of you. All his old girlfriends.”
“Oh,” I said. “Actually, I wasn’t—”
“It’s all right. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” she said. She brandished a fork with motherly emphasis. “That man is lethal. If he could pull the wool over my Little Noreen’s eyes for so many years, I promise you no woman is safe.”
Privately, I wondered how close “Little Noreen” was to pushing fifty.
Then I realized she was still talking about Dante in the present tense.
Before I could figure out how to handle that, Tina cut in.
“So what did you do?” she said. “After the funeral?”
“Funeral,” Noreen snorted. “What a crock. I’ll tell you exactly what I did, you sweet young thing. I came right here and restored my spirit with some liquid refreshment.”
“Until when?” Tina persisted.
Noreen laughed. “Till Arthur kicked me out.” She twisted in her chair and called over her shoulder. “What time do y
ou close, dear? Midnight? One?”
With a start, I realized there was a man behind the counter of the bar. He was so gray and nondescript as to nearly fade into the unlit morning shadows; he was rotund and mustached and his outfit was absurdly old-fashioned, with a strange cut to his white shirt and garters on his sleeves, but his presence was so reticent as to be almost ghostly. The brightest thing about him was the white cloth in his hand, twisting in the glass that he never stopped wiping.
Without a word, he nodded at Noreen, and held up a single finger.
“One o’clock,” Noreen said, with a nod of satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.”
“You were here? That whole time?” I said. I glanced at the barkeep, who I supposed was named Arthur, and he gave me a silent nod.
“Absolutely,” Noreen said. “You missed a splendid evening.”
I slouched, struggling not to be totally crestfallen. I hadn’t realized quite how much I’d been hoping the killer was this random strange woman with a huge mouth.
Then I realized the deeper implications of what she’d been saying.
“Hold up,” I said. “Did you have some kind of party? Were there other people here from the funeral too?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” she said. “After that fool left with that poor deluded Lee Lannon woman, I got talking with the others and realized what a number he’d done on you all. It had just never occurred to me that of course he’d have continued his collection.”
“Collection?” I said.
“Stop blaming yourself,” she said, and she reached out to pat my hand. I panicked, nearly yanking away my hand to avoid the zap, and then, at the last millisecond, decided instead to shift so she’d grab my sleeved forearm and be done with it. It worked, and she did, gripping my protected arm with cold, strong hands.
I felt so… patronized that I had to clench my jaw to keep from getting snarky.
Then I realized I’d pretty much been saying the same thing to Tina for days.
“I think you all should start a support group,” Noreen continued. “We practically did last night.”
“We? Who, exactly?” I said. “Are you saying you invited those total strangers over here for drinks?”