Perhaps Adam spoke with his dad on a regular basis even if he didn’t come to see the elderly man, but I doubted it. I know how much I missed talking to my grandmother since she passed.
I left them to their dinner only to find that Tucker had come in. He was at the counter with a big bowl of vegetable soup and a stack of biscuits. His cheeks were still ruddy from the cold and wind.
“I see you have some interesting customers this evening,” he said, quietly when I refilled his coffee cup.
When I didn’t respond, he glanced at Adam, Robert and Helen sitting together in the back booth.
“Oh, they were talking insurance and Helen decided she wasn’t cooking and...”
“I’ll bet they were talking insurance. Mr. Nettle had a couple of pretty big policies. Way too much insurance for a mail carrier,” he said, tearing a biscuit in half and dunking it in his soup.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” I said, sounding pretty sure of myself.
“I’ve pulled bank records for Mr. Nettle and Adam. We’re going over them now. Seems Adam’s dad was worth more dead than alive,” Tucker told me, his voice hushed.
“That doesn’t mean...”
“And now Adam is having dinner with his dad’s insurance carrier. That looks pretty suspicious to me.”
“Maybe they’re just working out the details. Maybe Adam is buying insurance,” I argued.
“Or maybe both of them are a little upset because I won’t release the body,” Tucker said. “I’ve asked the coroner to stall his report until I do a bit more digging into the finances.”
“So the insurance won’t pay off until...”
Tucker nodded.
“Everyone knows he was murdered,” I said, struggling to keep my voice down. “You mean the insurance won’t pay off until you find out who did it?”
“Bingo.”
Adam and Robert and Helen Taylor paid for their meal and left, making it a point to ignore the fact that Tucker was sitting at the counter big as life.
“He was pretty belligerent when I interviewed him,” Tucker said, watching them leave.
“Adam?”
He nodded. “Swore up and down that he didn’t have a thing to do with it. Still, I had to get a warrant to get his financial and phone records.”
“And what have you found out so far, detective?” I asked, crossing my arms in front of me.
“Nothing. Yet,” Tucker said.
Joe Wheeler strolled into the diner like he owned the place, just like he always did. “Tucker, my man,” he said, slapping Tucker on the back. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”
“Not avoiding. Just busy,” Tucker said with an easy smile. “I do have a murder to solve, you know.”
“And then you’ll head back to where, Richmond?”
“Wherever the next case takes me,” Tucker answered. Why was his southern drawl so much more prominent when Joe was around?
“Well, I want to get the scoop on this story for the paper,” Joe reminded him.
“I know and I’ll give you the story when I know the story.”
“Rumor has it that you think it was related to money,” Joe coaxed.
Tucker glanced at me.
“Hey, I haven’t said a word to anyone about this,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”
“My sources said it originated from the mayor’s office,” Joe said, rescuing me from Tucker’s hot gaze.
Suddenly, I remembered that the mayor had cancelled a meeting with Joe the morning Mr. Nettle died. While the two men talked, I struggled to remember what Mayor Gillespie had said. All I really could remember was that he said he had a meeting he’d forgotten about and had to cancel. I busied myself re-filling Tucker’s cup and pouring a fresh cup of coffee for Joe. I refused to believe that Mayor Gillespie was involved in this.
“Thanks, Doll-face,” Joe said with a wink. “And could I get some of that vegetable soup I’ve been hearing about all day?”
“Sure thing,” I said and scurried off toward the kitchen.
“If it’s okay, I think I’ll be heading out,” Barbara Ellen said, once she helped me get Joe’s meal ready.
“Go ahead. I think we’re just about finished here tonight,” I said, following her back out to the little hall where everyone hung their coats. She’d already sent everyone else home due to the cold. “I’ll take care of the register once these guys get moving.”
“Starla, be careful,” Barbara Ellen said, pulling on her hat and gloves.
“I’ll try not to fall up the steps on my way home, okay?” I said, surprised at her statement.
She took a deep breath and hugged me. “Mr. Nettle getting shot like that just worries me. Things like that just don’t happen in our little town.”
“Times are changing, Barbara Ellen,” I said, hugging her back. “Besides, I have Tucker and Joe sitting in my diner. What could possibly happen?”
“You have a point,” she said. “Although judging by the way both of those men look at you, you might have to fight them both off.”
“Oh, hush” I said, waving her away. “I’ve known Tucker since forever and Joe’s a big city guy. He’s not going to hang around here long.”
Even as I said it, I realized I hadn’t thought about Joe’s kisses since Tucker had come to town.
The men were deep in conversation when I cleared their dishes. It looked like Joe was getting an informal interview whether Tucker knew it or not.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, Poppy and I braved the cold and wind and walked to the bank. The trip was pretty uneventful. At least we didn’t find any more dead people. Bundled up in coats, hats and gloves, we trudged along Main Street leaning against the wind. Tiffany’s health food store, Naturally Yours, wasn’t doing much business even with her new line of natural beauty products in the window. In fact, she was stepping into the yoga studio, A Beautiful Balance, just as we passed it. She didn’t miss the opportunity to turn and smile at us.
“Just got back from Harrisonburg,” she said. “We are learning so much from Sylvia.”
“Good for you,” Poppy said.
My lips were frozen together so I couldn’t reply. My face was too cold to smile back. At least that’s what I told myself.
In the bank at Mrs. Snyder’s window, I caught a glimpse of a small blue plate of beautifully frosted cupcakes. The white frosting, swirled just perfectly, looked like sparkling snow and two delicate, pale blue snowflakes that looked like they were made of sugar were perched on top.
“What pretty cupcakes,” Poppy commented as she unzipped the pouch and handed to the older woman.
“Aren’t they. I believe Eva and Anna Lord made those,” Mrs. Snyder said. “They’re practicing for the baking contest at the Winter Festival.”
“Starla is, too,” Poppy said, glancing at me.
“Well, I’d be happy to taste test them,” Mrs. Snyder said with a shaky little laugh. “These are almost too pretty to eat.”
“Food isn’t supposed to be too pretty to eat,” I grumbled while unwrapping my purple sucker.
Poppy laughed.
Neither of us were too keen on walking in the park. I told myself it was the weather but that wasn’t the real reason. Heck, I wondered if we would ever walk in that park again, even after the weather cleared up. All I could remember was seeing Mr. Nettle lying dead in the snow. I told her she could use my treadmill if she really felt like she had to exercise.
Instead, Poppy suggested we walk a little further away from the diner along Main Street and then back up the other side. That brought us within shouting distance of the police station (a shiny new red brick building) and then right past the mayor’s office which was located in one of the oldest buildings in town. It had originally been an old mill transformed into offices which housed all the city and some county offices. The historical society, which took up part of the ground floor, was where Helen Taylor held art shows, quilt shows an
d other events. She actually hosted the mayor’s victory party there after the last election. The Mayor’s office was on the first floor as well.
As we approached the building on our way back down the street, a beautiful ruby red Lincoln Navigator glided into a parking space.
“Who is that?” I asked, my voice muffled by my scarf.
In answer, Helen Taylor climbed out from behind the wheel looking as put together as usual. Mayor Gillespie got out of the passenger side, struggling against the wind.
“Starla. Poppy,” Mayor Gillespie shouted, his gaze darting nervously from us to Helen and back again.
“Ladies,” Helen Taylor gushed, fighting the wind to keep her coat around her. “Did you see my new car?”
How could we miss it? “It’s a beauty,” I said.
“Robert bought it for me just yesterday. When Mayor Gillespie saw it, he asked me to take him for a spin. Even on these bad roads, it handles beautifully. And now our mayor is thinking of buying one of his own,” Helen rambled on while she tucked her car keys in what looked like an expensive purse that matched her expensive looking boots.
“Helen. Ladies.” The mayor nodded. “I have a meeting in just a few moments. So if you’ll excuse me...”
“Why, yes,” Helen said. “I have a meeting as well so I’d better get running, too.”
We watched the two of them cross the sidewalk and step into the old building. The wind whipped their coats around their legs. Mayor Gillespie paused and held the door for Helen. She smiled up at him.
“What was that all about?” Poppy asked as we began walking again.
“I don’t know, but I’d love to find out if they were together the morning Mr. Nettle was killed,” I said, mostly to myself.
“You don’t think one of them...” Poppy said, her brown eyes watering from the cold.
“No but I have a feeling the Helen that was written on Mr. Nettle’s note was referring to Helen Taylor,” I said as we hurried back to my apartment.
I was in my little kitchen, squeezing soft butter out of the corner of a plastic bag, practicing my cake decorating skills on what would be our grilled cheese sandwiches. Poppy was running on the treadmill in my bedroom. The rhythmic thump of her shoes on the mat made me sleepy.
“I’d like to see his calendar,” I said when Poppy came into the kitchen dabbing sweat off of her face with the corner of a towel.
“Well, I’m pretty sure you can’t just waltz into his office and ask to see it,” Poppy said, sitting down in front of a bowl of tomato soup.
I expertly flipped the sandwiches in my grandmother’s iron skillet and smiled at the perfectly grilled, golden brown bread.
“You’ve been practicing your decorating skills,” Poppy said, lifting a cracker off the plate in the center of the table.
I had swirled some spreadable cheese across the crackers and sprinkled them with parsley and red pepper flakes.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to do more than that to win the contest at the festival,” I told her, cutting our sandwiches into triangles.
“I’m telling you, YouTube,” Poppy said, digging into her soup.
“Uh huh,” I said, absently.
My thoughts kept returning to the way Helen had looked up at the mayor when he opened the door for her. They’d been out in her new car, which I was sure Tucker was going to equate with some sort of a payoff for Mr. Nettle’s murder. They had talked at the diner that morning and then Mayor Gillespie had cancelled his meeting with Joe. And, Helen’s neighbors talked about how the mayor was a regular visitor at her house.
“Earth to Starla,” Poppy said, waving her hand in front of my face.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking.”
“About how to get into see Mayor Gillespie’s calendar?”
“Sort of.”
“If he was having some secret old person sex thing with Helen, do you think he would write it on his calendar?” Poppy asked.
“He might.”
Poppy shook her head.
“We might be able to find out,” I said, carefully broaching the idea that had just popped into my head.
“How?”
“If we got into his office after he left for the day,” I suggested.
“How? You know Darcy is not going to let you past her desk,” Poppy reminded me.
Darcy Sours was Mayor Gillespie’s secretary and guard dog and had been for as long as I could remember. She reeked of cigarette smoke even though the office had No Smoking signs everywhere. And no one but no one got past her desk without an appointment. I wondered if Tucker or Joe had been able to charm their way past her.
“We could break in,” I suggested.
“Break into the mayor’s office,” Poppy gasped, almost choking on her first bite of grilled cheese. “Starla, it’s right beside the police station.”
“I know but tonight it will be cold and dark and none of those guys will be out and about. Besides, his office is on the back side of the building,” I argued, a plan forming in my head even as we talked.
“And I like my freedom way too much,” Poppy said with finality.
I shrugged. “Okay, I’ll just do it by myself.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, munching on our lunch.
“Besides, that place would be locked up tight. No way you could just climb into a window,” she continued.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” I said, thinking of Darcy.
“There are probably alarms everywhere,” Poppy reasoned.
“I doubt it. Maybe in the Historical Society section.”
“Are you really going to try this?” Poppy asked after a few minutes of silence.
“I have to. I have to know who the mayor was meeting the morning of Mr. Nettle’s murder. He cancelled an appointment with Joe for that meeting,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t think Mr. Nettle’s murder has anything at all to do with money. I don’t think it was a paid hit or whatever you call it.”
“And you have to prove it to yourself?”
“And Tucker. He’s chasing the money trail and if he keeps that up, the real killer is going to walk free, maybe even kill someone else.” I tried explaining myself, but even to my own ears, it sounded a little far-fetched.
“And you’re doing all of this on instinct alone?” Poppy asked.
“Poppy, both of us are pretty good judges of character,” I said. “Adam may have been a rotten son but he didn’t kill his dad or have him killed.”
“And that leaves us with the Helen thing,” Poppy said.
“Yeah. The Helen thing. What if she was meeting the mayor at the park?”
“In a snow storm?”
“Yes. What if Mr. Nettle found out somehow? Met them there?”
“And they killed him?” Poppy asked.
I shrugged. It didn’t even make sense but I was sure it was part of the puzzle. And I felt like I was going around in circles. We finished up our soup and sandwiches in silence.
Finally, as we were clearing the table, Poppy said, “Okay, I’ll tell Tom that I’m spending the night with you.”
“So you’re going to help?” I asked.
There was a reason Poppy was my best friend. She never, ever let me down.
“Against my better judgement,” Poppy said, a little smile playing across her face. Then she held up her finger. “But if we find all the windows are locked, we give up. I’m not going to really break into the mayor’s office.”
“Deal,” I said and we shook hands.
Poppy went down to the diner to help with the late lunch and afternoon crowd. I tried to take a nap and found myself too restless to do so. I tried to watch YouTube videos to learn some fancy cake decorating skill but couldn’t concentrate on that, either.
Joe called and we talked for a few minutes. He was actually pretty sure Tucker was on the right track and announced that the two of them were working together.
“I’m pretty good at digging up information,” Joe bragged.
Finally, I gave up and went down to the diner. Barbara Ellen and Poppy were sitting at the counter talking. The place was empty.
“What did Gladys make today?” I asked, nodding at their empty bowls.
“Baked macaroni and cheese,” Poppy said, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
“And lasagna,” Barbara Ellen added, gathering their dishes and heading out to the kitchen.
I laughed. “When word gets out, we’ll be busy at dinner time.”
“Probably,” Poppy said, just as the bells jingled over the door and some of the late afternoon VDOT road crew came trickling into the diner.
“I told you,” I said.
We did get busy after that. The days were supposed to be getting longer but it sure didn’t feel like it. By six o’clock it was pitch dark outside and Gladys’s macaroni and lasagna were taking a pretty good hit. Adam came into the diner, alone this time, grumbling about how Tucker was looking into his financial affairs.
“He’s just doing his job,” I assured Adam. “Covering all of the bases.”
“Maybe once he gets finished snooping around in my bank account and phone records, he’ll go after who really killed my dad,” Adam fumed.
“I’m sure he will,” I said, and left Adam to wait on another table full of customers.
All I could think about was that maybe we would find some clue on the mayor’s calendar that would set Tucker on the right track.
Just after Adam left, Tucker came into the diner. It began to slow down after that until he was just about the only customer left.
“Saw Adam in the parking lot when I came in,” Tucker said, digging into his baked macaroni with gusto.
“Oh, yeah,” I said.
“Yeah, he’s pretty upset with me right now,” Tucker said.
“Do you blame him?”
“If he’s innocent, he should be welcoming the fact that I’m turning over every stone to find his dad’s killer,” Tucker said.
Peppermint Breath & an Untimely Death Page 8