by Kathi Daley
Georgia ran a finger down the front of the print. “I wonder if we can find out for certain who drew it. If it was Chamberlain Westminster, and he did it during the four months he lived in the house with the love of his life, that would be kind of wonderful.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “How romantic it would be if we could prove that the man who drew the house was the same one who built it. I wonder how we can find out.”
Georgia looked around. “I doubt the man who owns this place would know, but the sketch is really good, so it stands to reason that CW, whoever he was, must have made other sketches as well. I bet if we take the sketch to a local artist, they might be able to figure out its history. We may even be able to find additional sketches of the house. It would be really special to have sketches scattered around the place.”
“I’m going to find Lacy to let her know I want to buy this as well as the chairs. I saw a secretary’s desk against the wall I want to take a closer look at too. I don’t suppose you noticed any bedroom furniture that may be worthy of a place in our country inn?”
“Not yet, but I’ll keep looking. This store does seem to have treasures to find if you are willing to look for them.”
Chapter 8
“Wow, it is really coming down out there,” Georgia said as she slid a cookie sheet into the oven. “I bet we’ll have a couple of feet of new snow before the end of the day.”
“I heard we may get up to three feet,” I answered. I glanced at the cookies that were cooling on every available countertop. “I thought the bake sale for the children’s arts program was over.”
“It is,” Georgia replied. “I wanted a way to make some extra money while we are waiting for the inn to open, so I talked to Gilda and Velma about providing baked goods for their restaurants. Both were open to the idea, so I agreed to provide a certain number of pies and cakes to each café three times a week.”
“That sounds like a great idea, but those look like cookies. Hundreds of cookies.”
“While I was at Velma’s dropping off her Monday pies, a woman came in looking for cookies. It seems that the local bookstore is holding a book signing tomorrow and she wanted to provide refreshments. We chatted a bit and after some negotiation, she ordered five dozen cookies, which I am to deliver to the bookstore by nine a.m. tomorrow morning.”
I picked up a cookie and took a bite. As expected, it was delicious. “Shortly after I moved to Holiday Bay, I walked past that bookstore and almost went in. I was feeling kind of down and my writing career wasn’t back on track yet, so in the end, I decided that visiting a bookstore might just make me feel sadder, so I walked on by. I do remember that it was charming.”
Georgia nodded. “Firehouse Books is really quaint and cozy. Did you know that the building in which it’s located used to be an actual firehouse? There is still a fireman’s pole in the center.”
“I’ll definitely have to check it out. Maybe I’ll go with you when you deliver the cookies tomorrow.”
“I think that meeting the local bookseller is a good idea because you will have a new book coming out in the near future.”
I took another bite of the cookie. “The manuscript is finally back on track and almost finished, and in a few days it will be in Kate’s capable hands, but there is no guarantee that it will be published anytime soon. Still, I do agree that it would be a good idea to get to know the local bookseller. She may even know of other authors living in the area. I used to belong to an authors’ group back in San Francisco. I admit I missed a lot of the meetings, but it was nice to have men and women with a common interest to network with.”
Georgia slid a cookie sheet out of the oven and set it on a cooling rack. “I totally think you should come with me tomorrow. The owner’s name is Kerrigan Wheeler. I think you’ll like her. And after we drop off the cookies, you can come with me to the community center for the Valentine’s Ball committee meeting.”
I frowned. “The ball is just a week from tomorrow, isn’t it? I can’t believe it is already February. Where did January go?”
Georgia smiled. “You’ve been working so hard on your novel that I’m not surprised you lost track of time. I’m glad you got your muse back.”
“Yeah, me too.” I glanced out the window. The snow was still falling, but it had slowed considerably. “I’m going to walk out to the road to get the mail. Do you think Ramos would like to go with me?”
Georgia glanced at her huge black dog. “Ramos is always up for a walk. Before you go, though, and before I forget to tell you, I spoke to the bride who inquired about having her wedding here in September and she is totally fine with a soft reservation for now.”
I smiled. “That’s great. Our first booking.”
“And it’s a big one. She wants to rent out all six suites for four nights, and to hold both the wedding and reception, as well as the rehearsal dinner, right here on the property.”
I pulled on my jacket. “That’s great. Did you discuss costs at all?”
Georgia shook her head. “I told her that if she wanted to send me a detailed description of what she wanted in terms of food and whatnot, we could come up with a price. If you ask me, after speaking to her, I didn’t think the money it would cost would be an issue as long as we are able to provide the wedding she has been dreaming of.”
“And did her dream seem reasonable?” While I would welcome such a large booking, I certainly didn’t want to get involved with a bridezilla who couldn’t be pleased no matter what we did.
“I think so. If we get to the point where we are ready to sign a contract, we’ll just need to make sure that we ask all the right questions and that everything is spelled out in detail so there are no surprises.” Georgia began stacking cooled cookies into boxes. “Don’t worry. I’ve catered weddings before. That might not be the same as hosting the entire event, but I’ve learned along the way what sort of questions to ask up front to save tears and heartache down the road.”
I decided to trust that Georgia knew what she was talking about. She was going to be the inn manager, so I should let her manage. I pulled on my hat, gloves, and heavy boots, called to Ramos, and headed out into the snow. Lonnie had been keeping the drive plowed for us, so the snow on the pavement was only an inch or so deep. I supposed once the remodel was complete and Lonnie wasn’t coming over on an almost daily basis, I’d need to hire someone to do it. But that wouldn’t be an issue until next winter, so I would just add plow service to the list of items to take care of at some future date.
Once I arrived at the box, I pulled out the stack of mail and slid it into the pocket of my jacket. The snow was beginning to pick up again, so I turned around and headed back to the cottage.
“Anything interesting?” Georgia asked when I walked in.
I pulled the pile of envelopes from my pocket. “Bill, trash, trash, bill,” I said as I tossed each envelope onto the counter after glancing at the address of the sender. “Now here’s something.”
I set the envelope on the table, pulled off my hat and gloves and shoved them into my pockets, and took off my jacket and hung it on the coatrack by the door.
“Eleanor Quinn from Portland, Oregon?” Georgia asked.
“I think that Eleanor Quinn might live in the house that was once owned by Maddie Westmore.” This seemed to confuse Georgia, so I elaborated. “I wrote to Maddie Westmore, Velma’s aunt, who lived in Oregon, according to Charlee. I hoped if she was still alive and still lived in the same house, she might know Reggie’s whereabouts.”
Georgia frowned. “How did you get the address?”
“I found an address for Madeline Westmore of Portland, Oregon, while doing an online search, though it was connected to a document that was more than ten years old. I had no way of knowing if the woman still lived on the same property, or even if the Madeline Westmore I found was the Aunt Maddie that Charlee mentioned as being the woman who might know what had become of Reggie, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to send an inquiry and see what happened
.”
“And…?” Georgia asked.
“Let’s find out.” I ripped open the envelope and began to read. “ʻDear Ms. Sullivan: My name is Eleanor Quinn. I am the daughter of Madeline Westmore and received the note that you sent to her. Mom is currently living in a long-term care facility. She is in the final stages of dementia and I doubt she can help you in your quest. I do, however, believe that she knew the Reggie you are looking for. There is a photo on the bookshelf of two teenage girls. Mom told me they were her nieces, Velma and Regina. I never met either of them and can’t say where either woman might be living now, but I did find a listing for Regina in one of my mother’s old address books. I’m sure the address is at least a decade old, but I thought I’d send it to you anyway. Good luck in your attempt to reunite the sisters. Eleanor.’” I looked up at Georgia. “The address she provided is in Boston.”
“So what are you going to do?” Georgia asked.
“I’m going to drop a note to Regina at this address to see what happens.”
Georgia sat down across from me. “Does it mention her last name? If she married, it most likely isn’t Upton anymore.”
I frowned. “No. The address just provides the street number and name, city, state, and zip. I suppose I’ll just send it to Regina Upton and see what happens. The worst thing that will happen is that the letter will be undeliverable and I will have to pick up a new trail.”
Georgia placed a hand on my arm. “Are you sure you should be doing this without talking to Velma? She really might not appreciate your gesture. It could even ruin your relationship with her.”
“If it looks like we have been able to track Reggie down, I’ll talk to her. I don’t want to mention what I am doing until I have something more. The reality is, tracking Reggie down at this point might not even be possible.” I sat back in my chair. “How are you doing with your own mystery?”
“To be honest, I haven’t had a lot of time to do much work on it. Were you able to set up an interview with Willa Baker? It seems that speaking to her about what she remembers about Victor and Ursula might give me a good place to jump in.”
“I haven’t spoken to her, but I will make the call right now. Maybe we can chat with her tomorrow while we are out. What time will the committee meeting you plan to attend be over?”
“By noon at the latest.”
“Okay, I’ll see if Willa can meet with us right after lunch.”
I called Willa and set up an appointment to meet with her in her home at one o’clock the next day, then logged onto my computer to check my email. There was one from Kate, letting me know that she had spoken to my old publisher about my new novel. They were very interested in seeing the manuscript when it was done, and I emailed back to let her know that the manuscript was just about complete and I would be sending it off to her the following week.
There was also an email from one of Ben’s old colleagues, asking if he had anything either on his personal computer or hard copy files that pertained to official investigations he was working on for the San Francisco Police Department at the time of his death. I emailed back to say I didn’t think so, though I hadn’t touched his computer since his death and, while he had left files behind in his home office, I hadn’t had the heart to go through those either. I asked if there was something specific he was looking for. Since Ben had died more than a year ago, I had a feeling something must have come up very recently that had led the colleague to suddenly contact me.
I logged off, but not before checking my social media accounts. I hadn’t posted to any of them since Ben and the baby died, although I did look to see what others did from time to time. As I scanned through photos of men and women I’d once considered good friends, I realized that people who once meant so much to me now seemed like nothing more than vague memories of another life.
I closed my computer and then answered my phone. “Hey, Colt. What’s up?”
“Lily May,” Colt answered. “She called me a while ago to tell me that she had something important to share about Karen’s death. I told her that we could meet in my office or I could come to her home, but for some reason, she asked if you and I could meet with her at Velma’s.”
“Velma’s is closed,” I pointed out.
“I know. I said as much to Lily, but she told me that she was calling me from Velma’s place, and it was Velma who’d suggested that we meet her there.”
“Okay,” I said, even though I had no idea why a woman I had never met wanted me to attend a meeting involving the death of another woman I had never met. I supposed it could have been Velma’s suggestion. She had really appreciated the fact that I had been part of the team who found a young girl who had been kidnapped the previous fall. “When do you want to meet?”
“How about now?”
I glanced out the window at the snow. I supposed now that I lived where snow was a frequent occurrence, I couldn’t use it as an excuse not to do things. “Okay. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
The road between the cottage and the restaurant was bad, but I somehow managed to make it without ending up in a ditch. When I arrived, I found Velma, Colt, and a young woman I imagined must be Lily sitting in a booth, talking.
Velma stood up, crossed the room, and poured me a cup of coffee. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m happy to help if I can.”
“Abby, this is Lily; Lily, Abby,” Velma added as I slid into the booth next to Colt. “Lily here has some news to share, and she wanted you both to be here for the telling.”
I glanced at Colt. He shrugged. I smiled at the woman, who looked to be more than just a little bit nervous.
“Okay,” Colt said. “We are both here, and we are listening.”
Lily glanced at Velma, who offered a comforting smile.
Lily looked at Colt, then began. “After you came to speak to me about Karen’s accident a few weeks ago, I had the idea to look through some of the boxes of mementos she’d left behind to see if I could come across any clues as to what she might have been upset about.”
“Boxes of mementos?” Colt asked.
“Karen’s cousin cleaned out her apartment and dropped some stuff that she thought Karen would want me to have. Mostly it was photos and scrapbooks and stuff. I was happy to have the reminders of my best friend, but the pain of losing her was too raw, so I just stacked the boxes in my closet. After we spoke, I decided to take a peek.”
“And did you find something?” Colt asked.
“I’m not sure.” Lily looked at me. “Do you believe in coincidences? I mean really random, far-fetched coincidences that are such a long shot that they seem to have no basis in reality?”
I frowned. “Yes. I guess. I once ran into an old neighbor from the block where I grew up while on vacation in Paris. I thought that was a pretty unlikely occurrence.”
Lily let out a breath. “Yes, exactly like that.” She paused and looked at Velma, then back at me. “I understand that before moving to Holiday Bay, you were married to a man named Ben Sullivan who died in an auto accident.”
I nodded. “Yes, that is right.”
“Do you mind if I ask where Ben went to college?”
I thought that was an odd question but didn’t see the harm in answering. “UC Berkeley. We both attended. In fact, that was where we met. Is there a reason you asked?”
“When I was going through the boxes, I found a newspaper article about an off-duty homicide detective who was killed in a car accident with his infant son. I remembered Karen telling me about an old friend of her brother who had been killed in an accident. I remembered that it was someone she had known well at one time but hadn’t seen for quite a while. I remember that she was really upset, and when I saw the article and the name, it sort of clicked.”
My brows shot up. “You think Karen knew Ben? My Ben?” I almost screeched.
“Karen’s older brother went to UC Berkeley. His name was Mark Stinson.”
I gasped. “Ben’s roommate was named
Mark Stinson.” I frowned. “But wait. I thought Karen was an only child who was raised by her mother after her father died.”
“Mark was Karen’s half brother,” Lily explained. “They shared a father. When Karen was maybe seven or eight, Mark brought his roommate, Ben, home with him for the summer. They lived in Indiana at the time. Shortly after her father died, Karen and her mother moved to Holiday Bay.”
“I do remember Ben mentioning his summer on a farm. The two of us got together the following spring.” I took a moment to process what had turned out to be, indeed, a huge coincidence. “I can’t believe that Karen knew Ben. I mean really, what are the odds?”
“Probably about the same as running into an old neighbor half a world away,” Velma said.
I glanced back to Lily. “You told Colt that you had news about Karen’s murder. Is there more to this story?”
“When was the last time you spoke to or communicated with Mark?” Lily asked.
“Wow, I don’t know. It’s been years. At least five. Why?”
“Did you know he was dead?”
I paled. “Dead?”
Chapter 9
Lily nodded. “I didn’t figure this out until I spoke to Chief Wilder about Karen’s mood before she died. I remember telling him that about four months before, she had been going through a rough patch. For reasons I still don’t understand, she never told me what was wrong. She seemed to work through it, and then a couple of weeks before she went on her hike, her mood changed again. She told me that a relative had died and she believed it was the result of an unexpected, trickle-down effect. She never said who’d died or what she meant about the effect, and I didn’t push because she didn’t seem to want to talk about it, but when I went through Karen’s things and found the article about the death of her half brother, it occurred to me it coincided with her dark mood four months before.”