Hems & Homicide

by Elizabeth Penney

  I usually stood at my computer, so today I propped my knee on a box—the rest and elevation parts of RICE—and got to work, opening the browser to my storefront on a popular crafts site. Quincy, as was his habit, hopped up on the desk to keep an eye on proceedings. As long as he didn’t walk on the keyboard, I was good with that.

  The route to my present business had been circuitous but logical in hindsight, maybe. After graduating from the Rhode Island School of Design, I was hired by an up-and-coming home-goods catalog company located in Portland, Maine. For three years, I designed bed and kitchen linens, even traveling to fabric factories to make sure they produced exactly what we wanted. This experience gave me a good grounding in both trends and timeless style, refining my eye for what would sell.

  Two things happened at once, both unfortunate. The company downsized and Papa got sick. I moved home and started selling online, beginning with my own collection and the contents of the farmhouse closets.

  Today a dozen orders waited my attention, most of them for cute and colorful hostess half aprons with their fifties-housewife vibe. These were so popular I planned to feature them in the store. Hmm. But which pieces should I upload to fill the empty slots? Which inventory should I keep for the store versus sell online?

  I had a feeling these decisions would only increase in complexity once the downtown store opened, since I planned to keep selling on the Web too. Maybe I should try to sell things in person first and move what didn’t sell to online, where I could reach a wider group of customers, many with eclectic tastes.

  I processed the orders, sent notices that the items would be shipped, and went to the company email. My opt-in newsletter had led to some personal correspondence over the past year, and I thought customers might write regarding the storefront announcement in the last issue.

  Sometimes people contacted me with items they hoped I might buy. I’d found some great stuff that way. Are you interested in vintage German flannel sheets? Um, yeah. As with many things, you could buy quality used for less than comparable items new. And then there were the true antiques, where a linen sheet enjoyed by royalty could go for thousands, kid you not.

  As expected, a few customers asked about the physical store’s opening date and address. I wrote back that I would be sending this information in the next newsletter as well as posting it on my Web store. How cool it would be to meet these loyal fans in person.

  Another text bleated on my phone. Madison again. OMG! Check the newspaper social media page.

  The news about Star was out already, had to be. With a heavy heart, I brought up the page and searched for the Blueberry Cove Herald. Here it was, pinned to the top of the page. “Human Bones Found in Downtown Basement Alarm Store Owners,” it read. The byline said Lars Lavely. Lars, who had an unassuming presence with his hipster glasses and thick beard, was an incisive writer, if a little dramatic in the Herald tradition. Many people simply didn’t notice him lurking, to their later shock and dismay. Had he been outside the store with the crowd? Probably.

  The article began, “This morning, Blueberry Cove shop owners Iris and Anne Buckley made a grisly discovery in the basement of their new shop, Ruffles & Bows.” I groaned. Anyone searching for the store online was probably going to find this article. Great.

  I read on. Since Lars hadn’t interviewed us—yet—he pieced the story together with expressions of shock from Elliot, a nonremark from Anton, and a promise by the forensic anthropologist to identify the age, gender, and, quite possibly, the cause of death for our skeleton. He generously quoted the anthropologist regarding gruesome details of mangled skeletons she had examined in the past.

  This was big news for a small town like Blueberry Cove, and any hopes the story would die vanished. Especially when I saw that Lars promised extensive follow-up in the next edition of the Herald, to be published mid-week. And no doubt his feature would be front and center, pushing aside articles about spring cleanup and the latest arguments at Town Hall.

  With a groan, I closed the social media page, thinking I really should pack the sold inventory and get it out this afternoon. At least that was something I could control, unlike the rest of my life right now, it seemed.

  While I was patting Quincy, a favorite procrastination activity, a new email alert bubbled on the screen. Using the mouse, I clicked on the inbox, thinking maybe we had another order.

  I groaned in annoyance when I saw that Lars Lavely was the sender. He must want an interview. I opened the email, hoping I could put him off.

  What I read made me gasp and squeeze Quincy so tight he yowled and squirmed to get down. HERE’S SOME ADVICE FOR YOU, the note said in all caps. MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. OR ELSE. A clip art image of a skull and crossbones punctuated the hateful message.

  CHAPTER 7

  Quincy flailed, forcing me to release him. “I’m sorry,” I called as he dashed from the room and down the stairs, screaming like his tail was on fire. I hadn’t really hurt him, I knew, just offended his sensibilities.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Grammie asked the cat, her voice floating up the staircase. The sound of her light, quick tread on the stairs followed.

  I swung back to the computer. My hand moved to the mouse and hovered, ready to trash the hateful note. Then I reconsidered. The police should see this. Maybe they could trace it back to whoever sent it. I sincerely doubted Lars wrote this threat.

  Someone had used his name to bait me.

  Grammie’s steps came my way, and again I hesitated, thinking I should close the message and pretend it didn’t exist. Then I decided not to do that. She had a right to know.

  “Take a look at this.” I moved back from the computer so she could read the screen. “It just came to my company inbox.”

  She peered at the message, the consternation on her face growing with each word. “Huh. Lars Lavely did not write that.” She grabbed the mouse and, with a few clicks, revealed rows of gobbledygook. “And that message did not come from the Herald servers. See?” She pointed to a string of words that looked incomprehensible to me.

  “I don’t, but I’ll take your word for it.” Quincy slipped back into the room and jumped up on the desk again. I reached to pat him. “Do you forgive me?” His answer was a purr.

  “It’s called spoofing,” Grammie said. “I read about it in my latest Fraud Alert newsletter. Someone wanted you to think Lars wrote the email, but of course he didn’t.” She leaned close again and studied the lines of programming. “Print that out. And forward it to Anton. Maybe the police can find out who really sent it, although I don’t have much hope they will.”

  I didn’t either, since someone clever enough to do this was probably good at covering tracks. They may have sent the message from a public computer or added additional layers of secrecy.

  “No harm in letting them try.” I commanded the page to print before opening a browser and locating the police department Web site. Anton had a direct email, so I sent the threat to him with a short note.

  “Who could have sent that?” Grammie sank into the office chair I rarely used. “Someone who was at the store with us this morning?”

  I brought up the article about the skeleton to the screen. “I’m afraid the story is out, Gram. It could be anyone who reads the newspaper.”

  Grammie scanned it quickly. “Great. Just great.” She lifted her hands and let them drop. “But what can you expect? A story like this is going to get headlines.” She stood, reaching into the pocket of her apron. “And on that note, look what I found.”

  She handed me a black-and-white photograph showing a group of young people hanging out in a shabby room. Two men bent over guitars, strumming. Three others sat in a circle, one squinting against smoke from the cigarette he held. Or was it a cigarette? Finally, three women wearing bellbottoms lounged on a velvet-upholstered Victorian sofa. Everyone in the picture, guys and girls alike, had long, flowing hair. I studied the faces, trying to figure out who they were.

  Grammie took pity on me
. “Your papa and Elliot.” With the guitars. “Ted Perkins, Gary Ball, and Fergus Stewart.” Sitting in the circle, smoking. Ted was still notorious for growing pot, which gave further credence to my theory about what they were smoking. “That’s me.” Grammie was petite and blond, with big eyes in a pretty face that reminded me of Goldie Hawn. “And believe it or not, that is Margery.”

  One of the gossipy women who picked up the cupcakes? “She was gorgeous.” Long legs, glossy dark hair, and regal features. “Wow.”

  “Wow is right.” Grammie’s finger trembled a little as she pointed at the last face. “And that’s Star. You can’t tell in this, but she had the prettiest light red hair.”

  Even in the photograph, Star’s wide grin was infectious. She was slender, with a tilted nose, freckles, and dancing eyes. Cute rather than beautiful maybe, but she had a magnetism that drew the eye.

  “She was so warm and caring,” Grammie said. “She attracted people like bees to a flower. Who could have done such a thing?” She dashed at the tears trickling down her cheeks.

  As I put my arms around my sobbing grandmother, a hot and angry ball of determination lodged in my chest. So what if more than forty years had passed? We needed to find Star’s killer and bring the monster to justice. Grammie’s friend deserved nothing less.

  * * *

  “So you had an exciting day, I heard.” Bella greeted us with hugs. “White or red?” Bella, who was originally from Milan, Italy, and had a wonderful sense of style, wore flowing purple hostess pants and a matching tunic that flattered her slender figure. Her Main Street boutique was a great success, and Madison, who did her marketing, had introduced us. Besides becoming instant friends with Bella, I occasionally did alterations at the store, the more complicated, delicate work. The rest she handled herself.

  We followed Bella into the kitchen of her Craftsman house, located on a side street near downtown. As arranged, Madison had swung by the farmhouse to pick us up in her Mini Cooper.

  “White for me,” Grammie said. The cupcake container she carried went on the metal-top table.

  “Me too.” I set the slow cooker holding chicken and dumplings on the counter and plugged it in. The kitchen still had its original beadboard cabinets and pale green Formica countertops, but the appliances were all new and top-of-the-line.

  Madison put a long paper bag next to the cupcakes. “I brought Italian bread from Slice of Life.” She shrugged out of her fleece and hung it on a peg beside the back door. Grammie and I hung up our jackets too, but I held on to the fabric bag I’d brought, my surprise for the gang.

  Bella picked up the paper bag and peeked inside. “I love their bread.” She then bustled over and checked the chicken dish. “And this smells absolutely scrumptious. I made a big salad and Sophie brought the wine.” She gestured. “She’s in the living room.” She darted to the stove and turned on the oven. “I’ll put the bread in to warm and then we can eat.”

  Sophie was seated next to the fieldstone fireplace, patting Pelo, Bella’s Great Pyrenees. “Hey, ladies,” she said, rising to give us hugs, blond shoulder-length hair swinging. She wore her typical casual outfit of long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans, and hiking sneakers.

  “This feels good.” Grammie stretched her hands out to the fire. “The air is crisp tonight.” She accepted a glass of wine with thanks from Bella, who was pouring at the Art Deco sideboard, original to the house.

  “Just when you think it’s finally spring.” Madison sighed. “Patchy rain and fog in the forecast tonight.” She poured herself a glass of red. “Just the one, since I’m driving.”

  We sat on big Italian leather sofas in front of the fireplace, relaxing and sipping wine. The fire crackled gently and the big dog collapsed with a sigh near Sophie’s feet, hoping for more attention.

  “Where are the kids tonight?” Grammie asked. Bella had two: Connor, eleven, and Alice, twelve. They were smart and funny and we all loved them. Bella had gone through a horrible divorce last year, but fingers crossed, she and the kids seemed to be doing okay. Her cheating and domineering ex-husband, Alan, had an import-export business several towns down the coast.

  “They’re up the street having dinner with friends, but they’ll be back by eight.” A ding sounded from the kitchen and Bella got up. “I’ll go slide the bread into the oven.” When she got back, she curled up on the sofa, feet tucked underneath. “So, tell us all, Iris and Anne. We’ve been on pins and needles all day.” She grinned. “Pun intended.”

  The three of them listened in rapt fascination as Grammie and I shared the story of finding the skeleton. Grammie told them about her trunk and passed the photograph of Star and the gang around. “I plan to go through everything with a fine-tooth comb and see what else I can find,” she said.

  While everyone had a comment or two about the seventies fashions and the long hair on some of Blueberry Cove’s now most respected citizens, the mood quickly grew somber.

  “Now that I’ve seen Star’s picture, I really, really want to know who killed her,” Sophie said. She ran a hand through her long locks, again and again, her gaze distant.

  “Me too,” Madison said. “Do you think the police will have any luck?”

  “It was so long ago,” Grammie said. “Most of the evidence has to be gone.”

  I got up and poured another splash of wine into my glass, then carried the bottle around. My ankle was getting better as the day wore on, I was glad to note. “Another question is, are they going to be able to identify her? Because I don’t think Star Moonshine was her real name.”

  Everyone looked at Grammie, who shook her head. “I never knew her real name. She was reluctant to discuss her past. That’s how it was back then, everyone created new identities on a whim.” Then her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening. “Except I just remembered that she moved to Blueberry Cove because of a bad breakup.”

  That could be the answer. “Do you think her ex tracked her down?” I asked. Had he sent me the threatening email? I thought of mentioning the threat but kept quiet for now, until I heard back from Anton.

  Grammie considered my theory. “That would make sense. But there were so many people coming and going … I need to see if anything jogs my memory.” Her tone was wry. “We’re talking over forty years ago. Some days I barely remember what I had for breakfast.”

  “I’m like that every day.” Madison pointed at me. “What’d I have this morning, Iris?”

  Sophie put her hands on her hips in mock anger. “My famous Belgian Benedict. How could you forget?”

  Madison grinned. “And it was fab.” She bounced to her feet as the oven timer went off, signaling the bread was ready. “Let’s eat.”

  We loaded plates in the kitchen before settling at the table in the dining area off the living room. During the meal, the discussion turned to lighter topics.

  “How did your date go last weekend?” Bella asked Madison. All of us took an interest in helping Madison find true love despite her stated resolution to resist.

  Madison laughed. “On paper he looked great. As always, right? He’s a physician who likes to run and a foodie.” She made a humorous grimace. “First off, he was incredibly picky when we had dinner at the Lighthouse Grille, to the point where it was embarrassing.”

  “Now that’s a sacrilege,” Sophie commented. Located near the Hemlock Point lighthouse, the Grille featured exquisite food prepared by a renowned chef. Before opening the Bean, Sophie had been their sous-chef.

  “But wait. There’s more.” Madison put up her hand. “He’s a podiatrist. And once he got past the food, all he could talk about was my pronation.” She twisted one foot back and forth to demonstrate. “He said he checked out my gait when I went to the ladies’ room.” She groaned. “My gait.”

  We all burst into laughter. “There is something wrong with that man,” Bella declared. “You do not focus on flaws on a first date.”

  “No, that’s reserved for marriage,” Grammie said to more laughter.

  Mad
ison took a bite of salad. “Seriously, it was gruesome. I almost took down my profile.” We all made the obligatory protests, not wanting her to give up. And to be honest, we found her dating horror stories amusing.

  Grammie urged her to find dates in real life, not online. “You never know,” she said. “You might cross paths with the perfect man at any time.”

  “I met Jake when I was buying lobster for the Grille,” Sophie said. “We haggled over the price.” She smiled at the memory. “Speaking of which, did I tell you about my new creations?” She described several delicious-sounding dishes featuring Maine’s famous crustacean. “I’m putting them on the menu for the summer.”

  “Those will be a big hit,” Bella said. She held up her wineglass. “Here’s to us having a great summer season.” She turned to Grammie and me. “What’s happening with the store, after these latest developments?”

  Grammie and I exchanged glances. “We’re still going ahead,” I said. “We thought about trying to get out of the lease but we really don’t want to. Not only do we hope to find out what happened to Star, but Elliot won’t release us.”

  “Unless I sell him some property,” Grammie put in. “He’s been after our shore field for years.”

  Madison thumped her fist on the table, her eyes flashing. “What a weasel.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Believe me, I know. But there aren’t any other storefronts available. And the rent is reasonable, got to give him that.”

  “Now we know why.” Bella’s tone was dark.

  Had Elliot known about the skeleton? I shuddered at the thought of hiding a body and proceeding with business as usual.

  But someone had, that was an indisputable fact. I shoved these uncomfortable thoughts aside, not wanting to wreck everyone’s mood. Standing, I said, “I have a surprise for you all. Hang on a minute.”

  I grabbed my fabric tote from beside the sofa and brought it over to the table. “I’ve been working on a little something for the shop.” I held up a white cotton pinafore edged with ruffles on the armholes and hem. In the middle of the bib area, the store name and a nosegay of flowers tied with ribbon were embroidered.