Did that limited number include the driver who hit us—and the person who threatened us? For our sake, I hoped answers came swiftly.
CHAPTER 9
The tea must have done its job because I slept long and deep, not usually the case with me. With my busy brain, I’m often awake in the middle of the night. That started when I lost my parents, a sudden lurch of awareness waking me with a shock of grief and loss. I learned eventually to soothe myself with made-up stories. Now I design aprons.
But for once, I hadn’t needed that trick. I turned onto my side and patted Quincy, curled up beside me. A gentle spring rain pattered against the windows, making me reluctant to leave our warm nest of homemade quilts and vintage sheets.
My phone went off, and at first I thought it was the alarm. But then I realized I was actually getting a call. Still lying down, I answered.
“Iris? It’s Chief Ball.” He must be at the station.
I needed to be sitting up for this. I pushed myself to an upright position, several goose-down pillows propped behind my back. “Good morning, Chief.” I admit to adding a bit of emphasis to the title. Two could play that game.
“And good morning to you.” A pause. “I wanted to let you know that Thirty-Three Main Street has been cleared. You’re free to go back inside and, er, carry out your business.”
“Oh, that’s great.” I hadn’t expected to be allowed back inside for at least a week, which would have set us back severely. “They’ve finished the investigation?”
“Well, that phase of it.” Anton cleared his throat. “You will probably hear from Detective Varney later. They’re hoping your grandmother might be able to help them determine the victim’s real identity. They’re doing a news blast later today.”
“Grammie has a photograph of Star,” I said. “Maybe that will help.”
He was silent a moment. “A photograph? Really? Just her? Or with a guy?”
I thought that question was a little odd but I let it go. But added to Gary’s reaction when he heard about Star, it made me wonder. Had Gary been involved with Star? Or did he know something about her death? Someone in Grammie’s old circle of friends must know something.
“Star with my grandmother and another local girl.” I thought of Star’s smiling, innocent joy. “It’s a good shot of Star’s face.”
“That’s great,” Anton said. “I’ll pass it along to the crime team.” Someone spoke to him and he muffled the receiver to answer, then returned. “Better go. We’ll be in touch.”
I leaned back against the pillows. What were the chances that a family member or friend would recognize Star and come forward? From the sound of it, no one had come looking for her after she disappeared. Otherwise the police would have her real name. Maybe Grammie and I could figure it out. The poor young woman deserved a proper burial.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lured me downstairs, Quincy on my heels. My ankle felt okay, I was glad to see. “Morning,” I said to Grammie, who was seated at the island reading the paper.
“I’ve got fresh local eggs if you want poached,” she said. No matter how many times I told her she didn’t have to cook my meals, she insisted, saying how much she loved to cook for someone. So I let her. Win-win, right?
“Yum. Yes, I’d love eggs.” I filled a mug and added my splash of milk. “Anton called. We can go inside the building.”
Grammie’s eyes widened. “Already? That is good news.” Leaving the paper where it was, she went to the refrigerator. “Where do we start?”
I took her place at the island. The headline story was of course about the discovery of Star’s skeleton. “One thing I want to do is change the locks. The back door sticks and I don’t want to deal with it anymore.” Plus it was a good idea in general to have new locks. Who knew how many other keys were floating around town?
“I agree,” Grammie said. She lifted a pan off the rack and filled it with water. “Maybe Ian can come back today to finish up the quote.”
Ian. Hearing his name made my heart cha-cha, just a little. “Yes, hopefully today. He can probably do the locks too.” The locks were a standard brand, which meant we could buy new cylinders and swap out the old ones.
I glanced over the newspaper article and saw it was the same one I read yesterday on the newspaper’s social media page, picked up by a regional paper. “I’m surprised Lars hasn’t called us.”
Grammie set her mouth in a firm line. “He did. He called the house phone yesterday afternoon, but I didn’t answer.” We still had a landline, although most of the calls were from telemarketers these days.
“Good. Maybe the story will die.” Even as I said that, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. This was the biggest event to hit Blueberry Cove in years. But at least Grammie and I could try to stay out of it, to minimize the possible notoriety regarding our business. When people heard the name Ruffles & Bows, I wanted them to think of gorgeous aprons and linens, not a skeleton in a basement.
Ian had given me his cell number so I sent a text asking about his availability. He answered right away, and we arranged a late-morning meeting at the building. While I sipped coffee and waited for breakfast, I made a list of necessary tasks, then checked in with Madison about going to the Antiques Barn. I wanted her discerning eye on possible purchases for the store. She was free to meet me when they opened, which also worked.
Anticipation zinged through me as I considered the busy day ahead. We were moving forward with our dream and hopefully solving the mystery of Star’s death at the same time. Failure was not an option—for either task.
The Antiques Barn opened at ten, so I left the house at quarter of. In my purse was the picture of Star, since I planned to stop by the drugstore and get a copy made at some point today. Grammie offered to go along, but I knew she was dying to get outside and work in the garden. And I was eager for her to plant her huge annual assortment of vegetables. We ate the bounty fresh, canned, and frozen.
As I drove Beverly across the dirt road shortcut to the state highway, taking it slow to avoid potholes and puddles, I realized I was happy. Well, as happy as I could be with an unsolved murder hanging over our heads. But like the tender green leaves popping out everywhere and the songbirds twittering in every tree, I felt as if I were coming alive again after a long hard winter.
The shortcut brought me out between the defunct Nut House gift shop and Quimby’s Auto Repair, a lively three-bay garage we all patronized. I waited for a few cars to pass, then turned left. The Antiques Barn was on the left, located at a former dairy farm owned by the Balls. The cows—and most of the land—were long gone, sold off over the years.
I pulled into the dirt parking lot beside the barn and parked next to Madison, who had arrived first. She climbed out of her car with a wave. “No apron today?” she greeted me.
I looked down at my faded jeans and old fleece jacket. “I’m going to be working at the shop later so I needed to wear grubby clothes.”
She fell into step beside me. “You’re cleared to go back inside? That’s awesome.” We circuited the side of the barn to approach the front entrance, glass doors set within the old sliding barn door.
I pulled on the handle and held the door open. “Yes, it is. I’m meeting Ian at the shop after we’re done here. Hopefully we can get back on schedule.”
“Am I crazy or was there a bit of a vibe between you two?” Madison sent me a sly smile.
My skin heated with embarrassment. I hoped she was right, that he was interested too, but if not? I prayed I wouldn’t humiliate myself somehow. Not wanting to admit all this, I sidestepped. “Well, he is hot, don’t you think?”
She entered the store first. “Of course. But that’s not what I’m asking.”
I pretended not to hear that as I walked into the barn, which was cavernous and cold. Dimly lit too, with hanging lamps that seemed to be miles away, up near the ceiling of the center bay. Jumbled furniture filled the first floor and the lofts on both sides.
“Where do
we begin?” I muttered, tapping my lips.
“Hello,” Gary Ball bellowed from the back of the barn, where he had the repair shop. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“That’s all right,” I called back. “We’re going to browse for a while.”
“Holler if you need me, then.” The banging of a rubber mallet echoed, followed by the whine of a drill.
Madison stared around at the inventory with a narrowed gaze. Then she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Okay. This is what I’m thinking.” She showed me pictures on her phone. “Look for glass-fronted hutches or cabinets. It doesn’t matter what kind of wood or finish because we’re going to paint them.” When I nodded and stepped away, she gestured me back. “Check this cabinet out. Totally cool, right?”
“I love it.” A repurposed bookcase had two louvered shutters for doors. “How creative. I’d love to make one.”
“Here’s another idea.” Madison showed me a picture on her phone, of a cabinet that used an old casement window for a door. A really cute idea, rustic and a little whimsical. She tucked her phone in her pocket. “As you can see, we have lots of options.”
And the best part was, they weren’t very expensive. The vintage cottage or farmhouse style featured dings, chipped paint, and imperfections, which added character instead of detracting. That was the theory, anyway.
I took one side of the barn while Madison disappeared into the other, edging her way between two rows of tall bureaus. After skirting a thicket of dining chairs, I found a forest of bookcases. One massive piece was perfect, well, except for the ugly dark brown stain coating the wood. It had two sections, the top with four shelves and a wider bottom that must have once held two drawers.
“Any luck?” Madison squeezed between a stack of barrister bookcases and a rickety set of children’s shelves, which swayed and almost fell. She quickly steadied it.
“I think this could be one of my centerpiece displays.” I pictured it stacked full of colorful quilts and sheets.
Madison ran her hand along the wood. “Perfect. I found a couple of hutch tops that will work. One is missing the doors but we can use old windows, like I showed you.”
“Let me take some measurements.” I dug around in my handbag for the small tape measure and notebook I carried. After measuring the bookcase and the two pieces Madison found, we went to find Gary.
We found him squirting glue into a chair leg. “Hang on,” he said. “Be right with you.” He wiped the excess off with a rag.
My pulse began to beat a little faster while we waited. This was the part I dreaded, haggling over prices. But Gary, like most dealers, expected it. Even though I’d been buying secondhand items for over a year for my business, I got nervous every time.
I pulled out the notebook to check the asking prices one last time and Grammie’s photo went sailing out and slid across the floor, ending up right near Gary’s boot. Facedown, naturally, on gritty wood covered in globs of paint and polyurethane.
“Don’t step on that.” I hurried over to retrieve the picture, hoping it wasn’t ruined.
He got to it first, picking it up by a corner and flipping it over.
“That’s Star,” I said. Despite his earlier denials, I could tell he recognized her. And surely I wasn’t imagining the sorrow creasing his eyes.
“I know who it is.” His voice was soft. “She sure was a pretty young woman. A real sweetheart.”
“Did you date her?” Yikes. Had I really said that? I glanced at Madison, who had a hand to her mouth, eyes wide.
He inclined his big head in sort of a nod. “Maybe. Yeah, maybe a time or two.”
A thrill went through me at this admission, which confirmed my earlier thoughts about Gary’s possible involvement with Star.
But then his bright eyes, so like Anton’s, despite their nest of wrinkles and thick gray brows, slid to meet mine. “But so did Fergus Stewart. And your grandfather as well.”
CHAPTER 10
I barely held it together long enough to get out of there. In the end, I almost paid full price, until Madison stepped in with a counteroffer that took off twenty percent, delivery included, since we were buying three pieces. Out in the parking lot, I opened the door and threw my handbag inside, then prepared to climb in.
“Iris?” Madison’s forehead creased with concern. “Are you okay?”
I leaned back against Beverly, the driver’s door still open. “Not really. He blindsided me with that comment about Papa.” Not that I was naïve. Of course both he and Grammie dated other people. But how many of them had been murdered?
“Do you think he was telling the truth?” Madison stared up at the barn, as though it held answers. “He might have been trying to distract you from asking too many questions.”
That was a good point. “Maybe so.” I moved toward the open car door. I had to get going for my meeting with Ian. “I really don’t want to ask Grammie about it, I can tell you that much.” But what if Gary pointed the finger at Papa while talking to the police? We already thought a former boyfriend might be guilty. What if it had been someone she met in Blueberry Cove?
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Madison said, as if she could read my mind. “I really think that’s what he was trying to get you to do.” She snorted. “What an ass.”
Her brisk common sense was bracing. “All right, I won’t.” I slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ve got to get going, huge list. Want to connect later?”
“Absolutely.” Madison looked at her phone and gave a yelp. “Client meeting downtown. Bye.” With a wave, she hopped into her car and sped away.
I was early for the meeting with Ian, so I parked Beverly in the alley and walked to Spencer Drug, located across Main Street from the Bean. I loved the old-fashioned pharmacy’s original soda fountain with its white marble and gleaming chrome. The photo area was in the back, next to the dispensary window.
An older woman was puttering behind the pharmacy counter, arranging drug orders in their envelopes. I recognized Margery, Grammie’s glamorous friend and witness to her argument with Elliot.
“Hi,” I said. “I’d like to get this photo duplicated.” I showed her the picture. “Isn’t that you?”
Margery took the photograph and studied it, her lips pursed. She was still an attractive woman, her strong, dramatic bone structure having stood the test of time. Her lips lifted in a brief smile. “We were young once, even if it is hard to believe.”
I took advantage of her openness to ask. “Do you remember Star? The whole thing is so sad.”
Her face shuttered. “It was a long time ago. Water under the dam.” Then her eyes brightened. “That was quite the to-do between Anne and Elliot the other day.”
Now she wanted information from me about Grammie’s argument with our landlord. “Yeah, he can be kind of pushy.”
Margery tilted her head, waiting for more, but when I kept quiet she said, “Better watch out for Elliot. He usually gets his way, sooner or later.” She shrugged and pushed the photo across the counter, then pointed to a computer station. “You can scan your photo there. If you do a four-by-six, it will print right away. Anything larger takes an hour.”
Unsettled by the remark about Elliot, as she no doubt intended, I picked up my photo and went over to the station. While I made selections and waited for the scan and print, I sensed her watching me. But whenever I glanced over, she quickly averted her gaze.
Despite Margery’s evasion on the topic of Star, one thing was crystal clear. People had reacted strongly to her, and forty-some years after her death, they still were. And was Margery right about Elliot always getting his way? Over my dead body, as Grammie often said.
After paying for the print, a tedious process requiring my phone number, email, and current address for the shopper card, I walked down to the shop. I cut between two buildings, to the back alley where we were meeting. My heart lifted when I saw Ian’s truck already parked near the back entrance.
His dark green truck
. Like the one that hit us.
No. I couldn’t do this, start suspecting everyone around me. Why would Ian try to scare us? Or damage Madison’s car? What if she’d lost control and we’d gone off the road? Not to mention the nasty email. Surely Ian didn’t send that too.
Why would anyone do any of those things? But the fact remained, someone had.
Despite my best intentions, I found myself circling the truck with stealthy footsteps. Holding my breath, I bent to examine the front. Dented, scraped, and chipped, like many hardworking trucks.
“Morning, Iris.” Ian’s voice startled me, making me stand up straight.
I whirled around to see him strolling down the alley, holding two to-go cups. He handed me one. “Perfect timing.” I braced myself but he didn’t ask why I had been bent over his bumper.
“Thanks. From the Bean?” I took a sip, noticing it had the perfect amount of cream.
“Yep. Sophie told me how you take it.” He turned to survey the back of the building, where a rusted fire escape barely clung to the third and second floors. “No tenants live upstairs, right?”
“The apartments aren’t up to code. Grammie said they’ve been empty for years.” An idea trickled into my mind. How long had they been empty? Finding any clues to the seventies had to be an incredible long shot. But I filed the thought away for later investigation.
We drank our coffee in silence for a few minutes, neither of us apparently eager to go inside or to discuss yesterday’s events. Here in the alley, the air was cool, shaded by buildings on both sides. Seagulls wheeled and squawked overhead and the ferry horn sounded. Almost time for the noon ferry to dock.
“Well, shall we?” Ian crumpled his empty cup. “I’ll grab my notepad and tape measure.” He reached for my cup, which was also empty. “All done?”
While he did that, I unlocked the back door. Today of course it worked perfectly. “First on the list is new locks,” I told him. “I want the same key for all the doors, back and front.”
Hems & Homicide Page 7