Hems & Homicide

by Elizabeth Penney

  Rhonda pointed at Grammie and Kevin. “You two. You’re staying here, with us.”

  The logical part of my mind understood this. Grammie was an important witness since she’d discovered Elliot’s body. They wouldn’t want any contamination of her account. But I resented being forced to leave her side. As Madison and I walked down the alley, I glanced over my shoulder. Grammie appeared small and frail and vulnerable. I wanted more than anything to run back and protect her.

  “Who do you think did it?” Madison asked when we were out of earshot.

  “I have no idea. The only thing I’m certain of, it wasn’t us. Or Grammie. Or Kevin, since he just showed up.” My mind began to tick over as I reviewed possible suspects. What could I tell the police that might help? I knew one thing for sure. I wasn’t going to accept this situation lying down. “But someone went to a lot of trouble to make us look guilty.”

  “You’re right,” Madison said. “It was downright evil to kill him in your store.”

  “I’m going to figure out who did this,” I said, a pulse of anger beating in my temple. “They’re not going to get away with it.”

  Madison shook her head. “No, they’re not. Not as long as I’m around.”

  * * *

  Thankfully it wasn’t long before the police called and asked me to come in. I’d spent a couple of hours halfheartedly trying to work at home, filling orders and tweaking the Web site while worrying about Grammie. The store’s future. A killer on the loose.

  The police station was in the lower level of the brick municipal building, up the hill from Main Street on Court. I found a spot at the back of the lot near the dumpster. I’d been in the municipal building lots of times—to register my car, get a burn permit, and yes, to fill out our business paperwork. But I’d never been questioned by the police or even been in the station.

  I squared my shoulders. Guess there was a first time for everything.

  Not excited in the least to face my ordeal, I walked very, very slowly across the lot. Down the hill, the bay was a brilliant sweep of blue, whitecaps creaming on the rollers heading in. What wouldn’t I give to be on that sailboat tacking across the harbor, nothing to think about but wind and water and movement?

  Soon, very soon, I promised myself, I’d take a break and spend some time near the water, if not on it. And make Grammie come with me. She needed a rest after all she’d been through this winter.

  Inside, a short tiled hallway led me to the dispatcher’s station, where Donna Dube was safely ensconced behind bulletproof glass. Speaking of sailboats, the tanned and wiry Donna was one of the local children’s sailing school instructors. In the summer, she was frequently seen at the harbor park giving lessons.

  “Hello, Iris,” she said, looking up from her computer. “How can I help you?”

  My mouth dried up. Was I really at the police station, about to be interviewed regarding a murder? “I’m here to make a statement,” I finally said. “And is my grandmother still here?”

  Her eyes shone with sympathy. “She is, talking to the state police. Have a seat and someone will be right with you.” She nodded toward a row of orange molded plastic chairs along the wall opposite.

  I nestled into one of them and reached for a magazine from an end table. Hunting and fishing periodicals, ancient Reader’s Digests, and a copy of Uncle Henry’s, Maine’s buy-and-sell magazine. I decided to peruse Uncle Henry’s antiques section, for linens. There wasn’t a whole lot but at least it killed five minutes. I found one listing out in Liberty that looked promising and took a picture with my phone.

  “Iris?” Anton stood in the doorway leading to the back. His eyes were shadowed with fatigue and he needed a shave. Handling two major cases at once must be taking a toll. “Come on back.”

  I looked around curiously as we passed through a big room filled with half a dozen desks or so, all empty. Probably the other officers were either at the scene or grilling witnesses. “Where’s Grammie?” I asked.

  “She’s finishing up her interview in the other room,” Anton said. He opened the door to a tiny room holding only a table and chairs. A video camera was mounted in one corner. “Have a seat and we’ll be right with you.”

  He shut the door, leaving me alone in that cramped space, even more claustrophobic than a doctor’s exam room. I settled into a chair, hoping it wouldn’t be too long. Was that camera on? I made a face at it, a childish move that was swiftly followed by a hot flush of embarrassment.

  The door opened again and Anton entered, followed by Rhonda. “Do you want a water or coffee?” Anton asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m fine.” I sat with hunched shoulders on my side of the table while they settled in across from me. I rubbed my palms on the jeans I’d changed into, hating how clammy they were.

  “All right, Iris,” Anton said. “We’re going to be recording this interview.” He switched on a recorder on the table and glanced up at the video camera. He then proceeded to give the date and time and list all those present.

  Responding to his questions, I took them through my day. After I assured them I had witnesses who could vouch that I never left the Bean during the critical window, they switched gears and began questioning me about Elliot.

  “Who did he talk to at the meeting?” Anton asked. “And how was his demeanor? Any different than your usual experience of him?”

  Thinking back on it, I realized that Elliot had been rather subdued. Nancy had taken the lead in the meeting and I said so. “I didn’t even say anything to him or vice versa. He left right after the meeting, along with everyone else.”

  “What did he eat and drink?” Rhonda asked.

  This was my first clue that the cause of death might not be strangulation, or that Elliot’s body showed other disturbing symptoms. But I didn’t remark on that. “I’m not sure. He did have a green smoothie with him, and so did Nancy. I saw him drinking one at his office the other day too.” I hadn’t seen him take any food from the buffet but that didn’t mean he didn’t. I said that too. “Won’t the autopsy tell you what he ate and drank?”

  Anton didn’t answer the question. He asked about Grammie’s movements after the meeting and I told him she’d gone to the hairdresser’s. “Why did she go to the store? Was that the plan?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I knew of. On her own, she decided to stop in to get my apron, which needed to be mended.” Now it was evidence in a murder case. Then a shock of dismay jolted me. “I was planning to go over this afternoon to meet Ian. He’s patching the walls today.” I’d forgotten all about him until this minute. He was going to show up at the store and find out it was now a crime scene. “I need to call him.”

  “When we’re done here,” Rhonda said. “You won’t be able to go back inside the store until we release the scene, by the way.”

  Another setback. And this time, I wasn’t sure our business would recover. “I know the drill,” I said. “We just went through it, remember?” If I believed in curses, I’d say that 33 Main was a prime candidate. “Do you think his death is related to finding Star’s body?”

  Anton put up a hand. “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.” His lips pursed. “Which is now under the jurisdiction of the state.”

  “What about Grammie?” I blurted. “Do they think she did it?” She had found the body so wasn’t she likely to be considered the primary suspect?

  The chief’s forehead creased in what looked like pain. “I’m sorry. I can’t answer that either.”

  I clenched my fists under the table. Should I say it? Deciding that this was my chance, I said, “It looks to me like someone killed Elliot in our store and tried to frame us. Grammie is innocent.” What if I’d gotten there first? Would I now be the prime suspect? I shuddered. The answer was yes.

  Rhonda tilted her head. “Tell me about the argument between Elliot and your grandmother.” She looked at her notes and gave the date and time of their disagreement.

  Stunned, I slumped back in my seat
as if someone had knocked the wind out of me. When I was able to suck in a breath, I said, “Did the cupcake ladies call in and report that?” I slapped my hand on the table. “Unbelievable.”

  Anton shifted, his gaze on the table. “We got an anonymous tip that your grandmother and Elliot had an altercation. If you’ve got something to add, this is the time to do it.”

  I huffed, knowing I was losing my cooperative-witness rep, but I was truly ticked off. “Elliot has been trying to buy our shore acreage for ages. You know where I mean, the fields across the road from the farmhouse. They border his property. Now that Papa is gone, he’s only gotten more obnoxious about it. But Grammie just kept saying no. She wouldn’t kill him for being a pushy jerk. That is totally ridiculous.”

  “Maybe so,” Anton said. “But the fact of the matter is, someone did kill him. And we need to look at people’s motives.”

  So many other names rushed to my lips. Nancy, who might not have been happy about Elliot’s possible relationship with Charlotte. Ted, who argued with him just the other day. Any old friends involved with Star’s case.

  “And she did say something about…” Rhonda looked at her notes. “‘Not over my dead body. Or yours.’ Do you recall your grandmother saying that?”

  All too well, I had to admit.

  CHAPTER 15

  On the way out of the station, I ran into Madison, who was walking across the parking lot. “Hey, Iris,” she said, gathering me into a hug. She must have seen by my face how upset I was. “What happened?”

  “Nothing much. Just a horrible interview.” Tears burned in my eyes and I wanted more than anything to confide in my best friend. But I also didn’t want to be arrested for obstructing justice or witness tampering. Or whatever. “But we’d better not talk right now. See you later?”

  Her sympathetic gaze roamed over my face. “Absolutely. I think it’s a lasagna night, don’t you?” Bella’s to-die-for lasagna, made from a handed-down family recipe, could improve just about any situation. Grammie and I had eaten a lot of it after Papa died. “I’ll bring a huge salad. With sunflower seeds and dried cranberries. And goat cheese.” She knew I loved all three on my salad.

  “Thanks,” I said, sniffing. “Grammie always has homemade bread around. We’ll heat some up.” She always made extra loaves and froze them for later use.

  Madison gave me thumbs-up. “It’s a plan. I’ll see you later.” She hurried into the station, giving me a final smile as she pulled open the door.

  I trudged across the lot and climbed into Beverly, leaving the door open to cool off the stuffy interior, and called Ian.

  He answered immediately. “Iris. What’s going on? Are you and your grandmother all right?”

  My heart sank. “We’re fine. You’re at the store, aren’t you?”

  “Sitting right outside in the alley, staring at a crime scene van.” His voice was grim. “What the hell happened?”

  I ran my hand around the steering wheel, staring out into the bushes lining the lot. “Elliot Parker was found dead inside the store late this morning. Grammie found him.”

  He sucked in a breath. “Oh man. That’s awful. Heart attack?”

  I had to be careful what I said, let the police set the pace with information about Elliot’s death and its cause. “I’m not sure. Anyway, they’re questioning everyone.” I gave a dry laugh. “And as you can see, we can’t get into the building right now.”

  Ian grunted. “Great. Another delay.” He paused and I could sense him thinking, even over the phone. “What’s going to happen with the store now?”

  Those tears burned again. “I don’t know. I suppose Elliot’s wife will take over the company, if she’s not already an owner.” A tear plopped onto my pants leg, making a dark circle. “Maybe we should call it a day. With all these tragedies happening there, maybe it’s not meant to be.”

  Not to mention they suspected my darling grandmother of who knew what. A ridiculous image flashed into my mind, Grammie masterminding the business from the state prison, like a vintage-linen kingpin. A strange choking sound erupted from my throat, part sob and part laughter. I was officially losing it.

  “I’d better go,” I managed to say. “I’ve got to find Grammie and talk to her.” I tried to inhale against the iron band constricting my lungs. “Thanks for everything, Ian. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “If there’s anything I can do—” he said.

  “Thanks,” I managed to say. “I’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  When I pulled up the driveway, I was relieved to see the Wagoneer parked by the barn. That meant Grammie was home. I grabbed my handbag and rushed into the house, stepping right over Quincy, who was lying on the mudroom doorstep, basking in the sun.

  “Sorry, Quince. I’m in a hurry.” He mewed his discontent, reaching a paw up to claw at my jeans. Poor thing. I was neglecting him lately. I screeched to a stop, sneakers squeaking on the tile, and picked him up for a good nuzzle. He started purring, a frantic edge to the sound. I gave him a kiss on the head. “You sure know how to make a girl feel guilty.”

  Still carrying the cat, I walked through the mudroom into the house. “Grammie?” I called. “Where are you?”

  “In here,” came the reply. I found her at her desk, flipping through the circular address file. “I’m looking up an attorney’s number.”

  I halted again, frozen by this remark. “An attorney? What for?” But the ice in my core answered me. A defense attorney.

  Not looking at me, she continued to flip the cards. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not charged with anything. But after the way they questioned me about Elliot … I think I need a lawyer.”

  Holding Quincy, I sank into a wing chair near the fireplace. “I kind of got the drift when Anton was questioning me.” I felt my lips twist into a grimace. “Someone reported your argument with Elliot to the police.”

  Grammie’s laugh was a bitter bark. “I wish I could say I’m surprised. But human nature can sure be rotten, even in this small town. Where I’ve lived all my life, been an upright citizen, paid my taxes on time, helped people—Ah, here it is.” She held a white card aloft. “Cookie Abernathy, Attorney at Law.”

  “Cookie can’t be her real name.” I settled Quincy on my lap and leaned my head back, exhausted.

  “No, it’s Catherine.” Grammie was already pushing buttons on the house phone. While she spoke to a receptionist and then to Cookie herself, I closed my eyes and rested.

  I had learned a long time ago I needed to take quiet moments during a busy day to restore my equilibrium and perspective. Although everything deep within was screaming, urging me to action, to do something, to fix everything, I took a few deep breaths and patted the cat, my fingers sinking into his soft fur. “You’re my therapy cat,” I whispered. He blinked in agreement.

  Grammie hung up the phone. “Cookie is coming by here in a little while, believe it or not. She lives out this way and is going to stop by on her way home.”

  I opened my eyes. “Wow. I didn’t know attorneys made house calls.”

  She pushed back from the desk. “They don’t usually. I’ll go put on a pot of coffee, pull some brownies out of the freezer.”

  As she went around the corner into the kitchen, I said, “By the way, we’re having a lasagna dinner tonight with the girls. Can you also grab a loaf of Italian bread?”

  * * *

  Grammie and I were working in the garden, taking out our frustrations on hapless weeds, when Cookie Abernathy arrived in her gold Lexus. The driver’s side door popped open to reveal a slight older woman with cropped gray hair. She slid out, a gorgeous burgundy briefcase in one hand.

  “Mrs. Buckley?” she asked, advancing on us with her hand extended. Her smile was warm, revealing laugh lines around her eyes that made her seem approachable and nice. But shrewdness glinted in her eyes and her grip was assertive.

  “We probably need room to spread out,” Grammie said. “Inside or out?” We had a glass-top table on th
e porch where we ate meals.

  “Outside, of course.” Cookie’s laugh was authentic. “After last winter, I’m still suffering from four-walls syndrome.” She inhaled the flower-scented air. “What a lovely home.”

  We settled Cookie at the table, where she began to pull papers out of her briefcase, watched closely by Quincy. She asked for coffee so we went inside to get her a cup and refill our mugs.

  “I’ve heard she’s tough,” Grammie whispered to me in the kitchen. “Hence the nickname.”

  “Oh, I thought it was because she was so sweet.” I put the full cups on a tray along with a sugar bowl, creamer, and a couple of paper napkins. Grammie held the French door open as I ferried the tray out to the table. As a final touch, she grabbed the plate of homemade brownies.

  After Cookie added milk to her coffee and took a sip, she set the mug down, picked up a pen, and slid on a pair of half-glasses. “All right, Mrs. Buckley. Why don’t we start with your relationship to the deceased?”

  “Please call me Anne,” Grammie said before telling Cookie how she’d known Elliot practically all her life. Then she focused on his attempts to buy the property and the fact that he was our landlord.

  “If there was something else available downtown, we would have taken it,” I said. “After we found Star’s skeleton, he even tried to use the store lease as leverage to get our property.”

  “Yes, I heard about the skeleton.” Cookie’s lips pursed as she tapped her pen on the table. “Back to that in a minute. Does anyone else know about his shenanigans with the lease?”

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Grammie said. “A couple of friends overheard me arguing with him a couple of days ago.”

  “They called in a tip,” I said, hearing the bitterness in my tone. “And let me tell you, the police are very interested in the conflict between Grammie and Elliot.”

  Grammie reached out a hand and squeezed mine, her signal for me to settle down. “They’re just doing their job, Iris, honey.” She let go and held up her slender hands. “Do I look like I have the strength to kill Elliot? He was over six feet tall and two hundred pounds.”