Hems & Homicide

by Elizabeth Penney

  “While you’re half that,” Cookie muttered.

  I knew the police were thinking the apron wasn’t the cause of death. “They think it was something else that killed him. They were asking me what he ate and drank at the breakfast meeting.”

  Grammie gasped, a hand to her mouth, while Cookie made a note. “I’ll be sure to follow up regarding the autopsy. All right. Let’s move on to today, to exactly what happened.”

  “We had a committee meeting for the Lobster Festival this morning,” Grammie began. In response to Cookie’s nudges, she listed all the attendees and then moved to the timeline. “I went over to my hairdresser’s around ten,” Grammie said. “Moriah at Great Lengths cuts my hair.” She waited while Cookie got that down and then recited the phone number. “Afterward, at about a quarter to eleven, I decided to pop by the store and grab Iris’s apron. She left it there and it needed to be mended, so I thought I’d do it for her.”

  “The apron?” Cookie’s brows rose.

  “That’s right,” I said. “The apron wrapped around Elliot’s neck.” Now my sweet apron needed to be cut into tiny pieces and burned, if it ever made it out of police custody.

  “So, what happened at the store?” Cookie appeared eager to hear. So was I, since I hadn’t heard the full story yet.

  “I parked in the alley,” Grammie said. “And went to the back door. But when I got there, I realized the door was unlocked and slightly open. I thought maybe you were already inside, Iris, so I pushed through the door and went in.” Her face set in grim lines. “And then I saw Elliot’s feet. He was lying on the storeroom floor.” Her shoulders shook as a shudder rippled through her body.

  We waited for her to regain her composure. “I went to check on him,” Grammie continued. “I thought maybe he’d had a heart attack or something.” Her mouth twisted. “But I knew that wasn’t true when I saw the apron around his neck, the strings tied in a bow under his chin.” She demonstrated tying a bow. “I felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I thought of loosening the strings but I knew I’d better not touch anything.”

  “Then what happened?” Cookie asked.

  “I heard footsteps in the back hall. Kevin Lee, the town code officer. He saw Elliot and almost passed out. But I managed to get him out of the building and told him to call 911. I called you, Iris.”

  Now I took up the tale, explaining how Madison and I hurried over from the Bean, arriving right after the police. She clarified that I hadn’t been inside at all that morning and that I’d locked up the day before. “We put in new locks, ones that actually work,” I said. “I gave a key to Elliot.”

  “Who else has one?” Cookie asked, poised to jot down names.

  My belly sank with a thud. “Ian Stewart. Our carpenter.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Saying Ian’s name in this context felt awful, as though I was throwing him under the bus. “I thought it would be easier if he had one,” I explained, “since he’s doing tons of work for us.” Had Ian gone to the store before our appointed time, maybe popped in that morning to check on things?

  “What’s Ian’s contact information?” Cookie asked. “And you really should tell the police that he has a key, Iris.”

  She was right, which only made me feel worse. They hadn’t asked me who had keys, so I didn’t think to mention it. Oh, how I dreaded making that call, which would make me no better than whoever ratted out Grammie.

  “I can’t believe Ian did it,” I protested. “He had no motive.” That I knew about, I qualified. What if Elliot had incriminating knowledge about Ian’s grandfather regarding Star’s death? And what if it was Ian who followed us on that foggy night? My confused thoughts made tension tighten like a band around my head.

  “We’re not pointing fingers,” Cookie said. “Yet. Remember, should your grandmother be arrested and go to trial, we only have to show reasonable doubt, not prove someone else is guilty.”

  “Okay. I get that.” Rubbing my temples, I told her how Ian and I were scheduled to meet in the early afternoon. “But I forgot to call him until I got out of the police station. And when I did, he had just arrived at the store, as we agreed.”

  “That’s what he told you, anyway.” Cookie glanced at her watch. “One more thing before we wrap for today. How is the skeleton you found connected to Elliot—if it is—or anyone else you know? His death might be connected to your discovery or rooted in the present day. Hard to say right now.”

  Grammie pushed her chair back. “You’re going to need something to wet your whistle while I fill you in. Another coffee or some nice cold well water, perhaps?”

  * * *

  “Welcome, welcome.” I stood back to let my three friends enter the house. They had all arrived at once, Sophie and Madison riding with Bella in her Volvo wagon.

  “Rough day, huh?” Madison had a salad bowl tucked under one arm and a slender paper bag in the other. She lifted the latter in a salute. “Glass of wine coming right up.”

  “You’re the best.” I smiled at Sophie, who was carting bags of baked goodies and another bottle bag, and Bella, trotting through with a deep baking pan. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Same here,” Sophie said. She glanced down at the cat. “You too, Quince.”

  “Ditto.” Bella rushed the pan into the kitchen. “This needs to heat up for a few more minutes,” she told Grammie.

  “Oven’s ready,” Grammie said. She opened the door so Bella could slide the dish inside, then placed foil-wrapped Italian bread on the top rack.

  Madison had already found the corkscrew and was opening the wine while Sophie pulled glasses out of a cupboard. “I’m dying to hear updates from you both,” Madison said. “But maybe we should wait until after we eat?”

  “We definitely should,” Bella said. “It is important to avoid distressing topics during dinner.” She grinned. “Especially when eating my lasagna. Why spoil it?” Her version was a multilayered delight stuffed with cheese, sausage, and homemade sauce.

  “I’ll drink to that.” Sophie handed around the glasses of wine. Then she lifted hers in a toast. “To good friends and good food.” We echoed the toast.

  An hour later, we sat in satisfied contentment around the porch table, flickering candles casting a flattering glow on everyone’s faces. Peepers sang in the pond, accompanied by a bullfrog’s guttural croak. While we ate, clouds had drifted in to cover the sky and the moon glowed a pale yellow behind the veil.

  “Anyone want decaf?” Grammie asked. “I’ll put on a pot.” She went into the house to do that while Sophie arranged dessert bites on a platter, the perfect size for a sweet taste after a big meal.

  Over the coffee and treats, Grammie, Madison, and I filled the other two in about Elliot’s death and our interviews with the police. Then Grammie and I told them about meeting with Cookie.

  “It must feel good to have her in your corner,” Bella said. She reached for a pecan pie minitart. “Just one more, I promise,” she murmured.

  Grammie nodded. “She’s sharp all right. She told me not to talk to the police without her being there. She’s also looking for other suspects, for the reasonable-doubt angle.” She grimaced. “If it gets that far, which I pray it doesn’t.”

  Madison gave a bark of laughter. “There are so many suspects. Elliot wasn’t exactly loved, right?”

  “True,” I said. “I overheard him arguing with Ted Perkins at his office the other day. And what about Charlotte? Maybe Nancy was angry about his relationship with her, whatever it is.” My heart lurched at the thought of Ian’s possible involvement. But I couldn’t make myself vocalize my fears, not even to my friends.

  “Or maybe Charlotte was mad at Elliot for not divorcing Nancy.” Sophie propped her chin on her hand, thinking. “From what I’ve heard, Nancy had ample cause in the past but she never filed papers.”

  “Some marriages are a mystery,” Grammie said. “They’ve been together for over forty years.” She s
wirled the liquid in her mug, her expression sad. “I know all too well how it feels to lose your husband. And I wish I could do something for her. But I’d better not, not until I’m cleared.”

  “Which I’m sure will be soon,” I said. “The whole thing is ridiculous.”

  “So ridiculous.” Bella clucked her tongue. “And how does Star’s death fit in? It’s odd that right after she was discovered, Elliot was killed. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  She put her finger right on the reason why Ian might be a suspect. He could have thought his grandfather was responsible for Star’s death and confronted Elliot, hoping to get to the bottom of it. But no matter who might be guilty, the most pressing issue was clearing Grammie’s name. And if that meant digging into the past and uncovering unpleasant truths, then so be it.

  “Grammie,” I said. “Maybe it’s time to look in your trunk for clues. At the least we might be able to figure out who killed Star, right? And who knows, maybe Elliot’s death is related.”

  “Two for the price of one,” Madison quipped. She rubbed her hands together. “I’m ready. Anything is better than sitting on the sidelines for something to happen.”

  With lots of laughter and a near disaster or two, we somehow got the heavy metal trunk down out of the barn loft and into the house, using a wheelbarrow for the trip across the yard. Then we carried the battered old thing inside and set it in front of the fireplace.

  “Good thing I’m a packrat, huh?” Grammie asked, throwing open the lid. “My life, the 1970s version.” The rest of us were seated around the room with fresh cups of decaf or glasses of water, the dessert platter well within reach. Squished between Madison and me, Quincy kept one sleepy eye on the proceedings.

  “You don’t have a trunk for each decade, do you?” Madison’s mouth was an “O” of amazement. Or horror. I couldn’t quite tell.

  “Yep, I sure do.” Grammie threw a smile over her shoulder. “Any time you want to see Iris’s baby pictures, let me know.”

  Bella gave a squeal. “I do. You must have been adorable, Iris.”

  “She was so chubby. Loved kissing those cheeks.” Grammie lifted out a square white photograph album, oblivious to how she was embarrassing her granddaughter.

  Madison regarded me with a teasing smile, then took pity and asked, “Is that your wedding album? My parents have one exactly like it.”

  Grammie smoothed the lace and ribbons on the cover. “Yes, it is. We were married in September of seventy-two.”

  Gary’s comment about Papa dating Star floated into my mind. Maybe I could discredit it without directly questioning Grammie. “When did you start dating?” I asked. “I don’t think you ever told me.”

  My grandmother’s smile was teasing. “You really want to hear about an ancient love story?”

  “I do.” I turned to my friends. “How about you?” They chimed in with agreement.

  “We find it inspiring,” Madison said. “With the way the dating scene is nowadays, it’s refreshing to hear about true love.”

  Grammie clutched the book to her chest, her expression dreamy. “It was romantic, that’s for sure.” She paused, as though gathering her thoughts. “We grew up together here in Blueberry Cove. Joe was a couple of years older, one of my brother’s best friends.” Grammie’s brother, my great-uncle Ray, lived out in California and we rarely saw him. She opened the album to the first page and handed it to me. “That’s our engagement photo.”

  The picture was a head-and-shoulders shot, the couple’s bright and hopeful faces pressed close together. Grammie was adorable with her center-parted blond hair and winged eyeliner, and Papa was a young rock god with equally long hair, but dark, sparkling eyes and a neat beard. Everyone cooed over the picture as I passed the album around.

  “So anyway,” Grammie said. “After I did my two years of secretarial school and came back to Blueberry Cove, I ran into Joe at one of his gigs. Out at the Roadhouse.”

  The Roadhouse still stood out on the highway but had been abandoned for decades. I pictured the scene, the band playing and the throngs of young people who flocked to hear them.

  “During one of his breaks he started talking to me, and soon I was part of the gang. I took this picture.” Grammie unfurled a rolled poster, the same one that hung in Papa’s workshop. “We partied every weekend, following the band to gigs up and down the coast or going to people’s houses. But Joe and I didn’t actually get together until the Fourth of July celebration here in Blueberry Cove.”

  “When Star disappeared,” I said. Relief washed over me. If Papa was busy falling madly in love with Grammie, it was very unlikely he had anything to do with Star’s death. Gary had either lied about or exaggerated Papa’s involvement with Star. Which made me wonder why.

  Grammie nodded. “I think that’s one reason I lost track of her. I was so enamored of Joe, he was all I could think about.” She fished through the trunk’s top tray. “Here’s a pin I bought at the fair.” It was a red, white, and blue top hat, like something Uncle Sam would wear. “We used to put pins and buttons on our vests and jean jackets.

  “We spent the weekend together and were inseparable after.” She smiled. “And we had a very short engagement. One month.”

  I leafed through the wedding photos, which showed the ceremony, held outside near the Hemlock Point lighthouse. Grammie’s gown was prairie-style and she carried a bouquet of daisies. Papa wore a white suit with a ruffled shirt underneath, his long locks blowing in the breeze. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like both of them had bare feet.

  “Would you look at those clothes,” Bella said. “Believe it or not, some of the seventies looks are coming back in style.”

  “Not the ugly ones, I hope,” Sophie said.

  “Not in my store,” Bella said with a laugh. She eyed Sophie up and down. “I have a peasant blouse that would look awesome on you.”

  Grammie picked up a stray photograph. “Here’s another one of the gang.” She scooted across the rug to show me, tapping a man with a curly mane of hair and a wild look in his eyes. “That’s Star’s ex-boyfriend. So I was right, he did show up in town.” She turned over the picture. “Good. I wrote down names on the back, which I didn’t always. ‘Baggie’ Bevins was his name.”

  “Obviously a nickname,” I said. “And three guesses why he got it. Do you know his real name?”

  “No, I never heard it,” Grammie said. “He was only here for a short while. And to be honest, I don’t remember exactly when.” She checked the edge of the photo. “This was developed in July sometime, which doesn’t help much.”

  “We should give a copy to the police along with his name,” I said. “You can never discount the ex-boyfriend.”

  Madison took the photograph from Grammie and studied it. “He has scary eyes, like Charlie Manson. I bet he is the killer.” She passed the picture to Sophie.

  “He does look scary.” Sophie studied Baggie’s face with a curled lip. “Where was he from?”

  Grammie shrugged. “I’m not sure. Somewhere inland, I think. Liberty, Unity, Freedom. One of those towns.” All three patriotically named towns were in Waldo County, located in proximity to each other.

  “I’ll make a copy of the picture tomorrow and give it to the police,” I said. “I wonder if Baggie lived at the same commune as Star.”

  “That would make sense.” Grammie was still digging in the trunk. “Aha,” she said, holding a red leather book aloft. “My diary. I’ll read it and see what other tidbits I can glean.”

  “That’s so cool you kept your diary,” Madison said. “I burned mine from junior high. Now I wish I still had it.” We all laughed in sympathy.

  Grammie wagged a finger. “Never burn your past. At the very least, it will amuse your grandchildren.” We laughed again.

  Bella stood with a yawn. “I’m sorry, ladies, but I’ve got to get home. The sitter has a curfew. High school student.”

  “Me too,” Sophie said. “It’s almost past my bedtime.” She was at t
he Bean by five every morning to get ready for the breakfast rush.

  We walked the three of them out to the kitchen, where they gathered up the leftovers to take home. After an exchange of hugs, they said good night with expressions of support and promises to stay closely in touch. A couple of minutes later, the sound of car engines died away, leaving only silence.

  “Would you like a mug of hot milk and honey?” Grammie asked, snagging a copper-bottom pan from the rack. She claimed the comforting beverage helped her sleep.

  “Sure.” Maybe it would help me sleep too. “I’m thinking about hitting the library in the next day or two.” I turned on the tap and began rinsing dinner plates destined for the dishwasher. “Dig into the newspaper archives and databases, see what I can find out.” The library had access to subscription-only services that were otherwise very expensive. I sometimes used them to research vintage textiles.

  Grammie measured milk with a mug before pouring it into the pan. “Good idea. Maybe you’ll learn something that will jog my memory.”

  “Oh, and I should go see Ted about maybe buying his linens.” I slotted plates into the rack. “I might as well, since we can’t do any work on the store right now.”

  “Ted Perkins, right?” Grammie asked.

  “Yes, that Ted.” I began to rinse the coffee mugs and put them in the upper rack. “You know what? I didn’t have a chance to tell Anton about the argument I overhead between Ted and Elliot. And Ted was at the breakfast meeting.” To be honest, my insides squirmed at the idea of finger-pointing. But maybe I should set aside my scruples. After all, my grandmother’s future was at stake.

  Grammie sent me a sharp look. “They think it was someone at the meeting?” She reached for a wooden spoon to stir the milk.

  I placed the last mug and moved on to glasses. “No, they didn’t really say. And maybe I shouldn’t assume. But it was his last meal—I think.” Frustration made me grit my teeth. Until I knew the type of poison and how it was administered, I was only guessing.