Hems & Homicide

by Elizabeth Penney

  “Hey, Iris.” A male voice startled me and I whirled around, crying out and dropping my block. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Ian stood in the barn doorway, looking scrumptious in leather jacket, faded jeans, and a T-shirt.

  Ian. Here to see me. I pulled down the mask. Was he going to confront me about giving his name to the police? Involuntarily, I backed up, bumping into the tall bookcase, which rocked until I steadied it. “Hi, Ian. What’s up?” My voice came out in a squeak. Great. No nerves here.

  He stepped into the barn. “Those going into the shop?” He ran a hand along a sanded hutch top, checking the wood’s finish.

  “Yeah, I’m painting them to use as displays.” I gestured toward the cans of paint, my brain whirring with possible comments. But every subject seemed like a minefield.

  “I came by to check out the bike,” he said. “Once I see what shape it’s in, we can figure out the parts.”

  “You still want to do that?” I blurted. Frankly, I expected him to bail on renovating the store for me too.

  Ian paused outside the circle of bright light, hands resting on his hips. It looked as if he were smiling. I moved out of the glare. Yes, he wore a faint, almost regretful smile but that was far better than a frown of anger or disgust.

  “I thought I would, since I promised.” A beat while we locked eyes. “I’m not mad, Iris. I know you had to tell them.”

  A rush of relief made my knees weak. “It was actually Grammie’s lawyer who mentioned the keys. And I did give you one.” I was babbling but couldn’t stop. “And your truck, well, I’m so sorry but maybe it was an accident…”

  His brow lowered in a puzzled scowl. “What’s this about my truck?”

  Oh no. He had no idea. “Ah, um, hmm.” I glanced around the barn as if something in there could save me. Nope. Staring at the worn floorboards, I said, “The other night when Madison was driving me home from Bella’s, you know, when it was really foggy out, someone in a pickup truck hit us. And then took off.”

  “And you think it was me.” His voice was flat and cold.

  “No, of course not, but the chief took samples, said the vehicle was green…”

  “And I have a green truck. Do you honestly think I would hit someone and take off? Iris. Seriously.”

  My shoulders hunched practically to my ears, I dared to glance at his face. “No? You wouldn’t?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “That’s right, I wouldn’t. And to prove it, I’ll go down to the station right now. They can take all the samples they want.”

  I covered my face with my hands, feeling like every kind of fool. “I’m so sorry.” I thought of a million excuses but bit my tongue. Anything I said would only make things worse. “You were probably nowhere near us that night anyway,” I finally mumbled, after his silence got to me.

  He barked a laugh. “If it’s the night I’m thinking of, I was in my apartment over the inn garage. Watching a Red Sox game.” He shook his head. “So I really don’t have an alibi. But trust me, I didn’t hit Madison’s car. On purpose or otherwise.”

  I watched as he turned and walked out of the barn, head high, shoulders straight, jumped into his truck and drove off, not even squealing his tires or peeling rubber, like I might have. “Oh, Quincy,” I said. “I really blew it this time.”

  CHAPTER 26

  The next morning, breakfast at the Bean with Madison, Sophie, and Bella should have improved my mood. About once a month, the four of us gathered to try Sophie’s new concoctions, which was a lot of fun. Today we ate in the back room, watching the sky brighten over the harbor while testing red velvet, bacon maple, and bananas Foster waffles.

  But the delicious sweet and savory bites didn’t work their usual magic. I had to keep forcing my brain to get off the hamster wheel of questions, what-ifs, and I wish. My main concern was Grammie, of course, still suspect number one in Elliot’s death. Next was the ongoing mystery of who had killed Star, a young mother. Finally, there was Ian. I was pretty sure he hated me right about now, which was deeply disappointing, at best.

  “Iris, my friend,” Bella said. “I have never seen you so gloomy.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, spearing a banana slice covered in syrup. “I’m trying to keep my chin up.” Madison and I had already shared our adventure at the commune, to their awe and laughter, and we had gone over the suspect list at length. But what we needed was a breakthrough in either case. Then hopefully, like a pulled thread, the rest would unravel.

  Holding tall paper cups of coffee, Charlotte Ramsey and Kevin Lee walked into the back room and sat at a nearby table. Interesting, especially after their argument the other night. Madison elbowed me and waggled her brows, which wasn’t obvious or anything.

  Sophie glanced into the front room, then slid her chair back. “I better check in with my employees. Looks like we’re getting slammed.” Although we tried to pick a quiet day of the week, she sometimes had to leap into action.

  On her way, she stopped to talk to the code officer and the artist, who were sipping coffee and staring at each other. “Good morning. Did you put in an order already?” After they nodded, she pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

  Charlotte leaned forward and said something to Kevin, then got up, slinging her purse strap over her shoulder. A second later she slipped into the ladies’ room.

  Madison nudged me again. “Here’s our chance.”

  “What do you mean?” I drank the dregs of my coffee, wishing for a refill to fight a nagging headache.

  She leaned closer and whispered, “Maybe we can pump him about Charlotte. And the herb class.”

  I got it. Charlotte was a viable suspect in Elliot’s death, although I had no idea why she would kill him. He was supportive of her gallery, for one thing.

  Madison turned to Bella. “Distract Charlotte if she comes out before we’re done, okay?” Our friend barely managed to nod before Madison slipped out of her chair and headed over to Kevin’s table, forcing me to rush after her.

  “Hello, Kevin,” Madison said, bringing out the dimples. She put a hand on the back of Charlotte’s chair. “Mind if we sit?”

  “Why yes I do, that seat—” Seeing that her behind was already lowered, Kevin settled for shaking his head. He turned a cold gaze on me as I pulled up another chair. “I still need to finish inspecting your building before you open to the public.”

  “No problem,” I said cheerfully. “As soon as the police let me back in, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Madison rested an elbow on the table. “We met a friend of yours yesterday. Mary Ellen Richards, the herb teacher.”

  He leaned back in his seat, his eyes wary. “Mary Ellen? How do you…”

  “We saw your picture on a flyer,” I said. “We were thinking about taking a class but the price is quite steep. So we were hoping to get some reviews first.” I had no idea what it cost. I hadn’t gotten that far before driving over the page with my car.

  Kevin toyed with his cup, turning it around in his hands. “It was okay, great actually, Mary Ellen knows her stuff, that’s for sure.”

  “Good to hear,” Madison said smoothly. “We drank some of her raspberry tea, which was delicious. Does she teach people about herbal medicines?” She shrugged. “The flyer didn’t give much detail.”

  He nodded. “The herbal medicine certification track gets into that. We did lessons in wildcrafting, distilling, and advanced compounding.”

  Ding, ding, ding. Anyone who had made the jimsonweed into poison form would probably have used those techniques. “Did Charlotte take that class too?” When his brow lowered, I smiled, innocent as a lamb. “She was in the picture too.”

  But instead of answering, his gaze went to Charlotte, who was sashaying back into the room. She stopped short, annoyance crossing her face, when she saw we had taken over her table. “Uh, hello? What’s up?”

  Bella belatedly kicked into gear and hurried over. “Oh, Charlotte. I’ve been meaning to ask y
ou. Would you like to model in the fashion show during Lobster Fest?” One of the new charity events was a community fashion show slated to be held at the waterfront park.

  Charlotte put a hand to her chest, her mouth dropping open. “Me, model? Why I’d love to.” She and Bella began chatting about the show, with much hair tossing on both sides.

  “I have to admit being curious,” Madison said. “What brought you to our little town, Kevin?” She slid a glance toward Charlotte. “Is she the reason?”

  The code officer’s cheeks flushed a deep, angry red. “Certainly not. We’re … we’re just friends. I moved here”—his eyes darted toward the harbor view—“to live near the water. Yes, I love being near the ocean. I mean, why live in Maine otherwise?”

  Although his entire life, until now, had been spent inland, according to his bio. “Where’d you grow up?” I asked. “I used to live near Bangor until my parents died and my grandmother took me in.”

  His gray eyes lit up. “Me too. I mean, I moved around a lot but yeah, my … my parents were from Argyle. You know where that is?”

  No, but I nodded yes. “I lived in Hampden. My father taught at Hampden Academy.”

  “Heard of it,” Kevin said. His gaze went to the doorway again but this time Anton was standing there, dressed in uniform, his hands on his hips. His lip curled. “Wonder what he wants.”

  Spotting me, Anton jerked his chin toward the door. I knew that gesture all too well. “He wants to talk to me.”

  We stepped into the alley between the Bean and an adjacent storefront, a narrow, noisy space due to an underground stream rushing into the bay. “What’s going on, Anton?” I asked, raising my voice.

  He stepped closer. “I wanted you to know right away. They didn’t find anything in your grandmother’s house or in the fields.”

  Anything meant jimsonweed. I crossed my arms. “Should you be telling me this?” Not that I didn’t appreciate it, but I felt a little leery around Anton right now, regrettable in light of our long friendship. Then the meaning of what he said sank in. A light-headed feeling swept over me, exactly as if my head was a balloon floating away. “You mean she’s cleared?”

  Anton shook his head. “Not quite. But we’ll be investigating other possibilities.”

  “Thank you. I’m so relieved.” I launched myself at him and gave him a big hug. Objects on his duty belt dug into my hips, a sharp reminder of how inappropriate I was being. I pulled back. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

  He glanced toward the street, probably hoping no one had witnessed our moment. Just for a second, he had softened and hugged me back, I was almost sure of it.

  “There’s something else I want to say.” He crossed his arms, reassuming the stern-authority-figure persona. “You and Madison really took a chance tracking down Alfred Bevins. He’s been in jail for assault, theft, and vandalism.”

  “That was totally an accident,” I said. “We went out to the old commune to talk to Mary Ellen Richards and found out he lives there. Grammie thought Star might have stayed there before she came to Blueberry Cove. And guess what? She did.” I remembered the picture of Star and her baby. “And guess what else? Star had a son.” Seeing his mouth open, I quickly added, “Mary Ellen doesn’t know where he is or even where he was born. Star put him in a foster home.”

  Anton rubbed his chin, considering this news. “I’d like a copy of that picture, please. We can add the information to the appeal.”

  “No information about her identity yet?” I found that tragic, that she had vanished and no one had searched for her. Or if they had, they had given up years ago.

  “Not a thing. We added her to the national missing and unidentified persons database, and officers have been trying to find possible matches. But we’re talking decades.”

  He was right. Star’s parents could already be dead. My thoughts returned to the man who might have killed her. “Good old Alfie. Is he our perp?”

  Anton made a scoffing sound, either because I called him “our,” or the use of the word perp. Probably both. “The rap sheet reports that Alfred Bevins was arrested on July 2, 1972, for a drunk and disorderly, and didn’t get out until after the holiday.”

  “Maybe he killed her before he was arrested.” Too bad we couldn’t determine the exact date of death. “Grammie is looking through her old diary to figure out when she last saw Star.” If it was while Alfie was in jail, then he was innocent.

  “That would be helpful.” He pointed a finger at me. “Another thing. Are you sure you gave Elliot a key?”

  Prickles went up my spine. “Positive. In fact, I went to his office to deliver it. That’s when I heard him arguing with Ted.” I gave him a told-you-so smile, to remind him of what I considered a promising lead.

  “Well, we didn’t find one. Not on him or at the scene. Nothing at home or his office either.”

  “Nancy doesn’t have it?” That reminded me that she was now my landlord. Oh joy. She raised Charlotte’s rent, and I wondered if she would try to do that to us.

  “She says not. You might want to change the locks again, Iris. In case that key is floating around somewhere.”

  “Good point.” I gave him that smart-aleck smile again. “Once I can get back inside the store. Sometime this century, I hope.”

  “I’ll check on it today,” he said. “By the way, Ian Stewart came down to the station last night. He wanted us to take paint samples from his truck.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You know anything about that?”

  My throat dried up. Why, oh why, had I meddled? Then I reminded myself that the disclosure to Ian was an accident. Not my fault. “Give me a stretch, Anton, seeing as I’m the one who pointed out possible vehicles. Even if it wrecked—” I tried to swallow, difficult with no spit. Plus Anton didn’t need to hear about my personal feelings. “Anyway, last night, when Ian stopped by, I accidentally let it slip that his truck might match the hit-and-run vehicle. He wasn’t too happy about that, naturally, and I guess wanted to clear his name.”

  He studied me for a long moment. “That’s what he said.”

  A burst of anger made me stamp my foot, scaring a seagull lurking around a dumpster. He flapped away with a squawk. “So why ask me then?”

  “Always confirm, Iris, always confirm.” He paused a beat. “I hate to tell you this, and maybe I shouldn’t, but his truck was a match.”

  CHAPTER 27

  A cold fist hit me in the belly. But this shock and awe had one good side effect. It cleared my doubts about Ian like a strong wind drives away mist.

  “It must be a mistake,” I said. “There’s no way Ian chased us down and hit Madison’s car.”

  He held up a hand. “Hold on, Iris. The make and model are a match. It doesn’t mean it was his truck. They made more than one.”

  After an eye-to-eye standoff, I shouldered past him. “Are we done here? I have a lot to do today.” Like getting Ian off the hook, since I put him there with my big mouth. Growling to myself, I stomped back into the Bean. The place hadn’t calmed down any in my absence. All the tables were full and the room echoed with chatter.

  “Madison and Bella had to run,” Sophie said from behind the counter. “Want a coffee to go?”

  “Sure, that would be great.” I paid the counter attendant while Sophie poured me a cup and fixed it the way I liked it. Despite what I told Anton, I was actually at loose ends this morning. I could check for online orders, of course, but I was too restless to sit at a computer right now. Sophie handed me the cup and I saluted her with it. “See you later. Thanks again for breakfast.”

  “Which one did you like best?” she called.

  “All of them,” I replied. “Keep up the good work.” Walking backward, I gave her a thumbs-up.

  Outside, I took a minute to fix the top so I could sip coffee, then strolled slowly toward the parking lot. What should I do today? Once the day warmed a little, I could put a coat of paint on those shelves in the barn.

  The thought of the barn brought me ar
ound to Ian again. I was never going to live the truck debacle down. Maybe I could beg him for forgiveness.

  Grammie called while I was unlocking Beverly in the public lot. I set my cup on the roof and answered. “Iris, can you do me a favor?” she asked. “Swing by Gary Ball’s and see when he’s bringing over those keys. I really need to find Joe’s paperwork. And I bet it’s in the desk. Oh, and he was supposed to have the dining room table back by now too.”

  Gary Ball. Now there was a good target for the irritation and regret rolling around inside me like an internal hurricane. Not only had he stalled about bringing us a key, he implied my grandfather was involved with Star. I opened the car door and tossed my handbag inside. “I’ll go over there right now.”

  It wasn’t until I pulled out into traffic that I remembered. My coffee cup was still on the roof. Well, it used to be. Wincing at littering—again, by accident—I vowed to swing back by later and pick up my trash.

  An Open flag was waving in front of the Antiques Barn but there weren’t any cars in the lot. I parked in the same spot as before and hurried into the building.

  “Gary?” I called, not seeing anyone, only hulking furniture in all directions. The few dim bulbs cast odd shadows.

  “Down here,” he called. “In the workshop.”

  I wove through the aisles of furniture, rehearsing what I would say. He really was a jerk, especially for trying to throw suspicion on Papa. But I mentally bit my tongue. I wasn’t going to get into that today, not alone with a bunch of power tools nearby.

  When the lighted doorway was in view, I forced myself to slow down and take a few deep breaths, then sauntered the last several feet. I leaned against the opening, all casual-like. “Hey, Gary. Grammie wanted me to check in on that table.”

  In the middle of applying stain to a gorgeous carved console table, Gary greeted me with a nod. “It will be a couple more days. It needs one more top coat of poly.”

  “I’ll let her know.” I stepped into the workroom, noticing that it was bigger than I thought, an L-shape. Our table must be around the corner because I didn’t see it anywhere. But I did notice a bundle of keys sitting on a workbench. The skeleton keys. I wandered over and picked them up. He glanced at me with a frown but didn’t say anything.