Hems & Homicide

by Elizabeth Penney

  I began flicking through the ring, noticing all the different shapes and sizes. Too bad I couldn’t tell which one would work and take it off the ring. “I have an idea.” I jingled the bunch. “How about I borrow these? I’ll bring them back later today.”

  His mouth opened, ready to object, but I gave him my best glare. “We’ve been waiting for you to bring these over like you promised.” Jingle, jingle. “And you keep forgetting.” I stepped closer to the table, still clinking the keys. “Grammie needs to get into that desk for Papa’s life insurance. You really going to treat a poor widow that way?”

  “No, he’s not,” a voice said in the doorway. We both spun around in surprise to see Ian Stewart standing there. I clutched the keys to my chest like a Victorian maiden ready to faint. Gary stood straight with a scowl.

  “I’m here to pick up a chest for Mom,” Ian said. “We got a call that it’s ready.”

  Gary wiped the brush on the rim of the stain can then set it lying across the top. He picked up a rag and wiped his hands. “It’s up front, next to the cash register.”

  “I can get it,” Ian said. “She told me she already paid.” He turned to go then paused, looking back over his shoulder. “Let Iris borrow the keys. I’ll make sure she brings them back.” Without waiting for an answer, he strode off.

  Gary pursed his lips and made a motion with his head, indicating he was granting permission, however reluctant. “Thanks,” I said, scampering away with the keys still clutched in both hands. I caught up with Ian near the front, where he was lifting a small chest of drawers.

  “Want to get the door for me?” he said, hugging the chest with both arms.

  I rushed to do that, holding it open with my body. “Thanks for sticking up for me. Grammie really needs to get into Papa’s desk.”

  He edged past me toward his truck, waiting nearby with the tailgate down. “No problem. Gary can be irritating and stubborn sometimes.” He laughed. “Ask me how I know.” He set the chest on the truck bed then climbed up to move it farther back.

  My pulse racing, I watched him maneuver the piece into place and secure it with webbing. I wanted to say something, wanted to grab the opportunity to make amends, but every topic seemed like a land mine.

  He leaped down from the truck, landing a few feet from me, his green eyes wide. I looked away first. “I’m sorry,” I said, staring at the barn’s Open flag as if it were fascinating. The stitching was coming loose and the pieces were separating, I noticed.

  Ian put a hand on my shoulder, his warmth penetrating the thin cotton. “Don’t sweat it, okay? You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. Finding a body. Your landlord murdered and your grandmother a suspect. Your business on hold.” He squeezed, not too tight, and released. “Given all that, anyone might get a little wiggy.”

  Whistling, he slammed the tailgate shut, climbed in, and roared off. I could live with him thinking I was acting weird and irrational. At least he didn’t totally hate me. That was a tiny bit encouraging, right?

  * * *

  Out in the barn at home, I wiped the new shelves down with a tack cloth to remove sanding dust before I started painting. As I applied the first coat of primer, I realized that paint was magic. One coat hid any number of imperfections and blemishes, creating a fresh canvas to start anew. Too bad something like that didn’t exist for our mistakes and mess-ups. I’d slap a coat right over the situation with Ian.

  I was priming the last shelf when a green pickup truck roared up the drive and skidded to a stop, sending gravel flying. Ian, again? No, a woman was behind the wheel. As Margery Richards climbed out and slammed the door, Grammie pulled up behind her in the Wagoneer. Maybe she was hosting a women’s auxiliary meeting and I hadn’t gotten the memo.

  Margery stood in the drive waiting for Grammie, but instead of a welcoming smile, she wore a ferocious scowl. Uh-oh. Trouble was brewing.

  I set the paintbrush down and rushed out of the barn. “What’s up?” I said. “Here for the meeting?”

  My question threw Margery off and she took a step back, her brow furrowed. “No, I’m here to talk to Anne. And you too, Iris.”

  Grammie ran a hand through her hair, straightening windblown locks. “Hello, Margery. Would you like a glass of iced tea?” Good for her, refusing to respond in kind.

  “No, thanks.” Margery spat the words out. “I want nothing to do with you ever again.” She moved toward Grammie, her posture threatening, hands fisted at her sides. “How dare you send the police to Ted’s house? And don’t tell me you’re not responsible. Anything to point the finger elsewhere.”

  I let out a squeak that turned Margery’s attention to me. “Um, don’t blame Grammie. I did it.”

  “Iris.” Grammie’s mouth dropped open. “What on earth…”

  “I heard Ted arguing with Elliot,” I said. “So I told Chief Ball about that. And mentioned that Ted was pretty upset about Star’s death.” No doubt that remark would toss gasoline on the smoldering fire that was Margery Richards. I guess I felt a little reckless.

  Margery’s mouth flapped open, calling to mind a gasping fish. “Star? That little—” She screwed up her face in disgust. “She had a new boyfriend every week.”

  “Who didn’t, back then?” Grammie snapped. “I could tell a few stories on you, so don’t get me started.”

  “Is that a fact?” Margery wouldn’t back down. “Ted has always been it for me.” Her chin wobbled and she blinked. “Even if…”

  Was she crying? In one of those strange intuitive leaps, I got it. Margery was worried about Ted’s guilt, that he had killed Star. And Elliot. Obviously she drove Ted’s truck on occasion … the pieces slotted into place like a puzzle.

  “You sent me threats,” I said with absolute certainty. “Email and text. You were afraid what I might find out.” I pushed my face into her personal space. “You were afraid Ted killed Star and I’d be able to prove it somehow.”

  Margery backed away, sneakers scuffing in the gravel. “How could I do that? I don’t know your email for pity’s sake. Or your phone number. And why would I?” She glanced at Grammie. “Tell her, Anne. Your granddaughter is being paranoid.”

  “Yes, you do have it. From my Web site and the shopper card at the drugstore.” I paused before delivering the kill shot. “And you chased us in Ted’s truck.” I ran over to the front and pointed to the chips and dents. “That’s where you hit Madison’s tiny car.” A gust of rage swept over me, making my legs shake. “You could have killed us, you idiot.”

  “Margery Richards, I can’t believe you did such a foolish thing, endangering us like that.” Grammie glared at her old friend, the other hand rooting around in her handbag. “I’m calling the police.”

  Margery burst into blubbering tears, scrubbing at her eyes like a child. “I couldn’t help it,” she wailed. “I was so afraid…”

  “Afraid he was guilty?” I asked in a soft tone. I began walking toward the back porch, hoping she would follow.

  Stumbling along beside me, she nodded, her chin jerking up and down. “We had a fight that night … he took off. I didn’t see him for two days after.”

  “Which night was that?” Quincy jumped down from a chair and trotted toward us, meowing at the top of his lungs. “Shh, Quince.” I picked him up, then plopped him onto Margery’s lap after she sat in the porch swing.

  Thankfully he settled, and she began stroking his soft fur, which seemed to calm her emotions. Quincy was such a comfort. I found a box and tissues and let her take one to mop up.

  Maybe I should wait for the police, but I wanted to hear her story, hear why she suspected the man she loved of murder. Maybe Ted was guilty, but even if not, she might know something that would lead to the killer.

  Margery sniffed again, giving her nose a swipe. Grammie had finished her call and was taking a seat in a porch rocker. Her nod told me the police were on their way.

  With all the activity lately, we might as well put in a hotline. That inconvenient thought f
orced me to bite my cheek, to keep from hysterical laughter.

  “Remember July Fourth?” Margery said. “How we all met up at the waterfront park? The Sea Dogs were playing a few sets, and then we were all going over to Nancy’s for a party. You could see the fireworks from her parents’ house. The Eyrie Two.” The name of the cottage was said in a mocking tone. She thought it was pretentious too.

  “I do recall that,” Grammie said. She laughed. “Thanks to my diary.” To me, she said, “I was going to show you the entry this afternoon.”

  “I don’t need any diary,” Margery said. “Everything is etched so clear in my mind … I was so sure…” She shook her head. “What a fool I was. I was expecting Ted to ask me to marry him. When he didn’t pop the question, well, I was pretty ticked off.”

  And to think she’d been with him ever since, over forty years and still unmarried. She must have given up, accepted the man on the terms he set.

  “What happened that night?” I asked, my pulse speeding up.

  As she spoke, Margery kept patting Quincy, who stayed perfectly still, as if not wanting to interrupt. “After the final set is when we had our fight. Ted was mad about something and he was pretty abrupt with me. That hurt my feelings and next thing you know, I was screaming at him.” She shook her head. “I had quite a temper back then.”

  She still did, but I wasn’t going to say anything.

  “He stormed off and I decided to hang out with Gary for the evening.” She looked up at us. “We didn’t do anything. He was upset, too, over Star.”

  “Why was that?” Grammie asked. “I can’t believe I missed all this drama. But Joe and I literally only had eyes for each other.”

  “Yeah, you two were a pretty cute couple,” Margery admitted, her tone begrudging. She sighed. “Gary told me Star broke up with him. He thought it was because she had another guy.” Another sigh. “I was convinced it was Ted.”

  “Was Star there?” I asked. “Hanging around with the gang?”

  Margery shook her head. “No, she took off too. And Nancy and Elliot left the park early, to go over to her house to get ready for the party.”

  Star, Ted, Elliot, and Nancy had all left the park that night. And Star was never seen again.

  CHAPTER 28

  The Blueberry Cove Police SUV roared up the drive and rolled to a stop beside Ted’s truck. Anton and Rhonda climbed out, pausing to examine the truck’s front bumper before picking their way through the garden toward us.

  Margery’s eyes went wide with dread and her body tensed, as though to flee. “It’s okay,” Grammie murmured. “They’ll be fair.”

  I agreed, especially since she had valuable testimony about Star’s death. Maybe they would cut a deal with her about the hit-and-run. As for the threats, I wasn’t going to press charges.

  Before they reached the porch, another vehicle grumbled up the drive. Margery’s Buick sedan, with Ted Perkins at the wheel. He took in the cruiser and the officers, then his girlfriend sitting huddled on the swing. Head down, he charged across the garden with fists pumping, detouring around Anton and Rhonda.

  “Mr. Perkins,” Anton called. “We’ve been trying to catch up with you.”

  The farmer ignored that and leaped up onto the porch. “What’d you get into this time, babe?” He gestured to Margery. “Shove over.”

  Margery moved, and he sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. With a loud sob, she collapsed against his chest, forcing the ever-patient Quincy to adjust his position so he could stay on her lap. “I’m so sorry, Ted. I made a huge mistake.” An understatement, for sure.

  Anton and Rhonda stopped in front of Margery. “I understand you have something to tell us, Ms. Richards,” Anton said. Rhonda got her tablet ready to take notes.

  Grammie looked at me. “That’s our cue, Iris. Iced tea?”

  On the way into the house, I glanced back at the couple. She was guilty of a hit-and-run. He was a suspect in one, maybe two, murders. But they loved each other, that much was obvious.

  The chief came into the kitchen a short while later. “We’re heading out to the station. A tow truck will be coming to get Ted’s truck and take it to impound.” He looked at me. “I understand Margery is the one who sent you threats.”

  “She admitted to it,” I said. “She got my phone number from the drugstore shopper card and I’m guessing my email from my Web site. But you know what? I don’t want to press charges or anything. She’s in enough trouble.”

  “Up to you,” Anton said. “I have the feeling she’s learned her lesson.” He gave me a brief smile. “I do have some good news. The store is released as a crime scene. You can go in there whenever you want.”

  I let out a whoop. “Great. Maybe we’ll be still able to open Memorial Day weekend.” After losing precious days, we’d have to work twice as fast.

  After Anton left, I said, “Grammie, guess what? I have the skeleton keys. Why don’t we see if we can open Papa’s desk?”

  We worked our way through a good portion of the ring before we found a key that turned the lock with a satisfying clunk. “Yay.” I shook my arms in the air in victory. “We did it.”

  “Make note of the right key,” Grammie said. “I want to get a copy made before we give those back to Gary.”

  I put a piece of masking tape around the shaft. “Now that we got the desk open, we’ll probably find Papa’s keys.” Wasn’t that always the way?

  Grammie pushed up the rolltop, then sat in a chair to go through the little drawers and cubbyholes. “Oh, Iris,” she said. I looked over and saw she was holding Papa’s pipe. In later years, he didn’t even light it, but he’d chew on the stem while deep in a project. Even now, after all these months, the sweet aroma of his tobacco drifted from the desk’s interior.

  I kneeled beside her and gave her a hug, and for a long moment we stayed that way. Memories of Papa flitted through my mind, accompanied by bittersweet emotions of longing and loss. Love you, Papa.

  Grammie cleared her throat. “All right then. Back to work.” She continued looking through the desk while I fetched fresh glasses of iced tea and some raspberry-jam-filled cookies. Now that his new friend had left, Quincy padded into the living room and curled up on the carpet nearby.

  The second drawer down held manila folders. Grammie gave a grunt of satisfaction when she opened one. “Ah, here we go. The old life insurance policies.”

  I helped her look through, adding up the sums in my head, which made a nice chunk of change, indeed. I picked up a last folder, this one slim and holding only one sheet of paper. “Now I know why Gary didn’t want you to open the desk,” I said. “He owed Papa five thousand dollars.” The document was dated a couple of years before.

  Grammie gasped. “Seriously? Let me see that.” She read the document over. “It certainly looks that way.” She shook her head. “Joe always was a soft touch. He knew I wouldn’t approve, that’s why I never knew about it.”

  “And Gary hoped you never would.” The prowler in the barn. “And I bet he sent one of his helpers to look for it. Remember the night Quincy scared off an intruder?” At hearing his name, Quincy looked up. “Yes, I’m talking about you. You’re quite the watch cat.”

  Grammie tapped the paper. “I think we’ll set up a little payment plan with old Gary. Starting with a refund on the pieces we bought for the store.”

  “We’re doing great so far,” I said. “Are the coins in there?” He used to keep his collection in the desk.

  “Let me look.” Grammie opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a battered metal box. “This is pretty heavy.” It held dozens of coins, all in small plastic envelopes with inked notations regarding denomination and vintage.

  I leafed through the box, amazed by the beauty of old Liberty gold dollars.

  “Iris,” Grammie said, waving an old Polaroid. “Another photograph from that summer.”

  A smiling group sat close together on Eyrie Two’s wide porch steps, the tiny American flags some were
holding providing a clue as to the date. I studied the faces, now so familiar to me. Grammie and Papa, snuggled together. Fergus and Gary sitting with a couple of girls. Nancy staring at Elliot, who was whispering to Margery. I took a closer look at Nancy. She was wearing huge hoop earrings with rose charms dangling in the center of the circles. Something about them looked familiar.

  “Star and Ted are both missing,” I said. “Do you think—” Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to verbalize the probability that she was already dead.

  “I think the police need to see it,” Grammie said. “Every little bit helps.” She placed it on the desktop.

  After dinner, I decided to drive down to the shop. I wanted to take another look at what needed to be done and adjust our remaining timeline until Memorial Day.

  At the foot of our driveway, I had to wait for traffic to clear, a sign that tourist season was upon us. A few white SUVS went by, all oddly alike despite being different makes, followed by a small, battered black pickup truck.

  Wait, what? I recognized the driver and his two passengers. Alfie Bevins and Trooper, with Bacon next to the window, pink flesh pressed against the glass.

  I slouched down in my seat, hoping Alfie wouldn’t see me, although Beverly was pretty distinctive as cars go. Unlike white SUVs. But why was he in Blueberry Cove—shopping, talking to the police, stalking me? All were possibilities.

  Once he was out of sight, I pulled into the main road and drove slowly toward town. Ahead of me, a small blue car pulled into Elliot’s driveway and I saw Charlotte at the wheel. Comforting the widow or paying rent? The latter, I guessed.

  Despite the traffic, most Main Street businesses were closed for the evening and the sidewalks were quiet. I parked in the alley behind the shop and dug out my keys, both dreading and looking forward to going inside.