“And there’s nothing else, Eleanor?” Jesse asked. “Nothing that you can add.”
“If I knew something that would shed light on Winston’s death, I would tell you,” she said. “But I don’t.”
Jesse nodded. He stepped back from my grandmother and glanced at me. His eyes were sheepish. He’d overstepped some invisible line, somehow accused my grandmother of something, and he knew it. He was looking for me to tell him that it was okay. I hesitated, just for a moment thinking that maybe I should tell him off, but then I took his hand.
“You’re just doing your job, Jesse,” I said as I kissed him on the cheek. “You’re completely wrong and you’re wasting your time, but no hard feelings.”
He kissed me back. “Something doesn’t make sense,” he whispered in my ear.
And then he left the shop, leaving Eleanor and me to stand in awkward silence.
I turned from Eleanor and instead watched Jesse walk down the street toward the police station. As I did, I saw Ed walking toward Jitters.
“Did something happen between you and Ed Bryant?” I asked Eleanor.
“Is this another interrogation? Because I’m quite finished answering questions for the day.”
Her tone was calm but unmistakable in its certainty. Too bad for her I could be just as stubborn.
“So something did happen,” I said.
“Like what?”
“A love affair?”
“You have one theory after another, Nell. Your imagination might be put to better use designing quilts than delving into my uninteresting past.”
“But you did, at some point, date someone, maybe love someone?”
“At some point I did something with someone, yes. That very statement could apply to you.”
“It could, but I’m not defensive about it.”
“Neither am I. And I don’t want to fight with you, Nell. I have a lot of work to do if I’m going to leave this place to you in just under a month. I have to put in fabric orders. I have to do inventory. And there’s a pile of unpaid bills that must be paid or I won’t get any sleep tonight.”
I wasn’t going to be moved off the subject. I blocked her path to her office. “Was it Winston?”
“Now I had an affair with Winston?” she asked. “First Ed, now Winston. Didn’t I get around?”
“Well, did you have an affair with Winston?”
“What kind of a question is that for you to ask your grandmother?”
“A completely supportive and nonjudgmental question.”
“No, Nell. On my children’s lives, I did not have an affair with Winston Roemer,” she said. “And I didn’t kill him, either, just in case that’s your next question.”
“Do you know if he was having an affair with anyone in town?”
She looked at me. “What do you think of me, Nell?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“Do you think I’m a good person?”
“You’re the best. You’re the kindest, strongest, most decent human being I know.”
She smiled. “I would say the same thing about you.” She took a breath. “Would I intrude on your life like this? Demand to know answers to things that are none of my business?”
“You do it every day.”
“Well, then that’s a bad example.”
CHAPTER 41
Eleanor was deliberately avoiding my questions, and by extension, me. Just as I was about to push her harder, she suddenly remembered the shop needed pens and sent me out to buy more. We didn’t need pens, and we both knew that. She just wanted to get rid of me.
I stood outside the shop, wondering if I should go back in and confront her again, or just recognize that I was outmatched.
“Are you okay?”
I looked up to see Maggie.
“I told her,” I said, “about it being Winston.”
“And what did she say?”
“Nothing. Nothing useful.”
“Maybe you should just let this whole thing drop.”
“It was a murder.”
“Years before you were even born. Weren’t you going to stay out of it, Nell? Isn’t that what you said when the skeleton was discovered?”
“That was before Molly O’Brien was insinuating that my grandmother was involved. There’s no statute of limitations on murder, Maggie. Eleanor could be in serious trouble if she knows something . . .”
“That’s an excuse to get in the middle of it. You hate not having answers. But you have to learn at some point or another that in life you don’t get all the answers. You don’t get—whatever that word is,” she paused, “closure. Things are messy and difficult and sometimes you live with not knowing.”
“So I should just cross my fingers and hope that Eleanor isn’t arrested?”
Maggie scowled. “Seriously, Nell, is there any real possibility that Jesse will arrest Eleanor?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Then let it go. Eleanor and Oliver are happy and looking forward to a wonderful trip together. Maybe it’s not the wedding we’d hoped for, but it’s what they want. Let’s just be happy for them and not let our egos get in the way of their future.”
She was right. Even someone who didn’t know Eleanor could see that she had no reason to kill Winston, and a solid alibi for the time he disappeared. She wasn’t in danger of being arrested. It was just me and my get-in-the-middle-of-everything ways. I sighed, determined to put my focus on the quilt show and nothing else.
But just as I vowed to stay out of things, I noticed something that was reflecting the sunlight. On the ground, next to the shop’s door, was a campaign button. I leaned down and picked it up. ARCHERS REST: 350 YEARS OF AMERICAN LIFE.
I opened my purse and dug through it. Stuck in a corner was another button with exactly the same words on it, the one I’d gotten at the committee meeting.
“Maggie, do you still have that button the mayor gave us?”
“I suppose.” Maggie went through her purse and took out a button. “Are you collecting them?”
“No. Just wondering.”
I looked again at the button I’d found. My fingers felt something on the back of it, and when I turned it over I saw a small piece of black plastic.
“What is that?” Maggie asked.
“Part of a fake fingernail.”
I had a choice to make. I could take the button I’d found to Jesse, or I could go looking for answers myself. I could have pretended to struggle with it, but I knew from the moment I recognized the button what I was going to do. Despite all my best efforts, I couldn’t help myself.
Maggie headed into Someday Quilts and I took a short walk to the hardware store, owned by the mayor’s sons. One of them was making keys and the other was unpacking boxes. Neither had seen their father. I went around the corner to the Williams Travel Agency, the first business Larry Williams had created. Aside from the travel agency, it also housed his insurance and tax businesses. But its real function was as the unofficial mayor’s office.
As I was walking in, Larry walked out, looking tired and annoyed. As soon as he saw me, though, he put on a politician’s smile. “Nell Fitzgerald. Are you here about the anniversary celebration or thinking of taking a trip?”
“Neither, actually. I’m here about this.” I held up the button. “Do you have a minute?”
“I need to get to city hall.”
“It will only take a minute.”
He frowned. “Walk with me and tell me some good news.”
The day was getting warmer and the mayor, despite his extra weight, could walk faster than me. I found myself sweating just to keep up with him.
“Have you spoken with Eleanor about having some photographers at her place?” he asked.
“Not yet. But I did talk to Molly. She told me she saw you and Glad in Moran’s last night.”
“How is she? I heard she’d been injured when she encountered one of those hooligans that have been vandalizing town property.”
“There’s no proof that it was one of the vandals. She doesn’t know who hit her.”
“But she’ll be okay?”
“Yes. It seems that she’ll be fine.”
“Poor thing, after coming up here to see about her uncle.” He looked over at me. “Is it for sure then, that it’s Winston Roemer?”
“Jesse’s still waiting on the final DNA results, but from everything we’ve found it seems likely it’s Winston Roemer. What do you remember about him?”
“I was the gardener over at the Roemer house when I was a kid. My father had a local business, tending to the summer homes of folks like the Roemers.”
“What was he like?”
“He was a lot older than me. I was just out of high school the last time I saw him, and he was a grown man. An accomplished man. I don’t think he and I exchanged ten words in the whole time he came to the house.”
“I’ve heard he wasn’t a nice man. I guess he wasn’t nice to you.”
“Why would he be? I hardly appeared to him as the kind of person who would end up, well, where I ended up.”
“As mayor, you mean?”
“And a successful businessman. I was just the help.”
“Glad didn’t see you that way, either, did she? Is that why she broke up with you?”
Larry smiled. “You do have the most curious way of asking a question, Nell. I think you find a reason to be suspicious of everyone.”
“Why would I be suspicious of you?” I asked.
“I have a feeling that’s what you came to talk to me about.”
CHAPTER 42
“She was a good woman, that Mrs. Roemer. And so is your grandmother. Eleanor knew I wanted to go to college and couldn’t afford it, so she tutored me. It was she who got me interested in history. Helped me get a scholarship and gave me a new direction for my life.”
“But the other day, you hinted at something . . . Eleanor wanted to keep hidden,” I said.
“I was just bluffing. Eleanor was—and is—a true friend to everyone in town. You should know that better than anyone.”
I loved hearing of how Eleanor had helped the people in town. But it also made me feel a little inferior. Eleanor was known for her strength and selflessness. I was mostly known for being curious and headstrong.
But I also noticed like any good politician, Larry had changed the subject to one he wanted to talk about.
“But there were people in town who didn’t like Winston,” I said.
He ignored my statement. “You said you weren’t a hundred percent sure it was his body.”
“No. Not one hundred percent.”
“Then maybe this should be kept under wraps.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. It’s pretty much all over town by now.”
“That’s just the town, not anywhere else.” He seemed to be formulating a plan, and I was pretty sure I wanted no part of it. “You have influence with Jesse.”
“Not that much influence. He wouldn’t delay an investigation to please me, and I wouldn’t ask him to.”
“But you could steer him in a different direction. You always have a lot of wild theories about things.”
“I don’t think I always do . . .” I started, but we were getting off track. “But even if I do, Jesse doesn’t. He’s very serious about doing his job. And he’s very good at it.”
“No argument there. I’m just thinking that Jesse could stretch this out a little, give it a little play, as they say in the news business. I’d rather he find out whoever is behind this crime spree we’re having. Vandalism and theft, that’s bad publicity. No way to spin that.”
“I agree.”
“Which is why he focuses on the crimes and I hint to the world that we have uncovered something quite interesting in the backyard of one of our leading citizens. If the identity can’t be hidden at this point, that’s okay. We can use it to our advantage. We can plant stories about the old days when a lot of prominent families used to summer up here. A bit of nostalgia, a few ghost stories . . .” He was getting excited.
“I don’t know if that’s in good taste, Mayor. Considering what happened to Molly. A visitor to town gets attacked and left for dead. That’s the kind of bad publicity you want stopped, isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“This was found near where Molly had been hit.” I showed him the button again. “The other day you handed out one each to the members of the committee.”
“So what?”
“Is that all the buttons there are?
“For the moment. The rest are ordered. They’ll be here a week before the celebration.”
“So someone who was in that committee room dropped this button at the spot where Molly was hurt. And Molly’s fingernail got stuck in it, maybe when she pulled it off her attacker.”
“Exactly what I’m talking about, Nell. You and your wild theories. It could be the button I handed you.”
“It wasn’t. I still have mine. Maggie still has hers. That leaves you, Glad, and Ed.”
“And Molly.”
“She gave hers to Dru Love over at the library.”
“Well, then any one of us could have walked past your grandmother’s shop and dropped it. Or given the button away. Or thrown it away. That’s the sort of thing Ed would do.”
“Where’s yours?”
He stopped. “Not on me, if that makes me a suspect. It’s probably in my office.”
“You still haven’t explained about last night. Molly saw you in a serious conversation with Glad at Moran’s, and it’s not the first time the two of you have met in secret.”
“It was perfectly innocent, but coming out of your mouth it sounds like something clandestine. Not that I mind. Might be great for my reputation. People think my only interests are my businesses and the future of Archers Rest. I was thinking of taking up golf if I could find the time for it, but I don’t know where I can . . .”
I wasn’t letting him take me to a safer subject twice. “What were you doing with Glad?”
“Dog with a bone, Nell Fitzgerald,” he said. “Glad and I are both very committed to making this anniversary celebration a success. It’s more work than either of us imagined and she’s a little—no, make that a lot—concerned about it coming off without a hitch. She’s worried some of our team chairs don’t have the right experience.”
“I’m aware.” I winced a little at the insult but kept up my line of questioning. “Is that what you were talking about at the library? Am I the ‘ridiculous woman’ she was afraid would ruin everything?”
“Yes, but not just you. Everyone. Glad’s a control freak. She’s decided to install window boxes around town, painted in a bright red, with white and blue flowers. She’s very insistent about the color scheme, at least that’s what I heard.”
“What you heard? She didn’t talk about it with you?”
“I only heard about it because she bought the paint from my son’s hardware store. She told him. But why should she tell me? I’m only the mayor.”
“Your son told Jesse that no one had bought red paint recently.”
He took a breath. “I know what you’re thinking, Nell, but Glad wouldn’t deface Archer’s grave. You have no idea how many times we’ve discussed that very event. Given how Glad’s purchase could be misinterpreted, my son and I thought it would be better if she didn’t have to explain herself.”
“Why? If she has nothing to hide . . .”
“She has a reputation to uphold, and enough trouble doing so considering the sort of things that are said about her sister. She asked that we not mention it, and we didn’t. That’s all.”
“That’s what you’re talking about? Her reputation?” I asked.
“Not old times?”
He laughed. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s none of my business. It’s just Mary Shipman . . .”
“That’s an interesting lady.”
“Yes, she is. She mentioned that you and Glad had dated.”
“A lifetime ago. We were kids. Glad was . . .” He searched for a word. “Less formal, less offended by the world. She was even fun, if you can believe it.”
“I’m not sure I can,” I admitted. “Mary said her father didn’t see you together either.”
“Hated the idea of it. Thought I wasn’t good enough for her. He did everything he could think of to break us up.”
“It obviously worked.”
“No, it didn’t, actually.” He stopped walking and looked down for a moment at the pavement, smiling sadly. “We were madly in love. We were seventeen, eighteen, so you have to put that in context, of course. Her father couldn’t keep us apart.” He sighed. “We put an end to it ourselves after about nine months of serious puppy love. Our differences started to matter, and we found ourselves fighting. The last one over a Yankees game. I wanted to go to New York on the day her mother was having a tea or some such nonsense. She said if I went to the game, it was over, and I went to the game anyway. That was it.” He shrugged and started walking briskly again. “Eight months later, I walked into an ice cream shop and met a girl named Bunny Giordano. You know her better as Mrs. Williams. We’ve had thirty years of wedded bliss, so I’d appreciate your not suggesting otherwise.”
I’d only met the mayor’s wife twice, but I had to admit that both times the couple seemed devoted to each other. Which didn’t mean he was telling the truth about his meetings with Glad—only that there might be something more dangerous than an affair going on between them.
We were at the steps to city hall, a one-story brick building that housed the mayor’s official office, as well as the city council meeting room and the Archers Rest Historical Society.
“I heard Mary Shipman threatened to blow this place up once,” I said.
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