by V. M. Burns
“I’ll bet he didn’t like that,” I said.
“He sure didn’t. He got ugly and called her names. Threatened to ruin her business.” Ruby Mae’s outrage showed.
“The nerve of the little—” Irma caught herself before breaking into yet another coughing fit.
“Stephanie doesn’t scare easy. She got right back in his face and dared him to try. She told him if he wanted to start trouble, then her brother the lawyer would be more than happy to finish it. Then my two grandsons went by and had a chat with Mr. Clayton Parker.” Ruby Mae’s eyes twinkled. “Those boys are linebackers for State’s football team, and they don’t take kindly to anybody messing with their mama.” Ruby Mae snickered and we joined her.
“That shut him up pretty fast. She said he ’bout fell all over hisself trying to apologize. Paid his bill in full after that. She also said he was a womanizer. Cheated on his wife and she knew it. But he had all the money, so she put up with it.”
“You ladies are amazing.” I was truly astonished. “I can’t believe how much information you found in such a short period of time.”
“Well, we aren’t done yet. I haven’t given my report,” Nana Jo said.
“I’m sorry. Please, go ahead.” When had she had time to go out sleuthing? She’d been with me the past three days. She hadn’t said a word about getting any information, and she’d had ample time to mention it if she had. But then, Nana Jo did like a bit of drama in her life.
“As you know, Freddie has a son that works for the state police. Mark said there was an old file on the Parkers.”
“What kind of old file?” Dorothy asked.
“It goes back to just after the war.”
“The war? You mean Vietnam?” I didn’t see how anything that far back would help with Clayton Parker’s murder.
“No, honey, World War II,” Nana said as if it was obvious.
“What kind of file would the police save for that long? I can’t believe they have records that go back that far.”
Nana Jo ignored me. “There were three Parker brothers. Robert was the oldest. George was next.”
“He’s the one who works in the real estate office, right?” Dorothy said.
“Yes. That’s him. Then there was the youngest, David. He was the one who was always getting into trouble. I vaguely remember him,” Nana Jo said.
“They were trouble, those boys.” Irma shook her head.
“Seems like I recollect the father used to do plasterwork in some of them big houses in North Harbor.” Ruby Mae counted her cast-on stitches. “He used to be pretty good when he could stay away from the bottle.”
“Apparently, he couldn’t stay away from the bottle,” Nana Jo said. “He was the town drunk. Later he got into bootlegging. The mother, well, she ran off not long after David was born.”
“I forgot about that until you mentioned his name. He was real trouble.” Another coughing spell hit, and Irma took another drink from her flask.
“Well, you have these three brothers, all dirt poor, who leave to fight in the war. They get shipped overseas. When they come back, they aren’t poor anymore. Robert buys the biggest house in town and starts buying up buildings left and right. He opens Parker Real Estate and becomes successful. George buys a big house and goes off to college. He gets an education and comes back and opens a bookkeeping office. He wasn’t as successful as Robert. Later he joined his brother’s real estate business.” Our server had brought more coffee, and Nana Jo took a drink.
“What about David?” I asked.
“He’s the one puzzle. He came back but got in some trouble and hightailed it out of town under suspicious circumstances. No one has heard a thing about him for years.”
“People don’t just disappear,” I said.
“Yes, they do,” Ruby Mae said, her voice sad. “People disappeared all the time back in them days. Honey, it just depended on what they’d done. Back then, if you had enough money or power, you could make people disappear.”
Irma and Dorothy nodded. Nana Jo patted Ruby Mae’s arm. I felt awkward. I’d obviously brought up some painful memories.
“Mark had to do some searching, but he found out David was accused of getting some young girl in trouble. He ran. He eventually turned up in Arizona. He was involved in a bank robbery. A guard was killed. He’s been in prison until . . . six months ago.”
“Six months? That seems to be when Clayton Parker started having money problems,” I said. “Where is this David now? Do you think he’s back?”
“Freddie didn’t say. I’ll see if he can find out. If he was released from prison, you’d think he would have to check in somewhere,” Nana Jo said.
“That’s a lot to think about. But what does it all mean?” I said.
“It means Clayton Parker was a womanizer who cheated his clients and he cheated on his wife,” Nana Jo said.
“We know he was having money problems,” Irma said.
“And we know his money problems started right after his uncle got out of prison,” Dorothy added.
“So, the list of people who might have wanted to kill Clayton Parker is quite long,” Nana Jo said. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”
Chapter 9
Nana Jo and the girls had changed my opinion about senior citizens forever. Gone were visions of the befuddled elderly with walkers and wheelchairs and drool running down their chins. Not only were these women creative and intelligent, they were active, vibrant, and lively. Lunch at Randy’s Steak House was only the beginning. The buffet was followed by half-priced hairstyles at the local beauty college. Double value coupons led to a mad dash through no fewer than three grocery stores and an SUV filled with toilet paper, toothpaste, and soap. The girls believed the maximum limits printed on the bottoms of the coupons were a challenge to overcome by visiting as many stores as possible.
I had to admit, I was happy to get a half-price oil change and free car wash by letting Nana Jo drive my car through Mr. Quickies’s Oil Change and Car Wash. Half-priced Margaritas would have been much more enjoyable, if I had been able to partake. However, as the designated driver, I drank Diet Coke while Nana Jo and the girls got wasted. The nonstop activities left me exhausted, but it was hours before I could convince everyone it was time to go home.
Dorothy hooked up with a guy young enough to be her son and short enough to be her grandchild. It took all kinds of promises from me and threats from Nana Jo before she reluctantly agreed to get in the car.
Thoroughly exhausted, I lay in bed and sorted through the information they had uncovered. The question of wealth was particularly intriguing. Where did the Parkers acquire their wealth? How did three dirt-poor brothers go off to war and come back with enough wealth to become pillars of the community? I doubted I’d ever know the answer, and I wasn’t sure if the answer mattered. It was close to seventy years since the war had ended, and if there was a connection, there was no way it involved Clayton Parker. He wasn’t born seventy years ago. No. As interesting as that puzzle was, it had nothing to do with Clayton Parker’s death.
What did I know for certain? Something changed six months ago. Up until then, Clayton Parker paid his bills on time. He might have swindled his clients, but that didn’t appear to be unusual for him. I was sure he’d swindled them for years. Six months ago, his uncle David was released from prison. Was there a connection? The dates were too close to dismiss. Tomorrow, I’d do a bit of snooping on my own. I needed to find out as much as I could about Clayton Parker, and the place to start was with my realtor. He was tuned in to everything going on in the community. Not to mention, I couldn’t let my nana and her elderly friends show me up.
Sleep eluded me. I needed something to settle my racing mind and help me relax. I needed a distraction, and I knew just the thing.
“Darling, I knew I could count on you. You’ve always been such a gentleman. I knew you wouldn’t let the police bother me.” Daphne pouted. “Although, I had hoped you wouldn’t mention the
bit about my dress or that you saw me coming out of the hedge maze. But, we can fix that.” She put her head on Victor’s chest and snuggled up to him like a kitten.
For the first time, Victor really did see.
“I knew I could depend on you,” she said. “You are my knight in shining armor, riding in to save a damsel in distress.”
Victor caught a glimpse of himself in her dresser mirror and was glad Daphne wasn’t looking and couldn’t see the look of dread he saw staring back at him. He had what he thought he’d always wanted. He held Daphne. The scent of her perfume filled his senses and made him lightheaded. She called him her knight. She was everything he wanted. Or was she?
After a brief knock and a discreet cough, Penelope entered the room. Victor fidgeted to free himself from Daphne. Unsure why Penelope witnessing their embrace bothered him, he stood, unable to make eye contact.
“Detective Inspector Covington is here. He’s downstairs and he’s asking to speak to you.” Penelope addressed Daphne. “It might not look good if he finds you two together.” She avoided looking at him.
Victor thought nothing could shake him more than the look on Penny’s face when she saw him in her sister’s arms until Daphne said, “Whyever not? We’re going to be married, after all.”
“Death by person or persons unknown.” Penelope relayed the coroner’s verdict to her aunt and uncle.
“Well, that was rather expected, Penny dear.” Lady Elizabeth knitted in a chair by the window. “The poor man was found stabbed, after all.”
A stately woman in her mid-fifties, Lady Elizabeth Marsh exemplified the quintessential British aristocracy. She knew the right people to invite to any function. She wore the right attire. She always behaved in a respectable fashion. Her intelligence, however, often came as a surprise to those not well acquainted with her ladyship.
“Right. Right, ol’ girl. The coroner could hardly come back with a verdict of suicide, at least not nowadays.” Lord William clamped his teeth onto his pipe. His voice held just the slightest hint of regret for the good ol’ days when the aristocracy commanded respect and fear and messy murders were swept under the carpet. He shrugged and smoked as he watched his wife knit and his niece pace.
“That Parker was a bit of a scoundrel.” Lord William was pleasantly plump, in his early sixties and fond of rich food, good wine, and his pipe. His family knew he often paid for his fondness with gastric attacks, like the one during the recent ball. The attacks were responsible for his rare instances of bad humor.
“I was surprised to hear the American police followed him all the way here,” Lady Elizabeth said.
“It seemed odd. I’ve never heard of the police going undercover like that. Imagine getting a job in an orchestra to keep an eye on a suspect.” Penelope continued to pace.
“He obviously wasn’t watching closely enough,” Lord William said.
“Person or persons unknown, my foot.” Penelope stamped her foot, just as she had when she was frustrated as a child. “That person won’t be unknown for long. It’s only a matter of time before that inspector identifies a person. He’s going to arrest Victor. I know he is!”
“Sit down, girl. You’re making me dizzy.” Lord William’s growl was friendly rather than a rebuke.
“Yes, do sit, Penelope. You’ll wear a hole in the carpet.” Lady Elizabeth beamed fondly at her niece.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Elizabeth.” Penelope perched on the edge of a chair. “I’m sorry, but you should have seen him. Victor sat there like some lost puppy. He’s going to let them arrest him. He thinks he’s protecting her.” Penelope choked back her emotions.
“Victor always did have a chivalrous nature, even as a boy.” Lady Elizabeth paused in her knitting. “I always liked him.”
“Ugh. I can’t believe she’s going to let him take the blame for this. Of all the selfish, self-centered, spoiled . . .” Penelope popped up and resumed pacing.
“I know, dear, but you can’t honestly believe Daphne killed that poor man.” Lady Elizabeth cut to the heart of the matter without dropping a stitch.
Penelope halted in front of the window and pondered her aunt’s words. She shrugged and returned to her seat. “That’s just it. I can’t believe she did it. I mean, Daphne would never do anything that horrible. Besides, she would never risk ruining a new dress.”
“I can’t imagine the girl cares about anyone other than herself. She certainly wouldn’t care enough to kill.” Lord William’s tone was kinder than his words.
“I don’t believe she did it. She wouldn’t. It’s just too cruel.” Penelope strode to the window.
“I won’t go quite that far. Daphne can be cruel. But I agree, she didn’t care enough about Charles Parker to kill him.” Lady Elizabeth counted stitches.
Penelope strode from one end of Lord William’s bedroom to the other, and back again. “Then why won’t she talk to the police? Why is she avoiding them? And, why did she burn that dress? And why . . .”
Lady Elizabeth finished Penelope’s sentence, “is she marrying Victor?”
“Well, yes! She doesn’t care two pence about Victor. Why agree to marry him now?” Penelope asked.
“The important question is not why she’s doing it. The important question is what are we going to do about it?” Lady Elizabeth unwound yarn from her skein.
“What do you mean?” Penelope halted.
Lady Elizabeth knit in silence for a few minutes, as if she didn’t hear the question. “We can’t let the poor boy hang for something he didn’t do. Or worse.”
“Worse? What could be worse than hanging?” Penelope’s voice quivered.
“We must save him before he goes through with his plan.” Lady Elizabeth paused to retrieve the ball of yarn that had tumbled to her feet. “Before he does something truly stupid and actually marries Daphne.” Her eyes twinkled.
Both Lord William and Penelope froze until Lord William sputtered with laughter. Penelope and Lady Elizabeth joined him.
When they stopped, which took some time, Penelope wiped tears from her eyes. “That felt good. I don’t think I’ve laughed in well over a week, not since this whole nightmare started.”
“Right, right. How do we do it? How do we save Victor?” Lord William asked.
“First, I think we shall have to figure out who killed that poor man, don’t you, dear?” Lady Elizabeth asked. “We shall have to find the real murderer.”
Chapter 10
Realtors kept odd hours because potential buyers kept odd hours. They needed to be available to show houses at all times of day and night. My realtor, Chris Martinelli, had a lot of irons in the fire. Life as a real estate broker, single parent, and county commissioner would more than fill most people’s days. Add in house flipper and author and his schedule was packed. I called early Wednesday morning. He, of course, had a full day planned but would be downtown around noon for a closing and promised to swing by the building.
Nana Jo was still recovering from her night of drinking and dancing. She appeared to be nursing a hangover, but by noon she was dressed and moving, albeit rather slowly. I spent the morning shelving the last of the books and magazines and dusting, tidying, and making sure everything was ready to go. I picked up chicken salad sandwiches and chips from Harbor Café for both of us, and Chris arrived as we finished eating.
A stocky, balding, and extremely nice man in his early fifties, Chris Martinelli was quiet, which surprised me considering all of the things he was involved in. He reminded me of my husband. Leon had joked he was only quiet because he couldn’t get a word in edgewise around our family. Maybe Chris was the same way.
“This place is looking great. When are you going to be opening the doors?” Chris took in the shop.
“I’m hoping in a week,” I said. “If everything goes okay.”
“We’ll be ready in a week.” Nana Jo had more confidence than I did.
The closer I got to opening, the more nervous I became. What if it didn’t work out?
Chris took a seat in the area that would one day be part of a fully functioning café. For the time being, there was a workbench that belonged in a garage and several bistro tables with chairs. I set out tea for all of us.
“Now, what can I do for you?” Chris took a sip of Earl Grey tea and grabbed a scone. He watched Nana Jo and I load ours with clotted cream and strawberry preserves and followed suit.
“I’m sure you know about Clayton Parker’s death,” I said between bites.
Chris nodded and shoved the rest of the scone into his mouth. I might not be the best cook in the world, but I enjoyed baking. I’d tested a variety of recipes for scones, trying to decide which to serve in my tea shop. The current batch was my favorite and destined to be one of the staples.
“I did hear about it.” Chris took another scone and smothered it with clotted cream and preserves. “Honestly, I was surprised to hear he had the nerve to come here after everything that went down.”
“That was my thought too. I couldn’t believe he showed his face here. He certainly knew I couldn’t stand him.” Remembering everything Clayton Parker did to prevent me from closing on the building brought vigor to my voice.
“I filed a complaint with the board against him, and we were scheduled for a hearing next week.” Chris wiped his mouth with a napkin and took a sip of tea. “This is delicious. What is this stuff anyway?” Chris eyed the last scone on the tray.
Nana Jo slid it onto his plate.
“These are scones and the white stuff is clotted cream. It’s popular in England,” I said.
Chris finished off the last scone in no time. “What did Parker want?”
“I have no idea. I never talked to him. I refused to open the door,” I said, with only a small amount of shame.