by V. M. Burns
I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of sitting through another service and thankful George Parker attended the early service. We left before the second service. With my mom out with a migraine, my Sunday was free.
Nana Jo, the girls, and I went to Riverside Grille. Housed in a converted warehouse, the restaurant was popular with the Saturday and Sunday brunch crowd. Without reservations, the wait for a table could be hours. Ruby Mae’s great-niece was one of the hostesses. Within five minutes, we had a first-floor table with a great view of Lake Michigan. The girls took full advantage of the one dollar Mimosas and Bloody Marys, a big attraction of Riverside’s brunch. Their shrimp and grits was one of my favorites, but I decided on the banana bread French toast with bacon and fruit.
While we ate, we shared the information collected during church. I reported my conversation with Diana Parker.
Irma didn’t get anything helpful to our investigation out of the cute usher, but she did get his phone number.
According to Nana Jo, the pastor had nothing but glowing things to say about the Parkers. Most of them. He wasn’t overly fond of the youngest Parker brother. The pastor didn’t like to speak ill of anyone but found it hard to find anything kind to say about David.
George remembered Dorothy from the casino. She had a date with him the next night.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
The murmur that went around the table told me I wasn’t the only one who questioned the rationality of Dorothy dating one of our suspects.
“We’re going to meet at the casino. We’ll have dinner in the Gold Room and then play for a bit. I’ll make sure I leave by midnight. I’ll be fine. The casino is always packed. Plus, I know too many people there for him to try anything.”
We tried to dissuade Dorothy, but she was determined. I dropped the girls off at the retirement village, and Nana Jo and I went home.
* * *
“Sam. What’s the matter with you? You’ve been sweeping that same spot for the past fifteen minutes.” Nana Jo took the broom out of my hand.
“I’m sorry.” I’d opted to not open the bookstore on Sundays. I might change my mind and offer Sunday hours in the future, but right then, I was thankful for the peace and solitude and the opportunity to set up for the coming week. Nana Jo and I cleaned the store. Upstairs, Dawson tried out a new scone recipe he found on the Internet.
“What’s bothering you?” Nana Jo made short work of the sweeping and moved on to dusting.
“I’m worried about Dorothy going out with George Parker. What do we really know about him?”
Nana Jo’s guffaws weren’t the answer I expected.
She pulled herself together. “We know the man is almost eighty-five. He’s as old as dirt. Sam, did you see him at the church? Dorothy is a strong woman. She just earned her green belt in Aikido. She’s spry. I suspect it’s the yoga. She’s well-known at the casino. She has more boyfriends than Irma, and that’s saying a lot. If you’re really concerned, there’s one thing you can do.”
“What’s that?”
“Go to the casino. Monday nights aren’t busy, but they do serve fried chicken on the buffet. I’ll bet Ruby Mae can use her connections to get us free buffet tickets.”
I was the one with reservations about Dorothy’s date, but something in the way Nana Jo’s eyes twinkled and the twitch at the corners of her mouth made me wonder if I was being manipulated. I agreed to the excursion anyway.
“Good. I told the girls you’d pick them up at seven thirty,” Nana Jo said.
I’d been played.
* * *
Monday morning Jenna called. She’d talked to her friend at the police station. The general consensus was Detective Pitt was a lazy blowhard who couldn’t detect his way out of a brown paper bag. He was promoted when his uncle was the chief of police. After his uncle’s retirement, Detective Pitt’s career stalled. He was assigned the Parker case because he was the only detective available. Budget cuts had significantly affected the police numbers. Many of the detectives knew me from parent-teacher conferences and were inclined to believe Detective Pitt was way off base in suspecting me. Jenna said I didn’t need to worry about my laptop being confiscated, which was a big relief. My nephew Zaq had set up my laptop when I bought it and set it to back up everything on the hard drive. So, I knew my files were safe, but I didn’t realize how much the situation had worried me until the weight lifted. With a spring to my step, and a smile on my face, I opened the bookstore and worked with a joy I hadn’t felt for days.
Later, I drove Nana Jo and the girls to the casino. Dorothy, confident either of my protective instincts or Nana Jo’s manipulative skills, had informed George Parker she would ride to the casino with friends. Dressed in khakis, a polo shirt, and a jacket, he met Dorothy in front of the lobby fireplace. She introduced us. He was tall and gangly, with a slight hunched back, and appeared soft-spoken and timid. My concerns for Dorothy’s safety vanished. Even without her green belt in Aikido, she was clearly the dominant of the two. After the introductions, she led him toward the restaurant. George Parker was a follower, not a leader.
Ruby Mae’s niece came through with free buffet passes. Dorothy and her date headed off to the VIP Gold Club Dining Room, and the rest of us headed to the main buffet. The casino wasn’t as crowded on Monday as Saturday, but the buffet was still packed. In the middle of the floor stood a circular table and the customary salad bar. Throughout the dining area, buffet tables were piled high with everything from lo mein and Peking duck on the Chinese buffet to lasagna and chicken parmesan on the Italian buffet. The fried chicken, very popular, according to the girls, was on the American buffet, along with hamburgers, roast beef, and meatloaf. There was truly something for everyone and every taste. We stuffed ourselves so much we didn’t have room for dessert. Ruby Mae’s great-niece and a cousin several times removed brought each of us takeout bags stuffed full of fried chicken, slices of cakes, cookies, and tarts. We couldn’t walk around the casino smelling of chicken, so I was nominated to take the bags to the car. I was glad to do it. After that meal, I needed the exercise.
When I returned, I made my way back to the Clue slot machine and played on twenty dollars until it was time to meet the girls. Ruby Mae and Nana Jo were already in the lobby when I arrived.
“Where’s Irma?” I asked.
Nana Jo rolled her eyes. “Making goo-goo eyes at a bartender young enough to be her grandson last time I saw her. She’ll be here soon.”
Sure enough, I spotted her making her way across the marble floor, not an easy feat in four-inch heels. When I saw Dorothy and George approaching the lobby, I hurried off to the parking garage to get the car and bring it around. I kicked myself for not listening to Nana Jo and using the valet parking. I told myself the walk was good for me. By the time I got the car to the front door, George and Dorothy had finished their good-byes, and the girls and I were off.
Dorothy declared George Parker the dullest man she’d ever had the misfortune of dating. “I’d believe that man murdered someone only if it was possible to bore them to death. Halfway through dinner I could fully understand why wild animals gnawed off their foot to free themselves from traps. I was sorely tempted.”
I laughed so hard I almost missed my freeway exit.
“That man talked about obscure tax codes for nearly an hour.”
“Did you learn anything helpful?” Nana Jo asked.
“Not much. He and Clayton weren’t close. I got the impression Clayton didn’t particularly care much for his uncle either.”
“I don’t suppose he mentioned where he was the night his nephew was murdered?” I tried to sound optimistic but didn’t hold out much hope.
“Said he comes to the casino almost every night.”
“That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? Don’t accountants tend to be conservative with their money? ‘Almost every night’ seems excessive.”
From the back seat, Ruby Mae said, “Not as odd as you’d think. Unfortunatel
y, a lot of older people don’t have anything else to do.”
I felt Nana Jo look at me even before she spoke. “Did you notice all of the wheelchairs?”
I had noticed quite a few people in wheelchairs, carrying oxygen tanks and shuffling along with walkers. Saturday night, the casino crowd was mostly younger people. Monday was definitely an older crowd.
Dorothy explained, “Younger people work during the week and go to the casino on the weekend. The casino attracts older people during the week. They run a van service to and from the retirement village on weekdays, but not on weekends. On weekends, we take the casino shuttle to the bus stop and then a taxi from the bus to the village.”
“Plus, they offer seniors a half-priced buffet on Mondays and Tuesdays,” Ruby Mae said.
“It’s a good place to meet people.” Irma coughed.
“There are a lot of lonely people out there,” Nana Jo said. “For some, the casino is the only entertainment they get.”
Thinking about those lonely seniors in the smoke-filled casino made me sad. They put their hard-earned pensions into slot machines in the hope—what? Maybe being able to spend their golden years in a warmer climate surrounded by friends and family. I was thankful my nana was surrounded by good friends and family who loved her. I felt truly blessed to be able to spend time with these amazing women.
I dropped the girls at the door.
Dorothy got out. “Sam, I did manage to put in a plug for your bookstore. Sir George the Dull said he likes to read, so I suggested Market Street Mysteries. He promised to stop by. Don’t let yourself get trapped into talking to him. You’ve been warned.”
The girls made their way inside with their bags of chicken and desserts. No one had been particularly lucky tonight, and we left the casino with a little less than fifty dollars each. Considering I only put twenty in the slot machine, I was still on the positive. The extra funds covered the cost of the gas. Not bad, all things considered.
I parked in the garage, collected the poodles, and went upstairs with Nana Jo with a sense of déjà vu. Despite the late hour, I was too keyed up to sleep. After forty-five minutes of tossing and turning, I gave up on sleep, went to the kitchen, made myself a cup of chamomile tea, and sat at my laptop. I’d missed it over the past few days when I thought the police would confiscate it. I reread the last few pages, to remind myself where I’d left off, and returned to the twentieth century British countryside.
“Raised in a barn. That’s what I say. Naked as a jaybird he was. No home trainin’.” Lady Elizabeth stopped. If she went into the servants’ area, all conversation would cease, and she’d never find out to whom Mrs. McDuffie referred. The housekeeper didn’t elaborate, and Lady Elizabeth continued into the servants’ area. Two footmen dragged a sopping carpet out the back door. The mystery of the missing carpet was solved.
At the sight of Lady Elizabeth, the servants halted what they were doing.
“Oh, dear. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please carry on. Is that the carpet from the library? What happened?”
Thompkins signaled for the footmen to proceed and stepped forward. “I’m sorry, m’lady. When Gladys was cleaning, she found the carpet soaking wet. Not wanting to ruin the floors or the rug, I authorized the removal of the rug. The men are taking it outside to dry. I hope that’s okay?”
“Of course. Thank you, Thompkins.” Lady Elizabeth turned to Mrs. McDuffie. “How on earth did it get so wet?”
“That’s just what we was discussin’ when your ladyship came in,” said the stout, middle-aged woman. “It must ’ave been done the night of the party, when that young man was done in is my guess.” Her freckled complexion flushed to match her thin, curly red hair.
“That’s why I’ve come down here, actually. Did anyone see anything unusual the night of the party? I know you all spoke to the police, but sometimes . . .” Lady Elizabeth searched for a tactful way to continue without outright stating the police might not ask the right questions.
Mrs. McDuffie seemed to have no qualms about such things. “Sometimes the bloomin’ police don’t know what the ruddy ’ell they’re doin’.”
“Mrs. McDuffie.” Although it hardly seemed possible, Thompkins’s back became stiffer, and he stood straighter and taller than usual. His eyes flashed. Times had changed, but Thompkins had not. He’d been in service with the Marsh family for over thirty years, and his father and grandfather served before him. His great sadness was that he had no sons to follow in his footsteps. He’d fathered three daughters, who married and moved into their own homes, none within a reasonable distance to serve the family.
Turning to Lady Elizabeth, he said, “I apologize, your ladyship. Please forgive the coarse manner in which you were addressed. I assure you—”
Lady Elizabeth halted his assurances. “Please, Thompkins, it’s quite all right. I am not offended, and Mrs. McDuffie is not to be reprimanded. She only spoke her mind with frankness, which I appreciate.”
Lady Elizabeth followed the two servants into the small office.
Thompkins pulled chairs out for the women and stood by expectantly.
Lady Elizabeth sat and clasped her hands in her lap. “You both know about the poor man who was killed here, and I’m sure you’ve heard the police suspect Victor might have been involved.”
Mrs. McDuffie snorted. “Poppycock. That’s what that is. I’ve known that boy since ’e was born. Born and raised right ’ere in the village, ’e was. ’E’s a gentleman if ever I saw one. No gentleman would ’ave put the knife to ’im. Not Mr. Victor.” Mrs. McDuffie leaned back and folded her arms.
Thompkins coughed. “I have to say, m’lady, Mrs. McDuffie and I agree Mr. Victor is a gentleman. I don’t believe he had anything to do with that man’s death.”
The faith the two trusted servants had in Victor touched Lady Elizabeth, but she needed information. “Agreed. Lord William and I don’t believe Victor had anything to do with the murder either. However, did you or any of the others notice anything or anyone suspicious that night?”
Mrs. McDuffie and Thompkins looked at each other for a few minutes.
Mrs. McDuffie spoke first. “There’s the rug.”
Thompkins cleared his throat. “As I said earlier, one of the maids noticed the rug was wet. We have no idea when it happened.”
“Could it have happened on the night of the murder?”
Thompkins shifted from foot to foot. “I hesitate to say that’s when it happened, but given the amount of water and the state of the floor underneath, it seems likely.”
Thompkins never jumped to conclusions and only went out on a limb if he was thoroughly sure of himself.
Mrs. McDuffie didn’t possess the same compunction for caution. She snorted again. “Well, I’m not ’es-itatin’. If not the night of the party, when?” She looked at Thompkins. “We cleaned this entire ’ouse from top to bottom before the party. And none of my girls are dumb enough to pour buckets of water on a two-’undred-year-old wool carpet.” Mrs. McDuffie’s chest heaved in anger.
Thompkins added, “I wasn’t implying that you or any of the staff were negligent in your duties.”
“I should ’ope not,” Mrs. McDuffie huffed. “And, none of the family would ’ave done somethin’ like that without tellin’ us.”
“Of course not,” Lady Elizabeth said.
Thompkins scrunched his forehead. “Well, of course not, m’lady. The weather has been nice so we haven’t had a fire in the library. The maid was polishing the fireplace grate when she noticed it.”
“Where do you suppose all that water came from?” Lady Elizabeth asked.
Before Thompkins could answer, Mrs. McDuffie said, “The killer must ’ave jumped in the pond.”
Thompkins coughed delicately.
“Why would anyone jump into the pond? It wasn’t warm enough for a swim,” Lady Elizabeth said.
“There’s only one reason a body would go in that pond at night. They must ’ave wanted to wash.” She raised her eyeb
rows. “All kinds of crazy thin’s goin’ on that night it was.”
“Mrs. McDuffie, I believe you must be right.” Lady Elizabeth asked a few more questions, but neither Mrs. McDuffie nor Thompkins had anything to add. Both promised to question the other servants and report back. With nothing further to do downstairs, Lady Elizabeth returned upstairs to think about what she’d learned.
Chapter 18
Traffic at the store settled down, and we all fell into an easy, comfortable routine. When I hired my nephews to work in the store, Christopher created a logo with a deerstalker cap and a magnifying glass, and we ordered T-shirts and aprons emblazoned with the logo and “Market Street Mysteries.” They arrived a few days after we opened and were a huge hit with the customers. Dawson baked cookies and decorated them with the same logo. I would miss the boys when the summer ended and they returned to university. Nana Jo would continue to help out, but I’d grown to rely on my nephews, and they genuinely enjoyed working in the store. I’d deal with their departure when the time arrived. Until then, I was determined to enjoy each and every minute.
Around noon, David Parker showed up. I wouldn’t have known him, but Nana Jo spotted him immediately. She went to say hello and pulled me along with her.
“Sam, this is David Parker. Clayton Parker’s uncle.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Parker.” I reached out and shook his hand.
“Call me David.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss. Please accept my condolences.” The customary expression of sorrow sounded trite, but I didn’t know what else to say.
David seemed uncomfortable. He avoided looking at me as much as possible. He darted his eyes from side to side and poised like a trapped rat expecting a cat to leap out at any moment.
David was the youngest of the three Parker brothers, and in his mid-seventies, he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. Something about him said he had once been handsome, but those days were long gone. He hadn’t aged well. His pale skin was almost transparent, his hair thin, and his eyes, surrounded by dark rings, sunk into his head. His clothes hung loosely, like excess skin on an elephant. He smiled, but the coldness in his eyes made my skin crawl.