The food was as rich and comforting as Taylor had hoped. She could sort of tell what was steak and what was kidney, but she wouldn’t let herself think about it too much. “Is the upstairs a hotel?”
John grinned again. “This is a classic public house in all senses. Want to see the rooms?”
“Totally.”
He blushed slightly. “Good. I got us a one.”
“Oh! I mean…” She put her fork down. “John, I can’t. I’ve got to get back. Can’t leave Grandpa Ernie…but you know that.”
A shadow crossed his eyes. “No, I know. Right. I know that. And it’s a Monday night which would be weird because we both work tomorrow. And I only invited you to dinner, anyway. Sorry. We can still go check it out. You know, show off my little brother’s place.” He seemed to recover, his cheery smile back in place.
Taylor finished her meal feeling a bit sorry for herself. John Hancock was her uncomplicated friend. The one she could hang out with and not worry about things getting serious. Right?
The suits.
The flowers.
The way he offered her his arm, held doors open, chatted with Grandpa Ernie.
He’d been doing those things for months. Months. He’d been holding her hand when they had to walk in the dark and giving her hugs when they parted. Hugs had become kisses on the cheek.
One time, just once, they had kissed in the real sense. And not that long ago. It had been one of the last warm days of fall, and they had walked the whole of Comfort, holding hands, talking about nothing and everything while Cooper Dorney grandpa-sat for her. They had stopped under the shadow of the grain elevator and laughed about something together, and then…they had just kissed.
She had liked it.
But not enough, if that made sense.
It hadn’t moved her or made her think they were falling in love. It hadn’t even made her feel awkward after. They had just laughed, and hugged, and kept walking.
He had called a few days later, but it was a couple of weeks after that before they got together again, and that was for a movie where they had held hands during the scary parts.
This was only their second date after the kiss.
After the waitress cleared their plates they went upstairs. He opened the door to room three, and casually took her hand as they walked inside.
The room was a perfect mix of old-fashioned walnut wood and velvet drapes and the cool, fresh feeling that contemporary furniture gives. It felt clean, and the bed looked perfect for dropping into after a full delicious meal. Except, of course, for the small sprinkle of red rose petals that dotted the white comforter.
Taylor gave his hand a squeeze, lifted it to her lips, and gave it a warm kiss. “Oh, John. I think we might not be on the same page.”
He let go of her hand but wrapped his arm around her waist, so they were side by side, not making eye contact, but still intimate. “I think I figured that out downstairs. The thing is, I’m kind of slow. It’s caused problems in the past, too, so I thought I needed to pick up the pace a little here. Let you know what I was really thinking.”
“Slow is charming.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Slow is confusing to beautiful women who want to be romanced. But I can’t help it. Same thing that makes me recommend savings bonds to young people. Every time someone under sixty buys one from me, my boss calls me into his office for a lecture on compound interest.”
Taylor laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I really do like you.”
“And I’d really like to see what kind of compound interest we could earn together.”
She sighed. She didn’t want to build compound interest with John Hancock. She wanted to keep him securely in the friend zone.
Though they had known each other a while now, she wasn’t sure how fragile his ego was, so she kept that thought to herself. Instead, she said, “They say after a loss you do need to be slow. To be cautious. It seems to me that your natural inclination and my needs are well suited right now.”
He turned and looked at her with sad eyes.
She gave him what she knew was a goodbye kiss.
He’d figure it out eventually.
He lingered, his head resting on her forehead. “Nice room though, right?”
“It’s a very nice room.”
They left and discussed whether it was crazier to try and run a restaurant in a small town or a hobby shop like hers on the way home. As always, he walked her to the door. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he should kiss her good night, so Taylor gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
The house was chilly after the warmth of the little luxury car, and only a dim light from a side table glowed. Grandpa had fallen asleep in his chair.
It took a moment for her to realize they weren’t alone.
Chapter Sixteen
A girl stretched across the sofa had Belle’s second favorite quilt—the Easter basket pattern their mom had made—draped over her lap. Taylor had been out just over three hours, but the visitor was sound asleep.
She didn’t know her well, but Taylor recognized her immediately as Aviva Rueben, Cooper’s friend and the waitress who was counting on her to solve the murder.
Taylor went into the kitchen as quietly as she could and made a pot of coffee. She couldn’t guess why the young lady had come, but she knew she’d need to be able to focus.
She nudged Grandpa Ernie awake as quietly as she could. “Grandpa Ernie,” Taylor whispered, “won’t you be comfier in bed?”
“What, huh?” He shook himself awake with small grunts. “Yes. Bed. But see, that girl came by to see you and I couldn’t leave her alone out here, could I?”
“Of course not. Thanks for being a good host.”
He harrumphed as Taylor helped him out of his recliner, then made his own way to his bedroom. It was almost eleven. Early enough in theory, but pretty late for him.
“Aviva,” Taylor nudged her shoulder gently. “Aviva, I’m back. What’s going on?”
Aviva sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“Has somethin happened?”
She yawned. “I’m sorry for falling asleep. I’ve been up since four this morning baking at the diner.
“Don’t worry. I just want to know how I can help.” Taylor yawned also. It had been a long day for her as well.
“I was DMing Cooper while I had dinner and he told me that you guys went to see Art, but the next thing that happened was Art was in the hospital.”
“Yeah, it’s been a crazy day.” The warm, homey aroma of coffee brewing began to fill the room. Taylor wasn’t sure even that would keep her up.
“And I got to thinking about that morning again. Reynette Woods, Sissy and Cooper were all there for breakfast.”
“Go on.” Taylor sat on the floor next to the couch, resting her head against the slip-covered arm.
“And that’s when Reynette got sick and died.”
“Yes.”
“And you guys went to the coast and Art got hurt.”
“Yes, help me out though. I don’t follow.”
“The only person in both places was Sissy.”
Taylor rubbed her tired eyes. “Sissy isn’t my favorite person in the world, but she absolutely didn’t murder her best friend.”
“Are you sure? Sissy had the kind of access you’d need to poison her. It doesn’t take all that much aspirin. Just more than ten a day for a few days. Sissy could have done it. And then there’s Art.”
“We went to Neskowin to see Art. We talked to him when we got there, but when we went back to pick him up, we couldn’t find him. I was with her the whole time.”
“So, she established an alibi. What if she did that on purpose to draw attention away from herself? Same as hiring you to help her find who killed her aunt. She could have done that, I know it.”
“First, it’s not like I’m being paid. I haven’t been ‘hired’ for anything.” Taylor yawned deeply. “You didn’t say any of this to Cooper, did you?”
/> “Never. He’s the worst about his mom. Practically oedipal. You can’t say a word against the woman.”
“Good. Keep it to yourself.”
“But you’ll look into it, won’t you? You’ll keep your eye on her?”
“I’ll do my best. Are your parents worried about where you are?”
“Nah, I told them I was staying with Cooper.”
The Dorney house seemed to be a teen hostel with the way kids casually told their parents they were sleeping over. Ten years ago, when Taylor had been in high school there was no way her mom would have let her spend the night at a boy’s house, even if they were just friends.
“You’re completely exhausted,” Taylor told her, “but if you want to talk more, I made some coffee and we can talk more. If you don’t want to, you can sleep up in Belle’s room.”
“I think we need to talk more.” She pulled the blanket up around her shoulders.
“That’s fine.” Taylor went to the kitchen and poured them both half cups.
“What else has Cooper shared with you?” If Taylor had to be up still, she could at least get an outsider’s point of view on the family.
“His cousin Fawn is supposed to be working at the big house, but she goes to Sissy’s every day.”
“Isn’t Cooper in school?”
“Yes, but she’s there when he gets home. Usually eating something.”
So Fawn won’t eat at Art’s house. Is she afraid of the food there or does she know something about it? “What else does she do while she’s there?”
“He thinks she just hangs out and watches TV. But why doesn’t she go back to work?”
“Give her some grace. Her mother just passed away.”
Aviva frowned, her mouth pursing like a child.
“Anyway, I presume the thrift shop has employees. Is Monty hanging around the Dorney house too?”
“No, I think he goes to work. Long commute, but whatever.”
“Maybe it feels good to him to have something practical to do. Men are like that.”
“Why would he leave Fawn alone? Shouldn’t he take her with him to make sure she’s okay? Not like, going to hurt herself because she’s so sad?”
How sad for this generation of kids that their first thought at the idea of overwhelming grief was self-harm.
“They’ve been married a while. He probably knows her really well. She might have told him she needs alone time.”
“But shouldn’t he be afraid the killer will be after Fawn next? I mean first Reynette, then Art…”
“Then Fawn? But why? We don’t know what happened to Art, and we don’t know that Reynette was murdered.”
“I’d be scared. I’d want my husband near me if I thought a killer was out there.”
“Art was just injured today. Maybe Monty will stick around now.”
Aviva agreed through yawns.
Taylor sent her up to bed.
If Reynette’s death was murder, and Art’s accident was attempted murder then Fawn, Sissy, and Monty might not be safe.
Taylor wouldn’t allow herself to consider that Una, Art’s young daughter, might be in danger. And even if she was, she had two loving parents to look after her.
* * *
Taylor owed Roxy more days off than she’d like to admit, so she didn’t dare ask her to cover for her the next day. She had to suck it up and run her shop like the businesswoman she always claimed to be. They weren’t busy in the middle of the week, so close to Thanksgiving, so Taylor spent the morning Googling easy side dishes she could make to bring to the Kirby house. And making pages of notes about each of the main players in the death of Reynette. The thing that stood out at the end of that exercise was that it was no wonder it took a long time to catch a murderer.
How was Taylor supposed to tell who was lying?
The outsider’s point of view from Aviva hadn’t been very useful, but Taylor was alone in the shop with Hannah, and she had barely begun to plumb the depths of Hannah’s knowledge. “So, Hannah. Have you ever tried quilting?”
“No, my grandma and my aunt do though. They’ve even been here before. My Aunt Jennifer was really excited to hear I was working here.”
“That’s nice. Tell her I said hi.”
Hannah smiled and nodded, her calm, cool self still calm and cool.
“Your mom doesn’t quilt?”
“No, she’s the rebel. She makes beaded jewelry.”
“Do you have any? I’d love to see it.”
Hannah lifted her arm and shook her wrist. She wore a pretty band of glimmering green and white seed beads in a somewhat Celtic design. It had tiny bells hanging off what might be the clasp. “This is her newest thing. It’s easier to wear when working than some of her other styles.”
“Does she sell it or just make it as a hobby?” Taylor was still seated at the worktable with her laptop. She hadn’t come across the perfect Thanksgiving side dish that was both absolutely basic and wildly impressive at the same time.
“Sometimes she sells them at craft shows for charity, but never for herself.”
“If she changes her mind, we can probably find room for a little display by the register.”
Hannah looked up from her work, her eyebrows pulled together critically. “It’s not really a quilt product.”
“Quilters wear jewelry.” Taylor waved at the current impulse display by the register—scissor charms so you could tell your Ginghers from your neighbor’s when quilting in groups. “Have you heard anything about the real funeral for your old boss yet?” Taylor changed the subject. “The memorial at the college was nice, but it wasn’t a funeral.”
“I haven’t heard.”
“Would someone call? I’d like to go, if so.”
“I don’t know that anyone would call me. I haven’t heard from them. I expect you’ll hear from your friends first.”
“Probably so.” Getting words out of Hannah was like pulling teeth. Not that she had ever been voluble, but this felt like she was hiding something.
“Have you been able to deal with the pending online orders?”
“No. As I said, no one has contacted me.”
“Do you want me to talk to Reynette’s niece Sissy about it? It doesn’t seem right that they are leaving you hanging.”
Hannah’s face softened. “Would you? That would help. I’ve been getting some angry messages. Even though I immediately stopped all future orders, there are folks still waiting for items I don’t have access to. I’ve offered money back, but this kind of stuff is hard to find, and they actually want it.”
“But isn’t it just like the nicer of the thrift store donations?”
“I can’t explain trends. Things come and go. Right now, it’s fanny packs. I have a Fendi fanny pack from the late 80s that someone paid, well, a lot for. She refuses to take her money back and emails three times a day for it. And another lady won’t stop about a Dooney and Burke briefcase, that frankly, I didn’t even think was back on trend.”
“And a thrift store really gets those kinds of name brand, big dollar donations?”
“Not every day. And you have to know what you are looking for. I mentioned earlier, I think on trend, knock offs are still worth selling online instead of in the store. The folks who are happy with a less expensive knock off aren’t as obnoxious as the name brand only folks.”
“Please forgive me, but I have to ask…Ever come across something someone might kill for?”
“In vintage fashion? No. We sold a fur once, but it wasn’t worth the negative feedback we got for having a fur for sale in the first place. The anti-fur crowd wanted to kill our business over it, but they didn’t want to kill us.”
“I know Reynette’s quilts were going for a whole lot of money.”
Hannah gave her a questioning look again.
“I learned about it while putting the memorial together. Did you ever sell anything vintage that made as much as one of the quilts?”
“Now and again. When we auction som
ething, the price can get pretty high.” She didn’t volunteer what that price might have been or what the item was.
“Monty and Fawn didn’t mind the revenue going to a side business instead of them, huh? The online sales didn’t directly benefit the food bank, did they?”
“I sold the items. Reynette did the rest. Did Fawn and Monty wish they were doing what I was doing? Who wouldn’t? It’s quite a lot easier than running a whole store. But over the course of a whole year the sales of the vintage items don’t make as much as the store does.”
“Sure, sure. But that money could have gone into the store, right? For more employees or upgrades or whatever?”
“That was up to Reynette and Monty. Not me.”
“Makes sense. Roxy has a lot of sway around here, but in the end the decisions are mine and mine alone.”
“Exactly.” Hannah glanced at her watch. “Do you mind if I take a lunch?”
“Go for it.”
* * *
After they closed up shop, Taylor called Gracie. She wanted to check in on how Art was doing before she headed home. She’d been neglecting Grandpa Ernie and wanted to focus on his company tonight, but she still wanted to know what the news was.
Gracie answered on the first ring. “Good of you to call.” She sounded alert—perky even. Maybe a day of nothing to do around a shop in the winter didn’t aggravate her the way it did Taylor.
“I’ll make this quick,” Taylor said. “How’s Art? Is he improving? Does he remember anything?”
“He remembers a little, but his head is still hurting, and they’re keeping him in for another day or two. It seems excessive, but I don’t know. Age makes all things a little worse.”
“He’s not that old, is he?”
“He’s seventy. Things do start taking longer to heal after a certain age.”
Seventy.
Was that old?
Taylor wasn’t yet thirty, and a lifetime spent with quilters had taught her that if you were under thirty you were an infant. You weren’t a teenager till you were at least forty, and you probably had nothing worth saying till you were fifty. So, from her perspective, seventy wasn’t old. And yet he was closer in age to her Grandpa Ernie than he was to his ex-wife, and Grandpa Ernie was definitely old.
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