“Do you want me to come up?” Jaymie said as Jocie packed away her art supplies.
“I got this,” he replied, kissing the top of her head and picking up his little girl. He dipped her to kiss Jaymie good night, then disappeared around the corner and carried her up the stairs, his voice trailing behind as he sang a tuneless rendition of James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.”
Jaymie tried to refocus on the cookbook, but her mind kept returning to the mystery of who would try to kill Miss Perry. There were so many tangles in which the woman was involved. It could be personal, as most murders were. Did Morgan want her inheritance so badly that she’d kill her aunt to get it?
As silly as it seemed, was anyone from the heritage society angry over Miss Perry’s stubbornness . . . angry enough to try to kill her? That seemed unlikely, to say the least. Estelle Arden had had that run-in with Miss Perry, though, and anger could boil to the surface. She shook her head. It was too absurd.
There were the Zanes; Lan had a hot temper and hated Miss Perry’s cats. Also, Miss Perry had threatened Tiberius. Was the wire across the stairs intended as a warning? She shook her head again. That was no warning, that was a murder attempt.
And then there was the dispute over the dockside shops and property, and her refusal to sell them to Fergus Baird . . . or anyone, for that matter. It had been odd to see Baird and Bev Hastings have a serious discussion over lunch at the Queensville Inn.
Also, Jaymie’s suspicion that Bev Hastings was behind the theft of Miss Perry’s silver, which she had then hocked to Jaymie’s sister and brother-in-law’s shop, had increased significantly until she was virtually certain the silver was her friend’s. But how dumb was it to sell it to a local dealer, and was Bev Hastings that dumb?
It was the same trail her mind traveled, over and over, and she knew she’d get no rest until she found the answers.
Eleven
“REALLY, JOCIE? You couldn’t remind me last night when we were sitting at the table that you needed twenty-four cupcakes for today?” Jaymie said, staring at the note from Jocie’s backpack, feeling a welling of desperation.
Jocie swallowed a mouthful of cereal. “I’m sorry, but—”
“No buts! Next time, make sure I know the night before.”
Jakob, knowing his life depended on it, stifled his snicker, swallowed the last of his coffee, and said, “Gotta go; Gus has a court date with Tami and someone has to be at the shop with the new kids until I know them better.” His business partner was supporting his sister by appearing in court with her to help her face charges for a crime that occurred decades ago when the siblings were teenagers. He poured another cup of coffee into a huge thermal travel mug.
“Okay, hubby. At this rate Jocie is going to miss the school bus again, but I’ll take her and deliver the cupcakes. You pick her up?”
“Will do. Have fun with the cupcakes.”
She made a face at him, then turned back to her daughter. “I’m serious, Jocie, got it?”
“I got it, already!”
“Jocie, no smart mouth,” her father warned as he headed out the door.
Jocie’s pudgy cute face held a sullen expression for a few seconds, but Jaymie poked her tummy and she giggled. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll remember next time.”
“That’s better. Okay, let’s get started. You’re going to help me.” Jaymie enlisted Jocie to get out the ingredients.
An hour later, cupcakes frosted with icing that threatened to drip off from the treats being too warm—cosmetically they were not the prettiest cupcakes Jaymie had ever made, but they’d have to do—they set out to school. Jaymie carried them inside and handed the plastic containers to the volunteer in charge of cupcake sales that day, kissed Jocie goodbye, and headed out. She finally remembered her cell phone and turned it on to find several text messages awaiting her: Valetta told her that Mrs. Stubbs wanted her to know that Lois Perry was going home in the next day or so with a home helper who would live in for a few days . . . Miss Perry was apparently worried that Jaymie hadn’t gotten the spice graters yet for her school display, and would like her to come over the next morning; Becca wanted her to work a few hours in the antique store so they could take Georgina out for lunch before they left to go back to London; Heidi was in crisis . . . she had a date and needed advice on which of her forty-eight cute dresses she should wear.
Easiest one first: she texted Heidi that whatever she wore she’d be a knockout, but sent a photo of her wearing a personal favorite of Jaymie’s, a cute plaid bodycon dress her friend had worn to dinner the month before. It didn’t matter, because Heidi would ask everyone, then decide on something completely different anyway. But she did also text . . . So who’s the date with???
She then headed to the antique shop. Georgina gave her a frosty welcome, loudly shuffling antique magazines with a great show of annoyance, only stopping when Becca and Kevin arrived. Jaymie quietly did her best to familiarize herself with prices and other information about the items they had in the store. Kevin had already removed the Savoy sample pieces from the showcase, so that explained Georgina’s frigid mood.
Becca gave her a warm hug, whispering, “Don’t mind Georgina. We’ll get her drunk on gimlets at lunch and she’ll be in a fine mood.”
Jaymie giggled as they exited.
A busload of seniors stopped in Queensville, headed to the lunch buffet at the inn. But first they were shopping the main street shops, including the Knit Knack Shack, the Cottage Shoppe, and Jewel’s Junk, ending at Queensville Fine Antiques. Jaymie sold a few vintage costume jewelry pieces, a tiny piecrust table, and three serving pieces of OCR, otherwise known as Royal Albert’s most popular and plentiful Old Country Roses pattern. The pattern was so in demand that there were OCR serving pieces—pie servers and the like—with china handles, OCR figural teapots and even OCR bathroom sets—toothbrush holders and water cups—and figurines.
She was finishing up the last sale and the ladies were clustered near the door ready to leave when Bev Hastings, wearing her bait shop overalls, barged into the antique store, her face red. “I heard you were here. How dare you call me a thief!” she yelled, pausing inside the door, her booted foot stuck out at an awkward angle. “How dare you?”
Jaymie, taken aback and flustered, felt seven eyes on her from her customers—one lady had a patch over one eye—and babbled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She hastily taped the tissue she had wrapped around the handle of the OCR pie server and slipped the item in the bag with the cash register receipt.
“You know what I mean.” Bev glared around at the customers. “What are you old bags doing, looking at me. She’s the crook! She accused me of stealing a set of sterling silver and hocking it to this store.” She shifted her gaze back to Jaymie.
“Bev, I’m sorry you’re upset. But I never said you stole anything.” Not exactly, though she had thought it and perhaps even implied it.
“You had your brother-in-law call the police about it, and they came out again, even though I already showed them the proof that the stuff was mine!”
She hadn’t anticipated Kevin going to that length. He probably wanted to see the proof of inheritance himself, rather than taking his sister’s word for it. But . . . how did Bev figure out it was Jaymie who questioned it?
The ladies had exited the shop in a bunch, chattering and throwing anxious glances over their shoulders. Jaymie could see out the big picture window that one of them trotted down the front steps and bustled over to the bus driver, an older African-American gentleman, who lounged in the open door of his vehicle where it was parked in a spot beyond the Emporium porch. She chattered at him, gesticulating toward the store.
Taking a deep breath, Jaymie calmed herself and focused back on her antagonist. “Bev, where did you get the idea I had been questioning if you stole Miss Perry’s silver?”
“Who do you think told me?” she asked, flinging her hands up in the air and stumping over to the glass-topped case that acted
as a sales desk. “After the cops got done with me I called here and Georgina said it wasn’t her, and it certainly wasn’t her brother, that it was you.” She hammered on the glass. It rattled alarmingly. “You were the one who had questioned her about it, and then went and squealed to him. She said he felt he had no choice but to pull the silver from the catalogue and call the police in yet again!”
The bus driver entered, the door chime jingling, and approached, warily eyeing them both, his dark eyes taking in the scene. “Miss, do you need me to call the police?” he asked Jaymie. “Some of my ladies are alarmed.”
Bev glared at him, then at Jaymie, and bitterly shook her head. “Never mind, I’m going. Wouldn’t want to be interviewed by the police yet again!” She lumbered out, her boot making a thump thump thump echoing sound on the wood floor.
The rest of the day was anticlimactic. When her sister’s group returned, Jaymie did not tell Kevin and Becca that Georgina had blamed her to Bev Hastings. She didn’t want to make things worse, and to discuss it would surely make it into a siblings-against-siblings argument, with the married couple forced to side with each other’s sibling or their own. Bev Hastings would surely simmer down. If she was as full of outraged innocence as she seemed, then there was nothing for her to worry about.
• • •
SATURDAYS WERE STILL WORK DAYS for Jaymie and Jakob, so it was a day Jocie often spent with her Oma and Opa and cousins at the farm. That morning Jaymie went with Jakob to an auction, and then home for an intimate lunch at the cabin. They parted ways for the afternoon, he to walk the Christmas trees with Helmut, marking more of them for cutting in another month or so, and she to go to Miss Perry’s home to get the spice graters for the exhibition. She had confirmation that Miss Perry had indeed been sent home to recuperate and was out of danger. She called Bill Waterman. He had the cases stained and shellacked; the only thing left was for them to dry completely. Once they had the graters mounted, he would lock the cases and bolt them to the wall in the heritage house kitchen.
The wind was up, and gusts carried drifts of falling leaves raining down over the roads toward town. Jaymie drove carefully, grateful for the gift her parents had given her in making sure she had a better vehicle than the rattletrap van she had nursed along for a decade. Through town, and along River Road up to Winding Woods, she drove as rain started sheeting down, reminding her of the day she found Miss Perry. She couldn’t believe the lady was home already, given how frail and battered she had seemed, but if she had twenty-four-seven care, then home was no doubt where she longed to be.
Bill had sent her photos of the cases; she had them on her phone so she could show Miss Perry. She also had a notepad and pen at the ready so she could take down the history of the graters, as she’d be writing a pamphlet to give away at the heritage house. She looked forward to telling Miss Perry her ideas for teaching the kids about the spice trade and Queensville’s part in it.
She caught glimpses of the St. Clair River as she followed River Road to her turnoff onto Winding Woods Lane. The stiff wind was gusting the gray water, churning it into whitecaps as rain blew across the surface. Once more it was obscured, now by the stately homes of Winding Woods. She drove past Haskell’s house and pulled up to Miss Perry’s residence, sullen in the leaden daylight. Morgan’s silver sedan was in the drive. Jaymie dashed up to the porch and banged on the door. Morgan answered and nodded when Jaymie told her why she was there.
The young woman stood back to let Jaymie slip through. She took off her windbreaker and hung it on the coat tree to dry, then followed Morgan back to Miss Perry’s sitting room. It had been rearranged and a hospital bed brought in. But Miss Perry was not in bed, she was sitting in her favorite chair, her table by her with a cup of tea, a box of tissues, bottles of over-the-counter pain reliever, cough drops, and other inevitable accouterments of old age. The TV was tuned to a colorful game show, kooky costumed contestants laughing and flailing and apparently yelling out answers, though the set was muted.
Jaymie paused at the door; Miss Perry looked so fragile, her thin arms bare, the shawl she had over her shoulders slipping down. Bruised and battered by her fall, who knows what a toll this would take on her, at her age? Jaymie’s eyes welled with tears and her stomach roiled. It was infuriating, whoever had done this, and she was shaken by how angry it made her. She must find out who was responsible, or how was the woman ever going to be safe?
“Where is her nurse?” Jaymie whispered to Morgan, who stood at her shoulder.
The young woman looked blank. “Nurse?”
“She was released with twenty-four-hour nursing care, right?”
“No, there’s just me.”
Jaymie took a moment to digest that. The hospital had released Miss Perry to her niece when an attempt had been made on her life? An attempt that, if successful, would benefit Morgan to the tune of at least half a million dollars in property—the house and the riverside land—and maybe more? It was . . . alarming. But what could she do about it? Adjusting her expression to a smile, she entered and approached the woman’s chair.
“Hey, I’m surprised you’re home!” she said, leaning over and giving her a hug.
“Hate hospitals. Suppose I was cranky enough they wanted to get rid of me.” She shuffled her feet, which were clad in fluffy slippers.
Jaymie pictured the scene, recalling the moccasin slippers, new-looking, at the bottom of the stairs. Had someone intended to make it look like she had accidentally fallen down the stairs? But how did that fit with the wire across the stairs? Whoever did that must have known it would be found when she was discovered. Maybe they intended to sneak back in and remove the wire once she was dead.
She shivered. It was something to ponder, but right now she knew the lady was staring at her quizzically. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” she said brightly.
This was going to take longer than she had anticipated, she soon decided, because Miss Perry was in no shape to answer the dozens of questions Jaymie had. Slowly, steadily, Jaymie did coax some information about the graters from Miss Perry, but her strength was soon flagging. A cup of tea, she explained, would help her think. Morgan was on the phone and nodded when Jaymie suggested she go ahead and make the tea. She boiled the pot, and went to the back door while she waited for the tea to steep, needing a moment to relax her mind. She looked out the back-door window and noted a flash of red by the bluff . . . a cardinal maybe? She squinted and stared but didn’t see it again.
She took a tray in to her new acquaintance. Tea was drunk, the pause refreshed, and they went on with their conversation.
“I’ve been thinking about it, which graters you should use.” Miss Perry twisted in her seat and called, “Morgan! Come here!”
Her niece came to the door, a bottle of prescription eye drops in her hand.
“Can you gather the graters up for me?” She then listed several; Morgan must have been very familiar with the collection to know them by description. She capped the bottle and disappeared.
Jaymie wrote down the names of the graters as she waited for Morgan to reappear. But when the young woman did, it was with a puzzled look. She laid out a bunch of the nutmeg and other spice graters, but then said, “Auntie Lois, I can’t find the acorn-shaped one. Did you take it out of the display?”
“I did not!” the woman said. “Where could it be?”
Jaymie followed Morgan and they searched the display room, but it was nowhere. Morgan fretfully described it. “It’s small . . . the smallest of the collection. Sterling silver, and shaped like an acorn. Where could it be?”
A howl outside startled them both, and Morgan clutched Jaymie’s arm. “What was that?”
“Probably just Lan Zane’s dog, Tiberius, right? He seems to get away from Lan often.”
The howl got closer, the sound moving, heading toward the back; there was more ferocious barking, and the loud, frightened screech of a terrified animal shrilled through the house. Jaymie headed toward the back of th
e house, ducking in to Miss Perry’s sitting room to make sure she stayed put.
“My poor kitties!” Miss Perry cried, alarmed. She got up, leaning heavily on her chair, but then tottered to the sitting room door, hand outstretched. “Save the poor things, will you, Morgan?”
But Morgan, an irresolute look on her face as she stood in the dim hall, shook her head. “Lan will get his damned dog, Auntie Lois. Stop worrying about those stupid strays!”
The screeching got louder and a wail, piercing and heartrending, echoed into the house. Miss Perry, her face drained of color, the bandage still wrapped around her head and seeping, wept, tears racing down and dripping onto her flowered robe. Swiftly, Jaymie made a decision. Morgan was clearly not going to do a thing about it, so she would.
“Morgan, help your aunt sit down before she falls down. I’ll take care of that dog,” she said over her shoulder as she raced to the front of the house, retrieved her shoes, and returned, headed toward the back, hopping and skipping as she slipped her shoes on. “I can’t bear to hear that poor cat being hurt,” she said over her shoulder as she raced past the sitting room.
She ran out the door into the pelting rain, fearing what she’d see. Tiberius was at the farthest reach of the yard, barking furiously at something hidden in the depths of the shrubbery. A yowl told her that the cat was likely badly frightened, but hopefully not hurt. She raced across the grass, slipping and sliding, hearing behind her Lan Zane calling his dog, his voice getting closer. She came up to the animal; the dog was playful, both paws thrust forward, tail wagging, barking at the hidden cat that howled in displeasure.
But she could see something else—was it a pant leg and white leather shoe? A pale blue pant leg and white leather tasseled loafer that she had seen before, worn by . . . she pushed in and parted the branches.
Fergus Baird lay in the brush, his face mottled purple, his mouth agape, a silver nutmeg grater shoved into his mouth. He was dead, and had been for some time.
No Grater Danger Page 13