The woman was awake and fretful. “What’s going on out there? I heard a man’s voice. Who is it?”
“Miss Perry, how are you doing?”
“Not so good. Have I . . . did I take my pills? Where is Morgan . . . that girl! Morgan! Did I take . . .” She shook her head, and her gaze drifted back to the TV.
Jaymie, alarmed, took her hand. “Miss Perry, Miss Perry!”
“Mhm?”
“Mrs. Stubbs was worried about you, so she sent a registered nurse to look after you. Is that all right?”
She nodded, closing her eyes. “Good.”
“Miss Perry, the nurse is a man. Is that okay too?” She nodded again. “He’ll stay all night to make sure you’re safe, and have the right meds, and that your vitals are okay. That way Morgan can go home and get some sleep.”
“Okay, dear.”
Skip Buchanan came in that moment and stood by the door, assessing the situation. He eyed the hospital bed, the recliner, his patient. Morgan was throwing things around in the kitchen; it appeared she had lost the battle. Jaymie met Skip’s gaze. He nodded, smiled, then indicated for Jaymie to let him replace her. He sat down on a low stool next to Miss Perry and took her hand, gently placing fingers on her pulse and looking at his watch.
She opened her eyes. “Who are you?”
He softly explained, and Jaymie chimed in, reminding her what they had discussed. She smiled, nodded, and let him go about his task, which was to review her medication schedule, as given on her hospital release papers. There was comfort, it seemed, in having a professional in charge.
“Your pulse is a little quick, Miss Perry, but some of the meds you’re on can have that effect. I’m going to call the hospital in a moment to make sure your current prescriptions are the right dose. One of these concerns me.”
“The local pharmacist is a good friend of mine,” Jaymie said. “She’s available at all times, and will open her pharmacy if something is needed. I’ll give you her number.”
“Is that Valetta Nibley you’re talking about?”
Jaymie nodded.
“I’ve spoken to her many times, and have her number. Miss Perry, when was the last time you ate?”
Jaymie slipped out to the hallway, where Morgan stood, appearing undecided. “I had nothing to do with this. Mrs. Stubbs called the nursing service when she heard her cousin was home.” Walking past her, then, through the kitchen, Jaymie gazed out the back door. The light was dwindling into twilight, and Jaymie longed for her home and her husband and her little girl with a fierceness that surprised her. She hadn’t processed finding that poor man’s body yet; the thought of it haunted her, the sense of life’s fragility, the razor’s-edge dance we all perform.
One moment; life rested on one single moment in time, a pinpoint, one bad decision, one mistake. It was terrifying.
The police were still on scene, but it appeared that while she was in town the coroner had taken away Fergus Baird. That, at least, was good. She didn’t know him well, but no human should have so undignified a fate.
Morgan followed her to the back door. “I wasn’t having an affair with him, you know,” she said, her voice tight, fraught with indecipherable emotion.
Jaymie turned. Morgan’s round face was ghostly white in the darkness of the back hall, by the stairs where Miss Perry had fallen, the normal pinkness of her cheeks paled to faintest peach, her eyes rimmed with red. “I never assumed that,” Jaymie replied. “I was surprised, that’s all, when I saw you two kissing in the drugstore in Wolverhampton.”
“That . . . the kiss took me completely by surprise. I didn’t know he thought of me that way. I would have told him . . . I would have said . . .” She shook her head and choked back a dry sob.
“I’m sorry, though, if he was a friend. I know Miss Perry didn’t like him. I saw them having a ferocious argument about the fate of the marina buildings that she owns.” Baird had said right then and there that Miss Perry was better off dead so Morgan could inherit and sell the land to him. They must have already spoken of it for him to be so certain. And yet he was the one who lay dead.
Morgan made a face. “She’s such a crank about those decrepit old buildings.”
“Your family has owned them for a long, long time. They represent something to her; they’re a symbol of another time, I suppose.”
“Fergus wanted what was best for the town, to see some real progress there instead of stinky old bait shops.”
Progress: condos for the wealthy rather than shops for the regular folks. There was no point in telling Morgan that right now. “Did you know he was friends with Bev Hastings, too? That’s the woman who co-owns the bait shop with her husband. Did Mr. Baird ever tell you they had some sort of relationship?”
She looked blank and shook her head. A noise behind them made them both turn; it was Morgan’s husband, Saunders Wallace. How long had he been standing there? Jaymie wondered.
“What’s going on out there?” he asked. “Why are there police everywhere? And a car from some nursing service?”
“There was . . . an incident,” Morgan said.
“Is Aunt Lois okay?”
“She’s all right,” Jaymie said, watching his face. He was visibly relieved and nodded. “The nurse is looking after Miss Perry so Morgan can go home and get some rest.”
“So what’s the incident? Are you okay, Morgan?”
“It’s Fergus Baird, that developer who was trying to get Auntie Lois to sell her land down by the river,” Morgan replied. “He’s . . . he’s dead. Someone killed him.”
“What was he doing here?”
“Nobody knows.”
Jaymie wondered the same thing. Had he been killed on the spot or moved there? When the couple moved off toward the front of the house to talk in private, she turned on the overhead light in the back hall. She had been curious about the wire, and its placement. She hunkered down to see if she could tell where it had been and there, about four steps from the bottom, she could see a screw eye, shiny against the dark stain of the stair stringer. No attempt had been made to make it blend in. Maybe whoever did it knew Miss Perry’s eyesight was not great, and perhaps they intended to come back and remove the assembly before the woman was found, dead.
When she rose and headed back to the kitchen, she heard her own voice floating through the home, telling Miss Perry she’d be there in two minutes. It was her message from the other day. Morgan was at the old-fashioned answering machine patiently erasing each message.
Jaymie stopped, stock-still, remembering coming up Winding Woods Lane and the dark pickup truck tearing downhill at her, forcing her to swerve. Was that why the wire assembly hadn’t been removed? Had someone been in the house about to do it, but her call told them how soon they’d have company? And yet, Miss Perry had been lying there for some time, evidenced by the crusted blood in her hair and the housedress.
It was something to ponder.
Weary and heartsick, she finally headed out the door, reassured by Skip Buchanon’s solid presence, calm manner, and skilful handling of Miss Perry’s crankiness. Morgan seemed to have accepted the nurse; she’d stated her intention of heading home with her husband. The police would be there overnight, since there was still a search on for the perpetrator of the murder on the bluff. They would be canvassing neighbors and searching the whole area.
Jaymie paused out on the walk, in the twilight, shivering and pulling her windbreaker around her, hugging herself as she gathered her thoughts. She eyed the house, and the police cars, and pondered poor Fergus Baird, not just why he had been killed but why here, and why with the nutmeg grater in his mouth? It was a message, but to whom? Or was it deflection? He appeared to be a successful home builder and as such would have assets; who inherited them? There was so very much she didn’t know.
Lan Zane, his red Columbia windbreaker zipped up to his chin against the cold evening breeze and the perpetual dog leash wound around one hand, strode toward her. “So . . . I heard that someone f
ell and broke their neck or something? Is that true? But the body was in the bushes, not at the bottom of the bluff, so . . . did they fall, then crawl up the hill?” His voice was jittery and tense, and he bounced from foot to foot.
“I don’t think I can talk about it, Lan. The police are involved now.”
“Oh, come on! You can tell me. Is there some mad killer out there we should know about?” His jocular tone fell flat, and so did his smile. “My wife is worried, that’s all. She was upset when Miss Perry’s home was broken into.”
“Did you see or hear anything that time?”
He shook his head. “Not a thing, and as far as I know, no one else’s place was broken into, just hers. Of course, we all have up-to-date security systems. I have a gun safe full of rifles and a valuable coin collection, and Phillipa’s jewelry alone would make a junkie say hallelujah.”
“What about the day I found Miss Perry hurt? Were you or your wife home? Did you see anything?”
“No to both!”
Lan eyed a police car that pulled up to the curb, and retreated abruptly. Jaymie watched him go, wondering about his jitteriness.
Bernie got out and approached Jaymie, smiling. “How did I know you’d still be here? When I got the word that you’d found another body, I just shook my head.”
“It has not escaped me that I’m a trouble magnet.”
“Jaymie, don’t say that. Especially in this case. Don’t you think his family would rather he was found? My understanding is, if you hadn’t discovered his body he may have lain there for a while.”
She nodded, but Bernie’s words had made her thoughts hare off in another direction. Did the killer want Baird to be found or not? The facts indicated both. Where he was, hidden in the bushes, was concealed enough she hadn’t seen him until she was right there. But the nutmeg grater in his mouth? That was done to send a message. Or perhaps to mislead.
“What are you thinking?”
She was thinking about Lan and Phillipa Zane. Jaymie explained to Bernie that they had a contentious relationship with Miss Perry. If they murdered her, it wouldn’t be the first time a fight between neighbors resulted in death. So the attempt to kill her could have been planned by the Zanes, but why Fergus Baird? That didn’t make any sense if they were the culprits. But surely an attempted murder and an actual murder at the same residence were likely connected.
And . . . the nutmeg grater was a pointed tie-in with Miss Perry, her collection, and perhaps even her position in the community. Was it planned simply to point the finger of blame away from the Zanes, so it would look like someone was after both Miss Perry and Fergus Baird? Lan clearly knew that Miss Perry had no security system for her house. And the timing of the body find was suspicious; Lan knew that when his dog was loose it invariably headed for Miss Perry’s backyard on the hunt for the feral cats she valued and cared for. A devious mind would plant the body, and if it wasn’t found in a timely manner send the dog into the yard. The pooch would surely find the dead body and bark like crazy, alerting her, as it did, or anyone else who was in the house. It was a circuitous plot, but possible. “Lan knows my car,” Jaymie said after explaining her thoughts. “He’d know I was here and that I would follow the dog to collar it because I’ve done it before.”
“That’s not the most far-fetched possibility,” Bernie said, pursing her lips in thought.
“But pretty close, right? I don’t dare say all this to Detective Vestry. She basically told me to take a hike.”
“I know you and the detective don’t get along, but she likes me, so I’ll mention it to her. The rest of the department might not appreciate me, but she does.”
“What do you mean, the rest of the department doesn’t appreciate you?”
Bernie shrugged. “It started with Chief Ledbetter. Some of the guys insinuated that he favored me because I’m a woman. Now, no matter what I’ve done since, there’s always muttering that I don’t deserve the promotion, or I’m being favored for assignments, and lately, with Chief Connolly and Detective Vestry in charge, it’s gotten worse. Some of the fellows are getting downright rude about it. I can’t even say out loud the names they’re giving the department now, with women in charge.”
Jaymie felt a burning anger well up in her. Bernie worked harder than any one of the other cops, and everyone knew it. She took extra training; she worked out; she was taking online courses in criminology toward a master’s: in other words, she dedicated herself one hundred percent. But still, some would say that her advancements were because she was a woman, and more particularly a woman of color, that she was favored because of some diversity targets in the department. It was crap. Jaymie glanced around, then stepped forward and hugged her friend. “Bernie, you’re the most driven person I’ve ever met,” she murmured in her ear. “And I know you don’t need me to say it, but you’ll blow those other guys out of the water and make detective before any of them.”
She smiled and nodded, stepping back. “Thanks, Jaymie. I’d better get going; I’m relieving Ng. At least he’s been cool about everything. He’s not one of the dicks who are giving me trouble.” She had dated him briefly, but a relationship between police officers was difficult to maintain. Waving, she turned and headed off around the side of the house toward the backyard and the cluster of police still investigating.
Rattled and feeling overwhelmed, Jaymie drove home. Jakob was there and waiting. When she came in and dropped her purse, he wrapped her in his arms. They stood for several minutes, in a tight embrace, her head on his shoulder.
“You okay?” he finally asked, his voice gruff.
“I am now.”
Fourteen
JAYMIE WAS STILL DEEPLY DISTRESSED by the day’s events. She kept thinking of Baird’s family, and what a shock it was going to be to learn the news. She offered to go pick up Jocie at her in-laws’ place. Jakob suggested that instead they spend some alone time: no animals, no child, just the two of them. Jocie and the animals were completely happy at the Müllers’ home, he assured her.
Their marriage was still so new. She hadn’t even known Jakob a year. His willingness to invest his time, his passion, his love into her was what made it work. Sharing it all, their love was growing day by day. Of all the things she had ever done in her life, this was the most impulsive, but sometimes when it’s right, it’s right.
And this was right on every level. She happily acquiesced.
An autumnal wind came up, shuddering outside the cabin, making the windows rattle. It was only October, but it was Michigan. The temperature dropped, and the wind howled on, but inside it was toasty warm. Jakob had built a fire in the big stone fireplace he had constructed himself from stones picked over the years from the Müller farmland; he had used it to heat the whole cabin before he married, had a child, and installed a furnace. By the warmth of it they talked, ate pizza, drank—cheap wine for her, beer for him—made love, then talked some more, long into the night. In his arms all of the violence and fear, all the heartache she witnessed, melted away.
Sunday morning they went to the Müllers to pick up Jocie and the animals but stayed for brunch. Jaymie made a frittata for them all while Sonya, Helmut’s significant other, cooked bacon and ham. Jakob and Helmut spent more time discussing the launch of their tree nursery business, set to go within the next year; the new Christmas store business was next on the roster for full-scale planning. Jaymie had married someone like her in so many ways: they shared a deep love of home and family, the aptitude to keep a lot of businesses and jobs going at once, and the knack of going with the flow.
The senior Müllers’ home was family headquarters and was always full of people, chatter, children, animals, and chaos, with Dieter Senior and Renate, usually known as Opa and Oma, the blissful, calm center. Becca, who had only spent a couple of afternoons with the whole Müller clan, had come away dazed, and wondering, she said, how Jaymie managed. In that sense Jaymie fit in better with the Müllers than with her own calm, quiet, laid-back, small Leighton
family. The chaos whirled around her and she smiled through it all.
The rest of Sunday they spent as a family, first with Jocie’s cousins, then taking Hoppy and Jocie for a long walk over the new property, through the corn stubble and to the top of what would someday be a toboggan hill. Jaymie described it all, and how much fun it would be, a real family business right next to the log cabin. She also pointed out a clump of bushes around an old oak tree in the middle of the property, and how, in the distance, they could see a long line of pine trees. “That’s probably the wind break for the house on the next road, the one the former landowners were keeping.” The sale had gone through and they now owned the land, her savings invested too, giving her a stake in their future. It was a gamble, but even if they couldn’t change the zoning to include a commercial aspect, they could still use the land.
Then it was home for dinner, a board game or two, and a movie. It was a school night, so bedtime was early. While Jakob was reading a story with Jocie and talking about their day, Jaymie cuddled Hoppy on the sofa and called around, once to check in on Miss Perry, who was improving under professional nursing care—Skip was back on duty for another twelve-hour shift after his replacement left—and a few more calls to set up a girls’ night for Valetta, Heidi, Bernie and herself. It would have been so easy to lose touch with her girlfriends, with the frenetic pace of her new life and all its attendant responsibilities. It did get overwhelming at times, but she made a sustained effort and got together with them all at least once a month, but usually more often.
With Valetta, her best friend, she talked a lot longer. For one thing, Valetta insisted on having the girls’ night at her place because she wanted to try a new recipe for appetizers. In honor of Heidi’s newish veganism she was making homemade roasted red pepper hummus with veggies, and vegetable skewers grilled on her stovetop.
But also, she had a shocking piece of news. “I just heard this today, Jaymie; you’re not going to believe it. Bev Hastings is suing Miss Perry!”
No Grater Danger Page 15