It was reassuring to have someone by her side who was so levelheaded and calm. With his support and reassurance, though she was still finding her way, she had integrated herself into their home and lives. Today, the little girl looked downhearted. “What’s up, sweetie?” she said, pulling Jocie into her lap as Hoppy danced around at her feet.
Jocie leaned against her shoulder, her lip pushed out in a pout. “I got picked last for volleyball today.”
“Aw, honey, I’m sorry. That’s never easy.” She thought for a moment, then asked, “Are you always picked last for teams?”
“Not always. Sometimes it’s Gemma.”
Gemma was one of Jocie’s best friends. She was a heavy child with glasses, shy and retiring unless you knew her well, when she became chatty and funny. Gemma was one of Jaymie’s favorite people, reminding her of herself when she was that age.
“I used to get picked last too, sometimes,” Jaymie said. “Grandma Leighton told me that being good at sports or popular was only one part of a person, and even the most popular kids—you know, the ones always picked first—had secret worries and insecurities. She told me not to worry about it because I was better at reading aloud in class, and writing essays, and I could run a long ways, even if I didn’t run fast.”
Jocie sat up straighter. “I’m pretty good at dodge ball,” she said, brightening.
“And you’re smart, you can read above your grade level, and you’re on the dance team. You’re really good at that! You can dance like nobody’s business. I’m so proud of you.”
She sighed and nodded.
“Honey, someone is always going to be picked last. It doesn’t mean kids don’t like you.” She slid Jocie off her lap and took her hand, grabbing her book bag with her other. “Let’s go in. Bernie and Heidi are coming out and bringing dinner. Work on your homework now so you can visit with them before bedtime. Daddy’s going to be a little late.”
He wouldn’t be home in time for dinner at all, he texted her. His truck had broken down in Mansfield, Ohio, where he had been delivering a Duncan Phyfe–style dining table and chair set. He FaceTimed with her briefly from the garage where the mechanic was working on the car. The guy was working overtime to help him out, so Jakob was ordering in pizza for them. Once the truck was repaired he’d head home.
“You be sure the truck is working properly before you head out on the highway, hon,” Jaymie said worriedly. “I don’t want you getting stuck anywhere else. Drive it around for a few minutes before the mechanic takes off. And recharge your phone while you’re waiting!”
He nodded, suppressing a smile at her worry. “If traffic is good it’ll be about a three-hour drive. I’ll be home by bedtime.”
Jocie wanted to talk to her dad, so Jaymie handed her the phone, telling her three minutes was her limit, then it was homework.
• • •
Bernie and Heidi brought vegetarian pizza and salad, with a bottle of wine for them and chocolate milk for Jocie. They ate, Jocie read her rewrite of The Poky Little Puppy to them, now called Slowpoke the Puppy Likes Dessert, in which the puppies learn to share equally with each other. Then she was off to bathe and bed.
Jaymie came back downstairs and the women retired to the living room, a comfortable place with a little bed by the fireplace that Hoppy and Lilibet shared many evenings.
But Bernie got serious quickly. “Jaymie, you looked white as a sheet at the thrift store. And you said we had to talk. I know you were waiting until Jocie was in bed, so spill.”
Jaymie told them everything from the beginning through what she had learned about the other attempts on Miss Perry’s life, and right down to the silver nutmeg grater that had been bought at Thrifty Dan’s by Morgan Perry Wallace. She had already called and left a message for Detective Vestry about the dosette, she told them, but she hadn’t mentioned the other things. “I can’t figure out how the attempts on Miss Perry and the murder of Fergus Baird connect, though, beyond the obvious, the silver nutmeg grater. Morgan said she wasn’t having an affair with Baird, and I think I believe her.”
Bernie reached out and touched Jaymie’s hand. “That isn’t up to you to figure out. You realize you have to call Detective Vestry and tell her all of this, not selected bits and pieces.”
“Nooo,” wailed Jaymie, fingers to her temples. She had a headache coming on. “I told you so you can tell her.”
She shook her head. “Uh-uh. You have to tell her this yourself.”
“But she doesn’t like me.”
“Jaymie, no offense, but grow a pair, will you?” Bernie said with asperity. “You’re braver than that. She’s not going to bite your head off. And this is important, you know that.”
“She’s going to be so annoyed,” Jaymie said, dropping her hands to her lap and picking at a chipped nail. “She basically told me to stay out of it.”
“This information fell into your lap,” Heidi said softly. “You know Bernie’s right.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“I’ll call her right now and put you on,” Bernie said.
Fortunately, Vestry was willing to take all the information in a phone call, which she asked to record, after thanking Jaymie for the tip about the possible drug attempt on Miss Perry’s life. Drained after the conversation, Jaymie drank another glass of wine, and then her friends packed it in and departed, with promises to see her at their girls’ night in a couple of days.
Jaymie was in bed but still awake when Jakob got home and wearily dropped into bed with her. They snuggled together under the covers, wrapped in each other’s arms, and fell asleep.
• • •
JAKOB HAD ANOTHER BUSY DAY AHEAD at The Junk Stops Here, but over breakfast Jaymie told him what she had learned the previous day, ending with the visit to Thrifty Dan’s and the phone call to the detective. She felt much relieved that she had done as Bernie commanded. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have slept as deeply, she knew that about herself. Sleep was elusive when she was troubled.
She had a full morning planned, and then was going to meet Becca and Kevin at the Queensville house before they headed back to London, Ontario, so Becca could take care of business and their Grandma Leighton, who had her semi-annual appointment with her heart specialist. She was having some trouble with edema, and it was concerning Becca.
Jaymie walked Jocie out to catch the school bus, then returned. “So we’ll spend a few days at the Queensville house?” she asked Jakob as he was pulling on his jean jacket over a lumber jacket coat. One of the first signs of colder weather settling in was when Michiganians started layering coats.
“Sounds good. Are Clive and Anna coming back?” he asked about the owners of Shady Rest, next door to the Queensville house. The two men had become good friends in the few times they had met.
“They’re supposed to be. Anna hopes if everything works out they’re going to come back to live. He may take a buyout from his company and start his own investment business, working from the bed-and-breakfast.”
“I hope he does. I want to pick his brain about some investments. Be good and be careful today,” he said, giving her a lingering kiss, then racing out the door to his truck, thermal mug full of coffee in hand.
She watched through the kitchen window, and waved as he backed out and drove off. That’s one thing she loved about him; he never asked her to stop looking into things that worried or interested her, and he hadn’t from the first moment she ran to his door late at night for protection from a deranged killer.
She worked for the morning at the Queensville Emporium. She had worked there more often in previous years, but a couple of the grandkids and great-grandkids were taking over more and more from the nonagenarian Klausners as the couple finally started talking about retirement. Petty Welch bounced in to buy milk for the Cottage Shoppe, where she was working that morning. As Jaymie rang up her purchase, she asked how Petty was doing with Haskell Lockland, her new beau.
“Taking it slow,” she said, tossing her gray curls.
She wore a plaid skirt over black tights and a black and gold cardigan. Her lightly lined face was made up delicately. She always seemed, to Jaymie, effortlessly chic, maybe one reason why she and Cynthia Turbridge and Jewel of Jewel’s Junk had become such fast friends; all were women of a certain age who nonetheless exuded a youthful vigor. “He’s a bit of a stuffed shirt, but I think he’s okay taking it slow, too. He’s had a bit of trouble recently with a clingy woman.”
“Oh? Who was he dating?”
Petty looked around, saw there was no one else in the place, and said softly, leaning across the counter, “Don’t say I told you, but he was dating a married woman, Bev Hastings.”
Jaymie’s eyes widened in shock. “You don’t say! And she was clingy?”
“Crazy is more like it! This was last spring into summer, I understand. She kept buying things for him, giving him little gifts. He broke it off because she was talking about leaving her husband, hinting that she’d be coming into money and getting out of the bait business. She wouldn’t stop calling him. He finally put his foot down and told her if she didn’t leave him alone he’d tell her husband. That worked for a while, but recently she started calling him again. He called her and told her to leave him alone or he’d call the cops and get a restraining order. The next day his car was keyed.”
“His house . . . it’s up on Winding Woods Lane,” Jaymie said.
Petty nodded. “Right above where they found the body of the Wolverhampton businessman!”
So Bev Hastings was familiar with Winding Woods. Interesting. “When was this . . . last week, you said?”
“I think it was almost a week ago. Oh, Tuesday! I had a hair appointment and he told me about it afterward.”
Tuesday. Jaymie gave Petty her change, trying not to show the shock she felt. That was the very day Miss Perry supposedly had another appointment. And Beverly Hastings was right there, keying Haskell’s car. Or was she? That was just Haskell’s assumption. “How did he know she did it?”
“Oh, he knew. She had scraped ‘Loverboy’ on the side. It was a message; that was her pet name for him.”
“Did he tell the police?”
“No. He said it was too embarrassing. There were police all over the place—I guess his neighbor was attacked—but he just had his car fixed, that’s all. Gotta go! Take care, Jaymie.”
• • •
DETECTIVE VESTRY CAME IN AND MET WITH VALETTA that morning about the medication Miss Perry had said was in her dosette. The detective had already been out to Miss Perry’s home and interviewed her; she described the pills as best she could, Val said after. It wasn’t definitive, but it was most likely a generic warfarin.
“Will you come outside with me for a moment, Ms. Leighton?” Detective Vestry said as she was heading for the door of the Emporium.
There were no customers in the store, so she followed out to the board porch. She plunked down on an Adirondack, but stood back up when the detective declined a seat. Wrapping her cardigan around her against the chill breeze, she said, “Detective Vestry, did Skip Buchanon tell you about the other attempts on Miss Perry’s life, the gunshot and almost being run down?”
“He did. I’m not willing to bet that the incident in Wolverhampton was an attempt, and the gunshot could have been an accident.”
“What, a duck hunter along the river?” Jaymie asked sarcastically.
“We’re keeping our options open and investigating every lead,” she said. “Now, I’m curious,” she said, glancing around the village as she talked to Jaymie on the board porch. “Why did you tell Bernie about all of this and not me right away?”
Jaymie hesitated, but Bernie’s admonition that she had to grow a pair echoed in her brain. She took a deep breath and let it out. “I know I should have come to you in the first place. I was going to call you about it today”
The woman met her eyes. “Tell me why you didn’t call me right away.”
“I had the distinct impression that you don’t like me.”
The detective frowned. “Go on.”
“And I was worried that you’d think I was ‘investigating,’” she said, sketching air quotes around the word. “I wasn’t. Sometimes information finds me.”
The woman nodded, and for the first time her expression had some warmth and humor. “Chief Ledbetter said that when it came to you, I should make friends with you and let you go about your business. He said you’d be helpful. And that you’d never keep anything from us.”
Jaymie flushed, embarrassed. “He rates my abilities way too high. I’m Miss Marple, I guess, and Queensville is my St. Mary Mead.”
She nodded with a smile. “I read Agatha Christie when I was a kid. Miss Marple was my favorite character. Reminded me of my nosy gossipy maiden aunt. I never like Hercule Poirot much. In future, give me a call. I promise I won’t bite your head off. Sometimes it’s been tough, being a woman in a man’s world. I have to remember not everyone is out to get me.”
She was no doubt referring obliquely to what Bernie had said, about some of the guys in the department griping about the female chief of police and lead detective. “I will, Detective, I promise. I won’t go out of my way to investigate, so to speak, I promise that, too. But if information comes my way, like this did, I’ll let you know.” She took a deep breath. “So did you find out anything about the grater that Morgan had bought at Thrifty Dan’s? I’m sure it’s the walnut-shaped one in Baird’s mouth.”
“I’m on my way to Dan’s now to have a word with him about the nutmeg grater. I never thought I’d say those words, but there it is.”
“Detective, I’m concerned about Miss Perry,” Jaymie said, shifting from foot to foot. “What if Morgan is the one who tried to kill her? Skip is worried he can’t justify being there much longer, because she’s getting better so quickly. What if you don’t tie things up in time?”
The woman nodded. “I’m troubled, too. The best I can do is solve this murder swiftly. We have solid forensic evidence, but it takes time to process. I have some investigative paths to follow, ones I hope will lead me to the culprit.”
Jaymie was so tempted to ask what, but knew she’d get no reply. She could imagine some, like checking ATV tracks on the riverbank, and sightings by neighbors. Footwork by dogged detectives to track down every clue would ultimately lead to the killer. She hoped it didn’t take too long. “I don’t know how you figure it all out. I’m lucky more than anything,” Jaymie admitted. “But in this case I can’t figure out how the murder of Fergus Baird could be tied to the attempt on Miss Perry’s life. It feels like they don’t connect, you know? And yet, it beggars imagination that two such traumatic events in the same place wouldn’t be connected.”
The detective examined her. “You’ve thought about this a lot, I see. I do want to say . . . Miss Perry’s safety is my deepest concern. I have made it known to the Wallaces that we are investigating every single lead and are watching suspects closely. We don’t actually have enough officers to follow them around, but I hope it keeps them on their toes.”
Jaymie was relieved to some extent, but not wholly. She’d have been more relieved if the Hastingses had been given the same warning. She bid the detective goodbye and went back to the store to tidy, sell, and visit with locals. When Gracey Klausner came in to relieve her, she said goodbye to Valetta and headed over to the house to see Becca and Kevin.
Eighteen
AS ALWAYS, HER QUEENSVILLE KITCHEN, with its blend of old and new, vintage and modern, relaxed her. They had lunch and chatted pleasantly. She was going to head up to Miss Perry’s, since she did need to gather the graters now that Bill Waterman had the cases ready to install at the heritage house.
“Jaymie, if you could, I’d like you to ask Miss Perry a few questions,” Kevin said. “I’m wondering if there are any peculiarities she remembers about her silverware.”
“Peculiarities?”
“Yes. There are a few on the flatware that could be identifying features, but I won’t tell yo
u what they are. Ask her about any scratches, bent tines, marked serrations, anything like that.”
“Good idea,” Jaymie said. “She’s got a very good memory, and is very observant.” She said her goodbyes—the couple were going to be in Canada for a couple of weeks—and drove through town and up to Winding Woods Lane.
Skip Buchanon had texted Jaymie, telling her that he was staying at the home full-time. The service was experiencing a temporary shortage of on-call nurses because of an early-season influenza outbreak. She suspected he had other more serious reasons for making himself available. Morgan’s car was parked in the drive, along with the nurse’s.
She tapped on the door and Skip answered, ushering her in, rolling his eyes as the sound of weeping and shouting echoed.
“What’s going on?”
Skip, whose muscular frame was covered in scrubs and a frilly apron—he had a dishcloth in his hands—sighed. “Not my business. I think you’ll know soon enough anyway.”
She followed him through the hall, where he parted from her to return to the kitchen. She followed the argument to the sitting room. Miss Perry was clearly much better, because she was back to full-on persnickety mode. She still sat in her chair, and Morgan was on an ottoman at her feet, hands over her face.
“If you do that, I swear I’ll disown you, Morgan Perry Wallace,” she stated, her cheeks spotted by two high circles of color.
“Auntie Lois, you don’t understand!” the young woman said, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand.
Both looked toward Jaymie as she stood in the doorway. “Hi, you two,” she said as she entered, feeling like she was interfering but not knowing quite what else to do.
Morgan’s plump face was twisted in pain and misery. She was shaking as she stood. “I’d better go.”
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