Wreath of Deception

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “I assume so. And it sounded like Genna wasn’t going for it, so Pete got pretty mad, and stomped around kicking things.”

  “A violent temper.” Deirdre nodded, sounding convinced.

  “Violent enough for murder, though?” Ina Mae asked. “Was he jealous enough of Kyle to kill him?”

  “That’s the question I’m struggling with,” Jo said. “From what I overhead outside the playhouse, his jealousy of Genna is easily inflamed. Genna, however, insisted Pete would never fight unfairly, or catch an enemy off guard, which is what happened to Kyle. Kyle was drugged, remember? So he was woozy by the time he was stabbed in my stock room.”

  “Are you sure, though, that Kyle didn’t take this sedative himself?” Deirdre asked.

  “No, but it just doesn’t seem likely, does it, when he’s on a job that needed lots of energy? So if it was the killer who slipped it to him, I can’t see Pete doing that. I see him confronting Kyle head on, out in the open, and giving Kyle a fighting chance.”

  “I don’t know about that sedative,” Mindy said. “Maybe Kyle would have taken it himself. Think about it. He hated playing a clown; he probably felt stressed with all the kids coming around him – and believe me, I know how aggravating kids can be sometimes, even when you love them like crazy – so maybe this sedative was something he felt he needed to keep from snapping.”

  “That’s very possible,” Loralee agreed, excited. “And Pete came along - maybe he just had an argument with Genna and was all fired up – and he saw his opportunity and took it.”

  “But to stab Kyle with a knitting needle?” Jo asked, skeptically. “And wouldn’t there have been an argument, something loud enough that we would have heard?”

  “You said the store was very busy by then, didn’t you Jo?” Ina Mae put in. “They might have had words, but it wouldn’t necessarily have to be shouting. Sometimes the angriest, the most dangerous words will be muttered so low as to scarcely be heard. Then, the knitting needle was at hand, grabbed in the heat of the moment, and ... there you are.”

  Her ladies nodded, agreeing with the scenario. Jo, however, was not ready to join them. She found it difficult to picture the man she watched and conversed with at Hanson’s garage acting that way. Perhaps she had been just one more woman charmed by a skilled manipulator, but at this point she didn’t think so. She saw the respect the other workers had for him, and the way he treated them while she was there. She just wasn’t convinced he was someone capable of such artifice.

  “Maybe, Ina Mae,” Jo said. “Maybe. But I have a lead on someone else too, which bears looking in to, before I focus only on Pete.” Jo explained about Hank Schroder, and what Charlie had found out.

  “Oh, my, now there’s a motive,” Loralee cried, ready, apparently, in an instant to switch her vote on suspects.

  “It does sound serious,” Ina Mae agreed.

  “But Jo, would someone like this Hank Schroder be likely to show up at your craft shop opening?” Deirdre protested.

  “He might if he knew he’d find Kyle here,” Mindy pointed out.

  “But that’s ridiculous. He can find him right at the Country Club!” Deirdre argued.

  “Nobody said murderers are always logical!”

  “Ladies, ladies, first things first. Let Jo look into this Hank Schroder situation, see what she finds out. Then we can argue about what he might do.”

  “You’re quite right, Ina Mae,” Loralee said.

  Deirdre, Jo thought, looked a bit miffed, and she moved to soothe any ruffled feathers. “I really appreciate all your input on this,” she said. “It helps more than you know, to hear discussions of all sides of a point. I planned to go to the Country Club anyway, to talk to Bob Gordon about the progress on the craft show plans. Hank Schroder will be only one of the persons I’ll be looking into while I’m there. I want to dig a little more deeply into some of the things Kyle was doing in the tennis area.”

  “Good idea, Jo,” Ina Mae said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s quite a bit still to be found out.”

  “Goodness, look at the time,” Deirdre exclaimed, tidying up her work area. “I promised Alden I’d be home when he brings back one of his colleagues after their business dinner.”

  “How are you keeping your scrapbook a surprise?” Mindy asked.

  “Oh, I stash everything in one of the cupboards in the laundry room. Alden never goes in there.”

  “I used to hide Martin’s birthday and Christmas presents in the basement,” Loralee said. “The easiest way to make sure he stayed out of there was to suggest it needed cleaning up.” The ladies laughed, adding their own husband stories, and Jo was glad to see Deirdre smiling along with them, her little snit apparently forgotten.

  Deirdre took off, and the others began to pack up their things too. As Loralee slid photos and papers into separate compartments of her huge tote, she commented, “You know, all Deirdre needs to do to hide her scrapbook is to keep it wherever her dogs are.”

  Mindy grinned. “I know, she told me she has a special room just for her two Afghan hounds, because Alden doesn’t care for them much. She really dotes on them, though. Have you seen those dogs? They’re gorgeous.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen her walking them. Or maybe they were walking her, they’re so big. And all that long fur. She must have to get them groomed constantly.”

  “Humph. Expensive pets,” Ina Mae sniffed. Jo knew Ina Mae volunteered at the local SPCA, and had once or twice commented negatively on buying dogs from breeders when so many were available for, and needful of adoption.

  “Yes,” Loralee agreed, “but of course, that might be their appeal to Deirdre.”

  Jo looked at Loralee, whose normally sweet face seemed to have turned just a bit sour. Was there some history between Loralee and Deirdre that Jo wasn’t aware of? Perhaps Carrie would know. And if Jo ever got to the point of enough leisure to look into the finer details of her workshop ladies’ lives, she just might ask. There was still so much to learn about this newly-adopted home of hers.

  “Thanks, Jo,” Mindy called, on her way out. “Another great night.” Ina Mae and Loralee followed, and Jo soon turned off the lights, locked up, and headed to her quiet home. She planned to heat up something from her freezer, watch a bit of late-night TV, and try to sleep, before tackling another day of “keep Jo out of jail” activities.

  <><><>

  Jo woke early the next morning, restless dreams pulling her out of the deep oblivion where she would have preferred to remain, at least a while. She had vague memories of Russ Morgan arresting her for a rusted tail pipe, Mike trying to fix it with his acetylene torch, and Kyle, in his clown suit, running with an umbrella through the sprinklers on the golf course.

  The thought of sinking back into that mess with all the emotions they stirred outweighed any lingering urge to remain curled around her pillow, and Jo crawled out to face the day. Wrapped in her terry robe, she padded into the kitchen and started coffee, then pulled out orange juice from the refrigerator. She debated over bagels or cereal until she remembered how her new-ish black slacks had begun to bag at the waist. She reached for the bagels, and grabbed a tub of cream cheese along with them.

  Jo never remembered having a problem with keeping on weight before – quite the opposite, in fact. But the recent stresses piled atop the older ones were taking their toll. That, plus hating the bother of cooking for one, and the pounds were slipping away. She would have to do something about that, or the face that looked back at her from the mirror would soon turn haggard. In other words, it would reflect more accurately how she felt inside, lately.

  Enough of that, she ordered herself briskly, a vision of Ina Mae surfacing as she did so, and dropped a split bagel into the toaster. She clicked on the small television to chase away the gloomy thoughts with cheery news anchor chatter, and poured out a glass of juice.

  Jo carried her breakfast into the living room, set her coffee on an end table, and bit into her cheese-slathered bagel as she settled
into the sofa. A spring in the cushion of her second-hand sofa poked uncomfortably at her, and she wriggled over, wondering how she had failed to notice the wayward wire at purchase time. Had it possibly been those artistically arranged pillows clustered so densely as to prevent her sitting there? And that couple had seemed so nice.

  A voice on the screen talked about traffic tie-ups in the Baltimore area, as graphics depicted roadways, and flashing red arrows pointed to trouble spots. What a relief, Jo thought, to at least not have to face that kind of daily commute. She swallowed the bagel bite and took a careful sip of her hot coffee. The TV station went to commercial, and Jo worked the remote to switch stations.

  A navy-suited African-American man appeared on the screen, welcoming her to the Channel Four newsbreak, and Jo set down the remote and picked up her bagel. She listened to his smooth voice announcing the day and time, then moving on to talk of Mayor Phelp’s latest battle with his Washington D.C. city council members. With barely a pause for breath, the newsman moved on to his next story.

  “Police are looking into the death of a young woman in Hammond County last night.”

  Jo dropped the bagel to the plate.

  “The woman’s body was discovered around eleven p.m. at the base of a rocky cliff, as her dog’s frantic barking caused a neighbor to investigate. Police are uncertain at this time if the death was accidental, saying only that they are investigating. This is the second violent death in a few days in the small town of Abbotsville. The woman, twenty-two year old Genna Hunt, was....”

  Jo could hear her phone ringing, but barely. She knew she should be moving, reacting, but all she could do was stare at the television screen, which had changed in a flash to show a weather map. No rain was predicted, and the temperature at Reagan National, it seemed, as well as much of the surrounding area, was presently 61 degrees, and climbing. Not an unusually chilly morning for this time of year.

  But Jo felt cold, very cold.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jo took another sip of tea. Her shivering had finally stopped, some time after Carrie had arrived at her place and insisted on bringing her back to her house. The kids had been sent safely off to school, unaware of the latest incident, but Dan was home.

  “Dan knows people in fire and rescue,” Carrie had explained. “He might be able to find out more than was on television.”

  “I just keep seeing her face,” Jo complained, setting down her cup, “that delicate face. And it keeps asking me, ‘why didn’t you do something?’”

  “Jo, what could you have done? Don’t do that to yourself.” Carrie edged a plate of oatmeal muffins closer to her friend, although Jo had already refused twice. When at a loss of what to do, Carrie seemed to say: eat.

  “What did you find out,” Jo asked Dan, who came back to the kitchen after making his phone calls.

  “Not too much. She was found at the base of the Highpoint Road cliff, which is a pretty steep drop down to Abbot’s Creek, about thirty, forty feet, and rocky. It’s not far from the Wildwood apartments, where you said she lived. It’s a nice area, and a lot of people walk their dogs there because of the view, plus there’s plenty of grass and shrubs.”

  “She walked her dog at eleven o’clock at night?”

  “She was found then. We don’t know when she actually went out. They only found her because a neighbor came by and recognized the dog which was barking frantically. An odd thing, though....” Dan rubbed his chin.

  “What?”

  “Her dog was tied to a tree near the edge.”

  “Tied that way when they found it barking?”

  Dan nodded.

  Jo looked at Carrie, who seemed to be having the same thought. If there had been any faint hopes that this had been an accident, the secured dog erased them.

  “I have to talk to Lieutenant Morgan,” Jo said.

  Carrie nodded, but Dan looked surprised. “What? Why?”

  “I have to tell him what I know about Pete Tober. I hate to, because I still hold out the hope that he’s a decent guy, but this is just too coincidental.”

  “Wait a minute, you lost me. Who’s this Pete Tober and what does he have to do with this?”

  Jo hesitated. Obviously Carrie hadn’t told Dan about Pete. She glanced at her friend who shrugged somewhat guiltily.

  “Jo’s been checking out Pete,” Carrie explained, “who is Genna Hunt’s boyfriend. She had heard that he was pretty possessive, had a temper, and didn’t at all like Genna playing love scenes with Kyle. He was just one possibility that showed up as someone who might have, ah, killed Kyle.”

  “I wasn’t convinced Pete was capable of that,” Jo hurriedly put in. “But Genna’s death, I’m afraid, puts things in a whole different light. I have to talk to the police about it, although I hate throwing Pete to the wolves.” Even though it might help clear me, she thought, but didn’t say. She found herself hoping, in spite of herself, that Pete would have a solid alibi.

  Dan’s face began taking on a dark, burgundy color. He looked from Carrie to Jo, and back to Carrie. “Charlie’s been hanging around a place filled with people like this?”

  “Dan, that’s not fair!” Carrie protested. “There’s plenty of decent people —”

  He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “No more! He’s out of there.”

  “Dan, we should at least wait until we know —”

  “I know all I need to. He doesn’t go there any more. The whole thing was a stupid waste of time anyway. Tell Charlie when he gets home, Carrie. No more.”

  Dan pushed a kitchen chair on his way out of the kitchen, and Jo soon heard the front door slam behind him. She looked at Carrie who leaned her face into her hands, then spread her fingers to look at Jo. She didn’t have to say anything. Jo knew what she was thinking. This was going to really hurt Charlie.

  <><><>

  Jo had difficulty getting in to talk to Lieutenant Morgan. For once he didn’t seem anxious to talk to her. Not that she was all that happy to speak with him, but she knew she had to. The thought of dragging Earnest C. Ainsworthy along – he was still on retainer – crossed her mind, but only long enough to produce a pained laugh.

  The Abbotsville Police Department bustled with activity and tension, but, unlike at Hanson’s garage, Jo was not allowed to simply blend in and soak up what was going on. She was kept, and watched over, in an outer area where all she could see were stone-faced patrolmen hurrying in and out, and all she could hear through the briefly opened doors were sounds of phones ringing and the babble of raised voices. Finally, someone ushered her into Morgan’s office.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Jo said, noting that Morgan looked as though he hadn’t slept overnight.

  “You had something to tell me?” he asked, a busy man getting right to the point.

  “It’s about Genna Hunt.”

  Morgan’s tired eyes flashed alertly. “Yes?”

  “I thought you should know about Pete Tober, her boyfriend. He’s shown signs of a violent temper along with jealousy and possessiveness of Genna. I hate to say it, but I’m very concerned he might be involved in her death.”

  “You’re saying you think Miss Hunt didn’t fall, but that Pete Tober pushed her?”

  Jo winced. It was what she was saying, but it didn’t mean she liked it. She nodded. “It could have been accidental. Perhaps they were arguing and he grabbed her too hard. She might have pulled away and rushed off blindly, plunging over the edge in the dark.”

  “Tober would still be responsible, though, wouldn’t he?” Morgan was examining her intently.

  Jo nodded.

  “How do you happen to know so much about Tober and Miss Hunt? As a newcomer to this town, I mean?”

  Jo had anticipated this question, wondering how best to answer it without sounding like a stalker.

  “I’ve been to a couple of the playhouse’s rehearsals, since Rafe Rulenski asked me to work on part of the costume and set designs. I’ve spoken with Genna during breaks. She confided a
bit about her problems with Pete.”

  “Oh? So you were a friendly shoulder to cry on?”

  “There was no crying. We just talked.”

  “I see. And Tober, did he talk with you as well? Tell you his side of it?”

  “No, Lt. Morgan. I didn’t mean to imply I was an intermediary of any kind. I simply learned a few things about Pete from Genna. Plus I overheard them argue, and he certainly came across as a controlling boyfriend. Others have mentioned his temper, and I’ve seen it myself.”

  “He threatened you?”

  “No.”

  “You heard him threaten Miss Hunt?”

  “Not exactly. But I heard him argue with her on the phone, and insist on her agreeing with him. When she didn’t, he was visibly upset, kicking things around and such. You can ask his co-workers at Hanson’s garage. They saw it too.”

  At Morgan’s questioning look, Jo explained. “I was there for an oil change on my car.”

  “I see.”

  Morgan was silent for several moments, and Jo waited uneasily. What was going through his mind? Did he believe her?

  “I hoped it might have been an accident,” she continued, “but her dog being left tied to a tree didn’t make any sense for that scenario.”

  Morgan, who had been focusing on his clasped hands, snapped his head up. “How did you know about the dog?”

  “I, ah, from a friend. He knows people who had been at the scene. Why?” Jo recognized that look, the one that said he was one step away from putting her behind bars. “Look,” she said, standing up, “I just thought you should know what I learned about Genna. What you do with it, I guess, is up to you.”

  “We’ve already questioned Pete Tober. It was difficult to fully understand him through the high degree of grief he appeared to be suffering. But we did learn he was working late last night, at the garage, and he wasn’t alone. That’s been verified.”

  “Oh!” Jo felt a mix of surprise and relief wash over her. “Well, I’m glad for that, at least.”

  “Now, I have a question for you.” Morgan’s eyes bored into hers, oddly stirring up feelings of guilt in Jo where she knew there should be none, which quickly made her angry, and extremely sorry she had come. She braced for his question, knowing what to expect, but it still stung like a slap when it came.