Breaking the Mould

by Victoria Hamilton

  “Well, thank you very much for that,” she said, a brittle edge to her tone.

  “But it doesn’t mean I believe every word you say, either.” She sighed. “People hide things for all kinds of reasons. I started wondering, why was Evan ready to sell the ancestral Nezer home one minute, then decided to keep it and move into it the next. It seemed odd, and no matter what you think, Bella could not have influenced that. Now, I know he is involved in changing things at the college . . . trying to up the prestige. The party Friday night was all about that. He had the new money from the movie rights, but why use that on a house he hadn’t seemed to care about before?”

  Sarah’s gaze was blank.

  “The house certainly does have an air of prestige, especially with all the money Bella has thrown at it in the last month or so. Maybe that is becoming more important to him now. I wondered if he was being paid off by the college president to help in the transformation of Wolverhampton College from a third-rate college to a more prestigious institute. They were using Evan’s book and new stature as a conservative voice to attract funding via a think tank, which would have attracted major donors.”

  “Okay. What does that have to do with me?”

  “Because you would not like him using money from your feminist books being made into movies to finance that kind of cause, would you? Evan was the living, breathing antithesis of everything you believe, wasn’t he?”

  She sighed and sat back against a crocheted pillow. “Look, not to be rude, but I don’t have time for—”

  “It made you deeply angry, I’m guessing.”

  She swiftly raised her eyebrows. “Angry enough to kill him? Is that what you’re hinting? I thought you said you believed I didn’t do it.”

  “I said it and meant it. I don’t think you killed Evan.”

  “Look, I don’t want to be rude,” Sarah said, a troubled expression on her face. “But there is no reason on earth why I should be answering questions from you. I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of, and Ben hasn’t either. If I were you, I’d be looking for who else Evan had angered lately. He was always launching lawsuits; why hasn’t anyone mentioned that?”

  She asked Jaymie to go, as she had somewhere she had to be. Jaymie was out the door and on her way to her SUV in two minutes. Sarah was rattled, but why? She wasn’t at the meeting where the holly was mentioned, but Ben was. Was she so sure Ben didn’t kill his father? What else could the note mean? Was Jaymie wrong? Were mother and son in on it together? Was that why the death was staged the way it was?

  Sarah had raised one interesting point, something that had slipped Jaymie’s mind until she said it. Evan Nezer was known for launching frivolous lawsuits, one after another. His court costs never amounted to much because being a lawyer, he represented himself, from what Jaymie understood, so all he paid were filing costs. As far as his lawsuits against Dickens Days had gone in the past, judges had dismissed the suits as frivolous, but who else had he sued lately? She got out her phone and texted Nan. If anyone could find out, it was the Wolverhampton Weekly Howler’s reporter.

  Jaymie returned to downtown Queensville and parked near the Emporium. Crime tape was still up at the diorama, fluttering disconsolately in the breeze, which was stiffening. An officer sat in a car nearby. Another police car pulled up and Detective Vestry emerged, then headed up the side stairs to Jacklyn Marley’s apartment. Uh-oh. Well, she’d told Jacklyn she couldn’t keep her computer hacking a secret, but it seemed that she hadn’t been the first to tell them that anyway.

  Jaymie sat in her vehicle, trying to figure out what was going on. As she had reasoned, though it appeared that the planning for Evan’s murder had been done before the party, it didn’t follow that the events that took place there had no bearing on it. Maybe there was something in the evening that confirmed or refuted her Sarah and Ben theory. She didn’t want it to be true; she liked Sarah, and didn’t want Valetta’s good memories of her to be tainted. But liking her or not had nothing to do with guilt or innocence.

  There were other suspects in her mind, and she needed to eliminate them before coming to any conclusions. She couldn’t spend all day at it either; she had responsibilities. She checked her watch and got out her phone. It was three. She had time to make one more quick trip.

  Wolverhampton College was a collection of long, low three-story red-brick buildings, all connected by glassed-in walkways and joined by a central administrative building on a large patch of land on the other side of town. She had been expecting to wait until the next day but had texted Austin to see if he had discovered anything. He might have, he texted back. She drove into the campus—she knew it well, having attended a few lectures and seminars there in the past—and parked in the visitors’ lot.

  Wolverhampton College shared social accommodations, like the library, food court and recreational facilities, with the adjoining technical college. Austin met her in the large glass atrium at the back, overlooking a terrace, where a Starbucks and a Tim Horton’s competed for the coffee dollars of stressed and weary students. They both got steeped tea and retreated to the huge wall of windows that overlooked the terrace and garden, now expertly put to bed, shrubs and bushes wrapped in burlap and flower beds mounded with mulch. Outdoor tables and chairs that normally dotted the terrace had been removed to storage, leaving only cement benches around the perimeter separated by planters, garbage cans and smokers’ receptacles. Two smokers were huddled on one bench, shivering as they puffed.

  “I only have half an hour before my last class of the day, event management,” he said, tearing open a packet of sweetener and stirring it into his black tea.

  “I won’t keep you long. What have you learned?”

  “I asked around, and talked to one of my good friends here; she runs the school paper and has been doing some digging on the college administration. There is definitely something up with President Belcher, she says, because the woman was an academic star once; she was provost at a very well-known upper-crust college . . . you know, one of those New England tony places where everyone is called Biff or Skippy or Heather.”

  Jaymie smiled. “Go on.”

  “She left there abruptly three years ago. Her official statement was she was leaving to spend more time with her family.”

  “That’s what they always say.”

  “Political code-speak, right? And it almost always means some kind of scandal hushed up. My friend thinks her downfall was sexy in nature, but c’mon . . . you’ve seen her. Even her nighties are probably tweed.”

  Jaymie stifled a chuckle. Austin’s cattiness was funny, but she tried not to be malicious about other women. “So, what do you think?”

  “Financial tomfoolery or academic fraud.”

  “Like embezzlement, you mean, or her background isn’t what she said it was?”

  He nodded. “Maybe. My friend is checking those things out. It should be pretty easy to uncover, right?”

  “I have a connection or two myself. I may set my own bulldog on it,” she said, thinking of the Howler reporter she had set on a task. “I know of someone who is particularly good at sniffing out corruption and tracking down its origin.”

  “Speaking of which . . .” He gave her an embarrassed look. “I needed to trade something for info. So I offered you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, well, your connections. She’d like an introduction to your editor at the Howler.”

  “Oh, okay. That’s actually not a problem.”

  “Thank goodness,” he said, hand over his chest. “I thought I had overstepped.”

  “No big deal. I’ll be happy to introduce your friend to Nan. She’s always willing to help a budding reporter.”

  “Goody. I’ll keep digging too, sweetie.” He jumped up, sloshing his tea. “Air kisses, and I have to run.”

  Jaymie sat and finished her tea. This seemed like a long shot, running after President Belcher as a possible suspect. It felt like in Sarah, Ben, Bella, Jacklyn, Erla and Finn she
had much better suspects. But Chief Ledbetter had always said it didn’t pay to become wedded to one theory.

  She got home in time to meet Jocie’s school bus. Shannon was taking a study break in the kitchen, poring over her econometrics text, which was loaded in e-format on a tablet. She made notes the old-fashioned way, though, with pen and notebook, saying she remembered stuff better when she wrote it down. Jocie was thrilled to sit at the same table and do her own homework.

  Jaymie had filled her slow cooker with all the ingredients for loaded baked potato soup that morning, so all she had to do was add a few last-minute ingredients; dairy didn’t do well in a slow cooker, so she added sour cream for the last half hour or so. She cut up a crusty loaf of bread, crumbs shattering and falling to the floor as she sliced into the loaf, and grated some cheddar to sprinkle over the soup. Hoppy and Lilibet raced over and cleaned up the bits of food on the floor.

  Who needed a broom when you had animals?

  She invited Shannon to stay for dinner. Helmut headed home, so it was just Jakob, Jaymie, Jocie and Shannon. Shannon picked Jakob’s brain about the Christmas tree business, and his plans to extend the “crop” to nursery trees for sale to landscaping companies. They talked about the holiday store they hoped to have up and running by next Christmas, and how they would be providing space for local crafters in one section to sell their wares.

  After dinner, Shannon stayed to help with the first evening of tree sales. Jocie’s two best friends and schoolmates had told her they’d be coming by that evening to get their choice of the best of the trees, so after dinner Jaymie made a big pot of hot chocolate and some hermit cookies, experimenting with a vintage recipe and some fun add-ins, like candy-coated chocolate bits and salted toffee chips. She was definitely going to use the hermit cookie recipe for her column, but she thought maybe she’d make it more holiday-festive with a couple of changes. After baking, the whole cabin smelled like Christmas, and it made her smile.

  Jocie’s friends Gemma and Peyton arrived with their families to purchase their Christmas trees. Peyton’s family, though Jewish, decorated for the holidays, choosing to view it as a form of harmless socialization. Jaymie’s stepdaughter showed them how she had decorated her treehouse with brightly colored lights. Then they drank hot cocoa and ate cookies at the picnic table near the tree field while the adults chatted and loaded the trees they had picked. A few other locals came by for the first tree sales of the season, but by eight they were closed and everyone, including Shannon, had gone home.

  Jocie was exhausted and slightly feverish. Jaymie came down from putting her to bed and confessed her fears to Jakob. “She’s a little warm,” she said, plopping down on the sofa beside him. “I hope she’s not coming down with anything.”

  “We’ll see in the morning. How warm is she?”

  “Very slightly.”

  “It’s probably a normal variation, then,” he said. “We’ll make sure she’s well hydrated in the morning, and see.”

  “How did you get to be such a smart dad,” Jaymie asked, curling up next to him and putting her head on his shoulder.

  “I had to learn, and quickly, after Inga left,” he said. Jocie’s mother, a troubled soul, had left him and her daughter to return to Poland, where she had died shortly after. He didn’t speak about her often, but made sure Jocie had photos of her mother, and kept in contact with Inga’s family. He and Jocie were going to travel to Poland next summer to visit Inga’s parents for a week. “My mom has so many kids she can tell me almost anything I need to know. Other than that . . . books. Lots of books.”

  “I love that you love books,” she said, twisting her neck to look up at his face.

  “Even if what I mostly read is arborist reports?”

  “Even so.”

  “How are you doing, about your diorama being ruined?”

  She sat up straight and turned on the sofa, sitting cross-legged. She told him about talking to the police, and how she hoped to have it dismantled before the Friday start to Dickens Days.

  “How is Bill doing? Have you heard?”

  “Dee texted me,” she said, of her friend Dee Stubbs, who was a nurse. “He’s had all the tests and workups. It wasn’t a heart attack, they don’t think, but angina. It’s serious, though. Val says angina is a symptom of heart disease. He’s going to have to take it easier. He’s out of the hospital and staying with his daughter—who is a nurse—for a few days.”

  “Are the police any further with the murder investigation?”

  She told him all that had happened that day, things she hadn’t had a chance to say since they were thrown into the tree lot business right away when she got home.

  “Are you relieved you gave them the note?”

  She nodded. “And that I’ve talked to Detective Vestry.” She shared what the detective had said about thinking she was smart.

  “Of course you are,” he said, touching her hair, pushing a lock back off her cheek and tucking it behind her ear. “So . . . do you think Sarah was involved in the murder or not?”

  Jaymie frowned and grimaced. “I don’t know. My heart says no, but . . . she had so many reasons. This murder is personal. Someone hated him.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t narrow it down a whole lot. The man made it his life’s work to irritate and anger as many people as possible.” He yawned and stretched. “I’m beat. Time for bed for this lad. I’m going to be up and gone early to the casual labor office in Wolverhampton,” he said. “We need a couple of more people to work the tree lot. I think I’m beginning to burn the darn candle too far down on both ends.”

  “I agree, Mr. Müller. Let’s call it a day.”

  Fifteen

  Jocie was fine the next morning after a good night’s sleep. Jaymie got the little girl off to school and saw Jakob away to the temp agency to meet a couple of guys looking for casual labor. An emergency meeting of the Dickens Days committee had been called, so Jaymie dressed warmly and headed in to Queensville. She parked by Queensville Fine Antiques and walked over to meet Haskell and the others in front of the Emporium. It was a frosty morning with a leaden sky, so Jaymie jammed her hands deep into her pockets, her breath coming out in steamy puffs.

  “We need to figure out what to do if the police won’t allow us to take down the diorama by Friday,” Haskell said. “We can’t have the site of a murder as part of our festival!”

  “But we can’t postpone the festival any longer either,” Mrs. Bellwood said.

  “I agree,” Imogene Frump chimed in, burying her hands in a colorful knitted muff. “We’re already into December. We have events planned for the heritage house and attendance is always better after we give out flyers at the Dickens Days festival!”

  “And it’s our second best moneymaker of the year, after Tea with the Queen!” Mabel Bloombury, treasurer of the historical society, said. “Every week we postpone, our donations go down, and that leaves us with less cash to use for events during the year.”

  “Hold it, hold it,” Jaymie said, putting up her hands. “It’s just Tuesday. I agree we need a plan in place before Friday, but there is no saying that the police won’t wrap this up and let us take down the diorama well before that.”

  “You need to get busy and solve this problem,” Imogene Frump said, eyeing Jaymie. “You’ve done it before; do it now!”

  Jaymie shook her head. That was the problem with becoming locally famous: everyone expected her to wave a magic wand and come up with the solution. “The police are doing the best they can. It takes time to follow up on leads and do interviews and check alibis. Let’s hope for the best and plan for the worst.”

  “I can’t believe you people are fussing about your stupid festival when my father is dead!”

  Jaymie turned. Ben Nezer was standing just feet away and had clearly heard everything she had said. “We mean no disrespect to you or your father,” Jaymie said carefully. “We have to think of practicalities. I’m so sorry for your loss.” She examined his face; was i
t the face of a killer? Was he overreacting to compensate for guilt?

  “Sorry for my loss!” he snarled, mimicking her tone in a savage way. “What do you know about that?”

  “I am sorry, Ben.”

  “You’re a bunch of ghouls. Spirit of Christmas . . . bah!” He turned and walked toward the Nezer house as the Dickens Days committee members began to whisper among themselves.

  Jaymie ran after him and caught up with him on the other side of the row of pine trees, in sight of the house. She grabbed his coat sleeve, making him stop. He turned and glared down at her. “We don’t mean to be insensitive. But we—the members of the Dickens Days committee—need to make decisions. I’m sure you’re being faced with the same dilemma, you and Bella. You are no doubt having to make plans for your father, a memorial or something?”

  He pulled his arm away. “Not yet. The police won’t release the body. And there are problems. Things we have to work out.”

  “I do feel so bad for you. I mean, the last time you saw him was at the party, right? He was . . . having a conflict with several people.”

  Ben turned and stared at the house, a war of emotions on his face. “I had a complicated relationship with my father, as I’m sure you know. You’ve talked to my mom. She’s mad at me because I wanted to make up with Dad.”

  “What do you mean, mad at you?”

  “She told me to leave her alone, if I wanted to be with my dad so much. But it was weird, because the idea of making up with him came from her originally. She didn’t want me to miss out on that part of my life.”

  “Her idea? Oh.” Questions swarmed into her mind. Why did Sarah want him to make up with Evan? And what did her note mean? What was it she was trying to warn him not to do that night? “So . . . did you stay after the party?”

  “Nah. I was in a hurry to leave. I had . . . I had something to take care of.”

  “So you didn’t stick around? Didn’t talk to your dad or . . . anything?”