String of Lies

by Hughes, MaryEllen

  Jo had been lucky enough not to have encountered Alexis during the stressful days following the Craft Corner’s grand opening, since Alexis had been confined with a bad case of poison ivy. She remembered that there had been more than one speculation at the time that Alexis might have been slipping about in places she shouldn’t have, and more than one joke concerning the setting of that noxious plant at the boundaries of one’s property.

  “Hi, Jo,” Alexis sang out as she walked through the door looking deceptively nonchalant, a red scarf tied jauntily at the neck of her navy jacket. “Oh, I see you’ve put out some Valentine things. Goody!”

  Alexis headed for the new display of red papers and white lacey doilies, looking for all the world as though they were all she had on her mind. But Jo knew better, having listened to the woman’s prying gossip—always camouflaged as neighborly concern—on more than one occasion. She braced for what was sure to come.

  Alexis oohed and aahed over various items, picking them up and setting them down, tossing out innocuous comments on the weather, then finally said, “Wasn’t that a shame what happened to Parker Holt?”

  Jo considered pretending ignorance but doubted she could ever be a good enough actor to fool Alexis, whose hawk-like eyes watched closely.

  “Yes, it was,” Jo agreed, walking away toward the back of the shop, aware at the same time that any attempt at escape was fruitless. As the Craft Corner’s proprietor, she was essentially a captive audience to whoever decided to drop in. Plus Alexis had timed her visit well, in the quiet, early morning hours when few distracting customers appeared.

  “I heard you found him,” Alexis said, following behind.

  Jo sighed. Of course Alexis had heard that.

  “Yes,” Jo said, then, to head off the next question she knew was coming, added, “but I have no idea how it happened. I’m sure the police will let us all know as soon as they’ve figured it out.”

  “I just hope it doesn’t turn out that it was due to some fault, totally inadvertent, of course, on the part of Dan Brenner, which would certainly be bad for him. You know, like maybe a heavy light fixture fell from the ceiling because it wasn’t secured properly. Something like that.” Alexis’s eyes locked on Jo.

  “I didn’t see anything of that sort, Alexis. In fact, I saw very little. Just enough to know I should call for help. Then I kept out of the way.”

  Alexis frowned. “You didn’t overhear anything, I mean, after the police came? Surely there was plenty of talk going on. And you were there for quite a while.”

  Alexis knew that? Jo immediately pictured the woman hovering as close as she could weasel herself to Parker Holt’s house, probably frustrated at the garble of police-radio talk rendered unintelligible by distance, and enviously spotting Jo up close to the action. Jo was surprised Alexis hadn’t followed her to Carrie’s place and demanded an immediate accounting. What a restless night this gossip must have spent, waiting hours to pry for information.

  “I don’t know anything, Alexis,” Jo repeated. “I’m waiting to find out, the same as everyone else.”

  Alexis’s brow puckered and she wandered off among the Craft Corner’s shelves. She spotted the sign Jo had made for Sylvia’s bags that sat next to an empty space waiting for the next batch to arrive. “Ramirez!” she said in an ah-hah! tone. “Wasn’t that the name of the man working with Dan Brenner?”

  “Yes. It’s his wife who’s making these bags. They’re becoming quite popular,” Jo added, hoping to turn Alexis’s thoughts in a different direction. “I should be getting more in very soon. They’re being snapped up so quickly that if you’re at all interested I’d suggest—”

  “That poor woman,” Alexis plowed on, sticking firmly to her track, and not looking particularly sympathetic despite her words. “She must be worried sick, just as Carrie must be, what with their husbands being questioned by the police, and all.”

  Yes, but darned if I’ll let you in on that. Jo set down a picture frame she had picked up, and faced Alexis. “Knowing Carrie,” she said, “she’s probably just as anxious about Parker Holt’s widow. Wouldn’t you say that’s where the concern should be right now?”

  Alexis stared back at Jo through narrowed eyes, her face telling Jo she had caught the message. She wasn’t, however, going to go down without a fight. “Why yes,” she said, “normally that would be the case.”

  Jo’s eyebrows shot upward before she could stop them, and Alexis’s lips curled in satisfaction. She turned and sauntered back to the front of the shop. “I wouldn’t say Mallory Holt is your normal widow. Whatever grief she’ll be feeling, she’ll have plenty of consolation. And I’m not just talking about the money.”

  The shop’s door jingled, and Ina Mae walked in. Jo saw the two women’s eyes meet, and felt the temperature of the store drop ten degrees.

  “Why, good morning, Ina Mae,” Alexis said, her voice a tad less confident.

  “Alexis.” Ina Mae gave a brisk nod.

  “Oh my, look at the time!” Alexis exclaimed, glancing at her watch and quickly pulling on her gloves. “I have at least a dozen stops to make before lunchtime. Good day, ladies.”

  Alexis bustled out of the shop, Ina Mae watching her progress with a look of one whose acid reflux had suddenly returned. When the door closed, Ina Mae turned to Jo.

  “Trying to get information?”

  “One of her better efforts,” Jo acknowledged.

  “Phhht,” Ina Mae blew disgustedly. “A dozen stops to make. I can guess what their purpose is.” Ina Mae shook herself. “I came by thinking you might want to run over to be with Carrie. I’d be happy to watch the shop for a while.”

  “Thanks, Ina Mae. But I’m not even sure where Carrie is right now. I’ll just have to wait til she lets me know.”

  “Well, best she keep active, I suppose. Her boy’s doing all right?”

  “Charlie won’t be jumping hurdles for a while, but I think he’s able to manage on his own reasonably well.”

  Ina Mae nodded, then shook her head. “Let’s hope nothing more befalls that family.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “By the way, are you still planning on running that beading workshop? I’ve signed up for it, and Loralee too, but we’d understand if you want to postpone.”

  “Oh, the workshop! I’d almost forgotten that it’s tonight. But that’s fine. I have my lesson plan ready.” Jo picked up the sign-up sheet near her cash register to see who had signed up. The first few names were her regulars: Ina Mae, Loralee Phillips, Javonne Barnett.

  “Who’s that last one?” Ina Mae asked, peering over her shoulder. “I can’t quite read it. Verna something?”

  “No, that’s Vernon. Vernon Dobson.”

  “Vernon? The man I used to buy my standing rib roasts from?”

  “I imagine so. He said he was a retired butcher and that he’s been looking for a more creative hobby. He said he tried woodworking, even making a dollhouse for one of his granddaughters. But it didn’t do it for him.”

  “Well, isn’t that interesting.”

  Jo smiled, remembering what Carrie had said when she first heard of Vernon signing up for beading: “Could be there’s a whole new customer base waiting to be tapped, Jo. Maybe you should offer workshops for things like handmade tie clips and belt buckles.”

  Jo had quickly countered with, “How about you teach a ‘Crochet Your Own Motorcycle Cover’ class?”

  They’d then tried to top each other with, “Beaded Rearview Mirror Frames,” and “Macramé Fishing Lures,” “Stamp-Decorated Golf Scorecards and Bowling Score Sheets,” their fun ending only when two sober-faced customers entered the shop.

  Jo sighed. She missed having Carrie around already. The craft shop without Carrie, she was finding, was too much like a necklace missing half its beads—still colorful, but definitely unbalanced.

  “Well, give me a call if you need me,” Ina Mae said. “You have my cell phone number?”

  Jo didn’t, not having ever had a
need to reach Ina Mae in a hurry. She dug her own cell phone out of her purse and entered the number in as the older woman recited it, mainly to be polite since she didn’t foresee a need for it. But one never knew.

  Ina Mae took off, and other customers drifted in. Jo took care of them, glad to keep busy, and even happier that few mentioned Parker Holt. During a lull, a man tentatively entered the store, coming over to Jo who was refilling her craft paints.

  “Mrs. McAllister?”

  Jo looked up to see a slim man dressed in a worn quilted jacket and work pants. He pulled a knit cap off his head.

  “Otto said you had a job for me?”

  “Oh, you must be Randy Truitt!”

  The man nodded, his pale blue eyes moving uneasily from her face to the floor and back.

  Jo held out her hand, saying, “How do you do?” apparently surprising him since he hesitated a moment before taking her hand and giving it a shake.

  “Yes,” Jo said, answering his question. “I have these shelves in the back room that are sagging badly.” She led the way back to show him the problem. “I’ve been storing fairly heavy boxes on them, which apparently became too much. Do you think you can shore them up somehow? Or maybe replace them?”

  Randy stepped carefully around Jo’s stock, which had been unloaded from the worrying shelves and now covered much of the floor. He made a quick examination. “Sure. Just this section here?”

  “I think so. The others seem okay.”

  Randy looked around, tested a few, then nodded. “Yeah, they seem all right. This shelf here I’ll have to replace, but a couple of the others just need better bracing. I can get what I need and start work on them tomorrow afternoon. That work for you?”

  “That works just fine for me. Now about the cost . . . ?”

  Randy threw out a few numbers and discussed the necessary materials, which, as it demonstrated his familiarity with the subject at hand, raised Jo’s confidence level. Her immediate impression of the man had been, despite Ina Mae’s referral, not exactly stellar. He added on his labor cost and gave her a very reasonable total. Jo nodded.

  “That sounds fair. We’ll see you here tomorrow, then, Randy.” Jo held out her hand once more, and this time Randy took it with more assurance. Then he pulled his cap on and strode out the door, his posture noticeably straighter than it had been on entering.

  Jo smiled, relieved to have one of her problems on the way to resolution. She wondered what Randy’s situation was, exactly. Ina Mae had said something about his being unable to quite get things together, which to Jo meant his life had had its ups and downs, and not all due to things beyond his control.

  Well, she’d see how he did on this job, and if she was satisfied, might throw a little more work his way as her finances allowed. Dan, with his “almost-family” free labor was obviously the easiest on her budget for skilled jobs, and Charlie, at his teenaged rates, for the simpler ones. But both were definitely unavailable for the time being, so she was grateful to have connected with Randy.

  Jo was still nodding over this little satisfaction when the door opened and Carrie came in along with a burst of cold, January air.

  “Oh, Jo!” Carrie said, stopping just inside the door. Her face, normally so serene, was flushed and strained. Jo had only seen it this distressed one other time—after Mike’s accident, when Carrie had rushed to New York to be with her.

  Jo drew a quick breath. “What? What is it?” she asked, hurrying over to Carrie, and fearing the worst.

  “Jo, it wasn’t an accident at all. Parker Holt was murdered!”

  Jo’s first reaction of shock was immediately followed by a guilty feeling of relief. Surely this let Dan off the hook? Terrible as it was, at least it didn’t have anything to do with him. But Carrie obviously wasn’t sharing that feeling.

  “Tell me the rest.”

  Carrie took a deep breath, shaking her head over the wrongness of it all.

  “They’re looking at Xavier.”

  Chapter 6

  Jo flipped the “Closed” sign on the Craft Corner door, turned the lock, and drew Carrie to the back of the shop.

  “Okay, what’s this all about? First of all, why do they think it’s murder?”

  Carrie sank into Jo’s desk chair. Now that she’d spilled the worst, she seemed at a loss for words. Jo poured out a mug of coffee and put it into Carrie’s hands.

  “Here, drink.”

  Carrie did, pulling off her gloves and opening her jacket in between sips, her head continuing to shake with disbelief. Jo leaned against her desk and waited.

  “Oh, Jo. It’s all so awful.”

  “Start from the beginning, Carrie. What exactly happened to Parker Holt?”

  “He walked into a trap.” Carrie took another sip, then choked on a new thought. “Jo! It’s so lucky you never went down those steps after him. You might have been killed too!”

  “What! Why? What was going on?”

  “Holt was electrocuted. It was all set up, waiting for him.”

  Jo was trying hard to be patient. “What was, Carrie?”

  “I’m sorry. I know I’m being incoherent. It’s just so . . .” Carrie cleared her throat, possibly with the hope of straightening the distressing jumble in her head as well. “The handrail, along Holt’s basement stairs. It was metal. Wrought iron. Someone stripped one end of an electrical cord and wrapped the bare copper wire around the lower part of that rail. Then they plugged the other end of the cord in.”

  Jo winced.

  “Dan explained it to me,” Carrie continued. “He said that alone wouldn’t have been enough to kill the man. But there was also a crowbar on the stairs near Holt. The crowbar had a battery jumper cable attached to it that ran to a nearby copper water pipe. The police are speculating that the person who set this up planted the crowbar on a lower stair. Holt probably reached down to move it out of his way, while automatically holding on to the wired metal railing for balance. The electricity would have surged right through him, killing him instantly.”

  The image Carrie presented was chilling. “And that could have killed me too?” Jo asked.

  “Well, I suppose only if you’d grabbed hold of both things, the rail and the crowbar. It’s something to do with grounding. The electricity needed the connection to the water pipe to run all the way through the body. The paramedics, though, were lucky. One of them spotted the wires right away.”

  Jo pictured the danger she might have blundered into, shivering, but had a question. “Why wouldn’t Holt have spotted the wires?”

  “Dan wondered about that too. But he said there was a rag near the crowbar. It could have been thrown over the end of the crowbar where the wire was attached, covering it. Even then,” Carrie said, looking up questioningly, “Holt probably wouldn’t have been looking for something of that sort, would he? I’d think he would’ve just seen the crowbar left sloppily in his way as he was trotting down the steps, and would have grabbed at it in annoyance.”

  Jo nodded. She could envision the man who had been described to her as a perfectionist reaching impatiently for the tool and thinking only of the blistering earful he would later give Dan and Xavier. Which reminded her of the major cause of Carrie’s upset.

  “Why do they suspect Xavier particularly?” Jo asked. “From all you’ve told me, he doesn’t sound like anyone that evil.”

  “No, absolutely not! He’s the gentlest person you’d ever meet. It’s completely ridiculous.”

  “But they have some reason?”

  Carrie sighed. “They do, but if they really knew Xavier they’d know it just doesn’t work. I should be glad they’re not suspecting Dan—and believe me, I am! But Xavier—”

  The handle of Jo’s front door rattled as someone obviously didn’t believe Jo’s “Closed” sign, and Carrie looked over at it worriedly.

  “Never mind,” Jo said. “They’ll come back.”

  “I hope so.” Carrie shifted out of her jacket. “I just came from Sylvia’s place. She
told me the whole story. The poor thing’s trying really hard to hold it together, and in her state—the baby and all—I’m really worried about her. Anyway,” Carrie said, clearly trying to hold it all together herself, “as far as why the police are concentrating on Xavier: I don’t know if I mentioned Sylvia used to clean houses?”

  “Actually, I think Sylvia mentioned it.”

  “One of the houses,” Carrie said, “was Parker Holt’s. Remember Dan said Holt popped in a lot to check on his work in the basement? Well, he also managed to stop in a lot when Sylvia was scrubbing and vacuuming too, and it wasn’t just to check on her work.”

  “Uh-oh.”