String of Lies

by Hughes, MaryEllen

  “Yes, and that’s clearly why the police have zeroed in on him. What we have to do is find someone else who could get into the house somehow.”

  “Mrs. Holt could.” Again, everyone turned to Vernon with surprise.

  “Mallory Holt?” Ina Mae asked. “Yes, of course she could get into her own house.”

  “But I saw Mallory Holt arrive home when I was waiting outside the house, after the police had come,” Jo said.

  “But you don’t know where she was at the time of the murder setup,” Loralee pointed out.

  “No, I don’t. That would be between four and six—after Dan and Xavier left the house together, and before I got there. As far as where Mallory Holt was during that time, I might be able to find out. I imagine she’s been asked that by the police too. But do we know of any reason she’d want to kill her husband?”

  The women looked blankly at each other. Then Vernon spoke.

  “Maybe.” He paused, squirming uneasily on his chair.

  “What?” all four women asked at once.

  “Well, when I had my butcher shop, most of my customers were women, and you know how two ladies running into each other like to talk?”

  The four ladies in the room nodded.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing things, of course, standing right there. But I always made it a point never to repeat what I heard. Customer confidentiality, you know, like with a lawyer, or, as Evelyn tells me, a hairdresser. I knew it could only cause trouble if I ever started, although the temptation often was there, I must admit.”

  “Highly admirable, Vernon,” Ina Mae said, “and we certainly understand your reluctance to break that rule now. However, I’m sure you understand the present circumstances are quite special. Sharing what you know with us would be for the purpose of saving a man from being falsely charged and is far from the realm of idle gossip.”

  Vernon nodded, agreeing. “Mrs. Holt,” he said, sucking in a long breath, “seems to have been unhappy in her marriage to Mr. Holt.”

  “Oh!” Four reactions came out, with varying degrees of surprise and interest.

  “Well,” Javonne said, “that doesn’t exactly knock me over, I’m afraid, Vernon. I mean, if Parker Holt behaved the way Jo says he did with Sylvia Ramirez and who knows who else, Mallory Holt must have picked up on it.”

  “And,” Loralee said, “surely divorce would be her option, not murder.”

  “Unless,” Ina Mae pointed out, “money was a factor. She could have wanted all of it instead of just half. Or she might have feared she would end up with much less than half if Parker got a better lawyer than she did.”

  “A good possibility, then,” Jo said. “So I should learn more about Mallory Holt.”

  “She’s been a very active member of the Abbotsville Women’s Club, president of it, lately,” Ina Mae said. “The other women in it would likely know her quite well. And,” she added, giving Jo a significant look, “Alexis Wigsley is also a member.”

  “Why is that important?” Vernon asked.

  “Alexis,” Jo explained, “was in the shop this morning, looking for gossip to spread. She dropped the hint that Mallory Holt wouldn’t be your typical grieving widow.”

  “Well, there you go, Jo,” Javonne said with a grin. “Just go to Alexis and find out all you need about Mallory Holt.”

  “But I’m afraid you can’t trust everything that woman says,” Ina Mae cautioned. “She likes a good story more than the truth. Whatever she tells you, Jo, you’ll need to find a second source to back it up.”

  Jo nodded.

  “Jo,” Loralee said, “please be very careful when you ask people about Mallory Holt. She could very well be innocent, and if so she could be genuinely grieving. We shouldn’t assume too much just yet.”

  “You’re quite right, Loralee. I promise not to stir up false rumors.”

  “Her uncle’s the mayor,” Javonne reminded them. “Another good reason to tread lightly.”

  “Ah, yes. He showed up at the house even before Mallory Holt did. What is Warren Kunkle like?” Jo asked the group. “Would he be likely to put pressure on our Abbotsville police to solve this murder quickly?”

  Ina Mae nodded. “Warren and Lucy fairly raised Mallory, because her own mother was a widow and an invalid. Mallory was, I believe, fifteen when her mother finally died, but had been living with the Kunkles long before that. Warren thinks of her as his own daughter. He will want to see this case settled quickly, and he might easily convince himself that Xavier is guilty.”

  “All the more reason to find other likely suspects,” Loralee said. “And soon!”

  “There might be a possibility or two right around here.” Jo told the group about Parker Holt’s plans to buy up properties that housed the small shops in the area, including the likelihood that hers would be among them.

  “Oh, that man!” Loralee cried. “He probably wanted to tear down all these beautiful old buildings and put up something ugly and high rent! Why do people always want to change things so drastically? Why can’t what’s been working fine be left in place?”

  Loralee spoke with such surprising vehemence that Jo noticed the others giving her startled looks. Loralee had taken the news that Parker Holt had been murdered much more calmly, and had been sad and concerned over Xavier’s situation, but hadn’t ranted about the injustice of it. Something about Holt’s wanting to bring about change in Abbotsville, however, had struck a chord with Loralee. Jo looked to Ina Mae for a clue, but Ina Mae had begun examining her earring project closely.

  “So,” Javonne asked somewhat tentatively, after a glance at Loralee, “your other possibilities, Jo, are the people who might be losing their businesses because of this buy-up?”

  “Yes, exactly, although I hate to even mention it since these are my neighbors, and all good people as far as I know.”

  “Everyone has a breaking point,” Ina Mae said as she clipped off the end of a coiled wire on her earring. “I think you’re quite right, Jo, to include these businesspeople as possible murder suspects.”

  “Well, good luck, Jo.” Javonne began packing up after a glance at her watch. “I don’t know if we narrowed down the list much for you. I’d sure hate to be someone who had so many people wanting to kill me. But,” she added, “if I don’t get home soon to relieve my mother-in-law of my kids, she just might start a list of her own—for me.

  “Thank you, Vernon,” she said, holding up her new earrings. “I love them. And I bet you didn’t know what all you were getting into when you signed up for this workshop. Beaded Earrings and Murder 101.”

  Vernon smiled, looking a bit dazed.

  “I really didn’t plan to go into all this,” Jo hastened to explain to her newest student. “It’s just that Ina Mae, Loralee, and Javonne were a great help to me with my last problem.”

  “With Jo new to this town, she needed our inside information,” Ina Mae said as she stood up and reached for her coat. “Xavier and Sylvia are newcomers too. You don’t mind pitching in to help them out, do you Vernon?”

  “When I had my shop,” Vernon said, “I might have been asked for a ‘Free Hamburger’ coupon for their welcome basket. This is a whole lot different. But I’m glad to help if I can.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Ina Mae patted his shoulder and handed him his jacket.

  Vernon told Jo he looked forward to the next beading workshop, raised his hat to them all, and left with new jewelry to present to his wife. Jo glanced back and saw Loralee taking the time to close up and stack the boxes of beads for her.

  “Thanks, Loralee,” she said, and the petite woman looked up and smiled sweetly. Loralee was always so considerate, Jo thought to herself. Then she remembered Loralee’s little outburst and how she hadn’t seemed quite herself that evening. With only Loralee and her good friend Ina Mae left, Jo decided to bring it up.

  “Is anything wrong, Loralee? I mean, besides what we were all discussing tonight?”

  Loralee, who had reached for her coa
t, paused for a moment, then slipped it on. “You have enough on your mind, dear. It’s really nothing.”

  “It’s more than nothing,” Ina Mae said, “if it’s causing your stomach to bother you again. You’ve been chewing on quite a few Tums lately, I’ve noticed.”

  Loralee flapped a hand. “That’s just because I’ve been eating too much takeout.”

  “Because you’re too distracted to cook your own good food. Tell Jo about it. She won’t mind.”

  Loralee looked at Jo, who nodded encouragingly, then took off her coat and sat down. “If you’re sure you have a minute.”

  Chapter 8

  Jo watched as Loralee fiddled silently with the chain nose pliers on the workshop table and worried about what she would hear. Was Loralee ill? Did she have money problems? Jo didn’t have much experience with the first, thankfully, but she couldn’t offer much help with the second either.

  “It’s Dulcie, my daughter.”

  Ah. Jo thought of the pained look crossing Loralee’s face when Javonne casually brought up her daughter.

  “She wants my house.”

  “What?”

  “And I don’t blame her. It makes perfect sense, in a way.”

  “Perfect sense to her,” Ina Mae put in. “She’s not thinking what this means to you.”

  “Why does Dulcie want your house, Loralee?” Jo imagined herself demanding the same from her own mother, who was comfortably settled, since Jo’s father’s death, in Florida, and knew exactly the response she would get: Why Jo, dear, what an interesting idea. Let me think on that a bit. And the “bit” would, of course, last for the rest of her life. As well it should.

  “Dulcie and Ken want to move back to Abbotsville, which I’d dearly love too! Having my grandchildren all the way across the country in Seattle and being able to see them only a few days a year is terrible! They’ve all missed living here too and want to come back, but Dulcie explained that the only way they could afford to settle here is if I sell them my house at a very reasonable price. Dulcie hasn’t been working since the new baby, and they’ve had quite a few unexpected expenses gobbling up their savings. Plus Ken wants to start his own tax service and accounting business, which would take time to get off the ground. My house has this nice basement room he could use as his office, saving him the expense of renting one.”

  “But where do they think you would live?”

  “Dulcie thinks I should take one of those new seniors’ condos. They both insist keeping up my house is too much for me at my age, and I have to admit it’s becoming harder and harder. And my knees are starting to give me trouble with the stairs. But, oh, Jo!” Loralee looked at Jo with an expression that tore at her heart. “I love my little house!”

  “Of course you do, Loralee.”

  “And I love working in my garden, sore knees or not. How could I live high up in a condo with no tomatoes to grow in the summer or crocuses to watch for in spring?”

  “Then don’t. Tell Dulcie you can’t sell them your house.”

  “But I really want them all to come here!”

  “It’s a dilemma,” Ina Mae said, nodding.

  Jo looked at Loralee’s sad face. There had to be some kind of solution. “Have you thought about building an addition? A mother-in-law suite?”

  Loralee nodded, her expression turning even more forlorn. “I looked into it, dear, but it can’t be done. My property isn’t big enough. An addition, where we’d have to put it, would come too close to my neighbor’s property and zoning won’t allow that. Alice and Walt, my wonderful neighbors, have said they’re fine with the idea. Their garage is on that side, so it wouldn’t be at all like we’d be overlooking each other’s windows. But the zoning board was firm. It can’t be done.”

  “I’m so sorry, Loralee,” Jo said. “I certainly see why you’re upset, and I wish I had a solution for you. How soon do you need to decide?”

  “They want to know by the end of the month. I promised Dulcie I’d look at the seniors’ condo, and I’ve spoken to the manager there about stopping in tomorrow. But I’m dreading it. I feel as if it would be my first step toward the nursing home.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Ina Mae scolded. “Pheasant Run is an active adult complex, not assisted living. I know a few people living there who love it. I’d go with you, Loralee, except for an appointment for my annual physical, which was set up weeks ago.”

  “The Craft Corner’s closed tomorrow,” Jo said. “I’m planning to go see Sylvia and Xavier, but I’d be glad to go with you to the condo afterward.”

  Loralee brightened. “Oh, would you? Maybe you could give me a young person’s perspective on it. May I go to the Ramirezes’ with you? I have some lovely homemade vegetarian chili in my freezer I’d be so happy to take them. Do you think they’d like vegetarian chili?”

  “If you made it, Loralee, I’m sure they’ll love it.”

  Loralee perked up, and the worry lines in her face eased for the moment, which cheered Jo. Taking Loralee with her to Ramirezes’ would work very well too, Jo thought, since her presence would help distract them from the fact that Jo was looking Xavier over carefully, to judge for herself if he was capable of murder.

  When she got home that evening, Jo fixed herself a hearty ham and tomato sandwich and speed-dialed Carrie’s number.

  “How are things?” she asked when Carrie picked up.

  Carrie sighed. “Dan’s been getting job cancellations.”

  Jo winced but said, “Tell him to hang in there. This will certainly be cleared up, and those people who cancelled will be begging to get back in line.”

  “I hope so. Jo, you know how normally I’m glad when Dan has a little free time, since it means he can work on all the unfinished projects around here. But when it’s for a reason like this . . .” Carrie’s voice trailed off. “I know Dan’s worried sick about being able to keep up our mortgage payments now, not to mention all the other bills that will keep coming.”

  “Carrie, I’m going to talk to Xavier and Sylvia tomorrow. Plus, the workshop ladies—and Vernon—have given me a couple leads to look into and maybe point the police in another direction.”

  “Oh? Like who?”

  “Like—and keep this to yourself for now—Parker Holt’s wife Mallory. We have hints that she might have wanted out of their marriage. Maybe she chose the quickest way.”

  “That would be great, ah, I mean, well you know what I mean.”

  “I do, and I agree, not knowing Mallory Holt yet. Maybe Dan would feel better if he were out looking around too. Do you think he might talk with some of Holt’s employees? Maybe he could dig up dirt on someone with a grudge bad enough to do Holt in.”

  “I think that’s a terrific idea, and I’ll suggest it. Much better to be out and active than sitting and worrying.”

  Jo agreed, aware of how her search for an alternative suspect to Xavier had, to some extent, taken her mind off her own worry about the future of her shop. It didn’t, however, do anything toward making her own problem disappear. If Dan, on the other hand, found someone who would interest the police a lot more than Xavier, Dan’s problems—as well as Xavier’s—would be solved.

  “On another subject, how is Charlie doing?” Jo asked as she picked up her sandwich and bit into it.

  “He’s improving. Fifteen-year-old bones heal faster than yours or mine would. He’ll be moving carefully for a while, but he might be back to school in a couple of days if he feels up to it. Either way, he doesn’t need me around 24-7, so I’ll be back in the shop on Thursday.”

  “That’d be great. The place misses you.” Jo didn’t mention anything about Randy Truitt coming in the next day to fix the storeroom shelves, because she knew Carrie would insist Dan do it. The deal with Randy was set. Plus, Dan would be much better off working to resolve his own problem rather than taking care of her little repairs.

  “Let me know what you learn tomorrow,” Carrie said.

  Jo promised and rang off. She polished off the res
t of her sandwich, then mentally scoured her kitchen for anything good she might follow it with. Cookies? A bit of ice cream left in the freezer? The extra calories shouldn’t worry her, she thought. With all these problems piling up—Carrie and Dan’s, Xavier and Sylvia’s, and now Loralee’s—her shoulders could use a little bulking up.

  Not quite as much as Atlas’s, perhaps, but who knew what else might be coming?

  Chapter 9

  At nine o’clock on a cold Wednesday morning, a traveler’s mug of strong coffee beside her in the console, Jo pulled up to Loralee’s house. Just beep, Jo. I’ll be ready, Loralee had insisted, so Jo beeped. The door to Loralee’s pretty Cape Cod swung open, and Loralee, bulging tote bag in hand, stepped out and waved. She turned to fiddle at some length with what must have been more than one lock, so Jo took the moment to scan the property. It was definitely well kept. The siding was white, the shutters bright, and the windows sparkled in the pale January sun. Loralee’s gardening skills weren’t evident yet, but the rhododendrons edging the house’s foundation looked healthy, with light frost accentuating their dark green leaves.