by Nancy CoCo
I swiped up the pictures of the guy who we thought might be Josh Spalding and turned my phone toward Mr. Beecher. “Do you recognize him? I mean, under the zombie makeup?”
Mr. Beecher pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his front pocket, placed them on his nose, and looked at the picture carefully. “I’m not sure.”
I scrolled to a second picture. “What about here?”
“It’s the same man, that’s for sure,” he said. “The same wedding ring. Quite unique. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”
I pulled the phone back toward me and looked at the ring. It was unique. It was silver, with a diamond and a blue stripe in the center of the band. “That’s a big help, actually. I was so busy trying to identify the zombie, I didn’t look closely at the ring. But someone will know who wears a wedding band like this.”
“Why do you need to know who he is?”
“Because he’s wearing the same costume as Anthony Vanderbilt.”
“The dead man.”
“Yes. I think this guy was the intended victim, and I need to find him and let him know that his life might be in danger.”
“Well, there are only a handful of fellows with that build and hair color,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll narrow it down soon.”
“I certainly hope so,” I said.
Chapter 11
After walking Mal, I wasn’t sure I would have enough time to make my own pinch pot. Luckily, Haley was still walking everyone through how to make simple pots, and I was able to catch up. They were so much fun to make. After we made the ones Haley helped us with, she distributed pencils so we could create our own designs. When we finally finished, we put our artwork on the demonstration table and then washed up for a late lunch. I was surprised at how resilient the seniors were. Most of the members who were at the card tournament two days ago were here. Some wore their cuts, scrapes, and bruises with pride.
“I’ve never been in an explosion before,” Mr. Merger said. “Hope to never be in one again.”
“I heard the culprit used the box to get us out of the building and then pulled the trigger on explosives in the roof,” Mrs. Anderson said.
“That’s the report in the paper,” Mr. Merger replied. “Don’t know why anyone would want to blow up a bunch of old people, though, so it rings true.”
“Maybe it was someone who wanted a new building,” Mr. Worther suggested. “We’ve been asking for improvements for years, and the city council never gets around to funding them. Gotta fund them now.”
“Well, that would certainly be one way to get their way with the counsel,” Mr. Merger said. “Who in here was wise enough to think to blow up that old tinder box?”
“No one in here blew up the place,” Frances said, giving him her best teacher stare.
He crossed his arms over his chest and grumbled a bit. “Well, someone decided to blow the place up. All’s I’m saying is that the insurance money will help us rebuild, and I bet the new building will be even better.”
“Better stop talking like that, or the cops will think you did it,” Douglas admonished him.
“As if I could climb a ladder,” Mr. Merger said.
“You can’t even climb out of your easy chair,” Mr. Worther teased, and the room erupted in laughter.
“Well, the word is they’ll release the building to the city in a couple of days, and the city will have to hire someone to haul off the debris.”
“Out with the old, in with the new, I guess,” Mrs. Anderson said.
I brought coffee and fudge around while Haley cleaned up and packed her stuff away. Some of the seniors started to straggle out. As I distributed each cup, I brought out my phone and asked if they knew anyone who wore that type of wedding band. But senior after senior shook their head.
“Ain’t never seen nothing like it,” Mr. Worther said. “Nice, though.”
“Well, thanks everyone,” I said. “Haley will fire these and bring them back tomorrow. We’ll finish the pots then, at the same time as today.”
“Yes, we’ll work on glaze and glass placement next time,” Haley said.
Mal was worn out from all the excitement by this time. She curled up in her bed by the receptionist desk, which conveniently placed her out of the way as we worked on cleaning up. Douglas began to break down tables while Haley carefully packed the pots to take back to her studio. They were very small pots and more flat than round so that it would be easier to see the glass bottoms, so they weren’t too difficult to pack up safely.
“What can you do with such a small pot, anyway?” Mrs. Tunisian asked as she watched Haley pack up the pots.
“They make good ring or change holders,” Haley said.
“Won’t the glass bottom break?”
“Oh, no. They will be quite durable.”
“Huh,” Mrs. Tunisian said, then turned to me. “Show me those pictures again. Maybe I can guess who it is.”
I showed her the pictures.
“Nope, still don’t know,” she said. “Looks like the killer was wrong to bomb the senior center. We really don’t know anything this time. But now we’re going to work to find out. Come on, Eleanor,” she said to Mrs. Elliot. “Let’s get going.”
I watched as the two old ladies left. They were the last to go, other than my staff and Haley. Douglas was already hauling the tables back down to the basement, so I grabbed a broom to sweep up. Having a bunch of seniors in the lobby was about the same as hosting a bunch of kids, I thought with a smile. Things got spilled.
“I’m ready to go,” Haley said. She picked up her box and grabbed the wagon handle. “See you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Haley. Thanks again for coming.”
It took another half an hour to restore the lobby to its former self. By the time we were done, it was nearly 3 P.M. I stuck my head out the back door and looked up on the fire escape from my apartment to see if Mella was in the alley or up on the landing, ready to come home. She wasn’t.
“What’s the matter?” Frances asked.
“Mella hasn’t come back today,” I said. “I think I’ll take Mal and go look for her again. Are you okay with holding down the fort until I come back? You can text me if the construction crew needs anything.”
“Are you sure she didn’t slip back in with one of the seniors?” Frances asked. “You know how tricky she can be.”
I smiled at the memory of how Mella first came into the McMurphy. While Rex was walking in, she had slipped past him and run through the lobby and up the stairs to the guest rooms. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look inside first.” I made my way up the floral-carpeted stairs to the second floor and saw that the hallway was freshly painted pastel blue. It was very welcoming. Elmer Faber, the foreman of the construction crew, had done his homework and matched paint colors to the original paint very well. My heart swelled with a sense of pride at restoring the McMurphy to its original beauty. I think Papa Liam would have been proud.
I stuck my head into the first room and found two guys finishing up painting a rose color on the walls. “Did anyone see a cat today?”
“No, ma’am,” the one guy said.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m allergic to cats,” the second guy said. “If one was nearby, I’d be breaking out in hives.”
“Wow.” I drew my eyebrows together in concern. “I have a cat. Will you be all right working here?”
“I’ll be fine unless the cat gets into breathing distance,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve got an EpiPen if I need it.”
“I’ll try to keep her in the lobby or the apartment,” I said. I went looking for Elmer Faber. He was in the final room, talking with a guy who was adding finishing touches of lavender paint. “Hi, Elmer. How are things going?”
“We’re on schedule,” he said, coming toward me. “All the rooms and the hallway have fresh paint. We’re going to let that set for forty-eight hours before we touch the walls again. Which means tomorrow will be a short day. We’ll come and move the fu
rniture out of the back half of the rooms so that we can sand the floors and stain them.”
“Great. Hey, I didn’t know one of your guys is allergic to cats. I’ve got Carmella. He said it shouldn’t be a problem, but I need to know my cat won’t put anyone in danger.”
“He isn’t that allergic,” Elmer said. “Haven’t seen the cat, though. Are you sure you have one?” he joked.
“I’ve got one, but she seems to be missing.”
“Funny thing about cats is they always show up. You’ll find her.”
“I hope so.”
“Oh, I just remembered. The supplies came in to start on the roof. Is it okay if I bring my roofing crew in starting tomorrow? They’ll have to go up through your apartment.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’m usually up by five. Just don’t hire anyone allergic to cats or dogs, I’ve got both.”
“Deal,” he said. “We’ll be in around seven.”
“I’ll be ready.” I did a cursory check of the remaining rooms for Mella, but as Elmer said, she wasn’t there. Next, I tried the third floor, but all of the rooms were closed and locked. So was the utility closet. I opened it, just in case, but my cat wasn’t inside.
That meant she was either in the office or not home yet. I climbed the last set of stairs and peered inside my office. Dust motes floated through an afternoon sunbeam, the only movement in the room. My heart squeezed a little at the emptiness, an unexpected pang at the fact that Jenn wasn’t sitting at the second desk. I really needed to get used to her absence. She seemed to be happy with her new job in Chicago. I couldn’t wish her back. What kind of friend would I be then?
Mal came up the stairs looking for me. I opened the apartment and went straight to the back door. There was no sign of Mella. “Come on, girl,” I said to Mal. “Let’s go for a walk and see if we can’t find your sister.”
I put Mal’s harness and leash on and texted Frances that I was going out. She texted back a thumbs up emoji. Frances had taken to texting like a duck to water, and she loved sending emojis and pictures. She had even used an app to create a cartoon version of herself and often sent messages that way. It always made me chuckle.
Locking the back door as I left, I checked to see that the security cameras I installed were still covering the back of the building. They were. Which meant that anyone who studied my security footage would know who leaves my apartment at 4 P.M.
Mal and I searched a mile in each direction from the McMurphy. The pup had a field day sniffing the ground in some spots she didn’t normally get to visit, but my fingers were crossed that she didn’t find anything—not with her nasty habit of turning up dead bodies.
When we walked by the senior center, I couldn’t help but stop and stare at the rubble. I glanced around, trying to figure out where the bomber might have stood when he hit the detonator. The center was surrounded by bed-and-breakfasts and other small business. Thank goodness nothing else caught fire.
A thought occurred to me. I decided to check out every bed-and-breakfast in sight of the center. Officer Brown had most likely already done that, but Mal and I could go meet neighbors just the same. Right?
First I went to the Dragonfly Inn, across the street and two houses down from the senior center. I’d met the proprietor once three months ago at a chamber of commerce event. She was around Papa Liam’s age, but she had mentioned that she hoped I would take over the business. I thought for a moment and pulled her name out of my memory vaults: Agnes James.
The front porch of the Dragonfly was painted in blue, green, and white, and the house itself was white. The ceiling of the porch was blue, as was the decking, while the window trim was green. These old Victorian cottages were often called painted ladies because of the vibrant colors their architectural elements were painted in an effort to help them stand out.
The Victorians were a bit ostentatious, I thought.
“Come on in—the door is open!” a woman shouted from somewhere inside. I opened the door to a main foyer with a receptionist desk in the corner. A large staircase ran up one side, and the doorway to a parlor opened up on the other. The bed-and-breakfast was cheerfully decorated in a 1980s-style interpretation of Victorian splendor.
“Hi, it’s Allie McMurphy,” I called. Agnes came out of the parlor with a smile on her face. She was a small woman with pale blue eyes and hair dyed a deep black. The color was a bit startling—she was nearly ninety, after all. She wore a pair of polyester slacks and a pressed tee shirt.
“Oh, Allie, so nice to see you again. When was it we met?”
“A few months ago,” I said. “Sorry that it’s taken me this long to come visit.”
“Nonsense,” she said, waving me into the parlor. “I know you’ve been extraordinarily busy. What with taking on the McMurphy and solving all those crimes. I don’t know how you do it. Frankly, just the thought of all you do exhausts me.” She sat down in a side chair and left the couch to me. I tried to keep Mal from hopping up on her furniture, but she gestured that I shouldn’t worry about it, and Mal eagerly cuddled up to me. “Can I get you something to drink? Maybe water for the dog?”
“Thank you, that would be lovely.”
“I’ll be right back.” She got up and disappeared behind me. “This is a good time for a visit. No guests until tomorrow.”
I held Mal in my lap and petted her. The parlor was quite pleasant, not what I had expected from a bed-and-breakfast operated by a woman in her late eighties. The gentle sound of spa-like music came from speakers tucked away in the corners, encouraging me to relax.
She came back into the parlor with a tray. It contained a hot pot of water, two mugs, a wooden box holding a variety of teas, and a small silver bowl filled with fresh water. “Here’s a secret. I had them add a hot water spigot next to my kitchen tap. That way, I can entertain guests at a moment’s notice and not have to wait for a kettle to boil. Isn’t that wonderful?” She set the tray down on the end table and placed the silver bowl for Mal just off the blue and white rug that anchored the couch and chairs.
I let Mal down to get a drink and sniff around. “That is a great idea,” I said. “I put in a coffee bar, and I leave out one pot with hot water on demand for the same reason.”
She offered me the selection of teas, and I chose a green tea with honey and lemon. “Good choice,” she said. “It is a bit nippy outside. I hope a hot beverage takes some of the chill off.”
“Thanks,” I said, waiting as she poured the water into my cup and added the tea bag before handing it to me. I settled back into the couch with my mug and saucer, and she got right to the heart of my visit. “My guess is you want to ask if I know anything about the senior center explosion.”
I felt the heat of a blush rush up my cheeks. “Yes,” I said. “And to visit with you. You weren’t at the card tournament, but I’ve seen you at the center before.”
“I had a doctor’s appointment that day. Sad to say, I missed all the excitement. I did have a structural engineer come out and check the Dragonfly for any damages. Have to think about these things when you’re a property owner.”
“I didn’t even think about how the blast might affect surrounding structures into this morning.”
“I don’t think our culprit thought about it, either,” she said, pausing to take a sip of her Earl Grey tea. “You were thinking he might have been inside one of the surrounding buildings when he detonated the explosives.”
“Yes,” I said. “He had to be nearby to see that we had all left the building before he blew it up. There would only be a small window of opportunity from the time we cleared the building to the time the bomb squad came out. Whoever did this had to have been nearby. And they weren’t on the street—we would have seen them.”
“So you think they had to be inside a nearby business.”
“It does seem logical.”
“Well, not mine, dear. If anyone was here, they would have been knocked off their feet. The explosion moved my place half an inch off of its foun
dation, believe it or not. The engineer said that it was fine for now, but I should keep an eye on any further settling. If I see any cracks, I’m to call right away.”
“Can they move it back a half an inch?”
She laughed. “They probably could, but I’m sure they would prefer to simply shore it up. Either way, it will cost me and my insurance company plenty of money. I’d like to get my hands on the culprit, that’s for sure.”
“I was wondering if perhaps you might recognize someone in a picture.” I put down my mug and pulled out my phone, thumbing through the pictures until I got to one I’ve been showing around to everyone. I handed her my phone. “This man was dressed exactly like Anthony Vanderbilt. I think Anthony was killed by mistake.”
“Oh dear. That would be terrible.” She put on reading glasses and had a long look. “I mean, it is terrible about Anthony, but it would be even worse if the killer murdered the wrong person. I don’t think I recognize him, though.” Handing my phone back to me, she asked, “Do you think the killer was the person who blew up the senior center?”
“I don’t know.” I put my phone back in my pocket. “In a way, I hope so. That way, we’re only looking for one person. But in another way, I hope not.”
“Because that means that you might be responsible.”
“Yes. If I thought for one minute that my asking the seniors to help solve cases had anything to do with the bombing . . .”
“Well, there is no way you are responsible, dear,” she patted my knee. “Drink your tea.”
I took a sip. “Do you know anyone who wears a silver wedding band with a blue stripe and a diamond?”
“Sounds pretty distinctive.”She finished off her tea, putting down her mug and tapping her chin. “It also sounds familiar. I would try Benson’s Jewelry. I think they had a set like that in their window a few years back. They might know who bought the set.”
“Oh my goodness, that’s brilliant. Thank you!” I put my mug on the tray, got up, hugged Agnes.