Greta pointed to another name on the list. "This one was near here as well. I ate there the first time I visited three years ago."
"Can I borrow your laptop?" I asked her.
"Certainly."
"And Jamie, can you grab one of the Baker Valley brochures for me?"
Every business in town had a stack of free brochures on their counter that listed all the local businesses. It included a map of downtown Bakerstown as well as coupons. What I wanted was the map.
I fired up the laptop as Jamie grabbed the brochure.
"What are you thinking?" she asked as she handed it to me.
"That there's a pattern here. Maybe Janice had a deeper purpose. She was a very wealthy woman after all. And, no offense to you Greta, but some people get or keep their wealth by playing pretty dirty."
I looked up each of the people on the list her detective had made and had Jamie make a mark on the map for each one. Turns out they'd all been small business owners. And, more interesting than that, they'd all had businesses that were clustered in a four-block area of Bakerstown that included our café.
"Well, that solves that mystery. It looks to me like Janice Fletcher was trying to ruin the businesses in this area. But now the question is why." I closed Greta's laptop and gave it back to her.
"I think I may know." Greta dialed someone on her phone and proceeded to have a long, detailed conversation in German. When she hung up she nodded. "Yes, I know."
"And?"
She pointed to an area on the map to the right of the four-block section we'd identified. "This area here, Janice Fletcher owns. And this area here," she pointed to an area on the other side, "she also owns. My husband tells me that the two areas she owns are too small for big development. But if she were to own it all, she could build a big resort. Or condos. So she ruins these businesses in hopes that the owner of the land sells."
"Who owns the land?" I asked.
"Mason Realty. This is why Janice Fletcher cannot just buy the land. They will not sell to her. She is a Baker, yes?"
"So she tries to ruin every business instead in the hopes that they'll eventually declare the land worthless and sell, even if it's to her."
Greta nodded. "And she has succeeded very well, yes? Many businesses have failed because of her. My husband says the Masons are very close to wanting to sell this block of land."
"They are?"
"Yes. He has made an offer himself."
I sat back, stunned. "What happens to us if they sell?"
"If someone can acquire enough land to build a resort, your store would be torn down."
Jamie and I stared at each other. What would we do then? I shoved that thought aside. Right now what mattered was finding Janice Fletcher's killer. I'd worry about the destruction of all my hopes and dreams after I was sure I wasn't going to prison.
"So now we know why Janice Fletcher targeted us. And we know who else might have wanted her dead. But which of them would have done it?"
"There are names we must add to this list." Greta took a pen and in a scrawling script she wrote, Mason Maxwell, Deborah Mason, and Melinda Maxwell at the bottom of the list, her m's looking much more like w's.
"Mason Maxwell?"
"He is the sole male Mason heir under the age of eighty-five. I do not picture his grandfather getting out of his wheelchair to kill Janice Fletcher and throw her down the stairs." She crossed out the names of Deborah and Melinda. "The women are both old as well. They could not do this."
"But…Mason's my lawyer."
"And he's nice," Jamie added.
Greta shrugged. "When money is involved, people are not so nice, yes?"
Just when I was starting to like the guy, too. I looked at Jamie. "What do you think? Could Mason have done something like this?
"No. Don't be ridiculous. It was not him." She stepped away from me. "I should really get back to things."
Before I could say anything more she'd fled back into the café.
I stared at the map. "Mason Maxwell. I mean…It kind of fits. He definitely has a reason not to like Janice Fletcher."
Greta nodded. "One more thing. My husband, he tells me, Mason Realty is no longer considering offers on the property. They are instead looking to buy the land that Janice Fletcher once owned."
"So we're still in danger of being torn down."
"Yes. And…Mason Maxwell has more of a motive than just his business being ruined."
"What?"
"Janice Fletcher would not sell him her properties just like he would not sell her his, but Janice's son does not care about these things."
"He inherited both plots of land? Or at least he will?"
She shook her head. "No. My husband says her nephew, Peter Nielsen, he inherited this plot of land. Her son, Mark Fletcher, he inherited this plot of land." She pointed out each of the plots of land on the map.
"Has the son sold yet?"
"No. I do not believe so. The will was just read today. It was quite the disappointment."
"How so?"
"Ms. Fletcher, she left all of her estate, except for the two plots of land, to her cat, Pookums."
"What?"
"Patsy Blackstone, you know her? She will take care of the cats and live at Ms. Fletcher's home and pay for the expenses from a trust."
"Could someone develop this area with just the one plot of land? Or do they need them both?" If they needed them both then the barkery was still safe.
"Yes. One would be enough."
"So if I want to protect the barkery, I need to convince Mark Fletcher to sell to me."
Greta nodded. "This would work, yes. But do you have this money?"
"Not yet. But if he'll sell to me, I'll find it."
First, though, I had to figure out if my lawyer was the killer. As far as I could tell, he had as much motive as I did, if not more.
I squeezed Greta's arm. "You're wonderful, you know that? Thank you so much for your help. If you ever need my help, all you have to do is ask." I stood. "Come on, Fancy. We have plans to make."
Chapter Twenty-Five
I called Mason Maxwell and asked him to meet me at my grandpa's house. I figured even if he was a cold-blooded murderer he still wasn't a match for my grandpa and his shotgun. (Which thankfully was no longer kept in his truck, but was still not secured in a gun safe like I would've liked it to be.)
Plus, I needed to get a look at his shoes. If they had two rounded sections on the bottom, then it was quite possible he really was the murderer. And to think he'd seemed so nice and helpful lately. Well, two could play that game.
"I have some meetings this afternoon," he told me. "Can this wait until tomorrow?"
"We're having tacos for dinner, if you'd like to join us," I told him. "I have a good idea who the killer might be. Or at least, why they killed Janice Fletcher."
There was a long pause on the line.
"Jamie's going to be there, too," I added.
"She is?"
"Yeah, she loves Taco Tuesdays."
That was a lie. She'd never been over for Taco Tuesdays, but he didn't have to know that.
"Okay. Can I bring something? What beer does your grandfather drink?"
Beer? Mason Maxwell was going to bring beer? "He's always happy with Coors."
I wasn't, but I was going to have a hard enough time explaining to my grandpa why I'd invited Mason Maxwell to dinner, I didn't need to make it worse by suggesting some microbrew my grandpa would refuse to drink.
As soon as I hung up from Mason Maxwell, I called Jamie. I knew she'd agree to come to dinner because she was my best friend and best friends sit through awkward dinners together.
"Hey. I need you to come over for dinner tonight."
"Maggie. I have plans."
"With Don?"
She didn't answer.
"Don't tell me you have plans with Luke."
"Okay, fine. I won't."
"Well, cancel them. I need your help. I asked Mason Maxwell to come over
for dinner."
"Why?"
"Because I need to get a look at his shoes. If he's the killer, I'll know from his shoes. Also, I want to see how he reacts when I tell him about what Janice Fletcher was trying to do and why. I need to know if he already knew."
"Maggie. Call Matt. Tell him what you suspect. Let him deal with this."
"No. I'm doing this myself. Don't you get it? If I don't find the real murderer, I am going to jail. So, please, help me out here?"
"Fine. See you at six."
"Thank you." I'm pretty sure Jamie didn't even hear it, she'd already hung up. That's okay. She was going to be there and that's what really mattered.
When I pulled into the driveway there was a car I didn't recognize parked there. But I soon found out who it belonged to: Lesley Pope. As you might recall she was the very nice former librarian who was "just friends" with my grandpa but who had quite the history with him and probably would have been more than just friends had their circumstances been different. But Lesley was married. To a very nice man who'd given my grandpa a second chance when he got out of prison. A man she still loved dearly even though he was in the final stages of Parkinson's.
"Lesley. How are you?" I was genuinely pleased to see her. After the news that she and my grandpa had a regular lunch date had made the rounds of town there had been a bit of a rough patch. My grandpa wouldn't say much about it, but it seems some of Lesley's husband's family had been less than pleasant about what they saw as a betrayal of her husband.
It would be nice if the world weren't so judgy judgy, but it is. Fortunately, both my grandpa and Lesley also had the love and respect of a lot of people who had stepped up and defended them, so while there might be some lingering resentment and some whispered comments still, most of the nastiness was past.
"I'm doing well." She squeezed my hands. "It sounds like you've hit a bit of a rough patch, though."
"You can say that again. But I think I know why someone killed Janice Fletcher. And I think I even know who it might be."
I sat down at the kitchen table and showed Lesley and my grandpa the map. "See how everyone she targeted was a small business owner in this little section of town? Greta told me the land there is owned by Mason Realty. But the land on either side was owned by Janice. I figure she was trying to drive us all out of business so she could buy the land up cheap."
My grandpa nodded. "Makes sense. And sounds like something Janice would do. But that doesn't explain who would want to kill her for it."
"Mason Maxwell, of course."
My grandpa snorted. "You think Mason Maxwell is the killer."
"I'll know tonight. Matt said they found a footprint at the scene and it was some sort of men's loafer with two circles on the tread. So when Mason Maxwell comes over for dinner, I'll take a peek at his shoes, and then I can know for sure."
"Maggie May. Mason Maxwell is not a killer. And you are not going to go peeking at his shoes while he's over here for…Why is he going to be over here?"
"Oh, I invited him to dinner. And Jamie, too."
"You what?"
"I wanted to see how he reacted to what I'd found out. And I figured inviting him to dinner would make him let his guard down. Plus, I think he likes Jamie. So he'll be all distracted by her and I can make him slip up and tell me something that confirms that he's the killer."
Lesley patted my grandpa's hand. "Let it go, Lou. She needs to feel like she's doing something to clear her name." She turned to me. "Although, for the record, I will tell you the killer is not Mason Maxwell. I have known him since he was little and he is not a murderer. Especially not for money."
"Well, we'll figure that out tonight, won't we? By the way, do either of you know Mark Fletcher?"
I explained to them why I cared and what I was hoping to accomplish.
My grandpa crossed his arms. "Assuming you convince him to sell, what are you going to pay him with, Maggie May?"
"Well…I do still have my 401(k)."
"That's for retirement. You can't go spending that now. You'll have nothing left when you need it."
"I can make it up later."
My grandpa pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maggie May. You don't understand what it's like to get old. You aren't going to have the same energy you do today. You aren't going to be able to work sixteen hour days without batting an eye. And jobs aren't going to be as easy to come by as you get older. You need to save now to survive later. Your generation doesn't have pensions like mine did. And let me tell you, social security is not all it's cracked up to be. That is if it's even around when you get to my age."
I took a deep, deep breath. I knew he hadn't approved of my quitting my good-paying job and opening the barkery. No one had. But I'd done it and now I was too far in to quit. "Grandpa. I hear what you're saying and I appreciate your concern. But I have come too far with the barkery to quit now, so if some ten thousand dollar investment can save us, I'm going to make it. I'm not saying you're wrong. You're probably absolutely right. But I have to do this."
He pushed away from the table. "I better start on dinner seeing as we're going to have a full house."
Lesley patted my arm once more. "And I best get going. From what I hear Mark hasn't done well since his divorce. He'd probably be happy for the money. But you're going to want to get to him before Mason Maxwell does, because there's no family loyalty in that boy. He'll sell to the highest bidder or the quickest cash."
"Thank you, Lesley. It was good to see you."
I hung back and let my grandpa walk her to the door. They stood close, talking softly for a few moments. I didn't want to spy, but I couldn't help it. Love is so complicated sometimes.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It's an interesting thing, preparing to serve dinner to someone you suspect of murder. Fortunately, tacos don't really require a lot of sharp objects. No steak knives, for example. Not that I could really picture Mason Maxwell jumping up from the table, knife in hand, and brandishing it at us while he talked about his evil plan.
One thing I did know—no way was Fancy going to get me out of this if he did do something like that. He intimidated her far too much. But I still had my grandpa. I'd put the odds at ten to one in his favor with pretty much anyone, especially some country club lawyer.
As I helped my grandpa set the dining room table with my grandma's china, he shook his head. "I really wish I'd known earlier that Mason Maxwell was coming to dinner. I would've fixed something other than tacos."
"I don't know. I'm kind of looking forward to seeing how he handles them."
I've never managed to eat a taco in my life without the shell breaking apart at some point and spilling the insides all over my hand. (We're a hard-shell kind of family. None of that tortillas-as-shells in our household.) Me, I just lick the greasy juice off and keep going. Mason Maxwell? Well, I guess we'd see.
I wondered if he'd try to eat them with a fork. How would that even work?
I filled a matching set of red, green, and yellow earthenware condiment bowls with all the fixings for tacos—tomatoes, lettuce, store-bought salsa, shredded cheddar cheese, and, my favorite, sour cream—and placed them on the lazy Susan in the center of the table. My grandpa added a plateful of taco shells and we stepped back to survey our preparations.
(We were eating fancy. Normally we'd just leave everything in its container and serve ourselves up in the kitchen and then plop down on the couch with our TV trays.)
Jamie was the first to arrive. She'd brought Lulu with her and I had to chase Fancy and Lulu into the backyard before they took out the entire living room. We stood at the sliding glass doors and watched them tumble one another.
"I can't believe you think Mason could do something like this," she said.
"Well, he does have motive."
"So do you."
"But he also has the shoes."
She scoffed. "Oh, okay. That's a good reason to think a man's a murderer. Because he doesn't wear shoes you like."
; I would've argued further but the doorbell rang. I jumped half out of my skin at the sound. No one ever used the bell, they just knocked. "Well, that's the man of the hour. You want to get the door while I grab the taco meat?"
"Sure."
I grabbed the taco meat from the kitchen while Jamie went for the door. Our version of taco meat is basically ground beef cooked up with one of those packets of seasoning you can buy at the store, but don't knock it, it makes for a yummy meal.
Fancy and Lulu almost bowled me over as they raced through the kitchen to see who had arrived. Fancy immediately skidded to a halt when she saw Mason Maxwell. Lulu, not quite aware that she was facing an "alpha" ran right up to him and jumped on his pressed khakis.
"Down." He firmly sat her on her butt and stared her down for a second until she stopped wriggling. "Good dog."
As soon as Mason Maxwell stood back up, Lulu was up and running again, but she at least avoided him.
"Mr. Maxwell. Welcome," I said.
"Mason, please. Remember after that interrogation that we are on a first-name basis now."
"Right. Of course."
He held up a six-pack of Coors bottles towards my grandpa. "Mr. Carver. I brought some beer to go with those tacos. They smell delicious, by the way."
"Call me Lou. And much appreciated."
My grandpa took the beers while I gestured at the table. "Well, have a seat guys. No sense letting the food get cold."
As they took their seats, Fancy wandered closer to the table, still keeping a wary eye on Mason. I'd put myself opposite him and she happily settled in next to me as my grandpa handed around bottles and sat down himself. Lulu, taking her cue from Fancy, sat down next to her.
"Do you feed Lulu people food?" I asked Jamie.
"No."
Well, that was going to make things interesting. I'd just have to be a little sneakier than usual.
Mason paused for just the slightest second when he realized no one was going to give him a glass to pour his beer into, but then he took a swig straight from the bottle and set it on the table. He and Jamie had a little back and forth over who should serve themselves first and I felt a little stab of guilt that I'd invited this man over under false pretenses. He clearly had a thing for my friend. And as much as I wasn't a huge fan of his uptight manner, he was most definitely a better choice for her than Luke. (Assuming he wasn't a murderer, of course.)
A Crazy Cat Lady and Canine Crunchies Page 11