Chapter 18
Lia and Hayley walked into Gunther Park shortly before five o’clock, dressed in shorts and tees and each carrying a tennis racquet. They spotted two others dressed similarly and followed them down a twisty path they assumed led to the tennis courts.
It was a perfect evening for batting a ball around, comfortably cool, with only a slight breeze—nothing strong enough to carry off high-flying balls or disrupt a straight-line track. Lia breathed in the lightly scented air and felt energized, while at the same time uneasily hoping she wouldn’t look too foolish on the court with her rusty swings. But she reminded herself that their real purpose was to pump Charlotte for information on Adam Mathis. If Lia had to go through a bit of embarrassment in the process, she could deal with it.
“There they are.” As they rounded a curve, Hayley pointed to two fenced-in, side-by-side tennis courts. Several players, a mix of young and old, male and female, had formed a line in front of a fit, dark-skinned man of about thirty in white shorts and tee. Since he was collecting fees, she assumed he must be Terrell, the pro.
Hayley and Lia got in line, both checking out the others for someone who fit Brady’s description of Charlotte Pratt. “I think that’s her,” Hayley murmured into Lia’s ear, nodding toward a thin woman in her mid-thirties with close-cut dark hair. She chatted with the tennis pro as she handed over her payment, then headed off to one of the courts where a couple of players were warming up.
When it became Lia’s turn, she was greeted smilingly by the man. “Hi, you’re new! Welcome.” He introduced himself as Terrell Smith and took Lia’s and Hayley’s names and estimated levels of play. He seemed satisfied that they would both fit in and benefit from the clinic. After accepting their fees, he waved them over to the court and, since they had been the last, picked up his gear and followed.
“Okay, folks,” Terrell addressed the eight players from across the net, where he stood next to a waist-high orange wire basket filled with tennis balls, “line up, and let’s start with forehands.” He demonstrated the proper swing a few times, then hit a ball to the first person in line, a man with thinning hair and a noticeable paunch, who hit it back easily, then hurried to the back of the line as a teen girl stepped forward to take the next ball.
They went through that exercise three times, some hitting into the net—which Lia did on her first try—and some placing the ball nicely onto the far court, each shot drawing comments from Terrell, either complimentary—“Nice!”—or suggesting a way to do better.
They repeated the drill with backhands, Lia finding to her surprise that she did better with that shot and drawing “Good one!” from Terrell. Hayley struggled, never having played much, but she simply laughed at her wild shots and continued to try. Charlotte, Lia noticed, hit nearly every shot perfectly. So well, in fact, that she didn’t look in need of the lessons, though according to Brady she showed up often.
After helping to pick up the balls and reload Terrell’s basket, they learned the next drill would be overheads. That turned out to be a comedy of errors as one player after another flubbed their attempts, hitting wildly or into the net, or totally missing the ball. Charlotte, however, did great. Lia and the others watched in awe as she lined herself up perfectly, pointed upward with her left hand as Terrell had demonstrated, then swung, placing the ball inside the line with such power that it bounced at least ten feet. On one try, Terrell had to jump out of the way as it flew too close to him. Charlotte immediately apologized but drew praise from her near victim.
“That’s exactly how it should be done, people,” Terrell said. “Watch how she does it. Simple motions, guys. You can do it.”
Right. Lia and Hayley exchanged amused, in-our-dreams looks. Lia wondered where delicate-looking Charlotte got her strength. Was more than a little anger powering those shots?
They went through that drill two more times, then returned to forehands, which both Lia and Hayley were pleased to find had improved. Instant results! When that drill ended, so did the clinic, and water bottles came out as the players rested and chatted with Terrell or one another. Charlotte was packing up her bag, which she’d left against the fence, and Lia headed over with Hayley, anxious to speak with her before she took off.
“Hi,” Lia said. “Are these yours?” she asked, holding out a pair of sunglasses. “They were hooked over the net.”
“No,” Charlotte said, holding up the pair she’d taken off.
“I’ll check with the others,” Hayley said, taking the glasses from Lia and trotting off as Lia lingered.
“I was very impressed with your shots,” Lia said.
“Really? Thanks.” Charlotte pulled off her visor and ran her fingers through her short hair. “I’ve been coming a lot. It’s great exercise, and Terrell’s an excellent instructor.” She gave a short laugh. “It’s also pretty good therapy, after certain days at work.”
“Tough job?”
“Not the job so much as the boss.”
“I know what you mean,” Lia said. “I used to love my work at the hospital when I was a nurse. But some of the doctors . . .” She rolled her eyes. “But it helped to remind myself of the pressure they were under.”
“Hah. My boss creates the pressure.” Charlotte paused. “Though I have to admit learning that your partner’s been murdered must be stressful.”
“You mean Darren Peebles? You work in his office? That must have been a shock.”
“It was. Getting through that next day at work was . . . well, we were all zombies. Most of us, anyway.”
“The office stayed open?”
“Oh yes. When I heard it on the news that night, I called Mr. Mathis, expecting he’d say to spread the word that we’d be closed. Nope. Business as usual.”
“Well,” Lia said, adding a note of uncertainty to her voice, “some people deal with grief by staying busy.”
Charlotte’s lip curled. “I wouldn’t say he was exactly overcome by grief.” She zipped her tennis bag closed.
“Oh?”
“They fought like cats and dogs most of the time. And I’d get caught in the middle, more often than not.”
“Ugh. Sounds awful. I happen to be friends, by the way, with Darren’s ex-wife, Belinda. Do you know her?”
“No, they split up before I started working there. She must be one tough lady. I can’t imagine being married to that man.”
“She is, and she acknowledges her mistake freely. What about Mr. Mathis? Is he married?”
“Amazingly, yes,” Charlotte said with a lopsided grin. “And she must be a glutton for punishment.”
Lia cocked her head questioningly.
Charlotte leaned in closely. “There were rumors that something was going on between her and Mr. Peebles.”
“Wow. Do you think Mathis knew about the rumors?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I couldn’t say. But that tells you something about the kind of people they were. I mean, true or not, nobody took that rumor as too unbelievable.” She lifted her bag and slung it over one shoulder. “I’ve got to find a new job.” She started walking toward the gate. “Are you coming next time?”
“I might,” Lia said, following along. “It was fun to get back into the game. I think I learned a lot tonight.”
They left the court, and Hayley joined them outside the gate, having pocketed the sunglasses Lia had offered Charlotte, which were, in fact, her own. The three continued on toward the entrance to the park, making small talk about tennis until Lia spotted two men standing up ahead near a historical plaque. They looked like they were having an animated conversation. As she drew closer, she recognized Professor Brewer, who dominated the exchange—loudly, and with much gesturing.
“We can’t risk that barn falling into the wrong hands like it almost did,” Lia heard him say as he shook a finger in the face of his companion, a shorter man who, unfortunately for him, had ba
cked up as far as possible against the plaque, with nowhere left to go. “You have to talk to Schumacher, convince him that it should be donated to the town. If he won’t do it immediately, he should put it in his will.”
“But, Martin—,” the other man began.
“No buts,” Brewer cut him off. “If you won’t do it, I will.”
The shorter man stammered something Lia didn’t catch, as they’d passed the two by then.
“Was he talking about the craft barn?” Hayley asked softly.
“Yes,” Lia said. “That’s Professor Brewer, whose lecture I went to at the library.”
Hayley rolled her eyes. “Was he that worked up then?”
Lia shook her head, but Charlotte said, “I’ve never seen him not worked up. He came into our office many times. Same subject: the Schumacher barn.” She stopped as they reached a split in the path. “Well, I go this way,” she said, pointing right. “You?”
Her mind still on Brewer, Lia automatically gestured to the left.
“Okay, see you next time. Nice talking to you.”
Lia bid her a good night, wishing she’d thought fast enough to stay with Charlotte. After the woman had gone far enough, Lia turned to Hayley. “Lots to tell you.”
Chapter 19
After they returned from the park, Hayley showered, packed her things, and drove off to Philadelphia and her job. Lia waved good-bye from the curb, then noticed how strangely quiet the house was when she returned to it. She sat down next to Daphne on the sofa.
“Now I’m twice as glad to have you,” she said, running her hand gently over the cat, who blinked up at her. “The place won’t feel quite as empty. And,” she added, “I can talk out loud and not feel like a crazy woman!”
Daphne gave a soft meow, which Lia interpreted as You’re the least crazy person I’ve ever known, though it could possibly have been Can I have a treat?
Lia remembered that the kitchen needed tidying up from the snack she’d put together for Hayley’s drive and got up to take care of that. As she cleaned, she thought about the discussion they’d had on the way back from the park about Adam Mathis. If the rumors about his wife and Darren having an affair were true, Mathis had acquired a second motive for killing Darren Peebles. Hayley was excited about that, but Belinda’s argument that Mathis would have made the death look like an accident or have planted strong evidence pointing to someone else stuck in Lia’s head.
Lia didn’t know Mathis, but he was smart enough to have built a successful business. If he wanted to get rid of Darren, Lia leaned toward him doing so in a way that would shield himself from suspicion. What would be the benefit of murdering his partner in the craft barn and dragging those craft items around him?
She looked down at Daphne, who’d jumped down from the sofa and followed her hopefully into the kitchen. “Maybe the man’s just gone bonkers and nobody noticed yet?” At Daphne’s bright, blue-eyed stare, Lia gave in and reached for the pouch of cat treats. “Just one,” she said, holding it out to the cat. “And don’t think I’m going to fall for that look every time.”
Daphne gobbled her nugget in an instant and gazed back at Lia, who shook her head firmly. But she put Kittie Krunchies on her mental shopping list. The single pouch Jen had passed on to her clearly wasn’t going to last much longer.
* * *
* * *
Thank you so much for taking Daphne,” Jen said when Lia arrived for the Ninth Street Knitters meeting at her house, backing up her words with a heartfelt hug.
“I’m really glad to,” Lia said. “But I hope you won’t miss her too much.”
“I’ll miss her, but it makes a huge difference to know she’ll be happy with you. And Bob is feeling so much better. No stuffiness, no headaches.”
“That’s wonderful.”
The others commiserated with Jen on hearing the news and cheered Lia for stepping up. “I never wanted to say anything before,” Tracy said. “But I think Daphne’s cat dander bothered me a little, too. But I still miss seeing her. She’s such a sweetie.”
“She is,” Lia agreed. “And anyone who wants to is welcome to come visit her—and me, too. Now, let me show you what I’m knitting,” she said, pulling out the beginnings of Paulette’s alpaca sweater from her bag along with the picture of what it would eventually become.
They all oohed over it, reaching out to touch the silky-soft yarn as Lia explained about the special order she’d received from her craft fair customer Paulette. “Funny thing,” she said. “I ran into her a couple of days later, and it turned out she has a connection to the craft fair murder victim, Darren Peebles. It’s through the man she’s been seeing, Todd Mullins, who had a long-running friendship with Darren, though he took pains to describe it as a very loose one.” Lia also shared what she’d been doing on Belinda’s behalf.
“I admire your loyalty to a friend,” Maureen said. “Particularly someone who I, for one, didn’t find very easy to like.” Maureen had met Belinda once on a visit to the craft fair and apparently hadn’t been charmed.
“You unfortunately met her on a bad day,” Lia said. “The barn’s owner had promised to have some needed repairs taken care of but hadn’t followed through, which caused her—and the fair—several problems. I realize Belinda has her rough edges. But I’ve known her a long time. I know the good person she is. She doesn’t deserve the suspicion that’s been thrown on her just because she made an unfortunate marriage choice. Plus,” she reminded the group, “anything that hurts Belinda also hurts the craft fair, and if the craft fair goes down . . .” Lia raised her knitting with one hand and did a thumbs-down with the other.
“That’s right!” Maureen said. “Our amazing knitting outlet dissolves. We should all pitch in to help Belinda.”
“But what can we do?” Diana asked. She paused her work on the raspberry-colored sweater that was on her lap.
“Lia’s doing all the legwork,” Jen said. “We can try to fill in what she’s digging up with anything we know about those people. I can start since I happen to know a little about Annie Bradburn.”
“Who is that?” Tracy asked.
“One of our craft fair vendors,” Lia said. “Her pot was used to kill Darren Peebles.”
“Well,” Tracy said. “That says a lot, doesn’t it?”
“It might,” Lia agreed, “except it was a Saturday night, when everyone’s craft fair items were sitting there. The murderer could just as easily have used one of Zach Goodwin’s honey jars. On the other hand, I don’t know that Zach has any reason to want Darren Peebles dead, whereas Annie does.” She explained about the accident that had disabled Annie’s husband.
After the group’s mixed reactions of distress and suspicion, Diana asked, “Alibi?”
“Home with her family,” Lia said. “The time of death was between midnight and two a.m.”
“Yes, and that’s what my information concerns,” Jen said. All eyes turned to her, and she went on. “Most people would be asleep in bed at that time, right? And you’d naturally assume that of a woman with small children, wouldn’t you?”
“Uh-huh,” Tracy said as the others nodded.
“Well, my next-door neighbor Maddie has a sister-in-law who works the night shift at a 7-Eleven in your area, Lia. Long story why she took the job, but it turns out one regular customer at the place is Annie Bradburn, who shows up often in the wee hours.”
“Why would she do that?” Tracy asked.
“Exactly what I asked,” Jen said. “It turns out they’ve chatted some, since the place is usually pretty empty when she comes in, and the sister-in-law learned that Annie often works on her pots late at night, when her family is asleep and she’s able to focus. She’ll show up at the 7-Eleven when she needs a break and pick up things like milk or bread for the next day.”
“Wow!” Tracy said.
“Did Annie stop in the night of t
he murder?” Lia asked.
Jen shrugged. “The sister-in-law didn’t work that night.”
“But she might have,” Diana said. “I mean Annie might have. Or she might just as easily have gone to the craft fair barn. The woman doesn’t really have an ironclad alibi anymore, does she?”
“She doesn’t,” Lia had to agree. “And I’m sorry about that. It puts her under the same suspicion as Belinda, with their good motives for wanting to do away with Darren.”
“I’d say Annie has the stronger motive,” Maureen said. She had started a new baby cap, having apparently finished last week’s flowered one, and the oddity of discussing murder while knitting dainty stitches on that sweet item didn’t escape Lia. “She must be reminded of the accident every time she looks at her poor husband, an accident that wouldn’t have happened if Darren Peebles had done his job. Can you imagine the simmering anger she must have?”
“But why link his murder to yourself by using one of your own pots?” Tracy asked.
“Because it just felt so good to use it?” Maureen offered. “And who thinks rationally at times like that?” She looked around. “At least, that’s how I’d imagine one would feel,” she added with a small smile.
“That’s a good point,” Diana said. “But just a starting point. Lia needs evidence. We should all think about what we can do about that.”
“Think about the other suspects I came up with, too,” Lia said. “Adam Mathis and Martin Brewer. Anyone know anything about them?”
“The name Mathis rings a bell,” Tracy said. “Is his wife’s name Eve?”
“Adam and Eve?” Diana crowed. “I hope not!”
Lia shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s see what I can find.” Tracy grabbed her cell phone, her fingers flying over it as swiftly as they worked her knitting needles, as the others watched in silence. After several moments she cried, “Ah! Here’s something. He attended a charity dinner with his wife, Eva.” She looked up. “Not so bad as Eve, at least.”
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