“You’re right, I know. It’s just . . . Well, never mind. I can work on it, and I will. I should have done so a long time ago. Maybe my marriage wouldn’t have been such a miserable failure if I’d learned to be a little nicer.” She smirked. “Better yet, maybe I would have found someone a thousand times better than the guy I settled on.”
“That would have been the preferable result,” Lia agreed.
They grinned at each other, then fell silent, each sipping their coffee and mulling their own thoughts over what might have been, along with what might have been avoided, if only.
Saturday morning, the Crandalsburg craft fair doors opened, with a sparse crowd showing up for the second week in a row. Instead of the surge of shoppers Lia had grown used to during her weeks at the knitting booth, those who straggled into the barn in ones and twos looked like tourists who’d run out of things to do and were filling an empty block of time with a little browsing.
At least Lia had her work on the alpaca sweater to keep herself occupied. Others, like Olivia with her soaps and Zach with his honey, could only wait and hope for customers. Maggie, she saw, was busily stitching a quilt. Lia intended to talk to her about the Graham mansion. With luck, she could tell Lia something useful about Martin Brewer’s reaction to its planned demolition.
Lia glanced around at the other crafters. Annie Bradburn was speaking with a shopper about one of her more ornate serving platters and possibly making a sale. Good for her. But Jen’s story of Annie often being out and about in the late hours of the night was worrisome. She watched the potter cheerfully reach down for a second platter to show, and then a third, looking as though she simply enjoyed chatting about them and that actually making the sale was her last concern, though Lia knew otherwise.
The shopper eventually moved on without buying but clutching one of Annie’s brochures. Who knew if it would lead to her return or end up in the trash? Not Annie, at least for now, though her persistent smile belied the fact of her private heavy burdens.
During their lunchtime chat of the previous week, Annie had casually tossed out her alibi that she’d been home with her family during the time of Darren’s murder, as though it was airtight. And apparently the police had accepted it. Lia now knew there could be leaks in that alibi but not ones definite enough to report. If there’d been CCTV cameras that caught her on the street around the time of the murder, she would have already been questioned about that. But Crandalsburg was a small town with minimal need to justify the cost of such surveillance technology.
Had Annie sneaked out that night and met Darren at the barn? Was her anger over his action, or rather inaction, that led to her husband’s disabling accident great enough to seek revenge? Could the smiling woman who stood there surrounded by her beautifully crafted pottery be capable of murder?
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Lia blinked to see Ginny Norton standing in front of her booth.
“You looked miles away.” Ginny shifted the small tote bag she always carried to her other hand. Some shoppers brought totes to fill with purchases. Ginny’s was a thermal bag for drinks and snacks to enjoy during her hours there.
“Not nearly that far,” Lia responded.
“Planning your next knitting project?”
“Always doing that,” Lia said with a smile. “Even when I already have something wonderful to work on.” She held up the alpaca sweater, whose pattern was beginning to appear.
“Nice! So you went to the Weber Farm? Did you see Shelby? How’s she doing?”
“Very well. She clearly loves working with those sweet animals.” Lia remembered Ginny mentioning that Shelby worked briefly for Belinda in addition to having worked in Darren Peebles’s office. She suddenly wondered how Ginny happened to know the much younger woman, and she asked.
“Shelby worked at the sub shop with me one summer,” Ginny said.
“Sub shop?”
“Sammi’s Subs. It’s on Main Street?”
“Oh yes. I’ve seen it but haven’t been in. So you work there?”
Ginny nodded with a twist of her lips. “It’s all I could get after my mother died. I looked after her for years while she was sick. I was glad to do it, of course. Who else was going to? But it doesn’t make for much of a job résumé. The salary at Sammi’s isn’t much, but Mom left enough that I can keep the house. It’s nothing to brag about, old,” she said, adding with a wry grin, “and with a lovely view of an auto repair shop. But it’s mine, and I’m grateful for that.”
“I’m sorry about your mom. Was she your only family?”
“Yup. I was a lonely only.”
Lia had heard that term before and never quite understood it. Hayley was their only child, but Lia and Tom weren’t the only people in her life. She always had friends, some of whom became almost part of the family. But if Ginny’s mother had been ill a large part of her life, she supposed that could have made the difference. Lia thought she understood Ginny’s constant presence at the craft fair a little better. It was someplace to go where people knew her and were friendly.
It was kind of sad but hopefully a way of easing back into a social life. Maybe other opportunities would come up. She was wondering if Ginny would be open to suggestions when a shopper approached her counter.
“Could I see that white shawl?” the woman asked, pointing to a delicately knitted summer shawl Jen had made that hung near the back. Lia reached for it, and Ginny moved off.
* * *
* * *
Lia’s chance to speak with Maggie came during her lunch break. She spotted the quilter spreading out her things at one of the picnic tables and headed over.
“Mind if I join you?”
Midbite into her thick sandwich, Maggie could only nod and wave welcomingly toward the seat across from her. She had pinned her mass of hair back that day, and the gray strands near her face highlighted its vivid red. She wore a brightly printed peasant-style top over royal blue capris trimmed with yellow ties at the hems. Nothing about Maggie was ever muted, and Lia was amazed that she had taken to quilting, an activity that called for hours of quiet focus. She pictured the crafter taking frequent breaks of frantic mariachi dancing at her home, an image that brought up a smile.
“You look pleased with yourself,” Maggie said, having swallowed. She reached for a swig of Coke. “But I didn’t see you wrap up that pretty shawl that woman was looking at. Didn’t she care for it?”
“She’s thinking about it. It costs a little more than she wanted to spend. But for the yarn and the work my friend Jen put into it, it’s really a fair price.”
“She’s probably hoping you’ll come down. Especially since she sees the small crowd we’re having. I’ve had a few approaches of that sort.” Maggie took another bite of her sandwich.
“You’ve been part of the fair longer than me,” Lia said. “Has it had slumps like this?”
“A few, but never this bad. And never at this time of year when the weather’s gorgeous and everyone’s out.”
“So it’s the murder and the fact that no one’s been charged for it yet.”
“Most likely. And not much we can do about that.” Maggie reached for her Coke.
“Well . . .” Lia shifted on her bench.
“What, you’re sleuthing?”
“Just keeping my eyes open and asking questions. It’s not so easy when you’re a newcomer. So I could use help from people who’ve been around longer.”
Maggie grinned. “Like me?”
“Do you mind?”
“Heck no. Ask away. I’ll do whatever will get this fair back on its feet again.”
“Thanks, Maggie. I’m wondering about Martin Brewer.”
“Ah, the professor. What about him?”
Lia told Maggie about seeing him at the park after the tennis clinic. “He was badgering a smaller man about the barn, insist
ing that he not let it slip through their hands again.”
Maggie nodded. “That sounds like Martin.”
“And I learned that Darren Peebles had bought the Graham mansion and had made plans for its demolition.”
“Did he? I heard rumors about that. Wasn’t sure they were true.”
“So you don’t know if Brewer was aware of it?”
“Hah! I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. He’s had his eye on that place for ages. Wanted the town to turn it into a museum. A great idea, but I don’t know where he thought the money was going to come from.”
“So it would have been important to him,” Lia mused. “As was the Schumacher barn. And Darren Peebles was a major obstruction to both.”
“You think our professor conked Peebles in the barn with the pottery?”
“Do you?”
Maggie thought about that. “I don’t know. He might have liked to, but to actually do it? That’s a big leap. You asked me after his library talk if he was ever physically violent, and he wasn’t, at least not that I ever saw.”
“Yes, and my neighbor Sharon thought he’d be more likely to go to court with any dispute. Except that wouldn’t get him anywhere, would it, since apparently there’s no legal basis for a lawsuit? So I’m seeing a man with extremely strong desires being thwarted, possibly to a breaking point.”
“Maybe,” Maggie conceded, “but maybe not.”
“I know. There’s no proof. That’s the sticking point. Whoever did murder Darren Peebles managed it in a place where there’d be no witnesses and apparently, ghostlike, left no incriminating evidence. So what do I do?”
Maggie shrugged. “I guess you do exactly what the police must be doing. Wait and hope something more comes up. Hope whoever did it tips their hand.”
Lia nodded, though she didn’t much like the thought. It occurred to her that a person who had murdered to get what they wanted—a cold-blooded kind of murder that had clearly been planned—might be inclined to murder again if, to their twisted reasoning, the need arose.
Was that the “something” that they had to wait for?
Chapter 22
Lia noticed Olivia sitting behind her soaps and essential oils looking glum, and she set her knitting down. After sitting and working on the sweater a good long while, her fingers and knees could use rest and a stretch. She and her booth neighbor could both use a distraction from the slow business.
“How’s Michael doing?” she asked, knowing that would bring a smile to Olivia’s face. “Looking forward to the end of the school year?”
“Oh, he loves school,” Olivia said. “He has a wonderful teacher. She has a way of making every day something for the kids to look forward to.” She chatted on about Michael’s favorite subjects and the latest group project he was involved in.
“Is Annie’s boy doing as well?” Lia asked. “He’s in Michael’s class, right?”
Olivia’s expression clouded. “I think Ryan might be having some problems. Michael said he’s being pulled out of class lately for something special. He didn’t know what that was, but I think it might be some sort of counseling.”
“Behavior problems?”
“I doubt that. Ryan isn’t at all the kind of child to act out and disturb the class. He seemed down on himself the last couple of times we’ve had him over. And that was a while ago. Annie’s turned down the playdates I tried to set up lately.”
“Hmm. Did she say why?” Lia asked.
“Not to me.” Olivia looked troubled. “Michael told me that Ryan said his mom didn’t like people poking into their business. I’m afraid Annie thought I was questioning Ryan. But I would never do that.”
“I know you wouldn’t. Are you sure he was referring to you?”
“Michael thought he was.”
“Six-year-olds don’t get everything right. Did you talk to Annie about it?”
Olivia winced and seemed to pull into herself. “I didn’t feel comfortable doing that.”
Lia understood. Olivia’s anxiety-prone nature was not up to a discussion that might become upsetting, innocent though she believed herself to be. “Would you like me to talk to her? Maybe Michael was totally out in left field with what he reported to you.”
Olivia thought about it, then nodded. “I know you’d be so much better at it. Maybe if you find out what the problem is, I can take over from there.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Lia looked over to the pottery booth but saw that the woman who’d been interested in Annie’s serving platters had returned. That was good for Annie, and it could also be good for Lia if making the sale put the potter in a more receptive mood. She waited, but the shopper took her time. Lia picked up her knitting and sat down, glancing over every so often until an older couple stopped at her own counter. She popped back up.
“Our son and daughter-in-law are expecting our first grandchild,” the woman told her, her eyes shining. “I wondered if you had any baby items?”
Only about a dozen or so, Lia thought with a smile, delighted to bring them all out. She ended up selling a matching set of baby blanket, sweater, bonnet, and booties, which was wonderful, but the transaction took an extremely long time. Lia understood. A gift for one’s first grandchild, something that might be treasured for years, was important. But even the grandfather-to-be grew impatient and urged his wife to “pick one, Dorothy—any one—just pick!”
By the time they left, Lia saw that Annie’s customer had been replaced by Joan Fowler. That was a surprise, since Joan rarely left her booth to make the rounds. But as she watched, it became clear that Joan’s wasn’t a pleasant, how’re-you-doing visit. Instead, she appeared to be berating Annie. Annie wasn’t simply taking it. Red-faced, she was giving as good as she got—but quietly. Both women kept their voices down—a good thing as far as the craft fair was concerned but unusual for Joan, who never seemed the least bit concerned about anyone overhearing. But angry hisses, while not audible to Lia, were clearly being exchanged.
What in the world had brought that on? Lia caught Olivia’s eye. She shrugged, obviously as baffled as Lia. This clearly wasn’t going to be a good time to approach Annie. Maybe not even a good day, or week!
Joan stomped back to her own booth, knocking over one of her watercolors that had been propped on a stand and slapping it back into place. Annie left her booth and marched out the front door, possibly to walk off steam. Several crafters watched with concern but also relief that whatever had gone on was ended. A few shoppers had also glanced over. But their interest quickly returned to their browsing, and the craft fair business resumed.
Lia tidied up her counter, refolding the baby items she’d spread out and tucking several away, but couldn’t stop thinking about the scene she’d witnessed. Ginny strolled nearby and, apparently reading her mind, stopped and said, “What a scene, huh?”
Lia grimaced and nodded.
“I was too far away to hear,” Ginny added with some regret, “but they were both steamed, weren’t they?”
“I know how easily Joan can be riled up,” Lia said. “But this seemed much worse than usual.”
“Joan’s been working up to it, griping all day about the low sales and about Belinda.”
“And what is that all about?” Lia asked. “You said there’s been bad blood between Joan and Belinda, but Belinda seemed clueless when I asked her about it.”
“Really?” Ginny shrugged. “I guess she doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“About what, exactly?” Lia prodded.
“Oh, it goes way back. Before the craft fair was even here.”
“So it doesn’t have anything to do with the fair?”
“Well, now it does,” Ginny said. “But that’s probably because Joan just can’t let anything go. Maybe not Belinda, either.”
“But what is it? I want to understand, Ginny. I
need details.”
“Details? Gosh, it was some time ago. Who can remember details? It had to do with Joan’s paintings; that I know. And I think Belinda was still married to Darren.”
“Yes?”
Ginny shook her head. “I’m sure Belinda has a much clearer memory of the whole thing.” She wrinkled her brow. “I’d really hate to get it wrong and maybe stir up more trouble. Talk to her. She’ll get it all straight.”
“But—”
A woman stopped at the edge of Lia’s counter and looked hesitatingly from Lia to Ginny, as though not wishing to interrupt.
Ginny quickly stepped back, as was her habit when customers approached anyone’s booth. “Belinda can tell you,” she assured Lia before moving off.
“I wondered if you had any . . . ,” the shopper quickly began, and Lia turned to her, trying to focus on her question while also thinking about Ginny’s advice. Lia had already asked Belinda and gotten nowhere. Joan should be able to tell her, but the chances of that happening were probably zero to none. She pondered the problem as she listened to her customer with one ear but gradually was able to offer her full attention. Picking up signs of a definite sale ahead helped.
* * *
* * *
On her drive home that evening, Lia set aside craft fair concerns to consider what to do about her dinner. She usually fixed something ahead for craft days, meals that needed only a quick warm-up when she came home, tired and hungry, as she was right then. But the last couple of days had been too full to manage that. Takeout was the obvious solution, and she headed to the section of Crandalsburg that offered a few choices. She lucked out on finding a parking spot central to several restaurants and climbed out of her car, still undecided but thinking the place with the shortest line would be it. As she started to walk, she heard, “Hi, Mrs. Geiger.”
Startled, Lia turned. “Brady! I must have walked right past you.”
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