String of Lies

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Carrie’s worries, however, Jo quickly reminded herself, were not so simple, and she gave her friend a call before heading over to her place. Carrie was waiting at the door as Jo pulled up.

  “Charlie’s sound asleep on his pain medication in the family room, and Amanda’s finishing her homework upstairs,” Carrie said. “You probably haven’t had any dinner yet, right? Come on back, I’ve been keeping a pot of stew warm on the stove.

  Jo peeled off her jacket and gloves as they walked through Carrie’s work-in-progress living room whose sparse sheet-covered furniture shared space with paint cans and tools. Never waiting on ceremony in her long-time friend’s home, she deposited her things on a chair before entering the warm, welcoming kitchen. Carrie lifted the lid on a large pot and stirred at its contents, releasing aromas that set Jo’s mouth to watering. As she dished out the stew, Carrie peppered Jo with questions, most of which Jo was unable to answer.

  “I’m sorry, Carrie. Lieutenant Morgan was playing it very close to the vest. All I managed to learn from him is that Parker Holt’s wife is the niece of Mayor Kunkle. I saw Kunkle arrive while I was waiting.”

  “That’s right, I’d forgotten she was his niece.” Carrie set Jo’s steaming bowl in front of her on a bright placemat. She frowned. “I wonder what his coming there means to all this.”

  “Probably nothing,” Jo said, tucking into her food. “I’m sure he was simply there to offer support and comfort to his niece. She apparently wasn’t home when this all happened. I saw a woman who I presume was her arrive shortly after Kunkle did.”

  Jo speared a gravy-soaked potato chunk, then asked, “Did you talk with Sylvia? How is she?”

  “She’s nervous, doesn’t like the idea of Xavier being questioned by police, even though I assured her it was just routine, that they had to talk to everybody with any connection to the situation at the house so that they can write up all the proper reports.” Carrie’s brave tone faltered as she sat down across from Jo. “But I just don’t understand what’s taking so long. Dan’s been there over two hours now. What could he have to tell them that would take more than five minutes?”

  “Carrie.” Jo set down her fork to reach for her friend’s hand. “He’s probably waiting all this time for them to get around to him. All things official, by definition, move at glacier speed.”

  “I know, I know. I’m just so afraid that if it somehow reflects badly on Dan’s work, it could damage his business. What if they say he must have left something on the stairs, an extension cord stretched across it, or something? And that’s the reason Parker Holt tumbled down them?”

  “They won’t, because Dan would never do that. And he would double check to make sure Xavier didn’t either.”

  “Then why call Xavier over there at all?”

  Jo frowned. “I don’t know. And Morgan brought up Xavier in his questions to me, which struck me as odd. Something about, ‘did Xavier know that I was planning to come to the house’ ”.

  Carrie leaned her face into her hands, worried eyes looking at Jo over her finger tips. She seemed about to say something when a voice from behind Jo startled them both.

  “Mom? Aunt Jo?”

  “Charlie! Did we wake you?” Carrie jumped up from her chair to go to her son. “How do you feel? Do you need another pain pill?”

  Charlie shook his head, looking only half-awake, his hair spiking in several different directions, his too-small robe drooping over pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.

  “Is that stew? Can I have some?”

  “Of course! I didn’t want to wake you when Amanda and I had supper.” Carrie bustled over to the stove. “Shall I bring it to you in the recliner?” she asked, filling a fresh bowl.

  “Nah, I’m okay.” Charlie shuffled over to the kitchen table, and Jo hurried to pull out a chair for him which he eased onto in slow motion.

  “Looks like you got yourself out of shoveling any snow for the next few weeks,” Jo said.

  Charlie grimaced. “I think I’d rather shovel snow.”

  “Yeah, I would too.”

  Carrie put his supper before him, and Jo watched Charlie work at getting as much food into his stomach with the least possible amount of movement. It didn’t look easy. As the level of food lowered, though, Charlie’s eyes grew increasingly clear. Eventually he released his fork, and leaned slowly back in his chair.

  “So, what’s going on?” he asked.

  Getting only surprised silence from the two women across from him, he continued. “Aunt Jo’s here, Dad isn’t, and Mom, you look pretty darn worried.”

  “I’m not….” Carrie began to protest, then stopped. “Well, yes, I am, but I’m probably just being silly. There was an accident tonight. Mr. Holt - the man whose basement Dad’s been working on? – took a bad fall. Aunt Jo found him, and Dad’s over there right now talking with the police who are trying to figure out just what happened.”

  “A bad fall. You mean a really bad one, right? Not like mine?”

  No, not like yours. Mr. Holt is dead.”

  “Whooo!” Charlie thought a moment. “So - what? They’re thinking it might be Dad’s fault or something?”

  “We don’t know what they’re thinking right now, Charlie,” Jo said. “As your mom said, I discovered Mr. Holt lying at the bottom of the stairs, but I have no idea what happened. They have to talk to everyone, and it all takes time. We’ll just have to wait.”

  Charlie nodded. His gaze wandered about the kitchen, but Jo had a feeling he wasn’t thinking about what more he might find to eat. This was a fifteen year-old who already had experience with police investigation and violent death, though thankfully only at arm’s length. She sincerely hoped that remained to be the case. But having one’s father being questioned on the circumstances of his present employer’s death had the potential of bringing that arm in closer than she cared to see.

  The phone rang, and Carrie jumped up to answer.

  “Dan! Where are you? What’s happening?”

  Jo could only guess at Dan’s response by reading Carrie’s face, which wasn’t encouraging. Carrie’s expression grew more worried as the moments went by.

  “Oh! Oh dear. But why – ? Oh! Oh!”

  She ended by saying, “Yes, I’ll call Sylvia. Yes, yes, of course. No, certainly not. All right.”

  Carrie hung up, turning to Jo and Charlie with a stunned look.

  “Dan’s at the police station. He went there for further questioning, and now they’re talking with Xavier. They’ve been talking with him for a very long time.”

  She drew a deep breath. “Dan said things don’t look good.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Jo paced through the Craft Corner’s maze of shelves the next morning, unable to sit still for more than two seconds at a time. She had stayed late at Carrie’s the night before, but as midnight approached and Dan still hadn’t come home, Carrie shooed her off, insisting Jo should go home and get some sleep. She had gone home, but as for sleep… well. She reached for her coffee pot and filled another mug. Jo had already called at Carrie’s twice already. The first time, Carrie answered sounding rushed.

  “I’ll call you back,” she’d promised. When Jo didn’t hear after half an hour she tried again, this time getting Charlie, who sounded groggy.

  “No one’s here. I was kind of out of it when she left, but I think Mom said she was going to Mrs. Ramirez’s, and that Dad got home late last night and went out again early.”

  “Thanks, Charlie. Sorry if I woke you.”

  “It’s all right. Hey, if you find out what’s going on, ask someone to let me know, okay?”

  Jo promised, and hung up, then considered trying Carrie’s cell phone. She decided not to, though it was torture to hold off. Carrie would have called her, she knew, if she could. Whatever she was doing must be far more important than keeping Jo updated.

  A figure crossed in front of the shop’s windows, catching the corner of Jo’s eye, and she whirled, hoping it might be Carrie. She recogni
zed, instead, Alexis Wigsley and groaned, knowing exactly what the woman was coming for. A middle-aged woman, Alexis’s well-to-do family, Jo had learned from Ina Mae, left her with a large house and a highly developed interest (Ina Mae used the word “nosiness”) in her fellow townspeople.

  Jo had been lucky enough not to have encountered Alexis during the stressful days following the Craft Corner’s grand opening, since Alexis had been confined with a bad case of poison ivy. She remembered that there had been more than one speculation at the time that Alexis might have been slipping about in places she shouldn’t have, and more than one joke concerning the setting of that noxious plant at the boundaries of one’s property.

  “Hi, Jo,” Alexis sang out as she walked through the door looking deceptively nonchalant, a red scarf tied jauntily at the neck of her navy jacket. “Oh, I see you’ve put out some Valentine things. Goody!”

  Alexis headed for the new display of red papers and white lacey doilies, looking for all the world as though they were all she had on her mind. But Jo knew better, having listened to the woman’s prying gossip – always camouflaged as neighborly concern - on more than one occasion. She braced for what was sure to come.

  Alexis ooh-ed and ahh-ed over various items, picking them up and setting them down, tossing out innocuous comments on the weather, then finally said, “Wasn’t that a shame what happened to Parker Holt?”

  Jo considered pretending ignorance but doubted she could ever be a good enough actor to fool Alexis, whose hawk-like eyes watched closely.

  “Yes, it was,” Jo agreed, walking away toward the back of the shop, aware at the same time that any attempt at escape was fruitless. As the Craft Corner’s proprietor, she was essentially a captive audience to whoever decided to drop in. Plus Alexis had timed her visit well, in the quiet, early morning hours when few distracting customers appeared.

  “I heard you found him,” Alexis said, following behind.

  Jo sighed. Of course Alexis had heard that.

  “Yes,” Jo said, then, to head off the next question she knew was coming, added “but I have no idea how it happened. I’m sure the police will let us all know as soon as they’ve figured it out.”

  “I just hope it doesn’t turn out that it was due to some fault, totally inadvertent, of course, on the part of Dan Brenner, which would certainly be bad for him. You know, like maybe a heavy light fixture fell from the ceiling because it wasn’t secured properly. Something like that.” Alexis’s eyes locked on Jo.

  “I didn’t see anything of that sort, Alexis. In fact, I saw very little. Just enough to know I should call for help. Then I kept out of the way.”

  Alexis frowned. “You didn’t overhear anything, I mean, after the police came? Surely there was plenty of talk going on. And you were there for quite a while.”

  Alexis knew that? Jo immediately pictured the woman hovering as close as she could weasel herself to Parker Holt’s house, probably frustrated at the garble of police-radio talk rendered unintelligible by distance, and enviously spotting Jo up close to the action. Jo was surprised Alexis hadn’t followed her to Carrie’s place and demanded an immediate accounting. What a restless night this gossip must have spent, waiting hours to pry for information.

  “I don’t know anything, Alexis,” Jo repeated. “I’m waiting to find out, the same as everyone else.”

  Alexis’s brow puckered and she wandered off among the Craft Corner’s shelves. She spotted the sign Jo had made for Sylvia’s bags that sat next to an empty space waiting for the next batch to arrive. “Ramirez!” she said in an ah-hah! tone. “Wasn’t that the name of the man working with Dan Brenner?”

  “Yes. It’s his wife who’s making these bags. They’re becoming quite popular,” Jo added, hoping to turn Alexis’s thoughts in a different direction. “I should be getting more in very soon. They’re being snapped up so quickly that if you’re at all interested I’d suggest–”

  “That poor woman,” Alexis plowed on, sticking firmly to her track, and not looking particularly sympathetic despite her words. “She must be worried sick, just as Carrie must be, what with their husbands being questioned by the police, and all.”

  Yes, but darned if I’ll let you in on that. Jo set down a picture frame she had picked up, and faced Alexis. “Knowing Carrie,” she said, “she’s probably just as anxious about Parker Holt’s widow. Wouldn’t you say that’s where the concern should be right now?”

  Alexis stared back at Jo through narrowed eyes, her face telling Jo she had caught the message. She wasn’t, however, going to go down without a fight. “Why yes,” she said, “normally that would be the case.”

  Jo’s eyebrows shot upwards before she could stop them, and Alexis’ lips curled in satisfaction. She turned, and sauntered back to the front of the shop. “I wouldn’t say Mallory Holt is your normal widow. Whatever grief she’ll be feeling, she’ll have plenty of consolation. And I’m not just talking about the money.”

  The shop’s door jingled, and Ina Mae walked in. Jo saw the two women’s eyes meet, and felt the temperature of the store drop ten degrees.

  “Why, good morning, Ina Mae,” Alexis said, her voice a tad less confident.

  “Alexis.” Ina Mae gave a brisk nod.

  “Oh, my, look at the time!” Alexis exclaimed, glancing at her watch and quickly pulling on her gloves. “I have at least a dozen stops to make before lunch time. Good day, ladies.”

  Alexis bustled out of the shop, Ina Mae watching her progress with a look of one whose acid reflux had suddenly returned. When the door closed, Ina Mae turned to Jo.

  “Trying to get information?”

  “One of her better efforts,” Jo acknowledged.

  “Phhht,” Ina Mae blew disgustedly. “A dozen stops to make. I can guess what their purpose is.” Ina Mae shook herself. “I came by thinking you might want to run over to be with Carrie. I’d be happy to watch the shop for a while.”

  “Thanks, Ina Mae. But I’m not even sure where Carrie is right now. I’ll just have to wait ‘till she lets me know.”

  “Well, best she keep active, I suppose. Her boy’s doing all right?”

  “Charlie won’t be jumping hurdles for a while, but I think he’s able to manage on his own reasonably well.”

  Ina Mae nodded, then shook her head. “Let’s hope nothing more befalls that family.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “By the way, are you still planning on running that beading workshop? I’ve signed up for it, and Loralee too, but we’d understand if you want to postpone.”

  “Oh, the workshop! I’d almost forgotten that it’s tonight. But that’s fine. I have my lesson plan ready.” Jo picked up the sign-up sheet near her cash register to see who had signed up. The first few names were her regulars: Ina Mae, Loralee Phillips, Javonne Barnett.

  “Who’s that last one?” Ina Mae asked, peering over her shoulder. “I can’t quite read it. Verna something?”

  “No, that’s Vernon. Vernon Dobson.”

  “Vernon? The man I used to buy my standing rib roasts from?”

  “I imagine so. He said he was a retired butcher and that he’s been looking for a more creative hobby. He said he tried woodworking, even making a dollhouse for one of his granddaughters. But it didn’t do it for him.”

  “Well, isn’t that interesting.”

  Jo smiled, remembering what Carrie had said when she first heard of Vernon signing up for beading: “Could be there’s a whole new customer base waiting to be tapped, Jo. Maybe you should offer workshops for things like handmade tie clips and belt buckles.”

  Jo had quickly countered with, “How about you teach a ‘Crochet Your Own Motorcycle Cover’ class?”

  They’d then tried to top each other with, “Beaded Rearview Mirror Frames,” and “Macramé Fishing Lures,” “Stamp- Decorated Golf Scorecards and Bowling Score Sheets,” their fun ending only when two sober-faced customers entered the shop.

  Jo sighed. She missed having Carrie around already. The cr
aft shop without Carrie, she was finding, was too much like a necklace missing half its beads – still colorful, but definitely unbalanced.

  “Well, give me a call if you need me,” Ina Mae said. “You have my cell phone number?”

  Jo didn’t, not having ever had a need to reach Ina Mae in a hurry. She dug her own cell phone out of her purse and entered the number in as the older woman recited it, mainly to be polite since she didn’t foresee a need for it. But one never knew.

  Ina Mae took off, and other customers drifted in. Jo took care of them, glad to keep busy, and even happier that few mentioned Parker Holt. During a lull, a man tentatively entered the store, coming over to Jo who was refilling her craft paints.

  “Mrs. McAllister?”

  Jo looked up to see a slim man dressed in a worn quilted jacket and work pants. He pulled a knit cap off his head.

  “Otto said you had a job for me?”

  “Oh, you must be Randy Truitt!”

  The man nodded, his pale blue eyes moving uneasily from her face to the floor and back.

  Jo held out her hand, saying, “How do you do?” apparently surprising him since he hesitated a moment before taking her hand and giving it a shake.

  “Yes,” Jo said, answering his question. “I have these shelves in the back room that are sagging badly.” She led the way back to show him the problem. “I’ve been storing fairly heavy boxes on them, which apparently became too much. Do you think you can shore them up somehow? Or maybe replace them?”

  Randy stepped carefully around Jo’s stock which had been unloaded from the worrying shelves and covered much of the floor. He made a quick examination. “Sure. Just this section here?”

  “I think so. The others seem okay.”

  Randy looked around, tested a few, then nodded. “Yeah, they seem all right. This shelf here I’ll have to replace, but a couple others just need better bracing. I can get what I need and start work on them tomorrow afternoon. That work for you?”

  “That works just fine for me. Now about the cost…?”