The man had a knack for making fun of people, including himself, without tearing them down or belittling them. By the end of that evening, Willow had more fun than she had in the thirty odd years of her marriage. She’d turned up week after week, grateful for his company. After a few months, Willow realized for the first time since high school, she’d managed to make a new friend.
On the anniversary of his wife’s death, Reg had stood up in the group, taking center stage for the only time that Willow had known him. He talked at length about how wonderful his wife had been, how much he missed her. He sat back down when he dissolved into tears.
After group, when it was just the two of them sharing a late dessert, Reg told Willow about how, on her last night alive, he’d waited for his wife on the pier. It was their meeting spot whenever they had to get together in town. His wife loved the rush of water and enjoyed sitting down, letting her legs dangle over the edge.
Even when he knew something must have gone terribly wrong, Reg stayed at the same waiting spot. Hours passed. Each minute, a more terrible scenario for what might have happened turned up in his head.
Then the sheriff—the old town sheriff, not young Jacob, as Reg called him—found him sitting there and told him his wife was dead.
A car accident claimed her life. Not anybody’s fault, just a slick of oil on a corner, a single vehicle accident that happened by the one concrete post for a mile on either side.
Whenever Reg missed his wife—and in the early days that was often—he’d walk down to the pier, dangling his legs over the edge, and wait.
Nowadays, he didn’t go there nearly so much. Just on occasions when he was distraught. Willow bit her thumbnail and stared out the window as she considered what terrible event might have brought about that emotional state on the night in question.
Chapter Eight
Feeling out of sorts, Willow headed into town. She needed to do a bit of grocery shopping anyway and staring at her own four walls was driving her mad. Almost as soon as she walked into the square, she bumped into Trisha Layton and they fan-girled over Miss Walsham Investigates’ impending visit once again.
Once her meager shopping requirements were fulfilled, Willow unpacked the goods in her kitchen, the rest of the day stretching out in front of her like a bleak highway. On a whim, she pulled the phone book out of the cupboard and ran her finger down the list of names until she found the right one.
There’d been a lot of idle talk about Shelby Causer and how she’d been hard done by Jeff Waterman’s builders. Rather than speculate, it was time Willow visited and found out about the woman for herself.
* * *
The first thought that went through Willow’s mind when Shelby answered the door was she looked incredibly young. Not like Lee—that boy really was just a year over being a child—but only in her twenties, if that. The next thought was she appeared far too tired for her age. When Willow stepped inside, she kept a close eye on Shelby in case of imminent collapse.
“I’d heard you had a bit of trouble with a builder that I hired,” Willow said by way of introduction. “I kept on putting off coming down here and finding out the details, but I suppose I can’t put it off any longer.”
Shelby gave Willow a curious glance, sizing her up with a scan from head to toe. “You’re Willow Foxglove, right? What on Earth did Jeff do to you?”
Willow nodded yes to the first question, then chewed her lip as she pondered a response to the second. “Nothing bad, so far,” she said after a pause. “The renovations look fine to me, but I’ve been warned to have a professional check them over. I heard Jeff liked to cut corners more than necessary.”
At that, Shelby gave a snort of laughter, devoid of amusement. “You can say that again. The man didn’t have any scruples at all!”
“Do you mind explaining what happened? I know I’m a stranger—”
Shelby held up a hand, cutting Willow off. “I’m fine telling anybody who’ll listen. There’s few enough will do that. I found out first hand that it’s only when you’re down and out that you find out who your friends are. Turns out, I don’t have nearly so many as I thought.”
“I’m sorry,” Willow said, sending a prayer of gratitude to the heavens for her own blessings in that department. Then she recalled how her earlier thoughts had been a complete betrayal of her friendship with Reg and blushed.
Really, she should know better than even to suspect his motives. To tell a lie to the sheriff was terrible but Willow should trust that Reg had his reasons.
“Here you go,” Shelby said, walking through the lounge and opening a door. “This is the start of my grand plan for an extension.”
Willow poked her head through with caution, deciding not to step into the room. The floor rotted away halfway across, and it looked like someone had fallen right down into the floorboards.
“What happened?” Willow asked with a gasp.
“The timber Jeff chose for the job hadn’t been seasoned correctly or sealed. On the bright side, he pocketed the difference between what I paid for materials and what he spent on that rubbish.”
Willow shook her head, taking another quick glance through the open doorway and shuddering. There were holes punched in the walls and tarpaulins hung over what was left of the roof to protect the inside from the weather.
“I’m just waiting for the town council to condemn this as a safety hazard,” Shelby said with a sniff. “It’s only because I knew some people on the board that they’ve held off this long. They know I wouldn’t ever let someone walk into the part of the house that’s dangerous, but it can’t be held off forever.”
“Can’t the door just be bricked up? Pretend the extension doesn’t exist?”
Shelby shook her head sadly. “It doesn’t work like that. I’ll either need to get that room up to code, or the site is condemned, and I might lose the whole house. I could barely afford to pay for the renovation as it was.”
Reaching out, Willow closed the door and took hold of Shelby’s arm to escort the woman back through to a nicer part of the home.
As they walked, Shelby held a protective hand in front of her belly and Willow began to guess at the reason she might have wanted the extra room.
“Were you expecting a child?”
Shelby nodded, a tear rolling down the side of her nose. “I was. Not anymore.” She sniffed hard, wiping a finger across her philtrum. “The extension was going to be a playroom and a nursery. I wouldn’t put a dead dog in that space, let alone a child.”
“Surely the bank would lend—”
“I mortgaged the house up to the hilt to pay for the new rooms.” Shelby pulled at a lock of hair just above her ears. Judging by the thinness, it was a habit she performed often. “Now, if I want to fix it, I have shell out for someone to come in and properly remove all the bad wood as well as build the new rooms. That swindler took all the bricks from the side of my original wall, saying he’d replace them when he finished the job. But then the building was never finished and he didn’t bring them back.”
Shelby turned and gave an angry look at the door that connected to a horror-show.
“I hope he’s keeping warm there, down in hell!”
* * *
Willow felt awful leaving the woman in her state, but Shelby grew more worked up the longer she stayed. As she drove away from the house, Willow wondered what the poor woman would do. Now Jeff was dead, she mightn’t even be able to sue the company. Her hope of redress could have died along with him.
Jeff Waterman had left such a trail of destruction in his wake Willow wondered briefly if he’d staged his death to look like murder just to continue the turmoil. She shook her head in horror after a second. These days, her thoughts went far too quickly to the dark side. The man might have been annoying or even cruel in life, but in death, he still needed to be afforded the dignity of finding his killer.
A pity then Jeff had riled up so many people that narrowing them down would take a good chunk of time.
* * *
“What you need is a project,” Willow announced, propping a whiteboard in front of a bemused Reg. “The school still hasn’t raised the money necessary to fund its art department repairs. If you want to take your mind off everything else, I suggest you start figuring out how to remedy that.”
Willow handed across a set of markers and sat down. Harmony, her co-conspirator, was in Reg’s kitchen, putting together a light snack.
“How am I meant to raise money? You know I don’t like talking to people much. To ask them for money’s even worse.”
“Then don’t request money from them,” Willow said. “You’re a bright guy. Figure out what the townspeople might want to pay for and do that instead. Harmony and I can spread the word. Put your thinking cap on.”
Reg shook his head, still looking like he was waiting for the pleasant part of the surprise. “I’m not really cut out for this.”
“Wait for it,” Harmony said, bringing a tray of mismatched items from the kitchen. Pickles nestled up against sultanas, while cheese fought for a position next to tomato paste. Willow closed her eyes and reached out her hand, happening upon some olives. She paired them up with a few crackers and started to fire them into her mouth.
“If you’re not ready for something entry level like this, then your mind is going to be blown by the next bit!”
“What’s that?” Reg peered suspiciously at the two women.
“We also want to start a fundraiser to repair Shelby Causer’s house. It was left in a dreadful state by Jeff’s company, and I don’t think it’s fair she finances the remedial work all by herself.”
Reg nodded along with that. “I could really get behind that effort. What were you thinking of?”
“I wasn’t.” Willow picked up a small handful of nuts and sultanas. “You’re the one meant to be thinking.”
“You said you had a surprise,” Reg grumbled. “While this seems more like a punishment.”
“It’s only a punishment if you don’t have any fun while you’re doing it,” Willow said, leaning over to give him a pat on the knee. “And you know once you get going, this’ll be a barrel of laughs.”
“Will it?” Reg looked around at them doubtfully. He sat back, fiddling with the marker caps, popping them on and off again. “I suppose we could run a bake sale?”
“That’s not a manly thing to suggest,” Harmony said. “Besides, when we do bake sales to raise money, all the local eating establishments complain. Try something else. What’s something you’ve wanted in the past but hasn’t been available?”
“A car wash?”
Willow shot him a suspicious glance. “If the next words out of your mouth are bikini, then Harmony and I are out of here.”
Reg guffawed with laughter, shaking his head. “No. I thought since the full-service garage shut down, we don’t have anywhere you can easily go to get that done. I know it’s just a half hour job in your driveway, but in winter, that’s not appealing to anyone.”
“Write it up on the board,” Willow said, giving his shoulder a nudge. “What else?”
“You said part of this was going to help out Shelby Causer?” Reg asked, turning to Willow.
She gave a nod, and he glanced back at the board. “Then I suggest I round up a group of able-bodied lads around my age and we inspect all building work he’s done around the area for free. We mightn’t be able to fix it ourselves, but we can certainly warn others if things are about to go pear-shaped.”
“Could you do that for my place?” Willow asked. “I’d be happy to pay for the peace of mind of knowing everything in there is safe. I don’t even like the thought of Mavis walking in the conservatory after seeing the flooring at Shelby’s house.”
“I can do yours gratis,” Reg offered. “It’ll help to train up the men I have in mind.”
“And your first idea of a bake sale might come back to haunt you,” Harmony said. “It won’t upset the local eateries if we give a bunch of baked goods to your men as a thank-you gift.”
“On the board,” Willow insisted, pointing and laughing.
They continued well into the night, writing up all their ideas. As Willow left, she took one last glance at the board and thought they could probably afford to buy a new house for Shelby by the time they were done.
What had started as a simple distraction to take Reg’s mind off his troubles had turned into something bigger and better than she could have imagined.
Willow thought of visiting Shelby that very minute and informing her everything was about to be put right. Luckily, a random note of caution sounded. It was far too late at night to be bringing people to their doors. She could tell her once the profits started to flow in, that would be soon enough.
Chapter Nine
As Willow crossed the town square the next day, she caught sight of Charley slipping out of the sheriff’s office. Never backward in coming forward, she strode across to greet him. “What are you doing here?”
Charley’s eyes opened wide in surprise, then he managed to produce a grin from somewhere. “I’ve just been dragged across the coals,” he informed her with a little bow. “Apparently, your sheriff doesn’t take kindly to people undercutting their bosses on new jobs.”
“Hardly a reason for you to murder him, though,” Willow mused, falling into step beside him. “I mean, it’s a great reason for Jeff to have bludgeoned you and tossed your body in the river but the reverse…?”
Charley winced at her flippant description, giving Willow pause. She’d always thought of herself as having a delicate composition, not able to view anything that was designed to shock. Now, the events of this week coming so soon on the heels of the terrible business with Roger Randall seemed to have put a damper on her squeamishness.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t know what I’m thinking lately.”
That gave Charley a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I can tell what the sheriff is thinking. He thinks I did Jeff in, then tried to cover over my mistake.”
“Did you?” Willow stared at the man intently as she finished her question. If Charley was lying about the murder, then he was a better actor than she’d have pinned him for.
“Not a chance. I might be a builder, but any of the guys at work could tell you, I’m averse to the sight of blood.”
“Me, too!” Willow smiled at Charley, feeling well-disposed to him because of their similarity. “It’s in my medical records that I faint when someone starts bleeding.”
“I can’t imagine it comes up too often in your line of work, though. Making tea isn’t really a high-risk occupation. Building work, however? I had to watch out to avoid seeing men nicking their fingers or sawing through something they shouldn’t.”
All of Willow’s worries that she was becoming hardened disappeared in a second. “Oh, don’t,” she cried, clapping a hand over her mouth at the thought.
“Sorry. I should know better, shouldn’t I? Make myself ill sometimes.”
For all that his words were sheepish, Charley had a big grin on his face.
“Did the sheriff question you about anything in particular?” Willow asked, getting the conversation back on her intended track. “He’s been putting the wind up my friend Reg, just because he had that stupid argument with Jeff the other morning.”
Charley snorted and nodded. “That’s an overreaction if I ever heard one. Jeff had an argument with somebody new every day. If the sheriff is using that to add to the pool of suspects, he’ll end up with a very long list.”
Willow nodded along, noting Charley had neatly sidestepped her question. She could try again, but it would definitely not come across as idle conversation if she pushed him again. Was it worth that risk?
“I like you, Charley,” Willow said. Her mother had taught her the importance of leading with a compliment. As a child, Willow had learned to dread the flattery, knowing that a telling-off would soon follow.
“This sounds like the start of a bad joke,” he responded, a gri
n still very much in place.
“I just wondered if the sheriff had any solid evidence on you. Something concrete that would set my friend’s mind at rest.”
“Why would he?” Charley fell out of step, drawing to a stop so Willow had to turn around and look back at him. “If you believe me that I didn’t do it, then it follows that Sheriff Wender can’t have any solid leads.”
“Except judging from the face you wore when you walked out of the station, he had something good on you.” Willow placed her hands on her hips. The friendly comradery was gone—now she just wanted answers.
“The sheriff knows I was moonlighting, knows I was stealing jobs from under Jeff’s nose, and knows I was fired. Cripes, if I saw that on a sheet of paper, I’d think I was guilty, too.”
It was all perfectly understandable. Every word out of Charley’s mouth made perfect sense.
So why did Willow feel like he was still hiding something from her?
* * *
It was later, as she walked into the bank to inquire about setting up an account for the fundraising, that Willow discovered the missing piece of Charley’s puzzle. As soon as her conversation with him had come to a sticky end, she’d regretted the whole incident.
In this small a town, there was no need to go around poking people, trying to make enemies. It would only come to no good if she didn’t get back in touch and apologize for her boldness earlier that day.
“I’ll need three forms of ID,” the teller informed Willow, who hunted around in her purse for the required cards and documents. No matter how prepared she was, as soon as something entered her handbag, it seemed to disappear into another realm. Items would hide in impossible corners, out of sight and out of the reach of her fingertips.
Behind the teller, in an office with the door sitting wide open, a man undertook an increasingly irate conversation on the phone.
“I’ve already said since the check was essentially a forgery,” the man said. “The money will be returned to the deceased account, forthwith. We can’t push the transfer through in the same day, but it will update in the account overnight.”
Tea Shop Cozy Mysteries - Books 1-6 Page 14