Dead Men Don't Crochet
Page 24
“I know you were the one who got the corn chowder for Arnold.”
She blinked back some tears and appeared shocked. “I don’t know who told you that, but they’re wrong.”
CHAPTER 24
SOMETHING WAS DEFINITELY FISHY. SOMEONE wasn’t telling me the truth, but who? I rushed to the Cottage Shoppe the next morning on my way to the bookstore. I wanted to talk to Kevin personally. I figured face-to-face I’d have a better chance of figuring out whether he was telling the truth. I had to wait while he took care of a phone call and dealt with a workman, but I was finding it hard to contain my impatience. I suddenly understood Sheila’s tapping as my foot began to do it on its own while I listened to the workman ask where to put something since there wasn’t any more room in the storage unit.
“I just have a quick question,” I said, knowing I was interrupting. But Kevin gave me a dirty look and continued dealing with the workman. Who cared if he was going to get rid of a box of files in a little while so there’d be room for the boxes next to the workman?
Finally, the man walked away and I got to talk to Kevin. “Who got the soup for Dr. Bullard?” I asked.
“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” Kevin said. “Like I told Detective Gilmore, Mrs. Bullard got the soup for her husband.”
He certainly looked like he was telling the truth, but so had Pixie. They couldn’t both be right. Unless . . . “How did she order it? Did she come in and pick it up?”
“No, no. It was a phone order. Dorothy took the call. We have Mrs. Bullard’s credit card on file. Then Dorothy took it over to him.”
Maybe Kevin and Pixie both were telling the truth after all. I suddenly wanted to talk to Dorothy very badly, but she wasn’t in yet and I couldn’t wait around.
It was Milton Mindell day.
Most of our events were in the evening, but since Milton’s fans were kids, we always held his events on Saturday mornings, and no matter how hard I tried to have all the loose ends taken care of, there were always things hanging. Things Adele would try to take care of and probably mess up if I wasn’t there. I practically jogged down the street.
Kids and their parents were already lined up outside the bookstore when I arrived. Milton’s appearances were more than events, they were extravaganzas. Large posters of his latest book, The Zombie Next Door, hung on the front windows, beckoning his loyal readers. As I walked inside, I passed Milton’s Horror Helpers bringing in the tent so the program could have its proper dark setting.
I caught sight of Adele, who looked like a beatnik mortician. She wore a midcalf black knit skirt over black-and-white-striped tights. On top she had on a long black tunic with about six strands of shiny black beads. She’d topped off her ensemble with a black beret. And she’d gone the raccoon route with her eye makeup again. She looked askance at my usual khaki slacks and white shirt. To deal with the morning chill I’d added a long black vest. “Pink, I have a cape if you want to make your outfit more event appropriate.” I didn’t have time to answer.
The event was so popular we had to give out numbered tickets for places in the tent and the guarantee of a signed book. I gave half the tickets out in advance and the rest the day of the event. The beginning of the line outside was for the people with tickets and the back section for those hoping to get one. I could tell there were already more people in the line than I had tickets remaining.
I knew when Milton arrived by the rising noise level in the line. Then the door whooshed open and he made his entrance. He was about five feet two, dressed in black, of course, with a pompadour hairstyle that had been sprayed until it wouldn’t dare quiver. He was flanked by two similarly dressed people of indeterminate sex who immediately left his side to fuss about the placement of the tent—some feng shui thing about the right energy flow.
After greeting Milton, I realized something was missing. Well, really someone. Adele. I found her hiding in the children’s section.
“Geez, he gives me the creeps,” she said. I considered telling her to stay put, but she’d already started following me, holding on to my vest.
Milton’s eye’s brightened when he saw Adele. “I like your outfit,” he said in his squeaky voice. “Maybe you want to be in the tent with me.” He reached toward Adele, but she looked totally freaked out and clung to me as I walked across the store to give out the tickets.
Dinah stopped me with the two kids in tow. “You have to give me tickets for them,” she said.
I glanced at the line outside. Several mothers figured out what was going on and gave me dirty looks. I didn’t dare hand her tickets, but I also couldn’t let my friend down. I promised to get her in the tent at the end. I expected some remark from Adele, but she was too busy being my shadow. From across the store, Milton smiled at her and waved.
“I thought Jeremy was picking up the kids,” I said.
Dinah’s expression went to upset and she stepped closer to me and out of earshot of E. Conner and Ashley-Angela. “It’s a long story. No, it’s really a very short story. Jeremy left, alone. He’s up in Seattle supposedly locking in a job. He said he just has a hotel room and there’s someone who could babysit the kids, but he thinks the person might have an alcohol problem. Clearly he knows how to manipulate me. But it’s just temporary. He’s got thirty days. Then either he picks up his kids or I’m bringing them up there.”
I told her everything would be all right and sent them to the café for Bob’s special spider juice punch and shortbread fingers. I suggested Adele help in there, too. I was relieved when she let go.
As soon as I started handing out tickets I knew there were going to be problems. The people at the end of the line were already getting antsy. Just then a woman came up and took my arm. “You’re Molly Pink, aren’t you?” she asked. I nodded, and she explained the cashier had told her I was in charge of the crochet group.
“Not in charge, just one of the soldiers,” I said with a smile. She introduced herself and explained she was director of the Women’s Haven and had stopped by to pick up a book. “I also want to thank you in advance for the shawls. You have no idea what this will mean to the women, knowing somebody cares enough to make them something. God bless you for thinking of them,” she said before leaving.
The next mother in line was glaring at me for not attending to the tickets. Before I could start handing them out again, Mason Fields showed up with a little blond boy in tow who he introduced as his grandson. The same mother started muttering threats under her breath. Mason pulled me aside and asked if I could get his grandson in the tent. I made a big point of shaking my head as if to say no, while I told him to go in the café and wait with Dinah and I’d sneak them in.
I was glad Jeffrey was too old to appreciate Milton. With everything going on I didn’t need some kind of confrontation between Barry and Mason.
Two of the Horror Helpers came out and invited the first twenty kids into the tent. I was about to hand out more tickets when Pixie stepped in front of me.
“I found this on the copy machine,” she said, holding out two pieces of paper. She looked a little better and thanked me again for the food. Bob saw her and waved for her to come in. “You’re busy. You can look at it later and then give it back to me,” she said before heading toward the café. I started to look at the pages, but a mother in line tapped me on the shoulder.
“Are you going to hand out those numbers, or what?” the angry mother said.
“Sorry,” I said, tearing off more tickets and handing them out. The Horror Helpers invited the next group into the tent. As I suspected, I ran out of tickets before I ran out of people in line.
“This is ridiculous,” a mother wearing a bandana said. “I want to speak to the manager.” The other people in line heard her and started chanting the same thing.
“What’s going on?” a voice asked in the midst of the commotion. When I turned I saw that it was Dorothy. “I just wanted to pick up a coffee,” she said, regarding the squirming kids with distaste.
There were more complaints from the line as Dorothy pulled away. “Kevin’s alone at the store. I have to get back so he can clean out something in the storage unit. Can’t talk now.”
She was gone before I could stop her. I wanted to run after her, but I had to deal with the restless stragglers first. I rushed the overflow to the kids’ department. As expected, Adele was hiding there. I introduced her as one of Milton’s extra special helpers and said she would not only read a portion of the new book to them but would also get them complimentary spider punch and shortbread fingers. Her outfit was a big hit. I left before I saw how the reading went.
Then, when no one was looking, I slipped E. Conner and Ashley-Angela, along with Mason’s grandson, in the tent. Mason and Dinah had found a table and were talking. Bob was talking to Pixie; his body language said he was offering his sympathy and hers said she was taking it, along with a creamy-looking drink.
I leaned against a bookcase and took a deep breath. So far, so good. I’d been so preoccupied, I’d forgotten I was still holding the two pages Pixie had handed me. At first, it didn’t even register what they were. Then I realized they were a copy of the brochure she had mentioned. The title on the front was Palladian Estate Heirlooms. There was a picture of one those large English houses that looked like it probably had no heat. Because it was only a copy, the picture quality wasn’t great. Below the photo was the story of the house and the family that had lived there. Lady Sara Ratcliffe was described as Princess Diana’s third cousin. Though Lord Ratcliffe was mentioned, the only family photo was of Lady Sara. It appeared to be a copy of an old sepia formal portrait. Lady Rafcliffe wore a long dark dress and was standing next to a chair, her hand resting on it. There was a lacy thing around her neck and down the front of the dress, which was obviously the collar Pixie had talked about. It resembled a long scarf. I could see enough detail to recognize that the piece I’d seen on Drew Brooks’s desk drawer handle came from it. Her hair was piled on her head in one of those old-fashioned styles, but since the focus was soft and it wasn’t a close-up, it was hard to make out her features. Dr. Bullard was good if he could see she had an overbite.
I looked closer at the face and covered the stylized hair with my hand. At first I didn’t believe what I was seeing. I stared so hard I had to look away to refocus my eyes. When I turned back to the picture, there was no mistaking who it was. And then all the pieces began to fall into place.
The picture was enough to convince me I knew who had killed Drew for sure and probably Dr. Bullard. But it probably wouldn’t be enough for Detective Heather. Ah, but then a thought crossed my mind. Hadn’t someone mentioned the meticulous records Ramona Brooks kept when she was the owner of the Cottage Shoppe? A sheet listing the seller of the Ratcliffe Estate items would be the piece that tied everything together.
And I even knew where the files were. I’d overheard Kevin mention putting them in the storage unit. I considered calling Detective Heather and telling her about Ramona Brooks’s records. But hadn’t Dorothy just said something about Kevin clearing some stuff out of the unit? I had to get that Ratcliffe Estate file now.
Even though I was in the middle of Milton Mindell’s event, I couldn’t take the chance that the records would get shredded before I got the sheet I needed. I dashed to the children’s section and told Adele I had to step out for a few minutes.
“Pink, you can’t go,” she wailed, looking at the kids sitting around her. Obviously my plan hadn’t worked so well; the kids were fidgeting and punching each other. She got up and stepped close to me.
“You wanted to be in charge, well, consider yourself in that position for ten minutes or so,” I said. “It’s important. I know who killed Drew Brooks, and if I don’t get the proof now, it will be gone.” Adele demanded details of where I was going, and I pointed toward the Cottage Shoppe. “There is something I have to get before Kevin Brooks has a chance to throw it away. If you have any problems Dinah will help.”
Adele sighed and marched back to the kids, asking if anybody wanted another round of spider punch.
I was almost jogging when I passed Dinah and Mason in the café. I turned as I kept moving and told Dinah I had found the answer to everything and was going for the proof. She started to get up to come with me, but I waved her off. I thought something might be developing between them and I didn’t want to interrupt it. Besides, all I was going to do was slip into the storage unit and find a file. I started to jog down the street, but it morphed into an outright run.
I rushed past the Cottage Shoppe, barely catching a glimpse of Kevin stirring some soup while Dorothy helped a customer.
The doors to the storage unit were closed but, thankfully, not locked. I pulled one side open and slipped in. It was a full-service container and had a light. I walked down the narrow walkway between tall shelving units, quickly checking both sides for a box of files. The shelves were jammed with stuff from the store. On the upper shelves I saw pots and pans, the espresso machine, and giant glass jars of tomato products along with one-gallon plastic jugs of brown liquid. The yarn swift and the skeins of yarn Dorothy had put aside for me were sticking out from an eye-level shelf. The lower shelves held plastic containers of merchandise from the store and cleaning supplies, but nothing that looked like a box of records.
My heart was pounding from the running and anticipation as I reached the spot at the back where the shelving ended. The whole area was filled with boxes, and I began to tug at them so I could get them in the light and see their contents. The first two I opened contained cookbooks and more merchandise from the store. And then I opened one that made me gasp. It was filled with the paperweights that had been on Drew’s desk. Apparently they hadn’t been such big sellers after all. All the complimentary coffee and tea things had been packed up in one box, and another had rolls of banner paper and templates to do the sign lettering.
I was beginning to think I was too late and that my next stop would have to be Dumpster diving, but then I flipped the top off a box and saw what looked like file-drawer dividers. When I pulled the box into the light, I saw they were monthly dividers. I randomly pulled a sheet from the middle and read at it.
Ramona Brooks had used a fountain pen to write up in her remarkable penmanship the description of a set of silver serving pieces and a bone china tea set. It listed the seller, the date the serving pieces had sold and the price. She’d written in the date she paid the consignee and gave back the tea set, which didn’t sell. Whoever had said she kept meticulous records was right. I sent out a silent thank-you.
All I had to do was locate the sheet for the Ratcliffe Estate heirlooms. Since the files were arranged chronologically rather than alphabetically, I thought I was going to have to go through the whole box. I tried to remember if there was any clue as to when the items had been in the store to narrow down my search. Hadn’t somebody said something about when the time changed? Hoping I was right, I thumbed through October. This was taking longer than I’d expected, and I was getting a little frantic as I ruffled through the pale green pages. And suddenly there it was.
As soon as I saw Ratcliffe Estate Heirlooms, I knew I’d found the sheet I needed. My eye went down the page as my breath grew ragged. Below the list of items I saw the name of the seller in Ramona Brooks’s perfect blue ink. Bingo, I had my proof. I was still holding the copy of the brochure Pixie had given me. That along with the sales sheet and Pixie’s story ought to be enough. Detective Heather would see who had a real motive to kill Drew Brooks, and then she’d leave Sheila alone. I pulled out the sheet and as I turned to go, a shadow fell across the page.
“What’s your hurry?”
I slipped the sales sheet and the brochure behind my back and looked up, having already recognized the voice. “Patricia, what brings you here?”
“I stopp
ed by the bookstore to drop off some autographed copies of my book. Adele was in quite a state. She said you were off getting something that proved who killed Drew Brooks. May I have it, please?”
I held the papers tighter. “I was mistaken—there wasn’t anything. I need to get back to the bookstore. The Milton Mindell event and all.” I started to take a step toward the door, but the overhead light reflected on something in Patricia’s hand.
“I don’t think so.” She raised her hand a little so there was no mistaking the small blue handgun.
“I thought Benjamin was antigun,” I said, looking at the compact but lethal weapon.
“He is—but I’m not. At least, for me. These days you’ve got to protect yourself.” She moved the gun a little closer. “Now hand me the paper.” When I didn’t comply, she looked annoyed. “Molly, Molly, Molly, why couldn’t you just mind your own business?”
“I don’t know what paper you’re talking about. I was looking for something I had put on layaway at the store.” I pointed at the yarn swift, but as I did the papers slid out of my hand and landed on the floor.