Plaid and Fore! and Murder

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Plaid and Fore! and Murder Page 5

by Patti Larsen


  I knew it. It matched the two pieces tucked into the music box on my nightstand.

  I was staring at a cutting from the Reading horde treasure map.

  “Where did you get that?” I obviously interrupted Oliver because when I looked up and into his eyes he seemed flustered, lost.

  He answered me, though, so I had to have cut him off before his rant travelled too far down the road of self-righteousness to salvage the moment. “An estate auction,” he said. “In a book. Peggy Munroe’s, if I recall correctly.” Oliver’s scowl returned. “Why?”

  My hands felt hot, sweat beading on the palms while I fought to remain calm, collected. “Crew,” I blurted as my whirling mind fought for an excuse. “He loves old things.” I swallowed as my mouth watered. “I’d love to give it to him. For our engagement.”

  I might as well have smacked Oliver across the face. And, in all honesty, the conversation had pivoted so far around I forgot the reason I’d come here in the first place. Did it matter what the residents of Reading thought happened to Fiona Doyle? Did she herself care what they thought of her? So why should I? All of my animosity fled in a rush and I realized I had more important things to worry about.

  Like the suspicious stare Oliver was giving me right then and there.

  Again, it was Shani who saved the day. “Oliver,” she said. “Do sell Fiona the piece. There’s a good dear.”

  He glanced at her, scowled again suddenly. But, when he turned back to the case, he was reaching for his keys. “It’s twenty bucks,” he snapped like I was going to argue.

  I fished a bill out of my wallet and handed it over. “Perfect.” I even plastered on a smile before nodding to Shani. “Thanks for the information,” I said, knowing I’d likely gone too far but seeing the resentment and animosity wash from Oliver’s tight shoulders, his angry face while he slipped the plastic covered slice of oh my god a clue into a paper bag before handing it over. It took everything in my power to keep from snapping my fingers at him to hurry up, to nod and smile again, to slowly retreat and not drag my pug along with me, walking at a sedate pace on the outside while my insides ran for home.

  I was surprised when I reached the street, exhaling in a heavy huff of excitement that made Petunia whine in reaction, when something bumped into the back of my legs when I paused to hug myself in delight. I turned to find Shani had followed me out, the sunlight making her pale eyes glow in a way that gave me a shiver.

  “Alice and Denver said you’re quite the detective.” She looked down at the paper bag in my hand, then met my eyes again, but when she spoke next it had nothing to do with the contents. “I’ll see what I can dig out of him for you, about the missing woman. I find there can be truths hidden in lies, if one knows where to look.”

  I bobbed a nod of thanks, hurried off, in search of Crew while wondering who my young friends had brought to town.

  ***

  Chapter Nine

  Still flustered, mind whirling over the discovery of another piece of the treasure puzzle, I let Petunia set the pace when she protested with a groan and a loud and fragrant passing of gas that made me laugh out loud. She sat a moment, staring up at me with those huge, brown eyes, not exactly accusatory but at least asking for mercy and, despite knowing her return to flatulence and rotundity was all her own fault for begging for more food than was good for her, I gave her a scratch behind one ear and down her ruff, hearing her groan again though this time with delight and appreciation.

  With Petunia forcing me into an amble that included the occasional pause to smell things that didn’t exist and huff under her breath when scampering squirrels decided teasing her was on the agenda, I had time to ponder both of the mysteries in front of me despite my renewed hyper focus on the treasure.

  Oliver’s little venture down Make Believe Way into Gossipville had initially triggered my temper, but now that I had time to process it I could see it from a less hostile perspective. Clearly the Patterson family had done their part to spread the story of Fiona Doyle’s disappearance in some kind of effort to belay suspicions. The fact Dad had never found her and that the case had gone cold despite his powerhouse abilities as an investigator surely reinforced to the good residents of Reading, Vermont that the missing woman had, in fact, run off with Marie’s husband and that infidelity could have been a cause. After all, such things weren’t exactly uncommon, though I had, I realized, no information about said husband and if he was even still in town, in the picture, or available to debunk our local historian’s clearly fabricated story.

  Time to prod Dad again. Maybe knowing what people were saying about Fiona would prompt him to talk. Then again, he likely knew all about it. Way to layer on more frustration, Fee.

  As for the second mystery, I was much happier pondering it as we finally reached the front walkway to Petunia’s, my pug panting but delighted by the chance to pause at the sidewalk and snorfle what looked like the remains of some kind of dropped foodstuff I wasn’t fast enough to keep her from devouring. She might have been fat, but she was faster than a lighting strike when it came to anything remotely edible.

  The piece of map weighted heavily in my pocket despite the fact it really had almost no physical substance to it. I touched the zipper protecting the paper bag from slipping free for the hundredth time in that short walk, just to be sure I hadn’t lost it, a thrill of goosebumps rising all over again. Yes, it was just another piece, but such fragments of clues were so few and far between I knew Crew and I would be absorbed in it for days.

  Petunia surprised me while I stood there, deep in thought, tugging on her leash and forcing me to follow before I could stop her, leading me up the driveway and into the parking lot, head up, emitting tiny little woofs of concern. I knew better than to argue with her and went after her, positive I was going to encounter yet another troublesome squirrel or even a chipmunk invading her space. Instead, to my surprise, as we entered the back yard, I instead stumbled into a confused young woman with her arms full of shopping bags.

  “Oh!” She stumbled back, dropping two of her purchases onto the grass, one of them upending the designer purse it contained, the other showering my yard with expensive underwear. Petunia, meanwhile, had her nose stuck in the young woman’s leg, sniffing something that held her attention. I had to pull back on her lead to get her to stop, uncharacteristic of the pug to take such notice of someone like that. “I’m so sorry,” my visitor said, blinking huge, blue eyes at me, perfectly curled and styled blonde hair tucked back with a pair of oversized, reflective sunglasses perched artfully on the top of her head. “I didn’t see you there. I’m terribly lost.” She giggled a little, her airy tone making my teeth ache but I smiled anyway because despite the fact I hadn’t seen her before it was very likely she was a guest. At least she wasn’t freaked out by Petunia’s continual attempts to smell her, instead wrinkling her nose in a friendly smile at the pug who finally relented.

  “No problem,” I said, bending and retrieving her items, slipping them back into the bags, noting most of what she’d bought had come from outside Reading, likely at one of the big shopping malls between here and the highway. The outlets had sprung up over the past two years, luring shoppers with flashy signs and promises of sales from the biggest names. I’d checked them out a time or two myself, but never found anything I really wanted, unlike this clearly avid consumer. “Do you have a reservation, Miss…?”

  “Tori Stonehouse.” She beamed a smile at me, teeth far too white and perfect not to be veneers, slim hand sticking out of the pile of bags hooked over her wrists while she tried to offer to shake. I did an awkward finger press while she giggled again and I inwardly winced before telling myself to stop judging already. “I’m here with Jack Nethersole.” She batted eyelashes so long and thick she had to have layered on at least two levels of falsies to achieve the look, full lips glistening with pale pink lip gloss, makeup so perfect she looked plastic. “My boyfriend.”

  Oh dear god, the poor thing. There I was, judging
again. Maybe he was nicer to her than he was to anyone he deemed the help. “Of course,” I said, heading for the annex, taking a couple of her shopping bags from her to her delight and murmur of thanks. At least she was polite. “Right this way, Miss Stonehouse.”

  “Tori,” she said, so bubbly I actually wondered if she was on something.

  “Fee.” I led her across the bridge, hearing her gasp and ah over the koi, looking around with a rather vapid but innocently excited expression that endeared more than it did irritate. For the first time the breeze carried her perfume to me and I understood why Petunia was fascinated. The mix of chocolate and vanilla and something else deliciously edible I couldn’t quite place must have been triggering my pug’s taste buds. I had a brief flash of wondering what kind of reaction Crew would have to such a scent before blushing and shaking off the urge to ask what she was wearing. Like I ever wore perfume unless it was some kind of left-over scent from the cleaners I used.

  How pathetic was that?

  By the time we reached the back door to the annex, I was feeling kind of sorry for her clear lack of sense. “Have you been dating long?” Might as well be friendly, if I could, letting her precede me into the back entry and the kitchen where the staff hustled out of our way.

  “Oh, ages,” she gushed. “A whole month!”

  Wow. “That’s forever,” I said. And meant it. Dating someone like Jack for a month must have felt like eternity.

  She followed me through the dining room and into the foyer, still with that delighted smile, looking around with appreciation that continued to put her in my good books. Petunia continued to try to sniff her, though chocolate was deadly for her, the pug was obsessed with all things cocoa based. We hadn’t had any kind of health scares just yet, but it was inevitable, I feared.

  Tori didn’t seem to care Petunia loved her perfume choice, as patient with the eager pug as anyone I’d ever met. Instead, she carried on like the bratty canine wasn’t snuffling the cuff of her designer jeans. “I know, right? I’m so lucky.” She heaved a happy sigh, high heels tapping on the steps as she teetered her way after me. “He’s just the best.”

  Okay, so maybe I’d misjudged him? Was he just having a bad day? I felt myself softening toward the arrogant ass I’d met at my front desk, admitting I hadn’t exactly been at my utmost helpful hostess self when we’d met and promised as I knocked on his door at the top of the stairs that I’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

  The moment the knob turned and he jerked the door wide, that promise died in a snarly little wave of mutual animosity. He glared at me a moment, and while his handsome face might have impressed some, I saw through him and into the soul of a creep who didn’t care one little bit about anyone.

  Tori clearly didn’t see what I did because she squealed her happiness before hurtling herself at Nethersole, dropping her shopping all around them, arms around his neck, kissing him over and over again on the cheek in little pecks of childlike possession.

  “Jackie!” She giggled as he let her cling to him. “I found you!”

  He looked about as happy to see her as he had me. “Tori.” Yup, she was clueless if she couldn’t hear the dull disdain in his tone. “What are you doing here?”

  I didn’t get to find out. With his eyes locked on me, Nethersole slammed the door in my face as Tori’s nattering made it to me in a muffled string of nonsense I couldn’t make out and, frankly, didn’t want to.

  Instead, grateful I wouldn’t have to deal with him further, I turned and exited the annex, pug in tow, irritated and judgmental all over again.

  ***

  Chapter Ten

  I didn’t even wait for the door to close behind me before pressing the paper bag into Crew’s big hands. He looked startled by my insistence but didn’t argue, turning for the kitchen while I pushed against his broad back with both hands, bouncing as I went, giggling over the expression on his face when he spun back to meet my eyes.

  His grin made me sigh, washing away the remains of the encounter with Oliver, with Jack Nethersole, with all of the complaining, needy people I’d dealt with today, yesterday, every day since taking over Petunia’s. He just had that effect on me, bless him.

  “And here I thought you were excited to see me,” he said, winking, that rumbling voice of his making me shiver as I leaned in and kissed his stubbled cheek. He hadn’t changed out of his uniform shirt yet, the wash-softened cotton thick under my hands, the scent of him so dear, so familiar I inhaled a deep breath of him before kissing him again, this time on those smiling lips.

  That lingered a bit longer than I’d expected and I was breathless when he leaned away, the rustle of the paper bag doing its best to drag me back to the moment. Likely the only thing, to be honest, that could have succeeded. Kissing Crew always made the world go away.

  His eyebrow arch and low gasp of surprise at the discovery made me laugh all over again. I’m not ashamed to admit I clapped my hands in front of my heart like a little girl, knowing I was beaming at him, barely able to keep from grabbing the plastic-wrapped map piece and tearing open the covering myself. I was surprised when he didn’t do so, though, turning it slowly over in his hands, squinting at it before flipping it back to the front again.

  “Where did you find this?” He sounded as out of air as I’d felt just a moment ago and I blurted the story while he turned on the over-the-counter light in his little kitchen, leaning his hip against the counter, studying the piece while I told him about my encounter with Oliver and Shani.

  I had to, of course, tell him about the old historian’s comments about Fiona Doyle, since that was the reason I’d gone to Watters Antiques in the first place. Crew nodded when I finished, though he didn’t comment about the rumors the Pattersons had made truth, instead focusing on the hoard. Double bless him. I’d had enough negativity for the day. I wanted something fun to talk about and, from the wicked grin on my fiancé’s face, he was all in.

  “You know what this means?” He shook the protective plastic at me just enough to make it rattle. “There are other pieces of the map in Reading, Fee. There have to be.”

  “It does worry me a part of it was in Peggy Munro’s possession.” The crazy old lady who’d murdered Jared’s father and tried to kill me when I found out she was the culprit might have been in prison, but she still gave me nightmares. I’d thought her real estate scam, trying to steal property from the aged and those suffering dementia was the end of her involvement in my Grandmother Iris’s life. There had been no indication Peggy herself knew anything about the treasure’s existence. Her husband, on the other hand… “It must have been Daniel Munroe’s. Those love letters my grandmother exchanged with him led Daisy to the book, right? It’s likely Peggy never knew about the treasure hunt.”

  Crew seemed suddenly concerned. “I’m not so sure about that,” he said. “But it’s not like it matters. She’s in prison and won’t be getting out anytime soon.”

  I hesitated, wondering if the thought I’d just had—the crazy, stupid, ridiculously risky thought—crossed his mind at the same time. And spoke it out loud just as he scowled and shook his head like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “I could go talk to her?” Oh my god, what was I saying? And still saying, my mouth running while Crew growled at me, softly under his breath, dark brows pulled together over those intense blue eyes that told me there was no way in hell and only over his dead body was I getting within a hundred miles of the woman who tried to kill me. “See if I can fish around for information?”

  Crew hugged me suddenly, held me tight, as if doing so could shut down my impossible brain or keep me safe just from sheer force of will. “We have other avenues to explore,” he said. “Please, Fee. Don’t.”

  If he’d argued with me, told me no, been a bossypants? Yeah, would likely have cemented the idea firmly in place to the point I would have gone even though I didn’t want to. Instead, he’d said please. Sigh. I loved him so much for knowing me so well a single word could
shut down even my inner busybody.

  “Fine,” I said, going for grumpy but failing when I was in such delightful physical contact with his truly delicious self.

  He chuckled, that sound in my ear all I needed to relent the rest of the way and sink into his arms, knees a bit weak, lips finding the soft skin of his chest where the last fastened button of his shirt parted. “I take it you brought the others?”

  Hmmm. What? Right, the map. Way to get distracted, Fleming. I pulled out the envelope I’d tucked the two existing clues into, watching them slide out of the open end and settle on the counter. Only then did Crew break the seal on the plastic protecting the newest discovery. It was obvious to me—and had been even before I’d bought it—this piece wasn’t connected to ours, at least in puzzle terms. I was pretty sure Crew’s was near a corner, as was mine, ours the two halves of the compass he had tattooed on his arm, that we’d found under the water in the harbor of Cutter Lake. This piece seemed to be internal, at least in my estimation, the outline of the mountain in the center familiar enough that when Crew pointed at it I named it in my head as he did out loud.

  “Black Mountain.” Yes, its distinctive outline was pretty hard to miss. I held still, breath frozen in my chest, when he slid it sideways across the counter and placed it a short distance from our two connected pieces. “I’m guessing,” he said. “We still have no idea how big the map is. But, if we are to continue guessing,” he ran one finger down the counter toward the bottom right side, “Cutter Lake should be here. And, when we find that piece, I’m sure the compass will be repeated there.”

  “Are we sure our compass isn’t that one?” I pointed at his finger, jabbing the tile.

 

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