“Well, what happened?” pressed Evanee. Her heart was in her throat, scared to hear the ending of the story. “You said she never got to wear the dress. What happened?”
“There was a fire,” Priscilla whispered through her tears. “A big fire, and Rachel was caught in the blaze.”
Evanee’s whole body froze. A fire? “Was Rachel the only one in the fire?”
Priscilla nodded. “It was at the old fire hall. Rachel’s husband was a firefighter there and had gotten permission for her to use it to get ready.”
“The old fire hall!” said Evanee in surprise. She’d heard that it had burned down. That was when her building had become the temporary fire hall, but the circumstances had never been explained to her. “That’s crazy. How does a fire hall burn down?”
“Well, Stoney Brook doesn’t have full-time firefighters. Everyone here is volunteer. So it wasn’t always staffed like it might be in a bigger city. And that particular day, with the festival kicking off, many of the volunteer firefighters were getting ready to take their families to the parade.”
“Do they know how the fire was started?” Evanee asked.
Priscilla’s fluffy white head bobbed up and down. “The newspapers said it was arson.”
Evanee’s brows shot up. “Arson?! Are you serious? Someone intentionally tried to kill her?” She glanced over at Whitley, whose tears were falling freely down her face now.
“I don’t know,” whispered Priscilla. “There are so many conflicting theories. It’s hard to know what to believe.”
“Well, did they ever arrest anyone for her murder?”
“No, they didn’t have enough evidence, but many people in town think her husband did it. Several people reported having seen his truck at the fire hall that very afternoon.”
Evanee nodded sadly. She’d seen enough Dateline episodes in her life to know that it was usually the husband that did it. “That’s so sad. Why would’ve he wanted to kill her if they had a new baby?”
Priscilla shook her head. “That’s just it. I have no idea. Stoney Brook’s a very small town. I know you haven’t been here very long, but everyone knows everyone here.”
“Yes, I’ve already caught on to that,” said Evanee. It always amazed her how fast news traveled in the small town.
“You know, I knew her husband. He never seemed like the kind of man that would want to kill his wife. And Rachel always spoke highly of him. She never had a cross word to say about him, except that she didn’t get to spend enough time with him because he worked so much supporting his new family.”
“Maybe he was cheating on her,” Evanee whispered.
Priscilla let out a heavy sigh. “One just never knows, does one? But, ultimately, he was never formally charged. They didn’t have the evidence to connect him to the fire. So, to this day, the case remains unsolved.”
“Another cold case,” whispered Whitley, sadly shaking her head.
“Was there anyone else that the police were looking into, or was it just the husband?”
“Oh, I think they followed a lot of different leads. There’s been some scuttlebutt around the town for years about other possibilities. But for the most part, people are convinced it was the husband.”
“How long ago did this happen, Priscilla? You said it was many, many years ago, but do you know how many years ago?”
Priscilla had to think about it for a few long seconds. “Ohhh,” she drawled. “I know it’s been at least thirty years. The newspaper did a write-up about it on the thirtieth anniversary of her death. The article said how the case still remained unsolved and any new information would be helpful.”
“Did they get any new leads?”
“Oh, I have no idea, dear. By then I was out of the loop of most of the town gossip. I mean, I hear things at the general store from time to time or at the hairdresser’s, but I don’t have coffee every morning like I used to. That’s where you hear all the good gossip, you know.”
Evanee knew that firsthand. Several of the ladies in town stopped by her shop to have coffee in the mornings, and they always had to chitter chat about whatever new scandal was rocking the town. But as far as she could remember, she’d never heard anyone whispering about this.
“So whatever happened to the husband? Did he move away?”
Priscilla lifted her brows, making the heavy bags of skin beneath her eyes move. “Oh, no, dear. He still lives here. He became a bit of a hermit after Rachel died. Folks say it’s because he’s guilty and can’t face the town after what he did to the poor woman, but I don’t know. I suppose I’d hole up tight too if the entire town thought I was guilty of murdering my wife.”
“Whatever happened to Rachel’s baby?”
“Well, as babies do, he grew up. His father raised him right here in Stoney Brook. He went to school here, graduated here, and as far as I’m aware, he became just as big of a hermit as his father is.”
“We need their names,” whispered Whitley as she wiped the tears from her face with her fingertips. “We’re going to want to speak to them.”
“Priscilla, you never said what Rachel’s last name was,” Evanee said, turning to face the old woman again.
“Oh, didn’t I? Well, her maiden name was Church. She’s Doris and Bill’s daughter,” she explained. “They live just up the road from here. But she married into the Dawson family.”
Evanee’s eyes widened and her body froze. Did she just say… “The Dawson family?” she whispered, her mouth suddenly parched.
Priscilla nodded. “Yes, dear. She married Steven Dawson.”
“As in Dawson Farms?”
“So you’ve heard of them!”
“I have. Lane Dawson just brought me a load of pumpkins yesterday afternoon. Vine borers got into my crop this year.”
“Oh, those darn things!” remarked Priscilla. “They got into mine too. Pesky things. But, yes, Lane Dawson. That would be Steve and Rachel’s boy. Nice-looking fellow, isn’t he?”
Evanee took a long sip of her lemonade and then set the glass back down on the table. If having a square jawline covered by a full beard, a head of curly blond hair that curled up around his ears, muscular arms covered in red flannel, and a butt you could bounce quarters off made him nice looking, then yes, she supposed nice looking he was. Perhaps it might’ve even been an understatement, if she were being honest. Lane had been incredibly handsome. But he’d also been incredibly rude to her, which had greatly detracted from his good looks.
“Yes, I suppose. He chews tobacco, though,” said Evanee.
“Not an attractive habit, I’d agree,” Priscilla agreed with a knowing nod. “My Dennis, God rest his soul, was a tobacco chewer. It took me years to break him of the habit.”
After hearing the awful story about Lane’s mother, Evanee suddenly feel drained and not like talking anymore. She swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. “Yes, well, I better get back to my shop. I’ve got a lot of work to do today, and as sad as that story was, it was what I needed to know.” Evanee stood up and pulled the dress over her arm. “Thank you for the information, and for the lemonade, Priscilla.”
“Stop by anytime for another glass,” said Priscilla kindly, standing up too. “I don’t get many visitors out this way.”
Evanee walked to Priscilla’s front door and paused with her hand on the doorknob while Whitley caught up to her. “You know, there are a few handfuls of women that come into my shop in the mornings to have coffee. Maybe you should come visit me next time?”
Priscilla grinned. “You know, it has been a while since I’ve gone to coffee. Perhaps I’ll take you up on that.”
Evanee opened the door. “Please do. I owe you one now.”
When Evanee and Whitley were out on the front porch, Priscilla stuck her head out the door. “Evanee. What will you do with Rachel’s dress?”
“I don’t know,” she said sadly. Now, knowing who it had belonged to and what had happened to her, it almost felt wrong to wear the dress herse
lf. “Maybe I’ll see if her son wants it. Somehow it just doesn’t seem right for me to wear it now.”
The women exchanged tight, sorrowful smiles. “Thank you for everything, Priscilla.”
11
Evanee and Whitley sat quietly in the Woods Rustic Wares parking lot. Each of them had been so absorbed in their own thoughts that neither of them had said much on the short ride back into town.
Finally, with a heavy heart, Evanee pulled the keys out of the ignition and looked over at Whitley. “So now what? I solved the mystery of whose dress this was. When will you and Esmerelda go?”
Whitley sighed. “That’s not the mystery, Evanee. Isn’t it obvious?”
“No. What’s obvious?”
Whitley glanced over her shoulder at Prim, who was now sleeping on the backseat. Esmerelda was sleeping in the third row, but she couldn’t see her at the moment. She turned to look at Evanee. “The mystery isn’t who the dress belonged to. The mystery is who killed Rachel Dawson.”
Evanee’s head shook. She’d been afraid Whitley might say that. “Ohhh, no. I’m not a detective. How in the world am I supposed to figure out who set that fire? That happened years ago. Her son is in his thirties. If the police couldn’t solve it, what makes you think I can?”
Whitley looked out the window and threw up her hands. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “It’s not like I wanted to spend my life doing this either. I had plans for my life. I wanted to go to fashion school and design clothes! And even though I enjoyed reading a good mystery novel, I never for a second wanted to be a detective. So the truth of the matter is, I don’t know how to do it either. But the only way out of that snow globe is to return all those dresses to their rightful owners by solving their mysteries.”
Evanee’s hands flared out. “But I’ll return the dress to the Dawson family. That’s no problem.”
“It’s not enough,” said Whitley sadly. “We have to find out who killed the mom.”
“But you heard Priscilla. Most of the town thinks the husband did it.”
“What if he didn’t?” Whitley tipped her head to the side as she looked intently at Evanee. “What if he wasn’t the one that did it, but his whole life he’s been accused? Priscilla said he became a hermit. Think about it, Evanee. What a horrible way to spend your life, with everyone in your town thinking you’re a murderer.”
“But what if he really is guilty?” whined Evanee, leaning her head back against the head rest.
“Well, then, I think he should be behind bars, don’t you? Do you feel comfortable knowing there’s a murderer running around this little town?”
Evanee pouted out her bottom lip. She saw Gemma’s head bob past one of the shop windows. Gemma, Matthew, and Sara Greyson were the closest thing she had to family here in Stoney Brook. If there really was a murderer running around the town, what if they did something to Gemma? Or to Sara?! The thought made Evanee sick.
“I’ll admit, it does make me uncomfortable thinking like that.”
“Exactly!” said Whitley. “Then we have no choice but to solve this case. I can’t do it alone. People can’t even see me! And they can’t hear Whitley talking. All they can hear is her meowing. How could the two of us manage to solve a decades-old murder case like this alone?”
Evanee shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t have the time to dedicate to this. I teach yoga every morning. I run my shop all day. The Renaissance Festival is coming up, and I’ve got lots of things to do to help get ready for that. I’m a busy woman.”
“Too busy to get justice for Rachel Dawson?”
Evanee’s eyes swung over towards the pumpkins she’d stacked neatly on her pergola. Rachel was Lane Dawson’s mother. He’d been just a baby when she’d died, and he’d never gotten a chance to know his mom. Maybe that was why he seemed to have such a chip on his shoulder. Maybe that was why he’d been so rude to her. He’d been raised by a single father. Perhaps a single father who had killed his mother. The thought truly hurt her heart. To have grown up without a mother would have killed Evanee.
Finally, she sighed. “No, not too busy to get justice for Rachel Dawson. I’ll help you solve her murder.”
Whitley squealed and reached over to throw her arms around Evanee’s shoulders. “Thank you, Evanee. You won’t regret it!”
“Who in the world were you talking to out there?” asked Gemma, the second Evanee stepped inside the shop carrying the festival dress followed by Whitley, Prim, and Esmerelda.
Evanee breezed past her friend, avoiding eye contact. “Talking to?”
“Yeah, in your car. It looked like you were having a super animated conversation.”
“Sorry, Evanee,” said Whitley, looking down at her feet. “I didn’t realize anyone was watching us.”
Evanee waved her hand at Gemma. “Oh, I was just talking to my mother on the phone. I had her on speakerphone.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “She was just complaining about something my father did the other day, I was trying to explain to her that she needs to cut him a little slack, and she just didn’t want to hear it.”
“Oh. It totally looked like you were having a conversation with someone in the car, but I couldn’t see anyone in the car.”
Evanee glanced down at Prim, who was just crawling into her bed. “Oh, well, I was probably just talking to Prim, too.” Trying to change the subject, Evanee looked around. “It’s awfully quiet in here this morning. Where are all of our coffee drinkers?”
“There were a few early risers in already, but I think it’s probably a little too early for our coffee club gals. So, what’s with the dress?” asked Gemma, fingering the gown that Evanee had hung up behind the counter.
“Oh, do you like it? I was thinking about wearing it to the Renaissance Festival.”
“Like it? I love it! Where’d you get it?” breathed Gemma, marveling at the dress.
“Oh, umm. Priscilla Pankhurst made it,” said Evanee. It was the truth. But Gemma didn’t need to know that Priscilla had made it for Rachel Dawson, not Evanee, and she’d made it over thirty years ago.
“I thought she retired from sewing.”
“Oh, she did. I think maybe she made it a while back or something. I’m not sure about all the details.”
“Huh, that’s weird that she just happened to have an old renaissance festival dress laying around.”
Evanee giggled nervously and then swooped down to pick up Esmerelda. “Gemma, have you gotten to meet my new kitty?”
“Your new kitty?” Gemma’s jaw dropped as she looked at Esmerelda. “When did you get a new kitty? You didn’t say anything about it yesterday!”
“Oh, I got her at the flea market in Brattleboro last night. I made a deal with this vendor. I got the cat and this little antique piece as a twofer special.”
“You’re kidding! I didn’t even know flea market vendors sold cats.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s completely normal or anything. I just think this particular vendor had a cat he wanted to get rid of, and I fell in love with her and, well…” She squeezed Esmerelda to her chest, a big smile across her face.
“Can’t. Breathe…” gasped Esmerelda. But it came out to Gemma’s ears as only, “Meow.”
Evanee patted her soft fur and then held her out to Gemma. “You want to hold her?”
Gemma took Esmerelda and cuddled her to her chest. “She’s so soft!”
“Right? I just love her fur. And look at those green eyes! They look like emeralds. She’s just gorgeous.”
Esmerelda beamed at the attention. “They’re my best feature, I’m told,” she said with a smile.
Gemma hugged her tightly. “Awww, she’s purring! What does Prim think about the new kitty?”
Evanee glanced down at Prim, who sat in her princess bed beneath the counter, watching both Evanee and Gemma love on Esmerelda. “Umm, I’m not really sure yet. Esmerelda seems to think Prim’s after her.”
“Esmerelda? Is that her name?”
Eva
nee nodded.
“Yes, that’s very fitting for her.” Gemma gave her one more good pet and then put her down on the floor and set about tidying up the coffee station behind the counter. “She’ll fit in well around her, I think. All the coffee ladies will love her just as much as they love Prim.”
“Hey, Gem, when I went to see Priscilla today, she was in the visiting mood and she mentioned something about Lane Dawson’s mother. Have you heard about her?”
Gemma’s hand froze mid-wipe. “Lane Dawson’s mother?” she repeated breathlessly.
Evanee nodded. “Yes. Rachel Dawson was her name.”
Slowly, Gemma turned around. “What exactly did Priscilla say about her?”
“Well, she basically told me the story about how she’d been killed. She used to work for Priscilla years ago. She told me about the fire and about how many in the community think that Lane’s dad, Steve, was the one that had set the fire.”
A deep line furrowed Gemma’s brow. “I don’t think Steve did it. He was a volunteer firefighter, you know. Lane is one now too. Why would a volunteer firefighter, someone who puts his life on the line to save others in a fire, kill his wife in a fire? It just doesn’t seem logical to me.”
“I guess I never thought about it like that.”
“I know the majority of people in town think Steve’s guilty, but Matthew and Lane have known each other for years. Matthew’s been to their house numerous times. He doesn’t think Steve could have killed Rachel. He might be a bit of a reserved man, but that doesn’t make him a killer.” Gemma shook her head. “The whole thing is just sad. I wish they’d finally catch the real killer so that family could have a little peace in their lives. They deserve it.”
Snow Way Out: A Mystic Snow Globe Romantic Mystery (The Mystic Snow Globe Mystery Series Book 2) Page 8