by Meg Macy
“Will Taylor’s dead,” Jenny said to Glen. He looked startled at first, eyes wide, and then shook his head in either regret or sympathy. “Sasha found him in the factory. Isn’t that horrible?”
“I can think of a few people who’d have it in for Will Taylor,” Glen said, hands on his hips. “I asked him for business advice last month. Wish I hadn’t, because it’s been a disaster for us. Everyone knows your uncle hated him—”
“He’s not a killer, though,” I interrupted, and then changed the subject. “Your place always looks so neat and orderly. I hope business is good.”
“We’re fully booked this weekend,” Jenny said quickly with a smile.
Glen looked sour. “After telling us about a murder in your factory last night, you’re hoping business is good?”
I bit my lip. Maybe that had sounded a little stupid. “I didn’t mean it that way—”
“She gave us a nice compliment,” Jenny cut in, and shot a warning look at Glen.
He ignored her. “How much do you want to bet more than a few guests will cancel? This murder’s going to affect everyone around here, not just your shop. Look at the traffic—gawkers wanting a front-row seat to watch the cops.”
“Is that my fault?” I resented his sarcastic tone.
“Glen, please.” Jenny gripped his arm. “I’m sorry, Sasha, for you and Maddie.”
“I saw your uncle at Quinn’s Pub last night.” He loosened his wife’s grip with a flash of anger. “Heard him loud and clear. So did a bunch of others. Ross was steamed over Taylor’s threat to cut his job. He even said he’d kill Will if the jerk sent production overseas.”
“Then I suggest you tell Detective Mason that information.” I shouldered my way past him. “Uncle Ross didn’t have anything to do with Will’s death and I’ll prove it. No matter what he said last night at the pub.”
Rosie jumped and twirled, excited to be heading home. Together we loped around the house to the garden, where I waited while she sniffed the lawn and flower beds. Rosie circled the yard once more, trying my patience.
“Come on, girl. I’m sure I’ll be up next on the hot seat.”
At last we headed inside. I changed the water dish in her crate, ignored her whines, and hooked the door shut. I didn’t need Rosie taking a bite out of crime—er, a Detective Mason. Uncle Ross’s loud voice echoed from the library. Maddie paced the floor, clearly worried, while the other ladies nervously ate bagels and drank coffee in silence. Almost as if Will’s ghost hovered over us all. Deon sat on the window seat studying a book on business management. Where were Pete and Lois? They usually called in by now.
I sidled over to my sister and asked her in a whisper, but she shrugged. Great. That meant I had to track them down and find out why they hadn’t called. I used the phone in the dining room and punched in Lois’s number.
She answered in a rush, out of breath, with an apology. “My husband—he’s taken a turn for the worse. I need to keep an eye on him. Sorry I didn’t call sooner.”
“Okay then. Let me know if you can help Sunday in the shop.”
“Sure.”
Lois hung up quickly. I dialed Pete Fox’s cell next, but he didn’t answer. I left a message and then retrieved my laptop from upstairs. I looked up all the local hospitals in Sarasota and near my parents’ condo on Siesta Key, then started dialing. Once a staffer confirmed there’d been no record of Alex or Judith Silverman coming into the emergency room or being admitted, I crossed that name off my list. Uncle Ross’s voice rose from the hallway outside the study.
“Why the hell would I kill Will Taylor? That’s a crock of—”
“You threatened him at the pub last night.” Mason trailed behind my uncle when he stormed into the kitchen. “Several witnesses heard you.”
“What about that wife of his?”
“We’re investigating Mrs. Taylor’s alibi as well.”
“But I’m your prime suspect? Totally ridiculous. Even if he did steal our company’s bear pattern, I wouldn’t kill him over that. Take a punch or two, yeah. But I never got a chance.”
Mason jotted that information down. “How about over eliminating your job?”
“He wanted to cut a bunch of jobs and send production overseas!”
“But you’re the only one who threatened him at the pub. I believe your exact words were ‘I’m gonna kill Will.’ And something about serving his head on a platter.” He flipped over a few notebook pages. “Several people also heard you say you’d gut him like a fish.”
“Uncle Ross would never hurt anyone,” Maddie said.
The detective shrugged. “I’ve heard that a million times about cold-blooded killers. ‘He lived right next door. He was a great neighbor, so quiet.’ Sorry, but it doesn’t mean squat.”
“I saw Will and Carolyn arguing last night in the parking lot.” I leaned against the door’s frame. “It looked that way to me. According to Debbie Davison, Will wanted her to cancel plans with her friends at the pub.”
“Yeah, I saw the ladies there,” Uncle Ross said. “They made so much noise, laughing and drinking, that I left early. Right, Deon?”
“Yeah. We couldn’t even hear the music, they were so loud.”
“You can tell me all about it in the study.” Detective Mason hooked a thumb at the young man. “You’re next. And don’t get any ideas, Mr. Silverman, about leaving the village. Without informing me first, that is.”
My uncle scowled while Deon followed Mason down the hall. I bit my lip hard. None of us had been prepared for Will’s return from the East Coast, his sudden announcement about changes at the factory, or seeing his glee at our dismay. Yes, glee. He’d been downright elated about convincing my dad to agree with his plans. And without hearing from either of my parents, I couldn’t help wondering if Will had succeeded.
I could only hope not.
“So how are you going to prove that Will stole the bear pattern?” I asked Uncle Ross. “Or whether or not he actually sold it to Bears of the Heart?”
“The only ones who have access to that pattern are me and your parents. Who else could have done it? Not you or Mads.”
“I didn’t even know we had a specialized pattern until Dad showed me last year.” I snagged a bottle of water from the refrigerator and twisted off the cap. “And he kept it locked in the office safe. How could Will have gotten it out? Tell me that much, unless he asked Dad to see it.”
Joan Kendall raised a hand. “Actually, I know how.”
We both turned to look at her in surprise. She tucked a strand of her long red hair behind an ear, a little nervous. Her usual pale, freckled complexion looked whiter than usual in contrast to her blue eyes, except for two dark pink spots on both cheeks. Joan wore silver tennis shoes to match her shirt and, of all the sewing ladies, was the fittest. Her slender frame looked almost bony, in fact, compared to Flora’s plumpness; the older woman had a frosted bob, plus turquoise earrings and necklace. Harriet reminded me of my grandmother with her bluish-silver cap of curls and a pair of magnifying eyeglasses on a silver and gold beaded chain. Joan was the youngest and the quietest of all our staff.
“Well?” Uncle Ross barked.
“I suggested making an optional change in the pattern a few months ago. I had an idea for sewing a pouch or pocket in some of the bears. A child could put her tooth inside, and the parents could take it out and put in a quarter or a dollar. Your dad thought it was a great idea.”
“That is a great idea,” I said. “Was Will involved?”
“Oh, he was. In fact—”
Maddie waved her phone. “Look, a text from Mom! She says she’s too busy to call.”
“That’s all she said?” I stared at Maddie. “Didn’t you tell her what happened in all your messages? How can they possibly be too busy?”
My sister nodded, just as frustrated. “I don’t know. Every time I texted, I said it was an emergency. I asked her where they are, and if everything’s all right, but Mom didn’t answer. Have you heard
from Flynn yet? You did call him, right?”
“Yes, but I have no idea if he can help us at all.”
Maddie groaned, but I had to think this through instead of worrying about my ex. What in the world would keep Mom so busy she couldn’t explain via a simple text or call us for a few minutes? She’d always been the stable influence through childhood. We barely saw Dad. He worked long hours at the law office and missed most school or summer activities. Holiday events revolved around Mom taking us to visit her parents, and Dad would sometimes join us.
We’d lived in an upscale neighborhood east of downtown Ann Arbor, close to Barton Park, during my elementary school years until Mom and Dad decided to return to Silver Hollow. My grandparents had been thrilled, of course. And I’d kept track of Maddie and her circle of friends while Mom worked. Maddie and I often complained, but we had a privileged childhood compared to most kids.
I’d been shocked that after Dad worked so hard for years to make partner in a law firm, he quit like a snap of his fingers. Somehow he convinced Mom that starting a toy shop and factory was his dream come true. Dad once told me that seeing Grandpa T. R.’s teddy bears on a shelf jogged him into action; he realized, at last, that investing in family was more important. Opening the teddy bear factory—plus renovating the house into a shop with living quarters—was the right move. Quick success paid off all the risk.
But why were my parents being so secretive? Maybe Maddie was right about being treated like a kid. Maybe I was fooling myself about how they saw me; after seven years, they had yet to treat me with the same level of respect as Will Taylor. My edginess ratcheted up a few notches. Were Mom and Dad gearing up for another radical shift? Planning to sell out? Was that why Will acted so self-assured? So happy, as Carolyn put it. Ready to take over. Gaah.
“Did you actually text Mom or Dad that Will was murdered?” I asked Maddie.
“I figured I’d tell them on the phone. In person would be better yet.”
“It’s time to spell it out in a text. We have no choice.”
I sent a new text to both of my parents’ cell phones. Emergency due to murder at the factory. CALL ASAP!! That ought to do the trick.
If that didn’t rattle them, nothing would.
Chapter 10
“Okay, let’s see how busy they are after hearing the grim news,” I said. “Now, back to the teddy bear pattern issue.”
Flora and Harriet backed up Joan’s story about the “tooth” pocket. Joan even sketched out what they’d come up with, which was quite clever. When I said as much, she beamed.
“So Dad got the bear pattern from the safe for Maddie to copy?” I asked.
“Actually, your dad wasn’t here. He asked Will to fetch it from the safe and copy it,” Harriet said. “Maddie was out that day with a cold.”
I thought back to the week, almost a month ago, when my sister was sick. Maddie never missed work; she’d dragged around the office for days, sneezing and coughing, until I sent her upstairs to bed. I juggled customer calls along with sales in the shop while Flora covered for Maddie in the office. Flora had once worked as a receptionist and took care of things until my sister recovered from bronchitis the following week. I’d been so frazzled with other needs at that time—Rosie had been sick, too.
No wonder we hadn’t heard anything about the bear pattern. Dad probably thought it wasn’t important enough to tell us. Clearly he trusted Will. Instead, our sales rep had taken advantage of the situation. What a jerk.
Uncle Ross walked outside to the back porch for a smoke. I joined him, sitting on the swing and squinting at the midday sun. Dark clouds amassed in the west, threatening rain, and the humid air was thick. I couldn’t complain, because the grass did look brown in spots and our flowers needed rain beyond the automatic sprinklers. The chains creaked when I rocked. I’d forgotten to oil them the last time Maddie asked me.
“So Bears of the Heart might have our bear pattern. Why would they want it?” I asked. “Anyone could buy a bear and take it apart. They could make a pattern of their own that way.”
“Teddy Hartman is our biggest rival. I know Taylor wanted to get rid of me, and then take over production.” My uncle sounded sullen. “Maybe get rid of the jointed pins. That would make the bears too much like every other product on the market.”
“I still don’t see why Hartman would care.”
“Deon told me something that he hasn’t told Detective Mason. At least not yet, unless he’s telling him now. He saw Hartman meeting with Taylor, a week ago, before the trip to New Jersey. They were sitting in that Camry of his, at the edge of town.”
“But how did Deon see them?”
“Deon was filling up at the gas station and followed them on his motorcycle.”
“To where?”
“Weber’s Inn near Ann Arbor. Will Taylor dropped Hartman off and then headed to the airport. I’d say that was pretty suspicious. And right after their meeting, Taylor goes off to convince my brother about sending production overseas. Hmph.”
“Ms. Silverman?”
I whirled at the sound of Detective Mason’s voice from the doorway. He crooked his finger. Deon had collected his textbook from the kitchen’s window seat and now rushed out the door past us. Uncle Ross leaned close to my ear.
“Don’t let him rattle you, Sasha. Give him hell.”
I choked back a laugh and headed inside. Flora, Harriet, and Joan all gave me a thumbs-up signal when I followed Mason to the study. The roar of Deon’s motorcycle muffled Detective Mason’s voice; I figured he’d asked me to sit given his gesture. I breathed deep, waiting for him first. I wasn’t going to let him dominate me from above. He settled in Dad’s comfortable chair, behind the massive carved-edge mahogany desk dominating the room; shelves above held leather-bound classics and African animal statues collected during a Kenya trip. Mason leaned back and spread out, arms akimbo.
I chose Mom’s classic Chippendale chair, so I could keep my back straight and even bend forward a little. Sending him a message—I viewed him as an equal and even invaded his personal space. Mason’s smile faded. He sat up and opened his notebook.
“So, Ms. Silverman. May I call you Sasha?”
“Uncle Ross didn’t kill Will Taylor,” I said flatly. “He’s threatened people who touched his car, the blue and white Thunderbird outside, if they bumped it by accident. He once promised to skin me alive for spilling peanuts on the seat. But it’s all talk.”
“It’s natural you’d come to your uncle’s defense. Commendable, too. But Ross Silverman is only one suspect on my list, Sasha. If you knew me better, you’d realize I keep everyone in mind. This is only day one of the investigation.”
“So who else would murder Will? Or maybe it was an accident?” My curiosity always led me to blurt out things, although I didn’t feel any shame in doing so. I did want to know, if only to add a few people to his list. “Maybe someone followed him—”
“Enough with the maybes. Guesswork isn’t part of my job,” Mason said.
“Are you like Columbo, knowing who did it right away?” I asked, half-joking, and then realized that might not be a good thing to bring up given his suspicion of Uncle Ross. My nerves didn’t help matters.
“No. Stop being a Jessica Fletcher on Murder, She Wrote. Stick to selling teddy bears and leave the investigation to the police.” He flipped to a fresh page. “So you and your sister were together last night, the entire time?”
“Yes.” That annoyed me. “You don’t think we—”
“You mentioned seeing the Taylors arguing in the parking lot. What time was that? As close as you can recall.”
I thought back to when the meeting ended. “Maybe seven or seven thirty. Our meeting started shortly after six, I think.”
“Did you see either of them later than that?”
“When Maddie drove to Ham Heaven for supper, we saw Carolyn driving to Quinn’s Pub. If that’s what you mean.”
Mason jotted all that down. He’d already heard
our story last night about going to see a movie. How many notebooks did he use for one case, given the size that could fit into a jacket pocket? How small did he write on the pages? I squinted, leaning farther, until he glanced in my direction with a frown. From what little I did see, his printing resembled tiny block letters. Hmm. That indicated a tight focus. Maybe the budget only covered a certain number of notebooks.
I cleared my throat. “Did you hear the Taylors had marital problems?”
“Sounds like gossip.”
Despite Mason’s skepticism, I related what I’d learned from Debbie Davison. He didn’t react with any hint of surprise. “I don’t know who this girlfriend might be—”
“Why would she have a compelling reason to murder Mr. Taylor?”
“Maybe she wanted him to divorce Carolyn. Maybe Will refused.”
“More maybes. Can you confirm whether it’s just rumor?”
“No. Not yet.” I shrugged. “Carolyn wanted to keep the marriage alive, from what I understand, since she attended counseling.”
Mason’s pencil was poised over his notebook, and he gave me a searching glance before he flipped to a fresh page. “More speculation, which I will confirm if possible. I know talk goes around in small towns like Silver Hollow, but save it for the coffee shop. Now, about the meeting Taylor called for after work yesterday. What can you tell me about that?”
Reluctance must have shown on my face, the way his eyebrows rose. “Well, it wasn’t pretty. But I suppose you know that already.”
“I do. Mr. Taylor wanted to cut jobs, and people were not happy.”
“I don’t blame them. I insisted that no one would lose their jobs until we could discuss things with my parents. I wasn’t going to jump to any decisions without their input. That reminds me.” I steepled my fingers, Sherlock Holmes style, and cocked my head. “Why was there a teddy bear on the floor? With a side seam ripped open?”