by Meg Macy
Chapter 13
The morning sun warmed my face. After stretching out on the mattress, I checked the clock. Still a few minutes before—oh, wait. The shop was closed. I scratched Rosie behind the ears. She moved her head closer, yawned, and stretched her legs stiff and straight. Oddly enough, Onyx was curled at the bed’s foot. I reached for my cell, read a few texts from last night, and then punched in my uncle’s number.
After four rings, he answered with his usual greeting. “What?”
“Mads kept vigil by Dad’s bedside while Mom slept at the hotel. He’s responding to the new antibiotics. They’ll transfer him to a regular room sometime today.”
“You called me at this ungodly hour to tell me that?”
“It’s ten after nine, Uncle Ross.”
“I figured you’d sleep in this morning. We’re closed, remember.”
“We’ve got more problems.” I explained searching Will’s desk and then rattled off the list of companies we needed to call next week. “Maybe we can find out what Will told them exactly.”
“So he jumped the gun, eh? Slick no-good bast—”
“I also found Teddy Hartman’s business card in his desk, and they set a time to meet. I’m going to show Detective Mason. But someone’s gotta call our vendors.”
“Yeah, I’ll do it on Tuesday.”
Uncle Ross hung up. I jumped in the shower and donned khaki shorts with a muted coral T-shirt. I considered changing to a black one. After all, one of our employees had died. Would it make sense to show that respect now, or should I save it for the funeral? Then again, I’d wilt. Eighty-plus degrees in black? Ugh. Too hot.
I fetched a tan straw fedora, dark sunglasses, and chunky wooden bracelets. Maddie’s, in fact. My one nod to style. After a restless night with recurring dreams of tornados, I felt off-kilter. Coffee. I needed a triple-shot espresso but vowed to function without it—if possible. Too much caffeine and I’d be a walking zombie. Had Mary Kate heard about the cancellations for the picnic on Labor Day? I dialed her number.
She answered with her usual cheerful greeting. “Fresh Grounds, may I help you?”
“Tell me you baked those puff pastry apple blintzes this morning.”
“Sasha! I’ll save one for you, okay?” Mary Kate lowered her voice to a half whisper. “Sorry I missed you last night. But I overheard Cissy and Debbie Davison yesterday, talking about the wild night they had at Quinn’s Pub. They were so freaked out over Will’s murder. And of course, everyone here believes your uncle’s guilty.”
“Oh, man. That’s not fair.”
“I know. Even Uncle Gil overheard the bit Ross said about gutting Will Taylor like a fish. But Cissy and Debbie were all worked up because a detective interviewed them for hours. And today, they’re not able to help Carolyn at the shop.”
“Why would she open the store at all?” I shook my head, trying to figure that out. “Never mind. Some people want to cancel their picnic reservations for Monday.”
“Oh no! Really?”
“I guess I should have expected that. I’ll gladly refund people’s money, but I’m not changing my cookie order. Plan on the same number, okay? I’m sorry about the fancier design. The first one was sweet, and I think the kids would have loved them. But Maddie mentioned asking if you could get Wendy Clark to help decorate the bears with sunglasses on their faces. Or something more summery.”
“Well, a fancier sugar cookie will impress the adults.”
“That means people will expect over-the-top ones at the October tea party.”
Mary Kate laughed and then said something to her husband in the background. “I think people are crazy to miss the picnic. It’s not like Will Taylor had anything to do with planning it. And the park is nowhere near the factory.”
“I’ll refund their money, no matter what the reason.”
“Let me see what I can do about spreading the word. A few moms I know didn’t get a chance to make a reservation, so maybe they’ll take the canceled ones.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
Rosie whined, waiting by the door, so we headed downstairs. After a visit outside, I ate a hard-boiled egg while Rosie wolfed down her kibble. Then I sat down with the list I’d found on Maddie’s bulletin board. Each reservation had a phone number, so I called the ones who hadn’t canceled already. For roughly two-thirds of the calls, I left voice-mail messages—confirming that the teddy bear picnic would still take place and asking them to please return the call if their plans had changed. The few who answered sounded relieved that I was willing to refund their money, but only one accepted the offer.
I politely refused to answer any questions or hints about Will’s murder. No one pressured me, thank goodness.
After sticking the list beneath the fruit bowl, I headed outside with Rosie. She trotted beside me on the narrow sidewalk along Theodore Lane. Thankfully the parade of cars had ended yesterday afternoon. Except for the yellow crime scene tape flapping in the warm breeze, things looked normal for a Saturday—at least in the aftermath of a murder on our property. But I shivered. Maybe waiting to reopen the factory wasn’t a bad idea after all.
The Silver Leaf Bed and Breakfast’s parking lot was crammed now, with a few cars lined up in our parking lot as overflow. The village clock struck ten. Even at this distance, I could hear the chimes. The council added the carillon tones two years ago, allowing visitors to listen for the hour and gauge how much longer they could shop. Glen and Jenny Woodley had installed a lovely gazebo in their side garden; right now a young couple sat in wicker chairs reading books. Too bad I couldn’t relax like that. I glimpsed a five-year-old and a toddler chasing geese over the lawn beside the garden, their parents keeping close watch.
A Dexter County SUV stood in front of the Holly Jolly Christmas shop. Rosie and I crossed the street. The Michael Bublé version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” drifted through the screen door—Carolyn’s favorite singer. I hesitated, wondering if I should extend our support and sympathy for her husband’s tragic death. Mason had questioned the Davison sisters yesterday along with Nickie Richardson and Kristen Bloom. What had he learned?
Curious, I lingered near the porch steps. Rosie sniffed the pots of red geraniums. No lights twinkled along the rooftop, and the trees inside didn’t sparkle with color, either. A light breeze rustled the ferns hanging on the porch. I noticed Detective Mason in the window, but he faced the shop’s interior. Carolyn flitted by the screen door, in her usual black dress. She must have spotted me since she rushed outside with a cry of relief.
“Oh, Sasha!” Her heeled sandals clattered on the steps. Carolyn practically threw herself into my arms while sobbing. “How horrible, and to think you found Will!” Tears streaked her face, her blond curls were a mess, and she dabbed her bloodshot, swollen eyes. Even her cheeks looked puffy. “I’m such a wreck! I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I’m so sorry—”
“Ms. Silverman, Mrs. Taylor?” Mason beckoned from the porch. “Please, come inside. It’s better if you don’t linger out in public.”
His firm tone meant business. A few Silver Leaf guests stood in front of the bed-and-breakfast, whispering and pointing. Carolyn sagged against me, a handkerchief crumpled in one hand, so I helped her up the stone steps. Unfortunately, Rosie started barking and lunging against her leash.
“Let her come in, please! Oh, you darling—he looks like a teddy bear.”
“It’s the way they shape the ears for grooming,” I said. “And he’s a she.”
Carolyn stooped to bury her face in Rosie’s curly hair. My dog shook herself free and made a beeline for Mason’s leg. I managed to catch her. Thank goodness. She growled at him from afar, since I held her close by me. The detective merely checked his notebook, waiting until Carolyn had calmed down, but he put a low table between him and Rosie.
“Don’t you like dogs?” I asked.
“I have three,” Mason said shortly. “Two Labs and a pointer, all
male. Your pooch probably smells them on my clothes.”
“Oh.”
Carolyn smiled and fetched a treat from ajar. “What’s her name, Sasha?”
“Rosie.”
“Of course she is! Sweet, sweet Rosie.” She crooned over my pet, who crunched the bone-shaped biscuit in two seconds flat. “Good doggie.”
“Mrs. Taylor, we can discuss this at the police station if you prefer—”
“Oh no, Detective. Here is fine.” She glanced at me with a pleading look. “Sasha, will you please stay? I don’t believe what everyone’s said. Your uncle wouldn’t hurt a fly. He acts like a bear, but he’s really a big sweetheart.”
I blinked. “Uh—thanks.”
Mason glared at me. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Ms. Silverman?”
“Let her stay! What exactly did you need from me again, Detective?” Carolyn wrung her hands. “I told you Will came home suddenly from his trip. He didn’t even call me from the airport. Not that he hasn’t done that before, of course, but I refused to change my plans. I suppose I should have, but my friends and I had our hearts set on meeting for dinner. We hadn’t spent time together for months.”
“I see.” He wasn’t taking notes, though.
“Will knew it, too. But the world revolved around him.” She caught her breath and pushed a stray curl behind an ear. “That sounds horrible, doesn’t it! But we had our problems, like any married couple. I wanted him to join me for counseling, but he kept saying he didn’t have time.”
“Did he ever mention meeting Teddy Hartman?” I asked. Mason flashed me another warning look, but I hurried on. “I found this business card in Will’s office. They met on Thursday for lunch.”
“I’ll take that as evidence.” He snatched it out of my hand, read the back note, and then pocketed it. “Now—”
“Teddy Hartman? I’ve heard his name before,” Carolyn said, “but Will never talked about meeting him. Doesn’t Hartman own a toy company?”
“Yes. Bears of the Heart,” I said. “One of our biggest competitors.”
Mason cleared his throat. “It may have nothing to do with this.”
“Actually, it might.” I didn’t care if the detective resented my presence while I related how Hartman had been seen in Silver Hollow and stayed within driving distance. “You ought to check out Weber’s Inn. Hartman might still be there.”
Carolyn gasped. “You mean Teddy Hartman came here to Silver Hollow?”
I shrugged. “Yes. Maybe they negotiated working together—”
“Pure conjecture,” Mason interrupted, but Carolyn slumped into a chair.
“What if that man killed my husband? How horrible! And they’re doing an autopsy on Will. Cutting him up like—”
She broke down, pulled a white teddy bear from under her hip, and then hugged it to her chest. Mason looked furious, as if I was ruining his chance of questioning her without all the waterworks. Maybe so, but it wasn’t my fault. Carolyn wept harder.
“I’ll check on Hartman later,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind—”
“No wonder Will was so . . . so secretive about everything.” Carolyn hiccupped louder. “He’d been n-nervous for the past m-month. I couldn’t get him to . . . tell me anything. And then. On Thursday. He came home. Wanted to celebrate.” She gulped a breath and then rushed on. “Will swore he made the biggest coup in his life. That we could pay off all our debts, sell the house, and buy a bigger one. Plus a new car! I didn’t believe him.”
I turned to the detective in triumph. Mason didn’t look convinced. “You might want to check the front of Teddy Hartman’s rental car. See if there’s any damage.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, and I saw a car last night stop in front of this shop.”
That piqued his interest. “Did you see anyone getting out of the car? Prowling around, checking the doors and windows?”
“No.”
“All right then. Thank you, Ms. Silverman. You can go.”
He ignored my frown and flipped through his notebook. Carolyn had finally quieted and was petting Rosie. I couldn’t very well yank my dog out of reach; she wagged her tail, distracted by the kissy sounds Carolyn made, and didn’t notice Mason sneaking around them both. Smooth move on his part, because I didn’t need to deal with a dog bite case.
But Carolyn shot to her feet as if someone had stuck a pin in her rear. “Oh! I remembered something. I did see a prowler.”
“What’s that, Mrs. Taylor?”
“That man, the one who’s always smoking a cigar. He owned the house they tore down next to the teddy bear factory. He stopped by this past week, asking when Will would be back from his trip to New Jersey.”
“Jack Cullen,” Mason said, his tone weary. “Is that who you mean?”
“Yes, that’s the one. I saw him Thursday afternoon with a wrench in his hand,” she said with a nervous wave. “Kind of scared me, since I was ready to close the shop. Mr. Cullen headed toward the factory, too, like he had to fix something. But he went around it. I didn’t care. I was glad he was gone.”
“All right, then. Getting back to your night at Quinn’s Pub,” Mason said. “Who do you remember seeing there?”
“I told you already!” Carolyn pouted and pushed her blond curls off her face. “All my friends. Plus Ross Silverman, Deon Walsh and his sister. After three drinks it all turned fuzzy.”
Rosie growled at Mason, who ignored her, and then accepted another treat from Carolyn. I kept tight hold of my dog’s leash. “Did Will have any enemies?” I asked.
Carolyn’s eyes widened in surprise. “No. Everyone liked Will.”
“Really?”
“Well, except for your uncle. I suppose.” She stooped to pet Rosie. “Oh, don’t bark at the policeman, you sweet baby. He might put you in jail.”
“Time to go.” I’d caught Mason’s venomous stare and whisked Rosie out of reach—from them both. “If there’s anything Maddie and I can do, Carolyn, let me know.”
She looked forlorn. “Thanks, Sasha. Things have been so crazy since yesterday morning. I didn’t even know Will hadn’t come home Thursday night. When Digger Sykes told me what happened, I couldn’t think. My head hurt so bad. I had the worst hangover ever. . . .”
I stepped onto the porch. “All right. Good-bye,” Mason said, and pushed the wooden door half-closed.
He blocked my view, standing with his back to me. I knelt and fiddled with Rosie’s harness, listening while he went over the “pity party” timeline again. When had Carolyn and her friends arrived at the pub? How long were they together, who’d gone to the bathroom and when, with whom, whether anyone saw them, and what time they’d left, et cetera. He was certainly as thorough as Columbo.
Not that Carolyn could tell him much, being so drunk. I hadn’t expected him to question her again. Another thought struck me, one that gave me a measure of hope.
Maybe Mason had put someone else ahead of Uncle Ross on the suspect list.
Chapter 14
I had to wonder if Mason suspected Carolyn—except she had an airtight alibi. With so many friends surrounding her, and she’d been drunk to boot. I hoped I’d turned his focus toward Teddy Hartman instead of Uncle Ross. I sighed. Or anyone but my uncle.
I headed toward the village. From what little I knew, Kristen, Carolyn, and Nickie were a tight trio of BFFs in high school. Debbie, younger than me but a year older than my sister, joined the group whenever they planned to party.
Kristen Bloom, serious in nature, energetic from jogging two miles a day in a variety of skimpy bike shorts or exercise outfits, co-owned the Silver Scoop Ice Cream Shoppe with Isabel French. Isabel was the exact opposite, tall and curvy, always smiling, and a natural dealing with customers; she created the clever names for their delicious confections, both hard ice cream and soft-serve custard—like Strawberries & Cream, Berry Cherry Pie, Campfire S’Mores, Over the Blue Moon, and Peachy Keen. That was Maddie’s favorite, chock-full of fruit from Richardson’s Or
chards. Mine was Chipperoo, with chocolate chips and cookie pieces.
Kristen and Isabel had turned a former run-down candy store into the Silver Scoop with a sweet pink and green awning and décor, white ironwork tables and chairs, plus a drive-through lane. A sound business decision given the car and foot traffic combined in the village.
Carolyn Taylor had been jealous of Kristen and Isabel’s success a few summers ago when they first opened. Summer was peak season for the Silver Scoop. The Holly Jolly’s business peaked in winter, although it always looked busy. As for Nickie, she’d married into the sprawling Richardson clan. Tom and Cleo Richardson had expanded the family farm into a thriving multiple-season, multiple-product business enterprise. Their five kids and a passel of grandkids all helped keep things running smoothly.
Richardson’s farm consisted of a huge apple orchard, with acres and acres of pruned trees, all varieties, plus other fruit trees, vegetables of all kinds, and a huge pumpkin patch. Their fall events—hayrides, a haunted house, a corn maze—added to the cider press and bakery. Everyone for miles around made annual pilgrimages to Richardson’s in the spring, summer, and autumn. Nickie helped run the bakery; she looked far older than Carolyn and Kristen, however, due to her prematurely gray long hair. Plus she chain-smoked and had a serious love affair with tanning beds. No doubt due to being cooped up inside an air-conditioned building every summer.
“What an adorable dog,” a woman said, and stooped to pet Rosie.
“Thank you—”
“Looks just like a teddy bear!”
Rosie wagged her tail when the woman produced a cookie—luckily, not chocolate. My dog scarfed it down before I could protest. When the woman slipped inside the health-food store next to the church, we crossed Kermit Street. Rosie trotted happily along to Fresh Grounds.
I’d been puzzling over what Carolyn had said about Jack Cullen. Why would he want to know when Will Taylor was coming back to town? Had the two of them been cooking up some kind of trouble for our shop? Had Mason questioned our former crotchety neighbor yet? Uncle Ross and now Carolyn had seen Jack Cullen skulking around the factory with a wrench.