by Jessica Beck
“The town’s chief of police,” Pat said flatly, clearly unsure of her assessment.
“Most policemen are good people,” Della said, “but it’s no guarantee that all of them are. Cam could have done it if he thought it was me on that path and not Cheryl.”
“I don’t know,” Pat said. “It seems a little farfetched to me.”
“So is murder being committed in our sleepy little town, but it happened nonetheless,” Della said. “If I were you, I’d focus on Cam, but don’t forget about Davis and Serena completely. I know they can both put up convincing fronts, but don’t let them fool you. Davis is a politician at heart, and lying comes easily to him. As for Serena, she’s fooled better people than you two in the past, but she’s not duping me.” Della took a deep breath, and then she continued, “I understand you feeling the need to challenge me, but I didn’t kill my friend, and I’m not losing my mind. Someone is trying to kill me, and if you two don’t do something about it, the next time they are going to succeed. If you waste your time trying to prove that I’m either culpable or downright delusional, than you might as well not be here, because I’m already a dead woman.”
“We’re not going to let that happen,” I said, though I had no idea how I was going to keep that particular promise. “Right, Pat?”
“Not if we can help it,” he amended.
Our assurances seemed to give her some comfort. “That’s all that I can ask. Maybe we should call your sister and see what she thinks,” Della suggested.
“We’re doing fine on our own,” I said. “Kathleen has her own problems, and it wouldn’t be fair to drag her into this. Pat and I are perfectly capable of solving this.”
“I sincerely hope so,” Della said. “Are you hungry, by any chance?”
“We just ate breakfast a few hours ago,” I said.
“Of course you did. Why don’t you come back at noon? I’ll have a meal ready for you then.”
“You don’t have to cook for us, Aunt Della,” I said.
“I understand that, but then again, you both didn’t have to drop everything and come to my aid, either. Let me do this for you.”
“Fine,” I said.
Pat nodded his agreement.
“In the meantime, we have more work to do before then.”
“I know I can count on you,” she said as we left the house once again.
I looked at Pat once we were outside again. “What do you think?”
“She’s either telling us the truth, or she’s deluded herself into believing that it’s all true. I have a feeling that both things might be accurate.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if she honestly believes that Davis is in love with her and that Serena is wickedly jealous of the fact, but neither thing is true? I don’t doubt for a second that she believes every bit of it, but whether that makes it so or not, I have no idea, and there’s no one we can ask.”
“There’s always Chief Cameron,” I said.
Pat shook his head. “I doubt he’s in the mood to share much with us at the moment. We have another source in town, though.”
“Gary White,” I said.
Pat shrugged. “Maybe he knows something, and after all, he offered to help us at breakfast.”
“Why not?” I asked. “What do we have to lose?”
“The list is too long to even discuss,” Pat replied. As he looked back at Della’s house, he said, “If we hadn’t had our late-night visitor, I would be less inclined to believe her about anything, but someone was trying to get in last night.”
“That could mean that they’re afraid of something,” I said.
“Sure, but what? Why is Della such a threat to someone?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
I could see my brother’s eyes light up the moment we walked into Gary White’s hardware store. To me, it looked as though we’d stepped through some kind of magic portal back in time. There were trays and shelves holding nothing but nuts, bolts, washers, and metal things that I couldn’t even begin to identify. Though the weather outside was still frigid, packets of garden seeds were displayed prominently at the front of the store, along with loose seeds stored in wooden sections that were parceled out with aluminum scoops. There were kerosene heater wicks, snow sleds and shovels, and bibbed overalls that hung from the rafters like empty scarecrow starter kits. The floors were stained from years of abuse, gouges filled in darkly and even gaps in the wood where dust must have drifted down to the basement in dirty snowfalls. I was about to say something when I spotted a section that instantly caught my eye.
Gary had cast iron cookware for sale, and not the new, freshly minted stuff that still sported its factory seasoning. This was cast iron from another generation, when the metal was poured thin and true, and the quality couldn’t be touched today. I picked up a Griswold #6 fry pan and marveled that underneath a fine layer of dust, there was a truly magnificent piece of art. There was a tag dangling from the opening in the handle that was hard to read, but as I wiped the dirt from it, I saw that it was for sale for $14.99. Beside it was a cast iron Dutch oven, also an ancient Griswold, and priced at $24.99. Without saying a word to my brother, I took both pieces and walked straight to the register.
“I’d like to buy these, please,” I said.
“What about talking to Gary first?” Pat asked me.
“He can wait,” I said as I showed him the prices.
I was glad that my brother didn’t play poker, because his eyes lit up like Christmas trees when he saw what I’d found, and at what price. I handed the man three twenties, more than enough to cover the purchase price and sales tax, just as Gary approached.
“Doing a little shopping, Annie?” he asked.
“A little,” I said, reaching my hand out for my change and, more importantly, the receipt. Once the transaction was complete, there would be no take-backs, if Gary even realized the bargain I’d just gotten.
The clerk was in the process of handing me my change and the coveted receipt when Gary put a hand on his employee’s and stopped it before it could reach me. “Hang on a second.”
“I’m paying your asking price,” I said. “What’s the problem?”
He ignored me and lifted up what I considered my skillet. When he saw the price on it, he called loudly to the back, “Tommy, come up here, please.”
“I’m helping Mrs. Wilkins right now,” a voice called back.
“Now,” Gary said, and it was clear that he wasn’t messing around.
“Is there a problem?” Pat asked him, but the store owner just held up a hand, demanding that we wait.
A young man in his early twenties came up to the front, looking confused as to why he was being summoned so urgently, but the moment his gaze saw what his boss was holding, he started stammering. “I forgot. I’m sorry. I was going to do it yesterday, but I got distracted.”
Gary turned to me. “Young Thomas was supposed to pull these from inventory yesterday. I have a buyer online that is willing to pay considerably more than the asking price for these two pieces.”
“I’m sorry about that,” I said, “but your cashier rang up the sale and took my money. The transaction is complete as far as I’m concerned.”
“Do you have a receipt?” he asked me, knowing full well that it was still in his cashier’s hand.
“No, but I have witnesses,” I said. I wouldn’t have minded paying more for those pieces, but I didn’t feel as though I should. After all, he ran the store, he priced his inventory, and it wasn’t fair to jack up the price after an offer and acceptance had been made. I wasn’t sure if what he was trying to do was legal or not, but I knew full well that it wasn’t ethical, at least as far as I was concerned.
Gary considered it another moment, and then he forced a smile. “You’re perfectly right. Enjoy your new purchases in good health.”
“Thanks. I will,” I said as I took the receipt and my change and handed the cookery to Pat.
“I’m really sorry, Mr. White. I won’t let it happen again,” Tommy said, clearly relieved that the issue had been resolved.
“I know you won’t, because you’re fired,” Gary said.
“Hang on a second,” I interrupted. “I don’t want them that badly. You can have the cookware back if you return my money. Just don’t fire him.”
Gary pointed to a sign above the register. It said, in old-fashioned script, NO EXCHANGES, NO RETURNS. ALL SALES ARE FINAL. “Sorry, it’s out of my hands.”
“I said that I was sorry, Mr. White,” Tommy pled.
“What? Sorry. I didn’t realize that you were still here,” the store owner said in an icy voice. Tommy looked as though he’d just been electrocuted as he stumbled out the door.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” I stammered. The great deal that I’d just gotten wasn’t so great anymore, and what was worse, there was nothing I could do to make things right again.
“That young man needs to learn that there are consequences in this life for every action we take,” Gary said as he shook his head. “It’s a lesson that all of us should remember.” He straightened a few things on the counter, and then he turned back to us. “Was there something else I could help you with today?”
“We were wondering if your offer to help us was still open,” Pat said. I had to hand it to my brother; I hadn’t had the guts to suggest that, not after what had just happened.
“Sorry, but I’m a little busy at the moment. It appears that I have to find a new employee.” He nodded once, and then he walked back to the back where his office was located, at least according to the sign that hung from the rafters.
“Did I really just get that kid fired?” I asked out loud.
It had been more of a rhetorical question in my mind, but the cashier answered it anyway. “Don’t feel too bad about it. He’s been itching to fire Tommy for weeks. This just gave him the opportunity to do it and blame someone else.”
“Will he be okay?” I asked.
“No worries there. Tommy will land on his feet. He hated this job anyway.”
“Because of his boss?” Pat asked him softly.
“No. That couldn’t be it,” the young man said as he nodded slightly in disagreement with what he’d just said. “Everyone loves working here.”
“Jason, I need you for a moment,” Gary called out from the back.
“I hope we didn’t get you into trouble, too,” I said softly as he started to go.
“He’s not going to fire me, at least not until he can replace Tommy. If he did, that would mean that he’d have to pitch in himself and make Tillie actually work too, and none of that’s going to happen, you can trust me on that. She’s too young, and way too pretty to soil her pretty little hands,” he said softly with a grin.
“Now, Jason!”
“Have a nice day,” the clerk said as he winked at us and turned to face his boss.
Once we were on the sidewalk, Pat asked, “Well, Annie, was it worth it?”
“Of course not. I didn’t mean to get that young man fired, and you know it.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Pat said doggedly. “Gary offered to act as a source for us, but that’s gone forever now.”
“Pat, they are Griswolds,” I said, as if that were enough. It should have been, given our love of all things cast iron.
“I know,” my brother relented. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You even tried to rescind the sale, but he wasn’t about to allow that, was he?”
“He’s a bully, and I don’t like him, no matter how good a first impression he made on me at the diner this morning,” I said.
“Agreed. I was wondering before about Della’s story about the two of them fighting, but I can surely see it now. Gary White seems perfectly capable of trying to kill someone who thwarts him, and from what we’ve heard, Della did that and more.”
“So his name stays on our list,” I said. “I suppose it wasn’t a complete failure.”
“No, and we got some spiffy new cast iron to boot.”
We started walking back to Della’s house when I spotted the young man I’d just gotten fired. He was sitting on a bench two blocks from the hardware store, staring off into space. I handed the pan I’d been carrying to my brother, who added it to the Dutch oven he was already hauling, and took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry that just happened,” I said as I walked up to him.
“You know what? You did me a favor,” Tommy said, trying his best to muster a grin. “I’ve been dying to get up the nerve to quit, and now that it’s out of my hands, I’m ready to start living.”
“What will you do?”
“Whatever I want to,” he said with a grin. “That is one wicked man there. I’d watch my step around him if I were you. He’s all smiles to the customers, but the folks who work for him see the real man underneath. He’s not one to cross.”
“Is he capable of murder?” I asked.
Tommy shrugged. “That, and more probably.”
I didn’t want to know what “more” might entail. “May I pay you something for the trouble I’ve caused you, no matter how inadvertent it might have been?” I pushed a fresh twenty and the change I’d gotten back toward him, which was all of the money that I had on me.
He shook his head, and as he stood and started to walk away, he turned to say, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m good. Have a great day.”
“You, too,” I said, and then I turned back to my brother. “Any ideas about what we should do next, now that I’ve blown our only confidante left in town?”
“We need to get this stuff back to Della’s,” Pat said. “I’m not going to walk all over town lugging it all around, but you’re more than welcome to if you’d like.”
I took the skillet back from him, leaving him with the heavier Dutch oven, but at least it had a wire handle he could use. Still, the cookware was heavy, as it should have been.
“No, I think that’s a great idea.”
CHAPTER 11: PAT
“Maybe we should have driven when we left the house,” I said to Annie as I lugged the new, at least new to us, cast iron Dutch oven. The thing was getting heavier with every step I took. I’d replayed what had happened back at the hardware store in my mind, and I couldn’t see how what had happened to Tommy had been my sister’s fault, but I still knew that she felt horrible about it. We both loved good deals, but not at someone else’s expense.
“I can go get the car if you want to sit at the curb here and wait for me,” Annie said with the hint of a smile.
“No, I think I can tough it out,” I said.
We were two blocks from Della’s place when a car suddenly rushed toward us from behind. I was glad there was a sidewalk, because the maniac was flying. Then I saw that it was Chief Cameron driving one of the town’s squad cars, and I almost found myself wishing for a maniac instead.
He pulled the car up and slammed on the brakes right in front of us. Flipping on his lights almost as an afterthought, he got out of the cruiser and walked over to us.
“What exactly do you two think you’re doing?” he asked heatedly as he confronted us on the walkway.
“We’re walking back to our aunt’s place,” I said. “Why, is there a law against using the sidewalk, or did we just make an illegal purchase of cast iron cookware?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You’re digging into Cheryl Simmons’s murder.”
“Actually, we’re not,” Annie said calmly.
“That’s not what I heard,” the chief hesitantly replied.
“Well, I can’t comment on your sources and their reliability unless you give me some names,” Annie said calmly.
It just made the police chief angrier. “I’m not about to tell you that.”
“Then we can’t help you,” I said, matching my twin sister’s tone. “If that’s all you wanted, are we free to go?”
“Do you promise me that you’re not going around town asking questions about what h
appened to Cheryl Simmons?” he asked us.
“Oh, we’re doing some of that all right,” I said.
He looked at me in disbelief at first. “Why?”
Without thinking, I told him, “Someone’s trying to kill our aunt, and we’re not going to just stand by and watch it happen.” I suddenly realized that we’d meant to keep that confidential, and now I’d just blurted it out in the middle of town. I couldn’t help myself, though, and when I glanced at my sister, she nodded her approval. That was all I needed, so I quickly recounted the list of Della’s suspicions.
Chief Cameron appeared to take it all in, and then, in an incredulous voice, he asked us, “Do you really believe that she’s telling the truth?”
“Why wouldn’t we? I’d think the murder would just reinforce her story,” Annie said.
“For the last time, Cheryl wasn’t killed because she was wearing Della’s coat,” he said with a look of disgust on his face.
“You’re entitled to your theory, and we’re entitled to ours,” I said.
“As a matter of fact, that’s not true at all. I’m the police chief, and you run a hardware store in another town.”
“Actually, it’s more of a general store/grill/post office,” I corrected him.
“I don’t care if you sell socks for a living,” he shouted. Getting himself a little more under control, he added, “You have no right to be doing what you’re doing.”
“The last time I checked, we were free to walk on the sidewalk, buy cast iron products, and talk to people about something that concerns us, and you can’t stop us from doing any of it,” I said firmly.
“I can lock you up,” he growled.
“You can try,” I said, “ but we both know we’ll be out before the ink’s dry on the paperwork. Do you really want to open yourself up to a lawsuit like that?” I was bluffing, but I hoped that he couldn’t see that. I remained stony, and so did my sister.
When the police chief saw that we weren’t going to allow him to scare us off, he said, “I can’t guarantee your safety if you keep digging around in this.”