by Sofie Kelly
“And you don’t want to?” I asked, taking the chair opposite him. Boris leaned against my knee and I scratched the thick fur on the top of his head. He gave a contented sigh.
“I don’t mind one bit, but if she wants to send me a bottle of her blueberry syrup to soften me up, who am I to say no?”
We talked about the mail and the photos that had been hidden behind that wall at the post office for the past twenty years. “Do you think someone put them there on purpose?” I asked Harrison. “Or do you think they ended up there somehow by accident?”
“Neither and both,” he said.
“You do know that doesn’t make sense?” Harry said.
“Sure it does,” Harrison said. “Do you remember Campbell Larsen?”
Harry nodded. “He was the postmaster.”
“Named after his mother, not the soup,” the old man said. “Father’s side was Danish. That’s where the Larsen came from. Mother’s side was Scottish.”
“What does Campbell Larsen have to do with that stuff they found at the post office?” Harry asked. He was still standing in the kitchen doorway.
“He had some kind of dementia. He ended up in a nursing home.”
His son was nodding. “I remember that.”
“Well, he did some danged odd things before anyone figured out what was wrong with him. I think he put that stuff back there and in his mind he probably had a good reason for it.”
“That’s as good an explanation as any,” Harry said. He glanced over his shoulder. “We should be ready to eat in about ten minutes.”
Harrison got to his feet. He pointed a gnarled finger at me. “Before you ask, no, there isn’t a thing you can do. Sit there and talk to Boris.”
I smiled. “Yes, sir.” I turned all my attention to the dog, who seemed happy to get it.
“You’re driving?” Harrison said.
I nodded. “I am.”
“Well, I’m not,” the old man said, heading for the fridge and, I was guessing, a bottle of Thorsten Hall’s wine.
Harry served his Italian beef stew with slices of crusty multi-grain bread. I took one bite of the thick, spicy creation and closed my eyes with happiness. “Any chance I could get the recipe?”
“Sure,” Harry said. “There’s not that much to it. Onions, garlic, tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, celery, beef and my secret ingredient, half a bottle of Thorsten’s red wine.”
“He made the bread, too,” Harrison said, using a chunk to soak up some of the spicy liquid in his bowl.
“Bread machine made the bread,” Harry said.
“It’s good,” I said. I could taste molasses and I thought seven-grain cereal.
“He’s a good cook,” the old man offered. “Baffles me why he can’t get a woman.”
“Don’t start,” Harry warned.
His father paused his spoon in midair. “When did I stop? I’ve been telling you for years that you need a woman.”
Harry glanced at me and I saw a smile pulling at his mouth. They’d had this conversation dozens of times before. “Doesn’t seem to be working for you,” he said.
“That’s because you’re bull-moose stubborn.”
“Dad, did you ever hear the expression ‘People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones’?” Harry asked.
“Is that your way of saying you think I’m stubborn?”
“Yes,” Harry said.
The old man shook his head. “Every bit of your stubbornness comes from your mother, may she rest in peace.”
I was losing the struggle not to laugh. A bit of carrot went down the wrong way and I started to cough. I reached for my water glass.
“You all right?” Harry asked.
I nodded.
“Okay, no more talking about who has all the stubborn genes in this family,” he said. “I don’t want Kathleen to choke to death.”
“Fine with me,” Harrison said. He turned to me. “Anyone figure out who killed Leo yet?”
“Marcus is working on it,” I said.
“I hope he’s getting some help,” he said.
I shot him a look but didn’t say anything.
“How many enemies could Leo have had in town? He hasn’t lived here in close to twenty years.”
“It doesn’t mean someone couldn’t still have a problem with him,” I said.
I watched Harry out of the corner of my eye. His head was bent over his food but he was clenching his jaw. Maybe it was none of my business, but I needed to know what Harry’s beef had been with Leo Janes. I leaned forward and looked directly at him. “Like you, for instance.”
His head came up and his eyes met mine and I saw a flash of anger in his gaze.
Harrison was shaking his head. He swore and then immediately looked at me and apologized. “I told you to let that go,” he said.
“Let what go?” I asked.
Harry pushed his bowl away. “Kathleen, no offense, but it’s not really any of your business.”
I set my spoon down. “You had an argument with Leo at my library, so you pretty much made it my business.” I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Harry, I don’t for a moment think you had anything at all to do with Leo’s death, but that doesn’t mean that whatever had the two of you so angry didn’t.”
His shoulders were rigid and I found myself hoping I hadn’t permanently ruined our relationship. “It doesn’t,” he said.
“Then why keep it a secret?”
“You know damn well I’m going to tell her if you don’t,” Harrison snapped.
Harry held out both hands. “Be my guest.”
The old man looked across the table at me. “You know Ruby’s grandfather, Idris Blackthorne, used to run a poker game out in that shack he had in the woods by Wisteria Hill?”
I nodded.
“I played a few times, probably a few times more than I should have,” Harrison said. “I got in over my head one night.” He made a face. “I thought I had a good hand, a sure thing, and those kind of things rarely are. I lost my watch. To Leo.” He shook his head at the memory. “Few years later when I had a bit of money I tried to buy it back from him.”
“He wouldn’t sell it to you.”
“No, he wouldn’t, and if I’m being fair I was a bit of an asshole so I can’t really blame him.”
His son gave a snort of derision. His father let it pass without comment.
“So you were arguing over that watch?” I said to Harry. I was confused. So much anger over an old watch that had belonged to his father didn’t make sense to me.
He pulled a hand across his mouth. “He told me he wasn’t even sure he still had the watch but he’d take a look when he had the chance. He said he didn’t see what the big deal was.”
“That makes two of us,” Harrison commented.
I saw a flash of anger again in Harry’s eyes but his voice was quiet and steady when he spoke. “Do you remember where you got that watch?” he asked his father.
“Your mother got it for my birthday,” Harrison said. And then recognition spread across his face. He swore again. “It was the last gift she bought me before she had that stroke.”
Now I got why the watch was so important.
Harry let out a breath. “Dad, I’ve tried to be supportive of your relationship with Peggy Sue. Hell, she got you to go for a checkup, which is more than Larry and I have ever been able to do, so in my book she gets points for that. I want you to be happy.” He swallowed. “And I’m damn glad we have Elizabeth, no matter how she came into our life.”
The old man nodded but he also hung his head. Harry’s younger sister, Elizabeth, was the result of a relationship Harrison had had when his wife, Harry’s mother, was in a nursing home after a debilitating stroke that eventually ended her life.
“But I don’t want my mother t
o be forgotten. I thought if you had the watch, maybe you’d remember her once in a while. When I heard Leo was in town it seemed like a good chance to try to get it back.”
Harrison’s expression changed. “Remember her once in a while? There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of your mother. I loved her with everything I had. And yes, I’m grateful to have Elizabeth and to be part of her life—which by the way is thanks to Kathleen—but I’m ashamed of how I betrayed your mother.”
I wrapped one arm around my midsection and pressed the back of my hand to my mouth. I’d handled this badly. I’d upset two people I cared about for nothing. Harry’s argument with Leo Janes had nothing to do with his murder. “Harry, I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. This is none of my business.”
“No,” he said. “You’re right. There’s more and I shouldn’t have been keeping it to myself. At my age I should know better.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Day before he was killed Leo called me at the house. He said he’d found the watch and he asked if I could do something for him. He said he’d give me Dad’s watch whether I helped him or not.”
“So what did he want?” I asked.
“Well, it didn’t make sense, but Leo wanted me to put him in touch with Lisa.”
“What for?” Harrison said, frowning. Lisa was Harry’s ex-wife.
Harry tented his fingers over the top of his water glass. “I don’t know. I figured it had to have something to do with insurance.” He looked at me. “Lisa’s a claims adjuster for Activa Life,” he said.
“Did you talk to her?” I asked.
“I did. I explained that he was giving me Dad’s watch. She knows about it. I asked if she’d talk to Leo.” He looked from his Dad to me. “I told her she didn’t have to help him but I’d appreciate it if she’d talk to him. She said she would. That was it. Pretty much.”
“Did you talk to Leo again?” I asked.
“I called him with her number. He told me to come over and pick up the watch.” He rubbed a hand over his bald head.
“You were there, the night he was killed. I passed you on the way over there. It was raining.”
Harry nodded. “I rang the bell but he didn’t answer the door and yes, I was mad when I left.” He looked at his father then. “I didn’t kill Leo.”
“Good Lord, we know that!” Harrison exclaimed.
I nodded. The idea that Harry could have killed Leo Janes or anyone else was unthinkable.
Harry went on to explain he’d talked to Marcus. Footage from a security camera on a nearby house confirmed how quickly Harry had been in and out. He wasn’t a suspect.
And I was glad of that, but that meant Simon still was.
chapter 11
Harrison got to his feet.
“What are you doing?” his son asked.
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m calling Lisa to find out what Leo wanted to talk to her about.” A cordless phone handset was sitting on the nearby buffet. He picked it up and brought it back to the table.
Harry stared at his father. “How do you know her phone number?”
“What? I’m not allowed to check on my daughter-in-law?”
“We’re not married anymore, Dad.”
The old man nodded his head. “I know that. You two aren’t married. That has nothing to do with me.” By then he had punched in a phone number and lifted the handset to his ear. A warm smile spread across his face when Harry’s ex-wife answered. “Hello, my girl, how are you?” Whatever her response was made him laugh. “Well, I think I’m in damn fine shape for the shape I’m in,” he said. He listened for a moment. “You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t just call to check in. My son says he asked if he could give your number to Leo Janes.”
I watched as the smile slipped off his face, replaced by a frown that pulled his bushy eyebrows together. “Well, that’s a surprise.”
There was a pause.
“I appreciate that,” Harrison said then. “It was good of you to say you’d talk to him. You have a good night. I’ll be talking to you soon.” He ended the call and set the phone on the table.
“Leo didn’t call before he died, did he?” I said. That seemed obvious from Harrison’s side of the conversation and the way his expression had changed.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe you went to so damn much trouble just to try to get that watch back,” he said to his son. “The fact that you did means a hell of a lot to me and I’m sorry I let you think I forgot your mother.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get the watch before I gave him Lisa’s phone number,” Harry said.
Harrison shrugged. “Water under the bridge, son.” He looked across the table at me. “Eat up, Kathleen. I made gingerbread.”
“More like Peggy made gingerbread and you watched her,” his son commented. The glint of a smile was back in his eyes.
“Never you mind,” Harrison countered. “I can cook. I have all sorts of talents.” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at me.
I laughed and dropped my head over my bowl. I wasn’t crazy enough to get pulled into that conversation.
Harry got to his feet and picked up his bowl. “Your talents are not dinnertime conversation,” he said. His father just laughed.
The gingerbread, topped with a small dollop of vanilla whipped cream, was delicious. After we’d eaten Harrison showed me the Christmas card he’d received that had been in the pile of found mail. A jolly Santa was on the front and a slightly naughty limerick was written inside in sharp angular writing. The card was signed, Cyrus.
“Cyrus was your older brother,” I said.
Harrison nodded. “He was eight when I was born. The last thing he wanted was a baby brother. When I was about six months old the Edwards, who lived up the road a stretch, took in a dog somebody had just abandoned on our road. It had three puppies. Cyrus tried to trade me for one of the pups.” He smiled at the memory. “When Mrs. Edwards turned him down he offered the contents of his piggy bank as well. He always said he figured if he’d had another twenty-five cents worth of pennies in that thing they probably could have made a deal.”
I laughed. “But you ended up being really close.”
He stroked his beard and stared at something just beyond my right shoulder that only he could see. “We did. Cy was bossy as all get-out but he always had my back.” His focus came back to me. “What about you, Kathleen? Do you boss around that younger brother and sister of yours?”
“Every chance I get,” I said with a grin.
There was a knock on the door then. “Pops, are you here?” a voice called.
Mariah. She came into the room and stopped short when she caught sight of me. “Oh. Uh. Hi,” she said. She looked at her grandfather. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I was just about to head out anyway.”
“How did you make out at the library?” Harrison asked his granddaughter. “Did you find any of those people we talked about in the old yearbooks?”
Mariah shrugged. “Some. I need to go back and look some more.”
Harry came to the doorway. “There’s gingerbread in the kitchen,” he said to his daughter. “You can go get a piece.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad,” she said.
“If you want some of the really old yearbooks, let me know,” I said. “And I’ll dig them out for you.”
“Um, yeah, maybe,” she said. “Thanks.” She escaped to the kitchen.
Harrison had gotten to his feet and I wrapped my arms around him in a hug. “Thank you for dinner. And I’m sorry I stirred up something that was none of my business.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, girl,” he said. “We cleared the air a little. No way that’s bad.”
“I’ll walk Kathleen out and I’ll be right bac
k,” Harry said. He narrowed his gaze at his father. “And you don’t need another piece of that gingerbread.”
“I didn’t say I was going after another piece. I’m just going to the kitchen to keep my granddaughter company,” the old man said. Then he winked at me.
Harry and I headed out, across the gravel driveway to my truck. “I was wrong to put you on the spot about Leo,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Mia’s a good kid. You’re trying to figure out who killed her grandfather. I can’t fault you for that,” Harry said. “Besides, I was acting like the hind end of a horse, as the old man would say. I think we’re good.”
We said good-bye and when I got to the bottom of the driveway I stopped and checked my phone. There was a text from Susan saying they had closed early because a squirrel on a power pole knocked out power to the library. I thought it was odd Mariah hadn’t mentioned that, but it probably hadn’t seemed like a big deal to her.
• • •
Maggie and I were standing in the computer area the next afternoon trying to decide exactly where and how we were going to display the framed photos from the post office, when Simon walked into the building. He looked in my direction.
“I think he wants to talk to you,” Maggie said. She pulled a tape measure out of her pocket. “Go ahead. I need to check a couple of things.”
“I’ll only be a minute.” I walked over to Simon. “Hi,” I said.
He smiled. “Hi. I’m sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to ask if I can take you up on your offer to come with me when I talk to Celia Hunter?”
“Of course,” I said.
“We’re meeting at five thirty at the bar at the St. James. Will that work for you?”
I nodded. Owen and Hercules would be all right if I was a bit late getting home. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks. Just put this on my tab.”
He headed for the door and I rejoined Maggie.
She was measuring the width of the wall in front of her. “I think this is going to work,” she said. “I’m going to do a sketch and try to figure out the layout.” Maggie was meticulous bordering on obsessive when it came to displaying her work. I knew whatever she came up with for the display would show off the photos at their best.