by Joy Avon
“I do know her from the days she was a little girl. She’s younger than me, and I used to babysit her and her siblings. They were a wild bunch, mainly because of her older brother’s silly ideas.”
Callie ignored this fond reminiscing and tried to get a foot in the door with a tentative “But does it …?” She wanted to ask about the handsome baritone but didn’t quite know how to put it.
Iphy raised a hand, cutting her off. “Some other time, Callie. I’m going to fix us dinner. It’s late enough as it is.”
Callie nodded. It was probably for the best. She wanted to come along into the kitchen to lend a hand, but Iphy waved her into a chair. “You must be exhausted. Sit down and put your feet up. I’ll bring you a plate of hot food as soon as I’m done.”
Callie felt awkward letting her great-aunt do all the work, but she suspected she wanted to be alone, doing something distracting, and so she just took the offer, sinking into a comfy chair and putting her feet on a stool. Daisy curled up in her lap and grunted in satisfaction. As Callie watched how the Boston terrier’s eyes fell closed at once, she wished it was that easy for her to relax and get some rest. Her head seemed to be full of thoughts and considerations, about Quinn and Peggy, Ace, Iphy and Sean Strong, and—most of all—Mrs. Forrester on the run and the dead body in the upstairs room.
She must have nodded off anyway, for the sharp sound of the phone woke her with a jerk, and she reached for the receiver on the table beside her. “Book Tea, Callie Aspen.”
Heavy breathing answered her down the line. Callie sat up straighter, thinking it was some crank caller. “Hello?” she asked sharply. “Who’s there?”
“Hello,” a thin voice said. “I can’t talk now. But I have to meet with you. Iphy and you. You can help me. Please.”
Callie clenched the receiver. “Who is this?”
“You know. What if they listen in, tap the line? They can do so much these days. I saw it all on TV. It seems surreal it’s happening to me now. You must help me.”
Callie wanted to say the name, but the other woman’s tangible fear of being overheard rubbed off on her, and she just said, “Where?”
“Iphy knows the place. Just tell her that it’s where we used to play hide and seek. She knows.” Then the line went dead.
Callie stared at the receiver, barely believing she had received this most mysterious phone call. She then put it down and rose, Daisy in her arms, to head to the kitchen. Iphy was just chopping carrots and looked at her over her shoulder. “I told you I don’t need help.” It sounded so sharp it would normally have hurt Callie’s feelings, but she was now on fire to tell Iphy about the call.
“Didn’t you hear the phone ring? I answered it, and it was Mrs. Forrester. At least I think it was. She didn’t want to say her name for fear of being overheard. She seems to think the police are tapping our line. She wants to meet us—she thinks we can help her.”
“Help her with what?” Iphy asked, bewildered, a carrot in her one hand, a knife in the other.
“Getting cleared of suspicion, probably,” Callie said. Her heart sank as she thought of having to sort through another murder case. It wasn’t just hard work to figure out motives and track down people who might be involved, but it always seemed to touch on people you liked or cared for, and get you in an emotional jam. Right now, standing here, feeling the afternoon’s rush in her feet and the heartache of Peggy’s situation in her chest, going out to save Mrs. Forrester was the last thing she wanted to do.
But Iphy nodded firmly, dropped the knife and carrot, and reached behind her back to untie the laces of her apron and take it off. “Did she say where she is?”
“She didn’t want to name the place,” Callie said with a grimace, realizing just how cloak and dagger this whole thing was. “But she said you’d know. Where you used to play hide and seek.”
Iphy looked at her with a hitched brow. “She said that?”
Callie shrugged. “What’s so odd about that?”
Iphy shook her head. “I didn’t think she would have remembered. I just told you how I used to babysit her and her brothers. They were a wild bunch. Always getting away from me and running into trouble. One afternoon they were gone again, and I had to find them. Against all instructions given by their parents, they had gone to the old cannery. It’s an abandoned building where they used to can fresh fish and other seafood. It was closed down in the sixties and should have been demolished right after. But it never was, and local kids like to go there to play. I have no idea what’s left of it today. But I know where it is, and that’s what counts if we want to find Mrs. Forrester. Let’s go.”
Iphy dropped her apron on the table, turned off the stove, and rushed to get her coat.
Callie stood undecided. She had a sinking feeling that this could mean trouble. Mrs. Forrester was on the run, so if they went to meet her, was that aiding and abetting a fugitive?
And what would Mrs. Forrester expect of them? To help hide her from the police? What if Ace ever found out about that?
She could never face him again!
Iphy popped her head around the door and said, “If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I can do it alone.” The head disappeared right away.
Callie sighed. If her great-aunt wanted to dive in and help Mrs. Forrester, she’d do it, no matter what the cost. And it would make Callie feel better if Iphy wasn’t alone in that. She just couldn’t let her great-aunt rush out to some meeting, at an abandoned building no less, and sit there and feel peaceful about it. Being there would be better.
She ran after Iphy. “Wait for me!”
* * *
The headlights of Iphy’s car were the only light as they moved down the dirt road. It was full of potholes, and the car bumped and groaned in protest. Callie sat with her hands clutched round the car seat, holding her breath against the shocks that seemed to rattle every bone in her body. She tried to discern a building in the distance, but it was too dark to see anything. A shiver went down her spine at the idea of how isolated this spot was. Mrs. Forrester had of course wanted to be safe from the police looking for her, but still … Places like this creeped Callie out.
Iphy checked the rearview mirror. “Doesn’t seem like anyone is following us.”
“Why would anyone want to follow us down this horrible road that leads nowhere?” Callie queried.
“Mrs. Forrester was afraid the police were watching us, to find her. That makes total sense. If Falk thinks Mrs. Forrester might contact us, he could have someone watching the Book Tea and monitoring our every move. But it doesn’t seem like we’re being followed at all.” Iphy nodded in satisfaction. “There’s the building.”
Callie could still barely discern anything, but Iphy steered the car with confidence into what had once been a parking lot and was now just a field full of weeds shaking in the breeze. She turned the ignition off and, with the headlights gone, it was suddenly overwhelmingly dark and lonely. Callie reached for Iphy, grabbing her arm. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I can understand Mrs. Forrester being careful, but this is ridiculous! We could have met at a roadside cafe or some place. This is just too creepy. I don’t want to get out of the car.”
Ignoring her protests, Iphy opened the glove compartment and pulled something out. A click, and bright light filled the car. “Flashlight,” Iphy declared, clutching the handle. “Now come along. We’d better go see where she’s hiding.”
Goaded by her great-aunt’s brisk determination, Callie got out of the car, feeling the weeds brush against her. Some reached up all the way to her waist, and she felt thorns attach themselves to her clothes. The frosty night air made her shiver, and she dug her leather gloves out of her coat pockets and wrapped her scarf more tightly around her head.
She walked carefully across the lot, using her gloved hands to detach herself from grasping brambles time and time again. Behind her, Iphy shone the flashlight on the building. It was a large stone structure with many cracked windows a
nd an old wooden door that was secured with a rusty metal chain. The wind sang through the broken glass and around the chimneys, and Callie cringed under the ominous creaking emanating from within. “Are you sure it’s safe to be here? Could it come down on us?” She glanced up cautiously.
Iphy didn’t reply as she was shining her flashlight on the metal chain securing the door. “This seems to be locked still. So she didn’t go inside the actual cannery. But where can she be? Temperatures are falling, and she’d be looking for shelter, I assume.”
Iphy pressed her thumb against her lips, thinking hard. Callie just huddled in her scarf and hoped they could leave again soon.
Then Iphy’s expression brightened. “Of course! That’s why she reminded me of that afternoon when I had to find them here. The old keeper’s cottage.”
She gestured to Callie to follow her.
“What?” Callie asked. “Where’s this cottage?” But her great-aunt already strode away.
They rounded the building, and Callie detected a large open area in the back, where half-decayed wooden crates leaned into one another. Something scurried away between them. Or were Callie’s eyes deceiving her in the weak light?
To the left was a sagging cottage.
“There used to be a keeper here,” Iphy explained in a whisper, “a sort of security guard, if you will, who had to make sure at night and on weekends that nothing was stolen. He lived here on the premises with his family. Once the building was abandoned, the kids from the village turned the keeper’s house into a play area. They baked pancakes there and played board games on the floor. I found my fugitive charges here that afternoon. I bet Mrs. Forrester is in there right now.”
Callie hoped she was, because the darkness and eerie atmosphere, coupled with the warning sounds as if the structure was about to collapse, strung her tight nerves to their breaking point. She worried that if something simply brushed her, she’d scream her head off.
Her hands formed into fists, and she followed Iphy, who marched ahead, holding up the flashlight. Mrs. Forrester is accused of murder, a voice whispered in the back of Callie’s mind. Falk thinks she stabbed someone to death. A big strong man, two heads taller than she was. Here you are, letting Iphy walk ahead of you. What if Mrs. Forrester is waiting there, armed?
But if the woman was indeed a killer, why hadn’t she just run and left the state before the police could get her? Why hang around here and invite locals to come to her? That made no sense.
But who said that killers were logical people? Sane people even? What if Mrs. Forrester had somehow lost it that afternoon and was now …
A killing machine?
Callie tried to laugh at her own macabre feelings. Of course, as a person with a normally uneventful life, Mrs. Forrester was just panicking now that she was suddenly under suspicion of a serious crime and the police wanted to question her formally. She was afraid of being locked up and not being able to clear her name. That was enough to drive any person into a frenzy.
Iphy pushed the door of the sagging cottage open. “Hello?” she called. “Anybody there? It’s me, Iphy. I’ve come to help you.”
Callie followed close behind her. She waited unconsciously for something to swoop at them from the darkness. She wished she had found something in the yard beside the abandoned building to use as a weapon of defense. Even a rusty shovel would have been better than nothing.
There was a deep silence inside, only broken by Iphy’s steps on the creaking floor. Then a figure darted for them. Her arm was outstretched, and Callie gasped, her heart rate shooting up so high in seconds that she could feel the blood pounding in her temples.
Then the figure hugged Iphy. “You came, oh, you came.”
“Of course I came.” Iphy patted the sobbing woman’s shoulders. “I came for you back then, Frederica, and I came for you now. You knew I would.”
Callie stood waiting as Iphy soothed the upset woman and then coaxed her into an old chair. As the light of the flashlight played across her features, Callie was shocked to see how much she had changed in a few hours. The confident woman with her criticism of the decorations that weren’t classy enough was completely gone, and a stunned, frightened, elderly lady stared up at her with red-rimmed eyes.
Iphy said, “I’m sure nobody followed us here. You can tell us what happened. All of it.” Mrs. Forrester wrung her hands. “If only I had never invited that man to the event.” Her voice shook. “On TV at Christmas, he seemed so nice—a real gentleman. I admired him. I thought he was …”
She swallowed hard. “He agreed to come free of charge. To help us with conserving Haywood Hall. For a good cause and all. But as soon as he had set foot there, had looked at the rooms—also rooms where he had no business—”
Her voice grew stronger as she recalled this behavior that had obviously enraged her. “He came to tell me he wanted a fee anyway. A steep fee because he had now seen that we could easily afford it. He said he had seen a vase he wanted. In exchange for his cooperation in the event. I was appalled. Outraged!” Mrs. Forrester waved both her hands to underline her point. “As if I can simply give away someone else’s property. I told him that Mrs. Finster owned the house and all the things in it, and then he said he would find Mrs. Finster and tell her I had promised him the vase in return for his services. I said I had promised no such thing, but he just laughed at me and said he would produce an email in which I had said it. I don’t know how he thought to do that if I never sent him any such email, but I saw in his eyes that he meant it. I got so very, very cold inside.”
Callie’s gut squeezed as she looked at Mrs. Forrester and realized the predicament the woman had found herself in. Some stranger she had invited to their event accusing her, even implying he could make it look like she had given away someone else’s property like a careless person, something she wasn’t and would never be. Had it been enough of a motive for murder? A stab with the scissors in blind anger over his audacity?
Mrs. Forrester said, “We argued about it, and people must have overheard. Not the exact words, but raised voices. They will tell the police and then—”
“Your fingerprints are on the murder weapon,” Callie said, “and because you ran, Falk also put out an APB on you.”
Mrs. Forrester nodded. “I knew he would do that when I ran away from Haywood Hall. He’d have to. I don’t blame him. But I just couldn’t stay. I couldn’t face the people and the shame of being arrested and taken along in handcuffs in front of people I’ve known all my life.”
“Now you’re on the run,” Iphy pointed out gently. “That made it even worse.”
Mrs. Forrester hung her head. “I know. That’s why I called you. You have to help me. I never promised him any vase. Or anything else in the house. He agreed to come free of charge.”
“Do you have an email from him saying so?” Callie asked.
“No, I wish I had. The initial contact was by email, but then he called me to talk about the details, and we agreed he’d come for free. Later I sent him directions to the Hall.” Mrs. Forrester knotted her fingers. “I’m sure we never, ever discussed any precious vase from the Hall’s collection.”
“That vase is of secondary importance,” Iphy said. “The main thing is, did you kill him?”
“Of course not. How can you think that of me?”
Iphy raised a placating hand. “I’m not thinking anything, I’m just putting the question you will have to face. The man is dead, and you argued with him shortly before he died.”
“Yes, but I can’t have been the only one who didn’t like him. He was rude, pretentious, demeaning. There must have been others who hated him. One of them killed him at the event so there would be lots of people around, and it wouldn’t be easy to establish who had done it.” Mrs. Forrester looked pleading. “You must find out for me who did it. Please.”
Iphy said, “When you left Mr. King after the argument about the vase he wanted to have, he was still alive and well?”
“Oh yes, he
wanted to go and find Mrs. Finster to tell her about this fake email in which I had supposedly promised the vase to him. He had this mean, smug smile on his face. I didn’t know what to do. I thought about calling the police and reporting him as a conman. But I didn’t want to ruin the event by having the police come in. I was in the restroom, wondering what on earth I could do. I was just so … It’s not like me to be clueless.”
Callie almost had to laugh, as this was certainly true.
Iphy asked, “Do you have any idea how long you were there?”
“I stayed there for a while, thinking, and then I decided I just had to face Mrs. Finster and tell her the truth. But when I went to look for her, she was in the concert. I checked my watch, and I thought that maybe, as the concert had started soon after the argument I had had with Mr. King, he might not have gotten to her yet, and I could be first. So I sat in the concert myself and waited. But after it ended, she had to talk to all the people who had performed, and then word was out already about a dead body.” Mrs. Forrester sighed. She looked bone weary. “I couldn’t believe it. I just knew there would be trouble. I had no idea then that it had been done with my scissors.”
She sat up. “Of course my fingerprints are on those scissors. I brought them and used them to cut some paper and tape for last-minute adjustments to the mystery book packages and to a sign pointing to our part of the event. But I didn’t stab that man. I would never take a life.”
Iphy nodded. “I believe you.” She leaned over. “But you have to tell this to the police. Everything you’ve just told us.”
“Also about the vase?” Mrs. Forester asked with wide eyes. “They will certainly see it as a motive on my part.”
“You have to be totally honest. Then Falk can make the right assessment of the situation and help you.”
“Help me? Lock me up, you mean. We all know he’s not the sheriff. How I wish that man hadn’t hit his stupid head on that beam over New Year’s.” Mrs. Forrester huffed. “He has thirty years of experience on the job.”