I remembered the fleeting expression of delight in the contractor’s eyes. It had been an odd reaction upon learning about someone’s death.
“I think Syd knows something,” I said.
“You mean about Swanson’s murder?”
Before I could answer, the door flew open and Jenny came storming in. “You won’t believe this. I was curious about what Syd was up to. So I followed him and—”
“Now you’re playing detective?” Marnie said, giving her the eyebrow.
“Yes, I am, and for a darn good reason too. The more I’ve been thinking about it, the more I feel that Syd was trying to slow the work progress for as long as he could. But since it wasn’t for the money, there had to be another reason. And I suspected it had something to do with Good Morning Sunshine.”
“What in the world are you talking about?” Marnie asked.
“I think they’re all conspiring against me,” she said.
Good grief. Jenny was starting to lose it. What she was thinking was just plain nuts, but I kept my mouth shut. Marnie was not so polite. “Sugar pie, I think you need a good night’s sleep. You’re starting to imagine things.”
“Before you start thinking I’m crazy, listen to me. I waited in my car until he left, and then I followed him. And guess where he went.” She looked from Marnie to me and continued. “He made a beeline straight to Good Morning Sunshine.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” I said gently.
She harrumphed. “Do either of you remember that he was the one who told us we needed the electrical box moved? How long do you think he would have stretched that out for?”
“We don’t know whether that was him or Swanson,” Marnie pointed out.
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Fine. Go ahead and believe whatever you want. But you know how I get feelings about things. By the way, do either of you know the new owners’ names?”
“Jim and Lori Stanton,” I said.
“Actually, he calls himself Jack,” Marnie said. She looked from me to Jenny. “I met them at the grocery store. I was in line behind them at the cash register. They were chatting up everyone and handing out coupons for free coffees.”
Jenny gasped. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t want to upset you. Did you go?”
“Good grief, of course not. You would never forgive me if I had.”
Jenny gave her a rueful smile. “That was smart of you.” She sighed, and then said, “I bet you anything that Syd has a connection to them.”
Marnie froze. “I just remembered something,” she said. “Syd was there that day, at the grocery store with them. I didn’t think anything of it then, but now . . . I wonder if they might be related.”
Jenny crossed her arms. “So, still think I’m being paranoid?”
Chapter 8
I still thought her theory was a stretch. However, of the two of us, Jenny had always been the calmer, more levelheaded one. When I got frantic, she would talk me down. When I got angry, she calmed me. That is why it was so strange to see her so agitated. Could she be right about any of this? Was I dismissing her suspicions too swiftly?
I had questioned, more than once, why the renovations were taking so long. I had even wondered if Syd was moving so slowly on purpose. But thinking that he was plotting with the owners of the coffee shop up the street sounded paranoid—at least upon first examination. But what if she was right?
I chose my words carefully. “I can understand why his behavior might seem suspicious, but how do we know he wasn’t just stopping for coffee?”
“If he’d wanted coffee, he could have asked. I had some ready here,” she said.
“Considering we had just told him he was wrong about you needing the electrical panel moved, I think it was completely natural for him to want to leave ASAP.”
She thought this over and shook her head. “I’m telling you—there’s something going on. I just know it.” An idea lit up her eyes. “Didn’t somebody say they moved here to be close to family? I think Marnie is right. Syd is probably family. Or maybe they’re paying him to keep me closed.”
Now she was beginning to scare me.
“I don’t think there was any conspiracy,” Marnie said, looking worried. “He probably wasn’t purposely stretching out the work. He was only doing what all contractors do. He took on too many contracts and juggled his time, giving everybody a few hours here and there, hoping to keep everyone happy.”
“I’m sure Marnie’s right,” I said.
“When I had my professional kitchen built,” Marnie continued, “the contractor told me it would all be done in three months. Well. It was more like five months by the time it was finished. And it cost me twice as much as I’d expected. That’s just how it is with renovations.”
A while back Marnie had decided that with the amount of baking she was doing for Jenny’s shop, she needed to be equipped like a professional. She ordered an industrial kitchen complete with a walk-in freezer. She had spent an inordinate amount of money on it, but in the end she had a setup to make any baker proud. In spite of its cost, she was happy and had since doubled her output.
“Everything you’re saying sounds logical. And any other time I would say you’re right,” she replied. “But if you’d seen the way the new owner’s wife greeted him when he walked in, you’d be suspicious too. She came out from behind the counter and threw her arms around him as if he was her long lost brother or something.
“I have no idea what their relationship might be, except that they’re more than just casual acquaintances—of that I’m sure.” She let out a long sigh, and when she spoke again I was relieved to find her sounding more like herself. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just letting my imagination get the better of me. Anyhow,” she continued determinedly, “Coffee, Tea and Destiny will be open again soon. And I’ll make this shop so irresistible that customers won’t be able to stay away.”
“That’s the spirit,” Marnie said, giving the air a punch.
“Are you planning anything special?” I asked, relieved at the change of subject.
Her resolute expression of a second ago morphed into one of defeat. “I have no idea.”
“I have one,” Marnie said. “I’ve got dozens of cookies in my freezer. What you should do is hire someone to stand outside for your reopening and hand out free cookies and invite people to come in. I bet every person who walks in will also order a coffee and more of those cookies to take home.”
“That’s a brilliant idea,” I said.
Marnie wasn’t finished. “You know what else we should do? Instead of waiting until the day after tomorrow to open, why don’t we aim for tomorrow, even if it means working right through the night? We all know that nothing drives business in this town like gossip. Tomorrow, every person in Briar Hollow will have heard about Swanson’s murder and will be looking for a gossip session. We have to make sure those sessions happen right here.”
Marnie was right. After the last local tragedy, Jenny’s shop was packed. Customers sat at the tables, ordering cup after cup of coffee while reminiscing about the victim, grieving for the family, and speculating about who might have done the killing and why.
“Work right through the night?” I said.
“Great idea,” Jenny said, holding my gaze as if begging me to agree.
I shrugged. “Let’s do it.”
“Well, then, what are we waiting for? We’ll finish Della’s shop in no time and then we can put all our energy into yours,” Marnie said.
We returned to my shop and picked up where we’d left off. Soon, I was so engrossed in the painting that when the bell above the door rang, I almost jumped out of my skin. Two women walked in.
“Well, hello,” one of them said. “I’ve been walking by here every day for two months. I’m so happy to see you’re at the painting stage a
t last.”
Her name was Judy Bates. I had met her a few months earlier at a county fair where I’d rented a booth to promote my shop and sell my woven goods. Judy had run the stall next to mine where she sold oil paintings. She was a pretty woman a few years older than me, with brown hair and a pixie smile.
“Della, meet my mother,” she said. The woman looked like an older version of her daughter. I’d seen her around town a few times but had never officially been introduced.
“Nice of you to stop by,” I said.
They walked around, oohing and aahing, even though there was nothing to see except lots of plastic drop cloths and half-painted walls.
“Careful. I don’t want you to get any paint on your clothes,” I said. They scooted to the center of the room, away from buckets, brushes and rollers.
“Such a lovely shop,” Judy said. “You have such a cozy space here,” Judy continued. “I can’t wait for it to reopen.” The small talk having been done, she immediately changed the subject to what she’d really come in for. “I hear you found the body of the city inspector, Mr. Swanson. I can’t imagine how you must have felt. Terribly upsetting, I’m sure.”
“It was. Did you know him?”
Both women shook their heads. “But I almost feel as if I do,” Judy said. “I heard so much about him from my neighbor, Susan. She didn’t like him very much, I can tell you that much. He was a”—she blushed—“oh, dear. There I go again, opening my big mouth. I should not speak ill of the dead.” She quickly overcame her embarrassment and continued. “But, in all fairness, the man did treat her shamefully when she redid her kitchen. She’d hired a contractor who did a beautiful job with the remodel. I saw the place myself. It was gorgeous. But that dratted inspector refused to give her a permit. For a while, it looked like she would have to tear the whole thing out and start over.”
I could tell by the way Jenny had paused in her painting that she was listening intently.
“How awful,” I said, hoping to keep her talking. “She must have been furious.”
“Oh, you have no idea. I thought she’d kill the man.”
Her mother looked shocked. “How can you say such a thing?”
Judy’s eyes rounded as she realized what she’d just said. “I didn’t mean literally. It’s just a figure of speech.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Then, from one day to the next, everything was fine,” she continued. “She got her occupancy permit without having so much as an outlet changed.”
“Really?” Jenny said, coming forward. “That sounds exactly like what happened to me. It looked like I would have to change the electrical panel all over again. And then”—she opened her hands—“everything was fine. No need to change a thing.”
Judy chuckled. “What did you do? Sleep with the man?”
Shock flashed over Jenny’s face, but she quickly covered it with an amused smile. “Good grief. I would have preferred to redo the electrical instead.”
Judy guffawed. “Now that is funny.”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
“Susan Price. Maybe you know her?” I shook my head.
“In my case,” Jenny said. “Swanson told us we needed two permits, one for Della’s shop and one for mine. Then, once everything was ready, he told our contractor that we’d have to redo the electrical on my side.” She explained how we had then discovered that, since we shared the same civic address, we’d only ever needed one permit. “We can’t figure out why he would have lied.”
Judy leaned in. “I don’t know about your case, but in Susan’s, I suspected she slipped him some money under the table.”
As soon as she said this, I knew extortion had to be the answer. It explained everything. Why else would a city inspector hold back a permit unless it was for some kind of personal gain? That also explained how a city employee could afford a luxury home.
“Honestly, Judy,” her mother said, sounding shocked. “The things that come out of your mouth.”
“Did Susan say anything to suggest that?”
Her mother gave her a gentle nudge. “Don’t you think we should get on our way?”
Judy threw her an apologetic look. “Just one second.” She turned back to me. “Actually, she said, and I quote, that the solution had been expensive, but not nearly as much as if she’d had to redo the whole thing. When I asked her what she meant, she refused to elaborate.” She leaned forward and whispered, “If you ask me, a payoff is the only explanation. I mean . . . one minute she can’t get her permit and has to redo the whole thing, and then just a short time later everything is just fine. You tell me—how else would you explain it?”
As she said this, another idea occurred to me. Could Syd have been in cahoots with Swanson? It made sense. Syd would slow down a job until the owners became desperate. And then he could be the one to suggest possibly bribing the inspector. It would look less like a shakedown that way. And since the contractor supposedly offered the bribe in the owner’s name, the chance of him going to the authorities was practically nil.
I nodded. “I have to admit, you make a good point. But I can promise you one thing. Nobody here paid off anybody.”
“Oh, I never meant to suggest—”
“No offense taken. I might have come to the same conclusion.”
Judy breathed a sigh of relief. “You know, I never met Mr. Swanson. But I did see him from a distance a couple of times. He used to drop off his wife at my place. We were in the same book club.”
I had to ask. “Are you talking about his ex-wife?”
“Yes. I never met his new wife, but I have seen her around town.”
“What is she like?”
“The ex? She’s very nice. Just a pleasant, middle-aged lady. The new Mrs. Swanson is another story. For one thing, she’s young—no more than twenty-five or so—and gorgeous.” She tittered. “The first time I saw them together, I thought he was her father. I was shocked when I heard she was his new wife. I don’t know how in the world he got her to say yes.”
“I guess love is blind,” her mother said.
“How are you feeling?” Judy asked me, suddenly solicitous. She shook her head. “If I’d found a dead body, I’d probably be home, having a nervous breakdown.”
Her mother glanced at her watch. “Can it already be two o’clock? My goodness, we’d better get going, Judy.” And just to make sure she followed, she took hold of Judy’s arm and guided her toward the exit.
“Good grief. Can you believe that woman?” Jenny asked as soon as the door closed behind them.
“She was just looking for a good gossip session,” I whispered back, as I watched mother and daughter going by my window. “And hopefully you’ll have a shop full of people just like her tomorrow. Now let’s get back to work.”
• • •
Except for a short break for pizza, we continued painting until late into the night. By the time we finished putting everything away, it was almost two o’clock in the morning. Jenny called a cab and I stumbled up the stairs to my apartment. Five minutes later I was in bed. But as tired as I was, my mind was doing the whirlies. That’s what I call it when my thoughts keep going around and around. So I got out of bed and padded to the kitchen where I made myself a cup of hot cocoa.
I loved my old kitchen. I had fallen in love with it the moment I’d laid eyes on it. And it was, as much as anything else, one of the reasons I’d bought the building. It was modestly sized, but it had antique glass cabinets that went all the way up to the ceiling. The counters were black Formica trimmed in nickel. Along one wall was an old farm sink complete with drain board. But what I loved most about it was the 1930s Chambers stove. It was my pride and joy.
Rather than climb into bed and wait for sleep to come, I dragged my loom from my bedroom to the dining room and settled down for a few hours of weaving. And as m
y hands threw the shuttle through the shed, I replayed in my mind the conversation I’d had with Judy Bates. If she was right, that Swanson was indeed extorting money in exchange for permits, no wonder the man had ended up dead. In my book, extortion was the same thing as blackmail—just another form of getting money from victims by using threats. A person could make a lot of enemies doing that.
From there, my mind wandered on to Syd Shuttleworth and how he might be implicated with Swanson, and possibly with the owners of Good Morning Sunshine, as well.
In the middle of the night Jenny’s suspicions of him didn’t seem nearly as crazy. She had made a few good points.
After ruminating about all of that for a while, I put away my shuttle and padded back to bed. By then fatigue had crowded out the stress and the only thing left was a desire for sleep. I crawled under the blankets thinking about Matthew. I hadn’t heard from him all day. Maybe I should call him in the morning, and then dismissed the idea as quickly as I’d thought of it. It had been wrong of him to tell me what to do. So why should I be the one to make the first move?
Eventually I must have fallen asleep, because next thing I knew it was morning. I got up with the alarm, shocked at how stiff and sore I was. The long hours of painting had done their damage. There wasn’t an inch of my body that wasn’t screaming in pain. I hobbled over to the washroom and stood in the shower, letting the scalding needles of water massage my sore muscles until I felt almost normal again. I was halfway through my first cup of coffee when my house phone rang.
“Mom,” I said, recognizing her number on the call display. “How are you?” I already had a pretty good idea what this call was about and sure enough, after the customary greetings, she got straight to the point.
“Honestly, sweetheart. I don’t know how you do it. I heard there was a murder in Belmont and that you found the body. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry.”
“Did you know the victim?”
“I’d seen him a few times, but never officially met him. He was the building inspector in charge of the permits for my store. That was why I was going to meet him.”
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