by Clover Tate
“Ace. Plumber, handyman, and student of human nature.”
“Just call me a wise elder with a full toolbox.”
I put a hand on my hip. “Think all the good thoughts you want, as long as you have a look at my roof.”
“Fine. But it’ll cost extra to fix the chair.”
“Don’t worry about the chair. I’m going to change now.”
As I closed myself in the bedroom and exchanged my nightgown and robe for jeans and a sweater, I thought about what Ace had said. He was right. I did need to visit Jeanette. And I wasn’t looking forward to it. He was right about the tricky starts of leaks, too. Wherever the issue that led to Allison’s death originated, I’d find it.
When I returned to the living room, Ace was fitting together the chair’s pieces. “I’ll need to fetch my ladder and come back,” he said.
“Before you leave,” I said. “When I visit Jeanette, do you have any tips for me?”
“Just be yourself.”
“That’s it? Be myself?” He’d clearly never needed to wrangle information from his sister.
He shrugged. “That’s it. You’re on your own.”
* * *
• • •
I walked down the back steps, up the alley, and up another block to Main Street and the post office. Had the sheriff caught up with Jack yet? At least he wouldn’t be caught off guard now, either about Allison or about his own placement on the sheriff’s list of suspects.
The post office had its own small brick building a block down from the antiques mall. Sure, I knew what I wanted to find out—if she’d heard about strangers in town, what the rumor mill was churning out, what the sheriff might be thinking—but I had no idea how to go about extracting that information.
But I had an ace in the hole. A body had been found in my store. Jeanette would be drooling for details.
I opened the post office door. A bank of bronze post office boxes filled the wall to the counter’s right, situated so Jeanette could fill them from her perch behind the counter and customers could access them from the other side. On the left, a bulletin board informed customers of the rates for priority mail and presented a yellowed list of the mug shots of the FBI’s top ten most wanted. Straight ahead was a counter, and behind it on a stool was Jeanette.
Jeanette narrowed her eyes. “May I help you?” Now that I knew she was Ace’s sister, I saw the resemblance in her beaky nose, dark eyes, and square jaw. Ace might have been taking advantage of his AARP membership for years, but Jeanette had to be older still, probably in her midseventies. I pitied the post office official who might try to persuade her to retire.
“How old’s that ten most wanted list?” I asked.
“Nineteen nineties. When they quit printing them. Who wants to know?”
“Isn’t it likely they’re caught by now?” I examined the faded notice and barely made out a mustached bank robber’s mug shot.
“They might be out of prison again now.”
“Or dead.”
Jeanette folded her thin arms. I knew the signs, and this wasn’t going well. I’d started out all wrong.
In the past, I’d tried various ploys to extract information. I’d pretended to be friendly, looking for a chat. That had mixed results. I’d also flat-out demanded information and, only once, lost my temper. This time, I thought I’d try honesty.
“Jeanette, I’m in a bind.”
“I see.” Her expression didn’t change. “Does it concern postage?”
“No. I have enough stamps.” Honesty, Em. Remember Ace’s advice. “This is the situation. Perhaps you’ve heard I found a dead body in my shop?”
“You don’t say?”
“Come on.” I placed both palms on the counter. “Knock it off. By now you probably know it was Jack’s aunt.”
Jeanette’s eyes shifted from side to side. “I might have heard something of the sort. But what does this have to do with the US Postal Service?”
I sighed in exasperation. “We both know you have a bead on what happens in town. I want to find out if anyone has a reason to kill someone and leave them in Strings Attached.”
“That’s a pretty broad question. What, you think someone is mailing murder weapons?”
“That’s not what I mean. Listen, Stella and I walked in on a strangled woman.”
Jeanette was leaning forward, looking interested at last, when someone came into the post office behind me.
“Morning, Jeanette.” He tipped the bill of his baseball cap. I recognized the man as a cashier at the supermarket. “Morning.”
“Hello,” I said.
“Now, how much does it cost to mail a postcard these days?”
“International or domestic?”
“North Dakota. I guess that’d be domestic.”
Jeanette tallied up a sheet of postcard stamps for the man and deftly ignored my presence. I feared that I’d lost her. “Here you are. I’m glad to be of assistance. At the post office, we’re always happy to help with your mail and postage needs.”
The man tilted his head. “Okay. Thanks for the stamps.”
When the door closed behind him, I closed my eyes and put a hand over my heart. “I’m so glad you weren’t there to see the gore.”
“Strangulation,” she said. “Couldn’t be that gory. I mean, not like a stabbing or anything.”
“Strangulation is such a simple word, yet such a gruesome sight. And Stella . . .” I let that hang. I didn’t know what I’d follow it up with.
“It must have been awful,” Jeanette said.
“The sheriff can’t figure out what’s going on. At first, he didn’t even know who the body was.”
“But it wasn’t the reporter,” Jeanette said quickly. “She showed up. Then you discovered—”
“Exactly.” I met her eyes. “Jack’s aunt Allison. Can you help me? At all?”
Jeanette examined me. Her beady eyes softened. “They’re pinning this on Jack, aren’t they?”
“Maybe.” The word came out in barely a whisper.
“Well,” she said and leaned forward, “what kind of info do you need?”
I thought of Gus’s farm—and Matt’s winery next door. I remembered both Rosa’s and Claire’s insistence that Gus’s death was an accident. “Do you know anyone at the post office in McMinnville?”
chapter twenty-one
Sunny’s text was brief. “Up yet? Meet me at Brew House.”
Not only was I out of bed; I’d already warned my boyfriend he might be wanted for murder, started the process for getting my roof fixed, and enlisted the postmistress in spying. And it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. I texted a reply and set off the few blocks from the post office to Avery’s coffee shop.
Sunny was waiting at a corner table with a mug full of what was probably a soy latte. I waved and continued to the counter.
“Soft-boiled egg and avocado toast, please,” I told Trudy. “And a large coffee with room for cream. Hi, Avery.” I waved to her, too.
Avery took a moment from her cooking duties to come around the counter and ask how things were going. I hugged her and promised her an update soon. The Rock Point grapevine had tendrils everywhere, and I didn’t want to get into it near the busy counter.
“I’ll be out in a minute with your breakfast,” she said.
Sunny had wisely chosen a corner buffered by bookshelves and out of earshot of the rest of the café. I set down my jumbo coffee mug and pulled out the vintage oak chair.
“So,” I said. “What have you got?”
Sunny lifted a sheaf of papers. “I did the research on Claire we talked about. I dug into the backgrounds of a few other people, too. Good stuff. Very interesting.”
“Oh good. I’m listening.”
“First, Dustin wasn’t lying. He’s loaded to the gills with cash. H
e has a condo in San Francisco in an old building. You should see it. It’s nice. Two bedrooms, cathedral ceilings, and a balcony off the living room. Four million dollars. I bet the HOA fees are brutal.”
“So, money-wise, he’s off the hook.”
“Not just that. The business journal had a whole article about how he was poached from another firm for big bucks. And, of course, we’ve seen the yacht.” Sunny set aside one sheet. She had a few more in reserve.
“I drove up to Astoria to see Claire yesterday, then out to the farm.” I gave the CliffsNotes version of the day’s events. “She said she’d always had a thing for Dustin, but that her uncle—Dustin’s father—warned her against him.”
Sunny set down her notes. “You’re kidding. You think he knew something about Dustin?”
“Claire thinks it might be because Dustin was a goof-off when he was younger.”
“That’s interesting, but it’s not a motive to kill Allison. I don’t see the link.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “What else do you have?”
“I looked up Allison. Before she married Gus Butler, she had her own PR firm, but she let it lapse for a few years, probably while she was first married. She kept up her business registration, but her income was low. Then, about six months ago, it went up again.”
“How do you find this stuff?”
“Tax rolls, mostly. State business listings. This and that.”
“Okay, what else?”
“Here’s your avocado toast and egg, Em.” Avery slid a thick crockery plate in front of me. “Enjoy.” She hurried back to the kitchen.
“Can I have some of that?” Sunny asked, already picking up her fork.
“Okay, but not too much. Now, tell me, what else?”
“Gus Butler’s farm is about what you’d expect. The land is worth millions. Did you know it’s been around for more than a hundred years?”
“Yes.” I smashed the egg over the toast and shoved a big bite in my mouth to keep Sunny from getting to it first.
“Orr Cellars has the kind of debt you’d expect for a winery that relaunched itself a few years ago.”
“What does that mean?”
“Matt Orr took out a construction loan, for instance. Probably for the new tasting room he told us about. And from looking at his Web site, he’s spent big money on branding and marketing.”
“Do you think he needs cash?”
“No.” Fortunately, all Sunny’s talking had kept her mouth away from my breakfast. Mostly. “It’s normal. The bank would have calculated the future value of his wine when they made the loan, and the land would have been collateral. His wine gets good reviews.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t stop him from being greedy, though. He’s an ambitious guy.”
Sunny wasn’t really paying attention. She’d flipped to her next page of notes. “Here’s where it really gets interesting.”
I looked up, forkful of egg in midair. “And?”
Sunny opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the sudden murmur of voices. Marcus Salek had come in and was unwrapping a scarf from his neck and shaking hands. He didn’t make it to the counter before five people approached him to say hello.
He spotted Sunny and me right away. “Hello, you two. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine, but thank you,” I said.
“I could use a cinnamon roll,” Sunny said.
“Don’t listen to her,” I told Marcus. “How’s the election coming?”
Marcus and I had first met over the summer, when Marcus was suspected of murdering a reality television star in town to judge the annual kite contest. Strangely, the whole experience, while difficult, seemed to give him purpose. He’d transformed from a bitter man to someone dedicated to doing good for Rock Point. With his carefully trimmed beard and a little weight on him, he was downright handsome. No wonder Darlene over at the chamber of commerce had been making eyes at him.
“Not bad. Lots of people are interested in what I have to say. Even if I don’t win, I feel like I’ve raised some important issues.”
“You have my vote.”
“If you buy me a cinnamon roll, you have my vote, too,” Sunny said.
“Don’t fall for it. She’s not even registered to vote here. She’s going to school in Portland next term.”
Marcus laughed and moved on to two older women tucking into Avery’s famous pumpkin bread. They were gesturing for him to come over and had pulled up an extra chair.
“Okay,” I said when he was out of earshot, “you said you had something good.”
“It’s about Claire,” Sunny said. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
I pushed my now empty plate aside. “Of course I do. What did you find?”
“What if it makes her look bad? I mean, she’s your boyfriend’s twin sister.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell me, before I buy a cinnamon roll and force-feed it to you all at once.”
“Well.” She looked at her paper. “She got her house for a good price, and the mortgage isn’t ridiculous, but between that and renting her shop, she can’t be much richer than you are.”
“Near broke, you mean. That’s it? That’s the big news?”
“No. There’s more. She was sued a few years ago, a big lawsuit, but I couldn’t find much out about it without access to a legal database.”
“Really.” I leaned back. “No clue at all what it was about?”
“No. Just her name and a man’s name.”
“When was this?”
“Two years ago.”
Claire hadn’t said anything about it, even during our long drive. Neither had Jack. “So, she could be blackmailed.”
“Maybe,” Sunny said. “Maybe not. It depends. We don’t know.”
That was the problem. There was too much we simply didn’t know.
* * *
• • •
I trudged back to Strings Attached. The wind had picked up, and I wound my scarf around my neck one more time. The antiques mall on Main Street had taken on a Halloween theme with vintage costumes in its display window and a row of pumpkin-shaped mugs underneath. As I approached Strings Attached, I was turning over in my mind how to make a wind sock shaped like a pumpkin for next year—or maybe a witch on a broom would be better?—and heard loud voices coming from the shop. Even through the closed door.
Ace burst out of the shop onto the porch, his toolbox at his side. “I try to do a person a favor, and see what that gets me.”
“Ace, stop,” I said when he’d made it to the street.
He did, and for the first time registered that I was there. “Oh, hi, Emmy.”
“What’s going on in there?” I glanced up at the shop.
“Stella and me, you know—”
“You haven’t been getting along too well lately.”
“Well, right.”
“What happened? Today, I mean.” I waited for the rest of the story. There had to be more.
“While I was up at your place, I thought I’d listen to a little music while I nosed around for the source of the leak. I saw you had a dock with speakers for a phone, and I knew you wouldn’t mind—”
I nodded. “Sure, sure.”
“Anyway, it’s hard to hear very well up on the roof. So I might have turned it up a bit louder than I would have normally.”
“Oh no.” Stella would have flipped out. I suspected she’d seen Strings Attached as an oasis from Ace’s music. Until today. Thanks to me.
“Don’t worry.” Ace held up his free hand. “I figured out I was being too loud and came down and apologized.”
“But it was too late,” I ventured.
“I’ve never seen a woman yell like that.” A dreamy look came over him. “Michelle, she used to clam up and go into the other room. Wouldn’t talk
at all. That’s why I finally took to the boat. I got more conversation out of the cats than I did from her.”
I’d never seen Stella yell, either. I’d always admired her imperturbable calm. “But you said you offered to help, to do her a favor.”
“I waited her out. Knew she couldn’t keep up that volume forever.”
“And?”
“I’d noticed she had trouble watering the plants on the slope to the sidewalk back home. She’d planted some mums, and she had a heck of a time crawling up there with her watering can. I offered to install some sprinklers, that’s all.”
I knew the slope Ace was talking about. It ran up along the stairs from the street. I didn’t like the idea of Stella hauling her watering can up and down the steps, either, especially since she was still recovering from a car accident a few months ago. But I could also imagine Stella blowing a fuse when she imagined Ace tinkering in her front yard. Still, he was offering to help. He must have bothered her a lot more than I’d thought.
“How is she now?”
“Oh, she’ll talk to you, I guess. How about Jeanette? Is she coming through for you?” Ace asked.
“I was surprised, but yes. She said she’d dig around a bit.”
Ace didn’t seem surprised at all. “Good. You need her on your team.”
“Thanks for your help and for encouraging me to see her.” I glanced toward the shop. “I suppose I’d better go up and talk to Stella.” After a step, I turned around again. “Did you find the source of the leak?”
“The inspector was right—your roof’s okay. Mostly.”
“Then where is the water coming from?”
“Does it leak when it’s windy, even if it’s not raining?”
I thought about that. It was windy on the coast most days. “I’m not sure, to tell the truth.”
“There’s a flat bit on the roof where the old weather vane used to be. Chances are, water’s gathering there during the rain, then blowing in. Once it’s under the shingles, it travels to your living room.”