Wuthering Kites

by Clover Tate

  “It has to do with my parents.” Seeing Jeanette’s eyebrows rise farther, I added, “It would take too long to explain. What about Rosa, Uncle Gus’s housekeeper?”

  Jeanette consulted her list. “Occasional packages from Central America. Cooking magazines. Has a correspondent who favors powder blue stationery.” She nodded once in approval. “There used to be a day you could judge a person’s quality by their stationery. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d even take the days of the fold-over mailing sheets with daisy stickers in the 1970s. Now it’s all on the computer. Or by text.” She looked like she’d just bit into a bad oyster.

  “But nothing—unusual,” I said. “About Rosa, I mean.”

  “No, she’s fine.”

  At the bar, a few of the old fishermen had gathered, and Rodney was demonstrating to Wilson and Glenn how Duchess could dance on her hind legs for a liver snap.

  “That’s it, then?”

  Jeanette drew back. “That’s more than you would have got without me.”

  “You’re so right. I’m sorry to be curt. It’s just that it’s all so troubling. The body in my shop—”

  “And Jack,” Jeanette said, her voice now soft. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

  Jeanette’s expression relaxed, and I had the feeling that we had at last come to her whole purpose for our meeting. “My late husband, Derwin”—she looked up to make sure I was paying attention—“had eyes just like that. The softest gray, like velvet.” A little of her dreaminess disappeared. “He was shorter, and he snored like the lunch whistle at the Vernonia mill, God bless his soul. I sure miss him, but I sleep better nowadays.”

  Now I knew Jeanette’s weakness, and it wasn’t chocolate-covered cherries. I had to wonder if copies of True Romance didn’t show up in her mailbox from time to time.

  “Thank you. I really appreciate all your effort,” I said.

  “Sorry I couldn’t tell you more.” She shook her head. “Gus Butler’s farm sure got a lot of cards after he died. You’d almost think he was the one murdered, not his wife.”

  chapter twenty-six

  You’d almost think he was the one murdered, Jeanette had said. When I left the Rock Point Tavern, darkness was beginning to fall. I turned up the street, preoccupied with what Jeanette had told me, when I almost bumped into someone.

  “Excuse me,” I said and noticed I was talking to a midget Batman holding a plastic pumpkin bucket. The rain had eased up, but he wore galoshes all the same.

  Batman and his sister, Little Red Riding Hood, continued up the street swinging their buckets, their father a few feet behind them.

  When I arrived at Strings Attached, Sunny was sitting on the porch with Bear next to her. For a second, I thought she was in her normal clothes, but I realized she’d boosted the layers of ethnic clothing and added an eye patch.

  “Pirate?” I asked.

  “No. A gypsy.”

  “A gypsy with a bad eye,” I said.

  A ghost, his sheet stark white in the dusk, clumped up the stairs in galoshes. “Trick or treat.”

  Sunny pulled a bowl from under her chair and dropped a handful of peppermint hard candies into the ghost’s bag. “I foresee cavities in your future,” she said.

  “Nicky, come on,” the ghost’s mom yelled from the street.

  “Peppermints?” I said.

  “All I could find at Avery’s. They’re pretty old. I bet they belonged to her parents. Where have you been, anyway?”

  I told her about my meeting with Jeanette and about Uncle Gus’s package—and Matt’s preview of it. “I can’t stop thinking about Jack’s uncle now,” I said. “Supposedly, he died from an accidental fall. Rosa—Gus’s housekeeper—and Claire insist it was an accident. But what if it wasn’t?”

  The story was interrupted by a troll and a girl with a light saber. “Trick or treat,” they said in unison. Bear wagged his tail uncertainly, and Sunny dropped candy into the opened bags.

  We watched the kids descend the stairs. “Not an accident, huh?” Sunny said.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  She left the bowl of candy on the porch and unlocked the shop’s front door. We locked up behind us—never had I been so aware of locks in my life—and crossed the shop, Bear on our heels.

  “What happened here?” Sunny said. The counter was littered with crumpled receipts, and an overturned mug had dribbled tea next to the cash register. “Stella worked today, right? She’s usually so tidy.”

  “It’s Ace. He was looking at my leak upstairs. Something about him really knocks Stella off-kilter.”

  Sunny pushed open the kitchen door, and I held it long enough that she could pull in her ruffled skirt. I turned on the table lamps I kept on the counter and kitchen table. The soft light made the room feel even warmer, a haven from the chilly wet outside.

  “Stella and Ace are on opposite sides of the city council election, right?”

  “It’s more than that,” I said. “I can see why she might be irritated with him, but now it’s blown way out of proportion.” Their feud could wait. Right now, I wanted Sunny’s thinking on Gus’s death.

  “Sit,” Sunny said. “Let’s go over this logically. You want some tea?”

  “No, thanks. I just drank a pint of ginger ale with Jeanette.”

  “So, you wonder if Gus Butler was murdered, too?”

  “Think about it. He dies in an unlikely accident; then his wife is murdered less than a week later.” The words were chilling when spoken. But then, so were the facts.

  “Okay.” She yanked off her eye patch, then pulled over the sketch pad I used for designing kites. She drew a rough chart with four columns. “We’re going to do this systematically. Should I get the laptop and put it in a spreadsheet?”

  “This is fine.” I wondered if the combination of Halloween and the murder would draw a crowd out front. We would be out of sight here, at the rear of the building.

  “We’ll do suspects down the side. Then we’ll look at their motives, opportunities, and alibi. Okay?”

  “Great.” I needed the help of Sunny’s logical brain.

  “Suspects,” she said. She raised her eyes to mine. “We’re going to be complete. You understand?”

  I got it. “Fine. Put Jack on the top, then. Also, his sister—”

  “Claire,” she said, her hand scribbling.

  “And Dustin and Matthew.”

  “Cousin and winemaker. Check. What about the housekeeper?”

  “Rosa. I suppose you’d better list her, too, although it’s a long shot.” I remembered Rosa’s strong hands slicing pork roast. Maybe it wasn’t as long a shot as I’d thought.

  “Number one, Jack. Motive.”

  “Money. With his uncle and Allison gone, he inherits half the farm.”

  “We’d better put him at ‘ten’ for motive. Sorry, Em. For both deaths. Assuming, that is, we learn something about his uncle’s death.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” A now-familiar anxiety grumbled in my gut. Beyond Sunny, through the side window, two fairy princesses with tutus and flashlights cut down the driveway. Bear growled and stared at the back door.

  “Relax, Bear. They’re first graders.”

  Bear’s growling erupted into a single bark.

  “Bear! Get over here.” Giving a last glance back at the door, he trotted to my side, his tail wagging low. “Lie down.” I pointed to his dog bed under the table.

  “Opportunity,” Sunny said. “Was Jack in town when his cousin was killed?”

  “You know he was. He was at the bonfire with us; then he went home to get his house ready for family coming for the funeral. He texted me to ask how many blankets I thought he should put out.”

  “But he could have texted you from anywhere.” She jotted another number. “I�
�ll give him an eight. As for the uncle’s death, we need to pin down a time before we can check that alibi.”

  “He didn’t do it, though.”

  Sunny set down the pen and placed her hand on mine. “I know. So, let’s move on. Claire.”

  “Claire was at Jack’s.” She’d begged off coming to the bonfire, telling Jack she needed to decompress with a movie and a beer.

  “Her motive would be the same as Jack’s. Money. We never did find out what that mysterious lawsuit was about.”

  “She might have had another motive for killing her uncle, too.” I felt dirty talking about Claire this way, but after what we’d put into words about Jack, I continued. “You probably noticed that Claire and Dustin seem to be starting something romantically?”

  “No duh,” Sunny said.

  “Claire said that her uncle was dead set against it.”

  Sunny chewed the end of the pen. “Now, that’s interesting. So, he thought his son—”

  “His adopted son.”

  “—wasn’t good enough for her. Or”—she waved the pen—“she wasn’t good enough for him.”

  “Or something like that.”

  “Interesting,” she repeated.

  “And there’s the lawsuit, whatever that was about. And the fact that she could use the money,” I said. “Plus, she’s missing her kite charm.”

  Sunny nodded. “All true. I’ll give her a nine. Which brings us to Dustin.”

  “Dustin’s a funny one,” I said. “He was at sea when his aunt was murdered, so it couldn’t have been him. Plus, he doesn’t have a motive. But there might be something about his seching machine going on.”

  “It doesn’t let him out of suspicion for killing his father.”

  “True.”

  “Just because he didn’t stand to inherit doesn’t mean he doesn’t have another motive.”

  “That’s a good point.”

  “I have to score him low for opportunity and motive—at least, for Allison’s death—but I’m putting question marks in the third column. Which leads to Matt.”

  “Put a ten in motive,” I said. “He wants that land. You should have heard him last night at Gus’s. He was friendly, but insistent. He even offered to keep Rosa on.”

  “What about opportunity?”

  “Well,” I said, warming to the subject, as it felt like an ever-stronger option to clear Jack, “it’s only a couple of hours from here to McMinnville. He could have met Allison in Rock Point and told her he was taking her to the shop to meet up with Jack and me.”

  “I can see it. But what about the kite charm? Did he have one?”

  “He could have stolen one. Jack and Claire hadn’t seen him for a while, but Dustin had a charm, too.”

  “Does he still?” Sunny asked, pen in air.

  “Good question. I don’t know.”

  “And what about an alibi? We don’t have anything, do we?”

  “Remember when we were at dinner? He’d talked about working, closing the books on the harvest that day.”

  “We only have his word, though. And, of course, we have no idea where he was when Uncle Gus was killed.”

  “No.” So far, Matt was shaping up as the strongest suspect. Had Sheriff Koppen even talked to him?

  “Last one. Rosa. What do we know about her?”

  “She’s dedicated to the family. Jack says she’s been with them as long as he can remember.”

  “Does she look strong enough to strangle someone?”

  “It’s possible. You heard Mom. It’s not the brute strength that matters.”

  “What about motive?”

  I remembered back to our dinner. “She gets something off the top of the estate even without Allison’s death. It didn’t change anything financially for her—not that I know of.”

  “But with Matt buying the farm now—”

  “That’s not for certain, but Claire definitely wants to sell.”

  “And it’s probably what Rosa thinks; anyway, she has a secure position with Matt. That’s a motive.”

  Bear had snuck out from under the table and began barking ferociously at the back door. Chills ran down the backs of my arms. I went to the back door and looked through the window. I didn’t see anyone in the alley. Bear’s barking dropped to a rumbling growl.

  “What is it?” Sunny whispered.

  “I don’t know. I don’t see anything.”

  I returned to the table, and Bear came with me. Whatever the threat was, it had passed. Probably more trick-or-treaters, and I’d just missed them.

  I drew a deep breath to slow my pulse. “So, what do we have?” I turned the notebook so we could both see it.

  “I’m not sure we can let anyone off the hook. Dustin, maybe, but he could have been in cahoots with his stepmom for his father’s murder.” She tapped the paper with her pen. “Jack is still the top suspect. After him, Matt and Claire look pretty good. Then I’d say either Rosa alone, a Rosa-Matt combo, or a Rosa-Dustin combo.”

  The chair creaked as I leaned back. Two more superheroes and a clown walked down the driveway, their flashlights bobbing. Apparently everyone in town knew my driveway was a shortcut but me.

  “So, we need to find out more about Rosa and Matt. And we definitely need info on Uncle Gus’s death. I should go back to McMinnville and dig around.”

  Sunny ripped off the sheet of paper, folded it, and stuck it in her bra. “I’ll come with you. First thing tomorrow. You can pick me up at eight.”

  Since when had my sister become so bossy? “It’s got to be Jack.”

  “Oh, Em. I want to go, too.”

  “If I take Jack, we’ll be able to visit the farmhouse. I’ll have a legitimate reason to be there. Besides, you can do some research and see if you can track down where everyone was when Gus Butler died.”

  Sunny’s gypsy bangles clattered as she stood. “Fine.” She never was one to pout, thank goodness.

  “You want a ride back to Avery’s?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Let me get another sweater since Mom still has my coat.”

  I put a hand on the door of the interior staircase connecting the shop to my apartment but realized that I’d bolted it from the other side. “We’ll have to go up the back. Come on, Bear.”

  With an Australian shepherd and a one-eyed gypsy behind me, I stepped outside and locked the back door—more locks—before starting up the exterior stairs. Bear ran ahead of us, then leapt back two steps barking and growling.

  Clenching the handrail, I forced myself to look. There was no person. My apartment door was closed, and the windows were dark. No one was on the landing. I let myself relax a tiny bit, but Bear still barked a high-pitched warning. Then I saw it.

  “What’s he barking at?” Sunny said from behind me.

  “There.” My heart in my throat, I pointed at the doorstep. A jack-o’-lantern with a gruesome smile lay toppled on its side. Through its head was a knife.

  chapter twenty-seven

  The sheriff wouldn’t even come over. “Was there a note with the jack-o’-lantern? Some kind of threat?”

  Sunny and I stood inside the apartment, with the door shut firmly between the slaughtered pumpkin and us. “No. But the message was clear.”

  “It’s Halloween, Emmy.”

  “I know that.” It was hard to forget, with Sunny staring at me, dressed like the Queen of the Bohemians.

  “And there was a murder in your shop less than a week ago. Everyone in Rock Point knows that. There’s bound to be a prank or two.” To his credit, he didn’t hang up. He gave me a moment to let it sink in. “I’ve already had reports of two TP’d houses and a ghost.”

  Sunny raised her eyebrows in an And so? look. I shrugged and shook my head.

  “How’s the search for Allison’s murderer
going?” I asked.

  “We’re following up on some leads,” Sheriff Koppen replied. “The investigation is moving along.”

  “I stumbled over something that might help you.”

  “Stumbled?” the sheriff said.

  I plunged ahead. “You know Jack’s uncle died. I heard you were planning to stop by the farm.”

  “Yes. I did.” Sound on the phone cut for a split second, telling me the sheriff was probably getting another call. “The death was listed as an accident, but what if Gus Butler had been pushed down the hill? He grew up on that land. He knew that property well. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I thought about that. That’s why I did the interviews in person. Don’t worry, Emmy, we’re taking the case very seriously. We’re looking into everything.”

  “Including Matt Orr?”

  “From Orr Cellars,” Sheriff Koppen said. “You think Matt murdered Gus Butler? Then, presumably, Allison Butler?”

  “Think about it,” I said. “Who stands to gain? Matt wants Gus’s land. If both Allison and Gus were out of the way, the land would go up for sale. Claire’s interested in selling.”

  “Emmy, you need to stay out of this. As I said, we’re following up on leads, and I don’t want you interfering. As for who gains by these deaths, motives can be complicated.”

  “Jack didn’t do it.”

  “I didn’t say he did.”

  “But you suspect him.”

  The sheriff exhaled in frustration. “You don’t have all the information. Let me handle this.” He softened his tone. “Look. I’m sorry about the pumpkin. That was a nasty joke. We get that kind of thing this time of year. If you get a more explicit threat, let me know. In the meantime, take care of yourself and let me handle the murder investigation.” And with that, he hung up.

  “Nothing?” Sunny said.

  “He says it was a prank, that it happens all the time around Halloween.”

  “I mean, about the investigation. Did he have anything new?”

  “Nope.” I plopped onto a floor cushion, and Bear ambled over to join me. “Says he already interviewed people out at the farm. That gypsy skirt looks good on you, by the way.”