“Mabel, I had to tell you that I went over to visit Junior.”
“You did? What did he say? Did he know all those things about Emma?”
“I don't know. I said I went over to visit him but as soon as I walked into the room, he started freaking out and yelling at Reg to get me out of there. It was the most horrible experience I’ve ever had, Mabel.”
I didn’t say anything because I knew that Flori would need a good cry.
It appeared that she didn’t.
“Did you hear me? Why aren’t you saying anything, Mabel?”
“I’m not saying anything because I’m waiting for you to finish crying, that’s why.”
“Well, I’ll have you know, I’m too angry to cry. How can a son be so mean to his own mother? I don’t understand it. Before I went out the door, I told him that if he went to prison for life, I would still come every week to visit him.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He told me not to talk like that. That’s all he said.”
“How did he look? How is he holding up?”
“Oh, Mabel, he looks terrible. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want me to see him. Reg told me that he isn’t eating much. Jake took those cinnamon buns over for him and he gave them to Scully and Jim.” She sighed, a deep sigh. “I just don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Have you had your family over for dinner lately?”
“Dinner? No, I guess I’ve spent most of my time sleeping and worrying. It would be good to have everyone over, wouldn’t it? The last time we were together was so awful. I guess it would be good to get everyone here to talk it all out. I think that’s a good idea, Mabel. In fact, I’ll start planning the menu now.”
By the time we hung up, Flori seemed to have something to live for.
I crawled into bed and for the first time in what seemed a long time, I made myself a lovely gin and vermouth. Flori and I enjoy a glass or two of wine together but since she doesn’t agree with ladies drinking hard liquor, I must secretly indulge in my gin. She used to hunt through my kitchen and find a bottle once in awhile, so now, to save any arguments, (and not to have her pour my gin down the kitchen sink), I hide the bottle in my mother’s old sewing room. I do not sew and never have but I haven’t bothered to remove anything. After she died, it was easier for me to stay in my own bedroom even though hers was much bigger. Besides, I would probably have nightmares in that room anyway so it is better to stay put.
Two cats joined me so it wasn’t as if I were drinking alone. Heaven forbid, I do that and Flori found out. For some reason, I was extremely fatigued so I gulped down the last two swallows and hunkered down for the night. I have a featherbed underneath and a feather duvet on top. It is like sleeping in a cloud. Of course, after the gin, it felt more cloudlike than usual. I slept like a baby until the next thing I knew, two cats started squawking and complaining in my ear. It was almost seven and if they aren’t fed by seven-thirty, they feel that they will absolutely die.
I called over to the police station about ten to talk to Reg. He was taking the day off but Scully answered.
“Scully,” I said. “It sounds like Flori didn’t have a very pleasant time when she went to visit her son. Do you have any idea why he’s treating his parents like crap?”
“I have no idea, Mabel, but I’ll tell you one thing. He is not a happy camper. I don’t mean because he’s worried about spending the rest of his life in jail either. There is something more going on with him but try as I might I cannot get him to talk. By the way, how is your wrist? I heard he gave it quite a twist.”
In a rare moment, Scully's softer side does emerge. He understands situations even better than Reg sometimes. In other words, surprisingly, he can be a good judge of character.
I glanced down at my wrist. I had almost forgotten about it. It did remind me once in awhile when I banged up against something. It was mostly a bluish-yellowish-purple but the swelling was gone. I covered it with my old wide wristwatch and no one even noticed.
“It’s okay, Jim. It really wasn’t much of anything. I should have been a bit quicker and not let him grab me. It’s interesting that you say there is more bothering Jakie than spending his life in prison because I got the same impression. I think he is afraid of someone and so is Emma.”
“You talked to Emma?”
“Not for long but I have a feeling she knows Harry Cooper, the man who was killed in the fish shack.”
“Well, there has to be some connection, doesn’t there? I wonder if Jakie knew it wasn’t Victor Fleming who was killed. What do you think, Mabel?”
“I think if he didn’t know before, he knows now.”
“But how would he find out? He’s been in his cell since he was arrested. He hasn’t had any phone calls except the one with Emma and he isn’t allowed to text. I’ll tell you, Mabel, I sure got the feeling at his parent’s house that he thought it was Victor who he’d argued with in the restaurant. In fact, I’d bet money on it.”
“You and me both. Of course, Scully, even Flori and Jake thought it was Victor Fleming. It wasn’t until we got the autopsy report that we knew who it really was.”
“But we didn’t share that information with Junior.”
“I know. When I went to see him and suggested it was someone else, he really lost it. I felt that he didn’t want me to know or something like that. It was very strange.”
“Somehow he must have found out. Maybe he heard us talking in the office. The door is always closed but if we talk loud enough, maybe he could hear us.”
“That could be but I have another theory.”
“What is it, Mabel?”
“I’ll check it out first, Jim, and then let you know.”
Chapter Twenty One
Flori came over Tuesday morning to the shop to have coffee. She brought over some cookies she had baked and I filled up my little freezer in the back room with muffins. I usually try to have a variety. I ate her cookies and she had three muffins, (one blueberry, one strawberry, and one raisin bran) with our coffee. I didn’t mention to her about John Smith coming over at noon. I did tell her that Nathan was coming over though.
“I’m glad you and Nathan are such good friends, Mabel. He’s like the son you never had.”
“Before you go all motherly on me, Flori, Nathan is definitely not the son I never had. I can’t even imagine myself with a son, never mind one like him.”
She gazed off into space. “I can’t see you with a daughter though, can you?”
“No, Flori, I can’t see me with any children. Don’t even think about it - it’s creepy. Besides, I would be Nathan’s grandmother if I was anything and that is really creepy!”
Flori had a good giggle over that. I guess she couldn’t see me in a grandmotherly roll either.
“By the way, I called up all the kids and suggested a family supper. They were all in agreement. I even called Emma but, of course, she didn’t answer. I left a message though because I want her to know that we still consider her our daughter. I didn't mention the baby because I don't want her to think we'd just like to see the baby and not her. You know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean. That is so nice of you, Flori. I think it’s a good idea to have everyone over. Just make sure everyone doesn’t sit around and cry.”
“Well, I’ll tell them that if I’m not crying, they’d better not cry.” Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she said, “Or else we’ll have an intervention.”
Well, when she said that, I couldn’t help but laugh so we ended up laughing so hard, tears rolled down our faces.
“Oh, Mabel, that felt wonderful.” She glanced up at the clock. “I’d better be going. Jake is staying at home now so I want to be there for his lunch. He doesn’t even go down for his usual morning coffee at the Main Street Café. I think he is ashamed. It is sad to be ashamed of your own children. I’m not sure who to worry about more, Jakie or Jake.”
“Don’t bother worrying about either,” I said.
“They are worrying enough about you to make up for both of them.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I don’t know about that. They have a funny way of showing it.”
I hugged her and said, “Trust me. It is true.”
At ten to twelve, Nathan walked in. I was so relieved to see him I was tempted to give him a hug. I think if Flori hadn’t mentioned him being like a son, I might have.
He looked around the shop, then, whispered, “He’s not here yet?”
I shook my head. “No, you can talk out loud.”
“Before he gets here, I want to show you something.” He took the lid off his tablet and touched the screen. “I did some more checking on the Pollocks but this time I thought I would concentrate on Mrs. Pollock. Guess what she did before she married Fred?”
My imagination was running wild. “A call girl?”
He looked a bit confused. “A call girl? Is that sort of like a massage therapist?”
“She gave massages?”
He nodded. “Why? Is there something wrong with that?”
“No, but I guess it depends on where you give them.”
“You mean where on your body?”
I could feel my cheeks getting warm. “Well, that too. I mean, if you are a masseuse for sports injuries or tight muscles, for example, it’s much different than working in some kind of massage parlor where it usually ends up being something totally different.”
It was now his turn to have pink cheeks. “Oh, I get you, Mabel.”
“So,” I said. “What was Veronica? Helping those with injuries and tight muscles or helping in another way?”
“Well, she worked in a place called Sensual Touches. What do you think?”
I was ready for another laugh and I was still giggling when John Smith walked in.
He had a big smile on his face when he saw us.
“Hey,” he said. “Someone must have told a good joke. Are you going to share it?”
“Oh, well,” I said. “It’s kind of a private one. By the way, have you met Nathan Horne?”
He reached out to shake Nathan’s hand. “I think I’ve seen you at the Post Office. You’re the one who helped me find that lost piece of mail, right?”
Nathan nodded and grinned. “It was nothing. That happens all the time.” He turned to me. “Did you know, Mabel, in what year the United States started delivering mail?”
“No, I can’t say I do, Nathan. I’m sure it was a long time ago. They obviously have not improved in their delivery too much since then. However, Mr. Smith is here to pick up some books. I think we should let him check them out before he has to go back to work.” I looked at John Smith. “I sorted out twenty books. I hope you find some that you like. Come and look.”
Mr. Smith looked at Nathan and smiled. "I’m curious. What year?”
Nathan grew several inches taller. I felt several inches smaller.
Very proudly, he said, “1775.”
“That’s interesting. I always enjoy trivia.” He turned to me and grinned. “Okay, Mabel. Let’s have a look at those books.”
I watched as this man who called himself John Smith, looked carefully through the stack of books. He seemed to prefer several authors so concentrated on the books he hadn’t read. He asked my opinion on some of the others. I found myself wishing I read more.
“You know who you should ask?” I said, “Beth Smee. That’s Sheriff Smee’s wife. She organized this little reading club. They used to meet once a week. I’m sure they still do. At least, when the weather isn’t too cold. I bet they would love to have a man join the group to give his viewpoint.”
There was a twinkle in his eye. “I’m sure I’d enjoy it too, but I’ve always enjoyed reading on my own. Do you know why, Mabel?”
All of a sudden, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t know why but there was this strange look in his eyes. I quickly looked back to see what Nathan was doing. He was munching on a muffin and had his head buried in my laptop. Big help he was if this person suddenly grabbed me by the throat.
I shook my head.
“You can keep this a secret, okay?”
I nodded.
He spoke in a very low voice. “John Smith is not my name. I came to Parson’s Cove to write a book about a little town just like this. If people knew what I was doing, they wouldn’t be themselves. I have tried it before and everyone starts acting crazy. You are an important part of it, Mabel, because I’d like to write about your murder cases.”
I stared at him. What, on earth, was this man talking about?
“I know this probably sounds strange but it’s something that I've wanted to do for a long time. I can’t do it without your help though.”
“You’re a real writer? A published author?"
He nodded but I had the feeling he didn't like the question. I guess it's similar to asking a doctor if he's a real doctor.
"On one condition," I said, "and that is that you tell me your real name; otherwise, I won’t help you. I’m sorry but that’s how it has to be. I can keep it a secret if that's what you want. I’ll call you Mr. Smith. Is it a deal?”
I wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He didn’t say a word, he just walked over to the pile of books he wanted to buy and picked out four. The only four that I had by some unknown mystery writer named Red Grover. He handed one of the books to me and opened the back cover. I looked down at a picture of John Smith aka Red Grover.
“Hey,” Nathan called out. “I have to get back to work.” He stopped at the door and looked back at us. “It looks like you have lots of books to read, Mr. Smith.” He grinned. “I’ll talk to you later, Mabel. I have some info to share with you.”
As soon as the door closed, I said, “You are Red Grover? I can’t believe it. You are going to write a book about Parson’s Cove? I can’t believe it.”
“Mabel, you are the only one who knows. I would like you to keep this secret for me. If you don’t, I’ll have to leave. I thought I could get you to help me with my book.”
“You want me to help you? I don’t know anything about writing.”
“No, you don’t need to write. I want you to tell me about the murder cases you helped solve. I want you to tell me about the people here. It will be a work of fiction but based on the stories and people from Parson’s Cove. Will you help me?”
I started laughing.
“Is that a yes or no?”
I wiped the tears from my eyes.
“I knew you weren’t John Smith.” I looked at him. “I’m sure you aren’t a Red Grover either, are you?”
He looked a bit sheepish. “Actually, my real name is Calvin Crankshaft.” He laughed. “No one thinks that is my name either.”
“Couldn’t you come up with a better name than John Smith? Nobody calls themselves that anymore. How do you get paid at the lumberyard? Don't they have to write a check out for you?”
“I asked to be paid in cash.”
I stared at him. “You’re kidding. Well, for a writer, you sure act like a criminal.”
I picked up one of the books and flipped through some of the pages.
“You know what, Mr. Smith. I will think about it and give you a call. This is too much of a shock.” I looked at his smiling face. “Is that okay? Can I call you?”
“Sure, Mabel. Don’t forget; you would get part of the royalties.”
“That does sound good. I will definitely let you know.”
When Mr. Smith was out the door, I went into the back room where Nathan had so nicely returned my laptop to its place. I always wondered why Nathan insisted I bring it to work every day. I thought it was for his convenience but now I could see that it was for mine too.
I waited for the familiar chime, typed in my password, and waited a few seconds. What sort of writer was this Red Grover? He must be well known if I had four of his books in my shop. I couldn’t help but wonder who had dropped them off. Several people in Parson’s Cove drop off books for me. Th
ey have finished reading them but don’t want any more cluttering up the house. Of course, they don’t want to throw them out either. I did remember now where these books came from. The four books were in a plastic bag, hanging on the doorknob one morning when I came to work. I had no idea who put them there. Now I had a good idea.
I was able to find out a few things about our lumberyard man. Let’s just say if he hadn’t left the books himself, I’m sure no one else would have. At least, no one would have bought all four of them. I remembered the name of one of his books, The ABC Murders, so I went to the Amazon website. His sales rating for that book was 7,893,954. On Kindle, it was 598,592. He had seven reviews and four of them were two-star reviews. He was definitely not getting rich on his book sales.
Red Grover was obviously someone who wanted to be a great writer but just hadn’t made that leap yet. Did the people of Parson’s Cove really want to be a part of his journey?
Chapter Twenty Two
It was almost closing time when Nathan called.
“Mabel, can I come over? There’s something I have to show you and it’s very important. I didn’t want to say anything when Mr. Smith was there.”
Since I wanted to walk over to say hello to Charlie Thompson before I left for home, I told him that I would wait for him. The cats could survive a few more minutes although they probably thought I had abandoned them when I hadn’t come home during the lunch hour.
“All right, Nathan, but I can’t wait too long. You know those cats of mine will be howling their heads off.”
“You’re cats are spoiled. This is worth your wait. Trust me, Mabel. This is exciting news.”
I wondered if anything could be more exciting than having a struggling writer want to write about your sleuthing skills. I wish Red Grover hadn’t bought his own books. I would like to have read some of his writing. He was obviously afraid someone would recognize him if the books were left too long in my store and it wouldn’t take long to figure out what he was up to. What if he wrote something very uncomplimentary about someone in Parson’s Cove and that person recognized himself or herself? How would he describe Charlie? Or, Flori and Jake? What about their kids? He could write a complete novel about them and everyone in town would know whom he was writing about. Then, what if they heard that Mabel Wickles was making money off their embarrassment?
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