Secrets for Sale

by Jerri Kay Lincoln

  What a great kid I had! What a great husband I had! What a lucky person I was! And this lucky person would be late for work if I dawdled any longer, so I got dressed, got ready, and left the house.

  When I walked into the back of the historical society and past Petra’s desk, she grumped a hello at me. “What’s up with you?” I asked. “I thought you’d be celebrating.”

  “Lorry, somebody died last night. How can I celebrate that?”

  “You seemed happy last night.”

  “I wasn’t happy about that, I was happy because Mason was there, and I feel safe with Mason.” Without turning around, she added, “You know, safe. Old French. Circa 1300. Meaning unscathed, uninjured, free from danger.”

  Since I thought that was a weird thing to say, I dropped it. But thinking back on that comment, I should have known something was up. But I was too concerned with myself to notice—not that I could have changed anything. I don’t think I could have. But it makes a person think.

  After checking my email, I walked past Petra’s desk again, not saying a word this time, and trudged up the stairs. Another computer was up there, attached to the scanner, and that was what I had been working on before the threat of imminent closure disrupted my work. Time to get back to it. Yes, it was possible Todd Fenton, the son, would still buy the building, but I didn’t think anything would happen for a while. And although I had some thoughts on the subject, nothing had firmed itself up in my mind yet. Not that I had a firm mind to begin with—mine was more soggy and jiggly, but thorough. Still, nothing had come to mind. Nothing, you know, firm, anyway.

  I heard the bell on the front door jingle, so I hurried downstairs—with Bingo at my heels—so the visitors wouldn’t disturb Petra. She was studying, after all. As the person began stepping in the door, I was delighted it was Martha—until I saw the look on her face. “Martha! What’s the matter?”

  She threw her arms up in the air and back down again to her sides. When I noticed there were tear stains on her cheeks, I immediately wrapped my arms around her in a hug. I didn’t need to call Petra, because she heard the alarm in my voice and joined me in hugging Martha.

  “Oh, dear, Lorry, how did you ever take it when they accused you of murder? Everybody looks at me like I’m a pariah!”

  “You know how I took it, Martha?” I asked without letting up on my hug. “I took it because I had good friends like you and Petra who believed in me. And you know we believe in you.”

  “We know you didn’t do it, Martha!” said Petra.

  “How could you possibly kill someone, Martha, when you can’t even kill a spider?”

  That made her laugh, and she relaxed a little in our group hug.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AFTER WE CALMED Martha down, Petra walked her back to work. Petra and I had tried to convince her to take some time off while Billy solved the murder, but she’d have nothing of it. In her words, she “wouldn’t let a bunch of short-sighted busy-bodies keep me from doing my job.” That made Petra and I laugh, but we still tried to talk her out of returning to work. Although we couldn’t, by the time Petra returned, I had already called Hugo to tell him what happened and to suggest maybe he could surprise her for lunch. Knowing Hugo, he would probably jump out of a cake with a sack lunch in his hand. That would surprise her for sure. I just hoped he had clothes on when he did it.

  Petra was back at her desk studying as I walked by. The bell above the front door jingled as I started up the stairs, so with a grunt of frustration, I turned around and returned to the front. It was Christa Hawthorne. She was dressed head to toe in designer clothes, and she smelled like stale cigarettes. She wore a purple Chanel sweater with lavender embroidered hearts. And her Versace slacks fit her slim figure as tight as the sweater did. In her long, dark hair she wore a red ribbon with diamonds, yes, diamonds, sewn onto each end. And her purple Gucci high-heeled pant boots matched perfectly. Keep in mind, though, Christa owned a boutique. Dressing like that was required.

  Since her boutique was on the other side of the Rutledge Koffee Korner Kafe, I had seen her plenty of times standing out front smoking. Aiden and I walked to the library on the corner several times a week. She was always polite and said hello, maybe even a “how are you” but never more than that. What was she doing here?

  “Hello, Lorry!” she said, as she walked in as if we were the best of friends. She closed the door behind her and shook my hand.

  “Hello, Christa,” I said hesitantly.

  “I wanted to offer my condolences.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, but she looked contrite, so I said, “Thank you, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Christa put her hand on my shoulder, tilted her head, and smiled the kind of pitying smile like if a neighbor’s cat just got run over and they didn’t know it yet. “You know, with the sale of the historical society, you’ll be losing your job.” She took her hand off my shoulder and took a single step back. “I know you don’t need the money, but I also know how important this job is to you.”

  She took a quick glance around as if wondering why it would be important to me. But her voice was so soothing it calmed me. “With the buyer dead, I thought the sale was on hold,” I said.

  “Only temporarily. I’m sure the son will carry through with the sale since that’s what his father wanted—and of course he will inherit the business, so it’s in his best interest. But I was talking more about Martha being the main suspect in the murder. When she loses her job as the town manager, then your job will most certainly be in jeopardy.” She stuck out her hand again and patted me gently on the shoulder with a slight tilt of the head. “I’m so sorry, Lorry.”

  Her words were annoying, but she said them with such sincerity and compassion, it made me like her. Before I could utter even a thank you, she pushed up the sleeve of her sweater and looked at her Rolex watch.

  “Oh! I’ve got to get back. Nice talking to you, Lorry. Stop by the shop sometime.” Christa opened the door, but before she stepped out, she looked at me with big cow eyes. “Again, I’m sorry the way everything turned out for you.” Then she disappeared out the door.

  “Wow,” I said. “She’s so nice. I never realized that. I always thought she was a b—” I began to say, but Petra stopped me.

  “Lorry, you know you can’t say that in this genre.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Never mind,” said Petra. “Ask Aiden. He’ll know what I mean.”

  “All right, whatever. But I was going to add now that I know she’s so nice, I might shop at her store. I always thought she only sold cheap knockoffs, but the clothes she was wearing were all real.”

  “You always judge people before you know their whole story. I would have thought you had learned that lesson by now.”

  “I guess I’m still learning,” I said. “Are you worried, Petra? Even if they don’t sell the historical building, if they fire Martha, the new person could close it down due to lack of interest, or something else they could easily come up with. Although I don’t think Martha is in any danger of being fired, Christa is on the council, and maybe she knows something we don’t.”

  “She probably does, Lorry, but you need to chill. You’re too young to have a heart attack, but you’re going in that direction. There are some things you can’t stop from happening. No matter how much you don’t want it to happen, you know it will and you can’t do anything about it. Just let it go and deal with the consequences.” She said it in a way that made me think she wasn’t talking about the historical society at all.

  Putting my hands on my hips, I stood beside her desk. “You’re philosophical today. What’s up with that?”

  “I’m going back to studying.” And she turned toward her computer, and all I saw was her petite back with the bright red blouse she wore.

  Starting up the stairs again, I was once again stopped when I heard the bell on the front door jingle with another visitor. I hoped it would be someone as pleasant
as Christa. But it wasn’t.

  CHAPTER NINE

  KASEY BRANNIGAN WAS my cousin. We had never been close, though before the event happened, Billy, Aiden, and I would share activities and dinners with Kasey, her husband John, and her two children. Lily, the oldest, was Aiden’s best friend, and Zandor, the infant named after a weather channel winter storm that never happened. But after Kasey was accused of murder, things became a little tense between us. It had been a while since then, though, and everything was almost back to normal. Almost being relative.

  Today she wore what she wore every day she worked: a bright yellow waitress uniform with yellow tennis shoes to match. The uniform also matched the bright yellow part of the building that the Rutledge Koffee Korner Kafe occupied at the Rutledge Historical Building. That had happened years ago, and I still hated it. The historical building was a grand old building defaced by the yellow portion of the building that became the Kafe. Maybe someday someone could restore the building to her former glory. I could only wish.

  “Hi, Lorry! I thought I’d stop by and say hello since once again you’re the talk of the town.”

  “Oh?” was all I said. With Kasey, squeezing in one or two words at a time was all you’re allowed.

  “Yeah! Another murder in Rutledge! Whoever thought so many people could get murdered in a town this small. Well, it’s grown, but, you know, it’s still small. And you haven’t even been back here a year yet and look how many people have been murdered!” She leaned forward as if to tell me a secret, but spoke in her normal voice. “And people are saying maybe you’ve jinxed the town—you know, with all the people who’ve been killed since you’ve returned. They’re wondering who will be next.”

  Putting my hands on my hips and narrowing my eyes at her, I asked, “Kasey, exactly who has been saying that maybe I’ve jinxed the town?”

  Mimicking my actions, she put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “That would be little ole me. You know, Cruella DeVille.”

  I had called Kasey Cruella DeVille—after the villain who stole the Dalmatians—since first grade when she stole my first boyfriend, Conrad Hayes. And no, he wasn’t really my boyfriend, and no, she didn’t really steal him, but it felt that way, and to a first-grader it felt really bad. I had never called her Cruella DeVille to her face and had no idea she even knew I called her that, but after the murder episode, a lot of truth came out into the world.

  She and her husband John were still trying to repair the damage the whole episode caused their marriage. She and I were trying, too. But apparently, Kasey and I weren’t doing a very good job. Kasey still resented me for calling her that and still blamed me for it. And I couldn’t blame her since she had known about it all these years but only mentioned it at her time of crisis.

  So I took my hands off my hips, fastened a frown on my face, and said, “You’re still holding that against me?”

  Kasey didn’t take her hands off her hips. “You called me that for, let’s see, how many years? And it happened when we were, what? Six years old? And I didn’t steal him, anyway! So if I hold that against you for even half the time you called me that, then I would say I still have a decade or so to go.”

  “All right, Kasey, all right.” I wasn’t going to say I’m sorry, so I tried to get back to the subject at hand. Kasey did have a knack for finding out information, and that information could be useful. “So what else are they saying?”

  “Well, almost no one thinks Martha did it, despite the town council thinking so. And that is mostly Douglas Gates and that big-mouth Anthony Petrelli. He talks more than I do! He’s spreading it all over town that Martha killed that guy Fenton trying to protect your job—which makes no sense since you don’t need the money.”

  Kasey said it matter-of-factly with no edge to her voice. She could have resented me because of the money I inherited, but I didn’t think she did. Being a member of the extended family, she knew what I had to put up with from my mother. No amount of money could repay me for that. Can I call it abuse? I never have, but I think it fits.

  “Anyway, Lorry, I thought I’d come over and share the rumors with you. I figured you’d be interested.”

  “And you wouldn’t have told me you were the one who started them if I hadn’t asked?”

  She laughed, but it wasn’t the funny kind of laugh. “Of course I would have told you! What fun would it be if I kept it to myself?” Then she turned around, opened the door and sashayed through it, skipping back to the cafe after closing the door behind her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AS I WATCHED Kasey disappear, I shook my head. It looked like she’d never let me forget that I called her Cruella DeVille for so many years. And maybe that is as it should be. When she brought it up, I could have mentioned all the times—since I moved back—she had gotten me in trouble by shooting off her big mouth telling everybody’s brother my business. In all honesty, though, I knew better than to tell her those items, anyway, so I created my own problems with that. It was my own fault for opening my big mouth.

  From the other room, I heard Petra say, “Who’s coming in next? The Easter Bunny?”

  “It’s a little early for him,” I answered.

  Since I had been so unsuccessful at getting up the stairs so far, I checked my email again before attempting the climb. There was nothing of import there, some funny forwards from friends along with some animal pictures. The most interesting email was an official invite from Mason—at least that’s what he called it—for a chess match. He said if I wasn’t interested, maybe Aiden would be. Mason had taught Aiden how to play chess, and Aiden had caught on quickly but wasn’t much interested. He preferred board games with a little more variety to them. His favorite right now was called Stone Age.

  When I finished declining Mason’s offer, I stood up to try the stairs again, but someone opened the door before I took even one step.

  “Is it the Easter Bunny?” asked Petra.

  “I’d make a sound like a rabbit, but I don’t know what that would be,” said Billy. “Ribbit, ribbit? No, I think that’s a frog.” He put his arms around me and gave me a tight squeeze and a kiss. “How’s my bride on this fine morning?”

  “Better, now that you’re here.”

  He cocked his head and looked at me. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes, fine, but do you know what they’re saying about Martha?”

  Billy frowned and nodded. “Yes, I told you yesterday what they thought, and the few interviews I’ve had this morning all say the same thing. If it wasn’t you, then it has to be her.”

  “What can we do, Billy? Martha isn’t as tough as I am, and I’m not sure she can take it. I’m worried about her.”

  “Well, I still have several more interviews to go, but if they continue with the tack they’re taking, it will be a long night.”

  “Billy, wait, before you go, tell me the weird thing about the gunshot residue.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s really weird.” He glanced around and saw no one in the gift shop. “Anyone in the back?”

  “No, just Petra.”

  “I’m not anyone?” yelled Petra from the office behind mine.

  “Of course you’re anyone, Petra. Just not for the current subject. You don’t count,” I said.

  Billy walked the few steps to her office, kissed her on the head like he always did, and said, “You’re always someone to me, Petra.” They were close. And that was a good thing because of her no-account father. She needed someone like Billy in her life.

  When he returned, he checked his watch, took me by the shoulders, and looked into my eyes. “Listen, Lorry, the murder is not what I came here to talk to you about. I don’t have that much time before the next interview starts. And I wanted to tell you that I bought a house today.”

  Not knowing what to say, I remained silent. He bought a house for us to live in and didn’t let me see it first? That didn’t sound right. So instead of jumping in with both feet and winding up with said feet dangling from my mo
uth, I decided to wait and see what he said.

  “You’re not going to yell at me?” he asked, with a tentative smile on his face.

  “I’m listening,” I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

  “It’s a house I’ve been thinking about—I may have even mentioned it to you already—but something happened this morning. I would have waited and brought you and Aiden out to see it, except someone else put a bid on it, so I had to act right away or lose it.” He squeezed my shoulders. “If you don’t like it, I’ll put it back on the market right away, and we can look for something else. Is that okay?”

  “That sounds fine to me. And fair. When do Aiden and I get to see it?”

  “This afternoon would be perfect if I can finish the interviews in time, and I’m pretty sure I can. How ‘bout that?”

  “We’ll be ready!” I told him.

  “Gotta run. Bye, sweetie.” He kissed me on the lips and opened the door. “Bye, Petra! Ribbit! Ribbit!” Then he chuckled and stepped out the door.

  “What was that about?” asked Petra.

  “You mean the ribbit thing or the house thing?”

  “The house. I don’t care about the ribbit.” She cleared her throat and continued, “Etymology: ribbit. Onomatopoeic. Vocal sound made by a frog or toad. Okay, now tell me about the house.”

  “Billy bought a house, and hopefully he’ll bring me and Aiden out to see it today. If we don’t like it, he’ll sell it and we’ll pick out something else together.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Why should I be?”

  “Because you’re married now, and he did it without talking to you about it first.”

  “He explained it all, and besides, I’m more mellow now.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Petra. “And no longer judgmental, either. Did he say anything about the case?”