“From school?” Of course! Mrs. Stubbs had thought the Müller boys might know Delores and Rhonda from school.
He nodded again. “I was a freshman the year she disappeared.”
“But you’re a few years younger than my sister. How were you in high school at the same time?”
“Helmut was always the brains of the family,” Jakob said, punching his brother in the shoulder. “He skipped a couple of grades.”
He shrugged, his cheeks pinkening. “I was technically a freshman, but I took some more advanced classes. I liked Delores. We had the same English class. We all had to make a speech. I’ve never forgotten Delores’s; hers was titled ‘When I Go,’ and it was about leaving behind everything and heading west, like a pioneer.”
Jaymie shivered; that may have solidified everyone’s sense that she had run away. “And she never got that chance.” Sadness for a life cut so short threaded through her heart. It wasn’t right. And whoever did it hadn’t even been punished for the crime. “How well did you know her?”
“Not all that well, I guess. I tried to hang out with her, and at the very beginning of the school year she let me. I think she was lonely. But then she started going out with Brock Nibley and she didn’t have time for me anymore.”
“Becca did tell me that she went out with Brock. Do you know why they broke up?”
He nodded and took a sip of his coffee. “Brock took her out a few times but dropped her so he could chase Rhonda Welch.”
Jaymie’s eyes widened. “Wait . . . Brock Nibley also took Rhonda Welch out?” That explained the second red sweater, she supposed. How . . . eerie.
“Didn’t you know? Your sister must, if she and Delores were friends.”
Jaymie considered that. It was all well over thirty years ago. How much of your memory needed a jog after that length of time? “I’ll ask her. And I think the sheriff needs to know this,” Jaymie said. “Can I tell him what you’ve said?”
“Of course. Give him my number.”
It was uncanny that the more she found out, the more it tied Brock to both Delores and Rhonda. “Did you ever go to Delores’s house? Did you know her family?” It was hard to get a complete picture, even with Becca having known them. Becca avoided the aunt, uncle and cousin as much as she could, she had told Jaymie.
“I kinda knew them . . . I mean, I met them. I was good at geometry, and Delores asked me that fall to help her. She was good in English, but she had no concept of geometry. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t help.”
“So you were at her house?”
“Just once.” His gaze became internal and he frowned. “There was a weird vibe going on. That was . . . what time of year? Wait . . .” He thought. “It was after Brock dropped her; she started kind of hanging out with me at school again. It must have been almost Halloween, because she was putting together a costume. We joked a bit. I told her I was going out as a scarecrow; I was pretty skinny and my hair stuck out all over the place. She said she was going out as Mr. T if she could find some gold chains at the thrift store. She was self-conscious because she was kind of a big girl.”
“So what was weird about the vibe in their house?”
He frowned down at his hands, cracking his knuckles. “Her uncle was a miserable little man. He was balding, thin gray hair, hunched over. He had this whiny voice, like, no matter what he said, even ‘What’s for dinner?’ it sounded like he was whining. Mrs. Paget was taller than him. She made weird jokes.”
“Weird jokes?”
“Like . . . sexual jokes. In front of Delores. About . . .” His cheeks got a patchy red, and he stared off toward the fireplace. “. . . about her breasts getting bigger ever since they’d been felt up. She told Delores if she wanted them even bigger she should . . . should let me have a feel.” Even Helmut’s ears were bright red in desperate embarrassment.
A tingle of apprehension crept down Jaymie’s spine. That was not a healthy atmosphere for anyone, especially not for a teenage girl, and even less so for one probably already sensitive about her weight and physical development. Jaymie remembered what it was like to try to shrink herself, and to dress in baggy clothes to avoid notice.
“Anyway, I got out of there pretty quick. She avoided me at school after that; probably embarrassed. So was I. I never went back, and then a week later she was gone. I didn’t blame her for leaving, for heading west. I was . . . I was happy she had gotten way from the Pagets, in fact.” His forehead creased as the color drained from his face, leaving pink patches high on his cheekbones. “But all that time she wasn’t gone at all; she was right there in that house, under their feet. For over thirty years.”
• • •
THE NEXT DAY Jaymie was determined to get a handle on two things: her wedding, and what really happened to Delores Paget and Rhonda Welch. Okay, three things . . . also, what she’d write for her next “Vintage Eats” column. Or maybe four things; she needed to talk to her family about her and Jakob’s plans to move back and forth, from the log cabin to the house in Queensville, according to their schedule and whim. It was Becca’s house too, and the longtime home of the Leighton family. Becca and Kevin would be in Queensville more often, once their antique shop was open, so they could trade off staying in the Queensville home.
The sisters certainly couldn’t stay there together. Becca loathed clutter, while Jaymie thrived in the midst of her vintage stuff, glorious reminders of days gone by. It didn’t make for the most harmonious home when they were both in residence.
After a cuddle with Denver and a walk with Hoppy in the light rain that was falling, she set out to Wolverhampton, dressed business-appropriate to talk to Nan. She’d been pondering something for a while; she wanted to move her food column in a slightly different direction, away from just recipes and toward a more general look at cooking styles through the years. She’d still feature vintage recipes, but she’d also do some local and regional food history. Would Nan go for that? That was the question. She was the ultimate authority.
Wolverhampton was a much larger town than Queensville with a library, post office, grocery store and other shops. And . . . a bridal shop. The rain had stopped, but the sidewalk was still wet and the sky iron gray. Jaymie stopped in front of Her Special Day and stared into the window. She had been in a couple of times and tried on dresses, but nothing seemed right. She didn’t even know what she wanted to wear, but certainly not the skirt suit her sister was trying to force on her so they’d “look the same.” She didn’t want to look like Becca. First off, she was younger by fifteen years, and second, they were entirely different people, so dissimilar no one would peg them for sisters. And third, this was her first (and only) wedding and Becca’s third . . . no, fourth! Her elder sister had recently confessed to a very quick marriage that she had never spoken of before.
What to wear?
Suddenly, with no warning, she was attacked! Arms bound hers to her side and someone was whooping in her ear. She struggled for a moment, then relaxed.
“Jaymsie! My pet,” Heidi Lockland shouted, letting go.
Jaymie turned with a ready smile. Heidi was a beauty: slim, elegant, long flaxen hair and big blue eyes. As always, her clothes were perfection: skinny jeans and high heels, a short jacket that showed off her perfect shape and glittering silver-and-blue chandelier earrings dangling from her lobes, tangling with her silky hair. She was the prototype of every girl who had ever made Jaymie feel bad about her larger frame in school. And to top it off, Heidi had “stolen” Joel, Jaymie’s boyfriend, a year and a half ago.
But as Jaymie had pointed out to many Queensville friends, you couldn’t steal a human. Joel was clearly not as committed to their relationship as Jaymie had thought. Looking back, she couldn’t even remember what she had found so devastatingly attractive about Joel, though their breakup had only happened a year and a half ago.
“How are you, my friend?” Jaymie asked, giving her a hug.
“Better now. Joel and I were fighting like kitten
s and pups for a while, but we’re moving on. He’s got his divorce—finally—and I’ve met his parents. His don’t like me and mine don’t like him, so . . .” She took a deep breath and shrugged. “We’re even, I guess. We’ll see what happens.”
“Poor kid,” Jaymie said, linking her arm though Heidi’s. “I feel like all we’ve talked about the last few times we’ve seen each other is my wedding. I’m glad to hear you’re okay.”
For a while, in Queensville, in the wake of the theft of Joel, Heidi had been the subject of terrible injustice. She had been the concentrated target of the small-town chill, a technique of freezing a newcomer out. People—mostly the women of Jaymie’s acquaintance—had turned away from Heidi whenever she tried to join a conversation or group. Not willing to put up with that, and even more so, not willing to be “poor Jaymie” the rest of her life, she had befriended Heidi and forced her on the rest of the Queensville populace. The result was that Heidi was very popular indeed now, even more so as a willing volunteer on the heritage society and a generous donor. She was a trust-fund baby, independently wealthy from the Lockland real estate fortune, which had begun a century ago in Queensville before moving to New York City and skyscrapers.
But the couple had hit a speed bump last autumn when Heidi discovered the secret Joel had been keeping: he already had a wife and had never gotten a divorce. It sounded like the couple was moving past that, though Heidi seemed less eager to go ahead with a wedding of her own than she had at one point. Maybe Joel’s charm was wearing thin.
“You’re not looking for a dress here, are you?” Heidi said, her nose wrinkled as they stared together at the wedding dresses in the shop window.
“Where else can I go?”
“Don’t go anywhere,” Heidi said, grabbing Jaymie by the shoulders and shaking her. “Because I’ve already bought you a dress.”
Stunned, the breath sucked out of her body, Jaymie didn’t even know how to react. One of the most personal decisions of her life, and Heidi thought she could waltz in and do it for her? She was about to open her mouth to say something harsh, when she looked down at her friend and stopped.
“Don’t get mad, please, Jaymsie,” Heidi pleaded, her blue eyes welling. “I do know I shouldn’t have.” The girl had been working on being more aware of her failings—namely, her inability to tell when people were upset with her. “But I had to! When you see it, you’ll know why. It was at an auction, it’s vintage, and it’s perfection for your gorgeous curvy body.”
Not just any dress, but an old dress. Lord love a duck. Jaymie did not know what to say.
But that was okay because Heidi was not done talking. “Jaymsie, if you don’t love it, you don’t have to wear it. But please . . . try it. Can you come to Bernie’s tonight? That’s where it is.”
“Okay. All right. I’ll try it on, but I won’t promise I’ll wear it.” Heidi did have exquisite taste, and Jaymie owed the dress of her friend’s choice a shot. What could it hurt? “What time?”
“Seven. We’ll try Bernie’s wedding cocktails. Gotta run,” Heidi said, dashing away to her car at the curb, a blue Mini Cooper convertible. “Arrivederci, bella!” she called out with a jaunty wave.
It was turning into a lovely spring day now that the rain had stopped. The iron gray curtain over the town had evaporated, leaving only a few white fluffies against a powder blue sky. Jaymie wished she could enjoy it, but there was so much to do and think about and plan. Since she was nearby, she thought she’d stop in at the bakery to consult about the wedding cakes with Tami. She entered the Wolverhampton Bakery to the welcoming smells and sights of chocolate. Her love of the flavor was why her wedding cake was going to be chocolate with Dutch chocolate frosting, while Becca’s choice was vanilla with buttercream frosting.
There was usually a teenager behind the counter serving customers, but today Tami, the head baker and wedding cake creator, was alone. She was sandy-haired and slim, one of those women who subsist on coffee and cigarettes, all nerves and jitters. But locally she was well-liked, her generosity of spirit surpassed only by her love of children. Her volunteer work often meant that there were luscious cupcakes, pies and cookies at school functions and bake sales.
But there was some sadness behind her blue eyes. Jaymie had always wondered why someone who loved children so much had never had any. It wasn’t the kind of thing one could ask, though; maybe it was not possible, or perhaps there was never a good time.
As always, recently, that thought brought her back to her impending nuptials. That was another conversation she needed to have with Jakob. Did they want children? Did she want children? While dating Daniel, it had been a firm no, but she wasn’t sure now. Having kids with Jakob, who was a hands-on dad who cooked, cleaned and braided hair, would be a far different thing than having them with a distracted tech millionaire.
“Tami, hi!” she said, approaching the pass-through counter that was wedged between large glass cases of pastries and cookies.
When the baker turned and saw Jaymie she smiled and her eyes lit up. “Just the gal I want to see! I have some ideas for your cake and wanted to run them by you.” She grabbed a tablet from the cash desk and turned it on, scrolling through some photos. “Here,” she said, handing it across the counter. “What about some of these? You said you and Jakob like books and trees and animals.”
Jaymie took the tablet and retreated to a chair near the front window, setting her purse down and scrolling through the pictures. There were a dozen or so cakes, but the prevalent theme was a stack of books with wonderful titles, like Happily Ever After. And yet . . . she looked up as Tami came through the pass-through and took the chair beside her. “I love these, Tami. I do. And you’re so sweet for wanting to please me. I know we talked about how much I love reading. But I was thinking more of a traditional cake. A two-tiered cake with a topper that shows me, Jakob, and Jocie. She’s marrying me too, in a way.”
Tami’s eyes welled and she touched Jaymie’s arm. “I love that! I’ll go with tradition, then. Your sister’s is going to be two-tier as well and done with an antique china pattern on fondant. That’s probably enough challenge for one wedding. In the meantime, I have the order for you and your sister’s wedding shower to take care of!” Tami took the tablet back and jotted some notes on a pad.
Jaymie took in a deep breath. The joint wedding shower was a few days away. Heidi, Bernie, Valetta and Dee had told her and Becca not to think about it, to let them take care of everything. It was going to be at the Queensville Historic Manor on Saturday afternoon, and it would be traditional, ladies only.
Jaymie wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Surely the men in their lives should be able to celebrate the upcoming wedding too? It was outdated to think that only women cared about it. She had insisted that Jakob have as much input as she did into her half of the wedding ceremony. But as much as she would have liked Jakob there at the shower, inviting all the men would have complicated things for their friends, who were already doing so much for her and Becca. She had let it pass.
They did have the best friends in the world, her and Becca. She realized with a start that she hadn’t even talked to Valetta since their tense day of work. Maybe that’s why she felt a sense of underlying unease; Valetta was her best friend, the one she talked to most days. She’d have to call her as soon as she got home and before she went over to Bernie’s. She grabbed her purse from under her chair, getting ready to leave.
The bells over the door jingled and Chief Ledbetter climbed into the shop, breathing heavily from walking. “Jaymie! Fancy meeting you here. I came in for cookies. Glad I caught you, though; I need to talk to you.”
“I’m about done here,” she replied, standing up. “I’ll wait for you outside, if you like?”
Tami flapped her hand, jumping up and ducking under the pass-through. “Go ahead and talk while I put together his order. I know what he wants. Right, Chief?”
He guffawed. “You sure do, Tami. And add in some cloverleaf rolls. The
wife is making Irish stew for dinner. And what the heck; give me a Dutch apple pie for dessert.” He winked. “And the usual: cookies for the kids at the department! I want them to remember me fondly once I’m retired.”
“You know they will, especially if Miss Sour Face Connolly takes over,” Tami said.
The chief of police’s rumored replacement was his assistant chief, Deborah Connolly, who was all business compared to Ledbetter’s folksy—but deceptive—charm, which he used to disarm those he questioned. It had not been made official, but the police chief was lobbying for her with the powers that be, as he called Queensville Township’s board of trustees, which was responsible for hiring police officers and firefighters, as well as many others. However . . . township officials were also advertising across the state as well as in Ohio and northern Pennsylvania for a replacement, so her ascension was not certain.
Tami began assembling his order and Jaymie sat again as the police chief sank down in the sturdiest of chairs with a sigh. He was a few months away from his second retirement—he joked that the first retirement, from a big-city police force, didn’t take—so this case would be one of the last over which he presided. “We’re fairly sure that the body in the trunk at the Paget house is Delores, but we don’t have official confirmation yet. Tricky, with her. No living relatives, and we can’t trace who the Pagets were. We are sure now that the body in the car is Rhonda Welch,” he said. “Her aunt, Petty Welch, has been helpful.”
There was a loud bang behind the counter, and Tami murmured an apology.
“So there’s no record of the Pagets at all? That’s odd.”
“It is,” the chief said with a grunt. He folded his hands over his paunch and twiddled his thumbs. “They appeared sometime in 1968, Olga, Jimbo, Clifford and baby Delores. Anyway, we now have a date of death, if not time. We know that both girls disappeared on November first, 1984. We know that—”
Gus Majewski, Jakob’s partner in his businesses, entered his sister’s workplace just then. He was a big guy, taller than Jakob, with broad thick shoulders, a shaggy head of hair, graying stubble on his chin and piercing blue eyes. He greeted Jaymie affectionately with a hug, then nodded to the police chief. Tami came to the pass-through and said hello to her brother. “Sis, could you babysit tonight? Nicki and I have to go out.”
Leave It to Cleaver (A Vintage Kitchen Mystery Book 6) Page 9