“But there must be something,” Peter replied.
I should have come up with an alternative, but I couldn’t think of anything that would pacify Peter. Which gave him time to come up with something on his own.
I could see the wheels turning as he searched for another plan. Clearly he hadn’t been prepared to discuss other ideas, and didn’t have a Plan B. But that didn’t stop him from saying the first thing that popped into his head.
“What if Peggy comes down for a few weeks? While the kids are out of school.”
“What?” Peggy clearly hadn’t heard this idea before, and judging from her tone, she wasn’t on board with it. “I can’t possibly be away from the children.”
Peter glanced over at her. “You could bring them with you. It would be like an extended vacation for all of you.”
I glanced at Peggy, assuring myself she would be my ally in shooting down this latest scheme.
“There are about a million reasons that is not a good idea,” I said. “It’s obvious Peggy has a few of her own, and I could give you a long list. Starting with, where will they stay? Summer rentals are completely booked, and even if you found a cancellation, the rates are massively expensive.”
Before I could offer any other arguments, Peggy spoke up again. “Peter, there is no way I am going to spend the rest of the summer down here with the children, staying Lord-knows-where, and leaving them alone while I work in some tacky shop.”
She tossed me an apologetic glance. “Not that your shop is really tacky, Glory, but it’s the idea of the place.”
She turned her attention back to Peter. “That is not a good idea, and you should have at least talked to me first.”
She looked toward the children, then back at her husband. “We can talk about this. Later. But spending the summer down here simply isn’t going to work.”
Sly had held his tongue all through the conversation, though his presence had helped calm me. Now he spoke up. “I knew your uncle, Mr. Peter,” he said quietly. “He was a good man, but he knew his limits. That’s why he never made that store no bigger. Kept it small enough to run by hisself; or with his little sister helping.” He nodded in answer to the question he saw on my face. “That was your granny. But he never did hire anyone else.”
Peter tried to interrupt, but Sly waved him to silence. “Mr. Louis was plenty smart. Knew what he was about, all the time. And he made a success of that little shop. Still in business all these years later, isn’t it?
“So you might want to think real careful before you go messing with what Mr. Louis started. You know the old saying, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’”
Sly sat back and fell silent. He’d spoken his piece, and he was done. He pulled a worn leather wallet from his pants pocket, counted out some bills, and left them on the table.
“I believe I’ll wait in the car, Miss Glory. If that’s okay with you?”
I nodded, ignoring Peter. “I’ll be right along, Sylvester. Just let me say good night to my family.”
Peter tried to draw me into another discussion after Sly walked away, but I had nothing more to say. “I understand that you want the shop to grow,” I said. “But there isn’t a good way to do it, and this isn’t the time. Maybe in the future, if Pansy decides to close up Lighthouse, or Guy and Linda want to retire, then we can talk about it. But not right now.”
I added some bills to the stack Sly had left by his plate. “It was good to see all of you, but I have to be up early tomorrow.”
I turned to Peter with a sober expression. “You have a demanding job. So do I. I have not had a day off since before summer started. And I won’t have one until at least September or October. That’s what keeps your earnings checks coming every month. I love it, and I’m darned good at it.
“Just trust me, Peter. I know what I’m doing.”
With that I turned my back and walked toward the door. I had held my temper in check for as long as I possibly could. If I didn’t get away from Peter—and out of the restaurant crowded with bad memories—I was going to explode.
When I got to the truck, Sly had the doors open, letting the evening breeze cool off the interior. I ducked my head into the cab and quickly popped back out. It would be a few more minutes before we’d be going anywhere.
“You did good, Miss Glory,” Sly said. “Mr. Louis would be proud of you.”
“Thanks. You didn’t do so bad yourself.”
“Just speakin’ the truth. A man’s got to know his limits, that’s all.”
We climbed in the truck, Sly behind the wheel, and he started the engine. Peter and his family hadn’t come out of the restaurant when we pulled out into traffic and started back to Sly’s cottage in the junkyard.
“There is one thing I still don’t understand,” I said as Sly expertly maneuvered through the crowded streets. “Uncle Louis left the store to Peter and me instead of our parents, his niece and nephew. And he didn’t leave us equal shares. That’s never made any sense to me.”
Sly didn’t answer right away. He finessed his way between two carloads of way-lost tourists, one trying to turn left across the steady stream of traffic and the other waiting to turn right while a gaggle of teenagers straggled across the street in front of them, oblivious to the traffic.
We turned into the lot at Fowler’s Auto Sales and drove around back to the fenced-off junkyard before Sly finally answered me.
“It was because of the tuition,” he said, as though that explained everything. It explained nothing.
“What tuition?” I asked.
“Your uncle Andrew’s.”
“Peter’s dad?” I asked. “What does his tuition have to do with anything?” I paused and thought for a minute. “He didn’t even go to college, did he?”
“Nope.”
Sly parked the truck outside the gate and jumped down out of the cab. He walked up to the gate and dragged a key ring from his pocket. Selecting a key, he opened the padlock that held the gate closed.
At the sound of the key, Bobo came running from somewhere deep in the shadows of the junkyard. Even though I knew and loved Sly’s dog, I had to admit he looked pretty intimidating coming at us out of the dark. If I didn’t have any good reason to be in that yard, I would have been running. Fast.
Sly climbed back in the truck and pulled into the yard, leaving the gate open behind us. He knew I wouldn’t be staying long.
“So,” I said once the truck stopped inside the gate, “what about Uncle Andrew’s tuition? What has that got to do with Southern Treasures?”
Sly stared into the darkness, as though looking at something only he could see. In a way that was true; he was looking at memories from before I was born.
“Mr. Andrew took a long time figuring out what he wanted to do with hisself. He tried a couple things around here, even thought about lettin’ me teach him mechanicing.” He grinned as though remembering an old joke. “Bet you can just imagine how popular that idea would have been.”
He shook his head and went back to his story. “But nothing ever quite took. Not until he started messing with that old aeroplane. Pretty soon he was out at the airfield every spare minute. It was real clear that boy purely loved planes, and there weren’t nothing else he wanted to do.”
“I know he works on planes,” I said. “But I always thought he was kind of an airplane mechanic. Isn’t it all the same thing?”
“Yes and no,” Sly answered. “The engines work the same way. Sort of. But they’re more different than they are the same. At least according to Mr. Andrew.
“Anyway, when he put his mind to a thing, that was the end of it, and he decided he wanted to work on planes. But to do that, he had to go to school, and school cost money.”
“Which Uncle Andrew didn’t have?” I guessed aloud.
“Which Mr. Andrew didn’t have,” Sly agreed. “And his daddy didn’
t have it, neither. So he went looking for some way to come up with the money.”
“And Uncle Louis had something to do with it?”
“You’re right smart, girl.” Sly chuckled. “Yep, Mr. Louis helped him out with the schooling. Lent him money and didn’t pester him about paying it back.
“Your mama, though, didn’t borrow anything from Mr. Louis. Mr. Andrew did fine; he got married, then your mama got married, and Peter came along and then you.”
“Uncle Andrew still owed Uncle Louis the money?” I asked.
“Yep, but he didn’t forget about it. The two of them worked out a deal when Mr. Louis went to do his will: everything would be divided between you two, but you got a bigger share to make up for the tuition money.”
He turned and looked at me. “So you can stop feeling guilty about getting more than Peter. The fact is, Peter got a lot more than you in the long run. And he keeps getting it without doing any work.”
Sly’s explanation made a lot of pieces fall into place. Things that had bothered me since I was a kid suddenly made sense. As I thought about it, I realized something else.
“Peter doesn’t know, does he?”
“I doubt it,” Sly answered. “Mr. Andrew kept things pretty close to his chest. Doubt he would have told the boy.”
“Thanks, Sly,” I said. “It helps a lot to know why things happened the way they did.”
“Don’t you let Mr. Louis know I told you,” he said. “I don’t know as he’d want me to be talkin’ about all this.”
I promised, and pulled out of the junkyard with my head spinning. I was more determined than ever to buy out Peter’s share of Southern Treasures.
Chapter 11
IT WAS WEDNESDAY BEFORE I TALKED TO KAREN again. The store was busy, as it always was the week of the Fourth; busy enough I hadn’t had time to worry about her.
I was working alone near closing time when she showed up. The sight of her SUV reminded me of the situation with her and Riley. I hoped everything was okay.
She sat in the car for a minute, and I realized she was listening to the police scanner. She kept one in the car, one at the station, and one in her house—all in case a story broke.
As I watched, she gestured impatiently at the machine, then jerked it free of the power connection and burst out of the car carrying the scanner, now running on battery power.
She slammed through the front door, tossed her bag on the counter, and hushed me when I tried to say hello. “Something’s up,” she said. “Don’t know what, but something, and I want to hear it.”
The scanner was quiet as we waited in silence. I had learned a long time ago to hold my tongue when Karen was listening to the scanner.
The tiny speaker buzzed and crackled with static, then a voice came through clearly. We listened as Boomer Hardy, the police chief, finally responded to the dispatcher.
“Keep your britches on, Travis. I was in the head. What’s so dang important?”
“Just had a phone call from a guy up in Minnesota, works for that bank?”
Boomer—his name was Barclay, but no one ever called him that—didn’t need to ask which bank. Everyone in town knew which bank had taken an interest in Keyhole Bay.
“What did he want that was so important you had to keep calling me?” Boomer’s impatience came clearly through the transmission.
“He asked us to check up on that Yankee gal, the one’s down here snooping around Back Bay. Says she hasn’t checked in since Friday and she’s not answering her phone.”
Boomer snorted. “So he’s got his panties in a bunch ’cause she hasn’t called in a couple days? Tell him to call her at work; she’s at the bank before they open and there ’til after they close.”
“Well, that’s just it, Boomer. He did try calling the bank. They said she hadn’t been in all week. He sure didn’t like the sound of that, acted like they should’ve let him know she hadn’t shown up.”
I wondered if something had happened on Bridget’s trip to Biloxi. Car trouble maybe, or she could be sick in her hotel. There had to be a reasonable explanation.
There wasn’t anything to worry about.
I caught Karen’s eye; she was thinking the same thing I was, and we both had the same sick feeling.
Something had gone badly wrong.
“I’ll go take a look, if it’ll make him feel better,” Boomer agreed, annoyance clear in his voice. “Can’t have those Yankees worryin’ about their little gal down here. Give me the location.”
The dispatcher reeled off the address where Karen and I had been on Friday, and the image of the deserted subdivision full of empty and abandoned lots flashed in my mind. A chill passed through me, making me shiver.
I locked up while we waited, mentally ticking off the minutes until Boomer would reach Bayvue Estates.
“She’s probably stuck in Biloxi,” I said.
“Probably,” Karen agreed. “But you’d think she’d at least call and let somebody know where she was.”
“Who would she call?” I asked. “Nobody here would give a flip, probably just as glad she wasn’t at the bank digging into their records.”
“Still, you’d think there would be somebody.”
I shrugged. “You’d think.”
I wondered who would miss me if I didn’t check in for a few days. Julie would notice on the days she was in the shop, but she only worked three days a week. I talked to Karen and Jake almost every day, but if they were busy, it might take a couple days before anyone realized I was gone.
It was a creepy thought.
The scanner crackled to life with Boomer’s voice. “Travis, I’m out at the location you gave me. There’s a car in the driveway, but no sign of anyone.” He described Bridget’s rental car and recited a license number. “Verify the renter on that, would you?”
“Roger that.”
Another minute of silence, and then Travis confirmed what Karen and I already knew: The car had been rented by Bridget. She’d used a company credit card.
“Maybe she wasn’t supposed to use the company car for a personal trip?” I said.
Karen shrugged. “That could be.” She went into what I called her reporter mode, a distance that shielded against emotional distress. “After all the scrutiny banks have been under, a lot of them have adopted very stringent rules to avoid looking like anybody’s getting away with anything.”
“Call that guy up North,” Boomer instructed over the radio. “Ask him what he wants us to do. It’s his house, and his gal. In the meantime I’ll take a look around.”
Karen and I made small talk while we waited, not sure what we were waiting for. The scanner sputtered to life occasionally with routine business: patrol officers checking licenses and issuing warnings or citations, reports of shoplifting and noisy neighbors. All the usual summer calls.
Travis finally came back, calling for Boomer. “Chief Hardy? I talked to the guy in Minnesota. He said to go in and take a look around.”
Boomer’s reply was an unintelligible mutter, reminding me of Bluebeard. The words might not be clear, but the meaning was. He wasn’t happy.
“Place is locked up,” Boomer answered. “What does he want me to do about that?”
“He said if you couldn’t get in, to do—I am quoting here—whatever is necessary.”
“Got it,” Boomer answered. He didn’t sound any happier.
He sounded even less happy when he called back a few minutes later. “Travis, send a wagon and Dr. Frazier. I think I found her.”
“Roger,” Travis answered.
Karen and I stared wordlessly, hoping it wasn’t Bridget. Not if Boomer was calling for Marlon Frazier. Dr. Frazier was the county coroner.
Whoever Boomer had found was dead.
Chapter 12
“I’M HEADING OUT THERE,” KAREN SAID, GATHERING u
p her scanner and bag. “I’ll call you when I know something more.”
“I’ll go with you,” I offered.
“No. Stay here. This could be a long night, and I don’t know where I’ll end up. I promise I’ll call.”
I reluctantly agreed; there was a part of me that didn’t want to see what was out at Bayvue Estates. Besides, Boomer might tolerate Karen doing her job, but he wouldn’t be thrilled to see me with her.
“Please do,” I said. “It’s got to be some kind of mistake, or it’s somebody else. Or something.”
“I don’t think it’s a mistake; Boomer doesn’t make very many. But I’ll keep you posted.”
I followed Karen out onto the sidewalk. She jumped into her SUV and pulled into traffic.
I didn’t want to be alone quite yet, and I realized I was staring across the street again, looking for Jake. Since when did I think of him first when I needed company?
I didn’t stop to consider the answer to that question. I made sure the door was locked, and seeing a break in traffic, I hurried across.
The door was locked, but I could see Jake inside, counting the register and checking it against his computer screen. I tapped on the window and he looked up with an annoyed frown, which disappeared as soon as he recognized me.
His welcoming smile faded, though, the minute he opened the door and saw my face. “Glory, what’s wrong?”
I blurted out the news.
“Karen and I were out there on Friday night,” I reminded him. “She seemed fine. Said she might go over to Biloxi for the day on Saturday. That’s where she was headed when you and I saw her on Saturday morning. She didn’t stay long after you left; she seemed to be ready to be on the road.”
“Let me finish up here,” he said. “We can talk while I work.” He offered me a chair behind the counter and went back to closing out his register. “Do you know anything more?”
I shook my head. “Just what we heard on the scanner. Boomer was out there, said it was her, but that was all. Karen’s gone to chase down the story and she promised to let me know what she finds out.”
Murder Sends a Postcard (A Haunted Souvenir) Page 8