by Annie Irvin
“Oh, this is lovely,” Alice said, gazing around at the gray-green walls and the green and ivory antique rug on the hardwood floor. “This room was one of my favorites when Grace first showed us the place.”
Mead plopped down on the four poster bed with the colorful antique quilt while Alice admired the deep yellow spider mums and bright red-orange berries of the bittersweet plant arranged in a pewter vase on the Queen Anne writing desk. Running her hand across the cherry wood, Alice said, “What a beautiful piece of furniture, Harper.”
“Yes, it is. Mom found it tucked away in a corner of the top floor years ago when Violet and Ezra took over that space for their own. It’s always been one of my favorites.”
Alice pulled back the green and gray striped drapes. The rich, golden light of the full harvest moon, now high in the sky, pooled onto the floor.
“You’ll find an extra quilt and pillows in the wardrobe,” Harper said. “I hope you get a decent night’s sleep, what’s left of the night, that is.”
Mead thanked her while Alice, standing very still by the window, spoke softly.
“Hell to pay,” the young woman said. “Yes, hell to pay.”
Chapter Three
“Harper,” a voice hissed the name, causing Harper to jump and yelp as she reached the bottom step of the stairway.
“Oh, good heavens, I forgot all about you,” Harper said, surprised her nerves were as frayed as they were. “Are all you girls still here?”
“Yes,” answered Tammy Shultz, peeking between a narrow gap in the heavy sliding doors which closed off the dining room from the foyer. “The sheriff questioned us right after he talked to you and your mom and everybody. We decided to hang around for awhile. It’s not every day things are this exciting in Bittersweet Hollow. We’re cleaning up the dining room.” Tammy slid open the doors. “It needed it. There were lots of people through here today wanting to reserve it for teas and bridge parties.”
Harper joined Tammy and the five other young women Violet called ‘Olivia’s Girls,’ the helpers hired for the day of the Pumpkin Patch Festival. At seventeen, Tammy, the youngest, babbled on and on about the murder like only a teenager can babble. Almost as chatty were the twenty somethings, Carly Albertson, Riley Carson, and Mindy Bartlett. Not engaged in talking but clearly listening were the oldest of the group, thirty five year old Summer Storm and forty three year old Rachel Turnbuckle.
“My mother had a run-in with Grace Potter a couple of years ago,” Mindy said, shoving a lock of dark, wavy hair back from her forehead. “I overheard her telling my dad about the nasty rumor Grace spread around about a male high school teacher and a senior high girl.”
Riley Carson’s eyes opened wide. “Really? Who was the teacher? Who was the student?”
Mindy dragged her dust cloth across the top of the antique buffet table, pushing the crumbs left behind from plates of cookies and bars into her hand. “I don’t suppose I like to say since there wasn’t a bit of truth to it anyway. Don’t know why Grace would want to ruin Mr. Rush’s reputation like that. Oops.”
Everyone laughed at Mindy’s slip up, everyone, Harper noticed, but Summer. Looking decidedly sullen, Summer had wandered over to a pair of French doors leading out to the backyard patio.
Mindy reached into the pocket of her bib apron and pulled out a tissue. She gave her nose a honk. “Grace actually spread the rumor at choir practice and Mom told her the only thing worse than a troublemaker is a troublemaker who shows up at church every Sunday and acts holier-than-thou. Sheesh, Grace Potter even bosses the pastor around.”
“She had the nerve today to tell me the color of our aprons made all us girls look like tubby round squash!” Carly grumbled, referring to the aprons the festival helpers wore every year to identify them as Bittersweet Inn employees. Olivia and Violet had sewn the butternut-colored bib aprons, hand-embroidered the front of each bib with sprigs of bright red-orange bittersweet berries, and attached the straps with novelty buttons that looked like real acorns. Brown slacks and white shirts completed each outfit, making it easy to pick out the helpers in the crowd, although from a distance it was hard to tell one from the other.
“That was a catty thing to say,” Tammy said, twirling a thick Chenille dust mop across the shiny hardwood floor. “None of us are tubby and round. What did you say to her?”
Carly snickered. “I told the old biddy that squash have panache.”
Harper and the other girls were giggling over Carly’s rhyme when Rachel let out a yelp.
“Oh, no,” she cried, holding a bittersweet-colored candle she had taken down from the fireplace mantel in order to blow out the flame. “Wax dripped on my shirt.”
“Use the long-handled candle extinguisher, silly,” Tammy chided her, popping the last mint from a cut glass candy dish into her mouth while Rachel dabbed at the front of her white shirt with a soiled napkin.
“You all can laugh about Grace Potter if you want,” Summer said bitterly from her spot by the patio door, her dark brown eyes snapping, “but she’s no laughing matter. She was an evil, wicked person.”
Harper turned her gaze on the young woman and was surprised by what she saw. Summer, breathing rapidly, stood staring at the floor, her heavy eyelids and dark, sooty lashes hiding her eyes. But Harper caught a glimpse of the emotion which made Summer’s face twitch and the scattered freckles across her nose stand out.
Swiveling abruptly on her heels, Summer headed out the door, saying in a voice so cold it could freeze Death Valley in July, “The bitch deserved to die.”
Harper excused herself from the dining room, telling the girls to head home; it was late and they must all be emotionally drained by the murder and being questioned by the police. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to chew the fat about Grace’s murder. As she approached the kitchen she heard new voices including the sheriff’s.
Good thing we have a big coffee pot, she said under her breath. Although I think I’m about coffeed out.
Harper took stock of the group around the kitchen table. The newcomers included the sheriff; two deputies; Grace’s brother-in-law, Wagner Potter; and his wife, Mona. Harper knew Grace’s husband, Marshall, was out of town on a business trip.
“I tried to break it to him as best I could over the phone,” Wagner said, nodding at Harper as she scooted a chair next to her mother and sat down. “He took it better than I expected.”
“It can be a slippery slope between grief and relief,” Violet muttered.
Wagner cleared his throat. “Yes, well, anyway, he has decided to wait until daylight to drive home. Doesn’t like to drive after dark. I told him that seemed a wise thing to do since there isn’t anything he could do tonight anyway.”
The sheriff nodded in agreement. “Not much we can tell him now, either. Ezra confirmed the bloody hammer we found inside the shed is one he kept there on the work bench by the door. It appears to be the murder weapon. I think Grace was killed sometime around eight o’clock, right around the time of the bonfire. We’ll know more after the medical examiner in St. Stephens runs some tests. Now, Wagner, can either you or Mona think of someone who would have wanted Grace dead?”
“Goodness, I can’t think of a soul,” Wagner answered quickly. “Grace did have a reputation for herself as the town busybody but I do believe everyone knew enough to let her gossip go in one ear and out the other. Certainly can’t think a little tittle-tattle would be a good enough reason for a person to do something this horrible to her. Can you, Mona?”
Mona stared unblinkingly at Wagner while Harper wondered how Mona Potter always managed to look completely pulled together even at this time of night. Smoothing her chignon with flawlessly manicured hands and straightening the collar of her cashmere jacket, Mona raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows and matched Wagner’s gaze for several seconds before looking away.
“A little tittle-tattle, no,” Mona said. “It would have to be something much more interesting than tittle-tattle for someone to go to such a le
ngth to keep her from broadcasting it all over town, wouldn’t it?”
She knows something, Harper thought, and waited for Mona to continue. But Mona had apparently said all she was going to say and after a short pause Wagner took a step toward the kitchen door.
“I’d like you to show me exactly where the murder took place, Sheriff. Mona, you better stay here in the kitchen. No sense getting you any more upset than need be.”
Harper didn’t think Mona looked upset at all, but then she didn’t know Mona well.
“I’ll come with you if you don’t mind,” Paul said, following Wagner, the sheriff and his deputies out of the kitchen. Lonnie suggested she help Olivia to bed. Violet and Ezra agreed it was way past their bedtime and they said goodnight, too.
“I’m sorry about your sister-in-law,” Harper said when she and Mona were alone. “It must have come as a huge shock, hearing someone murdered Grace.”
“Shock? Not at all.” Mona blinked her blue-gray eyes twice and cleared her throat before she continued. “Naturally I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, yet we all know how Grace meddled and ran her mouth. Wagner might think her gossip was only tittle-tattle but it was more like hanging out other people’s dirty laundry for everyone in town to point at. Her death might have been a surprise––she was only fifty six after all––but I can’t say it’s a shock. Look, if you lined up the folks in town who wanted to see her big mouth shut permanently they’d stretch the ten miles from here to St. Stephens. She loved scandal and if it caused trouble for some poor soul it made her day. The woman never even cared if her back-fence talk was an out and out lie.”
Mona looked Harper straight in the eye and again Harper felt that Grace’s sister-in-law knew more than she was telling. Mona didn’t let her in on any secrets, however, saying simply, “I have a feeling it might not have been a lie but the truth that got Grace killed.”
Chapter Four
Harper turned the key and opened the door to one of the renovated, century-old storefronts on Bittersweet Hollow’s neat as a pin Main Street. The twelve blocks from her house to work that she once jogged with only slight effort a few years ago, now left her a little winded. Nevertheless, she liked the feeling of having accomplished something healthy. At fifty three she took advantage of anything to help keep middle-age spread at bay, a feat requiring more dedication every year. On good days she still managed to wear a size twelve, and on bad days she relied on her Spanx.
Harper stepped inside her antique shop feeling the same pride she felt every day when she hung the Open sign in the plate glass window. In the thirty years since she’d launched Our Earthly Remains, she hadn’t once felt burdened by her work. She loved handling every piece of antique furniture, each old collectible that passed through her store.
Helen Newcastle loved Our Earthly Remains, too, and had been Harper’s right-hand assistant for several years. Clocking in a few minutes after Harper opened the shop, Helen fussed with the intricately arranged loops of silver hair on top of her head and adjusted the wire half-glasses perched on her nose. She appeared delicate, her skin as fragile-looking as Italian porcelain, but in actuality the sixty year old proved to be tough as nails. The best way to stay active, according to Helen, included lifting an occasional glass of gin and lighting up a Marlboro.
“Quite the excitement at the Inn last night,” Helen said, shoving her purse behind the counter. “How are all of you holding up?”
“We’d all be better if Mead and Alice Hoover, the couple who intended to purchase the place, weren’t so unsure about signing on the dotted line now.”
“What do you mean?” Helen asked.
“Alice thinks she resides in the realm of psychic consciousness and is convinced Grace’s spirit is renting a room at the Inn.”
“You mean she thinks Grace is a ghost?”
“Yes, a ghost no one but Alice can see. She believes Grace is playing spiteful spirit and plans on pestering future guests until whoever committed the crime is arrested. Mead is trying to convince her they need to go ahead with the closing. Mom is very upset by the murder, worried the sale might not go through, and I’m concerned her health will take a hit if the Meads back out. It took Grace a long time to find a buyer in the first place.”
“Surely, Aaron and James will be able to persuade the Hoovers to go ahead and close,” Helen said, patting Harper’s hand.
Harper gave Helen a thin smile. “I hope so. Because otherwise I’m afraid Alice will hold firm and Mom will lose her buyer.”
“Does the sheriff have any idea who did it? I left before the cops could corner me and ask a bunch of question I couldn’t have answered anyway.”
“As of last night, the only theory any of them had seemed to point to a random act by a stranger making his way along the riverbank, maybe someone who saw Grace out by the shed and wanted to steal her purse, or at least money from her purse.”
Helen straightened some quilts hanging on a rack. “Is her purse missing?”
“She didn’t have one on her but the sheriff found it later, locked in the trunk of her car. Her car keys and some lose change were in her jacket pocket. Her wedding ring was still on her finger and her expensive wristwatch hadn’t been taken.”
“Doesn’t sound much like someone wanted to rob her.”
Harper shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. But the deputies are going to spend time looking up and down the riverbank today, hoping to find something there. I swear if they don’t find something quick I’ll go do a little investigating myself.”
“Well, the Big Bittersweet does run close to your mother’s property. Guess it would be easy to hide in the timber between the pumpkin patch and the river, then escape in a boat or on foot even.”
“I suppose, but with no apparent motive like robbery, doesn’t Grace’s murder seem as though it’s more a crime of passion?”
“Passion? You don’t mean as in a lover’s triangle or something?”
Harper snorted. “Not that kind of passion. I’m not talking about sex, I’m talking about…”
The brass bell over the door jingled and Harper looked over her shoulder.
“My ex-husband,” she muttered. “Just the person I don’t need to see today.”
Whenever Harper saw Eli Reed, she always had mixed feelings and she hated having to sort them out. Their divorce had been finalized almost a year ago but only recently had she begun to feel she could finally get on with life after Eli.
“Hello, Harper,” he said, flashing his even, white teeth in a big smile.
Good old handsome Eli. Why did those wings of gray sweeping his temples only manage to make the rest of his hair look dark and luxurious? Why hadn’t his deep summer tan faded yet? And why did he always make her feel like she wanted to punch him in the nose? She knew the answer to the last question only too well. The affair he had had with his secretary had crushed her, but she’d pulled through, stood tall, and managed to keep her financial head above water thanks to her antique shop. Now she was moving on.
“What’s up, Eli?” Harper asked, managing to sound even less gracious than she felt, which irritated her for some reason. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she still gave a darn. Which she was pretty sure she didn’t.
“I came by to tell you I phoned Lincoln this morning and told him about the murder at his Grandmother’s place.”
“Now why did you do that?” Harper growled, trying to keep her voice calm but having little luck.
“Excuse me,” Helen said, heading toward the back room. “I hear someone calling my name.”
Harper glared at Eli. “That news will only worry him. He’ll think a crazy killer is lurking around his grandmother’s place and he wouldn’t have heard about the murder way out in Washington state, I’m sure.”
“You never did want to worry anyone, did you?” Eli asked, shaking his head. “But you can’t be sure someone wouldn’t tell him. He’s got friends who still live here. And don’t forget Facebook. It’s a wonder he
hadn’t heard about it already.”
Harper tried to think of something she could say to contradict Eli but she knew he was right. She forced a cool smile. “Did you drive all the way over here from St. Stephens to tell me that?”
“It’s only ten miles, Harper. But no, I have an important appointment at Rubino’s By the River. That restaurant is one of my best clients, remember?”
“I remember your accounting business always did come before me,” Harper said.
“That’s not how I remember it,” Eli said.
“Of course it isn’t,” Harper replied, biting her tongue to keep from asking if Mary Moon, Secretary of Loose Morals and Easy Ways, had made the appointment for him.
Instead she said, “I have some important business to attend to myself today.” It was true; she had planned on walking down the block to Wilcox and Wilson Realty later this morning to see if Aaron and James had any good news to share, like maybe Alice and Mead had agreed to close on the Inn after all. She might as well go see them now.