Final Sale (A Bittersweet-Hollow Mystery Book 1)

by Annie Irvin

  Considering the scene Grace witnessed in the church office, Harper wasn’t surprised that Lawrence had hustled his wife away from the woman. He wouldn’t want to risk Grace spilling the beans to Daphne.

  “Did you tell Deputy Kennedy about Pastor Hart?”

  “No, I didn’t really think about it then. I only told him Grace had walked by the pumpkin wagon before dark.”

  “Do you have any idea what time that was?”

  “It must have been right before Ezra started the bonfire.”

  “And you didn’t notice her again?”

  “No. I suppose it wasn’t too long after I saw her that she got murdered, right?”

  “Well, somewhere around eight o’clock, according to the cops.”

  Carly shivered and Harper realized she’d been hoping the girl would say she’d seen Lawrence follow Grace out to the shed instead of seeing Grace heading for the crowd.

  A car door slammed and Harper knew it was time to leave Carly to her date and the wine and the music.

  “I don’t think you need me to tell you to have a wonderful evening,” Harper said, winking at Carly and setting the fat cat on the floor.

  Carly giggled and introduced her boyfriend before Harper made her exit.

  Back home, Harper hovered between taking a hot bath and eating supper.

  Might as well eat first, she decided, foraging through leftovers in the fridge where she uncovered a chicken thigh, a half-eaten pork chop, and two slices of cheese pizza.

  Maybe I should have taken Violet’s meatloaf offer, she complained out loud.

  Tossing all the leftovers into the microwave, she poured herself a glass of milk and planned tomorrow’s strategy. She’d visit Daphne Hart for sure, and maybe Lawrence Hart, too. She would also talk with Mindy Bartlett and Rachel Turnbuckle.

  The microwave beeped and she grabbed a tray from the top of the refrigerator. Carting her supper into the living room, she ate while she wondered if the cops had turned up anything worthwhile on Mr. Jersey Simon.

  Maybe it’s me looking at things all wrong, Harper thought, forking down the pork chop. Maybe Grace had a secret past and knew this Simon person once upon a time.

  Harper considered this as she munched on a pizza slice. What if Simon was a Chicago mobster and somehow Grace found out a little too much about him. The woman pried into everything. But there was nothing connecting Grace to Jersey Simon. Nothing she knew about anyway. Besides, it was tough believing such a scenario. She felt in her gut whoever murdered Grace lived right here in Bittersweet Hollow. Someone who expected Grace to destroy their life in one fleeting week.

  Her mind grappled with what she knew. Roy and Glennis had motive and Fred put them in the vicinity of the shed right before dark. Summer had motive and plenty of time to kill Grace before anyone remembered seeing her in the dining room later. Mickey had motive, a quick temper, and enough time to commit the murder.

  Lawrence Hart’s motive was as good as any of the others and she couldn’t rule out Fannie Abbott.

  Gathering up her dirty dishes, Harper carried the tray into the kitchen. She had just rinsed out her glass at the sink when a startling thought struck her.

  Summer, nowhere to be seen at the time of the murder. Mickey, ditto. What if Grace had confronted two attackers out in the shed?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harper slipped a light jacket over her long-sleeved tee, grabbed her purse and headed for the front door. Fridays were always busy at Our Earthly Remains and she was running late. Before she could turn the doorknob, however, her phone rang.

  Checking the caller I.D. she picked up the receiver and said, “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

  “Mead Hoover just called,” Olivia said on the other end of the line.

  Harper felt her stomach tightening. If Mead still planned on backing out on this deal, well, she’d go talk with him right away and try to change his mind. “Not bad news, I hope.”

  “No, it’s not bad news,” her mother assured her. “He and Alice are coming to visit on Sunday and plan to stay for a night or two. Hopefully, Alice will get a good tingle, or whatever it is she gets, this time around.”

  “That’s great,” Harper said, smiling at Olivia’s word for vibe and feeling relieved Alice must not be totally disillusioned by grumpy spirits.

  “Grace has surely ridden her broomstick out of Dodge by now,” Harper retorted.

  “You sound like Violet,” Olivia chuckled. “But I didn’t call just to tell you about the Hoovers coming. I’m hoping you’ll come, too. Maybe spend a night. Perhaps you can help me impress upon Alice the only spirits around here are the ones in the wine cellar.”

  “Of course, I can stay. I’ll feel better myself if I can help convince Alice nothing is going to go bump in the night.”

  Before hanging up the phone, Harper promised her mother she’d be out early Sunday morning.

  Glancing out the window to see if she should take her umbrella to work, Harper groaned. Eli was making a beeline from his car to her front porch.

  What does he want this morning? Harper wondered as the doorbell jangled. Before the sound died away, Eli opened the door and sauntered across the threshold.

  “Hi,” he grinned at Harper. “I always feel silly ringing the bell.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, “it does seem a little odd.”

  Harper glanced at her watch and then at Eli, giving him the not so subtle hint to hurry up and state his business.

  Eli cleared his throat. “Lincoln called me last night. He said he had talked to you a few days ago and he wanted to know if the cops are any closer to solving Grace Potter’s murder. He’s worried about you and his grandmother.”

  “He could have called me if he’s worried,” Harper said with a touch of tartness in her voice.

  “I suppose he didn’t want you to know he’s concerned about you,” Eli said. “Anyway, I did assure him there is no mad killer stalking the grounds of the Inn and his grandmother is fine. Besides, no one in their right mind would tangle with Violet if they could help it. He reckoned I was right about that. Lord knows, I wouldn’t care to encounter Violet in a dark hallway with a rolling pin.”

  “You sound like you’re playing a board game,” Harper muttered, figuring Lincoln probably asked his father to drop by occasionally to check on her and Olivia without appearing to do so. Or maybe Lincoln was just an excuse for Eli to keep an eye on her. As though she couldn’t take care of herself. Well, she was a big girl and she didn’t need anyone looking out for her. Irritation rolled through her, a normal reaction when Eli was around.

  Harper slung her purse strap over her shoulder, grabbed an umbrella out of the coat closet and hurried out the door.

  “Make sure it’s locked,” she called over her shoulder as she skipped down the porch steps. Eli could let his own sweet self out.

  Why her ex thought he could stick his nose into her life where it didn’t belong she didn’t know. Okay, maybe it belonged there a little bit because of Lincoln and maybe it was nice she and Eli could be civil toward each other. After all, they had shared a lot of good times together, before Mary Moon got her hooks into him. Eli had tried to defend himself with the old ‘I’m having a midlife crisis’ fairy-tale but she couldn’t buy it. So now she flew solo instead of with a co-captain. Picking up his dirty socks and washing his whiskers down the bathroom sink was no longer on her daily to-do list. Really, she had no regrets.

  She drove a block and a half, and then called Lonnie on her cell phone.

  “Yep, I’m still home,” Lonnie said in answer to Harper’s question. “Paul got home yesterday evening and I told Naylor I’d be in late this morning. Paul just left for St. Andrews and the coffee is on.”

  Five minutes later, Harper sat down at her sister’s kitchen table, swearing her to secrecy while she reported on everything she’d turned up yesterday.

  Lonnie almost choked on her Hazelnut Crème. “Wow! Rachel? That’s really too bad. I can’t think of anything much wors
e than a dark secret hanging over your head and worrying your fiancé will find out about it.”

  “It could easily have felt like a disaster to Rachel and her parents,” Harper said, taking a bite out of the English muffin Lonnie placed in front of her.

  “And Mona told you Grace gave Roy and Glennis one week to tell Roger? That’s just what she did to Mickey and Summer.”

  “Yeh. I wonder what’s with Grace and one week?”

  “Who knows. Maybe the next time Grace floats through the Inn, Alice can ask her,” Lonnie said, drumming her fingers on the table while studying Harper’s face. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Harper brushed some crumbs from the table. “It means Roy and Glennis had a really good reason to shut Grace up, and so did Mickey and Summer, not to mention Lawrence Hart and Fannie. Neither Riley nor Tammy remember seeing Summer at the house around eight o’clock. As a matter of fact, Riley seems to think that was when Summer slipped away for awhile and Lucy says Mickey also disappeared around eight o’clock.”

  “And the cops say the murder was committed around eight o’clock. Not looking good for Mickey and Summer,” Lonnie said, refilling the coffee cups.

  “Maggie and Fred saw the Turnbuckles right around eight o’clock heading in the direction of the shed.”

  “Not looking good for those two, either.”

  “I have to talk to Daphne Hart. See if she and Lawrence were together after Grace bumped into them by the pumpkin wagon.”

  “Are you going to talk to Rachel and Mindy? One of them might have noticed something.”

  “I’ll try to do so this weekend. By the way, Mom called this morning to say Mead and Alice are coming on Sunday for a few days and she wants me to help keep good old Grace’s bad old ectoplasm at bay.”

  “Really? Has Alice changed her mind about having Grace’s ghost as part of the decor?”

  “Not yet,” Harper replied, “but Mead talked her into giving it one more try on the chance Grace has moved on.”

  “I want to join you,” Lonnie exclaimed. “Paul should be around so he can come, too. I’m sure there’s things he can help pack up for Mom and I’d really like to see how Alice handles an encounter with the spirit world.”

  “Great, you can help convince Grace to go on her way,” Harper joked, jumping up to leave. Helen would beat her to work again if she didn’t hurry.

  A few blocks from Lonnie’s house, Harper spotted Fannie Abbott attaching a sold banner on top of a Wilcox and Wilson Real Estate sign in a well-kept front yard. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. Harper eased to the curb and cut her engine. It was time to dig a little deeper into Lawrence and Fannie’s motive for murder.

  Harper climbed out of her truck and strolled over to Fannie who, in spite of the rain and chilly weather, sported a fair amount of cleavage spilling out of the top of her scooped-neck blouse. Harper pulled her jacket a little tighter over her chest. Apparently the cool, damp weather doesn’t cause Fannie’s bare legs to break out in goose bumps, Harper noted sourly. My legs would be bumpier than a hedge apple if I wasn’t wearing jeans today.

  “Another sale, Fannie? Good for you.”

  “They’ve been few and far between but this one was easy. Nice house, good price, couple of young bachelors,” Fannie said, finishing up the sign and straightening her short skirt.

  “Bachelors? Fancy that. Do you have a couple of minutes? Let’s go sit in my truck.” Harper led the way to the Ford.

  “You need an agent?” Fannie asked, sliding into the passenger side. “I thought Aaron and James were going to take over handling the sale of the Inn.”

  Harper climbed behind the wheel, shutting the door. “I’m checking out a few leads on Grace Potter’s murder.”

  “Leads? Grace’s murder?” Fannie sputtered, pulling her cardigan across her cleavage. Harper glimpsed a fleeting look of alarm in the younger woman’s eyes.

  “Let me cut to the chase, Fannie, and put it bluntly. I know Grace found out you and Pastor Hart were having an affair.”

  Fannie sucked in her breath and squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds.

  “How did you know Grace found out about us?”

  Harper sidestepped the question. “She left no doubt she was going to blow the whole thing wide open and expose the two of you.”

  “Are you going to tell Bruce?” There was a brittle edge to Fannie's voice.

  “I’m not Grace Potter,” Harper retorted, “and I won’t say anything unless I have to.”

  “Why would you have to?” Fannie asked, nervously tugging on one of her dangly earrings.

  “Somewhere down the line I will have to tell the authorities everything I’ve learned about the murder. One of those things is how Grace caught you and Lawrence, giving him a perfect motive to kill Grace.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Fannie sputtered. “He’d never do such a thing.”

  “That’s something the authorities would have to rule out. I’m not judging you or Lawrence. Your affair is your business, not mine. What is my business is a murder happening under my nose in my own mother’s backyard. You and Grace were huge rivals at work. Everyone in town knows how you two would practically scratch out each others’ eyes over who outsold who. Then she catches you and Pastor Hart going at it, in the church office no less. How embarrassing to know your nemesis could be responsible for ruining both of you by writing letters to Deacon Fairweather and to Bruce, leaving nothing to the imagination. You were fortunate she died before she could mail them.”

  “So you must have found all this out by somehow running across those letters,” Fannie said, dislike creeping into her voice.

  Harper answered Fannie with a question of her own. “Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts at around eight on Saturday night?”

  “Are you accusing me of killing Grace Potter? Because if you are, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Look, I admit I saw the witch at the festival. She strutted around the grounds like the damn Queen of Sheba,” Fannie spat out, “but I went out of my way to avoid her.”

  Harper stared steadily at Fannie, who finally dropped her gaze and sighed. “Oh, what the heck,” she said, her voice resigned. “Yes, Grace called me on the phone and relished telling me she’d written the letters. She called Lawrence, too. Her big deal was to give us a week to make what she called our ‘confession’ to Daphne and to Bruce. If we didn’t, then she’d mail the letters. But that doesn’t mean I killed her. And it doesn’t mean Lawrence could have killed her. He’s a man of the cloth after all.”

  “A man of the cloth who committed adultery,” Harper reminded her.

  “What can I say, Harper? I had already steeled myself to tell Bruce but I put it off. I figured I might as well wait until the week was up and build up my courage. I won’t lie and say it wasn’t an enormous relief when someone killed the woman, but I swear it wasn’t me. I was with Bruce the whole evening of the festival and we left before the bonfire burned out. You can ask him but for God’s sake do it tactfully. He doesn’t know about Lawrence and me, and the affair is over and done with now. As for Lawrence, he couldn’t have done such a thing.”

  After extracting another promise from Harper to be discreet when she talked to Bruce, Fannie hopped out of the truck and hurried to her car. Harper turned the key in the ignition and slowly drove to work.

  So Lawrence and Fannie had one week to confess, too. Really, thought Harper, it must have been one of the best weeks of Grace’s life. She really needed to talk to Daphne now, in order to find out if Lawrence left his family at some time during Sunday night and made time to answer Opportunity knocking on the garden shed door.

  When Harper finally arrived at work, she found invoices and shipping orders from the past week stacked on her desk. After spending less than twenty minutes going through them, she pushed some of the bookwork off on Helen.

  “You are way too wound up,” Helen observed. “You should have come for drinks with me and Marylou last night. We had a reall
y good time.”

  “I probably should have gone with you,” Harper agreed, “but I’d still be wound up. Motives for murder are bouncing around like bumper cars in my head. Come to think of it, this is an excellent time for me to check out another motive.”

  Harper pushed back her desk chair, grabbed her raincoat and headed out to her truck. The rain had played itself out but the drizzle continued. Starting the engine, she steered the Ford toward the west side of town. It might have been wiser if she’d phoned ahead, but she’d take her chances Daphne Hart was home and Lawrence was not.