Detective Nolan scratched notes on the corner of an already crowded slip of paper. “Go on.”
“Then Mr. Edgers said something about how Himmel had to place an order or else and Himmel said that sounded like an ultimatum.”
Nolan’s scratching paused. “And then?”
Anxiety morphed into residual anger. My toe stopped tapping and I crossed my arms over my chest, curled my hands into fists. “Then Mr. Edgers got a look at me and realized I was Pete Keene’s granddaughter and—”
“How did he know that?”
I shrugged. “Small town? Big gossip? I’m pretty sure everyone knows that the newcomer with the crazy hair is Pete’s granddaughter.”
He looked for a moment like he wanted to protest, like he thought arguing the point would be the polite thing to do. In the end he let the protest slip away unspoken. He checked his hasty notes. “When the vict—that is, when Mr. Edgers realized who you were, did his demeanor change?”
That was a tough one. While I considered, I delayed my response long enough that Detective Nolan tossed me a more specific question. “Did he appear to regret that you heard the altercation?”
“Regret?” From beneath my chair, the kitten let out a pitiful meow, followed by the noise of claws on cardboard.
“Did he calm down? Did he look embarrassed?”
“No, he was just angry I was in his store.” I bent to slide the box forward, tugging up a corner of the cardboard to peer inside.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said. The stone of aggravation that had formed when Grandy refused to explain the feud between Edgers and him rattled through my gut. I reached blindly for the kitten, whether to soothe it or take comfort in its softness I couldn’t say.
“Do you think it was because of anything you may have overheard?”
My seeking fingers found the surprisingly sharp claws of a kitten. “Ow!” I snatched my hand back, checked my finger for blood. “It was because I’m related to Pete.”
“What makes you say that?”
I might have scowled, either at the detective, or at the point of pain on my fingertip. “That’s what Mr. Edgers said. Not in so many words.”
The detective’s raised eyebrows were as good as a verbal prompt.
“I said I’d come back another time, and he told me that wouldn’t be a good idea and my grandfather should have told me not to bother going to Edgers Hardware in the first place.” The carton slid easily from below my chair, and I lifted it into my lap.
The raised eyebrows lowered, drew together over the bridge of Detective Nolan’s nose. “But your grandfather didn’t tell you that?”
Taking the kitten from the box, I shook my head. “When I asked him about it after, he told me it wasn’t my business, that it was between him and Andy Edgers.”
“You say after. After what?”
“After I got back from the store,” I said.
“Can you tell me what time that was?”
I tried to snuggle the kitten against my shoulder, but it squirmed like a restless child. “I don’t know. Twelve thirty? One?”
“Before he left for work then,” the detective stated. He scribbled some more on his notepad, completely unconcerned by the presence of a quarter-grown cat in his squad room. “What time did he leave the house for work would you say?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. He left earlier than usual but I don’t know exactly what time. I was . . .” I was in the basement, cleaning a stained glass lamp. I had no precise idea of when Grandy left for the dine-in theater.
It hit me then, the direction Detective Nolan’s questioning had taken. We’d gone from focusing on the exchange between Himmel and Edgers, and slid right into what Grandy was doing in the hours before Edgers was found dead.
I’d gone to the police station to help Grandy. Instead, I’d done my fair share to destroy his alibi.
* * *
Back in Carrie’s car, I leaned my elbow on the window frame and hid my face behind my hand. “I can’t believe I did that,” I said.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest maybe—just maybe—the police have more experience getting information out of people than you have keeping secrets.” She switched on the right blinker and turned the car into Willow Park Mall, another half-hour’s drive beyond the Pace County PD. Detective Nolan, after he’d finished his “informal chat” with me, cautioned me he’d need another hour or more with Grandy. I’d tried to talk Carrie into taking me back to my car. There was no reason she should lose a day’s business at the antiques shop to hang around a police station with me. I could only describe the look she gave me as a sarcastic glare. “You think there’s a big demand for antiques on a Wednesday morning?” she’d asked.
We left the kitten under Sergeant Steve’s dedicated attention and drove off to Willow Park, where a big chain pet store shared the exterior parking lot with the do-it-yourself home repair center.
As she cruised the parking lot for an ideal space, I continued to obsess. “I suppose having no experience being questioned by the police is a good thing. But I should have at least possessed enough presence of mind not to give them any more ammunition against Grandy.”
Carrie snorted, an abbreviated sound somewhere between humor and disbelief. “The Pace County PD may look like teddy bears, but they do know what they’re doing.”
I peered at her from the corner of my eye. Detective Nolan had zero teddy bear qualities. As far as I knew. The wayward question of whether the good officer was covered in hair tumbled into my brain. I pushed it out with thoughts of Grandy sitting in a holding cell. That was enough to dispel all lesser horrors.
“Besides,” Carrie went on, slowly guiding the car into a vacant spot, “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making it sound.”
My jaw fell. “I told Nolan about the fight I had with Andy Edgers. I told him how angry it made Grandy. Then I admitted to having no idea what time Grandy left the house.” I choked back the next entry in my rant—that I had no idea what time it had been because I’d been entranced by a Tiffany-style lamp. Bad enough I felt the way I did about contributing to Grandy’s status as a suspect, no need to invite Carrie into the guilt party.
“And you also told him you walked in on Andy arguing with Tony, right?”
“Tony?” I clambered out of the car, faced Carrie over the top of the sedan. “Oh, that’s Himmel, right?”
She nodded briskly and started away from the car. “Anton Himmel.” She reached over her shoulder, pointing her key fob at the sedan until its security system chirped in confident lockdown.
“All right but let’s be clear on this. I only told Detective Nolan about that argument after they’d already questioned Himmel. I wasn’t the one who brought it to their attention in the first place.”
We paused outside the entrance to the pet supply store. “So then who did tell them?” Carrie asked. “Who told them to bring in Tony for questioning?”
I tilted my head, raised my brows. “That’s what I’d like to know. Someone else who walked in on them maybe?”
But who else? The village of Wenwood wasn’t exactly a high-traffic zone on a Monday morning. I’d only seen a few other people on the street. And even then, I had no idea who they were. Elderly man with alert antennae eyebrows. Teen girl already bored by summer. Two middle-aged mom types hooting over some outrageous joke. I remembered the sense I got from these people, not what they looked like. Even at that, I didn’t think any of them the type to phone in tips to the police.
We wandered down the main aisle of the pet store, searching first left then right for signs of cat supplies. I pushed an empty cart, anticipating I was going to buy a lot of essentials. Carrie didn’t share my enthusiasm.
“I wish I’d have noticed who was around that day,” she said, following me down a likely-looking aisle.
&
nbsp; “Nobody stopped into the store?” I asked.
Carrie treated me to another snort. “It’s rare I get any business during the week. Thank God for Internet sales. They keep me in business.”
I slowed beside a broad selection of hard plastic litter pans, hooded boxes, and something that looked like it required electric power. “Did you see anyone pass by, maybe on their way to the market?”
“You mean other than you?”
“Of course.”
Carrie pulled an emery board from her purse and set about filing her nails while I fought to extract a pink pan from the stack of small-sized litter trays. As a red-haired girl, pink was a color I needed to be particularly careful with; I liked to incorporate it in other areas of my life, such as bath towels and . . . poop pans.
“Well. Tony passed by.”
“Yeah, what about Tony? What’s his deal? Where does he fit into the Wenwood landscape?”
“He kind of doesn’t.”
Completing the struggle, I threw the pan into the shopping cart and turned to consider the plethora of litter choices. “I don’t understand. He was talking to Edgers like he knew him a long time.”
“I wouldn’t say a long time. Tony’s in charge of the renovation on the old brickworks. You know, that building site we passed on the way up here?”
I made some sort of noise that indicated agreement.
“But that work’s been going on since, I dunno, just before Christmas. They lost a lot of time what with the winter we had.” Carrie shivered, apparently at the memory of a bad season. I remembered Grandy saying how happy he was he’d bought the Jeep when he did. His old sedan would never have been able to navigate the snowy roads. “I’d hoped they’d be further along by now. Town could sure use the business.”
Considering all the choices in cat litter, I could just play eeny-meeny to choose one. Seemed to me my inability to make a decision centered more on trying to sort through what Carrie was telling me. “Explain to me how a marina will help business in the village.” I hauled a plastic container of cat sand off a lower shelf and hefted it into my cart with a thud.
“The marina will be a destination. So the planners claim.” She smirked to show her doubt. “It’s meant to be a place for boaters to stretch their legs on dry land. Take in some sights, spend their money.”
Wenwood had sights? Either I had been walking past them without realizing or I had been too familiar with the town to bother investigating. Though I had to admit, the stretch of land along the waterfront was probably breathtaking from the river. But at the moment, the village of Wenwood didn’t appear to have much to offer to lure in visitors. Residents, sure. The necessary businesses were in place: grocery, bakery, luncheonette, pharmacy, and so forth. But a visitor to town wasn’t likely to be drawn in by the Pour House bar or Danny’s Taxes and Real Estate.
I rolled the cart forward and around the endcap, steering into the next aisle, where food, bowls, and toys lined the shelves. My mind worked hard to remember what little conversation I’d heard between Tony Himmel and Andy Edgers. The construction at the marina was at a standstill . . . What was holding it up? Did the order Edgers was waiting for impact work on the construction site?
Carrie ranged up beside me, slipping her emery board back into her bag and casually checking her watch in the process. Guilt washed over me. “I’m sorry,” I said, grabbing the first set of little bowls I could reach even though they weren’t pink. “I’m keeping you from the shop. Just some food and we’ll be out of here.”
I rolled the cart forward, yanked a small bag of crunchy kitten food from the shelf, and tossed it into the cart.
“I told you,” she said, “people won’t be banging down the door of the shop. They never do during weekdays.”
Nodding in sympathy, I powered out of the aisle and turned for the registers at the front of the store. “But if there’s no business during the week, why stay open? Why not take the days off, do something else?”
In a voice that sounded of surrender, she said, “Not a whole lot else to do.”
“Come on. There’s got to be something. Wenwood’s quiet, but there’s more to life than . . .” Than what? I’d spent most of my own time settling into Grandy’s and sleeping like a drugged princess, sleeping away the weeks of stress and heartache I’d left behind. Surely there was more to life than that as well. Maybe I was looking for a clue.
“Business will pick up when the summer travel season starts. Families passing through on their way to Lake George. Everyone loves poking around an antiques shop. And then, Good Lord willing, once the marina opens, we can all get back in the black.”
All? “What do you mean—” I began, but the upbeat tune on Carrie’s cell phone cut short my question. She picked up the call while I guided the cart to the entrance of the checkout lane.
According to Carrie, it was Sergeant Steve on the phone telling us we could return to the station at any time. Grandy had finally lawyered up and was ready to go home.
* * *
The first words out of his mouth were, “Where are my clothes?”
While Sergeant Steve, Carrie, and Grandy’s lawyer looked on, my memory flashed me an image of Grandy’s khaki slacks and green button-down folded neatly on the front seat of his SUV, the SUV parked perhaps a tad haphazardly across the street from Aggie’s Antiques.
“You forgot them, didn’t you?” he grumbled.
I didn’t realize it was possible to feel any guiltier. “Sorry, Grandy. Carrie gave me a ride up here and your clothes . . .”
“I’ve had a long day already, Georgia. And now you’re going to tell me the one thing I asked you to do was the one thing that escaped you?”
And even guiltier still. How low could I go?
“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Keene,” Carrie put in. “My car’s right out front.”
Despite Carrie’s attempt at being helpful, Grandy turned his glower on me. He might have growled.
“Perhaps,” his lawyer said, “we could exit out the back. Less uncomfortable for all concerned.”
Grandy huffed and made the introductions. His lawyer, Drew Able, Esquire, took my hand in a firm but unremarkable grasp, his bland brown-eyed gaze sweeping me head to toe with no apparent conclusion drawn. I felt the same about him, in fact. Mid-forties, medium height, slim build, brown hair . . . his appearance gave me no insight into the type of man he might be.
“I suppose I have you to thank for making sure my grandfather isn’t spending the night here?” I asked.
He flashed a surprisingly merry grin. “I think it’s the officers who owe me the most thanks.”
I glanced back to Grandy. He stood straight as a decorated soldier, clad in his blue thinning dressing gown, faded plaid pajamas, and Ozzie Nelson slippers. He held his chin high, his jaw clenched, his eyes piercing as he gazed into the cracked Sheetrock horizon of the waiting area. I couldn’t keep back the smile or the sigh of relief. Nothing about spending the morning in a police station had impacted Grandy’s pride. He was a tough old bear, even if he did have a bit of egg stuck to his lapel. Lawyer Drew was no doubt correct—Grandy would have made the officers in the station house miserable if he’d had to spend the night.
“Well, let’s get you home in a hurry and then you can give me a lecture on forgetting things, okay?” I suggested. Turning to Sergeant Steve, I motioned for him to hand me the box in which a kitten reportedly slept curled up on an old Pace County PD T-shirt.
“Just one thing.” Waving a manila envelope, Detective Nolan strode into our midst, a pair of uniformed officers on his heels. “Search warrant. We’ll be going along with you. I have a murder weapon to find.”
5
We trailed in a convoy behind a Pace County PD squad car, like little sedan ducklings imprinting on a parent figure. Grandy rode with his lawyer, Detective Nolan took his own car, and I rode with Carrie ba
ck to her store, where I moved my pet shop haul and new fluffy kitten into Grandy’s Jeep, thanked Carrie profusely, and hauled axle back to the house.
When I reached the house, I found Grandy and Drew reclining in Adirondack chairs on the front porch. Well, Drew reclined. Grandy managed to sit back in the chair and still look like he was prepared to attack. Steering the car into the driveway, I spied Detective Nolan overseeing his uniformed colleagues poking through the trash cans on the side of the house. Poor guys. There were sun-spoiled cantaloupe seeds in there.
I slid out of the Jeep with the beer carton in my arms. “What’s going on?” I called.
Grandy stood from his chair. “I’m not in the habit of keeping spare house keys in my dressing gown.”
He could have just said he was locked out. For the first time that day I got the uneasy sense perhaps Grandy wasn’t taking things as calmly as he appeared. Yes, he could be formal, he could be proud, and he could be angry when crossed, but he wasn’t the sort to be mean. He’d been short with me in the station. My own guilt had prevented me from seeing how out of character that was for him, how strange.
I crossed the lawn quickly, jogged up the few steps to the front door. Again bracing the box against one hip, I slid my key into the lock.
“Is that really beer in the box?” Drew Able asked.
Did I hear a hopeful note in his voice? Or was I imagining? Grinning, I pushed the door open. “Sorry, no beer.”
“What is it?” Grandy asked as he shuffled to the door. He waved me in ahead of him, ever the gentleman.
“Small nuclear device.” I set the box down on the worn, wingback chair to my left that demarcated the living room.
Ill-Gotten Panes Page 5