When No One Was Looking (Sophie McGuire Mysteries)

by Jenny Rebecca Keech

  Delores chuckled as she finished, “—you can’t fly a kite.”

  I blushed. “David?”

  Her laugh was light as she reached over and patted me on the sleeve. “Sugar, I watched you grow up. I’ve seen your attempts at kite flying. Something I used to look forward to every early spring. Don’t worry, sweetheart. David never had to say a word.”

  As uplifting, her words failed miserably. Beside the imminent probability of my public failure, I now had only to contend with the added humiliation of being attacked quite visibly by bundle of paper, plastic and wood aided by wind. I heard a squeal, followed by the patter of feet on wood. Simon rounded the corner with a kite in hand. Steven followed.

  “Slow down, guys.”

  Simon jammed his heels in so tight they screeched. I winced and glared. He held up the kite. It was red, a bird with blue tips. It was also taller than either of them.

  “Uh, guys.” I hesitated. “Kind of big isn’t it?”

  Both boys shook their heads adamantly. “We always get one this big. Dad always helped us.”

  Of course. That made sense. Next to David, the monstrous bird kite wouldn’t have dared to misbehave, but I could already see one dark eye watching me with utter contempt. This bird knew who was in charge. Still, with the hopeful, silly grins plastered across my boys’ faces I would probably have tried to wing a Tasmanian devil into the air. “Oh. Well, then that’s the one we’ll get.” I glanced back at Delores with wide eyes. “One kite to go, please.”

  Delores smiled as she took the kite and wrapped it in paper. I caught her chuckling softly to herself. She was probably picturing me being blown up and away like Dorothy on her way to Oz.

  I sighed and handed over the cash.

  Delores grinned as she passed the wrapped kite over. “Have fun, guys. I’ll be looking forward to seeing ya’ll at Reeve’s field.”

  The boys chatted excitedly as they walked across the street to the house. We shuffled up the walk, Steven and Simon talking a mile a minute, each taking turns holding the kite. Once inside I left the boys to unwrap the kite as I went into the kitchen. I hoped they knew how to put the darn thing together.

  Forty-five minutes later they were happily sitting on the floor of the den eating grilled burgers and fries, all the while chatting nonstop about the kite that was spread out before them. The dogs were behaving –well, if one called eyes wide, wiggling noses, begging statues behaving. The boys knew what would happen if I caught them feeding the dog fries, but I still kept watchful eyes on them. The wagging tails and hanging smiles were hard to resist. I had made them lean the kite against the wall to keep it out of the way. It looked like a giant trophy brought home from some big hunt. I had no clue how I could be expected to fly the darn thing –maybe ankle weights would work. I wrinkled my nose. Hmmm, not a bad thought.

  By nine the boys were in bed, although I passed their room several times and caught hushed words. Excitement is hard to put to bed on command. I held my tongue and let them have their talk. In the dark, sleep would soon come, and it was good to see them so happy. Within an hour I knew what I would find: them sound asleep and Dude switching from one bed to the other. It’s his version of sharing. Comet had already scuttled off toward my room, but the poor boy is nearly eight in human years. That made him about fifty-something and I could understand his need for some extra sleep.

  I was up waiting for a daughter who was about to find herself grounded if she didn’t make it through the front door within the next fifteen minutes. At nine-thirty, I heard the muted clump of feet on the front steps and the turn of the lock in the door. Paige slid the door open softly, stuck her head in slow and gave a quick glance. I was leaning on a wall in the side entry hall and I watched as Paige eased open the door a little more before she slipped in, pushing the door shut silently until it gave a slight click. She turned the deadbolt with her fingers and set down her backpack.

  “Enjoy your evening?” My voice held the slightest sour note.

  Paige tensed mid-step. She faced me, swallowed and pasted a quick smile on her face. “Hey mom. I didn’t think you’d still be up.”

  She had to be kidding if that was the best she could do. I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. “Yes, most mothers go to bed and sleep soundly, completely unconcerned that their underage, teenage daughter is a no show.” I glanced down at my watch, even though I knew the time perfectly. I watched her squirm and added, “I thought someone’s curfew was at nine?”

  Paige squirmed. Her eyes flickered to the hall clock. She winced. “Well, see there was…” Her voice trailed off.

  Of course it did. What excuse could possibly, well, excuse her? I walked over and looked down expectantly, “Go ahead. The reason you were late on a school night was, what?”

  She bit her lip and sighed. “You’re probably not going to think it’s a good reason so why bother?”

  I nodded. “Probably not, but who knows? Give it a shot.”

  Paige began to twist her braid tail. It’s a nervous habit. I held my silence. She sighed again and shrugged. “Greg Briarcliff showed up with some friends. I got included in their discussion and I guess I just lost track of time.”

  If there is anyone who can make my daughter lose track of time, it is Leah and Neely Briarcliff’s son Greg. Picture a tall, athletic, good-looking fifteen year old boy and you get the idea. Paige has been in love with him ever since the first time she saw him in fourth grade, after he and his parents relocated to Merry Hill. I blew out a gust of air and remained firm. “You’re right. It’s no excuse. Didn’t I just get a pep talk from a daughter about being late?”

  Paige scratched her head. “Yeah but it was nearly twelve. This is totally different.”

  Her indifferent attitude wasn’t doing it. “Not when it’s dealing with my fourteen year old daughter, it’s not.”

  Her shoulders slumped, lips pressed tight in apprehension. “Well?” I said.

  I studied my daughter. She struggled so hard to walk the fine ledge between outgrowing childhood and becoming an adult. At times I was so proud of her achievements. Still, Paige managed to smother my pride with her occasional teenage flare-ups. The old part of me would have hustled her upstairs without David seeing and told him the next morning where we could both sit down and discuss the situation. I no longer had that luxury. I shrugged. “The rest of the week, you’ll be home after school and watch the boys—”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Mom,” she wailed.

  “—if someone wants a chance of going to Melissa’s party on Saturday?” I finished.

  Paige shut her mouth. She’s been talking about Melissa Kirkwood’s birthday party for a month. Did I mention that Paige had inherited my good reasoning skills? She knows a good deal when she hears one. She also knew I was in my rights to deny her from going to the party.

  She shrugged. “Fine,” she stated with a grumble.

  “Good. Now go wash and get to bed before I change my mind. And don’t be late again. It’s a privilege to begin with that I let you do anything on a school night. Don’t abuse it.”

  I watched Paige trudge silently up the stairs I could feel her resentment at my punishment even though she’d brought it on herself. I turned and stalked back to the bedroom. I glared at Comet who was draped across David’s pillow. I snatched up mine and flung it at the wall; Comet flicked open an eye for a second before letting it fall closed.

  For a second I could feel a murmur of my own resentment flutter up. I quickly shoved it under my mental ‘I’ll think of it tomorrow’ file and went to grab the offended pillow. To be truthful, David always let them slide on one thing or another. I’ve always been the one to heavy on the terms of punishment. Of course he always backed me up, and trust me it makes a lot of difference. That voice of reassurance that he offered, our united front, it broke what resistance the kids might have tried to create. Tonight, however, I found that the murmur wanted to resurface. The pillow took another tumble into the wall.

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  By the time I got to the shop the next morning, my patience was thin. I’d stopped by Johanna’s on the way in to work to see how she was doing. Having to pretend that I knew none of the information with which she presented me was excruciating to my nerves and put me on edge. The last straw came as I walked into the shop and heard Kate Walden’s voice float forward from the back. I promptly turned and slid back out the door. There was no way that I was in a mood to attempt to dispel whatever outlandish fabrication Kate was unloading. Besides, Jane’s easier to deprogram if Kate’s not right beside her, shoveling it back in. According to Jane, it just sounds so practical when Kate tells it. Instead I opted to grab my mail and an early lunch before I returned. I had high hopes that Kate would be gone by then. I’d truly hate to have to consider murder. It’s so hard to get blood out of tile grout. And it was a commercial kitchen. I did have a standard to uphold to my customers.

  The ding of a bell greeted my arrival at the post office.

  “In a minute.” The voice, low and delicately southern, echoed out from the back.

  Actually it’s more like the front. You see, Effie Rae Potter is our Postmistress. She operates the Post Office out of the back of the house that has been in her family for ten generations. The Post Office has been there for five. The story as I’ve heard it is that people always gathered at the Potter back porch for gossip and news and that over time it simply became the place to drop a note or package. Somewhere along the way, they apparently decided to make it official.

  The room at the back actually used to be a kitchen and storage area in the days of the old south when it served more people. It’s been converted and renovated since then. It looks modern, in a quaint southern way. I have no complaints. The Merryweather Corporation did when they came in but the town council voted them down, even after the Corporation said they would see to the building of a new Post Office just at the edge of town. That got plenty of tails twisted. Effie Rae couldn’t see what all the fuss was all about since the people at SeaWatch get their mail delivered there anyway. I for one was glad to see the idea turned down.

  Effie Rae lives in the rest of the house with her long-haired English Spaniel, Courtney. Courtney’s like the daughter Effie Rae never had. I swear the dog eats off fine china at the dining room table and sips her water from a delicate crystal bowl. Courtney probably has better table manners than me. Delicate, however, is not the word I would use to describe Effie Rae. She’s one of the few heavyset women that I know who appears satisfied with her weight. Truly satisfied. At a five-eight stature, she has the most beautiful pale skin, rosy cheeks and golden brown eyes I’ve ever seen. I can almost picture her as a doll, her skin looks so porcelain.

  And you’ll never hear Effie Rae complain about the latest fad diet either. In fact, I constantly hear her pick on the teenage girls about them being too slender. I was actually grateful to hear her say that to Paige one day. Ever since Paige turned fourteen, she’s become all consumed about her body and it being perfect. I tell her not to worry about it, I think she’s perfect just as she is, but it’s nice to have someone else say it to her. Effie Rae once told me that life was too short to not enjoy it to the fullest. Full of life, always cheerful and known as the biggest knowledge of local gossip. Yep, that’s our Effie Rae. That last little nugget was my main reason for stopping by. I was thinking about Jane’s advice.

  Effie chose at that moment to enter through a back door. Her brown eyes lit up. I could already see the calculating mind at work as she determined the best way to get information out of me about Johanna, all the while conducting herself in proper southern accord. At least with Effie, there were no feelings of vindictiveness.

  “Sophie,” she stated with a wide smile, “Well, well. Heard you’ve been having a busy week.”

  Did I mention that her humor sometimes leaves a lot to be desired? However, I smiled an easy grin. “Hey, Effie Rae. I thought I’d stop by and see if you had anything for me.”

  She turned and glanced over several stacks speculatively. “No, I think I gave Paige everything the other day. Let me check.” Effie quickly flipped through the piles. She pulled out one letter and held it up. “One thing, but I’d say junk.”

  I smiled as I tore open the envelope she passed across the counter. Right as usual. Junk. I handed it back with a shrug and she tossed it in the trashcan.

  Effie Rae looked back and propped her elbows up. “Anything else?” A gleam of anticipation sparkled in her eyes.

  I leaned over on the counter. There was no way to start but to dive in. “Did you ever know a woman by the name of Cindy Peterson?”

  Effie Rae slowly slid atop a stool. “Cindy Peterson. Hmmm,” Her fingers tapped on wood. “Any kin to a Rebekah Peterson?” One brow shot up in inquiry.

  “Possibly,” I stated slowly. You have to tread carefully with Effie. When it comes to gossip she’s like a shark smelling blood.

  “Interesting,” she noted. “Well to tell you, I was intrigued when her name came up. Rebekah’s, I mean.” She gave a nod. “It got me thinking and yes, I do remember Cindy Peterson.”

  I wrinkled my forehead in frustration. “Well, I can’t and I was good friends with Johanna.”

  Effie shrugged. “You would have been what, Paige’s age? Fourteen, fifteen year olds are usually focused on people their own age. And she was the hired help. I doubt she crossed your mind. I know she didn’t cross Johanna’s.”

  “But we were the same age,” I argued, “and you remember her.”

  Effie Rae chuckled. “True, I was a teenager. A senior. But I was also taking care of mama. I got to hear any and all gossip that floated around her bedroom that summer when her quilting group got together.”

  “I’m trying to imagine you quilting,” I said with a smile.

  “What makes you think any of us were?” Effie Rae replied with a chuckle. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, they did quilt but since those women could have quilted in their sleep it wasn’t all they were doing.”

  “Which was?”

  “Gossip, girl. Getting together was just a polite excuse to gossip away from the menfolk.”

  I could picture the group of magpies and smiled. My smile dropped as I remembered the reason for my visit. “Well, about Cindy?”

  Effie Rae nodded thoughtfully. “You know, it doesn’t take much to start wondering about two women with the last name of Peterson here in this town about twenty years apart.” Effie Rae looked up, thoughtful. “Especially, when the second one is a young woman who would have been just the right age to be Cindy’s daughter. Doesn’t take much more to wonder what exactly she might have been doing back here, maybe who she was looking for?”

  She left the words hanging in the air.

  “Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, “I’m sure the speculation that’s going around is interesting.” I looked down at the counter and let out the breath I was holding. “Do you remember anything about Cindy Peterson? Maybe when she worked for the Butterfields?” I looked up, anxious for her reply.

  Effie Rae looked disappointed that I hadn’t given her anything useful but she shrugged, “There was some talk about Cindy Peterson that summer.”

  “What kind?”

  “The kind that doesn’t do a young woman any good.” My expression must have shown confusion because she sighed, “There were rumors about Cindy Peterson, about how she liked the guys, and I don’t mean dating one at a time.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed. Words like that tend to hurt a girl’s future. I just always figured that was what made her leave in the end.”

  So Cindy had liked the men. Wonderful. I had been hoping for a name and now it looked like I would be looking at names. “Did you remember any of them?”

  “Aha,” Effie Rae spoke up with a grin, “A much better question.” She stepped back, pulled up a stool and sat down. “Well, let me see. It has been a while but I’ve had a few days already to recollect and I do recall that Daniel Wolfe’s name was mentioned.”

&
nbsp; Daniel Wolfe, the owner of Wolfe Farms, which produces tomatoes, strawberries and blueberries that sell on a national wholesale level and local markets. Daniel just happens to be the nephew of Judge Winifred Harrington, another powerful person in Merry Hill. Someone, like the Butterfields, who would have had the power to force someone to leave.

  “Really,” I noted softly, “He would have been close to her age.”

  “A lot closer than Tom Butterfield,” Effie Rae spoke slowly.

  She’d taken the words right out of my mouth. Not that I had planned to mention it. Did I forget to mention that Effie Rae is one smart cookie? I pasted a quick smile across my face. “Hmmm?”

  Effie Rae didn’t buy it. “Tom was about fifteen years her senior, as I recall.” She arched a brow at me. “Besides connecting the dots between Rebekah and Cindy, I also started to wonder what might make Johanna Butterfield as mad as a wet hen; mad enough to brawl in public.” She shrugged. “It didn’t take a genius to figure out the rest.”

  I hoped she was wrong, for Johanna’s sake. I quickly switched the subject, “What exactly was said about her and Daniel?”

  “Only that she was seeing him on the side. The funny thing is that they were never seen in public together. There was just a speculation going around about what was happening.”

  “People had to have seen them.”

  “Not really. It just wasn’t in the dating sense. You know, more an off to the side, slipping off in the dark, kind of thing.” Effie Rae pursed her lips, “I guess Cindy just didn’t care how it might be perceived.”

  I worried my lip. “You think Judge Harrington had something to do with the fact that Daniel kept it low key?”

  Effie Rae tapped a finger on the counter. “No,” she finally said with an abrupt shake of her head, “Winifred’s a good woman and judge. She wouldn’t have cared a rat’s butt about station when it came to her nephew, if he truly cared and loved the woman,” she added. “No, I’m not certain why it was kept secret or whose idea. I’ve wondered, though.”