A few minutes later, we were seated around the table, crisp salad and sizzling steaks teasing our appetites. Dad opened his Bible and read the verse of the day, something he had done at every dinner I had eaten in this house for as long as I could remember. “He who trusts in himself is a fool, but he who walks in wisdom is kept safe.” Dad stared at Audie, his eyes challenging him to identify the reference.
“Proverbs 28:26.” Audie came through, as usual. He seemed to have memorized the entire book of Proverbs, as well as most of the works of Oscar Wilde. “That’s a good one.”
Dad led us in prayer, thanking God for keeping us safe and bringing us together another time. His words triggered thoughts of last night. I was ready to tell the story to my family.
“Stop stalling,” Dina said as she handed me a bowl of mashed potatoes. “Spill the beans about the murder.”
Audie started the ball going, explaining how he investigated the light in my store and his subsequent discovery of Spencer’s body. He kept the description clinical. That didn’t matter. Dina had enough imagination to fill in the details and then some.
“I don’t know about you, Audie.” Dad shook his head. “Ever since my daughter got involved with you, it’s been one dead body after another.”
5
From: Elsie Holland ([email protected])
Date: Friday, April 18, 9:38 PM
To: Dina Wilde (DWilde_GGHerald @ggcoc.net)
Subject: Newsworthy?
You recently reported on a string of burglaries across Lincoln County. You should check your facts before they appear in print.
Expect further communication from me on the subject.
Sunday, April 20
“Oh, Daddy.” I poked him in the arm. “Stop making fun of my man.” One suspicious death last fall, plus Vic Spencer’s, only made two. Of course, that was two deaths too many.
Audie only smiled. Daddy’s ribbing made him feel like a part of the family.
“Was anything taken from the store?” Dina asked.
“That’s the strange thing.” I put a pat of butter on my English peas and watched it melt. “I checked my inventory list today. The only thing out of place was the pearls.”
“Mrs. Mallory’s pearls?” As props person for the play, Dina knew all about the loan. She made the whole town aware of it when she wrote a piece about it for the Herald—one of her first articles as their cub reporter. “They’re gone?”
“No, but Spencer was clutching them in his hand.” I tasted the peas. Dina had cooked them with a hint of onion. Perfect. “Reiner bagged them as evidence.” How were we going to explain that to Mrs. Mallory?
“That’s curious.” Dina started to ask another question.
“Eat.” Daddy pointed his finger at my sister. So far she hadn’t touched anything on her plate.
Dina forked a bite of salad into her mouth and cut into the steak before she spoke again. “There’s been a string of burglaries across Lincoln County over the last few months. Mostly private homes, but some businesses, too. No fingerprints. In every case the burglar only took a few, easily portable things, like Mrs. Mallory’s pearls. Very discriminating. Almost like the thief entered the house with a shopping list of the most valuable items.” She chewed on the steak and moaned, “Heavenly.”
“That’s funny.” I laid down my steak knife. Audie and I looked at each other before I spoke again. “I assumed he took the pearls as a crime of opportunity.”
“You don’t think he planned to rob the store?” Excitement flushed Dina’s face as pink as her hair.
I grimaced. “I don’t know. The guy had an e-mail telling him to meet someone at my store last night.”
Dina’s hazel eyes opened wide. “What did it say?”
I quoted it word for word. “I know what you’re doing. Meet me at Cici’s Vintage Clothing at 8 p.m. Saturday night.”
Dina stopped eating, a piece of steak poised in mid air. “An e-mail? A threatening e-mail? Do you know who sent it?”
“It said Jerry Burton, but Audie says that’s another character in the same book where Elsie Holland appears. Has to be an alias.”
Audie coughed. “And he—or she—may have sent more than one e-mail. Jessie Gaynor has received one from ‘Elsie’, and so have I. Along the same lines.”
That news relaxed my sister and she chewed the steak with relish. “‘Elsie’ sent me an e-mail, too. She accused me of getting the facts wrong when I reported about the burglaries in Lincoln County.”
“Aren’t you worried?” I was.
“Nah. I know I got my facts straight.” Dina paused. “Unless she was involved with the burglaries and she’s warning me to stay away from my investigation.” Now she looked alarmed.
“So the blackmailer and burglar and killer may all be the same person,” I voiced the thought.
“Leave it to the police,” Dad said. He didn’t want me involved in another murder investigation. “They must have fingerprints and all that stuff.”
“They probably won’t find any. The guy is careful. He hasn’t left any clues so far.” Dina’s mouth moved around mashed potatoes. “The police told me that when I interviewed them about the burglaries.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Although Dina was nineteen, I couldn’t help it. Mothers, even surrogate ones like me, can’t seem to turn it off. I had guided my younger sister ever since our mother died almost fifteen years ago.
I considered what Dina said about the burglar’s choosy habits. Was Spencer wearing gloves? I closed my eyes and pictured the hand clutching the pearls—only the hand, not allowing that bloody head to impinge on the delicious dinner. “Spencer had on brown leather gloves. Like a cowboy might wear.”
“See. He must be the guy.” Dina spoke as if the gloves put the conclusion beyond dispute. “Mystery solved.”
“Only there’s been a murder,” Audie pointed out. He had cleaned his plate and was ready to join the discussion. “I agree with Cici. He showed up at the store for the appointment and couldn’t resist the pearls.”
The steak turned to ash in my mouth, and I shivered. Burglary, threatening notes, now murder. What had happened to my quiet little town? I wished I could turn back the clock and change the history of the past twenty-four hours.
Dina wolfed down the food on her plate and reached for a biscuit. She had a light hand at baking. A punk Julia Child in the kitchen.
“Do we have any clues to the identity of this Elsie Holland person?”
“Well, there’s the email address. Her moniker is Snoozeulose, so I assume she’s an early bird. The domain was ggcc.net.”
“Sounds like the kind of handles we used to use on the radio,” Dad said. As usual, he finished his meal second, after Audie. “I was the Smokin’ Okie.” He grinned.
“Ggcc.net? Are you sure that was the address?”
“Pretty sure. Grace Gulch something something.”
“Community College. Everyone—students, faculty, staff—has an official e-mail address. And since the server is free, we can create additional addresses if we want to.” She buttered her biscuit and added some homemade apple butter. “I have two, myself. One for official school announcements and then a personal one, as well as a few for certain classes and campus groups.”
“I should have guessed.” I grabbed a biscuit.
“Can anyone outside the school get an e-mail account with the server?” Audie asked. “Alumni, for instance?”
“I don’t think so.” Dina froze in mid-bite. “That means. . .it’s probably someone I know.” She was about to graduate with an associate’s degree in journalism. The school attracted people from all over Lincoln County, the student body a cross between town and county. After two years she knew almost everyone in the closed community.
“Anyone want more peas?” Dad asked. He wanted Dina and me to finish eating so the men could have dessert. I took a spoonful of potatoes and peas, but resisted the lure of more biscuits.
The men cleared the
table and stacked the dishwasher while I divided the pie into ample portions—otherwise they’d ask for seconds. Dina made fresh coffee—decaf, to Dad’s grumbling disappointment—and we retired to the living room.
“So we have to find out who sent that libelous e-mail.” Dina stayed in reporter mode, refusing to let dessert throw her off the scent. “If we can find that out, we know the murderer.”
“Not necessarily.” I studied the layers in my slice of pie. “The murderer may have sent the e-mail, or it could have been someone else.”
“If we knew what the meeting was about, we’d have a better idea.” Audie set down his coffee cup, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
“It must have been something shady. Anybody with honest business would go by there in the daytime.” Dad grinned at Dina. “When?”
“The five Ws,” I said. “Where? My store. But why?”
“Why meet? In secret? At night? At your store?” Dina asked, ticking off the questions while she beat her pen on her steno pad. They echoed my own from the previous evening.
“Maybe Spencer had a partner,” Audie speculated.
“But did his partner kill him? Why? Why at my store?” That question bothered me the most. “Somebody lured him to my place of business to kill him. He could have done it anywhere, but they came to my store.”
“Or she,” Audie murmured.
“It’s blackmail. Plain as a funnel cloud,” Dad said. He put his plate on the floor so our calico cat could lick the crumbs.
“Of course! Yes!” Dina jumped on his suggestion. “All the e-mails state, ‘I know what you’re doing.’” She made quotation marks with her fingers. “All the e-mails sound threatening.”
“Or maybe someone wanted in on the action. Don’t they all say, ‘Expect further communication from me’?” Audie always could think of an alternate explanation for anything. “A variation on blackmail.”
“A rival thief?” Dina suggested. “You’re invading my turf.”
“As to why your store. . .I think I know the reason for that. The Herald ran Dina’s piece about Mrs. Mallory’s pearls last week. Anyone who reads the paper knows about them. Perfect for our thief. If it is the same man.” Audie shook his head. “It’s hard to believe Spencer was a thief. He came with excellent references.”
“It would be interesting to compare those references against the robberies,” Dina said. “See if there are any matches.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” I jumped into big sister mode again. “Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and asking for trouble.”
“You’re a fine one to talk, after being shot at last fall.” Dina pointed a forkful of pecans in my direction. “And you’re dying to look into this guy’s murder. I can tell.” She put the pie in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “All I’m asking is that you allow me to help.”
“‘Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives,’” Audie quoted. “Although I’m not sure if curiosity is a noble motive. And blackmail and greed definitely are not.”
The three of us stared at him. It’s a wonder that our matching hazel eyes didn’t turn him summer brown on the spot.
“Oscar Wilde again?” Dad allowed a glimmer of a smile to lighten his lips.
“Of course. When is Jenna coming to town?” Audie said. Now there was a change of subject if I ever heard one. Or maybe he was dreading the day when he would have to take on all of us at one time again.
“In a couple of weeks.” Dina nodded her bright pink head. “I hope you decide on your bridesmaids’ dresses soon. It’s time to color my hair again, and I want to match.” Wedding plans could distract her from almost anything.
For a fleeting second, I considered asking her to let her hair return to its natural, pale blond state. I shook my head. No way. I loved my younger sister, funky hair and all. I loved Jenna, too, although my feelings for her fluctuated between resenting her escape from family responsibilities and adoring her larger-than-life personality.
“I’ll decide by the time Jenna gets here, I promise. I have to. Enid wants to get our measurements for the gowns.” I winked at Audie. “But I can’t talk about it here. It’s supposed to be a secret from the groom.”
He winked back. “As long as you allow me to keep my secrets until the wedding, as well.” His blue eyes bored into mine, the two of us suspended in our own special moment in time. Trust me, his eyes said.
I thought about those eyes, as blue as an Oklahoma spring morning, when I got ready for bed that night. I did trust him, but he was comparing pecans to pine nuts. Equating the design of the bridesmaid dresses with his alibi for the time of a murder was ridiculous.
Restlessness surged through me. I grabbed my brush and sat down at my dressing table. Maybe one hundred brush strokes would settle me down. Not that any amount of brushing kept my hair in order for very long. My hands rubbed the mother-of-pearl finish of the brush. A Christmas present to myself a couple of years ago, the smooth surface soothed my fingertips. I lifted it to the top of my head and gently ran it through my tangled hair.
This should be the time of my life. I’m getting married in two months! But another murder—in my store, no less—increased my already jittery pre-wedding nerves.
And hurricane Jenna—as I privately dubbed my older sister—would descend on Grace Gulch before long. Some memory stirred in the back of my mind. What was it? Jenna, talking about an older bully in school … Spencer. The murder victim had attended Grace Gulch schools, at least for a few years. Not as much of a newcomer as I had first thought.
I brushed my hair in long, steady strokes. “My peace I leave with you,” Jesus promised.
God, I need that peace.
Brush stroke by brush stroke, I calmed down. God would see me—see us—through the latest troubles.
But in the meantime, I had a job to do. I had to find out who chose my store as the place to kill Vic Spencer.
I glanced at my closet door and thought about my ensemble for tomorrow. Maybe I should add my wrinkled trench coat to tomorrow’s outfit. Cici Wilde, amateur detective extraordinaire, was back in the detective business.
6
From: Elsie Holland ([email protected])
Date: Sunday, April 20, 9:35 PM
To: Peppi Lambert ([email protected])
Subject: Grades
Your name appeared on the recent dean’s list at Grace Gulch Community College.
Did you really write the essay that gave you an A and earned your internship at the Grace Gulch Herald?
Expect further communication from me on the subject.
Monday, April 21
Of course I didn’t get to start detecting right away.
The glazier met me at the store early Monday morning and promised to replace the glass on Tuesday. A small victory. And then I walked the floor and wondered what I was going to do about the spot where Spencer’s body had lain. Because blood did not come out, even when you could no longer see it. I’d seen enough television crime shows to know that.
I debated about whether or not to replace the wood where blood had seeped through the carpet. Maybe it was time to remove the carpet and return to a polished, oaken floor. Add hooked and braided rugs for a vintage feel. Bags of scraps hid in my closet, awaiting this excuse to rediscover the art of braiding a rug. I bet the Internet had some handy hints. I thought again. Probably not. It sounded like too much work, and besides, I could just imagine someone in high heels tripping on the rugs.
I was deep in thought, staring at the computer monitor in my office, when Dina arrived. She often stopped by on Mondays when she didn’t have work or school.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Hmm?” I turned away from the illustrated patterns. “Go? Where?”
“To investigate the murder, of course.” She grinned and flipped her neon pink hair in the direction of the empty display room. “This place looks so different when it’s empty.”
I came to the
doorway and looked. I had to agree. Sun danced through dust motes that floated in through open windows. With my old-fashioned cash register, my store looked ready to open its doors to guests arriving by horse and buggy for a day in town. Not surprising, since the building had been constructed before statehood. Whatever remodeling I did, I wanted to keep that atmosphere. But I couldn’t do all that today and decided to take the day off. Freedom!
“We should let the police do the investigating.” I attempted to do the right thing.
Dina looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “When has that ever stopped the Wilde sisters?”
Her comment brought several of our more outrageous escapades to mind—like the time my sisters had dragged me on stage to dance the Cancan at last fall’s Land Run Days concert. I smiled. “Where shall we start?”
“I thought you would never ask.” Dina reached in the pocket of her big shirt—that strange style of shirt so big that two of her could fit in it—and pulled out a thin strip of paper. “I got Spencer’s address from the files at the MGM. I thought we could start there.”
I debated telling Audie our plans, but decided against it. He might say no. So we locked the back entrance and climbed into my Civic. The drive took only a few minutes, since Grace Gulch was only a mile from one end to the other. The condos, built at the turn of the millennium, nestled against the side of the hill that formed the gulch.
I parked in front of Spencer’s building and studied the facade. The cedar siding blended into the setting nicely. I had considered moving here before I bought my house, but the price was prohibitive. How had Spencer afforded it on a janitor’s salary?
“How are we going to get in?” I should have asked the question before.
“Ask the manager?” Dina said hopefully. “I know her from school. She’s as worried as we are about what happened. Murder doesn’t fit into the image of ‘Gracious Living at Grace Gulch Condominiums.’”
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders Page 4