by Lucy Ness
“Maybe it didn’t.” I stepped closer to the grill. “You don’t suppose someone could have—”
“Spread the grease up there? On purpose?” Yeah, I thought it was just as incomprehensible as Bill did. That would explain why I wasn’t surprised by the disbelief in his voice.
“Di mi!” Across the room, Clemmie slapped a hand to her heart and dared to say what no one else—no one else living, that is—did. “That means somebody did this on purpose. Just like that same somebody hid the fire extinguishers. They were trying to burn down the building.” Clemmie’s spirit shivered and quaked. She flashed out of sight, then back again. “Or Avery . . .” She gulped. “Maybe someone doesn’t like it that you know your onions when it comes to looking into this murder thing. Maybe that someone was trying to knock you off. You know, deep-six you. Blot you out. Bump you off. Snuff you—”
“All right! I get it!” Bill, Quentin, and Geneva might not have looked at me like I had two heads if I didn’t screech into what they assumed was thin air. Then again, maybe they would have thought I was even crazier if they knew I was talking to a ghost.
One who just made me realize what I hadn’t been able to admit to myself—somebody had tried to kill me.
* * *
* * *
I didn’t get much sleep that night, what with the worry and the thinking and the wondering. And did I mention the worry?
I didn’t exactly feel chipper the next morning.
It wasn’t like I had a lot of choice—it was Sunday, inauguration day, and I had a job to do.
I was out of bed early, dressed, and downstairs just as Patricia and Gracie came in the front door.
“Terrible what happened at Gracie’s.” Rage sparked in Patricia’s eyes and I couldn’t help but think of her as the Finkinator, ready to skate to the center of the action and take her revenge. “I spent all day there yesterday helping her clean up. How could anyone be so cruel? And here . . .” Her sharp gaze darted down the hallway toward the dining room and the kitchen beyond. “I heard about the fire, of course. Heard from Agnes. The kitchen’s back in shape?”
“Thanks to Bill, Quentin, and Geneva.”
“And you, no doubt. The board won’t forget this,” she promised. “You’re a miracle worker for making it happen and getting everything ready for the festivities today.”
“Not much of a miracle worker when I haven’t figured out what’s going on around here.”
“You think the fire was started intentionally.” Patricia scowled. She hadn’t thought of this before. “You could have been hurt.”
“I wasn’t.” I managed to sound chipper. Not bad for a woman who hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.
“You could have been killed.”
“No worries. I’m alive and well.”
“The club could have burned to ground. Again!”
“Yeah.” The single syllable left me along with a sigh. “It looks like our arsonist took a cue from Agnes.”
Patricia’s mouth thinned. “Well, if he ever tries it again . . .” When she made a fist, I pictured that skull and crossbones tattoo on her upper arm (hidden that day beneath a tasteful suit jacket in an autumny shade of gold), bulging and angry. “Well . . .” She shook away the moment and the rage. “Let’s hope it never happens.”
“If we could get to the bottom of Muriel’s murder, maybe it never would. There’s so much I still don’t understand.”
“You mean about the books.” Gracie had been silent to this point. Now, she nodded sagely. “I think you’re onto something there, Avery. If we had more time before the ceremony—”
“Time?” Agnes whooshed through the door, her cheeks bright with high color. “No time for much of anything. Not today. Our guests will start arriving . . .” She checked her watch. “In less than two hours. So what do you say?” She clapped her hands together. “Let’s get crackin’, ladies!”
Crack, we did. While Gracie, Patricia, and Agnes went into the ballroom to make sure every last detail in there was perfect, I met Quentin and Geneva in the kitchen and we went over the lists we’d made earlier in the week—what foods needed to go into the oven first, which appetizer would be served when, how Geneva would be in charge of making sure our extra bartenders and waitstaff (hired just for the day) stayed on task.
“You’re sure you want me to do this?” That day, Geneva was dressed in black pants and a crisp white shirt. She had a white apron looped over her neck and an expression on her face that teetered between abject terror and out-and-out uncertainty. “I ain’t never supervised nobody.”
I put a hand of support on her shoulder. “You’ll do great. Just remember—”
“Keep them moving. Nobody standing around doing nothing. Make sure they pass those horse doovers and clean up used glasses and dishes and that they’re polite and considerate and . . .” She bit her lower lip. “Am I forgetting anything?”
“You’re going to be amazing.”
“Amazing.” Geneva’s shoulders inched back and a tiny smile tickled her lips. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Today I’m going to be amazing.”
Before I left the kitchen, Quentin gave me a thumbs-up.
Everything was under control in the ballroom. The dining room, with vases of fresh flowers on every table, looked perfect. Bill had arrived early and had already strung a welcome banner above the front entrance. I’m not sure how he talked her into it, considering her history with the club, but Brittany was there, too, and she pinched a brown leaf off one of the freshly planted mums in the containers near the door. The lawn had been cut and was perfect, the leaves had been raked.
For this moment, all was right with the world.
Good thing, too, because our guests started to arrive not long after, and once that happened, the rest of the time was a whirl. Our waitstaff passed champagne and appetizers. Our harpist played in the corner of the ballroom near the piano. Agnes beamed with happiness, especially when her mother, Margaret, was escorted into the ballroom by a caregiver from the home where she lived. I introduced myself and made sure Margaret got a seat in the first row of chairs we’d set up in front of the podium, where Agnes would be sworn in as president of PPWC.
I made the rounds, greeting our members and their guests. We’d included Jack in the invitations, and he’d shown up with both Kendall and Tab, and I thanked Tab for coming. It didn’t hurt to show our members that the transition between Muriel and Agnes as president had his full support. I chatted with Reverend Way and the members of his congregation we’d invited to drop by after Sunday-morning services. I hoped to chat with Oz, who walked in and was immediately buttonholed by Gracie. Which didn’t mean I missed it when he glanced at Patricia, then gave me a wink.
I was just about to let down my guard a tad and have one of the cucumber and salmon appetizers being passed by one of our waitresses when I saw Gracie up front near the podium. Yeah, she was dressed in gray pants and a gray jacket. But her face was absolutely green.
I raced up front and made sure I stayed far away from the microphone on the podium when I asked her, “What’s wrong?”
Gracie’s bottom lip trembled. “It’s the club charter,” she said.
I knew Agnes, like all the other PPWC presidents before her, would place her hand on the charter when she was sworn in and I knew the leather portfolio that held the charter was supposed to have been removed from Marigold (yes, we had Jack’s permission) and tucked on the shelf below the podium. I looked that way. The charter wasn’t there.
“Where is it?” Yeah, like my question made any sense. If Gracie knew where the charter was, she wouldn’t look like she was going to keel over. I signaled the nearest waiter for water, piloted Gracie over to a chair, and sat her down. “Who was supposed to bring the charter down?” I asked her.
“Well, me. I think.” Her eyes clouded with worry. “I’m the historian, and it’s part
of my duties. And I thought I did, Avery. I swore I did. But it’s not there, is it?” As if to make sure, she looked at the podium one more time.
We had fifteen minutes until the official start of the program. Fifteen minutes until Agnes was expected to lay her hand on the charter and repeat the words of the presidential oath. Still, I somehow managed to smile. “I’ll just zip up to Marigold and get it,” I told her, and I did just that.
The last person I expected to find in there was Agnes.
“Oh.” When I stepped into the room, she spun away from the bookshelves. “I was just . . .” She drew in a long breath. “Just calming myself. Just reminding myself of the history of this wonderful place and all that it means to me.”
I got it. I did. And I didn’t want to worry her, but . . .
“Gracie left the charter up here,” I told Agnes.
“I don’t know about that. It’s always kept right here.” She pointed at an empty spot on the shelf. “She hasn’t gone and lost the charter, has she?” Agnes’s voice was high and tight. “How am I going to get sworn in?”
“I’ll find it,” I promised, even though I didn’t have a clue where I was even supposed to begin looking. “For now . . .” I drew in what I hoped would be a calming breath. It wasn’t. I didn’t dare let Agnes know how worried I was, so I smiled and wound an arm through hers and escorted her out of the room. “For now, the best thing you can do is go downstairs and mingle. We might need to start a couple of minutes late. You can cover for me.”
As soon as she started down the stairs, I rasped out, “Clemmie!”
She popped up beside me.
“You heard what we were talking about. Can you help me look?”
“Sure!” And while Clemmie did a complete sweep of the upstairs, I went down to check the Daisy Den, the Carnation Room, and even the kitchen.
Gracie met me in the hallway. “I was thinking, Avery. What if I took the charter home? To scan it like I scan all the other old documents.”
My stomach went cold. “Do you think it might have been stolen the other night?”
“Well, I don’t know. We didn’t see it when Patricia and I were putting things back in order yesterday. But we didn’t have time to finish the cleanup. There’s always a chance it’s still there in the mess.” She leaned far enough back to glance into the ballroom. “I can go home and look. A little more champagne and they won’t even realize how late we’re getting started.”
A stall tactic seemed too obvious. “No. Let’s get going with the PowerPoint presentation. We can do that and have a bit of a question-and-answer session after that.”
At that moment, Clemmie popped up on the bannister halfway between the first and second floors. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. The way she shook her head, I knew she’d had no luck locating the charter.
“Take your time with the PowerPoint,” I told Gracie. “Ask questions as you go through it, get the audience to participate. I’ll go over to your place and see if I can find the charter.” My car keys were in my desk drawer and I got them out.
“The way Annette Mitchell parked . . .” Gracie made a face. “You’ll never get your car out. You could take my car.” Doing her best to look sheepish (it didn’t work), Gracie handed me her keys.
I propped my fists on my hips. “I thought Patricia drove you this morning! You’re not supposed to—”
“No time for a lecture now, Avery.” Gracie turned and marched into the ballroom. “We’ve got a president to inaugurate.”
Gracie was right. I’d save my no-driving lecture for later. I had more important things to do.
I zipped out to the parking lot, but I guess I wasn’t as subtle as I hoped. In just a couple seconds, there was Oz walking right beside me. I explained what was going on, and if he was planning on slapping the cuffs on Gracie for violating her no-driving order, he didn’t say anything about it. That didn’t stop him from putting a hand on my arm to stop me when we got near Gracie’s car and saw the trunk was partially opened.
“Not a crisis,” I assured Oz. Tell that to a man who has the blue blood of a cop running through his veins and suspicion oozing from every pore. I did my best to convince him. “I bet Gracie popped the trunk to get something, then forgot as soon as she was out of the car.” I gave him a sidelong look. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“And I’m the one who’s going to do it.”
He went to the car and opened the trunk.
I was right behind him and I looked over his shoulder and sucked in a breath.
“The charter! Thank goodness!” I made a grab for the leather portfolio. “Gracie probably took it home to scan like the other club records. She forgot it was in her trunk.” There were leather-bound books beneath the charter, and I counted. “And three volumes of club records. The books Gracie thought she’d brought into the house to scan and couldn’t find.”
“The books someone might have been looking for when they rummaged through Gracie’s house.”
“And when that person didn’t find them at Gracie’s, he tried to break into Jack’s.”
We exchanged looks and Oz said exactly what I was thinking. “So whatever someone was looking for—”
“It could be right here.” I set the leather portfolio down on the pavement, the better to scrape my suddenly damp palms on the leg of my black pants, and asked Oz, “You want to do the honors?”
We heard music swell from inside the ballroom. It was followed by a smattering of applause. My PowerPoint presentation had ended and apparently, there weren’t many questions. In just a second, Patricia would launch into the opening remarks.
“You should get back inside,” Oz told me.
I knew he was right.
That didn’t stop me from reaching for the first book and paging through it. “You think I’m going to miss out on this?” I asked him, but I wasn’t sure he was listening. He already had another book open and was looking through it, page after page.
We didn’t have any luck with book number one or book number two, and I’d already given up hope when we grabbed book number three and started through it together.
That was when a single piece of paper fluttered to the ground.
Oz picked it up, looked it over, and whistled low under his breath before he handed it to me.
I scanned it. “There was a secret she wanted to keep!”
Oz grabbed my hand and together we started back to the club. “Yeah,” he grumbled, “and if you ask me, around here, a secret like that is the perfect motive for murder.”
* * *
* * *
We walked into the ballroom just as Agnes stepped up to the microphone.
“You go ahead and do it.” Oz elbowed me in the ribs. “Be a distraction.”
It wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured spending my first inauguration day.
I swallowed hard, pulled back my shoulders, and strode through the aisleway between the chairs where our guests were seated. “Excuse me! I hate to interrupt, but our new president can’t be sworn in unless she places her hand on the club charter, and I’m afraid to say it was misplaced.” A few of the members gasped, including Agnes, who stepped back, one hand slapped to her heart.
“No problem,” I told them, and I made sure I glanced at Gracie and saw her smile. I looked at Agnes, too, who behind the podium, stood as still as that statue of Hortense Dash that had been used to conk Muriel. I held up the leather portfolio. “I found it. We’ve got the charter. And we can go ahead with the ceremony.” The sound of tense breaths being released filled the ballroom. I was at the front of the room now, and I turned to face the crowd.
“Except,” I said, “I think we’d better clear a few things up before we go ahead with the inauguration.”
“Don’t be silly.” Agnes twittered. “We can take care of details later. For now—”
/> “For now there’s a lot we need to talk about. Including the murder of Muriel Sadler.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Tab was seated nearby, and he spat out the words. “This isn’t the time or the place to talk about—”
“Going to the movies?” I asked him, and yes, it froze him right in place. While he stared, I kept going with my explanation. “I found your ticket, Mr. Sadler. The sixtieth anniversary showing of the film Psycho.”
“Which doesn’t mean a darned thing.” Tab crossed his arms over his chest.
Far be it from me to disagree with him.
“It truly doesn’t,” I told Tab and everyone else gathered there in the ballroom. “Except if it didn’t—if it didn’t mean anything—then why would you lie about it? And you did lie.” I swung my gaze back to Tab. “When the police questioned you, when I asked you, you said you were home the night Muriel was killed. And if all you’d really done is go to a movie, if you had that alibi, then it would have been just as easy to tell the police the truth, don’t you think?”
I didn’t give him time to answer. I turned to look at Agnes. “You said the same thing, Agnes. Home. That’s where you told us you were. But I found out you were lying, too. You were at the movie, too. And I bet you were there with Tab Sadler.”
It wasn’t like some earthshattering revelation, but hey, we were an old-fashioned club with old-fashioned values. A few of our members gasped. And maybe they had every reason.
“Tab and Agnes,” I told no one in particular and everyone in the room, “were once engaged, and you know what, I think they’re seeing each other again.”
Agnes’s mouth fell open. Tab blubbered incoherent words.
“Naturally, they were trying to hide their affair from Muriel, the woman who controlled the money in the Sadler household. Can’t blame them.”
Tab was out of his seat in a heartbeat, and when he raced up to me, I thought Oz was going to shoot up the aisle and tackle him. One hand out, I let Oz know I was fine. But then, I was anxious to see what Tab had to say for himself.