A Despicable Mission (Olympia Brown Mysteries)

by Judith Campbell

  Olympia smiled and went over to the dresser and picked up the bottle of English Lavender. It had been a favorite of her grandmother. She remembered picking up a small round crystal bottle with a rubber squeeze bulb atomizer in Grandmother’s bedroom. Now, smelling the lavender, she was inhaling the smell of her grandmother, the one who smoked Camels in a pearl and ebony cigarette holder, drank coffee by the quart, and made special M&M cookies just for her.

  “Here, you carry these, and I’ll carry the rest.” Julia’s efficiency brought Olympia instantly back to the present. “Look, why don’t you get in your car and follow me home. We’ll get Dory settled, then go someplace where we can talk.”

  “I think that’s a very good idea,” said Olympia.

  ~

  Less than three miles away from where Julia and Olympia were gathering up Dory’s things in preparation for settling her into Julia’s place, William Bateson and two other men were seated around a table in the back room of an intentionally charming, pink and white Victorian cottage. It was conveniently near, but not actually in, the fabled Methodist campground in Oak Bluffs. The West file lay open in front of them on a shabby-chic, painted wooden table that underscored the Carpenter Gothic ambiance of Gingerbread Realty Associates.

  Hunched forward, leaning on his elbows, William Bateson, with his sleeves rolled up and his tie over the back of the chair he was seated on, took a long, noisy swallow of a Diet Coke before speaking to the other two men in the room.

  “I think that minister woman’s going to be trouble. How the hell could I have been so stupid as to leave that folder where she could find it?”

  Al Francis tapped the end of his pencil on the open file. “Maybe we should just cut bait and get out of here. You know I’m a little leery about this one. On the other hand, if you are really as far along as you say you are, Billy-boy, then maybe we just hang tight and lay low until the preacher-lady is out of here. What did you say, eight weeks? We could hit and run right after that. It would be inconvenient, to say the least, if she started asking questions and poking around. We wouldn’t want her to turn up anything that could, uh, shall I say, reflect badly on us.”

  “Look, Al, I’m going to stick with the church-going, slightly swishy real estate agent helping the old lady act. It works every time. Just because I happen to be a realtor, and the old lady said she wanted to sell her house doesn’t make me a person of interest. I’m just doing my job. But I’m going to sort of step back and not do it for a while, OK? I’ll wait until the daughter gets here. Then if I have to shift gears, I will. I’ve done this before, remember?”

  William Bateson and Al Francis turned to the third man in the room, Mike Barnes, Insurance Adjuster. These three plus Mary Beth Lessing, who had called in to say she’d been delayed, were the Gingerbread Men Associates.

  Barnes got up and went over to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room. He was so tall he had to bend almost double to see inside. “Anyone want a beer? The way I see it, we just have to be careful for a little while. We know how to do this. After I lowball the insurance estimate and make it all sound really complicated, I tell her it’s going to be really drawn out, and she can’t possibly move back there until it’s fixed. The old ones just can’t handle the disruption and the confusion of all that legal stuff. That’s when you come back on the scene, Sir William Bateson to the rescue, and help her sort it all out. ”

  “Grab me some ice, will you?” said Bateson, swirling the remains of his drink in a warm glass. “All this heat makes Willie B. a thirsty boy.”

  Mike Barnes handed several dripping ice cubes to Bateson, who dropped them into his glass, wiped his dripping hand on his pants leg and nodded his thanks.

  “The revised plan is for you to continue being useful around the church, lay off the old lady, make friends with the daughter, and wait until the Reverend Ms. Trouble gets her butt off the island. Then we’re home free.”

  “And if we’re not home free, as you so coyly put it?” said William, draining the last of his Coke and making a great show of examining the bottom of the glass.

  “Accidents happen,” said Barnes, picking up the folder and putting it into the file drawer marked Pending and slamming it shut. “Just make sure the poor old dear signs on the dotted line first.”

  Sixteen

  Julia parked her van as close to the house as she could, and Olympia pulled the vintage Volvo in right behind her. The day was warm, but a big tree that had been growing outside the kitchen door for over a hundred years would shade their comings and goings as they unloaded Dory and her boxes and bags into the comfortable old house. She was showing the strain, and both women knew she didn’t need to add heat stroke to her list of woes. Within a half hour she was settled in, and the three of them were seated in rocking chairs on the porch, sipping glasses of iced tea.

  “What do you think will happen next?” Dory was chewing on the sprig of fresh mint that Julia had tucked into each of their dripping glasses.

  “Well,” said Julia, “I never had a flood, but we did have some storm damage a few years ago. Part of that big old tree by the back door came down in Hurricane Bob and smashed up a good part of the corner of the house. What a mess that was. After it fell it kept on raining and blowing, so I guess there was water damage, too, now that I think of it … but listen to me, I’m meandering all over the place.” Julia laughed comfortably at herself and addressed Dory’s question.

  “Usually, it doesn’t take all that long. Depends on the company, really. This Barnes person is not an islander, so I don’t know. But back to the point again. The insurance people will send you an estimate of what they think repair and replacement costs will be, and if you agree, you sign it and they get started.”

  “Actually,” said Olympia, leaning forward and putting her glass on the railing, then wiping the back of her neck with a paper napkin. “I believe I heard Mike Barnes say that you could begin necessary repairs any time. Just keep the receipts. He said something about doing what any responsible home owner would do to protect the property from further damage. So I guess you could get started calling people tomorrow.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Dory, “I wouldn’t know where to begin, who to call or what to …” She stopped in mid-sentence, and in that moment she looked all of her frail eighty-four years.

  Olympia looked up at Julia and moved her head from side to side in an almost imperceptible gesture of concern and sympathy, then reached over and took Dory’s hand in hers.

  “Don’t even think about it, Dory. Julia and I can go back and see if anything needs immediate attention, and if it does, we’ll take care of it. If not, we can wait until your daughter gets here. We’ll call the carpet people to come get the rugs and keep the windows open to dry out the house as much as possible. I don’t think there was any structural damage. What else is there to think about?”

  “Right now, I don’t think I could tell you. Do you mind if I go lie down? I think I need to.” Dory set down her glass and pushed herself up on the broad arms of the rocking chair.

  “Are you OK?” asked Julia, reaching out a reassuring hand to the weary old woman.

  “Not really.” Dory was twisting her worn wedding band on her knobby finger. “My house got flooded, and I don’t think I did it even though it looks like I did. And much as I appreciate this, Julia, I would rather be in my own bed than yours, and I have no idea when that is going to be. So to answer your question, no, I’m not all right, but I’m as good as I can be, considering everything.”

  She reached out to steady herself on the railing of the porch. “I need to get my sea legs under me before I take the first step. At my age I can’t risk a fall. That’s all I’d need.”

  Julia and Olympia waited until they heard the door to her room click shut before resuming their conversation.

  Olympia retrieved her glass from the railing and turned to Julia. “So what do you think?”

  “I think the poor thing has had enough for ten people to deal with, and
if she seems a little overwhelmed, she has every reason to be. I think we just take care of her, give her lots of TLC until Jessica gets here, and then we make some decisions. We can arrange for cleaning out the worst of it. Dory is not without money, you know, she’s just quiet about it. If she wanted to, she could bulldoze the house and build a new one three times bigger, just like that.” Julia snapped her fingers.

  Olympia shook her head in surprise. “I wouldn’t have thought she was wealthy. Just the opposite. She lives so simply. Things are patched and worn. Clean as a whistle, but everything I saw was well used.”

  Julia chuckled. It was a pleasant, rich sound. “Islanders do not make an ostentatious display of their financial standing. It’s just not done. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Some people positively work at looking downright ratty when in fact they could buy and sell any dozen of us put together.”

  “I guess I have a lot to learn,” said Olympia.

  “For less than a week here, I’d say you are doing just fine. But before you go, I need to talk to you about the funeral for Mary Parker. Her son called me last night. They plan to have her cremated as soon as her body is released and then have a simple graveside ceremony followed by a huge lunch at the P.A. Club. That’s what she wanted. Mary Parker absolutely loved going out to lunch.”

  “P.A. Club?”

  “The Portuguese American Club, it’s near the cemetery in Oak Bluffs.”

  “Parker isn’t a Portuguese name is it?”

  “Not at all,” said Julia, “but it’s a great place for a party. Dan Parker, that’s her son, is planning to call you over the weekend. I gave him your cell phone number. I hope you don’t mind.”

  The truth was, Olympia did mind. It was a private thing, and she preferred to make that decision herself, but she said, “Perhaps you should give me his number, as well. I left my cell phone at home in Brookfield. My friend Frederick will be bringing it down with him this weekend.”

  “You have a friend named Frederick?”

  “He’s English,” said Olympia.

  Later that evening, alone in her cottage, Olympia did manage to make serious headway on her sermon for the coming Sunday and still have enough time left over to call Frederick, using Dory’s extension phone, and catch up on the news from Brookfield. Their conversation moved from the logistics of his getting there that Saturday, to her concerns about Dory, to what in the world she might say and do when she met with her daughter. With that out of the way, they spent the rest of the time describing how delicious it was going to be when the two of them had a nice soft horizontal surface on which to reacquaint themselves. While it wasn’t exactly telephone sex, it definitely bordered on long-distance foreplay.

  On Saturday morning Olympia collected Frederick from the ferry in Vineyard Haven at eight in the morning and went straight back home. A little after midday, the two of them set off, pink cheeked and ravenous, in search of some lunch. With their energy restored, they meandered up and down Main Street, investigating the colorful shops, slurping gigantic ice cream cones, and acting like any other tourists who were totally enchanted with the charm and ambience of the island.

  Frederick offered to come to church with her on Sunday, but Olympia declined, saying that since she hadn’t been in a pulpit in a long time she might be too distracted if the object of her affection was sitting in the congregation, grinning at her. So Frederick, kind heart that he was, agreed to stay home, talk to the cats, and have lunch ready for her when she returned.

  On Sunday afternoon Frederick and Olympia were seated knee to knee on her postage stamp deck, enjoying the lunch Frederick had concocted in her absence. While they were eating their egg salad sandwiches, he asked her about the church and the congregation and how she liked parish ministry so far. He then moved on to the more tender subject of how she was feeling about going into Boston the next day to meet her daughter, and finally, what was happening with the house and the lady next door. Taking the items in reverse order, Olympia began with the flood.

  “Everything to do with repairing or selling the house is on hold, as far as I know. The insurance adjuster was here the day after it happened, and he hasn’t gotten back to anyone yet. Dory’s daughter Jessica will be coming out from Seattle next week, and then I suspect things will start moving forward. All the poor thing wants is to get back to her own place, but she can’t until we get it cleaned up a little more. Right now, it’s not safe. Who knows what structural damage the water did? It is an old house, and we both know what old houses are like.”

  Frederick nodded and held out the plate of sandwich halves. Olympia picked up the nearest one. “Nice touch, my dear, the sprinkling of parsley on top. I like parsley. Anyway, Mrs. West was in church this morning. Everybody wanted to help her, but there’s nothing to be done until we get the figures from the adjuster. Nobody is supposed to go in there until the town building inspector gives the OK.”

  “Well, then, that’s odd.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “While I was puttering around this morning, making lunch and hosing down the bedroom in case of fire …” Olympia blushed and giggled. “I saw a man go into the house. He looked over in this direction, but your car wasn’t here, and I was behind the curtain, so I’m sure he thought no one was home, not that it mattered, but he did look and …”

  “Frederick, get to the point. What did he do? What did he look like?”

  “Well, it was obvious he had his own key, and after he went inside I don’t know what he did, because I couldn’t see him. But I do remember what he looked like. He was medium height, light complexion, dark hair, clean shaven and wearing a suit and tie. I only noticed because his tie matched his pocket handkerchief. I didn’t think people did that any more. Kind of old fashioned, isn’t it?”

  “Damn! It had to be William Bateson.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty. Who’s William Bateson?”

  Olympia chuckled despite the sudden gravity of the situation. “William Bateson is a member of the congregation, and he was late for church this morning. He’s a realtor, and he’s been very attentive to Mrs. West, my landlady. Julia Scott-Norton, she’s the board president, has her doubts about him, and I’m kind of on the fence. I can’t say I like him, but on the other hand, I don’t dislike him. Let’s just say that he’s not given me any real reason not to trust him—so far, anyway.”

  Frederick picked up another sandwich half and raised a quizzical eyebrow as Olympia continued.

  “I mean, if he is a real estate agent by profession, then he’s a perfect person to help Mrs. West if she wants to sell. But I think there’s some confusion as to whether or not she really wants to sell. The board president thinks she just likes to talk about selling. She also thinks that Mr. Bateson might be pressuring her. Then the flood happened, and now everything is in limbo until we hear from the insurance adjusters and her daughter gets here.”

  “Well, then, to go back to my original question, what would he be doing in Mrs. West’s house if everything is on hold?”

  “That, my gallant Englishman, is precisely what I want to find out right now. Maybe nothing, maybe getting information for the insurance adjuster, maybe reassessing how much she can get if she sells. But there’s only one way to find out.”

  Olympia collected the remains of their lunch, stashed it all on the doll-sized countertop beside the equally miniscule sink and marched out the door with a sputtering Frederick following close behind.

  “Do you have a key?”

  “No, but I know where she keeps it. Everybody here keeps an extra key under a rock or a flowerpot beside one or both of the doors. That way we all know how to get in if we need to.”

  “Do you keep a key outside your door like that?” asked Frederick.

  “No!”

  Olympia lifted said flowerpot, removed the key and opened the front door to Dory’s house. Despite the open windows, it was beginning to smell moldy. She wrinkled her nose and started looking around.

&nb
sp; “I don’t see anything different since the last time I was here.”

  “What about upstairs?” Frederick walked to the foot of the sharply angled staircase. The wet boards squeaked under his feet.

  “I’ll run upstairs and check,” said Olympia. “You stay here; no reason for both of us to go.”

  Olympia gave Frederick a friendly pat on the behind as she passed by him and started up the stairs. As she ascended she remembered slipping on the pencil the other night and was now taking great care as to where she put her feet. She was almost to the top when, without warning, the entire stair tread came loose and went out from under her. Olympia twisted crazily and grabbed for the hand rail. Miraculously, she caught herself two steps down.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “Crikey, Olympia, are you all right?’ Frederick was up the stairs and kneeling beside her in the time it took for Olympia to gasp a second time.

  “I think I’m all right. The stair tread came loose. I could have broken my leg.”

  Olympia was feeling her various movable body parts and came to the decision that she would be sore as hell tomorrow, and she would probably have some spectacular bruises on her leg and hip where she hit, but other than that, thanks to her quick reaction in grabbing the rail, she was basically unharmed. She was, however, badly shaken and remained seated on the stairs.

  “Frederick, that could have been Dory. If this happened to her, she might have killed herself. Old people die in falls. These are really steep stairs.”

  “Do you suppose the tread came loose because of the water?”

  “The water didn’t get up this high, Frederick. It was all on the ground floor. Maybe the extreme dampness loosened something.”

  “Can you get up by yourself? I want to have a look at that tread. I think you’re sitting on it.”

  Olympia pulled herself up and crept down the stairs. Already, she was beginning to hurt. “I think I’d better get a couple of band aids. I’ve got a pretty good scrape on my shin. All in all, I’d say I’m a bit of a mess, my dear.”