by Marta Perry
“Look, I know you want to protect her.” Mac looked tired, as if weighed down with responsibility. “But face facts. You’re the one who said she’d only been here a few weeks, so she couldn’t have known Ralph very well. The same goes for you. How well do you really know Allison?”
* * *
“THE CROWD IS GROWING, not dissipating.” Allison turned away from the front window of the quilt shop the next day, frustrated at the sight of people who’d gathered to gawk at the building.
“Maybe they’ll come in and buy something.” Sarah had the air of one trying to find something optimistic to say even in dire circumstances.
“I doubt it after these headlines,” she said, slapping the current day’s newspaper on to the counter. The front page carried a prominent photograph of Blackburn House. “The newspaper did everything but label it the ‘Murder House.’ Krysta called to say she wanted to come over to see me, but her mother wouldn’t let her. Apparently Brenda professes herself mortified by what’s happened. And blames me, I imagine.”
Sarah’s normally serene forehead wrinkled as she stared down at the paper. “It’s not as bad as all that, is it? Not that I like to think it, but such a thing could happen anywhere. It only happened here because this was Ralph’s place of business, ain’t so?”
“I suppose.” There was no point in taking her mood out on Sarah. “I don’t really blame the newspaper editor. If a well-known citizen is murdered, naturally they’re going to cover the story. It’s their job.”
“They could take a picture of those nosy people out front,” Sarah suggested. “That might embarrass them enough to make them go away.”
“There’s an idea.” Allison forced a cheerful note into her voice. “They’re taking pictures of the building, so I could go out on the porch and take pictures of them.”
“Look, some of them are coming in.” Sarah stepped away from the window and smoothed down her apron. “If they come into the shop, I’ll sell them something, you see if I don’t.”
“If you can pull that off, I’ll do all the cleaning up for the rest of the day.” It was a constant aggravation to have to reshelve bolts of fabric and put thread back in its proper place in the rack after customers had pulled everything out.
Sarah smiled. “You’ll see.”
The first few brave souls wandered into the hallway from outside, looking around as if expecting to see bloodstains on the floor. A couple of them came over to peer through the display windows into the quilt shop. One woman raised a camera, and Allison glared at her. If she dared try to take a picture of Sarah—
Apparently the glare was enough. She slid the camera into her bag. Hector, apparently ruffled by the silent antagonism, leaped down from his usual perch and jumped onto the display window, arching and flattening his ears to express displeasure.
That group moved on, only to be replaced in a moment by another. “Turn your back and look busy,” Allison said. “Maybe they’ll go away.” She pulled out a bolt of chintz and pretended to show it to Sarah.
The jingle of the bell announced the failure of her ploy. Two men and three women came in—none of them regular customers. Hector, with a reversion to his usual attitude, jumped down and darted under the quilt display bed. My hero.
None of them even made a pretense of being interested in buying. Instead, they stared around the shop and then seemed to zero in on Allison, clearly identifying her as the person who’d found the body.
With surprising poise, Sarah marched up to them with a version of her usual smile. “Wilkom. What may I help you find today?”
The two men, confronted, muttered something and disappeared back out the door, red-faced. After a moment’s staring competition, two of the women followed.
The third was apparently made of sterner stuff. “I’d like to see some...um, some quilted pot holders.”
The cheapest thing in the store, Allison thought. It figured. She began rolling up the chintz she’d spread out.
“Of course.” Sarah led the woman over to the display rack where the quilted pot holders hung. “If you’ll tell me what color your kitchen is, I’ll help you find some to match.”
“Blue and white.”
The woman fingered the pot holders as Sarah pulled them from the rack, seeming to grow intrigued despite herself. She kept glancing toward Allison, but Allison resolutely kept from meeting her gaze. She only wanted an excuse to start talking to her, and Allison wasn’t about to give her one.
Inspired by Hector’s example, she knelt behind the counter and began sorting through the scraps of material they kept in a basket there. Since she was now at Hector’s level, he came out from under the bed and joined her, purring as he leaned against her, so heavily she nearly lost her balance, and then jumping into the basket.
Above her head, the dickering over the pot holders began. Sarah named a price for three that was nearly double what they usually charged. Then she let the woman bargain her down to a price that was still twenty percent higher, on the condition that the woman take six.
Allison had to muffle a laugh as the deal was concluded. When she heard the door close she stood, shaking with laughter. “Honestly, Sarah. How you got away with that I’ll never know.”
Sarah smiled complacently. “I thought she owed us something for being so nosy. My daad always says that no one beats a Dutchman in a bargain.”
“I remember.” It was the first time she’d laughed in what seemed like days. She shook her head, guilty. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I feel as if I’ve brought all this trouble on you. It’s not fair.”
“Nonsense.” Sarah reached out to squeeze her hand. “You didn’t make any of this happen. We all have to go through trials in this life. We just pray they make us stronger.”
Allison nodded, but she suspected she didn’t have the kind of faith that would allow her to look at trouble in that light.
The door opened again, and Allison stiffened her spine as she prepared to face more of the curious. But it was Emily, and she looked nearly in tears.
“Emily, what is it?” Sarah went to her immediately. “What’s happened to upset you?”
“You’ve been having people staring at the shop, haven’t you?” Allison’s anger flared. Didn’t people have any sense? If Mac wanted to do something useful, he’d find a way to chase off the gawkers.
“Not just the stares. That’s bad enough.” Emily dabbed at her tears. “But the questions were even worse. One man even asked me how it felt to have my boss murdered. Imagine the nerve.”
Allison’s palm tingled with the urge to slap someone silly for doing such a thing. Still, she didn’t suppose getting arrested for assault would help matters. “I’m so sorry. What can we do to help? Do you want me to take over the shop for the rest of the day?”
“No, no, you girls have your own business to deal with.” Sniffling, Emily dabbed her nose and fished a key ring from her bag. “I’m closing for the day. No one’s buying anything, anyway, so I might as well. Do you think it will be better tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.” Allison couldn’t lie to her. “Let’s hope so. If not, maybe we can find someone to clerk for a few days, just so you can keep the bookshop open.”
Emily nodded, but she didn’t look very hopeful. “I just wanted you to know. I’ll slip out the back way and go home.”
Once she’d gone, Allison’s ire bubbled over. “How can people behave that way? Emily doesn’t deserve it. No one would be that bold with us, but Emily must look like a soft target.”
“Poor thing. But that was a good idea of yours about getting someone in to cover the bookshop for a few days. I know a couple of people who have helped out from time to time. Should I get in touch with them?”
“Yes, let’s do that. I’ll pay them myself if necessary.” Maybe that would ease her conscience a little. “Meanwhile,
I think I’ll go up to the office and work. If I’m not here, the interest might die out.” There probably wasn’t much chance of that, but it was worth a try.
A few minutes later she headed up the stairs, avoiding the glances of several more gawkers who’d ventured up to the second floor. Who could guess what they’d expected to see there?
She’d reached the upstairs hall when she was stopped. Harvey Preston, who owned the real estate office on the second floor, hurried toward her, his normally ruddy face even more flushed. He had the air of a successful man, satisfied, maybe even a little smug, about his place in the scheme of things.
“Ms. Standish. I’m glad I caught you. If I might have a word?”
Her heart sank at the thought of yet another conversation about their current difficulties, but she managed to nod. “Of course.”
“This is a bad business all around. Poor Ralph.” He assumed a suitably grave expression.
“Yes.” What else was there to say?
“I’m sure you’ve noticed the crowd of gawkers outside. I spoke with the police chief about the problem, but apparently as long as they stay on the public street, he can’t do much about them.” His heavy jowls swayed as he shook his head in disapproval. “What we pay the police for, I don’t know. As it is, several of my clients have postponed appointments for today. They don’t want to go through a mob to get here, and I can’t say I blame them.”
“I’m so sorry. It’s affecting the quilt shop, as well, of course. Perhaps by tomorrow it will be better.”
“Nothing will improve unless and until the police catch the person responsible for the crime,” he declared.
No doubt true, unfortunately. “I’m sure they will. The police are busy working on the case now, and I understand the state crime lab is assisting them. They’ll work it out.”
“I suppose they’re doing their best.” He sounded doubtful. “But if they don’t bring this to a conclusion...well, I might have to consider whether to move my business if things don’t improve.”
Appalled, she couldn’t speak for a moment. “You have a lease...” she began.
“The lease contains a clause that releases me from any obligation if conditions in the building adversely affect my business.” He paused, eyeing her face as she absorbed the information. “I’d call murder an adverse effect, wouldn’t you?”
Apparently satisfied he’d made his point, Preston marched down the stairs, leaving her with the ground suddenly shaky beneath her feet. If he carried through with his threat, if others followed him...then what would happen?
She knew the answer to that question, didn’t she? If she didn’t run Blackburn House at a profit for one year, she lost it, along with a year in her career and her life. At the moment, the chances of her success seemed pretty slim.
Beating a quick retreat before anyone else could give her bad news seemed like a wise move. Allison hurried into her office and closed the door. For a moment she leaned against it, resting her head on the smooth wooden surface. Things were falling apart so rapidly she could hardly keep up with them.
Even as she had the thought, she realized she hadn’t spoken to Leslie in several days. Not since before Ralph’s death, in fact. With a sharp-as-a-whip attorney for a friend, she’s been ignoring an obvious resource.
Pulling out her cell phone as she crossed to her desk, she called, fully expecting to be sent to voice mail and rehearsing a brief message in her mind. But Leslie answered immediately.
“Girl, where have you been?” Leslie’s voice was tart. “Don’t you check your messages? I called you a couple of days ago.”
Allison leaned back in her chair. “I know, I know. But things have been a bit...crazy here.” She took a breath. “There’s been a murder.”
“Murder,” Leslie repeated. “Someone you know?”
“One of the tenants in the building—the bookshop owner. And I found the body.”
Leslie’s response was a sharp hiss of breath. “This is the one you said you thought was hiding something?”
“Yes.” She’d been trying to keep Leslie updated, but she couldn’t remember exactly what she’d told her and what she hadn’t. “I was right about that, too. He said a few words while we were waiting for the police, and it was enough to convince me he was here the night my grandmother died.”
“You told this to the police, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure how seriously they’re taking it.” She hesitated, but Leslie could hardly help her if she wasn’t honest. “The trouble is, I had a disagreement with Ralph the day he died—loud enough that other people heard.”
“Are you saying they suspect you? That sounds like pretty flimsy evidence.”
She could hear the scratch of Leslie’s pen and knew she was making notes.
“I don’t think the local police chief really suspects me, but with the district attorney putting pressure on him...” She let that sentence fade and rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know, Les. Maybe I’m overreacting to the whole thing.”
“You need a good criminal attorney to advise you,” Leslie said briskly. “Who have you got?”
“You mean besides you? Nobody.” She thought of the lawyer who handled her grandmother’s estate. “There’s a young attorney who rents space in the building. He’s offered to help, but I don’t think he’s prepared to handle a criminal case. I’m not sure there’s anyone here in Laurel Ridge I’d want to trust with this.”
“Okay, give me a couple of hours. I’ll do some checking and call you back with a recommendation. In any event, be careful of what you say.”
“You mean to the police?”
“I mean at all.” Leslie hesitated. “Look, you’ve been sounding as if you’re feeling at home there. As if you’ve started to trust some people.”
Sarah, Nick... “Yes, I have.”
“It doesn’t pay to be too trusting where murder is concerned.” Leslie’s voice was dry. “Just be careful. I’ll get back to you as soon as I find someone.”
As usual when she was in the office, Leslie clicked off without bothering to say goodbye. Allison put the phone on her desk and sat, staring blankly. Leslie was taking the possibility of an accusation seriously. Maybe it was time she did, too.
The sound of voices in the apartment next door drew her attention. She recognized Nick’s voice, becoming clearer as he must have stepped into the hall, and she was swept by a longing to see him, to tell him...what? Hadn’t Leslie just cautioned her about watching what she said to people here?
She could trust Nick, her heart argued, but Leslie’s warning kept her pinned to her chair until she heard the door to the back stairway open and close.
He’d gone out, so she couldn’t speak to him. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to end the longing.
A sharp knock on the door put an end to her internal argument. She answered, finding herself staring at the imposing figure of Thomas Blackburn. Something about that aristocratic, disapproving face put her instantly on the defensive, but she managed to preserve a calm exterior.
“Mr. Blackburn. Would you like to come in?”
She stepped back, and he strode past her as if she weren’t even there. The man had a talent for making others feel insignificant, and she thought briefly of his son and grandson. It didn’t seem to have done them too much good.
“What can I do for you?” Allison returned to her desk and gestured toward the visitor’s chair, but he ignored the invitation, planting himself in front of the desk.
“I’m not going to mince words with you, Ms. Standish. You must see now that accepting my offer is the only option left for you.”
Oddly enough, Sarah’s words about not besting a Dutchman in bargaining came into her mind. Blackburn was bargaining—trying to convince her that she had no choice.
She put on a
look of innocent surprise. “The only option? I’m not sure why I should think that.”
“Let’s not play games.” His jaw tightened. “You’ve seen the curious crowds outside, keeping real customers away. You’ve seen the bad publicity in the newspaper.” He actually winced. “To think I’d ever see the Blackburn name used in connection with a murder case—it’s unbearable.”
“I’m sure the interest will die down eventually.” She hoped. “It’s inconvenient for the businesses at the moment, yes, but that’s hardly my responsibility.”
His face flushed, and she recognized the signs of rising temper. “Of course it’s your responsibility.” He planted his fists on the desk and leaned toward her. “If you’d accepted my offer to begin with, none of this would have happened.”
She could only stare at him. Did he realize what he was saying?
“How can you think that? If Ralph became involved in something that caused him to be murdered, it would have happened no matter who owned the building. It was nothing to do with me.”
Blackburn seemed to get himself under control. He pulled back, raising his eyebrows. “Really? I hope you can convince the police of that.”
“The police—” she began, but he swept on as if she hadn’t spoken.
“I’ll hold the offer open as is for another day. But the longer this goes on, the less the building will be worth, to me or anyone else. Just bear that in mind as you make your decision.”
He turned and slammed his way out of the office, leaving her wondering if she was behaving like a fool. Little though she wanted to believe it, accepting Blackburn’s offer might be the only way to salvage anything from her time in Laurel Ridge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
NICK HAD GONE OUT to pick up a box of finishing nails and run into his brother. Mac, surprisingly, hadn’t waited to be questioned before sharing the status of the investigation. It seemed the discovery of the money had changed everything. The DA had agreed that it would be premature to focus on Allison with so many unanswered questions.