by Nan Sampson
Arabella was bent over, peering in the oven door. As Ellie skidded to a stop just inside the kitchen, Arabella hissed, “Whatever you do, don’t slam that door.”
Ellie froze. “Soufflé?” she whispered.
Arabella nodded, then straightened up and motioned for Ellie to follow her into the hallway. “Ellie! Good heavens, I thought you were Marg. She never met a door she liked.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She felt foolish now, charging into the house as though something had been chasing her. There was a logical explanation for those footprints. Spirits didn’t leave them. Gardeners, however, did.
“Nonsense, I’m happy to see you. But I get the feeling you didn’t come here just to have a cup of tea and chat.”
“I’m just killing a little time – I have to run over to the Chief’s office in an hour or so.”
“Oh, don’t tell me that Bill Gruetzmacher thinks you had something to do with Artie’s death.”
“No. Or, at least I don’t think so. No, he came and got my neighbor, Mr. Gustafson. Asked me if I couldn’t bring him home when he was through with him.”
Arabella’s attitude grew markedly hard. “What does he want with Per?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”
The woman bit her lip. “Would you mind just having a seat in the tea room for a minute? I need to make a quick phone call. Then I’ll bring us both a cup and we can chat.”
Ellie nodded. “Sure. If you point me to the kettle, I’ll put on some hot water.”
Arabella grinned. “I’d rather you didn’t disturb my soufflés. You just go have a seat, I won’t be but a moment.”
She disappeared into a little room that looked almost as small as Ellie’s office in the shop and firmly shut door behind her.
Ellie stood there for a moment, thinking maybe if she stood there she could overhear whoever it was Arabella was calling – but the heavy wooden door was just too thick. She almost pressed her ear up against the door to see if that might help, then her good sense got the better of her, and she headed into the tea room.
A woman in her early fifties was sitting at one of the little tables, her feet up on the chair opposite her, reading a bodice-ripper with the picture of a long-haired, brawny-chested, Celtic warrior on the front cover.
The woman started then clambered to her feet as Ellie came in. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Ellie sat down at the same table she and Laura had occupied yesterday (had it been just yesterday?).
The woman approached her table. “May I get you a cup of tea? I think we still have some scones and clotted cream too.”
Ellie shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m just waiting for Arabella -- I mean, Mrs. Kemp.”
The woman, a tallish blonde in a pair of Dockers and a buttoned-down, light blue oxford, cocked her head at Ellie and looked her over. “You’re not a guest… oh! You must be the new one! Um… oh dear, I’ve forgotten your name.” The woman stuck out a large hand. “I’m Marg Kemp – Seth’s younger sister. Youngest, actually. I’m the baby of the family. And it used to be Marg Hansen, but I divorced that man’s sorry ass two years ago, though I didn’t take back my maiden name till just this past spring.”
Ellie shook the woman’s hand – or rather, allowed her own hand to be thoroughly shaken. “You work here at the Inn?”
“Me? Oh. No. Well, not officially, I just help out during rush times. I’m still trying to find my calling.”
Trying to hide her smile, Ellie gestured at a chair, by way of invitation. “So what do you think your calling might be?”
“I’ve been thinking about taking some art classes.” She pulled out a chair and sat down, setting her book upside down on the table to mark her spot. “Or maybe a creative writing class. I’ve always wanted to write a book.”
Ellie mentally scoffed. If a woman hadn’t found her calling by Marg’s age… Then she chastised herself for uncharitable thoughts. Ellie had been lost and wandering too in her life and recently to boot. What was Kate always saying about learning to listen? “I understand that feeling. It took me a long time to figure out that what I was doing with my life wasn’t worth the price of my soul. I hope you find what you’re looking for too.”
The flightiness disappeared for a moment. “Well… thanks. Not too many people understand.” She looked around then leaned close. “You know, what I really want to do—”
“Ellie! There you are! Goodness, I’m so sorry that took so long.” Arabella bustled into the tea room, carrying a tray laden with tea things. “Ah. I see you’ve met Marg.”
Marg stood, looking just a little disappointed. “Just keeping her company till you showed up. Do you want me to keep an eye on the soufflé while you talk?”
“That would be terrific. Thanks, hon.”
Marg smiled at Ellie. “It was nice meeting you.” Then she picked up her book and left.
Arabella sat down carefully, and poured tea from a porcelain tea pot covered in violets that reminded Ellie of her mother. “I’m sorry. I hope Marg didn’t annoy you.”
“Not at all.”
“She’s been at a loss since her divorce. I’m frankly at my wit’s end knowing what to do with her. Thank God she knows her way around a kitchen.” She shook her head. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my sister-in-law.”
“No.” She accepted the small plate Arabella handed her, eyeing the blueberry scone with a mixture of delight and trepidation. “I don’t know how any of you stay thin in this town. Everywhere I go, people are constantly giving me food.”
The innkeeper chuckled. “Food is love. And besides, I’ve got about thirty of these things – Marg was bored, and when she’s bored, she bakes. With the wedding party leaving today, and only three guests booked in the next couple of days, I’m going to end up using these things as chicken feed. So eat.”
Her weakness for sweets got the better of her, and Ellie took a bite of the scone. “Oh, man. I think this is even better than the peach pie I had at the Mough’s.”
“Good. Then you can take some home with you. I heard you’re clear to move in to the cabin.”
“Yes. I’ve already been out there. It was how I knew about Per.”
Arabella’s face darkened. “Well, if you decide you can’t stay there until you get some more modern amenities, I’ll book you a permanent room here at the inn. I don’t know how you expect to live there comfortably. The place doesn’t even have a bathtub.”
Laughing, Ellie wiped scone crumbs from her shirt. “I’m more a shower person anyway. And Earl did a wonderful job with the renovations. I’ll be very comfortable there.”
“We’ll see what you say once winter sets in and you realize how much you miss central heating. But,” she said as she leaned back and sipped her tea, “you didn’t come here to talk about the cabin either, I’ll wager. So what can I do for you?”
She had to phrase this part carefully. She didn’t think it was likely, but even Arabella could have had a reason to kill Artie. “I was talking to the Chief yesterday. Did you know that a Bible was found in the little office? I thought maybe it belonged to Artie – and maybe one of his daughters might want it – sort of a keepsake. Was Artie a religious man?”
“Artie? Religious?” Arabella barked a laugh. “The only thing Artie was religious about was having a laugh. Usually at someone else’s expense.”
“Oh. Well, then I wonder where the Bible came from. I thought he might have been reading it in the office before… well, you know.”
“Not likely.” She picked at the scone crumbs on the serving tray. “Maybe…”
Ellie waited for her to continue, then prodded when she didn’t. “Maybe what?”
“Oh, it’s just a silly thought.”
Ellie waited another moment. People hated silence.
“Maybe,” Arabella said quietly, “the Bible belonged to the killer. Maybe he or she was reading it while waiting for Artie. Trying to forgive themselves or something. Trying to make
right with God for what they were about to do.”
Ellie thought about the syrup and chicken feathers, and the butcher knife in Artie’s chest. “I don’t think the killer felt any remorse for what they did. It seems to me they felt… I don’t know, justified.”
Arabella gave her an inquisitive look. “Why do you say that?”
Ellie shrugged. She didn’t know how much about how Artie had been found had been released to the public. “I guess just the way he looked when I found him. An impression.”
“Hmph. Well, I guarantee you the Bible wasn’t his. And neither of his girls are religious either. Well, okay, I know Ingrid isn’t for sure. With Lu it’s hard to know anything for certain. She ‘finds’ some new thing to follow every other day, it seems. So I suppose she could have ‘found’ religion.”
“Yeah, I met her briefly at the Mough’s. She seemed…”
“Odd?”
“I was going to say conflicted.” Arabella grinned, and added, “But odd works too. I went to shake her hand and she ran from the room as though I’d offered her a snake.”
“She is a strange girl, no doubt about it.” Her tea cup clinked as she replaced it in the saucer. “I wonder if the killer just forgot the Bible, or…” She frowned, biting her lower lip. “What if…what if the Bible is some sort of message? I don’t suppose it was opened to a particular passage?”
“No, it was face down.” Then she realized what she’d said. Arabella’s expression changed subtly.
“Was it a new bible? Like maybe it had been purchased for the occasion?”
Ellie shook her head. “No. Old. And worn. Not like an heirloom bible, but definitely well-used.”
“Hmph,” she said again. “Well, then the killer had to have brought it.” She grinned again at Ellie and waggled her eyebrows. “I mean, we know it doesn’t belong to you.”
“Just how much information about me has Terri Kohler been spreading?”
Arabella laughed. “Just a few of the more salient details. And only to those of us who might care.”
“Seems to me the whole town knows my business.”
“Oh, honey, don’t worry. Other than the six-page article she printed in the business owner’s newsletter, your life is a closed book.”
It took far too long for Ellie to realize that Arabella was only joking. “Goddess help me.”
Arabella stood, started gathering up the tea things. “So really, all we need to do is figure out who the Bible belonged to, and bingo, we find our killer.”
Somehow this “interrogation” hadn’t gone as Ellie had planned. She wasn’t sure when or how she’d lost control of the conversation. “That’s sort of what I was thinking.”
“Well, I can assure you it doesn’t belong to us. Seth is a Humanist, hasn’t owned a Bible in thirty years or more. I’m a little harder to put a label on. We do keep a couple in the library, for the guests – you’re welcome to go make sure they’re still there. The one is in the curio cabinet -- it’s actually quite old, we found it in a box in the attic when we bought the place – belonged to one of the Humboldts, they’re the folks who built the house back in 1882. Includes a bit of genealogy in the front. Your friend Charlie was quite taken with it. The other is on one of the shelves.”
Arabella wound down. “I know you don’t know any of us very well, but I can assure you neither Seth nor I killed Artie. We may not have been best of friends – but neither of us believes in that kind of violence.”
“I know that.” Or at least, she was pretty sure she did. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about the Bible. I have a feeling Chief Gruetzmacher wouldn’t be very happy with me.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about Bill. Big teddy bear’s what he is. But sharp as they come. He’ll get to the bottom of this, Ellie.”
“I hope so.” She trailed after Arabella. “Say, do you do your own gardening? I was looking at the lovely garden outside the room Kate and I stayed in. It’s just gorgeous.”
“That’s Seth. It’s all a work in progress. Every year he adds a little more to it. Although these last few weeks, he hasn’t had time for anything out there. He says his poor plants are suffering for lack of attention. But I’ll tell him how much you liked it. It’ll do his heart good.”
“I don’t suppose he likes to garden at night…”
The woman shook her head. “At night? No. Why on earth would you ask that?”
Ellie shook her head. She was not going to tell Arabella she saw a ghost in her garden. The woman already probably thought she was a whack job. “Some of my gardener friends say there’s benefit in conducting certain gardening tasks by the light of the moon. But maybe that’s just a Chicago thing.”
Arabella eyebrows shot up skeptically. “Sounds like a witchy thing to me. I may mention it to Seth. If it helps plants grow better, he’ll try almost anything.”
Ellie thanked the woman for both the tea and the conversation, then left. It was time to head over to the Chief’s office and pick up her new neighbor. And maybe find out why Gruetzmacher had had him taken in for questioning.
Chapter 13
Per Gustafson, it turned out, was no longer at the Police Station to pick up. In fact, no one was there. Well, no one but a teen age girl that Ellie would have sworn was somehow related to the Mough’s given her mass of freckles and curly red hair. She sat slouched behind the front desk reading a romance novel.
“Sorry, ma’am. They’ve all gone out. And Mr. Gustafson said he’d find his own way home.”
Great. So she’d driven over here for nothing. She thanked the girl then headed back out to her car. Now what was she going to do? Her master plan had been to spend this day and the next unpacking all of her new equipment and service ware at the shopo. Then tomorrow, she’d planned on setting up her supply room, and giving the equipment a run through.
Sighing, she climbed into her car and sat there. She supposed she could go back to her new home, unpack her clothes and some other odds and ends. But as much as that might need to be done, she had no desire to do it.
Damn it, she wanted to be in her shop but there was no help for that. So she headed back down Main Street, hoping that inspiration on how to spend her empty afternoon would hit her on the way.
A couple of blocks later, she spotted a white-haired man walking ram-rod straight down the sidewalk. Ellie was almost positive that it was her neighbor. Slowing down, she pulled alongside him and rolled down the window. “Mr. Gustafson? Can I give you a lift?”
He peered into her car then shook his head. “Thanks, no. It’s not far.” His voice bore a scant accent, something refined and European. He gave her a brief wave then continued walking. For a man who had to be approaching seventy, he moved well. In fact, with those long legs, Ellie figured he could probably out pace her.
She rolled up along-side him again. “Really, it would be no trouble. I’m Ellie Gooden. Your new neighbor?”
He peered in at her again, and this time the gaze was more measuring. “Ah. So you’re her. Do you have dogs, Ms. Gooden?”
“No, why? Do you not like dogs?”
“On the contrary, I love dogs.” His gaze intensified, those icy blue eyes seeing far more than she felt comfortable with. “Do you cook?” he finally asked.
“Do I cook? Well, yes, I make food.”
“Do you eat?”
“Well, of course I eat.”
He looked her up and down. “You do not eat well, however. I, on the other hand, do cook. Well. And eat well.” He stepped towards the car. “How do you feel about llamas?”
Ellie considered that. “I don’t know how I feel about them. I’ve never met any.”
“But you would not, for instance, send your dog to harass them. Would you?”
“Well, if I had a dog, which I don’t, I certainly would not. Especially considering they’re not my llamas.”
Gustafson opened the passenger side of the door and slid into the car. “Very good. You must come meet my llamas sometime.
And I predict you should – and will—get a dog. Which I also predict will be very well-behaved. And now, if you would be so kind as to drop me off at the Crock Pot, I would be most grateful.” He turned and gave her a cautious smile, showing brilliant white teeth against sun-weathered skin. Ellie was reminded, somehow, of the fisherman in the yellow rain slicker from the TV commercial for frozen fish.
“I’d be happy to. But as for the dog… I’m not sure there’s enough room in either my cabin or my life for a dog at the moment.”
He gave a small shrug. “We shall see.”
Ellie dropped him off at the Crock Pot – a small shop offering soups and salads and small sandwiches for the lunch crowd. He wouldn’t let her take him home, so she left him on the sidewalk in front of the place and then headed out again, not really knowing where she was going. She briefly considered sneaking back into her shop, but then decided that getting arrested for whatever charge that might entail probably wasn’t worth what she’d accomplish there.
She was sitting in her car, in the public parking lot, dithering about what to do and watching a bunch of tourists disgorge from a diesel-spewing coach bus when she spotted Louisa Cullen walking briskly down the sidewalk.
No, not briskly, although her pace was quick enough. The word she was looking for was furtively. The girl kept glancing back over her shoulder as though she expected someone to be following her. Or didn’t want to be seen. Which led to the question, didn’t want to be seen doing what?
Ellie slipped out of her car and hurried across the lot, determined to find out.
Chapter 14
Ellie hadn’t realized how long Main Street really was until she had to walk it. The Sunday crowd was a decent size, but not so large that Ellie could lose herself easily in it, so she kept having to stop and look in windows of shops she passed every time Louisa looked back over her shoulder.
About two thirds of the way down, the girl either spotted her, or was tired of being cautious, because she broke into a jog, then rounded the next corner – Third Street – apparently heading toward the corner entrance of Irmina’s Cut ‘n Curl. Ellie sped up, but by the time she reached the corner of Main and Third, Louisa had disappeared. Thinking maybe she’d somehow slipped inside the beauty shop, Ellie bravely pushed open the door and peered inside.