For Letter or Worse

by Vivian Conroy

  “Huh?” Coldard peered at her. “Oh, yes, the beautiful young wife. It was very tragic. She died in the boathouse. Stabbed. They never found the killer. They thought he went away by boat. Across the water. Nobody saw anything, though. Or nobody was willing to come forward. There was this feeling Barrows was an outsider, and the locals all sided with one another.”

  “So, the killer might have been a local?”

  “Well, there were rumors at the time that she had fallen in love with that Taylor boy.”

  “Taylor?” Delta said, shocked that the name of the most influential family in town had popped up. “You mean, the Taylors who run the Lodge Hotel?”

  “Yes. Not the grandfather of the current young people who try to modernize the lot.” Coldard looked sour. “I don’t like changes. Why can’t things stay the way they always were? We had nice card nights there. Good games. But they had to change it to having bands over with loud music and dancing.”

  “Not the grandfather,” Delta coaxed him back to his tale, “but…a relative?”

  “His brother Anthony. Everybody called him Tony. He was in college, and he came over that summer to help at the hotel, make some money. He wrote poetry. They whispered that Athena Barrows inspired him.”

  “But she had married Barrows. She can’t have…”

  “Fallen in love with another?” Coldard laughed softly. “Barrows was twenty years older than she was. He had chosen her to be an asset to his house here. Much like you choose furniture. She had to be pretty, be there for him when he wanted her to be, while he could ignore her if he didn’t feel like spending time with her. They had absolutely nothing in common. She was a romantic girl who had dreamed of making it onto the big screen. Becoming a Hollywood star. Instead, she had to play housewife at the beck and call of a domineering older man. Then comes along this young poet with his golden hair and fiery words. Calling her his muse. She fell in love all right.”

  “You know this for sure?”

  “For sure? What is for sure, after so many years?” Coldard leaned his green-veined hands on the table’s edge. “I use my imagination. I speculate. And mind you, the police never got any further than speculating either. They looked at similar cases in the region to establish a pattern.”

  “Pattern?”

  “Yes, two weeks before Athena Barrows was stabbed at the boathouse, a waitress died at a roadside cafe. She took a break from work, wandered away a bit under the trees, and was stabbed in the back with a narrow-bladed knife. Looked kind of the same.”

  “So, the police believed it was a serial killer?”

  “They thought in that direction.”

  “They didn’t look closer to home? At people who knew Athena Barrows and lived with her? Friends, relations, maybe in the household even?”

  “I looked at those.” Coldard focused on her. “There was a housekeeper she had threatened with dismissal. Athena didn’t like her scrambled eggs.” He clicked his tongue. “Silly young thing, pretentious and vain. But she didn’t deserve to die for that, you know.”

  Delta’s phone beeped. It was Jonas, asking her why she hadn’t texted him again. “Is something wrong?”

  Her earlier uneasy feeling about the isolated location had vanished under the intriguing chat with Coldard, and she felt rather silly now for having taken the precaution to let Jonas know where she was. Good thing he didn’t decide to come blazing to the rescue.

  She quickly replied: “All good, am chatting with Coldard. Will report my findings as soon as I’m done.”

  Looking up, she caught Coldard’s questioning look and said quickly, “Just a friend I’m meeting later today.” She took down a few more baskets. “And what else did you discover?”

  “The poet, of course. Anthony Taylor, thinking he was the new Ovid. Had the two young lovers quarreled? Had he asked her, on impulse, to go away with him and had she laughed at him, practical or greedy as she was? I don’t think she would have exchanged her life of luxury with Barrows for a life of uncertainty with a man who didn’t even have a college degree yet. Who believed his words could make him famous, but what were those words worth at the time?”

  Delta nodded. “So, you can see the lover as the killer? An act of passion, when he felt spurned?”

  “Misunderstood, his grand love rejected. Tony Taylor was a very sensitive and emotional boy.”

  “What became of him after the murder?”

  “He wanted to come to the funeral and recite a poem he had written for her on her untimely death, but his brother, who was much more levelheaded, persuaded him not to. He left town; he was basically shipped back to college, and he found a wealthy lady who gave him a sponsorship to go to Italy and write poetry there. He went to Rome for inspiration and dived into a fountain. Got pneumonia and died.”

  “What?” Delta tilted her head. “You’re pulling my leg.”

  “No, he did die. Whether it was of pneumonia is hard to tell. His family might have said that to hide a scandal. It seems he had found another muse there, and her family didn’t like it. Might have beaten him up to teach him a lesson.”

  “Wouldn’t there have been a police investigation in such a case?”

  “I don’t know. Anyway, I could be wrong. Maybe he did die of pneumonia. A rather lackluster ending to a promising young life, don’t you think?”

  “There. All done.” Delta stacked the empty hanging baskets and came to sit opposite Coldard. “Do you think that Tony Taylor killed Mrs. Barrows?” She asked it with some trepidation, as it was a Taylor relative, and she didn’t feel like crossing the wealthy family again. Once had been enough.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders, pulling his blanket better over his legs. “They may have quarreled, yes. But would he stab her? Where would he get a knife? He wasn’t an outdoor man who carried a pocketknife or comparable weapon. Was something at hand in the boathouse? Your guess is as good as mine. The weapon was never found, although they dredged the water for it. That supported the sheriff’s serial killer theory. Such a killer would take the weapon along to use in the next crime. The sheriff even claimed at the time that the killer was attached to his weapon, and using the same blade contributed to his sense of accomplishment in committing the crimes.”

  Delta took in the story quietly, looking at the sunshine playing around the cabin, lighting on the bark of the trees. “You have a lovely place here.”

  “Which is why I don’t want to leave. You won’t tell Mrs. Sheffield my hearing isn’t all that bad, will you?”

  “Of course not. As long as you do take care of yourself.” Delta cast a reluctant glance at the door into the house. What if it was really messy in there?

  Coldard lifted a hand. “I have someone visiting me regularly to make sure the books don’t pile up to the ceiling, and I have some meals in the freezer that I can heat up in the microwave. I’m not a sad case.”

  “That’s good.” Delta smiled at him. “Thanks so much for telling me about Mrs. Barrows.”

  “What’s your interest in her story?”

  Delta considered a quick lie, but said honestly, “I was at the party two days ago, at the Drake villa, where Sally Drake died. She was stabbed. Some people see a link with the Barrows murder.”

  “Some people as in Marc LeDuc?” Coldard asked skeptically.

  “I did find the information about the Barrows murder on his website, but I’m not working with him or anything. I want to… A friend asked me to look into it because he made Calvin Drake a promise. I can’t tell you much more. But I’m doing this for a good cause really.”

  “You don’t have to win me over.” Coldard gestured with both hands. “I already told you about it. I wouldn’t have if I had believed LeDuc Junior was involved. He’s a disgrace to any journalistic standards. His father should straighten him out.” He surveyed her with a frown. “In the murder case, have you
asked yourself who stood to lose the most?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He smiled. “Just the musings of an old man. Thank you for taking down my baskets. They will be better off indoors when the weather turns cold. Stretching and reaching up is not my strong suit.” He peered at the typewriter. “High time I start a new chapter.”

  “Yes, well, thank you for your time.” Delta rose and hesitated a moment. His fingers were already resting on the keys, and it felt rude to linger. But she wasn’t sure what he had meant with that final question. Have you asked yourself who stood to lose the most?

  In the Barrows case?

  Or in the present-day murder?

  Chapter Nine

  When Delta came back to Wanted, she found Bessie Rider there, owner of Bessie’s Boutique, where both Delta and Hazel bought a lot of clothes and accessories. She was a member of the Paper Posse, nicknamed Wild Bunch, and always in for a little sleuthing on the side. Even when there wasn’t a murder case, Bessie knew everything that was going on in her customers’ lives, mainly because they liked to chat with her whenever they visited her store. She took the time to listen to their stories about broken nights with a teething baby or an argument with their mother-in-law, and gave advice on the side.

  “Hello.” Bessie waved at Delta with a long-beaded necklace. “The one you wanted came in at last. It’s such a shame I can’t order them individually. I mean, half the time I get twenty of the same ones, and of course the design the customers like the least. But I have the one with the bird pendant now. How do you like it? You only saw a picture of it. You don’t have to buy it if it isn’t what you imagined.”

  Delta took the necklace in her hands and studied it up close. “It looks great. I love the different glass beads; the colors are so pretty.” She ran her thumb across the berry hues. “And the pendant is even better than I imagined. You can see it’s a robin right away. That red on the chest is so vivid. I’ll have it.” She dug into her purse for the loose bill she had spotted in there earlier.

  Bessie said, “Things are really heating up with the murder case, aren’t they? Imagine killing your wife for the life insurance.” She stared into the distance with a focused frown. “I do think it’s stupid. I mean, the police are going to check on things like that right away, and Abe Jarvis could have figured he’d be picked up in a heartbeat.”

  “There you go.” Delta handed her the bill. “Bring the change around some other time. You must be in a rush to get back to the store.”

  “Not really. My cousin is here for a few days, and she’s helping me out. She used to work in a store, but she’s retired now. Really misses it, so I’m actually doing her a favor letting her run it for a bit.” Bessie picked up a set to make paper bunting. “This looks like fun.”

  “We’re going to do a workshop about creating your own bunting, for a baby shower, birthday, or anniversary.” Hazel gestured at her from behind the counter. “I’ll let you know when. Won’t be this year anymore, probably, as we’re focusing on seasonal stuff for the rest of the time. But in January, who knows.”

  Bessie nodded. “Fine with me.” She turned her head and looked out into the street. “Oh, there he is again.” She rushed to the door and stood there, craning her neck. “I saw him when I was walking over here. Guy in a neat suit, with a briefcase, scanning the street like he was looking for something. I was about to help him out when he asked the hardware-store owner instead.”

  “Why does this guy interest you?” Hazel asked with a confused expression.

  “He is an outsider, and he has ‘insurance’ written all over him. I bet they rushed into town now that the guy who did it is behind bars. They want to make sure that Jarvis doesn’t get a dime.”

  “There are businessmen having coffee at Mine Forever all the time,” Hazel protested. “That he wears a suit and carries a briefcase doesn’t say much.”

  “All right, I cheated.” Bessie grinned. “He got out of a car with a company logo. Investo Insurance.”

  Delta suppressed a laugh. “That way we can all be Sherlock Holmes.”

  Bessie pretended to be hurt and pouted, but her eyes betrayed her laughter as well. “I would love to have stopped him and asked a few questions. But of course, you can’t. And he isn’t the type to pop into my store to buy something. If only they had sent a woman… She might have fallen for one of those silk scarves I have on display outside. I would have advised her about the best colors to suit her complexion and slipped in a few innocent questions about why she was here. Oh, well, you can’t have everything, I suppose.” She walked to the door. “I’ll pick up a few of those delicious salted caramel–pecan braids at Jane’s for my cousin and me. If they have any left. Else banana-apricot bread will have to do. My cousin is watching her calories anyway.”

  She half turned to them. “She doesn’t have any interest in western stuff, else I’d give her a perfect Old West name. See, her last name is Gunner, so we could call her Old Gun Gunner. But she doesn’t even want to go see the mining museum. Oh well…” The door fell to a close behind Bessie’s back.

  “Can you believe that?” Hazel shook her head. “She actually wanted to ask that insurance man direct questions. That would really be taking it too far. I do understand we’re trying to help with the murder case, but… We can’t poke our noses into everything. And if that guy is really here about the life insurance policy Sally Drake took out, he should talk to West. They can compare notes and maybe close the case against the husband.”

  “Hmmm.” Only half-listening, Delta pulled out her phone and looked for Investo Insurance. She found their website right away. As the header banner rolled into full focus, she whistled.

  Hazel looked up from the cash register she was filling with some more loose change. “What?”

  “That guy is not here about life insurance. Investo is a specialized company. And you can have three guesses what they specialize in.”

  “Um…” Hazel pursed her lips. “No idea.”

  “Come on, what do people have insured?”

  “Valuable objects?”

  “Yes, such as…”

  Hazel drummed the counter as if to jog her brain into thinking up the answer. “Art?”

  “Right. And Investo doesn’t insure just any art.” Delta waited a moment to reach full effect with her revelation. “Museum art.”

  Delta expected Hazel to rush over and want to have a look at the website as well, but she looked puzzled sooner than excited. “Oh. But we don’t have an art museum here in Tundish. Only the gold-mining museum, and their gold nuggets may be real, but not worth a fortune. Can’t call them art either. Could they be here for the estate of that copper magnate? There’s art there, I’m sure.”

  “No, of course not.” Delta gestured impatiently. “Remember what Drake told me about his sister Sally? What she had done before coming here? She advised a museum in LA about their art collection. He specifically mentioned to me that she was an expert on statues. That she had advised him to buy that bronze statue in his living room, of a woman picking flowers.”

  “You think the guy is here because of Sally? But she’s dead.”

  “Exactly. Which makes it all the more poignant. He can’t want to talk to her. Unless he doesn’t know she’s dead yet.”

  “That could be it.” Hazel pointed a finger at Delta. “Sally gave her expert opinion on pieces of art, right? I imagine she confirmed their age or value. That’s important for insurance as well. Now how could that have led to her death? Maybe someone wanted to remove her so she wouldn’t find out certain art was fake and tell the insurance company?”

  “But Sally had already left LA.”

  “Maybe she left because she had discovered something?”

  “Calvin Drake told me she had left because her marriage had crumbled, and she had lost her job.”

  “She need not have told him what
was really up.” Hazel seemed determined to press her point. “I mean, if she didn’t work for the museum anymore, why would the insurance company want to contact her now?”

  Delta stared at the website’s banner. Some of the pieces displayed immediately conveyed value with gold and gemstones, but others looked quite ordinary. A polished wooden statue of some figure. Maybe an ancient hero or god? Coming across it in a secondhand store, Delta wouldn’t have given it a second glance. But apparently it was worth a lot of money. Could something like that have to do with Sally’s death? Had she seen something maybe, recognized a valuable art object here in Tundish? Had she contacted Investo to come and talk to her about it, and before she could actually meet with the insurance company’s representative, she had been killed.

  “I have to tell Jonas about this,” she said, screenshotting the site to pass on to Jonas. “He can ask Calvin Drake what this is all about. Or wouldn’t Calvin know either?”

  Hazel came over to her. “If Sally did discover something at the museum where she worked was actually a fake, maybe she felt afraid to address the issue while she worked there. Or maybe she was even fired because she raised doubts? She took refuge here to think about the next step. But someone followed her and made sure she never told the truth.”

  “Would someone really kill over an art object?”

  “If it could harm the reputation of the museum and its board.”

  “Hmmm. It’s all very speculative. We don’t have anything solid to substantiate these possibilities. But maybe Jonas can dig up something.” Delta typed a message to Jonas, telling him to come and talk to her as soon as he could because she wanted to share her news personally. “I’m not going to put our ideas in a message. If we’re wrong, it’s almost like slander. I’d rather say it to him, face-to-face, you know.”

  Hazel nodded. “You can’t be careful enough. Marc LeDuc is everywhere.”

  * * *

  Jonas breezed in around closing time. He wore a green fleece jacket and green pants, his usual look when he had been out wildlife spotting. Spud trotted by his side. Hazel crouched down on her haunches to pat him while Delta took Jonas into the kitchen in the back. “Did you look at the website screenshot I sent you?”