Shelby pulled up the collar of her coat. She felt that magical snow laying claim to the back of her neck and it was ice cold. “Where did you go in that Mustang of yours? We were starting to get a bit worried.”
“You should be,” he said, a teasing grin peaking through grey whiskers. It reminded her of Blake. “I don’t actually have a license, you know.”
“You didn’t get stopped, did you?”
“I did. But it was a sweet, young lady officer and she let me off with a warning.”
She shook her head. “One of these days your charm and good looks aren’t going to work anymore, and then what are you going to do?”
He shrugged in the confines of his old green army coat. “I’ll be up a creek without a paddle.”
“You here to see Luanne?”
“Yup. Thought I’d check in and see if she had any work for me.”
“Are you sure you didn’t come by for a Roadkill pastie?”
“No one knows how to cook a pastie like Luanne,” he said, glancing in the door of the café.
“If you’re looking for work, Pete Dugan could use some help at the boathouse,” she said, knowing Blake would be happy to see his grandfather back safe and sound and have a good excuse to keep him close by.
“I heard about his wife’s murder and how you and Blake took on his case.”
“How’d you…”
“I still know how to be invisible. Talk less, listen more.”
She gave him a soft smile. “It’s so good to see you, Jack.”
As she stood watching, he bypassed the front door of Luanne’s, and turned down the alley. After living on the streets for so long, Jack still preferred the back door and anonymity rather than having to make small talk.
In the car she flipped the windshield wipers on and let them brush the snow buildup from her sight before backing up. It wasn’t until she was halfway home that she realized Luanne hadn’t really answered her original question. She’d told her what she knew of Pete Dugan but managed to leave out any personal insights. Which made her wonder just how well Luanne really knew Pete Dugan.
CHAPTER FOUR
Blake’s Bronco was already gone when she pulled up outside the B&B. She wished she could be a fly on the wall at his grandmother’s luncheon. The woman was a cross between Meryl Streep’s character in The Devil Wears Prada and Britain’s own Iron Lady Margaret Thatcher, who ironically had also been played by Meryl Streep on the big screen. Now in her eighties, Evelyn Jones was still thin, fit, and richer than the rest of the town put together. Understandably, Blake had a desire to know his grandmother better. With no siblings and his parents both gone, Evelyn and Jack were all he had left in the relative department.
She started up the steps of the house and then stopped, glancing back at the boathouse. The snow had let up but the wind was still brisk. Pulling her gloves out of her coat pocket, she slipped them on and made her way down to the dock. The damp wood planks were slick and she was glad she’d pulled on her lug boots this morning with the thick treads.
Pete Dugan had already wired electricity and hooked up temporary work lights inside. He was bent over a workbench, running a plane over the bottom edge of a door when she pulled back the plastic hanging over the open doorway and entered. The walls were covered in clean white sheetrock and the windows had been installed. Next would come plaster, paint, trim, and finally flooring.
“Mr. Dugan, you are a miracle worker! I can’t believe how quickly you’ve gotten this project under control.” She slid a glove over a smooth wall and spun around, churning sheetrock dust into the air. “I like this place and willingly could waste my time in it,” she quoted and giggled at the confusion on his face when he looked up from his work. The beads in his beard jiggled up and down and she realized the wind was blowing through the doorway. She’d failed to pull the plastic back in place. She hurried over and yanked it across the opening.
“Glad you like it, Ma’am.” He straightened, his gaze hopeful beneath the brim of his sweaty cap. “You didn’t already find Sadie’s killer, did you?”
“No. I’m afraid we’re not quite as quick at solving murder as you are at construction.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it. You sounded so happy and all, I thought maybe you’d had a break in the case.”
Shelby watched him lift the heavy door and carry it to the frame he’d already installed. He worked methodically, keeping at his task with a single-mindedness that was admirable. He squared it up and set it in the hinges. He’d used reclaimed hardwood doors from a local demolished farmhouse and found shiny brass fittings to set it off.
“It’s beautiful, Mr. Dugan. Better than I imagined.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.” Standing back with his hands on his hips to inspect his work, he gave a satisfied nod. “This boathouse deserves special treatment. There aren’t a lot of places with this kind of history still around. I like the idea of maintaining its rustic authenticity as much as possible while still making it warm and livable.” He waved her over to the workbench where he showed her the plans he’d made and some photos on his cell phone of a stack of wood residing in his shed. “I have enough reclaimed wood here from an old barn I bought years ago to do the floors and maybe a couple accent walls. I can have it kiln dried and sterilized to make sure we get rid of any pests, but I think I can get you a good discount on that. I happen to know a guy.” He grinned.
She liked his generous spirit and forward thinking outlook at a time when he was probably feeling more than a bit stressed and worried about the future. Setting the papers down, she smiled back. “I love it and I know Blake will love the idea too.”
“So, you want me to go ahead with this?”
“Yes, please do. The sooner we get this done, the better. Have you looked outside in the last hour? It’s coming down pretty thick and fast.”
He waved a hand at the window. “Aw, that’s nothin’. Wait until it really starts to snow. You’ll be needing your skis to get down here to the offices.”
“Or a chair lift. I’ll mention that to Blake and see if he can fit it into our budget.”
He laughed, a booming kind of laughter that was loud, quick, and gone in seconds.
“Mr. Dugan,” she said, using the lighthearted moment to sneak past his defenses, “do you know if Sadie was in a serious relationship with anyone since your divorce?”
“Sadie?” he parroted, caught off guard by the change in topic. He shook his head. “No. She didn’t talk to me about stuff like that. Once in a while she’d call and ask a question about how to fix something, like a squeaky floorboard or a bad electric outlet, but I’d usually end up going over there and fixing it myself. She wasn’t very handy.”
“But you were.”
He shrugged. “We’d been married a long time. I wasn’t going to have her live in a house without basic upkeep. I still cared about her.”
“Of course you did. How many years were you married?”
“Twenty-six. We signed divorce papers in ’07, but the walls were crumbling around us for at least a decade before that.” He looked up and met her eyes. “Don’t ever take your marriage for granted, Mrs. Gunner. I’ve been a carpenter my whole life, and at the first sign of rot or decay I’d be right on it, shoring it up, cleaning it up, working to fix what needed to be fixed. But I let the most important job of my life slowly fall apart until there wasn’t any way to repair it.”
“I’m sorry.”
He crossed his arms and waited, resignation tilting his chin down. “What else do you want to know?”
“When was the last time you spoke with your ex-wife?”
“About two weeks before...” he closed his eyes and blew a breath through his nostrils, “…she was found. She asked for a loan. Said she needed money to pay for a new vehicle. Her ancient Toyota had finally quit running and she was in a bind. She drove about sixty miles to work every day. I offered her the use of my truck temporarily and told her I could scrape up a few
hundred dollars, but I was sort of in a bind myself last month.”
“Money problems?”
“Let’s just say, online dating can be expensive.”
Shelby wasn’t sure if he meant hookers or women with expensive taste in restaurants, but she would leave deciphering the details to Blake. She asked diplomatically, “Did Sadie know you were dating?”
“I don’t think so. We didn’t run with the same crowd anymore. And she didn’t usually call unless she needed me to fix something. ‘Course, one time she called when her electricity went out during a storm. She always was afraid of the dark and didn’t like to be alone,” he said, scuffing the toe of one of his worn work boots in a pile of sawdust.
“Would you be surprised if she had gotten engaged?”
His head jerked up and she caught a glint of anger in his shocked expression. “What? No. She was alone. She needed me to fix things. She didn’t even have enough sense to unplug her blow dryer when she was going to use the box fan. That house blew a fuse every time you whistled Dixie.”
“You’ve never seen her with a man and she never mentioned one,” she stated for the record.
“Never.”
His vehemence was convincing. Shelby didn’t think he was acting. The very thought that his ex-wife could have found another life partner to replace him was utterly repugnant to this man. He wanted her happiness but he wanted it on his terms. She’d let Blake drop the bomb about the ring. Selfishly, she hoped he put it off until after the man was done with the offices. She didn’t want anything messing with his superb workmanship.
“One more thing,” she said, leaning her hip against the workbench. “Just out of curiosity, where do you store your Harley?”
“How’d you know I had a Harley?”
“Your cap, your beard, your truck’s bumper sticker. Definite signs of a biker.”
He cleared his throat. “Good observations. I actually sold it a few weeks back.”
“To pay for the online women in your life?”
“Just one woman,” he said, his tone droll, but he stood a little straighter, his chest puffed with pride. “She costs me more than a house built with ten carat gold nails.”
Shelby didn’t ask if this mystery woman was worth it. He obviously needed his ego re-inflated after his wife left him and he found himself in retirement alone. Flaunting an attractive woman on his arm, even if she was only with him to drain his bank account, probably made him feel younger and more alive than he’d felt in years. At least until he discovered his wife’s body under his woodpile. She gave his arm a pat. “Thank you for answering my questions. Getting a sense of the relationship between you and Sadie before all this happened helps me immensely.”
He frowned. “How will that help you find Sadie’s killer?”
“It’s a process, but don’t worry. Blake and I won’t rest until we learn the truth.”
“And clear my name, right?”
“Of course,” she said, although that didn’t necessarily follow.
He opened the door for her and she slipped through, leaving him to install the deadbolt. She stepped off the dock and started up the hill when she heard him talking to someone on his cell, voice raised enough to carry through the partially open door. She turned and caught a glimpse of him through the shiny new windows, his back toward her.
“I don’t care what you have to do. You owe me! I’m cashing in my chips. Now take care of it!”
<<>>
Blake offered the housekeeper a crooked grin and a stick of gum when she opened the door, but his teasing charm fell short. Without a word or expression that she’d even noticed, she turned and led him toward the dining room, expecting him to follow or be left in her dust. His grandmother had told him the first time they’d met that her maid was mute, but he somehow believed she was playing a really long drawn-out practical joke on him. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Farley stood near a huge stone fireplace staring into crackling flames, an empty brandy glass in hand. He turned, straightened his suit coat, and beamed his trademark smile. The one that oiled the wheels of greed and power. He stepped forward, hand outstretched.
“Blake. So good to see you. Mother told me you were coming for lunch, so I thought I’d join you. We may have gotten off on the wrong foot when you moved to town, but it’s not everyday you find out you have a nephew from a long lost sister you were never allowed to know.” A slurry bitterness tinged his words more than the light-heartedness he was obviously striving for. He lifted his glass, a smirk on his lips. “Drink?”
“No, thanks.” Blake moved to sit in a comfortable overstuffed chair near the fire. There was definitely a chill in the air. He looked around. A side buffet was set out and ready, stainless steel covers keeping lunch warm, but the huge dining table beside it held only two place settings. He didn’t think Evelyn planned on Farley.
Heavy brocade drapes were pulled back on each side of floor to ceiling windows, allowing a panoramic view of the lake and nearby frost-covered trees. Powder white flakes brushed against the panes, thick and fast. The only thing missing from this opulent scene was his grandmother. But she was a woman who knew how to make an entrance.
Farley refilled his drink at the bar and took a chair across from Blake, sinking heavily into the cushions. He’d put on a few pounds since they’d first met, and seemed somewhat more subdued. He swirled the liquid in his glass, watching Blake through heavy-lidded eyes. “You never really knew your mother, did you? She died when you were a boy.”
Blake didn’t respond. The man was half drunk and stating the obvious in order to elicit a reaction. But what reaction?
“Be grateful,” Farley ground out and finished his drink in one gulp.
“Farley.” Evelyn spoke her son’s name like a threat. “Drunkenness is a sign of a weak mind and low morals. I expect you to retire until you can present yourself as a respectable gentleman.” She glanced toward the doorway and the maid appeared. “Marie, please see that the mayor finds his way to his room, post haste.”
“Quit treating me like an imbecile! Do you think I drink because I’m stupid? I drink to forget what I’ve become… ‘cause of you!” He lunged out of the chair and stumbled toward his mother, stopping short of falling into her. His breathing was ragged. “You made me what I am.”
Blake saw his grandmother’s demeanor turn from disgust and annoyance to tempered steel anger in an instant. Her eyes were glacial, but she refused to acknowledge the accusation. “Marie.”
The maid hurried forward and took Farley’s arm.
He shook her off. “I can walk by myself.” He glanced back toward Blake. “Don’t let her get her tentacles into you too. She’ll never let go.”
All the bluster seemed to go out of him at once and he let Marie guide him from the room, head down, shoulders hunched. Blake felt pity for the man despite the fact his uncle was a slimy blackmailer and had quite possibly paid to have Clara killed.
An awkward silence lengthened as Evelyn strode to the window and stood looking out until Marie returned. The maid pulled out the chair at the head of the table and waited for her mistress to be seated, then gestured for Blake to join her. She filled their glasses with water and stood back expectantly.
“You may be excused. We will serve ourselves from the buffet,” Evelyn said, her voice calm and even now. When Marie had disappeared through the doorway, his grandmother turned toward Blake and smiled as though he’d just arrived. “I’m so glad you were able to join me for lunch. Please help yourself,” she offered, motioning toward the platters.
Blake hesitated. “Aren’t you eating?”
“I’ll just have the soup if you’d be so kind.”
He filled her bowl and loaded a plate for himself before resuming his seat. Chicken Parmesan, bacon seasoned green beans, and crusty Italian bread were some of his favorite foods. He vaguely wondered if the cook served it on a whim or if Evelyn Jones somehow knew everything about him. He guessed the latter. “Looks good.”
“I’d like to think the faith he’s put in Double Barrel Investigations isn’t ill-placed,” he said, using the title to pointedly include Shelby. “We will certainly do our best to clear his name.”
“Too bad your wife isn’t getting her theatre though. That must be a tremendous disappointment for her. Port Scuttlebutt could use some lighthearted entertainment these days. Although, a woman’s frivolous dreams are certainly not as pressing a problem as a murder investigation.”
Blake raised his brows. What was she getting at and how did she know about Shelby’s desire to turn the boathouse into a theatre playhouse? He didn’t think his wife had discussed it with anyone other than Tucker and Alice. He was beginning to think his grandmother had spies in her employ. “Shelby and I discussed it at great length. We decided that opening the offices was our first priority, but we haven’t given up on the idea of a theatre. Once this case is resolved I plan to scout the area for a building.”
“I’ll be sure and let you know if I hear of an appropriate venue,” she offered, and took another spoonful of soup.
Evelyn was a woman who liked to be in control of everything and everyone around her. She always had ulterior motives. Sometimes they were obvious and sometimes you had to wait a while. “I appreciate that. Bear in mind that appropriate and affordable may be very different things to us than they are to you.”
Much Ado About Murder (Double Barrel Mysteries) Page 4