“Understood.” She pushed her bowl away and clasped her hands together on the edge of the table, chin lifted ever so slightly as she met his eyes. “Now,” she said, “what do you want to ask me? I assume you have personal questions or you wouldn’t have agreed to this visit.”
He swallowed the chunk of chicken he’d just inserted. “Of course I have questions. You and Jack are the only family I have left. Naturally I would like to know you better, to hear your side of things. To learn the real reason you pawned my mother off on your cousin and refused to acknowledge me as your grandson.”
Evelyn raised a hand to pause his words as Marie approached the table with cheesecake for dessert. They waited until she’d left again before resuming their conversation.
He cleared his throat. “My curiosity is bursting. I have questions about you and Jack and my mother and your cousin who raised her, but more than all that… I’d like to know why you haven’t turned Farley in for the crimes he’s committed when you despise him so much?”
She patted her mouth lightly with the napkin, refusing to be surprised at his bluntness. “Farley is my son, in spite of his attempt to self-implode and pull the world around him into his own personal black hole. I have to make sure that doesn’t happen. The Jones family has stood as pillars in this community for as long as there has been a community. No one will besmirch our name or lessen our stand. Not Farley, and not you.”
“So the real reason you asked me to lunch today wasn’t to educate me on the family tree, but to warn me against publicly sharing my suspicions about Farley.” He took another bite, in spite of his sudden lack of appetite.
Evelyn very methodically continued the motions of eating her cheesecake without appearing to enjoy the journey at all. After more moments of silence, she lifted her eyes to his. “I hear your wife has quite the colorful family history. They say her father, once a top tier professor of literature, teaches commas and apostrophes to pubescent juvenile delinquents for a salary worthy of a fast-food restaurant janitor. Luckily for his predilections, the bars out-number the churches in Beaver Junction.”
Blake wiped his mouth and placed his napkin over the rest of his uneaten food. He pushed back from the table and stood. “Thank you for lunch, but this is not going to work. I will not have my wife used as a pawn in your machinations. Whatever they are. I thought we could work past our earlier issues, and truly find some common familial ground. I was wrong. You aren’t capable of change and I’m not capable of putting up with you. Good bye.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded, rising from her chair.
He didn’t slow his retreat, but lifted his voice so she’d be sure to hear. “Home. To my family.”
Marie appeared suddenly and opened the front door for him. The sound of breaking glass came from the direction of the dining room and he glanced back, frowning. The maid laid a hand on his arm, offered a small smile, and hurried him out the door.
<<>>
Shelby sat at the writing desk chatting online with Sid when Blake opened the door of their room. He gave her a tepid smile and shrugged out of his coat. She typed a quick got to go and pushed the lid down on her laptop. Discussing Sid’s new dinner theater presentation had made her homesick for the city and her acting friends, but Blake looked more down in the mouth than she felt.
“How was your lunch? Did the queen accept the new heir to the throne into her castle with much pomp and ceremony?”
One side of his mouth quirked up in a half smile, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “The official pompous windbag of Port Scuttlebutt showed up, if that’s what you mean.”
“The mayor?” She knew Blake refused to call the man his uncle and hoped for his sake that their muddied relational ties would stay secret to the rest of the town. “I thought it was just going to be you and your grandmother.”
“It was, once Evelyn sent him to his room.”
“She sent the mayor to his room?” She covered her grin with one hand.
Blake loosened the tie from around his neck and pulled it over his head. “He was making a nuisance of himself and he’d started cocktail hour a few hours early. I think she was embarrassed by him, but she managed to cover it well with complete disdain. I actually felt sorry for him for a minute there.”
“I’m sorry, babe. It doesn’t sound like your lunch date went as you’d hoped.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs, staring at the closed door. “Jack amazes me. What did he ever see in that woman worthy of his love? No matter how hard I try…” he shook his head. “She throws it back in my face.”
Shelby knelt in front of him and took that handsome face in her hands. “You’re a good man, Blake Gunner. She doesn’t deserve you in her life. But because you are who you are, you’ll give her another chance. Evelyn Jones is definitely a hard nut to crack, and I think you’re the only one who can do it. Don’t give up. She’s been reigning alone for a very long time.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d been there. She was her usual self, serving up thinly veiled threats along with the Chicken Parmesan and green beans.”
“She went out of her way to discover what your favorite foods were and then submarined herself by what… threatening me?” She was only guessing but immediately saw the glimmer of surprise in Blake’s eyes.
He stood, pulling her up with him. Wrapping her in his arms, he held on to her like a buoy. “She thinks protecting the family name is more important than justice. I can’t live like that.”
“Of course not. And I wouldn’t have you any other way,” she said, pulling back to look in his eyes. “This above all. To thine own self be true. That doesn’t mean you can’t wear her down.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You mean like water on stone?”
“Maybe. But I doubt she’s as tough as she portrays. Every character has a hidden facet, a part of themselves they don’t allow anyone to see.”
“Shel, I think you’ve been without theatre for too long.”
“I know, right?” She absently started unbuttoning his dress shirt. “I was just talking to Sid and they are performing Funny Girl next month. I’m so jealous! I’ve always wanted to play Fanny Brice. I’d be good at it too. Well, maybe not the perfect choice, since I can’t sing as well as Janelle or Tamara, but…”
He put his hands over hers. “Why are you undressing me?”
“You took your tie off. I figured you were going to change into something more comfortable. After all, we have people to interview and a murder to solve. You weren’t planning to do it in your going to grandma’s house clothes, were you?”
He chuckled and let her take his shirt off to hang in the closet. “Certainly not. I’m putting on my going out to question suspects clothes. Hand me that sweater,” he said, pointing to a bright blue and black striped crew neck he’d thrown off the day before. It now lay in a wrinkled pile on the floor of the closet.
She picked it up and slanted her eyes at him, releasing a sigh. “Really? You can solve cold case murders but you can’t figure out how to fold a sweater and put it back in a drawer?”
“I’ll try to do better,” he said, moving purposefully toward her, one side of his mouth curving in a boyish grin. He took the sweater from her and dropped it back on the floor of the closet, before turning her and backing her toward the bed. “You are woman. I am man,” he sang in a husky whisper that sent a shiver of anticipation over her skin. He slowly eased her back against the pillows just like Omar Sharif had done with Barbra Streisand in the film version of Funny Girl.
“I thought you fell asleep when I talked you into watching the movie last night.”
“I did,” he murmured against her ear, “but I woke up for the seduction scene. Now kiss me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Shelby told Blake what she’d learned from Mr. Dugan about the strange handyman relationship he had with his ex-wife and the fact he was seeing a mysterious and very expensive wom
an he’d met online.
“It sounded rather untoward,” Shelby said in her best mid-Atlantic English accent.
“Untoward? Who are you? Katharine Hepburn? And where did you put my beautiful twenty-first century wife?”
“I’m trying to use at least one word a day that most people deem archaic.”
“You’re succeeding.”
“Sadly, the English language has eroded over the last hundred years to something resembling caveman slang. Language should flow, not sound like grunts from a herd of…”
“Cavemen?”
They stopped in the kitchen on their way out, but Alice was missing in action. Blake shoved a banana and an orange into his jacket pocket while Shelby filled a canteen with coffee. Alice’s father, Oliver Booth, must have been listening for his daughter’s return because his bedroom door opened and he shuffled out holding firmly onto the handles of a walker.
“You’re not Alice,” he grumbled, and stopped to scratch at his stubbly chin. “Where’d she go now? I s’pose she’s run off with that Thompson fella again. I wanted her to fix me a bowl of apple pie and ice cream. I know she baked one earlier. I smelled it. Where is it?” His glance swept over the empty kitchen countertops and he pulled open the door of the refrigerator to check inside.
“I don’t know, Mr. Booth. But I’m pretty sure Dr. Morgan told you to cut back on fatty foods because of your cholesterol. It’s dangerously high,” Shelby reminded him. “Alice is trying to cook heart healthy for you, but you don’t seem to be cooperating.”
He glared at Shelby and slammed the door shut, rattling glass containers inside. “You stay out of my business. If I want to die from eating Twinkies, I will. Not Dr. Morgan, Alice, or you will tell me what to do.” He shook his head and turned his walker back toward the bedroom, the tennis ball feet sliding smoothly across the tile. Once inside, he turned to shut his door and met Blake’s amused gaze. “Young man, I’d knock that smirk right off your face if I didn’t owe you for solving my wife’s murder.”
“I appreciate your restraint, sir.”
<<>>
Blake got Sadie’s address and a key for her house from Pete. Pete explained that she’d given him the key in case of an emergency or if she was at work when he came by to fix something. They took the Bronco to navigate the snowy roads. It had stopped snowing but the plows hadn’t come through yet and the narrow county roads could be hazardous. Sadie lived about ten miles from Port Scuttlebutt in a small rambler along the highway. It sat close to the road with a short gravel driveway that led to a separate one-car garage. The garage door was wide open.
“That’s weird,” Blake said, eyes narrowed.
“What? That Pete’s house is only two miles away as the crow flies, or that it appears someone else got here before us?”
“The police wouldn’t leave the door up like that.”
“If they even came by to search. No point in looking for another suspect when you already have the case tied up in a neat bow.” She opened her door and stepped out.
Blake shut off the engine and followed. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked beside recent tire tracks that led up to the garage. “You sound like Tucker. The police may have taken Pete in initially, but they didn’t have enough evidence to keep him. They’d certainly make a point to search the victim’s house in their ongoing investigation.”
“And find exactly what they were looking for. After all, Pete admitted he’s been here on numerous occasions to play handyman.”
He looked around the nearly empty garage. There was a bicycle hanging on the wall and beside it a small shelving unit that held cans and bottles of various vehicle maintenance products. Parked along the opposite wall was a lawnmower/snowblower combo that probably cost a good chunk of change brand new, but now looked well used and in need of upkeep. Where was Sadie’s car?
Shelby answered his unspoken question. “Pete told me her old Toyota quit running, so she was looking to buy another vehicle. Obviously, she had to get to work in something. Maybe she had a friend pick her up?”
“Let’s go inside.” He led the way to the side door of the house, and pulled the key from his pocket. “Remind me to check the mailbox before we leave.”
“I’ll get it now.” Shelby pulled her pink stocking cap lower over her ears, and trudged down the driveway toward the road.
Blake stomped his boots off before entering the house. The shades had been pulled down in the kitchen and there was a pervading gloom hanging over everything. He flipped the switch by the door and a florescent light popped on overhead. It flickered a bit before holding steady. There was a mat near the door with a pair of women’s sneakers and a worn pair of men’s work boots sitting side by side. He checked the size in the boots. Twelves. The soles were slightly damp as though someone had taken them off not more than a couple of hours ago.
The door swung open again and Shelby held up a thick stack of envelopes. “I guess nobody put a hold on the mail down at the post office. This looks like more than we get in a week.” She closed the door and unzipped her coat, a puzzled look on her face. “It’s really warm in here.”
“Whoever is in charge of her estate would probably want the heat to stay on so the pipes don’t freeze. Although, they wouldn’t have to keep the heat up this high.” He pulled off his boots and went searching. Down the tiny hallway that led to the bedrooms, he found the thermostat. “No wonder. It’s set at seventy-two degrees.”
Shelby followed, also in her stocking feet. She glanced into the master bedroom. “The bed’s unmade. Either Sadie was a bit of a slob or someone has been staying here. There are dirty dishes in the sink as well, and they don’t appear older than a day or two.”
“Pete told you he hadn’t spoken with Sadie for a couple weeks before she was found, right?” He moved into the tiny extra bedroom and found that Sadie had used it for an exercise room. A stationary bicycle and a treadmill filled the room to bursting. He could barely squeeze by to open the closet.
Shelby leaned against the doorframe watching him. “Actually, he said he hadn’t seen her. I suppose he could have spoken with her on the phone, but he didn’t mention it.”
“Looks like she used the extra closet space to store her summer wardrobe.” He started to close the door but something caught his eye and he opened it wide enough to step inside. “Is there a stool in the kitchen I can use?” he called out, pulling the hanging clothes aside.
“I’ll look.”
In less than a minute Shelby was back with a little wooden stool. She handed it over the treadmill. “What is it?”
He climbed up and pushed the attic cover up. Reaching as far as he could, he felt around the opening. “Not sure. The attic cover was off kilter as though someone had opened it recently. I wish I had a taller ladder. Maybe I’d be able to find more than dust bunnies.” When he was ready to give up, his fingers connected with something solid. Stretching up on his toes, he grasped the edge and carefully scooted the object closer to the opening, an inch at a time until it was within sight. He pulled the box down, closing his eyes when a sprinkling of dirt fell with it. The weight of the box and the dirt in his eyes made him lose his balance for a second and he fell against the doorframe with a loud bang.
“Are you all right?”
“Got an eye full of dirt.” He righted himself, stepped down and handed the box over the treadmill, eyes watering. “Put it on the table, would you?”
Blake went into the bathroom and splashed water in his face before joining her in the kitchen. He grinned when he saw her. She was eyeing the closed box like someone’s pet snake. She didn’t really want to touch it but felt compelled anyway. “You didn’t already sneak a peek?”
“I feel a little creepy looking through this poor woman’s personal things. Are you sure it’s necessary?” She stood back, hands in the pockets of her coat.
Blake didn’t have any such compunction. He was an investigator and investigators snooped. That’s how they solved mysteries. He qui
ckly pulled the flaps of the box open and looked inside. He was hoping for a break in the case, but this was a waste of time. He shook his head. “Why would she bother shoving this heavy box up into the ceiling instead of simply storing it on a shelf at the back of a closet or under the bed?”
“Why, what is it?” Shelby’s curiosity got the best of her. She peered around his shoulder and then pushed him aside to look through the contents. “Of course. Albums and photographs. They were married for twenty-six years, you know. Pete told me. Think of all the memories these conjured up. Good and bad. She couldn’t just throw them out. But she didn’t want to display them either, in case Pete got the wrong impression when he came by to fix something.”
“I suppose. Still. The attic?”
Shelby turned toward him, eyes wide with excitement. She held up a photo of Pete and Sadie, young and in love, sitting together in a one of those huge over-sized rocking chairs, laughing. “You’re right!”
“About what?”
“She wasn’t hiding them from Pete. He would have understood about keeping a boxful of memories. She put them up there because she didn’t want to explain to her boyfriend why she still had them. Maybe he was the jealous type. Violent even. That’s why he buried her under Pete’s woodpile. To deflect the guilt onto the one man Sadie still harbored feelings for.”
“I guess your number one suspect is the invisible boyfriend then, huh?”
“He’s not invisible. Just in hiding.” She dipped her chin toward the kitchen door. “You saw the boots on the mat. Someone’s been here recently and Pete is at the boathouse wearing his work boots.”
“You may be right, but we can’t prove she had a boyfriend if no one ever saw him. Even the ring doesn’t prove anything. After all, it wasn’t on her finger when you found it.”
“True. But I don’t believe a woman can be in love and not tell anyone. She had to have told a friend or a neighbor. Maybe a co-worker?”
Much Ado About Murder (Double Barrel Mysteries) Page 5