Much Ado About Murder (Double Barrel Mysteries)

by Barbara E Brink

  “Glad to hear it.” She gave his cheek a motherly pat.

  Female laughter echoed over the booths and Tucker went still. His gaze narrowed as he listened. He started to get up but Luanne pushed him back down. “What kind of pie do you want?”

  Shelby caught the warning in Luanne’s eyes. She tried her best to convey nonchalance. “I’ll have the banana cream.”

  He put up his hand. “Make that two.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okey Dokey. I’ll put a fresh pot on right now. Just emptied the last one.”

  His interest was peaked again. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Tourists?” he asked softly.

  “Be right back,” Luanne escaped to the kitchen without answering.

  “Tuck, there’s something I should tell you.”

  “Alice is back there, isn’t she?”

  She nodded.

  “Who with?”

  “Some guy she knew in high school.”

  “An old boyfriend?” Worry creased his forehead.

  “Not exactly. Someone she hung out with from time to time. They didn’t really date.”

  “But she wanted to.”

  His statement begged for a denial but she didn’t have it in her to lie to him. Over his shoulder she could see Luanne making enough hand motions at her that she looked like she was directing airplanes on a runway. And yet she still couldn’t decipher what she was trying to tell her. The door opened behind them and she found out.

  Blake slid into the booth beside her. “Hey babe, I’ve been looking all over town for you. Tuck. How’s it going?”

  Tucker, knowing his presence had now been outed, slid down in his seat and groaned. “Never better,” he muttered.

  “Why were you looking for me?” Shelby asked, brushing windblown hair out of his eyes. “I thought you were going to Fanny’s.”

  “I did. Pete had the new locks installed and he found some young guy to set up the security camera near the front door in case our perp tries to get in again. Tucker here donated his store’s old security VCR setup. The guy has to run some wires and hook everything to Fanny’s ancient TV. It should be up and working tonight. Fanny wasn’t too keen on the idea, but I convinced her it was only temporary. Thanks for sending the hardware over, Skeleton.” He did a fist bump with a slow-reacting Tucker. “I’ll come by the store tomorrow and settle the bill, if that’s all right.”

  “No problem.”

  Blake clasped Shelby’s hand. “I need to borrow Tucker tonight. I have a little reconnaissance planned, but it’s a two-man mission.”

  “I can…”

  “Man being the operative word, Shel.” He lowered his voice. “I need to fly under the radar and I can’t be worrying about you at the same time. If something goes wrong, one of us needs to have deniability.”

  Tucker grunted and leaned forward. “Obviously not worried about your best friend’s deniability. What exactly are you getting me into?”

  Blake’s mouth quirked up. “Not in front of the ladies.”

  “What ladies?”

  Shelby peered over the edge of the booth. Alice was walking toward them, her lips pressed tight. Heightened color was inching its way up her neck and clashing with her hair. She knew her friend would be angry, but she wasn’t prepared for this much vitriol. If looks could kill she’d be dead a dozen times over. Before she could think of an appropriate apology, Alice’s mystery date turned from speaking with Luanne at the register and she saw his face.

  Bart Linder.

  Alice didn’t have a chance to share her true feelings before Bart caught up with her. He slipped an arm around her waist in an intimate manner and smiled innocently at them all. As though meeting up with him so soon again wasn’t a disturbing coincidence.

  Shelby leaned close to Blake and murmured, “I have the strangest urge to break out singing It’s a small world after all.”

  He didn’t laugh.

  “What a surprise,” Alice said, her words dripping sarcasm, “all of you showing up like this.”

  Shelby opened her mouth but Blake smoothly took over, explaining it away. “It was my idea. I asked Shel to meet me here for pie after my appointment, and Tuck just happened to see her and tag along. No one can turn down a slice of Luanne’s pie of the day. Am I right?”

  “I guess not.” Her glance flicked over Tucker and away.

  “You’re Bart Linder, aren’t you? Heath’s friend?” Tucker turned in his seat, sliding his arm along the back. “I don’t remember you from high school. How do you know Alice?”

  “He doesn’t have to explain…”

  “It’s all right.” Bart pulled her even closer, testing Tucker’s boiling point. “My dad and I moved a lot. I was only here my senior year. I suppose you guys were already graduated and off to college. Alice was a good friend when I needed one. Always easy to talk to. She’d do anything for me. You ever have a friend like that, Thompson?”

  Shelby could feel the tension build in Tucker, but he managed to remain outwardly calm. Mostly. His fingers curled into a fist. “Alice is definitely a very special lady.”

  “We have to go.” Alice tugged on Bart’s sleeve.

  Bart flashed them a parting smirk. “Have a nice day.”

  They watched the couple hurry out the door. Before Tucker could volley questions at Shelby, Luanne arrived with pie and coffee.

  “Don’t you worry about that, Tucker,” she said, emptying her tray. “Alice will see right through that fella now. She’s not a kid anymore.”

  “You knew about her friendship with this guy?” He glared down at his pie as though it were the problem, poking holes in the meringue with his fork.

  “Alice was a very vulnerable teenager. You don’t know what she went through. Guys like that know how to spot a wounded bird and play on their feelings for all they’re worth. His attention made her feel pretty. Desirable. But that was a long time ago.”

  “And now?”

  She crossed her arms, holding the tray at her side. “Now it’s up to you. Quit your pouting and show her how desirable she is. Fight for her.”

  “Sage advice once again, Luanne.” Blake winked at her.

  “Don’t try to butter me up, mister. You’re paying for that pie.” She slapped the bill down on the table.

  Shelby nudged her husband with her elbow and whispered. “Suck up.”

  An elderly couple entered the café and Luanne moved off to greet and seat them.

  Tucker cut into his pie and took a huge bite, pointedly ending the conversation.

  Blake lifted his coffee cup. “To get back to our topic…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Tuck, I promise you we’ll deal with Bart Linder later. Tonight I need you to focus.”

  “I don’t remember agreeing to be your sidekick.”

  “I don’t need a sidekick. I need a partner.”

  “What are you getting Tucker into? You aren’t thinking about going back out to Heath’s place, are you?” Shelby didn’t like the sound of this. Blake already pushed the envelope when he pushed Heath up against the wall in his own house. The man could bring charges against him even yet. Their private investigator license wouldn’t be worth the paper it was printed on.

  Tucker looked up, his interest peaked. “Will Linder be there too?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But I’m pretty sure whatever we find will include that weasel as well. They’re in business together. Bart might not be connected to Sadie Dugan’s murder but his hands are definitely dirty.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Trust me. We have it on good authority.” He didn’t go into detail about Guthrie’s late night visit or the testimony that Blake had him write out and sign before releasing him to ride off into the night on his snowmobile.

  Tucker didn’t need it. His lips pulled back into a tight smile. “Then I’m in.”

  <<>>

  Shelby left the men to their noctur
nal plans and headed outside. The wind had picked up and blew a stray sheet of paper up the street and into the base of a lamppost. It caught for a second and she bent to retrieve it. The blue and white flyer was an announcement for a high school football tournament. She folded it and stuck it in her purse. Maybe Blake would like to go watch his old team play and cheer them on.

  She waited for an ancient Pontiac to pass by before jaywalking across the street. The door of the antique store was open when she paused to peer into the display window. A little man, no bigger than a pre-pubescent boy, stood in the doorway and looked up at the afternoon sky. He wore what looked like a lab coat over his clothes, except it was gray. Huge spectacles perched on his face, magnifying faded green eyes. His head was as smooth and bright an orb as the moon at night, which only made his bushy out-of-control eyebrows that much more ironic.

  He inhaled deeply and slowly released the breath, stretching up on his tiptoes. Finally, he turned, appearing to notice her for the first time. He straightened his eyeglasses, took a step out of the doorway, and gave a slight bow. “Tavis O’Brien, at your service. I’m the owner of this establishment. Would you like to come inside and see the merchandise up close and personal? I’ve got some right fine baubles you might be interested in… a bitta fluff like yourself.”

  “Excuse me? What’s bittafloof?” His Irish accent was quite heavy for a lifelong Port Scuttlebutt resident. She’d been told the owner of Nonesuch antiques was a sweet talking Irishman with a penchant for the ladies, but she never imagined he’d look like a near-sighted leprechaun. What were the odds?

  He shook his head, his lips pooching out like he was trying to hold in the laughter. “No, no. Bitta fluff. A pretty girl. Like you.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re trying to flatter me into your store.” She pointed at the necklace in the window. A Celtic cross pendant on a thick silver chain lay against a bed of black velvet. Inset in the center of a circle design was a fiery dark emerald. “How much for that?”

  He shrugged. “Come inside and we’ll make a deal.”

  “Right.” She glanced again at the necklace before following Tavis O’Brien inside the store. She’d lived in Port Scuttlebutt for months and although she’d been curious to see the collection of objects within a shop called Nonesuch, she’d never acted on that curiosity. But the necklace had caught her fascination from the moment she saw it. She’d been compelled to stop and stare.

  Dim lighting hid the true condition of many of the treasures inside the small shop. She spied a harp propped in a corner, one string missing, and what looked like someone’s collection of silver baby spoons in a shadowbox on the wall. She moved past a clothes rack and the hint of moldy old fabric was enough to send her into a sneezing fit. Mr. O’Brien reached in his coat pocket and produced a neatly starched and folded white monogrammed handkerchief. He pressed it into her hand before slipping behind the counter to open the window display case.

  She reluctantly blew her nose and wiped her eyes, unsure what the protocol was for handkerchief borrowing. When someone asked to borrow a tissue, they weren’t expected to return it, but this was different. She always thought it would be a kick to be able to travel back in time to a more genteel world, but without the handbook all true ladies must have memorized at birth during those eras, her twenty-first century sensibilities would no doubt fail her.

  He must have intuited her conundrum because he reached under the counter, pulled out a tall stack of similar handkerchiefs, and grinned. “Don’t worry your lil’ noggin. You keep it. I haven’t run out in donkey’s years.”

  “Um. Okay. Thanks.” Shelby wasn’t sure what donkeys had to do with handkerchiefs but she was glad she wasn’t expected to wash it, press it, and return it. “How long have you lived in Port Scuttlebutt, Mr. O’Brien? You sound like you just got off a boat from Ireland.”

  “Do I now? I thought I’d lost my wee accent.”

  He placed a square of velvet on the counter and lovingly laid the necklace upon it. Flicking on a nearby lamp, he positioned it to spotlight the piece. It had recently been polished and sparks of light set off the emerald’s dark depths. His voice was soft and low, almost crooning. “I call this the Seductress stone. I nearly sold it last month to a woman from California. She had out her pocketbook and without warning I felt the pull from within. Like a sailor hearing the siren call of a beautiful mermaid swimming below me in the ocean’s depths, I couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t the first time either.”

  She hid a smile with a cough. “Sounds like you should call it your lucky stone.”

  His bushy brows lifted and his brogue went up a notch. “Lucky? I canna get rid of it.”

  “It brings customers into the store, right? Isn’t that what you want?”

  “You’re a smart lass, ain’tcha?” His grin was infectious.

  “I like to think so.”

  He bent his head close over the counter as though telling a secret. “The real reason I didn’t sell it to the woman from California was because she had a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp. I couldn’t let this beautiful object be condemned to lifelong suffering.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Mr. O’Brien, I can’t believe I haven’t stopped in here before. You’ve brightened my day.”

  “I’d be honored if you’d call me Tavis. All my friends do.”

  “Then I’m honored to be your friend, Tavis.” She held out her hand and he clasped it gently.

  “Would you like to try it on, Shelby?” he asked, carefully unclasping the chain.

  “How do you know my name?”

  His eyes twinkled as he slipped it around her neck and reconnected the clasp. He held a mirror for her to see. “You’ve only lived here six months, lass. You’re still the talk o’ the town.”

  She looked at her reflection, turning a little to catch the light in the Emerald. The necklace was a beautiful work of art. It worked well with the royal blue sweater she wore but it would look fantastic with something fancier. “I love it, but I don’t think I can afford it. Something tells me the real reason this beauty hasn’t sold is because it costs more than most people around here are willing or able to pay.” Reluctantly, she lifted her arms to unfasten it from her neck.

  He put up a hand to halt her from handing it back. “Hold on. You’re not a slabber, are ya?”

  She blinked, confused.

  “You know… someone like ol’ lady Davis. Can’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.”

  “You mean a gossip. No, I am not a slabber.”

  “Perfect.” He bent over, completely disappearing behind the counter and reappeared with a small square jewelry box in hand. Snapped it open and showed her the red velvet lining inside. “A little home for the Seductress when you’re not wearing her.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked, as he took the cross from her fingers and carefully arranged it in the box. She shook her head. “I told you I can’t...”

  “Dinna fret yourself. Look around this place. I’ve got more treasure than I’ll ever be able to sell in my lifetime and my brother continues to travel the country in search of more.” He stepped out from behind the counter and held out the box. “The Seductress is my gift to you. I believe pieces like this are imbued with a sort of magic due to their Celtic history. Therefore, they are meant for a special owner. I knew as soon as I spotted you gazing in the window you would take her home. You belong together.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. Logic had nothing to do with Tavis O’Brien. She took the box, nibbling at her bottom lip. “What does this have to do with being a… What did you call it? A slabber?”

  He chuckled and slipped his hands into the pockets of his gray coat. “If word got out I was giving things away, I’d be out of business by week’s end.”

  “Well, I don’t know how to thank you, Tavis.”

  He crooked a finger and she followed him to the back of the store. There sat an antique double-sided partners desk with beautifully carved sides and claw feet
. It was stained a rich dark mahogany and outfitted with brass handles and knobs. The top was felted in crimson red. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was the desk she’d imagined for their new office. Tavis O’Brien was either a mind reader or he really was a leprechaun.

  She slipped the sales tag off the handle of the drawer and handed it to him. “I’ll take it.”

  Twenty minutes later he walked her out the door, eyes brightening behind thick spectacles. “Ain’t this a fierce sunny day! Take care, Shelby Gunner.”

  <<>>

  Shelby continued down the street, consciously aware of the very expensive piece of jewelry now residing in her handbag. If she still lived in Minneapolis she would probably be afraid of being mugged before she got home, but she had no such worries in Port Scuttlebutt. People passed on the sidewalk with a smile and nod. Sometimes they even started up lengthy conversations. Talking about the weather, the birth of a new baby, or who made the obit page was the way many people spent an afternoon in town.

  She, on the other hand – despite taking a shopping trip on the side – actually had a destination in mind.

  The library door still had the OPEN sign out, so she knew Jerri Roper was inside. She usually closed by five but if a student were in the middle of research or something she’d stick around a bit longer. As a volunteer, she ran the place single-handedly and without interference. Most people liked her and the ones who didn’t at least had sense enough to respect her. She was a formidable woman.

  Not only was she a worthy librarian but she was also a master forger. She’d been an archeology student at university, studying and deciphering ancient and historical documents, and that had somehow enabled her natural abilities to manipulate documents. Shelby knew of one instance where Jerri had used her skills to help a friend, and she had no doubt she’d do it again if someone she cared about were in trouble.

  She didn’t see anyone around when she entered. Books were stacked on a cart at the end of the checkout counter and a couple of encyclopedias were splayed open on the closest table. The sound of running water came from the office behind the catalogue area. Jerri was probably cleaning out her coffeepot and preparing to go home.