“Ah, gee. Well, that is just what every woman wants to hear, now isn’t it?” Juniper ran her hands threw her hair, straightening her shoulders as she did. “I spoke to Victoria.”
“You did?” Albert frowned. “I thought you said Victoria won’t talk to you.”
“There’s a first time for everything, right? Anyway, she said Mallory had encouraged her to confide in me.”
“Ahh, Malhala, the stunning gypsy girl with the bright eyes. She is persuasive.”
Juniper was about to lecture him on how being referred to as a gypsy was offensive to her friend when she remembered that he was from a time when it was a commonly used term.
“Why don’t you come, sit down, this is going to be a long story.”
After Albert joined her at the island, Juniper began by telling him of her trip to the police station and what she’d learned by reading the autopsy.
“Of course, I could have saved a lot of time if Victoria had just spoken to me earlier,” Juniper said before telling Albert about the encounter.
“Does she know I’m trapped here?” Albert asked after she told him about Victoria’s confession and how she had tried to stop Almer.
“She does now.”
“She’s trapped too?”
“Yes. I suspect you and Victoria are trapped here by your own personal unresolved issues. I think her past sins are holding you both here. She was hoping I could in some way help free you both.”
Albert nodded.
“Albert, have you actually tried to leave… like lately?”
Albert thought for a minute. “I did try to leave quite a bit at first, but I guess it’s been a while.”
“Why don’t you try now? Try picturing Victoria and the manor. Maybe you can go there?”
Albert closed his eyes for a full minute before sighing and shaking his head. “No dice.” He fiddled with his watch. “There must be something missing. Something that’s keeping me here.”
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A fter speaking with Albert, Juniper went home and poured a glass of wine. She snuggled with Jack in bed and thought about everything she learned about Victoria and Albert. She was so close to helping them, she just knew it. The sweet thought put her right to sleep. The phone rang, jumping her from her slumber. Jack had drifted off beside her.
“Hello?”
“Junie.”
“Eve? What’s up?” Juniper glanced at the clock. “For Pete’s sake, girl. It’s 11 p.m. Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”
“Frank Patone is what’s wrong, or what’s right.”
“Oh, what now?”
“He’s dead.”
***
The next morning, after dressing for work in her usual attire of a t-shirt, jeans and work boots, Juniper paced around her kitchen. Frank was dead. Her head was about to explode from the guilt of having yelled at him mixed up with burning curiosity. She’d ranted and raged in his face yesterday at lunch—in front of witnesses.
And over the past month to anyone who would listen, really. Even Detective Bones had been subjected to her fuming tirades about Frank.
How had he died?
Eve finally called back.
“I’m sorry, Junie!” she moaned over the phone. “Frank isn’t dead after all!”
“What?” Juniper stared at the phone, shaking her head. “What are you saying? What happened?”
“Mabel heard on the police scanner that Frank was dead, but the report was wrong,” she explained. “According to Mabel’s friend at the medical center, Frank is still clinging to life this morning in the intensive-care unit.”
Juniper slid into a chair and had to grip the kitchen table to take it all in. “Mabel needs to get rid of that police scanner,” Juniper grumbled.
“She’d sooner cut out her tongue.”
“Oh, but then how would she relay all that juicy gossip?” Juniper replied dryly. “Now does she know what happened?”
“He was hit in the head with a garden spade.”
A garden spade?
“Who hit him?” Juniper asked, afraid she already knew the answer.
“That’s the tricky part. Both Michèle and Fern have confessed to doing it.”
“What? They both hit him?” Juniper didn’t know whether to throw a party, have a drink, or pray. “I’ve got to get to work,” Juniper told Eve, after taking a look at the clock.
They hung up and Juniper grabbed her stuff and went running outside.
She was surprised to see a sleepy-headed Jack waiting for her. “Do I have news for you,” Juniper said as he pushed open the gate and walked to his truck.
“I think I just heard,” He circled around the truck to stand closer to her so they could speak more quietly.
It was still early enough to wake up some of their neighbors. “I just had coffee with Kaden.”
Her eyebrows perked up. “Oh, of course. You must know everything. What happened?”
“Patone showed up at Oliver’s place.”
“I wonder what he was doing out there.”
“He went to talk to Michèle.”
“Why?” Juniper asked.
“Brace yourself.”
“Oh no. Please don’t tell me they were having an affair.”
“No.” Jack looked over his shoulder, clearly making sure that no one was listening. “He was trying to blackmail her.”
“Wh-what?” Juniper felt her jaw drop. Juniper knew Frank was a horrible human being, but blackmailing Michèle? “Are you kidding?”
“Nope.”
“Oh God. Poor Michèle!” Juniper paced in front of the truck. What could he possibly have on her? “Frank is so awful. Just when I think he can’t stoop any lower, he goes there. So, what happened exactly?”
“Fern was there too. She was making a delivery for the hardware store,” Jack said, setting the scene. “She was unloading the soil out back. Apparently they didn’t like what he had to say, because they both ended up bashing him in the head with a garden tool.”
Juniper had to lean against her truck to keep from falling over. This was all so hard to believe. Even though Michèle and Fern had both voiced their sincere disgust with Frank, Juniper still couldn’t picture either one of them being so angry that they’d attack him together and attempt to murder him. “I can’t believe it. It must’ve been self-defense.” Juniper frowned, imagining it, then tried to brush it off. “Besides, he’s still alive. They obviously didn’t want him dead.”
Jack’s eyebrows went up. “Michèle told Kaden that Patone kept goading her about paying him money to keep quiet—she never would say about what, exactly—and she finally got so angry, she started to swing at him with whatever she had. It happened to be the garden spade. Patone was able to grab it and they tussled.” He shook his head and lowered his voice. “He pushed her down and lifted the garden spade to hit her. She thought she was about to die, but at the last second Fern picked up a nearby shovel and bashed him over the head.”
“Wow. That took some guts.” Juniper pressed her fingers against her mouth. “It’s hard to pretend I feel bad for him.”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Not that I’m saying it was right to bash him in the head, but he clearly provoked Michèle. Heck, he has a gift for rubbing people the wrong way, and Fern was saving Michèle so you can’t blame her.” Juniper slapped one hand on the truck fender.
“I’d say.” Jack checked his phone, then covered her hand with one of his.
Juniper appreciated the show of comfort and solidarity. “Fern is being interrogated by Kaden right now, so I guess he’ll have to figure out whether it’s all justifiable or not. My guess is that both ladies will be released.”
“I hope so.”
“Think about it,” he said. “By the time Fern actually hit him with the garden spade, it was a case of fighting for Michèle’s life.”
Her mind narrowed in on one thing. “This must have som
ething to do with Belinda’s death.”
His eyes lit up, and he gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. “Of course, it does. Let’s discuss.”
Juniper had to laugh. Jack loved tossing around murder theories. It was more grist for the mill. “Okay,” Juniper said. “Why would Frank be blackmailing Michèle? She was Belinda’s best friend.”
“Keep talking,” he said.
“So you never heard what it was about?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. What if the two of them had been fooling around behind Belinda’s back?”
“Which two?”
“Frank and Michèle.” Juniper made a face. “I can’t believe she would ever be interested in him, but it could happen. So what if . . .”
“What if . . . ?” he prompted.
“Well, Frank could’ve been threatening to tell Oliver.” Juniper frowned at that idea.
“But if they were having an affair back in high school, it’s all in the past. Why would Oliver care? This is weird.”
“Let’s get to work. The crew is waiting. We can discuss more over dinner. How about we hit up the poutine truck later?”
Chapter Thirty
J uniper drove out to the old sawmill. Queenie greeted her with a look of puzzled concern on her face.
Taking a deep breath, Juniper jumped out of the cab and slammed the door shut. “Hi, Queenie.”
“Junie, why did you take off last time we talked?” She raked her fingers through her hair.
“I couldn’t deal with what you were telling me. I’m sorry, Queenie. Go ahead, I’m ready to hear it all now.”
“Are you kidding? You took off before I could tell you that none of the crew planned to take the job with Patone. None of us ever would. Frank’s a jackass. Everyone here knows that.”
“Really? But, what if the money he’s offering is stupid good. Lord knows that man’s got more money than brains or class.”
Queenie gave her a huge smile, “Exactly. Two things we’re not willing to sacrifice. I’m sorry I gave you such a scare.”
“Come here,” Juniper said, and pulled her close for a hug. After a long moment, Juniper let her go. “Thank you for being so loyal. And I’m glad you told me that Frank approached you all. It’s good for me to know those things and I’ll get you pay raises as soon as I can.” Juniper sighed. “God, you scared the crap out of me.”
Queenie laughed, “well, it’s your own fault for runnin’. My goodness, you were like a frightened colt.”
“I was, wasn’t I?”
“So, I have something else to tell you. Don’t run!”
“What’s up?” Juniper asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Grandpa Stone was here when I arrived first thing this morning.”
“Grant?”
“Yeah, the old guy who used to run the Planning Commission.”
“I know who you mean. How did he get out here?” The man is a hundred and a little too fragile to be walking or driving his own car.”
“He said he got a ride from one of the kids in town.”
“Was he looking for me?”
“No.” Her forehead creased in worry. “That’s the weird thing. He marched into the house and started climbing the stairs. He had to stop on every step to catch his breath and was worn out by the second floor.”
“I hope you convinced him to go back downstairs.”
“I did my best, he walked back and forth down the hall, stopping at every doorway, mumbling about something.”
Her stomach started its nervous twitching again. “What did he say?”
“I don’t know, something about this is where it happened, she was here, it didn’t make any sense.” Queenie said. “I asked questions but he continued to mumble to himself, so I finally called his grandson, Oliver and he drove out to pick him up.”
“Good.” Juniper shook her head, befuddled by Grant’s strange behavior. What was he up to and did it have something to do with Belinda’s death? Did Grant know Belinda Battams twenty-eight years ago? Had he seen her hiding out in the mill?
Oh, God. Was it possible that Grant had something to do with Belinda’s murder? Impossible. But Juniper couldn’t let it go. Twenty-eight years ago, Grant would’ve been in his early seventies.
Had he been strong enough to pick up a woman and shove her inside a roller? Her mind started spinning at the thought. It wasn’t possible, was it?
Absolutely not. Juniper thought immediately. She was grasping at straws. But a tiny niggling doubt remained.
After all, from the very beginning when Pike first inherited the mill and then applied to the Planning Commission to rehab the place, Grant had been dogging the process.
Was the old man more concerned about the house itself or what they might discover inside?
There was only one way to find out. Juniper would have to track him down and have a conversation with him. For now, though, she was here and ready to work off some of these worries with good, hard labor. Juniper glanced at Queenie, who still looked anxious. “Don’t worry,”
Juniper said. “I’ll talk to Grant.”
“Okay, good. Thanks, Junie.”
“For now, let’s go over the stuff you guys have been doing all week.”
Chapter Thirty One
A fter working for a few hours Juniper drove back to town to track down Grant.
She stopped at the Planning Commission offices first, but he wasn’t there. One of the secretaries came over to the counter and said, “You’ll probably find him strolling somewhere between here and the Historical Society office down on the square.”
Juniper decided to walk the same route and finally caught up with him. He was seated on a park bench in the tree-lined grassy center of the town square. His head was bowed and Juniper wondered if he was dozing.
“Hello, Mr. Stone,” Juniper said.
He blinked and sat up straighter. “Well, hello, there, Juniper. Haven’t seen you in a while, young lady.” He coughed to clear his throat.
“I’ve been pretty busy. But I heard you were out at the mill, and I was wondering if you needed any help looking for something.”
“I didn’t . . . I wasn’t. . . .” His lips curled down in a frown. “I forget what I was looking for.”
Juniper sat down next to him on the bench.
He stared blankly for over a minute and finally looked up at her. Juniper was shocked to see tears blurring his eyes. “I remember,” he whispered.
“You do?” Juniper felt her curiosity pique.
“I do.” He took a deep breath. “Trephinia was her name.”
Juniper knew the name. It had been coming up a lot lately. “Fern and Jason’s grandmother, you mean? What about Trephinia?”
“She told me something, a secret before she died,” he uttered in disgust. “She had only ever told three other people in her life, but she said she had to tell me.”
Juniper patted his arm. “I’m so sorry. What did she tell you?”
Grant shot her a sideways glance. “She was disgraced in that mill. The man who did it was untouchable at the time —much stronger than her and a pillar of the community. You understand. She couldn’t fight back.”
“I’m afraid so. You know you don’t have to keep this secret to yourself anymore. Trephinia’s passed and it wouldn’t hurt to get the truth out there, would it?”
He reached over and Juniper felt again the crepe-paper-thin skin of his hand as he patted hers in sympathy. “Perhaps you’re right, dear. I’m afraid dealing with it on my own is driving me mad. It’s like my mind knows I have a secret but sometimes I can’t remember what it is and it makes me a little crazy trying to figure it out. Anyway, I just want you to know that I think it’s good that you’re knocking down walls and letting the light into that place,” he said. “Trephinia’s ghost shouldn’t be shut away in the darkness.” He pursed his lips tightly, and then slowly he seemed to make a conscious effort to smile. Juniper wondered if he was mixing Trephinia’s story up with
Belinda’s but she decided not to question him. She didn’t want to see him frazzled when he was finally calm.
Chapter Thirty Two
O n her way to meet Jack for lunch, Juniper stopped to see Eve at the newspaper. “Any further word on what happened to Frank?”
“I got fifteen. Let’s go get a latte,” she whispered. They both waved to Penny, who smiled and shooed them off.
They didn’t speak as they walked down the street to Cookies & Corsets, where Juniper bought two lattes. They found a quiet corner and sat to talk. Eve took a sip first and then said, “Frank is still in intensive care but not quite as critical as earlier.”
“Have they arrested your sister or Fern?”
“No, but I’ll find out if they’re going to be charged soon enough. I got Penny and there’s no way she’d let my sister or Fern go down for that scumbag. Cody’s a smart man, he’ll let them go if he knows what’s good for him.”
Juniper filled her in on everything Jack had told her about Michèle bashing Frank with the garden spade and the interesting detail of him trying to blackmail her.
“Blackmail?” Eve repeated. “What could she have possibly done that would cause someone to blackmail her?”
“I can’t figure it out. Is it something to do with Belinda —something that happened back in high school—or is it more recent?”
“I don’t know. Mitch spent half her time in Quebec and I lived in Texas for some of the time with my Daddy before coming back to stay with Mama. If it has something to do with Belinda, then I’ll find out. If Mitch won’t tell me, then I’ll talk to the Mabels. One of ‘em is bound to remember something.”
Chapter Thirty Three
J uniper slid the plastic tray onto the picnic table, being careful not to tip over the hotdogs that sat upright in their thin cardboard containers. She sat on the wooden bench seat, feeling the sun warm her back as she scanned the parking lot.
To her left, the Poutine on Wheels was in full swing. The food truck was aptly named, probably older than Juniper but newly painted with a plaid logo. The three windows for ordering stood open with lines at each. Tourists that didn’t know any better might pass the Poutine on Wheels over because it looked like a dive, but the truth was they made the best poutine outside of Quebec. The lines were always long and the picnic tables that provided the only seating for dining were always full.
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