Murder by Design Trilogy

by Mary Jane Forbes

  The little workroom was soon toasty and Gilly threw her sweater on a chair. Leaning over her sketchpad, she erased a few lines, then balled the paper and threw it into the wastebasket.

  “O’Malley, I can’t get this piece right. The draping around the hips—too tight.”

  O’Malley sat cross-legged at the end of the table leaning back on his outstretched arms. “Maybe you’re trying too hard, Lassie.”

  Agatha looked up, cocking her head to the side.

  “Maybe. The other pieces are okay … the suit jacket, skirt, pants … my pieces for The Working Girl show … thank goodness I can use them for the competition. But I have to pull them together. That’s what Miss Blackstone said. The colors, fabrics, accessories should work collectively. Trouble is the Working Girl is for today, fall, what Stacy is showing in the shop. The competition is a spring collection—different colors, fabrics.”

  “They look pretty to me, Lass.”

  Hearing a car, Gilly looked up. Agatha let out a howl, and O’Malley scampered to the window then disappeared. Gilly opened the door and saw a man gazing to the right of the main house out over the water. The sun had reached its apex for the day sending sparks off the gentle waves.

  “Hello. Can I help you?” Gilly called pulling the door shut behind her, trapping Agatha inside.

  She stood looking at a handsome man, maybe in his thirties. Handsome in a different sort of way. She didn’t quite know what to make of him—a slight frame pulled tall, engaging smile, with brown eyes. He wore an impeccably tailored black silk suit, his short black hair jelled up into little spikes on the top of his head—a city man.

  “Hi, Yes. I’m looking for Gillianne Wilder. From my grandmother’s description, you must be Gillianne unless there is another redhead in the house.”

  “No, there isn’t another one, well, my mother has reddish hair. Who’s your grandmother?”

  “Helen Churchill. Excuse my manners. My name’s Edward Churchill.” Grasping her hand, he raised it to his lips and planted a kiss on her knuckles. Gilly stood mute. No man had ever kissed her hand before. She shoved the kissed hand into her jeans and tried to hide one pink kitten slipper behind the other.

  “She mentioned she had a grandson. You’re supposed to be in New York.”

  “I had to make a quick trip to Seattle. Got in last night. She raved about you, so I thought I’d see the fledgling designer for myself. I must say I do like what I see.”

  She again found herself at a loss for words. Who is this man, arriving unannounced, making such remarks? Does he think I’m going to swoon all over him? Or … maybe he’s just trying to be friendly. I’ll have to talk to Gramps about this.

  “Helen said you were a designer. From New York. How about a cup of coffee, Mr. Churchill, … if you have time.”

  “Please. Edward. Coffee sounds great. My internal clock is giving me fits. But then I want to see your designs.”

  “Terrific. My folks are still at church and I have to leave for work in a couple of hours. Come on in the guesthouse. I was sketching some pieces for a competition at school. You can take a peek while I get the coffee. How do you take it?” she asked opening the guesthouse door.

  Edward was greeted with a guttural growl. Agatha didn’t move from her station in front of the galley kitchen.

  “Agatha, stop that,” Gilly scolded. She bent down to pet, calm, and cut Agatha’s line of vision from the strange man. But Agatha slithered on her tummy, peering around Gilly. She remained silent but kept her eyes on him.

  “Sorry. She doesn’t know you.” Getting up off her knees, Gilly stepped to the table and her array of sketches. Edward already had one in his hand—the design of his grandmother’s dress for the wedding.

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  “Maybe, if Helen told you about it. Her dress for that big wedding in New York next spring. Your coffee?”

  “What?”

  “How do you take your coffee?” Laughing, Gilly was secretly thrilled at the way Edward was scrutinizing her collection. Maybe he isn’t so bad after all.

  “Oh, black. Thanks.”

  “I’ll be right back. Agatha, come on girl. You, my little one, are going to stay down at the main house.”

  Agatha raced down to the patio after Gilly, looking back she missed the last step landing on her chin. Righting herself, she slid through the patio door before it banged shut.

  Edward watched the dog enter the patio and then quickly turned his attention to the sketches in front of him. Pulling his phone from his jacket pocket, he took a picture of each of the drawings. Checking the phone’s display to be sure he had what he wanted, he frowned, then deleted his grandmother’s dress. Hearing Gilly at the door he deposited the phone back in his pocket.

  He opened the door and Gilly, pushing against it from the outside, almost fell through with a loaded tray—two mugs, napkins, a plate of muffins, and gripping a thermos in her fingers underneath one end of the tray. Edward quickly came to the rescue.

  “That’s quite a balancing act. Here, let me help you,” he said laughing as he placed the tray on the small counter. Gilly had replaced the fluffy cat slippers with a pair of red flats.

  “So, what do you think of my sketches,” she asked pouring the coffee and nodding to the muffins. “I know they can’t compare, not yet anyway, with what you see in the city, but I’d like your thoughts.”

  “They show promise, Gillianne. Of course, they are a little rough, and a few elements of the design probably won’t work, but it’s a good beginning.”

  “Okay, I can take that.” Rough, but a good beginning kinda like when he arrived, she thought.

  Over the next hour, Gilly warmed to Edward’s charm as she bombarded him with questions about the industry, his work, New York, and desperately wanted his opinion on how she could improve her designs. Topping off their mugs, they left the guesthouse and strolled to the front of the main house and down a rickety flight of stairs to a deck with chairs overlooking the sound. He gazed at her more than he did the body of water in front of him. A few sailboats swept forward up the channel but neither saw them. At first she didn’t notice, soaking up every word Edward threw her way, but then she became a little uncomfortable.

  Luckily, her family returned from church and, after poking their head in the guesthouse to find out who belonged to the black Cadillac in the driveway, they finally ended their search by looking down over the bank. Gramps called to Gilly, letting her know they were home.

  Gilly waved and then checked her watch. “Oh, I have to get ready for work. I’m sorry I talked your ear off, Edward.”

  “No, I’m sorry for taking so much of your time. I’m not leaving until Tuesday morning. How about lunch or dinner tomorrow? You mentioned you’ll be in Seattle. Classes I believe,” he said following her up the shaky steps.

  At the top of the bank, the pair walked side by side to the patio door. “I can’t make it for lunch, but I could meet you someplace for an early dinner, or late lunch, whatever you New Yorkers call it. Wait just a second.” She opened the patio door and called to her parents and Gramps to come meet her visitor.

  “You name the place. I’m not that familiar with Seattle,” Edward said.

  “Well, if you don’t mind meeting me at the waterfront so I can hop on my ferry, let’s meet at Ivar’s. Famous for fish and the view … unless you don’t like fish?”

  “Ivar’s it is. Three thirty tomorrow?”

  “Perfect.”

  They exchanged cell numbers and then Gilly introduced Edward to her family. He left waving to everyone in response to their waves of goodbye.

  Gilly returned to the guesthouse to tidy up, loading the empty dishes on the tray. Stopping at the door she looked over her sketches and smiled. “O’Malley, I think Edward liked my designs.”

  “He did, Lass, but Agatha wasn’t taken with the lad. Kind of a city slicker to my way of thinking.”

  “Don’t be silly, O’Malley. I think he was quite charmi
ng and he’s a real designer … in New York remember. He’s already successful—did you see that suit?”

  “Still … a dog’s senses are not to be ignored, Lassie.”

  Chapter 21

  ───

  A LIGHT RAIN SENT a chill up Gilly’s back as she left the casino. Summer was officially over but she was happy for fall and the excitement it held. After all school and fall go together don’t they? The windshield wipers slowly pushed the misty rain away, her thoughts returning to Edward and his visit. On reflection she wasn’t sure what to make of him. That hair, for one thing. Did he really think those sticky spikes looked good? Hearing her mom’s ringtone, Gilly dug her cell out of her bag.

  “Hi, Mom. You’re up late,” she said glancing at the clock—12:01 a.m.

  “Your dad and I have to get up early so we’re headed back to Port Gamble. We didn’t want to leave until you were here with Gramps.”

  “Go ahead. I’m only twenty minutes away. Is Gramps in bed with that growling hound?”

  They both laughed at sweet Agatha being a threat to anyone.

  “Yes. They both turned in about eleven thirty. We’ll be back tomorrow for dinner.”

  “Take it easy on the roads, Mom. It’s a bit slippery out.”

  Gilly closed her phone, a smile remaining on her lips thinking of Agatha and then her mind turned to her master. She knew Skip was slipping into her thoughts more and more, and she also knew she didn’t sweep them away. She’d have to call him tomorrow, tease him about Agatha’s being a killer dog.

  ───

  LESTER CROUCHED BEHIND THE pines lining the driveway. He pulled his rain slicker tight around his shoulders. He wondered what the hell he thought he was going to accomplish. After all, this was his second visit to this house. Jack only had a cup of tea with the old guy. Why would he ditch the key with him? He didn’t even know the man. Maybe that’s why—no connection. He could drop by later, have another cup of tea and retrieve the key, la-de-da, in a bookcase under a book or a lamp, behind a couch cushion. Shit, he could have left it anywhere—but a cup of tea didn’t give him much time. So, where to hide it was a quick decision.

  Tea. Must have been in the kitchen. Too chancy to leave it there. Kitchens are used all the time. Drawers opened and shut. No, no. A room next to the kitchen? He’d walk in another room, and then back to the kitchen. Maybe the bathroom. No, no. Same problem as the kitchen—drawers and cabinets opened and shut all the time. A living room—bookcase. Yep, a bookcase was his best bet. Stuff the key between a couple of books—quick like. Easy.

  What’s this?

  Two people getting into that car in the driveway. Driving out. Duck stupid. The headlights.

  This is perfect. Just the old man. Obviously asleep.

  Lights on outside the garage, but none by the house.

  Dark at that door. Windows. Must be a closed in porch.

  So, I tiptoe in through the porch, go where it leads.

  Sure. I’ll get to the living room. Got my flashlight, but I’ll carry my gun.

  Can’t be too careful.

  Don’t go near that garage light.

  No, go down the side through those bushes to the door.

  Ya, that’s it.

  Lester slowly made his way to the door, testing to see if it was locked. It wasn’t. Pulling back on the handle he opened it and stepped inside.

  Suddenly the patio was a blaze of light. An old man stood in the doorway with a gun in his hand.

  Lester pulled the trigger just as a snarling white and tan monster, fangs bared, lunged for his ankle. Lester yelled out in pain, kicking at the growling canine, and fired again. He dashed out the door as the old man fell to the ground, the mutt whimpering in pain.

  Running.

  Running, up the driveway.

  Gulping wet air.

  ───

  GILLY CRESTED THE HILL leading to the general store. From nowhere a car came speeding down the road, headlights blinding her. She turned sharply onto the gravel parking lot of the store as the car roared by.

  Shaking, her fingers remained gripping the steering wheel. “O’Malley, that car was coming right at us. Stupid driver. Probably drunk.”

  “Aye, Lass, it was very close, it twas.”

  “Okay, we can’t sit here all night.”

  A few minutes later Gilly pulled into the driveway and saw the patio light was on. Trotting down, she pulled open the door. Gramps was lying on the floor; Agatha next to him turned and looked at her whining.

  “Gramps,” she screamed, quickly kneeling by his side. “What hap— Her knee felt cold steel. Gramp’s gun.

  “Now, now, sweetie. I’m— He whispered, wincing in pain.

  Gilly fumbled for her cell, punched in 9-1-1, and anxiously told the operator that her grandfather had been hurt, looked like he was losing consciousness, and gave the address.

  “Gramps, Gramps, don’t close your eyes. Tell me what happened.” Trying to keep him awake she saw his shirt was bloody. Quickly unbuttoning the shirt, she pulled it back and saw blood oozing from his shoulder. Agatha continued to whine pressing forward with her head on his stomach.

  “Gramps, Gramps.” Gilly pulled up his shirt pressing the cloth against the blood.

  “I’m okay, I think,” he whispered. “Burns like the devil. A man. Had a gun. In a black coat … no, a slicker.” He grimaced. “Aggie woke me up growling. Inched on her belly to the door.”

  He paused, resting to catch his breath.

  “Who was he? Gramps, Gramps, did you see his face?”

  Gilly looked up as headlights beamed through the windows, the EMT van parking behind her car. Two men jogged down the steps and into the patio each carrying a case.

  “Thank God you’re here. This is my grandfather, Clay Wilder. He may have been shot.” Gilly backed out of the way, as the medics carefully cut his shirt from his arm and shoulder. Cleaning the blood away, the medics said a few words to each other and then looked up at Gilly.

  “Looks like a flesh wound, miss. His pulse is elevated. Any heart problems?”

  “Well, he had a fainting spell about a week ago. The doctors held him in the hospital for a complete exam but he was released the same day. They said he was fine. Just told him to rest a few days.”

  “We’ll give you a shot for the pain, Clay, dress your wound … if you feel okay we’ll set you in that chair. Your color is coming back. A good sign.”

  Agatha continued to whine softly. Gramps reached down to pat her head. “It’s okay girl. I think we’re going to live.”

  Gilly knelt beside Aggie running her hand down her back. Agatha yelped.

  “Gramps, she’s bleeding.”

  The medics helped Gramps to a chair. One stayed by his side to be sure he wasn’t feeling dizzy and the other went to check Agatha. There was a puddle of blood around her back paws.

  “She has a nasty wound here on her tail. My bet is she was hit by a stray bullet, or took a direct hit. We’ll give her a shot and clean up the wound. But she needs a vet to look at her.”

  After the medics attended to Agatha, she returned to Gramp’s side.

  The medics packed their cases and continued to monitor his pulse.

  “We’ll stay another twenty minutes, Clay. If you check out, we’ll leave. If not, we’ll transport you to the hospital in Port Gamble. Miss, either way he should see his doctor tomorrow.

  “Gilly, how about a cup of tea for these nice men. I’m feeling pretty perky and I think a cup of that orange-cinnamon would be just what the doctor ordered, for now anyway.” Gramps chuckled as he leaned over a little to comfort his furry friend.

  Gilly went to fix the tea and to call her mom and dad. Anne said they would return immediately and asked that the medics stay until they arrived—twenty minutes tops.

  ───

  THE EMPTY KINGSTON FERRY terminal glistened in the light rain. Lester was the only car in line but the first ferry wasn’t scheduled to leave until 4:55 a.m. His leg was
killing him. He worried that the pit bull was rabid the way he attacked him.

  Slouching down in the car, he pulled out his cell and called Sacco. Too bad if he didn’t want him to call. Screw him.

  “Lester, goddamn it. What the hell are you calling me for at this hour?” Sacco said spitting into the phone in a high whisper. “I told you never—

  “Shut up. Let me talk. I’m probably going to die because a rabid dog sunk his teeth through my ankle. So let’s have a little sympathy, partner.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Trying to find the key, the key, the key to the locker. Or, did that little matter slip your mind?”

  “What made you think you could find it?”

  “The old man, the one in the newspaper article. Where Jack stopped for tea. I paid him a visit.”

  “You what!” Sacco spit through his teeth, flopping into a chair.

  “I think I killed him. I know I hit that mutt.” Lester waited for a reply, but only heard heavy breathing. “Sacco. Sacco, you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. The question is where are you?”

  “I’m the only car at the Kingston ferry. The first one out in the morning doesn’t leave for another three hours.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “Go to the hospital. Emergency Room. That is if I can still drive.”

  ───

  SACCO HUNG UP THE PHONE.

  “What a mess. Lester could squeal on me. Try to save his ass,” Sacco shuffled in the dark to the kitchen counter. Picked up the bottle of scotch and drained it.

  “Lester’s the only weak link left,” he mumbled, leaning on the counter hands out in front of him. “Jack’s dead. If I took care of Lester, I could quit like I planned. But, without money? Can’t do that. I have to get in that locker or find the key. The key. Where is that damn key?

  Step one, Lester.

  Step two, the key.”