“Allan!” Nancy shook her head.
“I have no idea what his alibi is but Chief McCaffrey said he has one. The only person anyone saw is Uncle Barney.” The weight of what I’d said came down on me like a huge stone. I felt helpless.
“Don’t give up on him. He’s innocent.”
I shook my head slowly. “What about his scratches?”
“That could have happened right here when he tried to help her up, remember?” Nancy moved to where I was sitting and hugged me. “Maybe Su scratched him when they were playing or something. Just because he’s scratched doesn’t mean he fought with her.”
“You’re right,” I said with a sad sigh. “I have to stay positive, don’t I?”
“And you still have the mystery of Dr. Santos to solve. I agree with you that there’s more to all that, and I’ll keep quiet about it, if you promise you’ll tell the chief if you don’t find anything out. Remember what the tarot said. And the pendulum.” She hugged me tight. “The pendulum said Joan had information that could help. Maybe we should ask her again. I’ll go with you this time. There’s nothing Joan Clark likes better than spreading a little gossip and I know enough about the stuff that’s gone on around here to tell you if she’s making things up.”
Joan was slow getting to the door this time. Through the beveled glass I could see her shutting the door to her hallway and what I guessed were the bedrooms located back there. Maybe she was slow with her housekeeping today and wants to hide an unmade bed? Joan was all decked out in a sharp blue polyester pant suit like she’d just been out or planned to be. She had her fluffy slippers on though and she was holding a tumbler of rye.
“Heya, Joan,” I said as cheerfully as I could. “We shut The Grind early and thought we’d come by to tap the admiral. You busy?” I grinned at the glass in her hand. “Got a sip for a thirsty neighbor?”
Joan gave me a wide, porcelain smile and ushered us both inside, waving her glass like a directional flag. “This is a surprise! You caught me in the middle of my chores.” She dresses like that to wash her floors?
“Sorry to postpone all the fun,” I said. I settled into one of Joan’s tub chairs. Nancy pulled a stool from the dining nook nearby and claimed it.
“One each?” Without waiting for a reply, Joan disappeared into the kitchen. In a moment she was back with two tumblers and a half-empty bottle of rye whiskey. Nancy’s eyes bulged a little to see Joan was holding the glasses with her fingers inside them. “Isn’t this fun? A tea party with the admiral,” Joan said happily. She poured two-finger dollops of the amber liquor and handed us each a glass. “I thought I’d have to tipple all by myself.” She retrieved her glass from the table and held it in the air, then tipped it in front of her but didn’t say anything. I guessed we were each supposed to come up with a personal toast of our own.
I smiled, nodded and sipped, nearly retching at the taste of the straight alcohol without ice. Nancy, bless her heart, took a good gulp and coughed, much to Joan’s delight.
“So how’s Barney doing?”
“Things aren’t looking good. The CSI team from Eugene thinks they found new evidence and now they’ve restricted his visiting hours.”
Joan shook her head in a rueful way.
“And they’re not even questioning Dr. Santos about what he was doing at the time of her murder. It’s driving me crazy,” I said.
“I know!” Joan took a large gulp and put her empty glass down. “He went around town in fury that afternoon from what I heard. He was hell bent on finding Utta.”
I shrugged. “His wife is his alibi.”
Joan only huffed.
“Seems to me he went overboard,” Nancy said, edging herself into the conversation.
“He and Utta really had a hate on.” Joan poured herself another drink.
“But why? Over what?”
Joan smiled with an ‘I’ve got a secret’ grin. “Well I don’t rightly know. No one does, but Muriel Sterns over at the post office has an idea.”
I gave Nancy a nervous glance.
“Muriel Sterns?” Nancy asked. “Now there’s a gossip magnet if there ever was one.”
Pleased with Nancy’s comment, Joan lifted her glass in a motion of agreement.
“What sort of baloney is she cutting?” Nancy leaned forward as if Joan was about to whisper.
“Who knows if this is true,” Joan began in a conspiratorial tone, “but Muriel says the two of them had it out in the post office the day she was fired.” With her elbows on her knees, she leaned forward. “He was swinging a notebook and it looked like he was going to clobber her with it. He screamed at her, ‘Where are the pages? Where are the pages?’”
“That’s an odd thing to say, isn’t it?” I leaned towards Joan. “What do you suppose that was about?”
“Well, she obviously tore some pages out of a book!” Joan took a healthy gulp and leaned back into her chair, now quite comfortable sharing her gossip. “Muriel says the strange thing was the way Utta acted. She wasn’t the least bit worried. She smiled really cold like and said ‘I won’t be back unless.’ Like it was a threat of her own.”
“Unless?” I was confused.
“Unless he didn’t do whatever she expected him to do,” Nancy said. Joan nodded and smiled mischievously.
“I’m glad you told her that you needed to leave,” I said as we walked back to the Grind, the mountains slumbering above us in the sunshine. I’d slipped my arm under Nancy’s and we walked like two old friends on a stroll. “She really drinks a lot, don’t you think?”
“I had the most uncomfortable feeling while I was there. It was like someone was watching or listening to us. Did you?”
I shook my head, wisps of long hair tickling my cheeks.
“I feel like something weird is going on. Her aura was all muddled. There’s more to Joan than meets the eye.”
“Now look who’s getting paranoid.”
“And did you notice her Jeep was parked on the street?”
“What’s so strange about that? It was on the street the last time I came over too,” I said.
“Why the street when she has a garage?”
“Come to think of it, I saw a Jeep pull in at the doc’s when I left. And she was dressed like she had just got back from going into town. Maybe she planned on going out again and it was more convenient to park on the street.”
“I dunno,” Nancy said, scowling.
“I think we’re both getting a little paranoid about all this.” I bumped her with my shoulder. “At least we got ourselves a new lead.”
“Muriel?”
I nodded and told her I was going to the post office for a chat with the post mistress. I declined her offer to come along. “Maybe you could call Ron. Find out if he knows anything about the DNA test results?”
10
The Glacier post office was a small but efficient little place with the flag flying outside, and a missing dog poster taped to the door. Locked mail boxes, where almost everyone in town collected their mail, lined the wall opposite the door. Over to the right was a counter separating the public from the sorting area in the back. Muriel was selling stamps when I arrived. I’d never met her and she didn’t know me, so I awkwardly introduced myself when the other customer left, and I asked if I could pick up Uncle Barney’s mail.
“Don’t you have his box key?”
“It’s with his other things in the police station,” I answered in a helpless way. “I want to see if there’s anything important. While he’s …” I cleared my throat. “Until he can come for it himself.”
Joan was right about one thing. Muriel Sterns was one woman who was ‘in the know’ about everybody living in Glacier. At least everyone who got mail. She worked the front counter, sorted all the letters, and stuffed them into the residential mail boxes. By default, she had an oblique understanding of everybody else’s business. Who was getting tax notices? Who was getting collection notices? Who received brown paper wrapped packages? What m
agazines did they read and what time of the month did their phone bill arrive? She knew it all.
“I can’t give you his mail.”
I let my shoulders sag. “I’ve got ID,” I said, pulling my wallet from my purse. “And I’m his niece. Honest.” I gave her my sweetest smile. “Please? Couldn’t you help me out this one time?”
Muriel looked to the front door but saw no one coming in. She gave me a long look. “This once. Just go to the police and get his key next time.”
She disappeared into the back room and I relaxed. If she was willing to break the rules about the mail, maybe …
“Here you go,” she said, dumping envelopes on the counter in front of me. I collected the letters, skimming through them as I did.
“Only some bills,” she said.
“Thanks.” I stuffed the letters into my purse. “I’m sure Barney will appreciate this.”
“How’s he doing?”
I sighed. “Well, he’s upset. His lawyer is trying to get him out but for some reason the police aren’t budging.”
“Barney hasn’t done anything.”
“We both know that but the police seem to have other ideas. And what upsets me most is how Dr. Santos was rushing around looking for Mrs. Podeski that day and they didn’t arrest him.”
“He came in here looking for her, you know.”
“What’s with those two?” I leaned on the counter. “They didn’t seem to get along at all.”
Muriel gave a little laugh.
“Joan Clark says you saw them fighting right here in the post office the day he fired her.”
As if the news that Joan had told me was a surprise, Muriel’s head jerked back a little. “Joan told you that?”
I nodded. “She said he was swinging something and yelling.”
“A notebook.” Muriel looked towards the doorway again. She joined me, leaning her elbows on the counter as well. One thing was very clear to me. In Glacier, nothing got past the ever-watching eyes of the town’s busybodies. What they didn’t see for themselves they readily invented. After visiting with Joan, I’d gotten pretty good at playing the role of an innocent bystander. It wasn’t gossip I was after, you see, and Joan wasn’t gossiping. We were sharing some local news. At least that was Joan’s attitude and obviously Muriel’s as well.
Muriel slipped into the same news report mode that Joan had taken as easily as putting on oven mitts.
“She must have torn some pages out of the book. That’s what he was after, I’d guess.”
I confirmed her suspicion. “That’s exactly what Joan said.”
“Sounds like her,” Muriel said, sucking air into her nostrils like she was correcting a sniffle.
“And she mentioned other stuff,” I added. I fiddled with my purse latch.
“What other stuff?” Muriel was suddenly stiff and wary. I figured there was an odd sort of competition going on between her and Joan. Which person was most in the know? Muriel stepped up to the challenge as if to prove she was at the top of the pyramid. She patted the counter emphatically. “You mean the money orders? Well, Joan Clark doesn’t know anything about that besides what I’ve told her myself. He always made sure no one was around when he mailed them. She’s such a nosy Parker!”
“Oh, I know,” I agreed. “She’s repeating gossip.”
“Exactly,” Muriel agreed. “I’m the only person who knows where he was sending that money.”
“Home, I suppose.”
Muriel smiled. “His sister or his mother in Manila. That’s my thought on the matter.”
“He’s a good man.”
“Absolutely.”
“Running his dental practice here and taking care of them there.”
Muriel seemed pleased to see I agreed. “His mother, I think. The money orders went to Mrs. Santos. If she was married, his sister’s name would be different, wouldn’t it?”
Nancy had an order sheet for a coffee supplier, and a spread of tarot cards, laid on a table when I got back to The Grind.
“What did Ron say?” I asked, taking a seat opposite her.
“Nothing.” She gathered up the cards before I could make out which ones had been turned up, as if it made any difference. “What did Muriel have to say?”
I watched her box the cards and put them away in the beaded purse by her feet. “He came to the post office looking for Mrs. Podeski that day.”
“He probably went lots of places.”
“She said Dr. Santos secretly sent money orders to the Philippines.”
Nancy didn’t react.
“Maybe to his mother,” I said.
“That fits. Old world kinda guy. Why in secret though?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t know if it has anything to do with any of this.”
The back door swung open and Bill stepped inside. He held up a hand in a wave.
“We’re closed,” I shouted.
“I saw the sign. I thought I’d try the back door.” His smile could have melted chocolate. “Raincheck, remember?”
I groaned and waved him inside. I could hardly ask him to come back later after making the offer. Besides, my heart flipped a little when I saw him. “Come on in. I think there’s still some coffee in the last pot.”
Bill walked in slowly and stood at our table, his hands behind his back, staring. Nancy waited for him to say something but finally got the hint and stood up. “I’ve got some cups to wash,” she said, giving me a little grin. “I’ll be over there if you need me,” she whispered.
Bill took her seat and still had that sugar-sweet smile on his face. “So! How is Su-Jitzu?”
“It’s not a good time, Bill.” I leaned back and crossed my arms despite the wave of happiness I felt being with him again.
“Su’s sick?” His face crumpled to a frown.
“No, no, no.”
“Barney? Is he okay?”
“As far as we know. They won’t let me see him.” Nancy delivered two cups of coffee and winked at me again as she left.
“It’s something to do with new evidence,” I said, the worry apparent in my voice.
Bill took a sip of his coffee and forced a swallow. “This has been around a while!” He chuckled but swallowed nonetheless.
“It’s free isn’t it?”
Bill reacted to my snappy comment with a slight jerk of his head. “Right.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Nancy joined us at the table with spoons and a small stainless-steel pitcher of cream. “We were wondering what we should be doing when you came in. I say we should carry on. Barney’s not guilty of anything. It will all work out,” Nancy said.
“Well, I don’t think you should close the café. That won’t help,” Bill said, but he seemed uncertain about how I’d react to his criticism.
“See!” Nancy smiled. “I should run The Grind like usual and you can do whatever it was you were planning to do with Bookmarks.” She looked at me like she expected me to say something against that idea and when I didn’t, Bill interrupted again.
“That sounds like a good idea and I can help. I’ve got fourteen days off at the mine.”
My expression signaled total despair. Though the thought of having him around every day for the next few weeks was comforting, and even kind of exciting, I was still a bundle of nerves and worry. Now wasn’t the time to start any kind of relationship …even without Uncle Barney’s problems, my heart was in a vulnerable and broken state, my writing plans were on hold, and my bank account was diving low. Yet deep down, I suspected that if I was exposed to Bill for long, a relationship would develop between us. I’d get lost in that damn sweet smile of his and how he was always shy and somehow vulnerable. I remembered bursting into tears and what it felt like crying in his arms. I wanted that feeling of safety and the release again. But the truth of the matter was I couldn’t believe doing real work was even possible. There were still too many questions about Uncle Barney and everyone else that I needed to answer.
<
br /> “Stock,” Nancy said abruptly. “Barney agreed to let her bring in some new stuff. To turn Bookmarks into a real business.”
Bill raised his eyebrows. “What a shocking idea! A bookstore that sells books people actually want to read.” He gave me a teasing grin.
“Just an idea,” I said pathetically.
“Maybe you can help her pick out the new books,” Nancy said. “You’ve read enough of them.” Nancy shuffled away. Even without seeing her face, I knew she was smiling. “Should I open up the shop?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Might as well,” I answered, the defeat in my voice making it a grumble.
“I don’t know anything about where to buy the books except a bookstore but I could help,” Bill said. “Maybe help you pick some?”
I chuckled about his ‘buying books’ comment because he broke that rule enough. He noticed and frowned.
I reached out and patted his hand. “Sorry.”
Bill looked at the floor as he spoke. “I don’t mean to butt in. Just trying to help.”
“I know, and it’s welcome. Honest.” I offered him a big smile. His feelings were always so fragile and I was being mean. All of sudden I felt guilty and regretted treating him in such a callous way. “Any ideas?”
He glanced up into my eyes. He looked hopeful but I sensed there was still an element of apprehension lurking there too. I could tell I’d really beaten down his self-esteem since he came in and I hadn’t meant to. “New York Times best sellers?” he asked. “Wall Street Journal?”
I smiled and shook my head. I told him both those newspapers had secret lists of bookstores they monitored and despite what people thought, they didn’t make their recommendations based on a nationwide survey or anything. If you worked at the papers, I’d bet your book had a greater than even chance of making the list even if there were better books competing with you.
“It will take more work than checking the paper. We need to read the blogs and ask questions in the reader chat rooms. That will take some work. You any good with a computer?”
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