Jaymie picked up bread, milk, butter and eggs at the Emporium and walked it over to the Queensville house. Along the way she got a text from Jocie that made her smile. They were having a good time, but she missed Mama. She sent photos.
After gathering and sorting the mail, putting away the food, and leaving a note for Becca, who would be returning with Kevin the next day, Jaymie flushed toilets, dusted surfaces, then locked up and walked to Val’s place. She met her friends, and together they all headed down to the ferry and to the island.
She left Gabriela and Val sitting on a bench waiting for the ferry while she wandered along the slips, examining the boats bobbing in place. There were a few people around, tinkering with their boats, taking them out to fish, sitting on the dock talking. Which boat was Terry’s? she wondered. She saw someone she knew, Johnny Stanko; his work history was varied, but he had, she knew, a part-time job at the marina for the summer.
“Johnny, how are you?” she asked of the tall, shambling fellow.
He whirled. “Hey, Jaymie. Good to see ya! I’m doing swell.”
He was the perfect person to ask, observant, but not obtrusively so. She glanced back at her friends, but they were deep in conversation. “Say, Johnny, one of my friends’ husband has a boat here at the slip, a new rental, on Wednesday. Do you know who I mean?”
He wrinkled his face up. Johnny was in his early forties, and life, for him, had not been easy. His abundant hair was graying, and he had lines and scars aplenty. She had once helped him get out of an unjust murder accusation, and so he held her in high regard. But he didn’t think too quickly, and before he spoke he liked to be sure. His expression cleared. “Sure . . . Terry. Don’t know his last name.” Typically, he remembered the vehicle better than the man. “He’s got a fourteen-foot tan Starcraft . . . nice little boat. Suzuki motor. He dropped it Wednesday.”
“He was alone?”
“Yup. I gave him a hand getting it in the water, but once in, he had no problems mooring it in his slip. He seemed to know what he was doing. Good nautical knots. What’s up?”
“Johnny, I have a question, but can it stay between us?”
“You know me,” he said, and mimicked a lock on his lips and tossing away the key.
She smiled. It reminded her of childhood secrets. “Are you around at night much?”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Me an’ a buddy go out fishing lots of nights. Looking for channel cats.”
Channel cats: catfish most often caught at night. “Okay, good. You may know this then. Here’s his picture; did he take his Starcraft out Thursday night, late?” She had her phone out and had found a picture of Terry from her wedding, which he had attended with Brandi—they were still happy then—and Gabriela and Logan, holding Fenix. They were all in the photo.
He shook his head. “Nah.”
“Okay.”
She was about to turn off her phone when he said, “But the other guy . . . he took the boat out that night. I said something to him, but he told me his buddy Terry always let him use it.”
“Wait . . . his buddy? Are you . . . who do you mean?”
He pointed at the pic. “That guy,” he said, pointing at Logan. “He had a bunch of fishing poles and a tackle box, and he took the boat out.”
Eighteen
As Gabriela and Val chatted on the ferry ride, Jaymie held Hoppy on her lap, closed her eyes and breathed in the cool air. As stunning as Johnny’s news was, she didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe it was nothing. Terry and Logan knew each other; maybe Terry knew Logan was visiting his wife and loaned him the boat to go night fishing. It could be that simple.
She sighed in exasperation and glanced over at Gabriela. She’d had such hopes for their holiday get-together, but it had gone bad from the start with the intrusion of Courtney—who had turned out to be a good addition—and the further intrusion of Tiffany, who had turned out to be a bad addition. She was going to pack up Tiffany’s stuff and have it ready for her whenever the woman deigned to come out. At least it would regain some storage space for her actual friends. The woman was a menace as a vacation companion, hogging so much space there was little left for the four other women.
The ferry landed, and they walked back to the cottage. But as they approached they heard voices raised. As they topped the rise of the driveway and looked down to the grove where the trailer sat, they saw Melody, red-faced and angry, facing a man and arguing. As they got closer Jaymie recognized him. It was Andrew, Melody’s husband, and he looked furious.
“Uh-oh, looks like trouble,” Gabriela said. “I’ve had enough drama for the day. I’m going into the cottage and have a nap.” She evaded the turmoil by going in the front door.
“You’re being selfish, Mel. Totally self-absorbed, as always,” Andrew yelled. “It’s time for you to come home.”
“Me? I’m self-absorbed? Says the king of the narcissists.” Mel’s face was pink with agitation, blotches breaking out on her neck as they did when she was extremely upset. “It’s been what, three days? Go home, Andrew. You’ve been following us since the first day and I’ve had it.”
“Bull crap! I went home and waited like a good little puppy dog, but you didn’t phone or text me. What am I supposed to do, Mel? Huh? What am I supposed to think when you say you need time to think?”
“That I need time to think, you troll!”
Jaymie’s eyes widened. She had no clue things were so bad between Mel, who downplayed her personal drama always, and Andrew, whose puffy face was marred by tear trails.
Melody took in a deep breath, looking for calm. “I need some breathing space to think. Let me have that.”
“What does that mean, Mel? Breathing space to think? That doesn’t freaking make sense.”
Jaymie quickly trotted down the slope to her friend’s side. She faced Andrew, whose soft curling hair and round face normally made him look like a baby. Right now he was red-faced and tear-stained, an angry baby having a tantrum.
“Jaymie, stay out of this.” Detective Vestry stepped forward out of the shadows. “I was going to myself, but I don’t want this to get any nastier. And Andrew Heath? You should leave your wife alone and go away.”
“I’m not Andrew Heath! I’m her husband, but she’s a modern woman,” he said with a twisted grimace and the tone of someone saying something disgusting. “Her last name is Heath; I’m Andrew Conners.”
Vestry, her tone calm, said, “My apologies, Mr. Conners, but you’re not doing yourself or Melody any good here. I think it would be best for you both if you left.”
“Who the hell are you to tell me to go away?”
She fished in her jacket pocket and pulled out her badge. “Detective Angela Vestry. You should leave.” She clipped her badge to her slacks waistband, where it remained visible.
It was a delight to see Andrew’s pink face pale. He stood for a long moment, the tableau frozen like a painting: Detective Vestry watchful, Melody, tears on her cheeks, stiff with anger, and Andrew, his expression now blank, his pale tufts of hair wafting in the breeze the only movement. It was evident that he was weighing his options.
“Fine. I’m going.” He stared at Melody and his expression softened. “Mel, please come home. I love you. We have a great life together.” He turned and glared at the detective. “Don’t let anyone tear you away from it.”
Melody didn’t reply. Andrew whirled and walked away.
“I don’t want to see you skulking around here,” Melody called after him, her voice calmer. “I’ll come back to Consolation when I’m ready, and not before.”
Wordlessly, her husband, his body stiff with attempted dignity, strode away, brushing past Jaymie, then Gabriela and Valetta.
“Thanks, Angela,” Melody said, putting her hand on the detective’s shoulder. “I appreciate the support.”
“De-escalation training comes in handy on occasion in my own life,” the detective joked with a wry smile that Jaymie was astonished to see. “I have stopped a few fistfights at fami
ly reunions.”
“He’s not a violent sort,” Melody said, dropping her hand to her side. Her expression was a mixture of relief and distress. “He’s frustrated. And suspicious. And despite what he says, I think he’s been hanging around since I got here. He must have been following us.”
Vestry’s eyes had narrowed and she nodded in a thoughtful way. It reminded Jaymie that she had stuff to tell the detective too.
“I’d better get going. I have to get back on the job. There’s a murder to investigate, unless you’ve already solved it?” Vestry said to Jaymie with raised eyebrows.
Jaymie stifled her first reaction, which was anger and resentment at the woman’s snarky tone, and tried to hold on to how charming and helpful she had been in this instance. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Thanks for lunch,” she said to Melody, taking her hand and shaking. “I enjoyed talking to you.”
“I enjoyed it too,” the writer said. “I’ve got your deets; I’ll email you. And I’ll see you around here, of course.”
“Let’s catch lunch again before you go home. And if you have any more trouble with your husband, give me a call.”
Jaymie led the way up the hill, leaving behind Mel, Val and Gabriela to talk. When they were out of earshot, she said, “Detective, I do have a few things to share, if you don’t mind. Can we sit on the front step for a minute?”
“Sure. Let’s.”
They sat on the top step of the cottage front porch. Jaymie was uncomfortable talking to Vestry, but determined to share what she had learned, and even what she surmised. She looked off across the road for a moment, glimpsing the sparkling water of the St. Clair River through the line of pines. “I know you think I butt in, Detective. I know you often think I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time, but to me . . . I care about this community.” She looked over at the woman and saw the gathering storm clouds in her gray eyes.
She realized what it may sound like she was saying. “I’m not saying you don’t, please don’t think I mean that. We both care about this community. First, thanks for handling Andrew. I worry about Mel; where she lives she’s cut off from family and friends, and I worry she doesn’t have the support she ought to have.”
“I like her. At first I was just a fan, but we talked about other stuff than her writing, and I like her. She’s . . . difficult. Prickly, like me.”
Jaymie’s eyes widened. The detective glanced her way and snickered at her expression.
“I’ll bet self-awareness is the last thing you expected from me. I know I’m not easy to get along with. I never have been. I can get on my high horse sometimes. That’s what my grandmother called it . . . Oh, Angela’s getting up on her high horse again.”
“I wouldn’t say that, I—”
“Don’t pretend we get along, Jaymie. I think you withhold information. Not always on purpose, but . . . And you think I’m not appreciative when you share, and you think I make it difficult to tell me things.”
Jaymie was silent.
“I’ve talked to Chief Ledbetter,” Vestry said. “Chief Connolly likes him and so do I; we always worked together when he was our chief. He remains a good resource who tells it like it is, and he likes you. He says you have a natural nose for news, and that locals confide in you naturally. Anyway . . . give me what you’ve got.”
First, she told Vestry everything she had thought of and discovered about Mario and Hallie and Kory. She wouldn’t feel right if she didn’t give the woman everything. Then, trying not to add too many qualifications, she simply said that her friend Brandi had an adventurous love life, and had contacted, using a gaming or dating app, Mario Horvat. She had then met up with him at a cottage he was working on two nights before he died. Brandi wasn’t there at the moment, but would confirm it when she got back.
“Interesting,” the detective said.
Jaymie frowned and looked down at her feet. “Here’s the thing: we all went to Grand Bend the day after they arrived—the day after she and Mario spent some time together—and Brandi’s ex, Terry Xylander, followed us there and confronted Brandi. He said he knew she had slept with a guy already.” She looked up and met the detective’s gaze. “I found out today that he’s staying locally at the motel between Queensville and Wolverhampton. Val can confirm. Or . . . I guess you can find that out for yourself. He has a boat, Detective . . . he has it here, a motorboat that he has in a slip in the marina.”
“He could easily have gone around the island, spoken with Mario—”
“He could be the guy Hallie heard Mario fighting with.” Jaymie was taking this one step at a time. It had occurred to her that just because Johnny said that Logan was the one who took the boat out, it didn’t mean that Terry didn’t have it later that night, or that Logan hadn’t picked him up. “He could easily have pulled the boat up to the dock on the river side of Horvat’s cottage—”
“—and argued with then attacked him—” the detective said, her brows raised.
“With the pie iron, which, if he was following us and lurking around our property, he could have seen me hang on the tree to dry.”
“And he could have set fire to their home. The fire chief thinks an accelerant must have been used, and the fire started at the back of the cottage, on the river side.”
Jaymie nodded. “I know it sounds like I’ve been snooping—”
“It does.”
“But I’m worried about my friend. If Terry is violent I want him caught. He was angry that Brandi had been with another guy, though they are broken up.”
“What does your friend say?”
“She doesn’t think Terry would do anything like that.”
Detective Vestry nodded. “Okay. What else? I know there’s more.”
Jaymie looked over her shoulder, wanting to make sure Gabriela wasn’t nearby, especially since she had gone into the cottage earlier. In a soft voice Jaymie explained the situation with her friend as closely as possible without accusing Gabriela of trying to kill her husband in the first place with the blown-out pilot lights. Gabriela wouldn’t do it, and the more she thought about it, the more it seemed likely that Logan and Tiffany were gaslighting her gullible friend.
“You think it is possible that your friend’s husband is deliberately accusing her of trying to kill him? All to set up some . . . what? A better deal for custody of their daughter?”
Jaymie frowned down at her sandal-clad feet and wiggled her toes. “Sounds dumb, right?”
The detective sighed. “It’s not the dumbest thing I’ve heard. Heck, it isn’t even the dumbest thing that’s happened in this town. I thought the pudding mould murder was weird last winter. Now a pie iron murder? Gaslighting? Cheating on your spouse using game apps?” She snorted. “Hasn’t anyone in this town ever heard of murder with a gun?”
Jaymie sighed. “I know. Hey, remember, I was attacked with a wooden mallet a while back . . . you know, one of those meat pounding mallets. And my vintage bowl was stolen and used to whack a girl I was enemies with!”
The woman next to her was shaking, shuddering . . . was she having a fit? Jaymie looked over, and the detective was bent over, holding her stomach, laughing silently, so hard no sound was coming out of her mouth and she was turning red, her narrow face bright cherry. Jaymie snickered, then chuckled, then laughed too, until her stomach hurt.
Finally the detective wiped her wet eyes and regarded Jaymie with a friendlier look. “I appreciate you being open with me. That’s all I want.”
What she wanted was Jaymie handing over any information that came her way; Jaymie got it. “Uh . . . one more thing. I don’t think this has anything to do with anything, but it’s also possible that Gabriela’s husband had access to Terry Xylander’s boat the night Mario Horvat was murdered.” She told the detective about her conversation with Johnny.
“We could propose the same scenario as the Terry and Brandi Xylander hypothesis.”
“I don’t think that makes a lot of sense. Why would Logan kill Mario?�
� Jaymie sighed. “I can’t believe I’m conjecturing all of this about my friends’ husbands. It’s ridiculous.”
“We’ll interview all of them, Terry Xylander, and Logan and Tiffany Offerman.” The detective headed out, after telling Jaymie that they were expecting the cell phone records to come through any time now from Mario Horvat’s cellular service provider. When it did, they’d be able to track down if there were other women he had been with, other women who might be angry at him enough to kill him, or boyfriends or husbands who might be similarly angry, as Terry was. They had not totally decided that Kory was the killer, even though he had been charged.
Jaymie headed back to the grove. Worry was tugging at the back of her brain, but she couldn’t find the source for it, so she left it alone to simmer. Maybe it would come to her later. Melody, Val, and Gabriela were sitting in the shade with their feet up and lemonade in tall frosty glasses. She sat down with them for a while, but then got up and stretched.
“I’ll be happier if I get done what I have to get done. I’m going to pack up all of Tiffany’s stuff and have it waiting for her. I don’t want her spending any more time out here than necessary. In fact, if she doesn’t come for it today, I’ll take it to her myself tomorrow morning.”
“I should be the one to do that,” Gabriela said.
“No, you stay,” Jaymie said, one hand out. “You’ve been through enough with that woman. C’mon, Hoppy!”
Her little dog followed her inside and headed straight to his food bowl. In truth, Jaymie needed a few moments. She was accustomed to having alone time to read, reflect, sip tea and watch the world go by. Even when she was with Jakob and Jocie she could feel that tranquility, that sense of relaxation, steal through her. But this year with her friends she felt the need to be on all the time, to entertain, and make sure they were all having a good time. It hadn’t been like that in the past, she realized, because they were on neutral ground, a campsite, where she was as free as they were to take time to herself.
Cast Iron Alibi Page 21