by Tess Rothery
Belle smiled but didn't say anything. The rescue mission they were already on was going to be tough enough.
Grandpa Ernie was asleep in the recliner when the girls got back to the farm. Taylor gently nudged his shoulder. "Grandpa Ernie?” Her voice surprised her. She sounded like a little girl.
He did that huffing, grumpy sort of noise people make when they’re being woken up.
"I'll go pack his things." Belle went straight to the large, comfortable guest bedroom suite on the main floor that the Quinny's had given over to Grandpa Ernie. It was as big as their master bedroom and included a bathroom equipped with all the safety features a person with limited mobility might need, including a zero-threshold shower. Just the thing for Grandpa Ernie.
Taylor nudged his shoulder again. He responded in his sleepy way with the same huffing-but-not-waking kind of noise. She leaned on the recliner and stroked her fingertips down the arm of that ragged sweater he was wearing. She was overwhelmed by how comfortable he looked, and she wondered if she was the only one who would actually remember the fight they’d had about her mother that morning.
Grandpa Ernie’s short-term memory was not strong. It hadn't been for years. But what he did remember was a lifetime of friendship with Angus and Ingrid Quinn. And of course, he remembered how much their son Todd had loved both his daughter and his granddaughter. He didn't always remember that Todd and Laura were deceased. But he remembered they were two of his favorite people.
She stood and stretched. It would still be better if he was at Belle's house. He was Belle's grandpa.
She followed Belle into the guest suite and stopped, frozen to the floor.
Across from the door sat a knotty pine dresser she recognized as having been her great Grandparent Baker's. She hadn't thought about the things her grandpa had packed up when he moved in with Laura and Belle in ages. There was one pokey little you-store-it facility just outside of town, and she was sure his things were still there.
But there was the dresser.
She turned to the bed. It was flanked with both bedside tables that matched the dresser. Though they were her great-grandparents, they were only from the 50s and a bit worn around the edges. Not fine antiques. Just sentimental furniture. And on the wall above the bed was an enlargement of Grandpa Ernie and Grandma Delma at their 35th wedding anniversary party. Grandma had been gifted a very large pair of pearl earrings that matched the necklace she had inherited from her mother. The necklace had for years been the most valuable thing in the family, a long, long strand of large natural pearls in the fashion of the flappers. Not just the fashion because it was from the flapper era. In the portrait, the necklace was wrapped gently three times around her grandmother's neck and held in place by a special clasp.
Taylor turned again. Across from the bed was a very large TV. Under it was a bookshelf filled with books Taylor hadn't seen since her childhood. She was sure her grandpa didn't still read, but those ragged paperbacks had once been his favorites. Everything ever written by Rex Stout, both the inestimable Nero Wolfe, Detective. And all of the others who had never gotten nearly as famous.
Belle was sitting in an armchair that Taylor also recognized. It was part of a set that included the corduroy recliner and couch that lived at Flour Sax. But like so many other little details of her life, she'd entirely forgotten about the existence of this chair. And there next to it, was the matching footstool. A gold framed collage of snapshots in the style of the 1980s was on the wall near the chair. It was filled with pictures of Laura Quinn growing up. Taylor didn’t recognize the frame. Perhaps the Quinns had filled the little holes in it specially for him.
"They did all of this for Gramps," Belle said. "What are we doing?"
Taylor sat on the edge of the bed. There was something comforting in the fact that the bedspread was merely a store-bought comforter from sometime in the 90s that happened to have a tiny strawberry leaf pattern in dusty green across the tan surface. This wasn't a Baker heirloom. This wasn't something they had found and carefully preserved to re-create the home that Ernie had lived in during the height of his life. It was just another Quinn strawberry farm thing. She traced the leaves with her fingertips. "We can't take him, can we?"
"Hey-ho girly-o’s." Grandpa Quinny stood in the doorway of Ernie's room with a pleasant smile on his face. "So sorry about the other day…" He shrugged. "To be honest, my darling is angry with your mom. But it's not why you think." His eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "She's mad that Laura is dead. She did love your mom, but she’s mad because now there’s one less person on this planet that loved our Todd. Grandma did a lot of grief counseling after Todd passed, and she needs to do it again.” He paused and cleared his throat. He always had to do that when talking about Taylor’s dad. “Even though that mother-in-law daughter-in-law relationship is often bittersweet, the sweet outweighed the bitter. And she loved your mom like her own daughter." He laughed softly. "You can ask our daughters. They might even suspect she loved Laura a little more."
"I really wanted Gramps to live with me." Belle didn't make eye contact with the sweet loving grandpa she was only starting to get to know. "Who takes care of him here?"
"Emily Norris comes in and does the cleaning, and we recently gave her a bit of a promotion. While we’re perfectly capable of feeding the three of us, or I suppose with Coco, Emily makes lunch and dinner now. Five days a week. And she helps us not forget to make sure Ernie gets his medicine and then she's also here all day since she's doing the cooking, so if we need to run out for any reason, he is never alone."
"But she's not a nurse," Belle protested.
"No, she's not, " Grandpa Quinny agreed. "But she's easing all of us into the idea that a day nurse might be good. Ernie's gotten used to having Emily around, especially since she serves the meals. Grandma Quinny and I are pretty fit for our age but could benefit from the help in the next five or ten years. Might as well get someone in now who we trust and who will grow to feel like family. Heavens, probably is family in this town." He laughed. “I don’t blame you for wanting Ernie at your house. But it’s hard for us old folks to see you kids tied down like that. Besides just liking his company, it seems like it’s better for you.”
Belle didn't argue. But she looked defeated.
“But he hasn’t had a day out recently. Maybe he’d be up for a visit.” Grandpa Quinny smiled sadly at the girl.
Belle nodded.
"I'll go offer him some coffee," Grandpa Quinny said. "That usually perks him right up."
Ingrid wasn’t mad at Taylor. She was mad at herself for letting her worst qualities show in front of her beloved granddaughter. Had Laura Baker Quinn been perfect? No. Had she been good enough for Todd Quinn? Good Lord, no. But she had vowed long ago that Taylor would never know the depth of her resentment.
When her doorbell camera told her Taylor and Belle had arrived, Ingrid’s instinct was to hide. She wasn’t ready to face the girls and whatever anger had built up overnight.
She slipped out the backdoor to do a little farming, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to get dirty since Molly Kay had been dug up. And once she started thinking about Molly, she had to get back to work on the case. It was time, she thought, for the authorities to release the cause of death. Especially to her.
Things were quiet at the sheriff's office when she finally got there, so she went straight to the girl at the front desk and asked for Deputy Maria. Maria was a tactical choice. Reg had dated Taylor and couldn't be trusted not to hold resentment. Serge was in love with Asha, the most recent victim, so he couldn't be trusted to cooperate.
Deputy Maria and Ingrid were heading to one of the little interview rooms for a chat when the tall, shaggy, figure of that annoying journalist came limping down the hallway on a heavy-duty cane with the sheriff himself. The sheriff's Arcadian bulldog of a figure seemed puffed up next to the languid literary fellow. Ingrid stopped and watched, listening carefully to their low voices.
"Thanks for the updat
es." Graham also paused. That hip injury was going to keep him out of commission for a while. Ingrid’s heart lifted at the thought. If his hips don't lie, then he'd have to keep his paws off her granddaughter.
"Not a problem," Sheriff Rousseau said. "I believe the press plays an important role in justice. We've got to get the word out. If we work together, we really can do better."
"I can certainly do better if we work together." Graham smiled through the pain. "But I know you guys can solve this murder on your own. As always, involving the press is an act of largess on your part that I’ll always appreciate."
Grandma Quinny lowered her eyebrows. She knew he couldn't mean that. The press always believed they were the last and final arbiters to freedom and justice. Especially after Watergate.
She paused. She didn't disagree. A free press was necessary for a healthy society.
It was just this journalist she was annoyed about. There was something about him that reminded her of that daughter-in-law. He was just so self-assured. What on earth did he have to be confident about?
At this moment, he had the information she was after.
Deputy Maria was her best bet for getting information from the officials, but she could probably get it much more quickly from Graham Dawson.
"Maria," Ingrid sighed. "I better help him to his car at least. Do you mind?"
"I can't promise I'll have time when you come back, but I get it." Deputy Maria shrugged and immediately left.
Ingrid joined Graham who was nodding his goodbye to the sheriff.
"Mrs. Quinn." Graham leaned on his cane. There was something of Eddie Haskell about his smile.
"Why don't I help you to your car," Ingrid asked.
"And while you're at it find out what I learned?" Graham asked taking a timid step forward.
"That wouldn't hurt."
"You can trust that I wasn't planning on keeping any of this a secret." Graham began the slow walk down the hallway. "But I'm good for the trip home. Why don't we meet Taylor at her sister's place? I just got a text they were headed there with Ernie."
A tall blonde, who looked much older than Ingrid's granddaughter, joined them in the lobby. She kissed Graham's cheek and took him by the arm that wasn't using the cane.
Ingrid would bet that the girl was his sister and wouldn't let his sly non-introduction fool her. If she had to get her information at the same time Taylor did, then that's what she had to do.
“I’ll see you at Belle and Jonah’s home.” Ingrid tilted her chin up.
From Ingrid’s point of view, no one had been doing any real detective work. The fact that the online prostitution ring, if one wanted to be direct about it, was a family problem, had kept them focused on the men Molly had been seeing. What they needed to know was what exactly had killed Molly, what she had been doing that day, and who had seen her. Amateur hour ended now. Graham knew the cause of death, and Ingrid would find out what Molly had been doing that day.
She stopped at the door of her little silver Prius. Who had that magical information? Surely the sheriff knew by now. If she went back inside, would they tell her?
Not likely. But maybe Molly’s best friend would know. Ingrid hopped in her car and drove back to Comfort. Instead of Belle’s place, she went to The Yarnery.
Asha Szkolaski hadn’t returned to work yet. Evelyn wasn’t in either, but the girl at the register was very apologetic.
Ingrid went to Sacred Grounds next. Asha’s mother was sweeping the little café. She glared at Ingrid in response to what Ingrid truly felt had been a warm and friendly greeting. “I really would like to express my apologies to your daughter. Do you know where I could find her?”
“I don’t want your family bothering her.” Dahlia Szkolaski sniffed loudly.
“Maybe I could just call her. Tell her I’m so sorry. I’d….” Ingrid ran through her potential bribes. “I’d like to make it up to her.”
“Oh?” Dahlia paused in her sweeping.
“She’s in school, yes? I would be happy to help with the fees for the semester. Something like that. She went through a frightening ordeal and my granddaughter and I feel terrible about it.”
“Indeed.” Dahlia already had her phone out. “Tell me your number and I will text it to my Yoanna.”
“It’s Asha, I want,” Ingrid corrected without thinking.
Dahlia said something in Polish that sounded like “gwooby Americanine.” While typing Asha’s number in Ingrid’s phone she said, “Yes, yes. Asia. Short for Yoanna. Only I call her Yoanna these days. Everyone else says Asha.” The difference between Dahlia’s pronunciation of Asia and Asha was distinct. Asia sounded like the loving Polish diminutive that it was, but she said Asha with a broad American accent, and a bit of distaste. On this, Ingrid could relate. The only nickname she’d ever liked was the one her grandchildren had coined, “Grandma Quinny”.
Asha texted immediately and agreed to meet at Belle’s absurd new house.
While Ingrid had wanted to come with the information herself, this was a reasonable compromise. Between Molly’s best friend, two Quinn, no, three Quinn women, and that journalist, they’d figure out exactly what Molly had been doing the day she had been killed.
Chapter Nineteen
The vast, echoing front hall of Belle and Jonah’s money pit held two small velvet settees and a coffee table with a bit of flower marquetry. The limited furniture was a part of why the sounds seemed to bounce around the room. The fifteen-foot ceilings, stone floor—Taylor wasn’t sure if they were marble tiles or not—and bow window with glass taller than she was, did the rest. That said, Grandpa Ernie and his walker sure maneuvered comfortably in the wide-open space.
The two small antique settees, though Taylor couldn't help but call them benches in her head, didn't look like the kind of seats Grandpa Ernie could get comfortable on.
"It's cold in here." Grandpa Ernie carried his portable oxygen tank in a sturdy pouch that hung from his walker. He took a deep breath through that little clear hose in his nose and shuffled slowly across the front hall.
"You’ll warm right up if you keep on walking." Belle laughed. "This house will be good exercise for all of us."
"Hold on, I’ll turn on the fire," Jonah called from the other side of a grand archway. He flipped a switch next to a massive fireplace framed in walnut. The room he stood in had been introduced as “the parlor” and had about the same amount of furniture as the front hall: two spindly leg chairs, and a fainting couch, but no coffee table.
"These aren't the family rooms," Belle said. "We should go back there. It's more comfortable." She flipped the switch to turn the fireplace off.
"We can stay in here." Jonah flipped the fireplace back on. "You picked the furniture. We might as well use it." He lifted one eyebrow in challenge. "Or was I right and this furniture might not be quite what we need?"
"These pieces are the perfect seeds for this house. Plant them in here now, and the rest will grow around them. I promise." Belle tried to guide her grandfather towards the parlor through which, if they kept walking, they would eventually find the family room at the far back of the house.
The family room was nestled in an addition that had been built sometime in the 1950s. Its lower ceilings, smaller windows, out of fashion wood paneling freshly painted, and thick new carpet, made that space Taylor's personal favorite. The rest of the house might be historically important, but it was far from homey.
"Quit fussing." Grandpa Ernie let himself into the parlor and stood in front of the fire. "When I was a boy, we said this house was haunted." He stared into the vapid flames of the gas fire. "We’d come out here in the middle of the night and stand next to the chimney to listen to the ghosts. You could hear them flapping around inside."
"Chimney swifts," Belle mused. "Like in Emily of New Moon. I wonder. Do we still have them migrating to Comfort?”
"Oh, something our resident genius doesn't know the answer to." Jonah sniffed.
This wasn't the loving homec
oming Taylor had imagined for her grandfather. She cleared her throat to remind the newlyweds that they weren't alone.
"Let ‘em fight, Taylor," Grandpa Ernie said. "Got to get it out of their system. Otherwise, we’ll be hearing it all night. Probably just hungry.”
Taylor glanced at her watch. She'd skipped lunch and maybe Grandpa Ernie had as well. "How about it? Should we have a little bite of something?" she asked her sister.
"Yes, sure. Give me just a min." Belle spun on her heel and hustled out.
"It'll take more than a minute," Jonah said. "What with the kitchen being thirty miles underground."
A knock on the door was exactly what Taylor hadn't realized she was hoping for. She practically ran from the parlor to answer it.
On the other side of the vast walnut structure stood the wan and worn face of the man she loved. And next to him was a beautiful blonde woman who she dearly hoped was his sister. "You could not have come at a better time.” She pulled the door open wide and offered her arm to Graham.
"Darling," Graham said. “What a warm welcome. And yet I get the feeling…"
"It's nothing. We’re all just a little hungry, I think. And also, newlyweds, house project, murder in town. I don't know. You name it." She couldn't take her eyes off of the woman whose bone structure claimed relationship to Graham, if nothing else did.
"No, well, I probably just made things much more fun, if not more comfortable.” Graham shuffled in on his cane. “I’m meeting your Grandma Quinny here. I know something she wants to know.”
They made their way into the parlor, slowly.
"Taylor this is Stephanie,” Graham said. "My sister. I gave her a desperate call when you said you weren’t free to rescue me.”
Stephanie held out a hand and laughed. “Sorry for laughing, but the look of relief on your face is hilarious. You don't have a brother so you can't know the absolute revulsion I feel any time I meet some woman who thinks I might be a rival."
Taylor didn't have anything to say to that.