Death on Covert Circle

by Patricia McLinn

  “Not anymore, anyway,” Gundy continued. “It’s been added onto over the years as you can see, but it’s always been kept a secret.”

  “How on earth do you keep renovations like this a secret?”

  “Family’s done the work. Most recently cousins who live across the country, but still have strong enough family feelings to keep the secret. Permits and such—” He dismissed those with a wave. “—we’re grandfathered in. Actually about five-time great-grandfathered in.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” The woman spoke for the first time. “Quit talking about the house. They think I’m your bit on the side, kept out here at the family place. Suppose they think Lorelei is yours, too.” She turned to us — or on us. She had enough anger in most of what she said that it was hard to tell the difference. “I’m his sister, not his floozy. And Lorelei is his niece. Nothing more.”

  “Karen Vance.” Clara’s voice held recognition of the name.

  “Yes. Now, Karen—”

  “Zalesk,” Clara and I said along with her.

  She gave us a quick look, but continued, “Legally. Not for much longer.”

  The girl glanced up at her mother at the anger and venom in those words.

  “You’ve got quite the place here.” I addressed Gundy Vance. Yes, I wanted information. I also wanted to redirect the conversation away from what appeared to cause the little girl distress. “I thought you were a struggling market owner, scrambling to survive against the titan Jolly Roger chain?”

  “I am — the market owner, struggling, and scrambling. Also surviving. This—” His gesture encompassed both the layers of the past we’d walked through and the up-to-date impressiveness around us. “—is not mine. Or my sister’s. It belongs to the family, especially to the parts of it not yet born. Her children’s children. That’s how it’s always been for the Vances.”

  “Actually, the Gundys,” Karen said, echoing Fern. “Our last name comes from a descendant of Josiah and Anna Gundy, who eventually married a Vance. So much for male lineage.”

  Her brother grimaced slightly, more with the air of intolerantly tolerating a long-running dispute. “My sister is going through a difficult divorce. It’s coloring her world view.”

  “Forget difficult. They’re all difficult. This is cut-throat, acrimonious warfare.”

  “Karen.” His single word was a warning.

  Without a word, Lorelei picked up the top paper and the package of colored pens, went into a room, and closed the door behind her.

  “There’s no sense trying to shield her. Cut-throat, acrimonious warfare is hard for any child to miss, much less one as intelligent as Lorelei. Of course, that’s on his part only. I’m a sweetheart. A font of reason and courtesy.” Karen pinched the bridge of her nose. “I want this to be over. So Lorelei and I can go on with our lives. So we can have lives.”

  “Anyway,” Gundy pursued with that uniform smile, “I said for you to come in so we could explain, so you won’t tell anyone she’s staying here.”

  “You’re hiding from your husband?” Clara’s gaze shifted in the direction the little girl had gone. “If you don’t have custody—”

  Karen crossed her arms. “I do. I can show you the papers if you want. Or give you my lawyer’s number. You can check with her.”

  “Then why all the hiding out and secrecy?”

  “Because I don’t want to be asked a whole lot of questions,” she snapped.

  “Cut it out. Let me talk,” Gundy ordered.

  She raised one hand, flicking away his words. “More male certitude. Go ahead. Talk. Talk.”

  “I imagine you’re here more about Monday than my sister’s matrimonial issues. She saw Birchall at the Roger. She was shocked and angry and upset when that jackass bulled his way into trying to get a photo with Lorelei. Of all the people in the world — her.”

  “Because of her allergies or because she’s a member of the Vance family?” I asked.

  “Both.” Another snap from Karen. It didn’t feel personal, though.

  Maybe, like Isaac with Birchall, it was a style of communication that didn’t bother me.

  “We nearly lost her — Lorelei — when she was barely two because her father gave her a small piece of a wrap from a store in a chain Birchall ran. We all knew about her allergy from an early reaction and everyone was careful because we all love that little girl—” He shot his sister a look. She returned it, sneering. In the throes of divorce was she sowing doubts about the father’s love for his daughter because of an accident? “—but all the ingredients weren’t on the label and it was in the bread as oil, so not obvious at all…”

  Both their faces shadowed with memories.

  “We’re fortunate, very fortunate Lorelei received excellent medical care as quickly as she did,” Gundy said. “No thanks to Birchall trying to pad his pocket.”

  Would Petey think differently about Gundy’s possible guilt if he knew the family held Birchall responsible for nearly killing Lorelei?

  “This was at a store in the P-F-F-T chain?”

  Gundy’s face closed in caution, but Karen didn’t seem to recognize our knowledge was wider than she might have expected.

  “Yeah. We asked and asked them to improve the labeling. Instead, they’ve gone backward on it, thanks to Birchall. And then the Jolly Roger chain rewards him and brings him here. To my hometown. So when I walk in to grab colored pens — which Shep’s doesn’t even carry—” She flung that at her brother as an apparent sharp point in some unfinished dispute. “—there he is, the chinless wonder, strutting around like king of the dunghill. And then he had the nerve to try to put his hands on my daughter. To have her in a photo with him. I should have killed him right then. I—”

  “Karen.”

  That broke her rant. But didn’t make her repent.

  “If they think I meant I went and killed him later, they’re too stupid to bother about.” She stomped into the kitchen and poured herself something from a pitcher on the counter. It was clear, but I wasn’t prepared to swear it was water.

  “Anyway,” Gundy said with a fair shot at wry humor, “that’s why I went to the Roger. To get Karen and Lorelei out of there. To calm them down.”

  “Who saw you there?”

  “Apparently you did.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  He frowned. Unclear if it was from annoyance or concentration. “The driver of that ostentatious overcompensation for something or other parked in front looked at me when I walked past. I can’t say whether he saw me or not. Petey, the guy getting the carts — I see him around, know him to wave to. A customer I didn’t recognize. Might have been somebody from Stringer.” He made it sound as foreign as Mars. “Avoided a couple I did recognize. Didn’t see you two, or I would have avoided you, too.”

  His mouth twisted sideways. Then he shrugged.

  “That’s all I remember.”

  Thinking of one of Birchall’s complaints about the Haines Tavern store, I asked, “What about the specials?”

  “What about them?”

  Paydirt.

  From relaxed and easy, his voice had gone tight this time the topic came up.

  “Birchall said you’ve been having specials just before they run the same thing as the Roger. He seemed to think you were finding out what the Roger had scheduled and jumping in before them.”

  “Maybe they’re copying us.”

  “That would have been a lot more believable if you didn’t say maybe,” his sister said.

  “Shut up, Karen.”

  “Are you receiving information about the Roger’s planned specials ahead of time?”

  “No.”

  None of us believed Gundy.

  I proved my part of that by saying, “Is it someone in the Haines Tavern store who’s giving you the information ahead of time?

  “I told you, I’m not receiving any information.”

  “Nobody believes you.”

  “Shut up, Karen.” This time his t
one sounded like his sister’s.

  I tried a few more questions, but we’d reached an impasse.

  Clara started the micromovements that indicated we were leaving.

  “There are stairs up the outside, easier for getting to your car,” Gundy said.

  “And then you don’t have to use that Addams Family door.”

  He rolled his eyes at his sister, but said nothing as he showed us the door to the stairway. Surprisingly, Karen drifted along with.

  Abruptly, she said, “How did you know my married name?”

  “Research.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Using only public resources.” That forestalled the threat I saw brewing.

  Gundy slid in, “Thank you for not telling anyone Karen’s staying here.”

  “We haven’t agreed not to tell anyone. If we’re asked by law enforcement, we’ll tell them. And we would like that lawyer’s number. To be sure.”

  Karen’s mouth twisted. “To be sure you don’t get in trouble?”

  “Yes,” I said calmly to her mocking. “And to be sure Lorelei is where she’s supposed to be.”

  * * * *

  I called the lawyer as soon as my phone had cell reception, which was about halfway back to Haines Tavern.

  The lawyer took our call, saying Karen Zalesk had already called, giving her permission to talk to us. The lawyer’s voice gave no hint of what I suspected had have been a fraught conversation. Maybe she was used to this client by now. Maybe she experienced that in a lot of clients.

  The lawyer confirmed Karen Zalesk had custody and was doing nothing illegal. “She’s giving herself and her soon-to-be ex-husband the space they need.”

  When I hung up, I repeated all to Clara.

  “The space they need not to kill each other? How can people who produced such an adorable little girl want to tear each other apart?”

  “Figure that out and you can put a whole lot of divorce lawyers out of business.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  We stopped for sandwiches at a little place Clara knew, specializing in local, fresh fare.

  It was delicious and surprisingly fast service. Which was a good thing, because as soon as we sat down, Clara checked her phone and excitedly announced, “Phyllis Ezzard has invited us to come by. Any time this afternoon.”

  * * * *

  Phyllis Ezzard’s house on the south side of town was as neat and precise and dignified as the woman.

  This area was a mix of grand houses that had once been palaces of forbidden pleasures and working-class homes. Now each kind also represented a mix of decrepit and restored. The Ezzard home had the rare air of never having been allowed to deteriorate.

  Over cool drinks and lemon cookies, we settled in a tiny sunroom at the back.

  “I understand from Millie that you are interested in my memories and impressions of Monday’s unpleasantness at the Jolly Roger grocery store. I consider myself fortunate to have left the premises before that even deeper level of unpleasantness was enacted.”

  That matched our view of her going toward the exit as we left the produce section.

  That didn’t mean she couldn’t have come back in.

  “You are fortunate.” Clara’s mournful head-shake said she shuddered at the memory of not being equally fortunate… As if she could have been driven away by anything short of a direct law enforcement order.

  She continued, without any sign butter ever considered melting in her mouth, “You must have been in the store when Rod Birchall arrived?”

  “I was.”

  Without further prompting, she gave a succinct account of Birchall’s arrival. It contributed a few details without differing from Aggie Hickmott’s or Jacqueline’s.

  It struck me that most of the differing details were a matter of angle. As if she might have been deeper into the store when Birchall and Utton arrived.

  I asked, “How about before Rod Birchall arrived? Did you notice anything then?”

  Her expression lightened without any overt change in her features, like one of those overcast days when, without any visible parting of the clouds, the sunlight abruptly becomes strong enough to cast a sharper shadow.

  “I did witness the manager’s exit from the store. An exit accomplished in great haste and with the woman in the red vest who later formed part of Rod Birchall’s entourage—”

  She paused slightly, checking if we’d understood whom she meant.

  Assured by Clara’s murmur of “not the girl,” she resumed.

  “—running after him and calling out questions about where he was going and what was the matter.”

  Interesting. The way Jacqueline had told it, she’d heard the manager receive the call and his immediate reaction.

  From Aggie’s account, Jacqueline must have heard about it from Belinda and appropriated it as her own experience. Unconsciously? Or deliberately?

  “That woman in the red vest, was the only one following him?”

  “The only one to follow him out of the store, yes. However, Petey intercepted him, also expressing concern. The manager brushed him off. Literally, he pushed away Petey’s hands as he continued his path to a line of vehicles well away from the store. He said he felt unwell and needed to leave for home immediately, which was more response than I heard him give the woman in the red vest. The manager’s explanation was not credible.

  “The woman in the red vest, by this time, had stopped. Soon, she returned to the store, her posture thoroughly dejected.

  “I had parked a good distance from the doors as well, as is my habit to increase the number of steps I walk each day. The result was that, as I walked toward the store, I heard the manager’s next exchange quite clearly. It was with the young assistant manager—”

  “Jacqueline.”

  “—and her young man.”

  “Her young man?” Clara repeated.

  “I know it sounds old-fashioned, but the appellation is more apt when he is not a boy and friendship did not appear to be the emotion involved when I inadvertently saw them in the front seat of a truck when I parked my vehicle nearby. They were—” She paused again, searching for an apt appellation. “—entwined.”

  Ah. That might explain Jacqueline appropriating Belinda’s observations. To hide she’d been out on a no-doubt unauthorized break, in a truck with a man.

  “The manager’s flight and the calls after him appeared to disrupt their interlude and the assistant manager, Jacqueline, stumbled out of the truck, restoring her disarranged clothing to order.”

  “Did she talk to the manager?” Clara asked.

  “She attempted to, but he rushed past her as well, not answering her questions. He did shout back as he entered his car, You’re in charge. The young woman said something quickly to her young man, then ran into the store. I proceeded at my usual pace.”

  Wow. Quite the going-ons in the Roger parking lot before we got there.

  “The young man, do you know who he is?” I asked.

  “I do not.”

  That seemed to be the end of that.

  Until she added, “However, you would recognize him. He was the only man who spoke up to Mr. Birchall.”

  Clara and I stared at her for an extra beat.

  “The guy in jeans? With the white shirt? The one who said bull? You’re certain that’s Jacqueline’s boyfriend — young man?”

  “Yes.”

  * * * *

  Clara and I left without either of us giving way to the impulse to wrap Phyllis Ezzard in a hug and twirl her around the room.

  I called the Roger as soon as we were in the SUV, with rain starting to fall again.

  Jacqueline never breathed a word, in all her open and heartfelt discussion after yoga, she omitted the boyfriend in the truck … along with the canoodling. Time for another talk with the assistant store manager.

  “Is Jacqueline Yancik there, please.”

  The young male voice on the other end — Josh of the red vest? — said, “She’
s not here.”

  “When do you expect her?”

  “No idea. She’s at the sheriff’s department.”

  Clara had heard my two standard questions, could guess at the first answer, but had to wait for me to relay the second.

  “Darn. You think they’ve arrested her as the murderer?”

  “Probably not yet. But they might. We have to keep going anyway. And after what Phyllis said, talking to Jacqueline has to be our top priority.”

  “You’re right. I’ll put out the call to let folks know we’d love to know when she’s back at the Roger.”

  “And in the meantime, I need to get home and start dinner.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  I put Clara and Teague, who’d stayed to update me on the electrician’s progress, to work cutting up ingredients for the sweet potato and apple casserole that would accompany the pork roast for tonight’s dinner. The electrician had left for the day, but was returning tomorrow.

  Of course, the conversation centered on Rod Birchall’s murder.

  I went back and forth to the dining room, setting things up there.

  “Hensen will solve it,” Teague said. “He’s good. He’s got lots of resources to find out lots of things from lots of sources. He’s got forensics. You said the store has security cameras—”

  “Disabled,” Clara said. “Doesn’t help him.”

  “And might help us. I was thinking about that. The good thing from our point of view is someone messing with the security camera over the door between meat and dairy indicates it was someone familiar with the store, the way an employee would be. They had to know where the cameras are, where the controls are, and how to use them.”

  “Assuming you interpreted Deputy Hensen’s silences correctly,” Teague said.

  “You’ve never found someone not saying something to be informative?”

  He looked at me with enough meaning that I was fighting the urge to squirm even before he spoke. “Oh, I’ve found the things some people don’t say very informative.”

  And then he held the look. Forcing me to return it while my brain screamed Look innocent! at my facial muscles.