A Deadly Grind (10 page)

The queen and her husband and daughter—Jaymie had to admit that Heidi looked lovely and regal in an ivory off-the-shoulder gown adorned with silk roses, meant to resemble, perhaps, Princess Beatrice’s wedding gown—took their places at the center table and were served by DeeDee, in her modified Victorian maid’s outfit. Jaymie got busy. For a while, all she could think of was pouring and bussing and carrying trays of goodies, directing people to pay at the table on the veranda, and smiling at people’s cracks about her outfit. Sticky-handed children, cranky elderly folk, and the odd dissatisfied customer contrasted sharply with most guests, who were polite and complimentary.

But eventually things calmed down and she got to serve a few of the locals: Valetta Nibley, her brother, Brock, and Anna, Clive and Tabitha Jones among them. Of course the murder victim was a hot topic.

“I figure that to know who the murderer is, we first have to know who the dead guy is,” Jaymie said.

“So, who is he?” Valetta asked, her gaze steady on Jaymie’s face.

“That’s the problem. I have no clue,” Jaymie said.

“You saw him, though,” Brock said, his beady stare boring into her.

“I did,” she said, pleating the tablecloth between her fingers, trying to erase the bloody image from her mind. “He was . . . I don’t know, maybe mid-thirties, nicely dressed, sandy brown hair.” She shuddered at the memory of the blood clotting his thick thatch of hair.

“How was he killed?” Brock asked.

“Don’t remind her of that,” Valetta said, giving her brother a dig in the ribs.

“You started it,” he retorted.

“No, it’s okay,” Jaymie said. “He was hit over the head with . . . with something,” she said, unwilling to go into her supposition that the weapon was her vintage grinder. “I’ve been racking my brain since yesterday trying to figure it all out. I just checked, and the police don’t know who he is yet.”

“That means his fingerprints aren’t on file,” Valetta said. “So he’s not a federal employee, and he’s never been in the military.”

“They took all of our fingerprints—mine, Clive’s and Becca’s—I guess to eliminate them from the ones they lifted from the summer porch,” Jaymie said. “But neither the dead guy nor whoever killed him made it into the house. Who’s missing in town? Guess that would be a good place to start.”

Anna, at the next table, leaned over and said, “Well, Ted Abernathy, our guest.”

“One of the gay guys staying at the Shady Rest?” Brock Nibley asked, from his seat to the left of his sister.

Anna blushed crimson and glanced over at Tabby, who, in her pretty dress and last-minute addition—fairy wings—was wholly entranced with pouring imaginary tea down her doll’s throat. Clive put one dark hand over his wife’s, and said, “Yes, Mr. Abernathy is one of our guests, Brett Delgado’s life partner,” he affirmed. “But Brett and he had a disagreement, and Mr. Abernathy left in a huff. No mystery; just a lovers’ quarrel.”

“So the guy says! Maybe he killed his lover.” Brock had a dim view of anyone outside of his immediate circle of acquaintances, so an “outsider” was immediately suspect.

“I don’t think so,” Clive said. “Besides, the deceased is about five foot ten or so. I saw him too, remember. Mr. Abernathy is, from my understanding, a good four or five inches taller and somewhat older, with lighter hair, graying at the temples.”

“We’ve checked with the other B&B owners in town; no one else is missing anyone,” Anna said.

“Daniel Collins’ friend, Trevor Standish, hasn’t shown up when he said he would,” Jaymie chimed in. “But he texted Daniel to tell him he’d be late, so I guess you can’t count him missing.”

“Why are we even thinking the dead guy is someone local or staying in town?” Valetta asked, glancing around. “He’s probably some stranger passing through.”

“But how did he get here, then?” Jaymie asked, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

“There aren’t any strange cars in town,” Clive said, “and no one was noticed hitching anywhere near, or so I heard from one of the officers on the case.”

“Someone could have come over from the island or from Canada on the ferry, though,” Jaymie said, as it occurred to her. She shifted from foot to foot. The black shoes she was wearing were beginning to hurt her feet on the uneven lawn.

Valetta nodded. “It’s too easy to walk on the ferry in Canada and walk off here, and just not go back.”

Brock said, “That’s how all the illegals get here!”

They ignored him. Brock got that reaction a lot. He was the voice of truth, Jaymie had heard him say once, only people don’t like to hear the truth. She privately thought he was the voice of idiocy, but out of respect for Valetta, she kept her mouth shut.

DeeDee, who was passing with a tray full of dirty teacups, paused. “You all talking about the mur . . . uh, the unfortunate occurrence?” she asked, modifying her wording as she caught sight of Tabitha. She leaned in toward them and continued, “Lyle says one of his guests hasn’t checked in for a few days, but the guy has been staying at the inn for weeks and sometimes goes off on jaunts to the city and over to Canada.”

“What’s his name?” Jaymie asked.

“McIntosh. Somebody-or-other McIntosh . . . a strange first name. He hasn’t been around a lot, Lyle says.”

Jaymie stopped and thought, then said, “McIntosh . . . Why does that name sound familiar?” She shook her head; it would come to her. “Dee, maybe that’s him. Have the cops been around to ask about guests at the Inn yet?”

“Lyle wasn’t in when they came ’round. He’s supposed to go to the police station to check out the photos, see if he recognizes anyone. Do you think it could be that guy?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to check.”

“I’ll call Lyle as soon as I get home today.” DeeDee bustled off with her tray.

“Well, until we figure out who the man is,” Jaymie said, with a sigh, “I don’t suppose they’ll be able to figure out who killed him, or why.”

“But why was he breaking into your house?” Anna asked.

“Hey, are you the girl with the murder? I heard about you!” a passing fellow said, stopping and staring at Jaymie, pointing one long finger at her. “You’re the gal Dannyboy is hooked on.”

Eight

S
ILENCE FELL AMONG her group of friends, and Jaymie found herself the object of the stranger’s regard. Color rose in her cheeks. Darn, she wished she’d stop blushing like a romance novel heroine!

“Dannyboy . . . who is Dannyboy?” Becca chose that moment to happen along and joined the knot of conversationalists.

“And you are . . . ?” Jaymie did her best “Mrs. Bellwood as Queen Victoria” impression, freezing the fellow with a cold look.

“I’m Zell McIntosh. Dan Collins’ buddy, from Ball State in Indiana?” He was tall and lanky, dressed in striped trousers and a cutaway coat, kind of faux-Victorian garb. He had a black-and-white checked tie that flopped around in the breeze. It could have benefited from a tiepin.

“McIntosh? DeeDee was just saying there’s been some guy with that last name staying for the last while at the Queensville Inn,” Jaymie said, as Becca and Valetta whispered together behind her, and Anna and Clive looked on. “Is that you?” But no, she had heard his name before, and it suddenly dawned on her who he was, just as he spoke.

“I just got here yesterday morning.”

“Yesterday morning?” This must be the fellow Trip Findley saw sleeping in his car outside Stowe House at five a.m.

“Yeah, I’m staying here,” he said, waving toward Stowe House, “with my old frat buddy, Danny. Our other pal, Trev Standish, is coming, too, but he’s been held up.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

“I know about that. Is that usual with your friend, Trevor? Him not showing up when he says he’s going to?”

“Sure is,” Zell said. “He always has some half-baked get-rich-quick scheme that needs attending to. When he called me to arrange this week, I agreed. Figured there’s probably some catch. He likely wants to sell us insurance, or a time-share condo, or something, but I figured, hey, I’d hook up with our rich buddy, Danny, and stay on his dime for a while. Y’know?”

He moved closer and put his arm over her shoulders, drawing her away from the tables. “Sooo, my buddy says you bought some kinda old cupboard. He called it a Hoosier. I’m a Hoosier by association, you know? Going to Ball State and all? Maybe you want to take me home, too?”

She ducked out from under his arm, and said, “I don’t think so.”

Becca, standing by Valetta, was watching, her eyebrows high in surprise at the sight of her sister being hit on.

“Aw, c’mon,” he said, smiling down at her. “I’ll hold your dishes, and anything else you want me to hold.”

“Excuse me, I have to get back to work,” she said.

He was still watching her with a baffled expression on his face as she went back to serving.

“Who is that?” Becca asked, following her little sister.

Jaymie paused in her task of clearing an empty table, and explained. “What kind of guy acts like that?” she asked. “He says Daniel likes me, then tries to pick me up himself.”

Becca shrugged. “Some guys are competitive with their friends when it comes to women.”

“Yeah, well I find it creepy. And he compared himself to my Hoosier!” She shuddered. “My Hoosier would be a more entertaining date, I think.”

Another hour to
go. Jaymie’s feet were killing her, so she took a break, sitting on a stool in the shade of the sweeping bridal wreath spirea that edged the veranda. Watching life from a safe distance was fascinating, she had always found. Trip Findley, the septuagenarian Albert, Prince Consort, was circulating among the tables and chatting to any and all who would listen. He liked to tell tales about Queensville’s storied past, but alternated them with tidbits from his character’s life. At the main table—the “Queen’s” table—Zell McIntosh had moved in on Heidi, pulling up a folding chair to sit by her, chatting animatedly while Mrs. Bellwood, in full, frosty, Queen Victoria “we are not amused” mode, glared at his back. Heidi, unlike Jaymie, seemed to be enjoying the conversation with Zell; she tossed her clustered ringlets back and smiled up at him, laughing at his jests and touching his arm.

Even with Zell fawning all over her, no amount of attention seemed enough for the girl. When Daniel passed by, Heidi tried to draw him in, too, touching his arm and tugging at his shirt, but he just smiled and wandered off. Jaymie bit her lip and watched, trying to figure the girl out. She knew a fair bit about her, having become slightly obsessed over the long winter with finding out all she could, after Joel had bolted straight out of Jaymie’s home into Heidi’s slender arms.

Heidi appeared to be independently wealthy and had bought her modern rambler-style home on a quiet street in Queensville as an outright, cash purchase. Her family, went local gossip, had made their millions in real estate, and Heidi was said to own a midtown Manhattan block, as well as some frontage on Chicago’s pricey Lake Shore Drive. She spent a portion of her time in New York, presumably with family. No one was quite sure why she had come to Queensville, except for the interesting morsel of gossip that her grandfather, Homer Lockland, had once owned Lockland Hardware on Riverfront Drive, now an Ace Hardware store. Homer had ambition, though, that far outstripped a little town in Michigan and had left after some scandal, making his millions in New York. He never returned to his family’s roots.

Sometime during the previous autumn, blonde, beautiful Heidi Lockland drove into Queensville in a baby blue Porsche Boxster, saw a house for sale and bought it on a whim, and just as whimsically stole Joel away from Jaymie. Well, okay, so that was hardly fair, Jaymie gloomily thought, since she didn’t know the woman’s motivations.

But why did Jaymie always have to be so fair anyway? What had it ever gotten her? Sighing deeply, she rested her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand and watched the pageant of Heidi’s indubitable charm that even nineteenth-century accoutrements could not conceal. With all she had, why did Heidi seem so darned needy?

Valetta Nibley and her brother had gotten up to leave, and she spotted Jaymie sitting alone. She came over and put one sympathetic hand on her shoulder, then looked over at Heidi. “He’s not worth you worrying about, kiddo,” she said.

“What?”

“Joel. If
that’s
the kind of girl he likes,” Valetta said, with a contemptuous sniff, “well, she can’t hold a patch on you! You should forget him and start dating. Everyone is getting real worried about you, you know.” She squeezed Jaymie’s shoulder and released, then stalked down the walk toward her brother.

Jaymie felt an unpleasant queasiness in her stomach. It was true, what Becca had said; everyone in town was watching her eat her heart out over Joel, pitying her, blaming Heidi. Jaymie knew there was one thing she did not want in life, and that was to be the object of pity. She rose and strode toward the main table. When she approached Heidi, she could feel the anxious glances of those who knew her best: DeeDee, Becca, even Trip Findley and Mrs. Bellwood.

“That is an absolutely lovely dress, Heidi . . . I mean, Princess Beatrice.”

Zell looked put out at being interrupted, but Heidi jumped to her feet and twirled. “Isn’t it just beautiful? It cost a fortune, but what’s money for if not to splash it around?”

Jaymie smiled, sure the expression would look pasted on, but intent on doing this for those who were afraid to mention Heidi Lockland when she was around. It was ridiculous; she was a grown woman of thirty-two, not a teenager mooning over the cute boy in school. But if all of Queensville was to accept Heidi and move on, the change had to come from her. “It was worth whatever you paid,” she said, leaning over the table and examining the silk roses more closely. The costumer had done a breathtaking job. “Beautiful!”

Zell stood up and draped one arm casually over Heidi’s shoulders, watching Jaymie with a sly smile on his face.

“Zell was just saying, we should come over and have a look at your new Hoosier cabinet. Have you got it in place yet?” Heidi asked brightly. “Have you had a chance to take it apart and clean it up?”

“Uh, not really,” Jaymie replied. “If you want to see it, I’d rather you wait until I clean it up and put it in the kitchen.”

“Okay,” Heidi said, just as Zell asked, “It’s not in your kitchen yet?”

Jaymie shook her head.

“We
should
get together,” Heidi said. “I could give you some great tips on how to make your hair look better, even in that bun.”

Jaymie laughed. “Maybe sometime. It would take a miracle worker, but maybe.”

“Now, there you go,” Heidi said, hands on her hips. “Joel said you’d get offended if I ever said anything about your hair, but you’re not the slightest bit standoffish!”

Joel approached, arriving late to the tea party. He flicked a look in Zell’s direction, then said, “Heidi, I didn’t say she was standoffish!”

Zell tactfully withdrew his arm from Heidi’s slim shoulders.

“I . . . I didn’t mean you
said
that, I meant . . .” Heidi trailed off and colored a vivid pink, which only made her look prettier.

“She didn’t say you said I was standoffish, Joel,” Jaymie commented. “Stop being such a pill.” Joel had done the same thing with her, criticizing everything she said in public, constantly correcting her and undermining her confidence. It was an unpleasant aspect of his character, but good to remember; she had been mooning for so long about his perfections, she had forgotten the things about him that drove her nuts. “Tell him to calm down when he gets like that,” she said to Heidi. “I’d better get back to work. We can’t all be princesses, you know. Some of us have to be servants!”

As she turned away, she heard a gasp from someone nearby and realized how that would sound—snarky, petty and cutting, when she had been going for jaunty and humorous—but it was too late to try to amend it, so she just shrugged and walked away. One interaction would not shift public opinion about how hurt poor little Jaymie was. She would just have to grit her teeth, smile and
keep
smiling until everyone forgot about it.

Finally the day wound down. Jaymie found a moment and wandered over to talk to Trip Findley, who, in his Prince Albert splendor (including a fake mustache, which he twirled quite dashingly) was seated near the wrought-
iron fence chomping on his unlit pipe. She observed the pleasantries—yes, it was a lovely day, good turnout, they’d make money for the Heritage fund—then got down to business. “Mr. Findley, the night before last, did you hear anything of the commotion at my place?”

His home backed on the same lane as hers did, only from the other side. His back garden was across the lane from hers, but shielded by a high wooden fence.

He nodded, though. “I did, indeedy. Dogs barking, screams, the whole bit.”

“And did you see anything?”

He stared at the sky and chewed his pipe stem, wiggling his fake mustache. “Not a blessed thing. I looked out—my motion detector light had gone on, y’know, but it goes on even if a raccoon wanders through my yard—and still heard the dogs barking. But I didn’t see anything. Then the ambulance and police came whizzing down the lane.”

“Oh. Okay.” She felt let down, but if he had seen anything, he would have told the police, she supposed.

The last customers departed just in time to catch the ferry across to Canada. Jaymie joined DeeDee and Becca, who sat with their feet up on a small PVC table in the shade of the spirea. DeeDee hastily stabbed out a cigarette in the dirt at her feet.

“Dee, stop worrying about getting caught. I know you still smoke!” Jaymie said.

“Only to drive Johnny crazy,” she said about her husband, with a wink, as she picked up the butt and stowed it in her flip-top pack. “I just can’t seem to give up my three cigarettes a day.”

“You guys look tired,” Jaymie said, awkwardly sinking down, pushing her small bustle aside, to take a shady spot on the grass nearby.

“I’m bushed,” Becca said. She closed her eyes and yawned.

Jaymie watched her sister for a moment, then turned to DeeDee. “I think it’s going well,” she said. “The tea, I mean.”

“Real well,” she agreed. “Even you telling Heidi Lockland off didn’t take away from it.”

“I didn’t mean it how it sounded; you ought to know that.”

“That sly dig about being a princess?” Becca said, watching her younger sister with concern in her eyes.

Jaymie was about to protest, but stopped and frowned. Yes, she was still a little peeved about Heidi’s star turn as Princess Beatrice. If she was to be completely honest with herself, as painful as that could be, the girl’s perkiness irritated her, even as she tried to overcome her distaste. “It just popped out,” she said, wearily. “I wouldn’t change places with Heidi, though; not for anything. Joel can be a bit of a jerk sometimes. He constantly criticized what I said and how I acted in public. He said I was too outgoing sometimes and needed to pull back.”

DeeDee nodded. “There you go. Joel’s all right, but he is not the be all and end all of men.”

Becca put one hand to her back and stretched. “I am going to stow the cups and saucers in the shed after they’re washed, then I’m going home to nap. You coming, Jaymie?”

“In a while. By the way, I spoke to the detective this morning, and he said they’ll have an officer outside our house for at least another night.”

“Good. I heard you up and down all night,” Becca said, with a tired smile. “I guess I didn’t sleep so well either. Maybe we’ll both sleep better knowing there’s an officer in the lane.”

“I have to take some treats to Mother Stubbs,” DeeDee said with a grimace. She rolled her shoulders and lumbered to her feet with a groan. “All I want to do is go home and get into some shorts and sit in the shade with my new Danielle Steele, but Mother naps after dinner, so I’d better go right now with some of the cake and a Tansy tart.”

Jaymie leaped to her feet. “Look, Dee, you should go home and put your feet up. Why don’t you let me take the stuff?”

“Would you?” the woman asked.

“Sure. I’ll leave a note for Lyle, too, to check and see if his missing guest is our dead man. The police aren’t going to be able to solve the murder until they know who the victim is.” She was anxious to give the police all the information they needed to figure out who the dead guy was and who’d killed him. They parted company, and Jaymie popped a variety of treats, including some of her own Queen Elizabeth cake, into a plastic tub. She said her good-byes to the cleanup committee, and Daniel Collins in particular, and headed through the village.