A Deadly Grind (17 page)

Sixteen

S
HE HAD TAKEN the Button Gwinnett letter out of the Hoosier cabinet book in the middle of the restless night, put it in a Baggie and brought it upstairs with her, sticking it in her romance novel. The thief would be the only one who knew that she had removed the letter from
Hoosier Cabinets
, though. She’d have to decide what to do: confront Daniel, or not. Was he involved somehow in the attempted theft of the letter? She couldn’t condemn him until she knew for sure, because he
could
have told Zell McIntosh, or someone else, for all she knew, about the letter and Jaymie having put it in the book.

Zell McIntosh: who was more likely to have been in on something with Trevor Standish? And his arrival was so precisely timed, the very night Trevor had died. Who was to say Zell hadn’t been lingering somewhere, in another village, waiting for the word from his partner, Trevor? It was more than possible, given the connection between the two men. And if that was the case, and he killed Trevor and took his cell phone, who more likely to know what to text Daniel?

She needed to talk to Daniel, but not yet. And before sundown the Button Gwinnett letter had to be out of her home, and it had to be
known
that it was out of her home for the sake of whoever was trying to steal it. How she was going to manage that, when she didn’t know who had broken in, was going to be a challenge. It was too dangerous to keep, that was for sure.

The morning got busy really early, once villagers learned of the break-in and the attack on Heidi. As Jaymie cleaned fingerprint dust off her back door for the second time in a few days, she received half a dozen phone calls, all before eight a.m., and most expressed concern and sympathy for Heidi, as they should have. Being bashed on the head and left for dead was an easier way to the villagers’ hearts than just being a nice—if vacuous—young woman, because the universal response seemed to be “poor little thing.”

The second response among callers was to make sure Jaymie hadn’t taken out her “rival” with a baseball bat. It was not mindless wondering, in that case, apparently; there was a rumor going around Queensville that she had beaten Heidi unconscious, then gone inside and had tea. Folks didn’t really believe it, each person claimed, but they still called, “just to check.”

“Who would say something like that, Valetta?” Jaymie asked her friend, who had dropped in to check on her before she had to be at work at the Emporium.

The woman gazed at her quizzically, then said, “Kathy Cooper?”

Jaymie sighed. It
had
to be Kathy Cooper, her one and only enemy in Queensville.

“What has she got against you, anyhow?” Valetta asked, wrapping her bony hands around a blue mug. “I have never seen anyone so bound and determined to destroy someone’s reputation. Good thing we all know you well, ’cause she paints you as a catty, jealous, spiteful old maid.” She paused a beat and cocked her head. “Kinda like me.”

Jaymie laughed, knowing it was a joke, but then said, “I wish I knew what went wrong. We were friends as kids.” That soured somehow, and now Kathy persisted in regarding her as an enemy and badmouthed her whenever she had the chance. It was puzzling. Jaymie had tried to discover what was behind it, and had attempted to make amends for whatever had come between them, but there didn’t appear to be a rational explanation, so she had just learned to live with it.

“You know, you’d better call Becca and tell her everything, or she’ll hear it from someone else,” Valetta advised. She had gone to school with both Becca and DeeDee, but had never become close friends with either. Instead, she and Jaymie had become close pals over the years. “She’s gonna want to know why you didn’t go stay at Dee’s place after the break-in last night. Why didn’t you, anyway?”

The easy answer was that she didn’t intend to go back to bed, and hadn’t. But there was more to it. “Ever since I turned twenty or so, it seems like as much as I see myself as a competent, intelligent adult, I’ve got ten people telling me I’m just a kid, and not a very bright one at that. I’m thirty-two; when is that going to stop? If I ran over to Dee’s every time something bad happened, it would just confirm that impression that I can’t look after myself. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s the ‘woman alone’ syndrome,” Valetta said sympathetically. “My brother still figures he needs to step in and run my life for me, and I’m forty-two.” She was really forty-seven, but shaving five years off her age was a long-ingrained habit. “It’s only gotten worse since his wife died. Brock figures I should move in with him and his kids, but that,” she said with a shudder, “is a fate worse than death. I don’t mind helping out sometimes with them, but to live there? I’d rather be steeped in boiling tea.”

It was comforting to talk to someone who knew how she felt, but Valetta was right about one thing. Jaymie had to call Becca and tell her all, so she didn’t hear it from Dee or some other well-intentioned Queensvillian just looking out for Jaymie.

“So . . . what is this all about, Jaymie? Why two break-ins? You hiding Lazarus Stowe’s missing fortune in here or something?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Valetta, but the woman was the gossip pipeline to the rest of the village. She may as well hire a town crier and tell the world, if she told Valetta. Instead, she shrugged and said, “Whoever it is, is looking for something.”

“But what?” Valetta peered at her directly. “Give it up, girl. You know something, I can see it in those baby blue eyes of yours.”

“I’ve got to get going to help Anna next door, and so do you have to get a move-on, if you’re going to open the pharmacy on time. Isn’t there something in your contract about your hours of operation?” Jaymie said.

“Yeah, yeah, so after all these years you still don’t trust me,” she grumbled, rising and putting her coffee cup in the sink. “Speaking of Anna Jones, talk about a woman needing help,” Valetta said dryly. “She takes the coffee cake in the helplessness department, and she’s got a handsome hubby to boot. Why she thought she could run a business on her own, I’ll never know.”

Moved to defend Anna, Jaymie said, “She’s not stupid or helpless, Valetta; she’s indecisive. There is a difference. Indecisiveness seems to be part of her personality.” They left the house together, Valetta striding off toward the center of town to open up the Emporium, and Jaymie next door to help Anna.

Anna was wide-eyed and fearful. “I lived in Toronto for years,” she said, as they sat in the kitchen with coffee, “and always worried about crime. Then I move my little girl to a small town to get away from the worry, only to wind up next to a murder, a violent attack and a couple of break-ins!”

“You can’t treat them like separate incidents, though,” Jaymie responded. She got out a recipe for lemon cranberry muffins and rooted around in Anna’s freezer for a bag of frozen cranberries she knew was there. “I think they’re all tied in to the same thing.”

Anna shrugged, clearly not really buying it. “What are we making?” she asked, sitting at the table and sipping coffee.

Jaymie told her, as Elaine Carter came into the kitchen to ask Anna a question about local wineries. Anna turned to Jaymie, who supplied the names of a couple that also had cafés that served dinner. When the woman left, Jaymie asked, as she chopped walnuts for the muffin batter, “So, has Brett’s boyfriend, Ted, returned yet?”

“Not yet,” Anna said, getting down the tub of flour and a bottle of oil.

“It’s strange that he hasn’t gone looking for him. Wouldn’t you, if you had a fight, and Clive stormed off?”

“Clive would never do that,” Anna said placidly.

“Never? Doesn’t he have any temper?”

“Not with me. I’ve seen him chew out a coworker who didn’t get something right, but he has never raised his voice in our home.”

“Isn’t there anything about him that irritates you?” Jaymie asked, sidetracked by her friends’ marriage. “I just can’t believe that.” She tossed the walnuts in the flour; that would keep them suspended in the muffin batter so they didn’t sink to the bottom.

Anna shrugged. “We’ve been married for years, and have never had a real fight. We’ve bickered a little, I guess, but no actual fights.”

“I guess Ted and Brett can’t say that, after the fight they had the night of the murder.”

“Now that you mention it, it’s odd how Brett just doesn’t seem upset. I mean, he did at first, but now he’s just going about his business. Whatever that is.”

Jaymie thought back to what Brett said. “After they fought, Brett said Ted stormed out, but he just went to bed and to sleep. I have never in my life been able to sleep after a fight. I always lay awake for hours going over what I should have said, what I’m going to say next time and wondering where he is.” She realized that she had forgotten or blocked out all those fights with Joel. It was so clear to her now that their time together had not been as idyllic as she had once thought.

“Their car was parked down by the marina,” Anna said. “Brett
says
he figures Ted went over to Johnsonville and is waiting for Brett to come looking for him.”

“But he hasn’t yet. That we know of, anyway. Wonder why? And why is he even in Queensville? It’s not like there’s a lot here to see, much as I love the town.” Jaymie shook her head. “Not our business, I guess.” But still, it gave her pause and deserved some thought. Brett had been at the auction, and knew exactly where the Hoosier was, on her summer porch. In fact . . . putting it on the summer porch had been his suggestion. Was he, perhaps, Standish’s coconspirator? But then, who was Ted in all of this? And why had the fellow disappeared? “What does Brett do all day?”

Anna shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. He goes out every day, but he’s back every evening.”

Jaymie thought about that as she finished whipping up the muffin batter. Why was he still in Queensville? She told Anna that she could leave the batter in the fridge until the next morning, then bake it like the Morning Glory muffins. She gave her friend a hug and headed home.

She paused at her front door before going in, though, and examined the façade. Looking after a home as old as theirs was a constant battle to ward off decrepitude. The paint on the trim had begun to crack and peel from years of lashing rain and blistering sun. It was time to have it scraped and painted, but not until the fall. The place was looking a little empty and bleak. She would definitely need to get on top of the gardening, maybe even today. Memorial Day weekend was her deadline to have the outdoor baskets and beds fitted out with annuals, so that meant getting to work.

She glanced over past the B&B and saw Brett Delgado down the block, talking to someone who was in a big black car, a Lincoln or Cadillac, from the looks of it. If she knew cars better she’d have been able to tell. He leaned in the open window, having what looked from a distance to be an intense conversation. She supposed it caught her attention because she had just been thinking of Brett and Ted. If it was all on the level, and Brett was really who he said he was, then why was he in no hurry to go after Ted Abernathy, who he was supposedly marrying within days? Of course, if Abernathy was already in Canada, maybe the two had talked on their cell phones, or maybe they often had this kind of quarrel and took a few days to cool down and reconcile.

She shrugged; it was irritating being in the middle of so many mysteries, major and minor, and not having the answers to any of them. The cops could already have a suspect in mind, and she would never know until they made an arrest. Her stomach twisted again as she thought of the Button letter; what was she going to do about it? Was the killer the same person who had broken into her house the night before? Did Daniel Collins have anything to do with it? He seemed to be so fortuitously on the scene last night as she was dismantling the Hoosier.

Brett straightened and headed toward the B&B, and so did Jaymie. He appeared deep in thought and didn’t see her until she was standing in front of him.

“Hi there. How are you?” she asked.

“Jaymie, how are
you
?” he said. “I hear there was another commotion at your place last night. What was that all about?”

“Someone broke in. Again.”

“What were they after? Did they get whatever it is?”

“Actually, they did,” she said. Mendacity came surprisingly easy to her after all she had been through.

“Really?” he said. His eyes narrowed. “They got what they were after?”

“Yes.” She examined his expression and wondered if she read consternation in his shifting gaze. He seemed surprised, that was for sure. She was suspicious of everyone now. His lack of concern over his boyfriend’s disappearance allied with his being at the auction, but not buying anything, made her wary of him. “So, have you heard from Ted? Did he call you after all?”

“Actually, no. I’m beginning to get worried,” he replied.

“Who was that you were talking to? In the big car?”

He raised his brows at her direct questioning. “That? Someone asking directions. Why?”

She wasn’t very good at subterfuge after all, it appeared. She shrugged. “I thought I recognized the car, that’s all.” It hadn’t looked like a simple conversation about directions.

“It was a woman driving. I recognized her. I think she was at the same auction we were at the other night, but I didn’t catch her name.”

“I wonder if that was Lynn Foster?” Jaymie said. She was the only woman Jaymie had seen at the auction who was staying in Queensville. Odd that she had stopped to ask Brett directions.

He shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know her name.”

“What did she want directions to?”

“Uh, Wolverhampton. I have to go in now,” he said, and opened the front door of the Shady Rest.

The phone was ringing as Jaymie entered the house; it was DeeDee, checking up on her, berating her for not coming to stay with her after the break-in, and asking about Grandma Leighton. They talked for a while, but Jaymie was still distracted by thoughts of the tangled mystery of the Button letter, so when DeeDee said something, Jaymie caught just part of it.

“What did you just say about your brother-in-law, Dee?” she asked.