A Wee Murder in My Shop (A ScotShop Mystery) (23 page)

“Why sixty-five?” Harper and I both asked at the same time.

“Because 1865 was when the Civil War ended—just in time, like the paper says.”

I erased the three question marks and added a sixty-five. I leaned back in my chair. “Now we need the number of dentists, the number of stars, and that first line.”

Harper sat back down. He fiddled with Drew’s birthday card for a moment, thumbing through it.

“Advertisements,” he said. “Ivory soap’s tagline was well known back then, and everyone knew about Woolworth’s.”

“What would be a wool worth?”

No time to explain. “Do you think there are any of those cards”—I pointed to the one Harper held—“for 1915? It would give us song names and advertisements, and news stories.”

Drew whipped out his iPhone. “I’ll let you know in a minute.”

It took longer than a minute—considerably longer—but he finally let out a whoop and thrust his phone into my face.
Can 17,000 dentists be wrong?
An ad for Pro-phy-lac-tic Tooth Brush Company, complete with hyphens in the name.
Always sold in a yellow box.

“Well,” I said, “that’s good to know,” and filled in the number seventeen on the second line.

Try as he might, though, Drew couldn’t find a single ad from 1915 with stars in it.

Harper pushed back his chair. “Let’s go look.”

I picked up both pieces of paper and watched as Dirk lifted my shawl from the back of the opposite chair. Fortunately, neither Harper nor my twin was looking that direction, so they wouldn’t have seen it seemingly disappear.

*   *   *

Dirk slipped into
Drew’s van while Drew waited for the elevator thing to lift his wheelchair up and inside. I knew Dirk would be able to slip out the same way once we got to the shop.

Harper opened the door of his car for me. “This should be fun,” he said as I reached for my seatbelt. Over Harper’s shoulder I saw the curtains twitch upstairs in Mr. P’s house. Nosy, lonely neighbor.

The one traffic light was green, so we made good time. I paused outside the front door and looked up. The 1915 above the front door was barely visible in the dim moonlight. The streetlights left puddles on the ground, but none of their light migrated upward. Harper followed my gaze. “Maybe there are clues inside,” he said.

I unlocked the door and switched on a couple of lights. “I doubt it. This whole space has been renovated so many times. There was a hardware store here, and then a clothing store, before I took on the lease. Before that it was an insurance office, if I remember right. Wallace Insurance.” I searched my childhood memories. I couldn’t recall what had been here before Mr. Wallace. “I know it started as just a general office space for the manufacturing that was done in the other end of the building, but I don’t know much else.”

“Let’s get some privacy here.” Harper shut the blinds on the courtyard side of the store, and I pulled the curtains on the street side.

Drew knocked on the door and I let them in. We quartered the store, inspecting the walls, the ceiling, the woodwork. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. “You know, I’m pretty sure I would have noticed, sometime during the past six years, if there had been anything unusual in here.”

“You never can tell,” Harper said. “Sometimes things are hidden in plain sight.”

I thought back to one of my high school English classes. “Like ‘The Purloined Letter.’”

“What would be—”

“You know, that story by Edgar Allan Poe, the creepy writer, about the letter that was framed and right out on the wall where everybody would see it, but nobody would notice it.”

“Yes,” Harper said. “I had English in high school. And college, too.”

I waited until he turned away from me, looking back at the ceiling, and I made a
zip your mouth
shut
gesture at Dirk. He was going to get me in a whole lot of trouble if I didn’t watch out. I stepped back, intending to walk around a display of Scottish-themed bookends, and came face-to-wheelchair with my brother. He zipped his mouth, the way I had just done, spread his hands, and said, “You care to explain that?”

Harper looked back at us.

“No, I do not. It’s my store, and I can do whatever I want in here.” If Harper hadn’t been watching, I would have stuck out my tongue.

I sidestepped Drew’s chair and walked up next to Harper. “Do you want to take another look at the safe? Maybe we could try some of the numbers.”

“It wouldn’t do a bit of good. We don’t have the first one, and without that, all the rest of the numbers are useless.”

“We also don’t have the one about the stars,” Drew added.

“You mean we came here for nothing?”

“I should have brought my tools,” Harper said. “We could have ripped out some of that shelving in the bathroom.”

“Ye would ruin your gown,” Dirk pointed out.

“I’m not dressed for it,” I said. “Maybe another time.”

Harper wandered back toward the bookcase. “Did you move anything before I got here last week?”

I thought back to that awful day. “No. I don’t think so. We picked up the bookcase, of course.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.” I looked around me and remembered Shoe with his hands full of broken pieces of pottery. “Wait. Yes. There were some things that got broken when the bookcase fell, a couple of pottery bowls and such. Shoe and Gilda picked up the pieces before we lifted the bookcase.”

He held my gaze for several seconds before shaking his head. “I know that. You already told me.”

“There was something else, too.” I tried to think, imagining Shoe in front of me. Mentally, I picked through the detritus in his cupped hands. “Part of a broken wooden bookend, a couple of keys, and my tape measure. I think that’s about all there was.”

“Your tape measure?” Drew sounded skeptical.

“Yeah. It’s a twenty-five-footer. It must have fallen off the counter when the bookcase crashed over.”

“I know,” Harper said. “I used it to measure the bathroom walls.” He looked at the forty-foot expanse of wall at the back of the ScotShop. “We’re missing something here,” he muttered, but he didn’t seem to be talking to me.

We looked around a bit longer but without much enthusiasm. When I locked the door behind us, I remembered that Dirk needed to ride in the van. “You left your casserole dish at my place, Drew. Why don’t you swing by there on your way home?”

“Swing by there? It’s out of my way, and you know it.”

I did some quick thinking. “Hold on a minute, I forgot something.” I dashed back into the ScotShop and picked up one of the largest Loch Ness Monsters. “I forgot I needed to do some repair work on this one.” Drew and Harper both simply stared at me. “It has a hairline crack,” I said and led the way to Harper’s car. Naturally, I had to set it in the back seat, which gave Dirk the perfect chance to climb inside.

I paused, waiting to be sure my brother was up and safely in his van. I knew I shouldn’t worry about him. But I did anyway.

Harper started the car. “Sorry I led you on such a wild-goose chase.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We need to cover every angle until we get this figured out.”

He stopped when the traffic light turned red. I looked around. Nothing was coming this time of night. “You could . . .” Then I remembered. Harper was a cop. With wide shoulders and beautiful eyes, but a cop nonetheless. Crud.

“I could what?”

“You could . . . uh . . . come back tomorrow. The shop is closed on Mondays. We can take the shelves out.” I sat patiently until the light changed.

“Will do.”

There didn’t seem to be a lot more to say.

As he pulled into my driveway, Harper turned off the ignition and looked at me. “It’s a real joy,” he said, “to be able to be silent with someone and not feel awkward about it.” Before I could say anything, he turned around and hauled Nessie out of the back seat. “I’ll carry this in for you.”

I looked at Dirk. As soon as Harper was out of the car, I motioned to my ghostie to crawl over into the front. He grumbled, but he did it. By the time Harper opened my door, Dirk was ready to slide out after me. What I do for my ghost, I thought.

Mr. P’s voice floated across his front lawn. “Did you have a nice ride?”

I looked up at Harper and shrugged. “He watches out for me,” I whispered. In a louder voice I called, “Yes. It’s a beautiful night, Mr. P.”

I didn’t wait to listen for his reply, but hurried up the walk, with Harper and Dirk in my wake. At the top of the ramp, I slipped my key in the door and turned to Harper. He glanced sideways to where we could both see Mr. P peering over his porch railing. “I guess I’ll say good night.” He handed Nessie to me without letting go, leaned forward, and brushed his lips gently across my cheek. “See you tomorrow,” he said, his words rich with possibility.

Beside me, Dirk fingered his blade.

I let myself in and turned to watch Harper as he got into his car, drove down the drive, and disappeared around the bend. Until Dirk cleared his throat, I wasn’t aware that my left hand was holding my cheek and my lips were pressed on the soft mound at the base of my little finger. I dropped my hand and locked the front door. “Good night, Dirk. I’m turning in early. See you tomorrow.” And I fled upstairs.

As I brushed my teeth, I studied the list. The first line still made no sense.

I rinsed my mouth out and carried the paper back to the little writing table under the windows. At the bottom I printed:

Left side 18 to wl ???

17—first number

Left 4 turns to 5

Right 3 turns to _ _ ??? (number of stars)

Left 2 turns to 44

Right 1 turn to 65

Two pieces still to go on this doggone puzzle. I turned out the light, but it took me a long time to go to sleep.

Betrayal

S
till in my UVM T-shirt, I’d just finished breakfast when the front doorbell rang at seven. I looked at Dirk. He shook his head, walked into the living room, and peeked through the sheers at the bay window. His voice, when he spoke, sounded grim. “The constable.”

Harper! “Tell him to wait,” I said without thinking. “I’ll throw some clothes on.”

Dirk cleared his throat. He seemed to do that a lot around me.

“Oh, phooey. He can’t hear you. Sorry, Dirk. I forgot.” I raised my voice, “I’ll be right there, Harper.” I opened the coat closet and pulled out my bright pink raincoat. It was the closest thing to hand.

Harper carefully kept his eyes averted when I opened the door, although I did notice a quick twitch at the side of his mouth.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” I said. “The store’s closed on Mondays, and I usually don’t . . .”
Shut up, Winn. You’re babbling.
“Oh, I forgot. We were going to take out those shelves. Come on in, and I’ll run upstairs and throw on some clothes.” Doggone it, I felt myself blushing. “I mean, I already have clothes on. I’ll just throw on some different ones.” Good grief. I gestured toward the couch. Why was I so unnerved? It had absolutely nothing to do with that little kiss last night. He was just being friendly, that was all. “Sit. Make yourself at home.” I ran upstairs and was back, fully clothed in gray sweats, in fewer than five minutes, a scarf wound firmly around my head. Just so he wouldn’t make comments about poodles.

He still stood just inside the front door where I’d left him.

“He hasna moved since ye left the room.”

“Harper? What’s wrong?”

He straightened his already ramrod straight back and indicated that I should sit. I crossed in front of him to my wingback chair. He crossed in front of me to stand next to the wood-burning stove, which was as cold as Harper’s face looked. Dirk planted himself halfway between the two of us. I couldn’t tell if Harper was angry or just uncomfortable. I’d already asked him what was wrong. I had no intention of asking again. I waited him out, fingering the bottom edge of my sweatshirt.

Finally, he cleared his throat, and said, “Would you care to explain why Mason deposited twenty-four hundred dollars in your business checking account?”

“Twenty—what? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the weekly deposits of two hundred dollars to your checking account over the past three months. Don’t tell me you weren’t aware of them.”

Those bank statements I’d never reconciled. Crudbuckets! “I wasn’t,” I said. It sounded awfully lame.

“How can anyone not know of twenty—”

“I can prove it. You just follow me.” I stomped down the hallway to my home office and turned, rather dramatically I must admit, when I reached the desk. “There!” I pointed to the stacks of paper.

“That’s supposed to prove something?”

Dirk pulled his dagger from the scabbard at his belt. “Dinna use such a tone with a lady.”

I held up my hand, hoping Dirk would behave himself. “In this stack, or . . . or maybe it’s in that one, there are unopened bank statements that I haven’t looked at for at least three or four months.” Dirk must have been sitting at my desk sometime in the recent past. There were delicate spiderwebs draped between the stacks, catching the morning light spilling through the window.

“Very convenient,” Harper said.

“Do ye doubt her word?”

“Are you calling me a liar? If I’d opened them, if I’d seen those deposits, I would have known there was some kind of a mistake. I’d certainly enjoy having some extra money, but not like that.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I know where every cent of my money comes from, and it’s certainly not from Mason Kilmarty.”

I picked through the stacks and separated the bank statements. Six of them.

God, it was even worse than I’d thought. How had I let myself get so far behind? At least they were obviously unopened.

I whipped out my iPhone. “I want a picture of you with these so I can prove they were unopened when you took them.”

“I’m not taking them.” He sounded disgusted.

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m here”—he motioned around the room, narrowly missing a collision with Dirk, who stood with drawn knife just behind Harper’s left shoulder. “I’m here,” he repeated, “because you asked me to follow you back to this room. And I am fully aware that you could have been using the phone to call your bank each week. Or banking online. You wouldn’t have had to look at these.” He pushed the envelopes away from the edge of the desk, inadvertently destroying two spiderwebs in the process.

“You can’t be serious. Surely you don’t think I was mixed up in any of Mason’s underhanded dealings.”

He gritted his teeth. I could hear that grinding sound, and it felt like fingernails on a chalkboard. I shuddered.

“I’m just following the evidence,” he said. “When there’s murder, there’s usually a money trail.”

“You think I stole that money in cahoots with Mason?”

“I don’t think anything, but I know one thing: Mason left a ledger showing twelve deposits in cash to an account he called
PW
. He deposited them in person. The teller identified him.”

“He couldn’t have. He didn’t know my . . .” I remembered three or four months ago when I caught him rummaging through my purse.

“You just thought of something. What?”

“I . . . he might have taken some of my deposit slips.”

“I intend to find out why you have that money.”

“I’m not going to have it for long. As soon as I can get to the bank, I’m moving it out of my account.”

“Just what were you planning to do with it?”

“I’ll give it to his mother.”

“It may not be hers, either.”

“You think I don’t know that? I’m the one who asked for a town audit. Why would I do that if I’m involved?”

“We had someone take a look at the town books. There’s nothing wrong with them. That money came from somewhere else.”

“And you think I had something to do with it? I’m innocent.”

“A lot of crooks feign innocence.”

“Crook! You’re calling me a crook?” This was the same man who’d washed out my kerchief when I was in the hospital room? The same man who’d mixed up right and left? The same man who . . . who’d kissed my cheek so briefly last night? “How dare you? You’re absolutely crazy! Get out of my house. Now.”

“I wasn’t . . .” His lips tightened, and he turned toward the door, just barely avoiding my outstretched arm.

“Shall I speed him along for ye?” Dirk raised that wicked-looking blade of his and lunged.

“No! Stop!”

Harper wheeled around and collided with Dirk, who jumped back as if he’d been burned. Harper staggered, stumbled, fell to one knee.

“Ohmigosh, are you hurt?” I ran to him, silently cursing Dirk’s excess of testosterone and Harper’s excess of . . . of copness.

Harper swung his head back and forth as if trying to free it of spiderwebs. Or ghost webs. “What just happened?”

“You fell,” I said, conveniently neglecting to mention that he’d had a collision with my resident ghost.

He twisted his head around as if his neck had a crick in it. “You told me to get out, and then you told me to stop.”

“No, I didn’t.”
I was telling my ghostie to stop.

His eyes said
yes, you did,
but he didn’t say it out loud. “Guess I’d better leave, then.”

He looked too shaky even to stand, much less to walk. I placed my hand along the side of his jaw. He’d shaved, but even so, I could feel a texture there that made my fingers tingle. “Why don’t you rest on the couch for a little bit first? I’ll . . . I’ll get you some water.”

I helped him to his feet. He was a lot shakier than the man in Pitlochry had been. I thought back to that day in front of the display of chocolates. That man had walked into Dirk’s arm, maybe even just his hand, and he had stumbled. But Harper had spun full-bodied into Dirk, head to head. No wonder he didn’t feel well.

Once I got him settled on the couch, I threw the shawl over him without thinking. He clutched one edge of it as if he needed to hold on to something real and solid. Dirk towered over him, standing just to my left. The white line on the edge of the shawl shimmered between Harper’s hands. He shook his head one more time and looked up at me. “I could use that water, if you don’t mind.”

I walked, sedately, into the kitchen. “He couldn’t see you,” I hissed as quietly as I possibly could and still have it be a hiss. “He held on to the shawl and he still couldn’t see you. Why not?”

“How should I know?”

“Oh, quit sounding so reasonable. Karaline could see you; I can see you; why can’t he?”

I heard Harper’s voice and shut my mouth. I had a jillion questions, all of them unanswerable. How the heck did I know how ghosts worked?

“What?” came the plaintive question again from the living room.

“Just wanted to know if you’d prefer ice in your water.” If I didn’t watch out, I’d be lying every other sentence.

“No thanks.” He sounded awfully weak.

I put both hands on my hips and faced Dirk. “You quit running into people,” I whispered between clenched teeth. “It’s not nice.”

Dirk placed his hands on his hips. “I didna intend to do it. And I dinna like the feel of it, otherbye.”

“Other-by? What kind of word is that?” Without waiting for his answer, I filled a glass and left the kitchen.

After he drained half the water, Harper asked, “Is there a radio playing out there?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s . . . it’s a talk show I listen to sometimes. I turned it off.”
Does having your own private ghost make lying easier, or am I simply becoming decadent?
I knelt beside the couch. “Are you feeling better?”

“I don’t know what came over me.”

It’s called a ghost incident.

He raised himself onto one elbow. “I’ve never felt that dizzy before.”

And I hope you never do again.
I lifted the shawl out of his way. “I’m sure it was a one-time thing.”

“I dinna intend to repeat it.” Dirk managed to sound arrogant and apologetic at the same time. How did he do that? Come to think of it, there was very little apology in there.

Once Harper seemed to regain himself, I asked if he had come to arrest me.

“No. Of course not.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly disheveled. I tried not to stare. I was still very angry with him. There was no need to look at how his hair fell forward on his forehead. “I’m going through everything,” he said. “Everything I can think of to try to learn who killed Mason. If this money’s involved, I have to track it down.”

“I honestly don’t know why Mason would have put money in my account. We never combined our finances.” Something niggled at the edge of my consciousness, but I couldn’t bring it into focus. “I can’t think of a single reason why, unless he felt guilty about cheating on me.”

“Probably not,” Harper said. “The deposits started three months ago. Every Monday. Mac—the chief, I mean—is the one who thought to check bank records.”

I gaped at him. “Mac? He never does anything worthwhile except look at himself any time there’s a shiny surface.”

I could see him press his lips together as if zippering his mouth. Mac
was
the boss, after all. “The deposits went in every Monday.”

I groaned. “Maybe the Andrea story started back then and I just never knew it.”

“What would be an andree story?”

I did not even look at Dirk.

“I think you did the right thing, throwing him out.”

“Yeah, I know I did. But I did not kill him, even if I wanted to for a while there.”

“I never thought you did.”

“Then why are you here?”

He sat a little straighter on the couch. “To give you a chance to explain what was going on.”

“But I don’t know what’s going on!” I tried—unsuccessfully—not to whine.

“I believe you.” He touched my shoulder, and a low sound emanated from Dirk. “I need to get back to the station. There are a few other leads to follow.” He stood and put out a hand to help me to my feet. He didn’t let go as he walked to the door.

I turned the handle and looked up expectantly.

He leaned closer and squeezed my hand. “Go balance your checkbook.”

*   *   *

Crudbuckets! I gave
him long enough to get into his car. Then I very deliberately kicked my front door.

“I dinna think that will help.”

“Oh, hush! I have never been so humiliated in my life. How could that . . . that man think I could possibly be involved with thievery? How could he? How . . .”

Without thinking, I turned, nuzzling my face against Dirk’s chest, and sobbed my heart out. For about five seconds. I jumped back. “How did I do that?”

“Why did ye no get dizzied?”

“Why didn’t I walk right through you?”

We stared at each other. Dirk shifted his plaid and blinked a couple of times. “I dinna understand.”

I reached out a shaking hand to lay it against his chest. It just kept going, and my hand felt that cold watery feeling again. “Something is going on here.”

He reached an equally tentative hand toward my face, and I felt something rather like a cool breeze float from my temple to my chin. “I canna touch ye.”