Freezer I'll Shoot (A Vintage Kitchen Mystery) (15 page)

After another hour on the porch, Jaymie headed to bed and slept soundly.

The next morning, Jaymie called Daniel and gave him the measurements for the sod. He said he’d call his supplier.

“Do you want me to come over and have a look at the area?”

“Would you?” Jaymie said. “I looked out there this morning, and I’m a little overwhelmed. It just seems like so much work. Sammy is due here in a half hour.”

“I’ll catch the next ferry,” he said.

Jaymie then called her dad, but he was already golfing with Roger Collins and Grant Watson, the Leightons’ next-door neighbor. “Have him call me when he gets home, Mom,” Jaymie said.

“So, have you talked to that woman yet, about the family dinner at the cottage?” her mother said.

Jaymie hesitated, but ultimately, her mom needed to know. “Dinner out here is a go,” she said. “You’re pleased with that, right?”

“How did you manage that?”

“Uh, well . . . I gave her menu control, and she offered to cook, too. I figured, with all you and I have on our plates, that would work out for everyone.”

“Well, okay,” she said, doubt in her tone. She sighed. “At least we can do dinner at Rose Tree Cottage.”

“How is Anna doing?” Jaymie said, not ashamed to change the subject while she was ahead.

“She wasn’t feeling well this morning. Her cousin is coming in on the Greyhound this afternoon, and I said I’d watch the bed-and-breakfast and babysit Tabby while she goes to pick her up in Wolverhampton.”

“I’m sorry this has ended up on your shoulders, Mom. I really didn’t think the plumbing thing at the cottage would be such a big deal.”

“It’s okay, honey. I feel for Anna. I remember how I was when I was pregnant with you . . . sick as a dog!”

Reminded of all her mother’s sterling qualities, among them a generosity of spirit when someone was ailing or troubled, Jaymie said, “I’m so happy you and Dad are here, Mom. Really.”

There was a pause, and her mother said, “Have you heard from Becca? She called me last night. I think we might be hearing an announcement at the family dinner.”

Jaymie strolled out to the front porch to wait for Sammy. “She and Kevin are getting serious real fast. I just hope she knows what she’s doing.”

“So how about you? I may not care for his mother, but Daniel seems like a really nice young man.”

“We’re giving it a little while, Mom. I’m just over Joel, and I need to take my time.”

“Joel was never good enough for you. I always knew that.”

“Funny, last summer you were saying the same things about him you’re now saying about Daniel.”

There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. “I guess that’s true. But I want grandchildren, darn it! And you’re my only hope.”

Great. So nice to be the only hope for a future generation of Leighton progeny. “I have to go, Mom. Tell Dad to give me a call. If I don’t answer, it’s because I’m up to my knees in mud.” She looked up at the lowering sky. “I sure hope it doesn’t rain.”

As she clicked the off button on the cordless handset, Zack Christian jogged past, then backed up and stopped, his breathing barely faster than normal. She sat down on the top step.

“How are you doing?” he asked, strolling toward the steps.

“Good, I guess.” She thought about what Valetta had said, to for once just talk to him about other things than the crime du jour. “It must be a little strange, adjusting to life in Queensville after the big city. How long have you been here?”

“Since March.” He stretched and flexed his shoulders. “It is different, but I like it.”

“Do you have any family nearby?” She realized she knew virtually nothing about him, whether he had family or not.

“My folks live in Montana.”

“Is that where you’re from?” She could totally picture him in western gear and on a horse.

“Actually, I lived most of my life in Chicago, but my folks moved to my grandparents’ ranch in Montana when they retired. Granddad needed help running the place.”

“Do you ever go there?”

He frowned, his brow furrowed. “What’s up, Jaymie?” he asked, wiping his forehead on the edge of his T-shirt. “Why all the questions?”

So maybe Valetta was wrong? He seemed uneasy with the personal touch. “Just trying to keep my mind off things.” She took a deep breath, and said, “Zack, I’ve been thinking a lot, and I’m wondering if you guys have considered that Urban wasn’t killed in my backyard, but was moved there. Maybe with the stolen wheelbarrow?”

He didn’t say a word, just stared with his eyebrows arched.

“Okay, so that
is
what you’re thinking. That means he was killed somewhere else and brought to my backyard. There was sand clogged in his boot treads, so that means the riverbank, and I’m thinking the only patch nearby is down by the Ice House restaurant.”

“That’s not the only spot on the island with that kind of sand,” he said, then grimaced. “Forget I said that.”

Jaymie thought for a long minute and said, slowly, “It is the only spot on the American side, but there’s the marina on the Canadian side of the island, and it has the same kind of sand.” She frowned. “But the Canadian side? Why would . . . Wait! Urban was born in Poland and emigrated to Canada; that’s what his wife said. So he likely still has Canadian citizenship. And, in fact, their backyard is probably one of those that lie on the border! He could just cut through, and there wouldn’t even be any record of him crossing the border.”

Zack looked conflicted, but then said, “Look, I shouldn’t be saying anything at all, but sometimes a local perspective is helpful to me.”

“That’s what I’ve told you many times,” Jaymie said, with a smug smile.

“You’re really irritating sometimes, you know that?” He glared at her in mock ferocity. “Anyway, we’re still investigating everyone involved. I can’t comment, of course. But I can ask you questions.”

“Haven’t you already done that? A thousand or so of them?”

“But these questions may be more interesting to you. Like . . . do you know any reason why Urban Dobrinskie would be poking around the marina on the Canadian side of the island late at night?”

She stared at him. “No. Not offhand.” But she sure would be pondering that now.

“I’ve heard that he had a girlfriend. Do you know who she was?”

Darn. Slowly, reluctantly, she said, “Brock Nibley said that he had heard Ruby was involved with Urban, but that’s ridiculous.” She paused. “I also heard that Urban’s wife would follow him. Maybe
she
knows who he was involved with.”

Just then, Sammy came down the road on his bike and skidded to a halt. He eyed Zack, his expression somber.

“Hey, Sam,” the detective said. “How are you and your mom doing?”

“You were at our place yesterday, so you know how we’re doing.” Sammy cast Jaymie a suspicious look.

“Jaymie and I are friends, Sam. I just stopped on my way around the island.”

Jaymie cast the detective a surprised look. They were friends? Hmm. They’d had dinner together, so she supposed they could call themselves that.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should try a little harder to find out who killed my dad, instead of hanging out talking to girls.” He flung his bike to one side and stomped along the walkway toward the backyard, disappearing past the line of young trees that topped the lane, the same one damaged by the police excavator.

“Wow,” Jaymie said, watching him go. “Poor kid! He’s here to do some landscaping for me. I guess I’ve underestimated how losing his dad is affecting him. I hope he’s going to be okay.”

Zack shook his head. “Maybe he didn’t realize himself how much he’d miss his dad until it was too late. Gotta go. Bye, Jaymie.”

Fifteen

S
HE STOOD STARING
after Zack as he returned to the road and jogged away, his athlete’s tread pounding out a steady rhythm in the quiet morning. He disappeared down around the bend, heading toward the marina. He’d take the loop, which wreathed the point of the island, rising up to a cliff, where one house sat in solitary splendor, then down back to the heart of the island. Or maybe he’d go through the marina and take the stairs that rose from it to the road above, as some energetic joggers did.

She stared off down the road, her gaze unfocused as she pondered his words. What did he mean, “until it was too late”? Did he think Sammy might have killed his father? She had considered the kid as a suspect; it wouldn’t be the first patricide she’d heard of. Or maybe Zack just meant it the way everyone did when they said something like that, that you never knew what you had until it was gone.

One thing had become clear to her over the past few days . . . Whoever killed Urban Dobrinskie was not a stranger, not to the island, and not to herself. He or she had stolen the wheelbarrow the night before the murder; that indicated planning, and that he or she was likely present on the island as someone who owned or rented a home, not someone who went back and forth from the mainland. They then killed Urban, probably with the ice pick from the Ice House restaurant, and brought the body from the riverside area of the Canadian side of the island or the US side to her backyard, dumped it, then created the scene that implicated Garnet or Ruby Redmond. That person then managed to take the wheelbarrow away, dump it in the river and get away. Not the perfect crime, but proving to be tougher to solve than it had first looked. The cops hadn’t made an arrest yet, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were stumped. For all she knew they could have a theory and be watching someone, ready to pounce.

It was irritating that she just didn’t know, and she was no closer to knowing than she was the night of the murder. It was creepy, knowing there was a murderer out there. Garnet and/or Ruby could not be the guilty parties. They were just too sane. But if that was true, then what did Ruby mean when she said to her brother, “I didn’t mean to do it”? The logical solution to her puzzlement was to just ask the woman, and she would do just that.

But first she needed to go back and handle Sammy. The boy was drawing something on a clipboard when she joined him behind the house, after confining Hoppy to the cottage. She didn’t want her exuberant three-legged Yorkie-Poo lurching around the mucky work site.

Putting herself in Sammy’s shoes, she empathized with how overwhelming everything must seem for him at that moment. “You okay, Sam?” she asked, watching his face.

He nodded, but didn’t answer. His lower lip trembled, and huge tears welled in his eyes, splashing down on the clipboard.

“Come and sit,” Jaymie said, grabbing his arm and tugging him to the steps up to the deck. “If this is a bad day and you want to go home, it’s okay. I should never have expected you to do this, not while . . . not while you’re grieving.” She took the clipboard from his quivering grasp and set it aside. She then pushed him to sit, and sat on the step beside him. “Talk to me, Sam.”

“I just . . . I looked down at that field of dirt, and I thought, that’s where my dad died.” His shoulders shook and he buried his face in his hands.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” Jaymie said, gently. She rubbed his shoulder.

Just then, Daniel came around the corner of the cottage and approached the deck. His expression sobered when he saw the teenager sitting by Jaymie. “Hey, guys. Did I come at a bad time?”

Jaymie said, “No, it’s okay. Sam, this is Daniel Collins, my . . . my boyfriend.”

Daniel caught her hesitation and eyed her, gravely.

“You’re Sam Dobrinskie, right? I’m so sorry. I heard about your loss.” He stuck out his hand, and the teenager took it and shook. “I know how you feel . . . well, kinda. I lost my dad when I was younger than you. It hurt bad.”

“You lost your dad?” Jaymie asked, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He met her gaze and said, “Roger Collins married my mom three years after dad was killed. I took his name. He’s been a great father to me.”

How did she not know this about him? She stared at Daniel, her head swimming. What else didn’t she know?

“Thanks,” Sammy said. “It’s just . . .” He waved a hand helplessly over the ridged dirt of the backyard. “This was where he died. I’ve managed to shut it out until now, but . . . it’s hitting me how awful it is.”

“But he
didn’t
die here,” Jaymie blurted out, then wished she had kept her mouth shut.

“What?” Daniel gazed at her in astonishment. “How do you know that?”

“Did that cop tell you that?” Sammy demanded. “That detective who was here this morning?”

“Zack was on his way past the cottage, jogging, and stopped to talk,” Jaymie explained to Daniel, then turned back to Sammy, so she didn’t have to see the questions in Daniel’s eyes. “No, he didn’t tell me anything. I figured that out on my own.” She explained how she knew, citing the sand in the boot treads as proof. “If your father had been killed here, there would have been mud in the boot treads, not sand.”

The information had helped; she could see that as she regarded Sammy’s face. He was relieved, and heaved a deep breath, steadying himself as he looked out over the dirt gully. “So . . . where was he killed? And why bring him here?”

Those were questions she couldn’t answer. “Your mom said you were at a sleepover that night. Were you?”

Daniel flashed her a questioning look, but Sammy answered without hesitation or guile. “Nah, I was home. I don’t know why she said what she did. I was in my room on my computer.”

“Did your dad come home at any point?”

“I think so.” He squinted toward the Redmonds’ place, across the gully. “I heard him and Mom argue; then he left, and I think Mom . . .” His eyes widened and he shook his head. With sudden energy he stood, shifting his baggy cut-off shorts. “Look, if we’re going to do this stuff, we need to get at it.”

Had he been about to say that his mom followed his dad that night? Jaymie wondered. She tried to figure out a way to ask, but how did you ask a kid to incriminate his mother in his father’s murder? “Sammy, did you, uh, see your mom later that night, or—”

“So, have you got the sod coming?” Sammy asked, grabbing his clipboard and glaring down at it.

Daniel exchanged a glance with Jaymie, behind Sammy’s back, then said, “Yes, it should be coming anytime now. My dad is coming over to help lay it.”

“Then we need to get moving to prepare the site,” Sammy said, hustling off and trudging down to the muddy gully.

“What was that all about?” Daniel asked Jaymie. “Am I hearing what I think I’m hearing? Do you
really
think his mother killed his father?”

Jaymie shrugged. “I just don’t know. You haven’t met her, Daniel. She’s . . . odd.” She told him about the exchange at the Dobrinskie home. “She’s got to be glad Urban is gone.”

“Don’t bet on it,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Love’s not a fairy tale, Jaymie,” he said, impatiently, shoving his glasses up on his beaky nose and pushing back his sandy hair. “I think you’d better stop reading those romance books. Just because the guy was a jerk sometimes doesn’t mean his wife wanted him dead.”

She bridled. “I know that! Do you think because I read romance novels I’m not realistic about love?”

He regarded her steadily, as the sun peeped above the peak of the house and beamed down on them. “I don’t know what you think.” He turned and joined Sammy and the two began gesturing and planning out the day’s work.

Back at you, buddy,
she thought. “I’m not sure I know much about
you
at all,” she muttered, still wondering how she could not know that Roger Collins was his stepdad. What else hadn’t come up in the two months or so they had been dating?

The day was backbreaking, and the work hot and miserable. Roger Collins did arrive, and he had his new golfing buddies Grant Watson and Jaymie’s dad in tow. With all the turmoil of the past week, Jaymie had not foreseen how much work simply laying the sod would be. Sammy was invaluable. Because he had done his mom’s garden and yard so recently, he knew exactly who to call for estimates on patio stones and water piping for the water feature she still wasn’t sure about. He consulted with the various specialists who arrived to give quotes, and gravely wrote down figures.

Jaymie was glad her father was there, because he could help her make decisions. It was almost noon, and she stood with him in the shade of the copse of trees at the bottom of the gully and looked around. Her brain was mush, the heat having simmered it like a snail in a shell. “What do you think, Dad? Fountain? No fountain? I need to figure this out. Help!”

Sammy joined them, pulling up the bottom edge of his filthy T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face.

“What’s
your
vision, son?” Alan Leighton asked, his bluff face red and his sparse white hair standing up in a corona around his head. “You’ve probably spent more time thinking about this than any of us.”

When Sammy began to talk, Jaymie was mesmerized.

“This place,” he said, waving his hand at the grove of alder trees around them, “is like a staging area, you know? You look at everything else
from
it. But for a minute, picture this spot where we’re standing after a hot day like today, a stone terrace here, some nice furniture, and the splashing water from a fountain. Did you know that even the sound of running water cools people off? It’s, like, psychological.”

The way he said it, Jaymie could almost picture the fountain and the stone terrace, a seating area for them and their guests after a hot day on the water or out golfing.

“Now look toward the house.”

Jaymie obeyed, turning toward the back of the cottage on the rise above them, the scruffy wooden deck, which had definitely seen better days, and the PVC patio furniture, which needed to be replaced. She wasn’t sure whether the stuff she had bought at auction would be enough now.

“This fall you could take that deck off the back, and build a two-level stone patio that overlooks the gully. I’d plant some scattered trees along the slope, instead of terracing like the Redmonds have done. If you plant some poplars, you’ll have good fast growth, and soil retention. You’ll have to avoid the leaching bed—you don’t want tree roots interfering with that—but if we mark the perimeter, we should be able to do it. It wouldn’t hurt to give your property some privacy with a copse of evergreens at the far edge.

“Now, if you want to make the patio a covered deck instead, and do a railing,” he continued, “you might even be able to put an outdoor heater on it and rent the cottage out in fall, right up to Christmas. You’re close to the river, and some folks come to Queensville for Dickens Days between Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Wow. You’ve given us a lot to think about, Sam. You seem to have thought this through,” Jaymie marveled, examining the teenager. He had chosen the right profession.

Her dad said, “It’s about time we invested in this old place, don’t you think, hon?” He put his arm over Jaymie’s shoulder and squeezed. “Sammy, I was wondering about sound. Can we wire up the patio with speakers?”

The boy’s brown eyes lit up, and he swiped shaggy bangs off his forehead. “That would be off the chain, Mr. Leighton. Do you want me to price it out for you? We can lay the wiring at the same time as laying the waterlines for the fountain. It’ll take an electrician, but if we have one out for the fountain wiring, he could do it at the same time. I know just the guy, and he could do a small job like this in two hours.”

“If you do me the quotes, I’ll be able to make a decision right away.”

“That would be
awesome
!” He bounced off a ways, and whipped his cell phone out and started making calls.

“Speakers? Dad, are you serious?” Jaymie asked.

“Why not? It’s about time we started fixing this place up.”

A sudden idea twisted her stomach. “You don’t want to sell it, do you?”

“What? No way!” He grabbed her around the waist and squeezed. “I’d never do something like that without consulting you girls first. I just think the old place needs something. Next year we can talk about the inside.”