Grace Against the Clock (A Manor House Mystery) (22 page)

I don’t know if I was more taken aback by Hillary’s acquiescence or by David Cherk’s unkind glare.

“So I made the trip for nothing,” he said.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “This came out of the blue. I need a minute to think about it.”

“It’s an easy yes or no,” David said.

“What, exactly, do you plan to photograph?” I asked.

David rolled his eyes dramatically. “The entrance, the pathway. A couple of locations where artifacts were found. From what I understand, the walls are solid brick. I’d get a few shots of those. This is good for the town’s history, for helping to bring the past alive for our citizens.” He pushed himself off from leaning against the countertop. “Or maybe you don’t care about stuff like that.”

Wes looked up at me, silently apologizing with his eyes.

“Fine,” I said. “But be careful. The doors lock automatically, and if they close behind you, you’re stuck.”

Hillary squeaked her delight.

I was frustrated, tired, and annoyed. By all of them.

“It looks like you’ll be here awhile,” I said to David. Glancing at the rest of the people gathered in my kitchen, I said, “I’m going upstairs to say hello to Bootsie. Then I’m grabbing dinner out.” To Hillary, I added, “Please be sure to lock up when you leave.”

She gave me a chipper smile. “I always do.”

Chapter 28

“Frances,” I called from my office late the next morning, “did you take any papers from in here?”

My assistant came into view at the doorway. “What are you looking for?”

I’d gotten up from my desk and was now searching around the rest of my sizeable office. Enormous mullioned windows spanned one wall, above built-in filing cabinets. I sorted through papers that I’d left atop the cabinets, my back to the fireplace. Tilting my head upward to stare at the coffered teak ceiling, I tried to mentally retrace my steps.

“I borrowed old newspapers from the historical society the other day,” I said. “I started to go through them at home, but I didn’t have time, so I brought them in today. I thought I might have a chance to read here at work.”

Her brows came together. “What kind of old newspapers?”

Except for these papers on the filing cabinets, I kept a relatively clutter-free office and knew I hadn’t put anything away in the past couple of hours. Walking over to my desk, I picked up the newspaper with the headline “Esteemed Surgeon Faces Charges.” “I picked this one up the other day, along with a couple others from that time—a day before and a few after the scandal hit. I had five different full editions in all. Now I have only four.”

“And you brought them in today?”

I massaged the bridge of my nose. “I was in a hurry this morning and didn’t notice that anything was missing. I couldn’t have left it at home.” Talking aloud now, I brought up a mental image of my kitchen. “They were on top of the microwave when I grabbed them. I would’ve noticed if I’d left one behind.”

“Maybe one of your roommates took it?”

I doubted it. “I’ll check, but they knew why I’d brought these home. I can’t imagine they would have removed one from the pile without telling me.”

“Has anyone else been in your house since you brought them home?”

I nearly barked a laugh. “Only half the town,” I said, then sobered. “You don’t think someone would have stolen an old newspaper, do you? What could they possibly want with it?”

Frances held up three fingers. “One, you may be dealing with a kleptomaniac. Who knows why any of them steal? Two, whoever took it didn’t know it was important and they needed an old newspaper to line a birdcage, or maybe clean windows. Or, three, you’re on the right track and the killer doesn’t want you to read what’s in that missing paper. Of course that would mean that the killer—or
her hit man
—was in your house recently.”

“I need to call Hillary,” I said, pulling up my cell phone and dialing her number. The call went to voicemail, so I hung up.

“Why didn’t you leave a message?” Frances asked.

“She’ll see a missed call and call me back.”

“But she won’t know why you were calling.”

“I’ll tell her when she gets in touch.”

“I don’t understand. If her voicemail comes on, why not leave a message?”

I was about to explain how accessing recordings on cell phones was far more trouble than returning a call, when Flynn walked in. He usually wore pale button-down shirts, dress pants, and a jacket. Today, however, he’d donned blue jeans, a gray Henley with the first few buttons undone, and a leather shoulder holster. The biggest change to his appearance, however, was his hair. Or, I should say, the lack thereof. He’d shaved himself bald.

I struggled to find something to say.

Frances had no reservations. “You’ve been watching too many
Die Hard
movies. Looks like you’re channeling Bruce Willis.”

He scowled at her. “I have a lead on that moonshine,” he said. “Your hired detective did some good this time.”

Still shocked by the change in Flynn’s appearance, I couldn’t even manage a reply.

“Turns out your guy, Tooney, may not have been the only local who knows where to get moonshine.”

“You found out who bought the alcohol from them?” I asked.

When Flynn nodded, his newly shiny head caught the light. This was going to take some getting used to.

“Well, who?”

“Dr. Keay.”

Frances sat. “He injected himself?”

“I didn’t say that,” Flynn said. “My department is investigating the moonshiners so I can’t tell you the specifics of how we found out, but Dr. Keay was one of their regular customers.”

“But,” I said, “he was sober. For years.”

Flynn shrugged. “People lie. I see it every day. Seems he was one of their best customers.”

I was still digesting that when Flynn continued, “The theory we’re going with right now is that whoever killed Keay knew that he was still on the sauce and threatened to blackmail him.”

“Then why kill him?” I asked. “You said the attack was personal.”

“Blackmail is personal.”

“Injecting him and poisoning him doesn’t make any sense if the killer was looking for money,” I said.

“You got a better theory?”

It wasn’t much, but I held up the newspapers and explained what I’d been looking for. “I think that whoever killed Dr. Keay did it because of something that happened around the time the scandal hit. Because of something Dr. Keay did back when he was a raging alcoholic.”

Flynn shook his smooth head. “Doesn’t fit. If Keay was buying moonshine, he never
stopped
being a raging alcoholic. He just got better at hiding it, is all. Whoever killed him knew how to do it, and they knew because they knew his habits.”

“What if it wasn’t blackmail? What if it was a personal vendetta?”

He waved both hands at me in an attempt to shut me up. “I didn’t come here to discuss theories with you. I came here to tell you that Joyce has been released. We didn’t have enough to hold her.”

“You let her go?” Frances asked. “How could you? She did it. I know she did.”

“There’s this thing called the law,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “I’m charged with upholding it. We had to let her go due to lack of evidence.”

Frances turned her cheek to him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you people. The answer is staring you right in the face and you unlock the jail cell and set it free.”

Flynn’s mouth pulled to the side. “We did get another tip that we’re checking out right now. Can’t say more than that without jeopardizing the investigation. I’ll tell you this much, though: We’re working on a warrant. Don’t be surprised if we announce an arrest before the week is out.”

“Another arrest? For the same crime?” Frances brightened. “You think Joyce had help? Like a hit man?”

Flynn gave her a weary look. “Didn’t I say that I can’t tell you more without compromising our work?”

I wanted to ask him why he’d bothered offering that much information if he didn’t expect questions, but I already had my answer. The man desperately needed to prove that he was ahead of us this time. He was here to show off.

“Good luck, Detective,” I said, even as Frances scowled. “Thanks for the update.”

*   *   *

My cell phone rang later that afternoon, while Frances was in my office. Hillary’s name blinked on the device’s display.

“You see,” I said, right before I answered. “Better than leaving a message.”

Frances didn’t say anything.

“Grace, I have the best news,” Hillary said when I answered. “Have you heard? You must have, otherwise why would you have tried to call me earlier?”

“The reason I called—”

“Your renovation is going to be featured in a national magazine,” she said with dolphin-pitched merriment. “
Painted Lady Monthly
. It’s a glossy. Can you believe it?”

“No, I—”

“Frederick reminded me that you’ll need to approve this, but Grace, of course you will, right? Can you imagine how much of a boost this would give my business?” She didn’t wait for me to respond. “My
fledgling
business? Not so fledgling after this. I know how private you are and how much having people in and out of your house all the time grates on your nerves, but if you could do this one eensy-weensy favor, I’d be so grateful. Frederick would, too.”

“That’s not why I called,” I said. “We’ll talk about the magazine later. For now I need you to answer a question for me about all those people who are in and out of my house every day.”

“The
Painted Lady
will want an answer soon.”

“Concentrate for a minute on what I’m saying, Hillary.” I waited a beat, ignored her tiny sigh of annoyance, and continued, “I need you to answer some questions for me first. Only then will I consider it.” I knew I’d regret the implied promise later, but once Hillary got an idea in her mind she was a steamroller until she achieved her goal. To get her to focus I needed to dangle the prize and not give in until she complied.

Another annoyed sigh, but this time she said, “Go ahead.”

“I had some newspapers in my kitchen the other day.” I spoke slowly. “I brought them in on Saturday but I didn’t have much of a chance to look at them until today, when I took them with me to work.”

“Are you talking about the old newspapers that were on top of your microwave?”

My mouth fell open. Frances, reading my expression, asked, “She saw them?”

“Those are exactly the ones I’m talking about, Hillary,” I said. “Can you tell me if you saw anyone, anyone at all, handling them?”

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Will I be getting someone in trouble by telling you?”

“Bear with me,” I said. “Who touched them?”

“Almost everyone.” My heart sank, and I gripped the phone tightly, waiting for more information, hoping that she would offer some clue as to who took the missing paper.

“Are you alone?” I asked.

“I am at the moment.”

“Good, now think for a minute. Tell me everything you can about the newspapers and who looked at them.”

“Okay.” Although I couldn’t see her consternation, I could feel it. “Let’s see, the first person to notice the newspapers was Frederick.”

“Why would he be interested in them?”

“Are you sure I’m not getting him into trouble?”

“What did he do with the newspapers?” I asked.

“Frederick is a good man,” she said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything to mess your house up on purpose.”

“Focus, Hillary. Tell me what happened.”

“The only reason any of us noticed the papers was because Frederick pointed them out. He asked me why you had a pile of five-year-old newspapers on top of your microwave. I said that I didn’t know.”

“Who else was there?”

She thought for a minute. “Everyone you saw the other night,” she said. “David Cherk, Wes McIntyre, me, Frederick. Oh, and at that point there were a couple of other people, too.”

“Who?”

“One of David’s student friends was there to help him with the shoot, and your neighbor Todd. I think he really believes I’m interested in him.” She gave a very teenage-like giggle. “Oh, and the reporter who did the story on the secret passage. I think that’s it, but I may be forgetting someone.”

All these people in my kitchen when I hadn’t even been home. “What was the reporter doing there?”

“Follow up, he said. Anyway, the best I can recall is that Frederick started paging through the papers and—” She stopped.

“And what Hillary?”

“You’re not going to like this.”

“Spit it out.”

She gave a quick sigh. “Frederick said something about the papers being a fire hazard in the kitchen and he thought they should be tossed out. He wouldn’t do that, of course, without your permission, but he asked again what you could possibly want with newspapers that old. He offered to put them somewhere other than the kitchen, so it would be safer.”

“Safer? Than on top of the microwave?”

“Frederick is a little paranoid about such things. He’s very clean.”

“What happened? He obviously didn’t move them. They were still there when I grabbed them this morning.”

“Wes explained to the group that you were looking for information about what else might have been happening in Emberstowne when Dr. Keay’s scandal broke. He suggested that we leave the papers exactly where they were because it was important to you. That got everyone talking about you and how you’ve become the town’s amateur sleuth. David Cherk said that he thought fame had gone to your head.”

I didn’t care what people thought about my amateur sleuthing, but I tucked that remark away, nonetheless.

“So the only person to handle the papers was Frederick?” I asked.

“David got bored while we were waiting for you, and he started reading through them. I think the reporter guy did, too. Yes, he did. He mentioned something about how news coverage is so much better today than it was back then.”

“Anyone else?”

“I can’t say for sure. I was in and out of the kitchen a few times, checking on Bootsie and making sure the workers were doing what they were supposed to be doing.”

“Thank you, Hillary.”

“What about the magazine? Can we schedule a shoot? They’re really eager to get out here.”

“Wouldn’t you want to finish the interiors first?” I asked, in an effort to buy time.

I could almost hear disappointment register like a coin in a vending machine. “That’s probably a good idea. I hate to push them off, though.” A beat later, her cheer returned. “You know I can’t wait to get my hands on your home’s interiors. Wait until I tell Papa Bennett about the magazine feature. He’ll be so proud.”