Paper-Thin Alibi (24 page)
Jo thought about Gabe Stubbins. Would he possibly have any knowledge of Bill’s past that might help? Something that might have slipped out during a late-night beer or two? There was one way to find out. She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled down to his number. To her disappointment, she got only his voice mail. She left a quick message and hung up, dissatisfied, then remembered the card he had given her with his home number on it as well. Perhaps she could reach him there? A search through her purse failed to turn up the card, and she realized she must have left it at home.
Jo thought for a moment, then picked up her store phone and called Information. She hoped she correctly remembered the town in Pennsylvania that Gabe had mentioned and waited while the operator searched for a number for a Gabe or Gabriel Stubbins. Then, as the wait grew longer, she hoped Gabe hadn’t chosen to be unlisted. Finally the woman’s voice came back on and to Jo’s relief, recited a number. Jo thanked her and quickly punched it in. An older woman’s voice answered.
“Mrs. Stubbins?” Jo asked, and when the woman said she was, Jo identified herself.
“Oh, yes, Jo. Gabe has mentioned you.”
Jo was glad to hear a smile in the voice. “I tried to call Gabe’s cell phone,” she explained, “but it wasn’t on. I thought maybe he was there?”
“Oh, Gabe’s down in Richmond now. The Michicomi show, you know.”
“That’s right,” Jo said, shaking her head. “So much has been going on around here, I’ve lost track of the days. I remember now about the Richmond weekend. He must have been down there hours ago.”
“No, he probably arrived later than he normally would because there was someone he was hoping to see along the way—in Maryland.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, an old friend of his from the shows. Maybe you know him too. Bill Ewing, the photographer?”
“Oh!” Jo said, surprised. “You said ‘
hoping
to see.’ Do you know if they actually did meet?”
hoping
to see.’ Do you know if they actually did meet?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Gabe will probably call me later tonight. And if you left a message for him, perhaps he’ll get back to you too.” Her tone told Jo that any further questions she had would best be asked of her husband, so Jo thanked her very much and ended the call.
Jo stared at her phone, wondering why Gabe had wanted to meet with Ewing. And if they had met—considering Ewing had met Kevin Boyer for lunch—when had that been?
Chapter 25
Jo woke early the next morning with her thoughts going in several directions at once. Had she actually slept? she wondered, or had her brain simply kept on running after her eyes had closed, like a factory chugging on with its night shift? If only her brain had been as productive. What she woke to seemed more of a tangle of raw material than any finished product. Now she had to sort through and try to make some sense out of it.
Making her way to the kitchen and the coffeepot, she thought about how she wished she could have seen Russ the night before. She had called before closing the Craft Corner, hoping to run over, but caught him in the midst of a noisy gathering, all the off-duty people from the station having apparently decided to visit him at the same time.
“This crew doesn’t look like they’ll be leaving for a while,” he had said, then suggested, “Why don’t you hold off until tomorrow?” which sounded like the most reasonable thing to do, though Jo hadn’t liked it much. She had tried to comfort herself later at home with a scoop or two of Cherry Garcia from her freezer. But, not surprisingly, it hadn’t done the trick.
Jo hadn’t heard back from Gabe, but Loralee called her to say that she was heading home and that Kevin’s condition had not changed. As Jo scooped out coffee grounds, she wondered once again what Kevin might have known about Bill Ewing that he had only hinted at to Meg. If Kevin hadn’t seen fit to confide in his wife, might there have been a friend that he had? Jo realized she wanted to know more about Meg’s husband. The best place she could think of to begin would be with his neighbors, most of whom she might be able to catch at home on this Saturday morning.
But where did Meg live? Jo didn’t know, but Ruthie, of course, did, and the Abbot’s Kitchen opened early for coffee and breakfast buns. If Jo stopped there before heading to the Craft Corner, she could check with Ruthie and maybe even have time to run out to Meg’s neighborhood. After plugging in her coffeemaker, Jo went off to shower. It looked as though she’d need a brisk one, as her day was once again going to be full.
“Meg’s address?” Ruthie handed a breakfast croissant and coffee over to one of her early-bird customers, a middle-aged man dressed for golf, who, to Jo’s relief, hadn’t given Jo a second glance when she joined him at the counter. Apparently not everyone in town gave a hoot about whatever gossip might be flying around about her. “Hold on a sec,” Ruthie said. “I’ll be right back.”
Ruthie disappeared into the back of the Abbot’s Kitchen, returning soon with Meg’s job application form. “Shame what’s happening with her husband. You planning to take a fruit basket or something to the house?”
“No. I believe Meg’s been spending most of her time at the hospital while Kevin is in this coma.” Jo looked at the address Meg had filled in: “422 Asher Court, Abbottsville, MD.” She scribbled it down on a scrap of paper, then asked Ruthie, “Any idea where Asher Court is?”
“It connects to Ridgeway Avenue. Just a short ways past the post office.”
“Great, that should be easy to find.” Jo tucked the paper away. “I hope things haven’t been too busy for you without Meg to help?”
“Oh, we’ve been managing,” Ruthie said, with a slightly odd look on her face. Before Jo could ask about it, another customer came forward to give his order, so she said a quick thank-you and took off. She checked her watch as she left the sandwich shop. Did she have time to get over to Meg’s neighborhood and talk to a few people before the Craft Corner needed to be opened? Maybe she should make sure Carrie could cover for her.
“Sure, Jo, no problem,” Carrie said after Jo called her from inside her car and explained what she needed time for. “Though from the impression I have of Kevin Boyer, I can’t picture him being on close terms with his neighbors.”
“Well, if that’s the case, at least I will have learned that much about him. I’ll try not to be too long.” Jo hung up and pulled away from the sandwich shop, heading for Asher Court.
Meg’s house was a modest, one-story ranch style that looked at least a couple of decades old. Jo had no idea what Kevin’s job paid, but from what she understood, his had been the only income for the household until very recently, and Jo well understood the challenges of stretching a single income to cover all expenses. Meg had only lately stepped out to take her part-time job at the Abbot’s Kitchen. If she had been somehow held back from working until then, the downside of that showed in the condition of their house, whose siding looked in need of painting, if not replacement, and whose driveway was cracked and in need of resurfacing.
Jo parked in front of the house and wondered which of the surrounding ones to try. As she pondered, the garage door of the house to the left began to rise. In moments a man stepped out, pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with tools and inadvertently making Jo’s decision for her. She climbed out of her car.
“Good morning,” Jo called, walking toward the weekend gardener. She saw, as she drew closer, that a bag of mulch also lined the wheelbarrow.
The man, gray-haired but slim and fit, paused in his forward movement and responded to her guardedly, possibly expecting a sales pitch of some kind. Jo quickly introduced herself and explained that she was a friend of Meg’s. This brought a relaxation of the furrow between the man’s brows, and he introduced himself as Jack McKendry.
“How’s Kevin doing?” he asked.
“Not too well, I’m afraid. He hasn’t regained consciousness yet.”
McKendry shook his head sympathetically. “That was quite a scare yesterday,” McKendry said, his face reflecting the anxiety he must have felt at the time. “I was out here working on my bushes—I’m retired, now,” he explained. “Anyway, I happened to look over and there he was, sprawled on his driveway. At first I thought, well, I don’t know what I thought, but it sure surprised me. I saw his wife’s car was gone, so I went over to ask was he all right, but all he did was groan. I hustled back to the house and called for an ambulance. Best I could do. I don’t know anything about first aid.”
“That was exactly the right thing to do,” Jo assured him, which drew an appreciative smile. “Do you know Kevin well? I mean, are you friends beyond the ‘nod and wave’ level?”
“Friends? I don’t know.” McKendry shook his head. “We never saw much of him, with him traveling so much and all. I can’t say I knew him very well, no. Why, you planning some kind of ‘welcome home’ party for when he gets out? We’ll be glad to come, of course, but—”
“No, nothing like that. I’ve never actually met Kevin. But I needed to know something about his time in the army and hated to bother Meg at a time like this. So I guess you never got into conversation with him about his time spent at Fort Leonard Wood?”
“Afraid not. Rick Gurney, across the street there,” McKendry said, pointing out a beige two-story, “might be able to help you. I saw them talking together a few times. But I never even knew Kevin was in the army. Wouldn’t have guessed it, to tell the truth, a guy like him.”
“Oh?”
“Well, you know,” McKendry said, then shook his head. “That’s right, you said you never met him. And maybe I’ve just got an old-fashioned, outdated idea of what army material is. They probably need all types nowadays.”
“What type would you say Kevin was?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” McKendry said, beginning to look sorry he’d got himself onto the subject. He obviously wasn’t someone who was comfortable analyzing casual acquaintances. “Bookish, maybe? Quiet anyway, and not real athletic. But as I say, they probably have a use for all types.” He started fiddling with the tools stacked in his wheelbarrow.
“Well, thanks,” Jo said, taking the hint. “I’ll run over and give Rick Gurney a try and let you get to work.” She noticed that a pickup sat in the driveway of the house McKendry had indicated, which looked hopeful for finding somebody at home.
“Yeah, Rick should be able to help you.” McKendry gave her a big smile then, and whether he was wishing her luck or just happy to be rid of her Jo couldn’t tell. But she thanked him again and crossed the street to knock on the door of the beige house.
As she waited, a light blue sedan came down Asher Court and pulled into the drive behind the pickup. A slim, red-haired woman of about forty, wearing jeans and a yellow pullover, climbed out holding a plastic grocery bag. She looked at Jo curiously, and Jo stepped off of the house’s stoop, ready with her explanation. But Jack McKendry beat her to it, calling out helpfully from his yard, “Susan, that there’s Jo. She’s a friend of Meg’s and wants to talk to Rick.”
Susan Gurney immediately smiled, and Jo waved gratefully to Jack McKendry. She was happy not have had her full name mentioned, which avoided the possibility of Susan Gurney recognizing her as
that woman who’s under suspicion of murder
.
that woman who’s under suspicion of murder
.
“Rick’s probably in the basement,” Susan said, closing her car door, “which is why he’s not answering the door. You’re a friend of Meg’s? How is Kevin? I heard about what happened yesterday.”
Jo told her what she had told Jack McKendry, and Susan reacted much the same, shaking her head in sympathy as she crossed in front of Jo to open her front door. “C’mon in,” she invited. “I’ll get Rick for you.”
As Jo followed Susan into the house she picked up the aroma of cooked bacon. The scent grew stronger as they made their way down the short hall to the kitchen, which sported dirty breakfast dishes on the table and a greasy frying pan on the stove.
“That man,” Susan said with good-natured exasperation. “Can’t pick up a thing for himself.” She set her bag on the counter, then took the few steps over to a door at the other end of the kitchen and pulled it open. “Rick! You down there? Someone here to see you.”
Jo heard a muffled response that sounded close to, “Be right up,” and said to Susan, “I hope I’m not interrupting him from anything important.”
Susan flapped a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Saturday mornings he likes to putter down there. He claims he’s working on a project, but it’s mostly just puttering. I don’t mind. It’s his way of relaxing. I just wish,” she said with an eye roll, “he’d put a few things in the dishwasher first.”
She unloaded her grocery bag, chatting in a friendly way as she did. “We’re going to a potluck dinner tonight, so I picked up a few things after I dropped the kids off at soccer practice. Want some coffee? There’s some here I can heat up.”
“No, thanks.” Jo handed Rick’s breakfast plate and mug over to Susan, who had started tidying up. “Did you know Meg and Kevin well?”
“Well?” Susan paused thoughtfully, Rick’s dishes in hand. “Not as well as you’d think I should, living right across the street from them and all.” She scraped crumbs from the plate into her sink before loading it into her dishwasher. “Of course, we’ve only been here about a year or so, and they don’t have kids to come play with our kids. They kind of keep to themselves anyway, though. Except when Kevin came over sometimes to ask Rick’s advice on his furnace. They seemed to have a lot of trouble with their furnace.”
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