Pattern of Betrayal (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 2) (15 page)

“That’s quite a deduction,” Hannah drawled.

Julie shot her an annoyed look as she headed back to her office. “I don’t know what they could possibly be after. Everyone already knows that the journal is missing.”

“Maybe whoever took it hid it in here and came back for it,” Hannah suggested.

“Why would they tear everything apart trying to find it? They would know exactly where they put it.”

“True,” Hannah said. “Whoever did this either wanted something else or hadn’t heard the book was stolen.”

Julie nodded.

Shirley’s voice drifted into the office as her footsteps drew closer. “Right this way, officer.” She poked her head in the door. “Julie, did you call the pol—my stars! What happened in here?”

“That’s what I’m hoping the police can help me figure out.”

Shirley stepped sideways to let the uniformed officer squeeze by. “But are you OK, dear?”

“I’m fine, Shirley. Thanks.”

“When did you discover the room in this state?” the officer asked. He was young—almost too young—with light brown hair and tawny eyes like a hawk’s. Had it not been for those keen eyes, she might have turned him around on the spot and sent him back to his car.

Where are they getting these babies to investigate crimes?

“I came in here about fifteen minutes ago,” she replied. “And this is what I found.”

“What were you doing at the time?”

“Preparing to finish some work before I went to bed.”

“I see.” The officer wrote something in the little notebook he held—the same kind Detective Frost carried around. “What sort of work?”

Julie felt her patience slip a notch. This weekend had been nothing but drama from beginning to end. “The usual stuff.”

She was waiting for him to ask her to explain that answer when an all-too-familiar voice sounded from the hall. “If you wanted to see me again, you didn’t have to go to such lengths.”

“Detective Frost.” Julie forced a polite smile to her lips. “So nice to see you this evening. What’s it been—four hours?”

Frost stepped into the office. “Anything missing?”

“I haven’t checked. I didn’t want to disturb any clues or fingerprints.”

“Any idea who could have done this?” Frost scanned the room. Julie was sure he didn’t miss a single detail.

“I don’t think it was the same person who stole the journal.”

“Really? And what makes you so sure of that?”

Julie shrugged. “Why would the thief do this if they already had the journal?”

“Hmmm. And there’s nothing else of great importance in here?” He raised his eyebrows in that infuriating way he had.

“Accounting records, registration papers, that sort of thing.”

“What about a checkbook or business credit cards?”

“That’s all locked in the safe,” Julie said.

Frost shot her a skeptical look.

“It’s locked.” She pointed to the closed door of the tiny wall vault. “May I?”

He fished in his pocket and then held out a pair of latex gloves to her.

Julie pulled the gloves on as she picked her way across the office, trying her best not to step on anything that looked important. These were Millie’s paper records scattered across the floor, and she wanted to return them to their proper homes as soon as possible. And without footprints.

She nimbly ran through the combination and opened the safe. She had been careful to make sure that it was shut after the detective left that afternoon. “Yep, everything is still here.”

“If there’s nothing missing, we can write it up as vandalism or an attempted robbery. But it’s not officially a burglary if nothing has been stolen.”

Of course not.

“It’ll take me a while to get everything back in order.” Julie cringed at the thought. It was going to take hours.

“Take some pictures,” Frost told the uniformed officer. “Then dust the safe.” He pulled a small kit from his jacket pocket and handed it to the officer. Then he turned back to Julie. “Walk around; see if anything seems to be missing or out of place.”

She looked pointedly at the mess that was once her neat and orderly office.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Julie studied the debris on the floor, trying to match it to her memory of the ledgers and books that had once been up on the shelves.

“Why did you call for an ambulance earlier?” Frost asked.

“One of the guests had a problem at dinner.” It was the safest answer she could come up with.

“That’s some problem if you needed an ambulance.” Frost eyed her steadily.

“How did you know—?”

He shot her that patronizing smile again. “I make it my business to know. So, what happened?”

“We’re still waiting on word from the hospital,” Julie said. “But Joyce Fillmore had some sort of an attack while she was eating.”

“One of the older ladies?” he asked.

“The tall one.”

“Heart attack?”

“Maybe. Or a food allergy. Her friend said she was allergic to peanuts.”

He took out his notebook and scribbled something on it. “Was your staff aware of this allergy?”

Julie crossed her arms and stared him down. “Of course we were.”
Of course Hannah was.

“Let me know what you find out.” After the officer was finished taking pictures, Frost walked around the room looking for heaven only knew what. He used his pen to pull the curtain away from the window and peer out. Her office overlooked the back garden; though, whenever she was in the office, she didn’t have much time for admiring the view. “When you first came in here, was there a window open?”

“No.”

He let the curtain fall back into place. “Is it possible that the culprit came in through the hallway?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you keep your office door locked?”

“Not ordinarily,” she said. “Only when I’m leaving the inn.”

“Did you leave the inn today?” he asked, still poking around the room, peering under things and behind things, never once looking at her while he spoke.

“No.”

“So, it’s feasible that any one of your guests or staff could have come in here and done this.”

“Why do I feel like I’m the one being charged here?”

This time Frost looked at her, his smile genuinely apologetic. “It’s been a long day, Miss Ellis.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I said, I’m sorry to hear that.”

He smiled as if he knew that wasn’t what she’d said at all. “We’ll write up the report. In the meantime, you can feel free to clean this up.”

She nodded.

“And one more thing, Miss Ellis.”

Julie turned to face him.

“You should lock your office door whether you’re here or not.”

“Locking a door in Straussberg!” Shirley exclaimed. “Why, whoever heard of such a thing?”

“It seems to be my only recourse now,” Julie said. Though, with the journal missing and her office a mess, it seemed a
bit like closing the barn door after the horses had gotten out.

After leaving her office, Julie had walked to the tearoom to see if Shirley was still at the inn. She should have gone home long ago, but Julie was glad she’d remained for a while longer.

“I don’t like it either,” Julie added. She’d lived in places where people had to lock their doors at all times, but Straussberg had a different vibe. A small, country town feel. An everyone-knows-everyone kind of place. She hated the fact that it seemed to be changing right before her eyes.

“Of course, back in the day …,” Shirley was saying.

Julie nodded politely. Time spent with Shirley was entertaining, to be sure, but she wouldn’t classify it as relaxing. She tried her best to keep track of Shirley’s colorful storytelling, but her mind kept wandering.

Perhaps whoever ransacked her office wasn’t trying to find the journal. What if that person was merely trying to scare her? What if the art thieves who swore their revenge on her had finally caught up with her?

That made more sense than any of her other theories. Though the thought sent her heart sinking to her toes.

With as many tourists as had been in and out of the inn lately, it could have been anyone. Most had been gawkers, not registered guests. And there had been
a lot
of them. That narrowed the potential vandal down to … well, almost anyone in town.

Julie’s phone buzzed in her pocket. “Excuse me,” she said to Shirley, checking the screen before answering. She did not recognize the number.

“Julie dear, it’s Sadie Davidson.”

“Sadie! Good to hear from you. How is Joyce?”

“Well, they have her stabilized, but they’re going to keep
her overnight to make sure she’s OK. Personally, I think she’s fine. She’s sitting up in the bed, flirting shamelessly with the male nurses. I suspect she’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

Relief flooded through Julie. “I’m so glad to hear that. Have they determined what caused her collapse?”

“It was just as I suspected. Somehow she got ahold of some peanuts. We’re lucky it didn’t kill her right off.”

J
ulie had no more than hung up with Sadie and closed the door behind Shirley when she spotted Carrie meandering around near the tearoom.

“I thought you were going to bed,” Julie said, bypassing a normal greeting.

Carrie jumped as if she hadn’t been expecting Julie to say anything to her—or as if she hadn’t noticed Julie at all. The petite girl bumped into the wall, nearly knocking a painting onto the floor.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, pushing her glasses up on her nose and straightening the picture. It was more crooked when she was finished fixing it than it had been before she began.

“What are you doing down here?” Julie asked, her suspicions rising.

Carrie’s eyes grew wide. “I thought I forgot something in the tearoom.”

“Really? What was it? I’ll help you look,” Julie said with as much care and concern as she could muster.

“Uh, my handkerchief.”

Julie blinked. Did anyone under the age of seventy carry a handkerchief anymore? “Unfortunately, it looks like Shirley has already closed up for the night. You’ll have to ask her in the morning.”

Carrie nodded and pushed at her sleeves. “OK. Good night then.” She turned on her heel to leave.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Julie asked.

Carrie paused for a moment and then slowly shook her
head. “No.” Without another word she crept up the steps as quietly as she’d come.

Julie stood in the foyer and watched her leave, a jillion thoughts zinging through her head. Carrie seemed the least likely of the guests to commit a heinous crime. Julie doubted the petite blonde even had enough strength to wield the overlarge candlestick that had been used to knock Alice over the head. But her bizarre behavior … always creeping around … so jumpy when spoken to. …

Was Carrie even in the room when Alice was murdered?
Julie couldn’t remember if Carrie had been there or not. The girl was just so quiet, as if she wanted everyone to forget she existed.

But had she been there?

Julie thought back to the minutes before the power went out and promptly blew out an irritated breath. That was the problem. She simply couldn’t remember. Of course, at the time, she hadn’t been concerned about
real
murders. She hadn’t been watching everyone with suspicious eyes. Her attention had been focused on making sure the murder part of the mystery went off without a hitch and on gearing up for a weekend of solving a fake murder … not a
real
murder.

Julie rolled her shoulders, trying to ease some of the kinks out of her neck and back. On a whim, she started toward the back of the inn, where Hannah’s room was located. The power had gone off right before the dessert service.
Had Carrie been in the room at the time?

She lightly rapped on Hannah’s door.

“It’s open,” came the soft reply.

Julie opened the door and found Hannah propped up on the bed as if she’d been expecting her friend to drop by.

“You’re up late,” Julie said.

Hannah shrugged. “Too much excitement, I guess, but I need to turn in soon. Morning comes quickly around here. Did you hear from Sadie?”