The Stubborn Schoolhouse Spirit (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series) (11 page)

“I thought maybe you liked me better.”

“I care about you, Sam. I care about you a lot. It’s just that I care about myself more.”

“Nell, I never meant to make you feel cheap.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“You’re important to me.”

“But there are other things in your life more important.”

“Right now, yes.”

“I understand. I’m not closing the door. But I’m not going to delibe
rately do something I know is wrong either.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“It’s late,” she said, getting to her feet. “Will you be at breakfast?”

“No, but I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open at Marlo’s place.”

“Thanks.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder. “Sweet dreams, Sam.”

“They’ll be of you, Nell.”

She had to fight back tears as she ran the rest of the way up the stairs.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

On Saturday, the town of Amaryllis turned out as it always did for every grand opening, from a fruit stand to a fancier establishment such as The Swan—Fine Art and Antiques. Harry Hargrove in full mayoral mode, squeezed his bulk between the curious citizens, shaking hands and welcoming everyone as if The Swan belonged to him.

Hal Greene, publisher, editor, chief reporter, and photographer for the
Bugle,
snapped candids as well as a few posed pictures of Mayor Hargrove, Marlo Howard, and various members of the Town Council. Millie Dancer, evidently pressed into service keeping the buffet table supplied, bustled back and forth from the kitchen. Mary Lynn, a full plate balanced in one hand, looked bored.

“You’ve done a nice job here,” Penelope said to
Marlo when she could get close enough to make the obligatory polite remarks. “Do you specialize in a particular kind of art?”

“Folk art mainly, but I handle other things, too.”

“Folk art. Like Grandma Moses?”

Marlo’s
face took on a pained expression. “You could say that.”

Penelope bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “I liked her stuff. Where do you get your paintings? I mean, is there someone else out there who paints like Grandma Moses?”

“I do a lot of traveling in rural areas. You’d be surprised what you can find out on the highways and byways.”

“I’m sure.”

“Please help yourself to some refreshments.” Marlo moved away, and Millie came out of the kitchen with another tray for the buffet.

“How did you get rooked into this?”

“Oh, I don’t mind.”

“I used to come to parties here when I was in high school.”

“You told me.”

“But I’ll admit the place looks the same. I’d have thought...”

“Marlo didn’t do much except move her stuff in, but I’m sure she’ll change the décor eventually.”

“The carpet needs replacing,” Penelope observed. “I’d think she’d at least do that before she brought everything in.”

“I don’t know. Carpet’s expensive. Maybe she’s operating on a tight budget, just starting up and all.”

“Could be.”

Penelope filled a plate and checked out the paintings displayed on easels and hanging on the walls. The she took a quick look in what had been the parlor, where the antiques were displayed. All in all, it seemed like a sparse inventory, but maybe more was coming.

“Hello, Mrs. Pembroke.” Chuck Runyon stood just behind her.

“Hello, Chuck. I guess you came to check out the art, but there doesn’t seem to be much of it.”

He grimaced. “I was hoping to see more
Bancrofts.”

“You’ve got a thing for those, don’t you?”

“He was a master at what he did. Someone is coming from Little Rock on Monday to authenticate and appraise the portraits in the house at Pembroke Point.”

“You really want that done, don’t you?”

“I’m flat out nervous about being responsible for them. When they’re properly insured, and an alarm system is installed, I’ll feel better.”

“Well, they’ve been all right there for close to a hundred years.”

He frowned, then leaned closer and dropped his voice. “Stuff like that disappears too easily, Mrs. Pembroke. I know what I’m talking about.”

Before she could ask him how he knew, Mary Lynn caught her arm. “Pen, I was telling
Marlo about the boxes, and she suggested we bring them here and put them on the service porch. It’s enclosed. She even said she didn’t care if we brought in a couple of tables from the parish hall.”

“Why’d you tell her what we were doing?” Irritation nibbled along the edges of Penelope’s current feeling of well-being.

“We were talking about the town and what I was trying to do at the school.  I didn’t think it was a state secret.”

“You didn’t mention…”

“Absolutely not.”

“Apparently Hal doesn’t know yet either. He hasn’t said a word to me, and usually people think I know everything Bradley knows.” Penelope shrugged. “Oh, I don’t care. As I recall, the service porch is small enough to keep warm with a portable heater, and I don’t mind kicking in something for the electricity.”

“Good, I’ll tell her.”

“You sound like you wanted things to work out this way.”

“No, but, well, Marlo knows about old things, and Harry’s already talked to her about the museum he wants to get started. She said she’d be glad to help. And she can suggest appropriate frames and groupings for some of the pictures, too.”

“Have you been talking to Millie? That’s what she said.”

“Well, you see then, it was meant to be.”

Penelope shrugged again. “I’ll talk to Fr.
Loeffler about the tables tomorrow after Mass.”

****

Sam didn’t touch her when he arrived after supper, even though Jake had already gone to his room to watch tv. Penelope thought his face looked more lined than usual. “I kept a plate warm for you.”

“Thanks.” He hung his quilted jacket on the back of a kitchen chair and washed his hands at the sink.
“So what about Marlo’s place?”

“She specializes in folk art,” Penelope said, watching his face for a reaction but not seeing one. “She has maybe a dozen paintings and some antique dishes and furniture. Small pieces.”

“So what did you think about things in general?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to think.”

“You’re sharp, Nell. Give me your first impressions.”

“Well, granted she’s just opened, but it didn’t seem to me that her inventory is very large. Also, she just moved right in—no painting or anything like that. And the carpet’s really worn, but she didn’t replace that either. It seems to me like that’s the thing you’d do before you got a bunch of stuff on top of it that you’d just have to move again.”

Something flickered in Sam’s eyes. “Good girl.”

“I did something right?”

“You did everything right.”

“Well, maybe not.” She told him about
Marlo’s offer to let them use the service porch to sort through Jessie Ruth’s boxes.

“Yes and no,” Sam said, scraping up the last of his mashed potatoes and gravy.

“Are you still hungry?”

He nodded and handed her his plate. “Thanks, Nell.”

“And Chuck Runyon was there, too, hoping to see more Bancroft portraits.”

“Did he see any?”

She handed him another full plate. “Not that I know of. But he’s really antsy about the ones at the Point. He’s bringing in an appraiser on Monday and arguing for an alarm system.”

“Sounds like a cautious young man.”

“I wonder.”

“What do you wonder?”

“Nothing.”

“Keep on keeping your eyes open at
Marlo Howard’s place. I’ll be in touch.”

Later, he kissed her goodnight at the top of the stairs, a gentle, longing kiss that stayed with her long after she’d turned off her light.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“We’ve only got a week to work before I have to start getting ready for Cupid Convention in February,” Penelope said as she and Mary Lynn set up the tables on the service porch at The Swan.

“I swear, I don’t know how Harry comes up with those names. Crystal Rainbow Convention, Cupid Convention, Tulip Turnaround.”

Penelope smirked. “My favorite is the Dog Days of Summer, but I wouldn’t be sorry to see it go in favor of Founders Day.”

“I tried to talk him out of that one.” Mary Lynn shook her head, but she smiled.

“Well, look at it this way. All those names are sort of campy, down-home things. They get people’s attention, and then they come to Amaryllis and spend money, and we stay afloat.”

“We really need a new business in here though. A big one.”

“There’s this one.”

Mary Lynn looked around and lowered her voice. “She’s not going to make it, unless she has tons of capital to play with.

“Why do you say that?”

“Look, people turned out for the grand opening. Something to do, curiosity, and free food gets them every time. But people in Amaryllis have their own antiques, and they don’t have money for folk art.”

“I agree most people are furnished in
early attic
. Fortunately, Daddy inherited some good pieces from his parents, and Travis let me take a few things from the Point.”

“We’ll see what kind of business she has if we work around here long enough.”

“I guess we will. Okay, Mary Lynn, let’s dump one of these boxes and see what we can find.”

****

They took a break for lunch. Marlo’s sports car was missing from the drive when they returned, but they let themselves in the back and turned on the heater again. The first box had been disappointing, mainly information about the house where Jessie Ruth had lived. She’d spent a ton of money keeping it up. Penelope knew the nephew had gotten a pretty penny for it.

Box number two yielded the school records they hoped to find. Leather-bound ledgers in almost perfect condition provided a history of the school from it’s opening in 1881 until the state department of education took it over in 1920. “Blessed bingo,” Penelope squealed. “This is it.”

“Did you find Mr. Ives?”

“Not yet, but here’s a list of teachers for 1882-83. Head teacher, Miss Daisy Bowden. Primary grades, Miss
Louella Sugarloaf.”

“Sugarloaf? You’re kidding.”

“Here’s 1888-89. Head teacher, Daisy Bowden. Primary grades, Miss Louella Sugarloaf. Advanced, Mr. Vincent Ives. He’s here, Mary Lynn. He’s actually here.” She dug her cell phone out of her quilted vest pocket. “I’m going to call Bradley.”

“Wait until you see when he disappeared,” Mary Lynn said. “That’s the key piece of information, isn’t it?”

“You’re right. Okay, let’s see.” Penelope turned the thick pages. “The house burned in 1896 according to what Jessie Ruth wrote on the back of that picture.” She frowned. “Daisy and Ives married in 1888. He’d just come for the school term, and she married him already? That’s odd.”

“Maybe she’d known him before,” Mary Lynn suggested. “Or it was love at first sight.”

Penelope shook her head. “Married him after he came in September of 1888, and Jessie Ruth was both on 1889…more like lust at first sight.”

Mary Lynn sighed. “Only you would come up with something like that.”

Penelope bent her head over the ledge again.  “He’s here for the following years, until 1894, but…that’s it. He’s gone after that.” She picked up the discarded cell phone and dialed Bradley’s private number. “Sherlock Pembroke reporting,” she said when he answered. “Mr. Vincent Ives left the school one way or the other before the 1894-95 school year. Jessie Ruth was at least five, and the house she lived in, aka the Sit-n-Swill, burned in 1896.”

****

Bradley showed up with Rosabel as Penelope was setting the table for supper. “Got enough for two more?”

“Always for you two.” Penelope hugged her son and then
Rosabel.

“What can I do to help?”
Rosabel asked.

“Slice those tomatoes on the cutting board and butter the French bread and put it in the oven.”

“Where’s Pawpaw?” Bradley asked.

“In his room watching a re-run of
C.H.I.P.S.,
where else?”

“I’ll go get him. He’s going to want to hear this.”

Bradley shared the crime lab report while they ate. “The buttons on the cloth, which was apparently from a shirt, date from the late nineteenth-early twentieth century.”

“How can they tell?” Penelope interrupted.

“Style and what they were made from, I guess. Also, the shirt was American made, cotton.”

“What happened to the rest of his clothes?” Jake asked. “Did they dump him in there
nekkid as a jaybird?”

Rosabel
giggled.

“Maybe,” Bradley said. “The cloth had traces of blood on it, so I’m guessing somebody used it to wrap around his head as they dragged him to the hole.”

“Like Scarlett did the Yankee soldier she shot in
Gone with the Wind.
She used Melanie’s chemise, and then Melanie was stark nekkid.” Penelope felt a little sick, but she laughed.

“Nellie, I’m shocked,” Jake said.

“No, you’re not, Daddy. Besides, you used the word first.”

“Pardon me, but I was imparting a treasure trove of facts here,” Bradley said. He tried to scowl but grinned instead. “Do you want to know who Mr. Bones was?”

“You know?” Penelope asked.

“Unfortunately, I don’t, but I had somebody in forensics to compare the picture with the reassembled bones, and it’s a close match for Vincent Ives. That’s not really definitive, though, just an educated guess. They could do something with the skull to recreate the face, but it would be expensive, and it’s hardly worth it.”

“Well, well.” Jake’s eyes sparkled with pleasure.

“You look happy about the whole thing, Daddy.”

“No, no, just pleased that the mystery is sort of solved, although…” He cocked his head and waited for them to ask him what he was going to say.

“I swear, it’s like pulling teeth to get any information out of you.”

“Well, I did hear a few things about the unfortunate Mr. Ives.”

“What?” Bradley asked. “Come on, Pawpaw, this is a police investigation.”

“I thought you said it was too long ago to be important.”

Rosabel
turned her smile on him. “No homicide is unimportant, Mr. Kelley. What can you tell us?”

He smiled back at her, gratified at the attention. “When I was growing up, there were still people around town who remembered the
Bowdens, and they did some talking.”

“About Jeremiah pouting in the boiler room?” Penelope asked.

Jake shook his head. “That was a joke, Nellie. ‘Course, Miss Daisy Bowden was dead by then, but I can remember Mamma saying that she’d built that school from nothing.”

“She was Mrs. Ives, Daddy.”

“Everybody still referred to her as Miss Daisy.”

“So what about her husband, Pawpaw? What did they say about him?”

“Some said he was a bounder and a cad. And then some said
he
got the raw end of the stick.”

“People always blame the man,” Bradley said. “Which seems unfair to me. Anyway, the police records only go back to 1910, so there’s no mention of Mr. Ives. They were interesting reading though. I found a few homicides, mostly family stuff and some connected to moonshine.”

“Moonshine?” Penelope asked.

“Oh, sure,
darlin’,” Jake said, “it was everywhere, especially during Prohibition.”

“Still is,” Bradley said. “
Ever so often I hear about a still being broken up.”

“You ever find one?” asked Jake.

“No, but I don’t go poking around out in the Hollow, which is where they are.”

“So where do you go now with all this?” Penelope asked.

“Chief Malone says to shelve it.”

“Shelve it?”

“It’ll still be considered an open case, but we won’t spend time pursuing it. Whoever killed the man and buried his bones is long gone by now.”

“So we’ll never know for sure.”

Bradley shook his head. “Nope. But you go right ahead with your research, Mother. By the way, Chief Malone released the story to Hal Greene this afternoon, so it’ll be in the paper on Wednesday.”

“And then people will be swarming all over the school, trying to get in and take a look at the scene of the crime.”

“I heard Chief tell him to put a notice at the end of the story saying it was private property, and trespassers would be ticketed.”

“It’s not
really private property. It belongs to the town.”

“According to the city attorney, that doesn’t necessarily make it public property, so Chief Malone is within his rights to put it off limits.”

“I don’t understand why, but whatever works. Is it still a crime scene, or can Mary Lynn and I go back to work there?”

“Let me put it this way, Mother. Mayor Hargrove and Chief Malone had a long talk before Hal Greene got there.”

“The good old boy network.”

Jake nodded. “Sometimes that’s a good thing. Not always, but sometimes, and I think in this case, it’s the right thing to do.”

“Anyway, Hal’s also going to mention how plans are under way to renovate the school and open a community center, so people can get their curiosity satisfied when it opens.”

“If it ever does,” Penelope said. “It’s going to take money. Maybe he could add that bit of information to his article.”

“And, we’re going to do regular patrols out there, just until all the excitement dies down.”

“Is Hal going to speculate on how those bones ended up under the boiler?”

“They were moldering away before that boiler was ever put in,” Jake said.

Bradley laughed. “Not sure how Hal’s going to handle the story, but if you keep piecing together all the history of the school, it’ll make another nice article for him eventually. It might even get people interested in donating a little time and money to the school.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It’ll all work out, Nellie,” Jak
e said. “Things usually do.”

****

Sam called just before midnight. “Anything new?”

She told him about the school records and what Bradley said about the tentative identification of the remains. “He says they’ll shelve it because it’s too late to go after whoever did in Mr. Ives.”

“It would be interesting to know, but Bradley’s right. Anyone who knew anything about it is dead and gone now. So what about Marlo Howard’s place?”

“Mary Lynn says she’s not going to make it in a town this small. She drives an expensive sports car though. That takes money. Maybe she can afford to play around with this as a hobby. Oh, and Bradley says we can go back to work in the school, but Cupid Convention is coming up, and I’ll be pretty busy from now until after Valentine Day.”

“What’s Cupid Convention?”

“Another one of Harry Hargrove’s inventions. Don’t get me wrong—they make money for the town. This one is sort of like January’s Crystal Rainbow Convention. People who collect cupids and other Valentine memorabilia put it on display for two days. On the last night, after the exhibitors have packed up, there’s a formal dance in the school gym.”

“I’ll bet you’re a knockout in an evening dress.”

“I have a red satin number that stops traffic.”

“That I have to see.”

“Maybe you will.”

“I’ll call again in a couple of days, Nell.”

She waited for him to break the connection. “Sam?”

“Nell?”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She dropped the phone back into its cradle. 
What was he going to say that he didn’t? That he loved me? 
She flopped over and buried her face in the pillow.
I wouldn’t mind having your love, Sam. The problem is, I want all of it, not just a part, and you can’t give it to me. Not yet anyway.