Wreath of Deception (21 page)

“How do I look? Scary?”

“You look fine. Good, actually. That scarf is beautiful. How about something to eat, though, to supplement the hospital gruel?”

“No time. I want to stop at the garage on the way, if you don’t mind, and check on my car.”

“I don’t mind, if you really want to see it, but you could also just call from the store and get an update. Which reminds me, have you called your mom?”

“Mom?” Jo stared blankly. “Why?”

“To tell her about your accident, of course.” Carrie set down the coffee carafe she had been emptying into the large mugs. “Jo, does she even know about all you’ve been going through lately? When’s the last time you talked to her?”

“We’ve talked,” Jo said defensively. “Carrie, Mom doesn’t like hearing bad news, you know that. She likes to pretend everything is fine and wonderful, with herself and with everyone she knows. When she asks me, ‘How are you?’ it really is just a pleasantry with her, like she’s passing you on the street and is just saying ‘hello.’ She doesn’t want to hear anything other than, ‘Fine, and how are you?’”

“But she did hear about Mike’s accident, didn’t she? And she didn’t dissolve into a puddle over it.”

“No, I had to tell her that, of course, but I hated it. I could hear in her voice, even though she said all the right things, that she really thought it was most inconsiderate of Mike to go and get himself blown up and therefore cause her upset. She did invite me down to Florida, you remember, when I didn’t know what to do next. But I knew if I went that I would never be able to say Mike’s name aloud again for fear of getting that
look
that said, ‘We don’t talk about such things, dear.’”

“I think you’re being too hard on her, Jo. Did you ever think maybe it’s you that’s trying to protect her?”

Jo shook her head. “Even growing up, it was always Dad I went to when I had a problem to work out. Mom was the one who wanted me always to smile, and look pretty, and be perfect.”

“Well, she
was
in a dreamworld, then, wasn’t she?” Carrie said, grinning.

“You got that right.” Jo laughed. Her smile faded though, as she thought of her father. Had he died so early because of having to bear the stresses for two? Well, she shrugged, enough of that. She grabbed her mug and waved Carrie toward the door. “Time to work on the problems in the real world.”

 

 

They stopped at Hanson’s Garage. Pete Tober, not surprisingly, was not around, and Jo got the rundown on her car’s needed repairs from Earl Hanson himself. It was pretty much as Carrie had said—damage around the right front wheel, along with plenty of scrapes and scratches.

“You were lucky that tree was rotted inside,” Hanson said. “It gave way when you hit it. A healthy tree would have stopped you like a brick wall.”

Jo thought of her stitches and aching bruises. At least she could feel them. What kind of shape would she be in if she’d hit a solid tree?

They discussed how soon Jo could get her car back—Hanson said at least another day of work was needed—and the cost. Jo did have insurance, but, of course, with a high deductible. Getting her aging, but only means of transportation in shape would set her back five hundred, and this on top of her hospital bills.

She rolled her eyes and joked to Carrie, “Maybe I should call Mom after all,” then dismissed the idea as quickly as she’d said it. She’d come up with the money—somehow.

Jo gave Hanson the go-ahead on the necessary repairs, then got back into Carrie’s car. As they drove to the shop, she asked Carrie about Charlie. “How are things between him and Dan?”

“Cool,” Carrie said. “And I don’t mean cool as Charlie would use the word. I mean chilly.”

“Ouch.”

“At least Charlie’s keeping busy enough helping you out to not dwell on it too much. But I know he thinks Dan used Genna’s death as an excuse to pull him away from the playhouse. And I don’t say so, but I think Charlie’s right.”

“Has Charlie ever talked to Dan about what interests him so about the playhouse? How he was fascinated by the soundboard and such?”

“I don’t think so. When he was still going there, I’m sure he sensed Dan’s feelings about it and avoided bringing up the subject around him. Now he seems convinced anything he says to Dan will be treated as idiocy. Meanwhile, Dan sees Charlie’s silence as rebellion. And I’m walking on eggs playing mediator, and not having much success.”

“Give it a little time.”

“Yes, maybe they’ll both cool down. Or warm up. I don’t know which is needed, really.”

Carrie pulled into the Craft Corner’s parking lot with five minutes to spare before opening time. Jo took a bracing gulp of coffee from her mug and climbed out, holding on to and adjusting her headscarf as she did. She didn’t fool herself. No one was going to figure she was setting a new style trend for Abbotsville. But until her scalp could handle things like shampoo and trimming scissors, she was stuck. At least the blue in the scarf’s print coordinated with the dark blue under her eyes.

Carrie handled the first few customers of the morning, while Jo stayed at the back, grateful to sit down and concentrate on paperwork. But when Ina Mae and Loralee walked in, she came forward to greet them.

“Ooh, you poor, dear thing,” Loralee cried, reaching out to give her a gentle hug.

“We heard about the accident,” Ina Mae said. “Tried to call you at home, and when you didn’t answer, figured you must be back at work. Is that wise?”

“I’m fine, despite appearances to the contrary,” Jo assured them. “Just moving a little more slowly for the time being.”

“What happened, exactly?” Ina Mae asked. “You doze off? Or did a deer dart in front of you? The deer are all over the place this time of year.”

“I’m not too clear on what really happened. Shortly after I closed up here, I started feeling very sick, and the next thing I knew a tree had jumped in front of me.”

“Oh, my!” Loralee exclaimed, her hands to her face.

“Tell them about Hank Schroder,” Carrie said.

Jo did, and Loralee’s eyes grew bigger as Ina Mae’s expression turned grimmer. “I’m not accusing Schroder of anything,” Jo hastened to explain. “It’s just that two very odd things occurred last night, one right before the other. Whether his appearance at the store has a connection to my sickness, I really can’t say.”

“Do you still have your soda can?” Ina Mae asked.

Jo gave her a grim smile. “I thought of that too. Unfortunately, no. It was tossed in the trash, and the Dumpster was emptied early this morning.”

“Too bad. I don’t suppose they checked for anything poisonous in you at the hospital?”

Jo shook her head. “I was treated for my cuts and bruises. By the time I was conscious enough to have suspicions it was much too late. Anything that might have been affecting me was long gone.”

“But you did have suspicions,” Ina Mae said, giving her an eagle-eyed look.

Jo nodded. As careful as she’d been to say there was little to connect Hank Schroder with what had happened to her last night, she couldn’t get past the fact that there he had been, in her store on a fairly flimsy excuse, the man who had plenty of reason to hate Kyle Sandborn, who had at least some connection to Genna, and now to her. Had Hank Schroder, in fact, tried to kill her?

The phone rang. Carrie answered it, and held it out to Jo. “It’s Deirdre Patterson.”

“Jo-oooh!” Jo heard Deirdre’s wail as she took the phone. “I just heard!” Deirdre exclaimed, causing Jo to wonder how the
Abbotsville Gazette
managed to survive. By the time that local newspaper hit the stands, its stories were ancient history. Abbotsville’s word-of-mouth was speedier than any printing press.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t stay longer,” Deirdre said.

“It wouldn’t have made any difference, Deirdre, believe me.” As Jo continued to try to placate Deirdre, she saw Javonne walk in the door, her eyes wide with concern, carrying a casserole dish. She set it on the counter and, seeing Jo on the phone, began jabbering excitedly with Ina Mae, Loralee, and Carrie. Jo covered one ear so she could hear Deirdre.

A moment later Mindy burst in, towing her twins behind her. The noise level escalated, all five ladies seeming to talk at once, when one of the twins began to wail, which immediately set off the other. Jo hastily ended her conversation with Deirdre and hung up the phone, leaving both ears open to take in the bedlam. Her head pounded, and it was too soon for another pain pill. Jo looked beseechingly at Carrie.

“Hold it, everyone!” Carrie called, grabbing a pair of scissors and rapping the handle sharply on a metal paint can. Everyone looked up with surprise, even the wailing toddlers, and Loralee quickly pulled two lollipops from her tote and put them into their little hands. This made Jo laugh as she wondered if she would see Loralee one day pull out a defibrillator from that ever-present tote of hers for a sudden cardiac emergency.

“I know Jo appreciates everyone’s concern,” Carrie said, “but we need to remember she’s still recuperating. I happen to think,” she added, throwing Jo a scolding look, “that she shouldn’t be here at all, but back in bed. However, since she’s chosen to ignore my advice, let’s try to make it as calm and comfortable for her as we can.”

“Absolutely,” Javonne agreed. “Jo, honey, I brought you a ham and noodle casserole, so you won’t have to cook for a couple of nights. It’s Harry’s favorite. You can give me the dish back whenever.” She gave Jo a hug and dashed off.

Mindy apologized for her toddlers’ part in the chaos. “I didn’t expect everyone else to be here. The twins get upset around too many strangers.” She thanked Loralee for the treats, which kept their little mouths busy—the term “plugged” occurred to Jo. Mindy chatted a bit longer, then, when she saw the lollipops dwindling down to the stick, said a hasty good-bye and took off.

“Jo, we’ll be going too,” Ina Mae said. “But before we do, is there some way we can help with this murder business? I don’t want to see you get hurt anymore, whatever the cause. Plus, as Carrie says, you should be resting.”

“I really don’t know what you could do, Ina Mae, other than to keep your eyes and ears open for me. Information seems to float through the air in this town. Perhaps you can catch something helpful in the breeze.”

“What about this landscape person, Schroder?” Loralee asked. “We could keep an eye on him for you.”

“Do you two play golf?” Carrie asked hopefully.

“Well, no.”

“I doubt he’d let your power walkers tramp around the course, Ina Mae,” Jo said, “so let’s just let him be for the time being. But thank you, both of you, for your offer, and for coming by.” A few more careful hugs, and they were off. Once the door closed behind them, Jo turned to Carrie.

“My plan is to try to connect with Bethanne Fowler, as soon as I get my car back. But I don’t want company for that. I think that particular conversation will work best one-on-one.”

“Jo, I’m worried for you. I think you should leave this to the police.”

“Carrie, you know I can’t. I realize you’re concerned because of what happened last night. But the remedy is not to do nothing. Battered though I may be, I’m sure I must be getting closer to the truth. The best way to end all this is to push forward. The police aren’t going forward, in my opinion; they’re going in circles—or, rather, one great big circle with me in the center. If I don’t want to get stuck there, I have to keep moving, not simply wait for the noose to tighten around me.”

Jo straightened a display of wreaths that had been knocked off kilter. “And don’t worry. I’m on my guard now, much more than I was before.”

Carrie looked at her, worry written all over her face. “But remember, Jo, so is the murderer. He doesn’t want to be caught, and he has that great big advantage.”

Jo waited, knowing pretty much what was coming since she’d thought it herself, several times.

“The murderer, Jo, knows who
you
are.”

 

 

That evening, Jo had just put Javonne’s ham and noodle casserole in the oven to warm when the phone rang. It was Deirdre.

“Jo, I didn’t want to go into this when I called you at the store because I could hear all the pandemonium going on. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Jo heard the seriousness in Deirdre’s voice.

“Alden got this from someone he knows in the police department. He didn’t say who, and I didn’t ask, and I’d rather you didn’t mention where you heard this either. Jo, Morgan recently got an anonymous letter.”

“Oh?” Jo didn’t like the sound of this.

“It accused you of having arranged the explosion that killed your husband up in New York.”

Jo sank down into a nearby chair.

“Anonymous?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then he certainly can’t put any credibility into it, can he?”

“I don’t know about that. You said he already had been looking into the accident enough to question it, so there’s obviously interest in that direction already. I just thought you should know that things may heat up for you. Maybe you need to prepare yourself—gather whatever reports you have on the explosion and soon. Perhaps talk to your lawyer.”

Jo laughed. Right, bring Earnest C. Ainsworthy in on this. That would help.

“This is ridiculous,” she said aloud. “Who could have sent such a thing?”

“I don’t know, and I agree, it is ridiculous. But there it is. I thought it was better for you to be forewarned.”

“Yes. Thank you, Deirdre.”

“I’d better go. Alden doesn’t know I’m calling, and he’s probably regretting he let it slip out. I half-promised him I wouldn’t say anything, but sometimes loyalty to one’s friends has to take precedence over other concerns.”

Jo hung up, her thoughts spinning, wondering who hated her enough to have written that letter. Niles Sandborn? Would his grudge against her push him to such lengths? Jo couldn’t see him exerting himself to that extent, but it was possible.