A Patchwork of Clues Page 14

  P.J. nodded. “It’s tough.”

  “Has anyone talked to the security guard who works over on Elderberry Road?” Po felt guilty even saying the words. Accusing—or even suspecting—someone of murder was an outrageous thing to do. But Wesley Peet frightened her and there was something not right about him.

  “Why do you ask?” P.J. rubbed the grill irons with oil, sending a stream of smoke curling up between them.

  “Apparently Owen was about to fire Wesley,” Po said. “And Max was the self-appointed guardian of Owen’s unfinished tasks. Wesley is an unsavory fellow, P.J. He scared Susan and me last night, and I don’t frighten easily.”

  “Kill two people for a menial job? That’s not much of a motive.” P.J. had shifted into professional mode.

  “I suspect people have killed for less,” Kate said.

  Po agreed. “And Wesley must have been decently paid. Susan and I saw him drive off in a fancy new truck last night.”

  P.J. looked up, then went back to brushing the fish with lemon butter. “But it was an old truck that nearly killed Max,” he said eventually. We’ve started a list of folks with old trucks who knew Max. You’d be amazed. Everyone from a disgruntled client of his to Daisy Bruin—who wasn’t too fond of Max or Owen. Even Maggie has an old truck. There’s a cast of thousands.”

  “Trucks are big here,” Po said.

  “I don’t have a truck,” Kate said.

  P.J. looked over at her and grinned. “Good to hear that. I guess I can cross you off my list.”

  “Don’t be too hasty, P.J. Everyone is a suspect.” She dipped her finger in the remains of the basting sauce and licked it off. “Po—that’s an amazing sauce.”

  Po smiled absently. Lots of people had trucks, that was true. But lots of truck drivers didn’t attempt to commit the murder of two well-known men. Images of Owen and Wesley flitted across her mind, niggling like a fly. But while the niggle remained, the connection she was trying to make escaped her.

  She carried the thought indoors and joined the line as people piled their plates high with salad, vegetables, and rolls filling the wooden table—with P.J.’s salmon holding center court.

  Po sat down next to Gus Schuette, looking at the worry lines etched in his long face that she swore hadn’t been there a week ago. “Are you okay, Gus?” she asked. But of course he wasn’t.

  “It’s a mess,” Po, he said, patting her hand.

  On Gus’s other side, his Colombian wife, Rita, sat nibbling at her salmon, listening to the conversation spinning around her, her flawless olive complexion also tinged with worry and barely disguising a fiery disposition that Po found intriguing. Tonight her black eyes blazed. “It’s that man,” she said.

  Po nodded, knowing exactly whom Rita was talking about.

  “If he ever lays one finger on you, Rita, m’love, I’ll take him out.” In spite of the tender term, Gus’s voice was a deep, threatening rumble. Although the bookstore owner was as gentle as her dog Hoover, Po realized in that moment that what might lead one to commit murder could be found in many people. Even gentle souls like Gus.

  She looked around the room. A threat to a loved one was a far weightier motive than losing a job.

  Gus concentrated on his salmon. Finally he said, “we’re all watching him. Ambrose said he’s cheap, and he did scare off some kids fooling around behind my bookstore one night.”

  Po nodded. But “cheap” didn’t buy a brand-new truck. She held the thought to herself for now. P.J. knew about it. It would be considered, talked about, looked into. At least that was her hope.

  “Po, where’s Kate?” P.J. asked. He had moved on to dessert, filling a plate with apple pie and the homemade ice cream Po had churned that afternoon.

  Po looked around. “I saw her a while ago, talking to Phoebe on the patio. I think they were planning a lynching of Wesley Peet for scaring us.”

  Phoebe’s husband, Jimmy, came up beside P.J., balancing Jude on one hip and cradling a sleeping Emma on his shoulder. “I can’t find Phoebe, either.”

  Po frowned. She didn’t trust those two. Especially not with Phoebe’s newfound zest for Mission Impossible schemes. At least she wasn’t wearing her cat outfit tonight. “Maybe they went down to pick up something at the store,” she said aloud. “Did we run out of beer?”

  “Maybe,” Jimmy said, unconvinced.

  It was thirty minutes later, after Eleanor and most of the others had gone on home, when Phoebe and Kate wandered in. Their cheeks were flushed and Kate had that look in her eyes that Po remembered from years ago when she’d skipped class. Or sneaked out at night with a friend and climbed a roof to watch the stars.

  Kate’s mother, Meg, would call Po, worried sick, while Kate’s dad scoured the neighborhood. Hours later, Kate would wander in, innocent and yawning, and wondering what all the fuss was about.

  “Kate?” Po said. The single word demanded a response.

  Kate kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry. Phoebe and I had something we had to take care of.”

  “Where were you?” Po eyes never left Kate’s flushed face.

  Phoebe looked up. She had curled up in one of Po’s overstuffed chairs in front of the fire. Jude was on her lap, happily nursing his missed dinner. “Oh, Po, don’t fuss. We ran down to Elderberry Road to see a man about a horse.”

  “A man about a truck,” Kate corrected. “What we did was satisfy our curiosity. We went down to check out Wesley’s truck, to see if we could find anything inside that might let us know what he was up to. The way he acted with you and Susan was horrible. We thought maybe we’d find something incriminating.”

  “And what exactly would that be? That’s foolish, Kate,” P.J. said, an edge to his voice. “That guy could be dangerous. What’s more, it’s illegal. You don’t go breaking into people’s private property.”

  Jimmy was glaring at Phoebe from across the room.

  Jude sucked away happily.

  “We didn’t break in. It sounds more foolish that it was,” Kate said quietly. “Marla told us that Wesley always takes a break at nine. He walks over to that 7-Eleven on Pine Street and has a smoke because Mary Hill won’t let him smoke in the alley. So we checked his truck out while he was gone. It was locked but the back window wasn’t latched…”

  “So Phoebe crawled through,” Jimmy muttered, his lawyer brain racking up the things the mother of his twins could be charged for.

  “Kate stayed at the end of the alley and watched in case he came back. It wasn’t dangerous. Just futile. There wasn’t much there, nothing but the smell of brand-new leather.”

  Kate sat down next to Phoebe, her dark hair and long legs a sharp contrast to the petite blonde beside her. But the looks on their faces matched perfectly.

  Not apologetic. Not frightened. Just disappointed that they hadn’t found the key to the castle—or at least to a murder in the Elderberry alley.

  The Paltrow family room was known for wrapping people in a warm, cozy, safe feeling.

  Tonight it was as chilly as the first snow.

  Chapter 18

  Sawtooth Edge

  Before she went to bed that night, Po drank a cup of tea that Rita Schuette had brought over that night. It was a special Colombian blend, Rita said, grown in the Andean mountains and the touch of honey was sure to help her sleep.

  Whatever magic had been in the tea leaves, it had worked. Somewhere, far off, she had heard sirens during the early morning hours. But they were hazy and far away—more dreamlike than real—and Po never rose above the sweet blanket of sleep. She woke up Monday morning more refreshed than she had been since all the Elderberry Road trouble began.

  Today she had a mission to carry out, and thanks to a good night’s sleep, she was feeling up to it. After two cups of coffee and a productive hour at the computer working on her book, Po set out for Elderberry Road.

 
The day was crisp and cold. Football weather, Gus had called it the night before. Po pulled on a deep purple Guatemalan jacket that a friend had given her. She snuggled her cheek against the thick collar, welcoming its woolly warmth. Po walked quickly, breathing in the morning air, and mentally reviewing her case for the firing of Wesley Peet. It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

  Po wondered if the police were looking seriously at Wesley. He had a motive for the killings, however weak P.J. might consider it. It wasn’t just the possibility of losing his job. Crestwood was a small town. Who else would hire such a burly, unsavory fellow?

  Po quickened her pace, wanting to reach the shops before they opened for business. As she neared the corner, anchored by Mary Hill’s store, she decided that she would approach Ambrose first. She’d pull him aside to tell him about her frightening encounter with Wesley Peet. And then they’d talk about what could be done. Although she didn’t know him as well as Jesse, she suspected he took a bigger role in how the shops were managed.

  As she turned the corner onto Elderberry Road, Po stopped short and tried to make sense of the scene ahead.

  A small group of curious people were gathered on the curb in front of Windsor House Antiques: a mother with two small children, a scattering of students, several well-dressed people on their way to offices nearby.

  They were all staring at Mary Hill’s plate glass display window. At first Po thought maybe she had created a new display, perhaps bringing the extraordinary collection of paperweights to the front where passers-by could enjoy their beauty. But as Po got closer, she spotted the reason for the crowd’s curiosity. It wasn’t a dazzling display of art, but instead, a jagged hole, the size of a baseball, that marred the huge expanse of glass. Spiraling out in all directions from the opening were tiny star-like lines, etched in the broken glass and catching the morning sun. On the other side of the window, workmen moved lamps and chairs and picture frames away from the window. Po spotted Gus Schuette walking toward her from his store down the street.

  She skirted the crowd and met him as he approached the store. “Gus, what happened here?”

  Gus’s face was pinched, his brows pulled together tightly. “Someone threw a glass ball through Mary’s window. Like a paperweight. Damn crazy fool. It sure isn’t what that lady needs in her life right now.”

  “It’s not what any of you need. This is awful, Gus. Where’s Mary?”

  “She’s inside. In denial, I think. She probably wouldn’t have even called the police if the alarm hadn’t gone off when the window was hit. The cops have come and gone. Said it was probably a drive-by prank. Kids out too late with nothing better to do.”

  Gus took Po by the elbow and led her around a gawking bystander, down the alley, to the backdoor of the antique shop. He pushed the door open and called out.

  “Mary? It’s Gus and Po.”

  Mary immediately walked out of a small office in the back of the store. She was dressed impeccably but her oval face was as white as the lace pillows on an antique bed beside the door. Her smile was forced as she urged them inside and closed the door behind them.

  “Isn’t this a mess?” she asked. Her hands pointed toward the front of the store where the moved furniture stood in disarray, slivers of glass littering the floor. “Why would anyone think this was fun?”

  “It’s not fun, it’s terrible, Mary. Do you think it was a prank?” Po asked. With the ominous cloud that hovered over Elderberry Road, Po’s thoughts were far more sinister.

  Mary’s shoulders shrugged beneath her taupe silk blouse. “What else could it be?” She watched two workmen carefully remove the entire panel of glass. Cold air blew into the store and Mary shivered involuntarily. “The workmen will replace it immediately. Fortunately, Owen put in the best protective glass money can buy. That’s why it’s only the single hole and not an entire smashed window.”

  Mary chattered on about the window and the film that protected it. The fact that someone had assaulted her store didn’t seem to have sunk in yet. Po hoped Mary would be all right when it did. “When do you think it happened?” Po asked. She looked over at Gus.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mary interrupted. “What’s done is done. I thank you both for coming over, but it’ll be fine. I would prefer we just get it cleaned up and move on.” She forced a smile. “Business as usual.”

  Po and Gus took their cue and left the store the way they’d come in. They walked down the alley toward the bookstore. “Gus, this isn’t right,” she said. “I don’t think Mary gets it. Do you think it was just a prank?”

  “I think we need a cup of coffee.” He steered Po into the back door of Marla’s shop, through the tiny kitchen, heated with the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread, and into the dining area. “Marla, two coffees,” he called out as they settled down at a round table near the window. The shop was busy but not full, and Marla swung her large body around the bakery case and made her way to their table, coffeepot in hand.

  “What’s next?” she asked, filling their cups. “Plagues? Locusts?”

  “It’s awful, Marla. What have you heard?”

  “I’ve heard that we all need bullet-proof glass. What’s this world coming to?” Her round cheeks were bright red and drops of perspiration beaded her wide brow. “Scares me, Gus,” she said, looking at the bookstore owner. “We need to do something.”

  “It seems you could all improve on security, for one thing,” Po said. “Where was Wesley Peet when all this happened?”

  “He’s only here until one a.m. The police said the alarm went off about one thirty or two. But no matter, Mary Hill sure gave Wesley a piece of her mind this morning. She was chewing him out in the alley something fierce when I came in to turn on the ovens.” Marla set the pot down on the table and pulled out a chair, maneuvering her large body onto the webbed seat. “I didn’t think she had it in her, always so refined and quiet, that one. But she was as wound up as a Kansas tornado this morning.” She looked at Gus. “Maybe we should have Wesley stay around all night?”

  “Maybe you should have someone who doesn’t drink his way through his shift,” Po suggested.

  “I heard about that little episode Saturday night,” Marla said. “You’re right, Po. He needs to stay off the booze. Don’t think he would hurt anyone, though, but maybe we should think about it. Something sure has to be done to calm things down around here. I’m so jumpy I dropped a whole platter of cinnamon rolls on the floor this morning.” She pulled herself up from the table, took back her coffeepot, and walked off toward the kitchen, shaking her head and mumbling to herself.

  “Did you say it was a paperweight that caused the damage?”

  “That’s what one of the cops said. Looked like a paperweight, he said. They took it in to the station.”

  Po frowned. How odd. She thought of the extraordinary Perthshire glass balls that graced the display cabinet. But the ball came from the other side. Curious. It was also a curious thing for a youngster or college student to have in his car.

  Gus drained his coffee cup and put it back on the table. He shoved back his chair. “I’m off, Po. I have a new salesperson starting today and need to get myself organized.”

  “Business must be good?”

  “Pretty good. This nasty mess surrounding Owen still hovers over all of us. But otherwise it’s good. I don’t happen to agree with the police that the college kids are out pulling pranks, like smashing Mary’s window. Those kids are good to me. Studious, for the most part. I like having them around, even though some days there are more computers than books littering the back tables.”

  Po agreed. “There’s always a bad apple or two, but that’s true in any group. Even in this neighborhood.”

  “Yeah, for sure. Bad apples everywhere.” Gus waved and left the way through the kitchen and out the back door. Po sat at the table for a while, barely noticing when the waitress refilled her mug and M
arla plunked a thick slice of French toast in front of her. Her head was filled to overflowing with broken windows, lifeless bodies, and hit-and-runs. She thought about this latest twist of events, and about all the loose strings that were fluttering around as irritating as gnats. She wondered if they would ever come together.

  This latest threat—if that’s what it was—was one more wayward puzzle piece. Surely no one was out to get both the Hills. It didn’t make sense. But neither did Mary’s odd reaction to the window damage. She seemed eerily calm, not the Mary that Marla described, berating the security guard for his lapse of attention. Did Mary think her life was in danger?

  Po sipped her coffee slowly and picked at the French toast. Somehow, she didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. She was convinced there was a connection between Owen’s and Max’s misfortunes. And an uncomfortable, niggling feeling told her that the shattering of Mary’s window should not be discounted quite so quickly.

  Po glanced out the bakery window and for a short moment, her breath caught tight in her chest.

  Wesley Peet sat on the wooden bench just outside Marla’s café. His huge, muscular body filled the seat and a look of fierce concentration filled his face. Enormous boots were planted firmly on the sidewalk, his elbows leaning so hard on his knees that Po thought they would surely cause dents. A small, crooked smile lifted the edges of his fat lips. His head was turned slightly, and from where Po sat, it looked like his beady, black eyes were staring down Windsor House Antiques.

  Po shivered. As if her stare was making him move, Wesley rose from the bench and lumbered across the street toward a shiny new truck.

  The truck Phoebe and Kate had foolishly entered the night before. Po sat still, staring after him, long after the truck had disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  Po looked up into Kate’s smile.

  “Kate, you’re a welcome sight. Can you sit?”

  “Just for a minute.” Kate pulled out a chair and sat down. She turned over her cup. “I’m playing hooky today. I told them I couldn’t sub, and instead I plan to curl up in one of Gus’s chairs with my trusty laptop and finish my midterm paper.”