Last Wool and Testament: A Haunted Yarn Shop Mystery (21 page)

“You think it was me, don’t you? All because of yesterday when you found me looking in the windows and I happened to mention I was game to break in.”

I had to hand it to Homer. If I’d been a lawyer like him with a client like me, I’d have thrown my hands in the air and jumped out the nearest high window. Homer didn’t even roll his eyes or massage his forehead to ease the headache I must have given him. Clod sat patiently, too, and surprised me by having the grace not to smile or pick feathers from between his teeth.

“Do you have evidence suggesting my client is responsible for either the broken window or the alleged break-in?” Homer asked.

“No.”

“Do you have any evidence implicating Ivy McClellan in the death of Emmett Cobb?”

There was a pause, the intent of which could be interpreted in several ways; then, once again, a single word: “No.”

“Yet suggestions have been made.”

Low rumbles came from Clod. Homer raised a hand. The rumbles subsided.

“Let’s move on, then,” Homer said. “But I will ask that, considering my client’s recent bereavement and events concerning the property in question, you excuse her for being overwrought.”

“Sure. And I will be happy to finish answering your client’s questions if she will let me and if she will then answer mine,” Clod said.

“I will listen to your answers but retain the right to react to them in such manner as any normal human being would upon hearing them.”

A quick smile flashed across Clod’s face. Just as quickly, it disappeared, leaving behind a long-suffering pinch to his lips. “Keep the reactions to a minimum if you can, Ms. Rutledge. It’s going to be a long day.”

“I’ll do my best. But if you don’t have any evidence against me, why
do
Shirley and Mercy think you’re going to arrest me? Oh.” It took me a nanosecond to realize I already knew the answer. “Because they are, after all, Shirley and Mercy. But then why were you bullying me back there at Mel’s? You
acted
like you were about to arrest me.”

“I was merely asking you to accompany me to elicit information concerning the break-in while at the same time attempting to keep the situation under control by not alerting everyone in the café and thus the town, if not the state or the entire western hemisphere, to the details of the investigation.”

“Pfffft. Oh, sorry. That was a human reaction. It’s just I seem to remember flashing lights and a whoop of siren before you made your unobtrusive entrance at Mel’s. But, go on. What information do you think I can give you?”

“Do you have any idea who would want to break into your grandmother’s house? What that person might be looking for?”

His brother crossed my mind. Joe the Domestic Burglar who did dishes and fretted over the technicalities of word choice. And spent his spare time looking for evidence of blackmail.

“You’re having another human reaction there,” Clod said. “You’re thinking about someone. Who?”

“Think carefully before you speak, Kath,” Homer said. “Remember slander.”

I nodded and thought carefully. The scientist in me likes being clear and exact, likes being careful. Gets an immeasurable kick out of studying a textile front and back, inside out and all the way down to the least wisp of its fibers. Hairs, fibers, they’re all the same to me and splitting either one is good fun. I shrugged and gave Clod my best sheepish smile.

“Sorry, beyond easy pickings from an unoccupied house, I couldn’t tell you what anyone would be looking for.” Wouldn’t discuss blackmail with him, anyway, in case it strengthened his hand or gave him an ace. Maybe mention it to Homer. Later. “The sooner I can get into the house, the sooner I might be able to tell you if anything is missing. As far as who? Again, sorry. I don’t know anyone who would break in.” Someone who would find a way to slip in, maybe. But break a window? I couldn’t say that. Not for certain. Did Clod believe me? I couldn’t say that for certain, either.

“That’s all right, Ms. Rutledge,” he said. “Asking you is routine procedure. Relatives, anyone standing to gain something, people with a bone to pick, they’re all good starting points for this type of investigation.”

“As long as they are only starting points, Deputy,” Homer said. “For my client’s benefit, will you fill us in on the statistics involving residential burglaries?”

Dunbar shifted in his chair and his face shifted back to mulish. “You know statistics can be skewed to say almost anything.” He might as well have called them mule shit.

“But how often do crimes of opportunity go unsolved?”

“You know the answer to that.”

They were playing with each other again, batting their ball of statistics and innuendo back and forth, and
it wasn’t getting me anywhere. Like into Granny’s house. I glanced at my watch.

“Oh, hey, it’s after eight thirty. Where’s Max with the keys?”

“Excellent question,” Homer said. His fingertips again rested on the desk, his long fingers curved. They looked ready to pounce or snatch and I half expected his tongue to flick across his lips. “Fortunately for him, under the circumstances, we might have to cut him some slack.” He turned to Clod. “I assume you’ve contacted him about the break-in?”

“We attempted to contact him by phone. He didn’t answer. Shorty will keep trying. If nothing else, he’ll run on out to Cobb’s place when he finishes up at the scene. You expected him here, though? You been having problems with him?”

Clod looked from Homer to me. I was about to jump in with an explosive “yes,” but a cue from Homer kept me in check.

“He’s been out of town,” Homer said. “There have been some questions about ownership and occupancy of the house on Lavender Street. He agreed to turn a set of keys over to me no later than eight thirty this morning. Mr. Cobb is now officially late.”

“Could be Shorty got hold of him and he’s over at the house now,” Clod said.

“If he’s at the house, I can get the keys from him there, can’t I? Or if he isn’t there, you can let me in, can’t you, Deputy?” I hopped up.

“Not so fast, Kath,” Homer said. “From this point on we want a record of every transaction pertaining to the Lavender Street property. I want those keys delivered and signed for and I don’t want you setting foot in the house without that safeguard.”

“But this will be official police business. I’ll be going
in, accompanied by Deputy Dunbar, to check for damages and to see what’s missing.”

“Hold on,” Dunbar said.

“Why?”

“No, I mean hold on; Shorty’s calling.” He must have known Shorty’s vibration because his phone wasn’t ringing.

He pulled the phone from a shirt pocket and lifted his eyebrows to Homer. Homer nodded toward the kitchenette. Clod stepped through and closed the door. Homer stared after him, leaning toward the door as though he could hear the conversation if he were intent enough.

“I need to get in the house, Homer. It’s not just a matter of checking to see what might be missing. At this point I think it’s a matter of my sanity.”

Homer blinked and turned to me. He didn’t tell me I was being overly dramatic. Didn’t chuckle or tell me to sit down and be patient.

“I need to get in.”

He bowed his head and the fingertips of his right hand came up to rest on his forehead. “I am so sorry about Ivy, Kath.”

The unexpected emotion in his voice rocked me. I didn’t say anything, though. I was feeling completely selfish and didn’t feel like comforting yet another person for my own grievous loss. Homer, head still bowed, didn’t seem to notice my lack of manners. We remained like that until Deputy Clod came back into the room.

At the sound of Clod’s hand on the doorknob, Homer straightened. He was in charge of the situation again, adjusting his cuffs to prove it. Clod came back with more spring in his step than when he’d left. He looked energized, annoyed, and something else. Happy? More like excited. If Homer was the raptor with eyes not missing a flinch, Clod was now a hound on the scent.

“Something’s come up. I’ll be in contact, Homer,
Ms. Rutledge.” His newfound energy carried him toward the door to the outer office.

“Wait! What about getting into the house? By now it’s way past eight thirty and Max still isn’t here.” I looked at Clod, then Homer. “Is he at the house? Can’t we do something? Like hold him in contempt?”

Clod turned at the door. If eyes with bags under them can snap and flash, his did. “Max Cobb is dead.”

Homer swore. I was less delicate.

“Did he have the keys on him?”

Chapter 21

“D
id I say that?” I clapped a hand to my mouth, then took it away. “I can’t believe I just asked that. Granny would die if she heard me being so crass.” Another regrettable statement. With both hands to my flaming cheeks, I dropped into one of Homer’s chairs, shaking my head.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Ms. Rutledge. It’s the shock.” It was the kindest thing Clod could have said.

“What happened?” Homer asked.

“Investigation’s ongoing. We’ll release more information when we have it.” Clod hesitated. “Shorty says it looks like he might’ve tripped. Fell down the basement steps. Wife’s taking it hard.”

Poor Angie. A lot of funerals in the space of a few weeks. First her father-in-law, a weasel of a man for whom she might or might not have felt any affection, then her mother’s cousin however many times removed, now her husband.

“Does Angie inherit the house?” I couldn’t seem to help myself. But once on the road to completely crass, I might as well continue blundering forward. “Sorry, but with Max dead, I need to know where that leaves the house, the keys, and me. Last I heard, Angie didn’t have keys to the new locks. So did Max have them on him when he fell? Does Shorty have them now?”

“Ms. Rutledge, I understand your wish to get into the house,” Clod said.

“It’s more than my wish. You need me to see if anything’s missing and I’ve got a deadline for packing and clearing everything out for the new tenants.”

“I also appreciate your sense of urgency.”

“Unless Max’s death invalidates the new lease?” I looked at Homer.

“Unlikely if Angie inherits,” he said. “But his death might be good enough reason to gain us more time.” He made several quick notes, then looked up. “We might be able to slow things down for you, Kath.”

“Things are slowed down for today, anyway,” Clod said. “At least for the morning or until we complete the investigation. Accidental death on top of a break-in? Gets complicated, but we’ll get you over there to go through the place with an officer just as soon as we can.” He was through the door and tipping his hat to Ernestine before I processed what he’d said.

“Wait, where?”

I looked at Homer. He was busy scribbling more notes. Hadn’t heard my question. I jumped up and followed Clod through Ernestine’s office. Caught his sleeve as he started through the front door.

“Deputy, where? Whose basement stairs did he fall down?”

Clod looked at my hand holding his sleeve. I let it go and rubbed my fingers on my own sleeve to relieve the prickle running through them. Clod glanced behind me, then up and down the street. He stepped back in, stepped closer to me. I started to back up, but his answer was so low I stopped so I could hear him.

“Strictly speaking, Ms. Rutledge, they were his stairs. Shorty found him at the bottom of the basement stairs at that dad-blamed house on Lavender Street. And that
makes two deaths, both involving Cobbs, and both involving your grandmother.”

“You’re joking, right? You just told Homer you have no evidence showing Granny had anything to do with Emmett’s death. And have you forgotten the small detail that she preceded Max in death by several days? What do you think happened? Her ghost suddenly appeared and pushed him down the stairs?” I immediately wished I hadn’t thought of that.

“I think it’s less complicated than a ghost story, Ms. Rutledge.”

“Just don’t rush to simplify it to the point where you’re jumping to conclusions, Deputy. I’ve heard about how you don’t like complications in your life.”

His eyes narrowed and he leaned in closer. “Who’ve you been talking to?”

This time I did back up. Backed up but didn’t cringe. “Are you threatening me?”

“We’ll be talking.” From the look on his face, there were a few more words straining behind his teeth, begging him to let them out. But he kept his lips clamped, turned on his heel, and stalked off down the street.

Swell. I’d pissed off the police. Again. And on top of pissing him off, I’d tipped him off that I knew there were undercurrents involving his questionable brother. And that meant I’d probably complicated Joe’s life, which added a dose of guilt to my stew. Guilt I resented feeling because, honestly, who feels guilty about throwing suspicion on a burglar? Pffft. Human reactions. I could live without them.

The only saving grace of that confrontation was that we’d kept our voices low, so maybe I hadn’t embarrassed myself in front of Homer. Although, if he overheard Clod impugning Granny…I turned to see if he’d caught any of our exchange and almost jumped out of my skin. Ernestine stood at my elbow.

She jerked her head toward Homer’s office. “Mr. Carlin showed up to finish the kitchenette. Mr. Wood is checking on his progress and possibly offering to hammer or drill something. It slows things down but he can’t help himself. I closed the door so they wouldn’t disturb you and Cole. Homer asked me to give you this.” She handed me a slip of paper. “Our Mr. Carlin also does storage units and furniture moving.”

“Oh, good. Homer mentioned that. Thank you. Are you still without water?”

“The water is back on and I’m grateful for that. I am sorry to report the stove is disconnected, so coffee and tea are not being offered this morning. But I won’t ask you to share our problems. Your own are burdensome enough.”

“I think I just created another one.” I couldn’t help staring down the street, toward the corner Clod turned, in case he reversed course. Maybe Ernestine would save me with the door-locking trick she’d used on the Spiveys. She peered toward the corner through her thick lenses, then at me. No telling how much she saw in either place.

“Cole Dunbar is an unhappy man,” she said. “That makes him prickly. I’ll never forget the time I suggested he take up crochet to ease the stress he wears like a hair shirt. Since then I’ve found it best to ignore him if at all possible.” She patted my arm and headed back to her desk.