Moss Hysteria (13 page)

“I'd like to give it to the police,” Marco said. “Maybe they can find out.”

Theda gave Marco a quizzical look as she handed it back. “Do you think it's connected to Dirk's death?”

“It's a possibility” was all he would say.

As the three of us started toward our houses, with Seedy close behind, I said, “Speaking of that, while you were waiting for Dirk last Friday evening, did you notice anyone working on the pump or see anyone near the pond?”

“I'm afraid not,” Theda answered. “I was in the living room watching TV and waiting for my doorbell to ring. I don't recall even looking out my back window.”

“The pump's running,” I said. “So someone was out to fix it.”

“The last time the pump needed to be repaired, I saw a plumber's van parked in front of my house,” Theda said. “I can say for sure there wasn't any such vehicle there on Friday. There
was
an older-model black Ford sedan parked across the street, but I assumed Betsy had company. Have you met Betsy yet? Very nice woman.”

“Not unless she's in one of the book clubs,” I said.

“She's not. I'll introduce you next time I see her outside,” Theda said.

“Have you ever met Dirk's wife?” Marco asked.

Theda shook her head. “He wouldn't have brought her to any functions.”

“Why?” Marco asked.

“He wouldn't have been able to flirt with Mitzi with his wife present. That's not to say Jane hasn't been to Brandywine. I believe someone told me she was dropping him off in the mornings and picking him up at night when his truck was in for repairs.”

“Has she ever been to your house?” I asked.

“Not that I know of.” As we stopped by her front door, she said, “Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow evening? I thought I'd make a juicy pork roast.”

“Unfortunately, I'll be at the bar,” Marco said.

“I'd love to come,” I said. “I even have some Chianti. Oh, wait. Scratch that. My cousin Jillian is coming over tomorrow evening.”

“Bring her with you,” Theda said. “We'll have a party.”

I exchanged glances with Marco. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why? Does she have two heads?” Theda laughed at her own joke. “Bring your cousin, Abby. It'll be fine.”

I loved the way people were so optimistic—until they met Jillian.

•   •   •

“That shovel looked too new to have been submerged for weeks,” Marco said as he opened the garage door.

“Then maybe it isn't Theda's shovel. She didn't seem sure. Maybe it belongs to the plumber who fixed the pump.” I took an old towel off a shelf. “Sit, Seedy. I need to clean your paws.”

Marco pulled newspaper out of the recycling bin and rolled the shovel in it. “Why would a plumber need a shovel to fix a pump?”

“Let's find the plumber and ask him.”

“At the moment I'm more interested in who owns the black Ford. Let's go introduce ourselves to Betsy and see what she says.”

Betsy Hendricks was a sweet-natured senior citizen who shared a home with her invalid sister Sally. Neither of them knew who the sedan belonged to, but Betsy thought she recalled seeing it in the neighborhood before. We asked the neighbors living on both sides of Betsy, but no one had answers.

“We need to find the owner of that car,” Marco said as we returned home. “I wonder if Rye owns a vehicle besides his pickup.” He unlocked the door then paused. “Did you notice a car in Jane's driveway?”

“No, and I didn't even think to ask what she drove.”

“We'll need to pay her another visit.”

Monday

I
arrived at Bloomers the next morning with a dog eager for one of Grace's homemade pet treats and a stomach ready for Lottie's egg skillet breakfast—only to find Rosa once again in charge of the kitchen. Fortunately, I was hungry enough to eat whatever was put in front of me. But afterward, as Lottie and I counted our stock in the cooler, I said in a whisper because the door was open, “So are we going to be having huevos Marisol from now on?”

Lottie was typing information into the iPad but paused. “Don't you like them?”

How could I put it tactfully? “I'm not a fan of chili peppers first thing in the morning. I like your eggs better.”

“I'm sorry, sweetie. I was just trying to include Rosa in the team. We don't want her to feel like an outsider.”

“Honestly, I don't think that's a problem.”

Lottie stopped typing again. “Is something the matter?”

She seemed so innocently puzzled that I began to think the problem was all in my head. “I'm burping peppers.”

Lottie put her arm around my shoulders. “How about I make my eggs next week? And then Rosa and I can rotate Mondays. Will that help?”

“Lottie?” Rosa squeezed in behind us. “Did you find those flowers you told me about?”

“I will when I finish this, sweetie.”

I squeezed myself out. There wasn't enough room in the cooler for two sweeties.

As I sat down at the computer to put in an order with one of my suppliers, I heard Rosa say, “These will be perfect, Lottie. Thank you so much. Our arrangement is going to be
estupendo.
”

“It's all your doing, Rosa. Your idea and your design. I'm just here to give you a few pointers.”

I turned around as they walked out. “What arrangement is that?”

Rosa pressed her hands together, her face glowing with excitement. “I'm going to enter the live floral design competition at the flower show.” She turned toward the woman who had steered me through many rough shoals. “And Lottie is going to guide me.”

Who feels like the outsider now?

I turned toward the computer, blinking back a sudden mist in my eyes as they conferred in quiet tones at the table. What was wrong with me? I didn't have the time to devote to the contest. So why was I feeling so blue?

My cell phone rang and Marco's photo appeared on the screen. I excused myself and went to the bathroom to talk.

“Hey, Sunshine, how was breakfast?”

“Rosa cooked again,” I whispered, shutting the door. “And she's entering her own design in the flower show.”

“I can barely hear you. Who's entering what?”

“Rosa,” I whispered. “In the flower show. I don't know why it's bothering me.”

“How about we meet for lunch and you can tell me more then?”

My phone dinged and Jillian's name popped up. “Okay. I've got another call. See you at noon.” I clicked over to the other line. “Jillian, I was going to phone you. My neighbor Theda invited you and me over for dinner at six o'clock tonight. Want to go?”

“Claymore is going to babysit this evening, so I'll have to make sure he doesn't stay at the office late. What is Theda serving?”

“Roast pork. But you're under no obligation to come. I'm just passing along—”

“Perfect. See you at six.”

“Wait, Jill. What did you call for?”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot. Tell Rosa I won't need her tonight after all, but thanks for the amazing job last week.”

When I returned to the workroom, Lottie and Rosa were still discussing the flower contest, with Lottie sketching ideas on paper for her, so I looked up the number of the attorney Jane Singletary had seen and called his office. I explained about our investigation to his secretary and asked to speak to Gary Gillen.

“I used to clerk for Dave Hammond,” I told her. “I'll bet Gary will remember me.”

She put me on hold and came back moments later to tell me I'd have to make an appointment. “His next available is a week from Friday.”

“That's too far out. It's important I speak with him right away. Could you ask him if he'd just give me five minutes of his time?”

She put me on hold again, then came back on the line. “He's got a court case across the street in twenty minutes. Can you come right now?”

•   •   •

Gillen Law Office occupied the second floor of a bank on the other side of the square. The building had been constructed in the 1960s, so it was a lot more modern than the one that housed Bloomers. I took the stairs to the second floor, opened a glass door, and stepped into a waiting room. Within minutes, the receptionist was whisking me up a carpeted hallway, past a room where secretaries were working, to an office at the end.

“Abby Knight to see you,” she said, knocking. She opened the door and stood back to let me enter.

“Abby, how are you?” Gary Gillen said, coming over to shake my hand.

“I'm great, but I wouldn't have recognized you. When did you grow the goatee?”

Gary smiled, stroking his neatly trimmed red beard. “A month ago. My wife hates it. What do you think?”

“I think you look distinguished in a Scottish Highlands sort of way.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

In his early fifties, Gary was a man who stayed fit and appreciated fine clothing. Today he wore a slim gray pin-striped suit, a white shirt, a gray, purple, and white tie, and expensive-looking black loafers.

“I appreciate you squeezing me in,” I said, “and I'll keep it brief. I know you have to get to court.”

“My secretary told me about your investigation,” he said as he put files into his briefcase. “I'd love to hear more about it sometime, but what can I help you with today?”

“You were representing Jane Singletary, right?”

“Actually, no. I never entered my appearance.”

“She told me the divorce papers were ready to be filed when her husband died.”

“Then she made a mistake. We met twice, the first time for a consultation and the second time so I could analyze their finances and her antenuptial contract. After I explained everything to her, she decided not to proceed.”

“So they had a prenup?”

“Correct. Dirk had her sign it before they married, and whoever prepared it knew how to close loopholes. All the assets collected before and during their marriage would go to him if she divorced him in the first twelve years of marriage. So Jane would've been stuck for another three years.”

“Why would anyone agree to that?”

“She said Dirk tricked her into signing it and she regretted not having her own attorney look it over. Apparently Dirk was quite a con man.”

“Wouldn't there have been a way she could break the contract?”

“Possibly, but the attorney fees would be costly, and then there'd be no guarantee a judge would grant her petition. Judges hesitate to break contracts. On top of that, Dirk had racked up significant debts, so even if she was able to get half of the marital assets, she would've lost most of them paying off their debts. I really felt sorry for her.”

“But you don't anymore?”

“She should be fine now. Dirk had a multimillion-dollar life insurance policy.”

“Did Jane know about the policy before Dirk died?”

“After I found the policy mixed in with the financial papers, she sure did. Dirk had never told her about it.”

I was stunned. Everything Gary was telling me gave Jane a strong motive for murder. And yet my internal radar hadn't buzzed around her at all. “When was your last meeting with Jane?”

“My secretary can answer that better than I can.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “I've got to head over to court. Do you want to walk and talk?”

“I think you've answered all my questions. Thanks for the help, Gary.”

He left me with his secretary, who brought up the appointment calendar on her computer monitor. “Here we go,” she said, swiveling the screen so I could see.

I wrote down the date, thanked her, and headed back to Bloomers. I felt sick inside, and it wasn't from Rosa's
huevos.
Jane had told her attorney to cancel the divorce action one week before her husband was killed. The implications of that gave her the strongest motive of any of our suspects.

But I wasn't giving up on my gut feeling about Mitzi yet, so I made one more phone call before I started on my work for the day.

•   •   •

Down the Hatch was only partially full when I arrived at noon, so we were able to sit at our booth. We put in our orders then I briefed Marco on my conversation with Gary Gillen ending with the date the divorce action had been canceled.

“I know what you're going to say about Jane, Marco, but maybe she lied to us because she feared she'd look guilty if we knew the truth.”

“And lying
wouldn't
make her look guilty? Come on, Sunshine, you don't really believe that, do you?”

With a sigh, I said, “I guess not.”

“Timing is everything, Abby. What really tips the scales for me is that Jane learned about that life insurance policy one week before her husband was killed. Do you understand why she's my top suspect?”

Unfortunately I did, especially after the call I'd made to Mitzi Kole's hair salon.

“I did some other fact-checking this morning,” I said. “I spoke with the salon owner, who verified with Mitzi's stylist that Mitzi was there last Friday from six thirty until nine p.m. for her spa evening.”

“So Mitzi told the truth. Don't look so glum about it.”

“I can't believe my radar is that far off about both women.”

“Guts can be wrong, Abby, but facts never lie.”

“My gut has always steered me right before. And now I have a pedicure appointment tomorrow evening that I don't even need. That was going to be my excuse to get Mitzi's stylist to talk to me.”

“What torture.”

“Why don't you come with me? We can have our toenails done together.”

Marco looked at me through lowered brows. “Me?”

We paused as our sandwiches were delivered, then Marco said, “I met Joe at the house this morning. He said our electrical wiring meets code and our electrical box is correctly labeled, but we'll probably have to start replacing light switches in a year or so because the quality is so poor.”

“I've never heard of having to replace light switches.”

“It wasn't a problem when switches were manufactured in the USA. At least we don't have to worry about our house catching fire.”

“That's good news.”

“I also did some research on Mitzi's husband and was able to verify that he was indeed out of town on business. His employer even offered to sign a sworn statement, so I'm taking him off the list.” Marco dipped a fry in ketchup. “Now tell me what you were whispering about on the phone this morning.”

I squeezed Dijon mustard onto my turkey and spread it with my knife as I described the morning's events, ending with, “And there I sat feeling like an outsider.”

“You're not on the outside, Abby. You're the boss.”

Why did he make it sound so simple? I tore the paper off my straw and stuck it in my iced tea. “You're not getting it, Marco. With Rosa and Lottie planning Rosa's contest entry right behind me, I felt so—”

“Then enter the competition yourself.”

I sipped my tea, turning his idea over. “Planning an award-winning design takes a lot of thought and creativity. You have to have an image in your head first and then—”

“So what if it takes time? You have free evenings.”

I put down my glass. “Are you in a rush?”

“No, why?”

“You keep cutting me off.”

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

If Marco wasn't in a rush, why did he keep glancing up at the clock over the bar?

“Anyway, I've already told Rosa and Lottie that I don't have enough time. Besides, if I entered my own design, how would that make Rosa feel?”

“Enter both arrangements.”

“I can't compete against my own employee.”

Marco took a drink of beer and glanced at the clock again. “I'm out of ideas.”

And apparently out of patience for that particular subject. “Were you able to talk to Rye about my gaffe?”

“Yes. He was very gracious about it. He said Brandon had not contacted him. He also said the pickup truck is his only vehicle. His wife has an old white Chevy Cavalier.”

I breathed a sigh of relief on both counts. “What's next on our agenda?”

“Verify Rye's wife's car and interview the building inspector. If you want to go with me tomorrow, I'll find out what time Maynard Dell normally takes his lunch and we can plan your lunch break around it.”

From the corner of my eye I caught a flash of bright blue and looked up to see Francesca step inside the bar. She spotted me and waved.