The Crêpes of Wrath: A Pancake House Mystery (20 page)

My chest constricted, making each breath difficult. “I did. And I want to stay, for a lot of reasons.” I fought back the tears that wanted to flood my eyes.

Brett returned his gaze to me. “Then why leave?”

I closed my eyes briefly before reopening them. “I don’t see how I can stay here. I’ve got a job in Seattle and…” I didn’t bother to finish. Even to my own ears, my reasoning sounded feeble.

Brett nodded, tension evident in the set of his jaw. “I understand.”

My heart felt like it was sinking to the bottom of the sea.

He tried to smile, but it was barely a ghost of his usual grin. “Call me if you need anything over the next few days, okay?”

I nodded numbly, unable to speak.

He hesitated for a split second but then stepped toward me and kissed me on the cheek.

“Take care of yourself, Marley.”

I wanted to wrap my arms around him, to hold him close so he couldn’t leave, but he was already climbing into the driver’s seat of his van.

The door slammed shut and the engine revved to life. I caught one last glimpse of his profile before the van set off along the driveway. I stood and watched it go, certain I’d just made a terrible mistake.

I wished the stiff breeze could sweep away my heartache. I hated that there was now a wall between me and Brett, and all my doubt and indecision weighed heavily upon my shoulders. The damp air had me shivering inside my jacket, but I didn’t care. Not knowing what to do with myself, I shoved my cold hands into my jacket pockets and headed for the beach.

At the edge of the property, I climbed up on a log and looked out over the water. Still tinged with stormy gray and topped by whitecaps, the ocean seemed to mirror my mood. I felt a kinship with the turbulent waters as I remained on my perch, soaking in the sights and smells of the beach, until the first raindrops pelted down on my head.

Drawing in one last, deep breath, I turned around to head back to the house. I’d just jumped down from the log when something caught my eye. Forgetting my troubles for the moment, I swept aside the mass of curls blown into my face by the wind and took a closer look.

No, I wasn’t mistaken.

Logan Teeves stood at the top of the beach in front of his father’s property, casting furtive glances in my direction. When he realized I was watching him, he made a move to retreat toward his house, but then hesitated, his eyes once again straying in my direction. He seemed so uneasy and uncertain, and that piqued my curiosity.

Ignoring the rain that continued to splat down with large drops, I struck off in Logan’s direction, picking my way around a jumbled pile of logs and driftwood. As I drew close enough to see the expression of alarm that crossed Logan’s face, he again turned toward his house.

“Logan!” I called out.

Another hesitation on his part gave me the time I needed to catch up with him.

A flush spreading up his neck to his face, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stared at his sneakers.

“How are you, Logan?” I asked, deciding to start out with an unthreatening question.

He shrugged and mumbled, “All right, I guess.”

“Did you want to talk to me?”

His face flushed to a brighter shade of red. He didn’t respond to my question, his eyes still avoiding mine.

“I heard about your breakup with Sienna,” I said, determined not to give up on getting something out of him. Even though he hadn’t answered my question, I had the distinct impression that he did want to talk to me. “I’m sorry. Breakups are tough.”

Logan shrugged again, but then his shoulders slumped. “It was my fault.”

“Another girl?” I guessed.

His eyes widened and met mine for the first time. “No!” He blinked and turned his head away, his face flushing anew. His next words were so quiet that I had to strain to hear them over the sound of the crashing waves. “I’m not interested in other girls. Only Sienna.”

That was sweet, but obviously something had gone wrong in the relationship. It wasn’t my business, though, and I didn’t want to torture him with more questions about the breakup. What I really wanted to know was what it was that he wanted to say to me. I was hoping it would have something to do with his father.

I decided to wait and keep quiet, to see if silence would make him any more forthcoming.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other but made no move to leave. He took his hands out of his pockets, then stuffed them back in. His eyes went from his sneakers to the ocean and back to his sneakers. Then they shifted up to meet mine, and he finally spoke.

“I messed with The Flip Side’s website,” he blurted out.

I stared at him, taking a second or two to register his words. “That was you?”

He nodded and averted his gaze again. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

“But why? Why would you do that?”

He dug the toe of one sneaker into the sand. For a second, I thought he might reply, but he kept quiet.

“Logan?”

“For my dad,” he mumbled.

“Your dad wanted you to hack into The Flip Side’s webpage?”

He nodded, his face miserable. He probably felt that he was betraying his father, but I couldn’t leave things there. I needed to know more.

“Why would your dad want you to do that?”

“He wanted the pancake house to go down the drain. He thought if the business failed, you’d want to sell the properties you inherited.”

I clenched my teeth together. Gerald Teeves was willing to kill the business Cousin Jimmy had invested years in so he could get his greedy hands on some land?

Although that didn’t exactly surprise me, it did light a fire of anger in the pit of my stomach.

“I didn’t want to do it,” Logan went on. “But my dad can be really…” He frowned and dug the toe of his sneaker into the sand again. “And then Sienna came in when I was posting the message on the site. She saw what I was doing and got really mad, told me it was wrong. I
knew
it was wrong, but my dad insisted and…” He let his sentence trail off into the wind.

“I’m guessing you posted the signs on the building for him, too.”

Logan shook his head. “He did that himself.”

Even though he kept his eyes downcast, his slumped shoulders and downturned mouth revealed the extent of his misery.

A twinge of sympathy joined the burning anger in my stomach, but I wasn’t ready to let the matter drop. If Gerald Teeves was willing to destroy the pancake house to get Jimmy’s properties, what else was he willing to destroy? A life? I’d already wondered about that and Logan’s confession only strengthened my suspicions. But if Teeves was the killer, Ray would need some evidence of that before arresting him.

“What else do you know about everything that’s happened lately?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe your dad had a fight with Jimmy. Maybe he was tired of Jimmy standing in the way of his development plans.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “You think my dad killed Mr. Coulson? No way!”

“If he was desperate enough to get the property—”

“No.” Logan shook his head. “My dad can be ruthless when it comes to business, but he’s not a murderer.”

I wasn’t willing to take his word for it.

“I heard that Mr. Coulson was killed on Thursday,” Logan said. “Is that true?”

“Yes.”

Logan’s face relaxed with relief. “See, then my dad couldn’t have killed him. Thursday was my grandma’s seventy-fifth birthday. My dad and I drove to Seattle to spend the day with her. We didn’t get back until eleven o’clock at night.”

I considered that information. “What time did you leave Wildwood Cove?”

“Around seven in the morning.”

I recalled what Ray had told me. Jimmy had died somewhere between seven thirty and ten on Thursday morning. As a result of the information provided by Lisa’s uncle, I now knew that window had narrowed to between a quarter past eight and ten.

“And your dad was in Seattle with you the whole day?” I asked, wondering if he could have sneaked back to Wildwood Cove before ten, killed Jimmy, and returned to Seattle.

“Yes. We both spent the entire day with my grandma. She’ll confirm it. We ate out at two different restaurants and went to the arboretum. My dad will have receipts from the restaurants. He always keeps his receipts.”

My case against Gerald Teeves dissolved with Logan’s words. “But what about the other day?” I said. “The way you were staring at the blood on the porch steps, I thought it made you ill because you knew your dad had killed Jimmy.”

Logan shook his head. “I just don’t like blood. It makes me queasy. And knowing someone had probably been killed in that spot made it worse.” His face flushed red once again. “Please don’t tell Sienna. She’ll think I’m a wimp.”

“I think that’s the least of your worries when it comes to Sienna.”

His face fell. “Yeah, I guess so.”

My sympathy for the kid made a comeback. “Thank you for coming clean about the webpage.”

“I really am sorry. Are you going to tell anyone that it was me?”

I sighed and pushed back the damp strands of hair that had blown across my eyes. “Probably not,” I said. “The sheriff and his deputies weren’t able to track you and since your dad didn’t kill Jimmy, it might not come up again.”

“Thank you,” he said with obvious relief.

I took a step back. “I’ll see you around.”

Logan nodded, misery still evident on his face.

I felt sorry for him. Having a father like Gerald Teeves couldn’t be easy. Yet, as I headed back to Jimmy’s house, my thoughts strayed away from Logan and his troubles.

The elder Teeves might not have killed Jimmy, but someone had.

The question was, who?

That same question haunted me as I returned to Jimmy’s house and took shelter from the rain. With Gerald Teeves covered by an alibi, the most likely suspect in my mind was now Daryl Willis. Jonah Krantz and Ida Winkler were also on my list. I didn’t know what Jonah’s motive would have been for killing Jimmy, but it was possible it had to do with the stolen goods I’d found in Jimmy’s workshop.

What about the glitter, though? I’d thought it had been transferred from Logan to his father and from his father to Jimmy, but that no longer seemed likely. I made a mental note to ask Patricia if she’d visited Jimmy in the hospital in the days before his death. If she had, the explanation for the presence of glitter on Jimmy’s shirt could be completely innocent.

I continued to mull things over as I cleaned up the glass on the office floor, going over the carpet with the vacuum cleaner to ensure that no small shards remained. At least by focusing my thoughts on the murder, I was less likely to fret about my other troubles.

Flapjack came out of hiding while I was putting the vacuum cleaner away, cautiously padding down the stairs, his ears back. I spent a few minutes snuggling with him and feeding him some kitty treats, and he soon relaxed.

What next?
I wondered as Flapjack gobbled up his treats with a contented purr.

Jimmy’s clothes,
I instructed myself.
You need to sort through the rest of Jimmy’s clothes.

Leaving Flapjack curled up on the windowsill above the kitchen sink, I climbed the stairs to the second floor and stepped inside Cousin Jimmy’s bedroom. The bed was made and the curtains were open, revealing windowpanes splattered with raindrops. Outside, the world was painted with hues of blue and gray, cheerless and chilled. I flicked on the overhead light to dispel the gloom.

Opening the closet, I pulled items out one at a time, inspecting each one for wear and tear, sorting them into different piles on the bed. It wasn’t a happy task because I couldn’t forget the reason why it had to be done, but I forced myself to continue. I worked at a steady pace, the sound of the rain, now driving down in sheets, keeping me company. By the time I’d removed the last item of clothing from its hanger and placed it on top of the pile destined for charity, my stomach was grumbling, long past ready for lunch.

I boxed up all the clothes I planned to donate and, with that done, I surveyed the room. The bed would need to be stripped and the sheets laundered. The dusty curtains needed a wash as well. That was probably true of all the curtains in the house.

One thing at a time, though. I started by removing the sheets and pillowcases from the bed, bunching them into a pile in my arms. I was about to head down to the laundry room when I paused, spotting a hardcover book on Jimmy’s bedside table. After setting the sheets back down on the bed, I picked up the book. I didn’t recognize the name of the author but the novel was a work of military fiction, a genre I knew Grant enjoyed. Maybe my mom would want to keep it aside for her fiancé. As for all the other books in the house, I supposed I’d need to sort through those as well. If I found any that I didn’t want to keep, I could donate them to Patricia Murray’s Friends of the Library group.

So much to do,
I thought.

Once again I had to remind myself to do one thing at a time.

As I set the book back on the bedside table, a folded piece of paper slipped out from inside the front cover and fluttered to the floor. I stooped down to pick it up and unfolded it to see if it was anything important. Right away I saw that it was a short document, typed up on a computer, with handwritten signatures added at the bottom. I read the words in detail and scrutinized the signatures. Then I read everything again.

I sank down onto the edge of Jimmy’s bed. I didn’t need to read the two bold words at the top of the page to know that the document was a promissory note. Executed almost six months previously, the note provided for the sum of thirty thousand dollars to be repaid to Jimmy less than two weeks from the current date. While the fact that Jimmy had loaned someone thirty thousand dollars was interesting in itself, the name of the borrower was far more fascinating.

Jonah Krantz.

Why Jimmy had loaned Jonah tens of thousands of dollars, I had no idea.

But what I did know was that the piece of paper I held in my hands could very well be a motive for murder.

The promissory note still in one hand, I ran downstairs to retrieve my cellphone. I punched in the digits of Ray Georgeson’s number and chewed on my bottom lip as the phone rang on the other end. After three rings, the call went to voicemail.

Disappointed, I hung up without leaving a message. Although I thought I had important information to share with Ray, I didn’t want to end up playing phone tag with him all afternoon. So instead of asking him to call me back, I’d try phoning him again after my appointment with Hugh Ogilvie.

I stood by the French doors, my mind spinning. I had no doubt that the promissory note was what Jonah was after when he broke into the house. Jimmy had loaned him a nice chunk of money and he either couldn’t or didn’t want to pay it back. That would explain why he was desperate to prevent anyone else from finding out about the loan. Desperate enough to commit a break-in. And murder?

A fierce burst of disgust and anger rushed through my bloodstream. Had Jonah killed Jimmy over money? It seemed so senseless, so cruel.

I stared at the piece of paper in my hands. If I was right about the identity of Jimmy’s killer and the motive behind his murder, the promissory note was a vital piece of evidence. Perhaps the best move would be to deliver it to the sheriff’s office. Leaving it lying around the house while I went out didn’t seem wise. Even if Ray still had Jonah in custody for the break-in, I didn’t want to risk the note going missing. For all I knew, Goldie was Jonah’s accomplice and would attempt to find and destroy the evidence on her son’s behalf.

No, I definitely wouldn’t leave it in the house unguarded.

I also wasn’t comfortable with the thought of carrying it around for the rest of the afternoon. I’d feel like a target, even if it was unlikely that Goldie or Jonah would know I had it on me. The mere possibility was enough to worry me.

Yes, the note would be safest with the sheriff and I wanted to get it to him as soon as possible. I checked the time on my phone and made a quick decision. Before heading to my appointment, I’d drive into Port Angeles. If I left in the next few minutes, I’d be able to make it back to Wildwood Cove in time for my appointment with Mr. Ogilvie.

Driven by a burst of energy brought on by my discovery, I ate a quick lunch before grabbing everything I’d need for the next few hours and hopping into my car. The rain pelted steadily against my windshield during the trip, but traffic wasn’t heavy and I made decent time to Port Angeles. Less than half an hour after leaving Wildwood Cove, I parked outside the white and red brick building that was home to the courthouse, the county jail, and the sheriff’s department.

Inside the sheriff’s office, I approached a curly-haired, uniformed woman seated behind a desk.

She looked up as I approached. “Afternoon. What can I do for you?”

“Is the sheriff in?” I asked. “I have something to show him. Something that could be related to an ongoing investigation.”

“I believe he came in a few minutes ago,” she said, “but I’ll check to make sure. Your name, please?”

“Marley McKinney.”

She directed me to take a seat and I did so, perching on the edge of a chair. Less than two minutes later, a door opened and Ray Georgeson stepped through it. I stood up as he nodded at me in greeting.

“Marley. Would you like to come with me?”

“Thank you.” I followed him through the door and into a hallway.

He opened the second door on the left and stood back to let me step through first. I entered a small office with a desk and three chairs. On one wall was a framed photo of the ocean with the San Juan Islands in the distance, and on the desk I recognized a picture of Ray’s daughter, Jourdan.

“Please, have a seat,” Ray said as he shut the door behind us. As I settled into one of the chairs, he asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Did you ever find Jonah Krantz?”

“We did.” Ray sat in the chair behind the desk. “He was at home, so we didn’t have any trouble tracking him down. He’s been charged with breaking and entering. We might add further charges as well. We found Mrs. Hunter’s key to the pancake house on him when we arrested him, so we believe he’s the one who searched that office as well.”

That made sense. When he didn’t find what he wanted at The Flip Side, he must have assumed, correctly, that Jimmy had kept the promissory note at home.

“Is he still in custody?”

“At the moment, but I expect he’ll be released today pending his trial. Are you worried about him being on the loose?”

“Yes, but not so much because of the break-in.” I opened my tote bag and removed the promissory note. “I’m more concerned about the fact that he might be the one who killed Jimmy.”

Ray’s brow furrowed with my last words. “What makes you say that?”

I slid the piece of paper across the desk. “I found this in Jimmy’s house. It’s probably what Jonah was looking for when he broke in.”

Ray unfolded the paper and scrutinized the writing. I sat quietly as he read over the note, giving him time to digest its contents.

When he raised his eyes from the document, he asked, “You found this in Jimmy’s office?”

“On his bedside table,” I said. “Tucked inside a novel. It’s a motive for murder, don’t you think?”

“Could be. At the very least, I think you’re right that this is likely what Mr. Krantz was after when he broke into the house and searched The Flip Side.”

“I’m also wondering if those were his only crimes. The other recent break-ins are still unsolved, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Ray confirmed. “But at the moment we don’t have anything to tie Mr. Krantz to those incidents.”

“But it’s possible he was the one who stashed the artwork in the workshop,” I said.

“It’s something I’ll look into, certainly. Do you know if Jimmy’s lawyer was aware of this document?” Ray asked.

“No, I don’t. I have an appointment with him this afternoon. I guess I could have phoned and asked him before I came here, but I wanted to get this to you as soon as possible.”

“I appreciate that.” Ray pushed back his chair. “I’ll speak with Mr. Ogilvie today. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Have you found out if Tina’s bracelet was stolen?”

“Not yet. Its description doesn’t match any items stolen in my jurisdiction, but I’m still waiting to hear back from the other counties.”

Although I was disappointed, I accepted the information with a nod.

Ray thanked me for coming by and I left the building, dashing through the rain to my car.

As I drove along the highway toward Wildwood Cove, my thoughts remained focused on Jonah Krantz and my conversation with Ray Georgeson. I felt more settled now that the police knew about the promissory note, but it would take an arrest for murder to truly put my mind at ease about the investigation. With only a minute or two to spare, I turned onto Main Street and found a spot to park my car. After entering the lawyer’s office and greeting Lisa, I took a seat in the waiting area. Shortly after, Mr. Ogilvie welcomed me into his office. Although the fact that I’d inherited the bulk of Jimmy’s estate still seemed unreal to me, at least my mind wasn’t so numb this time and I had some concrete decisions to share with Mr. Ogilvie. While the lawyer went over the details of Jimmy’s will, I managed to absorb the information and tuck away the important parts in my mind.

As we wrapped up our conversation, I decided to ask Mr. Ogilvie about Jimmy’s loan to Jonah. I knew Ray would question the lawyer as well, but I wanted to satisfy my own curiosity.

“Did you know that Jimmy loaned thirty thousand dollars to Jonah Krantz?”

Mr. Ogilvie’s eyebrows drew together. “No. I wasn’t aware that he loaned money to anyone. Is this something he told you about before he died?”

“No.” I explained about the promissory note and how I’d delivered it to Sheriff Georgeson.

The lawyer nodded. “That was the best course of action, I’m sure. As for collecting the debt on behalf of the estate, I’ll certainly put things in motion as soon as possible.”

“It doesn’t surprise you that Jimmy didn’t mention the loan to you?” I asked.

“Not really. Jimmy was a very independent man. He did take care of such things on his own from time to time.”

So there really was a good chance that no one else had known about the loan. By killing Jimmy and destroying the promissory note, Jonah could have erased all evidence of the transaction and nobody would have been any wiser.

I filled Mr. Ogilvie in on my decision not to sell either of Jimmy’s properties, but I didn’t provide him with any firmer plans than that. He told me to let him know when I’d figured everything out, and I assured him that I would. After thanking him for all his help, I headed out of his office, stopping to talk to Lisa in the reception area.

“How’s Carlos doing?” I asked.

She smiled, relief clear on her face. “Much better. He’s out of the hospital and he’s agreed to go into treatment.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Her smile faded. “I hope he goes through with it.”

“I hope so too.”

Movement outside the large front window caught my attention. I turned for a closer look.

“They make a bit of an odd pair, don’t they?” Lisa said, having followed my line of sight.

Michael Downes was unloading a toolbox from the back of his black truck, parked next to the curb outside the lawyer’s office. Getting out of the passenger seat of the same vehicle was frizzy-haired Ida Winkler.

“I’ll say.” I continued watching Michael and Ida. “I never would have pictured the two of them hanging out together.”

“They’re related,” Lisa said.

I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”

“Michael is Ida’s nephew.”

“Huh.”

Michael said a few words to Ida and they parted ways on foot. In the last second before Ida disappeared from sight, I caught a flash of green around her neck. She was wearing a scarf of green feathers.

My heart rate kicked up several notches as I stood there, staring out the window. Somehow I managed to say goodbye to Lisa before hurrying out of the office. Out on the sidewalk, I peered up and down the street, searching for Ida and Michael, but both of them had already disappeared from sight.

I knew what I’d seen, though. The feathers in Ida’s scarf were exactly like the one I’d found at Myler’s Point, mere steps away from Jimmy’s body.

I continued to think things over as I walked slowly toward my car, barely noticing the rain pelting at my head.

Had Ida killed Jimmy and then returned to his house the other night for some reason? Was she the prowler Michael had scared away?

If that were the case, the lie I suspected Michael had told me would make sense. I’d thought he was trying to protect Daryl, but he was even more likely to want to protect his aunt.

Even if Ida had killed Jimmy, I couldn’t figure out why she would have bothered returning to the scene of the crime, unless she was also responsible for the rash of break-ins in town. She was a known thief, after all. Maybe she’d hoped to recover the stolen paintings from the workshop.

As I reached my car, I paused on the sidewalk, wondering if I should call Ray and fill him in on my suspicions about Ida Winkler. I didn’t exactly have any hard evidence against her, but maybe he could find some.

The feather.

I’d tucked it in my pocket after I’d caught it. It was probably still there. I wasn’t wearing those jeans today, but I hadn’t put them through the wash yet. I didn’t know if Ray would want the feather, if it counted as evidence, but it might, especially if it could be officially matched to the feathers in Ida’s scarf.

I pulled my phone out of my bag and checked the time. Afternoon would soon fade into evening, but I figured I still had time to go home and see if I could find the green feather before getting in touch with Ray. I was about to unlock my car when I noticed the antiques shop across the street. I still hadn’t taken the time to go inside and check out the cheval mirror.

Although I hesitated briefly, wanting to get back to Jimmy’s place to look for the feather, I decided I at least had time to slip inside the shop and get a closer look at the mirror. Leaving my car for the moment, I dashed across the street, dodging around puddles as I went.

When I opened the shop door, a bell tinkled overhead and the smells of wood, old leather, and a touch of dust met my nose. I paused inside the door, my eyes skipping over a display of vinyl records, a glass case full of vintage jewelry, and two 1950s armchairs before coming to rest on the cheval mirror that had first caught my interest a few days earlier.

A low murmur of voices drifted through the half-open door to a back room, but the place seemed otherwise deserted. I made my way over to the full-length oval mirror. Up close it captured my interest even more than it had from afar. It had beautiful scrollwork and stood on cabriole legs. Aside from a few small dents and scratches, it appeared to be in good condition.

There was no doubt about it. I was falling in love with the antique mirror.

A price tag hung from a string looped over one of the scrolls at the top of the frame. I flipped it over and grimaced when I saw the price.

You can afford it with your inheritance,
I reminded myself.

As tempted as I was to buy it right then and there, I decided to wait until I wasn’t in such a rush to get home. But before I had a chance to turn for the door, a short, balding man emerged from the back room.

“Ah, hello there,” he said when he saw me, his accent an indication of Eastern European origins. “Can I help you with anything?”

I hesitated, but then decided there was no harm in talking to the man. “I was just admiring this mirror.”

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” The man removed his round, wire-rimmed glasses and polished them with a handkerchief he produced from his pocket. “Victorian, mahogany,” he said as he replaced his glasses on his nose.

That confirmed what I’d already suspected, but although the mirror was calling to me, getting it back to the house would be a problem. “Unfortunately, my car is tiny and there’s no way I’d be able to transport it.”

“I can arrange for delivery,” the man said.